Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keith is not having a good day. 

That much is clear from the moment Lotor threatened to shatter all alternate realities, leaving not so much of a remnant of the universe of anything they’ve ever known. It only gets worse when Lotor uses his own ship, made of the same trans-reality comet as Voltron, to weave in and out of existence, creating a rift of space every time he jumps. It created more of a problem than Keith knows how to solve. 

Biting back the uncertainty in his chest, he centers his eyes at one of the gaping holes Lotor had made just a moment before. It reminds him as if someone had taken a knife to a curtain and tore downward. Except in this case, the insides glow and burn the backs of his skull. 

“Keith!” He faintly hears someone call, snapping him back to motion. This gives him enough time to process the hit before it comes. Voltron lurches sideways, most likely deflecting from Lotor’s attack. Within another millisecond, Lotor snaps away again in a flash, disappearing from Keith’s frame of view. 

“We need a plan.” Lance huffs out. “We can hardly register where he is before he attacks. We’re not gonna be able to keep up like this.” 

“And where is he even going? As far as my scanners are picking up, there’s nothing out here!” Pidge supplies and Keith can pick up the hint of distress. 

Keith takes another look at the rifts in his vision, an idea springing its way into his mind. Whatever the cracks were, if Lotor was using those to travel and catch Voltron off guard… then maybe they could use that too. Sure, going through the strange and mysterious interdimensional rifts may not be the best plan, but then again neither was waiting for Lotor to strike again at any second.  

“We gotta go through one of the rifts. We’re gonna level the playing field.” Keith says at last. He’s made his decision. Even if it’s the dumbest plan Keith can come up with, it’s something, and he can’t deny there’s some logic in it. 

“Are you sure?” Lance asks hesitantly and Keith allows himself to think. Is he sure? Not at all. They have no idea where the rifts lead, what’s on the other side, nor what effects it could have on Voltron. As far as they knew, the pressure could be far too much for the robot to withstand. It could tear the lions apart, and possibly even their lives. Then again, they may not be able to survive much longer anyway. Not with Lotor hitting with as much speed and force as he has. And as long as he has the rifts— gates? portals?— He was free to hit them from just about any angle and within any second. Defending was near impossible, and there was no way they would be able to advance themselves. 

So maybe entering the rifts posed risks of its own, but it also may as well be their only option at this point. At the very least it could provide them information on just what Lotor was doing.  

“I’m sure. Fire the thrusters, let’s make this quick while we can catch him off guard.” Keith says decisively, cutting out his own uncertainty. And even though he should be used to it at this point, he’s still a little surprised at how confident the command came. 

There was a series of agreement as Voltron rebounds across space and enters the abyss.

The light blinds Keith’s eyes within an instant, and he has to blink back the headache. But the weirdest feeling was when they entered, and Keith felt his body jolt, as if it knew it was leaving his layer of existence. He grunts and lets his sight adjust before he blearily lifts one open. 

“What…” Lance is the first to notice, “what is this place? What are we looking at?”

And then Keith sees what he means. Right in front of him was a wave of glowing blue lines that all seem to connect and wave and dance in circles in front of them. It reminds him of human veins, except on a much larger scale. Keith could hardly keep track of the patterns. 

“It’s the quintessence field.” Allura murmurs quietly. “He’s been manipulating the quintessence to bend to his will. That’s how he’s been traveling around so fast.”

“This is the quintessence field?” Hunk asks, dubious, and Keith understands the shock. For all their time in space and saving the universe, Keith still had the vaguest idea of Allura’s magic, and how quintessence seemed to be the center of all of it. He knows, on paper, that it stems from sources of life, and yet it doesn’t seem to prepare him to actually feel it. How he practically hears it thrum against his skin—how it soaks it up, creating his body into a burst of energy he didn’t even know he had. “This is—this is weird. Do you guys feel weird? I feel weird.” 

“And it’s not just us.” Pidge responds, “Voltron just got a massive surge of energy. I’ve never seen it this powerful before. Is this what Lotor has been doing? Is this why he’s been so unreachable from us? He’s drawing all his power here.”

“More power than I thought.” Allura grimaces, her voice low. Keith strains his ears to pick up the comms, the hum of energy still buzzing through his skull. “This is… this is all my doing. I taught him the secrets of Altean Alchemy and he’s using it against us. I put everything—everyone in jeopardy because I trusted him.” 

Keith can make out nothing in his ears after that. He opens his mouth to even attempt to respond, before promptly closing it when he doesn’t know where to even start. He was never good at comforting people and it was times like these where he couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret at why Black ever chose him. He could lead, sure, but it was nowhere near how Shiro could. He couldn’t bring people together, or know what to say to make situations feel hopeful. 

“Allura,” he’s surprised when he hears Lance’s voice ring out, “It’s no one’s fault. We’re a team, and we made that decision together, remember?”

“But it was I who taught him how to do all this.”

“Because we all trusted him. We all had no idea what his true motives were. Any of us would’ve done the same, believe me.” His voice is calm and steady and so unlike the tone he’s used to on Lance. “Besides, there’s nothing we can do now but fix it, and we’ll need you here. If this has something to do with Altean Alchemy then Lotor isn’t the only one with that knowledge.”

He can hear Allura take a breath. “You’re right, Lance. At the very least I know what his plan is. He’s gaining all his power directly from the source.” Her lion shifts right, shifting their angle just enough to see what she’s pointing at. Lance follows the gaze.

“You mean the glowing blue… things? What does that do?”

“They’re not just things, they harbor more quintessence than anything ever seen. All these lines connect to the heart of everything, and they’re strung together by infinite universes. Him siphoning from the source is like ripping out a different universe one by one.”

“Wait, you mean the parallel universe theory? Like that thing in quantum mechanics? This is it? And it’s real?” Pidge interrupts, not even bothering to hide her shock.

“I’m afraid so. It appears all these realities are at stake as well as ours. We have to stop him.”

Keith let the information sink. He supposed they had been to one alternate reality before, but that was just one, and it wasn’t the greatest. But this… he has to be looking at thousands, no, millions. All right in front of his eyes. The sight makes his stomach roll. 

Lotor has all the power. He has an infinite amount of universes to gain even more. Allura said he was siphoning power from the realities, how many people were he killing in them? What did ripping the universes even entail? Did they just blink out of existence? Or was it something more painful? Slow? He quickly decides he doesn’t want to think about it any longer than he has to. 

“Keith, what do we do? We can’t let him take more power, but how do we stop him?” He hears someone ask, Keith can’t bring himself to speak just yet. What exactly can they do? He suddenly feels like he made a massive mistake bringing them here. He brought the fight right to Lotor’s personalized gas station and now he could take any amount of power to beat them at any time he wants.

He shakes his head, though he knows no one can see it. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not Shiro, he’s barely even anyone. 

“Keith?” Someone breathes out again, and it’s quiet. 

This universe alone depending on them felt like enough pressure, he doesn’t know how to handle all universes. He doesn’t know how to handle this. This is something far beyond him. 

“I…” He pauses. Whatever words he’s going to say falls off his tongue before he could get a chance to speak them. What’s worse is through their shared connection, he can feel his team waiting for his response. 

He isn’t sure if he’s grateful that Lotor’s ships come careening into them when they do, or if that just makes him feel worse. Either way, he doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence even if he wants to because Lotor cuts him off. 

“Paladins of Voltron,” he says, and his voice echoes out every word as if the quintessence pass the message through their skulls. It’s from that closeness that Keith can hear just how unhinged it’s become. “You’ve made a mistake coming here,” his laughter rings out and it’s horrifying, “I can do everything I’ve ever wanted with all this quintessence, and all I’ve wanted was to make a reality where nothing like this would ever happen. Where the sins of our past never play out. My father, my mother, none of it. Isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted? To rid the wars of our ancestors. And if this world is unachievable in that quest, I will make a new reality. A reality that is not plagued as this one. A reality that will never know my parents, or anyone’s greed.”

Keith reels. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting to hear but it’s certainly not that. Making a new reality? Pulling the string of god? To create something that is void of all the pain millions have suffered from Zarkon’s rule?

“Of course that takes a few sacrifices,” he continues, unperturbed by the paladin’s horror. “I’d have to take the energy from the undeserving realities, gather the bits and pieces from what I can, even if it’s little by little.”

“That’s insane.” He says suddenly, and isn’t even sure if it reaches out. If Lotor can even hear them. He doesn’t care. 

“Perhaps it is.” Lotor answers him, “but perhaps sacrificing a few violent and horrible realities to create one better one is a moral exchange.” He muses, his voice tipping into something low and unfamiliar that it makes Keith’s nerves spike. “I was hoping if anyone would understand, it would be you paladins. But now that I see not, I can’t let you step into my way.” 

Without another beat, Lotor launches and even when Keith stabs his bayard to form the sword, it isn’t enough time. Voltron lurches from the hit, and even then Lotor is far from done. Keith feels the strain of the robot attempting to stay together, but with Lotor pulling away, ripping every limb away inches at a time, the cause is hopeless. 

The damage is done.

Voltron tears apart, and Keith’s own lion is sent hurtling alone. Hurtling miles and miles, further and further away from the screams of his teammates. 

It happens far too fast for him to process. 

He’s vaguely aware of someone yelling his name, before a mute thump, which he registers his head hitting the dashboard, and then his vision swarming white. The last thing he makes out is the waves of blue, glowing bright behind his eyes.

And then nothing.

“Keith?” He faintly hears someone call to him, “you gotta wake up, buddy.”

Keith scrunches his nose, but shifts toward the noise. He knows this voice, somewhere. Somewhere in the back of this mind. And they sound worried. 

“Keith?” He hears again. “C’mon, man, don’t be like this.”

He slowly curls his fingers. He’s laying down on something. It’s soft. Is it his lion? The infirmary? Where was he? What happened? He frowns as he uncurls and curls his hands again, the tufts are too long to be a blanket. 

“Sorry about this,” the voice says once more before freezing water is poured right on top of his face. The change in temperature gets him to shoot up fast, and causes him to nearly collide with the person in front of him who let out a yelp of alarm. 

Keith grabs his head, which stabs a series of pain from the movement. He blinks as the water droplets fall into his lashes.

“Lance!” A different voice scolds next to him.  “You scared him!”

“He was scaring me!” The boy argues in defense, who, now that Keith’s vision was slowly coming into view, it was Lance. Of course, he knows this from the voice, but for some reason there was something about it that still surprises him. Maybe it was because the last thing Keith knew, they were all in their lions. Did Lance get out of his to save him? 

