Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A new world hangs outside the window

Beautiful and strange

It must be falling away

It must be

Sound and color with me for my mind

And it should show you where to go when I need to speak

        Lance McClain flashed a dazzling white smile as he took a seat opposite the host. He scrunched up the corners of his shockingly blue eyes to make it convincing. He was exhausted, and really needed a drink, but the audience didn’t want to know that. They just wanted to hear about his latest project. And what he was planning on doing next. This was just another performance. His last one for a little while. Might as well make it good.

        “So,” the host began. Lance crossed one leg over the other, ankle on his knee, showing the audience that he was at ease. That he was comfortable. At the same time, he knew what was coming and would rather avoid it. But it was inevitable. “There’s a rumor going around that Lance McClain is back on the market. Is that true?” Rumor, huh? Well, that was one way of putting it. He gave Lance a deeply apologetic look. Lance could tell he meant it. The job of a host was to give people what they wanted, to ask actresses sexist questions about dresses and diets, and nose their way into his business.

        “Yeah, yeah. I’m back on the market, Kyle.” Lance laughed, settling back in the chair. It hurt. But this was what people wanted to know. Sympathy rang out from the crowd, and he knew that they meant it. These people loved him. Of course they did. They were all of them wonderful, wonderful people.

        “So what happened? What went wrong?” Kyle asked. He sounded upset, confused, even concerned. Like he couldn’t believe Lance had screwed up for what was probably the one hundredth time. His brow furrowed along a calculated line.

        “Honestly? I don’t really know. A lot of nasty stuff happened. A lot of misunderstandings. In the end, Nyma and I tried, but we just couldn’t connect.” I couldn’t connect. “But I’m grateful to her for choosing to share a piece of her life with me. It’s a beautiful, precious thing and I don’t regret it at all. And if nothing else, I’ve learned a lot about my own shortcomings. I think the whole thing will help me grow more as a human being.” Lance flashed another hundred-watt grin. I’m just sorry I couldn’t give you what you needed. What you deserved. Actually, Nyma didn’t deserve it at all, but Lance still felt bad. “But it’s not so bad, because at least now I have more time to work on my next big project, especially seeing as the last one went quite well.”

        “Ah, yes,” Kyle said, accepting the subject change with quick and merciful grace. Lance made a note to thank him for that later. The guy sucked for bringing it up in the first place, but it was his job and he had been kinder than the last interviewer, who’d thought it was cool to talk about his “reputation,” and his “unusual proclivities,” whatever that was supposed to mean. Lance didn’t have “proclivities.” He just got overly attached to people way too often. “Kubo and the City of a Thousand Eyes. This was a long-term project for you, wasn’t it?”

        “Oh, you’ve no idea! I’ve been dreaming about this since I saw the original film, Kubo and the Two Strings. I saw so much potential in the film for more and was disappointed it didn’t get more recognition when it came out. I’m so glad I finally got to give it a second chance. Which leads me to why I’m here today: I’m taking a break from acting.”

        “What? You’re not serious!” His surprise sounded genuine, and the gasps from the crowd and the resurgence of flashing lights only further added to the moment. Lance grinned. They were entertained. It was good. Especially seeing as how Iverson, if he was watching right now, was probably very unentertained. Which was bad.

        “Yes, Kyle. I am. I’m taking a break so I can figure out what I want to do next. If I’m going to make a go at directing full-time, not just for a passion project, then I really want to devote all the time I can to figuring out what I want to do next and how I want to do it. You know me. I don’t do things by halves.”

        “Well I’m sure everyone will miss you.”

        “I’ll still be around, don’t you worry. I’m not just going to vanish. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily!” Lance cried, wagging a finger at the audience. They cheered in response. So cooperative. So supportive. All of them rooting for him to succeed at every turn. Already excited, waiting to see what he was going to give them next. Because Lance McClain was taking a break to bring them something truly spectacular.

        But the truth was, Lance McClain was only twenty-one and already tired. It hurt to work out. His body was breaking down and his health had begun to deteriorate. He rarely slept. Wasn’t eating enough. He was on his way to becoming an Olympic gold medalist in day-drinking. When he was out, the noise was all around him and he could mercifully drown his thoughts in all of life’s most extravagant distractions. When he was at home, the silence was suffocating. He couldn’t relax. He couldn’t rest. He was wound too tight and stretched too thin and lived too loose. He needed this break and he knew it. Before he completely fell apart. Still, he was going to miss all the noise and chaos of the spotlight. And the attention.

***

Sound and color

With me in my mind

Sound and color

Try to keep yourself awake

Pidge gaped at the television from over her laptop. She couldn’t believe it. On the one hand, she was relieved that Lance was finally taking a break after working nonstop for fourteen years. On the other hand, he hadn’t told her. Which meant he hadn’t told Iverson. Which wasn’t going to end well.

“Oh my,” Colleen said, arm around her daughter on the couch. “I wasn’t expecting...Well, heaven knows he needs the break.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Matt shoveled potato ships into his mouth. Sam said nothing. He was deep in thought. Pidge could feel the worried energy rolling off her family, threatening to suffocate her. She had to get out of here.

Pidge got up and bolted for her room, shutting the door. She tried to control her ragged breathing, the shaking in her hands. She felt adrenaline coursing through her tiny body. Lance was taking a break from film. The thing he loved most in the world. Which meant he’d have even more time to devote to his not-so-new hobby of day-drinking. Which meant he must be doing worse that Pidge thought. She really didn’t like the math.

Pidge tried to steady her breathing. Oh, God. What was she going to do? Lance was a second brother to her. He was part of her family. And he was falling apart. But the worst part was, she didn’t know how to help him. But she did know who she wanted help from.

Hunk. She needed Hunk. Pidge could tell Hunk anything, and he wouldn’t say a word to anyone. She needed his empathy, his kindness. The steadiness he brought to everything. If anyone would be able to help, he would.

***

Sound and color

This life ain’t like a book

Sound and color

I wanna touch a human being

Hunk looked at the email on his laptop, barely able to believe it. Coran had said yes! He was starting a business! He tried to contain his excitement. Finally, Hunk could begin to maybe, just maybe, build a home for himself, right here in The Pit. His phone buzzed.

P: I need help. Pidge. By far the cutest, most terrifying person Hunk had ever met. He felt that nervous flutter in his chest again. He’d grown to love it.

H: Of course! What do you need?

P: I need you to help me take care of Lance.

H: Is he drunk again?

P: No but he just announced that he’s taking a break from acting. He loves acting! He must be really not doing well if he’s taking a break. I need you to help me help him. Lance. Pidge’s other best friend who happened to be a boy. The only person Pidge seemed to have eyes for. Not that Hunk was jealous or anything. Not even a little bit. Well, maybe a little bit.

H: Okay. How do we do that?

P: I don’t know. But it’ll involve being nosey and interfering. All that stuff that you hate.

H: Yay. Hunk hesitated.

H: Coran said yes. I’m starting a business.

P: OMG THAT’S GREAT!!!1!!!!1!!

H: I need a favor.

P: Shoot. You help me, I help you. Hunk wondered if Pidge knew he’d lasso the sun if it would make her happy, no favor required. She was probably too distracted to consider it. It wasn’t her fault.

H: Can I come over tomorrow? I need someone to teach me how to use Excel. For business stuff. Hunk waited. He wondered at the pause. She was probably looking for a YouTube video instead. She was always very busy.

P: I would love to. Tomorrow. Come over at 3. You can stay for dinner. And we can look for stuff for your restaurant! Hunk felt a tiny bubble of hope rise in his chest. Maybe he had a chance after all.

***

Sound and color

I loath to go back to sleep

Sound and color

Ain’t life just down the street

Shiro took a deep breath to steady himself. He looked back at the medical ward room he’d been living in for the last six months. The white walls and furniture. The strange blue lights. The uncomfortable gurney with the uncomfortable pillows and the uncomfortable sheets that had still felt like a marshmallow when he’d first gotten there. How would a real bed feel after all this time? Probably like a cotton ball. How would Allura feel if she woke up to find him sleeping on the floor again? What if she tried to wake him, and he attacked her? He made a note to warn her not to do that, just in case.

Shiro grabbed the last of his few belongings and stepped onto the waiting elevator. He didn’t have much, but he still felt like he was invading Allura’s life. Her space. Every aspect of her being. Would she grow to resent the fact that there were large parts of his life that he would never speak of? Would she hate him for it? Another deep breath. He pressed the uppermost button and prepared for the long ride to the top of Atlas Tower.

He slid past the different floors, new eyes dilating, trying to adjust to the constant shifts in lighting. He was still getting accustomed to his prosthetics. But at least he had two arms and could see.

He was terrified. The last time he’d gotten this far, he’d been abandoned.  What if Allura changed her mind? What if she decided his past attachments bothered her? What if she hated the way he woke up in the middle of the night all the time? What if she hated his brother?

His brother. Where was his brother? Where was Keith? Shiro’s panicked heart grieved. He hadn’t heard from Keith since he’d first got back from Daibazaal. That was six months ago. He sighed. He should have known his choice would mean choosing between the two people he loved, and an entirely different life.

Deep in thought, it took Shiro a moment to realize he’d arrived at the penthouse. Picking up his army duffel and pulling a suitcase, he stepped over the elevator’s threshold to begin an entirely new life. Again.

***

Sound and color

You wish you were looking all the way

Sound and color

The more the feeling set to notice it

Allura was sitting on the couch, feet tucked up, heels discarded under the glass coffee table. She had a laptop in front of her, going through Shiro’s medical report. Nothing. There was nothing. He was clean, and he was cured. She sighed, a mixture of relief and satisfaction.

C: I’ve decided to go into business with that young man, Hunk. We’ll be opening a joined coffee shop and bakery (my half of the business) and full restaurant! Allura was thrilled. Coran had been drifting about for as long as they’d been in The Pit.

A: That’s so wonderful! I’m so excited for you both! Coran was finally moving on, she decided. He’d at last begun to build a life for himself here, the same as all the rest of them.

“Princess.” Ah, there was Acxa, over the intercom.

“Yes, Acxa?” She knew what was coming.

“CPT Shirogane is bringing up the rest of his things now.” Shiro.

“Thank you, Acxa. You can head home now.” Silence. She sighed. Acxa wasn’t the most talkative person. Unlike her colleague Ezor, who was incapable of shutting up. She sipped from her glass of wine. There was another, empty, sitting right next to it, waiting to be filled. The elevator doors opened, and she stood, turning to see.

There he was, tall and muscular. The white metal prosthetic glowing beneath his snug, long-sleeved shirt. In one hand, he carried an Army duffle, still stained with red earth. She made a note to offer to get rid of it, or try to clean it for him so he wouldn’t have to look at the stains. In the other hand, he pulled a suitcase with a name written on it in permanent marker: Adam Bucur. Shiro had already expressed a desire never to see it again, once he replaced it.

Shiro had been there before, many times, but now, he was looking around as though he were seeing it for the first time. He looked nervous, unsteady. Damaged. His grey eyes dilated frantically. He was far easier to read now, the eyes more responsive to his emotions than before. Beneath the snug shirt, Allura could see the outline of scars stretched across muscle.

He finally met her gaze. There was a steady fire there, behind everything else, that made her blood run hot. She walked toward him and gently pushed the duffel out of his hands. It dropped to the floor with a thud. Shiro relinquished the suitcase too and put his hands on her arms gently. They were still calloused, but warm and gentle. He smiled at her, a little uncertain. Which was fine, because so was she.

“Welcome home,” She murmured. He leaned down and brushed her lips against his.

“It’s good to be home,” he whispered back. His smile warmed a bit. This love wasn’t like loves past, which had been hot and heavy and over quickly. This love was a campfire, long and slow and warm and safe and...perfect. This was perfect. She kissed him again, deeper, firmer. More sure.

Shiro wrapped his arms around her, warm and strong, but ever so gentle. Just like him. She loved it.

***

Sound and color

Life is

Sound and color

Love is

Sound and color

        Keith Kogane watched with interest. So Lance McClain was taking a break to work on his next passion project, huh? Good for him. Hopefully, the guy took some time out for himself, because Keith swore he could see shadows under the actor’s eyes. And, Keith noticed, he looked a little thinner than last time he’d made a sanctioned public appearance. Typical of Hollywood, running their best people mercilessly into the ground. Although judging by Lance McClain’s previous appearance via TMZ, the actor was probably as much to blame as the industry. Or maybe that was just his way of coping. Not that Keith was in a position to judge anyone’s coping mechanisms. Hopefully, the poor guy would be able to escape all the chaos and the attention for a while. It’d be enough to drive anyone to extremes.

        Keith turned off the television and immediately pressed the button on his Bluetooth speaker. Cough Syrup picked up halfway through, so he restarted it and turned to the easel on the dining table. He paused, checking the battered sports watch on his wrist. It was almost 6:30, so the neighbor would be starting up his motorbike right about…

BVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!-a horrific noise tore through the peaceful night like venomous claws. It happened nearly every night, but still Keith couldn’t handle it. He fell to the floor as the obnoxiously bright light flared briefly through his window. Hands over his ears, he curled up like a fetus under the table, kicking over a bin of colored pencils in the process. Lying in his little nest of pencils, Keith could feel his heart pounding in his chest, blood thick with the endorphins pulsing through his veins. His breathing quadrupled in speed as he made himself as small as possible. His mind was suddenly filled with violent red and blue lights and the screams of sirens. His ears rang with the sound of crumpling metal and glass shattering in every direction, drawn out for an eternity.

        It was a few minutes before he could get up off the floor. He was shaking, especially in his hands, and his body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat like he’d just been violently ill. He tasted blood where his canines had cut into his cheek. There was chill about his tell-tale heart that spoke of an old trauma. Every day, he thought. You do this every. Single. Day. And it wasn’t getting any better. Storms, lights from the vehicles on the street out front, cars whizzing past him on the occasions he went outside. The asshole in apartment 128 with the obnoxious motorbike. It didn’t matter how many times, his reaction was always negative. But at least it wasn’t getting any worse. How celebrities dealt with all that noise and all the lights he would never understand. No wonder Lance McClain needed a break.

        He returned to the easel. This was an original piece of artwork. It was another landscape, this one of a dessert, all in warm colors. Keith wasn’t quite satisfied with it yet. It needed to be softer, quieter. Something to invoke that empty kind of peace people are always looking for, but never find in The Pit. There was too much noise, and all the light was harsh and violent, and the sky was cold and gray and dreary. The Pit was the kind of place that would devour you body and soul if you weren’t careful.

Love is

Sound and color

Sound and color

Sound and color

Chapter Text

It was official. Keith had to go to the store. He had two eggs left. That was it. That’s all that was left in his entire fridge. The cupboards were barren. Empty. Devoid of hope. He groaned inwardly. He should just mail order MREs or something. And soap. And toilet paper. It could work. Then he could stay in this apartment for the rest of his life and never have to deal with noise, cars, or people ever again. You’re seriously overthinking this. Just go to the damned store. It’s not gonna kill you. Probably. It probably wouldn’t kill him. Unless all the chaos sent him into cardiac arrest.

He tugged on his beat up black combat boots, with paint caked into the treads. Was there paint on his clothes? Not too much, right? Wrong. A look down at his torn, black skinny jeans and faded black t-shirt proved that they were indeed covered in various shades of paint. A glance in the paint-smeared mirror on the wall behind the dining table (There was a table under all that stuff somewhere) revealed that there was a smudge of red above his left eyebrow and a bit of yellow in his hair, which needed a wash. Badly. He considered at least changing, but then noticed the paint all up his arms and caked under his fingernails and decided it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Well, if anyone ever tried to rob him, or simply came to visit, he could blend in with all the tarps and the trashed furniture.

Keith grabbed his keys and his wallet with shaking hands, threw on his favorite red jacket and stuck his earbuds into the jack on his phone. With The Neighbourhood wrapped snugly around his brain, quickly followed by a knit cap to hide his dirty hair, he climbed out the window into the outside world. Into The Pit.

***

Lance wasn’t surprised he was bored. The quiet life wasn’t for him; it never had been. What surprised him was how quickly he had become bored. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours. It had been...twenty? Yeah, that sounded about right. So almost a full day. Twenty hours, and already he missed the chaos. Except for the chaos currently clogging the intersection traffic. And now he was sitting in some little coffee shop across from a grocery store wondering how he was going to keep himself entertained on his six-month hiatus. At least the coffee was good. Hopefully, it would help with the headache. Not that he really noticed that much anymore. He was beginning to get used to it.

What to do? Maybe he could call Pidge. She was supposed to be going over her lines for a gig he’d landed her for the upcoming summer. Why not call her and see how she was getting on? At the same time, he could make sure she wasn’t putting off her actual schoolwork. Mmn...maybe he’d better not. She was probably busy building something. Like a Terminator.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw three pretty sorority girls in a corner booth looking at him and whispering, smiles hidden behind hands. Lance turned and winked at them, then silently raised his finger to his lips in a shushing motion. The girls immediately began giggling, their cheeks pink. The hipster wearing a moose-covered sweater sitting alone at a table nearby gave them an irritated look, and the girls fell into squeals of laughter. Lance grinned, laughing quietly. Their reactions were so adorable. He could watch people smile all day. He didn’t care how beautiful someone was; their entire being could always be improved with a smile.

Lance turned his gaze to the street in front of him, all of the people walking by, busy, occupied, apparently not bored. One fellow in particular caught his eye. Horrible, choppy, black hair sticking out from under a knit cap. It looked like the guy had cut it himself with safety scissors. While blindfolded. A bright red cropped jacket so unfashionable it should have been illegal. Black skinny jeans torn from upper-thigh all the way down to the chunky black boots. Lance would’ve written him off as some guy who never got past his high school emo phase, were it not for the paint. The guy was covered in paint, all over his clothes, all over his shoes and his arms. There was a smear of red above his eyebrow and a streak of yellow in his hair. An artist?

The artist was not bored. He looked anxious. Almost fearful. Why? A car whizzed past, and when he could see the arist again, he had pinned himself against the building behind him, earning curious glances from passersby. The artist proceeded to glower at all of them in turn. Interesting. Not just an artist, but a malignant artist. Lance watched the malignant artist throw open the door to the grocery store and hurl himself inside.

What a strange man. But for those few minutes, Lance had not been bored. Thank you, malignant artist. Unable to resist, and now having an albeit flimsy pretext, he pulled out his phone and called Pidge.

“Katherine Holt. How can I help you?” the young voice on the other end said.

“Pidge, I just saw some really weird guy!”

“You’re calling to tell me about some guy you saw?” she said, sounding unimpressed. Which was pretty normal. Pidge rarely sounded impressed while talking to Lance. He could hear her rummaging through what sounded like a bin of metal legos.

“Yes?” There was a long pause. Lance figured she was deciding whether or not to hang up on him. Or she might have been working. Was he bothering her? He hoped he wasn’t bothering her.

“Was he cute?” she said finally.

“Most definitely. Kinda like a K-pop star without makeup. But more than that, he wasn’t boring.” Being on a self-enforced period of unemployment was boring. How did people survive being idle?

“You know, sometimes I wonder which one of us is actually an adult. Fine. Tell me about the weird guy you met.”

“Oh, you are definitely the adult. Anyway, he was wearing all black and was covered in paint,” Lance began. If he didn’t mention the red jacket, perhaps he could will it out of existence. “And I’m pretty sure he he hates everything.” Lance launched into a more detailed description of the malignant artist.

“Go get his number,” Pidge told him when he was finished.

“What the fuck? No.” The idea was honestly appalling.

“Why not?”

“First of all, I’m Lance Fucking McClain. Second, he’s some weird guy covered in paint that I watched from inside a coffee shop across the street. Third, I bet he has a knife collection.”

“A knife colle-do you even hear yourself?!” Lance sighed. He heard himself. “You’re an absurdity.” She was right. He could hear her typing away on her laptop at top speed.

“What are you up to? I can hear you typing,” Lance said, trying to divert her attention.

“Trying to change the subject? Fine. Coward. I’m building a bootleg WiFi router for Experimental Science.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah, it’s actually really easy. It takes like 15 minutes. All you need is a Raspberry Pi, some cords, two-”

“Already lost.” Bored. Boring. Bored. “You realize it’s a Sunday, right? Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?”

“Shouldn’t you? Mom says I’m your only friend. And I’m four years younger than you.” Here Pidge paused, hesitant. “That’s not true, right? I’m not seriously your only friend, right?”

“There’s not a whole lot of people I can trust. And after Nyma-”

“You’re not really all hunky-dory and grateful and all that bullshit, right? Like you said last night? Because if you are-”

“No fucking way! That ho is nasty . Rolo can have her…” He was my other friend. Lance’s voice trailed off. His gaze fell on the foam left at the bottom of his coffee cup. It was slowly dissolving away. Ugh. Even his latte foam left him.

“But?”

“But I can’t shake the feeling that it was my fault. She said she was lonely. She said I didn’t trust her. And looking back on it, she’s right. I don’t really trust anybody. sometimes, I’m not even sure I trust you.”

“Wow thanks. Love you too. I mean, I get it. You’re gonna get people who want to use you. Everyone does. You more than the average citizen. But just because a few people are dicks doesn’t mean you can shut yourself away from everyone. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Lance said quietly. This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t need to be comforted by a pint-sized seventeen-year-old girl. Though Pidge was definitely an extraordinary young lady. She was like a little sister to him. Or a big sister, depending on which of them needed help at the time. Right now, she was being the older sibling instead of Lance. And he hated it.

“You have to trust somebody, Lance. I don’t care if it’s me, or your mom, or some hot, angry Korean artist you met at a grocery store-”

“Stooop,” Lance whined. “And I think he was Japanese.”

“You have to trust someone.” Pidge wasn’t typing anymore. Lance had her full attention now. That’s how it had been for the last two years. If Lance had a problem, Lance had her undivided attention. At least for a few minutes. Or maybe she was just finished with her project.

“I know, Pidge. I’m working on it, I swear. I’ll get better.” Hopefully.

“Good. Also, pray I never get my hands on any of Nyma’s electronics.” Knowing Pidge, she’d probably weaponize the woman’s entire apartment.

“Is it wrong if I pray that you do?”

“Yes, but I love you all the more for it,” she said affectionately. There was laughter in her voice. Lance caught it and laughed too. Laughter was so contagious, like feelings. But it hurt a lot less. Lance heard a doorbell ring. “Oh, gotta go. Hunk is here.”

“Hunk again, huh?”

“Shut up. We’re just friends. I offered to teach him how to use Excel to create ledgers and budget and shit. He’s going into business with some old Altean geezer as soon as he graduates and is horrifyingly unprepared.”

“Okay, but if it were anyone else you would have just sent them a YouTube video. Just sayin’.”

“Goodbye, Lance. Go get the artist’s number.”

“‘Bye, Pidge. No. I don’t wanna get stabbed.”

“Oh, yes you do.” Lance caught the joke and smirked. So much sass.

Lance finally tore his eyes away from the fading latte foam as he slid his phone back into his jacket pocket. Outside, the rain had started coming down harder. It was almost pouring. He sighed. Time to leave. As he walked out, stopping to place his empty cup on the counter, he saw a few customers take out their phones and none-too-subtly try to snag a picture. He decided to stall a bit to give them time.

“Thank you.” He smiled at the barista and put a few dollars in the tip jar. She smiled back at him shyly. Lance notice the pale teal tattoos on her cheekbones. She saw him notice and tensed up a bit. “May I get a refill to go, please?” He laid another five on the counter and the girl brightened. She gave him a tentative smile.

Three minutes later, Lance pulled up the hood of his jacket and walked across the street to get to his car, fresh blackberry latte in hand, completely preoccupied with his lonely thoughts and the barista’s smile.

