Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even now, as broken as you may feel,

You are still

So. 

Strong.

There’s something to be said about how 

You hold yourself together and keep moving,

Even though you feel like shattering.

Don’t stop.

This is your healing.

It does not have to be pretty.

Or graceful.

You just have to 

Keep.

Going.

~ Maxwell Diawouh

Chapter Text

I loved her as one loves the summer. I loved swimming the depths of her ocean-blue eyes, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her rose and peony perfume. I loved memorizing the soft texture of her strawberry-scented hair. I couldn’t bear to live without the summer; without her, my summer.

I also loved the physical aspects; I loved the feeling of her soft body laying next to mine. I loved staying up on those restless nights with her, even if there were no words exchanged between us, only the sound of our breathing; short, calm, even breaths.

I loved the nights we stayed up doing other things, too, like making forts out of old sheets and Christmas lights in my apartment. I loved talking with her until three AM, trying to learn anything and everything I could about the gorgeous enigma next to me; her fears, her dreams, her hopes, her insecurities. Learning about the girl that lay beneath the woman she grew up to be.

I loved hearing her say my name in that crisp accent of hers. I loved making her laugh, the warm breathy sounds she would make. Not too high, not too low, but something perfect—like the gentle, ever-changing peal of bells. Sometimes, making her laugh was worth more to me than the most intimate of caresses.

So, you may wonder why I speak of her in past tense.

You see, I loved her like I loved the summer. And like the summer comes and goes by, quickly and without fail, she came into my life and left as just quickly.

And before you know it, autumn has crept in.

Like summer, loving her was warm.

With autumn comes an abrupt chill, a cold, lonely, despairing sense of sadness. A sense of grief, if you will, for the summer that has gone by.

Like autumn, losing her was that cold, abrupt chill.

The turning of the seasons is inevitable.

Just as everyone else accepts it, and just as everyone else lets go of the summer, no matter how much they may not want to, so must I.

No matter how much I may not want to let go of her, I have to. 

Both for her sake and mine.

***

“Pidge!” Lance greets the short blonde woman, bending to wrap his arms around her in a big hug, luggage bags be damned, “Nice to see you! How are you?”

“I’m good,” she responds, flashing a smirk, while wrapping her arms around his neck in return, playfully ruffling his chestnut locks, while Lance let out an indignant, “Hey!”

“Was your flight okay? Did you get any sleep at all?” She asks, letting him up as she scans him with intelligent, inquisitive chestnut eyes, “Look at you. You look so run down.”

“I got, like, a wink of sleep on the plane,” Lance replies as he pats his laptop bag that’s slung across his body, “I mostly did some writing on the way here. I can’t seem to sleep these days.”

Pidge sighs exasperatedly, “Lance.”

“Pidge,” he repeats in the same tone, raising his brows almost expectantly at her.

“Listen, I know things must be hard for you, but I’m sure you also know that you have to take care of yourself,” Pidge continues, “You know she would want you to--" 

“I came here,” Lance says, sharply, interrupting his friend, “To get away from all of that. Pidge, please don’t.”

“I know, I know. Sorry,” Pidge sighs, breaking eye contact with him and looks down at the floor, “I worry about you, you know.”

“I know,” Lance goes for a softer tone. 

Pidge is like a baby sister to him, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt her feelings.

“I’m just,” he says, frustrated, “I don’t want to talk about any of that for now. Let's just go.”

"Alright," she says, softly.

A couple of minutes pass them by as they walk, silence filling the air. It’s not exactly awkward, but it’s not the most comfortable silence, either.

“Pidge,” Lance says abruptly, “Where’s Hunk? Didn’t he come with you?”

“Oh, yeah, he did. He’s out in the parking lot, waiting for us. We couldn’t find a spot to park anywhere, so we decided I’d run out and get you,” Pidge explains, glad for the topic change, “You wanna get something to eat from the food court?”

“No,” Lance mumbles, worrying his bottom lip, “Though, in that case, here.”

He pushes the handle of his hand luggage towards her.

“You can take this to the car for me,” he continues.

The little gremlin mutters something under her breath, most likely a nasty swear, Lance thinks, but takes the bag from him anyway.

“How long are you here for, anyway?” She asks, as they step onto the elevator to get to the ground floor.

“I dunno,” Lance shrugs, “New York isn’t going anywhere.”

“But....” Pidge chooses her words carefully, “Are you sure you can go back there?” 

“Pidge,” Lance sighs, “Can we really not talk about this now? I just wanna go home.” 

Pidge looks like she wants to say more, but holds her tongue, looking at him with barely concealed concern.

“Alright,” is what she says instead, “You can get yourself reacquainted with the town after you settle in.” 

When the elevator comes to a stop, they step off and head toward the airport's designated exit.

The parking lot is cramped, but luckily, Pidge spots Hunk's bright yellow Jetta with ease.

When he sees them approaching, he cuts the engine and comes around the back to open up the trunk to put in Lance’s luggage.

“I told you, we should have taken my Jeep. Green would have been able to hold the luggage more comfortably,” Pidge shakes her head, looking at Hunk.

“Nah, I think it’ll fit,” Hunk replies, looking at both suitcases, “We can keep the hand luggage inside with Lance.”

Hunk, like his nickname suggests, is pure muscle, whereas Lance is a tall twig. Lance is pretty sure that Hunk could twist him in half, if he was ever pissed enough. 

However, unlike his nickname, Hunk is a gentle giant, well respected by everyone. He’s naturally patient, a virtue which comes to not everyone.

He's kind and gracious, as well as highly skilled in reading and understanding people.

He would have made an excellent diplomat in another life, but in this life, he worked miracles with the culinary class of Arus University.

After Hunk loads the luggage into the trunk, he gives a loud, excited shout of, “Lance!” 

He pulls Lance into his signature warm, tight, embrace before he says, “Welcome home, buddy!”

“Thanks buddy,” Lance says in return, hugging Hunk with just the same amount of enthusiasm, “I missed you so much. Both of you dorks.”

He had missed Hunk and Pidge, his childhood best friends. They probably knew him best in the world. 

He tried to speak to them every week while he lived in New York, but after she died, he fell head first into a deep, dark space and began to pull away. 

He lost his enthusiasm to Skype with them, hell, to even call or text them. 

He finally got a tough but much needed reality check, and that’s when he began to reconnect with them. But he’d never forgive himself for being so curt and cold to them in the first place.

And now, standing next to them, being engulfed in warm hugs, that’s when he realized that nothing beat seeing them face-to-face. 

They both enter the car, where Pidge sits in the passenger seat, Lance in the back. 

Hunk puts the car into reverse, manoeuvres the car out of the space and exits the parking lot.

They hit the freeway a few minutes later, merging onto the lanes that would take them back home to Arus.

Lance faces the window, which had been left down, breathing in the cool, fresh Florida air. 

Inside the car, pop music plays softly, and Hunk’s concentration doesn’t shift away from on the road.

“ Mamí called ahead and told me to tell you guys that she’s making dinner for us all,” Lance tells his friends.

“Oh man,” Pidge nearly moans, “It’s been ages since I’ve had Camila's food.”

“Pidge,” Hunk whines, “We had dinner with Camila and Jack just last weekend.”

“Like I said,” Pidge enunciates, dramatically, “Ages.”

Hunk and Lance promptly burst into laughter because as soon as she finished speaking, her stomach growled loudly, and she turned a lovely shade of red.

“I’ve missed you guys so much, oh man,” Lance says, wiping away tears of laughter, “Nothing like the three musketeers, all reunited again.”

“So have we, Lance,” Hunk says earnestly, “I mean not only us, but your family, too. This place has changed so much since you were last here.”

“I’m excited to see it,” Lance replies, meaning the words.

“Oh don’t worry,” Pidge grins, “Matt, Hunk and I have arranged to give you the grand tour later.”

The rest of the ride to the McClain house is filled with idle chatter from the three friends, catching up with each other’s lives, and as Lance would say, spilling the real tea. 

Nobody mentions her , though, to his relief.

When Hunk flips on the signal to enter Kova Lane.

Lance sees the faded but warm brown paint come into view, he’s hit by an unexpected wave of nostalgia, and for the first time since boarding the plane, his anxieties about coming home completely dissipated.

There was just something about coming home that absolutely healed the soul. That made you feel warm and welcome, that puts a smile on your face.

He’s only been in Arus for less than five hours and he knows his heart feels the lightest it has been for almost a year.

When Hunk pulls into the cobblestone driveway, a short, curly-haired woman, comes running down the driveway to the car, grinning largely. 

Lance opens the car door and races into her embrace. Pidge and Hunk take his suitcases inside, giving the mother and son some privacy.

“ Mijo!! ” Camila Alvaréz de Riera McClain cries out in pure joy, holding on to her son as though she’d never let go, rocking him back and forth, “ Ay, Mijo!! ”

“ Mamí ,” Lance kisses her forehead gently.

“Welcome home, mijo ,” Camila runs her hand through his hair.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, mamí ,” Lance breathes, his grip on her tightening.

“So have I, my darling,” she smiles, “But you’re here now.”

And it’s as if a dam of emotion had burst inside him. All the hurt and pain and overwhelming sorrow he’s been carrying with him all of these months, all of it, rushes to the surface all at once.

Without his permission, tears rise in his blue eyes.

His mother frowns, tracing her thumb beneath them, murmuring to herself, “Oh, mijo , I’m here now. Don’t cry, I’m here now. Your mamí has you.”

“I know. I know ,” he whispers, allowing a small sniff, “ Gracías , mamí. Te amo. ”

“ Te amo, mijo . We will talk later, sí ?” Camila says warmly, “Let’s get you a nice meal and shower for now.”

***

I first met her at Daibazzal University. 

One thing about me, I was never a believer in love at first sight. Lust at first sight, sure. But never love.

Not until I met her. 

She positively glowed in the sunlight, eyes as bright and blue as the sky above us. I was at the library, working in an essay for class, and she worked as a student assistant. 

“Close your mouth, Lance, you’ll catch flies,” Leah snapped at me.

Even though she never said anything outright, Leah hated the way I acted around anyone to whom I considered myself attracted.

(I’m bi, in case you were wondering. Therefore, my attraction applies to both males and females.)

Now, I could easily blame it on being young and immature. A fool’s quest, maybe, for setting my sights on a person I knew I probably couldn’t date without making an utter idiot out of myself.

Lovesick, Leah would call it. 

Desperation was on the cards too, for Leah.

But it wasn’t that.

Never in my life had I been so.. so captivated by someone. So enthralled. 

And I just knew, I had to know her.

My number one wingman, Jacob, encouraged me to introduce myself. So I did.

Little did I know this gorgeous woman would have such an everlasting impact on my life.

***

“James, please,” Keith sighs, “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s just until your parents get back. Barely a few weeks again. You’re being unreasonable.”

James’s sharp navy blue eyes snap toward him, “I’m not being unreasonable. We’re all new to being a family, and the first thing Shiro and Adam do is dump me on you and go away for a month. How would you feel if you were me?”

For his thirteen short years, James is incredibly smart. 

Keith now understands why Shiro and Adam are always so careful with what they do and say around the kid.

Brat , Keith thinks affectionately. James reminds him too much of his younger self for his liking.

“Fair enough,” Keith shrugs, “But it really isn’t that long. And you know it’s more than Shiro and Adam gallivanting off. The business is at risk and Shiro thought it would benefit everyone if I extended my stay and you just remained here with me instead of uprooting you, too.”

James considers it, eyes narrowing as though he’s preparing to strike a deal.

“If you don’t take me to the group later,” he proposes, “I’ll grant you the title of favourite uncle. And I’ll stop complaining.”

“I’m your only uncle,” Keith grins, “And I have to take you to group. Adam and Shiro's orders. Therefore your complaints are ignored either way. I can, however, take you for ice cream on the Boardwalk after.”

“Ice cream, and a little late night stroll on the beach,” James adjusts the terms of Keith’s proposal, “Do we have a deal?”

He looks so serious that Keith holds back a laugh and pretends to consider it seriously.

“Deal,” he ruffles James’ hair, before flipping to the couch beside the scowling boy. 

He opens up his laptop and starts it, preparing to look at his emails for the day while James watches TV and eats a bowl of cereal for breakfast.

When he signs on, there aren’t many urgent matters that need his attention. A few reports to sign, a phone call to make here and there, a letter to draft and send. 

He'd asked his brother for a lighter work-load for the next month so that he could easily keep an eye on James while he worked, whenever his nephew was there at the office with him.

He glimpses the time on the clock in the living room. Seven o'clock.

“Hey, we’ve got to leave in fifteen minutes. Are you all set?” Keith asks James.

“Yeah, my bag is on the table and I’m almost done here,” James replies, “Are you stopping off at Lotor’s café this morning? I’m in the mood for a chocolate muffin.”

“Of course,” Keith says, “We'll get you your muffin, not to worry.”

James takes his empty bowl in the kitchen and washes it while Keith puts his laptop to sleep and does his tie. 

After grabbing their bags, Keith locks the house behind them, heading towards the car.

He puts in James' school bags and makes sure his nephew straps himself properly with the seatbelt before getting behind the wheel.

As promised, he stops off at Lotor’s café before he takes James to school. The Busy Bean was one of the most popular cafés in Arus, and it was run by a mother-son duo, Lotor and Honerva.

Honerva, in Keith’s opinion, knows her way around a cup of coffee.

Lotor’s café is neatly tucked away in the middle of town, right before his office, and the Arus Private Preparatory Academy.

Arus Preparatory is owned by one of Shiro's business acquaintances, one Mr. Iverson, and it happens to be the school that James attends.

There were small metal tables with umbrellas at the front of the café, with a wide parking lot in the back. Keith’s such a regular there that he (proudly) has his own parking spot reserved.

The line isn’t too long when he goes in.

“Hiya, Keith,” Lotor greets with a big smile, white-blond hair in its signature bun, “The usual?”

“Yes, and a chocolate muffin in a to-go bag, please,” Keith replies.

“That’ll be six dollars,” Lotor says, ringing up his order, “Your order is Number 30, we're now serving 21. You can have a seat while you wait.”

Keith hands over a ten dollar bill, placing the change in the tip jar before taking a seat.

The bell at the front door rings, and a new customer walks in, frowning at his phone before placing it at his ear. 

What really draws Keith’s attention to the man is the phone, because that has to be the brightest (and ugliest) neon blue Otterbox he’s ever seen in his life.

There is no denying, however, that the man that’s holding the phone in the ugly blue Otterbox is gorgeous. 

He’s tall and has lovely caramel skin. His hair is chestnut brown.

As he gets closer, Keith can see that his eyes are blue. His voice becomes a bit clearer and his lips curve into a small, shy smile for a brief few seconds, and—

Keith wants to see that smile play at the corners of the man’s lips again.

Okay, no, Kogane , he snaps at himself, You’re not going to thirst over some hot stranger in the café and in front of your nephew. Cut it out.

Keith frowns. He knows the faces of almost everyone in the town, as Arus was not that large, and he did not know this man. 

Which probably means he's a tourist, so the odds of seeing him again were slim.

Nevertheless, that’s never stopped Keith from admiring an attractive man whenever he sees one.

Stop it, he thinks.

He’s hot though, his subconscious replies, really hot. Could you imagine how hot he’d look sitting on your--

“Is everything alright?” James snaps him out of his thoughts of Hot Stranger.

“Peachy,” He grimaces, forcing his subconscious to please, shut the fuck up , “I’m just wondering how much longer we'll have to wait.”

***

I guess you could say we officially met at a masquerade ball fundraiser the University held.

I wanted to ask her to go with me, but I was too afraid to bring myself to ask. What if she said no? God, she was intimidatingly beautiful and smart and witty, and I was so afraid of getting shut down by this girl. So, I persuaded my group of friends and a group of her sorority friends, with whom I had a good relationship, to go together as one large group. That way I could go with her, and I didn’t have to ask her. Coward’s way out, sure, but still.

It was like a scene from a movie when our group walked into the ballroom. Girls wore expensive haute couture gowns with silk and lace masks. Guys wore pressed, sleek tuxedos, their hair coiffed nicely. Gucci loafers. I immediately felt out of place in my older brother’s hand me down tuxedo that he wore to his best friend’s wedding back in Arus. 

The university was extremely elite, and the only reason I got in was because of a scholarship. And the only reason why I was invited to fancy events like this was because I was on scholarship.

Inside the ballroom, the minutes ticked away slowly. Nine o'clock. I made my way over to the area that served the hor d’oeuvres. I grabbed a plate, and walked head-first into her.

“Whoa, I’m sorry!” I said, reaching out to steady her.

“It’s fine,” she waved me off, words coming out of her mouth in a crisp accent, “Please don’t feel bad. The lighting in here is so poor.”

Oh God, I recall thinking, She’s from England. As if she wasn’t already out of my league enough.

It was awkward for a few seconds, and then I remembered I hadn’t introduced myself.

“I’m Lance,” I said, sticking out my hand, “I don’t think I’ve ever formally  introduced myself, sorry.”

“I’m Allura,” she smiled, taking my breath away, accepting my hand, “It’s fine. And it is lovely to meet you.”

***

Lance hesitates before gripping the door to enter the community centre, but decides to pull the door open anyway, stepping into the dimly-lit room. 

Plastic chairs form a circle in the center of the room, some of them occupied.

Earlier, during the day, Hunk had pulled him aside quietly and told him about a small support group run by his friend, Shay.

“ It’s up to you, buddy, ” he'd said gently, looking at Lance, “ If you think it’ll help. Everyone there is really supportive, Shay especially. ”

When he enters, several pairs of eyes turn to face him. He feels uncomfortable, but as nonchalantly as he could, sits in one of the chairs, next to a kid with black hair and stormy grey eyes.

“Hello, you,” the woman in the middle of the circle smiles warmly, striking something in Lance.

She had a smile like that. 

Lance feels the urge to trust this woman. She’s dressed in warm, earthy tones which compliment her dark skin; a beige sweatshirt, long brown skirt and brown heeled boots, emphasising what is no doubt an imposing height.

Large gold hoops accentuate her graceful features. She’s makeup free, showing off her freckles, and Lance guesses she’s around his age, if slightly younger.

He smiles hesitantly back at her, “Hi, I’m Lance.”

“I’m Shay,” she continues, encouragingly, “And this is our group. Would you like to tell us about yourself?”

And he wants to. He wants to open up and let them in and just let this pain out because surely they’d understand him, right? They’d know what he’s been going through. 

But he can’t. Not yet. He has to open up to his family and friends first, before he can bring himself to open up to strangers.

“I’m Lance. I’m twenty seven, and I recently came back here from New York.... and that’s basically all for now,” he says softly, not looking at Shay.

“Thank you for sharing. You can just listen in for now. Everyone’s journey is different, and I don’t want you to feel as though you owe it to us to let us in. We work with your timing,” Shay says kindly, as if she understands, “We can just introduce ourselves for now, though. You already know I’m Shay. I’m twenty five, and I love to make jewellery in my spare time.”

The introductions go by quickly. Names and faces are a blur, but there are two that stick with him: the kid next to him and the man on the kid’s left.

“I’m James,” the kid says, “I’m thirteen. I like to read in my spare time.”

“Keith,” the man introduces, “I’m twenty eight and I'm James' adoptive uncle. I draw.”

The man, Keith, is stunning. He’s got pale skin that makes wide, angular grey eyes pop against his black hair and equally as black, inky lashes.

Lance always had a penchant for stunning things.

“Today, we’re working on self-care,” Shay says, snapping Lance back to reality, “Last time we were here, I asked you all to do something creative to express how you feel. Anyone want to share what they’ve done?”

There were no takers. The kid next to him, James, raises his hand after a few minutes.

Shay gestures for him to continue.

“I dreamt about my parents this week. I wrote them a letter when I woke up,” he says, before unfolding a page to read its contents.

“How did writing this letter make you feel, James?” Shay asks when he’s done.

“It hurt,” James says slowly, “It made me feel like there was this... this hole inside me that was going to suck me in and never let go. I felt cold and alone and hopeless, like the night of the fire.”

Keith’s attention is now focused on his nephew, “Shay, I think he should stop.”

“No, Keith, let him continue,” Shay encourages, “It’s good for him to share his feelings. To let them out.”

But James doesn’t hear them. Instead, he presses on.

“That night, I called Shiro and Adam. They made it better. The day after, Keith and I got muffins from Lotor's café,” he says, sniffing, “I realized spending time with them helps. I don’t feel.. I don’t feel hopeless and alone.”

Poor kid.

Lance can’t imagine what it’s like to lose parents at such an early age. Lance can’t imagine what it’s like to live without parents, period.

And it’s what Shay says next that really resonates with him.

“But you’re not alone, James,” she says, squeezing James' hand reassuringly, “Always remember, even when you feel like you are, you’re never alone. There’s always someone out there rooting for you.”

***

We kissed on our first date. It was completely by accident, though, and we were both giggling messes after.

It was a picnic in the student commons. We both bent forward to grab the paper plates, and our lips crashed together, and it was very, very, very awkward.

"Shit," I muttered.

“So much for romantics,” she giggled

“Allura, I’m so sorry,” I said, sincerely, pretty sure that my face was as red as a tomato.

“Don’t be,” she smiled, and God, I instantly knew that I loved it when she smiled like that, “I liked it.”

***

“James,” Keith says.

James gives him his full attention, just by hearing the seriousness in Keith’s tone.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Keith tells him.

“I know,” James answers in a rush, “But I didn’t tell you because you have so much on your plate and I didn’t want to add to it.”

His eyes are still red from crying. Keith had to take him outside to calm him down before they could go back to the group.

“You will never be a burden, Jaime,” Keith says seriously, using his nickname, “I’ll always make time for you.  And I’ll always worry about you. Just as Adam and Shiro would.”

“You don’t have to--"

“You know I was adopted too, right,” Keith says, “And damn, I was a stubborn kid. I refused to talk to anyone. But that didn’t stop Shiro. Shiro kept pushing and pushing until I let him in. And if that’s what I have to do to convince you that you’re not a burden, then I’ll do it.”

Despite whatever their differences may be, Keith and James, it's no secret that they care about each other deeply. They both know it.

So that’s why James finally smiles when he says, “You owe me ice cream.”

Keith checks the time on his phone. Quarter to eight. It’s not quite the right time to cut off James' sugar intake for the day as yet, so Keith allows James to walk towards the Boardwalk.

The late afternoon breeze is cool. Keith inhales the scent of sweet candy coming from the Boardwalk as his hair blows about lightly. He sighs, bunching together as many strands as he possibly could and tying it into a stubby little ponytail at the base of his head.

They enter Hira's ice cream shop, where they order two waffle cones; cotton candy for James, cherry vanilla for himself. 

Then, they make their way down to the beach.

“I saw you looking at the guy next to me earlier,” James says with a smirk, “That’s the same guy you were looking at in the café, right?”

“James,” Keith whines, feeling an embarrassed flush taking over his face.

“What?” James whines in return, smirk growing, “I can’t help but notice these things. You’re so obvious.”

“Fine,” Keith sighs, “I thought he was cute.”

“I don’t see it,” James shrugs, then grips Keith’s shirt tightly, “Oh my God, there he is. We should go introduce ourselves.”

He discreetly points in the direction of the frowning brunette, sitting alone on a bench with a laptop open in front of him.

“James, no,” Keith’s heart almost stops inside his chest.

“James, yes!” James says, disentangling himself from Keith, running over to Hot Stranger.

“James!” Keith whisper-yells, “Get your ass back here!”

James, to Keith’s utter lack of surprise, does not return. 

Instead, there are now two silhouettes at the bench and Keith curses seven ways to Sunday as he goes to get his nosy nephew.

When he gets to the bench, the man and James are laughing at something. 

Keith’s irritated, but keeps his irritation in check as he prepares to talk to the other man.

“Hi,” Keith smiles sheepishly at the man, “I’m sorry about him; he recognized you from the group and thought he’d come over and say hi.”

“It’s no bother,” the man says, setting aside his laptop, smiling.

(There’s something wrong with this smile, Keith notes, it doesn’t look as bright as it was earlier.)

“I could use a break anyway,” Hot Stranger continues, sticking his hand out, “I’m Lance, in case you didn’t catch my name.”

Keith usually isn’t the cliché, romantic type.

Anyone could attest to this. 

