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Chapter Text

The nightmares start the second Keith closes his eyes for the first time since his fight with Shiro.

And Keith knows they're bad, because he wakes up all shaky and out of breath, and he can feel the fangs in his mouth, and he can see those unfamiliar yellow eyes staring back at him in his reflection, his pupils dilated and narrowed into slits. Then by the time he manages to calm himself down, even the thought of closing his eyes again is enough to send him back into a panic.

He's barely getting any sleep.

He doesn't want to tell anyone about it, mostly because he knows they would just worry. The team already has enough to deal with anyway, now that the Castle of Lions is gone, destroyed in their final desperate act to save the universe from the aftermath of their battle against Lotor. They have a long journey ahead of them, and Shiro is still resting, healing—Shiro.

The mere sight of him sends a gut-wrenching jolt of guilt through Keith's nerves. He hates himself for the way he flinches now at Shiro's slightest movement, the way he finds himself avoiding one-on-one contact, the way he can't even bring himself to look into his older brother's eyes anymore. He's too afraid of what he'll see. Pain? Hurt? Disappointment? Keith tries to tell himself that his reactions are natural. It'll take time for them to pass, and things will return to normal eventually. But will they? 

Sometimes, Keith thinks, he would rather not know the answer to that question. He just feels so guilty. It's not Shiro's fault. He knows that. He knows the thing that attacked him in that cloning facility, the thing that had beat him into the ground with his fists and venomous words, the thing that was responsible for the raw, itching scar now burned into the flesh of Keith's cheek—that thing was not Shiro. That thing was not his older brother. Keith knows that. 

But his brain doesn't seem to take that knowledge into account every night, when the light has faded and he's alone with his thoughts. Nightmares don't follow the rules of reality.

Keith knows that if Shiro had any idea that their fight was the reason Keith can't sleep at night, the reason that he jumps at the smallest noise or slightest touch, the reason that he's barely eating anything because he's not sure he'll be able to keep it down—no, Shiro can't know. He'd only blame himself.

The team manages to get the lions to Olkarion in one piece with the intention of resting for a few days before setting a course for Earth. After waking the first night in a cold sweat, Keith decides that he doesn't even want to try to sleep anymore. The nightmares only make the memories more vivid, more painful. During the next few days, Keith spends most of his time busying himself with anything the Olkari will task him with. It helps him forget how tired he is, and gives him something other to do than worry about the imminent threat of Sendak's fleet and Haggar's plans and the inevitable obstacles on their trip home and the concerned glances shared between the other team members when they think he isn't looking.

It's probably obvious that he's not getting enough sleep, Keith figures. His interactions with the others are short, insignificant, not one of them initiated of his own accord. He responds to their questions with brief, often one-word answers, generally avoiding eye contact and snapping when the encounter starts to drag on for too long. 

Every night, once everyone has settled into their rooms to sleep, Keith sneaks out of his room and sits outside under the stars, making up constellations and imagining everything he wants to do when they reach Earth to pass the time. It's better than cowering in the darkness of his room, wishing for rest that will never come.

Keith lies on his back, one arm behind his head, and traces an invisible line through the sky with his finger. There seems to be more stars out tonight than usual, as if the universe is trying to compensate for the lack of light in Keith's aching heart. He drops his head to the ground with a sigh and closes his eyes, thinking of home. He'll probably eat as much fast-food as he can stomach when they get back to make up for all the food goo he's eaten in space. He could try to teach Kosmo a few tricks. Maybe he and Krolia will visit his dad's grave together. Maybe—

He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't hear the quiet footsteps approaching from behind.

"Keith?"

Keith almost jumps an entire foot off the ground, slapping a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the involuntary shriek in his throat. He turns quickly, looking up with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance, but that quickly fades when he sees who it is. "Lance?"

Lance blinks down at him, his blue eyes wide. "Sorry man, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," Keith grumbles, tugging his jacket tighter around his shoulders defensively. "What are you doing out here?"

Lance hesitates, wrapping his arms around himself for comfort. "I couldn't sleep." He fixes his gaze decidedly on a point in the distance, and Keith frowns. 

All their time together in space, what with fighting aliens and defending the universe and all, had made it that much easier for Keith to pick up on the telltale signs that something is bothering Lance. He gets this perpetual crease in his brow, his jaw sets, and his overall posture becomes uncharacteristically closed off. The opposite of everything Keith knows him to be. All of this currently applies to Lance.

Keith scoots over to make room for Lance on the ledge he's sitting on, rolling his eyes at Lance's look of surprise. "If you're gonna be out here, at least sit down. You're making me nervous." 

A grin starts to creep across Lance's face. "I make you nervous, huh?" Keith starts to move back. "Hey, wait, okay, okay! Jeez, so sensitive."

Keith watches out of the corner of his eye as Lance slowly sits down about an arm's length away and gets settled, resting his chin on his knees and tucking them into his chest. His teasing, joking demeanor has already disappeared, replaced by a ruminating expression. And already his gaze is distant, faraway, not quite focused on anything. Keith leans back on his hands and focuses on a particularly bright star just at the edge of the horizon, unable to stop frowning. 

He doesn't like this version of Lance. Keith is supposed to be the silent, brooding type—not Lance. Lance is supposed to be the cheery, happy-go-lucky one out of the group, cracking jokes at inappropriate times and annoying everyone with his constant finger guns and dramatic poses. And in a way, Keith had been counting on that to keep him sane. He needs something familiar, something to remind him that not everything in his world has been turned upside-down and inside-out. 

Lance takes a deep breath, jerking Keith out of his thoughts. "I've been meaning to talk to you, actually."

Oh. A sudden burst of anger pulses through Keith's body. Figures. Nothing's wrong at all. He's about to become the victim of the classic 'we're worried about you, we're here for you, everything's going to be okay' speech. Lance is just the messenger, sent by the rest of the team who's been undoubtedly talking about him when he isn't around. 

"I just..."

Keith closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. Here it comes.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Keith's eyes snap open at the tremor in Lance's voice and his head whips around to face him. This isn't what he was expecting. "Sorry for what?" It comes out harsher than he means for it to, and Lance winces. 

"That I couldn't—that I didn't help Shiro. That I wasn't able to—" he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head miserably. "He tried to talk to me. You weren't here, but we were fighting this monster, and Allura did some of her Altean magic mumbo-jumbo, and we were all in the astral plane. Shiro was trying to tell me something, but I didn't—I couldn't hear him, and—" Tears fill his eyes and he drops his head to his knees, taking a shaky breath. His next words come out muffled. "I feel like everything that happened was my fault."

All Keith can do is stare at him."What are you talking about?"

"I know how close you are to Shiro," Lance says quietly, staring down at his shoes and clicking his toes together. He wipes his eyes with his jacket sleeve and sniffs. "I just wonder if I had tried harder, then, I don't know. Maybe I could've done something. I could've warned everyone—"

"Lance..." Keith's brain catches up to the conversation and he finds himself shaking his head. Does Lance really think that this entire ordeal was his fault? How long has he been carrying this around, beating himself up over missing something he never could have seen coming? Something that no one had seen coming? And to think that all the while Keith's been wallowing in self-pity, isolating himself from the team and getting stuck in his own head because he doesn't want to face his own problems. 

"And I never should have trusted Lotor," Lance continues. "I never should have—"

"Lance." Keith interrupts him, speaking firmly. "No. Don't do this to yourself."

"The entire universe was almost destroyed because I let Shiro down!" Lance bursts. Keith stares at him in a stunned silence, his eyes wide. The quiet is somehow louder than anything else he's ever heard, the words ringing in his ears like they carry the weight of the world. Lance blinks, as if he's just as surprised as Keith is, then drops his gaze. "I let the whole team down," he whispers, and it's so broken, so defeated, so empty and yet so full of pain that Keith's heart clenches.

He hates listening to Lance talk like this. It's not fair. It's not even true. Of all the stupid, idiotic things that Lance has ever said (which, in Keith's completely objective and unbiased opinion, is a lot), this has to be at the top of the list. The thought makes Keith laugh, earning him an incredulous look from Lance. "Don't give yourself so much credit."

"Wha—you—what do you—" 

"Like you, of all people, could single-handedly destroy the universe."

Lance can't seem to decide if he should be offended or relieved. "That's not even what I—" 

"Stop. It wasn't your fault. No, listen to me, Lance. You didn't know. None of us did. You can't blame yourself." Lance opens his mouth to argue and Keith sighs. "Okay, you can, but you shouldn't." 

"Yeah? Give me one good reason," Lance mumbles, plopping his chin back onto his knees and staring out into the dark. Keith realizes that he's not expecting an answer, because he's convinced that there isn't one. Fine. He'll add this to the list of times he's proved Lance wrong. He closes the gap between them and puts a hand on Lance's shoulder, who looks back up in surprise.

"I'll give you more than just one," Keith begins. "You've never let us down. Any of us. If anything, you're the one who's been holding us up all this time. You're the glue that keeps this team together." Lance peers up uncertainly, his eyes narrowed but curious. "Think about it. There wouldn't even be a team if it weren't for you. The day that we found the Blue Lion—it chose you, Lance. You were always meant to be a paladin. And whether or not you realize it, this team depends on you. You're always the one to keep a level head when things get heated, not to mention the one to keep us going when we're ready to give up. And I know I haven't been the greatest leader, but..." Keith hesitates, waiting to make sure Lance is still looking at him. "You've always stuck by my side, even when I didn't deserve it. You're my right hand. I need you."

Lance stares at him with wide eyes. Keith can't help but notice how blue they are, even in the dark, reflecting the light of every single star in the sky above them. "Jeez, mullet. I didn't realize you were such a softie."

That snaps Keith out of his sudden daze. "I'm not!" he scowls, withdrawing his hand and crossing his arms as Lance giggles. 

"You definitely are."

"Whatever." He huffs, but the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile, because now Lance is genuinely laughing. Part of him revels in the fact that he was the cause of that.

When he brings himself back under control, Lance bumps his shoulder against Keith's, smiling softly. "Thanks, Keith."

"Yeah, don't mention it," Keith mumbles.

The two of them sit for another moment in silence, side-by-side, staring up at the vast expanse of stars above them. Keith enjoys the company. He feels accomplished somehow, like if there's one thing he's learned from his two years on a space whale with his mom and a cosmic wolf, it's how to encourage Lance, the way he hadn't been able to when Lance had come into his room all that time ago, worried that there wasn't a place for him on the team. He wishes he could go back to that day and have a do-over, so he could tell Lance all the things about him that makes him important, now that he has the words to say it.

Lance gives Keith a sidelong glance. "You never told me what you were doing out here so late."

"You never asked," Keith replies, digging his fingers into his arms. His own response catches him off guard, because for the briefest moment he doesn't even remember why he's outside, and why his immediate reaction to Lance's question is to be so defensive. Lance blinks at him, and then he suddenly remembers everything he's been worrying about for the past week. Sleep. Shiro. Nightmares. He sighs, forcing himself to relax but avoiding eye contact. "Sorry, I don't mean to snap. I just, haven't been sleeping well lately. I guess. There's been a lot on my mind."

Lance frowns in concern and Keith tries not to squirm under his gaze. For a terrifying moment, he's afraid that Lance is going to pry, and he really doesn't trust himself to hold out against those blue eyes. But then he just nods and looks back up at the sky, as if he heard Keith's thoughts. "Yeah. I think we've all been pretty restless lately." He pauses, then adds softly, "I just can't wait to get home."

Well, Keith thinks weakly, studying the scuffed-up toe of his left boot, I just hope we make it home. 

A cool gust of wind blows across the ledge, ruffling the boys' hair, and Keith wonders vaguely if that's the universe's way of offering some kind of comfort. Either that, or a bad omen. Lance shivers beside him, his arm brushing slightly against Keith's before he gets to his feet. Keith decides on the latter. 

"I think I'm gonna head in for the night. You coming?"

Keith hesitates, dropping his eyes to Lance's shoes. The idea of even trying to go to sleep gives him a sick, uneasy feeling in his stomach. He isn't sure he has the courage to try—he can hardly close his eyes without seeing Shiro's glowing eyes, rows upon rows of his brother's clones, a pink beam of energy slicing through the darkness, destroying anything and everything in its path... he feels a shiver go up his spine, suddenly thankful for the sudden chill in the air to blame it on. Nope. He'll probably stay out here for a while longer. 

Part of him wants to beg Lance to stay. Now that he's here, Keith doesn't want him to leave. He appreciates the other boy's company more than he'd like to admit—he always has. He just feels more comfortable when he's around Lance. More relaxed, not so uptight. More like himself. And he's never been one to push Keith to open up when he clearly isn't ready like the others sometimes do, good intentions or not. 

Maybe, he should tell Lance about the nightmares. About everything. Keith knows he'll listen.

Lance shivers again and Keith's resolve crumbles. "Uh, you go ahead. I'm right behind you."

"Okay." Keith turns away, wondering if he's only imagining the reluctance in Lance's voice. "Night, Keith." He inhales through his nose as he listens to Lance's receding footsteps. They sound more and more like a missed opportunity with every step. 

Keith is alone again, but this time is different. Now he feels it, like a gaping hole in his chest that he didn't know was there until there had been someone to fill it. Now it's just back to an empty cavity in his heart. And it hurts. It hurts so bad. 

He hangs his head back and lets out a low growl of frustration. How long can he keep up like this, anyway? He can't stay awake forever. He can't avoid Shiro forever, either. And he certainly can't lead the team in this condition, especially not in battle, when he runs the risk of being overcome by fatigue and collapsing on the spot. Just thinking about it sends a wave of exhaustion flooding over him. His entire body is screaming in protest, his eyes aching from the lack of rest. If it weren't for the constant, nagging thought of the recurring nightmares, he'd fall asleep right now.

It's the fear that keeps him awake. The fear of reliving what was, undoubtedly, the worst fight of his life, of having to listen over and over to the one person who's ever told him otherwise, that he's broken. Worthless. Meaningless. Undeserving of the team, of the people he's grown to call his family. Even worse, the fear of those words actually being true.

Keith's eyelids flutter closed as another breeze drifts across the ledge. If he would just... talk to Shiro. Maybe that's all it would take to dispel the nightmares, to put his mind at rest. But at what cost to Shiro? That's what Keith keeps coming back to. If he has to endure another few weeks, months, years of nightmares to spare Shiro's conscience, fine. He's already been through enough as it is.

Then again, if he dies from lack of sleep he won't exactly be doing Shiro any favors. Keith groans, dropping his head into his hands. Okay. He has to try to sleep. 

A thought tickles the back of his brain. Maybe you'd sleep better if you weren't alone. He peeks through the cracks in his fingers and stares at the ground, hard. "Screw it," he murmurs. 

Keith scrambles to his feet and follows Lance inside before he can change his mind.

Lance flops down on his bed with a sigh, curling his fingers into the soft sheets. Ryner had really gone above and beyond with these rooms. The beds are huge, with silky smooth sheets and squishy pillows and the kind of mattress that seems to envelop your body while you sleep to make you more comfortable. He makes a mental note to thank her later. 

His conversation with Keith is fresh in his mind. There wouldn't even be a team if it weren't for you. He's not sure when Keith had suddenly become some kind of motivational speaker, but he's not exactly complaining. Still, he almost can't believe Keith essentially told him that Voltron wouldn't exist if it weren't for him. High praise, he thinks. 

When he'd walked outside and seen Keith sitting there, he was sure that the universe was taunting him. He'd been putting off talking to Keith about Shiro for as long as he could, letting the guilt inside him fester and boil until he thought he was going to burst from the pressure. And yet, in the moment he decided that if he didn't say anything now, he never would. He would have lost his nerve again if it hadn't been for Keith making room for him to sit down, as if he had known all along that the conversation was coming.

Lance's eyes drift closed. He should feel better. He does feel better. Mostly. He just can't seem to get Keith's face out of his head, the way that he'd reacted when asked such a simple, innocent question, the far-off look in his eye when he said he just had 'a lot on his mind.' Seems like a cop-out answer. Sure, Keith has always been relatively defensive, and pretty closed-off, at times. But Lance knows for a fact that he's not the only person who's noticed how isolated Keith has been lately. Not to mention the bags under his eyes that have only become darker as time has passed, the empty, robotic tone of his voice when he speaks, the frequent unfocused gaze into nothingness that Lance catches more times than he can count. 

I should've said something, Lance thinks a bit guiltily. He listened to me. I would listen to him if he'd let me. 

He's just starting to give in to sleep, his body heavy with exhaustion, when there's a sharp knock on the door. His eyes snap open and he turns his head, listening. He's about to decide that he'd only dreamed the noise when he hears shuffling noises outside. Is there seriously someone outside his door in the middle of the night—wait, could it be Keith? Or maybe it's Shiro or Allura—something could be wrong. 

Disoriented, he slides out of bed and crosses the room to the door, which slides open to reveal a flushed, slightly out of breath, and very uncomfortable-looking Keith. He looks caught, his head turned as if he had just started to leave before Lance opened the door. His cheeks are pink from the cool night air, his hair swept every which way like he'd just been running. Lance blinks, his eyes darting up and down as Keith stands frozen in place. "Hey?"

Keith seems flustered, opening and closing his mouth several times as he tries to form a complete sentence. Lance raises an eyebrow. "I—uh."

"Are you okay?"

Keith shuts his mouth, looking momentarily panicked, then takes a deep breath. "Could I... sleep in here tonight?"

Whatever Lance was expecting, it wasn't this. His eyebrows fly up and his mouth drops open slightly. "Oh," he squeaks.

Keith looks mortified. He takes a step back, clearly embarrassed. "Uh, never mind," he stammers. "Forget it. It's stupid. Sorry, I shouldn't have—I just thought—"

"Wait, nonono." Maybe it's because he's tired, or just the mere bizarreness of this entire situation, but Lance finds himself giggling at the horrified expression on Keith's now pale face. "I'm sorry—" He claps his hands to his mouth in an attempt to control himself. He's definitely tired. Keith's shoulders slump slightly, a look of annoyance that Lance finds endearingly familiar crossing his face. 

