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Waking up felt like getting hit by a bus, then impaled by an astray beam, and finally getting hit by a train.
Safe to say Keith felt like absolute shit from the moment he opened his eyes.
Last night must've been some warning from God, or whatever, that he very much ignored. He was going to stay up late training but started to feel a dull ache in his stomach that stopped him. He then did the only reasonable thing he could think of and decided to hit the hay early and hope it passed overnight.
It did not pass overnight.
It must be last night's dinner that's making his stomach do backflips (and not in a butterfly kind of way) inside his abdomen. Something about the way the food goo was handled and prepared made his gut twist in apprehension before he ate, but he ignored it in favour of devouring his meal.
It tasted amazing, and if his insides weren't ripping apart right now he would want his food goo prepared like that every day.
He woke up an hour ago and has only been able to turn on his back, the pain making it too hard to move any more than this.
Keith's kind of, sort of, freaking out. He does not get sick easily, and suddenly his organs feel like tearing each other apart. It would be shocking to anyone who woke up like this.
He's been sick a whopping 4 times since he can remember. Although, all those times were spent with his dad, who did most of the nursing him back to health thing that he has no idea where to begin on.
First things first, he decided, would be getting to the bathroom. Maybe he just needs to shit? No shame in that, any relief from this pain is welcome.
He quickly slides off the bed and stands, and as he takes his first step his knees buckle and he flails his arms out with a yelp. His head is spinning, his eyes are out of focus and it feels like he just fainted while conscious and what the hell just happened—?
Luckily this feeling of absolute doom only lasts for about 7 seconds before Keith comes back to reality. When he comes too, he's sitting on the ground in front of his bed, his hands are clutched onto the edge of his blankets so tightly he's afraid he might hurt himself, and there's a dull pounding behind his eyes.
Things are off to a great start.
So maybe he should take things slow, okay, he can do that.
Taking things slow is only better by a small fraction that he wonders if getting to the bathroom is even worth all this trouble. It is because he knows he has to get there sooner or later, but it isn't because he can't feel anything other than pain so he doesn't even know if he has to go.
He eventually makes it to the bathroom and realizes in dismay that he still feels like shit, and that did nothing to ease the pain. He leaves the bathroom without brushing his teeth—the thought of having harsh minty toothpaste on his tongue for the next hour making his stomach turn—or brushing his mess that he calls hair.
The walk back to his bed is faster and the flop onto his stomach makes him audibly groan in pain.
Now what?
He turns onto his back and pulls the covers up to his chin. He thinks about what his dad used to do, as his hand rubs his stomach.
Wait, rubbing his stomach!
His dad used to do that too, and the pain would instantly feel better. With the palm of his hand, skin on skin, Keith tried to (albeit a bit too aggressively) rub his stomach free of pain. It does nothing.
Well, what the hell? Maybe it's like tickling, you can't tickle yourself.
Frustrated, he wonders if he should try and make himself throw up. If it's food that's the problem—which he's almost certain it is—the best way to alleviate the pain would be to get rid of it from his system.
Maybe the food is too far along his digestive tract to even throw up. Laxatives? Are there any of those in space?
He thinks hard on that and notes that it isn't a terrible idea, but it is a terrible idea.
Forced bodily cleansing plan aborted.
He yells out in frustration and suffocates himself under the blankets. The pain is no longer just in his lower abdomen, he can feel his ribs beat and his chest tighten.
And oh God, breathing is getting harder, and now he's panicking.
The panicking just makes the pain worse. He's purposefully holding his breath at this point because it hurts and he doesn't want anything to move. His stomach twists and he's sure his organs are trying to exit his body through his mouth so he bites his lips as hard as he can and tastes blood, and it tastes horrible and he feels like he's dying—
He gasps when the pain stops abruptly. Tears prickle his eyes as he tucks into himself, and he's sure he just died and came back to life. He has to do something about this soon because he's scared and he doesn't want to feel that again.
What does he do? What does he do?
He stands and makes his way to the door, goal set on the kitchen.
He remembers how his dad used to give him hot tea, the warmth would ease his stomach and make him sleepy enough to pass out for a few hours.
He's halfway there and it feels like he just trained for hours because he's sweltering and gasping and so, so sweaty. All he can think is why is the kitchen so far away?!
