Chapter Text
The medbay was too bright.
White light poured from every surface, reflecting off the glass panels and the metallic floor. Every sound—the hum of the healing pod, the soft pulse of the monitors, the quiet murmur of Allura’s voice—felt sharp, cutting.
Lance stood just inside the doorway, his hands still faintly streaked with coolant and blood. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten here, only that he hadn’t let go of Keith until Coran physically guided him back.
Now Keith floated inside the pod, weightless and still, wrapped in a pale shimmer of healing light. His armor was gone, replaced by the thin white pod suit. His face was calm, almost serene—but the stillness of it was unbearable.
Allura was speaking softly to Coran, her voice carrying through the quiet.
“Cellular regeneration has begun. Multiple fractures, severe blood loss, burns along the side—he tried to patch himself up with field gel, but it wasn’t enough.”
Coran nodded grimly. “It’s a miracle the pod stabilized him at all. He must’ve pushed himself past the brink.”
Pidge stood at the console, eyes glued to the flickering data stream. “The readings are all over the place. His heart rate’s low, oxygen levels steady, but neural activity’s… weird. It spikes sometimes, like he’s dreaming.”
Lance swallowed hard, the sound dry and loud in his throat. “But he’s alive.”
Allura’s gaze softened. “Yes. But it was close.”
She touched a glowing panel, adjusting the temperature. “He’ll need time. The pod will do its work, but recovery depends on him.”
Lance nodded faintly, eyes fixed on the blue light curling around Keith’s body. “He’ll fight. He always does.”
He pulled a chair over, sat down beside the pod. His reflection stared back at him from the curved glass—hollow-eyed, tired, a faint smear of blood still along his cheek.
He pressed his palm against the surface, close enough that it lined up with Keith’s hand on the other side.
“Hey,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “I told you to hang on, remember?”
No answer—just the soft pulse of the pod and the slow flicker of light.
He tried to smile, but it felt wrong. “You look terrible, by the way. Guess the Blade uniform doesn’t come with a mirror.”
Still nothing.
The others filtered in and out over the next few hours.
Hunk brought him water and nutrient packs. Pidge hovered over the data feed, muttering about corrupted logs. Allura checked regeneration cycles. Coran adjusted the energy field, muttering under his breath about ionic harmonics.
Lance barely noticed.
At one point Allura rested a hand on his shoulder. “He’s stable for now. Rest if you can.”
“I’m good,” Lance murmured, voice hoarse.
She looked like she wanted to argue, then let it go.
When the room finally emptied, Lance sat back in the chair, staring at the faint silhouette inside the pod. He traced his fingers down the glass, following the rhythm of the light pulsing with each of Keith’s breaths.
“You really don’t know how to quit, do you?” he whispered.
A faint shift in the pod’s light made it flicker, just once. Lance’s chest tightened.
He smiled, tired and hollow. “That’s it. Keep fighting, Mullet. You still owe me an explanation.”
The lights dimmed slightly as the Castle shifted into night mode. The pod cast a soft blue glow across the room, wrapping Lance in light and shadow.
He rested his head against the edge of the chair, his hand still near the glass.
“I’m right here,” he murmured. “Not going anywhere.”
Outside the window, the Veil’s mist swirled slowly past, faint lightning flashing in its depths—like the universe breathing.
And inside that tiny, sterile room, the pod kept glowing, one fragile, stubborn heartbeat at a time.
---
By morning, the hum of the pod had blended into a rhythm—soft pulses, quiet machinery, the occasional click of shifting systems.
Keith hadn’t moved.
The light inside the pod had shifted slightly—deeper blue, the healing process stabilizing—but his eyes stayed closed. Coran called it “deep regenerative stasis,” which sounded better than what it really was.
Lance was still in the same chair.
He hadn’t meant to stay all night, but every time he thought about leaving, the idea of Keith waking up alone inside that pod made something twist deep in his chest.
He was half-dozing when the door hissed open.
Pidge slipped in first, balancing her tablet and a tray of nutrient bars. Hunk followed with coffee, looking exhausted but steady.