"Whatever, Lance. I wouldn't have asked if I'd known you were just going to make fun of me—"

"I'm not—no, I just—" Lance lets out one last snort before he manages to stop laughing. He reaches out and grabs Keith's arm, absent-mindedly noting the way that he flinches, and tugs him forward expectantly. "Of course you can come in. You just surprised me, is all."

The annoyance in Keith's eyes disappears, replaced with a look of relief as Lance steps aside and gestures into his room with a flourish. He cautiously steps inside, the hint of a smile on his lips as he does so. Lance lets the door slide closed, eyeing Keith as he walks past and climbs back into bed, sliding over to the far side to make room. 

Keith stands awkwardly by the door, his posture unsure as he looks around the room in a sort of confused daze, as if it doesn't look exactly the same as his own room just a few doors down the hallway. Lance just watches him for a minute, studying him, drinking in every detail that he hadn't had the time to fully appreciate. 

He really has changed since he came back from the space whale, Lance thinks. He's taller, that's for sure. Leaner, a bit more muscular but also kind of bony, like he hadn't had enough to eat there. His hair is longer, falling into his eyes and brushing over his shoulders. His face is sharper, more defined. Lance's gaze falls on the fuzzy outline of the scar decorating Keith's right cheek. He can only barely make it out in the starlight filtering through the one tiny window on the far wall, but his eyes trace it the best he can, from Keith's jawline up to his cheekbone. 

No one's sure where it came from, and no one's exactly eager to find out, either. The fact that Keith hasn't mentioned it to anyone kind of implies that he doesn't want to talk about it. And so, no one knows how he got it. They only know that he flew alone through that wormhole without it, then came back with an unconscious Shiro and a raw, burning scar on his face. 

After another minute, Lance leans back onto his elbows. "Relax, mullet. I'm not gonna kill you in your sleep."

Keith's head snaps in his direction and he opens his mouth to retort, but Lance drops his head back and groans. "Keeeith. Just. Do you want to sleep or not?"

He rolls his eyes, but finally concedes. Lance lies down with his head propped up on his hands, his elbows fanned out as he watches Keith kick his boots off. He reaches for the covers and gingerly slips underneath, rolling over so his back is to Lance. The bed is so big, they could easily and comfortably fit at least two other people between them. Lance pulls the sheets up to his chin and settles his head into the pillows, shooting one last look at the back of Keith's head, his dark hair falling like shadows against the silky covers. 

This is weird. And not even like that, just like... Keith. Is in his room. Three feet away. Sleeping in his bed. Because he asked to. Something is definitely wrong. But he's not sure now is the right time to bring up—whatever it is, because Lance isn't particularly keen on getting sliced by the luxite blade he knows Keith has on his person at all times. He frowns, suppressing a sigh. He knows Keith well enough to know that he'll open up when he's ready, so it's better not to push it.

His eyelids droop, and he lets them fall closed. 

"Thanks," he hears Keith mumble.

Lance smiles.

Keith is falling.

He's falling, and then all of a sudden he isn't. He can feel solid ground underneath him, but everywhere around him is just darkness. 

His heartbeat quickens as he tries to fight down the rising panic in his throat. He's too scared to move. No matter which way he looks, he can't see anything. Where is he? What's going on? 

A bright light flashes directly in front of him and he turns his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It's so bright he can still see it behind his eyelids, so bright that it makes his head ache. Finally, the light fades substantially and the pain subsides. He opens his eyes cautiously, still squinting slightly as his vision clears and comes back into focus. At which point, he finds himself face-to-face with Shiro.

He shrieks and stumbles backward, his arms raised defensively. When nothing happens, he peeks over his fists and realizes he's standing in front of some sort of pod, bathed in a harsh magenta-colored glow. Shiro stands inside, his eyes closed, his face neutral. He almost looks peaceful. Keith's pulse pounds in his ears as he stares, trying his best to take deep, calming breaths. He steps forward slowly, carefully reaching out and pressing a hand to the glass. It's cool to the touch, the only thing he can really feel other than the ground under his feet and his heart beating in his chest. "Shiro," he murmurs.

As if on cue, Shiro's eyes snap open, and Keith gasps, trying to take a step backward only to find himself frozen in place. That's not Shiro. His eyes bore into Keith's like lasers, as black as the surrounding space, devoid of any kind of light. Keith isn't even in control of his body, stuck in place like there are lead weights in his feet, holding him down. A cruel grin crosses Shiro's face before the glass between them disappears. "Hello, Keith." He lunges forward and his hands close around Keith's neck. 

Keith is falling again, tumbling and pitching in the empty space, scrambling desperately for something, anything to hold onto. It's getting hard to breathe, air whooshing in his ears, his face stinging from the hair whipping around in his face. Then, just as quickly, he's standing again, panting and out of breath. 

He can see this time. Now he's surrounded by pods, rows and rows of clones, of Shiro—there's another flash of light, and yet one more clone is standing on the platform across from him, twenty feet away, his gaze dark, disinterested. The scene is familiar, but not the kind that makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. It's the kind of familiar that fills his entire body with dread. Keith can hear himself speaking, unaware of actually doing so, like he's watching a movie from first-person. "Shiro! It's gonna be okay."

He starts toward Keith, slowly, menacingly. "Yes, I know." 

"We just have to get back to the Castle."

"We," Shiro spits, "are not going anywhere!" 

And suddenly he's running straight toward him, and Keith needs to move, but he can't move, why can't he move—

He blinks, and suddenly everything's changed again. His head is spinning, disoriented by all the abrupt transitions. He looks down at his hands, curled up into tiny fists. They're bruised, scratched up, like he's recently been in a fight. The blank white walls are screaming at him, burning into the backs of his eyes until he realizes—this is a memory. He can hear muffled voices coming from somewhere behind him, until a door opens. He's vaguely aware of someone passing by, the whoosh sound of the door closing, then someone else stepping in front of him. "Hey."

It's Shiro. He remembers now. He's at the Garrison, sitting outside the offices because he got into a fight with another cadet, and Shiro was fighting to keep him here. He knows how this goes. Once again, he hears himself talking without ever actually willing his mouth to open. "Look, I know I messed up. You should just send me back to the home already. This place isn't for me." 

"Keith..."

He finds himself leaning forward, desperate for the words he knows are going to come next. He needs the encouragement, the assurance that he's still worth fighting for.

"You're right."

Keith's eyes widen and his head snaps up. No, this isn't how this is supposed to go. That's not what Shiro is supposed to say. He didn't—he wouldn't say that. "What?" He says weakly.

Shiro's eyes are glowing—literally glowing, clear pinpricks of searing light in the middle of his dark, black eyes— "I should've abandoned you just like your parents did."

The scene suddenly shifts around him, twisting and swirling and churning until he's standing with his back against a railing, his entire body aching with pain and exhaustion. Shiro stands above him at the edge of the debris, a cruel grin twisted onto his face. The words echo through his mind before they're even spoken, bouncing around the insides of his skull until he feels like it'll crack. "You're broken. Worthless." It's these words that literally cause Keith's world to crumble as everything around them comes crashing down, the ground shaking underneath his feet.

"No," Keith's voice comes out as a whisper. "Shiro, please—"

Something slams into him from the side, sending him flying across the platform, rolling over and over until he's on his back, gasping for the air that was knocked out of him. And then Shiro is standing over him, his lips twisted into a snarl. He raises his arm, there's a flash of light and spots dance in Keith's eyes as a glowing sword forms.

Keith realizes then that everything about this scene is very, very wrong. Instead of Shiro's clone, gleaming black armor, a shock of white hair, and a metal arm, it's Shiro. It's Shiro, the Shiro who took Keith in, told Keith to believe in himself, helped Keith understand who he was. It's Shiro, familiar Garrison uniform, dark hair, arm fully intact—only there's the sword, where his hand should be. 

He can't bring himself to move, to speak, to do anything. He can only watch in horror as Shiro plunges downward and buries the sword in Keith's gut, twisting until the pain is so intense that his vision blurs. Shiro leans in closer, his eyes glowing with animosity, his breath hot on Keith's face. "Just let go, Keith. You don't have to fight anymore."

Keith wakes with a start, gasping for air and clutching a hand to his stomach. He can feel the sweat dripping down his forehead and the back of his neck, making his hair to his face and his damp skin. Gulping down air like water, he feels around on his stomach, making sure he's still whole. Just a nightmare, just a nightmare, he begins repeating to himself, but even as he realizes that none of it was real, he's alive, he's safe, he's whole, he still feels himself slipping into a panic. His heart won't stop pounding, so hard and so fast he can feel it in his toes and he swears it's going to burst out of his chest. For a second, he thinks he might be sick. All he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears. Where is he? This isn't even his bed. What's going on? Who—

"Keith?"

The sound of Lance's voice brings the memories of the last few hours flooding back into Keith's mind. Right. He's fine. He's in Lance's room. Wait—he's in Lance's room? Why did he think this was a good idea? What possessed him to ask to sleep in Lance's room—

Lance sits up sleepily, rubbing his eyes as the covers slip off his shoulders. When his eyes meet Keith's, he sits up abruptly, inhaling sharply. Keith frowns, wondering if he should offended. What's his problem? He opens his mouth to snap at Lance about how rude he's being, it's not his fault he gets really awful bedhead and his hair sticks up everywhere and no he doesn't drool—and that's when he suddenly remembers what happens every time he has a nightmare. He's suddenly painfully aware of the fangs pressing against the inside of his cheeks.

He hears himself gasp as he frantically covers his face with his hands, looking away and blinking rapidly. There was nothing nearby for him to check his reflection in, but he didn't have to, to know that his eyes had been in full Galra mode and his fangs were sticking out of his mouth like he was an actual vampire. "Agh, you... weren't supposed to see that." He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to imagine what he'd see if he looked back at Lance. He hasn't moved away, so Keith guesses that's a good sign, at least. 

He still doesn't even know how it works. The Galra thing. It had never happened before, not until his fight with Shiro. The best he can figure is that it's some kind of natural defense, or reflex, when he's under an immense amount of pressure, and he's practically overcome with emotion. Maybe that's why the nightmares won't go away, Keith thinks miserably. Because I'm scared of feeling.

The sheets shift slightly, and he feels Lance moving beside him. Keith drops his hands into his lap, clenching his fists. Figures. Lance has just gotten over the initial shock—now he's probably ready to bolt, planning on making a break for the door. But then Lance starts to talk, his voice soft and gentle, and closer, surprising Keith. Okay, then. Lance always seems to be surprising him these days.

"Okay, I don't know what that was, but—" Keith doesn't even realize he's started to cry until he feels the first tear slip down his cheek. He quickly wipes it away as Lance pauses, scooting even closer. "Hey, everything alright?"

Nope. No, everything is not alright. Everything is falling apart and he has no idea how he's supposed to fix it. Everything is the opposite of alright. "Yeah, I'm okay Lance," he says instead, pressing a palm to his eye and forcing back another tear that was threatening to escape. "I'm just..." He falters, not trusting his voice to hold. 

When he feels Lance's arms snaking around his shoulders, he stiffens. His immediate reaction is to pull away, but then Lance pulls him closer and rests his head on Keith's, as if he knows exactly what Keith is thinking.

Keith sits very still. He can't seem to form any coherent thoughts, because he can't get past the fact that Lance is—here. Why? That's the word that echoes through his mind now. He's done nothing but push the team away since—well, since forever. He's isolated himself from the beginning. He's always been too afraid to get too close, too attached, he didn't want anyone to have the chance to reject him, because deep down he's believed this entire time that he is worthless, that he doesn't have anything to offer, he's just an empty vessel waiting to be filled, but he doesn't know with what—that's what he's afraid of. Of staying that way forever, of never knowing what it feels like to be heard, to be appreciated, to be loved, to be needed.

And Lance is sitting here with his arms around him, warm and steady and sure, silently assuring him that he's all of those things and more. Keith stares down at his hands, his vision blurring from the tears welling in his eyes. "Lance..." he closes his eyes, willing himself to keep the tears at bay. This is stupid. He doesn't want to cry. Not here, not in front of Lance.

Lance doesn't give in. If anything, he squeezes Keith tighter. Everything's fuzzy and misshapen through the water in his eyes, and that brings him back to the end of his nightmare, and he can practically feel the sword twisting in his gut, a phantom pain throbbing in the nonexistent wound as he clenches his stomach, thinking about those last words: Just let go, Keith. You don't have to fight anymore.

He breaks. Once the first tear spills over, leaving a hot sticky trail down his cheek, he knows there's no going back. Fine, he thinks. You want to see me let go? Well, this is me letting go. And so he lets himself melt into Lance's embrace, leaning into him as his shoulders begin to shake. 

"It's okay," Lance soothes, his fingers squeezing Keith's shoulder. "It's okay, Keith. You're okay."

The tears literally won't stop flowing. Keith clings desperately to Lance's shirt, sobbing into his chest, letting the hot streaks on his face soak into the soft fabric as water drips down his nose, his cheeks, his chin. So maybe he's never been empty—it's just the opposite. He's always been filled to the brim, his heart cracking and ready to burst, waiting, waiting, waiting for him to release all the fear, the pain, the doubt, the regret, the uncertainty, all the emotions that he's kept bottled up for so long, even before they found the Blue Lion and flew through that first godforsaken wormhole and found themselves on the other side of the universe, away from home, away from everything they ever knew and loved. 

Keith has never felt so vulnerable. But in this moment, Lance's arms around him, his head on Lance's shoulder, he feels safe. He feels home. 

He didn't know that home could be a feeling up until now.

Lance doesn't say much else as Keith cries, which he appreciates. He doesn't try to ask him what's wrong, or tell him to stop, or complain about the wet spots forming on his shirt. He just sits there with his arms around Keith and lets him cry, not once making any sort of movement to indicate that he had any thought of letting him go. That's a gesture within itself. It means everything to Keith.

He tries to control his breathing, but he's crying too hard to do much of anything. His entire body is quivering, his hands are shaking, and his breath keeps coming in short, ragged gasps before another round of sobs overtakes him. Lance brushes the hair out Keith's face, gently combing his fingers through and smoothing it away so it doesn't stick to the tears leaking out of his eyes.

Okay, so maybe there was some truth to the words that Shiro—no, not Shiro, Haggar's clone—had said to him that day. To the broken part, at least. Because Keith's heart had broken a long time ago, but he'd never had the strength to pick up the pieces just to have it broken all over again. Shiro had helped him start that journey when he took him under his wing, teaching him slowly, piece by piece, how to give himself the benefit of the doubt, at least the chance to fix those parts of himself that needed fixing, because he was worth that struggle, that fight, that battle. And when Shiro disappeared on the Kerberos mission, presumed dead, everything he'd worked so hard to build up crumbled into pieces again, shattering any thought he'd entertained of ever being whole again. During his time with the team, he'd slowly started to put himself back together. One more try, he'd thought. Maybe this time will be different. But the attempt was passive, half-hearted at best, the tiny fragments of his heart stuck together with frayed thread and strips of barely adhesive tape, too fragile, stacked together like a house of cards, reading to come tumbling down with the smallest breath. 

Sitting in this room, in the dark, with only the light of the stars outside shining through the window, in the embrace of someone he truly cares about—who he likes to think cares about him, too—Okay, Keith thinks, blinking through yet another fresh batch of tears. Maybe just one more time. He can feel his heart mending already.

A long time passes before Keith is able to breathe again. A tiny part of him wishes he could keep crying if it means he could stay like this for a little while longer, his head tucked underneath Lance's chin, the warmth of his body seeping into Keith's skin and through his very bones. But the well in his chest has finally run out, so he couldn't cry any more even if he wanted to. Anyway, it turns out that it doesn't matter. Lance seems to hear Keith's wish, to understand his unspoken thoughts. He doesn't let go.

Lance keeps running his fingers through Keith's hair. He thinks that if he just closed his eyes, he might actually be able to fall asleep, free of nightmares. He wonders if Lance has done this before, soothing his younger family members during a particularly bad thunderstorm or after they've fallen and scraped their knees or even after their own scary nightmares. Either way, he's good at this. Lance is good at this.

"I'm sorry," Keith says after a while, mumbling into Lance's shoulder. 

Lance hums, his cheek brushing against the top of Keith's head. "Sorry for what?"

Keith laughs weakly. "For asking to sleep in your room just to wake you in the middle of the night so you could witness me have a breakdown and cry all over your shirt."

Lance shrugs, briefly tickling Keith's ear with his chin. "That was part of my plan all along. There's a secret camera hidden in the corner over there. Classic case of blackmail. Now you have to do whatever I say or I'll broadcast that video to the entire team on our way to Earth and everyone will know what a crybaby you are."

"Shut up," Keith says, but he's smiling into Lance's shirt. 

It's Keith who finally pulls away, not because he wants to, but mostly because he's worried that Lance is too nice to be the first to move away. Lance watches curiously as Keith ducks his head, wiping at his eyes. "Hey."

Keith raises his head and blinks in surprise as Lance reaches toward him to cup his face in his hands. He's startled by how blue Lance's eyes are even in the dark, reflecting every tiny sliver of starlight that manages to slip through the glass window. And it's hard not to give in and let his eyes flutter closed at Lance's touch. His hands are rough, calloused, yet somehow soft and smooth all at the same time. Ironically, it kind of reminds him of himself. Tough and indifferent on the outside, mushy and sensitive on the inside. One of these days, someone will poke him in just the right spot and all of him will come oozing out, like tonight. 

He bets Lance will be the one to do that.

Lance's gaze drifts slightly, his brow creased, and Keith has no idea what he's doing until he's brushing his thumb gently across his cheek and he reaches the scar—Keith flinches, furious with himself for doing so when Lance immediately withdraws, dropping his hands into his lap and sitting back on his feet. "Sorry," he whispers. 

The look in his eyes is concerned, but also curious, questioning. Keith knows he's wondering about the scar, where it came from and how he got it. Everyone's been wondering, they just either haven't had the guts to ask about it or have the decency not to. He bites his bottom lip to keep it from trembling, looking away. He's not ready to talk about it. Not yet. But... soon. Maybe. 