Chapter Text

Keith hated his life. Actually, he hated everyone else’s lives. People were the worst. First, there was the noise. Everywhere, just noise with no rhythm or purpose. Cell yellers. Babies. The angry businessman. The jilted ex. The protestors blocking the crosswalk. All just talking with nothing to say. Or worse, taking one look at him and glaring, or crossing to the other side of the street, or pulling their children closer, or dragging them away from him. Even worse, the cars. Why did people have to drive so fast ? And now it was raining. Hard. He sighed, wishing he could get to his phone to crank up the volume on his playlist.

Arms laden with heavy groceries, he began making his way down the sidewalk as fast as he could walk. His eyes caught the coffee shop across the street. There was a small cluster of people looking out the window. Ugh. What do they want? It looked like they were watching him. It was creepy. Were they looking at the angry protesters? Huh. Must’ve been from out-of-town then. Perhaps a tour or something.

Slam! Keith collided with another moving body so hard, he was knocked backward onto the sidewalk, spilling his groceries.

“What the Hell?!” He demanded, flashing his canines, yanking out his earbuds. His heart rate had picked up a bit. The sidewalk shook beneath him as a garbage truck drove past. A tiny part of him suggested it might have been his own fault for not watching where he was going. That tiny part of him was ignored as adrenaline began to course back into his system beneath the whispers of passersby. A gentleman stood in front of him, wearing pristine, expensive-looking clothes.

“Oh, fuck! I’m so sorry! Here, let me help!” The voice was loud. A slender brown hand with long, elegant fingers and carefully manicured nails reached out and began gathering up the spilled groceries. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Shit. Sorry. Here.” The hand set down the groceries and extended itself toward Keith.

Keith, realizing he couldn’t just sit on the filthy sidewalk, scowl, and soak up water, took the guy’s forearm, forcing himself to look up into the face of his over-friendly, overly loud attacker. A collection of faint cinnamon freckles and intense cerulean eyes caught his attention. The eyes were a startling, almost unearthly blue, crinkling just a little bit at the corners. And they were staring right into his. Though they did flicker up to the red streak above his eyebrow. Soft lips flicked up a little at the corners. Keith wondered if the man was laughing at him. If he was, Keith decided he would take the knife out of his boot and stab the bastard. And then the recognition dawned on him.

“Oh my gods.” Keith hadn’t meant to speak aloud. It was a reflex. Lance McClain grinned sheepishly, pulling Kieth up from the nasty wet sidewalk. Once Keith got to his feet, he realized they were standing very close together. No-room-for-Jesus close. He took a hasty step back, still preoccupied with the revelation that Lance McClain possessed freckles. And didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable with his existence.

“I’m so sorry,” McClain said again. His voice, while loud, had an almost musical quality that made it not painful to listen to. The hint of an accent? Keith wasn’t sure.

“It-It’s fine. I’m fine. Really, it’s not a big deal.” McClain visibly relaxed a little in his shoulders. His eyebrows were still woven into concern. Probably just hoping to avoid a lawsuit. Keith saw something in his peripheral vision and turned to look. People were beginning to gather. Several were holding up phones. Someone’s camera went off with a flash and another followed. Could you fucking not? Keith flinched. His heart began to race. His breathing became fast and heavy. THe grocery bags rustled with the tremors in his hands.

“Hmm?” McClain turned, one perfect Latin eyebrow raised, following Keith’s gaze. “Bother.” Who the hell says “bother” anymore? McClain turned back to him. Keith registered a small frown before the smile returned, this time slightly less genuine. He lowered his voice. “How about I make this up to you? I have a car. I could give you a ride back to your place. You’re gonna want to make yourself scarce within the next thirty seconds or so, before they start coming over.”

Keith hesitated. He hated cars. But he also hated attention, and he was getting a lot of it. And the rain was only coming down harder. But still, a car ride probably wasn’t the best idea. “No, no. That’s alright.”

McClain gave him a grin. “Nonsense! It’s no trouble! Follow me!” And he bounded down the street, and Keith figured he had no choice but to follow. Unfortunately, McClain’s legs, and subsequently his stride, were so long Keith had to trot to keep up with him. This was a very bad idea, for about a million different reasons, but what was he supposed to do?

“Here,” McClain said, stopping beside a blue tesla. The driver’s side door opened automatically at Lance’s approach.

“What, no lamborghini?” McClain didn’t respond, instead popping the trunk.

“What’s your name?”

“Keith.”

“Hi, Keith. Name’s Lance.”

“I know.” Keith put his groceries in the trunk, kicking himself for his rudeness. Fortunately, McClain just chuckled. Just like when he spoke, his laugh had a strange rhythm to it, almost like music.

“Hop in,” McClain said, tossing Keith his phone to put in his address. Keith punched in his apartment and climbing in the passenger seat, carefully shifting an old army jacket to the console between them. He thought it an unusual article for McClain to have, given his style.

“Oh, shit. Sorry about that!” McClain gently deposited the jacket in the back seat, treating it with reverence.

McClain was, by some miracle, an excellent driver. Which was good, because if he hadn’t been, Keith wouldn’t have been able to handle it. As it was, he sat stiffly, gripping his knees tightly the entire time, staring resolutely out the windshield. Please just don’t crash. Please just don’t crash.

Then they stopped at a red light. Keith stared at the car in front of him, not really processing what he was seeing, gazing at the blinking turn signal... The dashboard was covered in shattered glass glittering in red and blue light. Over and over, red-blue-red-blue-red-blue-, almost hypnotic. Sirens wailed and somewhere someone was screaming something over and over. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t cry out. It hurt to breathe. He was pinned down by something heavy, arms and legs going numb. He rubbed his fingers together, testing his mobility. He could vaguely tell that they were slick with something wet. Something warm.

The light turned green, and they turned the corner. Keith forced himself to unhook his fingernails from the bare skin beneath his shredded jeans. He managed to slow his breathing, but his heartbeat and hands remained unsteady.

“Hey. Um...are you okay?” McClain glanced at him. He sounded uncomfortable, but also concerned.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just...I really don’t like cars.” And he immediately regretted opening his mouth.

“What the fuck, seriously?” McClain turned to look at him with an expression somewhere between horror and shock. “Then why fuck did you let me give you ride?”

“Because it’s pouring out? And I have frozens? And people scare me?” Don’t judge me. Leave me alone. What the Hell else was I supposed to do?

“O-okay. Fair enough,” McClain said. He glanced at Keith again out of the corner of his eye. His eyebrows had a slight upturn.

“I’m fine. Really. I’m not gonna have a panic attack in your car.” I’m not going to have a panic attack in front of Lance McClain.

“Sorry. You just went really fuckin’ white there for a minute.” Keith could hear genuine concern in McClain’s voice. He decided to be merciful and give the celebrity something other than a glare.

“I am really white. I could advertise for skin bleaching.” Keith gave a small smirk. McClain chuckled. McClain’s language was worse than Keith would have expected, but he was clearly as kind and considerate as his reputation suggested. Keith wondered if the rest of his reputation was equally accurate.

“Here we are,” McClain said, pulling up outside a somewhat shabby apartment building.

“Do me a favor and go around to the fire escape.” Keith hated going in through the front. It meant dealing with people, and the less Keith had to do that, the better. He wondered if anyone in the entire building had even seen his face.

“Sure,” McClain said, turning the corner and stopping next to the bright red fire escape. The men got out of the car and McClain’s gaze travelled up the side of the building. “Let me guess. The one on the fifth floor with the window open?”

“How’d you know?” Keith couldn’t help it. He grinned. He saw Lance’s eye dart briefly down to his pointed teeth, and hastily closed his mouth. He didn’t want any trouble.

“Just a hunch. Also, your curtains are covered in paint,” McClain said as he went around to open the trunk.

“Better them than the glass. I paid $440 for the security deposit and I want it back eventually.” McClain tossed his head back, laughing, genuine and effortless. It seemed he was easily entertained. Keith reached in and began pulling out his groceries before McClain could grab them all, sliding them up his wrist. “You don’t have to help. I can get it.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Literally, I have nothing better to do anyway. Plus, I walked right into you and dumped you onto a dirty sidewalk, and then inadvertently terrorized you, so I kinda owe you.” Keith’s thoughts wandered to his messy, paint-covered apartment. After a few seconds, he decided he didn’t care. Social interaction was exhausting and he could tell any resistance would be futile.

“Suit yourself,” Keith mumbled, and he began ascending the recently re-broken ladder of the fire escape, Lance McClain right behind him.

***

Keith’s apartment was exactly as Lance had expected it: a paint-covered mess. There were tarps over the television, on the couch, hanging from the walls, spread out on the floor. The table was covered in easels, stacks of canvases, palets, cups, and various bins and containers full of different paints, pencils, brushes and other tools. A plastic bin filled with colored pencils lay turned on its side under the table. Lance observed the circle of scattered pencils on the rumpled up canvas tarp. If he didn’t know better… Beneath the mess, more canvas tarps were fixed with metal clamps to the table. There were books stacked beneath the window (which Lance had naturally toppled over on his way inside) and piled on the coffee table, and under the kitchen island and just about everywhere else there was space. A small red tabby cat meowed from the kitchen island. And here Lance had thought this place couldn’t get any better. He made a beeline for the kitchen, headache almost forgotten.

“That’s Red,” Keith explained. “She’ll either hate you, or she’ll love you.” Setting down the groceries, Lance reached his hand out, and Red met him halfway, pushing her head into his palm, purring loudly.

Keith let out a laugh. “Guess she loves you.”

“Of course she does!” Lance said. “What’s not to like?” A lot, actually. Red rolled over onto her back, requesting a belly rub, which Lance warily provided.

“Little slut,” Keith said. Lance could hear a smirk in the guy’s voice. Lance considered making a joke about being offended, but decided against it. He’d already caused Keith enough discomfort. No need to add to it.

As Keith put away his groceries, Lance surveyed the artwork. Various landscapes and paintings of stars, mostly in warm or dark shades. His eyes lingered on a piece at the end of the table. It was a desert landscape at sunset. A solitary shack stood in the foreground, dark against the red sky, with cacti and rock features silhouetted in the far distance against a smouldering sun. An old red corvette parked out front, spiny desert plants growing out from underneath. It felt...lonely. Empty. And very, very quiet. A razor-thin black ribbon of paint in the bottom right corner spelled out Keith Kogane . Something stirred in the back of Lance’s mind, but he couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“So, umm…” Lance started. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Then his heart sank, because he was about to be. He turned to Keith, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you,” the guy said awkwardly. “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.” Keith ran a hand through a dirty, choppy mullet. As heinous as it was, it kind of suited him.

“It’s no problem!” Really! Please, I don’t want to leave. Lance found himself fumbling in his pockets. “It’s the least I could do after barreling into you like that.” There was an awkward silence. “Well,” Lance said finally, surrendering, “I’ll see you around, I guess. Sorry again for terrorizing you.”

“Yeah. Nice meeting you.” It looked as if Keith were trying to smile, so Lance smiled back at him. He was rewarded with a small crooked upturn to the corner of Keith’s mouth. The guy’s head was positioned at just the right angle to make his midnight eyes look huge. Staring at those deep voids and yellow sclera, Lance struggled to keep his thoughts in order. Yeah, how about we don’t do that?...Too late? Great. Thanks for nothing. Stupid feelings. Always messing things up.

“Likewise.” And with that, Lance McClain turned and headed out the window and back down the broken fire escape, got into his car, and drove away, thinking of the hollowness of an empty shack in an empty dessert.

Chapter Text

Keith ran a shaking hand through his nasty hair. What the actual fuck just happened? Keith was struggling to process. Of a few things, he was absolutely certain. One, he’d just gotten a ride from Lance McClain. Two, Lance McClain had entered his apartment. Three, he was never leaving his apartment again. Ever. People were nosey assholes. Or disgustingly friendly, in Lance McClain’s case. Either way, no thanks. Apparently, his cat disagreed. Red meowed, disconsolate. Her new friend had disappeared so quickly.

“Get over it.” It’s not like we’re ever gonna see him again. Truth be told, Keith wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Lance McClain wasn’t at all what trash media and his Instagram would suggest. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was annoyingly attractive, irritatingly nice, and brought the noise with him wherever he went, just as Keith had figured. But he also didn’t seem to be the flamboyant man-whore that the internet liked to peddle, either. Or maybe he was and Keith either hadn’t been a target or simply hadn’t noticed. Both, he figured, were equally possible.

Keith crossed the main room and pulled the canvas tarp off the television and, with a sigh, threw himself down onto the couch, setting his phone precariously on the corner of the coffee table. He had a half-finished piece he should really be working on, but he was exhausted. He’d gone outside. He’d dealt with noise, and lights, and people. And taken a ride in a car with one particularly high profile, very loud, very bright, very flashy person. Although...Lance McClain himself hadn’t really been that bad. He’d been far kinder than the situation had demanded, and while very loud, his voice and manner had a rhythm to them that was reminiscent of music. It was really weird. And Keith had found a new shade of blue he’d never known before. He’d always preferred warm colors, but if he could, he’d like to try and recreate the color of Lance McClain’s eyes. What the fuck, man. Seriously? Straighten that shit out. Keith laughed into the empty silence. His phone vibrated from its place on the corner of the scuffed, scratched, chipped, ringed and painted coffee table. A quick glance told him it was Shiro. He didn’t bother to read it, trying to ignore that guilty feeling that sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

He dropped back down onto the couch. It was already almost 7:30, so he shouldn’t have to worry about the motorcycle guy. He never actually turned the tv on. Instead, he rolled over on the couch, forearm covering his face. The breeze from the fan drifted down, chilling his still wet clothes. Keith sighed, listening to the rain as it mixed with Stay by Rhianna. All was music. All was quiet. All was peaceful. And when he woke up the next morning, the world had seemingly realigned itself. It was good, if maybe a tiny bit bittersw- NO. Shut up.

***

“I fucked up so bad. I mean, So. Bad. ” Lance was sitting on his couch, bare feet propped up on the glass coffee table, a bottle of vodka nearby, sweating, marking up the glass. He had his phone pressed to his ear. He picked up his bottle and drank. It didn’t even burn anymore.

“Hello to you too, Lance. How was your day? Mine was great, thanks for asking.” Her tone was irritated, but Lance knew from experience she didn’t really care. He waited. She sighed. “How did you fuck up? This time.”

Lance ignored the jab. “I walked right into him.”

“Well that’s good, right? Did you get his number?”

“No, I mean I literally walked right into him. Like, I knocked him over onto the sidewalk.” Pidge cackled gleefully. “And he wasn’t happy about it.” She howled.

“Hoo boy, you done fucked up good!” Lance distinctly heard Colleen’s voice in the background, scolding her daughter. He could hear the noise of dishes banging together while Matt yelled out “Hank! Quit being such a shit to Connor!” in the background. “That’s just great.” She sighed, still full of amusement. At least someone was amused. “So, what did you do? Apologize, smile, and ask him for his number? Give him an autograph? Apology fuck?” More yelling from Colleen.

“No, I helped him up, picked up his groceries, and gave him a ride to his apartment, like a respectable human being. Unfortunately, he apparently hates cars. They freak him out.” Pidge was silent for several seconds. Lance waited for her verdict. His chest felt weird, fluttery. A shy nervousness that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Oh fuck.

“So let me get this straight. You dumped this poor guy onto the sidewalk and then proceeded to terrorize him?”

“Yes.” Lance cringed. He had terrorized Keith. He hadn’t meant to. He’d just been trying to help. He’d probably just gone about it in his usual over-enthusiastic manner. Had Keith protested? Lance couldn’t remember. Probably. Not that it mattered now. He took another drink.

“Did you at least get his number?”

“No! Stop asking!”

“Was he even cuter up close?”

“...Yes.” There was no denying the obvious. That small, crooked smile with the little fang sticking out flashed across his consciousness. A flicker of midnight eyes and dark lashes. Lance groaned inwardly. More vodka. Definitely more vodka.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yes,” Lance said, swallowing. He was. Absolutely.

“No, dumbass. You’re supposed to argue and say you’re not an idiot. Because you’re not.” More chiding from Colleen. No wonder she considered him a bad influence on her daughter. His language really was awful.

“But I am an idiot.” Pidge sighed again. “You should have seen his apartment, Pidge. It was fucking wonderful, all covered in paint, just like him. And he had all these paintings-”

“Imagine that.”

“-and they were beautiful! Every single one of them! Also, I’m pretty sure I saw some Springsteen records on the kitchen counter. And he had the cutest fucking cat-”

“Wait. Just-just wait a second. You went inside his house?”

“Yeah, I helped him carry his groceries inside.”

“You went inside a stranger’s apartment and pet his cat? Lance, that’s...that’s really, really dumb. You told me earlier that this guy looked like he had a knife collection!” Her voice rose about half an octave.

“But he didn’t! Not that I saw anyway.” An exasperated “ugh”. Pidge was absolutely right. He’d been foolish. And seen more than was best. Feelings were very, very contagious, and Lance really didn’t want to deal with them right now. He tipped the vodka back again.

“You’re-”

“Am I an idiot or not? Because you really need to make up your mind.”

Pidge sighed again. “I honestly don’t know. You had a perfect opportunity. It was right there. You had so many opportunities. And you didn’t take them.” She paused. The gears in her brain were probably in overtime. “Why didn’t you? That seems really out of character.” She was right. If he liked someone, he never hesitated. He never missed an opportunity. He loved to make people smile. He was a flirt, and a flatterer. He was so free with himself, so open. But at this point, there was nothing really left of him to call his own…

“I don’t know. I just…” Lance bit his lip. “People have a certain way that they look at me, a certain way they perceive me. And this guy, he-he knew me. He knew exactly who I was. I didn’t want him to think anything or whatever. Plus, what are the chances that I’m, you know, his type?”

“Okay, that last bit is actually a valid point. Also, remember everyone knows who you are. But the rest has me worried.” She wasn’t typing. She was almost always typing. But she wasn’t typing. “I’m worried about you. Do you hear me? I’m worried.” Everything in the background was quiet. Colleen had stopped banging around. Matt had stopped cursing at his video game. Lance took another drink and smiled. The Holts were a family bonded together by nosing into other peoples’ business as a singular unit. “I know I always said you were a little loose, but I don’t like this. You’re shutting everyone out, and that’s not okay.”

“Pidge, I’m fine. It’s probably best if I take a break for a while. Like you just said, I’ve always been really loose.” Another drink.

“Okay, but if I ever call you, and you don’t pick up, I swear to God I will hunt you down and beat the ever-loving shit out of you. Understand?”

“Yeah, Pidge. I understand.” Lance’s heart was filled with warmth. He did understand. He understood completely. “I love you too. How’s your homework coming?”

“I’m finished for the night. Right now I’m repairing a mass spectrometer.”

“A fucking what?” Pidge was so smart, it sometimes scared him.

“A mass spectrometer. Gas chromatograph, to be exact. It’s broken and I’m trying to fix it.”

“Where the fuck do you even get a ‘massed spectomere’ anyway?”

“Mass spectrometer. Some jackass at school Friday threw a microscope at it.” Lance heard Colleen in the background. How she hadn’t given up on her daughter’s language was a mystery to him.

“Language!” he said, knowing she would get the reference. Pidge loved Captain America. “Someone threw a microscope at a...mass whatever?”

“Apparently, he couldn’t get it to work properly and got frustrated. I’m not surprised. The guy was a moron. He once told me he thought I was a, quote, ‘confused little boy’ end quote.”

“Sounds like a real charmer.” Lance smirked. He knew that this kid had it coming. He was on Pidge’s radar, and that was never a good place to be. One more drink.

“Oh, yeah. Totally. But joke’s on him, because now I have a mass spectrometer, and he doesn’t.”

“What are you gonna name it?” Pidge named everything. Lance registered subconsciously that he had begun to smile again. For real.

“Beezer.” Lance heard Colleen in the background say something about getting Beezer off the table. He laughed silently. Lance liked the Holts. They were wonderful people. But then, most people were.

“I’m sure she’ll get along nicely with Rover.”  Rover was the Roomba.

“Yeah, assuming I don’t sacrifice Rover to revive Beezer.”

“Pidge! Don’t talk about your children like that!”

“I’m just kidding! I would never sacrifice Rover. We’ve bonded.” They had. Lance had stopped by after Kubo had wrapped so she could pick one of the many little Kubo claymation dolls to keep (which he may or may not have stolen from the studio), and found Rover next to her on the couch like it was actually a pet. He’d stayed to help her glue glow-in-the-dark stars, glitter, and plastic gemstones to it so her family would stop tripping over it at night. Then they’d had a photo shoot of the many Kubos Lance had brought squaring off against the mighty beast. Lance had entered the house as friendly acquaintance. He’d left with a new best friend. That had been two years ago, and the two had only grown closer, in spite of their age gap. According to Colleen, it was because Lance was very immature. Which was fair, if somewhat problematic.

“On a completely different topic, I need two favors.”

“Go for it.”

“I need help picking a dress for prom.”

“Yes. Done. Already on it,” Lance said, trading the vodka for his laptop, which lived on the middle couch cushion. He really ought to find a better place for it.

“And…” Lance looked up. Pidge almost never hesitated. “Will you come to my graduation? Please? I know you’re trying to be all low profile right now, but I’m valedictorian, and I have to give a speech and I know it sounds stupid but it’s really important to me and I’d really like you to be there because you’re my best friend and-”

“Pidge, I will be there. I will move heaven and earth if I have to, and I will be there. You don’t even have to ask.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” lance said, putting her on speaker phone so he could google more efficiently. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. If you didn’t invite me, I’d gatecrash.” He meant it. “As for the prom dress, long or short?”

“Long. Or long in the front and short in the back.”

“Color?”

“Green. Duh.”

“Figured I’d ask. Cutouts are in style right now. You like?”

“I like.”

“Send me your measurements.”

Lance and Pidge chatted for another forty minutes, simultaneously talking Kubo , school, dresses, and boys. And how they sucked. And never wanted either of them.

After they hung up, Lance leaned back, rubbing his face with his hands. The dress would need more work. The next Kubo script needed more work. Meaning he needed to actually start writing it. Lance needed more work, in every definition of the word. He sighed. His day had ended up being not boring, but it had been a little sad. He’d met someone new, who Lance had decided was exceptionally likeable and interesting, and hadn’t bothered to try and establish any sort of a lasting connection with them. But that was for the best, right? He’d had a long string of short-lived, highly publicized (and in some cases, highly criticized) relationships in the last six years. It was for the best he spent some time just on the world, instead of in it. But still, he couldn’t say he didn’t have any regrets.

One more drink.

Chapter Text

Dammit. Lance stared at the black wallet with the Deadpool logo on it sitting on the passenger seat. It didn’t belong to Lance. Which meant it had to belong to... Dammit. Shit! Fuck!!! He ran his fingers through his hair and put his hands on his hips. There was nothing for it. He’d have to go back. Lance got into his car and picked up the wallet. Maybe there was a number? Nope. Lance wasn’t surprised. From what he had seen of his acquaintance, Keith would probably prefer to just replace everything in the wallet as opposed to try and find it or interact with people.

Lance put his foot on the brake and watched his car come to life. He leaned back against the headrest and sighed, willing the headache to go away. He’d just wanted to go get some food. He turned and gazed out the window. The world was grey and overcast. He wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to go back. Normally, he’d jump at the chance for a second interaction with somebody he liked. Or any social interaction in general. But the truth was, Lance was tired. He was tired of trying and failing to tether himself to anything.

