Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Honey, I belong with you, and only you, baby.

I.

Lance knew he was a lot to deal with—loud, obnoxious, impulsive, overly flirty, a pain in the ass. He’d heard it all before, more times than he could count. At this point, he was too used to it to take offense; honestly, he leaned into it.

He also knew that kind of behavior wouldn’t get him very far.

Still, sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe... it did.

-

“Holy shit.” 

Lance gawked along with the others, deeply disturbed at what exactly they were looking at. Keith walked into the common lounge, his shoulders slumped and eyes lacking sleep. 

But no one necessarily noticed that; instead, all their eyes were on the untamed, beyond a mess of hair. His curls were sticking out in five different directions, as if they were trying to escape his scalp somehow. The dang thing looked like it had fought a herd of Galras itself.

“Did you do combat training with your hair or what?” Pidge joked, but with a hint of genuine concern lingering in her words.

Keith all but grunted, “Shut up.”

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge cautiously moved towards Keith, curious to see how it would look up close, but didn’t wanna enter the vicinity of Keith, in fear of getting caught in his hair. 

“It looks like there’s an alien in there…” Hunk murmured,

“Nah dude, his hair is the alien.” Lance snickered,

“I think it just blinked at me,” Pidge added, 

Keith scowled, embarrassed at the amount of attention his hair was receiving, “I said shut up!” He snapped, flailing his arms around to shoo them off.

“Alright, enough,” Shiro said sternly, walking his way towards the four with his arms crossed, his eyebrows furrowed. The three collectively straightened up, falling into obedient silence, not wanting to get into further trouble. 

“Keith, what’s going on?” Shiro sighed,

“It just got like this, okay?” Keith defended, “Training… got intense. I didn’t have time to fix my hair.” 

Huh?

Everyone stood in silence, staring at Keith, collectively judging and wondering how it even got to that point. Just how much training did you do to accomplish that horrific hairstyle? 

The longer the silence lingered, the more pink Keith became, blush tinting his pale cheeks.

“Okay! I get it!” Keith burst, frustrated at how much of a big deal everyone was making out of his hair. “I don’t get why you all have to comment on it, it’s fine. ” He grumbled. Lance raised a brow, Clearly, this guy needs to get checked, physically and mentally .

“It is quite alright, number four!” Coran beamed next to Allura, already in motion, “I have just the thing! All I need to do is fetch a traditional Altean brush and gel—“ 

Keith stiffened. “I’m good.” He replied flatly, inching away from him just ever so slightly.

Shiro groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Keith…”

Keith crossed his arms. “What? It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Keith, uh…no offense or anything!” Hunk stammered, “But if you don’t do anything about your hair, I’m scared that even the Altean gel Coran offered wouldn’t even work.” Hunk offered, trying to reach a hand towards Keith’s hair to inspect it.

All of a sudden, Keith jerked back dramatically, avoiding Hunk’s hand like the plague.

Lance frowned. It’s just Hunk, it’s also just a hand , and Keith moved like it was a live grenade… 

“What’s up with him?” Pidge murmured

Shiro let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair like he’d aged five years in five seconds. “Keith…doesn’t really like people touching his hair.”

“Well, no kidding, he acted like Hunk’s hand was scorching lava,” Lance remarked.

“Back at the Garrison, I tried to fix his hair once—just once,” Shiro said, with a small, knowing smile. “He ducked like I was throwing a punch.”

“Oh dear…” Allura spoke quietly, still staring at Keith’s nest of hair. “If it’s any help, I happen to know how to handle hair like this—“ Allura reached over to Keith, mimicking what Hunk had done earlier.

Unsurprisingly, Keith dodged again—unnecessarily but undeniably impressive— with quick and sharp reflexes.

Allura blinked, her hand hanging awkwardly in the air, fingers still outstretched. 

Lance let out a dramatic groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable, it’s like trying to pet a wild animal.”

Pidge nearly dropped her tablet from laughing hysterically. Hunk was reassuring Allura, who looked genuinely wounded and guilty, by rubbing her back while she looked at her hand in disbelief. Shiro just sighed—again for the thousandth time— and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like, “I guess he didn’t get any better than back in the garrison days…”

Keith crossed his arms, eyes narrowed, bracing himself for any more incoming hands reaching out for his hair. “I just don’t see the point,” he said, his tone mildly exasperated. “It’s hair , it’s not like it’s hurting anyone. It does what it needs to do. I wash it, it dries, end of story. I don’t need fancy brushes or gels or—whatever everyone keeps trying to throw at me.” 

Pidge resumes back to her tablet, “‘Throw at you’ is generous. We’re not actively attacking you with combs, Keith.” She snorted, her eyes once again glued onto her screen.

“I—“ Keith groaned, letting his hands drop down to his sides dramatically, struggling to make his point. “Whatever!” He blurted, “I’m just saying, can everyone get off my back? Why is everyone so obsessed with fixing it? It doesn’t matter—“

Suddenly, Lance, who had been silently observing how to fix it, reached out and combed his fingers through his hair.  

Keith froze.

The room went still.

Awkwardly still.

Pidge paused mid-scroll. Hunk didn’t even blink. Shiro looked halfway between proud and horrified. Allura tilted her head, quietly fascinated. Even Coran stood still, watching intently at the event in front of him.

No one dared to move. No one except—

“Okay, so,” Lance said, stepping forward casually, completely unaware of everyone’s stillness. “First of all, it’s not that bad, it just needs a little product. For example, conditioning is definitely needed.” He said, continuing to fumble with strands of Keith’s hair.

Everyone stared, collectively holding their breath.

Keith just blinked, but he didn’t move.  

No flinch, no tactical retreat, just simply stood there.

In fact, he leaned into it. 

“He’s letting it happen…” Pidge whispered, eyes wide, turning towards Hunk. 

“He’s letting it happen. ” Hunk repeated with the same hushed tone, equally if not more stunned.

Shiro blinked slowly, processing. “…Well, that’s a first.”

Meanwhile, Lance just kept going, completely oblivious to the shocked audience around him.

“To be completely honest, it just needs to be brushed. Hey Keith, do you mind if I styled it?” Lance asked, grinning like he had solved a puzzle piece set.

Keith turned his head towards Lance, snapping out of his relaxed daze. “Oh, sure.” He said casually, as if he wasn’t avoiding earlier offering hands like obstacle courses just then. “If it really needs to be fixed that bad.” He mumbled, averting his eyes shyly.

“I guess that settles it,” Allura stated, trying to avoid any more awkward silence within the room. “The hair crisis has been resolved, Lance is in charge of fixing Keith’s hair!” She clapped her hands together, grinning. With that, all the attention on Keith’s hair nest dissolved, and everyone left to resume their previous business.

One by one, the others left, the tension lifting as Allura ushered them to go back to their respective duties. As Lance watched them go, Shiro lingered just a moment longer by the door. He cast a glance back at Lance— it wasn’t stern this time, but something softer. A flicker of thanks, like he appreciated Lance for doing the impossible. For handling Keith.

Lance nodded, and soon after that, it was just Keith and Lance left behind.

And whatever was sitting on Keith’s head.

Lance glanced at the couch, then at Keith, who hadn’t moved much except to fold his arms again and pretend like none of that just happened. He looked at Lance, waiting for instructions.

Lance cleared his throat. “Sooo…” he started, gesturing awkwardly with the brush Allura had insisted on leaving behind. “Couch?”

Keith shrugged. “Sure.”

–

Keith was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, arms crossed, closing his eyes to allow whatever Lance had to do. His hair– wild, knotted, vaguely confusing to follow– was catching the light in a way that made it look even worse than usual. Lance, lounging on the couch above him, stared down with increasing offense.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” Lance said, legs sprawled out, one knee bumping lightly onto Keith’s shoulder. “Sit still!”

Keith glanced back. “What? But I’m not even doing anything.”

Lance scoffed, “No, not you, your hair!”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that bad!” Keith huffed, turning around to glare at Lance, only for Lance to use two fingers to nudge Keith’s head forward. “Well, both of you hold still,” Lance muttered, resuming to comb his tangles. Keith let out a low, exasperated sigh as he gave up, “Fine.”

After some moments passed, Keith began to visibly relax: his shoulders dropped a fraction, then a little more. His hands, once curled into fists on his arms, uncurled and rested lightly against his thighs. The muscles in his neck stopped bracing against every movement Lance made. 

He still didn’t say anything, but his breathing evened out, his posture softened. The stubborn demeanor almost gone.   

Wow, Lance thought, this is probably the first time I’ve ever seen him relax.

He didn’t say it out loud– no way he’d ruin the progress– but it was a fascinating sight. It was weirdly satisfying, seeing all the tension melt off of him like that. Like watching a cat stop pretending it doesn’t want to be pet. Space Cat Lance snickered in his head.

Huh. He’s kinda quiet like this, Lance thought, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Almost peaceful. Definitely weird. But not bad.

He kept going, more focused now. Like if he moved the wrong way, Keith might snap right back to full combat mode. But he didn’t.

Yeah, Lance thought. Not bad at all.

Lance’s fingers moved carefully through the tangled mess, his hands already memorising the routine. The rhythmic motion wasn’t just calming for Keith– it was pulling Lance’s thoughts back, farther than he expected.

Reminds me of home… Lance thought, voice soft and almost absent-minded. I used to do this for my cousins all the time...

Before he realized it, the words slipped out.

“You know,” Lance began quietly, his hands continuously gliding the brush through Keith’s hair absentmindedly. “Back home, I’d comb my cousin’s hair whenever she got restless. Her mom, poor tia,” Lance chuckled softly, “didn’t know how to get her to calm down, so I was always the one to get her to.”

Keith stayed still, silent.

Lance’s voice softened even more, memories pulling him in deeper. “She always hated sitting still. But it was our thing. A little moment where nothing else mattered.”

Suddenly, Lance froze mid-stroke, aware that he’d been speaking out loud without even realizing it. His eyes widened as panic slowly started to creep up.

“Oh–uh…” Lance’s voice faltered, cheeks flushing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Keith shifted slightly but didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his tone calm and low.

“It’s okay,” Keith said quietly. “You don’t have to stop.”

The unexpected reassurance settled something tight in Lance’s chest. He let out a slow breath and resumed brushing, fingers a little steadier now.

“Thanks,” Lance murmured, more to himself than anything else.

Keith didn’t say anything after that—he just stayed still, eyes half-lidded, posture loose. And Lance kept brushing, slower now, fingers combing through the last of the tangles.

The silence was comfortable in a way Lance hadn’t expected.

He risked a glance down and saw the tiniest crease had vanished from between Keith’s brows. His arms were no longer tightly folded or guarded; one hand had slipped to the floor, palm open, like he’d forgotten to hold tension at all.

He really trusts me, huh?

And then, without a word, Keith’s head tilted sideways—slowly, like gravity had just won a long fight—and rested against Lance’s thigh.

Lance went rigid for half a second, staring down at the dark mess of hair now breathing against his leg.

Is he asleep?

“Keith?” Lance murmured, “You awake?”

Nothing. 

He didn’t move. Only a few seconds passed before Keith started to snore, his mouth slightly open. 

I should probably say something. Wake him up.

But he didn’t. 

How could he, when it looked like the best sleep this man has gotten in centuries? Albeit, his neck would feel like shit afterwards if he was gonna sleep like this. 

Instead, he let Keith stay right there, his weight warm and steady, and told himself not to think too hard about how good it felt to be trusted like this. Especially when it’s by Keith .

–

A little later…

Lance blinked down at him, unsure how long they’d been sitting like this. His leg was starting to fall asleep.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging Keith’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You’re drooling on me.”

Keith stirred, brow furrowing slightly before his eyes opened just a sliver. He looked dazed and half-conscious.

Lance smiled. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

Keith blinked up at him, squinting. “…Did I fall asleep?”

Lance snorted. “That, or you’ve decided I make a great pillow. Which, I mean—fair. I am incredibly comfortable.”

Keith didn’t deny it. He just sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes.

And Lance tried— really tried—not to miss the weight of him too much once it was gone.

Keith blinked the sleep from his eyes, still blinking like the world was a few seconds ahead of him. Lance, trying (and failing) not to look too proud, leaned forward and grabbed a small mirror from the table nearby.

“Here,” Lance said, offering it out, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Gotta show off my masterpiece.”

Keith looked at the mirror, then at Lance, a little suspicious. But he took it anyway, lifting it to peer at the reflection behind him.

His eyes narrowed. “…You braided it?”

Lance grinned. “Yeah. I mean, I had to. That mess wasn’t gonna untangle itself. You’re lucky I didn’t break out the leave-in conditioner and a hair mask,” he said smugly, “Plus, you said I could.”

Keith kept staring, tilting the mirror, fingertips brushing the braid at the back of his head. It was neater than expected—tight and careful, the kind of braid you could only get if someone had taken their time with it. Which, of course, Lance had.

“You don’t hate it,” Lance teased, nudging his shoulder. “Admit it.”

Keith didn’t answer right away. He just kept running his fingers over it, like he didn’t quite know what to say.

“I didn’t think you’d…” He trailed off, eyes dropping from the mirror.

“Yeah, well,” Lance shrugged, voice a little lighter than he felt, “you let me.”

Their eyes met for a second—just a flicker—and something in Keith’s expression shifted, quiet and unreadable.

Lance didn’t press.