“He wasn’t waking up.” Lance mutters, and Keith notes the way it was tinged in softness. Weird. He knows Lance cares about him, that much is a given. But right here, there is something different about his tone that Keith can’t exactly pinpoint. He can’t mark it down or place it where it will stand tangible in his mind, but he catches it regardless. He lets them sink into his skin and pretends they were aimed in the direction he wants. 

“Well, he’s up now.” He hears Pidge say.

Keith narrows his eyes and blinks at the recognition pounding through the back of his head, and slowly, the faces come into view.

“Keith,” Lance speaks again, “are you okay? You hit your head pretty hard.”

“I’m…” Keith starts but swallows down the ‘fine’ when he actually takes a moment to study his surroundings. He hangs his mouth in bewilderment. Whatever bleary calm he’d felt just seconds ago snaps before he notices the cord stretch. 

“Whoa, Keith! Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just stand up just yet!” 

“You—where…? How? I—“ Keith sputters, shaking his head. “How…” he huffs breathlessly, “ How… are we  here ?”

“Okay, now you’re really scaring me. Did you get a concussion?”

“We’re on Earth…?” Is all Keith can manage to rasp out. He has no idea how, or when, but one look was unmistakable. The green grass was something soft and so familiar beneath his fingers. Above his head, the sky stretched in a cacophony of blue and white puffs. He squints his eyes as a plane streaks across it, littering the array of clouds. They were on Earth. How had they come to Earth? When had they come to Earth? He digs a palm into his eye to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on him.

“Oh no.” Pidge mutters under her breath, “he is concussed. Lance, you concussed him.” 

“I didn’t mean to!” Lance says sharply. He places his hands on Keith’s shoulders and attempts to hold him down as he studies his head. Keith blinks at the sudden closeness between them. Lance is near inches away from his face and Keith can see the way his own is scrunched in concern. And then Lance lifts a gentle finger to wipe a strand of black unkempt hair away from his face and now Keith really blinks back his surprise. The gesture was simple, and yet felt so intimate that he has to steady himself from doing anything else stupid. He doesn’t move a single muscle. He isn’t even sure he’s breathing. 

“Should we get Shiro?” Hunk asks, thankfully snapping Keith away and giving him something else to focus on. 

…Shiro? The statement surprises him. Why? He closes his eyes and lets himself think, prodding his mind for his last moments of consciousness. He was fighting Lotor. They followed him into a quintessence field and then after that… things got a little blurry. If he focuses hard enough, he could vaguely remember something splitting them apart and then nothing. So why was he on Earth? He trails his eyes down to Lance’s shirt, which at first glance, he thought was his usual armor, but now that he’s looking at it, really looking at it, Lance is wearing a simple shirt. Or, a jersey? In bright blue lettering was the number 10 stitched right on the fabric.

Keith shifts his glance down to his own clothes and is surprised to find he had the exact same jersey, this time with a different number. And now that he’s looking, everyone has it. 

“I got hit in the head?” Keith questions slowly, furrowing his brows. Lance nods.

“With a soccer ball.” He confirms. 

“With a soccer ball.” He repeats because of course that makes sense. Which it doesn’t. He’s seen the Galra do many, terrible, unspeakable things such as attempt to steal their lions, terminate entire planets, and enslave thousands of innocent people. There was a point where he stopped being surprised at whatever horrid monstrosity they would commit next. Playing a round of intergalactic soccer on their home planet, Keith reasons, was not on that list. 

“Yeah,” Pidge scoffs next to him, “your amazing boyfriend here tried to murder you.”

Lance whips his head so fast that it was a blur in Keith’s eyes. “It was an accident! I was just trying to kick the ball when Keith, here, stepped into the way!” He hears Lance argue more but tunes it out as his mind snagged onto a certain word. Boyfriend? There was no way. His gaze lingers to Lance who defends himself weakly. That would mean… 

Oh god. No way. 

“I’m dead.” He says. “I’ve died.” 

He died while fighting Lotor. It’s the only thing that made sense.

This causes a laugh to escape Lance. “You’re not dead, Keith. Though clearly you tried your best. Your head shouldn’t have gotten in the way of my shot.”

Keith deadpans, his words automatic. “You mean the shot that you fired at my head.” 

Lance smiles and it’s bright, and mixed with something else Keith has trouble distinguishing. Relief? Softness? With a roll of his stomach he realizes it’s all directed at him and not Allura. The word boyfriend echoes in his head like a pinball. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Lance says quietly, “you really scared me there for a second.”

Keith is most certainly not feeling better. Quite the opposite. Internally his mind is screaming and he has no idea where he is, or what’s real or not. But he keeps all this quiet because Lance is speaking to him like that, and he sounds so genuinely relieved that Keith doesn’t have it in him to disagree. So instead he nods slowly and attempts to ignore the way his traitorous heart lurches and stalls in his throat.

Pidge slaps his back and causes him to recoil. “I’m glad you’re okay too, Keith. Besides we need our star player if we want to have a chance at wiping Lotor’s stupid grin off his stupid face tomorrow.” 

Keith nearly coughs out a lung. “Lotor?” He manages to breathe out because what the fuck. Is Lotor haunting his dying, possibly already dead dreams? There’s no logical explanation to any of it. He tilts his head to where the sun peeks between the tree caps and squints and even though he recognizes that it probably isn’t real, it looks real. And as he lifts a hand to the small bump on his head, it feels real too. 

“Okay, so maybe we spoke too soon about him feeling better.” 

“Our rival soccer team?” Lance looks at him expectantly and now Keith blanches. He can’t bring himself to react even when he knows Lance is expecting one. “…The Galra? They’re total dickwads. Led by the dickiest wad prince of them all. Any of that ring some bells?”

Rival soccer team? The Galra are their rival soccer team? He tries, and fails to imagine Lotor running around in a regular old soccer jersey. “Uh,” he bites out eloquently.

“You nearly punched Lotor in the face that one time. Keith, don’t tell me you have a concussion, and amnesia.” Lance gives him another one of those looks where he’s nothing but careful and concerned and it makes Keith’s heart twist painfully in his chest. It burns through his skull that he feels the need to shift his gaze to anywhere else. 

He shakes his head, though he’s not really sure who he’s convincing. “I’m okay. I guess… I forgot that our game is coming up so soon.” He says slowly, unsure of why he’s attempting to play along if he’s 90% sure this is some kind of death hallucination. 

But the relieved smile Lance gives convinces him it was worth it regardless. “Good. Cause we really are gonna need you if we want to finally beat those assholes.”

“Right.” He says. “Because we’re team—” he glances down to his jersey, “...Voltron.”

“Best team in the league.” Lance smiles up at him. “Well, almost. We still have a little bit to go for the tournament, but I really think we have a decent shot this year. Now that we got a brand new team captain,” he points a finger smugly into Keith’s chest where a tiny red ‘C’ is proudly displayed, “and Shiro stayed on to be our new coach, there’s no way we’re losing our championship to the Galra this time.” 

Lance stands, dusts the extra dirt and grass off his shorts, and then holds his hands in front of Keith. He frowns at the gesture, feeling like he went backward into some strange Alice in Wonderland hole. Was his afterlife imagining Voltron as a high school soccer team? He hopes not as he doesn’t know the first thing about the sport. So why is he here? Why is this the thing that comes to mind?

He lightly shakes his head and snaps his gaze to Lance who looked all the same as the Lance he remembers. From the way his hair swoops across his face, to the way his eyes, and even the way his eyebrows scrunches when he thinks about something too hard. Everything seems so vivid that Keith has no idea what to do with it. It’s almost taunting. It’s like Keith knows he should be back out there fighting Lotor with the team, he shouldn’t be alone and dying in some random corner of the quintessence field. But yet, there’s a Lance right in front of him and it makes him frown at the one he’s left behind. 

“Keith?” Lance prompts, looking down at him strangely. He still held his hands out for him to grab. 

“Sorry, just thinking.” He says, snapping himself away from his thoughts and meeting Lance’s hold. Lance pulls him to his feet as gently as he could.

“Is that a first for you?”

Keith scoffs but there’s no real heat to it. “Wow, you’re still annoying.” 

“And you’re still dating me.” 

Keith sputters because really, what is he supposed to respond to that? He isn’t really dating Lance. He couldn’t be. Lance doesn’t like him like that. He doesn’t. So he knows that this isn’t real.

What is this then?

Keith shakes his head in astonishment at everything around him. It feels like his entire universe blipped and got turned upside down. Is he dead? Is this what he really wants deep down? To play soccer for the rest of his life with Lotor as a soccer rival instead of something far more sinister? Instead of the Lotor that desperately wants to escape his father’s sins so much that he would risk everything to make that possible in one reality. 

Lance is staring at him again. He doesn’t look up but he can feel the eyes burn into his side like a brandishment. And it feels as hot as one too. The question cycles back inside him, swirling until something in his stomach squeezes. Is this what he really wants? 

His mouth goes dry and he has to swallow the way his heart spikes in his throat. He isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about anything. He remembers the way Lance normally looks and speaks to him, and it’s not like this. It’s not in a tentative concern, or soft speaking, or love-lorn glances. Maybe the teasing is familiar, but even then it’s slightly more subdued—like all the tension drained like water through a sifter. 

So what is this? Why is he here?

He screws his eyes shut and attempts to think back on the series of events that led him here. There was the quintessence field, Lotor, the different realities, and then Keith got split apart. His lion got flung on the other side of the quintessence field, right towards the glowing blue veins. Right towards the alternate realities. 

Oh.

He opens his eyes as the realization sets in, seeping deep into the corners of his brain. He got flung into the alternate realities. He’s on Earth, but a parallel version of Earth. It explains nearly every plaguing detail and he suddenly feels so dumb for not piecing it together sooner. It had been so obvious in hindsight. Allura mentioned they were infinite universes and that there were an infinite number of possibilities in each one. And in this one…

He focuses on the array of soccer balls strewn across the field, and tracks toward Pidge and Hunk passing one to each other mindlessly. This, he supposes, is in the infinite possibilities list. 

He’s in an alternate universe. 

He’s trapped in an alternate universe. 

He’s stuck in the one where they play soccer, and he’s dating Lance, and they're playing against the Galra for the championship. 

What the quiznak is he supposed to do now?

He blinks at the absurdity of it all.

He really can’t tell if he dodged a bullet by the peacefulness of this reality, or taunted by how simple it is. He sneaks a glance at Allura, who from the looks of it, just arrived to practice and her hair is tied in a high ponytail. Aside from the lack of alien features, the copy, or alternate version is still so much like her that he gets whiplash.

Lance, or the alternate reality version of Lance stops suddenly, and Keith, who hasn’t been paying attention to where they were walking, slams directly into his back.