He almost cries when he stumbles through the kitchen doors.
He stumbles some more as he sets water to a boil.
He realizes they don't have any tea.
And that's fine—he freaks out a little at first but realizes that all he wants is the warmth, and plain hot water can do that for him too.
So he waits, and the longer he's standing idly in front of the stove, the more he has to lean onto the counter because he's dizzy enough to pass as drunk and his legs feel like jello.
He doesn't even hear when the kitchen doors open and someone calls out to him. He only notices the presence when they put a hand on his shoulder and he shrieks.
Shrieking hurts, he finds and clutches his stomach as he spins around so fast that the world wobbles for a few seconds after.
Someone, he recognizes as Lance, stands in front of him. He doesn't have the patience or will to decode whatever emotion is on his face, so he instead croaks out a not so graceful, "What?"
Lance is silent for a moment, and Keith can faintly register the worried furrow of his brows, before he's asking, "Hey, man, are you okay?"
Keith would laugh if he wasn't feeling like shit. The sound of another person's voice grates on his ears and he feels a headache coming on, and that's just great because he wants to feel every symptom possible right now!
"Fuck off," is what he replies. He doesn’t mean to sound so angry and so out of breath. If he were in any other circumstance—mainly pain-free—he might've been a bit more elegant with his response, and less cranky, but he thinks he deserves to snap a bit because fuck if his insides aren't making a mess of him.
He sees Lance's mouth go taut, he must be angry, rightfully so. Lance scoffs and bumps his shoulder as he passes him, and Keith has to frantically grip onto the counter to stop himself from toppling over and cracking his skull open on the floor.
He hears the coffee machine start-up—they got it along with heaps of instant coffee from the human store in the space mall a while back—and the noise adds to his headache and he holds back from screaming and smashing it to pieces.
"Your water is bubbling over," Lance says indifferently with one eyebrow raised at him, and Keith can't find it in him to respond or care. "Hey!" Lance yells a bit louder as the water rushes out and he frantically reaches over to fumble with the stove knobs.
"I'm-" Keith starts just to suck in a harsh breath, "I've got it,"
Lance scoffs again, "Yeah, you sure look like you do." Keith only grunts and holds his head in his hands. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?" Lance asks again and it's sincere, he sounds almost worried.
Keith can't understand this yet though, so he yells, "Nothing! Just leave me alone!" He goes to take a supposed-to-be-threatening step towards his water, but stumbles and has to grip onto the counter for dear life. Lance doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow at him.
"I need to sit," Keith says airlessly, and before he can move Lance has his arm around his shoulder and is leading them towards the dining room.
"Good idea, you look like you're going to pass out any second," Lance says as he dumps Keith onto a chair, and Keith would usually fight being manhandled like that, but he doesn't have any strength to move a finger so he lets it happen.
Keith rests his cheek onto the table and only now realizes how hard he's breathing and how numb his limbs feel. His head feels fluttery and cloudy from the inadequate oxygen he's receiving.
He feels a palm touch his forehead and he doesn't have the brain to stop himself from leaning into it because it's cold and he's on fire.
"Dios, you're burning up." He hears Lance mumble above him and wants to say 'no kidding' but all that comes out is a strangled wheeze.
Lance's hand leaves his forehead, he won't say he whines at its departure, but he does make a noise close to one. The disappointment doesn't last for long though, because he soon finds a frozen pack of food goo pressed to his forehead which is infinitely colder than the hand and he sighs in content.
Lance mumbles, and Keith is thankful because the pounding in his head is so bad he can feel it in his ears and behind his eyes. "Are you sick? What am I saying, of course, you are, you can't have a fever this bad and not be sick—are—are you in pain?"
Lance stumbles over his words and Keith has a hard time understanding what he asks, but when he does he makes an airy noise and nods his head.
"Yes? Okay, yes. You should go to bed, can I take you to bed?" Lance asks and Keith wants to plead 'yes, please, that's all I want!' because he hurts but responds in the same way he did earlier, an airy wheeze and a small nod.
Lance carefully holds onto him as they stand. Keith is so out of it and in so much pain that all he can do is slump over onto Lance, and all Lance can do is drag Keith along with him.
Eventually, though not easily, they make it to a room.