"Keith?"

He looks up again, this time avoiding direct eye contact. He still doesn't trust himself to hold out against those eyes. 

"Are you okay?"

Keith presses his lips together. How is it that the hardest things to say and the hardest questions to answer always have just three words? A silence settles throughout the room as he repeats the question over and over in his head. Lance waits patiently, like he's perfectly aware that he's asked such a loaded question and wants to let Keith gather his thoughts. It makes Keith's heart ache, the way Lance is looking at him, like he genuinely wants to know how he feels, like as of right now, his mission is to make sure that he's okay. He takes a deep breath, exhales. "I don't know," he finally decides. Not knowing is the only thing he's sure of.

He can feel Lance's eyes on him as he starts picking at a loose thread in the sheets. The back of his neck tingles, like he can actually feel Lance's gaze on his skin. It's an odd feeling, having someone study him so intently, as if he's important enough to be worthy of such attention. Lance's next question takes him by surprise, only because he isn't expecting it. "You're having nightmares, aren't you?"

Keith freezes. He's not sure why, but hearing someone else say the words out loud makes him want to crawl back under the covers and hide forever. It's not fair, the power that words have over people. The power they have over a person to encourage, build up, assure, console, soothe, and yet just as easily (if not more easily) break down, crush, damage, hurt, destroy. It's obvious to him that this is why the nightmares are still so vivid, haunting him day and night, because of the words that he always finds echoing in his mind, both spoken and unspoken. Lance picks up on his hesitation, taking it as a confirmation and readjusting so that he can sit criss-cross next to him.

"C'mon, man." He's speaking softly, but firmly, like he's already decided for Keith that he isn't allowed to completely close himself off, especially not after what just happened. "You just had a borderline panic attack. Talk to me."

Keith forces himself to meet Lance's eyes and almost caves in immediately. He nearly tells him everything. About the fight, the scar, the nightmares. About the way he can't see Shiro without having terrifying flashbacks, without imagining the look on his face as he stood over him, ready to end him with a final blow. About how scared he is of going to sleep every night, staying up for as long as he can, fighting off sleep until he has to give in and then wakes up minutes later in a sweat, unable to find the strength to close his eyes again. The words are all stuck in his throat, on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out, but some invisible force is blocking them from escape. Tell him, his brain is screaming. Do it. Say it. Let him in. He can help you. He deserves to know. Tell him tell him tell him tell him—

He swallows, and the words tumble back down into his stomach. "Lance, I—I'm just not ready."

Lance starts to reach for Keith again, then seems to think better of it and drops his hand onto a pillow. Keith wishes he hadn't thought better of it. "Okay. Okay, yeah. That's okay." He offers a small smile, and Keith's stomach turns guiltily. "But just in case it's not already clear, when you are ready... you know where to find me. Okay?"

Keith's heart jumps. "Okay," he breathes. 

Lance squints slightly, looking at Keith for one more long moment, until it seems to stretch out for a little too long, and Keith doesn't see the pillow flying toward his face until it's too late. He gets a face-full of squish and fluff, his head jerking back from the impact. 

"Lance!" he splutters, snatching the pillow from where it's fallen into his lap and flinging it back. It smacks Lance square in the nose, who's already laughing too hard to really care. He cackles as he reaches for another pillow, and Keith barely has enough time to grab his own to deflect another hit. Before long, they're each on opposite ends of the bed, chucking pillows across the room in miserable attempts to hit one another, giggling like twelve-year-olds. 

This is stupid, Keith thinks, but he's grinning just as stupidly, so he decides he can't say much.

Lance launches a particularly large pillow into Keith's face and he nearly topples over the edge of the bed before returning fire. Lance actually does topple over the edge. Keith bursts into laughter, and Lance's head pokes up from where he's fallen, a finger to his lips as he giggles wildly, shushing Keith because dude, you're gonna wake up the entire planet, but it only makes Keith laugh harder, and he has to roll over and smush his face into another pillow to muffle the sound. His stomach hurts from laughing too hard, because now that he's started he can't seem to stop. Half of it probably has to do with the fact that he's majorly sleep-deprived, kind of loopy, way too easily amused. Lance's constant shushing and giggling isn't helping much, either.

Once they've finally settled down, they fall into a comfortable silence, occasionally interrupted when one of them sneaks a look at the other and snickers, sending both of them into another fit of giggles. Keith rolls over and stares up at the ceiling. His face hurts from smiling. Is this what that feels like? Smiling so long and so hard it makes your muscles ache? He wishes he could feel like this every day. 

"Hey, Keith," Lance stage-whispers. Keith glances over, already smiling again even though it makes his cheeks burn. 

"Yeah?"

A pause. "Think you can get back to sleep?"

The smile disappears from his face and his chest tightens. Their impromptu pillow fight had made him forget all about... everything, if only temporarily. "Oh." Lance wiggles underneath the covers and pats the space next to him, looking at Keith expectantly. Keith stares. "What are you—"

"C'mere," Lance interrupts, his voice muffled by the sheets.  

"What—Lance, no, I'm not a teddy bear—"

"C'meeere," Lance drags it out this time, tossing one more pillow at him for good measure. 

Keith rolls his eyes, but it's not like he ever had a chance at winning this fight. Also, okay, maybe he wouldn't mind this so much. He scoots closer to Lance and slips under the sheets, turning so they're face-to-face.

Lance smiles. "Hi."

"Dork." He tries to hide his smile when Lance giggles again. "You really know how to make a smooth transition, you know that?"

"I was just trying to lighten the mood." Lance tugs on a strand of Keith's hair. "It worked, didn't it?"

Like a charm. "I guess."

Lance's smile falls a little and Keith has to resist the urge to reach over and push his cheeks up to put it back the way it was. He feels Lance's eyes searching his—for what, he doesn't know. "Are you scared?" He asks softly. 

Jeez, again with the sudden transition. But he's transfixed by Lance's gaze, and he can't find it in him to be annoyed. Instead he finds himself answering the question instantly, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah." It's amazing, the confessions that Lance is able to pull out of him just by giving him a single look.

Lance finds his hand under the sheets and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I'm here." Two simple words. They speak volumes. 

Keith squeezes back. "I know." 

He doesn't argue when Lance squirms closer, snuggling up to him and tucking his arm underneath Keith's head so he can rest it on Lance's chest. His shirt is dry now, just warm and soft, leaving no trace of Keith's earlier tears. He places a hand on Lance's stomach, tentative at first, then relaxes when he feels Lance smiling into his hair.

Keith listens to Lance's heartbeat thumping in his ear. It's strong, sure, steady, soothing. It's so... Lance. He closes his eyes and sighs, settling into the crook of the other boy's arm. This is one of the moments he wants to keep tucked away for himself when he feels like he's alone, like everything is closing in around him. When everything feels unstable and uncertain. Because this? This, he can count on. Lance, he can count on. Lance, one of the few things in his life that grounds him, keeps him centered. He thinks he's always known that. It's just taken him a while to finally realize it. 

Lance's breath tickles the back of his neck when he speaks. "So, you've got a Galra mode now, huh?"

Keith groans. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Is it, like, a reflex?"

"I don't know. I guess?"

"Can you control it?"

"I don't—no."

"Does it just happen when you're stressed out, or—"

"Laaance."

"Okay, okay," he mumbles, patting the top of Keith's head. "Relax. Sorry."

They're quiet for another moment. Keith is content just to listen to the beating of Lance's heart, reminding him that he's real, he's here, he's present. Lance's breathing is steady, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Every time his mind begins to wander, toward the dark and the fear and the nightmares, he focuses on Lance to bring himself back. His warmth, his smell, his touch. The curve of his arm around his back, the awareness of his chin tucked against his head, the cluster of freckles on his collarbone that could make their own constellation.  

"Hey Lance."

Lance's response comes readily, like he had been waiting for Keith to say something. "Yeah?"

Keith hesitates. "D'you ever have nightmares?" He's not sure why he asks, other than to dispel the nagging fear that maybe he's just going insane. That, and he knows that Lance will give him an honest answer. And he kind of just wants to hear Lance's voice again.

He doesn't answer as quickly this time. Keith waits, tracing his fingertips along a fold in Lance's shirt, smoothing it out and moving on to the next one. "I used to have nightmares about home."

Keith frowns, his hand hovering over Lance's chest. "Home?"

"Yeah. Like, that I'd never get to go back. Or that I'd go back and find out the Galra had destroyed Earth, or something. Or I'd go back, but I'd be super old and all of my family would be long gone by the time I got there." Keith is perfectly still, listening intently. "They started pretty soon after we'd found all the lions and stuff. I just, really missed home. I still do."

"We'll be there soon."

"I know. Doesn't mean I can't still miss it."

Keith is quiet, thinking about all the times he's heard Lance talk about home, and his family, and all the things he loved and had to leave behind at a moment's notice. "What do you miss the most?"

Lance hums, and Keith can feel the vibration through his own chest. "I know I say it all the time, but I miss Cuba. Varadero Beach. Swimming. My family, obviously. My mom's hugs, especially." He pauses. "What about you?"

"Oh." Keith wasn't really expecting to be asked the question in return. And while he's spent the last half dozen nights outside, imagining all the things he'd do when they got back to Earth, he's never really thought about what he's missed. "Um, I don't know. I didn't exactly have much to leave behind. But I guess I miss my bike. The shack. Pigging out on fast-food."

Lance snorts. "You gonna take your alien mom to a Taco Bell when we get back?"

The thought of a restaurant employee's face when Krolia pulls up in the drive through makes Keith snort. "I don't see why not."

There's another brief pause, during which Keith feels his eyelids start to grow heavy. "They'll go away eventually, by the way." Lance says after a moment. 

"Hm?"

"The nightmares." Lance brushes some hair away from Keith's forehead with his thumb. His voice is sleepy. "Sometimes it feels like they'll always be there, messing with your head, and stuff. But they'll go away. Just give it a little time. And talking about it helps too."

Keith curls his fingers into Lance's shirt, tugs him closer. He knows that Lance isn't pushing him to say anything more, just offering him an invitation. One he intends to accept, when he's ready. Because he knows that no matter what he does, wherever he goes, Lance will still be there when he comes back. That's just who he is. "You'll wait for me?" he asks quietly. 

"Always."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Satisfied, Keith closes his eyes and nestles into Lance's side. So maybe it'll be a while before the nightmares go away. All the hugs and tears and 'okays' in the world won't be enough to get rid of them fast enough. But maybe it would be the nights like these that would make all the difference. Opening up like this, letting himself be accepted, experiencing his emotions the way they're meant to be experienced—these are the first steps. And Lance will be by his side every step of the way, whether he likes it or not. I do like it, Keith thinks lazily, letting himself drift toward sleep.

Judging by the steady rise and fall of Lance's chest, Keith figures he's already fallen asleep. "G'night, Lance," he murmurs anyway.

"Night, mullet," comes the soft reply.

Keith smiles. 

Chapter Text

Lance is gone when Keith wakes up the next morning.

The feeling of his presence, not fully there yet undeniably so, fleeting and transient, like the residual wisps of a dream slipping just out of reach, strips Keith of any desire to open his eyes and confirm this. He can still feel the warmth from Lance's body lingering next to him, still smell the familiar mixture of ocean spray and wildflowers and cinnamon that makes him want to sink into the covers and stay there forever, surrounded by Lance's intangible but ethereal embrace. The sheets are tucked gently underneath his chin, wrapping him up in a cocoon of soft, silky fabric.

For one perfect, peaceful, blissful moment, Keith feels... okay.

It's such a different sensation than he's used to, so wonderful and soothing and pleasant, he's hesitant to let himself enjoy the moment, to savor the comfort only these very circumstances could provide. This morning is the stark opposite of the past several, during which he's spent the entire nights before fighting with his demons, waiting desperately for the light of the Olkari sun to come to his aid and relieve him of the hold that darkness inevitably takes over him. This morning is what takes the dying, sputtering flicker of hope in Keith's chest and lights it anew. This morning is proof that the invisible battle warring in his mind between logic and fear is one worth fighting.

A faint recollection of last night's events trails through Keith's thoughts, leading him out of his daze. He wonders briefly if he should feel embarrassed about his meltdown in front of Lance. The whole thing really had been kind of pathetic, the way he stumbled to Lance's door in the dead of night, desperate for comfort in a sudden, yet not unfamiliar, moment of weakness. The rational part of his brain assures him that he had made the right choice. Because when he'd startled awake in the middle of the night, panicked and out of breath, Lance had offered him a shoulder to cry on without hesitation, without any previous knowledge of the constant inner turmoil taking place behind Keith's eyelids, without asking, without needing an explanation, without demanding a reason that he should share his sympathy with a boy who can offer nothing in return.

Keith thinks of Lance's face, soft and understanding, blue eyes reflecting starlight, freckles from his past days in the hot Cuban sun scattered across his nose and his cheeks. The image itself makes him weak, makes his heart ache with a longing he'd only recently given up on quelling. Weakness is funny that way—it's like a paradox. Keith has a hard time remembering any case in which accepting or admitting his weaknesses actually made him weak. If anything, recognizing them had only ever made him stronger, especially when he had someone by his side to guide him, as Lance had done for him last night.

That's what's been different about Lance since he returned from his mission with Krolia, Keith thinks idly. No, not different—just more obvious, more self-evident. Lance has always been the one dishing out pep talks and life advice, the one to offer kind and reassuring words in a time of need, the one who always insists that the team stay together because they're a team, and that means supporting and encouraging one another no matter the circumstances.

A memory, tinged with red and clear as day. Planet Thayserix. Shiro's sudden and unexplained disappearance was still a fresh, gaping wound, a thorn in Keith's side that made his vision blur around the edges. Forced to assume the position as the black paladin, perhaps the most qualified and yet the least prepared. He was bitter, angry, stricken with grief and filled with resentment for Lotor, for his own incapability to lead the team because his emotions, raw and unrestrained, took full control over his actions. The instantaneous horror and regret he felt when he realized he played right into Lotor's hands, resulting in the separation of the entire team, who had tried but failed to talk some sense into him. The glow of the Red Lion's eyes as he drifted closer, bathed in clouds of red syntian nitrate, unable to find a way back to the others in such a foreign and hostile environment.

And Lance. Lance, his voice firm and assured: "Now we gotta fix it."

'We', as if the impossible position they were in wasn't entirely Keith's fault, as if Lance was willing to share the blame if it meant bringing the team back together.

Keith has always admired that about Lance. His selflessness, his undeniable and unwavering dedication to the team, his idiotic impulse to put himself in harm's way to protect those he cares for. Keith wants nothing more than to wrap him up and tuck him away for safe-keeping. And, he thinks, to be the person to Lance, that Lance is to so many others.

Thoughts of last night's nightmare begin creeping into his mind, prowling around the edges of the prior memory and bleeding through the cracks. Ugly images flash behind his eyelids that threaten the peace. Keith opens his eyes in defiance and everything dissipates, or seems to shrink away at the very least. He squints against the light of the Olkari sun shining brightly into the room and rolls over, letting his hair fall into his eyes.

No sooner had he rolled over than there's a bright flash of light accompanied by a whoosh of air, and suddenly Keith is buried in a slobbery mound of fluff that knocks the breath out of him. "Oof! Kosmo!" He spits out a mouthful of fur as the wolf lets out a single excited bark. "Get off!" He makes a half-hearted attempt to shove Kosmo away, but the thing about him is that once his mind is made up, there's no stopping him. He even gives Krolia trouble sometimes, which honestly gives Keith a lot of respect for the animal, because his mother can be plenty intimidating without even trying to be.

Kosmo plants his front paws onto Keith's chest and starts rubbing his wet nose against his cheek, drooling all over his face and ruffling his hair with his hot breath. "Ah, stop that!" He laughs, trying but failing to block Kosmo's attacks with his hands. "That tickles—hey! Quit it! What are you even doing in here?"

The pressure on his chest disappears and he sits up, still laughing and wiping drool from his face as Kosmo circles a stray pillow on the bed before settling down beside Keith. "You're so needy," Keith sighs, smoothing the hair on the top of his head and reaching his arms out to stretch. Kosmo barks impatiently and prods Keith's knee with his nose. At first he thinks it's because he's offended the space wolf, until he sees the folded piece of paper deliberately tucked into the long gray fur of his back.

"Oh, so you're playing messenger now?" Keith rolls his eyes, scratching behind Kosmo's ears and earning a satisfied growl of pleasure. He reaches for the paper with one hand and carefully unfolds it, glancing down at the words scribbled in that dumb blue marker Lance always carries around.

Morning, mullet. Sorry you didn't get to wake up in my arms, I'm sure that was very disappointing for you. As adorable as you are when you sleep, I had something I had to take care of earlier this morning so I had to bolt (you drool a lot by the way, I think you and Kosmo are meant for each other). Anyway, meet me in the cargo bay ASAP. We're going on a field trip! Like, now. Like, I'm currently sitting in Red waiting for you to get your butt down here. So hurry up. Also, it's almost noon and you missed our team meeting and supply haul this morning. Sorry.

"What?" Keith rips the sheets away and tumbles out of bed, scrambling to get his boots on. Almost noon? He'd slept half the day away and Lance hadn't even bothered to get him up? He's the leader of Voltron, what kind of leader doesn't show up to team meetings and help carry supplies because he's asleep in his teammate's bed? What must everyone else be thinking about him right now?

He scowls and starts muttering something under his breath about strangling Lance in Red's cockpit as he struggles to shove his feet into his boots. It takes three tries to put the right shoe on, then two for the left, and he almost trips on his way to the door. Kosmo barks one more time before Keith stumbles out into the hallway—and right into Shiro.

He screeches to a halt, his eyes wide. "Shiro!" The level of panic he reaches in that split second should have been enough to send him into cardiac arrest. Not only did the sight of him involuntarily trigger his fight-or-flight response, but he had literally just been caught red-handed coming out of Lance's room. After missing the team meeting. And their haul onto the lions for their trip to Balmera tonight.

