Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rolling his shoulders with a sigh, trying to ease the ache between his shoulder blades, he stepped out of the room. With a flick of his wrist he despawned his dagger, chips of paint falling off its pristine blade. 

“And that is how you take out an opponent,” his teacher droned on, arms crossed. Iverson was a joy. Really. With his permanent scowl and thunderous stormcloud, he sucked it all out of the first years. But Keith was already in his third year and so the glare shot his way bounded off him harmlessly. “Good work, Kogane. Fast, clean, brutal.” 

He nodded and stood next to the other third years, stuffing the handle of his blade back into its sheath behind his waist. 

And that was the end of that because Iverson barked at the first years to form a line, and he chose his first victim. With a barely suppressed smirk, Keith watched the boy swallow thickly and step into the arena. The glass doors swooshed shut, lights flashing yellow to signal it was occupied, and the bot strode in from another slit in the wall. The victim shook as he took out the handle of his own weapon and gave it a shake, springing out a sword. 

And not a second too soon, either. The robot fixed its gaze on him and lunged into a sloppy thrust, leaving too much of its chest vulnerable. 

Not like the freshman got that. He squeaked and focused on the blade instead, parrying it, taking a step back. The bot pushed forward more, then struck its foot out and the guy came crashing down. Rolling to the side just as the blade sliced the empty space where his head would have been, he attempted to nick at its leg but fell short. 

Keith turned away, already bored. 

Across the hallway he noticed a broad shouldered body bend over to fix something on the floor. It was like he knew the exact moment Keith was watching him when he turned around and they met gazes. He gave a friendly wave, and Keith awkwardly gave one back, their usual back and forth greetings, before the large man dove into his work again. Keith didn’t know how it started, but it happened, and every time they saw each other they waved. Like one of those people you know but don’t know enough, yet still say hi because it's weird without one. Somehow, though, he managed to catch the other’s name, Hunk. And Keith was 99.89 percent sure the mechanic knew his own name after hearing Iverson chew him out on a routine he landed flawlessly, if a bit rough. 

And then the guy gave a victorious ‘ha!’ and the robot finally flickered and disappeared, much like a hologram, and wiped the sweat from his face with a long breath. 

“Took ya long enough,” Iverson growled. “Your stance was wrong half the time and you were more focused on the sword, not the way the bot moved or any of its weak points. You should be ashamed!” As the freshman stumbled out of the rink, face flushed and panting, he was already moving on to the next one. “You! Get inside!” 

This guy gave a curt nod and took one step inside before the lights suddenly flashed blue in the entire room. 

And then Keith got excited. 

Glancing around the rest of the third year’s, he saw the anticipation growing on their own faces. Their eyes flashed from behind their face masks, grins finally appeared, and as the first years looked on, apprehensive, Iverson gave a nod. “Go to your stations!” 

And he was off. 

The patter of running feet speeding down the hallway gives the first boost of adrenaline into his systems. He raced past them all, and while he hates to admit he’s the smallest in the group, it only makes it easier for him to slunk on without their heavy weight. So naturally he’s the first to pick up a gun from the wall, check to make sure its bullets are loaded, and sprint to the far wall that opens up to the real outside world. 

The blinking blue flashes fade away to the serene green plants decked outside of the training hall. A piece of reality cuts through all the dense foliage, other third years spilling out from the seemingly flat screen, but that’s just thanks to their invisibility the garrison managed to create. 

Keith doesn’t look back for long. He charges ahead, flicking his glasses to digital mode and dialing in on the route he’s been programmed to take. Either trust this navigation panel or crash face first into the invisible building. He would know. 

As usual, he’s the furthest out. But this makes his smirk wider. The more chance to spot the magea. The bigger the chance to actually kill it. His hands clutch the gun tighter. 

The leaves slap away as he jogs, paying no mind to their natural formation. Sticks crunch and birds scatter away, cawing out surprised screeches from the random intrusion. He silently begs them to shut up so they wouldn’t alert the magea. Keith needed this. Needed to do this to prove himself and move to level 4, the rare stage that warriors graduated to after bringing in a creature dead or alive. 

And then he’s here, touching the bark of a tree. Underneath the chips of wood it glows green, sending a message through the roots that he’s in position. Shifting the gun to lay on an arm he waits, eyes and glasses scanning the area. 

Keith’s never actually seen one in real life. He’s seen pictures, or at least from what the magea’s portrayed themselves to be at that moment. Some took on a human look, blending in with the crowd to stir up trouble, others took on animals, and some made a mash between them all. Large bird wings with a lion body. A lady with snakes for hair. Loch Ness Monster. But nobody knew what they looked like in their first and original form. Or, nobody lived to tell the tale. 

As he stood there, ears stretching as far as they could hear, he ran through the list of what he’d need to do if he ever saw one. Shoot first, ask questions later. They’re fast and ruthless, and if they ever let their guard down for a second, take it. After that, well, it’s been nice knowing you. After one is shot down, immediately call the ground control. They will handle it, your job is done. 

And, most importantly, don’t look one in the eyes. Ever. 

A stick crunched, making someone swear silently. Keith stiffened and edged around the tree trunk, stilling his breath. His heart hammered, it didn’t matter what the garrison put in their food to make all the army boys calm down because it sure as hell wasn’t working now. Slowly, slowly, he peeked around, wiping the sweat off his hands and onto his cargo pants as he dared to look. 

It was a normal boy he saw at first. Tall and thin with broad enough shoulders to make him look like a man. A long loose coat draped over him and his long legs stepped over the log with ease. The other boy didn’t seem to notice him, though, and the longer Keith watched him, the more sure he became. Nobody walked around these areas. Not unless they were part of the garrison but then he would be wearing cargo pants and a tight shirt, their regular style for any year. But if the dirt on the other’s jeans were any indication, this person had been walking for a while in those clothes. 

Keith swallowed. He looked so normal. 

And pulled the trigger. 

The boy’s wide eyes stared right into his own and all time stopped. Even though he was a good ten feet away he could see the bright blue tones of the guy, swirling with a deeper blue that left him breathless. They didn’t have an iris, yet it didn’t look so out of place on him. His breath was gone, vanished as he stared. He didn’t even seem hot anymore, his heart didn’t thump out of his chest, nor did his mind blitz out that he’s staring right at a magea! None of that registered as he took in the faint freckles, took in the arched eyebrows and wide eyes, took in the other’s thin lips open partly with shock. 

And then it was gone. 

The bullet flew through where he used to be and latched onto a tree immediately zapping it. Leaves fell off in chunks and all Keith could do was stare dumbly as the entire plant broke down and fell, dead. 

