Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You sure there’s absolutely no one in the entire universe that I could hypothetically set you up with?” Lance asks, for perhaps the fifth time in the past half-hour.

“Positive,” Keith grinds out through clenched teeth, driving his sword into the training robot with extra force. Remarkably, he’s still harming the robot and not Lance. 

Meanwhile, Lance has the audacity to look thoughtful and longing in his own bubble. He leans forward on his elbows, letting out a contemplative noise. 

Keith glares at him. 

Lance shouldn’t even be at the training grounds right now. He’s just came here to laze around and loiter on the sidelines, which wouldn’t be as distracting if he wasn’t peppering him with asinine questions.

Fortunately for exactly no one, Lance’s trying to get Keith a boyfriend.

It all started a week ago. After one too many “Why don’t you pick up some chicks or something?” prodding questions from Lance finally pushed Keith to snap at Lance that he wasn’t into women. 

Something he had never said out loud to anyone before. Not until then.

There must have been something in his face, or it was the sheer exasperation in his voice that made Lance’s face drop. Keith remembers how the silence stretched for a beat too long, and the way his lungs had filled with panic, chest tightening as he was certain he’d just made a terrible mistake.

But then realization slowly dawned upon Lance’s face, almost like he found the last puzzle piece and slotted it in place, revealing a full picture that made perfect sense. Then, he beamed at Keith and asked if there were any guys he liked, offering his ‘wingman’ expertise.

Keith had told him no. Repeatedly.

Despite Keith refusing his help, Lance hasn’t stopped asking since.

Could be worse, Keith supposes. At least he’s being supportive in his own completely infuriating way. Even if that support is slowly driving Keith to the brink of homicide.

“Reeeally?” Lance drawls, unaware or indifferent to Keith’s visibly rising temper. “You’re not interested in anybody? There has to be someone that must’ve caught your eye.”

Keith stabs through another training robot.

“Not,” stab , “anybody,” stab . The last one is hard enough to get his sword stuck.

“Dude,” Lance starts, unimpressed, “Have you ever crushed on anything in your life? Other than, like, someone’s hopes and dreams?”

Keith grits his teeth and yanks the blade free, just to brandish it at Lance. “If I had, the last thing I’d do is tell you. I wouldn’t want you sticking in your damn nose.”

Lance gasps, clutching his chest in mock offense, like Keith just stabbed him. “This nose?” He says dramatically, “Can smell romance from miles away. I’m a phenomenal wingman! Ask Hunk. I’m basically Cupid reincarnate!”

Keith almost laughs at that. Almost. “Oh, like how you set him up with that girl who ended up trying to kill him last week?”

“That’s on him. He went off-script,” Lance says with a casual shrug. “He’s still training under my guidance, but he’s not ready to freestyle yet. Again, entirely not my fault.”

“You’re the absolute worst. Have I ever told you that?”

“Every day,” Lance says, smiling obnoxiously fond.

It’s almost time for Coran to announce sleeping hours. Sooner or later, Lance will be whining that they should head over to the dining hall to make a late-night snack. And, he’s going to try and convince Keith to come with him and spend “quality bonding” time together.

It’s personally irritating. And it’s not helping with his Lance Situation .

The Lance Situation , also known as “the stupidest crush in the galaxy” (which is hardly even a thing, really) is a stupid, unfortunate crush that has started to haunt Keith in full force since they’ve been stuck in space. 

Keith deeply loathes how it crept up on him, slowly and inevitably.

Because of course he had to develop a crush on Lance, who somehow grew tall and broad and unfairly hot during their time stuck in space, whose stupid disheveled charm easily wins the hearts of planets, and whose effortless charisma now made things uncomfortable to Keith specifically.

He still doesn’t understand when that changed. Back at the Garrison, they were rarely in the same room. Lance was apparently an annoying, jealous cadet that glared at Keith any chance he could. Keith barely remembers him. There was distance between them.

But now? Now Lance is everywhere.

Lance wedges himself in his space. He leans over Keith’s shoulder during mission briefings, nudging him during downtime, throwing casual grins his way like they’re second nature.

Lance laughs too easily at Keith, teases him too often, and somehow manages to make even the most mundane moments feel charged.

He no longer looks at Keith like a rival, but like someone he actually considers a friend.

And, despite everything, Keith selfishly thinks it's not enough.

So anyway, a crush has developed. For now.

Keith will get over it. Eventually. Probably. He should be able to get over it quickly, considering that Lance is so dedicated to being on his worst behavior, all the time.

Speaking of which, here he goes again.

Lance hops up from his seat, smiling way too wide for Keith’s comfort. “I have an idea.”

“No.”

“So, you’re not interested in anyone currently, right?” Lance barrels on, because fuck Keith, apparently. “That’s okay! Because we’re gonna find a male species from one of these planets for you! But first, we have to figure out your type, and then we’ll go from there.”

Keith considers stabbing him.

“We’re not doing that,” Keith mutters.

“Oh, we definitely are,” Lance replies, absolutely thrilled and, apparently, suicidal. “Space is massive! There are galaxies upon galaxies of hotties of all species just waiting to be discovered. This is your true destiny, Keith!”

“Lance—!”

But it’s too late. He’s already in motion, humming to himself as he takes Keith’s sword and heads off to hang it up like he owns the place. Bold move, entering the arm's reach of a highly trained fighter in a mood. Even bolder to pat Keith on the shoulder like some benevolent matchmaker-god.

Lance was the prime example of a man with no survival instincts

“It’s happening! It’s happening. Don’t fight it, Keith,” Lance says, as though Keith isn’t going to fight this kicking and screaming all the way. “I’m gonna be the best wingman you never wanted. But first, let’s hurry and see if there’s anything edible in the kitchen.”

Keith really considers stabbing him in his sleep.

In spite of his fervent protests, it does start happening anyway.

The Castle ship had taken a beating in their last skirmish, so a pit stop on Arus was overdue. 

Between the rattling exhaust vents, damaged Quintessence channels, and flickering holo-emitters, Allura had officially declared it “nearing disgrace.” 

Which was her polite way of saying “on the brink of falling apart.”

Pidge volunteered herself instantly, already halfway up the ship’s underhull before anyone could object. She and Allura were going to work together to start recalibrating the core’s quantum matrix and patching the stabilization gyros.

While they did that, Shiro insisted the rest of the team do something “productive.” Specifically, reconnect with the Arusians and remind them that Team Voltron cared, even when they were temporarily grounded. 

“Public diplomacy matters,” he said, tone even but firm, “So, whatever the Arusians have planned, we follow that accordingly.”

Naturally, Lance groaned like he’d been sentenced to death. “Shiro, buddy, pal, esteemed leader. Please, don’t make me do this. I am already so socially drained thinking about it. I need, like, six hours of quiet, alone time, preferably with snacks.”

Hunk gives him a comforting smile, clapping a broad hand on his shoulder. “You’re Lance McClain. You could roll out of bed and still have enough charisma for everyone.”

Lance whines dramatically. “If they try to hold a sacrificial ceremony, I’m running!”

While Shiro and Hunk began laughing with Lance, Keith was too distracted quietly watching Pidge and Allura converse closely together. Curiosity clouded his thoughts.

The celebration is already in full swing by the time Team Voltron arrives. Arusians dart around with lanterns, fruit trays, and giant mugs of fluorescent nectar. Someone plays a flute-like instrument that makes Hunk teary-eyed, and there is a conga line forming around the bonfire.

Keith isn’t particularly drawn to the festivities, but he hangs around the edge of the gathering. Eventually, he spots Pidge, back from the ship and gnawing on a stick of skewered fruit. He moves toward her.

“Hey,” he voices, “What did you and Allura end up fixing? The converter plates or array?”

Pidge perks up, smiling up at Keith. “Both, actually. We had to realign the converter plates manually, but the array was feeding back into the subflux grid, which was messing up the charge.”

Keith nods, eyes narrowing in interest. “That would explain the flickering in the lower corridors. How’d you do it?”

“I rerouted it through the auxiliary prism socket. We had to bypass the original relay. Allura thought it was overkill, but honestly? I think she secretly liked it.”

Keith gives a rare, subtle smile. “Nice work, Pidge.”

Pidge grins, pride radiating from her glasses. “Yeah, well, being a genius is kinda my thing.”

Keith opens his mouth to ask something about the modified readings she logged. But then, all of a sudden, he hears this agitating grating voice.

“Oh wow! I care so much about this conversation!” Lance’s voice slices through the air, all fake enthusiasm as he slides in between them, arm slung lazily over Keith’s shoulder.

Pidge’s smile drops. She squints at him. “Why are you here?”

Lance blinks at her innocently. “What? I can’t join a riveting engineering chat?”

“Not when you’re clearly eavesdropping like a nosy rat,” Pidge shoots back, “What do you want?"

Lance outright pouts. “I just couldn’t help admiring the deep, passionate love for the convertor-thingy and subflux-thingy you were explaining. Very proprioceptive!”

Keith narrows his eyes slightly. “You don’t even know what that word means.”

“Guys! I could totally learn some smarty-pant lingo,” Lance says with mock indignation. “Maybe I am realizing that I want to broaden my scientific quantum horizons.”

“Since when?” Pidge asks.

“Since now. I'm a new man. Enlightened. Scholarly. Hot and humble.”

“Who has ever said that?”

“Anyways, Keith needs to come with me real quick. Hope you’re cool with that, Pigeon. I’ll give him back after,” Lance said brightly, not even trying to answer her question. He reaches down, grabs Keith’s hand with effortless familiarity, and tugs it towards him.

Their hands fit too easily. Too naturally.

Under his gloves, his palms were clammy, unsure, but Lance couldn’t notice, even if he tried.

Keith barely registers leaving the firelight and Pidge entirely, as Lance guides him across the grassy area.

Still holding hands.

They don’t stop until they are off the main path, tucked behind a half-crumbled structure with vines crawling up its side.

Lance turns to face him, and Keith finally refocuses his gaze up from their hands to his eyes.

“You okay?” Lance asks, voice quieter now. 

Keith swallows. “What?”

“You’ve been kinda.. I don’t know. Quiet. In general. You’re good, right?”

Keith’s pulse picks up.

“I’m fine,” he manages, eyes darting across Lance’s face. He looks good. Annoyingly good. His face is soft under the Arusian starlight, with his hair tousled just enough to be unfair. Keith can’t tear his eyes from staring.

Lance studies him for a beat too long, brows slightly pinched, like he didn’t quite buy it.

“You sure?” he asks, voice quieter now. “I mean, you’re normally closed off, but I saw you were more distant earlier today. Like you were chewing on something. Mentally.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know, like brooding harder than normal. I call it brooding-er.”

“That’s definitely not a real thing.”

Lance tilted his head, a faint smirk forming. “It is when you do it.”

Keith scoffs under his breath, mouth twitching in a way that almost betrayed amusement. "You spend way too much time analyzing me.”

Lance grins, tipping his head to the side. "Yeah, well, who’s gonna keep tabs on your dramatic moods? Someone has to take on the role. And I swear, it’s not an easy job."

Keith rolls his eyes, but his chest pulls a little tighter.

Moments like these when Lance isn’t putting on a front and he slips into this weirdly thoughtful version of himself always throws Keith off. He can never predict when Lance will say something unexpectedly kind that makes Keith feel seen in ways he wasn’t used to. 

And maybe that’s the problem. Why his feelings kept spiraling like this. Why he couldn’t just shake this stupid crush off.

Because underneath all the obnoxious bravado and showboating, Lance has a good heart. A sincere one. He cares enough to look out for other people.

Keith, for better or worse, admires that part of Lance. 

“I’m good, thanks for asking,” He mumbles, the corners of his mouth upturned slightly.

Lance smiles, seemingly satisfied with that response. “Fantastic! Perfect timing, then!”

Keith barely had enough time to fully process their entire conversation before Lance gestures with his chin. “So. What do you think of that guy?”

Keith follows his gaze, only to spot a short, roundish Arusian with comically large eyes and a daisy crown balanced atop his head. The Arusian waves at no one in particular, dancing and humming to himself as he passes by.

He deadpans. “Lance.”

“Hear me out,” Lance says quickly, already raising a finger in anticipation. “He seems like someone you could talk to without getting nervous. I could totally see him get deep with conversations.”

Keith stares at him in flat disbelief.

“Like, real open-heart-chakra vibes,” Lance adds, as if that helped to explain his thought process.

Keith doesn’t respond. He didn’t have to. 

His expression says ‘Are you fucking serious?’ louder than any choice of words.

Lance presses on anyway; the idiot. “Before you say no, consider: if you two were the only living beings on Earth, would you let him hit? Or, would you hit on him?”

Keith turns and walks away. Dignity barely holding on.

“Keith!” Lance calls, jogging after him a step. “Come on, he’s a real nice guy! His people are very emotionally in tune! Just one conversation! One! Are you going to let another nice guy finish last before he can even try?”

Keith flips him off over his shoulder.

Once Lance gets it into his head to do something ridiculous, he commits to it like it’s a divine calling. And God forbid Keith ever gets in the way of Lance being an idiot. 

Unfortunately, his self-appointed mission continues on Balmera.

The Balmeran surface visibly looks still cracked and raw in places, but the people have begun to rebuild and reform themselves. Progress was made, slowly, but surely.

The lions were settled at the edge of the main plateau. The crew moved like clockwork, hauling crates down ramps and across uneven terrain to a long line of Balmerans waiting patiently for food, medical kits, and supplies.

Shiro stood near the drop-off zone, arms crossed, face focused, coordinating with Allura over comms. Allura, in full princess mode, had already disappeared toward a gathering of Balmeran elders, probably preparing a rousing speech about intergalactic solidarity.

Pidge and Coran had taken the rear, struggling slightly with the last few boxes. Pidge grumbled something about “ancient engineering” while Coran cheerfully narrated every step like he was hosting his own personal talk show.

Hunk, naturally, had other plans in mind. He sits perched on a smooth boulder just a few steps from Shay, who rests across from him with folded legs and a gentle smile. The way he looks at her is painfully obvious; soft, goofy-looking, and completely lost in her gaze.

“Hunk’s about two seconds from passing out,” Keith mumbles around a mouthful of ration bread, eyeing Hunk and Shay from his seat on another nearby boulder.

Lance flops down beside him, tearing open his own food pack. “Classic rookie mistake.”

Keith chews thoughtfully, then asks, “Shouldn’t you go wingman him, or whatever?”

Lance squints at Hunk, who’s now nervously laughing as Shay touches his arm mid-story. It seems she’s completely oblivious to Hunk’s growing red face, unaware her touches caused complete mayhem in Hunk’s usually collected mind.

Keith can relate. Deeply.

“Nah,” Lance finally states, tearing off a bite of his wrap. “I think he’s got this.”

Keith raises a brow. “You seem to have a lot of confidence in him. Despite his track record.”

Lance gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, but Shay’s completely different. She appreciates the Hunkster even when he’s being awkward.”

Keith looks over again. Shay leans closer now, clearly fascinated by whatever Hunk explains to her.  Hunk looks like he might pass out from sheer joy. But she doesn’t seem to notice.

The inside of his chest twisting in jealousy.

He shrugs. “Fair.”

They sit in silence for a beat, the sounds of passing crates and chatting Balmerans settling around them like background music. A soft breeze moves through the plateau, carrying the scent of minerals and cave-soil.

Then Lance, without warning, leans back on his hands and points discreetly with his chin. “Okay. Now, for the real question.”

Keith groans, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t.”

“Is that your type?” Lance asks regardless, nodding toward a massive Balmeran hauling a crate of ore by himself. 

The guy looks massive, easily twice Keith’s height, with a back like a boulder and arms thicker than the Lion joysticks.

Keith grimaces. “Lance. He's a literal mountain.”

Lance hums thoughtfully, still watching the giant Balmeran haul supplies like he weighed nothing. “Okay, but think realistically about it. He’s grounded, stable, emotionally immovable. Literally!” He says easily, using his fingers to count all his points.

Keith shoots him a flat look.

“I’m just saying,” Lance goes on, undeterred, “if you ever wanted someone with solid core values, I mean, he might be the one!”

“Oh my god.” Keith pinches the bridge of his nose. “You rehearsed this, didn’t you?”

“I’m improvising actually, thank you very much,” Lance says, faux-offended, however his smile widens. “This is pure, unscripted brilliance from yours truly.”

Keith rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts. “What are you even trying to prove with this? What do you gain exactly from asking that dumb question?”

Lance leans back. “Nothing. Just exploring your type. Since you won’t tell me.”

“Well, you should take the hint,” Keith mutters, crossing his arms. “I don’t have a type.”

Lance gasps, all mock drama. “You’re telling me you’ve never imagined being cradled in the arms of a Balmeran linebacker?”

Keith stares at him.

“Okay, fair. That’s like my main thing with you,” Lance amends with a smirk.

Keith makes a strangled sound of disbelief, turning away before Lance could catch his face turning a tinge red. He busies himself by twisting the cap off his bottle of water. 

“I already told you he’s not my type, idiot.” he repeats, choosing to ignore what was just said.

Lance wiggles his eyebrows at Keith. “You don’t like a man who can get rock hard?”

Keith chokes on his water mid-sip.

Lance watches him closely now, smug as hell, both brows arched in perfect, infuriating amusement. “You have yet to supply me an answer, Mullet.”

“Shut up,” Keith hisses, cheeks burning hot. Stupid Lance for giving him visuals that he could never share with any living being. Visuals of Lance in the tightest clothes and being—

Lance leans closer, his voice low and teasing, clearly enjoying himself. “You sure? Maybe he could even carry your emotional baggage for you.”

That did it.

Keith unscrews the cap from his water bottle and flung the contents directly into Lance’s face, splashing him instantly.

Lance squawks and coughs, jerking backward as the water drips from his face.

Keith stands up in one fluid motion, stuffing the rest of his ration into his mouth. “Finally. I got you to shut up.”

Lance was still blinking through wet, long lashes, sputtering. “R-Rude! That’s a valuable source of hydration!”

“Oh yeah? Then soak in it,” Keith retorts, before marching off toward the next cargo crate. 

Fortunately, the dreaded wingman gig turns out to be less dramatic than he feared. Mostly, it’s just Lance pointing out random guys when they’re stationed on a planet and asking if Keith thinks they’re attractive 

Which is still idiotic, but at least it’s not catastrophic.

Unfortunately, it’s become constant.

Lance will ask during training, while doing errands, and mid-conversation. Mid-chew, even. He is a relentless dumbass on a mission sent from hell. 

Of course, none of this has made the crush go away. No, that would be too easy, seeing as Keith is physically incapable of catching a fucking break.

No amount of forced matchmaking could ever make Keith un-want the very same person trying to set him up with someone else. He’s embarrassed by this fact alone.

Still, there had to be a better place and time for Lance to spring up his wingman charade.

The Castle ship received an unknown signal in the dead of space. It crackled through the comms like static, distorted, ghostly, and barely legible. But Pidge had a knack for pulling order from chaos. Her fingers flew across the console, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses.

"Got it!" she said, triumphant. "It’s Galra frequency. Scrambled, but someone’s definitely calling for help. I think I can trace the origin."

A tense silence fell across the bridge before Shiro nodded once, firmly. "Set a course. If there are prisoners, we’ll free them. Let’s go, team."

With that, they went inside their Lions and launched into stealth mode, sleek and silent. 

Once the Galra base where the signal came from was located, Pidge hijacked and quickly accessed the map grid, directing them through a massive maintenance shaft that tunneled deep into the belly of the facility.

They landed without detection. So far, so good.

"Split up," Shiro ordered. "Find the prisoners and get out fast. Keep comms open."

Keith shadowed the Galra patrols, hiding in blind spots and moving only when the path was clear. He didn’t breathe too loud, didn’t blink unless necessary. Eventually, down a dim corridor, he found them. Prisoners, huddled behind bars, eyes wide, some crying.

He presses his comms. "I found them. Sending coordinates now."

"Yoooo!" Pidge whoops.

"Oh, thank God," Hunk sighs in deep relief, audibly very out of breath.

Shiro's voice echoes over next, calm but firm. "Keith, is your coast clear?"

Keith opens his mouth.

CLANG!

The sound comes too fast. A sentry robot lunges from the shadows. Keith barely twists his body in time, rolling as a laser beam sears the air where his head had just been.

"Shit!" He hisses, drawing his bayard as the alarms shriek across the base.

"INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT."

The prisoners scream behind him. Keith doesn’t have any time or patience to comfort them. "Get down! Cover yourselves!" He yells, readying himself for the onslaught attack.

Then the robots came. He cuts through them deftly, his blade flashing with deadly precision. They drop one by one, seizing as sparks flew out of their open, split wires.

The hallway blares with red lights. Sirens rebound against the walls.

One of the prisoners cries out, “There’s more coming!”

Keith turns sharply, parrying a blast from the right and swinging clean through the shoulder joint of the robot that fired it. “I told you to stay down!” He shouts, barely sparing the prisoners a glance, “Don’t worry about me!”

Another bot jumps from a side corridor. Keith ducks low, dragging his blade up into its chest and kicking the remains to the ground.

His chest heaves with sharp, deep-labored breaths. 

He can handle this. He can handle this. He can totally handle this.

Until something massive slams into him from the side.

Keith hits the ground hard. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, ears ringing and vision spotting. Pain flares along the front of his ribs as a Galra soldier weighs on him with bone-cracking force.

“Gah—!” Keith chokes, struggling as the soldier pinned him down with sheer weight.

The Galra soldier looms over him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with pink scars jagged against purple fur. Yellow eyes burning down into Keith's, and sharp fangs poking through as he growls, saliva running down his neck.

"You're a bold little pest," He spats, his grip on Keith’s wrists tightening, “I can’t wait to crush you until your insides pop through your eyes.”

"Fuck you,” Keith snarls, glaring up at him with equal intensity. 

The Galra soldier sneers, pressing more weight onto Keith’s chest. “Cocky little brat. Your fellow paladins will find your broken body in a pool of your own blood. Maybe I’ll mount your helmet on my wall. Alongside my other trophies from the dead I reaped.”

Keith grits his teeth. "You talk too much."

The soldier growls lowly, leaning in, breath hot and sour against Keith’s cheek. "Any last words, little Paladin?"

"Yeah. Back up."

Sharp sounds crack through the air. The soldier roars, stumbling as multiple shots hit him in the back, his body spasming. 

His grip loosens. Keith rolls out from under him, pivoting his position. He rams the heel of his hand into the soldier’s chin, knocking his head back, and then strikes hard into the back of the Galra’s neck with precision and force.

The Galra goes limp, collapsing beside him with a heavy thud.

Keith looks up, breathless.

Lance stands just down the hall, rifle smoking. His stance looks perfect.

His heart flutters. Keith gives a breathy laugh.

"Easy shot."

Lance lowers his rifle, scoffing. "You know, a little gratitude here and there would help to better your image. You’re welcome, by the way!"

Keith brushes debris off from his shoulder. “I had it covered.”

"Oh! Really?" Lance gapes, feigning surprise initially, "Huh? I wouldn't have guessed from the way you were one second away from getting your ass handed to you!"

Keith rolls his shoulders and pushes up to stand, but the sharp pain from his cracked rib instantly hits him like a shockwave. His breath hitches, legs faltering beneath him.

"Whoa—! Hey, easy there." Lance rushes in, arms steadying him.

Keith thickly swallows, caught off guard not by the pain, but by how close Lance was now. His voice resonates low and full of concern, aimed solely on Keith’s wellbeing. 

His heart stutters traitorously.

Together, they help the prisoners out. Lance fishes out a small explosive from his pouch, casually attaching it to the prison lock. “Stand back!” he calls out. It beeps a couple times before finally blowing the doors open with a satisfying crack.

"Single file," Keith yells in a strained voice, gesturing as the prisoners stumble out. "Move fast and stay together! If you see anything, shout!”

Lance keeps a firm grip on Keith’s shoulder, steadying him as they lead the front of the group, flanking the line of refugees.

Once they made it out of the base’s inner corridors, and now halfway to the lion bay, Lance radioed in Shiro. “We’ve got the prisoners. Heading back now.”

“Copy that,” Shiro’s voice crackled back. “All teams, draw back to the Lions. Repeat, draw back. Mission complete.”

The primitive instincts in Keith’s chest still hadn’t eased down, even with the confirmation that the mission was over. His ribs ached, his breathing was uneven, and the adrenaline still trembled under his skin.

Keith exhaled sharply, coaching himself to focus. Almost there. Calm down. Breathe.

Then, because the universe hated him, Lance decided this was the perfect opportunity to glance back at him, sideways.

“Soooo, was that your type?”

Keith turns his head. "What?"

Lance points a thumb back to the hallway they’d just come from. “That Galra soldier. Real big guy. Rough around the edges. Definitely had some scars. Is that your thing?”

Keith scowls. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What? I'm just trying to understand your preferences, man!"

Keith didn’t have the energy to storm off, not with the way his ribs protested every movement. Instead, he leans heavier into Lance’s side, letting him take more of his weight as they move forward.

Lance, ever the biggest idiot, did not take the hint.

“I’m just saying! Maybe you like guys who can throw you around a little. He had a presence! You know, the type of guy who can put you in your place."

Keith groans, pressing a hand to his temple like that might somehow block out Lance’s voice. His ears burn, and he couldn’t tell if it’s from utter frustration or something worse.

Lance hums in thought, "He's still unconscious if you wanna grab his number.”

Keith shifts his body just enough to find the right angle and elbow Lance in the ribs. Not hard enough to actually double Lance over, but enough to make his point.

Coran suggested a trip to the Space Mall.

“Morale maintenance,” he called it. 

Keith had been ready to decline, but Lance had already looped an arm around his shoulders and said, “Ah, Ah. You’re coming with me, Mullet. We have some investigating to do.”

Which is how he found himself sitting in a food court in the Space Mall, listening to Lance prattle on and just letting this wingman stunt happen. 

Lance sits close enough for their shoulders to bump every time he shifts. Keith actively tells himself it’s not on purpose. However, it doesn’t help to cease his heart booming in his ears and his skin thrumming from the subtle touches.

He doesn’t realize Lance has been saying his name until about the third or fourth time.

“Keith!”

“What?!” Keith snaps, white-knuckling his fork. He glances down at his plate to find that he’s accidentally cracked the plate and tray through the middle. 

“Jesus, finally. I am trying to ask you what you think of him,” Lance gives a discreet nod in the direction of a guy standing in line to get food. “Your type?”

Keith follows the gesture. The light-blue Unilu is about medium height, with an athletic build and antennas poking out from his black hair, lazily pulled out of his face in a ponytail. His gaze seemed stern, brows furrowed and lips frowning.

For some reason, Keith instantly dislikes him.

“Not even close,” he says, stabbing his food again for good measure.

Lance looks genuinely affronted. “What? Seriously? I thought he was kinda cute.”

Keith glares at his plate. He now dislikes the guy purely because Lance thinks he’s cute.

Seconds later, Keith stills.

... Does Lance think some guys are cute? 

Keith didn’t know that; or at least, he didn’t know it for sure. He’d always been half convinced that was his mind digging too deep into things.  

But hearing it so offhand, so casual felt world shattering. It plants itself in Keith’s brain like a weed. Keith will try not to think about it, but more than likely he’ll think about it a lot, all the time, for the next few weeks.

“You have bad taste,” Keith states evenly, partially because it’s true, but also, he says it just to hear the offended noise Lance makes in response.

“I need a second opinion,” Lance declares, then turns to Pidge, who’s been eating quietly this entire time, and is therefore clearly trying not to have any part of this conversation.

“Pidge,” he says, careless even as fixes him with that specific withering stare she reserves for when someone’s interrupted her meal. “Do you think that guy’s cute?”

She does not drop her fork.

“Just answer the question! Please,” Lance adds, all puppy-dog eyes. “For science.”

She sighs heavily, glaring at Keith in a way that says, ‘This is your fault too’ , then turns toward the man in question. 

After half a second, she wrinkles her nose, mouth twisting, “Absolutely not.”

Lance throws up his hands. “What! You can't be serious!”

Sitting across from Pidge, Hunk turns in his seat and leans his head forward to get a better look at the target of discussion. 

Upon seeing him, Hunk immediately presses a hand to his mouth like he’s hiding a laugh.

“Oh? What do you think?” Pidge asks, suddenly intrigued now in what he struggles to voice.

Everyone watches Hunk desperately trying to smother his laughter. Alas, after a couple poor attempts, he calms himself. Looking away, he clears his throat.

“He kinda reminds me of Keith,” Hunk says. 

Pidge does a double take, before smirking back at Hunk, “He does!”

While Keith busies himself trying to figure out whether or not to be insulted, Lance bursts out laughing, but it’s a bit too high-pitched.

“What? No way!” He exclaims, between his hard chuckles, “Keith is—! They’re totally different. You guys are being ridiculous!”

“If you say so,” Pidge intones, fixing herself with one of her usual shit-eating grins. For some reason that effectively shuts Lance up for the rest of dinner.

He doesn’t speak again until they’re on their way out of the food court, after they’ve finished eating and put away their plates and trays in their designated area. 

Before they can leave and head back to their Lions, Lance catches the edge of Keith’s jacket sleeve, stopping him in the doorway.

“One more try?” he asks, a little sheepish.

Of course, it’s this again. Keith should say no and put an end to this tomfoolery, but Lance’s quietness for the latter half of dinner was vaguely troubling. 

Silence from Lance means thinking, and thinking means overthinking, and that’s never a good road for Lance to go down.

So, Keith will indulge him. For now.

“One more,” Keith agrees with a sigh.

Lance lights up and Keith’s heart stutters foolishly in response.

“Okay, okay,” Lance whispers excitedly, pointing across the dining hall about as inconspicuous as someone can, you know, point across a room. “What about him?”

For a moment, Keith just stares at Lance’s hand. The bend of his fingers and the few faded freckles dotting the back of his palm. His hands have gotten big, just like the rest of him. They’re slightly calloused but they look softer than Keith’s, probably because he doesn’t train as much. 

Terrible. Keith scowls at Lance’s hand and absolutely does not imagine holding it.

Keith follows his finger, and—

Sal.

It’s Sal.

Keith stops. Just stares.

Lance practically cackles at his disgust, doubling over with laughter. 

Keith is never indulging him again. He just shoves Lance, hard. Then, he turns and walks away. “Fuck off, Lance.” 

Lance scurries after him, still wheezing with amusement. Once he’s caught his breath, Lance bats his eyelashes in an exaggeration of innocence that doesn’t match the sharp line of his smirk. “What? Don’t you like a man who talks too much and can drive you a little insane?”

Ha. If only.

“Not that one,” Keith snaps, and he walks out, with a laughing Lance trailing after.

Chapter Text

Seeing as Lance seems dead set on continuing this ridiculous match-making charade, Keith sets down a few ground rules.

Rule #1: Do not ask about people we know.

This rule was established after Lance asked Keith if he thought Coran was "beekeeper age” and Keith refused to speak to Coran for three days. 

Coran, bless him, was deeply concerned.

Rule #2: No more than five people per day.

Preferably less.

This rule exists to preserve Keith’s sanity.

Rule #3: If Lance wants to keep this up, he has to train with Keith once a day.

This rule was established for obvious reasons.

Those are the only concrete rules. Keith holds the right to add more rules whenever he pleases. He also reserves the right to tell Lance to fuck off whenever he pleases.

Establishing rules at all is, admittedly, engaging more with this foolishness than Keith ever intended, but Lance is being unusually persistent and weirdly committed about keeping the matchmaking thing going. 

And, while it is annoying, it’s not the absolute worst thing that has happened to Keith. 

The attention isn't unwelcome. 

Keith refuses to say it out loud, but he does like to hang out with Lance, and this game they keep playing allows them time together. 

So, if the price is occasionally rating strangers based on their “smashability”, then fine.

He’ll take it.

"Rule Four,” Lance starts, speaking out loud as he scribbles it down in his notepad, “Keith must come to me first before he initiates conversation. It might end terribly if he does.”

“Like you'd be any help,” Keith mutters.

“Rule, Five. Keith must be nice to me every day."

Wearing his face mask and bathrobe, he sprawls out across Keith's bed, kicking his legs in the air as he writes in a notepad with a red glitter pen. Where did he get it? Who knows.

Keith, currently sitting by the corner of his bed, huffs. "Definitely not a rule."

Lance pouts, flopping dramatically onto his back and letting his arm hang off the side of the bed. “One day I’m going to die a terrible death, and you’re going to regret saying that to me. And it’ll haunt you forever until you die of a heart attack from the intense guilt and despair that consumes your everyday life."

Keith rolls his eyes. "That’s never going to happen."

Lance closes the notepad and rests it against his stomach. "Okay, okay. Let’s move on. We have to narrow down your type.”

“No, we don’t.”

“How about we do a speed round?”

“No.”

“What do you think about surfer guys?" Lance asks, regardless.

Forced to participate, Keith frowns. "They’re too... kumbaya,” he starts, "And they bring sand everywhere."

"Okay, rude. Surfers are zen and hot. What about video game players?"

"That's all they ever do. Play video games."

Lance gapes. "No! Obviously not. They definitely do other things! Ugh, whatever. Musicians?"

Keith winces. "They might be too loud."

Lance groans and throws a pillow at him. "Keith! What do you even like to do?!"

Keith catches the pillow easily. 

"I like to train."

Lance splutters. "Oh God, you’re hopeless."

Keith raises his arms. "Great! So, we’re done here, right? You can stop playing matchmaker now! Glad we finally came to this conclusion."

Shuffling over to Keith and shoving a finger in his face, Lance waves it. "Nuh-uh! That was a test, and you failed. Obviously, I don’t think you’re that hopeless. There’s potential somewhere out there. We just have to find it."

Keith groans and lets himself fall backward onto the bed next to Lance. He doesn't realize how close their faces are until Lance turns toward him, smiling.

His heart skips a beat. His face warms.

"Have you ever fallen in love, Keith? Like ever?" Lance asks, sincerely.

Keith shakes his head. "No," He says, hesitating before asking, "Have you?"

Lance laughs. "Oh yeah, totally. It was with some girl from elementary school. Dude, I would ask her if she could share her lunch with me, and I’d only ask just so she could talk to me."

Keith smiles, shifting his body to get comfortable. "She probably felt bad that you didn't have any food, when you definitely did."

"Huh? How did you know?"

"Just a hunch."

Lance leans back, stretching his arms behind his head, grinning. “Man, I was so gone for her. Like, full-on, head-over-heels, ‘this is my future wife’ love.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, amused. “You were, what? Eight?”

Lance waves a hand dismissively. “Love knows no age. Something you have yet to realize, my padawan.”

Shaking his head, Keith snorts, He rests his head on a propped head, lying on side to look at Lance better. “Right. So, what happened?”

Lance groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Ugh. She started hanging out with some other kid. And suddenly, I wasn’t the favorite anymore.”

Keith tilts his head, curious. “So, what did you do? Beat him up?”

Lance sighs, exasperated. “Nah. I suffered in silence. Every time I saw them together, I felt like my soul was being ripped apart.”

"Seriously? That’s kinda embarrassing, even for you."

Lance shoves him. “It was very tragic, actually! I cried so hard after school once that my mom literally thought I was getting bullied.”

Keith stares, then bursts into laughter, shaking his head.

Lance shoves him harder. “Hey! The first heartbreak hits differently, okay? Shut up already, I’m trying to open up to you, and you’re being an asshole, right now.”

“Oh yeah? How about you make me shut up,” Keith challenges, shoving Lance with equal push.

One shove turns into another, then another.

It turns into grappling with sharp breaths, the momentum shifting back and forth.

It’s instinctive, automatic, the kind of unspoken challenge they always fall into.

Keith moves fast, but Lance is just as quick, twisting, pushing, countering. Hands blocking hands. Legs blocking legs. Lance lifts his upper body, readying to tower over Keith.

With a well-timed shift, Keith pushes him down, pinning Lance beneath him.

He stares down, breath caught in his throat. 

Lance lays beneath him, eyes wide, his robe parted. 

Keith’s gaze flickers down, gazing at Lance’s open chest and abdomen rising and falling. His eyes linger on Lance’s boxers for half a second too long.

Coran’s voice blares over the intercom.

"Lunch is ready! First come first serve, as always!"

Keith jerks upright so fast, he nearly falls off his bed. 

Lance blinks, still flat on his back and staring at Keith, like he’s trying to process what just happened.

Keith runs a hand through his hair, forcing himself to breathe easy, to play it off, to act normal.

Normal. That was totally normal.

"We play too much," Keith mutters, crossing his arms protectively, “One of these days, someone’s going to get hurt and it’s because one of us takes it too far.”

Recovering from the moment, Lance sits up slowly. Keith waits in bated breath.

He huffs, forcing a grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, sorry. My bad."

Before Keith can press about it, Lance claps his hands together, forcing the vibrant, chaotic energy back into his voice.

“Food! We need some food, asap! I might die from starvation if we don't go now!”

Keith exhales, calming his heart back to normal. Then, he gestures to the door with his head.

"Let’s go eat then," he says, voice steadier now, "or we’ll be stuck with whatever’s left.”

Nodding, Lance smiles, grabbing the notepad as he stands, readjusting his robe. 

“Yeah, maybe I just got a little hangry.”

The grin Lance wears now is easy and familiar, like he’s choosing to move past the moment and also pretend nothing weird happened.

Keith isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

Dinner wraps up with the usual rowdy conversation and sharing thanks around the table. But before anyone can fully retreat to their respective rooms, Allura stands from her seat with an eager glint in her eyes.

"Everyone, I have something very special to share tonight," she announces, practically glowing. "A private screening!"

“A what?" Keith asks, surprised.

Allura smiles proudly at him. "Bii-Boh-Be has directed and produced a cinematic masterpiece in honor of Voltron. It stars all of us as the main cast!"

Coran gasps. "Bii-Boh-Be? The greatest film producer in the galaxy?! Oh my, we must watch this! The honor! The privilege! It elates me!"

Pidge chuckles, "He's like the Tarantino of space."

Keith lets out a laugh, before he can stop himself.

Lance squints at them both. "Wait. Who's Tarantino?"

"A film director,” Keith says easily, “He made Pulp Fiction. Kill Bill. Reservoir Dogs?"

Lance stares blankly. “So, you like Tarantino films?”

"He's made some of my favorites," Keith shrugs, then adds quickly, "They’re different, but good."

Lance looks like he wants to say something more, but their conversation cuts short.

“Hey!” Hunk pops up between them, “Would you guys like to have some popcorn to go with your film viewing? Freshly popped!”

“Popcorn?” Keith echoes, surprised.

“The Arusian kind,” Hunk reiterates. “But, honestly, it’s like cantaloupe-flavored puff chips. Pretty tasty.”

Keith shakes his head, holding his palm out. “Nah, I’m good.”

Lance gasps, looking at him bug-eyed, “How are you watching a movie without popcorn?!"

“It distracts me.”

“That’s the point, Keith!”

“It’s not that serious. People do it all the time.”

“It is serious! You’re committing an illegal crime!”

Allura waves for everyone to follow her, gladly interrupting Lance and Keith’s ongoing verbal quarrel. “Hurry! The lounge is ready!”

When they arrive, the common room of the Castle has been transformed. Blankets and pillows are strewn across the lounge seating area; lights dimmed to its lowest setting. Allura has already queued up the holographic projector at the opening scene paused.

“I call dibs!” Lance yells, darting to a spot beside Allura on the floor.

Just as Keith is about to find a corner for himself, Lance reaches over and tugs him down by the wrist, patting the space next to him.

That’s how Keith ends up on Lance’s right side, nestled on the floor among blankets and cushions. Shiro, Coran, and Hunk claim the upper portion of the lounge, while Pidge, Allura, Lance, and Keith settle below.

The movie begins.

Immediately, the screen lights up with garbled Bii-Boh-Be dialect and chaotic, exaggerated action sequences. It’s almost comedic.

Keith tries to follow along, but the dialogue is incomprehensible. There’s a lot of waving of thin limbs and loud nonsense. There’s even confetti to portray the missiles and laser firing off, making the whole screen colorful.

Coran is already tearing up. Allura too.

Keith watches completely puzzled. What was there to be sad about? 

Then, Lance leans in, voice soft near his face.

"Don’t you think the one on screen looks cute?"

He takes a little while to finally register which character Bii-Boh-Be portrayed.

Behind an obvious greenscreen, the Bii-Boh-Be version of Lance is yelling, as he flies the Blue Lion with reckless speed toward a Galra fleet. His animated face scrunches with dramatic flair. As he closes in on the enemies, he even showcases a winning smirk.

Without realizing, Keith smiles up at the screen. Despite the dramatics, the movie does well reenacting Lance’s mannerisms. He finds the portrayal to be funny, but oddly endearing.

Unfortunately, Lance can't exactly read his mind. So, he throws a handful of popcorn at Keith.

“Not funny, Keith,” he says, frowning.

Keith turns, startled. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“Yes, you were!” Lance hisses. “You were totally laughing at me. Bii-Boh-Be Lance is still me! And, I have real feelings!”

“I wasn’t laughing at you!”

“Keith, I saw your stupid face!”

“It’s a funny movie! What do you want from me?!”

“Your support, maybe?! Like, oh, I don’t know. At least say I don’t look half bad!”

“Guys,” Pidge warns under her breath, “Quiet down, already.”

Keith gawks at him, now offended. “Wait, did you just say my face looks stupid?”

Glaring at him, Lance huffs, “You had stupid, smug little smirk on your face! Don’t even try to deny it!”

“I’m not smug!”

Lance snorts, throwing another handful of popcorn at him. “Please, you’re literally smug all the time. It’s like your default setting!”

“Please, stop yelling,” Allura begs, clearly worried about something.

Lance leans in close to Keith’s space, laughing in a taunting way. “You so are! You’re like ’Hi, I’m Keith. I’m super intense. I train for fun. I don’t know how to relax. I’m better than everyone at everything.’”

“That’s not what I sound like!”

Lance grins, mocking. “That’s exactly what you sound like!”

Readying himself to leave, Keith places both hands on the floor. “I don’t have time for this.”

Lance gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Oh no! Keith doesn’t have time for me. Whatever shall I do? Quick! Someone save me!”

Keith feels his anger boiling over to the top. He opens his mouth.

“Shut the hell up! I’m trying to watch the movie!”

Shiro’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and uncharacteristically loud.

Keith and Lance both stiffen up, turning slowly toward him like scolded children. Along with them, the whole room falls silent. Even the Bii-Boh-Be on screen pauses for comedic effect.

Everyone stares at Shiro.

Lance clears his throat, sitting up straighter. “Right. Sorry, Shiro.”

“Thank you, Lance,” Shiro says slowly, “Keith?”

Keith feels totally belittled right now. “Yeah, sorry,” he barely voices.

After sending them a tight smile, Shiro casually pops another piece of popcorn into his mouth. Everyone robotically turns back to the film.

Frowning, Keith sinks back into his seat on the floor, arms crossed.

Lance shoves him with his shoulder, hissing. “See? Now you got us in trouble. This is all your fault.”

Keith shoots him a look. “You started it.”

“I swear, if I hear another word,” Shiro grumbles.

Keith and Lance both shut up immediately.

After a short amount of time passes, Lance leans a little closer to him. Just enough to bump their shoulders again.

Keith expects to look over and see Lance falling asleep.

Wide awake, Lance intensely stares at the screen, eating the last few bits of popcorn from his bowl. Completely unaware of their close proximity.

Selfishly, Keith stays still. 

A formal message from Queen Luxia was received. 

There had been seismic rumblings at the site where Baku had once been defeated. The merfolk of her kingdom feared the monster might've reawakened. As such, she urgently requested the paladins to travel to the ocean planet Glaciem for their assistance in case it were to be true. 

“It could just be a subsurface vibration,” Allura offers thoughtfully, fingers drumming over her chin. “The region is geologically unstable. There’s no compelling reason to believe that Baku has reawaken.”

“Yet, there’s no reason not to believe it has,” Shiro says, folding his arms and eying intensely at the holograms of the former Baku projects in the central command room. “The possibility still exists and that’s not a risk we should be willing to take.”

Coran hums, stroking his mustache thoroughly, “Hmm, yes. It’s conceivable that Baku may have never died and chose to stay dormant. There’s no known record of its ability to reproduce or clone itself, but who’s to say it can’t evolve?”

“It’s decided then,” Shiro says firmly with conviction, “Hunk and Lance. You were the ones who faced Baku last time. You know the terrain and enemy. I want you two to investigate.”

Hunk shifts in his stance, frowning slightly. “Uh, well, to be honest, we barely made it out the first time, remember? That thing almost cracked my lion open...”

“Yeah, just because we survived it once doesn’t mean we’ll get lucky again,” Lance says, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.

Shiro glances at him. “You both have grown in strength and teamwork. Watch each other’s backs, and you’ll be fine.”

“Hah, yeah, okay, sure,” Lance intones, looking from Hunk to Shiro. “But this mission needs a little bit more than just teamwork. It needs insurance. Because to be frank, there’s no way in hell I’m risking my life again without some of it.”

Shiro considers Lance’s input. “Well, what did you have in mind to ensure that security?”

Lance steps forward, an unusual seriousness settling on his face. 

“I think Keith should come, too.”

Allura raises an elegant brow. “Lance, you’re overthinking this operation. You and Hunk handled yourselves well before. There’s no need to involve Keith.”

“Actually, there is,” Lance pushes, tone firmer than usual. “We barely made it out alive last time. Sure, if this isn’t Baku, maybe I’m overkilling it.”

“Which, you are,” Allura insists.

“But, if it is Baku, then Hunk and I are definitely going to need some backup. Obviously, the castle needs Shiro and Pidge to keep everything secure. So, that leaves us with Keith.”

“Worst case scenario, Zarkon spots us,” Allura says slowly at Lance, as if he needs a thorough explanation. “We need a strong hold here in case something goes wrong while you and Hunk are away. Keith leaving will cause us to only have two lions with the Castle ship. That's jeopardizing my safety along with everyone else here."

Lance meets her gaze directly. “And if Baku’s really back, I’m going to need reinforcement. You’re worried about holding down the fort. I’m worried about whether Hunk and I are even coming back to it. You tell me what's the priority, then.”

There was a beat of tense hushed air.

Pidge whistles. “Damn, Lance. You still trying to be the leader after all this time?”

Lance immediately takes a step back from Allura, hands up. “Woah, woah! I-I wasn’t trying to overstep my position,” He assures hurriedly, “I'm so sorry, Allura, I didn’t mean to come at you like that. Ultimately, I’ll go with what Shiro thinks is best!”

“Well then,” Allura starts, propping a hand to her hip and definitely not ready to accept Lance’s apology yet, “What do you think then, Shiro?”

Rubbing his temples with the pinch of his fingers, Shiro hums in intense thought. After another moment, Shiro exhales a deep breath and lifts his head. 

“I would like to hear from the rest of the team,” he announces firmly. 

For a long moment, no one says anything. The awkward tension lingers throughout the control room, as each member glances at one another. 

Allura frowns. Lance sweats nervously. 

Keith can feel Lance’s gaze on him; a silent plea for support that pulls him like a warm ember. Lance doesn’t usually push back against Allura’s authority.

But this time he had.

To ask for Keith, like he needed him.

It was... a lot to try to decipher right now.

“Lance’s right,” Keith finally says, stepping forward close to Shiro, “If Baku has reawakened, then I’m going to be needed. I should go.” The resolve in his voice almost surprised even him.

Momentarily taken aback, Lance looks visibly stunned. “Woah. Can you say 'Lance's right' for me, one more time, real quick? Wait, hold on, let me grab my recorder for this.” 

Keith almost regrets siding with Lance.

Luckily, Hunk clears his throat, trying to ease the tension. “I-I wouldn’t mind if Keith were to tag along, as well. It’d be kinda reassuring to know we have a solid offense moving in,” he voices hesitantly.

“Pidge?” Shiro calls out.

Pidge lays horizontally in her control chair, lax and chill. She simply shrugs, with arms up in the air. “Eh, I’m cool with whatever.”

Shiro frowns, clearly torn. He runs a hand through his hair, weighing the risks against their strengths. Finally, he sighs with reluctant acceptance to the switch of plans. 

“All right. Lance, Hunk, and Keith. You three will head out and investigate. Check in every hour. Allura, we’ll do what we can to remain undetected for the time being.”

Allura doesn’t look too happy about the final decision, but she gives a tight nod to Shiro.

The Lions soared down to Glaciem in perfect formation, slicing through the planet’s icy atmosphere before plunging into the depths of the sea. The moment they entered the water; their surroundings transformed into a blue, deep world. 

Through the open comms, the mood had lightened considerably.

“Y’know,” Hunk starts, “this place hasn’t changed at all. Still freezing and terrifying.”

“And, oh, so gorgeous,” Lance adds, wistful.

“Did you forget that Baku used to live here,” Keith says dryly. 

Lance sighs loudly, overly dramatic. “No, Keith, I did not forget about Baku, the psychic horror sea monster. I’m just saying, if we were to completely ignore the potentially traumatizing mind invasion thing, I’d say this planet is very pretty.”

“Yeah, if you ignore the fact that we nearly died here, too,” Hunk mumbles.

“Details, details.”

“This isn’t the time to make light of the situation, Lance,” Keith mutters.

“What can I say? I am as chill as ice.”

Keith scoffs. “You screamed for a whole minute straight when you thought something grabbed your lion when we broke into the water.”

“I told you already, that was my warning system!” Lance yells, defiantly, “It was alerting the team! I had Pidge do an upgrade where it sounds off an A.I. recording of me yelling. But it’s not actually me!”

Hunk laughs, “Sure, buddy.”

They land near the gates of the undersea kingdom, greeted by Queen Luxia and her guards. Bubbles appeared and surrounded around the paladins’ heads, allowing them to breathe once they stepped out from their lions.

“Paladins,” Queen Luxia says graciously, a relieved smile breaking across her regal features, “Your presence brings us great relief. We pray the disturbance is nothing more than the tectonic shifting and fault movement of our planet.”

"Tect-what now?” Lance asks.

Plaxum, standing beside the queen to her left, giggles. “Tectonic shifting. The sideways motions of the planet’s crustal plates rubbing one another.”

Lance smirks back at her, leaning into the moment. “Oh, I definitely know about sideways motions and rubbing, alright.”

While Hunk groans at Lance’s obnoxious comment, Keith side-eyes the exchange, feeling an inexplicable tension tugging at his chest and jaw tight. 

He clicks his tongue, turning away from the sight of Plaxum blushing. He tells himself it didn’t bother him. That it didn’t matter when Lance flirted.

It matters. But only a little.

They were assigned Blumfump as their guide and sent towards where the rockfall took place. As they swim to the location, Lance suddenly slows and gently pulls Keith by the elbow.

Keith instinctively scowls, jerking his arm free. "What?" He hisses, already feeling himself getting riled up.

Lance smirks. "Just wanted to check in on my favorite broody emo fish. You enjoying the views? Way better than being holed up in the ship, right?"

Keith narrows his eyes. "Focus on the mission, Lance.”

Instead of getting the message and leaving him the fuck alone, Lance kept swimming alongside him, way too close. 

"You know," Lance starts, tiredly, "if you ever want a real connection, maybe you should start looking at the opportunities right in front of you. The underwater seems like the perfect place to start. Very mystical and romantic, if you ask me."

Keith sighs through his nose, fully regretting coming here in the first place. "When did I ever, and I mean ever, tell you that I needed a connection with anyone?"

"Wow, Keith. No wonder you’re single. You have absolutely zero appreciation for the art of romance. If you had even an ounce of imagination, you’d realize I’m kinda onto something here,” Lance says, leaning in close to Keith’s face, bubbles touching. 

"The only thing I see in front of me right now is you in my way," Keith states harshly 

His tone doesn't deter Lance away. "Why don't you seize the opportunity, then?" He asks smoothly.

Hunk coughs loudly.

They both turn their heads.

He has been floating behind them all this time, arms crossed, watching the whole thing like he was witnessing a slow-motion disaster unfold.

"Do you two need a minute?" Hunk asks, genuinely.

Immediately stiffening, Keith’s cheeks warm. "No."

At the same time, Lance positively beams. "Maybe!"

Keith surges forward, away from whatever this was turning into.

Lance is just as determined to keep up.

Keith ignores him, focusing on the mission at hand, on the rockfall ahead, on literally anything that wasn’t Lance.

But then, of course, Lance speaks again.

“Straight ahead. Hot or not hot?”

Keith frowns, “That’s literally Blumfump. And he’s wearing a mask.”

Lance nods, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Exactly. Doesn’t that make him mysterious. All that stoic aura? It’s giving slow-burn romance material.”

Hunk groans. “Are you seriously rating hotness while we’re potentially about to fight Baku?”

“Correction,” Lance says, holding up a finger. “I’m multitasking.”

Already feeling his patience wearing dangerously thin, Keith mutters, "Can we seriously not do this right now? Or was this the real reason why you wanted me to come in the first place?"

Lance ignores him completely. "Think about it, dude. Mysterious stranger? Hidden identity? He could have a tragic backstory just like you, Keith. You two could heal each other. Emotionally."

"Why do you care?"

Lance looks back at Keith like he’s grown three heads. "Excuse me? I care because, duh, I’m your wingman. I recognize potential romantic partners for you when I see it."

"You recognize nonsense when you see it," Hunk insists.

Lance gives him a pointed look. "Nonsense and romance are like second cousins. Also, you’re not helping. You’re supposed to be my co-wingman that I can lean on!"

Keith rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he saw his past lives. “Right. Because flirting with a fish is top priority when we might get mind-melted any second.”

"Oh, come on," he shoots back, undeterred, "You’re just jealous because here I am having a blast, and you’re just stuck staying grumpy."

"Not even a little," Keith deadpans.

After a brutal encounter with Commander Throk that left their Lions singed and their bodies bruised, Team Voltron found themselves utterly drained. 

The Castle of Lions floated in orbit, quiet except for the occasional hiss of repairs.

Which is why Coran, with all the pride of a travel agent unveiling a five-star brochure, had pulled up a glowing planetary projection.

“Behold! Planet Rhisa! The most relaxing destination in the entire quadrant! Warmest waters! Coolest sands! And not a single Galra enemy base for miles!”

Allura and Shiro exchanged a glance before nodding. Even the most disciplined leaders knew when there was a needed cool-off.

Preparations began quickly. Hunk and Shiro took charge of the heavy lifting, carrying umbrellas, and coolers. Pidge held tightly to her sun hat, mumbling threats about sunburn and UV exposure. 

Strolling beside Coran, Allura, radiant in a soft pink bodysuit, hair tied in a messy bun.

Lance sighs, audibly heart-strung. “She’s so unreal.”

Hunk grins over at him, “You should tell her.”

With a reddened face, Lance coughs a laugh, waving a hand. “No, no, no! No way! That’s way too direct. Buddy, you got to say things smoothly. You have to be subtle, like me.”

Hunk laughs. "Subtle? You? Last I checked, those are strictly antonyms."

"I’ll have you know I am a masterclass of finesse. A connoisseur of charm. A—"

"A coward," Hunk finishes, "Sometimes." 

Lance gawks at him in utter betrayal.

Behind them, Keith watches silently, eyes flicking to Allura, then down at himself. 

Red swim trunks. Flip-flops. 

Allura was effortlessly radiant, instantly drawing attention without even trying. She had a grace behind her stance, and she was undeniably beautiful.

On the other hand, nothing about Keith was alluring. He was rough around the edges, used sharp words, and stood in the background.

It made sense how Lance could stare at Allura with pure attraction.

But Keith?

He was just there.

And that thought sat uncomfortably in his chest.

Distracted in his thoughts, he bumps right into Shiro.

“Whoa, easy,” Shiro steadies him. “You alright?”

Keith winces. “Headache,” he lies.

Shiro gives him a knowing smile. “Not used to the sunshine, huh? You’ll warm up to it.”

Once they found an open spot of yellow sand among the crowded alien beachgoers, they began to set up their camp.

As Keith tries adjusting the umbrella angle, sticking it in the sand, Lance steps directly on his foot.

“Ow! Watch it, Lance!”

“You watch it,” Lance fires back, glaring.

“I was the one standing still!”

“Then maybe move out of my way next time.”

“Then you move out of mine.”

“No, you!”

Hunk sighs deeply, already exhausted from hearing them, “Guys, please don’t start...”

Pidge, however, says offhandedly, “Why don’t you two kiss already and make up?”

When Keith meets her expectant gaze, she sticks out her tongue, before smiling.

Realization hitting him like a high-speed trunk.

Quickly, he tosses the umbrella onto the sand and walks off toward the shoreline, ignoring the calls of his team to come back.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck

Pidge knew.

She had to know.

Pidge wasn’t just teasing for the shits and giggles. She was digging, poking at the edges of something Keith wasn’t comfortable addressing. She definitely enjoyed the way his silence spoke louder than any word of denial.

On top of that, Keith couldn’t decide what’s worse.

Lance never noticing.

Or Lance noticing.

Both felt equally disastrous.

Keith kept walking, putting distance between himself and the others, weaving past beachgoers. Once he felt far enough to breathe, he stopped. 

He took a silent moment to stare out at the odd pink hues of the water, rolling in and out like a steady pulse. It helped him to regulate his deep breathing. Exhaling, slow and steady.

“E-Excuse me,” came a voice beside him. 

Keith turns to see a short, grey Olkarian male, clearly older and panicked.

“By any chance, have you seen my little girl? Orange bucket hat, flower sandals, and she looks just like me. I turned away for a second and now, I-I can’t seem to find her. Please, tell me you've seen her.”

Keith shakes his head. “No, I haven’t.” 

The man's expression crumbles, panic flickering in his wide eyes. His hands clench at his sides, as if willing himself to stay composed, but his breaths are already uneven, shallow.

“Oh stars, I—!” His breath hitches sharply, looking around frantically, his gaze scanning every moving figure in the bustling beach. “She was right here with me. Just a second ago. I swear, I only turned around for one moment—!”

Keith definitely wasn’t the greatest at comforting people. But, watching someone spiral like this, right in front of him, did something to his gut. Especially watching a father missing his only daughter.

He lets out a small sigh, more to himself than anything, before speaking again.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” He reassures slowly.

The man’s desperate gaze lifts up to meet him.

Keith held it. “I’ll help you look.”

They comb through the beach, surveying every cluster of sunbathers, every sandy dune. Finally, Keith spots her near the tide, humming to herself and building a sandcastle. Still wearing her bright orange bucket hat and fuchsia flower sandals.

He points. “There.”

Right when the man recognizes the little girl, he sprints hurriedly, collapsing to the ground when he hugs her. In his tight, protective embrace, the little girl stares up at her father, unaware of her disappearance and confused why he was crying. 

Keith watches, a faint smile on his lips, but the warmth of the moment lasted for a short minute.

He couldn’t remember anything like that from his own life back on Earth.

No safe arms. No desperate relief in a parent’s embrace.

Just absence.

Maybe that was why he felt so out of place sometimes. Why he struggles to connect to others. 

Because what did he have to offer? What did he know about love, about warmth, about being someone’s safe place?

Back on Earth, there's no one who would search for him with that level of desperation. 

He's never been someone’s most important person they're too afraid to lose.

Everyone ends up leaving him at some point.

The ache rises, straining his chest, but Keith forces himself to breathe through it, to push it down, to ignore the weight of it.

However, the dreaded question remains.

Does that mean he's worth nothing?

Splat.

Cold water hits the back of his neck.

With the tension tightening the line of his shoulders, Keith pivots slowly.

Locking eyes, Lance stands not too far from him, grinning, panting, holding a water gun. 

“Gotcha.”

Keith lunges. 

Lance yelps, sprinting away instantly. Keith chases him down the shoreline. They run until they are breathless.

Their ankles hit the pink water.

Grinning like a menace, Lance shakes his hips.

"Neh, neh, neenah, neh! You can’t catch me!" He taunts, before running deep into the water.

Keith does not hesitate.

With a gusto of speed and strength, he charges through the waves, plowing forward faster than Lance had time to react.

His hands catch Lance’s shoulders, and he tackles him fully into the surf.

They crash into the water with a dramatic splash erupting around them. Some individuals nearby gasp at their brawl.

Surfacing first, Lance gasps for air loudly, hair slicked back, eyes wide with disbelief.

Keith surfaces next, shaking the water from his hair, resulting in droplets hitting Lance in the eye.

To get back at him, Lance splashes water toward his face in retaliation, but Keith barely flinches.

“Dude, I didn’t think you’d actually try to drown me!”

Keith wipes the water from his face. "If I honestly wanted to drown you, you wouldn’t have surfaced. Also, you should’ve aimed for my face. Never the back of the neck."

Lance scoffs, shaking his head. "You know what? I take it back. I wish you would’ve drowned me. So, I didn’t have to hear you complain my ear off! Also, what do you mean? I hit you dead on!”

"You're trying to justify your terrible aim."

"That was a tactical ambush! It took precision!"

"Then, here’s some advice. You should wait until your target turns around and faces you head on. That's how you should be aiming a fatal hit at your enemies."

Lance flicks more water at him. "Yeah, well, I totally knew that. I was going for dramatic effect, not trying to showcase my sharpshooter skills. Honestly, you’re just mad I got you fair and square.”

Keith deadpans, "And yet, here we are. You're soaking wet and I'm victorious."

Lance groans, throwing his head back. "Ugh! Give me a freaking break, Keith! I won first!" With that, he dunks his head back into the water, embarrassed.

Laughing, Keith feels the odd tension in his chest from earlier finally ease.

Keith had spent too long drowning in his own thoughts, spiraling over things he couldn’t change.

But then Lance came busting through, loud and reckless, dragging Keith into something stupid, ridiculous, and so completely Lance.

It helped Keith get unstuck in his own head.

He was no longer questioning his place, his worth, his ability to be enough.

Instead, he’s here; floating in pink seawater with Lance through the waves like none of it mattered in the first place.

He appreciates Lance looking out for him, even if Lance didn’t realize that’s what exactly he was doing for him in this moment. 

Even if Lance was just being Lance.

Somehow, that was enough for Keith to feel gratitude.

When he surfaces back up from the water, Lance whips his head around quickly.

“Hey! Everyone! I found Keith, by the way!” He calls out, voice loud in order to reach across the beach.

Keith turns. He sees the rest of the team wave lazily from their position. Pidge, Allura, and Hunk halfway into a round of cards, Coran dozing in a lounge chair as he sunbathes and tans. Shiro giving a thumbs up from the shade.

No one looks surprised to hear Lance’s announcement, almost like they had already known of the fact for a long while, now.

Keith glances back at Lance, squinting right at him.

“Okay, seriously, let’s cut to the chase,” Lance starts, nudging his elbow. “Who was that guy you were with? Why’d you run off with him out of all people? 'Fess up, Keith."

“Huh?” 

“Don't start 'huh-ing' me. You’re supposed to go through me before you start talking to someone. It’s one of our rules!"

Oh. He’s talking about the Olkarian. 

“He’s a father who ended up losing his daughter,” Keith explains. “I helped him find her.”

Lance’s expression flickers momentarily, caught off guard. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Keith says, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. "She wandered off. He was freaking out. He came to me asking if I had seen her. I hadn’t, but I still helped. We ended up finding her and all is well."

Lance stays quiet for half a second, which was practically unheard of. Then, with a breathy huff, he smiles at Keith.

"So, you helped him?"

Keith narrows his eyes. "I just explained that I did."

Tilting his head, Lance really eyes at him now.

"That’s really nice of you, Keith." He admits softly.

Keith suddenly became uncomfortable under Lance’s attention, not used to such an intense, careful stare.

Lance stretches his arms out, sighing as he leans back into the water, feet kicking lazily beneath the waves. 

"Sometimes," he muses, "you do things that make me think you might actually have a heart in there." He makes an emphasis to lift a pointed finger and touch Keith’s chest. “You didn’t have to help that guy. But you did."

Keith shrugs, not knowing what else to do with the strange warmth coiling in his chest.

"Anyone would’ve done what I did."

"Give yourself some credit," Lance assures, still smiling. "Be proud you were able to help someone today. You'll probably receive good luck, or something."

Keith offers an awkward smile back. "...Thanks, Lance."

He can tell when Lance notices the redness in his cheeks immediately, as his eyes slowly narrow, suspicious.

Keith knew what was coming.

“Did you think he was cute?”

Keith tilts his head, feigning thought. 

“No, Not really.” He answers, honestly.

Lance smiles wider. Keith doesn’t understand why.

Right when he considers asking about what’s funny, Lance whips his water gun up from under the waves and blasts him square in the face.

The wingman game bled into mind melding practice.

Mild melding with Lance was already difficult, because Lance can be extremely distracting. 

And Keith doesn’t even mean that in a ‘Lance is Hot’ way, although that’s part of the problem. Lance can be distracting in the worst way: loud, nosy, emotionally unpredictable. 

They are good sparring partners when Lance actually puts in the effort, and even better together on the field, but when it comes to something like mind melding, they tend to get sidetracked. 

It requires patience, control, and thought before actions. The opposite of what either Keith and Lance bring to the table.

Without the energy and focus of Shiro mediating things, their one-on-one mind melding sessions tend to end with one of them getting upset or annoyed at their unfiltered thoughts.

And sure enough, today’s session derails into a dumpster fire.

Keith really tries to stay centered when a thought bleeds into the simulation. A memory from Lance, forcing its way into the forefront of his focus. 

A willowy blond guy, laughing, leaning in like Lance had said something funny. From Lance’s perspective, Keith sees the way the guy’s hair falls into his eyes and the way Lance had clearly noticed that.

Very begrudgingly, Keith gives him a once over. Admittedly, the guy doesn’t have a bad face, but it’s perpetually obscured by his hair. He’s tall, sure (Lance’s height, probably), but he was lacking muscle mass.

Keith grimaces. “I think I could break him in half.”

Lance’s snort echoes. “Okay, okay, no twiggy guys.”

“That’s number three.” Keith reminds him.

“Man, Keith, you’re killing me with the quotas. What about this guy!” 

Against his will, the memory shifts as the scrawny guy morphs into a well-built, muscled brunette, biceps bigger than Shiro’s.

He looks tough. Could probably use a lance, judging by the way he carries himself, though he could just be a straight-up brawler. He’s broader than Lance but not as tall, and the hard set of his mouth is nothing like Lance’s usual grins.

“He probably trains a lot.”

“That’s—!” Lance's voice stills, “Wait, isn’t that like a turn on for you?”

Keith jerks, immediately defensive. “Stop.”

Okay, yeah, maybe it is, but the mere thought of discussing his ‘turn ons’ with Lance makes Keith want to fling himself into the eternal abyss. 

“I’m just saying—!”

“I said, stop it. I mean it.” He elbows Lance in the side, hard, earning him an audible wince.

The guy is decent-looking, sure, but Keith’s mind is already betraying him. He’s comparing this stranger’s posture to Lance’s, his jaw to Lance’s smirking mouth, his stupid too-white teeth, his warm eyes. 

He’d be even more decent looking if his hair was more put together like Lance’s, or if he carried himself with Lance’s carefree ease, or maybe if he just was Lance.

This guy isn’t Lance. And Keith is too aware of that.

The comparisons keep popping up, unbidden. It’s frustrating, because Keith is desperately trying to shove these thoughts in the depths of his soul.

But, unfortunately, Keith can feel Lance growing more excited and interested at wondering why Keith was starting to get fluster. The mind melding did not help.

“Let me in already. I’m trying to see inside your head,” Lance teases.

“I’m thinking of nothing,” Keith grits out.

“I feel your heart racing,”

“You’re pissing me off.”

Lance hums. “You're getting nervous.”

“I'm getting mad," Keith falsely corrects.

“You have yet to answer me, by the way.”

“He’s okay,” Keith grunts, because he is, and also because Lance isn’t actually stupid and without some misdirection, sooner or later he’ll figure out that Keith’s ‘type’ is him.

Keith hopes Lance will buy it.

Predictably, he doesn’t.

"You don’t sound very convincing, Keithy boy," he says in singsong, his voice carrying that telltale smirk even in the mind melding simulation.

Keith clenches his jaw. "It’s an answer, isn’t it?"

"It’s a cop-out, honestly."

Of course it is. But Keith doesn’t have the patience for this, and Lance is already teetering on dangerous territory. He can practically feel Lance’s curiosity bubbling over, ready to interrogate Keith.

However, there’s a shift in the meld. Lance’s thoughts push something forward, a memory or image too charged to ignore.

Keith braces himself, but no amount of preparation can stop the way his heart jolts into his throat when the image sharpens.

It’s him.

Keith sees himself from Lance’s perspective, standing in the training room after a sparring match. His hair is wind-tossed, expression stoic. But under Lance’s gaze, there’s something else; a strange, soft clarity. 

He looks pretty.

In an instant, Lance yanks off his mind-melding gear and tosses it onto the floor. The image goes away.

Keith whips his head over to Lance, who’s staring at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Dread begins to pool in his gut.

“What was that?” He barely asks, slowly removing his own head gear.

“W-Wait, hold on!” Lance hurriedly rushes to say, sounding utterly stressed, “That was a joke. Totally a stupid joke. Keith!

"..A joke?" Keith echoes dumbly.

"Like, you know, maybe the only person you’ll ever like is yourself! Hah, funny, right? There's no way you're that full of yourself, right?”

A humorless joke.

Just like Lance.

Furious, Keith sees no reason to stay in this stupid mind melding experience and gets up on his feet.

“H-Hey! Now I think we’re getting somewhere!” Lance calls out, but it sounds a little forced

Keith doesn't stop running until the automatic doors to his room slides shut behind him.

His heart is pounding, his thoughts are tangled, and he wants nothing more than to slam the door behind him and pretend this entire situation never happened.

All he can think about is how he wished Lance actually looked at him like in that false image.

And how much it hurt that he never would.

He tells himself that his crush on Lance ends, now.

Unfortunately, for him, Lance is persistent. His footsteps echo in the corridor. 

"Keith, c’mon!" He calls out, scrambling to his feet and following Keith down the hallway. 

It’s barely the next day. Coran’s good morning announcement echoed only minutes ago, and Lance is already hunting him down like a bloodhound.

Desperate to get Keith out of his funk after he ignored Lance the whole rest of yesterday

Regardless, Keith keeps walking, refusing to talk. He doesn’t even know where to go, without Lance tailing right behind him. But, he'll go anywhere at this point.

"I’m sorry! I was messing around,” Lance voices earnestly, “I seriously didn’t think you were going to get upset!”

Keith grinds his molars, willing himself to ignore Lance entirely. The problem is Lance has never been easy to ignore. He’s loud, relentless, and somehow manages to make himself seen, even when Keith is actively trying to push him out.

Lance catches up, grabbing his wrist. "Listen, I understand you’re angry with me. But don’t push me away like this. Talk to me!"

Keith whirls around, eyes blazing. "You seriously think I want to talk to you after that stunt you pulled? You must be more stupid than I thought!"

Lance’s grip tightens slightly, his brows furrowing in something dangerously close to guilt. "It wasn’t—that wasn’t supposed to mean anything, okay? It was part of the game."

Keith yanks his wrist free, glaring. "You don’t get to screw around with my head and then pretend it’s just for fun." He seethes, jabbing a finger to Lance’s chest, “You humiliated me! And for what, your own amusement? Like I'm some joke to you?"

Lance exhales sharply, frustrated, but unwilling to let go just yet. "Dammit, Keith, you always twist things like I’m only out to hurt you! You’re my friend, and I—" He stops himself, jaw tightening. Then, softer, "You might not believe it, but I do care about you.”

Keith stiffens, caught off guard by the honesty in Lance’s voice.

You're my friend.

“Then, leave me alone," He mutters.

“I'm not going to do that, Keith,” Lance says, softer. “I won’t.”

The worst part is, Lance sounds genuine. He always sounds genuine when he’s not deflecting with humor, when he actually looks at Keith with that open, hurt expression that makes Keith’s stomach twist.

Keith doesn’t respond right away, jaw clenched, the emotions simmering too close to the surface. He avoids Lance’s gaze, focusing on a fixed point on the wall instead.

“I don’t need you to pretend we’re cool,” Lance continues slowly, like he's scared of being pushed away. “You don’t even have to talk to me for a while if that’s what you need. I—”

He pauses, sighing deeply, “—I just need to know I didn’t lose our friendship. I don’t know how I’d feel knowing I was the one who set us back to how we were before.”

Friendship.

Keith glances at him, but Lance simply stands there, waiting patiently, his usual bravado nowhere in sight. 

We could only ever be friends.

Therefore, there's no reason to carry on his feelings anymore. The fact this will never evolve into anything more should be enough to help Keith move on.

"Fine. I forgive you. Okay?”

Lance shakes his head, frowning deeply like that’s not good enough. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I know you’re still mad at me. Punch me in my face, or something."

Keith holds his gaze, unwavering. "Lance, we’re good. I mean it. Just, don't do that again."

And, for once, Lance doesn’t push. He doesn’t keep badgering Keith for answers or teasing him just to get a reaction.

He just watches Keith, eyes flickering with something unrecognizable, and lets him go.

"Yeah. Okay. I promise I won’t."

But Keith can hear the hesitation in his voice, see the way his fingers twitch like he's resisting the urge to reach for Keith again, to say something more, to fix something.