But he didn’t look away, either.

Not with his usual guarded squint or furrowed brow—but openly. Genuinely. There was a softness in his eyes that made Lance forget to breathe for a second.

“…Thank you,” Keith said, quiet but firm. “Really.”

Lance blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. Keith rarely said things like that—not out loud, not like this.

Their eyes held, just for a moment. Something unspoken passed between them, something warmer than Lance was ready for and heavier than Keith usually allowed.

Keith was the first to break. His eyes darted away,

“I—uh. I should go,” he cleared his throat, standing a little too quickly. “Y’know, paladin duties and all that….” he stammered, “But… thanks again.”

Lance smiled, “‘Course, buddy! If you ever need any more self-care tips, just know, I’m your guy,” he winked. 

Keith flushed even more, but before Lance could notice, he just turned and walked out. 

Lance didn’t miss the way Keith was caressing his braid as he fled, like it was something worth protecting.

He stayed sitting on the couch long after Keith left. The room felt quiet in a way that made him too aware of himself.

He stared at the brush in his hands, then at the door, then back again. His chest felt tight—not in a painful way, but like something was sitting there, waiting to be noticed.

He didn’t feel bad. He wasn’t embarrassed. But something about the moment kept replaying in his head: the way Keith looked at him, the way he said thank you, like he meant it.

It made Lance feel... off .

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with how much space the feeling was taking up. He tried to brush it off, tell himself it was nothing, but it didn’t go away.

He didn’t know what it meant.

But it felt important.

What is this?

The quiet stretched, and Lance wasn’t sure how long he sat there, just thinking.

“Hey, Lance?” Hunk’s voice broke through, cheerful and warm as always. “You busy?”

Lance glanced up, startled. “Uh—no. What’s up?”

Hunk stepped in, holding a small covered bowl with a proud grin. “I’ve been working on a new recipe. Got the proportions right this time. You wanna be my test subject?”

Lance blinked. The heavy, strange feeling in his chest didn’t disappear, but it eased a little at the sight of Hunk’s familiar face.

He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

Hunk grinned and motioned for him to follow.

As Lance fell into step beside him, he didn’t look back at the couch—or the brush, or the closed door. Not this time.

There’d be more time to figure things out later.

For now, food sounded good.

—-

While walking in the hallway, two figures crossed paths– Keith with a neat braid hanging down his back, and Pidge, tablet in hand, walking the other way.

Pidge caught sight of the braid, “Nice braid,” she snickered. Keith just rolled his eyes and motioned to continue down the hallway until–

“Did you enjoy the nap? Looked like you had a pretty nice pillow.” She smirked menacingly, knowing she had hit a nerve as Keith froze up. 

“Pidge,” he said, voice tight and flustered, “stop spying on us through the cams. It’s creepy.”

Pidge just grinned wider. “Hey, I’m just collecting data.”

Keith ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain composure. “Yeah, well, next time, maybe give a warning before you report back.”

Pidge laughed and waved him off. “No promises.”

Keith shook his head, muttering as he walked away, still feeling the heat in his cheeks.

Chapter Text

I don’t know what, but I feel it coming.

II.

You know all that stuff about how Lance was seen as– well, not a serious person? A great example is now: Lance was almost dozing off during a serious meeting, where serious adults were talking about some serious information. Could you blame him, though? Being a paladin– a defender of the entire universe, for crying out loud– was rough. 

He was all set to catch up on some much-needed beauty sleep—priorities, obviously—but there was this annoying little feeling sitting in his chest that he couldn’t explain. Oh, and someone’s face kept popping into his head, too... not that it meant anything. 

Probably.

Totally fine. Totally normal. Definitely not distracting.

“—so if we approach from the eastern ridge, we might avoid detection entirely,” Allura was saying, her voice clear and commanding, even through Lance’s foggy focus.

Shiro nodded beside her, arms crossed, already picturing the battle map in his head. “It lines up with the intel we’ve been getting. We’ll need the team ready to move quickly.”

Lance blinked, trying to snap himself back into the moment. Right. Mission talk. Focus time.

He leaned back, letting their voices fill the room—planning, strategizing, listing out risks and contingencies. Important stuff. Life-or-death stuff. And yet, somehow, his eyelids still felt heavy.

Maybe if he just rested them for a second…

A sudden, sharp nudge to his side made him jolt upright.

Keith didn’t even look at him, just kept his eyes on the hologram in front of them like he hadn’t just elbowed Lance in the ribs. Rude.

Lance blinked hard, glancing over at him. Keith didn’t say anything—but under the table, his knee bumped lightly against Lance’s again. A quiet warning.

“Stay awake,” Keith muttered, just loud enough for Lance to hear.

Lance huffed under his breath, straightening in his seat. “I am,” he whispered back.

Keith raised an eyebrow, still not looking at him, and Lance begrudgingly returned his attention to Allura and Shiro’s mission breakdown. Fine. He’d stay awake.

“—and according to the latest scans,” Allura continued, her eyes flicking between the holographic projections, “the Galra outpost is running on minimal external defenses. Most of the power is being rerouted to something internal.”

Shiro leaned forward, arms crossed over the table. “Which means they’re hiding something. It could be a weapon, or intel they don’t want us finding. Either way, we’ll need to approach carefully.”

“The ridge gives us cover,” Allura added, highlighting the terrain with a sweep of her hand. “But we’ll need a fast exit plan if anything goes wrong. Hunk, Pidge—you’ll be on standby with the pod near the valley bend.”

Pidge nodded, already tapping on her tablet. “I’ll have drone surveillance up before we even land. If there’s a trap, we’ll see it coming.”

Hunk glanced at the layout and frowned. “Those cliff walls are narrow. We’ll have to hover the pod in low.”

Shiro turned to Lance and Keith. “You two will lead recon. Get in, get eyes on whatever they’re guarding. No direct engagement unless absolutely necessary.”

Lance blinked, forcing his brain to catch up. “Right. Got it. Sneak in, look pretty, don’t die.”

Keith glanced sideways at him but didn’t comment. Shiro, thankfully, chose to ignore the add-on.

Is the meeting finally over? Lance thought, Yes! Thank quiznak–

“Wait—hold on. There’s one more data packet coming in. Looks like encrypted Galra comms.” Shiro announced.

Lance groaned internally, his half-risen body sinking right back into his seat.

Allura turned back toward the display, eyes narrowing. “Pull it up.”

Great. 

Lance leaned back, trying to put all of his focus on what Allura and Shiro were saying, but it was difficult when you’re also trying to force your eyelids open. 

Quiznak, just how long will this meeting last?

Again, a sharp nudge at his side startled him. Dude, again? Lance wanted to say, but he couldn’t, not in the middle of this very serious meeting. He averted his eyes to Keith, still facing Allura and Shiro.

Keith’s voice, low and almost a whisper, cut through the haze. “Lance. Pay attention.”

Lance’s brows furrowed further, trying to glare through his soul. “I’m awake.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed, unamused. “You’re practically asleep.”

Lance opened his mouth to argue, but a yawn betrayed him before he could say anything. He quickly covered it with a cough, cheeks heating up.

“Okay, maybe I was resting my eyes,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Keith’s lips twitched in what might have been a smirk—or maybe just disbelief. “Resting your eyes in the middle of a mission briefing? Real professional.”

Lance shot him a playful glare. “Well, you’re not exactly the poster child for fun, either.”

Keith’s gaze sharpened. “I’m just trying to keep us alive.”

Lance snorted softly. “Sure, sure. Keeper of the universe.”

The tension was building faster than either of them realized, voices inching louder despite the hushed tones.

“Enough!” Allura’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. Both Lance and Keith froze, faces flushed.

“This is a briefing, not a place for bickering,” she reminded them firmly. “Focus on the mission.”

Lance mumbled a sheepish, “Yes, Princess,” while Keith gave a low grunt and turned back to the hologram.

Lance settled back down, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe he should try harder. Or maybe he just needed more coffee.

Lance sat up straighter, gripping the edge of his seat like it was the last lifeline between him and complete collapse. Focus. You’re a Paladin, defender of the universe, not some space sloth . He blinked rapidly, willing his heavy eyelids to cooperate.

Come on, Lance, just stay with the mission. Think about the team. Think about the glory—

Then, suddenly, everything went black. 

–

Lance jolted upright at the sharp sound of Allura’s voice echoing through the room.

“Dismissed.”

His heart jumped in his chest as his eyes flew open. For a moment, he had no idea where he was—until the sight of the now-dimming holo-display reminded him. The meeting. Right.

He blinked rapidly, trying to play it cool, rubbing his face as casually as possible, like he hadn’t just blacked out mid-briefing. He turned, instinctively looking for Keith—only to catch a glimpse of him already halfway to the door, hands in his pockets, silently slipping out with his usual brisk pace.

Before Lance could make sense of anything, two sets of hands grabbed him from either side.

“Come on, lover boy,” Pidge said with a grin, tugging him by the sleeve.

“Dude, you’ve gotta hear this,” Hunk added, steering him toward the exit.

“Wait—what?” Lance mumbled, still dazed as he stumbled after them. “What’s happening?”

“You’ll see,” Pidge said with a suspiciously smug look.

Lance cast one last glance over his shoulder, hoping to find some grounding, but Keith had already disappeared. He shook his head, trying to focus on whatever chaos Pidge and Hunk were about to drag him into.

Still, there was a weird haze in his mind, like he had missed something important. Something close.

–

The trio made their way into the common lounge, the quiet hum of the castle's systems filling the space around them. Lance dragged his feet a little, still shaking off the drowsiness clinging to his brain like fog. He flopped dramatically onto the couch while Hunk settled next to him and Pidge immediately started digging through her tablet with focused intent.

“You two are way too energetic for people who just sat through a two-hour meeting,” Lance grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Maybe we just didn’t fall asleep in the middle of it,” Pidge quipped without looking up.

Lance groaned. “I was resting, getting my beauty sleep, thank you very much.”

Hunk chuckled, and Pidge’s smirk grew wider. “Well, beauty-queen, you might want to pay attention. Because what I’m about to show you? Legendary.” She tapped something on her tablet, the screen flickering to life.

This kid is seriously too attached to her iPad. 

“Not an iPad.” Pidge deadpanned. Oops, must’ve said that out loud.

Lance raised a brow, ignoring Pidge’s remark, “What... did you do?”

Pidge grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just… castle surveillance footage.”

Lance sat up straighter, blinking. “Wait, what?”

Pidge angled the tablet toward him and hit play.

The footage flickered to life, showing a high, angled view of the meeting room—just grainy enough to look official, but clear enough to make out every detail. Lance immediately spotted himself, slouched slightly in his chair, eyes half-lidded as Allura gestured toward the hologram in the center of the room.

“Okay, I don’t look that—” he started, but then the video showed his head slowly tilting… and coming to a stop against Keith’s shoulder.

Lance’s mouth dropped open. “Wait—wait, no way—”

“Shhh,” Hunk whispered, leaning in.

On-screen, Keith glanced at him but didn’t move. If anything, he shifted minutely to make the position easier—more stable. He stared straight ahead, silent, and completely let it happen.

That’s when Allura noticed.

The camera caught her pause mid-sentence. She frowned and took a few steps closer, stopping at the end of the table.

“Keith,” she said, her voice faint in the background of the feed, “wake him. He needs to pay attention.”

Keith didn’t look at her at first. “He’s tired.”

“This meeting is important.”

“I know,” he said calmly. “I’ll explain it to him later.”

Allura’s eyes narrowed, her posture firm. “It’s not his job to be briefed later—it’s his job to be here now.”

“He is here,” Keith said, sharper now. “Just—give him a minute.”

There was a beat of silence. Allura stared at him, jaw tight, clearly deciding whether to push back.

But eventually, she sighed through her nose and stepped away, returning to the front of the room.

The meeting resumed, and Shiro, despite being worried because of the tension, picked up where they left off. No one said anything more about it. Keith didn’t shift. Lance stayed asleep. The footage played out for several more seconds, the moment frozen in quiet.

Pidge hit pause.

Lance was still staring, mouth slightly open. “...He argued with Allura. For me.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “Didn’t even hesitate.”

Lance swallowed. “That’s... actually kinda insane.”

“Right?” Pidge said, way too smug now. “So. You wanna talk about that, or should we run it back one more time?”

Lance didn’t answer right away. He was still staring at the frozen frame—himself slouched over, practically melted into Keith’s side, and Keith sitting there like it wasn’t a big deal at all. Like it was normal. Like it was fine.

Lance dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, no. Because what was that? Since when does Keith defend me like that?”

Hunk gave a half-hearted shrug. “I mean… maybe he just felt bad you were tired?”

“He never feels bad. Keith doesn’t do ‘bad feelings. All he does is just critique every single thing I do! That’s what he does!” Lance blurted, still in disbelief. 

“He let you drool on him, dude,” Pidge said, elbowing him. “That’s not sympathy. That’s something else.”

Lance groaned and leaned back into the couch, eyes wide at the ceiling like it had answers. “I didn’t drool, did I?”

“Little bit,” Pidge said cheerfully.

Hunk winced. “Like… a polite amount.”

“Oh my god.” Lance buried his face in his hands. “And he still didn’t push me off?”

“Nope,” Pidge said. “Didn’t even flinch when Allura was about to go all space princess on you.”

