Archive of Our Own ^beta

“And while we’re there, remember that you can’t talk to women unless they talk to you first. It’s considered the highest insult for a man to approach a woman,” Allura says.

“Even you?” Pidge asks, and Lance lets himself tune out. He got the whole rundown about the planet they’re visiting later this week earlier in the day. He was teaching Allura how to use an old DS that she found at a space mall, and she’d taken the time to get him up to date with what he’d need to know as he was teaching her how to play Super Mario.

Lance is standing up, collecting the plates of those nearest to him, when Keith decides to speak up.

“Make sure you wash those,” he says. “Don’t just leave them in the sink.”

He even interrupted himself in the middle of asking Allura a question in order to say it. As if Lance isn’t already aware that he has kitchen duty tonight. As if he hasn’t washed this same set of dishware a hundred times over again.

Sure, sometimes people shirk their duties and leave their dishes in the sink. Sometimes people leave it until morning. But Lance always washes them right away when it’s his turn, because he doesn’t like knowing that he has chores waiting for him in the near future.

And honestly, the fact that Keith is talking down to him like this for no reason pisses him off.

That’s when he sneers at Keith, laying the sarcasm on thick as he says, “Yes, dear.”

Keith scoffs, looking away from Allura and toward Lance for the first time in order to give him this exasperated look. And Lance, paladin apparently turned butler, goes out of his way to lean over Hunk in order to pick up Keith’s plate, shooting him an exaggerated smile as he does.

And that’s how it all begins. That’s how Lance’s mostly logical life — wherein things make sense, like two plus two equaling four or Voltron requiring five lions to form — turns to chaos.

Because it should’ve ended there, really. Lance, with a sarcastic comment like usual. Keith, scoffing at Lance’s childish behavior. That’s it. The end. And they all lived happily ever after, assuming the war ever ends and they’re not blown up into a million pieces in the process.

That’s what makes sense. That’s the familiar equation, with the familiar outcome. The problem you can solve forward and backwards, always getting the same result.

But just two days after calling Keith “dear,” Lance receives the same kind of shock he felt for the first time in sixth grade, back when he was taking pre-algebra and stayed home sick from school one day. When he left, their equations contained only numbers. The day he came back, he was given a worksheet strewn with letters and was convinced the whole class was playing a prank on him.

Having Keith respond to his taunts in kind gives Lance the exact same feeling as when he first saw an ‘x’ on his worksheet. A voice in his head saying something’s not right and this doesn’t belong here.

They’re in the supply room, sorting the extra medpacks and weapons and all sorts of equipment that they rarely use and yet have an abundance of. It’s a dreadful, boring task, and it was assigned to them solely because they got into a heated argument on the battlefield the day before, distracting their entire team as they’d flown around the enemy and blown up Galra ships.

(In Lance’s defense, Keith totally was hogging the enemies. He was deliberately shooting the ships closest to Lance, making them explode into nothingness and having Lance’s lasers zoom off into the emptiness of space, targetless.)

When Lance almost shot Hunk, aiming for the fighter jet closest to Keith in revenge, he’d known it was over. Known they were definitely going to be punished somehow.

And if he’d known that their punishment would mean being trapped in this cramped, hot room, sorting supplies that’ll probably never see the light of day again, he definitely would’ve thought twice before trying to steal Keith’s targets.

But there’s nothing they can do about it now, and they’ve already been in here for hours. They’ve managed to be productive the entire time, but even that hasn’t been enough to make a dent in the work ahead of them, which will probably take several hours longer. They’re both grouchy, annoyed, and shorter with each other than usual.

So when Keith bumps into Lance for the third time, apparently having no spatial awareness, Lance finally snaps.

“Watch it!” he spits, spinning around to glare daggers into the back of Keith’s stupid, mulleted head. Keith turns around, staring at him innocently.

“Sorry, babe,” he says. He even smiles, no doubt proud of himself.

And Lance knows it’s his fault. He started it, after all, but at least the biting term of endearment made sense when he was the one doing it. Keith had been talking to him like they were some old married couple. The kind who’ve been married too long and don’t love each other anymore and gripe over meaningless shit, only managing to piss each other off even further.

That’s why Lance called him dear. Because it made sense in the situation. It was a calculated insult. A strategic jab.

Keith, on the other hand, is weaponizing the term of endearment without any rhyme or reason, simply to get back at Lance.

And Lance would almost be proud of him, too, considering most of their arguments contain Lance’s sharp tongue swiftly followed by Keith’s outrage. Except there’s no room for pride inside Lance right now. He’s mostly just shocked. And pissed. And a little bit flustered.

It’s just — no one’s ever called him babe before. He’s never actually dated anyone, and though the idea of pet names sounds cute in theory, he’s always struggled to see himself ever using them.

And so, ignoring the heat in his face and hoping he isn’t blushing too obviously, Lance rolls his eyes and turns away, getting back to work. Though he doesn’t quite know it yet, the pet names — much like the letters in his equations — would soon become a permanent fixture in his life.

Contrary to popular belief, Lance and Keith aren’t always fighting.

They actually get along pretty well, a lot of the time. They are teammates, after all, and they work well together.

