Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lance grunted and rolled onto his back, the itch in his spine telling him the position was wrong again . He flipped onto his front and found it to be no better. Tendrils of sleep curled around him and he forced them away by cracking his neck and rolling onto his side (wrong). He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to sleep. 

Keith made a noise in his sleep, rolling over and his breath released along with Keith’s as he settled back into a deep slumber. Lance scratched absentmindedly at his cheek as he listened to the clock on their bedside table count the seconds passing; every tick counting another moment closer to when Allura would inevitably be waking the paladins up, the promise of training and sparring early in the morning doing nothing to settle the itch under his skin.

He listened drowsily to the debate in his mind, to sleep or not to sleep, that was the question Lance found himself confronting every night. Logically he knew he needed to sleep, and that postponing it wouldn’t change the outcome, training was steadily approaching and the longer he kept himself awake the worse he would feel. Illogically… he didn’t have arguments in favour, he just tended to follow the illogical path wherever it lead, because he didn’t want to sleep. 

Since Keith’s breathing had evened out a couple of hours ago Lance hadn’t slept a wink. He rolled onto his other side, bony fingers pressing into his cheek as he propped himself up to stare at Keith. All the hard lines of his face smoothed out when he slept, bringing a peacefulness Lance rarely saw on his fiancés face during waking hours. His soft hair drew inky lines along his jaw and across his forehead in the darkness, Lance gently brushed a bang to the side so it wouldn’t fall in Keith’s mouth as he slept, the fucking mouth breather. 

With a huff and a fond smile, he returned to his back (still wrong) and stretched out his legs until his knees popped in complaint. 

His fingers twitched with restless energy so he resumed braiding his hair for the third time that night. It was a difficult task because he was lying down and his arms got sore almost immediately, and the short curls Lance sported were barely long enough to maintain a braid; but it gave something for his hands to do so he let it be. As his fingers twisted the strands into a messy braid he tried to pull deeper breaths from his chest.

Each inhale filled his lungs and made the constant scratching under his skin subside for a moment, he held each breath in until an exhale was necessary, hating the way it got caught on the lump in his throat and needled its way out of his mouth. 

He groaned, dragging his fingers through the lumpy braid until it fell apart and returned to its usual curls. With a reluctancy that left his limbs slow and aching (although that could be the exhaustion) he retrieved his phone for the fifth time since he and Keith had turned in for the night. 

It was like giving in to the devil on his shoulder, failing at what should be a simple mission - sleeping. His phone sent a pale blue light over his face and he tipped it so the light wouldn’t shine on Keith’s face, lest he wake up. He began by scrolling absentmindedly through the news feed Allura had installed for them, but only one new post had been added since the last time he’d checked. He quickly switched to a game, because a diplomatic post about the structure of Planet EX8T was far too heavy for his exhausted brain; and after defeating another two levels put his phone down again. 

As soon as he shoved his phone across the table the itch returned and if not for Keith lying beside him he would have screamed with the weight of it. It pressed every rung of his ribs down, scratching at the bottom of them, coiling deep into his stomach and burning. Lance curled inwards in an attempt to stave the itch away and settle the rolling of his stomach but stretched out immediately, the burn of his muscles from training making the pain unbearable. 

“Sleep will help,” he whispered to himself, hoping that hearing the words out loud would make himself believe what he knew to be true. 

He scratched at his cheek, settling into the feeling of the itch slowly turning to pain with every scrape of his fingernail. His eyelashes fluttered slowly like butterfly wings coated in molasses, they were heavy, pulling his eyelids closed as though his body was fighting his brain’s determination to not sleep. 

He gave in to the temptation, and let the weight of his eyelids pull his eyes closed. 

He regretted it. 

The colours were like fire as they lapped at his conscious, his brain buzzed violently, a million thoughts fighting for dominance, for strength by getting louder and louder still. Like drunks at a party shouting against the music and other partygoers. 

Lance inhaled deeply through his nose and on the exhale he allowed himself to tune into the thoughts, flicking through them like channels on a television. 

He should have known better.

Iverson’s voice berated him for only being in pilot class because Keith dropped out. 

An argument with Pidge over putting himself in danger for the team. 

The bright light that had hit him a second before he died. 

Keith leaving. 

Through the painful memories he slowly slipped into sleep, his body sagging into the warmth of it and dangling on the precipice of true slumber. Lance’s eyes snapped open, and he breathed in slowly. 

He groaned lowly, putting the heels of his hands to his eyes and pressing until the tightness eased in his brain. 

The sheets rustled beside him and Keith let out a sleep addled grunt, gentle fingers wrapped around Lance’s wrists and pulled them away from his eyes so he was met with the concerned eyes of his fiancé. Keith’s eyes were shining violet in the darkness of the room, he had clicked on the lamp beside the bed when Lance had his eyes covered, the soft glow created a warm atmosphere where everything had previously been cold. 

“Lance?” Keith said softly, his voice groggy from sleep and eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

Lance huffed fondly, “I’m fine, go back to sleep.” 

“You’re not fine,” Keith pointed out and well… he couldn’t argue with that. 

“Go back to sleep,” Lance tried again, his voice hoarse as tears stung behind his eyes. 

Keith shook his head, “What’s wrong?” His voice was losing the timbre it had when he was half asleep, only grew softer by the minute, worry and affection sewn between the crevices of the words. 

Lance turned his head away to hide the tears threatening to leak if Keith so much as blinked at him. He flinched as Keith’s calloused fingers cupped his jaw gently, the cool press of his engagement ring soothing against Lance’s flushed cheeks, as Keith turned his head to meet his eyes Lance couldn’t help but melt into the touch. 

“Blue,” Keith whispered, “What’s wrong?” 

It was the way Keith said the endearment, with such care in his tone,  that sent the tears falling, but Lance felt the itch subside slightly as he shuddered a breath through the sobs. Keith waited patiently, pressing his forehead to Lance’s as he cried, not moving away or so much as grimacing as he continued to blubber. 

“Can’t sleep,” he managed once the final tear had fallen. “Don’t want to sleep,” he amended after a beat of hesitation. 

Keith hummed in understanding, staying silent as Lance heaved another breath through the all too familiar lump still in his airway. 

“There’s no reason for it, that’s what makes it so annoying,” Lance said, each word coming out slow due to him forcing it around the lump. “I just… don’t want to sleep.” 

Keith nodded slowly, processing the information. 

Lance had to squeeze his eyes closed to avoid the concern knitted into Keith’s furrowed eyebrows as he brushed the pad of his thumb against where Lance had scratched at his cheek. 

Keith broke the silence. 

“Okay. Then let’s not sleep.” 

Lance faltered, opening his eyes to meet Keith’s stubborn gaze, “Wh-what?” 

“Let’s just talk until you feel ready to fall asleep.” 

“That could be never,” Lance pointed out and Keith nodded again, as though he had already considered that and Lance was the silly one for pointing it out. The itch settled and a small smile tugged at Lance’s lips. 

“Okay,” he mumbled, letting himself be pulled into Keith’s arms and against the comforting beat of his heart, Keith’s fingers scratching at Lance’s scalp tenderly. 

“Let’s not sleep.”