Instead, Lance just offers a lopsided, tired smile. "Guess I’ll see you later, then."

Keith nods once, short and firm, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Lance doesn’t follow this time.

And that should have made Keith feel relieved.

It doesn’t.

Shiro stands in the center of the celebration hall, diplomatic and proper as he exchanges gratitude and respect with the rebels. 

Keith's fingers grip tighter around the glass in his hand. There are so many influential representatives here. Delegates from all across the galaxy have gathered to form secret alliances with Voltron.

It’s important. Shiro had made that very clear.

It’s a part of being a paladin.

And yet, Keith feels completely out of place. 

He doesn’t belong here. 

Still, orders are orders.

Keith keeps to the outskirts. It’s easier than dealing with whatever game Lance is trying to play.

Currently, Lance is being fake.

There’s an easy smile stretched across Lance’s face as he chats with strangers, laughing like it’s second nature. To anyone else, it would seem natural.

But at this point, Keith knows the difference between Lance being charming and Lance performing. 

And this? This is all performance.

When Lance meets Keith’s stare, Keith quickly tries to pretend to busy himself with his cup. But when he looks back up, Lance has already started weaving through the crowd, smoothly. Fantastic.

He finally reaches Keith’s side, stepping in close, offering a smile.

“Hey.”

Keith nervously bites the inside of his cheek, steeling himself. Act cool. “Hey.”

Lance rocks on his heels, hands resting on his hip. He tilts his head slightly, giving Keith a quick once-over like he’s trying to gauge his mood.

"You enjoying the party?" Lance asks, too casual.

Keith shrugs, glancing around the crowded area. "S’fine."

"Fine, huh?" Lance echoes, raising a brow. “‘You really know how to light up a room."

Keith shoots him a glare. "Not all of us need to play the social clown to make ourselves feel better."

"Ouch!" Lance pulls back and flails his hand in mock injury. "You sure are in a feisty mood, huh? You gonna bite me, or something?"

Keith just sips his drink, unwilling to rise to the bait.

A few moments pass, thick with tension neither of them wants to acknowledge.

Lance shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Look, about the other day—"

Keith tenses instantly, fingers tightening around his cup. "Lance."

Lance stops mid-thought, pressing his lips together before sighing. He forces that easy grin back onto his face like armor.

"Right, nevermind," Lance says, voice lighter now, like he’s shaking off something heavy.

Then, without preamble, he rests his arm on Keith’s shoulder and points out the dancefloor. 

"Why don’t you go over and ask for a dance?"

Keith deadpans to him. "I'm not going to dance with anyone.” 

That earns an exaggerated eyeroll, which is annoying, because eye-rolling is Keith’s thing.

“Okay, Lone Wolf,” Lance sighs evenly, almost like Keith is the most exhausting person in the universe. “You’re seriously not gonna meet anyone by lurking in the shadows. You might have to, I don’t know, socialize if you ever want to get laid.”

“I—ugh, Lance,” Keith does not stammer. Talking about this with Lance doesn’t fluster him at all, actually. He’s fine with this. Entirely unbothered. “Is that all you ever think about? Getting laid?”

For just a second, Lance looks wounded.

It’s fleeting, almost imperceptible, but Keith catches it before the expression vanishes, replaced by that shitty grin. The one he gets when he knows he’s about to make a joke Keith will hate, but he’s telling it anyway.

“Yeah, I tend to think about that,” Lance teases. He pats Keith’s back, winking before walking away.

At least Lance is acting like his normal self again.

Keith, meanwhile, continues to stand around.

He spots a table lined with finger food and makes his way toward it, eyeing the multicolored dishes.

He tries one that tastes bitter and chalky, barely swallowing it down with his drink. Another bursts in his mouth like hot sauce and intense lavender. Weird, but not bad.

“I didn’t know you were part of the party favors, as well.”

Keith blinks, turning to find a Zarbrak, with tan with spikes on his temples, and captivating blue eyes.

Keith gestures behind him. “Oh—! No, uh, the party favors are over here.”

The alien smiles, shaking his head. Instead of correcting himself, he lifts a polite hand up to Keith to shake.

“The name’s Lex. I come to you in appreciation of your paladin work.”

Keith nods. He hesitates, but he ends up choosing to shake Lex’s hand. “I’m Keith.”

“Pilot of the Red Lion, right?” Lex asks, “I must say, red does look good on you.”

“I prefer black,” Keith says.

It’s not supposed to be funny, but nevertheless Lex laughs. “I could imagine you’d rather be the leader and pilot of the Black Lion, then?”

“Oh, god, no,” Keith denies bluntly, “I could never do that.”

Lex nods. However, his eyes glaze over Keith’s body. 

“Well, I don’t think I’m all too hungry anymore,” Lex sighs, stepping closer to Keith. He offers his arm. “May you join me in a dance? So, we can get to know each other properly?”

Keith’s stunned. “No, um. I don’t dance."

Lex takes no offense. He simply bows his head, very graciously. “Another time then.”

Barely bowing his head back, Keith drifts off, scanning the crowd again. Eventually, he spots Pidge leaning against a decorative pillar, looking about as bored as he feels.

“You look like you want to melt into the wall,” Keith voices as he approaches.

Pidge groans, almost like she was close to death itself. “If only these walls could lead us back to the Castle, I’d already be halfway there. Too bad there’s no way for us to teleport.”

Keith hums. “I’d settle for a wormhole.”

Pidge looks over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Woah. Without any hesitation. You really hate this, huh?"

Keith scans the room with mild disinterest. "Not exactly my scene."

“Yeah, no kidding. You don't do well with political-social convocations.”

“You don’t think this whole place feels like a trap?” Keith tries to justify, “Like one wrong word and we could potentially start an intergalactic war.”

“We're kinda already in an intergalactic warzone Keith. Besides, I think you’d be the one we'd have to worry about saying the wrong thing,” Pidge jokes.

They share a laugh.

It doesn't last long. Keith lifts his gaze up from Pidge, and his breath catches in his throat.

Among the close bodies of rebels, Lance dances with a tall, elegant female Twi'lek. 

His hands are on her hips. 

Her hands are on his chest. 

They sway together, fluid, sultry, like they’ve done this for a thousand lifetimes before.

Lance’s eyes lock onto her, all over body.

Keith watches, frozen, something inside him cracking before he can stop it.

The feeling lodges itself deep, sharp and unrelenting.

Of course, Lance’s laughing, touching, being touched.

Keith has seen Lance flirt before.

But this time, Keith feels like he’s watching something he really shouldn’t be.

He looks away, forcing himself to focus on anything else. But the shadow of the image lingers, burning into the back of his mind. 

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?”

Keith blinks. “What?”

Pidge groans. “Don’t give me that. It doesn’t take much to see you do care about him. Might as well be honest with yourself when I’m asking you about it.”

Keith stiffens, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I can’t.”

“And, why exactly?”

Keith frowns. “It’s complicated.”

“Everything’s always complicated with you.”

He glares at her for the insensitive jab, but Pidge doesn’t back down.

“Seriously, what’s really stopping you?” She insists, “Who do you think Lance is? You think he’s gonna laugh in your face? Call you an idiot? He’s not like that, and you know it.”

Keith looks away, gaze flickering back to Lance, before looking down the floor.

“It’s not that.” Keith mutters.

Pidge raises an eyebrow, waiting.

Keith hesitates, frustrated. “I don’t know how to tell him, Pidge. There, happy?”

Pidge blinks, then lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You don’t know how? Keith, it’s basic communication, not rocket science. You just tell him. Point blank. ‘Hey, I like you.’ There.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Pidge rolls her eyes, exasperated. “It is quite that simple. You could literally tell him right now.”

Keith rubs a hand over his face.

“Look, I’m not like him, okay?” He voices, almost reluctantly. “I don’t talk about feelings. I don’t know how to say it without screwing it up.”

“You seriously think Lance cares about that? He doesn’t say things right, like more than half of the time. What makes you think he needs some elaborate explanation?”

Keith doesn’t answer, but his quiet speaks for itself.

Pidge sighs, clearly annoyed. “Geez, you’re making harder than it needs to be. No wonder Lance gets tired putting up with you.”

That hits him deep. “Listen, I didn’t ask for your help,” Keith bites back.

“Okay, well, you never ask for help, anyways!” Pidge retorts back, “Like honestly, you’re just going to let Lance enjoy himself while you sulk in a corner? That’s your solution?"

"Then, you tell me what the hell I should do."

"Why don’t actually do something about it, instead of mopping around" Pidge shouts, "If you want to move on from Lance, why don't you already!"

The words sting. 

But suddenly, it pushes him to do the unthinkable.

He walks. She tries to grab his arm, but he shrugs her off. 

He doesn’t know why she sounds so alarmed, voice urgent with something, trying to call him back. Like she was trying to stop him from doing something stupid.

Regardless, he leaves.

He needs force himself to move on.

Past the forced, practiced laughter and the crowd of strangers.

Until he spots him.

The same Zarbrak from earlier. 

Lex, he thinks.

Tall. Tan. Blue eyes.

Looks enough like Lance to make it hurt.

Keith stills, just for a second. His heart rages for him to turn around.

He steps forward.

“Hey.”

Lex turns, eyes bright, expression curious. The other aliens around him look expectantly in awe.

Keith clears his throat, forcing himself to stick to this decision.

“Still up for that dance?”

Lex smiles, clearly flattered. “Oh, absolutely.”

He offers his hand once more. 

Keith stares at it, his heartbeat hammering.

Then, finally, he takes it.

Lex guides him through the dancefloor, his hand tightening around Keith’s own as they go deeper into the center and have to navigate through more bodies.

Keith tells himself it’s like Lance’s. Long fingers. Warm grip. Gentle.

They step into the slow rhythm of the dance floor. However, Keith can feel his movements are awkward and stiff, as he tries forcing himself to enjoy being here.

“I really don’t know how to do this,” he partially admits lowly, embarrassed to even say it out loud.

Lex laughs, warm and easy, like Keith’s hesitation is nothing to worry about.

It reminds Keith of Lance.

“You’re doing fine,” Lex assures, his grip gentle, guiding Keith through the motions, “I’ll lead.”

Keith nods, but the tension in his shoulders never quite goes away. 

With a searching gaze, Lex watches him for a moment.

“Are you sad?”

Keith hitches his breath, caught off guard.

However, Lex’s tone isn’t teasing. It’s genuine, like he actually cares about Keith, despite the two of them having never met before. 

“I hope I didn’t catch you at the wrong time,” Lex voices, worry laced in his words, “I didn’t realize until seeing you this close that you seem upset. Tell me, are you  feeling alright, tonight?”

Keith’s breath shudders. He looks down at his hands, trembling. 

Nevertheless, he steps closer and wraps his arms around Lex.

“No,” Keith whispers, “But, maybe you’ll make me feel better.”

Lex’s smile is small and understanding.

He places his hands on Keith’s body, steady and comforting.

Moving his hands to Lex’s hips, Keith tries to follow his lead, trying to let himself sink into the moment. 

They sway, slow and deliberate.

Then, Lex spins him, shifting their position so Keith’s back presses lightly against his chest. Keith doesn’t fight against it, allowing himself to move as dictated by Lex. 

Keith inhales slowly, the warmth of Lex’s presence settling against him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. He tries to focus on the way Lex’s breath is even and stares at Keith, calm and collected, like any of this was easy to do.

Like this was supposed to be natural.

Keith wants it to feel natural. Desperately.

He wants to sink into it, to let himself forget, just for a little while.

He looks up.

And locks eyes with Lance.

Lance dances with a new partner.

However, while she moves against him, her hands roaming, her body pressed against his, Lance no longer pays attention to her.

He slows in mid-step, his easy grin gone, replaced by something Keith can’t quite place. 

Something that makes Keith’s stomach twist in guilt.

Keith’s body tenses up.

Lex notices, tilting his head slightly. He leans close to his ear. “Something wrong?”

Keith doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

Because Lance is still staring at him, watching the way Lex holds him, the way Keith lets himself be held. 

Keith should look away.

He shouldn’t care.

But he does.

They stare at each other. Neither of them stops moving. But neither looks away.

Keith feels the burn of Lance’s gaze as it drags down, lingering on where Lex’s hands rest on his hips.

He mirrors it, eyes dropping to where Lance holds his partner.

Keith’s heart pounds, uneven.

Imagine that’s Lance holding you, his mind traitorously whispers. 

Just pretend.

Then, Keith’s spun around, his focus on Lance pulled away.

He faces Lex now. 

When Lex smiles at him, he tries to smile back. But it feels terribly wrong.

No matter. Lex gives Keith a pitiful look. He already knows.

“Would you like to leave?” Lex asks.

The question shouldn’t be so difficult to answer. And yet, Keith can barely breath against this chest-crushing sensation and booming heart.

For a moment, he tries to convince himself to push on, to enjoy himself and stay in the moment with someone new. Lex is attractive, sweet, and gentle.

Every fiber in his body begs him to leave.

He nods his head, pulling away, stepping back, breaking the connection.

Lex doesn’t ask why.

He simply lets him go.

Keith rushes through the crowd, weaving between bodies, barely hearing Shiro calling his name. He bolts from the hall, through the corridors, and outside the venue. 

He doesn’t stop.

Not until he reaches Red.

The moment the cockpit seals shut behind him, the silence crashes over him.

Finally, alone.

Only then, does he break.

Silently, his shoulders shake. His fingers clenching into fists against his lap. He attempts to pull himself together, holding back from finally spilling over.

He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to force the tears to stop it and breathe through it, but the weight in his chest is too suffocating for him to bear.

He slides down his seat, crumbling under the force of it all. 

Covering his face, Keith brings his knees to his chest, curling himself smaller and smaller, begging to disappear. Maybe, it wouldn’t hurt so much, then. 

Is this how it feels to love someone you can never have?

Keith wants to rid this feeling.

He blocks out the knocking and banging from outside. Muffled voices, urgent and begging, trying to reach out to him.

Red makes sure no one can enter. 

Because right now, Keith needs to fall apart to realize his feelings for Lance were never going away.

As long as Lance exists, Keith couldn't possibly fall in love with someone else.

And for once, he lets himself feel.

Chapter Text

The Wingman Game is over.  

And the silence left in its wake? Deafening.  

With arms looped around his knees, Keith sits on the floor of the Castle of Lions’ control room, staring out the wide viewing windows. The thousands of stars stare back at him against the dark, uncaring of his dilemma.

He doesn’t know when exactly it happened. When this stupid crush turned into something meaningful and impossible to ignore. He felt entirely weakened by it.

A soft knock resounds against the wall.

He finds Shiro standing nearby, waiting.

"...Mind if I sit with you?" He asks quietly, almost like he feared raising his voice any louder could shatter the atmosphere, “Or, do you want to stay alone?”  

Keith turns away again, hugging his knees closer, protectively. 

"...Do what you want," he mumbles.  

He hears the clicking of Shiro walking over and feels when he slides down next to him, one leg bent, and another straight out, as he settles into the quiet. Together, they stare up at the vastness of space. 

Shiro’s presence beside him is familiar and comforting. He continues to wait patiently in the quiet. The sides of their bodies touch, and yet he remains still, unmovable.

"You know," Shiro starts gently, "There’s a saying that goes, 'A truth unspoken does not lessen its burden. It only grows.’ And, that includes our emotions, as they are the echoes of the truth we carry. Denying them does no good for our mindset."

Keith keeps his gaze fixed on the stars. "I don’t see how admitting something I can’t change is supposed to help."

Shiro hums. "Carrying it alone won’t change anything, either.”

“Who says I want to change?”

“Listen, I know you’re trying to be strong for your own sake. But, keeping to yourself and how you feel locked inside doesn’t make you a stronger person."  

Keith’s expression hardens as he continues to glare into the endless void of space, searching for something, anything, that might offer him clarity. 

But the stars remain indifferent, silent witnesses to this conversation.

Beside him, Shiro shifts, turning fully to face him, his expression now heavy with concern, almost pained.

"Is that really what you want to do, Keith? Be trapped with your feelings forever, praying they’ll just one day disappear? Tell me, have you felt any better since deciding that?"  

Keith presses his lips together. He doesn’t have an honest answer to give. 

"I don’t think you have," Shiro answers for him, unwavering, "And I don’t think you ever will if you keep choosing to handle your emotions like this."  

Fingers tightening against his sleeves, Keith selfishly closes his eyes for a brief moment, desperately trying to tune out Shiro as frustration pulls him taut inside. He doesn’t want to hear any of this.

However, Shiro knows Keith too well to allow that, bringing his face closer. 

"The team’s worried about you, Keith,” he says finally, “You’ve been distant since the rebel alliance banquet. Yes, we see you on missions, but the second we return, you vanish. And, when we try to talk to you, you push away. We want to help you, but we don’t know how."  

"It’s not something anyone can fix," Keith steely warns, “So, you can leave if that’s what you’re trying to do, right now.”

"I’m not here to fix anything,” Shiro corrects firmly, gaze steady, “I’m only here to listen to you. That’s how we help each other. You know that."

Keith glances at him, just for a second, before looking away again. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” he says plainly.

Leaning away, Shiro sighs, frowning. "I may not know exactly what’s weighing on you, but I can see it’s taking its toll. If you let me in, even just a little, I could help lift some of that burden off your shoulders. But, you’re going to have to help me understand."

Swallowing thickly, Keith feels his throat instinctively tighten, closing.

"You don’t have to tell me everything. But maybe, we can start with something small..."

Biting his lower lip, debating, Keith hesitates. He stubbornly wants to continue keeping his feelings to himself. The thought of saying it aloud felt like jumping off the edge of a cliff.

However, after a long moment, he asks carefully.

"...Have you ever had a relationship?" 

Surprise flashing across his features, Shiro straightens slightly. "Well, of course. I’ve made multiple relationships. Strong bonds, actually. Built on trust, loyalty, respect—"  

Frustrated, Keith groans, "No, I meant… romantic relationships."  

The expression on Shiro stills. 

The line of his shoulders falters.

"Oh."  

"Yeah," Keith murmurs into his arms.  

They both return their attention to the stars, allowing the quiet to settle once again.

The control room of the Castle of Lions feels colder than usual, space’s emptiness pressing in around them. The hum of distant machinery is barely audible. The glow of the monitors casts faint light across the walls.

Keith shifts slightly, hugging his knees closer, trying to ignore the way the chill seeps into his skin. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, unsteady and loud, reminding him that he’s still here in this room with Shiro by his side, willingly.

The quiet stretches on, unrelenting, until Shiro finally speaks again.

“I have,” he admits, breathlessly.

As he twists his neck to face him, Keith’s eyes widen, completely taken aback by the revelation. It’s the first time he’s ever heard about it, and the surprise is unmistakable on his face.

Shiro continues, his voice becoming distant. “We had something good. Strong. But when I was preparing to leave for space, things changed.” He pauses, choosing his words wisely. “It’s hard to hold onto something when duty pulls you in a different direction.”

“And?”

Shiro offers a small, wistful smile. “And I told myself I had to focus on the mission. That I couldn’t afford distractions. But the truth is, I was petrified of losing what we had. More than anything. I just didn’t want to admit it, because if I did, I would have never brought myself to continue my work.”

An uneasy feeling settles deep in his chest. He doesn’t like where this is headed. “So, what happened?” Keith asks, gloved fists clenching.

Shiro’s collected expression crumbles for just a moment, before he schools it back into something neutral. 

“We ended up drifting,” he voices measuredly, “Not because we wanted to, but because life has a way of pulling people apart. I left for space, and I have yet to make it back home.”

His words pain Keith. Shiro, captured and tortured, living a nightmare. He has tried to picture it before, but the thought alone was always too unbearable to imagine.

“Believe me, I know what it’s like to fear your own emotions, especially the ones you wish you could ignore. But, when you love someone, that feeling doesn’t just fade on its own. You have to be willing to confront it, accept its truth, and figure out how to move forward.”

Keith drags a hand through his hair, gripping the strands tightly as frustration coils inside him. Shiro’s story was a painful reminder that no matter how much he tries to push it away, this feeling will continue to stay.

Breathing out a long, tired breath, Keith whispers, more for himself than to Shiro, "God, this is so fucking humiliating…"  

Instantly, Shiro reaches out, his human hand resting firmly on Keith’s shoulder.

"Don’t say that," he demands firmly. "How you feel is completely normal. Don’t ever deny it or shame yourself for it."

Keith swallows hard, the lump in his throat forming fast.

"I won’t let you convince yourself that you’re somehow broken for loving someone," Shiro presses, "Love is powerful. It takes strength to find it within your heart to choose to love another and embrace it. And not everyone has the courage to feel as deeply as you do."  

Keith’s gaze falls to the floor, unable to maintain eye contact.

"Do you think it’ll get in the way?" he asks quietly. "Of me being a good Paladin?"  

Tilting his head, Shiro considers that. "It might. But it could also make you better."  

"Better?"  

"You will understand the pain of those who have suffered losing a loved one in this war. And maybe, that understanding will make you fight harder for them."  

Keith gives a small nod, emotions squeezing in his gut.  

"If I were to tell you,”He voices, barely perceivable above the hum of the ship, “would it change anything?"  

"Change what exactly?"

"Everything. The team. Us."

Shiro offers a small, knowing smile. "No matter what happens, you’ll always be Keith, Paladin of Voltron, pilot of the Red Lion. And most of all, one of the most important people in my life. People change, but I won’t. I’ll always be here for you."

Keith’s throat feels caught in barbed wire. The back of his eyes burns.

"But, more than anything, you’re not some heartless soldier, Keith. You’re a person first. Your feelings, they’re part of what makes us human. The change in your heart isn’t something you should be quick to deny. It’s how we grow and how we become better versions of ourselves."

"Maybe I should have been born Altean.”

Shiro chuckles at that. "Oh, no. Love is just as difficult for them, I think."  

“Figures,” Keith sighs defeatedly, leaning his head back against the wall.  

They don’t rush to fill the hushed air. The quiet feels safe, almost necessary.  

“Would telling me help you in any way?” Shiro asks gently, trying not to push it.

Keith thinks about that. He thinks about how much he wants to say the name that stays constant in his mind. To give the feeling a definition instead of letting it claw at him from the inside. But the pressure of admitting it felt terrifying.  

Still, Shiro hasn’t judged him so far. And somehow, that makes all the difference.  

He closes his eyes, inhaling shakily before whispering, “It’s Lance.”  

Shiro doesn’t react immediately.  

Keith doesn’t dare look at him. He isn’t ready to see what his face might say.  

A quiet warmth enters Shiro’s tone. “Ah.”  

Keith’s fingers tighten around his sleeves, his pulse hammering in his ears. 

After a moment, Shiro reiterates, “Lance, huh.”

Hiding his reddened face, Keith presses his forehead against his arms. “Yeah.”

“How long have you known?”

“Too long. Not long enough,” Keith says with a short, humorless laugh, “I don’t know.”

“Are you interested in becoming more? With Lance?”

Keith feels his face burning hot. “I doubt he’d want that.”

“I’m not asking what he would want.” Shiro clarifies, “I’m asking what do you want?”

Keith turns the thought over in his mind, letting it settle and unravel.

Sure, he recently realized he might be in love with Lance. But, with those feelings in mind, what was his objective? What was the ultimate goal?

“I don’t know,” Keith mumbles admittedly.

“And does he know? About how you feel?” 

Keith can’t even begin to fathom what would happen if Lance knew. The thought alone makes his stomach churn, a wave of nausea creeping up his throat.

If Lance knew, he might try to laugh it off and play nice. Make some joke about how Keith is the last person he’d expect to have feelings. 

Or worse, he might pity him. Let him down slowly. Treat him differently.

Keith clenches his fists. He doesn’t want things to be different.

Because if he were to see Keith for what he really is, for what he really feels, then there’s no going back to what they have now. It could affect the team and the formation of Voltron.

And Keith isn’t sure he could survive that.

"Promise me you won’t tell him, Shiro," he voices shakily, barely more than a whisper, “Please. Don’t ever tell Lance.”

Shiro gives a small nod. “I promise.”

Keith feels a wave of relief wash over him.  

"In exchange," Shiro suddenly adds, bringing a finger up, "You do need to talk to him."

Keith stiffens. "What?"

Shiro’s gentle voice veers into a serious tone. "Lance might act like he doesn’t care, like your distance doesn’t bother him. But, I see the way he looks at you when you pull away."

Keith exhales sharply, shaking his head. "He’s fine. It’s just about this stupid game–"

"He’s not," Shiro counters, unwavering. "He’s worried sick about you.”

The thought of Lance searching for him makes the tiniest parts of Keith selfishly happy. However, the rest of his entire being feels awful and shitty.

Conflicted, he remains quiet.

"You don’t have to tell him anything you’re not ready to share," Shiro continues, voice steady. "But you owe him an explanation, at least. Why you’ve been distant."

"I don’t know what to say," Keith says, frustrated.

"Then just tell him you’re okay," Shiro assures simply. "That’s all he really needs to know, right now. Until the time comes for you to tell him more."

Keith’s shoulders slump in resignation. 

"I’ll think about it," he murmurs.

Shiro smiles, nodding. "That’s all I ask."

Keith searches for any hint of obligation in his words, as the leader of Voltron. 

Instead, there is only sincerity.

Then, without hesitation, Shiro grabs Keith into a warm embrace. 

"Keith," Shiro whispers, holding him closer, "You deserve love, just as much as anyone else. And you’ll find someone who is just as lucky to love you in return. I hope one day you come to realize that."

Keith lets his head rest against Shiro.  

For the first time in days, something inside him untangles, just a little.  

"Thank you, Shiro," he murmurs softly.

The next morning, Keith stands outside Lance's room, arms stiff at his sides, heart beating with enough force to feel it throbbing in his head. 

The door looms in front of him, impassive, silent. 

His fingers twitch at his sides.

He takes a deep breath, then another, internally coaching himself out of the instinct to flee.

You need to do this , he reminds himself. Shiro said it would be okay.

He knocks, once. 

Twice. Thrice. 

No response each time.

Keith clears his throat, forcing his voice to carry. "Hey, Lance. Uh, it’s me."

Still nothing.

"It’s me, Keith," he adds awkwardly, as if that clarification would somehow do the trick.

The silence persists.

“Lance,” Keith calls out again, his voice echoing slightly in the hall, “You in there?” 

The door stays firmly shut, and Keith’s frustration begins to bubble, as he can imagine Lance purposefully standing behind them, enjoying every second of him looking like a beggar on a street.

Keith scowls at the door. "You realize you’re making this harder on me, right? I’m going to walk away if you’re just going to be like that.” 

Still, no sign of movement.

"Lance!” Keith snaps, loudly banging at the doors, “Open the door already! I know you’re in there! Lance! Lance! "

Finally, the door slides open with a hiss, revealing a bleary-eyed Lance with messy bed hair and wrinkled pajamas. He has line imprints from his pillows on the left side of his face.

Keith blinks up at him. It’s nearly mid-day, and Lance looks like he had just rolled out of bed.

Staring down at Keith, Lance crosses his arms. "What do you want?" he asks, voice scratchy, “I was in the middle of catching my beauty sleep, you know.”

"I wanted to talk," Keith says carefully. "You free, right now?"

Lance's arms remain crossed, his gaze narrowing. "What is there to talk about?"

Keith hesitates. "It’s about what happened at the banquet. You want me to come in? ..Or, do you want to talk somewhere else?"

Lance refuses to respond at first. His eyes linger on Keith, gazing him up and down, suspiciously. Then, after a long beat, he steps aside and lets him in. Without a word.

His quarters was a mess. Plates and bowls were stacked on the bedside table, some with crusted space goo and leftovers still clinging to them. Empty bottles laid sideways in the corners of the room, and miscellaneous clothes were scattered across the floor.

Lance dumps a pile of shirts off the bed and gestures lazily. "Sit."

Cautiously, Keith sits beside him. 

"I’m sorry," he began, "For being distant. I didn’t mean to make you worried about me."

Lance scoffs dryly. "Worried? Pfft, nah, I just assumed you finally decided to do something else with your life, other than train your body away."

Keith knows Lance is trying to get a rise out of him. So, instead, he ignores the comment, "I’ve just been in my head,” he explains slowly, “I needed to be on my own."

“Okay, sure, I can get behind that,” Lance leans back on his palms, looking away. "But how does being on your own also mean shutting out those who care about you? You were the one who said you and I were good. Yet, it was like you had something against me. Again."

"I know," Keith mutters, shifting his gaze to stare down at his gloved hands. "That’s not fair on any one of you guys, including you. I wasn’t thinking straight. But I needed the space to feel."

“Feel what?” Lance asks, visibly growing frustrated, “I don’t know, man. One second, we’re talking all cool, and the next I saw you on the dancefloor and you—!” He halts, before exhaling, “You left out of nowhere.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, sighing, not knowing what else to say.

“And, when Shiro and I tried to get you out from the Red Lion, you just stayed in there,” Lance says, thinking back, “Since then, I don’t know what to think. Did something happen?”

“Not exactly.”

Lance’s expression widens. "Not exact–? Hold on, did that weird alien dude do something to you?" His voice was suddenly sharp, protective. "You weren’t forced into anything, right?"

Keith frowns at him, entirely confused. “No, Lex didn’t do—”

“ Lex? Why in the world do you know his name?” Lance asks, visibly disgruntled, “You met him one night, and you remember his name? You barely remembered mine, and we’ve known each other for years!"

“If you could let me talk, I can explain—”

“Geez, Keith, what did I say about coming to me first? I knew he was bad news. From the moment he grabbed you, you should have pushed him off!”

“Lance–”

“Why didn’t you push him! You could have easily—!”

“Lance!”

“What?!” 

“I’m in love!”

Lance stares at Keith.

Keith stares at Lance.

Then, Lance blinks. Once. Twice.

"You serious?" He finally asks.

Keith nods once, face warming. He turns away. 

"Yeah," he mumbles.

He could practically hear the gears turning in Lance’s head, his expression frozen with a mix of shock and confusion. Keith resists the strong urge to fidget under it.

Lance opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again, only to let out a strangled, “Huh.”

Keith frowned. “What?”

“You love someone?”

Keith’s face reddens, embarrassed by the reiteration. “That’s what I just said,” he grunts.

"Wow. Okay.” Lance shakes his head like he was trying to reboot his brain. “And you mean like love love ? Not like ‘oh, I kinda dig this person’, but full-on, heart-racing, brain-melting, can’t-stop-thinking-about-them-even-if-I-tried love?”

Keith groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not?”

"Okay, but seriously, why am I now hearing about this? I’m your wingman, Keith! I’m supposed to be in the loop. This is, like, super vital information that could change your life!"

Keith sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like I was trying to keep it from you. I… didn’t know for sure back then.”

Lance scoffs, throwing his hands up. “Oh, come on! You could’ve just said, ‘Hey, Lance, I think I’m in love.’ Then, we’d be having this conversation way sooner. Like why would you—?”

A pause. 

“Wait,” Lance starts slowly, hesitant as realization hits his face, “Is it for someone on the team?”

Keith shifts slightly, uncomfortably. 

Immediately, Lance throws his hands up, practically stumbling over his words. “Whoa—okay! Sorry, my bad! I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna, I mean, obviously, that’s up to you and what makes you secure. But, like, wow. Okay. That’s—!”

“Don’t make this weird, Lance.”

Lance lets out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Right, right! Sorry! I should stop making this weird. Nope. Let me process it. Out loud. Like a normal person.”

For a beat, silence settles between them, neither quite sure what to say next. 

Then, Lance cleared his throat, repositioning his weight awkwardly. 

“So, uh, is this, like, a new thing? Or have you been sitting on this for a while?”

“New. Though, it’s not like I woke up one day and suddenly felt like this. It’s always been there, just buried. It only came to the forefront of my mind recently.”

Lance nods slowly, his expression unusually serious. “Yeah, Feelings are hella weird like that. They sneak up on you, and then— boom! You’re stuck dealing with them for who knows how long.”

Keith huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Lance studies him for a beat, then he gives a small frown, nudging Keith’s arm lightly. 

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He finally asks, “I’m your designated wingman. I’m supposed to know about these things.”

Sighing tiredly, Keith scowls at himself. "Because, Lance, I suck at talking about how I feel. It’s not exactly something I want to willingly subject myself to."

"Is that why you couldn’t tell me about your type?" Lance continues, his tone more curious now. "‘Cause it was going to expose you, or something?"

"Kinda,” Keith sheepishly says, "Honestly, I seriously don’t think I have a type, still. But after talking with Shiro, I think it’s because I don’t give myself the time to admit how I feel."

“Wait, hold on,” Lance stutters out, jolting upright, “Does that mean he knows? You know…”

Keith doesn’t need to ask what Lance means. 

He nods.

Lance hesitates, watching Keith’s expression carefully. “And… was he cool with it? You being gay, I mean. He wasn’t hard on you, right?”

Keith’s lips twitch into a small, thoughtful smile. “Yeah. He said it didn’t change anything.”

“How do you feel, then?” Lance asks, “Now that two people know about it.”

Three , Keith corrects in his head, including Pidge. However, Lance didn’t need to know how she knew. That’d be too difficult for him to explain.

“I think I'm okay with it," he admits slowly, "Eventually, I do want to tell everyone." 

Lance visibly considers his words. “So, what do you want? Like, if you could just snap your fingers and have it all figured out, what would that look like?”

“I don’t know,” Keith says eloquently. “What am I supposed to want?”

Lance shrugs. “It’s different for everyone. Some people crave the excitement and want to dive in right away without a plan. Others just want to figure themselves out before they even think about being with anyone. I guess the real question is what feels right to you?”

Keith muses silently. “I think I’m more of the second type.”

“Honestly, you should take your time to figure it out. At your own pace, of course. No need to rush into something you’re wanting to properly explore.” 

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I mean, it’s your life, dude. Naturally, I would like to tell you to just go for what you want. But, of course, you do what you gotta do. In the meantime, I’ll hold off on my wingman duties until you’re ready.”

Keith glances at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. 

"Thanks, Lance..."

Lance scoffs, smirking as he leans back. “I mean, setting you up with someone right now would be like throwing a baby deer into a lion’s den. It’d be too tragic and painful to even watch. But hey, once you get yourself sorted out, you might actually stand a chance with whoever’s got your attention. Maybe. Who knows, actually.”

Keith’s soft eyes change to a deadpan.

Catching his expression change, Lance’s grin grows wider. “Actually, scratch that. You need to work on that face, too. Right now, I give you, like, a 50/50 chance. And that’s me being really generous to you.”

“Like you’re any better.” Keith scoffs back.

“Excuse you! I’ll have you know, my chances are way higher than what you could ever imagine.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

Lance narrows his eyes. “It’s been going amazingly .”

“Right. That’s why you’re still single.” 

“Okay, rude!” Lance shoves a pointed finger at him. “First of all, I choose to be single. It’s completely different. Second, I could totally land a date if I wanted to. I’m just a very selective guy. And third, I have a good track record!”

Keith smirks. “Sure. If you count the times you’ve been rejected.”

“Those don’t count! That’s just part of the process! You’ve never even tried!”

“Maybe because I don’t want my ‘track record’ to look like yours.”

Lance groans, throwing his head back. “You know what? I can’t wait for you to start dating, I hope you get someone who annoys you just as much as I do.”

“Doubt anyone could match your level.”

“That’s because I’m a one-of-a-kind, Keith. Limited edition. You won’t find another like me in the entire universe. And honestly? You should consider yourself lucky to bask in my presence. In fact, if you wanted to start worshipping me now, I wouldn’t blame you.”

An amused smile tugs at Keith’s lips. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Together, after a couple shared laughs, they sit back, staring at the ceiling.

Keith leans forward slightly in thought. It was strange having this conversation. Admitting things he never thought he’d say out loud. But somehow, with Lance, it didn’t feel as terrifying as he expected.

Lance, for once, isn’t trying to hurriedly fill the space with his usual nonsense. Instead, he sits beside Keith, tapping his fingers idly against his knee. He wasn’t pushing or prying, allowing Keith to sit with his thoughts.

It was a rare moment of stillness; one Keith hadn’t thought Lance could provide him.

Then, Lance glances over at him. "So, are we good now? For real?"

Keith looks up. "Not unless you have something else to say."

For a fleeting second, Keith thought there was something Lance wanted to say. He opens his mouth, inhaling a breath like he was about to speak. 

But then, suddenly, he yawns loudly, waving a hand in front of his face as if dismissing the thought entirely. 

"Nah. I’m good," he says tiredly.

Keith wants to push it and ask what had flashed across Lance’s face just moments ago. 

His mind drifts back to the banquet; the way Lance’s gaze had burned his skin, even under his paladin uniform, when Keith had danced with Lex. It hadn’t been subtle. Even through the crowd, Keith had felt it. That stare, unwavering, locked onto him like Lance was trying to decipher something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Keith wonders if they should talk about it. About the way their gazes had wandered toward each other, about the unspoken tension that had stuck between them since that night. About why Lance had cared enough to stop and gaze longingly at Keith when he had someone else right in front of him.

Lance could have been worried about Lex pushing himself on Keith and he was only making sure the alien rebel wouldn’t cross any lines. 

Maybe, that night, Lance was just looking out for Keith as any friend would.

So instead, he lets out a slow breath, letting go of the thought. 

"Then yeah. We’re good."

Instantly, Lance flops onto his mattress with exaggerated relief. "Thank God."

After a moment of Keith watching him, he also finally allows himself to relax.

Silently, he, too, thanks God. 

For the quiet feeling of relief blooming now in his chest.

Allura sits cross-legged on the floor, the hem of her flowing robe pooled around her. She holds a card in her hand that reads: "Give this to the one most likely to get lost in space."

She glances thoughtfully around the circle: Keith, then Hunk, then Pidge. 

But finally, her eyes land on Lance.

Reaching forward, she places the card on top of Lance’s already collected stack.

" WHAT? " Lance exclaims, staring at the card like it had personally offended him.

Pidge doubles over, her glasses falling down the bridge of her nose as she wheezes with laughter. "Your face—! Oh my god, you look like you just got dumped!"

Lance turns toward Allura, utterly betrayed. "Okay, hold on, what gives? Why me?"

Allura delicately covers her smile with her fingers, feigning innocence. "I don’t know, Lance. Why did two bounty hunters leave you stranded without the Blue Lion again?"

Pidge practically collapses, "Nyma and Rolo totally duped you the other day! Like how? You were stranded for hours ."

"Okay, that was not entirely my fault!" Lance shoots back. "Keith hung up on me when I called for pickup!"

Keith shrugs, not looking up from his cards. "There was interference."

"I don’t believe you!" Lance snaps.

Pidge grins so hard her cheeks look like they hurt. "You have no one to blame but yourself. You fell for Nyma's flirting in like, what? Five seconds?"

Red coloring his ears, Lance crosses his arms and sinks back into his seat. "I am a hopeless, sensitive romantic, okay? That’s not the worst thing ever."

"No," Pidge snorts. "Just a personality flaw."

Trying to mediate, Hunk voices, "Hey, come on. They only tried to steal the Blue Lion because Zarkon was influencing them. They might’ve thought you were actually sweet, Lance."

"More like gullible," Pidge insists.

Meanwhile, Keith continues to sit quietly, tiredly staring down at his hand of cards. 

The four of them had been playing an alien version of "Most Likely To" card game Allura had suggested, using a set of blank cards she had scribbled prompts onto with a marker. It was, apparently, a favorite Altean pastime that she wanted the team to experience together. ‘A bonding exercise for Voltron’, as she declared it.

Shiro had promptly declined the offer, saying he was exhausted and couldn’t stay up any longer. In reality, he was probably too much of a grown adult to entertain with silly games.

Initially, Keith had also declined, wanting to end the night early. But Lance had asked him to stick around and play, his expression dumb and full of something Keith couldn’t say no to. 

So here he was. Playing along. And, regretting it.

Hunk reaches forward and draws the next card. 

"Who's most likely to try and make a move on the enemy?"

He barely hesitates, before placing it on Lance's pile.

" Hey! " Lance squawks, nearly knocking over his stack. Pidge cackles.

Hunk gives him a flat look. "Dude. You do that every time ."

Now, it was Keith’s turn. He leans forward to draw a card from the center. 

As he reads it silently, his stomach does a slow turn over.

Pick from the group who you would consider spending the rest of your life with.

He didn’t move for a long moment. His mind thinks, unbidden, to Lance.

His gut, his chest, every part of him urged him to play the move and pass the card to Lance. But Keith quickly thinks it’s a bad idea. Lance has made it clear, in his own way, that they were friends.

Anything else would just make it weird. And Keith couldn’t risk that.

He slides the card into Hunk’s pile without a word.

Confused, Hunk silently picks it up and reads the card to himself, before letting out a warm, surprised laugh. "Awww, thanks man! I wouldn’t mind being with you too."

Pidge raises an eyebrow. "What did the card say?"

"Who Keith would consider spending the rest of his life with," Hunk recites, “And, the feeling’s mutual, by the way.”

Pidge shoots Keith a look. Curious. Maybe a little skeptical.

Keith ignores it.

Meanwhile, Allura smiles over at him. "Keith, that’s very sweet of you. Do you mind if I ask your thought process on why you chose Hunk?"

Keith shrugs, keeping his expression neutral. "He can cook. Not much to it."

Quickly, Lance leans toward Hunk and whispers loudly, "You know, being married to Keith doesn’t sound too bad. He’ll boss you around, sure, but he’ll stab anyone who messes with you! It surprisingly has some perks."

Hunk laughs, easy and good-natured. "It’s just a game, Lance. Obviously, we’d never be husbands. I mean, we’re guys."

Keith releases out a tight, awkward laugh. "Yeah. Totally."

With a subtle glance, Lance looks back at him. 

Keith shakes his head slightly, and whatever Lance was going to say gets swallowed back.

Pidge pulls the next card. "Who's most likely to accidentally reveal classified information?"

She easily drops the card on Lance's stack.

"Okay, that’s it!" Lance stands up on his feet, waving his arms. "There is no way every single card applies to me! Allura, what is this?"

Allura giggles, cheeks flushed with laughter. "I’m sorry, Lance! I think I got caught up trying to mess with you, and perhaps I only thought of you when I wrote them!"

That makes Lance pause. His usual confidence falters, replaced by something softer, unguarded. Slowly, a rosy warmth creeps up his neck, settling in his cheeks, as forgets how to react.

Then, almost too quickly, he looks away, turning his gaze to the floor, the wall, literally anywhere but Allura. He forces a casual chuckle, but it comes out uneven.

"Well, when you put it like that... I’m flattered."

Allura watches him, amusement in her gaze, but she says nothing.

She doesn’t need to. Lance is already flustered enough, buckling under her presence.

Keith glances away from the scene, staring hard at his cards. His heart rolls around in his chest, raging, but he bypasses the feeling by telling Lance it’s his turn.

Grateful for the distraction, Lance readily picks up a card and reads aloud, "Who fits your ideal type of partner the most?"

Bracing himself, Keith tells himself that the card is going to go to Allura.

However, after Lance reads it, he doesn’t speak right away. 

He just continues to stare at the card. His eyes skim through the words again, as if reading them a second time will somehow change them.

The seconds stretch, long enough that Hunk leans in, peering at the card over Lance’s shoulder. "What’s up, buddy? Something on it?" he asks, scanning across the card Lance held.

Jolting, Lance’s face reddens once more. He swats at Hunk. "I was just thinking! Geez. Can a man not consider his options for a hot second?"

Sure enough, once Hunk sits back down, Lance slides the card to Allura, without looking.

"I mean, it’s pretty obvious," he says offhandedly, cheeks still tinged red.

Allura accepts the card anyway, giving him a polite, “Thank you, Lance.”

Keith drops his gaze back to his cards, fingers clenching around the edges. He doesn’t want to keep looking at the dopey smile that stays stuck on Lance’s face.

Right, Keith thinks. Lance likes Allura.

And no matter how strong his feelings grew, this situation was a firm reminder that they were never going to be reciprocated.

The battle with Prorok had been brutal.

Voltron flew through the debris field, each Lion moving in sync as they spiraled around the massive Ro-Beast. Prorok had been engineered to withstand their strongest attacks, outfitted with high-frequency shock emitters and an adaptive armor system that seemed to regenerate with every strike. 

Pidge’s scans ran hot with fluctuations in its core, and Hunk’s defensive systems were working overtime to deflect the energy bursts. Lance kept Blue swooping through the explosions, laying cover fire for Yellow and Green, while Keith pushed Red’s thrusters to the limit, carving an opening. Yet, as individuals, they couldn’t end Prorok.

Not even becoming Voltron was enough to take down the Ro-Beast.

In the end, it had taken Ulaz’s final sacrifice, plunging his ship into Prorok’s core, to finally bring the monster down.

Now, back in the Castle Ship hangar, the exhaustion was setting in.

The Lions had barely touched down before the team began piling out. They were all sore, bruised, and grimy, but alive. 

Keith watches Hunk stumble forward with a groan, rubbing his lower back. Wearily, Pidge checks the scanner strapped to her hip, muttering something about recalibrating sensor sweeps. Lance pulls off his helmet and shakes out his sweat-dampened hair.

Shiro heads down the corridor, shoulders tense.

Keith catches it immediately. 

"Shiro!" Keith calls, jogging after him.

Shiro pauses, turning only halfway. "Keith? Did you need something?"

"Are you okay?" Keith asks, slowing to stand beside him.

Halfheartedly, Shiro offers a worn-out smile, his eyes distant. "I am. Though, I think I need another night in a recovery pod. Ulaz—" he pauses, jaw tightening. "I don’t know if I ever properly repaid him for saving me. Back then. Now."

Keith looks up at him, chest clenching. "He wouldn’t have sacrificed himself if he didn’t believe in you, Shiro. That was enough for him."

Shiro runs his cybernetic hand through his hair, lifting the front. "I only wish I could've done more. Maybe there was another way. Maybe I should've—"

"Don't go down that road,” Keith urges him, “Ulaz wasn't looking for thanks. He only wanted to make sure we could finish this fight. And we did."

"I know," Shiro admits, voice barely above a murmur. "It's just... hard to accept."

Keith nods. "Yeah. It is."

Finally, Keith places a hand on Shiro’s dropped shoulder.

"You're not alone in this, Shiro," he says, firmly, trying to be just as encouraging as Shiro has been with him.

Shiro glances at him, lips curling in the faintest ghost of a smile, visibly noticing the effort.

But then, it passes. Shiro does a small shake of his head, turning away with straightened shoulders. "Rest easy, Keith."

With that, Shiro shrugs off Keith’s hand and walks away, through the automatic doors, without ever turning back. 

Behind Keith, Pidge had been watching. She steps up quietly, standing on her tippy-toes over Keith’s back. "Is something up with Shiro?"

"He’s tired," Keith replies, not meeting her eyes.

Hunk yawns loudly, stretching his arms over his head. "I think we’re all tired! I vote we go to sleep. Until, like, next week and the week after. Actually, let’s just do a month’s worth."

On the other side, a different set of doors slide open, revealing Allura. Relief spreads over her features when she sees them, staring breathless and wide-eyed.

"Thank the stars," she sighs, hand to her chest. "I saw the blast from Prorok. I was worried."

With a puffed chest, Lance steps forward, flexing one arm dramatically. "Worried? About me? Allura, please. I smoked that beast."

Allura rolls her eyes to Lance, however, she then turns her attention to Keith, once she notices the absence. 

"Where is Shiro?" she asks him, deeply concerned. 

"He’s headed to the pods.”

Allura gasps. “Is he injured?”

“Physically, no. Mentally, he’s... taking it hard."

“Taking what hard?”

“Ulaz. He—” Keith takes a moment, struggling to find the right words. “Shiro feels like he owes him more. Ulaz saved him back when he escaped from the Galra. Risked everything for him. And now, he did it again. But this time, he’s gone.”

Allura frowns slightly, her gaze wary. "Well, I understand mourning a loss, but this one… I don’t see why it should burden so heavily on him. Ulaz was Galra, after all."

Keith stiffens.

He had known, on some level, that Allura still harbored deep resentment toward the Galra, but hearing it aloud, so dismissive and cold, made something ache in his chest.

Keith wants to defend Ulaz’s honorable sacrifice. But instead, he swallows it down and says nothing. Because right now, he wasn’t sure there was anything he could say that would make a difference to the situation.

Just then, Coran bursts into the hangar, hands thrown wide. "Ah-ha! My weary Paladins of Voltron! You have fought valiantly, and now, a feast fit for champions awaits! Hurry along! Your stomachs must be roaring louder than the Lions themselves!"

"Yes!" Hunk shouts, practically skipping, “Ohhh boy, I’ve been dying to grub right now.”

"I’m starving!" Pidge whines loudly, following him.

Together, everyone begins to trail toward the dining hall, chatter building as they make their way over for a well-deserved meal.

From the corner of his eye, Keith watches Lance ease up beside Allura. With a confident grin, he slings an arm over her shoulder.

"So, were you worried about me? Be honest."

Allura arches a brow, but gives him a soft smile. "Not that worried."

Still grinning, Lance leans in slightly. "Not that worried? Come on, princess, I saw the way you looked when you almost thought I got blasted back there. I bet you were at least a little concerned for my well being."

Allura chuckles, shaking her head. "Lance, I was concerned for all of you. I hardly had time to focus on just one reckless Paladin."

Lance laughs along with her. "Well, thinking about you got me through that fight. Figured I had to survive if I wanted to see that pretty smile again."

"Hmm. And here I thought you were simply showing off."

"Me? Showing off? Never. I just happen to be good at saving the day and looking great while doing it. Pure coincidence."

With a hand over her mouth, Allura laughs again, genuine and cute, and Lance instantly brightens, looking like he had just won a million dollar lottery ticket.

It didn’t hurt as much anymore. Not the way it used to. No longer crushing.

Still, in the deep, dark corners of his mind, hidden behind the anger and fury, Keith selfishly wished that Lance looked at him like that. That he was the one who made Lance laugh, or blush, or flirt. But some things just weren’t meant to be.

When he finally turned in for bed, entering his quarters, Keith walked to his bedside and picked up his blade, fingers running along the smooth surface. The crest embedded in its hilt shimmered faintly in the low light.

He held it close.

Shiro’s right.

He had to keep moving forward.

Keith catches the Slipperies.

He doesn't even realize it at first. The sore throat that greets him in the morning is mild, almost recognizable. Keith knows he snores sometimes, especially after tough missions. A sore throat wasn’t enough to get in the way of training. He changes into his usual gear and heads for the training deck.

By the time he’s midway through his warm-up, his entire shirt is sticking to his back. Sweat from his forehead drips into his eyes, and he uses the towel slung over his shoulders to dab his face. Still, he tells himself it’s just the heat of the workout. 

Maybe he’s out of shape. He did crank up the simulation settings higher than usual.

That theory falters when the world blurs.

Instantly, a training bot slams into his side, and Keith slips hard onto the mat, unable to grip his footing properly to the ground. Stars burst behind his eyes, and a throb pain beats at the base of his skull. He groans, feeling already winded.

"Whoa! Keith!"

He blinks up at the ceiling, and then at the voice now hovering over him. 

Lance. 

Of course it’s Lance.

Keith blinks up at him, his thoughts sluggish. Lance hasn’t been hanging around the training deck when he’s around anymore; not since they agreed to end the whole ‘wingman’ charade. There were no longer any rules requiring Lance to show up with him, which he had seemed to take graciously. 

So why was he here now?

Keith tries to piece it together, but his brain feels like it’s going though a washer machine, his vision swimming slightly. Still, he can’t help but latch onto the question. 

Why did Lance come? 

What compelled him to be here, crouching beside Keith, with concern etched into his face?

Keith wants to believe it’s something special. That Lance came for a reason beyond just coincidence. But that’s just the fever talking.

"You good?" Lance asks, crouching beside him with a frown.

Keith groans, rolling onto his side. "Fine," he rasps.

Lance raises an eyebrow. "You sure? You sound like you swallowed gravel."

"I woke up not too long ago," Keith supplies, waving him off.

But Lance isn’t buying it. "Uh-huh," he drawls. "And the fact that you dumped a tub of sweat over your body? Is that part of your everyday morning routine too?"

Before Keith can protest again, he presses the back of his hand to Keith’s forehead.

Immediately, Lance's eyes widen, hand recoiling instinctively.

"Holy shit, you’re burning!"

Keith starts to push himself up against the mat, but quickly winces. His joints ache, a deep discomfort settling into his bones. Every movement feels stiff, like his limbs were being held down. 

Shivers run through him, unexpectedly. 

Lance says he’s hot, but the chill deepens, seeping into his muscles.

"That’s weird," he mumbles, pulling the towel tighter. "I feel cold."

Without missing a beat, Lance shrugs off his jacket and throws it over Keith’s shoulders. 

"Lie down. Now."

"Lance—"

Pressing a firm hand to his shoulder, Lance guides him back down. 

"Listen, you look like you’re about to pass out any second. Stop fighting me for once and just lie down."

Begrudgingly, Keith allows himself to slide back onto the mat. His head feels too heavy to hold up properly anyway.

Lance watches him carefully, eyes scanning his face like he’s assessing the damage. "Alright, well, there’s definitely something wrong with you if you’re actually cooperating with me, right now."

Keith glares weakly at him. "You’re hilarious."

Lance smiles, but it’s brief. His expression sobers as he readjusts his jacket around Keith’s shoulders, tucking it in and making sure it covers him properly.

"Just hang tight, okay? I-I’ll get some help,” he stammers nervously, “Stay here, okay?"

Keith looks up at him, his eyesight switching in and out of focus. He wants to say something clever to make Lance roll his eyes and scoff like he usually does.

Lance hovers over him, brows drawn together, lips pressed into a tight line, worry etched into every inch of his face. It doesn’t look right on him. He’s not supposed to be staring down at Keith like he’s fragile.

He hates it. And yet, the feverish side of him clings to it.

In his daze, he nods. 

With that, Lance bolts from the room.

Left alone, Keith curls up tighter into the warmth of Lance’s jacket. 

It smells overwhelmingly gross. The vanilla from Lance’s cologne is thick, almost artificial in its sweetness, clashing with the sharp bite of cinnamon that’s mixed in. The spice isn’t subtle; it’s bold, aggressive, the kind that sticks to fabric and refuses to fade. Lance definitely sprayed too much of it over his clothes.

Beneath that, there’s the faintest trace of aftershave, barely noticeable but still present. It’s clean and crisp, beginning to wear off. Probably from this morning, when Lance shaved, when he ran a hand over his sharp jaw, palpating for any missed spots.

He buries his face into the collar, inhaling deeply despite himself.

Vividly, in a fever haze, he closes his eyes and allows himself to imagine being wrapped in Lance’s arms. Solid and steady, wrapped around him in a way that makes the chill in his bones disappear. He imagines the press of a heartbeat against his ear, the rise and fall of a chest beneath his cheek.

Lance would be warmer. Warmer than this stupid jacket.

The next thing he registers is being lifted. 

He opens his eyes to see a bright light. Then, he hears a familiar voice.

"Keith? Can you hear me?"

Shiro.

He nods faintly.

Shiro sighs, audibly relieved.

"Good, that’s good," he murmurs, crouching beside him. His hand finds Keith’s temples. It feels cool against his skin. "You’re running a high fever, buddy. What happened?" He asks.

Keith blinks slowly, his thoughts tangled. He wants to answer, but the words don’t come.

Shiro’s frown deepens. He glances over his shoulder. "We need to get him out of here. He’s soaked through," he mutters. Then, turning to someone Keith can’t see, "Can you carry him?"

Lance answers. "Yeah. I got him."

Keith barely recognizes the shift in gravity as he’s hoisted into Lance’s arms. His head lolls, cheek resting lightly against Lance’s chest. 

The thud of Lance’s heart is fast and loud. Beating against Keith’s ears.

This must be a dream.

He lets himself drift.

When Keith wakes again, he’s horizontal, arms to his side and body tucked under his bed sheets. 

Blinking blearily, he rubs at his eyes and slowly realizes he’s in his room. The lights are dimmed, and the air feels cool. There’s a bowl of water with ice settled on his nightstand.

Hovering over him, Allura appears, before gently pressing a cool, wet towel to his forehead.

"You’re awake," she says softly, "How are you feeling, Keith?"

“I’ve felt better,” he grumbles, aching and shifting slightly under the sheets, “But, thanks.”

“Oh, no need to thank me,” Allura assures him, "I only played a small part in helping. It all happened rather suddenly. Though, I am truly glad you’re finally okay."

Keith blinks again. "What happened?"

"You caught the Slipperies," Allura informs gently, a frown forming across her lips. "Since Coran had it last week, I would safely assume it had spread to you. It’s a mild sickness for us Alteans, but it seems you humans seem to have a more extreme reaction. For that, I do apologize."

Keith furrows his brows, trying to piece together the fragments of his last conscious moments. “I can’t remember much…”

"Well, I doubt you would. You were feverish and delirious for a while. Luckily, once Shiro brought it to our attention, Coran recognized the symptoms immediately, and so, we knew what to do right away."

Keith groans. "Last thing I remember is training. Then Lance."

Allura nods. "He had found you on the ground. If he hadn’t, I fear your condition could’ve been worse, without quick intervention.”

"Lance was the one who got me out of there?"

Allura offers him a small, sympathetic smile. "Yes, and he didn’t hesitate. We did our best to keep you comfortable. Lance was quite insistent on making sure you were taken care of."

“He was insistent?" 

"Oh, very much so. He did not want to leave your side. Even when Coran assured him you’d recover, he refused to leave until you started showing signs of improvement."

Keith stares at the ceiling. "...Is he here?"

"He just left.”

“Oh.”

"He stayed as long as he could," Allura continues. "But I convinced him to get some rest. He was exhausted. You’ve been resting for a whole day, if that helps to put things in perspective."

Lance stayed. Waiting by his side. All day.

And Keith isn’t sure what to do with that.

"Keith," Allura starts carefully, her voice gentle but laced with curiosity, "Is there anything going on with you and Lance?"

"...What?"

Silently, her gaze searches across his face for a moment, too long and perceptive.

Internally, he panics for a beat. 

Had he said something? Dreamed aloud? Let something slip while half-conscious?

The fever had muddled his memory, blurring the edges of his awareness with the subconscious. He barely remembers how his day started, let alone a whole day’s worth. His mind frantically races, trying to dig through his brain, searching for any indication that he might have confessed anything embarrassing.

Then, Allura just smiles and shakes her head.

"Never mind. It’s not important. I’m just glad your friendship with him is strong. It’s good to have friends you can truly rely on."

Keith exhales slowly. Nods.

And somewhere inside his chest, that truth stirs like a bruise.

Strong friendship.

Right.

Keith doesn't know which was worse.

Realizing he’s in love with Lance or telling Allura he’s part Galra.

She had stormed out the moment he said it, the words barely leaving his mouth before her expression shifts from visible shock, then rage, and then nothing at all. She swiftly exited the room, unable to bear looking at his face for any longer.

Coran, ever gracious, had paused to offer Keith a quick apology for his highness’s behavior before following Allura into her quarters.

She couldn’t look at him the same since then.

When they were in the same room, her gaze never once met his. And if it did, it was cold, distant, like she was staring right through him.

Today’s no different.

Gathered in the Castle Ship’s briefing room, Shiro paces at the head of the table. Everyone else remains seated, spread out among the chairs.

"Zarkon’s forces are gaining," Shiro informs the group firmly. "We are running out of places to hide. Soon enough, he will need to launch an operation against him head-on. We need ideas. Anything."

Pidge leans forward, eyes bright with determination. "What if we sync the cloaking nodes to quintessence bursts? It could mask our movements and throw off their sensors."

Shiro shakes his head. "Unfortunately, I don’t think we have the time to implement that."

"We could always give him Keith," Allura suggests easily, voice deceptively light, facing forward. "A fair trade. He can reconnect with his kind. And the Red Lion can then be reassigned to someone more trustworthy."

The room froze.

Keith didn’t move. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Allura didn’t stop there.

"Honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken us this long to address the obvious threat in the room," she continues. "Keith’s blood ties him to the very empire that’s trying to kill us. We wouldn’t leave a Galra tech node unmonitored, would we? Why should this be any different?"

"With all due respect," Shiro states sternly, “This isn’t helping.”

"Is it now?" she asks, arching a brow. "Because no one else seems willing to admit that we’re just carelessly sitting here, brainstorming plans while a Galra sits at the same table."

"Keith is not Zarkon. You know that,” Shiro insists.

"Do I?" she counters, tilting her chin up. "He’s already proven how quick he was to feel connected with the Galra from the Blade. Who’s to say he won’t feel compelled to join Zarkon?"

Shiro’s expression hardens, but his voice remains leveled. "We are all choosing to fight against the Galra Empire. However, the Blade of Marmora isn’t associated with Zarkon. They’re rebels, just like us. We owe some of them our lives."

Allura’s scowls, glaring. "The Galra have torn apart entire civilizations with their deception. How do we know the Blade won’t switch over to Zarkon? Maybe Keith is how Zarkon has been able to find us?”

“We already know Zarkon is following us through the Black Lion,” Shiro tries to explain, “He isn’t tracking Keith. We’ve already come to that conclusion already.”

“What if we were led to believe that false conclusion? Perhaps that’s what Keith wanted us to believe from the start.”

Hunk shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh, okay, but Keith’s been with us since day one. Shouldn’t that mean something? Like, he’s proven to be on our side."

"Trust me, I want it to mean something, too. I do. But tell me, Hunk. If the Galra had taken everything from you, if you watched them slaughter your people, your family, your home, could you sit here, knowing one of their bloods is seated beside you, and trust it wouldn’t happen again?"

Hunk slinks down in his seat. Pidge pats his shoulder, reassuringly.

Coran opened his mouth to intervene, but someone else beat him to it.

"Okay, enough," Lance snapped. "That’s seriously no way to talk about him, Allura."

Allura turns to him. "What? I just think trusting him blindly is going to get us all killed."

"That’s ridiculous," Lance scoffs, face scrunched in disdain. "You think Keith's conveniently waiting for the right, perfect moment to turn on us? That one day, he'll wake up and suddenly decide he's Zarkon 2.0?"

Allura's gaze is unwavering. "History has proven that Galra loyalty is fickle. And I refuse to turn a blind eye and be naive about it."

“ Naive ? Keith has done nothing but fight alongside us. He’s risked his life more times than I can count. He can be trusted!"

"You can’t seriously expect me to just pretend he’s not part of the race that destroyed my people. One day, he’ll betray us like Zarkon did to my father!"

“He’s not Zarkon!” Lance shouts, “Keith wasn’t the one who killed off your entire kind!”

Allura’s expression sharpens. "His bloodline did."

"But he didn’t do any of it!" Lance’s voice cracks slightly, frustration pouring out in every word. "You don’t get to decide he’s guilty of something he had absolutely no part in!"

Keith had been silent through it all, tension rolling through his shoulders. 

Finally, he lifts his head.

"Let it go, Lance."

Lance turns to him, his face flashing with disbelief. “Huh?”

“Just let it go,” Keith repeats firmly, “She’s not gonna hear it. Not right now.”

Allura stands from her chair, offering a fake, tight smile. "Thank you, Keith, for that understanding. On that note, I’m leaving. Because the longer I stay here, the more this room reeks."

She storms off. Coran sends a quick, sorrowful glance at Keith before following her out.

A tense silence lingers in the air among the rest of everyone.

"So, what, you’re just going sit there and let her say that to you?"

“Lance, knock it off,” Shiro sharply says.

However, Keith eyes him intensely "Allura’s hurting, right now. You can’t expect to fix the situation by yelling at her. Besides, it’s not worth trying."

"Not worth it?” Lance repeats, offended, “Defending you isn’t worth it?"

"I didn’t ask you to defend me."

"Then why aren’t you doing anything about it, huh? Why won’t you stand up for yourself? For the team! You scared ?"

"I’m not scared.”

"What is it, then? Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like it."

Pidge steps in the middle of them, as they have completely walked towards one another in the heat of the moment. “Guys, guys! Stop it, already! Haven’t you two argued enough?”

"What the hell do you want me to do, huh?" Keith snaps over Pidge, glaring directly at Lance. "Force her to accept me?" 

"No, but you could at least try!” Lance insists loudly, now being pulled back by Hunk, “You could fight for yourself instead of just taking it! No, you want to wait for someone else to do it for you, huh?"

Keith lets out a bitter laugh. "You would think it’s that easy.”

“And giving up is the answer? Real mature, Keith.”

“Yeah? Well, "I’m not wasting my time on something that’s never gonna change. Unlike you, who keeps thinking your chances with Allura will."

Lance opens his mouth, then tightly shuts it. 

Immediately, Keith regrets it.

"Yeah. Whatever," Lance mutters, brushing Hunk off and pushing back from his chair. “I guess that's a whole lot easier for you to do than trying.”

He didn’t look at Keith as he left the room.

The door closed behind him with a soft hiss.

Pidge whistles. “Welp, there goes Team Voltron.”

Hunk nibbles at his thumbnail and shoots a worried glance at Shiro. “Should I go after him?”

Quietly, Shiro’s brows furrow in thought. He glances at Keith, then at the doors Lance had gone through. He looks like he’s weighing his options.

Finally, he sighs. 

“No. We’ll give him time to cool down. Then, Keith will go check on him.”

Keith’s head whips around. “Huh?! Why me?”

Shiro turns to him fully. "If anyone can get through to him, it’s you."

He incredulously narrows his eyes at Shiro. “Did you see what just happened? He barely listens to anything I say! You should be the one—!”

Shiro steps closer to Keith, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like a private instruction. “Keith, trust me on this. He’ll hear you out. And, while you do that, I’ll go talk with Allura.”

Looking away, Keith crosses his arms, defensive.

“ Keith ,” Shiro repeats, the ‘dad voice’ fully activated, and it has the desired effect.

“Fine. But if he hurls something at my head, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll live.”

Keith waits until the end of the day before finally deciding to look for Lance. Shiro hadn’t given him an exact time, so naturally, Keith took his sweet time, dragging his feet, convincing himself that Lance would come around on his own. 

But as the hours passed, Lance remained absent.

When Keith finally starts searching, he finds nothing. Lance isn’t in his room, the pool, or the control room. He’s not with Hunk or Pidge, either. It’s like he’s vanished.

Karma , he thinks.

There’s only one place left to check.

He begins to walk down the corridor toward the Blue Lion’s hangar.

The halls were a lot quieter around this area, his steps echoing from behind as the cool metal walls gave way to deeper parts of the Castle. When Keith reaches the hangar, the doors open, revealing the Blue Lion unmoving, curled in the shadows like a sleeping sentinel.

He approaches cautiously, boots soft against the floor, his brow creases in thought.

“Lance?” Keith calls out tentatively, unsure of what awaited him. 

No answer.

Keith steps up to the Lion, circling slightly toward the cockpit access ramp. 

The cockpit bay remains closed, tight and unyielding.

No entry lights. No opening sequence. 

He stands still for a long moment, unsure of his next move. It wasn’t like he could override another Lion’s systems; they were temperamental and fiercely loyal to their own paladins.

“Lance,” Keith called out again, his voice echoing slightly in the hangar, “You in there?” 

The Blue Lion remains still, as if choosing to ignore him.

Slowly, hesitant at first, Keith places a hand over the Blue Lion.

“I know I’m not your paladin,” he says, voice low and earnest, talking hopefully to the sentient Blue Lion directly, “But, I need to see Lance. Help me reach him. Please.”

For a second, nothing.

And then, the ground rumbles.

The hull beneath his hand vibrates, a deep purring hum, and with a slow hiss of air and hydraulics, the Lion’s side ramp begins to open. Bright blue lights flicker on in a soft line, illuminating a path inward.

Keith walks forward into the lit corridor of the cockpit access ramp, the air cool and still. The doors slide close behind him, sealing him into the quiet hum of Blue’s internal systems.

Just then, a soft whir chimed from the cockpit console, causing Keith’s heart to skip a beat. Slowly, the cockpit door slide open, revealing Lance. He’s slumped in the pilot’s seat, back hunched as he stares blankly at the controls.

It’s weird seeing him like this.

Keith lingers by the entrance for a second too long, considering just walking away.

But he doesn’t.

He steps into the Blue’s Lion’s cockpit quietly, making his way over. He stands next to the pilot’s seat. Not saying anything. Just being there.

Lance doesn’t turn to look at him. He keeps his focus on the control panel, a shadow of frustration crossing his face as he breathes out through his nose. 

“Why are you here?” he mumbles, his voice low. 

“Why’d you leave?” Keith counters. 

Lance shifts in his seat, still avoiding eye contact. 

“C’mon,” Keith sighs, “It’s getting late. We could use the sleep.” 

Lance finally glares at him, his face flashing with something—hurt? Disappointment? 

“You know, I’m not an idiot,” he retorts, a hint of defiance in his tone, “I know Shiro sent you here to check on me. So, why don't you go back to your room already? I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”

Keith eases himself down on the edge of the pilot’s seat beside Lance, slow and cautious. “I came because I wanted to,” he says.

Lance huffs, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Sure, Jan.”

“Also, I didn’t come here to argue with you, Lance,” Keith continues, quieter now. “I’m here to apologize. I know you were just trying to have my back. And, well, I did appreciate that.” 

“Didn’t seem like you did,” Lance mutters, a spark of bitterness in his tone. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Okay, yeah, sure, I didn’t exactly say that” he says bluntly, then softens his voice, “I’m not used to someone jumping in for me. Most people don’t.”

Lance finally turns his head just enough for their eyes to meet briefly before he looks away again. There’s a touch of surprise in that glance, but it’s fleeting. 

“I did it because it was the right thing to do,” he says honestly, “I just couldn’t keep watching Allura talk to you like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Keith says. “For sticking up for me...”

Lance lets out a slow sigh, like something’s unraveling inside him. “It’s what friends do.”

Keith nods. “And I’m sorry for saying the things I said earlier. You didn’t deserve that, either.”

“To be fair, I said some things, too.” Lance sighed, “So, let’s just call it even.”

Lance shifts his posture, his arms loosening, as if he’s starting to let his guard down. Keith studies him, heart pounding just a little faster. 

“It’s time for bed, Lance,” he tries to coax, keeping his tone light, “We should start heading out.”

Lance hesitates, glancing to Keith and the door. “If you want to go so bad, then just go,” he mutters, but even he can hear the lack of conviction in his words. 

Keith’s gaze lingers on him. His lips twitch before he speaks, tone steady with an undertone of longing.

“I’d rather be here with you,” he confesses, almost in a whisper.  

Lance stills. The words hang in the air between them; fragile but impossible to ignore.

Then, the corners of Lance's mouth lift slightly, color creeping into his cheeks.

“That’s a really weird thing to say,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite behind the words.

Keith doesn’t flinch. He just answers, calm and true, “Yeah. But it’s how I feel.”

Lance finally meets Keith’s eyes. “You mean it?”

“If you want to be alone, I’ll go,” Keith says softly, “But if you want me to stay, then I will.”

Lance continues to remain quiet, and Keith senses the air shifting into something lighter now, almost warmer. 

“Then, stay,” Lance voices finally.

Keith allows his shoulders to drop, the earlier tension seeping away. Lance curls his legs up, leaning his head back against the chair, seeming to relax as well. 

The cockpit is bathed in a gentle blue light, fading in and out like the gentle pulse of their surroundings. Time stretches on, filled with quiet, unspoken thoughts. 

Keith doesn’t fully grasp what this is happening between them, nor does he think Lance does. But he can feel the steady hum of something beneath the surface; an undercurrent of tension that remains, like the constant vibration of the Blue Lion around them. 

Even so, here in this moment, Keith lets himself simply relax. 

No need to analyze or to try to push it away. He just stays. 

And Lance doesn’t ask him to leave.

Team Voltron stood ready. Their Lions were docked and fueled, quietly thrumming with anticipation. 

The plan was clear: Keith would infiltrate the main ship of the Galran Fleet while the rest of the team engaged Zarkon’s forces from the air. Everything has led to this moment.

Inside one of the Castle's prep bays, Keith adjusts the strap of his blade, eyes scanning over schematics one last time while Pidge installs the cloaking device on the ship Keith was going to take.

Then, Allura enters the hangar.

"Pidge," she said softly, "Could you give Keith and me a moment?"

Pidge hesitates, glancing at them individually, but obliges, stepping out.

Keith tenses. He isn’t sure what to expect exactly. 

However, Allura walks up to him, her hands folding in front of her. She begins to retell once more about her feelings about the Galra and the devastation the Galra had brought upon her family, her people. But as she looked at Keith and the rest of the Paladins, she realized they, too, were a part of her family.

She rushes into him, hugging him before he could respond.

For a second, Keith just stands there, shocked. 

"You didn’t deserve the way I treated you when I found out about your Galra heritage," she continues. "I let my pain make me unfair. But, I assure you, Keith. And I trust you."

Slowly, he brings his arms around her, awkward but sincere.

"Thanks," he mumbles. 

Once she leaves, Keith walks up to the ship and stands before it, arms crossed.

"You got this," he murmurs to himself, “Breathe.”

"Talking to yourself?"

Keith turns, startled. Lance walks into his space with that trademark grin and lazy stride, arms folded over his chest, mirroring him.

"What are you doing here?" Keith narrows his eyes slightly, crossing his arms tighter. "Shouldn’t you be with the others?"

