Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keith is perched upon Black with his wolf Kosmo, letting his mind wander as he revels in the warm rays of the sun and the splash of orange it painted the land with. His eyes trace the curves of sandy dunes that stretched far into the horizon.

He didn't really miss a lot of things about Earth; there was nothing worth remembering or going back to if he had no home or family to greet. But, to him, sunsets are an exception. It reminded him of his dad, and vague memories of being cradled close to his chest as a child. It reminded him of hoverbiking with Shiro across sandy barrens. It reminded him of his cozy shack in the desert, lonely but comfortable.

He always found that watching the sun set gave him a sense of security. Like he was home and safe and content.

He'd watch the sight for hours until there was no trace of light in the sky, and the sun was replaced by the moon and stars, warmth replaced by the empty cold. He'll miss this part of Earth. He wishes to bring it with him, but here is where it belongs.

Just where does he fit in?

It's been what seemed like hours of solemn silence until he heard soft footsteps approaching behind him. He couldn't be bothered to look because he already knows who it is. He'd know those footsteps, and that voice, anywhere.

"Man, you can be a really hard guy to find when you wanna be."

Keith glances at Lance. "Hey, Lance— whoa!" He does a double take and he gulps down the laugh threatening to spill from his throat. Lance is, for some reason, sporting a multitude of kitchen supplies and a sausage link around his neck.

Keith may not understand fashion as well as Lance does, but... is this what people call trendy nowadays?

"What are you wearing?"

Lance's ‘accessories’ clattered noisily as he sat down beside Keith. "Coran made it for me for my date with Allura."

Oh.

"A date with Allura. Wow. Well done, Lance."

Keith's voice was strained. He hopes Lance didn't notice.

He tries to ignore the tug at his heart, he tries to calm the storm in his chest. But he finds it difficult when Lance is right there. Hand barely touching his.

Lance chuckles weakly, removing the huge pot on his head. "Thanks, but it could be our last. I can't keep these Altean customs straight."

Keith wants to stay quiet. He tends to say stupid things when he's around Lance

But, when does he ever manage to shut up when it's with him?

"Listen, if she's going out with you, it's because she likes you. The annoying, stupid Earth version of you."

Lance laughs and Keith feels himself relax. He loves hearing him laugh, seeing him smile, especially if it's because of him. He wanted nothing more than to keep it there.

"You watching the sunset?" Keith still has his eyes on Lance.

"Yeah. Might be a while before we see it again."

"Man, I'm really gonna miss this place." A hopeful smile graces Lance's lips. It's so beautiful, Keith wanted to puke.

"I can't wait for me and Veronica to go back to our family, to tell them about the many adventures we've done. To see the excited looks of my niece and nephew as they jump back into my arms for a big bear hug. I can't wait for them to meet you." Keith's heart jumps to his throat.

"And oh, God, I can't wait for them to meet Allura." And there it is. His heart drops back down. Plops down right into his stomach. "I hope they'll like her as much as I like her."

Keith wills away every ounce of bitterness in his bones. He's happy for Lance. He's happy.

"I'm pretty sure they won't hate a gorgeous alien princess when they see one." Keith smiles. "She's lucky, to be with someone as amazing as you."

Lance's eyes widens. "You... really think that?"

Uh oh. He started it, he couldn't stop now.

"Of course, I think that. Why would you ever think I didn't?"

Keith's frustration and confusion mingled inside his chest upon seeing Lance frown. Did he say something wrong? Did he totally butcher this moment? He should just throw himself off this cliff now, shouldn't he.

"I- I just thought that, you know.. You always seemed to hate me."

Hate you? How could I ever hate you?

"I mean, not hate but, like you've just been tolerating me all this time."

Keith shakes his head vehemently. "Lance, no. That's totally wrong."

Lance looks at him, and his eyes are filled with hurt, and Keith wants nothing more than to take it away from him. "You said once, I would be the last person you'd ever want to spend eternity with. Can you explain that to me? Can you explain why you had to hurt me like that?"

Without thinking about it, Keith places two firm hands on Lance's shoulders, trapping him in his gaze. He wants Lance to listen to his words and never forget. He wants them to be engrained into his mind forever. 

Lance deserves to know the truth.

"I didn't mean it. Every single word I said was bullshit. I want to take it all back so you wouldn't have to remember it and think that I hate you.

"I never hated you. I look back at every yesterday thinking about how much fun you are to be around, and I look forward to every tomorrow knowing you'd be in it." You're what gives my life meaning, Lance, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue

"The truth is, I trust you with my life. You're the only right-hand I could ever have, because you're the best pilot, warrior, and sharpshooter I've ever met. I don't doubt that Black would choose you to pilot her if I ever die."

"Don't say that!" Lance grips Keith's hand with haste, like his life depended on it. "You're not gonna die— no one will. We're gonna get out of this war together, and we're gonna do it with the only person worthy enough to pilot Black. You, Keith."

Keith feels the corner of his eyes sting with tears. "And I can't do it without Lance." My Lance. "The Lance that's the paladin of the Red Lion. The Lance that's always got my back..."

Keith thinks he's never looked at anyone the way he's looking at Lance right now. He couldn't put it into words.

He looked at him with fervor and such intensity that it could cut through a bark of wood. But at the same time, with gentle and tender love that carried through his everything.

"And the Lance who knows exactly who he is and what he's got to offer."

Keith isn't given the time to blink before he was pulled into an embrace. An embrace he wanted to be in forever as the universe combusts around them, because nothing else mattered but the man in his arms.

Then, a foreign rush overcomes him. It feels warm and inviting, like sunsets. It feels like all the burdens he's carried in his chest for so long has finally lifted and flown away. It feels like...

He can love.

He can love Lance as much as he wants to, but it won't hurt like it used to.

He can yearn for Lance as long as he wants to, but he won't hate Allura for it.

He can be happy and let go.

And maybe when the right time comes, he can finally come out and say, "I love you, Lance Mcclain" without feeling fear or hatred or selfishness or jealousy.

For the first time, he feels content to be in the background.

Chapter Text

Keith is a hyperpolyglot, or a multilingual in other words; besides the universal Earth language, English, he can speak up to five other languages.

His dad taught him his native human language, Korean, at a young age—as per Keith's request, because he's a naturally curious guy. Plus, he was a quick learner so it was actually a breeze for him. 

Then, he met Shiro and became like a brother to him. He'd been invited to Shiro's apartment multiple times; he seemed to be living with his boyfriend, Adam though they hadn't made it official at the time. Whenever he wasn't decimating the kitchen or watching scary movies to pass the time, he stole a couple of Shiro's Japanese books and was able to teach himself the language to impress Shiro. He'd patted his head and couldn't stop raving about how "cute" he was, made worse when Adam came in cooing, "He's like a mini Shiro!!" Keith vowed to never use that skill in front of them again.

Years later, Voltron happened and they were stuck in space. Sometimes, when they weren't training or fighting Galra battleships, he kept himself preoccupied and studied Altea, their language and culture. Since it's quite literally alien language, perfecting the enunciations and memorizing the alphabet with all its additional foreign letters and symbols was a struggle for him. He approached Allura about it one time and she was more than happy to lend dozens of material about the Altean language. Coran also volunteered to help, though his teaching methods weren't exactly... ideal for Keith, and he was way too noisy for his liking (Coran had sung the Altean alphabet to him so many times it stuck to him at night and seeped into his dreams.)

Altean is not exactly his strong suit, but he was fluent enough to make out Altean texts and whatever Allura and Coran gossip about behind the team's back.

