#but my attention span is a whole other demon. it’s a miracle i managed that ontop of watching other glee eps 💀

[monchikyun]

28. in the light of day

It’s been snowing a great deal lately, the weather has prepared a very cruel gift in the form of endless northern winds and icy pavements that have the potential of ruining someone’s day. And the someone has to be none other than Gavin, because the universe recognises that he deserves it the most. The days in December are shorter than his attention span, and the darkness that surrounds him when he’s returning from work is subconsciously making him quicken his pace. There is plenty on his mind, things that he wishes he never did and the little miracles he wishes went of forever, and perhaps that’s why his feet don’t get the most attention and when he steps on a particularly slippy block of ice that once was a muddy puddle, nothing stops him from falling straight on his backside. It hurts like bitch, so much so his eyes water and he’s overwhelmed by dizziness. But it also might be that cold that he’s already waiting to shake by doing absolutely nothing in order for that to happen. He lugs his heavy body up and is immediately greeted by a coughing fit suggesting that he should really not be outside in this condition, especially so when the low temperature is unforgiving enough to freeze rivers.

“Phck.” He tries to curse his affliction away, but like every time he does so, it only manages to piss him off even more.

Gavin is already angry as is, even more so than he’s by default. It’s all his fault, he begrudgingly admits, because doing otherwise would imply that him shouting at Connor is someone else’s responsibility. He was doing okay for such a long time, tried his absolute best to make the android like him, and not only because he wanted to get rid of the guilt that has been gnawing on his mind since the end of the revolution, but because he let himself catch feelings for the ridiculously beautiful robot. It worked, at first, they were getting along pretty well, despite Gavin being his ever-so-charming self. It was probably thanks to his heartfelt apology, at which he still physically cringes each time its memory crosses his mind. But then something snapped inside of him - maybe it was the jealousy that acted up when he saw Connor becoming friends with other, more attractive people, or he just tried to self-sabotage himself, since he had been dangerously close to kissing that stupid android. Because he’s well aware that he has zero rights to go anywhere near there, even thinking about it triggers an alarm that signals his unworthiness.

But it’s oh so cold here and all he wants is a warm hug from the person he likes the most. His nose is leaking and his throat his being cut with a thousand knives, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get home when his every move is soaked in pain. He should probably lie down right here and wait for the end to come. He’ll either get better or the blessed oblivion takes him, both options are equally desirable to him. But he has to do one important thing first.

He fumbles for his phone and forces his freezing hand to type in the security code so he can open the texting app. His fingers are numb and his vision blurry, but he succeeds in writing the three overused words that have been floating around his mind since this afternoon when he returned Connor’s worry with a harsh dismissal. If he could take it back, he’d never allow himself to yell at the only person who cares.

“I’m sorry.”

Like that will repair their relationship which he so selfishly damaged.

He’s pretty sure he sends it, but then again it’s hard to see anything when there are tears flooding his vision. He slides down against the wall of some empty building that stands half a mile from his apartment building, ready to accept his fate. His eyelids must be made out of lead for he can’t keep them up, and with every passing minute, his breathing gets slower, since his lungs are on fire and he’d be happier not having to inhale oxygen at all. This could be it, his final night. He’s thought that he wouldn’t struggle against his departure when it finally came, but as he’s now, dying alone in some abandoned back alley, he wishes nothing more than to see the light of day once more.

If only his car didn’t break down, if only Connor liked him enough to brush off his unfair behaviour. He thinks he hears his phone vibrate, but he’s too weak to even open his eyes. This is it then, his final stop.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because there is a familiar voice calling his name, and he can feel those soft hands on his face. It’s fitting that his last dream would be about Connor, his biggest regret would mock him till the bitter end after all.

“Gavin, please open your eyes.” He can sense the urgency in the android’s voice, the worry that has been there earlier today, and he automatically looks up at the sight he’s longed to see since leaving the office, still believing that it’s just an illusion.

