Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

9 years ago, McClain family home.

Maria McClain rapped her fist against the door to Lance’s shared room with Marco. “Lance, let me in.” The sound of sobbing greeted her in return, dramatic and guttural. Maria sighed, rubbing at her temples. Now that Lance was a teenager, he tended to have many more big feelings. Valentine’s Day, of course, meant he felt the urge to make some sort of over-the-top confession to his current crush Lizzie. 

“Go away, mom.” Oh, dear.  

“Please let me in, love,” she tried again with a softer voice. “I promise I won’t judge. Just talk to me, I’ll make it better.” A heavy thump sounded from inside and she silently prayed whatever he threw wasn’t important.

“Nothing will ever make it better,” his high-pitched voice warbled back. “I’ll be alone forever because I’m a loser!” 

“You’re not a loser,” Maria gasped in mock offense. “You’re my son, and if I made you, then I’d have to be a loser, too!” She heard him make some sort of goose-like honking noise. Finally, the handle lock clicked and the door crept open, giving way as she pushed it enough for her to walk through.

Lance and Marco’s room was split evenly down the middle. Marco took over the right side, with posters and figures of all his favorite superheroes. On the left, Lance’s side was much less themed. He had too many interests to count; glow-in-the-dark stars were stuck to the ceiling, rows of random books lined his shelves, and an aquarium with fish bubbled from atop his nightstand. There even was a picture of his hero, Takashi Shirogane, hanging up over the bed.

Maria watched as he stormed over to his bed and face-planted into his blue pillows. “Mmrph mmbg.” 

“I can’t hear you when you talk into the bed, hijo ,” she reminded him as she sat down at the foot of it. Lance lifted his head and rolled onto his back, curly hair flying out over the pillow as his hands dragged down his face. “What happened?”

“She… she said she didn’t like me, okay?” Lance grumbled. While his tone was annoyed, Maria could spot the redness in his eyes and the dried traces of tears on his t-shirt. Lance balled up his hands on his stomach and looked at his wall as she clucked her tongue. 

“I’m sorry.” She put a comforting hand on his knee, his pouting expression tugging at her heartstrings. “Lizzie was a sweet girl, and she made very good art for the student showcases. I know why you liked her so much.” Her thumb moved in circles, trying to impress her care for him into his skin. 

“But I thought she liked me !” Lance whined, though he stayed still. Part of Maria wanted to be angry with this girl for rejecting her boy, which she knew was ridiculous. Lance would have to confront rejection at some point in his life, and she couldn’t protect him forever, as much as she wanted to wrap her body around his whole being and shield him from the universe. Instead, she moved her hand up to smooth back his curls, teasing out a tangle and planting a light kiss on his forehead.

“Sometimes we choose the wrong people, Lance, and that’s just part of growing up. You’re only 14, and I promise, one rejection doesn’t mean anything about you.” 

“Then who is the right person?” he demanded with narrowed eyes. A laugh bubbled up in Maria’s chest, which she quickly suppressed to avoid offending her teenage son. He always did tend to ask loaded questions, even when he was just a preschooler. 

“It’s not so easy to explain,” Maria began. “You’ll just know.”

“Can you at least try ,” Lance begged. “Or I’ll be heartbroken, like, fifty thousand more times!” That did draw a slight giggle from Maria, who assented with a nod. 

“Alright. I’ll do my best, but be warned. You might not agree with what I say later on.” 

The right person… should make you feel better after spending time together than you did before. Not for any specific reason. Their presence alone… makes you happy. Relaxed.

Present. McClain family farm.

“Lance, someone is here for you!”

Lance grunted as he dropped a large pail of water into the muddied grass, sweat dripping down his back and uncomfortably pooling in his blue shirt. He’d already been up since six in the morning, his back twinging in protest as he prepared for another day. The bright blue sky overhead only made matters worse; every chore was harder under the sun’s scorching rays. 

“Is it Hunk?” Lance asked, turning around as the goats ran over to their refreshed water bucket. He prayed it was Hunk. It’d been far too long since he had his best friend’s hugs and listening ears. As he raised his head, his eyes widened, caught on a waiting figure. 

“Not quite,” said a familiar voice, bemused and richly deeper than it used to be. Lance froze, eyes tracing slowly over the other boy… no, the other man standing before him.

Keith had changed as head of the Blade, and shit, did it suit him. His longer hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he’d left his dark red jacket around his waist, revealing a leanly muscled physique hardened by battle. Lance’s gaze trailed across Keith’s shoulders in total shock, finding himself looking for any sort of injury to explain his sudden visit and coming up empty. Staring complete, Lance launched himself at Keith. 

“What the hell, Kogane?” he demanded, tone in stark contrast to the tight grip his arms had around his shoulders. Gasoline , he noted as his cheek pressed into Keith’s neck. Keith swayed only slightly, completely stable despite Lance’s best efforts. Sturdy bastard.

“I had to come to Earth, so I wanted to see you,” Keith told Lance, pulling away from him slightly. His cheeks were flushed, likely due to the harsh sunlight. Lance grabbed the floppy hat off his head and shoved it onto Keith’s with a little more force than necessary. “Hey!”

“You’re too pale to be walking around like that, man. Just because you saved the universe doesn’t mean the sun will give you a free pass.” He withdrew his hands as Keith pushed the hat up a little, eyes dancing with a smile that made Lance’s heart stutter. 

“ We saved the universe,” he reminded. Lance rolled his eyes, looking away toward the goats. 

“I know that.”

“I’m sure.” 

“So why are you here, anyway?” Lance demanded as he began the walk over to his family home, Keith at his side. “Any more awards to receive?”

“Uh, not really,” Keith replied quickly, biting his lip. It was always too easy to embarrass him about media attention. Unlike the other paladins, Keith seemed to be consistently harassed long after the war was over. Pidge and Hunk had their ventures, and Shiro was happily teaching future space explorers. 

Ironically, that meant Keith, who hated public speaking, was the one targeted for photoshoots, celebrations, and dinners. He tended to reject most of them— as evidenced by many disgruntled journalists— but couldn’t avoid every request. 

Lance would know. A few handpicked articles were printed out in a folder on his bookshelf, neatly tucked away. They weren’t only about Keith. He had plenty of clippings about Pidge’s creations or Hunk’s restaurants, too. It just so happened that Keith was in the news more often. That’s all. 

“I’m in town to see Shiro. He and Curtis wanted to discuss something pretty serious with me. They wouldn’t tell me what for,” he explained, looking disgruntled as they reached the house. “It didn’t sound like they’re in danger, but he made me come all the way to Earth and I do have a job— yeah.” Lance stopped in front of Keith to bend down and reach for the hose, noting the dryness of their flowerbeds. When he looked back at his friend, Keith was even redder than before. 

“You really don’t do well in the heat,” Lance remarked. He turned on the hose and pointed the spray into his mother’s garden, taking extra care with her favorite bleeding heart flowers. 

“I was the paladin of fire, and I lived in the desert,” Keith countered, gaze darting away. 

“So you’ve already seen Shiro, then? How’s he doing?” It’d been a few months since they last got together. Shiro was wearing a new pair of glasses when they last hung out. That was… weirdly upsetting and comforting all at once, causing Lance to reflect a little too closely on the passage of time. 

Strangely, though, Keith looked even more embarrassed. 

“…I haven’t seen Shiro yet, no.” His eyes met Lance’s. They were steady as ever. The implications of that reached Lance as an echo, a distant call that he didn’t feel comfortable answering. 

Instead, he moved around the flowerbeds, aiming for the tiger lilies next.  “So it isn’t anything serious, then?” 

“Definitely not.” Keith paused, stepping forward to stand closely on Lance’s left. “Actually, I need a favor.” 

That gave Lance pause. He turned the knob on the hose handle, shutting it off and fully facing Keith with a bewildered expression. “What could I even do for you?” Instantly, Lance regretted this position, fully faced with a much-closer-than-expected view of Keith’s face with sweat beaded on his forehead and Lance’s floppy hat framing it in a way that was just unfairly adorable. 

“It's something to do with the Universe Guardians Historical Society again,” Keith started, smiling as Lance’s expression shifted to disgust. “They want to turn a property of mine into a museum, for some reason.” They were all pretty familiar with the Universe Guardians Historical Society (or as Lance preferred to call them, UGHS) and its strange museums. Their main location housed “artifacts” like one of Hunk’s pans, a cloth Pidge used to wipe her glasses, and Lance’s shoe. That one wasn’t even a longtime possession. He’d just bought it when a crazed fan yanked it off his foot at an event. 

Sometimes, he still had nightmares about that sneaker.

“Which property?” Lance asked. He held his hand up against the bright sky as he looked up to Keith. 

“The desert shack,” Keith started, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know we’re all grown up, but I don’t feel like I want to go there alone. And other than Shiro, who’s super busy…” 

“I’m the only other person you feel comfortable asking to come,” Lance finished. Keith nodded quickly and shifted his weight onto his heels. Pride welled up in Lance’s chest and it pushed on his ribs, fluttering incessantly. He had to take a deep breath to calm himself as he tried to think the proposal through. There were plenty of other responsibilities he had to tend to. His parents weren’t as young as they used to be, and the farm was in desperate need of his hands without his older siblings. “I’m not sure if I should leave the goats in a lurch, y’know?” 

Keith frowned, his eyes narrowing in that dissecting, knowing manner he always abused with Lance. They both were notorious for their walls, but when it came to Keith, Lance was on full display no matter what he said. 

“When’s the last time you left?” Keith challenged. There it was. 

“I leave,” Lance snapped back immediately, bristling. 

“Really?” Keith raised an eyebrow, which only made Lance cross his arms. 

“I shop. Groceries. Chores. The bakery in town loves me, for your information.”

“Oh, well if the bakery needs you,” he responded dryly. God, something about Keith Kogane just fueled all the most hidden, teenage parts of Lance, the way he always could draw up his temper with ease. Still…. 

Lance looked down at the flowerbed, at the last patch of flowers that remained unwatered. Pink juniberries tilted up toward the sun and their petals rustled daintily in a barely-there breeze. Ever present, the ache in his chest spread outward, threatening to choke him if he idled. A solid weight from Keith’s hand pressed into Lance’s shoulder, causing him to look back.

“I miss her every day.” The words were leaden as they spilled out of Keith’s mouth. “But you can’t just… stay static. That’s not who you are. It’s not what she’d want for you.” 

“Maybe I’m happier than ever,” Lance countered. His tone wasn’t exactly filled with conviction, despite the words. Nervously, his eyes flicked between Keith and the flowers.

“Just come with me, this once,” Keith said, voice tight. “You can help me sort through all my teenage shit, make fun of me as much as you want. It’ll be fun. And you can come back after.” 

A tempting offer. The breeze strengthened, and for a moment, Lance just… looked. A few strands of Keith’s hair came loose. There he was, standing in front of his family home just like he did in Lance’s best and worst dreams, all radiant sunshine despite being dressed head-to-toe in black. Except, this time, he was wearing Lance’s stupid hat, pleading for Lance– no, for their partnership– to pull through. 

He could never say no to Keith. 

“Fine! Fine. I’ll go to your stupid shack. That thing is probably musty as fuck by now, though, and you’ll be dealing with all the spiders. Not me.” He threw his hands in the air in defeat. It was worth it, with the way Keith instantly brightened. 

“Thanks, Lance.” He looked around at Lance’s childhood home, taking in the yellow-painted wood, open windows, and faint smell of baked goods. “You should go tell your mom.”

“Sure, I’ll tell her.” There was a pause as Keith waited expectantly. “Oh, you mean now ?” 

Keith made a “hurry up” gesture with his hand, pointing over to the door. “We’ll leave in an hour. I should probably check on Kosmo, I bet he’s terrorizing your chickens or something.” Lance squawked in response as Keith darted toward the chicken coop, leaving Lance to sputter at his doorstep. 

“You always do this, you piece of shit!”

“Go tell your mom!”

With a long-suffering sigh, Lance stormed into his house, trying to impress the sounds of the steps creaking as he walked across his porch. 

Nervous excitement rushed through him, and if Lance moved quicker than normal, no one was around to notice.

You trust each other with the hard parts. The things you’re embarrassed by, or scared of, in yourself. Nothing is too heavy to be shared.  

Lance forgot how much he didn’t miss the arduous process of traveling. After the team had returned to Earth, there had been plenty of globetrotting. Shiro and Keith gave a bunch of press conferences, while the rest of them tagged along, playing along with the occasional ceremony or interview. It was exactly the kind of thing 17-year-old Lance would have adored, but 20-year-old Lance had found it exhausting. After saving the universe for a few years, being forced to go on a glorified press junket wasn’t exactly R&R.

Keith’s impromptu trip felt a little bit like back then: a hurriedly packed bag, a mad dash for his small spaceship with Kosmo at his heels, and an immediate takeover of aux, all happening within an hour. Suddenly, Lance was staring at the ground from far, far above, the sounds of his Roadtrips w/ the Hoes playlist echoing around them. 

“You’ll be back before you know it,” Keith had reassured Lance. He observed the way Keith’s hands darted over the controls, leveling them out with ease that both suited him and was foreign at once.

“Yeah, I know.” He took the free seat at Keith’s right, kicking his feet up on the dash and looking around the spacecraft. “Cute photos.” Keith’s eyes snapped up quickly before looking back at the sky ahead. 

“Uh, thanks.”

Above the windshield, Keith had taped up a couple of pictures. One of him and Shiro, one of Kosmo, one of the whole team at an Allura Day celebration, and, most importantly, one of him and Lance at a castle movie night. In the photo, Lance’s arm was wrapped around Keith’s shoulders, his wide smile a stark contrast to Keith’s muted one. 

He tried not to think about that picture too much as they flew over the cloud cover, heading for the Garrison. The flight itself wasn’t too long, thanks to Keith’s fancy Blade plane. Between catching up, Lance busied himself by singing along to his favorite playlist additions, playing with Kosmo, and resisting the urge to grab the controls from Keith to veer them into a flip.

