Chapter Text
“Half Galra huh…” He trails off with bitter laughter.
The weight of the blade was heavy in his hand as he squeezed his fingers tighter around the hilt. His free hand rests on top of the cool metal of the unsheathed blade before moving down to run his fingers over the engraving just above the handle. He knew what it was: the symbol of Marmora, but that didn’t mean that he understood it. He grew up on Earth, with his father, in a little shack in the desert before joining the Garrison and any memories of his mother were conveniently absent from his brain no matter how much he tried to remember.
Desperately he wanted to understand, to find some way to feel connected to this world he never knew he was part of aside from a cold hunk of metal that laid in his hands. This blade though was the only thing that connected him to his Galra heritage whether he liked it or not, because unlike the other Galra his skin was the pale fleshy pink of human and his sclera’s lacked the bright yellow pigment that others had. He could simply masquerade as human his entire life, pretend that he had no knowledge of his heritage past human, but some part of him was drawn to the Galra way. The ride or die way that made up most of his people, the one that he could never seem to live up to because of his attachments.
He set the blade aside on the table beside his bed with a quiet sigh before beginning to pull himself out of bed and moved to his make-shift closet. He pulled open the door slowly, knowing what was coming, but still flinching as the small mirror kept on the inside of the door came into view. His hand came up to touch his face as if he was in a trance, tracing over his features: Soft black hair, sharp and pointed jaw, full lips, and rigged brow bone. With each feature, he thought about how it stacked up to his Galra counterparts and with a small upturn of his lips, he realizes he might not be that different for the stiff statured Galra fighters he has seen amongst the Blade’s ranks.
It felt like hours that he spent looking at his own reflection, but he pulled away to reach into the closet for clothes for the day only to have his fingers unexpectedly curl into the stiff vinyl of his old red jacket. He can’t help but pull it out to admire the stitching of his old comfort item. It was like being split between two worlds as he stared down at his jacket that reminded him of the life he left behind on Earth to be a paladin of Voltron, or rather, to be a former paladin of Voltron. He pushed himself away from the team and he’s happy that Shiro has strengthened his bond with the black lion once again but it doesn’t stop him from feeling lonely.
He always considered himself to be a solitary person with the exception of Shiro, but since joining the team he’s found himself used to having other people around. The way Pidge would fall asleep tinkering with whatever contraption caught her eyes, the way that Hunk and Lance would have battles within the kitchen making food goo go everywhere, even the way Allura would nag everyone after a failed mission: he missed it. They became his strength, but they also became his weaknesses. That Is what kept him disconnected from his Galra brethren; they were able to separate their emotions from logic in a way he never would be able to.
Looking at the mentality between Voltron and the Blades were so entirely different. Voltron acted as a team, a family who would never leave anyone behind, even if it was dangerous. The Blades though… they were cutthroat and willing to do anything that needed doing to complete a mission even if that meant leaving behind one of their own. It was the most frustrating thing to be dragged out of a situation as he watched his friend commit himself to a suicide mission. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he still cried for all of his fallen Blades because, even if he didn’t know them personally, they were still lives that had been lost.
Far too engrossed in his own thoughts Keith jumped as he felt arms slip around his waist and a chin rest against his shoulder. The strong arms were familiar and warm as he let his shoulders relax against his knight in shining armor. Saving him had just been the first offense that this lilac-skinned man had committed against Keith’s walled up heart but it was far from the last.
“It’s your free day right?” Lotor mumbled lazily in his ear as he tightens his arms around Keith’s waist.
“I mean technically? Unless something totally and completely fucks up yes.” He said with a small smile playing on his lips as he knows what’s coming.
“Then let’s stay in here until then.” He whispers in Keith’s in a way that sends a chill down his spine.
There is a moment of hesitation before Lotor flips him around, causing the jacket to fall from his hands and flutter to the floor as he finds his pack colliding with the cool wood of the wardrobe. He looks up to meet Lotor’s intimate gaze that quickly fades into gently caring smiles for both of them. They look so different but they still have roots in the same place. The Altean that runs through Lotor’s veins softens his prominent Galra features, transforming the royal purple of the skin into a beautiful lilac.
He might not be completely connected to his culture, but Lotor makes that distance seem less drastic. It’s not because Lotor looks Galra, it’s because he is stuck in the same situation as Keith. They are both half-breeds without a true place in the world, stuck in limbo between conflicting cultures, none of which are truly accepting. It’s relaxing to look at someone else and see himself.
He has truly found his other half.