Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At the very edge of Altea, just as the lavender cobblestone and the reflective pools gave way to the rolling, grassy plains that divided it from Daibazaal, there sat a train station.

The platform had no roof, no walls. Behind the grand, looming gate, there was a place to buy tickets and take shelter from the rain, but the tracks themselves were never in shadow. They kissed the sun-warmed cobblestone, lined up parallel with the shimmering canal that ran along it. They greeted the morning with the flowers, protected from the elements by nothing but a great statue of a powerful lion.

There was nothing unique about this statue. It was just like the one that sat atop the Garrison, and the one that guarded the borders of the Olkari Forest, and the one that warmed the hill over the sealed and dormant volcano to the west of the city, and the one that knelt at the gates of the old scaultrite mines. The only feature of note about this statue was that it stood in the middle of the canal, surrounded by water on all sides, to be crossed only by those making their journey to the ticket booth.

And, at present, the statue was not alone in that canal.

Leading from the statue to the flowerbeds surrounding the water was a temporary bridge, built from blocky, disjointed pillars of ice, just wide enough to allow someone to hop their way across. And someone had done just that.

A boy, twelve years old, sat on the base of the statue, his back pressed against the lion's leg and a pearly blue guitar in his hands. With every string he plucked, frost fanned in a halo around his body, stretching farther, crawling in swirls around the lion's paws and along her tail. The boy paid it no mind, lost in the tune of his own melody.

"Something's arriving..."

With the boy's song came tiny flames, embers floating in the air around him.

"Something's arriving on laughter and smiles and tears... 

Something like you...

And you, you wait for me...

Like every star twinkling through life and death...

Darkness and light...

You're something right...

Something that's always been there, unknown in the despair, yet you cling...

Longing to be seen..."

The airborne embers flickered and faded, and the boy's hands stilled his guitar to silence.

Passively, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a phone with a case as blue as his guitar.

He tapped a button on the side, and the screen came alive with a glow that caught his skin in the still-gentle morning. The same warm skin that quickly drained of color when he saw the time.

"Oh, no!"

With an urgent leap, the boy hopped from the base of the statue to the nearest ice pillar and turned around to shove his guitar hastily into its case.

"Gotta go, girl!" he uttered in a single breath, patting the lion's foot. "But I promise I'll be back someday. Just you wait. I'll be the best Paladin you ever had."

The boy flashed the lion a cocky grin and a wave, as if he expected it to wave back, and spun on his heel to dash across the frozen pillars. 

This boy was Lance McClain. He was bilingual, a decent soccer player, a self-proclaimed ladies' man, and very proud of his appearance. He had a cat named Flash, his favorite color was sky blue, he was late for his first day at the Galaxy Garrison School for the Quintessentially Inclined, and, much more important than any of that, he was just about to make the second-worst first impression he would ever make throughout the course of his entire life.

SPLASH

"Augh!"

"Sorry!" called Lance, casting only the most fleeting of glances in the direction of the boy he'd just doused in hot coffee. He winced sympathetically. If there was any way, he would have stopped and made sure the kid was okay, but he just didn't have time.

Karma would most likely have its way with him later in life, and when that time came, he would have no choice but to accept it. But for the moment, it was all he could do to send the guy who was probably glaring daggers into his back—for, admittedly, good reason—a silent string of profuse apologies and a desperate hope that the rest of the stranger's day would go well to make up for that bit of bad luck.

Lance wove through the crowded morning streets, past men in suits on treks to dreary meetings and claustrophobic cubicles, between elderly couples out on breakfast dates, through equally late teens ushering their younger siblings to elementary school, all the way to the idyllic Garrison campus.

The Garrison looked more like a state capitol than a place of learning. 

Its tall, white walls, its domed roofs, and its tree-like pillars all seemed to say "Important People Lie Beyond This Point"—which wasn't wrong, exactly—but it wasn't the architecture Lance was eyeing he drew close. It was the gate.

The very, very closed gate.

And the boy crying in front of it.

"Hey—"

The boy looked up, still blubbering, and took one look at Lance before flinching away, arms over his head, trying to hide his head.

He didn't move fast enough. Lance saw what he was trying to cover up, and that headband only meant one thing.

A Garrett...

"Are you late, too?" asked Lance.

The Garrett sniffled and cautiously lowered his arms. Hopefully, that meant he could tell Lance wasn't a threat.

Lance reached out regardless, offering to help him up. "At least I'm not the only one."

The Garrett looked at Lance's offered hand, sniffed, and took the offer.

Lance grinned and wrapped his hands tight around the Garrett's. "I'm--" He leaned back, putting his all into pulling the boy to his feet, letting out a grunt when it took more effort than he originally thought. "--Lance!"

The Garrett stumbled forward as he reached his full height, nearly crashing into Lance's chest and forcing him to take a step back to avoid the collision. "Uh..." The Garrett sniffed and used his free hand to wipe his eyes with his palm. "Tsuyoshi."

Lance grinned. Tsuyoshi Garrett. Cool. "All right, Tsuyoshi, what do you say we break in?"

Tsuyoshi gaped at him, eyes boggling out of his head. "B-Break—?! What?!"

"Look, it's easy." Lance pointed through the gate. "See that guard station? I can tell from here there's no one in there. All we have to do is get one of us to the other side of the gate, open it up from the inside, and let the other guy in. See? Easy-peasy."

Tsuyoshi pursed his lips, doubtful, peering through the bars. "How...are we supposed to do that?"

"You look like a big, strong, hunky guy," said Lance. "You give me a boost, I climb over and press the button. It'll be a snap."

Tsuyoshi, for some reason, looked even more doubtful. "...Okay," he relented. "But I'm going on record right now and saying, this? This is a bad idea."

"We'll see how you feel once we're inside," said Lance, walking around the gate to the brick wall it swung from. "Come on! Up we go!"

Tsuyoshi hesitantly followed, lowering himself to the ground by the bricks and lacing his fingers together, preparing them to take a foot.

Lance grinned. "Thanks, buddy!" He stepped onto the laced hands, and Tsuyoshi dutifully heaved him over.

He rolled over the top and hopped gracefully to the other side, minding the guitar on his back.

"You okay?" called Tsuyoshi from the other side.

"Fine!" called Lance, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hang tight!" Quick as an arrow, he darted across the green lawn and into the guard station. It took all of two seconds to find the tiny, green button reading "OPEN" in even tinier white font.

He smacked the button. The yellow light beside it flashed. There was a buzzing sound, and then a creak. Lance leaned out through the still-open door and grinned as he saw Tsuyoshi gaping at him from the other side, mouth hanging open.

"What?" Lance beamed brighter. "You didn't have faith in me? Or did you think I'd just leave you here?"

"No!" Tsuyoshi scrubbed his cheeks furiously. "I— I just—"

"Come on, you big hunk!" Lance made a sweeping gesture with his arms. "The gate's probably on a timer! You can cry on this side!"

Tsuyoshi yelped and ran through the open gateway. Sure enough, as soon as he passed through, it closed behind him.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "Most people would have, um, ditched me on the other side."

"Really?" Lance made for the auditorium doors, Tsuyoshi close behind him. "A hunk like you?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Uh, because you're a hunk!" Lance slapped Tsuyoshi's arm. "Obviously! In fact, you know what? That's what I'm calling you from now on. Hunk. 'Cause you're a hunk. A hunky knight in shining armor who rescued me in my time of need."

Hunk's eyes widened. His lip trembled.

Lance smacked his shoulder. "Hey, I know I said you could cry on this side, but we're still running late, so if you could, like, hold it in for later, that'd be great."

"Yeah." Hunk sniffed. "Yeah, I— Yeah."

Lance held the door open for him. "So I guess you use Base magic. I mean, you're a Garrett, right? Gotta be Base. What's your instrument?"

Tsuyoshi swallowed, scratching the back of his head. "You...know who I am?"

Lance tapped his temple. "Kind of hard to miss the headband, buddy."

Hunk reached for the ends behind his neck and twisted them nervously. "But you helped me."

"You helped me first." Lance caught Hunk by the wrist and dragged him through the door. "I don't use Base anyway. You're not my competition." He let go of Hunk's arm and patted his back instead. "I'm Strum. Acoustic guitar. What do you play?"

"Um..." Hunk licked his lips. "Double bass."

Lance smiled and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Sweet."

Hunk ducked his head, ears burning.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Okay, look, give me a month. We're gonna get you out of that shell you're in."

"...You are?"

"Promise." Lance flashed Hunk a grin and opened the doors from the atrium to the auditorium proper just a crack, just enough to see the stage lights.

Full, beautiful music bled into the atrium.

Yep, orientation had definitely started without them.

Lance pressed a finger to his lips and waved Hunk over. With the students and faculty all focused on the performers in the center of the stage, he was able to worm his way to an empty seat by one of the aisles and pull his guitar into the space between his knees without being seen by much of anyone.

He gestured to the seat beside his and patted it.

Hunk broke out into a grin and took the seat eagerly.

Lance nearly went in for a high five before deciding a fistbump was much quieter.

Hunk reciprocated softly.

"Now blow it up," whispered Lance.

Hunk made a silent explosion with his fingers.

Lance grinned, and Hunk grinned back.

Yeah, he'd be a great partner in crime someday.

Comfortable in his seat beside Hunk, Lance turned his attention to the performers on the stage.

He recognized one.

At the back of the stage, striking a large drum with great, powerful blows, was Shiro. Takashi Shirogane. Like Hunk, he came from a well-known family. He was one of the Shiroganes.

Lance couldn't imagine what it would have been like, coming from a family that important. Having that kind of legacy. On one hand, Garretts and Shiroganes knew they wouldn't get overlooked. Too many of them had been Paladins' Apprentices for anyone with their names to go unnoticed. But that had to come with a lot of pressure, too. Lance could kinf of understand why Hunk was so uptight. And why Shiro always looked so serious in pictures.

To his right was a beautiful girl with long, thick clouds of white hair that fell across her shoulders, kneeling on the ground to pluck an instrument Lance didn't know the name of. And on Shiro's left was an older girl, one with long, black hair tied back under an orange headband.

"That's my sister!" whispered Hunk.

"On the cello?" asked Lance, as if the headband didn't give it away. 

"No, Princess Allura," said Hunk. "Yes, on the cello!"

Lance raised his eyebrows. That was Princess Allura? She was in the news a lot, but only ever mentioned by name. In retrospect, he guessed the white hair, just like her King Alfor's, should have been a dead giveaway, but Lance hadn't seen pictures of her since she was little.

She was pretty. And...talented. Lance didn't know what instrument she was using, but whatever it was, she was killing it. If Lance wanted to have a shot at the Blue Lion someday, he'd have to be better than her.

But he was up to it.

At the front of the stage, ahead of Shiro and Allura and Hunk's sister, were two boys with glasses.

The paler of the two, a boy with dark blond hair that nearly reached his shouders, played a trumpet that rose high to the ceiling, mingling with Allura's instrument and the cello and Shiro's drum. It was almost bizarre how such wildly different instruments from different cultures could mingle so beautifully. They all came together with the boy beside the trumpet player, who was belting out a countermelody in perfect Altean.

It was strange, but hypnotic. Beautiful. The song undulated, melting into his heart, intertwining with his pulse. He leaned back, relaxing for the first time since he realized how late he was. Now that he could see that there were no consequences to his "five more minutes" of practice that had turned into thirty minutes, he could just melt into his chair and enjoy the show.

BANG

Lance jumped. Hunk yelped and covered his ears, ducking like they were under fire, flinching away from the double doors that bounced off the walls behind them, letting daylight shine into the dark hall.

A dark figure stood in the light, silhouetted. The band played on, most likely trained to ignore any interruption, but the students all around Lance clearly hadn't received the training. From every direction, they whispered, filling the auditorium with a low buzz of conversation.

Lance, for once, wasn't so talkative. He had a bad feeling. A feeling that only worsened when the boy in the doorway allowed the doors to close behind him. Lance's eyes adjusted quickly, and with the lights from the stage providing just enough of a glow to catch on the boy's face, recognition justified Lance's apprehension.

He knew that long, dark hair. He'd seen that piercing death glare less than an hour ago.

And he'd definitely seen those coffee stains before.

All around Lance, students began to whisper.

"Oh... Ohhhh, geez..." Lance sank in his chair, turning back around before his face could be recognized, too.

"What?" hissed Hunk, startled. "What— What's— What's wrong? Why are you—? Why are you—?" Hunk looked over his shoulder. "Do you know that guy?"

Lance shrank behind Hunk's blessedly wide body, grabbing his arm. "Never seen him before in my life."

He swallowed. He had no reason to look. He really had no reason to look, and he had every reason in the world not to look, but...he couldn't help himself. He peered around Hunk's shoulders.

And a pair of sharp, indigo eyes locked onto his, searing straight into his soul like a magnifying glass to an ant.

Lance whipped back around.

Crap.

Of course. Of course he'd be another student. Of course he'd been just as late as Lance. And from the looks of things, Lance had only made him later. The red and white hoodie he wore hadn't been there before, when Lance bumped into him. He'd probably made a stop by his dorm and grabbed it to cover at least part of the coffee stains. 

Lance hid his face behind his hand. Just his luck...

Several rows below, on the stage, Shiro struck the drums loud enough to shake every seat, demanding the crowd's attention, almost like he was deliberately pulling them away from the guy who walked in, allowing him time to grab the seat right behind Lance's without any eyes on him.

He struck his drum again, and a cyclone whirled around him, pulling his long, black bangs toward the ceiling.

Hunk's sister pulled her bow across the cello's strings in a quick, sharp motion that lifted the entire stage. Another jerk of her bow let the stage fall with an earth-shattering quake.

The trumpet player blasted a strong and confident fanfare that dragged large, beautiful flowers from the mortar between the stone stage's bricks.

Princess Allura plucked a quick, complex series of notes that created a flower of her own, icy petals jutting out of the stone in a spiral around her kneeling body, narrowly avoiding the vocalist.

"Voltron cried out!"

The auditorium filled with cheers as the lyrics switched seamlessly from Altean to English, flames roaring around him as if to cloak him like an angry god, distracting Lance from all thoughts of coffee-stained students who might have marked him for death.

"For five just Paladins,

Voltron cried out!"

Lance inched forward in his seat, transfixed by the dancing patterns in the flames.

"Those five just Paladins

Never found out!

In one short breath, the world was claimed,

And in the chaos, torn in twain,

The two young spirits cried the names

Of Voltron's love in flood and flames.

Forever caught in silvered frame,

Destinies entwined, contained,

Reaching out through silver's stain,

Until once more did chaos reign.

When all is lost, but love remains,

When shattered worlds heal ancient pain,

When welded is the five-linked chain,

Then shall Voltron rise again!"

The raging flames died with the singer's voice.

Shiro's wind ceased to rise.

The stage stilled its turbulent waves.

The ice shattered into a flurry of snowflakes with a bone-chilling snap.

The flowers withered to dust.

The stage lights dimmed, plunging the auditorium in darkness.

Lance held his breath until the lights bloomed once more across the stage and the students around him erupted into applause.

"Whoa..." If anything in the world could distract Lance from the boy glaring holes into the back of his head, it would have been that.

A man in Paladin's armor crossed the stage from the rear curtains to the front.

Unlike with his daughter, Lance recognized this man immediately. 

King Alfor of Altea.

As king, he was only a figurehead, but it wasn't his royal blood Lance nor anyone else knew him for. No, Alfor's true claim to fame was his position as the current Red Paladin of Voltron.

"A wonderful demonstration by our current Paladins in training!" announced Alfor.

"Shiro, our current candidate for Black Paladin, exhibits a strong understanding of his own Strike quintessence, and with it, the power of wind."

Shiro demonstrated his power on his drum, summoning another gust of wind with two firm strikes on his drum.

"Strike quintessence," continued Alfor, "is born of steady rhythms. It lends itself to percussion instruments, like Shiro's wadaiko, and serves as the backbone of an ensemble. Without a sturdy beat, a song's tempo can dissolve into chaos, and without a sturdy leader, so, too, can a team dissolve."

Alfor strode across the floor to Hunk's sister and the cello she held upright.

"Base quintessence, as exhibited here by Aonani's cello, is full and strong. It is, of course, earth magic."

Hunk's sister demonstrated by dragging her bow across her strings and, in turn, lifting Alfor a foot into the air by dragging a brick out of the stage beneath Alfor's feet.

Alfor set a hand on her shoulder. "Base quintessence, like Strike quintessence, is strong and steady, and its users are known for being as reliable as the bass tones backing a melody. It is the  warm foundation of both a team and a piece of music."

Aonani lowered Alfor back to the floor, and he crossed the stage to where Princess Allura knelt.

"Allura here, my dear daughter—"

Before Alfor could speak a word more, Allura ran her pick across the strings of her instrument and coated the stage in a wave of glittering frost.

"...Is trying to upstage me with her shamisen," finished Alfor, earning a few chuckles from the crowd. "More importantly, she is a user of Strum quintessence. Strum is inherently versatile. Like Base and Strike quintessence, it can be steady and rhythmic..."

Allura demonstrated by striking the same string again and again, building snow from the layer of frost she'd spread across the floor.

"...Or it can be melodic and precise."

Allura plucked a series of sharp notes that sent sharp spears of ice shooting up behind her.

"Whatever a team, or a melody, needs, a Strum user can provide. Like water, they flow and change shape to fill any necessary container." 

Lance nodded sharply.

"A Breath user, on the other hand..." Alfor crossed to the trumpet player. "Specializes in precision."

The trumpeter pressed his trumpet to his lips and played a sharp, pointed fanfare, and vines reached out from the fibers of his own clothes, painting him in an array of colors as they flowered.

"Matt here controls his breathing to create melody, to carve variety into a piece. And as much control as he has over his breath, as deft as he is with his fingers—don't you wink, Mr. Holt; we are in mixed company—he is also in possession of a quick wit. As bright as the color of flowers, as sharp as the note of a trumpet, anyone specializing in his own Breath quintessence must have a clear and purposeful mind."

Alfor gestured to the boy at his left, the singer.

"And at last, we have Adam, my own Apprentice, and the one to take the Red Lion should anything happen to me in the midst of a great emergency. In Adam, we have a Strain user. Strain users are so named because they are the most likely to injure themselves using their own quintessence. Unlike with Base, Breath, Strike, or Strum, Strain users do not use an instrument to evoke. They are their own instuments. While this can be extremely convenient, as it means you can use Strain quintessence in spur-of-the-moment situations, it also means that if you fail to take care of your instrument, you can lose your connection to your chosen quintessence forever. A broken violin can be replaced. A broken body cannot."

Lance instinctively reached for his own throat.

"Strain quintessence is unique," continued Alfor. "Unlike its brothers, it speaks messages in not just tone, but in word. Users of Strain quintessence find its effects most powerful when they sing their own words. It requires as much bravery to bare your soul as it does to risk your body. This is the mark of any student of the Red Lion. The bravery—or recklessness—to make yourself vulnerable, because the risk of loss means nothing to the promise of something more."

Alfor nodded.

"Adam, if you would..."

Adam took a deep breath that seemed to drag the entire world into silence, and he bowed his head. Lance squirmed in his chair. So many seconds passed, Lance wasn't sure Adam would sing at all.

That quickly changed.

"At first I was afraid, I was petrified..."

Fire rolled out from behind his back in two ribbons, like dragons' wings, silencing anyone who might have dared to laugh at his choice of song.

"Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side..."

A second set of wings joined the first, stretching out over his head.

"But then I spent so many nights, thinking how you did me wrong..." 

A final set of wings appeared beneath the first two, granting Adam the appearance of a fierce archangel.

"And I grew strong, and I learned how to get along..."

"Excellent," said Alfor. "Now you can stop singing that song before you give poor Shiro a heart attack."

Adam threw a smirk over his shoulder.

Aonani, Matt, and Allura all broke into giggles.

Shiro simply shrugged, as if to say he was used to Adam's wrath.

"Strain, Strum, Strike, Base, and Breath," said Alfor. "Red, Blue, Black, Yellow, and Green. Fire, Water, Sky, Earth, and Life. Each of these five magics represents an element of not only music, but of the makings of each of us, what is quintessential to any being. Bravery, versatility, leadership, reliability, and wit. Some of us already know where our strengths lie."

Lance squeezed the strap of his guitar case.

"Some of us are still figuring ourselves out."

Behind him, Lance heard the boy he'd spilled coffee on adjust in his seat.

"But regardless of where you stand now, it is my sincerest hope that, by the end of your education here at the Garrison, you will sharpen all parts of you into something truly great.

"Some of you will be chosen by either me or my fellow Paladins to train one-on-one as our successors.

"Most of you will not.

"Some will be chosen to protect the five Lion statues scattered across the city.

"Most of you will not.

"But regardless of where you find yourselves six years from now, each of you have bravery, versatility, leadership, reliability, and wit within you, and I look forward to seeing what you do with it."

Alfor stretched his arms wide, and four others joined him onstage. 

Each of the Paladins of Voltron in one place, with each of their chosen Apprentices behind them.

"Welcome," said Alfor, "to the Galaxy Garrison."

Chapter Text

"Knock-knock."

Keith looked up from the knees he'd been glaring at for the past half hour to find Shiro watching him from his bedroom doorway.

"Saw you were late," said Shiro. "Actually... I think the whole school saw."

Keith crossed his arms. "Sorry."

"How did you even get in?" asked Shiro.

"Climbed over the gate."

"How?"

Keith shrugged. "Guess I'm just scrappy."

"Okay..." Shiro made his way to the edge of Keith's bed. "I guess that answers that question. How about another?" He sat down, wrinkling the blankets at Keith's feet. "Why were you late?"

"Some asshole—!"

"Language."

"Some...jerk ran into me and spilled coffee on my clothes!"

Shiro frowned, surprised. "Did they apologize?"

"Yeah," grumbled Keith. "But just barely. This quick, stupid 'sorry' he barely threw out as he ran past. That doesn't count. And even if it did, apologizing doesn't take the stains out."

Shiro set a hand on Keith's leg. "I'm sorry that happened to you. But next time, maybe try not to slam doors. You really don't want too many eyes on you." He ruffled Keith's hair. "Change out of your stained clothes. Adam and I are going to dinner, and we want you to come with us."

Keith clenched his hands into fists in the curves of his elbows. "Are you sure? I don't think Adam even likes—"

"Positive," said Shiro. "Besides, you've had a pretty terrible day so far. I want to make sure the first day of the school year isn't completely terrible for you."

A knot untied in the pit of Keith's stomach. He smiled.

Shiro was a pretty great guy.

"All right, back to good ol' Room 32E." Lance grabbed his keys from his pocket and pressed them into the lock. "Wonder if my roommate's actually gonna be here this time. Back from wherever he was this..." The door swung open. "...morning..."

Lance froze in the doorway.

Hunk froze with his hand halfway to his mouth, his tortilla chip having not quite finished its journey.

"What..." Lance gasped and pointed a finger at his surprise encounter. "What are you doing here?!"

"What are you doing here?!" countered Hunk through a full mouth. "This is my room!"

"This is my room!" cried Lance. "You have a dorm?! But you're a Garrett! I thought you'd live at home!"

"Staying in a dorm is part of the experience!"

"But— Wait— Holy quiznak! Are you my roommate?!"

"I think so?!"

"AAAH!"

"AAAAH!"

"AAAAAH!"

Lance launched himself across the room and tackled Hunk hard enough to tip his chair over, sending them both sprawling to the floor, laughing loud enough that their dorm supervisor appeared at their door.

But even as he revved up for a lecture, Lance couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Hunk.

Hunk was his roommate.

There's no way that's not destiny.

"Is something funny, Mr. McClain?"

Lance just grinned wider. "No, no, I'm listening! Carry on!"

Hunk shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervous.

Lance nudged his shoulder with his own.

Hunk smiled weakly.

Oh, yeah. Totally destiny.

It was to Keith's utter despair that the first class on his schedule was algebra. He wanted to roll his eyes the first time he saw it. All that fuss about the Garrison teaching him how to control fire with the sound of his voice, and he was starting off with a stupid math class.

"Quintessence control is important," Shiro had told him, "but so are taxes. You still need basic skills, Keith."

And Keith trusted him. But that didn't mean he was looking forward to falling asleep in math classes when he could have been setting his teacher's shoes on fire instead.

Which was tempting him more and more with each syllable of that grating smoker's voice that reached his ears.

"Every year, you kids come barging down the halls like you own the place, and every year, I have to sit your butts down and teach you something actually important. But no. All you want to do is make cyclones with your hands—"

Keith pressed his cheek into his hand, as frustrated as he was bored. 

The guy hadn't even taught them anything yet. He was just complaining. If Keith had to be stuck in a math class in a school that taught magic, the least the teacher could do was actually teach math. What did he have to complain about in the first place, anyway? School hadn't even been in session long enough for students to get on someone's nerves.

In the corner of Keith's eye, the handle of the classroom door twisted.

Keith stared, distracted by the movement of the door.

A hand wiggled through the crack in the door, like it was trying to get in through as little space as possible, followed by an arm, and...

Oh.

Keith's nose wrinkled.

Him. Great.

Of course it was him. The same boy from before. The one who'd spilled coffee on him.

All sharp features and pointy elbows, skinny limbs and clownish expressions.

Keith rolled his eyes. Sure, he'd been late for orientation himself, but at least that was only one time. At least he didn't need to cling to the wall like maybe if he became two-dimensional, no one would notice him.

"—and it only gets worse," said the teacher, his voice rising, "when snot-nosed punks try to crawl in late without getting noticed!"

The teacher whipped around and snapped his fingers twice, conjuring a gust of wind that pushed the scrawny kid on his ass. Harmlessly.

Didn't stop Scrawny from screaming on his way down, though. 

"You!" said the teacher.

"I— Waaauh— Me?" Scrawny jumped to his feet. "I— My dog! Ate my homework!"

The classroom dissolved into giggles. Even Keith felt himself smirk. 

The teacher, however, was less amused. He curled his lip, revealing several rows of sharp, crooked teeth.

"The first day of classes just started, and you presumably slept in a dorm last night. No homework, no dogs. You're just late. What's your name?"

Scrawny ducked his head. "...nss m'glane..."

"What was that?"

Scrawny sucked in a shaky breath and brought his head up. "Lance McClain, Sir..."

"All right, Lance McClain, you're tardy on your first day," said the teacher. "Hope you're proud of yourself. Two more of those and you can find yourself a nice, comfy seat in detention. Until then, you're stuck here. Now siddown. There's an open seat next to the Shirogane kid."

Keith flinched. The Shirogane kid... Was that who he was now?

"Shirogane...?" McClain's eyes scanned the classroom until he found the only open seat, and Keith right beside it. His eyes flew open and he spun back on the teacher, affronted. "Him?!"

Keith sneered. Yeah. Hi.

"You got a problem?" asked the teacher.

"No!" assured Lance, hands held out in front of his chest like a shield. "No, I—"

"Then stop disrupting my class and sit down."

McClain yelped through tightly clamped lips and held onto his guitar strap for dear life. With white knuckles and a ramrod-stiff spine, he crossed the classroom and lowered himself into his seat, uncomfortably close.

"Good," snapped the teacher. "Now where was I...? Right." He turned around and grabbed a long stylus off the tray in front of the orange screen behind him. "My name," he said, writing on the screen, his handwriting appearing in pixelated lines above him, "is Mr. Cleare. You will not call me by my first name. I am not your friend. I am here to teach you the one thing in this school that will be helpful to you no matter what you do with your miserable lives—"

McClain's elbow connected with Keith's arm.

Keith leaned away.

So did McClain, a pitiful grimace on his face. "'Shirogane...' I can't believe this..."

"It's Kogane," hissed Keith. "The Shiroganes took me in. I didn't take their name."

"Why are you so offended?" whispered McClain, eyes trained on Mr. Cleare, though his attention was clearly far from anything their instructor said. "Who would be mad about being a Shirogane?"

"I'm not offended by that," hissed Keith. "I'm offended by you."

"For what?!" hissed McClain. "The coffee?! You're still mad about that?! I apologized!"

"You stained the only nice shirt I have!" snapped Keith, voice rising. 

"What am I supposed to do about it now?!" demanded Lance, volume matching Keith's. "You shouldn't have been drinking coffee in such a crowded place with nice clothes on anyway!"

"Are you blaming me?"

"Yeah! I am! And you know what? You can take that coffee and shove it in the same place you keep that stick! Up your—"

"All right!"

It was only when Mr. Cleare whipped around that Keith realized just how loud they'd gotten.

"I have to say, this is the fastest I've ever given a student detention—" 

"Detention?!" squawked Lance. "It's a first offense!"

"No," said Mr. Cleare. "Walking in late was your first offense. Talking in class was your second. Yelling in class was your third. So sit down, shut up, and see me after class. And Shirogane, wipe that smirk off your face. Your butt's in detention, too."

"What?" Keith's mouth fell open. "I wasn't late!"

"No," said Mr. Cleare. "But you were the one who escalated that fight. I have ears, kid. I'm not afraid to use them."

Mr. Cleare turned back to the screen at the front of the classroom.

Lance hung his head.

Keith crossed his arms and leaned into the back of his chair. If Mr. and Mrs. Shirogane found out he got detention on his first day... If Shiro found out...

Shit...

Shit.

By some blessed miracle, Lance's second class was devoid of all Koganes. And, even better, it wasn't taught by Mr. Cleare.

Instead, the woman at the front of the class was an old Olkari with a wise, gentle smile, a welcome relief from the previous class.

"Welcome to Altean history," she greeted gently. "My name is Ryner. Just Ryner, if you don't mind. There's no need to refer to me by my surname."

Lance nodded, already impressed. That was two points she had on Mr. Cleare in the first few minutes, the other being, well, that she wasn't Mr. Cleare.

"Now, I realize most of your other classes will only have you collect a syllabus today, but I would like to begin with—"

A series of premature groans rolled across the classroom, Lance's among them.

Ryner simply smiled, waiting for their silence to return. Only once she had it did she continue. "I would like to teach you a bit about this school, and the five Paladins of Voltron."

Lance's chair squeaked beneath him as he leaned forward.

Okay... Consider his interest piqued.

"This school was founded ten thousand years ago, in times so ancient no one remembers the founders' names. They are simply known, collectively, as the Paladins of Old."

Ryner waved her hand over the screen behind her, and as she gestured, five evenly-spaced circles appeared beneath her hand.

"Along with the five Paladins of Voltron," said Ryner, "were the five Black Knights of Sincline."

She gestured over the five circles already present, and in the spaces between those circles, five more, each in a deep violet, filled the gaps.

"According to legend, an ancient comet once fell from the stars and landed in the fields between Altea and Daibazaal. A great war broke out between the ancient Galra and the Alteans, a war over the comet's ore, a war that is said to have lasted millennia, until one day, in the midst of battle, the comet was broken into two even halves." 

"That's a good thing, though, right?" A boy in the front of the class, one who looked younger than the rest, raised his hand, but didn't wait to be called. "If the comet was broken in half, then Altea and Daibazaal could just split the ore. No more fighting."

"Yes," said Ryner. "They should have. And, eventually, that would be their decision. But this was long before then.

"Now, is anyone familiar with the myth of the origin of soulmates?"

The same boy held up his hand. And, like before, didn't wait to be called on.

"An ancient culture once believed that man was originally created with two heads, four arms, and four legs," said the boy. "But they were so powerful that even gods were threatened, so one of them tore the humans apart, forcing the two halves to spend their lives from that point on, always searching for their other halves." 

"Precisely," said Ryner. "Someone's well-read."

"But what does that have to do with anything?" asked the boy.

"What do you suppose the five Paladins are? What they were? What they have always been?"

Ryner tapped each of the colored circles on the screen one-by-one, and they all converged into a single multicolored circle that encompassed all the others.

"Soulmates," said Ryner. "Incomplete apart, but together, a unified whole. Together, they are Voltron." She clasped her hands and turned her full body to the class. "The original five Paladins of Voltron, the Paladins of Old, are said to have been a single soul broken into five parts, driven apart by the fury of war.

"Similarly, the Five Dark Knights of Sincline are also said to be soulmates.

"Since that shattering, the war that drove the Paladins of Old apart, it is said that the souls of those Paladins seek each other across time and countless incarnations. What we call Paladins now are merely...guesses." Ryner smiled wryly. "When the current Paladin finds a student with qualities they deem fitting of their Lion, they take that would-be Paladin on as their apprentice. This is why most Paladins in training rarely succeed their masters, because a Paladin has to be willing to wonder if their assumption is wrong, to change their minds if they find someone more likely to be the reincarnation of that first ancient Paladin."

"How do we know?" asked the boy in the front row. "I mean, for sure? Do we ever know?"

"In a time of crisis," said Reiner, "the current Paladin will attempt to bond with their Lion totem, and if the connection takes, and their Lion grants them a most ancient instrument—or, in the case of Strain, a blessing on their voice that cannot be broken but by death—then they are who they claim to be. A true Paladin. If not, one of their successors must make the attempt in their stead."

The boy's hand shot back up.

"Yes, Mr. Holt?"

He lowered his hand. "What is a Lion, anyway? I mean, really."

"What an excellent question," said Ryner. "A question that, to understand, we must first understand the comet. As I said before, Altea and Daibazaal battled for the great comet's ore for millennia, until one day, when their fighting split the comet in two. It also split the comet's heart. In dividing that heart so, the Ancients discovered something they never could have predicted: That the heart of the comet was the soul of the planet."

"What does that mean, exactly?" asked Holt, not bothering to lift his hand this time.

"It means," said Ryner, "that like humans in that ancient myth, the Earth was split in two, between the world of Alteans and the world of the Galra, with all other beings such as humans and Olkari scattered evenly between the worlds. And with Alteans and Galra segregated into their own worlds, chaos gave way to peace, and each side created their own protectors to ensure that peace. The Lions of Voltron for the Alteans, made from ore infused with the souls of the Paladins of Old, and the Scales of Sincline for the Galra, made from the ancient Dark Knights. ...Yes, Ms. Leifsdottir?"

Shockingly, someone other than Holt had raised their hand.

"We only have one world," observed the stone-faced girl as she lowered her hand.

"Yes," said Ryner. "And why do you suppose that is?"

The girl, Leifsdottir, didn't answer.

"The world was torn apart," said Ryner. "And, like those ancient humans, it yearned for its other half. And so did its people. You see, tearing the world in two separated not only the warring Galra and Alteans, but families and friends and lovers, including those composed of Galra and Alteans themselves. Galra husbands torn from Altean wives, mixed families torn brother from sister... Soulmates left farther from one another than they had ever been. And each world's yearning for what it could not reach, its mourning for what it lost, was so great that those longing, distant souls instinctively dragged the worlds closer, and the strain that placed on Daibazaal and Altea was so great that these two worlds quickly began to fall apart.

"And so, the ancient Paladins realized that their Altea was not the world of peace they once presumed it to be.

"With their five, mighty Lions and an ancient song of unity, the Paladins of Old formed Voltron, a magnificent ensemble to create the greatest music the world has known to this day, and with that music, the greatest power. With that, they dragged Altea across reality and back to Daibazaal, rejoining the two halves of the comet's heart and forming Earth as we know it today."

"So where's the heart now?" asked Holt.

Ryner dragged her hand across the slide, changing the slide to a photo of a green, glittering stone with a clear divide down the middle, cutting it in half like Yin and Yang.

A soft chorus of impressed "Ohs" and "Whoas" rolled across the classroom.

"The comet's heart—referred to colloquially as simply the Comet, for what are we if not our hearts—is kept on display on the top floor of Grogory Tower under strict surveillance. After all, we can't have the world splitting in two again."

"Oh, come on!" Lance crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "That's just a pretty rock! Nothing's going to happen if it breaks in half."

"And you have every right to believe that, Mr. McClain," said Ryner, looking Lance in the eye. "Many do. Skepticism is a healthy part of learning. But the legend has worth beyond the literal events as a warning about the dangers of segregation, and even if it didn't..." Ryner smiled. "All parts of the world are connected. You and I are made of the same carbon that makes the table you're seated at, the grass outside our window, and the countless stars we see in the night sky. Connections are everywhere. Within us and the people we all love, whether they're here now or long gone, and even  between us and our enemies. If we are all one world, and this ancient legend has hinged this solitary stone as the heart of not only an ancient comet but all of us, well... The potential loss is far too great for me to march to the top of Grogory Tower and tear the stone apart to see for myself, even to prove legend's truth." She nodded pointedly. "And I suggest you do the same."

Lance shrugged. He didn't plan on it anyway.

"I have a question for you, Mr. McClain..." Ryner drew close, weaving between desks. "Is it only the Earth's soulmate you doubt? The Comet? Or soulmates altogether?"

She stopped beside Lance's desk, her smile no less kind, no less warm, despite the goosebumps her smile incited.

"Do you believe you could have a soulmate?"

Keith pulled his hood over his head, scowling. He hadn't lived with the Shiroganes for very long, but he didn't have to know them well to know the kind of risks Shiro took every day.

At school, he was out. At school, all his teachers knew he was pansexual, knew he was in a relationship with Adam, knew his worth not only as Zarkon's apprentice but as a person.

But at home...

At home, Keith covered his ears with headphones, because he didn't want to hear it.

He didn't want to hear his new guardians tell Shiro he needed to buy new clothes because the clothes he wore reflected poorly on them somehow.

He didn't want to hear them tell Shiro he didn't work hard enough when Keith rarely saw him do anything but work.

He didn't want to hear them tell Shiro that anything that made him happy from his bike to the books he read were things he needed to grow out of.

...He didn't want to hear the casual lies Shiro told when they asked him whether he was bringing a girl home anytime soon.

It was a miracle that word of Adam hadn't gotten back to the Shirogane household yet. With luck, perhaps Shiro would be single by the time it did.

After all, things...seemed to be going in that direction.

"—and what are you wearing?"

"A hoodie, Adam. It's called a hoodie."

"With slacks. Yook ridiculous."

"I look cold."

Yeah. Keith didn't like listening to them fight much more than he liked listening to Shiro's parents.

"You could wear a cardigan."

"Then I really would look ridiculous."

He watched them from behind as they walked home, never wandering too close, afraid of being pulled into their quarrel, hoping against hope that if he ever wound up in a relationship one day, it wouldn't turn into whatever he was looking at.

"Do you think they do this when they're making out, too?"

Keith looked through the corner of his eye and smiled. At least he didn't have to suffer alone. "I'll tell you if I ever even see them kiss."

"I thought they took you with them to dinner last night," murmured Matt.

"Yeah," said Keith. "And they were like this the whole time."

"The whole time?"

"Yup."

"Geez..."

Keith tucked his hands into his pockets. It wasn't that he didn't like Adam, exactly. Adam was nice enough. He was Alfor's apprentice for a reason, he was never rude to strangers, he'd probably defend Shiro's life to the death...

But Shiro's life wasn't all he had, all he was. And when Keith looked at Adam and Shiro together, he only found himself asking...

Why?

"Were they always like this?" asked Keith.

"At each other's throats like vampires, you mean?" asked Matt. "I don't think so..." He stroked his chin. "But it's been so long, I'm not entirely sure I didn't make it up."

Keith hummed thoughtfully, his eyes on Matt, whose eyes, in turn, were drawn to Shiro like a magnet.

Keith knew it wasn't any of his business. If Shiro called what he had with Adam happiness, that was up to him. But if it were up to Keith... 

Well. It wasn't. So he supposed it didn't matter.

"Whatever." Adam shoved his hands into his pockets as they reached the end of the sidewalk. "See you tomorrow."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "See you, Adam. Love you."

"Mmhmm, love you, too."

Adam broke away from the group and headed down the road, not paying Matt or Keith any mind.

They exchanged a look.

See? mouthed Keith.

Matt patted him on the shoulder, hushing him gently.

Keith rolled his eyes. Him, staying quiet about this? Not likely. "Are you ever going to kiss your boyfriend or what?"

Matt shot upright, back straightening like a bow with a cut bowstring.

Shiro turned around slowly, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

Matt laughed nervously on Keith's behalf. "He—"

"It's super weird how distant you guys are," said Keith. "Just wondering if you're always like that."

"We are when we're in view of my parents' house," said Shiro, patient as ever. Not in the slightest bit angry at Keith's prying.

Keith wondered if he should have been.

Matt cleared his throat. "So, Keith! How was your first day at the Garrison?"

This time, it was Keith's turn to freeze. "I... Uh..."

Shiro smiled. "Someone got detention."

"Wh—!" Keith clutched his backpack straps. "How did you know that already?!"

Shiro chuckled. "Well, when you cause a ruckus in front of your whole algebra class, people start to talk."

Keith winced. Made sense. But... "You're not...mad?"

Matt held up a hand. "I, for one, am actually impressed."

"Same here," said Shiro. "My parents, however, might not be."

Keith shrank away from Shiro, wishing he could disappear into his backpack.

Shiro just reached down and ruffled his hair. "Don't worry," he said gently. "I'll cover for you. Just try not to make a habit of it. For your own sake. Okay?"

Keith nodded, humbled.

"Okay," said Shiro.

Without a further word, he strode ahead, silently inviting Keith to follow him. "So, Matt, your little brother started today, too, right? How's he taking it?"

"Like a duck to water," said Matt. "I thought he'd have a problem with the dorms, being so young, but he's a Holt through and through."

Keith lifted his head and looked into the overcast sky.

Perhaps, sometime soon, the clouds would clear.

Lance looked through his dorm window, feet pulled onto his desk chair, knees to his chest. 

Behind him, on the opposite side of the room, Hunk snored peacefully.

But just beyond the glass, a night full of sparkling stars glimmered, wide awake.

"Do you believe you could have a soulmate?"

Lance closed his eyes.

If he wanted to be a Paladin, he had to believe he did. He had to trust that his soul reached out for four souls he hadn't met, and somewhere out there, four other souls reached back.

But that wasn't really what Ryner was asking. It wasn't about being a Paladin, about being able to form Voltron, about a bond with an ancient Lion or its instrument made from the scorched remains of a shooting star.

It was about Lance. His soul. His other half.

Did he believe he had a soulmate out there somewhere? He wasn't sure. But...

He hoped so. 

Chapter Text

"Oh, man, you're going to be trouble, aren't you?"

"Trouble?" Lance paused in the combing of his hair to gasp melodramatically. "Me?" He pressed a hand to his chest. "How dare you, honestly. I am the peak of...of obedience and good behavior."

Hunk raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You got detention on the first day. Yeah, I have my doubts."

Lance scoffed and went back to combing his hair, eyes sliding to his reflection in the mirror. "Come on," he said, smirking easily. "It wasn't even my fault."

"But you—"

"Hup-bup-bup!" Lance pressed a finger to Hunk's lips. "Easy. It won't happen again."

"How do you know?" asked Hunk, muffled by Lance's firmly-placed finger.

"Because Kogane and I didn't get assigned detention in the same classroom." Lance dropped his comb on the dresser. "If we were, we'd probably get caught in an infinite detention loop. But we weren't, so it's fine."

"What about the classes you have together?" asked Hunk.

"No problem!" said Lance. "I just have to avoid him! Easy-peasy." 

"Don't you share a table with him in Mr. Cleare's class?"

"Hunk." Lance clapped a hand on Hunk's shoulder. "Buddy. I'll handle it." He stepped back and opened his dorm door. "I mean, who do you think I am? Some kind of delinquent? I'm not going to get detention again."

Hunk looked into his eyes, worry etched into his every feature. "You promise?"

Lance patted his arm. "I promise."

"Dude! What the hell?!"

"What do you mean, 'What the hell?!' I didn't do anything!"

"Didn't do anything?!" McClain gestured to the sleeve of his hoodie with the whole of his body. "Does this look like nothing to you?!"

"It's just ash," growled Keith. "It'll wash out. Unlike something else I could mention. Get over yourself."

"Get over myself?!" McClain's mouth fell open, and he pointed aggressively at Keith's chest. "You get over yourself! You did that on purpose! And you better cut it out before I give you a second black eye to match the one you already got! Where did you even get that, anyway? Do you make a habit out of making people want to kick your ass?"

Keith leaned in until he was in Lance's face, close enough to stare him down so he could feel it in his very soul. "Is that a threat, McClain?"

"What is going on over here?!"

The towering figure of Ms. Hira, the Phys. Ed. coach, loomed over Keith, casting a shadow long enough to touch the ends of the earth.

Keith glared at McClain.

McClain glared back.

"He—!"

"He started it!"

Hira curled her lip. "All right, I've heard enough. Detention. Both of you."

It was a pleasant, spring day, and Mrs. Luxia had decided to host her class outside, in the field surrounded by the running track, where Kogane just so happened to be jogging.

He scowled at Lance as he drew near, running past the patch of grass where his Strum class had set up.

Lance quietly plucked a series of notes on the guitar lying across his lap.

The patch of ice Lance spread under Kogane's feet sent him flying.

He yelped.

Lance grinned.

"That's a detention, Mr. McClain!"

Lance flinched and turned slowly to face his teacher.

Luxia's eyes narrowed on him, stoic, but disapproving.

Lance was only halfway into shrinking under her gaze when the hair on his left arm caught fire.

"AAAH!"

"And one for you, Mr. Kogane!" snapped Luxia, shouting over Lance's screams. "Don't think you escaped just because you aren't in my class!"

A fellow classmate, Plaxum, strummed an off-key chord with her mandolin, and an arm of water reached up from the bowl in front of her, drenching Lance and leaving him looking like a wet cat.

Kogane still found time to scowl at him from across the field.

Keith kicked McClain's chair out from under him as he sat down.

McClain squawked as he hit the floor, but just as quickly as he fell, he recovered, and he jumped to his feet to grab the lapels of Keith's jacket.

"Detention!" snapped Mr. Cleare without turning around.

Lance tripped Kogane.

Kogane, from the floor, grabbed Lance's ankle and yanked it out from under him, sending him tumbling onto his back.

"Detention!" snapped Lubos.

Keith watched from the back row as McClain walked to the front and handed in a chemistry test scorched around the edges.

Their teacher shook his head disapprovingly, an easygoing smile on his face.

"Sorry, Keith, but you know the rules. Detention."

Kogane handed in a water-warped history essay.

"That's a detention, Mr. McClain."

"You two! Detention!"

"Detention!"

"DETENTION!"

Keith grabbed McClain by the front of his shirt and yanked him onto the lip of the fountain.

McClain reached for the guitar on his back faster than Keith could react.

By the time Keith registered the sound of music and rushing water and ice breaking like glass, the shadow of McClain's wave already blocked out the sun.

Keith pushed McClain into the rising water.

McClain lost control, and the wave hit Keith like a train, pulling him into the basin.

"SH—!"

SPLASH

The world fell silent.

Keith emerged from the still-swishing water, coughing up what of it had gotten into his lungs. He swept its stinging presence from his eyes, groaning. Miserable, he opened them.

Another shadow loomed over him.

This one was tall. Large. Armored.

It didn't belong to any of his teachers, but it looked no less familiar. It was one he saw every day when he went to the Paladins' rec room to meet with Shiro.

Zarkon.

Keith shrank under his stern, violet gaze.

Uh-oh...

Zarkon turned his gold-and-crimson eyes from him to McClain, who, for his part, shrank just as humbly as Keith had.

"Keith Kogane..." Zarkon looked back. "I would have expected better from my Apprentice's own protégé."

Keith swallowed.

"And you..."

Zarkon's eyes slid back across the fountain and landed on McClain.

"Who are you?"

McClain flinched. "Um... It's... It's Lance McClain, sir..."

"Keith Kogane and Lance McClain..." Emperor Zarkon, leader of the Galra, Black Paladin of Voltron, looked from McClain to Keith and back again.

He gave a single, sharp nod.

"Detention," he said simply, and with a whirl of his cape, he turned away and marched off.

Keith warily met McClain's eye.

McClain looked back, contempt in his own, and splashed Keith irritably with icy fountain water before standing up and walking away, leaving Keith cold and wet and alone in the basin of the fountain, skin crawling for reasons beyond the winter air.

Shiro lay on the semi-circular couch of the Paladin lounge, arm draped over his eyes. Matt, from where he sat by Shiro's tucked-close feet, patted his leg. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"I'm running out of excuses," muttered Shiro. "If I knew this was going to be a...thing...with Keith, I would have just told my parents he joined a club..."

"He does seem to run on a schedule," admitted Matt.

"You shouldn't be shielding him in the first place," said Adam sternly, standing somewhere to Shiro's left. "Maybe if he had to deal with the consequences once in a while, he wouldn't pick so many fights."

"It could be worse," said Allura, gentle, but mostly unhelpful. "Imagine if his clashes with James Griffin were as frequent as his clashes with Lance McClain."

Shiro winced, imagining the bloodbath. "He'd be expelled by now. Or dead."

"See?" said Matt, cheerfully. "It could be a lot worse! At least Lance McClain doesn't try to bash Keith's head in! He just...gets him wet, sometimes."

A snort came from somewhere behind the couch.

"Not like that, Aonani," said Matt, amusement in his voice.

"They're children," snapped Adam.

"I know, I know, you're right, it's just..." Aonani giggled. "It's in the way you said it. Carry on."

Matt grabbed Shiro's arm and tugged, pulling it from his eyes and leaving him at the mercy of the fluorescent lights.

Shiro looked up at his long-time friend's smiling face, always a welcome comfort, even in times of stress. He always seemed to make things feel...smaller.

"It's going to be okay," said Matt. "You'll be okay. He'll be okay. It's going to be fine."

"Zarkon caught him this time," said Shiro.

"He sure did," said Matt. "But it's not a big deal. He's not gunning for your job, anyway. He's trying to take Adam's. Who cares what Zarkon thinks? Now, if it was Alfor, that'd be a problem. But it's not. So...it's not." He stood from the couch and pulled Shiro to his feet. "Keith doesn't need you to stand up to your parents. More than anything, he just needs your support. Be there for him when he messes up. I bet he wouldn't ask for anything else." 

"You say that now," said Shiro, lowering his voice so only Matt could hear him. "But if they kick Keith out of the house..."

"They wouldn't do that," whispered Matt. "Would they?"

"I don't know," said Shiro. "But I can't risk it. It took too much to convince them to go through with the adoption to begin with. If they knew the kind of trouble he got into..." Shiro shook his head. "I don't want my little brother on the streets."

Matt's eyes, far from softening with understanding, darkened with grim worry. "Shiro..." His hands slid from Shiro's wrists to his palms. "Are you... Is everything okay with—"

The lounge door clicked as it was pushed gently open, distracting Shiro and, thankfully, Matt from their conversation.

Keith crept in, looking smaller than ever, his head hanging low.

Shiro made his way to the door, crossing the distance Keith seemed too scared to cross.

"Hey," he said gently. "Zarkon told me what happened."

Keith ducked his head into his shoulders.

Shiro patted his still-wet hair.

"Come on. Let's go home before you get sick."

Lance hit his bed face-first with a soft whump.

"Seriously, dude. I'm starting to get disillusioned with you."

Lance rolled onto his back and found Hunk frowning at him from his desk. "That's a good thing. If that's how I'm getting you out of your shell, it's worth it."

Hunk groaned. "At least change clothes, man... You don't want to get your blankets wet."

Lance grumbled, conceding Hunk's point, and climbed to his feet.

"I can't believe you're still doing this," sighed Hunk, sympathy with a dash of salt. "I mean, is this even about the coffee anymore?"

"No," mumbled Lance, dropping his wet shirt on the floor.

"Pride?" asked Hunk.

"No," said Lance.

"Then what?" Hunk spun around in his desk chair. "Dude, you should be worrying about finals right now. Not a year of beef with some guy when you don't even know why you have beef with him anymore."

"I know why I have beef with him!" snapped Lance. "I have beef with him because he's a massive jerk with a mullet and he hates me!"

Hunk rolled his eyes. "I don't think Keith hates you."

"Oh, sure!" Lance barked a laugh. "That's totally why he's always starting stuff with me."

"I'm serious," said Hunk. "I mean, I think he thinks you're annoying. But being annoyed and hating someone are two different things. You know who I think Keith actually hates?"

"More than me?" Lance grabbed a dry shirt out of his wardrobe.

"James Griffin," said Hunk.

"Oh, that doesn't count," said Lance. "Everyone hates James Griffin. He's a pompous, entitled creep who thinks the world owes him fame and fortune. The only people who put up with him are his weird crew of high-class elites. I'm talking actual personal stuff."

"I dunno," said Hunk. "That cut lip Keith walked around with back in October looked pretty personal."

"How do you know that was from Griffin?" asked Lance.

"Uh, everyone knows?" said Hunk. "How did you miss that rumor? It was about your obsession."

"I'm not obsessed with Keith Kogane," grumbled Lance, grabbing a pair of pyjama pants.

"Then what would you call it?" asked Hunk.

"A rivalry!" said Lance.

"Rivalry," grumbled Hunk. "Yeah. Sure. What was that thing you told me when we met? Something about how we have different quintessence goals, so I wasn't an obstacle for you?"

Lance, comfortably changed into dry clothes, strode across the room and draped his arms over Hunk's shoulders from behind his chair. "It's different," he grumbled.

Hunk reached up as Lance set his chin on the top of his head and gave Lance a pat. "Whatever you say, buddy."

"Mm." Lance pressed his face into Hunk's shoulder, hiding it with his own arm. "...Hunk?"

"Yeah?"

"Do the Paladins...know who you are?"

"Sure," grumbled Hunk. "I'm a Garrett, remember? I've got generations of stupid expectations heaped on me, and if I don't wind up Gyrgan's apprentice for at least a little while, all of Altea's going to start asking what's wrong with me." Hunk shuddered.

"Right..."

"Why?"

Lance closed his eyes. "...Just wondering."

Yelling.

Keith hated the yelling.

He hated the way it permeated the walls and the floors and the ears and his skin.

He hated the way it made his stomach flip, the way it made goosebumps crawl across his arms and up his back.

He hated the way he knew it was all his fault, always his fault, though it was never directed at him.

The yelling always passed, quickly, without ever once even being pointed at Keith's bedroom, but...the dread always remained. Clawing through his mind, ripping through his psyche, chilling Keith to the bone. Even in the silence.

But in silence, things could pass. Keith could put himself back together.

And as soon as he did, he stood from his bed, slinked down the hallway, and knocked quietly on Shiro's door.

"Come in," called Shiro, barely audible through the door, intentionally quiet.

Warily, Keith crept inside, and the light from the hallway fell across Shiro's blue-backlit silhouette before the computer at his desk, revealing a soft smile.

"I thought it was you," he greeted warmly, lowering his headphones. "How are you feeling?"

Keith shrugged, wondering why Shiro bothered asking him that question when he was the one who had taken the brunt of his parents' anger.

"Sit down," said Shiro, gesturing to his bed.

Keith carried his lead-heavy feet across and lowered himself onto the blankets.

Shiro drummed his fingers on his desk rhythmically, and a gentle breeze closed his bedroom door with nary a sound.

Keith laid his hands on his knees. That came so easy to Shiro. Everything always did. Even his smile after all that yelling seemed easy.

"What's up?" asked Shiro, his face illuminated by his computer screen like a half-moon reflecting the sun.

Keith felt more like an asteroid flung wildly through empty space. 

"I'm sorry," said Keith. "You're always sticking up for me. You shouldn't have to do that."

"...What?" Shiro furrowed his brow. "Did Adam say something to you?"

"Why?" asked Keith. "Did he say something to you?"

Shiro held his breath.

Then let it out in a sigh.

"Keith—"

"You've already done too much for me." Keith curled his hands into fists. "If I'm too much of a hassle, maybe you should stop trying to protect me. Maybe you should just let whatever's supposed to happen happen."

Shiro didn't say a word. His expression may have said something, but Keith was glaring at his hands, hands white-knuckled and digging into his palms, and he couldn't see anything else.

Shiro's chair squeaked as he stood from it, and Keith still didn't look up. When Shiro sat beside him, his eyes stayed trained on his hands.

But then Shiro hugged him, and the force of it yanked Keith's attention to the ceiling.

"You have nothing to worry about," whispered Shiro, reaching up to cradle the back of Keith's head. "Because no matter what you say, or what you do, I'm always going to protect you. Whether you like it or not, and whether Adam likes it or not. You're a part of my world now. And I plan on keeping things that way for as long as I can, no matter what the consequences are."

Keith closed his eyes and hid his face in Shiro's broad shoulder. "You can't protect me forever..."

"I can try," said Shiro easily. "And I will. I'm going to try as hard as I can. Because there's so much greatness within you. And I'm looking forward to the day you take every opportunity your luck affords you and all the hard work I know you're capable of and turning it all into something amazing."

"But if I get you in trouble—"

"It doesn't matter." Shiro pushed Keith back and held his shoulders with a firm, inescapable grip, his sharp gaze just as impossible to evade. "I'm not giving up on you. Okay?"

Keith bit his lip. It wasn't okay. None of it was okay. Dragging Shiro into his life, his problems, his hell was never going to be okay. But something still possessed him to nod.

"Good," said Shiro. "Just...do me a favor?" He tousled Keith's hair, a warm smile on his face. "Start picking your battles, okay? I know there are some you can't avoid, but the thing with Lance McClain..."

Part of Keith wanted to cry out "He started it!" but he held that part of himself back. Shiro was right. McClain got on his nerves, but...he wasn't dangerous. Maybe if Keith just ignored him...

"Okay."

Shiro's smile brightened, and he pulled Keith back into his arms. 

"Okay."

Lance glared at his bedroom ceiling through the dark.