“Sorry,” Keith winces, hating how much of a fool he’s made out of himself here. But at the very least Lance says nothing of it. 

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I really didn’t mean to shoot you in the head, or… splash water on you.” He pauses, and as if he’s paranoid he gently prodes a finger to Keith’s forehead. When Keith stills under the touch, Lance drops his hand and sighs. “Honestly, I think you really freaked me out back there. You were, like, passed out or something and you didn’t wake up for like a minute. You really scared me, man. I don’t know what I would do if you hadn’t woken up.”

Lance’s tone is something so delicate and careful, and usually reserved for Allura that it makes Keith’s heart ache. He wants to physically reach out, to assure him he’s fine because it’s so much like Lance that it hurts. But he stops short because no matter how familiar he is, this, this , technically, isn’t his Lance. Everything he’s experienced in space, all the rivalry, all the late night conversations, and all the training sessions, they aren’t with this Lance. He has nothing with the Lance that’s in front of him, and yet everything about him sounds and looks so much like him that he could barely convince his mind of it. 

And Keith hates the way he can read him. How his expressions are so easily picked up after all the months that he had spent learning them. And right now, Lance’s eyes are filled with guilt and sadness and everything that he never wants to see on him. So maybe it’s a little ridiculous how Keith sends him a soft and understanding smile. And maybe it’s more ridiculous that Keith feels immediately better when alternate Lance’s expression clears. 

“You don’t have to worry. I’m okay, Lance.” Ridiculous. He is ridiculous. This isn’t his reality, these aren’t the people he grew to learn, they just resembled them. They’re another version of them. A different version. Keith knows this, of course he does. And he knows that the overwhelming urge to keep this Lance happy and smiling is probably absurd and well… ridiculous, but he really can’t help himself. 

Besides, knowing he’s in a different reality rather than dead made him feel substantially lighter. Chances are he could probably get out of this… eventually. 

And it technically wasn’t his first time in an alternate reality, and this one, so far, seemed significantly better than evil Alteans taking over the will of other alien species. So in terms of everything else it could’ve been, he considers this as a win. Though a short lived one if he can’t figure out how to get back. 

The last time he entered an alternate reality was with Voltron, and even that was confusing. Now it’s just him, and the Black Lion is nowhere in sight. The thought makes him frown because, theoretically, he still should be in his lion. He should’ve breached the universe while he was still in Black and although he vaguely knows how realities work, he figures Black should still be technically with him. But he isn’t and that leaves him with no clue how to get back home or group with the others. He idly wonders if the time is still passing in a different dimension. Was his team still fighting Lotor? Were they alive? Would he have a reality to get back to by the time he figured it out?

“Okay,” Lance breathes out in clear relief and it’s all the distraction Keith needs to rip him away from his spiraling thoughts. It’s in that moment, Keith feels incredibly lucky to end up where they still know each other. 

Well, a little more than know each other. 

He thinks the thought before he can stop himself and it causes a new wave of red to spread on his face. Why is this the reality he finds himself trapped in? The one with the subtle detail that Lance and him were… dating. That they were together. As in more than friends. Boyfriends, if you will. Real and actual boyfriends. As in actually going on dates, and being romantic, and cuddling, and probably calling each other cheesy pet names and oh god. It’s too much. It’s definitely too much. 

It shouldn’t even be surprising, the rational part of him muses. He should think nothing of it because infinite realities means infinite… anything. Like if the universe was a deck of cards and every time it got shuffled, the order changes, and the events become altered just a little more. Or in this case, he thinks, the cards got shuffled a little too much and in this reality, Lance never goes to Allura. He goes to him. He goes to Keith. So what if in some universes that logic is bound to happen at least one time or another. It really shouldn’t surprise him. It shouldn’t feel too backward and strange because by logic, the cards can be swapped and switched and turned into an order so unfamiliar. At least in one reality, this one was inevitable. 

It shouldn’t surprise him, and yet, as his eyes flick down to their interlocking hands, it really does. 

It really, really does.

“Keith, I saw what happened. Are you alright?” Shiro stands up and gives a concerned look. And even though he knows that like Lance, this isn’t his Shiro either. None of them are. And yet Keith can’t help his stare. He fought Shiro. Just hours before. Shiro was at his throat with his metallic arm and controlled by something else. It was haunting and now this version of Shiro is right in front of him with purely black hair and two human arms. It was exactly how he looked before the Kerberos mission and Keith suddenly feels like he’s seeing double. 

Logic told him he entered an alternate reality, but looking at Shiro right here, he thinks he actually believes it. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks again, his eyes crinkling as he squints down. He places down his clipboard on the bench and shifts closer as if inspecting. 

“I’m fine.” He croaks and not even he is convinced at the tone that comes out. 

Shiro gives him a disbelieving look and raises an eyebrow. It’s the same Shiro look he’s been given on numerous occasions. It’s strange coming from this one though and he can’t help but to feel he got transported back to the Garrison and like he’s about to give Keith a stern lecture after a failed test.

“I’m fine.” He repeats again and it comes much more believing than the first. 

Shiro turns to the boy next to him. “Lance, are you trying to kill my little brother again?” 

Now it’s Lance who sputters, verging on the edge of panic. “No! I would never. This time was an accident, I swear! I mean, I know I used to mess with him purposefully, but that was ages ago and things change, you know,” he slings an arm around Keith’s shoulder and uses his other hand to wave it around wildly. 

Shiro watches them in amusement and cracks a smile. “I’m messing with you, Lance. I’m actually proud of how far you two have come. I think if that rivalry continued any longer I probably would’ve quit on the spot.”

Keith’s brain nearly short-circuits. Rivalry. Lance and Keith were rivals in this reality. He can’t tell if the fact is oddly comforting, or if it only freaks him out more. Surely, surely the deck of cards was shuffled an outrageous and unrecognizable amount. But then again, listening to Lance and Shiro right here, he isn’t as certain.

“Hope we didn’t cause you too many gray hairs, Shiro.” Lance teases and even though there’s no harm in the joke, Keith has to hold back his laughter from the irony. Shiro sterns a glare, looking discernibly less amused.

“Oh don’t worry, number three, I actually did spot a gray hair right on the center of Shiro’s head the other day.” Coran interrupts, twirling his mustache like it’s a matter of fact. Keith isn’t even sure where he comes from but he can make out the similarities immediately. The only real difference is the distinct lack of Altean markings and pointed ears. 

“Wha—Coran! You’re supposed to be on my side here.” Shiro says, appalled.

Coran twists his mustache once more, tilting his head. “I am? Why’s that?”

“We’re both coaches.”

“Right, but I’m the team manager. Which means I’m on no one’s side.” Coran counters, holding up a finger at the correction.

“Also I’m number ten,” Lance butts in, gesturing to the lettering on his shirt, “not three.”

“Ah, I see.” Coran nods. “But not in terms of height you’re not.”

Keith stifles a laugh. Okay, so maybe there were a little more similarities than he originally thought. The cards were half-shuffled at best. The most distinguishing difference being a lack of space war. The people, (apart from some minor details), were less so. They’re all still on a team, they’re still technically fighting the Galra, and they’re all still similar in personalities. 

Keith starts to zone out as the three continue to banter around. And although it’s an unreasonable thought, he wants to think they all somehow found each other in every reality too. Somehow. And maybe they would always be on a team in one way or another. He steals a glance to the matching jerseys, a small smile crossing his lips. He looks across the field to see Hunk, Pidge, and Allura passing a soccer ball to each other. 

Unlike his own, he couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy at how uncomplicated this reality seemed. They weren’t placed in a war, there were no aliens, or alien ships, here it’s just… soccer. 

Bittersweet crosses over his tongue. 

As soon as he figures out a way back to his home, he would have to devise a way to save his, and all realities from an intergalactic sociopath. He frowns and even though he looks to be right in front of him, he wishes he could talk to his Shiro. Not coach of the soccer team Shiro, who apparently is his big brother, but his own Shiro that he grew up with nonetheless. Just like how he wishes he could talk to his own Lance. He would probably have an idea to get them out, or at the very least be able to cheer him up because Lance seemed to have an uncanny ability to do just that. 

“Now get the others over here. I have a new drill I want to test out.” Keith tunes back in to hear Shiro say and then immediately wants to take back his jealousy of this reality. He doesn’t know how to play soccer. He doesn’t even know how to play any sports. He never learned. 

But Lance is a bundle of excitement and holds Keith’s hand to get the others before Keith could protest that maybe his head is hurting after all, so he should sit this practice out. But now it’s too late and the others group up, hearing whatever drill Shiro wants to try.

Well, quiznak, Keith thinks to himself dryly. He is going to look like a total and complete idiot. 

He sends a silent plea that Black hears his calls of distress and comes to pick him up so they can fly out. His call is clearly unanswered as no alien space ship comes into view and startles everyone on this Earth. 

He really doesn’t understand it. There was no portal he came through, or no lion he came here with, so how in quiznak’s name was he meant to escape? Without a concrete way to get back, he feels lost. Why had he just awoken in the middle of the field? Is he supposed to be doing something? Is his team dying at this moment because Keith was trapped at some random soccer reality?

He feels an arm jab in his side and his eyes meet with Lance who simply raises an eyebrow to him. He knows he wasn’t paying attention to a word Shiro was saying. Of course Lance could read him so easily in this reality too. In response, he centers his gaze back toward Shiro who was holding his clipboard, drawing some hasty diagram which Keith could only translate as a series of randomly curved lines. 

Shiro explains, mapping out the circles more with the pen in his hands but the words are lost on Keith. He doesn’t know the first thing about soccer besides kicking a ball around and scoring, he especially doesn’t understand any of the terms he’s listening to. Striker? Middie? Formations? Even when he attempts to listen, the words are lost on him. 

“Alright, everyone got it?” Shiro finishes and almost everyone nods their head. Oh. Perfect. A wonderful reminder that he is the only one here that will be horrifically confused. He suddenly feels the ache so strong to go home that it physically hurts. Shiro clears his throat, “okay, let’s try it out.”

Keith has no idea what he’s doing.

He learns pretty quickly that he is utterly horrible at soccer. Even something as simple as kicking the ball becomes trouble for him. It doesn’t help that the first time he tried, attempting for a short pass to Allura, he trips over his own feet and collapses on the grass. Of course Allura was nothing but understanding, he still was completely horrified at his idiocy. The second time he tried, it had only gone a bit better, though marginally because the ball still fumbled too short. 

