Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lance McClain was a riddle. Keith knew this.

Keith had known this since the first night they spent together, in the old shack after freeing Shiro. He had known this since Lance stepped onto the dusty wooden floors, made a snide remark about Keith’s standards, but gave up his spot on the couch for Shiro. Keith had known since watching Lance whimper, shake, and wake up from a nightmare that night. He’d sat up and panted for a few seconds, then wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and left the house.

Keith would have gone after him if he hadn’t seen him sit back down on the steps just in front of the door.

He spent twenty minutes out there, doing nothing but staring upward at the  dark sky above him. Keith understood. He knew the appeal of watching the stars, trying to remember as many of the constellations as possible or waiting for comets to streak past and blind him. In the desert, so far from the Garrison’s lights, so little light pollution reached them. The entire galaxy was on display. It was comforting, in the way that they never changed, and sometimes Keith had liked to imagine Shiro’s presence up there. Tutting at his recklessness.

Maybe Lance found a similar reassurance in the sight of a universe larger than him. After running away, breaking the law and being taken into hiding, Keith could imagine he needed soothing. Had he known how, he might have even tried to help Lance himself.

However, Keith had no idea how he would handle it if Lance fell asleep out there. He could imagine the confusion and panic of waking in an unfamiliar place. He decided to give Lance five more minutes before he would go wake him up.

There was no need. He came back inside shortly. Keith noticed the way he walked back into the room, balancing on one spot for a second and then taking small steps toward his sleeping area. Keith watched him for what seemed like entire minutes, until he heard a small squeak from where Lance stepped and saw him wince. That’s when he recognized the behavior - behavior of someone who didn’t want to make noise. He was paying attention to the floorboards. He was trying not to disturb Shiro.

He had set his blanket back down on the floor, sat, and then he saw Keith.

“ Jeez ,” he had hissed after visibly tensing up. “Have you been up watching me all night ? What the fuck, man? What’s your deal ?” He seemed like a child caught in the act of disobeying a command. Embarrassed. Startled. Ready to spring up and run. But just as quickly as he had reacted, his face morphed into something cocky. Keith would have missed it if he’d blinked. “Or is it that you just can’t stay away? I’m flattered, Mullet.”

Keith had no idea how to respond, so he had scowled instead, and walked into the hallway. Only to keep Lance from waking Shiro up.

Yes, Lance McClain was a riddle. Keith knew this; he wasn’t blind. But later, he would realize that Lance was a riddle he wanted to solve.

-

Lance woke up a lot.

Keith learned this one night, a few weeks after leaving Earth. He had been sitting in the stargazing room, and Lance had walked through the doorway and quietly sat next to him. Keith had jolted, not prepared for the company of someone else. He also wasn’t in the mood for any arguments, and those seemed to consistently take place when they spent time together.

But it didn’t end up happening at all. That night, they said nothing. At first, Keith could feel an aggressive energy coming from him. The same energy that he’d exuded the night in Keith’s cabin when he saw Keith watching him. As if he was daring Keith to tell him to leave. Daring him to say something, anything, as if he was expecting insult. Keith saw his shoulders tensed, eyes trained on the floor in front of him. He almost looked angry, and if not for the red tint on his cheekbones, Keith would pass it off as aggravation. But Keith recognized the look.

It was the look of someone who knew he was vulnerable. Someone who hated it. It was written all over Lance that he didn’t want Keith to talk.

So he didn’t.

Lance’s posture eventually loosened, and his breathing got easier. Keith didn’t notice that he had dozed back off to sleep until looking over and seeing him, cheek squished into the wall and eyes shut. He looked almost peaceful, when he wasn’t trying to appear otherwise. Small. It was odd seeing him like this.

It struck Keith that however jarring it was for him to be caught up in a war, it was even harder for Lance. Lance never asked for this. He had only wanted to be a pilot, to finish school, to prove himself no matter if it was aggressively. He hadn’t spent a year preparing to leave, not like Keith had.

He took a spare pillow from the couch and slipped it behind his head. He told himself it was out of empathy. Lance was tired. Besides, Keith had lived in a desert shack for a year. The old bed and dusty couch didn’t leave much for comfort. He’d fallen asleep at the table before, woken up with a neck infuriatingly sore and a crick in his back that drove him up the wall.

Lance would be grumpy if he woke up hurting, and then they wouldn’t be able to form Voltron. It made sense.

Yeah.

The next morning, Lance didn’t say anything about their time spent together. He continued to play the games he loved so much, dancing around Keith, soaking in their so-called rivalry like it was the highlight of his day.

No words were spoken of the night before, and Keith was glad. He didn’t know what he would say.

-

The next night, he isn’t sure why he decided to go to the same place. He didn’t think that Lance would come back. In fact, he even hoped that Lance would be able to sleep through the night. Well-rested teammates are easier to work with, after all.

But it was not so. Lance showed up around 0200. Just when Keith was starting to think maybe he wouldn’t, he entered as silently as the night before. Right away, Keith could feel that the atmosphere was different. He wasn’t sure if he was the responsible for the feeling of easiness and comfort, or if it was Lance’s doing.

This time, the two sat for all of three minutes before Lance was speaking.

“You know, I gotta say. Didn’t expect you to come back.” His voice, though retaining it’s usual chirp,  was softer than Keith was expecting to hear.

“Neither did I,” Keith agreed. Then it was quiet again. The two of them, he realized, had never gone so long in the same room without antagonizing each other in some way. They had never consciously shared a peaceful moment. Keith wondered what had changed. Realistically, it must have been because Lance was so tired. Keith didn’t care. This, he could do.

Around half an hour later, they saw a shooting star, closer and brighter than any they’d seen from the desert on Earth. Keith blinked in surprise, and turned to Lance. He was sitting straight up, face near the window, with his hands splayed across its surface as if to edge himself closer to it. But his eyes were flicking back and forth from the comet to Keith, almost involuntarily. His smile was brilliant.

Keith surprised himself by grinning back.

-

The next night, Keith talked first.

“You did well in training today,” he said. Lance blinked owlishly, opening and closing his mouth a few times. It was as if he didn’t know how he wanted to respond. Keith wondered briefly if he had accidentally fucked up while pronouncing a word.

Lance quickly decided on wearing a cocky grin, and Keith’s spirits soured. “Pshh, I know. You feelin’ threatened, mullet? Only a matter of time before I’m better than you at sparring, too.”

Keith looked away, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t sure why he had even tried. Obviously Lance didn’t care about their nights spent together or any of their bonding moments, and he was going to act obnoxious no matter where or when they were together.

Keith decided to keep his mouth shut next time. He didn’t want to make Lance think that he was getting to him. Even though, really, he was, and Keith could already feel himself falling into a bad mood. He had no idea why Lance had to make a big deal out of everything he said. Anything about Keith, Lance seemed to think was fair game; for him any terrain was an acceptable battleground. Every small thing seemed to prompt an argument or a taunt of some sort. Fuck! God! What is wrong with him?

He put a scowl on his face, and kept it there for who knows how long. Certainly long enough that the muscles in his cheeks were getting sore. Really, there wasn’t much point to glowering. He wanted Lance to know how infuriating he was, which was ridiculous; he wasn’t even sure that Lance was looking at him, or had his eyes open at all. But he wouldn’t put it past Lance to stay up purely out of competition. And that sparked a flare of annoyance in Keith’s chest. Annoyance… and excitement. Which made him more annoyed, because Lance wasn’t supposed to be able to get a rise out of Keith. But here he was, aching face muscles and clenched fists, because of Lance’s so called “rivalry” that didn’t make any fucking sense.

What a moron.

But Lance spoke again, just when Keith thought he might have fallen back asleep. “Thank you,” he said.

And just like that, the storm clouds cleared up a bit. Keith could feel his anger dissipating. Still not ready to give up the act, he tried to cling to it, tried to hang on to being resentful. Because the opposite was feeling... almost content. The warmth was uncomfortable when it spread in his chest, and he wanted it out. But no matter how much he tried to remain bitter, he felt significantly lighter than before.

Keith didn’t reply to Lance, but slowly relaxed his clenched jaw and looked back out at the stars. He hoped Lance didn’t notice his shift in attitude.

Lance was out cold soon after that, his nose whistling softly as he slept. Keith put a pillow under his head, again, and walked back to his room, trying to regain his unpleasant attitude all the while. He was unconscious as soon as he fell onto his bed.

-

Two weeks later, Lance was taken down by a Galra attacker. A stab wound just under his stomach and a deep gash on his leg. The purpose of the trip was supposed to be strictly intel, it was supposed to be an easy mission, there wasn’t supposed to be any close calls or hand to hand. In and out. Leave it to Lance, Keith thought angrily, to be the only one in the room when the rogue jumped from the vents.

It was lucky that he’d kept his helmet on, or the rest of the team wouldn’t even have known to come back. They had already been nearly too late as it was, rushing into the hallway to find Lance in a growing puddle of his own blood with a knife in his side and a gun pressed rigidly against his forehead.

With that image burned into his memory, Keith had cut the beast’s neck open without an ounce of guilt. At the same time, though, he wished he had looked away. The sight of its mustard yellow eyes once filled with hellfire, draining of all life, was much too jarring.

He hated the knowledge that if he wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t careful enough, wasn’t enough , then Lance’s eyes would soon look the same.

Nobody was sure whether or not Lance would even make it to the medical wing of the castle before dying. Or, even with their advanced technology, if they would simply be capable of helping him. The wounds had just been so deep, and he had lost so much blood already. Hunk was hyperventilating, Pidge was frantically tapping on her armor, and Shiro was breathing so heavily that Keith had half a mind to put him in a pod too. Even Allura was visibly shaken up.

Everyone was terrified over the prospect of losing Lance.

They got him to a pod fine, though, and Coran announced to the team that it would take around half a day to heal Lance, and nothing more. Everyone released a breath. Pidge and Hunk slumped against each other in relief. Shiro’s shoulders lowered and his eyes were no longer watering. Then one by one, they left the room -maybe to stop looking at Lance’s wounds, or maybe to unravel from the day’s stress.

Hunk stayed behind. He had hovered by Lance’s healing pod since the moment he had gone in. At first, Keith lurked by the doorway of the room, not feeling comfortable being so close to Hunk’s emotional unrest, and still, not willing to turn his back.

Until Hunk spoke. Though his voice was unsteady, it still retained the warmth that he always seemed to have.

“You can come in, Keith. I really don’t mind.” Keith jolted, not aware that Hunk had even seen him.

“Um. Thanks,” he felt himself saying, muscles moving before he’d given them permission to.

He sat next to Hunk. They stayed there for hours, not talking. Hunk didn’t ask why he was there. He seemed to know already, which was frustrating, because Keith sure as hell didn’t. He didn’t know why any of this was happening.

“He doesn’t hate you, you know."

“I know.” And Keith did. He knew that much.

Somehow over the time they’d all spent together, Keith began recognizing the difference between malice and… whatever it was that Lance felt for him. Jealousy? Keith doubted it. He was hardly good enough to envy. Lance seemed to enjoy the interactions with Keith, their meaningless squabbles at mealtimes and his playful jabs during training.

Lance didn’t hate him. Keith knew that. He just didn’t know what the hell Lance did feel for him. Or why.