But not the magea. 

Hissing in disappointment, he reloaded his gun, feeling panic claw up his throat. He’s going to die. He should be dead. Breathing out shakily he braced himself to feel something, anything, eyes darting out to catch any sight of the tan boy. 

“Third years,” the voice in his comn started, making him flinch, “head back to base. The magea’s gone.” 

Giving a last glance around, Keith bit the inside of his cheek and huffed, spinning on a heel and storming back the way he came. He had been right there! How could he have missed it?! For once in his life it had been in his section and he killed a tree instead. “Ugh!” he groaned, wheeling around to punch a tree. The pain shocked his system but soon dulled down and he walked to another tree, giving it his punishment as well. And the next one and the next until his fist was stinging underneath his glove, obviously bleeding. 

He wasn’t dead, not if his knuckles had a voice. Giving out a harsh laugh he shook his head in wonder. Rule number one had said to never look in a magea’s eyes. Nobody said what happened after, and Keith had been dying to figure out how the garrison knew the eyes especially were a bad spot, so this stumped him. 

Keith should be dead. He looked into one’s eyes. Didn’t that mean, like, automatic death or was he going batshit crazy and imagined it all? 

Standing just in front of the opened wall leading back inside he gave a sour glance over his shoulder. A flash of blue and he was spinning around, heart pounding in the direction he thought it scurried off to. Was it back? But no further calls came from his comn, and other students were already trickling back into the door. 

He screwed his face for a moment, contemplative, before he shook his head. If it was back, he had to check it out, orders be damned. 

“Yo, Keith!” Ah, James the lames. 

He ignored him in favor of stalking the direction he thought the blue . . . thing went off in. He had to be sure, what kind of defender would he be if he didn’t check for the safety of the garrison? 

“What, did you forget something?” the voice taunted, much closer now. Keith muttered under his breath, still shaken up. He didn’t have the time for this. 

“Leave me alone.” 

He looked around again, searching for any footprints but nothing showed up. No bushes were broken, the birds still sang, and insects buzzed. There was nothing here. 

Shoulders slumping, he sighed and spun back around, dreading coming back inside. His gun stayed heavy in his hands, useless when he really needed it, so that was helpful. Plus, his oncoming headache felt like a bad omen. 

In all, it was a really shitty day. 

-----

“It was literally in your sector!” Iverson shouted, throwing his hands up to the ceiling as he paced back and forth, agitation rolling off him in waves. “You blew up a tree! You literally saw him!” 

“I did, sir,” he sighed, back ramrod straight along with every other student in his rank. They were all here to witness his embarrassment and he ground his foot into the floor quietly, just imagining it was the face of his commander underneath his boot. That was the only thing helping him through this. 

Apparently, that was not the answer his teacher was looking for. “THEN WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME HOW YOU, THE BEST SCORING STUDENT IN MY CLASS, MISSED?!”

He didn’t flinch, and noted with dulled amusement how that made his face darken. “Must have been the exhaustive training we’ve all been through, sir.”

Iverson’s eye twitched and the students around him jittered away, not wanting to be in the line of fire. “SO YOU’RE TELLING ME IT’S MY FAULT?!” Heavy boot falls and the commander’s face was right in front of his own. “TELL ME THAT AGAIN.”

Keith pinched his lips tightly, staring at the actual lividness boiling in his eyes. A vein popped out, pulsing with the rage that went through him. But the anger couldn’t hurt him. It didn’t matter. He had never known the love of his mother. He had seen his father die in a fire trying to rescue someone else. The cold, hard walls was all he knew about anymore as he cried himself to sleep. He didn’t have anything Iverson could take away anymore. “Did I stutter?”

It happened so fast. Slow enough to dodge, if you’re Keith, but he stood his ground as the hand slapped his face, leaving his cheek burning almost as much as his untreated hand. He simply shook it off and stood ramrod straight again, fixing his posture. The silence that stretched after was loud, Iverson’s heavy nose breaths the only thing heard. “Go,” he snarled, “to your room. You will have cleaning duties for a month!” 

Keith shot him a smile, stepping out of line and away. “Right, sir.” 

“AND you are skipping breakfast!” his commander shot after him, his words shaking the air. He simply gave a thumbs up and walked out. Iverson couldn’t take his dinner, too, not when they didn’t believe in lunch already. And Keith was sure he could steal some morsels from the first year’s pity, so he was fine. 

Walking through the hallways of the garrison alone was nothing new for him. His feet traced familiar steps out of the training room, past the cafeteria, up a flight of stairs and then deposited him to the long rows of Year’s rooms. First years slept all the way at the top, needed last in an emergency, then second years and third years. After that the years went down to five; that was the lowest any warriors could stay at the garrison for before they were shipped off to join the navy unless they caught a magea. Those people were kept and slept at the first level of dorms, but were never called to fight another creature again. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why they were kept, all he knew was that it was a prized position and everybody should work hard to achieve it. 

The chance had literally landed right in his lap and he still blew it. 

Picking up the same traces of anger from before he stormed all the way into his dorm and slammed the door shut. Throwing off his gloves, he barely winced as the dried blood ripped off his wound and made it bleed a little more freely. He is the best in his class. So how could he have missed the shot?! 

Magea’s killed people. Tortured them, and animals. The power in their bodies was unexplainable. Magic, some whispered while the government still scoffed at that idea. But, again, every magea they ever encountered was a dead one so they couldn’t say for a fact. 

Plopping on his bed on his side of the room, Keith groaned and rubbed his face, feeling the headache only grow stronger. He messed up. Big time. And Iverson wasn’t happy about that, which meant the government wasn’t happy about that, which meant the world was still in danger. 

And it was his fault. 

Slamming his hands against everything as he stormed into the bathroom, he turned the faucet on and began rubbing the blood off his wound. Looking up, he caught himself staring at his reflection. Violet eyes, deep enough to be mistaken for brown or blue, watched him right back. 

And he was back in the forest, seeing those eyes locked onto his once again. 

What had even happened? No irises, yet the other’s eyes seemed to swirl like clouds, like the ocean. It was fascinating in its own creepy way. He didn’t know how to feel about the whole idea, but he wasn’t dead, right? Sure, he was in trouble with the longest cleaning sentence he had ever received, but that was his own fault. 

Still, cleaning seemed like a shitty punishment for not killing one of the terrors of the world. 

A heavy sigh and he went back to scrubbing. At least the handprint was slowly fading. It might leave a small bruise, but Keith’s had worse. A lot worse. So he should thank his lucky stars he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere for the garrison to find and mourn over. That image made him snort, just imagining Iverson sniffling over his casket and wishing he hadn’t been so hard on his best student. 