Lance peeked out from between his fingers. That part stuck in his head—the way Keith had barely raised his voice, but still stood his ground. For him. Over something so… small.

Something Keith probably would’ve rolled his eyes at from anyone else.

His stomach did a weird flip.

“You okay?” Hunk asked.

Lance waved a hand. “Fine. Just… thinking.”

He looked back at the tablet, still paused on that soft, quiet image. Lance and Keith, shoulder to shoulder, like it wasn’t unusual. Like it belonged.

“Do me a favor,” he said, finally. “Don’t show this to anyone else.”

Pidge waggled her brows. “So you do think it means something.” What?

“I think I’ll murder you if you tell anyone I fell asleep in a mission briefing again,” Lance said, but it lacked bite.

Hunk clapped him on the shoulder. “You owe Keith one.”

Lance didn’t respond—just stared a moment longer, thoughtful. There was a feeling in his chest again. One he didn’t quite recognize.

-

Moments later…

The lounge had mostly quieted down. Pidge wandered off to go check on some system diagnostics Coran called her about, and Hunk was off to the kitchen, promising something sweet if Lance could just survive a few more minutes of being emotionally roasted

.

That left Lance alone, still half-sunk into the couch. Deja Vu.

He slumped back, running a hand through his hair and letting out a low groan. The paused frame on Pidge’s tablet still lingered in his mind— his head practically glued to Keith’s shoulder, Keith just... sitting there like it was normal. Letting it happen.

Letting him happen.

Lance wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The door to the lounge hissed open.

He didn’t think much of it—until he looked up and saw Keith.

Keith stopped when he spotted Lance on the couch, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

“Oh. I didn’t think anyone was still in here,” he said.

Lance’s brain short-circuited for half a second. “Yeah—uh. Still here.”

Keith nodded, like he was debating whether to leave or not. “I left my water bottle.”

“Right,” Lance said, watching him cross the room. He didn’t know why he was watching, just that he was.

Keith grabbed the bottle from the table, but didn’t immediately leave.

The silence stretched.

“So…” Lance started, shifting on the couch. “Earlier.”

Keith glanced over. “Earlier?”

“You know. The meeting.” He hesitated. “And, uh. Me apparently becoming dead weight.”

Keith didn’t respond right away. “You were exhausted.”

Lance blinked. “Yeah, but still. Kind of humiliating, seeing it on camera.”

Keith gave him a small look, not quite a smirk, but close. “You snore, by the way.”

“I do not.” Lance gasped, sitting upright in protest.

“You do,” Keith said, and something about the way he said it made Lance’s ears burn. He couldn’t tell if it was amusement or... fondness?

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, trying to recover. “Well—anyway. Thanks. For not, like, shoving me off.”

Keith shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how normal people respond to someone drooling on their shoulder.”

Keith tilted his head, like he was thinking about it. “Didn’t really mind.”

That shut Lance up for a second. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried to make a noise that came out like a wheeze.

Keith didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and was pretending not to.

“I should go,” he said finally, adjusting the bottle under his arm.

“Yeah. Me too,” Lance said, standing up too quickly. “Not that I was waiting for you to leave or anything. Just. You know.”

Keith nodded, clearly holding back a smile now. “See you around.”

“Yeah. See you,” Lance echoed, watching him go.

The door slid shut behind Keith.

Lance stood there, blinking at the space Keith had just occupied. There it was again—that dumb, stupid, chest-tightening feeling. Not exactly bad, but definitely weird.

He flopped back onto the couch with a long sigh, muttering to himself.

“What the hell is going on with me.”

—-

Keith was heading down the quiet hallway when Allura suddenly stepped out, blocking his path. 

Her expression was serious, brows slightly furrowed.

He tensed, expecting a scolding.

“Keith,” she began, her tone calm but firm.

“Yes?” he replied, prepared for a lecture.

But instead of the reprimand he expected, Allura’s gaze softened just a little. “I noticed how you handled things during the meeting. You were patient… attentive.”

Keith blinked, caught off guard. “I—” He paused, unsure how to respond. “I was just–he was tired..”

She nodded slowly. “Sometimes the smallest acts reveal more than words ever could.”

Keith frowned, his brow knitting tighter. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but found himself at a loss for words.

Allura gave a brief, knowing smile. “There are moments when taking a step forward… is not about rushing, but about standing firm where it matters.”

Keith’s confusion deepened. “I don’t... I don’t understand.”

Her eyes met his, gentle but unreadable. “When the moment is right, you’ll know what to do.”

Keith stood there, mouth slightly open, utterly speechless.

Without another word, Allura stepped aside and walked down the hall, leaving Keith alone with a swirl of puzzlement and something else he wasn’t ready to name.

He sighed dramatically before making his way to his room.

Fuck my life honestly

Chapter Text

Why I feel this way, I don't know, maybe.

III.

“All of you performed admirably,” Allura said, her voice clear and proud as it echoed through the control room. “The mission was a success, thanks to each of your efforts.”

Lance stretched his arms behind his head with a grin. Finally . After everything they’d been through—space battles, evasive maneuvers, and almost losing a wing of the Castle—this recognition hit nice .

He glanced around at the team. Tired smiles. Slouched shoulders. Even Keith looked slightly less stiff than usual. Wait, why am I looking at Keith—

“I, uh…” Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, stepping forward with an awkward smile. “I made something. Kind of to celebrate. It’s not a huge deal or anything—just, you know, a few things I threw together—”

“A few things?” Pidge cut in, perking up. “You mean the stuff that’s been making the entire castle smell like heaven all afternoon?”

Hunk turned a little pink. “It’s just a small feast.”

Small feast, my quiznak.

The table stretched from one end of the room to the other, lined with dishes Lance didn’t even have names for. Some looked like Earth food—flatbreads brushed with oil and herbs, stews bubbling in wide bowls, and roasted vegetables with that perfectly crisp edge. Others were undeniably alien, with colors that shimmered and textures Lance couldn't begin to describe. And somehow, it all smelled amazing.

“Hunk…” Lance cried, tears welling up in his eyes, absolutely moved at just how care was put into the food. 

“Small?” Shiro said with a rare, wide grin. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the table as if embarrassed to even look at them. “I just… figured we deserved something good after the last few days– HUGH–”

Without warning, Hunk let out a wheeze as Lance latched onto him like a koala, full-on ugly crying from sheer gratitude.

“Seriously, man,” Lance sniffled dramatically, clutching his chest. “You’re gonna make me feel emotions in front of everyone. That’s cruel.”

Pidge smirked, shaking her head. “Oh, please, you’re the most emotional one here.”

Lance, still hugging onto Hunk, snapped his head towards Pidge, glaring at her. “Well, maybe I actually come to terms with my surroundings. Unlike someone who’s on their iPad all the time–”

“For the last time , it’s my Data Matrix–”

“Yeah, since when were slime videos data–”

Allura stepped forward, her tone firm but calm. “Alright, enough,” she said, holding up a hand. “Let’s not forget why we’re here.”

She turned to Hunk with a warm smile. “Thank you, Hunk. This feast is well-deserved.” Hunk flushed with flattery.

Allura stood at the head of the table, her voice calm and sincere as she addressed the paladins.

“You have all shown incredible bravery and strength during this mission. Your dedication to protecting this planet– Gosh – the whole universe has not gone unnoticed.”

She gave a small, appreciative smile. “Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate our success but to honor the bond that holds us together.”

“May you all enjoy this meal, prepared with care by Hunk,” She smiled, gesturing towards him as Hunk only rubbed his hand on his neck, ”as a reminder of what we can accomplish—together.”

With a graceful gesture toward the table, she concluded, “Now, let us all feast!”

The team relaxed instantly, laughter and conversation filling the air as plates were filled and the celebration truly began.

–

The room buzzed with laughter and conversation as the paladins dug into the feast. Hunk’s cooking was a hit, and everyone was eagerly sampling the colorful array of dishes.

Lance animatedly told a story about a mishap during training, drawing chuckles from Pidge and Hunk. Shiro nodded appreciatively, adding in a few dry remarks of his own, while Allura watched with a soft smile, clearly pleased to see the team so relaxed.

Keith, usually quiet during gatherings like this, sat back and scanned the table. His eyes finally settled on a dish tucked between the more familiar foods—a vibrant platter topped with glossy, unfamiliar slices glazed in a deep amber sauce. Curiosity piqued, he took a tentative bite.

Holy Quiznak.

The effect was instant. His eyebrows lifted, and for once, Keith’s usual stoic mask melted into something softer, almost reverent. He took another bite, slower this time, savoring every flavor.

Lance noticed immediately. “Whoa, Keith—never thought I’d see you this into food.”

Before anyone else could try a taste, Keith’s sharp gaze flicked up, locking eyes with anyone daring enough to reach toward the dish. Without a word, his glare was enough to make fingers hesitate mid-air.

“Huh,” Lance whispered to Shiro, grinning. “Someone found their new favorite.”

Shiro let out a little sigh. “Here we go.”

Pidge snorted, watching Keith’s protective stance. “Looks like we’re not getting a bite unless he dies first.”

Hunk chuckled nervously. “Uh, Keith, want me to bring you some more?”

Keith shook his head firmly, eyes never leaving the dish. “I’ve got it.”

The team exchanged amused glances as Keith sat stiffly, eyes fixed on the dish, clearly unwilling to share his newfound treasure with anyone.

Looks like space cat strikes again, Lance thought, whatever, there’s so much more to try anyway.

The room was filled with laughter as Pidge and Hunk animatedly reenacted a recent mission, complete with exaggerated sound effects made entirely with their mouths. “Vrooom!” went Pidge, followed by Hunk’s booming “Kaboom!” The rest of the team chuckled, and even Allura and Shiro– their ever-so serious diplomats – let out a genuine laugh, the sound bright and warm.

Lance, caught up in the lively storytelling, leaned back in his chair, eyes wide and focused on the duo. Lost in the moment, his hand moved absentmindedly, reaching out to grab something to eat.

Before he realized it, Lance had plopped a piece of the glossy, amber-glazed slices—Keith’s favorite dish—into his mouth, savoring the unexpected flavor.

He blinked, still distracted by the story, not noticing Keith quietly watching him with an unreadable expression.

Woah, this stuff’s seriously good, which dish is this?

Lance took another bite, enjoying the mix of flavors—sweet and a little smoky, with just a touch of spice. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the taste settled comfortably on his tongue.

Okay, seriously, what is this? he thought, pleasantly surprised. Why didn’t anyone tell me this was here before?

He looked relaxed, almost like all the usual noise and worries had quieted down for a moment.

Lance’s hand slid back toward the dish, eager for another bite. He was so caught up in the flavor that he barely noticed the quiet shift beside him.

Then his eyes met Keith’s, who was watching him with a calm, steady gaze.

Lance froze mid-reach, cheeks heating up. Uh-oh. Did I just eat Keith’s favorite?

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of the silent tension between them.

Lance’s cheeks flushed as he almost started to apologize. “Hey, sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

Before he could finish, Keith cut him off quietly, “You like it, right?” He pushed the plate towards him gently, “You can have more if you want.”

Lance blinked, caught completely off guard. He just stared for a moment, unable to find words, his mind scrambling to process what Keith had just said.

What. WHAT .

Lance’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and suddenly he was all awkward grins and friendly punches on Keith’s arm. “Hey, thanks, man! Seriously, you’re the best. I didn’t mean to steal your food or anything, but wow, this stuff is amazing!”

Keith just blinked, barely reacting, then went back to eating, a low grunt escaping him. “You’re welcome.”

Lance froze for a second, caught off guard by the simple response, then laughed nervously, still trying to play it cool but clearly flustered.

The room buzzed with normal conversation—Pidge teasing Shiro about his serious face, and Allura sharing quiet smiles with the others. No one seemed to notice the small exchange between Lance and Keith. Except–

Hunk looks at Lance, eyebrow raised, silently asking what was happening with Lance.

Lance, however, sat frozen, cheeks burning and heart racing. Inside, panic bubbled up, loud and relentless.

Okay, Lance, just act normal. Nobody saw anything. It’s fine. He just said I could have more food. That’s it. Nothing weird.

But every time Keith glanced his way, calm and unbothered, Lance’s mind spiraled further.

Why is this such a big deal? Get it together, man.

He forced himself to pick up his fork again, pretending to enjoy the meal.

The dinner carried on with laughter and lively conversation weaving through the room. Plates were passed around, stories exchanged, and the team slowly settled into a comfortable rhythm after their long mission. Hunk beamed proudly as everyone praised his cooking, while Pidge kept sneakily checking her tablet between bites.

Every so often, Lance found himself reaching for the dish Keith had quietly offered earlier. He caught Keith’s eyes just in time—brief, almost casual glances that felt charged with something unspoken. Each time, Lance accepted the silent invitation, savoring the flavors while his mind swirled with questions he wasn’t ready to voice.

Around them, the feast continued: chatter, clinking cutlery, and warm smiles filling the room. Yet for Lance, those small moments with Keith made the whole evening feel a little different—more personal, more… charged—though he still wasn’t quite sure why.

Is it ‘cause I braided his hair for him?

Yeah. That’s probably it.

–

As the night wore on, plates slowly cleared and conversations began to wind down. One by one, the team leaned back in their chairs, rubbing their stomachs and letting out satisfied sighs.

“I swear, I’m stuffed,” Hunk admitted with a contented grin, patting his belly.

