Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(it is the wedding night. festivities go on until the early hours of the morning. plagued by odd, pained sensations, keith wanders into the gardens, where…)

… he ends up thinking about it again.

It’s been years, now, since that grey day when he was twenty-one. Years since those soft words and that door shut in his face. Oddly enough, Keith had almost forgotten it. The years between have been heavy and joyous in equal measure – when the war started, everything before melted into a distant haze. There is no future in war – there is the next moment, next breath, next mission. He never looked forward, and he never looked back.

But Keith’s older now. Maybe wiser. Probably not. Softer around the edges – the fiery rage of his teenage years has melted to an almost dreamy melancholy. He doesn’t go in for bare-knuckle fistfights any more – unless the fucker is really asking for it, which is rare. Scarred and sadder. But free. Alive, mostly in one piece. He has friends, a place that truly felt like home – after the double whammy of his childhood and the war, this feels like far more than he could ever dream of.

But his traitor heart has never learnt to be satisfied. All the things he never thought he could have are coming to life all around him and his heart is still whispering more. Whispering do you remember this dream? That one? We have the money for this now… we’re old enough for that now…

Only a matter of time before it landed on the big one.

The ultimate crushed dream.

The one shattered to pieces the year he was twenty-one, that sentence shearing all his hopes away and leaving him adrift in a very big world.

Keith growls. Lifts his glass to his mouth, swallows what’s left, golden honey taste on his tongue. Should have known he’d get like this – Keith has always been a melancholy drunk, and the occasion is really not helping. Maybe he should go back to the party – it’s late, but not that late. Maybe he could find a nice corner, fall asleep with Kosmo on his legs, or linger on the edge of a group, let the wash of old stories soothe the ache in his heart. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

The night is warm, and still – he could just stay here and brood for the night. He’s on a bench beside a quaint little pond – he can see the full moon in the waters, and pinprick stars in the ripples. The hotel is behind him somewhere, butter-warm windows and the faint sounds of revelry – it becomes louder as a door opens somewhere, and recedes again as it closes. It would be easy to stay – so easy. Too easy. Keith can’t quite take being around people tonight. Most of them are weepy, overjoyed, full of soulmate stories – and he can’t –

‘KEEIIITHHH!’

The shout is loud, and followed by a giggle, and usually it would piss him off – but it’s Lance. So it doesn’t. Keith sits up, with the edge of a smile, watches his best friend stagger off the path and over to the bench.

‘Dick,’ Lance mutters. ‘You left me all by myself to talk to those alien ambassadors. I hate you.’

‘They hate me, remember? I insulted their ruler that one time?’

Lance just squints at him. Hiccups. ‘You’ve caused at least one diplomatic incident on every single planet you’ve ever been to.’

‘Yeah. Exactly.’

‘Whatever. You shouldn’t sneak off to be by yourself like that.’

‘What’s wrong with being by myself?’

‘Means you’re not with me!’ Lance throws his hands into the air. ‘No fun being single at a wedding on your own.’

‘Yeah,’ Keith says. Feels his eyes going distant. Turns away, under the pretence of putting his glass down.

A moment of silence, and Lance says – ‘That’s why you shouldn’t be on your own.’ Lance puts his arm around Keith’s waist, tugs him backwards – they’re alone, so Keith lets him. Lance needs physical contact like a fish needs water and Keith is allergic to showing affection in public – this aspect of their friendship is a difficult balance to strike. Keith pulls his legs onto the bench, rests his head on Lance’s shoulder, lets Lance put both arms around him.

‘This,’ Lance says again, ‘is why you shouldn’t be on your own. You always get upset a few drinks in.’

‘Do I?’ Keith murmurs. The night is quiet, Lance is warm, and he’s tired – sleep is lapping at the edge of his consciousness. It would be so easy to drift off here –

‘Yes, you do. What’s got you down this time? A ladybug sneezed and you didn’t say bless you in time?’

From anyone else, this would be cruel – but it’s Lance. The world has been divided into Lance and anyone else for years. And it’s because of that divide that Keith whispers the truth, a truth he’d never dream of telling anyone else.

‘My soulmate rejected me.’

‘Eh?’ Lance says, suddenly alert. ‘When was this? At the wedding?’

‘No, no. Years and years ago.’

Keith feels Lance’s ribs rise with a breath, feels the deep huff of his exhale. Still sleepy. It would be so easy to sleep. So easy to drift away.

‘You wanna tell me about it?’ Lance says, soft as the night.

Keith is quiet, soft slow breaths – does he want to tell Lance? He’s never told anyone. Never even hinted at it. He’d gathered up the pain of that night, stuffed it deep in a box where he’d never have to look at it again. And there it had stayed until recently, when his heart had started to whisper that maybe things could change… but things can’t change. Maybe if he hands the pain of that night away it will stop sticking its barbs into him.

‘I was… twenty-one,’ Keith whispers. ‘That’s – not that important, I guess, but – I don’t know. It’s linked in my head.’

‘Okay…’ Lance says. Head tucked close to hear Keith’s words.

‘I had… one of these… what do you call them… one of those soulmate apps.’ Keith tugs his sleeve up – the soulmark is still curled just below his wrist, as hauntingly present as the day he’d been born. A mess of grey swirls – once the soulmate bond is accepted, the marks gain colours. Keith’s will be grey forever. ‘You upload a picture of your mark, and pray that your soulmate will see it, recognise it, and contact you.’ He pulls the sleeve down again. ‘So – you know – one day I saw my mark’s match on there. I messaged the account, you know – as you do – ’

Keith has to pause here, just to breathe. He’s not going to cry – but all the same, he needs a moment. Lance reaches up – catches a lock of Keith’s hair – starts to twirl it around his finger. Keith would usually smack his hand away – but on this occasion, he doesn’t.

‘They messaged back, told me they had to tell me something in person – oh God, I should have known at that point. Anyway. We met – in person – ’

Oh, there are tears coming. Well, shit. Time to finish his story before he ends up howling his pain to the moon like a fucking werewolf.

‘Turns out – they didn’t believe in soulmates – they were – they were – already m-married. Told me they were sorry, but it was all a load of b-bullshit.’

And then, the kicker, as they’d stood up to leave –

‘I don’t understand,’ he’d gasped. ‘We – we’re supposed to be bonded. A perfect match. Soulmates!’

‘Oh, come on.’ A sad glance backwards. ‘You’re a little old to believe in that, aren’t you?’

Keith had never in his life had anyone to fight his corner. Foster home after foster home after foster home, parents lost in a tear-streaked haze. But he’d had the thought of a soulmate to see him through. Something to put his back against. I will find you and we’ll love each other and I’ll never be alone again.

The first tear slips down his cheek, warm and salty – it’s followed by others, and Keith presses his face into Lance’s shoulder, lets his body shake with silent sobs. It still hurts, so much, even after so long. It is not a crime to want to be loved. To want what the world had promised him, from the moment he could walk. He wanted… he wanted. All these years and he still wanted. Lance makes soft soothing sounds, plays with his hair, strokes his back. Lets the tears run their course.

Later, Keith finishes the story, tacks on the miserable little epilogue. ‘We never spoke again. That was it, as far as I was concerned – if I couldn’t even get my soulmate to take a chance on me… what chance did anyone else have? Do you know what I mean?’

‘I do… but… oh, Keith – ’

‘Sorry – I don’t – I don’t know why I’m telling you this – ’ Keith hiccups. ‘You’re right. I get sad when I drink – I shouldn’t – ’

‘Don’t give up,’ Lance says, softly enough that he almost misses it. ‘Don’t give up – not forever. It could still happen.’

‘Maybe. But probably not.’

‘Don’t say that. You could – there are sites. For non-soulmate dating.’

Keith’s stomach flips. ‘Ah, no. I’m too old for that kind of thing.’

‘You aren’t.’ Lance’s fingers slide from his hair to his cheek – to the scar there, the remnant of the clone battle. ‘You’re perfect. People would be knocking down the door for a chance to date you.’

Keith bites his lip. ‘That’s… a nice thought, Lance.’

‘It’s true! Stop selling yourself short – you deserve a chance at a Hollywood romance, just the same as anyone else.’

‘Hollywood. Yeah.’

‘And – you know – there’s always a chance that – ’

‘If you say there’s a chance my soulmate could change their mind, I’ll punch you.’

‘… Fair. But you get what I mean.’

Keith closes his eyes. Lance is gently stroking the scar – the pads of his fingers are callused. The words slip out before Keith quite means to say them.
‘It’s too late.’

‘What?’

‘Too late,’ Keith whispers. ‘I left it too late. It hurt so much… and I didn’t know what to do… it’s too late, Lance. Too late.’

‘Keith…’

‘I couldn’t… I couldn’t…’

But the world is quieter, now – it’s so hard to keep his eyes open – fatigue a heavy wave pulling him under. He is so tired. So tired.

Lance calls his name again, says something probably meant to be encouraging – but Keith is dreaming, and doesn’t hear it.

Chapter Text

Keith wakes with a pounding headache and the taste of dead things in his mouth. Hangover – gross. Opening his eyes – very slowly – he glances to the bedside table. He has painkillers stashed somewhere for this very scenario. Someone has left a glass of water beside the bed – either sober Keith was being unusually thoughtful, or Lance brought him back to his room last night. Either way, it’s easier than stumbling to the bathroom to fill the glass himself.

Once the haze has subsided a little, Keith sits up. It’s early – stupid early – he can tell by the rosy quality of the light peeking through the curtains. He doesn’t know why he’s awake – but he’s lucid enough that sleep is out of the question for now. He glances to the floor beside the bed – Kosmo is curled up there, fur messy from running in the gardens the night before. When he reaches out to poke Kosmo with his foot, the wolf grunts, shifts away – but doesn’t wake. Keith can leave him there – if he gets bored, he’ll teleport out.

The hotel buffet should be open – most of the other guests will be abed for hours yet. Shiro and Adam sleep late enough on their days off – the day after their wedding, they mightn’t bother getting up at all. The rest of his friendship group will either snap at him for waking them up (Pidge and Allura) or be so tired that conversation is impossible (Hunk and Romelle). Breakfast by himself it is.

The knock comes when he is almost fully dressed. He’s hunting under the bed for his shoes, and growls under his breath as the person knocks again, more insistent this time.
‘I’m coming! One – ’

Fuck it, the shoes aren’t there. He can manage without – these socks are purple and fluffy and impervious to the cold. Annoyed now, he opens the door just wide enough to peer around.

‘What – oh, it’s you.’

Lance grins. ‘Expecting someone else?’

‘No. What do you want?’ Keith opens the door, can feel his voice rising ever so slightly – had he said something weird to Lance last night? There were scattered memories of a bench, crying, whispering into the dark, about –

soulmates.

oh FUCK.

‘Breakfast,’ Lance says, apparently oblivious. ‘Everyone else is asleep – I’ve knocked on nearly every door in this place, didn’t get a single response – and it’s no fun just – ’

But Keith has tuned out the rest of that sentence, because he knows damn well that Lance hasn’t knocked on any other doors. Got up and came straight here. Maybe because he longed for the company of his dearest friend – but more likely because he wanted to talk. Discuss what Keith had spilled last night in a moment of drunken melancholy.

‘Um,’ he says, searching for an excuse. ‘I’m… not really… hungry?’

Lance raises an eyebrow. ‘… Man, put some effort in next time.’

‘I… um…’

‘Come on.’

Keith sighs.

He ends up going without shoes – they’ve vanished to a space beyond mortal discovery. It doesn’t matter – as they walk through the corridors, they see no one. Their feet on the plush carpet floors make no sound at all – the air absorbs their voices – the quiet is everywhere. Lance keeps up a stream of talk – but in an almost-whisper. It feels oddly reverential.

Down in the foyer, there’s slightly more life. A receptionist playing on her phone, dazed guests wandering here and there. Through a grand archway, the dining room is full of light. Lance nudges them towards a table at the edge – near a window – nice view of the gardens. Sheltered – the rest of the room won’t be able to watch them.

‘Sit,’ Lance says, ‘I can get you your food.’

Keith frowns at him. ‘Feeling generous today?’

‘Something like that.’
Shit, Lance is definitely angling to pick his brains about whatever he blurted out in the garden last night. As Lance heads off towards the buffet, Keith tries to backtrack, tries to recall exactly what he said – how pathetic had he made himself sound?

He has the shape of it, by the time Lance comes back. More or less. The humiliation is burning in his cheeks and shoulders and the pit of his belly. He’d kept that secret to himself for so long. For years. The thought of someone else knowing is – is – is unbearable, in a way he can’t even express. Lance. Knowing. God. Picking at the food with a fork, he tries to think of a way to bring it up. A way to say I know you know and don’t bring this up again ever at the same time.

‘Head okay?’ Lance says, after the silence stretches too long. Keith just nods, mute. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re quiet today.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Something wrong?’

‘No.’

‘… Okay.’

The silence pools between them, then. On an ordinary occasion, it wouldn’t be awkward – they’ve been friends far too long for silence to be awkward. But this isn’t an ordinary occasion. This is a prelude to what will be one of the most uncomfortable discussions of his entire life.