“I need a break,” Keith announced at one point, standing up suddenly and stepping away from the controls. Under their feet, the small jet lurched.

“ Whoa , Keith!” Lance lurched over in his seat, throwing aside a book he’d been pretending to read as he reached for the steering system. “You can’t just do that, man! Fuck!” Keith just smirked as Lance shoved his body into the captain’s chair. He slid into the co-pilot seat where Lance was moments ago. 

“Why didn’t you just say you wanted to fly, then?” Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance. 

“It’s your ship,” Lance protested. Oddly enough, the controls fit perfectly in his hands, and it was easier to fly than he’d remembered. He barely even had to look at what he was doing as they talked, instead able to admire the easy way Keith crossed his ankle over his knee. 

“Never stopped you before,” Keith said, oddly relaxed. 

“Well, don’t blame me if I miss a stoplight. I’m rusty.” 

Keith laughed.

An hour later, they arrived, and Lance readily let Keith take control back to land his craft. As they pulled into the Garrison, several command staff were already waiting for them on the ground, including…. 

“Shiro!” As soon as the jet docked, Lance threw his bag over his shoulder and ran down the ramp toward solid asphalt. Shiro looked good, he noticed as he hugged his former leader. His hair had a few streaks of grey, but other than that and his glasses, he was clearly staying in shape. “Hugging you is always like hugging a house, god damn.” 

“Always a pleasure, Lance,” Shiro replied with an easy expression, eyes sparkling with hidden amusement. Keith wasn’t too far behind, also greeting him with a hug. His was a little longer than Lance’s. 

“Keeping healthy?” Shiro asked him, pulling away to inspect Keith. 

“Yes, mom ,” Keith muttered as he shoved Shiro’s arms off him. The older man didn’t comment, gesturing for the pair to follow him toward… a minivan. Classic. 

“I’m glad you could make it, Keith. Though Lance is a little bit of a surprise.” Lance clambered into the seat in the back and generously allowed Keith to take shotgun. It’d probably been months since the brothers last saw each other, and he wasn’t about to step on that. 

“You didn’t tell him I was coming?” Lance punched Keith’s headrest. 

“Nope,” Keith replied. “He only has one guest room anyways, so I figured we’d just share.” 

Oh no. Lance had read enough romance novels to know when something had implications, and sharing a bed? Implications were written in every damn letter of that phrase. Sharing a bed . So Lance said so out loud– “Why, Keith, what a scandalous suggestion, good sir!”–  and reveled in the flush of Keith’s ears as he stared out the front windshield. 

“It’s not scandalous!” Keith sputtered, scrunching down in his seat when Shiro started to grin. 

“We are unmarried! Good society will be aflutter!” Lance forced his tone into a posh accent reminiscent of the Alteans’.
“You can sleep on the couch.” Keith’s eyes met Lance’s in the rearview mirror and effectively shut him up. 

He was no fun. Guess he’d have to put up with sleeping only a foot away from Keith’s stupid washboard abs.

The drive from the Garrison airport to Shiro’s house wasn’t long, only 20 minutes. Lance marveled at the cute house as he stepped out of the car, bag slung over his shoulder. “Shiro, damn. This looks a lot better than before.”

“Renovations were a process,” Shiro admitted in a flat tone as he walked them to the door and unlocked it. “But they were worth it.”

Unlike the other paladins who often forgot to message, Shiro made sure to keep everyone relatively in the loop about his big updates. One of which was buying a dilapidated house built at least 80 years ago, wooden and creaking. He had told them that renovations were continuing (and struggling at times) every few weeks, sharing tales of broken sink handles and copper wiring. It was honestly above Lance’s pay grade. 

Now, he understood why it’d mattered so much. The outside was sweet and welcoming, painted a simple blue-grey color that helped flowerbeds pop. They almost reminded him of his own mother’s gardens, all bright blues and pinks. Walking inside was even cozier, with interiors made of dark paneled flooring, soothing blue walls, and pictures hanging in the entryway. 

Lance’s eyes lingered on their team photo, then on a picture of Keith and Shiro from at least a decade ago. 

“You were a cute kid,” Lance said sadly. “What happened?” He turned to face Keith, but his breath stumbled in his chest.

“Thanks,” Keith dryly remarked, haloed by the light from outside as he stood in the doorway and kicked off his boots. All of a sudden, that forbidden image crept into Lance’s mind: Keith, a little older, doing that same ritualistic action in a house they could share, with a ring on his finger and pictures just like Shiro’s– fuck. He pinched himself. Lance wasn’t a hormonal teenager anymore, and now his fantasies had turned tragically domestic, which was arguably worse. 

“What are you doing?” Keith looked unimpressed.

“Going to put my stuff down, bye.” Lance rushed away from the foyer and into the kitchen, throwing his bag on the breakfast table and turning to greet Curtis. Just like the rest of the house, the kitchen was made up of blue hues with pops of color scattered throughout. A warm scent hovered over the room.

“Lance, it's nice to see you!” Curtis beamed, looking up from where he was stirring a pot on the stove. Honestly, no matter what he was feeling, Lance could never resist the urge to hug Curtis. The man was practically an angel whose hugs felt like a blanket, and now was no different.

“You too,” Lance agreed, stepping out of the hug. He peered over the edge of the pot. “Is that tomato soup?”

“This is me rescuing tomato soup.” Curtis frowned as Keith walked in, jabbing his direction with a wooden spoon. “Your brother tried to start cooking for us before picking you up. He knows he isn’t allowed to do that.” 

“Hey, I wanted to do something nice!” Shiro’s voice echoed from a different room. 

“Nice would be not poisoning them,” Curtis countered in return. “Anyways, the two of you can put your stuff down upstairs. Keith, you know where the guest room is, so you can show Lance the way. Dinner will be done– and edible– in ten minutes.” 

Lance’s mouth watered as the oven dinged, finally discerning what scent was drifting through the kitchen. “Fresh bread?”

“Sourdough,” Curtis answered. “Now get comfortable, shoo.” He gestured with the spoon, and Lance groaned, obediently picking up his things and trodding after Keith. Traveling always left him starving, especially flying.

When they climbed the stairs, Keith opened the first door on the right into the guest room. Lance braced himself for the worst, but when they stepped into the room… there were two beds. Two small-sized beds. Keith claimed the one by the door, so Lance had to cross over to the window bed and couldn’t help but stare at the room in shock. The colors in this room were a lot lighter, with simple art hanging on each wall. Even the furniture was daintier. Curtis and Shiro had woven in pinks and purples throughout the decorations, bedding, and curtains.

Lance stared openly at Keith in shock. “Is this–” 

“I don’t know why there are two beds, either,” Keith shrugged.

Okay, he had to be joking. All the signs were right there; they’d just finished a major home renovation and installed two small beds, for goodness’ sake.

“Are you joking?” Lance said aloud. 

“No?” Keith said in return. 

It was official. Keith Kogane, former leader of Voltron, current leader of the Blade of Marmora, and savior of the universe, was a complete moron. And Lance was somehow into that anyway. He sighed, patting Keith on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, red.” At least Lance knew why Shiro had asked to see Keith. 

“I’m gonna wash up before dinner,” Lance told him, pointing to the bathroom door. “You can head down ahead of me, maybe help them set the table like a good-mannered guest.” Keith rolled his eyes, which Lance took to be confirmation that he’d do exactly what Lance suggested.

A few minutes later found all four men seated at the Shiroganes’ table while Curtis happily dished up tomato soup, roasted broccoli, and sliced sourdough. Too tired to be polite, Lance shoveled tomato soup into his mouth at rapid-fire speed, occasionally humming in appreciation. Curtis didn’t seem to mind based on the proud look that settled on his face. Keith, however, was staring at Lance with a spoon halfway to his mouth. 

“Shut up, I’m hungry,” Lance snapped at him in between bites. 

“Don’t rile him up, Lance,” Shiro said habitually as he ripped off a piece of bread for himself. 

“I’m not,” Lance pouted, quickly distracted again by eating his soup. 

“So, Keith, how was the journey to Earth?” Curtis changed the subject, looking to Keith. “I heard you guys had to deal with the Zarkonite group flaring up again. I hope things aren’t getting much worse.” Lance tuned in to hear, curious about Keith’s answer. 

The Zarkonites were a group of Zarkon followers spread through the universe, occasionally emerging and causing problems on various planets ever since the war ended. Up until now, they’d mostly been disorganized and rarely in contact with one another. While they were most often made up of Galra, it was also frightening to see how many of Zarkon’s allies had been brainwashed during their reign of over 10,000 years, and many were from different races and cultures as well. 

“The journey was fine, but long,” Keith said, poking a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Yes, the Zarkonites are still making themselves known… they’ve been getting a little too cohesive lately for my liking. We think they might have a new leader.” 

“Hopefully you all can neutralize them quickly.” Shiro shot Keith a reassuring smile. “If anyone can do it, Keith, it’s you.” 

“It’s always me,” Keith muttered. Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

“Anyways, we know how busy you are, but we wanted to tell you some news before you have to deal with the shack and leave,” Curtis’ joyful expression took on a slight sheen of nerves as he spoke, his hands fidgeting with his napkin. Gently, Shiro reached over and took one of them in his, an action that sparked a small twinge of jealousy in Lance. Must be nice. 

“You both seem fine.” Nervous, Keith looked between his brother and his brother-in-law, and Lance dropped his head in his hands. Sometimes, he could be oblivious; this was on a whole other level. 

Shiro looked to Curtis for comfort as he began to speak. “Keith, we’ve decided to adopt a kid. And we’d like for you to be their godfather.” 

Silence descended over the table thickly as Keith froze, jaw hanging open. Impatient, Lance reached over and shoved it closed himself, privately noting how his chin felt a little stubbly. “Don’t leave Shiro hanging, dude.” Keith shook his head, clearly orienting himself. 

“A kid? Shiro, that’s– that’s amazing. You’ll be a great father,” Keith managed, brightening up the longer he spoke and pushing a hand through his hair. Everything in Lance wanted to do the grab-partner’s-hand move Shiro had pulled, but he resisted.

“I kind of already have experience,” Shiro pointed out with a knowing look. 

“Yeah, I mean, yes. Your kid will be so lucky.” Keith’s voice sounded a little choked as he spoke, his shoulders tight with emotion. Alright, time for Lance to step in. He gently grasped Keith’s shoulder, bringing his attention over. 

“So, samurai? He asked you to be the kid’s godfather, and he’s waiting on an answer,” he gently reminded him. Keith’s eyes lingered on Lance’s, brimming with a combination of excitement and fear and memories. Finally, Lance’s words seemed to settle in, and he nodded firmly toward Shiro and Curtis. 

“Yes. Of course I will. If you think that’s best, I guess,” he added, his shoulder relaxing slightly under Lance’s hand. Still, he didn’t want to move it, nervous that any sudden movement would have Keith retreating into his head again.

Instantly, a soft expression took over Shiro’s face. “We trust you completely. I wouldn’t have it any other way, Keith.” 

“This calls for celebration, and luckily for us, I bought a cake for after dinner,” Curtis said, meeting Lance’s eyes knowingly in a way that made him want to squirm. He removed his hand from Keith’s shoulder.

“So… have you met the kid yet?” Keith asked. The happy couple instantly lit up, launching into discussion. As it turned out, they had met her– she was in foster care with one of Curtis’ coworkers. Keith stiffened when he learned that fact. While the coworker was committed to continue fostering more children, Shiro and Curtis had quickly connected with her at a dinner they’d hosted, and the rest was history. They had met a few times after. 

“We know she’ll be coming into this with a lot of baggage,” Curtis explained with a more serious tone. “But we’ll take things slow. Getting to know her has already been a pretty long, spaced-out process, and we made sure to ask her if she felt like living with us before we made the decision.”
“She loves art,” Shiro added, pointing to a cabinet. “So we got her a ton of supplies. Crayons, paper, glitter– that one might be a mistake when she throws it around the house. Who cares? We want to make her happy.”

As Lance ate the cake, it tasted perfectly sweet, strawberries and lemons mixing on his tongue. He even forced Keith to eat a few bites when he forgot, too fixated on conversation with his brother. It wasn’t long after dessert that the night wound down and they all headed off to bed, especially when Shiro reminded Keith and Lance about their early wakeup to see the shack the next day. 

Though Lance tried to help with the dishes, Curtis quickly shoved him out of the kitchen and demanded he get rest. With aching bones, Lance reluctantly trudged up the stairs behind Keith, determined to do his nighttime routine even when his eyes were so tired they felt like two big bruises. 

After a decent chunk of time, the two men found themselves lying down in twin beds across from one another. Lance kept feeling his toes brush against the footboard, and he was sure that Keith had it worse with his larger frame. 

“G’night,” he called over to Keith as he pulled the comforter up to his shoulders. Light from the street lamps filtered in through the window above his bed, softly highlighting the lines of Keith’s body. 

“Night,” Keith dittoed. 

Slowly, Lance felt all the excitement of the day drain the last vestiges of his energy. He settled into the comfort of the brand-new mattress and sighed, his eyes weighed down. His hand came to rest on his pillow. Sleep started to creep through his limbs. 

“Do they always do that?”

Annoyed, Lance felt his eyes flick open against his will. “What?”

“Your Altean marks. Do they always glow at night?” Keith’s voice was quiet as if he wasn’t sure of his words. Lance hoped that the darkness hid his startled expression.

“Not always,” Lance informed him, brushing a hand in front of his face. Now, he could see the teal light reflecting off his fingers. “Sorry, is it keeping you awake? I can’t control them, but I can try to sleep under a blanket, even though I’d probably suffocate.” 

“No, no, they’re fine,” Keith quickly reassured him as he shifted in the darkness. “They’re honestly a little comforting? In a weird way.”

“Well, I’m glad someone is comforted by them,” Lance bitterly replied. He let his hand drop away to the mattress and burrowed deeper into his comforter. 

“What, you don’t like them? I would’ve thought… well, with how much you talked about Allura….” Keith trailed off. 

