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goodnight n go / infinite

Summary:

“Fancy a dance, sweetheart?” he whispered, to sober ears more of a whisper-shout. he was too far gone to feel embarrassed by the intimacy of the nickname with nobody around.

Lance watched as Keith automatically put his gloved hand in his, not even registering the gesture. Finally, his mulled wine eyes flashed with recognition, a half-smile forming on his stained lips. his sock-wearing feet stood with lance’s bare ones, the kitchen floor cool in the moonlight streaming from an open window. 

“there’s not even music, darling,” Keith whispered-shouted back.
 

Notes:

playlist:
- goodnight n go: Ariana Grande
- Moonlight
- off the table
- ghostin
- tolerate it: Taylor Swift
- gold rush
- peace
- Lover
- Garden Song: Phoebe Bridgers
- Boy: WILLOW

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Something had clearly shifted. 

 

 

looking in the mirror, he no longer flinched at the unexpected sight of his Altean marks. the smell of juniberry flowers threaded softly throughout his clothing and perfumed his house without dizzying him. The house itself was now finally a home. The empty rooms that had high ceilings were filled with visiting members of his family, and warmth that seeped into the walls. opening his eyes for another day didn’t seem like a chore, as he was greeted by the familiar glow in the dark stickers on the bedroom ceiling and a creak in the wood floor. (His mom was waiting downstairs— a sight he’d come to cherish more than ever.) he hadn’t been a morning person growing up; yet the early hours he came to be familiar with, due to his teaching position at the Garrison. 

 

 

it was quiet before dawn, which even prior to Voltron, had provided an unsettlingly unsatisfying feeling in his gut. In space, it was an endless early-morning, windows always dark and there was a nearly-silent buzz of the castle as they projected into the nothingness of space. With the war finally over, he found himself appreciating the newfoundness of the sunrise, and the quietness that came before everything. pidge had made fun of him for acting so damn old sometimes, but lance had teased her back, saying ‘introspection comes with age, not that you’d know, pidgey’. Despite this, they both knew the break was appreciated. (either way, he was only 22! Not even a mid-life crisis to be had, yet. Years in space had made time weird.)

 

 

the scars on his skin he no longer mourned over with amounts of concealer. “Marks of life,” is what Shiro had called them. Lance didn’t mind the particularly nasty one that painted the expanse of his back anymore, a horizontal explosion that his nieces had seen on a visit to the beach. they’d outlined it with pens, blossoming flowers on the paler skin on his tan freckled back. After that, he'd been able to go two days without washing his back, and then he’d told Vero about it, and his sister berated him to take a shower.

 

 

It’d been a few years since the end of the war, and his path towards what he affectionately called “domestic bullshittery” hadn’t been a straightforward one. Remains of the war were further than skin deep, waking up in cold sweat and nightmares was a common occurrence. He sometimes found himself instinctively reaching towards his left hip, but his bayard nowhere on his body. Nights were spent recalling horrific events with Hunk on the other end of the line, his best bro far in another galaxy helping the Balmara recover. lance yearned for his cooking, and his hugs. both a close second to his mother’s. Numerous other displaced things haunted him, as he would say an inside joke from his time in space, and wait expectantly for someone to get it. (there was no glimmer of understanding, just blank stares.)

 

 

And the fame was nice to an extent, but Quiznack, he missed going out and having a conversation with someone, without this obvious distance of ‘i spent my teen years fighting for the sake of the universe, what about you’?



 

________________

 

But something else had shifted, too. Something subtle, that lance wasn’t sure about completely embracing. 

 

 

He no longer tilted his head to look Keith in the eye. He met lance halfway, always looking back at him attentively with a level gaze. 

lance was still unsure of the color of Keith’s eyes. The romantic in him liked to say the shade was of universes, filled with galaxies and nebulas. When Keith looked at him that way, lance saw the color of something familiar and deep; like he could pull up any old inside joke from years ago, and keith would just get it. he’d laugh, head tilting back with eyes crinkling at the corners. Yeah. Keith laughs now, genuinely and wholeheartedly. A new discovery that had a weird fluttery feeling festering in lance’s gut. Happiness was a good look on him. 

 

 

When lance heard the tell-tale sounds of Keith’s Galran cruiser landing on the beach by his house, he didn’t necessarily get surprised anymore. that still meant he felt blood rushing to his face, though, heart beating wildly until he was finally standing in front of Keith. An odd effect. 