“Morning,” Pidge said softly.
Lance rubbed his eyes and managed a grin. “Define morning.”
“Technically it’s been thirty-two hours since he went under,” Hunk said. “So… morning enough.”
They set up near the monitor bank, Pidge plugging in a data drive. “We finished decrypting the Blade’s systems. Most of it’s static, but a few pieces survived.”
Lance straightened, suddenly alert. “Anything that tells us what happened?”
“Some.” She tapped her screen, projecting a schematic of a Blade ship riddled with red damage markers. “They were ambushed near the Veil. Two cruisers, maybe Galra splinters. The hull took multiple hits. Keith’s team tried to jump, but the core was already gone.”
Coran entered, eyes heavy. “A miracle he got out at all.”
Pidge zoomed in on a section of the schematic. “Here—he rerouted the stabilizer manually. That’s what saved the pod launch system.”
Lance frowned. “You mean he stayed behind.”
Pidge nodded, quiet. “Looks that way.”
Silence followed. Even the pod’s hum felt heavier.
Hunk exhaled. “The data ends when the ship blew. No pod telemetry after that. He must’ve drifted until we found him.”
Lance looked up at the glow of the pod. Keith floated inside, motionless but alive, light tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the scar beneath his eye.
He let out a slow breath. “Of course he did. He’d rather nearly die than let anyone else go down with him.”
Pidge gave a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Sounds about right.”
They fell quiet again, the hum of the pod filling the space between them.
After a while, Allura joined them, her voice soft but steady. “The healing cycle is progressing. His vitals are strong. The pod will keep him safe.”
Lance nodded, not trusting his voice.
Allura’s hand rested briefly on his shoulder. “You’ve done enough for now, Lance. Go rest.”
He shook his head. “I’ll stay.”
She didn’t argue.
When they left, he leaned forward again, elbows on his knees.
The low pulse of the pod synced with his heartbeat.
“Everyone’s here,” he said quietly. “Pidge cracked your log, Hunk’s keeping the Castle together, Allura’s still running the show. So you can stop worrying now, okay? You did your part.”
No answer—just the faint shimmer of light.
Lance sighed, fingers resting against the glass near Keith’s hand. “But if you’re listening… don’t keep us waiting too long. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
Outside, the Veil’s haze had begun to thin. For the first time in days, sunlight—real, golden light—spilled through the viewport, painting the room in warmth.
Lance tilted his head back against the chair, watching that light crawl across the floor and over the curved surface of the pod.
The stars were coming back.
---
Days passed.
The Castle slowed its pace, the crew adjusting to something that almost resembled quiet.
Shiro visited every day, sometimes bringing reports, sometimes just standing beside Lance in silence.
Hunk dropped off food he never ate.
Pidge talked softly about data readings and radiation patterns, as if explaining them could make the waiting easier.
Even Allura stayed close, her steady calm anchoring them all.
And Lance — he stayed. Always a few feet from the pod.
He’d talk sometimes, when the quiet got too heavy.
“You missed a lot, y’know,” he’d say softly. “Pidge figured out how to turn engine static into white noise. Hunk made actual soup that didn’t taste like metal. Coran’s been testing it for science.”
He’d laugh under his breath, eyes never leaving the pod.
“You’d hate it. Or pretend to.”
Sometimes, when exhaustion caught him, he’d drift off in the chair. He’d dream of Keith standing in a storm of blue light, just out of reach, saying something he couldn’t quite hear.
And every time he woke, the pod would still be glowing — quiet, alive, constant.
He’d press his hand against the glass again and whisper, “I’m still here. You better be fighting in there, Mullet.”
The pod would hum in answer, soft and steady — the only heartbeat that mattered.
———
When the pod’s light shifted from deep blue to pale white, the room went still.
A soft tone chimed. Seals released with a hiss. Condensation curled along the edges of the glass as the canopy began to lift.
Lance was already on his feet. “Keith?”