"I don't think Keith hates you."

He clenched his teeth.

"I think he thinks you're annoying."

He yanked his pillow out from under his head and shoved it into his face.

"You know who I think he actually hates?"

He wanted to scream. He didn't want to wake Hunk, but god, he wanted to scream.

"James Griffin."

With all his might, Lance threw his pillow into the wall beside his bed. It bounced off hard, forcing Lance to lean over the corner of his mattress to pick it up off the floor.

Why the hell does that bother me so much?

Hunk giggled at something in his sleep and rolled over, bed squeaking beneath him.

Lance wrinkled his nose. "Shut up, man..."

"—and like all things, the most important part is balance. Think of the whole equation as a scale, and the equals sign as the middle point between the two values—"

Keith felt McClain's eyes on him. The same place they had been throughout the entire class. He was just...staring. It was really starting to get on his nerves.

But Keith told Shiro he'd be better. And for Shiro's sake, he would be. 

"—keep that in mind when you do your homework, and maybe I'll actually see some passing grades when finals hit. Class dismissed."

Keith stood from his chair, only to have McClain catch his arm.

Keith looked at him, eyebrow purposefully raised.

McClain looked back, brow furrowed. "What the heck is up with you today? I mean, you've always been weird, but you are extra weird right now."

Keith barely had seconds to mull over an excuse before one came spilling out of his mouth.

"Sorry. I don't know who you are."

McClain's eyes widened. His mouth fell open.

Keith yanked his arm out of McClain's grip before he could come up with a rebuttal.

That...was a really dumb excuse, but at least being dumb had the added bonus of taking McClain off guard.

Keith grabbed his backpack off the back of his chair and yanked it over his shoulder. He had a vocal training class to get to.

"—history final will be covering the Paladins of the last century, the kings from the 56th century to now, and the great war of—"

"Sorry. I don't know who you are."

"—make sure you remember your instruments! This will be a practical—"

"Sorry. I don't know who you are."

"—annual formal announcement of the Paladin apprentices for the next year—"

"Sorry. I don't know who you are."

Lance kicked the base of the fountain. He kicked it until his toes hurt, until his shoes felt like rubber, until at least some of the tension in Lance's shoulders began to give.

"Stupid Kogane..."

"Sorry. I don't know who you are."

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

Lance punctuated every word with another sharp kick.

Kogane knew damn well who Lance was. He probably knew how mad it would make Lance for him to pretend he didn't, too. Even if Lance himself didn't understand why.

"Dude. What are you doing?"

Lance looked over his shoulder.

Hunk stood behind him, one hand on his duffel bag strap.

Lance took a sharp, angry seat on the edge of the basin. "Kogane's a jerk."

Hunk sighed emphatically. "I'm sure I should be surprised, but man, I am really, really not. So when do you have detention this time?" 

Lance crossed his arms. "...I don't."

Hunk raised an eyebrow. "Okay, now I really am surprised. How did you manage that?"

Lance wrinkled his nose.

"Okay, fine," grumbled Hunk. "Don't tell me. We don't have time, anyway." He caught Lance by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I really, really don't want to be late for another big ceremony."

Lance rolled his eyes. "At least you wouldn't have to push me over a wall this time."

"I can't believe that's the one thing you haven't gotten in trouble for this whole year," said Hunk.

"We," corrected Lance. "The only thing we haven't gotten in trouble for. That's on you, too. You're not that innocent."

"It was your idea, though!"

"Yeah, and you went along with it."

Hunk sighed, a good-natured smile on his face, one that steadied Lance's heart. "Yeah, fine, okay... Still, though, sneaking onto campus is kind of a big deal. I mean, if you sneak off, you get in trouble because the school doesn't want angry parents. If you sneak in, you get in trouble because the school doesn't want the world to end."

"Uhh..." Lance drew his eyebrows together. "What the cheese are you talking about?"

"The Comet?" pressed Hunk. "The thing that breaks the world in half if you break it in half? The world-ending thing in the middle of the school? Kind of a big deal, Lance."

"Ohh, that..." Lance groaned and headed for the auditorium doors. "You actually believe that? You? Smartest-guy-I-know Tsuyoshi 'Hunk' Garrett believes in stupid doomsday prophecies? Look, if a rock could destroy life as we know it, I think there'd be a little more security on it."

"There's security!" insisted Hunk.

"Yeah, cool-historical-artifact security, museum security, not nuclear-code security!" Lance poked Hunk in the side. "If some random, racist kid could bust into Grogory Tower, tag the walls, and literally destroy life as we know it for the sake of segregating Alteans from the Galra, I think there'd be more than just cameras and a couple of night guards, don't you? I mean, I know you've got anxiety, but this is one thing I'm pretty sure you don't actually have to worry about."

Hunk winced. "Okay, yeah, but like, what if you're wrong? What if Griffin breaks in one night and decides he doesn't want to deal with the Galra anymore? What if we wind up on different worlds and I never see you again?"

Lance's footsteps faltered. "...You're worried about that?"

"Yes!" said Hunk. "If I'm separated from you and my mom and dad and my sister, like, what else do I have? I don't want to go through the rest of my life alone! I—"

"Easy, easy..." Lance wrapped an arm around Hunk's shoulders and pulled him into a half hug. "Like I said, nothing's going to happen. But even if it did, Hunk, we're, like, destined to be best friends. I can't even imagine living in a world without you in it. You're stuck with me. Okay?"

Hunk worried his lip between his teeth. "Even if Gyrgan never picks me as his apprentice?"

"Dude." Lance thumped Hunk's chest. "No duh."

Hunk gave him a watery smile.

"Besides," said Lance, "you're, like, the most supportive, caring guy I know. Even when you're trying to knock sense into me. Gyrgan's gonna pick you. I wouldn't be surprised if he picked you this year and you don't have to take classes when we get back from winter break." 

"I'll still be taking classes," said Hunk. "They'll just be, you know, Yellow Paladin classes."

"Which will be so much cooler than normal classes!" said Lance. 

Hunk looked into Lance's eyes, swallowed so hard Lance could see his Adam's apple move, and yanked him into a hug so tight it pulled Lance's feet off the floor.

Lance laughed, surprised, and waited for Hunk to set him back down and free his arms so he could properly hug back.

Hunk would be Gyrgan's successor. Lance had no doubt in his mind. Not just his apprentice for a few years, but the whole Yellow Paladin shebang. And Lance would follow Blaytz as Blue Paladin. And maybe then...

Maybe then, people would take him seriously.

Maybe then, people would know his name.

Chapter Text

The auditorium was just the way it had been on Lance's first day, save for the fact that the assembly hadn't started yet. It was packed, noisy, and set up for a show.

Hunk led him to a seat on the top row, and Lance dropped into it, leaning against the wall behind him.

"So, you're obviously going to be the next Yellow Apprentice. Who else do you think will be up there? Shiro, Matt, Adam, and Allura, same as last time? Or someone else?"

"I don't know," admitted Hunk. "As long as it's not Griffin, I don't really care."

"What if it's one of his goons?" asked Lance.

Hunk shrugged. "Kinkade's in some of my classes, and he doesn't seem too bad. Just, you know, quiet. I don't think he's hiding any diabolical schemes behind those eyes. He's probably just thinking about pad thai. That's what I'd be thinking about."

"Focus, buddy," said Lance. "Kinkade's not going to be your teammate anyway. He uses Base magic, just like you. He might be your Lion's protector, but..."

"Eh, guess you're right," said Hunk. "Maybe Rizavi wouldn't be so bad. But, I mean, I don't have to worry about who's going to be Blue Paladin."

He elbowed Lance, and Lance grinned. "What about Leifsdottir?"

Hunk pulled a face. "I dunno, Leifsdottir's kind of..."

"Weird?"

"Anti-Galra."

"Oh." Lance winced. He didn't know that about her.

"Matt Holt has a little brother, anyway," said Hunk. "From what I've heard, Darrell Holt takes after Matt a lot, so he'll probably make Apprentice someday."

"Oh, yeah, that little guy's in my history class," said Lance. "He doesn't talk much, though. I don't know how well he'd work on a team."

"Still," said Hunk. "Paladins tend to go in families. Everyone in my family's been a Yellow Apprentice, right? And every Shirogane's been Black... Allura's not Red, like her dad, but she's still an apprentice. I've even heard Zarkon's kid back in Daibazaal's a Dark Knight. Keith's probably even gonna be—"

"Ugh, don't say it." Lance grimaced.

"Why not?" asked Hunk.

"You know why," said Lance.

"Come on, between Keith and James Griffin—"

"I'd obviously pick Kogane," said Lance. "But hopefully it doesn't come to that. Dude, there are so many people it could be. The idea of being forced to bond with Keith-friggin'-Kogane—"

Lance gave a full-body shudder, and as if waiting for that exact cue, the lights close that moment to go out.

The low buzz of conversation faded to a tense silence.

Hunk stiffened.

Lance set a hand on his arm, intending to calm his own present nerves as well as Hunk's, but unable to keep himself from inching forward in his chair.

THUMP

TH-THUMP

Lance clutched the front of his chest.

That wasn't his heart, but it very well could have been, for as loud as it was.

THUMP

TH-THUMP

A powerful gust of wind rushed down the aisles of bleachers, strong enough to lift Lance off his chair, and judging by the screams that filled the auditorium, countless others with him.

THUMP

TH-THUMP

Lance yelped as he was dropped back into his seat, and with a cold shock, he realized the wind had dropped him and the audience around him in sections—left, right, and middle—sending them crashing into their seats on beat and turning their thundering bodies into instruments as they landed, drumsticks on the drums of auditorium seats.

Lance hugged his middle, goosebumps crawling up his arms, a chill that only doubled when an arpeggio joined the beat of the drum and a torrent washed over Lance's body like a sudden wave from a frozen ocean.

The screams around Lance turned to cheers, redoubling into a soaring, deafening roar of excitement, but before Lance himself could get comfortable with that familiar acoustic guitar sound, a voice rang through the auditorium, louder than any cheer, reverberating across the walls as if they made up the insides of a bell.

"These melodies of ours

To soothe your growing fears

Uphold our fragile bond

And have for many years"

Lance's eyes widened.

That was "We Unyielding Five", an old-fashioned war anthem. He'd always thought it was cheesy, and judging by the size of the tiny flame that had bloomed over King Alfor's head, so did King Alfor, but...that flame still managed to survive in Zarkon's winds, winds strong enough to lift an entire hall of students off their chairs, so perhaps it wasn't the flame's size that was worth noting.

And besides...Lance had never heard "We Unyielding Five" quite like this before.

"Three and two—one and four,

A team of Voltron Five,

Without fear, nor retreat,

We fight to stay alive."

Alfor's tiny mote of light fluttered high, high overhead, until it reached the ceiling, where it began to grow brighter and brighter, until Lance, for the first time, noticed the vines that had completely consumed the ceiling, the walls, everywhere but the students themselves.

Beside him, Hunk screamed, and Lance whipped around to find a thick vine creeping slowly between them. How long—

How long had that violin been playing? It joined in so seamlessly.

"With bravery and strength

Connections matched by none

We'll not give up this fight

Our battle's just begun"

A rush tugged at Lance's clothes. At first, Lance thought the wind whipping around him had grown stronger. It wasn't until he saw the door that should have been behind him whirl past the opposite end of the auditorium that he realized the floor was spinning, carrying the whole of the room with it and sending it into a dizzying spiral.

Hunk made a noise in the back of his throat and doubled over.

Lance's eyes widened. "Whoa— No— No, you don't—"

"With justice on our side

Our fight is all but won—"

"Hunk, I swear, if you hurl right now—"

"Our victory's in sight,

The world is ours to run"

Hunk ducked his head between his knees and puked.

Lance yanked his feet off the floor lightning-fast before inertia could make a mess of his shoes. Several students to his right got the memo. Some down the row didn't.

"These melodies of ours

To quell our stirring fears..."

The spinning slowed to a stop, followed, unfortunately, by the rain that had been washing away Hunk's upheaval.

"Protect your fragile land..."

Lance's eyes slid back to the Paladins at the center of the auditorium, each bowing one by one until Alfor was the only performer still standing.

"...And shall, for many years."

His light faded, and the overhead lights turned back on, just in time to show the receding of the vines.

"Congratulations on making it to the end of the year!" called Alfor. "And for surviving that torrent. Blaytz..."

"On it!"

Blaytz held up a hand, strummed his guitar with all his might, and sent a ringing, dizzying, dissonant sound echoing from the walls that seemed to yank the water straight out of Lance's clothes and onto the floor.

Lance frantically tried to fix his hair. Okay. That was cool.

"For those of you who have been studying in our school for some time, I hope this year's performance was as delightful as the year before's. As for those of you who hadn't experienced one of our shows until today, I'm sure some among you will be pleased to know there is a separate room where you can watch future performances from a safe, non-nausea-inducing distance."

"Oh, thanks for telling me that now," grumbled Hunk.

Lance reached across to pat his back sympathetically.

"But I'm sure none of you are here to learn about our motion sickness evasion rooms. So, Zarkon, as per tradition, would you mind starting us off?"

Zarkon, the same towering beast of a Galra that hadn't bothered remembering Lance's name that day at the fountain, walked away from his bass drum and toward the lip of the stage.

He took a deep breath.

His crimson eyes scanned the crowd of students.

He cleared his throat.

He spoke.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean Calendar is, once again, Takashi Shirogane."

Lance rolled his eyes. Of course, all that dramatic buildup just for the least surprising choice in the world.

He watched Shiro stand from the front row, Kogane himself watching in a way Lance could recognize as anxious all the way from where he sat.

Shiro ruffled his hair before taking a step forward and proudly joining Zarkon on the stage.

Alfor returned to the edge, taking Zarkon's place.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean Calendar is Adam Whittaker."

Beside Shiro's now-empty seat, his boyfriend climbed to his feet and joined him on the stage.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean calendar is Matthew Holt."

Matt Holt flashed Kogane and his own little brother a grin and a pair of thumbs up before bouncing his way to the stage to take a theatrical bow that had Shiro flicking the back of his head.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean calendar is Allura del Altea!"

Princess Allura stood from the seat beside where Matt Holt had been and trotted jauntily to the edge of the stage, where Shiro bent down to help her up and Matt greeted her with a high five, which she happily accepted.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean calendar is Tsuyoshi 'Hunk' Garrett."

The auditorium, already respectfully silent, couldn't have gone quieter. There was no stunned hush, no cease in cheers or curious murmuring. And most likely, that was why Lance didn't quite register what had been said. Not until it hit him he was scanning the crowd below him for the wrong person.

"Hunk—" Lance's voice sounded like a crash of cymbals to his own ears, but when Hunk sat shaking beside him the way he was, nothing mattered but making sure he was okay. "Hunk, buddy, what did I tell you? Why are you even surprised?"

"Lance..." rasped Hunk, his eyes glued to the stage below them.

"Come on, man, we just talked about this—"

"I can't..."

"Sure you can! All you have to do is stand up, walk down the aisle—"

"No, Lance, I can't. Not with all these people—" He shook his head and covered his ears. "Everyone's staring at me— I can't—"

"Okay, nah. Nope. You're not doing this." Lance jumped to his feet and offered his arm. "Come on. Let's go."

Hunk whipped his head around, tails of his headband flying. "Uh, what do you mean 'let's'?"

"Let's go." Lance patted his arm. "Come on, big guy. Or am I not pretty enough to be your escort?"

Hunk stared, mouth hanging open, tears welling in his eyes. "Lance..."

"Don't get all mushy on me. There’s no time for that." Lance grabbed Hunk by the arm and forcibly linked their elbows, pulling Hunk out of his seat and ignoring the heat gathering in his ears. "Come on."

It was awkward, pulling Hunk out of the seats, but once they reached the aisle, it was smooth sailing. At least, for the most part. He did catch James Griffin, of all bastards, shooting Hunk one heck of a searing death glare.

"You're just jealous," hissed Lance as they passed his row. “You wish you had arm candy like me."

Griffin's eyes flashed with so much rage and what was definitely jealousy that Lance was sure, for an instant, that he'd jump out of his chair and throw a punch. Judging by the death grip on Lance's arm, Hunk seemed to have the same thought. But they reached the stage without incident, and no sooner had they than Gyrgan, the Yellow Paladin himself, bent down and clasped Hunk's arm to pull him up.

Princess Allura bent down as well, taking Hunk's other arm from Lance and helping to pull him up.

Hunk, no less flustered, hit the stage with a nervous whine and turned around, seeking comfort in Lance's face.

Lance grinned, in the hopes that he delivered that comfort.

Matt Holt wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Shiro patted him on the back in a congratulatory gesture.

He was welcomed.

He was accepted.

And Lance found himself all the more excited to one day be up there with him, to be accepted like that, to be a part of something, wanted, remembered, just like Hunk.

A weight landed on Lance's head. Curious, he looked up, and he found Princess Allura still kneeling at the edge of the stage, her hand ruffling his hair, just like what Shiro had done to Kogane.

If Lance had been bashful before, with Hunk, it was nothing compared to the way he felt there, in that moment, Allura's fingers threaded through his hair. He felt his knees go weak, knew he must have had the goofiest smile on his face, but he didn't care.

Allura was beautiful, and she was touching him, and smiling at him, and Lance was content, for the time being, just to be there.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible, before standing slowly and turning around to join her fellow apprentices.

Lance watched her walk away before turning on his heel, dazed and dizzy, and came face to face with—

Ugh. Kogane. And he was staring at Lance like he'd grown a second nose. Great. Thanks for the mood killer, asshat.

"What?" snapped Lance in a whisper.

Kogane rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, adorning the look Lance knew him best for. That constantly-irritated, too-good-for-everyone look.

Lance just shrugged and made his way back up to his seat. He wasn't about to let Kogane ruin his day.

He'd only taken a few steps up the stairs when Alfor took his place back at the edge of the stage.

"Everyone, please rise and welcome your apprentices for the coming year!"

Every student slowly climbed to their feet, clapping on command, and Lance turned around to take another look at the stage.

At Hunk, surrounded by his peers, far above the rest of the student body. Nervous, but still visibly happy.

And, though a little jealous, a little sad knowing he couldn't stand up there with Hunk, Lance still smiled.

Way to go, pal...

The remainder of the assembly was less eventful, and a great deal lonelier. Lance kept staring at Hunk on the stage, wishing he was down there with him, that staring only broken by the occasional glance at Kogane, who, Lance had just noticed, had a lot more friends than Lance himself did. At least he was still sitting with Matt's little brother.

Of course he had all those stupid friends. He was Shiro's brother. Shiro probably introduced Kogane to everyone he knew. It wasn't like Kogane would actually be able to make friends like that on his own. Did anyone even like him?

Lance huffed and turned his attention back to Hunk until the assembly ended.

He sighed, relieved, and jumped out of his chair, rushing into the chaotic crowd of students, eager to push his way down to where Hunk was, to talk to him and get away from the loneliness that crawled into Lance's brain.

But he'd barely met the bottom stair when a not-so-friendly voice filled the void that loneliness left behind.

"—don't deserve that spot. You've never done anything to earn it!"

Lance clenched his teeth and pushed his way through with all the more frantic fervor.

Griffin.

"There's only one person in our class who deserves that spot, and it's Kinkade."

"I— I wasn't—"

"Oh, what, are you crying now?"

Crying?! Lance clenched his teeth and pushed at the dense crowd that had gathered between him and his best friend. No way. No way was some punk like James Griffin going to bully his Hunk.

"Good. You should be crying. You didn't earn that spot."

"James! Knock it off! Hunk didn't do anything wrong!"

"Come on, Kinkade, you know this is BS. The only reason Garrett got that spot and you didn't is the family he comes from. That's all it is, just politics and—and classism, and elitism— It's all about keeping all the same families in power! Look at him, Kinkade! Look at how much he's crying! Look how fat he is!"

Lance shoved someone aside, hard enough to send them to the floor, in a desperate attempt to reach Hunk. "Let me through!"

"There's no way," continued Griffin, "no way in hell that someone like him could ever take a spot that belongs to you without some kind of outside force cheating the system. Face it, the only worth that fatass could ever have is the family he—"

CRACK

A wave of gasps rolled through the crowd of students, and, distracted by whatever happened, the crowd became malleable enough for Lance to push his way to the front.

The first thing he saw was Griffin, knocked off his feet, blood dripping from his nose, a wide-eyed stare on his face, his friends hovering over him with wide eyes and uncertain hands.

Then he saw Hunk, cowering just a few feet from James, arms over his head, almost certainly not the person who decked him in the face.

Which...only left—

"Say that again, and next time, I'll aim for your teeth."

Kogane...

Lance's jaw dropped.

He never thought he'd say it, but in that moment, Kogane didn't look like the creep Lance had come to know.

He looked...like a badass.

Violet eyes cut sharp into his face, hands curled into fists at his sides, a sharp frown drawing his lips firmly shut, and his stature, not typically intimidating, towering over Griffin like a conquering hero.

Griffin rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

He looked at the blood that came away from his face.

He looked at Kogane.

And he lunged.

Screams erupted from the students behind Lance, followed immediately by cheers from the other side. Lance's mind whirled as he looked back and forth, his conscience debating with itself, trying to figure out which was the best choice to make, Hunk or Kogane, left or right.

Resolute, Lance darted across the chaos and grabbed Hunk, snapping him out of the statue he'd frozen himself into and taking him out of harm's way.

"Come on, buddy, come on, let's go—"

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

It was Lance's turn to freeze.

His eyes connected with Hunk's, so wide they seemed ready to fall out of his skin, just for a moment, before he turned around to see Lubos storming his way to the impromptu gladiator arena.

Lance did everything he could to hide Hunk in the crowd, hoping he wouldn't be punished just for being bullied, not on what should have been a great day, but before Lubos could even send a glance Hunk's way, a greater distraction came up.

"What the hell?!" Griffin scarpered back. "He has a knife!"

Gasps rang through the crowd as Kogane slapped at his back, eyes wide.

Lance looked at the point where his hand had darted to, and his mouth fell open.

Sure enough, peeking out from the edge of Kogane's usual red-and-white hoodie—dragged up to nearly his chest during his scrap with Griffin—sat the unmistakable hilt of a hunting knife, wrapped in strips of linen.

"Outrageous!" harrumphed Lubos.

Kogane's pale face snapped up, hand on the knife as he backed away. Lance had never seen him so scared. "No, you don't— You don't understand—"

"Hand it over, young man," snapped Lubos. "It's dangerous, and it's confiscated. You're lucky I haven't had you expelled on the spot."

"No, you can't—!"

Griffin yanked Kogane's knife from his belt, exposing its steely blade to the world, proving how sharp it was by sight alone.

Keith tried to grab it back, but Lubos took it first, disgust in his sneer.

"Give it back," begged Kogane. "Please! My mom gave it to me!"

"Then your mother can come to my office after class to pick it up. And we can have a nice chat about your choices."

Kogane clenched his teeth. His fists shook. For an instant, Lance thought he was going to punch Lubos in his dumb, green face.

But he just choked out a sob, turned around, and ran from the auditorium, doors swinging shut with an audible thud behind him.

Hunk's hand slid around Lance's wrist.

"When he said his mom gave him that," whispered Hunk, "I don't... I don't think he meant Mrs. Shirogane."

Lance found Hunk's gaze for only a moment, just long enough. Long enough for his words to sink in, long enough to understand where Lubos hadn't.

And as Lance's eyes wandered back to the door Kogane had just blasted through, the most bizarre pain struck him in the chest like a bolt of lightning. Sudden, confusing, and hard to ignore.

He actually felt sympathy for Keith Kogane.

Keith slammed the bathroom stall door and pounded the wall with the sides of his fists.

Stupid. That was so stupid. His knife was gone. That was it. The Shiroganes would never let him get his knife back. They didn't even know about it. Lubos wouldn't let Shiro take it in lieu of his parents, he wouldn't just feel sorry for Keith and hand it back, and— And what was he supposed to do? Sneak in and grab it himself? If he got caught—!

...If he got caught, Shiro would take the brunt of the punishment.

Keith was screwed.

With a frustrated roar, he kicked the stall door before locking it shut, throwing the toilet seat's lid down, and sitting on top, furiously scrubbing at the tears running down his cheeks.

He still felt like screaming, but screaming did no good.

So he sobbed.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and if Keith had any dignity left, he probably would have tried to stop crying.

If...he had any dignity left.

"Um..."

Whoever had come in took a timid step closer to Keith's stall.

"K... K-Keith? Are...you okay?"

Keith pressed his face into his hands. Great. No one talked to him like that, not ever, not unless they were Shiro or Matt. Sometimes Allura. But this wasn't Shiro or any of his friends. This was someone else. One of Keith's classmates, probably.

Keith didn't bother answering them. Whoever they were, they'd only come after him because of their twisted conscience. They weren't his friend, and he wasn't their problem. He didn't owe them an answer. He didn't owe them a thing.

"I saw what happened out there," said the person at the door. "That was really cool, what you did. Standing up for Hunk. I...didn't think you were the kind of person who'd do something like that."

Keith sniffed. It wasn't even for Hunk. Griffin just...pissed him off. The implication that Shiro or Matt or Allura got where they were just because of their families. The implication that Shiro was only the Black Apprentice because of his awful parents... And the implication that, if Keith was ever an Apprentice, it'd be because of the family that grudgingly took him in...

Keith didn't want to hear it.

Besides, Hunk was Aonani's little brother. And maybe Aonani wasn't as close to Shiro as the rest of the Apprentices, but she was still his friend, and she was nice to Keith, too. And even if Hunk was McClain's friend, he must have been nice if he made Yellow Apprentice. Keith doubted he deserved Griffin's garbage.

"So, like... I just wanted to thank you," said the person at the door. "For what you did for Hunk."

Again, Keith sniffed. He didn't do it to be thanked by someone he didn't even know.

"Er... Yeah." The person at the door cleared their throat. "Uh... Hope you feel better soon."

The door opened, Keith heard retreating footsteps, and the door closed again.

Keith took a shuddering breath and hung his head.

Good. He wiped his eyes. They're gone.

Then the door flung open again.

"You know what? No."

Keith flinched. What the...?

"No-no-no-no-no. No. I'm not leaving until you laugh. Or smile, o-o-or something! Okay?"

Keith blinked, flicking tears away, speechless.

"Okay!" The stranger plucked out a series of notes on what sounded like a guitar, and frost shot across the tile floor. Keith's mouth fell open. That was more prowess than he'd expected. "So this is just a goofy little ditty I came up with in my off time. You want to hear it? Never mind, don't answer that. Not like you were going to answer that anyway, right? Right. So...here goes."

Footsteps plodded across the frozen floor, toward Keith's stall, and stopped just outside his door, revealing a pair of worn, blue tennis shoes just beyond the boundary of the door.

Keith rose to his feet, curious, anxious.

The owner of the blue tennis shoes took a breath, turned around, and strummed his guitar.

"My ex-girlfriend Kitty

Is so very pretty

Her hair is as black as the night..."

Keith's eyebrows shot toward his hairline as his eyes darted to the ceiling, where orange, fiery embers drifted down like rain from an unseen cloud.

Strain and Strum at the same time... It wasn't that uncommon, but it was still impressive, and even if it weren't, the ashes falling like snow into the glassy frost at Keith's feet were still beautiful.

"Her smile is as warm

As the beach at the dawn

And no other eyes twinkle so bright..."

Keith followed a glowing ember all the way down, to the floor, where it landed between the toes of his shoes. And there, like a seed, it sprouted, and a frozen, crystalline vine stretched and spiraled up, stopping in front of Keith’s face, directly across from his lips, as if waiting for a kiss.

“Her lips are so soft

And her hair's neatly coiffed

But she's not as sweet as she seems…”

Instead of kissing Keith, the tip of the vine transformed, twisting into the shape of a rosebud, one that quickly bloomed into a dazzling, glass-like rose that perfectly refracted the light from every drifting ember and knocked the breath from Keith’s lungs as quick as any well-placed punch. That was gorgeous. How did they make something like that without even being able to see it?

“For my ex-girlfriend Kitty

Is so very pretty

She's stolen the man of my dreams.”

“Ha—!”

Keith clapped a hand over his mouth.

He’d been so entranced by the rose that he’d temporarily forgotten what the stranger said about his song being a “goofy little ditty” until the punchline slapped him in the face.

The song stopped abruptly, guitar and all, and its singer laughed triumphantly. “A-ha! Knew I could get you to laugh!”

Keith slowly lowered the hand from his mouth, eyes falling to the shoes on the other side of the door, which had started shuffling in a triumphant dance.

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and wiped what was left of the tears from his eyes. Losing his knife still hurt, and Keith had no doubt it would for a long time, but...it hurt differently, somehow. Less like Keith had insulted his late mother and doomed himself completely, and more like he just...lost something with a lot of sentimental value.

“...Thank you.”

The shoes past the bottom of the bathroom stall door stopped their victory dance. “Uh… No problem, man.” The singer cleared his throat. “Just...feel better soon.”

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

“Good.” Those feet under the door shifted nervously. “So I guess I’ll...uh...see you.”

The blue tennis shoes retreated, and Keith’s gaze lifted back to the rose. With a wary hand, he reached out to touch it, and it shattered like a Prince Rupert’s Drop, sending particles of ice flying in every direction as if Keith had summoned a tiny blizzard.

Its maker stopped at the bathroom door, just long enough to let loose a tiny chuckle at Keith’s expense, then the door creaked shut, and Keith knew he was gone.

A jolt ran through Keith’s heart.

He frantically unlocked the door to the stall, threw it open, and followed the stranger into the school corridors, but by the time Keith opened the bathroom door—

“—catch last night’s episode of—?”

“—spaghetti all over my pants. I’ll never get the stain—”

“—released a new line of—”

“—my gosh, check out the colors—!”

Students. A sea of students. Countless and moving and shuffling amongst themselves like a deck of cards.

Keith tugged nervously at the sleeves of his hoodie.

Whoever that was, whoever had shown Keith that kindness exactly when he needed it, Keith may never know.

And the very thought of that weighed heavy on his heart.

Lance yanked Hunk’s arm and spun him around. “Need your hoodie.”

“What?” Hunk furrowed his brow. “My hoodie? What do you need my hoodie for? It won’t fit you. It's huge! If you put the hood up, no one would even see your face.”

Lance smirked.

“That’s the idea.”

Chapter Text

In some ways, magic worked like emotions. Like emotion, there was always a little bit of magic in everyone who had it. And, like emotion, music could take what was there, build it up, and turn it into something far greater than it ever could have been on its own. Getting involved in any sort of magical combat without an instrument was a bit like running into a shootout without a gun.

But a bare hand could still throw fists, and a heart could still feel sadness without melodic interference, and Lance could still use ice magic without his guitar.

Sort of.

A little.

Lance pressed his back to the wall and peered down the hallway to his left, then to his right. The rest of the school should have been at dinner, and Lance climbing down from his dorm window should have been enough to throw the school security cameras in the hallway off his scent, but there was no way to know for sure that he wasn't seconds from getting caught at any point.

He pulled Hunk's big, yellow hoodie over his eyes, hiding his face, and reached in his front pocket for the bottle of water he brought. A trembling breath fanned over his lips, and he lowered himself to his knees outside Lubos' office door. Lance had already committed himself to what he was about to do. He'd already made enough risky plays to take him as far as he'd gone. Still, that didn't make picking the lock on his teacher's door any easier.

Lance uncapped the bottle and poured it into his hand, forming it into a tiny ball.

He pressed his hand to the keyhole, his ear to the door, his courage to the walls of his heart.

This is for Kogane. He helped Hunk, so now I'm helping him. That's how this works. Right? Right.

"Right..."

Lance closed his eyes. His fingertips drummed out a rhythm as he pictured them dancing up and down the neck of his Pop-Pop's old guitar. Controlled, possessing the air, enchanting the unseen audience.

The water in his hand invaded the lock.

Inside, tumblers slid slowly down, pressed into place by miniature pillars of ice.

Click.

Barely louder than the near-silence of Lance's miming fingers, the first pillar hit its intended length, and Lance was free to focus on the others.

Click.

Click-click.

Click.

Lance nodded sharply. That was all of them. He could tell.

Keeping his hand steady, focusing every ounce of attention he had on his magic, he pulled back. Sweat gathered on his forehead as the ice extended through the keyhole, chasing his retreating palm.

When he stopped, so did the ice, and with a careful, gentle hand, Lance turned his needle-thin, brittle-as-sugar-glass key.

It snapped.

Lance sucked in a shallow breath. Was that enough?

He tried the doorknob.

It twisted, and one of the knots in his stomach untied itself. But he couldn't breathe. Not yet.

With one last look down the hallway, Lance slipped into Lubos' office and closed the door behind himself.

In utter, chilling silence, Lance's eyes darted around Lubos' office, peering ever so slightly out from under Hunk's hood. Where would Lubos keep a confiscated knife? The cabinets in the corner? The pocket of the coat hanging from the coat rack? Was it still on his person, in the cafeteria? With him on his way home?

Lance shook his head. He had to stay optimistic.

Desk. He'd check the desk.

With light footsteps, Lance hurried to the desk by the right-hand wall and pushed Lubos' chair out of the way, freeing up space for Lance to search the drawers.

He started with the upper drawer on the right.

Opening that revealed a series of files organized alphabetically. He pushed them gently to the front and searched the back of the drawer.

No. Nothing there but a box of envelopes.

Lance carefully restored the files to where they previously sat and closed the drawer.

In moving to the next, Lance was met with a stack of finals packets, an answer key sitting proudly on top.

He hurriedly closed that drawer. He was already risking his academic career enough as it was. He didn't need to add cheating to the list. No way.

He quickly turned his attention to the thin, shallow drawer right under the desktop, the one that would have lied just above Lance's knees if he sat in the chair rather than pushing it aside. He had to reach beneath the drawer itself to wiggle it free, but once Lance had a steady grip, it opened easily.

The only contents of that drawer were a few nice pens and a letter.

A letter written in Galra.

Curious, Lance picked it up. He could sort of read Galra, but he wasn't fluent by any means.

Not being fluent didn't quell Lance's curiosity, though. Maybe Lance could get some dirt on Lubos, just in case he got caught.

Lance read the first line. Or, rather, he tried to. He couldn't even make out the first word.

The second, though... That was a name. Lance could read the second alphabet Galra texts used for names pretty easily. It was just phonetic.

Morvok. That said Morvok.

So that first word... "Dear", maybe? "Dear Morvok" something something— Wait, no, I know that one. That's "find—" Wait! "Found"! There's that little letter, the "ag" that means it's past-tense. "Dear Morvok, something found...'Galra'"? No-no-no, that's part of the next word. Hey, I know this one, too! It's "metal"!

Lance frowned and tipped his head to the side. He knew that words were sometimes combined in Galra to make new words, like their word for "quintessence" translated literally as "Altea-air" because quintessence was such a big part of Altean culture, more than the humans' or Galra's culture.

But...Galra-metal? Lance had no idea what that could be.

Maybe something purple? Like amethyst? No, that'd probably be Galra-rock— Ugh, I'm wasting my time with this. It's geology stuff. Who cares? I need to hurry up and find Kogane's knife before I get—

Cli-shk!

—caught!

Lance's head shot up and he looked to the door.

"What's— Ice? Quiznacking kids..."

Lance shoved the letter back in its drawer, frantically pressing it down to lie flat like the way Lance found it before shoving the drawer closed.

A vine erupted through the two-way lock to the other side, writhing like the tongue of some vile, shapeless monster as it pushed the shards of ice Lance left behind onto the carpet.

The doorknob turned.

Lance hit the floor.

The door creaked open.

"Humph..."

Lance pressed himself to the desk drawers as Lubos made his way inside.

Between the bottom edge of the desk and the floor beneath it, Lance saw Lubos' green, four-fingered hand reach down to pluck the crushed remains of Lance's key off the floor.

"Ungrateful little snot-nosed... Human, I'll wager..."

Lance winced. Geez, tell me how you really feel...

Lubos returned to his full height, ice shards in hand, and drew nearer to the desk, the floor creaking under his weight with every step.

Lance held his breath and shuffled beneath the desk, as far back into the corner as he could press himself.

Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak...!

Lubos' legs came into view around the drawers.

Lance covered his mouth with his hand to quiet his breathing.

He was dead. He was so dead. Expelled. And he hadn't even found Kogane's stupid knife.

Lubos reached for his chair, wheeling it closer, and lowered himself into it.

Lance could only watch as his knees bent, he got comfortable, and he scooted closer, closer, blocking the light from his desk lamp, his knee inching closer, closer, an inch from Lance's nose, a centimeter, a mere sliver...

Then he stopped.

Lance let a slow breath out through his nose, eyes sliding shut. If he moved his leg even a smidge, Lance would be dead. But, though Lance was far closer to Lubos' groin than he'd ever wanted to be in his life, he at least still had his life.

He just...had to be careful.

He'd sit as still as a rock until Lubos left, and then he could go back to searching for...Kogane's...

Okay, you've got to be kidding me.

Lance closed his eyes as tight as they could go and pressed the back of his head to the rear corner of Lubos' desk.

So.

Okay.

Good news, Lance found Kogane's stupid knife.

Bad news, it was about a foot away, dangling from the corner of Lubos' blazer, in his inside pocket. Lance could just barely make out the edge of the handle.

Okay, that's it, thought Lance. I gave it my best try. I snuck out of my dorm, broke into my teacher's office, and dug through his drawers. But no. There's no way. Sorry, Kogane, but I am not reaching into the pocket of the jacket my teacher is currently wearing for a knife. Kogane's not even my friend! It's not like I'm about to call him up to hang out or tell him my darkest secrets or...follow him into a bathroom to cheer him up when I see he's upset...crying...because he probably just lost the only thing he has left of a parent who must have really loved him...

The memory of Keith's angry, frustrated, desperate crying echoed in Lance's head, and he slowly moved his hand from his mouth to his ear, as if he could muffle the sound.

He couldn't.

Ugh! Fine! Mother of god, fine! Lance threw down his hands, keeping his elbows close to his body so as not to nudge Lubos' legs. Fine... He glared at the corner of Lubos' jacket, the one that hung just a little too heavy.

...Countdown to when I regret every single life choice I've ever made.

He raised his hand.

Three.

His hand reached under Lubos' knee, under his chair, toward the dangling corner and the hint of knife handle that barely stuck out of its silky pocket.

Two.

The tip of his middle finger feathered over the butt of the knife.

...One.

Lance pulled on the knife with the very tip of his finger, coaxing the end of Lubos' pocket closer to him.

The pocket moved, but not in the way it was supposed to. It moved up.

Lance froze, one hand outstretched underneath Lubos' chair, the other clenching the seam of his own jeans at the ankle with a trembling vice grip. He waited for Lubos to look under the desk, to have felt him, to see him.

But Lubos didn't look down. His green, scowling face never appeared under the edge of the desktop.

All Lance saw was the very tip of a hand as it scratched the side of Lubos' round belly, moving the end of his blazer up and down.

Good. Good, good, this is perfect. Just keep...!

Lance grabbed the end of the knife between his first two fingers, coaxing it out bit by bit in time with Lubos' scratching.

Doing...!

Almost out...

That!

The knife slipped

It came tumbling out of Lubos' pocket, end over end. Its six-inch descent to the floor seemed to last a lifetime. Lance held his breath. He lurched forward, diving between Lubos' shins.

Yes!

He caught it. He caught it with the inside curve of his fingers just a few centimeters before it hit the floor.

And Lubos didn't seem to have heard the quiet smack as the flat of the sheath hit Lance's skin.

Lance curled his fingers around the knife, pressing it safely in his palm, and carefully pulled it close, avoiding the leg of Lubos' chair and the sides of his suit-clad ankles.

He held it to his chest, both hands wrapped tightly around it, like he was dying to be a bride and had just caught the bouquet.

Okay, good. Good...

Lance swallowed and looked up at the unfortunate view just across from his face.

Now...I just have to...not get caught...until he leaves.

Not a problem.

Easy-peasy.

Lubos sniffed and cleared his throat.

His toes curled beside Lance's hip.

Lance had to bite his tongue to suppress the scream that threatened to crawl up his throat.

...Man, I am dead.

"I saw what happened today."

Keith lifted his head from where he'd been staring at the sidewalk, guiltily meeting Shiro's eye for only a split second, not even looking at Matt, before ducking his head in shame.

"I know I was supposed to stay out of trouble. Getting in that fight was stupid."

"I wouldn't say stupid." Shiro's arm, warm and strong and steady, wrapped around Keith's shoulders, pulling him close as they walked. "I was going to say noble. Kind. I'm sure Hunk really appreciated what you did."

Keith shrank. That almost made him feel worse. That he'd done something that was supposed to be brave, but Shiro was the one making the sacrifice in the end.

A hand that didn't belong to Shiro ruffled his hair, and Keith looked up to see Matt grinning at him.

"We're proud of you!" said Matt, chipper in spite of the mess Keith had caused. "You, my tiny friend, are going to make one hell of a Red Apprentice one day. And the Red-Yellow bond starts here. Between you and Lance McClain, I think Hunk has two future teammates he already knows he can count on."

"Ugh..."

"Oh, no, Matt..." Shiro lifted his arm from Keith's shoulders, a smirk on his lips. "You just implied that Keith's going to be on a team with Lance McClain."

"Oh, yes." Matt pulled his face into a mock-somber frown. "Of course. What was I thinking? How dare I?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "McClain's obnoxious." He turned his head to look over his shoulder, in the direction of the school. "...But I guess he can't be that bad if he's good to his friends. At least he has some redeeming qualities."

"What was that?" Keith faced forward again and found Shiro grinning back at him. "Maturity? In my Keith?"

"And directed toward Lance McClain, no less!" Matt nudged Shiro's arm with his fist. "Hey, we should celebrate!"

"Ha-ha, guys."

"No, he's right," said Shiro, head held high. "We should have a movie night, make some popcorn—"

"We can't," said Keith. "The only reason Matt's allowed over tonight is so you guys can study for finals. If your mom and dad—"

"Our mom and dad," corrected Shiro.

Keith shook his head. Who cared about that? "If they catch us watching a movie, they might not let him over again."

Shiro and Matt exchanged surprised looks. They both knew that without Keith needing to tell them. They all knew what kind of trouble they'd get in. No one was really serious about the movie. It was all a fantasy they indulged in. A game of pretend. One they'd played countless times before.

But Keith didn't feel like playing.

"Are you okay?" asked Shiro, voice low and kind and concerned. His impossible-to-replicate Shiro-voice. "Did something happen?"

Keith scowled at the sidewalk. Shiro didn't know about the knife. Or the guy in the bathroom. And he didn't need to know. He didn't get to have Matt over often. Keith didn't want to make the night about himself.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Shiro's hand found the top of Keith's head and pushed his hair back. Shiro-speak for "I know something's wrong, but I'm not going to force it out of you. You can talk to me when you're ready."

And Keith was indescribably grateful for that. He pressed his face into the side of Shiro's chest, hiding from the world.

Matt came in from his right, squishing him warmly and affectionately in the middle.

"What if you studied with us?" asked Shiro. "Mom and dad can't get mad about that, and we could still have popcorn."

Keith shook his head. He knew nothing was going to happen between Shiro and Matt as long as Shiro was still with Adam, but he still wanted them to have some time to themselves.

"Okay," said Matt. "So we can't do anything tonight. What about tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning sounds good to me." Shiro's arm slipped out of Keith's hair and pulled Matt closer, squishing them all even tighter against one another. "How about we all get up early and go out for doughnuts?"

"Uh, doughnuts?" Keith lifted his head.

"We could watch the sunrise," said Shiro enticingly. "I'll even buy you coffee."

Keith felt a tug at his lips. "Okay. Doughnuts."

"Doughnuts!" cheered Matt. "Heck yeah!"

Keith laughed. His heart still ached with loss, and no doughnut or cup of coffee could fix that.

But the promise of a morning with his two best friends certainly eased the pain.

The shuffling of papers over Lance's head stopped, and Lubos' chair creaked.

Lance's heart leapt into his throat, as much from hope as from fear. One of two things was about to happen. Either Lubos was about to get up and leave, or...well, the alternative, which was just as likely. And Lance didn't want to think about the alternative.

The alternative where Lubos was about to look under the desk because he felt Lance's foot or his presence or the potted plant in the corner told Lubos Lance was there or—

Oh, shoot, Lance was thinking about it.

He crossed his ankles, knees pressed to his chest, hands sandwiched in-between, knife held securely in his hands.

Lubos' feet slipped harmlessly back, he stood from his chair, and...

And he left.

He headed for the door, no checking of the perimeter, no phone call to Alfor confirming he'd known Lance was there all along and just hadn't said anything.

He just...left. Lance heard the door close.

Just to be safe, Lance pressed his ear to the ground and looked toward the door to make sure Lubos wasn't there, waiting to ambush him.

And he wasn't.

Lance pushed Lubos' chair out of the way, and after what felt like an eternity in a cramped, sweaty, anxious hell, he climbed out from under the desk.

Lubos was really gone.

Lance laughed. He felt like crying. He'd never been that scared in his life. Not even that time he broke his abuelita's lamp and hid under his bed all night afterward. After all, his abuelita could only make him regret being born. Lubos could change his future.

Lance ran to the window and threw it open. No way in hell was he following Lubos into the hallway. He had to put as much distance between himself and the old leafbag as possible.

The brisk winter air assaulted Lance's face as he pushed the glass pane up. The storm screen was still in the way, but he knew how to open that easily enough.

He pulled the four little, metal tabs keeping it in place and pushed the screen out, in the direction whence the chilly air came.

The ground seemed a lot farther away than one story. Lance swallowed hard. Maybe going through the door isn't such a bad idea after all, he thought, a split second before he heard urgent footsteps tearing down the hall.

The door flung open, bouncing hard off the adjacent bookcase.

"WHERE IS IT?!" roared Lubos. "WHERE'S THE BLADE?!"

But Lance only heard it through the open window a story above the bush where he nursed his aching shoulder.

Far above him, he saw Lubos push the window screen open and look down.

But Lance knew, between the bush and the shadows of the building that curved around him, that there was no way Lubos could see him.

...Right?

"Quiznak!"

Lubos slammed the window closed, and Lance let out a slow breath. With a trembling laugh, he let the back of his head meet the dirt behind him.

"Hoooooly crow..."

The phone rang.

Keith froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

He exchanged a look with Shiro.

Shiro's brow furrowed.

Mrs. Shirogane stood from the table and crossed the kitchen to take the phone off the counter. "Shirogane residence."

Still seated at the table, Mr. Shirogane gave Shiro a stern look, then moved his dark gaze to Keith.

Matt didn't seem to notice, but he'd been visibly uncomfortable all afternoon, so maybe he was already at peak discomfort.

"No," said Mrs. Shirogane. "Both my sons have been here since class ended."

Keith shoved his fork into his mouth, but he couldn't taste the spaghetti it carried.

"No, sir. I've had my eyes on them since. They are both eating their dinner now, seeing as it is dinner time."

Keith swallowed hard. They were talking about him. Him and Shiro. But it didn't sound like they were talking about the fight with Griffin. What were they talking about?

"See that you do," snapped Mrs. Shirogane. "Have a good night, Professor Lubos."

She hung up the phone with a sharp click and returned to her seat.

"What was that about?" asked Mr. Shirogane.

"Apparently, there was a theft at the school," said Mrs. Shirogane. "They thought it could have been one of you two, for some reason." Her suspicious glare bounced between Shiro and Keith. "But it couldn't have happened earlier than an hour ago, according to Professor Lubos. Unless one of you has been replaced by a clone, I don't think we need to worry about it. Providing neither of you has anything to confess."

Shiro pointedly avoided Keith's gaze. "No, ma'am."

Keith shook his head silently.

"Good," said Mrs. Shirogane in a way that suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "Now, Mr. Holt..."

"What—!" Matt's head jerked up from the hole he'd been boring into his plate with his eyes. "Um. Yes?"

"Your younger brother has started classes, hasn't he?" asked Mrs. Shirogane, her eyes on her bread as she cut into it with the side of her fork. "He's awfully young, isn't he?"

"Um, yes," said Matt. "But he's really smart. He wanted to get in bad enough, so he got in. That's just kind of how he is."

"Hm..." Mrs. Shirogane's eyes found Keith's. "I can't imagine how proud you must be."

"Very proud, Ma'am."

Keith ducked his head and poked anxiously at his noodles.

"So, do you think your brother has what it takes to steal your position?" asked Mr. Shirogane.

"Oh, for sure," said Matt brightly.

Keith caught Shiro jerk ever so slightly as he kicked Matt under the table.

"And what will you be doing when he does?" asked Mr. Shirogane.

"Uh..." Matt cleared his throat. "What do you mean?"

"You do have a plan, don't you?" asked Mrs. Shirogane. "You can't expect to be an Apprentice forever."

"Well, I've thought about studying in Daibazaal," said Matt. Shiro flinched again. "Uh— With my dad."

"Daibazaal?" scoffed Mr. Shirogane. "What's there in Daibazaal to study? A bunch of rocks?"

Matt went quiet until Shiro kicked him again.

"...Yeah! Exactly! It's a geological venture. We'd be researching their Balmeran-like crystals and studying their effects on quintessence. That's my dad's field of study. Quintessence."

Mr. Shirogane returned his attention to his food with a dismissive nod, and not a word more was said until dinner was done with.

"No, stop." Mrs. Shirogane snapped her fingers as Keith reached for Shiro's plate, seizing a violent flinch out of him. "This is good china. I won't have you breaking it. I'll be doing the dishes."

She turned her back as she stood from her chair, just long enough for a horrified expression to cross Matt's face.

Keith set his own plate down. "...Okay."

Shiro set a hand on his shoulder, barely long enough for the gesture to avoid being called a pat, and nodded toward the hallway.

They made it to just outside Shiro's door before Matt scooped Keith up in the most enveloping hug he could manage, as if he was trying to shield Keith from view.

"Oh, my god, that sucked," hissed Matt. "How do you two stand it here every day? Keith—" He pulled back and held Keith's face. Well, more like squeezed his cheeks, hands anxious and pressing just a little too hard. "Keith, being snapped at for trying to do the dishes is dumb. Like, really dumb. You know that, right?"

Keith pulled his hands down silently, unsure of what to say.

"We'll be fine," assured Shiro. "We've made it this long. It just takes..."

"Patience," murmured Keith.

Shiro smiled. "That's right. Patience." He ran his hand through Keith's hair, the opposite hand content on Matt's back, convincing him to let go. "You sure you don't want to stay with us?"

"I don't want them asking questions," said Keith.

"God..." hissed Matt.

"We'll be here," said Shiro, ignoring Matt's comment. "If you decide you'd rather be with us, you can come down at any time."

He held out his hand, and Keith clasped it with a quiet clap before allowing himself to be pulled into a hug that was less protective than Matt's.

"Good night, Keith."

Keith closed his eyes, safe and happy for only a moment. "'Night, Shiro."

Matt patted his hair fondly, worry in his eyes. Keith managed a smile he hoped was reassuring, and he headed for the stairs.

As Keith reached the stairs, he heard Matt's voice carry faintly across the hallway.

"You know, if someone talked to Darrell like that, I'd..."

Keith reached the top of the stairs and closed himself in his room. Maybe Matt and Shiro would eventually be able to move off Shiro's parents and focus on themselves. Maybe.

But it would be easier if Keith wasn't there.

Keith sat on the floor and held his hands out in front of his face.

"I want them to be happy."

Tiny flames sprouted on the ends of his fingertips, arcing from finger to finger like electricity.

"I love them. I want them to be happy."

The flames swirled around his fingers.

"I'll...be...fine."

Quicker than the flames appeared, they died.

Keith curled his fingers until his fingernails pressed into his palms.

"...I'll be fine."

Keith stood away from the door and moved to his desk. The sound of a trumpet called up from under his feet as he reached for his school bag. He could at least try to study, though he doubted he'd be able to focus.

Keith grabbed one of his plastic binders from his bag and tore a sheet of paper from its rings.

He held it up, half-folded, six inches from his face.

"...A part of me is torn from me.

From body, rent an arm."

The page erupted in flame.

"My heart is haunted, mind consumed..."

The flames reached high enough to lick the ceiling.

"...by earth-upending harm."

The paper, reduced to ash, crumbled to the floor, and the flames shot all the way up to Keith's shoulder, burning, but not blackening his jacket or searing his skin.

He closed his hand, and the flames disappeared.

The mark they left on the ceiling, however, stayed.

Keith sighed and opened his desk drawer. A small tube of paint rolled to the front. He'd have to fix that before Shiro's parents saw.

Again.

Keith grabbed his paintbrush and climbed onto his chair. With hands practiced from the significant number of times he'd already repainted his ceiling, he squeezed a dollop of paint directly onto the brush and raised it over his head, careful not to drop it onto his floor.

The blackened spot became a distant memory in only a few brushstrokes, and Keith climbed down. He'd have to hide the brush in his sleeve to clean it in the bathroom sink, and he'd get paint on his hand, but it would wash off in the sink.

Keith headed for the door, already tucking the end of his brush into his jacket sleeve, but only the very tip had crossed the edge of his cuff when he froze.

Literally.

Keith shivered. It felt as though some kind of...reverse dragon had just breathed into his bedroom.

"What—?"

He turned around, half convinced he'd accidentally melted a hole into his balcony door.

He hadn't, but frost swirled in floral whorls across the glass, and for the first time, Keith noticed music. Not Matt's trumpet or Shiro's drums from beneath his feet, but another melody, something from outside.

A guitar.

Keith inched toward the door, absently abandoning his wet paintbrush on his desk as he passed.

Beneath him, Matt's trumpet stopped, and so did Shiro's drumming, but only for a moment. Keith heard his brother laugh, surprised, through the floor, and the drumming resumed, on beat with the inexplicable guitar.

Keith threw his curtains open, revealing the entirety of his glass doors and the frost that had completely consumed them. The metal handle was almost unbearably cold to Keith's hands as they scrambled to unlock it.

Despite the ice, the door slid open easily, and Keith was greeted with...snow. Snow, drifting somehow down from a cloudless, starry sky.

Keith crept forward uncertainly, bare hand held out to catch the snowflakes. They were...just a little too big to be natural, in flakes with glittering, complex patterns that were readily visible to the naked eye. Definitely magical, from someone without much experience, but with more than enough personality to make up for it.

Keith dusted his hands off on his jeans and approached the railing of his balcony.

"My ex-girlfriend Kitty is so very pretty—”

"You...!"

A floor beneath him, a figure in an oversized, yellow hoodie danced in tune with his own guitar, twirling around a short, fat, glowing pillar of ice that held something long and thin, like a glass case in a museum. Keith squinted, trying to make out the shape of what it held from where he stood despite the figure obscuring his view and the overwhelming emotions that gripped Keith's heart as it slowly came to grips with the reality of what was happening.

The same boy from before had found out where he lived. And Keith knew there was something inherently creepy about that, that he should have been weirded out by some boy from his school showing up uninvited, in his back yard, outside his bedroom, at night, with his face hidden under a hood, but...he wasn't. Keith wasn't sure what he was feeling, but it wasn't fear.

"—But she's not as sweet as she seems!"

The figure planted his foot on the corner of his frozen pillar and kicked it forward. It slid harmlessly across the grass, no evidence left behind, nothing for his parents to see, provided they hadn't already heard the singing or seen the frost.

"For my ex-girlfriend Kitty

Is so very pretty..."

The pillar hit the edge of the deck beneath Keith's balcony, and instead of bouncing back like it should have done, it bounced straight up, rising until it was level with Keith's balcony, where Keith could finally see what was inside, glittering in the light of the flames conjured in the corners of the display, familiar, infallibly recognizable.

And all Keith could do was stare, speechless.

His hands reached numbly of their own accord, seeking out the familiar comfort Keith had already given up on seeing again.

"She's stolen the man of my dreams!"

The frozen case exploded the same way the rose had before. Unlike before, the flames burst as well, sending glittering embers cascading around Keith like fireworks.

But Keith found it hard to focus on their beauty when his mother's knife clattered to his balcony floor at his feet.

Wide-eyed, Keith bent down and snatched it from the wooden planks.

He freed the blade from its sheath. All the same nicks and scratches in its shining surface were there, distorting his reflection in the way it always had. No replica had found its way into his hands. It was the real deal.

Keith looked over the railing, searching for the boy in the yard below him, but there was no sign of him. He must have slipped into the forest behind Keith's house while he was distracted.

Keith hadn't even been able to thank him.

With a hard swallow, Keith sheathed his knife, held it protectively to his chest, and sat on his balcony floor, back pressed to the railing.

With the guitar having stopped, and Shiro's drumming with it, all Keith heard in the cold, winter night was the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

"Whoa..."

Shiro sat back in his chair, laughing to himself, eyes peering through the window that separated his room from the deck outside.

"That...was classic," said Matt, grinning from the foot of Shiro's bed. "Whoever that kid was, they’ve got guts."

"I'll have to talk to Keith about what happened in the morning," said Shiro. "Make sure he's okay with it. But if he is...man. I'm almost jealous. If Adam did anything like that for me, maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

Shiro's attention shifted from the window to Matt's face, which had lost its grin.

Guilt pricked at the back of Shiro's skull, and a queasiness settled in his stomach.

He smiled despite that. "Nothing. Let's get back to practicing, unless you're okay with invoking Zarkon's wrath."

"Nope!" chirped Matt. "No, he's scary enough when he's happy. Back to work."

Shiro nodded. "Back to work..."