Lance shrugs, stopping a few steps away. "Yeah, well, I figured someone should check on you before you go all solo-ranger and storm in without backup."

"It’s gonna be difficult, regardless. While I’m gone, stay sharp. Have each other’s backs."

"I always do my thing," Lance says easily, smiling. "You just worry about yourself."

"I’m not worried about myself,” Keith corrects.

Lance raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me."

Keith sighs, glancing back up at his ship. "I just— This operation is important. One misstep, and Zarkon can obliterate us. We can’t afford mistakes."

They stand together, shoulder to shoulder in silence, until Lance finally speaks again.

"I don’t know why, but... I’ve got a weird feeling about this one."

Keith turns to him. He notes Lance’s usual bravado absent. "You scared?" He asks, teasingly.

Lance doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks down at his boots, scuffing the ground lightly. He releases his arms, dropping them to his side. 

"Yeah. Maybe. Just a little,” he admits, quieter than usual.

Keith frowns. He has seen Lance crack jokes in the face of danger, brush off fear like it was nothing. But this? This was something else.

"It’s just anxiety," he says reassuringly. "We’ll get through it."

Lance gave a weak laugh. "Right."

He had expected Lance to poke at him, start bantering with him. However, he continues to just stand there, unmoving, his usual energy dulled, his expression downcasted.

Keith shifts slightly, unsure of what to say.

Was he waiting for something?

Then, Lance’s voice drops low.

"Stay alive, okay?"

Keith’s left stunned, caught off guard by the quiet plea in Lance’s voice.

"I’ll be fine," he tries to say steadily, but even to his own ears, it sounded more like a reassurance for Lance than for himself.

Lance frowns. "Don’t do anything stupid, okay?"

"I won't," Keith supplies easily.

"No, seriously," Lance says, gazing intensely. "I don’t know what I’d do if you died out there."

The words hit Keith square in the chest.

"I’m not planning on dying," he swears, trying to keep his voice steady, softer now. "But you have to swear to me you’ll do the same."

Lance’s breath hitches, not expecting Keith to turn it back on him and ask for the same promise. He searches Keith’s face, as if trying to gauge whether he was serious.

Of course he was.

Keith reaches forward and grabs his hand.

"Promise me," Keith swears aloud, squeezing lightly. "You’ll both come back. Alive."

Lance swallows, nodding once. "Yeah. I promise."

They should be focusing on the mission. On the stakes. On Zarkon.

But all Keith could think about was the warmth of Lance’s hand in his, and the echo of his words. And how Lance had yet to pull away, his fingers curling slightly around his own, hesitant yet deliberate.

Keith could feel the faint tremor in Lance’s hand, the way his pulse beat against his skin. He wondered if Lance could feel his own heartbeat, just as unsteady.

A sharp crackle from the intercom shatters the moment.

"Paladins, report to the bridge immediately!" Coran’s voice rings through the hall, urgent but steady. “I repeat, Paladins, report to the bridge immediately!”

Keith and Lance jolt slightly

Their hands are still clasped together.

Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, Lance loosens his grip.

Then, Keith lets go.

Lance clears his throat, his posture straightening. "Well. Guess that’s our cue."

Keith nods, flexing his fingers as if trying to shake off the lingering warmth. "Yeah."

They turned toward the bridge, walking side by side.

Neither of them mention it the entire way.

Then Shiro disappears from his fight against Zarkon, and suddenly, they don’t have time to talk about it, even if they wanted to.

Chapter Text

War is cruel, Keith knew this, but having no time to mourn was much crueler. 

It was always worse when he woke up, the name on his lips belonging to a gone man. With the same gasp and the same sweat-slick skin, as he heaved deep breathes.

Keith refused to believe it. 

Shiro couldn’t have vanished, not without a trace.

He kicked off the sheets before his pulse could settle and dressed in silence, sneaking out while the Castle was still and sleeping. At the hangar, The Red Lion welcomed him like always, loyal and waiting, engines purring low with anticipation, expecting his arrival.

Keith flew to the debris field again, the place where the last transmission had cut out. Where they’d lost contact with Shiro. The official report said it was a confirmed death, but he didn’t care what the report said. He needed to keep searching.

He scoured the wreckage, day after day. His fingers trembled on the scanner controls, eyes rapidly scanning every twisted shard of metal for what felt like the hundredth time. He repeated Shiro’s name like a prayer, a tether, a refusal to believe in the unimaginable.

“Where are you, Shiro?” he whispered to the stars.

But the stars didn’t answer. Neither did the scanners. Neither did the trail of debris he kept circling like a ritual he couldn’t let die. He searched, again and again, until the Red Lion’s fuel systems began blinking red. Until even the Red started responding against his controls, as if she, too, had begun to lose her patience with Keith and insisted they go back to the Castle.

Still, there had to be something. Some clue, some sign, somewhere. 

Decidedly, he did his best to stop sleeping, choosing to keep on searching.

Eventually, the Castle had become equally unbearable to tolerate. Their “Are you okay?” and “You don’t look well.” comments deterred him from sticking around too long. 

Everyone watched him with pity as he tried to stuff himself with food, quickly. Hunk would urge him to slow down, but Keith couldn’t. He needed to hurry and go back looking. 

The food made him sick anyways, now that Shiro’s seat at the dining table was left empty

After the third time he throws up, he decides that he doesn't need food either. So, he stops showing up for meal times, entirely.

Allura tried to reach him in her own way. She would leave a plate of food at his door and never scolded him when she found it cold and untouched the next morning.

“You’re not the only one grieving,” she told him once, through his closed door to his quarters. “We all miss him. Deeply.”

He ignored her, because they didn’t. They didn’t even know him. Not in the way he did.

The longer Shiro was gone, the longer the Black Lion remained in his dormant slumber, inactive. It had been days, maybe weeks, who knows, since the lion’s last movement. 

Without Shiro, Voltron couldn’t form.

The insinuations began quietly at first. Whispered conversations without him around. Glances over to his direction. A report he wasn’t meant to read left on the wrong screen. 

A new leader may need to rise.  

They didn’t say it out loud, but they didn’t have to. Keith felt the weight of it settle onto his shoulders with every passing day. Every second Shiro stayed gone and the Black Lion remained asleep, the more certain it became.

They expect it to be me.

That knowledge curdled into something sharp in his chest. No one seemed to understand that more than anything, Shiro had to come back. Because if he didn’t, it meant Keith had to step into a role that he wasn’t prepared for. It meant facing the truth that maybe Shiro wasn’t ever coming back.

He couldn’t afford to think like that. 

So, he trained, long hours in the simulation room, until his muscles burned and his joints ached. He visualized combat drills that ended with Zarkon’s defeat against his blade. He could imagine his weapon going through the tyrant’s chest, blood on his hands and vengeance carved into his skin.

If Shiro was dead (which he wasn’t, he told himself), then there was only one thing left for Keith to do. End Zarkon and his tyranny. 

Keith stands in the middle of the training deck, panting heavily, the floor littered with busted robot parts. His bayard blade hums faintly as his arms tremble from overexertion. 

He lost count of how many training bots he has taken down. The last one collapses in front of him with a clatter, and he stares down at it, chest heaving. His ribs throb in pain from where it had landed a hit earlier. 

He hadn’t dodged in time. He was surely slowing down. 

Regardless, Keith knew he had to keep going. 

As he raises his arm to start another round, a sudden hand gently pressed against Keith’s shoulder, halting him in place.

“Take a break,” a familiar voice beckons quietly from behind.

Keith didn’t even notice him walk in. His eyes glance over his shoulder. 

Lance stands there, with a hand outstretched, holding a bottle of water.

Keith lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Then, turning away, he nods, slowly lowering his blade down to his side. The bayard shifts into a handheld device.

They sit together against the far wall, backs pressed to cool metal. Keith twists the cap of the water bottle, taking a few careful sips.

Across from him, Lance sits cross-legged, watching. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching him from the side. His brows pinch slightly, concern tightening the corners of his mouth. He chews his bottom lip for a second before he finally speaks.

“I know you’re tired of hearing this,” he starts, voice low, “but I am sorry.”

Keith doesn’t reply, not bothering to even look up.

Lance glances over at him, then continues, his voice softer now. “Allura mentioned that you’re struggling and honestly, I don’t blame you.”

“Why are you here, Lance?” Keith asks sharply, the words more defensive than intended.

Finally, their gazes meet. 

“I know how you felt about Shiro. You probably still don’t want to admit it. But Keith,” his expression didn’t waver, “it’s okay that you miss him.”

Keith grips the bottle tighter. “Missing him isn’t the problem,” he mutters. 

“No. It’s not only that, is it?” He gave a small, crooked smile. “You don’t just miss him, Keith. You… really did care about him. More than the rest of us could.”

Keith nods without hesitation, looking down at the water bottle in his hands, “Shiro’s all I ever had, for a long time. He means so much to me, more than a brother.”

Shiro felt the closest to home; the one constant in Keith’s life when everything else felt uncertain. Without him, there was no one else in the universe Keith could call home.

It felt like losing his father all over again.

The same hollow ache, lingering in the spaces of his heart that Keith had convinced himself had healed. The same suffocating level of grief, clinging to every moment Keith found himself wishing Shiro were still here with him.

Keith had survived loss before. He had learned how to carry it, to wear it like armor, and to move on from it, despite how lonely it felt.

But, he couldn’t do it again. Not this time.

Lance studies Keith for a beat longer, fixated in a way that felt just a little too uncomfortable.

His smile falters, just barely. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”

Keith stares back at him, a bit confused. He figured Lance already knew how much Shiro meant to Keith, understood the depth of their bond, the way Keith relied on him. 

Yet, there was something about the way Lance looked at him now that didn’t quite look right. 

As if he’d reached a conclusion Keith hadn’t.

Lance lets out a deep sigh, letting his head rest against the wall behind him. He tilts his head slightly to the left, scanning his eyes all over Keith’s face.

“You look terrible,” he says suddenly.

“Thanks,” Keith says flatly.

“I’m being serious, Keith,” Lance insists, tapping a finger against his right knee, gazing up at him more sharply. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

Keith shifts. The bags under his eyes were answer enough.

“You know, Shiro wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself,” Lance says steadily, placing a soft hand on Keith’s left cheek. “You barely sleep, and you haven’t eaten in days. He wouldn’t want you overworking yourself over him. Not like this.”

Keith’s jaw tightens. His fingers curl slightly around the water bottle, tension still brimming in every inch of his body.

“Don’t talk like you’re him,” he mutters, despite himself. 

Lance doesn’t budge. “Yeah, I’m not him,” he counters easily. “But I’m trying.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to.”

“Maybe not,” Lance shrugs, letting go of the side of Keith’s face. He then stretches his legs out in front of him. “Still, I want to try. That’s something Shiro would do, I think.”

Keith doesn’t respond. Instead, he lets the quiet stretch, hoping (no, expecting) Lance will take the hint and finally leave him alone. More than anything, Lance hates to be ignored.

But Lance stays, seated beside Keith, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if he’s content to sit there forever.

Keith wants to stand, to shove himself back into training, to prove, if only to himself, that he doesn’t need rest, and he definitely doesn’t need any help. But his limbs feel heavier than they should. His body refuses to cooperate, and it feels as if gravity itself is also working against him, pushing down on him.

As their silence continues, he glares ahead, frustrated, determined to keep himself alert. But the longer they sit there, the more his eyelids start to sag, drooping slowly. He tries to blink the tire away. But when he closes his eyes, he struggles to open them back.

He catches himself just before his head falls, jerking upright in a split second.

Carefully, Lance shrugs off his jacket, folds it together into a cushion, and places it on his lap. He gestures toward it in offering. 

“Here,” he says. “Nap.”

Keith frowns. “No, I’m not going to—”

“Ah, ah! It’s not sleeping,” Lance cuts in quickly, before Keith can protest. “It’s just resting your eyes. Big difference! Then you can go back to slicing training bots in half or whatever makes you feel better.”

Keith’s stare narrows, not with anger, but suspicion.  He hated how tempting the offer sounded. And, unfortunately for him, the fatigue has started to sink into his arms and legs.

He scowls, repositioning himself, trying to almost physically move away from the lure of rest. “I’m not stupid,” he grumbles.

Lance quirks an eyebrow. “Saying that doesn’t make you look any less exhausted.”

Keith can only glare back. He’s too tired to find the words to argue.

“Look, I’m not gonna hold you hostage or anything,” Lance says, voice deliberately light. “Just close your eyes for ten minutes. I won’t let you fall asleep.”

His expression is perfectly neutral, but Keith knows there’s something almost too innocent about the way he says it. 

Begrudgingly, he shifts his body, lowering himself closer to the floor. He carefully lays down, moving stiffly, awkwardly, as he wasn’t used to this kind of thing. His head settles onto Lance’s folded jacket, and his body elongates out across the training mat.

Keith stares up at Lance, still glaring. “Ten minutes.”

Lance nods solemnly. “Ten minutes,” he echoes, “I’ll wake you up.”

He’s obviously lying.

However, his body finally concedes to the exhaustion pulling him under.

Keith blearily blinks up at him, his scowl lazy and eyes barely open now. “If you tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t,” Lance promises, lips tugging into a small, reassuring smile.

Before he fully slips into unconsciousness, Keith registers the light, tentative touch of Lance’s long fingers threading through his hair. He combed through it slowly, thumb brushing along his temple, careful, like he didn’t want to startle him.

A hum reaches Keith’s ears, gentle and soothing. The melody isn’t one Keith recognizes, but there’s something tender in it that makes it feel like it’s for him.

The soft fabric beneath his cheek, the steady rhythm of Lance’s breathing beside him, the rhythmic pass of fingertips through his hair. It all melts together, lulling him into something dangerously close to peace.

For the first time in days, his mind quiets. The restless thoughts settle. 

The sorrowful pain in his heart doesn’t go away, but it lessens.

And then, finally, Keith succumbs to sleep.

Keith found himself standing in the hallway outside Lance’s room quite often after that. 

Restless, Keith would wander the empty halls in the quiet hours of the night, unable to sit still with need to do something. And somehow, his steps seemed to lead him to the same door.

Keith would show up, quiet and worn from searching for Shiro, and Lance would already be waiting. He never acted surprised or made a big deal out of it. He’d simply open the door, already in his blue pajamas, and wave Keith inside like he’d been expecting him all along.

There was always a plate of food, warm and waiting for Keith.

Keith would try to protest. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he’d mutter, the lie thin in his throat, but Lance would simply roll his eyes and push the plate into his hands anyway.

If Lance didn’t insist, Keith wouldn’t eat at all.

They’d sit in the low light, on the floor, both sharing a late meal together. Keith would tell him he didn’t need to wait for him to return from his search, that he should have already eaten early with the rest of the team. 

However, Lance insisted he would wait.

Sometimes Keith would talk, in the dark, voice cracking around memories of Shiro and how it felt like losing him all over again. Lance never pushed for more than Keith could give. 

He’d just listen, eyes closed, like he was trying to absorb some of the grief, so Keith didn’t have to carry it alone.

Eventually, after eating together, they’d both find their way to Lance’s bed, collapsing into it without fanfare. Lance never asked why Keith stayed. Keith was grateful for that.

They would share the bed, facing opposite directions, backs turned, and bodies still. But Keith would find himself listening to the gentle cadence of Lance’s breathing as he fell asleep. It helped dull the restless thoughts clawing at the edges of Keith’s mind.

And when they would wake in the morning, arms and legs tangled under the blankets, neither of them said a word about it. Then, a night passes, until Keith found himself repeating the cycle again.

Though, tonight is different.

After their quiet, shared meal, Lance disappears into the corner of his room, rummaging through miscellaneous, personal items, until he comes back, holding a bright yellow, small case in one hand.

He waves it playfully in the air. “Guess what I found?” He says in singsong.

Keith blinks at the cover, then his expression falls in shock. “Kill Bill?”

Lance grins, visibly very proud of himself. “Volume One, baby.”

Reaching out slowly, almost reverently, Keith takes the case into his hands. It was a little worn, the plastic scuffed and edges dulled, but the poster image was unmistakable. 

“How did you even find this?” he asks, in awe.

“From the sketchiest corner of the space mall. You wouldn’t believe the junk from Earth they have down there. Pidge and I like to go visit to see what else they end up having.”

“Why did you get this?” 

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna not get it. You said once you liked Tarantino stuff, right? I figured, you know, it might cheer you up. No big deal.”

“You remembered,” Keith says breathlessly.

Lance shrugs. “It’s not hard to remember. The things you like are few to none. So, it helps that your list is embarrassingly short.”

Keith looks at him for a long moment. A small smile lifts from his lips. 

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Lance says, chest puffed in pride, “Now, hurry in bed. I’m gonna put this disc in, so we can watch it tonight.”

Lance was already preparing his projector, connecting it to the CD player, when Keith finally tells him, “Thanks for doing this. For everything.”

“Yeah,” Lance said softly, his back turned to Keith, “Anytime.”

After Keith sets their dirty plates to the nightstand, Lance angles his projector toward the ceiling. He taps a few buttons on the side of the CD player, and then the Kill Bill menu glows up above them. 

Keith’s already slipped beneath the blankets. He moves onto his side, head propped on one arm, and watches as Lance climbs in beside him. The blanket tugs up just enough for their shoulders to brush.

Lance glances at the screen, then at Keith. “Kill Bill, huh?” He leans back, arms crossed over his chest. “Wonder why we have to kill him.”

Keith smirks, shaking his head slightly. “You’ll see why.”

He wants to elaborate on the thought; however Lance quickly hushes him with a finger to his lips. “Shhh! The movie is starting.”

After taking the time to roll his eyes, Keith sinks further into the mattress, nestling into the space bedside Lance and relaxing.

It didn’t take long before Keith was mouthing the lines under his breath, timing every other line one second ahead of the actual dialogue. He wasn’t trying to show off. The words were like muscle memory, familiar grooves in his brain that hadn't faded even in space.

He knows Lance notices, feeling his gaze glance down at him more than once, but Keith couldn’t seem to find a reason to care. 

The wedding scene hit. Odd tension that leads into absolute horror.

Lance gasps. “He just—! At her wedding?!”

“It gets worse,” Keith supplies. 

Grabbing a pillow from behind his head, Lance hugs it to his chest like it could shield him from the madness on screen. “I thought this was supposed to be a cool action flick!”

“It is,” Keith corrects with a shrug. “A very Tarantino kind of cool.”

The movie continues, gradually pulling Lance in a deep trance. When it came to O-Ren’s backstory, all stark reds and heavy shadows, Lance awes at the animation, the images casting colored light over his open face. The music visibly compelled him.

Keith watches him then, the way his expression shifts throughout O-Ren’s past, from shock, tearful sadness, and then appreciation. It was kind of incredible, seeing the movie again through someone else’s eyes. Someone who felt no shame in showing his reactions.

Then, the infamous foot shot came up, awkwardly framed in obsessive detail.

Lance made a face. “Dude. Why is this taking so long? Can she wiggle her big toe already?”

Keith didn’t even look away. “Yeah, my bad. Tarantino’s got a thing for feet.”

Slowly, Lance turns his head to face him, eyes wide with disgust.

His expression causes Keith to laugh, quiet, sudden, and real. The kind that cracked past the grief that usually sat heavy behind his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says between chuckles, definitely not feeling sorry at all. “It’s kinda his trademark. I think he enjoys adding it in, playing it off like it impacts the storyline.”

Lance groans, flopping back onto the bed like the weight of that knowledge had physically affected him. The scene continues for a while, against Lance’s squirmish movements.

“Normally, I skip this part.”

“Why didn’t you say so?! I would’ve appreciated the warning!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Keith teases, eyes returning to the ceiling.

When Keith peeks over at him again after some time, he sees that Lance’s smiling too.

He doesn't even notice when he stopped watching the film entirely.

Because somewhere between the Bride regaining her ability to move and the meeting of O-Ren, Keith realizes he’s more entertained by Lance than the movie itself.

Then, the Crazy 88s fight broke out, showcasing fast, brutal choreography, blood spilling and swords clashing loudly. Lance leans forward slightly, visibly tense, yet captivated, as the scene changes to black and white.

“Ohhh man,” he mumbles, “This is insane.”

Then, without any thought, he instinctively reaches out and pulls Keith against him, an arm curling loosely around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Keith allows himself to move just enough to rest his head more comfortably against Lance’s chest. He lets the soundtrack of ‘Nobody But Me’ wash over him, staring back towards the film.

When Bill asks the biggest revelation of the film, Lance lets out the most dramatic gasp, his entire body tensing. However, the solemn, western melody of ‘The Lonely Shepherd’ plays louder from the speakers as the screen turns black with ending credits.

Lance quickly turns to look at Keith, utterly gagged, like the twist just knocked the wind out of him. And yet, despite his shock, his arms remain curled around Keith, holding him close, like it might help him process the cinematic betrayal he just witnessed.

Keith doesn’t react, just patiently watches as Lance slowly pieces himself back together, amusement flickering in his gaze.

Lance gestures dramatically toward the ceiling, where the credits continue their slow roll, as if the sheer cinematic excellence deserves a standing ovation.

“Okay,” Lance starts, breaking the silence with a grin, “Why didn’t you tell me that was one of the best movies ever made?”

Keith, still resting on Lance’s chest, lifts his gaze lazily. “You think so?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Lance says, eyes bright. “I mean, it was nuts. Like, genuinely unhinged. But in a good way! And Uma Thurman totally carried! I couldn’t take my eyes off her! Keith. That movie just changed me.”

Keith gives a soft, amused hum. “Favorite part?”

“The entire fight scene with the Crazy 88s. Duh!”

Keith chuckles, eyes falling shut briefly, sleep tempting him. “You’re so dramatic.”

“What about you? Favorite part?”

In his tired state, Keith thinks about all the moments Lance had gotten lost in the movie; the way he leaned forward, wide-eyed, during the opening sequence; how his hand instinctively squeezed Keith’s shoulder when the Bride sliced through her enemies; the gasp when he heard the revelation at the end.

But instead, Keith lies, easily. “The swordsmith scene. I like the pacing in that part.”

Lance sighs, staring back at the ceiling as if he has made peace with the impact of the story, basking in the afterglow of the film.

“I wouldn’t mind watching Volume 2, one day,” Lance offers eventually, shifting slightly but never letting go of Keith. “You know. If you’re down.”

Keith blinks. “With me?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lance voices, like it was obvious. “Who else would I watch it with?”

“Hunk. He’s into movies.”

“Sure,” Lance says with a shrug, “but Hunk falls asleep halfway through anything longer than fifty minutes. You actually stay awake. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

Keith didn’t answer right away. He sinks further into the warmth of Lance’s embrace. His chest rises and falls in sync with Lance’s own, the steady rhythm anchoring him more than anything else could these days.

“Okay,” he mumbles eventually, with eyes closed.

“Okay what?”

“I’ll watch the next one with you,”

Instantly, Lance’s smile grows, though Keith didn’t need to see it; he feels it from the slight, quick lift of Lance’s chest beneath him. 

Despite the hole that still lingered deep in his ribs and left behind by Shiro’s absence, Keith allows himself to be held and fall asleep to the quiet hum of the projector cooling down, safe around the arms that don’t let him go.

Shiro was not dead.

Keith had made that perfectly clear to everyone. Over and over. In every meeting, written report, or hushed conversation that tried to push the word "dead" around something they couldn’t prove.

He was missing, and that distinction meant everything to Keith.

So, when the team assembled in the hangar to discover the next leader of Voltron, Keith wanted no part of it. He stood, his arms crossed, eyes downcast. Internally, he hoped that someone, anyone else would be chosen. That the Black Lion would stir for another. 

That the universe, for once, wouldn’t put something else on his shoulders.

The team decided to try, one by one.

By the time it was Lance’ turn, Keith couldn’t watch him finally approach the ship, second to last to attempt awaking the Black Lion.

Please let it be him, Keith thought, biting the inside of his cheek. Let it be Lance.

He tried convincing himself that he wanted this for Lance. That if the Black Lion accepted him, it would mean Lance had grown, ready to step up. Maybe Lance could be the leader Voltron needed right now during Shiro’s absence. Keith wanted to have faith in that outcome.

But deep down, beneath the carefully layered logic and feigned objectivity, the truth sat heavy like a stone in his gut.

Lance isn’t ready.

He tries too hard to be someone he’s not. His heart’s in the right place, sure, but being the leader of Voltron takes more than heart. 

It takes discipline, foresight, and the kind of solitude Lance isn’t used to wearing. Keith knew what leadership demanded, from observing Shiro. It hollows you out.

Still, he selfishly hoped the Black Lion would honor Lance as his chosen pilot.

Because if he was chosen, then Keith wouldn’t have to be the one everyone expected to hold things together when they inevitably shattered. The mere thought of escaping that responsibility was so enticing, Keith’s palms sweated in trepidation.

He didn’t want to lead. Not when the memory of Shiro as the leader of Voltron still lingered like an open wound beneath his armor.

Keith sent a silent plea, not to Lance, but to the Black Lion.

Please. Choose him. Let him be enough.

Unfortunately, the Black Lion remained inert. Unmoved by Lance’s presence.

Hours later, when Lance finally stepped down the ramp, with his head bowed, defeat clinging to his armor, Keith felt everyone on him, expectant and beseeching. 

He considered walking out without trying, until Lance stepped in front of him. 

That stupid, sad, earnest face. It was so unfair.

“You should try,” Lance said softly.

Keith looked down from his gaze. “I don’t want—”

“I know,” Lance interrupted, “But you should still try. For Shiro.”

It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was something Keith needed to hear.

The walk toward the Black Lion felt like a death march. Every step thumped louder in his skull than it did in the hangar.

The cockpit was still, like a shrine left untouched. Keith lowered himself into the pilot seat carefully, his fingers grasping onto the controls.

“I know you wanted this for me, Shiro,” he whispered, fear curling tight in his throat. “But I’m not you. I can’t lead them, like you.”

Yet, the engine hummed in response, a low, steady purr that sent a tremor through the frame of the ship.

The purple system lights flickered on, bathing him in an eerie, inevitable glow.

“No, please,” Keith beckoned to the Lion.

But the Lion— No, his Lion, refused to listen.

Awakening one by one, panels came to life in his presence, in a seamless, fluid cascade, as if it had just been waiting for him to arrive. 

He felt it in his chest, in his bones; an invisible tether locking him in place.

The Black Lion accepted him.

He’s now the leader of Voltron.

And he had never wanted anything less.

So, now, at the latest hour of night, Keith storms through the hallways of the Castle, each step faster than the last. The corridors blur past him, none of it registering beyond the thrum of rage beating behind his ribs.

His knuckles hit Lance’s door in sharp, frantic knocks. 

The door slides open quicker than he expects, and Lance stands there, blinking in half-surprise and half-sleep, hair messy and hoodie thrown over his usual pajamas.

“Keith?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep. “What’s going—?"

But Keith didn’t let him finish. He crashes forward, pushing his body into Lance’s own, arms wrapping tight around him.

“Hold me,” Keith whispers harshly.

Lance hesitates, caught off guard. “Are you okay? What—?”

“I said hold me,” Keith repeats, sharper this time, voice cracking. “Don’t ask. Just do it.”

At first, Lance’s arms slowly moves around him, gentle and cautious. But then, he wraps Keith in a stronger, tighter hug.

Lance shifts to balance their weight, drawing Keith further inside and allowing the automatic door to slide shut behind them. For a while, they stand there; the only sound is the uneven rise and fall of Keith’s breathing pattern.

“You wanna sit down?” Lance asks eventually.

Keith shakes his head; face still pressed against his shoulder.

He didn’t respond. Not for a long time. And when he did, his voice was small, too small for someone who’d been handed the new role of leadership.

“Why me?” he murmurs, “I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Lance responds softly. “But maybe, look at it like this. It’s kind of an honor to be chosen, right?”

Keith laughs, dry and bitter. “I didn’t earn this, Lance,” he chokes out, his voice straining. “I’m replacing Shiro. While he’s out there, lost in space, I’m taking what’s rightfully his! It’s not—!”

The sentence cuts off, his throat closing.

As Keith crumbles, Lance continues to hold him up, hugging him still.

After a moment, Lance sighs.

“Okay, I’m gonna say something,” he says carefully, “and you can hate me for it if you want, but I really do mean it.”

Keith doesn’t pull away. He already knows what he’s going to say.

“I’m jealous,” Lance admits, so quietly Keith almost misses it. “I would kill to lead this team. To be seen as worthy like that. But the Black Lion didn’t choose me. And yeah, that sucks. But it means something that you were chosen. That you were seen.”

Keith shakes his head. “I’m not worth half as much as Shiro,” he whispers.

“You’re not Shiro,” Lance says. “But you’re also not supposed to be.”

Loosening his hold on Keith, Lance looks directly into his eyes. He watches him carefully before continuing.

“You will lead differently than him. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just a shift towards a new direction. Maybe the team needs that right now, after losing someone like Shiro. Besides, you have the strength and drive needed to lead us. The Black Lion sees that.”

Keith looks down, staring at the floor, hoping it can swallow them both whole.

“And I know you don’t believe it,” Lance adds regardless, “but I do. I believe in you.”

He didn’t know if Lance should believe in him. He didn’t feel like someone worth putting faith in. But in that moment, held in Lance’s arms, Keith wanted to believe it.

Lotor stood taller than Keith had expected. He had sharp, angular features and silver hair that fell past his shoulders like ribbons of moonlight. His eyes glowed a subtle lavender, and his armor gleamed with an almost regal finesse. 

Keith hated how graceful Lotor carried himself.

There was something in the way he moved, something fluid and magnetic. It reminded Keith of Allura and her enchanting beauty.

It made his blood boil. Lotor wasn't supposed to be elegant. He was the son of a tyrant. An inheritor of his father’s rule and destruction. A threat to the peace Shiro fought hard to protect.

Keith swore to himself, in that moment, that Lotor would not continue the Galran legacy. He would end this before Lotor had the chance to start his reign.

He would kill Lotor.

Lotor’s ship sliced through the void, disappearing into the swirling amber haze of Thayserix.

“Keith,” Pidge’s voice cracked through the comms, static-laced with anxiety, “Whatever you’re planning, don’t chase him into the storm! We don’t know what’s inside. The sensors can’t even get a proper reading on it!”

Keith’s eyes locked on the prince’s retreating ship. He ignored Pidge’s warning. 

The Black Lion surged forward, the force of the acceleration pressing him back into his seat. He led the team cutting into the dense swirl of clouds and thrumming interference. The gas warped color and light into something blinding and broken. 

Behind him, chaos unraveled.

Allura, newly bonded with the Blue Lion, struggled to keep stable flight. The controls fought her with every subtle jerk of the yolk. “Keith—!” she yelled, as the Blue Lion began to shake.

“Allura! You okay?!” Hunk called out, frantic.

“I-I’m trying,” Allura gasped, fighting against the inertia as the Blue Lion’s nose dipped again, caught in the turbulence of Thayserix’s atmosphere. ”Blue’s resisting me! I can’t get her to level out!”

“Hold on!” Hunk shouts, sharply turning the Yellow Lion off course, towards Allura, high speed, “I’m on my way!”

Only Lance and Pidge were left, following behind Keith from their respective Lions.

And up ahead, Lotor was already long gone into the storm.

“Keith!” Lance shouted, steering wide in the Red Lion to avoid a violent surge of gas pressure that rocked the entire field. “This is suicide! You’re gonna get us killed!”

“We need to regroup!” Pidge added, her voice rising. “Allura needs help, and Hunk can’t do it alone! Keith, if you go any deeper in there, you’re on your own!”

Keith’s breath hitched. Doubt sliced through his rage like a blade.

A violent shudder passed through Black’s cockpit. Alarms screamed.

Keith’s eyes darted across the console. “Huh—?”

The Black Lion’s systems began to crash, first a warning chime, then a cascade of red flashing alerts. Multiple windows pop up across his screens.

SENSOR FAILURE!!

VISUAL TRACKING LOST!!

NAVIGATION UNSTABLE!!

ERROR! ERROR! ERROR!

Lotor had led him here on purpose.

Grinding his teeth, Keith finally snapped out his trance and opened his comms. “Everyone. We’re pulling back! Help Allura out of there!”

There was hesitation from the team, then a quiet: “Copy that,” from Pidge.

As Keith turned the Black Lion, a ghost of Shiro’s voice echoed in his mind, faint like a memory. “Being a leader means knowing when to fight and when to protect your team.”

Keith had heard those words before. In training. In battle. In the quiet moments between missions when Shiro had looked at him as someone he trusted to one day take his place.

But Shiro wasn’t here anymore.

And Keith wasn’t him.

Now, with the team reassembled aboard the Castle, the hangar lift doors slide open with a hiss, and Keith steps out into the hallway, still in armor, helmet tucked under one arm. 

He doesn’t even take two steps when Lance comes storming toward him.

Before Keith could speak, Lance grabs the front of his armor and slams him into the nearest wall, forearm across his chest. Keith grunts, his back hitting the panel with a metallic clang. 

“The hell is your problem?!” Lance’s voice cracks like a whip, his body visibly tense from restrained fury.

“Lance—!” Hunk shouts, sprinting down the hall. “Dude, stop! Let him go!”

“At the cost of Allura?! Really?” Lance’s laughs, sharp and ugly, as he presses down against Keith. “You were willing to let her crash in there, just for a shot at Lotor? Her life, along with everyone else’s, for what? Revenge? That was your call?”

“You think I don’t know that?” Keith growls, glaring directly right at Lance, meeting his furious expression. “You think I don’t know what was at stake? I was trying to finish the mission right here, right now, so none of us have to keep risking our lives anymore!”

But Lance isn’t letting up. His grip doesn’t loosen, not even when Hunk tries to pull him away from the shoulders.

“We protect each other.” Lance firmly states, his glare unwavering, “You don’t leave a teammate behind, ever. What the hell is a mission without each other?”

“Lance, stop! You’re hurting him!”

Allura runs toward them, eyes wide. Her hand reaches out to gently touch Lance’s arm.

“Please, Lance,” Allura begs, “I assure you Keith was only looking out for the team.”

Lance turns to her; face still flushed with anger. However, when he meets her insistent gaze, the stiffness in his stance relaxes. His fury meets a peace.

The sight of it made something ugly twisted in Keith’s stomach.

His mouth moves before his brain catches up. “You wouldn’t know how to lead anyway.”

“Keith!” Allura gasps.

Lance’s eyes snap back to him, obvious disbelief bleeding into something more dangerous. “What’d you say?” he steely asks.

Keith’s tone sharpens. “You’re impulsive and reckless. You don’t think things through. If you were in charge, we wouldn’t have even made it this far. We’d be dead already.”

Lance’s expression twists, pushing Keith further into the wall. 

“You don’t get to talk to me about leading,” he mutters, voice raw beneath the anger. “Not when you’re the one who keeps running every damn time things get hard.”

Keith’s jaw clenches, his own frustration flaring like a struck match.

“Look at yourself,” Lance hisses. “You’ve got all this authority handed to you, and the second it gets inconvenient, you throw it away. Like it means nothing. Some chosen leader, you are.”

"Say what you want, I was chosen to lead. Not you." Keith bites out, staring straight into Lance’s eyes. “And if you had the discipline to know your place, if you weren’t so damn desperate for validation, you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself trying to wake the Black Lion.”

The silence that follows hits harder than any punch.

And for the first time since Lance had shoved him against the wall, Keith regretted opening his mouth. Because the look on Lance’s face wasn’t just anger anymore. 

It was undeniable, pure betrayal. 

Then Lance scoffs, bitter and exhausted, dropping his arm against Keith. 

“Thanks for the reminder, Captain,” he sneers, before walking off down the hall.

Allura stays only for a moment longer, torn between the two of them, before she chooses to follow Lance silently, her expression tearful.

Keith hadn’t moved.

The imprint of Lance’s shove is still fresh on his armor and heavier in his chest. He didn’t dare to look at the others in the room. He intensely stares ahead, as if by sheer will alone, he could undo what had just happened.

Hunk tentatively steps up beside him, the sound of his boots unusually quiet.

“You okay, Keith?” Hunk asks gently

No, he wasn’t okay. However, there wasn’t a single word that could define the pressure that wraps around the pressure crushing his ribs, or the slow-burning shame threading into his spine.

Pidge follows, hovering a step behind Hunk. Her arms are crossed, but more out of uncertainty than attitude. She looks up at Keith with a cautious stare.

“Do you want us to… I don’t know. Help? Maybe… debrief or something?” she offers.

Their eyes found him, but not as the teammate they'd come to rely on. Now, there was a distance in their gaze. Like they were searching for someone familiar and only finding the outline of him instead. 

From their mere expressions, Keith could tell they weren’t sure if they knew him at all. 

And, after everything he had said and done, he wasn’t so sure of himself either.

“Give me a minute,” Keith barely voices, turning away.

As he walks to his quarters, his footsteps are stiff and heavy, as if each one took effort to control. His heart pounded louder and louder, like war drums in his chest.

He needs to find Shiro, fast.

Sven.

He stood with confidence at the end of the Altean vessel’s ruined corridor, physically almost identical to Shiro, but cleaner, lighter, unmarred by war or Galra tampering. 

His hair was cropped just like Shiro’s used to be. His stance, his aura, the angle of his jaw; everything was Shiro, only before.

Before the Kerberos mission, or the Galra, or the responsibility of leading the universe that had suddenly landed on his shoulders.

Keith stares. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t not.

Sven’s expression remains patient, though he’s seemingly amused from the way he leans close to Keith. His accent curls softly around his words. “You alright there, kid? You’ve been looking at me like you want to jump me.”

Startled, Keith rapidly blinks. “Sorry. You just…” He clears his throat, feeling an embarrassed warmth creeping up his neck from getting caught. “You remind me of someone I know.”

Sven raises an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? Someone important?”

Keith nods. “My brother,” he answers softly.

Suddenly, Sven’s teasing expression shifts, something gentler settling in its place. “Huh. Don’t have one of those, myself,” he admits, “But I’m honored.”

And then, he smiles. Just like how Shiro would.

Keith has to look down and away. “Right,” he murmurs.

A thought begins to nag at him. 

In this universe, I never met him.

He wonders if there were versions of himself out there who weren’t shattered by Shiro’s absence. Versions of Keith who had been spared from all of it. Who didn’t have to bear the pressure of a title they hadn’t earned. 

From the corner of his eye, he catches Lance eyeing him.

Their eyes meet for a split second, but quickly, he turns his back to Keith.

The encounter with the Altean forces of this universe spiraled into a pitched battle for control of the multi-dimensional comet. The team fought with everything they had, supported by Sven and the ever-erratic Slav.

The Alteans, once thought to be allies in any reality, revealed themselves to be something else entirely. Not peacekeepers, but ruthless conquerors. 

They wanted the comet. So did Voltron.

The clash nearly tore space apart.

By the time they escaped, bruised and barely intact, and fought their way back into their own dimension, Lotor was already waiting, patiently.

As if he knew the exact second they’d return.

With an easy smile, Lotor plucked the comet from under their grasp with a flourish, without needing to fight for it. He vanished with it before they could even raise their swords.

Keith’s fists clenched, the phantom heat of battle still burning under his skin.

Another failure. Another step behind Lotor. 

Another moment where being Shiro’s replacement didn’t make him anything but inadequate.

This is on me.

Later, in the quiet hum of the Castle's observation deck, Allura sits motionless, framed by the stars. Her reflection stares back at her in the glass, soft, hollowed, and fractured.

Allura sat in the observation deck, staring silently through the glass at the endless black beyond. Her eyes were vacant, brimming wet with a grief no one had seen before.

“I thought…” Her voice cracked. “We, Alteans, were the good ones. The protectors of the universe. We were supposed to be better than the Galra.”

Sitting beside her, Lance gently pulls her into a hug. When he finally safely wraps his arm around her shoulders, she crumples into him like a dam breaking.

Her sobs hit hard, broken by the sad truth of everything she believed turning upside down. Tears soak into his armor as she buries her face in his chest. Lance rocks her gently, whispering quiet reassurances that help her breathe steadier.

Keith watches from the upper deck, unseen but suffocated.

Lance's attention, support, and his care was no longer on him anymore. Keith didn’t deserve it. But it didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at his ribcage like burning acid.

He wasn’t angry at Allura or Lance.

He was angry at himself.

Every choice he made seemed to push Lance further away.

Lance no longer looked at him like a rival. Or a friend. Or anything at all. He didn’t challenge his orders. Didn’t banter with him like before. Didn’t open his door during Keith’s difficult nights.

He simply followed orders with clipped nods, obedient and empty.

Like Keith was a complete stranger.

A stranger who happened to be in charge.

Keith turns away from the glass, letting the shadows swallow him as he leaves the deck. He forces the lump forming in his throat down.

Lance quietly comforting Allura reminds him of what he had lost but couldn’t name.

Every footstep echoes like a hollow drum against the shell of the leader Keith was trying to become.

He felt like a little boy pretending to be a man Shiro believed he could be.

Keith finally found him in the still quiet of the damaged Galra ship, half-collapsed, choked with dust. A silhouette at first, hunched and slow-moving in the dim light. 

Then a voice, low, weary, but undeniably familiar.

"Keith?"

Everything inside Keith stilled.

There, standing just beyond the haze, was Shiro.

He looked different. Longer hair, his silver streak wider. A five o’clock shadow lined his jaw. His stare weighed heavier with exhaustion, like the years he’d lost had finally caught up to him all at once. His eyes were still kind, but they were rimmed with dark circles.

Still, it was unmistakably him.

Keith didn’t speak. He couldn’t. The breath caught in his throat, suddenly thick.

His knees buckled before he even knew it, and suddenly he was holding onto Shiro, sobbing into his chest, hands clenched into his jacket like he might vanish again if Keith let go for even a second.

“I never gave up,” Keith choked out, voice cracking against Shiro’s chest. “I never stopped. I knew you were alive. I-I never believed you were gone!”

Shiro winced lightly, wrapping trembling arms around him. “Keith,” he whispered with a worn-out, scratchy chuckle. “You’re crushing me. I can’t breathe.”

Keith only held him tighter.

When they returned to the Castle, Keith practically carried Shiro through the hangar, arm slung over his shoulder. The moment the bay doors opened, silence fell. It only lasted a heartbeat, just long enough for recognition to gradually shake through everyone.

Then the room shattered into emotion.

Hunk was the first to move. 

“Shiroooo!” he wailed, sprinting forward and wrapping both Keith and Shiro in a bear hug from behind, nearly knocking them all over. He sobbed openly, tears streaming down his round cheeks. “You’re okay! I can’t believe it!”

Pidge stood frozen at first, glasses tilted slightly as tears pooled in her eyes. Pulling her glasses off, she began rubbing at her face furiously with her arm. “Sh-Shiro, you’re alive,” she said, voice breaking where she stood.

Allura was speechless, her eyes wide, glassy with disbelief. She pressed a hand over her mouth, lips trembling. “It’s… it’s truly you,” she gasped, tears slipping down her face.

Lance then stepped forward. He looked at Shiro as if seeing a ghost, then blinked rapidly, a tear escaping despite the smile forming at his lips. 

“..You’re back,” he said softly. "I’m glad you’re back.”

Shiro looked up at him from Keith’s shoulder, his eyes heavy but warm. He reached up and ruffled Lance’s hair gently. “Missed you, too, Lance.”

It was small and simple.

But it broke something in Lance. He let out a short, helpless laugh and surged forward, bringing Shiro and Keith in a fierce embrace, pressing his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder as the tears spilled free. “You’re really back,” he voices shakily. 

Hunk sniffled harder, arms looping around everyone. “G-Group hug!” he announced loudly, voice warbled and barely coherent, keeping his arms around the three of them.

Pidge dove in next, jumping and her arms clinging around Hunk’s neck, crying loudly now. Allura urgently followed, wrapping her arms around Lance.

And finally, Coran stepped in quietly, his presence grounding. He wrapped his arms around the outer edge of the group, pulling them all close with practiced warmth.

“Careful now,” he murmured, his voice gentle and full of love, soothing the team’s tearful reunion. “Let him breathe and heal, my little Paladins. He’s home now.”

Keith didn’t move.

He couldn’t. Not yet.

Shiro was back. Alive.

It didn’t feel real. And yet, it was.

At last, he didn’t have to lead anymore.

Voltron had its rightful leader back. And Keith could finally rest, even just a little, knowing he didn’t have to hold the universe together by himself anymore.

Around him, the team held tight. Their laughter and tears mixed freely, unashamed and unrestrained. They were a mess, crying, sniffling, clinging to one another.

They were whole again.

In that fragile, radiant moment, Keith pressed the feeling deep into his heart like a sacred vow. He memorized the warmth of Lance’s arm around his back, the weight of Hunk’s embrace, the comforting pressure of Pidge’s hand on his arm. Allura’s quiet strength. Coran’s unwavering calm. And Shiro’s heartbeat, steady beneath his cheek.

He couldn’t have brought the team together like this. Not the way that Shiro effortlessly does.

But that was completely okay.

It just meant his role was changing.

It was time to let go.

Keith didn’t plan on sneaking out again. He really tried telling himself that he needed to stop.

But plans didn’t matter when his chest was heavy, and his limbs ached from stagnancy. No matter how many training sessions he bulldozed, it only felt like going through the motions while the 

But promises meant little when his body felt like it was itching for motion. When his thoughts spun too loud and the Castle walls felt too small, training helped, but gradually, each session felt like it was leading nowhere.

The Blade of Marmora acted, while he stayed stagnant in place.

So, he stole a pod again.

Kolivan was waiting for him, arm crossed, broad and solid in the darkness. His sharp, yellow eyes locked on Keith the second he stepped out of the pod and his boots hit the ground.

“You’re improving,” Kolivan said. “No one noticed your absence until you were already gone.”

Keith didn’t smile. “That’s the idea.”

The other members of the Blade stood beside Kolivan, their faces hidden, like always. Though, Keith didn’t mind it. He liked how nobody asked questions unless they mattered.

Kolivan did ask one.

“What is your goal with the Blade, Keith Kogane?”

Keith didn’t hesitate.

“To end the Galra’s tyranny. For good.”

Kolivan gave a rare smirk, approving. “Spoken like one of us. Now prove you can fight like one, as well.”

Keith didn’t hesitate. He followed Kolivan and the other Blade members through the dark corridors of their secret base. No unnecessary words were further exchanged.

They stopped before a weapons rack, where Kolivan gestured to a set of armor unlike the others. Smaller. Sleeker. Custom-fitted for Keith alone.

“You’ve proven your loyalty,” Kolivan said, his voice low, firm. “But loyalty is not enough. You must fight with precision, discipline, and intent.”

Keith reached out, running his fingers over the smooth plating, the subtle insignia of the Blade. 

“This is yours now,” Kolivan continued. “Wear it. And show me that you understand what it means.”

When Keith returned from his impromptu Blade mission, the hangar was no longer cloaked in dim light. It was fully bright, illuminating every detail as he stepped inside.

And at the center of it all, beneath the towering Lion bays, stood Allura.

She didn’t look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked as if she had been expecting this moment.

Her gaze sweeps over him, dropping to his uniform, as she stares at how the Marmora armor hugs his frame and the crest stark against his chest.

“I see you’ve made your loyalties clear,” she states, voice quiet, but pointed.

Keith brushes past her.

But her fingers catch his arm before he can slip away.

He barely shifts beneath the touch. It isn’t rough or forceful, but it holds him; a subtle refusal to let him go just yet.

“I’m done with this conversation,” he says evenly, looking over at her.

He tries again to move, but Allura doesn’t let go.

“You’ve been done with a lot of conversations lately,” she says firmly. “You’re barely with us anymore. And, Voltron can’t form without the Black Lion. We need you with us, Keith.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done,” he insists.

“You mean leaving?”

His eyes narrow. “I mean fighting. The Blade needs me, and they—”

“The Blade isn’t family,” Allura interjects, “Voltron is. We are.”

Keith stiffens, shoulders locking tight.

Allura holds his gaze, unflinching. “You think the Blade will save you in time of need?” she continues, her gaze unwavering. “They’ll use you up, Keith. Those in the Blade die early, fighting until their lives get caught up in war.”

“This isn’t about me!” he argues defensively, “It’s about stopping the Galra and ending this war before it takes any more innocent lives!”

“And how many lives will it take before it takes your own?” she counters, “How many more battles do you have to fight before you realize you’ll just end up being another casualty? You are meant to live, Keith!”

“I don’t need more than that,” Keith insists, looking away from her stare. “If I die helping to stop the Galra, then that’s enough.”

“No, it’s not.” Her voice softens, like she’s trying to reach some deep part of him that had long since retreated. “You want more than that. I know you do.”

“What does that even mean?”

This time, Allura looks away, expression twitching in thought.

“I’ve said too much,” she mumbles.

Keith’s patience snaps. He throws his arm upward, forcing Allura to release him.

“No, say it, Allura,” he demands, challenging. “You clearly want to act like you know me better than I know myself. So, enlighten me, princess. What could I possibly want?”

Allura looks visibly uncomfortable, caught between resisting his rise and saying what she has already committed herself to, or choosing to stay quiet. She hesitates for a moment, but then she takes a measured, deep breath.

“I see the way you look at Lance.”

The hangar might as well have gone airless. 

Keith’s heart stops, then it thuds loudly, slamming against his chest like the force of a blow he hadn’t braced for. A sudden, visceral panic gradually starts to rise inside.

“You’re seeing things.”

“Am I?” Allura presses, stepping closer, gaze piercing into him. “You think I wouldn’t notice? The way you follow him when you don’t even realize you’re doing it? The way your eyes stay on him when he talks?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I see it, Keith” she urges, voice unwavering. “And I think— No, I know. You love him.”

This wasn’t some earth-shattering discovery that changed everything. Keith already long knew he loved Lance.

But Allura had reminded him of something even worse.

That despite the growing space between them, his love for Lance had never faded.

Not even for a second.

Even now, Keith still loves him. That love didn’t dull with distance. It was constant, stubborn, and just as relentless as the way he always found himself looking for Lance, listening for his voice, missing the way they used to be.

God, he missed him.

The worst part? They were still on the same ship together. Still sharing the same air, crossing the same halls, and yet, it felt like Lance was leagues away.

Maybe this unshaken love was something Keith was doomed to carry alone.

“Tell me. If Lance were here right now, standing in my place, and he asked you to stay… Would you?” Allura asks, sincerely.

Keith’s lips part, as his mind reels. He wants to say no, that it wouldn’t make any difference. That Lance had no influence over him and his decisions.

However, the answer is very clear.

If Lance were here, standing in this same spot, looking at Keith with the same pleading eyes and telling him to ‘please, stay.’

Keith would.

He absolutely would.

He’d burn galaxies for him, if he asked. If Lance told him that fighting alongside him was enough, that Keith was enough, he would promise to stay in Voltron. He would assure Lance earnestly and promise not to leave.

But Lance wasn’t here.

Allura was.

Keith slowly exhales, heavy and final.

“I guess we’ll never know,” he mutters, voice flat, controlled, before stepping past her without looking back.

The decision settles in his mind like steel.

He’d wait for Shiro to recover. Wait for the rightful leader to return to the Black Lion.

Then, he’d leave.

Because if Lance wasn’t asking him to stay, then there was nothing left holding him back.

Keith doesn’t mind living in the Blade of Mamora base.

His room was small, the kind of small where his thin, low bed was pressed into a corner, with barely enough space to stretch. The walls were bare metal, cold to the touch, and the air always felt dry. 

Oddly enough, it started having him reminisce about the desert cabin.

He remembered the way it stood crooked against the wind, the way dust settled into every crack, and the way his father’s firefighter coat hung near the door long after he was gone. Keith thought of the warmth, the quiet, the open sky, and then the cold of the Galra base would hit him again.

He realizes he hadn’t thought about Earth in a long time.

He wonders if the cabin was still standing.

A rustle across the room pulls him back from his contemplation.

Vrek, his roommate (or rather his assigned partner), sits cross-legged on the floor, polishing his dual blades. His Mamora mask glints faintly, hiding everything but his sharp focus. Then, he pauses.

“You keep looking at that device.”

Keith blinks and looks down. The small, rectangular device sits in the palms of his hands. Sleek, matte-black with faint Galran circuitry visible beneath the surface, only slightly altered by Pidge’s unmistakable touches.

“It’s a comm link,” he offers quietly, “For long-range messages.”

Vrek hums. “To your former team.”

Keith nods, slowly. “Yeah.”

“Why do you keep it?”

Keith remembers how Coran’s hands felt, warm and calloused, when he had pressed the travel bag into Keith’s chest.

“I thought I might catch you before you disappeared,” Coran had said to him, his mustache twitching with a half-smile. “Here, take this.”

Keith gave a slight nod, brow furrowing. “Coran, you didn’t have to do this.”

Coran shook his head. “Nonsense. It’s nothing fancy,” he said briskly. “Just some edible resources that you don’t have to cook over a dying campfire.”

Keith took it, hesitating. “Thanks.”

“I also packed clean clothes,” Coran added. “Mine, actually. I figured you’ve got enough of the warrior gear. Might do you some good to wear something that breathes.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Your clothes?”

“They’re very trendy and stylish. You’ll thank me later.”

That earned a faint smirk from Keith, who nodded and slung the bag over his arm. 

But then Coran held up the last item; a small, flat device that looked almost like a data pad, but Galra tech. Modified.

“I want you to have this.”

Keith glanced at it, brows narrowing. “Coran, I can’t—”

Immediately, Coran took Keith’s hand, pressing the device into his palm. He didn’t let go.

“It’s not just a trinket,” Coran said. “Pidge, the brilliant girl, has been collecting Galra comm links, hijacking and modifying them into… Well, she calls them phones. A personal way to talk, quickly and privately, over long distances, as she had explained to me.”

He tried to offer it back, but Coran’s grip only tightened.

“Truth be told,” Coran went on, “Pidge wasn’t thrilled at the idea of giving you one. Said you were leaving Voltron. Said you’d made your choice.”

Keith’s shoulders stiffened.

“But I told her,” Coran continued, voice catching slightly, “that family doesn’t end when someone walks out a door. Not ours. So I insisted that you needed one. Because whatever else you become out there, you’ll always be one of us.”

Keith looked down at the device. His thumb hovered over the single, smooth button at its center.

“It’s connected to the rest of the team,” Coran explained, reassuringly. “Just one click, and you can talk to anyone. You don’t even have to say anything if you don’t want to. But it’s there. You’ll never be too far from us.”

Keith sighed and shook his head faintly. “I appreciate it, but I really don’t need—”

“You don’t have to use it,” Coran urges, not letting go. “Just promise me you’ll keep it and not to lose it. That’s all I ask.”

There was a mix of pain, hope, and deep affection in Coran’s expression.

Keith’s heart clenched. He closed his fingers around the device and nodded.

“Okay. I promise.”

Coran smiled then, his eyes welling with unshed tears. “Good lad,” he murmured.

Then, without another word, he pulled Keith into an embrace. The warmth of it seeped into his body, into a part of him he hadn’t realized was turning cold.

“Always follow your heart, Keith,” Coran whispered near his ear. “It’s your best compass. It’ll keep you from going astray.”

Keith swallowed hard, nodding into the older man’s shoulder.

“You’re my family,” Coran said, voice thick. “And I haven’t much of that left. So, stay alive out there. Don’t make an old man mourn another.”

Now, in the present, Keith’s fingers tighten around the device in hand.

“It lets me contact them if I want to,” he informs Vrek.

Vrek leans forward slightly. The way he faces down at the device suggests he’s trying to understand how it works, visibly judging how insignificant and small it looks to him.

“You don’t use it ever,” Vrek says eventually. It wasn’t a question.

Keith gives a short, dry chuckle. “No. I don’t.”

“Is there anyone,” Vrek asks, “you would want to call anytime soon?”

Lance. The name came to Keith instantly, like muscle memory. 

He’d be the first person he wanted to call. The person whose voice would probably start with something sarcastic and end with something honest. Someone who’d ask if Keith was eating well. Sleeping alright. If he missed flying with Voltron.

If he missed him .

“There’s no one,” he said finally, voice quiet, but not empty. “Not really.”

Vrek didn’t respond right away. But his head tilts again, slower this time, considering.

Keith tucks the device back in his pocket, sliding it gently, like it was fragile.

“You still carry it.” Vrek notes.

“I made a promise that I would.”

“So, you honor that promise.”

“…Yeah.” Keith’s voice came with the hint of a breath. “Yeah, I do.”

Vrek shifts his focus back to his blades, polishing them once more. “The Blade teaches us to let go of attachments,” he says absentmindedly.

Keith glances up at him. “And do you?”

After a pause, Vrek let out a low, thoughtful breath. “No,” he admits. “Some attachments remain. Whether we want them to or not.”

Keith smiled faintly. “Guess I’m not the only one.”

“No,” Vrek replies. “You are not.”

They sit together in the stillness, until Vrek decidedly puts his blades away to slumber.

Though, Keith remains awake, long after the lights dimmed, and he lays down on his bed in the quiet hum of the Blade’s base, wondering.

If Lance ever thought about calling him, too.

Every masked figure, including Keith, stood at full attention as Kolivan stepped forward.

“There has been movement,” he had begun, eyes scanning the debriefing room. “Our intel confirms a Galra cargo vessel en route to a secure storage facility near the Norenth Quadrant.”

He paused, pressing a projection control at his wrist. A large hologram of the cargo ship appeared above the table, rotating slowly. It looked like a standard freighter, but those with experience knew appearances meant nothing in this war.

“We believe it’s a heavy supply of weaponry. Enough to fuel multiple outposts. Possibly enough for an entire fleet,” Kolivan continued, tone grim. “With the increase in supply vessels over the last few weeks, we can only assume one thing. That the Galra Empire is preparing for something. Whether Zarkon himself is behind it, we do not know. But we will find out."

Keith studied the schematic, taking in every entry point and escape route marked.

“One team,” Kolivan said, “will infiltrate the cargo vessel and release the supply. Set them free from their holds. The second team will remain outside, ready to intercept and receive as many crates as possible before reinforcements are alerted.”

He let his words settle among the Blade members.

"Due to Regris’s death," Kolivan continued, his voice dipping low, "we will remain cautious. But we will not cower. We shall stand behind our creed."

In unison, the Blade chanted, their voices strong: "Knowledge or death."

Keith internalized the words. This is the way.

Kolivan looked at them all, lingering a second longer on Keith. “The mission launches at zero six hundred. Dismissed.”

The operatives turned and began filtering out, murmuring quietly in groups. Plans were already forming, strategies trading between veterans. 

Keith remained in the room, eyes on the projection until it flickered away.

The stealth ship docks silently, its magnetic claws latching onto the hull of the Galra cargo freighter with a dull thud. Fortunately, no alarms are set off during the process.

Under the cover of stealth, Keith’s team infiltrates the Galra cargo ship. 

Disguised, masked, and swift, Keith crouches behind a wall of towering crates with five others, every muscle fiber tense. His team waits in still breath for the signal. 

In the halls, a red emergency beam shines overhead.

“System malfunction in Sector 4-D,” a robotic voice blares. “Deploying diagnostic sentries.”

From around the corner, the familiar clunking of Galra sentry units echo, their metal feet slamming against the ground in perfect rhythm. A squad of them zoom past the crates, weapons drawn, optics flashing crimson as they tore down the corridor toward the triggered fault.

Once the corridor looks clear from both ends, Keith and his unit move. They dash down the halls, like shadows in motion. 

Keith falls a few paces behind, narrowly avoiding detection when two Galra soldiers come around the corner. Flattening himself against the wall, he activates stealth mode, exhaling silently as the soldiers sprint past him.

He rounds the corridor, finally reaching where the rest of his team had started to wait for him, standing in front of two bulk doors. He slows to a stop just outside the unguarded entrance and raises his wrist.

A small, blue projection casts upward from his vambrace, showcasing the map Kolivan had embedded. A blinking dot flashes just right up ahead from where Keith stood.

His eyes flick towards the access panel beside the doors. A scanner awaits input. 

Keith pulls the stolen Galra ID band from his belt and straps it over his glove, holding it out.

Green.

The automatic, heavy doors slide open.

Keith’s stomach turns. Inside were ten towering crates standing before him, stacked in pairs. Their metal exteriors bore the Galra crest. 

There was an extreme amount of firepower in the hands of the Galra empire. 

He takes a step forward, pulse spiking. This is just on one ship.

Fury rises in his chest like fire in dry grass.

Behind him, the rest of the infiltration team filter in, spreading out throughout the room. 

One member, Pollux, tells him, “Systems are still scrambled. They won’t know we were ever here.”

Keith turns to them, eyes sharp. “Then let’s make sure this hurts.”

Quickly, Pollux and Keith dart to the farthest stack. Kieth reaches for the tethered cables anchoring the crates down, and yanks, hard. When the locks don’t give way immediately, he growls through his grit, pushing up with all his weight.

“Keith, left side!” one of the operatives barks, already unclipping their own stack.

“I got it!” Keith tightly responds, sweat already forming beneath his mask.

Finally, the clips come off, and he hurriedly pivots to another crate on the left, hands fumbling with the latch mechanism before releasing it with a hard snap. The ropes went slack. The crates groan under their own weight.

Once every crate was released, their eyes gaze up toward the dispatch hatch overhead.

A Blade member runs toward the control panel along the far wall, closest to the entrance doors. Their fingers fly across the dispatch system’s ancient keys, then they slam their palm onto the central button.

A sharp hiss of hydraulics fills the bay as the dispatch platform below them begins to vibrate. Then, a massive hatch at the back of the ship groans open, revealing space beyond. 

Waiting just outside in their stealth cruiser, Kolivan and his team were ready to retrieve the goods.

One by one, crates lifted from the platform and dropped down to the waiting ship below with a resounding clang. 

Keith turned toward the exchange. “That’s four! Keep it going—!”

Crack.

The sound was soft, but unmistakable. 

He turns just in time to see Pollux collapse with a heavy thud; neck bent at a grotesque angle. Standing over the lifeless body was a Galra general clad in reinforced obsidian armor, tall and broad with deep violet skin and brutal golden eyes. 

He lifted a clawed gauntlet gleaming with blood.

“There are traitors aboard!” the Galra general roars, voice thundering through the bay like a war drum. “Eliminate them!”

Galra sentry bots emerge with mechanical screeches, their red optics lighting up like flames. They opened fire instantly.

“Cover!” shouts Vrek, grabbing Keith’s shoulder and yanking him behind the remaining crates.

He lands hard, an edge of a box jamming into his ribs. Sparks fly as plasma blasts tore through the air above his head. 

From beside him, Vrek groans, hit in the leg, clutching the bleeding wound at his abdomen.

Keith pants hard, clutching the hilt of his blade. His pulse thunders in his ears. The former rage transitions into guilt-ridden panic.

He looks down at the blade in his hand. His reflection stares back from the polished metal.

Focus. You trained for this. Breathe.

Keith inhales. 

Then leapt from behind cover.

The sentries target him instantly, their beams tearing through the air where he’d just been. 

Keith moves fast, slipping between the lasers like a phantom, his blade cutting through steel with brutal precision, slashing through robots, one by one in quick succession.

One rogue robot lunges at him. He pivots mid-run, leaning sharply just enough to send the machine hurtling forward into empty space, its trajectory thrown off for a fraction of a second.

With a sharp shink, his blade found its mark, right through the base of its neck.

Before the bot can collapse, Keith pushes forward, using the momentum, spinning into his next strike. His blade carves through another sentry’s chest clean, sending an eruption of sparks cascading through the air like fireworks.

He lands in a crouch, only for a relentless sentry to tackle him from the side.

They slam into the ground with a crash. Keith winces in pain, struggling beneath the bot’s mass as it raises its arm to strike.

“No,” he growls.

He presses the center of his blade’s handle. Instantly, the blade elongates into a full-length sword. He twists his body and drives the sword upward.

Keith’s blade skewers through the robot’s head in one final, releasing a satisfying sound of crushed metal and short-circuiting sparks. The sentry’s body goes slack, dropping down beside him with a hollow thud. 

However, just as one falls, another rises. Another sentry bot jumps from above, claws outstretched, ready to pin Keith to the floor like prey.

It’s too late to dodge. Keith braces for the impact.

CRACK!

A whip of green light flies through the air, coiling around the sentry’s torso and yanking it mid-fall. The rope flings the robot to the other side of the room with a violent slam against the bulkhead, sparks bursting as its circuits fail instantly.

“Hey! Are you okay?!”

The familiar voice strikes something in his chest.

Keith’s eyes meet Pidge, in her green armor, green bayard in whip form, wild brown curls tied back beneath a helmet. She stands there panting, whip flickering with residual energy. 

“Can you get up?” She urges once more, shouting. “We’re here to help!”

She doesn’t recognize him through his mask.

He opens his mouth to respond, but—

“Pidge, look out!!” Hunk’s voice booms across the chaos.

Pidge pivots out instinctively, just in time to dodge a plasma blade aimed at her side. She drops low, readying her whip to counterattack the sentry unit coming up towards her. 

But before she could counter, a blur of blue light surges beside her.

From behind Pidge, Allura’s bayard transforms into a whip of radiant blue and lashes out, catching the bot by the neck and yanking it off balance. She throws down onto the ground.

Back-to-back, Pidge glances over her shoulder and gives a quick smile. “Thanks, Princess.”

Allura smirks slightly. “I’ve got your back.”

Keith rises to his feet slowly, taking it all in; the sight of Team Voltron tearing through the chaos like a coordinated storm. 

Hunk, now standing near the entrance, powers up his shoulder-mounted cannon. “Everyone, step back!” he shouts.

The cannon lights up with golden light before releasing a barrage of rapid-fire plasma shots. The blasts cut through the incoming swarm of sentry bots, exploding in small bursts across the corridor. The ground trembles from the force.

Keith shields his eyes from the blast radius, then sharply turns to the far end of the bay, where he catches Shiro charging toward the Galra general, arm glowing with black energy. 

The Galra general snarls, pulling a serrated blade from his belt, armor shifting into full combat form. Their weapons clashed with a thunderous clang, echoing through the chamber.

“You won’t leave this ship alive, Paladin,” the general growls.

“Funny,” Shiro counters tightly, gripping the general’s arm and driving his glowing fist into his side. “I was going to say the same thing to you.”

They clash in a relentless storm of movement, neither yielding nor gaining ground.

Every forceful strike of Shiro’s prosthetic is met with the sparking resistance of the Galra’s blade, relentlessly keeping things even between them.

Through the open comms in Keith’s ear, Kolivan’s voice rang through the noise.

“Voltron has arrived. Assistance is confirmed. They will hold the Galra forces back. All Blade operatives retreat to the extraction point immediately. That’s an order.”

Keith’s hand tightens around his blade. He glances toward the remaining crates; three left. Then to Pidge and Allura, now shoulder to shoulder fending off more sentries. To Hunk, still covering the doors. To Shiro, locked in deadly combat.

He shouldn’t have to worry. They had it covered.

Without another word, the Blade members sprint toward the open dispatch bay. The metal grating thunders beneath their boots. The wind from the pressurized exit howls into the void of space. 

Hurriedly, Keith rushes back to Vrek from behind the crates. Vrek had gone unconscious, from the blood lost, but Keith nevertheless grabbed and carried him over to the jumping point.

Hovering beyond the edge, their retrieval ship, sleek and now visible, awaits.

One by one, Blade operatives dove into the freefall, disappearing into the ship’s safety netting system that caught them midair. 

“Here,” Keith strains to voice over to another, bigger Blade operative, catching their attention with the body of Vrek, “Take him. I believe he’s still alive!”

Nodding, the Blade member straps Vrek over his shoulders, before jumping off.

Only two remain now. 

Keith steps forward, ready to leap. He turns back to face his operative—

—and halts.

Beyond the collapsed crates and dying sparks, Lance stands mid-duel, his movements fast and desperate, trying to keep up with the sentry’s brutal attacks. He grips the Red Lion’s bayard in sword form, swinging hard, clashing violently against the robot’s jagged metal weapon.

The sentry’s strikes come heavier now, faster, forcing Lance back, step by step. His grip slips, his stance falters.

Then it happens.

A vicious downward blow collides against Lance’s sword. The impact rips the bayard from his grasp, sending it skidding across the floor, spinning out of reach.

Vulnerable, Lance staggers back, chest rising and falling in ragged pants as the robot raises its blade for the final strike.

“What are you doing—!” the Blade operative shouts at him, his voice swallowed by the roaring winds.

But Keith’s already gone.

He bolts through the bay, past crates and sparking wires, with his hand already gripping around the hilt of his own blade.

The sentry's weapon descends on Lance.

Until Keith’s sword finally meets the robot’s mid-strike. Sharp steel screeches as the two weapons ground together in a battle of strength. Keith’s teeth grit behind the mask, muscles burning as he pushes forward, forcing the sentry to step back from Lance.

The bot adjusts instantly, recalibrating, its jagged blade whirring as it lunges again, swinging in a brutal arc.

Keith pivots low, just barely dodging the slash, feeling the wind of the strike graze past him.

Another attack comes, faster and more precise.

He ducks, twisting at the last second. The bot’s blade cuts through empty space.

Keith counters, his sword colliding against the sentry’s weapon, locking them together again in a brutal struggle for control.

A growl rips through his throat as he throws his shoulder into the clash, pushing hard with the intention to overpower.

With a burst of strength, he sends the robot stumbling back, its guard entirely open.

Keith refuses to hesitate.

With a roar, he surges forward, driving his sword straight through the robot’s core. 

Sparks exploded around him as the sentry convulses, arms jerking, then shuddering to the floor with a final crash.

Keith stands over the broken bot, his chest heaving. He tries to steady his breath, the end of his blade trembling slightly from the force of his strike. 

Behind him, Lance exhales, long and shaky. “W-Whoa. That was way too close.”

When Keith turns around to face him, Lance offers a tired, but grateful smile on his face from inside his helmet.

“Thanks, man,” Lance says gingerly. “You really saved my ass there.”

Keith doesn’t respond.

He just stood there, stuck in place.

It had been months . And yet seeing Lance now, standing right in front of him, Keith’s heart nearly split open with the utter relief.

Lance tilts his head slowly, eyebrows furrowing.

“…Wait a second.”

His eyes linger on Keith’s faceplate, narrowing slightly as he tries to study him.

“Keith?”

Then, Kolivan’s voice cuts through his earpiece, commanding, leaving no room for argument.

“Keith! Fall back now! That’s an order!”

Without a word, Keith turns and runs, his boots pounding on the deck.

“Wait—!”

Lance’s voice sounds strained, confused, and desperate, but Keith doesn’t bother to look back this time.

He reaches the edge of the dispatch bay and launches himself into open space. The Blade’s ship rises below him, catching him in a levitation field and pulling him inside.

The ship seals behind him. Cold air blasts his hot, sweaty skin as he rips off his mask, panting hard.

Kolivan stands in front of him, expression furious. Beside him, the other Blade members glance at Keith, some with concern, others with frustration.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” Kolivan voices, “You jeopardized the extraction protocol.”

“I had to,” Keith tries to explain, still catching his breath. “Lance was—”

Kolivan raises a hand. “We are not Voltron, Keith. We are the Blade. Personal attachments are not mission priority.”

Keith presses his lips down thinly, glaring at the floor.

“If you wish to rejoin your friends in Voltron, you may do so. But not in the middle of an active mission," Kolivan voices sternly, "You either commit to the Blade of Marmora or leave it behind.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Kolivan's voice softens. Not by much, but enough to show he’s offering Keith a choice, and not punishment.

“Well?” he asks. “Do you wish to return to them?”

The image of Lance’s face, surprised and grateful, flashes through his mind.

He thinks of Coran. Allura. Pidge. Hunk. Shiro.

Then of Regris. Of the crates. Of what was still out there in the dark.

“No,” Keith answers, honestly. “Not yet.”

“Then you remain with us,” Kolivan said. “Prepare for debrief.”

Keith looks down in his hands, the mask still gripped in his fist. 

The Blade of Mamora is where he belongs.

He lifts the mask, fitting it back into place, sealing himself within the identity he has chosen. 

There was no turning back. Not yet.

The return to base was quiet. Not the kind of quiet born from peace, but the kind carved out from over-exhaustion. The Blade of Marmora moved like ghosts through the darkened corridors, their footsteps dull against the metal floors, armor scuffed and boots heavy with grit. 

Another mission complete. Another Galra outpost was dismantled. Another flicker of resistance passed like a flame between calloused hands.

Keith walked near the front of the group, his shoulders stiff beneath the weight of his half-shed cloak. Dust clung to the creases in his suit, smoke still clinging faintly to the fabric. The objective was achieved.

He should’ve felt something like satisfaction. Instead, all he felt was tired.

Victories these days didn’t feel like celebrations. They felt like obligations.

Just as some of the members began to drift toward shared quarters, Kolivan’s voice boomed loudly.

“Debrief. Mandatory.”

Groans were muffled behind masks. Though, no one tried to argue.

Keith didn’t either. He adjusted the strap on his blade and fell in step with the others, heading toward the debriefing chamber with the slow, reluctant rhythm of soldiers too used to marching.

The room itself was dim and clinical, lined with cold-lit consoles and a central display screen that hummed faintly in standby. One by one, the Blade operatives filed in, their silence a language all its own, disciplined enough not to complain.