“Con…” He wonders how he’s able to speak when he barely has the strength to focus his vision.

“You stupid motherfucker.”

Yeah, he deserves that.

When he gets lifted up, his head hanging down from the android’s shoulder, he contemplates on this being real and not his farewell fantasy. It gets confirmed through the sharp pain that assaults him when he gets thrown to a backseat of some car.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Connor mumbles as the car drives them god knows where. He’s sitting next to him, possibly his thighs being the cushion on which Gavin’s sore head rests. A soothing cold hand is threading through his damp hair and he’s sure they’re on their way to heaven because there is no way this moment belongs into his fucked up reality. The other hand lands on his forehead, acting as the ice-pack he craves so much since despite how cold his body is, he’s three seconds short of self-combustion.

“103.1 degrees. Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

“No!” Gavin manages to croak out because he really can’t afford a hospital stay with his lack of savings and shitty health-insurance.

“Okay.” Connor’s voice is the thing that keeps him from passing out. Because as long as hears it, his ache is limited to his physical body. And that’s much easier to bear.

“You have to stop pushing me away whenever I show a hint of worry, if you want to live that is.” He can discern the threat that comes with the demand, and he’s tempted to smirk in Connor’s face, though he doesn’t, and not only because he doesn’t have the strength to do it.

He wants to thank Connor, needs him to keep talking to him, but he has already depleted his words for the day, and so he’s left to the mercy of chance. If he’s lucky, his gratitude is being transmitted through the relief he’s drowning in, and with each second Connor speaks at him, he’s being more and more convinced that maybe the android likes him back.

“I’m taking you to my place, but we have to stop for some medical supplies first.” 

The silent hum of the car is lulling him to sleep, and Connor’s proximity is not helping much. He feels safe, cared for even. And he doesn’t want to wake up and find out that it was just a part of his wishful thinking, that he hallucinated this whole thing.

Fortunately, the car comes to a sudden stop and that enhances his alertness by a smidge.

“I’ll be right back.”

He’s about to beg him not to go when he’s reminded that he lost the gift of speech, and so he exhales sharply and lets Connor leave his space.

As soon as he’s alone again, he can’t fight his exhaustion anymore and lets the darkness envelop him whole. 

He feels himself tug at his lifeline, watching the world as it distorts before his eyes in the most painful way possible, never sure whether the waking world would be the lesser evil.

When he finally does open his eyes again, he finds himself tucked under a heavy comforter, head rested on an actual fluffy pillow this time.

But the only person he’d like to see right now is nowhere to be found, and as he realises that, his lungs decide to act out and he’s yet again nothing but a coughing machine. 

It must be the middle of the night since it’s still pitch black outside the window, and he doesn’t notice the approaching silhouette until it’s standing right beside him. 

“Drink this.” He notices the yellow light coming from Connor’s temple, which is almost the same colour as the liquid he’s being offered. It doesn’t look appetising whatsoever, not even if he could trust his stomach. But he obeys and does is best to swallow as much of it as his insides can handle.

When he’s done with it, he hands the half-full mug back to the android and panics when he sets to leave from his bed-side.

“Don’t go.”  The nap must have restored some of his energy, for he’s able to grip Connor’s arm. Gavin is burning on the inside while being trapped in a snowstorm, and he’s afraid to be swept away by the pain if there’s no one to around to save him.

“I won’t.”

He doesn’t know if Connor keeps his promise since he drifts off before he has a chance to struggle against the pull of sleep.

The next thing that brings him back from his slideshow of nightmares is fingers tickling one of his cheeks. The breath that he takes as he regains his consciousness already tells him that he’s on his way to recovery.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Gavin finds out that there is something more he wishes to see than the light of day, although it’s great to know that he successfully survived the night.

It’s the soft smile on Connor’s face, the two bottomless eyes, and the LED ring shining bright blue.

And maybe now, when it’s so bright and his demons are taking a break, Gavin can allow himself to be utterly, completely honest about his feelings.