‘About…’ Keith’s voice is hoarse, and he has to cough and try again. ‘About… the stuff I said last night…’

Lance stops spreading butter on his toast. Glances up. Voice carefully neutral. ‘Yeah?’

‘Could… could we forget about it?’

Lance blinks, like he hadn’t been expecting that. Fiddles with his food for a bit. ‘If – if you want to. But – will you be okay? If we do that?’

What? ‘Why wouldn’t I be okay?’

‘You seemed – really upset.’

‘You know me. I get like that sometimes. A few drinks in and I’ll cry over anything.’

‘That’s the problem. You don’t get sad when you’re drunk.’ Lance pushes his toast around the plate with his fork. ‘You get honest when you’re drunk. You’re just… always sad.’

Keith doesn’t have a response to that. When he says nothing, Lance keeps talking.

‘You – it’s gotten worse the past few years. You’re so much quieter – and you spend so much time by yourself – you don’t talk to us – and – I know you love Kosmo, but he’s a dog – and – I worry about you, so much – ’

This does not feel like a breakfast conversation. ‘Lance – ’

‘I just – you can tell me anything, you know? If – I don’t mind. Whatever it is.’ Lance’s eyes are on him, wide and wary, unsure how he’s taking this. ‘You’re my best friend. I don’t want you to be unhappy.’

Keith glances down. Lets his hair fall into his face, hiding his eyes. Focuses, hard, on the grid of his half-eaten waffles. ‘I’m not unhappy.’

‘Not actively depressed doesn’t equal happiness.’

‘Lance…’ There is a lump in his throat. ‘God, is this about the soulmate thing?’

‘A little bit. I’ve never seen you that sad.’

‘Of course I’m sad! My soulmate rejected me! How do you walk away from that? I can’t even look for someone else – I just have to live with that. All the time. Every single goddamn day.’

‘You aren’t as unlovable as you think you are! You have time – ’

‘It’s not that simple. God.’

‘Why not?’ Lance is watching him now, and Keith should shut up but he can’t, the words are tearing out of him, knives of glass hurting no one except himself.

‘Because – I wouldn’t – my idea of an ideal relationship, it doesn’t – I just – I wouldn’t be a good partner. For most people. What I want – I’m – ’

But he can’t make himself say it. Too much, his brain is saying, way too much. Shut up while you’re ahead.

‘What do you want?’ Lance says. Voice so soft. ‘You can tell me.’

But he can’t. This – the shimmering dream that lives in the back of his head – he’s never heard real people talk about it. It’s only a thing he’s seen mentioned in passing on Instagram. (The frantic hours of late-night Googling don’t count.) It’s not – he can’t just say the words to Lance and expect him to know what they mean.

And then –

Lance reaches across the table. Rests his hand on Keith’s – his hand is clenched into a fist, when did that happen? Runs his thumb over Keith’s knuckles – with a shaky breath, Keith unclenches his fist. This is something Lance knows, but no one else does – Keith will never ask for physical contact, but it’s his weakness. A soft touch will make him melt.

‘Talk to me,’ Lance says quietly.

‘It’s stupid.’

‘It’s not.’

‘You won’t get it.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘I want…’ god he can’t say it ‘…um… a… relationship.’

‘Yeah,’ Lance says, puzzled. ‘I got that.’

‘But I’m… um…’

The words are stalled, bunched up in the back of his throat. Keith has spent an entire lifetime swallowing the truth down – it makes for a bad meal. To spit it out so suddenly – to just confide in someone like that…

It takes almost a full minute of stop-and-start sentences before he realizes that he won’t be able to say it out loud. So he skirts around the truth instead. ‘I don’t really like… being physical with people.’

Lance looks pointedly at their clasped hands.

‘No – not like – not like that. The other way.’

‘The other – what, sex?’

Keith is shaking. ‘Yeah.’

Lance notices. Frowns. Reaches out, so both of his hands are holding Keith’s, rubbing warmth into cold skin. ‘Okay.’

‘…okay?’

‘Of course it’s okay, Keith.’

‘D-do you see why it would be hard? There’s so few people who don’t have soulmates – and even fewer looking for that kind of – and even if there is an overlap, we mightn’t be compatible – and – it would be so hard.’

‘Hard doesn’t equal impossible.’ Lance smiles at him, faintly. ‘It was hard coming back from space – but we’re both still here.’

‘Yeah.’ Keith looks away. There is excess water in his eyes, somehow. He blinks it away.

‘Keith…’

‘Hmm?’

‘Don’t answer this if you don’t want to. Are you asexual?’

And there it is, the word that feels like a gentle hand outstretched, like salvation, like a promise that he’s not broken. The one sacred enough to his heart that he feels guilty saying it out loud. ‘…Yeah.’

‘Cool.’ Lance smiles at him, warm and sweet. ‘Happy for you, man. Glad you figured it out.’

‘Yeah.’ Keith glances down – squeezes Lance’s fingers. ‘I’m happy I’m me. I just… want to be in a relationship, too.’

‘… So be in one? It’s not an either-or thing.’

‘For a lot of people, it is. I’m just… sick of looking.’

‘Okay. Then I’ll help you.’

‘You’ll… help me? How exactly will you help me?’

‘However you want! We could go to an ace support group – more likely to meet people that way – or I could help you find discussion boards, or something, or even just – listen to you. Whatever you need.’

Keith just looks across the table. Feels his heart quivering in his chest.

I don’t deserve you.

‘Is that okay?’ Lance says, and Keith nods. Overwhelmed. Tears coming back again. This is better than okay. This is perfect.

‘Great! Now eat your waffles, they’re going cold.’

So he does. Simple as. The silence this time is so much more comfortable – this isn’t where he envisaged the conversation going. But he’s glad they got there. Keith catches himself almost smiling – for the first time in ages, he feels something like hope.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t hear from Lance for a few days after that. Which is fine – they’re grown adults, they have busy lives. Keith can’t decide how to feel about the fact that his secrets are out – he’s not used to being vulnerable with people. He swings between two extremes for a bit – one moment joy, the next disgust. There is a lightness to knowing that Lance can understand him now – a joy to acknowledging the whole truth about himself. But.

Keith’s instinct, for his whole life, has been to hide. He’d been made fun of one too many times, been jeered at, punched, excluded – so he’d grown a hard, prickly shell around the parts of himself that made him a target to other people. And over time that became his default – hide everything. Shut everyone out. Hit them before they can hit you. Shrink away – pretend to be invisible. Shut up, shut up, shut up – until an innocent comment makes him snap, spit insults, throw punches – he’d had a reputation for being feral for a reason.

Now that he’s older, people are less interested in paying attention to him. The constant simmering fear doesn’t boil over into rage as much anymore. Melancholy, more like – sometimes the pain in his heart crusts over, freezes him in place for an hour or a day or a weekend.

The fact that Lance knows painful things about him – Lance could hurt him now, if he wanted to. He wouldn’t – he’d die first, but the possibility is there. If you are stabbed over and over again, you will always fear a knife – even in the hands of a friend.

So Keith is confused.

He thinks about all this on his evening run. By the time he gets home, the sun is setting. The sky is orange as he unlocks the door to his flat – Kosmo rushes past him into the clinging dark, probably to flop down on the dog bed. Keith takes his time with removing his shoes, closing the door, locking it. He should have dinner, he really should, but he’s so tired – all he wants right now is a long shower and a nap. Maybe he should order pizza – hmm, that’d be nice. Shower while the pizza is on its way, eat in front of the telly, fall asleep on the couch.

He gets as far as the fridge, to examine the menu pinned there. Then the phone in his pocket starts ringing insistently – one glance at the contact name, and Keith smiles.

‘Hi, Romelle!’

‘Keith! I thought you weren’t going to pick up the phone, and then I’d have to actually go and find Allura for some kind of task, and you know for all her talk of New Altea there isn’t really much to do here – ’

And she’s off. Keith lets her voice wash over him – she is the only person who calls him as often as Lance does, and stays on the line for as long as New Altea’s connection or Keith’s schedule will allow her. She’s lonely out there, he suspects, and he is her only real friend on Earth.

‘… But enough about me. Any developments in your life?’

‘Since we last spoke?’ Keith thinks about the conversations with Lance. About this new challenge they’ll be taking on. About Lance’s urging to open up, confide in his friends more. But he can’t say it. Not again, not aloud, not so soon. ‘… No.’

Too late – he hesitated a moment too long, and Romelle senses it. ‘You do! Oh, Keith, go on, tell me, I could do with a bit of gossip.’

‘I – no. Nothing to tell.’

‘Yes there iiiissss…’ Her voice is annoyingly sing-song now. ‘Come on. Spill.’

‘Romelle – I – it’s private. I don’t want to talk about it.’

A moment of silence. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, devoid of excitement. ‘Keith – did something happen? Are you okay?’

Damn. He went too hard on the i-need-sympathy-not-an-interrogation scale; now she thinks something is seriously wrong. ‘Nothing happened, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.’

Romelle makes a sound that is almost a growl. ‘No, you aren’t, I can tell. What’s wrong? I’m your friend, you can tell me.’

Keith breathes.

He wants to be surprised. That his friends think something is the matter, that they can scent pain off him like blood in the water. But really, deep down, he isn’t surprised at all.

You’re a little old for that, now, aren’t you?

Some variant of those words has haunted him for his whole life. From his soulmate’s mouth, of course, but from before that, too. And after. Keith was born wrong, somehow, born with an ancient and cracked soul haunting his bones. There has never been a place in the world that feels right, never anywhere he belonged without question, a place he’d been both wanted and loved. Keith doesn’t belong in this world, or in any world, really, and for that all his soulmate’s words hurt, they weren’t wrong. The future is a thing he has avoided looking at, all his life, because there has never been a time he’s had a future to look forward to. Recently, as the wedding came closer, his soulmate’s words have been washing to the surface more and more, haunting him.

So maybe nothing happened. That doesn’t mean nothing is wrong.

‘I’m okay,’ he whispers at last. ‘I’m okay.’

‘Are you?’

Keith wanders out of the kitchen. Gets to the living room, flops down on the couch. Pulls a blanket over himself. ‘Nothing’s any more wrong than it usually is.’

‘And how does your wrong compare to everyone else’s?’

‘You sound like a therapist.’

‘A what?’ Romelle says, puzzled. Alien, of course – the Alteans do have the concepts of therapists, but he’s damned if he knows what the word for it is.

‘Never mind. Don’t worry about me, Romelle. I’m okay. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.’

Silence. And then, soft –

‘I wish I could hug you.’

Keith blinks, and suddenly his eyes are stinging. ‘Yeah. Me too.’

‘Do you think – ’ she starts, and then falls silent.

‘Do I think?’ he prompts after a moment.

‘Do you think – I could come visit you?’

‘Visit me?’

‘Yes – in a few months, or something. I never really got to see Earth, when I was there – and you know, New Altea is – well.’

Keith smiles. ‘I’d like that.’

‘You can finally show me what a "motorcycle" is – I still think you’re lying about that, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘And – oh, what now?’ The murmur of indistinct voices in the background, and then Romelle’s back. ‘Sorry, I have to go – Allura needs me for something – call you again soon?’

‘Yeah. Bye, Romelle.’

‘Bye-bye!’

A click, and Keith is alone, the silence and the dark seeming much heavier than before. For a moment, he debates getting up, returning to his original plan of shower-pizza-sleep. But it’s too much effort, so he snuggles into the blanket and drifts off where he is, tucked up on the couch.

Keith wakes up feeling bad.

It is like fear, coiled into his limbs, and like sickness, low in his belly. The scraps of a dream are floating out of his head – a dream that is vile, that leaves him feeling stained in the aftermath. Everything is wrong, wrong, wrong.

Slowly – very slowly – he sits up. It is the middle of the night – the moon is shining through the windows – and he’s almost scared –

‘Kosmo? Kosmo!’

And – thank god – distant rustles, getting closer. Kosmo peers around the living room door, tail wagging. Keith reaches for him, buries his face and hands in warm glowing fur. Fights the urge to cry – why would he cry? What is wrong with him that he wants to cry at the drop of a hat?

What is wrong with him?

Kosmo whines, a low, pained sound. Keith is pulling his fur too hard. Keith lets go – stands up – stumbles away – can’t hurt Kosmo. Claws his way into the kitchen – leans by the sink – fills a glass –

The cold working its way down his gullet brings him back to his senses. A little bit. Kosmo follows him, leans against his legs, still making that low whining sound – can space wolves sense emotions?

Keith leaves the glass on the counter, lets himself sink down until he’s sitting on the floor. Kosmo settles on his legs, a huge warm weight, and licks his hand.

‘Sorry,’ Keith says aloud. ‘I hurt you. Didn’t mean to.’

Kosmo huffs. To this day, Keith has no idea how much of their language Kosmo can understand – it might be more than ordinary dogs. Might be less. Who knows. Kosmo is, in his way, more loyal than any human Keith has ever met. Every other relationship in his life could fall apart and Kosmo would still be here, trailing Keith from room to room because he hates to be alone.