Lance snorted. “I love Allura. It’s just hard to be reminded of everything that happened each time I look in the mirror. Sorta like she’s asking things of me, even if she isn’t here, reminding me of her sacrifice.”

“I get it.” Keith’s voice was heavy, and Lance was sure that Keith of all people in his life would understand how he felt, even when Lance himself struggled to voice the finer details. “You know she’d want you to move on, right? I don’t think that was the point of the marks.”

“Really? Well, if you’re so wise, O Great Master of the Twin Beds, enlighten me,” Lance snarked. Who was Keith to think he knew the answer to a question that he’d been pondering ever since her absence? As if Lance didn’t inspect them, poke at them, demanding a sign or something tangible for years. There was a loud pause before Keith finally shared his thoughts. 

“She wasn’t the type to demand anything, you know that. Allura… I think she was just trying to remind you that she’d stay with you. At least she left something behind.” 

Lance wasn’t exactly sure what to say after that. He felt his indignation melt away, leaving behind only a cold, painful lump in his throat. In all honesty, Keith’s words held a note of truth to them. 

“I only wish I could ask her myself,” Lance mumbled. 

“Mm.”

“Enough about me. It's my turn to ask you a question. Only fair that we do an equal exchange.” Lance watched Keith’s prone form freeze in the shadows as if the man was holding his breath. Amusement pulled Lance’s lips into a slight smile. 

“What do you want to know?” Keith finally answered, sounding hesitant. 

“What was that freakout at dinner?” 

“I didn’t freak out at dinner.” His response was sharp enough for Lance to doubt him. Besides, he could read Keith like a book. That scene at dinner? Textbook Kogane they’re-making-me-pilot-the-black-lion freakout.

“Uh-huh. You can’t hide shit from me, samurai.”

Another pause. Lance hated lulls, how they preyed on his anxious mind. “You don’t have to talk about it, I wasn’t trying to force you or anything, but I thought it might be nice to talk. We haven’t seen each other in a while so I get if you—“

“It’s fine, Lance.” Keith’s voice was thick. “I just wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

“I know why you’re scared, but you have nothing to be afraid of. Shiro wouldn’t have chosen you if he didn’t believe in you, and he’ll help you learn how to be a good babysitter.” Lance desperately tried to pull the threads of his thoughts together, hoping his words sounded somewhat coherent. 

“It’s not just that,” Keith said. “I just can’t help but feel like… this could have been my life, you know? He’s making a huge difference for this girl. Makes me sad and happy at the same time.”

A thought bowled Lance over, making him still, hands gripping his blankets. “Would you ever want to adopt?”

“My lifestyle isn’t fit for a kid.” Keith’s response was far too quick.

“So you have?” Lance could picture it, clear as day: Keith, carrying a kid on his hip. Keith, holding up a toy sword pretending to battle with a little boy or girl. All the images he conjured up made his chest expand with a warm, gooey feeling, humming close to his heart. “I think you could.” 

Evidence for it was everywhere. During the later years of war, Keith had been a crowd favorite among some of their younger rescuees, and he’d handled it like a champ. One time, a group of kids even climbed him like a bunch of little Tarzans. He’d just stood there, unmoving and patient as they grabbed at his hair and his armor.

“And what, give up on the Blade?” Keith’s tone took on a bitter edge. “It’s not in the cards for me.” 

“It could be,” Lance pressed, leaning up on his hand and staring at Keith’s silhouette. “You know you can’t fight forever, right? Eventually, there will be no more Zarkonites, no more resistance groups. Other bad guys will come up and will need new heroes to fight them off. There are other ways to make a difference, much less time-consuming than being a full-time secret agent or whatever, and maybe those jobs would let you have a kid.” 

“I know you’re scared to fight again, but that doesn’t mean it’s something I can throw aside, Lance. I have responsibility. My agents depend on me too much already, there’s no need to throw an innocent child into the mix.” Well, that landed like a stinging blow across Lance’s spine. Keith was just lashing out; Lance recognized this pattern and had seen it hundreds of times. He refused to let his hurt rise to the surface and display itself. 

“Go to bed, Keith.”

“…I’m sorry. That was unnecessary. I know you’ve—” 

“Go to bed.”

Lance let himself sink deeper into his pillow, turning toward the window and putting his back to Keith. Tomorrow they’d have work to do, so there was no sense in dwelling on what had just happened. It was just another tick mark in their long history of disagreements. 

Plus, it wasn’t about anything new between them, even if the subject matter was unexplored territory. In all the years of their friendship, Keith had always been afraid of wanting. He rarely was bold enough to lay down roots or stake claims, terrified that the ground could be pulled out from under him and wreck it all. If the security of relative peace wasn’t enough for Keith to slow down, then Lance sure as hell had no chance of convincing him to stop moving.

It took much longer than it normally did for sleep to fitfully claim him, pulling all musings of Keith’s emotional constipation from his mind.

Hours later, his eyes pried open as he was forced awake by the agony of artificial light. He blearily blinked and pushed himself upright, groaning and rubbing his eyes. As they began to focus, he noticed Keith standing directly over him, already dressed in his dark red jacket and black pants. A pleasant smell wafted into Lance’s nose. 

“Is that coffee?” His eyes fixated on the disposable cup Keith held. “I was going to yell at you for waking me up at the ungodly hour of–” Lance stretched his neck to see his phone on the side table. “ Five in the morning , holy shit.” 

“I knew you’d be a little unhappy about the early wake-up, but I figured it was better to make our way to the desert shack before the sun was high and hot.” Keith apologetically passed the cup off to Lance, who snatched it out of his hands and took a long gulp. 

“Cinnamon and sugar in a cappuccino,” Lance marveled, the taste lingering on his tongue. “You remembered.” He rotated the cup in his hands to see a label from Airo Coffee on the cup sleeve. Keith must have woken up at 4:00 just to buy it for him in town. He recognized the drink for what it was: an apology.

“I’m glad it’s good,” Keith responded, shoulders sloping ever-so-slightly. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have noticed the man’s relief. Lance had simply developed a keen eye for Keith’s tells.

“Delicious, red,” Lance promised as he swung his legs out of bed. “Now, I know that you’ll be on my case if I take too long, so I’ll shorten my morning routine just for you.”

“I’m honored,” Keith remarked, eyes following Lance as he picked up his clothes and headed into the bathroom. “Only five moisturizers instead of four?” 

“I only have one moisturizer, thank you very much!” Lance said primly, reaching for the door handle. ”I also use an antioxidant, sunscreen, and sometimes an exfoliator. When do we have to leave?” 

Keith pulled his hair into a ponytail, Lance tracking the movement subconsciously. His hair does look good tied up . No. Stop. Bad Lance. “We’re leaving at 5:30.” Instantly, Lance felt his face fall. 

“What.”

“You have 30 minutes.”

“That’s like only half an hour.”

“It’s exactly half an hour.” 

Lance huffed and shoved the bathroom door closed in Keith’s face, ignoring the way it just drew out a quiet laugh from him. “Some people might be spontaneous, Keith, but I am a man who very much appreciates advance planning and time!” 

“Just get ready,” Keith called back through the closed door. Lance grumbled out his assent and set the coffee cup on a side table, beginning the walk through his routine.

Hunk and Pidge had loved to tease Lance about it when they were in space. Hunk thought it was silly how much time he spent on his skin, considering how good his mother looked in her 60s. Pidge, on the other hand, told him it was an inefficient use of time that could be spent sleeping. Surprisingly, Keith was the one person on the castleship who hadn’t laughed at it. It was something Lance thought about as he splashed water on his face, removing the last traces of sleep from the corners of his eyes. 

There wasn’t a ton of stability in Keith’s life. From foster care to literal war, to even now, traveling with the Blade, he’d been constantly shifting. It made Lance wonder if he had a morning routine, a meditative practice he could carry with him from place to place. 

Lance patted in his moisturizer with speed. He privately hoped Keith did have some semblance of a coping mechanism in his mornings. Maybe that was the reason he respected Lance’s daily skincare, even if he didn’t understand it himself. There was a comfort to the repetition of putting on his creams and serums before the start of the day. It was similar to putting on their armor before battle, in a weird kind of way; as much mental preparation as it was physical. 

“Are you almost done?” Keith’s voice carried over as Lance finished his sunscreen. 

“Just have to get changed,” Lance replied, pulling off his pajamas and tugging on his jeans. 

“Okay. I’ll meet you by the van.” 

Which was how, five minutes later, Lance found himself sitting passenger in the sickest minivan on Earth. After taking a sip of the cappuccino, he plopped it into the cupholder and began to plug his phone into the car system.

“Maybe I wanted to choose the music,” Keith challenged, putting a pair of aviator sunglasses on his head. Lance sent a silent prayer up that he’d get to see Keith wear them later on in their journey. 

“You and I both know that’s a losing battle. Besides, I’m not in the mood for Zac Brown Band or Metallica at five in the morning.” Lance scrolled to his chill playlist and clicked play, the sounds of The Lumineers’ “Salt and the Sea” filtering out of the beige van walls. Keith turned on a little bit of air and let out a quiet scoff.

With practiced ease, he backed the van out of the Shiroganes’ narrow driveway and pulled onto the road. As they traveled, Lance alternated between humming to his music, looking out the window, and watching Keith. Small suburban communities eventually melted away to sparse houses littered throughout the desert. It was still mostly dark outside, but lamplights lent them a warm glow under the carpet of the star-flecked skies. 

Lance let his head rest on the headrest and tried to savor this moment. It wasn’t often that he got to see Keith so at home in a silly minivan, one hand on the steering wheel, gloves off. Golden lamplight danced along Keith’s knuckles, emphasizing the faded scars his hands bore. His other hand was limply holding the gear shift. With a great amount of effort, Lance resisted taking his hand for the second time in under 24 hours. 

A few turns later, the car crested a packed earth ledge with a metal railing. Keith parked it against the rail and pulled sunglasses out of his pocket as he leaped out of the van. “This is the closest we’ll get.” 

Opening the door, Lance felt his breath catch in his chest when his eyes caught onto the view just beyond the railing. At the bottom of the hill– which was more of a dune, at the edges– sat Keith’s old shack, still shabby and brown as Lance had remembered. Only, it was much different at this time, as the sun peeked over the horizon and washed the desert in flames. 

Bright orange-yellow rays caught on the sand and slid across it, painting the landscape in vibrancy and swathing the sky in dazzling color. If Lance reached out, he’d swear that the clouds would taste of citrus. While he’d never been to the shack at sunrise, something about the scene sprawling before him felt achingly familiar. Deja vu twisted at his chest and halted his movements.

“It’s nice, right?”

Lance turned to see Keith coming up to his lefthand side, expression wistful as he looked out at the desert. At that moment, Lance desperately wished he could inhabit Keith’s mind to know exactly what his friend was thinking. Rather than attempting an ill-timed mind meld, Lance settled for speaking

“Yeah, it is.” 

“It reminds me of the other time we watched the desert sky, back during the war,” Keith added.

The memory pulled Lance sharply into the past, reminding him of the giddy butterflies he’d felt around not just Allura, but also Keith. War was almost over, and Lance had felt unprepared for what that meant. Sitting with Keith had been a gentle pause amidst a sea of change, as if Keith had the power to stop the waves, just for a beat. Everything about Keith had fit against the desert when they were younger. Dark strands of hair reflected the sun’s warmth, pale skin flushing under the morning. Now, though, he stood out, taller and stronger with fewer shadows at his heels. 

Lance found he liked this change.

“Except this is a sunrise,” Lance pointed out teasingly, meeting Keith’s eyes. “I bet you brought me early just to see this, huh? Can’t diss the desert shack too much if I’ve seen it dolled up.”

“You caught me,” Keith laughed in a breathless voice, gaze dancing toward the shack with a shudder despite the fair temperature, causing Lance to glance there as well.

If Lance was there to support Keith, then he would do just that. Literally. No more holding back, no more missed chances. Besides, he had nothing to be afraid of, did he? It was just Keith, after all.

Lance pulled Keith’s hand into his, running a thumb along Keith’s knuckles but keeping his head turned toward the shack. Surprisingly, the other man didn’t even flinch, leaning his full body weight toward Lance and letting out a long rush of air. Instead of being awkward, Lance found that holding his hand was the most natural sensation, like wrapping himself in a jacket on a cold day as he’d done a thousand times. He realized with a sudden awareness that a couple of years ago, this wouldn’t have been able to happen. Either Keith would have jolted or Lance would have been too scared to even try. 

“How did you know?” Keith asked, sounding weary before they’d even taken a step toward the shack. 

“You don’t hide it well.” Heat creeped in past Lance’s flannel where his side pressed into Keith’s. 

“From you, at least,” Keith admitted with a slow smile. “I was just thinking about how sometimes I forget to appreciate this, y’know?” 

“Your shack?” Lance wrinkled his nose, drawing another, more real laugh from Keith.

“No, no,” Keith dismissed. “I meant… I spend so much time trying to fight all the little guys that I forget how wide the universe is. We created so much peace. Being here, with Shiro and you, it’s helping me remember.” 

“Well, take it in, samurai.” Lance sucked in a large, dramatic breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “Let the war end, smell the roses.”

Mimicking Lance, Keith sucked in a deep breath, expanding his chest and letting it out right after. He looked lighter. His hand squeezed Lance’s, and Lance bit his lip, worried that all his emotions would show plainly on his face. 

“I think I will,” Keith mumbled. He looked down at the shack with newfound determination.

“Time to create some piles!” Lance declared, gently tugging his hand free from Keith’s and clapping once. “Keep, trash, donate. We’ll put things in the garbage bags in your trunk.” Keith grimaced at that but grabbed the trash bags dutifully from his trunk anyway. He tucked the box under his arm and locked the car, starting toward the path that led down the hill. 

“I don’t think we should donate this stuff, it’s probably disgusting,” Keith decided as Lance trailed after him. 

“Yeah, no one wants Keith cooties either,” Lance agreed, cackling when Keith flipped the bird over his shoulder. 