He and Hunk talked for a bit; with not much else to do but watch Lance’s vitals, it was the only way to keep from drowning in apprehension. Keith learned about Hunk’s home. He and his family lived near a beach in Samoa, apparently. He spoke of crystal clear waters, with vibrant flora and very friendly wildlife. He told stories about crazy tourists, always feeding animals that ended up being spoiled pests later on, taking blurry pictures of coconut trees as if they were an uncommon occurrence, and asking the locals if they spoke the tongue. This managed to pull a laugh out of Keith - one which Hunk seemed proud of. He continued talking, shaking his head in annoyance when he spoke of the birds always waking him up, stealing his hats and bandannas, and pecking at his food. But, even though he seemed thoroughly annoyed with the memories, there was a fondness in his eyes that Keith recognized as nostalgia.

Keith had never been to Samoa, obviously. He’d never even been to a beach. Not much funding in orphanages or foster homes to go on vacations, not to mention the fact that there would be far too many children for two adults to keep track of. The concept of going to a beach, of enjoying himself in any body of water without having to worry about being drowned by the older kids, was all foreign to him. An unrealistic daydream, surely, and Keith had learned a long time ago to repel unrealistic daydreams. All they could bring him was disappointment.

But the way Hunk described it he thought he could see the appeal. He thought of Lance, and the fun he and Hunk probably had comparing their home islands.

He wondered if Lance had ever visited Hunk’s, or vice versa. The Garrison funded biannual weeklong trips back home, and the two had been friends for years. He could imagine Lance cheering as he bounded into the water, or taking too many pictures of the cats walking around in the streets, or accidentally ruining marshmallows on the beach bonfires and whining about it all. The thought made him smile against his will, and Hunk noticed.

“He’ll be okay.”

“I know.” Keith does.

“He always is.”

“I know.”

They both shut up and went back to waiting.

-

Five hours later, the monitor beeped in a five minute warning. Lance would be waking up soon. Keith shook Hunk awake.

Then he picked up his jacket and turned his back to the healing pod. To the room. To Lance.

He felt Hunk’s eyes on his back as he ran. He felt cowardly.

-

That night, Lance didn’t wait to join him. Half an hour after curfew, Keith walked into the stargazing room. Lance was already there, not looking at the stars, or the floor. Looking at Keith. He had been waiting.

“You stayed at the healing pod.” Keith’s stomach jumped. It wasn’t a question. “Hunk told me.”

There wasn’t much to say. So Keith didn’t. He just sat down next to Lance, by the window. This time his eyes didn’t venture out to the galaxy, but instead stared right back into Lance’s.

“He said you left right when the timer went off.” Keith’s jaw clenched. He nodded.

It seemed like Lance wanted something. An answer, maybe, or an apology, or an explanation. But that didn’t seem like what he was looking for. Keith didn’t know. Maybe Lance wanted him to say nothing? That’s what he did. Lance’s huffed, his piercing blue eyes becoming continuously more and more frustrated looking into Keith’s.

“I mean, it’s not like you could have expected him to just not say anything to me about it. He is my best friend, you know.” Again, a statement, not a question, so Keith nodded and kept his mouth shut.

“It would be kinda cool if you talked back.”

Keith’s eyes wandered away again, not able to stay trained on Lance any longer. “What do you want me to say?”

“Something. Like, anything, actually. I really don’t know where I stand with you, man. It’s like you hate me until we’re here at night, and then you still don’t talk, and neither do I, but it’s. It’s easy. I guess.” He huffed, scratching the back of his neck and finally looking away.

“And then I wake up again, with a pillow that you must have given me... but we’re back to square one again. And I have to do the wildest shit to even get your attention, and I can never seem to keep it, because whatever I do or say makes you close up. It’s crazy, and I don’t even know what I’m doing most of the time?” It sounded more like a question. It certainly seemed like he was looking for an answer to it. “But you, you.” His eyes narrowed, but not in anger, just frustration. It was as if this was his first time saying it all out loud, and he didn’t know how. “You stay by my healing pods for hours. And then you just… you just leave, you dick, right before I get out,” he said this looking at Keith again with a look filled with… something. Keith didn’t know what it was. It made his head dizzy. “I just.” Lance exhaled aggressively, and it almost resembles a laugh, but it doesn’t sound happy. “I just don’t get you, man.”

There was a lot to address in that. Keith decided to say what he had a minimal chance of fucking up. He had no way of explaining what happened earlier, so he didn’t. “I don’t hate you. I didn’t. I, uh. I never hated you.”

“Oh.” There’s genuine surprise on Lance’s face;  whether it was for Keith’s statement itself or the hesitation-free way of saying it, Keith wasn’t sure. There was a pause. “Oh. Nice.”

“Um. Yeah. Nice.” Keith tried not to punch himself for such an eloquent response.

“I mean, thanks. Yeah, thanks. That’s what I, that’s. That’s what. Um.” He didn’t seem to have a plan for what he was saying. “I don’t hate you either. You know?”

“I know,” Keith said. Despite the fact that Lance obviously wasn’t expecting to have gotten that far, there was something in his floundering that made the edges of Keith’s mouth turn upward. Seeing Keith’s smile must have encouraged Lance to do the same, but bigger, wider, more exaggerated like he was worried he’d offend Keith if he didn’t how triple the amount of his normal enthusiasm.

The resulting expression was akin to that of a panicked shark.

Keith couldn’t help it - he snorted. Instead of embarrassing Lance, though, that seemed to put him more at ease, and his almost-smile shifted into an easier one. A genuine one.

That night, Keith found out that Lance woke up so often due to dreams that he’d been having since coming to the Garrison. In return, Keith told Lance about how he didn’t remember ever having gotten a full night’s sleep in his life. A secret for a secret. When put into words, Keith realized that his night schedule was odd, worrisome even, and voiced as much. Lance just shrugged.

“I figure, we’re in space with an alien princess fighting a war Earth doesn’t know about, and everything else that’s weird about this is kind of just token. You go, dude.” Keith snorted at the absurdity of the statement. “Maybe...” he yawned.  “Maybe you’re an alien, too.” His voice was airy and tired from an obvious need for sleep. So much that Keith almost didn’t hear the following sentence. “I sure wish I only needed a few hours of sleep to look that pretty.”

Later, Keith would remember that and wonder what Lance had meant. But in the moment, Keith had rolled his eyes and told Lance to go to sleep if it bothered him that much. I’ll be here if you wake up again, he thought.

Turns out, he didn’t need to. Lance slept the whole night. Eventually, Keith drifted off too.

-

They grew into a somewhat easy relationship; they acted the same way as usual in front of their friends and team. Lance prodded at Keith until he bit back, but this time it seemed different. He was enjoying the energy to it, the static buzzing in the air whenever he and Lance crossed views. It tended to happen at unimportant times, times without stress and without lives at stake. Small competitions. Whoever could hold their breath in the castle’s pool for the longest period of time (Lance). Whoever could do the most squats with Pidge on their shoulders (Keith). Whoever could chug a glass of Joboxian juice the quickest (it was a tie - they both lost to Pidge, though). At one point, during a game of chicken taken too far, they nearly bungee jumped off of a planet cliff, simply to see if the other one would. They were both stopped by Allura, trying to maintain a composed atmosphere around the natives they were attempting to recruit, ever the diplomat.

Keith would have, though. He would have jumped.

Keith found that he grew to look forward to these interactions. Most days, they were the only highlight. He liked the rush that he felt whenever he rose to Lance’s jabs. He liked the adrenaline of doing something stupid and competitive, just because he could, without any important weight resting on his success. (That was only partially true - he considered the maintenance of his pride important enough). He enjoyed caring about matters that weren’t so grave.

Keith thought that he noticed differences in the team as well, though it may have been a stretch. Mainly, he was feeling less restraint when forming Voltron, but there were also moments where Allura and Coran looked nervous at having the two of them in the same room. They were usually surprised when the team meetings didn’t result in yelling matches.

The thing was, Lance was easy. Once Keith figured out how Lance liked to act, he realized that it wasn’t hard to avoid quarrelling with Lance. What Lance tried to initiate was always a contest over an unimportant matter, and Keith had always been the competitive type. When one of them lost a competition, there was swearing. There was a surplus of jabs and quips that were only halfway meant as jokes. There was groaning and bickering. But it was all without venom. It became playful, and stopped escalating into fights.

Usually, fighting was the opposite of what Lance wanted. Lance wanted to have fun, he wanted to have fun with Keith, and seemed to be succeeding.

Keith was having fun, too.

-

As it turned out, Keith actually was an alien. As soon as he was taken back to the castle, after the encounter with the Blade of Marmora, his shoulder being treated, he realized the irony in Lance’s words from earlier.

“Maybe you’re an alien, too.” Keith remembered the way he had snorted at his own joke, then fallen asleep. He probably wouldn’t be laughing about it now. Not when he knew that Keith had the blood of a killer running through him, the blood of an enemy, the blood of a monster.

It also turned out that, according to Kolivan, Galra didn’t need much sleep at all. Ha.

Keith didn’t know how he himself felt about it. About anything, really. He wanted desperately to find solace in this, to feel comforted in having unlocked a new piece of him. A piece of individuality, heritage, some kind of past where previously he’d had none. He wanted to be excited, hopeful, reborn, but all that he could find in his chest were tangled-up feelings of dread. That, and shame.

He had retreated to his bunk after their meeting in the control room. He didn’t feel like seeing Allura’s bitter eyes, filled with unshrouded disappointment, or Coran’s discomfort, or even Shiro’s pitying gaze. He hadn’t even looked at Lance’s reaction. He didn’t know how much his heritage had changed things between them. He also didn’t know why he cared so much about how this would affect Lance, of all people.

He decided he didn’t want to know the answers to any of it.

He stared at himself in the mirror more that night than he had ever since he could remember. His hair, dull and lifeless and scraggly, because he didn’t care enough to cut it before leaving Earth. No wonder Lance liked to poke fun at it. It really was ugly.

He wished he could wipe everything from himself and start again. Become someone likable, trusting, trustworthy. He wanted to change his hair, to rip it out, of his own head, anything to just fucking change it. If it was shorter, would Allura see him as more put-together? If it was healthier, would he and Lance have an easier time falling into place with each other?

He imagined it a different color, or texture, or length - and then suddenly it was.

In the mirror, he was no longer looking into his own eyes. These were bright yellow, in a sea of purple. He raised a clawed hand to his skin - a sickening, almost scaly on the leathery surface - and then to the thick mass of fur sprouting out down to his shoulders. Jutting out of them, a pair of big, pointy, very Galra ears.

He touched his hair, praying that maybe physical contact would make the hallucination stop - it had to have been a hallucination, people didn’t just change appearance that quickly.

But you’re not really a person any longer, are you?

His reflection, without his permission, lifted its lips to reveal a sharp row of fangs that were bared in a threat, not a smile.

And then Keith blinked, and the image completely vanished. In its place, on a now shattered mirror, was a short kid with messy hair, unfriendly eyes, and a bleeding fist.

Some “pretty” boy he was.

There was no way that Lance could think that, not now, not after finding out the blood in Keith’s veins was blood that had destroyed worlds and murdered billions. There was no way that Lance could think he was pretty. An idea slithered around in the back of his mind, writhing and clawing at him until it was all he could think about.

He grabbed a shard of the mirror from the tiles on his floor, and lifted it to his head.

-

“Not that it’s the most eventful part of today, but your hair is different,” Lance said that night.