… Maybe he hit his head somewhere, sometime. Unless Iverson did that on his own. 

The sound of a door opening startled him and it softly closed behind itself. “Hey, Keith.” They padded into the room and rested against the doorframe, an eyebrow arched. James. Also known as his roommate. Ugh. “So, what happened?”

He shook his head, muttering under his breath and shut the faucet. “I flunked out.” He grabbed a napkin from under the sink and pressed it gingerly onto his cut. 

James’ eyes held a strange glint. “Y’know, there’s this rumor going around about you now.” 

His head jerked in his direction as he seethed out, “What are they saying?” He’s had his fair share of rumors. After all, the moody emo kid with a mullet was the best in his class. Keith has heard whispers where they speculate he used to be part of a gang, maybe he took drugs back then, how he must have been hard on any ladies in the bed. He wanted to scoff at them all because none were true. Especially not the ladies, he was gay, and still a virgin because of that.

“Everybody’s talking about how you might be the first person to see a magea and live.” James’ smile finally grew. “Dude, we’re talking straight up awe and jealousy. And you should see the first years. Their eyes are so wide, breakfast won’t be a problem for you at all.”

Oh. Oh that? That wasn’t so bad, actually. Keith took the napkin off and threw it into the trash before grabbing a large bandaid and taping it on. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah! So how did it go, you have to tell me everything!” 

He nervously chuckled and sat on his bed, rubbing a hand against his slightly throbbing headache. If everyone saw him as this kind of deity, now, he didn’t know how that was supposed to pan out. He was naturally reclusive, only ever truly in his element in a fight. So with this added popularity boost, he didn’t know how to react to it.

So he did the easy thing. “I was hidden behind a tree . . .”

-----

With a soft groan, Keith grabbed a small towel and wiped the sweat from his forehead, his headache threatening to split his head in half. His stomach swirled angrily, for reasons he didn’t know, and frankly didn't want to. 

A group of guys approached him, their eyes both wary and in slight awe. James hadn’t been wrong when he said those rumors spread. “Hey, uh, are you good? You looking kinda pale.”  

Lidding his eyes he gave a shrug and a nod. Truthfully, he felt like shit. An eventful night of restless tossing and turning all because of his head, thinking about the magea and about Iverson, and now after their early morning workout with a hammering head he was just fine. 

He wasn't. He knew that. 

That didn't stop him from ignoring himself as always and powering through. 

Keith fell in line with the rest of the third years as they meandered to the showers, washing all the salt off his body. The water hitting him felt good, and he stayed just a little longer than usual. Glancing at the shampoo bottle he hesitated and drew his hand back. Not now. 

Then, as he slipped into the cafeteria, he eyed his first victim. Spotting a group of younger boys who were eying him from the corner of their eyes he nearly smirked. This was too easy. 

Hunching his shoulders and making a desolate expression, he slowly turned around to walk off when he felt something pressing into his hand. Looking down he smiled at the boy who flushed and ran back off, leaving him a pop tart. 

Not the healthiest of snacks, but when has he ever cared? So, with his shoulders raised higher he strode out, munching absentmindedly at his breakfast. Hopefully it would calm him down. 

Feeling a little more chipper he grabbed the keys to the janitors closet and unlocked the door, yoinking the cleaning supplies from within the deep and mysterious cavern that was, ironically, really dusty. He sneezed, which definitely helped his aching helm, thanks world. 

And then he was off, rolling the sloshing mop bucket across the hallways. He felt alone and small under the fluorescent lights, cleaning supplies tucked under his arms. Music would have been nice, he mused, glaring at the round and round wheel of the mop. It was way too cheerful for his current mood, swinging around like it was. 

He gave a soft sigh, before he pushed open the bathroom door. And immediately regretted it. 

The stench overpowered him and Keith gasped, slapping a hand over his nose and mouth, wondering when the heck the last time someone cleaned this. Honestly, yesterday hadn't seemed so bad but for some reason the stench was worse, somehow, than he remembered. 

He barely stumbled into a stall, checking if some idiot forgot to flush before remembering they were automatic. The first one was clean, so was the next and the next. He barely crashed into the third clean one when he dove to his knees and hacked out his breakfast and last night's lunch. 

Shakily, he wiped his mouth and groaned, feeling the pulsing between his eyes now too. 

Maybe he really did get poisoned or something from looking the magea in the eye. He gripped the sides of the bowl tighter. Maybe he was dying slowly. In a tortuous way for daring to break rule number one. 

Damn it, couldn't they make better goggles?! 

Running an unsteady hand over his hair, pushing his bangs away, he stood back up to his feet much to the protest of . . . Well, everything except whatever the quiznack he was doing already standing. A sigh, long and loud, and the toilet flushed as he moved to check on the next one. 

That one received a chunky welcome too. 

By the time he barely crawled to his feet at the tenth stall, still trying to find the source of the stench, he was already dry heaving on his feet and decided he's had enough. 

His stubbornness had him crawling out of the bathroom and for what? To prove a point with Iverson? 

Slamming the door shut as much as his weak body could, he almost tripped over his own feet trying to escape. The whirr of the AC instantly soothed him and he gulped in breaths of fresh air, hand over his sorely empty stomach. 

What. The. Quiznack. 

He was dying. That had to be it. The magea was going to come back and kill him in his dreams--

“Woah, uhh, Keith? 

He barely turned his head. James stood in front of him with a group of guys whose eyes flashed pity. He bared his teeth at him. 

“Keith, are you good?” 

“Fine,” he rasped out, waving a limp arm to wave it off. He tried to grin but it wobbled. 

Puckering his lips, James nodded. “All right. You guys can go on ahead. I'm taking this bull to the doctors.” 

“Thank you for your consideration,” he sneered, half gagging at the vehemence he used. 

His roommate rolled his eyes and forcefully wrapped Keith's arm over his shoulder. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later. Can't have you barfing till you drop. Iverson would hand you your ass for that, you know.” 

He stifled a half laugh, half groan. “Oh, yeah. Can't have his best student dead.” 

Fear shot straight to his heart, clutching more painfully now that he finally admitted it out loud. It felt real. Final. His heartbeats thumped loudly, he could barely swallow with a thick tongue. 

James narrowed his eyes and dragged him on. “What exactly happened back there? Y’know, with.” His eyes bore into mine. “With the magea. Clearly you didn't tell me everything.” How could he have known? Did Keith make it that obvious he left something out? Unless James simply speculated it had to be the magea because Keith had never been sick like this before in the garrison. 

