Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing that Keith has learned to do in life, it’s how to keep himself hidden.

That’s what anyone like him has to learn to do if they want to survive: hide. Some would say that makes them cowards, but those people are the same ones who think all the stories they were told growing up in Greek mythology are just that—myths, and nothing more. People like Keith don’t get that kind of luxury. They don’t get to choose whether or not to believe in the gods when it’s a matter of life or death.

Not that he really had a choice, but in Keith’s case he took that skill and applied it to… everything. Every circumstance, every situation, every aspect of himself even when he didn’t have to. It was just his way of coping, he supposes. After all, he’s been on the run since the ripe old age of nine, after his father died defending him from something that even today Keith wouldn’t be able to properly identify. For a long while he was totally and utterly alone, mostly by choice but also by necessity. He had no idea who he could trust. It was easiest not to trust anyone at all.

Because after all the running, and the falling, and the hurting—after everything, Keith learned how to hide every part of himself. He’d like to tell himself that was a choice too, but at the end of the day he knows that would be a lie. At some point it just became second nature, an instinctive method of self-preservation he’s not very proud of but uses to his advantage more often than not. Even now, people tell him that he’s standoffish, hard to read, even unapproachable at times. Frankly, he’d like to keep it that way. In his experience, one friend gained will only become another friend lost in the end. He’s tired of losing people.

And yet, there’s a small handful of people who have managed to break down the walls he’s so determinedly built up over the years. There’s Shiro, who Keith ran into when he was eleven by the sheer force of luck and became something of a brother figure. There’s Adam, whose dry sense of humor and quick wit are always just what Keith needs to let loose and feel at ease, both with the world and with himself. 

There are others that Keith has slowly let in, who were patient enough to wait for him to open up in the first place. There’s Allura, who always seems to know when he needs space and when he needs comfort, and Romelle, who keeps his attitude in check and keeps him from taking himself too seriously. Pidge is a lot like him, understands the difference between wanting quiet versus wanting to be alone. Hunk knows exactly how to stretch his boundaries without ever crossing any lines until Keith realizes he’s already been gently coaxed across them himself.

And then, there are the ones who have let themselves in, without Keith having any say in it whatsoever. Or at least, there’s one person in particular.

That would be Lance.

He and Lance aren’t enemies, by any means. They butt heads a lot, sure, and Lance declared a so-called rivalry between them on the very day that Keith arrived at camp with Shiro, for reasons unknown. It used to drive him crazy—the constant bickering, the jabbing, all the ridiculous accusations of showing off or “one-upping” when Keith was never trying to one-up anyone in the first place. So it took a while, but all things considered, their relationship now is more akin to a competitive friendship than anything, something that Keith has been secretly grateful for. Right now, Lance is one of the very few people at camp that Keith thinks he can justifiably label as a friend.

Because somewhere in between all of the sparring, and the competing, and the teasing, something changed. At first Keith couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but when he did… phew. Sometimes he still kind of wishes he hadn’t. Because if he thought it had been impossible not to rise to Lance’s bait or resist his goading into pointless games before, then it’s certainly impossible now. Shiro keeps telling him he’s not subtle about it. That’s the worst part, Keith thinks.

That only makes it hurt more.

The thing is, Keith knows that Lance knows how he feels about him. He’s not all too sure if Lance knows Keith knows he knows, but Keith does know that—okay, maybe it’s a little complicated. But if one thing’s for sure, it’s that ever since Keith figured it out, he’s become that much more painstakingly aware of the way he acts around Lance, and the way he acts around Lance is… more than a little embarrassing, for more than a lot of reasons.

He literally can’t say no to the guy. Like, so much so that the thought of saying no never even crosses his mind until long after the fact. He’s always been impulsive, but there’s something about Lance that ridiculously amplifies his already poor impulse control and destroys every shred of self-control that Keith has worked so hard to gain. Every once in a while his brain just stops functioning. The walls that he’s spent years building up? Gone. It’s almost as if he becomes a different person entirely. 

I diagnose you with gay, Shiro has said, on many more than one occasion. 

Which is fair. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever had a crush on anyone like he does on Lance. Because Lance is funny, and smart, and crazy competitive but also surprisingly gentle when he wants to be. He can be loud and boisterous and to some might come across a bit arrogant, but Keith sees what he’s like outside the spotlight, too. For starters, he likes to dote on the younger campers, especially the newer ones who are scared and alone and have no idea what they’re supposed to be doing. He’s also much more perceptive than most give him credit for, always the first to notice when someone seems to be acting off as well as how to handle it. 

Plus, it’s not exactly hard to figure out who Lance’s godly parent is. Apparently his match-making record at camp is—well, unmatched, and he’s practically everyone’s first choice when they need relationship advice. From all Keith’s heard, his skincare routine is meticulous enough to rival his mom’s, for goodness sake. And from a purely objective standpoint, he’s charming, effortlessly so, and not excessively flirty but enough that it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially not by all the girls (Does it make Keith jealous? Who’s to say. Certainly not Keith). Keith would never go as far as to call him vain, but he knows Lance likes the attention, or at least isn’t bothered by it.

Not to mention, Lance is very… look, he’s pretty, okay? Keith’s not above admitting that Lance is easy on the eyes. It’s one of the reasons he caught Keith’s attention in the first place, aside from the rivalry gimmick that Lance was so determined to uphold. His face is—nice. Clearly his skincare routine works the way it’s intended to, because his skin is always clear and practically glows in the sun, which in Keith’s case is rather distracting. He never has bad hair days, his freckles scatter across his nose and cheeks in such a way that it seems that every single one was intentionally placed, and his eyes are a deep brown but when the sun hits them just right they melt into golden pools that sparkle when he laughs and— anyway.

Lance is an Aphrodite kid, plain and simple. But it wasn’t until Keith learned about charmspeak that he started to grow a little suspicious, that he started to wonder if maybe his fully-fledged crush isn’t all that’s at play.

Only a handful of Aphrodite kids are actually gifted with the ability to charmspeak, but there’s no way that Lance isn’t one of them. Because now that Keith’s had time to think about it… it makes sense. He doesn’t know how else to describe it, but he gets these urges around Lance, like everything he says or does in response to him is already set in stone. At the very least, it explains why Keith is incapable of saying no to him. And, the fact that he can’t hide anything about himself from Lance, no matter how hard he tries. So again, Keith knows that Lance knows how he feels about him, and yet he uses charmspeak on him at every opportunity as if Keith isn’t already drawn to him like a moth to flame. 

Lance is Keith’s best friend, and Keith thought maybe he was Lance’s, but evidently not. Maybe Lance doesn’t actually care about him at all.

That’s what hurts the most.

“Keith!” 

The sound of someone calling his name snaps Keith out of his drifting thoughts, and he looks up from the sketchbook in his lap to see Lance waving animatedly at him from the other side of the meadow he’s settled in. The sight of him instantly makes something messy and complicated begin to swirl restlessly in Keith’s gut, but he has the good decency to lift his hand and wave back anyway, sighing to himself when Lance lights up and starts heading his way. 

Gods. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

“Keith,” Lance says again when he’s closer, panting slightly from having jogged the distance. “Dude, I’ve been looking for you for ages. Where’ve you been?”

“Right here,” Keith answers, watching Lance long enough for him to come to a stop just in front him and bend over to catch his breath, planting his hands on his knees. He tries not to think too much about how long “ages” might be, or why Lance went to the trouble to find him at all. “Do you need something?” 

Lance lifts his head and flashes a bright, toothy grin. “What, it’s not enough that I just wanna see my friend?

Keith scoffs, quickly returning his gaze to his sketchbook so that his hair falls into his face and hopefully obscures his blush. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? I thought we were rivals.”

Lance groans, stretching back to his full height and tossing his head back. “Oh, come on. You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” Keith confirms, smiling to himself as Lance grumbles and shuffles around, flopping into the grass beside him and rolling over onto his back. He pokes at the end of Keith’s pencil and Keith easily swats him away without sparing him so much as a glance.

“Watcha drawing?”

Keith peers out across the meadow towards the woods at the edge of camp, eyes following the neat, coordinated rows of pine trees extending across one side of the lake. “Just boring stuff.” 

“Can’t be that boring if you’re bothering to draw it,” Lance muses, crossing his arms behind his head and kicking one ankle up over his knee.

Keith hums, returning his attention to his half-finished sketch and adding a few more half-hearted strokes. “I guess.”

Truthfully, he started this drawing yesterday and came back out to the meadow this afternoon with the intention to finish it, but so far he’s made very little progress. His mind is much too distracted to focus on anything for more than a couple minutes at a time. Not that Lance needs to know that.