Being in an infinite void of time and space surrounded by trillions of celestial bodies was a tantalizing experience and sometimes it came with revelations. To Keith, it was about the unknown half of his identity that had ran away from him when he was just an infant. Joining the Blade of Marmora gave him an opportunity to explore his Galran heritage. Especially, being around Galra people made it easy for him to learn their language; it could've also been because it's his native alien language, and it just felt natural to talk in their tongue, like he has truly embraced his heritage. It was hard to come to accept, knowing the tainted history of Galra, but he knew that there was good in many of them. Kolivan was proof of it—he's all tough but he cares for his colleagues like they're his family, Keith sees the glaze of sadness in his eyes whenever they lose a member to a mission.

By the time he met his mom, Krolia, he'd already mastered the Galra language. In the two years they spent at the quantum abyss, they almost always communicated in Galra, and it felt so surreal, speaking to his mother like this after years of not knowing her name, her face, her race. It might not have been enough to make up for the years of alienation and pent-up anger that came from her disappearance, but seeing his mother try so hard to bond with him and know him and lay down her life for him, it made him feel so loved. She was the last step to him fully accepting his ancestry.

After two years, he returned to Voltron with his alien mom, a cosmic wolf, the first other Altean in 10,000 years, and his fifth learnt language—his language.

"WHAT?!" Lance screamed, before rubbing his face with his hands. "Okay, this is nuts. You come back with your Galra mom, a wolf, and an Altean?!"

Keith couldn't help but smile at Lance's reeling face; he'd gone far too long without seeing him. His Lance, his...

"Yes, ei-laa. We're all caught up now."

Keith stopped dead in his tracks before he could actually stop what he'd just blurted from his stupid pining mouth. His eyes darted to Krolia as if to ask for help. She only widened her eyes in shock, not before quickly shooting her son a cheeky grin. Not helping! he internally screamed and turned his lost pleading look somewhere else, which just happened to be to Coran, who was giving him an odd look. Fuck, he definitely knows.

"...'Ey-laah?'" Keith looked at Lance with alarm in his eyes. "What the fuck is that? Is that a weird Galra thing?"

"Uh." Wow. Very smooth, Keith.

Lance narrowed his eyes at him, his confused face scrunching into a scowl. "Wait a sec, are you cursing me? In Galra? What the fuck, Keith!"

"No, that's not-" Keith took a breath. He couldn't risk saying anything else. He needed to change the subject.

"Lance, we have no time for this. What's left of the Altean race will be doomed if we don't act now. Lotor is lying to all of us, and Romelle is living proof of it."

He turned to Romelle, who seemed to have gotten restless on her spot beside him, and he nodded at her. "She wants to tell her story."

The room turned deathly silent and tense upon Keith's words, all turning to Romelle expectantly. 

"...Okay yeah, that definitely sounds more important." Lance huffed, arms folded across his chest. "But this is not over."

Keith sighed.

"Dude, if I did something to piss you off, just tell me about it and don't call me names instead, yeah?"

Keith sighed. He was really hoping Lance would drop it. Maybe he could still play dumb and they can forget this ever happened. Yeah, sounds good.

He turned to Lance, who had his hands on his hips, tapping his feet on the floor impatiently.

"What? B- I don't-"

"Oh, don't 'what? b- I don't' me! You know exactly what I mean!"

"...I really don't."

"Ey-laah."

Keith almost choked on his own spit. "W-what-?"

"The thing you said to me, when you came back here, after one month of ghosting us?!"

Lance started pacing around him, moving his hands around in random gestures. He had a habit of doing that while talking, and it usually meant it was gonna be a long conversation. "And it means something, right? 'Cause you've been calling me that since you came back and it's driving me nuts." Lance was practically wailing and stomping his foot like a restless toddler. Keith found it adorable.

"Like, what the fuck is ‘ey-laah’ supposed to mean?! Dumb, stupid, goofball, dumbass? I'm used to being called that sure, but oh-HO! I'm drawing the line if it's in a different language. How would you feel if i called you ‘el cabrón’, huh?"

Lance was nose-to-nose with Keith now, his face hot and red and his eyes gleaming with temper.

Keith couldn't help it anymore and kissed him. 

And when he pulled away, he thinks he hasn't smiled this widely upon seeing Lance's even redder, shocked face. 

"You are an idiot," Keith laughed, "but that's not what ‘ei-laa’ means. It's..." He tries to recall the bits of Spanish he's picked up on in the past. "... ‘Mi amor’ in your language. Which means my love or dearest in English."

Upon Lance's silence, Keith's mind caught up to what he'd just done and said, and he blushes in embarrassment. 

"That is what 'mi amor' means, right?"

Lance grinned hugely at Keith. His worries caught up to him now and he didn't seem to notice it when Lance stepped closer, and he started rambling.

"I'm sorry I kissed you, and called you ei-laa. I just- I saw you a lot in my future when I was in the Quantum Abyss, and I always called you—well, future you—that. And I think I forgot that we aren't together for real yet— if you even want to date me! It's your choice. And I forgot how goddamn intimate that nickname actually is in Galra culture and I blurted it out, just like that, to you! I'm so sor-"

He was silenced by Lance's lips on his.

When he felt Keith relaxing against him, Lance pulled away and smiled brightly at him. 

"When did you learn such big words, hmm?" Lance teased stroking Keith's cheek with a finger. Keith closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.

"It might be the only Spanish word I know." Keith opened his eyes and drowned in his soft gaze. "Could you teach me more?"

Lance nodded happily with a laugh and kissed him again.

"Te amo," he said once they parted, still holding each other close. "Do you know what that means?"

Keith flushed. "Maybe."

Lance chuckled and held Keith's hand. The two walked side by side to the bridge.

"Now, you said something about me being in your future?"

Chapter Text

Shiro sees flashes.

Flashes of him in Zarkon's ship, getting beaten and mistreated by Galra troops. Flashes of him in the gladiator ring, looking up at his massive opponent with blood rushing in his ears and the stampede of applauses deafening him.

He sees flashes. Flashes of him pinned to a table, immobile and burned by the heat of the purple light glaring above him, as a sharp weapon comes down onto his arm. Flashes of an explosion... his head ringing and hurting; he couldn't remember much here.

He sees flashes of him, being held by Keith and another guy he didn't know, before he fell unconscious and woke up in a deserted shed, surrounded by the people he would soon come to call his family. 

He sees flashes of five lions, venturing to planet after planet, flying with the praise they were given by alienkind; this spurred them to greater heights, to be able to face Zarkon head-on—

Shiro sees flashes of him floating in a starry nothing. 

Black speaks to him, she's the only source of comfort he has in this void.

To have the heart stop is the most terrifying thing one can experience; to have the mind preserved within a sentient robot lion is something else entirely.

He didn't feel he was dead. But while he existed within this plane, he couldn't connect to his body— he couldn't... have peace. For as long as his essence lingered, his mind ran and ran and ran until he went insane.

He wished he could just end this already.

Shiro sees flashes of him, pointing a blade to Keith's scared and scarred face.

He felt himself drawing the weapon nearer; he was desperate to stop it.

Please just put me in my damn body again and let me save my brother just this once. He screamed, he bellowed, he cried. I'm sorry, Keith. It's not me. I tried so hard. I can't protect you. I'm not a good brother.

If only he could hear Keith say "I love you" to him at that moment. "You're my brother." That will never change. No matter what body you're in. I know I'll always find you.

Shiro saw white.

He was back to himself again, he could see and touch his family again. He could tell Keith he never meant to hurt him. He could tell Pidge I'm sorry I left, it will all be okay. He could tell Hunk thank you for holding the team together.

He could tell Lance it's not your fault, you did great. He could promise them all, we're going home.