Inside, fluid drained away in a smooth cascade. Keith’s eyelashes fluttered. The faint pinch at his brow said the light hurt; his pupils tightened, fighting the brightness. The air smelled like disinfectant, metal—and the warmth of the coffee Hunk had smuggled in and left on the counter.
The glass rose the last inch and locked. For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then Keith did.
He pushed clumsily against the pod’s rail with hands that looked steady but felt like they’d forgotten what gravity was. The white pod suit clung to him; steam clung to his skin. He took one careful step—and swayed hard.
Lance reached him in two strides and caught him around the ribs. “Hey, hey—easy. I’ve got you.”
Keith leaned into the hold, eyes trying to focus. His voice came out cracked from disuse. “How long…?”
“Couple of days,” Lance said softly, bracing him with practiced gentleness. “You gave us a pretty solid heart attack, by the way.”
Keith blinked, processing. The ship. The Veil. Static and fire. His team—fragments reassembling. “The others…?”
“Alive,” Lance answered quickly. “At least some of them. Pidge and Allura are still tracking the rest. You did what you always do—saved everyone else and forgot about yourself.”
That pulled the barest huff of a laugh. “Guess it worked.”
“Barely.” Lance shifted, steadying Keith’s weight. Even healed, the pod left you cold, wrung out. Keith’s skin was cool where Lance’s hand warmed the curve of his shoulder.
Keith’s gaze finally found him—hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, relief so bright it looked fragile. “You didn’t sleep.”
Lance tipped a grin that couldn’t quite hide the shake in it. “Didn’t want to miss your grand return. Figured if you woke up cranky, someone should be here to make fun of you.”
“Bossy,” Keith rasped.
“Alive,” Lance countered. “That’s what I was aiming for.”
Keith’s fingers curled in the fabric of Lance’s sleeve—testing, grounding. His legs steadied by degrees. Lance didn’t let go.
“Can you walk?” Lance asked.
Keith nodded once. “Yeah.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “You found me.”
“Yeah,” Lance said, voice dropping. “We heard the beacon. Then the pod. Then… you.”
Keith swallowed, something tight loosening in his chest. “I thought—” He stopped, breath hitching, the memory too close. “I thought I wasn’t getting out. Didn’t want to just… vanish.”
“So you talked to us,” Lance said. “Talked to me.”
Keith nodded faintly. “Better than silence.”
Lance’s mouth tugged into something small and real. “For the record? It worked.”
He didn’t say kept me breathing, but it was there, warm in the space between them.
A low, familiar voice came from the doorway. “You two always manage to find each other in the middle of a crisis, huh?”
Both their heads turned. Shiro stood there, framed in the soft white light, a tired smile tugging at his mouth. He looked like he hadn’t slept much either, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. “Easy, Keith,” he said, crossing the room. “Don’t push it yet.”
Keith’s voice cracked. “Shiro?”
Shiro’s hand settled gently on his shoulder — the same steady, grounding touch it had always been. “You did good, buddy. You’re safe now.”
For a second Keith looked fourteen again, caught between exhaustion and instinctive trust. “Didn’t think I’d make it back.”
“Yeah, well,” Shiro said softly, “you’ve always been too stubborn not to.” He glanced at Lance, eyes crinkling. “Thanks for keeping your promise.”
Lance just nodded. “Would’ve torn the galaxy apart if I had to.”
A soft chime sounded at the door. It slid open and the room filled like sunrise.
“Keith!” Pidge’s voice cracked as she sprinted halfway across the infirmary before Allura’s gentle hand caught her shoulder.
“Careful,” Allura said, though the relief in her smile matched Pidge’s.
Hunk followed with an armful of wildly unnecessary items—juice packs, a folded blanket, and a very lopsided hand-drawn get-well card. Coran entered last, eyes a little misty, posture very formal, muttering something about “stubborn Galra constitutions and their miraculous recuperative tendencies.”
Shiro stepped back to give them space but stayed close, one hand still resting lightly against the pod as if to reassure himself it was real. The corners of his mouth softened as he watched Keith straighten, steady now in Lance’s hold.
