Chapter 1: How (not) To Become A Bad Boy
Chapter Text
“You’re eating yogurt, for Christ’s sake. Who just does that?”
“Okay. Is there something you would like to talk about?” Lotor lowered the spoon and regarded his company with worry written onto his features. “You’ve been following me around for several varga now, staring at me and just... muttering.”
“Well, yeah. I’m observing you.”
“Why?” Lotor placed his container of flavored colloidal sustenance – key lime, because of course he would like the grossest flavor – on the table and stared back, concerned and maybe slightly fearful. “Have I done something to anger you?”
"Mm." A noncommittal hum.
A potential explanation crossed Lotor's mind, and he brightened slightly at the familiarity of the possibility. “Perhaps is this simply an Earthling ritual in which you inflict discomfort and unease onto your allies as a demonstration of power? The Galra have something similar, called the ghob-baj ngup, meaning 'fight for power.'"
“Uh-huh.”
That didn’t sound convincing. Lotor tried again. “Or... maybe it’s an initiation to test my resolve and inner strength? Ancient Alteans had a ritual like that called the zii'suum vetras, or 'spirit challenge'. It's rather similar to the ghob, actually, but from what Allura has told me and what I have read, it doesn't usually go as far as bloodshed."
Lance narrowed his eyes into beady little slits of suspicion. “Yeah. Sure. Something like that.”
“Well, may I please be considered initiated?” Lotor pleaded, picking up his container of flavored colloidal sustenance once again. “You’re really starting to creep me out.”
Lance merely made a noise from the back of his throat, a low almost-growl, offering no other response.
Lotor uneasily scooted his stool away from the countertop and backed away, only turning his back to Lance once he passed the threshold to the kitchen.
When Lance also rose from his stool, Lotor began to briskly jog, throwing frightened glances back over his shoulder.
“Well,” Lance announced to the empty hallway, scuffing his shoe against the smooth, clean floor, “that got me absolutely nowhere.”
A snort echoed against the eerily quiet walls. “Wow, can’t believe it. Stalking someone will only freak them out. I never would have thought.”
“Oh, shut up, Keith,” Lance retorted. “You didn’t have any ideas, so at least I did better than you.”
“Yeah, better at getting kicked out of Allura’s lab, maybe.” Keith leaned back against the wall, equally smooth and pristine as the floor, and folded his arms. “As long as Lotor hides out in there, you can’t chase him around anymore, so your plan is busted. What now, Sherlock?”
“Good question.” Lance cupped his chin thoughtfully, face scrunching up as he wracked his brain for more brilliant ideas. “For starters, what makes Lotor more irresistible than me?”
“Well, for starters, he’s not a stalker. Seems pretty irresistible to me,” Keith remarked, letting his head fall back until it hit the wall with a gentle thud.
“Dude, for the last time, I wasn’t stalking, I was–" Lance cut himself off with a frustrated groan. “Oh, never mind.” With a deep sigh, he let his head thunk back against the wall, striking the wall with a much rougher thump, and stared up at the ceiling.
Keith’s features softened as he looked over at Lance. “Sorry,” he said, observing the side profile of Lance’s distressed face, squinting a little in the dim light. The castle power reserves automatically diverted light only to occupied areas, conserving power by turning lights on only as needed, and they'd been standing still for so long, only the teal highlights along the floor illuminated them now. “You just make it too easy.”
Lance huffed, nostrils flaring. He cracked his eyes open, glimpsing over at Keith from the corner of his eye. “So, what I'm hearing is you’re just mean.”
Keith cracked a smirk. “Something like that.”
He turned his eyes back toward the windows they leaned across from, the endless stretch of black space greeting him. “Maybe that's it. Maybe Allura is into Lotor because he’s secretly mean and you’re just too nice.”
“What, like... a masochist?” Lance crinkled his nose. “I dunno. She doesn't seem like the type.”
Keith shrugged. “Then maybe she likes him because they share the same interests. They’re both interested in Altean culture and alchemy and stuff. Or maybe she just likes a guy who she can relate to? They’re both from a different time. I’m gonna guess it’s pretty hard to find someone else who's been alive for that long. And they’re both royalty, too. Maybe he gets what kind of pressure she’s constantly under, since he's been a crown prince for, like, ten-thousand years.”
Lance’s eyes suddenly widened, pieces of the puzzle seemingly clicking together in his head.
“Or,” he cut in, eyes lit up, “maybe she just likes bad boys!”
Keith let his mouth hang open for another few seconds, still registering Lance’s ingenious suggestion. He closed it slowly once the statement processed, but his brain still continued to lag behind Lance’s leaps of logic. “Um, what?”
“That has to be it!” Lance pushed himself off of the wall and strode forward, long legs carrying him far as he began to pace. “Of course it is! Why didn’t I see it before?! All girls dig bad boys! It’s a scientific fact, like water is wet or the sky is blue!”
“But we’re in space,” Keith remarked flatly, gesturing a hand out to the window. Distant stars winked at them. “There is no sky.”
“You're focusing on the wrong thing here, buddy.” Lance whirled around and punched his fist into his palm. “Just think about it! Allura is the archetype of a good girl: a princess born and bred to uphold the rules of justice and morality. To her, a self-reliant, unconvential rebel like Lotor is like candy!”
He gestured to Keith’s general area of presence. “Or you!"
Keith’s face went blank. "Me???"
“Yeah! You're a walking bad boy stereotype. I mean, just look at you!” Lance gesticulated to him again, sweeping his hands from head to toe. “You’ve covered all the bases here: the casual lean-back, the broody crossed arms, the careless foot propped back against the wall… combined with the tragic backstory, the effortless good looks, and the streak of heroism, you’re a drop dead knockout to every alien babe this side of the Dalterion belt!”
Keith gaped, flustered pink creeping into his cheeks. “Th-that’s…”
“Absolutely correct and scientifically proven?” Lance nodded smugly. “Thanks, I know.”
Keith closed his mouth and scowled, pushing himself off of the wall, immediately changing his posture to break out of what Lance had just deemed attractive to women. “Dumb. I was gonna say dumb. Girls don’t like me.”
Lance put a hand to his chin. “Yeah, you're right, actually," he conceded.
Keith stopped short, blinking in disbelief. "Huh?"
"Girls don't like you, they're crazy about you. Your character had the most merch sales from the Voltron Show - after Shiro, of course." Lance put a hand on his chest and cocked a hip out, shooting Keith a smirk. "You're welcome, by the way."
"Yeah, thanks," Keith sarcastically drawled.
Lance leaned over and tapped the tip of Keith's nose. “Didn’t you ever notice when girls crushed on you back at the Garrison? You had a whole fan club!"
“Does it seem like I noticed?” Keith snapped, flinging his hands up.
“No, which gives you an extra, extra edge. You’re adorably oblivious! Girls love a dense idiot who doesn’t know how hot he is!”
Lance turned on his heel and resumed pacing back and forth. “Now, the real question here is how do I achieve that state? I mean, I already know that I’m hot...”
“Do you also know you’re a dense idiot?” Keith jeered.
Lance ignored him, too busy concentrating. “How can I…”
He suddenly halted at the farthest point of his pacing circle, stiffly turning around to face Keith with an odd, creepy sort of intense look on his face.
Keith squirmed nervously. “What?”
In the blink of an eye, Lance was right up in his space, hands gripping at Keith’s shoulders, close enough for their noses to touch. “Teach me how to be a bad boy, Keith!”
Keith recoiled as much as he could, blushing at their sudden closeness. He reached up and grabbed Lance’s wrists, prying the hands off of his shoulders and taking a step back, taking a greedy gulp of air once he was far away enough to breathe again. "No."
"C'monnn,” Lance whined. He advanced on Keith again, hands pressed together in a pleading steeple of prayer. "Help me, Keithi-wan Kenobi. You're my only hope!"
“I think I'd rather throw myself out the airlock.” Keith spun on his heel and marched down the hall.
Lance dropped to his knees, arms raised above his head. "C'mon, Keeeeeeith!"
Keith vanished around the corner at the end of the corridor, abandoning Lance in the hallway with sore knees and dust bunnies.
Lance dropped his hands back down to his sides and hung his head with a sigh. "What a meanie."
Then, he clenched his fist and looked up, eyes blazing with determination. “Truly a master at his craft."
“So, he’s doing it to you now, too, huh?” Lotor asked.
Keith growled in the back of his throat and slid down further in his seat, shoulders hunched up around his ears.
“Lance,” he snapped, referring to the pair of eyes boring into him from across the table. “If you don’t quit staring at me, I’m going to do something you’ll wind up regretting.”
Lance pauses. “Um... shouldn’t it be something you’ll wind up regretting...?”
Keith simply uncrossed his arms, drew his Luxite blade out of its sheath, and placed it on the table. "No."
Lance narrowed his eyes at the obvious threat. “Okay. Fine,” he snipped, finally taking his eyes off of Keith for the first time in the past several dobashes. “Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, really.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair with theatrical poise, features pulled into an impassive scowl that looked out of place on his normally smiling face.
Keith closed his eyes and repeated Shiro’s mantra in his head: patience yields focus, patience yields focus…
A rasp next to his ear startled him slightly. “Are all you earthlings this… intense?” Lotor whispered to him, nervously eyeing Lance.
Keith inched away from Lotor. “Not really,” he muttered back, rolling his eyes. “That's just Lance."
“Yep, that’s me,” Lance piped up from across the conference table. “Lance, Red Paladin of Voltron: intense… aloof… rebellious.” Lance narrowed his eyes and gazed off into the imaginary distance. “The baddest there ever was.”
“If crying during The Lion King at seventeen years old makes you ‘bad’, then I guess Hunk’s even badder than you are,” Pidge remarked, cheek squished on her fist. “Because you both cried like babies, and babies are not any of the things you just listed.”
“Hey! Don't you besmirch The Lion King like that,” Lance hissed, jabbing a finger down on the table to emphasize the point. “The way Simba begged for him to get up while nudging his body like he did earlier in the film when they were playing was poignant and devastating. If you didn’t cry at least once when you saw it, then you’re a heartless little gremlin!”
Hunk nodded. He looked misty-eyed just thinking about it. “That was really sad, Pidge.”
“See?” Lance said, smirking boastfully.
Pidge rolled her eyes. “Right. Guess I'm heartless, then.”
“Who is Mufasa?” Lotor whispered in his ear again, talking over Lance's comeback.
Keith shook his head and scooted his chair further away from the prince - or was it emperor now? “No idea," he lied.
Suddenly, the doors to the conference room slid open with a swish, and in strode their valiant leaders in arms, closely followed by Coran.
“Good evening, Paladins,” Allura greeted, as diplomatic as always. She took her spot at the head of the table as Shiro filed past to assume the chair on the other end, and Coran took his post at her left, seated to the right of Lance.
She scanned the table with a smile, then nodded over to the side where her liaisons were sitting. "And others," she lightly added, her eyes flickering right over Keith to linger on Lotor.
“Good evening, Princess.” The Galran prince smiled sweetly back at her.
Keith glanced at Lance to gauge his reaction to Allura glossing over his presence to single out Lotor and smile at him like that.
Lance wasn't even paying attention. Instead, he was staring at Keith out of the corner of his eye, face formed into an exaggerated-looking frown, sitting sank down in his chair with his arms crossed.
Trying to copy him, Keith belatedly realized.
He scowled and aimed for Lance's knee underneath the table.
Success – his foot struck. Lance’s eye twitched. He pressed his lips into a tighter frown, a crack forming in his poor attempt at a ‘bad boy face’ or whatever he was trying to do.
Keith could see the thought of retaliation cross his face, but before he could say or do anything, Shiro cleared his throat and launched into their latest mission debrief.
By the time it was all said and done, Keith was ready to take a quiznaking nap. Debriefs were always the worst part.
He turned his face into his shoulder and yawned, sitting up and stretching his arms up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Coran approach Pidge, putting a hand on her shoulder as they walked out together, trading technobabble - something about let's get cracking on those sensors!. Meanwhile, Hunk was asking Matt what he should make for dinner later as they both got up and headed for the door together; Matt jokingly suggested he try and tweak the food goo dispenser to recreate the taste of fudge brownies, and Hunk brightened with the idea of one better and declared he'd try to make actual brownies with the stuff they got from their last supply restock on Olkarion, which honestly sounded awesome. Keith hoped they'd be ready by the time he woke up.
Across the table, Lance stood up, pausing to arch his back, likely cramped from sitting hunched down in his chair the whole time. He pushed his chair back in and glanced over at Allura, currently talking to Lotor about something, and his impassive frown twitched.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Keith watching him, and he narrowed his eyes. “What’re you lookin’ at?” he asked, loudly fronting.
Keith rolled his eyes. “Nothing.”
Lance nodded. “’S what I thought.” He reached up and tugged the collar of his jacket up, then turned to swagger out of the room, hands in his pockets.
Keith rolled his eyes again, and stood up from the table.
“Hey, Keith, wait up for a sec.” There went his nap – Shiro’s voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks.
Keith turned and waited, watching him approach. “What’s up, Shiro?”
“Are you doing anything right now?”
“Depends on what you want from me." Keith folded his arms and looked up as Shiro stopped before him.
“Do you think you could help Pidge and Coran recalibrate the parameters on the gladiator bots’ failsafe protocols?” Shiro inquired.
Keith raised his eyebrows. "Failsafe protocols?" he echoed. "What happened?"
“Apparently, a lot of our systems sensors got scrambled when we went dark in the Patrulian Zone. Pidge compared it to a factory reset - as for the training deck, our difficulty settings were lost in the reboot, so as it stands now, it won't even recognize a surrender. It'll keep going 'til first blood, which is obviously way too hardcore for our... well... less seasoned fighters." Shiro clears his throat pointedly. "Normally I’d do it myself, but I’ve honestly had this killer migraine for the past few hours, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be up to par. You're the next logical person to tackle it."
Keith furrowed his brows and frowned in confusion. "Me? But what about Allura? She literally grew up fighting those things. Or what about Lance? He could take it out from afar with no problem - Hunk, too, probably. Heck, even Pidge could use her grappling hook thingy."
Shiro shook his head remorsefully. "I don't want to bother Allura while she's doing research. Hunk is going to be preoccupied with his brownie experiment with Matt, Pidge will be needed to run the tests with Coran, and Lance... well..." He bit his lip, face twisting up with doubt, then put a hand on Keith's shoulder. "Look, can you just do me this favor? You're the only one I can trust with this."
Keith looked down at the hand on his shoulder, then back up at Shiro's face. There was nothing but sincerity there. He genuinely didn't consider the others were capable of handling this.
"Okay..." he reluctantly relents, tone still hedged with suspicion. "Sure thing, Shiro."
Shiro smiled in relief. “Thanks, Keith." He patted Keith's shoulder. "I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
"You can make it up to me by visiting Coran about those migraines." Keith drew back and folded his arms, and frowned up at Shiro. "Maybe he could run a scan or something, find a treatment to help with them. It's not normal to be having them all the time."
"Oh, Keith. You worry too much." Shiro waved his metal hand dismissively. "I just need to sleep it off."
Keith arched a single disbelieving brow at him.
"Don't give me that look!" Shiro laughed. "Okay, look. I'll go see Coran if it's still bothering me when I wake up. Scout's honor, I swear." He even crossed his heart and held up a hand. "OK?"
“Scout’s honor doesn’t mean much when you were never a scout, but sure.” Keith offered a tiny smile. “Feel better, OK? Don’t push yourself so hard.”
"Can't promise that. But I'll try," Shiro joked back.
They both turned to leave. Shiro turned right once they entered the hallway, heading to the residency wing with a parting wave.
Keith stood there for a moment and watched Shiro retreat, brow furrowed with worry. It wasn't totally unlike Shiro to wave off his concerns, but something about the details he'd let slip... It really didn't seem normal be having so many splitting headaches. And that vague dismissal of the others, especially Lance. The designated marksman would've been the first person Keith went to. It just seemed logical for him to snipe the bots' weak points from afar, from up from a high, fortified perch, than to have a close-quarters fighter risk getting hurt or wiped out.
“Psst,” somebody whispered from behind him. “Keith! Over here!”
Keith blinked out of his thoughts and turned at the sound of his name.
He deadpanned at what he saw. Speak of the devil. “Lance,” he said, immediately exasperated. “What are you doing?”
Lance jerked his head, gesturing for him to come over to where he leaned against the wall, hands in his jacket pockets, the sole of one shoe pressed up against the wall.
“C’mere!” he hissed when Keith didn’t immediately obey.