Keith hadn’t been sure if he would even go. He hadn’t known if he wanted to stay in his room, or train all night, or stalk in the shadows of the castle until he felt like he truly fit the part of the monster. He just knew that the thought of seeing Lance’s rejection firsthand would be worse. There was no question of it; he had no desire to confirm what he already suspected. He didn’t need to go out of his way to hear Lance’s usually warm voice go cold.

He went anyway, and was taken off guard when Lance’s reaction was more mellow than he had expected.

When Keith didn’t speak, Lance kept talking. “I mean, I’m not saying I don’t like it now. Still attention grabbing, you know, and I’m all about that. But why? And… dude, if you say you used a knife to cut it, I might actually have a seizure.”

“Mirror,” Keith muttered back.

“Huh?”

“A piece of my mirror. A knife would have made more sense, though.” Lance just looked at him. Blue eyes flickered down to the blood on Keith’s gloves, and then back to his hair.

“I’m. I’m speechless. Dios mío, Keith.” He stood up. Keith’s heart started beating at breakneck speed. He swallowed heavily, and waited for Lance to leave. But when Lance instead offered his hand to Keith, he didn’t do much else than stare at it. “Come with me.”

Keith wanted to ask why, but held his tongue. He slipped his hand into Lance’s waiting one, and stood. Neither one let go. Lance started walking, and Keith followed. They ended up outside of Lance’s room, and opened the door slowly to avoid any sound waking up the rest of the sleeping team.

When Keith walked in, he saw… nothing. He didn’t know why he imagined more on Lance’s walls and shelves. He didn’t know why he felt a pang of sadness at the fact that Lance didn’t seem to have many souvenirs from the planets he liked visiting so much.

Keith saw a few shells from the water planet that he and Hunk had been trapped on, the one that Lance always seemed to be talking about, and smiled a little. Surely they were a different species than the ones on Earth, but Keith wouldn’t know much about either. He was sure Lance did.

He also saw a flower that looked to be growing all on its own with the help of an Altean vase - that one he actually did recognize. He couldn’t very well forget the planet it was from, as it was one that he and Lance had almost died on.

But the flower itself was from their departure - one that albeit happening before before the two had put their differences aside, left a fond memory. After helping the natives, they had made laurels of flowers and leaves that they placed on each paladin’s head for the celebration. He had seen Lance adorned in bright blue and white, smiling widely. He himself had been veiled in black and red flowers, ones that got into his face even more than his bangs, and (he soon found out) showered him with pollen-like dust every time he moved too quickly. Lance had just laughed, reached out and swiped a glob of it from his cheek.

He could see why that was a good memory. Lance had always loved receiving appreciation, especially for helping where it mattered. He could recognize why Lance might have wanted to preserve a flower from that planet on the ship. He could even get why Lance tried to keep it alive and well.

He didn’t understand, though, why Lance had chosen to pick and keep one of the red ones.

-

That night, he had gotten his hair trimmed and fixed up by Lance’s expert hands. Lance chattered while he worked - Keith suspected that he was trying to distract him. He was grateful for the gesture; Lance’s voice was surprisingly calming. He learned of Lance’s younger sisters, of his large family that couldn’t always afford to go to parlors, of the joy Lance found in being able to give them their haircuts instead.

At one point, while Lance talked about them, he seemed to remember in full force the distance between him and the people he loved so much. His voice had halted, his fingers had stopped brushing through Keith’s hair, and Keith would be lying if he said it hadn’t left him wishing he could help. Hug Lance, maybe. Lance liked contact, right? He had settled for shifting to look at Lance and placing a tentative hand over his shoulder. This had earned him a smile, and a few moments later he was told to turn back around or Lance would leave his hair half-trimmed. Keith heard the fondness, though, he heard the gratitude in his voice.

He turned around. Lance kept trimming.

Lance’s hands were soft. Keith liked how one was always resting on the base of his neck, and as Lance talked he would absentmindedly move his thumb back and forth. Keith wondered where he got the skincare products to maintain them, if not from Earth. They didn’t visit the space mall often enough. Keith could only assume that Lance had simply brought them all with him in his bag while rescuing Shiro that first night at the Garrison - the concept nearly made him laugh out loud.

He was surprised later when he looked in the mirror and saw that he still had noticeably long hair. Lance had always made fun of it, always teased him for letting it get so long. He had expected Lance to crop it, and he voiced as much.

Lance just rolled his eyes with a smile on his face, and wished him goodnight.

-

The night before their mission to attack - and hopefully defeat - Zarkon, Lance and Keith met in the stargazing room. Keith brought a container of some fermented altean root that had been liquidized. The way Coran had described it, it had the same effects as liquor. Keith figured that, given the grave events taking place the next day, the castle wouldn’t be missing it much.

He set it down between them after taking a gulp from the top of the bottle. It tasted like acid, but the effects were certainly what he had hoped. Lance did the same, only shuddering slightly.

The air between them was thick as molasses, heavy with a feeling of melancholy - that and something else. They knew their odds of surviving the next day would be low. They knew they might die. And they stayed silent for what seemed like hours, passing the bottle between them and sipping.

This time, Keith was the one to break the silence, pushed by what may have been the alcohol or his own need for an end to the silence.

“My dad never talked to me about my mom. But, I guess when he died too, I was too young to have been asking much anyway.” He heard Lance inhale, and kept talking so that he wouldn’t receive any pitying words. He’d had enough of those, and he didn’t want any more. Not from Lance. “I got into the Garrison on a scholarship and I was terrified of being less than perfect. That’s why I was so angry when you constantly challenged me for the top of the class.” He saw Lance’s eyebrows furrow, oh, oops, and added, “Um, ha. I did actually remember you that night when we rescued Shiro. Well. I didn’t really grasp it all at first? A lot was going on. But then you kept talking, and it came back.”

Lance huffed. Keith kept talking.

“Shiro was the only person I trusted in that school. He and I had been to the same foster homes a few times, and I sort of idolized him. He was just… really strong, and I was a kid, so he protected me from the older kids when he could. And when I got to the Garrison as a student and saw him teaching some of the other classes, it was probably the most relieving moment of my life.” He paused. “To realize that I wasn’t going into the whole thing alone. I, um,” He cringed at the words before they even came out of his mouth, “I was alone a lot.”

There was silence after that last sentence, and Keith realized what was coming. “Dude,” Lance whispered, and Keith panicked and cut him off.

“If you do something stupid like apologize, I’ll shave your eyebrows off,” he blurted out. Then clapped a hand over his mouth. Out of all the things he had ever said on impulse, that was definitely on a list of the worst. “Fuck. Um, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean that.” Lance stared at him for a few seconds, then threw his head back and laughed.

“Man, I was just gonna say that you aren’t alone now. Whether you like it or not. You’re kind of stuck with us now,” Lance said. Keith felt his face get hot, and he was glad that it was mostly covered by his hair. “And, I was gonna chew you out. You know that you’re a dirty snake for pretending you didn’t know me, right?” Keith huffed. “But, uh, I think you should threaten people's brows more often. I’d love to hear you threaten to remove Pidge’s.”

Keith smiled at Lance’s attempts. He knew that was a truth bomb he had just dropped. He wished he’d been able to laugh with him, and be over with it, but there was more he had wanted to say. He knew if he waited, he might not get the chance ever again. He took Lance’s silence afterward as a cue.

He took a breath, and jumped in.

“Listen. Okay?" This fucking drink, this root, what was even in this stuff? His tongue was suddenly way too relaxed, his lips too loose, why was he saying all this, and oh god, he needed to keep talking. "While you were in the healing pod, Hunk told me about the beaches that he grew up on. All I could think about was how much you probably loved to hear about it. He told me that you were planning to go back with him one day.” He paused. “My foster parents never took me to the beach. Too expensive of a trip to make all the way from Texas. And honestly, I can only assume that I wouldn’t like them much anyway. But I wanted to be there because I knew how much you would love it there.”

He stopped , feeling glad that he wouldn’t die with Lance believing he didn’t trust him. Though the sense of embarrassment nearly overpowered his relief and killed him anyway. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept them there. He felt his face was warmer than normal, was he just bad at drinking or something, he probably looked wrecked, Lance hadn't responded yet - oh god, what if that was too much - but how long had it even been since he'd stopped talking? For what seemed like an eternity he considered standing and bolting out of the stargazing room.

Lance’s eyes lifted to his, and he decided to stay put. “I actually do remember the bonding moment,” he admitted. Keith huffed out a laugh, and the air seemed lighter. “And. Um,those nightmares I’ve been having? They’re mostly about my family. Since I came to the Garrison, actually. I miss them a lot.”

Keith didn’t know if Lance wanted him to say anything. He didn’t know how to respond, not to things involving family. It always felt as though he was a robot trying to act human, pretending to know about those experiences. He settled on letting Lance continue.  

“But now, the thought of screwing up here, and resulting in them dying - everyone on Earth, I guess, but the ones I know make it more real - it fucking sucks. Like, I’ve got anxiety.” He said it as though he was commenting on the weather. “I’ve worried about literally everything, my whole life, and it’s annoying. But man. It really puts things into perspective when you’ve got something this big to be scared of.” He didn’t seem to realize he was saying everything that he was, but Keith saw the exact moment that he came back to himself. It was in the widening of his eyes, the flushing in his face, the speed at which he turned his head away from Keith and towards the floor. Small gestures that he usually hid from everyone. Keith supposed that he had been overreacting, earlier. They were probably both feeling the drinks.

But once they had each taken that first step, that was it. They talked for what felt like days, compared Lance’s big family to Keith’s foster homes. As it turned out, both had an element of chaos to them. Keith admitted to Lance that his temper had always been a problem. He talked about how often he got in trouble on Earth, constantly in fights because of his short fuse. Lance told him about his first day of space camp as a kid, where he started crying after the instructors told him aliens weren’t real. “Joke’s on them, I guess,” he snorted, earning a chortle from Keith.

They looked back on moments from their classes; the funny, the scary, the exciting. Keith told Lance of how he broke Iverson’s jaw and (permanently) damaged his eye, to which Lance howled, raised the bottle before clinking it against Keith’s shoulder, took a swig. Again, he shook his head at the foul taste, and Keith held out his hand with an idea. He knew it was risky, knew it was impulsive - no way he could pull it off, come on - but after getting it, he tilted his head back and downed mouthful after mouthful while maintaining eye contact. It was likely only five seconds or so, and he probably winced at the taste, but when he came up for air, Lance was a mess. He looked nervous - of course, it was space booze after all, who could say how safe it really was - but there was a comical mixture of shock and admiration. And something else, something that Keith couldn’t identify, but felt a shiver run down his spine.

The words flowed freely after that. With liquid courage running through their veins, neither one was quite so scared of voicing their memories. Years of their lives came into light, and though neither of them could relate to most of the other’s stories, Keith found he could understand it. And Lance was a good listener.

That night, Keith discovered his reaction to Lance speaking Spanish to him. He also discovered the taste of Lance’s lips.

As it so happened, the latter discovery came only seconds after the first.

-

In the Garrison, there was a certain brand of cigarettes known for being sold, distributed, and smoked on the roof. Keith never bought them. It was a waste of money and too high a risk. Getting expelled from the place giving him his only sense of purpose was a terrifying concept (at least, until Shiro’s “death”). He had wrinkled his nose at the students reeking in the hallway. He remembered their faces and later saw them be kicked out for misconduct. He thought of them as idiots, as masochists, as impulsive and foolish and weak, everything he could never let himself become.

