Chapter Text
Lance was having one of those days where everything went wrong. The kind of day where it feels like every voice is grating, all coffee is stale, and there are no paired socks in the entire world.
He slept in later than usual, awakened by Pidge’s pounding on the door and irritated shouting (if you’re late to training, Lance, so help me), stubbed his toe on the way to the bathroom, his hair wouldn’t cooperate no matter what he did to it, and he was sick. Miserably sick. The gross, chest cold kind of sick that woke him up numerous times in the middle of the night to cough into his pillow and chug cold water to try and ease his burning throat. He’d started to feel it the day before, and Shiro had told him to take it easy and get some rest, noticing the way he’d stifled coughs into his fist and slumped over at the table during dinner.
Well, he’d rested, and he still felt like shit. At least he wasn’t coughing anymore.
He assumed that the others would be finishing breakfast by now and made his way there, dragging his feet through the halls and into the dining room, where Hunk and Pidge were in an argument about which Pirates of the Caribbean movie was the best, while Shiro looked amused and Keith seemed to have no idea what they were talking about.
“Hey guys,” he rasped, plopping down in a seat next to Hunk, a plate of food goo untouched and waiting for him. He pushed it away, the thought of food making him want to cringe. The group’s chatter went silent as they took stock of him: all pale and slightly flushed, with dark bags under his eyes and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Your shirt’s inside out,” Hunk commented to break the silence, and Lance looked down indignantly to see for himself.
“Oh, come on,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his shirt before letting it go and clearing his throat against the ever-present urge to cough.
“Are you ok, Lance?” Shiro asked, and Lance looked up to see his face wrinkled in concern.
“Yeah, did you get any sleep at all last night? You look like the walking dead,” Pidge deadpanned, looking Lance up and down and quirking an eyebrow.
Lance rolled his eyes. “I feel fine, guys, just a little sick still.”
“You look terrible,” Keith said bluntly, and Lance scoffed, offended.
“At least I look better than you, Mullet,” he snapped and gave a harsh, barking cough that scraped the back of his throat. It wasn’t his best work, he’d admit, but he wasn’t feeling his best, so he’d let it go for now until he was on his game and could give Keith the verbal ass-kicking he deserved. Or the actual ass-kicking, depending on how irritating he was being.
“Maybe you should miss training today, just to rest up a little,” Shiro suggested kindly, trying his best not to talk down to the clearly sick boy.
Miss training? How would that make him look? It wasn’t that bad; Hunk was sick just last week and he’d still managed to train. Then again, Coran had given him some weird space medicine to make him feel better, and he didn’t have that option. Coran and Allura were gone on a diplomatic mission on a planet that did not take kindly to violence and weaponry, forcing the paladins to stay behind on the ship. The space medicine would have to wait.
His train of thought was interrupted as he lurched forward with a harsh cough, and another, until his throat was being scraped raw and his eyes were burning with tears. He felt Hunk’s warm hand on his back to steady him.
He heard Pidge’s alarmed cry asking him if he was okay, which no, he clearly wasn’t. He tried to take a breath, but his spasming diaphragm wouldn't allow for it, and he closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to free themselves and embarrass him in front of his team. How nice of his relentless cough from last night to make a reappearance.
Finally the fit finished and he slumped forward against the table, exhausted, with eyes still closed and his face red from exertion. A cool hand was pressed against his forehead, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Shiro retract it.
“You got yourself a nice fever, buddy”, Shiro sighed, putting a firm human hand on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly. Hunk’s hand was still steady on his back, and Pidge and Keith were out of their seats and hovering behind him. Even Keith looked concerned. As if he needed his concern. As if he was weak or something.
“I’m fine,” he managed to breathe out, and Keith took it upon himself to contradict him, as if it was his job to disagree with every word Lance said.
“Yeah, you’re clearly in perfect health,” he said, earning a glare from Lance.
“It’s none of your business!” Lance snapped, triggering another cough and he closed his eyes again, swallowing against another fit.
“Alright, amigo, time to go back to bed,” Hunk announced, pulling his chair back and moving to help him up.
“Fine, fine, alright- hey, I can walk!” he squeaked in embarrassment as Hunk attempted to sling an arm over his shoulder and help him to his room.
“Alright, alright! Just trying to help.”
“We should get a read on your temperature. Fevers can be dangerous,” Pidge reasoned, and Lance chuckled, just to reassure her.
“I’m okay, really guys. I’m gonna go to my room, I’ll see everyone later.”
“I’ll be in there to check on you later, okay?” Shiro said, looking apprehensive. Lance nodded and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Lance,” Pidge said, “get some rest. You really do look like shit.”
~
Lance shut the door to his room and flopped onto his bed in a huff. He wasn’t a baby, he didn’t need to shut himself up in his room just for a little cough. Or more than a little cough. Whatever. Not that he wasn’t grateful for the rest, because he really did feel terrible, but he didn’t need to be forced into it like a little kid. And he could at least sit in on training just to watch.
Maybe he should try to get some sleep while he was here, he thought, curling up in bed and stifling a cough into the crook of his arm. He closed his eyes, hoping to feel better once he woke up.