Chapter Text
The day unfolded then with the team tiptoeing around Lance, each determined to give him maximum independence. They watched—but not obviously. Offered help—but only when asked. Hovered—but at a careful distance.
Lance initially appreciated the freedom. He wandered the castle, testing his limits, enjoying the simple pleasure of moving without magical compulsion. He raided the kitchen, played a few rounds of video games with Pidge, even started reorganizing his room—something he'd been meaning to do for months.
But as hours passed, he began to notice something strange.
Keith was avoiding him.
Not just casually. Actively. Strategically.
Every time Lance entered a room, Keith found an immediate excuse to leave. A sudden mission report to check. A training simulation to review. A loose wire that absolutely needed immediate attention. Once, Keith literally dropped a datapad and scrambled to pick it up, refusing to make eye contact.
The first time, Lance brushed it off. The second time, he felt a twinge in his chest. By the third, a genuine hurt settled in—a deep, aching disappointment.
I mean, sure. Lance understood. After being magically glued to Keith's hip for weeks, why would Keith want to be around him? But something felt different. Something had changed between them during the ritual. Those moments felt... real.
In quiet moments, Lance found his mind drifting back to fragments of memory. Glimpses of Keith's desperate confessions. The raw emotion. The love that seemed to transcend the magical binding.
What Lance didn't know was the storm brewing in Keith's mind.
Keith was torturing himself with guilt and worry. Every time he saw Lance, his mind replayed their intimate moments. The kisses. The desperate touches. The vulnerable confessions. Lance must feel violated. Uncomfortable. Betrayed.
Keith was giving Lance space, protecting him. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
But something else lingered.
The binding was gone. They no longer felt that burning sensation when separated. Yet something ached. A connection that felt deeper than magic. More fundamental.
Was this something more than just the binding?
Keith didn't know. And that terrified him.
As evening approached, the tension became almost unbearable. Lance's hurt grew. Keith's anxiety mounted. And between them, unspoken, lay a connection neither understood.
___________________________________________
When night fell, the castle settled into a quiet hum of nighttime systems.
Lance found himself walking unconsciously towards Keith's door—a muscle memory from weeks of magical compulsion. The hallway was dim, soft emergency lighting casting long shadows. When they nearly collided, the awkwardness was immediate and suffocating.
Night clothes slightly rumpled, hair messy from restless tossing, they stood face to face. The proximity that had been mandatory for weeks now felt charged with uncertainty.
"Well, I guess it's nice you get to uh, sleep in your own bed now without feeling like you're burning alive," Keith said, his words awkward and stilted.
Lance gave a small, hollow laugh. "Hah, yeah. I guess that's a good lesson on never taking anything for granted, huh?"
"Goodnight, Lance."
"Goodnight, Keith."
They both retreated to their own rooms in awkward silence.
But sleep was impossible.
Hours crawled by. The mandatory proximity that had kept Lance alive now felt like a ghost—a warmth they'd grown desperately accustomed to, now suddenly missing.
Lance stirred, restless. The silence of his room was deafening.
"Screw it," he muttered. Getting up from his bed and walking out of his room.
He found himself outside Keith's door, a nervous energy crackling around him.
As he stood outside Keith's door, hand raised mid-knock, doubt suddenly flooding his mind. His cheeks burned with embarrassment at his own impulse.
"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered, fingers trembling slightly.
Just as he was about to retreat, the door swooshed open. Keith emerged, caught mid-step, eyes widening in surprise.
Their bodies froze. Lance's hand still suspended in the air. Keith's body half-turned, caught between leaving and staying.
Their cheeks simultaneously flushed—a wave of heat betraying their internal chaos.
"Hi!" Lance blurted, voice cracking.
"Uhh, hi," Keith responded, equally flustered.
An awkward silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension.
Keith's eyes darted everywhere except directly at Lance. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt—a nervous tell Lance knew all too well.
"What were you uh doing?" Lance asked, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly.
Keith's gaze dropped to the floor, cheeks burning even brighter. "I just uh wanted to check if you were feeling better. What about you?"
"I was actually going to see you," Lance admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Another beat of excruciating silence.
