Chapter Text
Keith remembered opening Lance’s message like it was a sudden, unexpected comet streaking across his personal sky.
It had been a year since Keith had last seen Lance. He hadn't seen him since their annual reunion with the other former paladins and Coran, a tradition held sacred on a specific day each year. So, when Keith settled into his assigned room on the ship one night, mid-journey to yet another planet in need of aid, and his communicator suddenly buzzed with a farming invitation, it was completely out of left field.
Keith never really talked to any of the paladins anymore, their connections fading with each passing year. Occasional messages and calls were the extent of their contact now, as each paladin forged their own path, embracing the freedom they had fought so hard for. Life had moved on for everyone, and Keith had, too. Their only real chance to reconnect was during their yearly reunion, a day set aside to honour Allura's sacrifice. Shiro retired and got married. Pidge became a scientist and engineer. Hunk became a celebrated chef. And Lance? Lance had made Earth his permanent home, returning to his family's farm to cultivate the land.
Lance reaching out for a six-week stay was perhaps the last thing Keith expected. Of all the paladins, Lance had been the most distant. Initially, Keith might not have batted an eye at the invitation, because there was a time, not too long ago, when Lance's messages were a daily, constant presence. But then, slowly, their exchanges dwindled from casual ‘how are you's’ to complete silence.
Even though Lance and Keith weren't exactly exchanging daily texts anymore, Keith couldn't deny a flicker of excitement at the unexpected invitation. Keith has been so caught up in his own world, his own daily duties with the Blade of Mamora, that he'd almost forgotten how to just… be. He’d never relax for nothing, even years after saving the universe and leaving the war behind. So, in a way, Lance's offer felt like a lifeline, a chance to finally breathe air not thick with duty. And though this new air was heavy with the scent of freshly cut hay, rich, damp earth, and the honest smell of barn animals, it was, without a doubt, a breath of fresh air.
The crunch of gravel beneath his boots was a stark contrast to the myriad of alien surfaces he'd encountered on countless planets. But it was familiar. It was Earth.
He paused at the end of the driveway, having just stepped out of the car that brought him here, taking in the scene with the quiet understanding that he'd need to acclimate to this if he was staying for six weeks. Rolling hills unfurled before him, bathed in the gentle warmth of the early afternoon sun. To his left stood a weathered barn, its once-vibrant red paint now faded and peeling in places. He gazed out at fields of green and gold, swaying rhythmically in the breeze, dotted with grazing cattle, and took in the sight of the time-worn fences.
A few steps in front of him was the farmhouse. A classic two story structure, its white clapboard siding clean and well maintained, though not entirely without the imperfections of age. A sturdy looking porch wrapped around the front, furnished with a couple of rocking chairs and a singular porch swing that hung from one of the posts.
Keith slung his sizable duffel bag over one shoulder, the second bag clutched securely in his other hand. He didn't glance back as the sound of the driver's engine faded into the distance, his gaze instead sweeping across the well-loved property. This was the place Lance had one day decided to stay for the rest of his life. Keith couldn't really blame him. The house itself exuded a certain resilience, standing strong and offering a comfort that was felt rather than explained.
The rumble of the car's tires on the gravel dissolved into a faint hum as the vehicle vanished down the driveway. In that moment, a wave of nervousness washed over Keith, the finality of it settling in. There was no turning back now. Of course, there wasn't really any reason to turn back and blast off back into space. Even though he was the leader of the Blade, Keith knew everyone would be perfectly fine under Zethrid's command for the next six weeks. And honestly, Keith wasn't particularly mad that he wouldn’t be there to see that.
Keith's grip tightened on his bags, shifting their weight as if that might somehow ease the pain on his shoulder. He strode toward the house, each step a loud crunch on the gravel. His gaze couldn't help but drift, taking in the rustic charm of the place. A cow mooed somewhere off to the side, answered by a sheep's funny ‘ba’ in the other.
It felt strangely dreamlike to actually be here. Keith had only ever pictured this place through Lance's vivid descriptions during their reunion dinners, tales of how the farm was faring. He'd heard about the two-story house, the early mornings spent tending to the animals, and the vast, rolling hills blanketed in endless rows of crops. He'd never imagined he'd see it with his own eyes, let alone receive an invitation from Lance McClain himself to spend a couple of weeks. It wasn't just any random invitation—Lance had specifically asked for him—especially considering they weren't exactly buddy-buddy anymore.
There had to be a reason Lance wanted him here, but why?
Why Keith?
As Keith stepped onto the porch, the wood groaned in protest under his weight. A fresh wave of nerves washed over him, a mix of anxiety about the porch's structural integrity and the fact that he was standing right in front of Lance's door, a mere wall away from the former paladin of Voltron. He hesitated for a beat, his stomach twisting into knots he hadn't thought possible. He knew he shouldn't be this nervous, but he was. God, he really was.
