Work Text:
Lance’s dreams have always been lively, vivid things.
When he was younger, he’d pester his parents and siblings endlessly, bright-eyed and eager to share what he had seen in his sleep, detailed, colorful visions of the things that had interested him as a child.
“Whales,” he remembered saying one morning, insistently, as he’d gone on a tirade of his most recent dream. “Fuzzy ones, Mama, in space!”
His mother had looked at him fondly, indulgently as she tugged her into his lap, a warm, steady hand smoothing through his curls gently.
“My baby has such wonderful dreams,” she’d said, and he beamed at her, allowing her to ruffle his hair more and press kisses to his cheeks, before he’d run off to find his siblings on the beach.
Lance shakes his head roughly, tearing his consciousness back to the view from the windows of the observation deck, unsure why the memory had suddenly appeared in his mind.
Lately, his dreams have been fickle, brought about by a combination of many things. The deep exhaustion that seeps through his bones, from dealing with Lotor in their home, Shiro’s odd mannerisms, the combined stress of the rest of the paladins and his attempts to mitigate it. His ever-present anxiety that doesn’t seem to loosen from its home in his chest, about his role, his place in their team and in this war. The homesickness he doesn’t think will ever be cured until his feet are steady on Earth’s surface, his family finally within reach.
And, the reason why he’s sitting on the cold floor of the castleship, a communicator gone dark in his hands, the way it’s been for months, and a jacket that’s not his, draped on his lap.
“Talk to me, Red,” he murmurs, unsure if he’s asking his lion, or the device in his palm, given to him suddenly upon Keith’s last visit, his dark eyes unreadable, there and gone again.
Like the past six months, he receives no response.
In the back of his mind, Red’s conscience curls around him, concerned, and he brings his knees up, pressing a tear-streaked cheek to the worn material of Keith’s jacket, as he turns toward the window and presses a hand against it.
“Can you feel him?” Lance asks her, the same question every night, and the lion hums low, assenting, trying to soothe.
“Good,” he whispers, as he looks out into the wide expanse of space, and hopes desperately that her answer never changes.
—
He slips through the castleship’s endless hallways quiet as a spectre, having become very familiar with its layout from his endless wandering these last few months.
Out of habit, Lance passes by the other paladins’ rooms, pressing an ear to Pidge’s door to ensure that the younger is actually asleep and not tinkering late into the night, taking comfort in Hunk’s light snoring and Allura’s steady breaths accompanied by the sounds of the mice, and making sure that Coran and Shiro have fallen asleep in their actual beds, and not in the common room or deck.
When he reaches his room, he’s tired and worn down to the bone, getting ready for bed in sluggish, but familiar motions. A brief glance in the mirror has him wincing lightly, brushing a finger over the dark bags under his eyes, and he sighs.
Nights of insomnia have done his skin no good, and Lance figures tonight will be another sleepless one, fitful and dreamless.
After he finishes washing his face, pushing back damp strands of hair behind his ears, he makes his way into the bedroom, flicking his night light on. Just as he’s about to slip into bed, he catches sight of Keith’s jacket, carefully placed over his desk chair.
He smooths a hand over the material, well-worn and well-loved, and wishing, not for the first time, that its owner was here to wear it.
Lance slides under his covers, head pillowed on his arms as he focuses on the jacket. If he squints, vision already hazy from being close to sleep, the shadows cast by the singular light in his room look like a familiar silhouette, unruly mullet and all.
It makes a faint smile bloom on his face, and as his eyes slip closed, he feels a brush of warmth at the back of his mind, before sleep claims him fully.
—
A ray of light passes over his face, warm and familiar, and he blinks his eyes open, one hand automatically coming up to block out the glare as he surveys his surroundings.
“Oh,” he says, surprised but pleased when he recognizes the sight of his family’s farm, the endless stretch of green and gold fields and blue skies, not a cloud to be seen in sight. The barn, painted a classic red that had faded with time and weather, one wall of it covered in chalk drawings and the telltale look of a child’s fingerpainting attempts. His mama’s garden, half of it dedicated to their daily staples, peppers and tomatoes and the like, and the other to her flowers, like jasmines and begonias and her favorite, sunflowers. If he closes his eyes, he can hear the echo of his memories, the bleats and cries of the animals, the laughter and chatter of his family as they go about their day.