With a roll of his eyes – what was it about Lance that just warranted constant eye rolling? – Keith reluctantly went over and stood in front of him.
“What is it now,” he asked flatly. “I don’t have time for shenanigans. I’ve got some bots to help recalibrate, and I want to get it over with as soon as possible.”
“Oh, nothing much, just...” Lance glanced over to the side. His eyes lit up. “Just act natural!"
"Huh?"
Lance leaned back up against the wall, folding his arms and reassuming his impassive mask. “Act natural!”
Keith looked back toward the meeting room and caught a glimpse of Allura as she breezed out of the conference room into the hall.
A kick to his ankle made him look right back at Lance. He glared. “Did you just kick me??"
“C'mon, man, you're blowing it,” Lance urged from the side of his mouth, his face already pulled into the same impassive mask he’d put on when Allura entered the room earlier. It looked even more fake up close; a rehearsed pout that looked aloof and cool and just everything Lance wasn’t.
For a split-second, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thought in the back of his mind, Keith found himself wishing for Lance’s playful grin.
"Say something!" Lance hissed under his breath. In his peripheral hearing, Allura's measured footsteps neared closer.
“OK. Umm... the... mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Keith said lamely, going with the first thing off the top of his head.
“Uh-huh,” Lance replied, lowering the register of his voice into something husky, probably intending to sound ‘cool’ and ‘attractive’.
Honestly. The things he did for this guy. “When I was seven, I saw the Mogollon Monster on a camping trip with my dad. It didn’t notice me at first, but when it did, it threw a rock at me and ran away.”
“Yeah.”
“Water is wet and the sky is blue. There is no sky in space.”
"Yah, totally." Lance’s eyes flickered over to the side, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. He inclined his chin in a cool nod of acknowledgment. "Hey," he huskily said.
"Hello, Keith, hello, Lance," Allura absently hummed as she breezed by.
When her back was turned, Lance turned his head to follow her with his eyes. He bit his lip, his smirk growing into a lopsided smile.
Blood simmering in his cheeks and ears, Keith clenched his jaw, hard enough for his molars to grind together. “You're a moron,” he snapped.
Lance’s eyes finally darted back to him. “Hey! That was rude."
Keith tried not to ball up his fists. He crossed his arms instead. “Whatever. Can I go now?”
Lance rolled his eyes and straightened up off the wall, planting his foot back on the ground. “Oh, fine. Jeez.” He turned and looked in the direction Allura had gone. A smile brightened his face, and he slid his hands into his jacket pockets. "Thanks. I really think that worked!"
How on earth did that 'work'? She didn't even acknowledge you first, and you're the one who spoke to her! Keith wanted to yell in his face.
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Keith turned and stomp, stomp, stomped down the hall toward the training deck. Suddenly, fighting the broken gladiator sounded fantastic.
“Keith, I’ve really gotta hand it to you, playing hard to get is a brilliant strategy. Don’t be mad if I steal it from you.”
“I’m not playing anything,” Keith grumbled, lowering his head to put more effort into walking faster. His legs weren’t any shorter than average - Lance’s were simply freakishly long. “It’s called ‘not being desperate’. You should try it sometime.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, Lance continued to babble, walking at his usual pace despite Keith’s efforts to speed ahead and leave him behind.
“I mean, it’s a pretty masterful display of control. Projecting an air of desirability while simultaneously prioritizing other matters creates a mystique that’s simply begging to be explored? It’s totally genius! Who knew you could be tactical?”
Keith groaned, slowing to a stop and letting his head hang.
“Lance,” he said as he turned to face the other boy, reaching up to grasp Lance’s shoulders. “I’ll tell you this one more time: I’m not playing hard to get."
Lance’s mouth curled up into a grin. “Oh, really?” he asked cockily. “Then how come you keep running away?"
"Because you're weird!"
Lance leaned in until the tips of their noses were only a few inches apart. "Are you sure it's not 'cause you want me to catch you?"
Keith jerked back like Lance had burned him. He hoped his burning cheeks weren’t too obvious.
Lance just smirked, and laughed.
"GRRR!" Keith stomp, stomp, stomped off, whole face burning red.
Lance was left to wade in a pool of triumph. “Who’s the tactical one now, Keith?” he called down the hall, cupping a hand around his mouth to amplify his voice.
His own words echoed back to him in the empty corridor, reverberating back to his ears: Keith, Keith...
Lance scowled and crossed his arms. “OK, don’t rub it in…”
“Maybe I need to grow my hair out more.”
“I don’t think it’d suit you.”
“Aw, come on. No mullet or anything, but long, flowing locks of coolness cascading around my shoulders? It’d look cool.”
“Wouldn't that take too long?”
“…maybe you make a good point. If anyone can make short hair look good, it’s me, right?”
“Yeah. Sure, Lance.”
“Can you teach me how to drive a hoverbike?”
“Why would I do that when you can barely fly a Lion?”
“Hey!”
“What do you think about leather jackets?”
“They look cool, I guess.”
“Yeah, same. So, unrelated question, what do you think Allura thinks about leather jackets? …Keith? Hey, come on, man, don’t just walk away from me!”
“You know, I think I might have cracked another part of the code.”
“Yeah?” Keith said, fully exasperated after an entire day of this. "What on Earth could it be?”
Lance snapped his fingers. “I need to scowl more. Don’t you think so?”
“Hey Lance?” Keith waited until Lance gave him his full attention. “No."
Lance pouted as Keith stormed off down the corridor. “Jeez. Somebody’s moody...”
He shook his head and cracked his knuckles. “I guess I’ll have to do this bad boy thing on my own, then!”
“Hey, um, Keith?”
"Yeah?"
Hunk twiddled his thumbs together and didn’t meet Keith’s eye, looking all the part of an apprehensive child. His eyes flickered away from his hands, nervously landing on the Luxite dagger that Keith held and had been cleaning.
Really? Everybody still thought he would stab them if provoked? C'mon, he deserves more credit than that.
But, albeit with a labored sigh, Keith wrapped the blade in the cloth and slipped it under his pillow, just for the sake of Hunk’s comfort, then crossed his arms. Hunk visibly relaxed. “What’s up, Hunk?”
“OK, first, you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“…say it.”
“I won’t get mad.”
“Say that you promise.”
“I promise I won’t get mad!"
“OK, OK! Don’t yell at me!” Hunk stared down at his hands for a moment, clearly trying to summon the courage, then sucked in a breath and quickly asked in one big rush, “WhatsupwithyouandLance?”
Keith froze. “…huh?”
“What’s up with you and Lance?” Hunk repeated, slower this time.
“What do you mean?”
Hunk bit his lip. “You’ve been acting weird around him lately. Running away from him, ignoring him, et cetera… Are you two fighting?”
“Oh.” Keith let out a sound that resembled a growl and a sigh, and slapped his forehead, letting his hand drag down his face. “No, we’re not fighting. He’s just being an idiot. Not like that’s new,” he added, throwing in an eye roll for good measure.
Hunk blinked. “Then, why are you…?” He wheeled his hand in an ‘and so on’ motion.
“You haven't heard?"
Hunk shakes his head. That's actually shocking. Lance tells Hunk everything. Or so they'd lead Keith to believe.
"He asked me to teach him how to be a ‘bad boy’ so he could make Allura fall in love with him,” Keith reluctantly explained.
Hunk's eyebrows climbed up to his headband. “Huh?”
“Yeah, I know,” Keith agreed. “I told him no, I’m not gonna do that because of how stupid it is, so now he’s following me around, trying to convince me to teach him my ways or whatever.”
“Your… ways??” Hunk still sounded puzzled.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.” Keith crossed his arms, defending himself against Hunk’s inquisitive gaze. “Through some weird, twisted logic, I think he thinks that, since I said no to that incredibly dumb request, I must be playing hard to get."
Hunk’s brows furrowed. "Wait. He thinks you're playing hard to get? With him?” he asked, utterly baffled. "Why?"
"I dunno. To show him 'how it's done', I guess? Or maybe he really is a moron after all," Keith said sardonically.
“But isn’t he supposed to be going after Allura?” Hunk continued. “Why is he getting fixated on you when he wants her?"
Keith opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
“I… dunno,” he mumbled, after a moment of thought.
“Yeah, me neither. That’s really weird.” Hunk tilted his head. “Anyway! Soooo, just out of curiosity… why did you say no? And why are you still saying no? Giving him what he wants might get him to leave you alone. You could even just make something up on the fly."
That... was actually solid advice. Trust Hunk to offer an incredibly helpful bit of emotional wisdom.
However, something about the phrasing - it was probably meant to be genuine, innocuous, but Keith was hit with a pang of sudden panic. Giving him what he wants might get him to leave you alone.
"Keith..? You okay, buddy?" Hunk waved a hand. "You've gone all 'spooked cat' on me."
Way to be obvious! Keith forced himself to relax. Slump a little bit, spine. Shoulders, get down from his ears. Nails, stop biting into his arm, please, that hurts.
"That's a great idea, Hunk." Keith forced his face to smile. "Maybe then Lance will finally lea- leave me alone." His voice cracked like he was entering puberty again. Prickling heat crept up his neck, pooling in his cheeks like boiling water.
Keith stood up from his bunk. "Well, good luck on your brownie quest, Hunk. Think I'm gonna try getting a nap or something."
A pit of horror opened up in Keith's gut as he watched the epiphany dawn over Hunk's face, a wide smile stretching his mouth out.
"Thanks, Keith." He winked. "And I hope it all works out with Lance."
Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak.
“Wrench.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Screwdriver.”
“Here you go.”
“Demagnetizing plutonium uncoupling device.”
“Uhh...?"
Pidge shot an irritated glance down at him. “The zappy pliers, Lance,” she amended, making her sarcasm abundantly clear.
Lance instantly spotted them. “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” he whined as he handed them up to her, placing them in her hand and watching them disappear into the ceiling tiles, along with her upper half. “I’m not a mechanical genius like you or Hunk, you know. I’m just a simple pilot.”
“Emphasis on simple,” she couldn’t help muttering.
Lance pouted. “Well, if you wanted to get your own tools....”
With a sigh, Pidge carefully bent down on top of the ladder, reappearing from the ceiling. “Sorry, Lance. You just make it too easy." She wiped her hands free of advanced technological spaceship part lubrication with a rag hanging from her pocket.
Lance crossed his arms. “Why does everybody say that? I don’t get how it’s 'easy' to make fun of me!”
With no warning, Pidge flung the rag down at him.
He jumped away from it with a girlish shriek. "EW! Pidge!"
“That’s how,” she snickered, climbing down and dismounting the ladder.
Now on the other side of the room, Lance folded his arms crossly and glared. “Do you treat Hunk this way whenever he gives up his very precious and valuable free time to help you out?” He angrily threw his arms up. “I could have been doing important research!”
“Hunk would re-invert the dorsal automatic resistance filaments in the nitrogen manipulator pistons in his free time anyway, so, that’s irrelevant.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “And I didn’t know glaring at Lotor and stalking Keith around classified as ‘important research’.” She picked her rag up off the ground and placed it on the table, then turned to depart from the engine room.
Lance sputtered defensively, and jogged to catch up with her quick, purposeful strides. He caught up with her easily, and at her side, he scowled at her sidelong. “Lotor deserves to be glared at. His vibes are weird and I don’t like him.”
“But Keith deserves to be stalked?” Pidge countered as they walked through the doors and traveled down the hall.
“I am not stalking Keith,” Lance protested, lifting a matter-of-fact finger for emphasis. “I'm observing him. Get it right."
"Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes again – people did that a lot around him, it seemed – so Lance rolled his back. Ha, take that.
“Look, just think of it like this,” he said, slowly and patiently as if he was speaking to a child. "When we first met the Olkari, didn’t you want to ask them just how they made plants shoot stuff and junk?”
Pidge pursed her lips in thought. “I guess,” she said, side-eyeing him warily.
“Well, that’s all I’m doing with Keith,” Lance said, trying to sound casual and totally nailing it. “He’s bad boy incarnate – handsome with a dash of cute, rebellious with a heart of gold, mysterious and enticing but elusive and hard to get, plus he knows how to ride a motorcycle! That’s just hot, no matter who you are. He's the perfect specimen to learn from!”
Pidge stopped mid-stride, and looked at him, eyes bugging out behind her glasses. "Are you serious?"
Lance punched his palm, eyes practically twinkling. “If I can learn from him, then I can outperform Lotor and get Allura back on my side! ...hey, what are you laughing at? I know I’m hilarious, but I didn’t even say anything funny!”
Pidge gasped for breath between sudden snorts of laughter. “Sorry. I’ve got, uh… W-Wiebian giggle syndrome.”
Lance raised his eyebrows. “I've never heard of that."
“Yeah, I'm not surprised," she bluffed, covering her flub with sarcasm.
Lance shook his head reproachfully. "Well, as long as it's not another case of the slipperies."
"Don't worry. It's nowhere near as bad as that." Pidge straightened up off of the wall she sagged against, wiping at tears of mirth. "Anyways, it sounds like you’ve really done an extensive amount of research on Keith’s, um…” She coughed. “…bad boy charm.”
“Thanks, I have." Lance puffed his chest out and smirked.
Rolling his eyes at his easily-stroked ego, Pidge continued down the hallway. “In my professional opinion, I think it’s time for you to do the next step in the scientific method.”
“You think so…?”
“Yeah! Form your hypothesis. How do you think your subject will respond to your accordingly adjusted behavior?”
Lance cupped his chin, furrowing his perfectly maintained eyebrows in thought. “Form my hypothesis...” he murmured. “But, I already know that she’s gonna be totally captivated by my new devil-may-care attitude.”
“Then prove it. Perform your experiment and record the results. I'm dying to know."
Nodding, Lance grinned, the gears in his brain already turning. He reached up and ruffled Pidge’s hair, dancing away as she squawked and indignantly swung at him. “Thanks for the help, Pidge!"
Pidge rolled her eyes, as she did quite frequently in Lance’s presence for some reason, and waved after him. “Yeah, Sure. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
“Well,” Lance announced to the empty hallway outside of Allura’s laboratory, “that got me absolutely nowhere.”
He looked down at the floor, and kicked at the ground, the toe of his shoe squeaking against the light scuff mark left by him the last time.
The empty hall offered no reply. No unimpressed snort; no disbelieving quip of ‘wow, can’t believe it.’
The cosmos outside twinkled as they passed, the stars winking in and out at him, and for some reason, it felt like an empty gesture.
Lance scowled. “Shut up, Keith,” he snapped, just for the spirit of it, and stomp, stomp, stomped all the way to his quarters.
“Hello, Lance. What are you doing here?”
“What, I can’t simply swing by and visit my favorite hard-working princess in her lab without any ulterior motives?”
Allura quirked her brows at him, nonplussed. “Not really, no.”
“Oh.” Lance glanced off to the side, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “Well,” he said, pulling a chair out from across her, “that’s fair.”
Allura squinted at him as he turned the chair around and sat in it backwards, straddling it from behind - like a true rebel against society’s forward sitting conventions.
“Might I ask what you’re doing here, then?” she politely asked, electing to delay mentioning the fact that she’d banished him from here for being creepy to Lotor for no reason. And Coran dared say that she had a short patience…
Lance shrugged. “Dunno.” He raised his chin and squinted off in the distance, willing his eyes to smolder like glowing embers. “I just go wherever the wind takes me. Like a leaf in the wind. No roots to hold me down. You know how it is.” He glanced back at her to gauge her reaction to his brand new devil-may-care attitude.
“Right, of course." Allura was already looking back down at her book, finger trailing down the yellowed page.
Clearing his throat, he quickly changed topics. “So, uh. Princess.”
Allura didn’t spare him another glimpse, keeping her eyes down as she reached across the desk for something. “Yes?”
“About Lotor being Emperor.”
“Mhm?”
“Do you really think that he’ll really be able to…”
Lance trailed off as Allura tore the foil lid off a familiar container and dipped her spoon in. “Uh... is that... yogurt..?"
Allura paused, spoon raised halfway up to her awaiting mouth. "Oh, yes, it is!"
"I, uh, didn't know you liked that stuff." He awkwardly drummed a hand on the back of the chair. "I thought only Lotor ate it."
"Oh, no, certainly not. I enjoy it as well." She offered him a lovely smile and lifted the container up, turning the label toward him like an advertiser. “It's quite the convenient little snack, isn't it? Excellent for long study sessions. Packed with nutrients, too! Not to mention, I find the flavor quite delicious, and even a bit nostalgic." Her smile turned bittersweet. "In my youth on Altea, we had a juniberry variety of something very similar. And while it certainly cannot compare, this ‘key lime’ flavor Hunk devised is not half bad."