Because when they managed to get through the unforgiving darkness of night, there’s no reason why the blissful daylight should break what they were able to build together.

@convinseptember I have only a vague idea of where I was going with this xD

[thespace-dragon]

OOOOOOOKAYYYY, yes this fic is still alive, I promise!! Ani and I have been very busy with life. Enjoy the chap!

Summary: After the Conclave blew up in everyone’s face, the whole world went to shit. Lance didn’t know what to make of it, but there was no way he would join the Inquisition to become their tool. Sure, he could close the rifts now, by some miracle - accident in his humble opinion - and he was doing his best to close them on his own. Trouble was, they were getting worse as time went on. After being tossed by a shade, he was seriously reconsidering doing this by himself. Needless to say, he got lucky that a cute Seeker came to his rescue after getting caught in a dragon’s nest; the only problem was that cute Seeker was trying his damnedest to recruit him into the Inquisition.

Words: 4887

AO3

Chapters: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-]

Things became a routine. Over the past week, Keith visited Lance in the morning before having to disappear to fulfill in Inquisition duties. Most of the time it required him to go to either Redcliffe or Haven to help the refugees, sometimes it was the small refugee camp in the middle of the Hinterlands that demanded his attention. If he had a scouting mission, Lance would tag along. He found it surprising that Keith was easy to talk to. Not many accepted the fact that he was an apostate and had a fragile hold on his magic.

More than once they saved each other's lives. Rifts would open before Keith would realize what was going on, a shade forcing itself into existence just before him. Lance was pretty quick with his staff and creating distance between the multiple other spirits that appears seconds later. When he closed the first rift, Keith had yanked on his hand to inspect for a solid minute, asking rapid-fire questions about the Mark and the rifts themselves. Another time was when they were searching for a new lyrium vein and a ledge crumbled under Lance as he peered over it into the dark abyss of the cave system they were in. He wound up with a bruise on his neck from Keith yanking him back to solid ground so quickly. He had berated Keith for that the rest of the day, but the underlying thanks for saving his life was there. Keith fired back his own complaints, grinning the whole time.

All in all, Lance was finding himself with a new companion, and he actually accepted it, liked it even. He found out a lot of things about Keith during their little outings. For one, Keith had been a Templar before becoming a Seeker, raised as a knight since he was six or seven. He has had a sword in his hand since he was thirteen, and he was fifteen by the time he was a full-fledged Templar, by sixteen he accepted the chance to become a Seeker. That had been when the Conclave exploded and they were all thrust into this mess. It was almost a shock to find out that Lance was younger than Keith, the Seeker honestly thought the mage was older. Maybe it was dealing with the rifts on his own took a much deeper toll than Lance originally thought.

Currently they were sitting on the bank of a river, having just closed a rift. Lance's hand was on fire, the Mark always hurt when he used it as if it were drawing out more magic power than he knew how to use or even had. He had his glove off and his hand was in the cool water.

“I can’t believe you would do this by yourself,” Keith huffed as she sat down heavily, armor clattering as he shucked off his breastplate to cool off. “How’d you manage?”

Lance quickly pulled his eyes away from the tight undershirt Keith was wearing, his muscles basically on full display. He stared down at the swirling mark on his hand and shrugged. “Figured out some force magic and other trap spells to keep them away from me. The smaller rifts are easy enough, but the larger one I stay away from.”

Keith pulled his hair back into a ponytail, bangs still flopping free, but he cherished the cool breeze on his neck. "Why’s that?”

Lance leveled him a look. “Don’t know about you, but going against a Pride Demon is asking to die.”

“You have a point,” Keith laughed.

Lance smiled and leaned back, pulling his hand out of the water. It felt remarkably better now, the Mark having calmed down. The barrier between the real world and the fade was still thin here, but it was holding. The rift seal would take a much more powerful spirit than shades and wraiths to rip open again. He pulled on his glove, flexing his fingers.