“Hey.” Lance nudges Keith’s elbow with his foot and Keith huffs at him. “Matt told me you didn’t show up for combat training today.” 

Keith grimaces slightly, but after a moment he sets his pencil down and flips his sketchbook shut with a sign of resignation. “I didn’t.”

Lance whistles lowly, lifting one eyebrow as Keith glances sideways at him. “Kolivan must be pissed.” 

“Probably,” Keith admits, leaning back on his hands and tipping his head back to watch some of the clouds drifting slowly across the sky. “Good thing I’m not scared of him.” 

“I don’t know how,” Lance mutters. “I’d rather fight a Minotaur than fight Kolivan when he’s angry.”

Keith snorts. “You? Fighting a Minotaur? Now that I’d like to see.”

“What?” Lance rises to the bait all too easily, a defiant glint in his eye as Keith chuckles to himself. “You don’t think I’ve got what it takes?”

“I never said that. Although you’d probably just tell it to sit back and watch the gun show, or something.”

“And it would totally listen,” Lance agrees emphatically, and Keith rolls his eyes while biting back a smile. “It’s part of my natural charm.” 

Keith’s amusement instantly fades and his smile falters. His gaze automatically flits over to Lance, whose eyes are closed and face tilted up to the sky, and as Keith’s own eyes roam his face he can’t seem to stop the all-too-familiar, desperate ache from flaring in his chest. He quickly looks away when Lance opens his eyes again, praying to the gods that he wasn’t just caught staring. Not that they’ve ever cared about him, anyway.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, tucking his knees into his chest and resting his chin on top. “Must be.” Either Lance doesn’t notice his rather sudden, subdued nature or simply elects not to mention it. Keith hopes for the former.

Wind blows gently across the meadow, stirring the grass and sending it rippling out in the direction of the lake. Keith watches the colors shift, waves of dark and light greens melting together and apart before the wind settles and the color fades into one again. He kind of wishes he could lay down in this very spot and be swallowed by it. It’d certainly make things a lot easier.

“So… why did you skip, anyway?”

It’s an innocent question, one that Keith doesn’t really want to answer honestly but already feels the urge to. He lowers one hand into the grass and brushes his palm across the blades, plucking a single piece out of the dirt and flicking it away. “I dunno. Just didn’t feel like it.” Maybe not the full truth, but not exactly a lie.

“You? Keith Kogane, not up for combat training?” Lance pulls his arms out from behind his head and props himself up on one elbow, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “You feeling okay?” 

No, Keith thinks, but definitely doesn’t say. Instead he shrugs. “I feel… normal.” 

“Pffft. There isn’t a single normal person here for miles, dude.” 

Despite the very complicated mess of emotions tangled up in Keith’s chest, he finds it somewhere in himself to laugh. “Fair enough.” 

Lance smiles in satisfaction and leans back down to settle himself into the grass. “Are you gonna be here for a while?” 

Keith sighs, glancing down at his sketchbook where it’s slid through his knees and onto the ground. There’s a decent amount of daylight left, and he doesn’t really feel like going back into the main part of camp while everyone else is still out and about. Maybe he can try to get a little more drawing done. “Probably.” 

“Mind if I stick around? I was gonna nap, anyway.” There’s something distinctly casual about Lance’s tone, a nonchalance that sounds almost too genuine not to be forced. Keith peers over at him, but his eyes are already closed again, the late afternoon sun dancing across his face and bringing out the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He always looks brighter in the sun, as if it was made specifically for him to lay in rather than the other way around.

Shiro had teased Keith for sharing that with him once, because everyone looks brighter in the sun, Keith. And he’s right, of course, but… it’s different. Sure, everyone looks brighter, but maybe not in the same ways. Not like Lance. 

“Nah,” he answers finally, tearing his gaze away before he can get caught staring again and flipping his sketchbook open. “I don’t mind.” 

They lapse into silence after that, but Keith misses the way Lance opens one eye to look up at him, brow furrowing slightly before closing it again. 

Keith does not, in fact, get any more drawing done at all.

He’d already been distracted before, and now that the very source of his distraction is lying down next to him, long limbs sprawled in the grass and snoring softly, it’s only gotten worse. Keith catches himself staring more times than he’d like to admit before making himself shift around so that his back is to Lance completely, but even then he can’t concentrate. There’s too much going on in his head.

So instead he just… sits. He sits and watches the sky change colors and the sun set slowly across the lake, listens to the wind rustling through the trees and the distant chirping of crickets and cicadas coming out of hiding. His sketchbook lies abandoned in his lap, long before the first stars begin to come out and light up the sky, and when they do his mind is flooded with all sorts of memories that only serve to distract him further. He unconsciously maps out a few constellations with his eyes, thinking about all the nights he and Lance have snuck out of their cabins after curfew to meet with Allura and Romelle so they could stargaze together. All the times he and Lance have laid in the grass side-by-side, all the times Keith has looked at Lance’s hand just inches from his and wondered what would happen if he reached out and—

He mentally slaps himself. Nothing would happen, he tells himself firmly. Lance doesn’t like you like that. And even if he did, he wouldn’t have waited this long to do something about it. Not when he already knows how you feel.

An owl screeches from somewhere deep in the forest, its call echoing all the way across the meadow to reach him. “Same,” Keith mutters. He exhales a long, quiet sigh and looks over his shoulder at Lance, still napping peacefully in the exact position he’d gone to sleep in. It’s always been a mystery to Keith how anyone can sleep so still, and he takes a moment to appreciate Lance’s wide open mouth and the drool trailing down one cheek before shifting back around to face him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out to nudge Lance’s shoulder. “Lance. Wake up.” 

It takes a second. “Mm,” Lance mumbles, smacking his mouth a little as he stirs slightly, then rolls over onto his side. 

Keith pokes his cheek. “Laaance.” 

“Wha?” Lance wakes with a jolt, blinking several times and squinting before he seems to remember where he is. “Oh. Hey.” 

Keith snorts as he sits up and rubs his eyes, hopelessly endeared by the tuft of hair sticking up at the back of his head. “Sorry. It’s getting dark, so we should probably head back to our cabins before someone comes looking for us.”

He scoops up his sketchbook and climbs to his feet as Lance yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeesh. When you said you were gonna be here for a while, I didn’t think you meant this long.”

“Don’t tell me you had somewhere else to be?” Keith raises an eyebrow, offering his hand.

Lance immediately reaches out and takes it, huffing as he allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Keith moves to let go, but Lance’s grip only seems to tighten and Keith is almost certain he’s imagining it until Lance smiles at him. Really smiles at him, something much different than his usual teasing grins and self-assured smirks, something much softer and more authentic. It looks really good on him, Keith thinks. 

“Nope,” Lance says, and it’s only then that Keith realizes they haven’t let go of each other, hands still clasped tightly between them. “Nowhere else to be.”

Keith’s eyes widen, and for once he genuinely thanks every god he can name off the top of his head that it’s dark enough now to hopefully mask the rapidly spreading blush on his face. Because this always happens—Lance always does this to him, throws it at him when he least expects it and he hates that it has such a strong effect on him but he can’t help it, not when they’re alone and this close and Lance is looking at him like maybe he actually means something to him—

He all but snatches his hand out of Lance’s grasp, clearing his throat and quickly stepping back as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Okay, well—uh, we should probably get going.” 

Lance blinks, his own hand hovering in the air for a split second longer before he draws away, too. “Yeah, probably.” 

Keith nods sharply, then swiftly turns on his heel and starts in the direction of camp, hoping that Lance will simply follow.

Their trip back to the cabins is quiet, for the most part. Lance jogs to catch up at the edge of the meadow and slows to match Keith’s pace, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walk side-by-side along the lakeshore. It’s almost fully dark now, the last rays of sunlight peeking out from the horizon and bathing the water in a soft golden glow, and by the time they veer off shore to cut through the wood’s edge, the sun is gone completely.

Keith has always liked the woods. There’s a certain stillness about them, even when there’s so much unseen life within them at all times. It’s always there if you know where to look for it. To him it’s comforting, somewhere he can be alone and open with himself without feeling quite so cut off or isolated. But right now, gaze kept straight ahead and sketchbook clutched tightly against his chest as he walks next to Lance—something about it now feels stifling. Maybe it’s just Keith, maybe Lance feels it too, but either way it makes Keith want to hide, digs up that instinctive urge to run that he thought he’d finally buried so long ago.

Maybe that’s the point. Lance has always had a way of pulling things out of Keith that no one else could. Today is no exception.