But when his fingers meet Hot Stranger's-- Lance’s, he would swear that an electric current made its way up his spine.

Judging by Lance’s expression, and the speed at which he pulls his hand away, he feels it too.

“I'm Keith,” he says, gruffly.

"I remember,” Lance says, shyly.

“We saw you in the café earlier too,” James says unexpectedly, “Keith and I know almost everyone in town, but we didn’t recognize you. We thought you were a tourist.”

“Oh, no,” Lance grins, “I was born and raised in Arus. I got back from New York just a few days ago. You probably know my friends Pidge and Hunk, though.”

“Pidge?” Keith frowns, “You mean Katie Holt?”

“That’s the one,” Lance grins.

His assistant, Matthew Holt, had a sister named Katie, but everyone called her Pidge. He mentions this to Lance.

“That’s her,” Lance confirms, “Wow, small world. Is your brother Shiro?”

“Yes,” Keith says, a bit surprised, “Wait, do you know him?”

“I do, actually,” Lance’s blue eyes grow wide, “He always spoke about you! When we first met, I thought you were, like, his imaginary friend or something because we never saw you. We called you ‘The Mothman of Arus.’ ”

“Well, it’s a good thing I just happen to like Mothman. Otherwise I’d be pretty offended,” Keith jokes.

Lance laughs loudly, the moonlight making his smile appear to be extra bright.

“I lived in California with our parents. Went to university there too, that’s why I wasn’t around much,” Keith clarifies, needing to get his mind off how almost ethereally gorgeous this man was, “Shiro chose to run Voltron Communications from here, which was built by his dad. I’m just here temporarily until Shiro and Adam clear up something at one of our branches.”

Lance nods.

Keith glances at the time again, eyes widening.

“Shit,” He mutters, “It’s getting pretty late. I’ve gotta head back with James so that we can organize ourselves for tomorrow.”

“I should get going too,” Lance frowns, “Before my mother and friends decide to send out a search party. My phone just died, so I can't call them.”

"I left mine back in the center with Shay, so I wouldn't have to answer if it rang. It's after hours. Sorry I couldn't lend you a call," Keith frowns looking at Lance, “But it’s nice to meet you.”

"It's alright. And same here,” Lance says with a smile, meeting Keith’s eyes.

They hold eye contact for a few seconds, until James suddenly says, “Hey, Lance, you know what? You should take Keith’s number. So, if you ever need a friend or something.”

“James,” Keith hisses like a feral cat, ears heating, when he registers his nephew’s words.

“No, it’s fine,” Lance smiles, but he looks a bit nervous.

“See?” James' grin expands, “It’s fine .”

He rattles off Keith’s number, while Lance scribbles it down on a sticky note pad he's using.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No problem,” James waves him off, yawning, “I think we really need to go now, Keith. ‘m tired.”

“Alright. Come on, you,” Keith sighs with amusement, “Let’s go. Bye Lance.”

The other man waves as they turn to walk off the beach, until he hears a voice say, “Keith, wait!”

When he turns, it’s Lance, fumbling around until he finds a blank sticky and a marker, “Um, I usually don’t do this, but uh, since James gave me yours, it’s only fair that you get mine. So, uh, here. It's my number."

“Thanks,” Keith accepts the sticky with a hint of a smile.

“It's no problem, you know, you guys seem nice enough and you’re friends with Matt and Pidge, and they’re friends with good people,” Lance rambles nervously, “Not that I’m implying you’re not a good person, you seem okay, so it’s okay, just--"

“Lance,” Keith cuts him off with a smile.

“Sorry—Just don’t be a stranger,” Lance smiles apologetically, before ruffling James’ hair.

Grabbing his laptop bag, he waves again as he walks in the opposite direction.

Keith waits until he’s a good distance away before he allows the small smile to break out on his face.

Chapter Text

“What do you want to be after all of this?” I asked, burying my face in her soft hair.

“An Ambassador,” I felt her smile.

“I asked what you want to be, not what your father wants you to be,” I said.

“I want to explore space,” she answered seriously, after a few moments of silence, “I want to know about the stars and the universe. I want to know whether other planets can harbour life. I want to know the stories behind the stars. I want to know anything and everything.”

“But life has other plans for you, doesn’t it?” I muttered, under my breath.

“But life has other plans for me,” she pressed a kiss against my chest, “What do you want to be, love?”

“A writer,” I answered, jokingly, “I want to tell the story of a girl who’s brave enough to chase her dream and do what she loves and learns the stories behind the stars.”

“Lance!” she laughed.

***

James puts a bookmark on his current page, looking over at Keith, who’s rapidly typing on his laptop at his desk in his office.

“It’s time to FaceTime with Shiro and Adam,” he says.

“I have to finish this report,” Keith frowns, pushing his glasses back into place before handing over his phone, “You can call them in the meantime.”

James unlocks his phone, examining it before asking, “Did you ever text Lance?”

Keith looks up from his computer, sharply. It’s been almost a week or so since Lance gave him his number, but Keith hasn’t had the chance to use it as of yet.

“No, I haven’t texted Lance,” he says slowly, “I’ve been busy. And we saw him on Monday at the group.”

“But... why? You two seem like you’d be good friends. You both talked face to face for a while on the beach on Monday and it seemed like you started off on good footing,” James protests.

“Hey, if he wants to be friends, he can text first,” Keith retorts, “Just saying.”

“I may be reading this situation wrong, but it seems as though you want him to text you first?” James quirks his head to the side like a puppy, “To be fair, he could probably be waiting for you to text him first. You can’t expect me to make all the moves and do all the thinking on your behalf, Keith.”

A mischievous puppy, Keith thinks.

“There are no “moves” to be made. Or thoughts to think about. Besides, I’m sure he has stuff to do too, you know?” Keith huffs.

“Who has stuff to do?” the blonde head of his assistant, one Matthew Holt, pops around the corner into his office.

“Nobody,” Keith replies as James says, “Lance.”

“Lance?” Matt takes this as an opportunity to enter his office and take a seat, “As in Lance McClain, Pidge's friend?”

“Don’t you have work to do, Matt?” Keith snaps, annoyed.

“I do, but I can stay back to finish up. This is gold,” Matt smirks, “So what has our naughty little Lance been up to?”

“Wait, wait. Hold up,” James gasps, “Did you just say his name is Lance McClain?”

“Sure is,” Matt says.

“No way! Lance McClain like the writer Lance McClain? I think he wrote my favourite book, Keith!” James whispers excitedly, “I have to get him to sign it next time we see him!”

“Is it Chasing Nebulas? ” Matt asks.

James nods, “Yes!”

“Oh yeah. He wrote it,” Matt says proudly, “It’s pretty good, right?”

James nods, more enthusiastically.

“So, how exactly did you three happen to meet?” Matt asks, curiously.

“Group, then on the beach,” Keith mumbles, “We exchanged numbers after, in case we wanted to talk outside the group.”

“Oh,” Matt frowns, “That’s nice.”

“Your expression says otherwise,” Keith says dryly.

“No, no,” Matt covers his face with his hand for a moment, “I’m serious. It’s actually a bit surprising that he gave you his number. It means he's actively trying to be your friend. And that's good for him, given what he’s been through.”

Keith hesitates before asking, “I know it’s his trauma so I’m not gonna ask about it, but was it really that bad?”

Matt frowns, “I don’t know about it first hand, but from what Pidge said, it was.”

Their conversation is interrupted by another assistant who sticks her head inside his office and says, “Mr. Zarkon is here to see you, Mr. Kogane.”

“Shoot, sorry,” Matt smiles, apologetically, “I’ll go. Should I send him in?”

“Sure,” Keith sighs, “Jaime, you can take the phone and stay in the kitchenette. I’ll take you to class after this.”

***

Love.

Love teaches you patience. It teaches you pain. It’s dangerous.

Even so, I was never afraid of love. Some people said I fell too hard, too fast. But I didn’t care. When I feel... I feel everything. I’m an emotional person.

But sometimes being an emotional person sucked.

***

Lance pauses, looking back at the paragraph. It’s okay, he supposes. It’s not his favourite piece of writing, but he can work with it.

The bell over the door of the café rings and in walks a familiar face.

Keith meets his eyes and they smile at each other, Keith standing in the line to order.

He joins Lance at his table when he gets his coffee. Lance closes his laptop down, setting it aside to give the dark-haired man his attention.

“I took a guess as to what to get you,” Keith grins, sheepishly, handing over a disposable coffee cup.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Lance says, accepting the cup gratefully nonetheless, inhaling its contents, “Hazelnut mocha. Good guess. Thank you.”

“No problem. My treat,” Keith's grin widens, and he blows the steam away from his own cup.

There’s a brief pause between them, and Lance takes a moment to look at him. He’s wearing a white shirt neatly tucked into black pants, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow.

An expensive looking watch is wrapped around his wrist, black striped tie hanging loosely from his neck, with the two buttons at the top of his shirt attractively undone, exposing a hint of porcelain, smooth skin. 

He clears his throat.

“What are you--"

“Sorry I didn’t--"

They cut each other off, and Lance laughs.

“Go ahead, Keith,” he says. 

“Sorry I didn’t text you earlier,” Keith replies, smile still intact. “I didn’t want to come off as being some persistent, annoying person.”

“It’s fine,” Lance says, “I get it. I figured you’re probably really busy. How is James doing? Is he okay after coming to the group on Monday? I know it can be emotional and stressful.”

“Nah, he’s fine. Today he has karate class,” Keith explains, “And we discovered that you potentially wrote one of his favourite books. Chasing Nebulas . He’s anxious to get you to sign it--if you’re okay with that, of course.”

“Of course!” Lance replies excitedly, “I’m so happy to hear that he likes it! Tell him he can come with his copy next time we have group.”

It’s always a pleasure for Lance to get to do something as simple as signing a copy of his book for a fan. Without his fans, he would be nothing, and he would always be grateful for them; he's always be grateful that there were people out there who liked what he wrote and were anxious to keep up with his writing.

“I'll definitely let him know,” Keith nods.

His phone rings, bringing their conversation to an abrupt halt.

“Excuse me,” he says, frowning, “I have to take this.”

"Yeah, sure," Lance says.

He speaks in hushed, quiet tones. As the conversation goes on, Lance begins to see that Keith’s becoming more and more agitated. His grey eyes darken and narrow infinitesimally, lips pressing together into a hard line.

“He doesn’t have the authority to do that!” Keith hisses quietly into the phone at one point, “I can’t make a decision on it. We need Shiro's approval first.”

A pause.

“I know, but there was a quorum set for the meeting. If the total number of members aren’t there, the proceedings of the meeting aren’t valid. He can’t just do that!” Keith rubs his fingers against his temples, “Okay. When James and I get home, I’m going to call Shiro and sort this out.”

Another pause.

“It’s fine. You have a good afternoon too, Matt,” he says, quietly, “Thanks for calling. Bye.”

Lance raises his eyebrows when Keith hangs up the phone.

“I’m sorry about that,” he sighs tiredly, "The life of a businessman."

“Is everything alright?” Lance asks, concerned.

“No,” Keith frowns, “I genuinely love my job, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes, it’s just too much.”

“Well, you can talk me,” Lance says, hesitantly, “If it’s okay to share, that is. I won’t tell anyone, promise.”

He doesn’t like seeing Keith frown like that. If talking about it would make the frown go away, then the least he could do was listen.

After all, he sort of wanted to be friends with Keith outside of the therapy group, anyway.

And friends listened to what each other had to say.

“One of our partners is being difficult,” Keith confides, after a moment of deciding whether or not to say anything, “We have special quorums set for all our meetings so that all proceedings can be discussed and recorded fairly. If they’re not met, then the proceedings are invalid. Our partner overrode the validity of the quorum and started injecting funds into a local business.”

"A quorum?" Lance asks.

"Yeah," Keith explains, "A quorum-- it's basically the amount of members from the two firms that we need present in order for any meeting proceedings to be valid. Their side were two members short and the quorum wasn't met."

“So the meeting technically wasn't valid and they went ahead and did what they wanted anyway,” Lance says, disbelief colouring his tone, "Oh my God."

“I know, right? And it’s not as though we don’t support local entrepreneurs. We do, but--"

“You have to run checks and balances first,” Lance finishes, “You have to ensure that your investments aren’t set up for failure.”

“Exactly,” Keith nods, “And I met with him earlier to re-emphasize our position, but because he owns the partner company, he thinks he can do what he wants. His board doesn't have enough authority to shut him down on their side and I don’t have the authority to instruct our attorneys to write a cease and desist letter to his company. Only Shiro does.”

“That’s horrible,” Lance frowns, “I’m sorry that he’s doing that to you guys.”

“I keep reminding myself that I’ll only have to deal with these issues for a few more weeks until Shiro officially takes back the helm and I can go home, but it’s stressful to have things like this happen,” Keith sighs, “I just wanted to enjoy a nice cup of coffee this afternoon. Clearly, that was too much to ask.”

Lance laughs, patting Keith’s arm.

“Well, on the bright side, two more days till the weekend,” he says.

“Oh, which reminds me, James and his friends wanted to go to the Boardwalk Fair and I promised I’d take him,” Keith mutters, smacking his hand against his forehead.

“Pidge and Hunk asked me to go with them earlier this week,” Lance says, “I already said yes, so maybe we might run into you and James. That would be fun.”

“Or maybe,” Keith smiles hopefully, “I could use the number that you gave me, text you when I’m there, and then we could all meet up?”

A large grin settles onto Lance’s lips without his permission. That sounds like a wonderful idea.

“Deal.”

***

My best friends back home often said I wore my heart on my sleeve. That my face was an open book.

I guess it’s true, because my family has always been able to read me pretty easily.

And I suppose it was somewhat the same on the opposite end of the spectrum. I could read people just as easily. Until I met him. Then everything changed.

***

“I love that this house is so close to the beach,” James grins as he rubs sunscreen onto his nose.

“You’ve mentioned that on many occasions,” Keith grins back.

“Be as sarcastic as you like,” James pouts, “But nothing can ruin my vibe today. Not even your sarcasm.”

“Why do you love the beach so much?” Keith asks curiously.

That was something they’d never talked about.

James’s hand pauses briefly between his nose and forehead as he replies, “My mother. She used to take me to swim when I was a baby, while my dad was at work. I grew up loving the beach. I feel close to her when I’m there.”

Oh .

To be fair, Keith would have expected a dodgy answer, but James' candidness shocks him. In a good way.

“Shay would insist that I take you to the beach, in that case,” Keith allows himself to smile gently at James.

“In moderation though,” James says, biting his lip, “I can’t expect everyone to drop what they’re doing to take me down to the beach all the time.”

“True, but if you continue to behave well, when you’re a bit older, who knows? Maybe Shiro and Adam might decide it’s alright for you to take a small stroll by yourself every now and again,” Keith ruffles James' hair as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab a few bottles of water.

Then, they both put on their shoes and locked the house behind them. The house was about ten minutes’ walking distance away from the beach so the journey to and from was a decent exercise.

The community center was within walking distance of their house as well, so Keith didn't necessarily have much complaints about that either.

When they arrive, they’re hit by the mouth-watering at the fair, the scent of fresh candy apples, warm butter popcorn, fairy floss, and salt water taffy. The sweet, tooth-rotting fair junk that Keith’s known all his life in California.

There’s music playing, and even though it’s almost one o’clock in the afternoon, the rides on the sand are lit up brightly. The crowd is sizeable; but there’s not too many people, just enough to give the atmosphere an authentic fair feel.

There are lots of brightly coloured game booths set up along the boardwalk with shelves of stuffed toys and useless knick-knacks as prizes. By the look on James’ face, Keith knows he can’t wait to start playing.

“Keith,” he whimpers.

“Alright, alright,” Keith relents, laughing, “I hear you.”

 He takes three twenty dollar bills out of his wallet and hands them over, “Knock yourself out, you brat. You have your phone, text me if you need anything. Call me when you’re ready to meet me by the food section to get something to eat.”

“Okay,” James nods, sincerely.

“Remember: no trouble, no tricks,” Keith continues, adopting the ‘stern uncle’ look, “Don’t leave anything unattended. Don’t talk to strangers. Stay with your group at all times. If you feel something’s up, or like you’re going to panic, call me and I’ll come get you.”

“I promise I’ll call,” James nods, and Keith’s relieved at the honesty in his voice.

Keith initially was hesitant to leave James alone with his friends, but James had been begging for weeks. That promise to call soothed away Keith’s last few nerves. He trusts James, and if the boy says he’ll call, Keith knows that he would.

"Your friends are here already, right?" Keith asks. 

When James nods and tells him where the meet-up spot was, Keith decides to walk James over. The group is already there, waiting for James. Keith feels much more at ease, being able to personally drop him off.

“Have fun with Lance and company,” James grins, winking before he runs off with his friends.

“James!” Keith gasps, a retort almost out of his lips, but resorting to shaking his head when he realizes James won’t hear him, anyway.

***

If you ask him, he'd probably say it started on the beach, after a day of playing soccer.

But for me, it all started on a cool evening at a fair on the Boardwalk in Arus.

I never saw it coming.

A bit more on that later, though.

***

There’s a text from Keith on Lance’s phone. 

Hey, I’m by the ferris wheel.

Grinning, Lance tells Pidge, Matt, and Hunk, “He’s here.”

“Let’s go meet him,” Pidge says.

They make their way over to the wheel, where Keith’s waiting. Lance tries not to pay attention to how good he looks in his red flannel, white undershirt and black cargo shorts. From this angle, he could see how the jersey and flannel shirt stretches to fit Keith’s lean yet well defined structure. His eyes are covered by oversized Ray-Bans. He looks really good, and Lance can’t deny that he’s attracted to the other man.

He also sees, for the first time, that he’s a head taller than Keith. He’s very low-key happy about that; it means he will get to tease him about it in the future.

“Keith!” Pidge greets enthusiastically, “Nice to see you!”

“And you, Pidge,” Keith hugs the small blonde, and then nods in her brother’s direction, “Matt.”

“Boss,” Matt greets in return, which makes Keith amusingly uncomfortable.

His cheeks flush a deep red colour as he says, “It’s Keith outside of work, Matt. You know this.”

Matt only grins in his direction.

“Hi, Keith,” Hunk greets warmly.

“Hey, Hunk. How’s your culinary class coming along?” Keith asks.

“They’re coming along great,” Hunk says proudly, “I can’t wait for my students to show off their stuff in the Expo at the end of the semester. I really hope they impress Shiro, because he's sponsoring the entire thing.”

“I’m sure he can’t wait to see what you guys put together this year. Every year you always manage to outdo yourself and I'm sure this time is no different,” Keith smiles.

"Why does Shiro sponsor Hunk's part of the expo?" Lance asks quietly.

"Cause he's Shiro, and he's a do-gooder," Keith grins.

"Ah," Lance replies, "Gotcha."

“So, should we scope out the scene?” Matt rubs his hands together excitedly, “See how we can best entertain ourselves?”

Everyone agrees, so they make their way toward the Boardwalk to look at the games.

The booths are typical carnival-type games. A ring toss both, a high striker, skee ball, a dunk tank, dart games and the like.

Of course, there’s a psychic tent there too, and since Matt seems hyper fixated about getting a reading done, the rest of them reluctantly agree to go after they play games and have a bite.

“Come on up folks! Show off your skills!” the stall master for the ring toss booth says, “Win something for your partner or your friends! Ten dollars for five rings! Catch five bottles for a prize!”

“What a rip off,” Keith scoffs.

“I think I could do it,” Lance says, confidently.

“I’ve read that some people give out rings that barely fit over the top of the bottle,” Keith quirks an eyebrow, “How can you win if the rings and bottles aren’t the same size?”

“I’m with Keith,” Pidge says, “I don’t think you can win.”

“Oho, so that’s two non-believers,” Lance smirks, “Hunk, what do you think?”

“I think you could do it,” he voices his support for Lance.

“Matt?” Lance asks.

“Hell yeah, you could do it,” Matt grins.

“Excellent.”

Lance goes to the stall master.

“Rings, young man?” the man offers.

“Yes. Five rings, please,” Lance hands over ten dollars in exchange for the rings.

The stall master stands at the side, counting down from 3, while Lance adjusts his aim.

Pulling back, he tosses the first ring. It catches a bottle. He grins to himself.

He takes a moment, before he focuses on the second bottle. He inhales slightly, finding the right angle. He tosses the ring, and it catches the second bottle.

The stall master, as well as Keith and Pidge, are all stunned, which gives Lance a massive confidence boost.

He repeats the process for the third and fourth bottles.

“Come on, buddy, one more bottle to go,” Hunk cheers on from the side-lines, while Pidge adds, “Go Lance!”

He closes his eyes, inhales, and lets go of the ring. It balances at the top of the bottle, before going down it’s slender neck, effectively catching the bottle. 

“Whoo hoo!” Lance cheers loudly, blue eyes dancing with joy, “I did it!”

“So you did,” the stall master says, with equal joy, “That was amazing. Since you got all five, and that's a rarity, you can pick your prize from the top shelf.”

Lance’s eyes scan the stuffed animals, before landing on the one he decides is perfect.

“I’ll have the red stuffed lion, please,” Lance grins.

When he receives it, he hands it over to Keith without thinking, saying teasingly, “For you, my dear non-believer.”

Lance doesn’t notice that Pidge and Hunk are looking at him closely, with shock on their faces.

“I can’t take your prize, Lance,” Keith says, almost shyly, his cheeks and ears an endearing red.

“Please do. As a testament to never doubt me again,” he grins.

Keith’s face gets redder as he takes the lion, mumbling under his breath, and Lance thinks it’s the best thing ever. He wonders if he can get this reaction out of Keith more often.

Later, when they get to the high striker, Keith tells them that he’ll play. 

Hunk gestures for him to step up, and everyone could tell he poured every ounce of strength in his body into the hit.

To Lance’s shock, it reaches the top and the machine lights up, signalling his win.

The stall master asks him to choose a prize. He picks the blue shark and hands it over to Lance as soon as he gets it.

“There,” he mutters, red-faced, “Now we’re even.”

Keith’s phone rings when they leave the stall. It’s James, asking them to meet up for lunch.

“The food and dining area is back on the beach,” Hunk says, “I saw that they were mostly serving things like, hot dogs, burgers and fries though.”

“Sounds okay,” Matt says.

“Took you guys long enough,” James mutters, earning a laugh from Keith when they arrive.

While Lance and Hunk order the food, Pidge, Matt, James and Keith go to the dining area to keep a table. 

“Don’t think I missed that smile on your face when Keith laughed earlier,” Hunk says softly.

Lance can feel the nervous sweat on the base of his neck.

“What smile?” he asks, nervously.

“You know what I’m talking about. And you made the same face when you gave him your prize earlier,” Hunk notes, “Why?”

Lance doesn’t say anything, lowering his eyes.

“You’re interested in him, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Whenever I’m with him, or even around him,” Lance confesses in a rush, “I get the urge to make him laugh and smile. Like, he’s this enigma that I have to figure out. The first time we met and I shook his hand, there were literal sparks, Hunk. Sparks! I thought that was some fairy tale shit but it’s not. It’s like I’m drawn to him.”

“I think it’s cause you like him. Could like him. You're attracted to him and you want to get to know him,” Hunk smiles, a warm, comforting thing, “And that is so okay, Lance.”

“Is it?” he asks, “Maybe it’s just a one sided thing. I don’t even know if he’s into guys. Plus, I have a shit-ton of emotional baggage, who would even want to deal with that? I barely even know him!”

“Buddy,” Hunk places his hand on his shoulder, the same strong and steady hand that used to be there when they were kids and Lance fell and scraped his knee. Or after Camila gave Lance a thorough scolding.

“If you want things to work out,” Hunk says, his calming hazel eyes meeting Lance’s, “Trust that they will. Trust the process. Don’t ever bring yourself, or your battles, down like that.”

***

I recall that I was nervous. I knew she could pick up on it too, as she looked at me with a worried pout.

“Is everything alright, love?” she asked softly.

“I have something to tell you,” I admitted, “And it may change the way you look at me, or even how you feel about me. But trust me, I really like you, and I promise you that this doesn’t affect the way I feel about you.”

She looked at me as though I couldn’t hear her heart pounding inside her chest through her skin. As though I couldn’t see the moment the worry solidified in her eyes, or how her palms began to sweat nervously.

