Keith doesnβt place his helmet on the ground as much as he slams it. It bounces and rolls away out of sight, but his mind is elsewhere. He doesnβt even bother to wait for the ramp to descend; he jumps out of Redβs mouth the second she lands. Tremors wrack his joints but he doesnβt care. Thereβs something more important to focus on. Someone more important.
βLance!β
Keith skids to a halt in front of Blue and bangs his fists on her hatch. βLet me in! Lance, let meββ
Thereβs muffled coughing from inside the lion. Itβs minute, but itβs there. It makes Keithβs heart skip. Heβs alive. Heβs alive, heβs alive, heβs alive.
βLance?β He croaks.
He canβt tell what picture will be painted once he breaches the cockpit. Whether itβll be covered in shades of red or blue. Whether Lance will greet him with a weak wave and a tired hug, or heβll be on the floor, limbs twisted in odd angles. The hit he took during the battle looked heavy, but there wasnβt much Keith could see past the blinding explosion. There was no telling how the impact rattled Lance. In that moment, when orange and white seared the inside of his eyelids and his heart plummeted to his stomach, Keith had been so sure Blue had been burst into pieces.
But now he stands outside the intact lion with its pilot still inside, still alive, but who knows for how loβ
βLance, baby,β Keith croaks with his head against the metal door. Itβs still battle-warm. βWonβt you let me in?β
Thereβs a slight whirring noise before the door slides open. Keith all but collapses inside. He searches wildly, eyes roving everywhere, looking for a body, a suit, tan skin, anythingβ
Lance is slumped over in the pilotβs chair. βYahoo,β he mumbles, βRight here.β
βLance,β Keith inhales a bated breath and rushes over to assess him.
He receives a half-hearted peace sign for his troubles. Lanceβs fingers tremble. βHey, good looking. You come here often?β
Still joking. Thatβs good. Keith pats his body down to assess for injuries. He meticulously starts removing armor when the bulky plating gets in the way.
βWoah, woah! At least three dates before the clothes come off, man. Iβll have you know that Iβm a decent guy.β
βWeβre literally dating, Lance.β
βOh.β He dishes him a lopsided grin. βWell, in that case, proposition away.β
Keith ignores him. Heβs concussed, thatβs for sure. Who knows what other injuries are hiding? He wishes he had more light, but any more brightness would surely stab at Lanceβs eyes. He continues to peel off pieces of armor and feel his limbs up and down. Keith only stops when he hears Lance wince.
He holds his forearm precariously. βHere? It hurts here?β
Lance nods. βYeah itβI was holding the throttle lever when it, you knowβfuck.β He grits his teeth and clenches his eyes shut.
βWhy didnβt you say anything?β
βI donβtβI didnβt noticeβIβm,β Lance takes a deep breath. βIβm sorry. Iβm not trying to be difficult.β
βYouβre not difficult,β Keith rushes out quicker than he breathes, βDonβt be sorry. Ever.β
Lance lets out a watery laugh. βEver?β
Keith nods solemnly.
βWhat if I do something evil? Like uh, get rid of all food thatβs not goo? Or chuck your jacket out the airlock?β
βI might cry.β
βFuck,β Lance hisses, βThatβs worse. So much worse. Donβt uhβKeith, donβt do that.β
βDonβt cry?β Keith finds a gauze to wrap his bleeding arm in. Lance winces when he tightens it around the wound.
βAhβyeah. You canβt cry. Itβs illegal in ten states. And all of space.β
It takes all of Keithβs willpower not to burst into tears in that moment. He swears heβs not trying to be spiteful or petty, but the tightness in his throat suddenly has him in a chokehold. Everything catches up to him once heβs got Lance safe and secured in front of him. Heβs here. Lance is here. Heβs alive and heβs not hurtβnot too badlyβnot skewered or impaled or crushed by anything, not unconscious or unresponsive. God, it couldβve been worse. So, so much worse. He couldβve, Lance mightβveβ
βWhat?β Lance cries. βDid you have the waterworks ready on cue? What in the grammy-nominated actor is this? Are youβwhat are youββ He splutters. Despite all of it, Lance reaches forward with his uninjured arm to whisk the stray tears off his face.
βGuess Iβmββ Keith hiccups. βGuess Iβm an outlaw.β
With slow, stiff motions, Lance detaches himself from the seat and leans downwards to where Keith is kneeled. He winds his arms around Keithβs neck and fists his fingers into his hair.
βWhat are you doing? Your injury, itβsββ
βIβm obviously arresting you, genius. Hands behind my back.β
Keith sniffles but he still complies. βI thought itβs hands behind my back.β
βNuh uh.β Lance shakes his head. βMy lion, I make the rules.β
They stay like that, in their awkward embrace, until well after it becomes uncomfortable and Keithβs limbs get sore. Theyβre still drenched in their battle sweat and itβs a little gross, but he doesnβt want to let go. Lanceβs heart beats against his, and whatβs most important is that it beats. Keith feels it, feels the rise and fall of his chest, the little breaths against his neck, and the hair tickling his shoulder. He lets himself soak in it and he remains ever so grateful that it, this, can exist for even one more day.
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