It’s not even that Keith’s day was bad. Really, it wasn’t. A couple years ago everyone had gotten nostalgic for seasons, so Coran and Hunk had rigged the castle to be somewhat chiller every few months, to simulate winter, so now Keith got to wear a hoodie every once and a while without sweating. It’s wonderful. (And, of course, there’s the added bonus of Lance with flushed cheeks and a red nose, brown eyes bright and excited, wearing four sweaters and a comforter wrapped around his shoulders everywhere he goes. It’s adorable and the universe’s greatest gift to the world.)
But no, really. Keith’s day was decent. He had a couple meetings, trained for a few hours, just a regular day on the castle. He even got to watch Shiro trip that morning, which raised his mood significantly. His day, by all accounts, was decent, if not good.
But as the evening hits and he heads to the common room, tasks done for the day, he sees his boyfriend (fiancé, now), and just — he doesn’t even have the words for it. One second he’s standing in the doorway, something warm and inviting uncurling in his belly as Lance catches sight of him and beams, and the next second he’s got Lance wrapped up in his arms. He buries his face in the crook of Lance’s neck and inhales deeply, not giving even half a shit if that’s weird, because his eyes are closed but he can feel the softness of Lance’s favourite pink sweater and hear his warm chuckle and smell his floral shampoo, and his senses are overwhelmed with Lance and he just melts. Just — sinks into Lance, sighing, muscles relaxing and brain quieting and heart slowing, because it feels like he’s holding pure comfort in his hands.
His hands find the back of Lance’s head, fingers tangled in his curly hair, and he thinks that it’s true and he is.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Lance mumbles, pressing a kiss to Keith’s temple. “You okay?”
Keith sighs again, kissing the warm skin of Lance’s neck.
“Yeah. Just — wanted to hold you.”
“Mm. You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in days. I was with you in the meeting this morning, you dork.”
It’s true. He was. They sat together, quietly playing tic-tac-toe on Lance’s notes when it droned on for too long.
But still.
“I know. I just like holding you. It’s — nice. Safe.”
He can feel Lance’s grin, pressed into his shoulder, even through the thickness of his sweater.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t know how to say it. How to tell Lance that holding him feels like coming home. That his smile makes Keith’s anxieties melt away, that his affection makes Keith strong. That everything about him makes Keith feel like he can be the best he can possibly be, with Lance at his side.
“I love you,” he says instead, because he feels like that ought to cover a part of it, at least.
Lance pulls back slightly, and when his eyes meet Keith’s they’re as knowing as they are amused.
“I love you, too,” Lance says, leaning up higher to kiss Keith’s forehead, and then his nose, and then his lips. “God, I love you, too.”
art again by @awhoreintheory , who is the most talented artist in the world (photo id in alt text)