 

 

Keith had started visiting Earth more often. he’d left the power to the Blade, admitted he’d rejected an opportunity to rule over the Galran people. (Classic Keith. He hadn’t liked leading Voltron, but lance had liked being his right hand.) he was still a workaholic, sometimes telling lance on their calls about the nonstop travel with relief efforts and meetings as the poster boy for the human-galran alliance. every few weeks, Keith would surprise him by showing up on the beach, looking at him— freaking— tenderly. He stood under the sun in his BOM suit, as if he had impulsively flown to lance’s home the second that the missions were over. 

 

 

The sight of him was branded somewhere in lance’s mind. he’d spent too many nights recounting the soft sweep of Keith’s grown-out mullet, salty-humid air of the beach causing it to curl around his ears. lance memorized Keith’s half-smirk, that always seemed to rize into a sincere grin when lance was around. Man. Why did he always have to look at him that way? 




originally, Keith was supposed to stay with Shiro while he was on visits to Earth. but after a night third-wheeling with Curtis and his brother, he’d shown up the next day at lance’s door, looking like a kicked puppy. the decision to let Keith stay over was not at all what lance was hoping for, and he definitely was not excited for a week of sleepovers with one of his bestest friends. ( in spite of all the growth that lance had after the war, admitting to emotions was still a Work In Progress.) 

 

 

overall, Keith’s presence in lance’s house had become natural. they spent the entirety of the week either together or with the rest of their friends. (including Kosmo, who lance had proudly been the one to dub him as such.) each night, they’d curl up next to each other on the worn-out leather couch, and watch a movie. (when lance had found out Keith wasn’t aware of the cinematic masterpiece known as, Mama Mia! he’d been appalled, and immediately demanded they watch it, along with the sequel. Keith had rolled his eyes but had agreed, on the condition that they watch Fast and Furious.) recently they’d been running out of classics to watch, so they spent nights atop a blanket on the beach. they stargazed and watched the sky turn into a multicolored sorbet. 

 

 

The night would slowly consume the sky, silvers of light just out of reach. the ocean faded from a bottomless blue into an even further infinite  hue of blue. the stars reflected onto the water in a blurry, ethereal fashion. whatever heated conversation or banter they had held dissolved, the taste of seabreeze and smell of the juniberry field washing over them, in waves of serenity. Lance turned to face Keith, whose face would be gently illuminated by Lance's  Altean marks, casting a glowing effect onto him from sheer proximity. he’d see that fond look etched across his face. See him. Keith, who, with galaxy eyes, a wolf-dog, was half-alien, and had been there for him all along. He who was sunburnt, yet never got freckles or could tan. Who across from lance, under the silver lighting of the stars and faint blue of his cheeks, seemed to be right where he was meant to be. As if despite the vastness of space above them and the profoundness of nature around them, there was nowhere better he would like to be. Keith clicked far too well here, all the pieces satisfyingly fitting into place as his gaze never left him for a second. Here being Lance’s life, Lance’s mundane routine all-too-well accompanied by Keith.

 

 

it was overwhelming, the burn of his eyes that were filled with intent. like he was tryna look into his soul or something. Jesus. they often spoke with their eyes, silent communications sent with little nods of their heads or hand gestures. But there were no accompanying hints, only the rise and fall of his chest next to his own. What were you trying to say? 

 

(lance was sure, if he tried, he could fall into the galaxy, and understand. He could’ve reached out right then, and found his answer. lying next to him, he could hear the sounds of every breath, every eyelash countable. yet, like a quicksilver teardrop, the moment slipped between his fingers. he felt so far away.)



 

 

For all the unexpected stability Keith had brought, there was additionally a sort of comfort that was also shared after their nights on the beach. Keith heavily starred in  lance's dreams, whether that be pleasant hazes of something fragmented and hopeful, or nightmares of their shared time in space. reawakened memories of battles that left lance pacing in front of the healing pod for ticks that lasted ages. visions that left him paralyzed or yelling, cries for someone to help that used to have his mom running to his room; throat hoarse as he sat, eyes wide open as his sweating body shuddered into his mother’s embrace. that role was somewhat surprisingly filled by Keith, who slept in a mattress next to his bed, lance’s excuse to ‘complete the sleepover experience’. night terrors were now soothed by Keith’s voice. “i got you, i got you”.