“Go on then,” she said.

“Allura, I’m bi,” I said, ripping the metaphorical Band-Aid away, “I mean, I’m bisexual.”

“Oh, okay,” she nodded. 

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look as though she’s about to curse me out, or break up with me. I give her a few moments to gather her thoughts. 

“I thought you were going to break up with me,” she confessed.

“What?? Why?” I’m shocked.

I’d be an utter fool to let her go.

“I dunno, I just did,” she laughed nervously.

Soon, we’re both laughing at the awkwardness of the situation.

“For the record, I knew you were bi when we first started dating,” she clarified.

“You did? How?” I asked, before realizing, “Damnit, the pin on my bag.”

She nodded.

“I’m glad you told me, though,” she said, “I was hoping you would when you were ready, but I would’ve never forced you to out yourself. So, thanks for trusting me.”

I teared up. To know that she supported me, that in itself was a huge relief. But I needed to keep going.

“I know the stereotype with bi people, and I just wanted you to know that as long as we’re dating, it’s going to be only you--"

“Stop. Stop. Right there,” she said fiercely, “You never have to justify yourself to me, Lance McClain. If we’re dating and you say you’re only with me, then I believe you because I trust you, okay? I know you and I trust you and I don’t ever want you to hide who you truly are for my sake.”

I looked down at her, blue eyes burning brightly, passionately against dark skin, pink lips curved into a warm, comforting smile, and I knew it then: I loved her.

“Thank you, Allura,” I whispered.

"May I make a confession of my own?" She asked.

I nodded.

"My father is pansexual. A year after my mum died, he met the British ambassador to Australia, Coran Smythe. They've been together ever since. They haven't married, but I think of Coran as my step-dad. They live together in England. My mum was Indian, and she came from a Hindu family," she said, biting her lip, "But they respect Coran and get along with him, holding him in high regard. They've accepted my dad and his relationship ever since, as Coran makes us happy. I hope…. I hope that doesn't change your opinion of me or my family in any way."

"Allura," I breathed, kissing her, "Nothing will ever change the way I feel about you. And I look forward to meeting them."

***

“This burger’s pretty good,” James says, taking another bite. 

“It is,” Hunk says.

“You can totally do better, though, Hunk,” Matt says, “But it’s alright.”

“Matt!” Hunk's cheeks flush red, and Pidge laughs.

Keith could get used to this. A nice evening out with friends, enjoying the fresh evening air, taking in the sight of the beautifully lit Boardwalk.

A tiny, insecure voice at the back of his head warns him not to get too attached. 

Like everything else in this world, this was temporary. He'd be back in California in a few week’s time when Shiro and Adam return.

He’s distracted by Hunk's voice saying, “...date?”

“Sorry, what was that?” he asks.

“Oh, I was just saying,” Hunk hums, “Isn’t here such a lovely place to bring a date?”

James, the little traitor, snorts, “Don’t ask Keith. He hasn’t had a date, or a boyfriend, in years. Shiro told me so. He and Adam are always teasing him about it.”

Pidge laughs loudly, “I usually despise teenagers, but I knew I liked this one. He’s a keeper.”

“Boyfriend?” he can hear Lance’s curious voice, despite its low tone.

Wait, was Lance homophobic or something?

“Um, yeah,” he answers hesitantly, “I’m gay. It’s not a secret and I don’t try to hide it. Is that a problem?”

“No,” Lance says reassuringly, “I’m just surprised. You don’t seem like the—And, I’m going to shut up now. But, yeah, I’ll have to agree with Hunk; here’s a nice place for a date. Or even a nice get together with friends who have had a tough week.”

“Hear, hear!” Matt raises his red solo cup, “To friends!”

Everyone raises their own cups, echoing Matt’s toast.

“You know, I still don’t know the story of how you all met,” Lance frowns.

“ Now this is a story all about --" Matt starts in a sing-song tone, mimicking the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song until Pidge stops him.

“Matthew Quincy Holt, stop right now,” she hisses, then turns to Lance, “About a month after you left for New York, Shiro's brother, Keith, the Mothman of Arus--"

“Hey!”

“-- Made his first ever appearance. He came to visit Shiro. Matt worked for Shiro at that time, and that’s how I met Keith. We immediately bonded over our annoying older siblings and our love for cryptids,” Pidge says, “Keith met Hunk when Shiro took him to the university’s expo. After Keith left, we kept in contact over Discord and a group chat.”

"I was about twenty one at the time," Keith smiles, "I had a year left to complete my degree and my dad sent me to intern with Shiro for the summer."

“After that, Keith flew in like twice every year, whenever his schedule was free, to hang with us,” Hunk adds, “He started flying in even more when James joined the family, so we all got to hang out in person more often.”

“Oh,” Lance says, and Keith can’t help but notice the small smile playing at his lips; the way his blue eyes seem to light up with amusement.

Mentally, Keith braces himself to get rid of those thoughts. From the way he reacted earlier, Keith’s come to the conclusion that Lance might just be another one of those straight dudes. And those straight dudes are nothing but trouble.

But, then again, Lance hadn’t been outright disgusted when Keith told him that was gay.

Wrinkling his nose, Keith decides to ignore all his thoughts altogether.

“I suppose it was equally as weird for us,” James contemplates out loud, “If you think about it, Keith and I were always hearing about this Lance dude, but we had no idea he existed, either.”

Matt doesn’t bother to hold back his laugh.

After their meal, James decides to remain with Keith. He calls his friends and lets them know before asking Keith to take him on the ferris wheel. 

He indulges. When they get to the top, they see a full view of Arus beneath them.

“It’s so pretty,” James gasps in awe.

“It’s stunning,” Keith agrees.

There’s a short pause before James speaks again.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I said anything out of turn while we were eating,” James says, apologetically.

“You didn’t,” Keith reassures, “I just want to know why you're so insistent on Lance and I?”

“I don’t say this often so you better listen,” James' voice wobbles a bit before he continues, “I want you to be happy. I see how you look at Shiro and Adam. And you’ve made joining this family so much easier for me. You’re always there when I need you. So I figured, if I could do this one thing for you, then I’ll do it. You and Lance would be so good as a couple, I can feel it. You guys may not know each other that well as of yet, but it can’t hurt to test the waters.”

“Jamie,” Keith breathes, not for the first time, in awe of his nephew. 

If Keith places an arm behind him in their ferris wheel car, they don’t talk about it. And if they notice that the other’s eyes are a bit wet when they step off the ferris wheel, they don’t talk about it either.

***

I should have known our happiness wouldn’t last.

***

“You’re up, Lance,” Pidge says as she exits the psychic’s tent.

“Right,” Lance nods, stepping into the opening of the tent.

He’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s freaked out when he enters the psychic’s tent. She’s dressed in a sequined, floor length black dress with wild, curly Auburn hair cascading down her back. Her makeup is dark and dramatic, eyes an exotic brown, lined thick with khol, intense against her tanned skin. Her face is young, but her eyes are old. She looks nothing like the psychics he sees on TV. Inside the tent is warm, but the crystal ball in front of her exudes an old, ancient energy.

“I am Ezor, descendant of Haggar, the last of the Truly Blessed Romani,” she smiles, “What is it you would like to know?”

“Truly Blessed?” Lance asks in confusion.

His mamí , a strong, devout Catholic, always warned him about messing with the supernatural, and that crystal ball Ezor's using doesn’t settle his nervousness.

“My great-great grandfather was blessed with the gift of prophecy and sight beyond the Great Veil. We were among the most revered of the Romani people until World War II. We were forced into hiding and had to rely on our great talent to survive. Poverty followed with our escape, and we are now reduced to showmen,” Ezor says, the disgust at the situation evident in her voice, “But that is not your question.”

“I-I don’t even know what to ask you,” Lance admits.

“Then I shall read you,” Ezor gestures for him to sit.

He does, and she takes his palm.

“I see that you have faced many hardships in your young life,” she says, “And significant loss. However, I see light and happiness in your future, but you must let go of your darkness first. It is the only way you will be truly happy.”

He nods, thanking her for her words before exiting the tent.

“By the way,” the psychic frowns, “She’s telling me to tell you that she’s alright, and it’s okay.”

Lance, properly frightened, pauses in his tracks, before speeding up his steps on the way out, pretending that the woman’s words don’t send his heart into overdrive. How did she know?

He talks and laughs normally as he could with his friends until he gets home and has the time to sort and contemplate his thoughts. That’s when he realizes some things.

He realizes that somewhere between leaving the fair and the way home, he’s decided that he needs to try to move on. It’s been almost two years (and it still hurts like hell. It would always hurt like hell.)

But there wasn’t any need for his thoughts of her to be sad, or to sting like a fresh paper cut every time she comes to mind, was there? 

Because the answer was simple. All he had to do was let the past go.

He realizes that Alfor was right. His head was clear, and he was comfortable and confident with his decision, and he could only have made this decision as far away from New York as possible.

He realizes that yes, she would live forever on paper and in ink, but this is his reality. Hers had ended a long time ago. His was just beginning.

That’s why, later that evening, he texts Keith:

I just thought you should hear it from me personally.. I don’t have a problem with you being gay.

I myself am bi.

Hope we’re cool.

He feels a bit guilty (yet so, so excited) when he sees the three dots and the typing... notification appear under his text.

He forces himself to realise that he can’t hide away in a sad bubble forever. Nor can he love, almost worship, the memory of a person that's no longer here.

Chapter Text

Keith yawns as he stretches lazily in the sunlight. He sighs, passing a hand down his face, trying to clear his blurry vision. He reaches for his phone, haphazardly on the side of his pillow. It must have slipped out of his hand when he fell asleep.

He checks the time, while glancing at his notifications bar, before unlocking his phone. No missed calls or new emails. His texting screen comes up and the contact is Lance. Their last conversation was about their favourite shows. His last unsent text, thank goodness, is a bunch of random letters scrambled together.

Biting his lip, he silently contemplates whether he should call Lance or not. Closing his eyes, he doesn’t think twice before pressing the little call icon and placing the phone at his ear.

“Mornin'” Lance’s voice sounds energetic and  bright, which brings a smile to Keith’s lips.

“Hey,” he greets in return, “Sorry for the lack of replies.”

“It’s fine. I kinda guessed you fell asleep,” Lance sounds like he’s holding back a laugh.

“Honestly? I did,” Keith admits.

“You deserve a bit of rest, in my opinion,” Lance says, “You're always busy, so yeah.”

Keith sighs.

“What’s up?” he asks Lance.

“Just here, enjoying the beach, writing a bit,” Keith can hear the smile in the other man's voice, “You?”

“I just got up. I think I may have a deadline for a report in the following week, so I’m gonna try to finish up whatever after breakfast,” Keith says, eyes tracing the pattern of the ceiling.

“Have fun, sleepyhead. Hey, since I’ve got you on the line, I was thinking..” He sounds pensive, as though he wanted to ask something but was afraid Keith would say no.

“Yeah?” Keith coaxes gently, hoping to get him to continue.

“There’s a writer’s fair in the community centre this afternoon—it starts around two or so, and the people who set it up asked me to give, like, a talk or something,” Lance says, “I wouldn’t mind having company, if you and James would want to go with me?” 

“Oh,” Keith responds, “Do you know what time it would wrap up? It’s just that tomorrow is a school day, and--"

“Shoot, that’s right,” Lance clicks his tongue, “That’s fine. I should be finished by five, at the latest.”

There’s a brief pause as Keith contemplates accepting the invitation.

“Sure, five works,” he tells Lance.

“Great,” Lance says, “I can pick you guys up later?”

“Okay, I’ll send you directions in a few,” Keith replies.

“Thanks again, Keith,” Lance says, and Keith can hear the sincerity in his voice, “See you later?”

“Yeah. Bye, Lance,” Keith smiles.

Lance wishes him a good afternoon, and then the call cuts. 

He gets out of bed to brush his teeth, and splashes some water on his face in the bathroom. Then, Keith goes to James' room to get him to wake up for breakfast.

“Lance invited us to the book fair in the community centre later,” he tells James, later, when he’s eating his pancakes, “He’s giving a mini seminar.”

“Sweet,” James says, “Maybe I can get him to sign my book.”

“I don’t think that would be much of a problem for him, kid,” Keith says, “You interested in going? Cause I said yes.”

“Yeah,” James grins, “Maybe I can pick out some new books for my collection as well.”

***

“Lance, this is amazing,” Allura’s eyes sparkled as she flipped the page of my drafting notebook.

“I’m—I’m hoping it gets published,” I confessed nervously, unable to meet her eyes.

“I have no doubt that it will, love,” she kissed my cheek with her soft pink lips, “This isn’t like anything I’ve ever read before. This is absolutely brilliant.”

It’s about you, you silly girl, I want to tell her. You inspire me. This is what you push me to do.

***

Lance sifts through his limited closet, hoping to pull out a decent outfit to wear to the fair. 

He'd been so honoured when they asked him to speak at the event, and asking Keith to go with him was probably one of the more stressful things he’s done in his time back at home.

Not to mention, Keith’s attractively groggy, rough, just-woke-up voice made him twice as nervous.

“Ugh, no!” He scowls when his hands pull out a burnt orange button up shirt.

“Hey dude,” Pidge strides into his room, causing Lance to release a loud, high-pitched shriek, the kind of pitch which he'd deny ever being able to reach till the day he died.

“Lance, what the fuck!” Pidge yells, doubling over, covering her ears.

“Jesus, don't scare a man like that, you gremlin,” Lance hisses, “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” she says, simply, standing next to Lance, “Camila let me up here. Didn’t know you were on the warpath with your closet.”

“Book fair later, doing a seminar, can’t find an outfit,” Lance summarises, hands flailing about.

“You had anything in mind?” Pidge asks, filing through the hangers with the tips of her fingers.

“Uh, a button up and Jeans?” Lance replies, “Seems like the most fitting thing to go with.”

“You have a tie?” Pidge frowns, “Wait, this is all the formal clothes you brought with you?”

“Unfortunately,” Lance snorts, “I hadn’t been expecting to be invited to speak anywhere.”

“You should see what Luis left,” Pidge looks at Lance, “Maybe you might find something.”

Lance looks at Pidge.

Pidge looks at Lance.

They both leave his room and enter his brother’s room across the hall. Pidge opens a drawer, while Lance opens up the old closet.

“I asked Keith and James to come along with me,” Lance says casually, keeping his eyes on the articles of clothes in front of him.

Pidge pauses what she’s doing and looks at him.

“You’re joking,” she says.

Biting his lip, he shakes his head.

“That’s amazing, dude,” Pidge smiles, “Although I thought you weren’t ready to have a relationship as yet?”

“I'm not entirely closed off to the idea of having a relationship,” Lance frowns, “I’m just not sure about whether or not I’m ready for one.”

“Huh,” Pidge frowns, “Have you told that to Keith? The last thing you want is for him to get the wrong idea.”

“I haven’t, actually,” Lance frowns guiltily, “He's nice and fun to hang with, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be asking him out on dates anytime soon. I just enjoy hanging out with him. And that’s it.”

“That's dumb, Lance,” Pidge says, “It’s unfair to Keith and his feelings. You have to talk to him about your situation. Oh, here. What about this?”

She hands him a blue and gold striped tie.

“I like this,” he nods, “I think Luis has a navy blue shirt to go with this in here somewhere.”

Lance ruffles through the clothes until he finds the blue shirt he’s looking for.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding the shirt and tie together for Pidge to see.

“Works with black jeans,” she nods.

“Thanks,” Lance says, “Wanna play some video games? I’ve got until, like, twelve free. They asked me to get there at one thirty.”

“Sure,” Pidge raises an eyebrow, “But we’re not finished talking about Keith.”

She sits on his bed while he sets up the T.V. 

Lance sighs.

“Look. I have been holding back on saying anything until now. You asked me to stay out of it, and I respect that, but you need to listen to this,” Pidge says, “I may not understand why you and Hunk feel certain things towards other people. Attraction. Desire. They’re these strange concepts to me, you know? But I know it when I see it. I understand other feelings. I know what it’s like to care about someone. I know what it's like to fall in love with someone. I can thank Hunk for that. And I know you. I see how you acted around Keith the last time we were all together, and I know something is there. There’s no denying that you care deeply about him. Maybe, if you’re willing to let it, whatever’s happening between you and Keith can become something deeper.”

“I’m afraid,” Lance tells her, “I’m afraid that no matter what I do, whenever I get into a new relationship, there’s always going to be the ghost of Allura lingering, and I’m going to fuck it all up.”

“You need to let go, Lance,” she rests her hand on his wrist, a friendly, comforting gesture, “No bullshit? You’ve been in a relationship. Something tragic happened. You were in pain because of it. And the truth about pain is, it doesn’t matter if you try to run from it. You’ll never be able to move on and be happy until you feel it, and then let go.”

“It's hard,” he whispers, focusing on the screen in front of him to avoid eye contact with her, “I miss her.”

“I know. Nobody said it would be easy,” Pidge says, “Now, I’m not trying to push you into a relationship, or to do something you’re not sure about. I’m just saying that if, at some point when you know Keith a bit more, and you think that you’re both ready to take that step, you need to be ready for it. You can’t do that if you feel she’s going to hold you back.”

“I love you, Lance. When you cut Hunk and I out when you were back in New York, it sucked. You’re like a brother to me and I missed my brother,” she says, voice faltering, “I’m sorry you’re hurting like this and I can’t help you.”

Lance’s taken aback. Pidge so rarely opened up about how she felt. There’s a tear running down her cheek and she wipes it away quickly.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he squeezes her hand gently.

The home screen of the game loads, and they both choose to end the conversation there.

“Time to kick your ass,” Pidge grins, fiercely.

“Oh, you’re on, gremlin,” Lance grins back, sitting back, grabbing a remote control.

***

Allura liked to say that I saw life through rose-coloured glasses. That I always saw only the good things about it.

“That’s the thing about growing up the way I did,” I would reply, “You learn to appreciate the small things in life.”

“Hmm,” she teased, “Inspiring words. Maybe I might borrow them for a speech one day.”

“Credit to the owner, of course,” I’d tease back.

But of course, our relationship wasn’t as beautiful as it seemed.

Thinking about it, neither were roses without their thorns.

We came from two different worlds.

Allura grew up without a mother, as an only child. Her father was a wealthy ambassador. She had an array of the best nannies and nurses growing up. Private boarding schools. Fully paid tuition at college. 

And I grew up one of seven siblings. My grandparents were immigrants; my mother’s side was Cuban, my father’s side was Scottish. We grew up speaking different languages. My father owned a general store. We weren’t well off, but we got by. Sometimes we had to get creative. Sometimes we had to get clever. Sometimes we did well, like I did, and won our opportunities. In my case, a full ride to the University.

Our social standings were completely different, and people looked down on us for that. Allura’s friends, women she grew up with, no longer wanted to be seen with her because I didn’t fit in with their circles. Or because I wasn’t as wealthy as they were. Or because my parents spoke with hints of lingering accents, whereas their parents didn’t. They all thought of me as her charity case, and we both knew it.

It took its toll eventually, when I began to realize that she wasn’t as happy as she seemed to be when our relationship began.

***

“You look nice,” Keith says, taking in Lance’s black and blue ensemble.

He'd asked Lance to pick him up at the garage-side entrance of the house, as the palm trees shielded the sheer size of the house. The last thing he wanted was for Lance to assume anything about him based on the exterior of the house—even though it was Shiro's place.

Keith knew that Lance knew that he was a businessman, but Lance had no idea exactly how wealthy his family was, or how old their money was, and frankly, he wanted to keep it that way

“Thanks,” Lance smiles, “So this is where you live, huh? Nice.”

“It’s easier to access from this side,” Keith tells him, which was partially true, “And the trees on the sides give us way more privacy too, as all these other lots around us are empty.”

“Eh, I’m sure a neighbour will come along eventually,” Lance replies, putting the car into reverse to turn to exit back onto the main road.

James sits quietly in the back of the sleek silver Chevrolet, earbuds stuck in his ears.

“What’s he listening to?” Lance asks, looking at the teen curiously.

“A podcast, most likely,” Keith shrugs, “He’s been kind of obsessed with David Tennant's podcast as of late.”

“David Tennant as in the Scottish actor David Tennant?” he asks.

“Yep,” Keith smiles, “You know his work?”

“I do!” Lance says, excitedly, “I’ve been a fan of him for so long. Tennant's Doctor on Doctor Who was one of the best.”

“Totally agree. When James first came to live with Shiro and Adam, he had us watch the entire series," Keith says.

Lance looks at him like he has more questions about that, but Keith changes the subject.

“What are you going to talk about, anyway?” he asks.

“They didn’t really give me a theme to work with, so I prepared something on what I’m currently working on... my creative process and general writing advice. Things like that,” Lance’s focus is on the road as he flicks on the blinker to enter the community center's parking lot.

When they enter the community center, Keith looks around in awe. In the far corners, there are a few booths set up, each both carrying a different number of older books for sale. The stage has been lit with fairy lights, and there’s a small whiteboard next to the podium. Chairs are set out in rows on each side, leaving a clear space for a carpet covered walkway in the middle.

“Oh my God,” James gasps, tugging on Keith’s shirt, “Oh my God. Keith, let’s go check out the books.”

“Okay, Okay,” Keith laughs wryly at James.

 Looking at Lance, he says apologetically, “I’m going with Jamie. I guess I’ll see you up there?”

“Yeah,” Lance smiles softly, “Have fun.”

“Good luck,” Keith smiles in return before he’s pulled away by an excited James.

The book fair’s a complete success, and many, many of the residents, parents especially, love it. One of the ladies on the town council agrees to make a proposition to the rest of the members to make the book fair an annual occurrence, and it’s met with loads of approval.

By the time Lance finds Keith and James, he’s holding the first five novels of the Percy Jackson and The Olympians series as well as a second-hand copy of The Hunger Games trilogy.

“He’s had a good day,” Keith says dryly, looking at James who’s smiling with excitement as he holds his new purchases proudly.

“Clearly,” Lance snorts.

“Your, uh, your speech was pretty fantastic,” Keith says, purposefully neglecting to mention how during the entire speech, he’d been half-focused on the graceful way Lance moved his hands to enunciate what he was saying.

And the way his deep blue eyes looked almost sapphire under the yellow lights.

And the way the navy blue shirt suited his smooth, dark complexion and put emphasis on his broad shoulders, rippling with every movement.

And the way he almost glowed with enthusiasm, how cute his little shy smiles were when he got the audience to laugh at something he said.

He was really beginning to fall in deep, huh?

“Thanks,” Lance says, accepting the compliment, “You guys ready to head out?”

“Yeah,” James grins, “Can’t wait to crack open these bad boys.”

“I’m exhausted,” Keith agrees, “Are you ready?”

Lance nods.

“I really liked the way you talked about how writing with clear themes could help narrow down the unnecessary content in the work,” James says, as they make their way back to the car, “And your advice about showing, not telling.” 

“Thanks, James,” Lance grins, starting the engine, “Glad to hear you liked it.”

“I really did. And at least I paid full attention,” Jamie gloats, snickering at Keith, “Unlike some people.”

“James!” Keith hisses, fighting the sudden urge to flush and give the brat a quick pinch on the shoulder.

“I know,” Lance says, “It was one of my better speeches. I’m sorry for the poor suckers who missed it.”

Keith breathes in relief.

What James was implying flew right over his head, or maybe he pretended to ignore it. 

Either way, Keith was glad.

Lance switches the radio on, and soft music fills in for conversation in the ride home.

***

“My brothers and I used to tell each other stories growing up,” I said, “We made a competition out of it. Whichever of us scared the others won their desserts for a week. I always won.”

Allura laughed.

“Why is it so easy for me to picture you doing that?” she kissed me on the cheek.

“I've always loved telling stories,” I told her, “My grandmother came home from the store one week with an ad from the paper in her hand. She made me enter this writing competition to win a scholarship to go to university. I won. That’s the only reason I’m here today.”

“For what it’s worth,” She smiled up at me, “I’m glad you entered the competition, and I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I,” I returned the smile, “So am I.”

***

“I didn’t get to ask you today,” Keith’s voice distorts for a moment due to static, “What are you working on?”

After a moment, Lance replies, “It’s something like a tribute for a friend.”

“Oh?” he can practically hear the curiosity in Keith’s voice.