We're going home.

Shiro sees flashes of him standing before Adam's grave. Tears bit at the corner of his eyes as he struggled to stand straight.

He sees flashes of his bitter ending and what could've been. It kept him up at night until he couldn't function properly in the morning. Iverson had scolded him a few times for dozing off on the job.

But there is one night when the flashes stopped.

A co-pilot walked up to him with a cup of coffee in his hands. He's cute, he had brown hair, beautiful chocolate skin, and pretty blue eyes.

"H-hi, um, Sir Takashi." Shiro's heart skipped; no one has called him since Adam. "Or is it Sir Shirogane? Sorry! I'm not really sure what you want to be called.."

Shiro laughed. He's very cute. "Just call me Shiro. No need for formalities. Curtis, right?"

Curtis blushed. "Yes, si- I mean, Shiro. Are you sure I should call you Shiro? I should really pay you respect since you're a higher up and I'm just- here, you know?" He chuckled a little nervously.

"No, it's fine. I don't really like using my full name."

"Oh. Well, I like all your names so." Curtis slapped a hand to his face, which he groaned into. "Oh god, I'm sorry! I don't know why I said that-"

"Heh, you're funny," Shiro grinned, abruptly pulling Curtis from his rambling.

Shiro placed a hand over Curtis', which held the cup full of foamy latte. On top displayed an intricate pattern of hearts. 

He sniffed, "Mm, hazelnut is it?"

Curtis nodded a little too fast. "Um, I made it for you, since I noticed how tired you've been lately and I figured, maybe you'd like some coffee to beat the Z's" His laugh dies at the end of that sentence. 

Shiro's heart swelled with happiness. He's so thoughtful.

"How did you know I love latte art?" 

Curtis visibly relaxed, like he'd been holding in a breath this whole time. "I didn't, I just guessed. And I added hazelnut because I figured you like your coffees to be sweet."

"I do, I've been teased for my sweet tooth a lot!"

Curtis sighed a relieved laugh. "Oh, good. I thought I messed up there for a sec."

Shiro gazed at the hearts floating about his latte again. He didn't know what pushed him that day to be really fucking bold, but he couldn't stop himself from teasing his endearing coworker.

"And the hearts?" Curtis blinked up at Shiro. "Why did you choose to make hearts on the latte?" 

A smirk made its way to Shiro's lips. "Is this like... a way of hitting on me?"

Curtis was positively flushed upon hearing this. "No! No, of course not! That would be extremely unprofessional. I was just-"

"I know! Calm down, I was joking," Shiro gave a friendly pat to his shoulder. He let his hand linger there for a moment, as he stared into Curtis' eyes.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it though... It's not against the rules to date your coworker here; I had a serious relationship with one of mine before."

"I heard..." Curtis gave a sympathetic smile. In turn, Shiro slowly dropped his hand from Curtis' shoulder. "I'm sorry."

It was quiet for a moment, like Shiro almost forgot to respond, briefly sent to his haze of flashes.

"...Thank you," he finally said, cracking a smile to break the tension. "I'll be alright." He doesn't know if he's telling the truth.

It was Curtis' turn to place a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, you will." He sounded sure of himself this time, his poise confident and gaze unmoving. "I can't ever imagine what you've been through, and I know you've been through hell. But—" he gently shoves the latte in Shiro's hands "—if things get bad again, you can come to me. I don't know how I can help but, I'll do my best to listen to you, Sir Takashi."

Shiro's lip trembled as it pulled up into a smile. "I thought I told you not to call me that."

Curtis blinked. "Right, sorry!" After a second, he realized his hand was still on Shiro and quickly flicked it away. Aaand he's back.

Shiro looks at the latte in his hands and the two specific hearts amongst the foam, drifting slowly in the drink.

Chapter Text

Lance planted forget-me-nots all around his juniberry farm as a semblance of comfort that Allura was once his. This blend of pink and blue meshes their two worlds—Earth and Altea.

The forget-me-nots symbolise the death of the last royal bloodline, finally laid to rest after serving the universe for 10,000 years.

The juniberries mean a new beginning for the planet she left behind; the birth of a new generation. Her legacy lives on for 10,000 more years. 

As time passed, Lance started healing, with the help of Keith who made time to visit him every other week despite his busy schedule; and when he couldn't, he made sure to keep Lance company through his regular chats with him. He doesn't know where he'd be if Keith wasn't there with him.

One day, he visited him again. It's been a few months since he last visited. He was surprised to see that a new species of flower had blossomed amongst the wave of juniberries and forget-me-nots.

"Dandelions, lance?" Keith said, curiously looking at the Cuban boy. "Is there any reason why?"

Lance blushed, glancing around nervously. "Uhm, well. You know how flowers have... meanings?"

Keith leaned forward slightly, face colored with intrigue. "Yeah?"

Lance bit his lip. Should he really say this?

No. Yes. This is a better time than any.

"Dandelions are often associated with new beginnings— healing from the past, and looking forward to a better future."  His Altean marks began glowing; he ran his fingers along it, trying to mask his embarrassment. 

"Does that mean you're moving on now? From her?"

"Well. I won't try to deny that I still miss her. I think it will stay like that for a long time; you know how when someone you loved died, the pain always lingers there inside you."

"Mm, I know," Keith said sadly, interlacing his hand with Lance's.

His cheek marks shone brighter. 

"But that doesn't mean I'm gonna sulk for the rest my life. I know Allura would want me to move on and be happy. And you—" Lance brought himself to look at Keith, blue eyes boring into his starry gaze, "You are what make me happy."

"Allura is the past," he continues, "and I'll always treasure her. But you are the future, and there's no one else i want to spend it with. So, I guess what I'm saying is..."

Lance smiled and cupped Keith's cheeks, tracing the scar with his thumb. 

"Would you be my new beginning?"

Lance thinks this is the first time he's ever truly seen Keith cry— no barriers, no facades, just pure joy.

"I was wondering why you started planting my favorite flower," Keith laughs tearfully. 

"It is?" Lance's eyes widened. "Ha! I told you I know you best." 

Lips connected, sparks burst. Birds sang, bees buzzed, flowers dances. But most importantly, the sun shone for a hopeful future for two souls who found each other within the crossfire.

Chapter Text

"Where did you get these?"

Lance is lying on Keith's lap, idly playing with the glove that stuck to his hand. His left hand entwined with Keith's, he'd been using his free hand to lazily trace the stitches etched onto to the black fabric, and he stops when he peels back the edge of the glove. His fingers roam over the scars on Keith's wrist, old but still distinctly visible.

He feels Keith tense beneath him, and he knows where this is going.

"If I tell you, do you promise not to freak out on me?"

"I promise." Lance answers instantly.

Keith holds his breath. "I used to have this habit where... I'd carry a pocketknife with me, anywhere. So whenever i got the urge, I'd..."

He doesn't want to continue, truthfully. But lance holds his shaking hand the entire time, gently rubbing the scars with his thumb to soothe his nerves. He's so good to me, Keith thinks. He deserves to know.

He releases his breath. "I'd drag the knife across my hand, and watch it bleed and color the sink red. It was an addiction I'm ashamed to look back on, so I covered them up."

"That's why you always wear these gloves?" Lance asks, laced with sympathy. Keith bows his head and nods.

Lance turns his head to Keith fully, locking eyes with him; he refuses to let go of his hand. "May I?"

Keith takes a moment to realize what Lance meant, before nodding meekly.

Lance slowly strips Keith's hand of the glove, unravelling a trail of faded scars lining the wrist and the back of his hand, subtle slits along the palm, and if Lance looks close enough, there would be ghosts of cuts on his slim fingers.

