Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

4 Months Post-War

The first time Keith comes back to Earth after the war has ended, after he has taken on the role of Blade of Marmora outreach officer, he’s not quite sure where to go. He’s come back to Earth only because his mission trajectory put him close enough in the solar system, and it feels like the right thing to do. 

It doesn’t really make sense - he’d never missed Earth in all his time as a paladin of Voltron, but now that the war had rocked his past home, he felt reluctant to stray too far for too long. He’s trying to balance his Galra and human side, not let either overtake the other. When he told Krolia this, she had laughed. “I’ve never known you to be one for harmony.”

Now he’s here, and almost everyone he loves and cares about is off planet - Hunk is on his culinary journey throughout the galaxy, Pidge is hard at work engineering something or other at a far off outpost with Matt, and Shiro is acting as a diplomat, moving from planet to planet in the hopes to create an inter-galaxy peace treaty. So, almost everyone. But he’s scared the one person left will be the one least willing to see him. He doesn’t know what else to do, though, other than reach out to him. He considers, for less than half a second, going somewhere he never got to go to in childhood - Disneyland, or New York. Then he laughs at himself and shakes the thought away. Even in space, he was a horrible tourist, and he doesn’t see why that would change now.

Finally, he stops dragging his feet. He’s going to visit him. Now he has two options: is this a surprise, or does he send out a quick message? He decides a surprise would be best - they haven’t texted one-on-one in months, and he would hate to have physical evidence of his loss if he were turned away.

So, he takes his cruiser down to the surface, landing in a barren field a few blocks from where he needs to be. He appreciates the walk there, the moist heat of the air thick but not uncomfortable, the barest breezes applying balm to his exposed skin. He smells flowers on the wind and finds his eyes fixed on the deep, bright blue of the cloudless sky. It’s a beautiful day in an objectively beautiful place. He can understand why someone would stay here. Someone, definitely, just not -

He jolts, shaken from his thoughts when he realizes the farmhouse that had at first just been a speck on the horizon is now steps away from him. He hesitates before the steps up to the porch. This was the prime time to turn back and leave, dash to his ship and fly it the fuck out of Cuba and go offworld. He had only passingly remarked a stop at Earth to his Blade teammates, so there wouldn’t even be anyone to judge him too harshly for ditching out last minute. But he feels like making that choice, even if it was a choice no one was the wiser to, would be permanently severing a tie he didn’t want to break. 

So he climbs the steps and knocks at the door, knuckles rapping a sharp pattern, like gunfire from a rifle. Keith hopes that he’s home - going directly against his last five anxious thoughts - that he won’t have to go searching the fields for him. Let’s just make this quick and easy, he thought.

Although, when were things ever easy between them?

After a minute of waiting, he hears shuffling inside, a door opening, footsteps on the floor, something crashing, and a sharp ow ! Keith tries desperately to school his expression into something his ex-teammate would want to see. How big of a smile was too big? And then: what if he’s too late, and 4 months is too big a gap in seeing each other? Will he be turned away? And can he even be mad if he is?

Just as he feels the urge to run resurge, the door swings open. There he is - long legs, tan skin, bedhead, light blue pajamas. He’s yawning, his eyes closed, the “what?” coming from his mouth warbled by sleep, even though it’s midday, sun high in the sky. Still, he’s exactly what Keith wants to see in that moment - in most moments.

“Lance,” he says, and Lance’s blue eyes shoot open, waking up fully, his back going ramrod straight. “Is now a good time?”

“Holy shit, man, Keith! Yes, of course. Come in, come in,” He tugs at Keith’s arm, a slightly anxious smile on his face. Keith lets himself be pulled inside and shuts the door behind him. “Is it an emergency? The universe is fine and all that, right? Because if it’s not an emergency, I just need to-” He cuts himself off. “Is it an emergency?”

“No…” Keith says slowly. Has he forgotten how much of a motormouth Lance was, or is this new? “It’s not an emergency. I was just nearworld and wanted to say hi.”

“Oh,” Lance speaks softly. His brows pinch. He releases Keith’s arm. “Oh, great. Can you stay here for just- just a sec? I just need to do something really quick, I’ll be right back.” He’s already starting to backtrack, gesticulating, voice getting higher.

“Oh, uh. Sure?”

“Great man, great. Be right back,” he disappears around the corner, leaving Keith there standing on his doormat, wondering what all that was about.

His first thought, one he would later look back on and feel bad about, is: Did Lance have a girl over? Was that what he was hiding? But no, Keith didn’t think even Lance was capable after that, so soon after-

After Allura.

So maybe he’s just frantically doing his skin care routine? He had always been obsessive about that in the castle, was always slightly upset when a mission called them from their beds with no forewarning, and his ten-step process was thrown aside for the betterment of the universe.

Keith hears clattering and rummaging, a sink running, doors being quickly opened and shut. So, probably not the skincare, which is odd in itself.

He can’t come up with any other options, so he takes an inconspicuous look at the hall he stands in. There are photographs on the walls – pictures of family, of home, pictures from his brother’s wedding; pictures of Voltron, all together and then in smaller groups and duos, all selfies taken by Lance. 

One of them features Keith, with Lance’s arm slung around his shoulder, hand in a peace sign. Keith has an expression that makes it look like he’s battling between smiling and scowling. It makes him look oddly vulnerable. Lance is beaming at the camera. “The mullet himself” is written in red Sharpie next to Keith’s face, with an angry face emoji. He can vaguely remember when this photo was taken - it had to be about a year into space, a time when Lance’s exuberant hope and joy about being in space and Keith’s opening up enough to accept affection had converged, two ships in the night. 

Keith smiles at the memories from then - this would’ve been right before he left for the Blades, when stress was relatively low for being in the middle of an eons-long space war. That time had kind of made him feel like a real, regular teenager – one thrown into a sci-fi novel, but still. More normal than he’d ever felt at the Garrison or before.

“Okay, okay,” Lance barges back into the hallway. His hair is messier, but his eyes are brighter. “Really sorry about that, dude, come in!”

Keith follows him around the corner into a large open room, which is a combo of kitchen/dining room/living room. His eyes scan the room, and he sees drawers and cabinets everywhere are slightly open, just enough that it’s noticeable they’re overstuffed with completely random junk. The garbage can in the corner is overflowing with trash, and the sink with dishes. 

He raises his eyebrows, but Lance waves away his expression. “Really busy week. You know how it is. If you text me first next time, I promise it’ll be scott-free in here.” Lance plops down on the sofa, and Keith does too, leaning against the arm, his mind playing the words “next time” on loop.

“It’s fine,” Says Keith. “My room is just a bed, which I’m sure you would judge too.”

Lance raises his eyebrows. “So you’re admitting to judging?”

Keith blanches. “No, I-”

“I’m kidding!” Lance smiles, leaning back, bringing up his legs to sit cross-legged. “So…what’s up, man?”

“Well-” Keith starts, unsure how to continue. What is up? “I was just in this quadrant of the galaxy and thought it would be cool to see what you’re up to back here.”

“Ah. Well, sad to say, I’m not up to much. I…have a farm, which you saw.”

Keith nods. “It’s nice here… warm.” Lance laughs, a sound Keith has missed. “Does your family live nearby?”

“Yeah, they do. Mama and Rachel are a mile away, Luis, Lisa, and their kids are a few blocks past that. Then there’s Veronica and Marco at the Garrison which is… a bit further away.” Lance laughs again. “We do family dinner once a week. It’s nice to be back.”

“I remember you missing them a lot,” Says Keith, smiling softly. 

“Yeah,” Lance cocks his head. “But, enough about me. What’s up for you? How’s being an official permanent Blade treating you?”

Keith groans. “It’s…fine. It’s different than I thought it would be. I’m happy we’re not in a war anymore, but I do miss all the fighting and action.”

Lance laughs at this, his eyes crinkling. His Altean marks gleam, not the color of the blue lion, but of the cold holograms of Altean tech, or the ocean off a clear coast. “Only Keith Kogane could say ‘I’m happy we’re not in a war, but’. You’re ridiculous, mullet.”

“Hey,” Keith scowls. “I know you miss it too.”

Lance glances away, his expression faltering for a second before he goes back to smiling. “Duh, but not the parts you miss.” He rolls his eyes sarcastically, and Keith scoffs. “But like, so what do you do now that the Blades aren’t using their blades ?”

Keith laughs. “It’s a lot of helping people. Humanitarian aid, that kind of thing. Rescuing war refugees, people in need. There are so many people in the universe, so many needs that have to be met, and we’re just trying to fill as many as possible.”

Lance hums, considering. “Sounds stressful.”

“It is. I don’t have a lot of free time- this is my first time back planet-side since I started- and there’s always so much to do. I don’t sleep great-”

“Did you ever?”

“Ha ha. My point is, on paper, it sucks. In reality, I feel like I’m doing something that’s needed. I feel…useful. It helps me stay tethered.” He glances up at Lance, who is staring at him intently, as if considering the weight of every word. Keith wonders if he feels the same, here on Earth, on a random farm. He thinks there's no way he does, but Lance’s expression keeps him from saying so.

“Plus,” He jokes. “I get to work with my mom.”

Lance smiles. “Two years on the space whale wasn’t enough?”

“Gotta make up for lost time.”

A silence covers them - not comfortable or uncomfortable, just present. Lance looks away, and Keith takes the chance to really look at his face, to confirm what he’d thought he saw earlier. He was right. Under his eyes lay dark circles, deep enough to rest a coin in, and on his cheeks and chin were flares of acne. Never, not once, had Keith ever seen Lance with more than a single pimple - and when there was one, it was all he would talk about until he could squash it. Lance’s expression is drawn, sad and contemplative as he gazes out the window to the field.

Keith is no psychologist, but he gets the distinct impression there’s something deeper than a messy living room and an unwashed face going on here. He just doesn’t know the words to say anything about it. He doesn’t want to break this fragile conversation they’d been having, Lance’s mention of ‘next time’.

Lance turns back to him. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“I mean, I did 10 hours ago but I’m not really-”

“Oh my god,” Lance leaps up from the couch, going immediately to the kitchen. “Please let me feed you before you keel over and die on my beautiful carpet.”

Keith assents, letting Lance make him an omelet and coffee, letting himself be distracted from his thoughts about how this Lance in front of him doesn’t seem quite the same as the Lance he knew just 4 months ago. This is Lance, yes, but Lance three inches to the left. Slightly changed, slightly altered. What had happened?

An hour later, the two of them are sitting on Lance’s porch swing, letting the breeze drift over their faces. Lance has changed out of his pajamas into a tee and some jeans. His classic hoodie is nowhere to be seen, although it’s probably too warm for that.

“So you’re saying Kolivan is…nice now?”

“I mean,” Keith starts. “He’s not exactly cheery, but I guess not being at war lifted the weight off the guys shoulders. I’ve actually seen him smile, at least twice.”

“No!” Lance shouts. “You’re joking! Wait, does he joke? Like, is there any sense of humor under that armor?”

“Um…” Keith pondered. “None that translates well into English. I think there have been a few puns that I haven’t really gotten the gist of, but the other Galra seem to think he’s funny.”

“Hm,” Lance quirked a cocky smile. “I mean, someone’s got to keep the laugh track going in space. God knows it could never be you, Red.”

Keith punches him lightly in the shoulder, both laughing. “See,” says Lance. “Proving my point! I bet none of you have so much as giggled in four months!”

He feels his brows draw together at that. “None of us?”

“Yeah?” Lance shrugs. “What are you asking?”

“Have…” Keith watches Lance glance away, a slight breeze lifting his hair, eyes growing distant again, shoulders tensing. “Has no one come to visit you?”

Lance sighs, a soft, small sound, like he’s trying to keep it to himself, and then smiles brightly - more of a mask than their helmets ever were. “Everyone’s really busy. It’s no big deal. Pidge and Hunk still text me a lot. You know, they love their GIFs. I’ve called Shiro and Coran once or twice to catch up. You…” Lance’s eyes dart to Keith and then away. “You’re especially busy! Still saving the world like the massive overachiever you are, and-”

“Are you lonely?” Keith’s words sound blunt, even to him, but he can’t really stand another second of hearing Lance excuse away his closest friends letting him down.

Lance just waves him off. “Man, I do miss Kaltenecker, ya know, these Earth cows just don’t measure up to her. Other than that, I’m fine. I mean-” He sweeps his arm out towards the fields with a gesture of overexaggerated pride. “I’m a landowner in my twenties! In this economy! I’m living it up down here.”

Down here . Keith can’t help but read into that - an admission that he’s been left behind. But he can’t- he can’t push this. So he gives off a fake, disjointed laugh.

“I mean, I’m sure you could visit New Altea and get some Kaltenecker time in. I doubt Coran minds his milk supplier going on a day trip with her favorite paladin, or whatever.”

Lance sucks in a breath at that. “Yeah, yeah. Sometime. Anyway, what’s your next mission? I want all the juicy details.” He shoots a cheeky smile Keith’s way. “Swear I won’t leak the info to Empire sympathizers.”

Again, Keith allows himself to be swayed away from the worry drawing him in to Lance. He leans back, and tells Lance everything, connecting the latest plans back to past missions, drawing in anecdotes of the other blades, sharing things he’s learned about his mom, talking about how shitty the Marmoran food is, regailing his continued training and new knowledge about the Galra, and strategy, and space. Lance listens, and reacts, and goads more and more out of him, like he’s pulling at the threads of Keith’s clothing, trying to unravel him until he’s bare. He continues to shut down any poking at his own life, instead cracking jokes and bringing up the bare bones knowledge he had of the Blades Keith mentioned by name.

By the time Keith finally shuts up, the sun is starting to set. Four months have been covered in just a few hours, and Keith already feels his throat growing scratchy from talking and laughing so much. But the look on Lance’s face is genuinely content, comfortable, complete. His posture is relaxed, arms slung over the back of the swings bench, hand just inches from Keith’s back. Keith thinks he could stay here forever, just right here in this moment, but the cicadas have started to chirp, and Lance is yawning again.

“I’m really happy you came today, Keith,” He says, a sappy grin on his face, stretching his arms over his head.

Keith smiles, a small, intimate thing. “Me too. I’ll-” He pauses. What can he promise here? “I plan on coming back soon. I… still need my right-hand man.”

“Hey!” Scolds Lance. “Right arm . I’m a lot more than just a hand, okay, fearless leader?”

He only chuckles in response, slowly standing. Lance follows him, until they’re both just standing there, eyes locked, unsure of what comes next.

“But- but yeah, I would like it if you came back. Whenever you can, of course. I know what you’re doing is really hard work, and you probably don’t want to spend every vacation day with little old me, right?” Lance laughs self-deprecatingly.

Keith shakes his head. “I meant what I said, Lance. I do miss you. And I will come back. Even better…” He pauses, considering his next words. It’s something he’s been thinking about for hours, ever since Lance’s admission of his fellow paladins not visiting him. “I’ll bring the gang, okay? I’ll text everyone, tonight. We’ll get something set up.”

Lance’s eyes shone a little bit in the automatic porch lights. He smiles genuinely. “I’d really like that. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s what friends do.” Keith says. Before he can think of what to say next, how to leave this moment perfectly, Lance wraps him up in a hug, tight and crushing. He’s warm and lean, the full body press of him something Keith had only felt a handful of times before, but remembers as though Lance’s shape was his own.

“Be safe out there, soldier,” Lance whispers to him.

They part, and Keith leaves, waving behind him, thinking how odd it is, to be going back to the proverbial frontlines while Lance stays behind tending to his empty house, like a-

Like a widow.

Keith banishes the thought, shaking his head as he treks back to his spacecraft. He gets out his data pad and shoots out a quick text to the group, asking when they’re free. He then messages Shiro individually: Something up with Lance. Call me when you can.

Chapter Text

6 Months Post War

Shiro’s call is absolutely enlightening in that he points out: 1. “Everyone grieves differently, Keith,”, 2. “It is a good idea for us all to visit him,”, and 3. “You can’t push him too hard right now.”

“What if he needs pushing?” Keith responds. “It’s like he’s stuck here- there, wherever.”

Shiro sighs. “I understand how you feel. However, it’s only been three months. You need to give him time. But-”

“But?” Keith snaps at the bait.

“I am proud of you for reaching out to him. And for starting to get a visit set up. We do all need to connect again, without the pressure of, say, saving the galaxy.”

“Yeah,” Agrees Keith, warming slightly at the praise. “It was nice, just talking to him- more so when he wasn’t deflecting-”

“Like you’ve never done that before-” Shiro cut in.

“ Shut up , and, like I was saying, I’ve only seen the rest of you guys in passing. I do actually…” He struggles for the words.

“Miss us?”

Keith laughs. “Yeah, everyone except you, though.”

“I’m ending the call,” Shiro responds dryly.

Keith cackles. “No good-night for your favorite brother?”

He sighs dramatically. “Good night. You are the worst. I love you.”

“I love you too!” Keith shouts back half a second before the line beeps dead.

That was something new, something that started only after the war had ended - saying “I love you” to Shiro, and to Krolia, as frequently as was possible for him. Now that the threat of imminent death in an eons-long war was pushed aside, he had come to the realization that fear had held him back from a lot of things, including expressing himself to people he cared about. Which was a really hard lesson to learn in a few months, but it was something he was working at, inch by inch, every day. Something that, maybe someday, he’d work on with Lance.

He groans at that thought, so stupid . One day with Lance and his feelings - that tender yearning that thrummed beneath his skin every day from returning from the blades to the end of the war - came rushing back, where it had lain dormant and pushed aside for months. He felt this way, infuriatingly, even though Lance was grieving, even though Lance still loved Allura, and would probably always love her, however sad that made him. Keith just needs to shut this down, or at least keep it locked inside. He’s well-versed in that, and knows he can do it, and will do it. First, they are friends. First, Keith needs to make sure that Lance isn’t drowning in some feeling he can’t understand.

He does get missing Allura - of course, he misses Allura. She was brave, compassionate, and ambitious, the literal glue of their team. They cared for each other, even when their bond faltered at her shock over his heritage. That care couldn’t be undone, it couldn’t be erased. But his grief over her isn’t a gaping hole, he isn’t cut by it. He misses her softly, grateful for her sacrifice, always seeing her reflected in pink flowers and the strong women he works with on the Blades.

He knows, for Lance, that it is different. That their connection was deeper, more intimate, for however short a time they were officially together. Lance had always loved Allura, always wanted her near. After he was finally awarded for his years of devotion and attention, she was brutally ripped away from him. His longing wouldn’t change just because she was gone.

After seeing Lance in Cuba, Keith fears, on restless nights aboard Blade ships, on quiet moments in missions, and whenever he sees a blue ocean on a distant planet, that Lance’s wound is deeper than it seems, that it’s unclosable. He tries to focus on the good - that the team’s schedules line up well enough that they could all converge on Earth only two short months after Keith first asked. He marks that day on his calendar, counting down the weeks - for his team, yes, but especially for Lance.

The days tick by, and then suddenly he’s back in Earth’s orbit, in a ship small enough only to fit two comfortably, soaring towards Varadero Beach. He touches down smoothly, surely, at their meeting spot, smiling hugely when he sees Lance through the window. Lance waves frantically, face mirroring Keith’s excitement. Keith pops the entry door and motions Lance in.

Within seconds, Lance is there with him, in a shuttle that now feels slightly cramped, Lance’s head inches from the ceiling. Keith stands, clasping his arm with Lance’s in an imitation of a bro-hug.

“Man, it’s so good to see you! I’m so freaking excited about this dinner!” Lance says, and Keith laughs. Nearly 22 and Lance is still saying “freaking” like he’s afraid to get caught cursing by RA’s at the Garrison.

“It’s good to see you, too. You look…” Keith glances at Lance. The eyebags are still there, but less severe, a lighter hue and less deep. He’s cleaned up, too; his acne is gone, his hair is neat and curling at the edges. Gone are his pajamas; here are only tight blue jeans, a fully opened button-up over a tank top, a thread-thin gold chain hanging from his neck. “Good.”

Lance rubs a hand behind his head. “Your hesitation on that makes me feel kinda like you’re just saying that, Red.”

Keith’s words seem to rush out of his mouth before he can control them. “No, no, I mean it. You look good. Really good.” He motions down at himself, in his blade flight suit. “I’m not even dressed up at all.”

Lance laughs at that. “Yeah, but I mean, that’s pretty usual for you, don’t you think? But-” He reaches out a soft hand and flicks the end of Keith’s braid, just long enough to rest over his shoulder. “This looks nice.”

Keith battles a flush, suddenly wanting to tear the rubber band from his hair and throw it into the sea. “Thanks. Just easier to maintain. Anyway,” He turns, slightly stiff, to the pilot's chair. “Time to go, I don’t want us to be late.”

Just before sitting down, he glances back at Lance. “Do you want to fly?”

“Oh,” Lance’s face goes slack at this, glancing at the chair and then back at Keith. “Nah, I’m fine on this one.” He gives a cheeky smile. “It’s only right for the team leader to be in control. Plus, you always need to blow off steam before socializing for hours, or you’ll like, start throwing plates or something.”

“Yeah, throwing plates at you,” Keith points out, sitting down with a scoff, buckling in, starting up the shuttle when he hears Lance do the same behind him.

“But…” Lance starts, stops. “Thanks for the offer. It’s generous.”

Keith hears the coming from you without it being said. The silent tease from the Lance that speaks in Keith’s head that’s more similar to Lance four years ago than the one right in front of him.

“Yeah,” Is all Keith replies, and then they’re lifting off, pointed straight toward Arizona.

Through the flight, Lance talks, random little tidbits about his family and life,  how excited he is to see the other paladins, how he’s missed the Garrison’s flat plains even if they suck in comparison to Cuba’s beaches. Keith listens, getting a word in when he can, smiling when Lance says something sweet or funny, so, pretty often. Once, Keith glances back at Lance to lock eyes after a particularly dumb joke, and he sees that Lance’s eyes are pinched closed, his forehead wrinkled in effort, his head tucked into his shoulder, even as he continues joking and talking. Keith watches him for a few seconds, waiting for those blue eyes to open. They don’t, and then Keith turns back around out of necessity for safety. After that, he keeps his eyes trained on the sky, not wanting to see that look again - the boy who loves space turning away from the sky.

They land in the air fields outside the Garrison’s main campus, their ragtag group of friends lounging on the grass away from the landing pad, all waiting for the last two pieces of their puzzle. As soon as the wheels touch the ground, Lance is unbuckled, throwing open the exit door, and running, arms stretched wide. Keith shuts down the spacecraft and chases after him, light on his feet, his smile exuberant. Lance crashes into the trio - Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro, falling immediately into Hunk's lap.

“Guyyyyyys,” He exclaims when Keith finally catches up to him, huffing lightly as he looks down on his friends. “I missed you sooooo much.” He looks close to happy tears, a smile stretching his face wide.

Hunk laughs, booming, and pulls Lance into a better hug. Pidge smiles softly and glances at Keith.

“Nice ponytail,” they quip.

“It’s a French braid,” he refutes.

“Yeah, whatever it is, it makes you look like a dork. Get down here.”

He falls into a criss-cross position on the grass next to them, and Pidge hugs him, a brief, side-to-side thing. Shiro looks on and smiles. Lance is already babbling on to Hunk about god knows what, and Keith takes a moment to just breathe and look at his friends.

“Where’s Coran?” Lance asks suddenly, sitting up slightly.

“He’s busy with heading the infrastructure building of New Altea, but he promised he’ll be here for the next reunion,” Shiro says. “He did say you should call him, though.”

“I think his exact words were ‘Please get Number 3 to stop ghosting me’. He actually said ‘ghosting’.” Pidge says, laughing while Lance cringes.

“At least our Earth lingo is finally catching on.” Hunk remarks thoughtfully. “After like, what is it, 4 years?”

The group laughs, and Keith catches eyes with Lance. Lance looks away and says, “So what’s the plan here? I’m totally chill to just hang here while the gas fumes choke us to death, but I am a little hungry.”

“Oh man ,” says Hunk, matching devious with Pidge, who’s apparently in on whatever Hunk has planned. “Do I have something for you to eat !”

“Is there cake in my near future?” Lance asks joyously, raising a single brow.

“No, he just brought food goo,” Pidge replies, sticking out their tongue.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Hunk says. “But it’s better than food goo. Now get off me so we can get to eating!”

The group gets up, Lance and Pidge requesting Hunk to haul them up, which he does with a fond eye roll. The three of them trek on ahead to the mess hall they've borrowed out for the night (free - the perks of saving the world), while Shiro motions for Keith to lag behind.

“What’s up?” Keith asks.

“I’m just thinking about what you told me about Lance.”

“Okay…” Keith raises his eyebrows. “I am, too. What about it?”

“Well, I was just thinking that even if he has a lot of fun tonight, being back with the team, at some point, he might take note of what’s missing.” Shiro glances quickly at Keith, ensuring he catches the meaning. He does. “Seeing as you’re taking him back home, I want you to be prepared for the possibility of a come down.”

Keith nods, kicking pebbles as they follow a few yards behind their friends. “Okay. Okay. I will.”

“You sound upset,” Shiro notes, lowering his tone incrementally.

“I just can’t believe we live in a world where Lance has to deal with this.”

Shiro sighs, shakes his head. “I know. I agree. But, Keith, hurting is just a part of life. The worry you’re describing about Lance- that’s the worry I’ve had about you ever since I met you.”

Keith frowns softly as they quickly approach the building, overshadowed by a light blue sky. He knows in just seconds they’ll be cut off. “Even now?”

“Even now. Sometimes worry is just a part of love.” Shiro’s face is bittersweet, and Keith pulls him into a side-hug, slightly awkward as they continue to walk through it, but solid, warm, and necessary.

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith says, trying for a smile, and then they’re at the building, being ushered in by Pidge, who sweeps their arm out with a sarcastic bow.

As soon as Keith steps inside, he’s hit by a wave of delicious and highly conflicting smells. A long table is full to the brim of bowls and plates of food, laid out buffet style. Lance is beaming at Hunk, who has a prideful smile fixed to his face.

“Buddy! You really outdid yourself!” Lance says.

“Agreed,” Shiro smiles. “What is all of it?”

“Well,” Hunk rubs his hands together. “I wanted to do something special for our first time back together as a team,” Keith cuts his eyes to Shiro, then Lance, but sees nothing has shifted. “You know, bridge the gap? So, I made everyone’s favorite space food. That I could remember, at least.”

Keith nods approvingly. “You took notes.”

“ Some of us actually started good study habits at the Garrison,” Pidge says, pointing a finger at Keith and Lance. Keith just rolls his eyes fondly, but Lance bawks at the dig.

It’s so easy, how they all fall back into step. Keith feels his chest warm at the realization. Here is the home he’s been missing, even when he didn’t have the words for it.

“So…” Keith starts, watching Pidge and Lance try fruitlessly to drag each other to the floor with jabbing elbows. “Are we cool to eat?”

Hunk smiles. “Yeah, come on, let's eat!”

They all sit, Lance ruffling Pidge's hair, and start dishing out their own food. Keith recognizes much of the alien food, cuisine that had stood out as being good to them in their years in space, rather than the majority, which had just been overly strange. This included a glowing fruit salad (Pidge’s favorite), something that slightly resembled a pizza (Lance’s), a stew of exotic vegetables and meats (Hunk’s), and a doughy cake with a tangy, sweet flavor (Shiro’s). Last was Keith’s, which was a cold and spicy noodle dish (noodle was used loosely here - they might’ve been worms, but he didn’t care to think about that). This had been his favorite because it had reminded him of food he had eaten with Shiro’s family on the few times he had seen them on school breaks.

Keith went in for a bite and immediately groaned. It was so good, and a flavor that now reminded him of both his homes. The noodles tasted like a string of fate tying him to opposite directions.

“Holy shit,” Lance says, echoing his sentiment through a mouth of steaming food. “This is amazing, Hunk!”

Shiro nods his approval, patting Hunk on the back, while Pidge aggressively shovels food into their face. “Yeah,” they add. “Fucking good. Matt can’t cook for shit.”

Hunk blushes a little, glancing around bashfully at his friends and their full plates. “That means a lot to me, guys,” His eyes got a little watery. “I’m just so glad we’re all here.”

Keith glances at Lance again, but the paladin just says, “Yeah, we can thank Keith for that. It only took winning a war for him to want to be around us,” He cackles. “He’s so sentimental now.”

“Says the guy who cried for his mama every day of our first year in space,” deadpans Pidge.

