As they stumbled out of the Yellow Lion, Keith made sure to secure one arm around Shiro's waist.
Though the older boy was upright, he was woozy, and definitely less than coherent. His steps were heavy and uncertain, his features flushed and his eyes glassy with intoxication.
Shiro swayed a little too far forward as they made their way down the ramp and Keith braced his free hand against Shiro's chest.
"Easy," Keith urged. "Take it slow."
Shiro nodded and placed one foot deliberately in front of the other. His renewed concentration might have been comical. But nothing about Shiro's current state was funny. He couldn't help it.
Perhaps if Shiro had intentionally gone and gotten shit-faced Keith would have been a little more willing to let him fend for himself. But this wasn't Shiro's fault. He'd been duped and Keith was sorely tempted to track down the alien bastard and "amuse" him in an entirely different way. Primarily with his bayard.
"Is he gonna be all right?" Pidge asked, trailing a few steps behind them.
"Shouldn't we take him to a pod?" Hunk sounded anxious.
"That won't do any good," Lance interjected. "He'd just be sleeping anyways."
"He'll be fine," Keith said, mildly agitated. "I'm taking him back to his room."
"You guys — worry too much," Shiro slurred into Keith's shoulder, half-asleep, tripping over his own feet and nearly knocking Keith off balance in the process.
"He shouldn't be left by himself," Pidge observed, frowning at Shiro's hopelessly uncoordinated limbs.
"I'm staying with him," Keith said, leaving no room for argument. "Can someone debrief Allura?"
"On it!" Lance volunteered, a little too enthusiastically.
"Someone else," Keith deadpanned.
"Rude!" Lance squawked indignantly. "Look, mullet, I'll have you know that the princess and I are like this," he held up two fingers mere centimeters apart. "Literally—"
"We've got it," Hunk quickly intercepted, shooting Lance a warning look. "Take care of Shiro. Let us know if you need anything."
"Thanks," Keith nodded, readjusting Shiro's weight against his hip. "C'mon, big guy. Time for bed."
Shiro raised his flesh hand in a half-hearted wave, mumbling a farewell to the others as Keith tugged him towards the sleeping quarters.
"You don' have to — come," Shiro hiccuped, eyes fluttering as his head rolled listlessly against Keith's supportive shoulder. "'M fine."
Keith smirked and gave Shiro's stomach an affectionate pat. "I know. Just a precaution."
"Keith," Shiro's slurred drawl floated over Keith's neck, warm breath prickling the hairs along his nape. "So official." After a thoughtful moment, he added sadly, "You sound like…like me."
Keith swallowed, something curdling inside his chest as the words spilled carelessly out of Shiro, unhindered.
"Shh," he shushed, urging Shiro to move his feet. "Almost there. You can lie down soon."
"That'd be nice." Shiro's soft voice lilted, his precarious balance wobbling with every step, the promise of blissful unconsciousness grappling with his determination to stay awake; to be okay. "But I don't wanna sleep."
Keith entered the code and the doors whooshed open, ushering them inside the compact living quarters.
"I don't think you have a choice," Keith grunted, depositing Shiro on the bed.
Shiro flopped back, helmet rolling onto the mattress beside him as he spread his arms wide and jolted with another breathy hiccup. "Never do," he murmured drowsily, staring up at the ceiling. No venom tainting his words, no bitterness, only steadfast resignation. His mind had wandered somewhere else, dark eyes following invisible shapes and figures.
"Shiro, sit up," Keith coaxed, ever so gently. "You can't sleep in your armor."
"Watch me," Shiro snorted out a delirious giggle. As if to prove his point, he rolled onto his side, pressing his face against Keith's available thigh and tucking one heavy arm across the younger boy's waist. His eyes fluttered and his breathing deepened, flirting with the possibility of passing out.
"Hey, not yet," Keith sighed, giving Shiro's shoulder a shake. "C'mon, work with me, here."
Shiro blew a disgruntled huff into Keith's leg before pushing himself into a precarious sitting position. He frowned down at his lap, swaying slightly as his throat worked with a few careful swallows.
"Keith?" Shiro suppressed something that sounded like a hiccup before continuing. "Do you ever wonder…"
"Wonder what?"
Keith felt his shoulders tensing involuntarily. This introspective, albeit intoxicated, line of questioning wasn't something he felt capable of fielding, tonight.