Keith stood at the back, arms crossed, his posture guarded. He hadn’t even bothered wiping the smudge of black across his cheek, the one from an explosion too close for comfort. His breath had finally evened out, but his mind hadn't caught up.

He didn’t expect anything different from this debrief. A recap, a few stats, another mission queued for the next rotation.

Then the screen came alive, in the center of the room, indicating an intercepting broadcast.

A sharp chime rang, followed by the static shimmer of an incoming transmission. The static cleared into vibrant color, the familiar sigil of Voltron rotating on-screen with pomp and gleam.

Keith’s expression barely shifted, but he could see his Blade operatives around him stare at the screen with muted curiosity, watching the propaganda.

A dramatic swell of music resounded off the walls of the room. Then, the visuals shifted into a spectacular segment of the Paladins in action, underneath a grand display of light and with a live studio audience.

Hunk’s scene passed. Pidge’s segment drew a few raised brows. Then came the acrobatics.

Descending from above like a star descending onto the stage, Lance spun in an effortless grace and glittering confidence. He twisted through the air on a long silk rope, with the perfect blend of beauty and strength. The audience in the video roared with delight.

But in the room with the Blade, they were stiffly quiet.

“Cut it,” Kolivan commanded.

Yet, the Blade members did not move. They saw the way Lance’s armored body looked just right, along with the confident set of his shoulders and that captivating, bright boyish grin.

It wasn’t just Lance performing; it was Lance being seen. 

And everyone around Keith saw him.

Keith felt his jaw tighten.

“I said cut it,” Kolivan roared, annoyed.

Quickly, the screen turned black.

Keith doesn’t remember a single thing that was discussed in that debrief meeting. Words came and went, but none of it stuck.

When Kolivan dismissed the Blade to their quarters, Keith only stirred when a fellow Blade tapped his shoulder, a subtle cue to leave. He nodded once before following the others out.

Hours passed.

His mission report had been filed, every detail accounted for with precise efficiency. His weapons had been cleaned and checked, the familiar routine grounding him, even as his mind remained distant.

While Vrek slept soundly a few feet away, under a thin thermal blanket, Keith laid there, rigid, staring up at the ceiling.

He couldn’t sleep.

The scene from earlier replayed in his mind like a broken loop. Lance descending in effortless grace and movement. The way every Blade operative had openly stared at him through the screen, with his legs split in the air.

Jealousy wasn’t the right word. It was a deep want, aching and clawing in his chest, raging to be released.

Lance’s presence still pulled at him, even now, even with galaxies between them.

His breath was sharp when he finally stood abruptly, throwing off his blanket. 

He slips into his boots, careful not to wake Vrek, and ducks out of the room, moving silently down the hall, then out into the biting air of the planet's weather. The cold slices through his suit, sharp enough to keep him alert, yet not enough to push him back inside.

He pulls out the communicator. His fingers swipe against the screen, nervously.

Contact: LANCE

The name stares back at him like a daring taunt, thumb hovering it.

He’s probably asleep.

He probably doesn’t want to talk right now.

He probably hates you.

With a breath that came out more like a shudder, he presses the call button.

One ring. Two. Thr— 

“...Hello?”

Keith stills. 

Lance’s voice is groggy, half-lost in sleep, carrying the kind of coziness that comes from being woken unexpectedly.

He tries to articulate words, but no sound follows.

“Hello?” Lance calls out again, more alert now.

Before his brain can catch up to his heart, his finger presses down on the end call button, cutting the line instantly.

God, why had he done that?

The cold air seemed suddenly ten times colder, biting at his skin like a punishment. His breath forms clouds in the frigid air, but he barely notices against the roaring winds.

Suddenly, the communicator buzzes violently, nearly slipping through his fingers and forcing him to fumble to catch it before it lands in the thin layer of snow. 

His heartbeat leaps up his throat as he reads the screen.

Incoming Call: LANCE

Lance wasn’t letting him run from this.

Keith wants to let it ring, but the volume of the sound echoes, loud enough to carry and pull attention from the sleeping Blade members stationed back at base.

He jabs the answer button, pressing the communicator tighter to his ear after.

“Why did you call me?” he hisses, voice hushed and strained, like maybe keeping his volume low would somehow make this whole situation less awful.

“You called me first!” Lance shoots back, just as hushed, but pointed. “Why did you call me?!”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Keith lied, voice strained.

“Oh really? You accidentally hit three buttons and my name? Really hard to believe, Keith.”

Keith grits his teeth. “Shut up, it was a mistake.”

There’s a pause, long enough for Keith to feel how dumb that sounded.

Lance sighs through the line. "Okay, cool. If this was some accidental call or whatever, that’s fine, but I’m gonna hang up now and—"

"Don’t," Keith says, too quickly.

Waiting for Lance to answer, Keith nervously shifts his weight, snow crunching lightly beneath his boots.

Then he picks up Lance’s voice, quieter.

“Okay. I won’t.”

God, this was so much worse than he anticipated

He expected the line to cut off at any second. For Lance to change his mind, decide it was too late to deal with this. But, with every minute that passes, Lance stays on the line, waiting.

Keith has no idea what to say. He stands there, wind tugging at his cloak, the communicator warm in his hand. He then gazes up at the sky above the base, clouds tinged with violet, stars peeking through the cloudy haze.

He can hear Lance breathing. Moving, maybe shifting under his sheets.

“I saw the promo,” Keith finally admits.

“Really?”

Keith nods before realizing Lance can’t see him. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think the Blade watched stuff like that.”

“We don’t.”

“Then how’d you see it?”

“It aired through our communication system,” he informs steadily, “In the debriefing room.”

Lance hums, shifting. Keith can picture Lance half-sitting up, arm propped against the mattress, brows furrowed as he processed that information.

“The broadcast played all that way from there?” Lance echoes, the surprise evident in his voice. “Like voluntarily? You guys actually sat through that?”

“Involuntarily, actually. Kolivan made them cut it.”

A beat.

Then, Lance snorts. “Yeah, I bet he did,” he says, amusement laced in his tone. 

Keith hates how his chest squeezes at the smallest sound.

He clears his throat, but Lance speaks up first.

“Why’d you call me, Keith?”

The words weren’t accusing or demanding.

They were curious.

Keith peers out at the stretch of ice and rock ahead, his brain scrambling for any answer that wasn’t the truth.

“I needed to—” He stops, licking his lips, mind blanking. “—check in.”

“Check in? Since when do you ‘check in’?”

Keith didn’t. He never had before. He wasn’t the kind of person who reached out and talked for the sake of talking.

He can hear the shift in Lance’s voice becoming increasingly awake. In a way that meant he wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon.

“Well, I’m glad you saw it,” Lance says earnestly, filling in the space between them. “It means you’re still alive. Somewhere.”

Keith’s chest twisted. “I’m glad I saw it too. It means… you all are alive, as well.”

The line was silent. No fabric rustling this time. No breath. Keith held his own.

“I know we kinda left on bad terms,” Lance mumbles, his voice hesitant, like he’s trying not to push too far. “And I know I said some stupid things to you back then. I—yeah. I was being an idiot. So... I’m sorry about that, Keith.”

Keith’s gaze drops for a moment, before he nods towards the snow. “Yeah. Me too. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I really didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t wrong.”

“Lance.”

“Okay, okay! I forgive you,” Lance blurts out, hurriedly trying to quell Keith’s guilt.

Keith breathes through his nose, the cold air sharp in his lungs. “I’m really sorry, I—” He hesitates, swallowing. “I really regret hurting you, Lance. I mean it.”

Lance doesn’t respond immediately, then his voice comes steadier. “I appreciate that... But honestly? Even after how we left things, I still hoped you were doing okay. Each and every day. If that helps settle your conscience.”

“It does,” Keith responds softly. “I hoped the same for you.”

Lance shifts on the other end, the faint rustle of fabric audible through the receiver. “You know... I didn’t expect you to call me. Like, ever.”

Keith scoffs, shaking his head despite knowing Lance can’t see him. “I didn’t plan to.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah. I did.”

Lance breathes out, slow and measured. 

“I think about it sometimes,” he further pushes.

“Think about what?”

“How different things would’ve been if you hadn’t left. If I’d handled things better.”

“It wasn’t you,” Keith insists, “I was the problem.”

However, Lance huffs out a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe, but I wasn’t exactly helpful either. It made sense why you left. I probably would have too.”

“Don’t think like that,” Keith states firmly, the grip around his communicator tightening, “My decision to leave was on my own accord.”

“I just keep wondering if there was anything I could’ve done. For you to not leave.”

The memory of Allura flashing his mind. Yet, Keith refuses to mention it.

“I—” Lance breathes in sharply, like he was cutting himself off before he could say something reckless.

“What?” Keith urges.

A pause.

Then, quieter, almost gone from the roaring winds. “I miss you.”

The way he says it feels heavier than it should’ve been. Lance must’ve felt it too.

Abruptly, hastily, Lance backpedals.

“I-I mean!” He starts, tripping over himself in his rush to take it back. “The team misses you! Like, a lot! And me—yeah, obviously, I miss you too, but not in, like, a weird way or anything! Just in a totally normal ex-team member way! Like, you know! Because everyone misses you! It’s not a wild concept or whatever! It’s normal! Completely normal!”

Keith could let it go. Allow Lance to go back on his word and have the moment slip between them like all the other things they never got to say.

Instead, he says, “I miss you too.”

Faintly, Keith hears Lance exhale, and there was something familiar in that breath.

The kind of breath that carried a smile.

Keith had never hated being away from Lance more than he did in that moment.

Somewhere, light-years apart, Lance smiles.

And even though Keith couldn’t see it, reach out, or hold onto it.

He felt it.

After that first call, it became a routine.

Keith hadn’t planned on it. In fact, he’d expected the two of them to settle back into the distance again the next day. He thought Lance would want to pretend it never happened. He hoped he did, if only to keep things simple.

Though, on the next available night he had, Keith stepped outside under the stars with nothing but the icy wind and his own thoughts gnawing at him. 

His hand moved on its own. Reached for the communicator. And there it was: Lance’s contact, glowing faintly on the screen like it had been waiting for him too.

He called. Lance answered.

And then they did it again the next free night. And the next.

Always at the late hours. Voices pitched low, like they were sharing secrets.

Sometimes they talked for five minutes, just to say goodnight or check in. Sometimes it stretched into the early hours of the morning, the hush of Lance’s voice weaving through static as he rambled about whatever had filled his day; training sessions, ridiculous Altean food substitutes, one of Hunk’s new hobby phases. 

Keith listened more than he spoke, but Lance never seemed to mind. And when Keith did talk, Lance listened like every word mattered.

It didn’t matter what they talked about. The calls weren’t about conversation.

They were about presence.

A presence Keith hadn’t realized he’d been starving for.

Naturally, someone started to notice.

“Keith.”

Kolivan’s voice pulls him aside just as he tries slipping through the corridor. 

“Yes?” Keith responds, trying not to sound caught red-handed.

“I’ve been told you’re leaving the base at night. Frequently.”

Keith straightens. “I’ve been taking walks. Surveying the area. Active duty.”

Kolivan’s gaze narrows, suspiciously. “Alone. On a hostile planet.”

“I can handle myself.”

“This is a strategic command post,” Kolivan states evenly, “I need to know where my officers are, especially when they vanish for hours during the scheduled sleep cycle.”

Keith feels his face burn. What the hell was he supposed to say? 

I sneak out so I can whisper into my communicator like some lovesick idiot?

“I can’t sleep at night. That’s all.”

Kolivan stares at him for an uncomfortably long moment. 

Then, surprisingly, he nods.

“Be careful, Keith,” Kolivan commands, before turning his back.

No further questions. No reprimand.

Still, Keith felt the pressure of the warning as he ducks out later that next night, communicator in hand, breath fogging in the cold.

Lance picks up by the second ring, his face lighting up on the small screen; messy hair, relaxed shoulders, and an easy grin already tugging at his mouth.

“Hey. You sure are sneaky. Though I bet Kolivan’s already onto you.”

A few weeks ago, Keith had no idea the communicators could do more than voice transmission. It was Lance who casually mentioned it during one of their calls, joking that he couldn’t believe Keith was too scared to show his face.

When Keith asked what he meant, Lance had patiently walked him through the settings, narrating the steps in real time until Keith eventually got it to work. 

The screen had lit up, and Lance’s face appeared for the first time; real, present, bright-eyed. Keith had almost sighed out loud from the mere sight. 

Since then, they’d never gone back to audio-only. Every call now was face to face.

Keith grimaces, adjusting the screen to keep Lance in frame. “He is.”

Lance chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he leans closer to the camera, like that would make his teasing hit harder. “Ohh, Keith’s in trouble,” he sing-songs stupidly.

“I’m serious,” Keith voices sharply, glancing over his shoulder as if Kolivan might emerge from the shadows at any moment, “We’re not supposed to have direct communications with anyone outside the Blade.”

Lance’s face shifts in the screen, eyes half-lidded from wherever he was curled up (a blanket probably), bunched around his shoulders, head propped lazily on one hand.

"You know, I don’t plan on letting go of these calls anytime soon,” he says, his voice lower now, in a way that pulls at Keith’s heart.

The faintest hint of a smile tugs at Keith’s lips. “Never said you had to.”

Lance smiles back, but his gaze looks up from the screen, like he was internally debating something, turning it over in his mind. 

“You know, this is kinda your fault,” Lance muses, fingers playing absentmindedly with the edge of his blanket. “You’re the one who keeps calling me.”

Keith huffs. “And you’re the one who keeps picking up.”

Lance tilts his head, playful. “So, am I supposed to ignore you, then?”

“I’m not here to tell you what to do.” Keith starts, his gaze lingering over Lance’s neck, “But, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Lance lets out a quiet chuckle. “Woah, man. Do you talk to all the former Voltron members like this? I almost feel flattered.”

Keith’s brow furrows, thrown off.

“You know…” Lance continues, drawing out the words, fingers now playing with the ends of his hair. “Late night calls. Whispering all cool and mysterious. Flirting in the dark.”

Keith makes a face. “I’m not flirting.”

“You make me feel like I’m the only one from Voltron who you call.”

“You’re the only person I call,” Keith says plainly.

Keith watches as Lance’s face freezes, and for a second Keith thinks it’s their connection acting up again. But, before Keith can check on his settings, Lance’s mouth falls open. 

“Wait, huh?! What about Shiro?”

Keith shrugs. “So? What about him?”

“So?!” Lance practically squeaks, then lowers his voice quickly. “Dude, do you hear yourself? You were devastated when Shiro was gone. Like, full-on heartbreaking levels of despair. You missed him more than anything in the world! And now you’re telling me you haven’t even called him? Like, at all?”

Keith purses his lips, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “We don’t check in on each other like that. Our relationship is... different.”

A beat. Lance’s voice drops slightly, hesitant, like he was carefully figuring something out. “But, don’t you want it to be more? You know, more romantic?”

“What?” Keith asks flatly.

“I mean—” Lance inhales sharply, now fully awake, face twisting. “I thought—well—you told me back in the training room that you care for him more than just a brother. Months ago. Remember?”

Keith blinks at the screen. “I meant like a father figure.”

Awkward, stretched silence.

“Lance?”

Then a soft cough from Lance. “Y-Yeah, no. I totally knew that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What? Yes, I did!”

“Lance.”

Lance groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine! I didn’t! But, c’mon, man! It added up at the time! You were obsessed with finding him! What was I supposed to think?! Plus, Shiro does come across like someone I’d think would be, you know, your type.”

“My type?” Keith sighs deeply, “Lance. Are you still trying to be my wingman?”

Lance waves his hands dramatically, voice rising with each word. “Hey, hey, don’t ‘Lance’ me! Just listen, okay? Shiro’s reliable, head-focused, patient, and basically everything you'd want in a partner! Like, he’s literally the perfect ‘the tragic hero that’s impossibly cool’ type! And don’t even start denying it, because I know what I saw!”

Keith narrows his eyes. “What did you see?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe the way you practically had hearts in your eyes looking at Sven?!” Lance exclaims, throwing his arms up. “Like, full-on ‘soft stare, wistful gaze’ levels of looking! And yeah, yeah, I know, ‘he just looked like Shiro, nothing more, blah blah,’ but Keith, do you hear yourself?! You’re telling me you weren’t affected by seeing Shiro’s doppelgänger? Because I remember that moment vividly, and trust me, dude, you looked in love!”

“I assure you, I don’t look at Shiro like that. That’s gross.” he says plainly.

Lance moans dramatically, like he had just lived through some horrible revelation. He avoids looking directly at Keith through the screen. “Okay, fine, my bad. Whatever. I thought I knew who you loved. But, sure, I guessed wrong.”

A soft shuffle emits on the other end, the sound of Lance pacing. Slippers on floor. Restless movement paired with hesitant silence. 

Keith could almost feel Lance’s mind working, the question hovering on his lips but not quite spoken.

Who do you love, then?

The question never comes.

“You know…” Lance voices carefully, slowing his steps like he was edging toward something without fully committing. “You’re kinda picky. Like, ridiculously picky.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Lance releases a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It really makes me wonder what kind of person would actually meet your standards.” He pauses, then adds, “If anyone does.”

“It’s not like I have some impossible list of requirements.”

He shoots Keith a look. “Yeah? Okay. So, what is it, then?”

“What is what?”

“Your type.” Lance presses, arms crossed now, like he wasn’t going to let Keith sidestep this completely. “C’mon, I know you have one. I’m not that dumb.”

Keith huffs, gaze flickering away for a second, debating whether or not he should even answer. “I don’t know. Someone who—” He mulls over it, “Gets me, I guess.”

“Gets you how?”

Keith glances back at the screen, meeting Lance’s stare. He expects Lance to have a stupid, teasing grin on his face, eager to make fun of him.

However, Lance simply waits for him to finish, patient and still.

Keith swallows, staring directly into Lance’s eyes. “Someone who knows when to push and when to just be there. Who keeps up with me. Who makes things feel different.”

Lance didn’t say anything at first.

Then, slower now, more deliberate: “That’s oddly vague.”

Clicking his teeth, Keith ignores the way his pulse felt just a little uneven. “It’s not.”

Again, he assumes Lance will poke fun at his reaction, teasing him about how abstract and nonsensical his type sounds like.

Lance doesn’t bother to mention it at all.

Instead, he says lightly, “Anyway, you should consider calling the others. You know. Platonically, of course. I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

Keith considers it. “Yeah. Maybe. Next time.”

“Why not now?” Lance asks, looking over to the side, off-screen, “Pidge is probably still up. Here, I can head over to her room, right now.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“C’mon. You could—!”

“That would mean letting this call go.”

The line went still on Lance's end.

“Actually, nevermind, I should probably get off,” Keith says hurriedly, trying to push down the embarrassment warming his face despite the chilly air. He chooses to look back at the Blade base, just so Lance can't catch a glimpse of his redden face.

“Do you want to?”

“I should.”

“I’m not asking what you should do, Keith. What do you want to do?

Keith’s grip clenches slightly around the edge of his screen, gaze settling back on Lance.

“I should,” he repeated, quieter this time, like saying it again might make it easier. It didn’t.

“Not what I’m asking,” Lance echoes back.

Running a hand through his hair, Keith sighs, “I don’t know.”

“Stay on the line, then.” Lance supplies easily.

“Huh?”

Lance shrugs, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I mean, you don’t know if you want to end the call, right? So don’t.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Sure, it is." Lance grins, lazy and warm. "We’re both here, and neither of us is going anywhere just yet. Sounds like staying to me.”

Keith doesn’t answer right away.

Something about the way Lance says it, like choosing what he wants over what he should is the easiest thing in the world.

Then, without overthinking it, he nods. “Okay.”

He’s never done this before. Never had someone to call just to talk. Someone who stayed up late for him. Who showed up on the screen with a crooked smile and didn’t ask for anything more than his time.

He wonders if this was what true friendship felt like.

Chapter Text

Keith steps out of the debriefing room, the doors sliding shut behind him. The low murmur of Blade operatives filled the corridor as they were swiftly dismissed by Kolivan, some still quietly discussing mission outcomes, as they made their way to their quarters.

He lets out a quiet breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that seemed to often settle after a mission. Then, his comm link in his pocket vibrates.

Keith’s heart skips.

Without hesitating, Keith turns on his heel and heads toward the opposite direction as everyone else, brushing past Blade members with the kind of controlled urgency that wouldn’t raise suspicion. 

One of the newer recruits tries to say some offhand question to him, but Keith mumbles a half-hearted apology, cutting through a different hallway.

He doesn’t stop until he finds a small, unused side room, probably meant for private briefings or communications. He keys the panel and the door slides open. The lights automatically turn on as he walks inside and lets the door seal quietly behind him.

He taps his comm link to accept the call.

Lance’s face appears on screen, framed by the faint glow of his room’s lighting. He looks relaxed, propped on an elbow, chin in his hand, a smirk already in place.

“Hey,” he says smoothly, “How’s my favorite Blade of Marmora member doing?”

Keith scowls, adjusting the angle of his screen so Lance can’t possibly see the way his ears flush slightly. “Lance, now’s not really a good time—”

“Oh, I know ,” Lance interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “Super serious, mysterious Blade stuff. Shadowy missions. Secret hand signals or whatever.”

“We don’t have secret hand signals.”

“Sure, you don’t.” Lance grins wider. “But this is important.”

Keith sighs. “Lance…”

“I’m serious!” Lance insists, sitting up straighter from his bed. “I was just wondering about the Blade. Like, how has it been? Really. You’ve been out there for a while now, and I figured maybe you haven’t had anyone to talk to about it. And well, I’m here.”

That surprises Keith enough to stay quiet for a beat. He allows Lance’s words to process in his head, before slowly breathing out.

“It’s a lot of work, sometimes,” Keith admits. “Kolivan’s expectations are high, but fair. You don’t really get breaks in between missions.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance mutters, “you never really took breaks anyway.”

Keith ignores that, but the corner of his mouth tugs slightly. “I used to think strength meant leading from the front. But with the Blade, it’s more about staying on course. Being reliable and steady. I’m still figuring out how to be that kind of person.”

Lance nods slowly, absorbing that. “Do you feel like you belong?”

That wasn’t a question he was used to hearing, not out loud, anyway. However, he shrugs one shoulder. “Some days more than others. But yeah, I believe I do.”

Lance stares at him a moment longer, the teasing edge to his smile softening. “Good,” he says, “You deserve to feel that.”

Then, just as Keith begins to wonder where this is going, Lance leans closer to the screen.

“So,” he starts, with absolutely no warning, “how’s Kolivan?”

“...What?”

“You know, Kolivan. The big guy leading the whole Blade of Marmora.”

Keith narrows his eyes slightly. “He’s fine. Doesn’t really say much unless he has to.”

“Uh-huh,” Lance says, nodding along. “Now, is he always like that? Or does he find the time to laugh and chill?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh or chill.”

“Interesting,” Lance hums, “What about outside of missions? What’s he like then?”

“Still serious,” Keith says flatly, growing more skeptical.

“Right, right. But like, what’d you think is his love life situation?”

Keith squints. “Okay, what is this?”

“What?” Lance asks, all faux innocence. “I’m just curious. He’s a very influential man, okay? Powerful. Commanding. You’ve been spending all this time with him. I figured I’d ask. Does he have a wife and kids? A right-hand man that sneaks into his room at night?”

“He’s not my type, Lance.”

Against a pillow, Lance immediately flops his head back with an overdramatic groan. “Ugh, dude! He’d be perfect for you! Walk with me. Wise, strong, level-headed. Basically, everything you'd want in an equally brooding space-husband!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Those are traits for a good leader. Not a husband.”

“They can be both!” Lance argues, “He’d represent you so well. You two would be like the cool power couple of the rebellion. Plus, he’s tactical, intimidating, and—”

Keith raises a brow, cutting in dryly, “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot. Are you into Kolivan?”

Lance sputters, sitting upright. “What?! No! I—what—No. Nuh-uh. Nope. No way. Not even a little. Ew. No.”

Keith allows himself the smallest, tiniest smirk. “Right.”

“Keith, that’s not funny,” Lance says, “You almost made me gag.”

“So, what type of man are you into, then?”

Lance’s usual ease cracked, expression visibly faltering. He looks off-screen for a second, tongue pressing into his cheek like he’s not sure if he wants to say anything else.

“Wait, sorry,” Keith says quickly, “That was stupid, I shouldn’t have said that.”

But Lance shakes his head, a little slower this time. “No, it’s… it’s fine,” he says, then adds, quieter than usual, “I, uh… I like women. And men.”

Mentally, Keith’s entire image of Lance shatters in that moment. 

Like the idea that Lance could genuinely be attracted to men that had been filed away suddenly bursts wide open. All the warning signs he had unconsciously put up around Lance just fell off the closed door, leaving it possible to open.

“Oh,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Lance gives a short, dry laugh. “Yeah. Shocker.”

“No, I wasn’t trying to be rude or—” Keith stumbles, scrambling for footing. “I-I didn’t know. I mean, I appreciate you confiding in me and sharing that. It must have been hard and—”

“You’re really bad at this, buddy.”

“I’m trying!” Keith said defensively, not sure anymore how to make his voice sound normal. “When I told you how I felt, you accepted me. So, I want to try to do that for you, too. I want to be someone you can trust, the way I trust you.”

Lance’s features shift, hesitation softening, as a small smile forms. 

“Thanks, Keith,” he says quietly.

Keith ducks his head slightly, his face warming. “Yeah. Of course. It means a lot, you trusting me with that. I don’t take it lightly.”

“I know you don’t,” Lance says, tone thoughtful. “That’s why I felt like I was ready to share that with you, tonight.”

Keith gives a small nod, unsure what to do with the warmth suddenly lodged in his throat. “If you ever need to talk more about it, I’m here.”

Lance’s fingers drum lightly against his chin, his smirk creeping back in slow and inevitable.

He clears his throat, trying (and failing) to sound casual. “Soooo, is there anyone in the Blade who you’re into right now? Like, any secret Galra crushes I should know about? We have all night to talk about them.”

Silently, Keith levels Lance with a long, flat stare.

Lance, completely undeterred, lifts both eyebrows expectantly, wiggling them.

Keith doesn’t even bother answering. He just stares at the screen for a solid second before slowly, deliberately ending the call.

The last thing he hears is Lance yelping through a laugh, “Wait—Keith, don’t you dare hang—!”

It cuts off by the soft beep of disconnection.

“Idiot,” Keith mutters under his breath, yet he smiles.

When Keith calls Lance, the screen brightens and he’s surprised to see the faces of Pidge and Hunk, both cramming into frame with Lance somewhere off-screen, audibly struggling.

"Keith!" Pidge greets, waving enthusiastically. "How’s your night going?"

Hunk yawns, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm, but still managing a slow, kind wave at the screen. "Hey, man."

“Uhhh,” Keith voices, thrown off to see them. 

“Wait—no—guys! Seriously?!” Lance’s voice cries from the side, followed by a shuffle of movement and what sounds like a mild scuffle. “This was not planned—I didn’t say you could—Keith, I swear Pidge stole my comm link—!”

“Oh, butt out, drama queen,” Pidge rolls her eyes, elbowing someone, most likely Lance, off-screen. “I did not steal it. Your communicator was sitting out, and it started vibrating with ‘Keith’ across the screen.”

“You snatched it out of my hands!” Lance's voice erupts from off-camera, indignant and panicked. 

“Yeah, because you got all weird about it!” Pidge shoots back, leaning further into the frame with a wicked grin. “He went all red in the face and tried to keep me from answering it, Keith.”

“I did not —!” Lance appears in the corner of the frame, practically wrestling Pidge out of the way. “It wasn’t like that, I was gonna—just give it—Pidge!”

Keith exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “It’s okay,” he says, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Really. I’m glad to see you all. You look like you’re doing well.”

Taking the communicator, Hunk stares back at Keith, his tired features brightening. “We miss you, man,” he says sincerely. “Like, really miss you.”

Keith nods. “Yeah. I miss you guys too. And I’m sorry how things left.”

“I appreciate that,” Hunk responds, “I know you were in a touch headspace, so I understand you needed to leave to figure out your purpose. I’m just glad you were able to find it.”

Keith sighed, relieved. “Thanks, Hunk.”

Hunk chuckles, the sound warm and familiar through the static. “Dude, you should’ve seen Pidge’s face when your name popped up on Lance’s screen. She nearly flung her datapad.”

“I did not ,” Pidge interjects from somewhere off-screen. “I handled it with composure.”

“Sure,” Hunk grins. “By yelling ‘Is that Keith?!’ and tripping over feet.”

“I haven’t heard his voice in months,” Pidge argued, finally stepping into frame with an exaggerated pout. “Forgive me for feeling some kind of emotion.”

Keith smiles faintly, the edges of his posture relaxing. “It’s good to hear your voices again.”

“We’ve missed having our local growlbot around,” Pidge said, folding her arms with mock judgment. “I think even the training room misses you, along with everyone else.”

“I missed you all. too,” Keith said softly. “And it feels good to be seen by you guys.”

“Yeah, well, that’s beside the point now,” Pidge huffs, teasing but fond. “Took you long enough to call Lance. It’s late. What gives?”

Keith glances off to the side briefly. "I just got back from a mission,” he says, voice low. “It ran longer than we expected.”

Pidge waves off his apology. "Hey, I stay up stupid late most days anyway."

"Which is so not healthy," Hunk groans, worriedly. 

Suddenly, the frame jostles, and Lance shoves his way into view, reaching for the comm link device. "Okay, okay, you guys are taking up too much space on my screen. This was clearly supposed to be my call, that you two took by force."

To Keith, Pidge leans sideways, eyebrows furrowed. "Lance gets so possessive when it comes to camera angles. Seriously, he’s such a narcissist.”

"It’s my comm link!" Lance shoves her lightly.

Unfazed, Pidge pulls the device away from Lance, staring at the screen with eyes bright, ignoring Lance’s insistent pleas. "Keith, guess who I found last month!"

Keith frowns. "Who?"

Pidge pouts. "You're supposed to guess."

"Uh… The Space Kraken?"

"Wow. The Space Kraken,” Pidge repeats flatly, “That’s the best you could come up with?"

"You told me to gu—"

"It was Matt!" she exclaims, beaming regardless. "I found my big brother, Matt!"

Keith straightens. "Seriously? How did that happen?"

Pidge practically bounces, eyes gleaming. “Okay, okay, buckle up. It was wild. I thought he was dead, like for real . I found a grave with his name and everything. But turns out it was a fake-out! He was alive, hiding out in a rebel base.”

Keith listens intently as she barrels on, voice rising with each word.

“Just as we found each other, this bounty hunter shows up and tries to take us down! But we totally wiped the floor with him. And Keith, you should’ve seen Matt. He’s on another level now. Galra tech? Child’s play. He was hacking and decrypting stuff in seconds.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Keith chuckles.

“Right? Ugh, it was amazing. And now—” Pidge squares her shoulders, pride evident in her posture and voice. “Now, he’s joining us in the resistance.”

“I’m happy for you,” Keith says, and means it. “Getting to see your family again… I know that’s been something you’ve been searching for a long time.”

“Thanks,” Pidge murmurs, softer with a kind smile. She hesitates for half a second before adding, “I hope you can meet him someday.”

"Yeah, Matt’s a pretty cool guy," Hunk chimes in from the back, lying on Lance’s bed, “He definitely brings a new set of tech skills. Super useful.”

"What’s he like?" Keith asks.

Visibly, Pidge perks up. "Well, physically? He has dirty blonde hair that grew out long, longer than yours, probably! His face is definitely longer than mine, with a scruffy look to it. But he’s always been way more than that. Super sharp, clever, and resourceful. But he’s not a jerk about it. Very sweet and funny, too! Though, I’m definitely the superior Holt."

Keith lets a small smile slip, absorbing the information. “He sounds alright.”

Pidge instantly grins, playfully. "Sounds like your type?"

" Wait ," Hunk blurts out in a gasp, head popping fully into frame. "Keith likes guys ?"

"Pidge!" Lance practically yells, hands lunging forward to cover her mouth. "You loudmouth!"

Laughing, Pidge easily squirms out of his grasp. “Oh, please! We’re all friends here. Everyone should know by now. Right, Keith?”

Keith gives a one-shouldered shrug, unfazed. “Yeah, s’fine. Hunk can know.”

“See,” Pidge says brightly, “He doesn’t mind.”

Lance looks absolutely horrified, voice rising with intensity. “That’s not the point! There's, like, a whole etiquette! There are rules! This is not how Keith is supposed to come out!”

“Come out?” Keith asks, confused, “From where?”

“Oh my god,” Lance groans, “You’re not helping.”

Meanwhile, Hunk leans back into the screen, with a hand over his chest. "Keith, for what it’s worth, I fully support you! With all the rainbows, flags, and pride!"

Despite not exactly understanding how rainbows got brought in the conversation, Keith nods regardless. "I appreciate that, Hunk."

Practically perched on Hunk’s shoulder now, Pidge squints directly back at Keith. “So anyway, Matt. Yay or nay?”

Keith opens his mouth to respond, but Lance cuts in before a word could leave.

“Okay, can we not ?” He voices tightly, edging on the defensive. “I don't want to sit here and listen to you gush about your brother for hours. There’s about a million better things to do.”

“What’s wrong? Worried Keith might take a personal liking to my brother?” Pidge asks, grinning wickedly.

Lance scoffs, “Like Keith would even go for someone like that.”

“Someone like what?” Pidge edges, “Smart? Funny? Tall?” 

Lance bristles. “Shut up.” He shoots her a glare, but she just starts laughing.

Keith looks between them, thoroughly lost. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“Oh, nothing,” Pidge waves him off, “Let’s just keep discussing Matt's very impressive qualities. You’re welcome to admire him, by the way. Ignore Lance’s whining.”

“Keith’s not into twiggy nerdy types,” Lance states evenly.

“Right. And he’s probably not into self-proclaimed ladies’ men with an ego complex, either,” Pidge fires back sweetly.

Lance opens his mouth, then immediately shuts it, face turning visibly red. “I—! No. Nope. You. Stop talking, right now.”

Pidge snickers, “Oooo, touchy subject? Getting worked up, already?”

“I am not worked up!” Lance protests, voice climbing. “I’m just looking out for Keith, okay? He doesn’t want to waste his night listening to you drone on about your brother, and frankly, I don’t blame him.”

Still lost, Keith frowns slightly. “I mean, I don’t mind hearing about him,” he clarifies.

Lance inhales sharply. “No, you should mind! Trust me, he’s—” He flounders, visibly grasping for a valid argument. “Weird!” he lamely shouts.

Pidge’s head snaps toward him, scandalized. “Excuse me?! You’re weird!”

“I’m not weird!” Lance shoots back, “Matt, on the other hand? Total weirdo.”

“You’ve talked to him, like, twice!”

“And that’s more than enough for me to declare his level of weirdness! I have a sixth sense for these things. It’s a gift. And Matt? Yeah. Very weird. Suspiciously weird, even!”

“You take that back!” Pidge announces, before launching herself onto Lance’s back, pulling them down. The communicator slips from Lance’s grasp and tumbles with a dull thud on the mattress, the screen turning black.

Audibly, the yelling escalates quickly, their voices climbing over each other. 

Keith sighs, resigned, but amused, as he listens to the familiar commotion unfold through the now-dark screen before Hunk finally salvages the device, flipping it back around with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, man,” Hunk says, brushing something off the lens. “They’re doing their thing again.”

“When haven’t they?” Keith huffs.

Hunk adjusts the angle and leans in a little. “Still, I hope you don’t mind all the teasing.”

Keith blinks caught off guard. “Teasing?”

“I mean, Pidge making jokes about Lance freaking out over Matt,” Hunk says gently. “I just didn’t want it to come across like it was aimed at you.”

Keith’s brows pull together for a second. “Was he freaking out?” he asks, a little uncertain. “I figured that’s just how Lance is.”

Hunk smiles softly but doesn’t immediately answer. He glances off to the side, where muffled scuffling is still happening, before nodding. “Yeah. He is. But sometimes…” He trails off, giving Keith a particular look. “Sometimes there’s more under the noise.”

Keith doesn’t know what in the world that look means.

He exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Guess I’m still not great at reading people.”

“You’re doing fine,” Hunk replies gently. “Besides, with Lance? Half the time we’re all just making educated guesses.”

Keith shifts slightly, then says, “Besides, I wouldn’t say Matt’s really my type, anyway. And even if he was, I’m not exactly looking for that kind of thing right now,” he offers, honestly.

“Fair enough,” Hunk says, turning the screen back towards the ongoing chaos. “You hear that, Pidge? Keith’s not interested.”

He then turns the screen to face Pidge and Lance; their arms tangled in mid-brawl.

Pidge nods, surprisingly understanding. "Yeah, no problem. He’s straight."

Lance stills. His arms drop from where he had been fending off Pidge’s grasp. “ What?! Then why did you try to set Keith up with him earlier?”

“Because winding you up is just that easy,” Pidge answers, with a shit-eating grin.

The last thing Keith sees before the call ends is Lance throwing a pillow at Pidge’s face, and ultimately hitting Hunk, expression wide in disbelief. 

For a moment, Keith just stares, watching his own reflection in the blank communicator.

They were still themselves. Still Voltron: the same bickering, teasing bunch of friends turned into found family. Only now, without him.

It's not exactly bittersweet. He’s made his choices, aligning himself down a different path, and he knew, logically, things wouldn’t stay the same forever back at the Castle.

But sometimes, like now, standing alone with nothing but the hum of the Blade’s base around him, that the quiet ache crept in. The thought that everyone else kept going, moving forward with Voltron, without him. 

He could still reach them, but it never quite replicated what they used to be.

Everyday Keith’s away, the team moves forward, their connections deepening in small, invisible ways. New jokes. Shared memories. Layers of closeness he isn’t part of. 

Lance especially.

While everyone else grows closer to Lance, Keith remains tethered to a version of him that’s already out of date.

Perhaps, Keith thinks, it’s for the best that they keep their distance. 

Allowing Lance to evolve without him spares Keith the slow pain of watching them drift apart.

In front of the camera, Kolivan stands at the center, arms folded. Beside him, Keith kept a proper stance, with his feet shoulder-width apart, hands to his side and shoulders stiff.

Onscreen, the interior of the Castle of Lions came into view, and with it, Team Voltron appears before them via transmission call.

Composed and steady, Shiro starts the meeting. “As previously discussed, Naxzela remains one of the last key strongholds under Galra control in this quadrant. If we can reclaim it, we can cut off nearly one-third of their remaining resource supply lines.”

The team stands behind Shiro in a loose formation, all visible in frame. Pidge already looks seemingly zoned out. Hunk stands next to her, listening intently, but visibly trying not to lean too hard on one foot. Next to Shiro, Allura remains serious.

When Keith catches sight of Lance, it takes everything in him not to react.

Lance stands near the back, but still in view. As Shiro spoke, Lance’s eyes drift. Then, with the subtlest movement, he lifts his hand and gives a tiny, fast wave. The corners of Lance’s mouth tug up into an exaggerated, open smile, almost cartoonish, like he’s trying very hard to make Keith laugh.

Keith’s mouth doesn’t so much as twitch.

Determined, Lance quickly waves again, bigger this time, while he wiggles his tongue for an added effect. He looks downright stupid. 

Hunk notices it, elbowing Lance lightly. Lance gives an innocent shrug and mouths something Keith can’t hear or lip-read properly.

Keith tries to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest. He stubbornly keeps his eyes locked on Shiro, nodding at the appropriate moments, maintaining perfect soldier focus. Or at least, he looked like he was.

Next to him, Kolivan slowly shifts his head. He definitely noticed.

The Blade leader’s gaze slides toward Keith, then glances back toward the screen, clearly catching the tail-end of Lance’s antics. Kolivan doesn’t say anything, but the brief, pointed side-eye spoke volumes to Keith.

Shiro continues, unaware. “We’ll need a ground infiltration team and an orbital distraction team to divide their defenses. I’d like to split it among two units. If the Blade can assist us with a ground strike, then—”

Kolivan’s voice cuts through Shiro’s briefing like a blade through metal.

“Commander Shiro,” he says evenly, though his tone had the weight of steel. “One of your Paladins is moving quite excessively. It’s proving to be a distraction.”

Shiro blinks mid-sentence, his jaw tightening as he instinctively glances back over his shoulder. “Lance.”

Lance, who had started to move his arms in the air like a wet noodle, immediately shot upright. His spine went ramrod straight, hands behind his back in some overexaggerated military stance. 

Shiro stares at him for a long beat. “Take this seriously.”

Lance gives a small, dismissive sigh. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Totally serious. No more waving,” he voices casually, “I got it, Shiro.”

Turning back toward the screen, Shiro resumes the tactical overview. “As I was saying, if the Blade can handle the ground strike, Team Voltron will then draw out the Galra fleet—”

Behind him, Lance ever so subtly sticks his tongue out at Shiro, nares flared and face scrunched, like some cheeky ten-year-old.

It’s the smallest gesture Lance has done. Barely more than a second. Yet, Keith sees it.

And something about the sheer nerve of it, the juvenile mischief on Lance’s face, and the fact that he’s doing it right now , in the middle of a call with the highest command of the Blade of Marmora cracks something in him, too fast for Keith to suppress it in time.

A sharp, breathy laugh escapes Keith’s mouth, as his shoulders jerk slightly. 

Shiro freezes mid-sentence, his hand hovering in the air where he’d been gesturing at the shared battle schematic. 

Beside Keith, Kolivan turns his entire head, his gaze cutting through the side of his face.

Even Allura and Pidge glance up at the screen in confusion, wondering what happened. Hunk, already well aware of the situation, just shakes his head with a smile on his face .

Shiro blinks at the screen, more stunned than angry. “Keith?” he asks, cautiously, like maybe he had misheard. “Everything okay over there?”

Keith’s face remains mostly neutral, though a pinkish hue starts creeping into his cheeks.

He clears his throat, stiffly. “Sneeze,” he says flatly. “Sorry.”

Kolivan’s suspicious gaze lingers on him, expression increasingly narrowing as seconds pass. “A sneeze?” he repeats, with deep suspicion.

“Yeah,” Keith replies, quickly. “Dust.”

Keith barely resists the urge to call out Lance. Instead, he sharply fixes Lance with a quick, short warning glare.

Ever the professional instigator, Lance immediately looks away, feigning intense interest in something just out of view. His expression looks painfully forced, lips pursed in faux concentration.

Eventually, Shiro gives a slow, skeptical blink to the screen, but decidedly moves on without comment. “Right. As I was saying—”

From behind, Lance flashes a triumphant grin, very much aimed at Keith.

However, Kolivan scowls, his unimpressed scowl landing squarely on Lance, somehow communicating absolute disinterest. The kind of look that made it very clear that whatever Lance thought was amusing, Kolivan did not.

Sensing the weight of Kolivan’s stare, Lance coughs awkwardly, suddenly straightening in his stance.

Keith remains still, perfectly composed.

Except for the faintest flutter in his chest, the tiniest flicker of amusement buried beneath the layers of his restraint.

“Pidge!”

Pidge’s grin grows wider, her eyes sparkling in awe. “Matt!” 

Matt had barely stepped off the ramp when Pidge rushed forward, colliding into him in an exuberant tackle of a hug.

“Still tiny,” Matt says playfully, ruffling her hair lightly, an affectionate gesture.

“Still annoying,” Pidge retorts, grinning like she can’t help it.

Rolo and Nyma follow behind Matt off the ship at a more casual pace. Rolo flips a small dagger in his palm with idle detachment. Nyma scans the room with easy confidence, tossing Lance a sly wave that Lance returns with a playful wink.

Shiro was next to step forward, embracing Matt in a warm hug, the kind that conveyed relief and camaraderie. 

“Glad to see you in one piece,” Shiro says, clasping Matt’s shoulder.

“I could say the same, man. You’ve still got that cool space hero thing going on, huh?” Matt teases, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s a solid look. I’m a bit jealous, actually.”

“Someone’s got to keep up appearances,” Shiro grins back.

Keith stands a bit behind the others, arms loosely crossed, observing the reunion with a quiet calm. He had arrived at the Castle of Lions not long ago, traveling with several members of the Blade of Marmora, including Kolivan. 

The visit was meant to be brief, but still rather necessary, as this was a chance for them to become familiar with the key allies and rebel fighters who would soon be part of the mission on Naxzela and above. 

Keith wasn’t sure where to place himself at the moment, until someone approached him.

“You must be Keith.”

Keith turns, meeting Matt Holt, who stood there with a calm, easy smile, one hand extended in greeting. 

His blond hair looks seemingly tousled from whatever work he’d been elbows-deep in. He wears a calm, easy smile and extends a hand, posture open and unassuming. To Keith, there’s something naturally disarming about him

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Matt says to Keith. “Mostly from Shiro. Though my favorite little sister over there’s thrown in a few colorful footnotes.”

He jerks a thumb toward Pidge, who stands right behind him, already mid-eyeroll. 

“I’m your only sister,” she murmurs.

Keith hesitated for a half second, because wow , Matt was nothing like the awkward, scrawny kid from the photo Pidge had once shown him before. He looks clearly older now, taller, and much more confident. Definitely not what Keith had pictured.

Shaking off the surprise, Keith accepts the offered hand. “I hope it wasn’t all bad things.”

Matt laughs, “No, no. She’s the worst there is, anyway.”

“Matt!” Pidge elbows her brother with enough force to make him wince, which results in her grinning in accomplishment.

“Relax,” Matt hisses, rubbing his side.

Keith watches the exchange with a slight pull at the corner of his lips. There seems to be a rhythm in the way the two Holts bickered. They were like two sides of the same gleaming coin: Pidge, sharp and biting, and Matt, a little more relaxed but just as sharp.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Matt says, gesturing his head toward Pidge again. “She was a menace before you guys found her.”

“Oh, and you’re such a ray of sunshine?” Pidge fires back.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Pidge and Matt continue to stay wrapped in their banter, arguing back and forth in their close sibling way. From Keith’s perspective, it was honestly hard to tell who was winning, or if they even cared. They seemed to be having fun either way.

Keith turns when he hears approaching footsteps, two sets, one of them heavier, casual, the other practically silent. He immediately recognizes the pair.

“Former Paladin,” Nyma greeted with a small wave, “Glad to see you on the same side.”

Rolo leans in beside her, with his arms folded and usual half-lazy, half-smug expression in place. Their robot, Beezer, rolls up behind them, beeping cheerfully in greeting.

“Oh yeah,” Matt says, catching Keith’s attention, “This is my team. I understand you might have met them in different circumstances before, but I assure you they are a reliable bunch.”

Rolo shifts, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, so, about that first meeting. Trying to kidnap your friend? Not exactly our best impression.”

“Definitely not the best,” Nyma reiterates, nodding in agreement.

Rolo cracks a crooked smile and meets Keith’s gaze, surprisingly earnest. “But we’re here now. No tricks. We’re all-in with the resistance, and whatever it takes to shake us free of Zarkon.”

“It’s fine,” Keith says evenly, “We’ve all done things just trying to survive. What matters is you’re helping now. That’s what counts.”

Rolo’s grin sharpens into something more genuine. "Coming from you, that means a lot. Always did like the strong, silent type.”

Keith doesn’t miss a beat. “Not here for compliments.”

The words land with unintentional finality.

There’s a pause—brief but palpable. Rolo’s expression falters, pride dented. He clears his throat, scratching behind his ear as he forces a chuckle. “Right. Yeah. Just being friendly.”

Behind him, Nyma bites her lip, clearly holding in a laugh as she turns away and coughs loudly into her fist. Beezer lets out a low, sympathetic wooop that almost sounds like oof.

Keith’s gaze drifts again. This time, he looks towards the far end of the control deck where Coran and Lance stood in conversation. They were partially tucked behind one of the projection pillars, both leaning over a floating holomap of Naxzela, with projected schematics of Galra outposts rotating slowly above them.

Lance stands with his arms crossed, one hip cocked as he gestures at the display with a mix of curiosity and frustration. Coran nods slowly, fingers sweeping thoughtfully through his mustache.

Keith briefly murmurs, “Excuse me,” to the group, before leaving them behind.

He moves steadily, hood over his head, eyes lowered just enough to avoid catching anyone else’s stare as he approaches the corner where Coran and Lance stood.

He catches the tail end of Lance’s sentence: “—but if we hit from the western ridge while the shield cycles down, we might be able to reroute the overflow toward the canyon—”

“—A sound plan,” Coran says thoughtfully. “Though it’d depend on how quickly we could get the barracks to—Oh!” He turns mid-sentence, eyes lighting up when he sees him. “Keith, my boy! Didn’t see you sneaking up there. Is there something you need?”

A little thrown off by how brightly he’s addressed, Keith hesitates. Then, he glances briefly at Lance, who looks at him, equally surprised to see him.

Keith gives a small shrug. “Not really. I just came to talk.”

Coran smiles warmly. “Isn't that lovely.” His mustache perks upward with his grin. “Always nice to share thoughts about interstellar war efforts, eh?”

Keith gives a faint chuckle. “Something like that.”

If Coran notices the way Keith’s eyes flick more toward Lance than the hologram, he doesn’t bother to mention it.

Instead, Coran claps his hands together. “We were just discussing the defensive choke point near the canyon outcropping on Naxzela. Lance here had the rather clever idea of taking advantage of the Galra’s own barrier delay. Show him, lad!”

Lance puffs his chest slightly from the praise.

“Okay, so check this out,” Lance says, reaching out to rotate the hologram. “Right here, if we’re right about the shield output intervals, we could potentially set up a remote disruptor here—” he jabs at a ledge “—which means if we hit this tunnel at the exact moment the eastern unit hits their surge limit, boom, they’re bottlenecked.”

Keith leans in, scanning the projection with quiet interest.

“That’s actually a smart angle,” he says, half-impressed.

Lance turns to him with a flat look. “Wow, don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” Keith says, but the corner of his mouth lifts up.

Coran chuckles. “You two are cooperating like civilized adults. It’s almost endearing to bear witness.”

Keith presses his lips into a thin line, embarrassed. Meanwhile, Lance just laughs.

As the three of them continue to talk with one another, Keith can’t help, but steal subtle glances at Lance’s smiling face, feeling his chest loosen just slightly.

Coran swipes a few lingering projection screens away with the flick of his fingers, clearing the holomap for a moment. “Now, speaking of tomorrow’s plan,” he starts, turning toward Keith. “Matt’s team will be joining forces with the Blade for the first wave. Thought you ought to know.”

Keith nods, the shift in conversation grounding him. “Yeah. I already met them.”

Coran’s eyes sparkle with curiosity, and one of his brows arches. “Oh? And what do you think of our new allies?” he asks, leaning in just a touch.

Keith thinks about it. “Matt’s smart. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Clearly experienced. I like that.” He pauses for a beat. “I’ll assess his actual pilot skills once we’re on the field, though.”

Lance gives a little amused huff beside him, but Keith chooses to ignore it.

“Well said! A proper judge of character and capability,” Coran exclaims, “You’re turning into quite the commander, Keith. It’s good to see you surrounded by new faces. Allies. People who believe in what you’re doing.”

Keith’s taken slightly aback by the sincerity in Coran’s voice.

“I… appreciate that,” he says quietly. “Thank you, Coran.”

Coran nods, smiling fondly. Then, he pauses mid-thought, quickly glancing between Keith and Lance all of a sudden.

His grin softens. “Now, I think I’ve taken enough of your valuable time. I should go and relay what we have discussed to Allura.”

Keith blinks. “You don’t have to—”

Coran holds up a hand as he steps away. “No worries, lad. I’ll leave you two brilliant tacticians to it,” He assures, with a wink barely concealed beneath the sweep of his mustache.

“Alright. Let us know if you need anything,” Keith says.

And with that, Coran whisks off down the corridor, hands clasped behind his back, whistling a cheerful tune to himself. 

Keith watches him leave, faintly suspicious. “That was odd…”

But when he turns back, Lance is already staring at him, his lips curved in amusement.

Shifting awkwardly in his stance, Keith narrows his gaze. “What?”

“Okay, okay, fine. You’re forcing me to ask the burning question,” Lance starts, raising a teasing grin, “What do you think about him?” He asks, gesturing subtly with his head.

Keith doesn’t need to ask what exactly Lance was trying to ask. 

He follows Lance’s subtle head tilt and catches sight of Rolo chatting animatedly with Nyma and another pilot. Olia, if he remembers right.

Lance raises his brows. “Thoughts?”

“Not interested,” Keith says flatly, his gaze unwavering.

Lance makes a funny face, mock wincing. “Not even a little?”

“No.”

Lance stays quiet a moment, biting back something behind a grin. Then he throws out, more carefully now, “And Matt?”

A few feet away, Matt laughs brightly at Pidge, the sound warming Keith’s chest just a little. It sounds like the way Lance naturally laughs when he isn’t super hyper-fixated on other people hearing him.

“I mean, he’s not bad looking,” Keith concedes, his expression softening slightly.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” Keith says with a thoughtful shrug. “I wouldn’t say he’s my type, but he’s not awful. I think there’s worse people to stare at.”

Lance’s face does a funny thing again. He smiles, but the corner of it twitches, and then he quickly looks away from Keith. “Ah. Of course.” 

Keith frowns. Lance doesn’t look right. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah. I, uh, wasn’t expecting that answer. I thought you’d ignore Matt.”

Carefully, Keith watches him. “You brought him up.”

“Yeah,” Lance says quickly. “I did. My bad.”

Keith steps a little closer to Lance. “Did I say something wrong?”

Lance huffs through his nose, folding his arms across his chest. “I thought you weren’t interested, that’s all.”

“Interested? Interested in what?”

Lance gives him a flat look, like Keith is being deliberately obtuse. “Your type, Keith.”

That makes Keith squint. “You’re trying to set Matt up with me?”

“No–! That’s not —” Lance groans, looking at Keith like he’s not making any sense. “I’m saying you sound like you like Matt.”

Keith’s confusion only deepens. “Like him? No, I said he wasn’t bad looking. That’s not the same thing.”

“Yeah, well, if he’s not your type, then why even say anything?”

“Because you asked,” Keith shoots back, more baffled than annoyed now. “You literally asked me what I thought. I gave you an answer.”

Lance looks away again, jaw clenched tight. “Yeah, well, it’s confusing.”

Keith takes a long, steadying breath. He can feel Lance unraveling in real time, and he thinks this has nothing to do with Matt. He can see it in the way Lance’s shoulders curl inward, almost in defeat.

“Calm down,” Keith says softly.

“I am calm,” Lance mutters quickly. Too quickly.

Gently, Keith reaches out and his hand finds Lance’s wrist, fingers curling lightly around it. He sighs faintly. “C’mon. You can’t seriously be upset about Matt, right?”

But when he looks over, Lance still won’t meet his gaze.

His expression is tight, withdrawn and guarded in a way Keith isn’t used to seeing on Lance.

Keith feels frustration prick behind his ribs, ready to argue about how stupid this situation feels. But he stops himself. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing anymore. Not when there’s an upcoming war that he might not survive to say sorry again. 

So, he closes his eyes for a second and breathes.

“I’m not a mind reader, Lance,” Keith says slowly. “If I say something wrong, just tell me.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” Lance murmurs.

“Okay. So, why are you feeling upset?”

“Because you’re you,” Lance says, almost like it’s an accusation.

That catches Keith off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you get under my skin, okay? And I don’t always know why, or how, or what to do about it. So when you say things about people, about Matt, it just throws me off and it messes with my head.”

Keith stands still, absorbing that. Lance has never said anything like this before.

“You think I like Matt?” Keith asks slowly, cautiously.

Lance sighs. “I don’t know what to think anymore. You’re honestly hard to read, Keith. I thought you wouldn’t want to be interested in anyone else right now.”

Keith’s heart stutters at that.

“Anyone else?” he echoes, voice soft.

“ Anything else,” Lance hurries to correct. “Like, I figured with everything going on, your head would be focused on other priorities.”

“Priorities,” Keith repeats, voice quiet.

Lance winces a little, like he’s stepped into something he hadn’t meant to. “Like missions. The Blade. Your calls with whoever. You know, stuff that actually matters.”

The air between them suddenly feels too still and careful, like any wrong move and they’ll start arguing. Keith doesn’t know how to step around it without making it worse.

“I’m not into Matt,” Keith says, more gently this time. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Lance doesn’t reply right away. His eyes flick up toward the ceiling, then back down again like he’s working through some internal calculation he doesn’t want Keith to see.

Keith shifts a little closer. “Seriously. He’s not my type.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You don’t even have a type.”

“I do,” Keith insists.

“Yeah?” Lance raises a brow, skeptical. “What is it, then? Other than, I don’t know, some vague description that can apply to anyone.”

Keith doesn’t have a clean answer for that. Not one he can say out loud and that wouldn’t make everything infinitely more complicated.

“...It’s not Matt,” he says instead.

Lance gives a short laugh that doesn’t sound entirely amused. “You said that already.”

“Because it’s true.” Keith voices firmly. “Besides, why are you so hung up on this? Is this because you keep trying to be my wingman? I thought we were done with that.”

“I’m not hung up on anything,” Lance says defensively. “I’m just trying to understand you.” He falters, his brows knitting together in something like discomfort. “You say stuff like that, and I just don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

Keith takes a quiet breath. “Okay. Then let me say this clearly. I’m not interested in Matt, at all, or… anyone else,” he tacks on, because he’s pretty sure he knows what he heard before, and even more certain it matters.

Lance shifts slightly in his stance, visibly thinking.

Finally, he exhales sharply. “Okay, fine. I’ll take what you say. Not that it matters to me or anything. Obviously. Just, you know, Matt’s definitely too weird for you. Like, there are totally better options out there in the universe.”

“Yeah, like who?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly who,” Lance says. “I’d say there are way better picks than Matt. Way better. Trust me.”

Keith shifts, glancing sideways. “Then, what would you say makes a good match for me?”

Lance’s stance relaxes, less teasing. He leans against the wall, his arms no longer crossed, hands resting loosely at his sides. “Someone who learns to appreciate you,” he says quietly. “Not just the fighter side. But the side to you that’s actually very thoughtful and who feels deeply for others.”

Keith looks at him for a long moment. The words settle in his chest like a soft fire.

“That sounds… nice,” Keith says, his voice quiet.

“Yeah,” Lance mumbles. “It does.”

They stand there, still and suspended in something unspoken. Something that has always hovered between them, just out of reach. Not quite ready to be named, but undeniable all the same.

Keith wants to ask about it, but the door behind him slides open, the soft mechanical hum cutting through the air.

“Keith.”

Kolivan’s voice is firm, expectant, standing just inside the threshold. His expression is calm but serious. “I need you in the command room. We’re going over Blade's involvement against the empire’s forces.”

Just for a second, Keith prepares to ask for more time, but then he decidedly nods, walking away, without looking back at Lance.

The possibility of whatever Lance has been trying to say, and whatever Keith has been trying to hear, slips through the cracks, once more.

The Galra shield looms in the distance, a wall of power pulsing with menace, holding back any hope of rebel advancement. Keith grits his teeth as the stolen Galra fighter shudders beneath his grip.

"Keith, don't do this!" Matt’s voice cracks over the open comms, frantic and pleading.

Keith’s knuckles whiten on the throttle.

He pushes it forward. The stars smear into streaks as the ship surges ahead.

In these final moments, caught between resolve and the unknown approaching, Keith’s mind reels through flashes of the people he’s fought beside. Their faces, their voices, and their presence surge through him in his memory.

Pidge. Hunk. Allura. Coran.

Shiro.

His brother in everything but blood, who saw something in him long before Keith ever did, even on the days Keith couldn't.

Lance.

The name itself is a wound and a balm all at once.

Lance, who smiles like he’s already forgiven you. Who argues with fire and cares with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. Who hides vulnerability beneath bravado, but Keith has seen past it. He sees the cracks, yet he finds them beautiful.

He sees Lance’s grin in his mind’s eye, that rare soft one, reserved just for moments when the galaxy isn’t watching. He remembers the way Lance’s voice dips when he talks to him alone, how his eyes linger a little too long. Keith’s chest tightens at the thought of never seeing that again. 

Time and time again, Keith told himself he could live without ever knowing what could have been between them.

But as the shield swells larger, firelike and final, and the pressure in the cockpit rises, he’s not sure he ever meant it.

If this is the end, then he hopes Lance lives to see another day. He hopes Lance finds a reason to laugh again, surrounded by family and friends. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll think of Keith. Fondly. Even if Keith is nothing more than a memory.

The shield comes into full view.

Keith braces for impact, but it never comes.

A flash, violent and gold, rips across the shield’s surface. His ship jolts hard as a Galra ship cruiser screams into view, slamming into the barrier instead.

Keith’s expression widens. “What the—?”

His open comm crackles, a burst of static, and then Shiro’s voice cuts through. “Good work, Keith,” he sighs out in relief.

Keith shakes his head, dazed, staring at the debris in front of him.

“That… wasn’t me,” he says slowly. “It was Lotor.”

As if summoned by name, his screen flashes on and Lotor’s face fills it. He smirks, eyes gleaming like distant starlight.

"Attention Paladins of Voltron and Rebel Fighters," Lotor’s voice echoes across open channels, smooth and deliberate. “I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I believe it’s time we had a discussion.”

Keith’s stomach drops. Every instinct in him flares to life.

This isn’t a rescue.

It’s a move.

Calling Lance becomes less of a common thing between them. Ever since Lotor’s alliance with Voltron, Lance’s focus has shifted, with apparently every hour being packed with news missions as instructed by Lotor.

Likewise, Keith buries himself in Blade operations. Kolivan pulls him aside not long ago, voice cold and firm, telling him that his emotions are increasingly becoming a distraction.

“That connection you have to the paladins makes you weak,” Kolivan coldly stated to him, “And weakness will get you killed.”

So, they stop calling, for entirely different reasons.

But tonight, Keith’s communicator vibrates silently under his pillow.

Keith stirs awake with a groggy frown, blinking blearily at the glowing contact on screen. 

It reads Lance.

He sits up slowly, heart already unsettled. Keith slips from his cot, movements quiet and practiced, and pulls on his jacket. Careful not to make a sound, he navigates through the metallic corridors of the Galra facility, past the dimmed hallways.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the outside, the metal corridor giving way to the eerie stillness of open night. Only then does he call back, forgetting to enable the camera feature.

It rings once.

"Keith?"

Lance’s voice comes through the line sharp and uneven. Tight. Something about the way he says his name makes Keith tense up.

"I’m here," Keith assures quickly, "Sorry. I missed your call. Are you okay?"

There’s a pause. The line crackles faintly.

"…Yeah," Lance says. But it’s wrong. Everything about that one word is off.

"Lance. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. I just—It’s fine. Really."

Keith sighs, jaw tight. "Don’t do that. Just tell me. Is it about Lotor?"

"No," Lance says immediately.

Brows knitting together, Keith chooses to not push it. He gives Lance a moment, letting the silence stretch between them.

Finally, Lance sighs, and it sounds like something collapses inside him.

"…It’s about Shiro."

Keith stills.

That’s not what he expects.

"Are you sure?" he asks, more stunned than questioning.

"Ugh, of course you don’t believe me," Lance mutters under his breath, frustration lacing his words.

"No, I—" Keith stops himself, breathing in sharply. "I didn’t say that. I just wasn’t expecting it. What happened?"

Lance hesitates, voice uncertain. "Shiro’s acting different. He’s been snapping at me. Like, a lot. And not in the usual ‘you’re-being-an-idiot’ way. I mean, like he’ll yell at me over the smallest things, in front of everyone. At first, I thought maybe I deserved it, but now I don’t think it’s me. It’s him."

Keith leans back against the metal exterior wall. "He’s probably stressed. I mean, with Lotor now in the mix, Shiro’s under a lot of pressure. The alliance changes everything."

Lance lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. "That’s what I thought at first too. But it’s not just me who thinks something’s off with him. Allura feels the same way."

Immediately, Keith scowls. "What does Allura have to do with this?" he asks flatly.

"Are you serious? Allura has everything to do with this!" Lance insists, appalled. "She and Shiro used to be on the same page all the time. If she's even starting to question him, don’t you think that’s worth paying attention to?"

Keith’s jaw clenches. "She can have her own opinion. Just because she’s not agreeing with him on everything doesn’t mean there’s some huge shift happening."

"But that’s exactly it," Lance argues. "It is a shift. They used to practically agree on almost every forefront, and now half the time they’re arguing over what we should do as a team. And it’s not just her. Shiro’s getting closer to Lotor and everyone sees it."

Shiro’s aligning with Lotor?

Keith swallows. "That doesn’t sound like Shiro. Not the way I know him."

"That’s what I’m trying to tell you," Lance says quietly. “Whatever Lotor says, Shiro follows it. And Allura tried to back me up about my concerns, and he completely shut us down. That’s not him."

Keith looks up at the stars, mouth drawn into a tense line.

On the other end of the line, Lance is quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, "There’s something else. I wasn’t sure if I should say it."

"What is it?"

"I didn’t just think something was off with Shiro," Lance says. "I think I heard him."

Keith blinks. "Heard him? Like through the walls?"

"No," Lance says quickly, and then lets out a breath like he knows how strange this is going to sound. "No, I—I don’t really know how to explain it. But, it happened when I passed. Wait, hold on—!"

Keith’s brows furrow, heart beginning to pound. "You passed out?"

"I-I’m fine now!" Lance adds quickly, "Really. It was just for a few seconds, I swear. I’m okay! Anyways I started remembering what I heard when I was unconscious."

Pushing down his worries over Lance’s health, Keith stays silent, listening.

"It was like… like I was standing in this other dimensional space," Lance explains, voice shaky, like he doesn’t know whether to believe it himself. "And everything around me was this soft blue, blurry vision. Then I heard him. Shiro. He was trying to say something. Over and over."

"What was he saying?" Keith asks sharply.

Lance lets out a frustrated breath. "I don’t know! I could only tell it was Shiro, but I couldn’t make out the words. He was calling out to me, but not from here. From somewhere else."

Keith’s fingers tighten around the edge of the console beside him.

"I told Shiro about it afterwards," Lance continues, "He said he didn’t remember saying anything. But Keith… I know what I heard."

Something about the whole thing makes Keith’s skin crawl, leaving goosebumps.

"You believe me, right?" Lance asks, like he needs to know.

Keith’s gaze drifts to the stars. He swallows, voice coming out rough. "Yeah," he says. "I think I believe you."

"You know you don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

"I’m not," Keith says without hesitation. "Yes, I believe you, but it’s hard to process. Shiro’s always been someone I can always trust. And now…" He trails off, jaw clenched. "If something’s wrong with him, I don’t know why."

"Yeah," Lance murmurs, more gently this time. "I understand."

Keith stays quiet for a moment longer, then he sighs.

"That must’ve scared you," he says, voice quieter than before.

Lance lets out a short breath that sounds almost like a laugh. "Only a little," he says. "Maybe more than a little."

Keith’s mouth tugs faintly at the corners. "I’m glad you told me, though."

"Yeah," Lance says, "I hoped you’d listen."

After a moment, Keith’s voice breaks through softly. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"I, uh…" Lance starts, "I transformed my bayard into a sword."

Keith gasps. "You did?"

"Yeah," Lance says, a little shyly. "I didn't even mean to, honestly. It just sorta happened mid-swing during a training session with my rifle. Nearly took off my shoulder."

Keith lets out a breath of a laugh, surprised and clearly impressed. "That’s seriously amazing, Lance."

"You think so?" Lance asks, trying to sound nonchalant, but the slight wobble in his voice gives him away.

"Yeah. That’s a big step. It means you’ve grown stronger and adapted." Keith smiles softly, voice lower now, more sincere. "I’m proud of you."

Keith can practically hear the crack in Lance’s carefully built bravado, too stunned to cover it with a joke. He imagines the expression Lance must be making; wide-eyed, mouth slightly open in disbelief, and cheeks flushed with the kind of embarrassment reserved for unexpected compliments.

He smiles faintly to himself, wishing for just a second, he could actually see it.

"You okay?" he teases gently.

"Yeah—yes!" Lance’s voice cracks slightly, flustered. "Geez, Keith. You don’t say stuff like that. I wasn’t ready."

Keith chuckles, "Get used to it."

Lance mumbles something incoherent.

"So, when are we going to test it out?" Keith decides to ask.

"Test what?"

"Your sword. When are we going to spar?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Lance rushes out, alarmed. "You are not dragging me into some sword death match just because I sprouted a blade one time. I barely know what I’m doing with it."

Keith laughs, rich and genuine. "I’ll go easy on you."

"You say that now," Lance grumbles. "But then in one blink, I’ll be flat on my back wondering what planet I’m on."

"Is that a no?"

"It’s a not-yet ."

"Okay, fine," Keith says. "I’ll wait."

The silence comes again, but this time it clings, as neither of them quite wants to be the first one to break the connection.

"So, uh…" Lance finally says, hesitant. "Guess we should hang up, huh?"

Keith doesn’t respond immediately. The weight of the mission, the distance between them, the knowledge that they might not get another quiet moment like this; it all presses down on him.

"Yeah," Keith says eventually, but it’s reluctant. "You should get some rest."

"You too," Lance replies. Then, after a pause. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will if you do," Keith returns.

"I will. Night."

"Goodnight."

There’s a long beat.

"You hang up first," Lance mutters.

Keith smirks. "You called me."

"And you missed my call."

"And I returned it. I think that puts you on hang-up duty."

"Okay, well, I reject your phone rules."

"You can’t reject logic."

"Here. On three. We’ll both hang up at the same time."

"Sure."

"Okay." A pause. "One…"

"Two…"

"Three."

Silence.

"…Did you hang up?" Lance whispers.

Keith grins. "No."

"Why not?" Lance hisses.

"I was testing you."

"Well, I failed," Lance sighs. "Are you happy now?"

"Immensely."

"I’m serious, Keith!" Lance groans. "I’m not hitting the button. You do it, please."

Keith rolls his eyes, then gazes toward the soft glow of his comm screen.

"Fine," he says, trying not to smile too much. "Goodnight, Lance."

Lance laughs. "’Night, Keith."

The screen blinks dark.

Alone in the dim silence of the outpost, Keith stares at the blank screen, then shakes his head, grinning now, just a little too wide. He smacks both cheeks with his palms like he can physically shake the dopey look off his face.

It doesn’t work.

Getting stuck with his long-lost mother on a space whale for who knows how long isn’t exactly a situation Keith ever imagines being in. And yet—here he is.

The stars blink overhead like distant, indifferent eyes, and beneath him, the rough terrain of the landmass perched on the back of the interdimensional creature they now call shelter shifts with slow, rhythmic pulses. 

It’s been five days. Five long, grating, dragged-out days since his journey with Krolia began across this strange, floating land.

Keith sits on a low ridge, reaching into his jacket pocket, and he pulls out his communicator, flipping it over in his hand before thumbing the side to activate it.

The screen stays dark. Nothing but a dead flicker.

He already knows it’s useless (the battery drained by day three), but even when it had power, the connection never made it past the interference this creature’s body produces.

Keith tried on the first night. Multiple times. He tried again the second, and again on the third, until finally, the silence tells him everything he needs to hear: they were too far out.

He clicks his tongue, frustrated, and his boot scrapes against the dirt as he kicks a loose clump across the ledge. A few dry pebbles scatter down into the chasm below, bouncing until the sound disappears.

His mind wanders back to the Castle and to the team. But more than anyone else, his thoughts stay stuck on Lance.

What if Lance has been trying to reach him too? What if Lance is worried, pacing in his room like an anxious mess? Or worse, what if something has happened? Lance has already been on edge when it comes to Shiro and Allura, and now with Lotor—

Keith groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Behind him, a voice calls out from the distance. “You’re going to burn a hole through your own stomach at this rate,” Krolia’s voice echoes. “Dinner is ready!”

He stares at the useless comm link in his hand for a moment longer before slipping it back into his pocket with a quiet sigh.

Reluctantly, he stands and walks back toward the fire pit, where the flame licks hungrily at the edge of the wind. Krolia sits cross-legged, her posture unnervingly calm.

Roasting over the fire are skewers of something that definitely hasn’t come from a familiar food group, rough cuts of stringy meat on carved sticks. Keith eyes it warily.

Krolia plucks one and offers it out to him with a small, knowing smile. “It won’t kill you.”

Keith takes it wordlessly and bites off the end with more force than necessary, tearing it between his teeth like it might silence the storm in his head. It doesn’t.

Still chewing, he sits down across from her, shoulders tight.

“It’s not bad,” he mutters after a beat.

“You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

He doesn’t answer, and the fire crackles between them.

Krolia lets him stew in silence, saying nothing, but Keith can feel her quiet, unyielding gaze burning into the side of his head like a second sun.

He scowls and grabs a second skewer, yanking the meat free with a bite. Her stare doesn’t ease.

“What?” he snaps, voice rough. “Is there something on my face?”

Krolia doesn’t flinch. “Plenty.”

“Great,” Keith scoffs, behind chewing, “Now you’re seeing things.”

She lifts her head slightly, the firelight dancing off her sharp features. “I see what you’re trying not to feel,” she says plainly, gnawing on her own skewer like they’re discussing the weather. “It’s boiling under the surface of your skin. You don’t hide it as well as you think.”