Because when he really thought about it, he had nothing to reach out to. He missed Cuba, a land he’d never seen but still felt for deeply in his soul. He missed Veradera, where he’d spent all the best days of his life. He missed his mother and his family, with whom he’d had borderline no contact with in six years. He missed James. And Evan. And Nyma. And so many others. But at the same time, he was okay just missing them. He didn’t want any of them back. He didn’t have enough feeling left in him for that. A mixture of misery and apathy sat on his chest like so much weight. He’d done everything he’d set out to do. And missed out on everything else.

Well, no use dwelling on it. Time to bite the bullet.

I met up with an acrobat

In Brooklyn or some place like that

With life and taxis flying past

We tore that dancehall down.

Pocket change and subway cars

Our big ideas filled empty bars

You might be from the moon or Mars

Either way I'm never going home

***

Hunk was looking at modern restaurants for decor inspiration when Pidge slumping into the desk next to him with a moan. He handed her a dirty chai, like he did every morning.

“So...how’s Beezer?”

“Needs some new parts. I’ll have to make them from scratch. Or buy them, but screw that. How your baby?”

“Needs lighting. And tables. And chairs. Ande everything else. We’ve got two months until we graduate, which means two months to get the place in shape. How’s Lance?” Another moan.

“I honestly don’t know, aside from the fact that he turned down an opportunity to make a friend yesterday.”

“He what?” Hunk was shocked. From what Pidge had told him of Lance, and she’d told him a lot, the guy was pretty much already friends with everyone. He was so nice, and so friendly, he’d turned more than one homophobe into a friend.

“Yeah. Just made an acquaintance, helped him out of a bit of a tough spot, and left without even getting the guy’s number.” Hunk cast his AP Calc homework aside. He was almost done anyway and it wasn’t due until tomorrow.

“Dish. Now.” Pidge looked at him gratefully, and Hunk gave her a warm smile. He loved her so much. People were put off by her...well, everything. She was aggressively passionate and unsettlingly smart, with a dark sense of humor and almost no sense of fashion. And Hunk loved every piece of her. So as Pidge launched into the story of her conversations with Lance, he listened, clinging to every word.

“And I just don’t know what to do and I hate myself for not seeing it sooner because this has been coming on for a while and how could I not have seen it and how am I going to fix him and I’m kicking myself for not being that kind, gentle people person that you are because maybe if I was-” Pidge’s voice broke with a squeak. Hunk stood up and pulled her out of the classroom. This was not the time for Pidge to break, before classes even started. He had three minutes to build Pidge back up before first bell.

Out in the abandoned hallway, Hunk wrapped her up in a hug, kneeling so he could gauge her breathing. As she gasped into his neck, trying not to panic, Hunk held her close.

“Listen, Pidge. Listen to me, okay?” He whispered, voice echoing in the mostly empty hallway. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. If anything, you’re probably the only thing that’s kept Lance together with long.” Hunk pulled back so he could look at her sweet little face. “Trust me, I would know. You’re the one who keeps me together. Don’t worry, alright? We’ll figure out how to help Lance. I promise, okay?”

“We?” Pidge asked, wiping her face. Hunk couldn’t help but feel a little bit angry with Lance (even though it wasn’t fair) for causing Pidge such distress. But at the same time, everyone knew Lance was literally the kindest person on the face of the planet. To everyone. Even if they were shit to him. And he needed help.

“Of course, Pidge,” Hunk said, putting one of his giant hands on her tiny shoulder and she brushed away a final tear. “I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”

I was drinking from the wishing well

Some junkie metalhead hotel

When we boarded the carousel

The roof was caving in

On the stage my oxblood friend

Was singing songs about the end

The bankers in the lion's den

We're dropping lines like beggars in the snow.

***

Lance didn’t know the apartment number, so he couldn’t go in through the lobby. Plus, he would attract the kind of attention that Keith doubtless would not want. So instead he grabbed the wallet and climbed up the broken fire escape to the window. It was still open. Or maybe Keith had closed it and reopened it later? Perhaps he was out? Maybe he was out. Lance hoped he was out. Ugh the height really wasn’t helping his headache.

A gust of wind blew past, pushing aside the curtains to reveal a young man with dark, choppy hair sitting cross-legged on the living room tarp, apparently meditating. He was only wearing an old pair of pajama pants, no shirt despite the chilly air blowing in from outside. His bare torso and his arms were streaked with paint. For someone who was apparently a recluse, Keith’s body, while of slender build, was well-toned. Lance noticed a scattering of puckered, pale pink scars. He swallowed hard. So something bad had happened to him. A car on the street out front gave a long, loud blast from its horn, and Lance saw Keith inhale sharply, letting it out shakily in time to a screech of rubber.

Lance reached up and rapped quietly on the glass. “Don’t freak out.”

Keith screamed, scrambling away from the window. Lance caught a glimpse of his long teeth again. “What the fuck!” His chest rose and fell frantically and his eyes were wild. His hand had closed around a folding knife on the floor under the coffee table. Lance made a note not to tell Pidge about that. Keith looked far from thrilled to see Lance again. Lance didn’t blame him. Why couldn’t Lance not terrify him?

“Sorry, sorry. I was just returning your wallet.” Lance clambered in through the window, knocking over the stacks of books again, and held it up. “I would have just called you, but you didn’t have your number in it. Or your address. Might want to fix that.” Lance smiled, mouth closed, hoping it would put Keith at ease.

It apparently did, because Keith sighed and picked himself up off the floor. He walked over and plucked the wallet from Lance’s hand. “I don’t like it when people knock on my door. And I never answer my phone anyway.” Keith averted his eyes at that last part. Lance couldn’t help but think he saw a bit of guilt there. Interesting. “Thanks for returning it to me.”

“No problem. Sorry.” Lance shuffled his feet and fumbled with his pockets. He found himself fishing for an excuse to stay.

Keith sighed again. “You don’t have to leave,” he said. He peered at Lance from under his dark eyebrows.

“What?”

“I know that look. I’ve seen it before. Come on. I’ll pour you some coffee.” Lance didn’t know what to say. Keith’s dark eyebrows were scrunched together, a small frown on his lips. He turned away, picking up a faded black t-shirt off the pile of books on the coffee table. The red jacket from yesterday, Lance noticed, was flung carelessly over the back of the couch. He turned toward the kitchen, and Lance followed. He noticed with some trepidation another knife on the kitchen island. Had that been there yesterday? Lance looked around, and spotted a new pallet covered with plastic wrap on the table. It was coated in various shades of burning red.

“Do you always used warm colors?”

“I do tend to use them more often, but my latest piece has more blue and green…Cream? Sugar?”

“Please.” Keith smirked, adding a considerable amount of both. “Wow. It’s like you read my soul.”

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” Keith slid the cup across the island counter. “You just seemed like that kind of person.” He turned to the dining table and uncovered the pallet, turning to a canvas on one of the easels. There was a half-painted, deep red butterfly hovering in front of a window, an overturned jar on the desk below the sill. Outside, there was a field of green and brilliant blue sky. A deep blue butterfly fluttered on the other side of the glass, looking in, its tiny feet pressed against the nearly invisible barrier, trying to taste whatever lay on the other side. It was quiet, beautiful. And filled with a certain longing that felt all too familiar.

Keith furrowed his brows, looking down at the pallet and carefully coated the tip of his pinky in one of the lighter shades of red, gently spreading it over a darker color, and the light from the window hit the glittering insect’s wings in just the right way. He brushed his long fingers against the canvas, staining his finger tips red. Keith’s face was a mask of concentration, his dark eyes glittering, soft lips parted ever so slightly. He rubbed his fingers over his lips distractedly, smearing them with red. Lance felt almost like an intruder, eavesdropping on the most intimate of moments. Lance didn’t want to breath, and he didn’t want to look away. He hitched himself up onto one of the island chairs, trying not to make any noise. So, naturally, the chair creaked beneath him.

Keith turned, lips still parted, eyebrows raised questioningly. Beautiful. You’re beautiful. Wait, what? “Did you need something?”

“No, sorry. It was just the chair.” Shit. Lance kicked himself for breaking Keith’s concentration.

“Mmnh.” Keith turned back to the painting. Red leapt up onto the table, her tiny paws thumping against the canvas-covered wood. She sat there primly, purring like a motor and squinting her eyes up at her dad. “Hey, kitty,” Keith said softly. Red purred louder at his voice and lay down on the edge of the table. Her legs dangled over the end. Her tail flicked back and forth like the pendulum in a grandfather clock. The radiator kicked on, roaring in Lance’s ears.

Lance watched Keith’s hands. The long delicate fingers moved across the canvas in a way not unlike how Lance’s moved across a piano: with an elegant grace that seemed without effort. He could hear the sound of Keith’s fingertips sticking to the wet paint. He could hear his every exhalation as loud as a gust of wind in a storm. The chaos of the city faded away. He was subconsciously aware of his racing heartbeat, fluttering very much like the butterfly, dreaming of the outside world. He didn’t want to breathe. He didn’t want to shatter the silence. There was too much to see. Too much to hear. Where typically, Lance would feel nothing, he felt more than he’d ever felt before.

Then Red spotted him, and meowed at him. The moment shattered like window glass. Red slipped off the table and trotted over to wind around the legs of Lance’s chair. Did you have to, Red?

“She’s such a little whore,” Keith said fondly. Red yowled plaintively, before leaping up onto the island. “It’s funny that she likes you. She hates the upstairs neighbors who smoke weed on the fire escape.”

“I should get a cat,” Lance said. The moment was over, so it no longer mattered if he spoke.

“What?” Keith said.

“I mean, I live alone. It might be nice to have a friend.” Lance paused. “Well, I mean, I have a friend. One. But I don’t get to see them too often, so I’m on my own a lot.”

Keith was quiet just long enough to get Lance squirming. If Keith spent all of his time in this apartment by himself, no wonder he was so anxious when he went outside. “Cats are nice. They judge you silently instead of out loud. And they’re pretty low maintenance,” he said finally. Lance rubbed Red’s head, and she fell onto her side with so much force, she grunted. Keith burst out laughing, a surprisingly bold, clear sound for a quiet guy. He stopped short, as though he’d surprised himself too. Lance chose not to mention it. He also chose not to mention that Keith’s canines were more like fangs. They looked almost an inch long.

“Plus, you don’t have to take a cat outside,” Lance said. He was laughing too, though he tried to keep it quiet.

“Exactly. Although carrying cat litter up a ladder and five flights of stairs sucks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lance said with a grin. And the silence descended again, except for Red’s purring (Lance kept petting her to keep her quiet), the radiator and the sound of  Keith’s fingers ringing in his ears. He sipped his coffee. He felt comfortable in this space. “You really only have one friend?” Keith asked, softly.

“Yeah, Pidge. She’s the voice actor I hired to play Kubo.”

“Ah.” Keith turned to him. “Wait, I thought she was just a kid?”

“Pidge is seventeen. Won’t be eighteen until April. So, yeah. It’s a little questionable, but her family trusts me not to ruin her. For some reason. Besides, it’s only another couple weeks anyway, so why stop now?”

Keith laughed. “Do they not turn on the TV? I mean, sure most of it’s bullshit, but still. You’re probably not the greatest influence for a teenage girl.”

“I’m really not,” Lance said, forcing a smile. At least Keith didn’t think he was the living incarnation of Hedonism Bot. “I prefer to handle my problems with alcohol and partying. But I make sure she does her homework and that the industry doesn’t eat her alive, so they tolerate me. Plus, I’ve made sure she’ll never have to take out student loans. And I wrote her a letter of recommendation for MIT.” Keith was looking at him thoughtfully.

“Speaking of which…” Lance checked his Breitling. He was supposed to go meet Pidge for lunch at eleven-thirty so they could discuss their plans for the summer. It was eleven-fifteen.

“Fuck!”

Keith jumped. “What?”

Lance couldn’t believe it. He’d been there for nearly two hours. “Sorry. Shit! Sorry.” He leapt off the chair, disturbing Red, who had managed to finesse her way onto his lap. “Fuck. Shit.” Lance dug through his pockets, checking for his phone and keys. “I’m supposed to meet her for lunch today. At eleven-thirty.” Lance rushed to the window, but paused. He thought about what Pidge had said about him shutting everyone out. He munched on his bottom lip and came to a decision. “Hey. Can I have your number?”

Keith stared at him for a few seconds. Just long enough for Lance to expect him to decline. “Toss it,” Keith said finally, holding out his hands. Lance felt his face break into a grin and tossed Keith his phone. The artist caught it and punched in his number. Lance heard a phone vibrate from somewhere in the room. The coffee table? He wasn’t sure.

Keith tossed the phone back. Lance fumbled it. “See you around, Lance McClain.” Keith was smiling. It was a small one, crooked, and his head was tilted as to make it look almost mischievous. The tip of one of those little fangs stuck out. Lance’s stomach did a somersault. You can stop that right there, Lance.

“See you around,” Lance said, and leapt out the window, flying down the fire escape stairs. He was more eager than ever for a chance to see Pidge.

Outside, the day, still overcast, seemed a little less dark. The clouds, a little less grey. The air, crisper, less filth with each breath. And the noise of The Pit crashed over him like the waves of an incoming tide. His senses felt amplified. Everything felt bigger, louder, stronger. He was Daredevil. Fearless. Unafraid to jump. Unafraid of the fall.

Youre my number one

Youre the reason I'm still 

Up at dawn

Just to see your face

We'll be going strong

With the vampires baby

We belong

We belong awake

Swinging from the fire escape

Chapter Text

Pidge was already sitting at a table outside the restaurant, waiting for Lance. He’d called to tell her he was late. Which meant he had to tell her everything. She wasn’t angry, or even irritated like she usually was when Lance was late. Instead, Pidge was determined to find out more about the knife-collecting artist Lance had told her about. She couldn’t help but feel excited. Lance had been so down the last few weeks. So out of sorts and dispirited. But when he’d called her just now, he’d sounded better than she’d heard him in months. He’d sounded alive .

“Start talking,” Pidge said as Lance seated himself. She took her menu and gave him a pointed look over the top. Lance wasn’t leaving her sight until she’d decided what she was going to do next.

“Not a whole lot to tell. He left his wallet in my car, so I went and returned it to him. Naturally, I almost scared him to death when I climbed in through his window. He let me stay a while, so I drank coffee and watched him paint for like, two hours. We talked a little toward the end. And then I realized it was eleven-fifteen.”

Pidge considered the information. He’d sat in this guy’s apartment and watched him paint? This guy didn’t seem like the “lively conversation” type. Which could only mean that Lance had sat calmly in this guy’s apartment for two hours with only coffee, painting, and small conversations to entertain him. Which was so unbelievable she couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at him. Lance couldn’t sit still for two minutes, let alone two hours. As it was, he was disassembling and reassembling her pen right now. Which was the reason she’d brought the pen at all.

“Anything else?” She sounded like her mother after catching Matt (not her, of course, because she would never ...get caught) sneaking out of the house after hours. She didn’t care.

“I snagged his number on the way out. Wanna see?” Yes! Good job, Lance! He slid the phone across the table to Pidge, who picked it up, checking his proof of a human connection. It was real, and Oh my God.

“Wait, what the fuck?! This artist is Keith Kogane? Dude! I literally have three of his paintings in my room!” Holy shit!

“You know him?” Lance sounded shocked. His blue eyes shot wide as he gaped. “I thought the name sounded kinda familiar…”

“Yes! I found him on Etsy! But I could never find out much about him, so I just assumed he was some starving college student trying to pay for ramen. Holy shit. Lance, you found a cryptid.” She sat back in her chair and gazed at him in amazement. “What’s he like? What does he look like? You have to tell me!” How the hell had Lance done it? What were the chances that some artist she’d found on Etsy would be living in her city? And that Lance might end up chilling in their apartment?

“He’s got dark eyes with yellows instead of whites, and super dark hair, which I’m pretty sure he cuts himself with safety scissors. He’s hella pale, probably because he never goes outside. He’s always covered in paint. He’s got really pointy teeth. And I think he’s Japanese.” Lance paused, shifting in his seat. “I think something bad happened to him.”

“How do you mean?” Pidge stared at Lance. Stared through him, searching for unspoken thoughts. Her gaze must have been intense, because he squirmed beneath it.

“He seems to be afraid of cars, loud noise, and flashing lights. He freaked out staring at someone’s turn signal. He doesn’t like it when people knock on his door and he comes and goes through his living room window.” Lance stopped short, like he was about to say something but thought better of it. From the look on his face, Pidge got the idea it was something he probably shouldn’t share. Pidge considered this, and weighed the odds. The odds weren’t good. She’d have to make a decision as to whether to encourage Lance to continue or not.

“Those are three things that will always be a fact of life for you, no matter what,” Pidge said softly. She hated herself for saying it, but she needed to see how he would react. This was an incontrovertible truth. Lance would never be able to avoid his celebrity status as long as he lived, unless he suddenly decided to napalm his career. Which he had admittedly come close to doing. More than once. And occasionally on purpose.

“It’s never gonna happen. It’s an impossibility.” She saw his face fall. Heard the heartbreak in his voice. He looked dejected. More so than when he’d told her about Nyma. Right. Time to get to work. She’d have to see if there was even a ghost of a chance here. Which meant...She glanced down at the phone still in front of her and quickly memorized the number. Then she picked up the phone, subtly going to Lance’s GPS. Now to deal with the problem sitting right in front of her holding his crushed, easily stolen heart in his hands. As usual.

“Hey, the only thing we can determine for sure right now is that if he’s at all Japanese, he’s half at best, okay? Let’s wait and see what happens next,” Pidge said gently, with the intention of changing the subject. Best not to let him wallow. “Did you find any good dresses for my prom?” The rest of lunch was fully focused on resolutely ignoring the existence of Keith Kogane. But Pidge was gearing herself up for some first-class interfering.

***

Allura sipped her water and looked out over the city, brow furrowed.

“Coran?” she said, without turning.

“Yes, Princess?” her advisor responded. He was busy looking over a report on her office couch. He’d closed his cafe for the day so he could help her.

“Tell me. Why do they call this city ‘The Pit’? It seems indecent.” Garrison City was massive, sprawling, and dirty, with a large number of rather sketchy individuals, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Once, it was called ‘The Pot’, up until about twenty years ago,” Coran said, voice strangely subdued. “Because this city was, and is, the most demographically diverse city in the entire world.” Allura frowned. “After the influx of Galra and Altean refugees, certain people began calling it ‘The Pit’ instead, I guess because it was tainted by a different kind of ‘others’.”

Princess Allura narrowed her eyes at the city. At the shabby apartment buildings and brown parks, at the defunct parking garage on the edge of the river and the bridge that lead to the island slums. To her back, she knew things were better. Or at least cleaner and safer. Filled with white and silver metal, safe places to purchase actual food and nice clothes. Schools offering higher-quality education. Reasonable living situations. She marvelled at the fact that the nicest apartments in the city and the shabbiest were both only a ten minute walk from Atlas.

“And we are these ‘others’, would you say?” Allura turned back to the glass display on her desk, swiping through her tasks for today.

“Yes, Princess. The Galra probably moreso, but yes.” Allura turned to Coran. His white Altean hair had been dyed red, his skin made paler through treatments, trying to blend in with the majority. Dark eyes. His weathered face still retained the regal features of their race. He was looking right at her, expectantly. He’d told her the meaning of the city’s name before.

“What am I missing, Coran?” Something was lacking.

“Princess?”

“I lack something...I just don’t know what.”

“I think-I think you’re lonely, Princess.” Allura’s eyebrows contracted.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Coran began, bracingly. “I know you and Shiro are quite close, but outside of him, and me, I suppose, who else do you have?”

“Well, there’s Romelle, and Acxa, and Zethrid, and Ezor, and Narti…” Lotor. No, no. Best not the think about him right now. “Slav, I suppose. Hunk, potentially. I have them.”

“Princess, those people are not your friends. They are people you work with. Or people you believe may be useful in the future. Friends are different.” Coran rose and came to put a hand on her shoulder. “Allura, I hope you know how much you mean to me. I’ve come to think of you as my own. And I know you’ve done everything within your power to hold onto the Altean ways.”

Allura was quiet for a moment. She began to think once more of Shiro. The way she sometimes wondered if she was doing the right thing, choosing him over an Altean. If she married outside of her own people, she would never be able to ascend to the throne as a Queen. She’d felt the need to ask Coran’s permission and she found she still held doubts.

“Of course I have. They’re-”

“The Old ways, Princess.”  Allura tore her eyes away from the city below. “Times have changed. The sun set on our race twenty years ago, and it’s time to move on. We-we need to let go of what we were, so we can be something in the future.”

“But the Alteans will fade!” Allura said, alarmed by what he was suggesting. Just give up? Assimilate? Let her race die off?

“We already have, Princess,” Coran said softly. “It’s too late to rebuild. There aren’t enough of us left. I...In truth, I wish I’d realized this twenty years ago. I could have moved on sooner. Had a life sooner. And I want you to have that, too. Now, before it’s too late.”

Allura stared out at The Pit. At the gray in front of her, stark in contrast the with light behind. She saw the protestors on Middle Street, the unspoken border between the wealthy and not. And Atlas Tower stood at the center of it all, untouchable to the sprawling masses below. So distant, separate from everything else. And so was she.

“Can you really move on, Coran?”

“From what, specifically?” Allura didn’t answer right away.

“From him. I know you loved him.” Coran deflated a bit as the two gazed out at the steely gray sky, watching rain glide off the curved glass of the window.

“Never, Princess. Places are one thing. But there are just some people in this world you simply can’t move on from.” Allura smiled, taking his hand, thinking of Alfor and Shiro, and how lucky she was that the man she loved had managed to find his way back.

***

“Pidge, you do realize the probability of this working out is pretty small, right?” Matt shoved a Nutella-covered pretzel into his mouth. He didn’t look away from his game.

“I know, but-”

“Like really, really small. Look, I know how much you love Lance, and I love the guy too, but I’m not sure you can win this one. Hey, CCGMInSpace! Can you come give me a hand?” Matt’s stormtrooper was getting its ass royally kicked. Pidge heard a reply come through the headset. “Shit, okay. I’m on my way.”

“Can’t you at least take off the headset for a few minutes? I’m serious here!”

“Hey!” Matt said, “This is serious too! This fucking jedi piece of shit-”

“Fine, I’ll call Hunk. He should be in on this too.” Pidge began to get up.

“No, no! Don’t replace me with Hunk! Please? I’m listening, I swear. And I do care. You know I do. Lance is like the brother I never had.” Pidge ignored the near-insult.

“Fine.” Sometimes, she had to remind Matt that he was no longer the only other young genius in her life.

“So what are you gonna do? You don’t know anything about this guy. Lance barely knows anything about him. I’ve never heard of him. My artist friends at uni have never heard of him. Hey, CC! Have you ever heard of a part-Galra artist named Keith Kogane?” A pause. “Nope, CC hasn’t heard of him. He doesn’t exist.”

“First, I’m gonna go to his apartment and threaten the shit out of him. Then, I’m gonna decide if he’s worthy. And if Lance would have a chance.”

“Well he’s a reclusive artist who’s fond of cats and wears torn up skinny jeans so I’d say there’s at least a chance.” Matt put another coated pretzel into his mouth.

“Wow. Stereotype much?” She took the proffered chocolate pretzel from her brother, deep in thought. Lance was fragile. He had been since they’d met three years ago, and after a series of bad relationships and ugly breakups (She’d told him not to date that bitch!), he was all the moreso. He lacked the self-assured confidence he’d had when they’d met. She missed his one-liners and his joke flirting. At the very least, she missed him coming over to hang out. She missed him laughing and ruffling her hair. she missed him calling her Pidgeon and helping her with her English homework. She missed him. Because even though they spoke daily, she just couldn’t seem to reach him anymore.