“Yeah,” Lance says, not willing to go into it any further, “Writing on the beach helps me focus. It’s so calm there. Especially in the morning.”

“I’m sure it is,” Keith agrees, and Lance can hear him stifle a yawn.

“You tired?” he teases.

All he gets is a snort in return.

“What was your favourite book growing up?” Lance asks.

“I didn’t really read much,” Keith confesses, “But if I had to choose, I’d say David Copperfield.”

“Damn, never pegged you for a Dickens fan,” Lance whistles, “Why Dickens?”

“Maybe someday I’ll tell you,” Keith says, “I need a few drinks before I get into my childhood trauma.”

Despite himself, Lance wants to ask, but he understands trauma.

“Okay,” is what he says instead, “Another day, then.”

“I had fun today, though,” he hears Keith say.

Keith smiles.

“How did you get so into reading and writing?” Keith asks.

“It started off as a competition between my brothers and I,” Lance says fondly, “The first month after my dad's store opened and we ordered stock for the first time, we had no extra money so we couldn’t afford to pay the electricity bill. We had no electricity for five days. My brothers and I decided to do a little competition-- whoever could frighten the others the most won an entire month of no chores. Needless to say, it was an easy victory for me.”

“The legend of La Llorona,” Lance laughs, “Works every time.”

Keith laughs softly, after muffling another yawn.

“I think it’s time for me to call it a night,” he says sheepishly.

“Go to bed, big guy. I’ll see you,” Lance laughs.

“Alright, alright,” Keith says grumpily, before his voice softens, “Good night, Lance.”

“Night,” he says, before disconnecting the call.

In the novel The Fault In Our Stars , John Green compares falling in love to sleep.

I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once. 

Lance turns restlessly in his bed.

Slowly, then all at once.

But what about those who didn’t know sleep like that? For Lance, sleep had never been slowly, then all at once.

It had always been just all at once.

His relationship with Allura had been all at once. There wasn’t any pining and longing. They fell into it, throwing caution to the wind, as one would do when, say, cliff diving.

It was simply that they met, there were sparks, they chased those sparks and they fell madly in love.

He'd told Pidge earlier that he had no intentions of dating Keith, of pursuing relationships.

Yet as time passes, and the more often he and Keith spent time together, he found himself at odds, questioning if he had really given up on relationships, or if that was just the fear talking.

He wants to be the one Keith opens up to. The one who Keith tells funny anecdotes to about his dog, Kosmo, back in California.

He wants to be the one that unravels the mystery that is Keith.

He wants to make Keith laugh, and spend more time with him and James.

Much as he hates to admit it, Allura left him with shit ton of emotional baggage and trust issues.

He laughs to himself, at the dilemma he’s in, replaying the words Pidge had told him earlier.

Let her go, let her go.

If only it were that easy.

***

“Listen, Lance, I get that we’re worlds apart,” Allura said, the frustration clear in her voice, “But could you at least try to pay attention when I teach you etiquette? I really want you to get along with my friends.”

“Look, Allura. I love you, and I’ll do just about anything for you. So I’m coming from a good place when I tell you that you need new friends,” I hissed, “No matter what I do, I’ll never be good enough for them. I’m not going to waste my time trying to impress people who couldn’t give a shit.”

“They’re just trying to protect me!” She yelled, “I’ve known these girls since I was in diapers!”

“Then maybe that’s the problem, huh?” I sneer, “You guys are so blinded by the fact that you think you know each other, that you can’t see when some members of your little group are treating people like crap.”

In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best thing to say, and I definitely deserved the slap that came after.

“I don’t want to fight with you. But I’m also not going to accept a group of college sophomores treating me like I’m some charity case or gold digger because I wasn’t born with a gold spoon in my mouth like they were. I’m going back to my apartment,” I said, storming out the door.

Later, I’d look back and ask myself why we let her dumb friends get between us like that. But later would be a bit too late.

***

“Lancito!” Camilla calls excitedly, “Come down here!”

Lance groans, getting up from behind his desk. He stretches and smoothes his unruly hair back as he goes downstairs.

“What?” he whines, pouting at his mother.

Both his mother and father are wearing matching shirts with their last name on the back.

“I know you said that you weren’t going to the soccer game, but I wanted to ask you if you’d reconsider not going?” his mamí asks, pouting at him, and deep down he knows there’s no way he can say no to her.

“ Mamí ,” he groans.

“Come on, it’s going to be fun. It can be like old times, when you were a kid,” it’s his father who grins at him this time, looking at him with identical blue eyes.

He exhales deeply.

“Fine. Let me grab a shower and breakfast and then we can go,” he says, rolling his eyes.

His mamí whoops with excitement and hands him a jersey.

“Had them do one for you, in case you changed your mind,” she grins.

“You’d think I did my share of community service at the book fair, but no,” he mumbles playfully.

Camilla places the cereal and carton of milk in front of him, ruffling his hair.

“Breakfast of champs. Eat up and hurry in the shower,” she grins lethally, “Time for the Cubans to show these white people how to play fútbol .”

Both Lance and his father laugh at her antics. After he showers and puts on his uniform—jersey, shorts, socks, cleats and gloves—Lance feels a bit more excited.

Hunk had explained the match earlier to him: the members who were taking part were split into two teams. Whichever team won the match would receive a cheque with the money raised by the town council to give to a charity of their choice.

When they get to the field, almost every single resident of Arus has come out to take part. The atmosphere is electric. The high school cheer team stands on the sidelines, waving gold and purple pom poms. Children chatter excitedly with their grandparents, sitting up in the bleachers. There are little stalls selling food, snacks and drinks, and Keith and Lotor are standing separately on a corner of the field, shaking hands.

Lance catches his eye and waves. Keith gives a shaky smile in return.

“Lance!” Pidge calls, and he sees her, Matt and Hunk running towards him, “Camila, Jack!”

“Hey guys,” Lance smiles, while his parents wave.

“Who are the captains this year?” his dad asks, blue eyes lit with excitement.

“Keith, Lotor,” Matt gestures to the men standing at the corner of the field with what Lance sees is another individual. The referee, most likely.

Keith looks nice in his uniform. The jersey has his last name-- Kogane-- and accentuates his muscled arms well. The pants accentuate his equally toned legs. Keith must work out a lot, Lance thinks. His hair is tied back into a stubby little ponytail, and frankly, it’s the most adorable thing Lance has ever seen.

“Keith doesn’t look like he knows what he’s doing,” Lance notes.

“Oh dear,” his mamí sighs.

“Usually it’s Shiro that leads the yellow team,” Matt says, “But since he’s not here, that mantle has fallen to Keith.”

Lance watches as the three men nod and make their way to the rest of the players. 

“Players, form a line. Captains, coin toss to choose players,” the ref says, “Whoever wins picks first, and then the other team goes. Lotor? Heads or tails?”

After they’re sorted (he’s on Keith’s team, of course. Unfortunately, Camila had gotten picked for the opposing team), they mark their cheeks with yellow face paint to identify each other, and huddle together to form a game plan.

“If it’s not obvious, I’ve never really led a soccer team before. A marketing team, sure, but a soccer team is new,” Keith laughs uneasily, “The most I can say is just try to score goals and keep the other team from getting the ball. Encourage your team members and do your best. We need to work as a unit, and I have faith in you guys.”

Lance can tell that he’s nervous. 

It looks like Pidge can, too, so she pats him on the shoulder, giving him an easy smile.

“I know we haven’t talked about charities,” Keith continues, “But if we do win, and if everyone’s in agreement, I’d like to give it to the children’s orphanage. That’s—that’s really personal to me.”

He’s met with soft sounds of agreement from the team members.

“Okay,” he says, a bit more confident, “Let’s go, guys! Have fun, team Voltron!!”

At that, the team gives a resounding cheer. The referee blows his whistle, and just like that, the match has begun.

The first yellow card is raised in the first fifteen minutes of the game. It’s a foul against James, as one of the team Galra members tripped him while trying to get the ball away.

Shortly after, team Galra scores a goal. 

Keith looks disappointed in himself, but perks up a bit when Hunk smiles at him reassuringly.

Team Galra fights dirty, and team Voltron retaliates by giving as good as they got. Team Galra uses strength and force, while team Voltron uses strategy and speed.

James, he notices, has some pretty serious skills. Between him, James, his dad and Hunk, Lance thinks they could score a few goals of their own.

That’s why when James gets the ball, he calls for him to pass it.

Lance then passes the ball to Hunk, who passes it to Lance’s dad after advancing on Team Galra's half of the field, and his dad safely shoots it into the net.

That’s their second goal.

Lance laughs, cheering loudly. His dad gives him a thumbs up, and James looks at him in awe. 

The referee blows the whistle for half time, and they gather on their side of the field. One of the younger boys who chose not to play hands out Gatorade, another one passing a few bottles of muscle rub and bandages around.

“We’re in the lead so far,” Keith says proudly as he addresses them, “If we can keep the score as it is, maybe pop out one last goal, we’re winning this thing. You guys think we can win this thing?”

A loud cheer of “Yes!” echoes through the field.

“Good!” he yells, “Then let’s do this, team! Who are we?”

“Team Voltron!” they yell in response.

"Who are we?" Keith yells louder, the hype growing.

"TEAM VOLTRON!"

Keith’s grinning when he leads them, cheering loudly, back on the field.

The rest of the game runs smoothly, team Voltron racing onto the field with renewed purpose. There's only one incident, which gets team Galra a red card and leaves both teams finishing the game one player short. 

To make up for that, Hunk and his dad set up one last goal before the referee blows the whistle to end the game.

Their final score is three goals to one, in favour of team Voltron.

There’s loud cheering and singing as the players gather together in the centre of the field, embracing each other.

“You guys did it!” Keith’s cheering and laughing, and it takes Lance’s breath away.

Keith’s gorgeous, but seeing him laughing and smiling like this, Lance realizes he’s absolutely stunning.

He looks proud and confident when he receives the cheque, letting the town council know that it would be going to the orphanage, and that he’d received a call from Shiro, who told him to tell the council that in order to make up for not being there for the game, Voltron Communication would match the amount they were going to initially donate to the orphanage. 

The orphanage would receive double the money. A new wave of cheers break out, praising Shiro and Adam's generosity.

And Lance is happy, too.

He’s with his friends, at one of the places he loves. Lotor had told them that there was a cooldown party at the beach after the match, so he, Pidge and Matt decided to carpool to go, while his parents took home Pidge's parents. Hunk would drop off his parents before he came. Since Lance didn’t drink, he was the designated driver for the night.

There’s music playing from speakers that were set up when they get there. Cans and bottles of beer pass around as the sun set, and the kids get ice pops and soda. They get some of the men to pile driftwood to start a bonfire, and Lotor’s friends, Narti, Zethrid and Acxa pass around marshmallows and chocolate for s'mores. 

The bookstore owner volunteers to go back into town to the general store to pick up some items to make cold sandwiches to pass around, and people hails her a local hero.

There’s dancing and singing and celebrating, people still high on the remaining adrenaline from the football match.

Keith’s out of his quiet shell today, talking to practically anyone who comes his way, congratulating the team Voltron members.

Eventually, Keith finds him in the crowd.

“Good game today,” he says.

“Great game,” Lance corrects, holding up his can of Coke, “To you, and to team Voltron.”

Keith hums, touching Lance’s can with the neck of his beer bottle.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he tells Lance, “You have skills.”

“Thanks, I got it from my mamí . She always said no child of hers was growing up to play football; we played fútbol,” Lance laughs, exaggerating the ú, “My parents convinced me to come this morning. Didn’t think I’d have such a good time.”

Keith hums again, taking a sip of his beer. Lance watches as he tilts his head a bit and at that angle, the firelight catches his face perfectly, giving him a soft glow that leaves Lance dizzy and breathless and longing—

“Huh?” Lance blinks, realizing that Keith was speaking.

“I said, I’m glad you came,” Keith repeats, “To the match. And here, to the after party.”

“I was going to go home,” Lance admits, “But I’m glad I came, too.”

“It's kinda strange,” Keith says, voice dropping an octave, staring right at him with those piercing, thunderstorm eyes,“I’m always drawn to you. You could put me in a crowd or a room full of people, and I’d always be able to find my way back to you, somehow.”

Lance’s breath catches in his throat as he registers Keith’s words. His heart beats a little bit faster inside his chest, and he’s thankful that it’s dark so that Keith can’t see the red flush on his cheeks.

"What the hell am I saying, anyway," Keith snorts, "I'm drunk. There's Matt, I should go say hi."

He saunters away, but Lance knows that he meant every word. Drunk words are a sober man's thoughts, after all.

John Green compares falling in love to falling asleep.

The thing about it is; sleep isn’t wild or passionate.

But love is.

That’s why Lance Charles Alvarez McClain prefers to compare falling in love with being on a rollercoaster.

He knows that if he were on a rollercoaster right now, that this was the part where he’d be sitting at the top of a curve, waiting for that split second rush of euphoria and butterflies that came not only with the rapid descent, but with approaching all the rest of twists and turns of the coaster track.

And dammit, that’s when he realizes that he’s beginning to feel something for Keith.

Chapter Text

“ Mamí , I need to talk to you,” Lance tells Camila, once he gathers the guts to come clean after the evening at the beach with Keith and his friends.

But the real trouble began when those texts began to turn into calls. And then, when he began to actually look forward to those calls.

“Please don’t tell me you got some girl knocked up, mijo ,” Camila jokes, “Going through that with Marco once was enough.”

“What?” Lance squeaks, “ Mamí , no, I didn’t knock up anybody!”

“I’m kidding,” Camila frowns, “I can tell something's been bothering you. You haven’t been yourself in weeks and I haven’t seen you this flustered in a while.”

“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. So..” Lance starts, biting his lip nervously, “Should we sit?”

“Sure,” Camila says, sighing, sitting gracefully next to him, “But before you say anything, baby, I just want you to know how glad I am to have you back home. The house has been so lonely, now that all of your siblings have moved away.”

“I’m happy to be home,” Lance smiles, “And I wanted to tell you about... well, you know I went to the support group with Hunk's friend, right? I met a guy there who’s friends with Pidge, and we exchanged numbers. I hoped we could be friends outside of the group but now... I’m not so sure I did the right thing.”

“I’m so happy that you went, Lancito ,” Camila smiles, “It’s okay to have friends outside the group. Unless there was another reason why you gave him your number?”

“I think there is,” Lance says, but he knows that both he and his mother could hear the slight tremor in his voice, “And I don’t know... mentally, I’m ready to accept the reasons why I did it but, a small part of me still isn’t ready to.”

“ Mijo ,” his mother says knowingly, bringing his head to rest on top of her shoulder like she did when she comforted him when he was younger, “If you want to date, it’s okay. Though, you should only do this if you know you’re ready, and you know that you can handle a relationship. Don’t rush things and make yourself, or him, feel like he’s a replacement for her. Yes, Allura will always have a place in your heart, mi amor , but her time has passed so long ago. It’s time to let her rest.”

“I'd never make him feel like that. I close my eyes and see myself falling for him so easily, mamí, ” Lance says, picturing Keith’s easy smile and gentle eyes, “He’s funny and kind and good with his nephew. He makes me want to open up and talk. About everything. He makes me smile and gets me coffee whenever we run into each other at the café. He acts tough on the outside sometimes, but I know he has a good heart.”

He knows his mother sees the sad, faraway look in his eyes. There would always be a what if. What if he’s doing the wrong thing? What if he’s sending them down a road that would utterly fuck up whatever relationship they had? What if it’s really too soon to be moving on from her? 

Unfortunately, life didn’t come with a manual on how to deal with things like this.

Sure, Ezor’s words had soothed his worries away that afternoon he got home from the fair, and yeah Keith and him were in a good place, but what if that was just temporary?

“She would understand, baby,” Camila runs her hand through his hair soothingly, practically reading his thoughts, “You haven’t had a relationship in almost two years. After what happened in New York, she would want you to be happy. You can’t hold onto her forever either; you have to let her go. We’re here to help if you need it.”

It almost mirrors all the things he’s been told over the past two years. 

It’s time to let her go, son. 

Let us help you through this.

“You must think I’m crazy,” Lance whispers, “To feel like this about someone who’s practically a stranger.”

“Here’s a secret,” Camila whispers, winking at her youngest son, “When I was younger, your abuela told me that the first day she met your abuelo , she knew he was the one. She knew he was the one she was going to marry, to spend the rest of her life with.”

“Whenever I asked how she knew, she always said they always kept coming back to each other. They broke up. He moved on, and so did she,” Camila sighs fondly, “Six years later, they found each other again after many, many mistakes, and against the wishes of her parents, they ran away to America to get married and start a new life here. She was happy, he made her happy and after that, she always trusted her instincts. They were always right.”

You could put me in a crowd or a room full of people, and I’d always be able to find my way back to you, somehow , Keith had said.

Lance's breath hitches unevenly.

“You remind me of her so much, mijo . You feel so deeply. So it’s okay to trust yourself and your instincts,” she continues, taking a brief pause, “Make mistakes. Learn from them. Whatever happens might be beautiful or it may be painful but that’s life, isn’t it? In order to truly see the beauty, we must sometimes go through the pain. And you don’t have to go through the pain alone.”

Always remember, even when you feel like you are, you’re never alone. There’s always someone out there rooting for you.

Lance sniffs, before completely breaking down in his mother’s safe embrace. 

They sit there for hours, talking and crying, until there are no secrets left buried between them.

(He’s the biggest mama’s boy in the history of the McClains, but he doesn’t care. He loves his mamí to pieces.)

So he tells her everything. He tells her about Allura, about how she died. He tells her what happened after, the good parts, the bad parts, and even though he wishes he could protect her from them, he tells her about the ugly parts too. 

There are certain parts of his story that make her grab onto him a bit tighter. That makes her kiss his forehead with a bit of extra force. That makes her grip the cross she wears around her neck, weeping with relief, sniffing, “I love you, mijo , don’t forget it,” over and over until he knows not to doubt her.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice scratchy and hoarse from crying.

“It’s okay, baby, I know,” She soothes, “You don’t have to be sorry for anything, but in case you need to hear it: I forgive you. I know she does, too.”

And, he thinks, if his mother could accept it all, the good and the bad, then maybe... maybe it was time to open up about New York to the others, too.

***

She’s asleep, again.

I frowned.

I knew her well enough to know that she’s always been active and ready to go. Well, until she caught the flu a few weeks ago.

“Allura?” I tried to wake her as gently as possible.

“Hmm?”

“Time to get up, babe. You’re gonna miss class,” I told her.

“I don’t think... I can go,” she muttered, voice unsteady.

“Are you--"

Before either of us knows what’s happening, she shoves me out of the way and rushes into the bathroom. She doesn’t shut the door behind her, and I heard the horrible sounds of retching. 

“Allura, I’m coming in!” I called, trying to keep my panic under control. 

“Okay,” I could hear crying.

When I entered, she was bent over the toilet, holding onto her stomach almost as though she’s protecting it. I sat on the floor next to her, observing carefully.

“Are you alright?” I asked, disentangling and pushing back her long white locks as best as I could.

She handed me a scrunchie and I pulled up the strands into a somewhat neat bun.

“I think so?” she answered unsurely, “I must have had some bad food or something.”

“Babe, you’ve been ill a while now,” I frowned, “You should go to the doctor.”

“I said I’m fine, Lance,” she snapped.

“I just want what’s best for you,” I confessed looking away.

“I know,” she closed her eyes for a moment, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

We sat there for a while, until she said, “I’m going back to bed for a few minutes. Can you help me up?”

“Sure,” I nodded.

Once she got up, I guided her back to bed. Her skin was hot, so I turned off the air conditioning and opened the windows in the apartment. I moved the blankets.

Maybe the fresh air will help her sweat the fever out, I remember thinking.

“I have classes in an hour. I’m gonna go, but I’ll squeeze you some orange juice before I leave. Please drink it,” I whispered, kissing her forehead,“I love you.”

“Love you,” she whispered back, “Turn off the lights on your way out?”

***

This Monday is more sombre than the last few Mondays, Keith thinks.

Firstly, it’s raining. Arus almost never rains.

Secondly, James is in a testy, foul mood. It’s the anniversary of his parent’s deaths and he'd been aching to take a stroll down by the ocean before going to group, but that wasn’t possible, given all the rain.

It’s six thirty in the afternoon. The sky's set up to rain again, so while James is upstairs pulling on some extra layers, he’s scattering about the storage room in search of umbrellas. Shiro always buys the thick, firm metal ones that don’t get utterly destroyed by the wind.

“Aha!” he yells, spying the umbrella’s black and white stripes.

He tugs on it to pull it out. It gets free and Keith grins.

A throat clears behind him and he almost jumps out of his skin as he turns to face James, who stares at him blankly.

“You ready?” he asks his nephew.

James nods. Keith pulls out the second umbrella.

Their walk to the community centre is wordless, but Keith can feel the sadness radiating off the kid.

When they arrive, Shay hugs them both tightly, then says to James, “You’re so very strong for coming here today.”

“Th-thank you,” James says.

“We’re here for you. All of us,” Shay smiles, before she moves aside to let them find their seats.

Lance is there, so Keith decides to sit next to him.

“Hi,” Lance greets.

“Hey,” Keith says.

“How are you guys?” he asks.

Keith makes sure James' attention is otherwise occupied before answering. He’s busy tapping away on his phone, so Keith mumbles softly, “I’m okay. Today’s the anniversary of James' parent’s deaths so he might be a bit curt or cold. Don’t take it personally.”

“Oh, okay,” Lance says, “Thanks for the heads up.”

Keith thinks today's passed as normally as it could. 

He’s wrong.

At group, they're talking about coping mechanisms-- how people who are in the process of dealing with grief cope with it.

James seems to be getting more and more moody by the second, so Keith's keeping a close eye on him.

"Sometimes, people go to places they associate with their loved one-- I've had some past group members mention that it makes them feel safe and at peace," Shay smiles,"Some members say it makes them feel closer to their loved one--"

James stands up abruptly, and Keith and Lance look at him.

"Jamie," Keith says.

"It's okay, Keith," James smiles, "I'm gonna go use the bathroom."

"Are you sure it's okay? Do you want me to go with you?" Keith asks, "Or do you want Lance to go with you?"

"It's okay, Keith," James says, again, "I won't be long, promise."

"Alright," Keith bites his lip, trying not to feel uneasy about it. 

It's just the bathroom , he tells himself, Needing to use it is a regular occurrence.

James goes to the back, to where the washrooms are. Lance looks over at Keith.

"He gonna be okay?" Lance asks quietly.

"I think so," Keith says.

"So what about this coping thing, huh?" He elbows Keith, trying to lighten the mood, "What do you do?"

"I draw," Keith smiles, "Maybe one day I'll show you my sketchbook."

"Nice."

Their attention turns back to Shay, who looks at them with an almost secret smile; almost as though she knows that they weren't listening to her.

The minutes tick by slowly, Keith's worry increasing as each minute passes. 

James hasn't returned from the bathroom as yet.

"Lance," Keith whispers, "James hasn't come back as yet."

"Do you want to go look for him?" Lance asks, "Or do you want to wait a few minutes?"

His mind tells him not to worry. Logically, he knows it's just the bathroom, but a deeper part of him-- the part of him that was James when he was younger, tells him that that's not it. Today's the anniversary of his parents' deaths.  They were talking about coping. And despite his mind telling him not to worry---

He worries .

"Let's go," he whispers over to Lance.

They exit the room as quietly as they could, so as not to disturb Shay. They enter the bathrooms.

"James?" Lance calls.

There's no response.

"Jamie?" he calls.

Nothing.

"This isn't funny, Jamie," he says harshly, "Come out here."

Lance looks at him, the concern visible on his face.

"He's not here," Lance says the words Keith was afraid of saying, "Keith, he's not here."

They rush out of the bathroom and go back to Shay's room.

"Shay, James is missing," Keith doesn't recognise his own voice.

"What?" She gasps, blinking.

"He went to the bathroom. He's not there anymore," Keith says.

He's terrified. It's raining outside. They were talking about coping.

"Does the bathroom have an exit?" Lance asks.

"There's a door on the wall in there, it's a shortcut back onto the main road. The door only opens from the inside," she says frantically.

"I'm going to get him," Keith says.

"I'm gonna go with Keith," Lance nods in his direction.