Keith straightened just enough to pretend he didn’t need Lance’s shoulder. It lasted three seconds. Lance didn’t move away.
“You guys are loud,” Keith tried, voice low and rough.
Pidge made a sound that was half laugh, half scold. “You almost died, you absolute idiot.”
Keith’s mouth tilted. “Guess I didn’t.”
Hunk eased the blanket around Keith’s shoulders without asking. “You look way better than yesterday—not ‘healthy’ better, but ‘not actively dying’ better. Which, you know, big improvement.”
Keith huffed breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Thanks… I think.”
Allura stepped close, eyes soft. “You gave us quite a fright. We’re grateful you made it back.”
Keith inclined his head. “Wasn’t… sure I would.”
Coran busied himself with the pod’s console to disguise the waver in his voice. “And yet here you are. Fewer dramatic near-death heroics next time, if you please.”
Pidge was already pulling up a holo. “We decrypted some of your armor logs! You rerouted the stabilizer manually and—wait, sit down before you fall down.”
Lance guided Keith to the edge of the pod cradle; Keith lowered himself slowly, the blanket gathered close. The cold faded by degrees. The exhaustion didn’t. He leaned subtly back into Lance’s shoulder. Lance let him.
Shiro crouched beside them, checking the pod’s diagnostic readout like he didn’t quite trust the machines. “You’re clear,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Then, quieter, “Don’t ever scare us like that again, okay?”
Keith gave him a faint, lopsided smile. “No promises.”
For a minute the room was messy and bright and alive—Pidge’s rapid-fire debrief, Hunk’s promises of real food as soon as Allura allowed it, Coran waxing poetic about the sensors they absolutely did not burn out in the Veil. Every sound loosened a knot Lance hadn’t known how to breathe around.
Allura caught the dip in Keith’s posture first. “Alright. He needs rest.” She herded them gently door-ward, promising they could come back later.
Pidge squeezed Keith’s hand on the way out, mumbling, “You’re grounded,” like a benediction. Hunk left the blanket tucked high and the card propped where Keith could see the crooked star he’d drawn. Coran patted the pod with unnecessary dignity and told it to behave.
Shiro lingered just long enough to rest a hand briefly on Lance’s shoulder. “You did good,” he said quietly. “He’s here because of you.” Then, with one last look at Keith, he followed the others out, closing the door behind him.
The door slid shut. The silence that followed was warm.
Keith let out a breath he’d been holding since the pod hissed open. “They missed me,” he said, almost surprised.
Lance’s smile turned soft. “Yeah. They hide it super well.”
Keith’s eyes drifted back to him—clearer now, still ringed with exhaustion. “You stayed.”
“Someone had to make sure you didn’t sleep through your own recovery arc,” Lance said lightly, but his thumb rubbed once at the edge of the blanket like he couldn’t help it.
Keith’s hand found his—brief, deliberate. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Lance said, and meant it.
Keith’s eyes slipped closed, not from pain this time, but from the kind of bone-deep tired that even a pod can’t scrub out. His breathing stayed easy. Warmth crept back into his fingers.
Lance didn’t move away. He watched the last of the nebular haze thin to open stars through the viewport and finally felt his shoulders drop.
“Welcome back,” he murmured. “Took you long enough.”
Keith didn’t answer, but his mouth tilted—just a little, just enough.
———
The next morning started with the hiss of a door and Pidge’s exasperated voice.
“Keith, seriously? You’re supposed to be resting, not wandering around like a space ghost!”
Lance looked up from his cereal to see Keith — barefoot, hair still damp, wearing a clean black shirt under a loose blanket — standing in the doorway of the common room like he’d just come back from a month-long mission instead of a full recovery cycle.
“I am resting,” Keith muttered. “Just… walking and resting.”
Allura was on her feet immediately, arms crossed. “You should still be in the medbay.”
Keith’s voice was calm but raspy. “The pod’s done its job. Coran said I’m cleared.”
“Cleared to take it easy, not to parade around,” Allura countered.
