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Chapter Text

The hum of drones floated through the air, blending with the sharp clashing of practice swords and the occasional grunt of effort. In the center of the training field, Lance dodged one of Hunk’s attacks with the grace of a dancer… or at least, that’s what he believed.

“Did you see that? You saw that, right, Pidge? That spin was worthy of an intergalactic viral video,” he bragged, barely ducking under another strike that nearly took his head off.

Pidge, sitting in the stands with a tablet in her hands, didn’t even look up.

“Yeah, Lance, super impressive. You almost died with style,” she replied flatly.

Keith snorted from the far end of the field, adjusting his grip on the practice sword. Routine training had become part of daily life at the Castle of Lions. After so many chaotic missions, a little sparring and dumb jokes were… almost enjoyable.

Shiro stood beside Allura, arms crossed, a faint smile curling his lips.

“Keep moving, team. We don’t want the next battle catching you rusty.”

“Speak for yourself, Shiro,” Lance shot back, flashing a grin. “I was born ready.”

Keith rolled his eyes.

“You were born annoying.”

Lance flashed a crooked smile, the kind that hid more than it revealed.

“Is that what bothers you… or what attracts you?”

The collective facepalm from Pidge and Hunk’s choked snort were immediate. Keith turned red as a tomato but simply raised his practice sword toward Lance.

“Wanna find out… in combat?”

Before they could dive into yet another of their endless competitions, the castle’s sharp alarm blared across the hangar.

The lights flashed red, and the communication panels lit up all at once. They sprinted toward the main console, where Coran was already projecting the information into the air.

“We have an incoming transmission! It’s… from the Kaizen Prime rebels,” Coran announced, his mustache bristling with tension.

The hologram revealed the worn, dust-covered face of a rebel leader, his expression carved with urgency.

“Voltron… we need your help. We discovered a hidden Galra base inside the Pularis asteroid belt. They’re building something… we don’t know what, but it has the power to destroy entire planets. We can’t stop them alone. We need your help. But… be careful…”

The transmission distorted, the image glitching.

“…it’s a trap… but it’s our only chance…”

The image cut off. Silence.

Only the pulsing red glow of the alarms filled the room.

Allura frowned, her eyes drifting to Shiro.

“Pularis is completely surrounded by asteroid fields. A mission there would be… suicidal.”

Shiro nodded, his expression serious.

“But if the Galra are building a weapon that powerful… we can’t ignore it.”

The team exchanged looks. The lighthearted atmosphere from training vanished like smoke in the wind. Lance swallowed hard, the jokes leaving his lips for the first time in hours.

Keith was already adjusting his jacket, sharp eyes focused, ready for whatever came next.

“Then we won’t,” he said with determination. “We’re going to stop them.”

No one said it out loud, but everyone felt it.

The castle’s hangar buzzed with activity. The lions, aligned and ready, looked like sleeping giants about to awaken.

Footsteps echoed across the metallic floor as everyone prepared. Armor adjusted. Weapons checked. Systems calibrated. There wasn’t much talking. This wasn’t just another routine mission. They all felt it — there was something different in the air.

Lance adjusted the chest plate of his blue armor. His reflection in the polished surface of the Blue Lion stared back at him — serious, eyes shining with an uncomfortable mix of adrenaline and excitement.

“Hey,” Hunk’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “we’re gonna be fine. We always are.”

Lance forced a smile — the usual one, the one that made everyone believe he was calm.

“I know, I know. The Galra can’t take us down. It’s just…” He made a wide gesture with his hands. “Pularis. Asteroids. Secret base. Planet-killing weapon. Sounds like a complicated Wednesday, doesn’t it?”

Pidge walked past them, holding her helmet, wearing that typical expression that screamed this is concerning but I refuse to say it out loud .

“Sounds like we need to be careful,” she said simply.

Keith appeared beside the Red Lion, holding his helmet under his arm. His eyes met Lance’s for a brief second — quick, fleeting — but long enough for Lance to offer him a small smile.

In that moment, Lance thought, if something goes wrong… I won’t forgive myself for not saying what I really feel .

But it wasn’t the time.

Shiro, calm but firm as always, raised his voice.

“Team, this won’t be easy. The reports are unclear and the enemy is waiting for us. We need to be ready for the worst… and trust each other.”

Allura nodded, already dressed in her combat armor, ready to pilot the castle if needed.

“Remember, if that weapon activates, it could mean the end for hundreds of planets. We cannot fail.”

Silence settled over the hangar. Only the lions’ systems hummed softly, ready. Another mission… but with a different, heavy feeling that settled deep into their bones.

Lance took a deep breath, his hand brushing the inner pocket where he kept his personal communicator. The one he used for messages that… weren’t always about the mission.

Just in case.

Only in case.

He slipped his helmet on, letting the visor hide any doubt in his eyes.

“Ready to kick some Galra ass,” he said with his best cocky tone, and one by one, they climbed into their lions.

One by one, the mechanical giants awoke. Engines ignited. Wings spread wide. The deep roar of the Blue Lion echoed in Lance’s chest.

The mission was underway.

And no one knew that some of them… might not come back.

Stars slipped like blades of light through the Blue Lion’s windows. Everything felt… too quiet.

Lance rested his elbow on the control panel, his cheek in his hand, staring out into the vast, cold space. Around him, the team’s voices came through the comms, mixed with faint static.

“We’ll enter the asteroid belt in less than ten minutes,” Pidge reported from the Green Lion.

“Remember, sensors will be affected by the magnetic field. We’ll be flying practically blind,” added Shiro, his tone serious but controlled.

Lance spun the controls skillfully, but his mind was elsewhere. On the other side of the formation, Keith piloted the Red Lion silently, but his dark eyes never left Lance. He knew him too well. Something was wrong.

“You good there, Sharpshooter?” Keith finally asked, his voice breaking the awkward silence between them.

Lance took a second to answer, as if caught off guard.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. All under control. Why? Missing my voice or what?” he joked, with that usual arrogant spark.

Keith squinted, unconvinced.

“Just… don’t get distracted,” he said, trying to sound teasing but with real worry underneath.

Lance swallowed hard, forcing a smile Keith, luckily, couldn’t fully see.

“Relax, Keith. I always land on my feet. Like cats… or idiots… and I’m both.”

Keith let out a soft snort through his nose, and the comm channel filled again with Coran’s voice:

“Attention team! Strong interference detected. The Galra are definitely here. Get ready.”

The ships slowed down as the Pularis asteroid belt stretched before them—a jungle of floating rocks, shadows, and danger.

Lance glanced at the screen. His reflection returned an expression he didn’t like to see. Doubt. Fear.

And as the lions plunged into the darkness, he slid his hand into his inner pocket, squeezing the communicator.

Just in case.

_______________________________________________________________________

The communicator…

He found it in one of the castle’s forgotten rooms, covered in dust, abandoned as if no one had thought about it for years.

It was a small communicator, an old model—not only for emergency messages but also capable of recording audio on a loop. Small, almost elegant, with metal edges and a dull shine that seemed to hide a thousand stories.

Coran saw him fiddling with the device and, with a nostalgic smile, gave him permission to keep it.

“The Alteans used to record memories with these. Conversations, thoughts… important things. Maybe it’ll help you,” he said, walking away whistling down the hall.

At first, Lance put it away without much ceremony. He thought about writing in his journal as usual. He did that when missions overwhelmed him, when nostalgia gripped him, when the image of his family pierced behind his eyelids.

But writing wasn’t always enough.

One night, after a particularly chaotic mission—too much crossfire, almost losing Pidge, too much silence in the meditation room when it was all over—he found himself alone in his room, the communicator in his hand.

He turned it over in his fingers, hesitating.

Then he turned it on.

The small device blinked with a soft light and started recording.

Lance took a deep breath. The first attempt sounded clumsy, hesitant, his voice trembling a bit.

“Well… here we are. Another night in the castle. Everyone’s alive, luckily. Barely. Today… almost…” He paused, swallowed hard, ran a hand over his face. “We almost didn’t make it. But we did. Although… I feel like we’re getting closer to not making it every time…”

He stayed silent for a few seconds, listening to his own breathing.

“Just in case. If someone finds this… I don’t know, maybe I won’t be here anymore. But I want them to know that… I tried. I always tried. And that…” Another long pause. “…I miss home. I miss the sea. I miss not being scared every damn day.”

He turned off the communicator and tucked it under his pillow.

That was the first time.

The first of many.

After every mission, every scare, every half-victory, Lance would lock himself away, turn on the communicator, and talk. Sometimes just to complain. Sometimes to laugh at the day’s jokes. Sometimes… to record goodbyes.

No one knew. No one asked. And Lance didn’t offer.

To be honest, everyone was afraid of not coming back.

Only Lance carried it differently.

He disguised it. Buried it beneath jokes. But the fear was there, growing like a shadow beneath his skin.

And that’s why he recorded.

Just in case.

Then came a mission.

One where he thought he wouldn’t make it…

The dull hum, the translucent blue light, the cold seeping through his skin…

The first thing he felt waking up was that emptiness in his chest. The vague idea that he was dead. Or about to be.

It took a few seconds to realize he was inside a healing pod.

The warm liquid surrounded him, his wounds already starting to close, and sensors blinking above his head.

He blinked, dazed, memories returning in fragments: explosions, fire, his breathing ragged as blood slipped through his fingers, the distant sound of someone shouting his name.

And then he saw him.

Next to him, in another pod, just as battered, just as unconscious, was Keith.

His hair floated in the liquid, his body full of cuts and bruises… but alive.

Lance closed his eyes for a second, letting the pressure in his chest ease just a little.

They had survived.

By the skin of their teeth, but they had survived.

That time.

When they finally took them out of the pods, Lance faked his usual smile, cracked jokes, said something about how Keith couldn’t live without him, that’s why he let himself get hurt at the same time.

Keith looked at him with those dark eyes that saw too much.

He said nothing at the moment.

But later…

Lance found the communicator in his pocket.

That night, still sore, knuckles trembling, he recorded his first real goodbye message.

Because that time, he thought he wouldn’t make it.

And he understood something.

The fear was here to stay…

_______________________________________________________________________

They made it.

The stars were silent witnesses to the chaos they had just survived. The Pularis asteroid belt had been a hell that nearly swallowed them all.

Hunk, breathing heavily, sweat on his face, leaned against a metal wall of the Galra ship while Pidge unwrapped a bandage with steady hands, focused on stopping the bleeding from a wound on his arm.