***

Keith stared after Lance, thinking. There was no doubt in his mind Lance would be back again. Which, Keith decided, was fine. Lance was loud and disruptive, and from what Keith could tell, always in a hurry to get somewhere and nowhere at all. But it was also apparent to Keith that Lance McClain was quite possibly the loneliest person he’d ever met in his life. He’d climbed in through the window and had elected to sit and drink coffee for two hours in a stranger’s apartment rather than go home alone. Hell, he’d even complained about always being alone. Which was weird. Lance McClain was known for always having someone . He’d had guys, girls, and pretty much everything else. So why was he so lonely?

Keith turned back to his painting, but he didn’t see the butterflies anymore. All he could see was Lance standing in front of the window, shifting back and forth on his feet, fumbling in his pockets for an excuse to stay. It was a tick that was all too familiar.

He turned to the smartphone, partially covered by The Hobbit . He really should call Shiro. It had been way too long. He was probably really worried by now. Probably been worried months ago, actually. Nah. I’m sure he’s busy. He turned back to his work. He stared at the butterflies. Why did the red butterfly want out? It was nice being inside. It was safe and warm. And quiet.

His phone vibrated from the table. Keith sighed and went over to it. He might as well. It wasn’t like he was making progress anyway.

S: Are you busy? Call me.

It was Shiro. Talk about timing, Keith thought. His phone vibrated again.

S: Keith, I haven’t heard from you in six months. SIX. I’m really worried about you. Please call me.

Keith felt a stab of anger. It wasn’t any of Shiro’s business. Keith hadn’t asked for Shiro’s worry. He just wanted to be left alone. A third message. Keith looked down with a sigh. This message was from Lance.

L: Thanks for letting me hang out this morning. It was nice.

Keith hesitated. He knew he was probably going to regret his next message.

K: Any time. You can come over whenever you want. It’s not like I have anything else to do.

L: Seriously? You don’t mind?

K: Not at all.

Keith was reluctant to give someone permission to come and go as they pleased, or to interact with someone at all in any capacity, but Lance was actually not terrible company, and it was clear that Lance really needed someone to interact with. He was obviously the type of person who needed noise and attention like he needed oxygen. So if he was desperate enough for human interaction that Keith’s quiet, peaceful apartment was inviting to him, he must have been starving for a connection. And honestly, Keith felt bad for the guy. He got the feeling that despite his fame and success, Lance McClain’s life was pretty hollow.

I've fallen out of favor 

And I've fallen from Grace

Fallen out of trees

And I've fallen on my face

I've fallen out of taxis

Out of windows too

Fell in your opinion

When I fell in love with you

Chapter Text

Keith sipped his coffee. It was a quiet, peaceful afternoon, just him and some music. He'd spent the morning finishing the butterfly painting, and now he was taking a break, waiting for new inspiration to come to him.

And when I see you,

I really see you upside down.

The Odyssey sat open on the island beside him, obscured by a ball of red tabby fur. He looked down at the offending creature and shook his head. She was so naughty!

But my brain knows better.

It picks you up and turns you around,

turns you around, turns you around.

He scratched Red under her chin, and she stretched out on top of the book. Keith smiled. This was nice. He took a bite of his sandwich.   His phone vibrated. He should have known it wouldn’t last.

If you feel discouraged when there’s lack of color here,

please don’t worry lover. It’s really bursting at the seams

from absorbing everything, the spectrum’s A to Z.

L: I am so sorry

Well. Back to this shit.

K: What are you sorry for now?

L: Pidge may or may not have gotten hold of your address. I have no idea how

K: Great. What do I do?

Lance didn’t answer right away. Keith popped the cap on the bottle of anxiety pills he kept next to his coffee pot.

K: Lance

L: Let me bring her over

K: You’re not serious!

L: She’s gonna track you down one way or another. Better to just get it over with. Btw she apparently knows your work

?: Hey, loser. I’m coming over. Make Coffee

Keith took a deep breath to stabilize himself. He found himself struggling to process. His tiny, one-bedroom apartment was about to be invaded by a teenager. An underage girl. Wonderful. This should end great. Nevermind the fact that Keith was an adult and this kid wasn’t, what was he even supposed to do with a teenage girl? He hadn’t known what to do with a teenage girl when he himself had been a teenager. Granted he had reasons for that outside of his deplorable social skills, but still! He dry swallowed a pill, hoping it would calm the tremors in his hands.

K: Lance, she just texted me saying she’s coming over. That’s not okay. She’s a kid!

L: Fucking hell. Yeah, she does her own thing. Omw

And now two people were coming to his apartment. This was just great. As Keith had expected, Lance had shattered his peace and quiet. Keith tried to repress his annoyance, but all he could do was aggressively make coffee and scowl. Resistance, he could tell, would be entirely futile. These shitty celebrities. Thought they could do just anything they wanted. Although, Keith had told Lance he was welcome any time. Why had he done that? Right. Pity. Keith noted that pity would always lead one into trouble. Always.

P: Omw up the fire escape now.

K: I think I’m gonna jump.

P: Ooh! Do a flip! Keith was reminded of a My Chemical Romance song from his younger years (as in yesterday afternoon). Teenagers were a terrifying breed indeed. And yeah, it had only been three years since he himself had been a teenager, but still. Terrifying. He turned to the table and picked the butterfly piece, inspecting it. He’d finished it last night. It really wasn’t impressive enough to try and sell. It was kind of amature-ish. He heard a thump and turned back to the window. Way too soon.

A little brown-tufted head popped up over the sill. “Oh, great! You’re here! I thought you might have run off somewhere.” A tiny girl climbed in the window. This girl is seventeen? She looks twelve! Barely reaching five feet tall and thin as a reed, Pidge had short light brown hair, amber eyes, and a smattering of freckles on her face, shoulders. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and a long-sleeved shirt decorated with bright yellow sunflowers very out of place in the gloomy early spring. The smile on her face was even brighter. Keith felt his heart soften a little. But he couldn’t shake off his nervousness. Or his irritation.

“You really shouldn’t be here without an adult. It’s a bad idea. You know that, right?”

“Well, sure. But you totally called Lance for backup, didn’t you? Can’t handle a pint-sized trespasser?” She stood up to her full and diminutive height, filling the entire living room. Keith took a step back. Pidge took a step forward and tripped over a collection of Edgar Allen Poe in her chunky brown boots. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine. I’m the one who leaves books lying around on the floor.”

“What, like on purpose?”

“Yeah, like on purpose. I read in weird places. Usually on the floor. It’s easier to avoid the cat. If I try to read a book at the island, it becomes a bed. Or a snack.” Keith waved a hand in Red’s direction. She was chewing on the corner of The Odyssey. Keith set the painting back down on the easel and went to extract the book from his cat. Pidge walked herself to the kitchen and began rummaging around in the cabinet. “There are clean cups on the counter. You know, you could ask for some coffee. It’s not like we only just met after you showed up uninvited or anything.” Keith didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice. Red turned to Pidge and shot off into the bedroom, out of sight, apparently not taking to the little trespasser.

“Lance will be here soon,” Pidge said, completely unperturbed.

“Yeah, and?” Keith closed The Odyssey and set it on top of the stack of books beside the couch. He turned around to find Pidge had snuck up behind him. “Jesus! Fuck!” Keith fell back over the arm of the couch, legs dangling. He quickly swallowed his panic, resisting the urge to bear his teeth at her. How had she moved so quickly? She crept up to the arm of the couch, eyes dark.

“If you hurt Lance, I will kill you and everything that you are. I will find and purchase every painting you ever made and I will burn it.” Pidge leaned in close. Keith’s heart pounded. Her voice was low and soft, and filled with promise. She wasn’t kidding. “I will cut off all of your fingers and gouge out your eyes and you will never make another painting again, understand? Don’t you dare hurt him!” Her skinny chest rose and fell rapidly. Keith didn’t understand her fervor, but he couldn’t help but understand her love. Her loyalty.

“Why would I hurt him? He’s my friend. Sort of, anyway.” Were Keith and Lance friends? Where had they drawn the line?

Pidge straightened up, hands clasped behind her back. She was chewing on her bottom lip, the same way Lance did. Was it a bad habit that they shared? Or had one of them rubbed off on the other? As long as it didn't rub off on him...he could literally chew a hole in himself. “How should I know? We only just met you. Just, please don’t hurt him, okay? He’s like a brother to me.”

“I’m not gonna hurt him!” Keith snapped, but his heart melted in spite of his alarm.

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry. It’s just…” Pidge shifted. Keith didn’t move, legs still draped of the arm of the couch. “I’m worried about him. He hasn’t been doing so well lately.”

“What do you mean?” Keith swung his legs over the arm of the couch. He felt a shiver of concern. What for? He’d only met Lance twice and they’d only held conversation for maybe five minutes. Total. Why should he care?

“I don’t know. He just hasn’t been his usual self. After his breakup with Nyma, I didn’t hear from him for like a week. He didn’t do anything, just let her go around dragging his name through the shit. Like he didn’t even care.” She looked upset. Clearly, there were things that Keith hadn’t heard. Ugly things. He felt fire rise up in his chest, hot and angry. He didn’t like people who spread nasty stories about people behind their back. He’d been on the receiving end of that more than once in high school. Those on the delivering end had received a smackdown from him. And once or twice a blowjob. Either outcome, it turned out, resulted in a sad, disappointed gaze from Shiro.

“I told him he can come here whenever he wants. My window’s always open during daylight hours, if I’m home. And sometimes after dark. I’ll keep an eye on him.” It was a stupid, impulsive thing to say. Keep an eye on Lance? Yeah, brilliant, because Keith was clearly a paragon of mental health and well-being.

Pidge’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You will?” Keith got up and headed into the kitchen, pulling non-dairy creamer out of the fridge and setting it next to a jar of brown sugar crystals on the island. He poured three cups of coffee and slid one across the island to Pidge.

“Yeah. You think I can’t tell a depressed, lonely person when I see one? I’m no expert, but I know someone in need of help when I see them. I’m asshole, but I’m not one hundred percent a dick. I’ll help him if I can.”

“Have you thought about getting help yourself?” Pidge’s boldness startled Keith. “You don’t really seem able to function. At least not efficiently.”

“Some days are better than others. And yeah, I’ve thought about it. But I’ve also thought about going to art school, taking my keyboard out from under my bed and trying girls again, so…” Pidge laughed. “If you know somethi-”

“Wait! What was that last part?” Pidge was looking at him with a strange intensity.

“Trying girls again. Not my thing,” Keith said with a shrug. He’d gotten tired of beating around the bush. He’d learned to just say it and let people take it how they liked. Their problems with him weren’t his problems.

“Interesting,” Pidge said, narrowing her eyes.

“Not really,” Keith said hastily. “Anyway, I could see about getting help, but all they’d probably do is prescribe me meds for anxiety and tell me to expose myself to my stressors. I’m not gonna pay money I don’t have for a couch session with Dr. Obvious.” Pidge was still looking at him, he could practically hear the clicks and whirs of the gears in her head churning out information. This kid was something else.

“Then where do the meds come from?” she asked, nodding toward the coffee pot.

“They’re...let’s call it ‘undocumented’, okay?” He got the feeling Pidge wasn’t going to say anything.

“The ethnic market down the street?” She smirked.

“How did you-?”

“It’s where my idiot brother gets his Adderall from. He’s an astrophysics and engineering major. A senior, so-” Pidge was frowning. She clearly didn’t approve of her brother’s habits.

At that moment, Lance clambered in through the window, scattering the books Pidge had already knocked over. “Hey!” he said. There was a sharpness in his voice that took Keith by surprise. His entire body tensed and he groaned. His body ached with years of tension. Pidge snapped her head around. Lance fixed her with a serious look. “Do I need to yell at you or do you know all of the ways you were in the wrong by coming here?”

Pidge had the decency to look contrite, though Keith seriously doubted she was. “Sorry. I just-”

“Uh-uh. No ‘I just’s. It’s not right to intrude on people out of the blue like that.”

“Speak for yourself! You can’t keep all the cute artists to yourself, Lance! Save some for the rest of us!” Keith said nothing, deciding to let them fight it out. They were behaving like siblings. Keith wasn’t worried. He slid the still hot coffee across the island to Lance. Pidge peeked at it. “Wow, he even knows how you take your coffee? I ship it.”

“ Pidge! ” Lance cried. Keith just laughed. Lance looked up at him in surprise, taking the cup of coffee.

“Sorry,” Keith said, his face cracking into an ill-used grin, lips peeling over his long pointy teeth. “You guys just remind me of my brother and I. We were always ragging on each other.”

“You have a brother?” his guests asked in unison.

“Yeah. Shiro is my adopted brother, but the distinction’s never mattered to us. We called ourselves brothers long before that.” Keith came around and leaned against the island next to where Pidge was seated, ignoring the second chair. He took a sip of his coffee. Lance sat down on the arm of the couch and looked down into his cup. He seemed deep in thought. “So,” Keith said after a bit of silence. He turned to Pidge. “I hear you like my work. Why?”

Pidge’s face lit up. “I love your work! Remember your birchwood forest that went through the four seasons? I bought that one! It’s right above my bed in my room.” She was smiling so brightly. Keith felt his face and the tops of his ears heat up. Lance gazed at him from over the rim of his coffee cup and the corners of his lips turned up a little. He looked almost wistful as he watched the two of them interact.

“I remember that piece. I did it when I was...I wanna say eighteen, maybe nineteen. I made a bunch with paper and colored pencil first. I wasn’t as experienced back then, so it took me a while to figure out how I wanted the progression of the seasons to go. And even longer for me to be happy with how it looked. And then it took forever to paint. I almost gave up on it.” Keith looked at Pidge’s earnest, eager face. “I’m glad I didn’t,” he said smiling. Pidge’s cheeks went pink and she tried (and failed) to suppress a smile of her own.

“I like to look at your paintings really close. I can tell where you used a brush, where you used your fingers. So many layers!”

“I did that with my most recent painting too,” Keith said. He wasn’t sure if he liked the little terror, but it was clear she mattered a great deal to Lance, who strangely had begun to matter to him. He wanted her to feel welcome. He led her over to the table. He could feel Lance watching them closely and Keith briefly wondered if this was some kind of test. But that was absurd. He showed her the butterfly painting. “I like to use my fingers. It’s more fun that way. It-” Keith hesitated. “It’s soothing. It steadies my hands.” Keith held up his hands for her to see, which were shaking right now, thanks to the over-energetic gremlin tripping over his books.

Pidge stared at his hands, then at the painting. He watched her think. Her tiny hands reached for it, but stopped. She turned to him. “Can I-”

“By all means.” Pidge picked it up and carried it back to the island. “It’s probably not going to sell, so...Well, if you mess it up, no harm done.” Pidge stared at it with intensity. She looked up at Lance and then to Keith, and then back down at the canvas frame.

“You’re really not gonna sell it?” she asked.

“I might try, but I don’t think anyone’s gonna want a picture of two lonely butterflies.”

“Can I buy it?” Her voice was strangely soft. Keith looked at the painting. He’d only done it because he was bored and wanted to play with a certain color. It wasn’t commissioned. It didn’t mean anything to him. But clearly it meant something to her. He could tell by the way she looked at it. It meant something big. Something important.

“You can have it,” he said softly.

“What, seriously?” She turned her head so fast, Keith jumped a little. Lance’s head perked up. He was clearly watching them, supervising. This is definitely some kind of test.

“Seriously,” he said, smiling at her. “If it means something to you, you can have it.”

“It does,” she said, holding the painting to her chest. “One day, I’ll tell you about it.”

“I look forward to it.” Pidge was a strange little girl, but she was nice. And terrifying. Keith decided he could add her to the sticky-note length list of people he could tolerate for more than thirty seconds. Pidge didn’t put down the painting the rest of the time she was there. Lance sat, legs tucked up and shoes still on, on the couch and listened quietly, a smile slowly growing on his face. Keith told Pidge about how he’d learned to paint in middle school and decided he liked it. He pulled out a small canvas and taught her a few of his techniques. She told him about how she wanted to design technology and one day create a real live JARVIS. She’d applied to MIT without telling her family, just in case she didn’t get in. When Pidge talked about science and technology, her eyes shone like a thousand stars. Her brother was a grad student, an engineer and an astrophysicist. Her father was also a physicist. Her mother, a biochemist. After a few hours, Lance stood, unfolding his miles-long legs.

“It’s time to go, Pidge. Colleen will be worried if you aren’t home for dinner.” Pidge checked her watch.

“Holy shit! Yeah, we better go. She headed for the window, then turned to Keith. “Thank you.” Keith could tell she was talking about more than the painting she was still clutching against her chest. So much more. “Just...thank you.” She climbed out the window. And Lance followed her. He stuck his head back through.

“Thanks for being cool about that. I really appreciate it.” Keith just smiled and waved, praying his hand wasn’t shaking too noticeably, and Lance headed off down the fire escape after Pidge into the coming night. But he didn’t relax until he heard the car drive away.

Chapter Text

Pidge held the painting in her lap. It was simple, like something a fifth grader might paint for an art competition. She could see how Keith wouldn’t have cared for it. His paintings usually had a far deeper complexity to them, either thematically or artistically. The passage of time as it flows through a forest, rippling like water through life. The passionate embrace of two women, bathed in vicious flames, the fourth fingers of their left hands adorned by rings of white fire. A broken hourglass spilling golden sand. A pair of hands side by side, pinkies twisted together. Two people standing in the rain, looking up at the sky, waiting for the sun to come out.

M: So what’s the verdict? Give me a number out of ten.

P: 1,000,000,000/10 if they were in a pool, and not so annoyingly awkward, they wouldn’t be capable of following the five feet rule.

M: Bless. Wish I could have been there to see it

P: This HAS to happen, Matt. like, it HAS to

H: Guys. You can’t go around shipping real people. It’s not right.

P: Hunk! Where ya been?! Also, fucking watch me, Hanzo main

H: Doing your portion of tomorrow’s hw assignment.

P: My bad :P

M: You’re doing the dishes tonight or I’m telling mom. Also -10 points for a dead meme

“Who’re you texting?” Lance asked, leaning over to see her phone.

“Would you please keep your eyes on the road?! I’m talking with Matt and Hunk. Planning a Call of Duty tournament later.” It was too easy to lie to Lance. He believed every word that came out of her mouth. It also made Pidge feel exceptionally guilty, because she was pretty sure she was the only one who could say that. But if everything worked out, she’d tell him the truth later. She’d tell him about the painting in her lap.

H: What was he like?

P: He’s got some serious problems, like I suspected. But he’s also really shy and awkward. And really nice, if a bit grumpy. He showed me a bit about how to paint and gave me his latest painting for free! Can you believe it? Also, wait til you see it. It’s gonna blow your mind. In any case, he has my seal of approval. The plan will move forward.

M: Is he Galra?

P: Going by his physiological traits, I’d guess half. His pupils are round, eyes are the wrong shape, and his teeth aren’t quite big enough.

M: Well that’s something at least.

P: What are you tryna say, Matt?

H: Guys, please don’t start this again.

M: Fine

P: Only for you, Hunk. <3

M: Wtf Pidge?

Lance’s phone buzzed in the cupholder. “Hey can you check that?”

“Yeah.” Pidge picked up his phone and checked the message, the blue and green bracelet (a gift from Lance) on her wrist jangling a bit.

“‘K: Pidge is cool, I guess. She can come back, as long as someone brings her. ’ Can I reply?”

“Sure.” Again, so trusting of her. Fool.

“L”: That’s not just an excuse to see me again, is it? *eggplant*

Pidge forced herself to keep a straight face.

K: That’s cute, Pidge. See you around, yeah?

Pidge was disappointed, but impressed. She hadn’t expected him to figure it out so quickly. Also, this guy was pretty chill for someone who kept anxiety medication by his coffee pot. And had the hands of Doctor Strange.

P: You spoil all the fun. :(

K: Sorry.

Lance leaned over again. “Is that an eggplant? That had better not be an eggplant, Miss Holt!”

“Oh, yeah. It’s totally an eggplant. We’re sexting now. You’re welcome.”

“Oh my GOD! Give me that!” Lance snatched the phone away from her, checking to make sure she was joking. Pidge cackled.

“You really like him, don’t you?” She asked, once she could speak again. Lance didn’t reply. He kept his bright blue eyes on the road. “You really, really like him.” She wanted to hear him say it again. And again and again and again. Because this was the start of something. That, and Lance couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag. It was incredibly entertaining.

“I...yeah, Pidgeon. I really, really like him.” He almost never called her that anymore. Not in months.

“I like him too. A lot,” she said quietly. “I don’t think he would hurt you, either. I think he’d be really good to you, Lance.”

“But there is the matter of the whole… ‘anxiety’ thing,” Lance reminded her. Pidge thought back to those trembling hands. “Anxiety” was a kind way of putting it, and, she suspected, not exactly what Keith's problem was. “Certified Human Disaster” was more accurate. Which was also why he and Lance might be perfect for each other.

“I’ll help you,” she replied. “We’ll find a way to get you guys on middle ground. Because guess what?”

“What?”

“He likes dick.” She grinned at Lance.

“Katherine Amelia Holt, Language !”

“Yes, Cap’.” Silence.

“Does he really?”

“Yup. Told me so, although his phrasing was admittedly classier.” She hesitated. “I think he likes you too, Lance. He hates social interaction, clearly. He actively avoids it. But he invites you to come and go as you please? Don’t let this go, Lance. And don’t screw it up.” More silence. Then:

“Don’t let me fuck this up. Okay, Pidgeon?”

“I won’t. I promise.” I swear. I’m gonna help you make this work, Lance. Because Lance was a second brother to her. Because he’d taken a chance on her, accommodated her, made sure her salary was enough that she could go to any college she chose. Everything she’d accomplished, and everything she would accomplish in the future, was because Lance had seen what she’d needed, seen her potential, and given her an opportunity to spread her wings. And just for that, he deserved all the happiness in the world. And the world be damned if he didn’t get it.

“Hey, Lance?” she said, tentative. She was scared of what she was about to say.

“What is it, Pidgeon?”

“About my dress...could you…” She chewed her lip, a habit she’d accidentally imparted to Lance. She was reminded of Keith’s teeth. They were weird. She’d never seen one of the Galra up close. They kept to themselves. “Could you work some yellow into it?”

“I’m sure we can work that out, but why? What’s the new fondness for yellow all of a sudden?” Crap. She hesitated, nervous. But if she couldn’t trust Lance, she couldn’t trust anyone.

“It’s Hunk’s favorite color,” she admitted. Lance laughed. “Oh, God. Please don’t laugh. You haven’t met him! He’s literally like a sun. He’s so bright and warm and-” Pidge heard her voice rise an octave and took a deep breath. She got it, why he would laugh. But it still hurt. “I like him. A lot. Like, I really, really like him. And I don’t know how to get him to see me as anything but a tiny, angry nerd friend...I’m not beautiful. I’m not like you.” Lance pulled over outside a Steak n’ Shake. “What are we doing here, Lance?” Lance was typing on his phone. There was tightness in his jaw, a tiny crease between his naturally perfect eyebrows.

“Get out.” Hearing the rare edge to his voice, Pidge did as she was told, and Lance met her on the other side of the car. He stood there, looking at her with a fondness so deep, Pidge’s heart melted like chocolate. He reached out and tucked a tuft of fluffy, honey-colored hair behind her ear. He sighed.

“Katherine Amelia Holt. You are so beautiful. Do you know that? You're like a fuckin' sunflower.” No, she didn’t know. She never thought of herself as beautiful. Ever. She was short, and skinny, and pale, with barely any curves and too much attitude. The antithesis of ladylike. “Every time I look at you, I see it. Do you hear me? I see it. And if Hunk has anything aside from empty space between his ears, he sees it too, okay? He sees it.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” Pidge whispered.