They stay like that for a while. Keith tilts his head back, concentrates on breathing as he slowly loses all sensation in his legs. It could be ten minutes later, or two hours, before he whispers, ‘Up, Kosmo. Come on.’

In the bedroom, Keith takes off his socks and crawls into bed. Who cares about his clothes – he’s already slept in them, a few more hours won’t hurt. Kosmo stands beside the bed, watching Keith carefully, before placing a single paw on the duvet. When Keith doesn’t protest, Kosmo pulls his entire body onto the bed, flopping down on the empty side. Kosmo has a bed of his own beside the wardrobe – but on bad nights, he’s allowed to sleep on Keith’s. There have been more and more bad nights lately.
‘Good boy,’ Keith murmurs. Lies still, staring up at the ceiling, long after Kosmo has fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

Things are a little bit better in the morning.

Keith still wakes up feeling gross. But a long hot shower and a quick brush of his teeth leaves him feeling a bit better. A bit cleaner. In the kitchen, he flips the switch on the coffee machine, checks his messages while he waits.

(05:54) are u free this evening?
(08:30) good morning lance
(08:30) I am, why?
(08:31) do u want to come over? we could watch a movie or smth
(08:32) like before
(08:32) no pressure tho

Keith frowns at his phone. Like before. On the Castle of Lions, when neither of them could sleep, they would creep into the common room, dig up stacks of ancient Altean movies, let them play one after another after another. Neither of them could speak Altean – so they would invent subtitles to go along with what seemed to be happening, giggling and shushing each other and eventually falling asleep on the couch. They kept up the tradition on Earth – they can understand the movies now, but they take the piss anyway. They haven’t had a movie night in a long time – not since last year, when Lance was grieving the death of one of his cats. Why is Lance asking for one now? Is something wrong?

(08:34) Yeah, I’d like that
(08:34) u ok?
(08:35) yeah
(08:36) I just
(08:36) yeah
(08:37) see u at 6? I’ll make pizza
(08:38)… ok

Six rolls around faster than Keith thinks it’s going to. Before he quite knows it he’s in the aisles at the shop near Lance’s place, throwing bags of sugary things into his basket, trying to think of the best way of getting the truth out of his friend. He’s not an idiot – he knows something is up – but not what. Maybe it’ll be clearer when he sees Lance? In line to pay, Keith is distracted. After his items are paid for, he almost sleepwalks back to the car – Lance would tell him if something was seriously wrong. Surely?

Funny – during the war, he wouldn’t have placed Lance at the top of his friends list. Early on, wouldn’t have thought of Lance as a friend at all. At most, he was their annoying classmate from back in the Garrison. And yet. By the time the war ended, they were close in a way Keith had never experienced – an easy sort of closeness. And afterwards, the rest of his friendships became a little more frayed. A little more spread out. But Lance stayed as close as he ever had. Is the only one who calls Keith as often as Keith calls him. The two of them match, in a funny sort of way.

In the car –– pulling into the driveway – and there is Lance, leaning on the doorframe and waving. Keith smiles, ghostly – they’ll talk after the film. That is the plan, anyway.
Lance hands him a plate of pizza in the kitchen. ‘Is this homemade?’ Keith asks, taking a bite – it’s wonderful, Lance’s cooking always is.

‘Yes – only for you would I go to such extremes. Have a look through Netflix – I’ll be back in a minute.’

Keith has already picked something out – it’s a new release which has created a bit of buzz on social media – supposed to be brilliant. If Lance doesn’t mind, that’s what they’ll watch – it’ll be the first time in years Keith has kept up with the trends.

Lance comes back in pyjamas, which – is a good idea. Exactly like it was in the Castle – pyjamas, junk food, movies –

Keith misses the Castle sometimes. Rarely, but powerfully. In this moment, he longs to be back there, curled in the room that had been his. But he can’t ever go back. He shrugs out of his coat instead, lets his hair down from the braid he keeps it in for work. Once that’s done, things feel… easier. Not fixed. But easier.

Lance is already on the couch, bags of sweets spread over the coffee table, pizza in hand. It’s like looking back in time – at a Lance that was younger, more innocent, not damaged by the realities of war. They’ve made it back in one piece physically. But spiritually neither of them will be the same as they were.

‘Come on, I’m getting bored,’ Lance says. ‘Is this your pick? Wouldn’t have thought you were a sci-fi guy.’

‘You’d think I had enough of it after… everything.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I heard about it on Twitter…’

‘Oh, I’m not complaining. Sit down.’

Keith does, and Lance presses play. The movie opens to a shot of stars – cliché – and pans down slowly to a building that looks like a military base – also cliché. Keith relaxes a little more – snuggles into the seat and sighs – for now, he can forget it all.

The movie is… good, actually. Good enough that he’s invested, but not so good that he’s on the edge of his seat. Usually they’d snark, pick the whole thing to bits – but Keith realizes very quickly that Lance is exhausted. He’s trying to be light, trying to crack jokes, but Keith can see the cracks – the slump to his shoulders, the stifled yawns, the nodding head and rapid snap back to consciousness. So, Keith lets the conversation drop – turns his attention back to the screen – waits. And sure enough –

Lance tucks his feet onto the couch beside him – the action tips his body to the side, so he rests his head on Keith’s shoulder. Hesitantly – like he doesn’t know how Keith will take it. Keith doesn’t do anything. Just waits, as Lance’s breathing grows more regular, as the tension drains out of his body.

‘You falling asleep there?’

‘No,’ he murmurs.

‘Thought so,’ Keith says. There’s a blanket on the back of the couch – he reaches for it, pulls it over them both, settles his arm around Lance’s shoulders. Lance makes a small, pleased sound.

And that’s it. Keith watches the rest of the movie in silence, wondering why Lance had invited him over. Just to cuddle? Softie.

The movie ends, and Netflix auto-plays something else. Keith isn’t really paying attention. He’s feeling sleepy himself – maybe he will nod off, Lance won’t mind.

He doesn’t really notice when the change begins. Lance shifts a little in his sleep – mumbles something – it’s nonsense. He’s fallen asleep beside Lance often enough to know that he sleep-talks. But Lance doesn’t usually make such distressed noises – he sounds like he’s crying – fists clenched in Keith’s shirt –

‘Lance?’ Keith says. ‘Lance – wake up, buddy, come on – ’

And he does, jerks awake like he’s been shot, shoves Keith away from him. For a moment, Lance looks terrified –

‘Easy,’ Keith says, very softly. ‘Easy, Lance, it’s me.’

Lance blinks, and then recognition washes over his face. ‘… yeah. Sorry, I – um… for a moment there – yeah…’

‘Tell me what the matter is,’ Keith says, very gently. ‘Lance – come on, I know you. What’s going on? Why the movie night?’

Lance blinks a few times. Rubs his palms against his upper arms. ‘I… um. Nightmares.’

‘Nightmares?’

‘Yeah – I – they… get bad sometimes. They were bad – this week – and before, on the Castle, you – it helped. When you were there. The sleepovers – I don’t know – I thought – ’

‘Lance – ’

‘Sorry – I don’t – I thought – ’

‘Lance,’ Keith says, more firmly. ‘Don’t feel guilty about it – it’s not your fault.’

‘Yeah.’ Lance yawns. ‘I know, I just... sorry.’

‘God, you’re exhausted, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Come on.’ Keith switches the TV off. Motions for Lance to follow him, walks towards the stairs. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’

Lance hesitates. Says, in a very small voice, ‘Will you stay with me?’

‘Of course.’

Lance’s room is – not quite what he was expecting. Back on the castle-ship, Lance’s room had been a riot of colour, an explosion of mess, things piled on every surface available. Fitting for a teenager. This room is – not exactly lifeless, but far more austere. Furniture, yes – bed and wardrobe and desk and so on – but nothing on the walls, nothing on the shelves, nothing in this room to suggest that it’s Lance that lives here. They might as well be in the guest room – and it’s odd.

But Keith isn’t in the mood to dwell on it. Files it under ‘things to think about in the morning’. He pulls back the bedsheets, gestures at Lance.

‘When I’m ready,’ Lance says. ‘Have to brush my teeth first, doncha know.’

‘Oh.’ Keith yawns. ‘I should probably do that.’ He flops down onto the mattress. The bed is soft, and his limbs feel heavy, and his eyes are closing.

A shadow falls over him, and he blinks. Lance is standing there, watching him. ‘Are you going to?’

‘…no.’
‘Thought not. Move over.’

Grumbling, Keith does. Lance lies down in his place. Bastard – he gets all the body heat, and Keith is cold again. Lance leans towards the bedside table – a click, and the room is dark.

‘Wake me up,’ Keith says. ‘For any reason – wake me up if you need me.’

‘I will.’

Keith wakes up twice that night.

The first time is to silence. Darkness. The curtains aren’t closed. Outside, the stars burn in an empty sky. No moon. It’s so quiet. Usually, Keith doesn’t like the quiet – usually blasts music or calls Kosmo to keep it out – but somehow, he doesn’t mind this. The quiet here isn’t as lonely as it is at home. He glances over his shoulder. Lance is asleep, breathing quietly. No nightmares. Peaceful.
This is nice, Keith thinks.

The second time, he wakes to the sound of rain, the distant rumble of thunder. Clouds obscure the faint light from outside – when he turns around, it takes a moment for him to realize that Lance is awake. Staring at the ceiling.

‘You okay?’ Keith asks.

Silence.

‘Lance?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You aren’t.’

Lance blinks. Rolls over to face him. ‘Do you ever just feel… lost?’

‘Lost?’

‘Like… like you took a wrong turn. Like you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.’

Keith’s brain, addled with sleep, takes a moment to make sense of this. ‘Where do you think you’re supposed to be?’

‘Somewhere else.’ Lance sighs, and it sounds so pained. ‘Somewhere else.’ And then, softer – ‘Keith.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Don’t leave me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Not tonight. In general.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Lance says nothing in response to this. Keith hears the blankets rustle, and in the next moment a hand slips into his. They drift back to sleep like that, a warmth that he can’t name curled up in Keith’s chest.

Chapter Text

The sound of the phone ringing explodes into the silence of the room. Keith jerks awake sharply, in a blur of confusion – it’s too bright in here, where is Kosmo, that’s not where his nightstand is, he’s so cozy, why are the curtains open?

‘Jesus Christ,’ Lance mumbles, his breath hot on the back of Keith’s neck. ‘Is that your phone?’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’

He scrambles for the phone, which is slowly vibrating its way across the bedside locker. When he sees the name on the screen, he silences the ringer without answering the call. Cradles the phone in two hands until the display goes dark. A moment later, the screen lights up again with a text.

Hi Keith. Just calling to check in. Didn’t get to see much of you at the wedding! Hope all well with you.

Keith reads the message once, and then again. He drafts a response in his head, discards it, thinks of another. He knows in his heart he’s not going to respond for hours, if at all. He can’t read the tone under the words – anger? Pleading? Polite disinterest?

He slips the phone back onto the table, feeling a low churning in his stomach. He has to respond, it would be shitty not to, but he has no idea what to say, how to say it. He’ll deal with it later. When he’s up. When he’s alone.

Because, of course, he’s not alone. The warmth of Lance at his back is an immediate and welcome distraction. Lance is nuzzled up against him, one arm thrown over Keith’s body, his nose pressed into Keith’s hair. Judging by the pattern of his breathing, he’s asleep again already. Keith lies very still, trying not to wake him. This level of clinginess is new… but it’s not exactly unpleasant.  

For a while, Keith tries to fall back asleep, but the sun is too bright, the birds outside are too loud, his body is too wired. He lets his gaze wander around the room for a while. He’s just about to slip out from under the bedcovers when he notices Lance’s hand, resting on the edge of the bed. His wrist. His soulmark.

It’s grey.

Keith holds his breath. It’s not generally the done thing to ask about people’s soulmarks, not the done thing to talk about them. Unless you were stupid enough, drunk enough, to spit it out in a fit of misery. It’s fine to tell the success stories, fine to flash a beautiful mark at a wedding… but tacky to revel in the grey. Rude to ask.

And he should mind his own business, really. Should avert his eyes, pretend he never saw it. It would be the polite thing to do… but Keith has never been the best at social cues.

He reaches forward, slowly, carefully. Presses two fingers against the delicate fever-hot skin at Lance’s wrist. Holds his breath.

But the mark stays grey. There’s no burst of rainbow light. There won’t be another morning like this one, curled quietly together. There won’t be flowers or rings or kisses, weddings or doves or bouquets of roses. Somewhere out there, there’s someone that fits Lance perfectly, designed to match him exactly. And once Lance finds them, there won’t be room for Keith in his life anymore.

Not that he… not that Keith wanted…

He didn’t know what he wanted.

Slowly, he sits up. He tries to swing himself out from under Lance’s arm without disturbing him, but it doesn’t work. Lance lets out a disgruntled whine, and sits up. Keith starts to put on his shoes, carefully keeping his back turned.