His touch brushes Keith's pale knuckles, colored a sore red lance looks up to see a grimace etched on Keith's face, and his brow furrows in concern. "Does it hurt?"

Keith manages a weak smile. "A little. That was only a week ago. It should heal anytime soon."

"Can i ask how you got this bruise?" 

Keith hesitates, eyes flashing away for a moment. "It's stupid."

"No, it's not," Lance gently says. "Nothing about this is stupid."

The half-Galra frowns, his hands balling into fists. "...I do this thing whenever I'm frustrated, or upset, or tired. Only Shiro knows about it; he knows I'm easily irritable so he tries to calm me down so I won't do something stupid." He pauses, gaze fixed on the other side of the room— the part of the wall where there's a noticeable dent.

"It's always been a habit. I don't think about doing it, it just happens." His fingers clench into his palm, nails digging into his skin until it hurts. "I punch the wall as hard as I can, and I do it over and over and over again until I can't feel my hand or Shiro stops me. I try to stop it but," his grip releases along with a sigh, "it always comes back."

Lance nods in understanding, and they bask in silence for a while. Keith grows more nervous as the moment stretches, like he wants to say more but he's holding back. But Lance can hear the wordless thoughts running through his mind like they're his own; he knows, because he's been in his position before, many many times.

Lance sits up, his gaze holding a gravity that surprised Keith.

"I'll show you something, but this might change the way you think about me. Are you willing to take that risk?"

Keith reaches to cup Lance's cheek, smiling softly. "I doubt that, but of course."

Lance swallows his resolve and, closing his eyes, he slips off his favorite jacket.

He hears it thump against the bedsheets, but he doesn't dare to open his eyes again. All he needs is Keith to tell him the truth. 

"Do I look disgusting?"

The stillness breaks when he hears Keith crying. And maybe, just maybe, so does his heart.

I knew it. I'm disgusting.

"No, no!" Keith exclaims- did he say that out loud? "You're not disgusting, I just. I feel like the worst boyfriend ever for not knowing about this sooner. I could've done something."

"Keith, no, you're not a bad boyfriend." Lance blindly reaches out for Keith but ends up falling onto his lap. Keith's arms wrap protectively around him; Lance soothes out the hair on the back of his neck, whispering close to his ear, "You couldn't have known because I never told you or anyone in this castle. only Coran knows because he saw them while he was treating my wounds from battle. I told him not to tell anyone else."

"But why?" keith sobs, "why didn't you tell us?" 

"The same reason you kept yours a secret." Lance tightens his embrace. "But it's all out in the open now. I'm sorry I haven't been entirely honest with you. I promise, no more secrets, not unless you promise so too."

Keith's cries had quieted to just sniffles at this time, "I promise."

Lance swears this is the most vulnerable he's ever seen him, but he only falls deeper in love.

They stay like that, holding each other for... minutes? hours? Neither kept track of time. They were content to listen to the other breathe, count how many beats their heart made, follow the rise and fall of their chests— until they moved in sync, until their minds flowed as one in the murky waters that end with an abrupt fall, the end nowhere to be seen. Traversing them alone was something they both struggled with for years, but now they sat on the same boat with a guiding light that assured them, they will find clear waters soon.

"I think my arms look hideous," Lance murmur against Keith's chest, eyes still closed and unwilling to open.

"That would make my hands hideous too then."

"No, it's different..."

Keith arches a brow. "I don't see how it's different."

Lance takes a shuddering breath. "I don't know- it's just. I hurt so many people when they found out I cut myself, my mamá especially. And Nadia and Silvio, they're way too young to see their tío's scars; I can still see the look on their faces when they found out, they begged me not to do it anymore. If only they knew how hard it was for me." His voice breaks at the end, and Keith rubs Lance's back comfortingly.

"Telling Coran made me realize that... I may not ever bring myself to tell everyone else. I mean, you guys are like my family now. I can't ever hurt my family with my stupid brain. Not again. I don't want you to think that you don't know me at all, I don't want you to see me as someone who can't be fixed. I'm trying so hard but my scars are just a reminder of what I lost in my youth and I get scared that I'm going do something stupid again and-"

"Lance, open your eyes."

Lance paused, suddenly confused why Keith was saying this. "Why should I-"

"Just, open them and listen to what I have to say."

Lance hesitates; he wants to find his jacket and wrap himself with it, but he couldn't do anything with Keith still holding him.

So, he opens his eyes.

With both hands, Keith gently latches onto Lance's arms, ultimately breaking their embrace so he could look at Lance's face clearly. Then, Keith ducks his head and kisses the long, faded scar on his wrist, eliciting a gasp from lance; it looked like it was a deep cut, making its permanent mark on his tan skin.

"You had an ugly past, I get that— that doesn't mean the scars they left are, too."

"Think about it like this," Keith continues. With his naked hand, he draws his fingers along the lines crisscrossing on Lance's skin.

"Each scar has a story. You might have wanted to end it all at one point, but you didn't, did you? So think of these scars the same as your battle scars; the fact that you're still here, still fighting, is a sign that you've won. That's what I admire about them—they are a part of you, but they don't define you." 

Keith swipes a thumb at the tear leaking from the corner of Lance's right eye, and he presses a kiss there too. It only leads to more tears, though not unhappy ones.

"You've been struggling alone for so long. But now you have me, and I'm sure the others would be willing to support you, if you let them. I promise, you won't ever be alone again."

"If I tell them," Lance finally speaks, gazing directly into Keith's eyes, through bleary vision, "Will you tell them about yourself too?"

Keith scoops Lance's pinkie finger with his, locking them momentarily.

"I will. We'll be there for each other," he promises once more.

Lance trusts him.

Chapter Text

One day, Lance finds Keith absolutely wrecked.

His room is a mess, books and dark clothes flung everywhere. Keith is feeling up every crevice and surface of his now naked bed, the pillows and sheets laying dormant on the floor, uncared for. 

"Keith, what the hell are you doing?" Lance approaches the frantic boy, who had his hand down the corner of his bed. "Are you looking for something? Do you need help-"

"I'm fine, Lance," Keith grits out rather angrily, his back turned to his boyfriend.

Lance pouts. "Oh, okay. I'll leave you be then."

He was just about to leave before Keith snaps his head around, grabbing his wrist. "Wait! wait. i'm sorry." 

Keith's hand guides him to sit beside him on the bed. His other free hand swipes back his sweat-matted bangs as he laughs weakly. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, love. I'm a little irritable today 'cause I lost my gloves."

Lance tilts his head to the side. His face spells out confusion for the most part, lips twitching into an amused smile. "That's all you're making a fuss about? Your fingerless gloves that you never take off or even wash?"

"Hey, I wash them!" Keith recoils, offended. "And they're not just a pair of gloves. They belonged to my dad."

Lance's smile drops, and he starts panicking, fearing he'd poked a sore spot he wasn't supposed to touch. "Oh.. I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

Keith pecks his cheek, silencing him immediately. He smiles as an attempt to calm Lance down, but it didn't meet his eyes. "No need to apologize. I never told anyone about it. I don't really like to talk about my dad."

Lance places both his hands over Keith's. "You don't have to. And, don't worry about your gloves. We'll find it soon." He beams, hoping to lift Keith's spirits. It seemed to work, in its tiniest way; Keith heaves a sigh and rests his head on Lance's shoulder, letting Lance play with his fingers.

As he feels every slim finger, one by one, Lance notices how rough Keith's hands are, skin dried and scars blemishing his perfect pale skin, no doubt from battle or training. He could never get Keith to take a break from using the training room, especially when he's upset. Sometimes he'd convince lance to join him or practicing sparring, and Lance just can't resist the pleading glint in his eyes when he tries to decline. It's one of the things about Keith that annoyed him to no end. 