As far as his dreams go, especially recently, this one is beginning to be especially lovely.
Lance leans back against the rough bark of the oak that sits on the small hill near the back of the farm, looking up and tracing the familiar branches. A lone tire swing still swings from one of the sturdier branches, and the groove he’d used to perch on still remains whole, and he wonders briefly, with some amusement, if he would still fit there if he climbed the tree now.
“Lance?”
He brightens at the sound of his name, called out in a deeper but familiar voice, sitting up and turning to look at the person with a beaming grin.
Keith stands some ways down the hill, looking thoroughly confused but pleasantly surprised to see him, gloved hands restless at his sides as he surveys the area with some wariness. Lance squints at him, taking in the sight of dark, messy hair, longer than he remembers it being and much too long to be considered a mullet anymore, clad in the Blade armor, looking older, taller, and certainly not the boy he’d watched fly away all those months ago.
“What happened to you?” He questions curiously, striding down to take his hand and lead him back up the hill, the warmth of the other’s hand steady and reassuring, a relief after all this time, even as he faintly wonders how he can feel it in a dream. “You look… different.”
Keith doesn’t answer him, simply allowing himself to be tugged along as he regards Lance and their surroundings carefully, a considering look in his eyes that quickly shifts to understanding.
“This is your home,” Keith says tentatively, and Lance smiles at him, leaning his head on the other’s shoulder.
“It is,” he agrees easily. “I’ve been wanting to take you here, so this all makes sense.”
Again, nothing leaves his friend’s mouth, though something like surprise flits across his face. Lance doesn’t mind. Keith’s always been a man of action, rather than words, and so, when an arm curls around his hip and a head presses against his own, he simply smiles, shifting closer.
“This is a weird memory,” Keith mutters, and Lance hums in response, only a little baffled.
Dreams aren’t supposed to make sense after all, so he takes whatever Keith says with a grain of salt.
A decision he’s glad to have made when Keith nudges him gently to look at his face. “Why do you look like that?”
Lance pushes at the other’s arm, a tease already at the tip of his tongue. “What, you think I look ugly, Kogane?”
“No,” the other replies immediately, honestly, and Lance feels himself flush deeply. “But you do look like a ghost of the past.”
“What is this Nightmare Before Christmas stuff you’re talking about?”
“Do you mean a Christmas Carol,” Keith deadpans, his dry tone making the question seem more like a statement, and Lance chortles, a little startled by the force of his laughter.
At his side, Keith looks on at him, a little softer now, confusion giving way for acceptance, having come to his own conclusions in his mind.
“I look the way I always have,” he says in response to the other’s earlier statement, and Keith just nods, brushing away his bangs carefully.
“I suppose you do,” he murmurs, eyes dark and fathomless. “I guess I’ve just been missing you too much.”
Lance smiles back at him, but it’s wry this time, as he leans into Keith’s open palm. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
”I’m here now, aren’t I?”
The reminder makes his heart ache, and he simply turns to press a gentle kiss to the palm cradling his face, things he’s wanted to do but had never gotten the chance.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, feeling content, feeling seen, for the first time in months. “You are.”
—
They sit there together for an indeterminate amount of time, long enough for Lance to have shifted to lay his head on Keith’s lap, one hand brushing the tops of the grass, the other being held by Keith, who traces small circles in his palm with his thumb.
It’s the kind of easy physical intimacy they had had, during Keith’s brief stint as the Black Paladin and Lance as his right-hand.
Lance naturally sought out physical contact, and Keith, despite his initial hesitance, had caved easily to his whims, learning quickly how to reach out.
With Shiro still missing at the time, it was up to Lance to be Keith’s main source of support, as both of them navigated exactly what command entailed for them, Allura’s expectations, and the needs of the universe.