"Is the Mark the only reason why you wear just one glove?" Keith asked. He was sitting cross-legged next to the pile of armor.

Lance looked out across the river, something about Keith’s inquisitive stare forced him to look away. It didn’t hold judgment, just open curiosity. It baffled him that Keith was bothering to get to know him, but Lance found himself so desperate for human interaction that he welcomed Keith into his life, albeit slowly.

“Part of the reason.” He looked down at his now gloved palm. “Magic leaves marks, and this one makes people believe that I am someone who I’m not.”

Keith didn’t say anything, and Lance continued on, comparing both of his hands. “One hand is calloused from not wearing a glove, while the other holds a mark that could be the saving grace this world needs, or the end of it all.”

The sun sparkled off the water, the sky was clear, everything was so beautifully green and healthy, but in the blink of an eye, it could be ruins. In his mind’s eye, Lance could see the possible outcomes. He could see himself delivering the Marker’s power to Zarkon and letting the world end, letting himself end. On the other hand, he could see himself struggling. At first, it had been by himself, but now Keith was there fighting beside him, closing the rifts, confronting Zarkon and whatever faced them in between now and then.

Lance clenched his fist and wrapped his other hand around it, feeling the soft worn leather against his skin. He didn’t want to give up, despite all the times of thinking of how easy it could be, he didn’t. He was finding the Hinterlands to be a beautiful place, all thanks to Keith. For five years, Lance kept himself locked away in that hut, only venturing out when he had to. In the span of a few days, going on a week, Keith had carefully drawn him out, and Lance…he finally felt happy. He was happy with Keith sitting there on the ground next to him, enjoying the sun as much as he was.

“What makes you feel that way?” Keith asked, breaking him out of his reverie. “Is it because of what Zarkon said at the Conclave?”

“Yes and no.” Lance rubbed his thumb against the back of his hand. “Zarkon did preach about becoming a new god, wanting to take the black throne that is supposedly up there. But it’s also the people. I figured out how to close the rifts along the way here from the Wildes. People saw me.”

“What’d they say?”

Lance scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It was always the same few questions: Are you the Hand of the Maker? Are you Andraste’s Chosen? Can you ask the Maker to save us?" He was never one for religion, and this did nothing to improve his opinion of it. “And, well, I don’t believe in that.”

He could feel Keith’s eyes on him and Lance kept his focus on the water. He felt stupid for saying that, he was one of the rare few who didn’t believe in the Maker. Andraste was believable considering she was an actual person in their history, but beyond that Lance couldn’t find it in himself. Letting some omnipotent deity rule over them felt like they had no purpose, no reason to be who they were because some other being already decided it for them. Lance wanted to be his own person, and lately, he felt like he was crowded into this little labeled box just so people could understand him.

“I figured you weren’t religious,” Keith mused. Lance glanced at him and Keith was staring up at the trees. “I don’t blame you either, you grew up in a household that didn’t preach it. I grew up with Templars and the Seekers could be considered radicals, but we do try to help without hurting anyone. We ‘seek’ the truth, the truth of the Maker, the reasoning behind Andraste and her followers.”

Lance gave a cruel of huff of laughter. “Do you damn the ones that don’t follow the Maker or Andraste?”

Keith looked at him then, eyebrows raised. “Why would I do that? Why would we? People are all different. Most mages don’t follow the Maker to begin with, they just keep quiet about it.” He blinked and a sincere look blossomed on his face. “I wouldn’t punish you for being yourself just because we don’t believe in the same things, Lance. That would be cruel.”

He couldn’t look at Keith. Lance lowered his eyes to the ground, nodding slightly. Where had Keith been when he needed to hear that? In the five years that he was alone, he hadn’t realized that he needed to hear that. I wouldn’t punish you for being yourself. It was a such a simple concept of leaving people alone, not trying to control them. He remembered how his mother told him to always be proud of himself, no matter what people thought of him. He had to believe in himself before he could make people believe in him.