Hopefully, the inside of the shack wouldn’t be too gross. Lance privately tried to tuck away their slow morning with his most treasured memories as they meandered down the hill. There was Lance’s problem: his mother always said he was too nostalgic for memories as he lived them.

It’s like you’re a scrapbook or a stenographer. Just be happy in the moment, Lance.

He couldn’t help it, though. As they walked toward Keith’s old home, Lance felt the urge to take a snapshot in his mind.

He savored the peace and tried to put lingering words left unspoken out of his mind.

Chapter Text

But what if they’re embarrassed by the bad stuff I do, Mama?

Well, the right person won’t leave your side, even when your life is challenging or messy. In fact, the hard things will make them want to stay with you even more.

“Oh, that’s not cute.”

After only a short, six-minute walk, Lance and Keith reached the shack. Somehow, sand had made its way into Lance’s shoes, a fact he tried to ignore as it poked through his socks. Overhead, the sun continued to climb and had already started to warm the desert air. Lance secretly held a fondness for arid weather, in a strange contradiction to how much he loved the beach and the water. Deserts held a different kind of calm and silence– a unique steadiness. 

However, not all things could be made beautiful by a yellow glow. For example, the thin metallic fence looming over their heads, previously unnoticeable from their initial overlook. Lance grimaced at its barbed wiring and the sign that read, “Caution. Intruders will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Electric fence.” 

“The Garrison did a number on your place, dude,” Lance remarked, glancing at Keith, who shrugged. 

“Better than allowing people to walk in and spray-paint the walls,” Keith pointed out. “They probably would write some conspiracy shit about how the lions weren’t real, or worse, leave gifts.” He wrinkled his nose. 

“Worse?” Lance laughed, disbelieving. “Man, I do not get you.” 

“As if you’d want people’s crap all over your house? Also, I don’t need people to kill flowers for me by leaving bouquets in the desert. Feels a little wrong.” Keith started to rummage through his pockets, which he had way too many of, in Lance’s private opinion. 

Lance’s brows lifted slightly, thoughtful. “That’s oddly flower-sensitive, Kogane.” 

“Hey, you can’t tease me,” Keith countered. He frowned as he continued to pat through his pockets, pulling out and replacing a litany of objects, ranging from mints to change to a corkscrew. “Your mom likes flowers.” 

“She does,” Lance agreed. He was oddly touched that Keith remembered something so trivial about his mother. She’d probably love that, maybe pinch his cheeks and proclaim how good of a man Keith was. Maria McClain then would turn to his siblings and comment on how Lance should just get a ring, already, and–

“I left the key at Shiro’s.”

“You what ?” There went that fantasy, darting out of Lance’s mind. Keith groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes.

“I feel like an idiot.” Keith’s mouth was doing that annoyed pursed thing where his lips turned in as he violently tried to repress all the emotional words he would probably like to use, like fuck. 

“Fuck.” 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t trying too hard. Lance leaned over to inspect the padlock, which was comically large. He didn’t have any alternatives to offer. It wasn’t like the Galra had simple human lock mechanisms; all their tech had been more than enough. Lockpicking was not a skill Lance possessed. 

“We might just need to head back, buddy.” Lance patted Keith’s shoulder. “That thing is military-grade toughness; nothing short of luxite could probably take it down.” A spark of an idea flared in Keith’s eyes, making the other man stand taller. 

Keith reached into the inside of his red jacket. “Great idea, Lance.” Without so much as a pause, he whipped out his Marmoran dagger and expanded it to sword length. Lance instantly stumbled backward. 

Geez, some warning would be nice!” Lance hissed, glaring at the shining silver-and-purple blade. Keith just grinned, adjusting his grip to be comfortable around the handle. 

“You know I won’t do that,” he said, approaching the lock and sizing it up closely. “Besides, I like watching you jump. It’s kinda cute.” 

Lance drew a sharp, surprised breath at the comment, a flush rising to his cheeks. Luckily, Keith was facing the fence. “You’re an ass, Kogane, and I mean it.” 

“Hm,” Keith replied noncommittally. He widened his stance and began to practice swinging his blade toward the lock as if he were preparing to hit a golf ball. “Stand back.”

“Oh God.” Lance braced himself, watching Keith pull the sword back and slice it sideways at the thin loop portion of the lock. Surprisingly, it popped open, the luxite cutting through its juncture with a dull thunk . Keith grabbed the broken lock and tossed it aside. 

“Damn,” Lance marveled. “That’s coming out of your pocket, not mine.” Keith waved a dismissive hand. 

“After all the Garrison put us through, they can cover the cost of a lock.” He pulled open the thin wiring for the metal gate and let his sword shrink back to dagger size, tucking it safely in his jacket as they stepped through the fence perimeters. 

After a few years of neglect, the shack had fallen into slight disrepair. Its windows were coated in sand and grime, a few boards were falling loose from the walls, and shingles littered the ground, remnants of sandstorms that had passed through. As Lance remembered, it was still a dull brown color and lacked any personalized decorations. Knowing Keith now, he almost wished that the other man had decorated it with a few classy sculptures of knives to liven up the place.

“Y’know, I expected the shack to look worse,” Lance remarked, ascending the steps of the porch and peeking through a dusty hole in the floor. “I don’t know why, though. It’s not like there were any other edgy, violent teenagers fleeing the Garrison and hoping to claim an abandoned home.”

Keith peered up through broken slats in the porch overhang next to Lance, light hitting his face in a thin line from where it shone through. “By the way, I called it a cabin. Not a shack.”

“It must have been hard to admit the truth of your circumstances.” Lance nodded sagely.

He was surprised when Keith agreed. “Honestly? It was.” His pale face twisted with emotion, clearly conflicted. That just wouldn’t do. Keith had trusted Lance to help manage his feelings, to be his rock as they studied his childhood. If he had to be a disruptor, so be it. Lance grabbed Keith by the upper arm and oh his bicep was aggressively solid, holy fuck . With a sharp tug, Lance guided Keith toward the door. 

“Come on, samurai. I want to explore all your stupid teenage secrets. We gotta see what kinds of inappropriate magazines you hid under your bed or whatever.” His words drew a startled bark-laugh out of Keith, who was letting himself be pulled inside. The door creaked as Lance twisted the handle and pushed it in. 

“It was just knives and clothes.”

“Of course it was. You’re a nerd.” Lance let one of his hands linger around Keith’s shoulder as they took in the space with new, older eyes.

The inside of the shack was much more shadowed than the outdoors, mainly due to the layers of buildup on its windows. A layer of sand covered much of the “furniture,” including the coffee table Keith had made from books and wood. On the lefthand wall, a large crack that Lance remembered from their brief stint in Keith’s home had grown longer. The whole room felt as if it was holding its breath, waiting.

“It hasn’t changed at all, really, if you look beyond all the dirt,” Lance said quietly, scared to disturb the memories. Keith nodded. His dark eyes swam with something hidden as they searched the room. With careful steps, he walked toward a bulletin board on the wall and brushed it off with a hand. 

“Wow. I still can’t believe we found Blue with your shitty craft work and whatever these maps are supposed to say.” Lance stared up at all the papers, following Keith’s hand as he traced along the dulled red string between photographs and chart readings. A small smile tugged at Keith’s lips. His hand hovered over a big star chart. 

“Before you all came along, I was just operating on instincts and weird feelings. I couldn’t believe it when you knocked on that lion.” He met Lance’s eyes, amusement dancing across his face. “After spending all that time searching, she chose you, a classmate who literally followed me across the desert just to make a point. I was so pissed.” 

“That was maybe the only time I ever caught up to you in our entire journey,” Lance admitted. He still recalled the excited skip-beat of his heart when he’d knocked on the shield, and Blue let it down. For once in his life, it felt like he’d truly been chosen . Blue had accepted him unabashedly and openly in a way that no one other than his mother had. 

“Not really. When I was piloting Black, you were right there with me. We basically co-led the team.” Keith pulled his hand away from the maps and drifted toward his shoddily constructed coffee table, crouching down to look at the books that made up its “legs.” Lance squatted beside him and let their elbows knock together. 

“I didn’t know you liked to read philosophy and sci-fi,” he commented, his finger brushing over their dusty spines. Titles like Ender’s Game and Peace in Silence stuck out to him, clearly already worn from reading before the elements had their way. Keith grinned as he pulled the tabletop away from the book stacks and pulled out the volumes. He blew sand off the cover of Ender’s Game and flipped through its browned pages. 

“I didn’t choose these books,” Keith explained, pulling another from the stack and turning it gently over in his hands. “Some were handed down from my dad, like the westerns and the sci-fi. Others were crappy gifts from Shiro. I think he hoped that the wisdom from his books would rub off on me.”

Lance laughed, poking at a book written by the Dalai Lama. “That worked well.” Sarcasm leaked into his voice.

“I did read some of those self-help books when I got intensely bored out here, all alone,” Keith said. He closed the books and left them on the couch. “Couldn’t get through more than a few sentences at a time.” The image brought lightheartedness to the shack’s atmosphere, as Lance wryly pictured a much younger, scrappier Keith glaring down at a book written by the Dalai Lama.

“Keep.” Lance pulled out a garbage bag from the box they brought and shoved in a few volumes from the stacks. Keith’s eyebrows lifted. 

“We’re starting that?” 

“Yup.” Lance sprung up to his feet and grabbed his phone out of his butt pocket, throwing on some upbeat pop music. “We are going to go through all your nonsense and reminisce on your golden years. It’s about time you sorted through it all, and you didn’t bring me here for book club.”

“Then why keep the books? I don’t even like most of them, anyways.” Keith glanced at the big garbage bag containing the few Lance set inside.

“So you can read them to your goddaughter, obviously,” Lance responded, ignoring how Keith’s shoulders tightened. “Stop dragging your feet. Hop to it, chop-chop.” He shoved an empty bag at Keith and gestured for him to get moving, pointing out spots for items that they would keep and items they’d trash. With a sigh, Keith complied, holding the garbage bag and turning to face the space. 

They got to work.

For a guy who didn’t like material possessions, Keith’s shack was teeming with junk. Lance found empty Coca-Cola bottles, a plastic bag filled with nails, and something resembling a TV antenna. Occasionally, Lance would find something different , like a keychain of a wolf. 

“Keep?” he’d asked, holding it up for Keith to see. Keith had gone oddly still, clutching a sheet of paper he’d been about to toss. 

“No,” Keith finally determined, sounding conflicted. Lance had just shaken his head and crossed his arms. 

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta be honest with me, buddy.” He stared Keith down with patience more befitting of an old, wise tree than a 20-something former paladin. “What aren’t you telling me?”

A grimace plain on his face, Keith rubbed at the back of his neck and worried at his bottom lip. “It was from a foster family. I was only with them for a month, but they were nice. The mom called me a ‘little wolf’ ‘cause I would always run into their forest and come back covered in dirt and sticks. I haven’t seen them in a while, though, so it’s fine to throw away.” 

Silently, Lance placed the keychain in the “keep” bag and resumed sorting. After a beat, he heard Keith continue to work, too. 

A half hour passed with Lance and Keith flowing around one another as pop music belted in the background. Keith pretended not to like it, but he nodded his head to the beat as Lance twirled around the room and shimmied to Sabrina Carpenter. Every time they bumped shoulders or legs, a light flutter threatened to squeeze its way out from Lance’s throat. He bravely pushed it down. 

As they continued to clean, the air became more stagnant and heated. Lance shucked off his flannel and threw it on the couch, fanning his face with a hand briefly before he focused back in. However, right as he resumed, his eyes caught Keith drawing his hair into a ponytail. 

Lance’s mouth fell slack. At some point, the taller man had removed his jacket and was now dressed solely in a fitted black shirt that hugged his upper arms. View dragging along Keith’s form, he couldn’t stop himself from admiring the way his sweaty shirt clung to his toned body or the way that his swept-up hair revealed his collarbones. Said collarbones were glistening with beads of sweat that made Lance just want to drag his tongue along his neck and sink his–

“Is everything alright?” Keith asked, worry coating his words. Lance’s jaw clicked shut. 

“Uh-huh. Just thought I saw a bug. A big cockroach. It was just you.” Good save, Lance . 

“Mature,” Keith huffed, shuffling the bulletin board papers he’d pulled from the wall.

Keith was right: he was being immature. There was absolutely nothing sexy about the same black shirt Keith wore every day like a uniform. Sweat was supposed to be decidedly un sexy, according to the entire sane world. He looked down at the odd tech he was collecting and determinedly kept his eyes off of Keith Kogane for the next few minutes. 

Except for a few well-intentioned peeks. To check in, obviously.

Eventually, Keith was working on the last corner of the main room, throwing out a ton of cans that appeared to hold beans. Left with nothing else to tackle in the living area, Lance walked over to the second room and pushed open the shower curtain in its doorframe. The sight gave him pause.

It was Keith’s makeshift bedroom, containing a cot and a ramshackle nightstand. Lance’s hands fidgeted as he examined the contents of the room and slowly inspected each corner, wary of disturbing the quiet bubble away from his phone’s music. A thin layer of dust covered sheets that were already ratty, fashioned clearly from abandoned material. On the nightstand, a book was planted pages down and turned open to mark a spot. There was a photo wall hanging above the head of the cot, which Lance gravitated to, clearing away dust so he could get a better look.

His heart ached at the sight of a much younger Keith arguing with Shiro, whose hair was entirely dark. They were both dressed in casual clothes, Shiro grinning mischievously as he held water balloons, much to a sopping Keith’s chagrin. It was adorable. Another picture showed Keith playing an intense game of chess, losing badly to the bespectacled man across from him– probably Adam. There were a few more, but as Lance began to study them, the sound of footsteps made him jerk up guiltily. 

“I like photos,” Keith admitted when Lance spun to face him. He crossed the room and unlike Lance’s expectations, didn’t seem annoyed about his snooping. If anything, he was slightly deflated.

“I can tell.” Lance recalled the pictures he’d kept in the ship. 

