quick fics

Halfway to Lance’s office, it starts to rain.

Keith isn’t the most observant person–he hadn’t checked the sky for storm clouds this morning, hadn’t thought to bring anything to shield him from the weather. Normally, it wouldn’t have made a difference. It’s not like he can drive and hold an umbrella at the same time.

He’s not surprised when he ends up drenched. The rain soaks through his red jacket, making the fabric heavier than usual, and he can’t stop himself from shivering. It’s not exactly incapacitating – just inconvenient.

Admittedly, a raincoat would probably have been nice right now, but at this point, that’s just wishful thinking. It’s not like he can go back for one right now. Keith slows down his bike down at an intersection, idly watching the slanting threads of rain as they fall around him. He’s so, so cold.

His breath hitches, and his shoulders dip with a sneeze. His hands itch to wipe his nose, but he’s wearing his fingerless gloves right now, and he doesn’t want to get them dirty.

Sniffling, he sets the bike back into motion as soon as the traffic light flickers to green. Maybe he is coming down with something. He knows it isn’t possible to catch a cold from the rain, but if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s been feeling off all day. If he’s already caught something, it’s probably in the process of getting a lot worse.

He just hopes that’s not the case.

“Keith,” Lance hisses, his eyes wide with disapproval. “Oh my god.”

Keith veers to a stop under the overhang of the building. He climbs off of his motorbike and puts the kickstand up, only wavering slightly on his feet. “What?”

“You’re drenched.” Lance takes a few strides forward, closing the short distance between them, and stops before him. “Did you actually drive here in the rain?”

“You know, I can’t control the weather,” Keith deadpans, his fingers fumbling at the straps of his helmet. He curses under his breath. His fingers feel like they’re half frozen–they’re far too numb to perform a task as intricate as this.

“Here, let me help you out with that.” Lance leans in, unclipping the buckle with ease.

“...Thanks.” Keith pulls his helmet off, before setting it down on the bike seat. “My hands aren’t really working right now.”

Lance takes the chance to reach out, grasping Keith’s hands in his own. “That’s because they’re freezing,” he says matter-of-factly, his fingers intertwining with Keith’s. “At least your hair’s dry,”

Any other time, Keith would be pulling away, but Lance’s hands are just so comfortably warm, so he doesn’t. He sniffles, turning away to cough in the opposite direction. Lance’s eyebrows furrow.

“You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“No,” Keith denies, perhaps a little too quickly. “No, I’m– I’m not. I’m fine.” Except then, his body, ever loyal, decides that then is the perfect time to sneeze.

“Bless you,” Lance says automatically, letting go of one of Keith’s hands so he can press the back of his hand to Keith’s forehead. “...You feel a little warm.”

“I’m not sick,” Keith lies through his teeth. His voice is starting to sound congested, but his nose is still running, and he wonders how it’s possible to experience both at the same time. “You can’t get sick from the rain.”

“I don’t know the details,” Lance backtracks, “but we– we should get you home.”

Except, it’s still raining– the dark clouds overhead haven’t shown signs of letting up at all. If anything, it seems like they’re going to lead to a thunderstorm. “Well,” Keith mutters, glances out into the rain-flooded streets, “good luck with that.”

“Let’s wait inside for now,” Lance suggests, unzipping his jacket and draping it securely around Keith’s shoulders. “We can head back as soon as the rain clears up.” He starts off towards the building entrance, and Keith stifles a sneeze as quietly as he can before following.

Lance’s office building, as it turns out, is a pretty comfortable place to be in. Lance sits Keith down at a table, which is already an improvement from having to stand outside. “Wait here.”

Keith opens his mouth to point out that he doesn’t know his way around–it’s not like he can actually go anywhere–but then shuts up promptly when he realizes what Lance is doing. He’s opening cabinet after cabinet, pausing to read the label on a box of tea bags before pushing it back inside and taking out another.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks, and when he doesn’t get a response, he continues, “Lance. Are you making tea?”

“Yeah,” Lance answers distractedly, “for you. I just can’t find the right–”

“You know,” Keith interrupts him, stopping only to muffle a few coughs into his fist. “I don’t care what kind.”

“Keith, buddy,” Lance says, very, very seriously, “you may not care about the quality of your tea, but I do.”