Now, he understood the appeal. There was no way the behavior wouldn’t end up with pain and self destruction. But it was easy to get addicted, when this was what it felt like, and Keith may as well have just sold his soul. Lance ignited Keith’s chest with every smile, every touch, every kiss. Lance was killing Keith with each drag, Keith realized, before tilting his head and taking another.

And Lance burned bright and hot, for the paladin of ice. When Keith touched him he felt flames dancing beneath his fingertips, fierce and intense and somehow more exhilarating than the liquor that remained in its bottle by the window. He wanted to keep it, to have it close to his heart the next day, the next week, the next year. As long as he lived, he wanted to remember the energy of this moment. He wanted to preserve this sight of Lance, flushed and shining and leaning in close enough to bite.

Keith had a small pang of regret that he never took up the arts. Were he talented enough, he would try to capture the fervor in Lance’s eyes with the most brightly pigmented blue in the entire galaxy. He would dust his face with crushed carnations and powdered gold itself, anything he could use to show the spread of pink over Lance’s warm face.

Belatedly, he realized that he had simply been holding Lance’s face between his hands and staring at it in awe. The alcohol was definitely hitting him - he could feel it making his head sway, and he noticed the lopsided smile on his own face. He felt his hands begin to release their grip, but found no need when Lance’s found the back of his neck and pulled him down for their lips to return.

And then they were moving, a mix between stumbling and running and standing completely still. They had to lean on a few walls for support, and Lance using that damned height of his to frame Keith’s shoulders and kiss him with infuriating leisure. It was frustrating and downright rude, but with his hands in Keith’s hair and his touch so gentle and sweet, Keith nearly melted on the spot.

They made it to Lance’s room. They made it to Lance’s bed.

Lance had always been an expressive person, before then Keith considered themselves near opposites in that respect. But seeing Lance then, seeing the vehemence that before tonight he had never even known existed, he thought that maybe this was a piece of Lance that he had only ever shown to Keith.

The thought causes a warmth to bloom in Keith’s chest - not the inferno from before, but a tender heat that made Keith wonder how it could be anything but a good idea. How it could be anything but perfect.

Lance was beautiful.

Keith was engulfed.

-

Keith woke earlier than Lance. He knew he would, simply judging by his usual sleep schedule and by Lance’s sour moods during most mornings. During breakfasts at the table with the rest of the team, Lance was usually the last person to join. Knowing about Lance’s recurring nightmares, though, Keith mulled over whether or not that was the reason why he was always dragging in the early hours. Keith sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the boy tangled in the sheets.

He wondered if Lance had any nightmares the last night. The thought was unappealing - he hated the idea of Lance, trapped in his mind while Keith was sleeping in his arms none the wiser. Had Lance woken up? Did he feel pinned down by Keith, who had woken up with his shoulder and head resting on Lance’s torso? He couldn’t have been easy to move, if Lance had wanted to.

He felt a bizarre need to apologize, which was both stupid and unrealistic. Given their plans for the day, they likely wouldn’t both make it out alive. Apologies for being too heavy were the last things needed. But even if they did… there was no way Lance would want to talk about it. About anything. Keith couldn’t imagine him acknowledging their nights, the most recent one specifically. Why would he? It was probably nothing for him - a fling, a way to forget about any apprehension over the mission most likely. Keith knew Lance didn’t feel the way he did, and he had known that last night. So why was he feeling like something was sinking between his ribs just thinking about it?

He hated the aching in his chest as he dressed, hated the guilt he felt while watching Lance’s face. Hated that he couldn’t seem to look away. Lance’s eyelashes were long. Really long. The way his cheek was squished against the pillow, the smattering of barely visible freckles across his nose, and the mess of hair that seemed fluffier than usual, made for such a peaceful picture. Like a photo that would win awards for the person who took it. But Keith knew that really, there was no way to manipulate this into happening. He certainly hadn’t. To see a sight this breathtaking, one simply had to be lucky. To capture it on camera just meant that they had been carrying one with them.

There had been a cat living in one of Keith’s foster homes. She had been a small, fluffy thing, but not quite a friendly one. Around seven years old, and she had been on the streets for six of them. That had explained the way she always acted. She only allowed a fraction of the people in that house to even sit next to her. It wasn’t that she disliked any of the people around her; it was that she didn’t trust them. Keith had understood. He liked her. She let him sit next to her while she slept. Her nose would always twitch when she dreamed.

Lance was doing the same thing, his pointy nose wrinkling up, endearing and sweet and Lance . Keith could see his eyebrows twitching and his fingers curling on the blankets around him. He seemed to be reaching out to the other side of his too-small bed. Keith caught a glimpse of a dark spot just barely visible on his neck. A smile tugged at Keith’s lips, then fell.

Lance was beautiful.

Keith turned away to put on his boots.

-

When Thace stopped replying that morning, the Blade members agreed that he must have been captured and found out. That someone else would have to take his place aboard the sharks ship.

Keith understood without having to think. As the only expendable one with Galra blood on board, he would have to go instead. He said so immediately, and tried not to flinch when he heard Lance’s voice protest from behind him. He tried to ignore it, but it didn’t stop. Lance didn’t stop.

Not until Kolivan made him. “This isn’t your concern. Or your choice. The mission is more important.”

It didn’t matter to Keith. It didn’t. He had a duty, an obligation, and there was no question. No other option. It had to be Keith. It had to. He had come to terms with it.

Why couldn’t Lance?

-

He could hear Lance screaming on the other side of his comm, telling him not to do it. Telling him to find a way out of the room. Begging him. Keith’s ears were being loaded with gunfire, if not the sound of his own heartbeat, but he clung desperately to the voice to which he had grown so accustomed.

He turned to look at Thace, working furiously at the security system. He prayed it would be finished soon. His blaster wouldn’t be enough to protect them for much longer.

Thace was turning the room into a bomb, and Keith didn’t expect to be out of it alive.

“I’m sorry,” he said into his comm. Then he turned off the mouthpiece.

He clenched his teeth and fired his gun at the block of crystal above the entrance. With an explosion, huge blocks fell from the ceiling and crashed on the floor. They were inside. The troops were out there. Keith let the weapon drop from his hand.

Lance was yelling on the line, and Keith considered turning that off too. His eyes were starting to prickle, and the room was turning blurry. He couldn’t afford any lost focus.

But he decided to leave it on in his ear. After all, if it was the last thing he heard, he wouldn’t be resentful in the slightest. But eventually Lance stopped trying to reach him, and Keith had to remind himself that this was all for the best.

The door was blocked. He closed his eyes and saw Lance’s. His only exit was gone. He thought of the way Lance’s skin felt. There was no chance of escape now. He tried to recreate the feeling of arms around him. It was okay though, really, he wasn’t planning to leave in the first place. He remembered the tufts that stuck up from Lance’s usually organized hair that morning. Really, it was okay, it was, it was all okay .

“Go.” Keith didn’t register Thace speaking at first, or that he had sunk to his knees. “There’s a main power conduct. It leads to the second deck.” He pointed over the ledge, into what seemed like nothing but darkness. It was right underneath the bomb. “Now.”

Keith looked back at Thace. Then at the pit.

“I won’t leave you. I’m not going to.”

“This is my mission. You have a bigger one.” The urgency in his voice was palpable.

Keith heard yelling on the other side of his comm. He tried to pick out a single voice in the haze, any voice, but it all faded to a buzz in his head as the crystal above them began glowing.

Hunk always seemed like he felt uncomfortable in the castle’s cold temperatures. Come to think of it, he must not be used to it at all. He had never actually lived in a cold environment. Keith would have to talk to Pidge about setting his room’s stasis to different settings.

Pidge. Keith remembered her after one mission, loopy on pain killer meds. She played with his bangs, telling him how much she missed her long hair. She had told him it made her feel more feminine. More passing.

The air became tense, heavy, as if the very molecules were heating and frenzying by the second. Keith knew what would come next. His legs were still frozen.

Before Shiro was taken from the Kerberos mission, he kept a pendant around his neck. It was nothing significant, just a smooth disk of metal with a bolt of lightning on it. He got it at a pawn shop when he was thirteen. But when he got too stressed out, he liked to trace the lines on it with his thumb. He had probably lost it when the Galra took him. They might have to stop by another space mall to get another.

Thace was yelling at him. He could barely hear it - it seemed like nothing more than the buzzing of an insect by his ear.

Lance always liked the ocean. He had told Keith about how after being overwhelmed he would go to the beach and just listen . Listen to the birds calling, the waves moving. He said it grounded him to his spot like nothing else. It reminded him that he was safe. Keith wondered how Lance fared without having that up in space. Probably not well. It was crazy how few ocean-bearing planets the team came across. He would have to suggest to Allura that they take a day of leisure once there was a lull in the action. Lance deserved that much.

The floor shook beneath his feet. Coming back to himself, Keith saw Thace standing, back straight, head lifted to the crystal that was now glaring painfully bright. A crack broke into the tip of it, and began traveling up towards the top. Keith had all of two seconds before it detonated.

You aren’t alone now. Whether you like it or not, you’re kind of stuck with us.

Keith turned and jumped.

The bomb exploded above him, but all he could see was blue.

-

While Keith was free falling, he realized three things:

First of all: he realized that he was thinking about Lance. Lance’s, Lance’s smile, Lance’s spirit. He clung to the memory of Lance trimming his hair, murmuring quietly about the people he loved. Lance, pleasantly tipsy, laughing and raising a bottle to Keith’s stories of recklessness. Lance, running his fingers over the scar on Keith’s shoulder. Lance jumping in front of a bomb for Coran, a man he met just days prior. Lance throwing himself into missions, unwaveringly dedicated to those he was helping. Lance, doing everything he could to hold together the team he so loved, even when it came at his expense. Keith thought about Lance as he fell.

Second: as portrayed by everything Keith knew of Lance, Keith realized that Lance was too good for him. Lance was home and love and trust, the heart of the team both on the fighting ground and off of it. Keith was volatile and isolated and lonely, all by his own doing; he had no real meaning to the team members save for maybe Shiro, and he knew why. He wasn’t anything like Lance. Lance had no reason to want him in his life, nor did he deserve it. This realization was particularly painful, because

Third: Keith realized, just moments later, that his feelings for Lance had somehow become much deeper than he had given them permission to.

-

Lance said nothing as Keith came back with Red. The other paladins allowed themselves cheers and offered small comments of relief. Shiro thanked him. But Lance’s comm yielded nothing but radio silence towards Keith.

The lack of noise was cold, painful. Keith understood completely.

-

Shiro was gone. For the first time in a month, Keith didn’t leave his room that night. He didn’t even leave his bed.

He tried to sleep. Eventually, it worked.

He dreamt of water. It was an odd color - a vivid blue rather than the normal hues of the ocean. It was vibrant, darker than traditional seas, but a bright light seemed to reflect from it, one that Keith recognized. He wished he could place it. A dock of some sort, with the wind blowing the ripples on the surface in slow motion. No skies, just a white background. Even the dock itself was abstract - a mix between textured wood, then cold blue metal, then green-tinted glass, and then back to wood again.