He gave a soft hiccup, one that banged against his head. “I-I.” Well if he said that out loud, that he looked into its eyes, that would become real too. Haunt him. Kill him. His whole body shuddered. “Its eyes,” he whimpered pathetically instead. 

James’ own eyes widened. Large and brown, and he muttered a soft, “Oh.” 

Silence except for their footsteps. 

“What . . . did they look like?” 

He thought back to yesterday. “Blue. Both bright and dark at the same time.” Keith sighed, already set to his fate. If he had to die, there wasn't any going back now. “But it didn't have any iris, just blue. It seemed to move, like an ocean, you know? I don't know how.” He shook his head. 

His roommate was stiff next to him. “So it saw you. And didn't kill you then.” 

“Yeah, because I might be dying now anyway,” he argued, shuddering again. 

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But does anyone know for a fact what happens when someone looks a magea in the eyes? What if you, like, become one instead?” 

That . . . was infinitely worse. “W-what?” 

“Nothing! I'm just teasing.” His wide smile flickered, only serving to make Keith spiral even worse. 

“I-if I turn into one then-then I really will die! And I would be evil, and--oh my gosh, I might have magic--” 

James’ face scrunched up. “Shut up!” 

That stopped his rambling. 

“Just.” He sighed. “Shut up. That won't happen. If it did, well. I don't know what to say. But maybe you ate something wrong yesterday.” 

Keith deadpanned. “The same fried chicken as you, maybe?” 

“W-well maybe yours was raw. Yeah. That had to be it.” He set his face, turning to the door. Keith barely glanced around as it opened and he was being pushed to one of the tables. “Doctor! I have a patient!” 

A middle aged man walked in, already tightening throwaway gloves onto his hands. Takashi Shirogane was labeled on a card on his vest. The most striking thing about him was his white tuft of hair. Or his oddly muscular body, for a doctor. “Keith, again?” 

“Shiro.” His head didn't want to think past any other greeting form than a dead beat on a sentence. 

“Keith,” he muttered in the same tone, thumb under his chin to tilt his head up. “Who were you fighting this time?” 

Keith’s lips curled slightly at the ends. “The bathroom.” 

He gave me an unimpressed glare. “I'm serious.” 

“So am I!” 

“Um, Shiro, he got cleaning duties yesterday,” James stepped in, fiddling with his shirt. “He looked really pale and smelled, well, like barf.” 

Keith groaned. He didn't think he got some on himself, but that's just his luck. “I have a splitting headache. And, somehow, the stench got to me.” 

“Who did you fight before that?” Shiro asked, gesturing to lie down on the bed. It was a crappy, flat mattress but Keith laid down without a second complaint. 

“Iverson.” 

The doctor fixed him a strange glance. “He didn't actually fight you, did he?” 

Keith shook his head. “Just a slap. And lots of yelling.” Laying down helped him, actually, to a small degree. Now if the lights weren't so bright he might actually feel better. 

A heavy sigh. “James, you may go now. Thank you for bringing him in.” 

“No problem! This bull wouldn't have gone himself if I hadn't.” They both chuckled, but James’ felt forced. Then he opened the door and he left, leaving Keith with Shiro and all the anti-bacterial chemical smells. 

He only got to enjoy a moment of silence. “Does it have something to do with the magea?” 

“Not you too,” he hissed, placing his hands on his head. “And for the record, I don't know. Maybe?” 

“Look, nobody's survived an encounter. I'm frankly surprised you managed to break the rules, again, but I guess I shouldn't be.” Another heavy sigh. Keith was the result of a lot of gray hairs for a lot of people. “So what happened.” 

“Shiro,” he whined, removing his hands to look pout in the doctor’s direction. “Shiro, I broke rule number one!” 

“Frick,” the goody-two-shoes cursed under his breath, hands held still in the air like he didn't know where to put them. “Ah. Frick.” 

“I'm not turning into one of them, am I?” he pressed, his heart hammering inside his chest. “Like, how else would they always pop up everywhere? Shiro, I'm scared!” 

Shiro's eyes darted everywhere. From Keith, to the table, to his hands, back to Keith, the ceiling. A ping pong ball that never lost its inertia. “I-I’m going to take some blood from you and run a couple of tests. Nobody knows, exactly, what happens when you look one in the eye.” Eventually his useless hands crawled up to his hair and he tugged hard. “Frick, Keith, why didn't you just listen and not look into its eyes?” 

He sat up, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain. “I didn't mean to! You know that!” 

“No, I don't!” was shouted right back at him. He began to pace. “I don't know, because this has never happened before, and you're always bending the rules! Staying out late, fighting with everyone, and now this! And now I'm worried for you because-b-because--” His voice choked out, making Keith blink in surprise. “For all the shit you do, for everything I put up to make sure you stay, to forge extra pills so you stay calm during class and this is what you hand me! Unbelievable.” 

With every word that Shiro spat out, his shoulders came closer and closer to his ears. “Y-you don't care,” he sneered, a last attempt, just to make sure everyone knows his walls. “Why should you-ou? I'm nothing but a troublemaker, a bitc--” 

“Language!” 

“--h, and now I might have dug myself into my own grave!” His voice definitely didn't crack twenty times over. He definitely didn't wonder if his own father had felt the flames, had second thoughts about going against everyone just so he could be a hero. Nothing good happens to heros. His father had died as proof of that. 

He wondered if his father felt half as guilty as he did, and all Keith had done was look a deadly creature in the eyes. 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, heavy, grounding, and he was looking up into the eyes of Shiro. They were hard, small and cold, but by now Keith had learned that the stoniest of looks came from those who cared the most. Either about himself or about the problem he had just blown up in everyone's faces. “Look.” His mouth stretched oddly to find the words. “We'll figure this out. Okay? I'll take some blood samples, we’ll run it through and go from there. James said you threw up? I'll give you a package of applesauce you can stomach, hopefully, and I'm also going to have to tell Iverson you’ve been medically discharged from cleaning at the moment.” He got lost in himself for remembering his patient. “But we'll get through this, and I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you here and alive.” 

Keith sniffled and wiped that away too, his throat tightly closed up. “O-okay.” His voice was scratchy, unsteady. But it was something. 

Shiro gave him a small smile. “Okay, what did you say your symptoms were?” 

“Headache, upset stomach.” Keith paused. “That's about it from what I can tell. But now that I'm out of the bathroom I don't feel so bad.” 

Despite the situation he removed his arm and gave a slight smirk. “Morning sickness?” 

He frowned up at him. “Ugh, no? I’ve had a headache since yesterday, after the magea.” 