Lance was an expert on beauty. Because he was so beautiful. Everyone said so. Even her. People stopped on the sidewalk to watch or ran into lightposts as he went by and stood open-mouthed and just blatantly stared and he could charm everyone with just his personality and charm and those perfect blue eyes and the way he smelled. And she smelled like chai and freshly soldered electronics and when she smiled people ran because they knew they were about to get pranked and-

“Hell, yes. Even when you wear Matt’s cargo shorts, you’re beautiful.” Pidge sniffled and threw her arms around his ribs. It was about as high as she could reach. No one but her parents had ever told her she was beautiful. And no one had ever said it with such conviction. Lance wrapped her up in his stupid monkey arms, bending down a bit to kiss the top of her head. “Want a milkshake before we get you home?” he whispered after a bit.

“Yeah,” she sniffed. “A milkshake sounds great.”

Pidge turned to look at him. He was gazing at her fondly, smiling. He wasn’t breaking down, either, so she figured he was okay. Until she found him the next morning, asleep on the Holt’s living room sofa.

Chapter Text

Keith sighed, leaning against the kitchen island. Red sat on the faux granite next to him, flicking her tail against his arm. She was angry that Lance had left so soon yet again. The tiny cat yowled again, crying for her new companion. Keith reached out and booped her nose, enjoying her offended expression.

“What’s your deal, huh? What’s McClain got on you? Turning you into such a softie? What kind of a cat are you anyway, getting all attached like that?” Keith picked up his cat, cradling her like a baby. He scratched her under her chin. Red didn’t protest whatsoever. “Yeah, you’re definitely defective. Probably all that garbage you ate. Or book binding glue, ya little shit.” Red just chirped in response, enjoying the attention. Keith smiled. He’d found a ragged kitten under the dumpster by the fire escape three months ago. He hadn’t expected it to live. Or to be as cute as Red. Or to like him. Nothing, not even plants, seemed to like him. Maybe it was because he and Red had the same teeth.

“What should we do about dinner, huh? How does peanut butter and jelly sound? And you can have cat food. Sound nice?” Red twisted in his arms, and Keith let her fall to the floor. He put the tea kettle on the stove. Might as well have some tea. He turned back to his empty living room. It felt really weird. He was relieved to be alone for a while, but the sudden silence was eerie. His small living space suddenly felt empty and vacant, despite Keith’s efforts to take up as much space as possible with his tools and books.

He turned on his bluetooth speaker and scrolled through the many playlists on his phone. He eventually just decided to let fate decide and shuffled his master playlist. He ended up with “Alone Again (Naturally)”. Are you fuckin’ serious? Keith skipped through and settled for Come Sail Away by Styx. It was random, but at least it wasn’t overly depressing.

Keith pulled peanut butter and bread out of the cupboard and grape jelly out of the fridge. This was what he ate most nights. Or pizza and garlic bread. Or the frozen meals in freezer. Keith considered his life. It really was depressing. Maybe...maybe this would be good for him, being with people. Interacting with people. Socializing...no. No. Pass. People sucked. Just because two had proven not to be completely unbearable meant statistically nothing. In fact, he could probably get Pidge to calculate how little that meant.

As Keith finished making his sandwich, his phone vibrated on the island. Keith glared at it for a moment before realizing he had no idea who it was. Two days ago, he’d know exactly who it was, but now he could only guess. He put his sandwich together and went over to check. He actually had several messages, some of which were from earlier that afternoon.

The first were from Shiro.

S: Akira. I hope you’re doing okay. I’d really like to hear from you, if you’re up to it.

S: Just, whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ve got a lot I want to talk to you about.

Keith flinched. Shiro only ever called him that when he was especially serious. Or when he was emotional. He was hesitant to continue ignoring him. It had been two years since he’d seen his brother, and months since he’d responded to his calls or texts. He didn’t even know why he’d stopped responding. Or how to start up again. In any case, Keith left Shiro on read. Better check the other messages.

The second message was from Pidge.

P: Thanks for not freaking out earlier. I’m sorry I busted in like that. You’re not mad, are you?

Keith didn’t buy for an instant that Pidge was very sorry at all.

K: Nah, I’m not mad. Just next time, bring someone with you, okay? I don’t want people thinking I'm a pedo or anything

P: I’ll come with Lance. Or possibly my friend, Hunk. But I won’t come alone until after April 3 *hint*

K: Subtle.

P: lol

The last text was from Lance.

L: I’m so sorry about earlier. I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again. No more surprise visits, I promise. Scout’s honor.

Keith took a bite of his sandwich.

K: You realize you came over for a surprise visit just yesterday right? Remember? You nearly gave me a heart attack?

L: I’m so sorry. I swear I’ll ask every time. I didn’t mean to be so much trouble for you. I’m really, really sorry, Keith.

Keith paused. Lance had referred to him by name. And he sounded terrified of how Keith felt about the entire thing. His phone vibrated as he took another bite of his sandwich.

L: If you don’t want me over anymore, I get it. I won’t blame you.

Keith was so deep in thought that he barely registered Mr. 128 roaring past his open window. Did Lance expect Keith to ditch him? To cast him off as an annoying nuisance? Sure, the guy was loud and maybe a little irritating in how eager he was to talk, but he wasn’t that bothersome. Plus he’d foolishly promised Pidge he’d stick with the guy.

K: No, dumbass. The offer/invite still stands. And stop saying sorry for everything. You don’t need to.

L: Sorry.

Geez, this guy. Honestly.

K: Seriously?

L: Sorry!

L: Omg I’m literally the worst

Keith couldn’t help but laugh. He just knew it was taking everything in Lance’s power not to apologize again.

K: Goodnight, Lance. Get some rest, okay?

Who was Keith to talk? He was rarely asleep before one.

L: Goodnight, Keith. Thanks

What could Lance possibly have to thank him for? For tolerating him? For just giving a shit? It seemed the Holts already did that for him. Plus, didn’t this guy have family somewhere? He had to. Nobody was that loud unless they’d constantly had to shout over other people to be heard. Keith sighed.

After finishing his sandwich, Keith did something he probably shouldn’t have done. He googled the name Nyma. The first suggestion was Nyma Herbert-Rodriguez. The woman was beautiful. Tall, statuesque, with large dark eyes and golden skin. Keith selected News. “Lance McClain Big Cheater! Nyma Herbert-Rodriguez tells all in the Exclusive Interview!” Ugh. “Cocaine Addict Lance McClain! Nyma says ‘He Cheated on me with Other Men!’” Ew. Okay, enough. The most disrespectful thing Keith had ever seen Lance do was forget to take off his shoes before putting his feet up on the couch. And with the abuse Keith’s couch had suffered in the four years he’d had it, Lance’s brand new Sperrys probably felt like a comfort to the poor thing. He decided to text Pidge.

K: Who the fuck is this Nyma person?

P: Oh my god you didn’t

K: Didn’t what?

P: Google his ex

K: You wanna start talking or no?

He could only pray Pidge wouldn’t read into it. He didn’t want to deal with that.

P: Short answer: she’s an evil bitch who cheated on Lance with his best friend from high school, then spread nasty stories about how he cheated on her with other men and how he was a drug addict.

There was a minute’s pause, then another message.

P: It’s not the first time someone took advantage of him. It’s really easy to do. By the time Nyma got to him, I honestly think he was expecting it, so when it all went to hell, he just sat back and watched. That was three months ago.

Keith considered this. He was starting to think that Lance’s latching onto him like a spider monkey was more significant than he’d realized. He felt a squirm of anger in his chest.

P: Afterward, I didn’t hear from him for days. And he hasn’t been the same since. To be honest, if you knew Lance how he was when I first met him, you’d probably want nothing to do with him.

So Lance wasn’t originally as Keith knew him. Keith could see that. Beneath the stunning lack of self-confidence, Lance was probably a massively immature dork-a-doofus who couldn’t be serious about anything for more than a few minutes. Keith could think of a lot of things to say in response. What a cunt and Wow that’s terrible I hope he’ll be alright came to mind. But when he really thought about it, there was only one thing he wanted to say. He worked up what little courage his miserable life had left him with.

K: How can I help him?

P: You’re serious? You really want to help him?

K: I’m serious.

And he was. Keith wanted to help Lance. He had no idea why he cared, but he did.

P: Then just be there.

Keith considered that. Yes. That was something he could do. Just be, and maybe, just this once, that would be enough.

Chapter Text

Shiro finished moving the beat-up old couch into position and threw himself down on it with a sigh. His muscles were aching. But then, they always were these days. The bracelet on his wrist, resting on the arm of the couch, pressed into his flesh. He hadn’t gotten used to them being there. Or the itchy buzz of electricity humming through his body from his wrists and ankles. Bleeding edge science from Altean Technologies. He would have to find a way to thank Allura.

Shiro watched Keith set up the entertainment center. His hands were amazingly steady. His shoulders, almost straight. He was playing Bruce Springsteen for the first time in four years. He was comfortable. Happy.

“So,” Keith said, turning and holding up a controller. “Should we play Mario Kart to celebrate?” His voice sounded clear. There was a small smile on his face that just barely reached his eyes. But it reached. It was in that moment that Shiro hated himself.

“ Akira ,” Shiro began, addressing him in Japanese. Keith froze. “ We need to talk. ”

“ Okay, Takashi .” Acknowledgment. Shiro let the guilt in his chest grow bigger as Keith set the controller on the dinged up coffee table.

“ They want me to go back ,” Shiro began, and fear crept in to push out the guilt. “ Another tour. Just a year. Something big. ” Keith stared at him. Shiro was beginning to think they would be frozen forever when-

“ They’re the ones who put you in touch with that Altean woman, aren’t they? Who was she, really? ”

“ That woman is Princess Allura. She runs Altean Technologies. ” Keith’s eyes grew wide. “ They specialize in- ”

“ Prosthetics. And neurological and muscular disorders. ” Keith was staring at him intently. “ If the garrison sent you to her, and she treated you, then whatever this is, it’s big. ”

“ Very. I can’t say anything. Ever. I won’t even know all the details until I get there. And I don’t even know exactly where ‘there’ is yet. ” Keith was staring at him. He was standing straighter than Shiro had seen him in years, his dark eyes glittering with an intensity that reminded Shiro of who Keith used to be, fierce and unbroken.

“ Why are you here Takashi? ” Well, that was really the only question that still mattered, Shiro supposed.

“ I need you to talk me out of it. ” Please? He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs, staring at the bracelets on his wrists.

“ Why? ” The only real follow-up question.

“ These bracelets will only maintain my condition for another three years. Tops. After that...I’ll continue to deteriorate. And then… ” Keith didn’t say anything, and Shiro didn’t continue. He knew he didn’t have to. “ But if I go- ” Shiro broke off, struggling to voice what he was about to give up.

“ If you go, what? ” Again, that edge, as if Keith had summoned whatever shards of his identity he had left from before and managed to fit a few pieces together.

“ Adam. He says that if I go, he won’t be here when I get back. ” Shiro fought to keep his voice steady.

“ What? ” Keith’s voice, his eyes, were sharp as Luxite. It really was like the old days. Like his little brother was here in full force, like he knew Shiro needed it. The only other time Keith had really returned to him was when Shiro had told him he was going to propose. That was three months ago now.

“ He says I’m being selfish. That I’m going to die, or I’ll come back ruined, the last good years of my life wasted on a mission someone else could do. That I’m not thinking of him. Akira, how can he say that? Everything I do, everything I’ve ever done in the last four years has been for him! For us! For you! Everyone! I-I can’t just sit by and let someone else take this because I’m afraid. Akira, I’m… ” Shiro stopped, trying to control the ache in his chest. The hurt and frustration. The fear. The guilt. That he was leaving. That he probably wasn’t coming home. That he was leaving behind the man that he loved and the little brother he would choose over anyone in the world. At least they won’t have to watch me die.

“ ...the only person who can do this, right? ” Keith murmured softly, looking down at him. “ No one can do this as well as you, right? You’re the only real choice, right? ”

“ Yes ,” Shiro admitted, and weight seemed to lift off his chest. “ I can do this. I know that I can, even if I might not be able to come back from it. Akira, there’s no one better. ”

“ You didn’t need me to talk you out of it, did you? You needed to talk yourself into it. ” Keith gazed at him, smiling sadly. “ When do you leave? ”

“ A week ,” Shiro admitted. “ I leave in a week. ” He paused, trying to compose himself. Trying to be the stoic big brother he was supposed to be. “ And I guess Adam will leave as soon as I tell him. So tonight. Knowing him, he’s probably already packing up his stuff. He knows me so well, he-he’s probably...probably already- ” And he broke, right where he sat. He sobbed, utterly heartbroken. And Keith climbed up into his lap and wrapped his arms around him just like he used to do when they were children back at Hopeful House, whispering Japanese in his ear so they wouldn’t forget what little they knew and wouldn’t get caught. Just like they used to do in their parents’ living room, trying to fill the gaps in their native tongue.

“ It’ll be okay, Takashi. I’ve got you. I’m your brother, remember? Your real brother, right? The Brodys said so. I’m with you until the end. That’s a promise. ” Yes. Keith would be with him to the end. Because the end was coming soon. The last good, useful years of his life were to be spent in a distant country far from home, knowing the man he loved was already gone and wouldn’t be there when he got back or ever again. That the brother who loved him would be waiting for him. Waiting for whatever useless few weeks, or months, or years Shiro’s failing body could scrape together to apologize over and over for abandoning his little brother for a second time, just when he was needed most. But for now, he held his brother close, the only two inhabitants hiding in that little corner of the world.

…

…

…

The sound of bullets. Shouts.

"Twelve o’Clock! Fifty metres! Multiple assailants in Galra armor!” The words echoed among his platoon.

The SAW gun. Bullets, hitting glass. Hitting Stone. The ground beside him. The building dead ahead.

“Cover me while I move!”

“Got you covered!”

The ground spun beneath his unwilling, exhausted, slowly failing body. But he forced himself to move forward.

The burning sun. The red dust in his eyes, in the folds of his skin. Rubbing him raw beneath the bracelets. The buzz of electricity.

The pounding of his heart.

Something hit him in his arm. Probably just debris...

A projectile flew in front of his face. It brushed across his nose. He barely felt it, but the next thing he knew, his vision was fading. The earth was hot beneath him, slowly turning a dark, wet red as the sinking sun set the world ablaze.

And everything faded to black.

…

Walking. Stumbling. Staggering.

Crawling, blind, one armed, through what he could only hope was a waste of red earth. Toward what he could only hope was rescue.

Maybe whoever found him would let him sleep. Maybe he could just rest, until he finally died. Or maybe someone could take him home. Maybe he could hear his brother’s voice, one last time.

A voice, fleet feet coming up on his right.

“Oh my gods.”

“Antok! What have you found?”

“It’s him! It’s the missing soldier. Call the Headwoman. Tell her we’ve found...we've found her Paladin.” A pause. “It’s alright, sir. You’re going home. You’ve my word. Kraf, get the others!"

Just let me rest.

Shiro woke up to a hollow ache in his heart. An empty sort of sadness. And a nauseous fluttering in his stomach. He stared at the phone on the nightstand next to him. Nothing. No notification light. Keith still wouldn’t talk to him. I’m with you to the end. That’s a promise. Shiro got up and went to the master bathroom.

There, he leaned against the counter, trying desperately to keep himself grounded, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Haunted grey eyes, still so alien after twenty-five years with dark brown ones. The lenses dilate as they rove over his body. A thick scar right across the bridge of his nose. Prematurely silver hair. His gaze roved over his body, the scars curling over his shoulders and collarbones, the topmost branches of the snarled tree on his back. A patchwork of bullet and shrapnel wounds overlaid with precise slices along his pectorals and obliques, across his abdominals, wrapping around his remaining arm. He knew there were more laid laterally all along his back, because the lashing hadn’t been enough. The horrific puckering where the white metal prosthetic of his left arm met his tormented and abused flesh. He should be grateful, he thought, that he only had one scar on his face. That he had new eyes, his own ears, his own tongue. That he could still walk, that his feet hadn’t been beaten until they were useless. That he still had all of his digits. That’d he’d only lost one limb. That he was alive. And yet...And yet. Sometimes, it was so hard not to just feel disgust. Guilt. Why did he get to live?

“Shiro?” an exotic voice called from the bedroom, and the bad feelings began to fade.

“I’m here! I’m fine.” Shiro tried desperately to keep the brokenness out of his voice. He wasn’t fine but he didn’t want to worry her. The next thing he knew, Allura’s arms were wrapped around his waist from behind. He placed his hands over hers, trying to ground himself. She placed her cheek in between his shoulders. He could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

He wanted a shower. He wanted to try just one last time to wash off the dust and grit of that red earth that he could still feel on his body, under the bracelets long since gone from his wrists. Six months later, and Shiro could still feel it in his socks and between his toes, and in his hair, and under his nails and behind and in his ears. It got in his eyes and in his lungs, choking him in the dark, forcing him awake gasping for breathe. It was in his sheets and the pockets of his clothes. Sand spilled out of his wallet and his books and his bag. It piled up under his shoes and on the dining room table and in his car and in the restaurants he frequented and in the gutters and cracks in the sidewalk on his walk to work. It followed him everywhere, and he couldn’t get rid of it. He’d never get rid of it. It was a part of him, and nothing in the world would ever-

Allura reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. It felt smooth and soft, no grit scraping against his scalp. He took a slow breath. In...out...in...out. He wasn’t there anymore. But he hadn’t come home. Not yet. He hadn’t really been “home” in four years. There some places you just couldn’t come back fro-

“Come back to me,” Allura whispered. “Shiro, come back to me.” In...out.

“I’m here,” he whispered, finding her hands in his and wrapping her back around him. She squeezed him gently.

“It’s only three. Come back to bed with me.” Shiro didn’t respond right away. “Please? I hate trying to sleep without you.” Shiro took another slow breath. He nodded, and she took his hand in both of hers and led him back to the bed. Shiro climbed in after her, resting his head just beneath her collarbone, wrapping an arm around her waist. She placed her arm over his and worked her fingers into his hair, sighing across his forehead. He held onto her like a lifeline. It was the interrupted nights where he couldn’t help but worry that this part was the dream.

…

When Shiro woke three hours later, he was filled with a sort of elated surprise. This was the part that was real. Allura was real . Because there she was, standing by the bed, all legs and svelte curves, with glorious brown skin, the cutest nose he’d ever seen, and miles of gleaming platinum hair. And people could say whatever they wanted about the Alteans, that they were a dying breed, that people couldn’t wait until the last of them were gone so they could tear down those ivory towers, but damn if he wasn’t the luckiest man on the face of the Earth. That she’d managed to cure him was just a minor bonus, really.

“No, of course I’ll see you...No, Lotor. I don’t hate you...Sure...No, that sounds great...Yes...Yes, I’ll see you then...I know I don’t have to. I want to...Yeah. You too…’Bye.” Allura sets her phone down on the nightstand with a sigh. She turns to Shiro with a sad smile, laced with worry.

“Lotor asked if he could see me. Said he could use a friend, someone to talk to.” A pause. “He seems really down.”

“Do you think he’s getting any better?” Shiro didn’t know Lotor very well. He hadn’t liked the way Allura described her time with him in years passed. But he had been there for Allura during Shiro’s final procedure, so the man couldn’t be all that bad. “What are we going to do if he falls off the wagon again?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t give up on him. I won’t. He’s trying Shiro. Hard. Plus...he-he’s one of us. It’s my duty.”

Shiro checked his own phone again. Still nothing. A strangled, heartbroken sort of moan escaped him. Allura sat down next to him..

“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice filled with concern.

“I still haven’t heard from him.” His elation at being alive had been so quickly replaced with despair. “Does he really hate me so much? How was I to know that he-” Shiro broke himself off. Even as frustrated as he was with Keith, he couldn’t talk unkindly about him. -that he would finally cannonball off the deep end?

“I don’t think he hates you at all, Shiro. But…” Allura hesitated. Shiro waited. “I think it might be time to let him go. I don’t think he actually wants to get better and I don’t think that you’ll be able to reach him. I get that you take care of him, but maybe it’s time-”

“I can’t, ‘Lura. He’s my brother. And he’s not beyond reach. I just know it. I know he can be helped. He might just...It might be time for a bit of a push.” And they looked at each other, and for the first time, Shiro felt like he really understood what Allura meant about her people. It wasn’t duty . Not really, but there really wasn’t a word that came to mind that worked. It wasn’t an instinct, or honor, or obligation. It was just something you did. There were just people in this world that one would go out of their way for, no matter what.

“We’d better get ready. You have classes at nine today.”

“Eh. Class can’t start without the professor. Also, you’re wearing my shirt.” She grins, and he sees his new grey eyes reflected in her blue, shot through with rays of pink. God, she was beautiful. She hums and gives him a kiss, her hands soft on either side of his face. He reaches up to gently cup her pointed ears.

“I am. You want it?” God yes.

“Well it’s my last clean shirt so…” He really needed to get the laundry done. But he hated it. All of his clothes were full of-

“If you want it, I suggest you take it.” You know what? Who cares about sand?

“Challenge accepted.” Shiro pulled her close, hands on her waist, and she laughs, eyes all crinkling at the corners. Perhaps his trip through Hell had been worth it after all, because he’d woken up in paradise.

Chapter Text

Keith rolled out of bed at 7:16 am. Literally. Keith rolled off his bed and onto the floor.

“Oof!” Keith groaned. That was quite the awakening. Though better than most. He lay on the floor, reflecting. He’d only woken up once last night, but judging by the smell of his t-shirt, it had been bad. Keith was grateful he couldn’t remember.

He sighed, picked himself up off the floor, and dragged himself into the shower, scratching his head. He needed a good wash anyway. The water poured down his face and dripped in his mouth. It tasted like salt. Bad dreams indeed. He ran his tongue over his teeth and the sides of his mouth. Nothing broken, no more cuts. Just the one from a couple days ago with Motorcycle Guy. Keith’s brow furrowed. What was the last time he’d heard the asshole? Not yesterday...the day before maybe? Had he finally stopped noticing? Keith didn’t have an answer.

As he scrubbed his hair, Keith considered the events of the day before. And his oath. Well, it hadn’t been an oath. He’d simply asked a question and received an answer. But all the same, it had felt like an oath. An oath to what, however, Keith still wasn’t entirely sure. “Just be there”? Keith was nearly always here. He only left if he absolutely had to. He could assume that Pidge had meant something more abstract, but what? Keith didn’t like to deal in abstracts. In The Pit, abstracts with the wrong person could get you killed.

Ten minutes later and dressed in a yesterday’s pair of faded black jeans, ruffling his hair with a towel, Keith walked into his living room to see...nothing. No one was there, except Red, waiting for him on the kitchen island, just like every morning. Only today there were three dirty coffee cups sitting next to her. He’d half expected to find Lance sitting on the arm of his couch with a Starbucks. Or Pidge, there to threaten him again, only this time with a killer robot. Or even Shiro, toting a weaponized prosthetic and his exotic girlfriend, finally fed up with Keith ignoring his efforts. But no. Everything was empty. Quiet and Still. For about five seconds.

Red yowled, hungry. “Alright, alright. I’m coming. What should I have for breakfast, hmm? I’m thinking a bagel. And some eggs. And coffee.” Keith stumbled into the kitchen, still a little tired. He yawned widely. What time had he gone to bed last night? It had been early. 10? 11? Definitely before 12. He decided to put his tiredness down to over-stimulus. The last few days had been exhausting. Too many people. Too much noise. Keith was ready for a day off. His slightly shaky hands agreed.