 

 Lance used to be a consistent sleeper, yet after space even without nightmares, he found himself opening his eyes for no particular reason. sometimes Keith would be on his side, breathing steadily with a neutral expression. Those days, lance fought the urge to lean over, and use his thumb to brush over his worry lines. feel the sunburnt skin and search for the heated pulse at his neck. the type of paranoia he felt at odds with. Other times lance woke up, you close your eyes and you're screaming…

 

 

________________

 

when he woke, he immediately turned to his side. Keith wasn’t there. His hand swung to land on the bedside dresser, feeling around for his comm. 10 am. thank god it was summer break, his routine had been shuffled due to Keith’s arrival. he closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing in the last drop of rest out before rolling out of bed. On the way out the room, lance picked up the shirt he’d shedded in the night and put it on. His spine cracked satisfyingly after stretching, and he ambled down the stairs into the kitchen. 

 

 

upon arrival, he was greeted with a freshly-showered Keith, who’d evidently gone his usual morning run. (gross, morning people. that man had no reason to look like that with little to no beauty sleep.) he was standing around in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee while baby-talking Kosmo. he hated to interrupt.

 

 

“is that my shirt?” he questioned, lazily pointing to where Keith stood in what was obviously a bright blue aquarium shirt, meant for lance. if he hadn’t been so sleep addled, he probably would’ve had more feelings about Keith, standing in his kitchen with his shirt on. (not necessarily negative ones.)

 

 

Keith looked up as Kosmo darted (teleported?) to lance, wagging his tail as if they were reunited lovers. he gave Kosmo head pats. 

 

 

“Morning,” Keith gave an amused smile at lance’s probably-disheveled morning appearance. he looked down at the blue shirt he wore, as if he’d forgotten. “yeah, i borrowed it because none of my regular clothes fit anymore.” nonchalant.

 

 

lance opened the fridge, wrinkling his nose exaggeratedly. “you haven’t bought anything since your cat boy growth-spurt?” he took out a few eggs and an assortment of vegetables.

 

 

Keith rolled his eyes at the nickname, but couldn’t deny it. they’d had a whole “argument” about whether or not he was a cat boy, and after hearing him purr for the first time, all points Keith had made were negated. 

 

 

“i have no reason to buy clothes, besides when i’m with you. i usually just wear my Blade suit or the Garrison uniform,” he explained. He leaned over the counter to watch lance make huevos rancheros. “need any help?” he offered. 

 

 

“i’ve got it, thanks,” lance replied. Despite Keith growing exponentially in cooking abilities during the time he’d spent with lance and hunk, he didn’t trust him after the burnt water incident. 

 

 

Keith caught the tilt in lance’s mouth, obviously thinking about the memory. he raised his eyebrows, like ‘it was only one time’.  lance looked up from the cutting board. 

 

 

“anyways, let’s go clothes shopping today. we’ve got to get you dripped up.” he motioned faux-judgmentally towards Keith’s general state, which he scoffed at. 

 

 

lance turned back to the cutting board.  “buuuut, i’ve got a hot date with these eggs first.”

 

 

“what, i’m not hot enough?” Keith said, shifting to lean on an arm on the counter. 

 

 

(you play with my mind for no reason, i know how you love how i tease it)

 

________________

 

another week was together, half the time spent under the beating sun; stomachs filled and arms heavy with bags, boardwalk concrete burning their feet through flimsy sandals. this half was lance’s choice, hours spent with their friends and in public. The other half was at the house, air conditioning on as they played video games and lightheartedly sparred in the yard. Sometimes they took Kosmo on hikes, his fluff bounding through forests with Keith and lance panting to catch up. limbs eventually tired, they called Hunk on the comms to teach them a recipe. 

 

 

everything seemed to be fun with Keith, their perpetual push-and-pull dynamic lightening lance’s  mood no matter the circumstance. a mere grocery run lead into a race for ingredients, accompanied by a junk food mountain. eventually, they stood in front of the produce aisle, Keith’s eyebrows furrowed in a serious visage as he studied the different veggies. 

 

 

Keith held two cucumbers in his gloved hands, one organic and another with GMOS.

 

 

“aren’t organic foods healthier? they look so similar,” he observed. 

 

 

lance agreed. they looked nearly identical. “i don’t know, get the bigger one.”

 

 

this received him a weird look. “you should know this. You’re the gardener.” 

Keith’s statement was partly true, lance grew a small garden with the help of his mom, and occasionally Keith or his siblings. it was really just mom’s green thumb that had the plants surviving. 