Lance rolled through the window and landed on his back, giggling in a glee half-delirious from adrenaline, guitar hugged to his chest.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Hunk appeared in his line of sight, bent over Lance's face, ends of his headband dangling over his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it!" Lance sat up, moving his guitar to his lap. "Here, you can have your hoodie back." He grabbed it by the back of the collar and yanked it over his head.

"You're killing me, Lance! You're gonna kill me! With stress!"

"Calm down, Hunk!" Lance threw the hoodie at Hunk's face. "No one saw me!"

Hunk pulled the hoodie off his head and wrung it between his hands. "Okay, but if someone traces this hoodie back to me, I'm absolutely ratting you out. Don't think I won't."

"Sure, buddy. But it's not gonna happen." Lance kicked his shoes off and climbed unceremoniously into bed. "Good night!"

Hunk sighed, exasperated. "Good night, Lance..."

Lance listened to Hunk's bed creak as he climbed in, and only once Hunk turned his desk light out did Lance realize how wide he was still smiling.

He tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't.

The look on Kogane's face was...priceless. But not in the way that usually made Lance smile when it came to Kogane.

Lance wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy to make some else happy. Kogane or otherwise.

There was something weird about it being Kogane at all, of course, but...

Well, whatever. Lance could worry about whatever that was later.

Chapter Text

Keith sank his teeth into the doughnut Shiro had bought him and leaned back in his chair, content just to absorb the savory-sweet flavor and listen to Matt and Shiro talk.

"So the entire thing was messed up—broken—because you used the wrong kind of apostrophe?"

"Yep. Luckily, though, I had a backup. But I lost about a week of work because the backup was out of date."

"A week of work is better than the entire project, though."

"Oh, yeah, naturally. And it's been a long time since I last made a mistake like that. I learned much from my young and foolish mistake."

"Mm. You know, speaking of young and foolish... Keith."

Keith swallowed hard, his latest bite getting briefly caught in his throat before shooting into his stomach like a bullet. "Uh— Yeah?"

Shiro set his chin in his hand, a serene smile on his face. Too serene. Calculated.

Matt laced the fingers of either hand together and sat his chin on the station they formed, his own smile mirroring Shiro's.

"What?" demanded Keith.

"Who was your friend?" asked Shiro.

"Friend— What friend?"

"From last night."

All the heat in Keith's body seemed to rush directly into his face. Shit. "Uh..." He reached for his coffee, looking hard into its lid, grateful for anywhere to direct his gaze but the pair of expectant smiles in front of him. "You... You know about that?"

"About some kid performing some pretty impressive feats of magic right outside my window?" Shiro huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I might have noticed."

"It was pretty hard to miss," attested Matt.

Keith flicked the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup with his thumbnail. "...Do your mom and dad know?"

"No," said Shiro, all amusement leaving his voice. "If they did, you wouldn't have to ask. I don't think the frost reached past the south-facing side of the house. You're safe."

Keith let go of the breath he'd trapped in his chest. There was no real danger, then. Just Shiro and Matt teasing him. He could handle that.

Keith took a look around the doughnut shop to make sure there was no one suspicious listening in on the conversation at their round table. He didn't see anyone in a suit, anyone who seemed like they might have known the Shirogane family. The only other person in the shop—aside from the employees—was a man with a leather jacket and a pair of cool, fingerless gloves absently swirling his coffee with a short straw and watching the sunrise through the window. Shiro's parents would never be caught dead talking to someone like that.

Still, Keith lowered his voice and leaned in toward the center of the table before answering Shiro's question.

"...I don't know."

Shiro scooted forward as well, brow furrowed with concern. "What?"

"You asked who it was," said Keith. "I don't know. I couldn't see his face. He was wearing this big, yellow hoodie that was pulled down over his eyes."

"You seem pretty sure it's a he, though," noted Matt.

Keith nodded. "Yesterday, after my fight with Griffin, someone followed me into the men's restroom and tried to cheer me up through the door."

"Probably a guy, then," agreed Shiro.

"To think the outdated cultural norm of gender segregation actually came in handy for something," hummed Matt. "Darrell would love to hear that."

"So you didn't see his face then, either?" asked Shiro.

Keith shook his head. "I was kind of...hiding, and I didn't think about opening the stall door until he was gone."

"But you're sure it was the guy?" asked Matt.

"He sang the same song," said Keith. "And he said he wrote it. Even if he was lying about that and it was just some pop song I haven't heard, I don't think it can be a coincidence that it was the same song outside my window. Besides, his magic was the same, too."

"What do you mean his magic was the same?" asked Shiro.

"It..." Keith licked his lips. "When he makes an ice sculpture, it bursts into snowflakes when you touch it."

"So either it's the same guy," said Matt, "or it's someone who's trying to make you think it's the same guy."

"Was there anyone in the bathroom when you met?" asked Shiro.

"No," said Keith. "Just us."

Shiro and Matt turned toward each other.

"Same guy," they concluded simultaneously.

Shiro turned toward Keith again. "Do you think he's dangerous at all?"

"No," said Keith. "I don't think someone who would anonymously help someone else would be dangerous."

"Unless he was trying to earn your trust," said Shiro.

"Anonymous, Shiro," said Keith. "I'm not going around trusting everyone with a blue guitar. Not when almost a fifth of the population in Altea plays guitar."

"I don't know," said Matt. "The face-hiding thing kind of makes him more suspicious to me. What does he have to hide?"

"The Blade of Marmora hide their faces," said Keith.

Matt hummed with a shrug, conceding Keith's point.

"Okay," said Shiro. "I'll trust your judgment. But if something changes, and you're not sure he has your best interests at heart, don't hesitate to tell me immediately. Some guy you don't know showing up outside your window at night—"

"It's a little stalker-ish," said Keith easily. "Yeah, I know. I'm not dumb. But the whole reason he showed up in the first place was to bring me..." Keith averted his eyes. "S...Something I lost." He bit his lip. "...I don't think he's going to come back, though, so you don't have to worry."

"A stalker would have probably kept what he lost, right?" murmured Matt, his voice obviously intended only for Shiro's ear, unaware Keith could hear him easily. "I think I'm with Keith. It's probably fine. Probably."

Shiro nodded, agreeing, and turned his eyes back to Keith.

"Well... Either way, I doubt this is the last time you're going to see him."

Keith's heart skipped a beat. "What? What do you mean?"

"He cared enough to come all the way to our house," said Shiro. "Presumably on foot. Presumably after sneaking out of his dorm."

Keith set his doughnut on his napkin and pushed his coffee away to pull his jacket tightly around himself. Presumably after sneaking into Lubos' office to get my knife back.

"As long as he doesn't properly introduce himself to you at school before break, I'd be surprised if he didn't show up in our back yard again."

Keith lifted his head and met Shiro's eyes.

"Like I said," he murmured, gray eyes softening, "I'm trusting your judgment. If he comes back, and you decide you want to talk to him, I won't stop you. But if you start to sense he could be dangerous, if your trust starts to waver, I need you to tell me right away. I won't think less of you for trusting the wrong person. We all do that at least once in our lives. That's how we learn who we can and can't trust. You won't be in trouble if you come to me. The only thing that's going to happen is that I'll keep you safe. Okay?"

"Okay," said Keith, feeling small.

"Promise me," said Shiro. "Promise you'll come to me if you start to feel unsafe."

"I promise," said Keith.

Shiro got to his feet and walked around the table.

"Okay."

He held out a hand.

Keith stood warily from his chair and grasped Shiro's hand, sealing the promise.

No sooner than their hands met did Keith feel himself yanked forward, pulled into Shiro's arms. He tensed for no longer than a second before he pressed his face into Shiro's chest, so much so that his next few words were muffled.

"Do you really think he's coming back?"

"Yes, Keith," whispered Shiro. "I really do."

"Augh, Hunk...!"

"I know!" Hunk snorted up all the snot he was getting on Lance's shoulder. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I just—!" He let go of Lance and looked at him with big, watery eyes.

Lance rolled his eyes and patted the top of Hunk's head. "You act like we're not gonna be roommates again next year."

"Yeah, but—!" Hunk sniffed. "But that's so far!"

"It's just a couple of months, buddy..." Lance gave Hunk his best smile. "Then we get to spend every day together again."

Hunk pulled his head back and rubbed his eyes with the side of his fist. "Yeah, but I'm an Apprentice now, so we're not gonna have any classes together next year! I'm gonna be with Gyrgan getting private tutoring the whole year!"

"We didn't exactly have every class together this year," said Lance.

"But we could have had classes together next year, and now we can't!" whined Hunk.

"I know, pal," sighed Lance. "It's gonna be okay, though. We'll still see each other every day. And you're gonna do great as Gyrgan's student. It'll be fine."

Hunk sniffed and nodded pitifully, finally letting go of Lance and taking a step back.

"Okay." Lance inched toward his bed and the suitcase lying open on the bedspread. "Can I go back to packing now?"

"Yeah... I'm just..." Hunk scrubbed his cheeks. "I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I'll miss you, too," said Lance. "But I'll text you every day."

“Yeah..."

"You won't even know I'm gone."

"Yeah..."

"And if you miss me too much, you're going to miss out on all the time you're not missing tests."

"You're—"

Hunk hiccupped and played with the cuff of his sleeve.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "I'm...?"

"I...like you more than I hate tests," murmured Hunk, so quietly Lance could barely hear him.

"What?" Lance laughed. "Hunk, I've seen you throw up from test anxiety."

Fresh tears rolled down Hunk's cheeks. "Uh-huh...!"

Lance's heart squeezed and twisted and knotted in his chest. Tears sprung to his own eyes. "Hunk..." He held out his arms, this time happily inviting Hunk in. "Get back over here, you big, beautiful boy. You can't just say that and not get hugged."

Hunk didn't need to be told twice. He ran into Lance's arms and squeezed him tight enough to lift him off the floor.

Lance laughed, as much as he could when all the air was pressed out of him by Hunk's surprisingly strong arms. "You are the biggest ball of mush I've ever met," he wheezed. "I love you so much."

Hunk lifted Lance even higher off the floor.

It took a great deal of effort for Lance to finish his packing after Hunk's cheese and pure emotion became his own, but with both packing and finals behind him, Lance said his goodbyes to Hunk and made the walk to the train station.

To call the platform busy would have been an understatement. Nearly every student from the Garrison had found their way to the tracks, a stark contrast from the beginning of the year, when Lance had arrived early in the morning on the day of orientation instead of the day before, when most students arrived.

Lance brought his suitcase to the edge of the canal. Several others sat along the water's edge, eating their lunch and talking amongst themselves. Lance felt a sadness creep into his smile as he listened to them chatter on. He already missed Hunk more than he thought he would. If Hunk didn't live with his family in Altea, they'd be able to eat lunch on the grass just like everyone else, maybe while they waited to board the same train, where they'd spend the next few hours talking about how excited they were to visit each other all winter long.

But Lance would be okay. It wasn't like he was alone. Hunk wasn't his only friend. Just...his only human friend.

Hey, girl... Lance kneeled at the water's edge, careful of the guitar on his back, hand firmly wrapped around his suitcase's metal handle. How have you been?

The Blue Lion didn't respond. She simply watched the world with her glowing, golden eyes, the same way she always did.

So, I didn't make apprentice this year, admitted Lance. But— But I still have five more chances, right? There's no rush. People don't usually make Apprentice in their first year anyway. Hunk did, but that's because he's Hunk and he's amazing. You'll like having him on your team, I promise. And when I make Apprentice, we're gonna have a stronger bond than any Paladins ever have, and they'll never find anyone better for the job, and we'll make it all the way to Paladin. Just you wait.

Still, the Blue Lion remained silent.

Lance would hear her voice someday, though. He just knew it. It was just a matter of time.

He leaned back, sitting on his heels, and from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red in the distance.

A familiar jacket belonging to a familiar mullet-sporting rival of his.

Kogane? Lance narrowed his eyes. What's he doing here?

Frowning—though more from surprise than vitriol, to Lance's own surprise—he stood from the grass, patted his jeans dry, and dragged his suitcase onto the cobblestone and through the crowd to the last person he expected to see at a crowded train station.

"I thought you lived in Altea!"

Despite Lance's loud call, Kogane didn't seem to notice he was being spoken to at first, his gaze caught adrift in the sea of homebound travelers. It wasn't until his scanning eyes landed on Lance that he apparently realized that statement had been directed at him.

"I do," said Kogane with a roll of his eyes.

"So what are you doing here?" asked Lance. "Trying to track down James Griffin for one last brawl before he gets out of face-punching range?"

"None of your business," snapped Keith.

"Geez, touchy..." Lance shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, fighting down the urge to smile. Kogane wasn't pretending he didn't know who Lance was anymore. Apparently, that was an at-school-only thing. Good. If he did that for much longer, Lance might have started to believe him. "It's not like I'm here to pick a fight. You stood up for Hunk. That's grounds for a truce until at least the end of break."

Kogane didn't have anything to say to that. Still, unless it was Lance's emotion, it looked like he lost a little of the tension in his shoulders as he returned to his searching.

"Seriously, who are you looking for?" asked Lance. "I thought your only friends were, like, Shiro and the Holts, and they both live in Altea. They wouldn't be here. What gives?"

Kogane threw his head back and sent an exasperated groan into the clouds. "You—!" He glared at Lance. "Why do you know so much about me?"

"I am a very observant person," said Lance proudly. "So what's your deal? Are you trying to confess your undying love to some girl you've been crushing on all year or what?"

"Will you please leave me alone?" sighed Kogane.

"So you are."

"What?!" Kogane's face turned the color of his jacket. "No! I'm not! Can— Can you please just go away?"

Lance clicked his tongue. Way to treat the guy who got your knife back. Not that Kogane would know it was him. Lance made sure.

However...

Lance grinned and bumped Kogane's arm with his own. "Ever get your knife back?"

"Yeah," said Kogane tersely, his gaze diving right back into the crowd. "I did."

"Cool, cool..." Lance rocked back and forth on his feet. "So, did your parents get it for you?"

"I don't have parents," said Kogane.

"Fine," said Lance. "Did the Shiroganes get it for you?"

"No."

"Then how'd you get it back?"

"None of your business."

Lance raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Kogane seemed awfully fond of that phrase.

"You know what?" Lance leaned in, watching Kogane's expression closely. "I bet you stole it."

"Think what you want," said Kogane without missing a beat.

What?

Lance furrowed his brow and leaned away, appraising Kogane from head to toe and back up.

...Okay.

So, that wasn't what Kogane was supposed to say.

Kogane had been pretty upfront about the whole knife situation up to that point. Maybe he didn't talk about the handsome, mysterious hero who brought his precious knife back to him in the dark of night at first, but Lance would have bet an entire sleeve of cookies on Kogane admitting someone came to his rescue the second he came under scrutiny. And then Lance was supposed to tease him about how fake it sounded and laugh his ass off the second Kogane was out of earshot.

So what the heck—?

"You know that makes you sound super suspicious," said Lance, "right?"

"Yep," said Kogane, still scanning the crowd, not looking at Lance once.

Lance worked his mouth, looking for a response, but he couldn't find one.

Was Kogane taking credit for all the hard work Lance went through to get that stupid knife? Or—

Lance felt a warmth creep into his face.

Or was Keith trying to keep him from getting caught? Even if that meant taking the fall himself? Even if he didn't actually know who found the knife, so Lance would have been perfectly fine?

Kogane's eyes shot from the crowd to Lance. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Looking—?" Lance bristled. "I wasn't looking at anything! You— Shut up!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

A loud whistle wailed across the platform and Lance lifted his head to turn toward the screen on the station all.

"Welp!" Lance stretched his back. "Looks like that's my train."

"Safe travels," said Kogane, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"See you in March, Mullet."

With all the urgency of someone who saw smoke in the direction of their neighborhood and just remembered they left their oven on, Lance tore away from Kogane and pushed his way onto the train that had just pulled in, ignoring the protests of anyone in his way.

With far more force than ever should have been necessary, Lance pushed his suitcase into the luggage rack over his seat.

And he sat.

And he squirmed.

Kogane wasn't supposed to be like that. Like...

I don't know... Nice? Ish?

Lance made a face in his window's reflection. "Nice" wasn't really the right word. Kogane had been a jerk for that whole conversation.

But he'd been something. Something different. And Lance didn't like the change.

He didn't like it at all.

A huff—loud, heavy, and adolescent—sounded to the right of Shiro's ear, echoing through the now-barren train station, and a weight hit the bench beside him, hard and rough.

"No luck?" presumed Shiro, lifting his coffee to take a drink.

"No," grumbled Keith. "The only people with yellow hoodies were either girls or they had the wrong body type."

"Same here," said Shiro. "Not many kids came inside. They were all out with their friends."

Keith leaned into Shiro's arm. "...Thanks for coming with me anyway."

"No problem," said Shiro, a smile creeping onto his lips. "You know I'm a hopeless romantic."

"Ugh, it's not romantic!" protested Keith. "I just—!" He buried his face in Shiro's sleeve. "I just want to know who he is."

"I know." Shiro patted the top of his head. "And I just want to tease you from time to time."

Keith groaned, and in the same instant, Shiro felt a vibration from his pocket. He reached inside to grab his phone, looked at the screen, and huffed a sigh that echoed the one Keith had let out when he joined Shiro on the bench.

"Adam?" asked Keith, lifting his head off Shiro's arm.

Shiro raised his eyebrows at him. "Yeah, actually. How'd you know?"

Keith closed his eyes. "You sounded annoyed," he said, matter-of-fact.

"Keith," warned Shiro.

"What?" Keith sat up. "You're always fighting with him! Why are you even with someone you don't like?"

"I do like him," said Shiro. "Just because we get in disagreements sometimes—"

"All the time."

"I love him, Keith." Shiro squeezed Keith's shoulder. "Part of being an adult is working through your problems and making compromises—"

"Part of it," said Keith. "Not all of it. Name one thing you actually like about Adam."

"He's a good kisser," said Shiro automatically.

"When was the last time you kissed him, though?" asked Keith. "And even if you kissed him all the time, is that a good enough reason to keep dating someone who—who makes you miserable?"

"He keeps my feet on the ground."

"He crushes your dreams," said Keith. "I think the only people who like to remind you that Apprentices rarely make Paladin more than Adam are your parents."

"Our parents," corrected Shiro. "And I love them, too."

Keith grabbed Shiro's wrist and pulled it down from his shoulder. "Why? They don't love you. They don't love either of us."

A stab of concern shot through Shiro's heart. "Of course they do."

"If they did, you wouldn't have to hide Adam from them," said Keith. "Love isn't love when you have to pretend to be someone else to get it."

Shiro blinked, surprised. That was...surprisingly profound for Keith, a boy who, by all accounts, preferred most things to stay simple.

But Shiro supposed, to Keith, that was simple.

"So many people love you," said Keith. "Matt and his whole family and Allura and all the Paladins. I don't get why you stay."

"Stay with who?" asked Shiro, his voice closer to a whisper than he meant for it to be. "Adam? Or Mom and Dad?"

Keith shrugged. Both, then. Okay.

"Well, I think I explained myself well enough when it comes to Adam. As for Mom and Dad..." Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith's shoulders and pulled him close. "It is expected that Apprentice Paladins live with their parents or guardians until they are either replaced or made Paladin. The idea is that a Paladin-to-be should be able to focus entirely on their training without worrying where their next meal is coming from. Paladins are Altea's greatest defense. Their training is kind of important."

Shiro smiled.

Keith looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

"There's one more thing, though," said Shiro. "One big, important thing that keeps me from leaving home. Do you know what that is?"

"No..." Keith frowned. "What?"

Shiro set his coffee on the arm of the bench and wrapped his other arm around Keith's shoulders, pulling him into a warm, tight hug.

"You," he whispered. "You are so important to me."

Keith's hands fisted in the fabric of Shiro's coat.

Shiro planted a kiss on the top of Keith's head and pressed his cheek into the spot he kissed.

"For as long as I can, I'm going to stay by your side," he swore. "At least until you don't need me anymore."

"That's not going to happen," said Keith. "I'll always need you. I... I just want you to be happy. And you're not with Adam."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "You're not letting this go, are you?"

"No." Keith pulled out of the hug. "Not while you're still unhappy."

"I'm perfectly happy."

"Come on, Shiro. You deserve someone you actually love, who loves you."

"Like who?"

"Like—!"

Keith sat back and pursed his lips. He inhaled a sharp, heated breath through his nose.

For a split second, Shiro was worried Keith was about to suggest himself. Thankfully, he didn't.

Less thankfully, that was because...

"Like Matt."

Because Keith knew Shiro far more than Shiro had ever given him credit for.

He threw his head back, grimacing, hoping Keith took his knee-jerk reaction as exasperation rather than as a flinch from a perfect bullseye.

I can't be that obvious.

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose. "Keith, listen. I do love Matt. But there are many kinds of love—"

"And you feel all of them for Matt," said Keith stubbornly. "I'm not stupid."

"Would it matter if I did?" Shiro lowered his hand from his face and looked Keith in the eye. "Relationships aren't just about how we feel. They're also about the choices we make, and I chose Adam."

"It's a bad choice," said Keith.

"It's still mine to make," said Shiro. "Not yours."

Keith glared at the floor, his hands curling into fists on his lap.

"Come on." Shiro grabbed his coffee cup and stood from the bench.

"Come on." He set a hand on Keith's shoulder. "We need to get home. It's almost curfew."

Keith stood from his bench, grumbling. "You know it's really dumb for someone who's almost twenty-two to have a six o'clock curfew, right?"

Shiro ruffled Keith's hair. "Come on, Keith..."

Matt watched the pea plant from his terra cotta pot stretch high into the air, reaching for the sun.

A tiny, quiet rapping came at Matt's door, and Matt lowered his clarinet. "It's open."

His bedroom door opened just a crack, and a wide, honey-colored eye peeked inside.

"Um... Matt?"

"Darrell?" Matt set his clarinet on his desk between his flute and his trumpet. "What's going on?"

"Um..." Darrell gripped the edge of the door. "I was... Can I...talk to you?"

"Of course," said Matt. "Always. About anything. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," said Darrell. "I'm just...nervous."

Matt leaned forward in his desk chair, over his knees. Even from where he sat, he could see a glimmer of tears in Darrell's eyes.

"Hey, come here..." Matt opened his arms. "You don't have to be scared. No matter what you're about to tell me, you'll still be my little brother by the end of it."

Darrell pressed his forehead into the door. A faint, miserable noise whined out of his tiny body.

"Hey, hey..." Matt jumped to his feet and rushed to the door. "Hey."

He pulled the door open, and Darrell latched onto his waist.

Matt dropped to his knees and held Darrell close.

"What's going on, huh?"

Darrell lifted his head, tears in his eyes, and Matt patiently waited.

He waited.

And he waited.

Until Darrell found the words he—

...She.

Until she found the words she wanted to say.

Sam Holt crouched in front of the organism his team discovered in Daibazaal.

The organism, whatever it was, stayed dormant.

Every so often, when Sam's teammates came and went, the creature would react. It went from hovering still in space to bashing against the glass, like it had some vendetta against whoever had walked in.

Sam was sure there had to be some pattern to it.

Sometimes as little as three people could set it off. Sometimes it took as many as ten. It didn't seem to relate to the demographics of the person entering in any way. Sometimes, a person who entered the lab without event before would set the creature off by entering later, or vice versa.

There must have been some external stimuli introduced when certain people entered at certain times of day, but Sam couldn't figure it out for the life of him.

Whatever the trigger was, Sam wasn't setting it off just by himself.

A series of chirps filled the lab, and Sam reached into his pocket to grab his cheerfully ringing cell.

"Yello!"

"Are you actually coming home in time for dinner tonight, or should I put your portion in the refrigerator?"

plink

plink

plink

Sam turned his attention briefly from his wife's voice to the creature in its thick, glass cylinder.

It was ramming the sides again, and no one else had walked in.

Colleen's phone call was enough to set it off.

How curious.

"Oh, I'll be home on time," said Sam. "Barring any life-threatening misfortunes."

"You better," said Colleen. "Our child apparently has something important to tell us."

"Is Matt doing the 'pretending something of grave importance is happening, then dramatically re-emerging from the closet as if we still somehow thought he was straight' thing again?"

PLINK

PLINK

PLINK

"Not tonight," said Colleen. "It's our child-sized child this time."

"Huh." Sam pressed his hand to the organism's glass case. "Well, maybe it's time for Darrell to finally come out of his shell."

"Or something else."

"You think? So young?"

"It's possible."

"Well, if he does, we'll make sure he knows he's just as loved as he's always been."

"We might be going out for cupcakes after dinner, then."

"I'll never have a single complaint to that." Sam peered inside the glass container, watching the organism bash itself against the walls of its confinement.

CLINK

CLINK

CLINK

"I've got some things to wrap up here," said Sam. "I'm looking forward to a wonderful dinner with my beautiful family."

"See you soon. Love you."

"Love you to the moon and back."

Sam ended the call, and the moment he did, the organism inside the case ceased its frantic wrestling.

"Now what in the world could have set you off?"

Chapter Text

Keith leaned forward on his balcony chair and looked out into the back yard, into the thick, heavy layer of snow. There was a funny little part of him that wanted to believe the snow came from the mystery boy’s magic, but he knew it was the weather. It was just a little fantasy.

A soft puff of air passed his lips and rose into the air on a cloud of steam. Goosebumps crawled along his bare arms.

He probably shouldn’t have been sitting outside in the snow like he was, but…

The glass door behind Keith slid open. He froze. His shoulders tensed. He waited for the stern, angry snap.

But all that met him was a warm hand on his back, and he relaxed instantly.

“I told you he’s probably spending winter break with his family,” said Shiro, his voice low in both tone and volume.

“I know, but I— Um.” Keith looked over his shoulder. “Uh… Who?”

Shiro smiled, and a breathy laugh fogged the air beneath his nose. “I think you know who. And if he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not going to until school starts again.”

He walked around Keith’s shoulder and rested his hips against the railing around Keith’s balcony. He crossed his arms, but not in a way that seemed defensive or isolating. He just seemed...strong. Like Keith could lean on him and he’d stay right where he was.

Instead, Keith leaned his chin on his own crossed arms and looked back out into the snow.

“What do you think he’s doing right now?”

“Probably eating dinner with his family,” said Shiro. “Just like you should be doing.” He patted Keith’s shoulder and stood up straight. “Come on. It’s ready.”

“Okay, guys! Come on! I can’t breathe!”

One by one, Lance’s siblings and parents let go of him and stepped back, starting with his father and ending with Veronica, who ruffled his hair as she pulled away.

“How was your first year?” asked Marco. “Got a girlfriend yet?”

“Or a boyfriend?” asked Rachel, looping her arms back around Lance’s shoulders.

“You guys act like I don’t write you, like, every other week!” huffed Lance, pushing Rachel away.

“Well, I didn’t get to hear it,” said Veronica, a smile on her face. “How about friends? Have you made any of those yet?”

“Oh, yeah!” chirped Lance. “You should totally meet Hunk! He’s the best. But that’s for later. Veronica! What’s it like in Daibazaal?”

“Cold at night,” said Veronica. “Hot during the day. I’m still not used to the culture there. Like, another of the girls there started telling me about her dog, and I asked what his name was, and she looked at me like I threatened her grandma or something. And that’s how I learned you don’t really ask people questions about themselves in Daibazaal. Personal information is treated like a commodity. Asking for someone’s phone number so you can text them about homework is like asking for a hundred bucks. If you want to know something about someone, you offer your own, and they’ll give theirs back.”

“So, like, instead of saying ‘Hi, my name’s Lance, what’s yours?’ I’d have to just say ‘Hi, I’m Lance’? That’s so weird!”

“It’s not weird, Lance,” said his father. “It’s just their custom. But let’s not get all tangled up in that just yet. Dinner’s almost ready. I hope you’re in the mood for pizza. With garlic knots.”

Lance threw his arms in the air. “Yes! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good garlic knot? They made some at school once, and I got all excited, but they tasted like they went stale, like, two months before or something, and—”

His mother descended on him abruptly, cutting him off mid-sentence to sweep him into a hug so tight he was lifted off the ground.

“It’s so nice for someone to actually appreciate my cooking around here again.”

“Aw, Mamá…” Luis patted the arm wrapped tightly around Lance’s back. “We love your cooking.”

“Well, I don’t hear…”

The conversation trailed off in Lance’s ears. He didn’t really care about any of what they were talking about anymore. All he cared about was being in his mom’s arms again.

He was home.

Keith wrapped his blankets tight around himself. He knew he needed to get out of bed. If he didn’t, and Shiro’s parents came in for whatever reason, he’d get in trouble.

But he heard movement in the kitchen, and if he left his room to get breakfast, he’d get in trouble, too. For what, he didn’t know, but Shiro’s parents always found a way to lecture him, to take something away, to restrict what little freedom he had even further.

He couldn’t move. Even if, logically, he knew the best option he had was to get out of bed and just...sit around in his room for a while, wait for the kitchen to empty, and then sneak in to grab breakfast or, most likely by that point, lunch. But Keith...couldn’t move.

So he pulled his blankets up to his ears, and he took a slow breath, and he tried to get his heart to stop beating so fast.

He looked at the glass balcony door past his feet, and he tried to pretend he could see frost on the glass.

Lance groaned as his mother laid a block of wood on the table in front of him. “Nobody even wears masks anymore!”

“Of course they do,” said Veronica. “You just haven’t seen any because you’re a first-year.”

“How would you know?” said Lance. “You go to school in Daibazaal now.”

“So, what, my first four years at the Garrison just evaporated?”

“Children,” sighed Lance’s mother. “Veronica, there’s no reason to get defensive. Lance, you should know by now that it’s a tradition for second years and above—”

“—to wear a mask on the first night of the year. It’s supposed to be so students can shed their preconceived notions about each other and start fresh so they can make new friends. Yes, Mamá, I know.” Lance shoved the slab of wood away. “But I’ve never actually seen anyone wear a mask. Are you sure it’s still a thing?”

“Well, there were always some people who didn’t wear masks,” admitted Veronica. “But you’re definitely going to. I still have my fox mask, even if Daibazaal doesn’t have the same traditions. It’s a nice memory.”

Lance crossed his arms. “Why can’t I just wear a Halloween mask or something? Why do I have to make it? I’m gonna get blisters all over my hands or something!”

“You didn’t complain when you got blisters from your guitar,” chided his mother as she turned away to start the dishes.

“That was different,” huffed Lance. “I won’t have to carry all my wrong notes around on my face once a year for the next five years. I can’t even draw. It’s gonna look all off-balance and one eye’s gonna be bigger than the other!”

“Is Lance making his mask?”

Lance looked over his shoulder and found Rachel in the doorway, a huge grin on her face.

“He is,” said Lance’s mother. “Whether he likes it or not.”

“Why don’t you want to make one?” Rachel drew closer and looked over Lance’s shoulder at the block of wood on the table. “I was always so jealous of Luis and Veronica for theirs.”

“He thinks he’s going to mess it up and have to live with the consequences for the rest of his academic life,” explained Veronica.

“Then let me help you! Scoot over.”

Lance frowned and inched closer to the edge of his kitchen chair, giving Rachel half. “How do you know how to make a mask? You can’t even control your quintessence.”

“I can still draw,” said Rachel. “And I can help you keep things symmetrical. Pop’s helping you with the jigsaw, right? So let me help with the design.”

“Well, don’t help him too much,” chided Lance’s mother. “It’s still something he needs to take pride in himself.”

“Yes, Mamá,” chimed Rachel. “So, Lance, what were you thinking for the design? An animal? Something spooky? What?”

Lance screwed up his face into a thoughtful frown and leaned back, a hand on his chin.

Well...if he had to make a mask, and if Rachel was going to help him…

Yeah. He knew what his mask was going to be.

“It was just cheese! And there was mold on it!”

“There was not. We’d just gotten it from the store. It was new.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Keith’s voice cracked. “It was almost gone, there were two slices left, and there was mold.”

“Don’t play this game with me,” said Shiro’s father coolly. “You wasted money.”

“No one was going to eat the moldy cheese!” Keith felt tears prickling at his eyes. It was a stupid thing to get upset about. He knew that. It was a stupid thing to fight over. But— “I was just trying to keep the refrigerator clean! Why would I throw away fresh cheese?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Shiro’s father.

Without another word, he closed Keith’s bedroom door, leaving him alone inside.

Keith felt like screaming. The tears that had been prickling in his eyes rolled down his cheeks.

Stupid thing to cry over. Stupid thing to cry over. He hadn’t even gotten punished. It was just a lecture. But it was a lecture for no reason, over something stupid, and he didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand why Shiro’s parents had adopted him if they were just going to decide they didn’t like him for no reason. He didn’t understand why everything that went wrong seemed to be his fault. He didn’t understand what he was supposed to do when he saw moldy food in the refrigerator anymore.

Leave it, he supposed.

“Fuck,” hissed Keith, and a tiny spit of flame sprung from between his lips and teeth. He slammed the book he’d been reading shut and left it on his desk. He wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on the story any longer anyway.

Lance hopped up and down on the balls of his feet, watching his father cut out the shape he and Rachel had drawn together. Rachel’s idea of drawing just half the shape, then tracing it onto another piece of paper and blackening the back to turn it into a carbon copy had worked wonders. Or, at least, it had on a flat plane. Lance was worried about how it would look once the edges were cut out.

A large clump of wood fell off from the block, and Lance’s father raised his saw. The motor stopped immediately, and with a dusty hand, his father swept away the last of the sawdust on the block before handing it back to Lance.

Lance cried out with happiness and held the block to his face, lining the bottom edge of it with his upper lip. He couldn’t see through the eyes yet, of course, but—

“You really changed your tune, didn’t you?” his father asked, half-laughing.

Lance lowered his mask-in-progress from his face. “Well, I’m not excited about wearing it in public,” he admitted. “But making one?”

He looked down at the shape in his hands and smiled.

“Yeah, making one is pretty cool so far.”

The mask looked back at Lance from its round sketch eyes, and Lance’s smile widened.

It was already starting to look like a lion.

Keith winced at the hot ceramic surface of the plate in his hand, straight out of the dishwasher and still steaming.

With shaking hands, he brought the plate up to its place in the cabinet and slid it in.

Beside him, Shiro’s mother scrubbed the surface of the stove.

Keith swallowed and reached for another hot plate.

How was it that he could control fire but a freshly clean dish was too much for him to handle?

He looked through the corner of his eye at the woman standing innocently at her stove, and the breath he sucked in trembled on the way down.

She wasn’t even doing anything. Just cleaning.

Why was Keith so scared?

He raised his plate to the shelf with the one before it. His hands shook, and part of that was from the heat, but he knew that wasn’t all of it.

The plate slid into place without incident.

He grabbed another.

Without warning, Shiro’s mother whipped around, and Keith’s heart went cold, and—

CRASH

The broken pieces of the plate that had been in Keith’s hands just a moment before laid on the floor like a flower with all its petals torn from its stem.

He swallowed. He couldn’t even look at Shiro’s mother. It wasn’t the good china she wouldn’t let him touch, but he still...

Shiro’s mother loosed a harsh, heated sigh.

“Go,” she said coldly. “Just go.”

This time, Keith didn’t argue.

“Okay. Make sure you’ve got your fingers out of the way.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t chisel anything you want to keep. Remember, you can always take away more wood. You can’t bring it back.”

“Right.”

“And you’re going to want to hit hard, but not too hard, or you’ll push the chisel too far down.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. And...go.”

Lance positioned his chisel and struck it with the side of his mallet. A little of the wood splintered off the mask.

He did it again and again until he reached the end, where the eye was, and the whole shaving came off clean.

Lance laughed. “Cool.”

“Cool,” agreed Luis. He clapped a hand on Lance’s back. “Okay, only about 200 more of those to go. Think you can handle the rest on your own?”

“I think so,” said Lance.

“All right, good.” Luis took a step back. “I’m gonna go over here and practice my big boy magic now. Call out if you need me.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Lance, but he was already positioning his chisel, all too eager to chip off the next strip of wood. “You got it.”

BANG BANG BANG

Keith flinched, and his book fell from his hands straight onto the floor. He swallowed, and his bedroom door still rattled from the power behind the knock.

“Y...Yeah?” he called, heart pounding, hands shaking, book lying forgotten on the floor.

He heard footsteps retreating from the door in place of an answer, and he took a shuddering breath.

Okay… He bent down to grab the book that had slipped from his hands. I...guess that means dinner’s ready.

Lance ran his sandpaper down the outer edge of his sculpture, from bottom to top, and Veronica stopped him.

“Here,” she said gently. “Let me show you.”

“I know how to do it!” protested Lance.

“No, you don’t,” laughed Veronica, and she took both Lance’s mask and his sandpaper by force.

“Wh— Hey!”

“You have to polish it,” said Veronica. “You can’t just scrape it along the side. Think of it like every rough edge is something dirty you’re trying to clean off the mask. See?” She demonstrated, folding the sandpaper into quarters and scrubbing the lion’s forehead.

Lance leaned in close and watched as the lines and stripes left from his chiseling were buffed out.

“Okay, okay, I get it! I can do it now!”

Lance reached across Veronica’s lap and stole his mask back, sandpaper included, so he could work on it by himself.

“All right, Mr. Busy Bee. Geez.” Veronica held her hands up in surrender. “Man, you haven’t put that down since Pop cut out the outline. Don’t you get tired?”

“I’ve put it down!” said Lance. “I just… You were gonna mess it up!”

Veronica chuckled. “Right.” And she leaned in close, eyes on his hands. “We haven’t really gotten a chance to catch up, though, with you working on this all the time.” 

Lance slowed down his sanding, just so he could hear Veronica a little better over the sound.

“You mentioned having a friend, right?”

“Yeah, Hunk,” said Lance. “He’s my roommate. We were both late for orientation and hit it off on the way in.”

“Of course you’d be late for orientation.” Veronica roughly tousled Lance’s hair, closer to a noogie than just hair tousling.

Lance pushed her hand off. “What about you? Have you made any friends?”

Veronica went quiet and turned her face away. “...One. Just one. She’s, um… She’s my Black Knight.”

Lance lifted his head. “Really?!”

“Lance—”

“You actually got your Black Knight to talk to you?”

“Shh—”

“I thought they were supposed to be all private and serious and—”

Veronica clapped a hand over Lance’s mouth.

“They are,” she said, her voice quiet, but urgent. “I was supposed to protect Acxa, not make friends with her. If anyone finds out we got close, I’ll be swapped with one of the other defenders, and I do not want to wind up Lotor’s defender. He gives me the creeps. So can you just…” Veronica lowered her hand from Lance’s mouth. “Can you just keep this between us for now?”

Lance looked over the back of the couch, down the hall, in the corners of the living room, and leaned in close, just to nod.

Veronica smiled, sincere gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks, Lance.”

Shiro was forced to reach around Keith’s shoulders to be able to read his book, but he didn’t seem to mind. He never complained, at least. He just shifted his body to be able to turn the pages.

Keith closed his eyes. There was one place in the whole house where he actually felt safe, actually felt like he was worth something, and it was right where he was, with Shiro.

A low hum reached between them, and Shiro transferred his book to one hand to answer the phone in his pocket.

He took one look at the screen and sighed.

“Adam?” asked Keith.

Shiro laughed, quiet and low in his chest. “Not today.” He tapped out an answer with his thumb. “Matt’s been worried.”

“Worried?”

Shiro set his phone aside, face-down on his bed. “Well, after spending a night here, he knows what Mom and Dad are like, and he’s concerned about us being home all the time.”

“Mm…” Privately, Keith agreed that Matt had the right to be worried, but he held his tongue, positive Shiro wouldn’t agree.

Shiro set his book down with his phone and pet Keith’s hair. “...They’ve really been rough on you, haven’t they?”

Keith flinched, and there was no way Shiro didn’t feel him when Keith was pressed into his side.

“You know,” murmured Shiro, “sometimes, they get to me, too.”

“...How?” Keith lifted his head. “You always seem so...level-headed. I feel like I’m constantly about to burst into tears or punch a wall or...something.”

Shiro smiled, and if Keith didn’t know him as well as he did, he might have missed how bitter that smile was. “I just try to avoid them. I stay in my room. Only do chores when they specifically ask for it. Only practice my magic when they’re not home unless I feel like I can get away with it, like when Matt came over to study.”

“But they get mad if you don’t do chores or practice,” said Keith.

“They get mad if you do, too,” said Shiro. “Every time you do. ‘Don’t touch that,’ ‘You call that clean?’ ‘Why did you only do half the job?’” He sighed. “But if you just don’t do anything, they don’t think about the fact that you haven’t cleaned anything in a while, and they leave you alone. Mostly. Until it hits them. And they’ll chide you a little, but you can just ignore those lectures, and they’ll go on not noticing.”

“Seriously?” Keith dropped his head back onto Shiro’s shoulder. “That’s so stupid.”

“Tell me about it,” huffed Shiro, amusement clear in his voice. “But...you’ll figure it out. You just have to take a deep breath, keep calm, and...figure out what the best thing to do in any given situation is.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” asked Keith.

Shiro dragged his fingers through Keith’s hair, and looked up at the ceiling contemplatively.

“Patience,” he said, “yields focus.”

Lance raised his paintbrush from the wood of his mask and frowned. For some reason, he’d been able to make the form of the mask symmetrical without much of a problem, but he’d struggled to do the same with the colors. The dark blue gradient into the light blue under the eyes seemed impossible to match on both sides. He’d correct one side, then find he overcorrected and had to correct the other side as well.

He scowled at the mask that sat innocently on his newspaper and stood up to wash his paintbrush. He could feel himself on the verge of giving up and he didn’t want to ruin Marco’s things in the process.

He turned on the kitchen faucet and shoved his paintbrush under the running water, quickly scrubbing away the acrylic paint gluing its bristles together, for once not caring how it left his hands.

“Done?” asked Marco without looking up from the model he’d been putting together on the same table where Lance had been.

“No,” grumbled Lance. “Does it look done?”

This time, Marco looked up, and he smirked. “Can’t get it to look the same on both sides, huh?”

Lance pursed his lips and his face ran hot.

“And here I thought you Strum magic types were supposed to be versatile.” Marco clicked his tongue.

“So what if I’m versatile?” asked Lance. “How’s that supposed to make both sides look the same?”

“It’s not,” said Marco, turning his eyes back to his figure.

“Then why would...?!”

Lance trailed off.

He looked at the mask he left lying on the table.

All of a sudden, it looked completely different. Less like failure, more like an opportunity.

Lance’s eyes widened, and he quickly grabbed a paper towel to dry his paintbrush on.

He had a mask to finish.

Shiro’s father opened Keith’s door without knocking, and he closed it behind him.

Keith took a deep breath through his nose, set his book aside, and sat up, waiting.

“Listen,” said Shiro’s father. “My wife and I accepted you into his house through the goodness of our hearts. We didn’t have to do that. Is that clear?”

“Yes…” Keith gripped the edge of his mattress.

“And we expect certain things done,” said Shiro’s father. “It doesn’t have to be much. Do some dishes. Vacuum. Dust the shelves in the living room. If you see something that needs to be done, do it. We expect you to pull your weight. Do you understand?”

Keith squeezed fistfuls of his blankets at either side.

Are you kidding me?! every part of his brain screamed. I tried that! You got mad at me for it!

But those screams didn’t find their way to his mouth.

Instead, Keith took a deep breath through his nose, relaxed his grip on his blankets, and looked Shiro’s father in the eye.

Patience yields focus…

“I understand,” said Keith.

Shiro’s father nodded, just once, satisfied, and turned away. “Good. Well. Dinner’s ready.”

He opened the door again, stepped through, and closed it behind himself, leaving Keith alone.

And Keith fell back against his mattress with a sigh of relief.

“Nothing in this stupid house makes sense,” he grumbled.

Except for Shiro, he supposed. At least that conversation proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that he could definitely trust Shiro.

Keith turned toward his balcony door.

The sun was out.

Spring had arrived. Soon, school would start again. And maybe, just maybe, when it did, Keith would have one more person he could trust.

Lance held his mask up to the window and grinned at the sunlight gleaming through the eyeholes.

Some might have said he’d gone overboard, and he didn’t care. His creation was something that could never be replicated.

Blue splotched in varying shades, blending seamlessly from one color to the next. Some spots were more indigo, some more teal. Great, white teeth stretched far past the bottom of the mask, where his own mouth would go where the lion’s jaw would be, if the mask had been a full face. If one looked hard enough, they might have found the tiniest flecks of red and green and yellow spotted all over the field of blue, like freckles, or like stars. Black outlined the lion’s eyes and filled in its nose and faded into the edges of the face, but it wasn’t particularly even, and Lance liked it like that.

The mask was his, and it was wild, and it was so far from realistic, and Lance was proud of it.

“It looks wonderful,” said his mother, leaning over Lance’s shoulder to look at the mask from his perspective. “But I don’t think it’s done just yet.”

Lance turned his head to look at her. “You don’t?”

“No,” said his mother. “Not quite. I think it needs…”

She held out her hand.

“...these.”

Lance looked at what she held, and he was confused at first. It looked like someone had broken a glass ping pong ball in half. Two little concave disks sat in his mother’s palm, yellow and transparent and round and shining.

And slowly, very slowly, Lance realized what they were.

“Eyes?”

“That’s right,” said his mother. “I know I said I wanted you to make your mask entirely on your own, but I thought, if I provided the wood, I could provide these as well.”

Lance took the two lenses in his hand and held them reverently, afraid of dropping them.

“You’ll need to file the insides of the eyes to make them fit properly,” said his mother. “But once you do, they should stick nicely with a little super glue. I hope I guessed the color right. You did want your mask to be like the Blue Lion, didn’t you? I got as close to the eyes of the Lion at the station as I possibly could.”

Lance lifted his head, and he grinned, and he pulled his mother into as tight of a hug as he could.

She laughed and patted his back. “You’ll look beautiful, Lance. Make a good new friend this year, okay?”

“I will,” said Lance. “And I’ll tell you all about them in my letters.”

His mother leaned back and kissed his forehead. “I know you will.”

With her thumb, she wiped off a bit of dirt Lance doubted was really there, and with one last pat to his shoulder, she let go, and she walked through the doorway into the living room.

Lance held his mask up to the window again, and this time, he raised one of the eyes up with it, grinning at the way the sun changed colors through its glass.

It was already spring. Technically. March 23rd was spring. It just didn’t feel like it. Snow still covered the grass in Lance’s front yard, and though Lance could look through the window at it, he didn’t dare open that same window for fear of his mother rushing back in to scold him for letting all the hot air out.

But break would be over soon. He’d be on the train back to Altea in two days. And just like the year before, he was excited.

To see Hunk. To show off the mask he made. To make that new friend he told his mother he’d make.

And there was something else. Something that rushed under his skin and made his blood feel like raw electricity dancing across his bones.

He had the feeling something would happen that year. Something big. Something exciting.

And god, Lance was so ready.

"Something's arriving..."

Lance walked to his kitchen table and lowered himself into the same chair he’d spent most of his winter break in.

"Something's arriving on laughter and smiles and tears…”

He turned his mask over, nose down, and set both of the eyes in their place before turning it back around, thumbs holding the glass in place. His mother was right, he’d need to sand the eye sockets down to make the lenses fit without wobbling around or looking strange, but it already looked so neat just to see eyes on his creation.

He drummed his fingers across the red speckles on the lion’s forehead, heart pounding with excitement in his chest.

“Something like you…”

Chapter Text

Lance grumbled and fumbled and glared at his own reflection in the mirror. It was blue, like his mask. And he liked it. Problem was, last time he checked, he knew how to tie a tie, and suddenly it was the hardest thing in the world.

"Did I drop into some alternate reality where ties are harder to tie? What is this?"

Hunk, who had only just stopped crying about how happy he was to see Lance again maybe an hour before, appeared over his shoulder in the mirror and tapped on his arm, convincing Lance to turn around.

Lance did, and Hunk tugged his tie to a length that seemed easier to work with before tying his tie for him like he could do it in his sleep.

"Where did you learn how to do this?" asked Lance.

"Lots of formal events with my parents," said Hunk. "Kind of becomes like tying your shoes after a while."

Right... Lance had been thinking of Hunk as just his friend for so long that he'd forgotten Hunk's family was kind of a big deal.

A whole line of Apprentices, a line Hunk himself had just joined.

The Garretts. All bold, in italics, underlined. Like The Shiroganes or The del Alteas. Practically royalty. Literally royalty in some cases.

But Hunk wasn't like that, was he? He didn't care about family titles. And he never cared that Lance was just a McClain. No bold, no italics, no underline.

Lance wondered if Kogane was like that. Whether he thought of himself as a Shirogane or still saw himself as the orphan they adopted.

...Nah. Probably the former, right? The guy was smug enough.

"So, are we splitting up?" asked Lance, quickly distracting himself from the thoughts in his brain.

"Uhh..." Hunk lifted his eyes from Lance's tie, wariness in his own. "'Splitting up'?"

"Yeah," said Lance. "You know, splitting up. Because, like, alone, we might get away with people not recognizing us, but together..."

Hunk dropped Lance's tie, knot complete, and tensed his shoulders up to his ears.

"I— I mean— There's no guarantee people aren't going to recognize us anyway, right? And it's been so long since the last time I saw you, and we're not going to get to spend much time together anyway because I'm going to be privately tutored, and..."

Hunk's voice, which had grown quieter and quieter since he started protesting, reached a point where Lance could no longer make out what he was saying, and Lance, who loved the hell out of Hunk, rolled his eyes.

"Buddy, this is the one day of the year everyone's going to judge you just for being you. Not for being a Garrett, not for being an Apprentice, just for your personality, which is ten out of ten every time." Lance punched Hunk's arm playfully. "I'm going to be your friend forever. Seriously. And if anyone thinks they're going to steal the title of 'best friend' away from me, they can meet me in the square and duel me for my fair pal's hand." Lance draped an arm across Hunk's shoulders. "But you still deserve to have more friends than just me, and tonight's your best shot. I don't want you to go through the whole year with only me again. I mean, what if something goes wrong in training and a spear of ice starts flying across the room at a pretty girl and I dashingly come to her rescue and get stabbed in the chest?"

Hunk raised his head and looked at Lance, unimpressed. "You've been daydreaming about that for a while, haven't you?"

"I wake up in the hospital three days later with Plaxum holding my hand, fast asleep with her head on my mattress and tears clinging to her eyelashes."

Hunk snorted. Lance knew him well enough to know he was still anxious, but he was also smiling, and that was a start. "I guess we could both use more friends, huh?"

"At least more of a chance." Lance raised his hand to ruffle Hunk's hair, only to stop short when he realized he didn't want to mess it up before the dance. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll still be waiting for you in our room when we're done."

Hunk looked into Lance's eyes. Deep into them. His lip quivered, and for a moment, Lance thought he was going to start crying again.

But, instead, he just wrapped his arms tight around Lance's middle and hugged him with so much force he pulled Lance's feet off the ground.

"Okay," said Hunk. "But you owe me a massive hug when we get back."

Lance grinned. "You got it, buddy."

Keith felt like he was going to explode.

He also felt ridiculous.

He would have felt worse in a mask, but with his hair slicked back, he felt like he must have been just as unrecognizable. The idea that maybe the boy who brought his knife back to him would see Keith like that fried his nerves, and how ridiculous he felt with his bangs glued to the crown of his head wasn't even comparable to how silly he felt for just caring about something like that.

For waiting for the mysterious yellow-hoodie-guy all winter. For hoping he'd show up at Keith's window at any moment just to introduce himself and make Keith's life better for a day.

Keith had no clue who he was, why he'd done so much for Keith, what his motives were, why he cared...

But Keith wanted to believe he was a good person. Maybe someone who could...

And, god, that was part of it, too. Keith didn't even know exactly what he wanted from this guy, and yet—

And yet.

And yet, Keith found himself wandering away from Shiro and Adam the first chance he got, leaving them to fake a romantic evening in the public eye while he searched a sea of masks for someone he wouldn't recognize even if the mask was off.

But maybe that was part of the reason Keith's heart was pounding so hard. If the first two times that boy had shown himself to Keith were times he hid his face, was there a better opportunity to show up a third time than at a masquerade ball? Especially if Shiro was right, and the boy in the yellow hoodie had just been away for winter break. And Shiro was probably right. Shiro was always right.

Or, well...

Keith stole a glance across the crowded ballroom, where he danced stiffly with Adam.

...Usually, Shiro was right.

"Keith!"

Keith's heart swelled, and for a split second, some part of him thought it was him who had called out. But no, that voice was too familiar.

"Hey, Matt," greeted Keith, crossing his arms.

"Hey, pipsqueak." Matt pushed his way close through the dense crowd, all cheerful, toothy grins, as usual. "Man, you look terrible."

"Yeah." Keith ran a hand over his head. "Shiroganes' orders."

"Gross," said Matt, still smiling, though fewer teeth were showing. "Well, they're not here now. Want me to help you wash it out in the bathroom sink?"

Keith felt his shoulders sink like stones. Shiro's parents would probably notice when he came home without stupid hair, but the risk was worth it. "Please."

Matt's smile brightened. "Cool."

Without missing a beat, he reached into the pocket beneath the black-and-violet cloak he'd chosen to wear to the event and he pulled out his phone. Keith didn't even see him enter a number before he raised the phone to his ear.

"Good evening, Te-Osh," greeted Matt in a sing-songy tone, free hand pressed to his ear to drown out the mirthful sounds of the gathering around them. "Listen, weird question, but you're still kicking it in the dorms, right? Do you have any shampoo—?" He winced. "Oh, wait. Duh. Kythran. Pinnas. Not hair. Sorry, I— ...Yeah! Could you ask her? Fantastic. Oh, could you also bring—? Yes! Okay. Meet me by the bathrooms in Grenadier Hall. You're a lifesaver."

Matt hung up his phone, flashed Keith a smile, and took him by the arm. "Come on."

He led Keith out of the ballroom and into the corridors, where sound was replaced by echoes of silence and grounded reality felt replaced by a hazy unreality.

Not living in the dorms, Keith had never walked through the Garrison after sundown. It felt like stepping across some massive gap and into another world, as if the planet he knew had somehow split again, the same way it had when the comet had been torn apart in legend, and he'd been transported from the Altea he knew to the Daibazaalian parallel.

He clutched his chest and trusted Matt to drag him along, to safely bring him to wherever it was they were going, knowing Matt wouldn't steer him wrong.

At the end of a dimly lit mint-green hallway stood two figures, both of them wearing masks. One, the taller of the two, wore a flamingo mask, complete with pink wings jutting out on either side. The other wore a silvery horse mask that caught the light with a glittery shimmer and didn't quite hide the pointed, furry ears behind the curved, shining ones.

"Hey," greeted Matt, out of breath from running or relief, Keith wasn't sure. "Thanks for showing up on short notice like this."

"No problem," said the flamingo. "We hadn't even left yet. It was just a matter of grabbing the shampoo and the dryer on the way out."

She held up her hand, and for the first time, Keith noticed the hairdryer she held.

"Wow, no wonder you needed help." The horse-person lowered herself to a crouch in front of Keith, furry legs showing through the slits in the sides of her dress. "You're a ruggling mess, kid."

"Language," chided Matt, though any stern tone that might have been present was heeled by levity. "Do you guys mind if I introduce you? Or is that a secret once the masks are on?"

Both of the masked figures looked at each other and shrugged before the flamingo spoke. "I think it's fine."

"Okay. Keith, this is Te-Osh, the Green Guardian. Ay-Kay-Ay the person I'm supposed to run screaming to if I'm ever in a life-threatening situation. If shhhh...stuff ever starts happening and we need Voltron, Te-Osh is supposed to keep me alive until I get to my Lion."

"You can say 'shit'," said Keith. "I'm not nine."

"Nope." Matt clapped his hands on either of Keith's shoulders. "Shiro's not here, and that means I have to pretend to be responsible in front of you." He gestured to the girl in the horse mask. "And this is Olia, Te-Osh's roommate. She's an Upper-Sixth Year, and yes, I do know why they don't just call that a Seventh Year, but now isn't the time to go into the ancient founders' weird choices. We have to get your hair all fixed before your definitely-not-crush sees what looks like a shiny hair-helmet on your head."

Keith felt his ears start to burn and suddenly regretted his choice not to wear a mask. "I don't—!"

"Oh, of course not," teased Matt. "That's definitely not why you're worried about how your hair looks for the first time in your life. Definitely."

"Well, we wouldn't want to postpone a romantic evening," said Te-Osh, her smile audible through her mask. She handed Matt the hairdryer and patted Keith's shoulder as she passed by, apparently not intent on staying.

And, apparently, neither was Olia.

"Go get 'em, tiger," said Te-Osh, already halfway to the door. "We're rooting for you."

Hunk wound up clinging to the snack table.

He wished he could have said he hadn't, that he tried to make friends the way Lance encouraged him to, but he took one look at the crowd and his elephant mask suddenly seemed less than sufficient enough for him to hide behind. His solution was to pick a corner and start shoving chocolate-covered pretzels under that mask.

And jalapeño poppers.

And chips.

And crudites.

And those little sausages with the toothpicks sticking out of them.

He ate nervously, frantically, until he reached his end goal of focusing enough on the next piece of whatever was going into his mouth until the party was over and he didn't have to think about it, or until he had to throw up and had an excuse to run out, or until—

fwump

Until he bumped into someone because he wasn't paying enough attention.