“Hey!” Lance points at them, feigning anger. “After I helped you find Matt, my family is so off limits to you!”

“Fine, although help is being used very liberally here,” Pidge snickers. “Just wanted to make sure the playing field was level here. I can’t stand more red versus blue pissing contests.”

Shiro clears his throat. “Good point, Pidge, which I believe may be overshadowed by the fact that you’re teasing him right now.” 

Hunk ooo’s . “Dad called you out .” Keith laughs at this, his hand coming to cover his mouth when Shiro cuts a look his way.

Shiro levels Hunk with a gaze. “If you guys were my kids, I would be very disappointed in my parenting.”

Everyone but Shiro laughs at this, Lance banging his hand on the table. “ Dad ,” he fake-whines, “When are we gonna get a step-mom?”

At that, Shiro flushes lightly and folds his hands on the table. “Actually,” He pauses. “There is something…in that realm that I wanted to talk about.” Keith’s eyebrows shoot up. What? He glances around to see his fellow paladins in varying states of shock and confusion.

“Who are you marrying?” Pidge asks. “Some sexy gender-neutral alien?”

Shiro shakes his head, laughing a little. “I’m not marrying anyone. Just dating. And, actually, you know him.”

Lance whips his head around, pointing his finger at the yellow paladin. “Hunk?!?”

“How many men do you know?” Keith questions Lance while Hunk bats down his arm.

Lance swivels to Keith and Shiro. “Well, he is the biggest sweetheart we know, and that could be good for Shiro, actually, so-”

“It’s not Hunk,” interjects Pidge. “He’s too touchy. We would know by now. Also, ew.”

“Offensive!” gasps Hunk.

“I’m just against inter-team dating.”

“Guys, let’s reel it in,” Shiro puts up his hands placatingly. They all turn to him, on the edge of their seats to hear who’s blessed enough to be Takashi Shirogane's lover. “It’s Curtis.”

Silence drops over them like a curtain.

“Um…” starts Lance, scratching his head. “Who’s Curtis?”

Shiro’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”

“Oh, was he on the Atlas?” Hunk asks, spooning cake into his mouth. “Blonde, right?”

“Yes, he was on the Atlas, he helped pilot it. He’s a brunette, though.” Shiro responds.

“Well, show us a picture then,” Pidge prods.

Lance jumps at that. “Agreed! I must see this man, who I’ve definitely never heard of in my life.”

Keith sighs and rolls his eyes as Shiro pulls out his phone, scrolling through it quickly, stopping at something that makes his face soften. He turns it around, and there’s a photo of Shiro with his arm around the shoulder of a man with dark skin, short brown hair, bright eyes, and a big smile. He looks a little bit like-

“Um, Shiro, that’s just me but more tan and beefed up,” Lance interjects. Pidge immediately breaks into wheezing, and Hunk giggles behind a hand.

“He’s kind of right.” Keith agrees with a slight smirk. “Hopefully he’s less annoying, though.”

Lance scoffs while Shiro rolls his eyes. “All of you are horrible.”

“How long have you been together?” Questions Hunk, trying to be supportive and failing to stifle the clear amusement on his face.

Keith raises his eyebrows at this. It’s a question that had hit him immediately, too. Despite the fact that Shiro and Adam had been broken up for years, his ex-fiance had died less than a year ago, and this was quite the unexpected jump for reserved, tactful Shiro. Keith would be sidebarring that with him later.

“Three months. But even on the Atlas, we talked a lot. Mostly strategy, but he was always sweet. Things just…”

“Blossomed?” Pidge asks, a faux-awe tinging their voice.

“Huh,” says Lance. “I never noticed him hanging around.”

“Well, you were a little distracted with all the dating Allu-”

Keith immediately stiffens, cutting Hunk off with a quickness that surprises him. “Distracted with leaving Earth a second time. And the war. And…um.” Everyone’s eyes are on him now, Lance’s softer than anyone's. He gives Keith a watery smile. “But, Shiro, that’s awesome.” He continues tightly. He tries for humor. “When am I getting some nieces?”

Shiro laughs it off, quick to ease away from the tension Hunk had unconsciously brought in. “Not for a while. There’s still much to do for the coalition.”

“Speaking of, what’s everyone been up to?” Lance says, clearly trying to prove that he’s fine and that the night can go on without a hitch. 

Everyone melts back into it, as Lance twists and turns the conversation, dancing away from any questions about himself, cracking jokes at the speed of sound. He encourages Keith to chime in even though he’s already told Lance almost all there is to know from the last time they saw each other and all the times they’ve messaged in the past two months.

Almost seems to be the imperative word there, when Pidge suddenly turns to him and says: “So, a little birdie told me the Galra want you as their new leader, Keith.” They’ve got a smug little look on, and Keith almost pulls his Luxite blade right there. He turns to the group and sees every jaw has dropped.

“Guys, we’re still in a very preliminary stage of picking new choices for leadership, it’s really nothing to be concerned with-”

“Holy shit,” Lance breathes. “They move quick up there, huh?”

“Keith, that’s amazing.” Smiles Shiro. “That sounds like the perfect role for you.”

“Um-” Keith interjects, but it quickly gets cut off.

“Agreed, man, you really grew as a leader our last year as Voltron and I know you’ve got it in you to grow again.” Nods Hunk, face warm.

“Guys-”

Pidge cuts him off, their fingers pressed together diplomatically. “Do you think you’d be willing to be a puppet ruler? I think I have some great insight into how to efficiently-”

Keith slams his hand on the table. “ Guys . Thank you, it means a lot, but I’m not taking it.”

“You’re…what?” Shiro looks confused.

“They want me to, but I’m saying no. I’m not ready.”

“Not ready, my ass,” Shouts Lance. “Dude, for all the shit I give you, you’re the best leader I’ve ever known-” He throws a glance Shiro’s way. “The cloning took you down a peg, sorry,” then back to Keith, his face slightly red. “And if you don’t take the role, I’m blocking you. Forever.”

“Oh no,” Pidge deadpans. “Who will possibly supply Keith with corny Tumblr memes now?”

“Shut up, Pidge. Keith,” Lance grabs at his hand then, reaching across the table and ignoring the food he’s dipping his elbow in. Keith’s gaze catches on Lance’s chain in order to not have to make eye contact, he watches the gold glint under the fluorescents as he breathes. The moment stretches and collapses. “At least consider it. They would be really lucky to have you.”

The team nods along, even Pidge.

“I…” He glances at Shiro, then back at Lance, who is still grasping his hand. “I’ll think about it.” He says, knowing that he’s lying. There are too many factors to explain to them - doubts about himself and his own capabilities, unwillingness to become a political figurehead rather than a fighter, and of course, the fact that taking up the role would likely suck him of the little free time he has now. There would be none of this anymore. No team hangouts, no late-night calls with Shiro, texting with Pidge and Hunk, visiting Lance in Cuba, which he’s only just accepted will become a part of his new routine, though the blue paladin doesn’t know it yet. But he nods in assent and lets the topic change once again.

They are like this: a river flowing, rushing to a stop at dams, breaking through with force, winding and weaving, flowing through grasses and reeds, basking in the breeze. This is what they’ve all missed: the comfort of knowing that all jokes are said with love, that they will always have four other people who will drop anything to help them at a moment's notice. It’s unzipping your flight suit with a teammate behind you, exposing your back to them, saying I know you’d never hurt me, and I really need a massage right now - something Lance had asked of Keith once, which had made him flush with shaky hands as he complied.

That’s what this is, a submission to the belief that life is good and easy and fun, that all of them are just as okay as they’re projecting in the moment. Keith keeps his eyes on Lance as much as possible for the rest of the night, watching for microexpressions only a person truly enraptured would see; the faltering of a smile, the twitch of an eye, a breath that sounds a little too forlorn. Keith watches this, knows he’s being a little obvious, skirting his eyes away on occasion, letting himself be swept up in that river, wishing that Lance’s hand had stayed on his.

“Everyone, please , take leftovers,” Says Hunk, standing with a huge pile of Tupperware in hand. “I’m actually begging you.”

Lance smiles, snatching a box from him. “Don’t have to tell me twice, bud. Although my mom might kill you for making me cheat on her arroz con pollo.”

Hunk almost starts sweating at that. “Just bring enough for her, too. And tell her I highly value my life, please.”

Pidge and Lance laugh at that, and the rest of them start packing boxes too. Keith is glad to be taking some, because, as he says aloud “Marmoran food is shit.”

“I bet,” Says Pidge. “Do they even have taste buds?”

“Yes, they have tastebuds, you little racist,” Lance shoves them playfully, then glances up at Keith. “I mean, they do, right?”

Keith rolls his eyes and turns away, not even acknowledging their collective stupidity. Quickly, they’re all packed up, with Hunk still taking loads of food that couldn’t be dished out to the other paladins. They walk out together, just as the sun is setting. Lance stops to look at it, and the rest hesitate with him. The sky is like layered citrus sorbet: pink, orange, yellow. Sweet and melting.

“Do you guys miss it?” Lance asks wistfully. Exactly what he means is left unclear. It could be home, Earth, seeing their own sun set, being a team, or all of the above. What it is doesn’t matter, because the answer to all are a resounding yes.

“Yeah,” Says Pidge. “I do.”

They stand for a second, comfortably silent as the stars blink to life. Stars that soon four of them will be far beyond. While Lance, beautiful Lance, hair dancing lightly in the breeze, Altean marks glowing in the near-dark, will be left behind. It makes Keith’s chest hurt for a second.

Lance just laughs. “Come back for it more, then. My house is always open.” He starts walking ahead of them, turns on his heel, winking back at them. “Free labor in the fields is always a plus!”

“Is that all we are to you?” Hunk shouts, and Lance laughs, running away towards the airfield as Pidge chases him. Soon, Hunk is picking up the pace too, barreling after him, the three of them gleefully shouting. Keith glances at Shiro, a single brow quirked in challenge. Shiro grins, and the two of them are off as well. Shiro has always been taller, but Keith is lithe and fast, the kind of fighter who will sweep legs and dash with no remorse. He beats Shiro to them easily, joining in on the hug they’ve got Lance wrapped up in as he squirms.

“Guys,” He whines. “I’m so full. Don’t squeeze me or I’m gonna-”

“If that gets in my hair, I’m killing you,” Pidge interrupts.

“Seconded.” Agrees Shiro, there and adding his arms to the squishfest. Lance groans, but gives in, opening his arms wide to his friends, who nearly swallow him in their embrace. Somehow, Keith ended up furthest from Lance, with only a hand on the brunette's head connecting them. He messes up his hair a little, ruffling it with an affectionate smile. Lance turns his head and says, “I can’t believe I’ve gotta ride with this guy.”, but he doesn’t lean away from the touch.

“Ugh, guys, I’ve gotta go,” Says Hunk after a second, promptly breaking up the group. “My bad, but, ya know, alien culinary school calls.”

“Same,” Says Pidge. “God knows Matt’s gonna be salivating for these leftovers after he’s probably spent all of today fucking up our bots.”

Lance glances at Shiro, who shrugs. “I mean, the coalition can wait, but my boyfriend…” He gives a cheeky smile, which Keith slaps him on the arm for.

“ Gross . Never say anything like that near me again.”

Shiro laughs, and then, all of a sudden, everyone is making promises to see/text/call each other soon, exchanging final goodbyes, giving individual hugs, waving, and then walking away. It’s only Lance and Keith left at the steps of the aircraft they came on.

Keith motions to the stairs. “Passenger first.”

“Gentlemanly,” Lance comments under his breath, smiling. Keith can't read if it's sarcasm or not, and Lance goes up, Keith following shortly behind.

They quickly settle in, Lance putting their food in a closed compartment, Keith starting up the display and engine, both buckling up.

“You good to go?” He asks, glancing behind him. Lance gives a thumbs up and a smile, so Keith lifts off.

Soon, they’re in the lower atmosphere, coasting over and then away from the Sonoran desert. Keith eyes the sand dunes slipping past, catches a glimpse of Lance in the windshield. He’s gripping the armrests, biting his lip, but his eyes are peeking open, just the slightest bit. 

Keith takes this as an opening. He flips his hair back from his eyes and asks “So…how was it for you?”

Lance laughs softly. “Are you kidding me? It was everything.” Keith hums, and Lance continues. “It was so good. I didn’t realize how much I missed them. Thanks for planning, mullet.”

“No problem.” He feels a silence blanket them. He feels Lance slipping away again, sees uncertainty clouding his features in the glass. “Do you…do you miss anything else?”

Lance stiffens incrementally, laughing uncomfortably, but he smirks through it. “What, like your horrible conversation skills?”

“No,” Keith stops, starts. “Like, space. Flying. Being out there. You know, our life.”

For a second, the only sound is the soft rush of air as their ship slices through the sky. Neither boy breathes. Keith waits for Lance, as he always has. All he wants is for Lance to say yes and mean it. 

He doesn’t. “This is my life, Keith.” Lance’s words have little bite to them, more sorrow than anger.

“But you don’t miss it?”

“It’s not mine to miss,” Lance breathes.

Keith sits in that for a minute. They’re over the ocean now, and its simmering deep blue reaches out to their ship in waves. “Yes, it is. You were just as much a part of it as any of us.”

“Keith, I don’t want to talk about this. Can you just drop it?”

“Fine,” He says. “Fine. I just… I just don’t want you to be alone down here.”

“Then come visit me,” Lance says, like that’s easy, like he lives in the next town over and Keith can pop in any time. He wishes it were like that, wishes it were easy. Wishes he could reach out a hand and have his fingers brush against Lance's sleeve whenever he feels the urge.

He tries something, knows he’s testing a boundary again. Toeing the line like he always does. “How about you come visit me?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Look,” Lance grits. “Visit me, or don’t. But I’m not leaving Earth. This is home now. This is where I belong. Come, or drop it.”

Keith sighs. They’re approaching their touchdown point, and he knows he’ll lose the moment as soon as they land. Lance will run, or Lance will deflect, or Lance will joke it away the second he gets in Keith’s direct sightline. He’s never been good at talking about the hard things. Keith can relate to this, but it’s absolutely infuriating from an outside perspective.

“That’s not a real option,” mutters Keith. “Of course I’ll come back.”

“Good,” Says Lance. “Do.”

And then they’re lowering gently to the ground, and the tension cracks just like he expected. Lance stands, hugs him, bids him goodbye, wishes him goodnight, grasps his hand, tells him stay safe, all the while holding a falsely open expression, his Altean marks shining in the lights of the craft, two wells of loss that mar his face. For a moment, Keith wonders what Lance feels when he sees his own reflection. Does he see Allura, cradling his face as the marks bloomed on his skin? Does he feel her ghost when he applies his variety of lotions and serums and washes? He doesn’t ask. Maybe next time he will, maybe next time he says something true to Lance, it will actually break through his shell and he’ll believe it. Maybe. Now, he says see you soon , and text me , and I’m sorry , and Lance leaves. Keith watches him, the gentle curve of his back, the hair that is curlier and reaches further down his neck than it used to, his open shirt floating after him in the breeze, the smooth way he cuts through the field of his home.

Chapter Text

9 Months Post-War

In the months following the team reunion, Keith and Lance don’t discuss where they left off. It doesn’t seem necessary. Or maybe, it just doesn’t seem doable. Either way, heavy topics sink like rocks down to the silt of conversation - things go unsaid.

Which might actually be for the better, because Keith sees Lance getting more open, more himself, even from afar. Lance texts him multiple times a week, sending selfies of whatever he’s doing, complaining about work in the fields, and asking how Keith is doing. They call almost as frequently, and Keith treasures those snatches of his voice like they are gold, bending them this way and that in his head to observe for a sign of faltering or cracks- there are none, no matter how hard he looks. Aside from himself, Keith knows that the other members of the team are picking up the slack they’d previously dropped - in the span of a few months, Hunk and Pidge visit Lance twice, Shiro and Coran once. Keith is busy with the combined Blade and Galra business - deflecting a position of power is hard work - but after three months, he’s able to return. 

It just so happens that he comes back on Lance’s birthday - definitely a coincidence, and not something he planned with Kolivan a month in advance. And if he shows up with a present, actual real clothes on, and his hair done nicer than it usually is, who’s going to notice?

Lance.

“Wowwww,” Lance draws out the second he opens his door to Keith. “Someone introduced you to blue jeans?” He whistles with a smirk. “I’ve been missing the Lulu leggings, but this is much better, buddy.”

“Shut up,” Keith says, shoving his shoulder with a smile. Lance smiles back and opens the door fully, letting Keith in, but not before his eyes drop to the gift box Keith is holding. His face lights up at that, but he doesn’t question or pry about what’s in it.

Keith walks into the hall. This is the first time Keith’s been in Lance’s house since his initial visit 5 months ago, and things are clearly cleaner, more tidy, fresher. He glances back at Lance as he goes further into the living room, and Lance smiles at him.

“Hire a maid?” Keith asks, putting in effort to keep his tone humorous.

“Nah,” says Lance, waving his hand. “Just got off my ass and did what needed to be done. Is there like, housekeeping on the Blade’s ships?”

“Most of us don’t even own enough for there to be anything to clean,” Keith says, dropping himself onto the couch. Lance follows, kicking up his long legs so his socked feet are only a few inches from Keith’s knees. “There’s really just the bed and the floor.”

“That’s brutal. Where do you keep your clothes, then?”

Keith freezes a little bit, feels he’s about to be caught. “I…don’t.”

Lance pauses, considering. “So where did you get the clothes you’re wearing right now?”

Keith looks away. “I bought them this morning.”

“Oh my god ,” Lance chuckles. “You, Keith Kogane, are a big softy. And a fucking nerd.”

“A nerd that could kick your ass, Lance.”

“You can try. But my family would probably be pretty unhappy if you beat up their favorite son right on his first birthday back from space, so… maybe hold off until after the festivities?”

Keith throws a pillow at his smug face, and Lance laughs as it falls to his lap. Keith traces the curve of his mouth with his eyes, lets that laugh, loud and joyous, ring like a bell through his mind.

“What are the festivities, anyway?” He asks.

“Oh, you know,” Lance’s fingers tap on the armrest of the couch. “Just dinner at my mom's tonight. My whole family is gonna be there. Even Veronica is flying in from the Garrison. I hope that's okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” Keith says, and it’s true, he would like to meet Lance’s family. So far, he’s only glimpsed them in passing upon Voltron’s original return to Earth, and then right after the end of the war, but then, they had been much more focused on consoling a broken-down Lance than having a conversation with his awkwardly hovering teammate. So this would be a much-needed fresh start. “You may have to drill me on their names, though. I only remember Veronica.”

“Right,” Smiles Lance. “I forget not everyone comes from a big family. Okay, first, I’m the youngest.”

“That tracks.”

“Shhh. My other sister is Rachel, she’s only a year older than me. My oldest brother is Luis, his wife is Lisa. They have two kids, Nadia and Silvio, who are literal gremlins. You’ll either hate or love them, no in between. They bite.”

“Do they really?”

Lance stares at Keith with a deadpan expression. “Why would I lie about that? Do you want to see the scars?”

Keith laughs. “I’m good. Who else?”

“Marco is my other older brother, and then there’s my mom.”

Keith nods. “And everyone will be there?”

“Yup. Everyone.” Lance leans back. “Should be fun. Probably not as chill as a dinner with your family would be, but not too crazy.”

Immediately upon entering Lance’s mother's house, Keith is swarmed. Both of the kids - Nadia and Silvio - are on him in a flash, latching onto his legs and asking him a barrage of questions (“Why does your face have that scar?”; “Are you our new uncle?”; “What sound does a lion make?”; “Why is your name mullet?”). 

That last one makes Keith stumble and glance at Lance, who simply shrugs with a smile. “The younger generation is catching on.”

“Yeah, catching on to you ,” Keith shakes his legs a little, but can’t dislodge his new interlopers. They look up at him with big, bright, shining eyes, which makes Keith groan inwardly because looking at them, he can exactly picture what a mini-Lance would look like. And the picture is fucking cute. But the kids are expectant, waiting for answers to their many questions. “Okay, so. My face has that scar because…” He looks up at Lance, asking for guidance on how to make the story PG. Lance just smiles slyly at him and raises his brows. “A clone of my brother tried to kill me with his glowing purple arm-sword.”

Both of them gasp, and Silvio asks, “Do you have a glowing purple arm-sword?”

“Er, no. Just a regular sword,” He shakes his legs again but they still won’t give up. “What was the next one?”

“Are you our new uncle?” Asks Nadia, voice sugary sweet.

“No,” Says Keith, eagerly avoiding eye contact with Lance. “I’m just Lance’s friend. Next?”

Silvio joins in here. “What sound does a lion make?”

Keith glances at Lance again, who has a hand over his mouth to cover his laughter. “Go on, Keith,” He goads. “Make a lion noise.”

“Don’t you guys learn that in kindergarten?” He questions his leeches. They shake their heads treacherously. Fine. He opens his mouth and tentatively, awkwardly, makes a deep growling sound that comes from his throat. He’s trying to be realistic, and he thinks it’s working, because the kids are laughing and okay, that’s a point for him.

“More, more!” Says Nadia, and so he makes the noise again as they giggle, finally detaching themselves from his legs to fall onto the ground in a laughing fit. He’s opened his mouth again to start growling at them, his hands forming claws near his head in a faux threatening gesture, when someone behind him clears their throat.

“Entertaining the kids, I see?” He turns to see Veronica, a single slim eyebrow perched high on her forehead, with a devilish smile. Lance stands right next to her, wearing a smile of the same size, but with a lot more fondness to it. Keith feels himself flush.

“Uh, yeah,” He kicks his toe into the ground, all of a sudden feeling out of place and embarrassed. “They asked what a lion sounded like, so…”

“Mhm,” She nods. “What a good uncle you’re making already.”

Keith flushes deeper, and Lance punches her in the shoulder. “They’re just kids, Ronnie. They don’t know sh- uh. Stuff.”

She hums, then turns on her heel. “Well, Mama needs help in the kitchen, and I know those hands can do more than pretend to be paws.”

Keith shoots a look at Lance. “They weren’t paws.”

“Sure…” Says Lance with a sly smile. “So, Keith, what exactly do lions have?”

Keith lunges for Lance, who flees with a laugh down the hall. Keith follows, careful not to trip over Nadia and Silvio, who are still rolling around on the floor.

“You-” Shouts Keith, rounding a corner. “You su- oh .” He stops, a second from bumping into an older woman. She’s short and made of all soft lines, with lighter skin and curlier hair than Lance, but their brows and eyes are exactly the same. She smiles up at Keith.

“Mrs. McClain,” He breathes, straightening his posture. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

Behind her, Lance beams, and Keith wishes he had the privacy to glare at him right now.

She senses his apprehension and glances over her shoulder to look at Lance, who drops his smile immediately and turns to try and appear busy washing his hands. “No need to drop the teasing. I know my son can be a handful.”

“Oh, he’s really not-”

“No need. I’m so glad you’re here,” She says, interrupting whatever half-truth Keith was cooking up. She tilts her head, her expression gentle and open. “Keith, Lance is so lucky to have a friend like you. You know-”

“Mama,” Lance calls out, voice a little anxious. “No need to tell good ol’ Red the life story, right? What did you need help with in here?”

“Oh,” She looks from Lance to Keith, and then in a lower voice, conspiratorially says to Keith, “We’ll talk more after dinner.”

She turns and walks towards Lance, while Keith looks between the two of them suspiciously. Lance catches his eye and shrugs.

Mrs. McClain quickly gets to work directing them in what to do (“I can’t believe I have to be a part in making my own birthday dinner,” says Lance. “I can’t believe I have to cook on the anniversary of pushing you out of my chocha .” replies his mom, effectively shutting him up.), instructing Lance to prepare rice, beans, and tortillas, while Keith cuts vegetables and fruit. Mrs. McClain herself is cooking chicken and making a variety of sauces and salsas.

“It smells good in here,” Keith comments while he slices a papaya.

“That’s just par for the course in a Cuban household,” Lance smiles. “No Garrison mess hall funk in here.”

Keith hums, and, seeing that Lance’s mom is distracted with her tasks, questions lowly, “When does everyone else get here?”

“A few hours. You nervous or something?”

“Not…nervous.”

“Okayyyy,” Lance draws the word out, in a way that shows he doesn’t believe Keith in the slightest. “What are you then?”

Keith moves on to the next piece of fruit, a ripe mango, and measures his words. “I don’t feel great about how infrequently I’ve been able to come back to see you. I think it might make me seem like a bad friend, and they’ll see that.”

“Oh,” breathes Lance. He takes a long pause, stirring the pot in front of him. “Can I tell you something without you freaking out?”

“Yeah,” says Keith.

“I don’t feel great about it, either. But that’s just…life. We can’t get everything we want, right?” He smiles in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And every time I see you guys, it’s like seeing a beautiful sunset. You gotta savor it while it's there, because next will be the night.”

Keith pauses, turning what Lance has said around in his head. “That sounds sad, Lance.”

Lance hums, shrugging noncommittally. “But about my family, I don’t think that’s what they’ll see at all. It’s not what I see. You’re not a bad friend, in any measure of the word. You’re actually a pretty good one, red..”

“Wow,” Says Keith, lips quirking upward. “A lot has changed, huh?”

“Yeah,” Smiles Lance. “It really has.”

They continue cooking in silence for a while, and then Lance says, “I have told my family a lot of embarrassing stories about you from our Voltron days, though, so watch out for that.”

Keith laughs, bumping Lance with his hip while he plucks cherry tomatoes from their vine. “I did catch Nadia calling me ‘mullet’ so I assumed something along those lines.”

“Hey, a funny story is irresistible to me, you know that!”

“I do. I also know you’re going to hate it when the tables are flipped tonight.”

Lance whips his head to Keith. “And what does that mean?”

“Lance, I’m in your childhood home. I’m eating dinner with your entire family. It’s your birthday. There’s no way I’m leaving here without some dirt on you.”

“Fuuuuuck,” Lance groans, then yelps when his mom lightly flicks him with a dishtowel. “Jeez, mama! Can the world-saving soldier not get a little raunchy in his own home?”

“Unless I misread the contract, this is my home, mijo. Don’t make me soap you.” Her tone is scolding, but she smiles at him.

Keith just watches, thinking as Lance and his mother tease back and forth that Lance looks genuinely happy right now. There's no crease in his brows, his eyebags are gone, he’s gesturing freely and holding himself in a relaxed, confident way. He looks more like the Lance that Keith knew before the war ended. Beautiful and exuberant. Keith can’t look away.

When the cooking is done, Keith and Lance migrate to the living room, spreading out lazily on the couch, slumped together with their sides touching. They can hear Nadia and Silvio playing in the other room, soft squeals and yells carrying through the walls. Veronica and Mrs. McClain are still busy in the kitchen. But here, everything is still. Keith’s forearms are sticky with fruit juice, and Lance smells like cracked pepper. A breeze flows in from an open window, giving relief to the heat that’s become oppressive as the day has waned on. 

“So…” Keith starts, stops. These quiet moments when Lance doesn’t naturally wield the conversation are always the hardest for him.

Lance leans his head on Keith’s shoulder. “So…?”

“Do you have a favorite sibling?”

Lance gawks at him. “You are such an only child. You can’t just ask that!”

“Okay,” Keith blows his hair out of his face, searching for something else to talk about.

“It would be Rachel, though.”

Keith smirks. “I knew you would have one.”

Lance throws his hands up. “I can’t help it! She’s just the best.”

“What makes her the best?”

Lance taps his mouth with a finger. “Hmmm. She’s the sweetest. She’s sort of awkward, but secretly funny. Kinda like you, I guess, but sans the Gerard Way aesthetic.”

Keith rolls his eyes playfully. “Secretly funny is such a backhanded compliment.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I’m just saying like…” Lance waves his hand around, as if that’ll make his point magically appear. “There’s a lot more to you guys than people think.”

“And what do people think?”

Lance stops gesturing, eyes widening. He’s flushing a little now, probably from the heat. “I don’t know.”

Keith raises his eyebrows, and Lance opens his mouth but the doorbell rings just as he’s about to speak.

“Mijo, can you get that? It should be your siblings!” Lance’s mom shouts.

“Why can’t Veronica get it?”

Veronica shouts back, “Do you want me to open the door, or do you want your birthday cake to have frosting?”

“Fine!” He shouts back, then turns back to Keith, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I thought, with it being my first birthday back, I’d be getting princess treatment.”