And on the nights when it was too much for both of them, exhausted from endless diplomatic discussions, missions, or filing through reports and requests, they’d move their work to the observation deck, backs against one another as they went through and debated plans for the next day.
“What are you thinking about?”
A pale hand enters his field of vision, smoothing out the furrow of his brow, and he relaxes, softening at the look of concern he sees the other wearing.
It’s an easy response, fond as he lets his free hand trace the contours of Keith’s face, all sharp, steady lines, the bump in the bridge of his nose from where he broke it in a fight years ago and the brush of long eyelashes that fan against his fingertips as they get close enough to touch. “You.”
Keith’s expression shifts into something close to disbelief. A hand grasps his wrist, stilling his movements, and Lance looks at him curiously.
“You’re not usually this open.”
“I am always forthcoming about my feelings.”
“Liar,” Keith huffs out. Lance’s eyes linger on the contrast between his arm and Keith’s fingers, still wrapped firmly around his wrist, like the other is content to feel the flutter of his pulse underneath the pads of his fingertips, and so he almost misses Keith’s next words. “The you I remember wouldn’t be saying half the things you’ve said today.”
Lance frowns, ignoring the sudden heaviness of his limbs.
“The you I remember wasn’t this talkative either,” he retorts, and Keith looks at him reproachfully, and his anger wilts as fast as it came.
“There’s no point in hiding, is there?” Lance says instead. “You’re not actually here.”
This time, it’s Keith’s turn to frown, and Lance curses whatever part of his mind decided that this Keith would want to actually have the conversations they’ve both been desperately avoiding.
He sighs deeply, the fight going out of him. He watches Keith carefully as he says his next words. “You’ve been gone a long time, Keith. And I miss you every day, you know? I’ve been waiting for you, for a call, a mention, just something to let us know you’re alive.”
Lance takes a shaky breath, feeling exposed, even though he shouldn’t be. “We left a lot of things unsaid, you and I. I always thought… next time he comes back, I’ll tell him everything I wanted to. Only, I never could bring myself to.”
Keith is quiet, and Lance closes his eyes, so he doesn’t have to see the look on the other’s face. “Stupid of me, wasn’t it?”
“Then we’re both stupid,” Keith murmurs softly, and when Lance looks up at him, the other is already staring at him, serious and steady. “There’s plenty I haven’t told you either.”
Lance turns away, unable to hold the other’s gaze. “Like why you left?”
Keith goes rigid underneath him. “Would you believe me if I said it was for you?”
Lance almost laughs, the notion is so ridiculous to him. “Now, I know this isn’t real. If you knew me at all, and I’d like to believe you did, Keith, you’d know that was the last thing I ever wanted.”
The feeling of tiredness hits him all at once, and he blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to keep them open.
“…are you tired?”
There’s a strange tone to Keith’s voice, like someone had knocked the air right out of him, his words rough and heavy even as they gentle themselves for Lance.
“No,” he says stubbornly, fighting the slow close of his eyelids, desperate to stay awake.
Keith’s voice is fond when he replies, calloused fingers brushing gently over his face, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbones, and finally, the rapid fluttering of his eyes. “You should sleep, Lance.”
“No,” he repeats again, the fogginess in his mind loosening his tongue, his distress plain to hear and see as he grasps for Keith’s shoulder, the other staring down at him with a baffled expression. “If I sleep, you won’t be there when I wake up.”
Keith’s face goes through a series of emotions, shock, confusion, then as he looks around once more, gaze drawn back to Lance’s pleading eyes, a dawning realization.
“Lance,” he begins, slowly, hesitantly. “What… are you saying right now?”
He giggles, somewhat deliriously, fondness pouring out of him in waves as he winds a shaky hand behind Keith’s neck, using it to pull his body up and closer, the other’s hands wrapping around his waist to steady him with a yelp when he sways.
The movement brings their faces closer, and Keith’s eyes are wide as planets right now, dark, swirling and so, so telling for once, darting between his eyes and lips, and Lance hums, pleased as he presses their foreheads together.
“Aren’t you silly right now,” he murmurs, their breaths mingling together as his mouth stretches into a slow, sleepy smile. “Don’t you know I dream of you?”