“You have a brilliant mind, Lance,” she had said, “Do not let it go to waste thinking over what people whisper behind your back. You are a powerful mage, smart and kind, and I am proud to call you my son.”

Lance looked out over the river again, a small smile playing on his lips. His mother would have boxed his ears if she knew he had gone exactly against that and locked himself away in a hut in the middle of the woods. At least when she was alive they would venture to the other mages’ homes or to the town to gather news.

They stayed quiet, listening to the birds sing and the water gurgle over the rocks. It was peaceful. The first sense of peace Lance had felt in a long time.

It was dusk by the time Keith returned to Haven. The scouting trip took much longer than he had told Shiro, but he could say he was attacked by rifts along the way. His armor was still covered in the slime wraiths and shades left behind when they attacked, once a glowing green, now sickly and crusted. He would have to spend the night cleaning and oiling it down.

He walked through all the tents and campfires, greeting the few Templars that were here, as well as the quartermaster and the spies Reiner handled. They acted more like scouts, but they operated under a level of secrecy that Keith wasn’t privy to.

The chantry stood tall in the back of the small town, lording over the whole of it. He was heading to meet with Shiro and Allura. Slav would be there too, but he was just for the personal relations the Inquisition needed for funds and support. Shiro and Allura were running it as best as they could without declaring an Inquisitor to lead them, but Keith knew that they were going to have to declare one soon if they were going to maintain any momentum.

Keith shouldered his way through the doors and continued towards the back of the chantry. He could hear the shouting between Slav, Shiro, and Allura. ‘Rifts’ and ‘Inquisitor’ were repeated multiple times.

“We need an Inquisitor to gather the people to us,” Shiro was saying. “Right now we have no one to rally under and the recruits we do have are half-assing it because there’s no sense of urgency.”

“And I’m telling you that we need someone who can close the rifts to lead us. We can do nothing about them or Zarkon because he can create them at will. The Inquisition would be left to his mercy without such a person," Allura shot back.

Keith hesitated to knock on the door and announce himself, his mind flashing back to the ever growing smile and vivid blue eyes from the forest. Lance expressed not wanting anything to do with this, and Keith was doing his best to respect his new friend’s wishes. The mage was troubled enough and leading an organization such as the Inquisition was going to be detrimental to his health.

Slav scratched away at the parchment loudly, his mutterings about numbers and the royals from Ferelden or Orlais could barely be heard in between Shiro and Allura’s increasingly heated comments.

This wasn’t going to go well, but if he didn’t get them to stop, all of Haven was going to know the Inquisition was falling apart. And that was something that he couldn’t afford.

He barged through the door and shouted, “Enough! If the three of you are going to create such a racket, the refugees and anyone else in this town are never going to sleep!”

All three of them silenced themselves. Allura glared at a wall, her impeccably white hair loose around her face and falling to the small of her back. He cheeks were dusky with anger, frustration clear as day on her face. Shiro was leaning over the map in the center of the room, hands planted on the edge of the table. His jaw was set and his eyes were flicking over the map, checking each marker that was there. Slav was off to the side, still scratching away on his board of parchment.

As a Seeker, Keith’s opinion held some weight, and co-leading with the three of them was taxing. Of course, it didn’t help that Keith ran away at any given chance to go wander the woods with a certain mage that held the key to saving them but was too scared of himself to help.

“Any news on the rifts?”

Shiro had straightened and fixed Keith with a stare. The Seeker shook his head. “Closing them is still impossible without the right power, spirits are still entering the Hinterlands through them, and it is possible that the rifts are spreading out of the area.”

The ex-Templar cursed and glared at the map. “We cannot do anything until we have declared an Inquisitor.”

“That is very true,” Slav spoke with a thick Orlesian accent. “We cannot gather allies or funds unless there is someone to represent us. The nobles of Orlais refuse to speak with us until then.” The tall and lanky man went back to scribbling numbers, his piece done.