"I really gotta teach you how to do skincare," Lance grumbles. Keith hums, puzzled but amused by how Lance's face contorts in frustration.

"If my ugly hands stress you out that much, you should probably stop looking at them before you get forehead wrinkles," Keith teases. However, Lance was having none of it. Label him the goofball, but skincare is something he takes very seriously.

Abruptly, Lance stands and pulls Keith along by the hand out the bedroom. "Where are we going?" Keith questions.

"To my room. That's where all my skincare supply is."

Keith groans; he really didn't want to have to deal with this. "What happened to finding my gloves?!"

"We'll do it later! The disgusting condition of your hands needs more immediate attention."

A couple hours have passed when Keith finds himself propped on Lance's bed with his nails being delicately painted on by his boyfriend. Lance had planned to take care of just Keith's hands, but he saw the little bumps and wrinkles in Keith's face and couldn't help himself.

It's not like he thought Keith wasn't attractive because he never took as much time to care for his looks as Lance does; it's just that Lance couldn't stand letting his boyfriend roam around looking like he hadn't slept for days. It's his treat to show him the wonders of skincare.

Keith was carefully lotioned and exfoliated from top to bottom. Lance had scolded him several times about his lack of a hygiene routine, mostly due to his irritation and concern seeing the many untreated scars and dead skin all over. How could he ever live comfortably bathing for only 5 minutes using one brand of shampoo, conditioner, and soap like Keith somehow does?

Keith had also questioned lance a lot during the ‘beautification’ process. "What's that for?"  "Is that even necessary?" "Why would I need to put cucumber over my eyes?" He was sure he was annoying Lance, but he seemed to be happy answering all his queries.

This is nice, actually. Well, any time spent with Lance is nice but, Keith felt closer to Lance now that he's enjoying something he likes to do.

"Alight! All done."

Keith's braided hair falls past his shoulder as he moves his head downwards to look at Lance's handiwork. His nails were cleanly painted a very dark red, bordering on black from afar. Faint glitters shine at a certain angle in the light, completing its elegant look. A smile graces his lips— then, a gasp when Lance ducks to give his hand a kiss.

The daredevil gazes up at him, with his stupid gleaming blue eyes and his stupid dimpled cheeks. "You should be used to that by now, Keithy~"

Keith wasn't given time to react before Lance continued peppering kisses all over his hand, trailing up his arm and eliciting laughter from him.

"Lance..! That t-tickles-" He barely gets out as more giggles erupt from his throat when lance reaches his neck, his chin and finally, silencing him on the lips. His eyes flutter shut as Lance places his hands on his cheeks.

One thing Keith noticed about Lance is the way he holds him so tenderly, like he's afraid to touch but yearns for more; he's holding him together, taking care not to break him apart.

Keith is the same. He wants nothing more than to cradle him in his arms and love him gently. He wants to be his blanket and shelter him from cold nights. He wants to be his sword and lifeline, to give his heart in the frontline of a war. Hell, he'd start a war if it meant showing the world his dedication, his want, his need for Lance.

But those are grand gestures, he supposes. All he can do in the meantime is hold his hand.

It's been a few days since Keith lost his gloves. At first, he was on edge and always anxious; he kept clenching his fists together, biting his nails or pulling at his fingers, and it drove him insane. Thankfully, Lance was always there to appease him, holding his hand and not letting go until he calms down. It works every time.

Some time after the loss of his father's keepsake, Lance surprises him before a briefing with the team.

"Guess what, babe? I found your gloves!" Lance holds out the familiar pair of gloves Keith has been mourning over for weeks. They're cleaner than how he last left it and smell like daisies, so he figures lance must've washed them beforehand.

"I found them under a pile of my dirty laundry in my room. I guess you must've forgotten them when you slept over one time?" Lance scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm sorry i didn't notice sooner. They're all brand new for you, though, so I hope that makes it up to you! I know how much you missed wearing them so..."

Lance places the gloves on Keith's hands, gazing at him with a bright grin. "I won't keep you from him any longer."

Keith's heart twists— not in a way that hurts, but in the sense of, God, what did I do to deserve this perfect son of a bitch; I hate how he makes me so happy; he's everything i've ever wanted and more. and,

"I want to keep holding your hand," Keith says, tearing his eyes away from his father's gloves to his future's eyes. His heart beats louder for him, and suddenly all the hurt disappears.

"I think I'll keep the gloves on only for when I need them. But for now, can you keep holding my hand?"

Lance looks at Keith's outstretched hand in shock. Everything melts away when their eyes meet, holding nothing but endearment for one another.

Lance reaches for Keith, and they both hold on.

Chapter Text

"..." The broadsword seeps through his lower chest, staining his black suit with a darker color; one wouldn't tell what it is from afar until the blade is drawn from the hole it made and gushes of red drip onto the rocks.

The blue paladin drops to the ground, one hand clutching his wound, presumably to stop more blood from escaping, but the slightest touch sends sharp pangs of pain throughout his body. Not that it really mattered to him; his heart ached more excruciatingly than his stomach.

"I know... I know I won't last," he croaks, pretty blue eyes never leaving his foe's—his love, his end, his beginning, his sin—whoever he is, the bridge between them is creaky and falling apart. This was the last straw that snapped the rope that tied their opposing lives together. Still, he had to tell him one last time, the words he never had the courage to utter out.

"But you know what else I know?" he smiles widely, dimples dotting his blood-speckled cheeks, teeth gritting through the pain. The alien before him glares at him in confusion and, though he doesn't know why, a deep-seated sorrow.

"I know that I love you, mi alma gemela." The alien bristles in his spot, it's as if a familiar string has been plucked and the chords of his favorite song rang into the cold air. He didn't understand it. "Irog ko, kabiyak, mi querido. I don't know how many times, in how many languages, I have to tell you this over and over again, to make you understand."

The paladin shakily strips himself of his upper armor, leaving his heart bare for the taking; he even puts his hand over there like he's saying, "Here, here's your target, go and take it—take me."

Tears fall from his tired eyes slowly draining of life. "I need you to understand that this, it belongs to you, and only you."

He coughs, a round of blood dribbles from his lips. But the strangest thing is, he refuses to let the spark in his eyes flicker for even a moment as he eyes the alien.

"Nothing in this world could ever make me hate you, even you hating me. Even though you're my death—"

Lance's last words danced with laughter, "You'll always be my ei-laa." (Galra; one's life and love, and reason to live.)

Keith drops his blade and watches in horror as Lance's soul leaves his body to collapse on the rocky ground, the evidence of dreadful crime painting the earth the last traces of Blue's life; he swears he can hear a lion's roar resonate in the wild, like a mother has just lost her cub and was announcing her anguish to the whole world.

Keith's eyes land on his hands—his bloody, purple claws. He realizes his whole skin is covered in purple fur, with darker scars lining his arms.

He gazes once more to his dead beloved lying in front of him. Dead, because of him.

A Galra. A monster.

Keith flails from his bed screaming in horror. Everything is a blur when he suddenly finds his head against a shoulder and the dark room illuminated by a dim lamp.

"Woah, woah, easy there Keith." The half-Galra hears the same voice of the boy who'd died before him seconds ago, and he feels his whole body shudder as tears fall from his eyes.

"Keith, my love," Lance whispers sweet nothings into his hear, letting Keith cry and stain his shirt, and massaging his back in small circles.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

Keith nods against his shoulder, unable to find his voice. Lance presses a kiss to his temple. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Keith was silent for a moment, trying to stabilize his crying and breathing and deciding what to say first.