Keith had never been to a beach, much less a dock, and he was positive that none of them looked the way this one did. None of this was familiar.

But… the legs hanging over it. The baggy jeans and white sneakers, swaying slightly to a tune that Keith couldn’t hear. The fingers tapping on the dock absentmindedly. The feeling of home that washed over Keith simply from the mere presence of the person sitting beside him. Those were familiar.

He looked over. Lance blinked back at him. Keith suddenly understood why the color of the water underneath them seemed so familiar. He had been looking into it every night. He said something, but try as Keith did he couldn’t hear Lance’s words. He didn’t need to hear though, not to appreciate the way Lance’s mouth spoke with a small smile. He felt himself saying something back.

Lance threw his head back and laughed.

The curls on Lance’s head were unkempt, similar to the mornings that he doesn’t have the time to tidy them. Keith, without thinking, tried to touch them. His fingers passed through Lance like a hologram.

Lance flickered. Reached a hand to the place Keith’s fingers had passed through, pulled them away and looked at them. They were fuzzy too, now, fading from the landscape.

He lifted his head to look back at Keith, a sad smile playing on his lips.

Keith wanted to yell at him, to beg Lance not to leave him alone, though his voice kept getting caught in the wind.

Lance dissolved, and Keith was alone again. The water seemed a lot less bright.

-

“Training sequence level fourteen.” Keith’s throat was burning, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up without injury. Every breath felt like razors down his throat, and he wasn’t sure if his face was damp with sweat or tears. He didn’t care.

The perks, he mused, of training at this hour, while everyone else was asleep, was that they wouldn’t come to check on him. There wouldn’t be anyone to try to imitate Shiro’s kind but authoritative tone of voice, nobody to tell him that he needed food or rest. Nobody to call him out for isolating himself.

Shiro was the only one who cared enough to do that, and he was gone.

Keith, his faulty replacement, was someone that none of the others on the team were brave enough to confront about any habits he might have. Either that, or they didn’t notice.

The fighter robot materialized in front of him, and he raised his sword, none the wiser to the boy standing in the doorway watching him.

-

Keith was in a box. A glass box, with nothing but a running hose in it. He watched as the water level filled.

The water was still that infuriating familiar blue, the blue that Keith couldn’t seem to pin down. It brought the memory of soft hands, pink cheeks, starlight.

Where was it from?

Where the fuck was it from?

Keith banged on the walls. He screamed, to no avail. He went to reach for his sword - maybe it could make a crack in the glass? Enough of a fissure for him to be able to punch a hole through it. But his bayard wasn’t on his belt. His fingers came up empty.

The water was at his thighs already.

He lifted his head to look out again, and saw Lance on the other side. One hand was on the glass, palm facing Keith. He was in his paladin suit, looking as dishevelled as he had after their defeat of Zarkon. His eyes were intense, burning with the same determination that Keith saw in him during and after battle, and Keith once again realized why he recognized the blue in the water surrounding him.

Up to his waist.

It was warm, Keith noted, much warmer than the situation would deem appropriate. But as the tension in his chest left, his muscles were less sore, and he felt almost as nicely buzzed as he did the night he kissed Lance. The blurriness in his mind made it difficult to find too much fault in his condition. There was no sense in worrying over it now. And with Lance looking at him that way…

Really, it was a good way to die.

His chest, now.

Keith lifted one hand to meet Lance’s. He no longer felt panicked at the quickly rising water level. In the fear’s place was a sense of acceptance, of comfort.

But the feeling of dread seemed to have passed on to Lance. Keith watched as his face became more and more worried, eyes darting around the box. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly and he started talking, though from the looks of it, Keith would describe it more as begging. He moved his hand from Keith’s, curling his hand into a fist and pounding away at the glass. It did nothing.

The water was at his neck, now. He felt the ends of his hair being weighed down, clinging to the back of his head.

Keith didn’t understand why Lance was so upset. He hated seeing the horror on his face, hated it, and he didn’t know how he could put an end to it. How to tell Lance that he was okay, really, he had come to terms with it, he was okay with this .

The water rose to his mouth, his nose, and he tried to memorize the face in front of him. He released the air from his lungs, then inhaled as deep as he could before recoiling back. The water was salty, and it burned. It would be over soon. He focused on Lance’s features, his nose, the small freckles on his cheeks, the perfect curve of his lips…

His lips that were now opened and coughing up water.

Lance was doubling over, the same water surrounding Keith pouring from his mouth. Keith barely remembered the look of abject terror in Lance’s eyes, surely reflected in Keith’s own, before everything dissolved again.

-

Keith woke up, alone, panting, in his room, with a shout of Lance’s name on his lips.

-

Keith wouldn’t go to sleep the next night. He could deal with crankiness; everyone on the team was walking around him on eggshells since losing Shiro. Another few nights without sleep wouldn’t be unbearable for him, and if they were, then he’d deal with it later.

The first night was the worst. He had no idea how to spend the extra few hours he usually saved. The fatigue pricked at his eyes, but even more relentless was the boredom. The feeling of not doing enough, the frenzied distress that always came along with wasting time.

Keith tried to train. He was good at that; pushing himself physically so that he would never need to deal with himself emotionally had been a habit of his for as long as he could remember. At foster homes, he would get into fights when he was feeling particularly despairing - picking them out if they didn’t find him first. At the Garrison he spend all of his time studying or training in the simulators.

Funny. That was before he lost Shiro the first time. Keith decapitated the robot and immediately called for the next.

This one he fought with extra vengeance. He imagined it to be a bit thinner, smaller, and pretended it was Haggar. The actions of killing something with her face on it made him feel slightly better. Made him feel as though he was actually doing fuck to help find Shiro.

Or avenge his death .

The thought flitted through his head without warning, and he faltered. It was only for a moment, but the simulation was on him in seconds. A sword was at his throat. It held that position for a few seconds, then straightened up and dematerialized. Keith could almost convince himself that he didn’t still feel the cold blade pressed against his neck. He sat back and sulked at the floor.

The speaker was asking him if he wanted to try again. He didn’t answer. It turned off eventually, it must have, but Keith didn’t remember it happening when he was there. He didn’t even remember making the decision to leave the gym.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, arms and chest aching, he begrudgingly realized that, if he was giving himself no time to sleep, then the muscles he damaged wouldn’t have any time to heal. He would have to lay off of physically exerting himself until he could find a better way to pass the time. Having to abandon his go-to solution left an unsettled feeling nestled in the pit of his stomach.

He spent the rest of the night in the hangars, sitting on Black’s paw.

-

He continued spending time with the Black Lion at night. It was good for strengthening their bond, he supposed. His head was swimming in thoughts, usually of Lance, and that was something she could understand. Missing someone.

Often, when he was able to feel her mood dropping, he would try to project memories to her of his time with Shiro. She seemed to particularly like the ones of him as a teacher at the Garrison, Keith noticed; she purred whenever she saw him with students, smiling and encouraging them after flight simulators, or reprimanding those getting into fights, or helping students in class. She liked watching him being a leader, Keith realized.

The knowledge that he would never be the leader that Voltron deserved was disheartening, to say the least. Had Keith not had so many other things on his mind, he would be tempted to throw a pity party with Black. Her, wishing she had a competent paladin. Him, wishing he was one. But most of all, both, wishing for Shiro to come back.

But he was too tired to spend time wallowing. He was too tired to do much of anything, really. It was a good thing that the next few days were scheduled to be diplomatic missions and nothing to do with the Galra. He didn’t expect to have the energy to fight.

Black had caught a whiff of those thoughts once or twice, and made her disapproval clear. She would give him small huffs (small to her proportions, at least - it was still big enough to make Keith jump) whenever he let those thoughts get loud enough for her to hear. He knew she wanted him to sleep, and felt bad to be letting her down.

Keith liked the Black Lion, though he knew that he wouldn’t ever be up to the standard she deserved to have. He reminded her of how a mother acted; she was stern, and had the universal disappointed face without even having facial capacity for emotions. But at the same time she was affectionate, protective, and understanding She was like Shiro, Keith realized. The thought made his chest ache.

He hoped she would soon be able to think the same of him.

-

As the nights dragged on, one after the other, Keith was finally starting to feel the effects. His eyes felt heavy, and the pounding in his head was no longer ignorable. Allura could definitely tell that something was off, and Keith had no doubt that the rest of the team could too. Hunk was wary, the least shrouded in his apprehension. Maybe he had noticed the way Keith’s hand would fly to his temple whenever the volume got too high, because he seemed to avoid talking loudly when the group was together. Even in Keith’s exhausted state, he saw the difference during mealtimes. Nobody seemed to have the ease that Hunk’s presence usually brought.

Pidge was less obvious with the shift in her demeanor, but Keith wasn’t blind. He saw the way she shortened her words; in fact, it almost seemed uncomfortable to her. The team was used to her big vocabulary. Most of the time it was hard to follow, but the passion and interest she put into it wasn’t hard to read. It was just a part of her dynamic. Keith wished she wouldn’t dumb herself down to make him more relaxed.

Perhaps the only person who hadn’t changed in his actions was Coran, which Keith considered both a blessing and a curse. He had to admit, it was nice to have one person on the ship refrain from treating him like glass, but on the other hand, did he really need to be hearing so much about the mating cycles of Altean grovenacs and their self-lubricating outer shells?

Lance barely interacted with him, period. That might have been the most painful of all. Keith wished he could have just chalked it up to being for the best and moved on, but the sight of Lance’s head turned away from him (on the rare occasion that they were forced to share the same space) tormented Keith during his sleepless nights.

Eventually, after barely being able to form Voltron while saving a smaller planet from their still-functioning Galra leaders, Allura confronted Keith.

“Keith. I don’t mean to pry, and I understand you have been through a great deal of stress, but your leadership is vital.” Keith had clenched his jaw and nodded. Allura continued. “You are physically unwell. I can not always fully understand your human systems, but I’ve spoken to Coran and-”

“No need, Allura. Really,” Keith spoke over her. She looked ready to argue, so he added, “I just haven’t been sleeping well, since. You know.”

Since Shiro.

It was a half truth. It just wasn’t the full thing.

By some miracle, Allura eased off of him, her face going from stern to understanding. Keith wondered if Alteans had nightmares.

“Of course. I apologize if I seemed… if I seemed to be criticizing you. I understand.” Her next words were quiet. “I miss him too.” She looked downwards, and Keith felt like shit for bringing Shiro up. She looked so sad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Nonsense.” She lifted her head and Keith was shocked at the change in her eyes. She went from being scared and lonely, to looking like a monarch again. If it was that easy for her to put on the her mask, Keith wondered, then how much practice had she had? How often was she wearing it?

“I’ll speak to Coran about a medication you can take. It should be safe for your ingestion, but if you’re worried about that we could stop by a planet specializing in apothecaries. It would only take a quintant or so, and-”

“I’ll just take the pills,” he said hastily. “Thanks.”

-

The pills didn’t leave their jar stowed underneath Keith’s bed. He considered throwing them away, then decided against it. They were probably expensive.

-

Two days after that the team received a call from the Blade of Marmora. They had found Shiro in an escape pod, badly injured, dehydrated, and near death. The Blade had been doing their best to help him, but it  soon became terrifyingly obvious that without the castleship’s technology, Shiro wouldn’t live through the hour.

When he was brought onto the ship after a frantic wormhole, Keith could barely look at him. His face was disturbingly gaunt, with dried blood matting down some of the tangled white hair in front of his face.