He could hear his own breathing, a frantic counterpoint to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. A nagging sense of a potential bad outcome persisted, despite Lance being the one who'd offered the invitation. Keith couldn't shake it. They rarely spoke anymore; Lance's name no longer lit up his notifications. It felt as though Lance had deliberately erased him from his life, though Keith knew that wasn't entirely fair of him to think, considering his own struggles to maintain connections with those he cared about. Still, it was weird that Lance, the bubbly, cocky sharpshooter, the most outwardly communicative of the paladins, had gone silent. Completely.
Keith chided himself for overthinking, for spiraling. He knew he was. Everyone was busy forging new lives, new careers, Lance included, and himself as well. Not everyone could spare a moment for a quick text or a brief call. Lance had obviously made time for him now, and that's what truly mattered, wasn't it?
Keith drew a deep breath, his hand rising to hover in a fist just above the door's worn surface. His gaze, still laced with nerves, shifted from his hesitant knuckles to the small windowpane, positioned at eye level. He peered through, wondering if anyone was watching from within, wondering why the former Black Paladin was even here, especially if Lance hadn't mentioned he was coming.
Keith finally knocked on the door gently, waiting patiently for the door to swing open. From the other side, a familiar voice called out, ‘parents are coming down in a few minutes’ and a note about waiting a ‘few more ticks’ for his carrots. A smile, soft and involuntary, bloomed on Keith's lips, because that was Lance's voice, and it sounded, well.. familiar.
Keith decided to try again, his knuckles rapping twice against the wood—a clear signal: 'Nope, not one of your veggie buyers.' A reluctant groan and the clatter of utensils against a surface reached him, followed by footsteps that quickened, making Keith’s chest spike with more nerves.
The door was then yanked open, revealing Lance. His expression, a mask of impatience he seemed to wear effortlessly, shattered into wide-eyed disbelief, his jaw practically dropping as he registered it wasn't a customer. Keith offered a smile, his mouth opening to speak—
"Holy crap–Keith!" Lance's exclamation slammed Keith's mouth shut as he was unexpectedly tackled into a firm hug. His bag slipped from his shoulder, and Keith stumbled, barely catching himself in time. "I can't believe you're here!" Lance laughed, his grip on Keith tight. "I haven't seen you in forever!"
As the initial shock of Lance's sudden embrace subsided, Keith gently placed his other bag on the wooden floor. He then returned the hug, a playful scoff escaping him. "Pretty sure we saw each other at the reunion last year, Lance."
“Yeah, but that was last year. I figured another six months at least!”
Lance squeezed Keith even tighter. While they had seen each other last year, it had been a mandatory reunion, a day to fulfill obligations, catch up with acquaintances, and escape their jobs. This year, however, was different. Keith was here for six weeks of peace, and Lance, having invited him, should have known better than to assume they would wait another six months for their usual reunion.
Keith felt Lance's fingers press into his back before his hands moved to grip the back of his neck, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Dude, your hair has gotten so long!" Lance exclaimed, his fingers immediately tangling in Keith's mullet, which now brushed his shoulders. Keith had to cut it last year because it had gotten too long, and after months of growth, it had finally reached the length he wished it would maintain, just above his shoulders.
A smile played on Keith's lips as he looked at Lance, who was completely captivated by the impressive length of Keith's hair—a length Lance himself would never dare to attempt. Lance had always claimed his own hair would devolve into an unmanageable mess of curls if he tried to grow a mullet like Keith's. Eventually, Lance released his hair, stepping back to take in Keith's appearance, as if he hadn't been expecting a visit from the fiery hothead today.
Lance shook his head, a breathless, "What are you doing here?" escaping his lips, leaving the ravenette momentarily speechless.
Keith's smile faltered, replaced by a look of genuine confusion, his brows knitting together. But then he saw Lance's face, the sheer surprise in his eyes, as if he truly had no idea Keith would be showing up at the McClain's doorstep.
At first, Keith hesitated. Then, “You invited me.” he said slowly, warily.
Keith watched Lance's face go completely blank, his excited grin morphing into a hesitant, ‘Did I?’ expression. For a fleeting second, Keith's stomach tightened, but then he saw a realisation hit Lance like a freight train. Lance groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a rapid-fire string of Spanish that Keith missed entirely, except for a mumbled phrase about his ‘Mama.’
Then, Lance's smile returned, but it was different this time, tinged with a new understanding that Keith didn’t understand. "Must've been one hell of a trip," he chose to say with a casual wave of his hand. "Come on in, make yourself comfortable."
Lance sidestepped, a gesture that now felt less like an invitation and more like a subtle hesitation. Keith's stomach clenched. Had he imagined Lance's message back at the Blade? No way he could have. He shoved the doubt aside, hefting his bags and stepping over the threshold into a house that smelled divinely of warm green tea and freshly baked bread.