Keith’s mouth parts on a gasp, a rough exhale of breath, and Lance takes the opportunity to press their lips together, eyes finally slipping closed as the tendrils of sleep tug him away.
When he wakes up, there’s a lingering warmth on his mouth, a pleasant buzz as he presses his fingers to it.
Lance smothers his smile into his pillow, and buries the lingering heartache in his chest as he moves to get ready for the day.
—
A week later, he’s clad in his armor, watching as Lotor and Allura climb into their brainchild, the new ship they’d built from the dimensional asteroid.
His bayard weighs heavy in his hand, the red of it stark against the blue of his armor, the one he still hasn’t brought himself to change for fear of the finality of it all, and he flashes it away before it can dredge up his memory of the dream, the conversation he’d had in his mind with the rival, leader, partner, he’d lost somewhere in space.
It wasn’t real… and yet, the idea of it still stings, that maybe if they had spoken like that, if Lance had gotten over himself and just told Keith how much he actually needed him, maybe the other would have stayed.
He’s listless, out of it as they observe from the main deck, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hunk look at him in concern, an arm nudging Pidge and drawing the girl’s attention to him as he whispers.
Lance sighs, knowing they’ll try to encourage him again about Allura. They mean well, and he loves them, but he doesn’t think they know it hasn’t been Allura in his heart for a long time.
No one had. Not even Keith. That was the problem.
An alarm suddenly rings out, and his bayard is out once more, his grip on it firm, thumb worrying away at the handle as Coran frantically pulls up the feed of an unknown ship approaching the castleship.
An enemy? Something of Lotor’s doing? Around him, the other paladins talk over each other frantically, and he waits with bated breath as Shiro tells Coran to make contact with the vessel.
When the feed reconnects, he hears himself gasp, hand going slack, the bayard dropping to the floor with a loud clatter.
No one pays him any mind, of course, and he doesn’t either, because, there, on the screen, for the first time in half a year, is Keith.
Keith, who is saying something important, a warning, a message. Lance can’t hear him over the rush of blood in his ears, and he feels himself stagger backwards, barely managing to catch himself on the back of his seat.
Keith’s here. He’s here, finally home, as impossible as it seems, and Lance urges himself to focus on the words coming out of the other’s mouth.
Landing, Keith says. The lions’ hangar.
He’s out the door before anyone can say another word.
—
Bursting into the hangar, he gets a sense of deja vu, abruptly reminded of the last time he had seen Keith.
They’d exchanged no words, just a brief searching glance at one another, and Lance’s arms were stiff at his sides even though he wanted to offer the older a hug, unsure of what to do.
Keith had taken one look at him, before taking hold of his hand and pressing a communicator into it, a quick whisper of if you ever need me, Lance, and then he’d watched as Keith had walked away, rapid footsteps ascending the ramp, watched the Blade ship fire its engines and take off.
He hadn’t used it, too worried about potentially distracting Keith at a crucial moment during his work as a Blade, too anxious about being seen as even more of a burden.
Until the device itself had gone dark, no more of Keith’s awkward attempts to attest to his survival, those three little dots appearing at odd times of the day, and his earlier fears were now overwritten with regret.
Now, he watches the whole scene in reverse, an old Altean ship landing in the middle of their hangar and a Keith that walks toward them with sure, steady footsteps, carrying himself with a confidence he hadn’t owned before.
He looks… he looks like the Keith from his dream, taller, broader, older.
Lance inhales sharply, a realization hitting him suddenly.
If this Keith is the one from his dream, then who’s to say he was dreaming at all in the first place? There’s no way he could’ve known exactly what Keith would look like upon his return, and the only other option is that…. is that he was talking to the real Keith.
There’s a faint amusement that hovers in the back of his mind, a feeling that’s not his own, and if he wasn’t so stuck on staring at their former leader, if only to prove to himself that it’s not another figment of his imagination, he might’ve marched right up to his lion and scolded her beyond an inch of his life.