Shiro stared at him. “N-no, but, like. You know? When a woman gets . . . You know what, never mind. Improper joke.” 

Keith just frowned, confused. “You mean women have a thing called morning sickness? That sucks.” 

He ran a hand down his face, sighing. “No, Keith. As I said, an improper joke.” Shiro began doing something at a counter. 

“Oh.” 

Nope, didn't clarify anything. 

The door swung open again and Keith almost fell off the bed. Almost, because when he tried to correct himself his foot fumbled against the blanket and he slid with a heavy thump. 

An unimpressed glance met his, blue eyes with no iris. Brown hair curled over his forehead, the same clothes Keith had spotted him in. The only difference was that now his face wasn't pure anymore. A blue trailing expanse of white stars framed the right side of his face, beautiful in its own glory if Keith could stop gawking like he was staring at a ghost. 

“Sorry, I'm busy right now,” Shiro said, barely turning around. 

“Oh, okay.” The boy’s (boy? Their? Its?) voice was smooth, an undercurrent of annoyance beneath. “But I wasn't looking for you.” 

“Shiro--” Keith barely managed to strangle out. That, finally, made him turn around, needle in hand. 

“What?” Then he saw him. Really, truly, looked at him. 

And slammed his hand down on the blaring emergency button on the wall. 

The building began to flash code red, startling Keith's poor heart and health to a new skyrocketed peak. The alarms crackled, signaling for help at the medical bay, but it was too loud, too much. 

A hand yanked him up and he froze, mouth flailing open but no sounds coming out. The magea frowned at him. “You’re so stupid,” it seethed, grip tightening a little too harshly over his arm. Keith shouted pitifully, and the magea actually winced, loosening his grip. “You dumb, stupid, idiotic creature, I want to hate you sooooo badly right now. I want to kill you.” It swiftly led him out of the room while Keith stumbled behind on what felt like newborn deer legs, vaguely hearing Shiro's panicked shouts behind him. “But I can't. And that's the stupidest part about all of this!” 

“W-what?” he croaked out. None of it made sense. Even if his head didn't hurt anymore, weirdly, his entire brain was fried. 

The magea pressed a bored, almost insulted glance. “Look, let's start at the beginning. Hi, I'm Lance, a magea who’s twenty years old. And you, you little dipshit, are the one who owns me now.” 

Chapter Text

Keith's brain fumbled, trying to understand shit at the moment. Currently he was being led down the stairs, hand held firmly by the magea, going off to somewhere. 

“Do you know how long it took me to finally get inside here?” Lance went on, obviously ticked off. “Like, I knew there was something going on here, no matter how clever the invisibility is. Nobody manhandled you to come inside, so why did you? Just to make my life that much harder?” 

“I-I don't understand,” Keith hesitantly mouthed, unsure if he was going to die within the next minute or if he already was dead. His heart pounded, so maybe he was still alive, but none of this was mentioned in the textbooks he read. He wanted to laugh, cry, and throw up all simultaneously. 

Lance threw his hands up, dragging Keith's along. “Of course! Of course he doesn't even know what he did! Ughhhhh, I hate you so much.” 

Finally, something he recognized. “Don't worry, buddy, I get that a lot,” he murmured, eyes scanning the length of the stairs. 

“HALT!” 

A soft t’ch and Lance vanished, again, leaving Keith to whirl open mouthed at the guards alone. “Wait!” he squeaked out, taking a step back. That foot went too far back, and he belatedly realized he forgot he was standing on stairs, but he was already tumbling, clawing at anything to stabilize himself. “Lovely. Lovely, lovely, damn!” he spat out, finally catching himself. He couldn't just catch a break! 

A few shouts from above and he barely looked in time to see Lance plant a fist into the last one’s face. His entire fist was blue, he noted, and that guard was down, weapons discharging. 

He screamed, high pitched and something he was going to share his grave with, when Lance teleported right in front of him, looking down with a concerned frown. “Wow. You can't fight to save your life.” 

Keith just stared. Typically, when a guy picked on him he would always have something to snap back. He could think of insults in seconds, second nature after said nature threw her worst at him so he did too. If someone hit first, he wasn't going to not hit second. And third. 

The point was, he was a fighter. In anything. And yet now, half splayed over the stairs, he couldn't muster up an answer past his parted lips. 

He was done. 

More footsteps thudded down the hallway and Lance sighed, grabbing his arm and yanking him ungracefully down the stairs. “W-wait!” 

“Can't,” he snarled, not bothering to let Keith find his balance. The other's longer legs made him trip more than not, unable to match. “We have to get out of here.” 

“These are my people!” he hissed, slamming his legs down. “I'm not leaving!” He didn't expect that to work, not with how abrupt and forward this thing was, but he was more than glad when they actually stopped. 

The magea offered a lidded glance and sighed. “Why did I get the hard one?” Then his eyes widened and he facepalmed, muttering something under his breath. Keith rolled his eyes. Apparently, even magea’s could rot their minds. “Doesn't matter. What exactly do you think the garrison is going to do to you once they find out you are in control of a magea?” 

That made whatever words he was going to say die on his tongue. All the bravado he held suddenly vanished, leaving him feeling empty and cold. “N-no, they wouldn't--” 

“Are you coming or not?” Lance asked impatiently, tapping a foot against the floor. 

“Keith!” 

He looked up to see Shiro holding a gun. Pointed at them. Maybe not specifically him, but that was too far of a distance to judge correctly. “Shir--Hey!” he shouted when they grabbed his waist and picked him up. 

“Took too long,” the magea muttered, easily plopping Keith over his shoulder. And he sprinted the heck out of there, making Keith jump with every step. 

“Stop!” Hitting the other's back, clawing, legs kicking, all of that was fruitless. “Stop, they won't kill me! LET GO!” 

“Calm down, of course they won't kill you,” Lance muttered, running through all the different rooms. Keith saw the pale faces of first years as they were being emergency herded into the cafeteria before Lance was already gone. Some second years huddled together, unsure what to do even as they held some small weapons. He even thought he saw some third years peeking around the corners, guns drawn, but he turned down another hallway. “They're going to torture you for information first, then run their medical tests on you until you do die so they'll learn what not to do with the next patient if one ever comes across them again.” 

“What the fuck.” Keith wished he had his normal garrison gear. Then he could have contacted someone, could have his weapons--

His knife. 

He never left without it. 

Before he could even begin to consider what fighting a magea might lead to he yanked his weapon out from its hold on his waist and flicked it, slashing down to create a long scar against the other's back. 

Pain. 