Keith feels a mortified blush creeping up his neck as Shiro's gaze flicks over Keith's shoulder to Lance's door, then back to Keith, an amused grin spreading across his face. This is quite possibly the most embarrassing moment of his life. He thinks about running back inside and making Kosmo transport him back to the Quantum Abyss so he can hide in another godforsaken cave on another godforsaken space whale. Wait, scratch that. Pit stop in the Red Lion to throttle Lance first. Then he can escape to the Abyss.

"Wait, I—uh—no, it's not what it looks like—"

"Keith, relax." Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder and it takes every muscle in Keith's body to keep himself from flinching. "I was just coming to see how you were doing. Did you sleep well?"

"I–yes. Uh, yeah." Keith clears his throat, struggling to keep his voice steady. He thinks he keeps seeing a flicker of pink fluorescent light in Shiro's eyes, and his brain is working overtime to assure him he's just imagining it. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep so late." I'm going to kill Lance, he thinks.

Shiro's hand drops back to his side and he smiles again, the face of understanding. It kind of makes Keith want to pull his shirt up over his head and hide, it makes him feel so awful. "Don't worry about it. It's been a long week. You didn't miss anything anyway, just seating arrangements for our trip tonight. You've got Krolia and Kosmo first."

"Great," Keith chokes out, hating himself for the sharp pang of relief that shoots through his body when he realizes he and Shiro won't be in the same Lion.

"The team was actually kind of glad when you didn't show up. You've been going really hard lately. We're just glad you're getting some rest."

"Yeah, um. Thanks," he responds weakly, distracted by the mechanical stub on Shiro's other side. He can practically feel the blood draining from his face as the image of his bayard slicing through metal flashes in his mind.

There are a few seconds of silence, which Keith doesn't even notice at first because he's so stuck in his own head. He has this horrible terrible awful feeling in his gut, horrible enough that he's worried it's going to eat him alive. His pulse is steadily rising, which is ridiculous because he's not even in any danger. Not physically, at least. It's like the nightmares have conditioned his brain to broadcast warning signals throughout his entire body whenever Shiro is present, which is totally unfair, to both of them. It's just Shiro, Keith chides himself. The real Shiro. He would never hurt you. Everything's fine. Just relax.

"Keith." Keith drags his eyes up to meet Shiro's. The way he's looking at him, he swears he can feel Shiro rooting around in his brain, which is concerning because he's never been any good at hiding things from him. Once, back in his Garrison days, Adam accidentally broke Shiro's favorite mug and made Keith swear not to tell. Long story short, Shiro found his broken mug and immediately targeted Keith, who fought valiantly but eventually cracked under the pressure, and then Shiro didn't talk to either of them for the rest of the day. Adam kept telling him that he should be thanking him, because he'd done him a 'great service' (to be fair, it was a really ugly mug). Another time, Keith hid the car keys because he overheard Adam telling Shiro that he should take Keith's bike-riding privileges away if he didn't start paying attention in his class. When it was time to leave and they discovered that the keys were missing, a massive search throughout their quarters ensued. Shiro figured him out when he asked Keith if he'd seen the keys and he responded by choking on his orange juice because he was trying not to laugh. Adam was late to teach his first class, and, needless to say, Keith didn't get to ride his bike for the following two weeks.

"How are you?"

Keith starts. Another loaded question. Maybe even worse than 'are you okay', because with the latter, at least Keith could just give a yes or no answer, or maybe an 'I don't know'. But this question forces more specificity. Because with Shiro, it's never just a generic conversation opener or an attempt at polite discussion. He asks because he genuinely wants to know how someone's doing. An 'okay' or 'alright' isn't going to cut it.

Keith considers his next words carefully. Shiro won't be fooled so easily—a side effect of all the time they spent together at the Garrison, pre-Kerberos mission. Between the day that Keith stole Shiro's car and the day that Shiro left for Kerberos, he'd learned Keith's facial expressions and vocal fluctuations like the back of his hand. He could always tell when Keith was hiding something, whether it was because his voice was strained or he was too obviously trying to maintain a neutral expression. Meaning, he could always, always tell when something was wrong.

"I'm managing," Keith decides finally, resisting the urge to cross his arms since that would tell Shiro without a doubt that he was holding back. The response is neutral enough. He's not exactly telling the truth, but he's not exactly lying, either. And it admits that, yeah, okay, maybe something's wrong, but he's dealing with it. Hopefully it's enough to keep more of Shiro's questions at bay.

Shiro studies him for a moment longer, the way he does when he knows something's off but he hasn't quite put his finger on it yet. Keith tries not to squirm. Half of his brain keeps yelling at him to make a break for it while the other half yells back about what a stupid idea that is, so at this point all he can really hear in his head is a bunch of unintelligible screaming. It's a good metaphor for how he feels right about now. Finally, Shiro sighs. "Lance told me what happened last night."

Keith's blood goes ice cold. His throat suddenly feels very dry. No. No, Lance wouldn't have. He wouldn't go behind his back like that. He wouldn't. "He—oh. He did?"

"He asked me to stay behind after the team meeting to talk about it. And, he mentioned it was probably the reason you didn't show."

Lance. Is. So. Dead. He tries to take a calming breath, which is hard to do because it feels like his entire body has decided to go on full lockdown, and he can barely move at all. "Shiro, listen—"

"I just want you to know I'm proud of you."

The warning alarms blaring in Keith's brain take pause. "Oh?"

"For taking the time to talk with Lance about how he was feeling, even if it meant staying up half the night." Shiro gives Keith a warm, fond smile. "Being a leader means being there for your teammates. That's exactly what you did. And whatever you told him convinced him to open up to me, too."

Keith doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. Okay. Lance will live to see another day after all. "Yeah, um. It's not a big deal."

"I'm glad he felt comfortable to come to you about that sort of thing. I wish he would have told someone sooner, but... well. Guilt likes to sit and fester, I guess."

Keith coughs into his fist, doing his best to ignore the immediate pang of guilt he feels in his own chest. "I guess. Uh, speaking of Lance, I think I'm supposed to be meeting him in the cargo bay, or something. So..."

There's just a moment of silence, which to Keith feels like years. And it's unsettling—to him, at least, which makes him feel awful, because he's never felt uncomfortable around Shiro, never felt like he couldn't tell him anything if he wanted to. Once that young, arrogant, inexperienced version of Keith cast caution to the wind and put his full trust in Shiro, it never went away. And it was still there. Even now, Keith trusts Shiro more than he ever has or ever will trust anyone else.

He suddenly realizes with startling clarity exactly why he's so afraid of telling Shiro about the nightmares. He doesn't want to lose that part of himself. The part of him that trusts so blindly, so deeply, so passionately in the man who had taken the broken pieces of a hopeless, abandoned, orphaned boy and put them back together into something—someone—worth fighting for. Admitting to the nightmares would feel too much like shattering all over again.

"You're doing okay?" Shiro asks again, once the silence has stretched dangerously into awkward territory.

For a split second, Keith feels the sudden urge to spill. And then his brain reminds him why he's kept the nightmares such a secret for this long, and the urge subsides. This is different, he tries to convince himself. It would only hurt Shiro. I can't do that to him. He's been through enough.

"I'm fine," he answers, too quickly.

Shiro's brow creases ever so slightly, and Keith knows he hasn't fooled him for one second. But instead of pressing, he just nods. That somehow makes Keith feel worse. "Right. Well, I won't keep you."

But Keith is already walking away.

It's starting to become clear to Lance that Keith isn't coming.

He leans back into his seat with a frustrated sigh, dropping his arms over the sides and stretching out his legs. Why do I even try, he thinks with a half-hearted attempt at bitterness. But really, he's just disappointed. And worried. It's not that he'd expected last night to instantly change everything, make it easier for the two of them to open up to one another, easier for Keith especially to open up at all—but he'd at least thought it could have been enough to make him want to try.

Just a few more doboshes, Lance promises himself, flexing his fingers impatiently. They're sore, aching from the amount of exertion they'd used lately, grasping the edges of supply boxes, gripping Red's flight controls, clutching the rim of his rifle, finger poised to squeeze the trigger at a split second's notice.

Ever since that day when they climbed into the Blue Lion for the first time and launched into space, his hands have always seemed to be searching for something to do, something to hold, constantly itching for action and begging to be used. They're oddly comforted now by the ridges of the Lion's thrusters, the rough handle of his bayard, the smooth edges of his rifle once transformed. Those things have all come to belong, fitting easily and comfortably in the curves of his hands, the creases of his palms. Empty hands don't even feel natural to him anymore—they desire to be filled.

Another dobosh passes. Lance stares listlessly out into the cargo bay.

His thoughts drift to his conversation with Shiro just a few hours earlier. After the team meeting, he asked him to stay behind, a sick, queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that threatened to make him abort his mission altogether. But the expression on Shiro's face was so open and so sincere that Lance couldn't help but tell him everything. Keith had been right, of course. Shiro didn't blame him for anything that happened, assured him that there was no guilt to be felt, no blame to be placed. And deep down, Lance had already known that, but hearing the words out loud, from the very person he felt he had let down the most, brought him a kind of relief he couldn't have found anywhere else. The guilt was still there—it might always be—but only just barely so, hanging on by a thread to the part of him that still felt insecure about his abilities, his value, his place on the team.

Keith's incredulous laugh sounds in the back of his mind."Like you, of all people, could single-handedly destroy the universe."

He sure has a funny way of making a person feel worthwhile.

But Lance remembers the surprise he felt at the earnestness of the following words, the feeling of a strong hand on his shoulder, steady and unwavering. And the intensity of Keith's gaze, the flutter of his stomach at the deep violet eyes illuminated only by starlight. Lance had asked a question he was convinced had no answer. Keith accepted the challenge without hesitation. And he realizes, with a sort of selfish satisfaction, that Keith Kogane, practically known best for his difficulty expressing emotions, feelings, and words in general, had so easily assured him of his importance in more ways than one, as if he'd already thought about these things himself, carefully crafting the words in his head like he wanted to be ready to speak them should the opportunity present itself.

Maybe Keith just really likes to prove Lance wrong. Or maybe he just cares more than Lance ever could have expected. Either way, it makes a feeling of warmth bloom in his chest, replacing the disappointment in Keith's absence with a belated sort of gratification.

If he's perfectly honest, when Lance wrote that note this morning, with the blue marker of his that he knows Keith hates so much, tucked it between the long tufts of fur on Kosmo's back, and asked the big gray wolf to deliver it for him, he had zero expectations that Keith would actually show.

He's pleasantly surprised to be proved wrong, for the second time in under 24 hours.

An unprecedented surge of excitement makes Lance shoot up in his seat when he sees Keith entering the cargo bay at a brisk pace. Lance watches as he approaches the Red Lion, disappearing momentarily to climb the ramp of Red's unhinged jaw. His footsteps echo up the metal walkway and into the cockpit, almost in time with Lance's heartbeat, which has consequently accelerated.

"Well," Lance sighs dramatically and leans back in the pilot's seat as Keith finally reappears and stops at his side, placing a hand on the headrest. "It's about time you—"

"Just go."

Lance blinks, and it takes another second for his brain to reroute. He realizes suddenly that something's wrong. Keith's head is down, his hair falling into his face. He looks too rigid, too tense, not quite panicked but certainly not relaxed. Did something happen in the time it took him to reach the cargo bay from Lance's room? "Hey man, are you—"

"Just. Go," Keith growls through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from his tight grip on the soft cushion of Lance's chair.

Lance only takes his eyes off Keith so he doesn't crash into anything. He takes the controls and propels them forward, maneuvering quickly through the rest of the Lions sitting quietly in the hangar, stoic and regal, before soaring out into the golden light of the afternoon sun. He navigates smoothly through the Olkarion city, twisting to avoid a building or two before reaching a steady altitude well above the rest.

He doesn't look at Keith again until they've reached the edge of the city, flying just out of the hungry reach of the twisting branches and rustling leaves making up the vast forest below, leaving in their wake a momentary split in the swaying trees. A tense silence fills the air as Lance steadies their course. He risks a peek over his shoulder to see Keith staring determinedly at a fixed point on the ground near his feet, his lips pressed into a tight line. He closes his eyes every time he inhales, in for two, then exhales quietly, out for three, each breath shaky, like he's trying to calm himself down.

"Everything okay?" Lance asks quietly.

Keith just shakes his head dismissively, eyes still closed, his face twisted into a grimace. Lance decides that his silence is an answer in and of itself, even more so than a 'yes' or 'no'. He briefly considers cracking a joke or two, if only to lighten the mood, but quickly decides against it. He just needs time to process, Lance tells himself. Give him time.

At length, Lance grows comfortable with the silence, if only because he has no other choice. His gaze tries to keep up with the sea of green racing by outside, following one point until it flies out of sight before choosing another. He wants to ask Keith again what's wrong, but doesn't want to risk upsetting him further. Distractedly, he wonders if it has anything to do with what happened last night, with the nightmares he's evidently been having.

It broke Lance's heart, to see Keith like that. Reduced to something so small, so fragile, so utterly broken that Lance was afraid that his arms around his shoulders were the only things keeping him from falling apart completely. He can't pretend he understands, doesn't know what all has happened to Keith between the time he left to join the Blade and his return from the Abyss with their new friends. But he's seen all the ways that Keith has changed, everything both hardening him and prying him open all at once, forcing him to put his feelings aside and yet demanding that they be addressed, acknowledged, and experienced. Lance can't imagine having to lead the team with such a burden on his shoulders.

But when Keith had finally fallen asleep, one hand tucked against his chest, the other resting calmly on Lance's, his hair a mess of black swept over his forehead, Lance's breath was almost taken away at the stark contrast of it all, how different he looked. The crease in his brow from a perpetual scowl, the constant guarded expression, the hardened glint in his eyes—it was all gone, swept away by the peace of sleep. And Lance wonders, with a pang of sympathy, when the last time was that Keith had been able to sleep like that.

"Where are we going?"

Lance starts. He glances sideways at Keith, smiles a little at the sight of him leaning over one of the control panels, one hand pressed tentatively to the glass. He seems calmer now, evidently letting curiosity win over his previously sullen mood.

"Don't be nosy," Lance tuts, still watching Keith out of the corner of his eye. "It's a surprise."

Keith hums distractedly, his gaze fixed on the blur of trees and forest and overgrowth flying by outside. Lance finds himself frowning concernedly, almost disappointed by the lack of a reaction. Not that he's made it his mission or anything to purposely get a rise out of Keith. But the absence of a half-hearted scowl or an eye roll at Lance's teasing comment and vague answer makes it clear that Keith's mind is still preoccupied.

After another quiet moment, Lance spots their destination, smiling excitedly as he steers in the direction of the thinning trees. They descend into a small clearing only just big enough for Red to fit comfortably, the surrounding branches swaying wildly in the stirred wind. As they land, everything slowly begins to settle, and Red lowers her mouth to the ground.

"We're here!" Lance leaps out of his seat and shoots a grin at Keith, who's returned to his side.

"Where are we going?" He asks again, sighing when Lance bounds past him down the ramp and into the tall grass, spreading his arms wide and lifting his face toward the sun. His heart hums happily as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of fresh air, letting out a satisfied exhale. If he stands perfectly still, the warmth of the sunshine and the gentle breeze almost feels like home.

When he opens his eyes again, Keith is standing at the bottom of the ramp, watching him curiously. Lance just smiles back.

"I told you, Keith. It's a surprise."

Keith frowns, crossing his arms. "Lance."

"Relax, would you?" Lance huffs, mimicking Keith's stance. "I thought you liked the forest."

Keith's frown lessens. "What?"

Lance's arms fall slowly back to his sides and he looks down, feeling suddenly shy. "I thought you... well. The first time we came to Olkarion you said you liked it out here. Because it's quiet. And, I don't know. I thought you might appreciate it right now." He glances up cautiously and sees Keith staring at him, arms at his sides, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

"You... remember that?" he asks incredulously.

Lance almost laughs. Like I could forget anything you say even if I wanted to. "Yeah," he says slowly. "What, did you change your mind or something since then?"

"What? No—"

"Blade of Marmora suck all the joy out of you? All that fancy technology finally get to your head?'

"What are you even talking about—"

Lance is just teasing at this point. He finds Keith's stammering rather endearing. "But if you just want to go back, I understand, it's cool." He shrugs, just to sell it. "No big deal—"

"Lance!" Keith cries, flustered. "No! I haven't—I mean—yes, I still like the forest. I just didn't know—I didn't—realize you really... cared." His voice tapers off at the end, subdued, like he was just coming to a sort of realization.

Lance's smirk falters. Does Keith really think that? Of course he cares. He's always cared. Even when he'd convinced himself that they were the ultimate rivals, told himself they hated each other, made it a priority to make a jab at Keith at every opportunity. He regrets that now. And so he makes a silent vow, right then and there, that he'll never let Keith think he doesn't care ever again.

"C'mon." He turns, waving at Keith to follow him. "I wanna show you something."

Keith follows behind at first as they step out of the bright clearing and into the darker foliage beyond. Lance lets him. But he's so quiet, Lance finds himself periodically peeking over his shoulder to make sure he's still there. And every time he does, Keith's gaze is sweeping around the forest, his eyes open wide, like he's trying to take in every little detail.

Lance smiles a little to himself. He can't blame him—the view is pretty incredible. Everything is so green, and so tall, and so full of life that it's hard not to be in awe. Thin beams of light scatter throughout the trees, trickling in through the canopy of leaves above and casting peculiar patterns on the soft earth below. And the bark on the trees isn't anything like Lance has ever seen on Earth, seemingly fading from light to dark, dark to light as they walk on.

Eventually, Keith falls into step beside Lance, and the two of them continue on in a sort of appreciative silence. Lance feels oddly satisfied at how entranced Keith seems to be by their surroundings, his head constantly swiveling so as not to miss anything. He wonders if the reason Keith seems so fascinated by the forest is because all he'd really known before was the desert, all sand and rock and wind. Lance can't imagine living somewhere so barren, not after coming to call the ocean his home, where it was all sand and rock and wind, but also all salt and sound and ocean.

He thinks Keith would like the ocean too.

