Chapter Text
Lance was still asleep.
The cot emitted a soft, constant hum. The machines showed more stable data than the day before, but the paleness lingered on his face, the trembling in his hands still surfacing now and then.
Keith hadn’t moved. He stayed right beside him, eyes fixed on Lance’s face, jaw tight, hands interlaced.
“You’re going to crack your teeth if you keep that up.” Yorak’s voice cut in from the doorway.
Keith blinked. He hadn’t heard him approach.
“I didn’t notice,” he muttered, relaxing his jaw just a fraction.
Yorak walked in without asking, as always. He carried a paper notebook (who knows what planet he’d found it on) and an electronic tablet. He glanced at the vitals, then the meds, and finally… at Keith.
“How long has it been since you slept properly?” he asked, not quite looking at him.
Keith hesitated.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Yorak let out a short snort.
“Of course it matters. You’re the most stubborn one in this intergalactic zoo, but also the one glued to this kid. If you collapse, no one else is going to know what to do with you.” He snapped his notebook shut. “So sleep. Or at least close your eyes. You’re starting to look like him.”
Keith lowered his gaze to Lance.
“I don’t want to close my eyes. I’m afraid that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Yorak understood.
“He’s not going to die. Not now.” Yorak sighed, sounding more tired than annoyed. “But he’s going to need help. A lot of it. Every step will hurt. Every movement will remind him of what was done to him. And if he trusts you the way he’s shown…”
Yorak crossed his arms. His voice dropped, quieter, more personal.
“When he wakes up, you’re going to have to help him bathe.”
Keith’s head snapped up slowly.
“What?”
“You heard me. I’ve checked his muscle condition, and if he can stay standing for more than three minutes without passing out, it’ll be a miracle.” Yorak tapped the notebook with his finger. “He can’t be alone. Not for a while. And you… well, let’s just say if you can’t touch him without him falling apart, nobody else will.”
Keith swallowed.
“There’s no other option?”
“Do you want Coran to do it?”
Keith imagined it and went pale.
“No thanks.”
“Thought so.”
They stayed silent for a few seconds. Yorak was about to leave when Keith muttered:
“I’ll do it. I just… I want to do it right.”
Yorak looked at him, and for the first time, there was something almost tender in his eyes.
“It’s not about doing it right. It’s about being there. And you already are.”
Yorak left, and Keith with him.
Keith was in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor. The light was dim. A blue lamp flickered against the metal walls, but he wasn’t seeing any of it.
He was only thinking.
He breathed heavily, as if the simple act of inhaling overwhelmed him. Over and over, Yorak’s words echoed in his head: “You’re going to have to help him.”
Lance.
Naked. Fragile. Hurt.
Keith shut his eyes. The emotional weight hit him like a meteor.
What if he’s scared? What if he doesn’t want me to touch him? What if my hands remind him of them?
A bitter laugh escaped him. His fingers tangled in his own hair, tugging lightly. His chest ached. He didn’t know if it was anxiety or guilt. Or both.
“I can’t break him…” he whispered, almost soundless.
He stood. Walked to the full-length mirror Allura had installed for “armor self-checks,” and looked at himself.
Dark circles. Hair a mess. A nervous twitch in his brow. He didn’t look like a leader. He didn’t look like someone who could care for anyone else.
“But I have to.”
He looked at his hands. Clenched them.
“It’s Lance. He’d be here for me.”
He walked to the door.
Hesitated before opening it. Drew in a breath, steadier this time.
“I can’t fail him.”
And then, without looking back, he headed toward the medbay.
Lance was awake, propped up against the pillows with a blanket over his chest. His eyes were half-lidded, like it was hard to stay alert, but they lit up the moment Keith walked in with a towel over his shoulder and a set of folded clothes in his arms.
Keith swallowed.
“Hey.”
Lance lifted his head a little. His voice came out raspy, barely audible.
“Is it time already?”
Keith nodded, stepping forward with quiet steps.
“Yorak said you can… bathe now. Only if you feel up to it.”
Lance just looked at him. His eyes were wide and dark, and for a second, Keith didn’t know if he was about to say yes… or break down crying.
“And you…?” Lance began, his tone cracked.
Keith lowered his gaze, as if the floor was easier to face.