"I'm sorry if I said anything that triggered him," Shay looks up at Keith, and he frowns when he sees her brown eyes well with tears, "This is my fault, I--"

"You didn't know, Shay. It's okay," Keith tells her, "I should get going before he gets himself in trouble."

Shay hesitates, sniffing softly, and offers to wrap up the group to go help Keith to look for James, but he tells her not to worry, he'd find his nephew and call her later when he's safe.

It starts to rain, but that doesn't stop them. Lance’s eyes burn with determination as he follows Keith out of the community centre.

Where could James have gone? 

Lotor's café? No, Lotor would’ve closed up shop by now, especially with this weather.

Home? No, James wouldn’t head back to the house.

The beach? He had mentioned that his mom used to take him to the water—

“This way!” he tells Lance, trying hard not to panic.

If James was on the beach right now, the rain would give him a pretty bad cold.  He knows James wasn’t stupid enough to go into the water at this hour, but what if he had stuck his foot into the water or was pulled in by a strong current till he goes further and further--

“You go left, I’ll go right,” Lance says, the rainwater making his brown locks fall flatly over his forehead. His blue eyes, however, shine like blue sapphires against the night sky, and for a moment, it takes Keith’s breath away.

“I’ll call you if I see him,” he says.

He turns to leave, but Keith grabs his hand.

“Thank you,” he says, and he doesn’t know if Lance could hear him over the pouring rain. He’s wet all over and he’s pretty sure the rain drops on his face are mixed in with some tears, too. 

Lance squeezes his hands gently, “You’re welcome. I’m sure we’ll find him in a bit. He couldn’t have gotten very far."

Keith treks through the sand, tying back his hair. His eyes scan his surroundings, looking for those navy blue eyes and dark hair.

He feels as though he’s been wandering the beach for a lifetime, but a quick glance at his phone tells him it's only been half an hour.

As he begins to think about calling the police, he gets a text from Lance.

Got him. He’s safe. Meet us at the entrance of the community centre.

He breathes a deep sigh of relief, so very thankful for the other man.

When he gets back to the community centre, and James sees him coming their way, the teen rushes toward him, throwing his arms around Keith’s middle, “I’m sorry. I just... I missed my mom and I wanted to be close to her. I didn’t-t th-think--"

His eyes red and swollen, most likely from crying, and he's on the verge of hysterics.

“Jamie,” he breathes, running his hand through his nephew's hair soothingly, shedding a few tears himself, “Don’t ever frighten me like that again.”

James sobs, nodding against his chest.

Lance's leaning against the wall under the roof of the community center, taking whatever shelter he could get, giving them a moment of privacy.

They stand for what feels like hours, in the drizzling rain, holding onto each other tightly.

When James pulls back, he yawns. 

“D'you think you can make it home?” Keith asks.

James nods, but Keith knows better, assessing the boy who looks dead on his feet.

"I'm sorry, Keith," he whispers hoarsely.

“It’s alright,” Keith says kissing his forehead lightly, “I understand, Jamie. What matters is that you're safe.”

He waves at Lance, who makes his way over to them both.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything, but do you think you can give me one more assist?” Keith smiles, sheepishly.

“Sure,” Lance says, quirking his eyebrows curiously, "What do you need?"

“Could you walk with me? In case he falls asleep? He’s practically dozing off already and if I have to carry him, I won’t be able to hold the umbrella. It's raining really hard and I don't want to risk him running a fever,” Keith asks.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Lance replies, shaking his head, “Poor kid’s had an afternoon. I texted Shay when I found him, by the way."

"Thanks again. I texted when I was on the way back too,” Keith says.

“Okay, good,” Lance smiles, “If memory serves right, your house is about ten minutes away, yeah?”

Keith smiles back, "You remembered."

"I did," Lance says proudly, "Let's get going. The faster we get out of this rain, the better."

***

We thought she was pregnant.

We couldn’t be more wrong.

***

The first thing Lance thinks is that the house, from the front, is freaking impressive.

The second thing Lance thinks is that Keith was right.

The palm trees at the sides provide ample privacy for the villa-style house, obscuring the entirety of the front. The entryway is neatly tiled with granite and small gravel stones, with a few stairs leading to the gallery and large, wrought iron double doors.

The interior of the house is a gorgeous,  minimalist style, with warm, earthy brown walls and dark hardwood flooring. The furniture matches the fireplace and floors perfectly. The first floor is one of those open concept types, with the living room area, dining table and kitchen in one large space. Another glass sliding door leads from the kitchen to the patio and pool area.

There’s a separate room to the side that looks as though it’s some kind of storage or coat area. On the other side of the living room is a staircase that goes up to a second floor.

It’s tasteful in a classy manner, and shows that the owner of the home is wealthy, but it isn’t one of those kinds of homes that scream “Rich!”, which isn't something Lance was accustomed to seeing. 

Back at university, if you had money, you flaunted it. Allura's friends never failed to mention how wealthy they were. Everyone looked down at the poor scholarship boy. 

Allura, however, treated him as an equal.

As did Keith.

“This is a really nice home,” Lance offers, “The exterior was nice when I saw it, but the interior is really nice as well.”

“Thanks,” Keith smiles tiredly, “This is Shiro and Adam’s house, though. Shiro picked out the spot, and Adam, his husband, not only custom designed this house, but decorated it as well.”

Lance whistles slowly.

“That take a while?” he asks.

“Oh, uh, they started building on their sixth anniversary. It was completed on their ninth,” Keith recalls, “They got married a year after. The dorks were high school sweethearts.”

“That’s adorable,” Lance coos.

“Yeah, well,” Keith scoffs, “You didn’t have to put up with their mushy asses all the time.”

Lance laughs quietly, the sound ringing pleasantly through the house.

“I’m gonna get him to change, give him an Advil and then put him to bed,” Keith says, gesturing to the half asleep figure he’s carrying, “Thank you so much for your help tonight, Lance."

"You're welcome," Lance smiles warmly, "James is a good kid. I'm glad I can help look out for him."

"I'll show you to the guest bathroom" Keith says, "I can't have you leaving here without at least a warm shower. Can't have you getting sick either. There are towels inside the cupboard. Those are new."

“Thanks,” Lance says, grateful to get out of his soggy clothes, “Do you have a dryer or somewhere I could put my clothes?”

“The dryer is in the basement. We should be around the same size.. you're just a few inches taller than me. I’ll get you some of my things,” Keith gestures for Lance to follow him, "Or if you'd prefer something that would fit a bit more loose, I can get some of Adam's clothes."

"No, your stuff would work," Lance says, following him up the stairs.

He makes sure that Lance was unable to see the bright flush on his face. His heart races at the thought of Lance wearing his clothes.

“Here we are. When you’re done, I’ll put those clothes to dry for you," Keith says, allowing him to enter the room, closing the door behind him.

Lance takes in his surroundings. The bathroom is a relaxing pastel blue colour, with contrasting white fixtures and fittings. 

He opens up the white cabinet, and there’s a shelf with three matching blue towels, a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, travel size mouthwash, body lotion, a roll of small garbage bags, a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush.

Lance grabs the towel, hanging it on the hook outside the shower enclosure before he opens the pipe, making sure it’s on the hottest setting possible.

He strips off his clothes, placing them into one of the small garbage bags as they’re wet, and then he steps under the steaming water.

Was it bad for his skin? 

Yes.

Would his very orderly, strict-to-the-point-of-miss-one-day-start-all-over face care routine get thrown off?

Yes.

But it was so worth it; the rain drops had been freezing.

“The clothes are in the guest room,” Keith calls after knocking, “It’s the room on the right of this one.”

“Thanks,” he says.

After the shower and changing, Lance takes the bag with his clothes downstairs. 

Keith's shirt had fit, but his sweats were a bit on the shorter side. They were comfortable, nonetheless.

He isn’t really sure what to do with the guest bath’s towel so he puts it into the laundry hamper, making a mental note to tell Keith.

“Is there someone you want to call to pick you up, or can I drop you off? Cause it’s still raining pretty hard out there,” Keith offers, eyes taking in the sight of Lance wearing his clothes.

Lance resists the urge to blush under Keith's intense gaze.

“Or if you want to stay over, you can use the guest room, that’s fine," Keith says.

Lance looks at the rain droplets beating harshly against the glass doors. He doesn’t want to ask anyone to leave their house in this weather to pick him up, and he doesn’t want to ask Keith to leave James by himself to drop him way over on the other side of town.

“I can stay,” he decides, against his better judgement, “I can stay here. Let me just text my parents to let them know.”

“Sure. You can have a look around the living room while I go put your clothes in the dryer,” Keith says, “And if you happen to hear the tea kettle start to whistle, turn it off, please? Thanks.”

Lance walks back into the living room, eyes scanning the area as he texts his parents. There are a lot of pictures of Shiro and a dark-skinned man wearing a pair of glasses. Lance assumes this is Adam, because in most of the pictures, they’re wearing matching rings.

There are also pictures of a younger, happy go lucky looking Shiro next to a grumpy looking younger Keith.

Lance’s eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees that the photo of Keith wearing black eyeliner and.... holy shit.... is that a mullet ?!

Eyes still wide, Lance takes out his phone and snaps a quick picture. He's totally sending that to Pidge if Keith ever pissed him off.

“No, please don’t look at those,” Lance hears Keith groan good-naturedly as he comes back into the kitchen.

Lance slips his phone back into his pocket, laughing loudly, a sound of pure, fiendish delight, “You had a mullet?”

“It was a phase,” Keith says, stone-faced.

“I’m sure it was,” Lance snickers, taking a seat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, “I think I’m going to call you Mullet.”

“Like hell you are. I’m sure you had some kind of phase growing up too,” Keith scoffs, ears a lovely shade of red, “Don’t forget Pidge is my friend, I’m sure I can access some blackmail material.”

Lance snorts. 

Like that was any kind of threat.

“Unlike you, sir, I am proud of who I was as a teen,” he says, then frowns, “With the odd exception of the great Nyma fiasco of Senior Year, but that’s it. I’m proud of everything else.”

“Oh come on, you can’t just bring up a fiasco and then not give out any details,” Keith looks up at him with wide, innocent-looking eyes under inky lashes as he stirs two cups of tea, and shit, how's Lance saying no to those eyes .

“I may have thought my girlfriend at the time, Nyma, was getting kinky with me,” Lance admits, feeling the back of his neck grow warm, “But I was wrong. She handcuffed me to a tree and stole my brother’s car.”

Keith laughed, one of those belly laughs. The ones that cause you to snort and double over, clutching your stomach.

And it has got to be one of the cutest things Lance’s ever seen. 

“Oh my God,” Keith snorts, holding onto his stomach,  “Oh. My. God.”

“It’s not that funny, man. Luis, my brother, kicked my ass for that,” he whines, rolling his eyes in Keith’s direction with a sense of warmth and fondness.

He tries to ignore the way his stomach twists and the traitorous tiny increase in his heart beat, as he stares at the other man.

When Keith sombers up, hands Lance a steaming hot mug with a barely there smile dancing across his lips.

“Let’s go across to the living room,” he suggests, “This should help with the cold.”

They sit on the large sofa in front of the T.V., and Lance asks, “What kind of tea is this?” 

“It's not tea. It's hot cocoa with cinnamon. Shiro's parents got me into the habit of drinking it,” Keith smiles.

There’s whipped cream and a marshmallow at the top, with a light dusting of cinnamon. Lance takes a hesitant sip, but is amazed at how well the cinnamon and cocoa works together.

“It’s good,” he tells Keith.

Keith smiles in response, “Thanks. I usually spike it with a bit of brandy, but you were in the shower so I couldn’t ask if you wanted it spiked. Then I caught the time and realized it’s a bit too late for alcohol anyway.”

“Oh,” Lance says, “It’s a good thing you didn’t, because I don’t drink.”

“Oh. That would explain why I didn't see you drinking at the party. Good to know,” Keith says.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, until Lance says, “Can I ask you a question?”

Keith gestures for him to go on.

“What did you mean when you told James earlier that you understand?” Lance asks, referring to earlier when James ran off.

Keith pauses. Takes a deep breath.

“I’m Shiro's adopted brother,” he says, warily.

“Oh?” Lance asks, surprised.

“Yeah. My, um, mother died a few hours after I was born. My father said it was a postpartum haemorrhage,” Keith says, closing his eyes as though he was in pain, “Her name was Korrina. Korrina Park-Kogane. I’m a carbon copy of her, you know? Same eye colour, hair colour, nose shape, lip shape. I got nothing from my father. Growing up, he wouldn’t even look at me. Said it was too painful. That she would still be here if it weren’t for me.”

Lance’s heart ached inside his chest. He could tell this was painful for Keith to talk about.

“You don’t have to--" Lance starts.

“It’s fine,” Keith says, sipping his tea, “It was a long time ago. I’m over it. My dad was a firefighter. I was seven when he died. He went out to work one afternoon and didn’t come home. They told me he was a real hero, rushing back into the building to save a man’s wife. Got a medal and everything, but I guess he didn’t care enough about what would happen to his only son if something had happened to him. What matters was that he was a hero. I lived with one of his coworkers for a year before I got put into the system in Texas.”

“That sucks,” Lance places an arm on Keith’s, gently, “No child should ever have to go through something like that."

“I was a horrible child to be honest,” Keith smiles wryly, “I beat up the other kids in the orphanage for calling me dumb, racist names and messing with my stuff. I was stupid and I didn’t listen to anyone. Shiro volunteered for this cross country big brother pen pal programme at the home, and he was assigned to me. He, um, he surprised me for my fourteenth birthday by flying all the way down to the orphanage to meet face to face.”

“I dunno and will never know what about me interested the Shiroganes so much. I always thought I had shit luck, but six months later,” there’s a small, fond smile on Keith’s face, “They flew out to visit. A year they began to fill out the adoption papers. Then the adoption process finally ended a few months later, before I turned seventeen.”

“I bet you had to grow up pretty fast in that orphanage, huh?” Lance asks, curiously.

“Yeah, because it’s...you’re alone. Then when you turn eighteen and you’re kicked out of the system, you have to fend for yourself. If you didn’t know how to do that from before, you’re in trouble,” Keith says.

"That's why you said donating the cheque we won from the soccer match was personal to you, wasn't it?" he asks

"Yeah. It's going to make such a difference for the kids that are there," Keith says, pride colouring his tone.

Kindness, his mother says, was always a simple way to tell another struggling soul there is love that can be found in the world.

"You have a kind heart, Keith Kogane,” Lance says in awe.

There's no denying it now. Sure, a few weeks ago at the fair, he could have said that maybe he had a small crush… but He knows for sure that right here, right now, over late night conversations and hot cocoa, that he's falling hard.

And he could only pray that Keith felt the same.

“That’s thanks to Shiro. It’s partially his fault. He’s a good role model and he wasn’t afraid to call me out when I was being stupid or immature,” Keith bites his lower lip as if in deep thought, “But what about you, Lance McClain? What’s your story?”

Chapter Text

Lance laughs nervously, discomfort clear in his blue eyes.

“It’s okay,” Keith smiles, understanding, “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. I know how tough letting someone in can be.”

“No, I want to,” Lance says, looking down at the cup of tea in his hands, “I just don’t want your opinion of me to change when you hear the entirety of it.”

He knows how Keith will feel about him when it’s all said and done. It’s the same way everyone else always did... with disgust. Pity. Sympathy.

And Lance never wanted any of it.

“Lance,” Keith says softly, as if reading his thoughts, “Nothing you say is going to change the way I think about you. You’re a good guy who’s clearly been through some tough times and made some mistakes. It’s okay .” 

The honesty and sincerity in Keith’s eyes make him take a breath.

It’s okay.

“Alright” Lance says, voice shaky, “Okay. Here goes. When I was in college, I met this girl. Her name was Allura Altea.”

He pauses.

“Was? Keith asks.

“Was,” Lance reiterates.

Keith nods, eyes widening with understanding. 

Pushing back his dark hair, he prompts Lance to continue.

“I was so in love with her,” he confesses, “I thought I was going to marry that girl. A year after meeting her, she started getting sick. We thought she was pregnant. Her doctors debunked that notion pretty fast. Then her visits to the hospital became more frequent. They couldn’t diagnose her, so she had to keep going back constantly to run all of these tests.”

“When her dad, Alfor, and I finally saw the doctor to discuss what was happening to her, it was something we’d never expected,” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat, “The doctors theorized that she had acute myeloid leukaemia. They did a bone marrow biopsy and then they were able to confirm it for us.”

“I’m so sorry, Lance,” Keith squeezes his arm in a comforting way.

“She started chemo. We thought she was getting better. A few weeks after, her health started to decline rapidly. Alfor and I talked, after the doctors advised that there was a type of surgery she could do to ease the spreading of the cancer. He decided to fly her out to Mexico as soon as possible to do it. Her dad asked me what I thought he should do, because he thought I should have a say with everything that was going on. I agreed with his idea to take her to Mexico,” Lance says, then adds bitterly, “But all the money Alfor had wasn’t enough to buy Allura’s health back. A few days after she went to Mexico, she caught pneumonia. Doctors there told us patients only caught pneumonia when they were in the final stages of the cancer. And a few days later, she died.”

He pauses to take a long sip of the hot chocolate that’s gone cold by now, and notices that Keith is staring at him in shock.

“There’s more,” He says, ruefully.

Keith makes a go-on gesture with his hands.

“After the funeral, I just kinda... lost it for a while,” Lance presses his fingers to his temple, wishing he could erase what little memory of that period he could recall, “I stopped going to classes. I went on a bender. Some people numb the pain with sex and pleasure, some numb the pain with alcohol. I drank and partied till I blacked out. I cut off Pidge and Matt and Hunk."

"I completely lost who I was. I would wake up sometimes in a puddle of my own vomit, or smelling like I hadn’t showered in days. Sometimes, I’d wake up with three or four days missing from my memory. I don’t remember what I ate, where I slept... nothing. One night, and I think it had been a month after she died, I just lost it. I drank too much. I almost died from alcohol poisoning. The next day, I woke up in the hospital."

 "Alfor was there. He told me what happened," Lance bites his lip before speaking again, "He looked at me, shook his head and said, ‘Son, go home. Start over. God knows that’s what best for us all right now.’ And that’s what we did. He was right.”

“How did Allura’s dad have your number?” Keith asks.

“She was my emergency contact in New York,” Lance explains, “After she died, Alfor kept her phone, and the hospital ended up calling the number. He stayed with me at the hospital, paid the bills and took me back to my dorm. Every single Tuesday at eight o'clock at night for the past year and a half, we went to AA meetings. That’s why I don’t drink. And every Wednesday at seven, we’ve been going to group counselling. He was there to emotionally support me through the last year of college. After graduation, he helped me get a ticket back home. He was so good to me, when he should have just let me suffer for disrespecting Allura's memory like that.”

“You were grieving, Lance,” he says, eyebrows knotting together in a frown, “You can’t be that hard on yourself.”

“I was weak,” the blue eyed man sneers, the self-disgust evident in his tone, “Coming here to face my mother, my friends, letting them in, letting them know what happened; this is kinda my penance.”

Lance’s too exhausted to speak again, so he lets silence fill the air.

Keith raises his fingers to wipe away the tears that have fallen down the other man's cheeks. 

“She would have been so proud to see how far you’ve come. I know it,” Keith whispers, fiercely, before he lets his hand fall away, slightly caressing Lance’s cheek.

The touch is so gentle that Lance's eyes flutter close and he leans into it. 

He looks down at Keith, who’s looking at him with something... some unknown emotion in his eyes, pink lips parted slightly. He looks almost ethereal under the lighting, Lance realizes, almost angelic. His pale skin glows. Under brush-stroke lashes, his eyes remind Lance of smoke; grey, full of heat and burning with the intensity and passion that came from a fire ignited only deep within Keith's soul. From this close, he could see the flecks of hazel and blue hidden away inside Keith's eyes, and the faint splash of freckles that dusted under his eyes and nose, like miniature constellations.

Nobody dares to break the spell by breathing. It crosses his mind, not for the first time, just how easy it would be to just give in and kiss Keith.

The atmosphere between them changes almost immediately, tension between them growing deliciously charged and so thick that it’s almost tangible.

Just one kiss ...

Realizing what’s happening, and where his thoughts are going, Lance pulls back.

Maybe it’s because he’s not ready to deal with those emotions. Maybe because he’s probably reading the situation wrong, as usual.

Maybe it’s because he’s too emotionally fragile now, and kissing Keith right at this moment may not be the best thing to do.

Though after tonight, everything has changed. Lance knows that. Judging by his expression, Keith may know that too.

He knows that although there’s a spark between them, he might regret escalating things, and he doesn’t want to ruin what he has with Keith.

Maybe it’s because deep down, he’s afraid that Keith will reject him, and that his feelings are completely one sided.

(It’s happened many, many times before. Nyma, Florona, Ryan, Cameron. Travis. All of them were one sided.)

And deep down, Lance’s pretty sure that after hearing his story about Allura, Keith would want nothing to do with him. He’s sure Keith probably thinks that he’s still in love with her. Or disgusted with his behaviour, even though he said that he wasn’t. Or worse, maybe Keith pitied him.

Nothing would be worse than a pity kiss.

(At the back of his mind though, he recalls that the only other person he’s ever shared this kind of spark with is Allura herself.)

The tension shatters immediately when he moves back.

Is that-- is that disappointment he can see in Keith’s eyes?

***

“Look at me, Lance,” Allura sobbed, “I used to be so beautiful, now look at me. How can you even stand the sight of me? I’m fucking disgusting!”

“That’s the effects of the chemo, ‘Lura,” I said, tiredly, pulling her into my chest.

Her dark skin has taken on a pallid, sunken quality. Her eyes are red. Her lips are cracked and chapped. Her long white hair falls off at an alarming pace. Her fingernails are tinged blue. Her voluptuous figure used to be a perfect hourglass shape, but she’s been losing weight. Now she looks like someone who’s been starved.

Chemo made her throw up. She can’t hold down the contents of her stomach for too long after she eats. She bled easily.

Chemo made her moody and depressed. She’s no longer the brilliant, vivacious, confident extrovert I first fell in love with.

Chemo made her tired. She doesn’t walk around her hospital room anymore. She preferred to rest after chemo, or spend the rest of her day reading a book in bed.

To others, she probably looked sickly.

But to me, she’s never looked more beautiful.

“I love you for your soul and spirit, mi amor,” I whispered into her ear, “Seeing you fight this battle every day reminds me of how strong you are. Your spirit and your strength make you beautiful. We’ll get over this. I promise we will.”

Mamí always told me to never make promises that I couldn’t keep.

“I don’t even have enough strength left in me to paint my nails anymore, Lance,” she whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks, and I know it’s killing her to share that.

I think for a while—what could be the best way to cheer her up? 

Then, Icgot it.

“Okay,” I said, “You just relax, babe. Leave the rest to me.”

I picked out a red varnish that looked somewhat similar to her favourite colour from her toiletries bag and drag the visitor’s foldable table and chair next to her bed. I put the nail varnish down and take her hand, placing it on the table.

“Close your eyes, babe,” I whispered, “Let me take care of you for a while.”

She looked at me as though she’s in pain, but obliged anyway.

Dipping the brush, I began to paint her nails.

This was the least I could do.

***

Keith’s heart aches as Lance pulls away, almost as though he’s on fire.

What happened?

Did Lance not want this?

“I think it’s time for me to head to bed,” Lance says, “I’ve got a headache and my throat hurts.”

Keith clears his throat to ensure that his voice remains firm.

“Sure,” he says, “Would you like an aspirin?”

“No, I’ll be fine. You’re not coming up?” Lance frowns.

“I’m going to clean up. Then I’ll come to bed,” Keith says, reassuringly.

“Okay, well,” Lance yawns, “Don’t stay up too late.” 

“I won't,” Keith promises, giving a sorry excuse for a smile, “And hey.. thanks for trusting me with your story. Good night, Lance.”

“Good night to you too, Keith,” Lance smiles, before he leaves, “And thank you for trusting me with yours.”

“Right,” Keith mutters to himself, looking around the kitchen.

“Hey Keith?” he looks up to see Lance staring at him, “I, uhm. Hypothetically, if you had kissed me just now, would it be because you’re genuinely interested in me, or would it be a heat of the moment thing? Hypothetically, of course.”