“This bandage is the best I can do with what we have,” Pidge said, biting her lip.

Hunk tried to joke to ease the tension, but the gravity of the situation overwhelmed him.

Shiro stood firm despite the pain coursing through his left arm, wrapped in a makeshift bandage that Hunk had helped him put on while dodging Galra fire.

“I can’t afford to be out of commission,” Shiro said, gritting his teeth.

Back at the castle, Allura and Coran watched the transmissions, nervous but trusting the team.

“They have to be quick,” Allura ordered. “The ship won’t wait forever.”

Coran nodded, deftly manipulating the controls to keep the link active.

Meanwhile, Keith and Lance exchanged looks heavy with worry and determination. The weight of their friends’ injuries and the mission’s pressure pressed on every step.

They knew they were inside the enemy’s nest.

The Galra ship’s corridors were dark, cold, and full of metallic echoes reverberating every step they took. The lights flickered irregularly, as if the ship itself was struggling to breathe.

Keith led the advance, sword in hand, eyes sharp as blades, alert for any movement.

Lance followed right behind, breathing hard, heart pounding. His leg hurt, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

“Shiro and Hunk are still dealing with their wounds. We have to move fast,” Lance whispered, watching the shadows.

A shot rang out from around the corner. Lance reacted instinctively, throwing himself to the ground as a laser streaked past, a blueish streak of light just where his head had been moments before.

Keith spun and delivered a precise strike, knocking down a Galra soldier trying to flank them.

“Watch out!” Keith shouted as another enemy came running from a side corridor.

Lance, despite the pain in his leg, lunged forward and kicked the attacker down.

But more footsteps were closing in.

“We’re surrounded,” Pidge said over the comms. “You need a plan. Fast.”

Keith gritted his teeth and looked at Lance.

“Take control of this section’s defense system. I’ll cover your back.”

Lance nodded, slipped over to a nearby control panel, and began hacking quickly while Keith prepared to defend them.

Minutes felt like hours. Every second counted.

And though danger lurked in every shadow, they kept moving.

Because giving up was not an option.

The Galra ship roared with enemy fire and shrill alarms as Keith and Lance positioned themselves in the last corridor, blocking the way so the rest of the team could escape.

“We just have to buy time,” Lance whispered, adjusting his weapon with steady hands but a trembling body.

Keith nodded, his gaze sharp and hard.

“They have to get out. We’re staying.”

Over the lion formation, Pidge screamed desperately into the comms.

“WE CAN’T LEAVE THEM HERE!”

From the castle, Allura’s calm voice responded with authority.

“Trust them.”

Pidge didn’t back down.

“BUT!” —her voice cracked with fear and rage—

Shiro, trying to contain the storm of emotions, spoke firmly and with pain.

“Pidge, I don’t want to leave them behind either. But if we don’t, no one will make it out alive. We have to think about the team.”

A heavy silence fell over the comm channel.

Pidge let out a frustrated huff as she ran toward her lion, not looking back.

“Then so be it,” she murmured.

Engines roared as the lions began their escape, speeding away while Keith and Lance fought.

Alarms echoed throughout the Galra ship, red lights flickering like the ship itself was in a panic. Keith and Lance sprinted down the corridor, dodging fire, footsteps pounding on metal as they neared the hangars where the lions waited.

They were almost there.

The Red Lion gleamed at the end of the corridor, massive, imposing, its hatch ready to receive them.

“Run, Keith!” Lance shouted, panting, his leg barely dragging from the old wound.

Keith turned just to make sure Lance was following, but that second of distraction was enough.

Galra guards leapt from the shadows like an ambush, surrounding them, weapons raised, ready to stop them.

Keith drew his sword and charged, but there were too many…

Lance fired what he could, covering Keith, but his body no longer responded fully. The pain in his leg made him stagger.

Within seconds, they were surrounded. Galra arms grabbed them, weapons torn away. Keith struggled, pure rage in his eyes, teeth clenched.

“LET US GO!” Keith roared, kicking, but the soldiers’ brute strength overpowered him.

Lance was the same—trapped, gasping, desperate eyes fixed on the lions.

The chance was slipping through their fingers.

But then, Lance made mental contact with Blue.

A flash of understanding crossed his gaze.

And in that moment, everything changed.

The Galra guards held them tight, but Lance was no longer thinking about giving up.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sought that familiar bond in his mind.

Blue…

The response came instantly. A low roar, the familiar warmth in his chest. His lion was there. Always there.

Trust me. One last time…

Lance opened his eyes and in one swift move, with all the strength he had left, spun around and fired at the guards holding him. The blasts disoriented them, and Lance seized the moment.

Keith turned, ready to fight by his side.

But Lance had already made his decision.

“Run, Keith!” he shouted, pushing him with both hands.

Keith stumbled backward, straight into Red’s open cockpit.

“What are you doing?! NO!” Keith stretched out his arms, trying to come back, but Lance was faster.

With one final shove, he pushed him with all his weight.

Keith fell into Red’s cockpit, his body hitting the interior. Before he could get up, Lance threw the communicator, which landed on his chest.

“Take it…” —his voice cracked, heavy with desperation and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite say— “Just in case…”

Keith scrambled, trying to get out, but Red reacted instantly.

The hatch slammed shut.

“No, no, no! LANCE!” Keith shouted, pounding the controls with his hands, watching the hatch seal his fate.

Outside, Lance gasped, connecting mentally with Blue, his eyes burning with tears.

“Take him, Blue. Promise me… we’ll see each other again…”

The lions roared. Red took off, dragging Keith with it. Blue followed close behind.

Inside, Keith beat against the cockpit, eyes glassy, watching Lance grow smaller and smaller.

And in his hand, the communicator.

The last promise.

Red’s engines roared, lights flickered on the controls, but Keith didn’t see any of it.

He was pressed against the cockpit glass, fists pounding the surface, desperate.

“LANCE!” His scream was swallowed by the roar of the lions and the explosions shaking the Galra ship.

Outside, Lance was still standing—barely.

His wounded body, ragged breathing, eyes fixed on Keith—even as the Galra guards closed in again.

Keith fought the controls, fought Red, fought everything—but the lion wouldn’t obey him.

Red was following Lance’s orders.

Blue was escorting him in the escape.

And then, in an eternal second, everything shattered.

One of the Galra soldiers raised his weapon.

A precise shot. Cold. Merciless.

The beam struck Lance right in the stomach.

Keith went breathless.

The last thing he saw was Lance dropping to his knees, hands stained red, eyes glassy, searching for his.

And then the image vanished as Red and Blue sped away, escaping.

Inside the cockpit, Keith screamed, tearing his throat raw, fists bleeding from pounding the panel.

“NO! LANCE!”

But it was too late.

Only the lion’s roar, the cold of space, and… the small communicator, forgotten in his lap.

Without him knowing… Lance’s voice was still alive inside.

Chapter Text

Silence.
A silence so dense it seemed to crush the air around him.

Keith was collapsed on his knees, his back hunched, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the entire universe had settled solely on him.

His eyes, glassy and fixed on some nonexistent point, stared into nothingness with a mix of disbelief and pain that pierced through his chest like a rusty blade.

In one trembling, almost unconscious hand, he held a strange object — Lance’s communicator — cold against his skin and unbearably heavy with meaning.

Every passing second felt like a punch straight to the heart. A knot in his throat he couldn’t swallow. A sharp pain that reminded him of every broken promise, every word left unsaid, every moment he couldn’t protect him.

The silence turned into an internal storm, where memories and guilt swirled into a vortex that dragged him down, deeper and deeper.

Loneliness was a brutal echo, amplifying the gaping hole Lance had left behind. A void impossible to fill.

Where was Lance now?
Why was he the one left behind?

Rage, fear, guilt— a poisonous cocktail that left him paralyzed.

The person he loved… was gone.
Gone.
No longer here.

Keith could barely breathe. The metallic cold of the Red Lion surrounded him, but he couldn’t even feel it. The hollow echo of the cockpit only amplified the agonizing silence drilling into his ears.

The memories attacked without mercy.

Lance’s laughter, vibrant and teasing, like sunlight cutting through the training deck.
Those sweet, half-whispered words that escaped him when he thought Keith wasn’t listening.
The stupid, constant teasing about his mullet — annoying, relentless… adorable.
The sound of his laugh, so ridiculously contagious, bouncing off the Castle walls.

All of it… ripped away in an instant.

Keith clenched his jaw, the tremor spreading through his arms. Lance’s communicator was still in his hand — so light, and at the same time, so fucking heavy.

Suddenly, the rage exploded in his chest, drowning out the pain, drowning out everything.

Keith stood up abruptly, and with a guttural, broken scream, one that nearly tore his throat apart, he hurled his bayard with every ounce of strength left in him toward the Red Lion’s hatch.

The weapon slammed against the panel with a metallic crash, rebounding off without leaving a scratch — but the noise filled the cockpit like a gunshot.

“STUPID, LANCE!” Keith roared, his voice fractured, raw, overflowing with fury and desperation alike.

His chest burned, his throat was on fire, and the tears kept falling — uncontrolled, unwelcome.

It wasn’t fair. It was so fucking unfair.

The scream faded, but the echo remained, trapped within Red’s metallic walls, bouncing again and again like a cruel mockery.

Keith collapsed onto the cockpit floor, his legs buckling under the crushing weight of his grief. The communicator slipped from his hand, landing with a dull, insignificant click compared to the emotional earthquake ripping him apart.

And then… he broke.
Everything broke.

The screams gave way to uncontrollable sobs — deep, raw, full of that animal desperation that only erupts when the heart can’t take it anymore.

The tears poured relentlessly, hot and bitter, burning his skin as if trying to erase every trace of his existence.

Keith buried his face in his hands, but there was nowhere to hide from the pain.
He couldn’t breathe.
His head throbbed.
His chest tightened, as if something invisible was strangling him.

“Stupid… stupid Lance…” he whispered, his voice hoarse, shredded, interrupted by hiccups and sobs.

The images kept slicing through his mind like blades — Lance’s smile, his infuriating habit of teasing him at the worst possible moments, those blue eyes full of secrets… and the shot.
That fucking shot.
The blood.
Lance’s expression.
And then… nothing.

Keith leaned forward, trembling hands pressed against the cold floor, tears falling in small, silent puddles.

He wanted to scream until his voice gave out.
He wanted to break something — everything.
He wanted to run…

But he couldn’t move.