Lance doesn't even notice how close together they are until their hands brush and he nearly grabs for Keith's before he can stop himself—out of instinct, or for personal reasons, he's not sure. Maybe both? He shoots an inquisitive glance at Keith, but he's looking the other way, either completely oblivious or possibly embarrassed. Either way, Lance notes that he doesn't try to move away or put any distance between them.

He's momentarily distracted from the situation when he spots a familiar clump of oddly-colored plants (most of the plants on Olkarion were odd to him) clustered around the base of a fallen tree, decorated by the strange glossy blue petals of said clump. Just beyond that, the ground slopes up slightly, until the horizon disappears behind it. "Look! We're almost there. C'mon, mullet, race you to the top!"

"Race me to the top of what—"

Keith cries out in protest when Lance suddenly darts forward, laughing as he vaults himself over the tree trunk and starts up the hill, jacket billowing behind him. The trees start to thin again as he clambers forward, letting more sunshine spill through the gaps overhead and warm the skin on his neck and his face, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. He almost trips halfway up the hill, when it ascends sharply and suddenly, so he glances over his shoulder to see if Keith had seen—and lets out an involuntary squeak of alarm when he sees Keith hot on his heels.

"See you at the top!" Keith bursts into laughter as Lance stumbles again in surprise, which slows him down long enough to let Keith easily take the lead.

"Hey! Wait—Keith—not fair!" Lance puffs as he scrambles up the rest of the hill, any chance of him catching up long gone since he'd lost his momentum. He rolls his eyes when Keith, who's already made it to the top, turns around and smirks triumphantly down at him, arms crossed. Lance finally joins him, bending over and planting his hands on his knees, panting. "Seriously, man?"

Keith is reveling in his victory, laughing breathlessly as Lance gasps for air. "You should've—" He takes gulping breaths between giggles. "You should've seen your face. It was—" He doubles over in a fit of laughter and Lance shoots him an annoyed look. "It was so—you were so freaked out—" Keith has to crouch down because he's laughing so hard, and suddenly Lance can't find it anywhere in him to be annoyed anymore.

He's laughing even harder than he did last night, when he accidentally sent Lance tumbling over the side of the bed with a well-aimed pillow. Lance feels his mouth twitching up into a smile as he watches Keith fold in on himself, laughing into his knees. "Shut up, mullet. Okay, jeez—Keith, pull yourself together!" He pulls on Keith's arm, fighting back his own laughter so as not to encourage him. "Get up!"

Keith swats him away, still snickering. Lance can't find words substantial enough to describe it, but this warm, glowing, heartfelt feeling bubbles in his stomach, and he can't imagine it being for any other reason than that the sight of Keith being happy makes him happy. He deserves this, Lance thinks, still smiling as Keith gradually brings himself under control. After everything that's happened... he deserves this.

And he wonders, as he only half-heartedly sighs at Keith to mask his own giggles, when this started. When the pair of them became so in tune, so balanced, not only on the battlefield as teammates, but on the sidelines as friends, as two former rivals learning to look past their insecurities and build a bond forged upon understanding and trust. Lance decides he doesn't care when this started, as long as it never ends.

"Sorry," Keith says finally, straightening up and brushing the hair out of his eyes, still laughing slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just—sorry. You didn't think I was actually coming, did you?"

"At first I just didn't think you were coming, period," Lance admits, jokingly.

Keith's smile falters, and Lance wishes he hadn't said anything. "Oh. Yeah, um... sorry," he says again, his voice quieter. "I came as soon as I got the note from Kosmo, I just... got held up."

Lance starts to ask what he means, then thinks better of it, still not wanting to push Keith out of fear that he'll be shut out again.

"What did you want to show me?" Keith asks. His tone is light, but it's forced now, as if he hadn't just spent the last five minutes curled into a ball, laughing hysterically at Lance's clumsiness.

"This way," Lance obliges, not wanting to lose any more momentum.

He leads Keith further away from edge of the hill, the ground flattening out and trees growing thinner with every step until they've completely left the cover of the forest. It's not long before a ledge comes into view, the earth giving way to a steep drop into a sort of valley. The rest of the forest sways in the distance below, and when they actually reach the edge and look out over the gorge—Lance hears Keith gasp quietly beside him.

The view is breathtaking. Below them in the valley is an enormous lake, the mesmerizing crystal clear water glittering in the sunlight and rippling softly in the breeze. The entire basin is surrounded by the encroaching forest, the trees curling around the edge of the water like the wings of a protective mother bird, rising up and down on gentle slopes. A flock of some kind of Olkari creature takes flight from their perches of the branches, peppering the blue sky with dots of white, casting shadowy streaks across the lake before soaring back into the forest. The green goes on as far as the eye can see, disappearing into a point on the horizon. It's beautiful—Lance can tell by the way Keith is looking at it, even if he doesn't say anything.

Lance takes the opportunity to watch Keith again. He studies the prominence of Keith's jawline, the curve of his nose, the shifting glimmer in his eyes, the scar on his cheek, the way his hair falls into his eyelashes and frames his face like it's a work of art meant to be admired from afar. And admire, Lance does. He holds his breath, trying his best to memorize every feature and every detail so he can keep them tucked away in his mind for as long as he wants, never to be forgotten should they ever be separated again. The memory of Keith's figure disappearing behind closed doors when he left to join the Blade full-time suddenly hits him, hard, reminding him of all the hurt and pain he felt when it finally sank in that he was really gone. But now he's here. And he's standing right in front of him.

"What?"

Lance blinks and comes back into focus to see that Keith is looking back at him now, one eyebrow raised. The words come out of his mouth before he really thinks about what he's saying. "I really missed you."

"I missed you too."

Just like that. Without even missing a beat. Lance's heart skips one.

And in a moment of total unawareness, Lance takes a step forward, his hand reached out to touch Keith's cheek—then he freezes, his eyes widening slightly when he realizes what he's doing.

But Keith doesn't seem fazed, just levels his gaze with Lance, showing no sign of moving away. And he gives Lance a look that gives him permission, tells him that it's okay. Lance's eyes drift to Keith's scar, his hand hovering in the small space between them. He can see that it's still healing, the skin red and raw on his jaw, almost like an oddly-shaped sunburn that won't go away. And if it's painful, Keith doesn't show it. Sometimes Lance thought he didn't even remember it's there. Last night told him otherwise, the way he had so abruptly flinched away from Lance's touch. Wherever it came from, however he got it—it's clearly associated with some kind of memory. A bad one. And it's created a complementary emotional scar that's infinitely more painful than any physical scar could ever be.

Lance finds himself holding his breath again as he slowly moves to touch Keith's face where the scar rests on his cheekbone—and Keith immediately flinches again at the slightest contact from Lance's fingertips. Lance instinctively begins to withdraw his hand, terrified that he's hurt him somehow, but Keith catches his wrist. "Wait, it's..." Keith lets out a shaky exhale, grimacing slightly, but his eyes never leave Lance's. "It's okay."

The only reason Lance tries again is because of the way Keith looks at him, because of the unmistakeable resolve in his eyes. Like he needs this. And that's the only reason Lance needs. He gingerly stretches his fingers out again, cautiously, slowly enough to let Keith brace himself. Keith doesn't let go of his wrist.

When he makes contact again, Keith inhales sharply and tightens his grip on Lance, his eyes fluttering closed and brow creasing. Lance breathes out slowly, tracing the outline of the scar as lightly as he possibly can, careful not to apply unnecessary pressure for fear of it hurting Keith. It's an odd feeling—the untouched skin is cool on his fingertips, but the scarred parts are so warm, and somehow soft, ironically comforting in a way. It makes Lance sick to his stomach, the unfairness of it all. How something so clearly painful in so many ways could feel so soothing.

He gently brushes his knuckles against Keith's cheek again until he reaches his jaw, resting his hand there, pushing a lock of hair away with his thumb. "Keith..." he starts softly. "What—"

Keith just barely shakes his head, a silent plea for Lance not to finish his thought. Lance quiets reluctantly. He has so many questions—too many—but that doesn't mean he knows all the answers, he thinks sympathetically. Then again... who does?

Lance brings his other hand up to the other side of Keith's face, willing the warmth of his hands to seep into the other boy's cold skin. "Keith," he says again. Keith leans into Lance's other hand, opening his eyes slowly to meet Lance's gaze. Lance gently swipes his thumb over the scar again, imagining how he would just wipe it all away if he could, if it meant it would take all of Keith's pain with it. "You've got to stop."

"Stop what?" There's no defensiveness in Keith's voice. It's just... tired.

"This," Lance frowns. "Acting like you're all alone. Like you have to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. Like you can't let anyone see that you're hurting."

Keith shakes his head again, a little harder. "I don't—it's not about that. I can't afford to be weak. The team can't afford for me to be weak." He laughs bitterly. "I'm supposed to be the fearless leader of Voltron, but I'm just not—I can't—" His voice cracks. "I can't lead the team like this. I'm not..." He falters, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Your feelings don't make you weak," Lance replies softly. "It just makes you human." He reconsiders, Keith's eyes flicking up momentarily. "You know what I mean. But you can't keep them bottled up all the time. That never ends well. Trust me."

He feels Keith working his jaw. "I'm not like you, Lance. You know I'm not good at this. All I've ever known how to do is push people away."

"I'm still here."

A small huff escapes from Keith's mouth, and he looks down at the ground again between their feet. "Yeah. I haven't been able to figure that part out yet."

Lance studies him for another moment. The breeze carrying through the valley drifts up toward the ledge, sweeping softly through their hair. He sighs with it, then closes his own eyes and presses his forehead to Keith's, hands still cupping his face, Keith's fingers still around his wrist.

"I promised. Remember that? I promised I'd wait for you."

Keith squeezes his wrist in response.

"No. I promise I'll wait for you," Lance amends, speaking softly. He feels Keith take a breath to steady himself. "I'll wait for you as long as I have to. However long you need. I'll wait for you until I can't wait anymore, and then more. I'll even wait for you until the end of the world, and then some."

"Shut up," Keith whispers, but Lance isn't done.

"I'll literally wait for you until I die, Keith. And then I'll come back as a ghost to haunt you and wait for you to die, and then I'll wait for the ghost you—"

"Shut up," Keith laughs quietly, clasping his other hand over Lance's. His heart flutters.

"I'm not going anywhere," Lance finishes.

Keith sighs one more time, his breath tickling Lance's neck. "I know."

They stand like that for a while longer, their foreheads pressed together. Lance listens to the sound of Keith's breathing, focuses on the warmth of Keith's skin where his hands have settled. And he basks in the moment, wishing he could stay this close to Keith all the time, keep him right under his thumb, so he could be certain that he'd never get away again.

When they finally pull away to look back at the scene before them, Lance tosses his arm around Keith's shoulders, unwilling to let the moment go completely. Keith shamelessly leans into it. "How'd you find this place, anyway?" he asks, his shoulders sighing contentedly under the embrace of Lance's arm.

"Just got lucky," Lance shrugs. "I happened to pass over it when Hunk and I flew out here for supplies this morning."

Keith groans. "Why didn't you wake me up? I was supposed to help Pidge load her Lion."

"Chill out, you didn't miss anything. Besides, I thought you could use the extra shut-eye." Lance glances sideways at Keith. "Was I wrong?"

"...No," Keith mumbles.

"You're welcome," Lance nods sensibly.

A pause. He can hear the leaves rustling as the trees sway all around the edges of their little island.

"Thanks," Keith says at last. And Lance can tell he means it.

This time, when their hands brush on the way back to the Red Lion, Lance doesn't stop himself. Keith doesn't stop him either. And Lance can't help but notice how naturally Keith's hand fits in the spaces between his fingers.

When they return to the Olkari base, the sun is sinking below the horizon, signaling both the end of the day and the nearness of their oncoming voyage. Keith parts ways with Lance to go back to his room so he can change into his armor and gather what few belongings he'd left there.

Kosmo is already inside when he steps through the door, lounging lazily on his bed. He lifts his head at Keith's arrival, thumping his tail against the sheets in a sort of greeting.

"Hey buddy," Keith pokes his nose before retrieving his armor, and Kosmo sneezes in protest.

Keith is glad for the change of clothes, even if the armor isn't the most comfortable thing ever. At the very least, it's nice to get out of the same ratty T-shirt he's been wearing pretty much since they left Earth, other than his Blade of Marmora suit. When they'd been stuck on the space whale, there was only so much he and Krolia could do to clean themselves up. It'd been a pain trying to wash their clothes.

After he's changed, he sinks down on the bed next to Kosmo and lets out a long sigh. The soft cushioning shifts as the wolf makes himself comfortable, settling his head in Keith's lap and growling quietly until Keith starts stroking his fur in soothing, repetitive motions.

His eyes drift toward the dark shape of his bayard, lying motionless on the bedside table. In response, his thoughts drift toward the memories of his nightmares, of the cold metal pressed against his back as he desperately pushed back against Shiro's attacks, the flash of light as he sliced through his arm—

Keith quickly swipes his fingers over his hip, the bayard disappears in a small flash, and suddenly he can breathe again.

There's a knock on his door only a moment later, and it slides open to reveal Krolia.

"It's almost time to leave," she says simply, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. It almost makes Keith laugh, it reminds him so much of himself.

"Okay," he acknowledges, nodding distractedly. "Thanks."

She taps a long, slender finger against her arm. "I hope you got some proper rest last night?" The way she says it is more of a question than a statement, and Keith realizes she's searching for an explanation of his absence this morning.

"Ah..." he mulls over his words carefully, not sure why he suddenly feels the need to go on the defensive, to answer so curtly, as if his own mother wouldn't understand or sympathize with him if he were to tell her what's going on in his head. "Yeah."

She studies him for a moment, her expression completely unreadable. He tries not to break eye contact. Even after being separated from her for most of his life, he's learned that she always seems to have a way of figuring him out if she watches him long enough, not unlike Shiro, meaning he's had to really work on his poker face. So it surprises him when she's the one to look away first. "Are you ever going to tell me how you got that scar?" she asks quietly, and it's the gentlest tone of voice he's ever heard her use in all the short two years he's spent with her.

That doesn't make the question any easier to answer. Keith follows suit and looks away, busying himself by brushing his fingers through Kosmo's fur, flattening down random tufts that are sticking up. He feels Krolia's gaze lingering on him now, but he can't bring himself to meet it. That would only make the guilt worse.

A moment of silence passes between them. He waits for her to say something else, but after a while she just sighs, and he listens apprehensively as her footsteps slowly approach him.

"Keith..." Her voice sounds tired, but sympathetic. She reaches down and brushes the hair affectionately from his eyes, lifting his chin to make him look up at her. "I know the time we've had together doesn't mean you automatically feel comfortable talking with me about just anything." She moves to rest her hand on his shoulder, her face softening. "Just promise me you will talk to someone else."

As if he can understand the conversation, Kosmo nuzzles his head underneath Keith's arm, blinking up at him in silent reassurance. Keith looks down at him, smoothing out the fur between his ears and sighing in defeat. "Is it really that obvious?" he asks.

Krolia seems to understand what he means without much of a clarification. Is it really that obvious that something's wrong? That I'm off? That I'm not okay? "I've never seen you so distracted," she says gently. Keith doesn't know how to answer, so he just continues to give his attention to Kosmo, scratching dutifully behind his ears. Krolia brushes the hair out of his face again, and he knows it's to get a better look at the discolored streak of skin on his cheek, but she doesn't say anything about it. Her hand slips from his shoulder. "We leave in half a varga." She pauses. "Don't be late."

Keith's head snaps up. "This morning wasn't even my fault—" She fixes him with an amused look and he catches himself, immediately deflating. "Whatever," he grumbles. She turns to leave, stopping in the doorway and looking back at Keith expectantly when he calls for her to wait. His eyes flick down to the floor, then back to her. "Thanks, Mom."

Krolia just smiles again before she disappears back into the hallway.

Kosmo flicks his tail, looking up at Keith curiously. Keith squints back down at him. "Don't look at me like that." He inhales deeply and breathes out the tension he hadn't even realized had been building up in his chest. Just promise me you will talk to someone else. Keith has a certain someone else in mind—he's just not sure he'll be able convince himself to follow through. Kosmo whines as Keith reaches for his helmet, pulling it into his lap. "You think I should talk to him too, huh?" Keith murmurs, patting him on the head.

In his defense, he doesn't know the mistake he's making until after the fact. Kosmo is a lot smarter than he realized.

One second he's in his room, sitting on a comfortable bed, and the next he's sprawled on the ground in another room entirely, staring up at a pair of familiar wide blue eyes.

"Um?" Lance says.

They're lying in a tangled heap on the floor of Lance's room, their faces so close to one another that Keith could count every single freckle splayed across the other boy's upturned nose if he so desired. And he might have, under different circumstances. Their paladin armor isn't exactly the most comfortable attire for such a situation. Kosmo's tail flicks the side of Keith's face and he splutters out a mouthful of fur. "Are you serious—" He tries unsuccessfully to pull his arm out from under the wolf's belly.

"Is this payback for this morning?" Lance leans back on his elbows. "Because I thought you had a good time—"

"No, this isn't—Kosmo, I swear, so help me or I'll sic the mice on you—"

Kosmo blatantly ignores him, growling softly and giving Lance a sloppy kiss. Lance giggles, pushing his face away and rubbing under his chin. "Yeah, okay, love you too bud."

"Since when did you two get to be such pals?" Keith grumbles, trying again in vain to free his arm.

"Since always, thank you very much," Lance gasps indignantly. "We just get each other. Don't we?"

Kosmo barks happily, flicking his tail against the side of Keith's face again—Keith is certain he did it on purpose—before disappearing in a flash of glittery blue. Keith immediately disentangles himself from the pile, flustered. "Stupid dumb wolf—"

Lance starts laughing from the floor as Keith scrambles to his feet. "What was that even about? We just got back, if you already wanted to see me again so badly, you could've just knocked—"

"What—I wasn't—" He huffs, irritated by his own stammering. "That was all Kosmo," he protests, brushing himself off and picking his helmet off the ground.