Keith opens his mouth to argue about how counterproductive that is, but Lance beats him to the chase. “See, I knew it was in here somewhere.” He sets the box of tea down and pulls out a packet from inside of it. “Hold on, I’m currently making the best tea you’ll ever taste.”

“I won’t be able to taste it, anyways.”

“You won’t have to. Your body will still thank me.” Lance sets a paper cup under the hot water dispenser and presses the button on the top.

Keith leans back in his seat, contemplating how nice it is to have someone take care of him when it’s the last thing on his own list. “Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

Two minutes later, the cup is in Keith’s hands. He really can’t taste the tea–not that he would’ve paid attention to the flavor anyways, but the cup feels nice against his too-cold hands, and the steam helps to relieve his congestion. He can feel Lance’s eyes on him as he takes another experimental sip.

“So?”

“So,” Keith echoes.

Lance watches him, one eyebrow raised in question. “How is it?”

“It’s... fine.” Keith says, his mouth creasing into a frown. “It’s just tea.”

“Just fine?” Lance prods, a smirk pulling at his lips. He leans against the counter, his body facing towards Keith, and crosses his arms at his chest.

“It’s decent,” Keith deadpans, never one for elaborate synonyms. And it is. The tea warms him up, even though there’s only so much it can do while the rest of his limbs freeze around him.

Lance’s smile broadens. “That’s good.” He stands up and starts towards the door, only stopping when he’s standing at the doorway. “I’m going to get some of the papers from my office. I’ll be back.”

Keith glances up. “I thought you were done with work?”

Lance shrugs noncommittally. “I am. I just... might as well get something done while I’m stuck here, you know?”

He disappears from the room, and Keith exhales softly, swiping a hand under his nose. He should probably be working on his schoolwork right now, but he knows he won’t be very productive with a headache. Besides, the subjects he has assignments due for don’t really interest him.

He sets his empty cup down on the table and shifts so he can rest his head on top of his arms. He’s still mercilessly cold, but the stifling heat inside the office is starting to dull his senses. He’s been too busy this week to pay attention to his health–the pressure to finish all the work from school has been enough to keep him awake. Now that there’s nothing to distract him anymore, the singular fact that he’s been so persistently trying to ignore is becoming more and more evident.

He’s exhausted.

He lets his eyes drift closed, tells himself it will only be temporary. He won’t fall asleep. He’s just resting his eyes for a second.

(He’s fast asleep by the time Lance gets back.)

Keith wakes up, not on his own accord, but by the feeling of Lance shaking his shoulder. The first thing that registers to him is that he can’t breathe through his nose. He’s been sleeping with his mouth slightly agape, and it’s not exactly a pleasant feeling. The second thing that he notices is that he’s feeling much worse than before–the persistent throb of a headache has made its way into his skull, and his throat feels like it’s on fire.

He sneezes, once, and tries to sniffle, but it doesn’t make any difference. He tries inhaling shakily through his mouth, but the intake of breath launches him into a coughing fit, and he curls in upon himself, waiting for it to subside.

“Hey,” Lance says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. A cursory glance upwards reveals that his boyfriend is hovering over him, eyebrows drawn together in evident concern.

“Hello,” Keith responds after a beat. He swallows, grimacing as the pain in his throat resurfaces. His clothes are still wet, but he’s thankfully a bit warmer than before–his hands don’t feel numb anymore, and his rough, uncontrollable shivering has been reduced to a slight tremor.

“The rain stopped,” Lance informs him, “we’re going back. Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” Keith affirms. “Sure.” Walking is easy. He stands up briskly, but the action must have been a bit too quick–suddenly, the world tilts on its axis and he stumbles forward gracelessly–

The ground is surprisingly soft when he hits it, until he realizes that he’s not on the ground at all. Lance’s arms are around him–one is wrapped around his chest and the other is gripping his shoulder, preventing him from falling over. It’s strangely comfortable, and he almost falls asleep right then and there.

“Hey, stay with me here,” Lance murmurs, and Keith sniffles, his head dipping forward in a nod. He does his best to stand up again, and Lance moves so that his arm is around Keith’s shoulder, supporting his weight.

The walk outside is long and draining, so Keith keeps his glance focused on the ground, allowing Lance to steer him in the right direction. When they finally step outside, the sudden gust of cold air that hits leaves Keith shivering again, and he barely turns away as a particularly forceful sneeze rips through his frame.