"I dreamed I killed you, and you died right in front of me."

Keith heaves heavy breaths, and it almost feels like he's about to puke, but Lance's soft caresses on his head calms him down a bit. still, his tears do not cease. Lance is quiet for a long time, so he decides to speak again.

"I was a galra. I was your enemy, and I loved you." Keith gasps, "But I still killed you. I'm a monster."

"It was just a dream," Lance says gently, sweeping off the sweat matting Keith's forehead. "I'm alright, we're alright. You didn't hurt me, you never will."

Keith shakes his head. He still had a hard time coming to terms with his origin. Even he knew what he could be capable of doing, especially to those he kept close to him. "How can you be so sure?"

Lance simply kisses him, brushing his hand on his cheek. Keith melts into his embrace, but his apprehension still stands. "I know you, and I know you'd never hurt anyone without reason. You care so much, not just for me and Shiro and the others, but also to humans and aliens alike, abused and oppressed by your kind.

"Just look at Kolivan; he's a good guy, isn't he? Scary, sure, but a hero. And you are, too. You're proof that not all Galras are out for blood. So stop doubting yourself just because of what others may perceive you as; you know in your heart what kind of person you are. And," Lance gives him a smile so sweet, it makes Keith's heart beat faster in joy, "I'm your ei-laa, and you are mine. I know what kind of person my ei-laa is."

Keith feels all his worries wash away upon looking at Lance's face, his Lance who is safe and sound and right beside him, hugging him close. 

"It'll be alright," Keith murmurs, his lips cracking a smile. "It'll be alright."

"Yes, it will Keith." Lance kisses him once more, pouring all his love and trust into it. "I promise."

Chapter Text

Keith stood before Lance's door, shuffling on his feet, as he glanced between the door and his feet. A part of him wanted to just leave a message, Shiro would do that for him right?

He shook his head— no, he had to do this. This might be the last time he'll ever see him again.

With a resigned sigh, Keith slowly lifted his hand, and knocked on the door.

"Lance? It's me, Keith."

He waited. When no one answered, He repeated the motion and called for the same name. everything remained silent.

He muttered under his breath, "I don't have time for this," and he placed his hand on the keypad. The door slid open to a dark room, the stillness was unsettling and it felt like he was invading a forbidden space.

Finally, his eyes fell on the Cuban boy, sleeping soundly under the covers of his bed. He had one hand draped over his forehead while the other clutched the soft blanket, detailed constellations stitched onto navy blue fabric. Keith found himself smiling at such a little thing, it was just so Lance. The whole room breathed Lance, with glow in the dark stars plastered on the ceiling and blue fairy lights hanging over the bed and a board displaying pictures of the team, his family, sceneries of Earth— especially the beaches. All of it even smelled like Lance, like home.

Keith sighed; he had to focus, there was not much time till he needed to leave.

He knelt down in front of the bed. For a while, he watched Lance sleep. His freckles shone under the light from the hallway, his brows a vibrant hazel. His chest rose and fell with every breath he took. He looked so peaceful.

Keith gazed down on the red jacket hooked around his arm. He owned the jacket for as long as he could remember. It kept him warm through cold nights at the desert and gave him comfort as he cradled it to sleep within his nest.

This would be the last time he'll ever hold it. He made sure to wash it thoroughly and stitched up its rough patches so it looked brand new for its new owner.

He gently draped it over his sleeping beauty, tensing up when lance shifted a little in his sleep. He ended up facing Keith directly, and since he'd leaned over to blanket him their breaths were practically mingling in the space that lied between their lips.

For a full minute, Keith sat frozen in his spot. He knew he had to move away—it was not right do this—but he couldn't pull away from Lance's eyes. His lips... it pulled him in like a magnet.

Just one kiss. Just one touch. Just one-

Keith's fingers brushed along the red paladin's cheek. His touch lingered there for only a moment before he retracted his hand.

I guess i'll be stuck wondering what it's like to kiss and hold you instead.

He stayed for a little longer, staring at Lance's sleepy drooling face for minutes that felt like hours. He felt silly, feeling himself fall deeper in love the longer he looked at him; Lance wasn't the most graceful sleeper but Keith still wanted to steal a kiss— but he couldn't.

As he got up to leave the room, he wanted Lance to wake up and run towards him, grab him, make him stay with him. He wanted Lance to be the one to wipe his tears away, he wanted to feel his warmth one last time, he wanted to let himself melt under his touch.

Instead, Keith chose to hide his sorrow behind his suit's mask. He chose to walk out the door and step out of Lance's life.

The blade in his hands, he chose to don it. He had no right-hand man on his side now; he was a one man soldier, with an army that was taught to fend for themselves.

Whatever happens on his mission, there was no turning back.

Lance awoke to a sweet lavender scent that embraced his senses; to his surprise, it came from the familiar red jacket that hugged him in his sleep.

He picked it up, looking around in a silly hope that the bearer of the jacket was also there with him. He sighed sadly when he found the room empty.

He held the jacket close to his chest and bathed in the memory of violet eyes, pale skin, and a head of an ugly mullet, before he slipped himself in the piece of clothing. Lance smiled as the smell of Keith enveloped him. He put his hands in the pocket and he sunk further in his mattress; this was as close as he could get to being cradled in Keith's arms again, but it was enough for him, for now.

Suddenly he felt something in one of the pockets, a piece of paper folded in four. Curious, he opened the item and saw that it was a letter... addressed to him.

It wasn't special; it was sloppily written, even. It wasn't a wordy letter either, it had a few lines at most. But to lance, reading them felt like his whole world came crumbling down on him. 

Something about leaving his jacket in his care and to keep him in his memory. Something about going on a Blade mission that could threaten his life, but he had to do it for the sake of Voltron and the universe. But only two sentences caught his eye, both written simply and sharply on the paper.

I love you, and goodbye.

His tears stained the words until the mere evidence that they were ever written seeped through the paper.

But he'd remember them. He'd remember every time his heart pangs in pain and images of Keith rushes through his mind.

He'd remember how Keith hurt him, just like this.

Chapter Text

The little Cuban lets his feet dangle above the serene waters, painted in a reflection of light indigos and vibrant oranges and streaks of yellow that emanated from the setting sun. Its comforting warmth envelops the young boy drenched in salt and sand, droplets from his wet brunette curls dotting the wooden dock.

He cradles a guitar to his chest, small for his size, as he sings along to the sloppy but practiced chords that resonate in his bubble — uncaring and free, just like all kids should be. At that moment, it seemed he had all the time in the world.

"Eso es una canción encantadora, Leandro."

The sweet melody comes to a halt, and the boy called Leandro looks up. The older sister is met with a shy, dimpled smile, his freckled cheeks glowing red. "Gracias, Rica. I've been practicing. And, you know you can just call me Lance."

Veronica sits beside her brother, the corner of her lips quirking up. "Why not Leandro? It's a pretty name. Lance sounds so boring."

Leandro, or Lance so he prefers, rolls his eyes and elbows Veronica, earning a chuckle from her. "All my friends calls me Lance since it's shorter. Besides, I think it's pretty cool how they call me by an awesome weapon."

"I dunno, lances are kinda lame."

Lance scowls at Veronica and elbows her harder. "Hey!"

"Fine, fine! If you insist," she ruffles his hair smugly, "Lance."

They soon fall into a comfortable silence as they watch the tides rise, and the ebb and flow of waves come in hypnotic motions. Lance's song carries with the sea and the breeze.

Veronica gasps and points below them. "Look!"

Blue eyes sparkle with delight at the sight of fish swimming beneath his toes. He toothily grins at Veronica. "The fishies like my song!"