“And what I have been trying to say is that we need some way to close the rifts, whether it is a person or a spell Coran or Lotor comes up with, we cannot move forward until then." Allura’s terse words rang throughout the small meeting room.

Shiro glared at her. “We can move forward under a united front while still looking for ways to close the rifts. We need someone to lead.”

All three of them looked at Keith. He knew they wanted him to lead, but his hotheadedness has lead him to more problems than he could count, and putting him in charge of a growing number of people was asking for disaster. On top of that, his political skills were the worst amongst them.

“No, I have told you all time and time again that I cannot lead the Inquisition. A leader will appear for us, I know it, but for right now we must get along and at the very least act like we can work together.”

He watched as each of their shoulders slumped slightly, Keith knew that he was killing their chances, but he couldn’t do it. And neither could the rest of them. Allura was essentially using this as a study, a way to increase her magical prowess for when she went back to the Orlesian court. Keith admired her will to be here, but she was too full of herself to be an effective leader. Shiro had potential, coming with a few Templars from Kirkwall to assist with the mage uprising in Ferelden. The Champion of Kirkwall had the city-state there under control and peace between the Qunari, mages, elves, and Templars had been reached. But what he had seen and experienced there made him quit being a Templar. Nightmares and a fear of his dependence on lyrium making his decisions unstable. Their bookkeeper, Slav, had ties in nearly every place Keith could think of, but lacked the ability to lead a large number. The small meetings it took to gain an alliance and supporters were what he was most suited for. Facts and a fair amount of persuasion made their worries about funds almost nonexistent at the beginning, but as time wore on, their donations slowed because they were making no progress.

Allura had connections with the mage circles, Shiro with the Templars and the capability to lead an army, and Slav with his never ending computing knowledge and political connections made for a potent mixture. If Keith could have his way, he would make them a singular person and this whole situation would be dealt with. Alas, they were three and their personalities clashed, even with Keith serving as a mediator.

“Look, no one said that this would be easy. I am glad that you all came to help the Inquisition, the organization that I called for in order to end the rife in this world. Ferelden, Orlais, and the surrounding countries all need us to work together. The people are counting on us.” He just needed to remind them of their purpose again. “An Inquisitor will step forward when the time is right.”

“What will you have us do in the time being?” Shiro asked.

Keith sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Do the best you can to gather supporters.”

Allura frowned. “And what will you be doing?”

“What my title says to do: Seek.” Keith turned towards the doorway and spoke over his shoulder. “Get some rest tonight, more can be discussed tomorrow.”

He walked back out to the chantry. He needed a drink with Pidge…and a hearty meal.

Once his armor was cleaned, he tracked down Pidge. The elf was notorious for hanging around the wrong fires and causing mischief. Generally, she hung around the small tavern in Haven, or was conspiring with Reiner and their spies.

Thankfully she was already in the tavern and Keith didn’t have to spend much time looking for her.

“Pidge! Get down from the rafters and have a drink with me!” he called.

Pidge looked down at him, feet kicking in the air. “And what you got to tell me if I do?”

Keith smirked and walked to a table. “You’ll never know if you don’t come down.”

A waitress passed and deposited a stein of ale just as Pidge dropped from the rafters grumbling, not a drop of her cup spilled. She glided over, the elf’s gate as smooth as a cat’s.

Pidge fell into a chair across from him, green eyes alight with curiosity. “Let’s hear it, what made you drag me down from my brilliant view?”

“You haven’t noticed how the rifts are closing around the area?” he asked, sipping his drink. Keith watched as Pidge’s screwed itself up into a scowl.

“Yes and it's fucking irritating to not know how it’s happening.” She chugged the last of her drink and slammed it on the table. “So what do you know?”