His eyes narrow, but before he can reply, Krolia adds, “Does it have anything to do with the boy in blue?”

Keith immediately chokes.

The meat lodges in his throat and he coughs hard, doubling over. He pounds a fist on his chest, eyes watering. A sharp wheeze escapes, then finally the chunk flies from his mouth, landing pathetically in the dirt.

He gasps for air, glaring across the fire. “You—you just let me choke?!”

Krolia blinks. “You seem fine now.”

Keith wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, seething. “You can’t just say stuff like that and watch your son nearly die.”

Unfazed, Krolia takes another bite, then gestures calmly with her skewer. “So, does it?”

Keith stares at her like she’s grown a second head. “Does what?”

She lifts a brow. “Have to do with Lance?”

His stomach lurches. “How do you even know his name—?” He stops himself too late, eyes widening, and quickly backpedals. “I mean—Not his name—That’s not his name, so we’re clear.”

Krolia is already looking up at the stars, sighing like she expected that reaction. “We shared memories. Remember?” She turns her gaze back to him, quieter now. “When your memories collided with mine, you saw pieces of my past. But it wasn’t a one-way exchange.” She taps the side of her head. “I saw glimpses of yours, as well.”

Keith's pulse beats louder in his ears.

“I saw you fighting beside him. I saw you looking for him when he wasn’t there. I saw his name pass through your thoughts more than once.” Krolia informs further, voice steady. “You don’t need to explain it. But don’t insult my intelligence by pretending it’s not weighing on you.”

Keith stares at the fire, jaw tight. The meat in his hands is already cooling, but he doesn’t care. Apparently, he’s more transparent than he thinks.

Across the fire, Krolia simply waits.

“I worry about him,” Keith admits, finally. “I try not to, but it doesn’t go away. And the longer we’re stuck here, the farther I drift from him.” He swallows. “That alone shakes me.”

Krolia nods softly, understanding. “That kind of love doesn’t let you rest. No matter where you are, or how much time passes. You carry them with you.”

Keith’s frown deepens. The flames cast shadows across his face, dancing along his cheekbones, as a quiet bitterness curls at the edge of his heart.

“…Kind of ironic, hearing you talk about love,” he murmurs, not looking at her. “Especially when you weren’t there for me.”

Krolia’s expression falters slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

He lets the silence carry the weight of it for a beat longer before continuing, quieter now. “When Dad died, I was just a kid, left alone to figure everything out on my own.”

“For that, I’m truly sorry, Keith,” Krolia responds.

“I hated you for doing that to me,” Keith admits, softer now. “There were nights I promised myself I’d never forgive you.”

He finally looks at her. His eyes shine, not with tears, but with something older, wearier. “But I’m trying. To let go of the resentment.”

Krolia holds his gaze, regret written in the lines of her face. But she doesn’t apologize, not again. Instead, she simply says, “I understand. Thank you for trying.”

They sit quietly for a moment, the air warm with smoke and unsaid things.

Then, Krolia’s voice softens as she tilts her head. “So, tell me about him.”

“Lance?”

“Yes,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “You said he shakes you. I’d like to know why.”

Keith huffs out a breath, reluctant at first, but the way she asks makes it easier to open up.

“He’s ridiculous, sometimes,” Keith starts, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Loud. Stubborn. Always wants to have the last word. But he’s also very kind and loyal to those around him. He’s committed to doing what’s right and has enough empathy to share for a whole planet.”

Keith shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping. “And the worst part? Even when you don’t want to like him, he’ll always find a way in. He has this charm and light that impacts everyone. And, at this point, just thinking about him makes me smile.”

Krolia watches him fondly, her own small smile growing as she closely listens.

“I wish you could see your face,” she says, tilting her head as she gazes at him. “You look utterly beautiful when you talk about him.”

Keith’s face immediately warms, a flush rising up his neck. He ducks his head. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Krolia says with quiet conviction. “And if Lance has got eyes in working condition and a sliver of sense behind them, he’d say the same thing.”

Internally, Keith doesn’t believe it, but he offers his mother thanks, regardless.

Krolia is quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on another piece of skewered meat. Then, almost carefully, like she’s peeling back something delicate, she says, “You know, he reminds me a lot of your father.”

“Really?”

She glances at him, her expression soft. “Your father was very kindhearted, almost infuriatingly so. He had this warmth to him that made him reckless and selfless to a fault. And I—” she pauses, eyes distant in memory, “—I didn’t always understand it, not at first. I was too entrenched in survival and purpose. But his perseverance to always do the right thing, no matter the cost? That’s what broke through to me. That’s what I fell in love with.”

She turns back to Keith, offering a faint smile. “And I believe you value the same kind of person as I do. It’s a bit surprising to say the least.”

Keith stares at her, something in him stilling. The fire crackles beside them, shadows dancing across their faces.

Then, with realization hitting him, he shoots up to his feet.

“Exactly!” he exclaims, eyes wide. “That’s my type! You just explained it!”

Krolia looks up at him, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Keith starts laughing as he runs a hand through his hair, turning in a small, restless circle like the revelation is too big to contain. “I’ve been trying to explain it to Lance forever. And I never had the right words. He kept asking, and I just couldn’t. And now, I figured it out.”

Krolia blinks, then chuckles, shaking her head. “It’s a long story, I take it?”

Keith grins, sinking back down beside her, cheeks still flushed from laughing. “Yeah. Kinda.”

She shrugs, gazing up at the starlit sky stretching far and wide above them. “We’ve got all the time in the universe.”

Keith rests his arms over his knees, the firelight flickering in his eyes.

He lets the memories spill out that night, letting his mother carry a piece of them, too.

Krolia slept soundly near the flickering embers of the fire, her breathing even and deep. The night around them was hushed, save for the faint rustling of wind through alien trees and the gentle hum of distant fauna.

Keith slowly pushes himself off the ground, careful not to disturb her. He adjusts the light cloak draped over his shoulders and quietly steps away from the cave. His boots barely make a sound against the dirt path as he moves, choosing a route he knew well enough now; one that led to a rocky outcrop nestled just far enough to afford him privacy, but close enough that he’d return in seconds if something went wrong.

He climbs the last few steps onto the boulder and sits down, arms resting on his knees, eyes locked on the open sky.

The stars here look different. Brighter, maybe. They hang closer to the edge of the universe. Or maybe he’s just imagining that, desperate to find meaning in anything tonight.

Three months.

That’s how long it has been since this mission started; since the space whale, since the Blade sent him off with Krolia, since he last saw the others. Since he last heard from him .

And still, Keith kept the comm link in his pocket.

He doesn’t know why anymore. It hasn’t worked in months. 

Still, he never left it behind. It stayed pressed against his hip, jostled when he rolled or fought, battered and beaten. The metal was dented now, the corners scuffed raw from being dropped or dragged through rock and gravel.

He pulls it out slowly, the familiar weight fitting into his palm acting as a comfort now. He traces a thumb over the tiny screen, smudged and dark, like always. Still lifeless.

Yet, despite not being able to reach him, Keith needed to say something to Lance.

He doesn’t know if doing it here will help, but the words have been stirring in his chest for weeks. They were thick in his throat, stuck there like stones, and he hoped that getting them out would ease some of the pressure off, even if no one heard them.

Keith sighs, absentmindedly turning the comm link over in his hands.

“This is stupid,” he mutters under his breath.

Still, his palms feel clammy. His heart thrums restlessly, like it knew what was coming before he could stop it. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in.

He tries to imagine Lance standing in front of him.

At first, Lance wears his paladin uniform, blue and militant, radiating confidence. But that didn’t feel right. Not for what he needed to say. 

So Keith tries again, imagining him instead in his casual wear; that soft hoodie he liked, sleeves pushed to his elbows, collar tugged loose. His hair slightly mussed, like he ran a deliberate hand through it.

Keith imagines Lance’s expression, confused at first, maybe a little worried. A raised brow, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay,” Imaginary Lance would say, lightly, maybe even teasing. “Why’d you drag me out here, Keith? Are you finally gonna admit you think I’m actually funny?”

Keith snorts quietly under his breath. Even in his head, Lance had to be difficult.

But then, the teasing expression drops from Lance’s face, softening as his hand reaches out, fingers threading through Keith’s own. He swears he could almost feel it, warm and sure.

“Whatever it is,” Lance says, steady and kind, “it’s okay. You can tell me.”

And somehow, that makes it possible.

Keith’s jaw trembles as he opens his mouth, the words fighting their way out.

“…Lance,” he whispers into the night. “I love you.”

In his head, Lance stares back at him, patiently waiting.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time,” Keith says, “I don’t know when exactly, but my feelings for you slowly grew, and grew, and now, I carry you everywhere with me. It’s like you burrowed into my heart without asking, and now even when you’re not here, you still are..”

He lets the words settle in the air, wind breezing past him gently.

“It’s… it’s not the kind of love that passes. It constantly stays with me, no matter the time and distance between us—” He lets out a trembling breath. “—It reminds me just how deeply you’ve settled into me. How much you matter, more than I ever imagined I could let someone matter to me.”

He swallows. “I’m so in love with you,” he says. “And I don’t know what to do with it anymore. But it’s yours. It’s always been yours. Even before I understood what it meant to be yours.”

The Lance in his head doesn’t say a word. He simply squeezes Keith’s hand and smiles like he’s known all along.

Keith clenches his hand around the worn, dead device in his lap.

In the stillness of the night, in the echo of his own confession, he imagined Lance again. Standing in front of him, stunned. Maybe uncertain or apologetic, struggling to try to find the right thing to say.

But Keith wants to be selfish, just for tonight.

He imagines Lance looking at him with adoration in his eyes. Closing the distance between them, smiling so softly Keith thinks he might fall apart. He almost feels Lance cupping his face gently with both hands, drawing him close, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you too,” Imaginary Lance whispers. “Just as much as you do.”

Keith leans forward, breath trembling, chasing that warmth—

—but his lips meet nothing.

Only the wind.

Steadily, his eyes open. The stars twinkle back at him.

The cold wind brushes over his face, as if in quiet acknowledgment of everything he’d just released into the air.

Then, slowly, he rises from the boulder. He tucks the comm link back into his pocket.

His knees ache from how long he had been sitting there, but he couldn’t bother to care. His chest feels much lighter than before, like the words had taken something from him. 

As he makes his way back toward the cave, he can see the black silhouette of Krolia inside still, curled in deep sleep.

Keith lingers at the mouth of the cave for a moment, looking back at the ridge he had come from, staring at the open cascade of stars.

I’ll be back tomorrow, he promises himself. And the day after that.

Every night, he will come back to that spot. He will sit beneath the stars and speak aloud what his heart had always struggled to say. No more hiding from it or pushing it down.

He will take this time to get used to the shape of his own love.

He will keep speaking of it until it comes naturally to him.

Until the day, if it ever came, he can say it directly to Lance, and not just the version of Lance he makes up in his mind.

Keith steps quietly inside the cave, settling down against the cold ground. Then, he lets his eyes rest.

One night, as Keith sleeps, instead of the usual haze of shapeless memory or silence, something vivid finds him.

He stands on nothing, suspended in some omniscient view. His eyes lock on a small countryside house, nestled along a stretch of land blanketed in soft pink flowers, blooming in season. A gentle breeze stirs the petals, causing a ripple across the field. Cows graze lazily in the distance, horses flick their tails by a weathered fence, and sheep huddle in the shade of an oak tree.

He could hear a faint, familiar laughter, but the dream flashes white.

Lance leans on a kitchen counter, with a coffee mug in his hands. He visibly looks older, taller maybe. His face definitely has slimmed, showcasing a sharper jawline cutting through where soft cheeks once held his smile. But the smile remains the same quality, bright and teasing.

Keith can’t quite catch the words this version of Lance tells him, other than the distinct, fond lilt of, “Keith.”

The world flashes again.

Now he looks down at a cover of blankets, sheets rumpled, and Lance asleep, curled at his side. His bare arms loop around Keith’s waist and his hair seems longer, messier. His mouth hangs open slightly, a little smear of dried drool at the corner of his lips. 

Another flash.

A hallway. Lance suddenly peeks out from a doorway and yells, “Boo!” before bursting into laughter. Keith startles, but barely has time to react before Lance takes off running, disappearing into a living room space that is blurred at the edges.

Then—

Then, Lance lays next to him on a field of green grass. The sky a crisp, perfect blue behind his head, with the sunlight bronzing his skin. He looks up at Keith, in a daze.

He leans in close, lips brushing Keith’s ear, and whispers something soft.

“You’re my home, Keith. You always have been.”

Then, Lance turns Keith’s chin gently, guiding him to face him. Their lips meet.

And in the moment of that kiss, Keith gasps awake.

He shoots upright, breath punching out of his chest in ragged bursts, his heart hammering so hard it hurts. His hands clench the ground beneath him.

“Keith,” a voice says, firm but steady.

His eyes snap to Krolia, kneeling beside him, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Breathe,” she instructs calmly. “Just breathe, son.”

He struggles to follow her command, air rattling in and out as blood whistles in his ears. “What—what happened?” he croaks, eyes wide.

Krolia doesn’t answer immediately. She stands, stepping out toward the mouth of the cave. Her hair shimmers under the dim starlight as she looks upward.

Then she points to the sky. “Look.”

Keith follows, sluggish and unsteady, his legs heavy with whatever that vision shook loose inside him. When he steps beside her and lifts his gaze, he sees it; waves of color, streaking across the stars like slow-moving auroras.

“A burst of quintessence,” Krolia explains. “Another wave. We’ve witnessed them before, but this one feels different.”

Keith watches the slow pulse of light ripple overhead, the hues shifting across his face, shifting from violet, teal, gold. His chest still heaves, the cold sweat clinging to his spine as if trying to hold him in the moment.

“But the vision I had wasn’t a memory,” he says, voice hoarse. “It wasn’t from my past.”

Krolia turns her head slightly, her voice thoughtful and eyes serious. “Then perhaps it wasn’t your past. Perhaps it was your future. One that you’re connected to.”

The suggestion sinks into him like a stone. 

“What did you see?” Krolia asks softly.

“…No,” he says, too quickly. “I think it must’ve just been a dream.”

But even as the words leave him, they ring hollow in the air.

Krolia nods once, as if she understands anyway. “Could be,” she says gently.

Chapter Text

Keith wakes to Kosmo pouncing directly onto his abdomen, a heavy weight knocking the air from his lungs. 

The space wolf snuffles enthusiastically at his face, tail wagging in a blur, his drooly tongue swiping across Keith's cheek and nose with unrelenting affection.

"Ugh," Keith groans, voice still gravelly with sleep. He squints against the light filtering through the cave, his bangs spilling into his eyes. He sweeps the strands to the side with one hand, blinking slowly.

Outside, the scent of firewood and cooked meat drifts through the air. Krolia, already awake and in motion as always, crouches over their fire pit. 

After stretching, Keith shuffles over and sits beside her with a drawn-out yawn, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Without a word, Krolia hands him a wide stone plate; round, smoothed over time by weather and care. On it are scrambled yellow puree of something and strips of meat, seasoned with whatever herbs she found nearby. 

Keith nods in thanks, accepting the meal and digging in with his fingers.

Kosmo plops down beside him, staring up with wide, pleading eyes. He whines quietly, head tilting, his gaze locked onto the meat in Keith’s hand.

Before Keith can cave, Krolia reaches over and pulls a cleaned bone from a small pile. "I scraped the meat off this one," she says, holding it up.

Kosmo perks instantly, tail thumping against the ground. He trots over to her eagerly and takes it gently from her fingers, disappearing off to gnaw in peace.

Keith chuckles through a mouthful. "Thanks."

Krolia simply nods, focused on turning the last bits of meat. "Eat while it’s warm."

After a silent breakfast, they set off to scavenge for supplies; a daily ritual by now. They search the strange biome of the space whale’s back for anything useful: fallen wood from strange tree-like growths, edible moss and bulbs, and wide, thick leaves to reinforce their cave shelter.

The walk back is slow, their arms loaded. Keith carries a bundle of branches slung over one shoulder, while Krolia balances foliage and a netted pouch of gathered fruit.

As they near the cave, Krolia glances at Keith, then reaches out. Her fingers comb lightly through the ends of his hair.

"It’s gotten long again," she notes.

Keith scowls. "It's not a problem."

"You're not doing yourself any favors,” Krolia says, giving him a look, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed your hair gets in your eyes when you hunt. It gets caught on branches and you’re constantly blowing it out of your face."

Keith grunts, dodging slightly, but she gives him a look. One of those stern, unimpressed mom-looks. So, he decides to not bother arguing, facing away from his mother.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t dispel the conversation.

"I think it’s time I cut it," Krolia states evenly.

“No, I manage just fine.”

Krolia narrows her eyes slightly, reading more than he says. “Why must you be so stubborn every time? It always grows back anyway.”

"It’s... I just like it this way,” he mumbles. “That’s all, okay? I see fine."

“You’d see better with less hair in the way,” she counters. “You’re too skilled to let something so small trip you up.”

“It’s not small. I—” He stops, jaw tight.

“Then what is it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops, and he shrugs, feeling his face start to warm. “It makes me feel more like myself.”

Krolia’s expression softens.

“It’s not just about you, is it?”

He exhales, rubbed raw by how suddenly careful she’s being. “Okay, you know what. I—I'll shower first,” he says, the words tumbling out. “Just let me clean up. Then you can cut it.”

Krolia lifts a brow, then relents. "...Fine. But don’t take forever."

"I won’t” he says, then whistles low, and Kosmo bounds over at once, eyes bright.

"Let’s go," Keith says, placing a hand on the space wolf’s back.

In a blink, they teleport across the living world’s back, arriving at the other side; a spot Keith has come to treasure. There, nestled between the folds of alien rock and hills, a crystalline waterfall pours down in steady sheets.

It’s cold, refreshing, and just the right height to serve as a natural shower.

Kosmo pads off to explore the edges of the pool, tail swaying.

Keith strips off his outer layers and steps beneath the water, letting it soak through his hair and run down his shoulders. 

His bangs fall forward again, now heavy with water. It blinds his vision entirely, before he brushes hair back.

Yeah. Maybe his mom has a point.

Still, he closes his eyes, raising his face up to the cascade.

The water hits Keith hard and cold, the way he likes it. It crashes down over his chest and back, trickling down his body. 

He stands there for a long while, letting the water soak him through, soothing his bruises, the ache in his arms, the strain in his legs. He leans into the waterfall, fingers going through his hair, then sliding across his skin.

He can feel his growth. Not just the usual stretch of age, but the definition, the weight. He’s taller now. His chest is broader, his muscles firmer from the years of survival.

When he finally steps out of the waterfall, cool air rushes to meet his wet skin. Sunlight cuts through the canopy above, warming his shoulders. He pads barefoot over to where he left his gear, his clothes hanging across a wide rock, drying in the sun’s reach. 

Carefully, Keith grabs the waxy, flexible leaves, along with a bundle of soft moss, and begins to pat himself down dry. 

Kosmo, who’s been lounging nearby in the shade, perks up the second Keith starts drying off. The space wolf trots over and noses at the back of Keith’s bare knee, a low whine curling from his throat like impatience wrapped in affection.

Keith snorts, ruffling behind Kosmo’s ears with his free hand. “I know, I know. I’m almost done,” he murmurs.

Kosmo leans into the touch, tail wagging once, then gives a huff like he’s heard that before.

Keith finishes dressing, wrapping himself in the light fabric they’ve scavenged and stitched together over the past months, layering up for travel. His boots are worn but holding together. He rolls his shoulders once, flexing his fingers as he slings his now-dry gear across his back.

“All right,” he says, giving Kosmo a nod. “Let’s go.”

Kosmo’s ears perk, and in a blink, the world folds around them.

In an instant, they reappear at the mouth of the cave, their home carved into the hide and terrain. Keith exhales quietly as his boots settle on familiar ground. Kosmo trots ahead, tail high, ever proud of his precision of location.

From inside the cave, Krolia gestures for Keith to come closer, patting the surface of a large, flat stone. Keith obliges with a quiet grunt, settling onto the slab. 

She steps behind him, pulling out a thin, worn cloth, and wraps it snug around his neck with the efficiency of someone who’s done this kind of thing before. She gathers his damp hair in her fingers, sectioning it slowly, careful not to tug.

Keith shifts under her touch and mumbles, “Don’t take too much off.”

Krolia huffs a soft laugh. “Still clinging to the mystery of your mop, I see.”

“I like it long,” he repeats.

“I find it hard to believe that a natural fighter like yourself finds the perks in pesky long hair,” She says, combing her fingers through the strands. “But fine. I will do a trim.”

Keith sits still, his head angled forward, relaxed. In front of him, Kosmo plops down between his legs with a soft thud, panting with his tongue out, his tail giving a lazy wag. 

Placing his head on his knee, Kosmo stares at Keith like he’s in awe, eyes wide and mouth open in what could only be interpreted as a goofy, unfiltered smile.

Keith smirks. “Needy,” he chuckles, scratching behind Kosmo’s ears.

With closed eyes, Kosmo leans into the touch immediately.

Then, Krolia asks, “Does Lance like your hair long?”

Keith doesn’t jolt or stiffen. He’s used to it by now, how his mother will slip Lance into the conversation without warning. 

Two years worth of quiet questions, casual remarks, and careful observations have made it easy to speak about him, like Lance is just another constant in their life out here.

Still, Keith tilts his head just enough to glance toward her shadow behind him. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve noticed,” she replies simply, separating another section of his long hair. “You always hesitate before cutting it. You seem to hold onto the length for as long as you can. I figured maybe it’s because he likes it that way and you’re keeping it for him.”

Keith doesn’t answer at first. His gaze drifts toward the cave’s mouth, where the sun has begun its slow descent, the sky turning gold and blush pink. The color reminds him, in a strange way, of that field in the vision. 

 “...What if we see everyone again someday?”

Krolia pauses. “You mean your team members?”

Keith nods, slow. “Yeah. Lance. The others. I want to... I don’t know, look the way they remember me. The way he might.”

A beat passes, then Krolia smirks. “So this is about entrances.”

Keith’s ears pink slightly. “I’m preparing.”

Krolia’s voice softens, amused. “Keith. If he cares for you at all, it’s not going to hinge on whether your hair looks the same. He likes you beyond that.”

“I don’t think Lance particularly likes anything about me.”

Krolia snorts under her breath, not unkindly. “That’s definitely not true.”

Keith chews the inside of his cheek. “He’s never really told me what kind of guy he’s into.”

There’s a soft tug as Krolia works through a knot with her fingers. “I don’t think that matters,” she says plainly. “Type or no type, attraction isn’t a checklist. If something pulls you toward someone, it simply does.”

Keith doesn’t argue, but he stays quiet, eyes on the orange sky.

The subtle sound of slicing of Krolia’s blade catches at the ends of his hair, precise and smooth. She moves with care, her other hand steadying Keith’s shoulder, a quiet rhythm in her touch.

“You mentioned before,” she says, voice thoughtful, “that Lance likes someone on your team. An Altean, wasn’t it?”

Keith hums. “Allura.”

He shifts slightly, settling more into the memory. “She’s otherworldly gorgeous, and she has a regal air to her being. Lance has admired her for the moment he laid his eyes on her. He saw her as someone worth chasing, someone he could prove himself to.”

Krolia doesn’t respond right away. She snips a longer strand, then murmurs, “She sounds unattainable.”

Keith lets out a dry huff, resisting the urge to shake his head. “That doesn't stop him. If he wants something, he’ll chase it. Until he’s right beside it.”

“Then perhaps that’s a good trait to have. Especially when the day comes that he sets his eyes on you instead.”

“He doesn’t look at me like that,” Keith mutters.

She hums, completely unconvinced. “Mm. That’s just for now.”

A few more snips. Silence stretches, punctuated by the sound of blades against strands and Kosmo’s occasional soft whine against Keith’s thigh.

Her hand stills. “So. You only like long hair because you think Lance likes that?”

“What? No. That’s not the only reason.”

“But it’s one of them.”

“...Maybe.”

“You really think a guy like Lance is keeping a ranked list of ideal hairstyles in his head?”

Keith huffs. “Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past him. It’s stupid.”

“Why stupid?”

He fidgets with the hem of the cloth around his neck. “Because I’m out here. Literally on the back of a space whale, living in a cave. And somehow, I’m still worried if my hair’s long enough in case we reunite any time soon and Lance sees me and… I don’t know. Notices.”

“Why just your hair, though?” Krolia asks, “As far as I see, you have a lot more attributes to your physical appearance that are more striking and strong.”

Quietly, sheepishly, Keith mumbles, “...I think it’s probably the most feminine-looking thing about me. And Lance…” he hesitates, “he likes pretty things. Mostly.”

Krolia doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she resumes her work, the soft snick of her blade moving carefully through damp strands. Keith can feel the weight of his hair changing, as she cuts above his shoulders now. It makes something twist in his chest.

“I see,” she says after a moment, tone light but thoughtful. “So you’re clinging to the idea that your hair makes you... what, pretty?”

Keith hunches a little, voice low. “I know it’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” she replies, brushing out the back of his hair with her fingers. “You didn’t come to that conclusion out of nowhere. There has to be a reason.”

“…He calls me mullet,” he murmurs.

“Mullet?”

Keith huffs lightly, half amused, half exasperated. “Yeah. He started it back when we barely got along. He’d say it like it was an insult, but somewhere along the way…” He shrugs. “It started sounding more like a pet name. And I guess it means more to me now than it ever did. Especially now that we’re apart.”

There’s a small shift in the air as Krolia walks around to the front of him. Kosmo gets up with a quiet grumble, stepping aside to give her room.

Krolia crouches in front of Keith, brushing his bangs forward and examining the line. Her fingers adjust gently under his chin. She reaches forward and tucks a stray lock behind his ear.

She cups Keith’s jaw, not to hold him still, but to make sure he’s really listening. Then, softly, sincerely, she smiles.

“You are plenty pretty on your own, Keith.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that. So he lifts his head slightly, letting her get back to cutting the front of his hair.

With Kosmo cuddling against his chest, Keith lays in their makeshift bedding of leaves and moss, his back to the cave wall. His eyes flutter close, but despite how much time has passed, sleep always comes slowly.

And then, like fog breaking over memory, he dreams of being with him again.

The castle lounge bathed in soft yellow light. Hunk sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a data pad as he sketched what looked suspiciously like a giraffe. Allura perched her head over his shoulder, brows furrowed as she tried to decipher his vision. 

Keith lay sprawled on one of the couches, arms folded, eyes shut in mock rest, but he wasn’t sleeping. Not really. He couldn’t with Lance next to him, lounged upside-down over a different couch’s armrest, staring over at Allura absentmindedly. 

“Ah! Lance, just the paladin I needed!” Coran’s voice rang cheerily as he entered the room, automated doors sliding closed behind him “Come assist me in wrangling Kaltenecker for the morning meal.”

Lance raised a sharp brow. “Uh, correction. It’s called milking a cow.”

“Yes, yes, assisting her in producing breakfast. Same thing.”

Hunk perked up. "Oh! Does that mean we’re having breakfast smoothies?" 

Coran beamed. "Indeed we are!" 

Gradually, Hunk's bright disposition faltered. "Wait. Ugh, Space smoothies, though. Not Earth smoothies." He deflated. “Man, this sucks.”

Allura looked genuinely intrigued. “Are Earth smoothies better?”

“Heck yeah they are,” Lance said, fully upright now. "Bananas, strawberries, sometimes a scoop of protein. Mmm! The good stuff."

Keith grimaced at the mention, eyes still closed. 

Catching his expression, Lance raised a brow. "What?" 

"Protein tastes like powdered chalk. It’s gross.”

“You got a problem with nutrition, mullet?” He mumbles, flicking the back of Keith’s hair.

Keith cracked one eye open. “You got a problem calling people by their actual names?”

With a hand over his mouth, Lance turned to Allura. "Don’t listen to him. Clearly, he’s never had a decent smoothie in his life."

Coran cleared his throat. “Lance, dearest, Kaltenecker is mooing . She’s urgently demanding that your presence is required at this time.”

Lance groaned and flopped back. "Why is it always me? Get someone else for once."

As though pondering something deeply, Coran tapped a finger to his chin. "Then perhaps you can teach someone else how to help her, so they may assist in the future. Share your cow-centric wisdom.”

That sparked Lance’s interest. He sat up, eyes glinting. "You know what, that’s a great idea! Alright. Who wants to learn how to milk a cow?"

“Bathroom!” Hunk declared, already bolting from the room.

That left Allura and Keith.

After a moment, Keith shrugged. “I’ll go.”

“You’re serious?” Lance asked, amused.

“I don’t see why not.”

Lance turned to Allura. Visibly nervous, she twiddled with her fingers. 

“...Is it safe?” she asks.

Lance stood, hands on hips. "Kaltenecker is a sweet angel. Trust me, you’ll do great. I’ll guide you through the process, princess."

Allura hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. "Very well. I will... try."

Moments later, they followed Coran and entered the livestock chamber, where sunlight poured over soft green grass. Kaltenecker stood contentedly, chewing, mooing low as the group approached.

Instantly, Lance leaned against the cow, resting his head on her and rubbing her side affectionately. “Looking radiant, girl. Absolutely glowing.”

Allura, completely earnest, bowed formally. "You do look lovely, Miss Kaltenecker.”

Keith gave them both a side-eye. “She doesn’t understand either of you.”

"Keith," Lance scolded sharply, whispering as to not disturb the cow. "Don’t be rude. Kaltenecker deserves to hear compliments. She’s sensitive, you know?"

Keith rolled his eyes, not bothering to argue.

Lance grabbed a stool and a bucket, rolling up his sleeves. With an ease that spoke of experience, he sat beside Kaltenecker and started demonstrating. He excitedly clapped his hands together.

“Okay, class is in session,” he announced, straightening dramatically. “First thing, have confidence. Kaltenecker can sense nerves, and she’s got zero patience for hesitation.”

Kaltenecker let out a soft, approving moo, like she was backing Lance up.

“Now, position is key,” Lance continued, pulling the stool closer. “You want to sit just behind her front leg, like this. Not too close that she can knock you off with a tail flick, but not so far that you’re awkwardly stretching either. You gotta respect the cow’s boundaries.”

“Finally,” Lance instructed, reaching forward under Kaltenecker, “you don’t pull, you press . Thumb and forefinger at the base, gently pinch, then let the rest of your fingers follow, one after another. Kinda like you’re rolling a coin down each knuckle.”

He demonstrated again, and the milk hit the bucket with a quiet, steady pattern.

“It’s all in the rhythm. You’re not trying to win a race, you’re trying to let her know, ‘Hey, I care about your comfort and milk distribution needs.’”

Allura looked perplexed. Keith looked deeply unimpressed.

“You’re romanticizing cow milking,” he muttered.

“I’m elevating it,” Lance corrected with a grin. “You’re just jealous.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “What’s there to be jealous of? She eats grass.”

Lance gasped with mock offense. “You take that back. Kaltenecker has emotional depth. You just don’t know how to connect to farm animals.”

On cue, Kaltenecker moo’ed, long enough to make Lance grin with pride, chest puffed up,

Allura turned to Keith, sincerely curious. “Does she talk to everyone, or is it a Lance-specific phenomenon?”

“I don’t know,” Keith admitted lowly, “He might be some animal-whisperer.”

Then, rising with a flourish, Lance stood up from the stool and offered it out, arms out and open. “Alright, who’s brave enough to step into greatness?”

Allura opened her mouth, then closed it again, visibly unsure.

Sighing, Keith stepped forward, taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his pockets. He sat with mild hesitation, adjusted the stool, and reached out awkwardly toward the udder.

Okay. Thumb and forefinger first... or was it palm? Pinch, roll, squeeze? Lance had said it with so much confidence it had sounded easy, but now his mind was blank. The instructions scattered like leaves in a gust.

Keith reached out.

Kaltenecker moo’ed sharply.

Instinctively, he pulled his hands back, heart jumping. “Okay,” he muttered. “That’s fair.”

Behind him, Lance made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh as he crouched down. “You’re being too rough,” he said, voice suddenly closer. “She’s not a sword you grip on tightly, Keith.”

Keith clenched his jaw, trying not to look over his shoulder. He could already feel Lance’s gaze boring into him, equal parts amused and expectant. The kind of look Lance wore when he knew he was better than Keith and liked it.

“I’m not—Ugh, whatever,” Keith groaned, trying again. His fingers were stiff, clumsy. His palms felt suddenly sweaty. 

Great. Now he was just touching the cow weird. He could feel the heat of Kaltenecker’s side, and for some reason that made things worse.

Before Keith could protest, Lance’s hands slid over his own, arms were bracketing over each side of him His chest pressed against the back of Keith’s body, their knees brushed.

“Here,” Lance said, suddenly even closer.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. His face started burning.

"Lance—"

"Relax," Lance repeated, voice gentler. "I’m not teasing. I want to help you."

Keith swallowed hard, heart thudding wildly beneath his ribcage like it was trying to escape.

His fingers instinctively curled tighter, and Lance nudged gently. “Don’t force it. Thumb and forefinger first. Be more gentle.”

With Lance adjusting his grip, the motion finally clicked; a smooth press and release, the trickle of milk finally meeting the bucket in gentle rhythm. Keith breathes through it, trusting Lance through the process. 

“Yeah, like that,” Lance murmured, voice right next to his ear now. 

Despite the kind encouragement, all Keith could really focus on was Lance’s steady breath and the way their hands moved together. How close they were. How his skin tingled from Lance’s touch. 

Even when Kaltenecker’s tail whips up, startling Allura, he remained seated, staring down at Lance’s hands against his own.

He allowed Lance to dictate the rhythm and pace they took and milk kept splashing softly into the bucket. 

“See? You’re doing great,” Lance said, voice quieter now.

“Th-Thanks,” Keith replied, barely holding it together.

Lance chuckled softly. "You like a man who can get hands-on?" he whispered teasingly.

Keith huffed, flushing. “Knock it off.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Lance remained crouched behind him for a moment longer, one hand lingering over Keith’s as if making sure he really had the rhythm down. Though, it honestly felt more like an excuse to stay close.

“You done hovering?” Keith muttered.

Lance let out a low hum. “Nope. I’m enjoying this way too much.”

Keith swallowed thickly. “You said you weren’t going to tease.”

“Okay, well, now I am,” Lance laughs. “I mean, I am enjoying watching you struggle and get embarrassed. You’re blushing over milking a cow.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re definitely blushing,” Lance said, finally withdrawing his hands but still close enough that Keith could feel the loss of warmth like a breeze slipping away. “Your ears do this funny red-tipped thing. Super obvious.”

Keith gave a quiet huff and focused back on the cow. “Will you ever stop making fun of me?”

“Nope,” Lance grinned, standing and stretching with a satisfied sigh. “Though, be proud of yourself! You’ve officially been accepted into the Milker’s Guild.”

Keith finally looked up at him. “That’s definitely not a real thing.”

“It is now. I’m the founding member. You’re the newest recruit. I’ll have Pidge help me craft a badge for you later.”

Before Keith could respond, Lance clapped him on the back with a grin towards Allura. 

“Alright, cowboy’s graduated with flying colors. Time for the princess to take a swing.”

Keith stood too quickly, heart hammering in his ears.

Allura hesitated beside the stool. She eyed Kaltenecker like one might regard a sleeping beast; awe-struck, reverent, and more than a little intimidated.

Lance smiled encouragingly. “Ready to join the noble ranks of the Dairy Elite?”

“I—I believe so,” she said, drawing herself upright with regal poise. “Though I do still find the anatomy… unsettling.”

“Totally normal,” Lance assured her. “We all feel a little weird touching udders the first time.”

Allura slowly lowered herself onto the stool. Her fingers hovered in the air, stiff and delicate.

“Start slow,” Lance said, crouching nearby again. “Soft touch. Confidence. You’ve got this.”

Allura took a breath and gingerly reached for the udder.

Upset, Kaltenecker moo’ed loudly, causing Allura to jolt in her seat.

Allura glanced back at him, nervous. “I believe she disapproves of my attempts.”

“You’re fine,” Lance reassures her, trying not to laugh.. “Just try again.”

Allura reached once more, but just as her fingertips grazed the cow’s side, Kaltenecker shifted her weight and stepped slightly to the left, the motion slow but very, very present.

Out of genuine fear, Allura shrieked, leapt up from the stool like it had shocked her, and took several fast steps backward. “She moved! Why did she move?!”

Lance stood quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s okay! Totally normal. She’s just adjusting her stance.”

“She lunged. ”

“She side-stepped .” He tries to offer a smile. “There’s a difference.”

Keith crossed his arms, watching the whole scene unfold with a slight smirk. “Kaltenecker’s really letting you sweat for this one.”

Allura regained her composure quickly, brushing off her dress with a practiced flick. “I’m sorry, Lance. I… I don’t feel preferably comfortable doing this.”

“Oh, um, that’s okay,” Lance reassured gently. “Maybe next time.”

As Allura left, Keith noticed the way Lance’s gaze lingered after her.

“She might want to try another day,” Keith offered, watching him.

Lance gave a tired smile. "Yeah. I’ll be patient."

Then, he turned to Keith, shooting him a thumbs up. "I’m surprised you came, though. Not bad for a first-timer. What made you tag along?"

Keith looked away, mumbling, “Nothing better to do.”

But deep inside, he knew the truth. He’d go anywhere, do anything, just to be near Lance. Even if it meant learning how to milk a cow in space. 

And then he stirs awake in his cave-bed, eyes fluttering open to the dim blue light overhead. Krolia’s soft footsteps echo nearby. Kosmo turns on his back beside him.

He blinks slowly, heart still pounding.

Even in sleep, even in exile, Lance lingered in the corner of his mind.

He closed his eyes again, exhaling long and slow. 

The dream clings to the edges of him like morning dew on the tips of grass blades; glistening and half-faded. But he held the memory tightly, letting it replay behind his eyelids: Lance’s laugh, his smile, the way his hands moved with certainty and ease.

The way he said, You’re doing great.

Keith curls his arms closer to his chest, shielding the memory from the chill of waking.

He doesn’t need to be asleep to feel it anymore. The warmth of his yearning love for Lance constantly burns inside him.

But it always feels nice when he gets to see Lance in his dreams, where the closeness felt real and the longing ache gave way.

Keith crouches behind a tree, near the edge of the riverbank. Kosmo stands loyally at his side, ears perked, alert but steady. Krolia stands a few paces back, partially concealed in the shadow of a large, silver-barked tree, her hand still near the hilt of her blade.

The girl stumbles backward when she finally sees Keith. “Stay back!” the girl yells, hands clasped to her chest, fearful.

Slowly, Keith holds both hands up immediately, keeping his posture low and nonthreatening. “Hey, easy. We’re not here to hurt you.”

The girl’s pale skin and tear-tracked cheeks mark her unmistakably as Altean. Despite being clearly panicked, she eyes him warily. Her body trembles, but her glare sharpens, distrustful.

“We’re stranded,” Keith says, tone level. “Same as you, I think. We’re trying to figure out where we are and what’s going on.”

The girl hesitates, eyes flitting between him, Kosmo, and Krolia, who has stepped into clearer view but made no move to draw her weapon.

“My name is Keith,” he continues gently. “This is my mother, Krolia. And that’s Kosmo. What’s your name?”

She squints slightly, uncertain. “…Romelle,” she finally says.

Keith nods. “Okay, Romelle. Can we talk?”

After a moment, her guarded expression crumbles. 

The words tumble out, frantic and urgent. She speaks of the Alteans Lotor gathered from forgotten moons and quiet pockets of space. 

How he promised restoration, a future for their kind. And how she was the only individual that caught on the change of plans, from her intuition.

She speaks of her brother, Bandor, and the moment she realized something was deeply wrong. Her voice trembles when she admits she doesn’t know what’s become of the rest of the universe. What Lotor’s done in the name of salvation.

Keith listens silently, eyes steady on hers. When she finishes, shoulders slumped and face more pale, he steps closer. Carefully, he places a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out,” he says, voice low with conviction. “You’re not alone in this anymore.”

Romelle blinks rapidly, and then with a choked sob, throws her arms around him.

He goes rigid for half a second, startled by the suddenness of it. But her weight is real. Shaking. So he softens, allowing her to stay in his arms. He holds her the way he remembers Lance held him.

Later, as the sun dips below the clouds, Romelle leads them down a narrow, overgrown trail to a modest hidden facility; Altean in design, but patched and weathered with time. There’s safety in the thick vines shielding its roof, in the faint pulse of perimeter alarms still holding.

She offers food. Fruit with star-shaped slices, water filtered from the river’s edge, a floor to rest on that isn’t dirt. 

Gratefully, Keith and Krolia eat while Kosmo curls up in a warm patch of floor, snoring softly.

Over a small table, conversation begins to flow, haltingly at first. Mostly between Keith and Romelle. But, it becomes more natural as she asks about the outside world, about the war, about what’s happened beyond the stars. Keith explains what he can.

“You said you’re both part of something called the Blade of Marmora?” Romelle asks.

Keith nods, peeling the skin off some citrus fruit. “It’s a resistance network. Galra who realized they couldn’t follow the Empire anymore. We collect intelligence, intercept supply chains, sabotage outposts, and dismantle key operations.”

Romelle’s brows rise. “There are Galra who resist the Empire?” Her voice is skeptical, but not dismissive. 

Krolia speaks for the first time in a while. “There are more than you'd think. Many don’t believe in Zarkon’s reign and Lotor’s uprising to the throne.”

Romelle looks at her, then Keith. “Were you always part of them?”

Keith shifts a little. “No. Before the Blade, I was part of something else. Voltron.”

“Voltron?”

Keith chuckles softly. “Five pilots that form one defender of the universe. Voltron.”

Romelle stares, visibly impressed. “That sounds like something out of a storybook.”

“It still feels that way,” Keith admits, his smile faraway. “But, it’s very much real. We were tasked with defending the universe from Zarkon and his tyrannical efforts to overrule the entire universe.”

Romelle’s awe lingers for a moment, then her gaze softens with something more thoughtful. “Then why would you leave something like that? It sounds rather honorable. A duty anyone would be proud to hold.”

Keith presses his thumb against the rim of the cup in his hands, staring into it like the answer might settle there.

“I left,” he says, slowly. “because someone I loved was starting to question his place, wondering if there was room for them anymore. I knew how much it meant to him to feel needed on the team. So, I left, so he wouldn’t have to.”

Romelle leans forward slightly, listening.

Keith continues, voice low, more honest now. “Besides, I needed to find out who I really was. I didn’t know if I was there because I wanted to be, or because I thought I had to be. That’s why I joined the Blade. I needed to figure out my purpose, apart from Voltron.”

Propping up an elbow, Romelle rests her chin on her hand, studying him. “That must’ve been a hard decision.”

“It was.” Keith glances toward the window, where the last light of the day is brushing against the walls. “It still is.”

“And… the person you love. Are they okay? Now that you’re not there?”

Keith’s expression tightens just a little, and then softens. “I think so. He’s still on the team. Still doing what he’s good at. I don’t think he needs me there to keep going.” He pauses. “But yeah. I wonder, sometimes. If it could’ve been different.”

Romelle smiles, gentle and fond. “You must love him deeply.”

Keith looks up at her, and for a moment, the distant grief in his eyes fades to something warmer.

“…Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

He’s been gone for years. Lived in silence, in wind and sky and starlight on the back of a cosmic beast. Now, the stillness from inside the Altean ship’s walls carved itself into him, and now this place feels tight and cramped.

As the transmission begins, Keith sits at the helm, fingers tightening slightly on the control panel. Krolia and Romelle stand out of view behind him, waiting. 

The screen crackles, and then it connects. The team appears before him, gathered together, as Coran accepts his call.

Everyone looks up at him, stunned.

“Keith? Ah–Are you okay?” Shiro stutters, stiff but alert.

But Keith barely hears him. His attention locks instantly on someone else.

Lance hasn’t changed. Not really. Still soft around the edges. He had those same, wide, honest eyes that Keith’s almost forgotten how to stare into. His hair’s a little longer, but it’s nevertheless the same shade of brown Keith remembers. 

He looks untouched by the time that’s weathered Keith. Unharmed and safe and so achingly perfect, in a way Keith could never replicate in his dreams.

“Does he look bigger to you guys?” Lance drawls, squinting at the screen with faux suspicion. “He’s bigger, right?”

The comment jabs into Keith’s gut sideways, doubt tightening his jaw. 

Was that supposed to be a joke? Did Lance not recognize him at first? Has he changed so much that he’s unrecognizable? What does this mean for them?

His shoulders inch up with tension, but he says nothing. Instead, his eyes dart across the screen, quickly snapping back to the reason he came.

“Where’s Lotor?”

Hunk shifts uncomfortably. “He’s in the quintessence field... with Allura.”

The words make Keith’s blood chill. The coil of dread returns and nests in his spine.

By the time the landing bay doors open, his body feels like it’s moving on muscle memory. He walks out ahead of Krolia and Romelle, boots hitting the deck heavily.

Pidge rapidly blinks hard. Hunk’s face slackens. Coran looks misty-eyed. Shiro says something quietly, but it’s drowned out by the bounding heartbeat in Keith’s ears.

Lance steps forward.

His smile is hesitant, and his eyes scan Keith’s frame, like they’re trying to reconcile the person in front of them with the boy who disappeared. 

There’s a hesitation, his eyes grow wary.

“Hold on, how do we know you’re the real Keith and not his bigger, cooler, grizzled, older, brother?” he asks slowly.

Keith’s scowl deepens. The words aren’t cruel, but they sting deep into his worries. He hadn’t asked to grow older like this. Hardened like this. He didn’t want to return as a stranger in his own skin, but he did. The years forced him to change, like wind to stone.

“I don’t have time for this, Lance,” Keith snaps, shouldering past him without breaking stride.

Lance flinches, just barely, but it’s there. A subtle folding in of his shoulders, the flicker of hurt behind his eyes.

Still, he tries. Of course he does.

“H-Hey everybody, Keith’s back!” Lance calls out with a forced brightness, throwing his arms wide in mock celebration, his grin barely stitched together.

Keith doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have the room to. Not when his breath is tight with urgency. Not when every nerve is screaming to protect them all from what he has learned about Lotor.

But behind him, Lance’s arms slowly lower. His smile falters. That hopeful, awkward openness sinks back into something quieter, more uncertain. And though Keith doesn’t turn, he feels it. The sting of it. The ache he put there.

Keith feels his stare. Heavy. Persistent. 

Like he’s waiting for Keith to turn his head. To see him.

And god, Keith wants to look at Lance and see not just the dream version, but the real one. He wants to step close, bring him into his arms, and say I missed you. You're okay, and I was scared you wouldn’t be.

I’m sorry, he ends up thinking. Please, just not now.

Later. He swears they’ll talk later. 

He just hopes Lance will still be there when that time comes.

Inside the med-bay room of the Black Lion, it’s quiet save for the soft, steady rhythm of the machine tethered to Shiro’s body. 

Keith sits closest, elbows braced on his knees, his gloved hands tight and unmoving. Shiro lies motionless, pale against the enclosed cot, skin waxen, lashes still. 

It’s him; truly him this time. But whatever remains is flickering faintly inside, like a signal with too much interference.

Allura stands nearby, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Krolia stays farther back, silent and still. She doesn’t hover, doesn’t offer platitudes. She simply watches Keith, offering presence without pressure.

Farther back, the others gather; Hunk, Pidge, Romelle, and Coran standing in a loose semicircle. Lance lingers, separated just enough from the group to glance toward the front of the room again. His brows are drawn, lips pursed. 

He’s watching Keith. And, right now, Keith can’t meet his stare, yet.

Coran clears his throat, rallying the group. “The Lions are low on power, completely drained, some of them. If we want to get moving again, we’ll need to locate Yalmor clusters, and quickly.”

Pidge adjusts her glasses. “I suggest we split up. We need people to keep watch on Shiro.”

“It’s dangerous to split the team right now,” Hunk says softly. “We just got everyone back.”

Keith doesn’t move from his position.

Coran lays a hand on Hunk's shoulder. “We’ll make it quick, lad. But we’ve no other option. You know how fast this universe moves when you don’t.”

Lance hesitates. He looks back once more, long, and full of something unspoken. 

Keith doesn’t turn. His eyes stay on Shiro’s still face.

Finally, Lance nods, sighing. “Yeah, let’s go find the Yalmors.”

The others leave, footsteps fading into dust and wind.

Keith exhales slowly. The moment they’re gone, he reaches out, fingers brushing against the clear walls that protect Shiro’s unresponsive body.

“C’mon, Shiro,” Keith whispers, voice rough. “You’ve never the one to give up on me. So don’t you dare do it now.”

Allura’s voice cuts in gently. “The body might be rejecting his soul. It’s… possible his spirit was fractured too deeply. We were lucky just to find it in the astral plane at all.”

Keith shakes his head, biting down on the fury curling in his gut. “No. He’s still in there, fighting to stay alive.”

Allura places a hand on his shoulder, her eyes closing. “Then keep talking to him. Maybe it will anchor him.”

The minutes drag. The wind howls outside. Kosmo whines faintly in the distance. Krolia guards the door, silent and immovable.

The machines beep steady. Still steady and unchanged for hours.

When Keith slams a fist against the pod, begging loudly for Shiro to keep fighting for the umpteenth time, he finally sees the hologram of Shiro’s body turn yellow.

The wall evaporates, and Shiro stirs awake, eyes open slowly, weak, unfocused, but unmistakably his own.

“...Keith?” His voice is raw, like gravel scraping over stone. “I was dreaming… You saved me.”

The corners of Keith’s mouth twitch upward. His breath shudders as relief crashes over him like a wave he’d been holding back for hours, maybe days. 

He leans down and pulls Shiro into a hug.

“We saved each other,” he murmurs, voice thick with everything he can’t say. “And, you came back.” 

Shiro exhales shakily, head pressed to Keith’s shoulder. “So did you.”

A quiet warmth settles into the room. Krolia stands nearby, arms crossed loosely, a rare, soft smile tugging at her lips. Allura lifts a hand to her chest, watching them with misted eyes.

The doors to the med bay slide open with a faint hiss.

Leading the rest of the expedition team, Lance stops short when he sees them. His eyes widen as he takes in Shiro, awake and sitting up. With everyone behind him, he surges forward in a disorganized, joyful rush.

“Shiro’s looking better,” Lance breathes, then straightens. “All right!

Keith leans back slightly from Shiro to make space, but his hand stays braced lightly on Shiro’s shoulder, just to be sure he’s still real.

“Where were you guys?” Keith asks Lance, “We couldn’t get ahold of you.”

"Well, we were shrunk by a magic skunk,” Lance begins, already gesturing dramatically. “But we ended up using that sparkly dust that makes electricity bigger, or whatever. Used it to unshrink ourselves. Don’t ask how we were able to figure that out. Long story short, we’re good."

Keith just deadpans at him, flat and unblinking.

Lance raises an eyebrow. “What? That’s the short version.”

Keith exhales sharply through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. 

Yep. That’s Lance. Rambling, talkative, always a little ridiculous.

But that ridiculousness, it’s something Keith hasn’t heard in long while. Where others might’ve been worn down or hardened by survival, Lance is still Lance. Still being the brightness in the cracks. 

He looks away before it shows on his face.

And then, he hears it. A soft, hoarse chuckle beside him.

Smiling faintly, Shiro’s eyes crinkle with quiet amusement. “It’s good to be back,” he mumbles in a deep relieved sigh.

The others erupt into easy laughter, the tension finally bleeding out of the room as they gather around Shiro. Questions, jokes, a chorus of overlapping voices.

But Shiro looks at Keith and tilts his head slightly.

“Lance hasn’t changed one bit.” he says quietly. “It’s good to see him again, isn’t it?”

Krolia, just within earshot, coughs politely into her fist, poorly hiding her laugh. She shakes her head, bemused.

Keith turns away quickly, the tips of his ears reddening fast. “Shut up,” he mutters.

Shiro chuckles again, the sound dry and cracked but unmistakably tender. Keith doesn’t have to ask what he’s laughing at.

Because of course. Lance hasn’t changed.

And Keith doesn’t want him to.

He’s hopeless for a guy like Lance. Always has been. 

And despite everything, he probably always will be.

Keith sits in the pilot’s seat, hands resting steady over the controls even though there’s nowhere to steer. The others are asleep across the Lions, scattered in alternating cycles of rest. Inside the quiet cockpit, the dim purple glow of the console washes across his face. 

Footsteps stir softly behind him. Shiro settles beside the console. Krolia offers them both a goodnight, as she drifts past to the back chamber, leaving the two alone.

“So,” Shiro begins, eyes lingering on the stars, “how are you feeling about… everything?”

Keith turns his head slightly, brows drawn, gaze tight. He thinks he knows where this is going. He watches the starfield for a long moment before speaking.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, like it’s still a fragile truth. “That’s what matters. And I don’t hold any of it against you. What happened back then… that wasn’t you.”

Shiro’s smile is tight and full of quiet grief. “Still. I remember pieces. Hurting you, fighting you. I remember the look in your eyes as you trembled against my own blade. I’m sorry, Keith.”

“You weren’t in your body,” Keith says firmly. “You weren’t even you. You don’t have to apologize.”

Long and steady, Shiro exhales, but Keith can feel the way it weighs on him anyway. Like an apology still half-lodged in his chest.

There’s a brief silence, filled only by the soft hum of the Lion and the occasional flicker of stars across the main screen.

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro says finally, his voice quieter now. “For saying that. I mean it. Your forgiveness… It means a lot. More than I probably deserve.”

Keith shifts slightly in his seat. He wants to argue, but he chooses to not push it.

Shiro watches him for a moment longer, then leans back against the edge of the console with a small, almost sheepish smile.

“But,” he adds gently, “when I asked how you were feeling, I wasn’t just talking about me.”

Keith blinks, confused.

“I meant,” Shiro says, tilting his head, “how are you feeling about Lance?”

Keith’s eyes widen just slightly and then his ears turn red.

“I still love him,” he says, “If anything… it’s deeper now. It’s not something I wrestle with, anymore. It’s like stuck in my ribs or something, and I’ve learned how to breathe with it.”

Shiro’s lips pull into a small, knowing smile. “Might as well tell him.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not like I’ve had time to say anything to him.”

“I get that. But… you might want to consider it.”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

Shiro continues, voice soft with something like mischief. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you.”

Keith shakes his head. “He’s just staring because I look different.”

“Sure,” Shiro says, smiling wider, “maybe that too. But Keith. You know him as well as I do. He’s not staring at a scar or your height. He’s staring at you. And he wants to talk.”

“It’s been years. I don’t know if we’re the same people.”

“Most likely not,” Shiro says plainly. “You’ve both changed. But that doesn’t make what you feel any less real.” He pauses, then adds with a half-smile, “Honestly, if anything, it probably makes it stronger.”

Keith glances down at the console.

“I don’t want to screw it up,” he murmurs, “Maybe we should just stay friends.”

Shiro huffs, amused. “You’ve saved the universe, led multiple resistance campaigns, punched through a wormhole, and survived three years through the space abyss. I think you can handle talking to a guy you like.”

That earns him a glare. Shiro just grins.

He rests a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to have something good, you know.”

“...Even now?”

Shiro gives a quiet hum. “Especially now.”

Keith doesn’t deny the idea.

“Don’t wait forever,” Shiro adds, a soft warning beneath the smile. “We know he doesn’t do well staying still.”

Keith exhales through his nose, shaking his head, but his expression softens.

Shiro smiles, then steps away toward the back. “Good luck with him,” he says over his shoulder, and disappears into the shadows of the Lion.

Keith turns back to the stars, face faintly pink, mouth twitching at the corner. He slouches in the Black Lion’s pilot seat, arms folded loosely, eyes locked on the endless sprawl of space. 

Behind him, Shiro and Krolia sleep in silence, tucked into the Lion’s hold. 

Keith stays awake.

His eyes scan the dark, but his thoughts are somewhere else. Or rather, on someone else.

He hasn’t spoken to Lance. Not really. Not one-on-one. Every moment together has been crowded with something drastically more important. No time for them to see one another.

He thinks about the way Lance looked when they saw each other again. Keith’s chest twists with the memory; how he didn’t have the time to really acknowledge Lance the way he wanted to.

He shifts in the chair and presses his fingertips to his brow, sighing. 

The comm crackles.

A voice filters in, soft and laced with sleep. 

“Uh… it’s my turn for watch, right? Whoever’s there?” Lance asks, yawning.

Keith’s heart skips twice, then his throat tightens. He swallows hard.

“I’m here,” he says quietly.

There’s a beat. 

“Oh,” Lance voices, a lot more awake now.

Awkward silence stretches. The kind that crackles between people who used to speak without words and now barely know where to start.

Keith clears his throat, leans back again. His voice is steadier when he says, “If you want, you can sleep a little longer. I don’t mind staying up.”

Lance answers quickly. “Nah, I’m good. You don’t need to do that.”

“You sure? I mean… if you need to go to the bathroom or something before you take over, I can hold off.”

“No, I’m ready to switch.”

Still, Keith frowns. “Are you sure you got any good sleep?”

That’s when Lance groans through the line. “Oh my god, Keith. Yes, I’m okay. I’m fine. Stop .”

Keith winces, already cringing at himself. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice quieter.

Lance sighs, long and tired. 

“It’s just weird. One second you barely look at me, the next you’re acting like you’re worried I forgot how to nap.”

Keith sinks back in the chair, burying his face in one hand. Great. Smooth.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” he says hoarsely. “I guess I’m just… still figuring out how to be around you.”

Lance’s voice stays absent through the open comms.

Keith sits in the stillness of the Black Lion's cockpit. His fingers toy idly with one of the toggle switches, not flipping it, just touching it to feel something move under his skin.

“I didn’t mean for us to reunite like that,” he says, voice low. “With Lotor, then Shiro… I had to focus. That’s all I had room for at the moment.”

He pauses, then adds quietly, “But seeing you again… it meant more than I probably led on. A lot more.”

Lance breathes out. “Yeah. I get it. I do. I mean, we were still kinda in a mid-galactic crisis, so, yeah, I understand. Still didn’t feel great though. Being ignored like that.” 

“Right,” Keith sighs, trying to voice his sympathy through the comms. 

“I was… really worried about you, Keith. Like, actually worried. And when you didn’t even look at me, I felt—” Lance laughs once, thin and self-deprecating. “Felt kinda stupid, honestly. For thinking you’d care I was there.”

Keith closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, with real weight this time. “That wasn’t what I meant to do. I wasn’t trying to push you off or… or hurt you.”

The comm crackles gently, as if urging him to keep going.

“And honestly…” He shifts in his seat. “Some of what you said hurt, too.”

“What?” Lance blurts, immediately alert. “What did I say?”

“The whole… ‘older, grizzled,’ and ‘bigger’ thing. When you said I looked like someone’s older brother. I know it was a joke, but… it made me feel like you didn’t recognize me. Like maybe I’d come back so different I wasn’t even looking like myself to you anymore.”

The line goes silent. For once, Lance has no immediate response.

Then, he makes a garbled noise, like he’s half-sputtering, half choking.

“Oh my god , I—Keith, no. No no no no—wait.” He’s flustered, visibly even through audio alone. His words trip over each other. “I didn’t mean it like that at all. Like what? I was joking! I was trying to cover for… how thrown I was. You looked so… like, I dunno! I panicked and that’s what came out!”

Keith frowns faintly, caught on Lance’s rushed spiral of words. “I looked so what ?” he asks, quiet but pointed.

“I—I don’t know! Cool! Different, but in a good way!” he blurts out, voice rising. “Like... you walked into that room and for a second I didn’t even breathe. Grizzly is definitely a compliment, by the way! I– I’m trying to say you looked good, Keith.”

After he lets the words process through his brain, Keith can’t help it. He lets out the smallest huff of a laugh. It slips out before he can stop it, open and clear.

Lance catches it. “You’re laughing?! Keith Kogane has a real laugh now?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, eyes softening faintly. “You sounded like your face turned red.”

Lance groans. “That’s because it did. Keith, seriously, I was happy to see you. I still am. I just don’t know how to say it.”

Keith leans back, gazing into the stars. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

“You were probably just happy that I haven’t changed at all. Baby face and all.”

Keith’s lips twitch into something quiet, almost wistful.

He’s right. It’s what he prayed for when the stars stretched on too long and the silence almost hollowed him out. That Lance would stay the same. 

But he only says, steady and quiet, “I think I forgot how to breathe when I saw you too.”

There’s a short, stunned silence.

A light caught off guard, Lance coughs. “Okay, what the—? Who are you, and what have you done with Keith?”

Keith smirks slightly. “That shocking?”

“Yes!” Lance blurts. “You’re being nice. Like, way too nice. It’s giving me whiplash. You’re not glaring, you’re not grunting, you’re actually talking. Emotionally. Out loud.”

Keith shrugs lazily against the chair. “Took a lot of reflecting.”

There’s a pause again. Then, with slow suspicion: “Were you seeing someone? While you were out there?”

“I was stranded with my mom, Lance.”

“Oh my god, okay, yeah,” Lance stammers. “That was a stupid question. Totally stupid. I just had to hear it out loud.”

Keith doesn’t bother teasing him. Not now. Not when the warmth lingers. Instead, he lets himself shift a little closer to something honest.

“Once we’re back on Earth…” he says slowly, “there’s something I want to tell you.”

Lance lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. “What? You finally gonna admit I’m funny?”

Keith smiles faintly, eyes lowering. He’d imagined this moment, dozens of variations of it. Somehow, Lance's reaction always sounded a bit the same like this one.

“No,” Keith says. “It’s something more important.”

The air holds. Just for a moment.

Then Lance breathes in, voice a little quieter now. “Yeah… well. I’ve got something I wanna tell you too.”

Keith’s heart thuds, deliberate and loud beneath his ribs. But his voice is steady when he says, “Then I guess we wait till Earth.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Earth it is.”

Keith exhales softly, watching the stars shift lazily beyond the cockpit glass.

“Well,” he says, leaning back in his seat, voice quieter now, “I should turn in. Been up longer than I meant to.”

Lance hums through the comms. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just...” Keith hesitates, then adds, “If anything comes up, let the others know right away, alright? Let me know first, and then, the team, and—”

“Keith, please. I’m perfectly capable of hitting a button and yelling for help,” Lance scoffs, faux affronted. “No need to baby me.”

I keep slipping.

It’s true. He doesn’t mean to worry over Lance the way he does; it just happens now. Somewhere along the way, between falling and fighting and drifting apart, caring about Lance stopped being a decision and became a constant. Automatic. Instinctual.

He rubs a hand across his face, suddenly self-conscious. God , when did he start sounding like this? Talking about feelings? Admitting things? He used to be able to hide behind sharp silence and gritted teeth. 

But now, with Lance’s voice on the line, it’s all unraveling, quickly.

He feels transparent. Like somehow, through static and distance, Lance can see right through him.

It’s embarrassing.

“I’m not—” Keith starts, then hesitates, his jaw clenching faintly. “I know you can handle yourself. I just…” He exhales sharply and looks anywhere but the comms screen. “I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Worrying.”

Lance goes quiet on the other end. The shift in tone catches him off guard.

“…Well,” Lance says, trying for lightness, “you don’t have to worry about me, okay? I can handle myself.”

That’s not the point, Keith thinks. It never was. But he doesn’t know how to explain that in a way that won’t come out like a die hard, love confession.

He exhales instead, soft and resigned. “Yeah. Okay.”

The comm line goes quiet again, but not empty. There’s the faintest shift, the subtle sound of Lance smiling, even if Keith can’t see it. It hums through the silence, familiar in its warmth.

“Goodnight, Keith,” Lance says.

Keith leans forward, hand hovering over the autopilot console, and smiles.

“Night, Lance.”

The comms click off. The Black Lion settles into its quiet glide. Keith stares out into the stars again, the shape of Lance’s voice still echoing somewhere behind his ribs. Then he activates autopilot, leans back in his seat, and lets his eyes close.

For the first time in a long time, he dreams without longing. Only hope.

The corridor lights flicker a dull red, sirens low and steady beneath the pounding of boots against steel.

Team Voltron storms out of the cell block, just moments after the alarms sounded, thanks to Coran’s masterstroke and Acxa’s unexpected intervention. The tension is thick; none of them speak more than needed. Every second counts.

At the far end, two Galra soldiers are stationed near a crate of confiscated gear, their backs turned, helmets dangling loosely on their heads as they fumble carelessly with bayards, half-distracted and joking.

Coran leans in toward the group with a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Oh! Perhaps a surprise ambush?”

Pidge and Hunk both lurch forward to shush him in unison, clamping hands over his mouth. “Coran, no!” Pidhe hisses, while Hunk urges sharply, “Please!”

But Keith isn’t listening.

He inhales slowly, eyes narrowing on the distant guards. Instead of drawing attention, he closes his own eyes and reaches inward to the pull that’s always there when the Black Bayard is near. That quiet, unmistakable tether.

The Bayard flickers into his hand in a crackle of shadow and energy, almost soundless. Both Galra soldiers don’t even notice. Keith’s eyes open, sharp and calm. In one fluid motion, he extends the weapon; its blade snapping out in a soft shimmer of black steel.

And then he moves.

Before anyone can speak, Keith dashes forward, his steps silent but blindingly fast. In a flash of motion, he slashes through the two guards with surgical precision—disarming and disabling them in three blinks flat. They crumple to the floor with barely a grunt, stunned and unconscious.

The corridor falls silent again.

Keith lowers his blade, breath steady, and retrieves his helmet from the crate. He slips it over his head.

When he turns back to his team, they’re all staring. Even Lance looks impressed.

Keith doesn’t pause.

He simply nods toward the path ahead and says firmly, “Lance, lead the way. Keep the team together.”

After obtaining their weapons and gear, everyone falls into line with the paladins. However, Keith suddenly halts, pivoting on his heel in the middle of the corridor, moving in the opposite direction.

“Wait?” Lance turns just in time to see him. “Where are you going?”

“Acxa,” Keith says simply. “She saved our skin. I’m not gonna leave her behind.”

For a moment, they just look at each other. Lance presses a thin line against his lips like he wants to say something, but Keith turns away before he can.

“I’ll meet up with you guys soon,” he mumbles, walking off.

Keith sprints down the corridor, boots pounding over metal with every breathless step. The air is hot with blaring alarms and the echo of distant skirmishes. He doesn’t know exactly where Acxa is, but deep instinct pulls him through the winding halls of the Galra vessel.

He remembers her face from their brief, strange time together. Her calm restraint, her silent defiance. A soldier like him, shaped by war, misunderstood by everyone else. Enemies who never quite fit the roles they were given. Somehow, that stayed with him.

He rounds the corner and finds her.

Acxa is bracing herself in the middle of the corridor, breathing hard. Ezor lunges forward with a sharp grin, feet spinning into a bladed kick—

And Keith is already there.

He activates his shield mid-run, light bursting in his arm just in time to block the blow. Ezor’s boot rebounds off the energy field with a loud crack as Keith slides into place between them. He plants his stance and flings her back with sheer force.

Ezor lands on her feet, rolling once and popping up with a grin. “Oh, look, Acxa. It’s your favorite Paladin.”

Next to her, Zethrid narrows her eyes, flexing her fists. “So do you guys actually know each other?”

“Yeah! Don’t you remember how she wanted to kill him ?” Ezor giggles.

Zethrid barks a dry laugh. “Guess it’s true love.”

Keith’s mouth tightens. He raises his blade and growls, “Can’t we just fight already?”

Without waiting for a reply, he rushes forward and the chaos erupts. Blades and plasma spark in the dim corridor, the battle tightening into bursts of motion. Keith and Acxa move instinctively, their rhythm surprisingly synchronized. Her precision balances his raw drive.

At one point, they crash back-to-back, shielding against a combined strike from both Ezor and Zethrid. Breathing hard, Acxa mutters under her breath, not turning to him.

“Just so we’re clear, I don’t have any feelings for you.”

Keith blocks a strike, gritting his teeth. “Yeah, well, likewise.”

Acxa smirks, flicking her blade up. “Good. Glad we got that cleared up.”

They push apart in perfect unison, swinging back toward their targets like a single, practiced motion. They fight like a well-trained pair.

Ezor twirls through the air like a cyclone, her kicks lightning-fast and gleefully unpredictable. Keith ducks under one, counters with a sweeping arc of his blade.

However, Zethrid barrels through behind her, throwing a seismic punch that sends vibrations through the deck plating. Acxa blocks with her blade just in time.

The four clash and break, clash and break again.

Keith lunges, only to be caught off-guard by Ezor’s sudden pivot, her boot catching him square in the chest and launching him backward. He collides with Acxa mid-dash as Zethrid’s fist slams into her shoulder. 

The two are sent crashing through a bulkhead wall, tumbling hard into a darkened storage room on the other side in a haze of sparks and grit.

Keith groans and rolls to his feet, scanning quickly.

That’s when he sees them, canisters of synthian nitrate, glowing faintly, unstable and dangerously primed from the tremors.

He skids into position beside Acxa, her breathing ragged. Zethrid and Ezor are in front of them through a hole in the wall, readying to pounce. They won’t stay down for long.

Keith opens his comm. “Everyone, I need all the Lions to fire on my location.”

“Wait—what?” Pidge’s voice crackles first.

“You’re right there!” Hunk shouts.

“Are you sure?” Allura asks.

“Keith, no—!” Lance cuts in, panic threading through the static.

“There’s no time!” Keith barks. “We can’t let Zethrid and Ezor regroup. They’ll track you all down. We end it here . Fire now. Just do it!”

Beside him, Acxa straightens. “You sure about this?” she asks, voice low.

Keith glances at her. “You don’t have to ask. You’re coming with me.”

She doesn’t answer, only nods once.

Seconds later, from above the atmosphere, the Lions descend, piercing the skies with searing bolts of light. The hull shrieks. And then the nitrate explodes.

The shockwave swallows the corridor.

Metal implodes. Air rushes out in an instant. The world becomes vacuum and dust and light.

Keith’s arm finds Acxa’s in the chaos, yanking her close as their bodies are flung into space. He curls around her instinctively, backplate shielded, one hand clutching her armor.

He grits his teeth and triggers his jetpack. The force rips them forward through the debris field, starlight spinning around them as the cold presses against their suits. Acxa is silent, holding onto him tightly.

Through the storm of wreckage, something opens. A mouth in the stars.

The Black Lion.

It surges forward as if it’s felt him reaching up to it. Keith adjusts the jets, angles upward, and pushes everything into one last burst of momentum.

Together, they soar through the open jaws of the Lion, the ship swallowing them whole in a flash of blue light.

And for the first time in what feels like hours, Keith lands hard, breath stolen, Acxa secured against his chest, the rumble of danger finally distant.

They made it. With them secured, the lions all make their way back to their hideout planet.

Ash clings to the folds of the cloth shielding the cave entrance, stirred by the storm raging just beyond. The air inside is thick with crackling firelight, scorched dust, and unsteady breaths, still heavy from battle.

They’re gathered in a loose circle around the flames. Boots muddy, armor scuffed, silence stretched between them in tired exhales. Even Kosmo lies curled near the edge of the fire, dozing.

Acxa leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Your fight with Lotor?” she says, her tense gaze flicking across each of them. “That was three deca-phoebs ago.”

Around the fire, the others shift. Pidge’s head snapping up, Hunk drops a pile of sticks. The rest look at Acxa in utter disbelief, by their hanging jaws.

Keith’s heart stutters. “…That’s impossible.”

“No one’s seen or heard from Voltron since. The entire universe believes you’ve disappeared,” Acxa states evenly.

The fire pops gently. Everyone sits a little straighter.

Acxa continues, her tone measured but threaded with weariness. “Ezor and Zethrid were convinced this was their chance to take advantage of the power vacuum in the Empire. But I couldn’t follow them anymore. I wasn’t sure what my path was… but I knew it wasn’t theirs.”

She glances toward Keith. Her voice softens. “And it led me to you.”

Keith meets her gaze. There’s no tension in his shoulders now, no edge to his reply. “Thank you,” he says, low and true. “For saving us.”

Across the fire, Allura finally speaks, her voice laced with something quiet and aching. “I understand how you feel,” she says to Acxa. “I trusted Lotor too. I believed in the good I thought was in him.” She exhales, slowly. “I fell for his lies.”

Keith listens, but his eyes drift.

He catches Lance watching him.

Their eyes meet.

Lance doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. He just looks at Keith, then shifts his gaze to Acxa, then down to his hands. His fingers twist into his glove. Lips pressed thin.

Keith can’t quite make sense of it. And he doesn’t have the time to ask, right now.

Pidge’s brow furrows deeply. “My dad… and Matt. We have no idea if they’re okay.”

Allura glares into the fire. “What else has changed?” she murmurs.

The fire crackles louder.

And outside the cave, the storm howls across the rocks.

Inside, the team sits in the glow of flickering light, their hearts already searching for what’s been lost and what’s waiting for them back home.

The cave is too loud. Not with conversation, but with people existing. Every breath, every rustle of fabric, every shift in sleep patterns crashes against Keith’s ears like thunder.

Coran snores in uneven bursts, Hunk hums with every exhale, and even Pidge breathes with a whistle.