All he could do was cry.
And he cried.
And cried.
And cried…

Until he couldn’t tell if the tears had run dry or if he had simply emptied himself completely.

The Red Lion floated in space, still, silent — as if time itself had stopped inside.

Keith remained curled on the floor, hunched over himself, his shoulders shaking with sobs, his throat burning, his mind blank. His knuckles, still marked by tension, rested on the cold metal, and his tears formed tiny, shattered mirrors on the floor.

He didn’t know how long he had been like that.
Minutes.
Hours.
A whole fucking eternity.

Everything was an echo.
The shot.
The fall.
The desperation in Lance’s eyes.
His laugh, his voice, his stupid, beautiful “I always land on my feet”…

Lies.

And just when he thought he was going to shatter into pieces so small there’d be nothing left of him…

Bzzzt.

The static broke the silence of the cockpit.

Bzzzt.
Again.

A voice — soft, filled with uncertainty and concern — filtered through the speakers, slicing through the bubble of grief.

“…Keith? Are you there?”

Keith’s throat tightened.
He would recognize that voice in any goddamn corner of the galaxy.

Shiro.

“Keith… please answer me.”

The communicator still lay on the floor, next to his bayard, glowing faintly.
An open signal.
The team searching for him.
Waiting.

Keith swallowed hard, his voice stuck in his chest. With an effort that ached down to his very bones, he leaned toward the panel.

“Shiro…” His voice came out broken, low, like there was nothing left in him. “I… I’m here.”

There was a brief pause on the other side — a crackle of static — and then Shiro’s voice again, heavy with doubt and alarm.

“Keith… what’s going on? Where are you?”

Keith swallowed again, wiping his face with his sleeve, but the tears didn’t stop. His throat still burned, raw, like he’d been screaming for hours.

He glanced through the front viewport. The Castle loomed in the distance, floating imposingly among the stars.
The Red Lion drifted closer, and beside him… the Blue Lion floated in silence, following its automatic return course… empty.

Just seeing Blue there, without Lance, twisted his stomach. He felt like he was going to throw up.

He knew Shiro, standing in the hangar, would soon see both Lions approaching… and notice the absence.

Keith clenched the communicator tighter, his knuckles turning white.

“I’m… on my way.” His voice was still broken, though he tried to hold it together — tried to mask it. “Almost there.”

Shiro didn’t push further. Maybe he already sensed something was wrong.
Keith’s voice betrayed him more than words ever could.

“Okay. We’re waiting for you in the hangar.” Shiro’s tone finally came through — serious, worried — the one he only used when things were spiraling out of control.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

The comm cut off, and Keith stayed there, frozen, feeling the void inside his chest expand even more.

Blue floated beside him. Silent. Empty.

Just like him.

We’re almost there… Keith thought, but it didn’t feel like coming home.
It felt like falling into the void.

Keith stepped down from the Red Lion as if his legs barely obeyed him. His steps were heavy, clumsy, like the ground itself trembled beneath him. His boots echoed through the hangar, but even the echo felt… muted.

His eyes were bloodshot, swollen, his cheeks stained with the dry, salty tracks of the tears he couldn’t — or didn’t want to — hide. He clutched the communicator in his hand so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

The team stared at him, frozen.

Lance’s absence screamed louder than any siren.

Pidge took a step forward.
Her voice… broken, barely a shaky thread.

“Keith…?”

Keith lifted his head, and just one look at his face made Pidge stop dead in her tracks.

It was… devastating.
Empty.
Shattered.
Still too much like Keith… and yet, like he wasn’t even there.

Pidge swallowed hard, her voice trembling as the words caught in her throat.

“W-what happened?
W-where… where’s Lance…?”

The silence that followed was worse than any answer.

Hunk’s stomach dropped.
Allura frowned, crossing her arms.
Shiro closed his eyes for a second, feeling reality seep through the cracks in his mind.

Keith… said nothing.
He only lowered his gaze.
The communicator trembled in his hand.

Pidge blinked rapidly, her eyes filling with tears before she even heard a response.

The answer was already there.
Written all over Keith’s shattered expression.

Keith lowered his head even more, his bangs tangling across his tear-streaked face, and the tears kept falling — sliding down his chin, dripping onto the metallic floor of the hangar like tiny glass bullets.

His body trembled, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he tried… he tried to speak.
But the words… they hurt.
The words shattered in his throat.

Pidge’s sobs filled the air — high-pitched, broken, messy.
Hunk stepped beside her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders, but he didn’t say a word.
No one could say anything.

Keith, suffocating, barely managed to force out his first attempt at a sentence.
His voice…
Collapsed.
Liquid.
Unrecognizable.

“H-He…” His voice cracked, he sucked in air, like finishing the sentence would rip something vital from inside him. “He pushed me…”

He pressed his free hand against his chest, clutching it tightly.
The other still gripped the communicator.

“A-And told… Red to run…”

His eyes burned, his chest ached, the world felt impossibly heavy.
Everything was heavy.
Lance’s absence suffocated him.

A choked sob escaped his throat. He couldn’t speak anymore.
Only… cry.

Allura’s eyes widened in horror.
Shiro looked away, his fist clenched at his side.

And the silence fell again — heavy, suffocating, deadly.

Only the sound of crying filled the hangar.

“We have to go after him!” Pidge’s voice shattered the silence like a gunshot.
Her face was red, tears fogging up her glasses, her hands clenched into trembling fists. Fear, denial, pain — all boiling in her throat.

“WE CAN’T leave him! Lance is still out there! We have to—”

Keith shook his head. Just a small movement, but enough to silence her.

His body trembled, the tears kept falling, and the desperation on his face only worsened when, with difficulty, he raised his eyes to meet theirs.

“N-No…” His voice broke again, hoarse, empty. “No… w-we can’t…”

Pidge froze in place, her lips trembling.

“I-I saw…” Keith swallowed hard, choking slightly on his own words, the memories hitting him like a freight train. “I… I saw them… shoot him… in the stomach…”

The lump in his throat kept him from speaking for a moment. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth.

“T-The last thing I saw… was… h-his blood… and him… smiling… like an idiot…”

A sob slipped from his lips, and the communicator in his hand trembled even more.

“H-He… made me run… made me… live…”
His voice faded, like even he couldn’t believe he was still alive.

Pidge covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide, denial written on every inch of her face.
Hunk lowered his gaze, his shoulders hunched, tears falling silently.
Allura took a step back, bringing a hand to her lips, her eyes shimmering with helplessness.
Shiro… just closed his eyes, the weight of the moment crashing down on him.

Hope…
It crumbled right there, in the middle of the hangar, like the air itself had become impossible to breathe.
Like the walls were closing in on them.

Crying filled the space.
There was no comfort.
There were no answers.
Only emptiness.
Only… absence.

Seven days passed.
Seven days since Lance disappeared.
There was no more doubt, no more fragile hopes. They all knew.

Coran found out, and in his grief, he wept for the son he would never get back.

The castle was silent.
A heavy, dense silence that crept into every corner, clinging to their skin.

No one told jokes.
No one laughed.
The hallways, once full of life and energy, now felt like the cold corridors of a tomb.

Everyone missed Lance.
They missed his bad jokes, his complicated smiles, his teasing insults wrapped in affection, and those looks that said everything without a word.

Damn it, they missed him.
And that hurt more than any wound.

Keith’s eyes were red and rimmed with dark circles — that look you only get when you lose someone you love and the sadness turns you into a walking ghost.
It was like he wore a dark filter tattooed onto his face, a living reminder of what he no longer had.

And there was something else… something that always accompanied him, wherever he went.
A strange little worn-out device Lance had given him the last time they were together, before the fatal mission.

Keith kept it with almost reverential care.
It was the last thing his beloved had left him before leaving.

On the seventh day, they were all having dinner in silence. Well, “dinner” was a way to say it, because the silence around the table spoke louder than any words ever could.

Keith had no appetite.
So he pulled the device out of his pocket and started fiddling with it, gently pushing it with his finger over and over again.

He felt… Lance’s presence in that little object.
Like somehow, part of him was still there, silently beating.

Keith kept pushing the tiny device with his finger, distracted, unaware of the real weight it carried.

Until…

“Lance’s recorder!” Coran shouted, his voice full of shock and a hint of… hope? — pointing at the device.

Everyone at the table froze.
Pidge, Hunk, Allura, Shiro…
Their heads turned in unison, eyes fixed on the small device in Keith’s trembling hands.

Keith furrowed his brow, confused, raising it slightly.
“A-a recorder?” he asked, his voice cracked, breaking more with each word.

Coran nodded, approaching cautiously, as if what Keith held was a living memory that could shatter with the slightest movement.

“We Alteans used these to record thoughts, memories… goodbyes,” his voice cracked a bit at the end.

Keith went blank.
The air seemed to have left the room.

His hand gripped the recorder tightly, his eyes locked on it, as if he just realized he’d been carrying more than just a piece of plastic for seven days.

He carried…
Words.
Possibly, Lance’s last words.

Coran didn’t hesitate for a second.
He ran to Keith’s side, eyes shining with a dangerous mix of hope and fear, and crouched down beside him to get a closer look at the device.

Keith barely moved, his shaky hand holding the small device as everyone else gathered around in complete silence.

Pidge leaned in first, eyes wide open, studying the recorder with the precision of someone ready to dismantle the universe if needed.

Hunk peeked from behind, swallowing hard, his expression pure contained anxiety.

Allura approached slowly, hands clasped in front of her chest, heart pounding against her ribs.

Shiro stood firm in the background, but his gray eyes were fixed on the device, jaw clenched and knuckles white from gripping his fists so tight.

Keith felt his chest tighten.
The weight of all those stares, all that silence, fell on him like a stone.

“It’s… it’s just…” he tried to say something, but his voice cracked. His throat hurt. His eyes, still red and swollen, burned again—
“…a recorder.”

Coran nodded vigorously, his whiskers trembling.

“Not just a recorder…” his voice dropped to a whisper—
“If Lance had it… there might be something inside.”

The silence in the room was still heavy, so thick it felt like the air itself refused to move.

Keith kept holding the recorder, frozen, unsure of what to do.

But Coran, with trembling yet determined hands, leaned closer and pressed a couple of buttons on the device’s surface.

A soft click, and then…

A bluish projection flickered to life on the table.
A translucent image, blinking at first, then clearing… until there he was.

Lance.

Sitting at his desk, messy-haired, shirt wrinkled, eyes shining like always.
He looked so alive it hurt.