 

 

lance shrugged in response, and pondered this for a moment. “get the bigger one.” he reaffirmed.  “We can try to scare Kosmo like those cat videos.” he grinned at his own idea.

 

 

Keith nodded, like this was the most reasonable conclusion. he handed lance the one that was bigger by a fraction. “good idea.”

 

 

they’re a good team.



 

________________



eventually lance caved. He couldn’t deny the permanent flush that seems to rise coincidentally when Keith was around, how his heart dropped when Keith told him “Goodnight” for the last time in the week and went. he didn’t want to put a label on the feeling, but no longer denied it’s existence. It was disrespectful, really, how naturally Keith called him the loverboy. how their back and forth became lighthearted and flirty. how he found himself for the first time, since Allura, calling someone pet names. (Although masked as insults and calls for favors.) 

 

 

“Honey,” lance would call. He needed to drop off materials at the Garrison, the school year was sneaking up on him. the pet names had started as jokes, but the habit stuck.

 

 

“yes, dear?” sarcasm barely an aftertaste in Keith’s voice. he spoke from somewhere outside the closet lance was poking around in. the pet name didn’t go unnoticed, the tips of lance’s ears turning hot subconsciously as they did every single time. (he wasn’t used to his efforts being returned.)

 

 

“do you know where my comm is? i can’t find it anywhereeee.” lance dragged out the ‘e’ for an unnecessarily long time. he heard sock-covered footsteps walking towards the closet. (Keith was adamant about wearing socks, the madman had insisted on wearing at least some form of protection since lance banned shoes in the house.)

 

 

“aren’t you supposed to be at the Garrison in ten?” 

 

 

“yeah—” he pushed a box in the closet to the side. “Thats why, i’m looking for it.”

 

 

Keith turned the hallway to see lance, who was now aimlessly shuffling around in the dark. Instead of helping, he made a judgemental noise. “why would it be in there? you had it just this morning.” 

 

 

lance’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could make a retort, Keith held up his own comm. 

 

 

“Here, i’ll call yours.” he opened the contact, and pressed a button. In a split second, there was a peace-breaking, loud buzzing  coming from lance’s back pocket.

 

 

lance flinched with his whole body, shocked. “Holy crow!” he yelped, nearly jumping out of his clothes. he held the door for stability, and snatched the comm from his pants.

 

 

Keith didn’t try to hide his laughter, not even doing the lip-bitey, eyebrows scrunched face. he leaned his head back automatically, with peals of laughter at lance’s misfortune. schadenfreude. 

 

 

After a second of biting the inside of his cheek, he couldn’t help but laugh along with him. it wasn’t just the situation that was laughable, lance simply couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping his lips at Keith’s contagious grin. This happened far too often, a train of laughter that just fed upon itself in random situations and caused them to stay giggling for an inappropriately long period of time. Why must you make me laugh so much?




 

He arrived at the Garrison, and after dropping off the materials he met up with Hunk and Pidge. he was glad to see them working on projects together again, but that meant he was sitting on the sidelines. their usual dynamic ensued, with lance chattering about his latest ‘complaints’ of the mulleted-man, and his best friends giving bad advice; but decent listening ears as they tinkered on zoo-doinks or whatever. 

 

 

“are you even listening, hunk? Apple-of-my eye? My bestest bro?”

 

 

Hunk gave him a half smile, and went back to working with his doo-hickey. “i am, buddy. you realize he doesn’t really have a mullet now, right?”

 

 

he was kind-of right. “It’s a mullet in spirit, dude! and, god, he makes me braid it.” lance gave a sigh of complaint that came out more as wistful. 

 

 

Pidge snorted. “Makes you, huh?”

 

 

lance pretended not to know what they were implying. “Yes! Yes, pigeon. and his hair is soft. It’s soft! that man uses a seven-in-one.” he counted on his fingers to seven for dramatic effect and held up the hands to Pidge’s face. “i didn’t even know those existed!”

 

 

Pidge nodded solemnly, and of course the bastard knew about seven-in-ones.

 

 

He sighed again, in a manner that one may call dreamily. yeah, Keith let him braid his longass mullet, lance was somewhat of a pro after braiding for his nieces and nephews. Keith would melt into his chest as lance ran his fingers through the locs, sometimes let out a purr. (Oh, why’d you have to be so cute?)