“Me too,” Pidge chimed in, stretching her arms. “That was way too good to stop eating early.”

Shiro nodded, eyes half-closed in that peaceful post-meal haze. “I don’t think I could move if I tried.”

Allura smiled softly, clearly pleased with how well the celebration had gone.

Lance let out a loud, exaggerated groan, clutching his stomach dramatically. “I’m done. Absolutely done. No more food for me.”

Shiro stretched and glanced around the room. “Alright, everyone—after a long day and a big meal, I think it’s time we all get some rest.”

A chorus of agreement followed—yawns, nods, and tired smiles spreading through the group.

One by one, they began gathering their things and heading toward the exit. The dining area emptied, voices growing quieter as footsteps faded down the hall.

Just as Lance was about to follow, Hunk gently reached out and stopped him with a light touch on the arm.

“Hey, wait up a second,” Hunk said, his tone a little hesitant.

Lance turned to him, curiosity flickering in his tired eyes—then the moment hung there, waiting.

“C’mon, Lance,” Hunk sighed, “Have you seriously not noticed?”

Wait. What?

“Noticed what?” Lance blinked, genuinely confused, rubbing his eyes like maybe he’d missed some kind of obvious sign.

Hunk shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his hair before settling on the edge of the table. “You know… how Keith’s been around you lately. Like during that meeting—you fell asleep, right? On his shoulder, no less. And he didn’t even move you, didn’t make a fuss.”

Lance’s eyebrows knit together, but he waved it off. “Keith’s just… Keith. Maybe he was tired too. He probably just didn’t want to wake me up or cause a scene. It’s no big deal.”

Except that he did–

Hunk gave a small, tight smile, clearly not convinced. “And earlier, when you fixed his hair? You remember how careful he usually is about that? Letting you do it without a fight, without snapping at you? That’s not just casual.”

Lance shrugged again, trying to sound casual but a little unsure. “Maybe he just trusts me. Or maybe he’s finally getting used to me. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Hunk leaned forward, voice softer but serious. “Lance, Keith doesn’t just ‘trust’ anyone like that. And he’s not usually this… open. This patient. It’s different with you.” 

Hunk groaned, “Lance, buddy, heed my words very carefully.” 

Lance blinked, “...Okay?”

“Keith,” Hunk let in a huge inhale, “wouldn’t do this type of thing. Not even Shiro.” Exhale, “You got it, right?”

Lance laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feeling that maybe Hunk was right, but unwilling to admit it. “I think you’re reading too much into things. I 

mean, it’s not like—”

“It’s not like what?” Hunk asked, raising a brow.

“It’s nothing, okay?” Lance said quickly, a bit flustered now. “I’m probably just tired, and maybe I’m imagining things.”

Hunk sighed and leaned back, running a hand through his hair again. He gave Lance a pointed look. “Alright. But just… keep what I said in mind, okay? Sometimes the quiet stuff means more than you think.”

Lance nodded slowly, still confused but trusting Hunk’s instincts more than his own. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Lance finally stood to follow the rest of the team, he glanced back once more, still wondering if he’d ever really figure Keith out.

—

Keith was rounding the corner in the hallway when he nearly bumped into Hunk.

Wait, I feel like this happened like two times…

“Hey,” Keith muttered, stepping aside.

“Hey,” Hunk replied with a small smile, pausing.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them filled only by the distant hum of the castle.

Then Hunk cleared his throat. “Listen, Keith… don’t give up, okay?”

Keith blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, what?”

Hunk chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Lance can be a little slow sometimes—gets lost in his own head, you know? But… well, good luck to you two, anyway.”

Keith’s brows furrowed deeper, confusion growing. “Good luck with what?”

Hunk gave a quick, secretive grin before holding up a finger. “Wait here.”

Before Keith could respond, Hunk was already jogging off down the hallway. Moments later, he came sprinting back, panting like he’d run a marathon, clutching a steaming container.

Keith stared, utterly baffled.

Hunk handed over the food with a wide smile. “Here. Thanks for, you know… whatever this is. Share this with Lance if you can.”

Then, just as quickly as he appeared, Hunk turned and walked away, leaving Keith standing there, mouth slightly open, wondering if he’d just been roped into something completely ridiculous.

Chapter Text

I think of her so much, it drives me crazy.

IV.

Okay—so Keith was not acting weird.

Lance rolled onto his back, arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the ceiling of his room. Whatever Hunk was hinting at earlier had to be just… a misunderstanding. Keith was Keith. Gruff, grunty, vaguely mysterious. Not weird. Not that weird, anyway.

He turned over again, frowning at the wall. Hunk had mentioned the braid. And the shoulder thing. And the food. And—ugh. Lance groaned into his pillow. So what if Keith let him sleep on his shoulder? That could mean anything. The guy probably didn’t even notice. And maybe he offered his favorite food, sure, but—

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lance muttered into the quiet. “He’s just… being polite. Yeah. Polite.”

“Have you seriously not noticed?”

Lance groaned and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling like it might offer a better answer. He had noticed. Of course, he had. The weird warmth in his chest whenever Keith looked at him. The way he couldn’t stop thinking about the shoulder thing, or the way Keith had glanced at him from across the table like it meant something.

But Lance wasn’t about to spiral over a few glances and a plate of food.

He pulled the blanket up over his face.

“Nope. Not doing this,” he muttered. “Keith is just… Keith.”

And yet… he didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

–

The next morning came way too fast.

“Crap,” Lance hissed, yanking his jacket from the back of his chair.

He held it up like it had personally betrayed him. There was a suspicious stain on the collar—something crusty and definitely not space water. Maybe from the feast? Maybe from accidentally dozing off with food still in his hand? He didn’t know. What he did know was that it looked terrible.

He groaned dramatically. “Why didn’t I check this last night?”

There wasn’t time to deal with it now. He flung the jacket aside and tugged on his usual shirt and pants instead—his standard go-to when the jacket wasn’t an option. Nothing special, he wore it all the time—no big deal.

Still… as he smoothed the fabric and caught his reflection, he paused. Totally normal outfit. Casual. Nothing to read into. He wasn’t trying to look good for anyone or anything.

Right. Just his regular clothes. That he happened to wear a lot. Coincidentally.

Lance ran a hand through his hair one last time, gave himself a quick thumbs-up in the mirror—mostly sarcastic—and stepped out of his room.

The second the door slid shut behind him, he froze.

“Quiznak—why is it freezing?”

The hallway hit him like a wave of ice. Goosebumps shot up his arms as the chill settled through his shirt. He wrapped his arms around himself instinctively, already regretting ditching his jacket.

“Okay, this is personal,” he muttered, rubbing his arms while trudging forward. “Who turned the castle into a walk-in freezer?”

“Feeling that chill, too?” Hunk asked, glancing at Lance’s shivering form. Lance turned his head to see Hunk and Pidge down the hallway, both in a similar state.

“Yeah. What’s going on with the castle’s temperature?” Lance asked, rubbing his arms.

Pidge gave a quick nod. “The climate controls malfunctioned somehow. I’ve been trying to fix it, but it’s taking longer than expected.”

Before Lance could respond, Hunk caught up, eyes widening when he noticed Lance’s lack of coverage. “Hey! Where’s your jacket, man?”

Lance shrugged, voice a little defeated. “I left it off this morning. Didn’t want to wear it ’cause it’s all stained.” He shivered again, wishing he’d made a different choice.

Hunk’s expression softened, and he gave Lance a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Aw, man, that sucks. Here, hang tight—we’ll figure this out.”

Pidge glanced back down at her toolkit, then looked up with a hopeful smirk. “If I can get this thing fixed soon, maybe the heat will come back on.”

Lance managed a small smile despite the cold. “Yeah, I hope so. This is brutal.”

As the three stood there, the castle’s chill wrapped around them, but at least they weren’t alone in it. Lance just hoped the heat would return before he turned into a popsicle.

–

They gathered in the common lounge, the chill in the air making everyone visibly tense. Lance rubbed his arms, trying to stave off the cold creeping into his bones. Keith, Shiro, Allura, and Coran were already there, standing near the main console, faces drawn and concerned.

Allura broke the silence first. “The temperature drop is affecting all systems. If we don’t fix this soon, it could compromise the castle’s functions.”

Shiro nodded, running a hand through his hair. “We need to isolate the cause — something in the climate control, most likely.”

Keith added, voice low but focused, “Could be a hardware failure or a software glitch. Either way, it needs a full system check.”

Hunk shuffled forward, his breath visible in the cold air. “I can help run diagnostics, but it might take some time.”

Pidge, holding her toolkit close, scanned the console quickly. “I’ve been poking around the auxiliary panels, but nothing obvious yet. The main processor’s acting up, though — looks like it’s shorting out.”

The team exchanged worried looks.

Coran finally stepped forward, clearing his throat. “I have an idea,” he said carefully. “There is a way to reset the main climate control processor entirely.”

Allura’s eyes narrowed. “Is that safe?”

“It will require a complete reboot of the system,” Coran explained. “During the process, the castle will remain cold. We will have to wait it out until it stabilizes.”

Shiro folded his arms. “How long?”

“Several hours, possibly more,” Coran said. “There is no quick fix. We can prepare for the wait — and try to stay as warm as possible in the meantime.”

A heavy sigh passed through the group as everyone absorbed the news. Lance hugged himself tighter, already feeling the cold settle in deeper.

Allura nodded solemnly. “Then we’ll do what we must and endure it together.”

A little later, the chill had settled deep into the bones of the castle, and everyone was struggling to keep up with their usual routines. The once lively common lounge now felt sluggish and heavy with quiet complaints.

Hunk rubbed his hands together, voice muffled by a make-shift scarf with a blanket. “I tried to start breakfast, but the ovens won’t heat properly. Everything’s just cold and soggy.”

Pidge, hunched over her tablet with trembling fingers, grumbled, “My fingers can’t even hit the tiny buttons right. This cold’s messing with my tech skills.”

Lance, wrapped in an oversized blanket, sighed dramatically. “I swear, I haven’t felt this cold since that one mission on that frozen planet. And I thought that was bad.”

Allura, ever composed, sighed as well. “We’re all feeling it. But we have to keep moving forward.”

Coran shuffled, trying to stay positive. “At least we’re all in this together. Misery loves company, yes?”

The room echoed with a chorus of disgruntled groans, the cold making every task feel twice as hard, and every moment twice as slow.

Lance sat on the edge of the couch, wrapped in a thin blanket that barely kept the chill at bay. His teeth chattered lightly, and his fingers trembled as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Compared to the rest of the team, he probably looked twice as cold — pale, shoulders hunched, eyes watery from the cold.

Keith noticed immediately. His sharp gaze landed on Lance, narrowing slightly. “Dude, you’re shivering. How do you expect to deal with the cold if you just sit there like that?”

Lance bit back a shiver and tried to play it cool, forcing a grin. Yeah, like Keith’s exactly Mr. Warm and Cozy. But inside, he felt the cold seeping deeper, spreading through his limbs like ice. 

Keith’s tone softened a bit, the edge fading as he stepped closer. “You need to do something about it. You look like you’re about to freeze.”

Lance swallowed, suddenly embarrassed. Great, now Keith’s worried about me? Since when does he even care? Oh right. Lance’s face flushed a little. Not now, keep it together. He managed a weak shrug, trying to hide how cold he actually was. “I’m fine. Just…”

Keith’s eyes flicked down, then back up again, sharper now. “Wait—where’s your jacket?”

Lance stumbled over his words, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, you know me—always keeping it casual. Who needs a jacket when you’ve got killer charm, right?” He gave a half-smile, trying to deflect. “Besides, jackets are overrated.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the attempt to brush it off. Without another word, he peeled off his red jacket and held it out toward Lance.

Lance froze, caught off guard. The room seemed to hold its breath as Keith’s calm eyes met his.

Lance’s cheeks flamed hotter than the cold air surrounding them, caught off guard by Keith’s unexpected gesture. He hesitated, tugging lightly at the edge of the jacket. “Wait, Keith—aren’t you gonna be freezing without it? You’re just wearing that short-sleeved shirt, and I’ve got long sleeves under mine. You’ll catch a cold or something.”

Keith crossed his arms, his expression serious. “I’m not cold.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Yeah, well, that’s what you always say. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re the one shaking like a leaf. You need it more.”

Lance opened his mouth to argue, but Keith cut him off, stepping closer and firmly draping the jacket over Lance’s shoulders again. “Stop complaining. Just take it.”

“But you’re seriously risking it,” Lance insisted, voice a little breathless from the cold and nerves. “I don’t want you catching anything. I mean, you’re already—”

“Long sleeves or not, it won’t make a difference,” Keith interrupted, his tone flat but insistent. “I’m fine. You need this.”

Lance stared at him for a long moment, torn between gratitude and concern. Keith wasn’t budging, and honestly, neither was Lance—so he finally let himself sink into the warmth, the weight of the jacket oddly comforting against the chill.

“Alright, fine,” Lance muttered, still uneasy but unable to argue with that.

Lance tugged Keith’s jacket a little closer around himself. It fit almost perfectly—snug in the shoulders, sleeves just the right length, like it had been made for him. Which was absurd, obviously. It wasn’t. It was just a jacket. Just Keith’s jacket.