They’re annoyed with each other probably as often as any of them are annoyed with anyone else. The thing about living with six other people is that you’re constantly surrounded by those six people. It’s like how you can love your family and still fight about stupid shit. It’s not personal, it’s not everlasting, and it doesn’t actually mean much, in the long run.

Lance can shout at Keith for being an asshole and Keith can storm off into his room only for Lance to knock on his door ten minutes later, asking if he wants to help with a quick supply run to the nearest planet. And Keith will say, “Sure,” and they’ll hop into a lion and that’ll be that. They’ll have a grand ol’ time dicking around planet-side without Allura’s supervision and their tempers will be gone, at least until the next time one of them does something to piss off the other.

Because of this, these barbed pet names don’t arrive all that often. At least in the beginning.

Originally, they come out only when they’re annoyed. Maybe once or twice a week, at most. Which means that every time Lance hears one out of Keith’s mouth, it’s just as surprising as the first time. And it’s just as satisfying being the one saying it and getting the upper hand.

But after almost a month of this name-calling, after what Lance has privately been calling The Dear Incident, the pet names have begun to pop up anytime they’re being sarcastic or condescending, not just when they’re pissed off.

They’re on this hot, dry desert planet, when Keith, turned grouchy from the heat, snaps at Allura, of all people.

“Give it up! You can’t read this thing any better than I can!” he shouts, once Allura goes to pull the map from his hand without asking for the third time. They’re looking for this ancient artifact — a Holy Candle, which, from the description, honestly just sounds like a lightbulb — in what is actually a glorified treasure hunt. There’s even an X on the map, which would probably be helpful if they could actually read the thing. Incidentally, it’s labeled in a language none of them know and it actively responds to the heat, the ink shifting and changing about every fifteen minutes.

To sum it up: they’re sweaty and tired and most definitely lost.

“Wooow,” Lance says, quickening his stride despite the complaints his legs send up his body in order to catch up with the two of them. He’s holding Shiro’s arm — the prosthetic one, that is — because the thing started to burn Shiro after an hour, and Lance offered to carry it after Shiro tripped on the sandy hills for the second time, off-balanced with the weight of two arms on one side. Needless to say, Lance isn’t faring any better than the rest of them, but for some reason he tends to thrive when no one else is willing to be the positive one.

When he squeezes in between them, Allura looks furious and Keith looks deadly. “Seems like you need to drink some water and chill out, sweetheart,” Lance tells Keith, who immediately turns his murderous gaze onto Lance. Being an expert on being at the receiving end of those looks, Lance ignores it.

He takes the map out of Keith’s hands before Allura can try to swipe it again and Keith can kill her for it. Neither of them seem very happy about this turn of events, but Lance is pretty sure he’s doing them both a favor.

To his surprise, the map seems to make more sense now than it did when he looked at it earlier. He raises it slightly and the image shifts. Lowers it to the same place again and it changes right back.

Well, that would explain its transformative properties. It likely reacts to altitude rather than heat, like they’d originally thought. And since they’ve been climbing a million dunes and getting hotter all the while, they assumed it, too, was reacting to the heat.

The longer Lance stares at it, the more it makes sense. They’ve been adjusting their path the entire time based on the way the map’s been changing, as one might if they were following a regular treasure map, but this thing is ancient in a way that’s still far more advanced than anything Lance has seen on Earth. From the looks of it, it’s been zooming in and out depending on how close they are to the Holy Candle.

It isn’t a map, really. It’s a GPS.

And with that in mind, Lance grins at his friends. “This way,” he says. “I think I know where we’re going.”

Of course, that only worsens their tempers, but Lance ignores them as he leads the way. And if he happens to smile when Keith actually listens to him, letting his helmet slide open in order to drink some water, then he hides it by looking down at the map, not wanting to give Keith further ammunition for his anger.

It gets to the point where they call each other by these nicknames almost as often as their actual names. No longer do they flush or glare at one another when they’re uttered. Instead they just roll their eyes or ignore it entirely, not willing to give the other the reaction they want.

In the beginning, whenever Keith called him any kind of pet name Lance would end up laying in his bed that night, seething as he debated which one he would call Keith next. He’d compile a list in his head, choosing whichever ones he thought sounded the most sickeningly sweet, and therefore would be the most effective when flung at Keith as an insult. He’d have to work himself up to saying it, waiting for the perfect moment and using just the right inflection.

Nowadays, the perfect terms pops into Lance’s head without any forethought, and they roll off his tongue with ease. This makes sense to Lance, of course, because ever since he left Earth, he’s realized that everything is constantly changing.

Like how he actively disliked Keith when they first came to space, only to realize he was a friend after their very first battle, in which he’d realized that he was just as scared for Keith’s life as everyone else’s and just as excited for Keith’s accomplishments as everyone else’s.

Or how Lance thought he hated all Galra, only to become a bit more educated upon meeting the Blade of Marmora and realized that not all of the Galra are evil. And that there are probably plenty of them that don’t want to be fighting in this war but can’t stop, because, how could they? They’re born on those ships, raised as soldiers, and if they were ever to dissent… well, they’d probably be killed.

Or like how Lance used to think of good and evil like black and white, only to realize that he’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands, of soldiers, and what does that make him? Or how Hunk learned to cook with foreign ingredients. Or how Coran adopted all their Earth slang. Or how Pidge is now fluent in Altean and Shiro no longer wakes up screaming every night or how Lance, despite how much the realization first hurt him, no longer thinks of his family first thing when he wakes up anymore. In fact, sometimes several days pass where Lance realizes he hadn’t thought of them at all.