‘Hey,’ Lance mumbles, sounding half-asleep still. ‘You’re going already?’

‘I’ve, um, I’ve got to feed Kosmo.’

‘Kosmo.’ A shift in the weight on the bed, and then Lance rests his head between Keith’s shoulder blades. ‘Breakfast with me first?’

Keith sits still, every muscle in his body tense. There’s a slight tremble in his hands – why? Nothing about this should be making him nervous. He flattens his hands against his knees. ‘I mean… I should probably…’

He glances over his shoulder. He can’t see Lance’s face, but he can see Lance’s hands. He’s holding his wrist with the other hand, stroking his thumb over the soulmark. Seeing this, Keith’s breath catches in his chest. Lance had been awake, Lance knows what he’s done, Lance can read all the stupid longing wicking off him like smoke…

He stands up sharply. Lance lets out a low ‘uff!’ sound. When Keith turns to face him, he’s scowling. But he doesn’t say anything.

Prickling with guilt, Keith says, ‘I’ve just got… stuff. That I’ve got to… You know. Things.’ And then, softer, ‘Sorry.’

‘Stuff and things.’ Lance lies back down, facing the wall. ‘Well, then. I hope you enjoy stuff and things.’

Keith closes his eyes, thinking first of the missed call and now this, and feels a prickling behind his eyes, a wobble in his chin, the threat of oncoming tears. But an instant later, he’s pushed it down, somewhere deep where it can come out later. When he speaks, he’s focusing on keeping calm, and blurts the words out without thinking too much about them.

‘I could make it up to you? Dinner on Friday?’

A beat of silence, and then Lance glances over his shoulder. ‘I’m busy on Friday.’

‘Saturday?’

Lance’s smile is like the sun peeping shyly out from the clouds. ‘I guess I could manage that.’

‘Cool. Cool.’ Keith walks backwards, towards the door. ‘Then, um, I guess it’s a –’

He misjudges the distance, and bangs into the doorframe. Lance snorts. Keith ducks his head, mumbles his goodbyes, and takes off, watching his step this time.

When he gets into the car, he doesn’t drive off immediately. Just sits there for a moment, head resting on the steering wheel.

He’d asked Lance on a date.

Lance had said yes.

Why? What’s he going to get out of it? In a few days or months or years, Lance will meet his soulmate, and that will be that. It would just be temporary. A dalliance.

Maybe that’s all Lance wants. A flicker of fun, before he settles down.

Keith closes his eyes. The thought of being a flirtation, a toy, a game, cast aside… it makes him sick. And yet… he wants more mornings like this. He wants sweetness, gentle touches, he wants love. He’s so starved for love.

Who cares if it ends in tears? He’ll have a warm, bright memory to curl around on winter nights. A taste of adoration – never enough to be full, but enough to soften the hunger on his tongue.  He’s known since he was twenty-one that he’ll never have a husband, never be the centre of a room, never have a love like the movies. But he can pretend, for a little while. Wouldn’t be that nice?

Keith sits up. Before he drives off, he picks up the phone. If he fires off a response to the message now, he won’t have to think about a conversation until he gets home.

Hi, Shiro. All O.K. It was a lovely wedding. Talk later.

He switches the sound off on the phone, and throws it into the passenger seat.

If it rings on the way home, he doesn’t hear it.

Chapter Text

Keith ends up tearing through half his wardrobe. Shoes all over the floor, ties in wrinkled piles on the bed, trousers thrown haphazard over the back of his chair. What can he possibly wear? He rotates the same four trousers and the same three shirts almost all the time. Even if he could scrounge up something fancy from somewhere, this is Lance.

Lance, who lived a single corridor over for years. Who’s shared endless dinners, conversations, fights with him, Lance who can guess what he’s thinking from across a room. Lance who was his right hand man for fights the likes of which the universe had never seen. Lance, who still shows up to his door all these years later. Lance, who he thinks of first when he has something to say, even if he never reaches out to actually say it.

‘I could run away,’ Keith says to his reflection. ‘First flight off-planet? New life?’

Kosmo, sprawled on the bed, lets out a heavy huff. He’s going to leave fur everywhere, he always does, but that’s a concern for later.

What is this, exactly? This so-called date? What is it that he’s going to do, what are they going to be after this? Keith knows what first dates are for. He’s seen it all in the movies. He’s even been on a few. Dates are for getting to know each other, for feeling each other out until somebody feels comfortable enough to try touching soulmarks. Dates that come after… What’s supposed to happen on dates that come after? Doesn’t he know Lance already, inside and out?

Keith remembers a soft voice in the dark. A hand, squeezing his own. Do you ever just feel… lost?

There’s plenty left to know about Lance. If he had all the time in the world, he might not learn it all.

In the mirror, Keith notices Kosmo inching off the bed. Lips parted, white teeth ready to sink into the brown leather of one of his dress shoes. Instantly, he whips around.

‘Kosmo! Drop!’

Kosmo, looking unimpressed, slumps to the floor. Absently, Keith ruffles his fur.

He wishes there was someone he could ask. Or that there was some kind of rulebook he could look at. Section A, part 4: How Relationships Work When the Camera Turns Off. Section B, part 2: How to Go on a First Date with Someone You’ve Known for Like, Decades. Romelle’s line was busy when he tried to call, and it’s not like he can reach out to anyone else. Not that they wouldn’t pick up, it’s just…

It's just different. It’s not like it used to be, anymore.

Kosmo takes advantage of Keith’s distraction and goes for the shoe again. Keith lunges after him on instinct, getting a handful of fur at an awkward angle, and has to let go before the weight of the wolf drags him to the ground. ‘Kosmo, I need those. Leave them alone.’

Kosmo isn’t listening. Kosmo is turned towards the door, one ear perked, listening to something Keith can’t hear. When he looks back, there’s a distinct expression on his face. The expression of a wolf planning to get up to mischief. Keith immediately grabs the shoe, holding it high above his head. ‘No. Mine. I need this.’

Kosmo gives him a look of scorn, and lunges towards… the other shoe, still sitting on the carpet. Sinks his teeth into the leather – those marks will never come out – and darts into the hall, a blur of blue. Keith sprints after him, swearing.

All the way down the stairs, all the way to the front of the house. Keith catches up to Kosmo just as he reaches the front door. As he opens his mouth to tell Kosmo to drop, Kosmo leaps upwards, and vanishes in a flash of light.

Stupid teleporting space wolf! Outside, surely. Keith unlocks the door, furious, sweaty, swearing under his breath, and finds himself face to face with Lance. Who is dressed nicely, one hand resting on Kosmo’s smug head. Lance looks at him head-to-toe, and Keith sees him stifle a smile. ‘Hi.’

‘Shut up,’ Keith says, snatching the shoe from Kosmo’s mouth and closing the door. He shoves the shoes on, straightens his clothes, brushes the worst of the wolf hair off, and opens the door again.

‘Hello,’ Lance says. ‘Again.’

And he’s smiling something soft and fond. For a moment, Keith feels a sweet ache in response. But then he shoves that away, compartmentalises it somewhere safe.

‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’

Kosmo trots back into the house, nose held in the air as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Keith sighs and motions for Lance to come in. ‘Wait here,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in a second.’

‘I’ll be in the kitchen,’ Lance replies. ‘Here, Kosmo! Here, boy!’

Keith darts upstairs, brushes his teeth, scowls at himself in the mirror. Off to a brilliant start, this night. He snatches up his wallet from the bedside table, his keys, his phone. Glances in the broader mirror on the wardrobe, makes another fruitless effort to clean himself up. There’s no getting rid of the wrinkles in his jacket, the muss in his hair, the stain on his knee. Stupid dog, stupid date, stupid universe. His thoughts are hurrying a mile a minute, but when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he pauses.

 From here, he can see into the kitchen. The lampshade casts a sharp circle of yellow light, and leaves the rest of the kitchen in darkness. It catches on Lance, relaxed, legs crossed. It highlights his curls, lingers on his cheekbones, catches his nails where he’s tapping them on the table. Kosmo has his head on Lance’s knee, and the two of them look happy. Calm but eager, waiting for Keith to come back.

Out in the darkness, Keith goes still. Some memories linger in the mind longer than others. He can feel the nostalgia for this already. Can already feel the nights, far in the future, where he lies awake remembering this scene.

‘Ready to go?’ he says as he steps into the kitchen.

Lance looks up and smiles, and Keith can hear heartbreak hurtling down, somewhere far away.

It ends up being… easy.

He’s waiting for the mutual fumbling of words, the shy sideways glances, the um’s and ah’s and awkward cheek kisses. But there’s none of that, in the end.

He walks down the road beside Lance, relating some incident from the Garrison – these new recruits, you know how they are, haha – his voice too high, squeaky. Hands moving too much, his gaze on the streetlamps above them instead of the man beside him. As if, by pretending not to be here, he can ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

As they round a narrow corner, a stranger is coming against them. Keith steps out of the way, and Lance’s hand brushes against his hip, pulling him in against his side. Keith hesitates a moment, offset by the sensation, the sudden flush of warmth that lights his body.

And then Lance smiles, that particular wide flirty smile that Lance thinks oozes charm. ‘Watch out,’ he says. ‘Coulda tripped, if I wasn’t here.’

Keith tries, but he can’t quite bite back the smile. ‘Planning that one, were you?’

‘I – Wha – no. Nope! All natural.’

Keith giggles, and Lance splutters. ‘Keith, come on, that was smooth! It was!’

‘Sure. If you say so.’ Keith nudges Lance’s shoulder lightly, to show that he’s teasing. ‘Anyway, you haven’t told me what you’ve been doing since I last saw you.’

‘Oh, sure,’ Lance says. He starts talking, gesturing with one hand – but the other is still slung lightly over Keith’s shoulders. Keith leans into the touch, feeling the nerves in his stomach settle. No drama, no awkward silences, just this. Just comfortable warmth.

It feels good.

And it’s like that in the restaurant, too. A little place down by the seafront, with soft lighting and wooden tables all bunched together. Scents drifting through the air that he can’t name, but that make his stomach twist with hunger anyway.

Lance lets go of him to open the door, but as they make their way to their table, he reaches back to take Keith’s hand. Quick and easy, like they do this all the time, like it’s just Friday date night for them. It settles Keith. Makes him feel, for once, grounded in the moment. Safe. Loved.

‘I’m glad we came here,’ he blurts out, as a substitute for saying something far more embarrassing.

Lance glances back and smiles. ‘It was your idea.’

‘For dinner. Not the restaurant.’

‘Eh. You can pick next time.’

Keith glances down at the menu. Tries to keep his voice even. ‘Are we… going to do a next time?’

Lance snorts. ‘Unless tonight is a disaster, yeah.’ A moment later, his smile fades. ‘Unless you don’t want to?’

‘No! No. I do.’

‘Good.’ Lance hums. ‘Prawns for starters?’

Keith manages to wait until they’ve ordered appetizers before he asks. ‘What is this? What are we doing?’

Lance makes a show of glancing around. ‘Ordering dinner?’

‘No, I mean…’ He trails off, embarrassed. ‘Is this a date? Or is that stupid to ask, or…’

‘Do you want it to be?’

The restaurant feels very quiet, all of a sudden. Keith swallows. ‘I don’t know.’

Lance doesn’t seem put off by this answer, though. He just nods, looking thoughtful. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ he says. ‘It’s nice just to spend time with you.’

‘Sap.’

‘Hey!’

Keith snickers. ‘I’m happy to be here, too.’

‘Yeah?’ It’s Lance’s turn to hide a smile. ‘I’ll take you out next time.’

‘Where do you want to go?’

Lance can’t hide the smile. It breaks free, making his face light up, making Keith’s stomach swoop. ‘Wherever you want, man. Wherever you want.’

There’s a feeling that starts to creep up on him. At the dinner that night, with Lance making him giggle so much that other patrons look over to see the source of the noise. When he sees his phone light up with Lance’s name. When Lance comes over to sprawl on his couch, kicking his feet and talking about nothing at all.

He’s not sure if it’s a good feeling, exactly. It’s like eating too much, all at once. It’s like taking a turn too quickly, it’s like missing a step on the stairs and feeling his heart lurch with something narrowly avoided.

Keith lives alone. Gets up in the morning on his own, does his shopping on his own, deals with his problems on his own. Even in the Garrison, he moves apart from the crowd, placed on a pedestal by some, ostracised by others. It’s always been this way. He’s been alone since he was a child, hasn’t relied on anyone since he was eight and got the news of a fire too big for his father to fight. He’s learned to move through space by himself, to take the knocks on his own, to navigate a life that will always be empty of any other voices. And even if…

And even if he’d convinced himself, for a while, that it could be different, it can’t. Keith lives alone, he was designed to be that way, he’ll always be that way. Everyone he’s ever met has known it, has scented it off him before he knew himself. He couldn’t keep the only three people that were guaranteed to love him in his life. His mother and his father and his soulmate were bound to love him, they had to, but they left him or died or outright said no. If he can’t keep guaranteed love, he’ll never be able to earn anything else. He’s used to it. He knows it.