 

 

they settled into the sounds of clacking and tinkering coming from the pair. keyboard clicking under Pidge’s fingers and Hunk’s hardware sending sparks. lance drummed his fingers on the table they sat at, lost in thought. even when Keith wasn’t around, it was impossible to ignore him. To be honest… he wasn’t anything like Allura. he was rough around the edges and earnest to a fault. not meticulous in any manner, more of a rolling with the punches-kinda guy. And yet he babysitted lance’s cousins with him, and shook hands politely with his mother upon meeting. he got embarrassed when he accidentally called his father Mr. McClain instead of his first name, and there was no distance between him and lance. boyfriends weren’t supposed to know what the other’s snoring sounded like, right? what their shoe size was, and the names of all their cousins. (lance didn’t even know what Allura looked like in a braid. where had their time gone? a sweet airy candy, that melted on his tongue and stained it with pink.) So, they weren't. Keith and Lance weren’t together, that is. It was bad enough they got along so well. 

 

 

(Fear, lance realized, was what held them back. they couldn’t afford to lose another they loved. Then why did it feel like a loss, at the end of Keith’s visits, when he said “Goodnight” and was gone?) 

 

 

________________

 

Lance allowed it to fester. a teenage addiction that had him acting “less like a grandpa” per Pidge’s commentary. more like a lovesick highschooler, is what lance had gathered. He'd stand, teaching the next generation of pilots with a dopey look on his face. Shiro, who’s classroom was down the hall, caught news of this from his students (and definitely Hunk. for as much as lance loved the guy, he couldn’t keep anything to himself.) that one had lance sputtering “lies! Lies and deceit is what you heard” at the face of his friend and ex-leader of voltron. years around Shrio only had lance developing more respect for him. He couldn’t picture getting a hard talk about the affinity he had for Shrio’s baby brother. respect and fear, it seemed.

 

 

 occasionally, lance liked to day-dream during the night (night-dream?) what it would be like if Keith were to reciprocate these feelings. How he’d confront lance’s older brother. (The nights without sleep were a frequent occurrence at this point, even the heavy panting of the space-wolf he yearned to hear as white noise.) he saw Keith telling Marco, nervously but seriously asking for advice. playing with the straps of his fingerless gloves, an anxious habit he’d picked up as they didn’t have bayards anymore. until Keith finished his short but blunt and honest confession, Marco would hold an air of ‘intimidating older brother’, leveling Keith with a scrutinizing gaze. not all of it would be pretend, because as much as he liked Keith beforehand, he loved lance so much more. once Keith finished, he’d stand around awkwardly like he couldn’t believe he’d admitted it out loud to someone other than Shiro. lance’s brother wouldn’t understand how much it meant to have Keith vulnerable in front of him, openly putting his heart on the line, but would appreciate him anyway. he’d put his hand on Keith’s shoulder reassuringly, and tell him to “just be yourself, man”. 




lance also allowed himself to wallow, and indulge in the childish opposition he once held towards Keith. instead of spending nights alone imagining stargazing with Keith (his eyes gleaming, twinkling, sinking ships upon the ocean around them), he denounced the rush of feeling that came with this not-crush. He disliked the way his heart spiked upon his cruiser’s landing, the whole day waiting, anticipating in a red flush. He didn’t like how Keith easily went with his antics, going in public sometimes with horrible costumes in attempts to mask their identities. (and when someone recognized him, he hated the way people would nearly die to feel Keith’s touch. how people wanted him, wondered what it would be like to love him. yet Keith chose to spend time with Lance.) he didn’t like each departure, slow motion “Goodnights” in rose blush. Lance was falling, but it felt like flying. 

 

 

he told himself Keith was interrupting his road to domestic bullshittery, with the mountains of hippo printed socks in the wash. because when he laid at night, staring at the ceiling when Keith wasn’t around, he saw Keith’s black hair falling into place like dominos. his own hands entangled between the strands, or heard his own appalled shout, looking in the mirror to see that Keith somehow tangled his short hair completely trying to brush it. Every instance Keith left interfered with his life, causing an unhealthy ache in his chest because he was only cooking with his mom (it went too smoothly without Keith, the food too tasty). he heard phantom footsteps padding across his wooden floors, non-existent calls for a sarcastic ‘sweetheart’. Keith once left his red jacket at his home, (the one they’d bought matching pairs for) and the smell of him alone was enough to have lance running to the comm, opening a call with Keith. Obviously Keith picked up on the first ring. lance had to remind himself multiple times to convince himself that he hated how Keith makes him feel like a priority, a first choice. 