As Lance shut the door, Keith's gaze swept across the spacious entryway, which opened into a cozy living area. A large plush armchair sat beside a stone fireplace, clearly waiting for the chill of winter. A braided rug lay spread across the floor, its colours muted but rich. Keith caught a glimpse of the framed photographs on the wall, smiling faces and happy memories that little Lance was included in.
Lance told Keith to just plop his bags next to the coffee table of the living room as Lance made a beeline to the kitchen that was adjacent to the living room, separated by a large open archway. A long, polished wooden table dominated the space, a fruit bowl sitting atop a green and white table runner overflowing with apples, oranges and bananas, while a simple wrought-iron chandelier hung suspended above the table.
Keith slowly trailed Lance into the dining room, his eyes still absorbing the details of the space. Lance, noticing his companion's quiet observation, paused at the kitchen counter. He opened a cabinet, its edges showing a few chips, and retrieved a single mug. "Three years of these reunions, and I've never actually seen your place," said Keith, his gaze drifting to the cream-coloured kitchen walls. "It's... lived-in."
"A century old and still standing," Lance commented, flicking on the kettle and gesturing towards the dining table for Keith to sit. "Coffee?" He offered.
Keith eased into a wooden chair closest to Lance. "Oh, no, I'm good," he replied politely. "Thanks."
Lance paused, his hand hovering over a bag of coffee beans in the cupboard. "Whoa," he turned, a laugh in his voice. "The resident hothead finally moved on from the lifeblood of the universe?"
Lance's surprise was so genuine it almost made Keith laugh. He remembered a time Hunk found something close to coffee beans on some planet during their Voltron days and figured out how to make a brew that tasted just like Earth coffee. It was Keith's one vice, the only thing he'd willingly drink. Without Kaltenecker, they'd have been screwed.
Keith shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "Traded up," he said. "It's called tea."
Lance hummed in what Keith interpreted as approval, reaching for something else in the cupboard. "So, you've officially traded in your caffeine addiction for a chamomile habit, huh?" Lance said, watching as he dropped a teabag into the mug he'd pulled out earlier. As he poured the boiling water in, he suddenly said, "Spill it."
Keith's attention snapped from the mug to Lance, confused. "Hm?"
"A jump from rocket fuel to tea? That's just an excuse to brood harder," Lance quipped, returning the kettle to its designated place. He spun around, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk on his face. "So, what’s bothering you today, Mullet?"
Keith’s gaze flicked from his crossed arms—he noted they were a lot bigger than they’d been a few years ago, added muscle, a testament to all the hard work on the farm—to Lance’s knowing smile. It was as if Lance could see straight through him, the maturity and underlying weariness in his eyes scanning Keith like an open book, confirming that beneath it all, he was still a brooding hothead at heart.
Keith stared at Lance, finding the accusation clearly ridiculous. But Lance just raised a knowing brow, the silent message clear.
He knew Keith better than Keith realised.
A faint, irrepressible smile quirked Keith's lips, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Okay, well, long story short," he admitted, "I needed to step away from the Blade of Marmora for a bit."
“That serious?” Lance inquired, his usual lightness now tinged with concern.
"I mean, it's great, really," Keith said honestly. "Helping people who actually need it. It's a million times better than what the Blade was forcing us to do a couple years back. But yeah," he nodded gently, admittingly, "it can still wear you down."
Lance hummed in understanding, turning back to the mug and giving the teabag a final, vigorous squeeze with the spoon. The Blade was great. A vast improvement over fighting a war they weren't sure they could win. Transitioning the Blade of Marmora into a humanitarian relief organisation had to be one of Keith's best calls. Keith hadn't wanted to fight a war, hadn't wanted to be in a constant state of battle for peace. He'd wanted to help people, and he was, but even that, he had to admit, was exhausting at times.
That’s why Keith figured these six weeks at the McClain farm would be a welcome relief. A chance to finally relax, to stop worrying about what everyone else needed when he barely knew what he needed. Sure, he knew he needed a break, and he also knew Lance hadn't invited him.
The real question was, who had?
Lance carefully picked up the teacup, the warmth seeping through the ceramic into his fingers. He walked over to Keith, the aroma of the tea filling the air. "Well, you're here now," he said, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he slid the steaming mug towards Keith. "You could use some peace."
Keith smiled up at Lance, taking in the fully grown, twenty-three-year-old man before him. He remembered when Lance used to challenge him on every little thing when they were younger. How he made everything a competition he never usually won. Keith saw Lance every year, of course, but he'd never really stopped to appreciate the maturity etched into Lance's features. He noticed the sharper set of his jaw, the way his freckles, more prominent after days of working in the sun, dusted his nose, and how much more tanned he'd become over the years.