Sniffling again, he reaches sluggishly for his motorcycle helmet. He moves to take his usual seat, but Lance stops him. “Woah, you are not driving right now,” Lance says. “Sorry, but I value my life too much.”

“I’m not going to crash,” Keith argues, but the retort is too slow and too weak to make a proper comeback.

Huffing, Lance rummages through the storage compartment on the vehicle. “Sure thing, Keith.” He slides his own helmet on–the same model as Keith’s, but blue–and grabs hold of the handlebars. “Here, scoot back a little. I’ll drive.”

“I’m not sure that would be any safer,” Keith mutters under his breath, but he does what he’s told, anyways.

“I’m a great driver, and you know it.” Lance slips into the seat in front of him. He’s no expert at steering Keith’s motorbike–it’s usually Keith who drives, but they’ve gone on a couple of bike dates before, and Lance knows enough to get them home. “Just hold on, okay?”

Lance has been feeling off all day.

He’d wakes up with a slight headache and a slight case of the sniffles, but he ignores it and goes about doing work like he always does. But apparently, this is the type of illness that hits really quickly – by noon, his head is pounding and the room is spinning.

Everything is too cold. He shivers, pulling the zipper up on his jacket. Who decided that this was an acceptable building temperature? It really isn’t.

He makes it through the morning–at least, until he runs into his section commander in the kitchen. He’s pouring himself a cup of coffee, but the exhaustion from the past few days is really getting to him: his hands are trembling and he can barely hold the cup still.

His commander takes one look at him and shakes her head. “Go home, Mcclain.”

But he really needs to get things done today. The work deadlines are coming up, and he can’t afford to fall behind. “No, Commander Smith,” he starts, before clearing his throat. “I assure you that can work through this. I promise–”

He’s cut off by a harsh fit of coughing, which lasts for longer than it should. When he finishes, he realizes he’s spilled some of the coffee in his cup, and Miss Smith’s disapproving frown has shifted to an outright scowl. “I wasn’t offering, it’s an order. Go home.”

“But deadlines–”

“This is not debatable. You look like you’re about to fall over, and I’m almost certain you’re contagious.”

Lance’s shoulders sag, and he nods, just once. He is feeling pretty bad, and he doesn’t want to get his coworkers sick. “I’ll clean up the spill and leave,” he concedes.

“Good.” The commander turns on her heels, starting out the door, before she comes to a halt again. “I don’t want to see you here tomorrow, got it? Get some proper rest.”

And so now he’s at home, six hours before his shift ends. He’s been trying to work at home, anyways, but the harsh lighting of his laptop screen is making his headache worse, and it’s almost impossible to concentrate when he’s feeling this shitty.

Sighing, he closes the device, plugging it into the charger, and makes his way over to the bed. It’s not a long walk, but he’s exhausted and dizzy, and the world is tilting in ways that makes the trip more difficult than he should be. When he finally gets there, he sprawls himself over the sheets face-first, but immediately starts shivering and has to sit up again to crawl into the covers.

His whole body feels off. Maybe he’s worse off than he’d thought.

He stifles a sneeze into a cupped hand, and then turns over onto to his side, letting his eyes drift closed. He’ll just sleep this off. Hopefully he’ll be better by the time he wakes up the next morning.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t wake up the next morning, but rather late into the night, to the sound of his phone ringing on the bedstand. He picks it up, staring blearily at the blinding screen. Unknown caller ID. He frowns, almost opting not to pick it up. Whatever stranger is calling him at this hour really needs to learn how timezones work.

He presses answer anyways. All of a sudden, a warm, familiar voice is flooding into his ears: “Lance?”

“Keith?” He’s more than a little surprised to hear his boyfriend on the line. “What’s up?” he manages, his voice still groggy from sleep.

“Thank god you picked up,” Keith rambles. He sounds frantic. “Can you come drive me home? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m stuck here and I don’t have enough change to call a taxi.”

“You what?” Lance pushes himself upright, blinking back exhaustion. “I… I thought you were taking public transportation home?”

“I got lost. I missed the last bus.”

“Keith, it’s almost midnight. You want me to mess up my sleep schedule and drive for an hour just to come get you?” Lance teases, smirking into the phone. He’s already out of bed, phone tucked in between his ear and his cheek while he searches the closet for his jacket.