“H-hello…” the voice was shaky, nervous—
“Is this recording? I think so…”

Everyone held their breath at the sound of that voice.
So familiar.
So his.
So… alive.

Keith felt his stomach tighten.
His eyes burned.
He couldn’t move.
He couldn’t look away from that version of Lance.

Chapter Text

Lance adjusted the camera, scratching the back of his neck nervously, and smiled.
That smile.

 The one they all missed so much.

"Well… this is weird. But… I had to do it." His voice cracked slightly, but he forced a half-arrogant smile. "I needed to say a few things."

The image of Lance kept floating above the table, bluish, vibrant… alive.
His voice, shaky at first, started to flow like a river full of nostalgia and half-truths.

"Okay… yeah, it’s recording," he repeated, fidgeting with something off-camera, maybe a pen or some random little thing. "I don’t even know why I’m doing this, honestly. I guess… I dunno… I just feel weird."

He paused, the smile fading a little.
His brown eyes sparkled, but not with joy.

"I miss home," he blurted suddenly, lowering his gaze. "I miss… my mom, my siblings… the smell of the ocean in my clothes, the sand stuck to my shoes… I even miss Dad yelling at me for not helping with the boat."

He chuckled softly, the sound tinged with sorrow.
The whole room seemed frozen.
Pidge's eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Hunk pressed his lips together.
Shiro didn't move an inch.
And Keith… Keith was shattered.

"And… I know I should feel… proud or whatever. I’m a Paladin of Voltron, right?" He shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh. "But… there are days when I feel like… like I don’t belong here."

He swallowed hard, his expression softening, his shoulders sagging slightly.
His voice dropped, as if he were talking to someone right in front of him… or maybe to himself.

"But… even if it’s hard… even if I feel like an impostor sometimes… I’m gonna give it my all. For you. For the team. For everything worth protecting."

He smiled, and even though it was a broken smile… it was Lance. It was so Lance it hurt.

"That’s… that’s all for today, I guess. I just… needed to get it out."

The image flickered… and disappeared.
Only silence remained.
And the muffled sound of Keith holding back sobs.

The projection came back to life on the desk.
This time, Lance didn’t even bother fixing his hair or flashing his usual cocky smile.
His shoulders were slumped, his face exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his jaw clenched tight.

"Mission… failed," he muttered, with that voice people use when they don't even have the energy to be angry anymore. "Well, technically not failed. We’re still alive. Just… another day of feeling useless. Nothing new, right?"

His fingers tapped nervously against the communicator, the shaky rhythm betraying the anxiety pouring out of him.

"I just… I can’t help it. I look at everyone and…" He fell silent for a second, eyes unfocused, then let out a dry laugh. "Keith’s fast, strong, brave… the star of the show. Shiro… it’s like he was sculpted to be the perfect leader. Pidge… the smartest. Hunk… always has the technical answers, the strength, the… warmth."

He shrugged, his voice trembling.

"Allura… literally a warrior space princess. And Coran… well, it’s Coran. Always knows what to say, what to do, how to fix everything…"

His lips pressed together. The silence stretched.
His eyes shimmered, but not with joy.

"And me… what am I? The funny guy? The cute one? Pfft…" He scoffed, a bitter laugh slipping out without permission. "Maybe that’s all I am. The fifth wheel…"

He paused, shaking his head with a dry chuckle.
"Well… eighth, if you count Allura and Coran…"

His eyes glistened with unshed tears.
His voice dropped, broken.

"Sometimes I think… if I disappeared… maybe they wouldn’t even notice. They’d just… keep going. Like I was never really here."

He bit his lip, took a shaky breath, trying to pull himself together. But his gaze still overflowed with pain.

"But… I can’t tell them this. I don’t want them to worry. I don’t wanna be… the burden. So… here I am, telling it all to you, useless little communicator."

He forced a smile. That smile—more mask than expression.

"Anyway… I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow… it'll be the same. But hey, gotta try, right? Someone’s gotta be the clown."

The image flickered… and went dark.

Pidge lowered her head, pressing her lips tightly together.
Hunk wiped a hand over his face, swallowing hard, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.
Keith… Keith didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He just stared at the projector like Lance was going to step out of it any second now.

Coran’s voice came out broken, barely a whisper:
“By the Altean gods… he never… he never told us any of this…”

The next recording started playing before the team even had time to process the last message.

And then, there he was.
Lance.
But not how they usually saw him.

Curly, messy hair. Freckles standing out clearly. Big, round glasses that gave him a different vibe. And obvious dark circles under his eyes.
But the smile…
That smile that could light up even the darkest corner of the universe.

“Are we recording? Oh, perfect!” Lance's cheerful voice filled the room as he looked directly into the camera. “Hello, hello, team. Your favorite reporter, Lance McClain, surviving another day of Galra attacks… and my own terrible jokes.”

“Who needs therapy when you’ve got space, enemies, and a thousand excuses to make memes about yourself?” he teased, winking playfully.

The team couldn’t help but let out nervous laughs.

Lance grabbed a small mirror, leaned toward the camera, and added:
“Okay, okay, I know these dark circles make me look like I spent the night drunk at karaoke, but I swear I’m fine… kinda.”

“Now, check this out,” he said, pulling out some concealer and applying it with theatrical grace. “Space magic!”

While playing with the makeup, he struck a goofy pose and concluded:
“And now, ta-da! Cute guy or what?”

Laughter escaped the group, soft and fragile, but real. Even with the worry still clinging to their hearts, that moment sparked a small, flickering light in the darkness.

Lance left the camera recording as he stood up, still toying with it.

“Well, well, not everything in space is suffering,” Lance said, spinning around to look at his reflection in the glass. “Sometimes you’ve just gotta get back on your feet! …It’s not like anyone’s gonna do it for me.”

He pulled an exaggerated grimace and added:
“But here I am, standing strong—or at least standing with my dazzling personality!”

“Being the team’s clown has its perks, right? I can always save the day with a good joke.”

The team in the hangar couldn’t help but smile, a few even letting out shy chuckles.

“That said,” Lance continued with a conspiratorial tone, “sometimes I wonder if I’m the eighth wheel… do Allura and Coran count me as part of the team or just as the extra?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow and muttered:
“You’re definitely the favorite extra.”

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed, pointing dramatically at the camera. “That’s disguised affection, and I’ll take it.”

The recording ended with Lance giving a playful salute and a wink to the camera.

The team didn’t even get a chance to speak before another recording appeared.

Keith was lying on Lance’s bed, eyes fixed on the small communicator which, to his surprise, began to glow softly, pulsing with faint light.

“ Lance! ” he called out, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “Your little toy is glowing!”

Before he could finish the sentence, the bathroom door flew open. Lance appeared wrapped in a towel, damp curls dripping over his forehead, his expression a mix of surprise, annoyance, and barely contained amusement.

Without thinking twice, Lance launched himself onto Keith with playful energy, tackling him onto the bed with a bit of harmless wrestling.

“ Leave my toy alone! ” Lance shouted as both of them laughed and wrestled over the device.

The sounds of laughter, shoves, and the occasional complaint mixed together as the recording abruptly ended.

Pidge was the first to speak, breaking the silence:
“Seriously? That’s how you guys are in private ?”

Hunk let out a soft laugh, finally releasing some of the day’s tension.
“They’re a mess… but it’s kinda beautiful to see them like that.”

Shiro sighed, his eyes lost on the screen, and then let out a faint smile—the kind that escapes when something touches your soul before you even notice.

Coran, with a mix of nostalgia and tenderness, murmured:
“If I didn’t know them, I’d say they look like two people in love.”

The camera flickered to life again, this time showing the dining hall. The recorder had apparently started filming on its own, and Pidge’s unmistakable sarcastic voice filled the room.

“Hi, I’m Lance, and I have a secret diary where I talk about girls and how ridiculously handsome I am,” she teased, wearing that mischievous smile that never failed.

Suddenly, Hunk appeared behind her, curiosity written all over his face.
“Pidge, what are you doing?”

Quick as lightning, Pidge hid the recorder in her hands, trying to play it cool.
“Nothing!”

At that exact moment, the door burst open, and Lance stormed in, shouting at the top of his lungs:
“Did anyone see my recorder?!”

The last thing they heard was the sound of Pidge bolting from the room, muttering under her breath:
“Shit, shit, shit…”

Shiro appeared on-screen, arms crossed, his usual serious expression in place as he remarked:
“Pidge… language.”

The recording cut out.

The silence that followed was heavy, like a collective breath no one dared to release… until Pidge let out a nervous sigh.
“Ha… not my proudest moment,” she muttered, her voice cracking slightly.

Hunk tried to hold back his laughter, but the exhaustion and sadness still shimmered in his eyes.
“Pidge, you’re a menace,” he said, attempting to sound serious, though the corners of his lips betrayed a faint smile.

Shiro crossed his arms again, trying to maintain his composure, but that playful smirk on his lips couldn’t be hidden.
“I didn’t know it was recording,” he admitted, lowering his gaze. “Lance always found a way to make us laugh.”

Allura, her posture steady but her eyes glistening, added softly:
“He wanted us to keep going… to find light in the darkness.”

The atmosphere was still heavy with grief, but those small laughs and quiet words were like a balm for a broken team.

The image flickered, and Lance appeared at his desk.
Serious.
His eyes red and swollen, as if he had cried before recording.
His hair messy, dark circles under his eyes… but that look.
That raw, honest look he only showed when every mask was gone.

He took a shaky breath, swallowing hard.
“Okay… if you’re seeing this…” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to go on.
“…I probably couldn’t make it back.”

His gaze dropped, his trembling hands fidgeting in his lap.

“Mom… Dad…” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I… I couldn’t make it home. I know I promised I’d be there for Christmas dinner… that we’d go to the beach again… that I’d help with the boat…”
A broken laugh escaped him.
“…but… looks like the universe had other plans.”

Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t stop.

“I swear… I tried. I gave everything I had. I fought… I fought so hard… and I thought about you every second. Every damn day, I pictured what it would be like to hug you again. To hear Mom scolding me for not cutting my hair… to hear Dad reminding me to be strong…”

The room was dead silent. No one even dared to breathe.

“Please… look after them. Tell them their brother loves them. That I’ve always loved them.”

He paused, breathing in deeply, and his expression shifted—like his words were meant for someone else now.
The team.

“And you guys…” His voice softened, broken but laced with unmistakable warmth. “My… star family.”

