-x-

maybe if it left a mark
addendum

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The training deck rings with the clash of metal.

Keith tunes out the sound of it. Tunes out the hard rush of his breath and the beat of his pulse, the reverberation in his hands and the flush of his skin, the sweat dampening his hair - and instead focuses on where he's putting his feet, where he's striking his next blow. This new program is more difficult than the type he's used to running, but the training level is set low enough that he can put more effort into his technique and less on blindly taking down combattants one after another.

He doesn't expect to be using two swords often.

The practice definitely won't hurt.

Keith works his way steadily up to level three, then activates the fourth without pause. He feels better than he has in days. That nervous vibration under his skin is far from gone, but it feels sort of settled. It flares up every now and then, at mostly small things. At a harsh inhale from Allura, at each casual "Galra Keith" joke from his friends, at the lingering touch of Lance's hand. But mostly he's able to chalk his nervous energy up to the fact that they're just days away from putting their plans against Zarkon into action. He's going to do whatever he can to make things right. He's going to do whatever he can to finally end this.

Movement at the side of his vision makes Keith turn his head.

He parries a blow from the gladiator with his Galra blade, throws it back to give himself a second to breathe, and looks again. Lance is walking along the perimeter of the room, shoulders loose, hands tucked into his pockets, flashing Keith a lopsided smile when he makes eye contact, though it's fleeting. Keith feels a flush of warmth go up his neck, and then the gladiator is back, and he's dodging a blow, striking out with his bayard.

As long as Lance stays out of the arena, the gladiators won't engage him. It leaves Keith free to concentrate on the fight.

Only he can't.

It's not like he's been actively avoiding Lance. He's just been… trying to not be alone in the same room with him. He's kind of embarrassed. Kind of annoyed.

Keith doesn't remember what all he said the other day, what might have slipped out of his mouth when he was barely conscious. Thinking back on what he does remember - the press of Lance's body, the steady warmth of his hands, the low comforting tone of his voice - only makes things worse. That type of situation is a little more…. intimate... than Keith is used to.

He's not like that with people. Physically, emotionally.

He's barely like that with Shiro, and they've known each other for years.

So to have been vulnerable like that with Lance…

It makes his stomach flip awkwardly.

Keith is honestly expecting Lance to never bring it up again. And it's - fine. It's whatever. They've already done this once before, he guesses that it's just going to be a thing that they do.

Keith tells himself that he's fine with that. He's fine with letting it go. But his body doesn't get the memo. He's still on pins and needles about it, letting it bleed over into his training so that his hands start to tremble and his movements becomes less fluid. He slips once. He barely manages to spin the electrified staff away from his shoulder to avoid a shock. Lance is sitting against the wall with his arms around his knees, watching Keith openly, whistling every now and then in surprise or appreciation, or just to be annoying, and it's distracting.

Keith incapacitates the last gladiator by rolling out of the way of its staff and cutting it down at the knees with his bayard. It drops, blinking, vanishing into the floor. The simulator bongs softly, "Training sequence complete." and Keith sits back on the floor right where he is, catching his breath.

He puts his bayard and blade aside. He lifts his wrist, swiping a gloved hand across his forehead before the sweat drops into his eyes.

Seeing that Keith is more or less finished for the time being, Lance rocks to his feet and walks over. Keith doesn't realize he's carrying anything until Lance drops the packet of juice in his lap, and Keith jumps, picking it up from between his knees. He looks at Lance questioningly, but Lance isn't looking at him, scanning the empty floor of the training deck. He sits beside Keith with his long legs spread out across the floor, propping back on his hands.

He tips one of his feet sideways and lightly bumps it against Keith's. And he's got this bright, eager look on his face when he does look up.

"This is a lot better."

Keith doesn't understand. "It is?"

"Oh, definitely," Lance says, looking away.

He's still grinning, but looks like he's trying really hard not to. His mouth keeps twitching, lips pressing together, and Keith pokes the straw down into his packet to distract himself from wondering why. He drops it in frustration after only taking a couple of sips and looks back at Lance, blurts out, "What is? This is better than what?"

Obviously, it's a trap.

Only Keith realizes that after Lance has turned to face him again, that grin spreading wider, uninhibited. He nudges Keith with his elbow, "Better than having to rush your unconscious body to the infirmary before you bleed out all over the floor."

Keith feels all that unnecessary tension he's carrying sink out of his body all at once. Of course Lance only wants to use it as ammunition, as something to stab at Keith with. Keith groans and flops onto his back, throwing the arm he's holding his juice packet in across his face.

"Lance."

Lance goes on, raising his hands in a shrug, crooking his knee for balance, "Alright, I was a little scared there for a minute. Don't know who cleared you for being allowed to carry two sharp objects at the same time, but I've got to have a serious talk with them. I thought we all agreed you weren't even getting passed a butter knife at the table anymore."

"Lance," Keith huffs around his arm, "We don't ever use anything sharper than a spork."

"I'm just saying, giving you two pointy weapons and setting you loose? And you didn't tell anyone where you were gonna be again, like it's hard to guess, though, you're totally a creature of habit. It just sounds like a recipe for disaster."

"What, were you worried about me?"

It kind of pops out without him meaning to, and Keith tugs up the corner of his mouth the way Lance does when he looks sideways at him. With Lance babbling, he can't really be mad. At least they're talking. Kind of. His heart kicks under his ribs.

Lance doesn't miss a beat. He presses both hands against his chest, fingers splayed over his collarbone as he rocks forward and levels Keith with an unimpressed look, "I am totally worried." He says it like he cannot stress this enough. "Because if I give anymore blood to you, I'm pretty sure you're going to be more McClain than Galra."

"That sounds… terrifying. Also, I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that."

"Are you a scientist?"