“Aww,” coos Keith sarcastically. They get up, Lance leading the way back to the door. “Poor Lance, having to take 10 extra steps off the couch.”

“Stop siding with them or you’re uninvited.”

“I’m already here. You’d have to drag me out.” Keith smiles at Lance’s exasperated face as they stand in the entrance hallway. “I’m very interested in having a bite of Veronica’s cake.”

“It’s my cake!”

The bell rings again. Lance rolls his eyes one last time and swings it open. Four faces smile eagerly, the first instantly rushing in to wrap Lance up in a hug.

“Happy birthday, bro,” She says. This is Rachel, the sister who still lives with Mrs. McClain and Lance says is most similar to Keith. “Long time no see, huh?” she jokes.

“You’re exaggerating,” Lance replies, and Keith notes the stiffness in his tone as Rachel releases him, stepping aside so the rest of the family can come in. Lance immediately starts chatting with them, talking with the couple, Luis and Lisa, about how evil their children are becoming and how he absolutely loves it. Marco adds something, and the four laugh. Keith just watches them, comfortable with fading into the background if it means he can just hear Lance talk.

“Um,” says Rachel, bumping Keith with her shoulder in a friendly way. “I’m Rachel. You’re Keith?”

“Yeah,” He replies. He doesn’t know where to take the conversation from here, and it seems neither does she. They stand quietly for a minute. “You guys are a present family, right?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” She points at the hands of the last brother, Marco, who’s holding a few bags behind his back as Lance tries unsuccessfully to sneak a peek inside. “Especially with Lance. He’s always been the baby, so he needs the shower of attention.”

“Good. That’s what I hoped.”

“I’m guessing you brought him something?” She raises an eyebrow conspirationally, an exact mirror of an expression Lance has made thousands of times.

“Yeah, I did. It’s at his house though, for later tonight.”

She nods approvingly. “I’m guessing you’re nervous about what it is?”

He sighs. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s okay, though. Lance is sweet on you regardless.”

“Oh,” is all he can say to that before Lance turns back to the two of them, face still alight with joy.

“And this, family, is Keith!”

Everyone's eyes land on him at once, and all of a sudden he wishes he were in his Marmoran suit, that so much of him were’nt on display.

“Hi,” he says, sounding awkward even to himself.

“Hey man,” Luis comes in to give him a bro hug. “Good to see you under better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” He replies, eyeing Lance. “Celebrating Lance is the best of circumstances.”

Lance socks him in the arm for his sarcasm.

Marco pats Keith on the back. “Fly your lion here?”

“Oh, no,” He says. “We’re not really… using those right now.”

“Ah,” is all Marco replies, and then Lisa leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Like my husband said, it’s so nice to see you. We’ve heard so much about you.” She smirks at Lance. “Whenever he’s around, he can’t shut up about Red .”

“Speaking of red,” Quips Marco. “Want me to check your temperature, little bro?” He points at Lance’s face, which is flushing. 

Lance turns to Keith and Rachel. “We should kick them out.”

“Seconded,” Says Rachel with an easy smile. Keith gets the distinct impression she and Lance are consistently a team against the others.

“Um,” Keith looks between the four siblings. “No say.”

“Seems like the votes are in my favor!” Says Lance.

“Moments like this remind me you never finished high school, Lancito . You seriously need some lessons on democracy.” Says Lisa.

Keith chokes back a laugh behind his hand, which Lance kicks him for.

“Whatever,” Lance says. “Let’s all just be nice and eat dinner.”

He turns on his heel and walks to the dining room, the rest of them trailing behind, Rachel and Keith at the back.

“So…wanna tell me what you got him?” Rachel whispers to Keith.

“Um…it’s more made than got.”

“Lance never mentioned you were crafty like that.”

Keith laughs at that. “I’m really not.”

“Ohhhhhh. I see the issue now. Classic boy insecurity!”

Keith gives her a sidelong glance. “Sure.”

Then they’re at the table, and Keith is unceremoniously shoved into a seat between Lance and Rachel. Which is fine with him, honestly.

The table is set, with much of the food Lance and Keith made laid out prettily in the center of the table.

“Looks like Mama set out the good forks for you, Lance,” Marco whistles. “My birthdays aren’t quite like this anymore.”

Veronica pops in from the kitchen, arms dusted with powdered sugar. “You also weren’t missing for three years only to return a vet of an intergalactic war, so there’s that to consider.”

Marco sighs and slumps forward.

“Also, you’re too damn old,” says Veronica.

Luis oooo’s , and Lisa flicks him, saying, “You know my kids are around, right, Ronnie?”

“They hear worse from your husband,” replies Veronica, walking back into the kitchen.

The kids choose that moment to run into the dining room. Both of them have marker drawings all over their arms and messy hair, but their smiles are delighted. They beeline straight for Lance.

“Happy birthday!” Shouts Silvio, jumping onto Lance’s lap. Nadia stands hesitantly between Lance and Keith, tentatively eyeing Keith.

“You saw me just a few hours ago, and there was none of this!” Shouts Lance, tickling Silvio, who giggles and squirms. “You were all about Keith! It was like you forgot all about Tio Lance!”

“No,” Butts in Nadia. “We could never forget about you! But your friend was new, and we had to say hi.”

“It was sweet of you, Nadia,” Says Keith. “Thanks for saying hi.”

She swivels to him. “No problem. Abuela always says a friend of your friend is also your friend, and Lance is our best friend, so obviously, we’re friends.”

“That…makes sense.” Replies Keith unsurely.

All the adults in the room fail at masking their laughter at him.

“You’re really good with kids, Keith,” remarks Lisa with a chuckle.

“She’s lying, by the way,” Says Marco in a joking tone. “But you’ll learn.”

“Yeah, he will,” Says Lance, now bouncing Silvio on his knee. “Keith’s always trying to be the best at everything.”

Keith smiles softly at that, offering Nadia a high five, which she gives him. “I think I’ll let you have this one.”

“Okay,” Veronica steps back out from the kitchen, a large dish in her hand. “It’s dinner time. Babies, get in your correct seats, please.”

“Yes, Tia Vee!” says Silvio, and the two of them race over to sit between their parents.

“She runs them like the Navy,” Lance leans in to whisper to Keith. “Great babysitter material,” Keith laughs at that, and Veronica eyes him while she sets the dish down in the center of the table.

Veronica sits, and then there’s only one empty seat left.

“Where’s your mom?” Asks Keith.

“God knows,” replies Lance. “She loves to run around doing things last minute. ADHD and perfectionism are a great combo.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Well, I am my mothers son.”

“Familia!” Mrs. McClain walks in, the bowl of fruit Keith cut earlier in her arms. She sets it down with a flourish and then seats herself. “Who’s ready to celebrate?”

The moment pauses for Keith, like a photo being taken, something warm and fuzzy and soft-edged. Nadia and Silvio woop and wiggle in their seats, cheering loudly. Lance’s siblings nudging Lance and happily reaching for their forks. Lance’s mother gazing on Lance with an expression of pure adoration. He’s the center of attention, the star. He’s glowing, shining, a shy but appreciative look on his face. The look of being loved. It’s a good look on him, one that should never go out of style. Keith bumps Lance’s leg with his own, smiling, and says, “Yeah, Lance, you ready?”.

After dinner, cake, and the family giving Lance his presents, they sit outside on the deck. Nadia and Silvio run around the yard, Lisa trailing after, trying to keep their sparkler use safely contained. Luis and Marco have cracked open beers and are drinking them on deck chairs. Mrs. McClain, Veronica, and Rachel are talking excitedly about something over mojitos.

Lance is two shots deep and trying to get Keith to join him, leaning his body fully against him, breathing hotly onto his shoulder.

“Just one,” He says. “For the birthday boy!”

“That would’ve worked, but I’m still flying out in a few hours.”

“Just don’t,” Whispers Lance against Keith’s shoulders, his lips sliding against his skin in what feels like a kiss. Keith leans into the touch an inch, knowing this isn't what he wants it to be, but allowing himself to enjoy it anyway, the sweet hiss of skin on skin. “Stay. Sleepover. My couch is free. Or my bed! I can sleep on the couch if you want the bed, Keithy.”

“I don’t know, Lance. Kolivan…”

Lance looks up at him with these huge puppy dog eyes. “He’ll be fine without you. I promise. Just this once?” He swirls the shot glass an inch away from Keith’s nose. “I know you miss those nights with the alien wine.”

Those nights from years ago, where their first underage drinking took place on distant planets. Keith did miss them. Alcohol was the social lubricant that had first pushed them into each others orbits as close friends. Getting drunk with each other had meant long nights of talking and wrestling and legs slung over laps. Mornings after were brushing their teeth together, Keith rooting around for a hangover cure while Lance the lightweight groaned against his shoulder. He missed them because tipsy Lance was extremely touchy, completely honest, overly sappy, and quick to laugh. He was a hundred percent himself with no hiding. Every edge of him was dulled until he was a soft, malleable thing Keith could hope to hold. And oh how he hopes to hold him.

“Please?”

Keith snatches the shot glass. “Okay. Okay, fine. But you have to be the one to text Kolivan. I’m not taking that heat on my own.” He downs the shot in one go and slams the glass on the deck.

“Yes!” Lance shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “Fuck yes!”

“Language!” Yells Lisa from the yard, where the kids sparklers are a minute from fizzling out.

“Sorry!” Says Lance. “Keith is sleeping over!”

“Oh, yay,” Snickers Veronica from behind them. “You guys gonna make some purple?”

Lance whips his head around to her. “What does that even-” She raises a single brow at him, shutting him up. “Never mind. Keep it to yourself, you freak.” He turns back to Keith. “I’m going to make you do a face mask, you have to know that.”

“Cool,” He says. “Not one that smells gross, please.”

“I think I have a strawberry one, is that fine?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies. “That’s great.”

“Awesome,” Smiles Lance. “I’m getting us another shot. Not too much, kids and all, but-” He laughs. “Y’know.”

He gets up, dashing to where his sisters and mother are hoarding the alcohol. Veronica strikes up a conversation with him, something playful and sibling-like that Keith zones out of. All he can do is stare at Lance, his long swimmer's legs, lean muscle on display in his cargo jean shorts, a style Lance had assured him is “all the rage right now”. Lance’s arms, biceps bigger than Keith has ever seen them, from working in the fields of his farm. Lance’s hands, thin fingers with perfectly maintained nails. Lance’s face, flushed with joy, eyes alight, mouth already starting to slur, lips wet and pink, his Altean marks shimmering on his cheekbones. The thing that ruins it all , Keith thinks for a second, before kicking himself mentally. The thing that ruins it all. He turns back around to watch Nadia and Silvio wrestling on the grass, letting the light breeze wash over him and cool the heat on his face.

Lance plops down next to him with no elegance. “Here ya go, mullet.” He hands Keith the refilled glass and links their pinkies together. 

Keith knows this move, has done it before with him countless times on the castleship. They bring their glasses up to their mouths simultaneously, faces inches apart, and throw the shots back, tied together by their smallest fingers. Keith feels that tingle of a spark in the hand Lance is touching, and then again in his throat as the alcohol burns through him. Lance takes both of their glasses, sets them down, and lies back on the deck. 

“Join me.” He says, and so Keith does, lying back and folding his hands over his chest. Their elbows touch, their thighs touch, their feet touch. Both of their eyes are traiuned on the stars when Lance whispers, “I was kind of worried about tonight.”

“Why?”

“Well… y’know. It’s my first birthday back. I was scared that…I don’t know.”

Keith waits.

“You know, when we left,” Lance points to the lawn, where his niece and nephew play. “They were babies. Not even in school yet. When I came back,” His voice breaks. “When I came back, Nadia turned to Lisa and said, ‘Mami, I thought he died’.”

Keith turns his head to face Lance. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. We’re all sorry.” Lance sighs. “At least we got through. At least we got to come home.”

The ‘we’ pierces Keith. He knows who’s excluded from that, and he knows Lance feels the weight of it too. Keith doesn’t know what to say, but he wants to veer away from the sad-drunk territory that Lance is vastly barreling into.

“I’ve…missed you calling me ‘mullet’.”

Lance laughs. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Wow. You’re a freaking sap.”

“I guess I am.”

Lance turns to face him. They look into each other's eyes. “You never call me sharpshooter anymore.”

“Oh,” breathes Keith. “I don’t?”

“No,” Lance shakes his head. He’s starting to get a starry, far out look, and his smile is lopsided. It’s cute, and a little messy. “You don’t.”

“Do you…do you want me to?”

Lance hums, face scrunching up. “Let me think on that one.”

“You’re so ridiculous.”

“It’s my birthday, I’m allowed to be ridiculous.”

“Happy birthday,” Keith replies. “Sharpshooter.”

Lance closes his eyes, a blissful expression on his face. “Exactly.”

“Exactly…?”

“Keith,” Whispers Lance. “Let’s take all the tequila we can carry and run for it.”

“Is that the best idea right now?”

“Come on, hothead, live a little!” 

Keith laughs at that. “Sure. Fine. But we’re not running for it. We’re going to say goodbye to your family like respectable adults. We’re not teenagers stealing mommy’s stash.”

“Okay, Shiro .”

Keith shoves Lance, who sways away from him. “You suck. Let's go.” Keith gets up and pulls Lance with him. They quickly do the rounds, saying goodbye to everyone with hugs and kisses and more happy birthdays. Mrs. McClain and Veronica heavily eye Lance’s slight wobble, to which Keith smiles and shrugs awkwardly.

“Stay safe,” Says Rachel. “He’s going to lose all ability to walk pretty soon here.”

“Yeah, I think we’re two minutes from that.” Replies Keith. Lance scowls at him, then kisses his mother on the forehead.

“Goodnight Mama,” He says. “See you soon.”

“Okay,” She smiles up at him. “You go ahead, okay? Talk to Marco for a minute. I need Keith.” Lance gawks at her, but she waves him away. He drags himself over to Marco, who laughs at his drunkenness instantly.

Mrs. McClain turns to Keith. “I know Lance is trying to get you to leave, but we didn’t get a chance to talk at dinner.” Keith nods, feeling like he’s a little too tipsy for the tone she’s speaking with. “You know how much I love my son?”

“Um,” Says Keith, blinking. “A lot?”

“A lot. So much. And I know him.” Her smile falters, but she rights it. “And even though he left and grew without me there to see it, I know something is wrong with him.”

His brain short-circuits at that. “Mrs. McClain, I-”

“Keith, he hasn’t been over in a month.”

That rattles around in his brain for a minute. A month, a month, a month . 

He lives a mile away. He told Keith, he told him, that he was having weekly dinners with his mom. He told him. Veronica and Rachel's hushed conversation just feet away buzzes in and out of his ears with no words.

“I don’t think he has any friends, other than you four, Voltron, I mean. I’m seeing things, signs, and-” She stops herself. Keith can see her eyes shining in the starlight, like she’s on the precipice of crying. “I’m telling you because he trusts you. And even if he can’t be honest with anyone, he needs someone right now.”

All Keith can do is nod dumbly. He feels like he’s being smacked in the face. All of today, even for the past few months, he’d thought he was seeing a renewed, refreshed, rejuvenated Lance. He’d thought just because his acne is gone, because his house is clean, because he’s talking more freely, he’s okay now. He’s stupid, so stupid. 

A month, a month. He closes his eyes.

“I think he’d let you in if you push. He hasn’t- he won’t let me in.” Keith nods again. “Do you think you can try?”

He opens his eyes, hesitating a second too long. “Yes. I will.”

“You will?”

“I will. I promise. I-” He glances over at Lance, who’s now wrapped up in Luis and Marco’s conversation. “He’s my best friend.” He looks back at Mrs. McClain. “I will.”

Mrs. McClain reaches out to him, clasping his hand in hers. It feels like a mix of a motherly gesture and one of prayer. “Thank you. He needs you, Keith. I’m sorry to- to put this on you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” He shakes his head. “He’s worth it. All of it.”

She smiles wetly. “You’re right. Keith, before you go-” She squeezes his hand tighter. “Thank you, again. For coming and for being here for him. It was so nice to meet you.”

He tries to return her smile, but he’s sure it comes out a wobbly, weaker version. “You too, Mrs. McClain.”

“Next time, call me Mama, please,” She laughs, a complete disconnect from her expression just a minute ago. She’s waving it away into the night, and he’s letting her. “I’m not that old.”

“Okay,” He responds. “Next time. Thank you for having me.”

“Come back soon, Keith.” She releases him from her hold. His hand feels cold all of a sudden, and he can feel that the wind has become chillier as the day has turned fully to night.

“I will,” He repeats, smiles, and then waves at her and Veronica and Rachel, who had turned their eyes to him during the end of their conversation. “Bye.”

He goes over to Lance, nudges his leg with his foot. “I’m ready when you are.”

“I’ve only been waiting all night!” Lance turns, bottle in hand. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

“You’re corny!” Veronica shouts as Lance walks away through the yard, Keith trailing behind like a lost puppy.

By the time they’re at Lance’s door, he’s stumbling slightly. He’s taken a few more sips as they walked, and Keith has too, but so far he’s managing a lot better, same as it’s always been.

Keith opens the door for Lance after his hand slips on the knob, and they walk in. Keith starts to walk in the direction of the living room, but Lance pulls his arm.

“My room is this way,” He says.

“Oh. Okay.” Keith lets himself be pulled.

Lance toes open his bedroom door. For all of the pictures in the front hallway, there’s no decoration here. A master bed with messy blue bedding, a plain white dresser and desk, pillows on the ground. It smells unlike what Keith expects it to smell like - not bad, but completely unperfumed, like his windows have never been opened. Stale.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Says Lance, and then face plants in the middle of the bed, bottle held upright so as not to spill. Keith stands there awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands, looking everywhere but at the sliver of Lance’s waist that shows where his top is riding up.

“Come on,” Lance says into the bedding. “Come chill out with me.”

Keith gets onto the bed, lying sideways next to Lance. Lance turns his head so that half of his face is visible to Keith.

“Keith,” Keith hums in response. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Distract me.”

“Distract you from what?” Keith questions.

“It’s late.” Is all Lance responds. Keith has no idea what that means, but he goes along with it.

“O…kay,” Keith breathes in, breathes out. “It looks like Shiro and his boyfriend are starting to get pretty serious.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s been sending me photos of them together almost every week. On all different planets, too.”

“Sounds like he’s bragging.”

“Yeah. Look, I have a space boyfriend and you don’t, Keith.”

Lance laughs at that, deep and hearty, turning so he completely faces Keith. “Is that something you’re insecure about?”

“What?” Keith jolts back an inch. “No.”

Lance stills, like Keith is a stray cat that has to be handled delicately or he’ll run. “Okay.”

“I just think…I’m kind of surprised by it. By Shiro.”

“Why? Are you surprised he’s gay?”

Keith gives him a dead stare. “No, I’m not surprised that Shiro’s gay.” He pauses. “If I tell you something, will you not talk to Shiro about it?”

Lance leans in, whispering even though they’re alone. “Is this a sleepover secret?”

“I…yeah, sure, whatever, yes.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“Okay. When we were back at the Garrison, Shiro had this boyfriend-” Lance gasps. “They were pretty serious. They were in shared housing- an apartment basically, and at one point they were considering getting engaged.’

“Oh, shit .”

“Yeah. His name was Adam. He was… he was nice. Smart. Always kind to me. We knew each other pretty well, near the end. But then Shiro wanted to leave for Kerberos, Adam didn’t want him to go, and so they broke up. After that, we didn’t talk, and then the whole getting expelled thing…”

“You bad ass kid.”

“Shut up. Anyway, the thing is, Adam died.”

Lance goes ramrod straight, looking as though all of the alcohol has been drained out of him and he’s never been more awake. Keith realizes that maybe this was a bad choice for conversation, and that the haze of alcohol has clouded his judgement.

“What?”

“Never mind, let’s talk about something else-”

“No, Keith, tell the story. I’m not fragile.” His words have a bit of a bite to them. Keith stares at him, taking in his expression. It’s hurt. Keith has hurt him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Keith, I’m fine.” Lance takes a swig from the bottle, offers it to Keith. “See, fine? Take a sip and finish the story.”

Lance has never led Keith astray. Even when Shiro was gone, and Keith was first taking up Black, Lance was his one guiding light, always helping him keep his head level and call the shots. So Keith trusts him, listens to him. He does what Lance tells him to do. He takes a sip, a big one, and finishes the story, pinching his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to see Lance’s face inches from his own.

“Adam died, right before we touched down on Earth. Shiro found out pretty soon after. He didn’t talk much about it to me, but I could just sense that…well, there’s no way for that not to hurt him.”

Lance nods. “So what?”

“So I guess I’m just shocked that he was able to move on so fast. Curtis seems great from what Shiro told me, but he loved Adam and-”

“Stop.”

Keith opens his eyes.

“What are you saying right now?” Lance asks, quiet as a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you saying…” Lance pauses, eyes darting away from Keith, looking past him. “Are you saying people can’t move on?”

“No,” Keith whispers back. Lance’s face is an inch from his now. He doesn’t know when that happened, or who did it. “I’m not saying that.”

“Good,” Lance nods, eyes slightly wet. His nose brushes up against Keith’s, sending shivers down his spine. Suddenly, there’s electricity pulsing between them, hot and sweet and fast. “Good, ‘cause I thought-”

Keith leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together, their lips a breath apart, not even. He looks down at Lance’s lips, still pink, still wet.

“I wasn’t saying that.”

“Good,” Lance repeats. “Good.”

And then Lance surges forward, colliding his lips with Keith’s. It’s messy, because they’re messy - varying levels of drunk, tired, heat-exhausted. But Lance’s lips are warm and soft, and then he’s opening his mouth to let Keith in, and Keith is slotting them together like it’s all he knows how to do. Lance brings his hands up to tangle in Keith’s hair, running his fingers through it, and Keith grips Lance’s waist like it’s a lifeline, his eyes closing.

“Fuck,” Lance groans into Keith’s mouth, and it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard. He wants to hear that over, and over, and over again. “ Red .”

What can he do but fold when Lance sounds like that? Nothing. There’s nothing he can do but roll them so that he’s on top of Lance, sitting on his hips, letting his tongue dip into Lance’s mouth and feeling him moan around it. Fuck , indeed.

“More,” Gasps Lance.

More, more , he begs, and Keith can never say no to Lance, so he gives more, turning to mouth at his neck, sucking hickeys and leaving bites, reveling in the sounds coming from Lance’s mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest under Keith’s hand. He moves that hand, toying with the edge of Lance’s tank top, sliding under, and then his hand is on Lance’s stomach, his toned abs, up to his pecs, up until his hand is on Lance’s neck through his tank top, which is stupid, but Keith is stupid now, Lance has made him stupid. 

He sucks a mark behind Lance’s ear, on his collarbone, on his shoulder. Lance moans, cries jesus, and drags Keith in impossibly closer, lifting his hips to create friction between the denim of their jeans. It’s delicious, it’s addicting, it’s all moving so fast Keith can’t even think about what he’s doing until its done.

He slips Lances tank top over his head, and then discards his own, lets his hands roam the hard planes of Lance’s torso, makes quick work of sucking and licking and biting every available inch of him until Lance begs again, more, Keith, please , and then more clothes are being taken off, Lance is reaching for a condom, Lance is pulling him back in and kissing him soft and slow and messy and drunk, so drunk.

Between kisses, he gets a glimpse of Lance’s mother gripping his hand earlier tonight, asking him to be there for Lance. Is this what she imagined? Keith wonders as his fingers skate the lines of Lance’s ribcage, dance around his nipples, making Lance groan and pull his hair. Is this being a good friend? He wonders as he lines himself up with Lance, treasuring the heat and pull between their bodies.

It doesn’t matter, because he does it anyway. And when he does, he looks in Lance’s eyes, looks at Lance’s mouth, looks at the place where they join. He doesn’t even for a second look at the cerulean crescents below Lance’s eyes. If Lance notices his avoidance, he doesn’t say anything, only takes what Keith gives, and gives himself in exchange.

Keith wakes up early in the morning, only a few hours after they’ve gone to bed. He stays still, not wanting to disturb Lance. He glances over at him; his cheek is pressed firmly into a pillow, his hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. Keith brushes it away, combs his hair back with his fingers, brushes his thumb along Lance’s cheekbone.

He’s pretty , he thinks, and he allows himself to think it.

Because that was-

Well, obviously, something is being reciprocated. Something. In the morning, when Lance wakes up, they’ll figure out what something means. For now, Keith gets to just stare at Lance, uninhibited. He traces the lines of his face, the fall of his hair, the curve of his eyelashes. He puts his thumbs to the hickeys on Lance’s neck and shoulders. He touches his fingers to his Altean marks. The skin there feels shiny, like a raised scar that never truly healed. He imagines that if he rubbed hard enough, they would go away. Then he thinks of the girl who gave Lance these marks, and he chokes on his own saliva.

Fuck .

He goes back to bed.

When Keith wakes up for the second time, Lance isn’t there. Sun is pouring in through the window, and the blankets are kicked down to his knees. He rubs his eyes, gets up, and throws on the clothes he was wearing yesterday.

He opens the bedroom door and walks out to the kitchen. Lance is sitting on a stool at the bar, with a cup of coffee in hand. A matching mug sits next to him, waiting for Keith. But he hesitates in the doorway, looking at Lance. He’s slumped over, a hand rubbing his face, eyes downcast. Instantly, Keith knows that this isn’t going to go how he wants it to go.

Lance turns to him. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You can…you can come over here, man.”

Keith steps over, sits down in the chair. He picks up the mug, sipping at the hot coffee. It’s exactly the way he likes it.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem. I can make something else, too. You want pancakes?” His voice is forcedly light.

“Sure. If you want.”

Lance nods and gets up. He starts grabbing things from around the kitchen, pulls out a pan and a mixing bowl and ingredients. Keith watches him tentatively, feeling that showing his reverence now would be a bad move.

After a few minutes of silence, he tests the waters. “Are we okay?”

Lance doesn’t look up. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Lance keeps whisking the batter he’s thrown together. “Honestly…I was really drunk last night. You were, too. We had a good time. But I think…I think it’s best to just leave that where it is.”

Keith looks down at his hands, not wanting to see the way Lance is clenching his jaw. Not wanting to feel what he’s feeling right now. He keeps his voice as level as possible when he asks, “What are you saying?”

“You’re my best friend, you know that?”

Keith’s eyes widen, glancing up. “I- okay.”

“And I want to keep you that way, okay? I don’t want anything to change. I want us to stay where we are.” He’s gritting the words out like they’re chalky in his mouth.

“So we’re not…” He trails off.

“We’re not,” Lance confirms, without even having to hear what Keith was going to say.

Keith takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

Lance finishes up the batter, grills the pancakes, and plates out two dishes. They both eat ravenously, not leaving any time for talking in between bites. Not leaving any time for looking at each others kiss-bruised skin.

When they’re done, Keith pushes his plate away and hops off the chair. He feels Lance’s eyes on him as he pads over to the living room, as he picks up the gift box he had so meticulously wrapped. He brings it over and hands it to Lance wordlessly.

“Oh,” breathes Lance. “I forgot about this.”

“Yeah,” says Keith. “You gonna open it?”

Lance sticks his tongue out at Keith, and he smiles awkwardly. They’re both trying to be normal. He can feel the effort in every movement. Lance unwraps the gift with delicate fingers, not tearing any of the wrapping like he had done with his family's gifts last night. Finally, the present is in full view, and Lance’s eyes pore over it.

It’s a scrapbook - one Keith had spent a month making. He had asked Coran to look up all records from the paladin's datapads, had sorted through gigabytes of photos, had chosen perfect ones for each page. Whenever a Blade mission put him past a planet Voltron had visited, he tried to pick something up that would be memorable - a flower to press, a receipt from a restaurant or shop they may have visited, a postcard of a familiar skyline. He’d written notes on every page in his awful chicken scratch, recounting his memory of each moment they’d had together, what he had loved about it, how Lance fit into the center of it all.

He knew it looked like shit. He had no artistic ability whatsoever, but watching Lance flip through the pages, he felt a sick swell of hope that maybe it might still mean something.

“You…” Lance starts. Keith leans in incrementally, waiting to hear what he’ll say, fearing what he’ll say. “You included her.”

He’s pointing at a photo that’s of Allura, Shiro, and Lance, all in their casual clothes. This was early on, when they were all getting to know each other, and Lance had proposed some team bonding games. In the photo, Allura and Shiro are puzzling over a handmade space-based version of Monopoly that Lance had cobbled together, while Lance stands over them with a huge smile on his face.