"Oh, geez—" Hunk took a step back, hands clutched tight against his chest. "Oh, man. So sorry. Didn't mean to."

The stranger wore a lion mask. But it wasn't at all like Lance's. The design wasn't based on a Lion of Voltron. More like a Ming-era guardian lion, with its bared teeth and furrowed brow and flaring nostrils.

So... That wasn't intimidating at all. Not like those statues were designed to ward off enemies both natural and supernatural or anything. No, not at all.

"Oh, geez, okay, I..." Hunk straightened the blazer the other boy wore, afraid he might have rumpled it. "I'm sorry, I was just...distracted."

"Hmh." The lion-masked boy took a can of soda from the large tub of ice between two tables and cracked it open.

Hunk waited until he'd fully retracted his hand before grabbing a drink of his own and doing the same.

The other boy didn't move away, and Hunk felt awkward enough that he didn't want to move either, so, abruptly, he stopped stress eating.

He started to take a drink from his can, but when he brought it to his mouth, he realized if he wanted to actually tilt the can, he'd have to shove his mask up, over his eyes, blinding himself. And he didn't really want to do that.

Rather than wishing he'd gone with a half-mask like Lance, however, Hunk noticed the straws offered beside the tub of sodas, and he grabbed himself one.

Or, well...two. Whoops. Apparently, Hunk was so nervous that his motor skills weren't even cooperating. But, hey, that was fine. He could play it off by... Uh...

"Want one?"

Hunk, hand quivering, held out one of the straws to his neighbor in the lion mask.

The dark eyes in the eye holes flicked down to the straw, and, to Hunk's surprise, the stranger took one.

"Thanks," said the stranger.

And Hunk, despite knowing his face wasn't visible—maybe because of that—smiled.

Okay! So that went better than he thought it would! Probably because Lance was right. No one knew who he was without his mask. No one was about to push him off a cliff for being the Yellow Apprentice, or for being his sister's brother, or his parents' son, or his grandparents' grandson. He was just a guy. Getting some snacks. And the guy in the guardian lion mask was just a guy in a mask, like everyone else. He was probably just an introvert and tired of being in a crowded room or something.

A little like Hunk, probably.

The other boy put the straw in his drink, slipped it under his mask, and turned around to look at the crowd, one hand in his trouser pocket.

Hunk followed his lead, taking a sip under his own mask.

The other boy lowered his can.

So did Hunk.

"So." Hunk smacked his lips. "Some party, huh?"

The other boy stole a glance at him through the corners of his eyes, the only part of his face that was visible.

Without turning his head even a degree, his gaze returned to the party.

"Mh," he replied.

"Yeah," said Hunk. "Same."

The boy took another sip of his drink.

So did Hunk.

The music swelled. The people danced. The party was gorgeous, like something out of a fantasy novel. Some kind of fairy gala, or a prince's engagement ball.

And all Lance did was tap his toes.

If someone were to ask why, he wasn't sure he'd have an answer. Maybe it was that Hunk wasn't there and, deep down, Lance really wanted him to be. Maybe it was that most of the girls were wearing masks and Lance couldn't tell which ones were cute, so he didn't bother asking them to dance. Maybe it was that the introduction of his own mask made him feel more sincere, like he had no reason to play his personality up, and the end result was simply that Lance felt a little shy. Maybe it was a bit of everything.

Or maybe it was what his mask meant.

New friends.

Lance ran his fingers over his lion's cheek, and the purple ribbon tied at the back of his head pressed into his hair, weighed down by his own hand.

Would a mask really make a difference? Were there people out there in the crowd that would have gladly made friends with the real him if they hadn't gotten a skewed perception from his constant flow of detentions and trouble-making?

What was the difference?

Lance growled and tugged at the bottom of his mask, where carved teeth stuck out to frame the corners of his mouth. He was wasting a party. Maybe it would be better to just pull it off and go find Hunk.

Lance sighed and pushed at the bottom of his mask, frustrated, but before he could slide it off, he heard a sound. A voice.

"Hey!"

Lance turned around, scanning the crowd through the lenses that stained the world in gold. Whoever that was sounded angry. Angry and scared. No one else seemed to notice at all, but a sound like that? Yeah, that was never a good sign.

A sharp, sudden movement caught Lance's eye, and in a corner near the door, he watched a short girl in a gray bird mask fall to the floor.

No… She didn’t fall. She was pushed.

The girl pulled herself to her hands and knees, the skirt of her blue dress trapped beneath her own weight. She scowled at the girl who loomed over her, teeth bared in an angry grimace.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Agree to change your clothes and perhaps I will."

Lance felt his jaw drop. He'd never seen such blatant bullying in his life. It looked like something straight out of an old after-school special. He couldn't believe people like that actually existed. And what was more, he still seemed to be the only one to notice.

Or...no. Some of the attendees were edging away from the conflict. They noticed. They just didn't care.

Well... Maybe they didn't, but Lance did.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

Neither of the girls looked at him, but, well, Lance was used to that kind of attention, to tell the truth. He just had to try again.

He resisted the urge to roll up his sleeves like a character from an old-timey cartoon as he marched closer. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

This time, the aggressor turned toward him, her long, red hair whipping over her shoulder.

"Yeah, you!" Lance treaded ever closer until he stood between her and the girl on the floor. "What's your problem?"

The girl on her feet tilted her head back, and for the first time, Lance noticed pointed ears peeking out from the sides of her green-and-pink butterfly mask. An Altean, huh? Not that it mattered. A creep was a creep.

"What's yours?" she asked, and sure enough, her accent was Altean. "I don't remember inviting you to weigh in on this debate.”

"Well I don't remember asking you to pick on some innocent girl!" retaliated Lance, pointing a finger at the girl's chest. "Like, who— Who even does that? What's wrong with you?"

"You're confused," huffed the redhead regally. "That—" She gestured toward the girl on the floor with a passive hand, "—is not a girl. If you didn’t come barging in on a discussion you have no context for, perhaps you’d understand that. What you see cowering on the floor behind you is a little boy in a dress making a mockery of women."

Lance squinted at the redhead. Okay, fair enough. He was confused. And he probably could have used a little more context. But if he was going to get context, he needed it from more than one source.

"Hey." Lance turned away from the redhead and bent down to the person on the floor, offering his hand. "Are you a girl?"

The redhead behind him clicked her tongue irritably.

The person in the blue dress, however, just eyed his hand uncertainly. Or they seemed to, head too low to meet his eyes. Lance supposed that meant they were looking at his hand, though he couldn't actually see their eyes through their mask. "Yeah...?"

"Okay, cool." Lance offered his hand more insistently. "Not that you being a boy in a dress would make a difference. I'm on your side either way. The pushing wasn’t cool. I just wanted to make sure."

That, somehow, seemed to comfort the girl, and she took Lance's hand without any further hesitation.

He helped her to her feet, helped her dust off her skirt, and with a grin, he turned back around and threw a thumb over his shoulder. "She says she's a girl."

The redhead didn’t reply, and Lance assumed that meant she was rendered speechless.

But no.

CRACK

She was just gearing up a slap hard enough for Lance to feel through his mask.

Keith shook his hair out and looked at himself in the mirror. Even after using the blow dryer, it was still a little damp, but it smelled like juniberries, and it looked a hell of a lot better than the shiny, obsidian sphere he'd been sporting when he arrived.

It was fluffy, though. Keith wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

"How's your back?"

"Not bad, considering I spent the past ten minutes bent over a sink in a public bathroom." Keith turned to face Matt, who hadn't stopped grinning once. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," said Matt, his smile turning satisfied as he rolled up the rest of the blow dryer cord. "You were sorely in need of a rescue."

Keith looked at himself in the mirror again and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Even if the boy of your dreams doesn't say anything, he'll still see you, and you look very pretty." Matt tucked the end of the cord under the loops to secure it. His voice was teasing, but he'd been teasing Keith the whole time, and Keith had grown numb to it. He knew, underneath the insistence that he was Keith's second older brother, Matt was just trying to be supportive, and even if he was doing it in the most embarrassing way possible, it was still a comfort, in some strange way. "You're gonna leave one hell of an impression. There's no way he'll be able to miss you."

"You think?" Keith felt himself ask.

"He's got to be a student, right?" asked Matt. "If he's there, he'll see you. I promise."

"No, I mean..." Keith lowered his hand to the edge of the sink and curled his fingers into the porcelain. "Do you really think he won't say anything?"

"Aww, you're so worried..." Keith was so distracted by the endeared smile he saw in the mirror that it didn't occur to him that Matt was approaching until he was trapped in a warm hug. "Don't feel too bad if he doesn't talk to you. He still might later. Chances are, he's as nervous as you are."

"...What if he does talk to me?"

Keith watched himself pale, and he felt Matt's arms wrap tighter around him to compensate.

"You're as bad as I was when I had my first crush."

Keith nearly asked who Matt's first crush was, but when he saw the unbreakable smile in the mirror finally fade, replaced by some sort of a wistful-yet-somber sort of look, Keith had a feeling he knew the answer.

"You know..." Keith set a hand on Matt's forearm. "If you asked Shiro to dance with you, he'd probably say yes."

Matt's eyes flew open wide, and he looked at Keith. Not at his reflection, but the real him.

He tittered anxiously and shook his head. "Nah. I mean— I wouldn't want to get on Adam's bad side. You know how jealous he gets."

Keith did know how jealous Adam got, even over things like who did homework with Shiro, which was exactly why he made the suggestion. But if Matt didn't want to rock the boat, Keith couldn't blame him.

Adam and Shiro would surely reach their limit eventually, and when they did, Matt could swoop right in then, couldn't he?

"Come on." Matt released Keith and patted his shoulder before grabbing Olia's shampoo off the edge of the sink. "We've got a party to get back to."

Keith followed Matt back to the ballroom, stopping only briefly to drop off the shampoo and the hairdryer, and when they opened the double doors—

BANG

Keith watched a girl in a red dress hit the floor right in front of him. She nursed her cheek, and from the edge of her butterfly mask, Keith saw the red start of a bruise beginning.

The girl lifted her head and glared at a person looming over her.

"You make me sick," she spat. "How dare you treat me this way?"

"You started it!"

Keith's eyes shot toward the person towering above her. A boy in a blue mask, one that seemed to be fashioned after the Blue Lion. Behind him...

"Oh, no..."

Behind him stood Matt's little sister.

She turned her head toward the now-open doors and looked right past Keith, directly at Matt. Her lithe little shoulders tensed up by her ears, and—

"What is the meaning of this?"

Oh. Keith knew that voice.

The stunned silent crowd parted, and through the sea of blank masks and agape mouths appeared the familiar, powerful presence of Allura del Altea. She was a princess in more than heritage alone. Her aura commanded the eyes of everyone in the room, everyone but Shiro, who stood at her side like a loyal knight. Though Keith knew he was more of a loyal friend to Allura than anything else, the look in his eyes said otherwise. There was a disruption in the ballroom, and he was there to put a stop to it.

Both Allura and Shiro were kind people, two of the kindest people Keith had ever met in his life, but he'd also been on the business end of their wrath before. He knew exactly how it felt to be looked at like that.

And Matt's poor sister... For her to have to deal with that when Keith knew it was her first time entering the public eye presenting as a girl...

She must be so—

"Cheese it!"

"What?!"

Matt's sister grabbed the blue-masked boy by the wrist, and made a run for it, yanking the blue-masked boy in tow, ignoring his startled, confused protests.

It hit Keith just a little too slowly that they were headed for the door, the one he and Matt were still standing in.

Panicked, afraid of being knocked over by their rush to escape, Keith hopped back, pushing Matt to the right with him, barely allowing the two enough room to get past.

Matt's sister sprinted by, running fast enough to send wind flying off her, and the boy running clumsily with her...

...Huh.

It was funny. Keith couldn't have explained it if he tried. But...

As she pulled the boy past, time seemed to slow. For an instant, Keith could make out every fluttering, chocolate-brown hair on his head, every minuscule colored speck on his mask, every fold in his suit.

His eyes.

From the other side of their gold-tinted lenses, Keith watched those eyes connect with his own.

And then, in an instant, he was gone, dragged down the hallway Keith had just come from, leaving Keith to wonder why his mouth suddenly felt so dry.

Lance could see his breath.

He doubled over, hands on his knees, lungs burning, wet grass soaking into his socks, and with every gasping pant, he could see his breath, clouding thick in the night air.

"What— What the— What the heck was that?" he managed, just barely.

The girl he rescued, bent over the same way he was, shook her head. "I don't think Shiro and Allura would have gotten you in trouble if we explained what happened, but I didn't want to take—take the risk." She swallowed and stood up straight. "You save me, I save you."

Lance nodded and stood up straight as well.

The girl in front of him shivered, and it occurred to Lance that it was still practically winter and she was in a short-sleeved dress. Normally, Lance might have taken that as a chance to show off, but he had no desire to with this particular girl. Probably because she seemed young, though she couldn't be that young if she was accepted into the Garrison.

Still, though, that was no excuse not to be a gentleman, and Lance took off his blazer.

"Here." He handed it to the girl rather than sliding it romantically around her shoulders, and she took it eagerly, shoving her arms into the sleeves and pulling the collar high around her neck.

"Thanks," she said shakily. "For this and for the... You know. Slapping a jerk in the face for me."

"No problem," said Lance. "Why was she picking on you, anyway?"

"Oh." The girl went quiet. "I... Uh..."

"Whatever it is," said Lance, "I'm not a bully. I'm not going to pick on you like she did. So come on. Spill it."

"She, uh..." The girl hung her head. "My mask fell off, and before I could put it back on, she saw what I looked like without it."

"Uh..." Lance raised an eyebrow. "What you looked like...?"

The girl sighed and raised her hands to her mask. Even in the dark, Lance could see the way they trembled.

But, with a sigh, she carefully, timidly pulled her mask off, mussing her short curls in the process.

In the dark, Lance still couldn't quite make out her face, so he raised a hand.

"Let me see," he said in a sing-songy tone, and the flame that blossomed in his hand let him do just that.

"Oh." Another puff of air rose from his lips in a little, white cloud. "You're that Holt kid. You're in some of myyyyyoh my god, you're a girl?!"

The Holt kid flinched, dropping her mask in the process, and bent down to quickly pick it up off the grass.

"...Yeah," she said, voice small. "But... I guess not enough of one for butterfly-girl."

All of Lance's shock left at once. The flame in his hand died. He couldn't be surprised when he felt so sad.

"Well, then she was a massive beeyotch," he said, matter-of-fact. "Not that we didn't know that already. But, anyway..." Lance cleared his throat and took his own mask from his face with as dramatic of a flourish as he could muster, raising it off his head and twirling it around in a big arc before pressing it to his chest and bowing low at the waist. "Lance McClain at your service, my lady."

"McClain," deadpanned the Holt girl. "Like, the same Lance McClain that's always starting fights with my brother's-best-friend's-brother?"

"Huh?" Lance lifted his head, and the moment he did, he realized what Holt was talking about. "Oh, right. You're, like, Kogane's friend-in-law." He winced. "Does that make this awkward?"

"Nah," said Holt. "Keith's hangups don't have to be mine."

Keith's hangups. Lance felt a strange pulse of pride. No pretense of Keith not knowing who he was here.

"Awesome," said Lance. "So..." He held out his hand. "Does this mean we can be friends now?"

Holt eyed his hand for the second time that night, smirked, and took it in her own.

"Sure," she said confidently. "Friends."

"Cool." Lance held her hand tighter.

He really did it.

He made a friend.

"So, like, what do I call you?" he asked. "Seeing as, like... I'm guessing the name you used to go by doesn't apply anymore."

"Oh." Holt retracted her hand and shrank. "That. Um... Actually, I've been trying to figure that out for a few months. I just..." She took her mask in both hands and flipped it between her fingers, spinning it like a large coin. "I haven't decided yet. I'm just kind of hoping teachers stick to 'Miss Holt' until I figure it out."

Lance scratched the back of his neck. "Well... I'd feel pretty weird if I had to call you by a boy name. What about a nickname? At least until you land on a better name you like."

Even in the dark, Lance saw Holt's eyes light up. "Sure. I mean, if you can think of one."

"Hmm..." Lance raised his hand to his chin. It wouldn't be easy, thinking of a name for someone he'd just met. But if he could do it for Hunk, he could do it for Holt.

"What if...?"

He took Holt's bird mask from her hand and raised it to her face. He lowered it again to find Holt looking at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

He broke into a grin.

"I think I've got one."

"Explain what happened," said Allura. "This instant."

Shiro hung back, already skeptical. He looked from the girl picking herself off the floor to the door Matt's sister had just broken through, and he found Matt looking back at him, just as much concern and skepticism in his eyes as Shiro knew was in his own.

Keith was also there, lingering in the doorway—hair decidedly different from what it was supposed to look like, but Shiro could worry about that later—and rather than taking in the chaos within the ballroom itself, his gaze pointed elsewhere. Down the hallway Matt's sister and her companion had disappeared into.

"That was a boy," said the girl in the red dress, dusting herself off. "A boy, pretending to be a girl. I'm not sure what his motives were. Perhaps to sneak into the girls' restroom and watch them change. Regardless, I tried to put a stop to it, and when I did, that other boy struck me."

"That's not true."

Shiro looked up from the girl in the butterfly mask to find another child, probably a second- or third-year, walking toward them.

He took off his guardian lion mask, revealing the young but stern face of the boy Shiro recognized to be the newly appointed Yellow Guardian, chosen quietly alongside the new Apprentice. If Shiro remembered correctly, his name was Ryan Kinkade.

"I watched it happen from the snack table," explained Kinkade. "I didn't hear what they were saying, but she definitely hit the boy in the blue mask before he hit her. She attacked whoever was in the blue dress, too."

"Oh, that's why you were so quiet! You were being a good eyewitness!"

Shiro looked over Kinkade's head at a boy in an elephant mask standing several feet behind him.

The elephant-masked boy clapped his hands over his... Well, where his mouth would be. His trunk.

"Sorry," he whispered loudly. "I don't— I don't have anything to add. You guys can just ignore me."

Kinkade did just that. "It seemed like the kid in the blue mask was just trying to help. But like I said, I couldn't hear them."

A low buzz of whispers kicked up through the ballroom.

Shiro exchanged a glance with Allura, whose lips were pursed, then looked at the girl in the red dress.

"I know the girl who just ran out," he said firmly. "She can be reckless, even vengeful, but she's not the type to start an altercation. And she's definitely not the type to ogle girls in a public restroom. There's also the fact that she's ten."

"You, however, have an unbiased witness speaking out against you," said Allura. "It's hard to get less biased than a situation where everyone is wearing a mask. Did you really attack a ten-year-old girl?"

"I told you," growled the girl in the red dress. "That was not a girl."

"Shut up!"

Shiro looked back to the door to find Keith, held back by a startled-looking Matt, face red with anger, looking ready to march across and slap the girl in the red dress himself.

"Yes, she is! You don't know anything!"

"Keith," hushed Matt, increasingly anxious.

"I see what's going on here," sighed Allura. "Take off your mask, please. I'm going to have to report your behavior, and I'll need to know who you are for that."

"I will not!" barked the girl in the red dress. "You may be an Apprentice, and a Princess, but that does not give you any authority over me at this school."

"She might not have the authority, but I do!"

Like a ray of sunshine breaking through the crowds, one of the school's counselors appeared. And not just any counselor, either. The man whose job it was to keep the relationships between Paladins and Apprentices strong, to keep those bonds connected. Coran.

"Sorry for not speaking up sooner, you two," said Coran cheerfully as he drew closer. "I just wanted to see how well you both could handle it." He stroked his mustache proudly. "I'd like to see either of you as professors at this school someday, after your successors are chosen. You're both fine leaders. As for you..." He turned sharply toward the girl in the red dress, who didn't seem so bold now that someone with Garrison-specific authority had addressed her. "Mask, please."

The girl sheepishly removed her butterfly mask and turned away, visibly embarrassed.

"Miss Luka LeSuiveur... I'm surprised at you." Coran clicked his tongue. "As you know, violence cannot be condoned at the Garrison, particularly when the motive is hate against a marginalized group."

"Hate against a marginalized group?" hissed Luka. "I was trying to protect a marginalized group!"

"Yes, because you believe a young transgender girl is inherently dangerous much in the same way many in this school believe a young Galra would be inherently dangerous. We don't allow that sort of hate, either." Coran held the mask in both hands behind his back and bent down to smile cheerfully in Luka's face. "That doesn't help your case nearly as much as you think it does." His smile only widened as he straightened his back again. "You'll be coming with me, young lady. Suspension means no school-related activities whatsoever. No classes, no cafeteria times, and certainly no masquerade balls. Come along. I'll escort you to your dorm."

Luka made a face, but when Coran began to walk toward the door, she reluctantly followed.

Shiro followed them with his eyes and quickly found Matt and Keith again, and it occurred to Shiro that none of them knew where Matt's sister had gone. Shiro didn't have to look into Matt's eyes for long to see just how worried he was.

"Allura, I have to—"

"I know." Allura set a hand on Shiro's arm, but he didn't turn to look at her. "Go on. I'll stay here in case she comes back."

Shiro grasped her hand on his arm in a brief expression of gratitude before storming ahead, intent on finding Matt, but he'd barely taken a step before something stopped him.

Or, rather, someone.

"Why do you always have to stick your nose in things that aren't your business?" Adam grabbed a fistful of Shiro's sleeve, forcing him to take a step back and look at him. "LeSuiveur was right. It wasn't your responsibility to step in. Or Allura's. Coran was the only person who should have been involved there."

Shiro rolled his eyes and pried Adam's hand from his sleeve. "I don't have time for this."

"Then make time!" Adam caught him by the wrist. "What the hell is so important?"

"Matt's sister ran out of the ballroom," snapped Shiro. "She's probably terrified, not to mention cold. Am I supposed to leave her out there?"

"Let a teacher handle it," Adam snapped right back. "Iverson, Cleare, one of the Paladins— This isn't your job! Why does it have to be you?!"

Shiro met Adam's eyes with a scowl, and Adam sent a blistering glare right back.

"She's part of my family, Adam. I love her." Shiro stole his wrist back. "Maybe if you understood that I can love things—people—that aren't you, what we have would actually be a relationship instead of some puppet show we put on for strangers."

Adam's blistering glare cut right through Shiro, sharper and fiercer than anything Shiro had ever felt.

But he relinquished, and Shiro moved past.

For an instant, Shiro felt guilty. Horribly so. It felt like blood coagulating in his veins, slowing down every process in his body.

But he found Matt's eyes through the crowd, and that guilt was pushed aside. He'd talk to Adam later. There wasn't a second to waste.

The moment Shiro drew close enough, he grabbed Matt's arms, just above his elbows, and held them, him, like the cherished treasure he was.

"Let's find her," said Shiro. "The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be."

"Are you sure?" Matt's eyes flicked over Shiro's shoulder. "What about—?"

"Forget about Adam."

Matt's eyes darted back to Shiro's, stunned wide open, along with his mouth. "But— You—"

"I'm going with you guys."

Shiro looked down and found Keith, who stood at Matt's side, fiercely determined.

"I want to help," he insisted.

"Are you sure?" asked Shiro.

"Positive," said Keith. "I can..." He lowered his voice. "I can see in the dark better than you."

Shiro released a soft, heavy sigh. Keith was right.

"Okay," said Shiro. "But stay close."

He turned back to Matt, released his arms, and took his hand instead.

"Come on."

"So..."

Kinkade turned around, attention finally free enough to look at the kid in the elephant mask.

"You're, uh..." The kid wrung his hands. "You're one of James Griffin's friends, right?"

Kinkade clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I am."

"You, uh..." The boy cleared his throat and reached for his mask. When he lowered it—

Oh.

Oh, great. That figured.

Kinkade was used to being associated with Griffin. And he liked Griffin. He did. They grew up together. And Griffin was incredibly loyal when push came to shove. But he still had a knack for... Well. Being an asshole. And as Griffin's friend, Kinkade had to face a lot of consequences for his behavior.

But he'd never been confronted by a potential future Paladin about that before.

Kinkade took a breath, a more polite variation of the usual "you can't blame me for what he does" argument already forming on the tip of his tongue, but before that spiel could make its full transformation from thoughts to words, the Yellow Apprentice spoke first.

"You stood up for me the day I got chosen."

Kinkade furrowed his brow. "Uh... I think that was Kogane."

"No, not that," said Hunk, setting his drink aside on the edge of the snack table. "I mean, not that what Keith did wasn't super cool, but before he showed up, you tried to get Griffin to leave me alone."

Kinkade wasn't sure what to say to that. He may have tried to get Griffin to leave Hunk alone, but he didn't succeed. He didn't feel like he should have been thanked, so...he didn't say anything at all.

Hunk held his mask in both hands and turned it slowly sliding his fingers around the edge inch by inch. "Also, that was my friend you also stood up for, and that was really cool, too, so, uh. You know." He averted his eyes, hard. Corner-of-the-ceiling hard. "You just... You seem like a really cool guy."

Uh... "Thanks."

Hunk smacked his lips. "...Yeah." He put his mask back on and reached for his drink again. "I, uh. I guess I'll stop. Bugging you. Now. Yeah."

He started to turn away, reaching for a paper plate, probably to resume his frantic consumption of the snack table.

Kinkade looked at his own drink, still in his hand. At the straw sticking out of the opening of the aluminum.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, set his mask back on, and returned to the snack table himself.

He grabbed one of the iced sugar cookies off the center plate and passed it to Hunk, who flinched, surprised. Not that Kinkade could blame him.

"You should try these. They're pretty good."

"Oh." Hunk's voice came out high-pitched and anxious. "Y-Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Kinkade. "There's white chocolate in the icing."

"Dude!"

Kinkade raised his eyebrows behind his mask, surprised at how all the nervousness seemed to leave Hunk at once.

"No way! White chocolate icing is my favorite!"

He eagerly took the cookie Kinkade held out for him, set his drink down to slide his mask over his head, and took a bite.

His eyes shone.

"Oh, that's good. That's so good, dude. Hey—" Hunk shoved the rest of his cookie in his mouth and reached for another cookie nearby. With far more enthusiasm than Kinkade had shown him, he handed a cookie back.

"You look like a spicy kind of guy."

"Spicy?" Kinkade raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but he trusted Hunk, and he took a bite.

It crunched, and Kinkade's eyes flew wide open. There was cinnamon. But not snickerdoodle kinds of cinnamon. Flecks of cinnamon candy were seamlessly hidden in the cookie, and...

"Okay. That's pretty good."

Hunk grinned, and Kinkade found himself smiling, too.

Shiro set a hand on Keith's shoulder. "Do you see her yet?"

Keith pulled his blazer higher around his neck. If there was ever a moment to regret his decision to wash his hair, it would have been then. It was ice cold out, and his hair was still a little damp. "You'll be the first to know when I do."

"Right..."

Matt was silent. He had been since they left the ballroom. And if Keith had noticed, he knew Shiro noticed.

The fact that they were still holding hands, though... Keith wasn't sure if he was the only one who noticed that or not.

"Hey..." Shiro ducked his head near Matt's ear. "She'll be okay."

"I thought..." Matt sighed, and through the corner of his eye, Keith watched him lean into Shiro's shoulder. "I thought she'd be safe. I thought this would be good for her. I mean, this whole night is supposed to be about fresh starts. I thought, if she came out tonight, she could ease into it without anyone making a big deal about it or stumbling over pronouns or... I thought she could get away with just being a girl for one night instead of being a...a former-boy to anyone. I encouraged it. I helped her pick out a dress. I..." Matt sighed again. "I feel like this is my fault."

"It's not your fault," said Shiro.

"I know," said Matt. "I know it's that Luka girl's choice to be an awful person. I know it's not my fault some people still live in the Dark Ages. ...But there's a difference between knowing something and feeling it. And I still feel like it's my fault."

"She'll be okay," said Keith. "She's not the kind of person to let something like this drag her down. If someone else hadn't stepped in, she probably would have fought Luka herself."

Matt laughed weakly. "Guess that's true."

Shiro squeezed Keith's shoulder, a gesture Keith took as a silent thanks. He didn't need thanks. He just wanted to reassure Matt.

Ahead, under a tree, Keith thought he saw movement. It was dark, even for him. The moon didn't reach through the leaves all that easily. But...

"I see her."

Shiro and Matt both stopped in their tracks.

"Under the maple tree," said Keith. "The boy from before's still with her."

The one who...

"Hey!" Matt rushed forward, finally letting go of Shiro's hand. His sister turned away from the boy to look, and the boy...

The boy looked at Keith.

Just for an instant, and then he ducked behind Matt's sister like he was trying to hide.

"Are you okay?" Matt reached his sister and grabbed her shoulders, held her face, pulled her into his arms. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," said his sister, completely ignoring the boy who hid behind her. Ignoring the way he kept stealing glances at Keith past her and Matt before ducking down again like a scared mouse.

"What about emotionally?" asked Matt.

"I'm fine," repeated his sister as she pulled herself out of his arms. "Mentally, too."

"Um..." Keith took a wary step forward. "Do I...?"

The boy in the blue mask ducked more firmly behind Matt's sister than ever, holding her by the arms and using her as a shield.

"...know you?"

This time, Matt's sister couldn't ignore the boy. She looked over her shoulder, then at Keith. Then she rolled her eyes.

"He's not gonna eat you," she sighed.

Keith pursed his lips. What did that mean? Did the boy know Keith was Galra? Was that why he looked at Keith so strangely when he ran past earlier?

Keith took a step to the right, trying to get a better look at the boy.

The boy twisted to the left, still holding onto Matt's sister's arms.

"You can't be serious," she grumbled.

Keith took a step to the left.

The masked boy moved to the right.

"Cut it out!"

Matt's sister wormed out of the boy's hands and put her hands on her hips, the sleeves of her jacket sliding over her hands.

The boy threw his arms over his head and ducked so low he was nearly on his knees.

His eyes darted back to Keith and his entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

He leapt upright, spine completely straight, heels pressed together, one arm behind his back. He cleared his throat, one fist pressed to his mouth, and when he spoke up, he spoke in a voice that clearly wasn't natural. Cartoonishly deep. Like he was trying to disguise it. Why didn't he want anyone— Why didn't he want Keith to know who he was?

"I should get going," said the boy. "My roo— Friend, who doesn't live with me and can't be traced to me in any way, is waiting for me in the ballroom." He cleared his throat again and took an awkward, too-big, sideways, sliding step. "I'll, uhh... See you in class, Pidge."

"'Pidge'?" echoed Keith, only more confused.

The boy in the blue mask didn't clarify himself. Nor did he wait for Keith or anyone else to ask. He just started to run back toward the ballroom.

Keith started after him, but he was stopped by a steady, familiar hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at Shiro, and Shiro looked back, eyebrows raised with what looked like amusement.

"Hey, nerd!" Matt's sister quickly took her jacket off, which Keith had just realized matched the boy's trousers, and she balled it up tight before throwing it as high and as far as she could.

Keith watched the masked boy turn around and hastily change course. He ran a solid five feet to the sharp right of where he'd been headed to catch his own jacket as it unfolded in the air and drifted gently down.

"Your aim sucks!" he called, dropping the fake voice.

"So get better at catching!" Matt's sister called back.

"Screw you, Pidge!" The boy laughed, like the way friends did when they were teasing each other, the way Keith never had.

Behind his back, Keith heard Matt ask if "Pidge" was his sister's new name, and she said something about it being a "working title", but Keith was barely listening.

People with Strain magic were best known for their bravery. Keith had never felt particularly brave. But something else they were known for was their tendency to follow their instincts. That was a badge Keith wore proudly.

And his gut was telling him something.

He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but as that boy in the blue mask retreated under the moonlight, the golden eyes of that mask met Keith's one more time, and Keith felt something.

...He felt something.

Chapter Text

Shiro and Adam were talking.

They had picked a secluded corner of the Garrison cafeteria, and they were talking.

And Keith hated it.

He hated that Shiro had to apologize for just trying to help Pidge. He hated that they were trying to fix things when he knew Shiro would be so much happier without Adam. He hated not having the power to stop them from making nice and fixing everything and going back to their miserable relationship.

He hated the fact that Matt sat beside Keith, watching the exact same exchange, no doubt thinking the exact same thoughts, and feeling guilty for being right.

Even Pidge looked upset, though she only looked up from her breakfast burrito once every few bites.

“You guys should eat,” she said, rough as usual, though her voice seemed just a little kinder, like she was making her best effort to comfort them.

Keith looked at his own burrito. He didn’t feel like eating, but he knew he’d regret it later if he didn’t at least try, so he picked up his fork and cut into the side.

Matt, however, just stole a glance at his plastic tray before looking at Shiro again.

Keith elbowed him in the arm, and Matt grudgingly tore his eyes away.

“At least last night was a step in the right direction,” said Keith. “Maybe he just needs more time to figure out that what happened was part of a bigger pattern he needs to break out of.”

“You sound like an old man,” said Matt, half-laughing, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“He sounds like Shiro,” said Pidge. “If Shiro wasn’t the one in this situation, he’d say the exact same thing.”

“You two,” Matt pointed a finger between Pidge and Keith, “shouldn’t be rooting for the end of a happy relationship.”

“Happy,” scoffed Keith. “Right.”

“You know you hate it as much as we do,” said Pidge. “Stop trying to be responsible.”

“Matt? Responsible?” Keith looked up to find Shiro standing over his shoulder, a tired smile on his face. “That would be a surprise.”

He lowered himself into the seat beside Keith, where Keith had set his tray, and sent his smile around the table. Despite the way Matt had tensed up at Keith’s right, Shiro didn’t seem to realize what they were talking about.

“Someone should put a bell on you,” said Pidge.

“Where’s Adam?” asked Matt.

“He’s eating with Alfor,” said Shiro.

Keith raised his eyebrows. Surprised, a little hopeful. “Does that mean you guys are still…?”

“No,” said Shiro. “We cleared everything up. He’s just still in a bad mood. I agreed to let him have his space.”

Drat. Keith snagged a bite of his burrito.

“Enough about me,” said Shiro. “What about you, Keith? Any luck with your mystery guy in the past few minutes?”

Keith sucked in a breath, and unfortunately for him, that breath carried a mouthful of half-chewed eggs and sausage. He covered his mouth and hunched over his tray so he could cough without spraying anyone with his breakfast.

“Mystery guy?” Pidge lifted her head. “What mystery guy?”

Matt perked right up. “Oh, that’s right! You still don’t know about that! Keith—”

Keith slapped his arm, still coughing too much to stop him verbally.

“Ow!” Matt laughed and rubbed the target of Keith’s hand. “I can’t even tell Pidge?”

“Someone serenaded Keith at his balcony like Romeo Montague.”

Keith swallowed hard. “Shiro!”

“It was adorable.”

“Matt!”

“Huh.” Pidge’s expression didn’t shift a bit. “Not bad, Keith. I didn’t think you had it in you to attract total strangers.”

“He didn’t serenade me,” said Keith. “It was just magic.”

“More like a magical experience, huh, Keith?”

Keith sent Matt a scowl. “I can hit you again.”

Matt just beamed back at him, smiling wide enough to wrinkle his nose.

“So you have no idea who it is?” asked Pidge. “Like, at all?”

Keith sighed. The cat was out of the bag, he supposed. “He goes to this school, and he’s a boy. I guess I can also safely say he was at the Apprentice announcement assembly last year, but—”

“That’s pretty much every boy who goes to this school,” said Pidge.

“Exactly,” said Keith.

“You also know he owns a yellow hoodie,” said Shiro. “That’s what he was wearing when he showed up in our back yard.”

“So that’s what Keith’s been going off of since that night,” said Matt. “Some boy at this school, probably around his age, who has a yellow hoodie.”

Keith poked at his breakfast. He felt like his life had been put on display, like he was a cadaver being poked at by a bunch of med students.

“What about body type?” asked Pidge. “Do you know that much?”

“Not really,” admitted Keith. “I can guess he was kind of thin, but I don’t know how thin. The hoodie kind of swallowed him.”

“Really?” Pidge brought her fork to her lips. “Then how do you know it was his hoodie?”

“What?”

“Well, if it was his hoodie, wouldn’t it have fit him?” Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he was borrowing it from someone.”

“...Oh.” Keith’s stomach twisted and sank like a stone.

Shiro and Matt exchanged glances. Apparently, that possibility hadn’t occurred to either of them, either.

“Oh.” Keith buried his face in his hands. He felt stupid. But worse than that, he felt hopeless. The hoodie had been all he had to go on. He didn’t even know what the guy’s hair looked like. If he didn’t have the hoodie…

God. He could be anyone. Keith really wouldn’t know unless the guy came to him.

And his best shot at that had happened the night before, when he could have easily hidden behind a mask. Keith had missed out on that opportunity by spending his evening looking for Pidge. He wouldn’t get another chance like that until his third year.

And by then...the guy would have probably moved on.

Keith felt a steady hand atop his head, and he leaned into Shiro’s side. He felt so tired, in no small part because of how much trouble he’d gotten into when he got home with his hair down. The realization that he’d probably been following faulty evidence since his visit to the train stations the previous year drained him of what precious little energy he had left.

“Geez…” Pidge sighed. “Keith, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d take it that hard.”

Keith lowered his hands. “It’s fine. I’ll just…” He pushed his tray away, appetite lost with his energy. “I’ll think of something else.”

Shiro pushed his tray back toward him. “Well, you can’t do that on an empty stomach,” he said kindly. “Eat up. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…”

Lance took another look around the classroom, as if another open seat would magically appear if he just looked long enough. The optimistic-yet-hopeless equivalent of coming back to the refrigerator five minutes later, even though nothing appetizing could have possibly appeared in that time.

Nope, no matter how many times Lance left the classroom and came back, all that he’d find waiting for him was the same open seat in the same spot.

Right next to Keith Kogane.

With a sigh, Lance let the strap from his backpack slide down from his shoulder and into his hand. At least he didn’t have to put up with Kogane and Cleare at the same time this year. Ryner was much more tolerable.

“Have a seat, Mr. McClain,” said Ryner. “I’m passing the seating chart around now. Just write your name in the appropriate spot when it reaches your table.”

Lance blew a puff of air through his lips like a disgruntled horse and accepted his fate for the year. Without further complaint, Lance discarded his bag and dropped himself into the chair beside Kogane’s.

Kogane didn’t even look up from his notebook. Just went on doodling. He didn’t even notice Lance was there. Or maybe he did and he just didn’t care? Either way, Lance wasn’t happy.

He set his chin in his hands and sighed. Loudly.

Kogane didn’t notice.

“I see you didn’t get a better hairdresser since the last time we talked.”

Nothing.

Lance curled his lip. He took a breath, a stronger insult on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak it, the girl across the aisle to his right set the seating chart on his desk.

With a resigned sigh, Lance reached for the bag he’d left on the back of his chair and pulled out a pen. Clumsily. It hit the white, linoleum floor with a loud crack. And that, if anything, should have caught Kogane’s attention. He should have had an insult waiting for Lance the second he sat up with his pen.

Lance bent down, fumbled his pen, managed to catch it on the metal leg of the plastic table he was seated at, sat up straight, and…

Nothing.

Kogane just...kept...doodling.

Lance growled, signed his name where he sat on the map of the classroom, and passed it to Kogane. Specifically, he dropped it on Kogane’s notebook, right where it would block his view of his doodles.

Kogane flinched. At least he paid attention to that.

“Oh.” He lifted his drawing hand and let the paper fall to the table. “Thanks.”

‘Oh, thanks?’

Lance’s jaw dropped. It was like—

Like Kogane didn’t even know who he was. Again.

Okay. Now I’m offended.

Kogane signed the seating chart and passed it to the table to their left before resuming what he was doing.

Lance clenched his fists so tight they shook. What the hell are you drawing that’s so important?!

He reached for Keith’s notebook, tempted to steal it out from under him so he could get a better look, but before his hand could come into contact with the spiral spine—

“McClain?”

Lance snatched his hand back and turned to where Ryner sat at her desk. “Yeah?”

Ryner held up a stapled packet. “Did you get a syllabus?”

“Oh, uh.” Darn it. “No, Ma’am.”

Ryner held it out to him with a smile, and Lance was given no choice but to stand up and get it.

His chair scraped across the floor, and he tried his best to walk to the front desk in a way that didn’t give away the fact that he’d just tried to grab Kogane’s notebook right out from under him.

He took a deep breath, took the syllabus from Ryner’s green, four-fingered hand, and retreated back to his chair.

He sat down, and class began immediately.

“Good morning, everyone! And welcome to your first day of second-year history.” Ryner stood from her chair and crossed to the screen at the front of the classroom. She waved her hand, and the screen changed from its dark, unused state to the cyan and white color scheme Lance had grown all too familiar with during his first year at the Garrison. “I don’t believe I have to reintroduce myself to any of you, but just in case you happened to forget my name at some point during the winter—”

And...commence boredom. Lance leaned back in his chair and draped his arm over the corner.

Well, it would have been boredom, that is, if it weren’t for the fact that Kogane still hadn’t looked up from his drawings. What the hell was so important?

Lance leaned forward, trying to get another look around the veil of dark hair that blocked his view from Kogane’s stupid doodling.

“Mr. McClain?”

Lance shot straight up. Again? “Yeah?”

Ryner smiled in that “kind old lady” way she always did. “Can you please read the first rule?”

Lance frowned. She probably called on him because he wasn’t paying attention. But— Hey, wait! Why not Kogane? He wasn’t paying attention, either!

Whatever. Stupid preferential behavior for honorary Shiroganes. “All right, rule number one…”

Lance reached for the packet and turned to the second page. “Here it is. Students shall not bring outside food into the classroom. Water is fine. In the case of those with unstable blood sugar, please speak with Professor Ryner.”

“Thank you, Mr. McClain.”

“Mmhmm.” Lance’s gaze wandered back to Kogane.

He was still just...drawing. He hadn’t looked up once since Lance shoved the seating chart in his face.

Lance leaned forward, far enough that Kogane’s hair didn’t block his view anymore, and…

He saw roses.

Just...roses. A whole bunch of them.

And, okay, Kogane was a way better artist than Lance was, at least when it came to two-dimensional art. Lance could kick his butt any day of the week when it came to ice sculptures. All Lance did as a kid was make ice sculptures. But he’d give Kogane a point for being better with a pencil. Lance could admit defeat this once.

But they were...just roses. And a couple of doodles of his own knife. Lance would know that stupid thing anywhere. He sat under Lubos’ desk for, like, an hour with it.

Kogane had blown Lance off completely just to draw a couple of pretty flowers. Of course.

Stupid jerk…

Lance tuned out Ryner’s continued explanation of the syllabus. It was the same thing as it was the year before, and it’d be the same thing in all the rest of his classes. He wasn’t missing anything. And Kogane was a jerk, but hey, at least he was fun to watch.

Lance followed Kogane’s hand as it moved to a blank spot on the page and started a new doodle. He watched as the lines Kogane created formed not a rose or a knife, but a figure. A humanoid figure. While he drew, Lance noticed he began to hum. It was very quiet, hardly audible under Ryner’s lecture even for Lance, meaning Lance doubted anyone else could hear it.

But Lance could. It sounded kind of familiar, actually. He could predict every note before it came, but what the song itself was stayed on the tip of his tongue. He swore he knew it, though. It was gonna bother him all day.

He watched Kogane give the human figure a guitar, noting the way he stopped humming when he got frustrated erasing and redrawing the tiny lines for the figure’s tiny hands before reaching something he was happy with and moving on. He watched as a hood appeared under Keith’s careful hand, covering where the figure’s eyes would be, though he hadn’t drawn a face. He watched as Keith tried to attach big, puffy hoodie sleeves under the hood. He watched thin legs appear beneath the big hoodie.

And something struck Lance. Something like lightning. A realization. That was how he looked in Hunk’s hoodie. He knew that because he’d admired himself in the mirror for a moment before starting the mission to rescue Kogane’s knife. He’d looked cute. He liked looking cute. He remembered looking cute. And he looked like what Kogane was drawing. But...less cool? Less like a hacker from an edgy video game. Still, though, that looked an awful lot like Lance. The way he’d looked when he showed up at Kogane’s house, guitar and all.

And… And those roses, they were like the one Lance made for him in the bathroom. That’d been so hard to make when he couldn’t see it through the door.

And— And the knife. It was Kogane’s, but Lance went through hell to get it back to him.

And the song. The one Keith was humming. The one he’d just started singing under his breath.

“...ex-girlfriend kitty...hmm-hmm-hmm…”

Lance froze. His back went stiff. He shot upright. No.

“...hmm-hmm...as the night…”

No quiznacking way.

“...warm as the beach at the dawn…”

That’s… That’s my—! I wrote—!

“...hmm-mmm...so bright…”

Is he—? The whole reason he’s zoned out—?

“...hmm-hmm-hmm…”

The reason he’s not paying attention to me...

“...very pretty…”

It’s because of me?!

“...man of my dreams…”

Lance slapped his hands over his mouth. He knew he wasn’t being subtle. He knew if anyone even looked in his general direction, they’d know something was up. But if he lowered his hands, he knew he’d scream.

He thought Kogane wouldn’t even think about what Lance did for him. Thought he’d maybe be grateful for a minute or a night and then forget all about it.

Wait. No, no, no, that wasn’t what he was doing at the train station, was it? He wasn’t looking for me. No way. Nope. Absolutely not. Not a chance.

But what else could Kogane have been doing there? He lived in town. He didn’t have any friends that Lance knew of, outside of the Holts who also lived in town.

Kogane—

Kogane was still humming.

Lance was having a crisis, and he was just humming.

“Ohh... My god... Stop…”

The whispered, sing-songy words trapped in the hands Lance had cupped over his mouth felt moist and hot against his own lips, and unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that was hot. There was also his no-doubt-very-bright-red face, and, oh, yeah, the eraser on Kogane’s frikkin’ pencil. Which had just lit up like a Roman candle because Lance had accidentally used Strain magic.

Lance reached out and grabbed the end of Kogane’s pencil before his distracted, idiot butt could notice the smell of burning rubber—or burning hair, if the mullet got too close—but, unfortunately for Lance, Kogane wasn’t so out of it that he failed to notice someone grabbing the end of the pencil he was trying to draw with and dragging a long, dark line down the paper in the process.

He looked up, affronted by Lance’s apparent rudeness, and Lance, who had managed to smother the flame but was still holding onto very hot rubber, stole his hand away and shook it frantically.

“Your stupid singing caught your idiot pencil on fire!” hissed Lance, latching onto the best excuse he could come up with.

Kogane’s eyes widened. A faint dusting of red rolled across his cheeks. “...I was singing?”

“You—” Lance bit his lip. He was going to lose his mind. “Yes!”

“Ahem.”

Lance flinched.

So did Kogane.

Swallowing hard, Lance turned toward the front of the classroom.

Ryner crossed her arms, amusement in her kind eyes. “Do I need to assign detention on the first day of the year?”

Lance shrank, nursing the burn on his palm under the table. He did not want a repeat of the previous year.

“No,” said Keith, sounding even smaller than Lance felt.

“Dropping the volume now,” said Lance. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

Ryner smiled, nodded approvingly, and went back to her explanation of the syllabus.

Keith went back to his drawing, silent this time.

Lance wanted to disappear under the table, but his eyes kept him afloat.

They kept wandering back to Keith’s notebook.

He bit his lip.

That…

How was he supposed to deal with that?

Keith sank into the couch of the Paladin rec room, eyes downcast.

He might as well have not gone to class. Not that he really needed to pay close attention to the same classroom rules over and over again, but that didn’t mean he was happy to have spent the whole day in a daze.

He felt like he was barely there. Just...gray and faded, while the world moved around him. The one time he’d been woken up, and for only a few seconds, was when McClain grabbed his pencil.

He hadn’t even noticed it was on fire. He hadn’t even noticed McClain was there. He must have been sitting next to him all class, and he hadn’t even looked up.

It was like...tunnel vision. Like his peripheral was all frosted glass.

Someone sat next to Keith on the couch. He didn’t even bother looking up to see who it was. He hadn’t even heard someone come in.

And, suddenly, there was a cookie in Keith’s face. A chocolate chip cookie.

That made him look up. And when he did, he saw Hunk Garrett. The guy he’d saved from Griffin’s jealous wrath the year before.

“My mom made me a whole lot of cookies before I left home the other day,” said Hunk. “You look like you could use one. You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?”

“Oh.” Keith warily took the cookie from his hand. “No, I… Thanks.”

Hunk smiled, but it was nervous and warbling.

Keith took a bite from his cookie. It was good. Really good, actually. So good Keith felt like he was going to cry. But maybe that was more than just the cookie.

“Man, how do you do it?”

Keith forced himself to look at Hunk’s face. “Do what?”

“I just…” Hunk rocked a small, plastic container—presumably where he’d gotten the cookie from—across his lap. “I mean, I just started here today, and I know— I know I’m an Apprentice, like I was chosen, but I still feel like I’m not supposed to be here. Know what I mean?”

Keith looked at his cookie.

Thought about the way he felt at home.

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Yeah, but you…” Hunk gestured at him. “I mean, look— Look at you. You seem so chill just hanging out here, and you’re not even an Apprentice. You’re just here for Shiro, right?”

Keith shrugged. “I guess I just don’t care what people think about me.” Most of the time.

“You are so lucky.” Hunk dropped his chin into his hand. “I wish I could just go through life not giving a heck.”

Keith licked his lips. He rarely thought of himself as lucky. Maybe he was lucky to know Shiro, but for something like just...being comfortable with the fact that he was an outcast? He’d never thought about himself like that.

He took another bite from his cookie.

It was really good.

Hunk proffered his hand. “I’m Hunk, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.” Keith wiped one of his hands off on his jeans and grasped Hunk’s hand. “Um, Keith.”

“Lance would kill me if he knew I was talking to you.” Hunk laughed, though Keith didn’t think that was very funny. “But he’s not here right now, so, y’know, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Why should he care who you talk to?” asked Keith.

“Well…” Hunk shook Keith’s hand while he talked. “I guess— I mean, he’d probably get it after the thing with Griffin last year? But he’s kind of stubborn and you guys are always in each other’s business and I don’t really want to get in the middle of that.”

Keith took his hand back. “If McClain doesn’t make a big deal out of it, neither will I.”

“Cool.” Hunk’s smile came back, less anxious. “So, like… Are you okay? Because like, you’re always quiet—no offense—but you seem, like, more quiet than usual, and…?”

Yeah, no. Keith hadn’t even wanted Pidge to know. He wasn’t about to tell Hunk. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Hunk seemed worried. Keith wasn’t sure why. Hunk didn’t even know him. “Okay…”

The door to the training room opened, and each of the Paladins-in-training emerged one by one. Keith wondered why Hunk had left first, whether they’d gone through some kind of intense drill Hunk wasn’t ready for yet or something.

The last to leave the room was Shiro, following close behind Adam. They spoke in hushed voices. Keith couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he could hear the tone. It was clipped and terse and uncomfortable. Shiro said they’d made up, but...it didn’t sound like they had.

Allura caught his eye across the room and smiled brightly. She made no attempt to approach him, but judging by the way her smile bounced between Keith and Hunk, she seemed to approve of the way they were seated together.

Right. She always talked to Keith like he was sure to become an Apprentice himself one day. She probably liked that he was making friends with an Apprentice his age, someone who would probably still be Apprentice by the time Keith made Apprentice himself. If he did.

Matt, unlike Allura, chose to cross the room and plop himself down beside Keith.

“I see you guys are getting along!” he said brightly. Too brightly to be real. Keith could guess he was eager to get away from Adam and Shiro. “Keith, have you had the pleasure of discovering how smart Hunk is yet?”

Hunk’s eyes widened.

Keith looked between him and Matt, frowning. “...What did he do?”

“His projector wasn’t showing anything,” explained Matt. “I was on my way to help, but by the time I got halfway across the room, he already had it totally fixed. I think he has some secret Breath skills hidden away somewhere.”

“It was just a loose poklone!” insisted Hunk, waving his hands in front of himself. “Anyone could have figured that out!”

“Nah, give yourself more credit!” Matt reached across Keith and gave Hunk a light tap on the arm with the side of his fist. “You figured that out way faster than most people would.”

“It was running, but the lights weren’t turning on!” said Hunk. “What else was it going to be?”

“Exactly! Most people wouldn’t put that together!”

Keith found himself smiling, just a little. He didn’t know what Hunk was worried about earlier. He seemed to fit in just fine.

Popping the last of his cookie into his mouth, Keith leaned into Matt’s side. He needed a hug, and Shiro was busy.

Matt wrapped his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “You okay?” he asked softly, too soft for Hunk to hear.

“Yeah,” said Keith. “...No.” He took a breath. “I’m… I’m just...”

“No luck?” offered Matt.

Keith shook his head.

“Aw. Well, don’t give up,” said Matt. “I still think you don’t make some grand gesture like that without a follow-up. It’ll happen. Don’t you worry.”

Don’t worry? How was Keith not supposed to worry? He didn’t have even a faint trail to follow anymore.

He stared blankly at Shiro from across the room and saw him peck Adam on the lips. It didn’t look natural at all, like he was forcing himself to do it. Like they both were.

With a quick goodbye to Allura, Shiro made his way to the couch where Matt and Keith still sat.

“Rough day?” supposed Shiro.

Keith shrugged, knowing Shiro would take that as a yes.

“Let’s get you home, then.” Shiro pointed his kindly smile in Hunk’s direction today. “By the way, Hunk, you did great today.”

“Oh.” Hunk laughed nervously. “Thanks. Shiro.”

Matt stood, and Keith was forced to as well.

He waved to Hunk, and Hunk waved back, and Keith allowed Matt and Shiro to lead him home.

When Hunk got back to his bedroom, he found Lance lying in his bed, on his back, which might not have been weird aside from the fact that his eyes were wide open.

“Uhh…” Hunk took a wary step closer. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, oddly breathless.

“Okay…?” Hunk shuffled toward his desk. “Then...is there a reason you look like you just spoke to an ancient, forgotten god that foretold exactly how you were gonna die?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, no less breathless. "Hunk, have you ever...?" He raised a hand above his head, like he was reaching for something in the air, and dropped it back down to his side with a loud thump.

Then, without warning, he seemed to remember he could move.

He rolled over to open his nightstand drawer, and with frantic hands, he pulled out the mask he’d worn to the dance the night before.

He sat up sharply, looking at his mask as if he’d never seen it before. He ran his hands over the speckled paint job, stroked the eyes with his thumbs, and, abruptly enough to make Hunk flinch, he jumped out of bed.

“Buddy, I’m gonna need you to cover for me.”

Chapter Text

It was cold. Freezing. But Lance didn’t feel it. All he felt was his guitar jostling against his back with every frantic, running step. All he heard was his own labored breathing, his shoes slapping the sidewalk, the frigid wind whistling past his ears. All he could see was his destination, the house at the end of the road, a block away from every other house.

The Shirogane residence.

Kogane’s house.

Stained yellow by the lenses on his mask.

Lance clutched his guitar’s strap, his heart pounding beneath his clenched fists, his lungs straining for air.

He reached the end of where the light from the street lamps touched and slowed to a stop.

Any farther and he’d be back on the Shiroganes’ property.

He swallowed hard around the strangled gulps of air he sucked in. The lights were on, just like last time. He’d have to sneak in from the back again. But that was fine. Kogane’s balcony faced the back yard anyway.

God. He has his own balcony. Lance chortled breathlessly. He's such a pompous jerk. Why am I even here?

Lance swallowed again. He knew why he was there. He had a very, very good reason.

He had to know. For sure. He had to find out what Kogane would do if he showed up again. He had to know if it was really him Kogane was thinking about.

A shadow moved past the front-facing window and Lance ducked low to the ground, hoping the fence rose high enough to hide him.

Crouched, Lance closed in on the fence and hugged it on his way to the rear of the house.

That fence in all its typical white, picket-y glory only wrapped around the front yard. Lance had discovered that on his last trip. It ended where it met the western corners of the house, leaving the back yard wide open to the woods behind it. The woods themselves, however, were more than enough cover for Lance to hide in when the fence ended.

Lance broke free from the fence and dove into the trees before anyone could catch him.

Last time, he’d waited until the lights spilling into the front yard had gone out, and he was prepared to do that again. He really, really didn’t want the Shiroganes to catch him.

From the shadows of the trees, his leg dangerously close to a patch of red, Arusian thistles, Lance took his guitar off his back and plucked the low E string, sure that his running probably knocked something out of whack somewhere. He tuned the A with it.

Then he stopped.

“…Oh, shoot.”

Lance looked at the sky.

“What do I play?”

Keith ran his thumb down the side of his knife. The metal was cool to the touch, and though that was a pleasant sensation, it was hardly the reason he wanted to touch it. Running his fingers precariously along the edge sent a stir of adrenaline crackling in his stomach, like lightning. He was well aware of how hurt he could get if he pressed down just a little harder, if he brought his fingers just a little closer to the edge. Luxite could slice through even Altean steel. His fingers wouldn't be a problem. But that wasn’t all. This knife was his mother’s knife. It was the only thing Keith had from his childhood. And now it was more than that. Now it was something he associated with that mysterious stranger, the boy who disappeared into the woods.

Never to be seen again.

Keith sheathed his knife and set it safely in his desk drawer.

He kept his hopes up, waited, kept an eye out, and nothing came of it. None of it. He believed for a solid three months. That was enough. It was time to let go. The boy in the hoodie was just one more thing he lost. He’d have to deal with that.

Whatever. That was fine.