He knows it’s probably ludicrous to prefer fighting in a war where they were constantly scraping by with their lives than kicking a soccer ball around a field, and yet, as he kept making a fool out of himself, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

To make it worse, his team was actually good. Like really, really good, and that only made him feel all that much more out of place. He supposes it makes sense. He went to a reality where playing soccer was who they were, and yet he still found himself surprised when they made some kind of cool move. On constant occasions, he has to remind himself that these are not really the friends he knows. He isn’t even sure if his Allura knows what soccer is. But this Allura certainly does and she had no problem showing it off. She played a defense position, along with Hunk and judging how Lance and Pidge had trouble forming attacks with them, he assumed they were talented. They kicked and ran like they were in their element, and in a way, Keith figures they are. 

And then there’s Lance. 

Lance, because of course it’s Lance, is in Keith’s opinion, the most fun to watch. He’s probably the most dynamic of all the players. He’s lean and fast and uses it entirely to his advantage. Keith learns the hard way that going against him was not ideal and he will make you stumble around like an idiot. And Keith considers himself somewhat graceful on his feet, considering all his training in sword fighting, but Lance makes him stumble around as if he only recently sprouted legs. In the several instances where he tries to kick the ball away from him, Lance, at the last second, swerves and uses all the built up momentum against him. Another time Lance has the audacity to kick the ball in the gaps of his feet.

And, okay, maybe it doesn’t help that Keith is terrible at soccer.

Like absurdly and hopelessly bad. 

That much becomes very clear if his awkward stumbling over the ball is anything to go by. Though exerting himself through physical exercise is something he’s familiar with. It made for a good distraction, if only temporarily. Because as time ticks further, and Keith makes out the sun dipping silently under the tips of the trees, he was beginning to border on the edges of impatience. 

If he has to guess, a little more than an hour has passed and he’s still hopelessly stranded on a reality that isn’t his own with people that aren’t his friends. Well, technically they are his friends—some versions of them, but not the ones he’s grown to work with and that only makes the frustration simmer down his throat. 

He doesn’t know if he’s grateful that he ended up in a reality where they were still a team, or if it only made it more painful. Everywhere he looks, he’s surrounded by their faces, and their voices, and their laughter, and it hurts. He isn’t even sure why it hurts so much. Shouldn’t he be happy, at least in one universe, that they were innocent and joyous and not kids in a thousand year war. Shouldn’t he be happy that while he was away from them, they were all still, in a way, right next to him. 

But he isn’t because it hurts and he has no idea how to get back to the ones he really knows. He’s stuck here because he can’t call Black, he can’t communicate without his helmet, and he’s just stuck. He’s stuck with no means of getting back. He’s stuck completely and hopelessly alone.

He wishes more than anything he had actually paid attention when the Garrison went over the alternate universe theory. But he didn’t and he barely knows how anything works. Is time passing differently? Is time passing at all? Is it anything like the quantum abyss? Is his team still fighting Lotor without Voltron? Are they still alive? The questions posed no answers as he helplessly kicked a soccer ball around and that makes the anger only seeth deeper into his skin. 

For everything he’s worth, he can’t get the Black Lion to come. He can’t even feel the presence in his mind. 

Instead all he can do is wind up the shot, using all his frustration and force to kick the ball hard enough to feel his toes cramp under his cleet. To his own surprise, the ball gets enough decent height and speed, before clanging right on the crossbar of the net and flinging right back at Keith. He lets out an exasperated groan, and barely notices that the next time he tries to kick it, he misses entirely and instead hits Lance’s shin. Hard.

Lance crumples to the ground before Keith could even register what he had done. 

“Lance!” He breathes, anger dissolving into guilt. “Are you okay?”

He smiles wryly. “I was coming over to ask you the same thing.” He admits, rubbing his leg where a giant red mark was forming. “You seem a little distracted.”

Keith narrows his eyes, cursing once again how of course Lance could read him here. Of course he seems to know when Keith is distracted and frustrated and all things he really shouldn’t pick up on because he isn't Lance's Keith. He isn’t. 

“I’m fine.” He says and internally winces at how low it comes out. He winces again when he can see the visible hurt on Lance’s face. The way his brows pinch and tug in a look that looks all too familiar that it makes Keith feel even worse.

“Are you?”

“I’m fine, Lance.”

It’s a lie. They both know it. The way Lance looks at him confirms it. As much as he wants to deny it, Keith knows the expression, he’s seen it enough times on his Lance. But this isn’t his Lance and he couldn’t help but scowl at that. 

“Keith,”

“Don’t.” He warns. He really doesn’t think he can stand to hear it. He can’t even stand to look at him. His lips are curved and his eyes are heavy and they remind him all too much of the one faced in an intergalactic war and he hates it. He hates that he’s here and he doesn’t understand how or why, or if there even is a way out, and above all, he hates that Lance is here too. It feels like a constant reminder for who he’s losing and he doesn’t know if he can take it. 

He shakes his head, anger still muddling through his mind until it’s hard to breathe, but when he glances back, there’s guilt there too. Lance looks like Keith just kicked him in the face as well and Keith’s voice drops. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t—I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here.”

“Keith,” Lance tries again but it’s muted in his mind. His ears are ringing too much to pick up on anything else. With what, he’s not even sure. Guilt? Anger? Because really, he’s not sure what he’s so angry at. This alternate universe? Lotor? Himself? He has no idea.

What he does know is that Lance is speaking again, he can vaguely pick it up, but he can’t bring himself to look. So instead he turns away and it’s probably stupid. Definitely childish. Without a doubt immature, but Keith runs anyway. He obviously can’t run away from his problems, no matter how hard he may try, but right now, he can’t really face them anyway. So he runs until he stops under a tree, far enough away from the soccer field, and sits down. 

He’s not even sure what he should be expecting. Everything seems so stupid. It really feels like a dumb problem when he thinks about it. And yet when he screws his eyes shut and wills for Black to come in and fly him out of here, he hates how there’s no answer. He hates that for all he can do, in this case he was useless. He feels the tears prick behind his eyes but he could barely even let them fall. So instead he shuts his eyes once more and tries to feel the bond, presence, anything to indicate the Black Lion was ever there in the first place.

Nothing.

Nothing comes.

Nothing answers. 

Nothing even snags in his mind. 

He’s alone. There’s no one that could ever save, or find him here, and he wonders if he’ll ever return again. If he’s truly and completely stuck here and this is his new reality. It makes him want to tear his throat out that of all the people here, no one is there. It’s cruel and ugly and he wants to rip everything else out of place so it could feel a fraction of familiarity. To shred all of it apart right between his fingers so that it’s something recognizable and discernable in his eyes.

“What the hell, man?” A voice snaps at him and he doesn’t even have to glance up to know who it is. It’s the only person dumb enough to ever follow him when he lashes out. And it always is every single time. Even the alternate universe version, apparently.

“Go away, Lance.” He says, low. It’s harsh but he can’t stand to hear anything. He thinks it would hurt too much. 

Though Lance, as always, doesn’t listen to him. He doesn’t move away, or even falter. “No.” He responds just as cold. “Not until you tell me what’s up with you. Why’d you snap back there? You seemed so distracted and now you won’t even tell me?”

Keith is quiet. There’s a sudden lump in his throat that no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down, it remains lodged. And maybe for that reason, he feels the air in his lungs isn’t enough anymore. He feels like he’s suffocating on oxygen he hardly recognizes. 

“So now what? You’re just shutting me out?” Lance speaks again and it’s harsh—probably harsher than even he was expecting. Keith once again has nothing to say. What could he say? There’s nothing he can bring himself to do or say that would make it any better for either of them. “You can’t even look at me.” His voice cracks at the end of it. 

And he’s right. Keith can’t. He’s sure that if he does he’ll break down right then and there and tell Lance everything. His resolve will crumble right before him and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. The pieces would be too scattered to pick up. So instead he fixes his gaze to the grass he’s idly plucking through his fingers.  “Why do you even care?” He rasps out.

“Why do I even—what? Keith, are you kidding?”

“I’m not. What are you doing here, Lance? Why are you here? I didn’t ask you to be.” The question is unfair. It’s unfair and bitter and he knows that it isn’t even Lance’s fault, but he has to ask it regardless. He has to rip into the universe, or universes, just to remind it of how unsympathetic it really truly is. Why put him here of all places? Why put him here when it reeks of peace and contempt and longing. When it’s nothing like Keith has ever known and still entirely too reminding that it hurts.

Because all of it feels wrong. It’s backward and distorted and it’s even more strange that underneath all his anger and helplessness, there’s envy stuck in there too. He wants to exhume it all and tape right over the cracks so none of it stings as much as it does. 

“I think the real question is why are you here, Keith?” Lance replies and the words cut right through him, right where it bleeds. “There’s clearly something bothering you but you won’t tell me! You can’t just keep snapping and shutting everyone out and running away!”

The words are a low blow, but it does get Keith to snap his head up, and maybe that was the goal. 

“I’m not running away!” He spits out. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not running away?” Lance practically scoffs. “Then what’s this, Keith? What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know!?”

“I don’t know.” He repeats and it’s weak and torn that he hardly recognizes it as himself speaking. But at the very least, this gets Lance to snap his mouth shut. He’s quiet and Keith allows himself to suck in a breath. It feels hollow and strained in his lungs. 

Lance stares again, and this time, Keith can’t pull apart the expression. “You don’t know?” He asks again and it’s far more softer than the first. 

“I have no idea,” he says against his better judgment. “I don’t think I should be here, but I am. And you are too and it’s…” He trails off, unsure of why he’s even admitting any of this. 

“It’s what?” Lance asks gently, the anger dissipating and being left with nothing but curiosity, if a little bit of caution. Either way it’s simple and genuine, like he just really wants to know.

“Painful.” He finishes.

“...Me being here is… painful?

“Yes. No? Maybe? I don’t know.” Keith admits, tugging at the ends of the grass between his fingers. 

“Is this about me? Did I do something?” It’s asked so quietly that he can barely pick it up. As if he was entirely uncertain and he doesn’t want to know the answer.  

“No.” He says. “You didn’t do anything.”

Lance studies him for a long moment before he lets out a heavy sigh and sits down right next to Keith. “Are you going to tell me?” He asks quietly. 

“I don’t think I can.” Keith says sadly. 

“Keith,”

“I know it’s stupid. You’re right here, but I also feel like you’re…in a whole different universe, and you’re not here to help me.”

“I can’t help you? What are you talking about?”

Keith shakes his head. What is he talking about? He doesn’t even know, and he sure as hell can’t explain it. If he’s smart he would stop talking before he says too much. 

But when he glances it’s so easy to forget that this Lance is anyone different. That he wasn’t the same boy that we went into space with, or the same boy that challenged him with whatever he did, or the same boy who’d been heart-rippingly honest about himself or his place on the team. This isn’t the one that supports him unconditionally, or is his right-hand as a leader. It’s easy to forget this isn’t his Lance.