Still… it was warm. Really warm. Not just because it was thick and insulated, but because it had been Keith’s. There was this lingering body heat still clinging to the fabric, and the faint scent of Keith that Lance couldn’t describe if he tried—not strong, but enough to notice. Like something clean and sharp, something grounding. Comforting.

He shouldn’t be comforted by a jacket . That was ridiculous.

But he was.

Lance sat quietly as the others milled about the lounge, trying to continue their routines despite the cold. It was all background noise now. His fingers curled around the zipper absently. His brain wouldn’t shut up.

Why had Keith done that? Just… given it to him, no hesitation?

Sure, he was cold—obviously, painfully cold—but so was everyone else. And Keith had been wearing short sleeves under the jacket. Which, now that Lance was thinking about it, made the gesture way more dramatic than it seemed in the moment.

He hadn’t even noticed until Keith was practically shoving it onto him.

That part replayed in Lance’s head on loop. The way Keith had looked at him—not annoyed, not smug, just… persistent. Like it was non-negotiable. Like Lance being cold was more important than Keith being warm.

And now here he was, wearing it. Wrapped in it. Thinking way too much about the person who gave it to him.

It was probably just a nice thing. Keith could be nice, sometimes, when he wasn’t being intense or aloof. Maybe he was just decent. Maybe this meant they were actually friends now.

But…

Lance frowned slightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

It felt like something else. Like there was more under the surface. Something Keith hadn’t said. Something Lance couldn’t quite name.

Which made the flutter in his chest all the more annoying.

“You’re overthinking,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “It’s just a jacket. Chill.”

Still, he didn’t take it off.

–

“Wait a second…” Pidge’s voice cut through the low murmur of the lounge, sharp and far too observant for Lance’s comfort. “Is that Keith’s jacket?”

Lance nearly choked on his own breath, instinctively wrapping the jacket tighter like he could disappear into it. “Wh–what? No! I mean—maybe! Shut up!”

Pidge grinned, eyes glinting. “Wow. That was fast. One day he’s shivering like a wet chihuahua, the next he’s swaddled in red and brooding warmth.”

“I am not swaddled,” Lance huffed, face turning a very suspicious shade of pink. “This is survival, thank you very much. It’s freezing in here, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh, I noticed. So did Keith, apparently.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Pidge!” Lance squeaked.

That was enough to draw the attention of the rest of the team. Hunk turned around from where he’d been fiddling with a heating pad, eyebrows raising when he saw the now-familiar red fabric over Lance’s torso. Even Allura glanced over with the ghost of a smile.

No one said anything directly, but their expressions were... telling.

Lance sank deeper into the jacket, silently praying for the Castle to swallow him whole.

Meanwhile, Shiro glanced sideways at Keith, who had retreated to lean casually against the far wall. “You alright?” he asked, voice quiet but knowing.

Keith, arms now folded and sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, gave a tiny shrug. “I’m fine. Cold doesn’t bother me anyway.”

“Mmhm,” Shiro replied, clearly unconvinced.

Pidge snorted from her seat. “Alright, Elsa,” she said dryly, “let it go.”

“Oh my god,” Lance groaned, finally cracking a smile through his fluster. “You did not just say that.”

Keith looked vaguely confused at the reference until Pidge added, “It’s the braid. And the whole ‘conceal, don’t feel’ thing. You’re halfway there.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Hunk and a muffled chuckle from Allura.

And even though no one said it out loud, the gesture had settled warmly over the room—silent, simple, and maybe a little more meaningful than anyone was willing to admit.

“...I still don’t get it.” Keith blinked.

Suddenly, Coran’s voice cut through the scattered conversation, loud and triumphant.

“Good news, paladins! The castle’s temperature systems are nearly back to normal—should stabilize in about an hour!”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“Yes!”

“Oh thank the stars.”

“I can finally feel my face again.”

A collective cheer echoed through the common lounge. Hunk threw his hands up in celebration, Allura sighed in deep relief, and even Shiro allowed himself a small smile. Everyone looked ready to praise the warmth like it was a long-lost friend.

Lance cheered with the rest of them, throwing his arms in the air dramatically. “Finally! I was about to turn into a popsicle!”

But as the noise started to die down, he glanced down at himself—Keith’s red jacket still snug around his torso.

“Oh, right.” He tugged at the zipper awkwardly and turned toward Keith. “Here, I should give this back now that we won’t freeze to death.”

Keith shook his head, arms crossed. “Coran said it’s only gonna be warm in an hour. Just keep 

it on.”

Lance blinked. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbled, eyes shifting for just a second before he looked away. There was a faint, unmistakable flush creeping up his neck. Lance caught it instantly.

Lance blinked, catching the faint, unmistakable flush rising on Keith’s cheeks.

Man… he really is kind of cute– Lance thought before the moment could even settle.

“You wore it, so you have to wash it,” Keith said flatly, snapping him right out of it.

Lance groaned. “Seriously? I get hypothermia, and you give me laundry?” Keith chuckled, patting his back before walking to his room.

But despite the protest, he didn’t take the jacket off. Not even close.

Meh, whatever gets me to clean my jacket.

–

The hum of the laundry machine filled the quiet room, soft and steady, almost like a heartbeat. Lance stood in front of it, arms folded as he watched the jackets tumble together—his and Keith’s, spinning side by side like they belonged there.

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks still faintly warm.

Okay, so… maybe it was a little cute, he admitted to himself.

Lance sighed, watching the fabric press against the glass before disappearing again in the spin.

I like him.

It wasn’t a sudden epiphany, not really. It had been creeping in for a while—between the shoulder naps, the quiet stares, the way Keith somehow always noticed when he was off. But this moment, this small, stupid jacket in a washing machine… it made everything real .

Still, he shook his head, forcing a little laugh.

Doesn’t mean he likes me back, though. Keith probably acts that way with everyone, right? Totally normal. Completely planatonic.

…Am I using that word right?

He didn’t sound convinced, even in his own head.

With a sigh, Lance leaned against the counter and let his gaze drift back to the jackets. Tumbled together, still warm from all of this.

Great. I’m doomed.

…I don’t hate how this feels. Even if Keith never feels the same, I’m okay with it.

—

Keith moved cautiously down the quiet hallway, his footsteps muffled against the smooth floor. After the strange encounters earlier, he wasn’t exactly eager to run into anyone else unexpectedly. 

His eyes darted to every corner, every shadow, as if expecting someone to jump out at any second. The silence stretched on, and for a moment, no one appeared.

He let out a slow breath of relief, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. Maybe, just maybe, he could get through the rest of the day without another awkward or unexpected interaction.

Then, quite suddenly, as if from thin air, Coran materialized right in front of him, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. Keith nearly stumbled back, caught completely off guard.

“Well, well, my dear lad,” Coran began, his tone rich with a theatrical British lilt, “I do declare, congratulations are most certainly in order. One hears whispers of, shall we say, certain developments that are rather… delightful.”

Keith’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the warmth spreading rapidly across his face. Before he could even gather his thoughts, Coran leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Should you find yourself in need of a cool reprieve once more, do remember, sharing one’s jacket is quite the gentlemanly act. All you must do is simply request it, and I dare say, the offer shall be most graciously extended.” He punctuated the statement with a knowing wink.

Keith’s breath caught, a soft chuckle escaping as he tried to mask his embarrassment. He shook his head lightly, attempting a casual demeanor.

“Right then,” Keith replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his smile lingering as he turned to walk away. His steps felt lighter, and somehow, the weight on his chest felt just a bit less burdensome.

Chapter Text

I just hope she don't wanna leave me.

V.

“I think I have a crush on Keith.” 

Lance blurted, voice low but urgent, like he was trying to confess a war crime and not a mild romantic disaster.

Silence.

Then, a long, shared sigh from Hunk and Pidge.

“Oh my god ,” Pidge said flatly, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re just realizing that now?”

Lance looked between them, blinking. “Wait. What do you mean? You guys knew ?”

“Knew?” Pidge huffed. “ Lance , we've been living in the shadow of your massive Keith crush for months . I thought you were just refusing to say it out loud.”

“I thought it was a bit!” Hunk added, throwing his hands up. “Like, ‘ha-ha, Lance is pretending not to be head over heels for Keith’ kind of thing. But you were serious ?”

Lance’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “But I’ve been so careful!”

Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Dude. We literally showed you security footage of him letting you sleep on his shoulder. Fed it to you. On a tablet. With slow-mo.”

“And remember that conversation after the feast?” Pidge added, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. “When Hunk was dropping hints like anvils and you just kept nodding along like he was reciting weather reports?”

“We’ve practically been playing matchmaker without the paycheck,” Hunk said, shaking his head.

Lance’s mouth opened to protest… then closed again. Slowly. Defeated.

But then something clicked.

Wait.

Wait a second.

His eyes squinted at Pidge, something foggy clearing behind them.

“Hold up—” he sat up straight, pointing a dramatic, accusatory finger at her. “How did you know about the conversation after the feast? That was just me and Hunk!”

Pidge raised an unimpressed brow. “Oh, come on. You think Hunk wouldn’t tell me?”

Lance turned slowly. Betrayed. Visibly. Painfully.

Hunk winced. “In my defense,” he said, hands up, “you were being so dense, and I needed help. Pidge has, like, a PhD in decoding feelings.”

“I trusted you,” Lance cried, clutching at his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’re supposed to be my ride-or-die! My lasagna buddy! How could you sell me out like this?!”

“I didn’t sell you out,” Hunk said, holding back a smile. “I subcontracted the problem. Efficiently.”

Pidge just sipped from her mug like this was her morning entertainment.

“You’re all monsters,” Lance grumbled, flopping back onto the couch. “I’m surrounded by traitors. I’ve been emotionally mugged.”

“Yeah, well,” Pidge said with a smirk, “maybe next time don’t fall in love with your rival like an anime protagonist and expect us not to notice.”

“And let’s not forget the weird reverse flirting thing you do,” Hunk added, gesturing vaguely. 

“Like… constantly insulting him just to get his attention?”

“What? I do not—!”

“You absolutely do,” Pidge said. “Honestly, it’s a sad sight to see.”

“ Okay –but–”

“Lance,” Hunk said, looking at him like he was trying to gently break bad news, “you tease him, bicker with him, stare at him when you think no one’s watching, and then look away like you’ve been caught stealing a feeling.”

Pidge pointed at Hunk. “Exactly. You emotionally bully him like a middle schooler with a crush.”

Lance didn’t even try to defend himself.

He just sat there, mouth slightly open, blinking as their words settled into his brain like a bucket of cold water dumped straight onto his head. His brain scrambled for a snappy comeback, some kind of witty deflection, anything—but instead, all he could do was drag a hand down his face and groan.

“…Okay, that’s fair,” he muttered through his fingers.

Hunk gave him a pitying smile, but Pidge just looked smug.

“It’s painfully obvious,” Pidge said, deadpan. “Like, we should start charging you for the secondhand embarrassment.”

“We would be so rich!” Hunk added enthusiastically. 

Wow. Actual Traitors.

Lance squinted at both of them. “Wow. Thanks for the support.”

“You’re welcome,” she said sweetly. Devil.

Hunk clapped him on the back with a grin. “We’re just glad you finally said it out loud, man. That’s growth.”

Lance let his head loll back dramatically against the cushion, staring at the ceiling like it might offer him answers. Or mercy. Preferably both.

“So what do I do now?” he asked.

Pidge and Hunk exchanged a look. Then Pidge smirked. “Step one: Stop pretending he’s not your favorite person on this ship.”

“Step two,” Hunk added, “try not to die of embarrassment when you actually tell him.”

Lance groaned again.

“And step three,” Pidge finished, grinning, “stop flirting like a fifth grader.”

Lance threw a cushion at her.

It bounced off Pidge’s head with a satisfying fwump, and she gasped like he’d personally offended science itself.

“Oh, it’s on ,” she declared.

Before Lance could react, she grabbed a smaller cushion from behind her and lobbed it with expert precision. It hit him square in the face.

“Uncalled for!” he yelped, laughing as he scrambled for another. Hunk, sitting between them, held his hands up.

“I am not getting involved—!”

But it was too late. A cushion ricocheted off his shoulder as collateral damage.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Hunk said, grabbing a pillow with mock menace.

“Bring it, big guy!” Lance hollered, standing on the couch like some kind of triumphant gladiator. 

The cushions flew, laughter echoing, the soft thuds of fabric warfare punctuating every terrible one-liner and squeal.

It was pure chaos. Hunk used a couch cushion as a shield. Pidge dove behind a chair. Lance accidentally tripped over the coffee table, recovered, and yelled, “I MEANT TO DO THAT.”

And then—

BZZZZZT.

The castle comms crackled to life above them with a loud chirp, halting the madness mid-throw.

Coran’s voice came through, chipper and far too loud for three adrenaline-filled Paladins mid-battle.

“Paladins! Might I kindly ask you all to report to the bridge? Something’s come up—fairly important, possibly dramatic, definitely worth your attention!”

A beat of silence.

Then Lance, hair tousled and breathing hard, looked around the wreckage of their impromptu warzone.

“...Do you think we have time to make it not look like a sleepover exploded in here?”

Pidge, still holding a pillow like a weapon, deadpanned, “Not unless we can reverse time.”

Hunk sighed. “Guess we’re showing up like this.”

They all groaned in sync, cushions dropping to the floor as they shuffled toward the exit—still grinning, bruised in pride only, and thoroughly unprepared for whatever actually dramatic thing Coran had waiting for them.