This had been one of the hardest decisions on Keith’s part. To include Allura, or not to include Allura? He didn’t know what would be more painful for Lance, he didn’t know what he would prefer. In the end, he found that it was harder to find enough photos that didn’t include her, which made him realize that excluding her would be like erasing her from Voltron's history. Which just felt sickeningly wrong.

“Yeah. I did.”

Lance brings a hand to his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Do you like it?” Keith asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, I do. It’s beautiful.” Lance looks up at Keith now, holding the book to his chest. “I feel sometimes like… like I’m the only person who remembers her. Like she wasn’t real to the rest of you. No one ever wants to talk about her.” His voice is starting to crack. “We never even…we never even say her name.”

That sits in the air between them. Keith knows Lance is right. So much has been left unsaid, so many times he and all the others have shied away from anything hard in fear of injuring Lance. Even when all of them mourned her, even when she was the reason all of them were alive to remember her.

“Allura,” Keith lets the name linger on his tongue. He reaches for Lance’s hand, clutches it. Lance grips back, tighter, not looking at him. “I remember Allura. She was real, to me and to all of us.”

Lance nods sharply.

“Whenever you want to talk about her, I’m here. Always.” He says. “I promise.”

Lance wipes at his eyes. “Thanks, Red. It is, like, a really good fucking gift.”

Keith chuckles. “I hoped so.”

Lance looks up from the floor, finally. His eyes and voice are wet. “How am I ever gonna compete with your gift?”

“Well,” Says Keith. “You’ve got three months to figure it out.” He taps the book. “This only took me one.”

“You are a secret master crafter, Kogane.” Lance smiles, something soft and secretive. 

Keith thinks about last night, and how last night has now been forcibly divorced from the rest of their relationship. Lance will never stare up at him lovingly, never beg for his touch, never pull him forward by his hair, never whisper his love and need, ever again. Keith is so fucked.

“Yeah, sharpshooter,” he breathes. “I guess I am.”

Chapter Text

11 Months Post-War

Keith hopes to come back to Lance sooner, he does. But then Kolivan is asking more of him, sending him further out, giving him less time off, and it’s been two months since he’s touched down on Earth. He has plans to go back soon, in the next few weeks, but he’s not rushing it, because work is a delicate balance, and dealing with Lance requires even more finesse.

Things have been…weird. There’s no other way to explain it. Lance has been dipping in and out of communication with Keith and with the rest of the team, if Keith’s phone calls with Pidge and Hunk are anything to go by. And when Lance is talking to Keith, there’s always a feeling that they’re skirting a line. If he texts anything a little too friendly, he gets left on delivered for hours. He notices that Lance is getting less and less willing to do video calls, which Keith takes as a sign that Lance simply doesn’t want to see his face. That hurts, but he takes it in stride. There’s too much to worry about, and he can’t include his own wounded pride on that list. Any bit of Lance he can get is enough, and so he allows Lance to set his own unspoken boundaries and respects them with reverence.

Keith is so caught up in all of this - this worrying, and not worrying, and pretending he’s not worrying, and protecting the galaxy, and waiting on Lance, and realizing that Kolivan still expects him to step up into a higher position, and every other little thing in his life, that two weeks go by without a single call from Lance, and he doesn’t notice until he feels it’s too late to bring it up. They have been texting, and so he tries not to let it concern him.

He’s sitting on his bunk in a Blade ship, staring at Lance’s contact and wondering how he should start the next conversation where he’ll only get one-word answers when he gets a call from an unknown number. He hesitates, but presses accept call anyway.

“Hello?” He says into the speaker.

“Keith,” He recognizes the voice immediately. “It’s Rachel. Lance’s sister. Where are you?” 

“Uh, I’m off-planet near Quwavai. Why?”

“Okay,” There’s shuffling in the background, the small voices of Nadia and Silvio carrying over distantly. Her voice is audibly tense. “We have kind of an emergency. Do you know if any of the other paladins are closer?”

“Wait, wait, what’s the emergency? Is everyone okay?”

“It’s Lance, he-” She pauses.

“Rachel? What’s wrong with Lance?” Keith is getting up, not even thinking, while he moves to dress. 

“He hadn’t come over in a while, and you know, the anniversary is coming up-”

He stills, his belt and knife in hand. “Anniversary?”

“Of Allura. Anyway, I went to his house and he- He won’t let me in. Mama tried too, and he just won't open the door. It’s all locked and we know he’s alive, we can see him through the window, but we just-” Her words are coming out in a rush now, none of the hesitance from earlier present. He’s fully dressed now, leaving his room to walk quickly down the hall. “We’re getting really worried. If you know if any of the others are closer, can you try to send them, or can you reach out to him or-”

“Rachel,” He interrupts. “I’m coming, okay? I’ve got him.”

She sighs. “I hoped you would say that. Please get here soon.”

“I will.” He hangs up, and slips into the command room. He shoves his device in his pocket and turns to the nearest officer available. “I need a flight pod, now.”

He faces little resistance after he mentions that the safety of a paladin of Voltron depends on him. He’s unsure if this is a white lie or the truth, but he tries not to think about it as he takes off.

The hours alone in his flight pod are excruciating. There’s nothing he can do but fly and tap his feet anxiously against the floor and try not to think. He tries to call Shiro, but he doesn’t pick up. He doesn’t even know what he would say anyway. Shiro has continued to talk with Keith about the realities of grief and treating Lance with care, but he has no context for the night of Lance’s birthday, meaning his advice isn’t completely useful. Plus, Keith doesn’t even really know what he’s walking into here. He tries not to let Rachel's words affect him while he flies, but there’s not much he can do, except blame himself.

He can’t believe that he let the time slip away from him, that he’s gone more than two months without seeing Lance after what Mrs. McClain had told him. Worse, it hadn’t even been a thought in his mind that the anniversary of Allura’s death could be a trigger for Lance’s grief.

Soon enough, he’s in orbit and then touching down in his usual spot. He can’t shove the door open fast enough, and his feet are pounding on the ground within seconds, propelling him towards Lance.

He comes to a stop at the porch, breathing heavily. It’s been seven months since he last stood here unannounced. So much has changed. He knows so much more now. He knows so much less.

Taking a deep breath, Keith steps up to the door and tries the knob. It’s locked, like Rachel said. He knocks.

“Lance?” He shouts. “It’s me. Let me in.”

No sound comes from the house. He bangs his hand on the door again, harsher. “Lance.”

Again, nothing. He sighs and removes his luxite blade from its sheath, using it to cut the lock from the door frame. He’ll buy Lance a new one later. He shoves the door open and steps inside.

All of the lights are off. Dust is collecting on the photos on the wall. The house is eerily quiet and muggy from the heat outside. Keith can feel panic setting in, so he keeps moving, walking quickly down the hall and to Lance’s room. The door is cracked, and he pushes it open.

Inside, Lance is curled up on the floor, unmoving but for the soft rising and falling of his chest. In sweatpants and a t-shirt, it’s clear that he’s lost weight. The muscle that Keith felt under him in July is gone, and Lance is thin. His skin is lighter than it should be, and his hair is messy. 

Keith takes all of this in within a span of a second, and then he’s rushing towards Lance, falling to his knees next to him, putting his hand on his shoulder, and shaking him slightly.

“Lance,” He breathes. Lance opens his eyes, but they slide away from Keith to stare at the floor. 

“Why are you here?” His voice is flat. “It’s not October yet.”

“Your family is worried about you.”

Lance’s shoulder tenses under Keith’s hand, and he releases it, sitting back on his feet.

“Oh.”

Keith stares at Lance, waiting for some kind of explanation. None comes.

“Are you okay, Lance?”

Lance’s eyes find him then. “Yeah, I’ve been lying on the floor all week because I’m fine and dandy.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that. He wishes he were someone else right now, someone who would have the slightest idea what to do. He wishes he were Hunk or Shiro. But he’s not.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Lance turns his face into the floor like an upset child. “You can leave.” He says into the ground.

Keith shakes his head. “I’m not going to. I don’t want to.”

Lance doesn’t respond, but his body slackens. Keith stares at him, the length and height of him compacted into a ball, arms around his knees. He’s so thin.

“When's the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know.”

Keith nods twice, trying to keep his feelings from spilling out of him like they so desperately want to. He’s confused and angry, and looking at Lance makes his chest feel tight and heavy.

“Okay,” He rocks back onto his feet. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

He goes to the kitchen. Everything in the fridge is bad by a week or more, and so is the bread and produce. In the freezer is a dish covered in foil with a note on it that says “450 for 30, love, Mama”, so he takes it out and starts up the oven. He sends Rachel a text, telling her that he’s with Lance and everything is fine. As fine as it can be.

When the preheating is done, he puts the pan inside and turns to the rest of the kitchen. He collects all the gone-off food into a bag and takes it outside. He wipes all the counters and sweeps the floor. He finds a room spray and spritzes it in every room. He scrubs the dishes in the sink and sets them to dry. These are things he hasn’t had to do for himself in years, but he remembers the motions like the back of his hand from his years alone as a child and later his year in the desert. He doesn’t enjoy it, but it distracts him from his thoughts, and he knows Lance will appreciate the cleanliness when whatever this is is over.

When the timer for the food is over, he plates it up and grabs a glass of water and a napkin. He brings everything back to Lance’s room and sets it on the floor next to Lance, seating himself a safe distance away. They’re side by side, with Keith close enough to reach for, but too far to brush against.

Lance turns his head away from the carpet and eyes the food in front of him.

“It’s from your freezer. Something your mom made.”

“Yeah,” Lance’s voice cracks. “It smells good.”

He sits up and brings the plate to his lap, hands shaking. He takes a bite and sags. Keith tries not to seem too intent as he watches the curve of Lance’s lip, the pinch of his brows.

“Did you talk to her?”

Keith looks at Lance’s eyes, which are locked on his face. “What?”

“You said my family is worried about me. Who did you talk to?”

“Rachel. She, uh. She called me.”

“Weren’t you off Quwavai?”

Keith glances away. “Yeah, I was.”

Lance nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“You came all this way just for me to be,” He waves his hand in the air, eyes downcast. His voice is quiet. “I don’t know. I mean, I-” He groans. “I don’t know.”

Keith nods, trying to act like that makes any sense to him. “You don’t have to apologize. I wish I could’ve come sooner. I didn’t realize-” He cuts himself off. “I should’ve come back sooner.”

Lance takes another bite. “I’ve told you it’s fine. You can’t be here all the time. I can’t expect you to.”

“Yeah,” Says Keith. He can’t disagree with any of that, but it doesn’t make anything better. He wants to keep Lance talking. “Will you tell me what's going on?”

Lance sets down his plate, less than half eaten, and takes a gulp of water. “I’ve been having a rough time lately.”

Keith nods. “I assumed.”

Lance smiles, small and wry, and shoves Keith’s shoulder. The first time he’s touched him since the night of his birthday. Keith doesn’t dwell on it.

“I’m just having trouble coping with everything. With Allura, with being home, with being…being someone different than who I used to be.”

“What do you mean, different than who you used to be?”

Lance sighs. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”

“I want to try.” Keith bumps his knee against Lance’s, and when he feels no tension, he keeps it there.

“Yeah,” Lance murmurs, putting his head in his hands. “Okay. I just feel like- like when she died, I lost a part of me. Like, you know, Voltron. We’re all parts that make up a whole. That’s what it feels like to be me. To lose her, if I were to lose any of you, it feels like my arm’s been ripped off, or something. And like-” He shakes his head, hunching his shoulders so he’s halfway bent over. Keith leans in, unsure how to comfort him. “Phantom pains. That’s what I feel every day. I feel what’s missing, even though I know it’s never coming back. She’s never coming back.”

He turns to look at Keith, eyes wet. “Man, I’m always fucking crying in front of you, huh?” He laughs. “Just- Keith, I have no idea what to do. I can’t keep doing this.”

He leans over then, pressing his side fully into Keith’s, burying his face in his shoulder. Keith’s arm comes up to hold Lance in, hold him together. Lance shakes against him.

“Sometimes I wish it were me. I wish there were a way I could switch our places.”

Keith nods, feeling his heart constrict in his chest. He can feel the tension in Lance’s body and knows that there’s more to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, because he doesn’t want it to be true.

“Not- Not just sometimes.” Lance sobs. “Not sometimes at all.”

He crumbles into Keith, curling his body inward so his face is on Keith’s chest, and Keith just holds him there, crushing him in tight. He runs his fingers through Lance’s hair, not caring that it’s greasy and unkept, not caring about anything but being here for his best friend. He feels completely out of his depth, lost in the current of Lance’s reality. Again, he wishes he were better with his words and knew what to say now. He doesn’t, he really doesn’t. But he feels he has to try.

“When I was little, my dad died,” Keith whispers. Lance stills. “It was different for me. I was young and alone. All I had was anger and fear. I even hated him for dying sometimes. I’ve talked to Shiro about it, and he says…he says those are protective emotions. I was shielding myself from the hurt.” Lance nods, and so Keith continues. “You don’t have a shield. I think I…I don’t know what that means. I don’t know why it’s different. But what I do know is that I, and all the people who love you, want to help you through this.”

Lance’s voice is small. “What if I can’t be helped?”

Keith hums, brushing the hair back from Lance’s forehead. “Then we’ll be here anyway.”

“Yeah,” Lance sniffs. The room goes quiet except for the sounds of breathing. Lance’s tears drip onto the padding of Keith’s blade suit. So much time passes that Keith thinks Lance has fallen asleep curled up against him, which he would be okay with, until Lance sighs and sits up. He stretches his arms above his head and pops his neck.

“Okay,” he sighs with a frown. “I’m gonna take a shower. Time to leave the hobbit hole.”

He gets up to leave, flicking on the light, then pauses, turning to Keith. “It’s going to take a while. Feel free to use the TV. The channels are mostly Spanish, but I’m sure you can find something.”

Keith nods up at him, noticing scratch lines around his Altean marks he hadn’t seen in the dark. Lance catches him looking and raises a hand to his cheek. He makes a face like he’s been caught, fear squeezing his eyebrows together.

“You don’t have to explain,” Says Keith softly. “Just go take your shower. You need it.”

Lance laughs, a forced little sound, and leaves for the bathroom.

Instead of going to the TV as suggested, Keith spends a long time sitting in the dim light. He stares at his hands in their gloves, turning them back to front and back again. He clenches and unclenches them, feels the tension in his body expand and dissipate. This is something he learned from a fellow Blade: confuse your body into thinking it’s exerting energy, and it will relax on its own. It’s the miniature version of when Shiro had him running laps back at the Garrison. It helps when he wants to hit something, which he desperately aches for right now. He feels it simmering under his skin, a hot pinch of needing to get out of his own body. 

Yet again, he’s failed Lance. He feels sick, knowing that Lance has been here alone in his thoughts, alone in his grief. He can’t believe he let his confusion over their night together cloud what’s been right in front of him. He takes deep, deep breaths of the stale air in Lance’s room, and when he feels that’s not enough, he walks through the hallway and out the front door, and breathes there too.

This whole time, he’s told himself he needs to get a hold on his feelings, but it’s more necessary now than ever. He needs to stop imagining the Lance that smiled under him and focus on the Lance that needs help in front of him. He gulps down the air until his breathing is back to normal, and then steps back into the house.

He busies himself as he did before, walking around opening blinds and windows, picking things off the floor, and wiping down surfaces. Back in Lance’s room, he makes the bed, quieting all thoughts about what happened there, and straightens everything up. When he’s done, he goes back to the kitchen and gets himself a glass of water, drinking it greedily. As he refills it for a third time, Lance steps out of the bathroom. His hair is wet, his face is shiny with serums, and he’s wearing fresh clothes.

“Hey,” He says, sounding almost bashful.

“Hey,” Keith replies. 

Lance stares at him for a minute, as though he’s trying to make sense of him being in the kitchen. “You cleaned.”

Keith takes a sip of his water and shrugs. “It wasn’t hard.”

Lance raises an eyebrow with a small smile. “I’ve never seen you clean in your life.”

“You remember my shack, right? That was clean.”

“Huh,” Says Lance. “I never thought about that. Anyway, we’ve got shit to do.”

“We do?”

“Yes, sir. You want to help so bad, I’m putting you to work. You’ll be begging to go back to the blades when I’m done with you.”

Lance offers Keith a change of clothes, and he takes them without question. He was getting sweaty in his suit anyway, and now the two of them match, both in basketball shorts, t-shirts, and sneakers.

The hard work he’s promised ends up just being a bunch of errands. They go to the bank, they get groceries. They go back home, and Keith puts away the groceries while Lance cuts a mango and licks the juice off his fingers. He pops a slice into his mouth, and Keith watches him with a fondness he tries to crush within him. He takes the slice Lance offers him and turns away, focusing on the task in front of him, the frozen peas, the gallon of milk.

When everything is put in its right place, Lance takes him out to the fields, where they spend a few hours doing farmwork. Lance groans at the sight of his neglected crops. Keith pats his back and tells him it’ll be okay, then picks up a tool and gets to work. It’s hard, and he works up a sweat, but it’s manageable, and it’s easier with Lance by his side, both when he has quips to shoot out and when he’s calm and silent.

When the sun starts to set, Lance wipes his forehead and says it’s time to turn in. They wrap up and put the tools away, but when Keith starts to walk towards the porch, Lance pulls him back.

“C’mon,” He motions towards the car. “Just one more thing.”

Keith lets Lance drag him by his arm and then hops in the passenger seat. Lance starts up the car and rolls down the windows, and the drive in silence, Lance drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Keith trying not to watch Lance. The breeze whips both of their hair around, and the stars begin to show in the sky one by one.

When Lance finally pulls over, it’s in front of a small shop with turquoise walls and signage promoting a flavor of the month. The smell of waffle cones wafts through the windows.

Keith turns his head to Lance, who’s already smiling. “Ice cream?”

“Gotta pay you back for today, right?”

“With ice cream.”

Lance smiles bigger. “What’s better than that?”

Keith laughs and opens his door. Lance gets out with him, and they walk into the shop. The attendant waves at them, says something to Lance to Lance in Spanish, and Lance responds jovially, then turns to Keith.

“So…” Lance gestures to the display case. “Take your pick. I’m very pro-double-scoop, by the way.”

Keith hums. “I don’t know. It’s been a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Um…” Keith tilts his head, eyes sliding over the variety of flavors. “I think since before Voltron.”

“Holy shit,” Gasps Lance. “Let’s make it a triple scoop.”

Keith laughs. “What’s good here?”

“Well, their mantecado is bomb, chocolate is solid, and their dulce de leche is stellar. If you’re more of a fruity guy, the papaya and guava are both really good too. Nadia always gets strawberry, but,” He lowers his voice conspiratorily. “I’ve had better.”

“What’s mantecado?” Asks Keith.

“Oh, it’s like, custard, vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg. It’s what I usually go for. Actually-” He turns to the worker and asks for a sample. “You should try for yourself.”

The attendant hands Keith a little wooden spoon with a dollop of the ice cream on it, which Keith puts in his mouth. Lance watches him eagerly as he removes the spoon and taps it to his lips. He almost laughs at Lance’s puppy-like expression.

“It’s great, right?”

“It’s good, but not my thing.” He smiles as Lance groans dramatically. “I can see why you like it.” He eyes the case again, and finally he lands on something he wants. “I think I’ll get cookies and cream.”

Lance snorts. “Not what I expected, but whatever. Cone or cup?”

“Cup.”

“You just hate fun.”

Keith rolls his eyes as Lance turns to the worker again and orders for the two of them. She scoops up their orders and hands them to Keith while Lance pays.

Lance thanks her, and she smiles at the two of them as they walk out. There’s a bench right outside, and they sit, sides pressed closely together. Keith hands over Lance’s cone, which is already dripping. They eat and watch the last glimmers of light slip away on the horizon. The moon is full and bright above them.

“Thanks,” Says Lance. “For coming out here.”

Keith nods. “I’m glad I did.”

Lance hums. Quiet blankets them for a minute, until Lance speaks again. “I’m thinking about…um, you can’t laugh at me, okay?”

“Why would I?”

He sighs. “I’m thinking about moving back in with my mom, just for a little while. It’s not that far and- and maybe you were right when you said I need help from the people that love me.”

“That sounds smart,” Says Keith. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” He nudges Lance with an elbow. “If it makes you feel better, I hang out with my mom all the time.”

Lance laughs. “Thanks, man.” He leans against Keith a little more, their bare arms flush. “Can I tell you something crazy?”

Keith turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Me and Allura, we were not a good couple,” He laughs. “That’s one of the things I’m most fucked up about sometimes. That we wasted our last few months together trying to force something that wasn’t meant to be.” He shakes his head with a smile, looking down at his ice cream. There are no tears on his face, he’s breathing normally, and he looks completely fine. Keith tries to listen without worrying and keep his face completely neutral. “I miss her more as my friend than as my girlfriend.” He looks up at Keith. “Do you think that makes me like…a bad person?”

“What? No. Lance, that doesn’t-” Keith pauses, trying to collect his racing thoughts before they all burst out of him and make a mess of this. He thinks of Shiro, what he would do, his patience. He tries to channel that. “That doesn’t make you a bad person. I didn’t know you felt like that at all, but…it makes sense,” Lance’s eyes are locked on him. He feels like he’s making a lot of mistakes. “That doesn’t make it your fault. We were all just kids, and sometimes that means…” He’s losing steam here, scrambling.

“Dating a girl that never liked you?” Lance interrupts.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” He cuts in.

“Yeah,” Says Lance. “I know.” He sighs. “I do think it’s true, though.” He slumps back on the bench. “Which is fine. Just, like I said. Wasted time.”

Keith doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that Lance’s eyes are sliding over him while he says that. Keith doesn’t know what to do with the warmth in his palms or on his face. He just nods and goes back to shoveling ice cream into his mouth, purposely avoiding eye contact. Lance continues eating his cone, and by the time they’re both done, it’s fully dark.

Lance stands and stretches, motioning for Keith to follow. “Let’s go.”

Keith follows, throwing his cup into a trash can before getting in Lance’s car. He starts it up, and then they’re back on the road. Lance has one arm casually out the window, hand dancing in the wind. There’s no one else on the street but them, headlights bearing down the pavement. The radio has been switched on low, something upbeat that people would dance to.

“When did you learn to drive?” Keith asks, glancing at Lance.

“The summer before Voltron. The driving age is 18 here, and I was only 17, but when you’re the baby of the family, they let things slide. If you bribe them, at least.”

“What kind of bribe?”

“Marco always needed candy bars. Veronica needed a study buddy. Luis needed a babysitter. Rachel just wanted someone to talk to.”

“That’s sweet,” Hums Keith. “You should try talking to her again.”

Lance laughs. “Way to slide that in, Red. Super nonchalant.”

Keith groans and leans his head against the window. “It’s true.”

“Yeah, it is. I’ll talk to her,” Lance smiles, deftly switching the subject back to something lighter. “Do you know how to drive?”

“Nope. Not cars, at least.”

“Really? You flew a space lion without ever getting your license?”

Keith shrugs. “I was busy.”

“Being the worst delinquent at the Garrison?”

“Yeah, and piloting a hoverbike illegally.”

Lance glances over at Keith with mirth in his eyes. “You bad-ass kid.”

“That’s me.”

“Maybe I’ll teach you sometime.”

“To drive?”

“Nah, to play pickleball,” Lance flicks Keith on the arm. “Yes, to drive.”

“That’d be nice,” Replies Keith. “Maybe next time.”

Lance nods. “You still coming in a few weeks? Or is that shut down ‘cause of our awesome mental health day?”

“Yeah. The Blades might not like it, but they’ll survive without me.”

“That’s the spirit! I’m thinking of a beach day. How does that sound?” They’ve pulled up to Lance’s house, but he keeps the engine on, and neither makes a move to get out.

“I’m not a great swimmer.”

“Wow, and I thought you could do anything,” Lance smirks. “I’ll teach you that too.”

“So generous.”

“I know,” He drums his fingers on his lap, glancing from Keith to the house. “Are you staying the night?”

Keith glances out the window. It’s fully and completely dark, with the stars and moon being the only glimmer of light.

“I should get going, but,” He yawns. “I don’t think I’ve got enough sleep in me to fly back. I’ve been up for…” He calculates space time to Earth time. “22 hours?”

“Oh my god, yeah, come crash on my couch, dude.”

Lance turns off the car and jumps out, Keith following behind, all of a sudden feeling the long day bear down on him. All the stress and going place to place is seeping into him as a thick blanket of exhaustion he’s been holding himself back from for the past few hours. They walk up to the door, and Lance lets them in, eyeing the mess Keith made of his lock. Keith shrugs with an embarrassed smile, and they continue in.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Asks Lance, glancing back at Keith. After the day he’s had working in the sun, he knows he needs them. He nods, and Lance waves him to his room.

He rummages around in his drawers, and Keith stares at the wall. The memories of what has happened in this room are pressing down on his tired mind. He sees Lance's smooth tan skin, hot to the touch. He sees Lance curled on the ground. He hears his moans, his sobs. It’s all mixing together and making him feel deranged.

Lance turns back to Keith, a new shirt and sweatpants in his hand. Keith takes them, and their hands brush, a second of contact that feels like a flame is igniting all of his nerve endings at once. He looks down at his hand, and up at Lance’s eyes, and he sees in Lance’s eyes that he knows exactly what’s going on in his head. Keith flushes, ashamed, and steps back.

Unexpectedly, Lance follows him, stepping forward. His hand reaches for Keith’s again, and he takes it. Keith lets him, mouth hanging open.

“You could…” Lance starts, trails off. He glances at the bed, back at Keith. “You could stay here. With me.”

“Lance, I…” Keith looks at that bed, where he spent a night pressed up against Lance in every way imaginable.

“It doesn’t have to- I’m not saying like that,” Lance’s grip on Keith tightens. “I’m just asking you to stay.”

His face is open, asking. His features aren’t clouded by lust or desire, but by affection and what might be loneliness. Keith can’t say no. He nods, brushing his thumb along the knuckles of Lance’s hand, a small intimacy only for them.

They both change, turning away from each other, and then Lance slides into bed, Keith following. He doesn’t know what to do, so he lies flat as a board, staring up at the ceiling, arm pressed against Lance’s back.

“Here,” Lance half turns to him, taking Keith’s arm and moving it to lay over his own waist. “Is this okay?”

Keith nods, because of course it’s okay. It’s so okay. He’s so okay. He feels hot all over, and not calm in the slightest, but it’s fine. Lance sighs in contentment, and Keith presses tighter against his back, his nose flush against Lance’s spine, trying to slow down his heart, which is hard when he’s breathing in the scent of Lance, his forehead against the bare skin of his upper back, their legs lightly tangled. 

Soon, Lance’s breathing evens out, and just when Keith is sure he’s asleep, Lance mumbles a quiet, Thank you. That night, Keith doesn’t get nearly as much sleep as he needs, his hand held tightly between Lance’s own, pressed against Lance’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s a siren's call that keeps his eyes open for far too long.

When he leaves in the morning, disentangling himself from Lance’s hold, the boy turns to smile at him, something soft and fond and sleep-adled. He’s obviously still tired and will probably fall asleep again as soon as Keith walks out the door. But he looks up at Keith with those eyes, and clings to Keith’s hand as he gets out of bed and stands up.

“See you soon,” He says, and Keith can imagine himself leaning over and brushing the hair from his forehead, leaving a kiss there that will linger on his skin after he’s gone. But he can’t, so he just grips Lance’s hand tighter, repeats the words back to him, pulls the blankets back up over his torso, and lets his fingers brush against Lance’s chest as he pulls away.

He leaves quickly after that, grabbing his Blade suit on the way out. He walks away from Lance’s house flushed from head to toe and questioning what exactly he’s gotten himself into, knowing that every time he’s tried to pull away from how he’s feeling, Lance has only dragged him in deeper.

Chapter Text

12 Months Post-War

A few days after Keith visits Lance is the anniversary of Allura’s death, the event Lance had spent a month anticipating and spiraling out about. But when it happens, they get through it together.

Shiro had set up a call between the paladins and Coran, and during the hour-long chat, they each talk about their favorite moments with Allura and what they miss most about her. It reminds Keith of when Lance said he’s scared he’s the only one who remembers Allura. Keith can feel that Lance appreciates it, knows it in his bones, even when the boy’s eyes are tired and his mouth is set in a solemn line. Right before the call ends, Lance asks Keith to stay behind and talk more. Pidge and Hunks' brows shoot up, and Shiro shoots a small smile at his camera, but Keith assents. How could he not? The others' opinions, suspicions, reactions, whatever, don’t matter. 