The first cabin has just come into view through the trees when Lance decides to break the silence. “Hey, wait a second.” 

Keith stutters to a stop and turns around, blinking in confusion. Lance is standing a few steps behind him where he’d come to an abrupt halt, and even in the dark Keith can make out the strange sort of expression on his face, something uncharacteristically tense and uncertain. He slips his hands out of his pockets as if he means to do something with them, but they remain stiffly at his sides as he opens his mouth and then closes it again. 

Oh, boy. 

“What?” Keith asks, doing his best to feign nonchalance despite the foreboding feeling that’s already begun to take over. 

His heart skips a nervous beat as Lance bites his lip, averting his gaze and shifting his weight from one side to the other. He looks… nervous. And when Lance is nervous, Keith gets nervous, because Lance is never nervous about anything so what in the world is he so nervous about now? 

“I just—” Lance starts finally, then falters. He flexes his fingers, then shoves his hands right back into his pockets before clearing his throat. “So, I was kind of looking for you earlier because I wanted to check up on you.” 

Keith’s heart skips another beat, for an entirely different reason this time. Stop that, he thinks to himself. His heart skips a third beat as if out of spite. “Check up on me?” 

“Yeah, dude. You’ve just seemed a little… I don’t know.” Lance shuffles his feet, lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck. “Off, lately? And, like, super distant.” 

It’s Keith’s turn to look away this time, his gaze falling to the ground as guilt instantly pools in the pit of his stomach, heavy and ice-cold. “I don’t mean to be,” he mumbles. And he means that. He doesn’t mean to close himself off but it’s a force of habit, and it’s the easiest way to keep himself from getting hurt any more than he already has been. It’s just a built-in survival mechanism, one that’s kept him alive this long but has admittedly kept him from getting close to very many people. He really does try not to let it control him, but this week has been a bit harder on him than others.

“Plus you’ve been skipping more than just training, and no one knows where you are half the time and—just, I know you need your alone time. I totally get that, but recently it’s seemed pretty extreme.” Keith hunches his shoulders as Lance continues, voice softening. “It’s not like you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I—” Keith starts, and then realizes that lying won’t get him out of this conversation, no matter how much he wishes it could. Lance will only drag the truth out of him sooner or later if Keith doesn’t give it to him himself. “There’s been a lot on my mind,” he finishes slowly. Another half-truth can’t hurt. 

It’s not quite enough to satisfy Lance, though. “You barely ate anything at dinner today.”

Keith’s head snaps up, brow furrowing. “You were watching me at dinner?”

“What? No!” Lance quickly amends as he waves his hands out in front of him, voice going up half a pitch. “I wasn’t watching you! I mean… I asked Matt if he had noticed anything weird, and he mentioned that you haven’t been eating much. Among other things.” 

Keith presses his lips together, curling his fingers around the spine of his sketchbook and crossing his arms over his chest. Matt is usually so chatty at dinner, he didn’t think he’d be paying enough attention to notice. “I’ve been eating plenty,” he lies, kicking at a rock on the ground and watching it disappear into the dark. “Anyway, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Lance frowns. “I already am. Worrying about you, I mean.” Keith doesn’t answer and continues to stare stubbornly at his feet, but he can feel Lance’s gaze on him, steady and unwavering as he waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he pulls his hands back out of his pockets and steps forward, reaching out as if to touch him. “Are you sure that—” 

“Yes, Lance!” Keith interrupts, tossing one hand in the air in frustration. “I’m positive, nothing is wrong. Now can we please just drop it?” He immediately regrets speaking so harshly when Lance’s outstretched hand freezes in midair, and his eyes widen slightly before he quickly pulls away. The following silence is much too loud for Keith’s comfort. 

“Okay,” Lance answers eventually, sounding resigned. “Fine. Consider it dropped.” He hesitates, scratching idly at his wrist while Keith refolds his arms tightly across his chest. “Look, if anything, I just…” Lance’s gaze flicks toward the ground for a moment before coming back up, and he takes a deep breath. “I want you to know that I’ve got your back, okay? You can tell me anything.” 

There’s absolutely no reason for Keith to react the way that he does. Lance is being genuine for once, stepping away from the cautious, teasing script they usually follow and offering something much more thoughtful and sincere. It should make Keith happy knowing that Lance actually wants to be his friend, knowing that Lance cared enough to even notice that something was off in the first place, but instead it only makes everything so much more complicated, sends so many conflicting feelings surging through Keith’s chest that his first instinct is to lash out. Clearly his emotions are running high, but the last thing he should be doing is taking it out on Lance. 

And yet, that’s exactly what he does.

“Well it’s not like you’ve ever given me a choice, now have you?” he snaps. 

Lance’s expression shifts from concern to bewilderment in an instant. He blinks owlishly. “What?” 

Keith scoffs, and he hates the taste of his own bitterness in his mouth but now that it’s there he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. “Oh, come on, Lance. ‘You can tell me anything,’ seriously? Way to rub it in.” 

“Rub it in,” Lance echoes quietly, staring. “I was just…” 

“And don’t pretend like we don’t both know what you’ve been doing. After all this time, the very least you could do is own up to it.” 

“I—wait. Keith, what are you talking about?” Lance asks incredulously. “Is this because I asked Matt about you? I’m sorry, okay? I promise I’ll back off if you want me to, but I was just trying to—”

“You know that’s not what I’m upset about!” 

Lance stops mid-sentence, mouth hanging open for a second before he exhales. “Then what?”

“Please, Lance,” Keith pleads, shaking his head as heat begins to build behind his eyes unbidden. “Don’t do this to me. I know you know, alright? It’s embarrassing enough without you using it on me when you know you don’t actually need it.” 

“Okay, I’m officially lost,” Lance announces, crossing his hands in a time-out motion and taking a small step forward only for Keith to mirror him, taking an even larger step back. That’s when he seems to realize that whatever this is—whatever is happening, whatever Keith is so worked up about, it’s hurt him. Keith is hurt, and when Keith is hurt, he runs. Lance seems to go unusually still, as if he’s afraid one more wrong move will cause Keith to bolt. “Dude, I swear to you I have no idea what you’re talking about. Using what on you?” 

Gods, if that doesn’t make Keith’s blood boil. “Are you serious?” 

Lance, to his credit, is doing a great job at appearing genuinely confused. “I—yes? Did I do something wrong?” 

“You tell me,” Keith fires back, even though Lance hadn’t spoken with nearly as much vehemence. “Honestly, Lance, it doesn’t take a genius to see what you’ve been doing to me even though you know how I feel about you!”

“How—” Lance’s voice wavers. The crease in his brow disappears and his eyes widen slightly, lips parting in shock. “How you feel about me?” 

For just a split second, Keith’s blind indignation falters. For a split second he slows down just enough to really look at the expression on Lance’s face, to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s got things a little mixed up. After all this time spent sulking and and getting his feelings hurt, maybe he’s made too many assumptions and jumped to too many conclusions. Then again, he’s made it this far without being given any reason to think otherwise. 

His gaze hardens as he draws back a step, mouth pressed into a thin line and shaking his head. “Forget it,” he mumbles, turning around to make his leave. 

“Wait! Keith, please!” Lance catches Keith’s wrist and tugs just hard enough to make him stop. “If I hurt you somehow then I want to fix it. If you’d just explain to me exactly what’s wrong—”

“Your charmspeak, Lance!” Keith cries, ripping himself out of Lance’s grasp and whirling on him, the first tear of months’ worth of frustration and humiliation and an overwhelming accumulation of confusion and longing and feelings spilling over and sliding down his cheek. “Stop using it on me!” 

As dark as it is, and as blurry as Keith’s vision is, he can still clearly make out the way that Lance’s face pales. His entire body freezes, his eyes widen, and his jaw goes slack. “My what?” he squeaks.

“I can’t take it anymore, okay?” Keith has stopped listening, and he hates himself for letting his emotions finally get the best of him but he’s already fallen too far over the edge, and there’s no going back. “You’ve had your fun, now just—just, leave me alone.” It almost seems anticlimactic, but with that, he turns his back on Lance and leaves. He ignores Lance’s distant, belated calls asking him again to wait, to stay, blocks it all out and refuses to look back. He’s done playing games.

Lance doesn’t follow this time. 

Keith doesn’t stop until he’s made it out of the woods, until he’s passed all of the other cabins on the way to his own and thrown open the door of the Hermes cabin, until he’s stomped his way past the other kids getting ready for bed and toward the back, where his bunk sits in the very corner. 