Keith lays on his side, then his back, then curls tight again, with fists clenched. It’s no use. He’s not falling asleep tonight.

With barely a sound, he eases upright. Dusts his hands against his thighs. Gathers his jacket and treads softly across the cavern floor. He lifts the curtain of cloth covering the entrance, careful not to disturb the others.

Outside, the storm has passed. The skies are vast and bruised, painted in hues of burnt orange and dark violet. The wind still sighs gently, pushing grains of sand across the gravel underfoot.

That’s when Keith spots him.

Lance is sitting a little downhill, perched on a flat boulder. He turns his head slightly at the sound, eyes catching Keith’s in the low light. His gaze drifts down and back up, slow and unreadable, before he returns his attention forward again, hands draped loosely over his knees.

Keith hesitates. Then steels himself, stepping forward.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, voice low.

Lance shrugs, shifting to the side. “Sure.”

Keith settles beside Lance, and for a while, neither of them says anything. The wind murmurs across the sand, and the orange sky above glows faintly with the lingering haze of the storm. In the distance, one of the Lions hums softly in standby—present, alive, but resting.

“Can’t sleep?” Keith asks.

Nodding, Lance nudges a pebble with the edge of his boot. “It’s weird,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

“I thought it was pretty noisy, if you ask me.”

“I miss… familiar noise,” Lance replies with a shrug. “Like music playing in the kitchen. My siblings yelled at each other across the hall. I even miss my little cousins screaming in the living room about cartoons. And, we all fall asleep on the couch.”

Keith smiles faintly at that.

Lance leans forward a bit, resting his arms on his knees. “I used to think space would feel bigger than this. Like it’d stretch out forever and make me feel small in a cool way, you know? But lately it just feels pretty empty.”

He lets the quiet settle again. The breeze kicks up a few loose strands of Keith’s hair.

“What do you miss the most?” Keith asks.

“Mostly my family. I think about them every day. My mom, my dad. My siblings and nieces and nephews. I grew up with a big, tight knit unit.”

Keith swallows, the corner of his mouth drawing in slightly. “Sounds like a good family.”

“They are. Even when we’re a mess,” Lance says, with a huff.

Keith’s gaze drops to the ground in front of them. “I don’t have much family. Not in the traditional sense.” He fiddles with his glove edge. “I have Krolia now, I guess. And Shiro… he’s always been like a brother to me.”

Lance looks at him sideways, a glimmer of understanding soft in his expression.

Keith adds, quieter, “So I think I get it. What it means to want to go back to someone like that.”

The stars feel closer for a moment.

Lance inhales slowly, then exhales like it hurts a little. “How long... do you think it’s been? Since we left Earth?”

Keith’s gaze drops to the sand. He watches it shift beneath their boots before answering, quiet and even, “More than three years. Probably.”

He hears it before he sees it, a choked breath, a sniff.

Then Lance covers his face.

Keith whips toward him, alarm rising. “Lance?”

“I’m fine,” Lance says quickly, wiping hard at his cheeks. But his voice cracks halfway through. “Fuck, three years, Keith. That’s so long.”

Keith’s heart twists. “I didn’t mean to—” He reaches out hesitantly, fingers brushing Lance’s elbow. “I’m sorry, don’t listen to me. It could be less, honestly. I’m just saying things.”

But Lance is already crying harder now, both hands dragging across his face as he tries and fails to catch the tears.

Keith’s heart pounds in his chest, a growing ache he can’t name. He shifts closer without thinking, hand hovering uselessly near Lance’s trembling shoulder.

Lance shakes his head, face buried behind his palms, shoulders hunched tight. “It’s not you,” he gasps. “It’s not—it’s everything. I can’t believe we’ve been gone that long.”

He pauses, guilt clawing at him. “I should’ve lied. I should’ve said two years. Or one. Something less.” His hand rises, unsure, before finally reaching to pull Lance’s hands away from his wet face.

Then, carefully, he reaches over and Lance him in. 

Lance doesn’t resist. His fists press into Keith’s jacket, face hidden in his shoulder.

Keith closes his eyes. God, how do people make this better?

“Please don’t cry,” he murmurs, arms wrapping tight around him. “It hurts me seeing you like this. I wish I could do more, right now.”

But Lance is trembling now, sobbing harder as his chest hitches unevenly. “I can’t help it,” he croaks. “I—I can’t breathe.”

Keith presses a hand gently to the back of Lance’s head. “Okay. Okay, hey. Breathe with me, alright? In through your nose… like this. C’mon.”

Lance tries. Stumbles. Tries again.

“How much longer…” he groans between gasps, “how much longer till we’re home?”

Keith hesitates, holding him tighter. “Soon,” he whispers. “Very soon. We’re so close, Lance. You’ll see them again, hug them again. You’ve been strong this whole time, hold on for a little bit longer, okay?”

The silence folds around them. Lance’s breath hitches again.

“I know it’s hard. I know,” Keith says, quieter now, “but, I promise you, we’ll reach Earth. I will bring you back home. I swear on it.”

The wind curls around them, soft and dry, whispering across the dusty plateau. Keith holds Lance in a quiet, protective grip, arms molded around his back with care he doesn’t know how to voice. His hand stays firm behind Lance’s head, fingers gently threaded through his hair, the other curled securely around his spine. 

Lance’s breathing slowly begins to even out, sobs dimming to trembles, then to soft, shaky sniffs. His head stays tucked against Keith’s shoulder, and Keith doesn’t dare look down or intrude. 

He’s not sure what he’d do if he saw tears still on Lance’s cheeks. So instead, he lowers his own head until his forehead rests lightly against Lance’s temple. 

Lance shifts slightly but doesn’t pull away. His arms stay wrapped around Keith’s torso, clinging to the worn armor like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating off.

Then, softly, Lance whispers, “Do you… have anyone? Back on Earth. Waiting for you?”

Keith blinks. The question sits in his chest, unexpected. He hesitates, then answers quietly, “No. Not really. The people I care about… they’re all here. Right now.”

Lance lets out a soft laugh, still wet with emotion. “You’re lucky,” he murmurs. “Must be nice, having everyone you love in one place.”

Keith doesn’t reply right away. He just holds him tighter. Because the person he loves is in his arms right now, and all he can do is pretend the silence says enough.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Everyone’s here.”

Lance is quiet for a second. Then he tilts his head just slightly. “Even Acxa?”

Keith’s eyes narrow faintly. “I barely know her.”

“But you said everyone ,” Lance points out, lifting his head a fraction, voice still hoarse but teasing. “So that includes her too.”

Keith exhales sharply, rolls his eyes. “No. It doesn’t.”

“You did charge into a Galra base for her. That’s kind of a move, Keith.”

“I have charged into a Galra base for all of you, at some point.” Keith frowns, completely missing the undercurrent. “Besides, Acxa was wounded, Lance. I wasn’t going to let her drift unconscious in space.”

Lance mutters, “Oh sure, classic space knight Keith maneuver. Very noble. You did the same move on me.”

“She was bleeding.”

“She was cradled. ”

“You’re being cradled right now.”

Lance gives a short, wet laugh and presses his face back into Keith’s shoulder. “So does that mean I’m wounded? Keith, be honest, do I look faint? Should I swoon a little? Is that how this works?”

Keith huffs, face growing warmer by the second. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you're still cradling me, so joke’s on you.”

Keith adjusts his grip, trying to disguise the way his face warms, like he’s been caught off guard somehow. Lance chuckles softly, his breath brushing Keith’s neck as he leans back in, tucked close.

“What’s so funny?” Keith mutters.

Lance’s smile is subtle, buried and real. “Nothing. Just…” He pauses, head still resting against Keith’s shoulder. “Despite how much you’ve grown, you actually haven’t changed that much.”

“I’ve changed some.”

“Sure,” Lance lazily replies, “you got taller, gruffer, and now you brood in more languages. But under all that, you’re still the Keith I know.”

Keith sighs. “I’m the only Keith you know. There's no other like me.”

Lance hums. “Yeah. You're right.”

After weeks of nonstop flying, half-ration energy packs, and navigating asteroid fields held together by the equivalent of cosmic duct tape, Team Voltron had officially reached their collective breaking point.

“Pidge, you’re supposed to take the next watch!” Lance’s voice booms across the comms, pitch already climbing. “Hurry up and switch with me already!”

“No, it’s Allura’s turn!” Pidge shoots back, her tone sharp. “I covered her shift while she was busy fake-snoring and ignored my calls!”

“Excuse me?” Allura gasps. “ I took a double shift three cycles ago while Hunk rerouted his engine coolant. Hunk, it’s your turn!”

“Guys,why are we even yelling right now?” Hunk whines, “You’re scaring the space mice!”

Tiny squeaks echoed faintly through Hunk’s comm channel.

In the Black Lion, Shiro presses two fingers to his temple. “Keith,” he said evenly, “they’re not going to last much longer.”

Keith exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose before toggling comms. “Coran? Can you and Pidge look into a nearby rest stop or inn?”

“Already scanning, my boy!” Coran chirps from Pidge’s cockpit, impossibly cheery amidst the chaos. “There’s a facility just a few kliks away. Affordable, clean, and oh—would you look at that, heated blanket service!”

Relief ripples through the comm channels like a sigh heard across galaxies.

Within the hour, the Lions touch down discreetly behind a canopy of overgrown alien foliage, metal paws settling gently on the terrain. 

The moment they were secure, armor was shed, hoodies and joggers appeared, and the crew was swapping out bayards for overnight bags.

As the team made their way along a narrow trail toward the inn, the landscape began to shift. The dense foliage gave way to worn, until the trees parted entirely to reveal a small city built for transients and travelers. Cargo ships drifted lazily in and out of docking towers in the distance, along with static and comms chatter.

Massive neon signs blinked and scrolled above flickering food kiosks, some blasting music, others advertising planetary lottery odds and half-off protein cubes. 

Towering above them all was a low, sturdy building made of pearlescent panels and multi-level decks, marked by a vertical sign that read: SNOOZE PODS & BEYOND .

Lance spins once on his heel, his arms flung wide, hoodie swishing dramatically. “I can’t believe it,” he beams. “Real walls. Running water. Mattresses . This is what living life in space is truly all about!”

“Careful,” Pidge mutters. “You’re gonna hurt your back with that much excitement.”

“I, for one, already hurt my back!” Hunk groans from behind. “My spine’s been shaped like a question mark since Sector Zeta-9!”

“And my head,” Allura adds, gently rubbing her temples. “I haven’t had a proper pillow in so long, I think I’ve forgotten what it's like to not have migraines.”

“I’m fine,” Pidge declares, holding up her tablet proudly. “I’ve got Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance synced through my lion’s screen. My posture’s never been better.”

Lance practically twirls ahead, bouncing in a circle around Hunk like an excited retriever.

“Three whole days of sleepover freedom!” he grins. “It’s like Garrison, but with open access to midnight snacks and no tests!”

“We have to find snacks,” Hunk says. “It’s not a sleepover without crunchy things and way too much sugar.”

Lance throws an arm out. “Pidge! You in? Room with us?”

Pidge raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Sure. But just know I’m recording you the second you start sleep-talking about your mommy again.”

“I do not —!” Lance stutters, scandalized.

Keith watches the chaos unfold ahead of him. Lance flailing. Pidge sprinting, cackling. Hunk playfully blocking Lance’s attempts at vengeance. For a second, the corner of Keith’s mouth almost curls upward.

The halls of the space inn aren’t exactly five-star; low lights, strange carpet fibers, and the faint rumbling of ships flying overhead. But to Team Voltron, after weeks of cramped cockpits and bone-stiff armor naps, it’s practically paradise.

The automatic doors parted with a groan as the team stepped into the cool, dimly lit front lobby. The Voltron crew filed in like silent, sleep-deprived ghosts. 

Romelle immediately collapsed sideways across a loveseat, face first. Coran, Allura, Krolia, and Hunk sat in the lobby couch with a heavy sigh of relief. Lance and Pidge laid dramatically on the floor after all the seats were taken.

Meanwhile, Keith and Shiro stand at the front desk, arguing already.

Keith leans an elbow on the front desk, eyebrows drawn tight. “You’re telling me this entire place has, what, only four rooms open? You’ve got to be kidding.”

The alien receptionist, a lavender-skinned being with three glaring eyes, doesn't flinch. “Three singles. One two-bedroom. That’s what I have available.”

“We’re nine people.”

“I can count,” the receptionist replies flatly. “Still four rooms.”

Keith’s jaw tightens. “We’ve been threading a collapsing nebula and evading Galra patrols. Can’t you make an exception or something?”

“I’m not hiding a secret hallway of deluxe suites, pal,” the receptionist sighs. “This is the exception.”

Shiro steps in, laying a diplomatic hand on Keith’s arm. “I’m sure there’s something we can work out,” he says with a smile, tone soothing. “Maybe a storage module we could convert to a room? Even floor space would help—"

“No chance,” the receptionist says, all three eyes blinking at Shiro. “We’ve got three single rooms and one two-bedroom suite. Take it or leave it. I do not care for your situation.”

Glaring, Keith grinds his teeth, but Shiro gently touches his arm.

“It’s fine,” he offers quietly, firm but kind. “I’ll be the one to break the news to everyone.”

Keith gives him a tight look, but after a beat, he exhales and backs off, shaking his head in frustrated defeat.

Shiro turns, schooling his features into a version of calm only he could pull off under these circumstances. But as they approach the rest of the team sprawled in the lobby, even his shoulders drop slightly.

He sighs, bringing his one hand to his hip. “Alright, team. We’ll have to split up. There are four rooms total. Most of us will be sharing beds. There is one two-bedroom—”

“One whole bed to myself,” Hunk quickly says, finger in the air. “I’m calling it.”

“Me, Romelle, and Hunk. We’ve got the two-bedroom,” Pidge declares, already snagging Hunk by one sleeve and Romelle by the other. 

“Wait— what? ” Lance chokes, rising from the floor. “You’re ditching me ?”

“I’d rather not get roundhouse-kicked in the face when you dream,” Pidge says flatly.

Romelle offers him a polite bow of the head. “I’m sorry, Lance.”

Instantly, Lance drops to his knees, throwing his hands skyward. “ And you, Hunk? How quickly the blade of betrayal finds my spine by my own kin!”

“Oh boy,” Hunk mumbles. “Here it comes.”

“I am your best friend!” Lance continues, dramatically gesturing at no one. “And this is how you repay me?”

“Lance,” Hunk says with the weary tone of someone who’d sat through one too many of these performances, “it’s three nights. We’ll still be best friends by the end of it.”

Keith presses his lips together, re-evaluating every life choice that led him to this moment. 

Coran and Krolia have already discreetly paired off, standing a polite distance from the group.

Allura sidles up to Shiro and quietly asks if they might room together, to which he nods, visibly grateful to have one less situation spiraling into melodrama.

“I’ll room with you,” Keith says evenly.

Lance freezes mid-dramatic flop, arms awkwardly flung over his head. He slowly lowers one hand, staring at him.

“…You will?”

Keith gives a small shrug, his ears already whistling. “Unless you’d rather not. I can see if Coran wants to swap.”

“No!” Lance says too quickly, standing up from the floor, “I mean—it’s fine. We’ll just, uh—sleep. Like normal. On the bed. That we’re sharing. Totally chill.”

Pidge lets out a cackle.

“Be quiet!” Lance snaps, voice cracking.

Shiro claps his hands once. “Alright, guys. Let’s get settled in.”

The elevator shudders softly as it begins its slow ascent, pale yellow lights ticking through each floor on a curved panel above the doors. Team Voltron stands packed inside, bags slung over shoulders, slouched from fatigue.

First came the ding for floor four.

“Okay, listen up,” Shiro starts, standing between the elevator door and the floor, “before we all split, I just want to say: be on your best behavior while we’re here, alright? Let’s not cause any problems while we are here.”

There are a few half-hearted nods.

“And if anyone needs to leave their room to check out the plaza or get air, please tell someone,” Shiro adds, giving Lance a very pointed look. “This planet might look like a roadside vacation, but that doesn't mean it’s safe.”

Lance raises his hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m a delight.”

With that, Shiro and Allura step away, walking side-by-side down the hallway.

Ding. Floor six.

Coran offers an enthusiastic wave over his shoulder. “Goodnight, my lovelies! May your pillows be firm and your dreams confusing!”

Krolia glances once to Keith, then she steps out behind Coran without a word.

As the doors begin to close, Lance leans toward Keith, cupping a hand beside his mouth and whispering, “So… how long do you think until Coran becomes your stepdad?”

“Shut up,” Keith hisses.

Lance grins, entirely too pleased with himself.

As the elevator rises again, Hunk groans, gripping the railing with both hands. 

“You alright?” Romelle asks, concern creasing her brow as she glances over at him.

“I don’t think I can handle the stop-and-go motions,” Hunk mumbles, turning slightly pale. “Why is our room on the top floor?”

“Instant karma,” Lance snorts, “That’s what you get for abandoning me.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Quit whining, you crybaby. You should be a lot more grateful for your current arrangement.”

Lance makes a face.. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Keith remains stoic, arms crossed, gaze glued to the numbers above. If there was tension behind the words, he decided not to ask about it. It sounded like one of those inside jokes they like to keep throwing around.

Ding. Floor nine.

The moment stretches as Keith and Lance exchange a look.

Keith jerks his chin toward the doors. “Ready?”

“Y-Yeah.” Lance stumbles out of the elevator. “Lead the way, roomie.”

They walk out into the hallway, boots tapping softly on the carpet.

Neither of them spoke.

When they arrive at their room, Keith fishes the keycard from his jacket and unlocks the door. It slides open with a mechanical click.

He holds the door open behind him, half-expecting Lance to breeze past him and flop theatrically onto the bed, or gawk at the alien minibar with a starstruck attitude. 

But instead, Lance trudges in quietly, setting his bag down by the far side of the room, and mumbles, “Gonna use the toilet.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He simply grabs a change of clothes from his bag and slips inside the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

Keith stands there in the quiet, blinking at the space Lance left behind.

He’s unsure of where to sit, re-thinking the situation they’re in. He had offered to room with Lance because it made sense at the time. Because even with his silly antics, Lance had sounded genuinely bothered and looked alone, and well, Keith didn’t want him to feel like that.

But now?

Keith sits down stiffly on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, and stares at the floor.

Maybe this was a mistake.

The bathroom door creaks open, and Keith lifts his head. Lance pads in with loose-fitting blue pajamas, white fuzzy socks, and the ends of his hair slightly damp from washing his face. 

He looks soft and cozy.

Keith clears his throat. “Wanna check out the plaza? There’s probably some shops still open. Grab those snacks you were thinking about getting, earlier.”

Lance flops face-first onto the mattress with a groan muffled into the comforter. “Too tired,” he mutters. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Keith nods to himself. He stays perched on the edge of the bed, one hand picking absently at the edge of his thumbnail, watching the slow rise and fall of Lance’s breathing from the corner of his eye. A full thirty seconds pass in silence before he sighs.

He grabs a pillow and plops it down on the carpet floor beside the bed. Kneels to unzip his bag and positions it like a second pillow.

There’s a rustle above him.

“You sleeping down there?” Lance asks, twisting to look over his shoulder.

Keith doesn’t stop adjusting the makeshift setup. “I figured if this set-up is uncomfortable for you, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Lance props himself up on one elbow, blinking. “Keith, seriously?”

“I’ve spent years on ground floors and cave walls. This is practically luxury.”

“But that defeats the whole point of staying at an inn. You’re supposed to sleep on a mattress, so your body can recover properly.”

Keith doesn’t respond at first. Just keeps fluffing the corner of his backpack.

Lance watches Keith for a beat longer, the glow from the bedside panel catching in the curve of his cheek. Then he shifts, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he leans into the pillow.

“You always do this,” he murmurs.

Keith looks up. “Do what?”

“Put everyone’s comfort before your own. Like, if someone needed the air in your lungs, you’d hand it over without blinking.”

Keith frowns slightly. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, you look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” Lance admits, tone soft. “But, so are you. So, why don’t we both sleep on the same bed, then? We’ve done this before, Keith.”

That makes Keith pause mid-adjustment.

“I’m not uncomfortable with you being here with me,” Lance says a little quieter, “Sure, maybe nervous, cause well, you’re taller and stuff. But, I honestly don’t mind sharing the space together.”

“...You don’t?”

“No,” Lance repeats. He shifts over on the mattress, patting the empty space beside him. “So please. Just… come to bed already, okay?”

Keith hesitates for a moment longer, searching Lance’s expression like there might be some hidden punchline buried in there. But Lance only meets his eyes, tired, yes, but honest.

“…Okay,” Keith says softly.

He picks up the pillow and places it beside Lance’s, straightening the edge of the blanket as he goes. He shrugs off his jacket, folds it, and tucks it into his bag at the foot of the bed.

Then he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Lance immediately recoils. “Dude! Geezus—Warn me!”

Keith pauses, utterly confused. “What?”

“If you’re gonna change,” Lance sputters, shielding his eyes with both hands, his cheeks darkening, “at least go to the bathroom! I don’t want to see you bare ass!”

Keith blinks. “I’m wearing boxers underneath. I’m not stripping naked.”

“Nope, nope!” Lance says, voice high-pitched and scandalized. “Don’t care! Bathroom!”

Keith sighs, grabbing his sleep clothes. “You’re being dramatic, again.”

“Better safe than traumatized!”

Grumbling under his breath, Keith disappears into the bathroom and closes the door. He peels out of his pants, switches to his sleep shirt (a fitted black tee) and runs a wet hand through his hair before stepping back into the room.

The lights are off now. Lance is already buried beneath the covers, only a tuft of brown hair poking out from under the blankets.

Keith exhales quietly, rounds the bed, and lifts the corner of the sheet.

He climbs in.

The mattress dips beneath him.

Keith rolls onto his back, the sheets cool against his arms as he adjusts the pillow beneath his head.

Beside him, Lance shifts to face him.

“It’s been a while since we had a sleepover,” Lance says thoughtfully.

Staring at the ceiling, Keith hums. “Yeah. Last one was during Shiro’s disappearance. You stuck around to deal with me.”

Lance nods, scooching a little closer, the blanket rustling between them. “I remember,” he says. “You kept acting like you were fine, but I knew you weren’t sleeping or eating.”

Keith’s mouth quirks faintly at the memory. “And you kept me company.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Keith turns his head slightly, meets Lance’s eyes. “Yeah. It did.”

Keith lies quiet for a moment, the subtle tension between them settling like dust. His hand rests loosely against his chest, fingers fidgeting with the seam of the blanket.

“I still have the communicator, you know.”

“Wait… really?”

Keith nods, gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Once I was on the space whale, I was too far out. I couldn’t reach anyone. Not even you.” He hesitates. “I’m sorry for not being there. For not checking in before I left on that mission. I didn’t want to disappear on you.”

Lance’s expression shifts, surprised, then faintly guilty. “Keith... I wasn’t there for you either. You were out stranded, on your own, without any of us there to help you. I’m sorry too.”

Keith stays still, listening.

“I figured you were okay,” Lance goes on, “And I kept pretending I was angry about it. Like, ‘whatever, Keith pulling that lone wolf nonsense again.’ But really?” He huffs a tiny laugh. “I was scared. Like, deep-bone scared. That we weren’t gonna get you back.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Keith murmurs.

Lance shrugs, not quite meeting his gaze. “Didn’t exactly tell anyone, really.”

Keith finally turns his head, meeting his eyes. “I was honestly worried something was going to happen to you, while I was away. I was scared of the possibility that when I came back, you weren’t here anymore.”

Lance nods slowly, then chews his bottom lip, as if there’s words caught behind his teeth he’s not sure he wants to let out.

Keith notices. His eyes narrow. “Did something happen?”

Lance’s expression tightens instantly.

“Lance,” he says, voice firmer now. “What happened?”

“It’s in the past,” Lance mutters, “We all kinda moved on from it, already.”

“ Lance. ”

Lance groans quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. I—there was this battle. It went really bad. And I almost died.”

Keith sits up halfway. “You what?”

Lance doesn’t meet his eyes. “There was this powerful laser cannon that was ready to go off and Allura was in its line. I didn’t think. I just reacted. Got between her and the discharge, and forced her back with the impact so the blast wouldn’t hit her.”

Keith’s breath stalls. “And it ended up hitting you?”

Lance hesitates, then nods.  “I felt everything closing in. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I thought it was over.”

Sitting upright in bed instantly, Keith glares at him, sheets pooling at his waist. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?!”

“Because I made them swear not to!” Lance explains. “If anyone was going to tell you, it was going to be me.”

Keith stares at him, eyes sharp, breathing uneven. “Why the hell would you do something that reckless?”

“I was trying to save her, Keith!” Lance’s tone rises, frustration threading through the quiet. “What was I supposed to do? Watch her die?”

Keith glares, words sharp. “ You could’ve died, Lance!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lance snaps, sitting up too now, “I thought you of all people would understand where I was coming from. You do this kind of thing all the time! Guns blazing, swords drawn, every mission like it’s your last.”

“We are not the same!”

“Oh really? Then explain it to me! I must’ve missed the memo on who gets to be reckless.”

Keith’s voice turns low, almost a growl. “Only I get to do that.”

Lance stares. “Huh?”

“You heard me.” Keith leans forward, eyes dark. “Because you have people who need you to come home. You’ve got a family praying for your safety. People who love you. You don’t get to throw your life away like it’s nothing.”

Lance falters. “And you think you don’t have that?”

Keith looks down, face set. “Not in the same way. My loss wouldn’t hurt anyone like yours would.”

Lance sits up too now, eyes dark. He jabs a finger into Keith’s chest. “That’s a load of crap. Shiro would fall apart. Hunk and Pidge would blame themselves. Allura would break. I would—” He stops himself, taking a sharp inhale. “Don’t think just because you willingly throw yourself into danger it will hurt less when you go.”

Keith’s mouth opens, then closes. No excuse comes.

Lance doesn’t stop. “Okay, yeah, I messed up. I made that call once. But you! You act like your life’s collateral constantly. Like dying for the cause is more important than living with the people who love you. For once, consider living, instead of trying to die for them.”

With a tightened jaw, Keith stares at Lance; the frustration etched across his face, the slight tremble in his voice like he’s trying to hold the pieces together. Like he’s sitting there, looking at Keith not because he’s hurt, but because he also cares deeply for Keith.

He reaches forward, wrapping his arms around Lance and pulling him in tight. It’s not careful or smooth. It’s all instinct and desperation.

Lance stiffens for half a second, then melts into it, his neck resting on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith closes his eyes and presses his face into Lance’s hair. “Don’t ever make that call again,” he whispers. “You can’t risk your life like that, Lance. I can’t—” His voice falters, raw and low. “I can’t lose you.”

Lance is still. Then he nods, voice muffled in Keith’s shirt. “Alright. I won’t. Not if you don’t.”

Keith flinches at that. Just enough to register. He doesn’t answer right away.

Lance leans back just enough to look at him. “Keith.”

“Trust me, I want to tell you yes,” Keith admits, voice quiet, vulnerable in a way he rarely allows. “But I don’t know if I’m there yet. I don’t trust myself not to make that call.”

Lance studies him. He lifts one hand, fingers running through Keith’s hair. “Then just… think about it. That’s all I’m asking. Before you run into things.”

Keith meets his eyes for a long moment.

“I’ll try,” he says. “I will.”

Lance clears his throat, gaze dropping for a second. “I’m not kidding with you,” he says, voice quieter now. “You… you matter more than you think. Maybe not to yourself sometimes, but to all of us.”

“…Then I’ll try to remember that,” Keith says, the words barely above a breath

Lance doesn’t say anything. He just nods, then lifts the covers and wordlessly pulls Keith back down beside him.

They settle into the sheets again, closer this time, shoulders brushing beneath the blanket, breath slowing. Lance murmurs something, but it’s too soft for Keith to decipher.

“…Is it okay? That we’re this close?” Keith asks, hesitant.

Lance doesn’t open his eyes, just mumbles against the fabric between them, “Dude, we used to cuddle back when you had insomnia. What, now you're suddenly too grown-up to cuddle?”

Keith huffs something between a laugh and a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing. He slips an arm beneath Lance and gently tucks him under his chin, pressing his cheek against soft brown hair.

Lance breathes out, content, the rhythm of it syncing with Keith’s heartbeat.

Keith closes his eyes.

As the night deepens, stars blinking faintly beyond the inn glass window, neither of them lets go of each other, making up the time apart and feeling one another alive.

Chapter Text

The first thing Keith registers is warmth.

Not the heavy weight of his paladin armor pressing on his chest, or the humming vents on the Black Lion, but instead, the tangible warmth of another body. Breath against his neck. A steady heartbeat pressed up to his chest that isn’t his.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes yet. 

Because if he does, he’ll have to let go of the gentle enclosure his arms have formed around Lance’s waist. And right now, that feels like the last thing in the universe he wants to do.

Blinking awake, Keith blearily looks up at the ceiling. 

It feels like it’s probably late morning.

Careful to not jostle around too much, he shifts slightly, enough to glance down.

Faintly snoring, Lance sleeps, sprawled halfway across Keith’s torso, one leg slung over his hip like they’ve been sharing beds forever. His cheek presses against Keith’s chest, with his hair in a tousled mess and his parted lips.

Keith leans into Lance’s ear. 

“Lance,” he coaxes.

He stirs, nose scrunching, but not fully awake. He burrows closer instead, arm tightening instinctively around Keith’s ribs.

Keith’s heart swells at the feeling.

“Lance,” he says again, this time firmer.

“Five more minutes,” Lance murmurs.

Keith stays quiet. Then, a second later, “Okay. That’s five.”

Lance cracks open one eye, squinting. “It definitely hasn’t been five minutes.”

Keith rolls his eyes, even though Lance can’t properly see his face. “Get up already. Shiro’s going to come looking for us.”

“Let him,” Lance mumbles “Maybe he’ll bring us pancakes.”

“I’m not asking again.”

“Okay, okay,” Lance grumbles, yawning so wide it makes his jaw pop. He rolls onto his back.

Keith struggles to figure out if Lance even noticed the way he clung to him, given how effortlessly he lets go, without any comment or form of panic.

“I think my leg’s still asleep,” Lance winces, rubbing a hand over his right leg.

Keith sits up halfway. “Uh, do you need me to carry you around?” he asks, awkward. He genuinely means it.

“Tempting.” Lance rubs the tire from his eyes. “But no. I think I can hobble.”

Despite himself, Keith smirks faintly. “Whatever works for you.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“A while.”

“And you didn’t wake me?”

“You looked like you needed it.”

Lance scowls. “Oh, real nice, Keith. And you look like you need to shut your quiznak.”

“Says the guy who’s been drooling on my shirt.”

Gasping, Lance sits up on the bed, staring at Keith offended, cheeks reddening. “I did not! Don’t lie to me like that, Keith!”

With a deadpan expression, Keith lifts the corner of his black shirt, where there’s visible dampness. 

Lance’s expression morphs from horror to indignation. “That’s probably condensation. Or, like uh, dew. Morning dew!”

“Morning dew?”

“You don’t know about morning dew?” Lance scoffs, “It’s totally a thing.”

“Cute name for your slobber, Lance.”

Quickly, with a red face, Lance grabs a pillow from behind, and swings his arm to try and whack Keith square in the face.

Keith smacks it away easily with a raised brow. “Seriously?”

“Then stop making fun of me,” Lance mutters, flopping back onto the mattress like the effort exhausted him.

Keith leans back against the headboard, arms crossed. “You’re the one who drooled on me.”

“I was unconscious!”

“It’s still gross.”

“Gross?” Lance leans close to Keith’s face, jabbing a pointer finger on his chest. “Why didn’t you shove me off, then?”

Keith’s lips twitch. “Didn’t want to hear your whining.”

“God, you're so rude,” Lance scoffs, however the corners of his mouth turn up. “You know, for someone who complains so much, you sure didn’t move an inch all night.”

“What do you want me to do? Shake you awake and tell you you’re soaking my shirt?”

“Again, condensation."

“From your mouth.”

They’re close now, closer than either of them probably intended. Lance’s smirk falters just slightly, his gaze darting down to Keith’s mouth before snapping back up. 

Keith notices. 

What the hell was that look?

A sharp knock at the door breaks the thought.

Keith straightens. Lance nearly tumbles off the bed.

Through the closed front door, Pidge’s voice filters in, muffled. “If you two idiots aren’t out in ten minutes, I’m telling Shiro you guys aren’t hungry!”

Throwing off the bed covers over his body, Lance squawks, “Only ten?! Pidge, I wanted to do my entire morning skincare routine, and it takes half an hour! I haven’t done it in months!”

“Then exfoliate faster,” Pidge replies dryly.

“There are layers to this, literally!” Lance calls back, getting up and walking to the door. “I’m rebuilding my moisture barrier!”

“I’ve seen your ‘routine.’ It’s just you complimenting yourself in the mirror.”

“That’s called words of affirmations!”

Groaning, Keith pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ll be down in a minute, Pidge.”

“You better,” she replies. “Everyone’s already downstairs. And if the breakfast hour ends, we’re not saving either of you a plate.”

Lance gasps. “You wouldn’t—!”

“You’ve been warned.”

They hear her footsteps retreating down the hall.

Keith glances at him. “She’s not bluffing.”

“She never is,” Lance mutters, turning away from the front door with an air of annoyance.

“Then maybe move faster.”

Dragging his feet toward his side of the bed, Lance crouches down to where his duffel bag is half-unzipped, and digs in. 

“You know, some of us need time to mentally prepare for the day,” he grumbles, “Not everyone can get up in a go-happy attitude.”

Keith squints. “You talk more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You clearly haven’t met enough people,” Lance scoffs, lips quirking into a smirk. “My sisters put me to shame.”

“...I didn’t think about that.”

For a moment, he watches as Lance sifts through his bag.

He tries to picture what Lance’s sisters might be like; loud, expressive, full of sarcasm and relentless affection. He imagines them as miniature versions of Lance, with longer hair and matching shit-eating grins.

The idea makes Keith snort under his breath.

Lance glances over, brow tightening. “What?”

Keith shakes his head, still smiling. “I never really thought what your sisters might be like.”

Sniffing a wrinkled shirt dangling from one hand, Lance shrugs. “Respectfully, they’re a handful. You’d probably get grilled by them like an interrogation if you ever meet them."

The more Keith thinks about it, the more his smile drops. 

Would he ever meet them? 

Probably not.

He and Lance have completely different lives, existing in their own orbit. Keith couldn’t imagine showing up in that family space; awkward and quiet, foreign to everything Lance grew up with.

He didn’t belong in that picture. 

Lance finds a clean shirt and jeans, holding them up with a little sigh. He stands, adjusting his clothes in his arms.

“Uh, you don’t think Shiro wouldn’t let us starve without breakfast, right?” he asks.

Keith frowns. “If you can hurry up.”

In response, Lance gives him a narrowed look. “Don’t rush me.”

With that, Lance disappears into the bathroom to change out of his pajamas. Keith still finds the whole thing a bit ridiculous; they have the same body parts. It’s not like they will strip naked in front of each other.

Regardless, Keith decides to get ready, while Lance changes privately. He pulls on his pants, buckles his belt, and swaps out his drool-stained shirt for a clean one, before shrugging into his signature red jacket.

It fits tighter than he remembers, sleeves riding a bit higher on his wrists. 

He ignores it.

When Lance finally emerges out of the bathroom, Keith has gone back to lounging on the bed.

He stares at Lance, as he bends down and stuffs his pajamas back in his duffel. His hair’s messy, sticking up in every direction, and there’s a line from Keith's shirt still pressed into his cheek. He probably skipped his full morning routine, too.

Still cute, though.

“You look half-dead,” Keith says instead.

“Gee, thanks,” Lance mutters, crouching to pack away his pajamas. “You’re a real confidence booster, Keith.”

Keith shifts, pulling one leg up off the bed. “Need help with anything?”

“What? You offering to brush my teeth for me?”

“If it gets you moving, sure.”

Despite his snappy attitude, Lance does crack a small smile. “That’s weirdly sweet of you. Also kinda mildly threatening.”

A faint flush creeps up Keith’s neck. “Didn’t mean for it to sound threatening,” he murmurs, voice low enough that Lance doesn’t catch it.

Lance stands up again, slower this time, as he reaches behind and rubs a hand over his lower back. “My spine still feels awful. It doesn’t make sense, considering we actually slept on a bed for once.”

“To be fair, you slept like a starfish,” Keith says, sitting up and reaching down in his duffel bag to grab a red hoodie he had packed. Twisting around, he tosses it to Lance. “Here. Before you start complaining about the cold, too.”

Lance catches it clumsily. “Y-You’re giving me your hoodie?”

“You can give it back.”

Lance pulls it over his head slowly while Keith leans back against the headboard, watching him again.

Keith tells himself it’s not weird to stare. Hopefully. 

He just likes to see Lance move around, and see the gears in his head move.

Right when Lance’s head pops up, both of them realize Lance definitely put on the hoodie backwards. 

“I hate everything,” Lance mutters, glaring down at the offending hood in front of his chest.

Keith shuffles to the other side of the bed and stands up beside him. 

“Hold still,” he says.

Without protest, Lance lets Keith lift the hoodie, rotate it properly, and help tug it on. Keith’s fingers brush Lance’s collarbone as he adjusts the neckline and brings the strings forward.

“There. Better.”

Lance clears his throat. “Appreciate it.”

He then pats a rough hand through his hair, to try and flatten the mess.

Without thinking, Keith reaches out and runs his fingers through it.

Lance goes still. “...What are you doing?”

“Fixing it,” Keith murmurs, focused. “Krolia and I used to help each other get ready all the time, when we didn’t have a mirror.”

Lance huffs a short laugh. “I could have gone back into the bathroom.”

“We’re running out of time,” Keith says, hoping that sounds like a valid excuse, as he continues gently finger-combs through the strands. “It’s faster this way.”

Nodding, Lance’s eyes flick toward him, only to look back down on the carpet floor.

Keith expects him to throw a little fit, maybe even shove him off and be dramatic. 

But, Lance quietly stands there, allowing the moment to exist.

After a moment, Lance shifts his weight, glancing at Keith sideways. “Do you… only do this for people you consider family?”

Keith pauses, fingers still tangled in Lance’s hair. “What makes you ask that?”

Lance doesn't quite meet his eyes. “You said you and Krolia used to help each other get ready. And she’s your mom. So… I figured maybe it’s a Galra family thing. Like, you’d do this for Shiro too, right?”

He hadn’t really thought about it like that. His hand drops slowly to his side.

“I don’t know,” Keith says honestly, a bit unsure. “I guess I just do it when it feels like the right thing to do. Not because of… Galra or familial instinct. I think.”

Lance’s expression shifts, just slightly, before he offers a tight smile. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense. I get it.”

Keith tries to decipher what exactly Lance thinks he’s understanding.

He gets it? 

Gets what?

But, of course, Lance doesn’t bother to elaborate. He steps back, brushing his hands down the front of the hoodie Keith gave him, and plasters on a better smile.

“Breakfast?” he asks.

Keith stares at him, trying to scan across Lance’s face for a hint of anything from before.

He looks fine.

So, with that, Keith sighs and nods. “Ready.”

Keith doesn’t know what just passed between them earlier, but it lingers, as they walk out into the hallway.

The elevator shakes a bit as it descends, with the two of them standing side by side. There’s a space between their shoulders.

Then, Lance looks over at Keith, voice tentative. “You sure you’re okay with us sharing a bed again tonight? I mean, we could ask Shiro if we could switch.”

“I don't mind staying with you, Lance.”

Lance blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Keith says easily. “It wasn’t a bad night. You didn’t kick me in your sleep or anything, despite what Pidge said.”

At the mention of her name, Lance groans. “I only kicked her once. And it was a complete accident.”

Keith chuckles. “Sure.”

“Still, um, I didn’t mean to crowd you or anything. I know I kinda sprawled on you.”

The confession surprises Keith. Earlier, he wasn't sure if Lance even realized how tangled up they’d been. But hearing him acknowledge it makes Keith internally relieved that he wasn’t thinking too deep into the situation.

“It wasn’t the worst thing I have woken up to,” he admits.

Lance flushes instantly. He ducks his head, his gaze dropping to his shoes as he mumbles a smile. “Y-Yeah, same. I mean—uh, it was comfortable. You’re not the worst person to sleep next to, either.”

Keith smirks. “I’d say the same, if you didn’t snore.”

Lance snaps his head at him. “I do not snore!”

“Or drool.”

“Oh my god, are you ever gonna let that go?”

“...Nope.”

They lock eyes. Keith wearing a smug grin, Lance glaring back.

Then, Lance looks away with a sigh. “Be honest. You’re not just saying that to be nice to me, right?”

Keith brings his gloved hands into his pockets. “No, I’m not.”

Lance nods slowly, like he’s filing that away. “Okay. Cool. Good to know.”

Then the elevator dings, and the doors slide open.

The casino towers brilliantly across the dusty plaza. Warbled alien voices spill from its open doors, with the sharp chime of jackpots in the background.

As the crew funnels inside, Allura, Romelle, and Coran pause just before the threshold. They subtly activate their Altean shapeshifting abilities. Their skin takes on a soft lavender hue, close enough to pass as Galra.

Krolia watches the transformation. “That will never stop being unsettling,” she mutters.

“Oh, it’s just cosmetic!" Coran says, "It’s quite the handy trick. Like slipping into a costume, only less itchy!”

“I apologize. We only do this in delicate situations like this one,” Allura adds gently.

Still, Krolia mumbles something in Galra under her breath.

Initially lingering near a row of slot machines that spin with alien fruits and glyphs, Keith steps in close to his mother, looking around.

“Where’s Kosmo?” he asks.

“Back at the inn,” she replies. “He’s standing guard in case anyone tries to get into our rooms. Besides, I didn’t want him to get overwhelmed in here.”

Keith’s mouth tugs downward. “I haven’t really played with him since we started heading back to Earth.”

“He’s not going to die, Keith.”

“He shouldn’t be copped up in a room by himself for too long,” Keith mumbles regardless, “He hates being alone.”

Krolia lightly huffs. “How about this? Tonight, I’ll tell him to teleport to you. He’ll like that.”

Keith perks up slightly. “Why didn’t you do that last night?”

"I assumed you wanted alone time with Lance.”

“What do you mean?”

She stares at him. 

He stares right back.

“...Mom,” he starts, voice strangled, “I would never—”

“I said the same thing once,” she says. “And now you exist.”

Keith feels the heat creep from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears.

With a noise between a gasp and a choke, he storms deeper into the casino. The slot machines and flashing credit counters blur past as he speeds through the main floor, gloved fists clenched.

“Keith, wait!” Lance calls, rushing after him, nearly tripping on a floating drink tray. “What happened? Are you okay?!”

“Where are we even going?” Pidge huffs, speed-walking behind him, trying to keep up. “I want to hit the tables!”

“Are you a gambler, by any chance?” Hunk whispers loudly to Romelle. “I feel like I was born with the worst luck, like ever. Out of all humanity."

“I’ve never gambled, but I’m excellent at pretending I know what I’m doing," Romelle says "That’s basically the same thing, right?”

“Keeeith!” Lance shouts again, finally catching up and falling into step beside him. He grabs Keith’s shoulder, tugging him to a stop. “Stop stomping around like you’re about to punch the floor. We need a plan.”

Keith halts abruptly, allowing the others to catch up. They form a loose circle around him.

“I don’t care where we go,” he says, “We just need to win credits.”

The group starts closely moving, scanning the casino floor for anything low-risk and high-reward.

While Hunk, Pidge, and Romelle wander ahead, Keith stops at a card table. He watches as the alien dealer shuffles the deck telepathically, cards gliding in fluid motions through the air.

“Everything alright?” Lance whispers near Keith’s left ear.

Keith flinches, snapping his neck around and immediately covering his ear with one hand. “Don’t get so close!”

Lance steps back, hands raised in surrender, frown deepening. “Relax. I can tell your mad.”

“I’m not mad."

“Uh, yes you are. Your jaw is doing that thing.”

“My jaw’s fine.”

“You look like you’re about to chew through floor.”

Keith exhales sharply through his nose and turns his gaze back to the card table. The dealer fans the cards around the players without touching a single one. Each participant tosses black and blue chips into the center pile.

He wonders if this game is anything like poker.

Lance slowly leans back into his space. “Was it something your mom said?”

Keith scowls at him.

Oddly enough, Lance’s expression turns into realization. “That’s a yes.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely a yes.”

Growling, Keith looks away. “Drop it, Lance.”

“You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

“I’m not talking about it.”

“What did she say? Something about us sleeping together?”

“Lance, shut—!”

“Hey, you. In the red.”

Both of them turn.

Seated nearby in a chair that creaks under his weight is a hefty Galra male, his frame far too large for his stool. His fur is a dark purple, his belly round beneath a stretched vest, and thick sideburns frame a yellow grin.

He pats the empty seat on his right side. “You look tense, pretty boy. Take a load off. I’ll stake you a few chips for fun.”

Keith narrows his eyes at him, ready to give a sharp retort. 

But then he eyes at the towering stack of chips beside the Galra. A decent fortune in credits, prettily sitting there.

He thinks about their dwindling rations and funds.

Free chips mean free game.

“Hey, you, big guy,” Lance says, stepping in front of Keith with a protective edge. “Keep the sleazy offers to yourself. We don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity,” the Galra chuckles. “I’m only offering a friendly game. I figured someone with a body like his shouldn’t be wasted, standing around.”

Keith’s glare sharpens. “I dare you to keep talking like that.”

“Easy now. If you’re wanting a free game, sit down already, Red. I don’t give second chances.”

Lance opens his mouth again to protest, but Keith steps forward.

He pulls the chair back and sits.

“Keith!” Lance hisses, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“He said it’s a friendly game,” Keith says without looking at him. “I’ll take it.”

The Galra slings a heavy arm over Keith’s shoulders, pulling him in close like they were old friends. “That’s the spirit! Knew you couldn’t resist.”

Then his gold eyes look back at Lance, grinning wide. “Shame you’ve gotta stand there and watch while I show him a good time, huh?”

Romelle, Hunk, and Pidge finally find them, slowing as they take in the scene.

“Are we… gambling with strangers now?” Pidge whispers.

“Is this guy trying to sugar daddy Keith into a poker game?” Hunk asks, baffled.

Romelle awes, impressed.

Lance remains quiet.

The Galra slides a neatly stacked pile of chips toward Keith with a wink. “Let's see what you got.”

The alien dealer sits motionless, yet the cards float midair, shuffling and snapping into formation in the air. 

A dealer button passes clockwise to the next player on the far right. To its left, one alien tosses the required small blind into the center; the next throws in the big blind. After three other players, Keith follows, tossing his bet of chips.

The dealer passes the hole cards telepathically, two for each player, face-down.

Looking down in his hands. Keith stares at the cards dealt to him, trying not to let the confusion show on his face. 

The symbols are unfamiliar, marked with curved glyphs and alien suits in either black or blue. He has no idea which cards are supposed to be the equivalent of the jack, queen, king, or ace. 

Two mismatched beasts cards, from different suites.

He folds his first round. Better safe than sorry.

When the next round comes around, the dealer button shifts again. Blinds are posted. Cards slide in silence.

The Galra beside him heavily breathes close to him. “You feeling scared, Red?”

Keith grimaces. Barely tilting, he glances his hand again.

Luckily, he recognizes the Galra-based numeral system. He had learned the numbers during his time with the Blade.

He has a pair of elevens.

The pre-flop betting begins. Two players check. Another two players fold. Keith eyes his stack, then carefully raises the bet, just enough to make the table pause.

Beside him, the Galra folds with a grunt.

The dealer lays down the flop with the first three community cards: a seven, an eleven, and a beast card he doesn't know.

Keith resists the urge to react. He’s got three elevens now.

The first player folds outright. However, the only other player at the table raises. 

He takes a good look at his opponent.

A female Galra with a square jaw, thick forearms, and broad shoulders. Her purple fur has a gray-ish tint with faint silver streaks, bristling around her neck like an unintentional collar. One tusk-like tooth juts up over her lower lip, even when she’s straight faced.

Keith meets her bet.

Then comes the turn with the fourth card. 

Another eleven.

Even in space poker, that’s gotta be good.

Both the female Galra and him check, neither backing down.

Finally, the river is dealt, revealing a six.

The female Galra checks. 

However, Keith raises again. 

She steely eyes him, then matches the bet.

Showdown.

She reveals a seven and six.

Keith lays down his pair of elevens.

The dealer lets out a chittering sound. “The winner goes to the player, with four of a kind.”

The table erupts in a mix of groans and impressed whispers.

Hunk gasps. “Dude, what?!”

On Keith’s left, the big Galra throws back his head with a cackle and claps Keith’s back hard enough to almost knock the air from his lungs. “Look at you, Red! You sure you’ve never played before?”

Despite his stinging back, Keith tries to remain unbothered, collecting his winning chips. “Beginner’s luck.”

As the Galra turns to flag down a server droid, Keith subtly palms a small portion of chips and slides them smoothly into the inner pocket of his jacket.

No one notices.

Except Pidge.

Her eyes catch the motion, widening slightly as she sees it. But she looks away, blinking like she’s desperately trying to unsee it.

Being as casual as he can be, Keith adjusts his jacket before settling back in his seat.

On the next two rounds, he folds. Instead, he watches intently, studying bets and body language.

By the fourth round, Keith lands in the big blind position. He’s forced to post a considerably large bet, but after evaluating the flop, he folds without hesitation.

Then his fifth round begins.

Now, Keith has to play the small blind.

Go big or go home, he remembers his Texan father saying, teasing with a grin and a drawl.

Keith tosses out more chips than necessary, deliberately overshooting the minimum. 

It draws the attention he’s trying to fish out.

The big Galra grunts at him, but responds with a thud of chips, doubling Keith’s opening amount for the big blind.

The cards are passed to each player.

Keith glances at his hole cards. 

Twin eights.

Playable, Keith thinks. But not that great.

Regardless, he raises the bet once more, like his hand’s gold.

Players eye suspiciously at each other. The big Galra calls. The female Galra raises slightly. Keith mirrors her bet easily.

And just as he exactly wanted, the entire table matches him.

When the flop appears, the first community cards are shown to be a seven, a beast card, and a two.

He checks. The big Galra folds immediately. The female Galra studies the table, then folds as well, her expression irritable.

The other three players remain.

Keith taps the table again, nudging his remaining chips forward in a moderate raise. He even wills himself to purposefully pretend to poorly hide a smirk.

Two of the three players instantly fold.

The last player narrows his eyes. 

Keith maintains steady eye contact. 

A moment passes.

The player finally folds.

“Pot awarded to the remaining player left,” the dealer chimes.

A sizable pile of chips slide to Keith.

Behind him, Hunk shakes Keith’s shoulders. “How do you know how to play this?!” he whispers harshly. “You’re terrifying me!”

“Were you serious or bluffing?” Pidge asks lowly.

Keith hushes them, with a finger pressed to his lips. The card dealer glares at the commotion.

He wins another round. Then another. Sometimes he folds early, sometimes he bluffs. Regardless, after every round, a few more chips vanish into his pockets. 

Gradually, his jacket grows heavier.

On his last round, he deliberately folds post-turn.

Keith stands, preparing to leave the table. His pockets are filled with chips, enough to cover supplies for the team and whatever else the team needs.5

But just as he turns, a hand clamps around his arm.

The big Galra’s long nails digging into the fabric of Keith’s jacket, scraping skin beneath.

“Leaving already?” the Galra purrs. “You’re on a roll, Red. Stay a little longer with me.”

“Let go,” Keith snarls through clenched teeth.

“Now why would I do that? You’re walking away with a chunk of my earnings. That don’t sit right with me.”

Hushed gasps sweep through the table and nearby bystanders around the dealing table, as the accusation lands like a dropped microphone. The players dangerously stare down at Keith.

“Hey, hey, whoa—” Hunk steps in quickly, hands raised. “I know he wouldn’t steal! H-He knows better than that!”

Pidge grabs Keith’s trapped arm and yanks, trying to tug it free. “Hands off my friend!” she shouts.

The Galra’s gaze flicks to Pidge, his smile entirely vanished now. What replaces it is a dark, hollowed expression

“What’re you gonna do about it, pipsqueak?”

Feeling blood rushing hot through his body, Keith bares his teeth. He’s about to twist out of the grip himself when—

Shink.

With a locked-in expression, Lance stands beside the Galra, with his red bayard sword extended. Its edge hovers dangerously close from his neck.

“Let him go, now,” Lance warns lowly, “Or you’ll be losing your head instead of those chips.”

“Lance!” Hunk gawks, voice cracking. “Put that down!”

The Galra looks up at Lance.

“Oh?” he murmurs. “You don’t like when I touch what’s yours, huh?”

Lance doesn’t waver. “Three seconds, buddy.”

Right away, he loosens his grip on Keith, raising both hands in surrender, with a growing smirk.

“Okay, you got me,” he says easily, “My bad.”

Suspicious, Lance doesn’t lower his sword. His furious gaze stays on the Galra’s face, measuring every twitch of muscle and eye.

Seconds tick. Nothing happens.

Gradually, Lance lowers his bayard.

That’s when Keith spots it.

Movement across the table from the far-right side. The female Galra from earlier.

He catches the way her hand dips beneath the table.

She lifts a concealed weapon. Her fingers are curling around the trigger.

“Everyone, get down!” Keith shouts, lunging sideways and grabbing Lance’s shoulder to yank him out of the line of fire.

A plasma bolt sears through the air, narrowly missing Lance and scorching the spot he’d just vacated. The blast strikes a decorative light fixture behind them, which erupts in an explosive cascade of shattered glass. Individuals nearby scream, ducking with hands on their heads.

Panic runs through Keith’s blood. 

Of course, he thinks, adrenaline already surging. The two Galras were working together from the beginning. 

How many other operatives are hidden in this crowd?

“Run!”

The team scatters. Chairs crash to the floor. Chips scatter in clouds across the carpet. Casino patrons either immediately run away or dive for cover. 

“Move, move, move!” Pidge shouts, ”This way!”

Romelle vaults over a tipped chair with surprising grace. “Is this still a part of gambling? If so, I personally don’t like this at all!”

Lance skids to a stop, pivots, and shifts his bayard into rifle form. He fires twice.

The shots force the female Galra to duck back behind a structural pillar.

“Lance!” Keith yells, waiting. “Let’s go!”

“Give me a sec!” Lance snaps, already lining up another shot.

He fires once, and the bolt slams into the big Galra’s shoulder, forcing a stumble.

Then a second shot hits square in the chest, knocking the Galra off balance completely, toppling backward and crashing into the dealing table, sending chips and cards flying. The impact leaves him gasping, as he struggles to recover.

“Okay, now!” Lance shouts, already bolting with Keith.

They sprint after the others, weaving through staggering aliens and overturned tables. Server droids spin in confused circles, spilling trays of drinks and finger-foods. The sounds of yelling, crying, and begging blend together among the firing of weapons from different directions.

“Keith?!”

Shiro barrels through a cluster of stunned aliens, Coran, Allura, and Krolia right behind him. He runs, catching up to Keith’s pace.

“What the hell is going on?” Shiro demands.

“I’ll explain later!” Keith shouts, “We need to move!”

Near their direction, another plasma bolt rips through the air. It hits a slot machine near the front entrance, causing it to explode in a fountain of spinning coins that clatter across the floor like hail.

Panting and wide-eyed, Hunk turns to Shiro. “Okay, so there was this Galra guy, and he was like seducing Keith to play for him and Keith sat down, and then Lance pulled out his sword—!”

“Hunk!” Pidge yells. “Stop snitching!”

“I’m giving context!” Hunk cries, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Lance, are you serious?!” Allura shouts, as she dodges a stray blast, “You brought your bayard into a casino!”

“Hey, hey!” Lance barks back, firing another shot toward the direction of where the blast came from, “You all should be thanking me!”

“Guys! Focus!” Keith demands.

“Where are we going, actually?” Coran asks, among the yelling.

Krolia knows. She charges toward the side door and kicks it open with brute force. The emergency side exit screeches.

“Out!” she shouts to the group.

The team spills into the alley, breathless, as the door slams shut behind them. Alarms still blare faintly through the door, and in the distance, police sirens wail.

Panting, Keith leans against the wall, his lungs clawing for air. He quickly pats down his jacket, fingers brushing over the bulging inner pockets.

The chips are safe.

Beside him, Lance stands, rifle still in hand. His posture remains tense, eyes darting all over, like he’s expecting someone to burst through the side door of the casino building or come down from the street.

“Hey. You okay?”

Lance doesn’t even glance his way.

Keith frowns. “Lance—”

But before he can ask, Lance strides past, walking a few steps down the alley. He shifts his rifle back into a blade now.

With an outreached hand, Keith takes a step forward.

Shiro cuts in, planting himself in front of him.

“Keith,” he says firmly. “What happened back there? Tell me all of it.”

Keith hesitates. He glances down the alley toward Lance, then back at Shiro. “Some Galra offered me chips to play. I figured I could win us some credits. I didn’t trust him, but I thought I could handle it.”

Shiro already looks disappointed. “Why?”

“We’re running low on supplies!” Keith replies, defensive, “I was looking out for the team!”

Sighing, Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Go on.”

“He got handsy, okay,” Keith continues, “He wanted to keep me there. Lance pulled out his bayard and then his female partner at the table pulled a weapon. I think they were setting me up from the start. Probably wanted to pin something on me, or rob me once I won enough.”

“You should’ve called for backup,” Allura chastises.

“I didn’t think it would go that far,” Keith mutters, “Things escalated before I could figure out what to do.”

Coran blinks. “Escalated? Young lad, there’s a full-blown riot happening!”

Krolia cocks an eyebrow. “Did you win a decent amount?”

Glancing down at his jacket, Keith pulls out a few chips. “Yeah.”

Despite the situation, Romelle cheers with a pumped fist. “At least we have credits to buy whatever we need!”

“But at what cost?” Allura grumbles, massaging her temples. “We can’t afford to make any more enemies or draw attention. No one knows Voltron has returned, yet.”

“Again, I didn’t plan for it to go sideways,” Keith murmurs, shifting his gaze on Lance’s back as he comes back to the group, keeping a distance with Keith.

Coran coughs. “As thrilling as this is, we have a larger issue. We most likely can’t stroll back to the inn. The local authorities will sweep the plaza and eventually, they will investigate nearby locations.”

“And the longer we stay here, the more likely we'll be arrested,” Allura adds on, crossing her arms.

“We’ll need to move quietly, without anyone noticing us,” Krolia says.

“What do you suggest?” Shiro asks.

Wordlessly, Krolia taps a device on her wrist.

A second later, Kosmo materializes in the alley, ears alert and face serious.

Keith drops to a knee, wrapping his arms around Kosmo’s neck. “Hey, buddy. I missed you.”

With closed eyes, Kosmo nuzzles into Keith’s chest.

“Keith, we need to go,” Shiro reminds him sharply, urgency returning to his voice, “Now.”

Standing up, Keith places a hand on Kosmo’s head. 

“Kosmo, take us back to the Lions.”

In a blink of light, the alley disappears.

The humid air greets them with the chirping of forest insects and the rustle of swaying leaves as the team reappears. Massive palms and thick underbrush obscure the sight of their Lions.

The change in environment from the street fugitives to forest calm feels a bit abrupt.

Tired, Kosmo lets out a short whine, before shaking out his fur.

“All present!” Coran gasps, adjusting his collar. “All limbs accounted for!”

“Is it just me or do you guys get motion sickness when we teleport?” Hunk ask weakly, dragging himself to a patch of grass and flopping down. “I might barf, right now."

“Yeah, no, I might too,” Pidge groans, flopping down beside him.

“I hate to say it,” Shiro begins, stepping in front of the winded group, “but we need to talk about our next plan.”

The team groans in worn, halfhearted harmony.

Shiro ignores it, patient. “Some of us still have personal belongings back at the inn. We can’t leave them behind.”

At that, every gaze turns to Keith.

He shifts uncomfortably.

The hell was he supposed to say?

Sensing the hesitation, Shiro steps up, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“We’ll send a small retrieval team,” he announces. “Kosmo can portal a few of us back into the inn, as we run in and out of the rooms, grabbing bags. I understand we were supposed to have three nights, but… under the circumstances, I believe we should head out as soon as possible.”

“No freaking way!” Hunk moans from the ground, “We got one night on a bed!”

“I was going to shower in the morning,” Romelle adds, mournfully. “With actual hot water.”

Keith looks away, guilt digging in his gut.

Before anyone can keep piling on their complaints, Krolia steps forward. “Security footage likely captured those directly involved, such as those who sat at the table, drew weapons, or interacted with staff. Perhaps, not all of us were identified.”

“You’re saying that those of us who weren’t involved,” Allura starts, a bit hopeful, “could go back to exchange the chips for credits?”

“Correct.”

Coran shimmies his hips. “Oh-ho-ho! Which means we can afford for food, rations, repairs, and medical supplies! Or even a new spare set of socks for everyone!”

“I’m not sure we’ll have time to go to a Space Mall, Coran,” Allura sighs.

“Socks are of high value in times of comfort, Princess."

Ignoring, Shiro shifts his stance. “Here’s what we’ll do. Coran, Allura, Krolia, and I will portal back to the inn once Kosmo recovers, later tonight. We’ll retrieve everyone’s belongings. I will teleport back to the Lions with Kosmo with the bags. Someone will then need to return to the casino to cash out the chips. And another heads down to the market to secure what supplies we can get.”

“I’ll handle the casino,” Krolia affirms. “Most of the staff seem to be Galra. I assimilate myself and assert authority if needed.”

“I trust you, on that,” Shiro says, then turns to Allura and Coran, “I also believe you two know how to stretch a budget and navigate through the plaza, undetected."

Coran proudly salutes.

“I will do what is needed,” Allura diligently offers.

Shiro then turns toward the remainder of the team. “As for the rest. Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge. You’re compromised.”

“W-Wait, why me?” Hunk stammers, sitting up, “I didn’t do anything!”

“All your faces were likely flagged,” Shiro explains, “You can’t risk being seen near the city. That means each of you will remain with the Lions until we’re ready to leave. Romelle, since you are able to disguise your appearance, you can still assist the retrieval team if needed, but for now, stay with the others.”

Romelle lifts her thumb with a casual grin. “Got it!”

Shiro scans the team once more. “Any questions?”

No one utters a word.

“Right. For those on the retrieval team, let’s prepare for the mission. Everyone else, get some rest. Plan to move out by sunrise.”

As the group begins to disperse, Keith’s attention zeroes in on the only person who hasn’t said a word to him since the fight.

Keith’s already speed-walking before his thoughts even caught up with his legs.

“Lance!” he calls out.

Lance walks up to front of the Red Lion, the hatch opening.

Keith catches up in just a few long strides. “Lance, wait—please, just let me—”

Wordlessly, Lance turns around, grabs Keith by the wrist, and pulls him inside.

Startled, Keith barely registers the motion before the hatch closes behind them.

Lance leads him down the halls, not speaking, until they reach his personal space in the Red Lion.

Keith glances around. He notes a sleeping bag unrolled across the floor, half-zipped pack dumped against the wall, clothes messily on the floor, and a cracked-open sketchpad with quick doodles across one page.

Very much Lance.

Keith opens his mouth, unsure whether to ask, apologize, or argue.

Instead, Lance pulls him into a hug. He buries his face against Keith’s chest.

Keith freezes for half a second, caught completely off-guard. His arms hover in the air, then slowly drop and wrap around Lance.

“I’m so mad at you, right now,” Lance says into his jacket, voice muffled. “Like, full-body anger. I want to yell at you and maybe kick you somewhere painful.”

Closing his eyes, Keith exhales, relaxing into Lance’s arms. “Yeah. I figured.”

“Why did you sit with him?”

“I already explained why to the team.”

Lance pulls back, glaring as he looks up at Keith. “I don’t care what you told them. I want you to tell me. And, be honest.”

Keith holds his gaze. “I sat with him because he offered free chips. It felt like an opportunity I couldn’t let pass up.”

Lance doesn't look convinced. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“No other reason?”

Keith frowns. “No. Why would there be?”

Lance scans his face, like he’s trying to catch a lie mid-flight.

Then, he lets out a long breath. His expression shifts into uncertainty.

“I thought maybe…” Lance trails off, swallows. “I thought you were into that sorta thing.”

“What thing?”

“You know. Big, bossy. Rough around the edges. That guy practically tried to lay claim to you in front of everyone.” Lance’s mouth twists. “And you… sat there with him.”

For a long moment, Keith swears Lance grew another head. “You seriously think I’m into that?”

“I don’t know! You let him call you ‘Red’ like you liked it.”

“I could care less what he called me. I was only there to use him. Even then, I wasn’t exactly going to correct him in front of a table full of loaded gamblers.”

“You still could’ve acted more disgusted when he touched your arm like six times,” Lance mutters. 

Keith squints. “You counted?” 

“I didn’t!” Lance yells, flustered. “Hunk did! He counted because he’s very observant about things like that. Anyway, totally not the point! The point is, I’m just struggling to understand why you would put yourself near him in the first place.”

“It was for survival, Lance. Realistically, I rather choke and die than let someone claim me like that for the rest of my life.”

Lance’s laugh is a little shaky, but it’s there. “That’s rich coming from the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

“Exactly. So why in the hell would I be into that?”

Taking a deep breath, Lance's hands slide down Keith’s sleeves until they rest loosely at his elbows. He presses his forehead into Keith’s chest again.

“Tell me, right now. Am I wasting my time trying to figure out your type?”

Keith stares at him, in disbelief. “Hasn’t it been years already—?”

“It has, I l know, but—” Lance chews his lip. “You never flirt or look twice at anyone. I’ve seen you fight aliens, fly through asteroid storms, talk back to the most elite Galra generals, but I’ve never seen you interested. In anyone.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that.

Lance lifts his head a little, eyes searching again. “Is there anyone in the whole damn universe you’d even consider? You told me you were in love before. But, is love one of those things you outgrew somewhere between Blade training and being stranded in space?”

Keith stares at Lance; his furrowed brows, his damp hair from sweat and stress.

He wants to forget about waiting until they reach Earth,

He wants to say it.

It’s you. 

It’s been you. 

It's still you now, after all this time.

But instead, he sighs, looking away.

“Lance, don’t stress about it so much.”

However, Lance blinks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“…That’s not a no,” he mumbles.

Keith huffs, fighting a smile. “Again, I didn’t say anything.”

Lance’s face tightens, and then he presses back into Keith’s chest, groaning into the fabric of his jacket. “You’re so infuriating. See? Now, I’m back to being mad at you.”

“You dragged me in here.”

“You ran after me.”

Sighing, Keith rests his chin lightly on the top of Lance’s head.

“I wanted to tell you thank you for having my back,” he murmurs, “And I'm sorry, for getting you upset over this entire situation. I should have thought about you and everyone else.”

"You promised you would think before being reckless.”

“I seriously didn’t expect it to blow up.”

“Keith, you were planning to steal money. That’s literally a crime.”

“Okay, yeah. I see your point.”

Lance's fingers drift idly down the sleeves of Keith’s jacket, fidgeting with the fabric, tugging gently at a loose seam near the cuff.

“You know,” he starts quietly, “I used to think if I poked at you enough, eventually you’d crack open and tell me everything. I was being nosy, trying to figure what kind of person intrigues you. I thought there was no way someone like you could have no one in mind.”

Keith frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re unique, Keith! You intrigue people! Yet, out of the entire universe, you’ve never once pointed someone out and said, ‘Oh, they're cute,’ or ‘That guy’s interesting,’ or ‘I like their energy.’ Not even in passing. It’s like... you don’t even look.”

Keith smirks faintly. “Maybe I’m just focused.”

On you, he thinks.

“Focused is fine,” Lance says, bit dissatisfied, “but don’t you ever worry you're missing something? That someone amazing might pass you by because you’re too busy focused somewhere else.”

“Then, wouldn’t that be my problem to worry about, not yours?”

Lance looks down at his hands, his frown deepening.

“Do you want me to stop asking you about your type?” Lance finally mumbles, avoiding Keith’s gaze. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Keith tilts his head. “You don’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure? Because I feel like I keep bothering you about it.”

“You bother me in general,” Keith says, voice teasing. “But not about this.”

Lance catches the humor in it and scoffs. He faintly smiles.

“I feel ridiculous sometimes,” he admits. “I assigned myself as your wingman ages ago, right? Thought it’d be easy. Get Keith an alien date, and maybe brag about it to the others when it worked out.”

Keith snorts. “Of course you’d brag.”

“Lately though,” Lance continues, a bit unsure, “I feel like I haven’t been doing a good job at it, anyway. I mean, you barely react when I tease you about your type, and I guess I keep doing it ’cause I don’t know how else to ask.”

“Maybe stop asking,” Keith supplies.

“But how else am I supposed to know?”

“Is it something you have to know?”

Lance opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it. His face morphs into a bit of a tense expression, like he’s struggling to hold back whatever he has in mind.

It hits Keith again just how much Lance has always wanted to understand him.

“Lance,” he says gently. “You have to stop worrying about it. If I meet someone... I’ll tell you. You’ll be the first to know.”

He wants to ask Lance to just wait a little longer, until they reach Earth. But he decides to leave that part out, thinking it might be too telling.

Even as Lance goes silent, looking down at the ground again, Keith studies him. He can see the lingering tension in Lance’s shoulder lines, the slight furrow of his brows, and the way Lance’s face almost looks like it’s going to crumble.

He wonders.

Why does Lance care so much?

The showlights. The nonsensical trivia. The looming threat of eternal imprisonment in some interdimensional limbo. And Bob, with that goofy, buck-tooth grin.

Keith wakes from the dream, thinking it had to be a weird side effect of stress, fatigue, and hyperspace drift combined. After all, he's had his share of vivid, unsettling dreams while adrift.

But then, with the rest of the team, he hears from Coran that Bob is very much a potentially real, all-powerful being who tests great warriors to judge their worthiness.

And it seems like all the active paladins had the exact same dream.

That’s what unsettles Keith most.

Each of them remembers the same questions, answers, and moment when no one voted for themselves, and Bob decided they were all worthy of freedom.

That shared memory sits too heavy in Keith’s mind to ignore.

Because now that he’s wide awake, laying down in the back of the Black Lion on auto pilot, he keeps replaying one part of the dream, over and over in his head.

Lance’s vote.

Lifting slowly the covers of his sleeping bag, Keith carefully rises. With still breath, he steps over Shiro and Krolia’s sleeping forms. He barely makes a sound as he moves to the front of the Lion and slips through the sliding, automated doors.

He sinks into the pilot’s seat, stretching his legs. His head tilts against the rest, eyes heavy, but not enough to pull him under.

Under the dim purple lights, Keith releases a long, deep exhale. 

Hunk’s on watch, and Allura’s next after him. Keith should most definitely be asleep right now.

Without thinking, he reaches for his communicator on the dashboard. 

In his hands, he easily flips it around and back. It’s been charging for the last couple weeks now, as he was merely curious to see if it still works.

He presses the power button, expecting nothing, really.

But the screen flickers on.

His thumb moves across the screen, presses into his contacts, and them hovers over one name in particular.

Then, half on impulse, half out of a need to hear his voice, Keith taps it.

The line rings once.

“…Keith?”

Keith lifts a hand to cover his eyes. “You up, Lance?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and when Lance speaks again, his voice sounds a little wary. “Is this real? Or am I still trapped in another dream courtesy of Bob?”

Keith lets out a short breath, trying not to smile. “It’s real.”

“...Oh,” Lance says, eloquent as ever.

“Why are you awake?” Keith asks, despite himself being in the same predicament.

Behind his covered eyes, he can almost picture Lance, curled in the pilot seat of the Blue Lion, as to also not disturb Romelle in the backroom.

"I can’t seem to shut my brain off,” Lance says.

“You sound tired.”

“I am.”

“But you can't sleep?”

“No...”

“…Me neither.”

On the other end of the line, Lance sighs. “Man, I hate how quiet space gets.”

“I like it,” Keith murmurs, “It’s peaceful.”

“Sure,” Lance says. “Until someone tries to shoot you out of it.”

“You’re such an optimist."

“I prefer to be safe, indoors, protected, in a house, back on Earth.”

Keith gives a scoff through the line, adjusting in his seat. “Living in a house doesn’t make you safe. Houses catch fire and get robbed. Earth has plenty of its own natural disasters, on top of that.”

“You’re comparing intergalactic firefights with the occasional burglar and a natural storm. Very compelling argument, Mullet.”

“The point still stands. Danger doesn’t vanish because you got four walls, a roof, and mailbox.”

“But Keith,” Lance groans dramatically, “when you live in a house, there’s plumbing. Hot water. Beds with therapeutic mattresses. You’re not rationing toilet paper or calculating if you have enough med gel to heal a plasma burn after a laser fight with aliens and drones.”

“Speaking of plasma burns, the team needs to get better at first aid,” Keith mutters.

Lance sighs. “Don't tell her I told you, but I caught Allura wrapping duct tape around Hunk’s arm once, instead of gauze and medical grade bandages. She said it was all she could find."

Keith frowns. “You let her finish?”

“It was a little too late by the time I realized what was happening. She called it ‘space patching.’”

“That's not a real medical technique.”