Keith’s smirk widened into a grin. It was amazing how a few hours in between talking with the Inquisition council and now really changed how he approached things. The council wanted to use Lance’s ability for their own gains, Keith was very well aware of that. But Pidge only wanted to meet this enigmatic individual who Keith has been hinting at for a week or so. Pidge didn’t care what you were able to do, just who you were. Reiner always had a hard time with her when they needed her for spying, but in the end, Pidge always gave an entertaining report.

“It’s a mage,” he said simply, taking another sip.

Pidge narrowed her eyes behind her huge glasses, a device she begged Lotor for. Her pair from Val Royeaux got lost or stolen. Pidge insisted on them being stolen; apparently almost everyone had bad eyesight and she was the only one to realize that glass could help fix that.

“A mage.” Her ears lowered, unimpressed. “That’s all you got? There’s a fucking clan of mages in the Hinterlands, and you’re telling me that there is one, a singular mage, running around and closing the rifts that have plagued the Inquisition since Zarkon tore a fucking hole in the sky?"

Keith nodded and flagged another waitress down for food. “That is exactly what I’m saying.” Seconds later, a heaping plate of food was placed in front of him and he tore into it.

Pidge scowled and looked away, thumping her elbow onto the table and dropping her chin into her waiting palm. “Ya know, for a Seeker, you are dreadful at sharing information, Keith. Isn’t sharing a part of your code or something?”

“Sumthin’ li’ dat,” he said around a mouthful of food.

The elf rolled her eyes and pouted. Her gaze flicked around the room, looking at everyone. The small tavern was fuller than normal tonight, judging by the noise level. More of the scouts were back and Rolo was telling stories by the fire. A bard sang from another corner and a few joined in with her, recounting the tale of the Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Kirkwall.

Keith swallowed more food down and chased it with ale. He sighed with contentment, feeling at ease for the first time since he got here.

“So where have you been disappearing off to? Not even the scouts take that long to make rounds around the valley.” Pidge was pinning him underneath her vibrant green stare. Of course she would notice.

Keith shrugged and spooned his food around his plate. “I keep finding the rifts and fighting them off enough to get away takes a lot of work.”

As much as he liked and trusted Pidge, he couldn’t exactly tell her about Lance. Teasing her with small bits of information was one thing, outright telling her about him was another. Lance made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the Inquisition and Pidge was smart, she would fit all that he had told her together and figure it out. She would know that Lance was the one closing the rifts, know that Keith was technically shirking his duties by spending every day with the man.

The other thing though, was that Keith wanted to share about Lance. Lance was amazing. Intelligent, cynical, caring, patient (when he wanted to be), funny – all things made him a well-rounded individual whom Keith wanted to spend his time with. Lance was certainly more interesting than Shiro, Allura, or Slav. Hell, he was nicer to talk to than Rolo.

But maybe he was a little biased now… he has spent more time with Lance than he has Rolo. And it had only been a week.

“Uh-huh… and this has nothing to do with that one person you’ve been seeing, right?”

Keith ducked into his tankard, taking a gulp to avoid answering. He really hoped that he wasn’t blushing, the way Pidge phrased their question implied he had been doing other ‘things’ with Lance. While he would… like to, he couldn’t.

“I have friends, Pidge,” he managed, “That shouldn’t be news to you.”

Pidge scoffed. "And normally by now, I would have met them, known their name, and what they did for a living. You-" she pointed at him "-have been holding out on me."

The Seeker shrugged and nursed his cup. Eventually, he would tell her but now wasn’t the right time. He and Lance were still figuring each other out, claiming that they were friends was sometimes a stretch, especially on days where Lance was recovering from closing a large rift. Even in the week that he has known the mage, Lance had shown progress. Closing the smaller rifts were much easier, and the larger ones only held the challenge based on what came through it. There had been one time Keith had spotted a rather large demon wandering the woods near a rift and Lance had dragged him in the opposite direction, muttering curses and random phrases of spells that made little sense to Keith.