Everything changes.

Including the range of acceptable uses for their pet names.

Originally, they were just for arguments. For the utmost annoyances. And then came the sarcastic use and the condescending use. But they devolve even further; acceptable uses now include the put-upon response and the slightly inconvenienced response.

Like today, for example.

They’re on the planet of Yular to reactivate a communication tower. It should allow the coalition to expand further, letting them contact each other quicker and easier from all over the universe. At the moment, depending on how far away they are from their allies, messages can take up to an entire day to come through. And during a war, that amount of time can cost lives.

Thankfully, they’ve almost made it to the tower. It’s deep within a jungle — objectively the worst place to put a tower, in Lance’s opinion — so they had to leave their lions a few miles behind and have been hiking through the foliage ever since.

Shiro called for a lunch break about thirty minutes ago, much to everyone’s relief, and they’ve been carbing up and rehydrating in preparation for the last stretch of their hike, which, unfortunately, appears to be mostly uphill.

“I want another sandwich,” Keith says, staring at the cooler on the other side of the clearing. It floats at about hip height when they hit the anti-gravitational activator, but it’s still pretty heavy and they’ve been taking turns tugging it through the jungle with them. And thank God they did, too, because none of them realized this trek was going to be as hard as it has been.

“Get me another water when you go,” Lance says. They’re leaning against the same tree. Pidge is analyzing some sort of fruit she found on a bush, which Lance will absolutely tell her not to eat if she decides to test her foraging skills, and Hunk is stretching his calves against a nearby rock. Shiro’s sitting on a log he accidentally made into a perfect chair with the use of his glowing prosthetic and now seems to be trying his hand at whittling a branch, using the same deadly function of his metal arm.

“You go,” Keith says immediately, jumping at the chance to not have to be the one to get up.

“No way,” Lance says. “You were already going to go.”

“I was debating it,” Keith says.

And Lance, having been a younger brother for many years and remembering the exact tactics that often resulted in him getting what he wanted, begins poking Keith’s leg with rigor. “Please please please pleasepleasepleaseplea—”

“Jesus, fine!” Keith snaps, getting to his feet immediately.

Success.

He throws the water at Lance’s head when he returns, but Lance catches it reflexively. “Thanks,” he says.

“Anything for you, dearest,” Keith says snidely.

And that’s how their little war turned game of pet names progresses, neither of them noticing the amused looks their friends send them.

Lance thought he was done with being shocked.

Not by the obvious things, of course, like when they’re ambushed when they absolutely shouldn’t be or when someone they thought was an ally betrays them.

But, like — he thought he was done being shocked by little things. By Keith.

Nowadays, if Lance found out that there were hieroglyphs in some equations, he’d probably just shrug. Take it in stride. He’s come a long way since pre-algebra, when the appearance of letters shocked him to his core, and he hasn’t trusted math ever since. That shit can do whatever it wants and Lance will just go ahead and trust it — it’s not like he’s the expert.

Same with their pet names, right? Like, when Keith called him babe for the first time, Lance was dumbfounded. But ever since, it’s become normal. It’s a joke and an insult and whatever they want it to be at the time, really. The only rule is that their terms of endearment aren’t actually terms of endearment.

Now imagine Lance’s shock when Keith manages to switch things up on him again.

In Keith’s defense, it was obviously an accident. They’ve just become too common, too normal, and it’s not like it actually means anything.

Allura’s in the middle of explaining how they’re going to be doing this big, virtual conference with a bunch of their allies — Lance is pretty sure it’s basically going to be like Skype, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that, for once, they actually have the same kind of technology back on Earth — and they’re all gathered in the rec room as she talks.

Keith reenters the room, having left in order to go to the bathroom, and he tries to squeeze past Lance’s knees and the table in front of him in order to return to his seat on the couch.

“’Scuse me, love,” he says, before plopping into the seat beside Lance, and then immediately stiffening.

No one else notices. And Lance is 99% sure that Keith isn’t absorbing a single word Allura is saying anymore either.

Because, it’s just — well. They’ve never used their pet names like that. Lance has called Keith love before, that’s not what’s weird about it. But Lance wasn’t annoying Keith, or teasing him, or aggravating him. Keith could’ve just as easily said his actual name.

In fact, he probably meant to say his actual name.

Love. Lance. They’re pretty damn close.

Except he didn’t say Lance. He said love.

And that… well. It sticks in his mind.

Too well.

It sticks in his mind too well.

Because one moment, they’re using their name-calling solely for the right reasons, and the next, Keith’s blunder is out there. Neither of them mentions it. Mostly because it’d be embarrassing. Maybe a little uncouth.

It was definitely an accident, and obviously they know that names such as these are supposed to have a romantic meaning. That’s why they’ve been using them this way. It almost makes for a stronger insult, not to mention it’s a pretty funny inside joke.

And they still use them that way! In the normal way. The way they always have.

Only, they both know that it’s the wrong way, now. The way they weren’t intended to be used. And maybe using them, for whatever reasons, makes the users a little…

Ugh, Lance doesn’t even want to think it. He doesn’t feel that way about Keith, and Keith obviously doesn’t feel that way about him. It’s just that maybe they need to be more careful.