She brings her hand over his forehead, sweeping a few stray bangs behind. She feels her heart melt; she won't seeing that face for very long. "Yeah. They sure do, Lance. Keep playing"

So, he does. Joyfully, he serenades his little friends. And proudly, Veronica watches him. It isn't long before the last of the sun's rays are drowned by the murky blue.

Lance always loved the beach at night.

The hot, powdery white sand in day cooled his feet at night. The winds blew stronger and sent chills down his spine. He'll never forget the way the deep sea mirrors the black sky— the gods must have done him a favor tonight, clearing earth's dark floating canvas of any clouds so that Lance could see the moon and stars.

The stars are his favorite especially here, in Varadero beach he could almost embrace the outer space he deemed his second home. He had plenty memories where his family would pay trips to this spot and he would beg them to stay until a little past dusk, so he could see the shining lights from a distance above.

His passion for astronomy was first rooted here, in his spot, on the dock. This is where he decided, he wanted to reach for the stars.

He is brought back to a few days ago, when he received a mail from Galaxy Garrison. The young boy was vibrating in his seat as his mamá and papá came to his side, hands on his shoulder.

His brother Marco clung to Lance's twin sister, Rachel, both also shaking in anticipation. His eldest brother Luis, carrying his son in his arms, was by his pregnant wife, Lisa; he looked rather calm, sure that his baby brother will indeed get what he wants.

Veronica held his trembling hand the entire time, rubbing her thumb on his palm in soothing circles. Throughout his endeavours to be accepted into his dream school, she had helped him the most. She helped him study for his entrance exam, she stayed up late to watch the stars with him, she somehow convinced their parents to buy him a telescope for his birthday. Most of all, she believed in him when he doubted himself.

When he opened the envelope, he only got past the words, "It is our greatest pleasure to inform you, Leandro Charles McClain, that your admission for Galaxy Garrison has been accepted," before the room was filled with tears and cheer and hugs.

For the past week, he spent all his spare time with his family. They visited all his favorite places in Varadero — the streets he and his siblings used to play tag in, the parks they went to picnics on, the neighboring houses they used to 'ding-dong-ditch'.

Lance had requested they see Varadero beach one last time. He wanted it to be the day before they see him off.

That is today. And it's the happiest he's ever been.

He couldn't ignore his sorrow upon leaving the only home he ever had; everything and everyone he knew has always lived right there in their welcome town. Saying goodbye to them is hard.

But he is an adventurer — reckless and curious. If it meant leaving his bubble, he promised to venture the entire galaxy and return as someone his family and hometown would be proud of.

Chapter Text

Lance stares at his reflection in a cup of nunvil. The very strange, disgusting purple juice that nearly poisoned him earlier. “I guess we should get used to this space juice. Who knows when we’ll get back home again?”

"Yeah, if ever."

He looks up at Hunk, who’s sloshing the nunvil around in his cup. His brows scrunch up; he has an idea of what Hunk might be getting at, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to think about it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if this Zarkon guy’s been ruling for 10,000 years, how long do you think it’ll take for us to fix it?” Hunk eyes a bowl of purple jelly-like food on a floating tray and snatches it. “You know, if we live.”

Lance visibly deflates.

He’s been so excited about everything that could only be described as something that he thought could only happen in an anime show — piloting Blue, transforming into a giant robot that protects all species from this big evil monster, being a defender of the universe…

He hasn’t exactly thought ahead of that, of the risks of being so far away from his home planet, or the responsibility of being a paladin of Voltron. “Right… That.”

Hunk smirks thoughtfully — well, hungrily is more accurate. “Hey, what do you think are the odds of us landing on a nacho planet?” 

A smile creeps onto Lance’s face as he thinks back on Earth. “Well, there’s only one planet with Varadero beach, pizza shacks looking over the water, and the garlic knots and…” God, he misses Earth. “... my mom’s hugs.”

Fuck, maybe he misses Earth too much, ‘cause he’s getting all sniffly and his eyes are stinging a bit and—

He hangs his head low, avoiding Hunk’s gaze. “I‘m sorry— I think this nunvil’s getting to me. I gotta go.”

Lance walks past Hunk, biting back the bile rising in his throat, and the moisture building in the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t think about where he’s going as he ascends the castle’s steps. He just wants to get away from the party. And maybe get away from it all, from this.

Soon, he finds himself in the castle bridge. He sits on the control panel’s platform, propping his head on his knuckles, as he leans his elbow on one knee. 

A sigh echoes in the room.

Lance didn’t sign up for, possibly, a lifetime in space fighting an intergalactic space tyrant in a giant space robot. Granted, he was the one who brought himself, and the rest of the gang, up here with Blue in the first place — but if he was told this is what they were being led to do, he would not believe a single word. Funny how fate has a way of playing with them.

It’s always been his dream to visit space. He remembers late nights on the roof of his house in the fields, him splayed out with his head on his hands as he gazed at the dark starry sky, spotting constellations and letting his mind wander, filled to the brim with imaginations on what could possibly be out there. He wanted to explore it — so, he studied, he obsessed over it. He had shelves full of astronomy books in his bedroom, posters of his hero Takashi and his dream school Galaxy Garrison painting the walls, glow in the dark stars posted on every space and corner of the ceiling.

When the mail arrived announcing his acceptance into Galaxy Garrison, he was thrilled. This was his time to shine, to prove to himself and to everyone that his efforts will be worth it, that this will get him out there, to his second home.

He remembers how tough the first few weeks were for him, though. He was so homesick that he couldn’t function properly in class. The instructors were so sick of him crying and complaining all the time, they brushed him off, told him to “suck it up.” Then, he met Hunk, a hungry, anxious guy who always puked in ship simulators. He was the driving force that got him back in the game. He reminded himself that even away from Cuba, there would always be a home away from home. 

Then, he became a cargo pilot. It wasn’t his initial goal, but he figured if he could be better enough he could make it into fighter class.

Then, Keith dropped out, and he was promoted to fighter class because he was the first in the waitlist. He missed the competition, though he’d never admit that out loud, so he rolled his eyes, reveled in his luck, and moved forward.

Then, one year later, he met Blue. He was hauled into space, lightyears away from Earth. He was given no choice but to accept his new role as the blue paladin of Voltron, the legendary defender of the universe. He fought fleets of Galra jets, and a Robeast, and he has a cool sniper rifle for a bayard! And most of all, he's in space, his second home.

But now, he’s feeling like he did on his first day in Galaxy Garrison. He misses home. He misses his family farm, the sandy beaches of Cuba, the bright blue sky and the smell of the ocean. He misses feeling the sun on his skin and the rain on his face. He misses flowers and fields of grass and TV and karaoke and knowing if what he’s about to eat or drink is safe for his fragile human body. He misses Veronica, Marco, Rachel, his mom and dad, Nadia and Silvio.

He misses Earth, and he knows that the others do too. He couldn’t help but blame himself for dragging them out here, away from their families, where the rain don’t pour and the sun don’t shine — Earth’s rain and sun, anyway. It’s eating him up on the inside. A part of him wishes he could go back home and start over.

“Mind if I join you?”

Lance doesn’t move from his place when he hears the voice, only stirs his head up to meet Coran’s eyes. He asks before thinking about it, “How far from Earth do you think we are, Coran?”

Coran shrugs. “Let’s take a look.”

He activates a hologram of the universe. A map of constellations, planets, and moons fill the room. “Earth is over here,” Coran points to a small dot in the hologram that Lance could barely make out from where he’s sitting.