And maybe it’s because the two, just for a moment, merged so seamlessly in his mind that it deliriously possessed him to explain further. Because he needs something, something , that reminds him of him. And the boy sitting next to him is a near perfect copy. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he blurts at last, surprising even himself. “I don’t think I know anything. I’m just so confused and I feel like I don’t belong here and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Keith, what—“

“And it’s hard because I’m not me, and you’re not you. And… I’m not… I can’t,” Against his will, he sniffles his nose, “I don’t know what to do.”

Lance furrows his brows in thought, clearly trying and failing to piece together Keith’s words. He can only imagine how they must sound to Lance. How it’s nonsensical and a little ominous, but now that the words are tumbling out, he doesn’t think he can stop them, and that’s the real danger. And maybe Keith is a little too tired to care of what they may do because this part, he thinks, this part he recognizes the tune. The lyrics are changed, but the melody is so distinctly there. 

“You don’t know what to do,” Lance prompts gently, finally gaining the courage to respond, “about what?”

“Everything,” he replies. “There’s so much, and so many people are counting on me, but I don’t… I don't know what to do, or where I am, or how to fix any of it.”

“You feel like you’re lost?”

“I feel like I’m in the wrong place.” Keith corrects hoarsely. “Like I’m not supposed to be here.”

Lance takes a moment to let this sink in, and even then he looks unsure. “Keith, I’ll be honest, you’re scaring me a little.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Keith stumbles out, realizing that without the context he has, his words to Lance might sound slightly concerning. He takes a moment to form his thoughts carefully. “I just—I just feel a little trapped. Like I’m supposed to do something but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. And that’s the problem. I don’t know what to do, Lance.”

It probably doesn’t even make sense. This Lance’s Keith—Soccer Keith—shouldn’t feel trapped. His existence is so simple and he has everything. Everything that Keith could ever want and it hurts that he can’t have. He isn’t burdened by a war, he doesn’t have everyone rely on his decisions. To Lance, this kind of pain really shouldn’t even make sense and he almost expects him to scoff at him. To say he’s being absurd and there’s nothing he has to do other than be here. There’s no wacky sense of duty he has to appeal to and there’s no greater world to save. But Lance doesn’t say any of those things.

Instead he asks a little hesitant, a little cautious, “Why do you think there’s something you have to do?” 

“Because I feel like I’m failing people if I’m not. Because I’m—“ he looks down at his jersey which was now littered with dirt. “I’m the team’s captain and I know people are relying on me.”

“But…but that doesn’t mean you have to figure it all out alone.” Lance says and he shifts his body so that they’re sitting so close to each other. Keith can practically feel his shoulder scrape. “Look, I don’t think I entirely know what you’re going through, and I don’t think I fully understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m not here. It’s okay for us to figure it out together. We’re a team, Keith. That’s what makes a team. We rely on each other, and you’ll have every one of us to help you along the way.”

Keith blinks. It was eerily similar to what Lance had said earlier. The one still in his reality, and the one aimed at Allura. He really doesn’t know how Lance can pick apart any situation and be able to say something so simple and so obvious that it redirects people in the right direction, but at the moment he’s really not complaining. It’s something he’d always admired, and it was no wonder Lance was the one that was able to reel him in when he got a little too impulsive, his head a little too clouded. 

“Even you?”

“No, Keith,” he deadpans. “I delivered all that just to leave you alone when it matters.” Against everything, Keith cracks a small smile because it probably was a stupid thing to ask. Then again he wonders which Lance he really asked it to. 

“I’ll be here.” Lance answers anyway after a moment. “Whatever you need, whenever, lay it on me and I’ll be there. I’m your guy.”

“You’re my guy?”

“I’m your guy.” He nods, smiling and Keith can’t help but match it. He wonders if Lance is the same in all realities. He wonders if he and Lance somehow found each other in all realities because he likes to hope so. There’s something that feels right about them together, no matter what it is. Rivals, friends, lovers, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re next to each other. 

“If that’s the case then I really don’t know how to play soccer.” Keith says and even though it’s entirely the truth, it causes Lance to chuckle. 

“You were pretty terrible.” He admits. “But then again, so am I when there’s something on my mind. You’ll be okay, Keith.”

“And what if…what if it isn’t? What if I’m stuck and still absolutely horrible at soccer?”

“You won’t be, trust me on this, Kogane, and believe me when I say I’ve been praying for your soccer downfall since the moment we met,” he says and even now, Keith finds it in him to snort and roll his eyes at the comment. “But this isn’t it. Things will have a way of working itself out, you just gotta be patient enough to let it. Whatever you’re stressed about, it’ll find a way to be okay. Everything will fall into place and you’ll have us to help you figure it out along the way.”

“Everything will fall into place.” Keith repeats and it’s everything he needed to hear. And like a piece settles its way back into his chest, he feels significantly better. “I just gotta be patient.”

Lance nods, seeming pleased. “Yeah, what’s that thing Shiro always says? You know, the one about patience.”

“Patience yields focus.” He recites automatically, despite himself.

“Yeah, or you know, something like that.”

“Or something like that.” Keith agrees, realizing it could very well be slightly different under this reality. Though out of all things, the small change doesn’t feel so drastic anymore. “You know, you’re not so bad, Lance.”

“Well, duh. That’s what I’ve been trying to convince you of all this time.”

“I’m not sure you’ve been doing a very good job then.”

Lance flashes him a smile and bumps their shoulders. “Still got you to like me though, didn’t I?” 

“I suppose you did.” He says because not even he can deny the truth. He does like Lance. He likes his version. He misses his version, which he thinks is kind of ridiculous since there’s one right in front of him, and this one actually likes him back. But he himself is pretty ridiculous as well so maybe it’s not surprising. And maybe if the two did find each other in all realities, it wouldn’t be surprising if Keith liked him in every single one. Though, clearly, the same couldn’t be true about Lance and it makes him frown. 

“C’mon,” Lance interrupts his thoughts and lifts a hand to his. “The others were pretty worried when you stormed off. They’ll want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Or you could kick another soccer ball at my head so I won’t have to make a fool out of myself again.”

This causes Lance to laugh, really laugh and it makes Keith’s heart twist painfully in his chest. “I think that can be arranged. They do call me a sharpshooter for a reason, you know.”

“Oh, believe me,” he says, “I know.”

He takes his hands and lets himself be pulled up for the second time that day. Out of all universes to be temporarily stuck in, he supposes this one isn’t all bad. 

Keith doesn’t know the set of rules that the universe has splayed out in front of him. He hardly believes that there even is a series of particular rules for this—for breaching an entirely different reality, so far from all he’s ever been accustomed to. But for the sake of his mind, he likes to imagine there is, in some sense, a foundation for it. And to what? He isn’t even quite clear on it. But what he does know is part of it has to do with Lance. That no matter which version he can place a foothold that grounds Keith and keeps him walking. 

And in a weird way, he knows he always has. That when Lance says something just so—in the same voice that’s directed right toward him, it trudges through the thick of his mind and somehow lands. Like a shot that’s fired so purposefully, it hits the mark and every single time, and the response is instantaneous. Keith feels calmer, he feels lighter. He can hear himself think. 

It might be unfair that the effect is something so natural to his core. And he hates to admit that he does, unequivocally and irrationally feels ten times better than he had before. It might be a little ridiculous, he didn’t even tell Lance everything and Lance probably hardly knew what Keith needed to hear, and yet, he hit all the targets perfectly. 

Everything will fall back into place and the universe has a way of making it happen , Lance had said and Keith turns over the words in his mind like they keep it functioning. He keeps cycling back to them because it was something he needed to latch onto. They meant he wouldn’t be stuck here forever. He would be okay. If he got himself into this mess he could get himself out at least one way or another. He just needs to let himself figure out how. That shouldn’t be too hard…right? Maybe if he lets a certain number of events play out, or if he figures out a way to communicate with the Black Lion, or if he asks Hunk and Pidge about the logistics of alternate realities. 

Besides, it was as Lance said, he could figure it out and he would have them with every step of the way. In one sense or another, it holds enough truth. He trusts his team, and maybe that’s enough to trust the slightly different versions. 

The idea only cements in his mind when the team waves them over, their smiles warm and relieved that Keith had come back. Judging by their apparent worry he isn’t sure how common other soccer-playing Keith storms off in the middle of practice, but if he has to guess—it’s not often. Hunk crushes him in a hug and apologizes for something Keith doesn’t even know what. 

Luckily, by this time, practice was winding down and they settled into groups of circles to mindlessly pass the ball around. And this, this Keith can actually handle. There’s no complicated footwork, no fancy dribbling, no scrambling across the field—it’s just passing. It was at least one thing he didn’t feel hopelessly terrible at, not when it was so simple. Even if it was still slightly awkward and foreign, he did get better at controlling where the ball went when he kicked it. In part that was due to Lance suggesting to kick the ball on the side of his foot. If anyone found it weird that soccer prodigy Keith needed a novice reminder on how to kick the ball, no one said anything. 

Instead, they chatted mindlessly, and Keith slipped into the familiarity of the conversation. Maybe it wasn’t exactly his version of his friends, but they certainly had enough similarities for it. Hunk still liked to cook, Pidge was still considered a genius, and Allura, minus the white hair and pointy ears, still carried to group with her rationale. 

It’s strange, though not unfamiliar.

“Keith, are you even listening?” He hears Pidge ask, snapping him back into the present.

“Uh, what?” He replies dumbly. 

“We’re going to Sal’s for milkshakes after this, are you in?”

Keith blinks at the offer. Sure, milkshakes sound tempting, especially after he miserably failing at trying to do this random sport took a lot of his energy up. But if he is trying to get home, shouldn’t he do what he can to try and figure it out? A weird sense of guilt pangs its way into his chest at the thought of it. 

And yet, figuring out how to get back draws a massive blank in his mind. Even if he could attempt to do something, what would he do?

“I’m not sure if I should.” Keith settles for eventually. His reality’s team could be dying for all he knew and he was offered milkshakes. It seems strangely unfair even if he’s aware of the helplessness he’s in.

Hunk stares at him in disbelief, “you’re telling me that you don’t want a milkshake right now?”

“No. Or, I mean, yes? But I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?”

“I got… uh, homework. And stuff.” It’s a pathetic excuse and he knows everyone can see through it the moment it’s spoken aloud. Judging by the disbelieved stares, if he has to make an assumption, alternate Keith did not use that phrase very often

“Homework?!” Pidge gawks at him, confirming his theory. “There’s no way you just said you got homework as an excuse. You are not the real Keith, there is no way.”