This becomes obvious when Lance repeats Keith’s mistake.

(Which, Lance adamantly explains in the safety of his own mind, is entirely Keith’s fault. He never would’ve even imagined using a term of endearment for Keith in a romantic way. Or in any kind of way other than how they’d been using them! Keith’s stupid ‘love’ just got stuck in his mind. That’s all.)

But the five of them are camped out on this living planet. It’s not a Balmera, but apparently planets that are actually creatures are pretty common in galaxies that aren’t the Milky Way. Lance learned to stop questioning it forever ago.

Here, they’re trying to gain access to a secret library that’s supposedly hidden on the planet, and only those that the planet trusts can gain access, so they’re camping out planet-side in order to gain its trust. Honestly, Lance isn’t the biggest fan of books, but he’d probably be pretty excited about finding a hidden library if its contents weren’t mostly full of science-y gibberish that he’ll never understand.

Sadly, the legends say that that’s exactly what the library contains. Pidge has hardly been able to sleep.

Lance, on the other hand, has been sleeping quite soundly whenever he gets the chance. They’ve been pulling shifts during the night thanks to the fact that there are some pretty terrifying creatures inhabiting this planet. Twice already they’ve had to change their campsite, and they wouldn’t want something to sneak up on them with none of them the wiser.

“Lance,” Keith whispers, shaking Lance’s shoulder. His touch is gentle, and Lance awakens slowly, drifting through the fog of sleep into the haze of nighttime, finding Keith crouching in front of him, his hand still resting on Lance’s arm.

“Whatsit, honey?” Lance murmurs, still have asleep, before realizing what he said. He’s instantly awake. And sweating.

It isn’t actually a term of endearment, he tells himself. Not his fuck up or Keith’s. They were absent-minded mishaps. Mistakes. Once is an accident, and twice is just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything.

Keith, thank God, must agree. He makes it obvious when he laughs, the sound soft and quiet so as not to wake the others. “It’s your turn,” he says. “And Shiro after you.”

Lance sits up, nodding and relinquishing his sleeping bag to Keith. They’re not going to talk about it, thankfully. Just like they didn’t talk about it when Keith was the one who messed up.

So Lance just hunkers down in the center of the clearing, surrounded by his sleeping friends, and pays attention to the forest around them, alert for any sudden changes in the scenery.

“On your left!” Hunk shouts, and Lance whirls around accordingly, already sighting down the barrel as he lines up his next shot, taking out the Galra soldier advancing on them.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Their scans declared this planet uninhabited, so either the castle-ship fucked up or the Galra got their hands on some sort of technology to cloak themselves entirely. Either way, it’s too late now.

They’re surrounded, fighting back to back on a cliff’s edge and getting closer to it all the while. Keith kicks a soldier over the edge as Shiro fights off three enemies at once, using both his sword and his prosthetic.

Lance snipes one soldier coming up on Pidge as she ducks and rolls between the legs of another, and then Hunk blasts one that was sneaking up on Lance, completely unnoticed. There’s no time to breathe a word of thanks, because they’re all fighting for their lives and there’s hardly any reason to thank one another anyway. They’re a team. They look out for each other.

The battle only lasts fifteen minutes at most, but despite the fact that most battles are quick, they always feel long and exhausting. Regardless, spirits are high. They almost always are after a win, especially with the adrenaline still running through their veins and the realization that, once again, they’ve beat the odds.

Dead Galra surround them. There’s blood soaking into the dirt, creating a reddish, brownish mud, and none of them are significantly injured.

It’s a definite win.

And then, out of nowhere, Lance sees a hand appear on the edge of the cliff. First one, then another, followed by the top of a head as someone heaves themselves upward.

There’s no time to call out a warning. Lance has only just noticed them — the enemy — when they’re suddenly there, reaching out and grabbing onto Keith’s leg. With one powerful, decisive yank, they both go over the edge.

“Keith!” Lance screams, the first to notice, and he flings himself toward the precipice, heedless of his own safety, until only his legs are holding him there and he’s headfirst into the abyss, his breath hitching in his chest when he sees Keith, a little more than an armlength below him, clinging on for dear life.

Right then, Lance realizes that their armor is terribly flawed. They have jetpacks, but they can’t activate them without the use of their hands.

The enemy is nowhere to be seen, likely having actually fallen to their death by now, and someone’s holding onto Lance’s legs. Their friends are shouting, but Lance can barely hear them. He can only concentrate on one thing.

“Hold on,” Lance says urgently. Keith’s face is already red with exertion, his eyes wide with terror, and Lance is reaching down as far as he can, extending his arms further and further, until more of his body is off the cliff than on it. He would’ve fallen by now if his friends weren’t holding onto him.

“Can you reach?” Lance pants, and Keith wildly swings one hand up toward Lance. Their fingers just barely brush, and then Keith’s hand is falling back to the edge, clinging, clinging, clinging.

“Come on,” Lance says. He reaches a little further. “Come on, love, you can do it, just reach me.”

Keith tries again, and this time when it seems like his fingers are going to miss, Lance pushes with one hand against the edge of the cliff to extend himself further, hearing his friends shout out behind him.