Like Keith could sense his inner turmoil, the man in question turns to him, pinning him in place with a severe look, and Lance freezes, feeling his eyes widen as the other strides towards him like a man on a mission.
Keith stops when they’re mere inches apart. Somehow, even though he was aware of the other’s new height, having to tilt his face upward to meet Keith’s eyes is startling, and his breathing goes unsteady once more.
There’s a tangible heat in Keith’s gaze as they stare at one another, standing so close he can practically feel it roll off of the other in waves, and Lance fights the urge to run and hide from it.
He’s surprised when Keith breaks the silence between them first, but the words leaving his mouth cause him to gasp, shock settling in his bones.
“I owe you a conversation,” Keith whispers, just for them. “But first—“
Keith cuts himself off, and Lance is too stunned to register his movements, a firm arm winding around his waist and pressure at the base of his skull, pressing him closer.
There’s a mouth hovering just above his own, dark eyes darting around his face, waiting for something.
Oh. Something in his mind clicks, and his lips part on instinct, eyelids fluttering shut.
It’s all the invitation Keith needs before he presses their lips together, a rush of heat shooting through his body, burning where their bodies meet.
Keith holds him close, carefully, like he’s something precious. The firm press of his mouth, dry but warm, and the sweep of his tongue all serve to make Lance dizzy, wearing a dazed expression as Keith pulls away slowly, his thumb sweeping over Lance’s kiss-swollen mouth with reverence, and a slight smugness.
“I think we waited long enough for that, hm?”
“You—“ he breathes out, feeling a little like he’s going to cry. “Keith—“
Keith shifts away from him, but Lance’s hands reach out, nervous and quick, grabbing the other’s shoulders and holding him there. He can’t speak, the one at a loss for words between them, for once, and he meets Keith’s concerned eyes, pleading, hoping he understands what Lance needs.
The wide splay of Keith’s hand remains steady on his back, a warm, grounding pressure. A thumb brushes away a tear he didn’t even realize had fallen, as gentle as ever, and when Keith leans down to press their foreheads together, he simply tilts his head up to meet him.
“I’m not going anywhere this time, Lance,” Keith whispers into the space between them, and Lance feels an overwhelming sense of relief at the words, even though he knows they can’t be promised.
But no matter how different he looks now, Lance still knows Keith, knows the truth of him all the way down to the marrow in their bones, that he’s sure of the words he speaks, that they are absolute, and even if he errs from it, he will make it so they are.
So Lance simply grins at him through his tears, takes Keith’s face into his hands, keeping him close, and makes his own declaration.
“Don’t be stupid, Keith. Just don’t go anywhere I can’t follow you again.”
Keith smiles, the first one he’s seen since his return, a slow thing that pulls at the apples of his cheeks, teeth peeking out and dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth. It’s a sight that shakes Lance to his core, makes his knees want to buckle and fall to the floor, if not for the fact that Keith’s still holding him up, looking equal parts satisfied, relieved, and overwhelmingly happy.
“I think I can do that, sweetheart.”
—
“Not even an hour into being the Black Paladin again, and you’ve already gotten yourself injured.”
Underneath his careful hands, Keith winces away from the gel Lance is smoothing on the burn that he’d received in his fight against the clone, an angry thing that curves towards his eye. Lance murmurs a quiet apology, taking care to move as efficiently as possibly, and he presses his lips to the other’s forehead in consolation. “It’s going to scar.”
“Don’t care,” comes the muttered reply, though it softens when Keith catches sight of Lance’s frown as he sets aside the first aid supplies. “As long as Shiro’s okay.”
Lance places his hand on the uninjured cheek, watching as the other simply leans into the touch. “And you? Are you okay?”
The light of Red’s cabin highlights the slopes and dips of Keith’s face, all angles of him sharper now with age, cheekbones prominent and jawline cutting. Lance’s fingers settle carefully under the curve of it, wondering at the feel of it, at the novelty of actually being able to touch, and follows easily when Keith’s hands settle on his hips, pulling him close enough so that he can lean his head against Lance’s stomach.