Keith idly wonders why it took a lot less time to get here than it took for him to get to the kitchen when he enters a room that smells completely of Lance. He's dumped onto a bed with blue sheets and Keith finally recognizes he's in Lance's room, and he can't find it in himself to complain because there's a bed and it's so comfy.
Keith watches Lance bite his nails and he looks like he's worried enough to start getting grey hairs, "Mierda, how out of it are you?"
Keith doesn't have an answer, he doesn't even understand what he means by out of it. He's perfectly in it right now, whatever that means.
"What should I do? I should get Coran, oh my God, right! Coran!" Lance yells—Keith winces at that—and he smiles like he's found the answers to all the questions of the universe. Before Keith can ask 'what the fuck is going on?' Lance is already out of the room and running down the hall.
When Lance returns, he's followed by a large crowd that won't shut up. He moves to cover his ears and burry himself further under the blankets—when he even got under the blankets in the first place is a mystery.
He feels a hand hold his and creaks an eye open to see Shiro standing next to him with a worried expression that rivals the one his dad wore in his memories.
He faintly hears Lance tell everyone to keep their voices down and feels himself being tugged to lay on his back. He complies.
His shirt is moved up and a cool piece of metal is placed on his chest in a few places, then there's a hand putting soft pressure on his abdomen. He's moved into a sitting position and the cold metal places itself on various spots on his back. He vaguely realizes that it's Coran touching him with cold metal and prodding fingers.
"Well," he hears Coran start, "There's nothing wrong with him from what I can see, maybe it's something he ate? What did he have for breakfast?"
Lance speaks up, "I don't think he's had breakfast yet."
He hears Coran hum thoughtfully, and wonders if he's straightening out his mustache in the way he usually does, "What about dinner?"
Hunk speaks up here, "We had the regular food goo, but I seasoned it with the seasoning I made from the leaves of that plant we found on our last mission."
Right, those things.
The bright, colourful and slightly poisonous-looking plants. No wonder his stomach is throwing a tantrum.
They also did everyone the favour of making the food goo enjoyable to eat.
"The fluioxde plant? No wonder he's sick!" Coran shouts and Keith winces again. "Those are poisonous to Galra!"
Keith groans, in pain and disappointment, "Really? Those things made the food goo taste good."
"Keith it literally poisoned you!" Lance yells, then mutters some frantic Spanish Keith doesn't have the bilingual knowledge to understand.
The noise of everyone fumbling about and panicking is enough to make Keith snap back to reality.
"Shut up!" he yells and covers his head with the blanket.
"Sorry, Keith," he hears Hunk start, "I didn't—I didn't know, I'm so sorry!"
Keith feels bad because this isn't Hunk's fault whatsoever and Hunk is an angel, so he bites back his yells for everyone to just leave him alone and grumbles out an, "'s okay."
"Will he be okay?! Is he going to die?! Dios, ayúdame!" Lance screams out and Keith glares at him to be quiet.
Coran answers calmly, "The fluioxde plant may be poisonous, but not enough to kill him. It'll just be very painful for him until the plant passes through his system."
Keith wants to laugh, but only snorts and wheezes a bit. Lance mutters more frantic Spanish under his breath, Shiro stops crushing his hand, and everyone else lets out a loud sigh. They must be relieved to hear their friend won't be dying any time soon.
A reassuring voice draws everyone's attention, Shiro's voice, "Isn't there an antidote? Or some medication he could take to make this less painful?"
Coran considers this, before sighing, "I'm afraid not. We don't normally house Galra specific antidotes on this ship, and who knows how Keith may react to the medicine in the first place, since he is only part Galra,"
Keith can see the way Shiro's jaw sets tight, and the small smile and reassuring squeeze he gives his hand all but makes the fact they're talking about him being in terrible pain for who knows how long a bit more bearable.
"Then what do we do?" Lance asks, almost whimpers, and Coran nods his head like he expected this exact question.
Keith would love to continue listening in, he really would since this is all about him. But the pain is getting too hard to bear, and he's grunting and scraping his nails so desperately into Shiro's hand that he's afraid Shiro will start bleeding and—
"Which one of you paladins would like to play nurse?"
"I'll do it!" Lance yells with his arm raised as if asking a question in school.
Keith feels his world slipping before he could argue, not that arguing would get him anywhere in the first place.