And so, having Lance here feels… too much.

Lance is like the sun in rooms that have never known light. There’s so much love in him, it comes pouring out of him, like falling too fast into hot water. It makes Keith feel almost sick, sometimes. You’re not supposed to give me this much attention. I’m supposed to be an afterthought in your life.

You’re making a mistake.

But it’s Lance’s mistake to make. Keith is nothing if not selfish, if not greedy. If Lance wants to pour water onto parched ground that’s his choice. He’ll take as much as he can get. As much love and joy and attention as Lance feels like giving him. There’s no way to make Lance stay. He knows this. There’s no way to live in this fairytale forever. He knows this.

He’ll take what he can get. He’ll take the sleepy mornings, he’ll take the gossip in the evenings, this relationship that they can’t quite put a name to. Boyfriend seems trite. Friend is accurate on one level, but fails to capture nuance. Partner is closer. Two of them, together. A pair.

He’ll take what he can get. But he can’t stop the tension creeping into his shoulders, when they go out. He’ll never say it, of course he won’t. He knows how selfish it is. But every time they’re in public together, there’s a churning in Keith’s stomach, one that only goes away when they’re alone together, safe.

Every time Lance pays for his coffee. Shakes hands with someone new. Reaches out to help someone carry their bags, clasps hands with an old friend. Every time his sleeve rides up and his soulmark shows.

The joy and promise of a soulmate is that they could be anyone, anywhere. The promise of a soulmark is that it will burn away the old life and replace it with one that is better in every possible way.

Keith will never say it. Will never find the words for it. He loves Lance, and misses him already. Lance is his joy and his friend and the light of his life, and simultaneously not his. Will never be his. Every time they go out, every time Lance smiles at the friendly barista, Keith is waiting for the flash of light. Waiting, with every passing moment, to be the one left behind.

Chapter Text

Too good to be true.

But he’s always known that.

                                                            *

There isn’t one fixed moment where it all goes wrong. Not as such. When Keith thinks back on it later, combing obsessively through all the conversations they’ve had, he doesn’t find a singular explosive fight, a particularly heart-rending incident. Just a slow creep. The building sense of something being off.

The end approaching.

Once, curled up on the couch, with his head on Lance’s chest. Lance’s heart beating a soft rhythm under his ear, Lance’s voice threading through his ears, Keith’s eyes starting to droop closed. Warmth curling into every part of his body…

And then a pinprick of cold. Won’t you miss this when it’s gone?

He tries to shove the thought away, but it won’t go. It expands outwards instead, like a fungus. This time next year he’ll be alone in an empty house, it’ll be cold and dark, he’ll never know a warmth and safety like this ever again –

‘Hey,’ Lance says suddenly. ‘Hey, hey, easy.’

His hand settles over Keith’s, and Keith realises that his hand is fisted in Lance’s shirt. His whole body is a livewire, shaking with anxiety. Drawing in deep breaths, he forces himself to relax. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘Long day at work.’

‘Okay…’ Lance’s other hand brushes down Keith’s spine. ‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘No.’ Keith forces his voice to sound light. ‘Just tired. Go on, what were you saying?’

From where he is, he can’t see Lance’s face. But the silence seems to go on for a long time before Lance keeps talking. It feels as though Lance squeezes his hand harder, but Keith isn’t sure if it’s only his imagination.

Sometimes, he catches Lance looking off into the distance. The conversation pauses for a moment, or Lance puts down his fork, and then something in his face changes. Keith recognises that expression. He wears it himself often enough. The expression of someone retreating into their head, looking at an array of private worries. When he presses, Lance never wants to speak about it. Only shakes his head and smiles.

It's frustrating to feel that Lance is harbouring some heavy secret. But it’s not as if Keith has any ground to stand on there. He hopes that Lance isn’t holding old pain and scars the way that he does. But it’s hard to know.

Once, quietly, Lance touches Keith’s soulmark.

They’re out at a pub, waiting for the live music to start. There’s a nice crowd, and they’ve snagged a small table in a corner. Secluded enough that they can enjoy the atmosphere in relative peace. Keith is heading towards being pleasantly buzzed, if not entirely there yet.

Lance is… not.

He can’t put his finger on what the issue is. It’s not that Lance seems sad, exactly. Or angry. Moreso that distance pressing to the surface again. It seems that Lance is drifting every time the conversation slows. Glancing down into his drink with unfocused eyes, letting his sentences peter out in mid-air. Keith asks him about it a few times, directly and indirectly, and receives vague half-answers in response. Eventually, he chalks it up to Lance being tired, and decides to let the subject lie.

Someone steps onto the stage, taps the mic a few times. The crowd’s attention turns, the pub briefly quiets, and in the moment before the band is announced, Lance touches Keith’s wrist. Just over his soulmark.

It powers through him like electricity. He’s grown used to Lance’s touch by now, but this is shock and overwhelm all over again. Keith goes stiff, not daring to move, breathe, look. He’s tested this himself. He knows. They’re not soulmates, he knows this.

But when there’s no tingling sensation, no burst of light, he’s still disappointed.

Lance slides his fingers higher, intertwines them with Keith’s, rests their hands on his knee. But the damage is done. Keith can’t move. Can’t breathe properly.

They’re not soulmates. He knows this.

This is a relationship on borrowed time. He knows this.

And he knows that Lance wouldn’t, that Lance is kinder than that, but he’s still expecting Lance to get up and walk out. To hiss, I’ve had enough of this, I’m not wasting any more of my time, and leave Keith behind.

But of course Lance wouldn’t, and he doesn’t. The music starts, filling the air, and neither of them move, or speak.

Eventually, Lance shuffles over on the seat, and rests his head on Keith’s shoulder. It feels like comfort. Like consolation. I’m leaving you, but not yet.

Of course, he doesn’t know what Lance is thinking. Now, or then, or maybe ever.

                                                            *

They make it to the first winter snow. Not any further than that.

As the weeks have been passing, this silent chasm has been creeping wider between them. All these words that Keith can’t say, that Lance won’t. The innocent grey patterns on both their wrists. Something that means nothing and everything all at once. It’s not any particular moment that gets Lance to call it off. It’s all those weeks of quiet finally coming to a head.

Keith had tagged along with Lance to visit a nearby city. They’d spent a happy afternoon just wandering from shop to shop, running errands and enjoying the holiday markets. Getting coffee and wandering the streets arm in arm. All the while, Keith’s mind was working, storing the memories away somewhere safe. For the future.

He’d curled up in the passenger seat on the way home, cold and quiet and drowsy. He’s been so tired lately. Can’t seem to find any energy lately.

Lance had been quiet, too. Maybe that should have been a sign all on its own.

Lance pulls into the driveway and parks. When the headlights flick off, the car goes dark, but neither of them move. Keith stares into the darkness, listening to the rhythm of his own breathing. Lance taps his fingers on the wheel.

The first flake lands silent on the windscreen. Followed by another, and then another. Barely audible shush-shush, as snow starts to coat the glass.

Keith smiles. Tries to. ‘Look at that.’

Lance laughs, and he sounds tired. ‘Will we make snow angels?’

‘We’d catch pneumonia.’

‘Yeah. Another time, maybe.’

Will there be another time? Keith wonders. And in the next moment, he makes a mistake.

‘I’ll miss this,’ he says quietly.

‘Hmm? The snow?’

‘No, we’ll get more of that.’

‘Then what?’

Keith hesitates. ‘You know. This. Us.’

Lance is turned towards him, but in the darkness of the car, he can’t make out his expression. ‘Us? You planning on going somewhere?’

‘No, no. Not for a while. I’m just saying. Eventually.’

‘Eventually what?’

‘Like… eventually.’ The nights he’s spent lying awake dreading it, the hours he’s spent biting back his fear, it’s all pouring outwards now. ‘Come on, Lance. This isn’t a permanent thing. You know that.’

‘I know that? I know that?’ His voice is wobbling. ‘What, you’re stringing me along until you can find something better, and I’m supposed to just know that?’

‘No, that’s not what I’m…’ Keith gestures with his hands, frustrated. ‘We’re just going to go on like this forever? Just, what, running errands with each other every week? Going to the movies every Sunday? Until something changes?’

‘Do you want something to change?’ Lance says. ‘God, I thought… Aren’t you happy? I thought you were… I’m happy… Keith, I…’

‘Of course I’m happy!’ There’s a terrible heat rising in Keith’s face now. Something in this conversation is going wrong, but he can’t tell what. ‘I’m happier than I’ve ever been.’

‘Then what the hell are you trying to say to me? I know you haven’t been happy, Keith, I’m not a fucking mindreader, you have to –’

‘I’m not unhappy! What did you think this relationship was, Lance? I thought we were on the same page!’

‘And what page is that?’ In the dark of the car, Keith can see only the faint glitter of Lance’s eyes, the vague shape of his body. ‘What are we doing here, Keith? What do you want?’

There are so many answers he could give to that. But he can’t make any of them rise to his lips. ‘Lance, I don’t understand why you’re angry.’

‘I’m angry because my boyfriend is telling me that our whole relationship is a sham, apparently.’

‘I’m not your boyfriend.’ Keith slumps in his seat. ‘We haven’t talked… terms, exactly.’

‘Because you never want to talk about anything. There’s only so many times I can ask you how your day’s been, Keith! Use your words!’

Anger, sparking in his stomach. ‘Shut up. How’s that for words?’

‘Oh, very mature.’

For a moment, they sit in silence, both of them breathing hard. Lance’s fingers are clenching and unclenching on the wheel. When Lance speaks, his voice is low and sharp.

‘Keith. Tell me something. Was this all just a waste of time to you?’

‘I –’

‘Yes or no.’

‘No. God, Lance, no. Never.’

‘So tell me something else, then. Do you see a future in this? At all?’

Keith is silent. Outside, the snow is still falling, clogging the windscreen. The question seems to echo, rattling in the silence of the car.

He’d known.

‘No,’ he whispers.

Lance doesn’t say anything. Then he leans over. For one heart-stopping moment, Keith thinks he’s coming in for a hug. That somehow, it will all be okay. But then the latch clicks, and Lance pushes Keith’s door open.

‘Then I’m not going to waste any more of your time,’ Lance says. ‘Goodnight, Keith.’

‘Lance…’

‘Please.’ In the mix of snow and moonlight filtering in, Lance looks older and sadder than Keith has ever seen him. ‘Just go. Please.’

Keith steps out of the car. Stands there for a moment, feeling light, empty as air. As if one good puff of wind would carry him away over the fields. Lance doesn’t call him back. He pushes the car door shut.

As Lance’s headlights sweep across his driveway, Keith stands at his door, fumbling with his keys. His hands shaking. It must be the cold. It’s very cold. As the car gets further away, the light goes with it, the dark closing around Keith like a vice.

It’s fine.

He steps into the house. It’s cold in here, too, and dark. He flips the switches for the light, the heating, makes his way into the kitchen and puts the kettle on to boil.

He’d known.

(somewhere deep, he’d always known.)

Lance is going away. In a day or a week or a month, he’ll brush wrists with someone else, and rainbows will sweep into his life, and it will all be beautiful and wonderful. And Keith will still be here, in this house. And that will be okay. He’s probably fucked his chances at being invited to the wedding, but maybe someone will show him the pictures. He can’t think who, but maybe someone.

He'd known. After all, there are rules to this kind of thing.

Keith makes his way to the sitting room. The heating is on, he’s getting warmer, but he’s still shaking somehow. It must be the cold. Surely. After all, everything else is fine.

There’s a rattle from the hallway, and Keith whirls –

Lance? –

but the word dies on his lips when Kosmo pads into the sitting room. But instead of asking for pets or picking up a toy, he just stands there, looking at Keith.

‘He dumped me,’ Keith says, by way of explanation.

Kosmo cocks his head to the side.

‘No, I’m fine. I knew it was going to happen.’

Kosmo pads closer, puts his head on Keith’s knee.

‘It’s okay, Kosmo.’ Keith lifts a hand, which is still trembling, and places it on Kosmo’s soft forehead. ‘You just have to make peace with some things. I’ll miss him, but it’s okay. It’s just how things are.’

Kosmo whines.

Keith starts to cry.

Chapter Text

At some point, Kosmo must have teleported them both upstairs. Keith doesn’t remember the journey to his room. One moment he’s leaning back against the couch, staring at the blurry ceiling with unseeing eyes, horrible inhuman sounds wheezing out of his mouth. And then, some time later, he wakes on top of his duvet, dog hair in his mouth, an ache in his forehead and jaw. The whole terrible weight of it settles over him again.

I knew it. I knew it would…

But he can’t stop seeing that look on Lance’s face. Sorrow and misery and utter, hopeless defeat. As if he was losing something he would never find again.

I was… I was right.

Wasn’t I?

Keith’s stomach is churning.

What have I done?

Keith reaches for his phone. Hoping that maybe there’s a message, missed phone calls, that maybe against all hope he dreamt the whole thing up – but there’s nothing. No messages from anyone, certainly not Lance. He lies there for what could be forever, typing a sentence, a paragraph, backspacing, trying again. Searching for some magic combination of words that could take this all back, make it all okay again. But nothing comes.