She smiled wider. "He has shaped up to be quite the culinary alchemist, hasn't he?"
Lance watched her take an enthusiastic bite. His eye twitched.
“Right. He sure has." He un-straddled the chair and got to his feet, neatly spinning it back around and pushing it back under the table. “Well, uh, I hate to be the bear of bad news, but I’ve gotta head out. I’ve gotta help, uh, Coran, with some... cleaning. Those healing pods don't de-gunk themselves, y'know."
"Oh." Allura's smile dimmed. “Alright then. I shall see you later. And give Coran my wishes - I haven't encountered him since this morning."
“Ya-huh. Will do, Princess." Lance walked stiff-leggedly over to the door.
Just as it swished open to allow him out, Allura’s call made him pause. “Oh - Lance?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
She smiled prettily at him. “If you happen to see Lotor, would you mind sending him my way? I’ve got a tome on what I believe is might be the White Lion, but it appears to be in Ancient Ataîrian. I'm hoping his expertise could help translate it into something more contemporary."
Lance reflexively winced, awaiting that heart-sinking feeling whenever the princess said Lotor’s name like that, all soft and affectionate with no official title attached. The feeling did not come, much to his confusion, and for a few beats, he lingered, wondering if it would hit him at all.
“Lance...?”
He blinked back to himself. “Oh. Yeah, right. You got it, princess.”
Lance ducked out of her lab, the doors closing behind him and leaving him in an empty vacuum, alone with his thoughts.
Back in the present, Lance slunk through the halls of the castle on his way back to the residency wing, hands comfortably stuffed in his jacket pockets as he mused over the strange absence of his usual heart-sinking, stomach-clenching jealousy.
Was it just delayed or something? Could jealousy even be delayed? And, not to mention, what the quiznak was up with him? He finally had the chance to talk to Allura, without any devilishly handsome, silver-tongued Emperors around to distract her, and he ran out. Why?
Maybe it was the yogurt, Lance considered. Or maybe it's some... neurological side effects from that nasty shock he got at the Omega Shield.
Deep in thought, he turned the corner, and at once, he glanced up and stopped on a dime, the soles of his sneakers squeaking.
Outside the entrance to the training deck stood Keith. Well, no. Outside the entrance to the training deck leaned Keith, all aloof and dark against the gray wall, like a shadow being cast. The pale pallor of his crossed arms looked stark against the black of his t-shirt, and there was one finger tapping some unknown rhythm on his bicep. His hair was pulled back into a sweaty, stubby ponytail, showing off parts of a neck that were usually hidden behind a high jacket collar, like collarbones and the smooth curve where it met his shoulder and-–
Suddenly, Lance found himself staring at Keith. Into his eyes.
Round eyes narrowing, Keith pushed himself off the wall, arms falling to his sides and foot planting back on the ground, and turned in his direction.
Lance’s breath caught at the sudden movement.
After a beat of pause, Keith tore his eyes away and all but ran into the training deck, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him with a hiss.
Lance frowned after him. Something behind his sternum dropped like a stone, sank through him until it settled in the pit of his gut, leaving him feeling heavy with... dejection.
Must be his delayed feelings from talking to Allura, probably. But why now?
Well... better late than never, right?
Suddenly irritated, Lance scowled to himself, balled his hands into fists inside his pockets, and stomp, stomp, stomped past the training deck doors, hoping that Keith got his butt whooped by those dumb bots he liked so much.
“So, let me get this straight.” A beat. “Or, rather, let me get this... bisexual, probably?”
“Pidge,” Keith growled. "Not the time."
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Pidge cleared her throat and removed her glasses. She held them up, breathed on each side of the lenses to fog them up with condensation from her breath, and rubbed them with the hem of her shirt. “So. Let’s review."
"If we must..." Keith grumbled.
"Our wannabe Casanova has somehow managed to convince himself that you’re some kind of bad boy god incarnate, and wants to learn the way of your wiles so he can pick up the princess, who likes tall, dark, mysterious bad boys with authority issues, a penchant for rebellion, and daddy issues, and other assorted baggage.” She held her glasses up to inspect them for smudges and turned toward him, peering at him through her specs. Her face looked comically tiny and distorted through the lenses, her head narrow and pinched like a bowling pin. “Is that right?”
“So far, yes,” Keith sighed, crossing his ankles where he had his feet kicked up on her workbench. “Well?”
Pidge slid her lenses on and looked over at Matt, who was seated on her bed. “What do you think?”
Matt scrunched up his nose in thought. “Sounds a little confused, to me.”
Pidge nodded. “I was thinking ‘delusional and completely idiotic’ myself, but yeah.”
“Well, sure, delusional? Absolutely,” Matt agreed. "But 'idiotic’? Little harsh there, Katie.”
“Well, he deserves it. He's being a complete ding-dong,” Pidge insisted.
Matt wobbled his hand back and forth in a lukewarm 'meh' of agreement. “I think he’s just got that sniper’s focus, is all – he’s used to thinking about stuff way off in the distance, not stuff right under his nose, no matter how obvious we think it might be.”
“First of all, focus? Lance? Have you met the guy?”
“OK, OK,” Keith cut in, his temper stoked. “Take it easy, Pidge. He’s not that bad.”
Pidge turned to look at him curiously. “You... don’t want me to make fun of Lance?” she asked incredulously. She grabbed his face with both hands and started turning his head this way and that, examining him frantically. “Keith, are you dying? I can help! We can get you a cure."
“Pidge, quit,” he snapped, trying to swat her hands away but to no avail.
“Calm down, Katie. Nothing’s wrong with Keith.” Matt piped up, getting both of their attention.
Pidge reluctantly released his face. Keith rubbed his cheeks, shooting Matt a grateful nod. "Thank you."
Keith’s gratitude quickly turned sour as Matt smirked back. “If you ask me, it’s really sweet for Keith to want to stand up for his boyfriend.”
“What?! M, my- boyfriend!?!" Keith glared, though his face burned. "Lance!? Yeah, right. Not in a thousand varga."
Pidge squinted at him.
“What?” he snarled at her, cheeks blazing hotter under her scrutiny. "Stop staring at me."
Pidge pushed her glasses up and scrunched her eyes up tighter, her entire face pinched with suspicion.
Keith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to meet her eye lest she devise something critical.
Then, like she caught a glimpse of something, Pidge broke out in a grin. “Oh my god. For real? Like, actually?"
Keith scowled. “Shut up!” he yelled just as Matt started laughing. He wheeled on Matt and glared harder. "Shut up, Matt!"
“I mean, I had my suspicions, but I didn't seriously think..." She slapped a hand to her forehead and started laughing too.
“What do you mean, 'suspicions'!?!” Keith hollered. "About what?!?"
“About you and Lance, dummy! The way you two would get up in each other's faces all the time? Your dick measuring contests? Your fixation on 'the bonding moment' - how you kept bringing up that you cradled him in your arms? God, the tension was unbearable!" Pidge shouted back. Luckily, their dorm walls were soundproofed. "But now it's not just sexual anymore, is it? You actually like him!"
Keith turned red from the roots of his hair to his collarbones. "I do not!"
"When did you figure it out?" Pidge questioned like he hadn't even objected. "And why didn't you tell me sooner? Man, some friend you are, leaving me in the dark like this!"
Keith opened his mouth to yell or something, but nothing came out; an echo of his revolutionary conversation with Hunk the other day.
Pidge stared at him, watching his face carefully. "Oh, Keith," she slowly said. "No. Not just now."
Matt blew up. “Just now?!"
Keith shrunk in on himself, face scorching with humiliation.
"How did you not figure it out until just now?!?" Matt barreled on.
"It wasn't just now!" Keith protested.
Pidge and Matt both went quiet to listen to him.
Keith drew further in on himself, burning scarlet. "...it was yesterday."
"YESTERDAY?!" Matt screeched.
"Mm, mm, mm. Keith, Keith, Keith." Pidge shook her head ruefully.
Keith muffled a groan in his palms. "I knowww..."
She folded her arms and faced him. “So, here’s the real question: does Lance know?”
Keith snapped his head up. "God I hope not."
Pidge paused. “…well, why not?”
“Have you been paying any attention to what I’ve been saying? He’s trying to woo Princess Allura.”
"Is he, though?"
Keith squinted at her. "Um... yeah?" he answered in a very sarcastic 'doi, genius' way.
"Ehhhh, is he, though? He seems awfully fixated on you for someone trying to woo Allura," Matt stepped in to point out. Pidge nodded in agreement.
Keith worked his jaw as they proposed the same conclusion Hunk had reached the other day. Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak.
"Honestly, how does he not know? He's supposed to be our 'people' guy, right? Does he really lack that much self-awareness?" Pidge wondered.
“I dunno. Like Matt said, I guess, sniper's focus.” Knowing it was useless to argue with Pidge, Keith sighed. “Apparently, I’m not exactly hiding it, Pidge, so don’t blame me for him somehow not noticing,” he grumbled, sinking down in his seat and crossing his arms. Why did he even bother coming to talk to her again? Shiro would've probably been nicer. Once the brotherly teasing stopped. And after he gave the 'I'm proud of you for making valuable connections' talk. And then the 'refresher on the birds & the bees' talk. Actually, on second thought, Pidge and Matt were the better choice...
“You kind of are to blame, though,” Pidge said.
“Well, I can’t exactly be open about it, now can I?” Keith asked dryly.
“Well, you could," Matt said.
Keith looked at him like he was stupid. “I could, of course. But I can't.” He sighed and wiggled his way back up in the chair so he could hang his head over the back of it so he could miserably count the lines on Pidge’s ceiling. “Not while he's still going after Allura..."
While he wasn’t looking, Pidge and Matt shared a glance.
“Weeellll,” Pidge began after a moment, “if it makes you feel any better, Keith, I don’t think that’ll be a problem for too much longer.”
Keith picked his head up and frowned at her, concerned. “What does that mean? Should I be worried?”
Pidge brought her wrist up and checked her watch. “Because I told Lance to try his whole ‘bad boy’ thing and talk to Allura, and I don’t think it went well, because he came by the lab earlier and asked Hunk all sweet-like if they could have a ‘bro talk’ in his room. He looked fine on the outside, but I could tell, he was having some kind of internal crisis that was about to go haywire, so he must have finally made some connections.”
“Wait, what?” Matt whined. “You mean you only asked me to hang out as a backup?”
“Uh... no?" Pidge tried to fib, grinning sheepishly.
“What do you mean, he made connections?” Keith broke in. Both Holts turned to look at him in creepy synchronicity. “What connections?”
Matt grimaced sympathetically, then glanced back at his sister. "Man. This is gonna go on for a minute, isn't it?"
“Of course it is,” Pidge tutted. "It's Keith and Lance. Everything's gotta be like pulling teeth with them."
"What connections?" Keith asked again.
Meanwhile...
“…and you just walked out?”
“I didn't just walk out, I ran! Like, why did I do that? It was just us, alone, without anyone around to interrupt for the first time in, like, ever, but I ran away without even shooting my shot! We barely even had a proper conversation! Now I’ll never get another chance."
Lance flopped down onto the bed and groaned into the mattress. He picked his head up, reached for a pillow, and buried his face in it. "Uuuugh! Why am I so stupid?”
"Hey," Hunk gently warned. "You are not stupid. You panicked - don't be so hard on yourself."
Lance lowered the pillow from his face. "I bet it was when she started talking about yogurt,” he suddenly growled. Vitriol dripped off of his voice like sinister, goopy green poison. "That must be what threw me off my game. Ugh. Key lime - Lotor's favorite."
“Or, maybe, y'know, she’s clearly got a thing for somebody else and you know it?” Hunk lightly suggested.
Lance rolled off of the bed and stood. “No, I don't think so? I think it really was the yogurt.”
Hunk groaned, head lolling back on his shoulders. “Lance...”
“Let's review the facts. Allura’s obviously got a type, right?” Lance began in the analytical tone of a scholar, as he folded his hands into the small of his back and started to pace the room. “Tall, dark, mysterious bad boys with lots of emotional baggage.”
"Allegedly," Hunk monotoned.
"Right. Allegedly." Lance stopped and turned, and stuck a matter-of-fact finger up into the air to emphasize the point. “I propose that she’s only into Lotor because he’s the only one who suits her type in the proximity.”
“What about Keith?” Hunk countered, mostly joking. “He’s all of those things, too, right?”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, Hunk,” he said derisively, “Keith isn’t tall.”
Hunk’s face fell flat. “Right,” he deadpanned. “My mistake. Well, what about Shiro, if Keith is out of the equation? He’s all that and a bag of chips, if you ask me.”
“I figure that if she would’ve fallen for Shiro, she would’ve done so at first sight, like anyone else. He's literally the perfect dream guy,” Lance replied. “She’s had plenty of time. So why didn't she?"
Hunk blinked at him. "Um... because isn't Shiro gay?"
"Yes. I think Allura is intuitive enough to be able to sense something like that - having no chance of her feelings being reciprocated, I mean - and would adjust accordingly. Besides, she was much stiffer back before he went missing. She probably would've ruled it 'fraternizing' or something and repressed any feelings 'til they disappeared."
“But then shouldn’t that same thing apply to you?” Hunk asked.
“Whaddaya mean?” Lance spun around, nothing but confusion written on his face. "I don't follow."
Take your pick, he wanted to say. Hunk shook his head. “Never mind. What about you, then? You were the first person she met after being in cryogenic sleep for 10,000 varga. She literally fell into your arms like some kind of fairytale. She had plenty of time to fall for you too, before we even knew Lotor existed, but she didn’t.”
“That’s because she didn’t take me seriously,” Lance said frankly. “Not until after Shiro disappeared.”
Hunk wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t help but wince. "Aw, Lance..."
Lance noticed his dismay and nodded. “I know. But when Shiro vanished, Keith had to move up in his place, and I had to move up in his. I finally became someone she could see."
“Lance, this is…”
“I know,” Lance said understandingly. “Sad but true.” To put it mildly. “But when all that stuff happened, I had to put her on the back burner for a while so I could keep Keith from losing his mind. I think she noticed that I kinda snubbed her a little in favor of keeping Keith sane, so when he left she subtly inserted herself into the hole he left behind when Keith left to work with the Blades.”
Now that was interesting. “Keith left a hole behind?” Hunk asked.
Lance bit his lip and didn’t answer.
“In… what, the team? In… you?”
“Er… yeah? No. I dunno.” Lance turned away, waving an arm dismissively. “That was mostly a metaphor, Hunk. Focus up.”
Mostly, he says. “Y-yeah, sure. So, anyways…?”
"Right. Where was I..." Lance continued his thoughtful pacing. He was right back to looking unfazed, calculated and thoughtful. “Oh, yeah. As I was saying, I believe Allura is only into Lotor because the best other alternative - that being moi - doesn't currently fit the archetype she’s after. So that means that I need to become what she’s looking for. Which is precisely why I’ve come up with this brilliant plan!”
“Right. The plan,” Hunk said flatly. He didn’t bother hiding his disdain. “Lance, I really don’t think that it’s a good plan."
“And why not?” Lance whined. “All of my plans are good!”
"You've had some good plans before - shoot, you've even had some great ones - but this? This ain't it, man."
"Why not? What makes you so against it?"
“You shouldn’t have to change who you are in order for someone to like you back,” Hunk said, gently but firmly. “You know that.”
Lance’s step faltered, and he slowed down to a stop, facing the doors to his quarters. “Y-Yeah, but..."
Now they were cooking. “Trying to turn yourself into some... bad boy rebel isn’t a healthy goal,” Hunk continued. “You like your dad and your family. You're fine with following rules. Well, most of the time. When you don't feel like causing chaos. And sure, you've got a couple carry-on bags, but it doesn't dominate your character. And none of those things are bad. You’re not like Prince Lotor or Keith, and that's an awesome, wonderful thing! I don’t think I could be BFFLs with Lotor like I am with you. And Keith is great, of course, but he’s no you, you know?”
"..." Lance's hands fell from their clasp at his back, dropped to hang limp at his sides.
Hunk looked down at his hands in his lap, watched his thumbs as he twiddled them together. “I know you think Allura is what you want,” he started, softly, a little sadly. "But if you think that you need to go to all these lengths just to get her to notice that you exist, then she’s not what you need."
More silence. Lance's hand clasped over his shoulder, then slid down his arm to grip at his arm, fingers curling into the fabric.