He wakes up in the exact place he fell asleep, except he's in far less pain than before, and there's a suspicious dip in the mattress right by his feet.
He cranes his neck to look down and sees Lance sitting, playing some game or typing a message onto the phone-ish device Pidge made for each of them a while back.
Lance notices his stirring and looks over, his eyes widen when he realizes Keith's awake, and faster than the speed of light is moving and standing at his bedside with a hand on his forehead.
"How are you feeling?" Lance asks, mindful of his volume.
Keith bats his eyes owlishly a few times before moving away from the hand, slowly, "Better? I can't tell, I just woke up."
Lance grins, and Keith recognizes it as the grin he always has when bickering, "And it seems you're more aware now, which is good because, man, seeing you all submissive and pliable was super weird."
Keith makes a noise, one of irritation and hidden amusement, before weakly shoving Lance's face farther away with his hand. "Shut up, I was on my death bed, cut me some slack."
"Not your death bed,"
"Felt like it—" Keith gasps and sucks in a sharp breath. The ache returns to his stomach and his arm, which he was holding in front of Lance's face, falls limp, "And it's starting to feel like it again."
Lance stands, his brows furrowing, "Are you in pain?"
"Obviously," his voice is strained.
"Okay, still sarcastic, unfortunately,"
Keith blows out a laugh and pulls his limp arm against his side. He kicks himself free of the bedding and groans at the movement, "It's hot in here."
Lance looks over from where he's fumbling with what looks like an ice pack, "I think that's just you,"
"Well then I'm fucking hot so do something about it—"
Before he can complain any further a cool pack of something is placed on his forehead, he sighs at the temperature.
"Better, your highness?" Lance mocks.
Keith grumbles without bite, "I can't believe you're making fun of a sick person."
"Correction, a person who's been food poisoned because he's half-alien."
"Har har." Keith eyes Lance, who's kneeling next to him, "Do you have any idea how to make my stomach feel a little less like it's trying to rip itself apart?"
"Hot tea?" Lance asks and Keith realizes he forgot to drink his hot water.
"Oh, yeah, that's what I was boiling water for,"
Lance grins, and Keith is almost sure he's grateful for that grin. "Well, aren't you in luck, I just so happen to have completely Glara-Human hybrid safe, approved by Coran, ginger tea!"
Lance pulls a thermos from under the bed and pops open the lid. The smell of the tea already has his stomach feeling better, and if his heart does a little flip while he looks at Lance like he's a godsent, then he'll blame it on his food poisoning.
Lance places the tea down next to him and holds Keith's shoulder as he sits up. Keith holds out his, very shaky, hands for the tea, to which Lance quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head.
Lance brings the tea to his lips, and Keith is so eager for the pain to stop that he swallows down his shock along with the warm liquid.
This must be heaven.
"You aren't a terrible nurse," Keith says with a grin and Lance laughs.
"I try." Keith can't respond because he's gulping another mouthful of tea down. "What hurts? Aside from your stomach." Lance asks and pulls the thermos away from his lips, Keith rubs his mouth with the edge of his tank tops' collar.
He takes a moment to think. "My head hurts a little, but it's just a faint pounding. Nothing else so far." Lance hums as he fiddles with the thermos lid and sets it aside.
"Hungry?"
At that, Keith realizes that maybe some of the aches in his stomach are hunger along with his food poisoning.
Keith nods, "Yeah? I don't want to upset my stomach more, though."
"Don't worry about that, do you want a banana or applesauce?" Lance asks.
Keith is taken aback, because applesauce is only something he's dreamed of having out here in space, but if Lance is asking, then, "Applesauce sounds amazing right now. Do we have applesauce? When did we get some?"
Lance grumbles, "Of course you'd choose applesauce."
"Hey! What's wrong with applesauce?"
Lance just gives him a look before leaving to retrieve Keith some applesauce.
When he comes back, he brings Shiro with him.
"How are you feeling?" is the first thing to leave Shiro's mouth, his hand already holding Keith's as he sits on the edge of the bed.
Keith mumbles, "Hungry."
"Don't worry, I've got your gross applesauce, you freak," Lance says with an eye roll as he places it beside the tea on the bedside table.
Shiro moves over and Lance helps Keith sit up, although he doesn't have to, and is then holding a spoonful of applesauce in front of Keith's mouth.