 

 

Sometimes, on Allura days, they’d meet in advance of  Keith’s visits. His friends sit at a table with foods prepared from all around the universe, and make merry. Coran and Shiro tell them it’s what Allura would’ve wanted, to see her friends remembering her in a positive light. those were the hardest days, when he’s reminded that Coran never said what he wanted to Allura. how unfair the universe was. Most dinners went smoothly, no bitterness visible other than the imprints of his nails digging into his palms. it hurted, as he talked to Keith because reflected a similar frustration, because he understood. the former pilots of Voltron caught up with each other, expressing genuine happiness and general growth in recovery. lance called out Keith’s contrarian shit from next to him, it made Shiro smile and Pidge smirk. evenings like these made lance feel selfish. because it’s nearly harder to live for people than to die. he felt selfish, because the way Keith glanced at him during the sunset told him that Keith would sacrifice the universe to be next to him. He would live for Lance. 

 

 

(But he'd already put through him so much, and he saw Keith’s heart visibly breaking every time lance cried over Allura.)

 

 

it was a futile effort, trying to upkeep a facade of dissatisfaction for lance’s not-crush. Mantras repeated from days early on in the castle such as “i’m just jealous of how cool he is” were flimsy boats sinking under the weight of the feelings he now held for Keith. The emotions bubbled within him without second thought, golden champagne fizzing his stomach. Why couldn’t Keith just say “Goodnight” and go?

 

 

________________

 

lance wished Keith was someone he could throw words at, so he could tell him to stop visiting because he was a nuisance, that he should stop wasting time. Keith was no longer a hot-headed teen, brash efforts evolving into passionate and backed by thought. he was compassionate, sympathetic, and thoughtful. Damn. thoughts of being mean to Keith wracked lance with guilt. he was being so unfair, wasn’t he?

 

 

lance remembered when he’d first realized these gradual changes in Keith, how far their relationship had developed from when Keith had admitted to not remembering Keith. On a particular Allura day, lance hadn’t showed up to dinner or any of the appointments for the day. he’d actually stayed holed up in his big, empty, house alone for a while. it was before anyone had moved in with him, so nobody had really noticed. Additionally, after lance had gotten his Altean marks, everyone had tried to give him space. Fuck space, lance had thought. it was the last thing he’d needed after goddamn years in space. he was truly miserable then, a silent, clean sort of withering away. he climbed into bed one day, and all the energy used from the war seemed to take its toll on his body. His suffering wasn’t visible, limbs too worn out to even create a dirty pile of dishes or unwashed clothes. no echoes of pain were made to resonate in his lonely house. He shut out the world around him, clutching his heart close to his chest where nobody could hurt it again. he shut out his own emotions, refusing to acknowledge the pain other than the dull pierces of the numbness that consumed him. when he was able to climb out of bed, the cold wooden floor stung his sensitive feet and motivated him to never walk again. 

 

 

it wasn’t until he was woken up on the specific Allura day shortly after the war, by the abrupt dampness covering his face that jolted lance awake from his sleep and perpetual daze. He was startled into coming face to face with Kosmo, and his apologetic owner close behind. 

 

 

“Shit— !” Keith hissed. lance was barely able to make out his face from the blurry glow of the afternoon. He was a wobbly picture, kneeling next to lance’s bed. it was past lunchtime, far too early compared lance’s usual sleep schedule. it wasn’t like he had anything to do besides grieve, no job or responsibilities to be had. no blaring alarm or announcements like in the castle, besides the ones in his nightmare. Lance wasn’t quite sure if this was a fever dream or not. 

 

 

“Keith?” he murmured.

 

 

“Yeah uh—” he paused, the weird situation starting to come to light. “you haven’t been answering your comm or the front door, so my space-wolf helped me in.” Keith ran a hand through the hair at his nape, now longer. he looked far more mature compared to the last time lance had seen him, more comfortable in his body. 

 

 

“you still haven’t named that guy?” he asked, weariness crumbling away slowly.

 

 

“nah, still hasn’t told me yet.” Keith smiled dorkily, eyes shining at the inside joke. he cleared his throat. “Uh, i just wanted to check on you.” he tilted his head, trying to read lance’s befuddled expression. “It’s good to see you.” at that, lance’s brain kickstarted, and he had half a nerve to feel self-conscious. He was basically a string bean at this point, pitifully bed ridden by his own self-determination. He probably smelled like ass and had a whole oil factory going on his skin, having forgone his skincare routine long ago. 