“Hey, you’re back!” Matt’s head appears from the top bunk, his hair a disheveled mess from where he’s been sprawled against his pillows reading a book. He grips the wooden railing and leans over it with a grin. “I was wondering where you went off to. Lance was looking for you, by the way. Everything alright?”

Keith ignores him, too. He shoves his sketchbook into the bag at the food of his bed, strips off his shoes and jacket, climbs underneath the covers and rolls over to face the wall, all without saying a word. It’s a bit childish, but at least this way no one can see the angry, frustrated tears that continue to fall long past Matt has given up on coaxing him into conversation, long past lights out, long past all his cabin mates have settled in for the night. No matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t sleep. 

He wonders if he’s the only one.

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Days go by. 

Keith and Lance don’t speak to each other, mostly because Keith goes so far out of his way to avoid him that he hardly speaks to anyone at all.

It’s not very hard—for the majority of the day he simply has to keep his head down and keep busy during camp activities, which are typically divided between cabins anyway. During meals he sits at the very end of the Hermes table, the end furthest from the Aphrodite table even though they’re on complete opposite sides of the mess hall already. And as soon as all campers are officially released for the day, he goes straight back to his cabin and climbs into bed where he tries and tries and tries but never succeeds to sleep or block how utterly awful he feels. 

He’s exhausted. Keeping his eyes open during the day when he’s not actively training is by far the most difficult task he’s faced with, yet he can’t get a wink of sleep once he actually gets the chance.

Matt keeps trying to initiate friendly, light-hearted conversation over meals and while they’re getting ready for bed at the end of the day, and Keith feels badly for ignoring him but he doesn’t have it in him to engage. Not to mention, if he’d been talking to Lance about him before, there’s no guarantee he’s not talking to Lance about him now; although, he’s not sure exactly what Lance could possibly have to say about him right now. He’s not sure he wants to know. 

The worst part is that he misses Lance. He never realized until now just how much time he really spent with him, and now that they’re not on speaking terms, it’s blindingly apparent how much he depended on Lance for… a lot of things, actually. Despite everything, Lance was always there when Keith needed to complain about training, when he needed someone to spar with, when he needed someone to listen—he was just always there, period. The first person Keith would go to during a time like this is the very person he doesn’t have the option of going to anymore. 

It’s a lose-lose situation. Keith literally can’t win. What else is new? 

“You’re being sloppy.” 

Keith hits the ground with a grunt for what has to be the dozenth time today, the hilt of his sword slipping out of his grasp and clattering loudly against the concrete. He huffs a piece of hair out of his face and scowls up at the source of the weight on his chest. “Am not.” 

“Are too,” Shiro retorts, lifting the tip of his own sword from where it had been resting against Keith’s chestplate. “Honestly, are you even trying?” 

He offers a hand to Keith, who sighs as he takes it and allows himself to be hauled back to his feet. “Obviously I’m trying.” 

“Well, try harder,” Shiro quips, chuckling to himself as Keith rolls his eyes and bends down to pick up his sword. 

Usually at this time of day Keith would be in his bed sulking by now, but today he wasn’t quite so fortunate to make it that far. Shiro intercepted him on his way to the Hermes cabin and instead dragged him off to the training ring, where they’ve been for the last half hour with Adam. Keith feels like he’s not training so much as getting his butt kicked, especially considering that he’s too drained to do much more than defend himself, which is… very off-brand for him. 

He grips the hilt of his sword with both hands and reluctantly resumes his defensive stance as Shiro gets back into position. “You do know that you’re the most powerful demigod at camp, right?”

Adam scoffs from where he sits on one of the concrete steps leading down into the enclosure, looking up from his book for the first time since they’ve been there. “That’s debatable. I could take him.” 

Shiro playfully sticks his tongue out at him. “You wish, sweetheart.” 

“Need I remind you of the reason you asked me out in the first place?” Keith laughs loudly as Shiro’s face flushes, his skin turning almost pink enough to blend in with the scar across his nose. Adam takes pity on him though, simply smirking in satisfaction before returning to his book. “Besides, I’m not the only one. Allura could take down both you and Mount Olympus itself if she really wanted to.” 

Keith and Shiro grimace at each other, because, well—Adam is right. Absolutely no one in their right mind wants to be on Allura’s bad side, especially not since she’s become so skilled in manipulating the Mist, and especially not after The Incident. (Long story short, Lotor is permanently purple now. At least, so Allura says, but Keith has a sneaking suspicion that she could easily reverse it if she wanted to.)

“Fair point,” Shiro concedes, lowering his sword briefly to roll his shoulders. 

A gust of wind passes through the clearing, and as it blows through Keith’s hair he can’t help but let his eyes flutter closed at the feeling of it on his face. He’s been doing his best to power through it, but he’d be lying if he said the lack of sleep wasn’t getting to him. That combined with the heat today has given him a massive headache, and getting up or moving too fast is a fast ticket to dizziness, although it typically fades after only a moment. Maybe if he’d actually eaten something substantial at lunch or breakfast, the latter wouldn’t be as much of a problem.

Shiro is watching him curiously when he remembers to open his eyes, and he quickly averts his gaze as Shiro steps forward and places a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Seriously, bud, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Keith mumbles, shrugging his hand away and stepping out of reach but regretting it when he sees the hurt flash across Shiro’s face. “Sorry, I’m just… I’ve been tired.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro and Adam glance at each other. “Maybe we should take a break,” Shiro offers.

Keith doesn’t need to be told twice. He immediately breezes past Shiro and practically falls onto the first step, grateful for the distraction and the chance to finally be off his feet. Shiro gives him an odd look as he passes by to climb up a few more steps and sit by Adam. Keith dutifully ignores him.

“So,” Adam starts, clearing his throat while Keith rather carelessly tosses his sword onto the ground at his feet. “Speaking of… you know. Asking people out.” 

Keith nearly chokes. “Oh my gods, please,” he groans, letting his head fall back. “Now is so not the time.” 

“I didn’t even say anything!” 

“Let’s keep it that way.” 

“Keith, c’mon,” Shiro sighs. “We’re just trying to help.”

“Help with what?”

“I told you he wouldn’t listen,” Adam mutters.

Keith frowns, twisting around and bracing himself on the next step to squint up at Shiro. “Your whole spiel today about ‘brotherly bonding’ over training was just a ruse, wasn’t it?” 

Shiro stares at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Ugh.” 

“What?” Shiro cries, and Adam snorts as Keith turns his back on them and crosses his arms over his chest. “I just—okay, fine! So maybe it was, but clearly something’s wrong so you can’t blame me for being worried!” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Keith insists, hunching his shoulders and glaring down at the ground. “You’re worrying over nothing.” 

“Yeah, right. You haven’t talked to Lance in three days.” 

Keith winces. “Who told you that?” 

“So it is about Lance,” Adam muses. 

Keith groans again, his bangs falling into his face as he squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temples. “Guys, seriously. I really don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Can you at least tell us what happened?” Shiro presses. 

“I can.” 

“… Will you?” Adam amends, when Keith declines to continue. 

“Of course not.” 

“Oh, come on!” Shiro complains. “We’ll just keep bothering you about it until you do.” 

Which is true. Shiro and Adam are great at bothering him into submission. Keith sighs heavily, propping his elbows against his knees and dropping his face into his hands. It’s so hot outside. He’s hot, he’s tired, his palms are scraped and stinging with sweat, his entire body aches and the last thing he wants to be doing is talking about why he’s suddenly not on speaking terms with his best friend and person he’s had a mega crush on for over a year. At least in his cabin he would be able to sulk comfortably.

“I finally stood up for myself,” he answers at length, scrubbing his hands down his face and kicking at a broken chunk of concrete on the ground. “That’s what happened.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, long enough that although Keith can’t see them, he’s sure that Adam and Shiro are sharing another look. 

“Stood up for yourself?” Shiro repeats cautiously.

Keith scoffs. “Seriously? Not you guys, too.” A sudden, sharp zap right at the small of his back makes him yelp, and he whips around to see Shiro quickly lower his hand back into his lap. “Shiro!” 

“Clearly we’re missing an important piece of the puzzle here,” Adam says dryly, expression deadpan as Keith scowls and rubs his back. “You stood up for yourself because…? What did Lance do to you?” 

“Nothing,” Keith snaps, and then frustratedly throws his hands in the air at the bewildered look that earns him from both Shiro and Adam. “I mean—he did, just not in the moment, it was— gods. Just, he wouldn’t stop pressing me, I got upset and then I called him out, okay?”

Adam sets his book down and cups his chin in his hand. Shiro blinks at him. “Called him out on what?” 