He focuses on cleaning up, trying not to let his thoughts be too occupied by a beautiful boy with a pair of haunted blue eyes, who clearly didn’t seem to return his budding feelings.

"It wouldn't be a heat of the moment thing," Keith says, after a brief pause, not meeting Lance's eyes, "For your hypotheticals, that is."

"And if we were two normal guys who happened to meet, and our circumstances were completely different from what they are now, would you still want to kiss me?" he asks.

"I would," Keith replies as nonchalantly as he could, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart, "Because hypothetically, it's so easy to feel something for you, Lance."

"Oh," Lance says awkwardly, and Keith can see his cheeks growing redder by the second, "I see. I uhm...thanks for talking hypotheticals with me, Keith."

Keith allows himself to give the other man a small smile, pushing his feelings of hurt and rejection aside.

He says sweetly, "Good night, Lance. Sweet dreams."

"T-thanks," Lance stutters, leaving Keith alone in the kitchen, his thoughts for company.

His thoughts are certainly not the best company. All he could think about was Lance.

There was something between them-- he knew that both he and Lance could feel it.

He'd seen the way Lance's eyes darkened as they flicked down to his lips. He'd heard the subtle hitch in his breath.

Maybe Lance needed Keith to confirm that yes, there was something, and yes, he was interested in finding out where it led to?

Or maybe Lance needed some time to get Allura fully out of his system because maybe he was still in love with her…?

Keith decides not to dwell on it any longer. He knows he'd overthink the situation and turn things into even more of a mess than they currently are.

On the bright side, Shiro and Adam were due back the day after tomorrow, and he would have to face the inevitable: he’d be going back out to California before the end of next week. 

There’s no Lance in California, which is the perfect excuse for nipping these developing feelings in the bud as soon as they came.

Because clearly, Lance either wasn't ready, or simply wasn't interested, if he clearly just wanted to talk hypotheticals with Keith.

***

“Lance,” Allura whispered.

She looks so fragile and small in that hospital bed, hooked up to so many machines. This time next week, we’d be in Mexico, preparing for a hopefully successful surgery.

I hushed her gently. She needed to save her strength.

“If anything happens to me,” she said seriously, “Please know that I don’t expect you to hold on to us for the rest of your life.”

She inhales weakly, “Lance. I want you to live and love and be happy. Can you promise to do that for me?”

I couldn’t bear to think about losing her. I loved her so, so much. She’s one of the most important persons in my life.

“I promise,” I said, lying through my teeth.

“Thank you,” she whispers, utterly still, her eyes fluttering close. 

She looks at peace.

With the exception of her somewhat uneven breaths, you’d think that she was—that she was—

I rush out of the room, unable to hold back the sudden rush of nausea.

***

Keith wakes up to the sound of something sizzling and gentle music coming from the kitchen, downstairs.

Yawning, he rolls out of bed, almost mechanically doing his usual morning routine.

Wake up. Tie his hair back. Use the bathroom. Brush his teeth, wash his face.

Breakfast, then shower.

At the base of the stairs, he can see a brown head of hair, said head bopping in time to Spanish music playing from the Amazon Echo.

The song is mesmerising, gentle syllables and words being sung in the woman’s soothing, accented voice. 

“Good morning,” he greets, yawning lazily.

“Mornin', sleepy head," Lance says, and damn, Keith tries not to notice how gracefully and fluidly his body moves along to the song, how wonderful his low voice compliments the original singer as he hums along with her, bustling about by the kitchen sink.

To his surprise, James is already at the dining room table, sipping on a cup of hot chocolate, attempting the crossword that was in the kid’s activity centre in the paper.

The whole scene was just so... domestic that Keith wanted to close his eyes and savour it just for a moment--

Until he remembers.

Shiro and Adam return tomorrow.

“Six letters,” James mutters, interrupting his thoughts, “Husband or wife. What do you think?”

Keith thinks for a few seconds before he replies, “Spouse.”

Jamie nods, “Thanks. Morning, by the way.”

He nods, reaching into the kitchen cabinet, and taking down his coffee mug. When he gets to the coffeemaker on the island, he's surprised to see a fresh pot already brewed.

"I made my family's special blend," Lance smiles, "Hope you don't mind something different. The plate's yours too, by the way."

"Thanks," Keith mumbles, looking at the breakfast plate.

There's french toast, butter and a few strips of fried bacon, with a bowl of freshly sliced apples and grapes in the middle.

"Listen, about what happened last night," Lance starts, quietly, so that James is unable to hear.

"Don't worry about it. We're good," Keith says in a flat tone, "There's no need for things to be awkward or weird. It's okay, message received. It won't happen again."

"Keith--" he can see the hurt in Lance's eyes.

 He drops the topic completely, saying instead, "Breakfast looks good. Thank you."

Lance takes a small breath before forcing a smile. Keith can tell it's not genuine because it doesn't touch his eyes.

"I had a little helper," he winks at James, who grins widely.

Keith joins James at the table, and Lance takes a seat not long after. 

It's different, with the three of them seated at the table. A warm feeling settles inside Keith's stomach. He feels grounded, at home-- something he hasn't felt in a long time-- with the soft music playing in the kitchen and a delicious mug of coffee in his hand.

"So you're Latino, huh?" Keith says conversationally, looking at Lance.

James looks at him as though he's completely lost his mind. Keith understands why, as topics like these weren't necessarily brought up over a breakfast table. Lance meets his gaze, before dropping it altogether. There's a brief, awkward pause, which completely shatters the once-domestic feeling.

"Cuban on my mom's side, Scottish on my dad's," he clears his throat, "I can speak Spanish fluently and my dad tries to teach me as much as he could about my Scottish heritage. His parents died when I was really young, so I wasn't as immersed into it as I am with my Cuban heritage."

"Cool!" James says, "I've always been interested in and enjoyed learning about other cultures. Shiro's parents are Japanese, and Adam is Puerto Rican. Keith and his parents were Korean immigrants. They all teach me about their cultures, but I'm open to learning about more. Would you teach me?"

"As long as it's fine with your parents," Lance shrugs.

"You ever been to Cuba?" James asks.

"No," Lance replies, "It's too painful for my mamí and abuelita . The country was in a really bad state when they escaped."

They make small talk while Keith finishes his breakfast, Lance telling James what it was like to grow up in a Cuban-Scottish-American home.

"So, you should probably grab a shower and then I can take you home if you want," Keith says, "I put your clothes in the chest of drawers in the guest room."

"That would be great, thanks," Lance says flatly, "I had fun staying over last night."

"You're welcome here anytime, Lance," James, the little imp, teases lavaciously, on Keith's behalf.

"Thanks for such a generous offer, James," Lance smiles, unable to resist his teasing.

Keith handles the kitchen and dining table clean up while Lance showers and James watches T.V.

When he's finished, he flops onto the couch next to his nephew.

"You okay?" He asks, studying him carefully, "I know yesterday wasn't easy for you."

"'S fine," James says, not holding eye contact.

"It's okay to not be okay, alright?" Keith says fiercely, "And anyone who tells you otherwise is an asshole."

"I know," says James, "I just..missed them. And then I got really upset I couldn't go down to the beach, and..."

Keith squeezes James' hand, ruffling his hair.

"I get it, kid," he says, "I don't think there's ever a day that goes by that I don't miss my mom, but I know now she's in a better place. I'll never understand why she was taken away from me, but I'm glad she's not suffering."

"Did it take you a long time?" James clears his throat, "To let her go?"

"It gets easier with time and age," Keith says, "That's the thing about healing, Jamie. You need to let yourself feel. It might be ugly and raw and embarrassing, but it's your healing. It's your process and you have to keep going. You can't just let the grief go. You feel it because it demands to be felt, and you do something that helps you feel better."

"Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried," James quotes, "Megan Devine."

"There you go," Keith smiles, "That's what they said in therapy, anyway."

"Keith, why don't you stay here with us?" James asks, after a heavy pause, "We'll miss you alot when you go back to California."

"We need someone back at home," Keith explains, "To handle anything that comes up. And I'm expendable… I don't have a family, or any other commitments, so it's much easier for me."

"But don't you ever get worried that your life will pass you by?" He can hear the curiosity in James's voice, "And you'll be stuck there forever? With no husband, no family, just your friends who, eventually, will have their own families?"

He doesn't say anything, as he notices Lance descending the staircase.

"There's Lance. We should probably organize to drop him off at his house," is what he tells James.

He pouts, but gets up anyway.

Keith asks Lance if he's ready. He says yes, so James grabs the key to the car. 

"Thanks again for having me over," Lance says, once he's safely buckled into the passengers' seat of the silver Mercedes.

Keith nods.

He turns on the car's ignition, reversing out of the spiral driveway. 

***

Earlier on, when I mentioned Keith, I said I'll talk about him a bit more later on.

So, I guess now is later on.

My mamí always said it wasn't good to immortalize the dead.

This is not me immortalizing Allura.

This is me, paying tribute to my best friend. My lover, partner.

This is me, trying to fight for a cause.

At the back of this book, you may see a small little sentence that many of you may simply choose not to read, so that's why I'm going to put it here;

All proceeds from purchases of this book will be donated directly to the New York chapter of the Leukaemia and Lymphoma Society.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and thank you for fighting for a cause with me.

Anyways.

When I first met Keith, officially anyway-- at a session of group therapy-- I thought that there was no way he'd understand why I'd hung on to Allura for so long.

But every single day, he continued to amaze me.

He's got a big heart, even though he pretends otherwise.

Just as he made room for Shiro in his heart, he made room for Shiro's family. 

And just as he made room in his heart for Shiro's family, he made room for Hunk and Pidge and Matt and James. 

And just as he made room in his heart for them, he made room in his heart for Allura.

That made the burden of losing her so much easier to bear.

***

"Pidge!" Keith calls, adjusting the strap of his backpack, "We all set?"

"Yeah!" she responds, grabbing the handle bar at the side of the driver's seat of the Jeep and pulling herself up into the driver's seat.

She turns the key in the ignition, and with an almighty roar, the Jeep comes to life. 

It's painted a sleek emerald green, varying between shades of black and navy blue when the sunlight hits.

James had been left with Matt at Pidge and Hunk's apartment for the day-- he was going to learn how to do beginner's coding. Matt and Pidge were child prodigies with tech and codes, and Matt had been begging Keith to bring James over to teach him the basics.

Keith learned from Lance that he and Hunk were going to do a practice run of Hunk's culinary class' Showcase, which was going to happen in a few weeks, at the end of the Spring semester.

While they were doing that, Keith and Pidge were going hiking on the trails in Arus Hills. It was something he and Pidge usually did before Keith left to go back to California.

So far, their ride is quiet. It's familiar silence. 

Pidge and Keith are kindred spirits, after all. They both were generally quiet and shared the same interests in math, physics and astronomy. They both would do anything for their family, in addition to being stubborn and tenacious, even though Hunk would always say that tenacity wasn't always an attractive quality.

Both of their older brothers were best friends, so they also had similar experiences with being younger siblings. They both are excellent strategists and enjoyed the odd conspiracy theory or two.

During board game sessions, she and Keith would team up and not only destroy their opponents, but annihilate them. And for those reasons, nobody messed with them.

"So, this is your last hurrah, huh?" Pidge grins,"And you've chosen to spend it with me. To what do I owe this honour?"

"Who else would I choose to spend my last hurrah with?" Keith snorts, "We do this every time I'm here, you gremlin."

"I dunno, wouldn't you rather spend it with a tall, blue-eyed Cuban?" Pidge teases.

Keith rolls his eyes, turning the volume on the MCR CD up. Pidge laughs, taking the cue.

When they arrive, Pidge parks at the base of the hill. She pays their ten dollar entry fee, and they're let onto the hills with no further hesitation.

"I fucking hate bugs," she mutters as they cross the first marker on the trail, pressing her finger against the lid of her left eye.

"Did one get into your eye again?" Keith asks, preparing to take an extra bottle out of his bag for her to flush out the irritated eye.

"I think so. Either that, or it's a piece of a leaf or something," she says, accepting the water from him gratefully.

She pours it into her hand and cleans it out, blinking as her vision clears. The area around her irritated honey-gold eye is red, but it looks a bit clearer.

"I'm okay to move on," Pidge tells Keith, adjusting her backpack's straps. 

"Let's take a break," Keith suggests, leading her towards one of the benches, "You could have a snack, and then we could move on."

"Okay," Pidge breathes, "A break sounds good."

Keith helps her remove the backpack while she sits, then takes a seat himself, taking out the trail mix from his bag and offering it to her.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Pidge laughs.

"Trail mix," Keith laughs along with her, "It would almost be a crime not to do it."

"You really are a dork," she grins, "So earlier, we were talking about Lance--"

"Pidge, no--" Keith groans.

"Did something--"

"That boat has sailed already--"

"Hold on," she demands, "Did something happen between you two?"

"Maybe?" Keith shrugs helplessly, "I dunno."

"Spill," she says, stuffing a handful of cranberries and cashews into her mouth.

"I almost kissed him, I think," Keith confesses quietly, "I--We were talking back at the house-- I told him about my mom and he told me about Allura, and then we almost kissed, but he pulled back to talk about fucking hypotheticals and I'm sure I made things all weird by telling him not to make it weird."

"Holy shit," Pidge mumbles, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah," Keith mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

"When you say hypotheticals," she asks, "You mean like, would-this-still-happen-if-things-were-different hypotheticals?"

"Yup."

"Keith," she sighs, "I think the thing is, Lance doesn't know what he wants. He wants to move on, but he still hasn't properly gotten over his grief. And it's kind of hard for him to accept it.."

"I know that," Keith says, "Which is why I'm not going to do anything about it. Either way, when Shiro gets back, I'll be gone. I won't have to stay here and needlessly pine away for him anymore."

"So that's it?" Pidge demands, "You're just gonna say nothing? Give up on your feelings?"

"Pidge, you have to understand--"

"Denial isn't going to do you any good, Keith!" The shorter woman rolls her eyes at him, passing her hand down her face, "I've talked to you, and I've talked to Lance. I love you guys, but Jesus, you two are the biggest pair of idiots I know."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Keith snorts.

"Whatever, dork," she snarks before saying seriously, "I hope you and Lance work out whatever's going on. From what I've seen so far, you two are pretty damn good for each other."

Keith sighs.

"Shall we carry on, fellow wayward son?" He asks.

That gets a laugh out of her, as she stretches her arm for him to help her up.

They walk in silence for a while. 

"You remember the first time we did this?" Pidge asks.

"God, yes," Keith whines, "I can't believe we thought we'd actually find a cryptid up here."

"The disappointment was legendary," Pidge rolls her eyes, "But I'm glad that we did it. There's no other dork I'd rather do this with."

"Same here," Keith says, earnestly, "Oh, look. Here's the halfway point marker."

"Last one at the top of the Hill has to buy dinner?" Pidge grins.

"You're on!" Keith grins back, taking a sip of Gatorade before bursting into a sprint, "See you there, Pidgeon!"

Keith knew the entire path by heart. There was no way Pidge was winning.

Swearing up a storm behind him, Pidge takes off, too, but in a different direction.

It is, after all, the survival of the fittest. Or in this case, it's survival of the smartest.

Chapter Text

The double doors of the emergency room swung open. 

She's barely conscious, her clammy, sweat-soaked body still on the gurney as she gasps for air, wheezing and grasping at her throat despite the fact that she's connected to a ventilator.

I remembered this vividly-- the overly bright yellow lights, the stench of bleach and air refresher. The wild adrenaline rush of pulling on clothes-- any random outfit at almost three am in the morning, racing to the hospital behind them in the rented silver Corolla that Alfor was paying for. The short painful wheeze that left Allura's throat every time she tried to breathe-- to inhale the oxygen that was so vital to her survival, to inhale the oxygen that her lungs were depriving her of.

"We need to stabilise her, now!" The EMT who was in the ambulance with us rushed ahead to speak to one of the doctors, "She's got leukaemia, we need to bring down this fever."

"Will she be okay?" Alfor, in a sudden burst of energy, ran ahead to speak with the doctor, "She's supposed to have a bone marrow transplant in a few days, will she be okay?"

"Sir, step back--" the other EMT remained with us, pulling him away easily, "Let them work."

"--Is the OR prepped?" I heard one doctor ask.

"That's my daughter," Alfor tries again, "Somebody please tell me what's going on--"

We didn't know when she lost consciousness. All I remembered was hearing the heart monitor dipping rapidly, from a steady beeping sound to a slow, tedious, pathetic noise.

"No," I didn't remember the word leaving my lips.

The doctors and EMTs began to move even faster, a whirl around her, throwing around words like "failure" and "theatre" and "defibrillator".

Alfor and I met eyes.

What was going to happen?

***

"Really," Keith says to James, bemused, as his nephew grabs the USB and hooks it up to his iPhone.

Kpop blasts through the speakers of the black Mercedes.

James grins up at him, mouthing along to the Korean lyrics.

Growing up, Keith would go to the public library. There, he'd spend hours on youtube listening to people speak his native language. He made friends with an old couple who owned a resturant. Whenever he visited, they communicated in only Korean. When he was adopted, the first thing he asked for was a private tutor of Korean. Shiro's parents hired the best of the best and he's never lost his fluency since.

"You know what," Keith snorts, "Fuck it."

James laughs in fiendish delight as Keith begins to sing in time with the song, his lips forming perfectly around the syllables of his mother tongue.

They sing together, all the way to the airport. James adds in a few hand movements here and there, which Keith laughs at.

"I'm going to miss this," he admits, "Having fun with you."

"You already know what I'm going to tell you, so I'll save my breath," James rolls his sapphire eyes, narrowing them at Keith, "You never told me why you were so insistent to leave, anyway."

Keith flicks the indicator on and swings into the parking lot. 

"It's complicated," he says, taking off the black Ray-Bans covering his eyes, blinking owlishly at James.

“It really isn’t,” James retorts, unbuckling his seatbelt, “It’s just a matter of you and Lance being idiots. He likes you, and you like him. What’s more to it?”

“You’ll understand, someday,” Keith smiles softly at him.

He locks the car behind them, and they enter the main terminal. Shiro and Adam would greet them there, as they had to collect their luggage and go through immigration.

“Do you want anything” he asks James, while he plays Fortnite on his phone. 

He looks around the busy terminal, observing all the booths; KFC, Pizza Hut, Burger King, Outback Steakhouse and Starbucks.

“I could go for a vanilla frappuccino,” James says wryly, “What do you think?”

“Same,” Keith shrugs.

"It's seven thirty. Their flight is supposed to be here at eight. Think we're too late?" James asks.

"Nah, I think we're okay," Keith says as they entered the Starbucks, "They would have called if anything came up."

He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling the rich, soothing scent of freshly brewed coffee. The small booth, with its laminated flooring and soundproof doors makes the atmosphere feel tucked away and cozy. The sounds of the bustling airport around them goes away, and for a moment, Keith feels as though he's stepped into his own, private bubble. The yellow lighting only adds to the feeling of privacy, somehow. 

There's not many people inside, so James goes to keep a table for them both, while he lines up at the cashier’s counter to place the order, together with two extra cups for Adam and Shiro. He sits next to James once the order is served and he takes out his phone.

There's an unread text from Lance.

What time are they supposed to get in?

Around eight. James and I are already here, so we’re waiting. 

I hope you don’t have a long wait, in that case. Going through customs is the worst. They take so long.

Ugh, tell me about it. 

What are you guys gonna be doing later?

I dunno. Maybe we'll catch up. And Shiro’s been on my ass about a Mario Kart rematch since I beat him the last time we played, so we might just have that rematch and watch Adam judge us lol.

By the way, are you guys gonna meet us at Ryner’s tomorrow night?

Lol, have fun.

I hadn’t heard anything from Hunk and Pidge saying that they won’t be able to make it, so I’m assuming everyone is still in.

I heard Ryner has the best Italian food in Arus. Is it true? Have you ever tried it?

I have, and it is.

We usually do this as a goodbye, before I head back to California every year.

Yeah, about that. You uh.. You arranged your flight and stuff?

I did.

It’s on Friday. 

Wait, Friday?? As in the day after tomorrow Friday?

Keith, why didn’t you say anything?

I really didn’t think it was that important.

“Keith?” he flinches, hearing his name.

He hadn’t realized that he was so engrossed with talking to Lance. 

The person calling his name has gentle brown eyes and black hair, streaked gracefully at the top with grey. His red hoodie and jean jacket covers his prosthetic arm, and tucked away under his shoulder is his husband, short, tan, glasses fogged up and trembling from the cold.

“Shiro!” Keith greets his brother, enthusiastically, “How’d you get here so early--- how’d you find us here?”

“Our flight left Chicago before the scheduled departure,” Shiro explains, running his hand through Adam’s hair, and Keith can see the other man relax under his touch, “We didn’t see you guys at the terminal, and once Adam saw the Starbucks, we figured you two were here.”

“Hi, James,” Adam greets, “How are you?”

“Hey,” James nods, “I’m good. It’s been a good few weeks.”

“We’ve missed you,” Shiro says, smiling at his son.

James says nothing. Keith knows that James is still adjusting to the idea of having a family, of having parents. Which is why he never referred to Shiro and Adam as his fathers.

“He missed you two, too,” Keith fills in for him, gently squeezing James’ wrist when he sees the gratitude in his eyes, “Here.”

Keith hands over the two extra coffees he’d bought earlier. It’s still hot, and Adam looks eternally grateful.

“Hot coffee, oh my God,” Adam whispers, “Thank you so much, Keith.”

“Where are your bags?” he asks, noticing both of them are empty-handed. 

“I arranged with one of the maintenance staff at the airport to have someone deliver the luggage to the car, so we just have to wait for a guy named Bryce. I told him to meet me outside, at the entrance of the airport. Which car did you bring?” Shiro says.

“The Mercedes,” Keith replies, “Everything would fit, but it may be tight.”

“It’s alright,” Shiro waves him off, “Inside the plane was cold and the airport's even colder. I know that Adam is freezing, so he’s most likely gonna be glued to where he is until he warms up.”

“I am absolutely not moving,” Adam confirms, pulling Shiro’s arm around him in an impossibly tighter, inescapable grip, taking a sip of the drink. 

Shiro laughs, shaking his head. They decide to head out to wait for Shiro and Adam's things. They wait a few minutes before Bryce and another airport staff member finds them, the luggage on a trolley between them. 

Keith fishes through the pockets of his skinny jeans to find his keys.

Then, he leads them to the car, where the staff members neatly pack the bags into the trunk. The smaller bags fit into the back seat with Shiro and Adam. Keith knows Shiro and Adam were probably too tired to drive, so he slides behind the wheel again. 

When James sits, he sticks his hand under the seat, pulling out a fluffy brown blanket. He passes it to Shiro, “For Adam.”

“Thank you, James,” Shiro says, wrapping Adam into the blanket’s warmth. 

Earlier, the sky had been overcast, and the rain had drizzled. Shiro tells them that it was raining when they'd left Chicago, too. And James knows that Adam didn’t do well with the cold. He isn’t good with outwardly expressing himself and his feelings, so he usually expresses himself by doing, rather than by saying. 

Him bringing the blanket for Adam is his way of welcoming them back, letting them know he missed them.

"You're welcome," he says, smiling shyly.

By the time they get home, the sun has set and Adam is fast asleep. Although Shiro doesn't want to wake him up, he does, taking him to their room immediately, before coming back to help with the bags.

Once they're finished, they all go to their respective bathrooms to freshen up, to wash the tired, jet-lagged feeling off their bodies.

"I'll make us something to eat," Keith volunteers, catching Shiro’s hand before they go their separate ways, "You go and have some time with James. I know you've been waiting."

"Thanks," Shiro says, with a bright grin on his face.

When Shiro leaves, Keith rifles around the kitchen for ingredients to cook something simple. There's a bag of frozen french fries, so he takes that out, together with the chicken he'd been marinating. While the fries are cooking in the pot, he steams down the chicken. Then, he adds in ketchup, pepper, and BBQ sauce, letting it cook for a few more minutes.

He starts the third batch of fries before he empties the pot of chicken onto an oven tray, popping it into the countertop oven for another five minutes. 

Before he knows it, he's finished cooking, so he calls in Shiro and James. Adam comes downstairs into the kitchen, yawning tiredly.