Keith’s fingers grip his, just barely, and just at the tips, but even that little bit of leverage is enough. Lance pulls until he can reach Keith’s wrist with his other hand, and then Keith is releasing the edge of the rocks and clinging onto Lance’s hands, pulling himself up as his feet scrabble against the cliffside below him.

The others holding Lance — his feet, his knees, his sides — heave. Lance pulls too, and Keith’s climbing against the edge of the cliff — and then he’s over it, back on solid ground, collapsing against Lance and gasping into his neck.

He’s trembling. Or Lance is. Or they both are.

They’re just clinging to each other, desperate, hands clutching whatever they can hold, hugging whatever they can reach, and their friends are surrounding them, holding them tight and talking and crying and lamenting over that close call.

All Lance can hear is Keith. Is his breathing.

“You’re safe, now,” Lance tells him. “Breathe, baby, you’re okay, you’re fine. Just breathe, sweetheart.”

And they don’t talk about that, either.

No, like, they really don’t talk about it.

Because Keith almost died. And Lance would’ve killed himself trying to save him if their friends hadn’t been there, too. They all saved Keith, together, and they all hugged him, all cried for him, and they all rubbed his back and thanked the universe that he was okay.

But Lance was the only one that called him love, baby, sweetheart.

The others said thank God you’re okay and holy fuck, Keith and shit, Keith, hell. But Lance sat there and breathed into his ear the endearments that he’d once considered the most insulting. The most powerful. He’d sat there and hugged him and he’s honestly surprised that he didn’t kiss him.

Because fuck everything to hell, all right? Lance was absolutely, one-hundred-percent correct with those ruminations he didn’t entirely allow himself to ruminate on. Those half-hearted protests in his mind after Keith’s first slip up that said stop while you still can and what if this means more than you think?

And he told himself he was wrong and stupid and overreacting, but he wasn’t. About any of it.

So, yeah.

They really don’t talk about it.

Not until Keith’s drunk off his ass, anyway.

To be fair, Lance is pretty tipsy too. Also, none of them realized these drinks were alcoholic.

For some reason, these alien societies never seem to feel the need to label whether their drinks are alcoholic or not. Which, honestly — props to every other planet in the universe for being able to create alcohol that doesn’t taste like battery acid. Minus two points for accidentally getting the paladins drunk at about every other party, though.

They had an alliance in the morning, a long, boring, jargon-filled meeting which lasted until lunch, even though the king of the Liron people agreed to the alliance the second they stepped into the throne room. They were released to explore the planet for the better half of the day with a few guides assigned to them, and once the second sun hit the horizon, they were ushered back to the palace to celebrate.

The party is actually awesome, surprisingly. A lot of times they’re weirdly stiff and formal and awkward. They’re supposed to be on their best behavior and to continue being diplomatic all throughout the night, talking to important people and presenting the best face of Voltron and all that.

But although these people are known for their battle prowess, they should really be known for their party prowess. Like, they go all out.

Honestly, the seven of them seem to be the least drunk out of everyone at the party, when normally at least a few of them are teetering at the very top of their limit and trying their absolute hardest to appear completely sober.

Keith, stumbling off the dancefloor (which he entered willingly; he’s absolutely wasted), pitches against the wall next to Lance, who mentally applauds this as a great idea. He’s already discovered himself that he’s twice as good at standing when he’s not doing it all on his own.

“Hey,” Keith says. He lists to the side, and his shoulder knocks into Lance’s. Stays there.

Honestly, that’s even smarter. He’s practically got two walls to hold himself up.

“Hey,” Lance says, laughing, because he’s not as drunk as Keith and therefore it’s funny, even though he’s been in the exact same position before. He wraps an arm around Keith’s waist, though, simply to help him keep his balance. Keith tips his head to the side, resting it against Lance’s.

If Lance isn’t careful, Keith will nod off mid conversation. Standing up. He’s done that before.

“How’ve you been?” Keith says. Even his voice sounds wobbly.

“Pretty good,” Lance says. “Looks like you’ve been having more fun than me, though. I saw your killer dance moves out there.”

Keith laughs, turning his head in order to bury his face against Lance’s shoulder, embarrassed. “’M tired,” he says. “Hope we leave soon.”

“Allura told me when can head back whenever we want. You want to go?”

Keith nods against his shoulder. “You don—don’t mind?”

“Nah,” Lance says. “I’m tired too.”

“’Kay,” Keith says, and he slips his hand into Lance’s.

Lance leads them through the party and the palace, out onto the grounds and along the path toward the castle. Keith stumbles along beside him, no doubt going to have a killer headache in the morning.

“Sorry,” Keith says. He gets apologetic when he’s drunk, and for absolutely no reason.

“What for?”

Keith shrugs. “Leaving the party,” he sighs.

“I already told you I didn’t want to stay,” Lance says.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

A moment passes in silence. Keith trips over a loose stone in the pathway and pitches up against Lance’s side, staying there.

“I have a question,” Keith says.

“Go ahead.”

“What’s your favorite pet name?” he asks.

Lance laughs, because if Keith were sober, it would be a joke. Then again, if he were sober, he wouldn’t be saying it at all.

“I have a favorite,” Keith continues without prompting. “I like it when you call me sweetheart.”