Then he finally turned. The mask of bravado had slipped. He just looked hurt: his mouth was carved into a deep frown, there was a deep wrinkle between his knitted brows, and the gray in his eyes really stood out, like rain puddles on sidewalks than tide pools.
Regret simmered in Hunk’s belly like poison. “Aw, Lance... I’m sorry."
Lance’s voice came small and hesitant, like a baby bird leaving the nest for the first time. “It’s okay.”
Hunk sat up and spread his arms for a hug.
Lance automatically took a step, but jerked as he quickly stopped short. He swayed between his feet for a moment, eyes shifting indecisively between Hunk and the floor.
Then, he broke out of his hesitation and shuffled over, socks sliding across the floor. He turned and took a careful perch on the edge of the mattress, then leaned into Hunk's side.
Hunk immediately wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him in closer. “I didn’t mean to upset you, buddy."
“I know you didn’t.” Lance wilted, shoulders sinking as he let out a deep sigh.
“I just care. I don't want to see you delude yourself."
“I know, big guy. And I appreciate it."
“I’ll always care, Lance. That’s what BFFLs are for, right?” Hunk smiled down at him.
“Right. BFFLs.” Lance drew away and smiled back, genuine, but sadder, more lopsided.
They sat in ambient quiet for a few dobashes, Lance’s leg anxiously bouncing providing the sole noise in the room.
“Hey,” Hunk eventually said.
“Yeah?”
“While we're on the subject,” Hunk said, “I hear Keith hates key lime yogurt.”
Lance blinked at him, seemingly surprised. Then, he sighed and shook his head. "I never thought I'd say this about Keith, but... finally. Someone with taste around here."
“Princess Allura, will you marry me?”
“Oh, Lotor, you bad boy! Of course I will!”
Lance opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by a kaleidoscope of bleary pastels, running into smears like watercolor paint.
He glanced around in bewilderment, and colors began to retreat back into the shapes they bled from. The golden-pink sun sat just over the horizon, the pale green sky, the streaks of wispy lavender across it; the rolling field of rolling pink juniberry hills they were in the middle of, the deep royal blue of the cape clasped at his throat with a silver pin, everything.
He looked back over as something in his periphery took figure.
Allura looked like a cloud in her wedding dress, all breezy organza and tulle. She held a large bouquet of juniberry blooms, the same kind as the one tucked behind her ear. There was a tiered crown resting on her head, and her scales were radiating soft light onto her face, glowing like a blush, putting pink spots in her eyes. She looked happy, despite how overly poofy she was.
Meanwhile, her beau was dressed in ceremonial Altean armor, spiffed up to perfection, from the brooch pinning the cape to his shoulder to the tips of his boots. His own long hair was twisted into a braid, woven with the same kind of flowers in Allura's bouquet, and he too had a crown, less impressive than hers but still obviously royal.
Lotor reached up to cradle Allura’s face in his hands, stroking the pad of his thumb over the curve of her cheek. She leaned into his palm fondly and smiled lovingly, bringing her own hand up to cover his.
The priestess raised her arms in a theatrical arc of motion, great sleeves of billowing white silk pooling around her elbows. “You may now kiss your bad boy prince!”
“Oh, how I’ve waited for this day to come!” Allura swooned, falling forward into Lotor’s arms. “Ever since I was a young girl, all I’ve wanted was to find a tall, dark, handsome, rebellious prince with a secret heart of gold. And now that I’ve married you, the man of my dreams, my life is now complete!”
“Oh, Allura,” Lotor replied, taking hold of her waist and twisting, dipping her down toward the ground. “I was born with two purposes in life: to put a stop to my father’s reign, and to love you. And now that both reasons for me living have been fulfilled, I can now die a happy man!”
“How about you kiss me instead, you handsome devil?” Allura challenged with a roguish grin.
“Yes, my queen!” Lotor bent down and kissed her like his life depended on it. Allura threw her arms around his neck and returned it with all she had, pouring every ounce of passion and love in her being back into him.
Lance opened his mouth to protest – shouldn’t they have asked for objections first?! – but, instead, he found himself clapping along with the rest of the faceless crowd. He was happy for them - they both deserved happiness, after all the pain they'd endured, and he was glad they could finally find it in each other now that the war was over.
Besides, he'd worked too hard on this wedding to ruin it with any formalities like objections and holding your peace and whatnot!
Lotor swung Allura back up onto her feet, and the two waved to the cheering crowd.
Allura beamed over at Lance, radiating pure joy and delight. She raised a hand and blew him a grateful kiss.
An errant beam of dying sunlight glinted off of her brand new ring and seared his eyes. Lance raised his hand up to shield his eyes from it, blinking madly.
As he warily lowered his hand again, testing to see if the intense light had faded, he jumped. No longer was he standing on the edge of the dais in the middle of the juniberry fields.
Now, he was standing in the ballroom of the Castle of Lions. There were curious floating orbs suspended in the air, casting everything in a beautiful golden haze. There was a crowd surrounding him - he could pick out various aliens that they'd encountered, like stubby little Arusians, willowy Olkari, four-armed Unilu, even DeviantArt OC adjacent DavDabHau - but he couldn’t distinguish any specific faces.
The lights became smashed into sharp, astigmatic fractals, and Lance felt motion sick when he looked around.
Suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder. “Lance?”
Lance spun around to see Keith, handsomely backlit by the glow coming through the balcony doors, regarding him with a wrinkle of concern between his brows.
“Keith!” He coughed to cover up his fright and casually leaned back against the balcony railing behind him. “Hey, what’s up, man?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Keith replied, stepping up to his side. He folded his arms on the marble railing and leaned on them. “Hunk told me you were out here. What’s the matter, have too much of Coran’s nunvil?”
Lance shook his head. “Nah. Just wanted some fresh air. Felt cooped up." He craned his head back to look up at the sky of Altea'asir, now a swathe of brackish green studded with stars that glittered like the beads on Allura's wedding dress. Wait... when did he get outside? That weird feeling roiled in his belly again.
Shaking his head, he turned and bent to lean on his folded arms next to Keith, pressing their shoulders together. “What’s your excuse? Too cool to dance, tough guy?”
Keith smirked back at him. “You got me. Gotta maintain my bad boy reputation, y’know. Can’t have people knowing I vaguely know how to salsa."
“What, embarrassed of my teaching skills?” Lance teased. He leaned away and draped a hand across his forehead, pretending to faint. “Ay, and I thought those dance lessons meant something to you! Keith, how could you?”
“It’s not you, it’s me,” Keith assured, putting his hand on Lance’s back. “Please try to understand. If people see me getting led around on the dance floor by a guy half a foot shorter than me, then they might think they can cross me without getting stabbed."
Lance laughed. "We can't have that, can we?" he joked back. Then, something occurred to him. "Hmm."
Keith tilted his head at him. "What?"
"Oh nothing. Just... you are taller than me, aren't you?" Lance squinted at him. "When did that happen?"
Keith shrugged. "Somewhere along the way, I guess." He arched a critical brow at Lance. "What? Doing some reminiscing?"
"No, I just... genuinely don't remember when that happened."
"What, miss your edge over me?" Keith teased. "It was just two inches, Lance. I think it's time to let it go."
Lance frowned instead of answering the jab, scanning him up and down. His eyes landed on Keith's cheeks, where dark stripes of purple curved around his jaw and ran down into the collar of his ceremony garb.
On instinct, he reached out and traced one with his fingertips.
Keith’s breath stuttered as Lance’s fingertips traced down his neck, stopping at the collar of his dress shirt. His eyes were wide as he stared down into Lance's.
"Where did you get these?" Lance questioned.
"You..." Keith shut his eyes, took a bracing breath through his nose, and moved away from him, backing out of reach. “Are you sure you're okay? You're acting weird."
"I'm not acting weird. This is weird."
"What is?"
"All of it. The wedding, the party, you..." Lance put a hand on Keith's broad chest. "When did you change so much?"
"I told you, somewhere along the way." Keith reached up to tug at Lance's wrists. He gave them a squeeze. "You must have had more nunvil than you let on."
“No. I haven't touched nunvil since that time on Arus. Before the thing with Sendak." Lance gazed up into the cool gray tones of Keith’s eyes. In this light, they looked purple, shifting tones of dusky indigo. “I think I’m just dreaming."
"Dreaming?" Keith's face swam, from this older version of him with the stripes - Galra marks? - to the current version of him, the one Lance knew, still soft in the cheeks and frowny, and two inches shorter.
"I must be. Keith would never, ever let me touch him like this." Lance reached for his face again, pads of his fingers skating over the purple stripes.
Dream Keith - Future Keith? Ideal Keith?? - smiled sadly. "Do you want him to?" He covered Lance's hand with his own and tilted his face into his palm, eyes fluttering shut like he wanted to relish the feeling.
The question struck him. "N-no? I dunno. No."
Dreamy Keith (oops! try again) Dream Keith cracked his eyes back open, long black lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. "That couldn't be any less convincing."
Lance flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, whatever." He tried to tug his hand away. "Let me go, mullet."
Dream Keith tightened his grip. He pulled Lance's hand down and pressed his palm to his chest, then covered it with his own. No heartbeat pounded under his palm. "Why are you still kidding yourself?"
"Stop!" Lance barked at him, growing testy. He squirmed in Keith's grip. "Let go!"
"You and Keith are partners. Equals. You'll never be able to have that with Allura."
"We're not equals. Not anymore. When we lead the team, sure, but then he left," Lance spat. He finally tore his hand away and sharply turned his back on Dream Keith, tightly crossing his arms across his chest. "He left. Just like always."
"And why do you think that hurt you so bad?"
"I told you, I don't know!"
"Can't you just face it?" A hand roughly spun him around. Holding him still by the biceps, Keith moved in closer, eyes glowing violet, glittering with red and blue stars. "Really think about it, Lance. Why are you dreaming about him? What about Allura? Don't you love her?"
Suddenly, the fight in him deflated, leaving him hollow and empty. "I do. I do."
"Do you, though?"
Lance hung his head, just to be able to escape Keith's gaze. "I thought I did..."
Keith's grip on him relaxed. "But..?"
"But..." Lance swallowed and looked down at the lines on his palm. He flattened it to his own chest, over where his heart was beating against the back of his sternum, and closed his eyes in resignation. "Not like this." He forced himself to look up, and met Keith's eyes.
Dream Keith's face eased, his intensity dimming. He brought his hands up, one caressing Lance's face. The other, he gently brushed Lance's hand away from his chest and replaced it with his own.
His face softened with reverence and understanding, and the stars in his eyes twinkled when he looked into Lance's.
"Not like this?" he asked in a breath.
Lance looked up into the other's eyes, then skittishly glanced back down at their feet. With a shaky breath, he shuffled in closer, close enough to breathe the same air. "No," he whispered back. "I thought she was what I wanted. Ever since I first met her. But it's... she's never... she hasn't made me feel like he has."
He looked back up. Keith's eyes gleamed like the ether, marvelous and grandly intoxicating. "Hunk was right. She isn't what I need."
Keith smiled gently. "About time you realized, sharpshooter."
Lance smiled back. "Yeah. Sorry it took so long, samurai."
Keith's eyes crinkled at the nickname. The stripes on his cheeks had disappeared, and he'd blinked back to regular Keith, still soft in the cheeks and frowny, and still two inches shorter. "You know you don't ever have to be sorry with him."
The hands on Lance’s hips moved, sliding back to clasp together at the small of his back. Keith smiled up at him sweetly, a little shyly, shaggy bangs falling in his eyes. His lashes lowered, lids shuttering his eyes, and he moved in.
Lance gulped around his heart in his throat, and leaned in back. He slipped his eyes closed, and when warm air ghosted over his mouth, he stopped, hovering on the precipice. "What do I do after this? When I wake up..?"
Air puffed across his mouth. "You're a Red Paladin, aren't you? Let instinct guide you."
And then warm, dry, ghostly pressure fitted to his lips.
Lance shot up in bed with a gasp, heart hammering in his chest.
The only sound in the room was his heavy breathing, and the confused squeaking of four sleepy, confused and irritated space mice squirming in his lap as they were disturbed by his sudden movement.
Lance swallowed and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.
With the other hand, he brushed his fingertips across his burning face, then lightly touched his lips, still warm and tingling.
“Uh-oh.”
Chapter 2: How To Become A Bad Boy
Summary:
UNDER CONSTRUCTION!!
being reworked to be less cringe. xoxo
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The time for Keith to go out on another mission with the Blades eventually came.
And just like every other time, it felt like it came far too soon.
Only been a few movements had passed since the last one, and they’ve accomplished a lot since then. But apparently, Kolivan needed Keith for some important tracking mission - something about some kind of weapon that a prominent Galra warlord was cooking up.
He’d be gone for about two movements, if things went well - or for all eternity, if things went poorly. Which tended to happen whenever Keith was involved. But meh - who was keeping track?
He'd already had his see you later's with Shiro (the latter wasn't too keen on goodbyes these days; they felt too final, too binding), so there was only the matter of the others.
“Have a safe voyage." Allura stepped up to him and wrapped him up in an embrace. "Return to us safe and in good health.”
"Thanks, Allura." Keith patted her on the back, then smiled at her as she withdrew.
Pidge strode up to him next. "If you can't manage 'safe and in good health', then 'in one piece' will do just fine," she said, patting him on the arm.
Keith snorted. "I'll try my best." He reached out and ruffled her hair. "Thanks, Katie."
Pidge hissed - literally hissed, like a cat - and shoved his hand away. She sulked as she fixed her glasses and smoothed her hair out.
Hunk cleared his throat and stepped out of formation next. In his hands he clutched a pack. "You mentioned that you ran out of snacks last time, so I made sure to pack you lots of extras," he explained as he held out the bag.
Keith took it - and immediately regretted it. It plunged like Hunk had dropped a steel anvil into his arms. "Wow. I can tell," he wheezed out, strained with the effort of keeping it off the floor.
Hunk reached out to help him, lifting the deceptively heavy bag with ease. "But if you run out this time, don't be afraid to call. I'll send you a care package! And I don't care how much postage costs! I'll even deliver it myself, if I have to." He gave Keith a big dimply smile.
Keith's heart warmed, and he returned the smile with one of his own. "Thanks, Hunk."
"Of course, buddy." Hunk opened up his arms, paused to give Keith time to signal a pass, then engulfed Keith in a hug of his own. "Stay strong out there, OK? Again - I'm always a call away."
Keith wound his arms under Hunk's and tried to squeeze him back with half as much warmth and joy.
"Me as well, Number Four," Coran piped up from his place beside Allura. "I'm always available, no matter the hour!"
He paused, his expression turning oddly somber. "Actually - try not to ring between two and three. That's my Special Private Alone Time." Then he brightened up again. "But any other time, feel free!"
Keith gave him a slightly unnerved nod. "Uhh. Noted. Thanks, Coran."
He broke eye contact with the advisor and looked around at the ring of people gathered to send him off. He fidgeting uneasily, as if something was missing - or rather, someone.
A pointed cough came from behind him. Speak of the devil...
Keith whirled around and brightened at the sight of Lance, standing between Allura and Pidge, arms crossed and hip cocked out.
“There you are,” Keith greeted brightly. “I was wondering where you were hiding.”
"Yeah, well, somebody had to make sure Prince L'oreal wasn't up to anything shady while we were all out here," Lance huffed.
Allura sent him a disapproving look. "Lance, you really needn't monitor him as you are. He's our ally."
Lance raised a hand. "Agree to disagree, Princess. But that's a discussion for another time." He put his hands on his hips and arched his brows at Keith, looking nonplussed. "Do I get a goodbye too, or are you in such a big hurry?"
“Oh, I dunno..." Keith idly strolled over and stopped a pace away from him. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one leg, looking up at the ceiling in pretend thought. “I really do need to get going. If the rift closed and I got locked out, they'd probably kick me out of the Blades. That would be so embarrassing."
Lance tsked. "So embarrassing."
“Buuuut,” Keith continued with a grin, “I guess I can spare a few tics for my biggest fan.”
"Biggest fan?" Lance scoffed. "You wish. 'Biggest critic' - take it or leave it."
Keith laughed. "If I must." He stepped forward, spreading his arms.
In an instant, Lance's smile was wiped off his face. He stepped back as Keith advanced, and held up a hand.
“I,” he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, “um. I'm good, thanks."
"You're... good?" Keith asked. His eyes flitted down to his arms, still dumbly opened up for a hug. "So... no hug?"
"Nah! But, uh..." Lance held out a hand. "How about one of these? Can't go wrong with a nice, bracing handshake, eh?"