Keith was sharply aware of the others as they rushed Shiro to the healing room. He could feel their eyes, even Lance’s, scanning his face worriedly. Looking to see if they needed to comfort him, or stay around him that night to prevent him from doing anything reckless.

He clenched his jaw and kept his face stony.

The beeping of Shiro’s heart monitor was at least somewhat comforting to him, though - proof that it was, in fact, beating.

Keith spent the night outside of Shiro’s healing pod. It was easier to do that than spend it in his room again, or sitting on the black lion - she always seemed to know more about him than he was ready to deal with. And there was the knowledge that if she asked about Shiro, he wouldn’t be able to stop her from seeing the damage.

It was almost funny - he had thought that with Shiro’s return, then things would be better. And they were, really, there was a big weight taken off of his shoulders with the knowledge that his friend was alive and healing.

But there was still an overwhelming sense of loss in his chest, of regret, and Shiro did nothing to ease his pounding head and heavy eyelids. God, if he could just fucking go to sleep without dreaming of Lance every goddamn night-

He needed to resolve things with Lance. Now that Shiro was back, he would have no excuse for being this way. He wouldn’t be able to pass it off to Allura as mourning any longer, and she would soon start wondering why the pills weren’t having an effect on him.

But he didn’t just need to resolve things. He wanted to. He wanted back what he had with Lance, or really, anything he could get.

But Keith knew that settling wouldn’t be enough, and that scared him more than any rejection. He wanted more than that. He wanted to be able to touch Lance’s hair, to hold his hand, to sit by him during meals and bug him about eating with his mouth full. He wanted Lance to call him stupid pet names, to laugh when Keith stood on his toes as they kissed, to tap his fingers on Keith’s back at night without realizing it.

He didn’t just want anything, he wanted everything , and that was exactly the problem. For he knew with more certainty than anything that he didn’t deserve any of it.

He didn’t deserve Lance. Which was good. It was. It had to be. Between that and the fact that Lance was done with him, the fact that Lance probably never wanted it to be more than a fling, Keith would eventually be forced to come to terms with their new relationship.

When Keith had run away from the Garrison, living in isolation was the only option. The silence at night he learned to take comfort in, and the solitude he tried to find strength in. But the lack of Lance’s voice was no longer comforting. And, though Keith was certainly alone now, he had never felt less strong.

-

Keith dozed off once or twice near the earlier hours. After jolting awake for the third time, he saw a plate of odd looking roots and what resembled some large red eggs next to him.

He felt a surge of gratitude towards Hunk. He imagined him creeping into the medical bay quietly as he could and setting down a plate of breakfast. He didn’t deserve that level of care.

As he ate, he tried to absorb whatever energy his few minutes of sleeping had brought him. It didn’t work very well, but what did he care? At least he hadn’t been asleep long enough to have any dreams.

The not-eggs were nice. Still warm. The roots tasted like carrots.  

-

In theory, Keith could have stayed in the medical wing all day. He was more than willing to avoid seeing people concerned, feeling pity that he didn’t want. Those interactions, in his experience, ended with hurt eyes and sharp words that he didn’t mean.

Some leader he was.

He knew Shiro would have already been in the lounge, making sure that people knew what was happening and keeping them calm. Keith was just hiding away from them, feeling bad for himself because he went and got his feelings hurt.

Keith was not Shiro. But they needed him to be, and he needed to be someone other than himself.

He stood up and left the room.

As soon as he was out in the hallway, he missed the beeping of Shiro’s monitor. It was a signifier that his friend was going to be okay, and unique enough to the healing pods that they represented a somber mood. One where people didn’t talk. One where Keith was allowed to not say much without seeming rude or unfriendly. One where he didn’t have to worry about his lack of skills hurting someone.

Of course, he couldn’t spend his life in a healing pod (no matter how much he’d like to get sleep), and if he closed himself off even more then he might as well be.

“Keith!” Allura was talking to him before he even entered the lounge. “How are you? How is Shiro doing?”

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were all sitting on the couches with their own interests; Lance had a book in his hands, with the cover being some kind of picture that moved so quickly Keith didn’t even try to read it, Hunk was attempting to fix a piece of equipment that had broken on the Yellow Lion, and Pidge was entertaining herself with a handheld puzzle she had bought on a friendly planet the week prior.

All three of their heads shot up at the sound of Keith’s name.

“Um.” Keith’s mouth felt dry. When was the last time he drank something? Surely there had been some water in the medical wing. Right? “Shiro’s looking a lot better.” What was he even supposed to say? “His heartbeat is steady.”

“And how are you, dude?” Hunk asked. “I mean, not to be rude, but you’ve looked really out of it lately. Are you okay?”

Keith kept his eyes away from Lance. Lance would be able to tell if he lied. “Yeah. I’m feeling great.”

He didn’t notice Lance looking away.

-

There was a knock on Keith’s door just minutes after he stepped out of the shower. His mind immediately went to Shiro. Was he waking? He couldn’t possibly be healed that quickly.

He slammed his hand on the button. The door opened to reveal Hunk and Pidge on the other side, and he tried to hide the disappointment on his face. Stupid . He wasn’t really expecting Shiro to be out of the pod after less than a day, was he?

“Don’t look so happy to see us, Keith,” Pidge deadpanned. Fuck.

Hunk nudged her (Keith was surprised that his elbow was even able to reach low enough, honestly), and whispered, “Pidge!”

That almost made Keith smile. Hunk turned back to him and offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Can we come in?” His voice, as usual, was warm and friendly, but this was more assertive than normal.

Keith stepped out of the doorway as an answer, giving them space to walk in. They did.

“He probably knows why we’re here,” Pidge said, “and if you genuinely don’t then you’ve seriously underestimated both us and Lance.” Keith felt his chest constrict a little bit. He fought the fight-or-flight instinct he could feel rising in his stomach, the go-to defense mechanism of lashing out and running.

They weren’t enemies. They were his friends. He didn’t need to run.

“Yeah.” He said finally. “Yeah, I know.”

Hunk crossed his arms. Pidge raised her eyebrow and frowned.

“Yeah? That’s all you have to say? Yeah ?” Keith felt his muscles twitching. “Keith, I hope you know we aren’t letting you off that easy.” His legs felt like they were buzzing, itching, begging his mind to let them run, to run away, to get the fuck out of there before he got-

“Pidge, we aren’t enemies, here,” Hunk said, looking disgruntled. Keith wanted to kiss the floor at his feet. “Let’s try to ease into this, okay Keith? Not everyone can say things as easily as Pidge is able to.” He could hear the blood in his ears slowing back down, his head felt less light. He wondered if Hunk could tell. He seemed to be pretty good at reading people. “Tell us what’s going on, man.”

Keith huffed out a laugh. His shoulders shrugged without his permission, and there was an ugly sinking sensation in the center of his chest that felt too hollow for his liking. “What do you want to know?”

“First of all, why you hate Lance so much.”

“What?”

“I mean, after the battle, and, well, and Shiro , and man, you really just stopped talking to him. I mean, you wouldn’t even look at him, and maybe you thought you were being subtle, but dude,” Hunk gave him a sheepish look, “you’re about as subtle as a hippopotamus when there’s something up with you. We aren’t attacking you here, but um, Lance is our friend. And you’re our friend. And we wanna know why you’re mad at him.” Pidge was still standing at Hunk’s side, saying nothing, just looking over Keith with an unsettling gaze.

Keith couldn’t move his face. Couldn’t inhale. “I’m not mad at him.”

“Then what is going on between you?” Pidge asked, her eyes narrowing. Keith felt like he was being led into something - Pidge didn’t look like she was trying to piece it together, she looked like she knew the answer and was trying to get it out of Keith. He had no idea what it was, though. “Why are you acting that way if you’re not mad? What changed over the night before our attack? That morning you two were getting along great.”

“Better than great,” Hunk chimed in. “I don’t think I’d ever seen you laugh until then. And I obviously haven’t since.” Keith’s face felt hot. “Man, what happened?”

Keith opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “We had sex. That night.”

He wasn’t sure what reactions he was expecting, but he was expecting one. When Pidge just nodded her head, like it should have been the most obvious thing in the world, and Hunk didn’t even blink, his head went blank. “You aren’t acting very surprised.”

“Keith,” Pidge sighed, pushing her glasses higher onto her nose, “Lance told us about that the morning after it happened. We’re his friends, and he trusts us. And you should have seen his face. I don’t think he would have been able to keep it from us if he tried.” She levelled her gaze onto Keith again. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, making it feel overloaded. Crowded. He could barely hear her voice when she next spoke. “He was really happy. And we were happy for him.”

“Yeah, man,” Hunk said. Keith could throw up. “And now, we aren’t. Because obviously he’s not happy anymore.”

He felt as though the floor below him was dipping, like the ship was unexpectedly wormholing through entire galaxies and he had forgotten to sit down beforehand. “I-” he started to say something, but realized that he would hardly be able to form a sentence. His stomach was churning. His tongue felt like stone in his mouth and his head was buzzing. He had to fight, he had to run, he had to do something .

Fight. Run. Escape .

“So if you could spare us the details, we want to know why.” Escape escape escape escape escape . Keith couldn’t breathe.

“Pidge...” Hunk must have seen the look on Keith’s face, but his interruption did nothing.

“Did it mean anything to you? The time you spent together? Did it mean anything at all?” Please, please, please stop, please stop, please stop-

“Woah, Pidge, calm-”

“Because he’s convinced it didn’t. Convinced it was just a distraction. He was just a distraction.” Her voice was getting louder. Keith could barely hear it.

“Seriously, Pidge, could you chill out for-”

“You used him as a fling, didn’t you?” She shouted, and he felt his heart drop. “Didn’t you?”

When Keith was a student in the Garrison, he ran. Ran from teachers that might catch him sneaking into the training room. Ran from other kids that had decided they’d grown tired of his attitude. Ran from the auditorium after seeing Shiro’s face on the screen announcing his death. Ran from the faces that all turned to him in pity.

Ran from the Garrison too, soon enough.

Keith could feel the muscles in his legs, buzzing, because all he wanted to do then was run. He was good at running. He could run away and leave them to hate him - but then again, they were probably only looking for a reason to.

But looking at Pidge’s face, inches from him and snarling like a dog trying to protect a child, he couldn’t find it in himself to walk away. Instead, he sat down on the bed and looked at the floor.

“Keith?” Hunk’s voice, a beacon in Keith’s jumbled mind. His breathing slowed - he hadn’t even realized that it had gotten so fast in the first place. “Keith, buddy. It’s okay.” He lifted his head, surprised at how heavy it suddenly felt. “Talk to us.”

“I think I love him,” he whispered, sounding pathetic to even his own ears. “I think I love him, Hunk.” Through peripheral vision, he saw Pidge’s face go from furious to surprised, surprised to pitying, pitying to guilty. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed at the attention he was getting from the two; he was drained, completely and thoroughly. No longer was his head spinning. He was just tired. “I loved him, and I ruined it. He hasn’t spoken to me since the battle, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s mad at me, or he just. Decided that I wasn’t worth the trouble. It’s my own fault for getting my hopes up.”

And Keith knew it was true. It was his fault entirely. He knew Lance was too good for him - he had known that for a while. Not soon enough. He shouldn’t have been surprised that eventually, Lance would see it too.