They end up talking for hours, eating up almost all of Keith’s rest time for the day, but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. He’ll run on three minutes of sleep if it means knowing Lance is okay. They talk about Allura, and about other things, more general memories of Voltron, the Castle of Lions, the aliens they’ve met, the missions they went on. They don’t talk about the present or about the line they might be toeing with their relationship, because it isn’t important in the moment. What matters is being there for each other, even uncountable millions of miles away. They reminisce until Keith’s voice is ragged and dry, and he’s rubbing his eyes from tiredness. They hang up with a see you soon, and Keith flops back onto his bed with a sigh.

After that, Lance is back to constant communication, calling Keith whenever he knows Keith has a minute off. Often, Lance’s is the last voice Keith hears before he goes to bed, or the first when he wakes up. Lance tells him more about what he’s feeling, whether that be sad or happy or pissed off. Lance rants to Keith, Keith rants back, and they become a symbiotic relationship of nonstop conversation. Even when they’re not talking, Keith spends nearly every minute thinking of Lance. He oscillates between worrying like crazy and being overcome with feelings so sweet and sappy he wonders if he’s become a different person. Even when he thinks he’s not thinking of Lance, he’ll see a specific shade of blue, or will provide aid to a large family, or will hear a younger Blade making cocky jokes, and he’ll be drawn back into the never ending Lance tornado in his brain.

From their talks, Keith learns that Lance moved back in with his mom as planned, and is hanging out with Rachel more, and watching Nadia and Silvio whenever Luis and Lisa want a night off. He learns that Lance’s crops are slowly coming back to life, and his physique with them - Lance shows off his biceps whenever possible. He learns that Lance and his mom have been having some hard conversations, but that Lance feels it’s worth it, even though he sometimes locks himself in his room like a teenager when he feels he can’t bear to talk anymore. He learns that Lance is thinking about growing his hair out, which Keith mercilessly teases him for - it’s only fair after all the mullet comments he’s gotten in their years as friends.

Friends. That’s what they are. Friends who tell each other every detail of their days, who say good morning and goodnight to each other like clockwork, who have had sex, who have held each other through the night. Keith is having trouble wrapping his head around that - he would never expect a similar dynamic from Pidge or Hunk or anyone else he knows. He realizes that the way Lance looks at him through the screen is too fond, too knowing, for a friend. He realizes that it’s very likely Lance is feeling what he’s feeling - likely not to the same extent, but there must be something there; some flicker of affection from Lance to Keith. But they continue to dance around it, and Lance has always been a good dancer. They avoid the subject - they don’t talk about the cuddling or the way their bodies had slotted together perfectly or the newfound need to tell each other everything. They certainly don’t talk about how Lance’s sleep-rough voice sometimes rings through Keith’s head when he’s trying to fall asleep until he has to go take a cold shower, which makes him feel like he’s 18 and back in the Castle of Lions again. They also don’t talk about how Keith feels like he’s veering towards the point of no return - every time he calls Lance, he wonders if this time will be the point where his heart decides he can never get over Lance. Sometimes he wonders if he’s already there, and then he throws himself into strenuous exercise until his mind is a blank slate of exertion and beads of sweat are rolling down his neck.

And then, it’s mid-October, and he’s touching down on Earth once again, happier than ever to be there. Still, he takes his time - doesn’t run to Lance, but savors the moments in between. 300 steps ‘til Lance , he tells himself. 200, 100, 50 .  He walks at his normal pace, breathing in the fresh air. He looks up at the early morning sky, a perfect blue. Lance’s blue. Thinking that, he smiles, and reaches up to tie his hair back so it doesn’t plaster to his neck in the heat. It’s getting genuinely long, a little past his shoulders, and he likes it. Sometimes he catches Lance’s eye on it when they call, and so he thinks Lance likes it too. He briefly thinks of asking Lance, and then laughs at himself for the childish thought.

Then he’s knocking on the door to Lance’s childhood home, and Lance is opening it within seconds, like he’d been waiting by the door. There’s a huge smile on his face, and he immediately wraps Keith in a hug. Keith melts into it, allowing himself to go fully mushy without Lance’s eyes on his face.

“Missed you, sharpshooter,” He mutters into Lance’s shoulder.

“You see me every day,” Laughs Lance. “But, yeah. Me too.” He flicks at Keith’s ponytail. “Nice hair.”

Keith pulls back and looks Lance in the face, searching for any sign of humor. There’s none, just an open honesty.

“What?” Asks Lance. “Something on my face?”

“Uh, no,” Keith releases Lance from his hold, taking a half step back. There’s no way for him to easily explain that he’d just been daydreaming a romanticized version of the conversation they’re currently having. So he half-smiles and says, “Just…surprised you like it.”

Lance shrugs with an easy smile. “It’s cute.”

Keith lets out an undeniably awkward “Thanks,” to which Lance laughs.

Really though, cute describes Lance better. His skin is tanned again, his body is regaining its muscle, and his hair is messy in a way that shows it was meticulously ruffled to achieve the look, curling slightly at the edges. He’s wearing the slim gold chain Keith spotted on him months ago, as well as a tank top that lifts high and shorts that sit low, leaving an entire strip of his torso bare to the world, bare to Keith’s nervous eyes. He looks like the sun’s been bottled. Keith can’t look away; he doesn’t want to.

But he still knows he’s being too obvious. He interrupts himself from his thoughts, saying, “You have a swimsuit for me to borrow, right?”

“Mhm,” Hums Lance. “Come on in.”

Lance goes straight for his room, and Keith follows with no hesitation. They pass Rachel, who’s sitting on the couch with earbuds in and a laptop in front of her, but she still waves with a smile. Keith waves in return and turns back to Lance, who has arrived at his door. He pushes it open, and they step inside. Immediately, Keith’s eyes dart around, startled by all the decor. There are posters of space and superhero movies, action figures cluttered on shelves, star stickers and string lights on the ceiling. A few ribbons and medals are hanging in the corner, and Keith spots the scrapbook he gave Lance sitting closed on the nightstand. The walls are a pale blue, and there’s a large window that looks out to the backyard where they spent the evening of Lance’s birthday. 

Keith can’t help but think this is a much better place for Lance to be than the cold and empty room at his own house. He also can’t help but want to search every crevice of this room for more hints about who Lance is and who he’s been. He feels a sudden hunger for knowledge as he breathes in Lance’s air.

“Kiddy, isn’t it?” Lance jokes, sounding a little shy.

“We were all kids once,” Replies Keith with a gentle smile. “I think it’s cool.”

Lance doesn’t reply, but his face flushes. He turns and grabs two pairs of swim shorts off his bed and holds them up to Keith.

“Red or black?” Lance smirks. “The lions will be judging you based on your choice.”

“What are you wearing?”

Lance smiles. “I’ve already got a claim on blue.”

“Then I’ll do red.”

“For old times' sake?”

Keith rolls his eyes playfully, even though that's exactly what he was thinking. “Yeah.”

“Here,” Lance passes the shorts to Keith, and his fingers linger against Keith’s when they touch through the fabric. Keith is sure they both notice it, sure Lance feels the electric shock between them.

“Bathroom?” Keith asks.

“Yeah, it’s just down the hall to the left.”

Keith goes to change, and his eyes take in the bathroom same as he did Lance’s room; with ravenous intent to acquire knowledge that is not freely given to him. The shower curtain is patterned with pink roses, and there’s a small wooden crucifix hanging on the wall. All of Lance’s skincare items are laid out on the counter, next to bottles of perfume and bracelets that are likely a mix of Lances and Rachels. There’s a sticky note with a smiley face on the mirror, and one below it that says “Lance don’t use all the hot water pls”. Keith smiles at that and slips out of his suit and into the swimsuit. He glances at himself in the mirror. The shorts are a little tight on him, but it’s fine, a dark red that looks kind of nice against his skin. He wonders what Lance will think, and then shakes his head, flicking his face and reminding himself to be normal.

Lance is already in the hallway when Keith steps out, two towels under his arm and clad in his blue shorts as promised. With no shirt on, Keith can see a small dusting of freckles and moles across his chest, something he hadn’t noticed in the dark during their night together. He’s checking something on his phone, but when he hears the door shut behind Keith, he looks up, a grin instantly widening on his face.

“Lookin’ good, Red.”

Keith runs a hand through his ponytail nervously. “You too.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lance smirks, beckoning Keith forward. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Just as Lance’s hand lands on the knob of the front door, Lance’s mom rounds the corner. She locks eyes with Keith and immediately smiles, walking up to him with her arms open.

“Keith!” She says, trapping him in a tight hug. He reciprocates hesitantly, glancing at Lance over her head. “It’s been too long. How are things going out in space? Are you shooting lasers?”

“Um,” He replies as she releases him, holding him now at an arm's length in order to get a good look at him. “No lasers. But things are good. I’m helping people, flying crafts. It’s nice.”

“That does sound nice,” She sighs. “I love my Lance, but I do wonder when he’ll get back out there with all of you.”

Keith raises his eyebrows at that, opening his mouth to speak, but Lance beats him to the punch.

“ Mama ,” He groans. “We’re trying to go.”

Mrs. McClain laughs heartily. “He’s still such a teenager, isn’t he?”

Keith smiles, catching Lance’s eye. Lance scowls unseriously. “Yeah, he is.”

“Okay, well,” She steps back, patting Keith on the arm. “Have fun, amorcitos.” She stands on tiptoes to kiss Lance on the forehead. “Be safe.”

“If the sharks start to eat Keith, I’m running back without him.”

Keith tilts his head. “There are sharks?”

“He’s joking,” Laughs Mrs. McClain. “Lance is the only thing on that beach that’ll bite you.”

Lance flushes as his mom turns away and leaves them in the entryway. Keith purposely avoids eye contact. They both know how true what she just said is, but neither will admit it.

“Embarrassing her kids is her number one hobby.” Lance sighs, opening the door. They step out, and the heat immediately hits them. Lance leads them towards a path, explaining that it leads to the nearest strip of beach.

“I know the feeling,” Replies Keith. “Krolia loves to baby me in front of the Blades. But I know she’s just making up for…a lot of lost time.”

They walk side by side, Lance’s arm bumping into Keith’s constantly. His skin is warm and smooth when it brushes against Keith, and he can feel the muscle lying underneath in the brief touches.

“Yeah,” Says Lance after a minute. “My mom too, I think. Not as long, obviously, but. She missed my late teens completely.”

“The best years for any parent, I’m sure.”

“Shut up,” Lance shoves him lightly. “You know what I mean!”

Keith shoves back a little harder, still playful, and Lance stumbles a little in his sandals, kicking up dust on the path.

“Rude.”

Keith grins wickedly. “I’m just trying to remind you that I’d always win when we’d spar.”

“Untrue!”

“So true.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “I’m still faster than you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Wanna bet?” Lance raises his eyebrows, a clear challenge.

Keith eyes the path in front of them. “On three?”

“Nah,” Lance replies, and then he’s off.

“You cheater!” Keith screams after Lance as dust kicks up into his face.

Keith immediately scrambles to catch up to him, feet falling into every tread of the faster boys footsteps. They’re both slower than usual in their flip flops, but Lance is definitely beating Keith, always at least three strides ahead, even though he’s carrying their stuff awkwardly.

After a few minutes of the chase, they reach the beach, but Lance doesn’t stop once his feet hit the sand; he goes further, lunging towards the waterline. Keith follows, slipping a little in the uneven terrain. Where the ground turns wet and porous, the waves lapping onto the fine white sand, Lance abruptly stops. Keith pauses with him. 

Silt is seeping over the edges of Keith’s sandals and is sprayed on his legs. The sun beams down on them in thick, heavy rays - Keith can already feel his hair sticking to his face with sweat. The ocean in front of them is crystal clear and a perfect blue. Lance turns to Keith, and Keith continues to see the ocean in his eyes. A part of home he’ll always have. Keith thinks it’s beautiful, thinks they’re beautiful. Lance smiles at him, sun glinting off his white teeth.

“Beat you, didn’t I?”

“Guess you did,” Replies Keith, his voice rough. He tells himself it’s from the running, that it has nothing to do with the thick swell of affection washing over him.

“Gonna fight me about it?”

“Nah,” Keith snatches the towels out from under Lance’s arm and throws them further up the slope of sand, then kicks off his sandals in two easy movements. “Think I’ve got some learning to do.”

Lance laughs. “You’ve come to the right place, then,” He kicks off his shoes as well. “Welcome to Lance’s school of swimming, Veradero style.”

He grabs for Keith’s hand, leading him into the water, which is cold but not uncomfortably so - it’s a shock first, and then a relief, similar to the press of Lance’s fingers against his palm. He lets Lance take him in deeper until they’re up to their hips in water. The waves are slight, swaying them without overtaking. Still, Keith feels he’s never felt so unsteady as when Lance lets go of him.

“So,” Starts Lance. “Show me what you know.”

“Um,” Keith stands awkwardly. “This is it.”

Lance’s eyes widen momentarily. “I see. No matter! We’ll get you doing the 500 meter in no time!”

“Sure,” Replies Keith sarcastically. Lance doesn’t seem to pick up his tone.

“Alright, so most instructors tend to start with a doggy paddle, but seeing as that’s usually for 5-year-olds, no offense, I think it’s best to start with a basic breaststroke.”

Keith nods along, knowing it’s going to be a long day. He’s already being a bad student, spending more time staring at the slope of Lance’s nose and the curve of his jaw than paying attention to whatever he’s saying. He lets the words drift over and around him, and tries to keep his jaw from hanging open and his blood from boiling inside him whenever Lance smiles in his direction. Even when Lance laughs at him for failing horribly, he feels warm, warmer than the sun's rays alone could make him.

Somehow, he still gets along fine, able to follow directions correctly about half the time, and by the time it’s midday, he’s doing “Pretty good, Kogane.”, as Lance says.

“Thanks,” Keith pants. He’s starting to realize his lung capacity is not anywhere near as good as Lance’s, who could be a secret mermaid for all he knows. His arms feel slightly tired, and he’s sure he’ll need a long night’s rest after this is over.

“Hm,” Lance hums. “Do you feel ready for a challenge?”

“Do you promise not to let me drown?”

“You can always trust me to save you.” He smirks like it’s a pick-up line he’s spent hours perfecting in the mirror, and his voice has a corny, boisterous twinge to it, but Keith feels his temperature rise anyway.

“Fine. Throw your worst at me.”

“See those rocks out there?” Lance points to the horizon. Keith spots the cluster of rocks, a few hundred meters out from where they stand up to their shoulders in water. “Race me.”

There’s a clear dare in Lance’s face and tone. He’s practically begging Keith to give in, to make a repeat of earlier this morning. And really, when has Keith ever backed down from a challenge? It’s not in his nature.

“If I die out here…” Keith warns.

“Baby boy, trust, I’ve got you.” 

Lance has never said anything quite like that before, and he must realize it, because he instantly stiffens and turns away from Keith, who is flushing unbearably red.

“On three,” Lance says tensely. “Three, two-”

“Wait, Lance-”

“One.”

Lance dives in, a skilled swimmer cutting through the water like a hot blade through butter. Keith watches the muscles of Lance’s back for a second that feels like an eternity, and then he follows, throwing himself against the waves, swimming blindly and as fast as possible. His thoughts race as he fights against the currents. He thinks: I want him to call me that again. He thinks: I want to feel his skin against mine. He thinks: I want to win this.

He doesn’t know why that’s the thought that sticks - he doesn’t want to dwell on it. Will winning make him better in Lance’s eyes? Will winning prove something to himself? He holds his breath and tries not to pay attention to himself.

When he comes up for air, he sees Lance understandably ahead of him, arms rising and falling in a perfect rhythm. They’re a third of the way to the rocks. Keith can still make it; he can still win. He can feel the salt in his pores, his mouth, his eyes. He swims harder, heart pounding in his chest, lungs screaming. It doesn’t matter that he’s new at this, it doesn’t matter that he’s not all that good at it. His desire pushes him further and further, until he’s close behind Lance, his arms level with Lance’s ankles.

Lance and Keith, neck and neck , he thinks, a phrase Lance had first said years ago; a universal truth that bonds them together through galaxies, through the inches between their swimming bodies.

He raises his head again and sees the rock grouping, only a few meters ahead. His head is at Lance’s knees - he’s narrowly avoiding being kicked - and now he knows he’s lost. But he presses forward anyway, and when they get to the finish line, Lance just a second before him, all he can do is gasp in the fresh ocean air and smile.

Lance is in front of him, inches away, a smile lighting up his face.

“You got pretty close,” Says Lance. “I knew you could.”

“Don’t make a habit of believing in me,” Replies Keith with a laugh.

And then he’s looking at Lance’s face, really looking, at his cerulean eyes framed by long lashes, thin brows settled comfortably, lips wet with salt water stretched into a grin. White teeth, pink tongue, hair curling against his cheeks and neck. Worse than Keith staring is the fact that he knows Lance is ,staring too. They’re orbiting each other, swaying slightly, and he wonders for a second what Lance is seeing through his eyes, but that thought doesn’t last long.

He wishes he could blame it on the waves, but they lap gently, providing only a subtle push-and-pull. He’s drawn away and drawn back, due to the moon's pull, but more important here is Lance’s gravity. He’s sucked in, moving slowly, intentionally forward, centimeter by centimeter, and Lance is letting him. There are no words, and there’s plenty of room for denial or hesitation or being pushed away, but it isn’t needed. When Keith’s hand comes up to cradle Lance’s jaw, he leans into it softly, eyelids drooping. Keith presses his forehead up against Lance’s, feels Lance’s wet hair clinging to his own. He looks into Lance’s eyes, deeper, as they breathe in tandem, short, racing, anticipating breaths. With his gaze wandering the lines of Lance’s face, he’snot trying for romance. He’s simply admiring what he loves. For Lance, apparently, that’s enough. He raises his hand to Keith’s face and takes his chin in his palm.

“Come here,” He whispers against Keith’s lips, and Keith presses forward.

It’s different than their first kiss. Here, they are sober. Here, they aren’t in the dark. Here, Keith feels alive and invigorated and adored. Lance pulls him in closer, and their mouths part ever so slightly, just enough to taste each other, just enough that the warmth inside of them spills out and into the world. Keith’s eyes are closed, but he knows if he opened them, Lance would be right there, feeling the same thing. There is no drunkenness, no disconnect. They are here together, they are all that matters.

Lance’s hands grip the back of Keith’s neck, pushing them together until their bodies are flush, Keith’s hands finding purchase on Lance’s hips. The blue swim trunks are sitting low, and his palms are meeting pure skin - the realization nearly sends him reeling as Lance’s tongue prods its way into his mouth. He groans against the hot wet sensation, and then feels Lance smile at that reaction, reaching deepen into his mouth. Keith let’s him, giving whatever he can, head rushing with every place their bodies are joined. He’s getting ridiculously turned on and sappy, and both are starting to show.

After a minute straight latched onto his mouth, Lance pulls back an inch, panting slightly, and rests his forehead against Keith’s again. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Keith replies, voice lofty and starstruck.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” Lance quirks an eyebrow. Keith thinks it’s kind of funny; he’s always the one to pop that question. And while he does appreciate it, his body is taking the reins more than his brain right now.

“I do,” He leans forward, lips closer to Lance’s again. He can feel his voice is low and scratchy, and he doesn’t think he imagines the way Lance’s pupils get wider at the sound. “But I want more first.”

Lance surges forward as though he were a racehorse given its cue to run. As his lips connect with Keith’s again, fervent and needy, he makes quick work of backing Keith up into the rocks behind them. Keith is fully cornered, Lance all around him, stone grinding into his spine, but he’s never felt freer. When Lance moves one hand to the front of Keith’s neck, running his thumb up and down the column of his throat, he moans deeply into Lance’s mouth, and he doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed before Lance is detaching himself from Keith’s mouth to kiss his way down Keith’s cheek and to his neck. Keith’s hands find their way to Lance’s hair and he pulls hard when Lance sucks a mark onto a particularly sensitive spot, causing Lance to groan into his neck. Lance bites him, and Keith is so into it that it’s almost insane. He can feel himself getting hard, and knows Lance feels the pressure of it against his abdomen, but they both ignore it for the time being. They already know what it’s like to rush each other, and they’re trying not to let that leak into this moment.

This- this chain reaction, a domino effect of movement and pleasure- neither of them can get enough. Keith just wants it to keep going and going eternally, cycling like the spin of a planet, the crash of waves against the rocks at Keith’s back. A swell causes Lance to grind down on Keith, and even though there are two layers of damp swimsuit between them, the friction causes Keith’s eyes to snap open in pleasure. He knows what being shot with blaster fire feels like, and the sensation of Lance’s dick against his rivals that, his whole body tensing and then loosening. He glances down at Lance, the image of him mouthing at Keith with reverence, eyes fluttering, making his way down to Keith’s collarbones. He pulls on Lance’s hair, hard enough that the boy looks up, eyes questioning and mouth paused from its work on Keith’s skin. His pupils are wide, and his face is flushed. Just like every other version of Lance, Keith loves this one.

“Get back up here,” Keith pleads. “Wanna kiss you some more.”

Lance grins. “How can I say no to that?”

When they get tired of kissing, which takes an extremely long time, they swim back to shore. The afternoon is slowly becoming evening, and the sun is lower in the sky, burning a deep orange. They trudge up the wet sand, hands interlinked.

They haven’t stopped touching since the initial kiss, and Keith has noticed. Oh , has he noticed. His entire body feels electric and pent up, like he desperately wants a repeat of Lance’s birthday. But he still doesn’t know how delicate this thing between them is, and they said they’d talk about it, and this is a semi-public beach, regardless of its current disuse.

The two of them flop down on their towels, Keith immediately lying back, his arm pressed up against Lance’s crossed legs.

“ So ,” Breathes Lance. “That was…”

“It was.”

“Yeah.”

They both sit with that for a minute, and then laugh simultaneously.

“You’re good at this talking thing, Lance,” Jokes Keith.

“Shut up ,” Lance flicks Keith in the shoulder, and Keith turns his head to look up at Lance. He wishes Lance would lean down and kiss him again. It must show on his face, because Lance flushes under Keith’s gaze. “Is this…” Lance’s voice starts soft, a whisper, like he’s afraid of what he’s about to say. “Is this real to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are there…feelings?”

At one point, Keith may have shriveled back at Lance’s question, terrified that even asking meant he didn’t reciprocate. But accompanying the trepidation in his voice is shyness, a fear that he’s critically misread something. Keith wants to assure him he hasn’t wants to show him that this is best choice he’s made in a long, long time. So Keith laughs, something soft, and extends his hand to Lance, who clutches it.

“Yes, there are feelings.”

Lance blinks at him. “Just so we’re on the same page, they’re the romantic kind?”

Keith nods, and Lance smiles, a smile that looks like he’s trying to keep it small but is failing miserably. “Me too,” He breathes. “Me too.”

Keith smiles back and lets the moment settle over them. Lance’s hand leaves Keith’s, and he almost grasps for it back, but then Lance drifts his fingers over Keith’s wrist and up his arm, and he shivers before he can help it at the gentle touch. He doesn’t know where this is coming from, how Lance can switch so quickly between talking nd touching, a touch that begs for more. But Keith isn’t complaining.

“Nervous?” Asks Lance, his eyes half lidded, he’s leaning in, his torso eclipsing the sun from Keith's view. His fingers are drifting up to Keith's collarbones, and then down his pecs. Keith feels the slight length of Lance’s manicured nails, the barely there drag of them against his skin. Everywhere he touches, he leaves a red hot trail of flames licking at Keith’s body, held taught and waiting.

“No,” Keith snips, red in the face. “Never.”

“Oh, good,” Lance smirks. “‘Cause I wasn’t doing anything to be nervous about.” He then flops back onto his towel, his hand completely pulled away, but his arm pressed against Keith. Keith feels like he’s just short-circuited. He glances at Lance, who has a shit-eating grin.

“Did you just fucking tease me?”

“Hm,” Lance taps his mouth with a finger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Keith groans. “You suck.”

“You like it.” Lance smiles. “You like me.”

“Yeah,” Sighs Keith. He turns his head to Lance's against the towel. They’re a few inches apart, just staring at each other as the sun glints in their eyes. “I do.”

Lance sucks on his lip a little, then releases it. Keith finds it disgustingly cute and attractive.  “Can I ask how long? You’ve had the feelings, I guess.”

Keith considers being dishonest, considers shielding the absolute enormity of his devotion and longing from Lance’s prying eyes. But those eyes are so open and accepting, like a deep pool he wants to wade, that he can’t resist.

“Since Sendaks attack on Arus.”

Lance’s jaw snaps open. “I- wow.” He looks shocked, but pleased. Keith takes this to be a good sign. He taps Keith’s chest with a finger. “You’ve been holding that in for a while there, huh, Red?”

Keith laughs. “Yeah. How about you?”

“That one’s…more tricky,” Lance makes a face. “I first realized when you left for the Blade. But I think I had the feelings for a while before that.”

It’s Keith's turn to be shocked. He had thought this would be a much more recent development. He hadn’t even considered that Lance’s feelings could reach back into their time in the war.

“Fuck,” Is all he can say, just a single breath, and then he has to turn his head away from Lance, looking at him right now is too overwhelming. He sets his eyes on the sun, letting the light sear his corneas. He doesn’t need those anyway, he decides.

Lance is quiet next to him, and so they sit in the silence. It’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, it simply is . It feels like Keith’s head is getting bigger, expanding to make room for the information he’s been given and the ramifications it’s currently having on his brain. The last few years of his life are being torn to shreds and rewritten with a completely new context. He rethinks every interaction they’ve had, every time he’s longed for Lance from the shadows. He rethinks his leaving for the Blade, and then his leaving Lance on Earth alone for four months. His chest feels tight, constrictive, like there’s too much inside of his body and it needs to escape. He realizes that the two of them- they should never be separated that long again. He wants Lance in the same galaxy, wants Lance down the hall, wants Lance within reach at all times.

It’s a desire he’s had for a while, but it’s been buried as he’s played Lance’s game - the gentle, delicate, soft approach where he lets Lance do whatever is comfortable for him and allows him to push everything else away, where he doesn’t question his choices or his motives. He thinks that time has met its end, that maybe it should have earlier when Lance had first dragged him into his room drunk. He feels brave, inspired, and ready to finally be honest about what he wants. He feels it’s time to take Lance back where he belongs, the two of them arm in arm. Lance’s touch, his affection, has made Keith feel invincible.

He turns to Lance, whose eyes are already locked on him, maybe had been all along, and whispers, “Leave with me.” He tries for a romantic tone, tries to replicate something he would see in a movie.

Lance doesn’t get the memo. “Keith, what are you talking about?” He laughs.

“I mean, come to space with me,” He says. “Join the Blade, or be a diplomat like Shiro, or do whatever you want to do. Come be with me.”

“Keith,” Lance is still smiling, but it’s tighter. He sits up, and Keith moves to follow. Lance hunches over slightly, bracketing his torso with his broad shoulders. “I’m not doing that.”

Keith is instantly confused. “What do you mean?” He prods. “Why not?”

“I’m not going to space, Keith,” Lance frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t-” Keith cuts himself off, trying to keep his voice level. Something inside him unravels at Lance’s tone, as though his body knows what's coming before his brain does. “When? When will you come back?”

Lance turns his head away, clenching his fists in the sand. “I’m not coming back. I’ve already told you that.”

Distantly, Keith remembers snatches of interactions with Lance over the past few months: Lance’s refusal to pilot, his anxiousness in the flight pod, his saying that Earth is the only home he has now. All of these things- Keith had assumed they had a time limit. He had assumed there would be a day when Lance was able to shrug his fears and insecurities and sadnesses off like a worn-down coat. He had assumed he would change his mind; he still thinks he can.

“Lance-” He hears the desperation in his voice, knows Lance hears it too. “Even your mom said she wants you to come back, just this morning. We all want you out there. You don’t have to be stuck here because of…” He trails off, uncertain how to articulate what he thinks. “You don’t need to live this way.”

“It’s a simple life,” Lance shrugs tensely, not looking Keith in the eyes. “Just how I like it.”