A little shaken, a little stung, Keith dropped his arms back down to his sides. His cheeks blazed with awkwardness. “Um... OK." He clasped Lance's hand.
Lance's grimace-smile pulled even tighter. He gave Keith's hand a singular shake, then snatched his hand back like Keith's palm burned and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Right! Well! Have a nice trip. Hope the mission goes well. Give 'em hell out there."
"Uh. Yeah. Thanks," Keith replied flatly. Did everyone else feel whiplashed by that, or was it just him?
Lance rocked on his heels. "Riiiight... then, see ya in a couple movements."
Keith’s heart sank all the way down to his feet. "Sure."
To keep Lance from seeing the disappointment - annoyance - hurt - bleed onto his features, Keith turned away and headed back toward his ship.
The others' faces came in a wide range of perplexed to taken aback, as he passed them by.
Keith hauled himself and his cargo into his cruiser, and gave them all one last resounding farewell for now before he closed the hatch. They retreated to the airlock, and once they were sealed, Keith sent an open order to the cargo bay doors with shaky fingers.
As he powered up his ship, Keith snuck one last glimpse of Lance, standing at the back of the group within the airlock. His face was unreadable, clouded with some conflicting emotions, but Keith couldn't be sure of which ones. Dejection? Disappointment?
Longing?
Keith’s hands shook on the yoke as he launched from the Castle. Say it with him, folks: quiznak, quiznak, quiznak.
“Lance?”
Lance, in a fatal mistake, glanced back at the sound of his name. “Allura?”
Suddenly, something swiped his legs out from under him. "Woah!" Lance yelped as the world flipped, Princess included.
He hit hard, the floor knocking some of the wind from his lungs. But there was no time to slouch. The gladiator pressed forward and raised its blade to plunge it into him.
Muscles screaming with adrenaline, Lance scrambled off the ground and flung himself out of the way, shouting from the effort.
The gladiator's sword clanged off the floor, and he could feel a rush of air on the back of his neck as the bot smoothly spun to try and nick him in a circle attack.
Lance rolled away, popped up onto his feet, and swiped up his bayard where he'd dropped it.
He spun around just in time and blocked a blow meant for his back, sparks flying as the swords clashed between them. The clang of metal ricocheted through his ears, while the impact tingled down his arm.
But while his wrist ached, Lance grinned. He'd just successfully blocked!
"Impressive guard!" Allura called out.
"Thanks!" But Lance's triumph fizzled out fast. "Now what do I do?!"
The gladiator grabbed his blade with its hand, metal fingers curling around the edge.
"Uh oh," Lance squeaked.
It wrenched the tip of Lance's sword upwards, positioning it nearly vertically, and his blade skidded along the edge of the gladiator's. Their guards hooked together with a loud clack.
"Oh no," Allura solemnly said.
The gladiator neatly spun around, broke his grip, yanked his sword away, and checked him hard with a steely shoulder to the chest.
"OOF!" Lance flew backwards, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He felt himself bounce a couple of times, like a stone skipping on a pond, before he slowly rolled to a stop. He weakly groaned into the floor, and tried to get his jelly arms under him. "Ugh..."
Thudthudthudthudthud-
Lance snapped his head up as the gladiator ran up to him, both its original sword and Lance's bayard raised and ready.
A terrified scream tore itself from his throat, and Lance pressed himself back down to the floor, throwing his arms over his head. "YIELD, I YIELD!!!"
The pounding footsteps stopped.
A tic passed.
Two tics. Three.
After his life finished flickering behind his eyes, Lance cautiously cracked his eyelids apart. He lifted his head, following the length of the gladiator's legs.
But sharp pressure dug into the bridge of his nose, stopping him in his tracks.
Lance crossed his eyes to actually be able to see the deadly end of the gladiator's sword, pointed right at the core of his face.
He wasn't skewered - not actually - but for the purpose of the exercise? Dead. Very, very dead.
With a defeated groan, Lance bonelessly sunk back to the ground. He flipped over onto his back and draped an arm across his face. He waved a hand at the ceiling, then let his arm drop limp to the ground. "End training sequence."
The gladiator stepped back, lowered its guard with a showy spin, then pressed the blade to its forehead. Then, with a flash of Altean teal, it dissolved into apparent nonexistence.
Footsteps, much calmer, less threatening, walked over to him. “Need some help?”
Lance lifted his arm off of his face and found Allura bending over him, hands on her knees, eyes warm with sympathy.
"Yes please," he groaned out, and held up a hand.
Allura clasped his forearm and yanked him onto to his feet.
"Woah!" Lance stumbled, trying to regain balance from being righted so quickly. He caught his footing, but then swayed as blood rushed to catch up to his head. He clutched at his head and winced. "Oush. Somehow I always forget how strong you are."
Allura's mouth curved, amused. "I often forget how not strong you earthlings are," she sympathizes. "Why, none of you can even bench-press the weight of a juvenile xznly squiwl! I surpassed that level when I was a youngling."
"Pfft. Maybe the others can't. But me? If we had a juvenile zinly squiwl here right now, I'd blast that sucker through the roof." Lance flexed.
Allura laughed brightly. "I'm sure." She reached out and rubbed at a scuff on his cuirass. "You have made some marvelous improvements, here recently."
His cheeks prickled with heat. "Really?"
"Really," Allura affirmed, her smile growing wider. "You're shaping up to be a fine swordsman, and an even finer Paladin."
Lance looked away, rubbing at the nape of his neck. "Aw, gee, Princess. You sure know how to flatter a guy..."
"It's not flattery. I truly think that." She brushed something off of his shoulder - space dirt, or what have you. "If you ever find yourself in want of an actual sparring partner, then I would be happy to lend my aid. Or perhaps I could recommend Lotor."
Lance pulled a face. "Bleck. No thanks."
A hint of frustration crept onto Allura's features. "And why not? He's a perfectly adept swordsman."
Lance gestured to her. "You just offered, did you not? I know for a fact you won't stab me in the back. Him - I can't be so sure."
Allura pressed her mouth into a line. "It's unfortunate you still feel that way, after the immense help he's provided us," she said.
"Help, schmelp. His vibes are still weird." Lance cleared his throat and took a step back from her, then loosely crossed his arms. "So, no offense, Princess - this is your castle and all, you can go wherever you want - but did you need something from me?"
“What, I can’t simply swing by and visit my favorite hard-working Paladin without any ulterior motives?” Allura joked.
Lance quirked his brows at that, nonplussed. “Not really, no.”
“Oh.” Allura deflated for a second. "Well, that's... fair."
Her eyes strayed away from his, and she rubbed her arm, looking unusually awkward. Maybe even... ashamed? Guilty?
But then, quick as it came, she shook off whatever momentarily bummed her out and straightened her back up. "Regardless, I do have a matter to discuss with you."
Lance raised his palms in surrender. "If this is about whoever put a 'kick me' sign on Lotor's back, I swear it wasn't me."
"That's not why I'm here. Although that was rather humorous." Allura crossed her arms, mirroring his inquisitive stance. "I'm here to discuss your odd behavior during Keith's departure."
Lance stiffened. "What odd behavior?"
"Oh please." Allura leveled him with a stern look. "In the days before his departure, you normally stick closer to Keith than a flan-bil-diplor burrowed into a klanmüirl's pelt. But you've been avoiding him since his summons arrived earlier this movement. And then you showed up late to his send off, and denied him an embrace in favor of a handshake."
"Yeah? And?" Lance went over to his abandoned bayard to pick it up off the floor. "There's nothing wrong with that. Guys shake hands all the time back on earth."
"Do they? I would not have guessed, considering how liberal you and Hunk are with physical contact," she pointed out. "And you've hugged Keith plenty of times prior. It was jarring to see you divert from the precedent you've set."
Lance straightened back up and rolled his eyes, since his back was facing her. "Well, sorry if it bothered you that much." He dismissed the bayard, 'sheathing' it at his hip, and it too dissolved into light.
"It didn't necessarily." Allura followed him as he made to leave the training hall, easily keeping up with his long strides. "What bothered me is that you snubbed him. Right in front of everyone. Why is that?" She jogged a few steps to catch up and fell into stride alongside him. "Your rapport didn't indicate any sort of recent disagreement... unless you're holding onto some grudge. Are you?"
"No, Princess. No grudge here," Lance insisted.
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing.”
"But something had to've! That encounter was too bizarre for nothing to have happened betweenst you two." A hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him. "Lance, please!"
Lance whirled on her with a snarl. "Allura-"
But his irritation quickly deflated away when he saw her jewel eyes, wide and shimmering with surprise. Has he ever snapped on her like that? He breathed out through his nose and calmed himself. "I swear. Nothing happened."
She furrowed her brows skeptically. "Are you sure?"
"Positive." He reached for her wrist and pulled her hand off his shoulder. "Me and Keith? We're doing just peachy." He cradled her palm in his and patted the back of it reassuringly. "No fight, no disagreement - nothing. We're square. I promise."
Her face pinched in, and those hints of shame and guilt from earlier returned.
"Lance..." she haltingly began. Her gaze flitted down, and she brought her other hand up to cover his on top of hers. "I know I haven't been a good companion to you, of recent - perhaps ever. I do acknowledge that I had... biases in the past, that had me convinced I shouldn't intermingle with you Paladins too closely, lest it jeopardize my authority. And since stepping up to fill your shoes as Blue Paladin, I have done work towards trying to overcome that mindset. But I understand completely if, for that reason, you find it somewhat hard to confide in me as you would Hunk, or Pidge, or even Keith.
"But I'm concerned. We're concerned," she continued. She gave his hand a squeeze. "You haven't seemed like yourself lately."
Oh, you noticed? Resentment soured on Lance's tongue. A brief existential crisis tangled up in his chest like yarn: what does it mean, for me to 'seem like myself'? Who is 'myself' and how do I even go back to seeming like him again? But he forced a smile, squeezed her hand back, and forced an airy tone. "No need to worry about me, Princess."
Allura's features crumpled, and he knew she'd heard that note of bitterness in his voice.
Lance gave up on the facade and pulled his hand away with a sigh. "This isn't something you can really help with, anyways..."
"Why not?" Allura challenged fiercely.
"We seriously didn't have a fight. It's..." Lance looked aside and swallowed thickly. "It's all me."
Allura squinted, her forehead creasing in confusion. "How so?" she pressed, though her voice gentled.
Lance groaned. "Can't we just say I wasn't in a huggy mood that day and be done with it?" he asked, throwing his hands up.
Allura shook her head, hair swaying around her shoulders. She had it loose, for the first time in what felt like ages - like a hallmark from a bygone era. "Not after the precedent you set."
Lance clenched his fist and growled to himself. "That darn precedent..."
Allura stared at him, unwavering.
Lance sagged with a sigh. "Fine. I'll come clean. I got overwhelmed, alright?"
She squinted and cocked her head. "Overwhelmed..?"
“By…” Lance glanced at the back of his gauntlet and gasped. “Oh, shoot, would you look at the time?” He raised his wrist to show her. “I hate to be the bear of bad news, but I’ve gotta head out."
She blinked owlishly at the sudden redirection. "Head out? Where?"
"Uhh, to help Coran. He - he needs my help, with... um... more cleaning."
Allura eyed him like he'd sprouted a second head. "More cleaning?"
"Yeah! Those pods don't de-gunk themselves, y'know." Lance wheeled around and stiff-leggedly walked down the hall, waving to her over his shoulder. "OKgreattalk. Hasta la later!"
"Erm... alright." Allura lamely raised a hand and weakly waved back.
Lance ducked around the corner, practically flinging himself out of sight like he was escaping the gladiator's sword, and took of running, his footsteps pounding down the hall.
Allura stared after him for a moment, then turned to the empty corridor behind her.
"Well," she sighed out, "that got us absolutely nowhere."
Three heads - Coran, Hunk, Pidge, in that order from top to bottom - cautiously peeked from around a conveniently nearby corner.
"You tried your best, Princess," Coran assured her kindly.
"Yeah, you did just fine, Allura. I guess Lance has just learned how to keep his cards close." Hunk stepped out from around the corner and frowned, staring at the ground in deep thought. He sighed deeply, ruefully, woefully. "He's so secretive now... he used to tell me everything."
"Maybe a more direct approach would yield more results," Pidge suggested as she slunk out into view next. She lightly punched Hunk on the arm. "Give him the patented Dr. Hunk armchair sesh. That'll make him see the light, no doubt."
"Hmm... Maybe." Hunk nodded resolutely. "Yeah, OK. Think I'll give it a try."
“So... Lance, buddy."
“Yeah, Hunk?”
"I've got something to ask."
"OK, shoot."
“OK, first promise you won't get mad."
Inside his helmet, Lance bit at the inside of his cheek. "Well, I dunno if I can promise that, pal," he said. "Depends on what you wanna ask."
Hunk's bottom lip poked out. They had visors on, but Lance could swear he saw Hunk's eyes well up. "Promises have conditions now?"
"Oh... well, no, but..." Lance sighed. "OK, I promise I won't get mad."
"Really..?"
"Really. Now, what did you want to ask?"
The waterworks vanished - darn those crocodile tears! - and Hunk sucked in a bracing breath. "What's wrong?"
Lance blinked at him. "What's wrong..? What do you mean?"
"Well, it's just that... You don't talk to me anymore." Hunk looked down at his lap, a deep frown carved onto his face. "You didn't tell me about your plan to woo Allura until after you tried it. That conversation was the deepest talk we've had since before Lotor switched to our side. Since the Lion swap, even! You used to tell me everything - and now you hardly tell me anything."
"Aww, Hunk-" Lance's face crumpled with guilt. "No...no, buddy - it's not like that."
"But it is like that!" Hunk stared at him pleadingly. "I don't mean to guilt trip you or anything, but I just - I don't want you to pull away from me, Lance. You're my best friend."
"You're my best friend too, Hunk." Lance offered a strained smile. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way, pal. I didn't mean to."
"I know you didn't."
"I just..." Lance looked away to check on a sensor as it fed him some readings on some weird asteroid belt nearby. He paused to scan it, just in case, then returned to the conversation. "We've just been so busy. We're swamped with dismantling the Empire, and assembling more allies for the Coalition, and - and-"
He cut himself off with a clipped sigh. "I just feel like my dumb, confusing love life is the least of anyone's worries right now."
Hunk looked horrified. "That's not true! Your problems are just as important as anyone else's."
Lance gawked at him. "Are you crazy?" he asked once he recomposed himself. "My dumb love life is at the bottom of the priority list."
"But the bottom is still part of the list. Just 'cause your troubles might be 'less important' in your eyes doesn't make them unimportant. Your problems still matter - to me, if no one else," Hunk passionately said. "I'm here for you, Lance."
Lance stared at him. Then, he blinked, and tears welled up. "Thanks, Hunk. That... really means a lot to me."
"Of course." Hunk's voice came gentle and understanding. "BFFLs, right?"
"BFFLs." Lance deactivated his visor, reached up to wipe his eyes, then returned his hands to the yoke with a damp sniffle.
"So," Hunk said after the moment had passed, "it is your love life that's bothering you?"
Lance's grip tightened on Red's handles with a resigned sigh. "You could say that."
Hunk's tone bordered on sly. "Which is it? Keith, or Allura?"
"What?" Lance furrowed his brows. "Wait - Keith? - what? What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing. Was just wondering if you'd figured it out yet." Hunk smoothly breezed onto the next subject. "Speaking of Keith, you two aren't fighting or anything, are you? You were super weird at his send off - it was really awkward to watch."
Ah, so Allura roped Hunk in on her little conspiracy. Lance rolled his eyes. "No, we're not fighting. I just wasn't feeling huggy that day."
Hunk arched his brows. "Really?"
"Yes."
"OK. That's weird, coming from you... but I'll take your word for it."
"Finally. Thank you."
"Does it have to do with your bad boy plan? Is it working?"
Lance loosened his grip on Red's controls, suddenly realized that he was gripping them too hard - his fingers were numb with pins and needles. "Yeah, no. There is no more plan."
"Huh? Why not?" questioned Hunk. "I thought all of your plans are good."
"Not this one. It was bad, bad - very bad." Lance pressed Red forward into a faster speed, edging ahead of Yellow where they were flying alongside each other, and swiftly caught up to Blue and Green traveling behind Black on point.
He felt Hunk and Yellow at his heels, a few moments later - making sure he wasn't running away from admitting he was wrong, no doubt.
"OK, so, what did we learn from it?" Hunk asked leadingly.
Lance clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth against reluctance.