“Uh, hello?” Keith waves an arm in the air, annoyed. Honestly, is he the only one who pays attention to anything around here? “The charmspeak? What else would I be talking about? He already knows how I feel about him and yet he uses it on me all the time. Maybe I finally got sick of it and snapped. Sue me.” 

Apparently it takes the two of them a moment to process. For a good twenty seconds or so they all simply stare at each other, and frankly, Keith is rather perturbed by the lack of a response. That is, until Shiro chokes, throwing an arm over his face to muffle his laughter while Adam sighs deeply, clear exasperation etched into every single line on his face. Keith, understandably, is not pleased by these reactions.

“Why the heck are you laughing?” 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro answers breathlessly, falling against Adam’s side and leaning heavily on his shoulder for support. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you—oh, gods—”

“Keith,” Adam says calmly, completely unfazed by Shiro’s desperate attempts to control himself. “You’re confused.” 

“I am not!” Keith retorts, voice cracking slightly and sending Shiro into another fit of giggles. “I thought you guys would be on my side!” 

“Of course we would be. If, you know, anything you’re saying was actually possible.” 

Keith glares at him. “What do you mean possible, I’m telling you that’s what happened.” 

“Keith,” Adam repeats calmly, and Keith is about to get onto him for continuously saying his name in such an obnoxiously annoying way until he finishes his thought. “What cabin do you think Lance is in?” 

“Uhhh, Aphrodite?” Keith responds incredulously. “As in the only cabin with kids who can charmspeak? Obviously.” Shiro howls. “I still don’t understand why this is so funny! You asked what happened and I told you, end of story!”

Adam takes his glasses off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lance can’t charmspeak.” 

“Yes, he can—”

“Except he can’t, because he’s an Apollo kid, Keith.” 

Keith’s heart stops. His blood freezes, his entire body goes ice cold, and for a moment he’s rendered speechless as the words process fully in his mind. They don’t quite compute at first, struggling to assimilate into Keith’s current thoughts when they conflict so strongly with the ones that are already there, but the second that it clicks Keith feels his stomach sink all the way to his toes. It takes all his effort to find his voice again, staring at Adam while Shiro continues to die. Metaphorically speaking. 

“Okay,” he finally manages, his throat dry. “Stop messing with me.” 

“I promise you, we’re not,” Adam answers. 

“Oh my gods,” Shiro wheezes, leaning down and putting his head between his knees. “Keith.” 

“I—but—no he’s not,” Keith insists weakly, but there’s already a part of him that’s slowly, painfully realizing— oh, no. “You’re lying.” 

“Once again, we’re not,” Adam contends, readjusting his glasses. 

“Keith,” Shiro gasps, lifting his head and clutching his side as his entire body trembles with laughter. “Please don’t tell me that you told Lance off for using charmspeak on you.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then: “Oh no,” says Keith. 

“And then proceeded to storm off before he had the chance to explain to you that he is incapable of using charmspeak because he is not, in fact, an Aphrodite kid.” 

The rest of Keith’s vocabulary has vanished in an instant. "Oh, no.” He shoots to his feet and stumbles back a few steps, nearly tripping over his own sword in the process. 

No. Nonononono. 

Even Adam has cracked at this point, his calm, indifferent facade giving way to amusement as Shiro snickers uncontrollably into his shoulder. And maybe Keith would find it funny too, if he weren’t so completely and utterly horrified by this new revelation. Because if Lance is really an Apollo kid, then that means everything Keith said to him in the woods the other day about “knowing” and charmspeak and feelings —if Lance can’t actually charmspeak, and if he didn’t actually know about Keith’s feelings for him, then Keith accused him of doing things he’s literally incapable of doing and then stripped his own heart bare for Lance to see. Turns out Keith is just infinitely more smitten than he thought, and also an idiot.

“No,” Keith says again, knees wobbling slightly as he turns, unsure of what he’s doing or where he’s going or what he intends to do at all, but he doesn’t have the time to figure that out, anyway.

Apparently the sudden, overwhelming stress of the situation was enough to push Keith’s body to its breaking point. Next thing he knows he’s on the ground, crouched down on all fours and struggling to breathe. His chest aches, his head is spinning, everything is hot and evidently his lungs have forgotten how to function. He’s vaguely aware of his name being called—by Adam or Shiro, he’s not sure—and footsteps scrambling across concrete until they’re both at his side, all traces of their previous amusement vanishing in an instant.

“Whoa, hey,” Shiro soothes, gripping one of Keith’s arms to steady him, laying the other on his back. “Keith, relax.” 

Keith coughs, slapping a shaky hand over his mouth as bile rises up the back of his throat. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Just breathe,” Shiro says gently, even as he gathers some of Keith’s hair and holds it back, just in case. “Calm down, everything’s fine.”  

Adam presses his hand to Keith’s forehead as he groans. “Oh my gods, Keith, no wonder Shiro’s been kicking your ass more easily than normal today. You’re so clammy, when’s the last time you had some water?”

“I don’t know,” Keith croaks. 

Shiro winces as he coughs again, but thankfully nothing comes up. “Alright, I officially feel bad for laughing. Have you even been eating?”

“Not really.” 

“Sleeping?”

“… No.”

Adam removes his hand from Keith’s forehead, muttering something involving ‘ridiculous’ and ‘such a teenager’ under his breath. “I’m gonna go grab someone on duty from the infirmary.”

Shiro sighs and gently touches Keith’s shoulder as Adam climbs to his feet and hurries up the steps leading out of the amphitheater. “Do you think you can stand?” he asks softly.

Keith makes an unintelligible noise, hanging his head now that it’s started to pound. “I think I’d rather die.” 

He really should start keeping track of how many times he’s been sighed at today. “Alright, drama queen. Brace yourself.” 

It’s all Keith can do to let Shiro pull his arm around his shoulders and slowly help him to his feet, only to immediately scoop him up with ease to carry him bridal style. Keith hardly has the energy to protest, and the almost challenging look Shiro gives him makes any complaint die in Keith’s throat, anyway. Instead he screws his eyes shut and turns his face into Shiro’s chest to block out the sun. His head is killing him.

“Don’t drop me,” he mumbles. 

“Psh. As if,” Shiro answers, shifting so that he holds Keith more securely against his chest as if to prove himself as he starts up the steps. “I could toss you over my shoulder like a wet towel if I really wanted to.” 

“Please don’t.” 

“Fine, as long as you don’t throw up on me. Assuming you even have anything in your body to throw up.”

“No promises,” Keith groans. 

Shiro shakes his head as he clears the last step and starts in the direction of the infirmary. “For the record, this is why you should just talk to people when you have issues, like a normal human being.” 

Keith actually chuckles to himself at that, which is a pretty good sign that he’s gone a little bit loopy. “None of us are normal.”

“Hey, that’s my line.” 

It takes a second for Keith to realize that a third voice has entered the conversation, and even longer to realize that he and Shiro have stopped moving altogether. He frowns, turning his head and peeling his eyes open long enough to make out the faces of both Adam and the owner of the third voice staring down at him. Then a jolt of pain shoots through his skull and his eyes snap back shut with a grimace. “Ugh.”

“Gee, thanks,” Lance says.

“I don’t think that was directed at you,” Shiro offers apologetically. 

“It’s your lucky day, champ,” Adam hums cheerfully, patting Keith’s cheek. “I found your favorite camper.” 

Gods, this is humiliating. Keith doesn’t even have the energy to glare at Adam. Heck, he isn’t even present enough to fully comprehend just how embarrassing the entire situation is. To be fair, that’s probably for the best.

“What happened?” he hears Lance ask, resisting the urge to curl in on himself and completely bury his face in Shiro’s chest like he might have done when he was younger. 

“Honestly, we don’t really know,” Shiro admits, and Keith’s eyes flutter at the touch of someone’s fingers brushing his bangs out of his face. “I think the fatigue finally got to him. He says he hasn’t been eating or sleeping.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Lance mutters, voice heavy with exasperation. “Did he pass out while you guys were training?” 

Keith is lucid enough to feel a sharp twinge of panic at the notion that someone is about to have to explain to Lance why his body decided now was a good time to finally shut down. “Uh…” Shiro trails off, sounding trapped and maybe a little guilty. “Well—”

“Not exactly,” Adam interrupts quickly, and Keith lets out a quiet breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Kind of hard to explain.” 

“It always is with him, isn’t it,” Lance says flatly, at which Adam snorts and Shiro barks out a laugh. “Anyway, I can take him from here.” 

Shiro makes a soft noise of surprise in the back of his throat. “Oh, are you sure? I can at least carry him the rest of the way to the infirmary—” 

“It’s okay, really. I’ve got him, you guys can go back to whatever you were doing.” 