He feels like he’s been slapped. There is no world in which Lance desires a life where his only friends are millions of miles away, where the most he does with his days is sow crops and sleep in a gray bedroom and feel guilt over things he can’t change. Lance wants space, and the spotlight, and adventure - he always has. The disconnect fills him with a sudden rage he can’t escape. He’s angry at himself, at the war, at Allura, at the entire universe. He feels like pulling his hair out. He feels like punching someone, he feels like yelling at someone. He can’t help that Lance is the only one around to suffer his reactions. “That’s fucking stupid, and you know it.” Keith growls.

Lance reels back like Keith actually did punch him. His voice is low and dangerous when he says. “You didn’t just say that.”

Keith knows Lance is on the edge of something harsh, hears it in his voice, but he can’t hold himself back from his frustration, the fire in him. The fire that wants to draw Lance in, but will push him away when it feels the threat of being blown out. “I’ll say it again for you. That’s fucking stupid and-”

Before he can finish, Lance jumps up and walks away. His feet kick the sand up, hard, and his hands are clenched tightly at his sides. By the time Keith has processed that he might leave, really leave, he’s yards away. Keith scrambles up, racing to catch up to him, feeling immediate regret for what he’d said, the bite of his words as they left his mouth. He grabs for Lance’s arm, and Lance whips around.

“Don’t you fucking touch me right now,” He yells, yanking his arm back.

“Lance-”

“You think you know me? You think you know what I want?”

“I-”

“Shut up . Seriously. You never listen to me. I’ve told you and I’ve told you and I’ve told you and you don’t hear me.” Lance chokes on his words, throwing his hands up in anger. “This is where I belong. This is what I deserve.”

He opens his mouth to speak, and Lance glares at him, but doesn’t cut him off, so he goes on. “You deserve so much more than this.”

Lance clenches his fists, eyes wet. He’s vibrating with self-hatred so intense Keith is scared. “Keith, I was never good enough for space. Cargo pilot, remember?” He laughs bitterly. “It was all just a series of coincidences that got me out there. Now that it’s over, there’s no reason to pretend. Especially not after-” He gasps, stifling a sob. “So many good people, deserving people, died in our fight. Adam died for it, Allura died for it, countless others. I can’t take a place out there when I don’t even deserve to be alive .”

Keith reaches out for Lance, stepping forward with arms open, but Lance stumbles back. “Lance, you can’t-”

“No, no, you’re not going to convince me I’m wrong. You can’t. I’m right, I know I’m right.” He shakes his head. “Right is all I am anymore. Just- just-” Tears are eagerly flowing down his face now, collecting on his chin, making rivers through the dried saltwater on his face. “I was wrong for thinking we could do this.”

“What do you mean?”

Lance swipes at his eyes angrily. “You need someone who can be with you out there,” His gaze flicks out towards the horizon. “So go find him.”

Keith steps backwards, feeling tears spring to his own eyes. His face goes slack, and he can’t feel his hands. “You don’t mean that.”

Lance nods, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “I do.”

Keith steps forward, and Lance lets him. Keith doesn’t touch, just stands in Lance’s space, fingers reaching out for Lance’s, hoping he’ll make the move to grab. He doesn’t.

“I don’t need someone else,” He says softly. “I need you.”

“Not the me that I am,” Says Lance. “The me that I was.”

“They’re the same person. They’re the same Lance.”

“No, they’re not.”

Keith looks at the ground, clenches his fists five times in a row, breathes in and out deeply, ignores the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He hates this, this feeling, this day, everything. The only thing he doesn’t hate right now is the person in front of him, the person ripping these emotions out of him, the person causing him to burn and crumble. “I care about you, Lance,” He grits out. “And I know you don’t agree with me right now, but I know you’re a good person. I’m not going to force you to do anything, but you- I want you to be happy.”

“Sometimes people don’t get what they want.” He says tensely, eyes on the sand. He shakes his head slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “I think you should leave.”

“What?”

“Leave, Keith.” His voice is cold and hard, his eyes dried up, his stance unforgiving.

Keith misses five minutes ago, when they were soft and lazy in the sand. Everything had felt perfect, and he couldn’t imagine that something he expected would be a given could splinter them into two halves clashing against each other.

He misses, too, when they were younger, when they were an arm and a leg on the same body. He wishes they were the same boys who could wrestle on the floor or have a duel on the training deck to settle any disagreement. He wishes they were fighting over what color Hunk should turn the food goo, over turning left or right in a simulation maze. He wishes that Lance’s eyes were unclouded, that his biggest worry was getting attention from the prettiest person in the room.

But maybe that’s where he’s been wrong all along. Maybe that was never Lance’s biggest worry. Maybe he’s underestimated the size of the storm that rains down on Lance when he’s alone. Maybe Lance will never change his mind, will live his whole life here on this beach. Maybe Keith will push and push and push and Lance will still never give himself up. Maybe there’s nothing Keith can do. The thought kills him. He chokes on a sob, and he watches Lance watch him. He knows there’s snot running down his face, knows he’s blubbering. He doesn’t cry often, but when he does, it’s not pretty. But Lance gives no reaction, only watches with cold eyes, lip caught between his teeth and jaw set.

In the end, Keith does what he always does. Lance has been his guiding star, his right-hand man, his home, for so long that there’s nothing he can do but follow his command. He’s like a well-trained dog, a perfect soldier. Mission over individual . Lance had said that Keith never listens to him, but Keith proves him wrong.

He walks away.

Chapter Text

Lance is slipping back into old habits.

He’s showering less, eating less, and sleeping more. Taking care of himself has become an utter non-priority. 

His mind is a slog of self-hating thoughts and the desire to melt into his mattress. When his family tries to breach his walls, he finds himself snapping at them and retreating back to his room. He avoids family dinners like the plague. He almost moves back to his own house to avoid it all, but he has the distinct feeling that would land him smack-dab in the middle of a McClain family intervention. Even without that, Mama and Rachel both look at him with sad eyes and downturned mouths. He turns away from them, not wanting to see their guilt, their pity. It just makes things worse for him.

He knows what he did was wrong.

The regrets suffocate him like a fog as he mulls over what he said to Keith and the wedge it’s driven between them. He knows he shouldn’t have pushed Keith away so harshly. He could’ve held his ground without blowing up their friendship, their tentative something more.  But when he heard Keith’s words, his conviction, his righteous anger, Lance couldn’t stop himself from the violence in his voice, the ugly snarl of his words. Like he had told Keith that day, he knew he was right, and Keith couldn’t change that.

(There’s a small part of him, though, a tiny spark, that whispers that Keith might be right about him, about this. It believes Keith, not because he’s always right - he’s not - or because he was the leader of Voltron, but because Keith is Keith . That flame bends towards him, begging to be coaxed, wanting desperately to give Keith what he desires, to make things easier on himself, to let go of what shackles him.

The rest of him douses that fire without remorse.)

At some point in his cloud of depression, Lance realizes that he forgot about Keith’s birthday. It would’ve been only days after Keith came, and it’s been two weeks since then. He was so wrapped up in himself, his emotions, that he’d forgotten to buy or make him anything, and now that they’re not talking, there’s nothing he can do.

Yeah. They’re not talking. At all.

He’s aware that he should be the first person to make a move, as he’s the one who shoved Keith away. But he can’t. It’s not within him to do so. He’s too scared, still licking his wounds, still clutching onto his pride in the things he knows are true.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t long for Keith. In the dead of night, when his eyes are stuck open, tacky and hot from unshed tears, he wishes Keith were there, holding him, running his hands over his back, being the rock that Lance needs to keep himself grounded. Keith had always been good at that, ever since they had set aside their differences and dropped the rivals act a few months into Voltron. He had always known how to be there for Lance, what words to say to ease his mind. He wants that back desperately; his comfort, his affection, his touch. He misses silly Keith, tipsy Keith, soft Keith, rough Keith, strategic Keith – He just misses Keith. He wonders if Keith misses him, too, right now, if they’re having mirrored desires from across galaxies. To keep himself sane, he keeps his mind from wandering to these places in the daylight. His love for Keith stays between him and the stars glinting through his window, and so he sleeps more in the day than he ever does in the dark.

Three weeks after the fight, Lance is lounging around the house in his pajamas. Everyone is out, at work or on errands, and so he’s spending his day doing whatever he wants to do: snacking on random things, watching TV, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. He’s currently eating a handful of peanuts off his chest and staring at the wall while lying on the couch, when there’s a knock at the door. He tenses for a second – his first instinct tells him it’s Keith, come back to… Make amends? Tell him how dumb he is again? Kiss him into his bed and then leave him behind without a word as some sort of fucked up revenge? Each is less likely than the one before it. If Keith is anything, he’s avoidant of a problem, a quality that Lance has been leaning into lately, too. Okay, so it’s not Keith. The mailman has already been by today…he glances at the key hooks; every key is gone. So it’s not any family. Then who…?

There’s a knock at the door again. “Lance?” A voice calls, and Lance immediately places it, jumping up and dusting crumbs off his t-shirt, quickly dragging hands through his hair to smooth it out, rubbing a palm over his face, and running his tongue over his teeth. Fuck . Shiro’s here and he looks like shit.

“Coming!” He shouts, grabbing a hoodie off the back of the couch and throwing it on, hood up to obscure how garbage he feels right now. He straightens up his pajama pants, tying the cord tight. Grabbing a room spray off the hall table, he spritzes himself liberally - lemon and lavender, great. He glances at himself in the mirror and thinks, yeah, this is fucked . Whatever.

He opens the door with a huge smile. Fake, so fake. He pushes through, and watches Shiro’s eyes dart from his bare feet back up to his pimply face. The view must be acceptable enough, because Shiro’s face splits into a grin of its own, likely a more genuine one, but Lance would accept a smile from Shiro any day, regardless of its honesty.

“Shiro!” He lunges forward to pull Shiro into a hug, which Shiro easily reciprocates. “Man, what are you doing here?”

“I was just in the area, checking on some cadets at the Garrison. Thought I’d stop by,” He pats Lance’s back and pulls away, looking him directly in the face in that way that used to make Lance shyly shrink back when he was still getting used to sleeping down the hall from his idol. “How’ve you been doing?”

“I’m, uh, I’m good. Really good. It’s nice to be around family all the time.” He smiles and taps his foot awkwardly against the doorframe. “Do you wanna come in?”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiles, and so Lance swings the door open wider and steps back. Shiro steps through, wide shoulders brushing Lance as he passes.

They turn the corner to the living room and take seats on opposing chairs.

“So,” Lance starts, trying to shed his embarrassment from his skin. This is the first time he’s seen Shiro in person with just the two of them. Last time, Coran was here, and before that, it was the whole team for dinner at the Garrison. For a second, he thinks of grabbing them beers from the fridge as a social lubricant, but then he remembers it’s barely 2 pm. “Tell me all about being a diplomat. I don’t even really know what that means.”

Shiro laughs and launches into an in-depth overview of what he does on a daily basis, the people he sees, and the places he’s been. Lance asks questions about the galas, the dinners, and the clothing. Shiro laughs at that, saying those are the least important aspects of the job to him, that peace and unity are his top priorities. Lance rolls his eyes playfully and repeats his questions, to which Shiro hesitantly gives answers. Lance learns that his life is actually rather lavish – he’s spoiled more by the planets he goes to than even Voltron was.

“And you?” Shiro asks. “What’s life like here?”

“Well, it’s hot,” He laughs. It’s mid-November and they’re still facing heat in the high seventies. “The coldness of space kind of took me out of my Cuban roots. I’ve got to get used to the heat year-round again.”

Shiro nods. “At least you have consistency. When every week is a different planet, I’m always on my toes.”

“I bet you miss the temperature-regulating paladin armor now, huh?”

“ So much . How’s the family?”

“Pretty good. Rachel’s working hard on her degree, as always. You know Veronica, she’s out there being amazing. Luis and Lisa just announced a pregnancy; they’re hoping for another girl. Marco is…being Marco. Always getting himself covered in grease at the mechanic shop.”

“That’s good. I always forget how many siblings you have. Does it ever feel crowded?”

“Nah, it’s only me and Rach living here. Plus my mom, obviously,” He drums his fingers on his leg, trying not to sound embarrassed that he’s in his twenties living with his mom. “You were an only child, right?”

“Yeah. It’s just me and Keith.”

Lance decides that right then is a great time to change the subject. It’s totally not related to the mention of Keith. Not at all.

“How’s Curtis? You haven’t mentioned him yet,” Lance leans forward. “You guys aren’t broken up, are you?”

“No, we’re together,” Shiro smiles, something shy and tentative that Lance has never seen on him. It’s confusing, for a second, until he holds up his left hand, just slightly, just enough for Lance’s gaze to be drawn to it. There, on his ring finger, is a black band with a line of silver running through the middle.

Lance is on his feet immediately, smiling huge, feeling like jumping up and down. He restrains himself, instead opting to grab Shiro’s hand in his and look closer. “Holy shit,” He gasps. “Shiro, this is beautiful. Wow.” Shiro turns his hand in his, and the silver glimmers - there are dozens of minuscule diamonds inlaid, each as fine as a hair. “ Wow . This is so exciting!” He sits back down, releasing Shiro’s hand from his hold. Shiro runs it through his hair, wearing a big smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I know. It all happened fast, but I’m happy.”

“You deserve it,” Lance smiles. “He proposed, right? Was it romantic?”

“It was actually pretty casual,” Shiro laughs. “We were leaving a dinner, and we were walking through a garden, and then he just got down on one knee.” Shiro shakes his head fondly. “He said he hadn’t planned it for that moment, that he’d been carrying the box for weeks, but it had just felt right, then.”

Lance almost melts. “That’s too sweet.”

“Yeah, he is,” Shiro clears his throat. “But that’s actually why I’m on Earth right now. Why I was visiting the Garrison, and why I came here to see you. I wanted to ask you if you’d be one of my groomsmen.”

Lance really does jump up, then. “Shiro, of course! Of course! Oh my god, I’m so excited!”

“Good,” Shiro smiles. “I’m glad. I’ve already got Pidge and Hunk on board, I’m just waiting to ask Keith to be my best man.”

Not even a mention of Keith can dim his spark right now. Lance is ecstatic for Shiro. This is the best news he’s gotten in ages. “Do you need help planning? I can find some great venues for you, anywhere you want. I helped Luis and Lisa pick theirs, and I was just thirteen. I’d be an even better help now.”

“Actually, we already had a place in mind. There’s a coast on Strilla that we’ve been to a few times, and it’s pretty well in the middle of all the guests we want to invite. Plus, it’s beautiful-”

“Wait,” Lance holds a hand up. “You’re not having the ceremony on Earth?”

Shiro tilts his head, considering Lance’s tone, which he realizes sounded kind of panicked. “No. Earth is both of our birthplaces, but space is home to us now,” He grins. “It just feels right to get married somewhere we’ve only been to together.”

“Oh,” Breathes Lance. “That makes sense.”

Shiro continues talking, giving Lance the details on the venue, his ideas for the decorations, listing guests that Lance knows, but every bit of information is in one ear and out the other. He feels like he’s moving through molasses or wet cement, giving only one-word answers and nods. He knows - knows - what he’s about to do, what he’s about to say, but he’s trying to gauge how to articulate it, how to make it make sense to Shiro.

How does he say ‘ sorry I can’t come to your wedding because I’m terrified of living the life I used to live because I feel I don’t deserve it ’ without sounding like a crazy person? How does he let down Shiro when he had just made him a promise?

“Hey, are you okay?” Shiro’s worried tone draws Lance back into the conversation.

“I- uh-” He stumbles over himself and glances down at his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry, Shiro, but I think I actually won’t be able to be at your wedding.”

Shiro blinks at him. “Why?”

“I can’t-” He bites his own tongue. Something in him wants to tell Shiro everything – he feels he, out of everyone, would understand. Shiro has always acted like the older brother or the father of the team, and he can see clearly in his mind Shiro putting his hand on Lance’s shoulder and telling him everything will be okay. But he just- he can’t. He already saw how honesty went with Keith. He can’t do that to Shiro. He settles for saying the closest thing without outing his deepest fears, even if it makes no sense and sounds like the lamest excuse in the world. “I can’t leave Earth.”

He looks away from Shiro, whose gaze is somehow both penetrating and soft.

“Okay,” Shiro sighs, nodding. “Okay. I can’t say I understand, but I respect that.”

“Thanks,” Whispers Lance. He feels that he’s ruined this, dropped a brick on Shiros excitement. He also wonders, briefly, at Shiros easy acceptance - has Keith shared something with him?

“My invitation still stands, though, Lance. If you change your mind, or if you ever want to talk.”

“Yeah,” Lance looks up. “You guys should come by after your honeymoon, or whenever. I still need to meet this guy.” He tries to infuse his words with humor, and he thinks it works, because Shiro is smiling again.

Within no time, they’re back to talking about other things, inching away from Lance’s failures. He tells Shiro about how Nadia and Silvio are growing, and Shiro tells him more about his relationship with Curtis. They talk about new technology and aircrafts that are being pushed out by the Garrison and other companies, taking advantage of the current interplanetary connections. They talk about everything, anything that isn’t Lance, because there’s not much good to say about Lance.

After Shiro leaves, with a wave and a reminder that he’s always open to call or text, Lance grabs that beer he had been planning on earlier and slumps down on the floor in his room, feeling like the worst fuckup in the universe.

A week after Shiro comes to visit, Lance receives a text from Keith, the first since their argument a month ago. Lance looks at the notification for an hour with blank, unseeing eyes before he opens it. It’s midday, and so he’s breaking his promise to himself to only think about Keith at night, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He’s ravenous to see what Keith thought was so important to tell him that it could break their mutual three-week silence.

The message says:

If you want to come to the wedding, I won’t bother you. Shiro wants you there.

He feels betrayed – still , Keith doesn’t understand Lance. Still, he thinks Lance would choose not to go to the wedding because he’s mad at Keith . Still, he thinks this is a choice Lance wants, rather than one he feels he has to make.

Worse than his lack of understanding is his tone, short and to the point, the way he speaks to people he doesn’t care for. “Shiro wants you there”, not “ I want you there”. Has Lance really fucked them this bad? Have they really lost it all because of him? Is this what they’ll be like from now on?

Lance hears himself breaking before he feels it, a wail of anger and grief ripping itself from his throat. Instantly, he’s thrown his phone across the room, hard, hearing it crack as it hits the wall and falls to the ground. He’s punching pillows, throwing things. He feels like a whirlwind, angrier than he’s ever been, more lost than he’s ever been. In the back of his mind, he realizes he’s acting like younger Keith, but he shoves that thought away before it can have any impact on him.

When Rachel walks in on him — sweet, innocent, perfect, Rachel — he’s breathing heavily through his teeth and dragging his fingernails down the skin of his arms until they leave puffy red marks. The sting is calming him, he tells himself, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, staring at nothing, nearly hissing in his rage.

“Lance?” She’s on him in a second, ripping his hands into hers, holding them firmly. “Lance, what’s going on?”

He can feel the tears on his face, can feel the heat of his frustration all over his body. He can’t even see Rachel in front of him, not really. She’s just a silhouette of herself, and he’s somewhere else, somewhere far away.

“Lance,” She shakes him, voice frighteningly calm. “Lance, let’s breathe together. Come on, let’s breathe.”

She breathes deeply, holds it long, lets it out. She’s motioning for him to follow her, but he’s having trouble keeping up. Every breath is short and painful, a reminder of his wrongdoings.

“Breathe,” She says. She rubs her hands up and down his arms, her palms cool against his bare skin. “Lance, I’m right here.”

A sob wracks his chest harshly, and the shock of it brings him back to himself. He gulps for air, taking in as much as he can as his eyes slowly clear. Rachel is here. He sees the curls of her hair and the brown of her eyes.

Breathe . He does, slowly, in and out, until his thoughts have become still and placid. He feels numb, like he’s just run a race and was then thrown into a lake of ice.

“Hey,” He breathes. Rachel drops his arms, and he folds them across his chest, staring pointedly at the floor. The pattern on her socks is pink roses with deep green vines. He focuses on the colors and shapes. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Her eyebrows are pinched. “It’s okay to be upset.”

He laughs roughly at that. Upset is the understatement of the year.

“Can you talk to me about what’s going on?”

He looks up at her. Her face is completely open, purely accepting. He wants so badly, just like he did with Shiro, to tell her what's going on. He wants someone to talk to. Before Keith, he had told no one how he’s felt for now over a year, and now that that’s gone, he’s alone with himself again. The little spark in him, the one that beckons him towards having something good for himself, whispers to him. It says, Rachel is your sister. You’ve known her your whole life, and she’s always believed in you. She won’t stop being here for you just because things are hard. You can trust her.

After much internal fighting, he listens to it, feeding the flame. He sits down on his bed, pats the space next to him for her to join, and tells her everything.

He starts from the beginning. The very beginning. He tells her how he’s always felt that he’s missing something that makes him great, or even good. He tells her how being a part of Voltron made him feel like a shining star, and then made him feel like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. 

He tells her about how he’d always liked Allura, and then how he’d liked Keith, and then how everything had gotten messy when he’d gone for Allura after years of flirting. He tells her how he was finally on the road to believing in himself as Keith’s second in command and the red paladin, but how being with Allura made him feel again like he was somehow missing the mark.

He tells her the names of every person, every alien, he had known who had died for their cause. He tells her about the smell of blaster fire burning flesh. He tells her about falling to his knees in a wasteland of bodies in a city they weren’t able to get to fast enough. He tells her fault, fault, fault . He tells her never good enough . He tells her should’ve been me .

He tells her about the look on Allura’s face as she kissed him on the cheek before she died. He tells her how she sees her dead, saddened eyes every time he glances at his Altean marks in his reflection. He tells her how that first month home alone, he tried to claw those fucking marks off his face until his blood mixed with the tears gathering on his chin, and how even now he scrapes his nails against them hard when his chest hurts. He tells her that he loved her, but maybe not in the right way. He tells her he misses her. He tells her he blames himself, somehow, even if there’s no logic to it.

He tells her about Keith. Keith’s smile, Keith’s hand in his, Keith racing him to the rocks he’s been swimming to since he was young. He tells her about how they’ve crashed together and pulled apart so many times, in the past year and in all the years before it. He tells her that he really thinks he loves Keith, in a true and all-encompassing way. He tells her how he messed it all up. He tells her how Keith left, and now he has no clue what to do, how to fix it. How he doesn’t know if it can be fixed.

He tells her how he’s punishing himself for everything, how he’s chaining himself to his home because he’s scared of what will happen the next time he screws up. He’s scared about the next time he’ll have blood on his hands. He’s scared that he’ll never be good enough to deserve the beauty and excitement of space again; he’s scared that he never really was.

Somewhere in all this talking – it feels like hours and hours of him talking – Rachel starts to cry. He asks her if she wants him to stop, and she says no.

“I want to hear it, Lance,” She says. “I want to listen. Keep going.”

And so he does. Every truth of him spills out, until he is stripped to his bare bones in front of the person who used to know the most about him, back when they were younger and the only thing to know was who broke Mom's nice china and who had a crush on Lucia Gonzalez. Now, when she clutches his hands in hers as his throat goes sore from speaking, he knows she’s regained the title.

When he’s done, she just sighs and nods.

“Do you…Do you have anything to say to that?” He asks, timid all of a sudden.

“I…” She glances down at their hands. “I don’t know yet. I will. Right now, I just need to think.” She rubs her thumb over his fingers, soothing him. “Why don’t I take us out to dinner? My treat. We can go wherever you want.”

He nods. The numb feeling is back, and he feels hungrier than he’s ever been. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

After his talk with Rachel, things get better. Bit by bit, he finds himself gravitating towards his family again. He starts coming to family dinners. He goes to the kids' dance recitals, their swim meets. He goes with Lisa to a maternity checkup - he’s in the room when they find out the baby really is going to be a girl, and he can’t help but beam at her as she weeps happy tears. They get through the holiday season fine as a family, with as much fanfare as Lance’s first one back. It seems like they’ll never stop celebrating, counting how many times they did something without him, and promising to make it up to him twofold. He feels a little awkward about that, but he reciprocates their joy, showering everyone in gifts, helping cook, and doing tipsy karaoke with his siblings. It’s nice. He lets himself feel nice.

He can feel Rachel’s eyes on him always, watching that he’s eating, sleeping, drinking enough water, not drinking too much alcohol, and engaging in what’s around him. His mom seems to join in on this, and he wonders if Rachel told her something or if she’s just come to her own conclusion about what’s going on. Regardless, it gives him a strangely warm feeling, being cared for in this way. A feeling that he is loved, even if not by the person he wants it most from.

As he opens up to his family, he also talks more to Hunk and Pidge. With them, things are easy, completely unclouded by his feelings. They talk about the most random, stupid things, and about what’s happening in their day, and about how all of their siblings are the most annoying but also best people ever. They talk about Hunk’s cooking and Pidge’s tech and Lance’s family. His farm isn’t the most exciting thing to talk about, and the anecdotes are usually something like “A wild dog plowed through a whole line of corn” which doesn’t measure up to “I’m learning from a chef who has started award winning restaurants on seven planets” or “I’m making a piece of technology which will make fighter jets five percent faster and twenty percent more fuel efficient”. So he sticks to talking about people who aren’t him. It’s easier, more fun for everyone involved. 

Pidge and Hunk don’t say anything about how he’d been intermittently radio silent for three months. They’ve always let Lance do whatever he wants to do – while often poking fun at it – and he supposes this is just another version of that. They know he’ll come back, so they let him drift. It doesn’t hurt, but he spends more time thinking about it than maybe he should. It brings back those old worries over whether their team was ever really a family like they’d hoped they would be. But he pushes those thoughts aside. They get him nowhere, and they’re untrue. Everyone is just… busier than he is.

A few weeks after they start talking again, Hunk asks if he and Pidge can visit Lance in Cuba. With no hesitation, Lance responds with an enthusiastic YES!!!!!, to which Hunk sends a confetti emoji. Is your schedule fine for us to come next week? Texts Pidge, and Lance says that it is. He doesn’t need to confess that there is no schedule to check. They set a date, and Lance is filled with anticipation.

He hasn’t seen either of them since they last came in August for a late birthday celebration. So it’s been… almost five months. It’s a new year, and he’s excited to welcome it in with his closest friends.

The week slogs by, monotonous when he’s alone, more bearable when he’s with Rachel and the others, but eventually the day arrives.

Hunk and Pidge arrive in separate pods at the same time, touching down a few yards away from each other as Lance waits for them to disembark. He’s buzzing with energy, happy to finally be on the same planet as his original Garrison crew. He’s dressed nicely, jeans and a t-shirt and an open button-up, his good shoes and his chain, his hair styled, a smile on his face.

Pidge is quicker to jump out of their pod, immediately running up to Lance. He meets them in the middle and swoops them up into a big hug that takes the shorter paladin off their feet. Hunk comes barreling in and crushes both of them tightly in his arms.

“It’s been too long,” Hunk sighs into their hold.

“Too true,” Replies Pidge. “Now put me down. This is heightist.”

“Someone’s jealous puberty never hit.” Lance jokes as the three unravel, Pidge safely back on the ground.

“Tell that to my binder.” They tug at the strap of it under their collar. “Why is it so fucking hot here in January?”

Lance laughs. “Welcome to the tropics. We’re so happy one of Santa’s elves was able to visit so soon after Christmas.”

Pidge rolls their eyes while Hunk laughs.

“So, what are we getting up to today?” Hunk asks, rubbing his palms together. “Any devious plans? Heists? Missions? Adventures of daring?”

“Unless you had one planned, no,” Lance pushes his hair back from his face. “What do you guys wanna do?”

Pidge and Hunk glance at each other blankly.

“Take a nap,” Says Pidge, at the same time that Hunk says, “I could eat.”

“Okay, so we’re not sleeping, that’s for sure,” He turns to Hunk. “Is Cuban food fine? Or did you want to scope out some other cuisine, Master Chef?”

“I mean, when in Rome,” Hunk shrugs. “Take us to your favorite place.”

Lance hums. “I know just the spot. Let’s go.”

They get in his car, Lance telling them about the menu the whole time. Hunk listens aptly, commenting on what intrigues him, asking about ingredients and flavor profiles, while Pidge watches the two of them, following their conversation in silence from the backseat.

In a few minutes, they’re there. Lance leads them inside, following the hostess to a booth in the corner, right under a fan blowing cool air on their backs.

“Thank god for air conditioning,” Says Pidge, leaning back in their seat. They glance at the menu. “I sucked at middle school Spanish. Hunk, I’ll get whatever you’re getting.”