“What? I didn’t… didn’t m-mean that...” Keith’s voice wavers on that note. He really sounds shaken up about this. “...but you’re right. Sorry for bothering you. I’ll, uh, f-find a way...”

“You’re lucky I’m the best boyfriend in the world,” Lance says. “Tell me your location and I’ll be there.”

A pause. “Thanks, Lance. Really,” Keith says, sounding better already. He relates the name of the station he’s at, and Lance listens, holding the phone at a distance away from him as he stifles sneezes and coughs as quietly as possible.

“I’m in the car. Be there in 45,” Lance says, “is it snowing where you are?”

“Uh… yeah. It’s… it’s snowing pretty hard.”

“Make sure you keep warm, okay? If there are any open shops nearby, go wait there.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t get lost again.”

“Okay.”

“I need to hang up now, alright? I’ll be there soon.”

“...Okay.”

Keith is asleep on a bench across from the station when Lance finds him. He’s surrounded by a mountain of bags, wearing only a light jacket that definitely isn’t meant for weather like this.

Lance stops his car at the curb, rolling down a window. “Keith?”

Keith stirs, his head tipping upwards at the sound of his name. A fresh layer of snow has settled on top of his jacket hood, but it slips off as he stands up, hastily brushing stray snowflakes from the folds of his clothing.

He moves all of his bags into the trunk, then slips into the passenger seat. Even in the warmth of the car, he’s still shivering, and Lance mentally curses himself for not bringing any extra clothing for him.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep yourself warm?” he asks, an eyebrow raised as he starts the car again. “You could’ve waited in a shop or something.”

“I didn’t want to get lost again,” Keith explains, zipping up his jacket with trembling hands.

“Oh my god,” Lance huffs. “you could’ve just printed out a map before you left home.”

Keith frowns, fishing his dead phone out of his pocket. He stays motionless for awhile, staring down at the unlit screen with an expression that looks like betrayal.

“I was going to use my phone, but it died on me.”

“That’s why you charge it before you leave–”

“I did! It died from the cold, not from low battery.”

“That’s unlikely.” Lance lifts one hand off the steering wheel to stifle a few coughs into his fist. “Was it really that cold outside?”

“Well... yeah.” Keith puts his phone away and leans back again, crossing his arms. “It snowed all day.”

“And you couldn’t have checked the weather?”

“That wouldn’t have–” Keith stops abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. Lance is about to ask him if something’s up, but Keith beats him to the chase: “Are you cold?”

That catches Lance off guard. “What makes you think that?” He scoffs, because yeah, he’s cold, but Keith doesn’t need to know that. “Are you changing the subject because you don’t want to talk about how much of an idiot you are–”

“No, it’s not that.” Keith cuts him off, sounding distracted. Lance takes advantage of a red light to steal a glance at him, only to realize that Keith is already scrutinizing him closely. “You’re shivering.”

Shit. Uh. “I’m not,” Lance lies, trying his best to stop his body from trembling. He hadn’t even realized until Keith pointed it out.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“Okay, maybe I am slightly cold,” Lance concedes, absently wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “Why? Aren’t you?”

“No.” Keith blinks, tugging at his scarf so that it unravels a bit, “it’s nice and warm in here. It’s a bit too warm, actually.”

“Yeah, well. Staying out in the snow for half a day probably messed up your sense of temperature.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Keith turns his head to stare out of the passenger window. Lance pinches the bridge of his nose, stifling two sneezes into his hand while his boyfriend isn’t looking.

The silence that follows is unexpected. Lance clears his throat quietly, ignoring the sharp pain that surfaces as a result. “Did you find the components you needed?”

Keith perks up at that. “Yeah, I actually did.” He’s usually a quiet person, but when he’s passionate about something, he can talk about it for hours. “I needed a particular set of brakes, right? It turned out that the shop I was at ran out of stock, so I had to go all the way to the northern end of the city…”

Lance just listens quietly, too tired to say a word. His head is pounding, and he can’t quite keep up with everything that Keith is saying, but he likes hearing the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. It’s nice.

He drives quietly for awhile, caught in the warm, comfortable haze of the words he hears but doesn’t process. Then, suddenly, he realizes that the Keith’s voice has turned a couple degrees sharper:

“–Lance? You still with me? Lance!”