Lance pouts, sticking his hand up in the air. "At least help me up."

Keith rolls his eyes but obliges, using his free hand to grab Lance's. "You just want an excuse to hold my hand again," he mutters under his breath. He hauls Lance to his feet and moves to let go, but Lance tightens his grip in return.

"You're not wrong."

Keith can literally feel his cheeks turning red. He didn't actually mean for Lance to hear that. "For the love of—you're so—"

"Charming," Lance supplies helpfully, nodding sagely.

"I'm gonna launch myself into space," Keith deadpans, although he's staring at Lance's fingers wrapped around his hand.

Lance snorts and finally lets go, to Keith's dismay. "I was just about to head to the Lions. You coming?"

Keith hesitates. As much as he resents the way Kosmo dropped him unannounced into Lance's room (he thinks he's sneaky, but Keith will get him back for that), he had just been considering coming clean and talking with Lance about... everything. Now was the perfect opportunity to do just that, but now that he's here, the anxiety he feels at the prospect of reliving his nightmares and the fight increases exponentially from the level he'd already experienced from just entertaining the idea of talking about it.

He knows that Krolia and Lance are right. He can't keep it all bottled up forever—he (and Lance, unfortunately) have seen firsthand what that does to him. At some point, he has to address it, if only to help him process everything, deal with the overwhelming mixture of emotions in his head and his chest. He knows that, and yet every time he decides to try, he panics and holds back.

But he's terrified that if he doesn't say anything now, he never will.

He quietly follows behind Lance into the hallway, absent-mindedly pulling at the edges of his gloves as he runs through his options. One, he could say something now. Right now. His brain and his mouth won't cooperate, so he abandons that idea and moves on. Two, he could just. Not. Nope, not an option, Keith scolds himself. You have to. So then three. Even if he does say something right now, they leave in less than half a varga, which isn't nearly enough time to unpack everything that needs to be said. But their flight to Balmera isn't a short one, so maybe...

Keith clears his throat, falling into step beside Lance as they emerge from the chambers and enter the cargo bay. Conveniently, they seem to be the first ones there. "Hey, who's riding with you in Red?"

"Just Kaltenecker for now. That cow takes up way too much space. Pun intended," Lance says after a thoughtful pause. "Why?"

"Um—" Keith fumbles with his words, stopping to take a breath. I think I'm ready to talk, he rehearses in his head. If you still—if you'd be willing to—if that's okay— Keith grits his teeth, annoyed that even his thoughts are stuttering at this point. "Just—trying to keep tabs on everyone," he says instead, against his better judgment. "Don't wanna lose track of anyone. Or any cow. Or... anything."

"Ooo—kay," Lance agrees cautiously, like he's not convinced. Which is perfectly understandable, considering that Keith doesn't even bother to ask what the other Lion placements are, effectively invalidating his excuse.

They slow to a stop in front of the Red Lion, turning when the entrance to the cargo bay hisses open again to reveal Hunk and Pidge.

"Oh, hey guys." Hunk yawns widely as they join him and Lance. "Mmf. I still vote we leave in the morning. Right now we should be asleep. In bed. Sleeping."

"We have to leave now if we want to make it to Balmera before nightfall," Pidge sighs, adjusting her glasses. "Balmeran nightfall, I mean." She shoots a curious look at Keith. "Hey, we haven't seen you all day. Where've you been?"

Keith starts. "Uhhh—"

"He was with me," Lance cuts in. "We were helping Ryner with some last minute repairs on their defense systems outside the city." Keith stares at him, both confused by the blatant lie and impressed by how easily he'd come up with a decent cover. And, extremely appreciative that Lance seems to have his back, even though he never specifically told him that he'd rather no one else know what was going on.

Pidge looks offended, which Keith hopes means she bought the excuse. "Why didn't she ask Hunk or me?"

"She just happened to find us first," Lance shrugs. "It was just manual stuff. Nothing super techy."

"Alright everyone, to your lions!" Coran's voice echoes around the cargo bay as he appears from the second entrance on the other side of the room, the rest of the team trailing behind him. "We've got a long night ahead of us, so let's get going!"

"I forgot how exhausting he can be during our travels," Allura sighs as she passes the group on her way to the Blue Lion, her shoulders slumped.

"Aw, but Coran is fun!" Hunk contends, as he and Pidge obey and start toward their respective Lions. "He knows all the best Altean music..."

Keith watches as Coran and Romelle follow Allura into Blue, keenly aware of Lance still standing beside him. He sees Shiro walking up the ramp with Pidge into the Green Lion, his one arm swinging at his side. Keith clenches his fists to steady himself. His gut twists with a familiar pang of guilt when Shiro glances momentarily over his shoulder and spots him, offering a tentative smile. Keith's eyes drift away, his mouth suddenly dry.

"We're ready when you are," Krolia addresses Keith as she walks by with Kosmo at her side. She nods in acknowledgement to Lance before sending Keith a seemingly meaningful look and continues to the Black Lion.

He and Lance stand there for another few seconds of silence. Keith shifts his weight uncomfortably, adjusting his grip on the helmet at his hip. Now or never. He needs to say something. He wants so badly to say something. What exactly is he trying to say again?

"Well." Lance looks down. "I guess I'll see you in a bit?"

Keith presses his lips together. "Yeah," is all he can manage, the rest of his resolve crumbling.

It's the slight rush of panic at the sight of Lance turning away that helps him find it again.

"Wait—Lance." Keith catches his arm and Lance halts, looking down at Keith's hand, then back at him. "I'm—" He takes a deep breath, ignoring the paranoid feeling that everyone is watching them from their lions. "I want to talk."

His heart aches at the look of relief that flickers across Lance's face, and he wonders how long Lance has been waiting for him to say those words. "Call me on a private line when you can," he murmurs. "Okay? When Krolia falls asleep or whatever." He pauses. "She does sleep, right?"

Keith snorts and rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betray him. "Yeah, okay, whatever. Now go away."

"I can't. You're still holding onto my arm."

He looks down at his hand, which is indeed still attached to Lance's arm. A little embarrassed, he quickly lets go, now trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. "I knew that."

Lance bites his lip, stifling a huff of laughter. "Talk to you soon then."

They both look back as they're climbing into their Lions. The smile that Lance sends his way makes Keith's insides flutter. Because this smile is one that only he gets to see on rare occasions, behind the scenes, during the scarce moments in between the main events amongst all the chaos that are meant only for him and Lance to share and remember. A sort of understanding passes between them, the quiet recognition of their recent exchanges, all the words spoken and unspoken.

And Keith smiles back despite himself.

Chapter Text

Three vargas into their trip, and even Keith is trying to remember if he's ever actually seen Krolia sleep.

She's spent the entire flight so far programming battle simulations, each one completely different and increasingly more difficult than the last, and she doesn't seem to be running out of ideas anytime soon. Some of them seem unnecessarily dramatic and complicated to him, the conditions rather exaggerated, unrealistic and needlessly theatrical in nature. She occasionally asks Keith for his opinion on a certain element of a given simulation, such as what level of visibility would be manageable but challenging, what kind of atmosphere would amplify the quality of the battle, or how many blovar raptors would it take to pose a substantial threat to the individual Lions. Keith doesn't even know what a blovar raptor is.

It's when she starts a programming a simulation in an asteroid field with three weblums, a swarm of Galra fighters, and every possible minor inconvenience imaginable that he realizes she's just bored.

Keith sighs quietly and slumps down in his seat, staring out into the vast expanse of space before him while absent-mindedly bouncing his leg up and down. He's both grateful for and resentful of how much time has already elapsed since they left Olkarion. On one hand, it's given him plenty of breathing room, plenty of opportunity to mentally prepare himself for the conversation to come, the things he needs to say. On the other hand, the anxiety he feels at the prospect of that same conversation is only steadily increasing with every passing tick, so much he thinks there's a chance he might be sick.

He's afraid he's going to lose his nerve. In a way, that fear is the only thing keeping him from doing so. That, and the expression on Lance's face when Keith told him he was ready to talk, so full of genuine relief and affection that Keith thinks he might have broken down again right then and there if he hadn't thought everyone was watching them. He had no idea Lance had actually been that worried about him. It makes him feel guilty, but also... good. It makes him feel good.

Still, he doesn't want to be a burden. But the last thing he wants is to be the reason that Lance isn't happy.

He finds himself periodically checking in with the rest of the team over the group comms, partly to make sure that everyone is still on course (not being able to see the other Lions behind him kind of puts him on edge), and partly to subtly send a message to Lance that he hasn't forgotten what he said, he just hasn't had the chance to call yet.

Krolia continues tapping away at the simulator screen she's been hunched over since they left Olkarion, frowning in concentration.

Keith rolls his neck one way, then the other, trying to relax his muscles. He feels tense all over. His hands and fingers ache from gripping the flight sticks so tightly for so long, but if he were to let go he wouldn't know what else to do with them, and they need to be doing something because he's starting to get restless. At this point, this far into their flight, he's surprised Krolia hasn't said anything about it.

"You seem restless," Krolia notes without looking up.

Keith stops bouncing his leg and shakes his head at the ceiling. Jinxed it. He adjusts and sits up straight in the seat, staring determinedly at a single star way off to his left, the same defensiveness he felt earlier returning in a quick flash. "I'm just. Eager to get back." The words leave a sour taste in his mouth. He's not sure they're true.

She hums in assent, but he can tell she's not convinced. He sees her studying him in his peripheral vision. "You've never talked much about Earth."

Keith looks down, examining the ridges scratched into the boots of his armor as he considers how to interpret her comment. Krolia has a way of stating something as an observation while implying that there's an underlying question. It's unmistakeable, yet noninvasive, asking for an explanation without assuming one will be given. She was right when she said that their two years together didn't mean Keith was suddenly ready to talk to her about anything. But that doesn't mean he doesn't want that—he so badly wants to have that—that intimate, natural relationship with his mother that he'd been so unfairly deprived of in his youth, forced to grow up without such a vital connection to himself because of the bloodthirsty Galra threatening their universe.

Of course he still wants that bond. They're already relatively close now as it is—how could they not be? During their mission to the Quantum Abyss, they'd only had each other. Aside from gathering food, clean water, and firewood, there wasn't much to do other than... well. Talk.

So they did.

And day by day, bit by bit, piece by piece, Keith had let himself be that much more vulnerable, that much more exposed, that much more open, until it almost felt like Krolia had always been there, however far away she may have actually been. And together they'd been able to start filling in the gaps left behind in the wake of their separation, of each other's absence, making up for all of their lost time and slowly becoming a part of each other's lives again. It helped that they'd both been so willing to try in the first place, despite everything.

Despite everything, they had found their way back to each other. Holding back for so long has already taken its toll on him, depleted all of his mental energy. It requires too much strength, strength that he doesn't have. So Keith gives in. He decides, this time, to let go.

His grip on the flight controls loosens, all defensiveness melting away. "There's not much for me to go home to," he admits quietly.

There's a beat of silence. He feels something brush against his arm and he looks over to see Kosmo standing beside him now, eyes blinking up at him as if he felt and understood the gravity of the words being exchanged. Keith smiles fondly, reaching and smoothing the ruffled fur on the wolf's neck. It's a soothing gesture, both for him and for Kosmo.

Krolia abandons her screen and stands at his other side, resting her hand on the headrest. She doesn't say anything for a while, but Keith is content with the silence. That was something else he'd grown accustomed to during their mission. Sometimes, no words need to be said. Sometimes, there aren't any words to be said at all. Sometimes, just the closeness is enough. He knows that she understands.

Then, after a while, softly: "I'd like to go see your father."

"We can go together," Keith responds without hesitation. Because, he realizes, if there's one thing he's been looking forward to when they get to Earth, that's exactly it. After all, that's what he's been longing for, one of the few things he's envisioned during all of those late, sleepless nights under the stars. He looks up at Krolia, who returns his gaze with an expression that he's never, in his entire life, seen anywhere else, an expression he can't quite place yet makes him feel at home all the same.

Love, he thinks idly. It's still such a foreign concept to him. But it's something he desperately wants to become familiar with, in more ways than one.

Krolia brushes the hair from Keith's forehead, the way she does when she wants to really look at him. She's never explicitly said so, but he thinks it's because she likes to see his eyes. "I'd like that," she says. And Keith smiles.

"By the way," Keith starts as Krolia and Kosmo are returning to the back of the cockpit. He glances sideways at Krolia as she turns expectantly. "I don't think weblums travel in packs."

She gives him a pointed look as she flicks a finger over the simulation settings and erases them entirely, but the corner of her mouth hitches up. "Better to be prepared for the unexpected."

He watches for another short moment as she settles into a corner with Kosmo, resting her head back against the cold metal and obligingly ruffling the wolf's fur when he curls up next to her and rests his head in her lap. The sight suddenly strikes him as surreal, like it's finally really starting to sink in that they're here, that the person he'd thought all his life had abandoned him because he wasn't worth sticking around for is here, because she wants to be, and because she cares. Against all odds, they're together again, despite how he'd convinced himself it was foolish to hope.

Apparently, the universe just loves to prove him wrong.

It's not until Krolia closes her eyes that Keith realizes it's finally happening. She's going to sleep. Which means he can call Lance soon.

His stomach flips, once with a nervous kind of excitement, and again with a visceral twinge of anxiety. He's spent most of the trip trying to figure out exactly what he's going to say, how he's going to say it, where he even needs to start. The uncertainty of it all is agonizing. And now that the time to talk is near, the situation is only suddenly becoming very real to him. The only thing he's sure of is that he's unsure.

How is he supposed to talk about this? Describing his nightmares is one thing, but to have to explain them by reliving the source of it all... that's a different problem entirely. What words are there that could possibly express just how traumatizing and how damaging it was, to express just how much emotional hurt and pain it's caused him?

Sure, Keith wants to talk. But he doesn't know how.

The next few doboshes pass by painfully slowly, but the paranoia Keith feels at the idea of Krolia secretly listening in on his conversation with Lance makes it tolerable. He wants to be absolutely, completely, 100% certain that she's asleep before he even thinks again about calling. It gives him time to collect himself, regain his footing, take a few deep breaths. You can do this, he thinks in a futile attempt to psych himself up. This is good. This will be good for you.

He peeks over his shoulder again after a while, noting the telltale twitch of Krolia's eyebrow that signals she's asleep (he thinks that happens when she's dreaming). His heart leaps up into his throat as he turns back toward the front, staring apprehensively at the comms screen, suddenly hyperaware of his unsteady breathing and the tension in his shoulders and the accelerated beat of his heart. He flicks on auto-pilot, although he doesn't think it's necessary since Black is already locked onto the Balmera's coordinates, then reaches slowly for the red button that represents the Red Lion. He hesitates, his hand hovering in the air as he glances back at Krolia one last time. Then he takes a shaky breath, and closes the distance.

Lance answers immediately. 

"Finally!" His face appears on a new screen in front of Keith, casting a soft glow into the cockpit and making him squint a little. Lance exhales dramatically. "Keith. Keith, I'm so bored. Kaltenecker is a horrible flying partner. She hasn't moo'd once. How can I pretend she agrees with everything I say when she won't even moo!"

Something about the way that Lance seems genuinely distraught at being ignored by a cow, and the childish pout on his face, and the fact that it's just all so dumb, so wholesome and so innocent and so blatantly contrary to the feeling of foreboding that's been harboring in Keith's stomach since they left Olkarion, that in spite of everything, he finds himself smiling. He goes along with it, silently thanking Lance for not forcing him straight into the heavy stuff. "You talk to yourself?"

Lance narrows his eyes at him through the screen. "First of all, I'm like 90% sure that talking to yourself is supposedly a sign of higher intelligence."

"Supposedly."

"And second of all," Lance goes on, overlooking his comment, "I've been talking to Kaltenecker, thank you. She may not be very vocal, but she is a very good listener." There is a very quiet moo in the background and Lance's eyes light up. "See?"

"Mhm," Keith agrees unconvincingly, letting out a single huff of laughter. "I bet she's not as cuddly as Kosmo, though."

Lance smiles shrewdly. "Maybe not, but at least she doesn't unexpectedly appear in your bedroom—"

"Shut up," Keith interrupts, praying it's dark enough in Black to keep Lance from seeing the color rising in his cheeks. "I didn't tell him to do that."

"I mean. I'm not complaining," Lance adds casually, giggling when Keith makes a sort of choking noise. "Cuddling is scientifically proven to be therapeutic—"

"Lance," Keith begs, wondering if there's an eject button somewhere on his dashboard that can save him from this torture.

"Really, you can drop by any time—"

"I will hang up on you," Keith threatens, reaching for the comms screen with zero intention of actually following through. Apparently Lance doesn't know that.

"No!" Lance's expression changes from amused to alarmed so fast that it takes a full second for it to register with Keith. "Wait—I'm done, okay? Don't hang up."

The tone of his voice leaves Keith momentarily speechless, his arm frozen in midair as the two of them blink at one another in a sort of confusion. "I..." Keith slowly drops his arm, drawing his brows together. "Okay, relax. I wasn't actually..." It dawns on him, the reason Lance seems so panicked at the thought of Keith disconnecting their call, and he softens, his heart aching in a way he can't quite place. "I'm not going anywhere."

Lance doesn't even try to hide the relief on his face. He breathes out. "Sorry, I just want to make sure that..." His voice trails off, but he doesn't have to finish for Keith to understand.

He looks down briefly, clearing his throat. "I, um. I heard you talked to Shiro this morning."

That seems to catch Lance off guard for a moment. "Oh. I—Yeah, I did." Keith looks at him expectantly, waiting patiently for him to elaborate. He studies the soft curve of Lance's nose as he collects his thoughts, his eyes temporarily unfocused. It's too dark to actually see them, but Keith imagines each freckle painted across his face, mentally arranges them into patterns to match the stars in his eyes. And after a short pause, Lance speaks again, voice quiet. "I guess I decided... well, after last night, and, what you said to me..." Keith feels his heart stutter at the memory of the two of them sitting together under the star-filled sky, the words exchanged from one to the other. Lance's gaze meets his. "That meant a lot to me. And it made me realize that I never would have known that you thought—that you felt that way about me. If I hadn't talked to you about how I was feeling. So I figured talking to Shiro probably wasn't the worst idea after all."