He checked his phone on the island only to discover it was dead. He plugged it into the charger by the coffee pot. He started the coffee he’d set up the night before and reached into the cupboard above for a bagel. Then to the fridge for some eggs. Once he got two eggs cooking on the stove, he turned his phone back on. Not a single text message. Odd.

“Ah, well. It’s still pretty early.” He turned to stir up the eggs as his bagel popped in the toaster. Keith was surprised to find himself mildly disappointed. After three days of company, he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself all on his own. He considered this as he alternated between spreading hummus on his bagel and stirring his eggs. He didn’t have anywhere he needed to go. He didn’t have anything he needed to do. And he didn’t feel like talking to Shiro.

As he scraped his eggs onto the plate, he finally decided to paint something. That was his living after all. Well, it was his income. At the moment, he often borrowed from Shiro’s account. The real question was what to paint. Keith had no idea. Something with blue, obviously. He’d given himself a very stupid, almost shameful task. God forbid Lance should ever find out about it. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and sighed. Today was going to be a very slow day.

But to be fair, he thought, that was probably what he needed. After two years of almost no interaction with anyone, and four years minimal contact before that, he’d been accosted by other human beings three days in a row. It was probably a good thing for him to be taking this break. Best not to rush into things. As it was, after yesterday, Keith got the feeling that Lance’s presence would soon become just a new daily stressor in Keith’s life, or he’d never see the actor again. He wasn’t sure which was more likely. Or which he preferred.

Well, no use wondering. Keith grabbed the trash out of the kitchen can and headed down the fire escape to the dumpster. Might as well try and clean something. He failed miserably. Looking around later, he'd decide he'd made it worse.

***

Pidge’s mom was driving her to school. Something she hadn’t done since Pidge had gotten her license.

“So. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Colleen Holt didn’t look at her daughter. “What’s the matter with Lance?” Pidge was surprised. Her mother had taken a very long time to warm up to Lance, partially because upon meeting them all, Lance had been his former, charismatically flirtatious self. This had the unfortunate side effect of convincing Colleen Holt that Lance McClain would ruin her daughter. Instead, Lance had gone far out of his way to protect Pidge from all the unpleasantries associated with stardom. He’d made sure to accommodate her education. And hadn’t tried to seduce her. So Lance’s presence was tolerated.

“At first, I thought maybe he was just finally growing up, but when he asked if he could stay at our place instead of going home, I…” Colleen trailed off. “He actually said, ‘I don’t want to go home.’”

Pidge decided to tell her mother everything. Because Lance had asked if he could stay the night on their couch. Because he’d waited until Pidge had gone to bed to ask, which meant he hadn’t wanted her to know. Because just when she’d thought he was going to get better, he’d become not just reluctant, but possibly afraid to be alone.

So she told her. Pidge told her mother about Nyma and Rolo and Lance’s depression and drinking habits, which he couldn’t get treated for even if he wanted to because word would get out. She told her that Lance was taking a break not because he had a new project to work on, but because his life was literally killing him. And she told him about Keith. About how much Lance had seemed to like him. About how she had gone to his apartment to meet him after school instead of going to the library like she’d said. About how Keith might actually be a decent human being worthy of Lance.

“So let me get this straight. Lance ran into some random guy. This random guy made that forest painting in your room. You went, uninvited and unchaperoned into his house to terrorize him, knowing that not only does he have anxiety issues but that he is an adult, all for the sake of seeing whether he is worthy of your best friend. Did I miss anything?” Pidge winced. She’d known her mother would be displeased.

“Not really. Except that Keith passed. With tentatively flying colors. It’s really just the whole ‘recluse with anxiety’ thing that’s-”

“Katherine Amelia Holt, you went into a stranger’s house and threatened him!” Her mother’s voice rose with the daily panic that came with being a parent raising a precocious child. “This man was an  adult ! You are a child ! A very small child! You could have been hurt! Or worse! God, Katie. I know you think you’re indestructible, but-”

“I know, okay? I know that it was stupid. I know I shouldn’t have done that. It was dangerous and inconsiderate. I should have at least waited until Lance was there, but can we please talk about the other stuff?”

Colleen sighed. “Fine. You’re telling me Lance has been having problems for a while, is that right?”

“Yes.” Since she’d known him, really. Only now it had gotten serious.

“And that his relationship with Nyma, which he sees as his fault, made it that much worse?” Pidge chanced a look at her mother. She looked worried. Thank God. Pidge was no longer the object of her mother’s attention.

“Yes. And I don’t know what to do. He hasn’t spoken to his family in six years. He and Rolo aren’t talking anymore. Or ever again. He managed to clean up the mess with Nyma, but it left a big mark, and now he doesn’t even want to go home. But I know he likes Keith. And I like him too. And I don’t care if they get together or what, I don’t think Keith is going to use him or hurt him or drag his name through the mud and then spit on it. And…” Pidge’s voice broke off. She swallowed hard. “And I just want him to be okay. To be more like himself again.” They pulled up outside of the school. Her mom found a parking spot and pulled in. She turned to look at her daughter.

“Pidge, you are a wonderful, brilliant young lady, just like your father. You can fix a machine like nobody’s business. But people aren’t machines, honey. You can’t just replace pieces when something gets broken or lost. People take more time. They’re more complex, at least for now. They don’t repair, they heal. And afterwards, they’re almost never the same. Sometimes they’re stronger, sometimes weaker, sometimes both in different ways. But they never just revert back to how they were before.”

Pidge considered this. “Can he get better?”

“I’m sure he can.” Colleen reached up and tucked a lock of Pidge’s messy brown hair behind her ear. It immediately bounced back into her face.  “And we’ll do all we can to help him, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom.” Pidge leaned over and gave her mom a hug. Really, Pidge was pretty lucky. Her mother wasn’t Lance’s biggest fan, but she cared enough to make sure that the guy was okay. And she wasn’t half bad with the life advice either. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Katie. Have a good day at school, alright?” She smiled as Pidge got out of the car.

“I will, Mom. I promise!” And she ran off to find Hunk before first period.

***

Allura had ordered Acxa to stay behind at Headquarters. It probably wasn’t the smartest decision, but given the circumstances, she understood Lotor’s request. Still, being alone made her nervous. Her people had a reputation for being selfish with their technology and resources to the point where Altean refugees had been publicly beaten. She didn’t want to be the next “example”, so she kept her eyes on her coffee, not looking at the small crowd gathered right outside. She only looked up when Lotor slid into the seat across from her.

She took a moment to gauge his appearance. His eyes were downcast, a little dull, but had lost that hollow, chased-by-angry-spirits look. His face had filled out some, no longer sharp angles and dark shadows. There was a warm undertone in his cheeks beneath his light brown skin and the orange tattoos on his cheekbones were no longer drooping with sudden weight loss. His platinum hair was clean and shiny, no longer limp and staring. His shoulders were broader, collarbones not so prominent. His clothes no longer hung loose on his frame. In short, Lotor appeared to be doing much better than he had been six months ago.

Allura caught his eye and smiled, then signaled Romelle for another coffee.

“Hello, Allura.” His voice was still rich and smooth, though somewhat subdued. There was power in it. Even now, it stirred something within her. An echo of the Old Ways. And something primal, almost predatory.

“Hi,” she said simply, and gave him a smile filled with all of her warmth. “How have you been?” He looked down into the cup of coffee that Romelle was serving him. She peeked cautiously at him from behind her dyed blonde hair, then raised her eyebrows at Allura. Allura knew the girl was offering to kick his ass. Was checking in on her Princess. Allura smiled at her and motioned for the girl to leave.

“Thank you, Romelle.” Lotor turned to his lap. “I’ve been fine. Going to all my meetings. Staying out of trouble. All that.” He managed to return her smile, albeit weakly.

“You look much better. You’ll recover your health in no time.” She hated this. Lotor had been strong once, had a purpose. She loathed seeing him now, avoiding her gaze, keeping his head turned away like a kicked dog.

“I found my mother.” Allura suspected that Lotor hadn’t meant to say that, but she elected to go with it.

“Really? Tell me.” She hadn’t expected it.

“She’s an MD down in Florida. Pops more opioids than your Shiro does vitamins. Except Honerva doesn’t need them.” He paused. “I looked for her for so long. I should have known…” Allura sighed. Father executed for crimes against humanity. Absent mother on drugs. It was honestly a miracle Lotor wasn’t an irredeemable piece of wreckage himself. Although he had come close. Being the son of the man who had ordered a genocide on his mother race (and several others) would do that to a person.

“Look Allura, I know I should have asked first, but-”

“No, you shouldn’t have done it at all!”

“It’ll come back! I’ll get it back. Think of it as an investment. C’mon, ‘Lura, see reason!”

“An investment? The only things you’ve ever invested in are your bookie’s pockets and the local bar! You’re as bad as your father was!” Allura cringed at the memory.

“Lotor, you don’t need her,” she said firmly. He needed to believe that. That he’d never needed her. Lotor rolled a large coin with some kind of triangle on it over his knuckles and back again. A nervous tick.

“I know. It’s just...I clung to that for so long. The idea that she was out there somewhere. That she had wanted me. And when I met her, she knew who I was. She just didn’t care. She didn’t care, Allura. And I realized, maybe I was better off being raised by Dayak.” Allura sighed with relief. He’d already gotten there on his own. A small smile played across his face, filled with a fondness Allura knew well. He’d once looked at her in a similar fashion. “At least she cares if I live.”

“That’s where you’re staying now, right?” Please tell me you’re not being left alone.

“Yeah. She’s getting on in years, so I think she’s glad to have someone around to help with housework and such. Not that she’d ever admit it,” he laughs. “But…” He frowns, and the shame is back.

“But what?” Allura got the feeling that whatever was coming, it was the main reason for Lotor’s current distress.

“I don’t know if she told you, but Acxa and I went out a few times. Recently.”

“She didn’t tell me, but I knew, yes.” Allura made it her business to know everything she could about her people. Even if they weren’t Altean. Even if they were Galra.

“She doesn’t want to move forward. She doesn’t trust me to keep it together.” That, Allura had to admit, was a valid position for Acxa to hold. “I-I need to prove that I can keep it together. I want a life, Allura. A real one. Where I’m sober enough to actually do something with it and where I spend my nights with someone I care for, doing something that I care about.” So he genuinely wanted to get better this time. Allura felt the bubble of hope rise in her chest in spite of her best efforts.

“What’s holding you back?” She places her hand over his, feeling its new, healthy warmth. “How can I help you?”

“I can’t find work.” Oh. “No one wants to hire someone with three arrests, even if I was never convicted. Every time I get close, they run the background check and that’s where it stops. No one wants some twenty-something gambling drunkard with a record. One shining example of humanity told me that at least if I’m unemployed, then I’ve got less money to gamble with.”

Allura took a minute to consider her options and swallow their rage. She knew of many places that would take people with records and help them get on their feet, even if they’d never been on them. And so did Lotor. The problem wasn’t his past. It was him . His blue eyes with the tawny skin and silver-white hair. He might only be a half, but the Altean blood shone through. And those yellow sclera, pointed teeth, and sharp features showed off his other half. If people could get away with turning him down, they would. Even Alteans weren’t likely to extend an olive branch for him.

“Do you remember Coran?” Allura asked slowly.

“Of course. He checks in every now and then.” Lotor smiled again, and Allura made a mental note to hug Coran as soon as she could. The guy was a guardian angel for all of “her people”.

“He’s going into business this summer with some kid. They’re going to start a restaurant-coffee shop-bakery thing together. It’s not exactly your specialty, but I’d imagine-”

“Please!” Allura was surprised by his fervor. “I’d be so grateful! Really, I’ll take anything at this point. Who do I speak to?”

“Do you still have your smartphone?”

“Yes, for now.” He offered it to Allura, a scratched, cracked piece of hardware several years out of date. She waved it away and pulled out her own.

“I’ll make a group chat with Coran and the young gentleman. His name is Hunk, by the way. Sweet kid. He’s sunshine personified. Or so Coran says.”

“You have no idea how grateful I am for this Allura...and how sorry.” Allura looked up at him. This was expected of him, and she was expected to forgive him. “I treated you so poorly. You suffered a great deal. I can’t even begin to make up for-”

“It’s done, Lotor. It’s in the past. Let’s just move forward, okay?” Lotor hesitated, then nodded. He took a sip of his coffee, now cooled. And they sat there in silence for a minute.

“Oh, I forgot! How is Shiro? Haven’t seen him since the procedure.” The procedure. The one that went sour. By the Ancients, she still didn’t like to think about it. She’d nearly lost him.

“He’s doing okay. He’s perfectly fine, physically. Still having a hard time, but-”

“How’s he taking to those prosthetics?” Allura’s lips quirked. Shiro had been somewhat disgruntled with the eye color, but now admitted there was something aesthetically pleasing about it. The man was surprisingly vain.

“He’s fine. We wish his brother would call him back, but he’s managing. Throwing himself into rebuilding his life.”

But, she supposed, that’s how they all were. Managing. Lotor was managing to put himself together when he’d never really been in one piece to begin with. Acxa, Ezor, Zethrid, and Narti were managing to keep the momentum going and keep their lives together despite the implosion of Galran society. Shiro was managing to push past PTSD and personal anguish to build a new life despite everything he had suffered. Coran was finally managing to find life in a new country at the age of fifty-four, and accept the fact that he would never see his home again. Romelle was managing this little coffee shop and keeping constant tabs on the people who ran the grocery store across the street. Somewhere in this city, she hoped Keith was managing to continue his lonely existence okay. And she was managing to run her father’s business and keep an eye on all of her “people”. The little tribe she’d built for herself in her mind, a remnant of the way of life she and those other few who had escaped still clung to in the depths of their hearts.

Yes. They were all managing. And so was she. But perhaps they could do better. Perhaps she could do better.

Chapter Text

Lance stirred and turned over onto his side. Why was his back so sore? Why did his head hurt so bad? His arm dangled over the edge of the...this wasn’t his mattress. Where was he? Lance forced himself to open his eyes. He looked down at the brown carpet and ancient couch cushion beneath him. That’s right. He’d asked to stay at…

“ Shit! ” Lance sat up, tumbled off the couch, and scrambled to his feet. He had to leave before Pidge-

“You’ve already been outed.” Lance turned to the computer desk in the corner of the living room. It was Sam, Pidge’s dad. “She caught you on the way to school.”

“Dammit!” Lance ran his fingers through his disheveled brown hair. “She’s gonna kill me.”

“More likely she’s going to worry about you,” Sam said with a smile. He turned to Lance. “Sleep well?”

Lance sighed. “Well enough. Thank you for letting me stay.” Sam just nodded. Lance liked Sam. Sam was usually kind enough not to ask too many-

“You live alone, don’t you Lance?” Sam was still smiling at him, head resting on his fist.

“I-yeah. I live alone.” No point in lying.

“But that never lasts for long, does it? Surely you’ve found someone by now?” Sam didn’t mean to be nosy or rude. He was just smart in the way that prevented one from knowing what to and what not to say. Which could be refreshing or mortifying depending on the situation. Just then, Lance didn’t care. It was nice to be able to have a fully honest conversation with someone who wouldn’t judge him. Sam might not have the same tact of Colleen, but he was still kind, and cared.

“Not really. I’m kinda taking a break from all that.” Lance sat back down on the couch and tucked his feet up. He checked his watch. 9:13. No point in running out now.

“I see.” Sam considered him. “Are you sure that’s wise? You’re not the kind of person that likes to be alone. Is that really what you want?”  Lance was quiet for a minute.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” It was the truth. Lance had always known what he wanted. Until recently. Now, he was lonely, but didn’t want anyone. He had everything he could possibly desire, but he felt that something was still missing. “I honestly have no idea.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Sam said, still smiling. Sam was always smiling. “You may not like to hear this, but you’re still very young, Lance. Even for a twenty-one-year-old, You’re very young. No one knows what they really want or how to get it at twenty-one. You just need to give it time.”

"I know, but..." Lance sighed and wrapped his arms around his middle. Sam sighed, getting up from the desk. He ruffled Lance's hair, just like he did with his own children. He sat down next to him on the couch.

"You know, I didn't meet Colleen until I was thirty? I'd given up. I'd tried so many times, but I...I couldn't connect with anyone. I've never really been that good at flirting or any of that stuff you're supposed to be, so it was hard for me to date. I just figured I was meant to be alone. 

"And then I met Colleen. She was a grad student at the time and I was in research at the university. It was the best thing ever when I realized that what every other girl I'd dated found disconcerting and uncomfortable, she found quirky and endearing. For fifteen years, I'd been looking for someone who could simply tolerate my flaws. I never thought to look for someone who could love them." Sam turned to Lance, still smiling. "Perhaps you haven't either, hmm?"

"No one could love my flaws. They're annoying and burdensome."

"And that's exactly what I said, and look at me now. A wife, two kids. You. Hell, you're practically my kid at this point." Lance gave a wan smile. He wasn't sure if he bought Sam's idea that someone could love his many, many flaws, but he liked the idea of it. And that Sam considered him family. Lance's phone buzzed, ruining the moment, so Lance pulled it out and Sam went to refill his coffee.

P: Are you okay?

L: I’m fine.

Lance knew he wasn’t fine. He was well aware of that. The amount of money he spent each week on vodka told him that. But he also didn’t know how to fix it without going for help. And he couldn’t get help without getting caught, and he’d only just finished cleaning up a mess that would definitely resurface with just the slightest provocation. But he had to do something. So he texted Keith. He wanted some quiet. I want some what now? But he did.

L: Can I come over?

He wondered if Keith would respond. A part of Lance, the part that was causing him problems, almost wanted Keith not to respond, or even to say no.

P: You’re sure? Absolutely sure?

L: I’m sure

No sense in worrying her more. Sweet little Pidgeon. He didn’t deserve such a good friend.

K: Yeah, man. But if you plan to stay a while, you’re probably gonna want to get some food. All I have are microwave meals. Lance considered this.

L: I’ll order pizza if I stay long.

K: k

K: Somebody’s trying to call me. This is the third time in the last five minutes

L: Answer it and I’ll bring donuts

Maybe he could help Keith get better. Then maybe…

K: deal

Lance smiled. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only person in the world who could be bought with empty carbs. If only Lance could indulge without suffering.

“So what’s up?” Sam was leaning in the entrance to the living room, drinking coffee. Lance hadn’t noticed him leave.

“I think I’m gonna go hang with a new friend.” Lance never hid anything from Sam. Sam might ask questions, but he didn’t tell anyone anything unless he had a reason to, so Lance wasn’t worried.

“Ah, yes. This ‘Keith’ gentleman, right? Yes, I overheard my children plotting some sort of scheme Sunday night. I believe Pidge’s totally-not-boyfriend, Hunk, was later roped in.” Sam looked amused. “Such meddlesome creatures, that lot.”

“I swear I didn’t put them up to that.” Lance wasn’t at all surprised to find out that he was the subject of the genius trio’s (formerly genius duo’s) ridiculous shenanigans, or that Sam was somehow involved. He had no doubt that this wasn’t the first time.

“I suspected as much. Those three get into plenty of trouble without outside help. Well, see you around, Lance. You’ll take care of yourself, yes?”

“Of course, Sam,” Lance said. “I’ll take care of myself. Or Pidge will.” And Lance headed out the door, stopping only to grab his jacket and key fob from the rack by the door. Was it too early to get a drink somewhere?

***

Hunk looked at the folder and sighed. He’d been up late last night finishing up the “partner” project he and Pidge had been assigned for AP Psych. The assignment had promised to be a nightmare even before Pidge had bailed.

“Hunk!” Hunk turned and saw Pidge running toward him. She had her backpack slung over one shoulder and the pockets of her cargo pants were bulging, pieces of wire sticking out, and screws jangling. Hunk felt a fondness in his heart at the sight. Typical Pidge. At once scatterbrained and hyper-focused. Hunk held out the folder as she caught up to him.

“Wanna take a look before we turn it in, in case Ms. Ruso asks any questions?” Pidge takes the folder in her tiny hands. Hunk loved her hands. They were so small and clever. Just like her.

“Thanks.” Pidge began to look over the contents. Hand-drawn diagrams of the body according to acupuncturists. Pidge looked impressed with his work. They had thoroughly explored various applications and debates related to the topic. No way they wouldn’t get full marks. She looked up at him, visibly touched. He’d really gone all out, even on her part. “Um. About last night…” Hunk raised an eyebrow. He was still a little hurt that she’d bailed on him, but he had to believe she had a reason. “Thanks.” Pidge’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Don’t worry about it, Pidge. It’s not a big deal. That being said, I do want an explanation.”

“I know. I owe you that. Come on. We can go hang out in Ryner’s class.” A minute later, they were in Ryner’s classroom, working on a design for a drone the shape and size of a dragonfly.

“So do you actually think they’ll get together?” Hunk was watching her type code on her laptop. She didn’t look up, her long, slender fingers flying over the keys.

“I honestly don’t know. They might be too different. But either way, I like him. They could be great friends in any case.” That would be great, too in Hunk’s opinion. Lance could use another steadfast friend. But still...

“You ship it, don’t you?” Hunk smirked. He had no illusions as to what kind of person Pidge was.

“Oh my God, so hard . All aboard the good ship Klance. WHOOT WHOOT!” Hunk laughed. Yep. Pidge was definitely that type of person. The kind of interfering busybody that would get him in trouble sooner rather than later. But here he was nearly four years later, and they were still practically inseparable.

“Hey! If you two are going to be in here, you need to actually work!” They turned. Ryner was looking at them from over her desk, smirking. 

“Sorry, Doctor Ryner!” Hunk and Pidge said in unison.

“You two need to stop gossipping and get to work. I expect that project done by the time you graduate.” At that moment, Hunk received a phone call. Ryner merely sighed and went back to grading papers.

“Oh, hey Coran. What’s up?” Coran, his future business partner. The older Altean rarely called unless it was truly important, or he’d thought of another crazy story to tell him.

“Hi, Hunk! How’s it going?”

“It’s going great, Coran. I’m TA’ing for Ryner right now with Pidge, so we’re good to talk.” Pidge raised an eyebrow. Hunk tapped the speaker button. There was nothing he cared to keep from Pidge.

“I may have found us an employee. Someone to wait tables, and clean, and do all the work that we don’t want to do!” Pidge laughed. She liked Coran. Apparently he “talked real shit.”

“That’s great! When do we meet them?” Hunk was excited. He could only hope that his future business would lead him to meet new and exciting people. And that he would become friends with them. This would be a great start.

“Well...there’s some level of concern for this individual. He has a record, and a history of gambling and alcohol abuse. He...he seems to be on the mend but... If you don’t feel comfortable, I can direct him to other places that may be looking to hire.” Hunk turned to Pidge. She had her thinking face on, all narrowed eyes and sticky-outy lower lip. Adorable.

"How did you even meet this guy?"

"My -well, I consider her my daughter- and he used to date. Since his...difficulties, I've been looking out for the boy. He needs a good role model, some extra guidance, a bit of kindness. He...his life hasn't been easy."

Hunk wasn't sure what to make of that. On one hand, it seemed like this guy really needed some help, and wanted a hand up rather than a hand out. On the other hand, what if he caused trouble?

“Coran,” Pidge began. “Do you think he’ll be good for your business? Do you think this guy is worth the risk?” Aw, Pidge. Asking the tough questions for him. He hated to think anything but the best of people. Pidge was more pragmatic.

“I think he is,” Coran said softly. “I’m willing to give this boy another chance.”

“Great!” Hunk exclaimed, brushing off the heavy feelings in favor of optimism. “You have access to my calendar, so if you wanna set up a meeting with this guy, that’d be awesome!”