Keith hears Shiro take in a breath as if to protest, but after a second he gives in and exhales. “Alright, whatever you say. C’mon, Keith.”

Well. This should be fun.

Transferring Keith from one person’s arms to another’s is, to put it mildly, kind of a major hassle. With a little more gentle prompting from Shiro, Keith manages to open his eyes long enough to extract his arm from around Shiro’s shoulders while Lance pulls the other around his own, and it takes more effort than it’s probably worth for Lance and Shiro to properly adjust without dropping him completely, but they make it work. Keith’s cheeks burn as he settles against Lance’s chest, hyper-aware of where Lance’s arms press against his back and under his knees. 

They all know it would’ve been infinitely easier for Shiro to simply carry him the rest of the way. Keith can’t help but wonder why Lance was so adamant about carrying him himself, especially after the stunt Keith pulled in the woods the other day. Gods, the fact that Lance has such an effect on him even when he’s ridiculously dehydrated and sleep-deprived is incredibly concerning.

He keeps his gaze down as Lance turns and starts across the short distance remaining between them and the infirmary. It’s not very difficult; the sun hurts his eyes and only serves to exacerbate his now massive headache, which gives him a convenient excuse to avoid eye contact. Either way, Lance is so warm that Keith is struggling to keep his eyes open anyway, and he’s finding it harder and harder to remember why he’s supposed to feel as stiff and awkward as he does. 

By the time Lance bumps the door to the infirmary open with his hip and steps inside, Keith’s eyelids have grown so heavy that he couldn’t keep them open if he wanted to. He sort of loses awareness for a moment, relaxing in Lance’s hold and leaning shamelessly against his chest. There’s a bit of shuffling as Lance maneuvers through the small, crowded space toward the beds in the back, and when he finally starts to carefully, gently lower him down onto one, Keith is almost reluctant to let go. 

“Alright, here we go,” Lance grunts, ducking slightly to remove Keith’s arm from around his neck. “Don’t move, okay? Gimme a sec.” 

That’s fine. Keith wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Lance doesn’t wait for him to answer anyway, disappearing before Keith can even think to open his mouth. He hears Lance moving around on the other side of the room and the sound of a sink running before he returns a moment later with a glass of water. “Here.” 

With some help, Keith is able to sit up slowly enough that he doesn’t get too dizzy, although the feeling of Lance’s hand against the small of his back kind of distracts him from it. He doesn’t realize just how thirsty he is until he accepts the glass and cautiously takes the first sip, only to gulp the rest down in three seconds flat. Lance watches with a funny sort of smile on his face, clearly amused as Keith wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sheepishly hands the glass back to him.

“Now,” Lance sighs, setting it down on a nearby table and planting a hand on Keith’s chest, easing him back down onto the bed. “For the gods’ sake, Keith, sleep. Trust me when I say that’ll fix half your problems. We’ll deal with the rest when you wake up.” 

Keith’s eyes sting with the effort it takes not to give in to the urge to close them yet. “Okay,” he agrees, settling back into the pillows.

“I mean it. Six hours, minimum.” 

“M’kay,” Keith mumbles. He can already feel himself slipping, the throbbing in his head having diminished to a dull ache now that there’s some water in his system. His entire body sinks gratefully into the mattress, and he doesn’t even realize that his eyes have fallen closed until he feels Lance brushing his bangs out of his face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Lance’s voice is the last thing he hears before he loses his grip on that last thread of consciousness.

“You’re such an idiot,” he says quietly. Maybe Keith is just imagining it, but he detects a hint of fondness. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

So Keith does for the first time in days, as if Lance’s permission was all he really needed.

And they say Lance can’t charmspeak. 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

He wakes up to the sound of rain.

It’s comforting, quiet enough that it takes him a moment to even realize that he’s awake. The soft pattering against the roof and windows coaxes him out of a dreamless sleep and into awareness, his limbs heavy with sleep yet feeling weightless as he drifts in and out of wakefulness. Everything around him is so warm, and soothing, and for a long time he can’t quite bring himself to open his eyes, unwilling to let go of it completely. 

After a few days of no sleep at all, it’s a nice change of pace. 

Keith inhales slowly through his nose, stretching out his legs before exhaling and burrowing further underneath his covers, pressing his face into the pillow. His entire body practically aches with relief as it settles, which seems kind of contradictory but he’s not about to complain. He embraces the feeling, allows himself to enjoy it for a while longer as he listens to the rain continue its steady rhythm overhead.

Eventually his eyes flutter open of their own accord, and he blinks blearily as they adjust to the dark. He was so out of it before, he never really got a good look at the place before he passed out. Other than a few minor training injuries, he’s never really had a reason to go into the infirmary, and in this case his memory doesn’t serve him very well. 

It’s a bit smaller than he remembers, dimly lit by one or two lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The walls are mostly bare aside from an occasional chart or poster and two windows on the far side of the room. Keith spends a minute watching raindrops sprinkle and streak across the glass before his gaze trails away to continue observing. A couple of the floorboards are in bad enough shape that he’s afraid he could get a splinter just looking at them, but other than that the place is pretty cozy, maybe a little cramped but not unbearably so.

There’s only a single row of five beds, and Keith’s in the very first one. The other four are empty, which makes sense—most of the time campers come in with an injury and are out by the end of the day, thanks to the skills and resources of the Apollo kids and volunteers. On the other side of the room are various shelves and cabinets lining the walls, all full of medical supplies and equipment, most of which Keith has never seen or doesn’t know the purpose of. A simple utility sink sits in the very corner, and in the middle of the space is a small table with a chair at one end. 

Keith stifles a yawn with the back of his hand and looks back toward one of the windows. Judging by how dark it is outside, it’s well past lights out, which means he slept through the rest of the afternoon and all evening. Honestly, at this point he wouldn’t mind rolling over and going right back to sleep for the night, too. And that’s what he’s about to do, pulling the covers up to his chin before looking down and realizing upon closer inspection that his covers are not actually covers, but… a jacket? One that is very much not his, and that wasn’t there when he first came in.

Oh no. Oh, gods. Keith was so wrapped up in his post-sleep haze that he nearly entirely forgot about the reason he got into this mess.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” 

He yelps when someone appears at his side quite literally out of nowhere, arms flailing slightly as he shoots up with the jacket clutched against his chest as if it’s supposed to protect him somehow.

“Whoa, dude!” His head snaps around to find Lance standing over him, laughing as he holds his hands out in a placating gesture. “Keith, relax. It’s just me.” 

Keith does relax, but only slightly. “Holy crow,” he breathes, dropping Lance’s jacket into his lap and scrubbing a hand down his face, heart still racing. “Honestly, Lance—where did you even come from?”

Lance stares at him, mouth twitching as he tries but fails to mask his obvious amusement. “I was sitting right there.” 

Keith looks at where he’s pointing and blinks when he sees the chair positioned at the foot of his bed. “Oh.” He jumps a little at the feeling of Lance’s hand on his shoulder, and when he turns back toward him he finds their faces to be much closer in proximity than they had been just a couple seconds ago.

“Man, you really did a number on yourself, huh?” Lance says softly, eyebrows pinched in concern as he inspects Keith’s face. He pushes Keith’s bangs to the side and carefully presses a hand against his forehead, humming distractedly. “At least your temperature’s back to normal. How do you feel?” 

“U-uh,” Keith stutters, desperately fighting the blush rising up his neck and leaning back slightly in an attempt to put more space between them. “I’m—good. I feel fine.” Lance levels him with a dubious look and he winces, backpedaling. “Um… my throat’s still pretty dry,” he admits. 

Lance snorts, as if that was a given. “Yeah, I can imagine. Here.” He pulls away from Keith’s forehead and grabs his wrist, dropping something into his open palm. “Eat this.” 

Keith blinks, and as Lance walks away he looks down to find a small square of ambrosia in his hand. He wrinkles his nose slightly at the sight of it, but he obediently pops it into his mouth and chews, eyes fluttering shut the moment it hits his tongue. 

Most other campers would kill to have a taste of ambrosia (some have gone as far as to purposely injure themselves for it, their curiosity is so strong), but Keith’s not too fond of it himself. He’s only had it once before, when he sprained his wrist particularly badly during training. They say that it tastes different to everyone, that it takes the flavor of the consumer’s favorite food associated with their best memories. Only issue is, Keith doesn’t always like to remember. Even his best memories are inexplicably tied to some of his worst.