“I…” He took a deep breath. “I’ll help you. You don’t have to do it alone.”
There was a moment of silence. Keith raised his eyes slowly. Lance was still watching him, vulnerable. But not afraid of him. Not exactly.
“Is that okay?” Keith asked softly. “I swear I just want to help. If at any point you feel uncomfortable… just say so. I’ll stop.”
Lance blinked fast, like he was processing the knot of emotions in his chest. Then he nodded. Very slowly.
“Okay…” he whispered.
Keith walked up to him, set the clothes on the cot. He held out his hand, waiting for Lance to take it on his own.
Lance hesitated.
Then, with trembling fingers, he lifted his hand and tangled it with Keith’s.
“Thank you,” he said, barely audible.
Keith closed his eyes for a second and squeezed his hand gently.
“We’ll take it slow. I’m with you, okay?”
And together, they began the path to the showers.
The walk to the general baths was silent. Not uncomfortable, but heavy, full of unsaid thoughts. Keith supported him with a hand at his waist, his other arm holding him carefully, like Lance was made of glass. With each step, the Blue Paladin’s bare feet barely slid over the castle’s cold floor.
Lance didn’t say anything.
Because if he spoke, he would scream.
KEITH.
SEEING HIM.
NAKED.
His mind spiraled downward. This can’t be happening. I can’t deal with this. I can’t even stand and I’m going to be NAKED in front of Keith Kogane—my years-long crush, my daily angst, the owner of my nightly fantasies and my secret Spotify playlist.
“You okay?” Keith suddenly asked, lowering his head to look at him.
“What? Yeah! Yeah, super. All good. Never been more… clothed—I mean, more… fine. Fine.” Lance let out a laugh. A bad attempt.
Keith raised an eyebrow, confused.
“Sure?”
“Yes. Just… processing.”
Keith didn’t push. But he didn’t stop looking at him either.
When they reached the bathroom entrance, Keith stopped. He opened the door with a touch to the energy panel, letting Lance go in first. Warm steam wrapped around them immediately, like a calming embrace.
Lance stood in the middle. Looked around the room, then at Keith, then at himself. Tried to summon courage, but…
“Keith.”
“Yeah?”
“This is going to sound weird, but… can you not look at me?”
Keith blinked, and for the first time, his ears turned red.
“Of course. I… wasn’t planning on it, Lance.”
“I know, I know. It’s just… I’ve got a lot of scars. And I’m… well, you know. Skinny. Weird. Like I got wrung out like an old towel and then microwaved.”
Keith turned his back without a word. Crossed his arms.
“Take your time. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”
Lance swallowed. His chest rose and fell with effort—not just from weakness, but from the emotional storm raging inside. Keith is here. Keith wants to help me. Keith hasn’t left.
With effort, he sat on the bench in front of the mirror. And for the first time in a month… he began to undress.
His fingers shook.
The shirt clung to his skin like a second layer, torn at the edges, stained with old marks. When he finally pulled it off, he couldn’t help but glance at the reflection. His body felt foreign.
And then, the impact hit.
Is that me?
Lance didn’t know how long he stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as if it were someone else.
His chest rose and fell unevenly. His ribs stuck out like dry branches under his skin. Scars—some thin as threads, others thick and jagged—crossed his torso, his arms, even his collarbone. They were everywhere. Some still red, others faded, but all telling a story he never wanted to live.
He stayed there, alone with his image. The silence so heavy it could be cut. Until finally, his broken voice dared to come out:
“I look… horrible.”
It wasn’t a complaint. It was a confession. A surrender.
Keith turned slightly. He didn’t look at the mirror, but he heard him. And his body reacted as if those words had pierced straight through him.
“Lance…”
Quietly, Keith stepped closer. He crouched beside him, facing away from the mirror so Lance wouldn’t have to look anymore. He only looked at him. Only at Lance.
“You’re not horrible.”
“I am.” Lance lowered his head, tears slipping silently down his hollowed cheeks. “I’m not even a shadow of who I was. I’m broken, Keith.”
Keith swallowed hard, his throat burning.
“Do you want to know what I see?”
Lance didn’t answer, but his chin trembled.
“I see someone who fought. Who survived. Who endured when everyone thought he was lost. I see my teammate… and the person who matters most to me.”