Hot and searing he screamed, dropping his knife. He could feel his own blood drip down his back, staining all his clothes, but he didn't know how he got it. As tears bubbled up he could clearly see Lance’s back was tan, pure, only visible through the tear Keith had cut. But where his blade contacted there was nothing. Not even a line. 

“Stupid! Ohh my gosh you are going to kill me one day because of your own stupidity!” 

“I don't understand!” Keith sobbed out, fists clenching. He didn't know how but suddenly his stomach was cold and he gasped, recoiling on the floor. Firm hands held his back down. 

“Don't move, damn it! I'm trying to heal your sorry ass! And maybe you won't try to hurt me in the future or this will happen all over again.” 

Blood was everywhere on the floor. His blood. Mocking and bright, seething under the overhead lights and Keith triggered his gag reflex which only had him spasming a dry heave on the floor. 

The tight hands relaxed. “Dude,” Lance muttered, calmer, actually concerned. “Are you okay?” 

“Keith! Lance!” A familiar voice called out. “Over here!” 

He didn't get to see who was speaking even though his mind urged him to look, that he knew him. He didn't even bother to answer Lance’s question, too caught up in his own whirlwind of everything that just happened and he wanted out. 

Luckily, nature found a way for that as his eyes shut close and he forgot where he was. 

-----

The first thing he thought of as he slowly seeped back to consciousness was that he was warm. Deliciously so and he curled deeper into the blanket with a satisfied hum. 

His head didn't hurt. That was a plus. His back had a slight ache from somewhere but he couldn't remember where and frankly didn't care. The ache in his bones made him feel exhausted and so he didn't fight it when sleep overtook him again. 

-----

“He's been sleeping for a while.” 

The voice was soft, barely there. Familiar, somehow, but he didn't know where. Sleepily, he listened in, his brain too tired to pick apart the words. 

A scoff. “He's fine. He got himself into this situation, I'd like to see him climb out of it.” 

“Lance, you know he can't. It's been two days and you're seriously still upset at him?” 

“Yes, Hunk! He took my freedom! Then this bastard tried to kill himself by staying away from me--” 

“Which was not his fault, by the way!” 

“I don't care! If I hadn't gotten in when I did it might have been too late. It's my duty to protect him and if I hadn't then I would have been kicked out! I would have been forced into the wild, and I probably would have died too!” 

The voice got louder and louder and Keith shuffled which deepened the lull in their conversation. But he gave a soft sigh and continued to listen, unaware he was accidentally eavesdropping. 

“So. You're upset you could have been kicked out. Not with him necessarily.” 

A long, drawn out sigh. “He doesn't even know what he's done. The garrison doesn't teach things like that, you were right. And him trying to kill me? I want to punch the first advisor I see for telling them shit and nearly killing Keith.” 

“Again, not his fault.” 

“But what am I supposed to do with him, Hunk? You didn't freak out and try to kill Pidge!” 

An awkward chuckle. “Well, yeah. I'm not a warrior. I'm a mechanic.” 

“So this makes it worse! I'm supposed to deal with a warrior who is no longer on the drugs they feed them there which, mind you, make them calmer and not as bloodlust-y and unruly, and who most likely won't listen to me if everything you said is correct. If drugged Keith is a monster to deal with, I don't want to know lucid Keith.” 

This time, the silence was tough, chewy. Almost hard to breathe in but then it faded and Keith felt the heaviness of the blanket over himself. 

“Come on.” The voice shook him a little awake. “Pidge and I want to binge the last of our TV show. Wanna come?” 

Angry mutters. Which only grew louder until it stood right in front of him. But the blanket shifted, covering his shoulders now, before they went off to mutter some more until the door shut. 

Keith didn't bother to keep himself awake any longer now that there was nothing to listen to. 

-----

He was up in a flash. Eyes darting, fingers clenched, breath tight, he stared at the figure in front of him who’s iris lacking eyes widened. Not only that but the stars on the side of his face threw him off. He couldn’t remember the last time a guy willingly face painted himself. 

“Woah, dude, chill. All I did was open the door.” 

He rolled on the balls of his feet, frowning at the stranger. “Light sleeper. Who the hell are you?” 

An annoyed sigh and a pointed eye roll. “Lance?” 

Everything came flooding back. 

Keith felt his knees grow weak. Right. He looked at this stupid magea in the eyes and the next day got a horrible headache. Then this Lance thing came back for him and he last remembered trying to fight but saw his own blood and passed out. 

Really, a wonderful sum of events. But as he saw the bright flash of Lance’s teeth as the other scowled darkly at him, he almost wished for the headache again. 

Lance said nothing this entire time. His gaze simply ran up and down him, scrutinizing every inch of his body, or what was shown, and Keith began to feel more self-conscious with each passing minute. He knew he was an okay-looking dude, if any of the heated whispers he overheard were anything to go by, but nothing said ‘hey you actually look good’ unless a magea literally said, ‘hey you actually look good.’ 

He must be going crazy. 

Eventually he couldn’t handle it and he glanced down at himself, furrowing his brow at what he saw. Or, really, the lack thereof. 

“You’re such a perv!” Keith snapped, feeling way more self conscious in just a pair of shorts. All right, the blaring red shorts weren’t the worst, but they felt tight against him. Plus, what else was he supposed to say to the guy obviously checking him out? Even if it was in a hostile way? 

Lance smirked, almost happy that he cracked and that ticked Keith off. “You're small.” 

Storming over, Keith shoved a finger into Lance's chest. “And I could probably beat your ass to the floor. Don't push me.” 

Hands shoved him away, using more force than necessary and Keith had to use more footwork to keep himself upright. “Woops.” 

He launched himself at the magea, throwing all caution out of the wind. Lance couldn't dodge him in time and slammed into the wall, yet it was Keith who gasped in pain, all the air forced out of his lungs. 

“Dude. We’ve been here before.” Disappointed. That was the entirety of the message and it made his blood boil. Staring up into the frowning eyes he threw a fist into that stupidly pretty face, only to have his hand completely blocked by the other's. Luckily, his other hand found Lance’s stomach. 

Keith gasped and grabbed his own, stepping back as he fought to breathe. 

What. The hell. Was happening?! 

“Keith.” 

He flashed the other a heated glare. “How do you know my name?” 

Lance waved that aside, like it wasn't important. But it was very important and Keith set his face, determined to nag him all about it until he got an answer. “Look, you can't hurt me, okay? Every time you punch me, only you are going to get hurt. Got that?” 

“Right,” he sneered, uncurling his body. 

Lance gave a dry sigh and pinched his nose between his fingers. “You're linked to me, dude. You can't hurt me because you’ll feel that pain instead. The same happens to me. Okay?” 