“Don’t make me choose .” His eyes search the page frantically as though Lance hadn’t recited nearly the entire thing to him a few minutes ago. “There are too many options!”

“Buddy, don’t freak out,” Lance points at a photo on the menu. “You’d like the picadillo.”

Just like that, Hunk is soothed.

They order picadillo for Hunk and Pidge, vaca frita for Lance, and Tropicola for all of them.

Once they’re all settled in with their drinks, Pidge starts in on a rant about working with Matt and their father, throwing out anecdotes about how Matt is “one of the smartest but clumsiest people in the universe”. That slowly eases into Hunk talking about the chefs he’s training with, alien and human, and how a single mistake could blow any of their careers.

“Scary,” Says Lance. “How do you handle the pressure?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Hunk scratches the back of his neck. “I talked to Keith about it, and he suggested exercise? Which sounds kind of stupid, but it actually works. It gets all my energy out in one go and then I’m just…calm.”

Pidge sips noisily from their drink, brows raised in interest. “So you’ve been lifting weights?”

Hunk nods, a faint flush on his face.

“Buddy!” Lance leans forward in his seat. He has chosen to completely ignore Hunk’s mention of Keith and instead be excited for his friend. “Come on, you’ve gotta show me the guns!”

“Right now?” Hunk glances around at the nearly empty restaurant nervously.

“Hell yeah!” Lance rolls up his short sleeves and curls his own bicep, flexing it with a smirk.

Pidge rolls their eyes as Hunk assents, mimicking Lance’s gesture with a shy smile. Now that he’s showing them off, it’s obvious Hunk has been putting the work in. Lance guesses that he could crush a watermelon, no problem.

“Wow,” Comments Lance. “Nice work, Hunk. Catching any cute aliens with those arms?”

“Guys, I love your show of healthy masculinity,” Pidge interrupts, tone sarcastic. “But the waitress is coming, so quit it.”

They both laugh and resume normal postures as their waitress sets down plates of steaming food. After thanking her, they dig into their meals, savoring the taste with a moment's silence.

“This is really good ,” Sighs Hunk. “I can see why you always missed home so much out there.”

“Yeah,” Lance smiles. “This is just the tip of the iceberg. My mom's cooking is even better.”

“When are we invited to her house?” Asks Pidge through a mouthful. “I need to taste test.”

Lance laughs. “If you want to stay for dinner, I’m sure she’d love to whip something up for us.”

Hunk and Pidge glance at each other conspiratorially.

“Sounds good to me!” Hunk smiles hugely. Pidge nods, and they go back to eating in a comfortable silence.

“We did…” Pidge starts, glances at Hunk. “We did want to talk with you about something, though, Lance.”

Lance glances between the two of them, immediately wary. “Who died?”

“Nobody died,” Hunk frowns. “But we know you’re not coming to the wedding.”

“ And that you’re not talking to Keith.” Adds Pidge.

“What’s going on?” Hunk asks. Both of them lean forward as Lance leans back. He feels interrogated all of a sudden, and the lamp dangling above them feels like a spotlight shining in his face.

“Who’s the good cop and who’s the bad cop here?” He quips with a fake cheesy smile. “Where are my Miranda rights?”

“We’re trying to be serious with you,” Pidge says. “Which is fucking hard. Can you please be serious with us?”

Lance briefly considers running. This is unreasonable for a number of reasons, but the biggest one is that he’s pretty sure the bill is falling on him and he’d hate to dine-and-dash on a small business. There’s also the part where he would be making a fool of himself in front of his oldest friends, but that’s negligible to him in the moment.

Still, glancing between their eyes, Hunk’s deep-set brown, Pidge’s almond-shaped hazel, he knows this cornering is out of love. Rachel has been talking to him about love, about how he needs to accept it, especially from the people he’s closest to. He wants to accept it. He wants to be honest with them. He starts with the easiest truth, the one that’s closest to the surface of him, that sits and bubbles under his skin on hot days, of which there are many in Veradero.

He lays his palms flat on the table. “I’m in love with Keith, and I fucked everything up with him.”

Pidge leans back into their seat with a soft “Huh,” head tilted and eyes narrowed as though they’re puzzling out deeper answers from Lance’s face. Hunk’s response is similarly subdued, a simple eyebrow raise.

“I didn’t know that was still going on,” Hunk says.

This makes Lance sit up. “What do you mean ‘still going on’?”

“Well, I thought your feelings for him ended when things started up with Allura.” He shrugs. “I assumed it was all her from then on.”

Lance is flabbergasted. He feels like Hunk has just pulled back the layers of him, bared his center to the world, and said. Hm. Not what I expected. “You knew that I had feelings for him?”

Pidge laughs a little at that. He cuts his eyes at them, and they put their hands up in defense. “Lance, no offense, but everyone knew.”

Now Lance is sincerely curious. He’d never talked with anyone about Keith until the truth had come out to the man in question. “How?”

“When he left for the Blade, you acted like an abandoned dog,” States Pidge. “You moped around the castle for weeks.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same if Hunk left?”

Pidge snorts. “Not like that, I wouldn’t.”

“Wait,” Hunk puts up a hand, trying to rein them back in. “We’re getting off topic here. You said you fucked things up with Keith. Let’s go back to that.”

Now both of them are boring holes into his skull with their eyes. His face feels hot. He looks down at his plate and moves the food around with his fork.

“Any chance you’ll let me phone-a-friend for this one?”

“Your heart isn’t a game show, Lance,” Hunk says with a soft tone.

“Wow, that line was right out of a romcom,” Pidge rolls their eyes. “What he’s saying is you need to fucking talk to us if you want anything to get better. We’re like the smartest people ever, and your best friends, so.” They shrug. “Let us help you.”

“Ugh,” Lance groans. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it, buddy.”

Lance sighs into his hands. “I’ve been…having a rough time.”

“We guessed.” Says Pidge. Lance shoots them a glare, and they promptly shut up.

“Keith was helping me out. Being there for me, talking to me. I got drunk and sappy, and things got messy .” He glances up to see that they catch his meaning, and if the shock on their faces is enough to go by, they do. “Then I told him I wasn’t ready for anything and things got messier.” He breathes deeply. “Allura’s anniversary made things…really bad for me. My sister called him, and he flew right out. He was here when I needed him.” He starts to choke up a little bit at the emotions overcoming him. He feels everything, the grief and isolation he put himself in, the comfort of Keith in his space. “Then later we- I kissed him. A lot. We were talking a little bit, like maybe this could be a- I don’t know, a thing. A real relationship. And then I just…fucked it up.”

“How?” Asks Hunk, voice quiet and unassuming.

“I yelled at him. Screamed. I basically told him to fuck off.”

Pidge nods. “Why?”

“It sounds stupid,” Lance says into his palm.

“Life is stupid sometimes.” Hunk nudges Lance’s hand with his own. “That’s okay.”

“He…wanted me to come to space with him.”

Pidge and Hunk glance at each other.

“You said no?” Asks Pidge.

“Yeah. I think I said ‘i’m never fucking going’, actually.”

Hunk’s eyes widen. “And you feel that way?”

“Yeah,” Sighs Lance. “Almost all of the time.”

Pidge furrows their brow. “What about the other time?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said ‘almost all of the time’. That implies a section of time where it isn’t how you feel.”

Lance blinks slowly. He doesn’t have a good explanation for his mind or the way it’s been working for the past year. But he tries anyway.

“Sometimes, when I was with him, I felt like maybe I could. Just for a few minutes at a time.” Just enough time to form the thought and then kill it , he thinks. Just enough time to imagine a future where he could be more for Keith than a pit stop.

Hunk nods. “That’s really hard.” Hunk bites his lip, a nervous tic, and then releases it. “Why do you feel like you can’t?”

He’s sure he sounds crazy to them right now, leaving behind half of what he loves because he’s got some teenage angst to work through - angst that he doesn’t even have the strength to explain to them. He feels himself flush, embarrassed at what he’s sure they’re thinking about him.

“I told you it was stupid.” He bites out.

Pidge shakes their head with a frown. “It’s not.”

He drags his palms down his face with a groan. “Let’s just…let’s just talk about something else, please.”

He’s sure the two of them are sharing a look, but his eyes are closed to it.

“Okay,” Says Hunk, tone easy and accommodating, the way he always is with Lance. “I’ve been watching this new show, it’s kind of like an alien Love Island, and…”

Five weeks later, Veronica comes home from the Garrison. It’s three days until Shiro’s wedding, and she’s picking up Rachel as her plus one, but not before she gets to enjoy some of their mom's cooking and sunbathing on the beach first.

“Come on,” She calls to Lance through his closed door, which she’s been banging on for the past minute and a half. “We’re going now. The waves wait for no one, not even a savior of the universe.”

“This savior of the universe isn’t coming,” Lance yells back at her. He’s face down on his bed, half asleep. It’s only 11 am, and she’s already woken up, showered, eaten, and made plans, all of which were done loudly enough that he could hear through the walls. The silence of a sniper doesn’t carry over to trips to your family home, apparently.

Veronica swings open his door.

“Yes, you are. I’ve only got a day left here, and then I won’t come home until summer. We’re living it up while we’ve got the time.”

He simply groans in response, to which she walks over to his bed and starts tugging on his arm. “I’ll drag you the entire way there. You know I can.”

“I wish you couldn’t.”

“Gotta be jacked to bridal carry my girlfriend when we eventually get married.” She laughs. “Annoying my little brother is just a perk.”

“You do that anyway,” He responds, rolling over to face the light. “You’re really gonna force me?”

“Yep.” She stares at him blankly.

After a minute of contemplation about whether kicking her would get her to go away or start a genuine fight, he sighs and gets up. “Whatever. Wasn’t doing anything anyway.”

“I know!” She calls after herself as she leaves his room. “You got 10 minutes until we’re out the door.”

He stands and goes over to his dresser, picking up his blue shorts, the same he had worn with Keith - and millions of times before, but those weren’t important - and notices for the first time that his red shorts aren’t there. It makes sense (why would Keith come back to his house to give back his soggy swimsuit after Lance had just cursed him out?), but it strikes a chord in him regardless. He gets dressed, brushes his teeth, combs his hair, grabs a piece of fruit off the counter, and then he’s ready to go.

“Ronnie! Rach!” He calls out. “I’m ready!”

They walk out of Veronica’s room, giggling about something on Rachel's phone. Veronica glances up at him. “Seven minutes. Good timing, cadet.”

He salutes her with an eye roll, and then they’re off, walking in a line, arms bumping all the while. The sun is nice, not as bright as the last time he walked this path, but still beaming down on them.

“Next time I come back, it’ll be the wet season,” Veronica comments. “So ready for the bob frizz.”

“Jesus, I know,” Replies Rachel. “Lance, you’re so lucky with your straight hair.”

He gasps, offended. “Hey, I’ve got a little curl to it!”

“Okay, 2A,” Veronica scoffs. “Get back to us when you don’t need five creams to get a single coil.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You keep showing me why I missed you so much , Veronica.”

Veronica laughs at that, then picks up her phone to shoot off a quick text. “Luis is going to bring Nadia and Silvio after they get off school.”

“What about Lisa?” Asks Rachel.

“Bad morning sickness. Says she can’t get out of bed. Bet you wish you could use that excuse, huh, Lance?” He rolls his eyes. “Marco’s busy at work, but he says he’ll come over for dinner.”

“I guess we’ll be helping cook, then,” Lance comments.

“Woe is you,” Replies Veronica sarcastically. “As the guest of honor, I think I can wiggle out of it.”

Lance flicks her in the shoulder, and she flicks him right back.

“Stop fighting,” Chides Rachel. “We’re here. No being mean on the beach.”

Lance and Veronica dutifully shut up as they step onto the sand. It’s warm under Lance’s feet as he kicks off his sandals, fine and light. He surreptitiously kicks some at Veronica, and she shoots a silent glare at him. Rachel runs ahead of them out to the water, where she instantly dives in. She’s the best swimmer out of all of them, fast and lithe, working with the water rather than against it. In high school, she beat all the local kids with ease – Lance had missed her senior year final, being in space and all, but he’d learned later that she got first place as expected. It looks to the family like Silvio is already picking up those genes from her, but it’ll still take a while for him to catch up.

Lance has always been pretty good, but he’d rather not right now. Even just being on the beach right now has his mind on an endless loop of Keith’s trembling lip as he turned away from Lance, but he’s always has a hard time letting his sisters down. So, he sits down in the sand with Veronica. She lies back, sunglasses on, and folds her hands comfortably over her stomach.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence as he watches Rachel’s form bob in and out of the water, he asks, “How are things going with Axca?”

“They’re good,” She says with a soft smile. “She’s sweet and smart. I need intelligence in a partner. Something your future partner will unfortunately have to compromise on.”

He jabs her in the stomach. “ No fighting ,” He says in his best Rachel impression.

“It’s just so easy with you,” She laughs. “You’re sensitive.”

He glares at her, even though he knows her eyes are closed behind her glasses.

“How are things with Keith, though?”

He freezes. “Where was the segue there?”

“Well, we’re talking about relationships,” She raises her eyebrows. “I saw how you two interacted at your party. You want each other, bad .”

Lance grunts at that, folding his arms over his chest. It was true, the tension that whole day had been palpable, something you could slice out of the air and take a bite of. “We’re not talking right now.”

“Oh,” Replies Veronica. “That’s going to get awkward at the wedding, huh?”

He turns his head to her. “You don’t know?”

She must sense something in his tone, because she sits up slightly, raising her sunglasses. At that moment, Rachel walks back up the sand, drenched and smiling. “Know what, Lance?”

“I’m not going.”

She whips her head to Rachel, who is standing over them with her hands on her hips. “He’s not going? Rachel, you said he was going!”

Rachel's smile drops off her face. Lance stares at her, questioning. She avoids eye contact as she says, softly, as though she’s committed a heinous act, “I thought he would change his mind.”

“Change his mind?” Veronica turns back to Lance, brows creased and frowning. “Why aren’t you coming?”

“It’s…” He glances at Rachel, whose eyes are wide. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Takashi Shirogane . Your leader, teammate, and friend, who’s getting married to the love of his life on a beautiful alien planet. What the hell is complicated about that?” Her voice is harsh, words coming out snappy and rough. Lance feels each syllable like a pin in him, a sick kind of acupuncture that he has to experience again and again as he runs into the walls of people who don't understand him.

“Hey,” Interjects Rachel right before Lance opens his mouth. “Go easy on him. You don’t know what he’s going through.”

“What he’s-” Veronica stops herself short, furtively glancing between the two of them. “Is this about Keith ?”

“No, it’s not about Keith!” It comes out as a yell, which he’s embarrassed by, but fuck if that doesn’t make him mad. “Not everything is about Keith.”

Veronica looks at him, confused, while Lance’s heart beats fast in his chest, a drum rattling, singing everything is about Keith, everything is about Keith, everything is about Keith. The sand digging into his palms, the salt in the air, the sun on his face, the sweat on his back.

He sees Rachel and Veronica exchange a look - everyone is always exchanging looks around him these days, he’s so sick of it - and then Veronica sighs.

“We need to cool down,” Veronica says flatly, eyes trained on her knees. “Let’s talk about this later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Lance.” Rachel’s tone is a double-edged sword, consoling and warning at the same time.

Lance rolls his eyes and bites his tongue, getting up and dusting the sand off his legs. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back.”

“You better,” Veronica says after him, and he can’t tell what she means by it - if this is just her usual teasing, or if there’s concern lacing her tone. It’s hard for him to read with his back to her and his thoughts elsewhere.

Later, after a few hours walking down the beach and back, passing by families and couples and friends sparsely dotting the shore and the sea, thinking about all of the points in his life where he’s made the wrong choice, he returns. Luis, Nadia, and Silvio are there, splashing each other in the shallows, but Veronica and Rachel are sitting on their towels, talking animatedly about something he doesn’t care to find out about.

He strolls up to the kids with a smile on his face, one he has to intentionally place there like he’s a Mr. Potato Head that can spin its mouth to form different expressions.

“Hey, guys,” He says warmly. They turn to him and jump at his legs, smiling and giddy. “How was school?”

“Boring,” says Nadia, just as Silvio screams, “Fun!”

“Mixed bag, there,” He comments, and Luis laughs. “Who wants to practice underwater cartwheels?”

They squeal, and Luis nods, letting him take them out just a bit farther. He does a few of his own while they cheer, and then he instructs Nadia, helping her continue her pivot as soon as her feet are in the air while Luis does the same for Silvio, until the two are breathless and grinning from ear to ear, proud of their feat and ready to try on their own.

Lance and Luis stand off to the side as they show off, arms ready to catch any wobbly legs if need be, but they push through, and when they’re done, Lance whoops and hollers for them, Luis clapping and then taking Silvio up onto his shoulders to take him on a victory lap.

“Was I good, Tio Lance?” Asks Nadia, beaming up at him.

“You were so good,” He replies. “In no time, you’ll be growing your tail.”

“Tail?”

“Yeah, every McClain gets a tail when they get good enough at swimming. Like a mermaid tail? Haven’t you seen Tia Rachel’s?”

She gasps and then turns to look at Rachel, as though she’s become a different person since she last glanced at her on the shore. “Really?”

“Yup,” He says. “You should go talk to her about it.”

She squeals and runs to the shore, small legs pumping fast to reach her target. She falls onto Rachel’s lap, interrupting her conversation with Veronica, and starts talking fast and excited. Rachel looks confused for a second, and then laughs, clear and crisp through the warm breeze. She looks over at Lance, and Lance smiles at her.

He sees Veronica out of the corner of his eye, staring at him behind her glasses, as though he’s something she can decipher. He turns away, deciding to go for his own swim.

After a family dinner (with the whole family, Lisa is finally able to walk straight without puking and thus shows up, opting to eat only rice and chicken for her stomach), Lance heads to his room, worn out, but not before his mama can plant a kiss on his forehead, which she does every time she senses that he’s going to disappear for a while.

“I love you, mi hijo,” She calls after him as he walks down the hall. “You can join us for game night at any time.”

“I know, Mama,” He says in response, opening his door. “I might. Love you too.”

He spends a while on his phone, rotating between texting Hunk and Pidge and watching random videos on the internet, and once he gets bored of that, he goes back to his usual nightly activities: closing his eyes and picturing Keith. 

Tonight, he decides to leave the mourning out of it. Tonight, all that matters in the shapes and the colors of Keith: his bright almond eyes, his dark lashes, his lightly pink lips, often slightly chapped. His pale skin, always creamy and smooth except for the scars that litter his body, the healed gash on his face that shows his immeasurable loyalty to those he loves. His dark hair, long and layered. Lance wonders how long it’s gotten in the four months since he’s last seen him. Has he cut it? Lance hopes not. It doesn’t matter, really, he’ll never run his fingers through it again, or get the chance to tug it as he braids it away from Keith’s face, but he sure can think of it.

His idle dreaming is interrupted when his door creaks open.

“Lance?” It’s Veronica’s voice, tentative and quiet. He almost pretends that he’s asleep, but then he thinks about how she’s leaving tomorrow afternoon, and he won’t see her for five months. Despite how he acts sometimes, he does love her.

He opens his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

He sits up, stares at her. “Are you going to talk about it?”

“Yes.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

She shrugs and steps inside, pushy as ever. “But I do.”

He scowls at her, but doesn’t fight her when she closes the door behind herself and settles down next to him on his bed, legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded in her lap, like a mom at a teacher-parent conference.

“I’ve been thinking about our interaction earlier,” She starts. “And wondering what it meant. I wanted to ask Rachel, but I felt that was a… bad move. So I just thought about you. I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I do know you, Lance.”

He eyes her hesitantly. “What do you know about me?”

“You try to hide it, but you’re too hard on yourself. You blame yourself for anything that goes wrong. You think you don’t belong in places where you really do,” She pauses. “You love hard, and you hate hard too.”

The way she looks at him tells him she knows exactly where that hate is aimed, has been since he was in middle school and first found out there was a right and a wrong way to be Lance McClain.

She continues. “I didn’t really think much of it when you stayed here instead of going back out like the rest of the paladins. You deserved a break. But I think… It’s been too long. And you know that.” His eyes slide away from her, and she nods. “You do. So you’re- you’re holding yourself back for some reason. I think it ties back to what I know about you.”

He hums at that, not denying or confirming.

“Do you blame yourself for Allura?”

The question, said so plainly, so directly, shakes him. No one, this whole time, has ever come at the issue of Allura with so little finesse before. Even when talking about her life, her death is danced around.

“Yeah,” He says. “I do.”

She hums at that, looks down at her folded hands. She unfolds them, smooths down the fabric of her shorts with her fingertips. “You know that’s not right.”

“I know that’s what everyone’s trying to tell me.”

Veronica shakes her head hard. “I understand that you’re hurting. I do. When dad died, before you were born, I was five, and I didn’t have the- the emotional capacity, or whatever, that we do now, but I felt that then.” Her glasses slide down her nose, and she pushes them back up. “It’s not our fault. It never was. For Allura, it was a choice. A bad, terrible one, but it was a choice she made with dignity. I know she would want you to be happy. I know she would never blame you.”

“I know,” He laughs sadly. “Logically, I know she wouldn’t want this for me. It just- it just comes from somewhere within me. These feelings, these thoughts.”

Veronica nods again. “Can I tell you something that might sound mean?”

“You do all the time.”

She winces. “You know I don’t mean those, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. Just say it.”

She takes a deep breath. “You’re hurting people.”

He looks up at her for the first time in their conversation. She’s looking straight back at him, face serious. “What?”

“Something I know about you is that you hate to hurt people, but it’s what you’re doing when you hurt yourself.” He tries to speak, but she interrupts him. “Even mom and Rachel, who love you and always want you near, can feel you’re not happy here, and it hurts them. I’m sure Keith was hurt when whatever happened between you two happened. Pidge and Hunk, too. I know they miss you. And now, Shiro.”

“Are you trying to guilt-trip me into going to a wedding right now?”

She frowns. “I’m trying to guilt trip you into treating yourself with care.”

Lance nods, then slumps against her side, letting himself deflate like he’s wanted to all day. With his head on her shoulder, Veronica whispers into his hair, “Everyone wants to love you, Lance. You just have to let them.”

He closes his eyes. “You still think I should go.”

“I do.”

“And you still think you can convince me.”

“I do.”

Lance nods again. He feels well and truly defeated. Not by his sister, but by the rawness of her words, the struggle he has trying to find the truth in them. “What if I do, and something goes wrong?”

“What would go wrong?”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. A million options pop into his head, all of them half-stupid and half-terrifying. A bomb goes off at the ceremony. Shiro decides he doesn’t want me there after all. My presence makes Keith walk out and never come back. The universe goes back into an active war state because I spill punch on a planet’s highly ranking official. He knows all of them sound crazy. He knows there’s no reason that’s fully, a hundred percent based in reality, and that’s where the issue stems from.

“I don’t know.”

Veronica hums. “Say the worst thing in your mind right now happens. Does everyone live?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Then I think everything will be fine.”

“That’s your threshold for fine?”

Veronica laughs. “At this point in my life, yeah.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Veronica says, “How do you feel right now?”

What a simple question; what a complex question. Lance feels everything, bearing down on his shoulders and chest like a physical weight. He feels his grief, his insecurity, his love. He feels that flame of hope flickering in the wind, warping and bending but not sputtering out. He feels like no matter what choice he makes, he’ll be making the wrong one.

For a moment, he pretends that the shoulder he’s leaning against is Keith’s. He wonders if Keith is waiting for him, or if his feelings have faded to dust in the four months since they’ve seen each other. Can Lance redeem himself?

It’s that, thinking of Keith, that gets him to say, “I feel like I need to sleep on it.” Not a confirmation or a rejection, simply a door left open.

Veronica nods. “Do you want to be alone now?”

“You can stay for a little while longer.”

She runs a hand over his head, brushing the hair back from his face, something she did when he was much younger and falling asleep against her in the car or on the couch. He leans into the affection, realizing how much he’s missed this, letting someone hold him.

When Lance wakes up in the morning, he’s made his decision.

Before his brain is even fully on, he grabs his phone and sends out a quick text to Shiro. If you still want me there, I’d love to come. I’m sorry for the last-minute-ness of this and my indecision!!! Then, he throws his phone across the bed and runs out of the room to shower so that he can fight off the temptation to unsend it or block Shiro or pretend someone else sent the message for him.

Once he’s done in the shower, he finds Veronica and Rachel at the dining room table, eating slices of fruit with honey and chatting quietly. They look up at him when he walks in, and for a second, they look like twins, their matching brown eyes staring at him, asking him a question they won’t verbalize in fear of scaring him off.

“I’m coming,” He says in a rush. There’s no taking it back now.

Veronica immediately jumps up from her seat, pumping her fist and looking elated. Rachel just smiles at him softly.

“I knew you would,” She says. “What did Ronnie say to make you change your mind?”

“Oh, just some sappy shit,” He waves it off. “Shocking, coming from her.”

“Your cruel words can’t dim my sparkle right now,” Veronica beams. “Let’s help you pack. We leave in an hour.”

The three of them go to his room, and he checks his phone then.

Shiro has sent: Of course you’re still welcome! We’re so excited for you to be here. I’ve got your suit ready to go.

Suit? Lance shoots back.

You’re still my groomsman. Rachel sent me your sizing a few months ago.

Lance drops his phone back onto the bed and whips around to Rachel. “You are so evil.”

She turns, pausing her folding of his pajamas. “What?”

“The suit.”

“Oh,” She shrugs. “I believed in you.”

He groans, pushing aside the negative thoughts that immediately pop into his head, and begins to pack his bag alongside his sisters.

Later, after everything is packed and ready and Lance has drunk a bucket worth of cold water to cool his nerves, he goes to his mom's room.

“Mama?” He knocks at the door.

“Come in!” She calls.

He does, and goes to sit next to her on her bed. She’s reading something dense and heavy with a velvety cover, her reading glasses perched on her nose, with her hair pulled back. She’s comfortable and beautiful and home. His mom was always who he missed most during those long years away from home, and he’s reminded in every quiet moment with her.

“What’s going on?” She asks, setting her book down with her thumb holding her page.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to Shiro’s wedding. We leave soon.” He hates how his voice makes him sound like a nervous little kid. He fidgets with his hands, wondering how deeply she’s about to read him.

“That’s good,” She hums. “I hoped you would.”

He waits, testing to see if she has anything more to say. She makes no more moves to speak. He glances at her, eyebrows raised. “Is that all?”

She smiles, sighing softly. “You know the necklace I gave you? It must’ve been a year ago, the gold chain.”

He nods, pulling it out from where it lies under his shirt, letting it glint in the dim light of her bedside lamp. “Yeah?”

“You told me, right when you got back, that when you left Earth for the first time, you had nothing but your clothes.” She takes his hand. “I gave the necklace to you because I wanted you to be able to have a piece of home, of me , with you, always. I knew that you were going to go back out there. I always knew. Now is as good a time as any other.”

“How did you know?” He asks, feeling his voice strain in his throat as his eyes burn. He’s not going to cry right now, doesn’t want his face to be puffy and red and obvious for his sisters to see. “How does everyone know when I don’t?”

“Oh, mi hijo. I know what it’s like for your head and heart to be at war. But you,” She points at his chest. He feels her fingernail like it’s a knife’s point. “Have always had a strong heart. No matter the battle, I knew you would win.”

He has no clue how to respond to that, so he just holds her hand tighter. “Thanks, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Tu eres mi corazón. We can talk more about this more when I’m not in the middle of a chapter, okay?” She smiles wryly, pats his hand and releases it, picking up her book and pushing up her glasses. “Don’t forget to have fun at the wedding. I know you’ve missed your friends.”

“Yeah,” He says, standing up, thinking, I will, I have. “I’ll send pictures.”

“And I’ll frame them!” She shouts after him as he leaves the room, laughing slightly. He tucks his necklace back into his shirt and grabs his suitcase.

Rachel is already at the front door, duffel bag in hand. “Ready?”

He nods, and Veronica steps out of her room, nose to her phone and curlers in her hair.

“Forget something?” He asks her, pointing at her head.

“As the pilot of the vehicle, I’m not hearing any complaints,” She shoves her phone in her pocket with a huff. “There won’t be enough time to do my hair and makeup after we get settled into the hotel. Some things must be sacrificed.”

Lance and Rachel snicker as they walk out to Veronica’s pod.