Keith scowls, "I can feed myself, Lance."
Lance snorts, "With Shiro holding your hand in a vice grip and the other shaking enough to create a literal breeze? I don't think so," and when Keith opens his mouth to protest, he finds it full of applesauce.
Keith glares as he silently swallows, Lance smiles triumphantly in return.
"How long will this whole being-in-pain thing last?" Keith asks while looking at Shiro, and before he can close his mouth a spoonful of applesauce is shoved in.
Shiro hums, "Coran said it should take about 2 days, give or take. It's almost a day since you've eaten the plant now, so a day to go."
Keith smiles, "Oh, great, then I can get away from Lance in a day, right?"
Lance gasps, "You only get another day of my nursing, you should be disappointed!" Lance then grins, "Say 'Ah!'"
Keith stares at the spoon, for one, two, three seconds before leaping forward and catching it in his mouth. Lance makes a surprised noise and jerks a little at his sudden movement, making a bit of applesauce smear on the side of Keith's lips. Keith pulls off the spoon with a deliberate pop.
Lance fumbles around for a napkin while Keith attempts to get the bit of applesauce off the corner of his mouth with his tongue.
The harsh smack of the napkin on Keith's face makes him yelp and grunt as it rubs messily all over. By the time his face is napkin-free, his cheek is a faint red from the harsh rubbing.
Keith pouts, honest to God pouts, and Lance can feel his face heat up in response. Shiro raises a quizzical eyebrow, before faintly whispering "Oh!" and grinning that all-knowing grin.
"Just eat your damned applesauce!" Lance growls, then shoves another spoonful between resistant lips.
They talk for a while after that, until the faint pounding in Keith's skull starts to turn into a jackhammer digging into his brain. They wave Shiro off and as soon as the door closes Lance is by Keith's bedside, dutifully.
Keith groans and rolls over onto his side, facing Lance.
"How bad is it?" Lance asks.
"Terrible."
Lance makes a noise through his nose and stands. He returns with a hot towel and rolls Keith over so he can place it on his forehead.
"Want some water?" Lance whispers.
"Yes," Keith croaks out.
Lance nods and returns with some water. He helps Keith drink, then sets it aside.
"The most you can do for this is to just rest. Close your eyes and try not to think about it, okay?" Lance instructs and he sounds so soft and reassuring that Keith has no doubts about following his advice.
He closes his eyes and thinks about anything he can. The war, his mom, the Blades, anything. He eventually breaks out into a hot sweat and the hot towel turns into a cold one. Now and then he feels a soft towel wipe his face and neck of sweat.
He would love to fall asleep, but the pounding in his skull is debilitating. He doesn't realize when he starts gasping in pain until a hand comfortingly runs through his hair and soft reassurance are whispered into his ears.
The contact makes it easier to focus on something other than the pain, and he soon finds himself pulled into sleep by the rhythmic motion.
He wakes when a sharp pain shoots through his abdomen. He turns into himself with a pained yell and all he can think about is the squeezing feeling of his organs protesting that damn plant in his system.
Heavy hands meet his shoulders and pull him free from himself. He realizes he broke skin by digging his nails into his arms, though that stinging is nothing compared to everything else.
He can hear Lance ask questions, but he can't understand the words. He manages to hiss out a broken, "Shut up," before wheezing and gasping for breath.
Lance fixes him so he lays flat on his back. His tank top is pulled off his shoulders and he's grateful because it felt damp and icky from sweat.
His head pounds, but so does his stomach and ribs. His chest tightens and he swears he can feel his heart contracting inside his chest, it's painful.
His head is pulled to the side, tucked against Lance's body. Lance is laying on the edge of the bed next to him now. One of his hands runs through his hair while the other massages his stomach and ribs. He shushes him and tells him everything will be alright.
Keith can't do anything but believe him.
The pain slowly starts to get more bearable, his breathing returns to normal and his head stops pounding. The only thing bothering him is the uncomfortable twist of his gut, to which he notices Lance working a massage into him to relieve the pain.
"How come," Keith has to clear his throat because his voice sounds completely wrecked, "when I rubbed my stomach I didn't feel any better, but when you do it I feel great?"