“They’re permanent,” Keith started with a furrowed brow, admiring his old photos. “Even if you have to run, they fit in a pocket. You can relive them wherever you go. It’s sappy, I know–”

“Shut up,” Lance managed, tears forming in his eyes and blurring his gaze. 

“What?”

Lance whipped around to face Keith. “I said shut up .  You can’t let them do this, Keith, you can’t give away the shack. It doesn’t feel right to let a historical society market your past and get a buck.”

“I’ve already told them I’ll consider it, heavily,” Keith argued. “They’re offering up a lot of money, too. And the shack’s only sitting here, useless.”

“But they don’t have the right ,” Lance pressed, pulling a photo down from the wall and thrusting it toward Keith. Anger bubbled up in his veins, making his breathing heavier. “Look at this. You put your memories in this place and lived in it for years. This was your space, maybe one of the only spaces that was actually yours. The historical society has no right to share your story for you. Hell, the Garrison has no right to stake a claim on the shack either after all they put you through.” Lance’s breathing was coming quicker and heavier now.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Keith demanded, gesturing around the room with furrowed brows. “The only way to keep this building out of everyone’s hands would be by burning it down.” 

Eyes widening, Lance straightened up. “Great idea, Keith.”

Keith’s frown only deepened. “I’m not burning down the shack. Fire is dangerous.” Lance waved him away dismissively, running back to the main room and picking up something he’d spotted earlier: a rubber mallet. He grasped it firmly in two hands and returned to the bedroom, passing it over to Keith, who took it gingerly.

“Let’s destroy it,” Lance told him, eyes darting around. “If we leave it here, the shack will keep attracting random societies, the public, and the Garrison. But they’ll never understand what it symbolizes for you or the team. Just because you saved the universe and did this epic, amazing thing doesn’t mean that the world has a right to any of our most personal stories. Including yours.” 

A long, weighty silence hung between them after Lance finished. Looking torn, Keith glanced at the mallet and the space around them. If he looked close enough, Lance would swear he’d be able to see the trepidation dancing in his dark eyes. Then, the pause broke.

“Alright. Fine. But we have to get the photos and books out of this room first, okay?” 

Lance grinned. “Deal.” 

The bedroom was a lot easier to clear out than the main room. After just 20 minutes, they had bagged up everything Keith wanted to keep (only two bags) and all the things they’d take to the dump (six bags). Together, they were able to carry the bags out of the shack, leaning them up by the gate in a neat row. After he tossed down the last one, Lance smacked his hands together to get the sand off and turned to face the shack.

“Get in one last, good look,” Lance reminded him. He planted his hands on his hips and stared at the shack for a moment before turning to see Keith’s reaction.

Keith, just to his left, uncrossed his arms and took in the small home. His eyes moved across and up the structure, lingering on a few details and moving much more quickly than Lance might have expected. They caught on a loose shingle with a somewhat annoyed expression but softened at the sight of a flower box with one barely-surviving cactus flower. 

“Ready to let go?” Lance asked, his voice gentle. 

Keith nodded. He strode up the steps one last time with Lance in tow and leaned down to grab the mallet they’d left by the door. Before he could take his first swing, though, he hesitated, looking to Lance with slight hesitation. “Should we be doing this?”

Lance placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder and gripped it harder than necessary. “You’re Keith motherfucking Kogane, and we saved the whole universe. We break what we please.” With that, Lance turned around and pulled a board straight out of the wall. Luckily, it was weak with age, and Lance was able to look like a badass while making his point. He hoisted the board above his head and whooped, delighting in Keith’s responding laugh. 

“You know… you’re right,” Keith admitted, turning the mallet over in his hands. “We’ve given enough of ourselves away, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lance lit up as Keith held the mallet in his hands tightly, stepping back and practicing his swing a few times. Then, with all the power and grace Lance had grown to expect from Keith Kogane, he stepped forward and pushed the mallet through the thin shack wall. A cracking and crumbling sound echoed around them when the mallet drove through wood, leaving behind a splintering hole. 

“Let’s destroy it.” Keith turned to face Lance while wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Lance followed the action hungrily.

“Lead the way, samurai.” 

Their destruction was glorious. When they’d been cleaning the shack, they’d moved in relative harmony in the small space. Pop music was their backing track, soft sunrise light illuminated their actions through cracks in windows, and relative neatness dominated their movements.

Now, they were a whirlwind, a force of nature that belonged solely to the red and blue paladins’ domain. Every step was punctuated with a crunch or thud . Each swing of the mallet or pull of hands was harsh and unyielding. Gone were Lance’s shy, fluttering heartbeats. Only adrenaline and fire coursed through his veins as he tore down walls and watched Keith rip open windows with his hammer. Excitement rippled through Lance as Keith’s smile widened, and the inside of the shack started to blend with the outside of the desert. Keith even chuckled, at one point, when a piece of falling rubble scared Lance enough for him to yelp.

Eventually, they had to stop, panting from exhaustion and exhilaration. Lance dragged himself to meet Keith halfway, at the center of the main room, where they both surveyed their damage, leaning into one another for support while they caught their breath. Holes littered the walls, some as big as Pidge. Light streamed in brightly from the bigger gaps where entire walls had begun to crumble, taking pieces of the roof with them. Sand had made its way back into the space through all the openings.

“I really like what you’ve done with the place,” Lance remarked, forming a frame with his hands and squinting one eye. “Lots of natural lighting. It opens the space up and makes it look bigger, I think. HGTV would be proud.” 

At his side, Keith’s body shook with a snort. “Hey, Lance?”

“What?” Lance peered at him, realizing how close they were when his nose brushed up against a loose strand of Keith’s ponytail. From this distance, he could count the other man’s eyelashes or the beauty marks that trailed down the sides of his neck.

Suddenly, Keith pulled him into a crushing hug, strong arms pulling him tight against his body. 

“Oh,” Lance uttered, hands instinctively weaving up Keith’s sweaty back. Lance’s face was situated right in the crook of Keith’s shoulder, and their entire fronts were pressed together. It was far too hot out for them to be sharing body heat. Strangely, though, Lance didn’t mind, finding instant warmth and comfort from Keith wrapping himself around Lance.

“Thank you,” Keith said, mouth moving against Lance’s head. Despite the heat, a shiver ran down Lance’s spine. He was sure Keith could feel it even if he didn’t mention it aloud. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lance replied, tightening his hold on Keith. “This is just what we do, red.”

“It’s what you do,” Keith pressed. “You always seem to know what I want better than I do. That’s why I asked you to come with me.”

“I don’t know about that.” Lance began to pull out of Keith’s embrace, but Keith, stubborn and unrelenting, grabbed his forearms and held him close. His eyes locked on Lance’s so strongly that it felt impossible to pull or look in a different direction.

“You keep doing this. I don’t get why.” Keith sounded bewildered as he spoke, searching for something in Lance. “You struggled to admit you had a hand in saving the universe. You can’t take credit for being a good friend. Where did all of 17-year-old Lance’s confidence go?” 

Lance’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “I don’t know, I just grew up. I realized I wasn’t as important as I thought I was, I guess. You, Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, Coran, Allura–” His voice broke.

“Everyone did so much. They still do so much. It feels wrong to take away from all of that.”

Keith shifted, looking angry. “That makes no sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense,” Lance argued, fists clenched. “Look, the war ended, and everyone continued to fight. You said it yourself earlier. I’m stuck.” A bitter note wove into his voice.

“I was wrong to say that,” Keith retorted.

“But you were right. Everything I did during the war, it’s all faded, now, and I’m just a sad sack who’s eager to get to the bakery because every goddamn day is the same as the last.” Lance felt a lump in his throat as he choked back the emotion that threatened to spill out.

“Weren’t you just telling me to reap the benefits of peace? The peace that we created?” Keith covered Lance’s mouth with a clammy palm before he could speak. “No, I’m talking. Lance, you know you were an integral part of all the peace we have around us. Taking a break for a few years doesn’t suddenly erase all you did with us, okay? No one on the team thinks any less of you. If anything, we’re jealous of you ‘cause you knew when to slow down. You knew how to breathe.

“I didn’t do that, and you can see the effect that’s had on me. I freaked out at the idea of coming back to the shack alone, but even with all your fears, you still showed up for me,” Keith added, holding eye contact with Lance. “And… if you want to? You can jump back in. Whenever you want, whenever you get restless, you can come with me to the Blade. I’ve left a spot open for you this whole time.”

Lance felt his eyes widen. Keith left a spot for him at the Blade, and he wasn’t even Galra. As far as Lance knew, Keith had simply run off without looking back and tackled missions without thought for Lance’s presence. But now… he could picture it: filling an empty seat next to Keith at the helm, returning to the familiar thrilling chills of infinite space, adventuring and seeing his friends with Kosmo at their feet. 

In his mind, the image fought with his other fantasy of them in a small home on Earth. The kids. The ring. 

He tried to speak, forgetting Keith’s hand was over his mouth. Oh, he’d have to fix that.

“Dude,” Keith cringed back and removed his hand from Lance’s mouth, shaking it out in midair. “Don’t lick my hand.”

“Salty.” Lance shot him a cheeky grin. Still, his grin faltered. “I didn’t know you saved that spot for me.” 

One of Keith’s eyebrows lifted. “Of course I did.” As if it was that easy – and maybe it was, Lance realized, reflecting on how well they had flowed together. Time had passed since they spent real time together, and despite that, they remembered each other’s rhythms well enough for it to feel simple. With Keith, there was no pressure to perform.

“Keith,” Lance started. “I can’t promise I’ll want to come immediately. I’m not like you, I have trouble… picking up my roots.” His words came slowly as he tried to think.

“But thank you. I hear you.” Lance’s hands relaxed. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Keith’s shoulders sloped, relief coating his face. 

“Now let’s get your crap out of here and get some food,” Lance decided, pointing to the bags sitting at the gate. Keith groaned as he stared at them, weariness clear in every line of his body. “Come on, Red, we can’t give up now.” Lance patted Keith’s back comfortingly and strode outdoors, lifting a bag determinedly. He swayed a little, the weight of it taking him off guard. 

Keith clearly had given up on moping about the task at hand, walking next to Lance and picking up two bags under his arms. “Let’s get them up quickly so we can eat.” With a grunt, he marched ahead of Lance, starting the climb up the hill to the minivan. 

As lovely as it was to spend time with Keith, Lance had to admit it was a pleasure to watch him go, too. He wolf-whistled approvingly at Keith’s back as he followed him up the climb. 

Lugging the bags up to the van and loading them in was a hefty effort. By the time they were finished, they smelled disgusting, and the sun was already moving to the other half of the sky. While they’d been in the shade for most of the day, moving the garbage bags had given them a decent amount of sun exposure, and Lance found himself chugging one of the water bottles Keith stored in the passenger seat door. 

“Last one,” Keith informed him as he slammed the trunk shut. If he had energy, Lance would be dancing and cheering in circles around the mom van, but all he had the strength to do was sloppily punch his fist in the air and continue drinking sweet, sweet H2O. When he finished and wiped his mouth, Keith grabbed a bottle for himself and mimicked him. 

“Food,” Lance moaned, dreaming of french fries and soda. 

“Food,” Keith agreed, tossing the empty bottle into the car and walking around toward the driver’s side. They both slid into the car. Keith started the engine as Lance turned the AC on to max settings. Both men slumped in their seats silently and waited for the air to shift from blowing hot air to pushing out colder, relieving breezes. 

“Drive until you see something,” Lance begged as soon as he felt the first hint of cooling. Keith nodded, engaging the car in reverse and pulling away.

Lance glanced at the shack, but Keith’s eyes remained firmly on the road.

They drove for around 15 minutes before Lance’s eyes snagged on a dilapidated billboard on the side of the road.

“Pull over there!” he yelped, grabbing Keith’s shoulder and pointing at the sign. Keith faltered as he slowed down to read the sign.

“‘Deena’s Diner?’ Lance, roadside diners are disgusting. They’re super greasy and have 90% sugar in everything.” His lip curled slightly at the sign’s mascot, a pink poodle carrying pancakes. Personally, Lance loved the poodle; he thought she held a unique charm. 

“That’s why we have to go. I yearn for sugar. I’m practically hypoglycemic.” Lance made a dramatic show of fanning his face and leaning towards the driver’s side, head brushing Keith’s arm. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleas–”

“Jesus, okay, okay,” Keith interjected, pulling into the parking lot of Deena’s and finding a spot. Lance cheered, delighted, and sprang out of his seat as soon as Keith put the car in park. After hours of manual labor, he was ready to get his carbs on. The outside of the building was mostly a nondescript red brick with cheerful white shutters. Stepping inside, however, revealed a retro-themed diner with checkered floors, red booths, and a jukebox.

“Hell yeah,” Lance beamed, striding over to the jukebox. “I’m playing Frankie Valli.” Thankfully, the jukebox was free of charge, and Lance punched in “December, 1963”. Keith, meanwhile, leaned against the host stand, waiting for a table.

“I’m not sure if anyone is here to seat us,” he began, before suddenly jumping back as a woman popped out from under the stand.

“Aren’t you silly, doll! I’m right here!” the woman announced. Like the rest of the diner, she was dressed entirely in 50s retro garb, complete with a poodle skirt and roller skates. Red hair curled around her ears. “Howdy, y’all, I’m Delilah! Two people?”

Lance sent her a big thumbs up when Keith didn’t respond, too caught up in staring at her with a slight grimace.

“Follow me!” Her peppy demeanor continued as she skipped through the restaurant, Keith and Lance trailing behind her while exchanging amused glances. Other than the three of them, few people were sitting around Deela’s. They passed a family, two old guys, and a young woman on their way to their booth. Delilah passed around menus when they slid into the table.

“Any drinks to start? We got Coke products, sodas, milkshakes–” 

“Chocolate milkshake, please,” Lance told her, mouth watering.

“Aw, ain’t that sweet. And for you, sugar?” 

“Water, please.” Keith slumped in his seat, relieved to be done with driving for the time being. 