Keith bites at his lip, hesitant to respond when he realizes he's become the universe's greatest hypocrite. "Good. That's... good. I'm glad."

A new silence stretches between them, during which Keith avoids looking directly at the screen, knowing if he does that Lance will trap him with just one look. He knows this is the part where he's supposed to finally sit back and just talk, the part he's been simultaneously dreading and looking forward to. But now that the moment is so close, looming in front of him so clear and undeniable, he feels cornered.

"Look man, are you really gonna make me ask?" Lance says at last, exasperated but unaccusing.

Keith sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Lance, I—I just don't know where to start." He presses his forehead against his palm and closes his eyes, opens his mouth to say something else and then doesn't, shaking his head, slightly, because what is he supposed to say?

Lance is perfectly still, which Keith knows means he's uncertain, unsure of what he needs to say or do. He shakes his head again. This was a bad idea, he thinks bitterly. I can't—this is so stupid—

"Why don't you start with the nightmares?"

Keith looks up slowly, almost taken aback by how impossibly gentle Lance's voice is. He looks into his eyes—the best he can through the hazy screen of light that separates them—and for the second time in the past half-hour, decides to let go.

Still, his heart starts pounding at the mention of the nightmares. He steels himself. "They—" He swallows, his mouth dry. Because admitting this to someone else somehow feels like a betrayal. "They're about Shiro."

Lance's eyes widen a fraction, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Shiro? What..." He falters, seeming to realize something. "After we disbanded Voltron. After we propelled you through that wormhole behind him..." He says it so softly, Keith just wants to close his eyes and forget about everything else in the universe. Everything but Lance. "Keith, what happened?"

Keith focuses on a point just beyond Lance's face on the screen. He suddenly feels detached, like his brain is trying to cope with the sea of emotion in his chest by removing him from it entirely. "After..." he murmurs, trying to string together a complete thought. "After, I followed him to this facility, or something, of some kind." Lance is so quiet, Keith can't imagine he's not holding his breath. "I went inside and there were all these pods. Just—rows and rows and rows of these pods." He shifts and brings his knees up to his chest, the toes of his boots sticking over the edge of the seat. He stares at them. "They were all clones. Clones of Shiro."

Lance doesn't say anything. If he's shocked at all by the information, Keith doesn't know, and he doesn't wait to find out. "There were so many of them, and it—I was so confused, I didn't know what was going on, and then our Shiro—" He feels himself tremble slightly and he has to pause, trying to remember to actually breathe. "He wasn't listening. I didn't realize yet that he was a clone too, and I—I tried to talk to him, I just kept trying to tell him we needed to get back to the Castle—"

We, are not going anywhere—

The image of Shiro's glowing eyes racing toward him flashes in his mind, and it breaks him.

"He tried to kill me," he gasps.

It's the first time he's said it out loud. And it's awful, painful, it's loud and terrifying and so completely earth-shattering, it hurts so badly and suddenly he can't stop repeating that single phrase while other horrible images of their fight crowd around in his brain in sickening bursts. "He tried to—Lance, he tried to kill me." He clutches at the collar of his armor, a suffocating panic rising in his throat like he's only just realizing—

"He tried to kill me—"

"Keith—" Lance is half-standing, leaning closer to the screen with a frantic expression, his hands held helplessly out in front of him like he wants to do something, but he can't because they're not even in the same Lion—Keith can't breathe—Lance looks terrified. "Keith—"

He doesn't know exactly how it happened. He's aware of himself curled up in his seat, unable to move, unable to breathe, and he's barely cognizant of Kosmo suddenly at his side, sharp eyes on his, and there's that brief sickening feeling that always accompanies teleportation and then he's huddled on the floor, and just as suddenly Lance is standing over him, eyes wide, but he's here, Keith thinks maybe he says something to Kosmo and then he's crouching down in front of him, pushing his hair back out of his face and holding it there so he can— "Breathe—Keith, breathe. Just breathe—"

"He tried to kill me," Keith gasps again, his chest aching painfully, his hands scrabbling for something to hold and finding Lance's arms. Something presses firmly against his back, his mind hardly registering that Kosmo has curled himself around the pair of them, whimpering quietly.

Lance grabs one hand and holds it to his chest. "Keith, look at me. Look at me." It's not a suggestion, it's an order, and Keith finds himself obeying, locking his eyes with Lance's. "In four. Can you hear me? Breathe in four—that's it, one two three four—now out—there you go—"

Keith can hear his breath shaking violently, feel his head spinning and his heart thundering in his throat. He clasps desperately to Lance's hand for support, tries hopelessly to ground himself.

"In again—yeah, like that—out again, one two three four. Good—"

They sit like that for who knows how long, too long, long enough that Keith has time to hate himself for spiraling so quickly and so easily, hate himself for making Lance see him like this, sit with him like this, not for the first time. But Lance stays, crouched down beside him, talking him through his breathing, squeezing his hand in silent encouragement, pushing the hair out of his face so Keith can just breathe. He hates this, hates making Lance see this—it's all he can think once he's finally coherent again. "Lance, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"

Lance hushes him, dropping a second hand to his shoulder and pulling himself closer. "No, you don't have to—Keith. You don't have to keep talking about it. We can stop."

Keith grits his teeth, his grip tightening on Lance's hand. Kosmo wraps his tail tighter around his side. "No. I need to."

Lance's own grip doesn't loosen as he lowers their hands to the ground, just softens, his eyes searching. But he doesn't say anything, just positions himself onto both knees, the quiet inviting Keith to go on. He closes his eyes, because somehow the memories are more vivid now when they're open, rather than closed.

"I think it was supposed to be a trap," he says slowly, consciously working to steady his breath. "Like they knew I would go after him. And when Shiro came after me, I—" his voice wobbles and Lance squeezes, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles across the back of his hand.

"Take it slow," he murmurs.

Out, one two three four. "He came after me," Keith says again. "I didn't—know what to do, I didn't want to hurt him but—" He stops. Lance waits. "He just kept coming, and coming, I—" Another squeeze. "I had to protect myself somehow."

He allows himself a moment to regroup, focuses on the touch of Lance's thumb brushing over his knuckles, the warmth of Kosmo's body pressing into his back, each reassuring him that he's here, he's safe.

"And there was a point where I just... I was just operating on pure instinct, and I guess self-preservation kicked in and it was like—I couldn't see myself but—" He brings his other hand up to his mouth, his shoulders shuddering. "I could feel it. It felt so, natural, but also so—wrong, I didn't..."

Lance's eyes are glassy, reflecting the heaviness in Keith's own chest. "You mean..." He hesitates for just a fraction, like he isn't sure he should continue. "Your Galra reflexes. That's when it happened for the first time."

Keith nods so slightly he isn't even sure he actually did.

"You must've been so scared," Lance says quietly, face full of sympathy.

Keith lets out a small whimper. "I was terrified," he whispers.

Lance lays a hand on his arm. "We can stop."

Keith shakes his head, harder this time, determined to make it through. So he just keeps going. "He said some stuff that really... I mean, I know it wasn't Shiro now, but I didn't know then, and it just hurt, so bad. And then something happened to his arm, and he started going ballistic and he just—the entire place was wrecked. Everything. All of it. I had to just keep running, and running, and at some point he had me pinned down..."

He drags his gaze up to meet Lance's, unable to voice the rest. So he takes Lance's other hand, guides it toward his cheek, lets his eyes fall closed at the touch.

Lance inhales sharply, realizing. "Shiro. He gave you..." Keith can't blame him for not finishing the sentence. 

"I had to cut off his arm," Keith's voice is barely audible.

There's a moment of quiet, as Lance seems to process everything. Keith focuses on the warmth on his cheek from Lance's hand, the soothing repetition of tiny circles being drawn over his knuckles with the other, the rise and fall of Kosmo's body as he lies beside them. And it's so unfair. That the first time he allows himself to get this close, he can't even enjoy it. He's too empty.

"You know that saying?" he asks, voice small. "The one that says your best dreams and your worst nightmares have the same people in them?"

"Don't," Lance says, like what he knows what Keith wants to say next would hurt him just as much as it would Keith. 

So Keith doesn't.

"Keith, you... you haven't talked to him about it?"

A look of hurt flashes quickly across Lance's face when Keith abruptly pulls his hand away from his cheek. "Lance, I don't—" He huffs frustratedly. "I can't. I don't even know if he remembers anything about it. It wasn't actually him, and besides, can you imagine how he'd feel if he ever found out exactly what happened—"

"Idiot," Lance deadpans, and Keith doesn't understand how he can call him that when he's still holding his hand. "Can you imagine how he'd feel if he saw you like this? If he found out you've been suffering because you wouldn't say anything to him, because you wanted to save him from a guilty conscience?"

Yes, Keith wants to scream. Yes, that's the whole point.

"What if he does remember?" Lance forces Keith to look at him, eyes fierce. "What if he's hurting just as badly as you are?" And Keith stares, his throat constricted. Because he has thought about that. Too many times to count. He's just convinced himself that it's not the case, that he doesn't remember, that he'd never forgive himself if he were the one to put those images in Keith's head. Lance goes on, frowning. "What if he sees that scar every time he looks at you, and he has to live with himself knowing he did that to you?"

"Stop," Keith says weakly. "Please. I can't..." He tries to pull his other hand from Lance's grasp, but Lance won't let him.

"Listen, just." Lance softens again, apologetic. "Keith. You know I've never tried to push you to talk about anything, or do anything, but you need to talk to Shiro—"

He can't. He can't do this. "I need to get back to the Black Lion before Krolia wakes up," Keith mutters, breaking free from Lance's grip and wrapping his arm around Kosmo's neck.

"Keith, wait—" The hurt in Lance's voice makes Keith's heart bleed. He thought he could do this. He can't.

"C'mon, Kosmo," he closes his eyes, refuses to let the tears come—not here. Kosmo seems conflicted, whimpering in protest like he thinks they should stay, but Keith insists on his hold, and then he's back in his seat, dizzy with the moment.

He realizes their call is still ongoing, as Lance clambers back into his own seat on the screen. "Keith—" he starts pleadingly, but Keith waves him off, his chest tight. He doesn't want Lance to see him cry again. He doesn't want—

"Talk to you when we get to the Balmera," he manages, unable to bring himself to see the look on Lance's face before he ends the call.

He immediately chokes on a sob, clutching a hand to his mouth as Kosmo pushes his head into his lap, watching Keith with sad eyes. A hot tear streaks down his cheek, stinging where it comes into contact with his scar, and then he drops his face into the wolf's soft fur, grabbing fistfuls of it and screwing his eyes shut as the rest begin to flow. Kosmo growls softly, an attempt to comfort him. And Keith cries, sobs muffled by fur. He hopes it's enough to keep himself from waking Krolia.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, to Kosmo, or to Krolia, Lance, Shiro, to himself, he doesn't know. He just doesn't know. People have always told him he doesn't feel anything, he doesn't care, but it's the opposite, he cares too much, feels too much—his insides ache.

"I'm sorry."

 Keith sits in a miserable silence for the rest of the trip, agonizing over his conversation with Lance, ripping himself apart for how quickly he'd closed himself off and pushed him away, wishing desperately to get out of the Lion's close quarters and yet dreading any sort of contact with the outside world. Kosmo remains loyally by his side long after he's stopped crying.

At some point, he hears Krolia moving about the cockpit again, acknowledging her with only a simple nod out of fear that anything else will send him back over the edge. If she notices, again, that something's off, she doesn't say anything.

He tries, several times over the course of the next few vargas, to envision a scenario in which he scrounges up the courage to talk to Shiro. And each time, he fails to make it past 'I need to talk to you'.

He can't stop thinking about the pleading in Lance's voice.

The pain is unbearable.

When they reach the Balmera, he's so mentally exhausted he feels like he's shut down entirely. His body is operating on auto-pilot, his hands moving mindlessly as he lands the Black Lion and lets her jaw lower to the ground. It's already nightfall, but there's a crowd of Balmerans gathered outside to greet them, grinning and waving excitedly. He just follows behind Krolia and Kosmo, stands diplomatically at Allura's side, smiles politely and nods in thanks at their hosts, allows himself to be led into the caverns specially prepared for a short celebration.

He keeps to the walls while everyone else mingles, graciously accepting anything that's offered to him by a Balmeran, feeding what he can to Kosmo when no one's looking. And as the night wears on, he finds himself searching for Lance in the crowd without really meaning to. Who's avoiding who, he's not really sure. At some point he spots him on the other side of the cavern, smiling as he talks with Hunk and Shay. Shiro passes by and exchanges a few words, giving Lance a friendly shove in the shoulder before continuing on his way. Lance looks in his direction. Keith looks away. 

Kosmo wanders off. Now Keith finds his gaze following Shiro as he makes his rounds around the rocky room, speaking politely to every Balmeran that stops him (which is a lot). If Keith weren't so focused on the missing limb on Shiro's right side, he would've laughed at the face he makes when a young Balmeran expectantly shoves an awful-looking dish of food right under his nose, which he probably only takes a bite from out of obligation. At length, he joins Allura in the midst of the celebration, although the conversation they begin seems anything but festive, heads down and close together like there's a secret to be kept. 

You could go talk to him right now, he thinks, even though he has no intention of following through, and just wants to make himself feel better for at least attempting to entertain the idea. He leans back against the wall of the cavern and sighs through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"You're not even trying."

Keith startles slightly at the sound of Krolia's voice. He turns to look as she joins him, leaning against the wall with one shoulder and crossing one ankle over the other. "I don't know what you mean." He stares determinedly at the back of Pidge's head across the room, keenly aware of Krolia's eyes on him.

She folds her arms, drumming her fingers against her own armor. "Aren't people going to start wondering why Voltron's leader is brooding on the outside instead of enjoying—"

"I'm not brooding," Keith snaps.

Krolia doesn't even blink. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, digging his fingers into his arms in an attempt to reign himself in. "I'm... just tired."

Lamest, oldest, most cliché and overused excuse in the book. Krolia doesn't call him out for it. Not directly, at least. "Tired of..." 

Existing, Keith almost says, just to be dramatic. But that's a bit too morbid, even for him. Instead, he looks again at Shiro. Romelle and Coran have joined him and Allura, standing together in a loose circle as they talk cheerfully among one another. Coran must be telling a story, the way he's moving around so animatedly, waving his arms and mussing up his hair, attracting the attention of everyone nearby. Then Shiro's laughing, pushing the bangs out of his face and shaking his head, and Keith's heart sinks into the pit of his stomach because he can't remember the last time he's seen Shiro actually look happy like that, and because now any inkling of a thought that might still have been lurking in the back of his head about confessing his fears to him have been completely swallowed up. He looks happy. Keith can't take that away from him. 

Krolia hums beside him. "You should go talk to him."

Keith scoffs. Honestly, does no one get it? "Yeah, right. How many times do I have to—" He freezes, his brain slowly catching up as he realizes the implications of her statement. "I mean. About what. What do you—wait." He draws away from the jagged cavern wall and stares at Krolia in mild horror. No. Please no. "Were you—"

There isn't even the slightest hint of guilt on her face, but the looks she gives him confirms the cause of his alarm. He covers his face in his hands and curses under his breath, groaning inwardly. This is a mess. Everything is a mess. He knows Krolia is just looking at him, waiting for him to stop hiding behind his hands and say something. It's annoying. And embarrassing. Finally he sighs, dropping his hands to his sides and studying a cluster of rocks near his foot. "How much did you hear?" he asks in resignation. 

She moves away from the wall to level with Keith. "Enough."

He just shakes his head, slowly at first, then more fervently. The pent-up frustration in his entire body is about ready to burst. "If you really were listening, then you know why I can't say anything to him."

"I know why you think you can't say anything to him."

Keith rakes his fingers through his hair, suddenly wishing he was just gone, away, anywhere but down here in this stupid cavern at this stupid party, but at this point he's so emotionally charged he thinks if he even moves he'll lose it. 

"He's a good man—" Krolia starts, and Keith feels awful but he can't stop the mirthless laugh that comes out of his mouth.

"You don't even know him."

She takes it in stride. "You're right. All I know about him, I learned from you."

The meaning behind those words catches Keith off guard. He opens his mouth for a retort, but nothing ever comes. Because there's nothing to argue. Keith feels himself deflating, shoulders sinking. 

"So..." Krolia continues encouragingly. "If everything you said about him is really true..." Keith looks up to meet her eyes and she nods her head in Shiro's direction. "I think you should talk to him." Her gaze drifts over his shoulder. "I know I'm not the only one."

He turns to follow her line of sight and sees Lance looking their way—his eyes quickly dart away when he realizes he's been spotted, busying himself by striking up a new conversation with Hunk still standing beside him. Keith feels another layer of guilt add itself to the growing pile in his chest.

His gaze returns to Shiro, back to Lance, Shiro again, and then finally Krolia, who's watching him intently, like she can see the gears turning in his head.

Keith isn't sure exactly what tips the balance in favor of Krolia's advice. Maybe the logical part of his brain manages to convince him that both Krolia and Lance are right. Maybe he decides the existing guilt of shutting Lance out when he's only ever tried to help outweighs the potential guilt of telling Shiro why he's being avoided. Maybe he's just tired of denying himself his feelings in general. 

 Or, maybe he's just crazy.

"Fine. Okay. Fine." 

And then, in a moment of possible blind insanity, for the first time in too long, he's walking toward Shiro, instead of away.

It's when he's already marched up to the circle and planted himself next to Shiro that he seems to really realize he's actually doing this. 

A brief look of surprise seems to cross Shiro's face at Keith's sudden appearance, which is understandable, but it still sends a quick pang of hurt through Keith's body, although he's not sure he has the right to feel it. "Hey." Like nothing's wrong. Like they've been talking just like normal all this time. Like he hasn't noticed the way Keith has been actively avoiding him for the past week. Keith kind of appreciates it, but it also makes him want to slap Shiro upside the head. 