He swallowed hard again, his eyes gleaming with emotion.

“I know I’m always joking around, acting like an idiot who doesn’t take anything seriously… but… you made me feel like I belong. You made me feel… useful. Needed. I never said it out loud because… well, I’m a coward sometimes… but I love you. All of you.”

The camera zoomed in slightly, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

“Keith… take care of them. Even if you’re the most stubborn idiot in the universe. Shiro… thank you for believing in me, even when I didn’t. Hunk… thank you for being my rock. Pidge… never stop being brilliant. Allura… Coran… thank you… for everything.”

A small, broken, but genuine smile curved his lips.

“Keep going. No matter what happens… don’t let this break you. Don’t let fear stop you. And if one day… you feel like you can’t take it anymore… look at me here… and remember that, even if you don’t believe it… the funny guy… was brave too.”

The video cut off.

Silence took over. And this time… it hurt even more.

The dining room fell into a graveyard silence.
No one moved.
The plates still sat untouched on the table, cold… as if no one had been hungry for days.
Lance’s blue-tinted image no longer floated over the table, but his voice…
His voice still echoed in the air like an unbearable ghost.

Keith sat with his head down, fists clenched on the table, his knuckles bone-white from how tightly he gripped them.
He couldn’t look up.
Tears slipped silently, hitting the metallic surface of the table like tiny, broken fragments of glass.

Pidge covered her mouth with a trembling hand, her shoulders shaking, her eyes glassy, red, ready to shatter into a thousand pieces.

Hunk simply lowered his head.
The tears streamed down his cheeks without resistance.
His ragged breathing was the only sound, aside from Pidge’s muffled sobs.

Allura stared at the empty space where, just seconds ago, Lance’s image had hovered.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, lips quivering.

Coran, sitting beside her, had his face buried in his hands, his broad shoulders rising and falling unevenly with every silent sob.

Shiro… Shiro remained utterly still.
His eyes shut tight, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might crack.
On the inside, he was falling apart, but his body stayed rigid, trying to be the rock everyone needed… even when he had no idea how to hold himself together.

No one said anything.
There were no words for this.

The dining room, usually full of laughter, bad jokes… of Lance’s nonsense…
was now a mausoleum.

Only the emptiness remained.
Only the silence remained.
Only… the memory remained.

“SHIT!” Keith’s scream echoed sharply against the metallic walls of the dining hall, a sharp whip cracking through the sepulchral silence.
His fist slammed down on the table with such force that the dishes rattled, some cutlery clattered to the floor, and the echo of the impact hung heavy in the air.

Then... the small recorder— that damn artifact that seemed to have a life of its own—flickered back to life.
A soft, familiar blue light blinked on its surface, illuminating the tired faces and swollen eyes of the team.

No one moved at first. Everyone’s stomach tightened in unison.
Keith, chest heaving, breath trembling, slowly lifted his gaze.
The glow of the recorder reflected in the tears pooling in his eyes.

The recorder barely vibrated, and the image flickered back onto the table, hovering like a fragile ghost.

There was Lance.
Again.
With that smile. With those eyes filled with something now so painfully out of reach.

The team, pulled by some invisible thread of shattered hope and desperation, lifted their heads, eyes locked on the new recording.

No one breathed.
No one spoke.
They just waited.

As if maybe, just maybe, this time… Lance could stay a little longer.

The image blinked a few seconds before stabilizing.

He sat in his room, the light dim, hair tousled like he’d spent hours hesitating before pressing record.
His eyes shone—not with that usual playful sparkle… but with nerves, fear, and something way deeper.

“Well...” Lance ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more as he exhaled slowly—

His fingers drummed against the table. He bit his lip, his gaze dropping to the floor for a second before returning to the camera.

“Keith…” he said the name with a softness that hurt. Almost a whisper, almost a prayer.

The team in the dining hall froze. Keith clenched his fists, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

“If you’re watching this…” Lance’s voice cracked slightly, but he smiled—
“I want to tell you… I’m sorry.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes filling with held-back emotion.

“Sorry for the fights, for the heavy jokes, for not telling you this… sooner.”

He took a deep breath, like it was hard to go on.
“I love you.”
He said it simply, without frills, but with the weight of the entire universe resting on those two words.

Lance’s eyes grew moist, but he smiled. That broken, sincere smile, full of everything he hadn’t known how to say in person.
He paused, scratched the back of his neck—that nervous habit of his.

“And… it’s not just because you’re brave, or because you always seem to have the answers, or because you fight like the universe depends on you…”
Lance lowered his gaze, his voice softening as if speaking directly to Keith’s heart and not just to a simple device—
“It’s because… when I’m with you, everything… makes sense.”

His lips trembled, a nervous laugh escaping—not mocking, but pure, stifled love.

“You’re… you’re stubborn, proud, and sometimes you make me want to pull my hair out,” he let out a small laugh through tears.
“But you’re also… loyal. You’re the kind of person who jumps into the fire for others without thinking. The one who stays, who doesn’t give up… the one who saw me… even when I couldn’t see myself.”

Lance bit his lip, his gaze shining brighter than ever.
“You saw me… behind the jokes, behind the insecurities, behind all that noise I make so no one sees how scared I am of not being enough.”

He swallowed hard, his voice breaking, but he kept going.
“And yet… there you were. With that intense look, with your way of taking care of me… even when I pretended it bothered me.”

He shook his head, a broken smile full of love.
“I love you because… you make me want to be better. Because, damn it, when I’m with you… I feel like… I belong. Here, with you… it’s home. Even if we’re in space, even if we’re lost… you are home. Keith, I’m hopelessly in love with you…”

A couple of tears rolled down his cheeks, but he didn’t bother to hide them.
“So… if I’m not here anymore, if this is all that’s left… I want you to remember this. To know… that everything I am… is yours. It always was.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the projector, as if he could look through time and space.
“I love you, Keith. I love you so much it hurts. But it’s a beautiful pain. Because it meant… I had you. At least for a little while. At least enough… for my heart to stay with you.”

The image flickered… and disappeared.

The dining hall fell into deadly silence.

Keith… Keith had trembling hands on the table, his knuckles white from squeezing so hard.

Pidge sobbed quietly, Hunk covered his face, Allura’s eyes were full of tears, and even Coran… that always cheerful Coran… wiped his cheeks.

Shiro lowered his head, his shoulders tense, unable to say a word.

But Keith… Keith was broken.

Because the love he had waited so long to hear… came too late.

Chapter Text

The chair screeched against the metal floor, a sharp, harsh sound that sliced through the tense air in the dining room like a blade.

Shiro didn’t even get to finish his name.
“Keit—”

But Keith was already on his feet. His eyes were red, puffy, shining with the weight of unshed tears. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as if breathing had become a luxury he couldn't afford.

His knuckles trembled, hands clenched into tight fists. A muscle in his jaw pulsed with pure rage, grief, and desperation.

“No.”
The word came out in a growl, broken and drowned by emotion.

And without looking at anyone, without waiting for words of comfort he didn’t want, Keith stormed out of the dining hall. The doors slid open with a hiss, swallowing his silhouette and his shattered heart.

Behind him, the team stayed frozen. No one dared to break the silence.
Only the soft sobs of Pidge could be heard…
And the painful echo of what Lance had left behind.

Keith ran as fast as he could through the hallways, tears clouding his vision as his breathing turned into shallow, broken gasps. He didn’t stop. He didn’t listen to the voices calling behind him. He just kept running—like he could outrun the crushing weight in his chest.

His steps carried him straight to his room… or almost.

Just a few meters away, there it was.
Lance’s door.

Keith stopped dead in his tracks. His heart, already pounding hard, seemed to lodge itself in his throat.

He stared at the door. With sadness. With anger. With love. With that unbearable void eating away at his insides.

His body trembled—hands, legs, his entire soul quivering.
It was just a simple metal panel… yet it felt like an impenetrable wall.

The knot in his throat tightened further, and without thinking twice, he approached.

Keith swallowed hard. One step. Then another.
With trembling fingertips, he pressed the panel.

The door slid open with a soft, mechanical shhh.
And it hit him instantly.

That scent.
The sweet, warm, familiar scent of Lance. It wasn’t overwhelming or artificial. It was subtle… him. A mix of fresh cologne, a hint of ocean air, clean soap, and all those products he always used.

Keith’s heart shattered all over again.

He stepped inside, silent.

The room was spotless. Everything in place. The bed made, his jackets lined up on the chair, his personal products meticulously arranged on the desk. Even those stupid combs and his handheld mirror were perfectly aligned.

Everything… exactly as Lance had left it.
As if he might walk in at any second.

Keith pressed his lips together, eyes burning with unshed tears.

He crossed the room, breathing in deep, filling his lungs with that scent that hurt… and yet gave him life at the same time.

He collapsed onto the bed, carefully, not disturbing a thing… but clutching the pillow tight.
He buried his face into it.

And then… he broke.

Keith cried.
Cried as if his soul was unraveling with every sob, as if the entire universe was falling apart around him, leaving behind only that sweet scent. The only trace of him left.
Of Lance.

His muffled sobs escaped his lips. The familiar, bittersweet aroma of the room wrapped around him, like a silent echo of the presence he missed with every fiber of his being.

His red, swollen eyes scanned every corner, every meticulously kept detail, like Lance had left a piece of himself in every object, in every inch of the room.

On the desk, a small red bracelet glinted faintly under the low light.
Next to it, a closed journal rested peacefully, as if guarding its secrets.

Keith reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the bracelet. The cold metal against his fingers made his chest constrict painfully.
There was a tag attached to it. It read: For Keith.
Of course Lance knew how to make him cry harder…

Carefully, he opened the journal, the yellowed pages revealing dreams and secrets that now felt impossibly close… even though Lance was gone.

His sobs grew harsher, tears falling relentlessly as the storm inside him raged on.

Keith’s eyes returned to the red bracelet in his hands, squeezing it so tight it looked like it might break. It was as if he was holding Lance himself, as if that fragile object was the last thread connecting him to him, to everything they had lived.

Closing his eyes, Keith hugged it to his chest, breathing in that sweet scent that lingered everywhere, as if Lance was still there… right beside him.

The tears wouldn’t stop. His body curled into itself on the bed, shaking uncontrollably.

Then, without a sound, the door slid open.
Shiro stepped inside, watching Keith utterly destroyed, but saying nothing for a moment, letting the silence settle in the room like an invisible embrace.