His hands shift slightly, fingers pressing lightly into the dips of his back, and Lance merely hums at the change, curling his hands into Keith’s hair, gently untangling the knots in it, all while keeping a soothing pressure on the other’s scalp, knowing he needs the grounding, and a moment to collect his thoughts.
“I almost died.”
Lance wonders if Keith can feel the way his heart suddenly stops at the words, free falling into the ground, the sharp, shaky intake of breath as he processes the words. He thinks the older can, having pressed close enough that Lance would think Keith is trying to meld them together, like if he holds tightly enough, nothing in the universe could separate them again.
Lance understands. After all, he’s trying to do the same thing, and when his hands slide down to squeeze at Keith’s shoulders, the other gets it too, shifting backwards silently so Lance has room to fall into his lap, long limbs maneuvering so that he can tuck his knees and curl around the other, burying his face into the side of Keith’s neck.
When Keith continues, his voice is solemn, apologetic. “I couldn’t let him go again. How many times do I have to lose my brother? I didn’t want to add to the count. But still, all I could think of when I was hanging there is that I was about to leave you behind again.”
They’re quiet, before Keith turns to face him, drawn to Lance’s gaze by a brush of his knuckles. Lance breaks the silence, staring into the hues of Keith’s eyes, galaxies in their own right. “I was never mad you left, you know?”
Keith’s brows furrow in confusion, and Lance thumbs at the crease, smoothing it out and clicking his tongue scoldingly, albeit gently. “I was mad that you didn’t seem to trust me enough with your concerns, with your plans. I was afraid that my conversation with you was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the thing that ended up pushing you away. But Keith,” his lips quirk up into a smile, even as he starts to tear up again. “I finally figured it out. I was just so caught up in my own head that I forgot what makes you you.”
Underneath his palm, the rapid thump-thump of Keith’s heartbeat is a soothing rhythm, and he marvels at it, thanking the universe that they’re here together now. “This heart of yours, even when you had all your walls up, has always been an open, bleeding thing. You’re unfailingly kind, and despite what I’ve said in the past, I know you always put yourself last.“
His hands shift to cradle Keith’s face, pressing their foreheads together as he breathes out his truths into the space between them.
“You can go chase the stars at the end of the universe. You can leave and save every single sentient being you possibly can. You could take all the time you need to do the things you want. I don’t need you to stay if that’s not what you want, I just need to be the person you come home to.”
“If you know me as well as I think you do,” Keith says, low and rough as tears slip down his face too, an echo of Lance’s words from before, “you’d know I wouldn’t want to do any of those things unless you were there with me.”
It makes a smile bloom on Lance’s face, shaky but sincere in its joy. “I’d wait anyways.”
“There’s no need,” Keith murmurs, “because I’d spend every second of it making my way back to you.”
His breath hitches, caught in his chest, and Keith continues, honest to a fault, with no regard for the way his heart is threatening to give out, working overtime to keep him steady.
“I’m in love with you. Leaving you isn’t even a thought that’s crossed my mind.”
In his loneliest moments, Lance had wondered if there was ever a chance that someone would want him, who would make him their first choice.
And it’s in this moment that he realizes, someone had, had been choosing him over and over again, even when he hadn’t realized he’d needed it.
Calloused hands thumb soothing circles into the give of his hips and Keith waits quietly, patient as he is when it matters most, for Lance to gather his thoughts.
When he finally finds his words, they’re said with a beaming grin, cheeks dimpling as he leans down to kiss Keith, whose lips part easily at the pressure, only to make a questioning noise when he pulls away breathlessly after a moment.
“I love you,” Lance says, a surety to his tone that has Keith blinking up at him, before his expression shifts into something so full of emotion, so full of love that Lance can only stare back with what he’s sure is an equally smitten look. “I’ve been in love with you for forever now.”
Keith’s eyes soften, his smile still as devastating as the first one.
“That’s all we have now, sweetheart.”
“Forever,” Lance agrees easily, then kisses him again to seal the promise.
No matter the time or the distance that separates them, whether in dreams or in the tangible space between them, they have each other.
Their forever starts now.