He smiled a little at that memory. Lance had grabbed his arm and kept him close, close enough to feel the warmth from his exposed body. He had been wearing that revealing tunic again – the one he normally paired with dark leggings, boots, and a ragged sash. The shirt matched the sash, but left much of Lance’s chest exposed. The necklaces, the glove, the wrist to elbow leather bracers, and the rings he wore all seemed to fall into this chaotic cohesion that Keith couldn't help but stare at. Lance was something else, and the way he kept Keith on his –

“Okay, Seeker, spill. What has you daydreaming? You look ready for the fade to swallow you.” Pidge’s eyes gleamed.

At some point, while he was lost in his own mind, Pidge had changed to sit right in front of him, cross-legged on the table. She peered down at him, a mischievous curl to her lips.

“It’s about this friend isn’t it?”

Keith scowled up at her and didn’t say anything, choosing to take another swallow from his cup.

Pidge sighed, that concerning smile still playing at her mouth. “Ya know, Keith, if I didn't know you any better…" She chuckled, her head dipping and shoulders shaking. Maker, Keith was screwed. "I'd say – I'd say that you-you were – pff hahaha, Maker, you were in love!”

The elf tipped sideways on the table, dissolving into a fit of laughter that left tears streaming down her face. Keith’s face felt like it was on fire, his blush raging across his cheeks. He could tell the other patrons were looking at them while Pidge howled with laughter. He knew he should have held his tongue when it came to Lance, it was going to bite him in the ass one of these days. Tonight was the night he guessed.

“I a-am not!” he said indignantly. His denial only made Pidge howl louder.

So loud that when the door slammed open and Shiro strode in, she was the only one making a sound. Shiro never entered the tavern, the food and ale reminding him of his days as a Templar. The commander eyed the whole room, a stern frown on his face. When they found Keith with Pidge still laughing on the table, they narrowed and Shiro quickly made his way over.

Keith tightened his grip on this tankard. Shiro’s expression was not one he wanted to see. Ever. It was dark, angry, cloudy, and ready to issue orders. He could argue against them as a Seeker, but the commander could easily lift him by the shirt and pin him to the wall if he wanted to. It wouldn’t be the first or last time Shiro has done something like that to get Keith to cooperate.

“Seeker Kogane.”

Keith stilled and Pidge sobered up some but was still giggling on the table.

“Commander,” he acknowledged with a sip of ale, avoiding Shiro’s gaze.

Shiro leaned down, hand gripping the corner of the table, eyes blazing. “Is there a reason why you are withholding information about a mage that is closing the rifts?”

Keith still didn't look up. How the fuck did Shiro find out? "I only managed to observe the rift being closed today, I couldn't tell if it was the mage or an outside influence."

The commander leaned closer, whispering heatedly into Keith’s ear. “You will find that mage and bring them here. Word just came in that rift at the Conclave has been active.”

His grip on this cup was tight, his knuckles white. He nodded mechanically, keeping his face as neutral as possible. He couldn’t bring Lance here, he had to get him out of the Hinterlands. Lance would not survive being a tool of the Inquisition. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t.

“The council will meet them tomorrow, or you’re dismissed, Seeker.” Shiro spun on his heel and stormed out, people scrambling to get away.

Once Shiro was out of the tavern, the music slowly began again, albeit far more muted than before. Rolo wasn’t storytelling, and people were steering clear of his and Pidge’s table.

The elf rolled to the side, facing Keith and propping her head up on a fist. “It’s been a long while since Shiro has issued you orders like that,” she mused.

Keith set his stein on the table and made to stand. “Good night, Pidge.”

He had to get to Lance, tell him to leave, he wouldn’t subject his friend to the servitude of the Inquisition.

Keith left without waiting for Pidge’s response. He went to his small cabin and pulled on his armor. He had to be quick before Haven closed their gates for the night. A night in the wilderness was of little concern to him, his focus was on informing Lance.

He slipped out of the gate and practically ran into the woods, following his normal trail.

He never saw the shadow following behind him.