With a sigh, Keith slid the stack of year-old homework in the drawer onto the knife, hiding it from view, and closed the drawer.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Out of…mind.

Out of mind.

Keith ran his hands down his face and stood from his desk chair. He could get his mind off of it. Off of his knife, off of the boy he’d begun to associate with it. He just needed to do something else. Read a book, maybe. Or study.

Yeah, studying. That was a good idea. Two birds with one stone. Get ahead on schoolwork and get his mind off things at the same time. He could do that.

Decisively, Keith sat on the edge of his bed and reached over the foot for his red backpack. He yanked the zipper open, reached inside, and opened his history book.

“Okay,” he murmured. “First chapter. The Daibazaal-Altea Divide.”

He reached back into his backpack, pulled out his notebook, and opened it.

The very person he was trying to stop thinking about looked back at him.

Keith hastily turned to the next page. He could forget that was there. Easy.

He glared at the blank page after it and took a deep breath through his nose.

“…His hood didn’t look right.”

Keith turned back to the front page and reached into his backpack for a pencil. The burned one, at first, which he quickly put back in favor of another one. He’d need an eraser that wouldn’t smear ash all over the page.

With a careful hand, Keith removed the edge of the boy’s hood with the very corner of his eraser, making absolutely sure he wouldn’t go too far. He didn’t want to erase more than he had to.

He flipped the pencil over in his hand and redrew the right side of the boy’s hood, making it a little less round, a little less gravity-defiant.

Keith leaned back, appraising his drawing.

It certainly looked better, but…what it could really use was some value.

Keith shaded around the boy’s guitar, trying to mimic the way it looked when the light from his balcony touched the ground the boy stood on. He added snow, trees, the way the boy seemed absolutely weightless, somehow able to sing and play his guitar just fine while he danced. Keith couldn’t mimic that. Not really. He wasn’t really that great of an artist, and even if he had been, he doubted anyone could really capture the way the boy looked that night. The way Keith felt, watching him.

Mysterious. Carefree. Unbound by the rules society had placed or his own anxieties or gravity…

Keith sighed as he defined the round edge of the boy’s jaw.

“I’m doing an awful job of forgetting you.”

A soft, crackling sound caught Keith’s ear, and he jolted upright.

That was…

He looked toward his window.

Eagerly, he jumped to his feet and rushed to his balcony door. He already felt—he swore he already felt—waves of cold flowing from the glass, through the blinds, into his bedroom.

He threw the blinds open.

Sharp swirls of frost danced across his sliding door. Not elegant, the way Keith remembered them the time before. This time, thorns came to points along the sides of the curling streaks. That aside, they were the same.

A soft, breathless, shuddering gasp broke free of his lips, and he threw his door open.

He heard before he saw. Fierce, almost too-harsh acoustic guitar strumming. As if the performer was trying to break down Keith’s door.

“Ridin’ down the highway!”

Keith shook the hesitation from his bones and ran to the edge of his balcony, hands shooting to the sides, seeking something to hold onto, to keep him grounded.

“Goin’ to a show!”

And it was a damn good thing he’d done that, because—

“Stop in all the byways!”

—it was him.

“Playin’ rock ’n’ roll!”

Not "him" as in "the boy in the yellow hoodie". Keith knew that already.

It was him.

The one who saved Pidge. The one in the Blue Lion mask.

He was still wearing the Blue Lion mask.

He wasn’t dancing this time. His head was bowed, hood pulled over his hair, mask just visible enough underneath it. He watched his own hand as he played, like he wasn’t sure about the chords he fingered, like he wasn’t as confident with the song as he would like to be. But if that was the case, he was a damn good faker, because there wasn’t a quiver to his voice. Not a second of weakness. He played like he was born to, every line he sang—or screamed, really—shooting what looked like a small firework out of his back into the air around him.

He was nothing like how Keith remembered. Not as graceful, not as weightless, not as untouchable. He was grounded and firm and unyielding, and yet…

“It’s a long way to the top if you want to rock ‘n’ roll!”

And yet, Keith was no less entranced.

The boy lifted his head from the neck of his guitar, and his grin was blinding.

“If you think it’s easy doin’ one-night stands, try playin’ in a rock roll band, ‘cause It’s a long way to the top if you want to rock ‘n’ roll!”

Keith was proud of his knees for not buckling.

He knew this song. He’d heard it played a million times, seen a million movies that used it for the soundtrack, and he was sure it wasn’t meant to be acoustic in any reality, yet, he wasn’t sure he knew what the original sounded like anymore. The masked boy’s performance had already burned itself into his brain, kicking the classic AC/DC track out of his memory in the process.

His heart pounded, his mind swam, the earth tilted. He felt as though his balcony had become dislodged from the side of his house and he was plummeting to the earth below.

The boy was real. He was back. He wasn’t gone for good. Keith had given up just a few minutes too fast.

Shiro was right. Damn it, Shiro was always right. Keith should have known better than to doubt him.

Keith leaned into the side of the balcony, half-tempted to turn around and run down the stairs, but too afraid of Shiro’s parents and too afraid of the boy being gone by the time he got to the back door to risk it.

“‘Cause it’s a long way…”

The boy strummed his guitar once, letting the chord ring out until the sound faded.

“…to the top…”

He strummed again, slow and peaceful, but it was with a terrified jolt that Keith realized that meant the song was ending.

“…if you want to rock and…”

If this time was anything like last time, that meant the boy was about to disappear. And Keith—

“…roll…”

—Keith couldn’t let that happen.

The boy strummed his guitar one last time, short and sharp, and clapped his hand over the strings to stop the sound.

As if at the curtain call of a play, the boy raised his arm, swept it down to his chest, and bowed, guitar dangling beneath him. Then he stood up, kissed his first two fingers, sent Keith a peace sign, and turned around to head into the trees.

Keith’s heart stopped.

“Wait!”

And so did his brain, apparently.

At least, he couldn’t think of a better explanation for why he jumped off his balcony.

“Wait!”

THUD

Lance froze, halfway past the nearest tree.

Oh, that did not just happen. That cannot be what I think just happened. And when I turn around, it will not have happened. Kogane is irrational, sure, a little crazy, yes, but he’s not that crazy. No one is that crazy.

He turned slowly, head ducked as he looked warily over his shoulder.

He found Kogane on the ground, kneeling, teeth bared in pain and a hand on his ankle.

Apparently, he was that crazy.

Kogane raised his head and took a shaky step, center of gravity close to the ground.

“W-Wait…” He winced and his knee sank right back to the damp earth.

“What are you doing?” hissed Lance, pushing his guitar behind him, his feet already rushing him to Kogane’s side. “You could have gotten killed!”

Kogane laughed weakly. “From that height?”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Lance kneeled beside Kogane’s injured leg. It better not be broken. “What the heck were you doing?”

“You were leaving,” said Kogane. “I had to stop you.”

Lance’s stomach flipped. “Okay, as flattering as that is, you absolutely did not. Let me see your leg.”

“You…” Kogane sat cautiously on the ground, which was weird. Kogane. Listening. Imagine. “You know first aid?”

“Mmhmm, yeah, sure,” said Lance, who did not and was hoping he could at least tell if the leg wasn’t a straight line anymore.

Kogane rolled the leg of his jeans up carefully, wincing at even the slightest pressure. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was just a big baby.

Lance took a long look at Kogane’s shin. It didn’t look broken. Not from the angle Lance was looking. Unsure, he ran two fingers down the front. Kogane didn’t flinch, just got a case of goosebumps. Lance wished he could say that told him something.

“…I’m gonna be real with you. I have no idea how hurt you are.” He stood with a sigh. “Maybe we should just tell your parents.”

“No!”

Kogane grabbed Lance’s arm. Lance flinched violently, startled.

“Don’t tell them,” said Kogane firmly. “I’ll be fine.”

Lance’s stomach flipped again. “You’re a whole lot of things, Kogane, but ‘fine’ is not one of them. What do you mean don’t tell them? What if it’s broken?”

“Then I’ll just have to deal with it,” said Kogane.

Lance groaned and ran his hands through his hair, tempted to pull. He might have, if not for fear of loosening the ribbons that kept his mask in place. “Oh, my god, you’re the worst.”

Kogane’s eyes hardened. “You came here,” he pointed out. “If I’m that bad, you can leave.”

“I tried,” said Lance. “But then someone had to jump off his balcony!”

He pressed his face into his hands, screamed into his hands, took a deep breath, and lifted his head.

“Shiro,” said Lance, deciding. “You’re scared of telling your parents because you’ll get in trouble, right? But—”

“Not my parents.”

“What?”

Kogane scowled. “They’re not my parents. Stop calling them that.”

“All right, fine,” said Lance. “Your legal guardians. You can’t tell them because you think you’ll get in trouble. I get it. I’m the same way. I wouldn’t want my parents to know I jumped off a balcony like an idiot, either. But what about Shiro? You guys are, like, super close, right? What if you told him? Maybe he could help you.”

Kogane averted his eyes, seeming to consider Lance’s suggestion, but he just shook his head. Of course. How dare Lance get his hopes up. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“You’re hurt,” said Lance.

“Yeah,” said Kogane. “And I don’t want to bother him.”

“Oh, but bothering me is fine!” Lance gestured sharply at himself. “Putting the onus on me to make sure you’re okay is fine!”

“You don’t have to stay.” Kogane clenched fistfuls of the grass beneath him. It splintered between his fingers like tiny paintbrushes. “I already said you can go.”

“What are you going to do if I do decide to leave?” asked Lance. “Climb the stairs back to your bedroom?”

“I—!”

Kogane looked at his legs, then at the house behind him.

Lance sighed. “Again.” He reached for his guitar. “You are the worst.”

He strummed a chord, and a round, two-inch-tall platform appeared beneath both himself and Kogane. Kogane jumped, surprised, but Lance didn’t pay him any mind. He was too busy judging how sturdy his platform was. Deciding it was fine, he nodded, and he plucked out a simple scale, ascending the platform beneath them with every careful note. It was boring magic, the most basic use of Strum quintessence out there, and it wasn’t really his style, but he didn’t need it to be.

He rose it to the height of Kogane’s railing and made a ramp leading to his open door before stopping.

The platform stayed exactly where he stopped it. Good. There was always the chance it’d break the second Lance stopped playing, sending them both crashing to the ground, but hey, it didn’t, so there was no reason to think about that.

“Come on.” Lance slid his guitar behind his back and hopped from the platform down to Kogane’s balcony floor. “Just slide down. I’ll help you.”

When he turned to offer his hand, he found Kogane staring at him. Not glaring, but…staring. In awe. The same ego-boosting way he stared when Lance played for him from below.

“…What?”

“You did all this?” Kogane pressed his hand flat against the surface of the platform. “With a scale?”

“It’s a cylinder,” said Lance.

“Yeah, but it’s huge.”

“That’s what she said.”

Kogane squinted at Lance, visibly confused.

“It’s…” Lance lowered his hand. “It’s an innuendo, buddy.”

“I know what it—” Kogane huffed a frustrated sigh. “Who are you?”

“Um—”

“You show up at my balcony in the middle of the night,” said Kogane. “You play a song and do all this crazy stuff with quintessence and then you just leave. I try to talk to you and you brush me off. We argue, but you want to help me. You do the most amazing Strum magic like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done, and then you make a stupid dick joke.”

Lance shrank, ears burning in response to Kogane’s sudden profanity.

“Why would you do all this?” asked Kogane. “I can’t figure any of it out at all. Are you just trying to show off? What’s the point if you’re wearing a mask?”

“You helped Hunk Garrett,” said Lance. It was the only answer he had. “No one asked you to, but you did it anyway. I just thought someone should help you.”

He offered his hand again, more insistently. This time, Kogane took it, but he made no move to slide closer to the ramp. “That explains why you came the first time. Why did you come back?”

Lance grimaced. Even he didn’t really have an answer to that question. “I just— I got the feeling you wanted me to, okay?”

Kogane’s scowl softened. His gaze slid off to the side, and he silently allowed himself to be helped down the ramp, sliding down with his good leg in front, allowing Lance to pull him up when he hit the bottom.

Lance looped Kogane’s arm over his shoulders and led him through his balcony door and into his room.

His bedroom carpet was—eugh—pink. It didn’t suit him at all. The walls were white and so were his bedcovers and his desk matched his dresser and his headboard with the same boring, yellowy wood. There wasn’t anything that looked like it belonged to Kogane anywhere. No posters, no stuffed animals, no sketchbooks, no photos…

“What is this, a guest room?” grumbled Lance.

“Might as well be,” murmured Kogane.

Lance cocked an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but okay…

He lowered Kogane onto the edge of his bed and took a step back.

His eyes immediately found Kogane’s leg again. He didn’t like not knowing whether it was even broken or not. Why wouldn’t Kogane just tell his parents? Sure, Lance understood being scared of getting in trouble, but they’d still want to know, wouldn’t they?

“Why do you care so much?”

Lance flinched, his attention darting right back to Kogane’s face. “I don’t—!”

Kogane frantically raised his hands, palms out, a universal signal for “STOP”. Once Lance closed his mouth, he turned his head toward the door, just a few degrees. Listening.

Just as Lance began to look for hiding places, Kogane relaxed, letting go of the breath he must have been holding for a solid thirty seconds at least.

Lance expected Kogane to get mad at him. If Kogane was able to see his face, Lance knew he would have, but it seemed some kid in a blue mask could get away with things Lance couldn’t.

“I caught you staring,” said Kogane. “You’re worried. I just don’t understand why.”

Lance took a deep breath, puffed up his cheeks, tried to think of an excuse, couldn’t, and let the breath go.

Kogane smiled. Not the same sort of cocky sneer he usually gave Lance, knowing he was Lance, but just…a smile. A sincere, happy one. Lance felt his palms go sweaty despite the cold breeze blowing in from the balcony door. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“But what if you aren’t?” blurted Lance, a split second before he remembered this was Kogane and he wasn’t supposed to be worried about him in the first place.

Kogane shrugged one shoulder, all cool and aloof and stupid. “I’ll deal.”

“Don’t you walk to school?” asked Lance. “How are you supposed to do that with a broken leg?”

Kogane averted his eyes. His face turned red. “I’ll deal,” he repeated stubbornly.

“Ugh, fine.” Lance crossed his arms. “You’re not my problem. If you want to hurt yourself, fine. Want to ruin your leg and never walk the same way again? Sure! Go ahead!” He turned around and headed for the door he’d come in through. “Call me when you have a permanent limp.”

“Wait—”

Lance turned quickly. So quickly he banged the guitar on his back against the glass door, making him cringe and grab the base of the guitar the same way he’d grab a stubbed toe. “You keep saying that!” hissed Lance. “Wait for what?”

“I—” The hand Kogane had outstretched dropped. “I just…” His fingers curled in toward his palm. He chewed his bottom lip. He breathed in through his nose. “…Are you coming back?”

“Coming back?” Lance blinked. “Like…here?”

Kogane grabbed a fistful of the blankets beside his legs and looked at the fist clenched around them.

Lance sucked in a breath that got stuck in his chest.

Kogane wasn’t just thinking about him. He wanted to see him. And keep seeing him.

“Why?” asked Lance, unintentionally speaking his question aloud.

Kogane swallowed, hard enough that Lance could hear it.

He shrugged.

Lance didn’t know what to do with that information. No clue at all. All he knew was that his brain was spinning around in his head like a smoothie in a blender. An ego smoothie. Full of fanned flames and hot air.

Not only was someone out there that interested in having Lance around, but it was Keith freaking Kogane. The guy who supposedly hated Lance.

Lance didn’t even know where to begin handling something like that. All he knew was that, well…

He liked it.

A lot.

“…Okay.”

Kogane lifted his head so fast his hair bounced off his cheeks. “What?”

“Sure.” Lance rubbed his arm. “Like…not tomorrow or anything. It’s kind of a big hullabaloo trying to get out here, but…maybe next week?”

“Next week?” echoed Kogane, so quiet Lance could hardly hear him. His eyes widened, so wide Lance wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t just stopped breathing, that he hadn’t died instantly.

Lance swallowed. “If that’s okay…?”

“Yeah,” breathed Kogane. “Yeah, that’s… That’s great. Next week— Yeah.”

“Good.” Lance threw him a thumbs-up and headed for the door again.

Only to be stopped.

“Hey—”

“Let me guess.” Lance turned around and put his hands on his hips. “‘Wait,’ right?”

Kogane smiled a crooked, sheepish smile that stole Lance’s away. He really needed to stop doing that, effective immediately. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Uh…” Lance scratched his cheek. “In case you haven’t noticed, the mask was supposed to stop you from knowing who I am.”

“Can I at least have a name?” asked Kogane. “It doesn’t have to be yours, I just… I want something to call you.”

Lance hesitated. He had no idea, when he left his dorm, that Kogane would be asking for his name by the end of the night. He hadn’t even thought they’d have a chance to talk. He thought he’d play a song, see Kogane’s eyes bug out of his stupid face, and leave. How was he supposed to know he needed a name prepared?

“Uhh…” He rubbed the edge of his mask. “…Blue?”

“Blue,” repeated Kogane.

“Yeah, Blue.” Lance smirked. “Or is that too hard for you to remember?”

Kogane frowned, brow furrowed, the faintest red hue rising to his cheeks. “I can remember it.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Kogane licked his lips. “…You can call me Keith.”

“I know your name, Kogane,” said Lance, rolling his eyes.

“So use it,” said Kogane.

Lance pursed his lips. He really didn’t want to, but if he refused, Kogane was going to put together who he was fast. “Sure…Keith.”

Man, that felt weird to say.

But Kogane— Er, Keith, sure seemed to be happy about it. “See you next week, Blue.”

Lance winked. “See you tomorrow, but you won’t see me.”

With that, finally, Lance managed to make it through Keith’s balcony door without getting stopped.

He closed the door behind himself, grabbed his guitar, and played his way to the ground. The second his feet hit the ground, he stopped the sound from the strings with his hand, and every trace of his ice disappeared.

“Geez…” Lance rubbed the back of his neck. “What did I get myself into?”

Light from the house behind Lance illuminated the grass, and in a panic, Lance hit the earth. His heart beat against the inside of his throat. A thin veneer of sweat ran across his forehead, cold in the early spring air.

He looked cautiously over his shoulder, searching for the source of the light, half-afraid he’d already been caught.

He found Shiro.

Takashi Shirogane, Black Apprentice, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and a pair of black pyjama pants, flipping through the items on his desk, seemingly searching for something.

Lance lifted himself onto his hands and knees. Shiro was probably safe, right? Not that Lance knew Shiro, but Keith didn’t seem particularly afraid he’d get in trouble if Shiro knew he’d hurt himself. He was just afraid of being a bother. Yeah, it’d probably be fine if Shiro knew Lance was in his back yard.

Huh…

Actually…

Lance pulled himself to his feet and took a cursory look around the rest of the windows in view. No lights on for any of them. Probably meant the rooms behind them were unoccupied. Probably.

He’d just have to risk it.

With a deep breath, Lance darted across the lawn to Shiro’s bedroom window and rapped his knuckles against the window frame.

Shiro flinched violently and turned to the window with a startled grimace.

Lance laughed. It was hard not to find that a little funny when Shiro always seemed so put-together.

Eyes narrowed, Shiro warily crept to his window and cautiously pushed it open. “…Oh, it’s you.”

“Me?” That was not the reaction Lance was expecting. “W-What do you mean me?”

“The guy who saved Pidge at the dance.” Shiro crossed his arms over his windowsill. “And, I presume, the guy who serenaded Keith at his balcony last year.”

“Serenaded—?!” The winter air suddenly had no effect on Lance’s burning cheeks. “I didn’t—! It wasn’t—! Wait, he told you about that?”

“Told me?” Shiro laughed warmly. “He hasn’t shut up about it in three months.”

That did nothing to douse the heat in Lance’s cheeks. “…Oh.”

“So, how can I help you?” asked Shiro.

“Oh, right! Uh—” Lance tilted his head back to look at the bottom of Keith’s balcony, as if that would help him think of what to say. “It’s, er, about, Keith. Or, uh, his leg.”

Chapter Text

The entity swirled around inside its containment, zigzagging back and forth, up and down, drawing out designs, patterns. Perhaps its movement was a language Sam couldn't understand, some means of communication, like a bee dancing to direct her hive to a new food source. Maybe the entity was asking to be let out. Or maybe its motions were senseless and random, like a fly bouncing quietly off the inside of a glass and landing helplessly in the water.

Not for the first time, Sam found himself dragging a chair to the edge of the creature's cylindrical containment, distracted by its movements. He watched it the way he might watch the rise and fall of wax in a lava lamp. It was hypnotic. Not dangerously so, of course. If simply watching the entity was dangerous, Sam was sure he would have suffered the consequences long ago. Either he would have harmed one of his fellow observers or they would have been forced to restrain him.

The story behind the creature's capture was not a happy one.

Sam had been cleaning up the notes of his last project's observations when his superior called him in. Sanda, being Sanda, gave Sam no information in advance. Just a strict summons over the intercom in Sam's office. A cold, "Holt, report to my desk." Sam didn't have the authority to say no.

The moment he'd arrived in Sanda's office, she walked to the door and led him right back out, a folder of notes and photos in her hands.

"They found something in Daibazaal," was all the context he got. "Don't worry, you'll be home in time to have dinner with your kids."

Sam flipped open the folder. Observations looked back at him, written on paper, along with paper photos. Whatever they were looking at, Sanda, or maybe someone even higher up, didn't want the world to know just yet.

The written notes were clinical, matter-of-fact. They didn't bother to ease Sam in before he read about the casualty found at Glittering Grotto.

Nor did they prepare him for the sight of the body. Forehead dented in, the light faded, quite literally, from the woman's eyes.

Kartaka Lorek, 32, 106.141kg, 222.504cm. Hair: White. Eyes: Galran. ETD: 19:38:44.04 08/08/5549

Cause of Death: Bludgeoning - Fandek Lagaka

Sam's eyes drifted over what was left of the notes, then took a look at the last photo.

The entity was transparent, ghostlike. Red edges wrapped around a blue core, like the opposite of an Altean's eye.

"What exactly happened?" asked Sam.

"A couple looking for a romantic date spot decided to sneak over the fences surrounding the Glittering Grotto," said Sanda. "They saw something moving in the chat from the nearby Luxite mines, uncovered it, and according to Fandek..." She sighed, irritated. "Fandek claims the creature went into her."

"Like a parasite?"

"Like a demon." Sanda clasped her hands behind her back. "Fandek had a name for it. Something in Galran. I can't pronounce what he said."

"Can you try?" asked Sam. "Any information about the creature could be helpful. Even if it is a parasite rather than something more superstitious."

"You don't need to know that," said Sanda. "Fandek's on trial for murder in his own country. He claims it was self-defense, that whatever it is they found in that chat pile made his girlfriend attack him first, that he was just desperate. To me, it looks more like he took advantage of a private place and decided to handle his relationship troubles the Galra way. Your job is to figure out whether there's any chance his claim could have a shred of truth in it, whether that thing's a parasite or has hallucinogenic secretions or whether it really is some kind of supernatural creature. My money's on 'none of the above', but we have to prove it."

Sam frowned. He didn't particularly like the implication that Fandek had killed someone solely because he was Galra, but Sanda was his superior, and he had more pertinent questions to ask. Questions that wouldn't get answered if he was fired on the spot. "Aren't there Galra scientists that could look into this? Why send this all the way to Altea?"

"Any Galra scientists asked to inspect this thing took one look at it before making a hasty retreat," said Sanda. "Guess they're all superstitious."

That only made Sam's frown deepen. He knew Galran culture well. He'd worked with the Galra on more than one occasion. They weren't cowards. If anything, they lacked self-preservation more than any other people Sam had met. They were a collectivist society to a fault, always prepared to die for the sake of knowledge or justice or whatever else they felt their societies needed. He'd seen Galran scientists dive into caves without hesitation despite lacking the proper protective equipment. He'd seen them perform the most dangerous of chemical experiments, things that could have left rooms or entire buildings uninhabitable, just to observe what would happen. Sam didn't always agree with their methods, but no one could accuse them of being less than thorough. The idea of every scientist in Daibazaal turning down the offer to learn something new was baffling. Death was nothing to them culturally. Sure, there were bound to be exceptions, but exceptions among so many that they had to outsource their research?

Sam closed the folder in his hands, tucking the photo of the entity away. "Are you sure you can't tell me what Fandek called this creature?"

"If you want to ask, feel free to pursue the clearance to talk to Fandek yourself," said Sanda. "I'm sure your request will go through in a few months."

Sam brought a thoughtful hand to his mouth.

If that was what it would take, he could do it.

After he'd retrieved the entity from Daibazaal that day, Sam took a photo of it with his phone while it swam about in its enclosure. He sent it to an old colleague named Yakad, who had moved to Altea from Daibazaal several years before. His only caption was, "Found in Daibazaal. What is it?" He assumed she could at least offer the same name Fandek had used.

Yakad knew nothing about it. Not based on the picture alone, at any rate.

Sam hemmed and hawed over his texts for the next several minutes, trying to figure out what he could legally disclose and what he couldn't, considering the creature's role in a criminal investigation. Eventually, he'd settled on just giving Yakad some observations, specifically Fandek's, just without disclosing where they came from or that it led to a woman's death.

Yakad answered with the briefest message Sam had ever gotten from a consultant.

"Do not let expose it to your loved ones. Take it somewhere far away from civilization, go prepared for long-term survival, and go alone. When you release it from its enclosure, stand very still until it flies away. DO NOT GO HOME UNTIL YOU HAVE SEEN IT LEAVE. Even if it takes years, even if it never leaves. Until you have watched it disappear from view, it is still dangerous. DO NOT LEAVE UNLESS IT DOES."

Sam laughed. He hadn't seen anything that foreboding outside of old-fashioned mummy movies. He was still laughing when he answered Yakad's message.

"You're joking, aren't you?"

Yakad replied with a single word.

"No."

Sam's smile disappeared at once.

"Can you at least tell me what it's called?"

"No, Sam. You're a good man. You have a family. I can't engage with your curiosity. Let it go far away from where it can do any harm and pray it leaves you alone."

Sam wasn't sure how to respond.

He couldn't just let it go. A man was accused of murder. His trial relied on information about the creature. Sam wasn't going to abandon him.

And what was more, Yakad's cryptic attempt to protect Sam had backfired completely.

His curiosity was as engaged as it could possibly be.

So there he sat in his lab, in front of the most mysterious subject he'd ever laid eyes on, watching it swim about in that curious way it did, utterly transfixed.

His clearance to speak to Fandek had gone through just earlier that week.

Their meeting was scheduled for that afternoon.

He could only hope it at least gave him a place to start.

"You're a bigger disaster than I am."

Keith buried his face in Shiro’s hair with a groan.

Shiro's laughter rumbled through his back and into Keith's chest. It was nice, in a way. Warm. Keith liked it when Shiro laughed. But that didn't take away from Keith's embarrassment.

"What did you think was going to happen?" asked Shiro, adjusting his grip on Keith's legs. "Did you really think you could make that jump without getting hurt?"

Keith tightened his hold on Shiro's shoulders. "It stopped him from leaving, didn't it?"

"Guess that's true," said Shiro. "But at what cost?"

"I'll be fine." Keith lifted his head and squinted into the cool, morning sunlight that pierced through the clouds.

"You're lucky Mom and Dad didn't catch you limping," said Shiro. "You know that limp isn't going to go away just because we stop by the school infirmary, right? Seeing a nurse will help, but it's not going to magically make the pain disappear. You’re going to need an excuse for why you’re limping ready by the time we get home.”

Keith shrugged. "I just won't get caught."

"Keith."

"...I'll tell them I tripped on the track in gym."

Shiro nodded approvingly under Keith's chin. Before Keith could give a passing thought to the fact that Shiro was actually approving of Keith's decision to lie, Shiro turned his head and looked up. "So, how was it?"

Keith felt a hum in his chest, a leftover flutter from the night before. Sure he was blushing, he ducked his head. "...Worth twisting my ankle over."

Shiro laughed cheerfully.

Keith hid his face behind Shiro's head and smiled. "I still can't believe he came back."

"We told you he liked you," said Shiro. "And now that he's proven he's the kind of person to prioritize your well-being, even if that means going against your wishes, I think that means he's earned my approval."

"You like him?"

"Well, I don't know if we have anything in common. I don't even know if I'll be able to hold a conversation with him.” Shiro turned his head to look toward Keith. “But I do trust him to do what's right for you, and I know he makes you happy. That's all I need."

He met Keith’s eyes.

"Do you like him?"

Keith hid his face in Shiro’s shoulder. "What do you think?"

Shiro stopped outside the gate to the school to grab his ID. When he shined it at the reader outside of the wall, the reader registered Shiro as someone with permission to pass through the gate at any time, and the gate swung slowly open, allowing himself and Keith immediate entry without Shiro even needing to set Keith down.

Opening the door to Rygnirath Hall, which housed both the cafeteria and the infirmary, was a little more difficult. Keith had to reach for the door handle with his good foot and awkwardly hook it under the curve to pull it open, but he and Shiro managed, like they always did.

Shiro stopped walking just inside the door and Keith lifted his head, confused by their sudden halt. He followed Shiro's gaze to the door of the cafeteria.

Of course. Him.

Of course Lance McClain would take an interest in whether Keith got hurt or not. Keith's middle finger itched like a trigger and he was sorely tempted to scratch that itch, but...Shiro was still holding him, and he wasn’t in the mood to get scolded, however gently he knew it would be.

So he just stuck his tongue out instead.

He expected McClain to stick his tongue out right back, but he didn't. He didn't do anything in return. His eyes just widened, and he turned around, and he slinked through the cafeteria doors as quickly as he could. Like he was embarrassed about something.

Maybe Keith should have stuck his tongue out more often.

"Huh," murmured Shiro beneath Keith's chin.

"What?"

Shiro released a quiet laugh in a soft puff of air. "Nothing. Just thinking." He turned to head down the hall, away from the cafeteria doors. "This way."

The prison where the Galra held Fandek was a cold place. Not physically; Daibazaal's climate was extremely warm with little fluctuation in temperature throughout the year, ranging only between dry and humid with the change in seasons. The prison itself, however, as a building, as a piece of brutalist architecture casting long, red shadows across the desert, sent curls of frost coiling across the walls of Sam's stomach.

The interior was no better than the outside, dimly lit by faint, electric lines of violet and red that barely illuminated the corridors enough for Sam to be sure he wasn't going to bump into anyone. And there were many chances to bump into people. Guards lined every wall, each standing barely more than two meters from the next, only one metal door between any two. With the lights behind their backs, their faces were impossible to make out. Sam couldn't have picked a single one out if they'd decided to attack him for any reason.

A slave to his own self-preservation instincts, Sam looked at their belts, searching for instruments, and he was surprised to find only guns. No lyres, no horns, no tambourines. An odd choice, to be sure. Even a well-trained child could block a blast from a laser, providing what they were trained in was Strum or Base. With a great deal of practice and determination, a Breath user might be able to twist a few vines around without an instrument, but that wouldn't do much good in a prison break.

More likely was that each of the guards was a Strain user.

A choir of fire-breathers guarded the halls.

Sam's escort, a bulky Galra with a prehensile tail, opened a door at the end of the hall and gestured for him to enter.

The room inside was lit closer to the classrooms at his children's school, bright and white with the occasional streak of blue accenting the corners. It was no brighter than Sam's lab, but compared to the corridor he'd just emerged from, it was blinding, and it took Sam several slow blinks to adjust to the new light.

From the opposite side of a great wall of glass stood a Galra with a lean but broad-shouldered build, violet ears that pointed at the tips and the lobes, and white hair tied low behind the back of his neck. He stood utterly still in his black-and-violet prison garb, his hands bound together and chained with perhaps a meter of metal links to a shackle at his feet, his head bowed so untidy wisps of his pearly hair that had been shaken loose from his ponytail fell across his eyes. Eyes that remained closed until Sam's escort slammed the door shut behind him.

From there, the Galra lifted his head, and his eyes found Sam's at once, their unreadable gold steely and proud despite his disheveled appearance.

"I assume you're Fandek," said Sam. "I heard what happened to your partner. I'm sorry."

"Spare me your false sympathies," said Fandek coolly, his voice clear despite the wall that stood between them. Wonders of modern technology. "You haven't come as a grief counselor."

"No," admitted Sam. "I haven't." He stuck his hands into his pockets. "Actually, I've come here to ask a few questions. Depending on how you answer, I might just be able to get you out of here."

"I'm familiar with human interrogation techniques." Fandek's eyes slid closed once more. "The idea is to attain an answer regardless of whether it's true. What matters most to you is a guilty verdict. You offer gifts and bribes, you make threats, and you purposely provoke emotional responses, all in the name of conviction, not knowledge."

"I'll admit human law enforcers do that," said Sam. "I'm not a law enforcer, though. Just a researcher."

"You've been hired by law enforcers."

"Just the ones from Daibazaal, and just as a consultant. I've barely got any more authority here than you. To these folks, I'm just a walking, talking biology textbook." Sam approached the glass. "All anyone wants to know is what that thing you found really is. It's my job to figure that out, but I can't do much without letting it out of its containment, and it's been suggested to me that might be dangerous with people around. I've observed its behavior in its cylinder, I've tried various auditory and visual stimuli that never got any reaction, I've tried transferring it from one cylinder to another to test its enclosure for residue only for every chemical test on its environment to be inconclusive— We've offered it water, various food from various cultures, live prey, and it's all been ignored. It doesn't eat, it doesn't drink, it doesn't breathe, it doesn't expel waste, and it doesn't sleep. Why, I've been tempted to shove my hand inside just to see if I still had a hand the next time I looked. At least that would tell us something."

Sam ran his hand through his hair. He was starting to ramble. He did that when he was nervous.

"The only reaction we've gotten is these strange bursts of aggression that seem to happen at almost random, like it just picks a target and starts ramming the walls to get to whoever it's after. But its targets happen at seemingly random. There's no pattern in species or age or gender or nationality. The same people who set the creature off one day will go completely ignored the next. And I can vouch for that personally. It's chosen me as a target for brief periods of time only to go on ignoring me after just minutes for seemingly no reason." He tilted his head back and glared at the ceiling. "There was a brief moment at the end of last year when I thought I'd picked up on some pattern. When it showed aggression for the exact duration of a phone call, I thought perhaps it was picking up radio waves or other broadcasted energy most species can't pick up without technology, that the targets of its aggression were other researchers listening to music in secret or something. Tests on that hypothesis proved it wrong immediately. I'm running out of ideas, so I have to ask—I'll beg if I need to—"

Sam looked hard into Fandek's face.

"What do you know about these things?"

For a long, heavy moment, Fandek stood there, silent, eyes closed.

"...I know that Kartaka loved me."

Sam sighed. As heartbreaking as that was, that didn't answer his question. "Isn't there anything else you can tell me? Why have all the researchers in Daibazaal refused to get involved? What do they know that the rest of the Galra population doesn't? That I don't?"

At last, Fandek opened his eyes again. They met Sam's eyes like flames, like two matches lighting two candles.

"What do you know about Sincline?"

"Sincline?" Sam pushed his glasses up his nose. "I know it's Voltron's opposite. I know it's represented by five Scales—sharks—rather than five Lions. I know that, unlike Voltron, only one connection with any living being is required to call upon its power, though it's stronger the more Dark Knights it has—"

"Do you know how Voltron was created?" asked Fandek.

"Well, no one knows that," said Sam. "Not any more than anyone knows what lies beyond the edges of the known universe. All we have are legends and myths about a comet crashing into the ground and a war breaking out between Altea and Daibazaal over the materials it left."

"Our legend is different," said Fandek.

"What does any of this have to do with the creature?" asked Sam.

Fandek looked him in the eye. There was something unreadable in his expression. Something Sam had missed before and barely caught even then.

"I think you should hear our legend."

Sam crossed his arms. Cryptic, but sure. "All right, I'm listening."

Fandek looked at the floor between his feet, where his chains met the shackle in the steel he stood on.

“This is a story handed down throughout the universe.”

Lance chewed on the sides of his pencil, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave impressions on the wood.

Kogane saw him. He didn't treat Lance any differently from how he normally would have, so, clearly, he had no idea who he'd insisted on meeting. Obviously, or he wouldn't have insisted on meeting Lance in the first place. But it was still sort of weird, seeing Kogane like that, compared to how he was the night before.

It was like "Keith" and "Kogane" were two totally different people. There was Kogane, who was a huge frikkin' jerkwad, and there was Keith, who...

Lance wasn't sure what to think of that version. He was just...different. Softer, he supposed? Not even necessarily in a gentle way, but in a...vulnerable way.

Hm.

In any case, Lance was glad Shiro helped him without asking too many questions. Huge frikkin' jerkwad or not, it seemed like Kogane hurt himself pretty bad. Lance didn't want him hurt. ...For the most part. It wasn’t like Lance would cry for him if he tripped and got a bruise on his hip or something, but if he broke his leg or something, like… Lance wasn’t cruel.

A bigger problem was just that he couldn’t stop thinking about Kogane. He'd been thinking about him all through breakfast, all through the hallway to his first class, and all the way to his seat in his first class. Kogane did not deserve that much headspace.

To Lance's right, the classroom door opened. He took the pencil from his teeth as he lifted his head to see who had walked in.

He saw a familiar face. And he heard familiar snickers.

He ignored them.

"Hey, Pidge!" Lance waved his arm over his head to catch her attention.

Pidge, who had been staring intently at the floor, lifted her head, eyes narrowed skeptically. When those eyes landed on Lance, she grinned wide enough to split her face in two and hurriedly sidled between tables, making her way to Lance’s.

"Hi," she said quietly.

"Hey!" replied Lance. The snickers went silent behind him, replaced by whispers.

Pidge didn’t turn her head, but her smile fell, and her eyes darted to the corners, toward the gossiping going on behind their table.

Lance reached into his bag and loudly slapped his textbook on the table. Loud enough for Pidge to flinch and for the kids behind them to shut up.

"So you're, like, mega-mega smart, right?"

"Uhh..." Pidge eyed his textbook warily. "Sure...?"

"I kind of started reading through a few chapters the other day," said Lance, turning toward a completely random page he most definitely hadn't been looking at. "And like, I have no idea what's going on here. I was wondering if you could explain it to me."

Pidge leaned over Lance’s shoulder and squinted at the page, gripping the straps of her backpack anxiously. "...You don't understand...intercostal muscles?"

"...Yeah! No clue what they are or what they’re for."

Pidge raised her eyebrow. "...Okay.” She slid her backpack off and slowly sat in the chair beside Lance’s. “I mean, this is mostly Strain and Breath stuff, so you don't really need to know it, but I'm not going to discourage education for education's sake.” She pointed at the diagram on the page, a depiction of Olkari chest muscles. “So intercostal muscles are the muscles between your ribs that expand when you take a breath. Strain users need to strengthen these muscles in order to have better control over their singing, and anyone with an instrument that requires blowing through a reed or whatever needs it because, like... It helps with holding notes and stuff. A lot of people think—"

Lance, taking advantage of how Pidge's eyes were glued to the textbook between them, stole a glance to his right, to the table behind him and the two boys whispering behind their backs.

He caught the gaze of one, the one with the messy blond hair, and stuck his tongue between his teeth.

The boy looked at him with disgust.

Lance raised his eyebrows, challenging him. Challenging him to what, that was kind of hard to explain. Maybe to talk a little louder, to try to hurt his friend. All he knew was that everything in his gut was screaming, "Just try it, creep," and he was doing everything he could to show it on his face.

"Lance?"

"Hm?" Lance looked back at Pidge.

Pidge frowned. "Are you paying attention?"

"Yeah, absolutely!" Lance leaned forward. "Rib muscles. Breathing. Lungs. I got it."

Pidge looked at him skeptically, but only for a moment before continuing.

Lance just hoped that getting her talking would be enough to keep her distracted. The less she knew about what was being said about her, the less power her bullies had over her. She knew so much that Lance didn't understand, regardless of the fact that she was younger than him, but...she didn't need to know about this.

This is a story handed down throughout the universe.

It isn't clear who created the goddess Sincline. In the beginning, there was only her, and with a lift of her great arms, she heaved the universe into being. She created the gasses that coalesced into burning stars, and she summoned the minerals that formed the planets.

With her great, curious eyes, she watched as the minerals found each other through space, how each grain of sand found the next and the next and on and on until they grew fields of grass and towering mountains and shimmering seas. And she thought to herself how lonely she was that there were no others like her, that no other grain of sand could ever be drawn to hers.

And so she created life.

Sincline was not a perfect goddess, however. She was proud, and so she created her partner with a limit, so they may never become as strong as her. She created them in pieces.

She created Galra and Altean and Olkari and Mer and Balmeran, and they were one, and they were Voltron.

Though they were fragmented, so long as they were together, they were her equal. Together, Sincline and Voltron watched the planets and the stars continue to form until there were galaxies and star systems. They discussed the swirling paths of celestial bodies in the sky as they revolved around one another, bound by the same gravity that created them. They observed and admired the births of moons and asteroid belts and planetary rings. They shared their awe. They were together. They were happy.

Keith scratched beneath the edge of the cast that supported his foot, a lattice of vines weaved across his ankle with the nurse's Breath magic. It didn't hurt anymore, not as long as Keith was sitting down.

He clenched his hand around the cane the nurse insisted he use for the rest of the day.

Stupid cane. On some level, Keith knew it was his own fault, but he still had to come up with a good story for Shiro's parents and...

He huffed a sigh. He just wanted to walk. Was that too much to ask?

If he never had to use a mobility aid for the rest of his life, it would be too soon.

The door to Keith’s classroom opened, and he looked up, expecting his teacher for the class, or maybe for McClain to burst in late the way he had the year before.

It was neither. Instead, Alfor stood before him.

Keith jolted upright. So did most of the rest of the class. Normally, Keith didn't care about authority. Not even Paladins. They were just Shiro’s teachers. But Alfor? Alfor was the Red Paladin. He was a special case.

"Good morning," greeted Alfor, his cape whirling as he turned to close the door behind him. "I hope you don't mind if I take over for your class for the day. None of you were too excited to run over the same syllabus you read every year, were you?"

He got a few chuckles.

"No, I didn't think so. Besides..." Alfor strode to the front of the class, toward the main screen, and pressed his hand to its surface. "What I have planned is a lot more fun."

He turned around and opened the keyboard to type a command, and the computer responded by turning off the overhead fluorescents and projecting a grid of cyan light into the room.

"Take your desks," said Alfor, "and drag them to the edges of the room. Give yourselves enough space to be comfortable, of course, but I want the center of the room cleared."

Keith's classmates each eagerly stood from their desks and dragged them back. Keith wasn't quite so fast.

"Keith!" called Alfor. "Do you need help?"

Keith’s ears burned. He kept his eyes pointedly trained on the floor. "I have a free hand," he insisted. "I can do it myself."

"All right," said Alfor. "Suit yourself."

Keith, though slower than the rest of his classmates, did manage to drag his desk to its place with the others, and he sat back down cautiously, eyes on the main screen and the lights dazzling the class.

Alfor nodded at him, as if to confirm that Keith had, in fact, managed to move his desk on his own, and then he moved on.

"Today's objective is to play a game," said Alfor. "You will be scored, but it will not affect your class grades. You may consider it an aptitude test, but it should be a fun one. Ulrich, would you come here, please?"

Ulrich, one of Keith’s Altean classmates, climbed warily to his feet and inched toward the center of the classroom, shoulders tense.

"Easy," said Alfor. "You can relax. This isn't meant to be stressful. The object of the game is simple." He typed another command in, and a long line of dots appeared in a row from the center of the classroom to the main screen. "These colored orbs are moving targets. As soon as I begin the game, they will shoot toward your face. They won't harm you, of course; they're just photons. However, you still won't want them to strike you. If they do, you won't get any points."

Alfor’s eyes scanned the classroom.

"I will call each of you to the center of the class one by one. You will each experience the entire drill for the same set amount of time, which is roughly two doboshes. There's a little bit of AI in the program that will adapt to your movements, so don't think that the last of you will have any sort of advantage from memorizing the patterns in the previous drills. The program is set to 'attack' when you least expect it. You will be scored based on how many hundredths of a second pass between when the last orb would have struck you if you had not blocked the orb with your hand or dodged its path. As previously stated, if it strikes your face, or your chest, or any part of your body but your hands or arms, you will not receive any points at all for that orb."

Keith scowled. Of course he'd be injured the day they were supposed to do something like this. Of freaking course.

"Ulrich will be first, and I'll choose each other student at random one by one." Alfor moved away from the center of the classroom and lowered himself into the teacher's seat behind the desk. "The drill will begin in five..."

Alfor raised his hand over the keyboard on the desk.

"Four..."

Ulrich took a breath. So did Keith.

"Three...

"Two...

"One."

After countless millennia of observation, Voltron turned to Sincline and posed a question: "Have you ever considered changing a planet's shape? To carve it into pieces and rearrange it in a way you find pleasing?"

Sincline was affronted at once. "These planets were dust once, spread evenly and endlessly throughout all of space. Across millennia, each atom of every element has found another, and they have formed great and wonderful bodies of their own choosing. What terrible monster would I be to tear any bonded pair apart?"

"What a hypocrite you are," said Voltron. "You create your equal to be fractured, less than whole, but you dare not tear mere earth apart?"

"Are you not bonded?" asked Sincline. "Are you separated from one another? You have many independent minds, but your many minds are shared, just as each leaf shares roots with its neighbor."

But Voltron was not convinced, and they drew their great, flaming sword, and they cleaved our planet in two.

Sincline was enraged.

"Voltron," she uttered, the rumble of her voice shaking every planet across the furthest reaches of space. "Why can you not control your own power? Why do you not try to use that power for peace in the universe?"

Voltron, angered by the perceived hypocrisy, turned their blade on Sincline.

"Voltron," she warned again. "Know that those who overestimate their own power shall be undone by it!"

But Voltron did not listen, and Sincline drew two blades of her own. When Voltron attacked, Sincline blocked their blow, and Voltron was shattered into pieces.

"Aaaaaaaah-haaa-haaaaaaa!"

Hunk stumbled and fell backward, scared to the point of shaking, braced to hit the floor, only for a pair of steady arms to catch him underneath his own.

His double bass hit him in the chest like an anvil.

He stared, long and hard, at the glowing projection of the Klanmiurl that had nearly struck him, his double bass sat pleasantly perched next to where he'd just been standing, and then, tilting his head warily back, toward the boy looming over him.

"Oh. Hi. Um. Kinkade." Hunk let out a puff of anxious air. "You— Uh— Thanks."

"Mh." Kinkade averted his eyes but helped Hunk back to his feet without complaint.

"Don't worry." Hunk looked behind himself and slightly to the right to find Shiro smiling patiently at the center of all his percussion instruments. "The first day is always the hardest. You'll get the hang of it."

"But what if I don't?" Hunk gripped the neck of his double bass and clung to it like the hand of someone holding him over a cliff. "What if I never get used to it? What if I can't bond with you guys because all I'm thinking about is how it would feel to get my head bitten off?"

"You're gonna be fine," laughed Matt, who turned around to face Hunk from his front, trumpet in hand. "I was the exact same way when I started out."

Hunk felt a little blood run back into his knuckles. "You?"

"Yeah, I think I cried for my mom at one point," said Matt. "Legitimately. Like a cartoon character. But..." He grinned and turned to face the head of their formation. "I had Shiro."

Shiro smiled, humble, but visibly touched. "Come on..."

Matt ignored him. "Shiro was an amazing leader from the start, and you have the amazing fortune of getting him for a leader yourself."

Hank's eyes slid across the room to where Shiro sat. He hoped Shiro didn't think he doubted him or something. He just...doubted himself.

"It's not just about having a good leader, though," continued Matt. "Or being a good teammate. Sure, we might all be on the same team, but more importantly, we're your friends, and we wouldn't ditch you even if you were the worst Yellow Apprentice in the world."

"Matt's right," said Allura, her voice kind and gentle, but firm at the same time. "It's unlikely you'll see battle at all. There's no point in being so tense."

"Even if we had to go to battle tomorrow," said Shiro, "Gyrgan chose you for a reason. You've already proven yourself, Hunk. Just see training as a means of rising to your full potential."

Hunk closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. "Yeah." He set the neck of his double bass on his shoulder and shook out his hands, at least as much as he could without dropping his bow. "Yeah-yeah-yeah. Yeah. Okay."

"Basically, what everyone's trying to say is 'Stop paying attention to your own problems and start paying attention to where you come in.'"

"Adam..."

"Just thought I'd clarify."

Hunk opened his eyes, but he didn't bother looking at his team. He just adjusted the position of the double-bass he'd nearly knocked over by flinching away from the projection of the Klanmiurl he thought was going to eat him.

It was a simple song he was supposed to be playing. Easy. Day 1 stuff. Bottesini. He'd played it a million times. It just felt different when he was standing instead of sitting and every note was an attack at something that was charging toward him, even if that something was just light and it couldn't do anything to him even if it reached him.

He wasn't a Strain user. He wasn't built for keeping cool under pressure. He just— He just wanted a good reputation so he could get into a cooking school. Or maybe he could be an engineer.

He just wanted something he could do with his hands that wasn't fighting.

Something touched Hunk's back, right between his shoulders. He flinched and whipped around.

It was...just Kinkade. He was staring at Hunk, deadpan, totally expressionless. But he'd set a hand on Hunk's back, just like when he'd stopped Hunk from falling. Same kind of touch. Firm, gentle, steadying. It was...support. Kinkade was trying to support him.

And knowing that Kinkade's whole job was to protect Hunk, to keep him safe, and that he was there, right at his back, when there wasn't a single threat to worry about aside from Hunk's own anxiety... Something about made Hunk feel a little more secure.

He smiled gratefully, and Kinkade turned his face away like the stoic tough guy he was.

But he kept his hand on Hunk's back.

"Okay," said Hunk, loud enough that his team could hear him. "Okay, I think I'm ready to go again."

"Are you sure?" asked Shiro, immediately shelving the angry muttering that he'd kept up with Adam for the past minute or so. "We can take a break if you need one."

Hunk took a deep breath.

"No, no, I'm good. Let's go!"

Olkari, Balmeran, and Mer were torn from one another and died. Their bodies floated dead in space, and their souls rained across the two halves of the planet Voltron split, each drop becoming the Olkari, the Balmerans, and the Mer we know today.

The drops of Olkari's soul whistled through the air as they struck the rent earth through the trees, and Breath was born in their wake.

The drops of Balmeran's soul crashed hard into the soil and caused the earth to quake and groan, and Base was born in their wake.

The drops of Mer's soul threaded through reeds and cattails as they found lakes and rivers, and Strum was born in their wake.

It is said that it was love that held Altean to Galra, that their minds refused to relinquish their link, that their souls were one, but it was too late. Voltron had offended Sincline, and Sincline had made her mind serve a just punishment for their cruelty.

They sought to split the world, and so Sincline sought to split Voltron, and with a sweep of her mighty blades, she rent Galra from Altean, their bond cut forever.

As if oozing from an open artery, their bond bled out and rained across the broken planet.

Creatures of darkness and void were born from Galra, but the light from Altean's flame burned bright in their eyes as their droplets crashed into one another across the sky, their resounding booms of thunder creating Strike.

Creatures of light and warmth were born from Altean, but Galra's darkness pooled in their eyes and turned them red. And as each Altean life was formed, they cried out in rage and despair and agony from loss they didn't understand, creating Strain.

"Well done, Soldis!" Alfor clapped his encouragement as a young Mer student retreated from the center of the classroom, covering her ears as if that would stop people from noticing how red she was. "Eight-thousand points is not worth being embarrassed over. You did wonderfully. Now, Keith Kogane—"

Keith jumped to his feet with all the speed of a trap being triggered, knocking over his cane in the process. Chuckles spread across the classroom. Keith tried to ignore them.

"Keith, I know you're injured," said Alfor. "Are you sure you're ready to try this? It can be physically taxing."

"I'm ready." Keith bent down to pick up his cane, one hand on his desk to keep himself from teetering over. "Start the program."

"I wouldn't want to exacerbate your injuries," said Alfor. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Keith set his cane across the desk, abandoning it to hobble to the center of the classroom.

"I'll be fine." He raised his hands to chest level. "Start the program."

"All right..." Alfor raised his hand to the main screen and pressed it to the surface.

The lights around Keith began to glow.

Steadily, they began to move toward him. Slow, a rhythm, a simple repetition. Bead after bead after bead in a straight line right in front of him. It was easy enough, just a warmup to both allow Keith to become accustomed to the program and for the program to start to understand him. Keith managed to wait until they were almost touching his chest before blocking them with the palm of his hand the same way he'd seen all his fellow students do it before him. It felt...slower, doing it himself than it had felt when he watched other students in the program. Strange. He would have expected the opposite.

Nine... Ten... Eleven... Twelve...

The beads of light stopped appearing.

Keith furrowed his brow. He hadn't seen this happen to any of the other students. A quick look around the classroom confirmed Keith wasn't the only one surprised.

He dug his good foot into the linoleum. Something big was about to happen. He could feel it.

He took a slow, steadying breath.

Then, like a series of dominoes falling along a trail, a horseshoe of beads appeared one by one by one by one, surrounding him from the front and eliciting a chorus of surprised cries from the rest of Keith's classmates, and for good reason. From the moment the game began, no more than five of the beads had appeared at once. This was— God, there were too many for Keith to count. Five times as many as that? Eight? Ten?

"Well," said Alfor, just as surprised as the rest of them.

The beads rushed toward Keith.

Not all at once. No, the game was hard, but not unfair. Only two ever fired at a time, but they fired rapidly, so rapidly Keith barely had the reflexes to catch them. They came from random directions, twelve o'clock, two o'clock, nine o'clock, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. Keith didn't have time to think, or to breathe, or to blink. Every time he thought about blinking, he saw another blue light in the corner of his eye and he had just enough time to turn around and strike. Too many were hit too early and cost him points.

He picked up a pattern.

Two hands, two hands, one hand, two hands, one hand, one hand, two hands, two hands, one.

Two, two, one, two, one, one, two, two, one.

Two, two, one, two, one, one, two, two, one.

The directions were random, but if he could just focus on the directions and not how many were coming at once, he could worry more about timing and rack up points.

Two, two, one, two, one, one, two, two, one.

Two, two, one, two, one, one, two, two, one.

Two, two, one, two, one, one, two, two—

Three?

Startled, Keith didn't move his hands in time, and all three shots hit him at once. He shook it off, tried to get back into the rhythm, but—

Two, one, two, two—

Where am I? Shit—

—one, two, one, one—

Did I lose the pattern? Is there a pattern anymore?

—two, two, one, two—

Shit!

Every bead that hit Keith threw him off his game for the next five. The pace picked up, and more and more hit him until it was a miracle if he could block even one with a single twitchy hand, and then he just—

He just locked up. It was like his brain cut off all motor function and let every bead hit him.

Snap out of it, snap out of it, snap out of it—

He broke free and spun around to hit just one, too early to grab any significant points, before the vine cast on his leg caused him to stumble, and he hit the floor, barraged by at least twenty more beads on his way down.

The lights faded.

The game was over.

"Well done!" called Alfor, clapping harder than he had for any of Keith's other students. "What a display! I've never seen anyone fight so fiercely on their first go, regardless of whether they were a trained martial artist or a dancer or a...professional video game player." A few of the students behind Keith laughed. "That was truly remarkable."

It didn't feel remarkable.

Keith climbed clumsily to his feet and hissed out a frustrated breath. "Let me try again!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Alfor smiled in a way that immediately reminded Keith he was more than a Paladin, but also a father. "That would defeat the purpose of today's exercise." He strode across the floor, grand cape billowing behind him, and set a hand on Keith's shoulder. "Your final score was over eight point two million. The highest score before you was a fourth of that."

"But—"

Alfor tightened his grip, forcing Keith to quiet under the pressure of his hand. "You have nothing more to prove, Keith." He nodded toward Keith's desk. "Take your seat with pride."

Keith growled. "But— But it wasn't fair! Three tried to hit me at once!"

"Perhaps the AI was checking for a third arm or a prehensile tail," said Alfor. "Or perhaps..." His eyes wandered to the ceiling, and he clasped his hands behind his back. "Perhaps it was testing your bravery in another way."

"Testing my...?"

"Perhaps it wanted to see not how long you could hold out before a bead of light struck you," said Alfor, "but how you responded to failure."

Keith scowled. "That's stupid."

Alfor raised his eyebrows. The corners of his mouth quirked into a gentle smile. "If you had ignored the third orb and taken the hit without letting that small failure get to you, you may have been able to get an extra million points by the end of your session at the rate the lights spawned for you. Part of bravery is accepting a gracious defeat."

Keith crossed his arms.

Alfor nodded toward Keith's chair. "Take your seat."

Unlike the Mer and the Olkari and the Balmerans, who were born alone and independent, the Alteans and the Galra felt something wrong within them immediately. They carried broken bonds in their blood. They sought to complete the broken pieces of themselves, but they could not be reformed, and so those bonds inverted. Love became hate, warmth became cold, and the fierce bond that once drew Galra and Altean together so tight that they could not let go even when Mer and Olkari and Balmeran were torn from them became a deep, unspeakable hatred.

The eyes that once carried memories of one another turned a vengeful violet, and each Galra and Altean was filled with bloodlust. The violence was mindless. Eyes were plucked out, extremities were dismembered, organs were torn from open wounds.