Lance’s stomach flips over. Keith’s drunk, so it really shouldn’t mean anything, but why would he have a favorite pet name if he didn’t feel some sort of way about Lance? Why would he like it when Lance calls him that if it didn’t give him those same butterflies that Lance is always warring with?

But, “That’s a snazzy one,” is what Lance says. Because Keith’s drunk and it probably doesn’t mean anything and, even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. Not unless Keith were sober and saying it intentionally.

They make it back to the ship in one piece. Lance helps Keith get ready for bed, encouraging him to brush his teeth and change into pajamas. Once Keith has collapsed into his bed, Lance having placed his trashcan strategically beside him, he turns off the light.

“Thanks, love,” Keith whispers.

Lance teeters on the threshold for just a moment.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Lance is a weak, weak man.

Either that, or he’s downright devious, but Lance likes to believe it’s the former. He just can’t help it.

Because not only has he succumbed to romantic feelings for Keith, he’s also become privy to the fact that Keith, as it turns out, might actually like him back. And Lance can’t just have that information without acting on it in some way.

He’s not brave enough to straight up tell Keith that he likes him and wants to kiss him and wants to hold him at night and braid his hair and rub his back and all that gross romantic stuff he never thought he’d be into. And he’s not cruel enough to use this knowledge against Keith, to touch him just a little too often or casually change in front of him, hoping he’d find it in himself to confess first.

Instead, Lance finds a happy middle ground. He changes the rules for their pet names all on his own.

In fact, he throws the rules completely out the window.

When Keith accepts a map from a general and then tries to lead them with it, only to actually be holding it upside down, Lance bites his tongue. He doesn’t call him baby or love or anything. He just snorts, bumps him with his shoulder, and says, “You’ve got it upside down, man.”

And when Keith decides to target Lance during their battle simulation, in which they’re on teams of three and Keith should honestly be targeting them all equally, he doesn’t blow up on him in annoyance. He doesn’t tell him to cut it out, dear, or fucking shoot someone else, honey. He just flips him the bird and says, “Get fucked, bastard,” and later takes vengeance by sniping him from across the room.

But when Keith passes him the peas at dinner, he says, “Thanks, babe.”

And when Keith plops down onto the couch beside him in the rec room, he extends the bowl of space -popcorn and says, “Want some, sweetheart?”

By the looks of things, Keith has no idea what’s going on. Because pet names are supposed to be taunts and insults and teases and Lance isn’t using them for any of those reasons. He’s just being sweet, now, and on purpose, too. No more accidental slip ups.

Which maybe makes him weak, like Lance wants to believe, or maybe it just makes him an asshole. Because the responsibility of confronting this change still belongs to Keith, really. If he wants to point it out or question it or understand what exactly it means at all, he’s going to have to be the one to ask.

That’s what Lance thinks, at least, but Keith has proven himself inventive and smart before, and of course he does it again.

Because Lance knocks on his door to tell him that Shiro moved training back an hour, and Keith says, “Thanks, love.”

And Lance trips over his own feet in front of a congregation of allies, and although Keith catches him by the elbow and helps him straighten up, he just snorts and says, “Nice one, Lance.”

Lance is almost pissed that that wily bastard caught on. And yet somehow, he isn’t, because it feels like he’s hearing and using these pet names twice as often and Lance can’t find it in himself to feel upset about that.

When they’re flying in their lions — “One on your left, dear.” (And Pidge, being a sarcastic asshole: “I can never tell, is Lance talking to me?”)

And when they’re practicing hand-to-hand in the training deck — “Bend your knees a little more, hon. Then you can react sooner.”

Even when they pass each other in the halls — “Your fly’s down, babe.”

It’s everywhere. Everything. Strangers would think they were dating, Lance is sure, and sometimes he thinks his plan might be backfiring on him. Sometimes he thinks they’re moving no closer to a relationship, are remaining stagnant and stale and in this seemingly endless plain of no-man’s-land, at least until he pulls out the big guns. Keith’s favorite pet name.

Whenever Lance uses it, Keith blushes. Every time. Without fail.

And that’s why Lance is still convinced that there’s more to come. That sooner or later, one of them will work up the nerve to finally kiss the other. It’s just a matter of time.

But for now, Lance has to focus.

“Everyone ready?” Shiro whispers.

They’re all suited up, wearing their armor with bayards already activated. They’re stacked up against the wall, ready to clear the last hallway before they reach the main deck of the Galra battlecruiser.

Lance nods, first against the wall and first to be the one to step into the line of danger. He always is.

It’s a familiar tactic back from the Garrison, and Allura was so impressed with it that she had them run through the drill several times, just so she could learn. With all their advanced weapons and technology out here in space, simple battle strategies like this one have fallen out of use. And thanks to that, it’s always incredible successful.

Lance goes first, being the one with the best weapon for the job, and he makes sure the coast is clear before turning the corner and moving any further down the hallway. Hunk is behind him, with the second-best weapon, followed by Shiro, since the middle of the formation is the best place to relay instructions from. Pidge is behind him, with generally the least reliable weapon for this kind of maneuver, and Keith brings up the rear, responsible for constantly checking behind them for enemies.

Keith sends up a tap, ready to move, and the second Hunk’s hand hits Lance’s shoulder, he’s on the go. He turns the corner, weapon up, and leads onward when he sees no enemies present. They make it all the way to the doors leading to the main deck, where Lance stops.