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, letting time pass.
After a few seconds, with a voice soft but steady, he spoke:

“I had a feeling I’d find you here…”

Those simple words, loaded with understanding, shattered Keith’s last defense.

The younger boy turned to Shiro, and his sobs grew heavier, a raw, heartbreaking sound escaping him.

Shiro said nothing. He just leaned in and wrapped Keith in his arms, letting him break down against his chest as the grief swallowed the room whole.

“I loved him!”
Keith’s voice cracked, broken, like each word ripped his chest apart. His tears wouldn’t stop, and his body shook with deep, uncontrollable sobs.

“Why…?”
It was a whisper, barely audible, his gaze lost and empty, drowning in a sea of pain.
“Why did he leave?”

His face, flushed and soaked in tears, reflected total devastation. His red, burning eyes looked hollow, his lower lip trembling as he clutched the bracelet like a lifeline—as if letting go meant losing Lance forever.

Every sob that escaped him felt like another blow to his soul; his whole body curled into Shiro’s chest, fighting not to collapse completely.

Shiro remained silent. His arms tightened around Keith, holding him as close as possible. He could feel Keith trembling against him, and even as he fought back his own tears, a few escaped, trailing silently down his cheeks.

Words weren’t necessary. That embrace held all the pain, fear, and sorrow they shared.

Shiro’s arms squeezed tighter, as if trying to pass a clear message through the hug: You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.

His silent tears rolled down, just as real. His own grief was raw, and in that moment, being strong meant simply being there, holding his broken brother together.

He's gone.
What do I do without him?

Keith was shattered. Shiro knew that better than anyone.

The days passed.

First, it was just one night.
Then two.
And after that… no one could say how long Keith had been locked inside Lance’s room.

The entire castle felt dim, heavy. The absence of Lance seemed to have sucked even the air from the hallways.

Keith didn’t come out.
He didn’t eat.
He didn’t speak.
He barely slept.

He just stayed there, lying in Lance’s bed, clutching the red bracelet like it was the only thing left in the universe. His face buried in the sheets that still smelled like him—like his laugh, his ridiculous hair gel, the cheap cologne he always defended.

Everything in the room was untouched. Just as Lance had left it.

The small medkit on the table.
The neatly placed comb.
The skincare products aligned like part of a daily ritual.

Everything… except Lance. Lance wasn’t there.

Shiro came on the second day. He knocked softly, saying little.

“Keith… we’re here. Whenever you’re ready.”

No response.

Coran came next. His voice, rough with tears, tried to reach Keith. He talked about Lance. About how much they all missed him. About how he didn’t know how to fill that void either.

Still no response.

On the third day, Hunk left a plate of food by the door. Hours passed. The food grew cold.
No one touched it.

Hunk retrieved the plate with trembling hands, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The fourth day, Pidge snapped.

She stormed to the door, eyes red, face weary, grief weighing down on her like molten lead.

She banged her fist against the door.

“Keith!”
Her voice cracked, shaky and choked with tears.
“Enough already!”

Inside, Keith didn’t even lift his head. He clutched the bracelet tighter, drowning in her words.

“You can’t keep hiding in there…” Pidge’s voice wavered between anger and grief.
“This isn’t what Lance would want! He hated seeing us sad—he hated the silence… he hated all of this…!”

Her voice broke completely. On the other side, only silence.

Keith pressed his hands to his ears, tears streaming endlessly down his face.
He didn’t want to listen.
He couldn’t.
The pain was too much.

He clung to the bracelet like his life depended on it.
And in a way… it did.

Pidge, face flushed from crying, anger and grief swirling in her chest, approached the door panel. Her trembling hands weren’t from fear, but from sheer frustration and desperation.

“You really think you can hide from us, Keith?”
She muttered, pulling out her multitool.

Her fingers, though shaky from emotion, moved with their usual precision. Within seconds, a soft beep announced the lock was overridden.

“Told you…”
She whispered as the door slid open with a soft hiss.

What she found inside shattered her.

Lance’s room was dark, the air still thick with his sweet, ocean-like scent, clinging to the sheets, the walls… the space itself. Everything looked frozen in time, as if Lance might waltz in at any moment and joke about how worried they all were.

But he wouldn’t.

On the floor, beside the perfectly made bed, Keith was collapsed. His back hunched, hands clutching the red bracelet Lance had left him, as if his entire existence depended on it. His eyes were swollen and red, skin pale, lips cracked from pressing them together. A mess… a heartbreaking mess.

Hearing the door, Keith barely looked up, his expression broken, empty… but not surprised. It was as if he’d expected someone to find him… or as if nothing mattered anymore.

Before he could react, Pidge threw herself at him, wrapping him in a desperate hug. It was clumsy, awkward—but real. Pidge trembled, her small frame shaking with sobs, and Keith… Keith finally surrendered.

His arms wrapped tightly around her, like she was the only anchor in that ocean of pain drowning him. He held her close, both of them crying in silence, broken, shoulders hunched—pride and appearances forgotten.

For the first time in days… Keith wasn’t alone.

For the first time in days… someone was holding him.
And though the emptiness remained, for a moment… it hurt just a little less.

Their shared sobs filled the room, breaking the suffocating silence that had reigned for days. Lance’s sweet scent lingered in the air, mixing with the bitterness of tears.

Pidge’s voice, broken and trembling, whispered:

“I miss him too, Keith…”
Her grip tightened, as if afraid Keith might disappear too.
“We can’t lose you too…”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks soaked, body trembling like a leaf.
“I… I don’t want to…”
His voice was barely a whisper, choked by tears.
“I don’t know… how to keep going without him…”

Pidge sobbed harder, but didn’t let go.
“We’ll figure it out…”
She promised through tears.
“All of us… even if it hurts… even if it sucks… Lance… he wouldn’t want you to destroy yourself like this.”

For a second, Keith didn’t respond. His ragged breathing filled the space, mingling with Pidge’s soft, hiccupped sobs. Until finally… his hold on her loosened. Not out of surrender—but from sheer exhaustion.

Their bodies collapsed together, seated on the floor of Lance’s room, leaning on each other. Broken… but together.

And though the pain still lingered, for the first time in days… Keith wasn’t carrying it alone.

Keith nodded faintly, his chin trembling, eyes still overflowing with tears… but with a faint, barely noticeable spark.
He carefully released the bracelet, as if letting go was a betrayal—but knowing he couldn’t stay here forever.

“L-let’s… go outside… okay?”
Pidge’s voice trembled, but her eyes were determined.
“The others… they’re worried…”

Keith swallowed hard. Standing up was difficult, not just physically, but because walking out of that room… walking through that door… meant accepting that Lance wasn’t coming back.

But… the others needed him.
And maybe… just maybe… he needed them too.

With a shaky sigh, Keith stood, his eyes lingering on the room one last time. The scent, the photos, Lance’s chaotic organization… everything remained. Everything… except him.

Keith’s gaze fell to the red bracelet in his palm. His trembling fingers traced its familiar texture, its exact weight… he could almost imagine Lance’s hands giving it to him with a smile.

Slowly, carefully—as if fragile—he slipped it onto his wrist.
The red stood out against his pale skin, a reminder… a mark.
Red was his color.
It always had been.
Lance knew that. Damn it… Lance always knew.

Keith pressed the bracelet to his chest for one last second, closing his eyes. A shaky, broken sigh escaped his lips… but there was a faint spark of warmth in the chaos.

He still had a piece of him.

Pidge waited, giving him space. And when Keith finally lifted his gaze, there was a new glint in his swollen eyes. Not strength… not yet… but maybe… a first step.

“L-let’s… go…”
He whispered, barely audible.

Clenching his fists, wiping his face as best as he could, Keith didn’t pull away when Pidge took his hand.

And with the bracelet on his wrist and his shoulders heavy with grief, Keith took that first step outside.

“I won’t forget you,” he thought quietly, but firmly.
“You’re a part of me. Forever.”

The emptiness still pulsed… but that truth held him steady. A silent promise giving him the strength to keep moving.

Because even if Lance wasn’t physically there anymore…
His presence had become inseparable from Keith.
A red heartbeat, constant, impossible to erase.

Chapter Text

Time — that silent traitor — kept moving forward, relentless. But the pain within the team only dug itself deeper.
Every corner of the Castle of Lions held echoes of his laughter, of his awful jokes, of that light that seemed impossible to extinguish.
But now… only silence remained.

Keith woke up every day with that crushing emptiness in his chest.
A void that nothing could fill — not laughter, not words, not promises.
A void that reminded him, over and over, that Lance was no longer there.

And even though the world kept turning… for them, everything had stopped the day Lance disappeared.

The war, unfortunately, showed no mercy.
Not a single second to grieve properly.
Not even a moment to breathe.
They had to keep going, even if the weight in their chests felt like an impossible wall to climb.
Because even if Lance was no longer with them… the battle still was. And someone had to fight it.

Keith felt a sharp, stabbing pain during that first mission without Lance.
There was no one covering his back.
No one to shatter the suffocating atmosphere with a bad joke that somehow made him smile.
The silence felt colder. Denser.

And him…
He was lonelier than ever.

The mission was chaotic.
But no one said anything.
There was no need.
They all knew why.

The dining hall was silent.
Trays of food sat untouched, the metallic clinking of cutlery echoing through the air — dry, hollow… uncomfortable.

Keith wasn’t eating.
He pushed the food around with his fork, eyes lowered, staring at nothing.
The red bracelet on his wrist was still there, an unbearable reminder.
His eyes burned… but he wouldn’t cry. Not today… not in front of everyone.

Pidge had her tablet resting on the table, her trembling fingers typing something she didn’t even understand.
Every time she looked up and saw the empty chair across the table… her eyes filled with tears.
But she wiped them away quickly, hiding behind the screen.

Hunk… Hunk barely touched his food.
He had prepared it, but he couldn’t even force himself to taste it.
His hands rested on his lap, head bowed, silent tears falling down his cheeks like he couldn’t stop them.
The big guy — the one who always smiled — broken.

Allura tried to keep it together.
She chewed slowly, eyes fixed on her plate, lips pressed into a thin line.
She looked like stone… but her hands trembled slightly, and the shine in her eyes betrayed her.

Shiro stayed quiet.
Elbows resting on the table, hands clasped together.
Tense shoulders, clenched jaw.
He looked like a marble statue, unshakable… but inside, he was shattered.

And Coran…
Coran tried to smile.
He sat at the end of the table, nervously twisting his mustache, eyes darting around, searching for… anything to say.