Keith noticed that there was a tiredness in Lance's eyes, a slight dullness. The lines beneath them seemed to speak of long nights, maybe from the burden of saving the universe, but even through the weariness, that familiar sparkle in his blue eyes remained, a clear sign that the same old Lance McClain was still very much there.
When Keith realised Lance was silently waiting for him to try the tea, he picked up the mug and took a tentative sip. Lance leaned in a fraction, his gaze hopeful, searching for a sign of approval. Keith hummed contentedly, offering a small nod that Lance clearly took as a win.
Keith took another sip of the tea, savouring it before setting the mug back down on the dining table. "So, uhm, what about you?" he asked, looking up at Lance. "How's life been treating you?"
Lance's smile faltered at Keith's question, his expression clouding over with something Keith couldn't quite decipher. He looked down, avoiding Keith's gaze, and Keith couldn't help but wonder why. Then, in the next instant, before Lance could even begin to formulate a reply, the front door clicked open. A conversation between a man and a woman drifted in, a snippet of a world entirely separate from the quiet moment Keith and Lance had been in.
Keith and Lance's heads both shot towards the archway as two older people entered the kitchen. Their eyes immediately found Keith, and their conversation ceased abruptly. These must’ve been Lance's parents.
"Keith!" the woman exclaimed, her face breaking into a radiant beam. She set her basket, brimming with freshly picked vegetables, onto the countertop before walking over to the table. "What a wonderful surprise!"
Keith shot up from his seat, a bit too quickly, fumbling with the decision of whether to offer a handshake. Was it proper to shake hands with a woman? He opened his mouth to stammer out a pathetic ‘nice to meet you,’ but was immediately cut short as he was enveloped in a hug—warm and entirely unexpected—from Lance's mother. He heard Lance mumble something, like he was pointing out that it was weird to hug strangers, and he caught the eye of Lance's father, whose apologetic glance suggested he was well-acquainted with his wife's effusive greetings.
Before Keith could even return the embrace, Lance's mother released him. Her eyes, bright and full of smiles, sparkled with excitement as she asked, "What brings you all the way down here?"
Well, that was a pretty good question. Keith’s eyes flickered to Lance, a silent hope that he’d jump in and claim he’d invited him, even if it wasn’t true. But the ensuing silence, and Lance’s own vacant, confused expression, confirmed it.
Keith hadn’t been invited.
Keith turned back to Lance's mother, offering a small, apologetic smile. "Just came down for a few weeks," he managed, his nerves starting to prickle. "I'm sorry if this is unexpected. I don't mean to intrude."
“Tonterías!” she declared, waving a dismissive hand as if shooing away any thought of Keith being anywhere else. "However long you're here, you're staying with us," her gaze then shifted, peering into the living room where a substantial amount of luggage was visible. "And I see you've come prepared for at least a month's worth."
Keith followed her gaze, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck as Lance and his dad mirrored the gesture, their eyes landing on the two black and purple bags sitting expectantly on the floor by the coffee table. Maybe he had overpacked. He had a feeling he wouldn't be staying nearly as long as his luggage implied.
Keith flushed slightly. “Ah, yeah, I’m really sorry. I know we’ve never properly introduced, and this is probably really out of the blue–”
"Any friend of Lance's is a friend of ours," the woman interrupted warmly, her hand landing on Keith's arm in a gesture that promised there was absolutely no need for apologies. She then glanced over her shoulder, a bright chirp in her voice, "Right, Cariño?"
"You bet," Lance's dad chimed in, stepping forward to offer Keith a handshake. His grip was surprisingly firm, calloused, and rougher than Keith's own.
Keith had faced down the Galra, fought in wars, even ridden a goddamn spacewhale with his Galra mom, but somehow, Lance's dad's handshake seemed to prove that working on a farm was a whole different, and perhaps even more demanding, kind of battle.
As the man stepped back, he smiled down at his wife, his voice ringing with enthusiasm, "Say, why don't we whip up a special welcome dinner for Keith tonight?"
Lance's mother beamed, a sudden spark of excitement igniting her expression. "Perfect!" She exclaimed, launching into a joyous, rapid-fire description of how much Keith would adore the idea, detailing the dishes she'd prepare, and envisioning the entire family gathered to share in Keith's presence.
Keith glanced over at Lance, who simply shrugged, a smile playing on his lips that clearly said, ‘This is my family, and if you're staying, you're not escaping the wonderfully chaotic warmth of the McClain household.’
Keith knew that much for sure, of course. He'd been welcomed—surprisingly, considering his abrupt appearance, and that was a definite positive for Keith.
But despite this, he just couldn't quite shake the persistent, unsettling feeling that he wasn't meant to be here after all.