"And we’re aaaaaaaall the waaay—”

A younger Lance would be vibrating in his spot in excitement as he watches the vast expanse of the universe move around him. Now, terror sinks into his stomach at the thought of being millions, billions, trillions of lightyears away from Earth.

“—oveeeeeer…”

“Do you ever notice how far away the planets are from each other, Coran?”

“Yes! Haven’t you been paying attention?” Coran is still sifting through the hologram when Lance gets up beside him.

“Yeah, but I mean like. They’re really, really far away. Like, say Earth? It’s so far, I can’t even see it.” He pauses, a solemn look on his face. Like somewhere in his mindscape, he’s watching a movie of his life before he subjected himself to training for space.

“The blue oceans, the white clouds, green grass… I can’t see any of it.”

“You miss Earth.” It’s not a question. Coran looks at Lance in sympathy, he understands where he’s coming from. “I understand. I miss Altea.”

“I know we’re supposed to be brave paladins and defenders of the universe or whatever, but honestly? I just wanna go home.” He’s wanted to visit space, but he’s never wanted to leave home forever.

But now, there’s only a sliver of a chance that he’s ever gonna return to his family alive.

“If I could go home, I would,” Coran says. Lance understands.

“I miss rain, and splashing in puddles.”

“Rain?”

“Yeah, it’s… water that falls from the sky.”

“Oh, we had that on Altea! Only it wasn’t water, more like rocks — razor sharp and boiling hot. They could knock a hole right on your head!”

Lance internally winces at the image of hot sharp rocks boring a hole on his head — if that’s a natural occurrence in Altea, he’s surprised Coran and Allura have made it out alive. But also, he smiles fondly. It’s nice to know he’s not alone in his struggles. “Sounds fun.” Coran smiles back, and that's all he needs. “Yeah…”

Chapter Text

Coran stares in apprehension at the unconscious Cuban boy — Number Three, he calls him — resting soundly in the cryopod. A chilling sort of tranquility washed over his features, broad shoulders relaxed and chest heaving even breaths, as the pod did its wonders in stabilizing his internal system.

The explosion did quite a number on Lance, and Coran was unsure how human bodies would react to the effects of an Altean pod. However, he believed that Lance is stronger than the average human; he's no Shiro, but he has the build of a soldier, and he did what any soldier would do. He jumped before danger to protect him.

A reckless soldier, alright. But an admirable deed he did.

Coran couldn't help but feel guilty; if only he hadn't been so naive, he wouldn't have put Lance in this state. But, it wouldn't do any good to dwell on it, as his Pop Pop always told him. Lance's life depended on him now. He owed him one.

"How long does he have to stay in there?" Keith asks. The team had huddled up in front of the healing pod to help haul Lance in, and for a while they all stood there anxious for him to be discharged quickly.

Coran presses a hand on the pod's translucent barrier. Various symbols in Altean light up before him as he mulls over the numbers. "About one quintant if there aren't any complications in the healing process," he answers. 

"Medical readings indicate that he suffered through second degree burns and temporary sensory impairment. He wouldn't be able to walk without support when he gets out of the pod."

For a moment, Coran pauses as a lamenting look glazes over his eyes. "As for the back scar, his exposed skin will be sensitive to any form of contact and he'd need help to apply ointment on it for a couple of days. Then, he'll be as good as new. However, I'm afraid it will leave a permanent mark."

An unsettling silence blankets the room, worry evident in everyone's faces.

"He'll be okay," Shiro then says, with unwavering sureness. "He's a fighter. I know he'll pull through."

Allura walks up to Coran and sets her hand on his shoulder. Unspoken words are exchanged between them when she smiles at him.

‘Don't blame yourself, Coran. Lance wouldn't.’

Coran softens. ‘I know, Princess.’

When Lance does get released from the cryopod, his stomach growls from his sudden withdrawal of food intake. His mind is still hazy after his one day coma, his body sore from being frozen in an enclosed space. Hunk helped him settle down in the dining room with a bowl of space goo ready for him.

He still wasn't used to the strange green substance, but it's not like he had a choice on what to eat here. Besides, after not eating for a day anything tasted good to him right now.

"You'd be Sendak's prisoner right now if it weren't for Pidge."

"Well, you wouldn't have survived the explosion if Hunk and Coran hadn't gotten a new crystal."

A shudder went through him at the thought of dying. Out here, in space. Where he's lightyears away from his family. Would they even be able to return to Earth to deliver the news of his death if that would ever be the case?

Lance suddenly felt like going back to sleep. He didn't want to deal with these thoughts while still recovering from the blow he took. Not to mention, his back felt weird whenever he leaned against the chair's backrest.

He swallows down the bile in his throat and bears a grin for the team. "Wow, thanks everybody. It sounds like the mice did more than you though."

Lance smirks as Keith scoffs incredulously at him. It was always fun for him to annoy the guy. "I punched Sendak!"

"Yeah, apparently after I emerged from a coma and shot his arm off."

"We had a bonding moment. I cradled you in my arms!"

"Nnnope! Don't remember, didn't happen." He did remember, unfortunately. Though, he's never going to admit it— admit that he said that. Ick.

Allura explained that they'd captured Sendak and he'll be frozen in a cryopod until they needed his memories for intel. However, there's a new problem that they needed to attend to. When Hunk and Coran had gone to retrieve crystals for the castle, which is apparently a ship, they discovered that the Balmera is being reigned by the Galra and is slowly dying as they speak, its inhabitants going down with it. They had to rescue them.

Lance stifles a sigh. He's more than happy to help, but he doesn't know how much use he'll be being as weak as he is. It's a miracle that he even survived the explosion.

But it's not his place to complain. This isn't a Garrison simulator anymore, they're at war, and people need Voltron— they need him. He needs to man up.

He begins to stand up, but his attempt is feeble and his knees fail him. Coran catches him before any accidents happen.

"Allura will start our course to the Balmera. In the meantime, it's best for our to blue paladin to rest up. Voltron will be powerless if even one paladin has no energy to defend oneself."

Lance's lip quivers. He's holding them back.

He doesn't deserve the good wishes, the pats on the back— he winces at the contact, so stupid. Hunk retracts his hand and instead pulls him into a gentle side hug— not a bear hug, like Lance is used to, like he's afraid he'll be in more pain if he does more than that. Lance can't have that, he can't have everyone treating him like a child.

He bears and grins.

Chapter Text

I am Lance McClain. I have lived in this universe for 18 years.

I have experienced joy and sadness, and love and heartbreak. I have met the best and the worst people, all who've melded me into the person I am now.

I have thought of death and how it entices me. Every second I'm away from earth, it beckons me closer to darkness. It promised me peace.

A warrior is always expected to die one day. Where there's war, there's bloodshed, and inevitable death. It's not a surprising concept.

So why is Keith so angry?

"You fucking idiot." His whole body is trembling against mine as he holds me tightly in his arms. His bangs obscured most of his face but I could make out choked sobs that came with thoughtless curses.

"Why did you do that, you dumbass." What do you mean why, Keith? Anyone would take a bullet for their friend.

"Please hang in there." I don't know if I can. I can feel the blood rushing out of me, draining me of color and of life.

"Please don't leave me alone."

I once thought of the sea as my home. Beautiful, deep blues colliding with sparkling yellow sands—that was my picture of a perfect haven.

Now, a sickening scarlet taints this divine oasis. My home and haven becomes my grave.

It hurts.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Why can't I just die?

I don't want to see you cry above me and hear you beg for me to stop bleeding. I would blame myself forever for hurting you like this.

But I want you to know that I did it all for you.

It's not your fault; it's mine.

"I love you."

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. And, I'm sorry.

The last thing I feel is your lips on mine.