"Babe, is everything alright?" Shiro asks, looking at his husband worriedly as he flops down unceremoniously onto a chair.

"I smelled food," Adam replies, "And I thought we could catch up with Keith after James goes to bed later tonight."

"Are you sure you'll be able to keep yourself awake?" Shiro asks again.

"Jet lag fucking sucks, Takashi," Adam whines,  "I'll be fine. But, don't even try to wake me up before ten in the morning."

Shaking his head, Keith takes out four bottles of water from the fridge, handing them out. James and Shiro prepare a plate for Adam, who accepts it with a smile.

"How was your trip?" James asks, "Did you guys enjoy yourselves?"

"We didn't get much time to ourselves, honestly," Adam tells him, "The business had our attention most of the time."

"We really need to make a better effort to centralize our operations," Shiro says, frowning, "Adam and I can't be spending time away from home like this much longer, and you have the office in California to run, Keith."

"Maybe you could convince your dad to hire like, a state slash branch manager?" Adam suggests, "That's what our company did and it worked out. Either way, we can't be out of Florida as much anymore. I'm sorry we didn't take you, James."

"Me too," Shiro says, "I mean if we were heading out of state for a vacation, it would be an entirely different thing, but like I said, it was business only."

"It's fine," James tells them, "I was a bit upset at first, but I had a really good time here with Keith."

"I'm glad," Shiro says, munching on a fry.

After they've eaten, Keith and Adam clear the table. He looks a bit more lively now, which makes Keith smile. James and Shiro are watching the Simpsons when they join them in the living room.

Keith’s phone vibrates again. 

It’s Lance.

Got home alright?

Yeah, everything's ok. Their flight got in early so we didn't have to wait too long.

How's James?

Good. He's trying to be more open with them, I think.

Glad to hear it.

Look, I didn't want to bring this up again… but why did you think telling me when you were leaving wasn't "important?"

Because it's really not, Lance. I'm just going back home. 

I feel like if I told everyone, you'd all gather round to have this sad send off party. 

And I don't want that. I have good memories of the past few weeks here. I wanna keep it that way.

Yeah, but you didn't tell me. Was I supposed to find out after you left?? Did it occur to you that the next time you come back to Arus, I'll probably be back in New York and completely miss seeing my friend?

Fuck.

Fuck.

Of course, it had occurred to Keith that the next time he was back in Altea, Lance might be in New York. In fact, he was counting on it.

Couldn't have feelings for a person you barely saw and spoke to, right?

But reading that text, seeing Lance address him as a friend? That sent a painful pang through his chest. It's the metaphorical last nail to the coffin. It's the confirmation that Lance only sees him as a friend. 

Keith knows rejection. 

During his childhood, he was rejected by all the families chosen to foster him. In his teenage years, he was rejected by his peers for being too weird, too quiet, too Asian. In his later teenage and adult years, he was rejected by maybe… two of the three men he ever had a romantic interest in.

But the rejections never hurt him like this.

His phone vibrates in his hands again.

Keith, you weren't planning to ghost me, were you?

No.

Bull. Shit. You totally were. I knew I wasn't crazy.

Since you got back from that hike with Pidge, you've been pulling away. You don't call me anymore, you barely text me. What's going on? What did she say to you on that trip?

Nothing. Don't worry about it, Lance. Pidge didn't do anything.

I'm fine. Really.

I hope you know that I don't believe you for one second. But I'm not gonna force you to talk. I just hope that you don't do the douchey thing and ruin things.

Good night.

Keith inhales sharply, clenching his fists as he's reading the text messages, missing the curious looks that Shiro and Adam are giving him.

***

Over the past few weeks, they said, the cancer had rapidly developed and spread through her entire body. Since leukaemia stemmed from the immune system, leaving it compromised, she became susceptible to the pneumonia. Because her body was already so weak despite the other treatments, she didn’t stand a chance against it, the doctors said. She wouldn’t have survived the bone marrow transplant. Inside the operating room, her organs began to shut down one by one. 

They came outside to give us the news. Thank God I was already sitting, or I would have fainted when I heard what they were saying.

“We can’t do anything for her at this point,” the doctor said, his voice calm, as though he’s given this speech many, many times before, “We can resuscitate her when it happens, but all that would do is prolong the inevitable by merely a few hours.”

“The other option?” I asked.

“You can let her go naturally,” the doctor said, “We can allow you to say your goodbyes, but only one of you can go in at a time. Those are your options.”

“How,” Alfor squeezes his eyes shut, as though he’s in pain, “How long does she have left?”

“I can’t say--”

“Alfor, what?” My heart dropped inside my chest, as I slowly realize what he’s intending to do, “We can’t just let her go, we have to fight for her--”

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Alfor said, “I’m sorry, but I won’t let her suffer like that--”

“Alfor--”

“That’s my baby daughter in there,” he said, voice steely, ignoring my opposition completely, “My partner, Coran, who’s helped me raise her since she was five, after her mother died, is on his way down here right now. Please, Doctor, I just want to know if she’ll have enough time so that he can say his goodbyes too.”

I wanted to yell. To scream, to throw a punch, anything. She’s his daughter, why wasn’t he going to fight for her? 

She’s his daughter, a small, rational part of me whispered, and he knows what’s best for her. She shouldn’t suffer.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

“She has a few hours again,” the doctor said, quietly, “I’m guessing that she won’t see tomorrow.”

Alfor bowed his head quietly, looking utterly defeated.

“We will do all that we can to make her last hours comfortable. I’ll have my team move her to a more private room where she’ll be at ease,” the doctor assured, “If there are any pre-death rituals that you need to do, we can facilitate it.” 

“Thank you,” Alfor said, “Just give me a few minutes to get myself in order, make a few calls.”

“Of course. My name is Dr. Christian Gomez. Ask for me when you’re ready and I’ll give you the room number,” the doctor said, then hesitated, placing his hand on Alfor’s wrist, “I truly am sorry that we can’t do anything else to save her. I can sense she has a light spirit. What a shame that it’s going to be snuffed out this early.”

He goes back into the operating room, and Alfor takes a deep breath. He looks at me. There are tears in his eyes and he sniffs. 

I’m crying. I could feel the hot sting of tears running down my eyes. I embraced Alfor right there, in the middle of the hallway.

“I lost her mother to cancer when she was four,” he said quietly, and I felt his tears soak into my blue shirt, “Now, I’m losing her too. I should have recognised the signs earlier, Lance.”

“Hey, all cancers are different,” I told him, remembering that from my reading, “She needs you to be strong for her right now, Alfor.”

“You’re right,” he said, wiping away his tears, pulling out his cell phone, “You’re right. And I understand if you want to leave, I won’t make you go through this.”

“Alfor,” I said, “I love her almost as much as you do. I’m not leaving. She needs us both.”

“I flew her mother’s side of the family to New York last week to help take care of her after the operation,” Alfor said, “When--when she goes, we’ll do the same rites we did for her mother.”

“Hindu rites,” I said, “She told me about it.”

“We’ll need to fly back to New York as soon as possible, going back to London will take too long. Maybe I can charter a flight,” he continues, “Of course, I’ll have Romelle get her clothes and a casket. Typically, the body has to be cremated within twenty-four hours, but New York laws prohibit cremation for the first twenty-four hours after death, plus we’ll need to send the body back. So we’re looking at next Tuesday for the latest. The body will be taken back to the house, and the funeral service will be there. We can’t cremate her according to the traditional rites in the States, so we’ll have to do it at a crematorium through a licensed funeral director. Lance, will you help carry the casket?”

“Yes,” I nodded, without hesitation.

“Thank you,” Alfor said, gratefully, “I’d better get on with these calls. Would you see if we can arrange for a Pundit to come down here? Then you can call her school friends and let them know. I’ll be happy to reimburse you--”

“Alfor, you’re like family. And family doesn’t owe,” I told him, “Will Coran get here on time?”

“I hope so,” Alfor muttered, unlocking his phone.

I made the arrangements to get the Pundit to the hospital for the final rites. I gave the receptionist the doctor’s name as I’m there, and she gave me Allura’s room number.

“She’s in Room 214,” I told Alfor, when he finished on the phone.

“We should go,” he said, “The last person to see her should be the Pundit.”

We headed towards the elevator. It felt as though we were going up forever.

“I’m here,” I said, “If you want to talk. Or vent.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” he closed his eyes, “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here to keep me grounded.”

The elevator dinged as it let us out.

“...And take a right,” Alfor muttered, leading us both.

We stop in our tracks. In front of us was the door, with a small gold plate identifying it to be Room 214.

“The doctor said one person at a time,” I recalled, “I’ll go first. So you can spend more time with her.”

Alfor nodded.

Swallowing hard, I stepped into the room.

There were no words to describe how I felt when I first saw her.

Over the past few weeks, she’d gradually become thinner and thinner. The hospital bed seemed to envelop her. You could see her dark skin pulled taut across her bones, barely any plump flesh adding definition to her features. Her dyed-white hair looked dry and unhealthy. Her blue eyes were glassed over and unaware, as though she was physically in the room, but not mentally here. Monitors and needles were hooked up all over her body. The one monitoring her heart was moving at a slow steady beep. There was a breathing mask over her mouth and nose, so she couldn’t speak. There were several other tubes and bags hooked up on the side of the bed, but I didn’t know what they were for. She looked uncomfortable, as though she was in pain.

Which I supposed she was.

But despite all that, she smiled at me. And I thought, despite it all, she was beautiful. I could still see the shadow of the girl I love in her, no matter what the cancer did-- I could see it in the way her cheeks rose as her lips tilted into the half-smile I fell in love with. I could see it in the way her arched brows lifted as if to say “well?” as she observed me by the door. I could see it in the way her eyes, albeit glassed over and tired, shone in recognition.

“Hey pretty lady,” I said, smiling.

Her skin flushed a pale red, and she shook her head.

“Nuh uh, you’ll always be my pretty lady, despite what happens,” I kept the smile, booping her on the forehead with my index finger. 

I needed to be cheerful for her now.

Her eyes filled with tears. A few of them ran down her cheeks, and I heard her struggle to inhale through the mask. It’s a weak, hoarse breath that caused her chest to heave up and down erratically. 

“Don’t cry,” I whispered, “It’s okay, Allura, don’t cry.”

She can’t move her hands to wipe them away, so I do that for her. Between her eyes and cheeks were the only parts of her body that didn’t have a tube-- that I wasn’t afraid to touch.

I sat by her bedside and stroked her hair, her cheek. She closed her eyes, leaning into it.

“You’re tired and uncomfortable, huh?” I asked gently, as she began to still, and the heart monitor remained at a slow, steady pace.

She doesn’t open her blue eyes as she nods.

“It’s okay, your dad and Coran want to visit you first, and then you’ll be able to fall asleep,” I said, my voice cracking, “I love you, Allura. You are my world.”

She nodded again. Very carefully, she brought her hand to hold mine-- and I understood what she was trying to say to me. She struggles to point a shaky finger in the direction of her bag.

"There's something in your bag for me?" I asked.

She nodded.

I checked through the bag. In the middle of the clothes, there's an envelope, addressed to me.

"Okay. Thank you, sweetheart," I said, and I knew I was crying, as she frowned, "I'm going to let you be now. I’ll let your dad come in now as we can only be in here one at a time."

Through the mask, I saw her smiling at me. She manages a small wave.

"Never forget that I love you, pretty lady," I said, as I made my way out of the room. 

And that's the last memory I have of Allura Amritta Altea alive.

Dear Lance,

If you're reading this letter, then the inevitable has happened.

I'm sorry we didn't have much time together. When I first got diagnosed, I thought that maybe I could beat this thing. But as I pen this letter, I can feel my body growing weaker and weaker day by day. I realize that I'm not strong enough. I get more tired easily and sometimes I get scared that one night I'll go to sleep and I won't wake up. I feel it's only a matter of time that I have left and--

I don't want to worry my father, but I think he knows. When I'm gone, please keep an eye on him. He gets lonely sometimes-- and this is why I wish he and mother had another child-- so that losing me wouldn't be this painful. But alas, some things are not meant to be. 

I left one of these for Father and Coran at our hotel room, so please ensure that they get it. It's in my father's night stand drawer. Thank you.

I'm not going to go off on tangents as usual. I guess this letter is kinda like my last words to you, so here we go.

Like life, there is a certain certainty in death. Just as we must all live, we must all die. It’s a cycle. The fact that a life will never happen again, I think, is what makes it so sweet.

And you have made my life so, so sweet.

Alejandro Charles Alvarez McClain, I love you with all that I am, until the day that I die. And, in the words of Cassandra Claire, if there's a life after that, I'll love you then.

I wanted to marry you. I wanted to have children with you. We weren't perfect, but dammit Lance, we were so good together. And I'm sorry that because of me, we have to give it all up.

It hurts when I think of the future we could have had. Maybe in another life we’ll get that chance. Maybe in another life, I won’t just be the girl that has cancer, and you won’t just be the boy that loved her regardless. Maybe I might be an astronaut, and you might be an astrophysicist. Maybe we might be frenemies, until you ask me to the movies and we fall in love. Maybe I might be a teacher and you a writer, and maybe we might fall in love over Shakespeare. Maybe. In another life. 

But please, please don't spend this life with your mind resting on the could have and has beens. Our time, my love, has passed. Let us go. Leave us behind.

Thank you for everything you did for me and my father while we were going through this. Having cancer is like having the life sucked out of you. There are no words to describe how it feels. It's a parasite. 

And yet, on the days that I didn't feel like myself, you helped me. You made me feel beautiful and special  and worth it and so much more when I'd look at the mirror and wanted to punch it to pieces when I caught sight of my reflection. 

You helped me do everything when some days all I could do was lie on the bed for hours and sleep. You treated me delicately, and let me have my space when we came back from getting transfusions, but you've never once made me feel like I was different.

You made me feel normal, and I'm forever in your debt for that.

I want one last favor from you, my love. I want you to live your life. Truly live it. Travel the world. Meet new people. Spend time with your family. Fall in love with a man over a coffee. Fall in love with a woman over your love of photography. Fall in love with people and places. Publish your books. Get married, have children. Life is so short, my love, and I don't want you to lose a second of it mourning for me. So live it. Love every second of it.

There are so many things I wanted to do with you, but our time has run out. And I'll never regret our time together, no matter how much it physically hurts to say goodbye.

Give your heart to someone as kind and gentle as you are. They will treat it well. 

I'm going to miss you. But I'm glad we met. I’ll never regret you.

As I write this letter, I’m getting tired for today. You’re sitting at the table, watching me with a smile on your face. Words cannot describe what you mean to me. I want you to know that even though I said earlier that I was scared, I am, but--- when my time comes, I think I’ll be ready. I hope I'll be able to meet my mother again. I've missed her.

I may be scared, but there's a part of me that knows that I’m ready. I'm ready to move on, to not feel this pain anymore.

So for now, ironically, it’s till death do us part.

Always Yours,

Allura Amritta Altea.

She died on Thursday morning. The doctors declared the time of death to be 3:45 A.M.

Coran arrived at the hospital at two o'clock, so he ended up getting to say goodbye, even though by then she was unconscious.

When it happened, Alfor shattered. I remembered holding him with Coran, as his knees gave out and he fell to the ground in the waiting room, sobbing until he couldn't breathe. 

I didn't cry.

Coran stayed through it all, voice cracking as he tried to calm his partner, talking to the doctors, arranging for her body to be put on a plane to New York as soon as possible. He arranged for her cousin to prepare in advance, to call the funeral parlour. To lay out the clothes. To prepare the ghee and camphor and rice that they would need. To call the family Pundit to do the rites. The clock for the funeral and cremation started clicking.

I didn't cry.

Maybe I was in shock? I didn't know. I felt sick to my stomach. Why couldn't I cry for Allura?

It was only when we got home to the hotel, to my hotel room,where I'd spent every waking moment with her, that I felt it rising in my chest. That I felt this stinging in my eyes. I put my hands to my mouth and gasped loudly as the tears fell down my face. 

Allura was gone.

She physically wasn't here anymore. She was just a body.

It hurt.

It hurt so bad; I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I couldn't stay in that room. Alfor came to the room a while after and began to pack up her belongings-- and I said, "I need to get another room."

"I understand."

"I loved her, Alfor," I whispered.

"I know. I'm sorry, Lance."

Chapter Text

We got back to New York on a Monday. Alfor, being an Ambassador, was able to pull some strings to get Allura’s body on a flight on Saturday. I booked our tickets back to New York, while Coran spoke to her family members, making arrangements to have everything for the service in place when we got back. We managed to pull it off.  Her body went straight to the funeral home for embalming as soon as it touched US soil. For every night we were away, Allura's extended family hosted a wake. I met them for the first time at the last wake; her grandmother, Lakshmi, her aunts, Shreya and Vidya, her cousins, Nalini, Romelle, Bandoor, Ameer, Raveena, Shiva, Krishna and Andrew.

It was one a.m., and we all sat at the dining room table, discussing how the funeral would go on Wednesday. Coran sat with us too, and just as Allura had said, they all treated him with the utmost respect, and seemed to highly value his opinion.

Alfor had told me that if I wanted to be a part of the procession, I had to follow certain traditions. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. After all, this was for her.

We couldn't eat any salt before the funeral. No alcohol, no mourning flowers were allowed. Alfor told me that I was free to eat whatever, provided it was unsalted and vegetarian, and the rest of them stuck to dry, unsalted biscuits and plain coffee. The colour of mourning was white, so we had to wear plain white cotton clothing-- a kurta, Alfor called it-- a white, long sleeved tunic, with a v-neck and matching white pants. The women would wear white salwars or sarees, and if they chose to, would cover their heads with orhnis-- the headscarf that came with salwars.

Her female relatives would wash and dress her body. Her big toes would be tied together, and hands in a position of prayer. In traditional fashion, Turmeric marks would adorn her forehead.

When guests came, they would be expected to view the body. While the Pundit read from the Bhagavad Gita (that is, the Hindu Scripture), they would sit and listen. They could chant if they knew the mantras, sing if they knew the hymns. The Pundit would assist with preparing the body for cremation; perfume it, place flowers and Tulsi leaves and such in the casket. After the ceremony, the family would provide malas, or flower garlands, for guests to place around her neck and flowers, coins and rice to be placed on and around her body. They'd be expected not to touch her body, as touching it, Hindus believed, would impure the deceased's soul.

Then her body will be taken to the crematorium. They would open the casket and cover her body with ghee and camphor there. Camphor and rice balls would be placed in the mouth by Alfor, her closest male relative, the Chief Mourner, while he and the Pundit chanted her final rites. They would do the ritual circling of the body, and breaking of the clay pot. 

Since we couldn’t have a traditional pyre, Alfor was allowed to put some Holy wood on the sides of the casket. He wasn’t allowed to set the body on fire, per tradition, before it went into the cremation chamber, but the Funeral Directors gave us assurances that her body would go in facing the South. The Pundit and Alfor would keep chanting as the body entered the chamber, and then it would be over. A week later, we’d receive her ashes from the crematorium to disperse.

Hindus believed in the elements-- water, air, fire, earth, space. The water, air and fire freed the soul. The body, a vessel, was returned to the earth. After death, the soul would transcend, and would be reincarnated according to its karma-- the result of the deeds that had been done in the previous life. And the cycle would begin again. 

When the body was fully burned, the ashes would be dispersed over a Holy riverbank, or the riverbank of a place that was special to her. In Alfor's case, he would take it back to London to disperse it where Allura's mother's ashes had been dispersed.

The men taking part in the funeral were expected to shave the top of their heads and allow a section to grow longer than the rest but that wasn't a strict tradition. We weren't allowed to eat food prepared by our own hands, until thirteen days after the funeral, when a prayer (or pooja) or feast would be held in Allura's honour. One year later, another prayer would be held, and then, that was the end of the mourning period. The soul had been considered to be transcended and fully moved on.

For the service, they dressed her in an elegant, red two piece outfit that I recognized as a lehenga. Allura often told me that it was usually worn by Hindu brides. Her cousin thought it would be fitting to dress her in it, seeing as though she would never actually be one. Traditionally, funerals were dictated by a number of factors; age, gender, sect, caste, but most rituals were the same. Bodies were shrouded usually in white, but the only difference was that a married woman, who died before her husband should be wrapped in a red shroud, but in modern times, the strict dress code for funerals were relaxed. 

She looked at peace. There was an easy smile on her face, and her white hair was elegantly done around her. Her makeup looked flawless with smokey red and black eyeshadow and deep red lips; gold and red jewelry adorning her body. She almost looked asleep, like how I first saw her on mornings after nights we spent together, when I rolled over, blinking as I caught sight of her.

She also looked young. There was no sign of old age in her. A splash of freckles across her cheeks and nose, but no wrinkles. No crow’s feet, no laugh lines. I’d heard from one of her classmates that she almost looked unnatural like this, put into a coffin when she’d just barely began to live her life.

The service itself was not long, but it was very emotional.The songs played were beautiful, with bells and chimes tolling, the notes slow and sad. You could tell that they were mourning songs. I saw several of the women holding back tears as they saw her body at the front of the room. I stuck to Romelle's side, as I saw her swaying on her feet one too many times. She fainted before Allura’s casket entered the hearse that would take her on her final journey to the crematorium. Romelle's mother, luckily, walked with smelling salts, just in case.

Coran held Alfor in a tight embrace as Allura’s body went in. Her grandmother held her orhni tightly across her mouth, muffling her sobs. The funeral director rested his hand on Alfor’s shoulder, offering him condolences. The casket disappeared into the chamber and the service was over. When we got back to the house, everyone showered and had a fruit plate. Later in the night, we had plain coffee and biscuits again. Everyone went off to their rooms that night, heads aching, bodies sore. Alfor was in a state of shock and disbelief, eyes staring blankly ahead, seated at the kitchen table, while Coran held his hand, guarding his solitude.

I stayed in the room that was designated to me for the night, with an empty panging inside my chest. Just as Allura was gone, so was her lively, bustling energy. We could feel that something was missing. The house was quiet, too quiet.

Fuck death. Fuck cancer. Fuck it all.

****

Keith wakes up in an uncharacteristically foul mood. He'd barely gotten much sleep last night, tossing and turning after his argument with Lance.

Picking up his phone, he opened Lance's text thread. Opens his keyboard and types,

Hey, I'm sorry .

There's no instant reply.

He groans softly, burying his head in his pillow.

He rolls off the bed with a huff, unable to give in to the sweet surrender of sleep again, and enters the bathroom. After he brushes his teeth, he goes downstairs, turns on the coffee maker. There's bacon in the freezer, and he has nothing to do with his hands, so he pulls out the skillet and starts frying the strips. 

He's toasting bread when he hears the heavy footsteps of his brother at the landing.

"Morning," Shiro murmurs.

"Hey," Keith greets, "Alright?"

"Bit tired still," Shiro says, "Adam's still asleep with James."

"He did say not to wake him before ten," Keith notes.

Shiro looks at him curiously, leaning against the doorway.

"What?" Keith asks.

"You're up early. And you're cooking," he observes, "Something's going on with you."

"Can't I just be a good younger brother for once?" Keith gripes.

Shiro scoffs.

"Nothing gets by you, does it?" Keith grumbles.

"It does not," he confirms, "Sit."

Begrudgingly, Keith sits at the table. Shiro enters the kitchen, shuffling around the cupboards for a small boiling pot. When he finds one, he fills it with water and puts it up on the stove. 

Then, he takes out a Lipton green tea and mint tea bag and puts it into the water. When he takes it off the stove, he takes two teacups and fills them up, leaving the coffee for James and Adam.

He mixes in milk and sugar into the tea and hands Keith a cup. They close their eyes and inhale the minty scent at the same time, before taking the first sip.

When they were younger, they used to do this. Shiro used to do this with his mom before Keith came into the picture, and when he did, Shiro began to do it with him.

If something was bothering him, Shiro used to bring him to the kitchen and make him a cup of mint tea. They'd talk about it while drinking tea, and by the time they left the kitchen table, the matter was long forgotten.

"What's on your mind?" Shiro says.

"I've missed you. Missed this," Keith admits.

"And I do miss you too," his brother raises an eyebrow, "But that's not what's bothering you. You think I can't see that you're beating yourself up about it, but I can, and I want to help you."

"You're right," Keith mutters, "You're right. I'm an adult, I think I can talk about feelings for a while."

Shiro laughs.