Once again, it’s Kosmo that prompts Keith to move. He enters the bedroom in what must be the afternoon, long after the light has moved. He puts his front paws on the edge of the bed, and drops a mouthful of spit-stained kibble onto Keith’s coat.

‘Eugh,’ Keith says, trying to work up the energy to feel disgusted. ‘That’s awful, Kosmo, why would you do that?’

Kosmo perks up as soon as Keith starts talking, and lets out a low yip. Keith sits up slowly and swings his legs over the side of the bed. For a moment, when he stands, he isn’t sure his legs will take the weight.

Kosmo leads the way into the kitchen, bouncing almost jauntily down the stairs, and sits beside the fridge. The look he gives Keith is both hopeful and expectant.

Food. Christ. He should eat.

He opens the fridge and finds himself confronted by a Coke bottle Lance had left there last week. Keith closes his eyes for a moment – oh god he’s never coming back he’s never going to speak to me again – and then reaches for the cheese. He gives a slice to Kosmo, and takes one for himself. The thought of making anything more complex fills him with a heavy dragging despair. He can’t do this. He can’t do any of this.

I knew it was coming. There wasn’t a future in it. I was right.

Wasn’t I?

Lance…

If his soulmate had ever…

I…

Keith’s head feels heavy, stuffed with cotton wool. The room seems fuzzy around the edges, and his eyes can’t quite catch on the details. He can’t stop last night’s events from unspooling in his head, flying past his eyes, again and again. Again and again that car door closing, the headlights moving away, Lance framed against the falling snow. Lance’s hands drumming on the steering wheel.

We were thinking the same thing. Weren’t we?

Lance wanted…

Didn’t he?

Keith leans his head against the fridge, closes his eyes. The cool metal feels like a balm against his forehead.

How is he supposed to do this? To go on, to keep moving, breathing, when it feels like there’s a jagged hole in the centre of his chest? Like losing his soulmate again, but a thousand times worse – back then, he’d only lost a concept. Now, he’s lost his friend, his best friend, everyone, everything, again. His heart is in two pieces, THE END stamped on both of them. Tentative dreams of the future scattered like glass on the floor.

I want…

He wants to cry, maybe. Dig through the freezer, sob into a pint of ice cream. Drink until he’s forgotten his own name. But somewhere deeper, colder, he doesn’t want anything. He can’t reason his way out of this darkness, hold up this activity and that one as bandaids. As if anything would fix this. Anything. How could he survive this? How could anyone?

The thought lands in his mind clear and loud as a bell. Other people talk to their friends.

As Lance is probably doing now. Curled on Hunk’s couch, crying as if the world was ending –

Lance –

Maybe Romelle will be free. Could spare five or ten minutes to talk to him. He hasn’t burned that bridge yet. Hasn’t made a ruin of that relationship yet, the way he always seems to. Someday their friendship will crumble into ashes, and he’ll be alone in the wreckage, wondering what had happened.

But not yet.

He sits down at the table, powers on his tablet. Keys in the code, listens as the line rings. Rehearses what he wants to say. If he wants to say anything. If there’s anything to say. Maybe he’ll just keep it to himself. Listen to her light chatter, smile and nod in the right places.

The call connects.

‘Keith?’ Allura says.

Keith blinks. Allura’s is the face on the screen, blinking at him with concern. Not Romelle’s. Faced with this sudden change, he finds himself struck silent. Not a single word or thought echoing in his throat.

‘Keith!’ Allura says. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Um. Hi.’

‘Is something the matter?’ She hesitates. ‘You don’t usually…’

The shadow of faint guilt flickers through Keith’s stomach. Memories of lying awake at night, wondering if he should call more. But it’s nothing compared to the titanic weight in his heart, and he brushes it aside. ‘Is Romelle there? Could I talk to her?’

Allura blinks, her expression changing. He couldn’t swear to it, but he thinks she’s disappointed. ‘No. I asked her to accompany a recent mission – she won’t be back for quite some time.’

‘Oh.’ It shouldn’t surprise him, but it still feels like salt in the wound, one more thing slipping out of reach. ‘I… I… okay. I’ll go.’

‘Wait,’ Allura says. ‘Surely you could spare a moment to talk to me?’

Keith pauses, finger hovering over the button to end the call. ‘Um. Yeah, sure.’

‘Is something bothering you? This call is quite out of the blue.’

He can’t remember the last time the two of them talked. A conversation, instead of snatched words here and there. Even at the wedding, they hadn’t had the chance to catch up properly. Some guilty part of him knows he was avoiding it.

‘I… There’s… a flu… going around.’ It takes him too long to get the words out, much too long, but Allura doesn’t hurry him. She doesn’t call the lie, either – she only nods, looking thoughtful.

‘I’ve kept a medic stationed in the Garrison,’ she says. ‘I’m sure it could be arranged for you to see him, if you felt it necessary.’

It’s been so long since he spoke to her. He forgot how her voice colours the air, the music of it drawing the world close. Even over a shitty static connection like this one.

‘Allura,’ he says, quiet.

‘Yes?’

He knows he’s going to regret asking, he knows it’s too sad a question to give voice to, but he asks anyway. ‘Am I still your friend?’

Even though we don’t talk. Even though I stopped reaching out. Even though I wouldn’t blame you for saying no.

Allura tilts her head, looking at him as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle. ‘Yes, of course,’ she says. ‘Forever.’

He takes the assurance, tucks it into that box of memories for cold nights. Yes, forever, until I know what you did to Lance. ‘Oh. Good.’

‘Why?’

Keith closes his eyes. ‘Just… it’s nice to know.’

‘Keith,’ Allura says. ‘Of course you and I are friends. Even if – even if there’s more distance between us than there used to be, we’ll always be friends.’

‘Yeah,’ Keith whispers. In his head, Lance pulls the car door shut.

The silence, then, seems to go on for too long. When Keith opens his eyes, Allura looks… Thoughtful? Worried?

‘I did wonder…’ she begins, and then trails off.

‘What?’

‘Do you feel you can’t talk to me?’

Keith blinks. Tries to parse this. ‘What?’

‘It’s not that you never call here,’ Allura says. ‘You’re happy to talk to Romelle, but not to me.’

Sharp stab of guilt. Another thing to add to the list. ‘I’m happy to talk to you.’

‘I’m not angry. I’ve just noticed.’

‘Romelle’s got less things to do. She’s lonely out there, she –’

‘And I’m not?’

Keith sits there, feeling a half-hearted shame that dissolves, just as quickly, to something heavy and empty. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, I –’ Allura makes a frustrated sound. ‘That’s not quite what I mean. I just… I am your friend, Keith. You can talk to me about anything, even if you don’t feel it’s of great significance.’

Wouldn’t it be nice to open his mouth and tell her everything? Spill the contents of his soul? But he can’t, and he won’t. The quiet seems to go on for a long time before he finds something to ask.

‘What do the Alteans think about soulmates?’

‘Soulmates? Is that what this is about?’

‘In a way.’

 ‘It varies. Some people consider it of utmost importance. For many, it’s a tradition that fell by the wayside – it mattered more to keep the entire community safe, than to seek out one specific person. It’s of less importance to the new Alteans than it was to the old.’

‘What do you think? Personally?’

She doesn’t answer for a moment. ‘My soulmate, if I ever had one, has been dead for ten thousand years.’

‘Oh.’ Oh. ‘Allura, I’m sorry.’

‘So am I.’ Allura shrugs. ‘But my life has gone on, and will continue to go on. I cannot spend eternity in mourning.’

My life will continue to go on. Keith swallows around the lump in his throat. There had to be a way for life to go on.

‘Are you sure nothing is wrong? You seem very…’ Allura hesitates. ‘You seem quite sad, Keith.’

Every movement, every breath, is effort. But he tries to smile. ‘Happy as ever.’

‘As ever, hmm?’ Allura says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Why, you always were the most joyful person I ever knew.’

They share a giggle, and it’s in the wake of the laugh that Keith’s voice finally goes, that his voice cracks and his eyes water, and he has to press a hand over his mouth before he starts to cry in earnest.

‘Keith?’ Allura says. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘I made a mistake,’ he whispers. ‘Allura, I made a mistake, and I don’t think anything will ever be okay again.’

‘Keith,’ Allura says, and reaches out as if to touch the screen. ‘Oh, Keith, darling, it can’t have been that bad.’

Keith shakes his head, unable to squeak any words out.

‘Is it…?’ Allura closes her eyes, squares her shoulders. When she speaks again, there’s a note of steel in her voice. ‘Keith, if you’ve killed someone, we can deal with that. But you must tell me everything, immediately.’

‘No,’ he says, and it startles sudden genuine laughter out of him. ‘Oh my God, Allura, no, not that kind of mistake.’

‘Oh?’ Allura looks baffled. ‘Oh. What are you worried about, then?’

But Keith can’t stop giggling, and it doesn’t make anything feel less bad, necessarily, but it’s still funny. ‘Would you really have covered up a murder for me?’

Allura smiles. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same for me? For any of us?’

‘Of course.’

‘So – if you haven’t assassinated someone of high diplomatic importance – what is it that’s bothering you so much?’

Headlights. Snow. Lance.

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think I can talk about it.’

‘To me?’

‘To anyone.’

‘Keith…’ Allura says softly. ‘I’m here.’

‘I know.’

Silence falls between them again. Try as he might, Keith can’t think of anything else to say.

In the background, he hears something indistinct. Allura glances up, shakes her head at someone he can’t see.

‘I should probably let you go,’ he says.

‘I can stay as long as you like.’

‘No, I think… it would probably be good for me to think, for a while.’

She gives him a look of such compassion that it makes his chest ache. ‘When you are ready,’ she says, ‘we can speak further on it.’

 ‘I’d like that.’

‘Keep in touch, Keith. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.’

‘Take care, Allura. Tell Romelle I said hi.’

Allura smiles. The image of her lingers, ghostly, even after the line goes dark.

Outside, the last of the light is fading from the sky. The night is closing in, and he can feel a darkness closing in around him, too. Talking to Allura hasn’t driven that heavy grief away. He suspects he’ll be carrying it with him for the rest of his life.

But now, after talking to her, he feels less like he’ll be in this place forever. In some far-flung future he can’t dream of yet, the sun still comes up, and the dawn is beautiful.

Chapter Text

Keith calls in sick to work. It’s not something he tends to do, not something he even realised he was going to do until he found himself standing at the front door, still in his pyjamas, unable to face the prospect of going outside.

He lets out a few fake coughs on the phone, and the person on the other end seems none the wiser. Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe wallowing in his grief for a day or two will help him find a way out of it.

Kosmo’s not happy with him for that. Kosmo loves going to the Garrison, waiting under Keith’s desk while he teaches, or getting fussed over by the new recruits. He sits by the front door, whining, getting louder and louder the longer Keith ignores him.

He stays up long enough to spoon scrambled eggs into his mouth, somehow soggy and burnt at the same time. After a few mouthfuls he gives up, pours some cereal into his palm, and chews it as he goes back upstairs to bed.

Kosmo follows him, albeit with reluctance, and curls up beneath the window. Keith burrows into his blankets, pulling them over his head. He tries not to think about anything at all. It’s warm under here, and quiet.

(the sheets still hold Lance’s scent, for now.)

He falls into a daze, not quite sleeping, not quite awake. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when a distant noise startles him awake. Kosmo lifts his head, ears swivelling, and looks at Keith.

It comes again. A distant knock on his door, one that seems to echo through the house.

‘I don’t care,’ Keith mumbles. ‘Jehovah’s Witnesses or something, I don’t want to deal with it. You can scare them off if you want.’

The look that Kosmo gives him is undecipherable. But a moment later, he’s gone in a burst of fur and sparkles.

Good, Keith thinks. From somewhere outside, he hears voices. For a moment, his heart lifts – but he would know Lance’s voice anywhere, and that’s not it. Strangers?

No. Something about those voices catches in his mind, in his heart. An aching familiarity that he can’t quite place. Does he know…? But who would come to visit him? Why?

Maybe a neighbour?

Keith relaxes into the bed. Yeah. Must be the neighbours. He’ll pretend not to be home. It’s fine.

A moment later, Kosmo reappears. He sticks his wet nose into Keith’s blanket nest, tail thumping insistently against the floor.

‘Fuck off,’ Keith says, pushing him away, but Kosmo ducks beneath his hand and tries to lick his cheek. When Keith leans back out of reach, Kosmo puts his head on the bedsheets and stares at him imploringly.

‘I’m asleep,’ Keith says. ‘I’m not going downstairs.’

Kosmo lets out a long, low whine. A noise almost of pain. Keith looks at him, startled, and Kosmo whines again, a quiet, crooning sound.

‘Okay,’ he sighs. ‘Okay, pup, I’m coming.’

Keith drags himself upright. His entire body feels heavy, as if his blood is running sluggishly. It takes him a long time to follow Kosmo downstairs. Surely whoever called over is gone by now? But Kosmo doesn’t make to teleport him, just follows by his side.