His name turns from static to sound in his mind, and he blinks, snapping out of the trance. “Sorry, I zoned out. What’s up?” His voice sounds awful. He hadn’t realized how so much congestion had accumulated in such a short amount of time.

“I asked if you could pull over for a sec,” Keith reiterates. “I have something I need to get from the back trunk.”

“Oh. Sure.” Lance maneuvers the vehicle carefully to the side of the street. “Go ahead.”

Keith slips out of the car and shuts the door behind him. Lance leans back in his chair, his posture sagging, and waits as a particularly harsh coughing fit runs its course. No wonder he was sent home. He’s really feeling like shit right now. Driving isn’t exactly the most strenuous activity, but the 45 minute trip here has somehow sapped all of the energy from his body, and his headache from this morning hasn’t let up at all.

To his surprise, a few seconds later, his own car door is pulled open. “Keith, what are you–” he starts, but his sentence cuts off sharply when Keith sets a hand onto his forehead.

“You have a fever,” Keith states, as bluntly as ever.

Lance shrugs noncommittally, drawing away from his touch. “I thought you were getting something?”

“I wanted to check your temperature, but I knew you wouldn’t actually pull over if I phrased it that way.”

“Oh.” Lance blinks, slightly disoriented. “That’s... true.”

Keith is reaching out again, but this time, Lance doesn’t have the energy to move away. His fingers are cold, but not icy, and they feel inconveniently nice on Lance’s too-hot cheeks.

“You’re burning up.

“Or,” Lance counters, “maybe your hands are just too cold.”

Keith removes his hands, and Lance almost wants him to put them back again. “Did you go to work like this?”

“I got kicked out,” Lance admits sheepishly, looking down, “my section commander sent me home.”

“I can see why.”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“Why did you drive here anyways?” Keith demands, changing the subject. “You should be resting.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “I went home early, I’ve been resting all day–”

“That isn’t enough. Don’t you always lecture me about how sleep debt is a thing? You’ve barely gotten any sleep all week.” Keith pauses, frowning, and Lance deflates a little. It’s true. He’s been so busy with work lately that he hasn’t really been getting proper rest.

“I’m… sorry?” he offers, before twisting away to cough a few times into his hand.

Keith huffs a sigh, resigned but affectionate. “Here, let’s switch seats. I’ll drive.” He takes Lance gently by the forearm and leads him out of the car. As soon as Lance is outside, he can’t stop his body from shivering anymore–it’s utterly frigid. How the hell did Keith manage to spend half a day in this weather?

Thankfully, they’re not outside for long. Keith lets Lance to get settled in the passenger seat, then slips into the other side of the vehicle. He sets the car into motion again, and Lance just stares blankly out of the windshield, wondering how this situation has managed to turn around so quickly.

He’s starting to drift off again when Keith’s voice breaks the silence, steady and warm. “I wouldn’t have called you to pick me up if I knew you were sick.”

“I still would’ve come,” Lance says.

Keith shoots him a glance, skeptical. “What?”

“I still would’ve come to get you,” he repeats, sniffling. His eyes are already halfway shut. He’s so tired.

“Why?” Does Keith really not get it yet?

“Because it’s for you,” Lance says, even though that much should be obvious.

The engine whirs, and the plane speeds forward, wheels accelerating against smooth concrete. Keith takes out the papers for his speech, which he’s typed up and printed out, and starts revising them for the fifth time. This is one of the biggest speeches he’s been assigned since joining the company. The last thing he wants is to have to deliver it unprepared.

A few minutes after takeoff, he feels a heavy weight drop onto his shoulder. He looks over, unsurprised, to see that Lance has fallen asleep, his forehead resting on the crook of Keith’s neck.

As endearing as it is, he can’t quite indulge himself in his boyfriend’s affections right now. “Lance,” he says sternly, “I need to work.”

The taller boy opens his eyes blearily, blinking a few times, before leaning in the opposite direction, propping his head up against the airplane window. “Right. Sorry,” he mutters, voice slightly hoarse, but Keith dismisses the observation. He’s just woken up, after all.

“It’s okay.” He turns his attention back to the papers in front of him, waiting for the plane to stop ascending so he can go back to working on his powerpoint.