"Allura doesn't like me more than a friend and a teammate," he began. "I shouldn't have projected false assumptions onto her. That wasn't fair to her, to reduce her autonomy to her romantic tastes and ignore her personality - just because I don't like Lotor."
"Uh-huh," Hunk droned encouragingly. "And?"
"And even if she did match those standards I put on her, I shouldn't have to radically change myself in order to get validation - that wasn't fair to me, either."
"Very good. And?"
"Um..." Lance paused to think. "Aaand... I shouldn't have pushed Keith into helping my dumb scheme. He was only here for a limited time, and I was selfish for making it all about my pursuit of Allura instead of actually hanging out with him like I should've."
"Excellent! What else?"
"'What else'?" Lance screwed his face up in confusion. "I covered most of it, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but - oh, I dunno. Didn't you... realize anything? Reach some kind of awakening? Anything?" Hunk tried.
"Realize? An awakening?" Lance laughed, a little too shrill and tight to be completely casual. "You lost me."
"Oh, we both know that's not true. You're not lost. Not anymore. I can see it in your eyes."
Hunk leaned in closer, giving Lance the impression of getting right up in his face. "You did realize your real feelings for Keith, didn't you? And you got scared. That's why you snubbed him at the send off committee - that's why you didn't want to hug him, or even get close to him, really. Because you realized why you went to him for the stupid bad boy plan: you think he's attractive, so you wanted to emulate him to further your compulsory heterosexual means."
"What- that's... no! No," Lance stammered.
But Hunk barreled onward. "But finding a boy attractive goes against everything you've ever known - everything you've read in storybooks since you were little - and fear of the unknown is coded in our DNA. So why acknowledge your weird, unfamiliar feelings for Keith - the nature of your rivalry with him and the whole can of worms that go with it - when Allura is right there? A beautiful, powerful princess - a beautiful, powerful woman."
Hunk sheepishly scratched his helmet. "Or, well, woman-adjacent being..? I'm still kinda fuzzy on Alteans and their gender narratives, and you know how Coran goes on so many side tangents that we eventually lose the plot altogether..."
Then, he noticed Lance's deafening silence and unnatural stillness on screen.
"...Lance? Buddy?" He leaned forward to inspect the video screen, checking if it was somehow frozen or not. “Aw, man, did I lose you?"
Lance stayed still, heart jackhammering against the back of his sternum.
"Ugh, it's probably the radioactivity from this dumb asteroid field... Stupid asteroids! We were having an emotional breakthrough!!" Hunk turned starboard and shook his fist.
Heartbeat hammering in his throat, Lance cut Hunk's private channel before he could notice the connection was only a little spotty from the asteroids, not nearly enough to drop out like he assumed. He engaged autoflight and slumped back in his seat, hands going to his helmet.
He dragged his palms down the front of his visor and flattened them to his cuirass, over where his heart was trying to jackhammer its way through the breastplate. He shakily breathed out and shut his eyes, instead focusing on flexing the circulation back into his fingers.
Red reached out to him through their bond, and Lance let him in after only a moment of hesitation.
Red enveloped him, wrapped around him like a cozy blanket. His purring resonated in Lance's bones, warmed him like the heat of a hearth.
He was never that nice to me when I had him. He felt more like... a raging fire. A memory of a chat with Keith echoed in his ear. For some reason, that chased all the chill out of his bone marrow. I guess I broke him in for you - you're welcome.
By the time a beep came, Hunk requesting to open another private channel, Lance felt - somewhat - like himself again.
He responded to the frequency. "Hey."
"Hey, buddy." Hunk tilted his head. "Did you catch any of that?"
Lance sighed and hung his head. "Yes. Why did your mom have to be a therapist?"
Hunk smiled sadly. "Been there, pal."
He put a hand to his head. "What do I do, Hunk..?"
“Talk to Keith,” Hunk offered gently. “When he gets back from this top secret mission he’s on right now, tell him how you feel."
Lance looked up at him, shocked. "What?! No way!"
"Why not?" Hunk challenged.
"Weren't you just talking about how humans have fear of the unknown coded into our DNA, or whatever? There's too many variables!"
"Look, if it helps you feel any better, there are two main ways that this could go." Hunk held up a finger. "Route one: you confess. Keith doesn't reciprocate. You get closure and the ability to move on. Happily ever after." He stuck another finger up. "Or route two: you confess. Keith reciprocates. You two start a relationship, and everything is good. Happily ever after."
Lance's heart fluttered at the concept. He and Keith, and happily ever after? He hadn't even considered what could lay beyond the single-point events his brain concocted at night; he closed that book and hasn't opened it since.
"Uh, no, there are way more routes than that." Lance counted off his own fingers. "I confess, Keith laughs in my face. I confess, Keith stabs me with his knife. I confess, Keith runs me through with his sword. I confess, he beats me up. I confess, he doesn't react at all. I confess, he shows me pity. I confess, he panics and goes along with it, even though he doesn't feel the same, and he strings me along until he can't take it anymore and admits that the past ten years have all been a lie. I confess, he stays with the Blades forever out of sheer awkwardness and never comes back to Voltron, thus putting the universe in jeopardy. I confess-"
"Lance," Hunk cut in. "This is Keith we're talking about. Not some telenovela character. Chill out."
Lance shut his trap, and took a deep, recentering breath. "You're right. God, you're right. Sorry, Hunk. I'm panicking."
"I see. This is worse than the first time you tried to ask out Jenny Shaybon. It's good that you're getting it out of your system now, and now when you're trying to make the play." Hunk tilted his head sympathetically. "But I really don't think there's any reason to be scared. Keith is your friend, your teammate - even if he doesn't reciprocate, he won't stab you, or leave Voltron, or... any of those other crazy things you said."
"Oh yeah? How do you know?" Lance weakly challenged.
Hunk deadpanned. "I just do. You trust me, right?"
Lance wilted. "Yes... with my life."
"Then trust me with your love life, too!" Hunk raised his fists, balled enthusiastically. "You just gotta do it Red Paladin style! Full throttle, no brakes, no overthinking - just gun it!"
Lance gaped at him. "You want me to 'just gun it' on a love confession? I thought you'd be all about romance and junk."
"Well, normally I would be, but this is you and Keith. Gunning it works for you guys more often than not, doesn't it?"
A flood of impulsive, spontaneous scenarios rushed through his head, and Lance felt vaguely sick.
Keith walking down the gangplank of his cruiser; running up to him, getting down on one knee, and proclaiming it for the entire loading bay to hear. Or fly to the Blade base to do much of the same thing. Do it Galra style and fight him in a blood duel, or whatever. Spill his secrets - like he remembers the bonding moment, or that he likes the good old days with Shiro in charge but likes the era of their leadership even more, or that he thinks about calling Keith's private line every time he stays with the Blades just to crack some jokes and get him to laugh - and run before Keith can react. Catch him by the elbow in the hall - open up a private channel during the heat of a mission - say it casually while they're playing video games - swim up to him in the pool, flip him off his floatation device, haul him back up to the surface since he can't tread water super great, provide mouth to mouth resuscitation if needed - blurt it out during a spar, just to catch him off guard, and pin him to the mat when he's thrown off his game - let it flow through their bond to Red - send him a private encrypted message in the middle of the sleep cycle, when the loneliness is eating him up inside...
Heart in his throat at the mere suggestion, Lance sat back in his seat. “Hunk, I think I've rubbed off on you. Because that is a very bad plan."
They were cut off as a beep started, signaling that they were being summoned back to the pride - their little chat was officially over.
"Just think about it, OK?" Hunk encouraged. "Embrace your Red Paladin-ness. And remember: I'll be here for you, even if none of it works out. BFFLs 'til we die, OK?"
Lance strained out a smile. "Right. BFFLs 'til we die."
Whenever Kolivan called you into his private quarters to chat, it was rarely good news.
Every one of the Blades knew that, but Keith knew it better than some. He was called into Kolivan’s room quite often, to be given stern lectures and stricter punishments for disobeying orders.
It was no different than being sent to the principal’s office at the Garrison, which happened just as often. Only, Kolivan was much, much scarier.
Keith arrived at Kolivan’s room far too soon. Every step was an uphill battle with the heavy weight of dread, and even then, it only took him two minutes to walk there – he should’ve taken the scenic route.
He raised his hand up to knock, out of habit, but they slid open at the proximity of his hand. Slightly caught off guard – he’d never get used to not knocking; he’d had to learn to after living with Shiro during the Adam years – he awkwardly cleared his throat and poked his head into the room. “It’s Keith. Vrek said you wanted to see me.”
“In here.”
Keith stepped into the room and traveled through another door, where the office was. A still, cold chill hung in the air, and Keith’s face quickly felt it, the tip of his nose already growing icy.
Kolivan sat behind a wide, utilitarian desk in the back, grim and menacing as ever. He nodded in greeting as Keith approached him.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from the desk.
“Thanks.” Keith sat as commanded, resting his hands in his lap. Kolivan said nothing for a long moment, simply staring at him with those piercing, probing eyes, gazing right through him. Keith tried not to squirm under the intense scrutiny, but he’d been so wired after that weird encounter with Lance on the flight hangar, and the way Kolivan never seemed to blink was rapidly creeping him the hell out.
“So am I in trouble or what?” he finally snapped, after what must’ve been a literal minute of being stared at.
Kolivan finally blinked. “Not as of right now,” he said, folding his hands together atop the desk. “However, that remains to be seen for this next mission.”
“With, er… Krolia, right?” Keith had read the mission report during his trip back here, just to try and distract himself from what had happened with Lance in the shuttle bay, but it had proved ineffective, and only the most basic details had sunk in, like the name of his partner and the operation date. He’d intended to go over it once again tonight, since he’d need to depart tomorrow so he could rendezvous with her by the end of the movement; like cramming the night before a test. “To find out where that unusual quintessence signature is coming from?”
“Indeed,” Kolivan confirmed. “The signature has been detected in an unusually dangerous area of space. According to Krolia, who is already in position on the edge of the quadrant, the area is occupied with dark stars, which are notoriously unstable. It will require peak physical capability, utmost stealth, precise execution of direct orders, and a clear headspace.” His gaze sharpened. “The latter of which you lack.”
Keith grimaced. So that’s where this was going…
Kolivan continued, “Since you arrived here at the end of last quintant, you have been nothing but ill-tempered, moody and preoccupied. For you to remain on this mission, you must place all focus in preparing for it. I do not wanting one of my most valuable operatives getting killed for his own inability to remain unattached.”
Keith gaped at Kolivan. “Are you serious?” he snapped, his shock finally giving way to indignance and anger. “I’m professional enough to put my feelings aside for the sake of the mission! Kolivan, how could you think that? Do you not have any faith in me?!”
“This is not about whether or not I have faith in you, Keith,” Kolivan replied evenly. “How can I not think that you might be emotionally compromised? The members of Team Voltron have always proven themselves to be a most dangerous distraction for you.” Kolivan squinted at him one yellow eye.
Keith froze, his face growing warm despite the chill of Kolivan’s office.
Kolivan went on when Keith failed to respond. “As your superior officer, I must remind you that romantic engagements and liaisons of sexual nature are forbidden among the Blades, with the only exceptions being biological requirements such as mandatory mating cycles. Unfortunately for you, I know that earthlings do not have such requirements, nor do Galra, so you are out of luck if you wished to cover up your inclinations. If you wish to officially pursue a romantic engagement with the blue one, then you must retire your place here.”
“That won’t be a problem, Kolivan!” Keith yelled hoarsely, forgetting to keep his volume in check out of embarrassment. “Sure, I’m into Lance romantically and stuff, but trust me, a… romantic engagement… is not on the table.” He crossed his arms and looked down at his knees, squeezing his upper arm to try and ward off tears. “He’s into Princess Allura, so. Yeah. It won’t be a problem.”
He squeezed his arm tighter, hard enough to hurt, as the sting of tears grew sharper. He'd just insisted that he was professional enough to ignore his emotions - breaking down over his pathetic love life in front of his boss would not only be humiliating, but it would make him a liar, and his pop didn’t raise no liar.
“Keith.” The softness of Kolivan’s voice surprised Keith into looking up. Kolivan still stared at him unblinkingly, but there was a trace of… empathy on his face. His scowl wasn’t as severe, a bit softer than it was a moment ago. “For the record… I apologize that you must feel this way. I know from experience that emotional entanglements only lead to pain, especially for those like us in the Blade. That is the reason why the rule was established in the first place: to attempt to prevent such pain. Yet, despite our best efforts, some things simply cannot be prevented.” He glanced off to the side and stared at nothing for a moment, as if recalling memories from long ago.
That almost sounded comforting. For it to come from Kolivan, that meant a lot. Keith smiled despite the tears threatening to well up.
“I know, Kolivan,” he rasped, voice tight from almost crying. He’d bottled the urge to angry-cry right up once he got in the ship and left the Castle, and the pressure had been building for a week and a half – he was due to erupt soon, and he’d prefer to do that in the privacy of his tiny, cold, cramped bedroom.
“Is that all?” he asked.
Kolivan nodded. “Yes, you may leave now.”
Keith dipped his head. He stood up from the chair and turned to leave the office. He hesitated before he crossed into the main room, and turned back. “Thanks, Kolivan.”
Kolivan nodded in acknowledgment. “You are welcome.”
Keith disappeared into the main room, and exited from his quarters with a swish of the doors. Kolivan sighed once he was in isolation once more, and allowed himself to sag down in his chair, in a rare, unseen moment of exhaustion. “That boy…” he mused, reaching up to rub his temples.
The Blue Paladin was one of the strangest creatures Lotor has ever encountered.
(…or, technically, he was really the Red Paladin, even though he still wore the blue armor for some reason. It was all very confusing, especially since Lance refused to explain it to him.)
Anyway, Lotor’s opinion still stood firm, and only grew stronger with every passing day. Lance was very strange, indeed. A most intriguing specimen, although he’d never met any earthlings before this bunch, so perhaps their strangeness was simply a trait of the species as a whole. Stars know the other earthlings were just as odd as him. The most normal one was Voltron’s enigmatic Blade of Marmora liaison Keith, whose mannerisms, psychology, and demeanor in general was uncannily Galra-like.
Though the green paladin had a startling affinity for crawling through the vents for some reason, and the yellow one often monopolized the kitchen area to commence with a long ritual known as 'stress baking', and the former black paladin still gave him unreasonably creepy vibes for reasons he had yet to decipher, Lotor had yet to find the other earthlings in a situation quite like this.
Sitting on the kitchen floor next to the refrigerator unit, alone, eating snacks late in the quintant was Lance, dressed in a robe with decidedly Altean embellishments, fine patterns woven into the hem, with matching blue pajamas underneath. On his feet were two different shoes, slippers which bore resemblances to like the Red and Blue Lions, respectively. On his hands were black gloves that Lotor had never seen him wearing before, snug and fingerless with a red cuff at the wrist. His bronze-colored face was disconcertingly green, bright green, and atop his head, a towel was tightly twisted, hiding his hair like a damp blue leech. Next to him, on the ground, was a glass of white-colored liquid and fairly large platter of brown, delicious-smelling confections that the yellow paladin had no doubt whipped up – 'brownies', weren't they called?
Lotor stared down at him, full squiwl-in-the-headlights mode.
“Er… might I ask what–“
“No, you might not,” Lance cut him off. He shoved one of the treats into his mouth, and a shower of crumbs fell from his mouth as he spoke next. “Get what you came for and leave, Lotor, I’m busy.”
“You don’t appear to be busy…” Lotor hesitantly observed.
“I am,” Lance insisted, pausing to take a sip of the white-colored drink – Allura had told him it was called 'milk', and it was from that terrifying Earth creature they kept in the lower decks of the castle, the 'cow' called Kaltenecker. “Eating brownies requires a lot of focus for us earthlings, so make like a tree and get out of here, would’ja?”
Lotor squinted down at Lance as he took another ‘brownie’ and chomped off half of it. “Fine, I’ll leave. But, er…why does your face look like… that?”
Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m molting,” he said as if it was obvious.
“Oh. Oh, I-I do apologize, I didn’t realize,” Lotor rushed to say, averting his eyes back to a strange, crudely drawn picture of Voltron hanging on the fridge. Molting was an intensely private affair among many species he’d met, particularly insectoids and reptilians, but in others it wasn’t unheard of, and the last thing he wanted to do is cause trouble here. “Erm. Might I get to the fridge…?”