“I do homework!” No, he didn’t. 

“Not that I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m a great student.” Keith defends feebly. He wasn’t. Probably not in any realities. Sure, he was a prodigy in the simulators, and he got decent enough scores on tests and courses, but he never really cared all that much. Sitting still for hours in a classroom was not something he excelled at.

Pidge must know this too because she scoffs like the idea is preposterous. “Pretty sure you are, like, two seconds away from dropping out at any given moment.”

“Given how much he talks about it, I'm surprised he hasn’t already.” Allura says, joining in.

“Pidge and I made bets on how far you would last.” Hunk admits, absently kicking the soccer ball in his direction.

Keith looks at his team, dubious. “Are you all praying for my downfall?”

“Betting on your downfall.” Pidge corrects with a smug grin. “Besides, we make bets about lots of things in your life, like how long until you and your idiot figure out your feelings and get together. That sexual tension was really putting a damper on our team building.”

“You made a bet about Lance and I?!”

“Oh yeah.” She confirms, nodding. “And I won so I think it was worth it.”

“You won by a week, Pidge.” Hunk argues, giving her a glare.

“And it was the best week of my life. ”

“You’re all nosey,” Lance says, “and need different hobbies. Hobbies that don’t include betting on my love life.”

“It was just so obvious to everyone but yourselves.” Pidge shrugs. “It’s my fault you two are oblivous dumb dumbs. Betting was just so easy and the only way for us to keep our sanity.”

“We were not that bad!”

“Oh I can assure you, you were.” She clears her throat and drops her voice down as many octaves as she can, “oh, Lance,” she starts in a broody manner that sounds suspiciously like Keith, “despite my emo exterior, I secretly yearn for our bonding moment and I will bottle all the oceans on Earth if it means to see your glorious sun-filled smile.”

Keith sputters, and even though the sun is slowly sinking, he swears he feels it beat down on his ears. “That—” he shakes his head— “does not sound like me at all!”

Hunk cracks a playful smile. “No, that was perfect. And then Lance would be all—“ He flips his hair and intertwines his hands with Pidge. “Keith!” He says with a flair of exaggerated dramatics, “Keith, your stupid mullet drives me crazy but in a good way, and I think about you all the time, and I will now create a rivalry to hide all my underlying respect and admiration that I actually have for you!” 

“What?!” Lance squawks, “that’s not—”

“Oh, Lance,” Pidge continues, voicing no mind to Lance’s protests, “you are the most endearing idiot I’ve ever met. Let’s hold hands and have our wedding underneath the stars and go on roadtrips together because I can’t stand being apart from you!”

“Oh, Keith, if only you liked me back and understood the true extent of my feelings!”

“Terrible!” The real Lance interjects, throwing a ball at the two and disrupting their performance, “you are all terrible!”

Allura giggles in amusement. “I thought it was rather cute.”

“Maybe they were cute at first, but their constant running their feelings around in circles for months was not.”

Hunk nods. “Yeah, do you know how many times Lance would bring up Keith’s name when he wasn’t around. ‘Oh, I bet Keith could easily make that trickshot. Oh, if anyone could make that play work, it’ll be Keith. Oh, Keith would make the best captain for sure, don’t you think? Oh, have you noticed how Keith’s hair got less than a centimeter shorter, do you think he’s planning on cutting the mullet? Oh, I know I make fun of it all the time, but is it weird that I don’t want him to cut it? His hair is probably really soft, you know? Oh, do you ever notice in the sunlight Keith’s eyes almost look like a really cool shade of purple and—hey, Hunk, why are you looking at me like that? These are all perfectly reasonable things to notice.’ ” Hunk shakes his head with a bemused smile. 

“And then Keith would say something like ‘ hey, Pidge, do you ever notice that Lance keeps staring at me? Do you think he still hates me? I really don’t want him to hate me.’ ’’

Keith reaches a hand for the tips of his hair. It’s grown longer over the months in space and against his better judgment, he can't help but wonder how much similarities track in his reality. Lance does constantly bring up the length and Keith can only assume that if given the chance and a pair of scissors, Lance would chop it short. 

Or would he?

Your stupid mullet drives me crazy but in a good way.

His hair is probably really soft.

Keith mentally shoves the thoughts deep underground in his brain. He definitely should not think along these lines. They were a dangerous line to tread. If his mind continued with a train of wondering and attempting to pick apart all the differences and similarities, he’d probably go insane. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay. We get the point.” Lance holds his hands up in defeat. “We were oblivious and dense. Happy?”

“Not until you convince your boyfriend to ditch his homework and join us for milkshakes.”

“Why can’t you convince him?”

“Did you not hear all the words we just said?” Pidge deadpans. Lance simply shrugs in response. “Oh my god you dense idiot, you make his heart go all gooey and ickey and he would do anything for you to be happy. He literally can’t say no to you.”

“That’s not true!” Keith argues, crossing his arms. He really wishes the sun would go away for good because he feels like he’s burning now. “I’m perfectly capable of saying no.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Yes. Do your worst, Lance.”

Vrepit Sal’s, as Keith learns, is not an ice cream parlor, but a diner. 

It’s a somewhat small diner too, located just outside of the town square and a less than ten minute walk from the field, and maybe for that reason Keith can assume that the group comes here often after their practices. Or maybe it’s because the diner has a homey feel, the theme being retro… enough. The tables are just a little crooked, and the walls are slightly chipped in the old wear of paint, but everything else is new. It created something of an interesting contrast, though not terrible.

In fact, if Keith had gone under different, better circumstances, he might’ve actually appreciated the comfort a little more. After spending years in space, eating all sorts of strange meals that look like amalgamations of foreign plants and meats, the simplicity of a diner is a welcome sight. He forgot just how much he missed the scent of familiar grilled foods until the scent wafts in his nose. He forgot how much he misses home. How much he misses Earth. 

He remembers one night, way back into their first months in space, Lance rambled about Earth’s constellations, and the rain, and oceans, and his family, and all the things he desperately wished he could see again, if only temporarily. Keith listened because it was late and everyone else was asleep, though he didn’t think he could fully understand it. There was really nothing left for him on Earth. Everyone he’s ever made friends with was up in space. But Lance talked anyway and Keith latched onto every word because he didn’t think Lance could be so genuine for as long as he talked. To be so open and honest and vulnerable. It had been so different to the one that challenged him whenever he could. 

Though now, he thinks he understands a little more. There was nothing in space that could replicate Earth. Not really. And as much as he would never admit it, not even Hunk’s cooking whenever he tried to make their favorite Earth foods. Though in his defense, they were impressive with the limited ingredients he had, but still, the smell was no where close to this. 

He nearly feels nauseous from the familiarity of it all. And it only makes him feel more nauseous when he thinks of Lance that night and how much he was aching to go back home. It feels almost unfair that Keith is here and not him. 

“Back from practice already?” A worker asks, staring at them expectantly. It’s a woman with blonde hair and Keith barely has to read the nametag to recognize that it’s Romelle. He blinks at her. She looks like a normal preppy high schooler that it almost causes him whiplash. “I do hope you’re preparing well for tomorrow.” She says. “I think everyone here wants that arrogant team dragged in the mud.” 

“Oh we can assure you the Galra is going down this year, for sure.” Lance responds, nodding proudly. 

“After you gave our star player a concussion, I’m not so sure.” Pidge teases.

“What—Pidge! He doesn’t have a concussion, I didn’t hit him that hard!”

Romelle chokes on a laugh, clearly used to their antics and it makes Keith wonder just how much they go to the diner after practice. She turns to Allura, “you know, I thought dating would lessen their chances of them almost killing each other.”

“You’d be surprised.” Allura shakes her head, smiling. 

“You know we can still hear you. We’re right here.” Lance says, “and besides, this time was an accident, I swear.”

“He keeps saying that but none of us believe him.” Allura whispers and Romelle giggles. 

“Allura!” He grumbles, causing the two to only laugh harder. “Keith, back me up on this. Tell everyone that you’re fine and I’m a great boyfriend and I never try to kill you.” 

Keith doesn’t think he could ever get used to the word. More specifically, he doesn’t think he could get used to Lance saying the word. All of it directed at him. 

“Lance gave me brain damage.” He says instead because it’s the only thing that comes into his flustered mind.

“Wha—“ Everyone is laughing now Allura’s and Romelle’s giggling is too infectious to not join along. And Keith can’t help himself, he smiles. It’s too easy to mess with Lance, it feels familiar. It feels right. “You’re not funny, Keith.”

“I don’t know, I think Concussed Keith has some good jokes.” Hunk says, slapping him on his back. 

Romelle sighs, leading them to a booth for them to sit. “As long as Concussed Keith can still play tomorrow.”

Allura nods. “Are you coming to watch?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She replies brightly. “The day my girlfriend’s team finally humbles Lotor and beats him in the dirt. It would be revenge for what happened last year.” Her face falls slightly and she winces at the memory. 

“What happened last year?” The question slips out of his tongue before he can control it and five heads turn to him. 

“Do you not remember?”

“I told you he’s concussed.”

“How hard did you actually hit him, Lance?”

The barrage of questions stampedes out from the group and Keith mentally slaps himself for not thinking it through. He really hadn’t meant to ask it aloud. Of course Soccer Keith would know exactly what happened last year, having been there to experience it firsthand. This Keith, however, has not a single clue.

“I’m not concussed!” He argues. “It’s just… hard to remember.”

“It’s not something you really forget, Keith.”

“Oh, what if he has amnesia?” Hunk wonders, tapping a finger on his chin in contemplation. “Do you have amnesia?”

“What?! No.”

Hunk narrows his eyes disbelievingly. “What’s today’s date?”

“Um,” he says, thinking it carefully. He isn’t even sure what the date is in his own reality if he’s being honest. The time in space seemed to blend together without a sun to track or an Earth to spin. He’s pretty sure it was sometime in October by the time he left for the Blades, but that was only because Hunk attempted to count the days by making a space calendar, as he called it. It was designed so the team could celebrate their birthdays when they had them, though the last he checked it was months ago and Keith had no idea now. 

If he thought time passed weirdly in space, it passed even weirder when he was with the Blades. There was no space calendar, or friends to remind him of it. “May…?”

Hunk doesn’t immediately correct him and it spurs him to continue. “May 10th?” He finishes slowly, picking the first number that comes to mind.

“It’s May 2nd.”

“Oh.”

“What town are we in?”

“Uh…”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “What’s my last name?” She asks.

“Gunderson. Wait, no, it’s Holt.”

“How did you mess up that badly at first?”

“I—“

“Do you even know my first name, Keith?”