Lance squeezed his eyes shut, lips trembling. Keith cautiously reached out, wiping his tears away with his knuckles.
“You’re here, Lance. That’s enough. You don’t have to be strong today. I’ll be strong for you.”
Lance let go.
He clung to Keith like he needed him to breathe. His trembling arms wrapped around his neck. He pressed his forehead to his shoulder and let everything spill out. Sobs. Tears. Pain.
And Keith… Keith held him like the world depended on it. One hand stroking carefully over the scars on his back, the other tangled in his hair.
Keith held him like the world depended on it.
With one hand tracing his fragile back—so thin it hurt to touch—avoiding the fresh wounds, caressing the old scars as if he could erase their weight. The other hand tangled in his hair, warm, steady, anchoring him.
And for a moment, Lance stopped trembling.
The world stilled. No pain, no cold, no fear.
Only Keith’s chest rising and falling against his own. Only his arms around him. Only the murmur of his voice in his ear:
“I’m here, Lance. And I’m not leaving.”
Lance buried his face in his neck, eyes shut tight.
“Don’t leave me…” he whispered, barely audible.
Keith tightened the embrace, his own voice cracking.
“Never.”
Keith straightened again, giving him his back while Lance struggled to pull off his pants. Steam swirled around him, barely covering him, as if the bath itself knew this wasn’t just about hot water and soap. It was something more intimate. Heavier.
Keith had already seen him. He already knew the scars. He had already felt the trembling of his body and the fragility of every step. But now… now Lance was completely exposed, with no shirt to hide his thinness and no bandages to disguise the truth.
And yet Keith didn’t move. He stayed there, back turned, waiting. Respect made flesh.
“All done,” Lance murmured.
Keith turned. Not with surprise. Not with fear. Only with the same look he’d had since the beginning. Steady. Full of restrained emotion.
Lance sat on the bench, barely covered by the towel that reached his thighs. Warm water was beginning to fall gently over his skin, but he didn’t feel clean yet. Not yet.
Keith approached, placed the shampoo within reach, and knelt in front of him, as he had before, with that same almost sacred calm.
“Does anything hurt?” he asked.
“Just existing,” Lance joked weakly, forcing a tired smile.
Keith gave him the faintest curve of lips in return, but his eyes stayed grave.
“Then… let’s make it hurt a little less.”
He poured shampoo into his hands and let it fall carefully onto Lance’s head. Then, with gentle movements, he began to lather, fingers tangling carefully through Lance’s damp, dark hair. The rhythm was slow, almost meditative, as if each stroke could erase a little of all that had been endured.
Lance closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel fear at being touched.
“You know…” he whispered, “when I was there… I thought that even if I made it out, I’d never let anyone look at me. Or touch me. Not even you.”
Keith went still for a moment. Then lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Lance’s hair.
“Thank you for letting me.”
Lance trembled. The water kept falling. Keith rinsed the foam with care, letting it stream down Lance’s thin neck and back. Each vertebra stood out like pain had carved them into his body. But he was still there. Alive. Present.
“Can I keep going?” Keith asked quietly.
Lance barely nodded.
Keith soaked a soft sponge, lathered it, and began to glide it over Lance’s shoulders in slow, reverent strokes. It wasn’t pity. It was because he knew each touch was a bridge Lance was allowing him to cross.
Lance kept his gaze low. He didn’t want to see his reflection. Didn’t want to face the scars he knew were there. Taking off his shirt had been enough to leave a knot in his throat—now he didn’t dare glance toward the fogged glass.
“Lance?” Keith said, noticing the way he tensed again.
“Don’t look…” Lance murmured, barely audible.
“The mirror?”
He shook his head.
“At me.”
Keith set the sponge aside. He knelt again, facing him. Took a trembling, wet, needle-marked hand and held it between his own.
“I’ve been looking at you since the very first day. And I haven’t stopped.”
Lance squeezed his eyes shut, lips trembling.
“I look… messed up, Keith.”
“I already told you, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me… You look like someone who survived.” Keith brushed his thumb over a scar on Lance’s collarbone, tenderly. “And still… you’re you. Even if you don’t believe it.”
“I feel like… if you touch me, I’ll break.”
“Then I’ll touch you like you’re the most valuable thing in the universe,” he answered without hesitation.