 

 

“it’s good to see you too,” he croaked, just as solemnly. For the first time in forever, he felt something other than numb.

 

 

they caught up for a bit, and regardless of Keith’s urges to “do whatever you’re ready to”, lance convinced himself to go with Keith to the Allura day dinner. lance always rushed into things, ripping off experiences like a bandaid. And he felt indebted to her. lance knew they all did.

 

 

he shooed Keith out of his bedroom, told him to wait in the livingroom and call for proper transportation while he got ready. putting on clothes and covering his scars wouldn’t be a tedious process, but hyping himself up to take the first steps outside the house would be something dramatic. he paced a bit around the bedroom before wearing himself out, and finally meeting Keith in the livingroom. the light seeping through the window pane was foregin, herds of dust bunnies flying around from the breeze emanating from the open window. he looked out to see the beach, waves calm and each grain of sand radiating a welcoming heat. the expanse of the ocean was a kaleidoscope of colors, birds decorating the perfectly pink sky and cotton candy clouds. He’d bought this house for the coastal town.  it was a beautiful afternoon, one that was surely blessed by Allura. lance turned to Keith, who was already watching him with a look. eyes gentle, eyebrows tilted, smile faint.

 

 

“i’m ready,” he told Keith. “you’ll have to hold my hand when we get out there, i haven’t been out in a while.” he meant for the request  to sound lighthearted, but his voice had an unexpected tremor. Keith, ever the adult, nodded intently.

 

 

his heart beated frantically, anxiousness peaking. lance was the one to turn the knob of the front door with sweaty palms, taking his first steps outside once again, next to Keith. 





 

 

Juniberry flowers.

 

 

It’s what he first noticed, the seeds he’d scattered months ago now in full bloom. only a few hues away from the setting sun, the rose blush flowers populated the entirety of his front lawn, and stretched across the adjacent hills. It was completely overwhelming, his skin soaking the sunlight for the first time, fresh air surrounding him instead of his own stale breath, and Allura’s flowers enclosing him in a familiar embrace. It smelled like her. it may have just been his own heart thudding in his ear, but as he closed his eyes, he swore the breeze on that Allura day was her voice, telling him it’d be okay for the first time. 

 

 

He reached out next to him, shaky fingers looking for Keith’s gloved hand. He squeezed Keith’s hand, and received a firm grasp balancing him in return. the touch had the opposite effect, because as he felt another’s touch for the first time again, he fell apart. His knees gave out and lance landed among various speckled Juniberries, the filaments tickling his legs. he grasped onto Keith’s hand as his shoulders shook with emotional release. he felt tears fall, which turned into sobs when Keith wrapped his arms around lance’s middle. Keith, Mr. emotionally constipated was voluntarily giving himself as comfort. 

 

 

he cried, of sorrow. Of letting himself properly grieve Allura, of letting himself finally feel what he’d needed to. as his skin grew alight with sensitivity and the burn of the sun, he finally allowed himself to acknowledge everything he’d pushed away, the fear he’d harboured and the guilt, the feelings of being not enough, the moroseness when his friends had given him space. he vaguely felt fat tears drop from his eyes and down his cheeks, adding to the mess that was his skin. through all the negativity, he felt catharsis. 

 

 

when his throat was sore from hiccups and his body was thoroughly worn out, Keith began giving him awkward head pats like he was his wolf-dog. it made Lance choke trying to laugh. Keith made a concerned and shocked noise, which caused lance to choke harder. his nose ran and was definitely bright red. his ears he no longer had feeling in, eyes just as red and swollen. His cheeks burned, Altean marks glowing enough for himself to see out of his periphery. he could hear the ocean. Lance felt at ease, hands wiping away excess tears. That’s when he realized how much Keith meant to him, holding his waist tight as he gave his best try at affirmation. he held on until Lance’s breaths steadied, the two kneeling in the grassy area of Lance’s front yard. They’d come so far together.

 

 

 

 

________________



one of these days, Keith would not say “Goodnight” and go. 

 

 

He’d  miss his flight and stay with lance, any excuse to stay awake with him.  It’d be late into the night, they’d have drinks and talk about things. Words and truths neither would ever repeat sober. They’d eventually migrate from the kitchen’s bar counter to the floor, drunk enough to feel comfortable. Lights were off in meager efforts to preserve the night for his twin Rachel to sleep, but their childlike giggles and loud whispers filled the house. dry space-wine graced their lips and tingled on their tongues. his body became languid like syrup, bones liquified. to test out his mobility, he started a game of footsie while their conversation reached a comfortable silence. 