The sun, peering through his front door, seems to come from a very long way down the hallway. He considers going back to bed. What’s the point in answering the door?

It’s not just losing Lance, although that feels huge. It’s everything. It feels like he’s spent his entire life listening to laughter coming from other rooms. He’d hoped that the joke of his life would stop being at his expense. He’d hoped that his life would fill with warmth and sunshine and laughter, in spite of everything that he’d done wrong and everything he didn’t know and all the words he wasn’t good at saying. He’d hoped that love like that even existed.

But it didn’t.

Kosmo leans against his side. Keith let his fingers tangle in his scruff. It doesn’t matter how bad his life is. His wolf is always going to need to be fed, and Lord knows he’s not going to get the expensive chow if he ends up in the shelter. Kosmo likes long walks, and he likes sneaking onto Keith’s bed while Keith pretends not to see, and even if he doesn’t fully understand the human tongue, he understands Keith a lot more than Keith had ever hoped for.

‘Okay, pup,’ he says. ‘What is it you wanted to show me?’

Kosmo huffs, sounding amused, and teleports them to the door. Keith unlocks it, his hands trembling slightly. The sun through the window is gentle against his hands. The rush of air through the door is fresh against his cheek.

Outside…

Outside, Hunk is pacing his driveway, talking and gesturing into the air. Pidge is sitting at the top of his porch steps, listening. They both turn to face him as the door opens.

‘Hey,’ Pidge says softly. 

Keith stares, struck silent. Clutching the doorframe with one hand and Kosmo with the other. Aware suddenly of his hair, unbrushed and greasy, of his day-old pyjamas, still with stains down the front from where he spilled his breakfast.

Hunk says nothing, just crosses his arms. Keith can tell from the look in his eyes that his guess was right, that Lance has been crying on Hunk’s couch for the past several days.

Pidge tilts her head to the side, like a bird. ‘Can we come in?’

He looks between the two of them, unsure. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Allura was worried about you,’ Pidge says. ‘She asked us to drop by.’

Curse his wonderful, kind, caring friend. ‘Oh,’ he says, because he can’t think of anything else. ‘I, um, I’m still here.’

‘Good,’ says Pidge. Hunk still isn’t talking. ‘Can we come in?’

He hasn’t cleaned the kitchen, or gotten all the dog hair off the couch, or even opened the windows recently. But he can’t exactly say no. Reluctantly, he steps back, pushing the door open behind him.

He’s not even sure if Hunk and Pidge have been to this house before. He found this place when he came back to Earth, looking for his old shack in the desert. That empty, echoing quiet. He’d never been happy there, but he’d been… something.

It had been the only place in his life where he’d survived safely on his own. It had been miserable, that stretch of time searching for Shiro, but there had been a freedom in it too. No one was looking for him. No one had any idea where he was, or cared what he was doing. He could drift like a ghost through dead-end jobs, never staying long enough anywhere to settle. Powering through the desert on his hoverbike, the moon watching from a mournful empty sky. Nothing and no one around him for miles.

It had played on his mind, those long months after the war. If it was impossible to be loved, to live a life full of warmth and friends and laughter, then maybe it was better to live one that was the opposite.

Independent.

(Empty.)

Free.

(Lonely.)

But it hadn’t mattered. When he came back, the shack was gone, destroyed in some unknown skirmish. The Garrison had offered him work, and he’d drifted away from that idea of going off-grid completely. He’d picked a house near the foothills of the mountains, told no one where he lived. But Lance had figured it out eventually. Evidently, so had Hunk and Pidge.

He takes them to the kitchen and gestures to the table. Pidge takes a seat, but Hunk leans against the cabinets instead, arms crossed. Kosmo flops down across Hunk’s feet, letting out a huff of contentment. Keith sees a smile flicker across Hunk’s face, before he ducks his head.

Pidge says quietly, ‘It’s been a while since we’ve seen you.’

Keith hesitates, and then takes the seat across from her. ‘Yeah. I guess.’

‘Are you not happy to see us?’ Hunk says. The first words he’s said so far. Keith turns to look at him. He can’t read the expression on Hunk’s face.

‘Of course I am,’ he says. ‘It’s always good to see you.’

The tension in the room feels like it’s going to snap at any minute. He’s familiar with this, he knows this anger. He’s not a child anymore, but it reminds him of being one. That promise of punishment about to rain down.

‘You’re here to talk to me about Lance,’ he says.

Pidge winces. After a moment, Hunk shrugs.

‘Sort of,’ he says.

There are so many thoughts buzzing in Keith’s head, but the question that forces itself out is, ‘Is he okay?’

‘No,’ Hunk says. ‘Not really.’

Keith sags in his chair. Car, headlights, door slamming. That look of heartbreak on Lance’s face. Soft arms around his midriff, a sleepy voice murmuring into his hair…

I was right.

Wasn’t I?

How could I be right if I made him feel like that?

How could I be right if I feel like this?

He becomes aware that he hasn’t said anything. The first thing that comes to mind is the wrong thing, but he says it anyway. ‘You’re angry at me.’

Hunk and Pidge exchange this long, unreadable look. It’s Hunk who speaks next.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to lie. I am.’

Keith flinches.

‘But.’ Hunk holds up a finger. ‘You don’t see me chasing down any of the rest of Lance’s shitty exes to hear their side of the story. You’re our friend, too. I want to hear what you have to say.’

Shitty ex… he probably deserves that label. Keith glances down, tries to think of what to say. How can he explain what’s been happening in his head the past few months? Does he even understand it himself?

‘What did Lance tell you?’ he asks.

‘That’s between him and me.’

Fuck. Meaning it’s up to Keith to try and put words on whatever their relationship had been.

He finds his gaze falling to his own hands, intertwined on the kitchen table. To that ghastly grey mark, the mark that hangs over every aspect of his life. He wishes he could scrub it away, wishes he could burn it, wishes –

(but he’s researched this. Once, he held the point of his blade to it, watched the blood weep out. The flesh will heal grey. The mark will always rise to the fore. He knows this.)

‘It didn’t work out,’ he says, as if that could ever explain it. ‘I could see that it wasn’t working out. So I guess… when he asked me if I wanted to call it off, I said yes.’

‘That was all?’ Hunk says.

Keith’s vision is unfocused. The kitchen slipping away from him now, replaced by twirling, falling snow. ‘That was all.’

There’s a moment of silence. Then Pidge snorts. ‘Yeah. Okay. I’m not buying that.’

Keith snaps back to attention. ‘What?’

‘Look, I wouldn’t put it past you to call off a relationship on a dime.’ Pidge looks at Hunk, who nods in agreement. ‘But I think we both know that’s not what happened here. You didn’t break off a relationship with Lance, of all people, just because the vibes were off.’

Keith stares at her, feeling an odd spark of something like anger. ‘You don’t know what I’m like.’

‘Don’t I?’ she says, staring back just as hard. ‘I’ve been your friend for a long time, Keith. Even if you don’t want to act like it.’

He tries to make sense of that. ‘What?’

‘Play dumb, if you want. You know what I mean.’ After a moment, Pidge shrugs. ‘Look, at the end of the day, it’s your life. You don’t have to talk to us about this, if you don’t want to. But we came here to see you. To talk to you.’

Hunk is still watching him, arms crossed. There’s this watchful look in Pidge’s eye, too.

Keith wonders if there’s more at stake here than he thinks.

He knows these kinds of conversations, too. Subtext waiting like a pit beneath every word. No words that could possibly be spoken to make anything right. A thousand wrongs he doesn’t know about waiting like blades to sink into his back –

‘I don’t know,’ he whispers at last. ‘I don’t know what you want, I don’t know why you’re here.’

Shaking, hands trembling, under the table. Kosmo turns, ears perked.

His friends are going to stand up, and go to the door, and walk out. Leave and never speak to him again. Block his number, kick him out of the groupchats, so that he can’t even pretend to be on the periphery of their lives. Leave him behind, again, alone, again.

But they don’t.

The moments tick by, and they still don’t.

He lifts his head. The look in Pidge’s eyes is something that could almost be sympathy.

‘We don’t have to live in each other’s pockets,’ she says quietly. ‘But it would be nice if you weren’t shutting us out all the time, either.’

‘Shutting you out?’

‘Yeah,’ Hunk says, sounding frustrated. ‘We didn’t hear a word from you about this. We’re not kids anymore, this isn’t about picking sides. Allura telling you that you needed help…’ He sighed, gesturing to Keith’s clothes. ‘And I think you do. Like, we’re here, too, you know? You have more friends than just Shiro.’

Keith blinks at him. ‘I didn’t tell Shiro.’

Hunk opens his mouth, and then closes it. Pidge leans back in her seat, takes an exaggerated look at the state of the kitchen.

‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘we probably should have guessed that.’

‘Why not?’ Hunk says.

Keith bristles. ‘I don’t have to tell him everything. We’re not stuck at the hip.’

‘Is that not your whole thing?’ Hunk says. ‘Being –’

‘No!’ Keith snaps. As little as he wants to talk about Lance, he wants to talk about Shiro even less. ‘No. I don’t want to talk about this.’

‘Have you just been moping in your house the whole time?’ Pidge says. ‘On your own?’

‘Yeah, obviously.’ He glares at her. ‘I’m dealing with my emotions like a grown-up.’

‘That is not how a grown-up does anything,’ she says. ‘You can’t hide from the entire world until you don’t care about it anymore.’

‘Watch me.’

‘Oh, I know you’d do it. I’m saying it’s a terrible idea.’

Hunk has his hands on his hips now. Watching Keith with a familiar expression, somewhere between exasperation and warmth. ‘What have you been eating?’

‘Cereal?’

‘Directly out of the packet?’

‘Yeah? Is that bad?’ Keith hesitates. ‘I had eggs this morning?’

‘Oh, so that’s what the smell is.’ Hunk wrinkles his nose. ‘Consider this an intervention.’

Hunk starts rooting through his cupboards. Keith frowns, and turns to Pidge. ‘So you’re not here to tell me you’re never going to speak to me again?’

‘No?’ Pidge makes a lightly amused sound. ‘Like I said, Allura asked us to come.’

‘I think she thought you were going to kill yourself,’ Hunk says, from the fridge.

‘I’m not going to kill myself,’ Keith says, indignant.

‘Well, that’s good, right?’ says Pidge. ‘We knew something had gone down between you and Lance, but he was sort of light on the details.’ She hesitates. ‘He said he didn’t have the right to be telling your secrets.’

About his soulmate, about his asexuality. Keith realises that it had never even occurred to him that Lance would tell anyone else that. Even if Keith has hurt him deeply, he would never retaliate in such a cruel way. 

‘Yeah,’ he mumbles. ‘Lance is good like that.’

‘We weren’t really sure if you were going to let us in or not.’ Pidge hesitates, as if she’s afraid that Keith’s going to get angry. ‘You’re not really great for talking to us.’

‘I talk to you.’

‘Yeah, when you’re directly in front of me and can’t get away.’

Keith hesitates. ‘I… Look. I know I’m not good on the phone...’

‘But you used to be a lot better,’ Hunk says. He’s cracking eggs into a bowl. ‘You used to message me every day, do you remember that?’

And suddenly, he does. There had been a period where he had aimed to send Hunk a picture of a flower every day – any flower that he could find. He no longer remembers what the rationale was.

‘But then,’ Hunk continues, ‘the last few years, it’s just been radio silence.’

Keith hesitates. What was it that Lance had said to him, a lifetime ago? You don’t talk to us, Keith. It’s gotten so much worse these past few years.

‘Sorry,’ he says. 

‘I’m not forgiving you just yet,’ Hunk says, waving a spatula at him. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’ Is there an answer to that question? ‘I suppose… I don’t know. When you grow up, you grow apart, I guess.’

‘Is your idea of an adult a person sitting alone in a dark void?’ Pidge asks. Keith narrows his eyes at her.

‘I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want to talk to you,’ he says.

‘Tough,’ says Pidge. ‘You did.’

Hunk has taken a pan out now. Something is sizzling, and the scent rising into the air makes his stomach feel hollow.

Keith turns over what Pidge has just said.

‘Did you want me to?’ he says. ‘What, call you anytime I felt like it? Just because?’

‘Yes!’ said Hunk and Pidge together, loudly enough that Kosmo jumps.

‘Yes, oh my God,’ says Pidge. ‘Dude. Even a meme or something. You’re our friend, you’re one of us, we followed you halfway across the universe. It sucks to just… never hear from you. Or reach out and not get a response.’

‘I wouldn’t have been annoying you?’

Pidge frowns. ‘So what if you did? Hunk annoys me constantly, and I still talk to him every week.’

Keith looks at Hunk, who nods.

‘Yeah,’ says Hunk. ‘You’re one of my closest friends, and I think about you all the time. Of course I want to hear from you.’

Keith blinks. Feeling the impact of that in his chest, in his stomach.

Closest friends.

One of us.