Allura looks at him, “do you know any of our names?”

“What? Yes, I’m not—”

“What about my favorite color?” Pidge turns to him.

“Green, I think?”

“You think or you know?”

“You always wear green,” Keith points out despite the fact that right now, Pidge is not wearing any green. 

She squints her eyes. “And does that mean it’s my favorite?”

“I don’t know.” He admits. 

“Do you remember my favorite color?” This time it’s Lance who asks. 

“Orange,” Keith answers quickly, “but only a certain shade, and definitely not like neon. It’s more like a tangerine kind, or like a gradient orange. Like when it’s blended in with yellows and reds because then it looks like a sunset and you always talk about the sunsets on the beach in Cuba. That’s why your second favorite color is blue.”

The table goes silent and he looks up to find five heads gaping at him. 

“You remember all that but not the date?” Pidge asks wondrously. “What is wrong with you?”

“I think it’s sweet.” Allura chimes, looking at him with a sympathetic smile. 

“It’s gross. He has, like, selective amnesia or something. I’m gonna need this milkshake before I throw up all over this table.”

“Well, okay then. You all want your usual?” Romelle asks and everyone murmurs in agreement. Keith nods, feeling the tips of his ears go pink. 

He has no idea what his usual is and Lance is still looking at him with an indecipherable expression. 

When Romelle returns, she holds the milkshakes in a platter and they take no time to take their own and Keith is left with a chocolatey one. It’s only when he drinks it that he realizes it’s s’more flavored, a small victory he decides as he relishes the sweet taste. Back in the desert, his father used to make campfires every night before it got too cold. Keith didn’t like the s’mores back then. They were too sweet and the marshmallow always stuck to his lips. He does now. He blames the flavorless space goo for changing his taste buds. 

“You never told me what happened last year.” Keith says in between his sips. It’s a dangerous question to rebring. He knows this after their entire conversation of amnesia, which admittedly, is fair, but he can’t help himself. He’s curious. 

Lance’s face sours as if he just drank something weird in his milkshake. “Are we really gonna talk about it? It wasn’t exactly a great day for us.”

“Maybe we should. What if they try to pull something like it again?” Pidge counters. Whatever the context is, it makes the rest of the table falter and Keith imagines that against their wishes, Pidge raises a good point. 

“You don’t think they would. Would they?” Hunk asks, his face shifting into fear. 

“Lotor would.” Romelle says and the lowness of the tone catches Keith by surprise. “He did something for my brother's game. Paid off the refs or something too. He’s ruthless. All he wants is to win over his daddy’s little approval. He’ll do anything to get what he wants.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Not allow him the chance to do anything.” Allura says, her voice stern. “Shiro said our plays are sound, we’ve been practicing them every day. The Galra won’t be expecting our new strategies.”

“Yeah, and now we know what to expect of them. We know he’s going to cheat again.” 

“None of that matters if they go after Keith again.” Lance interjects sharply. The tone is far more vindictive than Keith has ever heard from him and it catches him off guard. He’s seen Lance annoyed before, he’s seen him protective, but in all his time he’s hardly ever seen him downright angry. And right here, he looks royally pissed. “Lotor has it out for him. We learned that last year. I swear if he thinks he can—“

“Shiro wouldn’t let him.” Allura cuts him off. “He’s a coach now, he’ll actually have the power to step in without getting thrown out of the game.”

Lance taps his fingers on the table insistently. Keith can tell he’s not convinced and doesn’t even bother hiding it. 

So Lotor did something to him—Soccer Keith. Clearly something distressing enough that it had Shiro thrown out of the game and to have Lance still upset. Keith’s mind runs rampant through the possibilities. Lotor using Keith’s hot-headedness against him, Lotor specifically blocking Keith, Lotor purposefully injuring him. 

He doesn’t really know what soccer games normally look like, but he assumes they’re not violent. Keith learned the hard way there were no helmets, and in fact, there is hardly any padding anywhere except for the shins. Lotor could’ve done any number of malicious things if he’s any bit as cold and methodical as the one he knows. 

The ghost of Lotor’s voice rings out in his ears.

Isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted? To rid the wars of our ancestors?

Romelle was right, Lotor would do anything to win. Even if that meant pulling the strings of god to make an entirely new reality. Even if that meant sacrificing the realities where that war was inevitable. It didn’t matter to him whatever damage he would cause to get there. In his eyes, the end justifies the means. 

How do you reason with something like that? What is Keith supposed to do once he finds his way out of here? Lotor isn’t like his father, not at all, but he’s just as dangerous. If not even more so. Zarkon may have been frantic at worst, but Lotor, Lotor is desperate and those are the most threatening. They are the ones that would lose everything to get what they want.

“If he is planning something, we can’t just wait for it to happen.” He hears Lance argue further, snapping him away from his thoughts. “If they realize we’re winning tomorrow, they’ll do anything to gain the lead. They’ll target Keith again. We can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.”

“So what are we meant to do?”

“I’ll keep Lotor’s attention on me.”

“No.” Keith says automatically, surprising even himself. Theoretically, Soccer Lotor is not as much of a threat as Space Lotor, and yet the idea of Lance facing him alone is inconceivable in his mind regardless. 

Lance looks at him. “Why not?”

“It’s dumb. You can’t deal with him by yourself.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Keith drops his mouth open. He has no idea how to respond to that. The rest of the team looks unsure too, and after a tense moment, Lance drops his glare. 

“Look, I’m sorry it’s just—I think we have a better chance if I’m the one to distract him. Hunk and Allura are our best defense, you’ll need Pidge open so she can read their attacks, and Keith is better anyway. You’ll need him alive and uninjured if we want to win. Best I can do is keep prince fussy-pants busy.”

If the room wasn’t silent before, it definitely is now. From the way he talked, Keith knows that Lance had been thinking this over for awhile. Had been thinking that if Lotor was going to hurt anyone on the field, it would be him—should be him. 

“No.” Keith repeats again. “That’s not happening.”

“Look, I’m just thinking of our best options here.”

“Well stop thinking.”

“Why?” Lance argues, narrowing his eyes. “Allura said it herself, our plays are sound. And if I can keep Lotor off your backs then we’ll get a chance to actually use them.”

“Lance,” Allura says, “I meant our plays are sound with you in them. You’re necessary to this. We can’t have you getting hurt.”

“And I won’t be. I’ll be fine.” 

“Lance, you saw what happened last year.”

“This isn’t last year.” He snaps. “We know what he’s gonna do. We can be prepared for it this time.”

“And you being the punching bag is your definition of prepared?” Pidge interrupts.

“Yes. And if it comes down to it, I can always aim the soccer ball at his head and say it was an accident.”

Pidge deadpans. “Good to know your concussion-making skills are gonna be our secret weapon.” 

“I still don’t like it.” Keith says.

Hunk nods, “yeah, sorry man, I agree with Keith on this one. There’s gotta be a better way than this.”

“It’ll be fine. I can handle Lotor for an hour.”

“Can you handle him right now?” Pidge asks suddenly, fixing her gaze somewhere behind Keith's head. 

“I mean, yeah I—wait now? Why now?”

“Because I see him now.”

“What?” At this, Lance jerks his head up, following Pidge’s frame of view, and sure enough, right outside the window stands Lotor in all his soccer glory. 

Keith squints at the sight. Even from the bad angle of his seat, the signature hairstyle is something he can prominently register. Though the lack of purple tint in his skin makes him feel more normal than anything else. It feels wrong, somehow. As if he was stripped down of all the wars he grew up in and now he’s nothing but a simple teenager. Maybe because he looked so human here, that for one delirious, strange second, Keith feels a pang of sympathy for him.

Lotor in his reality may be a crazed and desperate man, but no one deserved the burden of his father’s war as a child.

His voice echoes in his ears, picking apart the entrails of choked desolation. 

And if this world is unachievable in that quest, then I will make a new reality. A reality that is not plagued as this one.

Maybe this reality didn’t have the war Lotor so badly wanted to rid every inch of, but it still held the same types of people. And since everything else is near copies of what he’s known, he can only assume Zarkon is too. There’s no universal war, there’s no suffering to anywhere near the same extent, but if the team’s account of last year is anything to go by, it’s not perfect either. Does Lotor want a perfect reality? One that is so peaceful that it doesn’t even exist on any plane of realities already? How far is Lotor willing to dislodge that kind of greed? How many realities would he sacrifice to get there? 

“Um, why is he here? Why now?” Hunk twirls the straw of his milkshake in nerves, clearly unsure what to do. “Does he ever come here? This is like our spot.” 

Romelle shakes her head. “I’ve never seen him here.”

It confirms their suspicions. Lotor is here for them, and just like that, Keith’s sympathy is replaced. 

The door dings open and it feels like the room has gone hollow. It feels like the air is stretched thin and the team tenses like a cord being pulled taut, and now that Keith can really see him, he can see that he isn’t alone. Lotor brings what Keith assumes is a few other members of the Galra team. It isn’t until they walk closer that he realizes he recognizes one of them. Vaguely, faintly recognizes. She has short black hair, and her eyes are a little less yellow than he’s used to, but the scowl is distinct. It’s Acxa beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

Out of logic, he assumes the rest of the girls are also Lotor’s band of goons. What were their names? Keith can barely remember. In fact, when he thinks about it, he’s not even sure what happened to them after Lotor briefly allied himself with the coalition. 

“Ah, well, I must say this is quite the surprise.” Lotor’s voice rings in the same proper amount of pronunciation that he’s used to. It doesn’t ring into his skull like it did when he was in the quintessence field, but it still holds an element of unease nonetheless. He focuses his gaze toward them in a wry smile. “If it isn’t team Voltron.”

Lance glares. “Is it a surprise though?”

At that, Lotor manages to look offended. “Why, of course,” he says, his tone unwavering. “My friends and I came to have dinner is all. Why else would we be here?”

“Oh I don’t know, to antagonize us.”

He hums as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Would you like me to?”

“What are you doing here, Lotor?” Allura asks sharply. 

“As I’ve said, all I want is to have dinner. Though now that I am here, I can wish you all luck for tomorrow. I know that last year may not have harbored the result you would have wanted.”

“Harbor the result we wanted?” Lance echoes dubiously. “What made you come to that conclusion? The fact that we lost, or the fact that you played dirty and nearly killed Keith!”

At this, Lotor scoffs with a bemused smile crossing his lips. And although Keith feels like the human appearance should, in theory, make him significantly less intimidating, all the mannerisms are the same that it doesn’t do much. If he closes his eyes, he feels like he never left the quintessence field. He still hears Lotor’s unhinged laughter ring out in his ears that it feels like his head is about to explode. 