He points to the smaller door beside it and Shiro nods, at which point Lance splits off from the rest of his team. He’ll go up the stairs and position himself on the balcony of the main deck. As soon as his friends enter the room, he’ll start sniping the enemies from above.

Lance still proceeds with caution as he ascends, but from experience, he knows he’s unlikely to meet any enemies here. The balcony is rarely used except for when the entire crew is gathered.

Once up top, Lance finds a good place to shoot from, crawling along the ground to avoid being seen, and positions himself there, gun aimed toward the enemies nearest the door. Having done this so many times, his team’s timing is perfect. Lance has just lined up his eye along the sight when the doors burst open and his friends pour into the room.

Lance uses that moment of chaos to his advantage. There’s shouting, and the Galra scramble for their weapons, those closest to the entrance turning to face Voltron with their bare hands. Lance ignores them, instead picking off the enemies grabbing their guns, knowing his friends can handle the weaponless ones easy enough on their own.

When the fighting begins in earnest, Lance pays closer attention. He tends to focus on his friends more than the enemies, assisting them whenever they appear to need help.

He snipes the soldier creeping up behind Shiro. Takes out the one in front of Pidge when she stumbles. Carefully and methodically pulling the trigger, shooting to incapacitate when he can’t go for a kill shot without endangering his friends.

The familiar rhythm of the battle takes over Lance. He becomes the soldier he’s been trained to be.

He’s seen the shift happen to his friends, before. That moment when they go from a group of friends to Paladins of Voltron. The way their eyes shine, and their mouths harden, and they stand just a little bit straighter.

Strangely enough, Lance never considered what he was like whenever this happened until Keith brought it up one day.

It’d been a late night, months ago, before they ever started calling each other anything other than their names. Lance had been awake due to the unfortunate timing of a nightmare, and Keith had been awake because he’s an ungodly creature who can function for far too long without sleep, often leading to the rest of them bumping into him in the night when they think they’re the only ones awake.

They’d been sitting in the bridge, so close to the glass that they could’ve leaned forward and pressed their foreheads against it. It’s funny, how Lance has grown so used to the endless sight of stars outside their windows. Even back then, he’d been used to it, but sometimes, just like that night, he’ll find himself in awe. Briefly unbelieving of the fact that he’s just out in space, lightyears away from Earth and soaring among the stars.

It’s a sight to behold, really, and Lance begrudges the fact that he was ever able to grow used to it. No matter how hard he tries, he can never quite remember that feeling he’d had when Blue had first flown them into space, terror and amazement warring in Lance’s chest as they’d careened across the universe.

“Yours is the most dramatic,” Keith had said, his arms circling his knees, which were pulled up to his chest. Their conversation had started because of Keith stumbling across Lance, and Lance sharing his nightmare, before it took several twists and turns until they were talking about battles, and how they still felt like normal people despite being defenders of the universe, and how that change was so obvious in some of them.

Back then, Lance hadn’t thought Keith changed much at all, going into battle. He’d never seemed very soft around the edges. Always seemed ready to jump into battle.

Nowadays, Lance can see the difference. Either he was blind to Keith back then, or Keith, like the rest of the universe, has changed over time.

The biggest thing Lance has noticed is that Keith gets really protective. And stupidly self-sacrificing. He’d jump in front of a sword for his friends even if he could’ve had the time to yank them out of harm’s way.

“Really?” Lance had said. He’d thought Pidge’s was the most dramatic, or maybe Hunk’s. Pidge practically grew several inches before battle, her aura alone making her seem much more terrifying, whereas Hunk went from this easygoing, kind and lovable guy into a soldier, suddenly fearless.

“Yeah,” Keith had said. “It’s like you’re two different people. As Lance, you’re so carefree. Always joking. Hands in your pockets. Slouching into a room or claiming you’re too lazy to do something.”

“I slouch?” Lance had joked.

Keith had ignored him. “And as the Blue Paladin, you’re just — I don’t know. You’re serious. You’re totally in control and you see everything. Like, if we were ambushed right now, you’d also already be ducking behind a chair and using the closest object as a weapon, as if anytime you enter a room, you immediately decide what could be used to kill someone in a pinch.”

Lance had been speechless. He’d never really noticed that before. Those little things that tended to define him in a battle. The traits and characteristics that rise to the top when he’s fighting, breaking through the haze of battle and practically making his decisions for him.

Nowadays, whenever Lance is aware enough, he can recognize what Keith meant. It’s why he’s so good as the sniper. Hunk, while a great shot, tends to take out as many people as he can as quickly as he can, which is definitely useful in many situations. But Lance shines in situations like these, because instead of spraying laser fire down into the crowd, he picks off those presenting the most harm to his friends and prevents as many injuries and accidents as he can.

But Keith was wrong about one thing. Lance isn’t aware of everything.

When it comes to his friends, sure. He’s constantly in the midst of lining up a shot even as he’s scanning the battlefield, searching for his next target, determining who presents the biggest threat. The only problem is that with that amount of concentration, he’s generally unaware of what’s going on around him.

That’s why it comes as such a surprise when Lance is suddenly shouting out in pain, having been shot in the side. It hit his armor, so it definitely wasn’t fatal, but it still hurts like a bitch .

