The Best Klance Fanfictions

Hershey's Kisses

By EnglishCivilWar

link here:
art by:

(sorry for the extremley long fics, heres a new short one. love you!)

It wasn’t unusual for Keith to wake up sad.

Most days, he wouldn’t. Most days, he’d jump out of bed focused and ready for anything: a Galra attack, a planet to save, training to do. His boyfriend’s latest shenanigans, which always produced some excitement.

But some days, he’d wake up with a slight sadness pervading his mind. Not anything serious, not sadness that dragged his bones down deep into the mattress, or sadness that made him lonely and numb. Just a small bit. Sadness that he felt for no discernible reason. And he tried, he tried as hard as he could to understand it, but he’d soon realized it wasn’t something to understand.

He would just feel unhappy.

He felt unhappy today.

The ceiling looked dull to him. Paint was flaking off. Keith pulled his blanket up to his chin and watched it, thinking of nothing in particular.

It was still early. He always woke up early, earlier than the rest of the Paladins. The only other one up was Shiro, who didn’t sleep much. Something about his dreams. Keith understood that he shouldn’t ask about it.

Maybe he’ll keep me company. They did that, sometimes. When it was this early and Keith wasn’t feeling too good. He’d wrap his blanket around his shoulders and pad to Shiro’s room, and Shiro would sit with him and plan out battle techniques, because he knew that made Keith feel better

Keith rolled over. But I don’t want to do that today, he thought, sighing. And he didn’t want to be alone, either. He willed Lance to wake up and start bouncing off the walls, ‘cause that always kept Keith occupied, but he knew it wouldn’t happen for a few hours. Lance was a late sleeper.

Keith’s eyes fell closed. You have to get up.

He didn’t want to get up.

If you don’t get up now, you’ll never get up.

Keith got up.

It was a process. A process he usually was very strict about, but not today. He didn’t make his bed, didn’t comb his hair. He did brush his teeth, though. And he did get dressed. He grabbed a blue sweater from under his pillow, which he kept there because it had a good smell, Lance’s smell. Cinnamon. Lance had left it the first time he’d slept over in Keith’s room, and had apparently forgotten its existence, because he never asked for it back. I hope he doesn’t remember.

Keith tugged it on over his shirt. It was thick and just a bit too large for him, the sleeves coming down past his hands. He sat on his bed and tugged them down further, relishing in the warmth, as warm as Lance’s embrace. Lance was a really good hugger. I hope he wakes up soon. I’m in the mood for a hug.

He breathed out slowly. Get something to eat. You’ll feel better. Then train. He heaved himself up and made his way to the kitchen, his shoulders weighed down by something heavy.

The door slid open, and Keith was met with the wreckage from a natural disaster.

Plates were broken. Shards of metal were piled up in the sink. Cupboard doors were wrenched open. Goo covered every surface imaginable. It was like a tornado had swept through. Keith stared at everything with wide eyes, stunned speechless.