“Well…” his voice came out softer than usual, “this is… dinner, right? We’re supposed to… eat… and talk…”

Silence was the only response.

Keith didn’t even lift his head.
Pidge wiped her tears.
Hunk didn’t move.
Allura pressed her lips tighter.
Shiro closed his eyes.

Coran swallowed hard, forcing the corners of his lips into what was supposed to be a smile.

“Lance always said…” his voice cracked, but he didn’t stop, “that food tastes better with bad jokes… and if I let him, he’d cook himself… even though we all knew he’d burn down the kitchen.”

A soft, sad laugh escaped his throat… but it died in the air before reaching anyone else.

Coran lowered his gaze, his mustache trembling, his eyes glassy.
He tried.
He really tried.

The dining hall fell back into that cold, unbearable, suffocating silence.
And Lance’s empty seat…
It screamed louder than any words ever could.

The silence settled over the table once more.

Until…

Hunk’s chair scraped harshly against the floor, the sharp, screeching sound shattering the quiet.
Everyone looked up.
Hunk was standing, red eyes, tear-stained cheeks.
His breathing was fast, like the words were choking him from the inside… and then, he snapped.

“WE CAN’T…” —his voice shook, loud, raw with anguish— “We can’t keep… being like this… all the time…”
His hands went to his hair, tugging at it in desperation.
“Lance… he wouldn’t have wanted this!”

The dining hall froze.

Pidge covered her mouth, trying to hold back a sob.
Keith clenched his fists on the table, nails digging into his skin.
Allura blinked, stunned, finally letting the tears fall.
Coran looked at him with tight lips, his eyes shimmering.
And Shiro… Shiro simply closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

Hunk took a shaky breath, his voice cracking, tears now falling freely down his cheeks.
“Lance… he…”
He swallowed, but his voice stayed broken, raw.
“He told jokes… he laughed… even when everything was a mess… even when he was a mess!”

His fists trembled.
His chest heaved with every shaky breath.
And no one… no one could argue with that.

“I’m not saying that… that we have to move on or… forget…” Hunk shook his head quickly, tears falling even harder now.
“I’m just… just saying that… he… he wouldn’t want to see us like this! So… so broken… so quiet… so… dead inside…”

His gaze dropped to the floor, his body curling under the weight of his emotions.

“He’s gone…” his voice cracked again, the words getting stuck in his throat.
“…but… we’re still here.”

Another heavy silence fell over the room.

This time, it wasn’t empty.
It was… guilt.
It was… grief.
It was… everything.

Coran stood up slowly, soft but honest sadness on his face.
He walked over to Hunk and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“You’re right, lad…” Coran whispered, voice rough with unshed tears.
“…but it’s going to take time.”

Hunk nodded silently, saying nothing more.

Pidge hugged her knees, eyes fixed on the floor, and her voice came out as nothing but a broken whisper:

“I miss him so much…”
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Hunk swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he tried to force a small smile — but even that didn’t come out right.

“I miss him too…” he admitted, his gaze lost in nothingness.
“Especially those… Sundays at the beach with his family…”

Keith, on the verge of breaking, furrowed his brow and blinked, confused.
His voice barely a thread, cracked by surprise and the lump in his throat:

“Y-You… knew Lance before the Garrison?”

Hunk nodded slowly, his expression sinking into sadness.
“Yeah…” he murmured, lowering his head.
“Our parents knew each other… Lance and I were friends. Well, we’d see each other on Sundays.
He always… always talked about wanting to be a pilot… and how he was gonna be the best of them all.”

A broken chuckle escaped him but quickly got caught in his throat.

“He was always bragging… saying one day he’d conquer the stars… and…”
He stopped, swallowing hard, tears forming in his eyes.
“…I believed him.”

Keith stared at him, his chest tight, hands trembling.
He never imagined it. He never knew Hunk and Lance…
Had that much history.

Pidge looked up, eyes swollen but alert.
Allura and Coran were listening too, the air thick with nostalgia and pain.
Shiro simply watched, his heart shattered, but silent.

Allura averted her gaze, vulnerability in her expression, eyes shining with sadness and a hint of doubt.

“His family…” she whispered, fidgeting with her fingers.
“He always said he missed them, but… he never… never talked much about them.”

Hunk watched her, confused at first, but then he understood.

Allura looked up, lips trembling, and asked softly, as if it hurt to say it:

“Do you think… you could?”

Hunk blinked, surprised.

“Talk to them about him?” he asked, voice heavy with contained emotion.
He sat down slowly, his body sinking into the chair as if weighed down by memories.

But when he spoke again, his voice was warm, nostalgic… determined.

“Of course. I’d love to.”

His lips curved into a sad smile, and his eyes filled with tears — but this time… not only pain.

“I’ll tell them everything…” he whispered.

The silence returned, but it was different.
It no longer weighed them down like before.
It was… gentle.
Like a distant hug.
Like a memory that hurt… but also warmed the chest.

Pidge wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.
Keith lowered his gaze, his trembling fists on the table, but for the first time, something like peace peeked through the rubble of his heart.
Coran, in the back, nodded quietly, his mustache barely trembling.
And Shiro… he simply watched, eyes cloudy, but relieved to see, finally, a small step forward.

One month.
One month since Lance’s death.

If we’re honest, the emptiness was felt everywhere in the castle.
But the team was learning to live with it.

Laughter was rarer, but silences were shorter.
The weight of absence lingered — a constant shadow on every mission, every meal, every little corner.
But they had to keep going.

The team was starting to talk a little more, trying not to drown in the pain.
Keith often asked Hunk about Lance, searching in his words for something to hold onto.

Hunk sighed, wearing a sad smile, and responded with simple anecdotes, memories that brought a little light amid the darkness.

Those words usually soothed Keith’s soul a bit.
Imagining a little Lance, with those playful curls and contagious joy, caressed his heart like a balm in the middle of the void.

For a moment, the sadness faded.
And the memory of that real Lance — no masks, no pain — gave him strength to move forward.

Keith often fiddled with the recorder Lance had left him.
It was almost like a charm now, always in his pocket, always in his hand when the world felt too cold.

Sometimes… he couldn’t stand it and would go into Lance’s room.
The place still smelled like him.
For Keith, it was his place of peace.

Keith would sit on the bed, turn on the recorder, and spend hours there.

He discovered there were too many recordings.
Lance talked way more than he let on.
Little messages, dumb thoughts, hidden confessions wrapped in bad jokes…
It was almost like having him back. Almost.

Keith learned how to use the recorder, how to sift through the files.
And over time, it became normal for him to fall asleep there,
with Lance’s voice playing softly as he surrendered to exhaustion and pain.

It was his way of not letting go.
His way… of keeping him close.

Keith fell asleep again.

He was in Lance’s room, tangled in the sheets that still smelled of salt and cheap cologne.
The recorder rested on his chest, blinking softly.
Lance’s voice slipped through his dreams, that broken mix of jokes and midnight confessions.

The door opened quietly.

Hunk peeked his head in, looking for Keith for dinner… and there he was.

Keith, curled up on Lance’s bed,
his brow relaxed and eyes swollen.
The recorder was still playing an old clip where Lance chuckled low, telling some ridiculous story about his childhood at the beach.

Hunk swallowed hard.
The knot in his throat squeezed his chest.

He stepped in slowly, without making a sound, and sat on the edge of the bed.
He watched the scene for a moment, biting his lip to keep from breaking.

Keith muttered something in his sleep, his hand clutching the recorder tightly,
like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

Hunk brushed a stray lock of hair from his face,
his touch warm and gentle.
“I get it…” he whispered, voice trembling.
“I miss him too…”

He stayed there a while, silent, watching over him,
making sure that at least for that night, Keith could sleep without pretending he was okay.

Because even though Lance was gone…
his laughter… his voice… still filled the room.

And sometimes… that was the only thing keeping them standing.

Hunk watched him for a couple more minutes,
until he noticed Keith shifting, restless, like something in his dreams was troubling him.

Gently, he touched his shoulder.
“Hey… Keith…” His voice was low, warm, careful not to break the little rest he had left.

Keith frowned, waking slowly.
He blinked a few times, disoriented, until his tired, red eyes focused on Hunk… and the recorder still clutched to his chest.

“H-Hunk…?” he murmured, hoarse, his voice heavy with sleep and something deeper… pain, exhaustion, emptiness.

Hunk offered a soft smile, though his eyes shone with held-back sadness.
“Relax… I just came to wake you up,” he said, patting his shoulder.
“Allura’s gathering us… she wants to have a bonding night.”

Keith blinked, slowly processing the words.
His hand still gripped the recorder.
“A… bonding night…” he repeated, as if the phrase tasted bitter.

Hunk nodded, sighing.
“It’s been a while since we had one… since…” He didn’t finish. No need.
They both knew since when. Since him.

The silence hung awkward and heavy in the air.

Keith looked down at the recorder.
His trembling finger traced its edge, then he took a deep breath and carefully tucked it into his pocket.

“Alright…” he murmured, his voice hoarse and low.
“Let’s go…”

Hunk nodded, standing up.
As Keith took a moment to compose himself, Hunk waited by the door—because even though the team was broken, at least they still had each other.

The common room was decorated with soft lights and cushions scattered across the floor.
It was an attempt to recreate something like warmth, like home,
even though Lance’s absence slipped through every corner.
Still… they were there.

Allura sat at the front, legs crossed, eyes shiny but steady.
Pidge and Coran were setting out some snacks on the table,
while Shiro stood silently at the back, arms crossed, watching everything.

When Keith and Hunk entered, everyone looked at them, but no one said a word.
Just a brief smile from Allura and a nod from Shiro.

They settled into a circle.
Silence at first. Awkward. Tense.
Until Coran, with his ever-slightly messy mustache, was the first to break the ice.

“Well…” his voice trembled a bit, but he recovered.
“It’s been a long time since we had one of these… it was about time.”

Pidge nodded, wiping her eyes a little though trying to hide it.
“We’re gonna talk… about Lance, right?” she whispered.

Hunk smiled. A broken but genuine smile.
He settled in, folding his hands in his lap.

“Yes… and I’ve got the perfect story for that.”

Everyone looked at him.

“Remember that time Lance tried to impress Allura with a jetpack?” he asked, and the moment he said it, Pidge let out a snicker.

Allura rolled her eyes, but the smile was inevitable.
“No way…” she whispered.