–

“All Paladins, I bring excellent news—we’ve been formally invited to a royal ball!” Allura announced, standing tall at the front with a graceful smile, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

The news hit like a spark. Lance’s grin spread wide. “A ball? With music and dancing? This is gonna be amazing!” 

Hunk let out a happy laugh. “Finally, a chance to celebrate properly!”

Pidge tapped away on her tablet, eyes gleaming. “I’m already curious about the music they’ll have.”

Shiro smiled softly. “It’s good to be recognized for our work.”

The team buzzed with excitement, voices overlapping as they imagined the festivities—except for Keith. He stood slightly apart, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Lance caught Keith standing off to the side, his usual intensity replaced by a quiet reservation. 

Leaning in just enough to keep his voice low, Lance asked, “Hey, what’s up? You don’t seem too thrilled about the whole ball thing.”

Keith glanced at him briefly, shrugging. “I probably won’t go. Social events like that… they’re not really my thing.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Come on, Keith. Just a little bit of fun. You might actually like it.”

Keith blinked, almost surprised by the suggestion, then nodded before Lance could say more. “Alright, fine. I’ll go.”

Lance stared at him, slightly thrown off. That was fast. Did I just convince him with one sentence? He shrugged to himself, a grin spreading across his face. Well, that’s new.

Allura clasped her hands in front of her, posture poised and regal as always. “Now, as it is a formal occasion of high esteem and celebration, it is highly encouraged that we present ourselves in attire befitting such elegance.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…You mean we gotta look fancy,” Pidge translated flatly.

“Precisely,” Allura said, entirely unbothered.

Hunk raised his hand halfway, looking around at the rest of the team. “Wait—uh, do we even have anything fancy to wear?”

Just then, as if summoned on cue, Coran practically slid into the room with theatrical flair, mustache practically twinkling with excitement. “Ah-ha! I was hoping someone would ask that!” He swept an arm toward the hall. “If you would all be so kind as to follow me, I believe you’ll find the answer most dazzling.”

“…That was ominous,” Lance whispered, already grinning.

Keith just sighed and fell in line as the team began to follow Coran down the corridor, Allura gliding behind them like this was the most natural thing in the universe.

–

The team trailed after Coran, their footsteps echoing down a corridor none of them could quite place. The Castle was massive—full of twisting hallways and shifting architecture—but this particular stretch felt… different. The walls here were smoother, the lighting softer, casting a pale gold glow on the tiled floor.

“Wait,” Pidge muttered, glancing around with a narrowed gaze. “This isn’t the way to the training deck, right?”

“Nope,” Hunk said, eyeing the passing doors. “Definitely not the lounge either.”

“I’ve lived here for… forever ,” Lance added, frowning as he looked overhead. “How are there still parts of this place I don’t know about?”

“Maybe the Castle just likes keeping secrets,” Pidge offered.

Keith, a few steps behind, kept his mouth shut but also kept glancing around with a furrowed brow. He didn’t recognize any of this either.

At the front of the group, Coran strode confidently ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a royal tour guide. Allura walked beside him, smiling faintly to herself. Neither looked the slightest bit surprised by the unfamiliar route.

“Allura,” Shiro finally asked, stepping up beside her, “where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” she said, a little too serenely. “But trust me—it’s worth the walk.”

That only made the paladins exchange even more bewildered glances.

“This feels like we’re being led into a trap,” Lance whispered, half-joking.

“Then we’re all going down together,” Pidge replied solemnly.

“Unity,” Hunk added with a mock salute.

-

The hallway ended at a sleek, metallic door that slid open with a soft whoosh. What lay beyond made everyone pause.

It was a large, circular room—walls lined with wardrobe compartments, display stands, and full-length mirrors. Soft lights glowed from panels in the ceiling, and the air even smelled faintly like fresh fabric.

Coran stepped in first, arms wide. “Ta-da! Welcome to the Paladin dressing room!”

The team slowly filtered in, eyes widening as they took in the vast racks and gilded drawers.

Lance let out a low whistle. “Okay… I gotta admit. This is kinda cool.”

“Kinda?” Pidge said, already poking at some hanging garments. “This is like a space fashion museum.”

Hunk walked over to a velvet-lined wardrobe and gingerly opened it. Inside, luxurious fabrics shimmered under the light—some rich and velvety, others silky with intricate embroidery. “Whoa…” he breathed.

Keith stayed at the threshold, hands shoved in his pockets, unsure of where to look or what to do with himself.

“It’s all custom-fitted,” Allura assured them, gliding toward a panel that lit up at her touch. “The Castle’s systems can scan and tailor outfits to suit each of you. All you have to do is choose.”

Coran grinned proudly. “So go on, my champions. The galaxy awaits your glamour!”

The room echoed with varying reactions: Pidge’s excited muttering, Hunk’s awe, Lance’s dramatic gasps—and Keith’s quiet but very real sense of impending doom.

It didn’t take long for each of them to be handed—or in some cases, shoved—toward one of the storage units, where sleek panels slid open to reveal rows of garments, glowing slightly as if waiting for the right person.

Coran clapped his hands together. “Alright, my dazzling defenders! Time to suit up. We’ve got a tradition to uphold.”

“What kind of tradition?” Pidge asked warily, holding up what looked suspiciously like a space-cravat.

“A fashion show, of course!” Coran said proudly, as if this were the most obvious thing in the universe.

Allura nodded firmly, arms crossed. “Every paladin who has attended a formal gathering aboard this castle has participated in the ceremonial unveiling of formalwear. It’s quite standard.”

“Wait—this is a thing?” Lance asked, halfway between horrified and delighted. “Like... an actual thing?”

“Oh yes,” Coran replied with a grin. “You try everything on, and then step out one at a time for everyone else to admire and judge—I mean, appreciate!”

There was a long beat of silence.

“Fine, but if I don’t look incredible, I’m suing,” Lance muttered as he marched toward one of the dressing booths.

“Do you even know who you’d sue?” Pidge called after him.

“No,” he called back. “But someone’s getting served.”

With groans, eye rolls, and the occasional spark of genuine curiosity, each paladin shuffled into a dressing stall as Allura and Coran exchanged excited looks, ready to witness the results of their surprise fashion parade.

The room buzzed with movement—curtains being drawn, clothing rustling, a few scattered complaints—and the anticipation of the big reveal lingered in the air like static.

–

The lights dimmed slightly—how or why, no one could say, but Coran definitely had something to do with it—and a dramatic spotlight flicked on above the main floor.

“Presenting,” Coran announced with theatrical flair, “our first dazzling paladin!”

Pidge was the first to emerge from behind the curtain, arms raised with zero shame.

Her outfit was sleek and androgynous, a sharp forest green suit with asymmetrical lapels and thin gold accents lining the seams. The sleeves were slightly rolled, revealing a soft techy glow from an undershirt woven with Altean fabric. She wore it like armor, but strutted like she was on a mission.

“Okay, not wearing a dress might’ve been the best decision I’ve made all year,” she said, grinning.

Hunk followed next, a bit sheepish but beaming. His deep bronze-colored jacket had a high collar and layered embroidery in a pattern reminiscent of constellations—intricate, but subtle. The outfit hugged his broad frame perfectly, paired with wide-legged black pants and formal boots. He looked regal—and also like he could still cook a three-course meal without breaking a sweat.

“I feel like I should be knighted or something,” he laughed. “Do I get a sword?”

Then came Shiro. The collective reaction was a respectful silence—until Pidge muttered, “Okay, 

well now I feel underdressed,” and the others nearly choked trying to hide their laughter.

He wore a tailored dark grey ensemble with a structured shoulder cape on one side, draped in black and silver. A thin sash crossed his chest, clipped with the symbol of Voltron. The fit was almost militaristic, but softened by the dark shimmer of the fabric. He looked like a diplomat who could absolutely still punch a hole through steel.

Allura clapped politely. “Very nice, Shiro. You look like someone they write songs about.”

“Thanks,” he said, clearly a little bashful. “Coran picked most of it out.”

Keith stepped out next—and Lance almost tripped over his own foot.

Lance couldn’t take his eyes off Keith. The dark red silk top caught the light just right, its smooth fabric hugging Keith’s form in a way that made every sharp line of his body stand out. That wide neckline teasingly revealed the edge of his collarbone—something Lance hadn’t realized he could find so captivating. And that messy hair, always a little wild, looked even more rebellious under the soft glow, like Keith was daring the whole room to look away.

How is he this effortlessly perfect? Lance thought, heart pounding a little faster than usual. I’m so so so so doomed.

He glanced away quickly, trying to catch his breath, but then found himself stealing another look. Damn it, Keith was completely mesmerizing.

Lance barely caught himself before he started drooling, but Pidge’s quiet voice cut through his thoughts like a whistle.

“Dude, you’re totally drooling,” she whispered, smirking just enough to make him freeze.

“W-what? No, I’m not!” Lance stammered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, cheeks burning.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Lance shot her a mock glare, but before he could say more, Pidge nudged him. “Alright, it’s your turn. Show us what you’ve got.”

He walked out. 

His outfit was a rich midnight blue, fitted at the waist with an angular jacket that flared just slightly at the hips. A long slit down one side revealed high black boots, and silver accents glinted along the edges of his cuffs and collar. A deep V-neck framed his chest just enough to be daring, but not overboard. He looked like a star come to life.

Keith’s jaw twitched. His gaze flicked down, then back up with an expression somewhere between stunned and completely overwhelmed.

Lance noticed.

And immediately forgot how to function.

“Oh,” was all he could manage in his brain.

“Uh...” Keith muttered under his breath, coughing and looking away. “Cool suit.”

Lance’s brain blue-screened.

“Thanks,” he croaked, forgetting every word he’d ever known.

The others clapped, cheered, made comments, but everything around them went a bit fuzzy.

And somewhere behind them, Allura whispered to Coran, “They’re going to implode before the first dance.”

Coran nodded solemnly. “It’ll be beautiful.”

Allura stepped forward, her eyes shining with pride as she looked over the paladins.

“You all look truly remarkable,” she announced, her voice carrying the warmth and grace she was known for. “Now, there’s no time to waste—let us make our way to the ballroom.”

The team shared excited glances, the promise of the evening ahead buzzing in the air.

-

As the they began shuffling out of the dressing room, laughter and excitement buzzing in the air, Lance adjusted his sleeves, still reeling a little from how unfairly good Keith looked in that deep red silk shirt. He hadn’t expected to be hit that hard. Honestly, how is anyone supposed to function around that?

He was still vaguely spacing out when he noticed Keith wasn’t walking out with the others. Instead, Keith lingered near the doorway, fidgeting slightly before finally stepping closer.

“Hey,” Keith said, voice low. “Uh… can I ask you something?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

Keith hesitated, then brought a hand up to his slightly tousled hair. “Would you… maybe braid my hair? Just for the ball. I figured—you probably know how.”

Lance blinked, caught off guard. Then his grin slowly stretched wide.

“Ohhh? So you do care about looking fancy tonight,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Wasn’t it you who said something like ‘I probably won’t even go’ earlier?”

Keith looked away, ears already turning pink. “That’s not what I—”

“I’m just saying,” Lance interrupted, smug now, “if I braid it, you’re going to owe me. No falling asleep while I do your hair– or the ball. No ghosting halfway through. You’re in this, mullet.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest twitch of a smile. “Fine. I won’t disappear.”

“Good.” Lance gestured for him to sit. “Now sit down, drama king. Let the artist work.”

As Keith sat on a nearby bench and turned his back to him, Lance stepped behind him, hands moving to gently gather the strands of hair. The texture was soft—easier to manage than he expected. He worked slowly, more focused than he let on.

He actually asked me. Out of everyone. There was something quietly satisfying about that—like being trusted with something small but personal.

For a moment, everything felt calm. Just him, Keith, and the quiet space between them.

—

The doors to the ballroom parted with a gentle hiss and a soft pulse of golden light, revealing the grand space beyond.

The team stepped in together, the light from the crystal chandeliers above refracting into soft pastels across the polished floors. The walls shimmered with intricate carvings and flowing alien tapestries that caught and tossed the light like water. A low hum of elegant music filled the space, performed by an ensemble of stringed and glowing instruments near the far wall. Long tables lined with delicately arranged refreshments hugged the edges of the room, while the central floor was wide open for dancing.

“Oh—whoa,” Hunk breathed, eyes wide as he took in the grandeur. “Okay. I was not emotionally prepared for this level of fancy.”

Pidge’s glasses slid slightly down her nose as she stared up at the chandeliers. “This is some next-level royal court stuff.”

Shiro gave a soft whistle of admiration, adjusting the cuff of his coat. “It’s beautiful. Almost surreal.”

Allura, standing tall and radiant in her formal wear, beamed at the team. “This is how proper gratitude is shown across much of the Denari quadrant. They believe beauty should match the depth of their thanks.”

Coran, equally regal and glowing with pride, added, “And they’ve spared no effort, as you can see! Only the rarest of light-echo crystals are used in those chandeliers!”

Lance blinked around the room, his usual flair momentarily stunned quiet. Then he gave a soft, impressed whistle. “Okay... this might actually be the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Keith, standing beside him, looked around a bit more reservedly but nodded. “Yeah. It’s... a lot.”

With that, the team began to fan out slowly, their steps echoing lightly on the smooth floor. The celebration had just begun.