“Of course. I’ll set something up right away.”

“Oh, hey. Coran, What’s this guy’s name?” Pidge inquired.

“Lotor. Lotor Procyon. He’s half Altean. And half Galran. I-I hope that doesn’t change anything for you.”

“Of course not! Don’t be silly!” Hunk exclaimed, while Pidge began a profanity-laced tirade about prejudice, and Ryner nodded in the background, not bothering to hide her discontent at some of the people in The Pit. Hunk just grinned. New and exciting people. Maybe, just maybe, he could finally begin to feel at home here.

Chapter Text

Donuts, Keith. Answer the phone, and you get donuts. Technically, he didn’t even have to say anything. He just had to answer. So he slid the green phone symbol to the right, and held the phone up to his ear, figuring it was just a telemarketing robot.

“Keith?” Keith covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. “Keith, please. Are you there?” His voice sounded so...clear. Strong. Not at all weak or raspy.

“I-I’m here,” Keith choked. He sounded almost like his old self. Like he was absolutely fine and not at all dying. Keith felt his throat tighten.

“Oh, my God, you absolute-” and Shiro broke off, yelling so loudly in Japanese that Keith had to hold the phone away from his ear. Keith broke into something between laughter and uncontrollable sobbing. His lungs burned from his passion and his aching body groaned at the racking of his frame. Oh, man. Shiro was pissed . But Keith didn’t care, because he’d finally answered a call from his brother. Completely by accident, but Shiro’s voice was finally in his ear, and he didn’t sound like he was dying, he sounded healthy and strong and So. Angry.

“I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN MURDERED AND SOME HOBO HAD STOLEN YOUR CARD!!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA-DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE LAUGH AT ME LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT!!! I CAN CUSS YOU OUT IN SIX DIFFERENT LANGUAGES!!!” But Keith couldn’t help it, so he curled up on the living room floor and laughed and sobbed while Shiro yelled at him. True to his word, Keith got an earful in a bizarre mix of Japanese, Russian, Arabic, Altean, and Galran, most of which he couldn’t even understand. He supposed the English tirade would come later. This was followed by several long seconds of silence, interspersed only with Shiro’s deep breathing and Keith’s sniffles.

“Keith, are you crying?” His voice sounded deadly serious. Keith recognized it as the “I’m not angry, I’m just very disappointed” voice his brother used when he was, in fact, furious with him but was trying to keep it together. Keith had heard that voice a lot.

"I missed you, Takashi,” Keith sniffled. “A lot.” Shiro didn’t say anything. Keith could feel his brother’s rage in his own chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t-”

I ’m sorry I couldn’t pick up the phone. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Keith didn’t know what his problem was. Answering the phone or typing out a simple message had, just a few days ago, seemed an insurmountable task that he just couldn’t summon the energy or willpower to complete or even attempt. And answering Shiro had been an even more horrible concept. But the last couple of days...well, things just felt different . He felt different . “I missed you,” Keith tried again, in English this time. Long silence.

“I missed you too. Which is why I borrowed a student’s confiscated phone and yelled at you in front of him for the last several minutes. Sorry, Griffin.”

A voice in the background said, “It’s cool, Prof.”

“Anyhoo, we need to-” Shiro broke off. “Keith, what is that tapping sound?” Keith turned. Lance was at the window with a pouting look on his face, clearly unhappy to be locked outside in the five-month fall/winter drizzle.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, Shiro. I gotta go.”

“What? But we just-” Shiro sounded upset. Crap. Only Shiro could possibly make Keith feel guilty about something.

“I know. I’m sorry. But...You can...You can call me again later. I’ll answer. I-I promise, Shiro. But I have to go. Talk soon, okay? ‘Bye.” I love you. Keith hung up the phone and ran to open the window. Lance came tumbling in, spilling stacks of books as he entered.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Here, you eat these-” Lance passed him a box of half a dozen donuts. “-and I’ll fix these.” He began carefully restacking the books by size, just as they had been. Keith felt oddly touched that Lance had noticed and respected his system for book stacking. Keith opened the box of donuts. All original glaze. Yes. As he began scarfing down his second breakfast, it occurred to him he ought to share with Lance.

“Hey, do you want any of these, before I eat them all?”

“Hmm?” Lance turned to look up at him. “No, no. Not for me.” He finished straightening the last of the three stacks. The one on the left was perfectly straight on the left side, the one on the right perfectly straight on the right side, and the one in the middle was symmetrical. Lance was on some kind of A-game today, clearly. Or he was feeling particularly anxious.

“Are you sure? I’m happy to share.”

“I can’t eat them. Celiac Disease.” Keith cocked his head to the side and licked a bit of glaze from the corner of his mouth. Lance’s face twitched momentarily. He was drinking something wrapped in a paper bag.

“Really? That’s a real thing?”

“Yes, it’s a real thing!” Lance stared longingly at the donuts. “I eat gluten and I suffer. Fortunately, I know a guy who makes gluten free pizza. And he delivers!”

“Oh. I kinda thought it was some fake hippy thing.” Keith paused. “I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Oh?” Lance arched a perfect eyebrow. Wow those eyes were blue. “How intolerant?”

“These donuts will probably make me bloated, but I’ll live,” Keith said with a shrug. “Milkshakes aren’t worth it. I either take a pill every few bites or I pretty much die. Lactase pills are a kind of sprinkle.” Lance burst out laughing, clear and filled with life. For a second, Keith felt he got a glimpse at who Lance might have been before the world tried to eat him alive.

“So if you drink milk, you explode?” He was grinning, looking up at Keith. Just sitting there on the floor beneath the window. The sun managed to elbow its way through the heavy, steel grey clouds. The morning sun hit his brown hair and the side of his face, highlighting the brown cheekbones and long lashes. What was this guy made of? Whatever it was, it shouldn’t have been legal.

“Pretty much, yeah. Like you said, ‘I suffer’.” Keith stuffed a fourth donut in his mouth.

“Dude, are you gonna eat all of those?”

“Yup.” No point in trying to convince him otherwise. Lance’s eyes widened. “I have a fast metabolism, so I actually eat quite a bit.”

“Wait, you’re telling me you eat ridiculous amounts of unhealthy food but don’t gain any weight?”

“Pretty much,” Keith said, and started on the fifth donut. He sat in front of Lance on the floor. “I really like Hot Pockets.”

“I hate you,” Lance said tipping back the bottle again, speaking so matter-of-factly that for a second Keith thought he was serious. “I glance at a cupcake, and I gain weight.” Keith looked Lance up and down slowly. The long, lean, muscular frame. Slender, gracile, and lithe. The guy definitely did not have any weight problems. He was a perfect specimen and Keith could only dream of- And you can stop right there, dude.

“Heh. Guess I’m just born lucky.” Keith pulled out the last donut and set the box aside. This was nice, he thought. Lance, in a ray of sunlight. Peaceful conversation.

“So. you answered the phone.” Lance was smiling at him. “Who was it?”

“My brother,” Keith said around his last mouthful of donut. “Shiro.”

“What did he want?” Another drink.

“To yell at me for not answering his calls or texts for the last six months.” Lance gaped at him.

“You haven’t spoken to your brother in six months?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. Not since he got back from his second tour.” Keith braced himself.

“What the fuck, why? ” Lance stared. And what was the last time you spoke to your family, huh? Don’t judge me! Keith looked at Lance, deciding how much, if any, he wanted to share. Strangely, he found himself comfortable sharing all of it.

“Shiro was asked to go for a second tour, somewhere. They wouldn’t say until he got there. They asked him to go despite the fact that he had a degenerative disease that would cause his muscles to slowly decay. So they gave him some bullshit experimental treatment and shipped him out for a one-year mission. Only he was captured, and one year became one and a half. When he got back, he was so weak he could barely speak, and I couldn’t handle going see him and all I could do was listen to his voice on the other end and he sounded so wrong and it freaked me out and I just couldn’t work up the courage to talk to him again. So I didn’t.” Keith paused to take a breath. “I guess he’d finally had enough, so he stole one of his students’ phones and spam called me until I answered. Then he bitched me out in five different languages.” Lance has looking at him more closely now.

Suddenly, Lance reached forward and hooked his forefinger under Keith’s chin, pulling his face forward and turning it, first one way, then the other. “You’ve been crying,” Lance said, with emotion. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice before...Is-Is he alright? Your brother. Is he okay?”

“Y-yeah, actually.” Keith tried to brush off what had just happened, trying to push down the snowstorm of emotions threatening to freeze him in place. “He sounds really good. Like his old self. Although he did get a bit winded near the end of his...lecture.” Lance grinned.

“But that’s good! Maybe they found a cure!” Lance sounded excited, bouncing up and down on the floor. Hopeful for someone he’d never even met.

“Well, he somehow landed an Altean girlfriend, so it’s within the realms of possibility.”

“What, really?! Even I’ve never managed to get in with the Alteans. Though my favorite coffeehouse is owned by an Altean, now that I think about it. She’s got the tattoos...Wonder if they know each other.”

“I don’t know, do you know the Cuban guy down in room 128?” Keith asked, careful to add extra humor into his voice. Lance, he reminded himself, was fragile.

“No,” Lance laughed. “Why? Is he cute?”

“Buttfuck ugly, actually. And he also drives an obnoxious motorbike.” Lance’s laugh cut off suddenly.

“Oh.” Lance had a grave expression on his face. Keith decided he could watch that face for hours. It was so expressive, no matter what he was feeling. Keith also decided that he needed to get his head on straight. Or at least slightly less gay.

“It’s really loud. Drives it to his night job at six-thirty every night...But I haven’t heard it in a couple of days.” Keith’s phone vibrated against the canvas-covered wood floor.

S: Can I come over later? Please?

Keith looked up as Lance’s head came near. He was so close, Keith could smell the lavender soap he used. There was something else too. Some kind of herb...and bourbon, but that wasn’t his business.

“Say yes.”

“What?”

“Say yes.” Keith stared at Lance. The other man was looking at him with such a bright intensity, Keith could practically feel his excitement. Lance was hopeful. For him . No one except Shiro had ever done that. Not in six years, at least. “Keith, your brother misses you. A lot.” Lance glanced down at Keith’s phone again. He slid his long brown finger down the screen. Keith let him. “He messages you at least once a day. Usually more. Say yes.”

No way. Keith was not going to listen to this overly emotional infant. Until he made the mistake of looking back up from his phone. The sunlight streaming through the open window had the unfortunate effect of surrounding Lance McClain in a halo of golden light, amid which two sapphires- ENOUGH!!! This was getting ridiculous. But the damage was done.

K: Shiro, it’s Wednesday

S: I don’t have classes to teach tomorrow. Only Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

K: Whatever then, I guess

S: :D

He looked back up at Lance only to find he’d finally decided to sit back in his own personal space. He was cross-legged, brows furrowed at his own phone.

“Crap. My agent wants to meet.”

“Agent?” Of course, he’d have an agent. Or, given it was Lance, a paid babysitter. Who clearly wasn’t doing his job, because Keith and Pidge were busy trying to keep tabs on him. Pidge had already texted him about Lance crashing on her couch. And he was clearly wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

“Yeah. I fell off the face of the earth for four days, and he’s freaking out. I don’t think he thought I was serious when I said I was taking a break.”

“You didn’t tell him before you went on TV, did you?”

“I did not.” Lance had a sheepish grin on his face. “He would have cried. I’m his own personal nightmare.” Keith laughed, realizing as he did that he’d done that a fair bit the last few days. It felt good. Weird, but good.

“Guess you’d better go and console him then,” Keith said. Oddly enough, Keith was sorry to see him go.

“Yeah.” Lance pushed himself up off the floor, sliding the bottle into coat. He chuckled. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. Looking forward to it.” Keith smiled.

“Really?” Lance sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. I like having you around.” And Keith meant it. Because Keith had been an island, until Lance had pretty much crash landed and marooned himself there. Perhaps he’d decide to build something. Even if it was just a grass hut on the shore, meant to be washed away over time.

Five days

Under water

Near your island

Off the coast

Chapter Text

“So,” Iverson began. “You were serious.” Lance looked up from his latte. He felt warm inside, especially in his face. But it was fine because he was still thinking clearly. It was fine.

Iverson was sitting there, arms folded. The guy was large, all muscle and no body fat, with an eyepatch on his left eye. He was gruff and intimidating, and often furious with Lance. But deep down, there was a soft and fluffy center. Very, very deep down.

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you outright,” Lance said, not to placate Iverson (mostly), but because it was the truth. “I didn’t want to argue with you about it, but I also really need a break. Munroe, I’m really sorry.” Iverson stared at him, the permanent scowl on his face deeper than usual. Finally, he took a deep breath and sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He did that a lot.

“Well, anyone who actually works with you could see that you’ve needed one for a while. As long as you’re actually taking a break and not off on a bender with some model-”

“Aww, never without you, man.” Lance smiled at Iverson. Okay, so he might be a little fogged. Mercifully, Iverson continued without acknowledging him.

“-then fine. But I wish you’d told me. You can’t just up and disappear on me. We’re supposed to be working together, kid. If you need a break, you let me know. I don’t have to be booking you for project after project.” Lance began rubbing at the scuff marks on the wooden table. Iverson was right. He deserved better.

Munroe Iverson had been Lance’s agent for ten years. He’d gotten angry, really angry, more than once, but he’d never lost his cool, or his patience, and he’d stayed . It was their mutual understanding that meant, despite their 24-year age gap, they were actually very good friends. And it meant a lot to Lance. Not that he could really convey that to Iverson without pissing him off. It was an unspoken thing. He glanced up, and noticed Iverson watching him.

“Did I ever tell you about what I did before I was your agent?” No. He hadn’t.

“I was in the Army. I graduated college as an Army Officer with a bachelor’s in communications. Was supposed to work my active duty at Fort Knox for four years. Two weeks in, I get new orders. Got flown out to some half-assed base on the Altean-Daibazaan border. The war had only just broken out. You were, what? Maybe a year old?” Lance nodded. Iverson looked strangely vulnerable. Lance wondered what Iverson had done there at the border. It was well-known that the border had been the absolute worst place to be during the war. His own father had been stationed there. He hadn't come back.

“I thought I was ready, kid. I was eager to get to the front lines. Eager to kick some Galra ass. Die, motherfucker, die and all that. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready at all. The things I did. The things I was asked to do. The choices I had to make. You got there, and within hours, you realized that none of what was going on was clear-cut. There were bad people and good people and you never knew for sure which was which and which you’d just shot in the head.

“I lived in hell for four years. I rose to CSM by the time my four years was up simply because people kept dying. And I didn’t. And when it was over, they asked me to stay.” Iverson paused. He looked...fragile. Lance had never seen him like that. It was weird. Iverson was so stoic. He was rough and gruff and took no nonsense.

“And a part of me felt I had to. I had to keep going until I was dead or the fighting stopped. But I was tired, kid. So tired. I was breaking down, falling apart in every meaning of the word. I lost an eye. And a knee cap. The feeling in my toes. My faith in humanity. My peace of mind. My self-respect. I lost so much, and I knew. I knew that I couldn’t keep going. So I said ‘no’.” Lance stared at him. And understood. This was a question. “I told them to go fuck themselves and I left.”

“I’m not quitting, Monroe. At least, not yet.” Iverson nodded slowly, staring at him with the same watchful intensity of a suspicious parent. “I love visual storytelling. Film, television, all of it. Even music videos. I’m not giving that up. Not for a long time yet.” Lance paused. “But I need a life, too. I feel like I’ve set myself adrift and there’s nothing to anchor me.” Iverson looked at him with an odd mixture of sadness and..pride?

“Take all the time you need.” Iverson gave him a crooked grin. “I’m proud of you, kid,” He said gruffly. “Not everybody’s so willing to admit what they’re lacking. Or willing to risk as much to make a go of having it.”

Lance thought of ginger and mint shampoo. Of midnight-colored eyes that he was sure reflected light like the moon. Of trembling hands, and how nice they would feel brushing against his skin. A breath across his left cheek...Memorizing dips and curves with only his fingertips in the dark...

All the years I missed your warmth

Have you missed my warmth

On your island?

***

Keith had to admit that the painting was little more than an excuse the play with the color blue. An island lagoon, a small boat in the sand, the scratched and weathered wooden hull encrusted with barnacles, oars carelessly cast aside in the sand, as if it’s occupant had been adrift for a very long time, and no longer cared where they’d ended up, so long as they ended up somewhere halfway decent.

And the island was decent, Keith thought. It was sunny and warm, with lush foliage and white sand and rays of golden light striking the clear blue water just right. And a volcano, because every island needed a volcano. It was just common knowledge. This was one he might be able to sell, too, which made it even better. People down south or on the coast would pay stupid amounts of money for paintings like this for their stupid expensive beach houses. In any case, whether it sold or not, Keith was happy with it. But the blue still wasn’t quite right...

The sound of something metal against the door reverberated through the apartment, and Keith felt his muscle tighten. Shiro, with his metal arm. Or a psychotic killer with a gun. The possibilities were truly endless. Keith’s phone vibrated at the end of the table.

S: It’s just me. Let me in?

Keith went to open the door.

***

It was still raining as Lance climbed up the still-broken fire escape ladder. How much longer, he wondered, before somebody complained and the repairs were made? What would happen to Keith then? Lance marched up the stairs. He’d make sure the guy was taken care of. Keith suffered his near constant presence with such good grace, so Lance figured it was the least he could do. Lance reached the closed window and peeked inside. Why was the window closed again?

Keith was looking at his phone, and Lance saw a rigid tension in the other man’s shoulders fall away. Lance had just raised his hand to knock on the closed glass when Keith turned away from the easel and walked to the door. Then he opened the door . A thousand questions began to swirl in Lance’s head.

A huge man in long, expensive-looking coat stepped in. The older man must have been six foot four, and built like Superman, if Superman had a hand made entirely of white metal emitting blue light. Silver hair ( Altean? ) with Asian features and storm-grey eyes ( Guess not. ) and a scar across his nose. As the giant man stepped inside, he took one look at Keith and tackled the smaller man (so much smaller) in a massive hug. Shiro , Lance realized. He knew he was intruding, but Lance couldn’t turn away.

Shiro pulled back, and held Keith at arms length, hands on his little brother’s shoulders. The hands moved down to catch a firm, angry grip on Keith’s upper arms and Shiro was yelling at Keith. Lance squinted, trying to read what was being said, and realized that Shiro wasn’t speaking English.

Lance studied Shiro’s face and saw tears in his eyes, a worried upturn where the silver eyebrows met. Not angry (well, maybe a little), but pained, hurt. And as Lance watched, Keith began to fall apart, dissolving into tears, shoulders shaking. And Shiro softened. Softened his face, softened his grip, his voice, his body. Everything grew soft.

If there was anything Lance had learned between Cuban Spanish and American English, it was that you didn’t need to know the language to understand the meaning behind somebody’s words. The third-grade teacher reciting a curriculum for the eighth time that day, bored out of her mind. The blonde-haired boy teasing him because he didn’t think Lance could know. Veronica leaving the fifth-graders to yell at the boy in English. The boy’s mumbled, guilty apology. Lance could see past the words and understand.

So when Shiro stood there shaking, and Keith stood there shaking, Lance read their faces. And when Keith stepped in and put his arms carefully around his brother, Lance read his face, the motions of his lips. And Lance understood the unfamiliar tongue he couldn’t even hear: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Over and over and over. And Shiro wrapped his little brother up in those gigantic arms. And all was forgiven.

Lance turned and walked down the stairs, feet heavy as his heart. He climbed down the ladder, got in his car, and drove home for the first time in almost thirty-six hours.

Chapter Text

Hunk glanced nervously at the man sitting at the counter in the restaurant, stirring the pot in front of him as he did so. The gentleman didn’t look dangerous. He was handsome in the exotic way of the Alteans, tall and slender, with orange tattoos on his face and delicate features. But his features had a strange sharpness to them and his sclera were yellow. When he’d smiled to introduce himself, Hunk couldn’t help but notice that his canines were slightly longer and sharper than average. His long white hair hung down his back and fell over his shoulders and he leaned forward on the counter. As unlikely as it seemed, Lotor was indeed half Altean and half Galra.

“You seem nervous, Hunk.” Lotor’s voice was deep and rich. Powerful. Which only made poor Hunk more anxious. New people made him uncomfortable, and this guy was especially new and potentially dangerous. Lotor leaned forward. “I understand. I have a proceeding reputation.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not just that,” Hunk began. “I mean, yeah from what Coran told me, you seem dangerous and whatever and I’m not saying, like, I’d cross to the other side of the street if I saw you coming, but I’m just, in general, nervous around new people, you know? Like, I figure it’s kind of obvious that I don’t really belong here-”

“Don’t you? You seem well adjusted. And, no offense, but you don’t seem to possess the kind of cleverness that makes one good at illusions.” Lotor tilted his head to the side, a small, somewhat creepy smiled playing across his lips.

“I moved with my family. I was born and raised in Samoa until I turned twelve. I’m still struggling with it.” It broke Hunk’s heart to talk about it. He missed his homeland so much. Especially this time of year, where the sun didn’t shine for months on end. But small talk was the best way to judge someone’s character.

“I take it ‘Hunk’ is not your real name?” Jeez, he still had that creepy smile on his face. Definitely part Galra. They tended to be a little unnerving. Not that Hunk was racist. He just wasn’t used to interacting with them. Even after six years in Garrison City, Hunk’s interactions with the Galra race were limited to his peers, who rarely if ever spoke to him or acknowledged his existence.

“My real name is Aputi. But only my family really calls me that.” Hunk loved his name. It suited him. Not that he didn’t love being called Hunk. Pidge had given him that nickname.

“You got lucky.” Hunk turned back to look at his guest. He seriously doubted he could be called “lucky.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Well, first of all, ‘Procyon Lotor’ is the scientific name for the common raccoon. So I’m named after a garbage-eating nuisance. Second…” Lotor pauses, bitterness suddenly replaced with sadness. “I will never see my home. Either of them. The blooming fields of Altea? The red wastes of Daibazaal? No. I will never know the honor of capturing my first yelmore. Never see the yellow blossoms of the Daibazaan plateaus after the monsoons of summer. For me, home is an enigma, a daydream. An echo of a memory I never had and never will have. When the Alteans and the Galra weep, we weep for what is lost. What our children, our grandchildren, thousands of years of our descendants, will never know. What may never be known again.” Hunk thought of his home. The island he returned to every summer, where his aunts and uncles and grandparents waited to see him. He served up two plates of food, a stir-fry inspired by traditional Polynesian cuisine.

“Wow, you are quite the drama queen.” Hunk passed the man a fork.

“You should meet my father.” Lotor frowned. “Actually, about that.” Oh boy, this can’t be good.

“What is it?” The gentleman swallowed, grimacing like there was something bitter on his tongue.

“My father is Zarkon. The man who-”

“I know who he is,” Hunk interrupted. “And I don’t care. I care about who you are.” Lotor’s silver brows furrowed.

“You don’t-”

“Nope.” Hunk paused, trying to find the best way to communicate. “You see that wall over there? The one that says ‘Recipes’ on it?”

“Yeah?” Lotor takes a bite of food. His eyes widen and Hunk smiles. Lotor likes the food, and Hunk likes that he likes it.

“There’s only one recipe on it right now. The food we’re eating tonight. The city we live in? The Pit? It’s filled with people from every corner of the world. And this restaurant? It’s gonna be everybody’s corner. No matter where they come from. That wall and all the others will one day be covered in recipes. The six big chalkboards behind the counter filled with cuisine from the six inhabited continents. Because nothing helps you build a life than somewhere that will literally serve you up a little piece of home.”