When Keith wants to get something done, he’s good at focusing all his attention on his own work and ignoring everything else. That’s why he doesn’t realize that his boyfriend shouldn’t be tired right now, after having gotten more than enough sleep the night before. Doesn’t notice that Lance’s breathing sounds the slightest bit congested. Doesn’t notice that Lance’s eyebrows are drawn together in the way that makes it evident that he has a headache.

The plane arrives two hours late, and by the time they get off of it, Keith’s meeting is just forty five minutes away. He’s still somewhere in the middle of the airport, and it will take half an hour by car just to get to the meeting location. He really has the worst luck.

He walks as fast as he can through the airport terminals, dragging his suitcase behind him. In his haste, he doesn’t realize that Lance is having trouble keeping up.

“Keith?” Lance asks tentatively, lifting an arm up to muffle a harsh cough into the crook of his arm. He straightens, quickening his footsteps to catch up with his boyfriend. “Uh, can I... get some soup? My throat is kind of bothering me.”

He knows that the fact that Lance is asking for something means he’s already feeling pretty bad. But the restaurant Lance is referring to has a line that extends all the way to the outside, and they really don’t have the time right now.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to get to this meeting,” Keith says, distractedly press a kiss to Lance’s cheekbone. “I promise I’ll get you some after the meeting’s over, okay?”

“Okay,” Lance agrees, his sentence punctuated with a wet sniffle. Then they’re on their way again, and in Keith’s haste, he doesn’t realize that Lance’s cheek felt just a little too warm under his lips.

The meeting goes well. It’s terrifying, having to stay in a room with such high ranking members of the company, but Keith reminds himself that he’s earned this spot entirely on his own. He presents his own ideas and comments on those of others, and they manage to discuss everything they had planned. The three hours pass by faster than he expects.

Lance waits for him on the car. They only have one vehicle, so Keith had been forced to take Lance with him to the meeting. Despite Lance’s assurances, he still feels fairly guilty about it–three hours is a long time to wait in the car. Lance should be waiting in the comfort of their hotel, premade bed and complimentary snacks and all, not in a cramped car in a different city on a too-hot day.

He wonders if he should’ve left his boyfriend with something to do. But when he gets back, Lance is fast asleep in the passenger seat with his head in his arms, and Keith feels his heart flutter in his chest. “Sorry for making you wait,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of Lance’s hair behind his ear.

He gets into the driver’s seat, doing his best not to wake the brunet up, and starts off onto the road.

“Lance?”

Lance opens his eyes, lifting his head out of his arms. He peers out the window. They’re not in front of the meeting building anymore. “Where are we?”

“Back at the hotel,” Keith informs him, “meeting’s over.”

Lance pushes open the car door, wandering over to the back trunk. His legs are slightly unsteady, but he’s just woken up, so Keith doesn’t think anything of it. “How did it go?”

“It was okay.” Keith follows him there to help him unload the suitcases from the back trunk. “Have you not been getting enough sleep lately? You seem tired.”

Lance glances up, and Keith notices that his eyes are a duller shade of blue than usual. Then, just as quickly, he looks away. “I’m fine,” he affirms, “I’m glad your meeting went well.”

Lance is sprawled out over the hotel bed, leaning heavily against the headboards. He’s wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, even though the room isn’t all that cold, and the green jacket he’s wearing should technically be sufficient.

“Are you cold?” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Not r-really,” Lance stammers, pulling the covers closer around him and offering a small smile. “I’m fine, see?”

“Okay,” Keith says, drumming his fingers on the desk. “You wanted soup, right? I can go get you some now.” He isn’t that busy. Stressed, sure, but the next event he has planned is the speech for tomorrow, and he’s mostly done with the prep work for it.

Lance pales and looks away. “I’m not that hungry anymore,” he says.

“How is that possible? You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I think I just messed up my sleep schedule too much,” Lance says sheepishly.

That makes sense. “Let me know when you want food. I’ll take you.” Keith turns back towards his desk, staring over the scripts that he’d revised on the plane. He still needs to type up the changes.

The murmur of television static runs quietly in the background, and a few minutes later, Keith sneaks another glance at his boyfriend. Lance is staring in the direction of the screen, but his gaze is light and unfocused, which suggests that he’s not really watching. There seem to be dark circles accumulating under his eyes, but maybe that’s just a trick of the lighting.

Weird. Maybe traveling is tiring him out more than Keith had thought.

