The first thing Lance noticed when he woke up was an abnormally warm weight pressing onto his chest, along with a sound suspiciously similar to a giant cat's purr reverberating through the room. The second thing was a strong, musky and spicy scent drifting around him and filling his lungs until he was breathing nothing else but that alluring fragrance. Really, the smell alone should have made him remember, but Lance was still drowsy with sleep and not until he looked downwards at his body, did the memories of what happened flood into his conscious mind.
There Keith stood, one arm draped over the Cuban's stomach, and head resting snuggly on his chest; still shirtless, mind you. Obviously, considering the end result, Lance had fallen asleep there after his major meltdown when the half-galra started purring melodiously into his neck. He was still doing it, a constant rumbling sound flowing happily out of him, sending tingles through Lance's chest in the process.
The Blue Paladin would have lain there the whole day, just looking at the teen sprawled across his chest, if it weren't for the fact that he noticed something was wrong. Yes, Keith now had fluffy (and cute) Galra ears, sharp but short claws instead of normal fingernails, and his skin was adorned with several purplish splotches of color; yet what truly concerned Lance was his body temperature. The half-galra was boiling hot, a flush of red taking over most of his face and the top of his shoulders.
In an attempt to find out just how heated Keith's forehead was, the Cuban removed one of the hands resting on the teen's waist and made a move to raise it to his head, when the purring suddenly stopped. Looking down at his chest, Lance's eyes were met with a pair of dark purple, almost black, ones. Keith was gazing up at him, hair standing up in each and every direction, face unreadable. As if in a daze, the half-galra stood up, heading towards what Lance guessed was his bathroom.
Not even 5 minutes later, Keith barged back into the room, still very much galra-looking but more alert. The flush on his face was darker, and Lance didn't know if he should be concerned or if he should be embarrassed himself. His worry won over the mortification when the other teen seemed to be losing his balance, knees wobbling and body tumbling towards the floor.
Before he even knew what was happening, a pair of arms secured around his waist and stopped his fall. A mix of heat, from the embarrassment, and an inexplicable soothing feeling overwhelmed Keith's body as Lance held him closely to his chest, supporting his weight.
"Careful Mullet, we wouldn't want you to break something on top of having a fever," The Blue Paladin spoke in a soft voice that Keith was not used to hearing, but that did funny things to his body nonetheless. The half-galra distantly wondered if Lance's proximity to his body was good or only worsening his condition; because if he heated up more than that, the teen was sure to explode on the spot.
Noting the lack of response and the somewhat awkward atmosphere, the Cuban cleared his throat, slowly inching away from Keith's feverish body but still firmly supporting his weight.
"What's wrong Mullet? Cat got your tongue?" He quipped, trying to lighten the mood and lessen the embarrassment.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Lance. But this is no time for your stupid humor. I hate to break it to you, but if you haven't noticed yet, I'm still very much looking like a Galra. And if you don't have a genius idea about how to fix any of this, running your mouth is not helping at all; better yet, it's making everything worse," Keith spat out before he could stop himself, baring his new-found fangs at the other teen. He soon regretted his temper when he saw Lance's face flash with hurt before setting into an indifferent mask.
The Blue Paladin stepped away from the half-galra, retracting his hands and clenching them into fists. He really shouldn't have felt hurt, but he did. Sure, the two of them always bantered, but this time Lance only wanted to help. The Cuban realized that even though he promised himself not to hope for anything, he did it anyways. He hoped that Keith would look at him the same way he looked at Keith. Joke's on him, because the Red Paladin really did seem to think of Lance as nothing more than a buffoon.
"Look, Lance I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," Keith's voice interrupted his self-destructing thoughts. Still it was too late, and Lance had made up his mind.
"Save it, Mullet. I'm already used to temperamental cats, especially ones that scratch," The Cuban smirked, though it did not reach his eyes, pointing at the red gashes on his arm. They were an angry red color, raised and irritated; frankly, they looked off on Lance's otherwise flawless caramel tinted skin.
Keith felt awful. He knew that the Blue Paladin only wanted to help him and he had reacted like an asshole by insulting him without reason, but he couldn't help himself. If the half-galra didn't like to feel one way, it was helpless. The fact that what had happened to him was not something he could control was driving Keith insane with frustration. To top it all, every nerve in his body seemed beyond sensitive, raw, and it did not help improve the teen's temper in the slightest. The only thing the Red Paladin knew was the fact that Lance seemed to have a major impact on his body's reactions, whether as a source or an effect to his recent transformation.
"Now then, if we've established the fact that you are one big, feisty cat, I think it's time we find some answers to this whole situation. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about makeovers but it seems like yours failed to get rid of your mullet, and that's simply a no in my book. So let's go find Coran or the Princess and get on top of this, eh Samurai?" Lance spoke, smirk ever-present on his face.
The Cuban knew he was overcompensating, getting as obnoxious as possible in order to mask the fact that Keith's words did, indeed affect him. But in the end he didn't have any reason to feel that way. After all the Red Paladin merely behaved as he always did around Lance, better yet he even had a reason to be snappy, what with the fact that he was going through a life-changing situation.