Lance snorts at this, "You can't rub your own stomach, it's like trying to tickle yourself." He hums, "It just feels better when someone else does it for you,"
It does feel better, amazing, even. But now that Keith's awake and present and out of his pain-induced trance, he realizes how embarrassing it is to have a relatively attractive man rub circles into his bare stomach.
Keith's hand wraps around Lance's wrist and tugs him away from his stomach, "You don't need to do that anymore, I feel fine."
That is a lie because as soon as Lance stops his movements he becomes all the more aware of the pain in his gut and has to grit his teeth and hope it doesn't show on his face.
And because the world just wants to send a big fuck you to Keith right now, it shows on his face.
"Yeah, okay tough guy." Lance rolls his eyes and yanks his wrist from Keith's hold, "You aren't fooling me with all that 'I can do everything on my own' talk,"
Keith blanches, "I never said that!"
"You just did! You implied it!"
Lance jabs his fingers back into Keith's abdomen in the gentlest way possible and continues massaging. Keith's face burns each time Lance's fingers trail over his belly button, or brush against the edge of his boxers.
"Lance, seriously," Keith is reaching for Lance's wrist again, "I don't need that,"
"Your face says otherwise—" and Lance finally looks up to meet his gaze and has to swallow back a choked cough when sees Keith, practically writhing underneath him.
Lance has enough decency to mentally slap himself back into place, because Keith is in obvious pain and discomfort, and he should not be finding him attractive like that at all in this moment.
All other moments? Lance can thrive in his secret affections for him.
But right now? Get it together, McClain!
Lance grins, attempting to hide the obvious sexual tension he's feeling right now, "What's the matter, getting all shy on me, Kogane?"
Lance watches Keith visibly bristle, "I am not—!"
"There's no need to be embarrassed! Just earlier I was cradling you in my arms, nothing can beat that."
"Cradling—! I was never cradled!" Keith shoots back.
Lance snorts and doesn't say anything else, just continues to rub soothing circles into Keith's stomach.
Eventually, hours pass. Lance had left Keith alone (for the most part) and Keith had been drifting off into a light sleep.
That was until nausea hits him, and hard.
Keith stares blankly at the ceiling at first, trying to get his sleep-addled brain up to speed. Until another strong wave of nausea rolls over him and he's scrambling to sit up.
"Lance—" he just barely manages to say before he needs to slam his mouth shut and swallow thickly. He feels that if he tries to speak another word, bile would come out instead.
Lance, thankfully, hears him and looks over. He quirks an eyebrow before taking a closer look and realizes something is wrong.
He makes his way over and sits on the edge of the bed next to him, "What's the matter? It hurts?"
Keith shakes his head, then stalls and nods with an uncertain look on his face.
"I can't understand unless you tell me, Mullet." Lance sighs.
"Nauseous—" he says until abruptly he's scrambling to stand and rushing towards the bathroom. He pushed Lance over and hit his knee on the table in the process.
Lance comes back from his initial shock and hears an awful hurling noise, and immediately everything clicks.
He rushes into the bathroom as well, and, as he expected, Keith is crouching around the edge of the toilet bowl and emptying his entire stomach and then some into it.
Lance walks up and stands behind Keith, collecting all his loose hair into a small bunch in his hand, and out of the way.
Once Keith starts coughing and can feel him visibly relax, Lance is gently letting go of his hair and moving to sit next to Keith. He doesn't forget to flush the toilet on the way.
Lance moves Keith's bangs away from his eyes, and finds them a little glassy and notices the stiff way Keith's face is twisted together. "What's wrong?"
Keith looks up then away, and Lance uses his thumb to try and smooth out the crease between his brows. Keith sighs, "I don't like throwing up. It's weird."
Lance tilts his head to the side, "Weird?"
"Yeah, it's just, stuff that's in you is coming out of you from a place it shouldn't. It freaks me out." a shaky breath, "I don't like it."
Lance hums, "When you think of it that way, it is pretty freaky,"
Keith's frown deepens and Lance thinks that he probably didn't help.
"Don't worry. Throwing up is a normal thing to happen when you're sick, it's just your body's way of trying to help you out." Lance says. His hand is now holding Keith's jaw, his thumb rubbing back and forth across it.
Keith looks away, then swats Lance's hand. "Yeah, I guess,"
He smiles and ruffles his hair, shooting up from the floor. "You probably feel all gross now. Wait here, I'll get your toothbrush and some fresh water." Keith nods in reply.