"Listen," Lance broke the awkwardness, his voice a mixture of vulnerability and desperation, "I know it was sort of a mandatory sleepover every night, but I don't know. It's kind of hard to sleep right now. The room feels too empty."
Keith nodded, understanding etched across his face. "Yeah, I know exactly how you feel."
Then Lance's tentative question, spoken with a tremor of uncertainty. "I was wondering if maybe I could sleep here?"
Keith froze, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Memories of the binding. Fears of making Lance uncomfortable. The intimate moments they'd shared.
His hesitation spoke volumes.
Lance, misinterpreting the pause, immediately started backtracking. His body language screamed panic—shoulders hunching, eyes avoiding Keith's, words tumbling out in a rushed, embarrassed jumble.
"Oops, sorry. Never mind. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I invaded your bed for a month already. Of course you'd want me out of there. Forget I asked anything—"
He started to turn away, rejection already settling into his shoulders.
Keith's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. A gesture both desperate and gentle.
"No, wait," he said, his voice softer than Lance expected.
Their eyes met. A world of unspoken emotions passed between them.
" I didn't mean that as a no," Keith rushed to explain, cheeks flaming. "I just wasn't expecting that. I figured YOU wanted to sleep in your own bed to feel a bit more normal."
Lance scoffed, a familiar spark of his old self emerging. "Pfft. I don't even know what 'normal' is anymore."
Keith's lips twitched—almost a smile. "Yeah, same." A pause that felt like an eternity. "Uh, no. I'd actually wouldn't mind if you wanted to sleep here. I kinda feel the same way."
A smile spread across Lance's face, bright and genuine. "Okay, I'm coming in!"
He hopped into the bed, the movement both familiar and strange.
Keith hesitantly came and lied down next to him.
And then they were lying there. Close, yet not touching. The awkwardness hung between them like a tangible thing.
"This is weird, isn't it?" Lance broke the silence.
"Yup," Keith responded.
The night stretched before them—a canvas of unspoken memories, lingering touches, and the delicate promise of something new.
The bed felt simultaneously familiar and foreign. Soft cotton sheets that had witnessed weeks of magical binding now seemed to hold their own memories. Lance shifted, the soft movement creating a whisper of tension—a delicate sound that seemed to vibrate with unspoken emotions.
"So," he said, breaking the silence with an observation that had been burning in his mind all day, "you've been avoiding me." His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed a vulnerability, a hint of hurt that he was trying to mask.
Silence stretched between them. Thick. Uncomfortable. The kind of silence that feels heavy with unspoken words.
Keith broke the awkward stillness. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice laden with hurt and guilt. The words came out soft, trembling—each syllable a testament to his inner turmoil.
Lance looked up, confusion etching his features. Eyebrows slightly furrowed, a mix of concern and curiosity dancing in his eyes. "What? Why are you sorry?"
Keith's words tumbled out, a cascade of emotion that seemed to pour from some deep, hidden place. "You must feel so uncomfortable with me right now, so violated. I don't even know how you can stand being around me." His hands twisted in the blanket, fingers creating tiny wrinkles that mirrored the tension in his body.
"I mean, you just spent the past month magically glued to my hip, dedicated to my every will and need. That must have felt horrible." His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding through.
His shoulders hunched, as if physically bearing the weight of guilt. "You have a right to hate me, to not even look at me. I'm so sorry—"
Keith was cut off by a kiss.
His eyes went wide, shock rendering him momentarily paralyzed. The kiss was soft, deliberate—a gentle interruption that spoke volumes.
Lance pulled back, meeting Keith's surprised look. A laugh bubbled up—light, genuine. The sound was like breaking dawn, chasing away the shadows of their recent nightmare.
"I pinky promise that kiss was not the binding just trying to make you feel better," he said, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.
He fell back on the bed with a sigh. Keith remained upright frozen, quiet—a statue of confusion.
Then sudden realization hit. Keith sat up frantically, body coiled with nervous energy. "YOU REMEMBER THE KISSES?!"
Lance laughed, the sound filling the room with a warmth that had been missing for weeks. "Yup, I do. Preeetty vividly, actually."