 

 

Then Keith brought up how the last time he got this wasted was at the castle for a banquet, and Lance dunkedly denied being inebriated at all. suddenly reminded from Keith’s words, he’d grandly offer a hand in invitation towards the boy across from him.

 

 

“Fancy a dance, sweetheart?” he whispered, to sober ears more of a whisper-shout. he was too far gone to feel embarrassed by the intimacy of the nickname with nobody around.

 

 

Lance watched as Keith automatically put his gloved hand in his, not even registering the gesture. Finally, his mulled wine eyes flashed with recognition, a half-smile forming on his stained lips. his sock-wearing feet stood with lance’s bare ones, the kitchen floor cool in the moonlight streaming from an open window. 

 

 

“there’s not even music, darling,” Keith whispered-shouted back.

 

 

call lance a cliche, but as they slowly danced in the kitchen under the refrigerator light, his heart wouldn’t stop fluttering. This night was somewhat of a fantasy of his. Keith looked so damn pretty with the moon reflecting in his eyes, tilting his head to move his bangs out of the way. the braid Lance had done for his departure was coming apart, all of it askew. he wanted to brush it down, move his hand to tuck a goddamn strand behind his ear gently. Bring his finger up to Keith’s face and trace the scar across his cheek, faint touches at the scars on his shoulders and the white one under his lip. lance liked to persuade Keith into doing skincare stuff with him, but the truth was that he liked Keith’s face the way it was. he liked his textured skin and unplucked brows, faint lines of crow feet around his eyes, unaccustomed to wear. he always seemed to be suffering from sunburns, yet refused to wear sunblock like a petulant child. Keith liked putting it on lance though, carving out the flower scar on his back with a hand. (They’d be good, they’d be great together.)

 

 

Lance spun Keith around an overzealous number of times, only to hear Keith laugh and grumble as lance stepped on his feet ‘accidentally’. Alcohol smoothed over the jitters in his veins, palms dry as he dipped Keith, almost making him hit his mulleted head on the counter. his face broke out into a grin, this swaying second nature. He’d catch Keith staring at lance’s lips a few times, and he knew. Know you’re thinking about it, just one kiss. Know what you want, but you can’t have this. 



 

And when they were worn out, they’d retire upstairs in Lance’s bedroom. tripping their way through the clutter of video game consoles and snacks. He’d sleep here, and Keith’d sleep there. But before they could get settled, the sound of the heater shutting off could be heard distantly. the heating may have been down again (at his convenience). For a beach during the fall, the nights tended to get cold. they swaddled themselves in blankets until it got too cold to bear. So logically, it didn’t make sense to continue like this. It would only make sense to share body heat in lance’s bed, he’d suggest. The wine seemed to have flushed away all inhibitions from the two of them.

 

 

that night, Keith  stayed  in lance’s bed, and lance woke up with him still there. he woke up with hair in complete knots and a headache growing behind his eyes. Limbs and blankets tangled, lance in a cocoon of sheets. A tentative satisfaction bloomed in lance’s chest. for once, Keith hadn’t said “goodnight”, or gone. 



 

 

________________

 

Lance was lying in bed, eyes so droopy he could make out the tip of his nose. Tiptoeing the edge of consciousness. his mattress felt so fluffy, caressing his shoulders and lulling him to sleep. 

 

 

Abruptly, he saw a shadow move in the corner of his eyes. His left hand twitched with instinct, trained to leap out of bed at a moment’s notice. But it was Keith, shuffling over to wake Kosmo. he then ninja-space-samurai-walked over to lance, trying his best to not disturb the half-asleep boy. 

 

 

from what lance could see through his lidded eyes, Keith had the most fond look. 

 

 

Lance shut his eyes. 

 

 

“Stay.” he wanted to beg. open his eyes and tell him the truth. reach out to hold Keith’s hand. take what he wanted without fear. Except his throat was closing upon itself, constricting his voice without affecting his breathing. 

 

 

“Goodnight,” Keith said in a low voice,  into the dark.




 

 

 

Notes:

ive been itching to write this for a while so it came out pretty fast! :) this fic is mainly just pandering to my fondness for mildly angsty romance and klance’s fun dynamic. a gift to myself honestly, after s8 was done dirty.

thank you soooo much for reading.