At the very least, he can admit that he appreciates how much better he feels the longer he continues to chew. It’s like warmth flowing through his veins, slowly and deliberately, ridding his body of all the stress and tension that’s built up over the past few days. His shoulders loosen, the pressure in his chest lightens, and his head feels the clearest than it has for a very, very long time. Unfortunately, this also means that he’s finally regaining full awareness of his current situation, and his stomach flips when he thinks about the fact that Lance is the only other person in the room with him. 

Together. Alone. After Keith mistakenly blew up at him over a minor miscommunication and in doing so confessing his feelings while simultaneously implying some very questionable things about Lance and then proceeding to ignore him for the next three days. Not his finest moment. Gods, he can’t imagine what Lance must think of him right now. 

He opens his eyes to see Lance watching him curiously from where he stands at the sink, head tilted minutely to the side as he fills a fresh glass of water. Their gazes meet briefly and Keith quickly looks away, doing his best to act casual but failing miserably when he remembers Lance’s jacket still bunched up in his lap. He panics slightly at the sound of Lance’s approaching footsteps and hurriedly picks it up, folding it as neatly as he can and awkwardly setting it aside. 

“For you,” Lance offers, holding the glass out to him. 

Keith hesitates. His throat isn’t all that dry anymore, but he did kind of ask for the water, so he reaches out and takes it. “Thanks,” he mumbles. 

He keeps his head down as Lance drags his chair from the foot of the bed around to where Keith is, sitting a respectful distance away but close enough that their knees would be touching if Keith were to swing his legs over the side. Keith cups the glass in both hands and stares determinedly at it as he works on the last of the ambrosia, swallowing and then taking a sip of water just to give himself something else to do.

“What does it taste like?” 

Lance speaks so softly, Keith nearly misses it. He stiffens slightly, eyes darting toward Lance as he lowers the glass in his hands. He’s got one foot on the seat with him, knee tucked toward his chest and arms folded over it, an expression on his face that’s more unreadable than it is blank. Keith’s not sure what to make of it, but it makes him feel guilty enough that he has to look away again. Honestly, he’s not sure why Lance is choosing to remain civil with him at all in the first place. 

He clears his throat, resisting the urge to fold in on himself. “Don’t laugh.” 

Lance’s answer is immediate. “I won’t.” 

Keith chews on his lip for a moment, watching his own reflection in the water before he has to look away from that, too. “Strawberry cake.” 

True to his word, Lance doesn’t laugh. Instead he remains silent, resting his chin on his knee and waiting expectantly, a silent invitation for Keith to continue and answer the next unspoken question hanging in the air. Usually Keith doesn’t like to delve into the details of his childhood, no matter how seemingly insignificant or mundane, but Lance already knows more about it than any other camper does, save for Shiro and Adam. He supposes it can’t hurt to share one more, even considering the circumstances. 

“My dad and I…” Keith starts, then breaks off with a small sigh. “We always made strawberry cake for my birthday. We’d get up early in the morning to make it and play cards while it was in the oven, then watch cartoons while we waited for it to cool. Then once it was ready, we slapped some icing on top and ate some for breakfast.” He smiles a little at the thought, tracing a finger around the rim of the glass as he goes on. “We’d eat the entire thing in one day. It’s all we ate, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. By the time we finished we were both sick of it, but it sort of became tradition, so.” 

Lance laughs quietly. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give to see six-year-old Keith with strawberry icing all over his mouth.” 

“Shut up,” Keith huffs, lifting the glass to his mouth to hide his growing smile as Lance snorts and stifles his giggles with the back of his hand. The fact that Lance is still managing to cheer him up at a time like this is kind of unbelievable.

“Drink up, Strawberry Shortcake,” Lance teases, stretching his legs out and folding his hands behind his head with a grin as Keith rolls his eyes. “I still need to wrap your hand, too.” 

Keith frowns. “What’s wrong with my—” He cuts himself off and blinks as Lance reaches forward and grasps his wrist again, turning his right palm face up. Keith grimaces. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Lance says dryly, letting go and leaning back while Keith inspects the various cuts and blisters littering his skin with a wrinkled nose. “‘Oh’. You’re supposed to be wrapping your hands before stuff like swordfighting, Keith. Seriously, what’s the point of those dumb fingerless gloves if you don’t even wear them for protection?” 

“Blame Shiro,” Keith grumbles. “He stole them from my cabin while I was showering.” 

“You don’t wear them in the shower?” 

“Why in the world would I wear them in the shower.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Lance shrugs, then stands from his chair and spins on his heel before Keith can protest. “Drink your water!” 

Keith sighs exasperatedly, but he dutifully takes another sip as Lance starts rummaging through the shelves of supplies on the other side of the room. He downs the rest of the water fairly quickly and lets Lance take the glass from him when he returns, who sets it out of the way on the table behind him as Keith swings his legs over the side of the bed. He waits quietly for Lance to situate himself, sitting back down and dropping his things into his lap before scooting forward. Their knees bump, and Keith genuinely can’t help the blush that spreads across his face when Lance wastes no time in taking his hand, holding it carefully in his own. His only consolation is that Lance is too busy examining his palm to look up and see how pink Keith’s face is. 

Lance’s touch is so gentle, delicate in a way that Keith has never been able to be. It makes him feel strangely vulnerable, as if years spent being tossed around by the universe has conditioned him to expect everything else in his life to be just as rough and leaving him thrown mercilessly off-balance when it’s not. It’s why he has so many walls built up, and why it takes so long for him to warm up to those who have the patience to deal with them. But with Lance… with Lance, it’s like those walls are invisible. He doesn’t have to work as hard to break them down because instead he just walks right through them as if they never even existed. 

Keith bites his lip as Lance pads his hand with gauze and expertly works to undo the end of the tape with his fingers, brow pinched in concentration. They’d managed to avoid the unspoken tension in the room for a few moments, but now that they’ve fallen back into silence it’s impossible to ignore. Keith’s stomach turns over on itself when Lance gingerly adjusts his hold on Keith’s hand and begins to wrap it, starting at space just underneath his fingers. The only other sound in the room is that of the rain continuing to fall outside, drumming steadily against the roof and walls. 

Aside from the obvious reasons (a.k.a. technically Lance is on duty in the infirmary right now, which means he’s obligated to help anyone who needs it), Keith doesn’t understand why Lance is being so careful with him. He doesn’t even understand why Lance is being nice to him, in any sense of the word. It’s one thing to be polite for the sake of keeping the peace, but Lance hasn’t shown even a hint of irritation or resentment toward him. If anything, he’s been just as kind and concerned as Keith would expect him to be when they’re on the best of terms, which… they’re not. Keith recognizes that that’s entirely his fault. 

Regardless, it’s safe to say that they’re kind of overdue for a talk. He’s not sure how or when to bring it up, if Lance is thinking about it too or if he even cares to talk about it at all. If he does care, would he have addressed it by now, or is he simply waiting for Keith to say something? After all, Keith is the reason they’re here in the first place, Keith is the one who went off the rails and possibly ruined their friendship, Keith is the one who—

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice that Lance has stopped what he’s doing. “Hey.” Keith’s breath catches in his throat as Lance lifts his hand to his face, gently but firmly tilting his chin up and forcing him to make eye contact. “I’m not mad.” 

Keith’s eyes widen and he guiltily averts his gaze, swallowing. “You probably should be,” he mumbles. 

Lance doesn’t let go just yet, Keith’s skin burning at every point of contact where Lance’s fingers touch his face, but after a moment he finally lowers his hand again, quiet. “I’m assuming someone told you, then.” 

Keith stares at a random point on the floor, curling his other hand into a fist in his lap. “Yeah.” 

Lance hums, not looking up from where he resumes wrapping Keith’s hand. “So you know that I’m actually—”

“Yes.” 

“And that I can’t actually—”

“Yes,” Keith snaps, shoulders hiking up toward his ears as his face flushes. “I got it, I’m an idiot.” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Lance’s mouth and he shakes his head. “Hey, you said it, not me.” He huffs another small, disbelieving laugh. “I just… I mean, honestly, Keith. Did you think I spent this much time in the infirmary just for fun?” 

Keith did know that Lance often worked in the infirmary, but. “It’s not weird for campers who aren’t Apollo kids to volunteer,” he says defensively. “It seemed like something you would do.” 

“Heck, I have the highest marks in archery out of the entire camp,” Lance goes on. “And I’m not just saying that. Archery’s like, my thing. There’s a reason everyone calls me—”

“Sharpshooter,” Keith sighs. “I know.” 