Sincline, seeing for herself what her revenge had done, wept for her Voltron. She saw the planet Voltron had split, and she saw the soul she had split battling upon it, and all she saw were two tragic divisions.

And so, among the empty bodies Voltron had left floating in space, Sincline knelt before the broken planet, reached with her great hands for the two halves, and with all the strength within her, she pushed our world together once more.

“Calm down, Lance. I don’t need you to protect me in every class I have. It won't kill me to take my Breath class alone.”

Lance scoffed and crossed his arms. “Protect you? Who said anything about protecting you? I was just gonna, you know. Miss you."

Pidge rolled her eyes. A couple of students drew close and Lance took a step to the right to stand between her and them, sandwiching her against her locker. He wasn't subtle.

"As much as I appreciate it, Lance, I can take care of myself for the duration of a class." She wrapped her arms tight around her textbooks, hugging them to her chest. "If anyone starts messing with me, I'll just punch them in the nose."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," said Lance. "I know you would, it's just that you're..." He gestured down her frame with the back of his hand.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. "Frail and feminine?"

"A nerd," said Lance.

A snort erupted from Pidge's throat and she clapped a hand over her mouth and nose to stop herself from laughing. That took her off guard. She had to wait for her shoulders to stop shaking before she lowered her hand again. "It's like I said, Lance, I appreciate it, but I'll be fine."

"Okay..." said Lance skeptically, his mouth drawn down into a tiny frown. "But if something goes wrong, I'll be in class 304. Just burst through the door and I'll drop everything to help a dear friend in need."

"You just want to skip class."

"And I'm proud of that."

Pidge grinned. "Okay, at the first sign of danger, I'll come running straight to my knight in shining armor."

"Huh." Lance raised a hand to his chin. "'Knight in shining armor'." He smirked. "Yeah. I think I like that."

"All right, Lancelot, we both have classes to get to." Pidge lightly punched the side of Lance's arm. "See you later."

"Yeah, see you!" Lance tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and took a step back. "Oh! And if you can't find me anywhere, you can trust Hunk, too!"

"Hunk?" asked Pidge. "Like, Yellow Apprentice Hunk?"

"Yeah, he's a friend of mine!" said Lance.

"If I'm close enough to that part of campus, I might as well find Matt or Shiro," said Pidge. "But...I guess it won't hurt to have other options. Thanks?"

Lance tossed Pidge a thumbs up. "By the way, we should all hang out sometime! Hunk's as much of a nerd as you are. But like, you know. A big nerd who...gets scared easily but wouldn't just leave someone in need to fend for themselves because he's not like that. But, uh, yeah, find me or him or your brother or something. You're not alone, okay?"

I'm not alone.

Something about that sang in Pidge's heart.

She smiled. "Good luck in your next class, Lance."

Lance waved and turned around to dive into the pack of students behind him.

As Pidge turned around, she saw another student watching her with dark eyes. A student she recognized as one of Luka's friends.

Pidge stuck her tongue out and moved past her without a care. She didn't have anything to be worried about.

After all, she wasn't alone.

The planet was restored but at a great cost. Sincline's soul, like Voltron's before her, was worn down by the great effort it took to mend what had been so easily broken, and it shattered into countless pieces that rained onto earth, creating more life. Taujeerians, Arusians, Puigians, Unilu, Humans, and countless others sprouted from the drops of Sincline's being, and they sang.

For that moment, there was no split. There was no war between the Galra and the Alteans. There was no conflict between Sincline and Voltron. There were no planets, and no splits between them. There was only one universe and every atom that had once been scattered across all of reality, and the agony and loss and resentment that the Galra and Alteans felt was ejected from their bodies and sent out into the open world.

High over their heads, in the vastness of space, the lifeless bodies of Sincline and Voltron met just as each grain of sand that had formed the planets had millennia ago. They pressed into one another, their great masses crushing and squeezing and tightening until they were compressed into a single stone.

That great, massive stone crashed peacefully into our planet, harming no one. The Galra looked upon it, and so did the Alteans, and each felt the divine energy imbued in the stone. They agreed to carve statues from the stone in memoriam of Sincline's great sacrifice and Voltron's needless tragedy. To the northwest, the Galra marked the borders of their territory with stone effigies of sharks, depicting Sincline's strength and sleek beauty, and this land became Daibazaal. To the southeast, the Alteans marked the borders of their territory with stone effigies of lions, depicting Voltron's pride and companionship.

What remained of the stone, once the statues were carved, were two interlocked halves of a jagged disk they instinctively knew they could not separate, for it was the hearts of Sincline and Voltron, joined together in death.

Shiro peered through the door between the training arena and the Paladin lounge.

Hunk had already found a comfortable spot on one of the couches, and to Shiro's surprise, so had Matt's little sister.

They were talking about...something. Shiro couldn't hear from where he stood. They both seemed shy, and their quiet voices matched that. But Hunk said something that made Pidge perk up immediately, and when she started to speak, Hunk broke out into a grin. One that made him look the most relaxed Shiro had seen him yet.

"Who are we spying on?"

Matt's curious whisper startled a flinch out of Shiro. When he looked down, he found Matt worming his way between Shiro's chest and the door, trying to get a peek at what Shiro was looking at.

"Looks like our new recruit made another friend," murmured Shiro.

Matt's eyes softened behind his glasses. "Thank the ancients for that," he whispered, eyes glued to Pidge. "It only took her a year. And then she came out, and... I was so scared it'd be harder for her."

"Maybe this is why she didn't make any friends her first year," said Shiro. "Maybe she needed to be Pidge to do it."

"Maybe." Matt's smile widened. "I know Hunk's been getting along with Keith, too. If Keith and Pidge start hanging out more, maybe we'll have a head start on three of the five bonds between the next generation of Apprentices."

"Alfor told me Keith showed some real promise in his aptitude test today," said Shiro. "And I don't think he was just saying that for my benefit."

"Of course he did," said Matt. "He's Keith. There's no way he won't wind up as the Red Apprentice. He's too stubborn not to." He took a half-step closer to Shiro, close enough that the side of his shoe touched the toe of Shiro's boot, and... It was his imagination, obviously, but for a moment, some guilty part of Shiro's mind let him think Matt was leaning into his chest on purpose.

"So that's Red, Yellow, and Green accounted for," murmured Matt. "Who do you think will be Blue?"

"Who do you think will be Black?" retaliated Shiro.

Matt turned his smile on Shiro, his eyes bright and shining, glimmering in the early spring sunlight from the window. "I don't know. I can't imagine anyone being the Black Apprentice but you. Maybe you'll make it all the way to Paladin."

"I'd still need to choose an Apprentice myself if I did," said Shiro. "If I did. But it's not going to happen. Zarkon's too young, and Galra. He's probably going to outlive me."

"Well, maybe he'll retire," said Matt. "Or maybe he'll get fired. I've heard rumors about him getting into disagreements with Alfor lately."

"We better hope he's not," said Shiro. "If something happened and Zarkon lost his bond with the other Paladins—"

"Ahem."

Shiro looked over his shoulder.

Adam stood behind him, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised.

Matt hastily took a step back from Shiro's chest, retracting an arm Shiro hadn't even noticed he'd placed there until then.

"What?" challenged Shiro, unimpressed. "What could you possibly be mad about now?"

Adam glared at him. "You're shameless."

Without a word of explanation, he strode ahead and threw open the door Shiro was leaning against, visibly startling both Pidge and Hunk on the other side.

The leader of the Alteans, citing their chosen deity's violence as the reason their deities fell to begin with, chose to take the heart of stone to Altea, so that Voltron might protect it in retribution for their aggression.

The leader of the Galra, in turn, covered their heart with their hand and said that they would take the heartache of the original Galra and Altean's separation with them, as their chosen deity was the reason it existed to begin with.

For a final time, the two clasped hands, and they took to their homes, and peace has reigned evermore.

But so say the ancient ones, should heartache be set free, the hearts of Sincline and Voltron will split.

So say the ancient ones, should the hearts of Sincline and Voltron split, heartache will be set free.

And should these two events come to pass, so too will the world be split once more, both in body and in spirit, and only a sacrifice as powerful as our great goddess will be that separation’s killing thrust.

"And you believe this?" asked Sam. "All of it?" Some people in Altea believed that the stone that sat protected at the Garrison really did have the ability to split the world in two if the two halves were ever separated, but he hadn't met anyone over the age of twelve who believed all of it, and Altea's myth was much less involved than Daibazaal's.

"Not all of it, no," said Fandek. "We know more about evolution now than we did when these legends were first told. We know that humans were not born from the soul of a goddess, and we know that the red in the eyes of Alteans are merely their tapetum lucidum rather than a piece of the Galra they're destined to carry with themselves for the duration of their lives. But I believe that all myths hold truths within them. If the beat of a drum can change the direction of the wind and the bonds of five warriors can summon ancient magic from where it's been sealed in the earth, why shouldn't we believe that the planet was once split in two? Why shouldn't we believe that Voltron and Sincline were once ancient deities, or at least leaders of their respective countries?"

"So why tell me this story?" asked Sam. "What does this myth have to do with our current predicament?"

"Of every symbol in this story, there is a worldly connection," said Fandek. "The separation of Voltron and Sincline into five pieces, the two halves of a heart not to be separated, the birth of magic and our respective peoples... Only one piece of the story has never had a clear counterpart to our world."

"The heartache," Sam understood at once. "But what does that mean, exactly? That these, these creatures are some sort of ancient sadness made corporeal?"

"Not likely," said Fandek. "But myths were told, in ancient times, to give explanations to phenomena our people were yet to understand. If my ancestors saw creatures with strange and dangerous properties native to their land..."

"They might have come up with a story to tell their children, to warn them of the danger." Sam raised a hand to his chin. "But that still doesn't really explain what these things are."

"When I left home with my soulmate on the day of her death, she was in love with me," said Fandek. "The moment she encountered one of those creatures, she tried to kill me, and I was forced to choose between dying at her hand, thus leaving her to deal with the consequences of whatever had affected her mind alone, or killing her myself. I do not understand these creatures, what they want, or why they affect people the way that they do, but from the moment I watched the light leave the eyes of the one I loved, this story has plagued my mind again and again."

Fandek closed his eyes.

"The severing of a soulmate bond is what is said to bring heartache to the world, and I can say with authority that this heartache is what I carry now in my soul. And for any two great soulmates whose bonds have been severed as mine has, I can feel no greater pity."

The faint plucking of an acoustic guitar was all it took for Keith's head to start swimming.

He dropped his pencil as if it had just caught fire (again) and left it to sit on his bedroom desk, his eyes darting to the glass doors that led to his balcony.

Designs swirled on its surface, drawing curling stems, leaves, flowers in patterns like Victorian wallpaper.

In the middle of all of it, a word was drawn. Three letters, one syllable, far too colloquial for the elegance that surrounded it, and yet, despite the fact that he didn't know the person who wrote that word well, he at least knew enough to be able to tell that strange juxtaposition suited him well.

"Hey."

Keith reached for his cane with an anxious, eager smile.

Show-off.

He limped to his balcony door and threw it open, the frosty painting splitting apart to give him an unobstructed view of the dark night, where the masked boy sat on the edge of his balcony, guitar balanced on the curve of his skinny leg. He didn't look up, but Keith caught the faintest glimpse of a smirk between the wooden lion teeth that framed his mouth as Keith's shadow fell across the balcony floor.

"Hey..."

Chapter Text

“I thought you weren’t coming until next week.”

Blue covered the strings of guitar with his hand to halt their sound and hopped down from the edge of Keith’s balcony, effortless and graceful. He patted off his jeans as his feet hit the balcony floor with a quiet thump, sweeping frost off his thighs and sending it scattering to the floor. “I wasn’t going to, but I made an exception.”

Keith breathed out, already lightheaded. “What for?”

“I saw you limping around today,” said Blue easily. “I wanted to know how you were feeling.”

“Oh.” Keith reached for the leg of his pants, curling his fingers into the denim, a little hesitant to reveal the state of his ankle. “It’s fine, I just went to the nurse and… You told Shiro I got hurt.” Keith frowned. “I’m still mad about that.” He wasn’t.

“Yeah, yeah, guilty as charged.” Blue slipped his guitar off from around his neck and set it down on the planks at his feet. “Show me.”

Keith sighed and reluctantly tugged his black jeans up to his knee, revealing the lattice of thin vines woven carefully across his leg in a stiff but relatively comfortable boot that kept everything in place until his ankle healed.

Blue let out a low whistle and kneeled in front of Keith, reaching out with the hand not wrapped around his guitar’s neck to trace the paths of green mapping his leg. “You really did a number on yourself, huh?”

“It looks worse than it is. I think the nurse went a little overboard.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not much.”

Blue hummed and prodded at the lattice, perhaps searching for a flinch. Keith didn’t give him one.

Seemingly satisfied, Blue climbed back to his full height and put his hand on his hip.

“That isn’t the whole reason you came, is it?” asked Keith, worried Blue was about to leave.

Blue lifted his head. “I mean, it was the main reason.”

Keith crossed his arms, apprehensive, vulnerable.

Blue pursed his lips, and though Keith couldn’t see what color they were behind the yellow filter of his mask, he could see them dart uncertainly to the side. “But…” Blue shifted his weight from foot to foot. “If you wanted to sneak out and go for a walk…like if you were up to it…I guess I could do that?” He smiled sheepishly, almost a grimace.

Keith raised his eyebrows.

He watched Blue’s hand reach behind his head to scratch through his short, brown hair. “I mean, I know your ankle’s messed up and everything, so that’s probably dumb, but we could…take breaks…and stuff. And we wouldn’t go far.”

Keith looked over his shoulder, at the door behind him. It wasn’t his ankle he was worried about.

“Just if you want to, though—”

“I want to.”

Blue stared at him, just as surprised as Keith felt. His lips parted, at first in silent surprise, then to speak. “…Okay, I’ll be the first to say it. I didn’t plan this far ahead.”

Keith shrugged. Or at least, his shoulders found his ears. It was hard to tell if that was truly a shrug or just trying to shield himself however he could. “Me neither.”

“You want to go on a walk,” deadpanned Blue. “With some guy you don’t even know. Who just shows up uninvited to your balcony every once in a while.”

Keith swallowed. “Only if you want to go on a walk with me.”

Blue rocked back on his heels and took a deep breath through his nose. “…Yeah! Yeah, I guess we’re doing this!”

He strummed his guitar and a wide pillar of ice shot up from the ground like an elevator welcoming them down. “All right, come on. Grab your cane.”

Keith didn’t have to be told twice.

Lance hadn’t been joking.

He really hadn’t thought this far ahead.

He didn’t even know what he thought he was going to do when he stopped by Keith’s house. It just sort of felt like…the thing to do?

And then suddenly they were hanging out in the woods, on a school night, listening to the water from the canal echo through the trees.

“I didn’t realize the water reached this far,” mused Lance, desperate to break the silence.

“Part of it goes underground to stay out of the way of roads, but it’s the same water from the train station,” said Keith.

Keith. It was weird to think of him like that. “Keith” instead of “Kogane”. But there was no point in arguing. This guy was a completely different person from the guy who picked fights with Lance at school.

“You’re a lot friendlier than I thought you were,” said Lance, speaking his mind. Or at least, part of it. “I mean, at school, you’re always by yourself. I kind of just assumed you didn’t like people.”

“Yeah, well… People don’t like me.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t hold grudges over minor slights like people spilling coffee on you, you’d have better luck.”

“What?” Keith looked at Lance like he’d grown an extra head, and for a split second, Lance was worried he’d said too much, that Keith had figured out who he was. But then, Keith sighed, and the moment passed. “Oh. I guess word got around.” Keith picked a tree to lean against and held his cane in his hands. “I don’t know what you heard, but it’s more complicated than that.”

…Is it?

With a strum of his guitar—C minor—Lance summoned a frozen park bench that overlooked the water—one with decorative swirls—and propped his guitar against the arm before sitting down, eyes locked with Keith’s.

He patted the seat beside him.

Keith frowned at the empty seat. His thick eyebrows drew together, lips pursed together.

Lance curled his fingers in toward his palm, worried Keith was going to reject the invitation, but Keith, silent, without a sigh or a gulp, rose from the tree, looped his cane over the back of the bench, and cautiously lowered himself onto the bench.

Once there, all he did was pick at his fingers. At least, at first. Then, with a heavy sigh, his head drooped forward, his bangs falling over his eyes. “What I said about people not liking me… That means Shiro’s parents, too.”

“Oh, come on.” Lance draped an elbow over the back of the chair. “They adopted you. Like, they chose you. Everyone and their mother gets born into a family and has to wonder if their parents really care about them or just got stuck with them, but you get something no one else gets. You get to know that your parents could have taken a life without you and took the one with you just because they could.”

“Shiro chose me,” said Keith. Firm, exasperated, exhausted, but without targeting any of it at Lance. Which was…new, despite the fact that Lance’s instinctive response was still to shrink like Keith was mad at him.

“Shiro and I found each other like…like it was fate,” continued Keith, ignoring Lance’s recoiling. “He wanted me around, enough to convince his parents to take me in, but…they saw it like getting their kid a puppy. I was his reward for being the perfect Apprentice. My papers all say I’m their kid, but that’s just the legal stuff.” He shrugged and turned his face away, hair sliding over the back of the bench. “I’m really just Shiro’s brother. Any other ‘family’ I have is just a hoop I have to go through to stay with him.”

Lance watched Keith, wary, curious. He wanted to ask what happened to Keith’s biological parents, whether he knew what happened to them, if they died, if they just couldn’t afford to keep him around… But that wasn’t what they were talking about, and there was still a more pertinent question that needed answering. “What does this have to do with the coffee thing?”

Keith combed his fingers through his bangs, pulling them further down over his eyes. “I…don’t have many nice shirts. They made me wear that one on my first day because they wanted me to reflect positively on them. And when I didn’t, they weren’t…” He dropped his hands to his lap. They curled into fists. “…They weren’t happy.”

Lance swallowed. “What did they do?”

Keith didn’t answer.

Lance’s hair stood on end. “Okay, no. You’re not gonna stay quiet on this. My imagination is going to go nuts. You have to tell me something.” He grabbed Keith’s arm. “If you don’t tell me what they did, I’m going to assume they broke all your ribs and you were just really good at hiding it, or—or, I don’t know—they—”

“They just lectured me,” mumbled Keith, barely loud enough to cut Lance off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. Just one little problem with that?” Lance tightened his grip on Keith’s arm, shaking him slightly. “I’m already worried about it!”

“Well, don’t be!” Keith jumped to his feet, eyes still trained on the cold forest floor. “I can handle it myself, all right?!” He rounded the edge of the bench. “This is my problem, and you’re never going to understand what it’s like, so just leave me a—!”

Kogane erupted into flames so suddenly that Lance flinched back, startled, and it was a damn good thing he did, because half the bench melted in an instant, and if Lance had been sitting in the same spot, that could have been him. Keith’s fire didn’t stop there, either. It reached high above him, igniting the cold, dry wooden limbs of the tree hanging over his head.

One of the branches crashed down, landing—wrapped in flame—on the ground at Keith’s feet.

That snapped him out of his anger fast. He yelped, instinctively leaping away from the fire and into the tree he’d just set ablaze.

“I got it!” Lance reached for his guitar and, half-panicked, strummed the strings.

The water in the canal splashed loudly, sending droplets spitting all around, but doing little to temper the flames.

“No, no, no—” Oh, Lance picked one heck of a time to get sloppy. Panicked, nervous, Lance’s eyes darted toward Keith, whose back was pinned to the tree, his own eyes following the fire as it spread from twig to twig to dying blade of grass.

He looked so scared…

Lance looked down at his guitar. Not at Keith. At his guitar. If he was distracted, he knew he couldn’t do it. Carefully, he placed his fingers one by one between the frets, like he did when he was still learning chords. It didn’t matter what he played as long as it came from the heart. It was all about channeling his quintessence, his own energy, his own life force.

My ex-girlfriend Kitty is so very pretty…

Lance plucked the first note, then the second, then the third. Note by note, a careful melody began to form, and with it, a wobbling tentacle rose from the canal. Lance took a shaking breath, grounding himself, calming himself, gathering his focus. The tentacle reached higher and higher into the air, until it found the flames at the top of the tree, the part most at risk of spreading. Like an eraser dragged across a chalkboard, the tentacle slowly swept across the tree, passing through the branches and dousing every flame it touched. The moment the flames over Keith’s head were out, Lance brought the tentacle down, to the smaller flames at Keith’s feet, repeating what he’d done above until every fire was out.

“Yes!” Lance’s strumming hand rose off the strings, cutting the magic short, thereby breaking the tentacle apart and sending it splashing across the ground…and Keith’s legs from the knees down. “Oops. Sorry— Uh.”

Lance looked up, and though his eyes had to readjust to the dark after the light from the fire had gone out, he could still see Keith staring at him, mouth agape, eyes wide with awe.

Lance felt himself go red.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.” He leaned his elbow against what was left of the bench. “Feel free to— Aaah!”

The bench, now missing a leg after Keith’s outburst, toppled easily, sending Lance down with it and shattering into a million pieces when it hit the dirt.

Keith laughed.

Lance opened the eyes that slammed shut when he fell, seeking out the sound through a wince.

He saw Keith, doubled over, expression scrunched up into a wild grin Lance had never seen on his face before. Like all the pressure that made him explode in the first place had turned to ash with the twigs around him.

And despite the fact that Lance knew he was the reason Keith was laughing…he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry when Keith looked so free.

Before Lance could figure out whether to be mad that Keith was laughing at him or just to laugh along with him, Keith’s knees buckled and he fell into the mud, laughter trailing off.

Lance’s heart jolted. He thought, for a fleeting moment, that Keith had collapsed because of his leg, that he’d hurt himself trying to get away from the fire. But then his shoulders started to shake, like he was...

Lance jumped to his feet. “Whoa! Hey!” He ran to Keith’s side, muddy water splashing beneath his blue trainers as they met the mess his tentacle made. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying!” Keith curled his hands into fists and pressed them into his eyes. “I’m just...”

“Hey...” Lance looped his guitar’s strap over his shoulder, freeing his hands to wrap around Keith’s and coax them down from his eyes.

They were red when they met with Lance’s. Lance had never seen that before. He knew Keith had probably been crying in the bathroom that day, the day that led them to where they were, but it was one thing to know it when there was a stall door in the way and something else entirely to see it with his own eyes.

He only saw them for an instant, however, before Keith yanked his hands back and rubbed them furiously into his eyes.

“You don’t have to stop,” said Lance. “Crying’s, uh, healthy. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I mean, if you’re okay or if I did something, or...”

Keith sniffed sharply and dropped his hands to glare at the mud soaking into his jeans. “I didn’t mean to start a fire.”

“Is that it?” Lance inched closer, dragging his toes through the mud. “Dude, I’ve done that so many times, you have no idea. I mean, sure, it’s usually not that big, but…”

Keith hunched his shoulders. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

“Look, man. I’ve set the craziest stuff on fire.” Lance leaned back on his heels, counting off on his fingers. “My kitchen curtains, a picture of my abuelita, more than one teddy bear… My sister’s cat?”

“A cat?” Keith lifted his head.

“A cat,” confirmed Lance, solemn.

Keith’s eyes softened. “What did your parents do?”

“What, like to punish me?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “Nothing. They just helped me put the fire out.”

Keith’s sympathy turned abruptly to suspicion.

“I’m serious,” said Lance. “It’s not like it was my fault. I just got emotional. It was an accident.” He reached for Keith’s hands again, bringing them gently together. “We all get emotional sometimes. Strain users just…get emotional a little louder than most people.” He swung their hands back and forth idly, just to give him something to do with his own. “My dad always says it’s just the universe trying to make things fair. Strain users have to put their own bodies on the line to make music, so in return, the universe puts everyone else at risk so it evens out. That’s the trade.”

Keith glared at their hands. “That doesn’t seem fair to me. That just makes it harder.”

“Yeah, well, the universe is dumb sometimes.” Lance climbed to his feet, coaxing Keith to stand along with him. “Or at least, that’s what Papá tells me whenever I accidentally burn something. My mom is a little more…direct? I guess? She just says that’s what happens when you have too many feelings inside you. It’s like telling a lie. Sooner or later, the truth comes out, whether you want it to or not. The fire’s like the truth itself coming out. The more you try to hide it, the more pressure you put into it, until it all swells up and boom. Mr. Bluebeary’s setting off the fire alarm. Again.”

“I wasn’t even being honest, though,” said Keith. “I was trying to hide something.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Lance, unimpressed. “In, like, the most obvious way possible.” He let go of just one of Keith’s hands so he could move his own like a sock puppet. “Oh, I’m just going to deal with this myself, which absolutely means I feel like I’m a burden. You’re never going to understand what it’s like, which means I’m scared you’re not going to take it seriously. So just leave me alone, which means please, please, Blue, I really want you to understand what I’m going through. I have so many walls but I’m so desperate for someone to break them down, so I’m doing this dumb thing where I’m pushing you away extra-hard so maybe you’ll figure out that I really need your help.”

Lance put his hand on his hip.

Keith stared, mouth hanging open for a new reason. “I… I don’t sound like that!”

“Yeah, you do,” said Lance. “A thousand percent.”

"I don’t!” Keith yanked his hands back. “And— And even if I did, I thought you had to be brave to summon fire. I thought that was the whole point. Why would being honest accidentally burn things?”

“Pfft, are you kidding?” Lance smirked. “That’s just something people say at, like, fancy dinner parties and stuff. It’s the polite way to put it. Real Strain magic is messy and gets ash everywhere. That’s why it’s called Strain. Because it’s exhausting to have.”

Keith shook his head. “But my classes—”

“Are there to teach you how to control fire,” said Lance. “That’s where bravery comes in. If you’re honest on purpose, then the truth comes out on your terms, y’know? Fire’s just honesty given form. Didn’t your parents—?”

Lance cut himself off as Keith shrank into himself, folding his arms over his stomach.

Right. He was adopted. Which meant whichever parent Keith got his Strain magic from, they weren’t around anymore. They weren’t there to talk about the emotional side of it.

“Well—” Lance scratched the back of his neck. “What... What about Adam?”

Keith scoffed. “What about Adam?”

“You’re, like, friends with all the Apprentices because of Shiro, right?” Lance shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged. “Hasn’t he ever talked to you about this stuff?”

“Adam doesn’t like me any more than Shiro’s parents do,” growled Keith. “He thinks taking me in was stupid and reckless. Shiro fights with him about it all the time.”

“No kidding,” said Lance. “Shiro and Adam fight?”

“They’re good at hiding it in public, but yeah. They’re usually fighting, actually.”

“No kidding. The way teachers talk about them, I thought they were, like, romance incarnate or—” Lance shook his head. Not the time. Though he was definitely needling Keith for details later. That was some tea in desperate need of spilling. “You know what? Whatever. That’s fine. You know why?”

Keith glared at Lance.

Lance didn’t take it to heart. “Because you’ve got me now. I’ll be your guy to talk about Strain stuff with.”

Keith’s shoulders dropped, slack, stunned. His eyes shimmered, like Lance had just given him everything in the world he’d ever wanted. “You…really don’t care that I started the fire, do you?”

“Uh, duh,” said Lance. “Of course not. Dude, I started an accidental fire, like, yesterday.” On Keith’s pencil. Not that Keith needed to know that. “You just need to work on opening up more. Since your fire totally did it for you today, I’m gonna give you a free pass on this one. You’re…scared of telling someone what Shiro’s parents do to you.” Remembering what Keith had been talking about when he set the fire sobered Lance fast. His hands curled into fists in his pockets. “I… I don’t blame you. Not really. I mean…that’s kind of intense. I still want to know, because I’m worried about you and I want to help, but… It’s a lot. I get it.” He took a slow, deep breath. He still really wanted to know. But if Keith set a fire that intense from the pressure of keeping it quiet, there had to be a reason. “I still think it would help,” said Lance. “You know, with the whole fire thing? Being able to talk about something usually helps. But if you don’t want to talk about it…that’s okay, too. I-I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m sorry.”

Keith cast his eyes down. “I just…don’t want you to think it’s stupid.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Lance, trying so hard to say it in a way that sounded patient and not like the horse straining at the bit to know everything he was fighting under his skin. “I wouldn’t laugh at you. Not if you’re this scared. I mean, there’s gotta be a reason for it, right?”

Keith closed his eyes and sighed, his hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders in his self-hug. It was hard to believe he was the same Kogane Lance would have absolutely laughed at during the day.

“I was telling the truth,” he murmured. “They really do just lecture me. But the way they do it, it’s like…”

“Like you’re doing everything on purpose, even though you’re not?” offered Lance, going off how they made him feel about his own Strain magic.

Keith shook his head. “It’s not just that. It’s like I’m…” He sighed. “…Like everyone in the world is better than me. Like the worst thing that could happen to anyone is getting stuck with me like they did. Like…” He bit his lip. “…Like I’m not even a person.”

He looked at Lance, somewhere between hopeful and expectant, like he was begging for Lance to make everything all right.

But all Lance could do was stare. What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn’t even imagine what Shiro’s parents said or how they looked at Keith to send that kind of a message.

“And Shiro just lets them?” was all Lance could think to ask.

The hope in Keith’s eyes died like the dousing of a flame. He turned away from Lance, seeking the water in the white, stone canal instead. “They don’t treat Shiro much better. He can’t stand up for me, but…when I mess up, he takes the fall for it, or he helps me hide it. That’s all he can do.” His hands fell from his arms. “Sometimes I think it would be better if he never found me. If I just got shuffled around from foster home to foster home for the rest of my life like I was supposed to and left him out of it.”

Lance let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding in reserve for his entire life, like every molecule of air left his body all at once, completely bottoming him out, even squeezing the oxygen out of his blood like a washcloth in the sink.

“Man, all this time I thought you were this spoiled rich kid,” he wheezed, feeling dizzy. “You live in this big house with a balcony outside your bedroom and all your friends are, like, Apprentices and people who are probably going to be Apprentices someday, and…” He shook his head. “And you’re just miserable.”

Keith crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his good leg. “It’s not that bad. I have Shiro. And Matt, I guess. And Pidge and Allura are both nice. I guess they’re my friends, too.” He shrugged. “Sort of.”

“Okay!” Lance let out a breath. “Guess that settles it.”

Keith looked from the ground to him, both worried and confused. “Uh… What?”

Lance grabbed onto his arms, gently coaxing them apart just so he could sandwich Keith’s hands between his own. He gripped them fast and gave Keith the biggest grin his face would let him give.

“I’m going to be the best friend you’ve ever had.”

“Well, if you wanted honesty, that’s all you had to say—”

“Oh, my god.” Blue laughed over their joined hands, crystal eyes dancing in the flame Keith cradled between them. “You really picked that song?”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Keith, the flame dying.

Even in the dark, he could see moonlight bouncing off Blue’s entertained grin. “You got it from our history textbook, that’s what!”

“I was studying before you showed up!” said Keith. “It’s in my head!”

Blue laughed. “Dude, Strain magic has to come from the heart. If you don’t mind it being a little weaker, you can cover someone else’s song, but it has to speak to you. This song is literally thousands of years old. How are you supposed to relate to people from thousands of years ago?”

"Wh—” Keith gaped at him. “You played a song from the millennium before when you gave me my knife!”

“Well, yeah,” said Blue. “That’s because that song’s about perseverance in the face of adversity when you’re following your dreams.” He took his hands off Keith’s and held them out to either side, palm up. “It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll!” A series of fiery pops and crackles danced over the top of his head in an arc that danced from hand to hand. “See? I get that song.” He tucked his hands between his crossed legs. “But the song you picked is, like— I don’t even know what that song’s about. It just seems like it’s throwing random words together.”

“Maybe you don’t get it,” said Keith. “But I do. I mean, it had to evoke something in enough people if it wound up in our history books, right?”

Blue shrugged.

“It’s about, like…” Keith gestured vaguely, hands flapping with frustration. “I don’t know—”

“So you don’t get it, either,” said Blue.

“No, it’s just—!” Keith let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like it’s a bunch of random words on purpose. Like there are so many thoughts rushing through your head that you have to bring them all out no matter what.”

Blue leaned back. “I dunno, man. That kinda sounds like a big ol’ baloney sandwich to me.”

Keith rolled his eyes and stood up, dragging Blue along by the wrist. “Come on.”

“—for all the dirty looks, the photographs your boyfriend took, remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor—”

“Oh, my god! I forgot that was a line!”

“We have a test tomorrow! What if that was on it?”

“I’d miss one question! Big deal!”

“Besides, it was my ankle, not— Just— Shut up and play!”

Lance stuck out his tongue and strummed his guitar, picking up the melody just before where he left off.

Keith dragged his free hand through his hair, shaking it until it was a fluffy mess, completing the historic emo look—which really didn’t take much his red hoodie and his dark hair already being what it was—before yanking his cane up and using it as a prop mic stand. “I’m not okay! I’m not okay!”

Lance laughed and leaned forward until the nose of his mask nearly touched the end of Keith’s, joining in on the pretend microphone. “I’m not okay! You wear me out!”

Keith lifted his head, just a sliver of his indigo eyes—stained black in Lance’s gold view—catching the moon through his disaster bangs, and broke out into a grin. “What will it take to show you that it’s not the life it seems?” Keith walked back on the short-but-steep hill they’d found in the woods, toward the side that sloped down more gradually, not that it’d make much of a difference if he—

“I’ve told you time and time again— Shit—!”

“Gotcha—!”

Lance grabbed him by the sleeve, overcorrected, and sent them both falling over the sharp drop behind Lance’s back, dropping them a solid four feet and landing them both flat on the forest floor.

“Ow,” grunted Keith, half laughing.

Lance adjusted his mask with a snort. “Maybe we should’ve picked a shorter stage.”

He rolled his head to the side, catching the sight of him picking his face up off the ground, dead leaves clinging to his bangs, dirt smudged all down his right cheek. Lance threw his head back and laughed.

He must have looked no better, because Keith laughed, too.

Lance pushed his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. “I think I get the song now.” And he meant it. It was fun, for something from the 21st century. He could see how his ancestors might find it cathartic. “How’s your ankle?”

“Fine,” said Keith. “How’s your guitar?”

“Psh, her?” Lance set his guitar on his chest and plucked out a scale. No magic, just music. “It’d take a lot worse than a fall like that to hurt my baby.”

“Mm.” Keith smiled, short of breath, but contagiously content. “You know, part of Matt’s Paladin training is, like, doing a bunch of independent studies. Something about keeping his brain sharp.”

Lance laid back, getting comfortable on the cold ground. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith’s smile widened. “You know that part that goes ‘I’m really not okay’?”

“Uh-huh…?”

“Apparently, the real line is ‘I’m not o-fucking-kay.’ They censored it for our textbooks.”

The leaves of the trees rustled above their heads.

Lance took a breath.

“Pfft—”

And he laughed.

If pressed, Lance couldn’t have explained why he laughed louder than he ever had.

But in that moment, all he cared about was that Keith was laughing, too.

A rolled-up napkin bounced off Keith’s shoulder and landed in the center of the table Keith shared with Matt and Shiro. He turned around, already knowing damn well what he’d find.

McClain stuck his tongue out at him from over Pidge’s shoulder.

Pidge noticed. She looked back, caught Keith’s eye, and turned back around, snatching a textbook off the table between them and smacking McClain’s arm with it, hard enough that Keith heard Hunk give a yelp from beside him.

Keith returned to his lunch with a smirk, just in time to see Matt pick up that same balled napkin and lob it high into the air.

It landed square on the crown of McClain’s head. He looked up, visibly confused, as if he expected the napkin to have appeared from a portal in the ceiling.

Keith laughed and held up a hand.

Matt high-fived him.

Keith didn’t wait for Blue to step down from his pillar. He jumped up, climbing eagerly over the edge of his balcony, and hugged him so hard they both nearly slid off the ice.

“Whoa!” Blue wiggled his guitar out of the way and returned the hug, picking Keith up and spinning him around with a laugh like store window snowflakes, cartoonish and playful and pretty all at once. “I guess this means you got the vines off?”

Keith answered by hugging blue tighter. “What was your first clue?”

“All right! Congrats on the working foot!” Blue set Keith back on the ice. “Guess we’re gonna have to come up with a new fake microphone. But that’s for later.” He returned his hands to the guitar. “Come on. Let’s go before your parents catch us. We’ve gotta celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” Keith wobbled as Blue started their descent. “Celebrate how?”

Blue’s wink was barely visible through the yellow eyes of his lion mask. “I might have stolen some cookies from the cafeteria.”

Keith laughed. “Shiro would be so disappointed in you.”

“Good thing Shiro’s not coming with us, then.”

His hand slipped into Keith’s. It was warmer than any fire Keith ever held.

“Come on.”

Blue led him into the woods, and Keith was never happier to have the full use of his ankle back than that moment, running hand-in-hand with someone too weightless, too cool, too wonderful to be real.

Keith’s hair seemed to explode from the elastic hem of his hoodie, all static electricity and mullet and disaster.

“You look like a dandelion,” teased Lance.

“Shut up.” Keith tied the sleeves around his waist. It wasn’t until he ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face, that Lance caught the mirth in his grin. “It’s hot.”

Lance couldn’t help himself. “Hell yeah, it is.”

Keith grabbed a pebble off the ground and chucked it at Lance’s face. It bounced harmlessly off his mask, earning a quiet snort from the thrower.

Lance rolled his eyes. “All right. Fight back while you still can if it makes you better, because you…” He dug his phone out of his pocket. “Are about to get slammed.”

Keith dug a ponytail out of the pouch on his hip and held it between his teeth. “Bring it,” he replied around it, hands already diving into his hair to pull it back.

Lance was briefly distracted by the way Keith looked with his hair back—What? He’d never seen him with a different hairstyle before!—but it didn’t stop him from selecting the playlist he’d planned out from the moment he and Keith had agreed the week before.

He hit play, scrambled to the top of the steep hill where he and Keith always found themselves, and adjusted the straps of his mask, making damn sure it wouldn’t get dislodged by his slick moves.

“Okay, let’s go over the rules again. Strain is allowed for extra flare—”

“—but Strum isn’t,” reminded Keith, tightening the end of his ponytail.

“Right.” Lance nodded, hands on his hips. “Points are taken off for setting things on fire and for getting hurt. Gotta be careful. Don’t want someone pulling off some fancy move by breaking his leg. Keith.”

Keith crossed his arms.

“We switch off from song to song—starting with the second track on this playlist—aaand the winner is decided by us, since we have no other judges.”

“What if we both think we won?” asked Keith.

“Pfft, you won’t,” said Lance. “I’m Cuban and this is a dance contest. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Cuban?”

“Human thing,” Lance said automatically, used to the question and tired of explaining it to non-humans who weren’t familiar with pre-integration human culture. “But…you’re human, so why did—?” He gasped, bringing a hand to his chest. “You little weasel! You just narrowed down all the potential people I could be to Cubans who go to the Garrison!”

“Actually, I was just happy to learn something new about you.” Keith smirked. “But now I’m thinking about narrowing down who you are, so…thanks for that.”

Lance squawked, indignant, but before he had the chance to retaliate, the second song on his playlist started and he pushed Keith toward the gradually-descending side of the hill. “Go-go-go!”

Keith started to laugh.

“And shut up!”

If anything, Keith just laughed louder.

Well, that was fine. Lance would just have to show him what’s what on the dance floor.

They danced, trading off, each one catching their breath at the bottom of the slope while the other took their turn, until, somewhere along the way, they forgot about the rules and began to dance together. They struck increasingly ridiculous poses to make each other laugh. They took each other’s hands to perform an overly-dramatic facsimile of a tango that made each other laugh even harder. They got so distracted when Keith asked how Lance did a move that they dropped every pretense of competing to slip easily into the roles of teacher and student.

At least, until the playlist ended, and they both instantly remembered why they started playing music in the first place.

“Okay, I totally won that,” said Keith. “You never used Strain even once, and it was your idea to make that worth extra points.”

Lance scoffed. “I think the fact that we ended this whole thing with me literally teaching you how to dance means that it’s no competition.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips, so Lance took that as a confirmation of victory.

He grabbed his phone off the tree he’d propped it against and closed his music app. “Oh, wait! Right, I was gonna ask you!” He held his phone up to Keith. “How do you feel about trading numbers?”

Keith’s lips parted. His eyes, wide as they could go, darted between Lance’s mask and the phone in his hand.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Not like that. I just think it’d be easier to tell me not to come upstairs because Shiro’s mom’s in your room or something.”

Some of the tension slackened in Keith’s shoulders.

Lance shrugged. “Besides, we’d get to talk more than once a week, right?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe not all the time, but— Hey!”

Keith snatched Lance’s phone from his hand unceremoniously. It took Lance glaring at his face for a few seconds to realize Keith was opening his contacts.

“It’s not a very good solution to Shiro’s parents coming into my room,” mumbled Keith as he entered his number. “They don’t exactly give me a warning. They don’t even knock most of the time. Well, unless that’s how they’re telling me it’s time to eat.”

“Rude as hell,” said Lance, “but okay.”

Keith handed his phone back. “What I mean is I wouldn’t have enough time to text you.”

Lance held his phone in both hands. “Then I’ll figure something else out.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Like…?”

“I dunno,” said Lance. “Give me a few days. But I will figure something out.” He frowned at Keith’s contact information. “Dude, you just gave me your name name? Boring. I’m changing it right now.”

“Uh… To what?”

Lance smirked, already typing. “Secret.”

“Uh, Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Who the heck is Hot Dandelion and why are they sending you pictures of burned paper?”

Lance dove across Pidge’s lap for his phone, only to have it yanked swiftly out of reach.

“Give it back!”

Pidge grinned. “I see a pink carpet. Is it your girlfriend?”

Lance gasped, feeling himself go what must have been a very bright red. “No! Just—give it!”

Pidge jumped to her feet, knocking her textbook off her lap and bouncing cheerfully from Lance’s bed to Hunk’s, skirt flying around her sock-clad ankles. “Not until you tell me who it is.”

“What?” barked Lance, aghast. God, even the thought of Pidge finding out it was Keith— “No way!”

Pidge bounced from foot to foot, preparing for her next jump and making a total disaster of Hunk’s sheets. “Guess that means I’m keeping this phone.”

“Pidge!”

Lance lunged across the room to grab Pidge around the knees, only for her to jump clean out of his arms and land on the floor. Lance twisted, flung himself, pinned Pidge to the carpet, where she squealed with laughter as Lance reached over her head, trying with all his might to steal his phone back from Pidge’s short-but-fast little arms.

The door opened.

Lance and Pidge both froze, lifting their heads to find Hunk in the doorway, looking down at them with pure exhaustion on his face.

“Lance won’t tell me who his girlfriend is,” said Pidge quickly, ignoring Lance’s startled protests.

Hunk woke up at once, shutting the door behind him and snatching Lance’s phone out of her hand.

“Hey, Hunk!” whined Lance. “Whose side are you on?!”

“Uh, the side that gets me the hot goss,” said Hunk. “Obviously.”

Lance watched him flick his finger down his screen just once before burying his face in Pidge’s shoulder, submitting to his fate as Hunk read through all his messages.

“Aw, man, no selfies?” Hunk huffed. “Lame. I wanted to know who you’ve been sneaking out for.”

Pidge gasped. “Oooh, you’ve been sneaking out? Do you know how dead you are if someone catches you?”

“Psh, no one’s gonna catch me…” Lance raised his head. “You guys aren’t gonna rat me out, right?”

“Not if I don't want to get in trouble for being an accomplice,” said Hunk, setting Lance’s phone on his bed.

“And not if I want you to return the favor in the future when I inevitably break into a government building,” said Pidge. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

“Totally,” said Hunk. “But we’re still gonna tease you about it.”

“Mercilessly,” said Pidge.

“Tirelessly.”

“Infinitely.”

Lance groaned. “He’s not my girlfriend!”

“Ooh,” said Pidge. “My bad. Secret boyfriend.”

Lance rolled onto his back. “You guys suck.”

The dorm filled with the sounds of Hunk’s and Pidge’s laughter.

Lance smiled, accepting his fate.

Keith’s phone vibrated in his hands. He lifted it off his chest to look at Blue’s message, and a grin spread across his face as he started to type his response.

The back he was leaning against vibrated, too. He felt Shiro look over his shoulder, still laughing. “I’m starting to figure out how you always seem to know when Adam texts me.”

Keith hit send and tucked his phone under his chin. “What do you mean?”

“You always breathe faster when it’s a text from Blue.”

Keith groaned and pressed his phone against his face. All that managed to do was make Shiro laugh more.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Shiro. “It’s cute. I’m glad you two are talking more. It shows he thinks of you as more than just a weekly novelty. He’s actually bringing you into his daily life. That’s a good thing.”

“He’s a good person,” grumbled Keith. “He didn’t have to steal my knife back, but he did anyway. He wouldn’t hang out with me every week unless it’s what he wanted to do.”

“I know, I know,” said Shiro. “I just worry about you. And, you know, the mask thing is a little weird. I don’t know why he doesn’t want you to know who he is.”

Keith’s phone vibrated in his hands again. “He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

He smiled at the message and typed his next response.

“I know,” said Shiro. “And I’m sure he has a valid reason to hide who he is. I’m just waiting to figure out the reason.”

“He’s probably just shy or something.” Keith set his phone back on his chest and looked over his shoulder. “Shiro?”

Shiro lifted his head. “Hm?”

Keith bit his lip. It was probably a stupid question. “What does ‘Cuban’ mean?”

Shiro clapped a hand over his mouth. For a second, Keith worried he’d said something offensive.

Then Shiro started to giggle.

Ugh, he knew it was a stupid question! “What?!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I just— Sometimes I forget you weren’t raised around humans.” Shiro turned around, set his textbook aside, and wrapped an arm around Keith’s waist to pull him onto his lap in its stead. “All right, get ready for a lesson in old human nationalities.”

“Can you speak Spanish?”

Blue stopped kicking his feet in the water of the canal to send Keith a frown. “Where did that come from?”

Keith busied himself with rolling the cuffs of his jeans higher up his legs. “I was just…thinking. You said you were Cuban, so I didn’t know how much of the culture you still keep in your family.”

Blue smirked. “Si, yo hablo español.”

Keith leaned back on his hands, pointedly ignoring the way his heart began to beat in double-time. “Oh. Cool.” Cool. Like everything else about Blue. Even when he was trying to show off.

“What about you?” Blue nudged Keith’s leg with his own, splashing the water. “Any languages? Japanese, maybe?”

“No,” said Keith. “I think Shiro knows some Japanese, but…I don’t.” He bit his lip. “I, uh… I do speak one other language, though.”

“Yeah?”

Keith looked into the water that swirled around his calves, at the moonlit reflection looking back at him. What would he look like with yellow eyes? Purple fur? Fangs?

Blue nudged his knee with his own. “Come on, there’s no such thing as knowing an embarrassing language. Unless it’s Esperanto.” He ducked his head. Keith barely caught him narrowing his eyes behind his yellow lenses. “It’s not Esperanto, is it?”

“No.” Keith averted his eyes. “No, no, it’s…” He sighed, his shoulders sinking. “It’s Galra.”

Blue laughed. Not at Keith. More like he was surprised. Even…excited. “Really? No way! How do you know Galra?”

Keith crossed his arms, rubbing one. “People don’t really talk about this much anymore, so I'm not surprised you don't know, but about fifteen years ago, there was some fear bubbling under the surface that Altea and Daibazaal might go to war.”

“What, again?” asked Blue. “Even with the whole…splitting of the world myth thing?”

Keith nodded. “My parents were protestors. That was how they met. They spent a lot of time going back and forth between Daibazaal and Altea, and I went with them. When my dad died…I was in Daibazaal.” He closed his eyes. “With my mom already gone, I was put into the closest foster home they could chuck me into. And then some…things happened.” Keith stopped rubbing his arm and lifted his hand, to look into the palm. “And I was sent into another one.”

Blue leaned closer. “Fire?”

Keith sighed, but he still nodded. Maybe he was easy to read. Maybe Blue just knew him too well. “Then I was sent to another one, and another one, and…I guess I ran out of chances in Daibazaal, so they threw me over the border.”

“And by then, you knew how to speak Galra,” presumed Blue.

Keith nodded. It was a half-truth, but…it wasn’t wrong, right? “And I just got tired of being thrown around like a football, so I just…ran away.” He kicked his leg through the water, aiming at nothing in particular, just trying to get the stress out. “I don’t know if no one found me or if no one looked for me, but I was on my own for a while. I slept in the airport on the west side of town, showered in a truck stop… Dealt with dirty clothes.” He sighed. “And I stole food. A lot. Sometimes out of trash cans, when I got desperate, but…usually from distracted tourists.”

Keith set his hands on the edge of the canal.

“Shiro wasn’t as distracted as I thought he was.”

Blue laughed. “No way, you stole from Shiro?”

“I didn’t know who he was!” protested Keith. “I didn’t know he was, like, the nicest guy on the planet! I was just hungry!” He returned his arms to their previous crossed position. “He wasn’t even mad. He just offered to get some milk to go with the doughnuts I took if I sat with him while I ate.” Keith hunched his shoulders. “It scared the shit out of me. At first, I thought he wanted something from me, I just didn’t know what. But he promised we’d stay in the coffee shop so people could see if he tried to hurt me, and I wasn’t going to turn down free food, so I agreed. Turned out he just wanted to know why some kid in a stained t-shirt two sizes too big was desperate enough to steal food.”

“So then, what, he just got attached that day?” asked Blue. “Decided he had to adopt you on the spot?”

“Not exactly,” said Keith. “I didn’t even talk that day. He just…promised to come back with more food if I met him again. Right in the middle of the square. Busiest spot in town. And he came back with a backpack full of food. Enough to last me a couple of days. And stuff like…toothpaste and a toothbrush and a comb. Stuff I hadn’t even let myself think about in months. I still thought he was after something, but he just kept coming back, and he never asked for anything in return, and…”

Blue leaned even closer. “Are you crying?”

“No!” Keith leaned back, frantically rubbing his eyes with the back of his hoodie’s sleeve. “Just— Listen. No one cared about me like that before Shiro. It was just my mom and my dad, and then no one, and then him.” Keith lowered his hand. “…And then you.”

“…Me?”

Keith nodded, looking pointedly at the water. “I mean… Matt’s done some amazing things for me, and so has Allura, but they’re…y’know, Shiro’s friends. They care about me because he did first.”

He bit his lip.

“No one made you bring my knife back. You did it just because you wanted to.”

Blue didn’t answer.

He didn’t say a damn thing, and Keith wanted to jump into the canal headfirst and let it carry him away.

He closed his eyes. Stupid. Stupid. Why would you say that? Now he thinks you’re weird and clingy, or—or that you only want him around because he did something for you, or—

Something landed on Keith’s shoulder.

Something heavy.

Blue wrapped his arms around Keith’s, locking him in place so he could rub the front of his mask into his shoulder.

“You are not allowed to make me cry,” he said weakly, voice cracking. “Don’t do that. Not cool!”

Keith raised his eyebrows. Before he even realized what he was doing, a quiet chuckle slipped out. He hadn’t been expecting a reaction like that.

“Oh, ha-ha,” Blue bit back. “You go and get a guy all emotional and then you laugh in his face about it. I see how it is. Man, I hate you.”

Keith smiled. He wasn’t great at understanding when people didn’t mean what they said, but it was hard to take what Blue said seriously when he hadn’t let go of his arm.

He set his hand on top of Blue’s.

“I’m glad you’re here, too.”

“Come on, Lance!” Hunk’s hand descended like the mechanics of a claw machine and yanked his phone high above his head, instantly out of his reach.

Lance jumped to his feet. “I’m not telling you who he is, so—!”

Hunk’s eyes darkened.

Lance dropped his hands from where he’d been trying to steal his phone back. He looked serious. “What?”

“You’re always talking to this guy,” said Hunk. “Like, we don’t even have any classes together, I’m always in Paladin training, we can’t even study together because we aren’t learning the same stuff, and on the few hours we get to hang out that’s just us, not even with Pidge, you’re on your phone the whole time!”

Lance scoffed. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is, Lance!” Hunk lowered his phone, but Lance made no move to grab it. “I feel like I talk to Shay more than I talk to you.”

“Shay?”

“From my Base class last year!” Hunk waved Lance’s phone in front of his face. “See? This is what I’m talking about. You’re in so deep with this guy it’s like you have no idea what’s going on outside of your life with him anymore.” He drew his eyebrows together. “You were my first friend, Lance. You’re my roommate. I don’t want to grow apart from you just because you have some secret boyfriend you can’t tell me anything about.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Lance automatically, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “We’re just friends. I promise.”

Hunk frowned. Not an angry frown, but…a sad one. One that made Lance feel really, really bad.

He winced. “But…you’re my friend, too.” He sighed. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re upset. I really care about this guy, and I’ve been having a lot of fun hanging out with him, and…I guess it’s kind of exciting, having a secret like this. But…” Lance scratched the back of his neck. “But that’s no excuse for not spending enough time with you. I’ll fix it!”

“How?” asked Hunk.

“Uhhh…” Lance ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to say “I’ll think of something,” but the last time he’d said “I’ll think of something,” was months prior, to Keith, about a way to signal an all-clear to each other without Shiro’s parents finding out, and he still hadn’t thought of something. He didn’t want to have two things on his “I’ll think of something,” list. “…Grogory Day.”

“Grogory Day?” asked Hunk.

“Yeah!” Lance snapped his fingers and sent Hunk a single fingergun. “You know, on top of being better about not texting Keeeeeeeee…the guy as much when we’re hanging out.” He cleared his throat. “The school lets students go to the Groggery Day festival in town every year before finals, right?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Right…”

“So when we go to the festival, it’ll be just you, me, and Pidge the whole time,” said Lance. “The phone will go in my pocket when we leave for the festival, and it won’t come out of my pocket until we get back to our dorm. Unless my mom calls or something.”

“Promise?” asked Hunk.

Lance held his hand out, pinky first. “Promise.”

“The whole bathroom.”

“Okay.”

“That means sweeping the floors, scrubbing the showers, refilling the soap bottles… All of it.”

“Okay.”

Shiro’s mother closed the door without preamble. Keith held his breath, listening to the floor creak as she made her way to the master bedroom to sleep.

Once he heard the door open and the footsteps come to a stop, he let go of the breath and turned around, moving around the edge of his bed to open the balcony door. The floor of the balcony creaked with every step he took to the edge. Still tense, he peered over the edge in silence.

Blue looked up at him from where he’d perched on the edge of his pillar, guitar on his lap. His yellow eyes glinted in the light from Keith’s bedroom. “God, for a minute I thought you were her. Don’t know why. I mean, you’re so quiet, and she has a voice like a drill instructor. What the hell happened?”

“I have to clean the bathroom,” said Keith.

“Yeah, I got that.” Blue climbed to his feet and brought the pillar higher. “I’m just trying to figure out why. Did something catch fire, or…?”

“Oh.” Keith winced. “No. That’s…normal.”

“Normal?” Blue hopped over the edge of the balcony, landing with a quiet thud. “That much? This late at night? Out of nowhere?”

“It sounds worse than it is,” said Keith. “It should only take half an hour. You can wait for me in the woods, or…hide under my bed or something if it’s too cold.” He ran his hand through his hair, eyes lowering to Blue’s pursed lips. He wasn’t used to seeing him in such bright light for such a long amount of time. He wished it was under better circumstances. “That was…too close, though. Have you thought of anything better than texting yet?”

“Uhhh…” Blue grimaced, looking away like he was afraid to admit it to Keith’s face. “I’m still working on that.”

Keith took a step backward, reaching for the open balcony door. “Maybe it’s time I start working on it.”

McClain made faces at Keith from the other side of the cafeteria.

Keith glared back.

“He’s just mad that you’re talking to me,” said Pidge. "Ignore him."

“I always try…”

Pidge sighed, sympathetic. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

Keith rubbed his arm. “I…don’t know if I have anything to trade, but I have a request.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes. “I’m listening.”

Lance’s ears started to burn.

This wasn’t what he had in mind.

“How did you get Pidge to make these?”

“Oh.” Keith rolled the rings around in his hand. “I forgot you guys are friends. Guess that means you know what she’s like. I…basically had to sell my soul, but it doesn’t matter.” He kept his head ducked as he pushed one of the rings toward Lance. “Here.”

With a wary hand and his lip caught between his teeth, Lance took it. The light gleamed against the back of his hand. “Uh… How does it work?”

“Pidge explained it to me,” said Keith. “But I don’t really…remember. All I know is that she made it so that when all the pieces are connected, they fit perfectly into a solid ring, and the ring completes a circuit that turns the light on. But when you unclip the beginning from the end, it, uh…” He demonstrated, pulling a piece out from under the purple light and making the whole ring fall into what looked like a tiny toy snake.

The moment the head disconnected from the tail, it turned off not only the light on Keith’s ring, but Lance’s as well.

Lance raised his eyebrows. “Okay, that’s sweet.”

“I don’t remember how close you have to be to the other person,” said Keith, “but the light only comes on when the two rings are within range. And since I can break the circuit with one hand, I can just keep the ring in my pocket and pull on it when someone comes into my room.”

Lance slipped his ring onto his right ring finger, just to try out the size. He held it up to the starry sky, eyes widening when the light came on.

“Functional and fashionable. Not bad.”

Even if Hunk was never going to shut up about how he got a ring from his boyfriend.

And then there was Pidge. He’d have to keep it very, very hidden from her. It was smart, though. He wished he could thank her.