Pidge leaned around the table, unimpressed. “You’ve been out for twelve hours, Keith. That barely counts as ‘taking it easy.’”
Keith gave her the world’s weakest glare. “Feels longer.”
Hunk set down his mug, eyes wide. “Dude, you still look like you fought a supernova. Sit down before you fall down.”
Keith hesitated — not because he was weak, but because the room still felt a little too bright, too loud. The aftereffects of stasis clung like fog. Then he let himself be guided — more or less herded — into the seat across from Lance.
Lance raised an eyebrow. “Nice of you to join the living.”
Keith gave a faint, crooked smirk. “Was getting bored.”
“You almost got vaporized like three days ago,” Lance said, pointing his spoon at him. “You’re not allowed to be bored yet.”
“I’m fine.”
Pidge snorted. “Sure. You look like you just woke up from a five-year nap.”
Keith ignored her, reaching for the glass of water Hunk placed beside him. His hand was steady now, though his fingers still trembled from the cold that hadn’t quite left his system. Small victories.
Coran entered just in time to catch the scene and let out a scandalized gasp. “Young man, you are not cleared for breakfast table duty!”
“Oh, but I did say he could have food,” Coran added after a second, smoothing his mustache. “Provided he doesn’t overdo it.”
Keith gave a tired half-grin. “Too late.”
Allura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Stubborn as ever.”
Lance leaned back in his chair, trying not to smile too wide. “Yeah, that’s our Keith.”
Keith glanced at him then, and something in his expression softened — the faintest flicker of warmth beneath the fatigue. “Guess some things don’t change.”
The table fell quiet for a moment after that.
Then Hunk cleared his throat, breaking the silence with a grin. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well eat. I made something that isn’t goo.”
He set a bowl in front of Keith, the steam carrying the unmistakable scent of real broth. Keith blinked, almost dazed. “How…?”
“Magic and love,” Hunk said solemnly. “And a lot of improvisation.”
Keith stared at the bowl, then smiled — small, genuine. “Thanks.”
Pidge leaned her chin on her hands, studying him. “You really shouldn’t be up, you know.”
Keith shrugged, spooning up a bit of broth. “Can’t sit still forever. Besides…” his eyes flicked up with a hint of teasing “you’d miss me.”
Pidge’s grin returned. “You’re not wrong.”
The door slid open again. “You’re already out of bed?”
Every head turned. Shiro stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exasperation and fond relief. His voice carried the easy authority of someone who’d known Keith too long to be surprised.
“Good morning to you too,” Keith muttered.
Shiro stepped further into the room, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“I am,” Keith said automatically. “Sitting counts.”
“You’ve been out of the pod less than a day,” Shiro said. “And you’re already ignoring medical advice. Some things never change.”
Coran puffed up proudly. “Ah, but he’s eating Hunk’s special recovery soup! Surely that counts as a health-conscious activity.”
Shiro gave a quiet laugh. “I’ll allow it. But after that bowl, you’re heading back to rest, okay?”
Keith opened his mouth to argue, then caught Shiro’s raised eyebrow and thought better of it. “Fine.”
Shiro ruffled his hair lightly on the way past — a gesture so familiar it made Lance grin. “Good to have you back, Keith.”
Keith’s voice softened. “Good to be back.”
For the next half hour, the room filled with easy conversation — half teasing, half relief.
It wasn’t perfect. Keith still looked a little pale, the kind of pale that came from days of stasis and no sunlight, but the life was back in his voice. He was there, awake, alive, sitting in his usual seat like the universe had finally decided to give them a break.
When the laughter died down, Lance caught him watching quietly from across the table.
“What?” Lance asked, feigning offense. “You forget how good I look?”
Keith rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “You never shut up.”
“See? Still sharp.”
“Still loud.”
Lance grinned. “Admit it, you missed it.”
Keith didn’t deny it this time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”
Shiro glanced at them from where he’d joined Hunk at the counter, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “You two haven’t changed a bit.”
Lance coughed into his cereal. “Uh, thanks, Shiro.”
