Keith, for all intents and purposes, was a very contradictive person. He liked quiet, peaceful moments between rushing daily chores, but he filled the silence with headphones that played upbeat music and speed-reading his favourite books. He prefers to work or do his shopping in the morning, but hated leaving his bed. He complains about his cat purposely setting up death traps of toys for him to trip over, yet doesn't hesitate to add one more to his shopping trolley in the moment. He's not a people person, but he accepts invitations from his small group of friends on a regular basis.
Not like he had much choice with the last one though - Lance would drag him out by his feet if he had to.
There's a raspy cough from behind him, weak and still sleep addled. Keith wakes easily to the sound, familiar and not terribly unpleasant. He doesn't shift from his curled up position until he hears it again, this time louder and more scratched, drier somehow.
"Keith," the quietest broken voice he's ever heard muttered between coughs, hacking and nearly gagging with the force. He sits up quickly, rubbing at his eyes as he grabs the glass of water on the nightstand beside him. As he turns to hand the glass over to the man in bed bedside him, he stops for a moment, just to observe.
Lance was weakly pushing himself into an upright position, enough to take a drink. His skin was unusually pallor, lacking his trademark warm glow. Eye bags darkened the skin beneath his clouded blues as he wiped sleep from one eye and reached for the glass with the other. The glass on Lance's side of the table was empty.
"Here, let me." he mumbled, tilting the glass slowly against Lance's lips. The brunet drinks slowly, small sips to wet his dry and sore throat first, then a large sip for thirst. Keith takes the glass away and Lance whines a little hoarsely as he starts coughing again. He turns over and wiggles his way back under the covers, pulling his shirt sleeves up over his hands to cough again. He burrows his way under until just a mess of tangled locks was left above the blankets, tickling Keith's side.
He brushes a hand through Lance's hair soothingly, then got out of bed. He hurries through his morning routine, even though he hates having to rush. He showers and brushes his hair through and dries off quickly, makes breakfast out of some cereal for himself and some heated up rice pudding with honey for Lance. He pockets some flu medicine from the cupboard and makes it back to their shared bedroom in no time.
Setting his cereal and the medicine to the side, he tried encouraging Lance to sit up again, slowly but surely. Lance made sure to complain the whole time, eyes screwed shut, but went silent when Keith offered the first spoonful of the warm and tasty substance.
Keith didn't like dealing with sickness. He believes sick people get in the way uselessly when they turn up to work instead of calling in, they should just stay at home by themselves and not infect anyone else. He hates the coughing and sneezing and the germs in the air.
And yet, there was Lance. For Lance he would ignore all of that, because for all his insisting that he was fine by himself, Keith wanted to look after him. Wanted to help him recover, make him feel better. So he brought him water, and medicine, and food, brought him hot water bottles and extra blankets, helped him bathe when he was too weak to stand by himself in the shower. It was worth it all for Lance's health.
He divided his time between feeding himself and feeding Lance, who managed a third of the bowl before he's overwhelmed by a coughing fit, which is enough to make him feel sick, so Keith sets the food to the side, finishes his cereal in a few quick bites and returns with the flu medicine and water, which the brunet takes gratefully.
"Thank you," Lance mutters hoarsely, keeping the glass of water on his side of the bed. "I'll be fine, you can go to work now, or.. I dunno."
"Nah, it's fine." Keith runs a hand through the hair by Lance's ear, which he knew he liked, watching him with a soft expression as Lance pressed his cheek into Keith's palm. "I'm not going anywhere today."
The affection Lance felt for him was so visible, his eyes watered slightly, his grin was wobbly and weak, but he nuzzled into Keith's palm again with a quiet 'thanks'. Keith didn't reply, he just helped Lance back down under the covers and tucked him into bed again. He had things to do, sure. There was laundry piling up in the corner, and they could really use some more milk and bread, but those weren't terribly important yet. Right now, he could relax and stay beside Lance, which he did; grabbing his book from his nightstand and sitting up and against his pillows. Lance wormed his way over, burying his face into Keith's side, nosing the bottom of his shirt upwards so he could plant a soft kiss by his hipbone and slinging an arm around his waist, and Keith's hand left his book in favour of resting in Lance's hair again, scratching rhythmically and softly through the short strands as he easily opened the book with his other hand to where he left off. He wanted to fidget, or play music, or do something productive, but he also didn't. For once he had no schedule and he would stay in bed instead.
These moments with Lance that were unusually quiet held a lot of meaning to Keith. Lance was always active, always making noise or bouncing around wanting to play or work on something. He was a clown, eager to be the centre of attention and pleasing his friends and the people around him. Keith only learned in the last few months that Lance was only silent on rare occasions, like when he slept on his side instead of his back, or if something upsetting has happened, and even then he isn't completely quiet - there's soft snores, or quiet sobs, or rustling of movement. He also became quieter when Keith kissed him - for all Lance's cockiness and attitude he was a hopeless romantic and he loved gentle kisses, sweet and innocent ones where Keith brings a hand up to rest on his collarbone to support himself as he leans forward, where Lance returns the gesture with lithe fingers curling into the hair on the nape of Keith's neck. Anything more heated though, and Lance would become noisy again.
Lance's breathing was a little laboured as he slept beside Keith, raspy and dry and through his mouth as his nose was too clogged up from the flu. His skin was cold, and Keith absentmindedly tucked Lance's hand between himself and his shirt, shivering as the coldness caused goosebumps on his skin but pleased when he felt Lance squeeze himself even closer, fingers and thumbs rubbing circles subconsciously. It felt like he had a little animal clinging to him, and to himself Keith mumbled about bed bugs and laughed under his breath at his own joke. Lance would never let it go if he'd heard him try and make his own joke, so for now he carried on reading and watching over his sickly boyfriend in silence.
