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Lance is eyeing him like he’s a puzzle, the magenta tinge on his cheek from the setting purple sun reminds Keith of something buried so deep that he’s almost startled at the memory of the smell of gunfire, the hoarseness of Lance’s voice, and the clasping of their hands together. The day Lance woke up from a near death coma to make the shot that saved them from Sendak.
“What do I smell like?” It’s a pointed question, like Lance would love it if Keith could tell him his cologne or his lotion by name, and he could, but he doesn’t. He answers more truthfully.
“Home.” A simple confession, yet all encompassing.
Lance doesn’t stop looking at him, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile.
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Bookmark Notes:
This is literally the best fic ever genuinely I love this so much so sweet my teeth are black
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