Keith ducked his head, but the faintest trace of color touched his cheeks.
And just like that, the morning light through the viewport didn’t feel so cold anymore.
———
The Castle drifted in calm space again. The Veil was far behind them now, only a faint smear of blue light on the horizon.
That night, the team gathered in the observation deck for the first time in what felt like forever. No alarms, no missions, no danger—just the soft hum of the engines and a thousand quiet stars beyond the glass.
Hunk brought snacks, of course. Pidge had a tablet balanced on her knees, occasionally pointing out constellations. Allura sat cross-legged on the floor, listening to Coran tell some half-remembered story about “old Altean navigation magic.”
Shiro leaned against the railing near the viewport, arms crossed loosely, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched the others. The tension that had clung to him since Keith’s disappearance finally seemed to be easing from his shoulders.
And Keith—Keith was there.
He sat a little apart from the rest, wrapped in a blanket Coran had insisted he take, a mug of Hunk’s broth cradled in both hands. He looked better—still tired, exhausted even—but better.
Lance sat a few feet away, pretending to be absorbed in the stars while stealing glances whenever Keith looked down.
The air in the room felt easy for the first time in weeks. Every laugh felt real again.
At one point Pidge leaned her head back against Hunk’s shoulder and sighed. “We should make this a thing. You know—no near-death missions, just sitting around and existing.”
“Seconded,” Hunk said, yawning.
Coran nodded sagely. “A fine Altean tradition! We used to call it not dying.”
Lance snorted into his drink.
That earned a quiet laugh from Shiro. “Sounds like a good policy to me,” he said, eyes flicking to Keith with obvious relief. “Maybe we should make it official.”
The laughter faded slowly, giving way to a comfortable quiet. One by one, they drifted out—Allura and Coran first, murmuring about duty schedules, then Hunk and Pidge, already debating some new engineering project.
Shiro lingered a moment longer. He stopped by Keith, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You should try to sleep soon. You’re still recovering, even if the pod did most of the work.”
Keith tilted his head up, half a smile on his lips. “I’m fine, Shiro.”
“I know,” Shiro said softly. “Just… don’t make me go through that again, okay?”
Keith’s expression softened, the usual sarcasm slipping for a heartbeat. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask,” Shiro said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before glancing between him and Lance. “Don’t stay up too late, you two.” Then he turned toward the door, leaving them in the quiet glow of the stars.
Keith looked out at the stars, blanket drawn around his shoulders, the light catching faintly on the scar near his jaw.
Lance leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out, watching him from the corner of his eye.
“So,” he said finally. “How’s the heroic recovery arc going?”
Keith smirked. “Too slow.”
“Sounds about right.”
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that wasn’t awkward—just full.
Keith spoke first, voice soft. “You stayed. In the infirmary.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Lance glanced at him, caught off guard by the question’s simplicity. “Why do you think?”
Keith’s eyes met his, steady, searching. “I don’t know.”
Lance looked away, out toward the stars. “Because you scared the hell out of me, that’s why. Because I didn’t want you to wake up alone. Because…” He stopped, words catching before he could finish.
Keith waited, quiet, patient in that way that always threw Lance off balance.
“Because I wanted to,” Lance said finally.
Something flickered across Keith’s face—something small and unguarded.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Lance said, trying for humor but not quite getting there.
The silence stretched again, heavier now, but not unpleasant.
Keith sipped from his mug, eyes still on the stars. “You didn’t have to come after me.”
Lance laughed under his breath. “You know me better than that.”
Keith looked down, smile faint but real. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
The stars outside shifted slowly as the Castle drifted on its course. The reflection of the two of them sat side by side in the glass—tired, bruised, quiet, alive.
Lance nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “Don’t scare us like that again, okay?”
Keith’s smirk returned, soft at the edges. “No promises.”
“Figures.”
They both watched the stars for a while longer, the space between them filled with the hum of the ship and things still unsaid.
From the hallway, Shiro paused briefly, glancing back through the half-open door. He didn’t say anything—just smiled, a quiet, knowing curve of relief—and walked on.