"You know," Shiro's voice was barely a whisper, head bowed low over his lap, "—why us? I mean, why do you think the universe, or whatever, saw us and said tag-you're-fucking-it?"
Oh, boy.
Keith cleared his throat, watching Shiro carefully because his chin had definitely quivered and his breathing had definitely sped up. "I don't know," he shrugged awkwardly. "But I doubt the universe put a lot of thought into it."
"Don't joke." Shiro sounded hurt. Keith felt his heart clench as a single tear trailed down the older boy's flushed cheek.
"Shiro," Keith reached up to thumb away the stain. "You're so drunk," he smiled gently. "You need sleep."
Shiro shook his head, pupils dilating with an unexpected surge of fear.
Keith allowed his fingers to linger for a moment longer, tracing a slow pattern along Shiro's jawline, before he finally pulled away.
"Where do you keep your clean clothes?"
"Keith…" Shiro swallowed thickly. He was pale and shaky and he needed to lie down. Keith didn't wait for a response, he rose and walked over to investigate the closet.
"How the hell do you find anything in this mess?" Keith asked over his shoulder. "Do you own a single article of clothing that isn't gray?"
"Kei—" Shiro's voice abruptly choked off. There was a pause, then a stifled gag. Keith whipped his head around in alarm and stumbled out of the closet.
"Shiro?"
Shiro was still sitting up, but he was cupping his flesh hand over his mouth, glaring intently at the floor. A low gurgle split through the silence and suddenly Shiro was fumbling for his discarded helmet, holding it upside down in his lap. His broad shoulders rolled with a silent heave.
"Oh, shit," Keith's eyes widened in horror as he realized what was about to happen. "No, no, no!" He rushed over to the bed in a panic. "Don't throw up in that!"
He yanked the helmet out of Shiro's grasp and glanced frantically around the room for anything else. Shiro was too far gone to be startled. He swayed over his lap and whined, cheeks inflating with another aborted retch. Any second now he was going to lose it and Keith wasn't prepared.
"Wait," Keith pleaded, setting the helmet aside and spinning in a wild circle, desperate to locate a receptacle. "Just hold—"
Shiro doubled over and threw up between his legs.
Keith closed his eyes in defeat as he heard the wet slap of liquid splattering all over the floor. He tossed the pajama pants he'd retrieved over the puddle at Shiro's feet, hoping to catch anything else that he brought up. Keith slumped down on the bed and placed a steadying hand against the center of Shiro's back, feeling the toned muscles contracting beneath his touch.
"I guess you weren't quite empty, huh?"
Shiro sat very still, panting raggedly over the mess he'd made. He belched and a weak dribble of bile spilled out, quickly absorbed by the gray fabric lying at their feet.
"'M sorry," he finally slurred, voice thick with nausea. And then, under his breath, "Fuck…"
"It's all right," Keith assured, attempting to disguise his squeamish cringing. "This'll be your one for the week."
Shiro tried to laugh and failed miserably, teetering so far forward that he nearly tipped over. He groaned, swallowed, and hung his head.
"I don'…mmnn. Keith?" Wet, bloodshot eyes and a distinct flush of embarrassment decorating both cheeks. "I don't feel good."
"Yeah," Keith's smile was loyally indulgent. "I figured." He gestured for Shiro to raise his arms. "C'mere."
Shiro complied, eyelids half-closed and head bobbing sporadically as he struggled to remain conscious and cooperative.
"You don'…have to do this," Shiro whispered, forehead bumping against Keith's convenient shoulder as he slumped a little further.
"Yeah," Keith whispered back, cupping Shiro's nape for support as he worked the chest-plate free and peeled off the damp undershirt. "I do."
"Sorry—"
"Stop." Keith paused, pressing his nose against Shiro's forehead. "Just…stop it."
Shiro shuddered, hot breath tickling Keith's earlobe as he released a long exhale.
"Don' lemme sleep," he breathed, muscles loosening as his body slowly succumbed to intoxication. "Please."
Keith pressed a soft kiss to his temple, stroked his fingers down the length of Shiro's back; once, twice, and once more before the older boy fell completely boneless in his arms, dead to the world.
"I'll be here," he murmured into Shiro's hair. "Okay?"
When the nightmares inevitably came, Keith would be there.
Shiro would not be alone, tonight.