“The battery only holds a charge for a day,” said Keith. “Pidge said she tried to find an Altean crystal that was small enough, but she couldn’t, so it’s more…human. It’s solar, though, so it’s not a big deal. You can just wear it around campus during the day and charge the battery that way.”

Lance laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He elbowed Keith in the side. “Just keeping an eye out during classes for who’s wearing your ring.”

“What? No, I—” Keith wiggled his ring back and forth on his finger. “I was just…”

Lance smirked.

Keith sighed, his hair shielding his eyes from view. “Fine. I was…kind of hoping you’d leave it on during the day.”

“Well, too bad,” said Lance. “This is going straight on my windowsill when I get back to my dorm, and that’s where it’s gonna stay until tomorrow night.”

“But you like it?” asked Keith.

Lance felt his lips pull up into a crooked smile, one he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. “Uh, does a Bii-Boh-Bi like standup?”

Keith smiled, letting out a puff of air that floated a white cloud into the early winter air, his eyes finally lifting to meet Lance’s.

“Seriously, did you think I wouldn’t love anything you gave me?” Lance ribbed him gently. “The purple light is very pretty. I would totally wear it all the time if it wouldn’t give me away day one. Going to Pidge was a good idea.” He was embarrassed he didn’t think of it himself, truth be told. But since Keith was definitely going to wear his ring during the day, where Pidge could see it, that was probably a blessing in disguise. “Also, I’m just happy to have something from you.” And Pidge, in a way. “It’s really cool to have something that’ll remind me of you during break.”

“Yeah…” Keith twisted his ring back and forth again. Lance was beginning to wonder if that would become a habit for him. “Speaking of break…you don’t live in Altea, do you?”

Lance sighed. He could already tell where this conversation was going to go. “Alas, I do not. But we’ll be able to see each other like normal when school starts again.”

Keith cast his eyes down again, at his ground in front of Lance’s ice bench. “Right…”

Lance scooted closer, until they touched from shoulder to knee. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Keith lifted his head, indigo eyes darting across Lance’s face, seeking something Lance couldn’t imagine. Whatever it was, it must have been important. Keith was holding his breath. And when he spoke, it was like he barely had enough air left in his lungs to make sound. “You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you.”

Lance stared, mouth agape. Just the intensity alone was enough to make him turn as red as a Rhygorp’s left eye, but the words themselves?

He swallowed. Keith didn’t really need to know how much they meant to him.

“You know, my biggest fear is being forgotten.”

So why did he tell Keith anyway?

Lance clapped his hands over his mouth, squeaking when the teeth of his mask scratched the sides of his index fingers.

Keith’s eyes widened. He leaned in even closer. “How could I forget you?”

Lance brought his hands down slowly. The irony. The sucky, sucky irony. “Well… You don’t know who I am under this mask. Maybe I’m someone really forgettable. Maybe that’s the real reason I wear this mask. So I leave an impact.”

“Your mask isn’t the reason I like you,” said Keith.

Lance grimaced, rolling his head over the back of the bench. He begged to differ.

Keith let out a breath, barely vocalized. “You really think that, don’t you?” He reached for the edge of the Lion mask, gently tugging, slowly twisting it back. “You really think this mask is the only thing—”

Lance caught his hand, stopping him from pushing the mask off.

“Don’t.”

Keith sighed, irritated. “If you just showed me who you are, you’d know I wouldn’t—”

“What if I was Griffin?”

“It— What?”

Lance lifted his head off the back of the bench. “What if I was James Griffin? Everyone knows you hate him.”

“You aren’t,” said Keith. “He’s too pale to be you. And your bangs aren’t…stupid. I can see them right there.”

“But what if I was?” asked Lance. “What if you took off this mask and suddenly James Griffin was looking back at you? Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically?” Keith sighed and leaned back, easing out of Lance’s bubble. “Hypothetically, I guess I’d have to wonder why he was such an asshole at school, when he’s around his friends, when it seems like his friends don’t like the shit he pulls half the time anyway. But if you were the real him, the way I know you’re the real you, then I’d assume…or I guess, I’d hope…that whatever bullshit he was doing during the day would stop once everything was out in the open, and we’d get to be friends all the time instead of just on Monday nights.”

Lance swallowed. Would the same thing happen for him? He had to— But it was risky. But—

“What about Lance McClain?”

“What about Lance McClain?” asked Keith.

“I just mean…” Lance sighed. “All year, you’ve been acting like you don’t know who he is, even though last year, you guys were, like, always at each other’s throats.”

“Yeah, because last year, McClain kept getting me detention and Shiro kept having to cover for me so his parents wouldn’t throw me out.” Keith crossed his arms and leaned back. “Shiro told me to ignore him, and I don’t want to put more on him than I already do, so…I’ve been trying. I’m not that good at it, but it’s easier than it is with Griffin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Griffin’s an actual asshole,” said Keith. “He starts shit because he wants to let everyone know they’re worth less than him. McClain just starts fights with me in particular because we don’t get along.” He shrugged a shoulder. “But Pidge and Hunk Garrett are both friends with him, and… I don’t know. Hunk’s a really nice guy and Pidge is too smart to put up with someone she’s too good for. And I’ve seen him stand up for both of them, so he’s probably…fine. When I’m not in the room.” He shrugged again. “He just gets on my nerves. But that’s him.”

Keith looked into Lance’s eyes.

“And you’re you. So I’m not going to forget about you. Or pretend to forget about you. So it doesn’t matter.”

Lance held his breath.

God, what did he get himself into?

“Anyway.” Keith dropped his hands to his lap. “What are you doing for Grogory Day?”

Lance groaned and ran his hand across his mouth. “Actually, I kind of…promised some other friends I’d spend it with them.”

Keith’s hands curled into fists. “Oh.”

“I’d totally ask you to come,” said Lance urgently. “Honest! But like, if I wore my mask, then my friends would know who I’ve been sneaking out to see all this time, and if I didn’t wear my mask, then you’d know who I was…”

Keith averted his eyes. Lance probably wasn’t helping the whole…Keith-wanting-him-to-take-off-his-mask thing.

“And anyway!” Lance raised his hands into the air. “The only reason I agreed to spend Grogory Day with them first place was that one of them got jealous that I’m always on the phone with you!”

Keith perked up at that. “Really? Your friends are jealous of me?”

“I do text you a lot,” said Lance. “And the guy who wanted me to spend more time with them is like, really nice, and he’s cool, and I don’t want to lose my friendship with him just because I met another guy who’s really nice and cool. So… I’m sorry. But I’m also not sorry? Not really.”

Keith sighed. “It’s fine. I was just asking because Shiro and Adam apparently have a date at the festival.”

Lance, who had since heard about what Adam and Shiro’s relationship was really like, gagged when Keith did.

“I guess I can just hang out with Matt and Allura, though,” said Keith. “They won’t mind.”

Lance raised his eyebrows.

Matt Holt, huh?

“Or… Hear me out here.” He smirked. Lance McClain, you are a genius. “You could hang out with Pidge.”

Chapter Text

“So what’s this part about a leader?” asked Pidge. “It seems like the leader should be the Black Paladin, but every other reference to a Black Paladin either has something to do with wind or percussion or just the color black. This is the only time that’s not true.”

“You’re right.” Matt adjusted his glasses to clear the glare from his laptop screen. “It’s definitely weird. But what else could it be?”

“Well, I was looking at this other set of lyrics?” Pidge reached into their bag and pulled out a heavy history textbook. “And there’s this thing they say about an Atlas. I thought it was a metaphor, referring to Voltron as carrying the weight of the world by comparing it to a figure from old human mythology, but then I had this thought that—”

A sharp knock at Matt’s doorway cut Pidge off mid-sentence. They both turned to his open door, where his mother crossed her arms, a pleasant smile on her face. “You guys ready to go to the boardwalk?”

Pidge gasped. “What time is it?” With the speed and power of a bull moose, she dashed across Matt’s room to his bed and pushed him to the side to look at the clock on his computer.

“Geez, you sure are excited to hang out at the carnival with people who aren’t me,” scoffed Matt.

“Don’t take it so personally,” said his mother. “This is her first time spending it with friends.”

Matt clutched his chest. “Ouch. And here I thought I was your friend.”

“You’re my best friend,” said Pidge. “But you’re also my brother, so you don’t count.”

“Ouch!” said Matt again.

His mother laughed. “Come on, you two. Let’s go. And Pidge, put leggings on. Trust me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kinkade’s hand was warm between Hunk’s as he shook it up and down. “He’s probably starting to wonder where I am, but I had to come see you first. Seriously, you have no idea how much you helped.”

Kinkade smiled softly. The kind of warm, squishy smile that made Hunk want to hug him like a big teddy bear. The kind of smile Hunk wanted people to have when he made them gingerbread or hot chocolate. A cozy kind of smile. “I just gave you a push. You would have talked to him about it eventually.”

“I don’t know, man,” said Hunk. “I was really nervous. I was scared he was going to get mad at me or that he was going to never speak to me again—which would have been kind of a big deal since he’s my roommate and I have to see him every day—or that he was—”

“Calm down.” Kinkade’s free hand covered Hunk’s. It felt like reaching into an oven to pull out a sheet of cookies on a cold day. “Stop worrying so much what could have gone wrong. He took it well, and that’s all you need to know. A good friend wouldn’t have done anything else.”

“I know,” said Hunk. “But still, if I didn’t hear it from you, I would have just, y’know, kept worrying. So you were a huge help. I owe you, like, four loaves of bread. Maybe a cake.”

Kinkade laughed, warm and low. “I’m holding you to that.”

Hunk grinned. Making food for people, seeing their faces, was perhaps his favorite thing in the world. Seeing Kinkade’s face, someone who understood food, was something he could only imagine the joy of. He’d have to do it over winter break, of course, but even just thinking about seeing Kinkade’s smile when he took that first bite—!

Hunk yanked Kinkade into his arms.

Kinkade squeaked. Actually, legitimately squeaked. Like a living stuffed animal. But not so squishy. He’d gone as hard as a rock. Worried he had made Kinkade uncomfortable, Hunk began to let go, but just as he did, Kinkade relaxed his shoulders, dropped his chin, and hugged Hunk back. His hands were no less warm against Hunk’s spine than they had been around his knuckles.

Hunk sighed. “Man, I am so lucky I got assigned a protector who’s as nice as you.”

“Mm…”

“Well, Lance is probably wondering where I am, so…” Hunk pulled back, hands on Kinkade’s arms, smile widening when he caught the bashful look on Kinkade’s face. “I’ll see you at school, okay?”

Kinkade raised his eyebrows. “H— Yeah. Yeah.”

Hunk took a step back. “Have fun at the carnival!”

With a pat to Kinkade’s arms, he turned around and jogged past a stall before something compelled him to steal a look over his shoulder.

Kinkade had returned to his friends. Griffin looked annoyed—as he always did—Leifsdottir looked bored—as she always did—and Rizavi seemed to be mid-rant in Kinkade’s face, hands on her hips, but Kinkade wasn’t paying attention.

He’d caught Hunk’s eyes.

Smiling sheepishly, he slid a hand out of his pocket and waved.

Hunk barely got the chance to wave back before Rizavi snapped her fingers in Kinkade’s face, demanding his attention.

Hunk laughed. He wasn’t the most fond of Griffin or Leifsdottir, but Rizavi seemed to be the Lance in their group of friends, and Hunk recognized the good-natured roll of Kinkade’s eyes well.

Smiling to himself, Hunk looked back at where he was going, only to nearly run head-first into—

“Keith!”

“Whoa!” Keith Kogane stumbled back, ducking his head like he half-expected to get hit. “Hi?”

“Hi!” Hunk laughed. “Oh, man, am I glad to see you!”

“Uh…” Keith raised an eyebrow. “You— You are?”

“I mean, we’re supposed to hang out tonight, right?” Hunk looped an arm around Keith’s elbow “Oh, man, I’m so glad I don’t have to look for Lance and Pidge alone. There are so many people here.”

Keith let out a breath, like whatever he’d been nervous about when Hunk approached him had just faded away. Maybe he was scared to be alone in such a busy place, too, and Hunk had just startled him because he’d already been on edge. Hunk hoped so. It made him feel a little less like he was making a big deal out of nothing.

“Why are you by yourself?” asked Keith, leading the way through the crowd. “Isn't McClain your roommate? Wouldn’t you have come to the carnival in the same group?”

“I had some business to attend to," said Hunk. "A guy I wanted to see.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, asking a silent question.

Hunk inched closer. “My guardian. He kind of helped me figure out how to talk to Lance about something. I just wanted to thank him where Lance wouldn’t hear me. I haven’t exactly told him that I had to ask for someone’s help. I don’t know how he’d take it if he knew I was too scared of getting into a fight that I need someone else to give me a push.”

“You think he’d be mad?” asked Keith.

“Not really,” said Hunk. “Well. Maybe a little. But mostly I’m just afraid he’d be hurt.”

Keith scoffed.

Hunk sighed. “Look, Keith, I know you and Lance don’t exactly get along, but he’s actually a pretty good guy.”

“…Yeah. I know.”

Hunk raised his eyebrows.

“Well, like you said, we don’t get along,” said Keith. “That’s all. I know you two are friends for a reason. And Pidge likes him, too. I know he’s willing to stand up for you guys when you need it. I get that. I’ve seen it. But I also know that he’d never do something like that for me.” He looked over his shoulder. “I know Griffin would stand up for his friends, too. Doesn’t mean I have to like him, either.”

“Ohh… You think it’s, like, a clannish thing,” said Hunk. “But it’s not! Seriously, he helped me out the first time we met. He’s one of the only people who looks past me being a Garrett. I honestly, genuinely think that if you needed help—yes, you, personally—he’d be able to put your differences aside and make sure you both got out okay.”

Keith eyed him skeptically.

“Honest,” said Hunk. “Does Lance have flaws? Yes. Tons of them. Does he get on my nerves? Yes! All the time! But underneath all the attention hogging and dramatics and whining and, y’know…” He narrowed his eyes. “…occasional selfishness…” Keith laughed quietly, the sound half-drowned out by the music from the carousel they passed. “…he’s got a heart of gold. So, you know…” Hunk nudged Keith with his hip. “Try to get along today, okay? And trust me to smack him if he does anything stupid.”

Keith looked at the path ahead of them, the faintest smile on his face. “…Okay.”

A loud, piercing whistle cut through the crowd, and Hunk looked up, scanning the people around him for—

“There he is.”

Lance, waving emphatically and dragging an annoyed-looking Pidge along by the hand.

“See?” Hunk laughed. “Like I said, he gets on our nerves, too.”

Keith snorted, but didn’t meet Hunk’s eye.

Lance reached them and bent over, keeping himself upright by holding a hand to his knee. “We looked everywhere for you guys—well, for Hunk—guess we know where you were now.”

“Can you let go?” asked Pidge, deadpan. “Please?”

Lance grabbed Pidge by the shoulder, bent down, and fed her the sharpest, most dramatic look Hunk had ever seen. “I’ll never let go, Jack.”

Keith frowned, visibly confused, to the point where Hunk nearly laughed at him. But Hunk had already decided he was going to protect Keith from Lance’s shenanigans for the night and he was going to make good on his word. “Okay, if we’re all done quoting centuries-old movies and irritating our friends, let’s take this carnival by storm.”

Lance turned away from Pidge. “Sure thing, buddy. And first things first…”

He pointed a finger at Keith, who immediately bristled. Hunk readied himself to jump in the second Lance showed any hostility, but rather than starting a fight, Lance just smirked.

“I’m gonna kick your butt at ring throwing.”

To Keith’s credit, he only showed surprise for less than a second. “You’re on.”

Hunk sucked in a breath. He wanted to congratulate Lance on welcoming Keith into their group the same way he would have welcomed anyone else, but where Keith was involved, there was no telling where friendly competition would end and being at each other’s throats would begin, and…oh, boy.

Oh…boy.

“Five rings each.” The Unilu behind the stand slapped the rings down on the counter, sounding a harsh jingle through his stall. “Prizes are based on how many targets you land in a single round. No rollovers. And no magic or quintessence manipulation or whatever you want to call it. This is all arms.”

Lance pushed his sleeves of his coat up to his elbows despite winter’s biting chill. He didn’t want their bulk messing up his perfect aim. “Ready, Keith?”

Keith’s expression hardened. “You know it.”

A smirk tugged at Lance’s lips as he took his half of the rings. This could work. He could totally do this. Hang out with Keith and his other friends at the same time without adding to Keith’s already-present list of worries? Have an awesome night with all three of them at once without letting his secret out? No problem. He just had to lean into competition. That way they could still be at each other’s throats, but like…in a fun way.

Also, Lance got to show off. Looking good in front of Keith wasn’t not a priority.

“Is this a good idea?” hissed Hunk from over Lance’s shoulder.

Pidge made an uncertain sound, an unarticulated “I dunno”.

Lance understood why they were worried, but really, it was fine. This was exactly how a person perfectly toed the line between friend and rival. It was bound to work.

He picked up his rings.

Keith did the same.

The Unilu leaned back, one of his four arms propped against the flimsy wall beside him, two others resting on his hips. “Any time you kids are ready.”

Lance nodded. “Okay, in three, two— Hey!”

A red ring soared across Lance’s line of vision, bouncing clumsily off one of the bottles in the back. “It’s not a speed competition.” He flung another ring. “Go when you want.”

Lance grumbled. “Fine.” He aimed—distracted by a third of Keith’s rings flying across his view and landing between two bottles—and…barely did any better than Keith.

Keith snorted.

“You’ve lost three rings!” snapped Lance. “I’ve only lost one! You don’t get to laugh!”

Keith tossed his fourth ring. It managed to catch the lip of a bottle, earning him one point. “Do I get to now?”

Lance grumbled and loosed another of his rings. It landed right on top of Keith’s, around the same bottle, earning an offended growl from Keith and a laugh from Lance himself. “Nope.”

“Shut up,” said Keith. “We’re tied. We both have one point each.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Lance, “but I still have three rings to go. You just have one. I could get four points by the end of this, and you only have the chance for two.”

“Could you stop being smug for five minutes?”

“Maybe, if you stopped trying to start a fight for five minutes.”

“GUYS!”

Lance’s jaw dropped. He saw Keith’s eyes widen in the corner of his eye.

That…wasn’t Pidge who yelled.

Startled, Lance whipped around to find a very ticked-off Hunk glaring at them, hands balled into fists. For once, he actually looked his size rather than like a tiny, tiny boy in a body too big for his personality. Even Pidge looked shocked.

“Will you two cool it? I’m looking at you, Lance!” Hunk pointed a finger in Lance’s face, causing him to instinctively raise his hands in surrender. “We’re supposed to be having fun, okay?! No fighting! Either of you! Got it?”

“Got it,” squeaked Lance, Keith mumbling a low mutter in sync with him.

“Well—!” Hunk shrank, as if suddenly remembering who he was. “…Good.”

Lance swallowed. It wasn’t like he actually meant any of his antagonizing, but Hunk didn’t know he was playing a character and, well, that was…sort of his own fault, he supposed, so he got what he deserved.

He offered Keith a sheepish smile, something to back up his “truce” with more than words.

Keith didn’t smile back, but he did soften his scowl, which was the most Lance could expect when he wasn’t hiding behind a mask.

They finished their game in silence.

Lance won, but they both made at least one ring, so they both got prizes. Keith got a jawbreaker. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t seem too unhappy to shove it into his hoodie pocket, wrapper crinkling.

Lance, who got more rings than Keith, got a better selection of prizes to choose from, and out of them, the choice was obvious.

He took his little plush keychain and clipped it to the belt loop of his pants with a satisfied smile. Don’t get too comfortable, he thought at the Blue Lion plush, squeezing one of its firm little paws. You’re not mine, you don’t get to come home with me. You’re just hanging out with me for a little while before you go to your real home.

He sent Keith a wink.

Keith rolled his eyes, no doubt assuming Lance was showing off. All according to plan.

“Okay, are we done here?” Pidge strode forward and looped her arms around both Lance’s elbow and Keith’s, linking them in a line. “Some of us actually came here to ride some rides.”

“Oh, no.”

Lance looked over his shoulder to find Hunk pale and shrinking.

“Oh, no,” he repeated. “Can we go back to the fighting thing? I think I liked that better.”

“Nope!” Pidge grinned. “Hold on to your headband, Hunk, ‘cause we’re headed straight to the Obliterator.”

The Obliterator was a ride Lance found most carnivals and theme parks had, though it always seemed to be called something different. The one in the park he went to when he was little was simply called The Hammer. It was a big, swinging, twisting pod strapped to an arm that went around in a circle and made you feel like you were about to crash straight into the ground.

In Hunk’s defense, he didn’t puke until they were off.

Lance hung back, watching Pidge rub sympathetic if exasperated circles into Hunk’s back as he heaved over a garbage can next to the ride’s exit.

Keith crossed his arms beside Lance. “Is this…going to be a thing?”

“Yep,” said Lance, popping the P. “Pidge knew that before dragging him onto the ride.”

“Then why would she make him ride it?” asked Keith.

Lance stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugged. “What’s the point of going to a carnival if you don’t ride the rides? Look, I’m sorry. I guess I should have warned you Hunk’s got a weak stomach before—”

He froze.

Keith looked at him skeptically.

Lance swallowed around a tongue that suddenly felt too big for his mouth. Before I invited you here. Except Lance wasn’t the one who told you to come. Blue was. And I’m not Blue right now. Quiznak. Uh. Uh.

“Before—” Lance cleared his throat. “Before we got on…the ride.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, but the suspicion left him as quickly as it came. He turned away from Lance, giving his attention back to Hunk. “…It’s fine.”

From the corner of his eye, Lance saw Keith twist his ring back and forth across his ring finger, his thumb pushing and pulling just over his palm.

“What’s that?” asked Lance, feigning ignorance in the hopes that it would shake off any suspicion Keith might have had from that last misstep. “I’ve seen you wearing it in class, but like—”

Keith followed his line of sight, realized what he was talking about, and curled his hand into a fist. “It’s a ring.”

Lance stared at him pointedly.

Keith scowled. “None of your business.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna rat you out,” said Lance. “I’m just curious.” He gestured between Keith’s chest and his own. “This is called making conversation. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

Keith let out a hot, aggravated sigh. “It’s just…something I have with someone I’d rather be with than you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lance couldn’t help himself. “That cool, huh? Are they…charming?”

Keith hunched his shoulders. “Yes,” he growled.

“Smart?” asked Lance.

“Yes.”

“Pretty?”

Keith glared at him. “Prettier than you.”

Lance snorted, loud. He clapped his hand over his mouth and nose to try to stifle it, but there was no suppressing a laugh like that. God, he was going to be laughing at that for the rest of his life. Keith was so convinced Blue must have been a knockout even though he’d never even seen his face. Lance was flattered.

Keith just grumbled and marched to Hunk’s trash can, clearly preferring the smell of fresh vomit to what he thought was someone laughing at his devotion to a close friend.

Lance followed innocently. “Hey, big guy! How you feeling?”

Hunk groaned, his voice echoing wetly across the inside of the metal bin.

“All right, cool,” said Lance. “Because I get to pick where we go next, and I’m thinking we hit up the Spin-O-Matic 3000.”

Hunk answered him with a loud splatter at the bottom of a trash can.

Hunk was starting to regret going to the carnival with Lance and Pidge.

There were so many good things about a carnival. Music, artful displays of quintessence, funnel cakes, handmade ice cream… Rides that don’t make him want to puke. And where do Lance and Pidge take him?

Every single one of the rides that fling him around like a paddle ball.

They could have taken a nice, delightful Ferris wheel ride. Or even one of those flume rides with the water! Even if it was cold, it would have been preferable to spending half the night hunched over various trash cans.

But no. Not for Lance and Pidge! Lance wants to go with the spinny flying saucer ride so he can make the car he’s in spin faster than Keith’s. And Pidge wants to ride the super-fast centrifuge ride she read all about the mechanics of somewhere.

You know what Hunk wants to do?

Never leave the bathroom again. Ever.

But with a groan and a sigh, he picked himself up from the floor, dusted off his knees, and stumbled to the sinks so he could wash his mouth out.

Keith was leaning against the bathroom wall when Hunk emerged from his stall.

“Pidge and Lance wanted to ride the octopus thing,” he said sharply. “I told them they can go fuck themselves. Hope that’s okay.”

Hunk cupped his hands under the faucet, lifted them to his lips, and swished a mouthful of water for a moment, holding Keith’s gaze all the while. He broke it only to spit in the sink and so he could grab another handful of water to splash his face. “They weren’t mad, were they?”

“Nah.” Keith tapped the toe of his boot against the tile. “They just called me a chicken and said they’ll meet us at the main stage after they get off.”

Hunk dried his hands with a paper towel, wiped off his face, and dragged his feet to Keith so he could drop his face against Keith’s chest in a grateful, lazy embrace.

“Oh.” Keith tensed. “Uh. Okay.” With uncertain hands, he patted Hunk’s back. “Okay… That works.”

“Thank you,” choked out Hunk, half-laughing with relief.

Keith hummed conversationally. “…You wanna ride something that doesn’t make you lose weight?”

“That’d be so nice.” Hunk lifted his head. “Hey, what about that, like, tunnel of love thing? Except we don’t kiss because no offense buddy, I’m glad you saved me from Lance and Pidge, but not that glad, you know?”

Keith smiled, faint amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Sure.”

The tunnel of love thing Hunk was referring to was a water ride. Something that wouldn’t get them wet. Something that went nice and slow. The outside was barely more than an archway that had a few mermaids painted on it, and the line was short. They didn’t have to wait long to be let into the little blue Aquarian-Penguin-shaped boat.

The attendant made sure their seatbelts were fastened—just like any other ride’s attendants, though Hunk doubted they’d need it, and Hunk gave Keith a smile and a thumb’s up as the ride started, a conveyor belt at the bottom pulling their boat peacefully along, leading them pleasantly underground.

As the flashing lights from the carnival above faded behind the turn of a corner, Hunk made out a little faint glow from the darkness ahead. And then more, and more.

“Whoa,” murmured Keith.

“Whoa,” agreed Hunk.

They were jellyfish. Well, not real ones. Just decorations, glowing a false, luminescent blue to light their path as they were carried along.

Hunk looked over the edge of the boat and laughed gleefully at the little sea stars in a similar blue that lined the water beside their boat.

“Okay,” said Keith. “This is way better than anything Pidge and Lance wanted us to ride.”

Hunk agreed. Or at least, he did before the screeching started.

A ghastly, high-pitched, unbearable scraping, like nails on a chalkboard, or brakes on a very large and very heavy truck. Hunk slapped his hands over his ears. Keith followed suit, looking around as if he could find the source of the sound in the dark.

Hunk found it rather easily when their ride slowed to a stop.

At least the sound had stopped with it. Tentatively, Hunk lowered his hands from his ears. So did Keith.

Another unpleasant sound replaced the first, though not nearly as unpleasant. Just an intercom system sounding from somewhere in the tunnel.

“…kzzzatchmfzzm…rurnm…”

Hunk exchanged a glance with Keith, who looked back just as bewildered.

“…rurzm…enmfeuminnuz…”

There was a click, and the tunnel resumed its silence.

“Okay…” Keith leaned back against his seat. “I’m going to assume whoever that was said to wait in our seats and the ride will be fixed soon. Or someone’s going to come down and escort us out or something. Probably.”

“Right…” Hunk tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. Or…the darkness above them that probably ended in a ceiling at some point, not that he could make it out. “Man, I’ve got the weirdest case of deja vu right now. How old is that intercom system, anyway?”

“Beats me,” sighed Keith.

“Welp, better get comfortable.” Hunk clapped his hands on his knees. “And get mentally prepared for Pidge and Lance to make fun of us for the rest of the night because we wouldn’t be here if we went on the ride they wanted to go on.”

“Ugh,” was Keith’s answer, probably more to the prospect of Lance making fun of him than Pidge.

And that was the last thing either of them said for a long time.

At least, until a little light came on.

Not the light of a flashlight from a maintenance worker, as Hunk had hoped, but rather a little violet glow from Keith’s hand, just bright enough to glimmer across his cheeks, as if he’d just plugged in some device and it told him it was charging.

In that faint glow, more than the faux jellyfish lights around them, Hunk saw amazement cross his features. Awe. Just enough to part his lips.

“What is that?” asked Hunk.

Keith flinched as if he’d been yanked out of a trance. Slowly, like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t hiding something, he layered his other hand on top of the one the light came from. “…Nothing.” He tilted his head back, looking above them at the world they’d parted to come underground. “We just…probably have an audience up there.”

“Great,” grumbled Hunk. “That’s not embarrassing or anything.”

But Keith just smiled.

Hunk inched closer, overwhelmingly curious. “Okay, you have to tell me what’s going on with the little light, dude. You look like you just got kissed by the love of your life or something.”

“What?!” Keith inched away, as far as the seatbelt let him go. “No, I don’t!”

Hunk blinked. “…Wait, this isn’t one of those soulmate reader things, is it? Because you know those things are totally bogus.”

“No, no, it’s just…” Keith brought his joined hands to his chest, keeping them close, keeping them safe. “It’s kind of a…friendship ring. When the person who has the other ring gets close, the light comes on. I know he’s here tonight, but I thought he didn’t bring his ring with him, or that he kept it unplugged or something, but…I guess he’s just investigating some kind of commotion above us or something, since he’s close enough now for the light to turn on.”

“Aww!” Hunk crossed his arms over the bar in front of him, beaming. “Dude, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Keith shrank into his shoulders. “Shut up,” he grumbled, but Hunk could tell he didn’t mean it. That he just liked to talk about the friend that had the other half of that set of rings.

“Why didn’t you come here with him instead of hanging out with Lance?” asked Hunk.

Keith sighed. “He already made plans with someone else. But…he suggested hanging out with Pidge, since Pidge’s brother knows my brother, so…here I am.”

“At least he cares enough to make sure you won’t be alone,” said Hunk. “Like… Don’t get me wrong, I love Lance, but if he was busy with something else, I doubt he’d even think about making sure I’d be cool on my own.”

“Yeah, he…” Keith relaxed his grip on his glowing hand, letting it fall loosely into his lap. “He cares a lot.”

He closed his eyes and took a breath. When he let go, that breath came out slow, shaky, nervous, and he had to take another breath, a shorter one, to calm himself. Hunk knew that kind of breath. He took a lot of those, especially when Paladin stuff started to weigh on him. But he didn’t understand why Keith needed one of those. Maybe getting stuck underground was starting to freak him out, though, or maybe—

“I care about him, too.” Keith swallowed audibly. “A lot.”

…Or maybe he was working up the courage to say that.

“Can…” Keith turned to Hunk, slowly. “Can you keep a secret?”

Hunk was torn. He was nosy, a gossip, he knew that, but clearly Keith was freaked out about this, and he wanted to be a good friend, so… “Yeah. Sure.”

Keith leaned forward, crossing his arms across the bar, mirroring Hunk’s posture. “…I like him.”

“You like him?” asked Hunk. “Like… you like-like him?”

Keith averted his eyes, but he nodded. “Actually, I… I think I’m kind of…” He trailed off.

Hunk raised his eyebrows.

Keith’s eyes flickered between Hunk and the darkness. Then, with a miserable groan, he buried his face in his crossed arms. “I’m in love with him, okay?”

Hunk’s heart skipped a beat. Keith. Keith freaking Kogane. In love with someone? Here Hunk thought he was all aloof and broody, a natural-born loner, only open enough to let Shiro into his life and maybe, maybe, if he was in the right mood, to have a casual conversation or two with Hunk. The thought of Keith being in love with someone was enough to blow his mind.

Hunk was immediately gripped, as much as he would be watching the best rom-com he’d ever seen. “Oh my god. Oh-em-gee. No freaking way.” He laughed, surprised, thrilled. “You gotta tell me all about him. What’s his name? Does he go to the Garrison? Where did you meet?”

“It’s…complicated,” said Keith. “I don’t…actually know his real name.” He shrugged, still hiding his face. “I just call him Blue.”

“Dude, no one knows my real name, either,” said Hunk. “Who cares? Deets.”

Slowly, ever-so-hesitantly, Keith lifted his head. His eyes were wide. “…You don’t think that’s weird?”

“I don’t think it’s weird at all,” insisted Hunk. “DEETS.”

Keith stared. Wide-eyed, stunned, speechless.

Then, echoing across the water and the stone walls and the darkness, he threw his head back and laughed.

Much to Hunk’s disappointment, he only got a few of the precious deets—things like that this Blue guy had to be either really brave or really stupid to do ninety percent of the things he did from sneaking around the Shirogane residence in the dark to stealing shit from Lubos—before an employee appeared in the darkness with a flashlight to lead them safely out of the tunnel and back to the surface, but by that time, Hunk had still managed to figure two things out.

One, Keith was, despite being kind of intimidating at first, was nothing more than the biggest dork Hunk had ever met in his life.

Two, he was going to be one of Hunk’s best friends for the rest of his life. After all, you don’t share secret crushes on a broken-down carnival ride with just anyone.

The colorful carnival lights blinded Hunk at the exit of the ride. He raised his hand to block the searing glow from the surrounding rides, but before his eyes could adjust, a tiny whirlwind of a force tackled him from seemingly nowhere, grabbing both Hunk and Keith and pinning them together.

“Oh, my god, are you guys okay?!”

Hunk blinked blearily and squinted through the glare to find Lance clinging with all his might to not only Hunk, but, strangely, Keith as well.

Judging by the return of his wide-eyed blinks, Keith was just as surprised as Hunk was.

“We’re fine,” said Hunk. “We just sat and talked for a while.”

“That’s all?!” Lance leapt back and shoved them with both hands, earning a startled and quietly offended “Hey!” from Keith. “We were worried sick!”

“Correction: Lance was worried sick.” Pidge peeked out from behind Lance where Hunk noticed her for the first time. “I tried to tell him you guys would be fine if you were down there, but someone didn’t listen to me.”

“Hunk, you’re scared of everything!” Lance pointed a finger in Hunk’s face. “I thought you’d be freaking out like nobody’s business! And you—!” He turned his accusatory finger toward Keith. “You— You— Y-Y-Y-You…” He turned a very bright red, as if it had just occurred to him that he wasn’t supposed to be protective of his self-proclaimed rival. “You.”

“What about me?” challenged Keith.

Lance pursed his lips, turned around, and threw his arms into the air with disgust before marching away without a further word.

“And there he goes,” sighed Pidge, deadpan and sarcastic as ever.

Keith sighed, as if in agreement of some kind.

“So.” Pidge looked over her shoulder. “What’d you guys talk about down there anyway?”

“Ah, you know.” Hunk turned toward Keith and gave him a big, cheerful smile. “Stuff.”

Keith nudged his elbow with a smile.

Hunk cheerfully nudged him back.

“O-kay,” said Pidge. “Glad to know you guys made it out of an apparently traumatic event with your weirdness intact. Come on.” She took a step toward the crowd, in the direction Lance had gone. “Let’s go find our other idiot before he gets himself in trouble.”

Chapter Text

Maybe Keith was rushing into things.

“You like him?” asked Hunk. “Like…you like-like him?”

Suddenly, the word “like” felt…juvenile. Not powerful enough for what Keith felt every time he saw his ring light up, every time he knew Blue was somewhere nearby.

It was…incredible. Incredible in the sense that no one would believe him if he tried to explain. It was so much. It felt like, once a week, Keith had a scheduled appointment to blow up his heart, complete with fire and shrapnel and breaking the sound barrier, but in slow motion, so he could feel every burn, every tear, every tiny change in air pressure. It was bliss and torture, breathtaking and somehow like breathing the first breath he ever took. There was nothing else like it. Nothing in the world.

“Actually, I… I think I’m kind of…”

And maybe it was just that he’d never had a crush before—if so, god, how the hell did those kids he heard talking about new crushes every week in the hallways survive?—but maybe the fact that it only got stronger every weak meant something. Maybe the fact that Keith never got bored meant something. Maybe the fact that everything Keith learned about Blue, however much he was willing to share without giving away his identity, made those feelings somehow hurt all the sweeter meant something.

And maybe, maybe, maybe…

“I’m in love with him, okay?”

Shiro would probably say he was rushing. Or that he was too young. Or that he just didn’t know Blue well enough yet if he was still just calling him Blue.

But Blue was…special. To him, in particular. He’d never felt the way he felt around Blue.

And maybe that was why Keith was back at the train station.

Shiro had come with him again. And he was waiting inside again, this time to give Keith space rather than to be an extra set of eyes looking for a yellow hoodie.

This time, Keith had no idea what he was looking for. Whether he was looking for anything at all. Maybe he was just standing around aimlessly, waiting for something to happen.

That something came in the form of a veil of darkness falling across his eyes.

“You…” murmured a voice at his ear, one that sent shivers up his spine and goosebumps tingling across every inch of his skin. “…are totally incongruent.”

Incon—? Oh.

Keith smiled. “I think you mean incorrigible.” And if he did, Keith had no rebuttal. Yeah. He was hopelessly insatiable when it came to Blue. What about it?

Blue scoffed. “Whatever, smart guy. The heck are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you.”

Keith could hear Blue roll his eyes, something he’d gotten accustomed to doing when he could never really see his eyes to begin with. “Well, my mask is at the bottom of my bag. Hence the ongoing game of ‘guess who’.”

“Yeah, I figured,” said Keith. “But I had to say goodbye.”

Blue half-laughed a whine, a sound that seemed oddly as happy as it was pathetic, and Keith felt a warm weight land on the back of his neck. A forehead, perhaps, without a mask. “What the heck is your problem? Making me feel all loved and junk.”

Keith chuckled. “Well…maybe if it bothers you so much, you should be less lovable.”

He wondered—couldn’t help but wonder—whether this, what they were doing, would be what it felt like to date Blue. Gentle teasing weighed down by too much honesty. Feelings too deep, so deep he could drown. Except then, they’d both know what it meant when Keith said things like that.

Maybe Keith was flirting.

Maybe Blue was too sweet to notice or too kind to call him out on it.

Maybe he hadn’t said anything because he liked it.

Maybe.

“It’s only three months.” Blue lifted his head off Keith’s neck. “And we’ll text the whole time. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Yeah, I will,” said Keith.

Blue sighed. “Well, that’s just because you’re amazing.”

Keith felt himself blush. He wondered if Blue could feel it, too, where his hands were.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” mumbled Blue. “You know that, right?”

Keith sighed. “Well… Not as much as I’m going to miss you.”

“Oh, come on!” Blue laughed. “If you start that, we’re just going to wind up arguing back and forth about it and make absolutely no leeway for the next thirty minutes and then I’m gonna miss my train!”

“…What if that’s my plan?” Keith reached up, hands trembling, goosebumps crawling across his arms, and timidly covered Blue’s hands with his own. They were warm. They were so warm. “I trick you into missing your train, that way you’re forced to stay here in Altea.” He swallowed. “…With me.”

Blue froze. Keith felt him stiffen, his chest tightening against Keith’s back. Keith’s heart began to pound, wild, panicked. Shit, I said too much—

But Blue just let out a breath, odd and uneven, and slipped one of his hands out from under Keith’s—hastily moving his other hand over both eyes—to pull him into a hug.

“You can’t just say that…” Blue held Keith tighter. “Man, I don’t want to go, I just… I don’t want to spend all winter without my family.”

Keith’s heart clenched. “…Yeah. Why would anyone?”

“Hey.” Blue stopped hugging Keith for just long enough to flick his ear before returning his arm to where it was. “You mean a lot to me, too, dingbat, so don’t think you don’t. Also, I think Shiro would literally kill you if he thought you wanted to spend all winter with me instead of him.”

“Then you don’t know Shiro that well,” said Keith, who couldn’t imagine that level of possessiveness in Shiro in his wildest dreams. But Blue was right at the heart of what he was trying to say. Keith didn’t want to spend winter without Shiro, either. “I guess I just have to let you see your mom.” He leaned into Blue’s warmth. “And wait for you. All alone. In my cold, featureless house that looks like it was cut out of a magazine.”

“I’ll be back at the start of next year.” With an odd jingling sound, Lance let go of his hold on Keith and pushed something into his hand. “I promise.”

Bright, wintery light flooded Keith’s eyes as Blue yanked his hand back. It took a couple of blinks to readjust to the world, and by the time he cleared his vision enough to turn around, he saw nothing behind him that looked out of the ordinary. No yellow hoodies frantically running away before Keith could catch up. Just a bunch of students milling about as they waited for their trains.

Keith looked into his hand, at whatever Blue had given him just before his rush to get away. He uncurled his fingers a bit at a time, slowly uncovering little white feet, the bushy end of a plush tail, a white nose, and a fluffy, blue body.

A little plush Blue Lion. Like the ones they had at the game Keith played on Grogory Day. Proof that Blue really had been there the same night Keith had, that he’d never been as far as he’d seemed.

Maybe that was what he was trying to say by giving him that plush. That he wouldn’t be as far as he felt like he was.

Keith held the tiny plush tight, cradling it to his chest, where just beneath his fist, his heart began to beat a little differently.

Thump

Thump

Thump

Thump

Thump

Thump

In the low light of early evening, in the glow from Lance’s bedroom window, Lance ran his thumbs over the cheeks of his wooden mask.

It had gained a little wear over the school year. More wear than school masks usually got. But then, school masks were usually worn only one day a year. Lance’s had gotten a lot more use than that.

A lot more use.

He bit his lip as his thumbs wandered over the specks on his mask’s cheeks. Green, yellow, black…red… Drawing out a pattern scattered like stars over the varying shades of blue.

The door flew open. “Hey, Lance, dinner’s—”

“Don’t you knock?!” Lance glared at Veronica, hugging his mask to his chest. “I could have been doing anything in here!”

Veronica raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “First off, gross—”

“EW! That’s not what I meant!”

“—and second…why are you so defensive?” She pointed at Lance’s chest. “It’s just your mask. Why were you even messing with it anyway?”

Lance held his mask tighter, covering more of it with his arms as if he could hide it well enough to override Veronica’s object permanence. “I wasn’t messing with it! I was…moving it.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow.

Lance held her gaze, unyielding, refusing to give her an inch.

She took a mile anyway. A slow, knowing smirk pulled at her painted lips. “Deets.”

“What?”

“Deets or I tell the whole family you have a crush.”

Lance’s mouth fell open. “What?! It’s not a crush! Why would I have a crush on Keith?! Like, frankly, I don’t even know why I hang out with him! He’s got a mullet! Mullets are terrible! And he likes My Chemical Romance unironically! What kind of a nerd likes Pre-Altean music?! He keeps a freaking knife in his pocket! Everywhere he goes! Or he used to, but the only reason he doesn’t now is that it got confiscated and I had to steal it back! Why would I like Keith?! No! Just no! No.”

Veronica crossed her arms.

Lance swallowed.

“…I guess that’s enough details for now.” Veronica took a step back into the hallway. “Like I said, dinner’s ready. And it’s getting cold, so—”

“It’s not a crush!” squawked Lance.

Veronica closed the door, leaving Lance alone in the room.

He let go of the mask, taking it from the tight squeeze of his arms to the gentle caress of his fingertips.

“…It’s not.”

The best-case scenario Keith could hope for when he heard Shiro’s mom cleaning the bathroom down the hall was that, if she saw him, she’d tell him to clean it instead. (After all, there wasn’t much he could break in there.) The worst-case scenario, on the other hand, was, well…worse. Shiro was right; it was best to just avoid her. So Keith didn’t want to leave his room. Not while she was out there. Not while she could see him.

Instead, he reached for his phone.

Can I ask you for help with something?

It didn’t take long for Shiro to answer. And, as always, his answer brought a smile to Keith’s lips.

Anything. What’s up?

Keith took a deep breath before writing out his answer, hoping Shiro’s mom wouldn’t come in to find his face bright red.

Ha, thought Keith, smiling in spite of himself. “Red.”

“Shut up!” hissed Lance. “Someone’s gonna hear you!”

“Like who?” asked Veronica.

“Uh, like Rachel?” Lance crossed his arms. “This is her room, too! She’s not gonna knock!”

“Why is it so bad if Rachel hears anyway?” Veronica put her chin in her hand, a smirk tugging at her lips. “If he’s just a friend, what do you have to worry about?”

“Because then you’re both going to be harassing me for details even though there’s nothing going on!” Lance buried his face in his hands.

Veronica laughed and patted his back. “Okay, okay. I’ll go easy on you. So…” She leaned in closer, whispering excitedly. “How did you meet?”

A light tap came at Keith’s balcony door. Startled, he shot up from his desk, instinctively yanking at the drawer where he kept his knife.

It only took him a second to realize that any threat likely to come at him in his room would have come from the door that led to the hallway. Only people he liked came to him from the balcony.

Still wary, Keith approached the balcony unarmed, but there was no need for it. There wasn’t even anyone out there.

Just a drone.

The drone made a mechanical laugh and dropped open, revealing a small screen with a cartoon of a face, spirals where its glasses should be. Then the screen flashed, and its less cartoony likeness appeared in a low light, surrounded by trees.

“Man, how does Blue stand walking all the way out here every week? It’s freezing!”

“Matt?”

Matt grinned at him from the other side of the screen, despite how cold he looked. “Hey, buddy!”

“You know Shiro’s on the floor under me, right?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Yes, Keith, I know. Actually, this was Shiro’s idea.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, surprised, and looked over his shoulder, half-afraid of Shiro’s parents walking in after him. Wary, he stepped all the way out into the cold and shut the door behind himself.

“What was Shiro’s idea?”

Matt leaned back, smug. “Well, he may have told me that someone wanted to make a mask for next year’s opening night.”

“Yeah.” Keith furrowed his brow. “He told me his parents wouldn’t be happy about the mess, even if I cleaned it up afterward.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” Matt winked. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them, right? I’ve got a plan. A way for you to make your mask without Shiro’s parents finding out.”

Keith frowned, apprehensive. But Matt was smart, right? He knew what he was doing. “What do you have in mind?”

He could have sworn Matt began to glow as his smile returned. He’d never seen anyone smile so bright. “Be right back!”

The drone’s screen shut with a snap and it rose high into the sky with a speed Keith had never seen on a drone. Then again, it probably was Holt-made, based on that screen. Keith didn’t know why he expected it to be normal.

He watched the drone fly over the forest and drop down carefully into the trees, presumably where Matt was standing, and held his breath in the silence of the drone’s absence, not sure what to expect.

When the drone emerged from the trees again, nearly startling Keith with its sudden reappearance, its shape had changed, like it had inflated like a balloon. It wasn’t until the drone reached the light from Keith’s balcony door that he realized what it really was.

A cargo compartment had been added. It was small, small enough to be carried by the drone itself, but still almost the size of a lunch box.

The drone’s screen popped down again, and Matt looked more excited than ever.

“Go ahead and take the whole compartment,” he chirped. “It should pop right off!”

Keith reached hesitantly for the drone, then stopped, pulling his hand back. “…What if I break it?”

Matt’s smile softened. It was hard to remember that he was Shiro’s age sometimes, but when he smiled like that, Keith saw the same kind of maturity from Matt that he was used to seeing with Shiro. “Okay, first off, you won’t. Second, if you did, I know it’d be an accident, so I wouldn’t hold it against you.” He shrugged. “You’re basically family, Keith. I love the hell out of you. That’s not going to go away just because you broke a piece off a drone.”

Keith swallowed. He… Well, he loved Matt, too, obviously. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so invested in getting him together with Shiro. But he’d never heard Matt say that before.

“Also…” Before Keith could say anything, Matt’s smile turned playful and light-hearted again. “If you broke something, I’d fix it in, like, two seconds. Who do you take me for?”

Keith felt himself smile at that. “Okay. That’s true.”

“So open it!”

Keith took a breath, held it, and—carefully—popped the compartment off the bottom of the drone. Nothing broke. Relieved, Keith sat on the balcony floor, turned the compartment over on his lap, and opened the top.

There was a myriad of tools inside, things Keith had never seen before and had no idea how to use. But among the tools was a solid block of wood, and Keith understood what the tools were for at once.

“Shiro’s coming up in a second to show you how to use everything,” said Matt, waving his phone in front of the screen. “This is a team effort.”

“Matt—” Keith shut his mouth, embarrassed by the crack in his voice.

Matt smiled anyway, Keith’s “thank you” having apparently gotten through regardless. “Just repay me by asking this guy out before someone else does. We can’t both be pathetic and pining for the rest of our lives, can we?”

Keith frowned. “I didn’t say I was doing this for Blue. Or…anyone else.”

Matt rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Sure. I’ll believe that—”

“And, anyway, you and Shiro—!”

A gentle knock came at the glass door behind Keith, sending a jolt of cold horror up his spine before he turned around and saw Shiro, simply confirming what Matt had told him. Keith took a deep breath, steadying his heart.

“Hey.” Shiro spoke softly as he opened the balcony door, careful not to alert his parents. “What are you two talking about out here?”

“Oh, you know us,” said Matt. “Just gushing about cute boys.”

Keith felt himself turn bright red. How did Matt say that with a straight face when Shiro was right there?

“Well, as much as I hate to interrupt the sleepover talk, we should get started.” Shiro smiled apologetically as he reached for the block of wood Matt brought. “I don’t want Matt to stay out in the cold any longer than he has to.”

“Does he have pretty eyes?” asked Veronica.

Lance glared at the dish he was scrubbing. “Yes, but—”

“A pretty singing voice?”

“He’s literally a Strain user.”

“Nice butt?”

“VERONICA!” The dish water splashed as Lance dropped his plate back into it. “He—! I—! He’s too young for you, and—!”

“So, you’re jealous?” Veronica smirked.

“Yes! I mean, no!” Lance shoved Veronica’s arm. “I mean, you shouldn’t be talking about his butt!”

“I’m not talking about his butt,” said Veronica. “I’m trying to get you to talk about his butt.”

“Whose butt?”

Lance froze.

Rachel.

Shit.

Veronica turned away from the sink, a grin on her face.

“No.” Lance splashed her with water. “No way.”

Veronica covered his face with a hand wet from rinsing dishes. “Lance has a crush.”

“No, I don’t!” squawked Lance.

“His name’s Keith and he apparently has pretty eyes.”

“They are! Objectively! I can’t notice my friend has pretty eyes?!”

“I mean, you can, but it’s still a little gay.”

“Coming from you. What about your totally planetonic feelings about your—”

“Okay, first off, it’s platonic, not planetonic. Second, for real, don’t talk about that where people can hear. It’s technically treason. Third, at least I can admit I have a crush on her.”

Rachel reached the bottom of whatever drink she had in her hand, and the telltale rumble of a straw in an almost-empty cup filled the kitchen.

Lance looked at her.

She flicked her ponytail and lowered her straw from her lips. “You guys are both hot messes.”

“It comes with the bisexuality,” claimed Veronica.

Lance sucked in a breath to protest—Oh, he’d been aware he was bi for as long as he could remember, but he wasn’t a mess—only to be cut off by Rachel’s next question.

“What’s your crush’s name?”

“He’s not my crush,” said Lance. “He’s my friend. And he’s a great friend, and quite frankly, it’s disrespectful for you guys to gossip about him like the only thing he’s good for is to be eye candy with a nice butt!”

“So he does have a nice butt?” asked Rachel.

Heat rushed into Lance’s face.

Veronica beamed.

“No!” blurted Lance. “I mean— Yes! I mean, it’s— I haven’t looked!”

“Of course you haven’t.” Veronica put a hand on her hip. “So he’s not your crush. He’s just a guy with pretty eyes and a pretty voice and a nice butt and great hair—”

“Okay, I can tell what you’re doing, and it’s not gonna work this time,” said Lance. “His hair sucks. He has a mullet. Mullets are terrible.”

“So it’s long enough for you to run your fingers through,” said Rachel.

And— Okay, it wasn’t Lance’s fault that he immediately started picturing it. He wasn’t the one who brought it up. Rachel brought it up. And sure, whatever, he thought about it. Because she brought it up. He thought about holding Keith’s face, maybe comforting him when he was upset about something Shiro’s parents did, and sliding his hands along Keith’s cheeks, over his ears, until his fingers could comb through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face, clearing a path, freeing Keith to lean in close, breath warm, eyes sliding closed—

Lance shook his head frantically. Nope. Nope. Get that out. The hell out. “I don’t have a crush on Keith.” He whipped around and turned his full attention back to the dishes. “And that’s a really good thing, because if I did like Keith, it’d be hopeless, since he doesn’t even actually know I’m me, and if he did, he wouldn’t want to hang out with me anymore.”

Veronica didn’t have a response for that.

Neither did Rachel.

Lance glared into the soapy water, scrubbing frantically, angrily.

A warm, heavy hand settled on the top of his head. A warm, heavy hand that didn’t feel anything like Veronica’s or Rachel’s.

Surprised, Lance lifted his head and twisted around.

“Lancito…” The low, gentle rumble of his father’s voice reached him before he saw his face, his sad, comforting, sincere smile. “¿Qué hiciste, eh?”

Lance swallowed.

Well, shit.

“Matt? Are you still out here?”

The faint crunching of footsteps approached Shiro from deeper in the forest, timidly coaxing his attention. When he turned to look, he found Matt pushing a tree branch out of the way, a sheepish smile on his face. “Hi.”

Shiro’s chest filled with warmth. “Hi.” He held out the drone in his hand. “How does someone as smart as you forget to charge a battery?”

Matt laughed softly, embarrassed, and took the drone from Shiro’s hand.

Their fingers brushed, feather-light.

Shiro cleared his throat.

Matt held his drone securely to his chest, arms weaved through the x-shape of its propellors. “Did Keith manage to finish it?”

“Yeah.” Shiro smiled. “It’s hiding on a newspaper on the top shelf of his closet until the paint dries, but it looks great. I’m sure he would have been more excited to have it finished, but…you know.”

Matt sighed, his own smile vanishing. “It— You have no idea how mad I am.”

“Matt—”

“I might not look like it, but I am.” Scowling, Matt set his drone on the root of a tree. “You guys don’t even do anything wrong, and they just make stuff up to get you in trouble anyway!”

“I am sneaking out to see you right now,” said Shiro.

“You’re a grown man,” said Matt. “You shouldn’t have to sneak out! You shouldn’t have to hide a mask from your parents! It’s school stuff! I just don’t get it! I don’t get them!”

“Easy.” Shiro wrapped his hand gently around the arm Matt flung out and tugged it down. He appreciated Matt’s sympathy. He did. But getting mad didn’t solve anything, and despite Shiro’s own frustrations—particularly at how they treated Keith—he knew his parents didn’t want him there, that they just kept him at home grudgingly due to Paladin tradition, and that in any other life, he would have left home long ago, taking Keith with him. He understood their frustration at having a grown son stuck at home, kept Apprentice for longer than most but still not being made Paladin. Of course, Matt was more or less in the same situation, but there was a huge difference there.

Matt’s parents…genuinely loved him. Obviously and outwardly, in a way that ensured Matt never had to tell himself it was true because they already proved it.

When Shiro’s parents didn’t want him or Keith around in any respect, but they felt obligated to let him stay for as long as he was in Paladin training…

“They’ve gotten worse,” said Matt, pulling Shiro gently out of his thoughts. “I can tell.”

Shiro let go of Matt’s wrist with a sigh. “I know. There’s probably some kind of international tension we don’t know about yet.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay to take it out on you or Keith.” Matt kicked the dirt. “He’s just a kid. I know he’s kind of a mess, but like, he lost both of his parents and had to change schools and now he’s got this weird…secret friendship he has to deal with, and as happy as Blue obviously makes him, all the sneaking around and worrying about why Blue wants to keep his identity a secret has to be stressful.”

“You think about this a lot, don’t you?” asked Shiro, smiling sympathetically.

“And then there’s you!” Matt gestured sharply at Shiro, ignoring his question. “I mean— I mean, you’re every parent’s dream! What could they possibly want from you?”

Shiro looked at the dirt.

Matt dropped his arms. “Shiro?”

“You’re right.” Shiro closed his eyes and took an unsteady breath. “You’re right. And I think about that a lot.” He walked to the tree with the bulging roots where Matt had left his drone and dropped onto the root beside it. “I keep asking myself what I could be doing differently to make myself into a better person—someone my parents would like more, someone I would like more, someone who could be a better role model for Keith—but every time I actually stop to think about what I would do differently, the answer is that…I wouldn’t. I’m already doing everything I can.” He rubbed his shoulder. “There are things my parents would want to change about me. I know that. I even know what they are. But I can’t stop training to be a Paladin. It’s important. It’s bigger than me. Big enough that if I have to fight my own parents to protect people, I will.”

“And you can’t stop being pan, either.”

Shiro lifted his head.

Matt held his gaze, severe, somber. “And you can’t stop loving Keith.”

Shiro closed his eyes. “…Exactly.”

Matt let out a breath. The earth crunched and shifted under light footsteps once more as Matt’s warmth neared the tree where Shiro sat. When he lowered himself onto the root, he looped his arms around Shiro’s waist, and Shiro buckled, bending into Matt and pressing his face into the side of Matt’s neck.

Matt rested his cheek on the top of Shiro’s head. “You’re a good person. No matter what they tell you. Being a Paladin, taking care of Keith, being who you are… They’re all good. You’re good. You’re so good that—that I’m kind of scared this is the first time someone has ever told you that, because you’re usually the one telling everyone else that they’re worth more than they think.” He held Shiro tight, as tight as his lean arms could. “But you are, too. You’re worth so much to so many people. Don’t lose sight of that, no matter who tells you you’re not.”