The Blue Paladin felt in many ways standing there in the middle of Keith's room, with the other teen's appearance being the only confirmation that the prior night did happen, and it wasn't just Lance's imagination going wild; but it wasn't about him, it was about Keith. They needed to find out what was happening to him, and it had to be done fast because the half-galra was glaringly obvious sick or feverish, or both.
Something was going through Lance's head, that much Keith was aware of, yet however much he tried to figure out what the teen was thinking about, he could not read his impassive expression. He never noticed how unsettling it was to him seeing Lance without a smile constantly present on his face.
The half-galra only then realized how unrealistic that was; no one could be happy all the time. Still, why had he not seen Lance down in front of the others even once? Was he holding it all in like Keith was? But he never saw the Cuban burst out into fits of anger as he did. So how was he even dealing with all the pent-up emotions? Keith had his training to help let it all out. It wasn't healthy, but being violent and relying on impulse was a comfort for him. What about Lance? Was he still holding it all in even then?
By the time the Red Paladin reverted his attention from his thoughts to the teen standing in his room, the other seemed to have reached a conclusion. Lance's blue eyes were focused and determined as they made contact with his own, and it took every ounce of control in Keith's body not to collapse on the spot under that resolute gaze. His body was hit by a newfound wave of warmth erupting from the very core of his being and his legs wobbled when Lance's oceanic smell gained a whole new intensity. It was intoxicating, but at the same time Keith found himself not minding the idea of dying by suffocation if it meant his last breath of air would be full of Lance.
"Come on Mullet, we have to figure out what's going on with you. Put on a shirt and let's go find the others."
Keith nodded his head wordlessly, dismissing the torn t-shirt from the prior night and making his way towards his closet in search of another one. Pulling out a black one, he barely got it on before taking it off a second later. It felt too tight.
The half-galra frowned, glaring intensely at the discarded fabric. He tried another one and another one until he burned through all the t-shirts from his closet. All of them hugged his body too closely for Keith's comfort. But he always wore them like that on purpose, opting for skin-tightness in order to have better velocity and precision when fighting.
Lance was intensely observing Keith's back muscles as they stretched and constricted while he tried on shirt after shirt, when a frustrated groan interrupted his shameless ogling.
"You have got to be kidding me!" The raven-haired teen grumbled, throwing the last of his t-shirts on the floor forming a pile of black. Lance swore that guy must have exhausted the entire supply of black fabric in the whole universe with how his closet looked like.
"What's wrong? Are you finally over your emo phase?" The Cuban taunted.
"No, Lance, I am not over my 'emo phase' as you call it. It's just that these t-shirts are too god-damned tight!"
"Tight? But you always wear them like that. How can they be too tight now?"
"I don't know. They just feel uncomfortable. I think it's because of this whole fiasco," Keith hissed out, gesturing to his entire body.
"Well too bad buddy, but you're not going anywhere like that, not when you have a fever," The Cuban protested, crossing his arms over his chest like his mother used to do whenever she scolded him. "Wait, I think I have an idea. Stay here and don't move, I'll be right back," Was all he said before he disappeared out of the room, leaving a frustrated Keith behind.
The Red Paladin knew that Lance would return soon, he really did, but he still felt a sense of panic and loss when the door to his room slid shut after the Cuban. What was wrong with him? That wasn't normal; he never felt such panic from someone leaving him alone for a couple of minutes, much less from Lance. Though, even if Keith wouldn't admit it aloud, at least for now, he wasn't that disturbed about his attachment to the Sharpshooter. Yet, it was mortifying for him that a person could have such an impact over his body and emotions.
Lance returned soon after with what seemed like dark purple fabric clutched into his hands.
"Um, I found this at the back of my closet. Don't know how you feel about the color, but it's the baggiest one I have, if that helps. Also, it matches the color of your, um, ears!" Your eyes! 'It matches the color of your eyes.' That's what Lance wanted to say. Unfortunately his (self-proclaimed) amazing flirting skills seemed to have gone out the window along with his smoothness, as it happened each time he was in the same room as Keith. He wanted to punch his own stupid mouth.
"Thanks? I guess…"
Keith reached subconsciously with one hand to his ears, retracting it immediately and taking the purple material instead. He pulled it over his head, letting himself be hugged by its comfort.
The t-shirt was obviously baggy even on Lance, but not as much as it was on Keith. It reached about mid-thigh, what with him being shorter than the Cuban. The sleeves were almost down to his elbows and the collar hung slightly to the left, exposing his shoulder. Keith was fumbling, trying to fix the material in place, and Lance, Lance was definitely staring.
"How is it?" The Cuban finally found his voice, though his mouth seemed unusually dry and his palms clammy. He subtly wiped them on his pants when Keith wasn't looking.
"I'm good. It's more comfortable. Thanks."
"Don't sweat it. Are you ready to go then?"
Keith nodded his head, still toying with the hem of Lance's purple shirt, and stepped out of the room, the Blue Paladin right behind him. Stars help him, because Lance was sure that Keith would be the death of him.