What the hell? Was that how he saw his own blood . . ? 

“My knife!” he yelped, uselessly feeling around his back even though he knew the strap wasn't there anymore. “No!” He began patting his pockets in a frenzy, not even caring anymore, and when he didn't feel it he began tearing the couch apart, flipping the pillows and blanket. 

“Who cares about a knife!” 

He whirled and nearly socked Lance with a good uppercut, barely deflecting it in time once he remembered what the magea had just said. “Where is it?!” 

“Okay, okay, geeze,” he said, holding his hands up. “You lost it back there in the garrison.” 

Keith immediately zeroed in on the door and stormed his way over. 

“You won't be able to open it, it's locked.” 

Okay, then, plan B. 

He kicked it, using all the force he could muster and smirked as the door splintered open. Lance squawked something but he didn't bother to check what that was as he bolted out. 

He froze when he saw other people who gawked at him from the kitchen, their movements frozen in time. The big dude, Hunk, Keith belatedly realized, was in the middle of lifting a bagel to eat. A shorter girl had her hand raised for a cup she had been about to get, but now all the coffee was being extracted without a mug underneath. All his anxiety and self-loathing slowly crept back up to himself as he stood there, probably in someone’s house where he literally kicked a door open while half naked. 

He dearly hoped he was next on the grim reaper’s list. 

Keith only snapped out of it when Lance yanked his arms back. He didn't even try to fight it. His dignity was long gone and he wanted this funny joke to end already. “Sorry, guys. Trying to contain this beast just off years of drugs isn't exactly a picnic. I'll get you a new door, Hunk.” 

“Years of . . ?” Right. The garrison. Keith knew he had been drugged from the food, even if it was a minor one. He took a shuddering breath which only threw the spotlight entirely back on him. 

“Don't worry about it, Lance,” Hunk said, taking a bite out of his bagel, finally. “I knew the risks of keeping a warrior here. Especially a third year.” 

Lance gave a long, tired sigh. “See, Keith, you're not only trying me, you're now upsetting other people's lives.” 

“How do you know my name.” 

“Irrelevant!” Lance snapped. “Now come on!” 

A snort made Keith look over at the girl. Her glasses slipped and she pushed them back on. And that was when Keith realized she didn't have an iris either. And on the side of her face was a flower. 

He wrestled himself out of Lance's grasp, only for the other to hiss and yank him back. “You're a magea too.” Threatening. Accusative. 

She simply grinned. “I'm Pidge, Hunk’s magea. Pleasure to meet you, Keith. I heard a loooot about you.” 

Behind him Lance sputtered a bunch of angry-sounding words before he purposely pushed Keith back down the hallway. “And all you heard were bad things!” he hissed. “Don't you dare twist it!” 

Pidge smirked and turned back to the coffee machine. That was short lived when she noticed the coffee had strained without her cup. “I didn't say anything like that.” She untwisted the coffee strainer and dumped the grounds into the trash before hooking it back up. “Even though he is a cutie.” 

Lance growled and flipped the bird, and nothing was teasing in his face when he slammed the broken door as shut as it was ever going to get, facing Keith. 

He definitely didn't swallow from fear. 

“So,” he started. His words were cold, clipped, just like his eyes. “Do you even understand what the hell happened these last few days?” 

Keith slumped back against the couch, body tense. “None of it.” 

“Okay.” Taking in a sharp breath, Lance began to pace. “Don't you know that rule number one is to never look into a nagea's eyes? Or were you sick during all those trainings?” 

Keith shifted uncomfortably. “I know it,” his strained voice answered. 

“So why?” He didn't need to elaborate further. 

He shrugged. “I have a habit of breaking rules. Of course I didn't mean to look into your eyes, but you looked up and it's a natural human tendency.” 

A low, dragged on groan. “Fuck you. Fuck. You. Thanks to that, do you know what exactly this means for us?” 

“Well, I'm not dying,” he said, finding a thread in the couch and pulling it. It grew longer and longer and he kept on pulling. 

“Ha! I almost wish. But you could have.” 

The vehemence in his tone made him snap his head up. He felt like a small child under Lance's upset gaze where he didn't fully understand the context of the situation, but it was bad. 

He licked his dry lips. “Yeah. I'm starting to see that now.” 

Lance snorted dryly. “Good. Now. Since you own me and I'm more or less a glorified, badass servant, that doesn't mean I'll listen to anything you say. Since you don't even know anything right now, I'm not going to bother explaining just how you can control me. Which, by the way, works only sometimes. I'm still my own person. Not a puppet.” 

“Somehow I get the feeling our roles are reversed right now,” he said with a scrunched up face, going back to pulling at the thread. 

“Only because this situation is completely new.” The magea took a breath. “So I have to babysit you until you calm down. Or don't. Then I'll always have the upper hand.” A flash of teeth and Keith pointedly ignored his fake smile. 

But, that already gave him an inkling on how to possibly control his magea. Those words made him shudder. 

He was supposed to kill him. 

Yet now the tables had turned and if he tried to kill Lance he would end up only killing himself. Wasn't fate such a wonderful, cruel darling? 

“Watch me,” Keith muttered softly, tugging and tugging, blankly refusing to believe that destroying the couch might upset a certain homeowner. 

“Oh, I will,” he purred with a hard edge behind his words. “I'll watch real close and real hard because thanks to you, I don't have anything else better to do. So thanks for that.” 

He ignored that. “What happened to your face?” 

“It's a mark,” he sagely explained. “Once a magea makes eye contact with a human the right side of their face turns into a mark. There are a few different types: flowers, like Pidge; stars, like mine; suns; water; certain animals; and that's pretty much the gist of it.” 

Cool. Like that meant anything at all to Keith whose sole focus was on the string. 

A heavy sigh. “I would stop pulling on that. Doors aren't cheap in this economy. Last time I checked, couches weren't either.” 

Keith scowled and tossed the tiny ball of yarn to the floor, wondering why he bothered to listen. 

Typically, he could sit for hours without moving. Teachers droned on and Keith could sit there, perfectly content, and only when he got up did he feel the ache to stretch. 

So this constant need to fidget was killing him. In the past thirty seconds he had to stop himself from playing with his fingers, shirt, tapping his foot, and running his hands through his hair. 

He snarled at Lance's evil grin. “Shut up.” 

“Ooo, defensive, are we?” he snickered, flicking his hair to the side. “Feeling lost without your drugs?” 

No words slipped past his lips, yet Lance chuckled nervously and shuffled closer to the further wall. If looks could kill, the magea would have been blasted. 