Why bother trying to hang on? Why hurt himself more?

That was a useless question, though; he knew the answer as soon as he asked himself. It was the same reason he spent a night next to Lance’s healing pod when he was comatose. The same reason he always indulged Lance in their meaningless competitions even if it put them in a bit of danger.

Because the way he felt about Lance put excitement into his life. Lance gave his life color, texture, feeling.

He liked it. He didn’t want that to end.

“Keith, I’m… really sorry,” Pidge said, breaking the silence. “I’m really sorry. I’m. I’m so sorry.” Keith didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t think she needed to apologize.

“Um. It’s okay?” She looked at him, and her face was distraught. “It’s not your fault, Pidge. This one is on me.” He meant it, he really wasn’t mad at her - she was trying to protect Lance for the same reason that Keith was avoiding him. Because she cared about him.

Keith understood that much.

“I didn’t think. I just took what Lance said and made my own conclusion, I should have tried to be unbiased, I should have used my damn head , I should have been a-”” She stopped. Tried again. “I should have been a better friend, Keith.”

It shocked Keith to hear that word coming out of her mouth. Friend? They weren’t supposed to be friends. Lance was their friend. Lance was good at having friends. Lance didn’t hurt people who cared about him.

Keith was bad with friends. He didn’t know how to be casual with people, how to comfort them when they were hurting or accept their help when he was the one in pain. He didn’t know how to stop Pidge from looking at him with those sad, sad eyes.

Lance would be better in this situation. Lance... Lance would help her feel better.

He cautiously opened his arms out to her, and breathed a sigh of relief when, rather than rejecting him, Pidge threw herself into them. He felt her lean into his shoulder, wrapping her tiny arms around him and squeezing.

It felt… nice. Safe.

“You know you’re gonna have to talk to him about this, Keith,” Hunk said after they pulled apart. “You two need to work things out. One on one. No offense, man, but neither of you are functional to get over any of it on your own.”

Keith agreed with him completely. But first, he needed to sleep.

-

Fate was conceptually flawed.

It made Keith’s head spin. It all went in circles; there was no end to it, no sense, and it was better to force it out of his head until he was awake at night with nothing to do but think.

And he did. Especially in the castle, where he was actively avoiding sleep, and in the midst of the most frustratingly fitting example of fate being bullshit.

The Lions had spent thousands upon thousands of years waiting for the five beings that suited them perfectly. The very concept made Keith’s head spin. The fact that, if a single detail of his life had happened differently then the entire plan would be obstructed, was nearly impossible to fathom.

With the amount of destruction and pain he saw on Earth, one who believed in fate, a higher power of some sort, a Big Purpose, was only hurting themselves. Keith could never have thought, while sitting in a crowded orphanage, that someone put him in there for the best. Had someone told him that his father’s death was for a Big Purpose, Keith would have broken their nose. He couldn’t have heard of the Kerberos failure and thought that it was a vital part of some God’s plan.

Big Purpose be damned. Keith didn’t want to know a single thing about it, including whether or not it existed. He didn’t care about what heaven and hell planned on him doing; he wouldn’t give them a damn ounce of credit.

But the second he saw the Blue Lion, with his own eyes, and saw its barrier open for the only being in all the galaxy that could ever activate it, he realized that Lance was supposed to be there. It was fate, and that Keith couldn’t deny.

And he hated that. He hated that Lance was the one to find and access the lion when Keith had spent a year in isolation trying to do it himself. He hated that Lance was only even there because he saw Keith’s hair the night before and decided to crash his rescue of Shiro. He hated that had Lance not been looking out from the roof in that particular moment, he wouldn’t even be there. And most of all, he hated the fact that neither would Keith.

Lance was the reason Keith was out in space, defending people from harm. Lance was the reason that Keith wasn’t still sitting, frustrated, in that tiny desert shack.

Lance was the reason that Keith finally understood his Big Purpose.

Keith knew, though the Red Lion had spent so much time waiting for him only, that Lance was worthy of piloting her. She was a stubborn lion, the most temperamental one, and had barely accepted Keith as her paladin. She needed a strong paladin, one with a dedication unparalleled in any other team member, a smart head on sturdy shoulders. She got one. Then, she got another one.  

And she loved him. Keith could feel it in the residual bond between them. Sometimes, when Black was elsewhere, he would open the connection. Ask her about how she was doing. He could feel her pride radiating from when she gave the same answer every time: My paladin is strong. You are strong too. Both worthy.

With such a divergence between the two lions, and the two paladins, Keith wondered how Lance did it. How he managed to keep them both so happy, how he continued to excel in such wildly different areas.

Lance was versatile. That’s what Keith had learned from this. Not just from the problems with the lions, but from the entire venture into space, the entire time fighting to help the galaxy. Throughout everything. Lance would bend himself however he could to help the team. And it wasn’t quite that he was quick to yield, either; he was one of the most determined and stubborn people that Keith had ever met. And that was a part of it too - he was determined to protect those he cared about. Stubborn over what was important to him, and that was exactly what the team was to him: important.

Keith remembered near the start of their journey, how often he had belittled for his easygoing attitude. His way of making humor and charisma seem effortless even in the most stressful situations. He had passed it off as Lance not taking things seriously, or simply not caring enough to give his all, but now he realized that it was always the opposite.

Lance was giving his all the entire time, because he did care. He cared enough to dive in front of a man he’d known for two days to save him from a detonating bomb. He cared enough to run from hostile Garrison agents to save Shiro when there was nothing in it for him - when his friends wanted to go back and keep their heads down.

And the humor he used to hide that. Keith didn’t know how it never crossed his mind, after everything, that Lance was scared. He joked during missions because he knew they could die, and it terrified him. He denied remembering the bonding moment because he was scared of letting go of the rivalry, because he was scared of losing the only constant that he’d had since leaving Earth.

Maybe Lance McClain wasn’t such a riddle, Keith thought as he finally allowed himself to close his eyes and fall into the first sleep he’d had all week. Maybe Lance McClain was hiding, just like Keith.

-

Dinner that night was a small affair. Keith contemplated not going - after all, he had been skipping most of the group meals a lot recently, nobody would think anything of it - but decided against it. He knew that Hunk and Pidge would be looking to see him.

But more pressing - he wanted to see Lance. Hopefully Lance would be there. He wanted to be able to look at him clearly, without the lack of sleep making his vision blurry. He wanted to prove to himself that he was able to do this - if nothing else, it would be a stepping stone, a test, building him up to initiating a bigger interaction between them. Hopefully that would be sooner rather than later.

It was the first group meeting that Keith was actively paying attention to Lance, rather than avoiding his gaze, since the battle. Before that, he’d never even thought about it. He had so easily grown accustomed to Lance’s presence. Even when the two weren’t on speaking terms, Keith didn’t miss the way Lance affected a room.

Lance’s presence was a comfortable one to adhere to. Keith’s mind eventually learned that the tapping of his fingers, on any surface available to him, was a part of being in Lance’s company. HIs incessant flirting with or any carbon-based organism (and some that weren’t) was just a method of putting himself at ease. His recreational competitive attitude was just that: recreational. Something he found to be fun, which, Keith had later discovered, wasn’t entirely incorrect.

It was easy enough to adapt to Lance, and with his quirks. It didn’t take long for Keith to adjust to them, and to realize that, really, they weren’t such bad things to get used to. Sometimes  he had even found himself wishing for the strum of Lance’s fingers to fill the unbearable and suffocating silence of his room.

At dinner, Lance’s fingers weren’t tapping. Keith longed for his amiable chatter that he’d grown so used to. But Lance seemed most invested in his food, and even that didn’t seem to hold his interest. His eyes were trained on the table in front of him, and his mouth was still save for the occasional bite of goo.

Not for the first time Keith is struck by the realization that without Lance, the team would fall to pieces. There would be no game nights, no food fights, no relief from the suffocating stress coming from their battles. They would have dissolved months ago.

The tension, no matter how personal, was affecting the team. Keith couldn’t fix the underlying issue quite yet - he wasn’t prepared, and he knew Lance wasn’t either. They would both self destruct if they tried to address it so quickly, without some kind of escape from the war.

Keith cleared his throat. The sound made everyone look up. “We’ve killed Zarkon. The Galra are confused and disorganized. And we’re all stressed out. I think that we’ve earned some time to relax, and with all the planets we’ve freed so far, our options are open.” He pretended to think for a second, then suggested the name of the planet he’d remembered for its waters. “There’s that one from a few weeks ago. What was it? Prigdia?” He turned to Allura, hoping that she wouldn’t disagree. By some miracle, she seemed to be considering it.

“Hm. Well, you aren’t wrong. I think that all of us could use some relaxation. And the Prigdians did tell us to visit whenever we could-” she smiled dryly “-though personally I think they just wanted an excuse to show us their planet after it’s recovered a bit. It used to be such a paradise.” She sighed, a genuine grin replacing any sarcasm. “I think that would be a wonderful idea, Keith.”

He exhaled, smiled at her with only a little awkwardness, and returned to his food. He didn’t know if he had imagined Lance looking at him with a look of perplexion. He didn’t dare look up to check.

-

Prigdia was warm, sunny, and perfect for Lance. Keith inhaled and exhaled the questionable but safe air - it was, according to Coran, an abundance of concentrated nitrogen in the air that gave it its pale blue tinge - and let his shoulders drop.

Technically, he hadn’t even stepped foot on the planet yet. He was on the top of the castleship, looking out at the water splashing on the beach - at least that’s what it most closely resembled. Technically it wasn’t a beach, and the sea didn’t have salt in it; Coran had listed off everything in the water after telling them not to drink it - apparently it would expand in their stomachs and kill them painfully if ingested in bulk.

Really, it was a beautiful planet. In the short time since it’s liberation, it already looked to be thriving. The Prigdians - short, funny little creatures - had certainly done wonders in restoring it. Already the skies looked bluer and the plant life was swaying from side to side (because apparently, that’s what Prigdian plants did when they were happy and healthy. Keith would be staying off the grass).

Pidge was already off looking at the remnants of Galra tech that had been salvaged. She’d told Keith she was going to try to repurpose some more drones the way she had with Rover. Hunk was presumably on the beach, napping in the sun - at least, that’s what he had been talking excitedly about in the days leading up to their trip. Keith hoped it would be warm enough to remind him of home.

He didn’t know where Allura was. His guess was that she was helping Shiro get accustomed to being out of the healing pod. Last he saw the two of them, she was giving him hearty portions of food-goo and he was trying to weasel away from the heaping plate before him.

With Shiro back, Keith felt more at ease. More comfortable. It was another part of his life becoming steady again, another piece being slid back into place.

Only one left to go.

“A beach, huh?” There it was. The voice that he’s missed so much. The confrontation he’d been expecting, dreading, anticipating. “This planet is ninety seven percent water,” Lance continued. Keith swallowed.

“I know.”

“I grew up on a beach. Did you know that ?”

“Yeah. Cuba,” Keith said without thinking, then realized how it must be strange for him to remember that. “Hunk told me, when you were in a pod,” he hastily added. “We talked.”

He wished he could sink into the metal roof of the ship and never emerge.

“Hm.” Lance’s eyes bore into Keith’s face, and now more than ever Keith wished he had the courage to look into them. His throat felt dry, and the air was too static between them. Please say something . “What else did he tell you?”