Lance inhaled deeply, puffed out his chest, and smoothed a hand down the front of his formal vest with practiced flair. The moment the team began to ease into the crowd, he turned to Hunk and Pidge with a dazzling grin.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, voice smug and eyes glittering with mischief, “I’m off to charm the masses. Mingle, dazzle, flirt—ladies of the galaxy, prepare yourselves for—”

Pidge grabbed his elbow before he could even take a step, dragging him back without a hint of subtlety. “Absolutely not.”

Hunk stepped in on the other side, arms crossed and giving him the same look he used when Lance tried to sneak extra portions at dinner. “Nope. Denied. Sit down, Romeo.”

Lance blinked, flailing slightly between them. “Hey! What happened to supporting me?”

“We are supporting you,” Pidge said. “Just not in chasing random space princesses when there’s a very obvious guy you’re crushing on who’s like, right over there.”

“Exactly,” Hunk nodded. “Focus, man. You’ve been moping over Keith for months. Tonight’s your shot.”

Lance stared at them, mouth slightly open in protest, but the words just... didn’t come. He glanced across the ballroom, and sure enough, there was Keith—standing near a tall, glimmering column of crystal light, awkwardly holding a drink, eyes subtly scanning the room like he’d rather be anywhere else. His braid sat neatly over his shoulder, shining under the chandelier glow.

Lance looked back at his friends, slumped a little, and sighed. “Okay, fine. You’re right.”

Pidge smirked. “Of course we are.”

Hunk clapped him on the back. “Go get him, buddy.”

Lance took one confident step forward.

Then froze.

His eyes locked on Keith again—still by the pillar, still alone, still looking like he didn’t quite know what to do in a ballroom full of glittering gowns and polished shoes. His braid shifted slightly as he looked over his shoulder, almost like he was searching for someone.

Someone like you, Lance’s brain supplied helpfully.

Lance panicked.

“Okay-I’m-gonna-go-do-it-in-a-second!” he blurted, voice pitching just a little higher as he pivoted sharply on his heel. “But first! Drinks! Yes. Drinks.”

Before Hunk or Pidge could so much as blink, he was already fast-walking in the opposite direction, blush creeping up his neck like wildfire.

“Lance—” Hunk started.

“They’re not alcoholic!” Pidge hissed after him.

But Lance was already at the refreshment table, aggressively pouring himself a sparkling blue drink with all the grace of a man trying to distract himself from spiraling emotions.

Okay , he thought, sipping too quickly. Deep breath. I’ll go up to him. I’ll be smooth. I’ll be charming. I’ll just—

He caught Keith glancing around again, this time in the direction Lance had just bolted from.

Lance panicked harder.

—or I’ll hide behind this fruit sculpture for a little while longer and then I’ll go up to him.

Lance gulped down the rest of his drink in one long, desperate chug, hoping it would grant him some kind of magical confidence boost. He smacked his lips, then blinked.

"...This isn’t alcohol."

He stared at the cup in disbelief, then squinted suspiciously at the table of pastel-colored beverages like they had personally betrayed him.

"Coran said these were punch blends. Who blends a punch without a punch?"

Before he could further lament the lack of liquid courage, a shadow fell across the table. He turned to see an alien man approaching—tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a sleek, deep purple suit with silver trim. His skin was a soft shade of lavender, and his eyes gleamed like polished bronze.

And he was smiling.

Right at Lance.

“Hello,” the alien said smoothly, voice low and rich, accent just unfamiliar enough to sound exotic. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room. You wear that suit exceptionally well.”

Lance blinked. “Oh. Uh. Thanks?”

He straightened a little, automatically reaching for charm mode—but it stalled halfway.

Wait. He tilted his head slightly, brain lagging. Is he…? He’s flirting. With me. I’M the flirtee.

The realization hit like a slap made of glitter.

He wasn’t used to this side of the exchange. He usually did the flirting. With girls. With control .

This—this was new territory.

“I—uh—I appreciate the compliment,” Lance said, awkwardly trying to play it cool while simultaneously backing an inch toward the drinks table. “Very kind of you. Really. Very kind.”

The alien chuckled, a warm, lilting sound. “It’s rare to see someone with such… expressive eyes.”

“Oh boy,” Lance muttered under his breath.

He gave an apologetic smile and started to sidestep. “I’m flattered, truly, but I’m kind of—uh—spoken for.”

Am I? Am I?! his brain screamed.

Unfortunately, the alien followed his sidestep, clearly undeterred. “Spoken for? That’s a shame. But if they haven’t claimed you yet, then maybe they’re missing their chance.”

Lance gave a nervous laugh, glancing around wildly.

“Listen, I really think—uh—I just remembered that I left my—”

“Lance.”

The voice came sharp and cold from behind him.

Lance froze.

The alien turned.

Keith stood there, rigid in posture, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw was clenched, 

dark eyes narrowed, and though he didn’t raise his voice, every syllable carried an edge that sliced through the ambient music.

The alien tilted his head. “Oh. And you are?”

Keith took a single step forward. “Someone who was looking for him.”

Lance glanced between them, mouth parted, still not quite caught up. Is he mad?

The alien blinked, then smiled again—though this time, it was a little tighter. “Ah. I see. But he doesn’t seem taken. Or terribly interested in being claimed.”

Lance almost choked on air. “Wha—hey—! Claimed?! I'm not—! You can’t just—”

Keith cut in, his tone steely. “He said he’s not interested.”

The alien kept smiling. “Did he say that? Or are you saying it for him?”

Lance felt Keith shift closer, just enough that their arms nearly brushed. Not touching—but the heat radiating from him, the tension—Lance could feel it like static in his chest.

Keith spoke again, flat but firm. “If you were listening, he was trying to say it.”

The alien studied Keith for a beat longer, then gave a low chuckle and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright. No need to bristle.”

He turned to Lance, offering a small, polite nod. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And with that, the alien slipped back into the crowd, disappearing between silk dresses and glowing chandeliers.

Lance didn’t move.

Keith didn’t either.

Finally, Lance turned, wide-eyed. “...Were you seriously about to fight him?”

Keith didn’t look at him, just muttered, “I didn’t like his tone.”

Lance blinked again, heart pounding against his ribs.

Lance let out a nervous chuckle, smoothing a hand through his hair and turning toward Keith with an exaggerated grin.

“Whew, thanks, man. Not that I needed the save or anything. I mean, I had it under control,” he said, nudging Keith lightly with his elbow in a playful, buddy-buddy kind of way. “I was just… you know, lulling him into a false sense of security before I hit him with the ol’ Lance charm shutdown.”

Keith finally looked at him. And Lance immediately regretted making eye contact.

Because Keith’s expression wasn’t sarcastic or annoyed or exasperated like usual—it was serious. Genuinely serious. A little tight. A little worried.

“You didn’t look like you had it under control,” Keith said quietly, brows furrowed. “He wasn’t listening to you. He wasn’t backing off.”

Lance’s smile wavered.

“I just—” He laughed awkwardly, eyes darting away. “I mean, yeah, I was a little caught off guard, but—come on, I’ve flirted with people before. Just not like… not like that.” He shrugged, trying to brush it off. “I didn’t want to be rude.”

Keith shook his head slightly. “You shouldn’t have to push someone off just to be listened to.”

Lance blinked. His chest tightened unexpectedly.

He opened his mouth to make another joke, some offhand quip about Keith sounding like a space dad—but it stuck in his throat. Because Keith’s eyes were still on him. And the concern there wasn’t just surface-level. It meant something.

“…Thanks,” Lance muttered, quieter this time. He wasn’t smiling now. Just watching Keith, lips pressed together in something almost vulnerable.

Keith glanced down for a second, like the intensity of it was a bit too much, then crossed his arms and stepped just a little closer, his voice softer.

“Next time,” he said, not quite meeting Lance’s eyes, “just come find me. Okay?”

Lance’s heart practically flipped over.

“…Okay,” he breathed.

The two of them stood there—awkwardly. Neither saying anything. The hum of the party behind them felt distant, muffled beneath the quiet tension settling between them. Lance shuffled his feet, half-glancing at Keith, who kept his arms folded and eyes pointed somewhere toward the edge of the dancefloor.

Lance opened his mouth once, then closed it. Keith looked like he was thinking too hard to interrupt.

Then finally, Keith cleared his throat. “Uh… Do you wanna—go get some air?” he asked, eyes flicking toward the double doors leading out to the balcony. “It’s kinda loud in here.”

Lance blinked, caught off guard again. “Oh. Yeah. Sure,” he said, probably too quickly. “Fresh air sounds… cool.”

Keith nodded once, then started walking. Lance followed a half-step behind, trying not to overthink the way his heart jumped a little at the offer.

The moment they stepped out onto the balcony, the change in atmosphere was immediate. The cool air swept over them like a gentle relief from the stuffy, overly perfumed ballroom. A soft breeze tugged lightly at their clothes and hair. The stars overhead glittered against the deep lavender sky, alien constellations slowly drifting across the atmosphere.

Lance leaned against the stone railing, exhaling slowly. “Okay, yeah. You were right. This is way better than being in there.”

Keith stood beside him, his eyes cast out across the horizon. “Too many people,” he muttered.

Lance huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Never thought I’d say this, but all the compliments and champagne and attempted alien suitors are kinda exhausting.”

Keith didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You really didn’t see that guy coming, huh?”

“No! I mean, do I have the look of someone who gets cornered at galas?” Lance threw his hands up dramatically. “Okay—don’t answer that. But seriously, I panicked! My flirting circuit is like—programmed for girls. And here comes tall-blue-and-glowy, and suddenly I’m buffering.”

Keith’s shoulders shook faintly with a small chuckle, and Lance looked at him out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t a full laugh, but it was something.

Lance looked back out at the stars.

“So,” he started, nudging Keith lightly with his elbow. “You came in all knight-in-shining-armor back there, huh? Very heroic. Very dramatic. Very you.”

Keith gave him a side-eye, but didn’t deny it.

Lance smirked. “But, uh… not to burst your bubble or anything, but your whole ‘intimidating glare, zero charm’ strategy? Not exactly textbook flirting.”

Keith blinked. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Yeah, I know ! That’s the problem ,” Lance said, grinning wider now. “That guy probably thought you were trying to assert dominance or something. I mean, no offense, but you kind of looked like you were gonna bite him.”

Keith turned fully to face him now, brows furrowed. “He wasn’t backing off. What was I supposed to do—offer him a flower?”

Lance snorted again, still leaning back on the balcony railing. “No, but seriously, Keith—you? Flirting? I just can’t picture it.”

Keith’s brows drew together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, c’mon.” Lance waved a hand. “You’re great at a lot of things, but being smooth? You’re more likely to spar with someone than flirt with them. You just… don’t have the vibe, man.”

Keith crossed his arms. “You’re saying I couldn’t flirt if I tried ?”

Lance grinned, raising a brow. “Exactly. I mean—look, it’s not an insult! You’ve got, like, the emotional subtlety of a charging galra. You’d crash and burn.”

There was a brief silence. Keith’s expression flattened, but something sharp sparked behind his eyes.

“All right,” he said. Calm. Way too calm. “Then let me prove you wrong.”

Lance’s grin wavered. “Wait, what?”

Before he could backpedal, Keith stepped closer—just slightly, but enough to cut the distance between them, and suddenly Lance forgot how to breathe like a normal person.

Keith’s voice was lower now, deliberate. “You know, for someone who talks as much as you do… you get really quiet when I look at you like this.”

Lance blinked. “Wh—I—?”

Keith tilted his head, slow and confident. “You’re always going on about how charming you are. But your ears are turning red right now.”

“They are not,” Lance hissed—too quickly, voice cracking.

Keith didn’t stop. He didn’t need to. Lance’s reaction had already spurred something in him—some mix of determination and mischievous momentum.

Keith leaned on the railing with one arm, angled just toward him now. “They are,” he said smoothly, voice softer. “You’re blushing so hard, it’s practically lighting up your face. I didn’t even know you could get more vibrant than your jacket, but here we are.”

Lance's mouth opened, closed again. “I—you—”

Keith tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in focus, but not with judgment. “Your eyes do this thing when you’re flustered. They go all wide and bright. Kinda like… like starlight caught in motion.”

Lance blinked. “Wh—what?”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Keith said, nonchalantly. “They’re nice to look at.”

“You can’t just—!” Lance’s voice jumped an octave, horrified and flustered and vibrating with secondhand embarrassment. “That’s not even a thing! Starlight in motion—who even says that?”

“I do. Right now.” Keith shrugged. “And it worked. You’re a mess.”

“I am not a mess.”

“You’re a gorgeous mess, then.” Keith smiled, not teasing now—just soft. “It suits you.”

Lance’s brain promptly short-circuited. There were no snappy comebacks in his arsenal for this. No witty defenses or deflections. Just static. Glitching.

He looked at Keith, really looked, and for a second all the noise around them—the music from the ballroom, the soft wind on the balcony, the chatter inside—dulled.

He barely managed to whisper, “What are you doing to me?”

Keith only replied, just as quiet, “Proving you wrong.”

And gods, was he ever.

From inside the ballroom, a clear chime rang out, followed by the amplified voice of a well-dressed alien announcer. “Honored guests, may I have your attention! We’d like to take a moment to formally thank the Paladins of Voltron for their brave efforts in aiding our people.”