"It doesn't work like that, Lance," Pidge's voice pops over the loudspeaker, making them both jump. Lance actually squeals, jolting like he took a hit from the electric field. Keith sits up and spins around to face the observation deck. "Also, Hunk says to tell you guys the prototypes are finished, if you'd like to join us for the taste test."

"Pidge, do you mind?" Lance whines loudly, annoyed, turning to pout at the windows.

"Oh, like you're the only one worried about him knifing himself on accident again," Pidge says, and Keith can hear the snark in their voice, "Honestly, Lance, can you be more transparent? Come on, I'll meet you guys down there."

There's a muffled little thump as the speaker cuts off. Keith sits there a moment longer, then looks at Lance, who's rubbing his palms over his face and groaning softly.

"What's Pidge talking about?" Keith asks warily.

Lance drops his hands and holds them aloft like he's offering something - something other than a sheepish smile, and cheeks that are tinted slightly pink, and bright blue eyes that don't quite meet Keith's gaze anymore - and he says, "Alright, full disclosure? I may or may not have told Hunk and Pidge about your birthday situation, so the three of us decided to do something nice for you."

Keith feels his entire body simultaneously warm up and freeze.

"You what?"

Lance rubs his chin with one finger, looking at anything but Keith at this point.

"Well, that stuff you said when you were - that stuff about being used to not celebrating your birthday. Like it wasn't important. I dunno," Lance's voice drops a little lower, indecisive, or... "That just really bugged me, man. I asked Shiro to confirm and he said yeah you'd definitely probably had a birthday since we came to space, and you can't - you can't not celebrate your birthday with your family, Keith, it's against all the rules and as someone who is the King of Birthdays I refuse to let this slide."

"I don't - I didn't want - " Keith stammers, embarrassed.

"Keith, relax, it's literally just milkshakes and we were gonna do it anyway it's just, y'know, now we have an excuse in case anyone asks," Lance laughs nervously, turning to him fully, now, and Keith is the one that drops his gaze, scrunching the juice pouch he's still holding between his hands. Lance goes on, faltering a little, "And I mean…. we wanted to. We're glad you're here with us."

Still.

We're glad you're here with us, still.

Lance doesn't say it, but it punches Keith in the gut.

The fact that, just a few days ago, Keith's life was pooling out of him, coloring this same floor bright red, and today they're sitting in almost that exact spot like nothing even happened. It's a little messed up. It's hard for Keith to wrap his head around. But he thinks, suddenly grasping at the pieces, that maybe it's just easier for Lance to make jokes about it than to actually deal with it.

Whatever Keith is doing is definitely not working.

It just keeps him up at night, rubbing his leg, touching his neck, getting up out of bed to walk the room because he needs to be sure that he can. That he's here. That he's real.

Keith touches his neck now without thinking about it, eyes trained on the floor without seeing it. And then Lance closes his hand over the spot, over Keith's hand, and he squeezes. The weight of it is warm and familiar, his longer fingers and calloused palm, and Keith sucks in a breath. Lance's hand slides to his shoulder, though, and he uses it to purposefully, clumsily leverage himself up. He fists a hand in the collar of Keith's shirt, grinning as he pulls him up, too, when Keith stumbles before he gets his feet underneath him.

"Now, come on!" Lances urges, voice bright, reeling Keith in and strengthening his resolve to say something, even if he has to endure being teased about it. "You're all sweaty and gross, but lucky for you, we don't mind - "

"Lance."

Keith stops abruptly because Lance's hand falls away. His voice and his feet both stop, and Lance walks ahead a couple of paces before he notices and turns. He's still smiling expectantly, but there's a slight crease between his eyebrows. Keith wills his heart to slow down just for one second so he can say it and get this over with.

Things are easier with Lance.

Complicated, crazy, and annoying sometimes - but still easy.

Maybe things will stay that way.

(Maybe it's fine if Allura doesn't want anything to do with him anymore… right now… because at least Keith has this, whatever it is.)

"Uh…" Keith says, winces, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Lance says automatically, then backtracks, "For what, exactly?"

"For, um." Keith realizes he's touching his neck again. He drops his hand, stops himself from crossing his arms and flexes his fists, instead, loosely at his sides. He picks his gaze up from the floor at his feet and looks at Lance, sees the slight look of attention shift in his eyes, "For what you said. The other day. I just - I guess I really needed to hear it. So. Thanks."

Lance's face looks conspicuously red.

His mouth does that thing where it almost pulls up into a wide smile, but he chews it back down to something more somber, cutting his blue eyes to the side, taking a deep breath. He clasps his own hands together, twists his fingers. He seems to have it under control when he looks back at Keith a moment later, because his smile is easier, his shoulders jumping up as he tilts his head.

"R-right. That's what I'm here for." Lance finger-guns at him. Actually finger guns. And Keith is exasperated, and mortified, and yet he's still smiling - he's smiling. When did he do that? - right up until Lance blithely adds, "Although, next time you want me to cradle you in my arms, you can just ask, Keith. You don't have to be so dramatic."

Keith lets the smile drop off his face right away, kind of enjoys the way Lance falters, panicked.

"I take it back," Keith says. He bends to pick up his weapons, sheathes them both, and walks resolutely toward the door. "I don't remember that happening."

Lance gallops after him, harried.

"Aw, c'mon, Keith, don't be like that - "

"Nope. What are you talking about? I don't have any idea."

"Keeeitth."

-x-

(A/n) Oooh BOY October and Voltron has been super great to me! I can't even remember the last time I was not only invested enough to write something but MOTIVATED ENOUGH TO FINISH THINGS. I'm hyped about it. Please let me know what you guys think, what you loved, what you hated, etc etc, and what you might want to see from me in the future! Thanks so much for reading, it feels good to be around~

-bobtac