“I think Hunk’s left arm still has barely any hair on it because of it. Kinda interesting. Oh! And have you seen the way Coran sanitizes his wounds with mouthwash?”

Keith sits upright. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” Lance sighs. “We need to do something like... a team clinical refresher course! CPR training, on-field stitching, septic and aseptic cleaning. And what not to use for wound cleaning.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “The Blade trained me on field triage. So, coming back to see half our team thinks putting a banana peel on a bruise is practical forces me to believe none of you could take care of me.”

Lance laughs. “Okay, that was Hunk. He was trying a nutritional remedy. Something about potassium and muscle contractions. Ask him about it if you want.”

Keith shakes his head. “We really need to be better."

“I’d hate if Bob judges our first aid readiness next.”

“Don’t give him any new ideas.”

After a shared, quiet laugh, they both settle in the silence.

Keith watches the shifting constellations ahead, through the Black Lion’s window.

He knows Lance is still on the line. He can hear the subtle static of his breath.

“So… that game show,” Lance starts up, “Interesting, huh?”

Keith leans forward, arms braced on his knees. He nods, even though Lance can’t see him. “I’ve been thinking about it. The votes.”

“Oh, you mean when you said you didn’t want to spend eternity with me? That part?"

Keith winces, the ache of regret crawling under his skin. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No?”

“No.” Keith repeats firmly, “I was frustrated, Lance. Tired of the whole situation we were in. I was losing my patience.”

“Mmm. I don’t know. It sounded like the kind of brutally honest answer you’d give.”

Keith rests his head back against the seat. “If I’d been thinking clearly,” he mumbles, “I wouldn’t have said that.”

“Okay so, what would you have said, then?” Lance asks, “If you could go back in time or whatever. What would your reasoning have been?”

Swallowing, Keith shifts upright.

“I think…” he begins slowly, “if anyone had a chance of getting out of there and making it count, it’d be you.”

He hears Lance’s breath hitches on the line.

“You’re good at putting people first and protecting those you care,” he continues, more sure this time. “Why would I want you stuck in some eternal limbo with me, when you could be helping those on Earth?”

“…You really mean that?”

Keith’s chest tightens. “I do.”

He doesn’t tell Lance the whole rest of the truth.

That being trapped beside Lance forever, while being unable to properly say how he truly felt in front of everyone, would’ve been unbearable. 

That watching Lance ache and cry for his family, helpless to ease his longing and pain, would have gutted him.

That letting Lance go, even if it meant being left alone in the end, would’ve been worth it if it meant he got to be happy. Even without Keith around.

Lance's long breath on the line breaks through Keith’s thoughts.

Keith clears his throat, voice slightly rough. “Can I… ask you something?”

“Uh, sure,” Lance replies, sounding a bit surprised.

“Why’d you pick me?”

“H-Huh?”

“In the game,” Keith clarifies. “When you casted your vote. I didn’t expect it.”

The hush stretches just long enough to make Keith second-guess asking.

“I guess I’m just trying to understand you,” he adds, almost sheepish. “I thought maybe you’d pick Hunk or Shiro. Someone more…”

“Safe?” Lance guesses gently.

“Something like that.”

“It felt right to say your name.” Lance replies slowly, like he’s sorting through the words in real time. “Bob asked... and you came to mind.”

Keith’s cheeks warm, his throat going quickly dry.

“You said I was the future,” he whispers, vulnerable in a way he rarely lets himself be.

“I sure did,” Lance says, and Keith can hear the soft smile behind the words. “And I still mean that, by the way.”

Keith can’t respond. His heart’s beating too loud in his ears. He presses the communicator against his lips for a moment, thinking hard.

“You surprised me, that’s all,” he settles on saying.

“How?”

“I never thought I’d be the one you’d pick in something that… mattered. Though, I forget you can also be serious about the things that don’t often matter to you. Like me.”

“Geezus, Keith,” Lance sighs, the sound equal parts amused and sad. “I genuinely forget how much you doubt anyone cares about you. But people do. I do. You matter to me.”

Keith’s expression slowly slips, in caught breath.

Then, in typical Lance fashion, he steers the moment into something lighter. “Besides, who else was I gonna pick? You’re the guy who came back more mysterious, somehow with better hair, and a space wolf. I think you'd done your fair of being stranded. Also, you could single-handedly repopulate the future, if you wanted. Make an army of quarter-Galra babies”

That startles a quiet laugh out of Keith, before he can suppress it. “That was seriously part of your thinking process?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lance teases. “You think I don’t consider all scenarios? The impossible and the possible, combining into one possibility. I call it, the possimpible.”

Keith shakes his head, still laughing despite how utterly stupid it all sounds. He hears Lance laugh along with him through the line.

When their laughter eventually fades, Lance decides to speak up first.

“Keith, I chose you because I do want you to come back to Earth,” he says, “You could help reshape the Galra image. You have the power and resilience to make that change happen for a better future.”

Those words make Keith stiffen, as his face warms up once again.

“I didn’t know you thought of me like that,” he mumbles, pushing down the flutter in his chest.

“Well… you don’t ask.”

Keith lets out a faint breath and lifts his head to stare at the ceiling. “I rather not.”

“You should, though,” Lance insists gently. “Not to, like, fill up your pride or ask for validation. But to hear and understand how you impact the people around you. You mean more than you think.”

“I don’t know if I could handle that,” Keith admits, biting the inside of his cheek. “What if I hear something I wasn’t ready for? Or react the wrong way? Say the wrong thing?”

“There’s no perfect reaction or response to anything,” Lance says, “Besides, if someone gets offended or upset, have them talk to me, and I’ll let them know you don’t mean any harm.”

“…I’ll consider it.”

“Good,” Lance says. “Because I'm not saying this just to hear myself talk. I say it because it’s true. You’re, um, more than what you think you are.”

The flutters reappear again in Keith’s chest.

After a moment, Lance lets out a long, tired sigh. “Anyway, next time we’re trapped in a cosmic game show, let’s just agree to vote for each other again. With better reasons behind our choice, of course.”

Adjusting, Keith lies on his side on his pilot chair, communicator presses to his cheek. “I can agree to that,” he says easily.

“This got kinda deep, huh?”

“Kinda.”

“Didn’t expect us to unpack our insecurities.”

“Definetly wasn’t on my agenda,” Keith huffs. “But it’s... nice. Talking like this.”

“Agreed.” Lance pauses, then adds, “You know, I’m glad you called.”

Keith smiles faintly. “Me too.”

“If you hadn’t called, who knows what I would be doing,” Lance continues, “I’d have spent the rest of the night wondering if Bob was watching me sleep and judging my posture.”

“He probably would. You sleep weird.”

“And you sleep like a soldier,” Lance quips back. “Straight spine, arms crossed like you're waiting for a battle alarm. Like who even does that?”

“It's efficient.”

“It’s terrifying,” Lance corrects. “I rolled over once and thought you were doing a practice run for your funeral.”

“If you stay ready, you don’t have to get ready.”

Lance poorly hides his laugh, sounding more like a pfft, than anything. “Keith!” he whispers sharply, “Don’t say that!”

Once more, they laugh together on the call, both terribly trying to keep their voices down. Keith struggles to find some consideration or fear in himself from potentially waking up Shiro and Krolia, but he can’t seem to find any. 

Especially when he hears Lance laughing like a tea kettle.

Eventually the laughter tapers off, replaced by a comfortable stillness, where they say nothing else. They simply stay connected on the line, hearing each other's breath.

A yawn crackles softly through the comm. 

“Welp, I’m heading to bed” Lance says, voice slightly slurred around the edges. “You gonna get some shut eye, too?”

With closed eyes, Keith stubbornly shrugs. “Eventually.”

“You say 'eventually' like you're not already half-asleep.”

“Not denying that.”

Lance snorts, but nevertheless he then sighs. “Well, thank you for calling.”

“Thanks f'answering,” Keith barely murmurs.

“...Goodnight, Keith.”

“’Night, Lance.”

The line clicks off.

Long after their call, Keith remains seated in the pilot seat, bathed in the dim purple lights.

He quickly falls asleep, heart feeling light and mind at ease.

The next planet-pitstop they land on has terrain scattered with jagged cliffs and metallic flora. 

Tarnith-6 had once been a Galra refueling station, now converted into a scrappy Resistance hub, patched together by survivors and engineers. It’s considered an emergency lifeline for all ship repairs in need, especially for those in hiding from the Galra Empire. 

All five lions descended on the outskirts of the facility building in staggered formation, their systems crackling and struggling from long jumps and dust-cloud skirmishes. They still wanted to keep the existence of Voltron to a bare minimum, as there was no current confirmation if Tarnith-6 remains aligned with the resistance. 

The team steps inside the massive, open hangar of the repair facility.

Fighter ships and cargo cruisers line both sides in long, organized rows, each one in various states of disassembly and repair. Their hulls are cracked, scorched, or half-stripped, suspended by magnetic clamps or scaffolding strung with cables and tool lines. 

Alien mechanics swarm the area like clockwork, bustling around the area with purpose. Some shuffle along catwalks above, hunched over ships. Others zip across the floor in hover boots, welding exposed areas or sealing cracks.

Welding droids skim between the aisles, delivering fresh energy cells or towing scrap bins full of dismantled ship parts.

As Team Voltron steps deeper into the hangar, workers stationed near the entrance pause mid-motion. Their goggles tilt up, catching the overhead lighting. They watch them with calculated silence.

Among the group, a towering, humanoid alien nudges an individual beside him forward to address the team. The chosen alien stiffens, clearly flustered under so many eyes, but steps ahead with a tentative shuffle.

As he walks closer, Keith can clearly sees he's Galra by the purple fur and yellow sclera. However, he has additional features that bear the hallmarks of Olkari descent: facial flaps and tied-back hair.

“Um, hi there,” Pidge starts nervously, tablet in hand. “We’re looking for quintessence equivalents for our ships. Do you have any Balmera crystals or faunatonium?”

“We can pay,” Coran adds cheerily. “Or barter. We’ve got credits and items of value, including—”

The mechanic blinks at them.

When he speaks, it's not the standard Galra. The words come out in a choppy, stilted dialect.

Coran’s brow furrows. Allura glances at her wristband translator in frustration.

“I… I can’t parse it,” she murmurs. “It’s unknown syntax. Hybridized.”

“He said something about being their bravest warrior, I think,” Coran squints.

Frowning, the mechanic speaks up once more. This time, slower.

From the side of the group, Keith walks forward and closer to the Galra, eyes narrowing as the dialect churns in his ears. 

It takes him a few beats, but some of the Galran words settle in. They’re rough, archaic. Like how Krolia would mutter under her breath when angry, except with an accent.

His Galra's rusty, not used often, especially since returning back to Team Voltron. Regardless, he wants to try and see if he’s right.

“Power,” Keith tries, pointing outside the facility. “Need. For ships. Out there. Help?”

To everyone’s surprise, the mechanic responds to Keith.

Keith turns to the others. “He understands. He’s willing to help.”

“That’s amazing!” Pidge grins. “Can he really handle all five?”

Keith translates. 

The mechanic shakes his head gently and raises two fingers.

“Two at a time.”

“Anyone could’ve translated that.” Lance scoffs.

Keith glares at him.

While Lance snickers to Hunk, Shiro leans over Keith’s shoulder. “Mind sticking with him for translation? Just to make sure nothing gets lost.”

Sighing, he nods. “I can do that.”

The group steps outside, guiding the mechanic outside to where the lions were hidden. During the walk, Keith continues to converse with the mechanic in a halting rhythm, occasionally stopping to check he’s understanding correctly. 

The mechanic doesn’t seem to mind the slowness. Rather, he watches Keith with patient respect, even when Keith stumbles between finding the right word.

Then the mechanic finally sees the Lions.

Keith braces for hostility, but instead, the mechanic’s eyes widen, dumbstruck and amazed. He steps forward and, without prompt, lowers himself into a respectful bow. He voices to Keith his utmost loyalty.

“He says… he supports the Resistance. It’s an honor to work with us.”

Putting a hand on his hip, Shiro smiles in relief. “We’re lucky to have found him, then.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “We really are.”

While the rest of team Voltron waits far in the distance, Keith and Pidge stick with the mechanic, as he sets up his station with the Green Lion first.

Ryxen, as Pidge manages to see from the Galra’s name tag, stitched in its jumpsuit, squats beside the Green Lion's conduit panel, now unscrewed and open.

He grabs a thick power cable from the dirt ground, lifts it with both hands, and plugs one end into the Lion’s port. The other end connects to a bulky powerbox next to him.

As soon as the cable locks in place with a solid click, a small window on the powerbox lights up with a bright, red glow, signaling that the charge is flowing.

“Name?” Ryxen asks, suddenly glancing up at Keith.

Startled by the abruptness, he straightens slightly. “Keith.”

“...Keef?”

Keith nods. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Pleased with himself, Ryxen hums brightly, then turns to Pidge expectantly.

She adjusts her glasses. “I’m Pidge.”

“Pig?”

“...You know what? Close enough.”

Ryxen wipes his hands on a grease-stained cloth. Then, he motions toward Keith again. 

“You... Galra?”

“Half.”

Ryxen’s eyes sparkle with recognition. “You. Half,” he repeats, then points to himself. “Me. Half.”

Unexpectedly, Keith’s chest softens. “Really now? That’s… That’s cool.”

He hasn't met any Galra hybrids since being separated from the Blade.

It makes him think about his Blade brothers and sisters. If Vrek would’ve liked this guy. If Kolivan would consider him as a worthy candidate fit for the Blade.

The thoughts make him distantly wonder how the Blade of Marmora is doing.

“Galra gut… sharp,” Ryxen explains proudly. “Olkari mind… wise.” He taps his chest with two fingers, then his forehead. “First fire. Then logic.”

Keith allows himself the barest laugh. “I get that.”

When Ryxen stares, brows drawn tightly, unable to decipher what he meant, Keith tries again in Galra. “Understand. I think same.”

That earns him a pleased grunt and a thumb pointed awkwardly upward. “Good blood.”

Behind them, Pidge sulks, fiddling with her tablet. “I’d like to join this conversation, too,” she grumbles. “Not my fault I don’t speak Galra.”

Ryxen turns to her and points to Green Lion’s charge meter. “Varga.”

“He said it’ll take a varga,” Keith repeats in English, choosing not to mention that Pidge hadn’t actually asked for a time estimate.

“That means about an hour,” Pidge says, tapping her tablet.

Keith watches Ryxen decides to fickle around the rest of the panel, closely inspecting the frayed, burnt wires. He gestures for Keith to hand him a small yellow roll of tape from his toolbox. Keith does, and their fingers brush in the pass.

“Wait, so what’s this power source called?” Pidge asks abruptly, pointing at the power box.

“Zhur-vek,” Ryxen replies.

“Zir…? Zir-vac.”

“Zhur—vek,” he says again, slowly.

“Zhur-veek."

“...No.”

Unfazed, Pidge jots it down in her tablet. “Eh, tomato, tomahto. I’ll log it anyway. Definitely seems like a solid alternative.”

Ryxen stares at Pidge, and then her tablet. “You. Olkari?”

Picking up on ‘Olkari’, Pidge laughs. “No way! Did he just ask if I’m Olkari?”

Utterly confused, Ryxen frowns at her. Luckily, Keith leans close to him and loosely translates. “She not.”

Ryxen considers Keith for a beat. “She appear smart.”

Pidge perks up immediately. “Ooh, what’d he say?”

Keith smirks, already knowing Pidge well enough to know she’s going to eat this up. “He called you smart.”

Grinning, Pidge tosses a tuft of her hair. “It truly feels good to be recognized.”

Disregarding her for a moment, Keith cranks his neck to see Ryxen carefully wrap the exposed wire with what seems to be electrical tape.

“You… very good, Ryxen,” he offers encouragingly.

Ryxen shakes his head modestly. “Not good. Must be better.”

The words stick with Keith more than they should. For a second, it sounds like something he’s told himself, a thousand times over.

Is that a Galra thing?

Before he can say more, a familiar voice pipes up from behind Keith.

“Oh my god, are you guys still not done?”

Keith groans without turning. “Not now, Lance.”

“Don't 'not now' me, Keith,” Lance complains. “You guys have been out here forever.”

Turning her head up at Lance standing over them, Pidge squints at him. “We just started, you know.”

“I don’t care. I have no concept of time when I’m bored,” Lance says flatly, before crouching down.

Keith doesn’t expect Lance to lazily lay his chest over Keith’s back, with outreached arms over his shoulders like a weighted blanket. He almost stiffens, from the way Lance presses his cheek to the back of his head.

He sighs, growing annoyed. “Can’t you see I’m busy, here?”

“Can’t you see I’m weary?” Lance mumbles, almost in a pout, “You should ditch the tech talk and come hang out with me and Hunk. We're way more fun than this.”

“Weren’t you just complaining about being bored?” Pidge notes.

“I’m not talking to you, Pidge,” Lance mutters, pressing closer.

Shrugging Lance off him, Keith turns to face him, with a narrowed expression. “Okay, seriously. What do you want?”

Staring at Keith, Lance prettily blinks at him, feigning innocence. “What?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’re only like this when there’s something you want. So, what is it?”

Lance clicks his tongue, looks around like he’s above it all, and then exhales in defeat. “Well, since you asked, I want you to translate a few things for me.”

“Like what?”

“Promise me you’ll ask them first,” Lance pleads.

Pidge groans, “Oh my god. You two are making me sick.”

Keith ignores her. “Why do I have to promise you anything?”

“Because I said so,” Lance says matter-of-factly, still giving Keith that wide-eyed look.

Fuck. It’s almost like Lance has purposefully powered his ‘puppy dog’ eyes on.

It’s super effective.

Critical hit.

He sighs. “Fine. I’ll ask, as long as it’s not ridiculous.”

Suspicious, Lance glances sideways at Ryxen, then shifts a little closer to Keith. “Just… ask him small stuff. Like if he likes long walks on the beach. Fried chicken. Whether he enjoys traveling to different planets and galaxies…”

Keith just stares at him.

“C'monnn! You promised!” Lance insists, practically singing the words now. His hands reach out, cupping the sides of Keith’s face. “I saw you two bonding! He seems interested in you, so why not flirt a little. I’m here to help!”

Pidge chokes on absolutely nothing.

“You,” Keith says slowly, “want to help me flirt.”

Lance smiles, totally unbothered. “Sure. I’m secure enough to handle it.”

Keith arches an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Totally. Not bothered at all,” Lance replies. However, his grin looks a little too tight now. “In fact, I think it’d be a good trial. See how smooth you really are. I wanna see if you even can flirt, Keith.”

“Is there some bigger meaning behind this?”

“Noooo,” Lance drawls, with the most suspicious tone known to mankind. “I just think you two seem like… a good match! Galra hybrids that are lean and pristine.”

Lance is trying to look relaxed, like he’s extremely excited with this bright new, matchmaking idea he decided on. But Keith can see he's forcing it.

If Lance really wants to be his wingman, why does he look vaguely nauseous?

“I’m not flirting with Ryxen,” Keith states firmly.

Unexpectedly, Lance’s entire disposition brightens. “Oh, okay,” he says easily, with a shrug. “I mean, no worries. I wanted to offer you the chance. As your wingman, of course.”

Keith narrows his eyes at him. “You seem relieved.”

“What? Me? No, I’m really bummed,” he says, despite looking dopey again. “I’m—just—y’know. Good. Neutral. You do you… or don’t do anyone. Whatever floats your boat.”

“You’re being odd.”

“Uh, you’re odd-er.”

Before Keith can call out Lance saying a nonexistent word, Ryxen speaks up next to him. 

“Who… talks?” he asks Keith.

Turning to Ryxen, Keith shakes his head. “Ignore... Stupid,” he mutters.

Ryxen glances between them. “Territory? His?”

Keith gapes at him. 

What?

Ryxen gestures vaguely at Lance. “He… speak much. Touch much. He… yours?”

Keith’s face instantly burns. “What—no! He’s just—We’re not—”

Bringing his arms back around Keith, Lance rests his chin on Keith’s shoulder, staring at Ryxen evenly. “Keith, what is he saying about you? Is he flirting?”

“Can you be serious for one minute?” Keith hisses, twisting free from Lance’s hold. “This is a repair job, not a blind date set-up, Lance.”

“Sure, but at least you were given the opportunity!" Lance beams at him. “It had everything to do with you getting along with the mechanic. And, hey, since that clearly isn’t happening, you might as well ditch the toolbox and come hang with me instead. I know Shiro told you to stick around, but aren’t you bored?”

Keith’s eye twitches. “You’re jealous.”

Lance’s expression falls like Keith just slapped him across the face.

Pidge stares at them, gawked.

“E-Excuse me?” Lance musters to ask.

“You’re jealous,” Keith repeats flatly. “Over a mechanic who I just met.”

“Jealous?!” Lance yelps, standing up on his feet. “Me? Jealous? Of what exactly?”

“How should I know? Maybe… maybe it’s because you want to be part of something you don’t know how to contribute to. Like this repair tech stuff.”

Lance scoffs so hard it almost sounds like it hurts. “Please. I couldn’t care less about ship stuff and stupid-looking tools.”

“You say that,” Pidge tacks on, visibly enjoying every second of Lance’s face growing red, “but you definitely care. Your face is getting all scrunchy.”

“My face is not scrunchy!” Lance protests.

Keith smirks. “Your face is pretty scrunchy.”

Lance stares at both of them like they’re conspiring against his image. “You know what, I have better things to do.”

“You just called yourself bored like two minutes ago,” Pidge corrects.

“I meant emotional boredom!” Lance fires back, flailing his arms. “I only came here because I thought I could use my time to properly be a wingman to Keith. I’m stuck over there dying of zero entertainment!”

“Go bond with Kosmo,” Keith says, pointing vaguely toward the distance where the rest of the group should be.

Lance huffs, throwing his hands down. “Fine! I will! I’ll steal your space dog while you nerd out about tech-repair thingies and whatever a zyrtec is.”

“Zhur-vek,” Keith corrects automatically.

“Ugh, whatever, Keith!” Lance scoffs, before walking away.

With a hand half-covering his mouth, Keith calls after Lance. “Careful. Don’t trip on your ego.”

Pausing mid-step, Lance twists around and sticks his tongue out in childish precision.

Keith flatly stares at him. “Sharp as ever, Lance.”

“Piss off!” Lance huffs, throwing a dramatic wave over his shoulder and stomping off.

Keith turns to Pidge. “Would you tell anyone if I were to throw him off a cliff?”

“Not a soul,” she replies without looking up from her tablet. “I’d even help you push.”

Ryxen, who’s been watching the whole exchange in silence, blinks slowly, head tilted.

“Friend… strange,” he mumbles to Keith in Galra,

Drooping his head, Keith sighs. “You have no idea.”

“Keith, you don’t have to—Wait!” Allura’s voice calls from behind him. “You shouldn’t walk out on your own!”

“Please, don’t walk away, Keith,” Shiro adds, stretching an outreached hand to stop him, only for it to be swatted away.

Keith ignores them both. 

He barely overhears Pidge exhales loudly.

“Just leave him be,” she advises. “You know he won’t listen right now.”

No one follows him.

This new planet-pitstop has the kind of heat that clings to his skin like a second layer, sticky and humid. Alien insects drone overhead. Massive leaves brush his shoulders as he pushes forward, not caring where he’s headed. Vines slap against his boots. Somewhere off to the right, a creature calls, its haunting cry stretching across the canopy like a warning.

Keith pushes through a curtain of vines, hands still trembling. 

The others are back at the makeshift camp, trying to regroup and move forward as usual.

Yeah, well, fuck that.

Keith stumbles into a sizable clearing between the roots of a massive tree, half-buried in moss and flowering vines. 

There, he finally sits on the mossy ground.

His heart furiously thunders. He feels it in his teeth and throat.

Macidus’s betrayal tauntingly replays in his mind, each scene more vivid than the last. The hearing about the news about the mass slaughter against his Blade family, like Vrek. The memory of Kolivan barely breathing, holding onto the edges of life.

Breathing heavily, Keith clenches his fists. Frustration boils in his chest like poison, like heatstroke. He can’t stand how heavy everything feels.

He hates this feeling of not being good enough.

This sense that no matter how fast he moves, or how many fights he wins, he can’t seem to protect his family from death.

Krolia had decided to leave with Kolivan, stand with him as he recovers. 

But that only leaves Keith alone once more.

Who’s supposed to be here with me then?

Footsteps crunch softly behind him.

“Ah, found you.”

Scowling, Keith keeps his eyes fixed on the ground, forcing his breath to steady. “Didn’t realize I was being tracked.”

“You weren’t,” the voice says, approaching closer. “I just know you well enough to figure you’d go somewhere discreet.”

That makes Keith glance up. 

Lance stands above him, arms hanging by his sides.

“Go back,” Keith manages to mutter, looking away.

Lance doesn’t move.

Keith’s voice hardens. “I’m not joking, Lance. Leave!”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why?!” Keith snaps, growling “I don’t need you!”

“I’m here because you’re not fine," Lance says calmly. "And you yelling isn't going to make me leave.”

“Everyone eventually leaves,” Keith scoffs, “And so will you.”

“I won’t.”

He doesn't want to believe Lance; hell, his own mother left him, for good reason.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms over his knees.

“Well, I am here,” Lance continues to assure softly. “Whether you like it or not.”

There’s literally no point in trying to push away Lance. He won’t leave. Keith knows that he’s irritatingly stubborn, but so is Lance. He will refuse to budge, no matter how much Keith shoves and shouts.

“Macidus was one of Haggar’s druids,” Keith finally spits out, “I should’ve known. I fought him before, but he got away. I guess then he was able to use the Blade’s signal and lure them in, killing them off, one by one.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Lance says, his tone careful. “Macidus fooled all of us.”

“Don’t say that like it makes me feel better.”

“I’m not trying to make you—”

“I should’ve stopped him,” Keith cuts in sharply.

“You did stop him,” Lance replies, firmer now. “You saved Kolivan.”

“No.” Keith’s hands curl into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. “I stopped him too late. The others… they’re all gone because I didn’t finish the job when I had the chance.”

“You did everything you could.”

“It wasn’t enough,” Keith growls. “It’s never enough.”

“Keith, even if you had taken Macidus down from the start, do you think Haggar would’ve just given up? She would’ve conjured up some other druid to take down the Blade, one way or another. Are you saying you’d still blame yourself for it?”

Unable to respond, Keith keeps his glare pinned to the dirt at his feet. If he looks anywhere else, he thinks he’ll start crying.

“Stop doing this,” Lance urges. ”Everytime something goes wrong, you think it has to be your fault, and—”

Keith’s head snaps toward him, fury flaring in his eyes. “But it is my fault!” he shouts. “Don’t you see? I failed them!”

Lance flinches at the force of his voice, but he doesn’t take a step back. 

“That’s not true,” he says, “You didn’t fail them. Macidus tricked them. The blood is on his hands, not yours.”

Keith sucks in a shaky breath and presses the heel of his palms hard against his temple, trying to press the anger and sorrow down into his skull.

“I told you before you’re the future,” Lance reminds him, “And maybe this is how it starts. You, Kolivan, your mom. You guys have each other and can rebuild the movement. Connecting more Galra to the cause, with a new resolve.”

“...I don’t know how to connect with people like that,” Keith admits.

Lance offers him a small, genuine smile. “Then start with letting me sit with you.”

Keith pauses, before he nods, barely more than a tilt.

Wordlessly, Lance eases down onto the forest floor beside him, sitting shoulder to shoulder. 

When Lance tentatively wraps an arms around Keith’s neck, it doesn’t feel forced or overwhelming.

“…Thanks."

Lance doesn’t reply. He just keeps his embrace steady, as they sit on the damp moss.

“It’s hard for me to open up to someone,” Keith continues to confess.

“I know,” Lance says softly. “Just... don’t shut your door completely. So, I can suck in my belly and sneak in.”

Keith faintly smiles.

Who knows how long they sit in the middle of the forest night.

Eventually, Lance pulls back with a gentle sigh. “We should head back to camp,” he says, “Before the others start assuming the worst”

Snorting, Keith stands, brushing dirt from the back of his pants. “You think they’d believe we offed each other out here?”

“Definitely,” Lance says, stretching slightly. “I wouldn’t put it past them that they think you’re going to try and kill me.”

“Not tonight.”

Lance grins. “Hey, that’s progress, if you ask me.”

Then, he offers his hand.

Standing still, Keith stares down at it.

He takes it.

With Lance leading, they walk back through the trees together, hand by hand.

When he tightens his grip, just slightly, Keith swears he feels Lance tighten his in return.

Keith exhales, fingers tightening around the Black Lion’s controls as they travel through the stars of the Milky Way.

They’re almost home.

“Pidge,” he calls through the comms, scanning at the starmap in front of him. “We need to make camp somewhere. Preferably somewhere that won’t kill us.”

There’s a beat of static, then her voice filters through, clear but slightly breathless. “I’ve got something, hang on.” A few taps of her console echo. “According to my readings, there’s a planet nearby. Kepler-186f.”

Hunk’s voice, full of awe, jumps into the open comms. “Kepler? As in the Kepler planets? Wait, wait, I’ve read about those! They’re classified as habitable zones. Like, legit ‘second Earth’ stuff!”

“Sounds promising,” Shiro says thoughtfully, behind Keith, leaning forward to get a better look at the readout.

From Pidge's Lion, Coran’s voice joins in, staticky. “Just a heads up, Paladins, once we pass through this region, there’ll be no pit stops between here and Earth. It’s a long, long distance, so I suggest we take the chance to rest and recollect ourselves, while we can.”

A brief silence follows.

Keith stares out the cockpit window at the glittering field of stars. The most recent incident that happened not too long ago still doesn’t sit well with him; the fallen morale among the group, the hallucinations, and the way they almost lost each other still claws inside his chest.

He hears Shiro shift beside him, his tone quiet and careful. “Keith, what do you think we should do? Should we take a pit-stop?”

Keith’s hand hovers over the console. His jaw tics once, then relaxes.

“…Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, let’s do it. Changing course to Kepler-186f.”

Static crackles across the channel as Lance’s voice chimes in next, lazy and worn. “Well, if we’re camping, I call not pitching the tents.”

“We don’t even have tents, Lance,” Allura sighs from Blue Lion.

“I mean, I’ve got a blanket roll and a snack pouch,” Hunk adds. “So technically, I’m ready.”

Pidge groans. “You always pack like you’re going on a picnic.”

Coran laughs. “Now that’s the spirit! I say we follow Hunk’s thinking!”

Keith lets the banter play out, as a brief smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The odd feeling in his chest loosens, just slightly.

“Everyone, descend in formation,” he announces to the team through the comms. “Stick close together. We don’t know what we’re landing on.”

One by one, the Lions touch down, their landing gear settling to the soft alien soil.

Kepler-186f stretches wide and lush around them; gentle hills dotted with red-tinged trees and tall, yellow grass that sways in a breeze that feels oddly Earthlike. Overhead, a blue-pink sky glows with a dim twin sun just cresting the edge of the horizon. 

Keith steps out on the ground first, scanning the area on instinct. The terrain they found seems peaceful enough.

The others disembark soon after,  stretching stiff muscles and cracking sore necks. 

Romelle shields her eyes with a hand and looks around with an amazed gasp. “It looks like the sunrise,” she comments, “Perhaps we should eat breakfast before we rest?”

“Oh god, yes!” Hunk voices excitedly, “Dude, I am literally starving. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to keep this group from spiraling into a sanity-deprived meltdown?”

Allura turns to him, with a tired, kind smile. “And we’re utterly grateful for that, Hunk. We wouldn’t be standing here right now, if it weren’t for you.”

Hunk waves her off with a wobbly grin. “Yeah, yeah. All part of being the grounding Paladin, you know?”

Pidge groans as she kicks a loose stone across the short grass. “Ugh, I can’t believe I nearly got killed by some stupid illusion. A literal space stingray almost took me out like Steve Irwin.”

Lance chokes, spinning toward her sharply. “Okay, first of all, manta ray, not stingray. And second, don’t you dare disrespect stingrays like that. They’ve had enough bad press.”

“What? They’re functionally identical."

“Uh, no,” Lance fires back, crossing his arms. “One rogue stingray doesn’t represent the entire ray species population. You’re stereotyping rays, and I won’t stand for it.”

“Oh, I’m stereotyping now?” Pidge deadpans. “Okay. Fine. Let’s call it a manta ray. But a psychic illusion-casting manta ray still almost made me swan dive to my death, so excuse me if I’m not in a forgiving mood.”

“I’m just saying,” Lance mutters. “There are good rays out there.”

“Name one.”

“Uh—The Bat Ray! They’re chill, they’re graceful, and they’ve never stabbed a single wildlife legend. Like most rays do, by the way. The chances of them killing you are really low."

“But, never zero,” Pidge scoffs.

Hunk raises his hands like he’s surrendering to the universe. “Okay, so, confession? I’ve never touched a ray in my life. Not sting, not manta, not bat. But I get where Lance is coming from. You don’t slander ocean friends. It’s just bad karma.”

“Wait. What are stingrays, exactly?” Allura asks, brows furrowing.

Lance’s eyes light up like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. “They’re like underwater birds. But super flat, with flappy wing thingy-mcbobbers. And a long thin tail. They are like the puppy dogs of the ocean.”

Pidge snorts. “That’s the worst description of a stingray I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m simplifying it for her!” Lance insists sharply.

“Try ‘alien ravioli’ next time,” Pidge replies, perfectly deadpan. “Way more accurate.”

Hunk thinks about it in his head, and suddenly, he bursts laughing.

With a finger to her chin, Allura hums. “Oh, Hunk has shown me what a ravioli looks like… And with long tails… how very Earth.”

“Wait—no, Princess, don’t listen to her!” Lance sputters. “Stingrays are majestic. Not edible! They totally don’t look like that!”

“I don’t know,” Pidge drawls. “They look pretty tasty to me.”

“Mini flappy manta lasagnas,” Hunk adds, still wheezing.

“And they kill humans?” Allura asks, amused. “That’s horrifying. Earth creatures are truly ineffable.”

Lance groans. “This is slander. Stingray slander.”

Keith sighs, long and slow. He waves one hand vaguely toward the group. “Yeah, I’m not doing this.”

Shiro, who’d been quietly observing the banter with a fond expression, shifts his focus towards him. “How are you holding up?”

Keith stops just short in his steps. “M’tired,” he replies.

“Want to talk about what happened earlier?”

“Not really,” Keith mumbles, feeling a bit tense. “I just—look, I haven’t slept since that… nightmare fog or whatever, and I don’t have the energy to talk right now.”

Shiro nods, voice even. “Alright, well, get some rest. I suggest you don’t think too hard about what was said.”

Keith lifts a hand in vague thanks, but doesn’t look back. “Wake me when breakfast’s ready.”

He disappears inside the Black Lion.

Once he reaches the designated sleeping quarters of the backroom, Keith digs out his old sleeping bag from the cramped storage and drops it on the floor without ceremony.

He doesn’t even bother to roll the bag out properly. Just drops into it, curls on his side, and lets his body go slack, letting exhaustion sweep under him.

Sleep hits him fast.

Sometime later, Keith stirs to the gentle sound of someone calling his name.

“Keith,” Lance quietly beckons. “Hey. Rise and shine.”

A hand lightly touches Keith’s shoulder. Keith blinks groggily in the darkness of the Black Lion’s backroom, suddenly tucked in the warmth of his sleeping bag. 

“Get up, Keith,” Lance repeats, still as gentle as before. “We’ve got food ready. Figured you’d want to eat before you pass out again.”

Keith grunts, more in acknowledgment than reply, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. His limbs feel leaden, but he shifts upright and slowly stands up.

Graciously, Lance waits patiently, without any comment, as Keith stretches and walks down the halls and towards the exit.

Outside, the Kepler sky has shifted. The suns rise higher now, brushing over tree leaves and casting long shadows across the small clearing. The others have set up a small camp: crates dragged out from Lion compartments to serve as makeshift seats, and a decent campfire, now reduced to smoke and no longer burning.

Just beside the campfire, a folding table has been propped up on uneven ground, its surface lined with covered containers and ration bins.

As they step into the clearing, Lance perks up. “Oh! Hang on,” he says, already jogging toward the table.

Keith slows to a stop, waiting for whatever Lance was doing. He couldn’t think for himself right now, too tired to process what the hell he’s supposed to be doing. He stands there, waiting blankly.

Lance returns to him, holding a plate, stacked with grilled meat, scrambled alien orange eggs, and charred veggies. 

“This is yours,” he says to Keith, “I’ll hold it for you.”

He reaches out with his free hand and takes Keith’s wrist, guiding him toward a nearby crate.

“Right here good?” Lance asks, patting the top.

Keith simply props up and settles on it, his shoulders rounding inward slightly with sleep.

Lance places the warm plate carefully in Keith’s lap.

Keith blinks at it, the heat radiating through the fabric comforting in ways he can’t explain. “Thanks,” he mumbles, voice scratchy.

“You thirsty?” Lance asks, peering up at him.

Keith gives a small nod.

“I’ll be right back,” Lance says, before heading toward the Red Lion.

Quietly, Keith sits there, still blinking slowly at the food in his lap as his brain boots up. 

The crate beside him shifts, and Allura takes a seat on his left side, folding one leg over the other with practiced ease.

“How did you sleep?” she asks.

Without looking at her, Keith gives a half-shrug. “Didn’t dream.”

Allura smiles faintly, but the warmth in her eyes dims slightly. “You’ve been particularly quiet. More than usual, if I had to say.”

Keith doesn’t answer right away.

Allura folds her hands in her lap. “About what I said back there, in the void. I wasn’t in my right mind, and I know none of us were. But I still spoke cruelly to you.”

“You weren’t wrong to be upset,” Keith admits, “I left on bad terms with everyone. If I were you guys, I’d be angry at me too.”

“Yes, I was angry,” Allura explains. “But I think more than anything, I was hurt. We all were. When you left, it felt like you were choosing to leave us. The bond we built and the trust we fought for. And no matter what we said, it felt like nothing could make you stay.”

Keith finally turns to look at her, brows creasing.

“I’m sorry, Allura. For how I left.”

Allura’s expression softens. “And I forgive you. If you can forgive me.”

Keith dips his head. “I do.”

“I, as well.”

They both offer an outreached arm, giving one another a reassuring side hug.

After they pulled apart, Allura’s smile tugs a little wider. “So,” she adds, her tone light and teasing, “how does it feel to be served an apology breakfast by Lance?”

Keith blinks. “Apology what?”

She gestures toward his lap. “You do realize that’s not just any plate of food. It’s been properly cooked and seasoned by a delicate hand.”

Keith frowns faintly. “Isn’t that how food’s supposed to be prepped?”

“Yes,” she laughs, “but while Hunk and Coran handled most of the meals, Lance insisted on making yours himself. He wouldn’t let anyone else cook your portion.”

Keith looks down at the plate again, suddenly aware of the neat arrangement.

He opens his mouth, wanting to ask Allura something, but that’s when Lance comes jogging back, waving a silver bottle in the air.

“Found it!” he announces triumphantly. “It was in the emergency storage pouch under my seat. Like, why do I do that to myself? Anyway, hydration delivery!”

He slows and stops in front of Keith, uncaps the lid, and hands the bottle directly to him. 

Keith accepts it with both hands, blinking down at the bottle, then back up at Lance. “Thank you, again,” he says, before taking a long sip of water.

“No problem,” Lance says. “Is there… anything else you need? I can grab you whatever. Blanket. Pillow. Jacket. I’ve got options.”

Keith stares at him for a beat. “I’m good.”

Lance nods, taking his seat beside Keith on the crate.

“Lance,” Allura calls with a light lilt, “where’s your breakfast?”

He flashes her a sheepish smile. “Not hungry, actually. I’ll eat later.”

Allura quirks a brow, but she lets it go. Instead, she slides her gaze back to Keith, still staring down at his plate of food. 

Lance follows her line of vision, noticing Keith’s untouched meal. “Wait, why haven't you eaten?” he asks loudly, sounding a bit upset. “You have to eat something!”

In response, and maybe just to shut Lance up, Keith digs two fingers into the soft mash of eggs, scoops up a chunk, and eats it with barely a thought.

The eggs taste oddly familiar. Like Thanksgiving stuffing with a seafood broth. He chews slowly, letting it settle in his mouth. 

It’s weird, but not horrible.

Lance watches, wincing slightly. “I gave you a spoon, you know.”

Keith side-eyes him, casually licking a bit of the residue off his thumb. “What, am I too barbaric for your refined taste?”

“I-I mean, eat however you want!” Lance hurriedly corrects, clearly flustered from the reddening of his cheeks. His eyes flicker quickly down at Keith’s thumb, then back up, clearly trying not to linger. “Spoons are totally optional.”

Keith hums, too groggy to pick apart whatever weird energy Lance is radiating. “Didn’t feel like grabbing it,” he says, lifting another piece of meat with his fingers.

Lance nods rapidly, eyes fixed on the horizon for no reason at all. “Yeah, and you just woke up. Your brain’s probably still loading.”

Keith chews slowly. “Like yours?”

Lance snaps his gaze back. “Hey, I’m plenty loaded. Wait, uh, no, that sounds wrong. Point it, I’ve been up and you haven’t.”

“Impressive,” Keith mumbles.

“Yeah, well,” Lance shrugs, trying to sound casual, “someone had to make sure the breakfast didn’t catch fire. Which it almost did. Twice.”

Keith almost cracks a smile. “Was that before or after you dropped the tongs?”

“Guess.”

“...Before.”

Lance stares. “How did you know?”

The smile escapes. “Lucky guess.”

There’s a brief pause, as Keith continues to eat his late breakfast. It’s quiet enough that Keith can hear Lance’s leg bouncing next to him.

“So,” Lance says finally, fidgeting with a loose seam on his sleeve, “you feeling a little better? You looked pretty wrecked earlier.”

“Still tired,” Keith admits, with a yawn. “But the food helped.”

“And do you like it?”

Keith pushes a blistered veggie toward his mouth and nods. “S’good.”

Lance gives a quick, relieved grin. It almost looks like it blooms over his face. 

That’s when Allura rises and jumps off the crate. “Well, I’ll leave you two to enjoy the rest of the morning,” she says to them, with a hint of amusement. 

“Rest well, princess!” Lance calls after her, waving.

Allura returns the gesture with a warm smile over her shoulder before strolling toward the Blue Lion and disappearing inside.

Left behind, with no one else in the clearing, Keith eats slowly, head tipped forward in a half-doze. 

On his right side, Lance sits, tapping a finger against his bouncing knee in a rhythmic beat. 

Ultimately, Lance breaks it.

“Hey,” he starts, “I wanted to bring up what happened during our head trip. When I told you that you should’ve stayed away.”

Keith keeps eating, though his jaw works slower now.

“I just—” Lance shakes his head. “I’m really, really sorry for saying something stupid like that. I didn’t mean it.”

Keith wipes his fingers on his pants. “Allura said something similar earlier. S’fine.”

“No, it’s not fine.” Lance huffs a humorless breath. “We were definitely all losing our minds. But I still said it. And the look on your face when I did…”

Keith finally glances at him. His eyes are shadowed, tired, but not angry.

Lance leans in slightly, gaze peering directly into Keith’s own. “I hope you know that’s not true. You know that, right? That I don’t—didn’t want you gone?”

Keith stares at him for a long moment. Lance’s eyes are wide, filled with concern that borders on fear. His knee’s stopped bouncing. He’s still now, waiting for Keith to say something.

After a long moment, Keith sighs. His body shifts, and without much thought, he leans his head onto Lance’s shoulder.

“…Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know. That’s why it’s fine.”

Lance lets out a shaky breath like he’d been holding it in for hours. His shoulders slump, tension instantly slipping out of him.

“I’m glad,” Lance whispers. “Because if I had pushed you away again over something I said, I don’t think I’d forgive myself this time around.”

Keith’s eyes drift shut for a second, the warmth radiating off Lance’ body offering a quiet comfort. The rest of the food sits forgotten in his lap. 

“We’re friends, though. Right, Lance?” he asks, in a mumble.

There’s a slight hitch in Lance’s breath. He lifts his eyes open to glance at him. 

Lance’s expression shifts too fast to fully read; first wide-eyed, then a smile that’s a little too bright.

“Yeah,” Lance says, voice softer than the grin on his face. “We’re friends.”

Keith nods, letting his body relax again. The reassurance settles something deep in his chest, knowing that the sleep deprived moment didn’t fracture anything beyond repair.

Until they reach Earth, Keith hopes nothing affects their friendship.

Chapter Text

Cleaning duty.

As if piloting a mechanical lion across the galaxies in order to reach Earth and fight for the fate of the universe wasn’t enough.

“All Paladins will clean their Lions before we depart. We must maintain proper presentation and order when we arrive on Earth.”

Keith had flatly stared at Allura. 

Fortunately for him, it seems Allura can feel his steely gaze. “A proper commander leads by example. Maintenance and presentation are included,” she easily explains to him. 

He nearly protested again, because really, what’s a little grime after months of space travel? But, Hunk and Pidge were already elbow-deep in cleaning supplies from their lion ships. Even Lance, who he thought would be whining for a solid minute or two, had excitedly joined in.

Make no mistake, Keith wasn’t lazy. He was just vehemently opposed to being forced into meaningless chores. Especially when it involves scrubbing out gunk from ship panels and digging under the Lions’ claws with nothing, but a rag and some chemicals. 

Besides, the Lions will get dirty again, anyway.

The Altean mice were supposedly “too worn,” but Keith was convinced Allura pushed the mice into hiding on purpose, just to teach the paladins a lesson in humility. Or teamwork. Or whatever space princesses use to justify suffering.

So now, Keith stands under the massive shadow of the Black Lion, holding a wet, soapy rag in one hand and glaring down the Black Lion’s front paw.

At least Shiro had offered to help him. One arm and all.

“You always this bitter about washing giant cats?” Shiro jokes, walking beside him.

Keith scowls. “It’s not about cleaning. It’s the principle that I don’t follow.”

Crouching beside the other front paw, Shiro shakes his head at him, laughing a bit, “You say that like that you’re a principled man, Keith."

Okay, and maybe he was. People change, right? He could be.

They worked quietly for a bit, both of them cleaning their respective paw. However, Keith’s focus kept lifting between stubborn grime and Lance’s laughter across from them, in the clearing.

They’re nearing Earth again. He’s told himself repeatedly that this peace between them needs to hold. Wait until after they return back to their home planet.

Patience yields focus, after all.

But even as Keith says that in his head, his heart refuses to cooperate. 

His heart wants the opposite; it wants Lance now. It wants to speak, confess, and stop pretending that every glance and every brush of fingers is casual. That every moment Lance pulls him close isn’t weakening him a little more.

Lance’s surprisingly emotionally perceptive, more than anyone gives him credit for. Yet, somehow, miraculously even, he still seems oblivious to Keith’s feelings.

A blind spot that Keith is as grateful for as he is equally frustrated by. 

Do you want me to stop annoying you about your type?

Why was his personal take on attractiveness such a particular fascination to Lance? Sure, they’re friends. But sometimes, it does feel like Lance is prying, like he’s desperate to know what exactly Keith deems as appealing. 

Keith kept turning it over in his mind: What does Lance gain from this?

Did he really want to find someone for Keith? Was it just harmless teasing, or another way to push his buttons? Or is there something Lance’s reaching towards?

He shakes his head, dragging his rag across the edge of the paw in slow, ineffective circles.

It’s maddening. He’s fought Galra warlords with more mental clarity than this.

And he’s never cleaned this frustrated in his entire life.

“Did you recently tell Lance how you felt?” Shiro asks suddenly, barely looking up from where he was wiping soot from the Black Lion’s paw.

Lowering his rag, Keith looks up at Shiro.

“You don’t have to tell me in detail,” Shiro continues without looking over, “I just see there’s a different air between you two. So, I thought to ask before assuming.”

“What exactly did you see?”

Glancing over at Keith, Shiro shrugs, offering a small smile. “I haven’t seen Lance's usual skirt chasing in awhile. And, well, you have been privately hanging out with him a lot lately. I figured you finally confessed and he cleaned up his act for you.”

Picking back up the rag, Keith raises it again, stretching to reach and scrub the Black Lion’s upper arm. “If anyone’s going to reform Lance, it’s more likely you.”

Shiro makes a face. “Oh please. He doesn’t listen to me. You, on the other hand…” he sighs, a little exasperated. “He bends at the knee for you.”

That shuts Keith up for a moment. He refocuses on scrubbing down to the claw joint, but the motion is slower now, more distracted by his thoughts.

Does Lance really listen to him that much? It’s a strange thought, but the more he tries to wrap his head around it, the less absurd it feels and, unexpectedly, the more good it feels to hear it.

“I’m pretty sure he’s just tired from traveling,” he mumbles.

“Mmmm. Our travels never slowed him down before,” Shiro says softly. “He always had energy to flirt. Except now, I think he’s using his energy to focus on you.”

Keith carefully asks, “He really hasn’t been flirting with anyone?”

Not even Allura?

“Well, I’m only basing it on what I can see and know,” Shiro reasons. “If he has, I haven’t had to hear about it.”

Keith doesn’t respond. He’s too busy fighting the urge to jump head first into conclusions.

Yeah, Lance hasn’t mentioned any new alien crushes as of lately. But Keith figured that from their days travelling in space, Lance either doesn’t have the time, or he sneaks in his exploits and simply doesn’t tell him about them.

But now, knowing that Lance essentially paused his own love life is just another thing Keith isn’t in the right headspace to unpack right now.

“Regardless, I’m glad you both have been spending time together. And not just because it’s making my life easier,” Shiro offers, earnestly.

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

“I mean it. You’ve also grown a lot recently,” Shiro continues. “Not only physically. You’ve been more open about your emotions. I’ve even heard you laugh a lot more, lately.”

Keith frowns. “I don’t laugh that much.”

“Oh? You can't hear yourself?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t it normal to laugh?”

“Keith, you should know that I’m a light sleeper and I’ve unfortunately woken up to you laughing with Lance over comms multiple times already.”

Keith looks away, cheeks tinged pink. “Lance said something stupid, probably.”

“Oh, sure, of course,” Shiro says, clearly humoring him. “But you didn’t shut it down. You rolled with it. That’s new.”

“Maybe I’m getting tired, too.”

“Or maybe,” Shiro says gently, “you’re starting to let yourself enjoy others.”

Keith goes quiet again, looking out in the area. He sees Lance let out a dramatic yelp as Pidge smacks him with a soapy rag like a whip, and Hunk gasping at the sight. Lance’s shouting that followed draws Keith’s gaze like a magnet.

He hears Shiro shifting. “I don’t think Lance knows exactly how you feel, but I do think he appreciates this new version of you. And I’d like to believe you’re helping him change for the better, too.”

Keith allows the words to settle around them, heavy like the dust they’re scrubbing off.

Eventually, he murmurs, “At this point, if I ever did tell him, and he didn’t feel the same... I don’t think I’d know how to go back to just being teammates.”

Shiro’s expression softens. “To be honest, I don’t think you two have been ‘just teammates’ for a while now.”

Keith doesn’t register how long he’s been staring at Lance all this time, until Shiro nudges him lightly with an elbow, breaking his trance.

“Don’t say it,” Keith says, narrowing his gaze on Shiro.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I said nothing,” Shiro says innocently, “It’s not my fault you’re clearly whipped, Keith.”

As Shiro chuckles at his own tease, Keith stares down at the gleaming paw he just finished scrubbing. In the subtle reflection, he sees his expression; uncertain, yet quietly hopeful.

"You know, despite everything,” Shiro sighs, “I think this is the happiest I’ve seen all of us in a long time." 

Keith doesn’t need to ask for clarification to know who all meant. 

Allura, Hunk, Pidge, Lance, Coran, Shiro, and himself; Team Voltron.

Seven lives that had been turned upside down. 

Seven souls stitched together by war and hope.

If Shiro had said that in their early days of space travel, Keith would’ve called him delusional.

Now? He couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

As they move to the back paws of the Black Lion, Keith huffs softly, shaking his head as he looks down at his rag. "You’re getting old and sentimental, Shiro."

Shiro chuckles. "Perhaps I am."

“Okay,” Keith starts slowly, “explain to me again why this is supposed to be fun.”

“It is fun,” Lance insists on his right side, leaning close. “Keith, please, we’re all begging for you to try it.”

They’ve all gathered on the hangar floor, tucked inside the hangar of the Black Lion. 

In the middle of the circle of everyone, there’s a cluster of crates to act as a low table. Surrounding them, thin blankets from the other lions are spread out in a mismatched patchwork, a barrier against the cold, hard metal floor. A few cushions are scattered around.

Keith’s gaze cuts across the circle to Shiro, seated directly across from him. “Right. And you aren’t going to tell me what happened last time you played.”

Shiro gives a helpless little shrug, palms up. “I mean, I know I played. I’ve been told I played. But the whole… Galra captivity thing kind of wiped that chunk. So, uh. First time for me too.”

Keith just glares at him.

“So you’re telling me,” he says, “that you dragged me into this because you thought it was fun, but you actually have no idea if you ever enjoyed it.”

Shiro winces. “In my defense, everyone else said it was a good idea.”

Lance throws his hands up. “Because playing Monsters & Mana is a good idea! Come on, Keith, live a little. Roll some dice. Embrace your inner fantasy hero.”

“We pilot giant robot lions,” Keith deadpans. “I think I’ve got the fantasy hero thing covered.”

Pidge snorts. “Eh, not with that charisma stat.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have a—”

“You will,” she says, tossing a laminated sheet on the crate‑table. It skids until Keith catches it. He scans the scribbled notes, the stats, the class name.

“Gloom Stalker Ranger,” he reads.

“Since you weren’t present when we first created characters, the team… well,” Allura visibly looks a bit bashful. “We helped build yours.”

“It was a group effort!” Coran says brightly.

“A heated group effort,” Pidge corrects.

Keith’s brows knit. “Why would you make me a character?”

“Why wouldn't we? We wanted you to be a part of this! And have a cool backstory!” Hunk adds.

“And a pet dragon!” Lance tacks on.

Keith pauses. “…I have a pet dragon?”

“Had,” Coran corrects solemnly. “It was tragically slain in your youth, shaping your path as a lone wanderer.”

Keith’s faint almost‑smile drops. “I hate this already.”

From his left side, Romelle pats his back, smiling softly. “If it helps, it’s my first time playing too. I’m still learning the rules myself.”

“See? You’re not the only newbie!” Lance exclaims, “You, Shiro, and Romelle can be confused together. Bond over it. It’ll be great.”

Romelle nods enthusiastically. “I’ve been told confusion is part of the experience.”

“Dude, all we ask is for you to try it. If you hate it, we’ll stop,” Hunk reassures gently.

“Uh, that’s a fat ass lie,” Lance says with a grin. “We absolutely won’t stop. Not until we reach a good checkpoint in our campaign.”

Keith looks around the circle of his teammates on the floor of the Black Lion Hangar— at the eager faces, the ridiculous enthusiasm, Shiro’s apologetic half‑smile — and exhales through his nose.

Instantly, Coran clears his throat, silencing everyone easily. Standing up, he begins to pace slowly around the circle, his arms lifting as he speaks.

And the room changes.

Not literally, but in the way a good storyteller can make metal walls feel like ancient stone.

“Adventurers,” Coran begins, voice deep and resonant, “your journey begins at the gates of the fabled Kingdom of Eldorath. A divine realm of unseen, golden battlements, and secrets older than the stars themselves.”

Keith glances over at his right side. 

Lance’s already leaning forward like a damn kid at a puppet show.

“Together, you all see the Grand Palace of Aurelion! Its marble towers reach up to the highest clouds and mountain peaks. Legends speak of a hidden treasure buried deep within its halls; a relic of unimaginable power, coveted by all. But beware… for the treasure is guarded by a dark, ancient, evil force. A presence that stirs when brave souls dare approach.”

Despite everyone seemingly captivated by the monologue, Keith looks around, baffled. “We’re… outside a palace?”

Nodding, Coran beams at him. “Standing before its grand gates, the moonlight glinting off your weapons, the wind rushing against your ears loudly. Now, my boy, you decide what your character wishes to do.”

Keith stares. “Do?”

“Yes!” Coran says, delighted. “Do you approach the gate? Inspect the surroundings? Draw your blade? Recklessly enter without any qualms?”

Lance elbows him. “You’re already good at that last one,” he whispers. 

With a roll of the eyes, Keith chooses to ignore him. “So I just… say something? And then what?”

“Then you roll!” Coran says. “You describe your action, then the dice determines whether fate smiles upon you… or laughs in your face.”

Keith looks down at the die in Coran's offering, open hand.

“Do I have to go first?”

“You are the Gloom Stalker Ranger,” Allura says, as if that explains everything. “It only makes sense.”

Romelle nods encouragingly. “You can do something simple! Like… look around!”

“Or kick the door down,” Pidge suggests.

“Please don’t kick the door down,” Hunk mutters.

“Fine,” Keith mumbles. “My character… uh… looks around. To see if there’s a way to open the door.”

Coran gasps, delighted. “A perceptive choice! Very ranger‑like!” He gestures grandly. “Roll, brave wanderer, and let destiny reveal what your keen eyes behold!”

Reluctantly, Keith picks up a die Coran offers him, rolls it, and watches it clatter across the crate‑table, bouncing once, twice, before settling.

Everyone leans in.

Keith swallows.

“…Now what?” he asks.

……

Running gloved fingers along the seams, Keith narrows his eyes at the massive doors. He's searching for hinges, cracks, anything that might indicate how the entrance opens.

He scowls. “There’s… no keyhole or handle. Maybe the door’s fake. Or— I don’t know. I know something’s off.”

In full ninja‑assassin regalia, Lance peers over his shoulder, looking entirely too smug. “Wow. Incredible. And they say you have the sharpest eyes in the realm? Maybe you need to get those checked, ranger boy.”

Keith shoots him a sharp glare. “Oh yeah? Then see for yourself.”

With an annoying sway of his hips, Lance saunters past him with obvious confidence. He presses his palm against the wall, taps a few stones, then pauses.

A grin spreads across his face. Wide, wicked, and unbearably self‑satisfied.

“Found it.”

He presses a nearly invisible button hidden between two carved lion blocks of stone. The ground rumbles, resulting in the palace doors sliding open with a deep, long groan.

Keith’s jaw tightens. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lance wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe you need better dice rolling skills to help you see.”

Before Keith can respond — or try to throttle him — Hunk steps up. He strokes his braided beard thoughtfully. “Well… secret button or not, treasure’s not gonna find itself. I think we should head in, quietly.”

He takes the first step inside the palace, boots barely making a sound against the marble.

Pidge follows, her armor loudly clanking with each movement — a sound she insists is “strategic intimidation”, but everyone knows she’s bound to get them caught up with monsters eventually.

Behind them, Allura lifts her head and gazes toward the sky.

“Excuse me, Coran,” she calls, “may I summon my noble pegasus to survey the palace from the air?”

Keith turns, incredulous. “Hold on. How come you get a pegasus?”

Coran’s voice booms from the heavens: “You will need to use a higher risk dice for that, Princess Paladin!”

Allura twirls her ponytail in her fingers, humming thoughtfully. “Hmm. Perhaps not. I would hate to risk my pegasus in the event of… unfortunate circumstances.”

Gripping his greatsword with both hands, Shiro also decides to look up at the sky. “Uh… can I kill any monsters yet?”

A beat.

Coran’s voice echoes, slightly confused. “Ah, no. There are no monsters at this time.”

Shiro deflates a little. “Oh. Okay. I’ll just… go inside then.”

He trudges after the others.

Romelle lingers at the threshold, her mage robes fluttering in a phantom breeze. She peers into the dark hallway beyond the doors, swallowing nervously.

“It’s… very shadowy in there.”

Keith softens, just a fraction. “Stay close. If anything jumps out, Lance will scream first. It'll be our cue to run.”

“I do not scream,” Lance echoes from inside.

Romelle musters her courage and steps in after them.

One by one, the adventurers disappear into the palace’s yawning entrance.

Keith moves ahead, blades at his hips, eyes sharp. Alongside him, Hunk has casted a light spell, helping to light the way inside the palace.

However, they reach a fork in the corridor.

Three paths. All dark. All waiting.

A faint glimmer catches Keith’s eye on the leftmost path.

A fragment of parchment pinned beneath a fallen sconce.

He crouches down, retrieving it. The edges are torn, the ink faded, but the lines are unmistakable.

“A map,” he murmurs. “Or part of one. It’s telling us to go far left.”

Lance leans over his shoulder, hood brushing Keith’s cheek. “Nice find. Maybe your eyes do work.”

Keith blatantly ignores him. Fortunately for him, Lance gets spooked by a critter shortly after, effectively shutting him up.

They press on.

The corridor narrows, the walls shifting from polished marble to rough‑hewn stone. Torches flicker to life as they pass, casting long, wavering shadows. Another scrap of parchment lies half‑buried in dust near a cracked statue. Pidge snatches it up, armor clanking.

“That’s two pieces,” she says. “Looks like the dungeon layout… but obviously incomplete.”

“Then we must keep going,” Shiro rumbles, adjusting his cloak. “We'll discover more map parts the deeper we go, it seems.”

They descend a spiral staircase carved into the stone, the air growing colder and chilly with each step down. At the very bottom, a heavy wooden door waits — bound in thick chains, tied by an iron lock.

Alura steps forward, testing the handle. She wants to see if she can open it by force.

However, the door remains locked.

Romelle appears at her side. “Do you need help, Allura?”

“Ah, yes please,” Allura admits sheepishly. 

With her caster wand, Romelle jabs it on the lock, quietly breaking it with swift, strong ease. The door creaks open.

Inside, the chamber glows with warm, golden light. A treasure chest sits atop a stone pedestal, its metalwork intricate and ancient. 

Keith approaches, cautious, scanning the room for traps. Then, he circles the pedestal. His fingers brush the lid, testing its weight.

He tries to lift it.

Then, he tries again, jaw tightening.

Lance steps beside him, brushing his shoulder. “Here. Let me.”

He places his hands on the lid, and with a deft twist of the ornate latch Keith somehow missed, the chest opens with a soft sigh.

Inside lies a small trove of gold coins, a ruby jeweled dagger, and, tucked beneath them, another fragment of the palace map.

Lance lifts the dagger, turning it in the light. Then he offers it to Keith, hilt‑first

“You take it,” he says, voice low, almost shy. “I’ve already got plenty of treasures of my own.”

Keith steps closer, voice low so only Lance hears. “What are you talking about?” he asks quietly. “You obviously found it, so it’s yours.”

Lance looks at him, serious.

“Keith,” he says softly, “Whether I found it or not, doesn’t really matter to me. I still want you to have it.”

“…Thanks,” Keith says, awkward but sincere. "I really appreciate that, Lance."

Lance’s smile softens.

They almost don’t register the flying axe that whistles past Lance’s cheek, embedding itself in the stone wall with a violent thunk.

Both of them stumble back. Lance heaves a scared noise. “What the—?!”

“Dude, I swear, I was trying to stop her!” Hunk blurts, hands raised in surrender as he stands beside Pidge. “But I got too nervous!”

On the other hand, Pidge stands in the doorway, arms crossed, another axe spinning lazily in her hand. “Relax. I wasn’t actually going to hit you.”

“You threw a handaxe at my face!”

“It was a warning shot,” she says, deadpan. “You two were getting weird. Had to break it up.”

Keith clears his throat, ears warm. “We weren’t—”

“Sure,” Pidge says, already turning away. “Come on. We’ve got more map to find.”

Hours pass in the Black Lion’s hangar, the air thick with torch‑lit fantasy and Coran’s dramatic narration as the lore master. The team fights their way through twisting corridors, narrowly avoids traps, and collects the last fragments of the palace map. 

By the time they reach the threshold of a massive obsidian gate— the entrance to what Coran ominously calls “your first true boss battle” — everyone is exhausted.

Coran refuses to elaborate, hands flailing as he insists, “This is far too grand to rush! We must save this for another time!”

No one argues. Even Lance looks ready to collapse.

One by one, the team drifts out of the Black Lion, yawning, stretching, mumbling goodnights as they head toward their respective lions. Keith lingers only long enough to help Coran put the crates away, before retreating to the quiet corner he and Shiro have been using as a makeshift sleeping area.

Shiro is already asleep, breathing slow and steady.

Keith lies down, expecting exhaustion to take him instantly.

Eventually, he does.

But when he wakes, the hangar is still dark. Too dark. The ship hasn’t hummed into the morning light cycle. Shiro hasn’t stirred awake.

Keith sits up, rubbing his eyes. Something pulled him awake. 

It feels akin to the pull from the Blue Lion.

He moves carefully, trying not to wake Shiro, and slips out of the Black Lion.

The Kepler night outside looks pretty, with the sky a deep indigo color, scattered with stars. The other lions rest in a loose semicircle, their silhouettes massive against the horizon.

He spots Allura immediately, already standing atop the highest outpost ledge.

Keith’s boots scuff softly against the rock as he approaches. Allura doesn’t turn until he’s standing right beside her.

“I was hoping you’d come,” she says, a single curve lifting at the corner of her lips.

Keith scans at the night horizon. “Didn’t expect you here.”

“Where else would I be doing this late?”

Keith doesn’t have an answer for that; not one that doesn’t sound suspiciously like ‘waiting for me.’ Instead, he gestures towards her night attire. “You shouldn’t be dirtying those pajamas by standing out here. It’ll ruin the presentation.”

He knows Allura catches his little mock, but she doesn’t seem to rile up about it. “After that campaign, my mind is still racing. Coran’s stories tend to do that for me. He was always a good story teller.”

“Yeah, it was… fun. I didn’t expect it to be.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t,” she teases lightly, “you expected to hate it.”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his mouth. 

Allura looks up at the stars. “It was nice, though. All of us together. Laughing. Playing. It felt… normal.”

Keith nods. “Yeah. It did.”

“I suppose it’s a bit exciting to think years from now, we may stand together as different people. Older. Hopefully wiser. May these memories be looked back on fondly.”

“You think we’ll still be doing this? Fighting a war?”

“I hope not,” she replies, more candidly than he expects. “I hope this isn’t all there is. I hope we’ve earned peace and settled down by then.”

He glances at her sideways. “You, settling down? That’d be something.”

She grins, lifting a brow at him. “Care to elaborate?”

He smirks, just barely. “You seem destined for diplomacy, leadership, and galactic councils. Not exactly the quiet life.”

Allura laughs, the sound gentle on the night wind. “Oh, I see. I suppose ‘settling down’ isn’t in your vocabulary either.”

“No. Not really.”

“Then I guess we’re in the same boat.”

Their shared smile faded into easy quiet, only the wind rustling between them. 

Absent-mindedly, Allura’s fingers trace the lace on her white sleeves. “I sometimes imagine what it will be like. Remembering who we were. What we meant to each other.”

Keith looks down to the ground, and the muscles along his jaw tighten. 

There’s something about the way she says ‘we’ that makes him feel nervous again.

“Lance has really matured, hasn’t he?” she suddenly asks.

Keith tries to not overthink the switch in topic. “We’ve all changed,”  he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. “In our own way.”

Her expression shifts, more wistful now. “Yes. That is true. But… I can’t help that I’ve been noticing Lance lately.”

Keeping a straight face, he swallows. “Noticing what exactly?”

She sighs, almost longingly. “He doesn’t constantly try so hard to be the center of attention anymore. He listens. He lifts people up. I think he’s finally learned what it means to lead… not by standing in front, but by standing beside. And, I’m starting to like that about him.”

Keith's not sure if he’s supposed to hear this. Or if he wants to.

He’s starting to feel sick.

“I’ve…” Allura hesitates, then breathes in. “I’ve started to like him. More than a friend.”

Keith doesn’t want to know what type of expression he has on his face, right now.

It must look terrible, because instantly Allura sounds careful. “Only a little,” she adds quickly, “It’s not anything dramatic, really. Just something that has started to slowly build.”

His throat closes. He can barely get the words out. “...Why are you telling me this?”

Allura studies him. “Keith… I didn’t tell you this to make things awkward. I told you because I thought you could understand where I’m coming from. I did say we’re in the same boat, are we not?”

He says nothing. Refuses.

She looks away from him. “I think you can agree that Lance has changed in ways that cannot be ignored. But, I think I noticed too late. Lance… I believe he’s looking at someone else now.”

Keith’s head snaps toward her. “Who?”

“I’m not sure,” Allura says with a shrug. “I’m merely guessing. Besides, I already told him,” she informs him suddenly, not meeting his gaze. “how I felt. 

“You what? When?”

“Earlier tonight,” she answers gently. “Before everyone went back to their Lions. I asked him to come out and meet me. Right here. This same spot. He was standing beside me just like you are, not too long ago. I’ve been standing here since.”

Keith’s heart drops into his stomach. “And?” he asks, unsure what else to say.

Allura smiles, but it’s small. “He simply said we were better as friends.”

The night spins around him. 

He blinks rapidly. “...Huh?”

“It did surprise me, honestly,” Allura admits, shaking her head, “I always assumed that would be what he wanted to hear from me. But… perhaps I realized too late. Someone else already noticed who he was long before I did. Appreciated him in a way I didn’t. I couldn’t catch up.”

Keith’s jaw clenches. “Who?” he repeats, more forcefully than he intends.

Allura turns her head to him, eyes glinting under the starlight. “Again, I’m only guessing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She doesn’t bother to give one.

“I’m glad you came out tonight, Keith,” she says instead, “I hope you live through the war to tell Lance how you feel.”

Keith stares at her.

Why is she telling him this?

“Good luck,” she says, and turns, walking down the dirt path.

Keith watches her go, unable to move from his spot. 

His armor feels heavier somehow, as his mind spirals with implications and new truths.

Lance rejected Allura.

Keith stares up at the stars and feels hope erupting in his chest, sudden and terrifying.

Keith tightly grips the stolen Galra ship’s control levers, eyes narrowed. The ship coasts silently past Titan’s rings in Saturn, slipping through, unsuspected.

Through the viewport, enemy patrols hover, almost predatory, watching as he flies by them.

Behind him, deep in the ship’s hangar, the rest of the team sleeps. Or pretends to. He can hear the faint shift of armor clinking, and low, muffled conversations behind the closed doors. But no one comes near the cockpit. 

Shiro had tried earlier. Told him to rest. Said someone else could take over.

Keith flat-out refused. 

Someone has to make sure this works and get everyone home. And he won’t—can’t—trust anyone else with that responsibility.

It had to be him.

Another Galra signal pings on the scanner, too close for his liking. Keith adjusts course, just enough to drift out of the patrol’s scanning range.

He needs to stay focused. 

Time churns.

Slowly, it becomes harder to keep his eyes open.

Keith’s vision blurs at the edges. His fingers twitch against the throttle. His limbs don’t respond as fast as they should. The strain has begun to stick, growing into a headache.

“Hey, Keith.”

The voice startles him more than it should. He quickly turns his head. 

Lance’s head peeks through the sliding door into the cockpit, hair tousled from sleep, eyes squinting in the low, purple-pinkish light. “You hungry?” he asks.

He isn’t. He’s mainly tired. But saying that feels like defeat.

Lance lingers at the doorway, waiting. 

Keith looks away, choosing to ignore Lance. He mentally prepares himself to hear the inevitable whining.

Like clockwork, Lance sighs dramatically. “You’re doing it again. You’re neglecting yourself.”

“We’re surrounded by Galra ships. If I slip up, we’re dead.”

“Or,” Lance countered, stepping forward, “you pass out mid-cruise and we crash into a moon or asteroid because our fearless, yet incompetent leader decided sleep and food were optional.”

Still faced forward, refusing to look at Lance, Keith huffs. “I’m not leaving.”

“Oh, so you do want to doom us in a fiery wreck.” Lance retorts sarcastically. “Got it.”

Keith’s grip tightens as his head dips forward slightly. He’s about to ask Lance to leave.

Then, he catches movement.

In his peripheral vision.

He stills, in bated breath.

It looks like a grey, blur of a round ship, with a bright green top. 

Slowly, he turns his head, just in time to see a spoon of space goop near his face, hovering gently, held in Lance’s hand alongside a ration packet in his other hand.

Lance looks infuriatingly patient. “Take a bite.”

Keith steely glares at him. “I’m not a baby, Lance.”

Lance matches his glare. “Yeah, well, you’re acting like one,” he snaps back, shoving the spoon closer. “Eat. Or, I swear, I will wedge this spoon between your teeth myself.”

“You’re seriously going to spoon-feed me?”

“If that’s what it takes? Absolutely.”

Keith grits his teeth and looks at the spoon again. 

His stomach curls.

“If you make plane noises while—”

“Okay, okay, I won’t!” Lance promises outright, “Even though that's like by far the best part of feeding someone. How dare you take that away from me.”

“I regret this already.”

“Too late. Mouth open, please.” 

After a long minute of grimacing, Keith finally closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

Lance hums in approval, carefully slipping the spoon between Keith’s lips.

It’s space goo, so it’s predictably awful and bland. 

Keith opens one eye, expecting Lance to be having a shit-eating grin.

Instead, he sees Lance smiling softly at him.

It’s then that Keith almost tastes a very, very faint sweetness.