“Make that two straws, ma’am.” Lance held up two fingers and shot Delilah his most charming smile. Her hand swatted at Lance’s shoulder playfully. 

“What a sweetheart you are! Sure thing.” She zipped off to another table in a hurry, apron fluttering. 

Keith rolled his eyes at Lance, pulling his menu toward himself. “Two straws?”

“You need some fun in your miserable, emo life.” Lance scanned the menu, his stomach cramping in agony at the sight of all the classic diner fare. “Nutella pancakes. I have to try them.”

“I might just get chicken,” Keith decided. “This food will give me the shits if I get anything else.” Lance gasped in faux outrage. 

“You can’t go to a diner and get roast chicken , you mulleted fool!” He sharply poked a spot on Keith’s menu. “You’ll be getting this.”

Keith’s brows furrowed as he read the item description. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“You’re going to get diabetes or maybe make me get it first.”

“Don’t be an ass. Even if you haven’t broken your perfect space-nutrition routine in 50 years, the universe won’t crumble if you have something slightly unhealthy.” Lance stared at Keith. 

Keith stared back. Just like that, the two had entered a staring contest. Lance’s eyes affixed themselves on Keith’s with unwavering resolve, action music playing in his head. Now that he was really looking, he could see a smudge of dirt on Keith’s cheekbone. For a moment, Lance’s focus almost broke from his desire to wipe it off. Fortunately for Lance, Delilah was on his side. 

“Hey, folks, I’ve got your drinks!” Delilah’s loud, singsong voice interrupted their silence, causing Keith to blink. 

“Ha!” Lance crowed, plucking the milkshake straws from the table and jabbing them into the concoction Delilah set down. It was stunning— a tall, chocolatey shake topped with a mountain of airy whipped cream, condensation dripping down the sides. “Thank you very much, Delilah.” He quickly placed their food order before Keith could argue, his stomach growling. 

“I’m not drinking that,” Keith started, interrupted by Lance shoving it toward him.

“Don’t think. Drink.”

“My teachers told me never to give in to peer pressure.” Keith smirked at Lance and leaned down to drink from the purple straw. His eyes widened.

“Good, right?” Lance smugly intoned. Keith nodded and continued to slurp up the milkshake. When he was done, he shoved it back to Lance, who drank from the blue straw happily. Keith was right: the shake was ridiculously rich, its sweetness balanced well by the slight hint of cookie crumbs and the fluffy topping. 

“Damn, this is like ambrosia,” Lance agreed. Keith nodded, warily eyeing the glass. 

“You know, I shouldn’t be having this.”

“We’ve been over this, Keith. You need to get past your fear of junk food! I’m telling you–”

“No, no,” Keith cut him off. “I’m lactose intolerant.” 

Lance stared at him. “How did I not know that?”

“There wasn’t a lot of cheese in space,” Keith pointed out. Mouth hanging open, Lance gaped at the milkshake, then Keith, then the shake once more. 

“It’s fine.” Keith sipped at the milkshake again with a shrug. “I’ll just die tonight.”

“Dude. We share a bathroom.” 

“You’ll survive.” 

“That’s not the point–” 

They continued bickering for a minute or two more until Delilah brought their food. Lance grinned at the sight of stacked pancakes slathered in Nutella and strawberries, effectively stopping their argument in its tracks. Food truly did cure all. Finally fed, they both shut up, weariness seeping into their muscles and fogging their minds. Now that they had calmed down and were shoveling pancakes into their mouths, Lance realized that Keith’s cheekbones and nose were bright red. 

“Pfft.” Lance pointed to his nose and gestured to Keith, who raised an eyebrow, confused. Gulping down his food, Lance continued. “You’re sunburned.” 

“So’re you,” Keith grunted. 

“Hmm.” Usually, Lance tended to tan, not burn. The desert sun was probably uniquely strong. “Prolly not as bad as you, though.” Keith poked his cheek and winced.

“I’ll pick up aloe on the way home– I mean, on the way back.” 

Lance sucked in a breath at that, opening his mouth to comment on how that sounded way too easy but–

“Are you guys the Voltron paladins? The ones that saved the universe?” His head whipped around to see a lanky man standing over them, dressed in a worn Pepsi-branded shirt and jeans. In his hand, the guy’s phone was set to camera mode, likely in the hope of securing a selfie. An awed expression was plain on his face.

Normally, Lance would love to chat with a fan and say hi. After their long day, though, all he wanted was to enjoy his meal in peace. Nevertheless, it would be a bad look if he denied the man a quick picture, even if Lance looked scruffy and crispy. He started to lean forward. 

“Nope.” 

Now, Lance’s head swiveled to Keith, silently shooting daggers at him. There was no way this guy wouldn’t think they were, well, themselves. Maybe one of them alone could get away with it, but both of them?

“You two look just like those guys. What’re their names? Lando McAne and Keith Kogane?”

Okay, that was just cruel. 

“We get that a lot.” Keith nodded solemnly, shoving another piece of pancake in his mouth. “Not them, though. Sorry.” 

“Aw, man, sorry for disturbing y’all,” the man sighed and pocketed his phone, head swiveling between Lance and Keith one last time. Then, he astounded Lance by walking away to sit at his table in front of a gargantuan omelet. Keith nodded and shoved a piece of pancake in his mouth.

“How did that work?” Lance hissed, running a hand through his hair, which definitely needed a thorough wash, ew.   Keith tilted his head in thought, slowly chewing.

“Damn, these are actually good.” Keith gulped down a bite and reached for another. A small dollop of Nutella smeared his chin at the next bite, and as he chewed, Lance leaned over with a napkin and thoughtlessly wiped it off.

“Keith.” Lance met Keith’s eyes while he leaned across the table. “That was so fucking dumb.” Up close, he could admire the way that the sunburn painted Keith’s cheeks, smudging them bright red against a pale background. 

Rather than respond like a normal person, Keith also leaned into Lance’s space and pulled the milkshake toward himself, taking a dramatic, slurpy sip. “You think everything I do is dumb.” 

“Not everything,” Lance disagreed, his mouth drying out as he glanced between Keith’s lips around that cursed straw and his big, shiny eyes. Really, what was a rugged man like Keith even doing with such soulful puppy dog eyes? He should close them. Or look somewhere else instead of directly at Lance, expectant and knowing. An electric charge possessed the air between them.

“I think that you–” 

“You dears likin’ your food?” Keith and Lance jumped violently apart as Delilah appeared, red poodle-hair fluttering around her face, totally unaware. With a cough, Lance straightened out his napkin and grabbed the milkshake. 

“Yup. Love it.” He took an exaggerated drink of the shake for her benefit and sent her a cheesy thumbs-up. 

“Wonderful! Let me know if y’all need anything.” 

As quickly as she’d materialized, Delilah vanished, leaving the boys behind after resoundingly killing the moment. 

“Huh,” Keith noted.

“Yeah,” Lance echoed.

“We should probably finish eating and go.” Keith waved a fork at the pancakes.

“Oh, so you’re a fan of them now?” Lance teased, a shit-eating grin painting his face. 

“Hm,” Keith grunted, stabbing a strawberry and popping it in his mouth. 

For the rest of the meal, the two were relatively silent, their hectic morning and burned skin finally catching up to their brains. Even though he pretended not to love the pancakes, Lance noted that Keith devoured well over half of the stack eagerly. Truly, there was nothing that a good carb load couldn’t heal. 

After they’d finished and paid, they both legged it to the door, only to be cornered abruptly by Delilah. She had apparently recognized them during Keith’s stunt with the fan earlier but had pretended not to notice for their sakes. 

“Since I covered y’all’s asses, you owe me a photo in the restaurant!” she announced, ushering them over to a wall with a Deela’s Diner emblem. Keith frowned, but Lance laughed, pulling him into a side hug and throwing up a peace sign.

“Smile!” Lance instructed, hip flush with Keith’s. Deela’s instant camera flashed twice and immediately printed out two photos in a row. After she waved them through the air a few times, she showed them to Lance, who snatched one with a snort. 

“This is incredible, dude.” In the photo, Lance was grinning widely, faint lines pulling at the corners of his eyes. Keith, on the other hand, looked surprised and had a slightly lopsided, awkward smile, his eyes trained on Lance’s face. 

“You can keep that one, so long as you sign mine for the restaurant,” Delilah told him and held a marker out in front of her. 

“Another photo for your collection, Keith!” Lance announced, heart skipping at Keith’s shy acceptance of the photo Lance handed over. Both of them took Delilah’s pen and signed her copy. Lance’s signature was much messier than Keith’s in his rush to leave. As they finally exited the diner, Delilah called out, “You both drive safe, now!”

“We will!” Lance assured her. The door closed with a happy jingle, and once again, they were on the road. Keith tucked the photo into the car’s sun visor so it would stick out above their heads. Knowing that a comment would only lead Keith to take it down, Lance remained silent, humming happily along to the song he’d picked as they drove back to Shiro’s.

Visiting the shack had certainly gone much better than he’d predicted. He just hoped that Shiro wouldn’t have them help too much with his final renovation touches when they got back. 

Ignoring Keith’s annoyed frown, Lance kicked his feet up on the dash and closed his eyes to take a short nap. 

Chapter Text

That sounds stupid. Who would always want to hang out with a mean, grumpy person? That’s why I was always nice to Lizzie! Girls like it when you’re nice. You told me that.

Well, Lance, some people appreciate it when you show them your rougher parts, even if those parts are “grumpy and mean.”

I’m not going to yell at my girlfriend! 

No one said you had to yell! But here’s a secret: you can yell a little. You can get mad at them.

Won’t they stop loving me if I’m angry?

Anyone worth loving will love you in your rage. You will fight, and you’ll be better for it.

Lance was jolted awake from his nap by a sharp rapping against the car window. Groggily, his eyelids pried open, wincing at the bright sunlight streaming into the car. As his vision adjusted, a face came into view, pressed up against the window. 

“Shiro?” he grumbled, dragging a hand down his brow and rubbing at his eyes. “What?” Shiro’s nose was comically pressed into the glass, a big pout stretched across his lips. His head rolled over, taking in Keith’s unimpressed expression. 

“As soon as I pulled into the driveway, he ran over,” Keith said. Lance yawned and shrugged, finally aware of their surroundings. Did he really sleep the entire drive? Not his finest co-piloting moment.  

“Let’s see what he needs,” he decided, pressing down the button that rolled down the passenger window. Slowly, the glass peeled away from Shiro’s smushed face, which displayed puppy dog eyes that rivaled Keith’s. A short bark sounded from below the door, and Lance peered over to see Kosmo happily wagging his tail with a lolled tongue.

“Hey, Kosmo,” Lance greeted.

“I need your help,” Shiro immediately declared. The last dredges of sleep pulled out of Lance’s body, and he sat up, leaning an elbow on the side of the car. He gestured for Shiro to go on. “They said it was the dream house… they lied.” 

“Your house is nice, though?” Keith sounded just as confused as Lance felt. Shiro shook his head, morose. 

“I’ll show you. Come inside.” And with that incredibly specific statement, the older man turned on his heel and dragged his feet back into his picturesque new home, looking for all the world like he’d lost something precious. Kosmo followed jubilantly at his heels.

Lance frowned. Shiro wasn’t easily rattled; he’d survived Galra imprisonment, being replaced by a clone, and leading a bunch of kids to war. If something affected him this badly, it was probably serious. 

“Let’s get in there, I guess,” Keith grunted. He rolled up the window and cut the engine, stepping out with a begrudged sigh. Lance was shocked. 

“Don’t you want to help your brother?” he demanded, following Keith into the house and shucking off his shoes. Sand dusted the floor as he pulled off his sneaker, and whoops, that would need a vacuum. Not my house, not my problem.

“Sure,” Keith replied, tone flat. “But something tells me that this isn’t as big as he’s making it out to be.” Lance wasn’t convinced. Still, Keith knew better, so he tried to push off his concerns and figure out which room Shiro ended up in.  

The sound of something snapping caught the attention of both of them. It was coming from upstairs, it seemed, and Lance nodded toward the staircase in silent question. Keith gave him a quick thumbs-up. With trepidation, the two men slowly made their way up the stairs and peeked into the room from which they could still hear rustling: their guest room. 

What they came across was a horror scene. Shiro knelt before piles and piles of pink plastic, all in varying shades of flamingo, neon, and magenta. A small horse lay off to the side between a miniature hot tub and a four-post bed. Beside his knee was an open white booklet, as he glanced frantically between its pages and the front of a large cardboard box. 

“The Dreamhouse,” he muttered. “It doesn’t make sense. How do these parts even fit together? And why so many pieces?” 

“Oh, God.” Keith’s eyebrows had lifted in surprise. “Shiro, are you trying to build a dollhouse?” 

“Yes!” His brother groaned, jumping to his feet and massaging his temples. “I swear, this thing has a more confusing floor plan than the castle. I’ve been trying to put this together for hours, and it just won’t work.” 

“Deep breaths, Shiro,” Lance suggested, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure that this isn’t impossible–” 

“You have to do it, please,” Shiro begged, whipping around to face Lance with wild eyes. “It's the only way.” Well, alright, then.

“We’ve kinda had a long day,” Keith began, but was cut off by Shiro shoving the manual at his chest and walking out of the room. 

“Thank you guys!” he called back, the sounds of his footsteps fading as he jauntily walked down the stairs. 

For a moment, Keith and Lance simply looked at one another, the entrails of a Barbie Dreamhouse littered around their feet. Unable to contain himself anymore, Lance finally let out a giggle, which dissolved into a full laugh. Beside him, Keith also snorted, a wide smile covering his face. 

“What–” Lance choked. “The hell.” 

“He’s never been much of a handyman,” Keith dryly informed, which only made Lance’s laughter louder as he clutched his stomach. 

“So!” Lance managed, using the heel of his palm to wipe at his eye. “This is a thing, now?”

Keith nodded, eyeing the Dreamhouse remains with clear wariness. “Can’t be harder than fixing a bike.” 