The flight is smooth – Veronica’s a good pilot and Rachel’s a good seat buddy. She rants to Lance about the assignments she’s working on for her master's program, the mobile games she’s been playing, and how excited she is to finally meet all of his friends in one place at one time. She asks him for stories about them, and he gives them easily, letting them slip out of his chest like a ball of yarn unraveling. It’s easy to him, like breathing; if he had the time, he could write hundreds of love letters about each of his friends without running out of things to say.

He tells embarrassing stories, sweet stories, funny stories. He talks about Hunk’s cooking and Pidge’s hacking and Shiro’s leading. He talks about Keith’s heritage and leaving and growth. He talks about all of them together and all of them apart. 

Rachel listens to him, laughing at his jokes and commenting on how crazy some of their shenanigans were. It’s the exact inverse of their conversation alone in his room three months ago. It’s freeing and joyful and exactly what he always wanted talking about his time as a paladin to be.

While he talks, he looks out the windows, watching the constellations and planets zoom past. He keeps his eyes open, takes in every square inch of space that he can, even when it makes his eyes start to water. He’d gone seventeen years of his life without leaving Earth, but the past year and a few months have been a special kind of torture. At one point, he abandons his seat in order to press his hands to the glass. It’s thickly plated for safety, but it’s still slightly cool with the chill of the vacuum of space. He feels burned by it, ignited.

They touch down on Strilla and head to the hotel with minimal fuss. It’s warm, pleasantly so, and the sky is a bright orange. Shiro was right: the coastline is gorgeous. It feels slightly Grecian, but in a different color palette and with more advanced architecture.

When they arrive, Hunk and Pidge are waiting in the lobby, having touched base with (and subsequently screamed at) Lance earlier about his last-minute arrival. He rushes up to them with his arms open, and they embrace. Rachel and Veronica wave him off with twin smiles, going ahead to their rooms.

“Fuck,” Says Pidge. “I’m so glad you’re here. Shiro’s going crazy .”

“Full bridezilla,” Agrees Hunk as the three break apart. “Not even Keith - sorry buddy - can help him now.”

“Well, we’ll all be there someday,” Says Lance, wincing as Pidge crinkles their nose at his words. “Anyway, don’t say sorry for saying Keith’s name. We’re not enemies. We’re going to be civil. So civil. I may even…” He waves his hands around, struggling for the words. “Apologize to him.”

“Big steps, Lance,” Says Pidge. “Glad you finally graduated kindergarten like the rest of us.”

Lance ruffles Pidge’s hair menacingly while Hunk chokes back a smile.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Says Hunk. “Weddings are very romantic, so maybe even…” He shrugs conspiratorially.

“I sincerely doubt it. I’m saying my best-case scenario is he doesn’t ice me out forever and will actually carry out a conversation with me. Maybe two, if we’re shooting for the stars.”

Pidge laughs, and then holds out the bag that they’ve been holding close to their chest. “Your suit,” They say. “Wanna go get dressed?”

“Yes, please,” Smiles Lance. “It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to wear a suit. I’m ready to snaz it up.”

“Is that a word?” Hunk asks as they head off to their floor of the hotel. 

“Anything's a word if you try hard enough!”

“And you’ve always been a try-hard.”

“Exactly!” He smiles, stepping into the elevator. Now that he’s here with his friends, nothing is going to bring him down. Not his anxiety, not the crushing feeling of breathing air that’s not his own, not the possibilities racing through his head about all the ways he can still fuck up the day.

When the elevator doors open, they immediately run face-first into Keith.

If Lance’s life were a movie, time would stop. Freeze frame, get all angles, change the harsh hallway lighting into something soft, pore over every inch of Keith Kogane looking gorgeous in a crisp black tux with a dark purple tie that brings out his eyes, hair loose and long around his shoulders, mouth settled into a carefully neutral line as his eyes land on Lance. Here, pan over to Lance’s expression, something caught between awe and fear, gaze stuck on the first place his eyes land, which happens to be Keith’s throat, which makes him realize he misses Keith’s neck . Of all things, of all places on his body and parts of the soul he’s laid bare to Lance again and again, it’s that pale curve of skin he fixates on, remembering turning his head into it to rest there in the night, fervently kissing the expanse of it, looping his fingers around the back of it to play with Keith’s hair. These images flash through his mind, a quicktime replay of every time he and Keith have ever touched, with more intimate glimpses slowed and reversed as music swells.

But, life is no movie, and Pidge shoves him lightly through the elevator doors. “Blocking the way, buddy,” They say, and Lance couldn’t care less, could stay in this moment endlessly just staring at Keith, let the doors crush him into a bloody pulp so that his feet would stay rooted in place mere feet away from the object of every desire and affection he’s had for years. He feels his heart squeeze - with anxiety and adoration and everything else he feels looking at Keith Kogane.

“Hey,” Keith says soft, so fucking soft, like it’s just the two of them. “Glad you came.”

Lance feels his throat constrict as Keith steps around him into the elevator. He can hear him pressing the button, can feel himself losing the moment, and he swivels.

“Me too,” He says right before the doors close. They’re open just enough for him to glance Keith’s smile, something crooked and warm and just for him.

Then he’s gone, and the moment snaps taught like a rubber band and breaks. Lance sighs, letting all of the tension out of his body.

“Let me just say, I think that apology’s gonna work,” Comments Hunk as Lance slumps back into him slightly.

“I mean, he looked at you like his face was melting off,” Agrees Pidge. “Is Keith…whipped?”

“I think we both are.” Lance drags a hand down his face. “C’mon, let’s get dressed. Being on time to Shiro’s wedding is more important than standing in this hallway talking about my gay crisis.”

“Duality,” Says Hunk. “We can get dressed while talking about your gay crisis!”

“Hunk, your mind is superb,” Smiles Pidge. “Why were you never our leader?”

After they’re all dressed - Lance’s hair teased into gentle waves and suit pressed to perfection, Hunk headbandless and shaved smooth as a baby, Pidge with a slickback and light eyeliner -  they head back down to the lobby, and then hop in a pod that’s been waiting for them.

“No expense spared, huh?” Lance says as the pod autopilots them off to the wedding venue.

“He deserves all the fanciness he can get,” Pidge says, leaning back. “What do you guys want from a wedding?”

As they zoom past buildings and crests of sand, Lance suppresses the first image that pops into his mind, specifically who’s at the altar with him. “I’d want a ton of people there, but to somehow keep it lowkey. I’d want it on the beach- not like near it, but like getting married in flip flops because we’re standing in the sand.”

“Hm,” Hunk hums, glancing out the windows. “Not what I was expecting from you. I think I would want a traditional Samoan wedding. I could totally compromise on a fusion of whatever my partner wants. But the Taualuga is a must.”

“You’re saying you wanna dance for us?” Lance quirks a brow. “I don’t remember that ever going well for you, buddy.”

“It’s a beautiful art form! I’d try my best for the most important day of my life.”

“You bet I’ll be taking videos, though,” Pidge smirks.

Hunk frowns. “If it’s bad and you post it, that’s racist.”

That promptly shuts Pidge up, which makes Lance laugh. Pidge glares at him, and he only laughs harder.

“Well,” Pidge says as the pod shudders to a stop. “If you’re done laughing at me, we’re here.”

“I’m never done,” Smiles Lance. “But I can take a sabbatical.”

Pidge rolls their eyes, and they step out into the pleasant heat. They walk into the building Shiro had marked for them on their map, and instantly see why Shiro has chosen it. The grand hall that they step into, already set up with chairs and an altar of intertwining flowers, is gorgeous, with a huge domed ceiling full of skylights that allow the sun's rays to scatter across the floor in slashes of rainbow.

“Wow,” Hunk breathes.

“Yeah,” Says Pidge. “Very Shiro.”

Lance nods, eyes poring over the intricate marble walls.. “When do guests start arriving?”

“Like…” Pidge checks their watch. “Thirty minutes.”

“Fuck, we’re late.” Lance glances around. There’s the sound of bustling from other rooms, but no one to direct them. “Let’s go find the man of the hour, then.”

They follow the noise through a set of double doors and find Shiro and Keith arguing under their breaths on the other side. The brothers stop when they see the trio in the doorway and turn to them with tensely shared smiles.

“Hunk, Pidge, Lance,” Shiro welcomes them forward. “Welcome to the clusterfuck that is my wedding.”

“Not my fault,” Interjects Keith. “His wedding planner got sick last night. We’re screwed.”

“Oh?” Hunk raises his eyebrows. “How screwed is screwed?”

“Very!” Shiro’s voice is a higher pitch than Lance has ever heard it, even in life-or-death battle scenarios. “So, who’s ready to get to work?”

Lance raises his hand to his brow, an imitation of the mandatory cadet salute at the Garrison. “At your service, sir.”

Pidge elbows him, and he drops his arm. “Put us wherever you need us, boss.”

Shiro delegates the jobs, sending Hunk off to arrange the dining area, Pidge to set up the DJ booth, Lance to put up final decorations in the main hall, and Keith to “Finish writing your speech, Jesus Christ , it’s twenty minutes until I’m married.”

Keith slinks away sheepishly, waving a pen and a piece of paper. “Shiro, I’m doing it. It’ll be great.”

Shiro groans at the three of them, and Pidge smirks. “Great choice on best man. Couldn’t’ve picked better.”

“We can laugh about this all later,” Shiro pinches his brow. “First, we salvage the wreckage.”

“Heard,” Hunk says, and then they’re splitting off in different directions to carry out their tasks.

Lance can’t help but feel giddy at the fact that they’re being a team again, as he strings lights and places pre-made bouquets. This certainly isn’t as important as saving planets, but, actually, it might as well be. They’re working together towards a common goal (not pissing Shiro off, alternatively, making the best day of his life be the best day of his life ), and doing it well, he thinks. His mind slips away to who isn’t here for a second, but then he reels it in by wondering about other things: are all the paladins sitting together for dinner? Will there be slow dances at the reception? What is Keith’s speech going to be like? His brain gets stuck on that last question, and when he finishes his work up faster than expected (He really should’ve been Shiro’s wedding planner), he goes off in search of Keith.

Maybe it’s tempting fate to keep interacting with him before any of their overarching issues are dealt with, but Lance reminds himself that he’s just being civil, even friendly. There’s no need to be anxious, no, sir.

Lance finds Keith, bent over a table with his pen clutched tightly in his fist, unmoving.

“If you grip that any harder, it’s gonna explode, which would be really bad for that white lacey tablecloth.”

Keith glances up at him, and then back down at his paper. “I’m so bad at this. I can’t just say what I’m thinking.”

“I’ve noticed that in the past.”

Keith’s head hits the table. “Are you going to help? Or just make fun of me?”

“How can I help?” Lance asks, stepping forward. He tries to sound genuine and gentle, not wanting to scare off a very stressed Keith. “You know how you feel about Shiro, and I assume you know enough about Curtis to have some kind of vibe with him by now. Just…write that.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Lance sighs, putting his hands out. “Give me those.”

Keith glances between the paper and Lance’s hands. “You’re not writing it for me.”

“I’m not. I’m just gonna be your…I don’t know, scribe?”

Keith looks at him like he’s crazy. “What?”

“Just- give me the paper and pen, and tell me what you want to say. I’ll make it into something that balances the eloquence a wedding speech needs and your specific brand of…Keith-ness.”

Keith draws his brows together, but hands over the writing materials. “So…what do I say?”

“Well, let’s start from the beginning. When did you meet Shiro?”

“You sound like a therapist right now.”

“Wait, are you in therapy?” Lance holds a hand up. “Actually, pause on that. Just answer the question. We’re ridiculously low on time.”

Keith laughs, something short and sharp, and dives into the story, switching onto other anecdotes as Lance prompts him with more questions. Lance is diligent in his note-taking, but he can’t help but feel his heart get all gushy as Keith becomes vulnerable and sappy about how much he loves his brother. It’s rare for Keith to publicly reminisce about the past, and Lance feels special, somehow, being the person to help him figure out how to do that. 

Feels special, because he thought that coming back to Keith would be something rough and jagged, but it’s not. It’s like sliding into a sweater that’s been hiding in the back of your closet through the summer. Lance supposes that makes sense - Keith has left him multiple times before, and Lance has always welcomed him back. He thinks he always will.

Too many times, Lance’s eyes and thoughts stray from the page when Keith laughs, or flicks his hair back behind his ears, or gesticulates to emphasize a point, but he always forces them back, thinking Shiro’s wedding over gay crisis, Lance . Soon enough, though, they’ve assembled something that can pass for a speech. Keith holds it in his hands, eyes frantically searching the page.

“This looks…Good,” He breathes. “Somehow, I’ll still fuck it up.”

“You won’t,” Lance wants to reach out his hand, place it on Keith’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture, but he fears that he’ll need to close every inch of distance between them the second he gets a finger on Keith. “You’ve done harder things.”

Keith looks up from the paper, eyes piercing Lance with a deep violet gaze, and he opens his mouth to say something, but then Pidge shouts from the other room, “It’s wedding time, bitches!” and the moment fractures into nothing.

“Well, that’s our cue,” Says Keith with a half smile.

“I guess it is,” Lance says, eyeing how Keith takes a step backwards and then lingers, arms held just slightly away from his body as though he’s fighting the urge to reach out. “Will you…” Lance trails off, biting his tongue.

“Yeah?” Asks Keith, soft, so soft.

“Save me a dance?”

Keith’s smile grows into something all-encompassing. Once, years ago, Keith had told Lance that he was like “the sun but bottled” and he had said it sarcastically, annoyed with Lance for his over-excitement so early in the morning, but regardless, Lance thinks that Keith was wrong. Keith is the sun, teeth and eyes shining in the warm light, hair falling into his face, lips stretched into a grin that only Lance gets the singular pleasure of seeing.

“Yeah, I will,” Keith laughs. “Let’s go get Shiro married.”

The ceremony goes off without a single hitch. 

Everyone who’s anyone to Shiro and Curtis is there, dressed to the nines, smiling at the couple in love, and Lance can’t help but follow along, his gaze landing on the look on Shiro’s face as he holds Curtis’ hands in his own. Still, though, his eyes dart around. He looks at Coran, looks at Pidge, looks at Hunk, looks at Keith. He feels an overwhelming gratitude to be here, to be a part of this. He feels, for the first time in a while, that everything horrible that’s happened in their lives has been worth it, to get them to this moment where they’re just allowed to be united in their joy. It’s a scary thought, and a lovely one. Lance catches Keith’s eye on him at one point, and shoots him a small smile. He watches Keith’s face carefully for a reaction, and he gets exactly what he wants – that soft look that Keith only gives to people he truly loves. Lance holds that knowledge in his chest and goes back to paying attention to the vows.

Just before Coran can profess the two as married, he sneaks in one of his classic weblum metaphors, and Shiro laughs into Curtis’s mouth in a way that feels like the strongest profession of love Lance has ever seen. Everyone cheers, the paladins being the loudest, and Lance feels like he’s a part of something beautiful.

Afterwards is the reception, and serious sit-down dining is thrown out the window – seating charts are discarded in order for people of all kinds and species to mingle and chat and laugh and scream and cry.

Maybe the key to intergalactic peace was actually just love all along. Funny.

Lance ends up on the dance floor, obviously, and he keeps an eye on Keith whenever he can, but Keith never comes on his own, and Lance never beckons him, opting instead to enjoy every moment with his friends and acquaintances that he can. He dances with Pidge and Hunk and Rachel, chats with Veronica and Axca, meets Curtis, sees Krolia and Kinkade and Romelle and other people he’s met and known on all their journeys. He tries to talk to every person he passes. He gets tipsy and flushed but stays very much not-drunk. He feels his hair getting messy, feels sweat building on the back of his neck and on his jaw, but he continues dancing, all the while watching Keith as he lingers in the corners and on the sidelines - still joyous, and not lonely in any sense of the word, but quiet, calm. Keith has never wanted the spotlight like Lance has. And oh, how Lance has missed it - being in the middle of a crowd, feeling known, laughing loud and sharp and soft all at once.

At one point, an open window allows a breeze to come in and swirl the scent of flowers around Lance’s face, and he thinks of Allura. He thinks not of her death, or of her as an idea, but of her smiling face, bright and open. He knows that she would be happy for him right now, happy for all of them. He almost cries - he doesn’t. He just smiles, swings his hips to the beat, and laughs at whatever Hunk has just said.

Before everyone can get too wasted, Keith clinks a glass high above his head to signal the beginning of his speech.

Everyone pauses, watches as Keith – beautiful, pristine, ruffled-like-a-scared-cat, Keith – shares the story of him and Shiro. Lance is enraptured. He’s never used that word before, but he thinks it describes perfectly how he feels watching Keith’s lip wobble slightly as he talks about how lucky the universe is that Shiro made it out the other side of everything the Galra did to him, watching his teeth flash as he jokes about how he stole Shiro’s car back at the Garrison, but Shiro stuck by him anyway, watching his brow crinkle as he says how happy he is for both Shiro and Curtis, for having found each other through all that’s happened in the war and outside of it. Lance hears music playing in his head as Keith speaks, the soft plink of a delicate sonata carrying Keith’s voice like a loving tune. Lance does love Keith. He really does.

When Keith is done, everyone claps, and Shiro wraps his arm around Keith, placing a huge kiss on his cheek as Keith laughs. Curtis looks on with a smile so bright it’s nearly blinding. For the first time, Lance realizes how important this is to Keith; he smiles at the thought that Keith’s family can only grow from here – there will never be a day when Keith is truly alone again. And Lance… Lance wants to make sure of that, wants to be a part of that.

The dancing starts back up, the song slow and sweet. Couples take each other’s arms and friends pair off.

Lance, like he’s always done, gravitates towards Keith.

“Hey,” He says when he’s standing just a foot in front of him. It feels like they’re miles apart; it feels like they’re a single person. “Do you still have that dance set aside for me, Red?”

Keith gets that look he did before - Pidge had said he looked melty ? - and says, “Always, Blue,”, then steps forward, taking Lance’s hand in his. They mesh together like they’ve always been just like this, slotted against each other's bodies in perfect harmony with music that fills the room around them, gently swaying in a slow circle. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Lance whispers, leaning in to Keith’s space, not to kiss, just to be close. He always wants to be closer to him.

Keith hums, looks down at the ground, and then back up at Lance. “I’m sorry about the beach. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. And I’m sorry if… if giving you space was the wrong thing to do.”

Lance laughs lightly. “Practice that one with Shiro?”

Keith’s eyes flit down to the ground. “...yeah.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Lance says, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I pushed you away. My problem was never about you.”

“Do you want to talk about that some more?”

Lance considers this, tilting his head. “Not right now. But…yeah. Sometime soon.”

Keith nods. “Can I ask what changed your mind about coming out here? Was it because of the wedding, or…” He trails off, brows slightly raised.

“It was something my sister said to me,” Lance shrugs, then pulls Keith in tighter as they sway. “She said that by hurting myself, I was hurting others who want to care for me. Which sounds really high-and-mighty, now that I’m saying it out loud-”

“It’s not,” Keith shakes his head, frowning. “It’s true. Lance, we all care about you. We all want the best for you.”

Lance raises a brow, a teasing smile on his face.“We?”

Keith closes his eyes with a small snort. “ I .” He opens them again. “And we. But, yeah. I care about you. A lot.”

“I was hoping that was true,” Says Lance, and now his leaning in is intent, now his lips are a brush away from Keith’s. “Because I really care about you.”

Keith closes the hairs-width distance, his lips sliding softly over Lance’s. It’s chaste, it’s wedding-appropriate. It doesn’t spark a flame in Lance, it doesn’t get him heated and fiery. It just feels like Keith. And Keith fels like love.

When they pull apart, Lance’s eyes open to Keith’s expectant and hopeful. “Do you want to…” Keith twirls them around. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Lance raises a brow. “Where are you gonna take me?”

“Surprise?”

Lance taps his chin in an approximation of a thinking face. “I do love those… but don’t you want to stick out your brother's wedding?”

“Eh,” Keith glances around, eyes falling on a few familiar faces. “I’ve never been a social creature. And,” He turns back to Lance. “We’ll be back soon.”

“I hope you’re not looking for a quickie in the hallway, Kogane,” Lance jokes, smiling.

Keith immediately flushes, a light pink that makes his eyelashes look like ink blots on his face. It’s cute. “I- no, I wasn’t thinking about that. Just-” He tugs on Lance’s hand, unwrapping them. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Breathes Lance. “Let’s go.”

Lance lets Keith drag him off, noticing the way that Keith glances at Shiro, the two exchanging a gaze that makes Shiro roll his eyes before he turns back to the conversation he was having with Curtis’s parents. The sight makes Lance laugh, makes him remember the alcohol in his system and the warmth in his face.

They leave the dance floor, and then the room, Keith’s speed picking up as they reach the hallway, and then they’re racing down it, giggling like kids, like the teenagers they never got to be because war steals so much , but it can’t steal this – it can’t steal running with a boy you love towards an unknown and for the first time in a long time, not being scared.

Out in the open air, Keith doesn’t slow down, his grasp on Lance’s hand remaining firm. “I’m excited!” Lance yells over the wind, and it sounds stupid, now that it’s out of his mouth, but he has to say it, has to verbalize how Keith makes him feel all the time.

But Keith doesn’t think it’s stupid. He glances back, a smile on his face. “Me too!”

Finally, they reach their destination. It’s a cruiser, one of the Blades, for sure, big enough just for the two of them. Keith pops the door open.

“C’mon,” He motions Lance in, and Lance pauses.

“There’s not enough room in these to move around much. Pilot goes in first.”

“Yeah,” Keith smiles. “I know.”

Lance’s eyes widen with understanding, and Keith adds, “Only if you want it. You can say no, and we can go back to the party, or get food, or whatever you want to-”

“I want it,” Lance confirms, and only once he’s said it does he know that it’s true. Because - wasn’t this always the dream? Fly, feel happy, be in love? Why not check all the boxes while he’s got the list in his hand?

“Get in there, sharpshooter,” Keith says with a smile, and Lance climbs in, feeling like he’s diving into cool water in summer.

Memories hit him like a tidal wave - the simulator at the Garrison, being in the blue lion, then the red lion, all the times he had to pilot pods or cruisers for smaller missions. As soon as he sits, his hands fall onto the controls like he’s held them his whole life, like he’s never left the pilot’s seat. Keith closes the door hatch and stands right behind Lance, not bothering to sit down, hand clasped on Lance’s shoulder reassuringly.

“You ready?” Asks Keith.

And what can he even say to that? No? Yes? Maybe? I never will be? I always have been?

He doesn’t trust his mouth right now, so he nods and engages the engine, feeling the thrum of energy in his body as they slowly hover off the ground, the boom of sound as he thrusts them forward, sending them easily up into the sky. He feels his grip on the controls is a little too tight, sweat starting to build on his brow, the effort of keeping his emotions under control. Soon enough, they’re in orbit, high above the thick pink clouds of Strilla’s troposphere. He cuts the engine and turns on autopilot, letting them just float where they are, and leans back with a sigh.

“How are you feeling?” Asks Keith, because he cares about things like that.

“Good. Terrified. Sweaty.”

“Here,” Keith comes to stand in front of him and reaches out to him. For a second, Lance thinks he’s going to cradle his face in his hands - he would gladly lean in right now - but instead, he just loosens his tie for him. “Now you’ll be less hot.”

“Thanks,” Lance says, removing his hands from the controls to set them in his lap. Here, he feels, is the awkwardness he’s been anticipating. With Keith standing over him, he has no idea what to say. They stare at each other for a minute before Keith breaks the silence.

“I know-” Keith starts, frowns, stops. “I know you don’t want to talk about you right now, but can we talk about us?”

“What about us, er- particularly, did you want to talk about?”

Keith stares at him like he’s being intentionally dense, and it’s a look so funny that Lance is tempted to laugh, and he would, if he weren’t focusing so hard on the way Keith’s knee is brushing his own. “We’ve already been through the confession part of this. Can you please just make this easy on me?”

Lance gives him a sly smile. He’s scared, suddenly, about which direction Keith is going to take this conversation, but humor has always been his shield. “When do I ever?”

Keith groans. “Lance, I still love you. Four months haven’t changed a thing. Ten years wouldn’t.” His brows furrow. “I want to be with you.”

“Why do you look so mad when you’re telling me you love me?” Lance’s smile is genuine now; he can feel himself leaning in to be closer to Keith, eyes peering up at him.

Keith looks down at him, tone going soft. “Because you’re not saying it back.”

Lance brings his hands up to hold Keith’s waist, draws him in until Lance’s forehead is touching Keith’s sternum. He stumbles forward to stand between Lance’s legs, laces his fingers into Lance’s hair, holding him tight against his torso. It might look weird, or awkward, but he wants to be close to him, like usual. “I love you,” He says into the soft of Keith’s stomach. “Everything has changed for me, but that’s still the same.” It always will be , he thinks.

“If you want to stay, I’ll come back for you,” Keith whispers into the air. “If you want to go, I’ll follow you anywhere. I’ll always run back to you.”

And even though it’s unreasonable, for Keith’s lifestyle and career choices, Lance believes it; he really does. They can talk more about the decision later - to stay on Earth or to find his place elsewhere - but right now they don’t need that. Right now, Lance pulls away from Keith’s waist and drags Keith forward until he’s sitting in Lance’s lap, legs on either side of his hips.

“Hey,” Keith breathes. They’re pressed together, every inch of them, and Lance wishes they weren’t wearing these stupid suits, not because he wants to fuck Keith - well, maybe, actually - but because he wants to feel the warmth of his skin, wants to run his fingers over his scars and press kisses into all the divots and angles and curves of him.

“Hey,” He whispers back. “Kissing you has been really nice so far. Wanna keep doing that, or-”

Keith doesn’t bother to hear the end of his sentence, rushing forward to catch Lance’s mouth with his own. He’s always had impulse control issues , Lance thinks as their lips slide together. Keith’s hands are on Lance's face - finally - and Lance’s hands are tight on Keith’s waist, not allowing even a centimeter of space between them. Keith opens his mouth, and Lance follows, letting his tongue dip inside, taking all that Keith has to offer him, tasting the flavor that can’t be explained with any word other than Keith . Lance lets in to his desires, deftly untucking Keith’s dress-shirt to run his fingers along the smooth lines of Keith’s stomach, making him sigh into Lance’s mouth. Spurred on, Lance uses one of his hands to palm Keith’s ass, using the leverage to push them ever closer, and the slight friction has him groaning and squeezing his eyelids tighter together. He sees stars behind them, sees Keith, Keith who’s currently grazing his fingernails softly against Lance’s scalp, so light he shivers against the touch.

After minutes - hours? - of helplessly sliding their mouths together and apart again, Keith pulls away, throwing his head back and taking a deep breath, eyes pinched closed and face a blooming red.

“Pause,” Keith gasps, and Lance moves his hand away from Keith’s ass, resuming a light hold on his hips, light enough that he could pull away with no resistance. Keith looks at him with piercing eyes, face serious all of a sudden. “I’m not going to leave again,” He says, voice rough but sweet. “You can’t either. Not- not like you did. You can’t shut me out. You have to tell me things. You have to stay.”

“I will,” Agrees Lance, raising a palm to cup Keiths cheek. Keith leans easily into the touch, and Lance feels the rumble of his words in his chest, feels the truth in them. “I’m here.”

“Always?” Asks Keith, and his voice is so soft, and it’s exactly what Lance had been thinking just moments ago, and it's exactly what they need. A promise, a pact. That's what wedding days are all about, right?

Later, Lance will worry his lip as he thinks about all of the options he now has for what to do with his life - he’ll call all of his friends, talk to the Blades and the MFE’s and the ATLAS and everyone else he knows, and still feels so lost - but he’ll find something and he’ll make it work. Later, he will pack his bags and move out of his mom's house with a kiss on the cheek from her and a reminder to come back in time for Lisa's birth, a reminder that his room is always open, a reminder to wear his chain and eat well. Later, it’ll be the second anniversary of Allura’s death and everyone he loves will sit together for dinner on New Altea under her statue and talk about who she was, who she remains to be, and Lance will feel truly free of his guilt as he presses a kiss to a juniberry flower and releases it to the wind. Later, he and Keith will have a wedding of their own, and it’ll be just as beautiful as Shiro and Curtis’, and they’ll get a house together somewhere on Earth, and matching cruisers in blue and red, and a few pets, and maybe a baby or two if they’re feeling extra responsible.

But before all of that, before they return to the wedding, before they leave dock and deboard the ship, before they rebutton their suit jackets and smooth out their hair, before anything else, Lance presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth and says:

“Always.”