Lance huffed as he struggled to adjust Keith's limp body in his arms. Every step felt like a battle, trying to keep his balance while Keith slumped against him, his head lolling weakly on Lance's chest, breathing shallow and uneven.
"Come on, Keith, help me out here." Lance muttered breathlessly. But when he shifted his grip, Keith's head knocked against the wall with a dull thud. Lance winced. I'm definitely making this worse!
Keith didn't stir. His fever still burned hot, keeping him completely out of it. Swallowing his guilt, Lance continued on, awkwardly dragging Keith until—thud—Keith's head knocked against the bedpost this time!
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Lance groaned, finally heaving Keith onto the bed. He stood there, bent over, panting and trying to catch his breath, his body aching from the struggle."Okay, Keith, hang on," Lance muttered, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it in cold water. He returned to Keith's side and gently pressed it against his burning forehead, then sat on the edge of the bed, watching Keith's shallow breaths with growing concern.
Keith didn't look good—he looked terrible. His skin was hot to the touch, pale except for the feverish flush on his cheeks, and his hair stuck to his damp forehead. Lance's heart sank. Keith showing up out of nowhere after years of silence was shocking enough, but seeing him like this—barely conscious, fever raging—what had happened in the years since they last saw each other? and why had he come to him?
"Why did you come to me, Keith?" Lance whispered, his voice barely audible. "What's really going on?"
Lance glanced down and noticed the quilt slipping off the bed, sliding toward the floor. Without thinking, he gently pulled it back over Keith's body. "Don't kick this off again, you're already feverish enough..." Lance started, but halfway through, Keith tossed the quilt off completely in his sleep! Lance stared in disbelief, his worry outweighing any annoyance. He sighed and picked it up, carefully tucking it back over Keith again. As exhausted as he was, Lance couldn't bring himself to leave Keith's side. He slouched by the bedside, keeping watch to make sure Keith didn't throw the blanket off again. But eventually, after the long day he'd had, exhaustion settled in, and his head drooped as he dozed off.
Lance's sleep was anything but restful. Keith kept tossing and turning, groaning under his breath. Somewhere in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, He couldn't recall when he ended up lying next to Keith. In the fog of sleep, Lance dreamt of the Allura. he whispered to Keith as though he were her, the grief and longing slipping out unconsciously.
"Allura, you'll be okay..." he murmured, too exhausted to realize what he was saying or whom he was holding. cradling keith in his arms, Lance let out a long breath and drifted into a deeper sleep.
The next morning, Lance was jolted awake by a pillow smacking hard against his face. He groaned, blinking in confusion. Keith stood over him, pillow in hand, his eyes blazing with anger.
"Keith?"
Keith's face was stormy, his feverish eyes narrowed. Before Lance could piece together what was happening, he realized—he was lying next to Keith, his arms around him! Lance shot up in panic, shoving both himself and Keith off the bed in one swift motion.
Keith lost his balance and crashed to the floor, his head hitting the bedside table with a loud thud. "Argh!" Keith groaned, clutching his head. "What the hell, Lance?!"
Lance jumped to his feet, flushed and defensive. "Well, maybe I wouldn't have shoved you if you hadn't thrown a pillow at my face!"
Keith glared, still wincing from the pain. "You were the one cradling me!"
"I didn't know!" Lance sputtered, his face turning red. "I just woke up! And don't act like I'm the one who hurt you—you did that to yourself!"
Keith shot him a look. "You literally pushed me off the bed, and I hit my head!"
"Oh please," Lance retorted, crossing his arms. "You didn't care when I banged your head on practically every piece of furniture when I dragged your unconscious body!"
Keith blinked, speechless. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The absurdity of the situation finally hit both of them, and for a brief moment, the room fell into a strange, thick silence. Lance sighed, his irritation fading as he looked down at Keith. Even after a nights rest, Keith still looked feverish, his skin pale and sweaty. Concern crept back into Lance's chest.
"Keith," he said softly, "where have you been all these years? Are you... okay?"
Keith's gaze faltered, distant. "I don't have time for this," he muttered.
"What?"
"I didn't come here for this." Keith's voice was low, strained. He looked up at Lance, his expression tense. "How long has it been since I left Allura's memorial?"
Lance's heart sank. "Keith... that was three years ago."
Keith's face fell, his eyes widening in shock, "Three years...?"
Lance's concern deepened. "Keith, what's going on? You're not making any sense."
Keith shook his head again, frustration mounting. "I need one of the lions."
Lance stared at him, baffled. "Keith, there are no more lions. They're gone."
"They're out there somewhere, I know it. I need to find them," Keith insisted, his voice urgent. He pushed himself off the floor, heading toward the broken window.
"Keith, wait!" Lance grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "You're not thinking straight! You can't just..."
Lance's heart sank deeper. He couldn't help but think about the last time he saw Keith, how he had pushed him away, hurt him. But now, standing here with a feverish, desperate Keith, Lance knew he had to make things right.
"you can't just go through this - whatever this is - alone" Lance said, his voice firm, "I'm coming with you."