Lance is in the audience, watching as Keith delivers his speech. His boyfriend looks happy. Flushed, sure, and tired from all the work he’s been doing, but he’s smiling. His eyes are radiant and bright as he talks about astrodynamics and extraterrestrial colonization and rocket speeds.

Seeing Keith so passionate about something makes Lance really, genuinely happy. He wants to enjoy the speech. He wants to be there for Keith as much as he possibly can. Unfortunately, his body has other plans. His cold is completely draining him of energy, and he can feel the people around him shooting him glares whenever he stifles a sneeze into near-silence or muffles harsh coughs into his sleeves.

Finally, he gets up, gathers all of his belongings, and makes his way to the back of the auditorium. He doesn’t want to ruin this for Keith, especially when this event is clearly so important to him. As long as he’s in the back, Keith shouldn’t be able to hear him coughing and sneezing every few minutes.

He leans against the back wall, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, and watches as his boyfriend shines.

The first thing Keith does when he finishes his speech is go back into the audience to look for Lance. He’d seen the taller boy get up and leave halfway through the speech, but the fact that he’s not back yet is a bit concerning.

After a minute, he spots him standing in the back, leaning heavily against the wall. “Lance!” Keith calls, jogging over to him. “How’d I do?”

Lance looks up, his lips curving up into a warm smile. “You were amazing.”

The adrenaline is still simmering in Keith’s veins, forming butterflies in his stomach, and in the heat of the moment, he tips forward to meet Lance’s lips. Surprisingly, Lance jerks away before he can make contact. “Contagious,” he mutters, his gaze dropping.

Keith frowns, looking him over. Contagious? “But... you’re not sick.” His eyes narrow accusingly. Now that he thinks about it, Lance does look paler than usual. “...are you?”

“I don’t know. A little,” Lance admits, “I don’t want to infect you if I am.” His breath hitches sharply and he lifts an arm over his face, stifling sneeze after sneeze into the fabric of his jacket.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Keith comments. “How long have you been sick?”

“Since... the night before the plane flight.” He lowers his jacket sleeve, sniffling wetly. “But it’s not that bad.”

The night before the plane flight. He’s been sick for the whole trip, and Keith hasn’t even noticed? Frowning, he thinks back to the start of the trip. That day on the plane flight, when Lance had wanted to sleep on his shoulder, he’d refused. And then after the flight, when Lance had wanted to get soup, Keith hadn’t even done that much. How could he have been so blatantly inattentive?

“Keith?” Lance asks, before coughing a few times into the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you have people to meet? You should get going.”

Keith flinches, taking a shaky step backwards. Lance had gone out of his way just to go on this trip, and Keith hadn’t even been considerate enough to make sure he was comfortable. “You were sick, and I didn’t…” he stammers, his voice suddenly choking up. “I didn’t even realize?”

“Keith, it’s fine. I’m not taking it personally. You were busy, I get it,” Lance says, smiling as reassuringly as he can. “Let’s just go, okay?” He reaches up, lightly massaging his temples with one hand.

Keith lifts his hand up, pressing the back of his palm to Lance’s forehead. He withdraws it quickly, cursing under his breath. “You have a fever. I’m taking you back,” he says, taking Lance by the arm and leading him to the door.

“Keith, you need to stay to answer questions,” Lance protests weakly, but Keith simply tightens his grip on his arm.

“That can wait.”

They exit the auditorium, and the bright light outside causes Lance to tense up, letting out two stifled sneezes into his wrist. A crowd is gathered outside. There are a handful of news reporters, holding cameras and microphones and the lot. They all flock over when they see Keith step out. “Mr. Kogane, what is your opinion on…”

“Sorry,” Keith dismisses them hurriedly, “but my boyfriend isn’t feeling well, so I think I’ll get going early.”

Lance shoots him a disapproving look. “Keith,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “this is your dream, you can’t just do that–”

“I’ve already delivered my speech,” Keith interrupts him. “My work here is done.”

They weave their way through the crowds of people, with Lance reluctantly following at Keith’s heels. When they get back to the car they’ve rented, Keith lets go of Lance hand and pries open the car door. He slides into the driver’s seat, sliding the key into the ignition, and waits for Lance to do the same.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Lance mumbles, turning away to coughing harshly towards his right side. “I’m not feeling…” sniffle, sniffle, “...that bad.”