Lance blinked, startled by the sudden shift, and Keith turned toward the sound like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just poetically complimented Lance into a state of catastrophic heart failure.

“Oh look,” Keith said dryly, straightening from the railing. “We’re heroes again.”

Lance cleared his throat, tugging at the front of his jacket and trying to stop his heart from doing gymnastics. “Yeah. Heroes with very smooth flirting tactics, apparently,” he muttered under his breath.

Keith arched an eyebrow at him. “Did you say something?”

The announcer gestured grandly toward the stage, where Shiro was being beckoned forward. 

The spotlight hit him squarely, making his silver hair glint. With the practiced ease of someone who had done this far too many times, Shiro smiled and took the mic.

“We’re honored to have helped,” Shiro began, voice steady and kind. “And on behalf of the team, we’re grateful for your hospitality. Peace is something we fight for every day, but moments like this—where we get to celebrate it with others—remind us what it’s all for.”

Applause followed. Loud, genuine, warm.

Meanwhile, out on the balcony, Lance and Keith stood side by side, just out of view. Lance glanced at Keith, who nodded slowly, approving.

“Classic Shiro,” Keith said, lips twitching. “Five seconds in and he sounds like he’s about to run for intergalactic president.”

“He should,” Lance replied, arms folded. “I’d vote for him. Twice, if that was legal.”

Keith chuckled, eyes still on the stage. “Pidge would make sure it wasn’t legal.”

“Right, right. Galactic justice and all.” Lance’s voice trailed off slightly as he turned his gaze back toward the stage, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Because even though they were bantering, standing shoulder to shoulder like always, like nothing had shifted, everything felt different.

Keith had called him gorgeous. Gorgeous .

And the thing that left Lance reeling wasn’t the embarrassment or the heat still crawling up his neck.

It was how much he’d wanted to hear it.

He laughed along with Keith now, keeping the tone light, but in the back of his mind, the memory of that moment shimmered—quiet, delicate, and terrifyingly warm.

Like starlight caught in motion.

As the final claps echoed across the ballroom and Shiro gave a polite, humble bow, the announcer stepped forward once more with a too-wide smile. “And now, to further honor our beloved guests and celebrate peace—may we present the final act of the evening… the unity dance!”

The lights dimmed just slightly, and a slow, melodic tune began to drift through the air—soft and lilting, with a strangely hypnotic rhythm. Almost instantly, the alien guests began to pair up and sway, their movements eerily synchronized. As if on cue. Like it had been hardwired into them.

Lance blinked. “Uh… are they being possessed, or…”

Keith leaned closer, eyes wide. “Is this a cultural thing? Should we be worried?”

They both stood frozen for a moment, watching as the elegant, otherworldly couples spun and glided with practiced precision. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. It was… spreading.

“Oh quiznak,” Lance muttered. “It’s contagious.”

Keith pointed. “Look.”

Lance turned his head—and, sure enough, Coran was spinning Allura dramatically near the center of the floor. Her gown sparkled under the lights, and Coran had an arm out, graceful and surprisingly agile. Off to the side, Hunk and Pidge had paired up too, though theirs looked more like an awkward high school slow dance than an elegant display. Hunk was laughing nervously while Pidge mock-bowed with a theatrical flair.

Lance gawked. “What—when—how?!”

Keith cleared his throat and took a small, quiet breath. “I think we’re next.”

Lance stiffened, turning to look at Keith with wide eyes. “We are?”

Keith didn’t say anything for a moment. His expression was unreadable, but Lance could see it—behind the calm, there was a flicker of nervousness, too.

Then, slowly—deliberately—Keith lifted his hand between them, palm open.

He looked at Lance with a quiet intensity and asked, softly, “Would you… like to dance with me?”

Lance tried—tried—to play it cool. His heart was hammering, his hands were clammy, and he was ninety percent sure the flush on his face was visible from orbit, but he forced a lopsided smirk anyway.

“Pfft,” he said, grabbing Keith’s offered hand. “Please. You think I’d say no to a dramatic, spotlight-worthy moment like this?”

Keith’s brows lifted just slightly, surprised—but he didn’t let go.

Lance led the way, weaving them out toward the dance floor where the music continued to hum in the background, warm and mellow. The moment they reached an open space, though, the both of them faltered, coming to a stop and glancing around.

“…So,” Lance said, eyes darting from couple to couple. “Do you, uh—know how to do this?”

Keith shook his head. “Nope. Not a clue.”

“Great,” Lance muttered, chuckling nervously. “Guess we’re making it up.”

They stood there for a beat too long, stiff and awkward in the middle of gracefully moving aliens. Lance shuffled his feet once. Keith hesitated. Then, slowly, Keith stepped in closer—close enough for Lance to feel the warmth radiating off him, even in the cool air of the ballroom—and rested his hands lightly on Lance’s waist.

Lance blinked. “Oh. Okay. We’re… doing this.”

Caught off guard but trying to match Keith’s calm, he lifted his own hands and settled them gently on Keith’s shoulders. They stood like that for a second—tense, unmoving, aware of everything—until Keith spoke quietly.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathed. “Better.”

They swayed slightly in time with the music, movements stiff at first—two pilots used to combat, not choreography—but slowly, something about the moment started to settle. The rhythm seeped in, and the nervous energy began to melt.

Lance swallowed hard.

He could feel Keith’s fingers through the fabric of his shirt, warm against his sides. He could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. And for the first time all night, the noise and the lights and the crowd faded into something distant. Like none of it really mattered.

Just this. Just them.

–

They swayed together in rhythm, the music humming low and warm around them. For a while, it was just movement—uncomplicated and quiet. But Lance, of course, couldn’t help himself.

“You know,” he said, voice low but amused, “for someone who claimed to have zero flirting skills, you're kind of… killing it tonight.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Lance leaned back just slightly to give him a look, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “Don’t play dumb. You knew exactly what you were doing back on the balcony. You had the whole broody, poetic thing down. Honestly? Ten out of ten.”

Keith gave a small scoff. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I? ‘Beautiful’? ‘Galaxy in your eyes’?” Lance mimicked in a dramatic voice, placing a hand to his chest like he was in a cheesy drama. “Keith, I didn’t know you moonlighted as an interstellar Romeo.”

A faint flush colored Keith’s cheeks, but he didn’t break stride. “First of all–I didn’t say that. Second, I was proving a point.”

“Well, point definitely taken,” Lance said, grin growing. “And now? This? Dancing?” He gestured loosely between them. “Since when were you coordinated enough to waltz?”

Keith’s brow furrowed. “I’m not even sure if this is a waltz.”

“Oh, shut up. You're still doing good,” Lance laughed. “What, did you secretly train in ballroom just to show me up?”

“Maybe I just pick things up fast,” Keith replied, smug but still blushing faintly.

“Well, color me impressed,” Lance said, letting his voice dip a little more serious for just a moment. “I had no idea you were this full of surprises.”

Their eyes met, and something quiet passed between them. Keith's grip tightened slightly at Lance’s waist.

“Neither did I,” Keith murmured.

Lance's breath caught for a second before he covered it with a wobbly grin. “You’re really trying to kill me out here, huh?”

Keith smirked—not cocky, but soft and a little proud. “Maybe just a little.”

Lance looked away, cheeks burning. “You’re dangerous, man.”

Lance’s eyes wandered briefly over Keith’s shoulder—and immediately locked onto Hunk and Pidge across the dance floor.

They weren’t dancing anymore. No, now they were very much invested in his business.

Pidge had her hands clasped together under her chin, swaying like some dramatic romantic heroine, while Hunk mouthed something like “awww” and made an exaggerated heart shape with his hands. Pidge followed it up by pointing obviously at Keith, then at Lance, and then waggled her eyebrows so hard it was almost impressive.

Lance stiffened and gave them both a look. A look.

He narrowed his eyes, sending sharp, loaded glares their way, mouthing a very clear cut it out while trying not to move too much or alert Keith.

Pidge just grinned wider.

Hunk waved.

“Everything okay?” Keith asked, oblivious to the circus behind him.

Lance snapped his attention back to him with a too-quick smile. “Yup! Peachy. Totally normal. Definitely not being publicly harassed with excessive miming.”

Keith blinked. “...What?”

“Nothing,” Lance said, overly casual. “Keep dancing.”

Keith gave him a suspicious glance, but shrugged and returned his focus to the music, content with the answer.

Behind his back, Pidge gave Lance two enthusiastic thumbs up while Hunk pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

Lance shook his head, biting back a smile.

“You know,” he said, leaning in just slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips, “if I had known you cleaned up this well, I would’ve started fake emergencies just to get you into fancy clothes.”

Keith blinked, mildly confused. “Fake emergencies?”

“You know,” Lance grinned. “Like, ‘Oh no, the diplomatic council can’t function without a tuxedoed paladin—quick, Keith, put on the silk!’”

Keith huffed a laugh, eyes narrowing in amused disbelief. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So... do you like dancing?”

Keith’s eyes flicked up to meet his, honest and unguarded. “Not usually.”

Lance raised a brow. “Oof. Brutal.”

Keith shook his head. “No, I mean—” He hesitated. “I think I only like it because it’s with you.”

Lance blinked, taken aback. The music continued softly around them, the rest of the room blurring for just a second.

“Oh,” Lance said, voice a little smaller than he expected.

Keith looked slightly self-conscious, but he didn’t look away. “I meant that.”

Lance, feeling the heat in his face and needing something to ground himself, opened his mouth—without thinking it through.

“Okay,” he started, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll give it to you—your flirting? Not totally terrible. Again.”

Keith blinked at him, confused but still listening.

“Like, for someone who acts like they were raised by space wolves? Pretty charming. I mean—rough, awkward, but kinda funny,” Lance continued, chuckling. “Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you. You surprised me, buddy.”

Keith’s brows drew together slightly.

Lance kept going, still teasing, still trying to play it cool, even though his heart was pounding. “I mean—don’t get me wrong, it was hilarious. We’re just dancing, friends messing around, right? But man, if anyone heard the stuff you were saying, they’d think you actually liked me or something.”

He laughed lightly, nudging Keith’s shoulder, completely missing the way Keith’s entire posture froze.

Keith took a half-step back.

“…Right,” Keith said slowly, voice low and suddenly flat. “Just friends.”

Lance blinked. “Wait, I—what?”

Keith looked at him, jaw tight, something wounded flickering behind his eyes. “You think this is funny?”

“What? No, I didn’t mean—”

Keith’s face twisted with something he didn’t want Lance to see. “You think I’m funny?”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying I’m a joke,” Keith snapped. His voice didn’t rise, but it cut sharp and deep. “I put myself out there and you’re just… laughing about it.”

Lance opened his mouth, breath caught somewhere in his throat. “Keith, I didn’t mean it like—”

But Keith had already turned.

He shoved through the crowd without another word, vanishing into the nearest hallway like the air in the room had suddenly become toxic.

Lance stood there, dazed. The music played on. He barely noticed until a hand touched his arm.

Shiro.

“What happened?” Shiro asked, worry etched into his features.

Lance shook his head, still staring at the door Keith had disappeared through. “I… I don’t know. I messed up.”

Shiro gave him a sympathetic look, already turning. “Let me talk to him.”

Lance didn’t stop him. He couldn’t move. His chest ached with something he couldn’t name yet, and as the crowd kept dancing around him like nothing had happened, he stood in the middle of it all — alone, and reeling.

—

Keith stormed through the castle corridors, the hum of distant machinery and echoing footfalls the only sounds that followed him. The laughter and music from the ballroom had long faded behind sealed doors, but they still rang in his ears like a mockery. His heart pounded, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Just friends.

The words repeated in his head, over and over, like a cruel chant. His fists were balled at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he walked faster, deeper into the empty halls.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just needed to go.

To be anywhere but there.

To be away from Lance.

To be away from that awful, unbearable heat behind his eyes.

"Keith!"

The voice made him freeze mid-step. His shoulders tensed.

Shiro.

Keith didn't answer. He kept walking. Faster.

"Keith, wait—"

Footsteps picked up behind him, but Keith didn’t want to face him. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to be seen like this.

Not even by Shiro.

Especially not by Shiro.

But then—Shiro caught up. A hand landed gently on Keith’s shoulder.

"Hey, look at me—"

"Don’t—" Keith’s voice cracked before he could stop it.

Shiro turned him around.

Keith’s face was already wet.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to turn his head away, but it was too late. A tear slid down his cheek, catching on his chin.

Shiro’s expression softened immediately. “Oh, Keith…”

Keith shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t think he was playing around.”

“He wasn’t,” Shiro said firmly. “You just misunderstood.”

Keith sniffed hard, wiping his sleeve across his face, but it didn’t help much. “It felt like he was making fun of me. Like everything I said—meant nothing.”

Shiro reached out, pulling Keith gently into a hug, one hand on the back of his head.

“It’s okay to feel hurt. But Lance… he just puts up walls. You’re not a joke to him. I promise.”

Keith didn’t answer. His hands stayed fisted against Shiro’s side, trembling slightly.

Shiro stood with him in the quiet of the corridor, holding him like he had when they were younger — like nothing needed to be said for the world to be right again.

“Just breathe,” Shiro said softly. “You don’t have to fix everything right now.”

Keith nodded into his shoulder, his chest tight, but starting — slowly — to steady.

And for now, that was enough.