Alt Prompt: Shivering
Lance knocked on Keith's door.
He had been doing better about this. It had been months since he'd last found himself lurking through the cold empty halls in the middle of the night to just find himself here.
Keith would answer. He always did.
It started soon after Shrio disappeared. He would be fine all day, but when he crawled into bed at night the world closed in around him until he couldn't bear it anymore. First it was the swirling thoughts, spinning round and round and twisting his memories and contorting their meanings. His chest would tighten as he struggled to keep his breathing even. Then his heart would beat faster and faster until it couldn't keep up with its own pace, skipping beats and palpitating painfully. And then the shivering. The shivering would get so out of control he couldn't even clasp his hands together so that his flailing could be contained.
Of course, it hadn't always been that bad. Even on Earth it wasn't unusual for Lance to lie awake at night with a sense of impending doom. Gradually, as the pressures of his new role sunk in, his anxieties began to present more physical symptoms. It sucked, but he could wait it out and it would pass, leaving him exhausted and cold.
The dread always waited for him in the privacy of his room at night. Until it didn't.
It would be waiting for him whenever he was alone, regardless of time of day. He would run off from whatever conversation he had been happily joking in to use the restroom. But the instant that door closed the mask would fall and he would break down. Most of the time he didn't even realize he was masking until it dropped.
Lance got very good at hiding it, the brokenness.
But then the episodes went from 10 minutes to 30. From 30 to an hour. And then hours at a time. Feeling like nothing would ever be right again, shaking and gasping for breath while his heart worked overtime.
It was stress.
It was PTSD.
It was a secret.
At least, it was until Keith found him curled up and shaking in a pool of his own sweat on the ground in the training room one night.
He had held him, and patted his back in silence until Lance could breathe again. He hadn't seemed shocked or surprised. Almost as if he knew exactly what that felt like. He had asked if that had happened to him before. Lance had said once or twice. Keith made him promise that he would come find him next time he felt like this.
Lance did not make good on that promise.
Because a one-off was forgivable. An occasional moment of weakness understandable. A nightly occurrence? Unacceptable.
Shiro might have understood. He always listened. Always seemed to know the right thing to say. But he was gone, and Lance was left with his peers.
At least Keith never brought it up. Never treated him differently.
It was only on nights when it was really bad that Lance allowed himself to seek him out. Keith would open the door, hold him as he fell apart, stroke his hair as he pulled himself together. All the while not saying a word.
It seemed to help, a little at least. After a visit the nightmare would stay away for a few days, maybe even a week. But it would come back. It always came back. Gently at first. But it would build and build until it was unbearable and he found himself here again.
Lance raised his hand to knock again, louder this time, right when Keith opened the door.
His hair was messy. He must have been asleep. Of course he was. That's what normal people did, sleep at night.
He took one look at Lance and pulled him inside.
Lance could feel himself tearing up as soon as he heard that door click shut. He tried to hide by covering his face with his hands, but poked himself in the eye instead. He hadn't realized he had already started shivering.
Keith wrapped his arms around him, gently guiding Lance's head to lean against his shoulder. He didn't say anything. He never did. He just held him as he always did. Tightly. But never painful. And when the trembling made Lance's knees give, he was vaguely aware of Keith guiding him to the floor. He was far away by that time, caught up in the whirlpool of trepidation. Lost and frightened for what felt like days.
When Lance was able to return to the present, he'd found himself swaddled in a blanket. They were lying on the bed, on top of the sheets. Keith had one arm around him, rubbing his back soothingly. His other hand was wrapped behind his neck, fingers gently petting Lance's hairline. Lance's face was resting on a damp spot on Keith's shirt, right above his heart. He could hear his heartbeat. Slow and steady. Taking deeper breaths, Lance was able to loosen his grip he had on his collar, untangle his leg from where he had hooked it around Keith's ankle.
As awful as his night terrors were, coming out of them was never easy. He would never dare touch someone like this if he were sober. Like a child clinging to their mother. It was embarrassing, and leaving him full of shame.
That's probably why he could count on his fingers the number of times he'd come here no matter how much it may have helped, despite the nightmare haunting him for years. These nights all ended the same. Lance's breathing would steady out from the ragged gasps and his shaking would still. He would take a moment, resting in this moment of blessed calm, albeit spent and hollow. He would take a deep breath and begin to stir, signaling to Keith that he was done. And Keith would release him without a word, and Lance would go, eyes on the floor. And the next morning they would both pretend it never happened.
But tonight was different. Keith spoke, which was a first since that night he had discovered him in the training room.
"You can stay."
His voice was deep with drowsiness, Lance could feel the hum of it where his head rested on his chest. Fingertips pressed lightly once, the quietest of invitations with not a hint of pressure, merely the communication of options.
"If you want."