“I didn’t nearly kill him, you always find a way to get the story so twisted and beneath the truth.” Lotor replies lowly. 

“It’s not twisted. That move you pulled should’ve got you thrown out and we both know it.”

“Perhaps,” Lotor muses, pressing a finger to his chin in thought. “Then again, I wasn’t the one who snapped at the refs.” He smiles as if he’s proud that he seems to be getting under their skin. “Besides, it’s not like I didn’t warn Keith what would happen. He did that to himself when he quit being on our team. He was the one that stood in our way.”

Once again, Keith finds a way to spite this alternate reality for being such a cruel parallel of his own. Of course it made sense that he started on the Galra team because of course the universe would do that to him.

“Oh please, you were just desperate enough to win. You knew we would beat you if you didn’t do something.” Pidge snaps. 

“I wouldn’t be so confident in that assumption. All these years and you have yet to find a way to beat us. It’s almost pitiful, really.”

“Just wait until tomorrow.” Allura glowers and it rivals all the stern looks she’s ever given to the paladins whenever they start to goof off more than they should. In fact, for a second, Keith firmly believes that if she wasn’t on the other end of the booth, she would start throwing some punches. 

“I doubt that if Alfor couldn’t manage to coach this pathetic ragtag team into the championship, then your new no one coach won’t even come close.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He hums. “I think I know more than you think. You may try to act better but I’m sure your attacks will surmount to nothing. Not when my father himself coached the Galra this year. And I feel I must warn you,” Lotor shifts his gaze directly at Keith in an expression he can’t discern, “he doesn’t exactly have the cleanest reputation either, now does he?”

‘Perhaps sacrificing a few violent and horrible realities to create one better one is a moral exchange.’

Keith can practically hear the sharp edged familiarity in the tone. It’s all too reminding. The same wave of nausea hits and he feels his world tilt in on itself. He has no idea how to deal with any of it, not the Lotor in space threatening to rip out all they’ve known and more, and not even this Lotor. 

If he was under less stress, he would’ve found it in him to be angry. To feel the unruly defiance prick against his skin and lash out, uncaring that it technically isn’t the same person that sent him here. But right now, all he can think about is if he has a reality to get back to when this is over. 

“You’re not pulling the same tricks you pulled last time.” Lance says with a sense of finality. “You’re not going anywhere near him.”

Lotor sneers, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see tomorrow, won’t we?”

Keith swears for a second, that Lance is about to do something stupidly wreckless and dumb. He swears he’s about to do something like Keith would do before a deep voice cuts them both off. 

“Is something wrong here?” It comes from behind Lotor, and it startles even him. He pauses the spite he held just moments ago. Sal, Keith assumes the restaurant owner, is standing right there. 

Out of options, Lotor drops the glare. “Nothing is wrong. We were just leaving actually.”

“We were?” One of the girls by Lotor’s side finally speaks up. This is the one with a high ponytail and dyed hair. What was her name? Ezor?

“Yes.” Lotor responds calmly. “The last thing we would like to do is eat at this dump of a place anyway.”

“That’s it then? You’d said there’d be punches.” The other complains, looking more inconvenienced than anything else. 

“Patience, Zethrid. We’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.” He holds his stare for a second longer, giving one last cold smile. “Until then, team Voltron. I wish you luck for our match.” 

No one bothers answering him. Not even Sal says anything more as he watches them turn away. And with that, he leaves just as quickly as he had come. 

“That pompous arrogant brat.” Allura mutters once she’s sure they’re out of sight. “He wanted to get us riled up. That was his plan. He wanted us to lash out before the game even starts.”

“Oh man, what a jerk. I thought for sure Lance was gonna punch him.” Hunk tilts his head down in relief now that they could all breathe properly again. 

“He would’ve deserved it.”

“No argument on that one. I mean how come they can get away with all of this? I’m pretty sure he literally threatened us, how is that fair?”

“It’s not. He has his daddy to get him out of all the trouble he gets in.”

“Just cause what? He was a famous pro soccer player and everyone loves him? That’s still not fair. He shouldn’t get to pay off the refs the way that he does. He can do whatever he wants but the second we breathe near him, we get a penalty. There’s no way we can go against that.”

“We might not have to,” Allura says, “Coran said he could get an unbiased ref for our game. If it works then they won’t be able to do the plans they want.” 

“That doesn’t mean they won’t still pull something.” Lance counters.

“Lance, you can’t still be thinking about this, not after what just happened.”

“How can I not? You heard him, they’re after Keith again. They’re still petty that he quit on them or whatever.”

“So let them come after me.” Keith says simply, taking another sip of his milkshake. 

“Absolutely not.” Lance dismisses faster than he could even blink. “There’s no way you’re getting nearly killed again.”

“I wasn’t nearly killed last time.” Or at least, Lotor said he wasn’t. Keith still doesn’t know the actual real story behind it, not other than the bits and pieces he’s gathered, but he assumes Lotor did some sort of nasty illegal play on him. How badly he got injured, that part he could only guess, though it couldn’t have been that terrible if he is still able to play for this season. 

Lance still doesn’t look convinced at this. Keith frowns because he can’t outright say the real reason it should be him that deals with Lotor. For one, he doesn’t plan on making it to the game tomorrow. If all goes well, Keith will wake up back in his reality and back in the Black Lion and back to everyone he knows. He would deal with the space and psychotic Lotor, but this Lotor would be Soccer Keith’s problem. And he’d probably be more equipped to handle it too. 

However, alternatively, if he’s still stuck here by tomorrow, well then he’d probably be the most useless on the team. He barely knows how to kick a ball, let alone actually participate in a soccer game. He doesn’t know the rules, or the plays, or any of the formations, he doesn’t even know the positions. 

Though none of these things he can say aloud. No one would really understand it because as far as they’re concerned, this is their Keith. So instead, what he says, “please, Lance. He’s gonna go after me anyway, this way no one else has to get hurt.”

Thankfully, Lance does seem to at least ponder the prospect. For what he’s worth, he must recognize that there’s an importance in the plea somewhere in the words because after a considerable amount of time, he shrugs. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” He says. 

Keith nods, “tomorrow.” He repeats, satisfied. That’s another problem for Soccer Keith to solve. Though it makes him wonder where exactly is Soccer Keith. He didn’t really think about it before—didn’t really have the time to think about it before. Is he momentarily blipped out of existence while Keith spends his time here? Will he return dazed and confused at how much time has passed once Keith leaves? 

And then a different thought springs to mind, almost against his will:

Soccer Keith in his universe interacting with his friends. 

Oh god. 

He hopes that isn’t the case. He imagines Soccer Keith would get a bit of a culture shock waking up in a giant flying lion at a random point in space, facing down a desperate deranged man that would remind him of his soccer rival. And even worse, Soccer Keith could expose what Lance and him are in a different reality. Of course, this worry pales in comparison as some of his other ones, though the thought of Lance knowing this tiny piece of information causes another wave of heat to rise to his cheeks. 

He vowed he would never relinquish this part of the story. It felt too personal; too private of a secret, like somehow, even if it was entirely out of his control, he crossed a boundary somewhere. That Lance would for some reason be mad at him for accepting it as easily as he had. That Lance would be uncomfortable and hate him for it. That it would ruin their already tenuous friendship they have.

In truth, he has no idea how Lance would respond. He doesn’t want to know how he would respond. Would he take a sort of amusement in it? Would he laugh right in his face and wonder how he would ever date Keith, even in a different reality? Would he be disgusted at the mere prospect? Keith really doesn’t have a single clue. He has no idea and maybe it’s best to have it stay that way. It’s not like he needs to know anyway. 

Unless Soccer Keith is with him right now and something slips out. Would they recover from it? Lance knows that it wouldn’t be Keith’s fault…right? He hopes so. He knows Lance isn’t unfair, or cruel, he doesn’t think he would hold this against him. Then again, Keith can’t help feeling the pinpricks of guilt anyway because even if this part was out of his control, he’s somehow envious. Envious of how close they are here and wishes that Lance felt the way he does in his reality too. 

His thoughts are interrupted as Lance takes a swipe of Keith’s milkshake. It happens so fast that when Keith snaps his head up, Lance is already sipping from his straw and half-drinken milkshake. 

“Wha—hey! That’s mine!” Keith attempts to reach out but Lance blocks his arms in a somewhat childish manner. “Lance!”

“No. I need a sip.”

“You’re taking more than a sip!” He protests, shoving his hands near Lance’s face. “Also you have your own!”

“But I already finished mine.”

Keith knits his eyebrows together. At first he believed it to be a lame excuse to get him to steal Keith’s milkshake but when his eyes glanced down, sure enough Lance already drank his. “How?” He asks, appalled. They had barely gotten them before Lotor arrived and Keith knew for a fact that Lance wasn’t sipping his in the middle of it.

As a response, Lance taps his head and smiles, “anti brain freeze proof.” 

Keith blinks at him. “Probably because you don’t have a brain to freeze.”

“Oh good one, Keith!” Hunk says, earning a mix of shock and betrayal from Lance which only makes Keith grin harder. The twinge of envy comes into his mind. He wonders if this is exactly what it would be like in his own reality if Keith let it. If Lance liked him back and there was no amount of heat to any of their teases.

He narrows his eyes at him, still holding up the cup that held Keith’s s’more flavored shake. Keith holds the gaze. “I’m finishing the rest of yours for that one.” Lance responds at last. 

“What! No! Give it back!”

“No!”

“You’re getting all your gross spit on it!” Keith once again, attempts to rip it out of Lance’s hands to no avail.

“We made out yesterday!”

“I—you—gah, Lance!”

“Somehow, I think listening to them might just be worse than being literally threatened.” Pidge scrunches her nose in disgust. “Maybe they should have stayed oblivious.”

“I still think it’s cute.”

“You have to stop encouraging them, Allura.”

When Keith realizes getting his milkshake back is a lost cause, he gives up and lets Lance take the rest. Despite it, he really can’t bring himself to be mad, or even inconvenienced. Not when right now, Lance is back to his happy and go lucky self. Right now, he’s back to his light-hearted teases and care-free glances. At the moment, it’s good enough for Keith. 

It would be better with his own Lance, but for now, he’s taking what he can get. 

Ridiculous. He is absurdly and unequivocally ridiculous. 

Tonight, he decides right then and there, tonight he will do everything he can to get back to his own universe. To get back and stop Lotor from destroying everything. 

After all, if he woke up in a different reality, then he’ll do the same again. 

At least, he hopes so. 

When Lance catches Keith staring, he doesn’t back away from it. He doesn’t deny it, or pretend to forget it. Instead he smiles at him, warm and golden and soft. 

He mostly hopes so.