Hunk nodded, holding back laughter.
“Yes! The idiot got his hands on some old junkyard jetpack.
He swore that if he flew ‘in style,’ Allura would fall for him.”

Pidge was already stifling bursts of laughter.
“Spoiler alert: he did not fly in style,” she added, wiping tears from her eyes, laughing.

Hunk laughed too, his voice shaking with affection.
“He shot up, did like three flips in the air, slammed headfirst into the training room…
and then walked out like nothing happened, saying it was all part of the plan!”

Allura shook her head, laughing.
“Of course he did.”

Even Keith smiled.
A small, tired smile… but genuine.

Coran chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes.
“That kid… always pulling dumb stunts…
and somehow making it impossible for us to really stay mad.”

The mood softened.
Between laughs and sighs, they kept sharing little stories:

The day Lance fell asleep in the Blue Lion cockpit.
That time he confused a control panel with a toaster.
The occasion he cooked for everyone… and nearly set the kitchen on fire, but Hunk saved him at the last second.

They laughed.
They cried.
And for a moment… the pain wasn’t so heavy.
For a moment, Lance was there.
In the words.
In the memories.
In the broken laughs.

Keith, with the recorder in his pocket, pressed his fingers against it, feeling that knot in his chest.

Laughter still floated in the air—
that half-broken, half-real laugh that only comes when your heart’s patched up but still beating.

Keith kept his head down, fingers fiddling with something in his pocket, until suddenly, in the chaos of stories and chuckles, he spoke up:

“Ah… the other day…”
He pulled out the small recorder—the one they all knew way too well now—and held it in his palm like a living memory.

“I found this recording… God…”
He let out a nervous, nasal laugh.
“It’s… it’s so ridiculous…”

Everyone looked at him, smiles frozen for a second, waiting, the air thick with suspense.

“Ridiculous like Lance being Lance… or Lance making us wanna bury ourselves alive?”
Pidge asked, squinting, half-joking, half-scared.

Keith pressed play.

The recording started.

And there it was.

Lance’s voice.

Clear, teasing, exaggerated.
“Attention, disaster paladins! This is your incredible, ridiculously handsome, and totally humble buddy Lance McClain reporting in—”
Sounds of hair being fixed in the background
“Day… no idea what day it is. Lost count. But there’s still space, still aliens, and I’m still way too sexy for this ship.”

Pidge snorted a laugh. Hunk covered his face, shaking his head. Allura let out a stifled giggle, covering her lips.

Lance’s voice kept going.

The screen showed Lance—messy hair, pajamas, dark circles under his eyes—sitting on the edge of his bed, holding the comm, smirking like trouble was guaranteed.

“Okay, okay… this is confidential, ultra secret file… if anyone but me watches this… Pidge, I’m looking at you! And if it’s Keith… well… this is gonna be hilarious.”

Pidge laughed quietly. Keith raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, resigned.

“Today… I’m gonna do the ultimate test. How long can I say ‘galaxies’ without laughing? Bet I’m a pro… Ready… one…”

He cleared his throat, all serious:

“Galaxies.”

Pause. Nothing.

“Two… galaxies.”

His mouth started twitching.

“Three… galaxies, galaxies, galaxies—! HAHAHA, SHIT!”

Lance doubled over laughing, falling back on the bed like someone just told him the best joke in the universe.

Coran was already cracking up, covering his mouth. Allura hid her face, blushing. Shiro shook his head softly, but his lips trembled holding back laughter.

Lance sat up straight and, looking right at the camera with that trademark cocky grin, added:

“Okay… that was ridiculous…”

“Keith… if you’re watching this… you probably have that ‘I’m so serious, I don’t get jokes’ face… You know the one? The furrowed brows and ‘I’m planning to save the universe but also need sleep’ face… Yeah, that one.”
The whole team turned to look at Keith. His cheeks were flushed, lips pressed tight, caught between embarrassment and a laugh that inevitably won.

Keith, still red as a space tomato, shook his head, but the smile that slipped out was unstoppable. His eyes shone—not with sadness this time, but with that soft warmth only Lance could spark.

“Idiot…” Keith muttered, his voice stripped of bitterness. Just overflowing affection, so clear even Pidge noticed.

Pidge chuckled, wiping away tears that were no longer from sorrow.
“See? Even as a hologram, he’s flirting with you.”

Hunk grinned ear to ear, resting his head in his hands.
“I always knew there was something between you two…”

Keith rolled his eyes but didn’t even try to deny it.

He picked up the recorder again and tapped it gently. The projection flickered back on, this time showing Lance in the castle kitchen, surrounded by ingredients, wearing a ridiculously colorful apron that read: “Warning: Cooking with Love (and Ego).”

“Today… Chef Lance McClain will teach you how to make…”

He paused, glancing down at the chaotic mess on the counter.

“Well, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing… but Hunk told me if I keep trying, someday I might make something edible.”

From the recording’s background came Hunk’s laugh:
“Lance, if you burn down the kitchen, Allura’s gonna blast us into space!”

Lance dramatically turned to the camera.

“Let this be on record… if I mysteriously disappear… it was Allura. Tell my mom I love her.”

Soft chuckles echoed around the dining hall, the tension slowly melting away as if Lance had found a way to sneak back in, bringing that goofy warmth, that mess… that home he always carried with him.

The projection faded, but this time, everyone looked at each other… and smiled.

Because even in old recordings, Lance was still the glue, the laughter, the heartbeat of the team.

“We have to save all these recordings…” Allura said gently, dabbing her eyes.

Keith held the recorder close to his chest, and this time, his smile was real.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

One month and two days since Lance's death.
Space never stops… and neither does the war.

After that night of unity, of honest laughter they hadn’t shared in weeks, the team had finally felt something inside them breathe again. The pain was still there, hidden in glances and heavy silences, but for a moment that night… the emptiness Lance left behind didn’t suffocate them as much.

But peace, as always, didn’t last.

That morning, the silence in the control room was shattered by a sharp, annoying beep. A signal—an encoded alert that hit the Castle of Lions’ system directly.

The alarm echoed through the hallways. Red lights bathed the metallic walls, and the system’s automated voice came to life—cold, urgent.

“Alert. Alert. Galra ship approaching at high speed.”

The entire team appeared in the control room as if summoned. Tense faces, the air thick with adrenaline. Allura was already in front of the controls, her hands flying over the commands.

“It can’t be! How did we not detect it sooner?!” Pidge snapped, brows furrowed, eyes locked on the readings.

Shiro, as serious as ever, analyzed the data.
“It’s coming straight for us… at that speed… they’re going to attack!”

Coran, pale, dropped his teacup to the floor.
“Take cover!”

But there was no time.

The Galra ship appeared on the radar so close it seemed impossible. They barely had time to process the information before it was there—bursting out of hyperspace like a giant shadow, dark and threatening.

BOOM!

The first impact rocked the entire Castle. The walls trembled, systems sparked.

Hunk held onto the console, eyes wide with shock.
“They fired without warning!”

Keith was already running toward the hangar.
“To the Lions. Now!”

The explosions continued. Lights flickered. The echo of Galra cannons rumbled through the Castle’s metallic walls.

Pidge was scanning the monitors rapidly, her expression shifting into something oddly confused amidst the chaos.

Shiro was already heading up to the hangar, but he stopped in his tracks.
“What is it, Pidge?”

Pidge didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were locked on the panel… on those codes… that frequency…
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

The alarms were still ringing in everyone’s ears when the Lions took off at full speed. Space stretched out in front of them, vast and dark, the Galra ship floating in the distance like a predator lurking in the shadows.

Allura, at the controls of Blue, led the formation, her voice echoing through the comms, laced with that determined, commanding tone.
“Hold formation. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

Keith’s eyes, glowing beneath Red’s helmet, never left the enemy ship. It was massive—bigger than a standard Galra destroyer—but… it looked off.

The lights weren’t blinking in the usual military patterns. No active shields.

Shiro, from Black, studied the radars, frowning.
“This doesn’t add up. If it were a trap, they would’ve attacked by now. But if it’s inactive… why did the Castle’s alarm pick it up so fast?”

Pidge, inside Green, was analyzing the data projected in front of her. Her face glowed green from the controls, fingers flying over the keyboard—but her gaze was frozen, sharp, as if she’d seen something she couldn’t quite process.

Hunk, piloting Yellow, swallowed hard.
“I’m still saying this feels like one of those horror movies… the creepy ghost ship, floating all alone… and then—BAM! Monsters.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the image twisted his gut.

Suddenly, Pidge’s voice cut through the comms, sharp with surprise and warning.
“Stop! Everyone, stop. Now.”

The Lions came to an abrupt halt, floating in the void at a safe distance from the Galra ship.

Allura frowned.
“What’s happening?”

Pidge blinked, her eyes glued to the data.
“I’m picking up a signal… the same interference we’ve been detecting for days. It’s… much clearer here. Coming straight from that ship.”

Shiro turned his head toward the enemy vessel.
“The same interference? The one we couldn’t decode?”

Pidge nodded, her fingers typing even faster.
“Yeah. The pattern… I still can’t crack it.”

A heavy, dead silence fell over the comms.

Even Hunk froze, swallowing hard.

Keith’s eyes hardened as he tightened his grip on Red’s controls.
“Whatever it is… we’re going to find out.”

Suddenly, the Galra ship powered up. Red lights flickered across its hull, and without warning, several cannons deployed from its sides.

A blast shot through space, grazing dangerously close to Red.

“We’re under attack!” Shiro shouted, spinning Black into a defensive maneuver.

The Lions dodged the incoming fire, retaliating just enough to defend themselves. They didn’t want to destroy the ship. Not yet. Not until they knew what the hell was going on inside.

Pidge’s voice came through, quick but steady, insistent.
“The signal! It’s coming from inside. We need to get in. Whatever’s causing this… it’s in there!”

Allura nodded, expertly dodging another blast.
“Get ready. Immediate infiltration.”

The Lions maneuvered into a blind spot on the Galra ship—a small maintenance hatch, just big enough for the Paladins to enter.

The plan was clear: get inside, investigate… and figure out what the hell an Altean signal was doing inside an enemy ship.

The hatch opened with a metallic hiss, and the Paladins slipped inside in formation—weapons ready, suits sealed, each step echoing through the oppressive silence of the Galra ship.

The interior was dark. Lights flickered erratically, as if something in the systems was malfunctioning. Smoke floated in the air, cables dangled from the ceiling, and a faint hum filled their ears like a disturbing whisper.