When Keith finally leaned back, eyes closing in quiet exhaustion, Lance let him.
He stayed there beside him, watching the stars until the lights dimmed for night cycle.
———
The Castle had gone back to its normal rhythm—morning drills, maintenance checks, Pidge muttering to herself over data readouts.
For once, there wasn’t an emergency.
Just calm.
Keith was back on his feet now, still a little pale, still a little unstable when he thought no one was looking. But he was up, and that counted.
Lance found him in the training deck.
The lights were dimmed, the air faintly hazy from the holo-projectors. Keith was moving through slow stretches, deliberate, testing the limits of what his body could take.
He looked steady until he twisted too far, his breath catching.
“Should you even be doing that?” Lance called from the doorway.
Keith turned, startled, then scowled faintly. “It’s fine.”
“You say that a lot for someone who almost died.”
“Yeah,” Keith said, “and I got better.”
Lance stepped closer, crossing his arms. “You’re impossible.”
Keith gave a half-smile. “You’re loud.”
“Always.” Lance leaned against the wall, watching him adjust the projector settings. “Pidge says you’re cleared for light training, not solo tournaments.”
“I’m just trying to get back into form.”
Lance’s expression softened. “You don’t have to rush it.”
Keith exhaled, setting the program to idle. “I know.”
The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, but heavy in a way Lance hadn’t felt in days. There was too much unsaid sitting between them.
“Hey,” Lance said finally, “that message you sent.”
Keith stilled. “…What about it?”
“You sounded like you were saying goodbye.”
“I told you not to watch it unless—”
“Yeah, well, you know me and directions.”
Keith’s mouth twitched, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I didn’t think I was going to make it.”
Lance swallowed. “You really thought that was it?”
Keith nodded once. “The ship was breaking apart. We’d lost comms. I’d patched the stabilizer manually—knew the pod would launch, but not if it would hold. So I recorded something, just in case.”
“For us?”
Keith looked at him then, and for a second there was no distance at all—just quiet honesty. “For you.”
Lance’s chest tightened. “You… you said some stuff in there. About waiting.”
Keith nodded again, faintly. “I didn’t want you to think I’d just left. Not again.”
Lance laughed softly, though it wasn’t really funny. “You think I could’ve stopped looking?”
Keith didn’t answer right away. He adjusted one of the hologrid controls, eyes flicking down. “Didn’t know. People move on.”
“Yeah, maybe. But not me.”
That made Keith glance up, surprise flashing across his face.
Lance ran a hand through his hair, voice quieter now. “You don’t just… vanish from someone’s life like that and expect them to shrug it off. You matter, Keith.”
Keith’s jaw worked, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the shape of the words.
After a long moment, he settled for: “You came for me.”
“Of course I did.”
“Even when it was stupid.”
“Especially when it was stupid.”
Keith huffed a quiet laugh, the tension easing just a little. “Guess I owe you one.”
Lance smiled. “You owe me at least three, actually.”
“Figures.”
The silence that followed was softer this time. They both knew there were things neither of them were ready to say, not yet—but the space between them didn’t feel so impossible anymore.
Lance pushed off the wall, heading for the door. “Come on, Mullet. You can brood later. Breakfast’s on Hunk, and you look like you could use it.”
Keith hesitated, then followed, steps slow but steady.
As they walked side by side, their shoulders brushed once—light, unintentional, but neither of them pulled away.
———
Night cycle on the Castle was always too quiet. Nonetheless, strangely calm.
Most of the others were asleep; the halls had that soft hum of life-support systems and distant engines that you only noticed when there wasn’t anything else to fill the air.
Lance couldn’t sleep.
He’d tried — more than once — but every time he closed his eyes, his mind replayed the same image: Keith, standing under the dim lights of the training deck, a fond look in his eyes, saying for you like it was the simplest truth in the world.
It shouldn’t have hit so hard.
It did.
He got up, wandered through the dim corridors until he ended up in the observation deck. The stars stretched endlessly outside, steady and cold. He dropped into the same seat he always seemed to end up in and let his head fall back against the glass.