“For sure.”

With newfound determination, both men began to assess the scene, lowering themselves to be level with the disassembled dollhouse. Lance started to sort the pieces by shade of pink as Keith opened the instruction booklet and parsed through its neon pages. Occasionally, he’d glance over at the forming piles of clinking parts with curious eyes. 

“Are you seriously going to offer up criticism of my form?” Lance remarked dryly. Keith shook his head and snorted. 

“No. Just shocked that you can tell the difference between the colors. They’re all… pink.” 

Lance rolled his eyes, picking up two from different piles and shoving them right under Keith’s nose. “Clearly you didn’t grow up with sisters. I am an expert in distinguishing between a magenta and a flamingo. Or pastel and fuchsia. These two are baby pink and watermelon.” 

“Nonsense,” Keith argued. “But I think I understand the directions? We’ll start with the bottom level and work our way up in tiers.” 

“This is what our military training was for.” Lance looked solemnly at Keith and stuck out his hand. “No matter the trials this Barbie house may put us through, we must maintain our teamwork. We will not let the Dreamhouse divide us.” 

Keith grinned, playful and teasing, and Lance felt something click into place in his chest as Keith reached over to shake his hand. “Deal.” 

With that, they began the hefty undertaking. Their pace wasn’t exactly speedy; it took them a solid ten minutes to establish a rhythm. Once they got going, though, Lance found himself enjoying every second. Sure, Keith occasionally insulted his “architecture skills,” and yes, Lance called him out for fucking up the walk-in closet.

But he’d missed this feeling, of being part of a team, the light banter and the joy in fucking up alongside someone else. Looking at Keith, Lance felt his stomach clench at the concentration etched into his narrowed eyes and fidgety posture, and he realized something. There was no other person in all the universe he’d rather be building this dollhouse with. As oddly specific a thought as that was, it terrified him to his core. 

He knew this feeling intimately, a tug that pulled him to do insane things, like follow Keith into space or consider the future Keith had painted, an open seat in a Marmoran ship. 

Lance bit his lip, mind racing between images: Keith at the helm of a vessel, sitting tall, looking every bit the leader Lance knew him to be. Keith at the doorway of a little blue house, Kosmo at his ankles, holding a bouquet of juniberries. Keith shrugging out of his clothes and letting his shirt remain on the floor simply because he can. 

Keith, Keith, Keith.

“Lance? The A26?” 

Lance squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them, centering himself. “Sorry?”

“I asked you to pass me the A26.” Keith regarded him with evident concern, a hand outstretched. 

“My bad, samurai. I was a little zoned out.” He forked over the strangely shaped plastic, calloused fingers bumping against Keith’s.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

Maybe Lance would always be 17, watching Keith’s back walk away from him while dreaming of being a constant at his side. Right now, though, he could build this damn playset and stop letting his mind wander. Rolling up his sleeves, Lance tackled their task with renewed vigor. 

Fully absorbed, the two didn’t notice time passing until Curtis shouted “ Dinner!” up the stairs. Shocked, Lance peered out the window only to see that vivid oranges and pinks had begun to envelop the sky. 

“Have we been here for over an hour?” Keith grumbled, leaning back on his heels to admire their handiwork.

“Anything for your future goddaughter.” Lance rolled his wrist, finding satisfaction in the small cracking sounds. “I’m starving, we can come back to this tomorrow.” 

“We don’t have to.” Keith placed what he was holding inside the upper level of the Dreamhouse. 

“We’re done?” Lance gasped, scooching over to shove Keith aside and get a look at the finished product. The dollhouse was massive, with three levels, a porch, a miniature pool, and itty bitty foods, soaps, and rugs. Every inch of it was some shade of pink, right down to the fasteners. 

“She’s going to love it,” he announced, his heart skipping as he imagined an adorable little girl nervously entering a new home only to see this in her room. “Shiro’s already the best dad ever.” 

“He is,” Keith said, looking distracted as he stared at the dollhouse. 

“And you’re already the best godfather,” Lance added, his arm coming around Keith’s shoulder and squeezing. Keith’s tension unraveled slightly under his hand. 

“ I’m not joking about dinner! ” Curtis’ voice boomed from below once more. Backs aching from hunching over on the floor, Lance and Keith groaned, heaved themselves upward, and headed to the dinner table.

Dinner was just as delicious and heartwarming as the previous night. Lance happily dug into Curtis’ cooking— tonight was dal with rice and cauliflower. 

“I tried to help,” Shiro made sure to tell Lance. Keith looked relieved upon the news that Shiro hadn’t been invited to the cooking process. 

“Setting the table is helping,” Curtis assured his husband, patting his arm. 

Time passed far too quickly for Lance’s taste. Before he knew it, they were helping Curtis clean up the kitchen. Lance washed dishes while Keith dried, their aimless chatter only occasionally interrupted by Kosmo blinking between rooms with his post-walk zoomies. 

As they finished, Shiro and Curtis wandered back in with what Lance could only assume they believed were subtle smiles. Curtis elbowed Shiro, who grunted, but locked eyes with Lance. Without words, Lance understood the expression Shiro was trying to convey: back me up, here.

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro began. “Have I ever mentioned how great a brother you are?” 

Keith instantly put down the pot he’d been drying and spun to face Shiro with crossed arms. “What do you want?”

“Ice cream,” Curtis pleaded. “Shiro and I still have to hang a few paintings in the living room, and we were hoping to do it tonight. Prepping for a kid has gotten me craving ice cream, though. Specifically Häagen-Dazs mint chocolate.” 

A laugh bubbled out of Lance’s lungs. “That’s not how that works, man.”

Curtis leveled him with an unflinching look. “Gay people can have pregnancy cravings.”

“If they’re pregnant– ”

“We’ll go,” Keith sighed, grabbing Lance’s upper arm and dragging him to the door. He picked up his keys from the front bowl, ignoring his brother and brother-in-law’s thanks chasing them out. As they crossed the threshold, the cooler air hit Lance quickly, making him shiver slightly. 

It was just past sunset, and the stars had returned to the desert skies, twinkling merrily while the two men hopped into the van and kicked on the heater. Lance stuck his hands by the vents while Keith punched in directions to the nearest store. 

“We’ll just go to the gas station,” he decided. “The car’s only at a quarter tank anyway.” 

“Sounds fine to me. I just want my Oreo ice cream.” Lance rubbed his hands together. Keith wrinkled his nose as they backed out of the driveway, which of course meant Lance had to gasp in offended incredulity. 

“What?” Keith frowned.

Outside the window, suburban homes eventually melted away to a mostly empty road with yellow lamplight breaking up the dark beginnings of nighttime. The car had sufficiently heated itself, allowing Lance to reclaim his hands and wave them in the air dramatically. 

“I saw your nose do that scrunchy thing you do when you disagree with me, but you’re scared of saying something,” Lance spat out quickly. “You don’t fuck with Oreo ice cream.”

“Okay–” 

“Up-bup-bup! I can’t believe this. After all I’ve done for you on this trip. What the fuck do you even like? I bet you go for boring shit, like vanilla.”

Silence. 

“I knew it!” Lance crowed. “Well, that’s just typical. Big, serious, professional Keith can only have vanilla ice cream for his refined palette.” 

“Do you see that car behind us?” Keith interjected. 

“I don’t know anything about cars. You trying to change the subject?” Lance lifted a brow accusingly. 

“No, no,” Keith waved off Lance. “I mean, it's been behind us since we left Shiro’s neighborhood. We’ve only made a few turns, but it's still behind us.” 

Lance’s eyes locked on the rearview mirror, slightly rattled at Keith’s tone. He sounded less like casual-at-Shiro’s-house Keith and more like pre-mission-focus Keith. Sure enough, bright white headlamps were somewhat of a distance behind the van, though Lance couldn’t make out the exact shape of the car behind them. 

“Maybe they’re just going the same way as us?” he suggested, fingers tapping his knee. 

“Maybe,” Keith allowed. “But this gas station is kind of out of the way.”

“Well, how far are we from it?” Lance asked. Keith looked down at the glowing directions and back at the road with tense shoulders. 

“Only two minutes.” On the wheel, Keith’s knuckles had turned white. 

“Then I guess we should just drive over and see if they come in the parking lot after us.” 

Thin-lipped, Keith nodded, rolling his shoulders against the driver’s seat with steely eyes. Gone was the atmosphere of lighthearted ribbing over ice cream preferences and chores at Shiro’s. Now, the air filled with thick tension, reminding Lance of the minutes just before a confrontation with Voltron.

Their quiet continued as they pulled up toward the flickering yellow lights of the gas station and pulled in beside a pump. Besides their car, the station was empty. Even the attendant looked to be missing, based on the dark interior of the attached cashier's building. Beyond the lights from the roofed pavilion was only desert darkness. 

As they parked, Keith locked eyes with Lance, who was able to see a glimmer of determination. Then, his gaze skittered to a point behind Lance’s head. 

Determination wasn’t always a good thing for Keith. 

Lance shifted in his seat and looked out his window. A few yards away, at the next row of pumps, another car had driven in behind them and stopped. It was a black Chevrolet truck, dark windows obscuring the silhouette of the figure within. 

“They’re following us,” Lance hissed, the hairs on his neck rising at the realization. “Is it someone from the government?” 

“No.” Keith’s voice was strangled behind him. 

“Wait, do you know this guy– ouch, Jesus! ” Lance’s voice broke as he felt a metal band snap around his wrist and yank his arm toward the driver’s side. “Did you just fucking handcuff me to the steering wheel?” 

Keith paid no mind to Lance, already opening his driver’s side door and unsheathing his Marmoran blade from his jacket pocket. “Stay safe, here. I can deal with this.” 

“You motherfucking asshole,” Lance seethed, fury boiling through him suddenly and violently, twisting with fear as he narrowed his eyes at Keith. “You planned this the second you noticed that car. I can help you!”

“It’s been a while, Lance,” Keith said distractedly, eyes trained on the other car. “Leave it to me.” With that, the other man shut the car door, muffling Lance’s expletives as he rounded the front hood and approached the truck. 

Lance watched with mild horror as Keith approached the driver’s side of the truck slowly, blade drawn, his back to the van. He’d seemed to recognize who the driver might be, but Lance didn’t have the faintest clue. Who would Keith know to be following him, if not some Garrison lackey? Who would wait for an opportune moment when Keith was away from Shiro’s eyes and Garrison cameras? 

Cold realization settled into Lance as the truck door swung open to reveal a tall, semi-armored Galra. A Zarkonite . Though their name was honestly incredibly dumb, in Lance’s humble opinion, he didn’t feel like laughing. The Zarkonite held a long spear in his clawed hands, yellow eyes slitted as he approached Keith. 

Through the glass of the car, Lance couldn’t hear the brief exchange of words between Keith and the Zarkonite. He assumed it was something along the lines of “leave Earth” and “no, I would very much like to kill you, Keith Kogane,” because the next thing he knew, the Zarkonite was swinging his weapon. 

Shit. Lance frantically tugged on the metal cuffs, examining them with his free hand for any secret release switches or buttons. No such luck. They bit into his arm as he tugged without any real hope of freeing himself, breaths coming in heaves. 

As he tried and failed to get out of his bindings, Keith was out there , fighting for his life against a freakazoid Zarkon supporter. Clanging sounds dully passed into the car as the Galra went toe-to-toe with Keith’s luxite sword. 

“If that Galra doesn’t kill him, I will,” Lance vowed under his breath. 

A few moments passed of just pure, raw fighting. Keith was keeping up with every one of the Galra soldiers’ swipes, form still just as elegant and powerful as Lance remembered. One second, he was sliding under the spear, jabbing up and effortlessly jumping back when his hit landed with bruising force. The next, he’d be using the other fighter’s momentum against him, dodging behind to strike at his back. 

Maybe he doesn’t need me to win this , Lance thought. Strangely, the idea wasn’t as bitter to him as it would have been when they were new to Voltron. If anything, it made him feel… proud.

Then, a sharp crash-kathunk sounded right next to Lance’s body. His heart skipped a beat, momentarily suspended in panic as glass rained down on his lap from the object that had hurtled through the window. Embedded in the dashboard of the van was Keith’s luxite blade, stabbed face down into the plastic.

Lance turned to see Keith’s gaze trained on the car, looking relieved while clutching his hand. A thin trail of blood dripped down from his fingers. The Galra stood over him with a wicked grin, clearly pleased to see Keith vulnerable and disarmed. 

What happened next was a blur. The Zarkonite lunged at Keith, who tucked into a roll, already forced on the defensive. With speed he’d forgotten he possessed, Lance tugged Keith’s knife out of the dashboard and jabbed it into his cuffs, reveling in the way their metal cleaved around the luxite. There was a rhythmic pounding in his ears, which he ignored as he leapt out of the car. 

Wildly, his head swung around, looking for anything that could be useful. There . Lance picked up the object in his right hand, Keith’s blade clutched in his left. He charged at the Zarkonite’s back.

“Hey, dickhead!” Lance shouted, voice as loud as he could make it. “Eat this!” 

As the Zarkonite turned to see what had screeched behind him, Lance slid the knife across the pavement, not waiting to see if Keith picked it up. Then, arms held high, he brought down the long windshield squeegee on the Galra’s purple, furry brains. 

In an out-of-body moment, Lance watched as the Galra stared down at him, unimpressed and entirely unharmed. Still holding the squeegee in front of him like a very ineffective shield, Lance froze. 

“Are you also hoping to buy Häagen-Dazs?” he suggested to his new alien enemy. Sharp teeth jutted out of the Galra’s lips as he spun his spear, preparing to knock Lance away.

“Get out of my way.” His voice rumbled out of his throat darkly.

Lance scrambled back as the spear was raised above him.

“Move back!” 

Lance obeyed, stumbling further and watching with wide eyes as Keith leapt to block the Galra’s spear with his luxite sword. A cruel smile emerged on the Zarkonite’s face at his target’s appearance. However, unlike before, Keith was moving with cutthroat, finite intensity. His swings were each pointed, feet driving forward relentlessly as he slashed and jabbed.