Lance is quick and by the time he returns Keith has scooted farther away from the toilet, seemingly in better shape than when he left.
He picks up a facecloth from a shelf and wets it, then sets himself in front of Keith and gently wipes his face.
"Stand and go brush your teeth?" Lance asks and Keith nods.
After brushing, which Keith is eternally grateful for because the taste of throw-up is enough to make him want to throw up again, he takes small steady sips of water.
His hands are shaking still, and Lance notices and holds one of his free ones in his, rubbing his thumb over knuckles.
Keith's face burns from embarrassment. It was one thing to get poisoned and then have to be coddled for a few days, but it was another to have to do all of that and throw up a ton in front of the guy you like.
Keith will never live this down.
"You better now?" Lance asks, dragging Keith away from wallowing in his newfound embarrassment.
He clears his throat, "Yeah, I'm good."
Lance smiles and stands. He moves them both back to the bed and gives Keith the instruction that 'you can get up to go throw up whenever you want, you don't have to tell me' Keith simply nodded dumbly at that.
Keith lays down, with Lance sitting on the edge of the bed. Hours pass like this. Lance helps him drink now and then, Lance wipes his sweat, Lance holds him and reassures him.
Lance helps him, and Keith is so grateful to have him there.
To think, he was going to do this alone.
When breakfast comes the next morning, Keith thinks the pain is bearable enough for him to sit up instead of lay down. His hands aren't shaking anymore, but Lance still helps him drink and eat anyway.
It's nice. He feels loved and cherished.
Eventually, the pain lessens enough that Keith thinks he can leave this room, maybe take a needed shower or get in last-minute training before the day ends.
He looks over at Lance, who's struggling to beat a boss level on some mobile RPG game downloaded on his phone-thing.
He doesn't want to leave.
A yawn escapes him and Lance looks over. He smiles, and it's so kind and a look that he hasn't seen directed to him until now that it makes heat rise to his cheeks.
"Tired?" Lance asks. All Keith can do is dumbly nod. "Are you sleeping here, or do you think you can go back to your room?"
Keith wouldn't call himself a liar. He never usually lies, never has a need to, but right now everything is telling him to stay and the only way to do that is with a lie.
"I'm staying."
Lance seems to brighten up more at that and shuts down his phone. "Then make room! I'm not sleeping on the floor." Keith just gawks and scoots over closer to the wall.
Lance lays next to him, even though it smells like sweat and is probably a little damp since Keith's back has been glued to that one spot for hours, but he doesn't complain. He smiles.
Keith smiles back but hides it under the blanket.
"Good night," Lance says.
"'G night," Keith mumbles.
There's a fluttery, gut-twisting feeling resting inside his stomach and his heart won't stop beating, he wonders if this is from the food poisoning.
He knows it's because of Lance.
Keith wakes up first, and he honestly wishes he hadn't. His head is laying on Lance's chest, one arm and one leg draped over him. Lance's head is lolled and resting on top of his, while one of his arms circles around his back and lays on his waist.
Okay, no need to panic, he's just cuddling with the guy he has the hots for.
Everything is a-ok.
Everything is not ok, and Keith is freaking out.
Keith's head moves up and down with Lance's chest as he breaths, and he can hear the soft exhale of every breath in his hair.
He decides that he should probably get away from Lance, to spare himself the mortification.
He slowly moves the arm that was draped over Lance's stomach and grabs Lance's wrist off of his waist. He goes to lift his arm when Lance grumbles and tries to shift.
Keith gets startled and drops Lance's hand back where it was before.
Cursing himself to the moon and back, Keith can only lay and listen as Lance wakes up.
Lance holds Keith tighter as he whispers, "Keith? You awake?"
Keith pauses, and there's a too-long moment of silence, "Yeah,"
"Oh."
Neither says anything else as they detangle themselves from each other. They exchange a few awkward glances.
Lance coughs, "Good morning. Do—do you feel better?"
"Yeah—yeah, a lot better." Keith responds shakily, "Thanks, and good morning."
Lance smiles, then grins, "You owe me now, let me trim that terrible mullet and we can call it even!"
Keith gasps and holds his hair, "First of all, it's not a mullet. And second of all, even if it was I wouldn't let you touch it!"