A sharp, sudden breath rushed out of Shiro before he could catch it, a sob without tears.

He felt Matt bury his nose in his hair, ice-cold against his scalp. “Come on. Better to break down out here than in front of them, right?”

Shiro clutched at Matt like the lifeline he was.

“And then I gave him the keychain and ran away before he saw me and we’ve just been texting since. And now you know everything! Are you happy?!”

Veronica snapped a tortilla chip in half and chewed it contemplatively. “…Yeah. I think so.”

“But you definitely have a crush,” said Marco without looking up from his phone.

“I do not!” barked Lance.

A heavy hand slapped his head from behind and ruffled his hair. “Yeah, you do, kiddo.”

Lance grabbed the pillow beneath his face and screamed into it, kicking the wooden family room floor beneath him with his sock-clad toes.

“Luis,” chided his mother. “Don’t put words in Lance’s mouth. You, too, Marco. But Lance, I have to say—”

“You do not do anything the easy way,” sighed Lance’s father, finishing his wife’s sentence.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘dramatic’,” said Rachel.

“I’m not being dramatic!” Lance rolled over, taking his pillow with him and clutching it to his chest. “If he knew who I was, he’d hate me! I don’t want him to hate me! He’s, like, my best friend! …Tied with Pidge and Hunk.”

“He’s your best friend,” said Veronica. “So you think he’ll hate you.”

“Were you listening to the part where I said we fought, like, all the time before I figured out he doesn’t suck as much as I thought he did?” asked Lance. “Or the part where I still tease him in hallways?”

“You said you don’t do it as much,” said Marco.

“No, I said I can’t do it as much.” Lance held up a finger. “I have tried. It does not feel good. Can’t keep it up for longer than, like, ten seconds.”

Rachel clicked her tongue.

His mother lifted herself off the couch with a sigh and kneeled beside Lance so she could pet his hair. Lance wanted to pretend he was too grown-up for it to be soothing, but he couldn’t lie to himself. “Have you considered the possibility that, maybe, Keith might realize you don’t ‘suck’ as much as he thought you did if you just explain yourself?”

Lance pulled his pillow up to his face with a groan. The faint conversation of the television—long-since turned down to barely-audible levels—filled the silence Lance’s doubt left behind.

“I’m not saying you need to tell him right away,” said his mother, petting his hair. “But you should think about it. And if Keith ever needs to get away from the Shiroganes for a little while, our home is always open.”

Lance looked up from his pillow. “So…I’m not in trouble for sneaking out?”

“Would you blame Keith if you were caught?”

“What?” Lance shot upright. “No! Why would anyone do that? No. No.”

“And what if you were expelled for it?”

“You don’t think I’ve thought about that?”

His mother smiled. “So this is a calculated risk. You’ve looked at the consequences you might face and you’ve decided they’re worth it to see your friend anyway. That isn’t pointless rebellion, and it’s not foolishness. It’s bravery. How could I punish that?”

Lance groaned and flopped forward into his mother’s chest, squeezing the life out of his pillow. “Best mom ever.”

“Mm.” His mom patted his hair. “But you are in trouble if you get caught.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Lance.

“And if you do manage to bring Keith here somehow, don’t expect me to let you sleep in the same room. Not with the door closed.”

Lance jolted upright.

“I don’t have a crush on him!”

The entity threw itself against the wall of its glass compartment.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

Sam did his best to ignore it. It had been doing that since Vakala came upstairs.

“I told you to do it before tonight!”

“Why do you gotta nag me all the time?”

Which meant he and Remdax were arguing. Again.

“Because you never do anything if I don’t tell you to!”

“You know, most people would find that flattering.”

“Well, I don’t! I don’t want to have to babysit you every day for the rest of your life!”

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

Sam kneaded his forehead, trying to focus on the paperwork he was filling out despite the screaming match happening right outside his office door and the banging from the glass container he’d moved to his desk.

“Maybe if you didn’t nag me all the time, I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for you to start screaming every time I needed to do something.”

“Right. Like you’d get anything done without me.”

Sam pinched his brow.

Clink.

Clink.

CLINK

“I don’t need you to take care of me! I don’t need you at all!”

“Bullshit!”

“You—!”

CRASH

Sam lifted his head just in time to see the entity shoot up from the remains of the container it knocked off his desk. It zoomed through the glass window of his office door, glass splintering in every direction. Sam threw an arm over his eyes, dropping his pen in surprise.

Vakala screamed.

With a shout of his own, Sam jumped to his feet and sprinted to the door.

Vakala was so close to the doorway that Sam hit his knee before he saw him.

He sat on the floor, yellow eyes boggled, mouth hanging open.

Sam dropped to a knee beside him. “Are you okay? What happened? Where did the entity go?”

Vakala answered not with words, but with a whimper. He raised a hand, shaking so violently Sam could hardly see where he was pointing. But there wasn’t anything else he could be pointing to.

Remdax stood at the end of the hall, hunched over, blankly staring at the floor, clutching his chest.

He seemed…frozen.

Sam climbed to his feet. “Remdax?”

Remdax lifted his head.

Sam sucked in a breath.

He’d always suspected Remdax was part Galra. He’d never asked, of course—that would have been rude—but his yellow scleras were a common sign, and that blue skin had to come from somewhere. If there had ever been any doubt for Sam, though, it was erased in that moment.

Those glowing, yellow eyes really completed the picture.

"Fandek claims the creature went into her."

"Like a parasite?"

"Like a demon."

“Remdax.” Sam held up his hands and took a wary step closer. “Remdax, are you still in there?”

Tiny motes of golden light rose up from Remdax’s newly glowing eyes, weightless and glittering.

“R…Rem?”

Sam took his eyes off the large man at the end of the hall to look at the tiny one quivering by his feet.

Vakala reached an arm between his shaking knees to brace himself against the floor. “Rem, you’re okay, right?”

Remdax sucked a deep, shuddering breath through his teeth and let it go in a gasping sob. Drool dripped over his lips.

Vakala started to stand. “Rem—”

“Don’t.” Sam threw out an arm. “It’s dangerous. For the past year we’ve been trying to—”

WHAM

An elbow slammed into Sam’s stomach, taking the wind out of him just as easily as it knocked him off his feet.

“Holt—?!”

Vakala’s voice cut off into nothing, strangled into silence. With a groan, Sam rolled onto his side. Through a faint haze that crept into his vision from the intensity of his pain, he saw Remdax’s hulking form pinning Vakala to the ground, hands on his neck.

Holt pushed himself upright. He heard footsteps charging down the corridor, trying to reach them, but they were too distant, too far away.

He reached under his collar and grabbed the whistle around his neck.

The first blow was short, Sam lacking the breath in his lungs to make the blast he needed to make, but that tiny tweet was enough to raise a waist-high wall of briars shooting out of the floor, just enough to knock Remdax back, to separate him from Vakala’s tiny body. Vakala dragged himself back, frantic to put any distance between himself and Remdax. Just as desperately, Remdax began to drag himself over the briars.

Sam sucked in a breath only to choke on it.

Shoot! He coughed helplessly into the hand that held his whistle.

But Vakala didn’t need his help. He reached into his pocket and brought a tiny metal tool to his lips. A low, tiny twang reverberated from his teeth, and a pure white knife appeared in Vakala’s hand.

Remdax leapt over the briars.

Vakala brought his knife up and slashed.

Blood dripped onto the floor.

Remdax stumbled backward, clutching his eye, screaming.

The corridor erupted into flames, branches, jets of water, and a cacophony of horrible noise that did nothing to synchronize as the rushing footsteps approaching from the end of the hallway turned into frantic coworkers desperate to help.

Perhaps realizing it was outmatched, the entity pushed out Remdax’s back like the laying of an egg. His screams grew louder as he sank to his knees, still clutching his bleeding eye despite the myriad of new injuries patterning his blue skin in cuts and burns.

Gasps rolled through the corridor. The entity shot down the hall, zooming as fast as it could until, abruptly, it changed course.

The woman it shot toward, its new target, screamed and covered her face as the red-violet glowing thing drew nearer and nearer and nearer until—

CLACK

A quick-thinking lab worker swooped a half-melted glass candle through the air and into the ground, pinning the entity inside between the mouth of the jar and a layer of wax.

The alarmed screaming quieted. All but Remdax’s.

Sam tried to stand, but his legs collapsed beneath him.

Vakala ran to Remdax’s side in his stead. “What are you all looking around for?! Call an ambulance!”

Sam clutched his head.

“Voltron, save us…”

Chapter Text

Sam didn’t care much for hospitals. They reminded him of the worst parts of work, of sitting at his desk surrounded by sterile surfaces at every angle while he scowled at a screen, struggling for a breakthrough.

But he’d put up with it when it meant seeing Remdax awake and…mostly well.

He’d lost an eye. It could have been his life.

Or, more likely, Vakala’s.

Vakala had come in with a group of them, but his blue skin was pale in the fluorescent lights, eyes glued to Remdax in his bed. He looked like he could throw up at any minute.

“Hey.” One of their colleagues, the woman whose quick thinking had captured the entity in the candle jar, spoke up. “You’re looking better.”

“Looking better than possessed?” asked Remdax. “Sure fucking hope so.”

“More like better without a shard of ice in your eye and blood running down your face.”

Vakala turned a shade paler, and another of their colleagues elbowed the man who’d made that comment in the ribs.

“Hey! Ow!”

“Someone had to stop me,” said Remdax, oddly casual despite the fingers running under the edge of his eye dressings. His good eye found Vakala’s. “You did good.”

“Fuck that,” gasped Vakala, startling Sam as he took a step forward. “I cut your fucking eye out!”

“And I grabbed your fucking throat!” roared Remdax. “You could’a died, you scrawny cunt!”

“So could you!”

“Well, I didn’t, so it doesn’t matter!”

“Of course it does! How could it not matter?!”

Sam raised his hands in defense and took a step back, exchanging a startled glance with his colleagues. Remdax and Vakala were always bickering, but this was something else. This was something desperate.

“You almost died!” repeated Vakala, voice breaking. “If my knife went any deeper, it could have wound up in your brain or something! And you still lost an eye! Tell me that’s okay!”

“It is okay!” Remdax narrowed his remaining eye. “Better than okay! I'm fuckin’ happy about it!”

“What do you mean you’re happy about it?!” screeched Vakala.

Remdax grabbed the front of Vakala’s shirt, yanking him down and sending up a chorus of startled gasps, starting from Vakala himself. “‘Cause if you didn’t stop me from killin’ you, I never would’a got the guts for this.”

Sam reached out a hand, fully expecting Remdax to punch Vakala in the face, but, clearly, he’d misread the situation. Wildly misread it.

Because the idea of Remdax kissing Vakala never even crossed his mind.

And, judging by Vakala’s eyes, now the size of dinnerplates, he hadn’t been expecting it either.

Remdax pulled back slowly, the breaking the seal of their lips.

Vakala stared, stock-still, for the longest time, awestruck. Sam wasn’t sure he’d blinked since they kissed. Maybe that was because when he did blink, tears welled in his eyes.

He bent over the bed and pressed his face into Remdax’s shoulder, slapping his chest, hard.

“Oi—!”

“You idiot! I can't believe you did that in front of all these people!”

Remdax scoffed and wrapped an arm around Vakala’s shoulders, his hulking form almost swallowing the tiny man hiding his face in his chest.

“He kind of has a point,” said Sam. “Maybe we should give you two some space. Let you talk for a while.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Remdax. Vakala’s hand fisted in the front of his hospital gown.

Sam nodded and turned around, ushering his colleagues through the door. “All right! Well, congratulations.”

“Don’t give us no congratulations yet,” said Remdax. “We still ain’t—”

Vakala groaned and covered his head with his arms.

Remdax guffawed. “Still ain’t talked it out, you dirty bird!”

“That wasn’t what you were gonna say and you know it!”

“How do you know what I was gonna say?”

“Because I know you!”

Sam smiled and made his way out, teammates in tow, closing the hospital room door behind himself to give the happy couple their privacy.

He didn't wander far beyond it, though.

There was something about those last few words, the ones Sam heard Vakala say as he closed the door. “Because I know you.” There shouldn’t have been anything anything particularly notable about that. Even before learning about the hidden feelings those two had been harboring for each other, Sam would have guessed they knew each other pretty well. He just might have described their squabbling as “like brothers” rather than the old married couple they were apparently destined to be.

But there was that firmness, that knowing, all the same. It reminded of something similar he’d heard from another Galra he’d met months prior, a similar sentiment spoken with a similar conviction.

“I know that Kartaka loved me.”

Sam covered his mouth as he followed his colleagues down the hall, lost in thought, a theory brewing in his mind. But was it even possible, or was he just seeing a pattern where there was none?

He’d noticed the entity going wild for the duration of a phone call once. Not long after, he’d dismissed that stirring as coincidence. Testing its reaction with consequent phone calls yielded unrepeatable results. No pattern. Hypothesis debunked.

But he’d neglected to note that during the first call, he’d been speaking to the woman he loved.

ok

Lance frowned at his latest text from Keith. He held it up to the moonlight as if his phone was hiding some kind of secret message. No such luck, of course.

He thought Keith would be excited. After being apart for the past three months, Lance thought Keith would be practically pissing his pants to see him again. That was how he felt, at least, until he got that message.

Lance closed his eyes and pushed his hair back, trying to calm himself down. In the process, he’d managed to knock into his mask at just the right angle to loosen the ribbon and send his mask sliding down his face.

Lance squawked, startled, and pushed his Blue Lion mask back up to its proper place before tightening the ribbon at the back of his head. He didn’t need to spend all that time pining—Missing his friend, Lance mentally corrected—just to mess up any chance he had of ever seeing Keith again right away.

That message was probably just…Keith being distracted. Maybe he was multi-tasking or something. The ring on Lance’s finger glowed purple, inviting Lance to come inside. It wasn’t like Keith didn’t want him there or something, right?

Lance tipped his head back to look at the yellow light from Keith’s balcony door and slid his phone into his pocket.

Right.

With a deliberately steady hand, Lance reached around his back for his guitar, played a quick arpeggio, and summoned a pillar of ice to raise himself up to Keith’s balcony.

“Hey, buddy…” Lance took a quick look at his hand to make absolutely sure his ring was still glowing before taking a step down from the railing to tap his fingernails against the glass. “I’m here to—” The door slid open. “Whoa.”

Keith lifted his head.

And Lance forgot how to breathe.

He swallowed, hard, gaze sliding down and back up.

It couldn’t have just been the new coat, right? Which, yeah, Keith was wearing a new coat, one that looked more expensive than Lance’s entire net worth at that, and, sure, he looked good in it, but there was more to it than that.

Lance swore he must have grown a whole inch in the past three months. If so, Lance probably grew just as much, because it wasn’t like he had to tilt his head back to look at Keith or anything, but he definitely looked different. More…angular. Sharper. His shoulders seemed broader, and the lines drawing the muscles in his neck seemed deeper. There was muscle there that Lance couldn’t remember. Where had it come from? He was only gone for a few months! Had Keith been growing into this all year and Lance just forgot?!

Veronica… Lance wanted to groan. Not just Veronica, but his whole family. It was all their fault for making him look at Keith differently. It had to be, and…

And if he hadn’t been too busy staring, he would have noticed how Keith was looking back at him a lot sooner.

“Dude, what’s going on? You look—” Lance took a step closer.

Keith took a step back, eyes averted.

“…sad,” finished Lance. “Like, super sad.”

He really did. That was no exaggeration. His eyes looked tired, tired in a way Lance had never seen them, and there was an agony in them that had never been there before.

“Can we just go?” asked Keith, terse.

Lance swallowed. “…Yeah, sure.” He stepped back again, away from Keith, and pulled himself onto the rail.

It was with reluctance, with the fear of being pushed away, that he offered Keith his hand.

Keith looked at him, briefly, then back down at the floor.

He followed without once taking his hands out of his pockets.

Lance was at a loss.

He had totally forgotten how to talk. He had no idea that could even happen.

He was just walking beside Keith. In silence. Stealing glimpses through the corner of his eye.

Moonlight slithered through the trees, tracing white lines over the slope of Keith's nose, highlighting under his eyes. Even with Lance’s vision stained with gold, he still couldn't miss the dark, mysterious—fuck it—beauty to his face he swore wasn’t there before.

Shoot. Lance hated to admit it (really hated to admit it) but…Veronica might have…maybe…had a little bit of a point. Maybe Lance had been harboring a little, itty bitty, tiny, eensy-weensy little baby of a crush. A little one. And he hadn’t thought about it at all until she pointed it out. But so what? So what if he noticed that Keith was a pretty guy? He was allowed to have pretty friends! And he was allowed to notice that they were pretty! And…

And, anyway, Keith had been quiet just as long as Lance had. This whole walk, he’d been glaring at the forest floor. Avoiding Lance’s gaze. Not saying a word. And that was way more important than Lance having a crisis.

“Okay, what is going on with you?” Lance spun around and grabbed Keith’s arms. Keith didn’t even flinch. He just turned his face away. “You’re never this quiet. Not when it’s just us. You haven’t said a word all night, you won’t even look at me, and you… Y-You…”

Lance trailed off, eyes widening.

There were tears in Keith’s eyes.

And Keith seemed to notice the exact moment Lance caught them.

“I’m fine.” He pushed Lance off and marched past, heading into the forest ahead. “What do you care anyway?”

“What do I—?! Hey!” Lance chased after him and grabbed his wrist. Keith didn’t even look back. “What do you mean what do I care? What the heck, Keith? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” snapped Keith. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Oh, that is bull,” said Lance. “What— What, are you mad at me for leaving to see my family for a couple of months? Is that what this is? Oh, poor Keith, all alone in his big, fancy mansion for the holidays. What a shame.”

Keith’s hand curled into a fist in Lance’s grip.

“Now you’re giving me the cold shoulder? Really?” Lance scoffed. “After the whole last year we spent together, you won’t even talk to me?”

Keith didn’t answer.

“You completed the circuit,” said Lance. “The light was on. If you didn’t want me to come, all you had to do was pull the ring apart and I would have left you alone. Why would you do that if you didn’t want to see me? If you actually thought I didn’t care? What, did you feel obligated? Is this your way of telling me that you’re the one who doesn’t care? Because I gotta tell you, Keith, that…hurts.” He loosened his grip on Keith’s wrist. “A lot.”

Keith didn’t immediately yank his arm away, which felt like a miracle, but he still didn’t say anything, either.

Frustrated, Lance sighed and slid his hand down Keith’s arm, and when his fingers grazed over Keith’s palm…

Keith flinched. Violently. Like he was in pain.

Lance barely had time to frown before Keith really did try to yank his arm away. But Lance was faster.

His hand shot straight back up Keith’s arm and wrapped a tight grip around his wrist, holding on tight, refusing to let go.

“Keith—”

“Don’t.”

“Dude, what the hell?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Stop,” said Lance. “Just stop saying that. It’s seriously starting to scare me. What’s going on with your hand?”

“Nothing,” said Keith, pointedly refusing Lance’s eyes.

Lance inhaled a seething breath through his nose and threw out his good hand, flat, palm up. “Show me,” he demanded both of Keith and of the flames that blossomed in his hand. The latter was more cooperative of the former. Keith, stubborn as ever, stood pointed away, the arm in Lance’s grip stretched out as far as it could go in a half-assed attempt to get as far away as possible

“Keith, come on.”

Keith’s shoulders tensed, then dropped. Slowly, miserably, he allowed Lance to coax his hand open, turning slowly toward him for the sake of comfort as his palm turned timidly up.

A wide, pink patch of burned flesh shimmered up at Lance, stretching from the tip of his thumb to the heel of his hand.

All the anger from Lance’s frustration rushed out of him in an instant. “What happened? And don’t go quiet on me again. You know I’m going to get the answer out of you one way or another.”

Keith’s eyes slid shut.

“Keith,” said Lance, a quiet warning. “How did this happen? Did you just…lose control of your magic again, or—?”

“No,” said Keith sharply, opening his eyes again to glare at the grass. “I was in control the whole time.”

Lance furrowed his brow. What the hell does that…? He sucked in a breath.

“What?” hissed Lance. “You did this to yourself? Like, on purpose?”

Keith shrugged sharply, scowling at the grass.

“Tell me,” said Lance. “I know you want to. You wouldn’t have told me this much if you didn’t want to tell me for real.”

Keith hunched his shoulders.

Lance sighed. “Come on. Let’s sit down.” He lowered himself to his knees, never letting go of Keith’s wrist, forcing him to sit with him.

Keith pulled his knees to his chest.

Lance carefully took his guitar in hand. “You gonna run off if I let go?”

“No,” grumbled Keith.

“Good,” said Lance. “Then keep your hand there.” He picked out a simple melody, barely more than a scale, and dragged pure water from the damp winter earth to wrap around Keith’s hand. It wouldn’t do much, but at least it was cold. “Sorry I’m not hiding any secret Breath skills. This could really use some aloe. Maybe talk to Matt? Or Pidge?”

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked back in a barely-noticable wince.

“Have you told anyone about this?” asked Lance. “Even Shiro?”

Keith took a shaky breath.

“Of course not,” grumbled Lance. “Can’t trust the one guy you trust with everything, right?”

“Shiro doesn’t—!” Keith clenched a fistful of grass in one hand. “…He never—” Lance waited patiently for a proper explanation. “…I don’t know, it— It's like he doesn’t get that his parents suck.” Keith huffed and tipped his head back. “He gives me advice on how to stay on their good side, but he won’t accept that that’s not a normal thing you have to teach people about your parents. He says shit like, ‘They’re just doing this because they love us,’ but it’s all bullshit!”

“Whoa, back up!” Lance gripped the neck of his guitar too tight. The cool water spilled off Keith’s hand and onto the dirt beneath. “Shiro’s parents? Are you telling me they did this?”

“No!” snapped Keith. “I did!”

Lance’s anger faded, but only a notch or two. “Then what do they have to do with you getting burned?”

“They just…” Keith took a seething breath through his nose. “They…made me mad.”

“I thought you said you were in control the whole time.”

“I was.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t sound like it from where I’m sitting,” said Lance. “It sounds like you got ticked off and did something stupid about it.”

Keith crossed his arms over his knees.

His burned hand curled into a tight fist. Lance watched it shake, but not for long before reaching out to gather it in his.

“Don’t,” whispered Lance, gently prying the hand open, wincing when Keith did. “Like, for five minutes, could you not try to hurt yourself?”

“Fuck off,” hissed Keith.

Lance froze.

Breathless. Speechless.

Something in his brain snapped like a guitar string, leaving a twang ringing in his ears. Of all the shit Keith had been pulling that night, he didn’t know why that one little line was the thing that finally did him in. But it did. There was no patience left anymore. Lance had had enough.

He shot to his feet, dropping Keith’s hand. “Yeah, fuck me, right?!”

Keith’s head snapped up, eyes wide, pale and shrinking. “Did… Did you just…?”

“What, swear?” Lance laughed sharply, tears stinging his eyes. “You’re right! I don’t do that! Ever! That’s just how scared I am!” He pressed the heels of both hands into his forehead. “You’re hurting yourself, you’re not talking to me or Shiro about it, you’re pushing me away… Did you even think about what that would do to me? Shit, Keith!" He screwed his eyes shut trying to stop the tears he knew were welling there. “I spent my whole winter break telling my family about you. Do you know that? Do you know how much it would suck to have to go back at the end of the year like, yeah, that amazing guy I told you about? Like, my best friend? Yeah, he’s gone. I fucked up, I guess. Sorry you never got to meet him. My bad.”

“You…” Keith’s lip trembled. “You told your parents about me?”

“Yeah!” snapped Lance. “Yeah, I did! And all my brothers and sisters! And they all really want to meet you! But if you don't want me around, then—”

“Of course I want you around!” said Keith, voice cracking.

“Then why are you pushing me away?!”

“BECAUSE I’M SCARED!”

Lance’s eyes widened.

The tears in Keith’s eyes shimmered, threatening to fall. He climbed to his feet on shaky legs.

“I’m terrified,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “Everything got so easy with you. I could be myself with you because I knew you’d put out any fires I started. But…then I got a taste of what it was like without you.”

“Why didn’t you just text me?” asked Lance, voice carefully soft. “Or like, go to the balcony and call me?”

“Because I won’t always be able to text you,” said Keith. “You’re not going to be here forever.”

“What?” Lance frowned. “Keith, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not yet,” said Keith, eyes narrowing at the ground.

“Not ever,” said Lance. “Not unless…you want me to, I guess.”

Keith lifted his head. “Then what’s the mask for?”

Lance brought a hand to edge of his mask, where teeth jutted out over his lips. “Huh?”

“It’s the perfect emergency exit, right?” asked Keith. “I don’t know your name, I don’t know what you look like… All you have to do is take the mask off and I’d never be able to chase you down. I couldn’t even ask why. You’re off the hook.”

“Why would I ever want that?” asked Lance, his heart clenching at the mere suggestion.

Keith licked his lips. When he spoke, it was so soft Lance almost thought it was the whisper of the wind, the rustling of the trees.

“…Because I’m me.”

Lance’s clenching heart broke. “Are you kidding me? Dude— My family wouldn’t stop making fun of me the whole time I told them about you because it was so obvious that I think you’re amazing. My roommate got jealous of how much time I was spending with you last year, remember? My friends think I have some secret girlfriend I’m not telling them about because I get so happy when you text me—” Lance winced. Okay, maybe he really was the last one to realize he had a little bit of a crush. In retrospect, it seemed obvious. Unless Keith was the one looking, apparently.

“The point is, I like you so much,” said Lance. Even if he didn’t plan on telling Keith all the ways he liked him didn’t mean he didn’t deserve to hear it. “Like…way more than you think I do. Probably even more than I think I do, because every time I think about it, it feels like I’m blindsided by how much more ‘like’ there is than there was last time. I mean, I thought you were a jerk! For, like, forever! Then we talk, like, one time, and boom! There’s so much more to you than I thought! And boom, suddenly you’re my best friend! Boom, boom, boom, I’m screaming at you in the middle of the night and the woods because I don’t know how to make you stay! And believe me, I…” He hunched his shoulders up to his ears. “I really want you to stay.”

“Then why do you have the mask?" demanded Keith again.

“Because I’m the one who's scared!" said Lance.

Keith’s eyes widened.

“Wasn’t that obvious?!” asked Lance. “Didn’t we have that whole conversation about, like, ‘What if I was James Griffin under here?’ What if you find out who I am and…” Lance touched the edges of his mask with his thumbs, almost like he did when he was taking it off. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. “…What if you don’t like what you see?”

Keith furrowed his brow. He looked confused, but a little less scared, and a little more concerned. “Why would that change anything? I already know who you are in all the ways that matter.”

“And I know you,” said Lance, lowering his hands. “So what are we doing, Keith? We both want this. Why are we fighting about it?”

Keith’s breath hitched. He looked away with a grimace. The tears in his eyes glimmered once more.

Lance clicked his tongue and reached out. “Come here, idiot.”

He grabbed a fistful of Keith's sleeve and yanked. Keith came crashing into his chest, and when his first instinct was to push away, hands both injured and uninjured pressed to Lance’s chest, Lance locked his arms around Keith’s back.

“Don’t,” he whispered for the second time that night. Keith froze at the word. “Don’t go. Don’t fight me. Just…stay. Please.”

Keith’s hands curled in the fabric of his hoodie. For an instant, Lance thought he was getting ready to fight the embrace again. And if he did, Lance would let him go. Lance would have to let him go.

But…then a sob broke free of Keith’s lips, warming Lance’s shirt where his face had been pressed into it. He curled into Lance, shaking, and Lance turned his hold from desperate and trapping to what he hoped was assuring. What he hoped truly said, “I’m here.”

“I missed you.” Keith’s voice cracked with emotion. “I didn’t want to make a big, stupid deal out of it while you were with your family. I didn’t want— I’m sorry.”

Lance raised his eyebrows. He never thought he’d hear those words from Keith, in any circumstance. Holdover from before they became friends, maybe. But still…something about hearing those words made Lance’s heart throb, and he knew he’d been blindsided all over again.

“Don’t be,” murmured Lance, reaching up to cradle the back of Keith’s head. “I missed you, too.”

Keith ran his thumb over the bandages on his hand.

It was a lucky thing that Shiro’s parents went grocery shopping. Matt had just enough time to sneak in and help him with it before he and Shiro left. Apparently, he and Allura had developed some kind of crazy burn ointment for the fun of it. It made sense, Keith supposed. Allura was a little bit of a nerd in her own right, and, well, when someone brought two geniuses together…

But Keith would have never known about it if he hadn’t shown Shiro his burns.

And…he wouldn’t have told Shiro if it wasn’t for Blue.

Blue… There had to be something wrong with him if he still wanted to help Keith after that mess he made. As far as Keith was concerned, though, that just meant he owed Blue now. And he planned on repaying him that night, at the dance.

He’d make it a night Blue never forgot.

A gentle rapping came to Keith’s door, far too gentle to be Shiro’s parents, and he stood to answer the knock.

Shiro stood in the doorway, smiling. “Hey. I’m back. How’s the hand?”

“Better,” said Keith, holding up his hand. “This stuff is crazy. It barely even hurts anymore. I think it’s basically healed and it’s only been a few hours.” His eyes slid down to the box in Shiro’s hand, just barely in view past the threshold of his door. “What’s that?”

Shiro smiled. “Shh.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Coran found this while we were decorating. No one knows who left it—they must have slipped in and out like a ninja—but based on the note, I think it’s safe to say who it’s from.”

“Note?”

Shiro tipped the box forward.

There was a piece of paper taped to the top. On the page was a message written in blue ink.

Do not open unless you’re Keith Kogane.

“Uh…?”

“Not that one,” said Shiro. “The one inside.” He smiled, a bit sheepish. “I did open it. Just in case someone was playing a prank. But don’t worry, there’s only one person who would know to send what’s inside.”

Keith frowned, curious, and flipped the cardboard flaps open. Another note sat waiting inside, just as Shiro had implied, and beneath it…

Hey, Keith! I don’t know if these would be bad for burns or not, but I figured you could ask Shiro or something. If they won’t hurt the burns, though, I figured, since you even hid it from Shiro, you wouldn’t want anyone else asking questions, either. And these seemed like your style, you weirdo. Hope they help.

“So…” Shiro crossed his arms. “Are you wearing them?”

Keith picked up one of the gloves and tried it on his good hand.

“…Definitely.”

Chapter Text

The start-of-year ball would have been more exciting if Lance wasn’t alone.

Hunk was talking to some Balmeran girl, and Pidge had talked to him briefly before flitting off, citing something about making up for her experience the year before. Which made sense. Lance got it. She might not have been the most social creature in the world, but that was in part because she was bullied. With a mask on, she didn’t have to worry as much. If she wanted to go out and try to talk shop with other nerdy Breaths, she was totally allowed to do that. Lance supported that.

But the end result was that Lance was by himself.

Part of him was tempted to get out there and use the ball for its intended purpose, meet some new people, make some new friends. But the idea of Keith seeing him with someone else and not feeling secure enough to join in stopped him. Not just for Keith’s sake—even if he had been going through hell lately—but because… Well. Because he had the entirely selfish motivation of just wanting Keith to himself, all right? He didn’t want to risk missing out on any time he had with Keith. Even if they still wound up sneaking out before his friends saw him with Keith and put together who his “mystery girlfriend” was, it would be worth it.

…Still totally bored, though.

Lance swirled his drink around in his hand, watching his friends from afar. Pidge had found a robot and was gushing over its mechanics. Hunk was blushing at something the Balmeran had said, his face buried in his hands as if that would hide it any more than the mask would.

Lance smiled as he watched, swaying along with the music. If nothing else, at least he got a front row seat to his friends being happy.

A tap came to Lance’s shoulder. He stopped swaying and looked over his shoulder.

There was Keith. Lance felt a grin split his face at the sight of him. Not only because he’d gotten tired of waiting, but because of what Keith was wearing. The gloves, of course, peeking out from the white, unbuttoned cuffs of his dress shirt, which themselves peeked out from the black blazer he wore. Lance was glad to see that Keith had taken him up on the offer, but that wasn’t all. There was also the blue plush dangling from his belt loop, and, even better, the red mask on his face. Lance had never truly understood that thing people said about imitation being flattery until then. Plus, Lance wasn’t complaining about Keith hiding his identity. That meant they could hang out without Hunk or Pidge asking questions about why he was intentionally spending time with Keith.

Keith cleared his throat. “Uh. Hi.”

Lance laughed. If he hadn’t already known who he was talking to, that terse, stilted speech would have done the trick. “Hey, Keith.”

Keith tensed. “How did— How did you figure out who I was?”

“You mean besides the gloves I gave you and the Blue Lion plush I won you?” Lance tamed his grin into his best alluring smirk and reached for a lock of the hair tickling Keith’s neck to gently tug it over the top of his shoulder. “I’d know that mullet anywhere.”

Keith’s ears matched his mask.

“What took you so long?” asked Lance. “It felt like I was waiting forever!”

“Oh, uh.” Keith tugged on the lock of hair Lance had moved. “Shiro’s parents wouldn’t let me leave until they glued my bangs to the top of my head, so…I had to ask Matt for help.”

Lance snorted. “You should have come to me! I could have helped.”

Keith clicked his tongue. “Also, you would have loved to see me look stupid.”

“Also that,” said Lance. He knew when there was no point in arguing. “Good job asking for help for once, though. Speaking of which, how’s the hand?”

“Better,” said Keith. “A lot better. It still stings when it brushes against stuff sometimes, but the gloves help.”

“That much better, huh?” Lance raised a hand to his chin. “And…how did it heal that fast?”

“I…” Keith sighed, shoulders sinking. “I asked for help.”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, mmhmm, that’s what I thought.”

Keith scoffed at his smug response, but Lance couldn’t miss the fondness in the sound.

The song playing over the speakers changed to something a little more upbeat, and Keith glanced over his shoulder, just for a moment, before turning back to Lance. “Do you—” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to, uh—”

“Dance?” offered Lance, his heart beating just a little faster.

Keith shrugged a shoulder, the closest to a confirmation Lance would ever get from him.

“Dude, yes.” Hesitating only a moment to make sure he’d reached for Keith’s good hand, Lance grabbed Keith and pulled him into the crowd.

“Oh.” Keith stumbled with Lance’s tug. “That…was easy.”

“I didn’t get to dance last year!” Lance pulled more insistently, nearly knocking Keith over in his enthusiasm. “All that stuff with Pidge happened before I got the chance!”

He picked a spot with enough space and grabbed Keith’s other hand, putting it on his shoulder. “I bet you don’t know how to salsa.”

“I— Uh—” Keith’s eyes darted between his two hands, the one in Lance’s and the one on his shoulder. “N… No?”

“I’ll teach you,” said Lance. “Okay, so take your foot—”

“Really?”

Lance looked up into his eyes, through the eyes of a mask that looked so similar to his but so different at the same time. There were no eye pieces there to hide the uncertainty in Keith’s eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” said Lance. “Dude, I’ve taught you dance moves before.”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “But I thought— I mean, you really want to waste time at a party teaching me how to dance?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “I’m cool with whatever we do, as long as I’m—”

He faltered. Was he really going to say that? …Yeah. He was. Man, no wonder Veronica knew he had a crush on Keith before he did. Not saying it was a particularly big crush. Just, you know, a crush. That was fine, right? Little tiny baby crush on his best friend. No big deal. Keith was cute. Lance had eyes.

Keith was…also staring at him, waiting for him to say what he’d been about to say.

Right. Uh…

Lance cleared his throat. Whatever. “I’m down for anything as long as I’m with you.”

Keith’s eyes widened.

“Anyway.” Lance screwed his eyes shut. His cheeks were on fire under his mask. “You put your right foot in, you take your right foot out, you put your right foot in, and you shake it all about.”

“Uh.” Keith blinked, taken aback. “That’s not…actually how you—”

“Dude, no.” Lance scoffed. “I’m just—” Trying to make you laugh so you forget I said something that mushy. “Look, it’s actually not as far off as you think. Okay, so I’m going to step forward, and you step back. One, two, go.” They moved at the same time. “Wow, good job. You moved the right foot and everything.”

Keith grumbled. “I’m not an idiot. I saw your foot move.”

Lance ignored him. “Okay, other foot, you just pick up the heel and put it down. Yeah, just like that. Now we put the first foot back where it started, and the second foot goes back— Yeah! Perfect! You’re a natural! Now pick up the heel of the first foot—”

“Does it just…loop?” asked Keith.

“Yeah,” said Lance. “I mean, these are just the basics. It’s not like I’m a master ballroom dancer or anything. But it’s not about that. It’s about fun. This is how I dance with my brothers and sisters on holidays and junk like that.”

Keith furrowed his brow. He was watching their feet too closely, concentrating too hard, but Lance wasn’t going to fault him for that when they were starting out. “This feels like…”

“What?”

“Voltron.”

Lance nearly skipped a step at that. “Uh, what now? You got something you wanna share, O Brother of Shirogane?”

“No, it’s not—” Keith’s frown deepened. “It’s not like I’ve ever formed Voltron with anyone. Even Shiro hasn’t done that. I don’t think the actual Paladins have even done that. We’re in peacetime. But I overhear lessons sometimes when I’m waiting for Shiro to get out, and it’s like… It’s like they all know where all the others are at all times.” He hesitated. “Well, Hunk’s still figuring it out. But he’s new. It’s not like he’s not making progress.”

Lance nodded, understanding.

“Point is, they all have to move, act, play like they’re all one,” said Keith. “They have to trust each other and know each other in order to move, the same way we have to trust each other not to step on our feet, or to move out of the way so we won’t step on theirs.”

“I feel like there’d be more trust here if you weren’t staring at our feet the whole time,” said Lance.

“Right.” Keith lifted his head. “Sorry.” His eyes connected with Lance’s for only a moment before trailing off to the side, catching sight of something over Lance’s shoulder. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Lance twisted around, interest piqued by the near-laughter in Keith’s tone. “What did you— Oh, no way.”

James Griffin was behind them. Quite a bit behind them, far enough that Lance doubted he could feel their gazes on him, but he was there, stupid bangs drenched with what had to be punch, more fury in his face than Lance had ever seen. The source of the punch seemed to be the empty plastic cup held by the girl in front of him. Luka, the girl who pushed Pidge and slapped Lance the year before.

Lance snorted. He couldn’t hear what they were shouting over the din of the ball, but whatever it was, they were both pissed. “Who do you think started it?”

“My money’s on Griffin making a pass and LeSuiveur flying off the handle,” said Keith, smirking. “What do you think?”

Lance laughed. “Either way, they deserve each other.”

“Yeah.” Keith squeezed Lance’s hand. “Wanna sneak out?”

Lance put on a dramatic gasp. “Sneak out? Me? I would never.” He grinned at Keith’s chuckle. “Let’s do it.”

“Cool,” said Keith, and he pulled Lance to the door.

“Uh, are we supposed to be in here?”

Keith sent a smirk over his shoulder. “I thought you were down for anything.”

Blue glanced over his shoulder at the bottom of the stairwell. He seemed reluctant, but still made no attempt to let go of Keith’s hand. “No, no, I’m good with it. All chill here. Just, you know, wondering what to brace myself for if we get caught.”

“Nothing worse than you’d get if someone found you gone in the middle of the night.” Keith paused at the top of the stairs. “Come on.”

The door let out a deafening creak as Keith pushed it open, revealing the tower, the starlight trickling in through the unglazed windows, the cold winter air.

“Whoa…” Blue made his way to the window, never letting go of Keith’s hand, forcing him to follow. “That’s crazy. Holy crow, you can see the train station from here!”

Keith had seen the view countless times, but never like this. Not through Blue’s golden eyes, through the shimmer of moonlight glinting across the surface of his glass eyepieces.

He really was beautiful. Keith didn’t have to know what the rest of his face looked like to know that. He saw it in his awe, in his light.

“Seriously,” said Blue, turning away from the window. “What is this place?”

“Uh…” Keith looked over his shoulder, at the circular podium in the center of the circular room and the glowing green veins that marked what it displayed. “Well…”

Blue followed his gaze to the comet, and he froze.

“That’s not… That can’t be…”

“It is,” said Keith.

“Oh, we should not be here,” said Blue, pulling out of Keith’s hand and backing into the windowsill. “Wasn’t there a whole thing on, like, day one of history class about how touching that thing destroys the universe or something like that?”

“Touching, no,” said Keith. “And it doesn’t destroy the universe. It splits it in two.”

“What’s the difference?” demanded Blue.

“It’s like…a sandwich cut in half,” said Keith, shrugging. This wasn’t really the way he wanted this to go. “You can still eat the two halves, they’re just…separate.”

“Okay, but what if you’re not on my sandwich half?” asked Blue. Keith couldn’t help softening at that. “What if my family isn’t? Or— Or my other friends?”

“You’ll be fine.” Keith took Blue’s hand and guided it up. “See—”

Blue tried to flinch back.

Keith held on tight. “Do you trust me?”

Blue swallowed. “I mean, yeah… Of course, but…”

“Then trust that I wouldn’t hurt you,” said Keith. “Or risk taking you from your family. And…trust that I wouldn’t risk losing you, either.”

Blue bit his lip. Uncertainly, tentatively, he nodded.

Keith tugged him toward the comet, inching him closer and closer, then, gently, placing Blue’s hand on the comet.

Blue flinched in his grip, but he didn’t pull away. “It…” He splayed his fingers, silhouetting the glowing green veins. “It’s warm.”

“And it didn’t destroy the world,” said Keith. “Or tear it in two. Feel this seam?” He guided Blue’s hand to the middle of the comet.

“Yeah,” murmured Blue. “Yeah, I feel it.”

“That’s where the break was the first time,” said Keith. “If you believe the story. But the break was mended, and the comet’s pretty heavy. You’d probably have to jam a crowbar in there to break it open again. And if you do, there’s an alarm system.”

“Alarm?”

Keith let go of Blue’s hand and walked toward the wall. He placed his hand on its surface.

“Reveal the truth.”

A red symbol flared to life over Keith’s fingertips, a flame-like glyph in a circle. Then, high on the walls, all around them, just under the ceiling, a message appeared in Galra.

“Why Galra?” asked Blue.

Keith bit his lip. Why Galra? Uh… “I don’t know.” Half-truth. “It seems like it shows up as either Altean or Galra lettering. No human languages or anything. It shows up as Galra for Shiro and Matt, too. But it shows up as Altean for Allura.” Probably because Allura was Altean. Just like Keith was Galra.

“Maybe it shows up as whatever language you know best between Altean and Galra,” offered Blue. “You said you can speak Galra, right?”

Keith shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.

“Then that’s gotta be it,” said Blue. “I mean, even if you don’t know, like, any Galra or Altean, you have to have picked up a word or two, right? Like numbers and ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and stuff like that. I’d probably see it in Galra, too.”

Keith swallowed. He wondered. It was an optimistic way to look at it.

Blue walked up to him and leaned into his side, eyes on the lettering. “So, what’s it say?”

Keith looked away from him and up, toward the red lettering. “It’s a warning,” he said. “You know, ‘Don’t break the rock or you’ll break the universe,’ basically. But here, this part…” Keith pointed up, toward the writing over one window. “This part says…” He pursed his lips. It was one thing to speak another language, but another thing entirely to translate while one was reading. “It rhymes, in Galra—” Because of course it did. It was written by musicians, after all. “—but it says…” He squinted at the lettering, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Blue. “‘If the balance of the world can only restored by its splitting, if all other options are spent, then, and only then, may the comet be split. But know that when you do split the comet, the solution is only temporary. Where the split is formed, cracks will splinter, and the five bodies of quintessence will rebel against all life. Two halves must be made whole—’ uh…” Keith hesitated. “Okay, so there's not an exact translation for this word in English, but it’s like… ‘All over again,’ but also, like, ‘upgraded’? Like, fixed, but made better. Like it’s implied it’s just going to fall apart again unless it’s better than it was before.” Keith sighed, frustrated. “But it’s not usually said literally. It’s usually said, like, when people are talking about breakups. It’s kind of a weird word to use here, actually. It’s like someone telling you to water their dog and meaning ‘spray it with a hose like it’s a flower’.”

“The translation doesn't have to be perfect,” said Blue. “Don’t get hung up on it. Keep going.”

Keith cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry.” He pointed at the next line, stretching over the window. “After that, it just says, ‘When the comet is split, a great wind left at the last mending by Voltron’s ancient leader—’ So, the Black Paladin ‘—will rise up and ring the bell above this place, and the sound will carry to every ear on that same wind.’”

“Why?” asked Blue. “What’s the point of sounding an alarm after the comet splits? What’s anyone supposed to do about that? Go back in time and stop it?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Keith. “Maybe it’s just supposed to be a deterrent. Like, you don’t want to split the rock because everyone in the whole universe will know how bad you fucked up the second you do.”

“Great,” said Blue. “Awesome. Fantastic. How is that supposed to make me feel better about being up here again?”

Keith twisted around to take Blue by the back of his hand and slap his palm against the comet.

“Because no alarm’s going off," said Keith. “Not even when I do this.”

Blue let out a squawk as Keith pressed his free hand against the stone surface and shook it with all his weight. Blue shook with him, but the comet didn’t even budge.

“See?” asked Keith. “You’re not going to accidentally split the universe in half.”

Blue let out a breath. “…Guess they wouldn’t just leave it out here unguarded if it was that dangerous.”

“Exactly.”

Keith looked down at their hands, joined on the stone. Blue had commented on how warm the comet was, like it had just come down from orbit, but…Blue’s hand was warm all on its own. Fingers rough and slender, made for playing his guitar.

Keith shifted his hand just slightly, turning it just slightly off-center so that his fingers slipped between Blue’s.

Blue lifted his head, turning it toward Keith’s.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. He hadn’t even thought about the consequences, how Blue would respond. He just…wanted to get closer, so he got closer, but…

“Um.” Blue slipped out from under his hand, turning away and crossing his arms, taking his warm hand safely out of Keith’s reach. “So, uh, it’s nice here.”

Keith cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Pretty,” said Blue. “The view and stuff. Nice.”

He took a step toward the window and threw his legs over to the other side, lazy and casual, leaning his shoulder into the inside of the window. He glanced over his shoulder to send Keith and easy smile and uncrossed his arms, setting his hand on the ledge beside him, a silent invitation.

“Thanks for bringing me.”

Keith swallowed. He made his way to the window where Blue sat and lowered himself onto the ledge beside him. It wasn’t his first time coming up to the tower—far from it—but being there with Blue, in the dark, taking in the moonlit view of the school grounds…it was, well, like Blue said. Nice.

Below them, the ballroom doors opened and Griffin, stupid bangs visible even from their height, stepped out onto the pathway. Keith supposed the three following him must have been his lackeys, but between the distance and their masks, that was harder to tell.

Keith elbowed Blue in the side, dragging his attention down from the moonlit clouds to the fight Griffin was having with the person beside him. The other two seemed to be minding their business, giving the altercation a wide berth, but the person beside him was getting right in his face.

Blue snickered quietly. “Man, that’s two scenes he’s made in one night. Seriously, what’s his deal?”

“No idea.” Keith smirked as the person he was fighting berated him all the way around the corner and out of sight, walking so close behind they stumbled on his heels. “Funny, though.”

“Totally,” agreed Blue.

“And, hey.” Keith nudged Blue with his shoulder. “Now I have proof that you’re not him. So you shouldn’t be afraid to take your mask off in front of me someday.”

Blue laughed nervously, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears and averting his eyes.

Keith, unsure of how to make him less nervous, leaned into his side in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. An assuring one.

Blue chuckled and leaned back, nudging him off playfully, but not hard enough to risk knocking Keith off the edge.

Keith just leaned right back where he was.

“You’re so hardheaded,” huffed Blue, barely audible, but the smile he said it with loud and clear.

“Shiro says the same thing,” said Keith. “But it hasn’t pushed you away from me yet.”

“If it hasn’t yet, it’s not going to now,” said Blue.

Keith smiled to himself, warmed, as always, by Blue’s kindness. The way that Blue seemed to actually like him for who he was. It made him feel like he was doing something right for once.

With only the slightest hesitation, Keith steeled himself and, choosing so carefully to be vulnerable, to take a risk, he rested his head on Blue’s shoulder.

Blue flinched, tensed, but before Keith could pull away and apologize, he felt Blue’s cheek against the top of his head.

“…I really am glad you brought me here,” said Blue, his voice soft. “We should go more places that aren’t just the woods behind your house.”

Keith lifted his head ever so slightly to try to get a look at Blue, to try to gauge his sincerity under the mask. He couldn’t see anything, though, and didn’t want to risk Blue leaning away, so his expression remained a mystery. “Yeah?”

Blue cleared his throat. “Yeah. We should.”

Keith bit his lip. It would be a risk, but honestly, now that he thought of it, he liked that idea, too. “Okay.”

“Okay,” echoed Blue. “Cool.”

Keith closed his eyes. “Cool.”

“He can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that? Like, yes, Luka is a gigantic bitch. Yes, she deserved everything he said about her. But did he really need to make it the problem of everyone in a five-foot radius? Look! I got punch on my dress, too! Collateral damage! Do you hear me, Kinkade? Collateral damage. Why can’t he just say shit about her behind her back like everyone else?”

Rizavi slammed her mask down on her desk. Ryan barely registered the sound.

“I mean, you know she’s going to be coming after all of us the whole rest of the year now, right?” asked Rizavi. “I really don’t want some radfem breathing down my neck because I’m not feminine enough for her or something.”

Ryan sat on the edge of his bed, mind buzzing.

“…Okay, I know you’re, like, always quiet?” Rizavi stepped into his line of vision, hands on her blue-silk-clad hips, bangles glittering. “But you’re never quiet like this. It’s not just what Griffin did, right? Are you scared Luka’s going to come after you with some racist shit? ‘Cause I’ll clobber her ass to next Tuesday if she does.” She mimed a few jabs.

Then let her hands drop, defeated.

“Seriously, Kinkade. Ryan. What's going on?”

She waited for him to respond.

She waited.

She waited.

She waited.

And she’d keep waiting. Because Ryan…couldn’t. He just…couldn’t. Because saying it meant thinking about it. It was so stupid—he hated himself for wanting to cry, because his feelings shouldn’t have mattered. Not here. It wasn’t about him. It was about someone he cared about being happy. That was a good thing. That should have been a good thing.

But…

What kind of a monster was he? That someone he cared about so much was happy and all he wanted to do was—

“Shit, are you crying?!”

Yeah. That. Shit, fuck—

“Oh, shit, I’ve never seen you cry before,” breathed Rizavi, taken aback. “Wait here.” She took a half-stumbling step backward and held up her hands. “I’m gonna go get Griffin and Leifsdottir back and steal a carton of ice cream from the kitchens or something and we’re gonna fix this, okay?”

She scrambled for the door like she was scared, threw it open, and slammed it behind her, leaving Ryan alone in their dorm.

He bent in half and pressed his face into his knees. The force of the sobs he tried to force back clenched his stomach and made him feel like he was going to be sick.

He reached behind himself and pulled his blankets from where they were tucked between the mattress and the wall and pulled over his shoulders.

He didn’t want a gallon of stolen ice cream. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up assured that today was just a dream.

“Sorry to bother you at the dance, Pumpkin, but talk to me for a second, okay?” Sam drummed his fingers on the roof of the entity’s containment, watching it swim aimlessly inside.

“Talk to you?” asked his daughter, cautious. “Okay… Talk about what? Is this about what happened last year? Because I’m fine. No one’s bothering me this time.”

The entity stirred. Interesting.

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Sam firmly, still frowning at the memory of that talk he had with his children the year before. Though he knew it was all a part of letting them be themselves, there were some people out there who still thought it was the Dark Ages and that it should never stop someone from being who they are, and it had still scared him. Nearly enough to want to ask Pidge if she was sure she wanted to go public so soon. He still needed to meet that Lance boy and thank him for what he did. Without him proving that there was still enough good in the world to cancel out the bad, Sam may have said something that, no matter where his heart was, he might have regretted. “Well, if anything goes wrong this year, you be sure to tell me.”

The entity swirled in its enclosure, agitated, and threw itself at the wall. Sam flinched, a new fear of the creature pushing him back. He'd seen what that thing could do now, stronger enclosure or not.

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetie,” assured Sam. “Just got surprised. Work-related.”

“Dad,” chided his daughter, “you’re not calling me during an experiment, are you? You’re gonna get in trouble…”

The mischief in Pidge’s voice pulled a laugh out of him. They were all troublemakers in their family, and they all knew it. It was a part of their shared curiosity. Rules were made to be broken. “Oh, I think I’ll be okay.”

“Really?” Pidge paused. “Wait, am I part of the experiment? Is that why you called?”

The excitement in her voice made Sam laugh.

The entity threw itself at the wall of its enclosure again, and Sam stopped laughing abruptly.

He glanced away from the glass. “If I was, and if I could tell you that, don’t you think I would have already?”

“Come on! That's basically a yes anyway!”

Sam clicked his tongue. “Don’t you worry about this phone call tonight, okay, sweetie? Just get back out there and have fun.”

“Fine,” huffed Pidge. “…But you know what would be even more fun?”

“Pidge,” warned Sam.

Pidge laughed, then went quiet, just long enough to make Sam worry, worry that the dance wasn’t going as well as she said it was, that she was being bullied again, or— “Katie.”

“What?”

“You can call me Katie,” said Pidge quietly, to the point where Sam could barely hear her. “If you want. I mean, I still don't hate being called Pidge, and I'm probably still going to go by Pidge with my friends, just, that was always supposed to be a nickname, but like, I was thinking, for, like, a real name—”

“Katie,” started Sam, cutting her rambling short, “is a wonderful name. And I’m sure we can talk about getting it changed legally whenever you’re ready. We just have to talk to your mother.”

“I mean, yeah, obviously,” said Katie. “What else were we going to do, get it done behind her back and drop it on her afterward over dinner?”

“Okay, smart aleck.” Sam shook his head. “See you at home tonight. And Katie?”

Katie audibly perked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”

Katie went quiet again. The entity’s thrashing grew frantic, erratic.

“…Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, sweetpea.”

Sam hung up the phone and, slowly, the entity relaxed, its thrashing calming to a gentle sway.

“So your responses aren’t restricted to romantic love,” he mused aloud, watching the gastly purple glow lower itself to the bottom of the tank. “You react to platonic connections as well, or at least familial ones. But why? You can’t possibly understand speech, can you?” He pressed his hand to the glass and lowered himself until he was eye-level with the glass. “No, your actions are too base to be sapient. Instinct over logic. In any case, you couldn't have known how Remdax and Vakala felt about one another. No one could have predicted that. So what exact stimuli causes a reaction? How do you detect—?”

The tip of his tongue froze against the back of his teeth.

Could it be…?

Sam covered his mouth, shocked, staring at the entity, mind abuzz. A hypothesis. And one hell of one, at that.

He’d just had one question, but now, Sam wondered how many the entity could answer. What were the chances that this one bizarre, dangerous creature could hold the secret to answers sought for centuries, for millennia?

Fandek had a much better chance of being cleared on self-defense after so many had seen what exposure to the entity had done to Remdax. And he was the one who had given Sam the idea, taught him that truth could be found in legend.

Sam wondered now if, once Fandek was released, he could find him, thank him, credit him, for proving the existence of soulmates.

Lance’s pulse buzzed under his skin. He could still feel Keith’s warm weight wrapped around his arm, pressed against his shoulder, long after he'd entrusted him to Shiro.

Something had to be wrong with him. There was no way this was really happening. There was no way he actually had a real crush on Keith freaking Kogane, right? That Kogane? The one who made his first year at the Garrison complete hell? Sure, they’d come a long way since then, and Keith was a really sweet guy when the walls came down, and he was funny, and fun to be around, and…okay, his name in Lance's phone was still “Hot Dandelion” which probably meant something. But… Still, they couldn’t have come that far, right? And besides, Keith didn’t—!

…Still didn’t even know who Lance was under the mask.

Lance stopped, his hand on the doorknob to his own dorm.

Keith didn’t know who he was. Lance…couldn’t have a crush on him. Like, it wasn’t just that it was impossible, it wasn’t going to end well. Maybe, maybe, if Lance threw everything he had into sweeping Keith off his feet, Keith could like Blue. But he’d never, ever, not in a million years, like Lance McClain.

Lance dropped his forehead against the door. His heart clenched. It twisted in his chest, dragging a shaking breath into his lungs and letting it fall in what was almost a sob.

That thought…wasn’t supposed to hurt that much, was it?

He smiled bitterly at the point where the door met the hallway floor.

…Shit.

Lance turned the doorknob and pushed his way inside. “Hunk—”

His voice cracked, but that wasn't what stopped him in his tracks.

What stopped him was Hunk, lying on his bed, still in his suit, eyes staring wide at the ceiling, like he’d just seen a man get ripped in half.

“Hunk?” Lance closed the door behind him.

Hunk, unblinking, lifted himself onto his elbows. With those wide eyes, he stared into Lance’s very soul, into the core of his being.

Lance swallowed. Hunk couldn’t actually see into his soul, right? Couldn’t actually see how he felt about Keith? “Buddy?” he tried again, voice coming out too high pitched.

Hunk swallowed. His eyes darted to the side, then back to Lance, no less stunned. He opened his mouth. Shut it. Tried again. “Dude?”

“Yeah?” asked Lance cautiously.

Hunk swallowed again. “…Shay kissed me.”

“…WHAT?!”