“Come on,” Lance muttered, hands fidgeting with the squeegee as Keith made quick work of the Galra. Even though Keith had gained the upper hand, Lance wouldn’t be able to properly breathe until it was over. 

Finally, a yelp from the Galra sounded as Keith landed a hit in the soft spot of its armor. Keith grunted, going for the same spot again, which led to a growling noise. 

Kick. Dodge. Swing. A drawn-out roar.

Then, Lance felt himself inhale, oxygen rushing back to his lungs. The Galra sank to its knees, then fell to the ground, its spear clattering beside its legs. Keith stood over its unmoving form with his blade hanging limply in his hand, chest rising and falling in a way that moved his entire back with the force. 

With a big, heavy sigh, Keith walked over to one of the gas station pumps and lowered himself to the ground, sitting down with the pump as a brace for his back. Lance watched in fascination as he tilted his head back and simply sat there, breathing, hand loosening around the luxite blade and letting it fall to the pavement. 

Before he could stop himself, Lance’s legs moved seemingly on their own until he was sitting at Keith’s side. 

“Hey, Lance,” Keith said, blinking away post-battle exhaustion. 

“You are the worst,” Lance snapped, and oh , he was angry. Now that he felt the fire bubbling through his body, choking his lungs, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it from exploding out. “You handcuffed me to Shiro’s fucking mom van to stop me from having your back! And nearly died for it! What the ever-loving hell is wrong with you, Keith?”

Keith’s head lolled sideways to meet Lance’s eyes. A wry smile tugged at his lips, sweat curling down the line of his temple and clinging to his jaw. “I knew you’d come after me if I needed it. Right-hand man.”

And, well, no.  

“Keith, I can’t do this with you. I can’t keep doing this.” Lance threw down the squeegee he was still holding onto and clutched his hands together. 

“Can’t do what?” Keith’s dark eyes pierced into Lance.

“Following you. All you ever do is run away, and honestly? I’m sick of it. I’m exhausted.” Lance looked away from Keith, staring out into the shadows beyond the gas station pavilion. “I’m done playing this game, where you keep running, like it’s some test to see if anyone cares enough to chase you.” 

“That’s not fair, Lance,” Keith replied, tone gravelly low with apprehension. 

“I think you’re just terrified to admit it. Yes, the Blades give you purpose, but you’re also so desperate to move because you’re scared to find out what you’ll be when you slow down.” 

“We’re doing this, now?” Keith huffed, grabbing Lance’s upper arm. “Because the same could be said about you.”

“I don’t run.” Lance whipped his head around with a glare, fists balled. 

Keith rolled his eyes, which only served to piss Lance off further. “No. You don’t move forward at all. Even though you hate it, you stay in one spot forever, trying to convince yourself that its what you deserve, that you’re happy.”

“Shut up.” 

“We all worry about you, y’know. Shiro does, too. And you give me all this flak for running, when you so badly want to join me.” Lance felt something clench around his chest at Keith’s words, an indescribable pressure squeezing at his heart. 

“How can I possibly join you?” Lance questioned him, waving a hand. “You don’t slow down enough to let me in. All I’m asking for is a moment, a moment where you stop avoiding it all. You have a goddaughter now, Keith! A goddaughter! You can’t carry on like this forever.”

Keith paused. He looked down at his knife lying prone at his feet. “I’d do it, you know. For you.”

“ What? ” Lance blurted, voice breaking. 

“If you can’t– if you don’t want to come with me, at that pace– I’d change. I’d have a reason to.” Keith looked pained, twisting his hands as he spoke. As his hands circled one another, red smeared across his fingers. 

“You’re hurt.” Lance snatched Keith’s hand, bringing it close to his face. Across his pale hand was a thin gash, slowly oozing vibrant red. “We need to take you to the ER.” 

“Just listen to me,” Keith begged, letting his hand be maneuvered despite his words. “Lance, you know that I’ll stop if–”

“Don’t say it.”

“We admit that you love me.” Keith paused, his fingers twitching as Lance held them, numb. His pupils darted left and right, searching for something in Lance. 

They were on the floor of a gas station. Keith was bleeding from his hand. Lance was sweaty, furious, and overwhelmed. He choked back the lurch in his throat, squeezing his eyelids. 

“Fuck you.”

“You love me, Lance.” 

It wasn’t a confession. They were long past those, after sharing intimacy in thousands of other ways. Lance knew Keith like a map to home, like the torn holes in the walls of a dingy old shack, like his own pulse thrumming. He could read between the words, even when he was burning with righteous anger. There was nothing Keith could even dream of hiding from Lance.

“Then stop running, and let me love you, here ,” Lance whispered, letting a tear slip down his cheek, then another. Keith gently tugged his hand out from Lance’s grip and used it to wipe away the steady trickle of tears that had started collecting across his cheek. 

“I don’t need to go to the ER, it’s barely more than a papercut,” Keith argued, face warring between a restrained grin and the lightest edge of pain. 

“But you love me,” Lance pointed out. Keith’s hand was undoubtedly leaving traces of red across his face as it swept away saltwater tracks; Lance couldn’t bring himself to care. “So you’ll go.” 

Keith laughed, dragging his thumb down to Lance’s neck, pressing into his pulse point.

“Not much room for me to argue that.” 

Shrugging out of his flannel, Lance wrapped it around Keith’s hand. When his wound had been sufficiently covered, he pressed their hands together, squeezing lightly. 

“Hm?” Keith raised an eyebrow at him, and Lance rolled his eyes. 

“Applying pressure,” he lamely explained, gesturing to their joined hands. 

“So that’s what they’re calling it, now?” Keith squeezed back, though, and it cooled some of the whirling blaze that he’d sparked in Lance’s gut. 

“Just get in the car, Kogane.” 

The drive to the emergency room was only 20 minutes, but Lance felt the time creeping by at an agonizing pace. He forced Keith to sit passenger, choosing to leave the music off so he could process their conversation (fight) silently. Luckily, Keith didn’t interrupt his brooding time. Lance figured it was because he was an expert at recognizing when people wanted alone emo time, as an expert in the field himself. 

All Lance’s musings from their trip could now freely dance in his head, with everything on the table as it was. Scenes would crash through Lance in sudden, powerful waves, tumbling his heart and twisting his stomach with dangerous hope. Flighty, picturesque ideas of Keith helping him do dishes after shared dinners, or fixing up a car in their driveway, or even building another dollhouse. Decorating a house with flowers. 

Lance tried not to let his buildup of emotions show on his face. Still, he knew he had failed based on the way Keith’s wrapped hand would occasionally brush the back of his arm or his shoulder. 

Keith, who was very much unabashedly staring at Lance, was sitting in the passenger seat of the minivan they’d now officially commandeered from Shiro.

Before they reached the ER, Keith made sure to call his brother and let him know that they were on the way to the ER, and explain that yes everyone is fine, I have a cut from an alien, we’ll be home before midnight. When they pulled up to the glass doors, though, Lance wasn’t so sure that they would. 

A sound system beeped as they pushed into the brightly lit waiting area of the ER. Dozens of people lined the chairs, clearly triaged into later positions and all waiting to be seen. Lance turned his gaze away from the woman puking and avoided a kid holding his arm at a distinctly wrong angle. 

“See? This place is a mess. I totally could have stitched this at home,” Keith whispered in Lance’s ear as they approached a woman in scrubs behind the front desk. A window of plastic separated her from the waiting area.

“We are taking care of this like normal fucking people ,” Lance shot back.

“Sir, what are you here for today?” the woman behind the counter asked. Lance read her name tag with a sideways glance. 

“Harriet,” he began. Harriet raised an eyebrow, so he backpedaled a little. “Uh, ma’am. This man cut himself with a… knife.”

“Mmhmm.” Harriet jotted something down on a piece of paper. “First and last name.” 

“Keith Kogane.”

“Spell that.” 

Harriet walked through a few questions with Keith, who looked like he would rather die than be forced to engage in discussion with a stranger about his personal information. After he finished, Harriet wrapped up by shoving the papers she’d been writing on under her plastic window and having Keith sign them. 

“Wow, your signature is messy,” Lance remarked. “Is that what you put for kids’ autographs?”

“Yes,” Keith admitted. 

“Pretty privilege,” Lance hissed, pressing his lips together to hold in a smile at the sight of Keith’s ears turning red. 

“One more thing,” Harriet interrupted their adorable little moment . She accepted the papers from Keith and put them aside. “We don’t have the room for buddies in the waiting room for non-emergencies ‘cause we’re full today. Only family allowed.” At that, Harriet made sure to level Lance with her most disdainful sneer. Lance sniffed, frowning, about to open his mouth and say something potentially rude. However, Keith got there first.

“He’s my husband,” he said easily, looking far too calm and collected as Lance gaped at the side of his head. Instantly, a flush rose on Lance’s cheeks. 

“Is he, now?” Harriet flatly asked. 

“Yes.” Lance nodded sharply. Keith then leaned in further, wrapping an arm around Lance’s waist. Maybe this wasn’t the ER after all, Lance decided. Maybe this was heaven. 

“Fine. Sit down.” She waved them both away toward the chairs, boredly turning back to her paperwork. “Next!”

Lance and Keith didn’t have to be told twice. Attached at the hip, the two scurried off to the waiting chairs. Only one pair of chairs was left next to one another, shoved in a corner with a flickering light overhead. 

Lance sat down next to Keith and reached for his wounded hand again. Pliant, Keith let him, smiling despite the specks of blood that had appeared around the makeshift wrap. 

“We have to talk about it eventually, you know,” Keith reminded him softly. Lance let Keith’s hand fall into his lap, keeping a loose grip on it. 

“About what?” Lance feigned ignorance. He rubbed his thumb along the back of Keith’s exposed knuckles. 

“You loving me,” Keith said casually. Lance snorted. It was unfair how blunt Keith was, how easily he could call things out for being what they were. Lance was more one for flowers and embellishments. 

“You mean you loving me,” he shot back. Keith elbowed his side

“That, too,” he allowed. His healthy hand moved over to grab Lance’s opposite shoulder so that they faced one another. Heat spread through Lance’s skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, fuddling up his brain. 

“Well, what is there to talk about?” Lance asked, dazed by Keith’s sudden intensity.

“First, you should kiss me.” Now, Lance snapped into full wakefulness, too aware of the fluorescent flickering lights, cold hospital air, and coughing four seats down. 

“We’re in the ER,” Lance pointed out. 

“So?” Keith shrugged.

“This is a wholly inappropriate place for our first kiss.”

“Lance,” Keith started, grip tightening, head inching closer to Lance’s. “I’m bleeding out and dying. You have to kiss me.”

“I thought you said it was barely worse than a paper cut, samurai,” Lance challenged, lips stretching into a grin. He didn’t fully register that he was moving closer, too, until Keith’s warm breath dusted his nose. 

“I changed my mind,” Keith whispered seriously. 

“God, fine. You’re imposs–” Keith surged forward to capture Lance in a kiss, the hand on his shoulder moving to his back. 

Blissfully, the hospital melted away. Flickering lights became warm sunshine, twisting around Lance’s limbs. Every voice that was constantly talking in his head went silent, replaced by a mantra of Keith. When Keith’s mouth moved slightly against his, it was a familiar rhythm, new but recognizable. He blindly placed his fingers on Keith’s knee and smiled into the kiss, causing them to break apart.

In reality, it was probably chaste. Maybe ten seconds– twenty, if he was generous, in the shitty plastic chairs at the edges of the ER. 

But because it was Keith, it was perfect. 

“I still keep a knife under my pillow,” Keith said, breaking Lance from his stupor.

“Huh?”

“You made fun of me for it at the shack. I still do it. You’ll see it, eventually, so I thought I may as well tell you now before you heckle me for it.” 

“I figured,” Lance sighed. 

“I don’t know shit about hair products,” Keith continued, worry lacing his words. “I still run a lot. And I’m scared to have a goddaughter. I don’t know the first thing about kids, I mean, you saw. I hardly was one.” Lance covered Keith’s mouth, an echo of the shack suddenly sparking fond amusement.

“Hey, red,” Lance said, warmth dripping from his tongue like honey. “Would I be here with you, in this hospital at close-to-midnight, if I didn’t want all your weird shit?” 

“Mmph,” Keith spoke into Lance’s hand.

“Quiet. My point is, every single thing that makes you Keith is also what makes you mine .”

Keith’s shoulders sloped downward, and Lance removed his hand, rubbing Keith’s shoulder with it instead. Even though it was all kinda new, saying what he did just felt… right, like he’d been saying the same sentiment the entire trip. Or like he’d repeated it for years, since some nondescript point during the war.  

“You’ll come with me? Even though I’m a little….” Keith trailed off, gesturing to all of himself. Lance shoved him lightly. 

“We’ll make it work,” he retorted, firm. “I’m a mess, too. We figure it out together. Okay?”

“Okay.” Keith rested his shoulder into Lance’s side, letting the other man carry his weight. “I’m so tired.”

“Relax, I’ll let you know when the nurses call for us,” Lance promised. He tried to soften his posture so his bony edges stuck out less, letting Keith use him to rest on.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Keith mumbled. 

“Yeah,” Lance whispered in return, ignoring the way his throat squeezed tightly. 

A chair arm was poking slightly against Lance’s side, and his head was heavy. The ER was far too cold, the light above them still flickered, and he was still hungering for ice cream they’d never bought.

Keith’s weight against his side pressed into him, vulnerable and trusting. Lance let his head fall atop Keith’s. 

After years of it, Lance was done waiting, anticipating something that might never arrive. Lance closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and turned his face from the flickering lights.

He would move forward, intentionally. 

Is there anything else, Mama?

Well, it’s a little subjective.

I need all the help I can get!

Alright! Alright. You truly know they’re the one when you can’t picture a future without them by your side. True teammates, in life. 

So… you just imagine marrying them? 

Not just that, Lance. You imagine coming home to them.