Lance tears his eyes away from his scope and rolls to the side just in time to kick the legs out from under the enemy approaching him, the next shot lined up for Lance’s head. The next moment, they’re rolling around on the floor — the enemy dropped his weapon, and somehow, he knocked Lance’s off the balcony, into the crowd below.

There goes their air support.

Lance can’t help being shocked. Normally, the Galra are too busy fighting their surprise attackers to realize that there are only four members of Voltron down on the ground with them.

The Galra soldier is bigger than Lance. For a split second, Lance has him on his back, but the Galra catches Lance with his legs and twists and suddenly they’re flipped, and Lance is being crushed under his weight and struggling for all he’s worth even though he’s not getting anywhere.

And then there’s a forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe, and black spots are dancing across his vision. He doesn’t even have the time to fully panic, to think that this might possibly be the end, before the guy is kicked off of Lance and then flung over the edge of the balcony, into the cacophony below.

Gasping, Lance squints up at his savior, only for his savior to replace the Galra’s position on his lap. Except he doesn’t choke Lance, and he doesn’t pin him down. He just sits there, a gentle hand coming up to cup Lance’s face.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks.

“Am now,” Lance says, his voice a little raspy. “How’d you know to help me?”

“I saw your rifle fall into the crowd. Knew it meant trouble.”

From the sound of things, the battle’s winding down. Their friends aren’t in any trouble down there, and Keith’s still sitting on his lap, his thumb still stroking Lance’s cheek.

That’s when Lance gives up on this whole charade they’ve been playing. This game of chicken. He takes the plunge, maybe only because he’s still in battle mode, still serious and in control.

“Are you going to kiss me or not, sweetheart?”

Keith’s eyes widen. For a split second, his surprise is etched across his face, clear as day. And then he’s leaning down, as if this whole time he’s just been waiting for Lance to give him permission.

And then they’re kissing.

Keith lips are soft. He tastes like blood and sweat — he must’ve busted his lip during the fight — but it’s the best thing Lance has ever tasted. It’s Keith. And he’s clutching Lance so desperately, gasping as if in surprise, maybe even having thought that Lance was joking when he told him to kiss him. But Lance has never been more serious.

When Keith pulls away, Lance realizes that he’s cupping Keith’s face. Still holding him close, just inches away.

“Lance,” Keith breathes, and it’s funny because hearing his name on Keith’s lips gives him those butterflies that he felt the very first time he heard Keith call him babe. It’s like his actual name has become his own pet name after its lack of use.

“Keith,” Lance returns, just because he wants to imitate him. Keith flushes.

“I—”

“C’mon, love birds!” Pidge shouts. She’s standing precariously on top of an upturned table, looking directly at them. Keith’s huff is quiet and yet full of ire.

“You finish that thought later,” Lance says, patting Keith’s cheek twice. And then he pecks him on the mouth, just because he can, and all the irritation in Keith’s expression disappears.

They climb down from the balcony, joining the rest of their friends, and Shiro’s already outlining their next strategy, about making sure the ship is clear before they disengage, and Lance forces himself to pay attention. Forces himself to focus, and listen, and not drift off and think about Keith’s mouth, or the way his eyes lit up right before he kissed Lance, or how sweetly he said Lance’s name just after they kissed.

No, Lance doesn’t think about any of that. He absolutely, without a doubt, gives Shiro his complete and undivided attention.

Just two days later, when they announce to the team that they’re dating, no one is surprised.

Actually, Allura and Coran are. They thought the two of them were together ever since Lance first called Keith ‘dear’ at the dinner table. Turns out, most sarcasm tends to go over their heads.

As for the rest of their friends, they pretty much knew it was inevitable once the name calling didn’t stop after those first few days. Plus, they all saw them kissing on the battlecruiser.

So.

The door slides open, revealing an empty bedroom and the exact opposite of what Lance wants to see after coming back from a shitty mission.

It’s a long story, but basically, he and Hunk were chased for a mile by alien bees while doing some recon on a nearby planet. Lance had plans of collapsing on top of Keith and regaling him with his tale.

That’s when Lance hears the shower running, and he steps into their room, ditching his clothes as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Keith gives a surprised little shout when Lance slides the curtain open, as if it would be anyone else interrupting him in the middle of a shower, and Lance just laughs as he steps in behind him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Keith says without turning around. Lance’s hand is already on the shower knob, prepared to turn it from Absolutely Boiling to Something A Normal Human Can Withstand.

“C’mon,” Lance says. “You already look like a lobster.”

“My shower, my temperature,” Keith says, turning around to face him. And then, a little too late: “Hello, by the way.”

Lance distracts him with a kiss, twisting the knob behind his back when he does, and Keith gets so caught up in it that he accidentally drops the shampoo onto his foot, cursing under his breath immediately afterward.

“Doofus,” Lance says, but he picks it up and squirts it into his hand. He washes Keith’s hair as he tells him about the bees, and Keith laughs at all the places where he should be consoling Lance, and it’s great. He says, “Babe,” in a deadpan when Lance, predictably, gives him a mohawk, and he gasps Lance’s name into his neck some minutes later when Lance has him pressed against the wall, his bee story forgotten.

It’s almost funny, how far they’ve come since that night in the desert, since that careening trip in the blue lion through the stars. Lance figures he shouldn’t be surprised, though, given how familiar he’s become with change.