Lance paused, glancing back over his shoulder, as if just realizing that his position blocked the fridge from being accessed. With a begrudging sigh, he scooted over until his back leaned against the wood of cupboards, granting enough space for him to pass.
“Thank you.” Lotor opened the fridge and sought out a container of flavored colloidal sustenance. 'Key lime', Allura had told him the humans dubbed it.
Suddenly, something occurred to him.
Lotor closed the fridge door, and he looked back down at Lance, befuddled. “Did you just call me by my actual name and not some contrived nickname you pulled out of thin air?”
“Nope,” Lance instantly said. “I don’t even know your name, man. What is it again? Lawrence? Lorenzo? Hm, can’t recall it. Too bad. Oh well, must've not been important.”
Lotor squinted down at him, highly suspicious. Lance avoided eye contact, lacing his fingers together atop his knee, rubbing his thumb over his palm almost soothingly. It occurred to Lotor that, no, his face was not actually green, but it was merely coated in something that smelled intensely of mint from this close.
“Is something wrong? You appear to be in…” Lotor paused, regarding the crumbs in Lance’s lap; the two different slippers; the unusual addition of the weird gloves; the slouch in his posture; the weak, almost forced aggravation in his tone when he was normally strongly disdained by Lotor’s very presence; the fact that he’d just been sitting by himself in the dark, eating those ‘brownies’ for Brodar knows how long. “…rather poor spirits.”
“In this economy? Who’s got good spirits?” Lance rolled his eyes again, heaving an irritated sigh. “No, nothing’s wrong. Now can you go?”
“No, I cannot.” Fully aware that he might be poking a caged klanmüirl with a sharp stick, Lotor placed his sustenance container on the countertop and bent down to Lance’s level, and carefully sat. “What is your problem, my friend?”
Lance shot him an unexpectedly fierce scowl. “Hypothetically speaking,” he began, with the measured patience of someone who was holding back immense irritation, “even if I did have a problem, then what makes you think I’d tell you? In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t trust you. I make it a point to not divulge personal information to people I don’t trust, my friend.”
“That is quite wise of you,” Lotor admitted. Lance recoiled a bit, blinking in surprise. “However good my intentions with you all are, I respect that you do not take that at face value. Regardless, you are one of my few allies, and no matter how much you might dislike me, I always make it a priority to take into account the state of all my allies. And you, my friend, do not appear to be in good condition right now.” He gestured down to Lance’s feet, where identical slippers of two different colors kept his feet warm. “People of sound mind do not wear two different shoes and gloves with no fingers while impulse-eating sweets in the dead of the night.”
“I didn’t want to hurt Blue’s feelings by wearing Red’s slippers,” Lance protested, pulling his feet closer to himself. “And if I was stuck on wearing just Blue’s slippers, then Red would get upset. This was the best compromise.”
“Fair enough, I suppose,” Lotor said, not wanting to question the powerful, otherworldly machines that were somehow quasi-sentient. “But the remainder of that statement still stands. You’ve been like this for nearly two movements now, so sullen and skittish and wholly unlike your usual self. Your companions are all concerned for you, clearly - Allura, especially, has been quite worried."
Lance shrugged and looked away, absentmindedly tugging on his gloves once more. "Well, there's nothing for her to worry about. I'm fine."
Something occurred to Lotor, miraculously and out of nowhere, appearing in the obscure back corner of his mind as he glanced down at the gloves on Lance’s hand. He chased it this time, and as he grew nearer, it solidified around the memory of those gloves, familiar on someone else’s hands...
“Your friend Keith is supposed to be returning tomorrow," Lotor remarked. "You two are incredibly close, are you not? Are you not excited to see him once more, after two movements?”
Lance stiffened at the mention of Keith. "I am," he said, defensive.
"Then why are you not in your usual high spirits?"
Lance didn’t reply, biting his lip pensively. Lotor watched him wage war with himself, a battle playing out over his expression. Finally, the stubbornly mistrustful side of him seemed to surrender, and Lance heaved a defeated sigh.
“’Cause I have something to tell him.” He laced his fingers together in his lap and turned his hands over, thumb stroking reverently over the worn leather of his gloved palm. Even from profile, his expression grew vulnerable, with a soft, sad kind of fear that brokered the acceptance of an inevitable conclusion. “And it’s gonna ruin everything.”
Lotor suddenly realized what this was all about.
“Oh,” he couldn’t help but say.
Lance, someone who seemed physically incapable of staying silent, remained quiet.
Lotor shifted. Then, shifted again. Fidgeting nervously, he toyed with the pull-tab of the lid on his flavored colloidal sustenance. "I," he reluctantly began, "am an expert in many fields. Xenobiology, Altean anthropology, linguistics, pragmatism and leadership, empirical research, politics, stratagem, battle tactics, combat... And I'm certainly no slouch in a variety of other fields, to add. Ten-thousand decapheobs of life affords one a lot of time for education. I'm highly accomplished, in every sense of the word."
Lance shot him a dirty look. "If bragging about your accomplishments is your idea of making me feel better..."
Lotor shook his head. "No, no, that isn't what I meant." He tilted his head back to look helplessly at the ceiling. "This is the point I was attempting to make. Despite my many, many strong points-"
"Like your modesty," Lance interjected, brimming with sarcasm.
"...I could never grasp the nuances of interpersonal sociology beyond a fundamental level," Lotor confessed. He let out a humorless laugh. It, so bitter-sounding, made Lance's glare soften into something sad and sympathetic. "I will not go into the sordid details. However, to say that relationships, romantic or otherwise, are slightly beyond me... well, it would be quite a drastic understatement."
He turned to regard Lance, whose face had gone gentle, soft with sympathy.
"But you... your connections are steadfast, and permanent, and that extends to your friend Keith," he continued. "I doubt that there's anything in the multiple universi that you could say that would ruin anything about your relationship - including what I highly suspect it is that you're fretting over. That's easy to distinguish, even for a... interpsonally-challenged individual like myself, to see."
Lance blinked, then blinked again.
"Wait," he said. "Is the plural of 'universe' seriously universi? Because that sounds fake, but I don't know enough about universes to dispute it."
Lotor rolled his eyes. “If you truly believe that this is going to ruin anything about you two, then my intial assumptions about just how foolish you are will be correct. But that’s no surprise.” Lotor chuckled. “Love is blind, I suppose… At least you are rather humorous when you try to be.”
Lance curled his lip at the sudden turnaround in Lotor's support. “Okay, see, this is why I don’t like you, man,” he complained, getting to his feet. He bent down to pick up the platter of brownies and the glass of milk, and then straightened back up to scowl down at Lotor. “I came here to have a late night breakdown in peace, not to be insulted by a guy who’s too scared to go near a cow.”
“Of course I’m afraid to go near it!” Lotor exploded, clambering up to his feet to protest better as Lance turned away, chin raised haughtily. “All it does is stand there, watching me with those big, dead black voids you call its eyes! Who knows what it knows and what it's capable of doing with all the sinister knowledge it accrues!”
“Hey, don’t feel bad, man,” Lance cooed, turning back to pat his shoulder condescendingly. “Allura still likes you, even though you're a jerk who's too wussy to go near a harmless Earth cow.” He raised his chin. “But, hey, at least love is blind, right?"
Lotor rolled his eyes. “Alright. Perhaps I deserved that.”
“Maybe just a little,” Lance snickered. He grabbed a decorative napkin and placed three more brownies onto it, then recovered the platter of brownies in a sheet of shiny, crinkled foil, taking care to seal the edges. He pushed it back to its original spot and turned back to Lotor. He squinted up at Lotor, as if considering something. “Y’know… maybe it’s just really late and I need to get to sleep, or maybe I’m just losing it, but… consider yourself initiated.”
Lotor, confused, cocked his head. “I… beg your pardon?”
“For helping me feel better? You’re initiated.” Lance bowed his head. “Congrats on passing the sali-fee. I now officially accept you as an ally of Voltron.” He raised his eyebrows rather loftily. “Feel honored.”
“Oh, thank you, I do indeed!” Lotor paused in his excitement. “Although, did you not mean the sah-lii-fuerl…?”
“I said that.”
“No, I’m fairly certain you said–“
“Don’t push your luck, Lucario.”
“Right. Apologies.”
Lance turned his head away and yawned. “Well, I’ll leave you to your gross yogurt now. I’ve gotta go wash this stuff off my face,” he said. He turned to leave, but paused at the last second, turning around to face him once more, a menacing glint in his eye. “If you tell anyone about what transpired here…” He trailed off, letting his hand drift down to his throat, and flattened his hand to mime slicing it, then pointed back to him.
Lotor zipped his lips. “You have my word.”
“Great.” Lance grabbed his brownies and milk, then turned to depart from the kitchen. “See ya, Lotor.”
“Good night, Lance. And good luck in your endeavors for tomorrow.”
The lights went dim once Lance traveled down the hallway and out of range. Lotor turned to the platter of brownies, now sitting by itself on the counter, covered. He pulled it toward him and peeled the foil off, and carefully took a brownie for himself. He glanced around before taking a bite, and his face lighting up was enough to brighten the entire dark kitchen.
Knock knock knock.
Lance jumped at the unexpected sound of a knock on his door. His arm jerked in panic, nearly making him touch his forehead with the sizzling hot hair straightener. He grimaced at the thought and carefully moved the iron away from his head. “It’s open!” he yelled, leaning over to nudge the manual close on the door with his elbow, then turned back to the mirror to straighten out the rest of his wavy hair.
Through the door came the muffled sound of the doors opening, then footsteps. “Lance?”
Lance froze. “K-Keith?” he squeaked out. “You’re… back early!”
“Yeah, my mission didn’t go so well. It was too dangerous, we had to back out or else risk being destroyed by space-time drop-offs. Kolivan gave me the week off, since it was such a close mission.” There was another three-toned knock, and then Keith’s voice piped up again, closer than before, practically right next to him. “Are you busy right now…?”
Lance nearly dropped the hair straightener in panic, and fumbled to catch it. “N-no, I’ll just be–“ Hot pain seared through his fingers as he accidentally grabbed the hot end. He dropped it fast as lightning, clutching his hand to his chest. “Ow! Sonofa–”
The hot iron clattered onto the sink then fell to the ground, and took everything he had on the counter off with it. As his gel mousse and rejuvenating serum met unfortunate ends all across the bath rug, Lance dove to rescue his hair drier from a watery death in the toilet, and his metal can of hairspray clattered into the sink, racketing around in the basin and creating the loudest noise in the universe.
The metal can finally stopped rattling around. Lance allowed himself to stop cringing and cracked open one eye.
“What was that? Lance, are you okay in there?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine!” he choked out, moving back to lean against the closed doors. “I’m, uh, pretty busy right now! Real busy– real, real busy, Keith! Can I, uhh, take a rain check, catch up with you tomorrow? This’ll take me all day, a-and I don’t wanna keep you waitin’ or nothin’.”
“Uh… sure, okay. Just don’t knock yourself out in there...”
“I won’t! Thanks!”
Hand still clutched to his chest, Lance listened close as Keith’s footsteps walked away from the bathroom, fading into obscurity and leaving him with the pounding beat of his own excited heart.
As soon as the doors swooshed shut, Lance rushed over to the sink and pulled the hairspray out of the basin, cranking on the cold water and sticking his stung fingers underneath. He hissed out as many curse words as he dared, just to vent out the pain.
Lance looked up at himself in the mirror. “Just jump right in…” he muttered. “Yeah, right.”
“Hey.”
“What’s up, mullet?”
“Hey, so– wait, what happened to your hand there?”
“Oh, this? Just a little burn. Nothing worth a healing pod.”
“Oh. Well. Glad it’s not any worse.”
“Yeah, really! Oh, wait – ooh, I just remembered, Coran asked me to help him update and re-alphabetize the first half of the recognized lifeform index, exus through mai-ox. I totally forgot that was today, shoot. I’m running super late, I hope he’s not mad at me. I’ll have to catch you some other time… unless you want to come with me and help, I mean.”
“Uh, no, no thanks, that’s cool. I’ll just find you later.”
“Great! See ya later.”
“See ya…”
“Hey, Lance.”
“Hey, Keith.”
“Are you busy right now?”
“Actually… yeah, I am. Pidge is waiting for me in Red’s hangar. She’s gonna help me fix some of the sensors that got totally fried in the whole Omega Shield incident. Pluuus I need to buff out some dents and scratches on Red’s armor, and maybe give him a manicure or something. Gotta give him the pampering he deserves, right?”
“Right. Well, I’ll catch you later then.”
“For sure. Later, Keith!”
“Later.”
“Shiro, this might be a silly question, but… have you seen Lance?”
“No, I haven’t seen him. Sorry. Why, are you looking for him?”
“Actually, yeah, I am. I’ve been meaning to talk to him about something.”
“Well, if I see him, I’ll tell him to come find you. I’ll even make it an order, if you want me to.”
“Thanks, Shiro.”
“Sure thing.”
“Lance."
Lance didn’t even look up from his comm. unit. “One sec,” he said, flat and unfocused.
It appeared that he was playing one of the little pre-installed games that came with it, the one that was basically Bejeweled but the colors of them gems are all weird and mixed up. Apparently, on Altea, diamonds were chartreuse.
He seemed like he was doing pretty well, getting on up there in levels, making all the high scores… which sucked when Keith bent down and snatched it out of his hands.
“Hey!” Lance jumped up from the couch and scrambled up onto the raised area around it. “What gives?!”
“Are you finally gonna look at me now?” Keith snapped, turning away from Lance as the boy reached for it, draping himself over Keith’s back and trying to stretch his long, gangly giant arms to grab it. Keith twisted his body down and away to keep it out of reach, digging his elbow into Lance’s chest to push him back when fingers grabbed his wrist. “Or are you just gonna keep ignoring me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Lance hissed in his ear, shifting up onto his tiptoes to try and make it that extra inch to the comm. device. “Come on, man, I’ve got a really long streak going!”
They froze, their struggle halting at once as the comm. chirped with the familiar sound of losing: You lose! You lose! You lose! Lance groaned at the sound of the loss, loud and obnoxious right in his ear, and went limp right on top of him.
Keith nearly buckled under the sudden deadweight. “You mean you had a streak,” Keith managed to grunt out. He finally managed to shove Lance off of him, practically throwing him off.
“Yeah, I wonder what happened,” Lance sneered.
Keith let his lip curl, and held it out for him to take back, refusing to kindly offer it back. “Way to almost win on super easy mode, by the way. Isn’t that meant for, like, Altean babies?”
Lance snatched it from him. “What your damage, Keith?” he yelled, throwing his hands up.
“Tell me yours first!” Keith demanded. “I’ve been back for four days now and you’ve been avoiding me the entire time!”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Lance leered, shoving the comm. into his back pocket. “If you think I’m giving you some kind of special treatment, then get off your high horse.”
“I know you’re treating me differently! Don’t try and play this off like it’s nothing!” Keith snarled. “Every time I enter the same room as you, or get near you, or make eye contact with you, or whatever, you make up some dumb excuse and run away. Sometimes, I don’t even get the courtesy of an excuse, you just leave. I deserve an explanation as to why I’m being ghosted out of nowhere!” Keith folded his arms and mustered up his best scowl. It was hard to really be mad at Lance these days, but it was easier when he thought about how Lance had very clearly been making an effort to stay away from him. “What did I do to piss you off so bad?”
“I’m not pissed off at you.” Lance narrowed his eyes. “Or, at least, I wasn’t until now.”
“Then why do you keep running from me?” Keith lashed out.
“Nothing. I’m not running from you.”
“Sure could’a fooled me, Lance.”
“Keith, I’m not running from you.”
“Oh, get off your high horse.” Keith seethed. “That’s crap and you know it. If you’re not running from me, then what are you doing? Playing some kind of game where I’m supposed to catch you? Like, are you playing tag or something? ‘Cause I think everyone involved is supposed to know what they’re playing.”
“I’m not playing anything,” Lance said through gritted teeth.
“Then what’s your excuse?! If you’re not mad, and if you’re not playing some weird mind game with me, then why don’t you want to hang out with me anymore?!”
Lance’s lip curled at his despair. “It’s called ‘not being desperate’, Keith, you should give it a try sometime.”
Realization slammed into Keith with the subtlety and force of a high-speed freight train. “Oh my God,” he breathed, all of the anger stripped from his voice, replaced by disbelief. “Were you… were you playing hard to get with me…?”
Lance stiffened. “No! Why would I ever…?!”