Said in tones that are almost annoyed. As if it’s a fact. That he’s their friend. Close enough to… close enough that…

That it matters. That it could matter.

But it doesn’t, says that soft cool voice, the one that’s been echoing in his head since he was twenty-one, maybe since he was born. None of it matters, not for YOU, it never will.

And Keith just feels tired. Tired, and angry. Angry at everything in the whole world, but mostly at himself.

I’m tired of living like this. I’m tired of thinking like this. I don’t want to do this anymore.

To live a life without slamming the door in someone else’s face. To live just as he is, just Keith, and not have to wonder if that would be enough. To spend time with his friends, just be loved, just be alive.

Wouldn’t it be good?

‘Keith?’ Hunk says. ‘You okay?’

Keith is looking at the floor. Hair in his eyes. He might be shivering. He’s not sure.

Kosmo pads over, and puts his head on Keith’s knee. Keith reaches out, hand stiff, pushes his fingers into Kosmo’s fur. Tries to ground himself.

(burn in his throat. blur in his eyes.)

‘Keith?’ Pidge says. The shadow out of the corner of his eye suggests that she might have propped herself on the table with her elbows. ‘Are you crying?’

‘I’ve missed you too,’ he says, or tries to. It might be more of a squeak. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Ah, geez,’ says Pidge. He feels her fingers brush his arm, the table between them making it awkward. ‘Tell us what’s going on.’

But he can’t. He doesn’t do this, he doesn’t cry, but he’s cried so much these past few days –

‘Kosmo,’ Hunk says gently, ‘out of the way for a minute.’

Kosmo steps back. Warm arms fold around Keith. He puts his head on Hunk’s shoulder, trembling all over. A moment later, he feels Pidge lean over the opposite side, holding on tight.

‘I’m sorry,’ he manages to choke out. ‘I’m sorry. I was so awful to you.’

Hunk squeezes his shoulder. ‘You don’t have to deal with everything in the world on your own, Keith.’

‘Yeah,’ Pidge murmurs. ‘We’re here, no matter what.’

And for once, he ignores the voice telling him it’s a trap, a lie, a mirage. Keith leans into his friends’ arms, lets them hold him, doesn’t try to pull away.

                                                            *

‘You are going to have to actually tell us what’s up, though,’ Pidge says.

It’s half an hour later. Hunk, lost in their group hug, had forgotten about the omelette he was making until it started to burn. Before he’d had the chance to turn the burner off, Kosmo had seized the handle of the pan and tipped the whole sorry mess onto the floor. He’d stood there wagging his tail at his own initiative, seeming puzzled when Hunk had let out a cry of horror.

Once he’d made a second round of omelettes, they’d sat around the table to eat. If Keith had to keep swiping at his eyes or sniffing, the others didn’t pass comment. Pidge had told them about her latest round of inventions with the Olkari, while Hunk occasionally chimed in with his own anecdotes from running his space kitchen.

Keith is feeling warm, and sleepy. A good hug, a good cry, and a good meal have extinguished fires in him that he didn’t know were burning. It feels almost… possible. To open his mouth and explain everything that’s happened.

‘I’m not really good at this,’ he begins. ‘The whole talking thing.’

‘No shit,’ says Pidge, and immediately claps a hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry. Sorry.’

There are a few old paper wrappers left on the table, remnants of an old takeaway. He flicks one of them in her direction. ‘Like I was saying. I’ll try to get this to make sense. But it might not, in some places.’

‘Okay.’

He hesitates, here, for a long time. Wondering if he has the courage to say it. He told the whole sorry story once. Would he be able to do it again?

Keith looks at Hunk and Pidge, sitting around the table with him. Thinks about their arms around him, thinks about how even, after all this time and all this silence, they came to him when he needed them.

And he thinks he’ll be okay.

He rolls his sleeve up, shows them the grey of his soul-mark. ‘Lance isn’t my soulmate,’ he says. ‘Mine rejected me years ago, and he hasn’t met his yet.’ 

Pidge tilts her head, looking at the grey of his mark. ‘He knows all of this, I presume.’

‘Yeah. I told him back – back at the wedding.’

‘The wedding?’ Startled, she looks at him directly. ‘But that was ages ago. Were you even together at that point?’

‘I don’t know if we were ever dating,’ Keith says. ‘Exactly. We never really…’

‘From what I heard,’ Hunk says, ‘you were dating.’

‘Did he talk about me?’

‘I’m not going to repeat any of it back, so don’t ask, but yes. He did. Does.’ Hunk pauses. ‘A lot.’

That would be just like Lance. A sweetheart who talks about everything that’s on his mind. Fills the air with chatter and joy and love. Keith has to look down, feeling a sharp pang in his chest.

‘There’s another thing,’ he says. ‘I’m asexual.’

‘Are you?’ Pidge’s face lights up, and she holds out her fist. ‘Dude. Same. I’m aro.’

Keith blinks. ‘Really?’

‘Fits with being the Green Paladin, right? I don’t really shout it from the rooftops, or anything, but. Yeah.’

Belatedly, he realises she’s trying to fistbump him. He returns the gesture. ‘When… You… But…’

‘Take your time,’ Pidge says, smiling.

‘I thought I was the only one.’

‘Ever?’

‘No, not ever.’ He flicks another paper wrapper at her. ‘Just… I’ve never met another person who was like me before.’

‘Yeah.’ The mirth fades from Pidge’s face. ‘It can get really lonely. Everyone else is following this predestined path in life, and you’re just stuck on your own.’

‘Yeah,’ Keith says, surprised. ‘Exactly like that.’

‘When you say you’re ace…’ Hunk says. ‘Are you bringing that up because Lance was a dick to you about it? Because I know I came over here to chew you out, but I can absolutely turn around and chew him out, instead.’

‘No!’ Keith says. ‘No, of course not, do you think he’d ever do that? He was really sweet to me about it. He was the first person I told.’

‘Okay,’ says Pidge. ‘So why are you bringing that up?’

‘Because…’ Keith hesitates. ‘Because… I don’t want him to feel… like he’s missing out. Being with me.’

‘That is bullshit,’ Pidge says. ‘Bullshit, and you know it. Do you need the aro-to-ace love and acceptance talk? I’m totally down to give one, just so you know.’

‘Not just sex,’ Keith says. ‘Everything. What can I give him that his soulmate can’t? His soulmate is supposed to be everything that he needs, and I’m just… me.’ The fight seems to drain out of him, the words oozing out. ‘I’m not sweet, or nice, or kind, or good, or anything. I’d only ever be second best. To what he needs. What he deserves.’

‘And what he wants?’ Pidge says. ‘Did you ever think about that?’

‘Who’s going to not want their soulmate?’ says Keith, and then pauses. ‘Oh.’

‘Keith,’ Hunk says. ‘What Lance deserves is someone who loves him. Someone he chose, and someone who chose him. Someone who makes him happy.’

‘I agree. That’s his soulmate.’

‘No, Keith. That’s you.’

Keith opens his mouth to argue, and Hunk holds up a finger. ‘Shh. I do not put up with Lance yapping about you every time I call him for you to say that he doesn’t love you. And I don’t need you to pretend like you don’t love him, either.’

‘You’re like a cat, dude,’ says Pidge. ‘Sure, you care about the rest of us, but Lance is your person.’

‘Of course I love him,’ Keith says. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘I don’t know what you think the point is, then,’ says Hunk.

He can’t quite articulate what his point is. ‘Love’s not enough.’

‘Maybe not for some things,’ says Pidge. ‘But… okay. Don’t take this the wrong way, but this seems like a problem that you made up for yourself. And love can solve that, for sure.’

Keith growls. ‘You are not getting it.’

‘No. Obviously not.’ Pidge sighs. ‘Just… why would it matter? That you’re not soulmates?’

‘It just does!’ he says. ‘It’s not just something you can ignore or brush off, it’s important. It’s the most important thing in the world, for some people.’

‘For you?’

‘For some people.’

‘For Lance?’

Keith hesitates.

‘Have you ever asked him?’ Hunk says. ‘Fine, you’ve told him about your soulmate woes. Have you ever asked him what he thinks about his?’

Again, Keith hesitates. Mostly because he has nothing to say.

‘I thought so,’ Hunk says. ‘Keith… I know it’s your thing, punch first and ask questions later, but you have to talk to people. None of this scorched earth shit.’

‘And what if I don’t like the answers I get? What then?’

‘It doesn’t seem like you like the answers you made up, either.’

Keith frowns.

‘If you don’t like the answers you get,’ Pidge says, ‘you find a way to deal with them that doesn’t involve locking yourself in your house for days without speaking to anyone.’ 

But that was working for me, he almost says. But Pidge is right. It wasn’t.

‘That’s scary,’ he says instead, half to himself.

‘Course it is,’ Pidge says. ‘But that’s what being an adult is.’

Facing into the fear, and finding a way to survive it. It makes a certain kind of sense.

‘I don’t know if Lance will want to talk to me,’ he says. ‘I was… I was pretty shitty to him.’

‘No way to know unless you ask him,’ Hunk says. ‘You’d be surprised.’

Ask him.

Car, headlights, snow.

More than anything, Keith wants to burrow into Lance’s arms. Wants to hear his voice, his laughter, wants to hear his opinion on every great and small thing in the world. He wants to go back to when everything was good, back when their relationship was perfect.

But it wasn’t, he thinks, it wasn’t perfect.

 But if Hunk and Pidge are right… then he can do more than just burn alive with want. He can make their relationship good again. Start over again, without this weight of poison wound into the centre of it all.

It’s something that’s so hard to believe. It’s so hard to believe that Lance would forgive him, would listen to him, that he would even want to.

But.

Hunk and Pidge came for him. Even after so long, even after he’d thought those bridges were burned forever. They came to get him. They’re still here.

Maybe Lance could come back to him, too.

Keith says quietly, ‘Thanks for coming out here. I know you didn’t have to.’

‘Anytime,’ Pidge says. ‘Just don’t disappear like that again, okay?’

‘I’m not going to leave you in peace if you do it again,’ Hunk says. ‘I’ll be battering down your doors to talk to you. I’ll set up a tent in the front garden.’

Keith hides a smile. ‘No need for that. I think Kosmo would teleport you right in.’

Kosmo perks up at once, hearing his name. Pidge coos at him. ‘You would, wouldn’t you? You’re the best boy, Kosmo.’

Wagging his tail, he puts his head into Pidge’s lap.

‘Are…’ Keith hesitates, unsure of how to phrase what he wants to say. ‘Are the two of you staying around for long? You don’t have to rush home?’

‘You’re kicking us out already?’ Pidge says, grinning.

‘No, no. I was going to say… we could watch a movie? Or something?’

‘We could go to the movies,’ Hunk says. ‘If you’re willing to shower and leave the house.’

Keith wrinkles his nose.

‘Come on,’ says Pidge. ‘We came all this way.’

In the end, he doesn’t need much convincing. His friends are here, and it’s a beautiful day outside, and for once in his life, Keith feels weightless with anticipation.

                                                            *

It’s late that night when they finally come back to the house. He hugs Pidge first, and then Hunk, holding on as tight as he can. After they’ve gone, he spends a few moments leaning against the door, feeling giggly and light-headed.

It was okay. It was easy. It was good. Months of not speaking, months of being sure their friendship was over, and yet a single day blew all that away like old cobwebs. Keith loves his friends. His friends love him.

It’s as easy as that.

Kosmo comes down the hall, tail wagging. He pushes his nose into Keith’s palm, lets out a soft huff of contentment. Keith sinks down, and lets Kosmo climb into his lap.

The dark hallway no longer feels charged with despair and loneliness. There’s something peaceful about it, instead. Quiet. Somewhere to rest, instead of somewhere to hide.

Keith thinks about the conversations they’ve had that day. About Lance, about growing up, about dealing with problems. About soulmates.

There are a lot of things he’s done wrong. There are a lot of apologies that he needs to make. And to be entirely fair, most of them are to Lance.

But not all.

Keith takes out his phone. Lights the screen, watches it go dark, lights the screen again.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’d tried those tactics on Lance because he’d known they would work.

Back far enough away from a person, force enough of a distance, and eventually they give up.

There were relationships that didn’t matter, in the end. Not in the face of something greater. Not in the face of the soulmate bond.

Click. The screen lights.

No input. Darkness.

Keith wonders what Hunk and Pidge would say, if he were to voice the train of thought running through his head right now. He’s spent so long convincing himself that he’s right. That this tactic of fading, going cold, disappearing, is good. Productive. Moral.

Hoverbike in the desert. Moon in an empty sky.

He wonders if the more accurate word is selfish.

When, after all, did self-preservation cross the line to become self-destruction?

He could run to Lance now, sob all his apologies out, beg for forgiveness. And even if Lance forgave him in the space of a moment, held no grudges, asked for no penance, it wouldn’t be quite right.

He’s not exactly the first person Keith has acted this pattern with.

Slowly, Keith unlocks his phone.

If he’s going to do this right, Lance isn’t the first person he needs to apologise to.

(21:30) Shiro?

(21:30) Are you around?

(21:30) Can we talk?