They both laugh.
Lance scoots off the bed and stretches, he looks back at Keith, "You up for breakfast?"
Keith stretches as well, he goes to nod but double tracks when he gets a whiff of himself. "Maybe, I should shower and change first,"
Lance sniffs the air and Keith watches his nose scrunch up, "Now that you mention it, yeah, please for the love of everything shower."
After they're both cleaned up (Keith is incredibly happy to not feel like a layer of grime cakes him everywhere) they make their way to the dining area. The entire walk there is silent.
When they enter the room, the entire castle-ship is there. Which makes sense, since it is time for breakfast.
Allura stands as soon as they enter. "Keith! It's good to see you up on your feet again," Hunk stands and rushes into the kitchen, "I'm sorry I didn't visit you while you were bedridden. I was afraid you would have been asleep, so I didn't want to bother."
Keith holds one of his hands in the air awkwardly, they're still standing in the doorway. "Oh, it's no problem, princess. Thank you."
Allura nods as Hunk comes storming back in, holding two bowls of food goo. "Oh, good, you're still here!"
Hunk places the bowls in front of Lance and Keith's spots, then gestures for them to sit, which they do.
Hunk hovers at Keith's side anxiously, "So I heard what you said earlier about liking the way the food goo tasted with the poisonous plant seasoning—" Lance gasps at this, then points accusingly towards the bowl, muttering 'this is safe for Keith to eat, right?'
Hunk just continues, "So I tried my best to make a replica, of sorts, of that. Think of this as my apology," Hunk rubs the back of his neck and Keith smiles lopsidedly.
"Oh, thank you, and seriously, it's okay. It wasn't your fault."
Hunk exhales at this, then smiles and gestures to the food, "Well, try it?"
Keith can still see Lance giving the bowl a skeptical stink eye as he digs his spoon in. Soon enough the spoon reaches his mouth, Lance's eyes following it.
It feels like everyone in the room is holding their breath, waiting for Keith's reaction.
Keith lets out a small smile. "This tastes exactly like it."
Hunk and Pidge high-five and cheer. Pidge leans in closer to Keith.
"I would've had your head if you didn't like it! Do you know how much work it takes to locate the replica taste of an alien plant? The answer is a lot, you're welcome." Pidge shakes her head while speaking.
Keith snorts with his mouth full, "Thank you,"
"Ew, chew before speaking!" Pidge is smiling despite this.
They all eat, the atmosphere is light now and there's idle chatter all around. Lance seems to have given up on trying to intimidate the food in favour of eating it.
Shiro looks over at Keith, "I'm assuming since you're here, you're feeling better?"
Keith nods, "Yeah, a lot better." Keith shivers involuntarily, "I'm never eating another one of those plants again."
"Well, that's good to hear!" Shiro laughs heartily, and Keith takes another spoonful of goo, "Lance was pulling out his hair seeing you all sick like that,"
Lance, who was listening in to their conversation, splutters beside Keith. "I was not pulling out my hair! All my hairs stayed perfectly in my head!"
Shiro looks disbelieving, stretching the pronunciation of his words, "Right..." he grins, "Whatever helps you sleep better at night, Lance."
Lance splutters again, and Keith laughs behind his hand.
Getting sick doesn't seem so bad.
The next weeks are understandably awkward between Lance and Keith, in many ways.
But a little while after his incident, when Keith hears knocking at his door at an ungodly hour, waking him from his wondrous dream of him and Lance holding hands and kissing each other on the cheek in flowery fields, he thinks about cutting whoever at his doors' head clean off.
That is until he opens the door to find the devil himself (Lance) stood there in pyjamas while holding his pillow.
"Hey," Lance starts, and there's an odd croak to his voice, "I think I got a cold,"
Keith stares dumbly for a second before laughing, muffling it with his hand. The blue safety light illuminates Lance's face, and he can see him grinning.
"Come in," Keith smiles.
In response, he gets a throat-burning coughing fit from Lance.
Lance is hunched over, Keith's hands on his shoulders supporting him.
Lance looks up, "I wasn't kidding," he coughs, "I am sick."
Keith pulls him into his room by his wrist, muttering, "Oh my God, Lance, go lay down, how did you even get a cold, we're in space—"
Lance laughs as the door closes.