Keith dropped his face into his hands, fingers splaying across his burning cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Lance—" The words were muffled, desperate.
"Ah, ah. No apologizing, mullet," Lance interrupted, fondness threading through his voice.
Keith kept his hands pressed against his face, hiding—a physical manifestation of his embarrassment. Lance watched him, a mixture of fondness and exasperation crossing his features. The look was soft, understanding—miles away from the magically compelled gaze of recent weeks. Lance sat up inching closer to keith.
"Keith, look at me," he said softly, a gentle command that held none of the magical binding's force.
Slowly, Keith's hands lowered. Each movement was cautious, like he was afraid Lance might disappear.
"Those kisses," Lance said, "it wasn't all just that stupid binding."
"What?" Keith's shock was evident, confusion written in every line of his face.
Lance continued, his voice gaining confidence. Each word was a piece of himself he was choosing to share, not a magically forced confession. "I mean, yeah, some of it was the binding. Obviously, under its effects, I would never have actually had the balls to do certain things."
He took a breath, fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on the blanket. "But the urge to comfort you? I was aware at points. The first kiss especially—it wasn't just the binding trying to comfort you. It was me. Still in there. Trying to give you the only source of comfort I could at the time since I really couldn't reach out with words."
The confession hung between them. Vulnerable. Raw. Real.
The night wrapped around them, full of unspoken truths and the delicate beginnings of something new.
Keith remained frozen, a trembling unsureness radiating from every muscle. His fingers twisted nervously in the blanket, creating tiny wrinkles that matched the tension in his body. He stammered out, "So... what does this mean?" The words came out soft, hesitant—each syllable weighted with uncertainty.
Lance's warm, cocky smile spread across his face, a familiar spark returning to his eyes. The smile wasn't just in his mouth, but in the way his whole face softened, the tension from weeks of magical binding melting away. "I don't know. You tell me." A playful challenge danced in his eyes, one eyebrow slightly raised—classic Lance.
"Hey, what happened to that same openness when you were confessing your love for me during the ritual?"
Keith turned crimson—not just his cheeks, but his entire face and neck flushed a deep, burning red. His jaw dropped open, shock and embarrassment written in every line of his body.
"YOU REMEMBER THAT TOO?! Oh god," he groaned, dropping his burning face into his hands. His fingers splayed across his face, trying to hide, to disappear.
When he peeked out from between his fingers, the vulnerability was raw. Lance was staring at him—not with resentment or disgust, but with a fond, warm look that seemed to melt away every wall Keith had ever built.
"Keithhhh," Lance said playfully, rolling his eyes. The sound was soft, affectionate. "Look at me."
Keith slowly lowered his hands, each movement cautious, like he was afraid Lance might vanish.
"Listen," he started, words tumbling out in a nervous rush, "I know this might be incredibly awkward for you right now. You should not feel obligated to do anything or say anything back, I just—"
The kiss cut him off.
This wasn't like the kisses during the binding—those had been desperate, magical, tinged with compulsion. This kiss was soft. Deliberate. A choice.
Lance's hand came up, fingers gently touching Keith's cheek. The kiss was slow, tender—a promise and a revelation wrapped into one moment. When he pulled back, there was a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Geez, were you always this dense?"
Then, more softly, he looked directly into Keith's eyes. The look was intimate, sensitive. "I love you too."
Keith was knocked silent. Absolutely speechless. His eyes wide, body still, as if afraid movement might break the moment.
Lance laughed, breaking the intensity. "Come on, I'm exhausted. You must be too, staying by my side all night. Let's just go to bed."
As they settled down, Lance curled into Keith's side, the movement deliberate but soft. "Is this okay?" he asked, a hint of old uncertainty bleeding through.
"Of course," Keith replied warmly, his arm instinctively wrapping around Lance.
They nestled together, bodies intertwining naturally. But this embrace was different from the past weeks. Those had felt cold, mechanical—like a soldier ready to obey, bound by magic and compulsion. This felt true. Warm. Right.
Lance draped over Keith, their breathing synchronizing—a rhythm uniquely their own. The magical binding was gone, but something deeper remained—a connection that no spell could create or destroy.
The night folded around them, soft and protective, holding the promise of something real.