“You totally were, weren’t you?” Keith continued, as if Lance hadn’t spoken. “You stole my strategy, just like you said you would, and now you’re using it against me to get back at me – to torture me, to drive me crazy, like how you think I did to you. After all, that’s the whole game, isn’t it?” He let out a manic laugh. “Well, good job, Lance. Awesome. You did it. You’ve got all the cards now.”
“I’m not playing hard to get,” Lance hissed. “I’m just– ugh, Keith, you don’t understand–“
“No, I get it loud and clear. You’re practicing on me,” Keith finished for him, and oh, saying it out loud tasted so bitter. “So you can do the real thing on Princess Allura, the beautiful alien princess of your dreams. She’s the one you want, right? Of course she is. She’s everything you could ever want and more, your perfect endgame, and I’m just Keith, your totally platonic rival.” He chuckled darkly, and tried to blink away the feeling of angry tears welling up. “Whatever. I'm out of here."
He turned on his heel and stalked to the entrance, leaving Lance standing behind him in a daze.
The doors slid open for him, and Keith stopped in the entranceway. He turned around and gave Lance a bitter smile, shaking his head reproachfully. “Congratulations. You’re a real bad boy, now, just like you wanted from the start. How's it feel?"
Lance recoiled like he’d been physically struck, the words slapped right out of his mouth. Nothing but shocked stutters came out of his mouth, failed attempts to try and defend himself.
Without another word, Keith turned and left, stomp, stomp, stomping down the hall.
“Okay. You can do this.”
Lance bit down on his lip, teeth worrying at his lip, a habit he could never shake. He stared at the pair of doors he stood before, his stomach tying itself into an even tighter knot as he thought about what was behind them.
He balled his hand into a fist, digging his nails into his palms to stop his hand from trembling. “You need to do this. It’s the right thing to do.” Sucking in a deep breath, Lance willed his hand to loosen up, then raised it up to the doors. “Just… jump right in. It’s not hard. You’ve dived into worse and come out alive and better than ever. This is nothing.”
Knock knock knock.
Lance quickly stepped back from the doors once the deed was done, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets as if they would incriminate him for something. He gnawed on his lip and mentally counted the ticks between his knock and the answer – or really, the lack of one. As the gap grew wider and only stayed just as silent, he found himself teetering on the edge of spiraling. He pondered knocking again.
“It’s called ‘not being desperate’, Lance,” he muttered to himself, sucking in a stabilizing breath as he rapped his knuckles on the door again. “You should try it sometime.”
He rocked back and forth on his heels as he kept on waiting. As the ticks officially added up to a dobash, then to two dobashes, Lance sighed and slumped dejectedly. He reluctantly stepped back up to the door and leaned in.
“Hey, Keith? I’m sure you already guessed, but… it’s Lance. I know you’re probably still cheesed off at me, but… do you think we can talk?”
Silence.
“Please? I know–“ Lance cut himself off with a sigh, and lightly rested his forehead on the door. “I know I’ve been a real jerk to you lately. Like, a super mega jerk. Winning the Jerk of the Year Award will probably be no contest for anybody else.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hot with shame. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Point is, I want to explain myself. I don’t have an excuse– even if I did have one, nothing would ever be good enough to make up for this. But there’s a reason behind why I’ve been acting like this. A stupid, terrible reason, but a reason irregardless, and that’s what I wanna talk about.”
Silence; silence; more silence, for almost a whole nother dobash.
Lance closed his eyes, feeling the sting of rejection. “Okay,” he breathed out. “I get it. I’m sorry.”
He stood there for another few ticks. Just before he hit five, his balance was suddenly thrown off by the doors opening up.
“Ay–!“ Lance stumbled forward into the dark room. Catching his balance again, he turned around, bewildered, and went ramrod still as Keith frowned back at him, slightly obscured by the shadowy darkness of the room.
“Hey,” Keith said, after a few ticks of silence.
Lance straightened up, snapped back to his senses. “Hey, man.” He pocketed his hands again, and glanced down at his shoes, coughing awkwardly. “Uh… thanks for letting me in.”
“Mm.” Keith swiped his hand across the door pad, and they slid shut, encasing them in shadows once again.
Lance squinted in the dark, dimly lit by the soft blue glow of the light above the bed. “Were you... taking a nap or something..?” he quietly asked, taking in the blanket pushed down to the bed, the crinkled sheets, the rumpled state of Keith’s clothes, the puffy state of his eyes even in the low light…
“Yeah,” Keith said simply. “I was.”
Lance’s heart sank. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Keith walked over to the bed and kneeled on it, adjusting the levels on the lighting panel above the bed.
Lance hovered in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, rankled by the awkward tension as Keith sat on the edge of his bed and turned eyes on the floor.
“Keith…” he began, taking a hesitant step over to the bed, then another. “I’m – sorry.”
“What for, Lance?” Keith looked up at him, stopping Lance right in his tracks. “It’s my fault. I took the whole thing too seriously, read into things that weren’t there – things I wanted to believe were there for me instead of for Allura, and then blew up at you for my own stupidity. I know you’d never play mind games with me, you’re too nice, no matter how bad you try to be.” He smiled bitterly, an empty echo from his outburst from earlier. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re a goody-two-shoes at heart, no matter how hard you try. You’re nice, and really funny, and kind – the polar opposite of me, if I’m the litmus test for what a bad boy is supposed to be.” He shook his head. “What do they say? Opposites attract? I guess that’s why I like you so much.”
All Lance could do was stare. “You… you like me…?”
Keith nodded, face turning pink. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.
Keith glanced up at him, bewildered. Lance ran a hand back through his hair and laughed harder, his own cheeks growing warm as it sunk in. “This... this is like something out of one of my grandma’s telenovelas!”
Keith tilted his head. “What..?”
Laughter fading with a soft sigh, Lance stepped over to the bed and held his hands out. “Stand up, Keith,” he requested, offering his palms for the other to take. “Just ‘cause you beat me to it doesn’t mean I’m not gonna deliver this speech I planned out for you. I practiced in the mirror and everything, so I have to at least give you bullet points or else I’ll be mad about it for the rest of my life.”
Keith blinked, but hesitantly let Lance pull him to his feet and back under the glow-in-the-dark stars.
“This isn’t quite like I pictured,” Lance mused, thinking back to that first dream. He closed his eyes, and the outdoor balcony replaced the white and gray tones of Keith’s quarters. When he opened his eyes again, the soft lights, the fresh breeze, the distant swell of music, it all faded when his eyes met Keith’s. “But it’s just as good, if not better.”
“Lance, what are you talking about?” Keith asked exasperatedly.
“I’m talking about feelings, Keith,” Lance began, releasing Keith’s hands to put his hands on his shoulders. “Feelings, and thoughts.”
The pink returned to Keith’s face. “…what kind of thoughts?”
“The kind I’ve been running away from, ‘cause I didn’t know how to deal with them.” Lance closed his eyes and let out a short sigh, taking his hands off of Keith’s shoulders. He couldn’t do that, touch him and hold eye contact, not with what he was about to say. “The gay for your teammate kind.”
Keith’s eyes widened. “The… huh…?”
“Ehh, something more like the bi kind, actually? I dunno, I’m still kinda confused on it myself. It’s not something I talked about growing up.” Lance returned his eyes to Keith’s, staring back at him. In this lighting, the cool gray tones of his iris looked almost purple, a dusky indigo in the dimness. “But what category I fall into isn’t important right now.”
“Uhh, it kinda sounds like it is?” Keith guessed, folding his arms. “Since you’re apparently… y’know… having gay for your teammate kinda thoughts and all.”
“Important, sure, but not important right now, mullet! Let me talk!” Lance shook his head and tried to get back on track. It was hard to completely focus while he was standing still like they were – his mom always joked that his brain was leg-powered, and she was right. “But like I said, that kinda stuff wasn’t something I talked about growing up. Not out of hate or anything, but we just… didn’t know anything about it.
“I’m a pretty good listener, and I don’t offer half-bad advice either, but when it comes to my own feelings, it’s easier to pretend like they don’t exist at all. I push stuff down. I run away. I keep the unpleasant stuff at arm’s length for as long as I can, trying to buy myself more time until there just isn’t any more. And then, I break down. It’s not good or healthy, I know, but old habits are hard to break.”
He smiled wryly. “And guess what happened when I had a dream where I had the most romantic kiss of my entire life with you out on some balcony?”
Keith’s eyes widened to the size of plates. “You had a what where you had a what?” he asked, shrill with disbelief. He pointed to himself. “With me??”
“The day right before you left for two weeks,” Lance confirmed. “Which is why–“
“Which is why you didn’t hug me that day?” Keith gaped at him. “You’re telling me you ghosted me for like – what’s the sum of things, five days? All because you were having a sexuality crisis for almost three weeks??"
“Not for the whole three weeks!” Lance protested. “And it turned into a romantic crisis pretty darn quick – it’s distinct from a sexuality crisis, I’ll have you know.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Keith drawled, making a real show out of rolling his eyes. “My bad.”
Lance bawked at his hostile tone. “Hey, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, in my entire life! Can you blame me for panicking a little when you got near me?”
“Yes,” Keith said blandly. “Yes I can.”
“Well!” Lance said. “That’s… fair.”
Keith sighed, breaking up the brief silence that overtook them both. “What was the dream like…?” he murmured. “The one where you… kissed me, or whatever.”
“Which one?” Lance joked, throwing an eyeroll in there for good measure.
Keith’s eyebrows shot up. “I meant the one that triggered your three week crisis, but… there was more than one?”
“It was like something out of a dream!” Lance replied, raising his volume slightly to drive home the point that he was moving on from that embarrassing slip of the tongue, thank you. Keith smirked, but let him continue. “The sun had just set, and I was out on some balcony. I think it might’ve been the Castle, but we were on some weird planet, so everything was set up differently. I dunno.” He closed his eyes and recalled the dream once more. “I remember, we were at some kind of party. I stepped out for some air, and you came and found me. You were mean to me, accusing me of being a lightweight, but it was all teasing so I didn’t mind that much.” He dropped his smile for a moment. “And hey, don’t tell my mom or anything, but I’m no lightweight. Just ask Hunk and he’ll tell you.”
“I just might have to.” Keith tilted his head. “What was I like..?”
“You were… Keith,” Lance said. “You were the same, but different. You were bigger, older, more... grizzled. Your hair was longer. You were taller than me, for some reason, and you were mean about it, too.” Lance glanced down at Keith’s cheek. “And you had something here,” he continued, slowly bringing his hand up to cup Keith’s face, swallowing as Keith’s breath hitched. He rubbed his thumb down Keith’s cheek, starting just beneath the eye and curving down, hooking around his jawline. “Some kind of markings, one on each cheek. I dunno where you got it, but it was purple, so it probably had something to do with being Galra, so that's something for me to unpack later.” His fingertips brushed down the side of Keith’s neck, stopping where collar had swallowed up that strange purple stripe. “It looked good on you, though. You made it work.”
“And…” Keith glanced down from his eyes, and Lance felt his cheeks grow warm as Keith stared at his mouth for a solid three ticks before looking back up. “…what was the kiss like?”
Lance bit his lip. Was it just him or was it suddenly really hot in here? “Well…” he began, reaching out for Keith to take his hands. Keith swallowed thickly and slipped his hands into Lance’s. Lance guided Keith’s hands around his waist, pressing them over the juts of his hipbones. “You put your hands like this…”
“Uh-huh..?”
“And then…” Haltingly, Lance shuffled a half-step closer, knees brushing against each other, carefully bringing his shoes between Keith’s bare feet. He flattened his other palm against Keith’s chest and slid his palm up, fingers resting on Keith’s shoulder. “You leaned in.…”
Keith’s eyelids drooped. “Yeah..?” he murmured.
“And then…” Lance leaned in, tilting his head to the left, their noses brushing together. Keith closed his eyes and moved in, short black eyelashes fluttering with expectation. Lance paused, opening his eyes just a sliver, just as hot breath ghosted across his mouth from Keith’s lightly parted lips. “…I woke up.”
Keith cracked his eyes open. His fingers twitched on Lance’s waist, lightly crinkling the fabric of his jacket. “That’s a shame,” he whispered.
“It really is,” Lance breathed back, stroking his thumb over the curve of Keith’s cheekbone. “Now I’ll never know what it was like. I'll only dream about it for the rest of my days."
Keith let out a tiny laugh, no more than a puff of air through his nostrils. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Oh?” Lance drew back to quirk a brow down at him, his hand drifting down the line of Keith's arm to settle on his forearm. “What makes you say that?”
In lieu of an answer, Keith's hands pressed in on his waist, then pulled, yanking him back in and kissing him.
Lance's eyes went wide for a tick, then two. When his brain finally caught up to reality - the reality that he was kissing Keith - he let his eyes drift shut and melted into it, angling his head down. He draped his arms over Keith's shoulders.
A tiny sigh escaped from Keith's nostrils, hot air venting out across his cheek. Arms wound around Lance's waist, hands locking together at the small of his back, entrapping him in the embrace as Keith pressed in closer, their chests brushing together.
After a few moments, Lance pulled away slightly, moving back until just the bows of their mouths were touching, and took a breath, inhale-exhale. He lingered just out of range like a ghost, their mouths a millimeter apart, cupids bows barely bumping. Keith chased after him like he was dying for it, and exhiliration sparked under Lance's skin. After years of chasing, he was finally being chased; after weeks, months even, of wanting, he was finally being wanted, and it was thrilling.
Heat was coalescing under his skin, threatening to catch fire. Lance pulled away before he’d burst into flames.
"That," he breathed out, "was way nicer than a dream."
Keith nodded, ducking his chin down to hide the smile threatening to take over his face. “I agree.”
Lance's fingers twitched in the fabric of Keith's shirt. "Oh? That implies that you dreamed about me, too, you realize."
There was a beat of silence. Then, Keith looked away, cheeks pinking. "Yeah, and?"
Lance reared back, a grin curling over his mouth. "Oh? Do tell."
Keith rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he affectionately ordered.
"Make me," Lance challenged, leaning back in until the tips of their noses were pressed together.
Keith's eyes flickered down, then back up into his.
His smile faded as something occurred to him, and his grip on Lance’s waist tightened. “Can I?" he asked quietly.
"Keith, I'm practically begging you to, here," Lance said.
Keith frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Here, sure, but..." He paused, then shook his head, like he was abandoning a train of thought. “Are we… romantically engaged now?”
Lance’s brows shot up at that. “That’s, uh… that’s one way to put it, but…”
"So we are?" Keith pressed, fingers flexing on Lance's hips.
Lance bit his lip and lowered his head, looking up at Keith through long, curved eyelashes. “If that’s what you want, then... then that’s what I want, too – if you’ll have me.”
Keith stared at him. Then, he nodded, licking his lips thoughtfully. “Then I guess I have some calls to make.”
“Is this truly what you want? The choice is not one to be made lightly.”
Keith glanced over at Lance. Their eyes met, and Keith smiled softly. “That's what I want,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Lance.
Kolivan’s eyes shifted as he followed Keith’s eyes over to Lance. His typical scowl softened slightly, and the corner of his mouth gave a slight twitch. He bowed his head down to try and hide it. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”
Keith dipped his head in turn. “Thanks, Kolivan.”
Kolivan returned his gaze to Allura, who stood before the bridge control panel. “Princess, I thank you for allowing Keith to contact us.”
Allura schooled her face into something more neutral and bowed her head. “Of course. Thank you for allowing him to return.” She reached for the panel once more, fingertips at the ready. “We will be in touch, Kolivan.”
Kolivan nodded. His grave face disappeared off the screen.
Lance instantly relaxed, a breath of relief whooshing out of him. “Thank God!”
Keith shot a smirk over at him. “What’s the matter, Lance? You scared?”
“Yes!! Who wouldn’t be, after that?!” Lance demanded shrilly. “Like, did you listen to what he said to me? How he looked at me?? That was the most terrifying not-a-shovel-talk shovel talk I’ve ever received in my life! It was like talking to a mafia don!” He gave a comical shudder and shuffled over, leaning his head on Keith’s shoulder for comfort.
Keith laughed softly, giving him a comforting pat on the back. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just what his face looks like. You get used to it.”
“Speaking of getting used to things…”
Keith and Lance stiffened in unison. Lance reluctantly picked his head up off of Keith’s shoulder, and they both twisted to look over their shoulders, where the rest of their teammates stood.
"This will get some getting used to," Shiro finished with a smirk that told them they were in for a lot of teasing.
Notes:
i forgot to include a section for coran, for either of them ( ;;v;;) i'm sorry, space uncle
if you enjoyed, please leave kudos/comments! feedback and concrit are loved <3
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