"There is a guy," Keith confesses slowly, as if each word was more painful to say than the last.

"Oh, is there now?" Shiro raises his eyebrow, smirking.

Rolling his eyes, Keith sips his tea and tells Shiro everything.

***

I'd never felt so disconnected from reality before.

I lived my days in a blur of self-sabotage. I skipped out on classes. Every night I drank until I passed out right where I was. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Allura's old off campus apartment was put up for rent barely a week after they cleared it of her belongings.

Death's presence wasn't as known at the funeral as it was now.

It ricocheted and echoed through the boxes of old belongings that were packed up to be put away-- memories of a life that's been lived with love.

The apartment was bare when I entered it. The sofa was empty-- her personalized pillows were gone. The chairs at the kitchen's island were put up. There was no fire lighting in the fireplace in the living room. The bed sheets in the bedroom were stripped off, and the apartment felt cold and naked-- unlike the pleasant comfort that was previously there.  And that's how I realized: our story was well and truly done.

Slamming my key on the small table, I left. The fraternity house was having a party tonight, and I was going to get absolutely trashed.

I knew the alcohol would help me forget, even if it was only temporary.

***

"I don't even know why I'm so irritated," Lance says, looking at Hunk, rolling his eyes.

"Clearly, it's a big deal to you that he didn't tell you he was leaving," Hunk replies.

"I knew it had to happen eventually," he confesses, waving his hand, "Given with how busy he is, and all. But I didn't think he, of all people, would try the ghosting bullshit."

Lance, Hunk and Shay sat together on an iron bench on the sea shore. It's a lovely day-- the sky above them is a bright, cloudless blue. Gentle tendrils of fresh breeze blow back the girl's hair, whipping up fine particles of yellow-white sand. The water is clear and calm; small waves broke against the shoreline.

Pidge had changed into a tank top and drawstring shorts, and was dipping her feet in the water, allowing her tiny body to relax. It was Hunk who had organized the picnic; realizing his girlfriend hadn't left her room in almost three days due to stress, he decided an intervention was needed. Quietly, he recruited Lance and Shay to accompany them. He didn't want her to be in a foul mood at Keith's going away dinner later.

Lance was only happy to oblige, bringing along his laptop.

Shay, in her pastel pink bikini, jean shorts and floral kimono, stretched out beside him, absorbing the sun. It's rays made her ebony skin appear to be smooth and glowing. She looks very at ease.

"Did it never really occur to you that this may be hurting him too?" Hunk questions, "That saying goodbye is just as hard for him?"

"It feels wrong," Lance admits, "Saying goodbye is weird."

"If I may," Shay interrupts, removing her large sunglasses to look at them, "Maybe you should ask yourself… why does saying goodbye feel wrong?"

"We can help you," Hunk says, "But only to a certain point. And I think from this point… you have to figure things out for yourself, buddy."

"We can't coddle you through this process," Shay nods, "In order to reach a conclusion about what you want, you have to face your breaking point alone. If you haven't already, then you have to figure it out.

"There's only so much we, as your friends, can do," Hunk says, patting Shay's shoulder.

Lance sighs, burying his face in his hands. 

***

"I think you should tell him how you feel," Shiro says, "Worst case scenario, he can reject you, but you'll be too busy in California to take a heartbreak seriously."

"How would you know?" Keith snorts, "You and Adam have been that couple since high school. You've never suffered a breakup in your life."

Shiro fiddles with his wedding ring.

"Actually, I have. Adam and I called things off once, you know," he confides.

"Really?" Keith asks, shocked. 

He'd never heard this side of the story before.

"Don't let him fool you," a new voice chides from the entry way, and both men whip their heads around to see Adam sauntering into the kitchen, "I was the one who made him call us off."

"Where's Jamie?" Keith asks, noticing the absence of his nephew.

"Still asleep. Poor kid's tired," Adam says, before kissing Shiro softly, "Good morning, lover."

Keith gags.

Sticking his tongue out at him, Adam prepares a cup of coffee for himself before joining the brothers at the table.

"We were nineteen, almost twenty, I think," Adam sighs, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, "And Shiro was spending a summer at the company. I decided to remain at college to take up some extra electives for my degree."

"You know I didn't get along with your parents then as well as I do now," Adam chuckles bitterly, "God, I'm not drunk enough for this. Anyway, one afternoon, Shiro had a seizure. When he went to the hospital, they said it was due to the stress. Your parents only told me about it three days later. I was pissed at them, of course."

"Adam tried to convince me that I didn't need to keep working at the office," Shiro says, "He told me that I could stay at home and he'd take care of both of us."

"I just wanted him to be safe. It's scary as shit knowing one day you can lose someone forever," Adam says, "I was paranoid and extremely overprotective and wanted him within my sight all the time. I was so overprotective that I eventually tried to convince Shiro to pick between me and the company, at one point. To say I was an asshole was an understatement."

"We couldn't talk without fighting all the time," Shiro frowns, "I couldn't eat, Adam couldn't sleep. It was bad. Our relationship was getting toxic and I knew one of us was going to snap and it would not be pretty. We couldn't love each other like that. So I ended it."

"After dating new people, we both realized that we still wanted each other, we talked it out. Made boundaries and conditions. If I went to therapy for my issues, Shiro would ease up his work load. And it worked. He never had a seizure again and years later, we're married and we have a kid," Adam says.

"I'm sorry, where was I when all of this was going on?" Keith asks, stunned.

"You had your own issues, Keith. I couldn't burden you with mine," Shiro smiles at his younger brother, "Point is, Adam and I talked to each other about our feelings and now we're better for it. I know it isn't the same as confessing, but you'll never know unless you talk about it."

"But," Keith frowns, "With Allura… and everything…Is it even worth it?"

"Would you still want a relationship with him regardless?" Shiro asks.

"I--I would," Keith answers, hesitantly, "He's not the kind of person that would treat me as a replacement. I know he isn't."

"Then, there's your answer," Shiro says, "Talk to him. If he asks you to give him some time or space, then you do that. He'll come back to you on his own terms. And whatever happens from there, well. That's entirely up to you."

***

Lance puts on a silky button-up that reminds him fondly of one of his main character's outfit of choice. It looks good, he decides, giving himself a once over in the mirror. 

"Lancito!" He hears his mamí call loudly, "Pidge and Hunk are here."

"I'm coming!" he yells back.

Since Ryner's was not very far away, they'd all decided to carpool together. Hunk was driving Pidge's dark green Jeep, and Matt would get a lift with Shiro, Adam, Keith and James.

When they get to the restaurant, the first thing Lance notes its cosy, intimate atmosphere. There's an outdoor deck wrapping around three sides of the entire building, each side showing off different but equally as stunning angles to view the fountain, stone pathway and gardens. The interior of the restaurant has white rose vine garlands interwoven with fairy lights draped from the ceiling and around the baluster columns. It's dim, but there are at least three candles lit at every table, enhancing the private atmosphere. To the right side of the restaurant is a fully stocked bar, soft pop blaring through the speakers.

"Do you have a reservation, Sirs and Miss?" The maitre d' asks, observing the small group.

"Um, yes, we're here for Takashi and Adam Shirogane," Pidge says, pulling out her phone to show her the text with the reservation details.

"Ah, I see," she smiles kindly, "They did say they were expecting a few more guests. Come this way. Mr. Shirogane is paying for outdoor dining."

She shows them to their table; a spot at the corner of the patio, large enough to seat all of them.

For a moment, eight voices speak over each other, laughing as they exchange greetings and sit.

Hunk and Pidge take the two last available seats by Matt, next to each other, threading their fingers together, leaving Lance to sit between Keith and Pidge. He throws a quick glare at them, to which Pidge grins innocently and Hunk shrugs.

When Lance sits, his eyes immediately flicker to Keith, who looks exceptionally good in a pair of black jeans, a pale blue button down and a navy blue blazer. His gaze holds Keith's as the other man raises a glass of deep red wine--almost the colour of Lance's shirt-- to his lips and sips it slowly.

Lance's gaze is broken when Shiro's voice registers, "Have whatever you guys want. Tonight is on me."

Keith fusses, "Shiro, I already told you, at least let me get half the bill. After all, tonight is for me."

To which Shiro replies, "Absolutely not. You're my brother and I'm buying you and your friends dinner. You don't have to like it, but I'm doing it."

Adam takes a refill of his glass of wine, and both brothers silently end their argument. Keith loses.

The waitress comes to their table a few minutes later and they order.

"You looking forward to going back to California, Keith?" Matt asks.

"I guess," Keith says, "There's alot of stuff I have to catch up with, work wise."

When their food is served, they toast to a blushing Keith, and continue to make small talk while eating.

After the meal, their table is quiet, everyone caught up in their own, private bubbles. Keith hears the chords of a very familiar song.

What day is it? And in what month?

This clock never seemed so alive.

"Shiro, listen, it's our song," Adam laughs.

Shiro grins and holds out his hand. The entire table aww's as he tells his husband, "Dance with me."

Blushing, Adam takes his hand.

"Did you get my message?" Keith asks, once he's sure no one is listening in.

"I did. But I'm too pissed to care," Lance says, rolling his eyes.

"You knew this was coming eventually, though," Keith retorts.

"Not like this," Lance shakes his head, "Fuck, not like this."

"God, We weren't supposed to end up this way," Keith mutters.

"Will I see you again, then?" Lance asks, cautiously, "Before you go?"

Keith shakes his head no, barely a twist to the right.

"I have an eleven 'clock flight," he says, "When we're finished with dinner, Shiro and Adam are taking me to the airport."

"Damn it, Keith! Were you just gonna leave? Without talking to me about whatever… this," he gestures wildly between them, growling, " … is?"

"Keep your voice down," Keith hisses in return, "And I have my reasons."

"Err… Boys," Pidge clears her throat, and Lance can see the entire tables' attention is focused on him and Keith.

An angry red flush stains Keith's cheeks. He thinks it's almost comical, if not for the fact that Keith's glaring daggers at him.

"Excuse us," Keith says, gesturing at Lance to follow him into the gardens for some semblance of privacy.

"You can't just…. We can't just be in such a weird place when you leave, Keith," Lance tells him, "These few weeks have been so good. You're going to throw it all away, and for what?!"

"I thought me leaving wouldn't have been such a big deal to you," Keith frowns.

"It's not-- Look, I'm really messed up," Lance confesses, looking at his hands, "Allura's death made me feel as though she abandoned me..now you're leaving, and it--" feels like you're abandoning me too -- "shouldn't make me feel like this, but it does."

Keith sighs.

"I'm sorry," he says, softly, "But I can't stay here."

"Why?" Lance asks, equally as soft.

"You really don't know, do you?" Keith laughs, bitterly, running his hands through his hair, tugging harshly at the ends. Lance wants to place his hands on top of Keith's, to hold them in place because all the fidgeting is making him uneasy---

--Then Keith makes eye contact with him, and he knows, he feels that something important is coming---

---His heart thuds loudly in his chest. Butterflies flutter all over his stomach. He's tethering along the edge of a tall cliff, just waiting to get pushed off that edge and just fall, fall, fall and Keith says - --

"I'm so in love with you, Lance, how could you not know that?" He says, so softly that Lance barely hears him, but he knows the words are unmistakable.

And Lance gasps. His face is a burning red. Keith's in love with him. Keith is in love with him . 

"Keith--"

"All this time, I've been trying to hide it because I can tell that you aren't over Allura as yet, and I'm not going to force you to decide what you want. Not ever," he laughs again, frowning, "I'm leaving because I know that this way, it's less painful for the both of us."

"Keith," Lance pauses, taking a moment to try to find the right words, but he can't seem to find any.

He retreats back to the safe, flat surface of that metaphorical cliff and stutters, "I don't… I'm sorry. I think I need some time and space to-- to process this."

"It's okay. You don't owe me anything, and that's why I didn't tell you that I was leaving. I was trying to make it less of a big deal than it actually is," Keith reaches out and caresses the curve of Lance's jaw, pressing a slight kiss there, "So goodbye, Lance."

His boots make heavy steps as he spins on his heel and walks off in the direction of Shiro's car. 

And Lance's breath hitches in his throat. It's too much, all of a sudden. Overwhelmed and standing in the garden at Ryner's, with his shoulders sagging heavily, he breaks down.

Everyone has their breaking point , he thinks, And I think this is mine.

***

When I woke up, it was in a hospital bed. Alfor sat beside me.

"What….What happened?" I asked.

"Alcohol poisoning," he mutters through gritted teeth, "When were you going to say something?"

"How are you even here?" I asked, cheeks burning.

I was embarrassed. My head and stomach hurt. I was hooked up to an IV. My throat was dry. And here was my dead girlfriend's father, sitting at my bedside, berating me.

"The hospital called Allura's phone," he said, "Emergency contact."

"Right," I muttered, "I forgot about that."

"What are you doing, Lance?" Alfor sighed warily, as though he were speaking to a disobedient child. 

I looked away, feeling oddly chastised.

"She wouldn't want this," he continued.

"I know," I whispered, "I just… miss her."

"Alright, kid," Alfor said, "Let's get you signed out of here. Then, we get help. Group grief therapy and AA."

"Okay," I said.

I didn't want this to happen again, and I wasn't arrogant enough to hold back the fact that I needed…. an intervention.

"Good," Alfor said, surprised.

Alfor smiled at me, squeezed my hand, and right then, I felt like even though things weren't fine now, they would be eventually.

***

"Everything alright, Lance?" Hunk asks, looking at him with concern when he gets back to the table.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat, trying to ignore the fact that he knew his eyes were red, "I just.. uhm. Is it alright if I head home?"

"Of course," Adam says, "Wait… where's Keith?"

"I think he took an uber to the airport," Lance says, "I'm sorry, guys, but I really need to go now."

Shiro swears softly under his breath, shaking his head.

"Sure you're alright?" Matt asks.

"Yeah," he says.

Adam and Shiro give him knowing looks as he leaves the table.

"Lance," Pidge calls behind him, "Text us when you get home, alright?"

He doesn't have to wait too long for a cab. When he gets home, he heads right up to his room, booting up his computer. There's only one way he knew how to relieve his frustration-- and it was by writing.

Inhaling deeply, Lance's fingers move across the keyboard, trying to find the words to talk about the next part of his story: coming home to Florida, as freshly graduated college student. Coming home, to face his family, his friends.

But, there's a slight problem. All of his memories in Florida are all tied somehow to Keith. Whether it was giving a small talk on storytelling or playing soccer and dancing on the beach around a warm bonfire, or having the perfect cup of coffee at Lotor's cafe, Keith was always there. A rock, an anchor, a comforting feeling of home. A safe, steady presence, solidifying his grip on reality, taking his mind off of Allura. Not in a way that he forgot her, but in a way that filled the hole her presence left.

And deep down, he knows that a part of him has always felt this way about Keith.

A part of him has always… loved Keith.

Lance tethers on the edge of that metaphorical cliff once again.

He groans, dialing Shay's number.

"Hello?" Her groggy voice answers.

"Hi, Shay," Lance sighs.

"Lance?" She sounds more awake now, "What's up?"

"I think the reason why I can't move on from Allura is because I'm punishing myself for the way I acted after her death," He tells her, "Maybe I feel like I owe it to her to let myself suffer for it?" 

"And you came to this conclusion at…" her voice trails off, "... Eleven forty-five in the night?"

"Oops," he says, sheepishly, "I hadn't realized what time it is. I'm sorry, Shay, do you want me to call you back tomorrow?"

"No, that's alright," she says, "What brought this thought pattern on?"

"I think," Lance says, miserably, "I think I've fallen in love with Keith without even realizing it. I was too much of a coward to do anything about it, and now he's gone."

***

Thirty-eight thousand feet in the sky, Keith has nothing to do but sit in his too-small seat and drown himself in the memories, Florida a small dot behind him, and the blue-eyed boy he loves.

Chapter Text

Eight Months Later .

"Are you alright, Mr. Kogane?" Keiva, his executive assistant, asks, noticing his heavy steps.

"No," he growls, "I want you to arrange a meeting with one of our attorneys as soon as possible. We may have to sue Thayserix Limited for what they owe us."

"Will do," she nods, "There's a package on your desk for you with your name on it. It came earlier with the rest of the office mail, but Chris sent it up."

"Who's it from?" He asks distractedly, sliding the glass door of his office open.

"Mr. Shirogane, I think," she says.

This is another reason why he wishes he were back in Florida. Here, in California, the office is more formal and stuffy as opposed to Florida's professional yet casual atmosphere. Matt wasn't afraid to call him and Shiro by their given names, wasn't afraid to hang out with them outside of work, wasn't afraid to call Keith out on a decision that was rash and reckless. 

Here, everyone walks on eggshells around him. Treats him as though they're beneath him. On many occasions, he finds himself wondering if this is how the California office has always been, and how come it's taken him this long to  notice it.

He comes to a halt when he sees the bouquet of fresh pink and white roses, white and blue hydrangeas, and stunning green leaves tied together in a small vase on top of his desk. There's a neat package wrapped in brown paper next to it, with a standing card on top of it.

Keith, it reads, I know we left things on a less than pleasant note. We haven't spoken since you left Arus, and that's partially due to me not having my shit together. I've always hesitated to pick up the phone to call or even to text.

I know a lot can happen in eight months, and I know that I've probably missed my chance.

Inside this package is me-- the real me, all the good, the bad and fucked up parts included. I'm hoping this too gives some insight on why things ended up the way they did.

I've gotten myself together, and I'm ready. If you still want me. If not, then I guess we can pretend this whole thing never happened. So..... I really, really hope you still have my number, and that you can call me, and we can talk. You made me so happy, and you were willing to go at my pace. It's only fair that now I'm willing to go at yours. I've missed you so much.

Keith opens the package to reveal a freshly printed and bound book with a blue cover. It's called The Art of Loving, Moving On, and Letting Go , and it's written by Lance McClain.

Intrigued, Keith flips the cover and starts reading.

***

After Keith left Florida, I called Shay. We talked for almost four hours. She helped me put things into perspective-- to realize how I truly felt about Keith, why I couldn't let go of Allura.

By the time you're reading this, around five or six months should have passed since I've figured things out.

I understand now, how unhealthy my grief for Allura was.

I understand now, how it and why held me back from truly moving on.

I loved her. That was in the past. She herself told me that much in her last letter, but I was too blind to realize that, and it made me lose someone extremely important to me: Keith, who I supposed I've loved since that windy afternoon at the fair.

"The reality is you will grieve forever. You will not get over the loss of a loved one. You will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will never be whole again but you will never be the same, nor should you want to be," wrote Elisabeth Kübler Ross, Swiss-American psychiatrist, author, and creator of the ever popular Five Stages of Grief.

And I suppose I agreed with what she said. 

Once you accept the loss, you learn to live with it. 

I have amazing memories of Allura, but now I'm ready to move on to the next adventure that life has in store for me.

And I hope that whatever that is, Keith's a part of it.

***

"You looked troubled, my love," Midori Shirogane says, looking at him over the dining table.

"I'm fine," Keith says, smiling back at his mother.

"I've seen you reading a book," she says, "How is it?"

"It's good," Keith replies, "Pretty emotional, but good."

There's a pause between them. His father sits beside his mother, watching them both.

"Lance wrote it," he sighs.

"The boy from Arus?" Hiroshi asks, his heavy accent wrapping smoothly around the words.

His father's interest surprises Keith because usually, he doesn't make it a habit to get involved with his sons' love lives.

"Yeah," Keith says, pushing the steamed vegetables around his plate like a child, "He's-- things are just weird."

"You're not happy here, Keith," Midori says, seriously, "I can see it in your eyes, in your smile. Your heart belongs elsewhere."

"No, mom," he protests, "I'm-I'm happy. I have you guys, and--"

"You would be happier in Florida with Takashi and Adam and your nephew," his father squints behind his wired glasses, "And this boy, Lance."

"But someone needs to be here to manage the business, and to stay with you guys," Keith says, "Dad, you're already retired. It makes no sense to disrupt things so that you have to go back to work."

"Oh no, my days of working are well over, Keith. We'll just turn Florida into our main office. You and Takashi can run Voltron from there as technically it belongs to you both now. We can operate here as another branch," his dad says, "We have employees here that are deserving of promotions and are well-trained enough to manage a branch."

"Keith," Midori smiles, taking his hand, "Your father and I can manage just fine here. We're happy with each other. When we became parents, we knew no matter how much we wanted to keep you both with us forever, we would have to let you go eventually. We can't hold either of you back from living your lives. Shiro has already found his happiness, and you… it's time to let you go so that you can be happy, too."

"Leaving can be scary," his father says, "But if you're leaving for the right person, then it is worth it."

"If you guys are sure.." Keith trails off.

Rolling his eyes, Hiroshi takes out his cell phone, dialing a number.

"Keiva?" He says when the person on the other end answers, "Are any of the company jets in use for the rest of the week?"

There's a brief pause as the person replies.

"Excellent," he smiles, "Get a crew ready to fly Keith out to Florida tomorrow afternoon, please."

When he cuts the call he says, "There. No excuses to avoid going back now."

"You can go ahead and pack a few bags. We'll ship over whatever else you may need," Midori rises from her seat and kisses his forehead, "Be happy, son."

***

On the plane, he keeps checking his watch. It's one of his nervous ticks.

In his mind, he's already planned every possible scenario on how their reunion could go.

He'd texted James yesterday:

I need you to find a way to get Lance to come get me at the Airport tomorrow. I'll text the flight details in the morning.

And James had face timed him, almost weeping in joy at the fact that Keith was coming back.

And after he got his emotions in check, he promptly proceeded to blackmail Keith for pastries and coffee at Lotor's for a month in exchange for keeping his return a secret.

"Brat," Keith mutters affectionately, remembering the sly smile on his nephew's face.

With that, his anxiety eases somewhat.

***

"Sir?" The air hostess says shyly, almost afraid to interrupt Keith from his work, "I'm here to inform you that we can't use the commercial runway. There's another runway for private and chartered flights that the pilot has to use. When we land, an airport staff member will meet you at the ramp and escort you through customs. They will guide you along after that."

"Thanks," he smiles.

He didn't really use his son-of-a-wealthy-businessman perks often, but when he does, life is so much easier.

***

He texts James as soon as he clears the gate. James calls him.

"Where are you?" Keith asks.

"Oh, I'm not there," he replies, gleefully, "Lance is. I told him that my grandpa was coming to Florida, and that he wanted to surprise Shiro and Adam, so I needed him to do the pick up. He should be waiting outside gate C."

"Alright, I'll text you," Keith says.

"Okay," James says, "Bye. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The call cuts and Keith laughs.

His stomach feels a bit queasy, the anxiety returning. Dragging his bags behind him, he exits the gate and enters the main terminal. He looks around, but doesn't spot Lance. However he spots that familiar, ugly, neon blue Otterbox at an ear, and his heart beats faster, almost flipping inside his chest.

He walks in the direction of the Otterbox, coming to a halt once they're face-to-face. Lance cuts the call he's on, looking at Keith, jaw slack with shock.

"Guess you weren't expecting me," he says, trying for a smile.

"I was not," Lance says casually, composing himself.

"I," Keith licks his lips, pausing, before saying breathlessly, "I read your book."

"And?" Lance hesitates, "What did you think of it?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" He says, lowly, still smiling, "So you must have done something right."

That's all Lance needs. He rushes forward, cradling Keith's jaw, bringing their faces together. The busy, bustling airport around them fades away. It's just him, Lance and thick tension between them.

"Is this okay?" Lance asks, searching his eyes.

"You know it is," he says, feeling his cheeks heat up under Lance's careful attention.

"At your pace, remember," Lance says.

And that's the confirmation Keith needs. He leans forward, pressing his lips against Lance's. They move together in tandem. Lance bites softly on Keith's lower lip, and he gasps, and Lance deepens the kiss. He brings his hands around Lance's neck, pulling him down to his height. It's everything he's imagined and more. He smiles, eyes fluttering close

Lance pulls back gently, looking at him with soft blue eyes full of affection, full of love, "I'm so in love with you, Keith."

"I know," he grins, "I'm so in love with you too, Lance. But you already knew that."

Lance's smile grows wider, and he stretches out his hand for Keith to take.

"We should probably talk about this at Lotor's Cafe. Or wherever you wanna go," Lance says, kissing his hand, "And then, let's go home."