‘Must be sleep deprivation messing with me,’ Keith thinks.

“So?” Lance prompts, amused. “Rate it out of ten.”

“Zero,” Keith flatly mutters.

Lance chuckles. “Yeah, well, it doesn't matter. You still need to eat something.”

Lance keeps feeding Keith in between throttle checks. The food’s barely tolerable, but it steadies and makes him feel slightly better.

“You’re taking too long,” Keith mumbles, when Lance has to dig down the bottom of the ration packet for the last bites of food.

Lance shoots him a glare. “Would you rather I dump it over your dumb face?”

Keith’s lips twitch. “Would save me the trouble of chewing.”

“Oh, then maybe I should baby-bird it to you,” Lance offers easily.

The amusement switches between them; Keith’s frown against Lance’s wide grin.

Lance wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey, I’m just saying—”

“Hell no.”

“Ah, right. Then stop complaining.”

When the packet’s finally empty, Keith leans back slightly, shoulders slumping from the effort it took to just sit upright.

Then it hits him; the food wakes up his parasympathetic system. It makes everything more exhausting. The ache sinks deeper. His eyelids droop.

“Switch with me,” Lance says softly, voice a little less teasing now, more coaxing. “I can pilot.”

Keith shakes his head, slow. “...No.”

“You saying you don’t trust me?”

“S’not that,” he says slowly, eyes unfocused on the stars. “It’s my job as leader to get you all back home safely. You need to see your family again, remember?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Keith braces for a lecture, or some stupid jab.

Instead, Lance crouches beside the pilot’s chair, sets the spoon and empty packet gently on the floor, and lifts a hand to Keith’s cheek.

Keith leans into the touch, against his better judgment.

He should be watching the patrols, maintaining vigilant focus on his task at hand. 

Instead, he’s watching Lance, who’s so close and pretty.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Lance murmurs, thumb brushing lightly under Keith’s eye, “but right now, my biggest concern isn’t Earth or my family. It’s you.”

Keith blinks up at Lance, brain lagging behind the sentiment. “That’s... nice.”

For a long minute, Lance stares, then he snorts, “Of course you’d say that.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but it’s far from annoyed. He feels mostly embarrassed, face warming.

He barely notices Lance waving a hand over his own, shooing them off the console.

“Alright. Let go,” Lance states, suddenly serious. 

Immediately, Keith bristles, tightening his grip on the controls. “Lance—”

“Seriously, let go, Keith. I’m not asking.”

Keith sighs and slowly relinquishes the controls. “What are you planning to do?”

“I just told you. I’m going to pilot the ship. Annnd, you’re in my way. Go on. Lift your tooshie up and rest your eyes or whatever. I'm the captain now, like in that famous movie scene.”

“I’m literally in the pilot seat. How the hell are you going to fly?”

Without warning, Lance walks around to the front, and plops right onto Keith’s lap. 

Keith’s face instantly grows hot. “Wh—Get off—!”

“See? Technically, you’re still in the pilot’s chair.”

“Lance, get off, right now!”

“Nope, you did this to yourself,” Lance says easily, settling in. “I told you to get up, but you insisted on staying put. So, now, you’re sitting. I’m piloting. Problem solved.”

Keith’s face whole body goes rigid, hands raised awkwardly in the air, afraid to touch Lance any more than necessary. Eventually, he settles for setting his arms on the sides of the seat like he’s about to brace for impact.

“You can’t just sit on people…” he mumbles.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I can,” Lance says, adjusting his position, which unfortunately means shifting even closer. “This way, you can get some sleep.”

Keith lets out a strangled noise, his brain is malfunctioning in real time. “There’s no possible way I can sleep like this,” he mutters, eyes locked anywhere but on Lance.

“I’m trying to help you, Keith. What more do you want me to do for you?”

“You could… not sit on me.”

“Okay, but then what good does that do?” Lance starts, slowly sounding more serious, without looking back. “You haven’t slept in, like, what? Double-digit hours?”

Keith sighs. “I’m the leader, Lance, and it’s my—” 

“No, no, don’t start,” Lance interrupts, “I know you hate not being in control. You hate relying on anyone, especially me.” He pauses, looking down at the console controls, “But you won’t rest unless someone physically makes you. So, if I have to be super hella annoying until you finally shut your eyes, then fine. I’ll be that. Even if you hate every second of it.”

Keith falters. He’s unsure whether to shove Lance off or wrap his arms around him.

He stupidly, irreversibly chooses to do the latter. 

His hands finally drop around Lance’s waist, tentative and clumsy. He exhales hard, breath shaky as it catches against the edge of Lance’s armor. Then, he rests his forehead lightly between Lance’s shoulder blades.

His face pressed to Lance’s back feels unnervingly hot.

“...Thanks, Lance,” Keith struggles to voice, and even he’s surprised at how quiet and nervous it comes out.

He notices Lance’s voice cracks a little at the start. “Y–Yeah, well... that’s what friends do. No point in returning home happy, if I have to carry your dead body out of here. Which, I think, would kill me, from how heavy you’ve gotten with all that muscle.”

Raising a hand, Keith pinches left Lance’s cheek, hard.

“H-Hey!” Lance yelps, smacking Keith’s arm.

Letting go of his hold around Lance, Keith settles deeper into the seat, head lolling back. Every muscle unspooling with the kind of surrender he rarely allows himself. His eyes flutter shut.

“Wake me if anything happens,” he mumbles sleepily.

“No, I was just gonna let you sleep through an ambush. Yes, Keith, obviously I’ll wake you. We’ll arrive on Earth in no time. So, go to sleep already.”

“We’re not even close to Earth.”

“I said sleep.”

“…Don’t crash us.”

“Not gonna happen. You know, in my first year of flight school, you know what they called me? They called me the ‘Tailor’ because—!”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘cause of how you thread the needle…”

He can definitely imagine Lance pouting right now. “...Dude, not cool. You ruined the line.”

Keith can’t stop the smile tugging at the ends of his mouth. He thinks of what teasing remark he could say to that, but his mind’s empty with comebacks.

The retort dies in his throat as sleep finally drags him under, with Lance staying perfectly balanced on top of him.

The Galra ship carved a jagged arc through Earth's upper atmosphere, its hull screeching with friction as flames burned the edges. 

Keith had his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, as he wrestled with the thrusters. The ship dipped hard, with the terrain below coming closer at high speeds.

“Hold together,” he muttered to himself, white-knuckling the controls. 

The ship fought him the entire way down, as the burning sky rushed past the viewscreen. 

Impact hit like booming thunder. 

Keith guided the crash, pushing every ounce of instinct and training into pulling the ship out of freefall. They skidded through a hillside and crashed into dirt and rock, the Galra hull groaning under its own weight before finally coming to a violent halt, throwing Keith’s neck.

Then, stillness.

Keith heavily breathes. His ears ring for a long while, until finally he faintly registers the coughing and groaning coming from the others.

He’s quickly up and out of his seat in a blink, feet pounding toward the back of the ship. “Everyone okay?” he yells, eyes sweeping the smoky hangar.

Once the smoke clears, Keith sees Pidge and Romelle are upside-down, legs caught in webbing, groaning in disoriented harmony. Shiro and Allura are already at their side, helping them down.

From one corner, Hunk dry-heaved into a bucket, while Lance rubbed soothing circles into his back, flashing Keith a thumbs-up. “Peachy,” Lance rasped with a strained grin.

On the other far corner, Coran tries to stand, only to wobble on his feet and fall on his butt.

Keith breathes out through his mouth, barely relieved to say the least. 

With a blink of an eye, Kosmo appears in front of him. He trots over to Keith, tail wagging.

Figures. Kosmo probably teleported out mid-crash.

Together, everyone helps to pry open the exit hatch, sunlight spilling into the hull. One by one, the team steps out, climbing a short ridge until the horizon spreads wide before them.

Plaht City. 

“Whoa,” Lance whispers, staring at the destruction. “I can’t believe this is all that’s left.”

Keith’s expression hardens. “We need to get to the Garrison. Stay together. Let’s move quick and quiet.”

With bayards activated, the team walks down to the rubble, huddled close. Lance leads the front, rifle in hand, and Hunk walks last, in the rear, hand-held cannon ready.

They move as a unit, boots heavy against shattered concrete, shadows slipping between broken walls and twisted rebar.

Steadily, Keith steps forward without meaning to, jutting slightly ahead.

“Stay behind me,” Lance murmurs beside him. 

Keith fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I can see where I’m going.”

“I know that,” Lance says evenly. “But you keep trying to step in front of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. And I get you’re trying to be a follow-the-leader and all. But I’ve got this.”

Keith’s lips press thin. It’s frustrating that Lance can read him this well now.

But before he can respond, a laser slams into the side of a building closest to them. Rubble exploded, scattering stone and debris inches from Lance’s face. 

From above, Galra drones spiral down, laser ports glowing. They launch rapid blasts through the air, down to the ground at their feet. Keith and Lance duck behind a dusted car, evading the attacks.

The rest of the team bolts into a sheltering building, their backs sliding against slabs of concrete and steel. Hunk opens fire with his cannon, clearing a few drones, but reinforcements swarm in front of them, forcing him to retreat.

Keith tenses, with the Black Lion blade in his grip. He eyes at the ruined balconies and bent street poles; perfect platforms for him to run and launch himself up to slash the drones.

He’s already calculating his angle when Lance shifts his body in front of him.

“Stay down,” Lance says, voice firm and laser rifle steady. “Don’t move.”

Keith watches as Lance breathes in slowly. 

Lance fires. 

One droid explodes. Then another. A third falls in static, high-pitched-like screams. Every shot from Lance is deliberate, his stern face devoid of any smirk or grin.

Keith could hardly focus through the swoop in his chest.

But it's not enough. More drones appear, flying fast over their heads. Hunk fires from across the way, taking down a few, but there were some pesky stranglers left.

They’re boxed in.

“I’ll distract,” Keith says, gripping his blade. “You take the shot.”

Lance eyes him, with a bit of a confused frown.

Keith narrows his gaze. There was no time to explain. “Don’t miss,” he says, then sprints.

He jumps out from their cover, sliding across the hood of the car and bolting across the street. He runs in a zig-zag pattern across the street. Lasers spark past him and under his heels. His heart pounds, his feet flying.

Behind him, he hears explosions, followed by multiple thuds to the ground. 

Keith glances over his shoulder, catching Lance, bayard now in sniper form, using the hood of the car as support, taking out enemy after enemy.

One droid veers toward Hunk’s blind side and Lance nails it mid-turn before it could fire.

He was right to trust Lance. 

Keith skids to a stop and doubles back, heart hammering. He sprints up to Lance, slowing down as he nears closer, and slaps a hand against Lance’s shoulder.

“Nice shooting,” he pants.

Lance blinks, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. “Th-Thanks!”

The team barely has time to regroup before Galra sentries emerge from both ends of the street, blasters raised and open fire.

Blaster bolts rip through the air. Lance and Hunk return fire from either side of a concrete chunk of wall, while Keith ducks low, trying to strategize.

He’s about to charge and slash the small army himself, when he hears a roar of engines.

Two massive orange-white vehicles tear into the scene, mowing down and crushing the Galra sentries beneath them. The hood of the vehicles slides open, with one soldier emerging from each automobile, leaping out and blasting the rest of the drones with laser rifles.

The fight ends with Team Voltron victorious, with assistance from some mystery people. 

Keith scowls, annoyed from the thought. “I had it.”

One of the soldiers hears him, turning their helmeted head. “Drones send distress signals when attacked,” The soldiers sharply shouts, sounding male. “Our weapons neutralize that signal, so unless you want a full swarm, let us handle it!”

Keith’s mouth opens, then closes.

The voice sounds familiar.

His brow furrows as the second soldier steps in. “You’re coming with us.”

Allura narrows her eyes at them. “Why should we go with you?”

The male soldier lets out a long sigh, audibly unimpressed. “Can’t believe these guys are the universe’s last hope…”

“We’re Garrison personnel,” The second soldier explains, with a distinct voice of a female, “We've been ordered to retrieve you safely and escort you to base.”

Hunk raises a hand. “Uh, why can’t we just, I don’t know, walk in ourselves?”

“The Garrison’s under full perimeter lockdown, right now. Citizens, military, and government leaders are all protected at this time.” The female soldier explains, “You’ll need to be brought in by verified cadets.”

Lance mutters, “That’s a lot of rules just to get to the Garrison…”

Hunk shifts beside him. “They are wearing Garrison colors.”

“I don’t know,” Romelle says, frowning. “Something about all this is kinda making me nervous. Like, why must we be escorted? Why now?”

Pidge crosses her arms. “It’s probably a contingency protocol. They must’ve set strict borders once things got bad, and they can’t risk taking in just anyone.”

“But they expect us to walk into a hidden stronghold under their protection, without so much as a proper introduction?” Allura asks, a bit defensive. “We’re Voltron.”

Coran strokes his mustache. “It does seem odd. I mean, these aren’t the most welcoming escorts. Where’s the ceremonial greeting? You Earthlings are rather barbaric and rude.”

Lance scoffs, still watching the male soldier with obvious distaste. “Couldn’t they have sent someone who wasn’t this guy?”

Pidge shrugs. “Listen, I’m not thrilled about handing ourselves over either, but we’re not exactly in a position to barter.”

Hunk rubs his neck. “Okay, but, um, what if this whole escort thing is a trap? I’m sorry, but my level of trust in people is at an all-time low, right now.”

Shiro steps forward, lifting his chin. “If it is, we’ll handle it. But we do need answers. And shelter. I suggest we go with them.”

Lance’s eyes shift over to Keith. “It’s your call.”

Keith glances at the vehicles, then to everyone. “We have to move. I say let’s trust them. For now.”

With that, the team settles on the agreement. 

The female soldier nods briskly. “We’ll divide you into two vehicles. It’s safer that way.”

The team confers quickly. Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith in one transport. Allura, Coran, Romelle, Shiro, and Kosmo in the other.

Just as the male soldier climbs into the driver’s seat, Lance halts mid-step.

Keith catches it instantly. Hunk and Pidge stop as well.

“What’s wrong?” Pidge asks, brows knitting.

Lance crosses his arms. He looks visibly upset. “I seriously can’t believe the first person I see on Earth had to be James Griffin.”

Hunk whips his head back and forth between Lance and the driver. “Wait, hold on, what? That’s James? I didn’t even recognize him!”

Pidge picks in her ear. “Seriously? With that attitude? I knew it was him the second he opened his big mouth.”

It clicks. 

Keith remembers James. A fellow cadet student who had a face and voice that always made him want to punch a wall.

Apparently, his expression gives him away, because Lance latches onto him, arms winding around his neck in a protective way. “See! Even Keith remembers how pissy James was. And Keith has the memory of a freaking goldfish!”

Keith glares at Lance. 

However, Pidge squints at him. “Wait a second. How do you remember James? You don’t even remember any of us from the Garrison.”

Suddenly, Lance gives a sharp side-eye, suspicion and annoyance blooming across his face. “...Yeah, that is strange. How do you remember James but not me?”

“I’ve known him since middle school,” Keith supplies evenly, “Besides, he’s the kind of annoying that sticks with you, whether you want to or not.”

Wrapping his arms tighter, Lance leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not because you had some stupid crush on him before or something, right?”

Keith elbows Lance in the gut. Lance wheezes and stumbles back, coughing.

“Can we move already?” James barks from the vehicle, standing up. “You’re wasting my damn time.”

Pidge groans. “Still the same, huh?”

“I’ll take the seat next to him,” Keith mutters.

They pile in. Dust kicks up as tires roll across the gravel.

The desert rolls out endlessly ahead of them, the heat distorting the horizon into shimmering waves. 

Inside the vehicle, the tension is thick enough to choke on. No one speaks.

Keith keeps his own gaze angled out the window, his arm braced against the door, chin resting on his hand. 

In the backseat, Lance taps his foot against the floor in uneven rhythm, frustration practically radiating off him. Pidge leans sideways toward Hunk, who sits stiffly, his fingers knotted together in his lap.

“So. Cadet academy reunion, huh,” she mutters dryly.

“Honestly? It kinda feels like we’re heading back to school together,” Hunk starts, obviously trying to lighten the mood with a smile, “Except, we’re strapped into a military-grade rover in the middle of post-apocalyptic Arizona.”

“Yeah,” Lance mutters, arms crossed, chin tucked low. “And just like back then, I’m stuck breathing the same air as James.”

Pidge shoots him a sharp look over her glasses. “Lance, not now.”

He huffs, arms crossing. “We’re not exactly back in class. There’s no grade for being nice anymore.”

From the driver’s seat, James clicks his tongue. “You never shut up, do you, Lance?”

Keith turns his head to James. “You were quiet not too long ago. I suggest you keep doing that.”

James eyes Keith on the side, tension rising between old cadets. But something in Keith’s gaze made him relent. James looks away, jaw tight, focusing back on the road.

Keith sighs, settling back into staring out the window. 

He expects that to be the end of it. 

But instead, James speaks, low and deliberate. “How was the trip?”

Keith turns his head slowly. James isn’t looking at anyone, so it’s hard to tell who exactly he’s asking. “To Earth?”

“Where else?”

Keith frowns. “I’m just asking to be sure.”

James sighs, allowing the pause between them to stretch before trying again. “I meant the landing, Keith. The mission. It’s not that hard to follow?”

With heat prickling under his armor, Keith’s fingers twitch against his thigh. 

Why is he still talking? 

“It went,” he states bluntly, “We survived. That’s what matters.”

James lets out a dry, short laugh. “Wow, whatta way with words.”

“I answered your question,” Keith grits out.

“I’m trying to make small talk with you,” James says, finally glancing at him, voice dipped in mock sincerity. “Or do you not know how to do that?”

“I don’t do small talk.”

James scoffs. “Seems like after all these years, you’re still shit at communication, then.”

Keith's jaw ticks, breath cutting short. His mouth opens—

Thud.

Lance’s boot slams into the back of James’s seat. 

The vehicle jolts forward slightly.

“Great. One idiot next to me,” James grumbles, glaring at Lance through the rearview mirror. “Another behind me.”

“Say that again,” Lance snaps, lifting up from his seat immediately, “This time to my face.”

Keith watches him closely as Hunk throws his arm across both Pidge and Lance, pushing Lance back into his seat.

“Dude, not worth it,” Hunk hushes to Lance. “We're almost there.”

“But, he—!”

“I said cool it, Lance,” Hunk firmly states, “He’s helping us reach the Garrison. Just... breathe ‘till we get there.”

Pidge nudges Lance with her elbow. “Now isn’t the time to pick fights with our allies.”

“...He started it,” he mumbles, still glaring at the front seat. 

“Lance,” Keith voices. “Calm down.”

Turning his head, Lance looks at him, eyes searching, almost pleading for permission to stay mad. But Keith’s expression stays collected. 

Frustration claws at him too, but he won’t let it show. He needs his team, including Lance, to remain collected during this time. 

Lance sucks in a breath, then exhales hard and slumps down. “Don’t insult our leader,” he mutters to the front. “Keith deserves more respect out of you. You better show it.”

“I’m not taking orders from the likes of you, Lance,” James huffs. “You’re just lucky an idiot like yourself ever got a title like ‘defender of the universe’.”

Anger instantly overpowers the initial thoughts of calm. 

Keith’s gaze narrows steely at James. “Shut up and keep driving,” he states lowly. “You disrespect anyone on my team again, and I’ll take over this vehicle and dump you in the desert. Ally or not.”

James scoffs, but one look from Keith shuts him up for the entire ride.

There’s a crowd waiting at the checkpoint, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. Civilians. Military personnel. The moment James slows the vehicle, Keith feels eyes pressing in from every direction, staring at the automobile.

“Wait,” Pidge whispers, suddenly gripping the back of Keith’s seat. “I think that’s—”

The vehicle slows to a stop, but Pidge doesn’t wait. She throws open the door and yells, “Mom!” before jumping into the arms of a tall woman resembling her.

Pidge cries instantly, loud and open. “Bae Bae!” she gasps between tears, dropping to her knees to hug her dog, who licks her face with frantic joy.

The rest of the team steps out slowly, their expressions softening as they witness Pidge’s reunion with her family unfold.

Keith turns from them. His gaze sweeps the crowd.

That’s when he sees two small figures dart through the sea of uniforms and jackets, calling out for “Uncle Lance!”

Lance turns his head towards the sound.

Keith swears he’s never seen someone’s expression change so fast. Lance’s face crumples, then blooms into a smile so wide it nearly splits him open. Tears glint in his eyes as he rushes over and drops to his knees, arms outstretched.

The children crash into him, and Lance pulls them close, burying his face in their hair.

The moment hits, even for Keith. He watches as more people rush in, laughing, crying, and wrapping their arms around Lance in a cocoon of love, protective of their vulnerable moment. 

He disappears into the center of their embrace, but Keith hears it clearly.

Lance starts to cry.

Keith exhales, a small smile pulling at his lips.

He brought Lance home.

The warmth lasts only a moment, before a cold ache slips into Keith’s spine. 

Lance has so many people in his personal life that care deeply for him, there was no room for Keith to possibly exist in his world.

Lance has a life here on Earth. No matter how many battles they’ve fought together, no matter how close they’ve gotten, Lance belonged on Earth and Keith yearned for space.

Perhaps, he’s meant to stand alone.

A woman stands at the head of the group, her posture rigid, voice clipped with authority. 

“I’m Admiral Sanda, and I’ll be overseeing your coordination with the Garrison moving forward,” she announces, her gaze moving across the Paladins and their allies. “Welcome back to Earth. And thank you… for returning.”

Keith isn’t sure if she means that gratefully or not.

She lifts a hand to the man beside her, tall and composed in a crisp uniform. “This is Commander Sablan, head of tactical operations.”

Sablan offers a curt nod, adjusting his glasses. 

“And, this here is Senior Officer Adam,” Sanda states, “one of our lead pilots and the highest-ranking flight instructor left after Sendak's initial invasion.” Her voice tightens on the last part, her jaw visibly clenching. “We… lost many with our attempts to fend off the Galra.”

At the mention of his name, Adam steps forward, bowing his head.

Keith’s eyes flick up to Shiro. 

Shiro’s breath seems caught in his throat, his hands tense at his sides. His lips part, but he’s visibly too stunned to utter a single word.

Adam, however, doesn’t bother to acknowledge Shiro’s presence. 

“I’ve been assigned to provide you with access to our current facilities,” Adam says, voice clipped and formal. “You’ll be granted limited clearance to training wings, equipment storage, and rooms for your team’s use, in preparation for your mission against Sendak.”

“Alright,” Shiro manages to say, sounding a bit breathless. “Thank you.”

Adam’s face remains neutral. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

As they begin the tour, Adam leads them through the Garrison’s halls, pointing out key areas and supplying the team with detailed information.

“These empty classrooms are available to you for any mission briefings or planning,” Adam says, gesturing towards a row of lecture rooms.

“Wait, isn’t that Professor Lin’s classroom?” Pidge points, wide-eyed.

“Oh man,” Hunk chuckles, “he used to throw chalk at Lance.”

“Only because Lance kept falling asleep,” Pidge adds, snickering. “And snoring. Loudly.”

“I was conserving energy!” Lance protests, throwing his hands up. 

“Honestly, I think Lin aged a whole decade during our class,” Hunk muses. “He started the school year with black hair and ended up completely gray.”

Romelle looks at them, puzzled yet intrigued. “Who is this Professor Lin? Was he an Earth warrior? Offering combat training?”

The three of them burst into open laughter.

“Combat training?” Pidge barely manages, slowing her laughter. “Only if you count dodging Lin’s chalk missiles and fighting to stay awake in his class.”

“So this was... a place of learning?” Romelle asks.

“Technically,” Lance says, waving her off with a grin. “It’s cadet stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”

She frowns slightly, her bottom lip protruding a bit. 

“You’re really not missing much, Romelle,” Pidge explains. “Earth academies consist of a bunch of meticulous rules and bad cafeteria food that could probably kill an Altean child.”

Coran blinks, visibly confused. “You were trained in this facility?”

“Survived is more accurate,” Lance corrects. “But, sure, you could say that.”

Slowly, Coran looks mildly horrified. “...And yet you each emerged as Paladins of Voltron.”

“Miracles happen,” Pidge says with a smirk. Hunk laughs and Lance smiles bigger. 

Keith trails behind, watching the way the trio leans into each other. They’re a lot closer than usual. Like their shared past is a tether pulling them together. 

It’s odd to imagine that at some point, he had crossed paths with them. They had all walked down the same corridors once. But Keith had been too busy chasing his own path, fighting his own internal problems to notice the others. 

He hadn’t known Lance, Hunk, or Pidge back then. 

But now, watching them laugh and reminisce, he bitterly wishes he did.  

These ridiculous, stupid, yet joyful memories were ones Lance remembered fondly. 

And Keith wasn’t in any of them. 

Allura and Coran linger near Adam, their curiosity clearly piqued by the facility’s layout. Especially once they reached the flight simulator rooms.

“What is the purpose of them?” Allura asks him.

“This used to be where our cadets learned to fly,” Adam explains. “However, we’ve repurposed it in the wake of the Galra attacks. Most of our training now focuses on evasive maneuvers, high-speed pursuit, and coordinated team defense. We simulate Galra ship patterns to prepare them for real encounters.”

Allura peers in, eyes scanning over the room through the glass. “Do you also simulate the quantum echo fields? They tend to distort time perception in battle.”

Adam’s serious expression slips slightly. “Quantum… echo fields?”

“They can cause temporal lag in a pilot’s reflexes,” Allura states, “Oh, what about training under zero-gravity with rotating magnetic fields? Do you offer that?”

“...We have a spin chamber. For motion sickness.”

Coran brightens. “Ah! And what of the anti-matter inversion drills? Surely you’ve got protocols for that?”

Fortunately for Adam, Lance sighs loudly, pressing his face to the glass and grabbing everyone’s attention. “I remember the first time I saw this room,” he muses. “Man, I never thought I’d ever be at the top of my class. And now… look at me.”

Pidge hums. “You still were never at the top.”

Lance whips his head toward her, eyes narrowed. “Okay. No need to ruin the moment.”

Keith doesn’t bother to listen to the rest of the conversation going on. Instead, he sneaks a glance at Shiro.

“You should say something,” Keith offers quietly towards Shiro, as Adam leads the group down another hall.

Keith thinks he might cave. But then Shiro shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

“Not now,” he quietly says. “This isn’t the right time.”

Keith frowns. “But haven’t you missed him? It’s been years for you, no?”

“Later,” Shiro murmurs, almost like he was afraid to grab Adam’s attention. “It’s not the kind of conversation you have with an audience.”

Keith hesitates, then nods slowly, continuing to walk beside Shiro.

Then Adam stops in front of a sealed door. 

“This,” he says, placing his hand on the panel, “is our elite training wing.”

The door slides open, revealing a vast chamber beyond. Elevated platforms and suspended obstacle rigs above their heads, with weapon racks lining against the farthest wall, with training swords and blasters.

It’s massive.

“This wing is reserved for our top operatives and cadets,” Adam explains, stepping in behind him. “Built with state-of-the-art technology, programmable combat dummies, and multipurpose terrain fields.”

“And what kind of training does this room offer specifically?” Allura asks.

Adam gestures toward a console embedded in the wall. “Anything you need. Solo drills, squad coordination, stealth ops, and robot combat simulations. We cycle the field depending on the needs of our units.”

As Adam continues outlining the chamber’s capabilities, Keith barely hears him. His focus is locked in the training grounds, his pulse quickening with anticipation.

Adam finishes the walkthrough on the Garrison facility with a nod toward a corridor branching off to the right, in the dormitory wing. “I’ll leave you to settle into your quarters,” he says. “Each of you has been assigned a room down this hall. You’ll find your name plates next to the doors.”

With that, Keith already starts backing away from the group, turning on his heel and walking down the hall back from where they came from.

“Uh, Keith?” Shiro calls out. “Where are you going?” 

“Your room’s this way!” Hunk shouts.

Without slowing, Keith huffs over his shoulder, “I’ll check it out later.”

His boots echo down the corridor as he beelines back to the training wing.

The doors open and he strides over to the console in the wall, tapping and swiping at the screen. He chooses his difficulty level, terrain choice, and activates the simulation. 

With a deep breath in, Keith steps into the center of the room. 

With a flick of his wrist, the black bayard shifts into his familiar blade. 

From the ground, robot dummies emerge throughout the chamber, limp and lifeless. Still, Keith readies himself, breathing out slowly.

After a few moments, the bots finally spring to life, eyes glowing, limbs shifting and creaking into combat mode. 

The bots swipe at him, as he ducks, spins, and his arm swings. His body moves faster by instinct than thought. One by one, they buckle, torn electric wires spilling open from where he strikes through them.

Keith realizes it too late that these bots are not built for this kind of assault. Unlike the Castle of Lions models, these were likely meant for ranged combat, not close-quarters swordplay. As they collapse, he notes that they’re damaged for good, beyond repair. 

But Keith doesn’t care.

In this moment in time, he’s alive, with every movement being a purge of the pent-up energy that he’s been carrying.

He doesn’t notice someone’s here already. Not until he stabs through the last smoking bot through the head, catching a figure leaning casually in the doorway, watching silently. 

Keith lowers his blade, sweat dripping from his brow.

“Ew, you’re sweaty,” Lance calls out, voice echoing faintly in the open space. “And gross.”

He tosses a towel underhand. Keith catches it one-handed.

“How observant,” Keith mutters, dragging it over his face.

Lance steps further into the room, slow and loose. Then, he stops.

Keith eyes him, towel slung over his shoulder. “You’re still in your armor.”

“So are you.”

“I’m training.”

Lance shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m here to train too.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “...Really?”

“What? Surprised I actually want to hone my abilities in my free time?”

“No,” Keith says evenly, “just didn’t think you’d come looking for me.”

Something flickers across Lance’s face. His eyes dart away, then back. “Don’t flatter yourself. You just happened to be the only person here.”

Keith hums. He knows that’s not the full truth, but he lets it go.

Instead, his lips twitch into a small smile. “You wanna spar?”

“I—what?”

“Best of three.”

Lance lets out a nervous laugh, stepping back slightly. “Okay, let’s pump the brakes there. I came here to do light training. Not to get my ass handed and annihilated.”

“I won’t go hard,” Keith offers, though the smirk tugging at his lips kind of ruins the promise.

Lance squints at him. “Yeah, see, that’s the thing. Your version of ‘not going hard’ still means flipping over someone and dislocating their shoulder in two seconds.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Fine. We’ll only use blades.”

“That’s worse!” Lance exclaims. “You’re, like, the literal embodiment of swordsmanship. I’m totally at a disadvantage!”

“If anything, you seriously wouldn’t last five minutes in hand-to-hand combat with me.”

Lance lets out a sharp breath. “Oh, that’s rich.”

“Just saying. I’m offering you a fair chance.”

“You’re taunting.” Lance pouts, visibly annoyed. “I already know you don’t actually think I’ll win. So what’s the point?”

Shrugging, Keith lifts a cocky brow. “I don’t know. You could surprise me.”

“Really now? You think I will?” 

Keith steps a little closer, voice dropping just slightly. “I think you could try.”

Lance glares at him for a short moment, then sighs. 

“Fine,” he voices, pulling his red bayard from his hip. With a flash of light, it shifts into its blade form. “But if I lose, I’m blaming your unfair alien genetics.”

Keith lifts his sword, stance already settling into form. “Ready when you are.”

Lance walks up to the center, facing him. As they step back from each other, his eyes remain locked on Keith, his face serious and shoulders square. 

‘Hot,’ Keith thinks.

The room goes quiet.

Slowly, they begin to circle around each other. Keith notices Lance mirrors him. However, he’s a tad bit stiffer and nervous. Still, it’s good that his grip and gaze remains firm.

Keith lunges first with a quick jab, not meant to land, and just to test Lance’s reflexes. 

Quickly, Lance sidesteps, parries the strike with his blade clashing and bouncing off Keith’s with a sharp spark.

“Not bad,” Keith comments, already pivoting into the next swing.

Lance blocks it. “Y-Yeah, I’m just full of surprises,” he grunts. 

They move across the mat in a blur; strike, dodge, parry, reset. 

It’s a lot faster than Keith expects from Lance. However, unfortunately for Lance, his moves are too predictable. 

Lance overcommits on a step, and Keith catches it instantly. With a clean upward twist, he knocks the blade from Lance’s hand. It skitters across the mat.

“Point goes to me,” Keith huffs, lowering his sword.

Lance groans, already walking over to retrieve his weapon. “Okay, okay. That was clearly a warm-up round. Doesn’t count.”

Keith gives him a look. “It does count.”

Lance narrows his eyes at him. “It doesn’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith relents the first round to Lance and his nonsensical logic. “Whatever. Round two. And this time, it counts. Again, this counts, Lance.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Lance mutters, already resetting his stance.

“You’re the one getting worked up over one point.”

“I’m not worked up,” Lance snaps, visibly frustrated. “But, keep talking, Keith. I’m about to wipe that smug look off your face.” 

Keith’s smirk widens, eyes flicking down Lance’s form. “Good. I like it when you fight mad.”

He really does. Lance gets sharper when he’s angry; less worried about looking cool, more focused. It’s impressive and thrilling to watch.

Lance flushes slightly, but doesn’t break eye contact. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

In the second round, Lance takes the initiative.

Keith blocks it cleanly, much to Lance’s frustration. 

Lances tries to counter with another swing toward Keith’s side, but Keith twists away, his blade catching his attack once more.

“Faster,” Keith tells him. Their faces are close. “You’re being easy to read.”

“M’not,” Lance barely voices through clenched teeth.

Keith presses forward, pushing Lance off and launching a flurry of strikes. Lance parries each one, however he barely keeps pace. Keith can still see the tension in his shoulders, bracing against Keith’s strength in order to stay on his feet.

Despite being relentless with each swing, Keith still holds back the force behind it.

Pulling away, Lance jumps back, creating space, chest rising and falling with effort.

No matter. Keith doesn’t give him time to recover. He closes the distance in two strides, blade ready to drive Lance off his feet.

Then Lance moves.

He fakes left and darts right, blade readying to strike Keith’s open side. 

Keith reacts a beat too late, caught off guard by the misdirection. He doesn’t have time to dodge, so he lifts his sword just in time. Their blades collide with a harsh clang.

He grits his teeth and pushes forward. It forces Lance to stumble backwards, nearly losing his footing. But he rolls with the momentum and recovers in a crouch.

Despite that, Lance springs back up with a grin. “Ha! Got you!” he pants, eyes bright.

Keith adjusts his stance. “You got lucky.”

“Ah! No such thing,” Lance teases, bouncing lightly on his feet. 

He presses the advantage, driving in with a diagonal cut. Keith parries, but the force behind Lance’s swing surprisingly sends him a half-step back.

Lance doesn’t let up. He ducks under Keith’s next swing and spins behind him, blade grazing the edge of Keith’s armor. Keith twists, barely avoiding a clean hit, but Lance is already repositioning.

As their blades continue to meet, Keith’s defense remains solid, but Lance’s rhythm is unpredictable now, fluid and fast.

A brief opening in Keith’s left, just wide enough.

Lance strikes.

The flat of his blade lands square against Keith’s chest plate with a loud smack.

Keith stumbles back two steps, eyes wide.

Momentarily, Lance’s smile falls, as he looks utterly stunned. “Holy shit. I… I got that point, right?”

Keith stares at him, then releases a short, breathy laugh that escapes before he can stop it. 

Lance’s smile returns, slow at first, then stretching wide. He’s practically vibrating with pride. “You weren’t holding back, right?”

Most definitely, he was. 

But there’s no need to say it. Not when Lance beams at him, bright-eyed and hoping.

“Good job,” he chooses to say, still catching his breath. 

They reset their stances, their bayards raised again. Lance circles, challenging Keith’s guard with quick, teasing jabs. Keith deflects them easily, but his follow-up strikes aren’t nearly as forceful as before.

Lance dodges a swing and counters with a low sweep. Keith hops back, then steps forward with a sweep that makes Lance hop back. They both laugh at their mirrored movements, quiet and breathless.

The pace slows into less of a duel and more into a rhythm. Perhaps like a dance.

Their eyes linger on each other longer between each strike.

However, when Keith swings his sword forward, Lance leans too far back in an attempt to dodge. His bayard slips from his grip and his balance falters as he’s about to fall.

Instantly, Keith reacts, dropping his own bayard to reach out and catch Lance. One hand catches Lance’s wrist, the other braces the small of his back, steadying him before he hits the ground.

They freeze, suspended in this position. 

Breathing heavy. 

Sweating.

Lance’s gaze flicks up, meeting Keith in the middle. Then, for just a split second, his eyes drop down to Keith’s lips, then back up.

Keith’s heart thuds loudly in his ears. 

Their faces are a few inches apart.

Keith’s breath catches.

Lance’s lips part. His eyes begin to close.

“Uh, hello there?”

The voice cuts through the moment, halting their movement.

A Garrison cadet nervously stands at the entrance to the training room, clutching a practice helmet to his chest like a shield. 

“I—I just wanted to use the training grounds,” he stammers. “Th-that’s all. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything!”

Keith and Lance spring apart like they got burned in the process. Keith lets go of Lance, and Lance quickly takes small steps back, face reddening more and more each second.

Lance faces the cadet, voice high-pitched and fast. “We’re done! Yeah, so done. Very done. You can have the space now. All yours! Right, Keith?”

Keith clears his throat. “Right. We were just… finishing up.”

The cadet nods rapidly, still stuck in place. “O-Okay! Cool! I’ll just… wait here, then...”

Turning back to Keith, Lance looks up at him, visibly embarrassed. “Uh—thanks,” he blurts, voice cracking. “For catching me, I mean. I guess, um, rain check on that final sparing round, yeah?”

Slowly, Keith nods. However, his mind remains stuck in his thoughts, mind reeling over what the hell happened. 

Lance shortly nods back, before rushing out from the room, his armored shoulder accidentally shoving the poor cadet aside as he disappears down the hall.

Wordlessly, Keith turns and walks off in the opposite direction.

As he passes a group of Garrison personnel, he lifts a hand to cover his mouth, partly to hide the smile fighting to appear across his face.

Lance was going to kiss him.

Keith’s heart beats wildly fast, but it’s not from the sparring.

Whatever that was, it almost felt like he won.

When Keith promised Hunk he’d help find his family, he imagined it would be just the two of them doing a stealth recovery operation. 

He didn’t expect having company.

Certainly not James and a sharp-eyed woman with glasses in Garrison gear, as they step from the shadows of the vehicle bay.

James folds his arms. “You two heading somewhere?”

Keith glares at him. “This doesn’t concern either of you.”

The woman adjusts her glasses, casual and calm. “No,” she replies, “but you’ll probably be concerned with the patrol drones that’ll spot you within seconds.”

“And you might be concerned with the blast from Sendak’s automated low-orbit, long-range blaster satellite,” James adds dryly.

Hunk frowns at James. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is I don’t wanna watch Earth’s last hope get wiped out because he thinks stealth ops are a solo sport,” James states firmly, before offering a smirk. “That’s why we’re coming with you.”

Keith doesn’t get him. They haven’t talked in years. And even then, James was curt and competitive. 

He doesn’t remember them ever getting along. He doesn’t remember being this closely watched by him.

But he’s not here for that.

His mission is for Hunk to reunite with his family.

Keith exhales through his nose. “Fine,” he mutters, giving a sharp look over at James. “Do whatever you want. Just stay out of our way.”

“Y-Yeah,” Hunk stammers, crossing his arms and trying his best to glare over Keith’s back, “What he said.”

They load into the automobile, with Hunk sliding beside Keith in the back. James drives. The woman joining them settles into the passenger seat.

As the vehicle hums through the dirt roads, headlights cutting through night, the woman glances back with a small smile. “So... you’re Keith, right?”

Keith shifts slightly, eyes sharpening. “Why do you ask?”

Her tone stays light. “I only ask because you fit the description of what’s been written into a lot of reports. Academic records and mission logs. I must say, you’re interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad,” she says. “Well, it depends who you talk to. Everyone seems to have a different opinion about you.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I need to care about right now.”

She lifts both hands, palms raised in mock surrender. “Hey, I don’t have anything against you. Unlike some people.” Her thumb jerks sideways toward James.

“Knock it off,” James grumbles.

She laughs, light and easy. It lingers in the air like someone familiar. Keith studies her longer than he intends to.

“Yeah, I’m Keith,” he says slowly. “And you?”

“Veronica,” she answers. “Hopefully that name hasn’t reached you under any... poor marketing.”

He’s never heard her name before.

“You seem really comfortable for someone just tagging along,” he mentions evenly. “So what, you're just tagging along for the gossip? Or do you actually know how to help?”

Veronica arches a brow. “I’m here to support your mission. Plus, I know the terrain better than you, as far as I’m concerned. So, I’d like to think I’ll be useful.”

Keith huffs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Veronica smirks, leaning back in her seat. “Hopefully I won't disappoint then.”

The curve of her mouth. It’s familiar in a way he can’t place. He can’t tell if it’s from the shape of her face or how she smiles.

With that, Veronica looks away. As she does, Hunk quickly leans in with a harsh whisper, one hand raised like a curtain between them.

“Keith, buddy, you need to dial back. Like, right now.”

“What? Why? Is she higher up?”

“....Do you seriously not know who that is?”

Keith blinks. “No. Am I supposed to?” he whispers back.

Hunk sighs, exasperated. “That’s Veronica. Lance’s oldest sister. So, I totally suggest if you’re trying to make a good impression on his family for his hand, be like, on your best behavior moving forward.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask how the hell Hunk knows about his feelings towards Lance. He’s too caught up in sudden panic that sends a cold sense of dread down his body.

Keith realizes he wasn’t just unkind; he was practically rude to Lance’s sister.

He sinks deep into his seat, staring out the window with renewed regret. 

He already failed a mission he had no idea he was even on.

Keith doesn’t flinch when the laser hits him. At least, not at first.

The burn sears across the back of his hand, a sharp, blinding pain that makes him drop his bayard. He stumbles behind a wall, wincing from the instant burning sensation. The Galra droid that fired at him is still active, scanning for targets.

From above, a shot rings out.

Kinkade, perched in one of the high-rise ruins, takes the droid down with a clean blast. It shuts down and collapses on the broken street.

Allura rushes to Keith’s side, her boots skidding across the debris. “Keith! Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I only got nicked.”

“Let me see.”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, trying to flex his trembling hand. 

She gently takes his wrist, examining the along the top of his palm to see an ugly spiral of heat-burn where the Galra laser got him, still sizzling and smokey. Her expression tightens. “You need to get to the medbay. Now. Who knows what it looks like underneath your suit.”

Keith grits his teeth. “It’s nothing.”

The team regroups after the recon mission, riding back toward the Garrison in a pair of transport vehicles. Keith keeps himself together, hand tucked against his side. 

The burn still pulses, persistent and gradually increasing in pain. 

Every bump in the road sends a jolt through his arm, and by the time they reach the Garrison gates, he’s starting to sweat, trying to breath through the waves of searing agony.

As they hop out of the vehicles, Hunk swings his arm around to grab his bayard and accidentally bumps Keith’s injured hand.

Keith jerks back with a sharp gasp, wincing hard. “Shit—!”

Hunk freezes, eyes wide. “Oh man, Keith! I-I’m so sorry—I didn’t see—are you okay?”

Keith cradles his hand, trying to play it off. “I’m fine. Just—just a burn.”

Pidge turns to him, brows raised. “Wait, huh? What happened?”

He opens his mouth to deflect, but Allura steps in before he can. “He was hit by a Galra laser during the mission. He needs to be treated immediately.”

“Allura…”

“I’m not going to pretend it’s minor when it clearly isn’t,” she says firmly to him.

“You didn’t tell us you got hit,” Lance voices out.

Keith sighs. “It wasn’t—”

“—‘That bad,’” Lance finishes for him, rolling his eyes. “Seriously. You could lose a limb and still be like, ‘Oh, it’s just a scratch.’”

“It’s my hand,” Keith mutters. “I’m not dying.”

“Well, you’re not good, either,” Lance snaps, then softens. His gaze flicks to the burn, and his whole expression shifts into a mix between concern and frustration. “You’re going to get that checked. And I’m going with you.”

Keith doesn’t argue with him. Not because he agrees, but because Lance is already guiding him through the halls, his hand hovering near Keith’s back like he’s afraid he’ll collapse.

So dramatic, as always.

Inside the Garrison infirmary, a nurse greets them, her eyes immediately zoning in on Keith’s hand. 

Keith slightly lifts his hand to her, showing more of the damage. “Laser burn. Galra droid.”

She ushers him to a cot and gestures for him to remove his armor. “Let’s get a look.”

Keith sits rigid on the edge of the infirmary bed, armor peeled back to his waist, his black body suit zipped down halfway to expose his burned hand, leaving him in his bare torso and arms. 

From the sight, the nurse’s eyes widening at the sight of Keith’s now exposed hand, bare skin blistering and red, with dust and soot. 

“A second-degree burn,” she informs him, “You’re lucky it didn’t go deeper.”

She begins prepping supplies.

“I’ll need to clean it thoroughly with an antiseptic solution to prevent infection,” the nurse explains, pulling on gloves, “then apply a topical antibiotic and wrap it with a moisture-retentive dressing.”

Keith winces just hearing that. “Can I get something for the pain?”

She gives him a sympathetic look. “I can give you an oral analgesic after.”

Sighing, he nods.

Lance drops into the chair beside Keith, arms crossed.

“You know,” he starts, trying for casual, “I’ve seen you stabbed, thrown through a wall by a Galra brute, and choked. But you’re scared over a little pain from a burn?”

Keith glares at him. “It’s the type of pain. Like a damn papercut that won’t shut up.”

Lance leans in slightly. “You sure you don’t want me to get a tissue? In case you cry.”

The nurse returns and gives Lance a glance like ‘You’re not helping’, but Keith lifts his right hand, signaling he’s fine.

Once they properly settle around each other, she begins the debridement, cleansing the blistering skin. 

It stings like hell.

Lance chuckles, but it fades when Keith squeezes his eyes shut against the uncomfortable pain. He lays out an open palm towards Keith. 

“Here,” he offers. “You can hold my hand.”

Without much thought to it, Keith’s fingers curl into a tight hand-hold. Lance’s thumb gently brushes over his knuckles, a semblance of reassurance. 

Keith focuses on breathing through the white-hot pain as the nurse applies the salve and wraps gauze. He holds on, until the worst of the pain ebbs.

After patting his back and handing him a pain reliever pill, the nurse tells Keith she’ll be right back. His grip on Lance’s hand loosens once the nurse leaves.

“Too bad you don’t have the recovery pod to hide in anymore,” Lance says, a teasing lilt trying to cover how soft his voice actually sounds.

Keith glares, but it’s half-hearted. “Shut up,” he mutters, before wincing again as the gauze pulls against raw skin.

Instantly, Lance’s smirk fades. He scoots in his chair closer. “You okay?”

Keith sets his hand slowly down. “It’ll heal.”

“I meant you. Not the burn.”

“...Yeah. I’ll be okay, Lance,” Keith assures him, with a small smile. “Whether or not it scars doesn’t concern me.”

Lance nods, eyes lingering on Keith’s face. Then, his hand lifts, fingers lightly brushing along Keith’s jaw, then pausing at the scar under his cheekbone.

“What about this burn?” he murmurs. 

Keith hums. “What about it?”

“Is it… from Shiro?”

“Kuron,” Keith corrects instantly, “Not… Shiro...”

Lance frowns, his thumb gliding once over the mark before he lets his hand fall. 

Keith tries to shrug it off, but the movement’s stiff. So instead, he ponders a little, thinking how to shift the silence away to something less serious. 

“So… what do you think about scars?”

Lance looks caught off guard by the question. “Uh.. genuinely?”

Keith doesn’t bother to repeat himself. 

It takes a glance at Keith’s face, for Lance to hum. “Let me think.” he says, staring at the ceiling like he's seriously considering it. “I mean, sure. I don’t mind a good scar. Kinda cool if it's got a story.”

“And me?”

“You?”

“Do you think I look good with one?”

Lance purses his lips together, staring at Keith’s face. “I think you pull it off. It adds to the mysterious, brooding thing you’ve got going on. It makes me want to get one for myself.”

Keith dwells on the thought. “Don’t.”

The doors to the medbay push open. 

Allura steps in, still in her paladin armor. “Is everything alright, you two?”

Easily, Lance flashes her a practiced grin. “All handy-dandy. Of course, except for the part where Keith here almost cried over a little pain.”

The image visibly disturbs Allura. “He cried?”

“No,” Keith deadpans.

“I’m exaggerating,” Lance says, waving a hand. “He didn’t cry. He just made this funny-looking face. You should have seen it, Princess. It was very scrunchy.” 

“Lance.”

“Other than that, he’s obviously fine. Just look at him! He’s tough as nails!”

Allura smiles, her expression softening. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, Keith.”

Keith shrugs, trying to look indifferent. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal, he says, while looking pouty-wouty.”

When Keith lightly shoves Lance off-kilt on his chair, Allura chuckles, shaking her head. Then, her gaze lingers between them. 

“Well, I’m headed over to the debriefing meeting,” she informs them, “I’ll let Admiral Sanda know you two will be absent. In the meantime, stick together.”

With that, she turns and exits, the door sliding shut behind her.

The silence that follows is soft, almost tentative. Keith shifts slightly on the infirmary cot, his bandaged hand resting on his lap. Lance remains seated beside him, gaze lingering.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Keith tells him “If you run, you could catch up to Allura and be at the meeting.”

“Oh, I know,” Lance easily replies.

“So… why don’t you?”

Lance hesitates, then sighs. “How many times do I have to remind you? I… care about you. And I know how much it means to you when someone doesn’t walk away.”

Taking the words to process through his mind, Keith’s gaze quickly drops to his lap. 

He can’t bear to have Lance see the flush in his cheeks, swayed by those words.

Then, quietly, he says, “I’m… glad you care about me.”

Lance’s expression shifts, surprised, touched, and maybe even a little stunned.

Keith shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. “Thought you should know…”

Lance’s smile deepens, and Keith wonders maybe he's not ridiculous to think his feelings aren’t as one-sided as he thought.

After several recon missions, they finally figure out Sendak’s plan with Earth.

In the conference room, Admiral Sandra leans back in her chair, skeptical. “You’re proposing simultaneous strikes on six Galra facilities, with five missing Lions, limited reinforcements, and four borrowed MFE fighters?”

“Yes,” Shiro affirms.

“Again, our Lions are stationed in Saturn, right now,” Allura adds, “We can summon them at any time. They will respond to our call.”

Sandra visibly looks doubtful. “And if it fails?”

“It won’t,” Keith says bluntly. 

It earns him a sour look from the admiral, but unfortunately for her, he’s the leader of Voltron. So, Sanda can’t say anything back.

The plan finalizes quickly; five lions, five Galra facilities. The sixth will be targeted by MFE fighters. Each of the paladins will be deployed to their assigned base, via escort ships.

With the exception of Lance, who will be driven by Veronica, his sister.

Much to Keith’s frustration, he’s paired with James. Far from preferable.

As the meeting ends, Keith slips out, heading towards his personal quarters to sleep in early.

“Keith!” Lance calls out.

Keith stops, turning on instinct. 

Lance jogs a few steps to catch up, then slows awkwardly beside him. “Hey,” he says, stuffing his hands into his Garrison uniform pockets. “Uh. Mind sticking around for a sec?”

Keith glances back toward the flow of officers exiting down the hall. “...Sure.”

They shift to the far wall, letting the hallway thin out around them.

When the corridor quiets, Lance exhales, shoulders taut.

“So… it’s been a while,” he starts, not quite meeting Keith’s gaze. “I uh, wanted to check on you. Feels like we haven’t really talked lately, despite, you know, us being in the same facility. I mean, not that we needed to, or anything.”

Keith raises a brow. “We've been around.”

“No, I—Sure, like physically,” Lance flounders. “But, I meant your real voice. Not the ‘I’m-a-leader-now-so-I-talk-in-orders’ voice. I want to talk to you as Keith.” He trails off, pressing his palm flat against his temple. “Forget it. I’m probably sounding really weird right now.”

“You’ve sounded worse.”

Despite the embarrassment written on his face, Lance gives him a scowl. 

Keith softens, letting go of the tease. “Though, I’ve noticed it too. Us not talking.”

He can tell there’s something behind Lance’s demeanor right now. He’s fidgety tonight.

“How do you, um, feel?” Lance finally asks, rubbing the side of his arm. “About the final mission. Like… aren’t you nervous or something?””

“What good does it do to say if I am?” Keith asks.

Under his gaze, Lance shifts again. “I mean, once James drops you off, you’ll be on your own. Alone to fight for yourself.”

Keith’s brows draw together. “I won’t be alone. I have the Black Lion.”

“Ugh, yeah, duh, I know,” Lance says quickly. “Technically. But it’s still different. If something goes wrong, no one’s nearby. No one to pull you out of a pickle…”

Keith’s expression doesn’t change. “I’ll manage.”

Their eyes stay locked longer than usual.

Then Lance moves in, arms tentative before wrapping around Keith’s shoulders.

Keith stiffens for a moment, then slowly returns the hug. The tension in his shoulders easing.

“Geez, stupid Keith,” Lance whispers, voice muffled against his shoulder. “I’m trying to tell you I’m scared.”

Keith blinks. “Oh…” That makes more sense.

“And I don’t know how else to say it, without sounding like a total loser.”

Steadying himself in the stillness, Keith closes his eyes. “You’re not a loser, Lance,” he says. “I feel the same.”

“...Really?”

“It’s hard not to be, with everything coming.”

Lance exhales shakily. “It helps. Hearing someone else say they’re scared when you are, too. Especially someone like you.”

Keith nods slowly. “I get it. I do.”

Lance pulls back slightly, arms still draped across Keith. His mouth opens like he wants to say more, but stops short. He seemingly gets stuck staring at Keith.

Keith doesn’t know what to do with it, unsure if it’s anticipation or dread he's feeling right now.

He wonders if Lance’s cheeks feel as warm as his own. 

Then, Lance snaps out of it, pulling away first, quick and fumbling with his words. He laughs nervously and steps back. “Right. Uh… yeah,” he stammers, “Thanks for… that. For not making me feel stupid.”

“Yeah, of course,” Keith says, trying to calm his own beating, erratic heart. “Goodnight, Lance.”

“Good night. Man. Buddy. Stay safe out there, okay?” Lance says, already walking backwards, before he turns away from Keith, in the direction to the dormitory wing.

Keith watches him go, something tight curling in his chest, left unsaid.

The next morning, Keith’s up before sunrise, his paladin armor snug against his frame.

He jogs toward the deployment area, across concrete. A convoy of sleek Garrison vehicles is prepping for departure, mechanics and soldiers rushing to finalize details.

Perched atop of the Garrison vehicle, Lance adjusts his gear. His concentration is evident, posture focused.

“Lance!” Keith calls out, voice breathless but urgent.

Lance turns quickly, startled. “Huh?” he voices, gaze darting down to meet Keith’s own.

Standing at his side, Veronica pauses mid-motion as Keith approaches. Her brows lift slightly in surprise, but when she notices Keith spot her reaction, she quickly looks away.

Keith slows to a halt, his hands still curled from the jog. His chest rises and falls, and there’s a beat of awkward silence as he meets Lance’s gaze.

“I, uh…” Keith starts, words clunky. “Just wanted to say…” 

Lance rapidly blinks at him, visibly still unable to process what’s happening.

So, Keith takes a breath, collecting himself properly.

“Stay safe out there,” he repeats back to him.

Lance stares at him for a long moment, lips slightly parted. Then slowly, softly, his expression shifts into something gentle. His cheeks tint with color under the dawn.

“You, too, Keith,” he says, smiling.

Keith nods once, lingering in the weight of his gaze.

Then, without another word, he turns and walks away, heading toward the hangar where James awaits for him. 

The mission looms on the horizon.

This could possibly be the last time he sees Lance ever in his lifetime.

At least he got to say a fraction of what his heart yearns to shout.

The echoes of war still reverberated across the world.

Months passed, and yet the names Sendak, Atlas, and Voltron were mentioned on repeat through news headlines and radio stations. The image of burning mechas silhouetted against a bruised sky had become iconic, immortalized by historians as a battle that would be retold for generations.

But to Keith, none of it felt real.

He remembered the final moments in fragments.

Voltron had grappled with Sendak’s war machine through the outer atmosphere, until all transmissions dissolved into incoherent static. They broke through the clouds and reached space, far from the fragile planet below. 

Sendak’s mecha was to self-destruct.

Keith remembered the feeling of the cockpit narrowing around him, the Lion’s systems alarms blaring red and loud in his face.

And for a terrible, shattering moment, Keith thought, ‘This is how I die.’

There was no time to say goodbye. 

As the explosion ripped outward, he thought of his team. 

He would’ve traded every year of his life just to give Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Lance a few more.

Keith wasn’t expected to survive.

While others splashed into the ocean or collapsed into desert sand, The Black Lion had plummeted into jagged concrete of an urban ruin. Rubble rained down. Metal screamed.

They said it was a miracle he made it.

Lacerations covered his torso and limbs. Multiple cracked ribs. A concussion so severe, the medical staff couldn’t rouse him. Tubes replaced breath, feeding him, and hydrating him. 

Had it not been for his Paladin armor protecting his vital organs, he wouldn’t be here.

Time in the med bay stretched like a thick, endless fog that was impossible to measure.

He barely registered voices.

“Stay strong, my son,” Krolia had whispered close into his ear. “For you have the blood of a strong Galran warrior, and the relentless heart of your father.”

He wanted to respond, to squeeze her hand, but his fingers wouldn’t move.

Keith couldn’t tell if it was minutes, hours, or days later when he heard Kolivan. 

“Rest and heal,” he solemnly voiced, “We will stand with you until the day you wake.”

Keith tried to speak, but the tube in his throat silenced him. Frustration clawed at his chest.

His muscles ached from disuse. His soul burned to run, train, and fight. He yearned for the day he could get up and move.

However, once he finally awoke, recovery began in small steps.

Slowly, piece by piece, he came back. Off oxygen. Off the feeding tube. Then evaluations from all kinds of therapists; physical, occupational, and speech. They prodded his reflexes, grip strength, and balance. Everything felt like stone at first. His muscles refused to listen.

But Keith fought through.

Weeks passed. Then a month or two.

Eventually, Keith walked again.

That’s when Hunk came.

“Keith!” He shouted and waved excitedly outside the glass panel before stepping inside. In his hands was a tray of apples carved into little rabbit shapes and a dish of peanut butter.

Keith blinked. “Is that…?”

“Comfort food! I thought you’d appreciate something super adorable,” Hunk said. “Hospital food sucks. And–Wait, are you allergic to anything? Or like uh, have any diet restrictions? I probably should have asked your nurse first, huh?”

Keith smiled weakly. “I’ll eat whatever you bring me.”

As Keith slowly brought the apple slices to his mouth, Hunk sat beside his bed, quieter now. He rubbed his hands together, nervous in thought.

“Everything was… really scary,” he voiced, “None of us knew if you'd wake up.”

Keith sighed. “Me neither, honestly.”

Hunk looked up at him, eyes watery. “I know you porbbaly don't want to get all sappy right now. But I, uh, wanted to give my thanks. INot just for being a good leader, but being a good friend. You were by my side when my family was trapped and risked yourself to try and save them for me.”

Keith’s gaze softened. “It’s nothing.”

“No, nuh-uh. You don't get to say it’s nothing on me,” Hunk pressed on, voice trembling. “While everyone told me to stand still, you—” He paused, swallowing hard. “You were the only one who was willing to move with me.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you go through that alone.” Keith’s throat tightened. “I know what losing family feels like. I didn’t want you to know it.”

Hunk’s breath hitched. He stared at Keith for a moment, eyes wide, heart full. Then something broke open in him, relief, gratitude, and love rushed to the surface.

Hunk surged forward and pulled Keith into a tight hug. “Dude, I freakin’ love you so much! I'm so glad you're all okay now!”

Keith wheezed at the pressure. “T-Try not to kill me in the process, Hunk.”

The next morning, after Hunk’s visit, Pidge and Allura entered together.

Pidge spoke the entire visit, her voice a constant stream of chatter. She rambled about her dog’s latest antics, Matt’s return to her family, and the joint efforts among humans and aliens arriving to Earth. It seemed Pidge was happy to back home.

Keith listened, grateful for the noise. It filled the silent med room that he’d been drowning in.

“Also, Allura’s been doing Paladin work,” Pidge added, looking over to her. “She had the least amount of damage. I mean, she's lucky to have basically crash-landed into the ocean, out of all things.”

Allura chuckled, but her smile faded quickly.

Keith noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Allura hesitated, fingers tracing a curve of her sleeve. “It's about the robot. The one Sendak used… we found something.”

Keith's heartbeat picked up. “He’s alive.”

“No,” she assured quickly. “Sendak and his forces are long gone. But the power source… it’s heinous, Keith.”

“Eh, but we’ve got this handled,” Pidge says, placing a hand on Keith’s wrist. "You just focus on getting better. Let us handle the next phase until you're back on your feet for real.”

Keith nodded. “Thanks… for everything, you guys.”

“That’s supposed to be our line,” Pidge scoffs, but nevertheless she smiles.

That same evening, Shiro appeared.

Keith sighed at the concern already showing on Shiro’s face. “You here to ask how I’m feeling? Because I’ve got nurses asking that every four hours.”

Shiro chuckled and pulled up a chair closer to Keith’s bedside. He sat down. “Fair. Then tell me what you want to hear. Atlas? The Garrison?”

“I’d rather hear about you,” Keith replied. “Did you ever talk to him? Adam?”

Shiro hesitated, then said, “Yes, I talked to him.”

Keith sat up way too fast and winced, grabbing at his ribs.

Shiro shot forward. “Careful!”

“D-Don’t mind me. Tell me what happened?”

After a minute of his eyes scanning all over Keith, Shiro sighed and nodded. “Adam didn’t want to meet me at first. But after some insisting on my end, I got a minute with him.”

Keith’s breath caught. “Are you…?”

“No. We’re not together,” Shiro said. “There’s a lot of history between me and him, Keith. Wounds that don’t heal with time. But… we’re talking again. We’re trying.”

Keith smiled. “You’re blushing.”

Shiro laughed, cheeks tinged red. “At this point? I’ll take him in any form. Lover or friend. Anything is better than nothing at all.”

“I hope it works out.”

“...Thanks, Keith,” Shiro added. “Though, please only think about yourself right now. You still have a couple weeks in the hospital before you're even considered for discharge. I'll be okay. Everyone will.”

Keith nodded, swallowing past something thick in his throat.

It reminded him that he’d made a promise to himself and Lance. That once they arrived on Earth and had time for themselves, he’d tell Lance his feelings. And, perhaps now, would be the perfect time to say them.

But Lance hadn’t come.

Not once.

And Keith couldn’t stop wondering why.

When the nurse came in for his evening assessment, she asked, “Any pain?”

Keith gave her the standard answer. But internally?

No medicine could treat the ache in his heart.

The sun filters through the blinds in dusty stripes when the attending physician walks in, clipboard in hand and a tired but satisfied smile etched across his face.

“You’re cleared to be discharged first thing tomorrow morning,” he announces, flipping through Keith’s chart. “Vitals are stable, your scans have held up. Congratulations.”

Keith blinks at him slowly, barely reacting. His muscles tense beneath the thin hospital blanket.

“However,” the doctor continues, tone shifting with the weight of command, “light exercise only. No strain. No pressure. And don’t get clever and pretend your stitches are indestructible. They're not. You're one of our lucky ones, Mr. Kogane. Try to act like it.”

In the corner, Shiro stands silent and watchful, arms crossed against his chest like a sentinel carved from stone. His eyes haven't left Keith since the doctor walked in.

Keith finally mutters, eyes narrowing at Shiro’s posture. “You’re staring.”

“You’re thinking about disobeying doctor’s orders. I know that face.”

“I could get back into training, slowly.”

“‘Slowly’ isn’t in your vocabulary,” Shiro replies dryly. “Which is exactly why I’m here. To remind you what ‘recovery’ actually means.”

When the physician exits the room, Shiro walks over and tidies the messy corner folds at the end of Keith’s bed.

“I won’t be here tonight,” he says. “I have a meeting to attend with Samuel."

“Technically, you’re not supposed to visit me during the late hours anyway.”

Shiro chuckles. “I’m a Garrison commander, Keith. I have full clearance. If I wanted to see you at three in the morning, I easily could.”

Keith smirks. “Your new power’s already gone to your head.”

“Terribly,” Shiro says, grinning, then ruffles Keith’s hair, gentle but uninvited. 

Keith swats at him half-heartedly.

“Pipe down,” Shiro says, still smiling. “While I’m gone, use this recovery time to consider what things you should get done.”

Keith grimaces. “The only things I want to do are exercise-related. Doctor says no.”

“Well, there is something else you could do.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard me out.”

“I don’t need to,” Keith mutters. “You’re going to say Lance.”

Shiro doesn’t bother denying it. “He might be dealing with his own stuff, you know.”

Keith turns sharply, narrowing his eyes. “And you’d know, wouldn’t you? You talk to him while I sit here, cooped up.”

Shiro sighs. “I’m not going to share someone else’s business with you. You know that.”

Keith looks away, chest tight. Thoughts race like a storm behind his eyes, none of them bringing any peace. His stomach knots.

Shiro checks his watch and straightens up. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day for you.”

Keith calls after him as he turns toward the door. “No welcome party.”

“I can’t hear you,” Shiro singsongs, disappearing down the hallway.

Keith throws his head back onto the pillow. The motion pulls at his side—not recommended, probably—but he doesn’t care.

He hates everything about this feeling.

Lance. Silence. Uncertainty. 

Did I misread him?

We were getting somewhere, Keith thinks. Touches. Hugs. Moments.

Now Keith’s brain spins in torturous circles. 

Was it all in his head? 

Did Lance pull away intentionally? 

Did I do something wrong?

The questions are endless, and they’re making his head ache.

He groans softly, dragging a hand down his face, then turns toward the dim light spilling from the window.

Just a nap, he tells himself. Shut down for a while. Reset.

And he does.

But it isn’t just a nap; it’s practically hibernation.

When Keith blinks awake again, the overhead lights are dimmed, and moonlight washes across the floor in pale ripples. 

The clock reads 10:04 PM.

He slept nearly ten hours.

His dinner tray sits untouched. The food is cold and sad-looking. His stomach growls angrily, loud in the quiet room.

Keith groans again. He reaches toward the nurse’s call button, already dreading the late-night request for snacks.

The sound of the window shifting stops him.

A chill runs up his spine. The latch creaks slowly, deliberately.

Keith turns his head sharply. The window slides open inch by inch. Then—gloved hands curl over the edge of the sill.

His room is on the third floor.

The enemy is approaching him. 

Keith hurriedly scans the dim room His eyes lock on a plastic hospital cup of apple juice. He grabs it, rips the lid off, and grips it like a grenade.

The intruder groans softly, pulling themselves through the window. Their silhouette is hooded. Thin jacket. Face hidden.

Keith’s knuckles whiten.

A hooded figure drops to the floor inside the room.

Right then, he hurls the juice full-force at the figure’s head.

The apple juice spills all over them, as the figure squawks, flailing and rubbing their face with their sleeve. “Wh—What the—”

With adrenaline pulsing through his body, Keith grabs the plastic knife from the dinner tray, leaps from the bed, and tackles the figure to the ground in two swift strides.

He straddles them, one hand pinning down both wrists, the other pressing the dull blade near their throat.

“Who are you?” Keith growls, his voice a dark snarl. “Speak now, or I’ll make you.”

The figure squirms beneath him, gasping. “Keith—it’s me!” they whisper rapidly, “Lance! Don’t—Don’t cut me, oh my God!”

Moonlight spills across Lance’s face, flushed, panicked, sticky with juice. Hair flattened under his hood. His eyes wide and helpless.

Keith stares down, unmoving. Slowly, he releases Lance’s wrists but remains perched above him.

His own breath comes hard and fast, the adrenaline still flowing through him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Keith demands in a hiss. “You looked like a damn assassin crawling through my damn window!”

“I—! The receptionist said I couldn’t visit!” Lance blurts, still wiping juice from his eyes. “She was a power-tripping nightmare! No clearance after hours or whatever, even after I told her I’m a freaking paladin who helped save Earth!”

“So you climbed the wall?”

“I asked Hunk for your room number,” Lance explains hurriedly. “He practically begged me not to climb. I didn’t listen. I just—I didn’t want to give up.”

“You risked injury, hospital lockdown, and disciplinary action. For what?”

“Because I wanted to see you!” Lance hisses, earnestly looking up at him.

Keith exhales sharply, shifting off of him, though still seated on the floor beside him. He mutters, “You scared me half to death.”

“Oof, yeah, I could tell,” Lance winces, as he sits up slowly, rubbing his shoulder. “You tackled me pretty hard. You were really intense there.”

“I was protecting myself. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Also… your eyes.”

Keith frowns. “What about them?”

“Earlier. When you tackled me. I thought they looked… yellow.”

Keith’s brows pinch. “My eyes aren’t yellow.”

“I mean, not now. But earlier. I swear. It was like for a quick second.”

Standing up, Keith gestures to the wide-open window. “Lance, you really shouldn’t be here. The nurse can come in any minute.”

Lance sits up. “I’m not leaving.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Nope.”

“Lance.”

“Keith.”

“You climbed three stories and broke hospital protocol.”

“I’m already in trouble, what's one more offense?”

“You’re being reckless.”

“Oh, says you!” Lance mocks. “And, to be frank, you’re totally being ungrateful right now!”

“Go back to your quarters.”

“No.”

Keith’s shoulders tense. “Then what do you want? Why the hell do you want to pop in here and talk all of a sudden? You were the only person who didn’t come see me anyway."

Lance doesn’t answer right away. He has an odd look on his face.

“…I don’t know,” he says, finally. “I—I didn’t really rehearse this part.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “So you scaled a wall, snuck in here, and didn’t plan anything else?”

“I mean, I knew I had to come and what I wanted to do,” Lance says quickly, lifting his head. “I just didn’t know what else to say once I got to see you. I thought you would have been like, I don’t know, thinking I was cool and amazing by now.”

“You really shouldn’t be proud of scaling a hospital wall.”

“Keith, I’m not proud. I’m desperate.” Lance’s tone drops, a bit softer. “I missed you.”

Stiff, Keith looks away, jaw tight. “You could’ve visited.”

Lance stands up fully now, stepping close to Keith. “I know. And I’m sorry. I thought... maybe you didn’t want me to. We kind of left things weird.”

“We left things fine. You made it weird by disappearing!”

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” Lance protests. “I thought you would have wanted to have space. What you went through was difficult and I was considering maybe you wouldn’t want me to see you in that state.”

“...Space wasn’t what I needed,” Keith mutters.

“Well, okay, you know what, I didn’t exactly know what you wanted! One day we’re almost kissing each other, and the next, you have tubes everywhere and you’re comatose for weeks! What was I supposed to do?”

The words hit Keith like a physical blow.

His breath stutters—just a fraction, just enough that Lance notices. Keith’s fingers curl slightly by his side. He looks away fast.

Lance doesn’t seem to realize what he’s just done. Or maybe he does—because his voice softens, sheepish, and almost terrified.

“I seriously didn’t know what to do with that, Keith,” Lance continues. “How was I supposed to walk in here and pretend you’re just my friend? How could I, when my heart wants you deeply?”

Keith’s heart booms in his ears, as he feels his skin tremble.

Lance exhales shakily. “And honestly? My plan tonight was to find you and—God—just kiss you already. That’s all I had. I didn’t rehearse anything else, Keith. That’s how much you’ve ruined me.”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to ground himself. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he says nothing. Just tries to steady his breath and the sudden, dizzying rush in his head.

Lance leans forward, earnest and helpless. “Listen, I didn’t come here to fight. I’m here because tomorrow you’re discharging, and I didn’t want you thinking I didn’t care. Yes, I overthought everything. Yes, I panicked. But I’m here now. Keith, I’m here.”

Looking at Lance feels like staring into a sun Keith’s not sure he deserves. So, he keeps his eyes closed.

“Lance…” His voice sounds coarse, humiliatingly pathetic. “You can’t just—say things like that.”

“Why not?” Lance whispers. “They’re true.” He grabs a hold of both Keith’s wrists. “I’m not trying to overwhelm you. I swear. I’ve just… been holding this in for months. And then you almost died, and I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you any of it.”

Keith’s chest tightens painfully. He’d felt the same fear.

“I didn’t want to lose you without you knowing how much you matter to me,” Lance says.

“Lance…” Keith murmurs, closer to surrender. “You can’t possibly take any of this back.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Keith opens his eyes.

Lance is so close, face level with Keith’s. Close enough that Keith can see the flecks of dark blue in his irises, staring at him evenly.

“Keith,” Lance whispers, voice barely holding steady, “Can I…?” He exhales. “Can I kiss you? Please. I’ve been wanting to for so long.”

Keith hesitates.

“If the nurse walks in, you’re the one explaining,” he murmurs.

That’s all the permission Lance needs.

He leans in immediately and kisses Keith right then and there.