“Plus, did you ever see me sitting with the Aphrodite kids? All you had to do was look and you’d see me sitting at the Apollo table—”

“Both tables are on the complete opposite side of the room from mine!” Keith retorts, his voice cracking slightly. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to tell you! I just thought—I don’t know what I thought, okay? It just made sense at the time. You’re popular, and everyone likes you, and you’re always talking about your skincare routine or whatever—”

Lance snorts. “You thought I was an Aphrodite kid because of my skincare routine?” 

“Ugh,” Keith groans, covering his face with his hand as Lance laughs again, bright and unabashed. “You don’t have to rub it in.” 

He realizes a second too late that he probably could’ve been a little more careful with his words. Lance’s gaze flicks up toward Keith as his smile falters, not completely but enough for Keith to know that he made the same connection to the start of their argument the other night. After a short moment he looks away, saying nothing else as he goes on to wrap the tape around his thumb and onto his wrist. 

Keith mentally slaps himself. If he could learn to actually think before he speaks, ever, that would be great. 

It doesn’t take much longer for Lance to finish up. Once he’s deemed his work to be satisfactory, he carefully rips the tape to make a second end, wrapping the rest of its length around Keith’s wrist. Which should mean that they’re done, only Lance sets the extra supplies aside but doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, instead pulling it closer to him and resting them on his knee. 

“Listen,” he sighs, and even with his entire hand covered in tape, Keith’s heart still skips a beat as Lance brushes his thumb over his palm. “Like I said, I’m not mad. Just, kind of annoyed that you avoided me for the last three days so I couldn’t find you and explain the situation myself.” 

Keith winces, sheepishly lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“I know. But seriously, Keith. If there’s ever another issue like that, misunderstanding or not, just—talk to me about it next time, okay?” He offers a small smile when Keith meets his gaze. “I’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you. I really want you to know that.” 

“I do know that,” Keith answers earnestly, and Lance’s smile grows a little at that. “I do. I just, I let my feelings get the best of me, so I jumped to conclusions and then… yeah. You know.” 

Lance chuckles softly, a welcome sound that lessens some of the guilt weighing heavily on Keith’s chest. “Yeah, I do.” 

They grow quiet, and for a moment it’s just the two of them in their own little bubble, smiling at each other in the dimness of the room as the rain patters gently against the windows. It doesn’t last very long though, because then Lance clears his throat and the moment breaks as he claps a hand on his knee. “Anyway, we should probably get going. C’mon, I’ll walk you back to your cabin.” Then he slides his hand out from underneath Keith’s and stands, which is when Keith realizes he still hadn’t let go. 

It only takes a minute for Lance to clean up a bit before they’re stepping out of the infirmary, making sure to keep under the awning so they don’t get wet while Lance locks up. This is necessary, says Lance, because of several previous cases of sleepwalking Hypnos kids.

Keith suddenly remembers the jacket in his hands and holds it out to Lance as he turns. “Here’s your jacket back.” 

Lance blinks at it. “Thank you,” he replies as he accepts it, then sweeps it around Keith’s shoulders with a flourish and yanks the hood over his head. 

“What—”

“It’s raining,” Lance interrupts, tying the sleeves into a makeshift knot so Keith can’t shrug it off. “And technically I’m still on duty, so it’s my job to take care of you until you are returned safely to your cabin.” 

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Let’s go!” Lance exclaims, darting out into the rain and pulling Keith along behind him. 

And of course, that’s the moment when the rain decides to start picking up. Keith yanks the hood further over his head with a yelp and Lance hoots, automatically sending them both into fits of laughter as they trip and stumble across the grass toward the cabins. They’re being much louder than they should be at this time of night, probably waking some of their fellow campers as they sprint across the clearing, but Keith honestly can’t find it in himself to feel bad about it. He can’t bring himself to care at all, not when the sound of Lance’s delighted laughter makes something warm bloom and flower in his chest, melting away the chill of the rain already seeping through his clothes the longer and farther they run.

By the time they make it to the Hermes cabin and crowd together underneath the awning on the tiny porch, panting and out of breath, it’s downright pouring. Keith takes one look at Lance and slaps both hands over his mouth to stifle his giggles, lest he risk waking all of his cabinmates. “Oh my gods,” he laughs breathlessly, clutching at his stomach. “Lance, you’re completely soaked.” 

“Worth it,” Lance grins, chest heaving slightly as he tries to catch his breath. He runs his fingers through his hair and twists his shirt to wring out some of the water, which is pointless when he’s about to have to go right back out into the rain. A few drops trickle down his face and cling to his chin before falling to the ground, and Keith has to rip his gaze away when he catches himself staring.

“Here,” Keith starts, glancing down and fumbling with the sleeves knotted around his shoulders. “Let me—”

“Dude, just keep it,” Lance cuts him off, waving him away. “I’m already drenched, it won’t do me any good. You can just give it back to me tomorrow, once it’s dry.” 

Keith glances uncertainly between Lance and the onslaught of rain beyond. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. I don’t mind the rain.” Lance tilts his head to the side and looks Keith up and down, smiling. “Besides, it looks good on you. Even if you’re not actually wearing it right.” 

Keith’s cheeks go pink. He’s just being nice, he tells himself before his brain can go overboard, but it’s not very convincing, even to himself. “You’re the one who put it on me like this,” he points out. 

“And I stand by that,” Lance says solemnly, planting a hand over his heart. “Just take care of it for me. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” He flashes one last cheerful grin in Keith’s direction and turns to leave, but he only makes it down the first step of the porch before Keith’s hand is darting out and catching his sleeve. 

“Wait, Lance.” Lance stops in his tracks, looking back at Keith over his shoulder and blinking in confusion. Keith opens his mouth to speak again but nothing comes out, so he takes a deep breath and tries again. “Just… I’m really sorry. All that stuff I said the other day, about—just, I’m sorry.” He swallows, loosening his grip on Lance’s sleeve and lowering his eyes to the ground. “I made some really terrible assumptions about you.” 

He looks up as Lance turns fully back around and is surprised to see a small smile playing on his lips, amusement shining in his eyes. “I mean. I guess they weren’t all bad. I am pretty flattered that you think I’m pretty enough to be an Aphrodite kid.” 

Keith groans, and Lance bursts into laughter as he yanks the drawstrings of his jacket to close the hood over his face. “Lance, please.” 

“Okay, okay,” Lance relents, although he giggles again at the sight of Keith pouting at him from the tiny space that’s left in the hood. “Apology accepted.” He seems to hesitate then, glancing around as if searching for eavesdroppers and shuffling his feet before looking back at Keith. “But, maybe… maybe you can make it up to me?” Keith cautiously stretches and lowers the hood from his head to let Lance know that he has his attention, folding his arms over his chest. “Tomorrow?” Lance continues hopefully, shifting his weight from one side to the other. “Meet me at the dock after lights out. We can go into the meadow and talk, look at the stars, whatever we feel like. Just the two of us.” 

Keith stares at him. Just the two of us, his brain echoes. “Okay,” he hears himself say. 

Lance’s face lights up and he smiles, somehow bigger than he has all night. “Sweet. It’s a date.” 

And with that he turns, climbs down the last few steps, and sprints back out into the rain without another word, leaving Keith standing frozen and dumbfounded on the front porch of his cabin. He only turns around one more time to offer a small wave, and Keith is just barely self-aware enough to lift a hand and wave back before Lance disappears into the dark completely. Keith remains there long after Lance left, silent and unmoving as he attempts to process everything that just happened. 

Maybe you can make it up to me?

Tomorrow? Just the two of us. 

Sweet. It’s a date. 

Keith looks down at the jacket still tied around his shoulders, then presses his hands to his burning cheeks. 

What. Just. Happened. 

Eventually he has the good sense to actually go into his cabin, realizing that standing outside in the rain in the middle of the night in damp clothes is probably a great way to get sent back to the infirmary. His body mostly moves on autopilot, his mind still too dazed for him to do much more than go through the motions. He unknots the sleeves of Lance’s jacket and hangs it on the corner of his bunk to dry, staring at it for several moments longer than necessary before peeling his wet clothes off in exchange for some dry ones. 

Matt and the rest of his cabinmates are already asleep and snoring in their bunks when he climbs into bed, which is just as well, because if someone were to try to speak to Keith right now he’s not entirely sure he would hear them. His mind is too busy racing with a million thoughts and questions and yet it’s totally blank all at the same time. No matter what he does, no matter which way he turns, or how many times he tries closing his eyes, he can’t seem to shut it off. The same words echo in Keith’s head, over and over and over in Lance’s voice: It’s a date. 

Keith smashes his pillow over his blushing face and tries not to scream. 

Tomorrow is going to be the longest day of his life.