But all of that is quickly overwhelmed by a wave of panic. What the—what am I—doing. He feels like he was just zapped through space like he has been countless times with Kosmo, one moment standing on the outskirts of the celebration with Krolia, the next standing in the middle of it all, four pairs of curious eyes trained on him and making his skin crawl. And he's standing right next to Shiro, the sight of whom still seems to make his mind unconsciously disconnect from his body so that he can't even move. He realizes vaguely that he still hasn't responded to Shiro's greeting, and at this point it's too late to make the situation any less awkward. "I—um." He looks up at Shiro helplessly, who immediately seems to understand. 

And he doesn't even hesitate, just wordlessly separates himself from the group with ease, places a guiding hand on Keith's shoulder and leads him away from all the noise and the stuffiness and the chaos of the crowd, away from the prying eyes of everyone around them, like Keith has instantly become his top priority. Keith is in awe of the way Shiro can still read him so well, how willing he is to drop everything and give him his full, undivided attention.

The two of them are silent as they retreat into one of the many side tunnels that empty out into the cavern, light dimming and sound fading until everything feels faint, everything except for the hand on Keith's shoulder and the pulse pounding in his throat. Shiro turns to face him the second they've travelled far enough into the tunnel to be able to speak privately.

"What is it?" he asks, eyebrows drawn together as he searches Keith's face. 

Keith meets his eyes and swallows, struggling to find his voice. Now that they're distanced from the sounds of the ongoing celebration, the thundering of his heart suddenly seems that much louder, and he prays Shiro can't hear it. "Nothing, it's—everything's fine. I just—" He notes the way Shiro's face seems to fall slightly. Deep breaths, he thinks desperately, trying to calm himself. In, one two three four—He exhales. "We just. Haven't talked much since we got back." Okay, he's beating around the bush a little. Baby steps.

A mix of relief and regret washes over him as Shiro removes his hand from his shoulder, which feels like it's been burning with the contact. "I... guess we've all been pretty busy with trying to restore the coalition," Shiro offers cautiously, although the questioning in his eyes tells Keith he's still trying to figure out Keith's real intentions.

"Right," Keith clears his throat, flexing his fingers restlessly at his sides. How. In the entire, actual universe—is he supposed to segue into something like this? "So. How are you feeling?"

It's subtle, but Shiro's expression becomes uncharacteristically guarded, clashing with the light tone of his voice. Keith only misses it because he's too focused on his mental breathing exercises. "Better. Allura and Coran have been a big help."

Keith makes himself nod, mind working furiously both to keep him from turning around and walking away, and from tackling his fear head-on and just straight up telling Shiro everything. It only takes a moment of the weird, uncomfortable, awkward and unnatural silence that falls between them for him to realize that's exactly what he has to do. His eyes flick toward the ground, and before he can stop himself: "Do you remember anything?" he blurts out. If Shiro has a response, he doesn't get the chance to voice it because Keith stumbles on in a nervous rush. "About before, when you—I mean, after Haggar—you took Lotor and—" Why is this so hard—

"Keith." The sound of Shiro's voice makes him clamp his mouth shut, the short moment of quiet almost deafening as he prepares himself for what Shiro has to say. Which is pointless, because he really never expected him to say what he does next, voice cracking with grief: "I remember everything."

The complete and utter silence that follows makes Keith's blood turn ice cold, like his heart legitimately just stopped beating, the sound of his fluttering pulse and his jumbled mess of a brain muted temporarily by the shock of it all. He looks up slowly, and when he does he sees all of the heartache and guilt he's been carrying around on his shoulders since their fight reflected back at him in Shiro's eyes. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks weakly. 

Shiro's expression is pained. He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a defeated sigh. For possibly the first time in Keith's life, Shiro has no words. And suddenly Keith is full of them. 

"But you never... Shiro, why would you—why didn't you say anything? If I had known, I would've—maybe I would have talked to you sooner, I just didn't want to tell you about the nightmares because I was scared you would blame yourself—"

Shiro lets out a strangled gasp and Keith frowns at first, confused—and then his eyes widen with horror as he realizes what he's just unwittingly confessed. He slaps a hand to his mouth and stumbles back a step, only barely catching himself.

"That's why." Shiro's voice is strained, and Keith swears he feels his heart ripping apart with every next word. "You've been so distant, you... I knew you hadn't been sleeping, but I—that's why you've been avoiding me?"

Keith wants to say no. He wants to say no, tell Shiro he misheard, act like he misspoke, pretend the entire conversation up to this point didn't happen at all, because the look on Shiro's face legitimizes every single fear that Keith had about this very moment, and it makes his entire body heavy with the guilt of it all. But at this point, denial would only add fuel to the fire, and he's already burning up. He drops his hand, lets his eyes fall to the ground. "Then... you did notice."

Shiro lets out a quiet puff of air, incredulous. "Of course I did."

Keith doesn't know what to say. He can't decide if this scenario is better or worse than he ever imagined. 

"Nightmares," Shiro murmurs, making Keith look back up. His eyes are closed, his head shaking miserably with increasing force. "You've been having nightmares—all those things I said to you—"

"No." It comes out of nowhere, the sudden burst of fierce emotion that bubbles up in his chest, boiling hot and spilling through his ribs into his skin. No. He won't listen to this. He won't listen to this because it's exactly what he knew Shiro would say, it's exactly what he's had to tell himself over and over and over. "Shiro, please. Don't. I know that wasn't you—"

"That doesn't matter," Shiro cuts him off, voice breaking on the last word. Keith goes silent, staring as Shiro presses his fist to his temple. "You still had to hear it, and—" He suddenly lifts his gaze and locks eyes with Keith, pain replaced by a determination so intense it elicits from him a small gasp. "Keith, you have no idea. I just keep replaying it over and over wishing I could—stop it somehow. I hear myself talking but I can't control what I'm saying, and it makes me—crazy, how badly I wish I could change what happened. And every time I see you—"

His eyes are shattered, so absolutely and so completely they almost hurt Keith to look at. "I just don't think I can ever forgive myself for doing that to you."

"Shiro, that wasn't—" Keith protests, pleading. "That wasn't you—"

"Keith." Shiro won't be interrupted. "Everything I said, it was—I was wrong. So wrong. Keith. You're not broken." Keith feels his chest begin to tighten. But this time, it's not from guilt, or from fear. "You're not worthless." It's not from the pain of holding back his feelings, of closing himself off. "You're none of those things. You're one of the strongest people I've ever known." It's not from heartache, or doubt. "I've always seen it, Keith. The way your heart bleeds for the people you care about." It's not from panic, or hysteria. "You're selfless, and loyal and so incredibly stubborn but only because you refuse to let anyone else feel the hurt that you've experienced, and you refuse to give up on anyone—on me." This time, it's from a single source: love. It's as simple as that.

"Keith." Shiro keeps repeating his name, like he's trying to drill this into his brain, like he's trying to ensure that every single word is heard, acknowledged, and understood. He pauses, making certain that Keith is still looking him in the eye. "You're my brother—"

Keith surges forward and Shiro catches him in the embrace, lurching backward from the impact but steadying them easily, arm pressed tightly across Keith's back. Keith buries his face in Shiro's chest and clings to him in a vise grip, unrelenting and unapologetic.

"And Keith. Keith." Shiro's voice shakes as he repeats his name yet again, like the only thing he cares about is making sure that Keith is still here, still listening. Keith digs his fingers into Shiro's back, a silent yes, I'm here, I'm listening.

"I love you too."

A forceful sigh expels itself from Keith's lungs at the words. He clamps his eyes shut and breathes in, pulls tighter, lets his armor press painfully into his skin where he's clutching Shiro to him, clings to his back and anchors himself there, shaking with emotion because this. He's missed this so much. He's missed Shiro so much. 

And when the tears come, a result of the overwhelming emotion surrounding the moment, maybe for the first time in his life, he doesn't try to stop them. He lets them flow freely, drenching his lashes and staining his cheeks with the relief of it all, the relief at the knowledge and the feeling that everything really is going to be okay. He knows Shiro is crying too, feels him blinking furiously where his face is pressed into his hair.

Keith thinks about how the both of them spent so much time agonizing over this, not even over themselves, but over the guilt they felt because they'd individually convinced themselves they'd hurt each other beyond the point of return. He has the ridiculous urge to laugh. "We're both idiots," he mumbles into Shiro's shoulder, voice muffled.

Shiro laughs wetly, squeezing Keith's back. "I don't think I've ever seen you cry before," he says teasingly. 

The audacity. Keith rolls his eyes half-heartedly, even though Shiro can't see it. "This is the third time I've cried in the past 24 hours," he admits. "So don't feel too special."

"Don't worry, just being here with you makes me feel special enough."

Keith groans, smiling secretly as Shiro laughs again. "Ugh, just—no. Don't ruin the moment."

There's a pause, and Shiro seems to soften a bit. "That promise still stands, you know."

"Pretty sure that's the point of a promise, Shiro." Keith feels him shaking his head, imagines the way the corner of his mouth is probably twitching up into a smile. 

"I mean it. I said it then and I'll say it again. I'll never give up on you." 

Another tear leaks out of the corner of Keith's eye, and if he tries to hug Shiro any tighter his muscles are going to give out. "Me too."

They separate after another long moment, albeit reluctantly, when they've been holding on to each other long enough that their limbs have grown stiff from the prolonged lack of movement. Keith ducks his head, wiping at his eyes and heaving an enormous sigh—he can literally feel the weight lifting off his chest, the tension leaving his shoulders.  

"Well. Glad that's cleared up."

Shiro chuckles, tossing his arm around him and gently pushing him forward. "Come on. Let's go celebrate."

Keith doesn't even care what his face looks like as they walk back out of the tunnel and into the crowded cavern. He's positive that his face is red and splotchy, still a bit damp and covered in wet streaks. His hair is probably sticking out in every possible direction, ruffled from his recent messy embrace. But he doesn't care, because the newfound warmth and hope in his chest is too overpowering to even bother trying to hide. 

As they pause at the edge of the cave, his gaze finds Krolia standing in the same place he'd left her, leaning back against the rocky wall with her arms folded. She sees him, and smiles that satisfied, knowing smile. And Keith can't keep his own smile from spreading uncontrollably across his face. 

Shiro, oblivious, nudges Keith in the side, and he looks up. "Are you ready to go home?" he asks softly.

Keith looks out into the crowd, sees Pidge and Hunk chatting excitedly over a tiny Balmeran crystal, watches Allura and Romelle giggling as they each braid one side of a pouting Coran's mustache, smiles again at the sight of Krolia from her perch nearby, catches a glimpse of Lance fussing over Kosmo, feels the weight of Shiro's arm wrapped loosely, comfortably, around his shoulders. He sighs contentedly, drinking it all in. "I already am home." 

When he's relatively positive that everyone else is asleep, Lance climbs out of the cavern to sit on the Balmera's surface. 

It's a bit eerie up there in the dark, in the sense that it's so calm and celestial, it doesn't seem like it can be real. The sky is bathed in the faintest hues of fluorescent blues and pinks, reflected by the clusters of tiny Balmeran crystals that are scattered across the flat ground, glittering in the distance like stars that have come down to kiss the earth. And occasionally, the soothing sounds of the Balmera cooing softly echo across the horizon, singing a gentle melody. 

He wasn't the least bit surprised to find, when his head hit the pillow (metaphorically speaking), that he couldn't seem to fall asleep. Part of it is just nerves, his hands itching and restless to get back into the Red Lion and continue on their way home. If he had it his way, the team wouldn't stop at all—just make it one long continuous journey so they can reach Earth as soon as humanly possible. But Allura and Coran, especially, insist that they visit friendly planets on the way, both to get some much-needed rest and to rally support for the coalition. 

Anyway. It's also hard to rest when he's sick with worry over Keith, ever since he abruptly ended their call between the Lions. 

Watching helplessly from the other side of a screen as Keith crumbled into pieces has to be the worst moment Lance has ever experienced. And even after Kosmo came to the rescue, appearing suddenly and bringing Keith to him, Lance had been so, so scared. The sheer panic and terror had been rolling off Keith in waves, filling the cockpit with an awful sense of dread that lingered long after he disappeared back into the Black Lion, as quickly as he'd come. Lance has never felt quite so powerless.

He laces his fingers behind his head and lies onto his back, sighing as he turns his face to the star-filled sky. Generally, he loves the idea of celebrations being thrown for the team. He basks unashamedly in the glory, not just because it feels nice to be appreciated, but also because he genuinely loves celebrating the team. His team. But tonight, it almost felt like an insult from the universe. 

 He'd tried not to be too obvious, searching for Keith in the crowd and making a conscious attempt not to let his gaze linger in the same place for too long so as not to attract any kind of suspicion from the others. And when he could, he watched Keith from a distance, all the while fretting frantically that he's ruined what connection they had, overstepped his bounds and pushed too hard where Keith clearly wasn't ready. The thought of that haunted him all night, tormenting him relentlessly until it got harder and harder to keep up the forced smiles and excited conversation with the others.

He just wants Keith to be okay.

At some point he'd lost sight of him, unable to pick him out amongst the various groups scattered around the cavern. He keeps wondering if it's because Krolia caught him staring—literally nothing gets past her, she notices everything—subsequently causing Keith to look over his shoulder and lock eyes with him, even if just for a split second before Lance turned away. At first he thought maybe he'd been quick enough that Keith hadn't noticed—his sudden disappearance for the rest of the night makes him think otherwise. 

Lance is tired. Not physically, and not really even mentally, either, he's just. Really, really tired. Tired of failing to help the people he cares about most, when they need him most. It feels like he's excelled at that in the past couple of movements. 

He lets out a puff of frustration, closing his eyes in an attempt to block everything out for just a minute or two. The only thing it actually accomplishes is making him unaware of the shuffling noises behind him. 

"Lance?"

Lance yelps, shooting up into a sitting position and twisting around to see—oh. "Keith?" 

They stare at each other for a moment, like neither of them are sure they're welcome. But then Lance feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, this feels... familiar."

Keith smiles back, a little sheepishly. "Just a little." He pauses. "Um... can I?"

Lance bites back a laugh, leaning back on his hands. "You don't have to ask, man."

He feels a bit of hopeful relief trickle in as Keith sits down next to him, keeping his knees drawn in and studying the smallest cluster of crystals cropping up a few yards away. His face is illuminated softly by the same gentle blue glow reflecting across the sky, curling delicately around the outline of the scar on his cheek. Lance has to resist the urge to reach out again and touch it like he did before, cover it completely with his hand and pretend he can somehow heal it.  

"So..." Keith starts timidly, drumming his fingers across his knees. Lance waits, returning his eyes to the sea of stars above them. It's just like the night before, times a thousand. And instead of cold, it feels warm. "Did you have fun at the... party?"

Lance glances over at him, unimpressed. "I know we generally like to start our conversations with some kind of witty banter, but can we just, like. Skip that part for once?" Keith looks at him with a sort of befuddled expression at the bitter edge to Lance's voice and he runs his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. Sorry, it's just—" he breathes out, dropping his hand back to the ground. "Look, I'm really trying here."

"I know." Keith reaches out and touches his arm, surprising Lance at the earnestness of the gesture. "Lance, I know. I... don't think I don't notice that." His voice quiets and his gaze lowers to the ground. "I do. You have no idea."

He lets go, his hand trailing down until it rests beside Lance's, his eyes lingering on the space between them. Lance watches him, eyes softening. "I already said you don't have to ask," he murmurs. 

Keith's mouth twitches into a tiny smile, and he slips his fingers under Lance's, taking special care in the way he laces each of them together so deliberately and delicately, gaze never leaving their hands like he's mesmerized by the touch. He closes his eyes, breathes out, and slowly drops his head to Lance's shoulder, their arms pressed together. 

Lance very briefly wonders if he should be concerned—Keith has never been this way, all soft and gentle and touchy (Keith, initiating physical contact with people?)—but he's still just so relieved Keith is here that he doesn't care. He leans into him with a sigh, resting his cheek in Keith's hair. "I thought maybe I screwed things up."

Keith hums. "You... did the opposite, actually."

"What do you mean?"

A short pause. Keith traces a circle across the back of Lance's hand. "I talked to Shiro."

Lance can't help but gasp, moving back so he can actually look at Keith, squeezing his hand. "You did?" 

Keith just nods. 

"And..?" Lance says encouragingly. 

"And..." Keith bites his lip before looking back at Lance with a smile that makes his heart want to burst. "I feel better. I feel a lot better."

Lance looks at him, at the way the smile makes his eyes and face light up, even without the added starlight or glow of the nearby crystals, and it makes him feel so warm and so happy and so giddy inside because he's just so glad—

He disentangles their fingers and tosses his arms around Keith's neck to pull him into a hug, earning a muffled squeak of surprise before it's returned in full, Keith's arms pressing against his back. "I told you, you moron," Lance mumbles. "I told you."

"'M not a moron," comes Keith's muffled protest, but Lance can hear him still smiling.

 He sighs quietly. "I like you best when you're happy," he murmurs, partly teasing but also sincere. 

Keith chuckles. "But you still like me when I'm grumpy, too. Right?" he adds, a little uncertainly. 

Lance snorts, pulling away and shoving half-heartedly at Keith's face. "Don't get cocky."

"What—says you!" Keith cries indignantly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm Lance," Keith begins, jutting out his chin and using his best impression of Lance's voice. "I used to fly the Blue Lion. It's super cool, like me. And I'm like the cool, ninja sharpshooter—"

"Keith. Keith, my buddy. My man. I will do anything if it means you will never use that voice ever again."

Keith squints at him, wrinkling his nose in mock annoyance. And Lance literally cannot help it. He leans in and presses a kiss right on Keith's nose.

He giggles at the look of surprise on Keith's face as he pulls away. Keith blinks once, twice, then bites his lip again as an amused grin spreads across his face and he laughs—

Lance's heart leaps as Keith places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Seriously. You call yourself a sharpshooter?"

Lance makes a face, trying to decide if he's supposed to be offended or not. "I don't understand why this is relevant—"

"You missed," Keith says simply.

And he closes the distance.