The reflection staring back at him looked tired.
He huffed a laugh under his breath. “You’re hopeless, Lance.”
Red’s presence brushed faintly at the edge of his mind — a soft hum of awareness, a wordless question.
“I know, girl,” he murmured. “He’s fine. Mostly. That’s the problem.”
Red pulsed once, a quiet amusement that somehow sounded like finally figuring it out, huh?
Lance rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”
The silence settled again.
He traced the faint fog of his breath on the glass with a fingertip, drawing a lazy spiral before it faded.
When he thought about Keith now, it wasn’t the image of him bleeding in that pod anymore. It was the look he’d given him that morning — small, genuine, almost shy.
Like maybe Keith had known what he was saying without saying it.
Lance let out a slow breath. “For you,” he whispered, echoing it just to hear how it sounded in the quiet.
It made something twist in his chest.
He didn’t know when it had changed, when all the teasing and rivalry had turned into something that ached in quiet moments like this. Maybe it had been there the whole time, hiding under the noise.
He thought about what Pidge had said once — that some people orbit each other until the timing lines up. Maybe this was that. Maybe later didn’t just mean survival. Maybe it meant now.
He laughed softly at himself. “Yeah, real poetic, Lance. Great timing.”
Red hummed again, comforting.
He looked back out at the stars, at their steady, endless glow.
“I’ll wait,” he said quietly. “However long it takes.”
Somewhere deeper in the ship, footsteps echoed — soft, even.
Keith, probably doing his restless rounds again.
Lance smiled faintly, leaning his forehead against the glass. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Still hopeless.”
And when he finally did fall asleep in that chair, it was with the stars reflected in his eyes and the sound of quiet footsteps fading down the hall.
———
The Castle was calm in the early hours before full light cycle.
Keith moved carefully down the corridor, still getting used to walking around again. Being back.
Old habits — early patrols, checking systems, restless hands — had dragged him out of bed long before anyone else was awake.
He hadn’t meant to end up at the observation deck.
He just… wandered there.
The doors slid open soundlessly.
The room was dim, filled only with the faint glow of starlight.
And Lance was there.
Curled up in the corner seat by the window, head tilted back against the glass, mouth slightly open in sleep. The faint reflection of the stars shimmered across his face.
A thin blanket was draped over his shoulders — probably stolen — and one hand hung loosely off the armrest, fingers twitching now and then like he was dreaming.
Keith stopped just inside the doorway. He recognized that blanket. It was his.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching.
Long enough to notice the rise and fall of Lance’s chest, the small, peaceful crease between his brows that somehow didn’t fit the loud, dramatic version of him Keith had always known.
Something in Keith’s chest twisted.
He hated that it felt unfamiliar — this quiet version of caring that didn’t come from adrenaline or near-death panic. Just… quiet.
He stepped closer, careful not to make a sound.
The stars outside flickered against the glass, and in their reflection he caught both of them — Lance asleep, him standing just behind, shadows overlapping.
For a strange, fleeting moment it looked like they belonged there.
Lance shifted slightly, murmuring something in his sleep. Keith froze, then realized it was just a mumble — his own name, soft, almost questioning.
“Always talking,” Keith whispered, and smiled before he could stop himself.
He reached down, hesitating for a heartbeat, then pulled the edge of the blanket higher over Lance’s shoulder.
“Don’t catch cold,” he muttered — automatic, half an excuse for touching the blanket at all.
Red’s soft hum rippled through the deck, a gentle acknowledgement that made Keith glance toward her console.
He could’ve sworn the lights glowed a fraction brighter, as if amused.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “I’m hopeless.”
He lingered there another moment, then turned to leave.
At the doorway he glanced back one last time — at Lance, at the stars, at the soft reflection that made the whole scene feel too much like something out of a memory he hadn’t had yet.
“Later, Sharpshooter,” he said quietly.
The doors closed behind him, leaving the room silent again except for the hum of the engines and the faint, steady sound of Lance’s breathing.