And he did. Keith continued washing each part of Lance’s body with care—his thin arms, his scarred chest, his weakened legs. In silence. With respect. As if every motion said I’m here. You’re not alone.
When he finished, he wrapped him in a warm towel, held him by the waist, and helped him stand. Lance kept avoiding the mirror. Keith didn’t force him. But he did lean close to his ear and whispered:
“The day you’re ready to see yourself again… I’ll be right there with you.”
Keith crouched with a clean towel in his hands, saying nothing. He only looked at him with quiet patience, the kind he only seemed to have for Lance. Gently, he began drying his hair in soft circles, as if too much pressure might make him vanish.
Lance closed his eyes, letting the warmth wrap around him in silence. It was tender. Intimate. A kind of affection he’d never thought he deserved, but that now surrounded him like the steam itself.
Then Keith took the clean clothes—a loose shirt and soft pants—and helped him dress with shy efficiency. He tried not to look too much, though Lance had already noticed how red his ears were.
“All set,” Keith murmured, crouching once more to adjust the waistband of his pants.
Then he did it.
He leaned down and kissed him. A delicate kiss, right at the base of his neck, where the skin was sensitive and still tingled from the warm water. Barely a brush, but enough.
Lance shivered.
“Keith…” he whispered, voice caught between a gasp and a nervous laugh. His face went tomato-red in seconds. “A little warning, maybe?”
“Why?” Keith shrugged with a faint smirk. “It was the right moment.”
He chuckled under his breath and then lifted Lance carefully into his arms. Lance instinctively clung to his neck, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. Resting his head against Keith’s shoulder, he sighed.
“I don’t know if you’re carrying me, or if I’m just a half-deflated balloon…”
“More like a feather,” Keith replied softly, never stopping his steps. “Light, fragile… but still whole.”
Lance buried himself further into his neck.
“That was very poetic. And very gay.”
“Two for one,” Keith murmured with a smile. “Besides, I’m carrying the love of my life. Not much point in hiding it.”
Lance laughed. Weak, broken, but real. And that was enough.
“Oh god… shut up or I’ll melt before we even reach the cot.”
“Too late,” Keith teased, crossing the doorway. “You’re already melting in my arms.”
“I’m not that easy to melt…” Lance muttered, smiling faintly as he met his gaze. “But with you… maybe I don’t mind.”
Keith reached the cot and, with near-reverent care, laid him down on the soft sheets. Lance exhaled as the mattress welcomed his exhausted body. Keith moved to step back, but Lance tugged at his shirt collar with a strength that clearly wasn’t from his muscles.
“What is it?” Keith asked, leaning over, one brow raised.
Lance looked up at him with blue eyes still dulled but alive—so alive. They shone as if his soul had been handed back to him.
“Just… stay a second longer.”
Keith stayed there, bent over him, breath caught between fear and longing.
“Don’t let go yet,” Lance said softly. “I’m still half-convinced this is a dream… one with way too much shampoo and muscles.”
Keith laughed under his breath. And without thinking, he leaned down, brushed his knuckles against Lance’s cheek, and then said it:
“I love you, Lance.”
Lance blinked. Then smiled. A tired, cracked, but completely happy smile.
“Again with that?” he teased. “You’re gonna make me fall for you…”
“‘Gonna’?” Keith arched his brows.
“Shhh. I’m weak. You’ve got me in a vulnerable state. Totally unfair.”
“Then let’s take advantage of it,” Keith murmured, and lowered his head.
The kiss was slow, soft, heavy with months of anguish, fear, and love held back. Not desperate. It was a promise. Saying I’ve got you without words.
When they parted, Lance rested his forehead against Keith’s, eyes closed.
“So was that… like… official?” he asked, half laughing.
“Did it feel like a rehearsal to you?” Keith answered, brushing his cheek.
“Then we’re dating.”
“God, you’re unbearable,” Keith muttered, but his smile was so full of love he looked straight out of a galactic telenovela.
“And you’re crazy about me. Confirmed, kiss and all.”
Keith only shook his head, amused, settling into the chair at his side. Still holding his hand.
“We’re boyfriends, right?” Lance whispered, as if he still couldn’t believe it.
Keith laced their fingers together.
“Since long ago. You just finally said it.”