“Anyway, moving on. About the headache--” 

“It can come back?!” Keith yelped, already placing a hand around his stomach. It rumbled, and only then did he realize how hungry he was. After purging his entire bowels and passing out a few days afterwards, no wonder his stomach felt hollow. 

He smirked. “Oh, the headache? That's not my fault I couldn't be around in time. You’ll get those the longer you stay away from me. And you need casual touches to make sure it stays away for the rest of the day.” As if to prove his point he strode forward and ran a hand through his hair before he seemed to realize something and backed off. “Right, you have a disgusting mullet." 

Keith just stared at him, half offended and half giving up on being offended at this point. “W-what? So I have to stay near you or I'll get sick?” 

A flash of teeth, bright and so fake. “Yup! Welcome to your new life of being shadowed by a magea. Every twenty four hours you need to be touched or you’ll get that headache again and die in a few days.” 

He felt the air whoosh out of him as he sat back, mind churning. This was horrible. Worse than horrible. Keith was kidnapped, held against his will and threatened with death he got himself into, and he was without his knife. 

Really, he couldn't do a lot at the moment. He was stuck. Lost. And starving. 

His stomach rumbled again, making him blush while he crossed his arms tighter over himself. 

Lance eyed him before slinking back to the broken door. “I'll get you some food. Without any drugs, trust me. But, seriously, you can't escape. If you do go back to the garrison, they are only going to kill you.” 

And he left, slipping past the creaking door. Keith flinched as a wood piece thunked to the ground, scattered right with its brothers. And now that he was thinking about it, his fist thumped dully from pain. 

Checking them over he frowned, surprised to see not a single scratch. Even his wound from punching trees was gone, his thumb brushing over smooth skin. 

Then, tentatively, he ran a hand over his shoulder and down his back. He only felt a thin trail going down, the only scar he had back there. His throat tightened. He had done that to himself. Unwillingly, unwittingly, but he had. 

He was so screwed. 

Groaning he slipped lower into the couch, tugging at the ends of his bangs. He just wanted to go back. But the fear of Lance's words kept him right here. What if the garrison did kill him? He was the only one they know about who is in control of a magea. And how did Hunk get one without anyone knowing? He always seemed so fine and carefree, so what on earth was he doing working inside the literal garrison? 

Nothing made sense. All Keith could count on for sure was that he was in big trouble, but he didn't quite know from where. 

The creaking door alerted him that someone was coming back and he opened his eyes. But it wasn't Lance. 

“Hunk!” he said, sitting up. 

The large man blinked at him. “Oh! Keith, you know my name? How did you find out?” In his hands he held a tray of food and it smelled divine. His stomach agreed. 

“Dunno,” he answered, tucking his hair away. Hunk set the tray down on the couch next to him and Keith picked up a sandwich. It was toasted beautifully with an egg that looked ready to pop and a slice of fried meat. A yellow sauce dripped from his fingers when he picked it up and dribbled down his chin with the first bite. 

Flavor exploded. 

He gobbled it down like a starved man who hadn't eaten in a week. Although, maybe he wasn't so far off in his estimate. 

“Have you ever had Eggs Benedict before?” Hunk asked, wearing a slight smirk. It took Keith a moment to reply, swallowing down the food and his initial shock at seeing this mechanic have that expression. 

“Never.” He guzzled down their orange juice. “They have things like canned oatmeal and soup for our food.” 

He shuddered. “No, no, nobody should eat those.” 

Keith dove for the second one. “So how long have I been out for?” Hunk felt safe. Familiar. Someone he felt like he could rely on in this crazy world. And he needed that more than he realized at the moment. 

Puckered lips. “Lance was worried you hit something major inside yourself so he sent you to sleep for five days--”

He choked. “S-so magea's do have magic!” he sputtered out at the risk of him dying. So everything the whispers had said were true! 

“Yes.” Hunk glanced away after making sure he was okay. “And I'm sure Lance will tell you more later, because I don't know much about him. All magea's are different, so I can't compare him to Pidge. Especially because of their markings.” 

Around a mouthful he asked, “So wha do’s it do?” 

“Their markings? Well, it basically says what sort of pack the magea's get defined into. Pidge has her flowers, and that means she can connect to the Earth. She said she always had a knack, more like a green thumb, but ever since then her magic has grown and so she can almost control the plants.” 

Keith shuddered, eyes darting around the room for any potted greenery. He didn't want to get murdered in his sleep, nosiree. Somehow, though, he got the impression that Lance wouldn't like it if Pidge did, despite all his talk. Still, he was relieved to find no plants in the bare room. 

“And Lance?” He gulped down more of the drink. 

Hunk shrugged. “No idea. But I would guess it has something to do with the stars? You can always ask him.” 

Right. Just ask an angry, magical being who he was so show tied to. No biggie. “Okay.” 

The simple crunch of his meal spilled over the room, until Keith glanced back at the large man. “Sooooo, what are you doing in the garrison? Especially with Pidge.” 

His eyes flickered wide before settling down. “Well, I need a job. I just finished my schooling to become a mechanic and with my high grades the garrison thought I could be of use to them. And I love the job.” His brow furrowed. “Pidge wasn't something I was expecting. On my drive there I nearly ran her over with my car. Obviously, I stopped to make sure she was all right, when we locked eyes and everything changed.” He shuffled, toying with his hair gimmick before giving another shrug. “Trust me, living with one isn't so bad. Yes, they don't understand that walking across roads isn't safe, and some human customs are lost on them, but if you're linked with one it really isn't all so bad.” 

Keith scoffed and licked his lips, finishing his second sandwich. He wanted more, wanted to eat until he felt like he was going to pop, but he pushed the tray aside, knowing that two would suffice for now. “You haven't had Lance as your linked.” 

Hunk grimaced. “Pidge is a gremlin in her own right. But it's all good in the end.” 

He stood up and before Keith could think about it his arm shot out to grab the end of his sleeve. “Is there really no way I can leave? Is this all real?” 

His face softened. “Unfortunately, you can't. The garrison might even send the level 4’s out on you now. I've seen the news. They're looking for you and the magea who kidnapped you. But once they do get you they're going to kill Lance and if the bond broken between you didn't kill you too, then they would study and pepper you with questions until you do.” He hesitated, looked away, and clenched a fist. “I . . . I’ve seen some things I probably shouldn't have. Just . . . Believe us. It's the only way to stay safe.” 

He scooped up the tray. “Well, I hope you can learn to be comfortable around here. Feel free to anything in the fridge.” And left him alone with thoughts swirling too fast, too confused. 

Instead of doing anything about it, Keith rolled on his side, wrapped the blanket around himself, and fell asleep.