Keith took a breath in, as if that would make his heart calmer. “That you didn’t hate me.”

Lance scoffed quietly. “Yeah.”

Something about the planet seemed to absorb sound more than what Keith was used to. It was likely a reason for the inhabitants’ atypical sense of hearing; they had always seemed to flinch when things were too loud. Keith felt that he might, also - the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end and he was sure that any remotely powerful voice would knock him over.

Fortunately (for Keith’s heart rate, at least), Lance didn’t seem to be in a very talkative mood. He just sat down, next to Keith, and rested his head on his hand. Keith didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but due to this (and the fact that Lance’s hair had undergone growth since they had left the Garrison; he didn’t trust anybody near his hair with scissors and had yelped when someone even suggested they trim it), his face was almost completely shrouded from view.

The sky, albeit distorted from the planet’s oddly colored air and strange atmosphere, was full of stars. Keith wasn’t sure why they were so clear during the daytime. It just went to show, he supposed, how odd planets were when held to an Earth-like comparison.

The stars were beautiful, though.

“Was he wrong?” His voice sounded wrong against the near silence between them, and Keith flinched almost immediately after letting the words out of his mouth. He stole a glance to his side and saw that Lance’s face was still covered. He looked back down

“It depends.”

It depends. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Thankfully Keith didn’t have enough time to get out his bayard and stab himself with it, because Lance kept talking after taking a few minutes to seemingly get his words in order. “If he had been talking about the present, about if I hated you right then, when we were on the ship and meeting at night to watch the stars, then no. I didn’t hate you then. If he had meant that I didn’t hate you when we first met, then yeah. He would have been wrong.”

Keith was ready to accept that as both an answer, and as the most words Lance had spoken to him in weeks. But after a few seconds, Lance huffed.

“That’s a lie. He wouldn’t have been wrong.” Keith’s head swung to look at him, so vigorous that he felt his hair whip against him. “Not even back then. I didn’t hate you. Not even when I wanted to.” Lance’s voice was quiet and Keith’s head was spinning, but for the first time in weeks, it was in a good way. “Not at the start, not when we saved Shiro, and not when I was in the healing pod. I didn’t hate you.” Hearing Lance talk was intoxicating, healing, like the taste of food after days without eating. Keith could feel his hunger pains subsiding.

“And now?”

“Keith.”  Lance sighed, finally turning around to look Keith in the eyes. if you’re seriously asking me that after I came up to the roof to look at the stars with you, then I was robbed of being the top in our class.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Keith took a moment to mull over Lance’s words. He almost missed the insult hidden in them. Almost. “Oh, fuck you.”

Lance laughed. What a beautiful sound to hear.

“Hunk and Pidge said I should talk to you. And I’m going to. But first, would you like to swim with me? I’ve been dying since we landed.” Keith felt his chest swell with joy, with hope. With love.

“Yeah. Lets go swim.”

“Bet I can beat you to that buoy.”

-

Lance did, in fact, beat Keith to the buoy. By at least ten seconds.

“What?” He asked Lance, who was absolutely cackling as they both gripped the handles on the side of it. “I lived in orphanages in Texas, Lance. In Texas. Do you have any idea how far away the beaches were?”

Lance still wouldn’t stop giggling. “You looked like a pelican, oh my god, Keith. Oh my god.” Keith scowled, but in truth, he hadn’t been this happy in what seemed like years.  “Not trying to be a dick, Keith, I swear I’m not, I just.” He dissolved into laughter again, and it was at least ten seconds before regaining his voice again. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun in a race. Ever.”

Keith tried not to blush, but he could feel his cheeks getting pinker by the second. He couldn’t help it - not when Lance was looking at him so happily. Not when Keith was just a few feet away from him, able to see the water clumping his eyelashes and running down his neck. Not when Lance’s eyes were bluer than the water he was surrounded by.

Keith tried to divert his attention. “I don’t know how you’ve stayed good at it. We’ve been in space for almost half a year. The only time we’ve even tried, we almost got killed by the elevator.”

“Speak for yourself, man,” Lance said, waving a hand and scoffing. “I went back there the next day.”

“Huh.” Keith wondered if it had helped him sleep easier, exercising before bed. Physically, it must have. Tired muscles meant that they needed to heal, and they only healed during sleep, so that’s what the body did. Keith voiced his question.

“I don’t know, man,” Lance said, shaking his head. The smile was still on his face, but less pronounced. “I fell asleep quicker, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So that’s a no, right?”

“I mean, I dream most nights, you know? Exercise or not. And dreaming is what I have problems with.” He looked at Keith with a wry grin. “Not falling asleep, like your weirdo Galran cycle.”

Keith huffed and used his hand to splash a small wave of water at Lance, who was laughing obnoxiously again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chortled, obviously not sorry in the slightest. It was okay, though, because Keith wasn’t mad. “But they weren’t all bad, you know? Some dreams… some were really good. So I couldn’t judge based on whether or not I slept.” He ran a hand through his hair, not laughing anymore, but not upset either. Just serene. “Sometimes I dream that I’m back at this ice cream shop in Havana. Their pistachio stuff was the shit.”

“Shiro always made fun of me for liking pistachio ice cream,” Keith added, for no reason at all other than to keep Lance’s voice in his ears. “Called me a grandma, even though he was the one who liked that lemon sherbert bullshit.”

Lance frowned. “Shiro and I are gonna have some words, then.” Keith smirked imagining it. A 26-year-old, over six feet, cowering under Lance’s anger regarding an ice cream flavor. “I had never thought you the type, though. You don’t look like the kind of guy with good taste.”

Keith splashed him with more water, and Lance splashed him back.

“What else did you dream about?” he asked, unable to staunch his overflowing curiosity, and his need to learn even more about Lance than he already did. When Lance raised an eyebrow, Keith rolled his eyes. “What? You obviously haven’t spent five years dreaming about ice cream.”

“Excuse you,” Lance said, “but you’re seriously underestimating me.” He relaxed, though. “But you’re right, I guess. Oh, I dreamt about Rihanna. Often. Sometimes they were good dreams. A few times I got to train with her in a flight simulator.” He scratched the back of his neck. “She was really good at flying, too. What the hell.” Keith tried to smother a grin. Tried. “But other times, she would be performing at my local pool and I would be locked outside after forgetting my family’s entry code. Rough times.”

“You know, I always thought you were more of a Beyoncé person,” Keith mused.

“Don’t you dare try to pit the two against each other,” Lance said with a pointed glare. “They’re both deities.”

This made Keith laugh - a great, big, howling laugh that he didn’t know he was capable of. It felt too big for his chest. Lance seemed to notice, but instead of poking fun of it, he just smiled and looked back at the water.

“But other times, most times, I’m just dreaming about my family. Helping my mom with the dishes. Finding shark teeth on the beach with my older sister, Veronica. Those are good nights.” Keith didn’t know how to respond to it without messing it up. Lance was being open with him, being genuine, and missing his family.

Keith had spent most of his life dealing with people who missed their family. He missed his family. When it was just a state of living, a constant emotion, one grew accustomed to it. Nobody in his foster homes ever had to comfort the others, because every kid knew they all felt that way, and would for the rest of their lives. It was something none of them were new to.

But this was new to Lance. Keith put his free hand on Lance’s and they held tight to the buoy together. “They would be so proud of you, Lance," he whispered, “God, they would be so proud. They will be so proud. You’ll see them again. Luis is going to grow up with a damn defender of the universe protecting him. He’ll grow up with a hero for a big brother, brag about you to everyone.” Lance let out a small laugh - he’d talked to Keith at length about his older brother being a shameless showoff - but his face was tilted down and Keith couldn’t see it. So he kept talking. “And knowing you, you’ll boast about it all to Veronica, telling her about how cool it was, and she’ll try to be jealous but she won’t be able to. None of them will.” His throat felt hoarse. “Because you’ll make them all so proud, Lance.”

When he looked back up, Lance’s expression was unreadable. But the intensity in his eyes was burning into Keith’s, stripping the rest of the planet away and encasing him in ice. He couldn’t break away from it if he wanted to.

“What do you dream about, Keith?” Lance asked.

Keith felt as though, if he moved too quickly, it would all vanish. He would wake up in his bed, cold, lonely, empty. Longing for the arms of a boy who wouldn’t speak to him. This moment itself might just be another dream of his.

But if it was, he was tired of staying awake.

“You,” he breathed.

Lance closed the distance between them, and they kissed while swaying in the ocean’s tides, clinging to each other like life rafts in a storm. Keith no longer feared drowning.

-

They didn’t run into anybody on their way back to the castle. It made sense that the other members would be busy; that was their first promise of leisure in months. Keith was glad, in a way, that they weren’t seen - he both believed in and feared a god when thinking about Coran’s reaction to the carpets getting dripped on. But secretly, Keith simply wanted to extend the time he spent with Lance, and only Lance, by his side.

For once, Keith found that opening up was easy. He and Lance spent what seemed like hours mulling things over. Lance grinned and called him an idiot upon hearing that Keith’s first reaction to having nightmares was to never sleep again.

“I mean, what, Coran must have a thousand useless little pills stockpiled. We’re in space, Keith! They probably have hundreds of meds that keep dreams away.”

In retrospect, it did seem a bit dramatic. That didn’t stop Keith from bringing up the fact that Lance had started an entire rivalry rather than facing his crush. The reddening of his face after hearing that made them both laugh.

“Maybe I wasn’t used to being so tolerant of awful hairstyles like yours.”

“I thought you liked my hair. You certainly didn’t mind keeping it long when you cut it.”

“Hush, you.”

They decided that, after months of falling asleep together, it wouldn’t hurt to keep doing it. Keith packed his few belongings and moved to Lance’s room.

Nobody saw them for the rest of the day, though eventually they stopped trying for secrecy. But they didn’t need to be caught for the others to know. Keith saw Shiro looking between the two of them during supper (possibly an excuse to avoid the food goo that Allura insisted on him eating along with the Prigdian soup), with a smile on his face.

Later, while playing an Altean board game, Lance whispered to Keith that Pidge and Hunk looked “too fucking smug for their own good,” when the two joined the same team.

Coran (less subtly) chose that night to remind everyone the benefits of staying in good hygiene and wearing the “proper equipment” when exercising. Keith had wished to melt into a puddle on the marble floors of the common room.

But really, even with the stress that came from an unconcealed relationship, Keith found the nights, when he curled up against Lance and let their breathing match each other, to be worth it.

Even after leaving Prigdia and rejoining the cause of freeing remaining planets from the Galra’s fading grip, Keith could feel the residual warmth in his chest. He revelled in the pride it brought him to see Lance standing on newly freed soil, clad in armor and negotiating peace for the inhabitants.

Even more striking, even more significant, was what came after the politics and diplomacy - the bathrobes and wet hair and multiple blankets, the sleepy murmuring between them, as the two clinged to each other, watching the stars twinkling in a galaxy that now had hope thanks to Lance - and so did Keith.

Lance no longer was Keith’s mystery. Keith had long since learned the consequence of narrowing Lance down to just one category. He was his hope, his will, his love. It fluttered up and calmed him when he thought of the sea, the eyes that came from it. Between waves and scorching sands, between glass and an endless space, a shut mouth and tired eyes, a field had bloomed to life. And there Keith stood - with red flowers woven into crowns and blue petals laced into his heart.