Hunk was so proud of what he and Coran had put together. The restaurant wasn’t finished. Only the kitchen and cafe were. But it was going to be beautiful. Wooden tables, cushions to sit on the floor, warm colors, a brick wall separating the restaurant from the cafe and bakery. It was going to be beautiful. He watched as Lotor looked around the space.

“This is your life, dude. And no one else’s. So you tell me. Do you want to be a part of this, or not?” And Lotor turned to him, and grinned. Suddenly, he wasn’t unnerving at all. He was just another man, one that Hunk could call a friend.

***

When Lance got to his apartment building, the old Galra lady behind the desk smiled at him and buzzed him into the elevator.

“Welcome home, Mr. McClain,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks, Dayak.” Lance rode up in silence, staring at the phone in his hand. He took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. The elevator doors opened. The nervous-anxious flutter built in his chest as, with trembling hands, he punched in the key code to the large apartment and locked himself inside.

Lance didn’t turn on the lights. He stared out the massive wall of glass in front of him, deep orange sun setting The City aglow in spite of the clouds. He leaned back against his front door and watched the orange fade slowly into purple, tossing his phone back and forth in his hands, summoning his courage. And for the first time in six years, the courage came.

Lance punched in the number, praying and dreading that it still worked.

“Hello?” Lance gasped. “This is Marisol McClain, how may I help you?” Lance covered his mouth and choked back a sob. It was her. She sounded almost exactly as he remembered her. A little older, perhaps. A little more tired. But it was her. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was her. And that was all that mattered.

“Is anyone there?” Lance realized that if he didn’t say something soon, she would hang up.

“ Mamá ,” he rasped. “It’s me. It-it’s Lance.”

There was a gasp on the other end, followed by fuzz as Lance’s mother fumbled the phone in surprise.

“ Mijo? Lance? Is that you?” Her voice was so soft, so gentle, like a balm for all the pain Lance had ever felt.

“Yeah, Mamá , it’s me. Oh, Mamá , I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Lance slid to the floor.

“Oh, Mijo! Mijo! My boy!” Lance curled up on the floor at the sound of the tears in his mother’s voice and sobbed in earnest. “My sweet baby! Oh, how I’ve missed you! My baby!”

And it hurt. It hurt to feel all the pain, fear, and worry in her voice. All that she must have felt for the last six years when trash news had dragged him out of the closet (literally and figuratively) before he could do it himself and he’d just never had the courage to explain himself. To apologize for being the way he was, to ask if she could forgive him for it, if she could still find it in her to love him.

It took a while for either of them to regain the ability to speak. By then, it was pitch black outside and Lance had managed to drag himself to the oversized kitchen with all the pots and pans and weird utensils he’d never once used, open the freezer, and pull out the fresh bottle of overpriced vodka. But when he had, he sat on the kitchen floor wedged between the fridge and the island and told his mother everything that had happened to him (or what he could remember) in the last six years.

He told her about the girl with the camera at that party where he shouldn’t have been in the first place. About being too scared and ashamed to bring it up, actually talk about it. About falling for someone over and over and everything falling apart and how it must have been his fault. But that he was getting better. He told her everything, and she did the same.

She still worked at the hotel, but now at the front desk instead of as a janitor, because she’d stepped in when there was no one else and done really well. She’d given up on ever finding someone she could love like she’d loved his father. They were doing okay on money, better than they used to.

Veronica had received her Bachelor’s in engineering last year and was working on her Master’s. Rachael was a senior in college going for a degree in Russian literature. Luis was a nurse. Marco had his own business as a mechanic now, along with a wife, Lisa, and twin five-year-olds, Nadia and Sylvio. No, Mamá didn’t care if he liked boys as well as girls. No, there was nothing to forgive. Yes, of course , she still loved him. And she was okay. And she wanted to see him. To see him in person and make sure he was okay. When Marisol finally had to hang up to yell at the twins (who were apparently spending the night and very good at faking being asleep), it was after nine and long since dark.

“I have to go, Mijo. I’m so sorry.” She sounded it. “I love you so much, do you know that? I love you, Lance.”

“I love you too, Mamá . I’ll call you soon, okay? It’s a promise, okay? I promise.” I promise.

“I’ll talk to you soon, baby. Maybe we can Skype, yes? I have a laptop, so…?”

“Yes, yes!” She was so wonderful! “Let’s do that this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, baby. Adios, Mijo. ”

“ Adios, Mamá. Te quiero. ” Lance looked at the bottle in his hand and screwed the lid back on. He’d probably had enough. Then again…

***

Shiro had brought his PS4 and Detroit: Become Human. Keith seemed to like the game a lot. They talked and laughed and caught up as they passed the controller back and forth between characters. Shiro talked about the treatment he was on which was healing him, about his arm stump aching with the air pressure, and getting used to the new eyes (Keith had had a hard time with that), and about Allura. About how she loved/hated his “Needing A Hand” and “Eye See” jokes. About how great she was. How beautiful. How smart. How kind. Not about how he really wanted the two of them to meet and be friends.

Keith made smartass comments and talked about how his paintings seemed to finally be selling. He said he hated that he was making art to make money rather than say something, but at least he got to paint. He supported Shiro in his quest to make a joke about his missing limb every day. He yelled at Hank for being a douche to Connor. At the same time, they were eating pizza and Shiro was grading essays on Keith’s laptop. And it was going great. Keith was lively, there was pink color in his cheeks and he was talkative, if not particularly animated. Shiro wondered if it was just him, or if perhaps there was something more going on...

They’d just gotten past the part with the creepy android graveyard when Keith got a call on Messenger. WHAT? Keith having a Facebook account was weird. Having a friend was even weirder.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Shit, that was creepy. Okay-huh? What’s up?” Keith didn’t even look over.

“Somebody’s calling you? On Messenger?” Which I know isn’t right. Keith paused the game and turned to look.

“Oh, that’ll be Pidge, I guess. She asked me to get one.” Keith turned the laptop toward him and answered the call.

“Hey, Pidge. What’s up?” Shiro leaned in to see who Keith could possibly be willing to talk to that was apparently more important to Keith than he was. Not that he was bitter, or anything.

A tiny girl with a head of soft, light brown hair, huge amber eyes, and a worried furrow to her brow was peering at Keith behind a pair of fake glasses. She had what looked like physics homework laid out on the desk on front of her. She looked really familiar, but Shiro couldn’t place her.

“Have you heard from Lance? Visit? Text message? Booty call? Please tell me the reason he hasn’t been answering my calls is because he’s with you.” Who the fuck is Lance? Who are these people?

“He was over this morning. Promised me donuts if I answered a spam call.” Keith had the decency to give Shiro an apologetic glance. I don’t know who this Lance guy is, but I hate him. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“He’s ignoring me! I called him like, six times and was sent straight to voicemail! You know he had coffee with his agent today? Munroe Iverson. I bet he bitched our baby out so much that he-”

“What do you mean ‘our baby’? Pidge, Lance is a grown-ass man. He can ignore you if he wants.” Can somebody please clue me in, here?!

“Please will you call him? Please? Something could be wrong. He could be dead in a ditch in the slums for all we know! He’s only lived in the city for six months! He doesn’t know his way around! He’d get into a windowless van if someone offered him Pop Rocks! What if something happened to him? What if he’s in trouble?” Keith sighed.

“Yeah, okay Pidge. I’ll call him. Just give me a minute to find my phone. It’s somewhere on the table.”

“Thanks, Keith. You’re a peach.” Pidge finally turned to Shiro. “Hi, I’m Pidge. Well, Katie Holt. You must be the brother. Holy shit, you’re enormous.” Finally, some acknowledgement.

“Yeah. Name’s Shiro. And...thanks? I guess?” Shiro paused, unsure of what question to ask first. He settled for something basic. “So, how do you know Keith?”

“Well my friend Lance kinda cannonballed into him on a sidewalk and I later broke into his house to terrorize him into helping me babysit my, now our, twenty-one-year-old bi son who may or may not be dead in a gutter somewhere. Keith, hurry up!” Well that sort of answered his questions. Some of them. What sort of twenty-one-year-old needs babysitting? Why does Keith care? I’m not even sure he cares about himself!

“Got it, sorry! It was in my toolbox.”

“Don’t care. Just call.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowed in apparent suspicion. “And put it on speaker.”

“I’m not your fucking maze rat,” Keith grumbled, scowling. Aw, there he is! That’s the Keith I know and love! Despite his kind thoughts, Shiro was hardly capable of saying anything nice without sounding salty and passive-aggressive, so he kept his words to himself. Like the fact that he had apparently been downgraded to Keith’s third favorite person. Or worse.

A dialing tone. Then, a bit of static.

“Hey, Keith.” Keith opened his mouth, presumably to return the subdued salutations when-

“MOTHER FUCKER !!!” Shiro looked at the tiny, angry person on Keith’s laptop in alarm. He hadn’t expected such violence. “You won’t answer the phone for me when I call you twelve fucking times but you’ll answer for some cute piece of ass you’ve known for four days?! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Hi, Pidge.” The voice was quiet and not quite right, Shiro thought. Certainly not happy. “I love you too.” Pidge was frowning. Shiro thought he heard a small sniffle. Keith must’ve heard it too.

“Hey, man. Are you okay?” Keith’s eyebrows contracted a fraction, his lower lip sticking ever so slightly. He was concerned? For someone he’d only known a few days? What made this guy so important? What made him so special? Why did this Lance guy get to talk to Keith but Shiro had to harass him for months. He was Keith’s brother! Why wasn’t he important enough?

“Oh, oh yeah. I’m fine.” The voice sounded just a little slurred. More sniffles?

“Hey! I’m not done with you yet! I have more yelling to do-” Pidge’s voice was cut off abruptly and Keith unceremoniously closed the laptop.

“Lance, what have you done? Are you drunk?”

“Uh, yeah.” Another sniffle. “I think so.” Keith sighed.

“What happened?” Keith almost sounded like he was bracing for a fight. It reminded Shiro of days past, before Keith had fallen apart.

“Oh, I uh, I just talked to my mom. That’s all.” Keith’s expression softened a little bit, but he still didn’t fully relax. then took Lance off speaker, and Shiro knew.

Chapter Text

Keith knew Shiro was watching. He could feel those unfamilar but still familiar gray eyes drilling into him, and he knew his brother was probably far from happy right now. But that could be fixed later. Probably.

“What happened?” Please just let everything be okay.

“We just talked. That’s all. For a long while, actually. We talked, I drank. It’s been so long. I haven’t talked to her in six years. Not for real, anyway. She was just kinda there. Then I turned eighteen and, well...” More sniffling. Then soft crying.

“Hey, Lance. Don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be alright.” Shit. He turned to Shiro and mouthed an apology. Shiro’s expression didn’t change. He was angry and hurt and waiting for an explanation. Keith grimaced. That should be an interesting conversation.

“Yeah. So it was a lot. And I just... God I’m so terrible. What if she’d changed her number and I couldn’t find a way to reach her? What if something bad had happened? What if she’d died ?! And I wouldn’t even have known! I-I’m literally the worst person! I’m a complete and utter coward. I...” Keith heard more sniffles. This poor idiot. He always wore his heart on his sleeve. And everywhere else. "She's my mother, Keith. And I-"

“Come over.” It was impulsive. And it would piss off Shiro. He hoped his brother’s new eyes did not have a “death laser” setting.

“What?” The response came slow, bleary. Christ, he was drunk. And he didn’t sound good.

“Hire an Uber or Lyft or whatever and just come over, okay?”

“Isn’t your brother there?”

“Yeah, and he’s salty, so you better be either incredibly charming or incredibly pitiful so he won’t hate me.”

“Sorry,” Lance whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t see it.”

“It’s okay, Keith. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“No, it won’t. It’ll never be okay! Never!”

“It’s okay, Lance. Everything’s going to be okay.” Keith stared into Shiro’s eyes, trying to get him to remember the exact same thing he was. He didn’t. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming. I’ll ask Dayak for a lift. Her shift’s up...”

“Good. I’ll see you in ten.” The phone went silent. Keith sighed. He did that a lot these days. He turned to see that Shiro had gone back to playing DBH. “Shiro?”

“What?” Stiff. Angry. Shit.

“Please don’t be angry.” Not that Keith blamed him. At all.

“I’m not angry.” It’s a lie and they both know it. “I’m just...hurt. I’m hurt, okay? I try for six months to get a hold of you, and I get nothing. Six months , Keith! You meet these people four days ago, and you’ll talk to them no problem?” Shiro paused the game again and threw the controller aside. “Tell me something, Keith. Do you care about me at all, or should I just go?”

Keith resisted the urge to sigh again and ran his fingers through his hair. Lance would be here shortly, assuming he could haul his intoxicated ass up the ladder. He knew that Shiro’s words weren’t entirely real. Shiro knew that Keith loved him. Keith didn’t doubt that for a second. But he also knew that Shiro couldn’t possibly be thrilled to find that Keith hadn’t been so distant with a pair of strangers.

“You’re right. You should be upset. I’ve treated you like shit. I’m a shitty person. Sorry.” Wow, that really sounded convincing. Great job, Keith. You’re a great brother. Keith took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, keep himself together. Then he walked over to the couch and sat down. He turned sideways, leaning against the arm of the couch, tucking his socked feet up. He hugged his knees tightly to his chest, trying to limit the shaking in his body.

“One year, you said. And then you vanished into thin air. At least, that’s how your superiors described it when they told me. Like one minute you were there and then you weren’t and all they could do was shrug and tell me they were very sorry. And I-” Keith swallowed. “I just fell apart, Shiro. You were all I had left. So-so when you disappeared, it was like losing everything.

“There were days where it was all I could do to get out of bed and eat something. Some days, I couldn’t even do that. Because the only person who still knew and cared that I existed was gone . And it was my fault, because I told you to go. Everyone who’d ever bothered to even try and love me was gone, and it-it was all my fault.” Keith could feel that hard lump in his throat growing.

“But then they found you. I...I did call you. That one time?” Keith glanced sideways at his brother.

“I know,” Shiro said, curtly. “I remember.” Keith took that as encouragement to continue.

“But it wasn’t you. It was like someone else was using your voice to talk. I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t think you were gonna get better, and I couldn’t face the prospect of you dying again. I’m sorry.” It was a terrible apology, and Keith knew it.

“I wasn’t dead Keith. But I was dying,” Shiro said softly. “I could barely move. My heart was giving out, slowly but surely. I had maybe a month. But then Allura came to me. Said her people had found a potential cure, but that I might be too far gone. I figured it was worth a shot. And it was.”

“Because you’re cured. Yeah, I noticed.” Keith smirked, even though he probably shouldn’t. “And because you landed a super hot Altean girlfriend who happens to be at the forefront of the most advanced medical science in the world.” Shiro looked a little nonplussed, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“How do you know that?”

“I saw pictures of the two of you on the local news. Your ‘Epic Love Story’ -gag- made the news.” Shiro was still looking a little quizzical.

“Okay, but how could you tell if a girl is hot or not? I mean-” Keith swung the only surviving couch pillow at his brother’s head.

“Oof!” Shiro laughed, and just like that, the ice melted between them. “Okay, so who are Lance and Pidge?”

“Lance ran into me outside the grocery store and bullied me in letting him give me a ride home.” Lance was likely almost here, so Keith didn’t have time to go into too much detail. “Pidge pretty much broke in two days later to threaten me with disfigurement and mutilation if I ever dared to hurt him.” Shiro stared at him and Keith realized for the millionth time how insane the entire thing really was. And that was before the duo’s social status.

“So...This Lance. Is he your boyfriend or something?” Shit.

“What the fuck? No! Shiro, I met the guy literally four days ago. I don’t even know if I like Lance! Like, as a person, even. I don’t tend to like anyone, let alone a noisy, overly emotional pretty boy with more feeling than sense.”

“So you admit you think he’s pretty!” Shiro had the evilest expression on his face.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re getting out of this?” Keith beat Shiro with the pillow again. The older man only laughed.

“Aww… look at my sweet little brother, growing up at last.” Shiro grinned at his younger brother. “Well, I guess I have no choice but to stay and meet this Lance fellow.” He folded his arms and grinned at Keith, and Keith knew resistance would be futile.

It was at that moment that there was an unsteady knock at the window. Shiro smiled placidly at Keith.

“Don’t you wanna get that?”

“Guess I’d better,” Keith said, getting up from the couch to open the window. “Do me a favor and don’t freak out.”

“Why would I freak-Oh my God.” Shiro’s mouth cut his brain off mid-thought as a clearly drunk Lance McClain tumbled into the room, knocking over the stacks of books for the second time that day. Keith couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at that. It wasn't every day he managed to render his brother speechless.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance mumbled from the floor. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Keith said, nonchalantly. “You?”

“Mmn. Getting wasted.” Lance produced a full-sized bottle of Vodka out of his jacket and tried to open it, still lying on the floor.

“Okay, no.” Keith bent down, took the bottle from him, and kicked it away, where it came to rest against one of the stacks of books beneath the kitchen island. “Did you bring that in Dayak’s car?”

“Yup.” Lance’s eyes were red from crying, and when Keith pulled him to his feet, the other man’s hands felt shaky. “I don’t think she saw.”

“Okay, well we’re done with that now, alright?” Keith held Lance at arms’ length and inspected him for damage. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks flushed. His lip was raw from chewing on it. Keith had better not pick up on that habit or he might actually scar himself. His teeth were very sharp. This really wasn’t how he’d expected this night to go. He walked Lance over to the couch and sat him down. “What was the last time you ate something, Lance?”

“I had a-wait, I didn’t eat it. I was gonna say I had a gluten-free muffin earlier, but I threw it away. It was gross,” he slurred. “Did I eat breakfast here?” Keith heard Shiro inhale and held up a finger before Shiro could comment. One problem at a time.

“No you did not.”

“Oh. I guess...yesterday. I had dinner at Pidge’s place.” Great.

“Lance,” Keith said firmly. “It is ten at night. The next day. Why haven’t you eaten?”

“Wasn’t hungry,” Lance mumbled. “Well, actually, I was. But I didn’t feel like eating.” Okay, that was problematic. It reminded him of the weeks right after Shiro had disappeared. The months after his parents had died. He met Shiro’s eyes and saw his own concern mirrored there. The older man was working up to Big Brother Mode.

Keith resisted the urge to yell at him. He knew it wouldn’t do Lance any good. In fact, it would probably do the exact opposite. Plus, he really didn’t have room to talk. So instead, he took a deep breath and went into the kitchen.

“We still have some pizza left,” Shiro called, watching Lance closely in case he should keel over, all bitterness and shock discarded in favor of more pressing concerns. Keith couldn’t help but think briefly that Shiro was going to make a great father someday.

“He can’t eat that,” Keith said, filling a glass at the kitchen sink. He brought it over and put it in Lance’s hand. “Drink, Lance. Lance is allergic to gluten,” he said, turning back to Shiro.

Keith returned to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards, pantry and fridge.

“Unfortunately, almost everything in this shithole has gluten in it. I’ll make some eggs.” Keith opened the carton. Three eggs left. Oh well. He could have peanut butter and jelly for breakfast. Or pizza. Or both. Both sounded great. He pulled out what was left of a bell pepper and a bit of onion and set to cooking.

“Drink your water, Lance,” Keith ordered, not even turning around. He heard Shiro murmur something encouraging. He really did have a great big brother, Keith thought, stirring the vegetables. He inspected the three bananas on the counter and picked the one with the fewest bruises. Other people knew him as the man who had single-handedly ended the Red War. Other people said stuff like, “He’s a war hero,” or “He’s so brave and strong.” But Keith knew the truth: Shiro was kind. Despite all the hardships he’d suffered in his life, Shiro had untold depths of compassion and a gentleness that hid beneath his outward strength. Keith had sorely missed that, and the steadiness his brother brought to everything (including chewing him out). He smiled, glad to have him back.

“I talked to my mom,” Lance mumbled.

“Mmn.” Keith cracked an egg and dropped it into the pan. “That’s what you said.” He cracked the other two and stirred the mixture to scramble it. Lance was quiet for several minutes.

“She said she missed me.” Keith scraped the eggs onto a plate and said nothing. “She was worried about me.”

“I bet,” Keith said, grabbing a fork and carrying the plate over to set it in front of Lance. He sat down next to the coffee table, facing Lance. He saw a tear fall onto the carpet. Aw, fuck. “Lance, why are you crying?”

“I’m literally the worst.” Keith wasn’t sure what to do. He began to flounder beneath Shiro’s watchful gaze. “I’m...I’m just a shitty person,” he mumbled. “A piece of shit. I’m sorry, Keith.” Right. This was probably what Pidge had truly been afraid of. He ran a hand through his choppy black hair. His hands were strangely steady, even as Lance’s trembled. Keith put the fork in his shaking brown hand. Keith couldn’t help but pray to the Moon that those hands had graced a musical instrument. Any less would be a travesty, an utter waste.

“Eat, Lance.” Lance didn’t move. “Come on, buddy,” Keith tried more gently. “One bite. Before it gets cold.”

Lance slid down to the floor to get closer to the plate and took a slow, tiny bite. Keith waited, and Lance took another small bite. And another. And another. Lance might not have felt hungry, but his body clearly did. Keith reached over and peeled half of the banana for him. He broke off the end and handed it to Lance.

He glanced at Shiro, who raised his eyebrows. Clearly, Shiro was leaving it up to Keith to fix this. Great.

“You are not a piece of shit, Lance,” Keith said, as gently as he could. He saw Shiro’s head twitch in his peripheral vision. So Shiro hadn’t actually expected him to try. Fair enough.

“Yes I am!” Lance argued around a mouthful of the banana. Keith took the rest of the banana from him and handed him the glass of water. Lance drank obediently.

“I must be,” Lance said, staring into the glass. “Otherwise people wouldn’t leave.” Oh. “Why else would they...they must’ve known. Everybody must’ve known but me.” Keith resisted the urge to punch him right in his perfect, beautiful face. Or to kiss- No. Stop. If Shiro weren’t there, Keith would definitely have wrapped Lance up in his arms. He felt guilty he didn’t have the courage to do it now.

“No, Lance. That’s not why they left.” Keith hesitated, unsure. “People...people just do that sometimes. It’s not really anybody’s fault most of the time. It’s just...something that happens.”

“So, Nyma’s just ‘something that happens’?” Keith had never expected to hear Lance sound bitter or angry. It was like seeing the truth. Like looking through the ice on the surface of a lake and seeing the dark waters beneath. There was far more depth to Lance McClain than Keith had anticipated, even if he’d assumed he wasn’t just the vain manslut everyone seemed to think he was.

“No, Nyma’s the exception. She is a piece of shit.”

“No, she’s not! Don’t you get it? I’m the piece of shit. It’s me! Can’t you see that?” Keith stared at Lance. He’d been a fan of the guy’s work since he was a kid. He’d always respected him, admired him. It was awful to see him like this, so broken. So...hopeless.

“It was dark,” Keith began.

“What?” Lance looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion, the second half of his dinner forgotten. Shiro shifted on the couch, leaning forward. Keith could feel his intense gaze. “You saying you didn’t notice I was a piece of shit because it was dark?”

“It was dark and cold. Winter, actually. Snowing. I’d only been driving for a few weeks, but I was really good at it. And Mom was tired. She worked long hours at the school. So I offered to drive.” Keith could see it all like it was yesterday. These were the only clear memories he still had of that time. He took a deep breath.

“Dad was in the backseat, working on his thesis. Mom, asleep next to me. Shiro was at home. He flew out for his first tour in the morning.” He paused. He felt oddly detached. “I knew how to drive in that weather. Over wet asphalt, in the dark, the fog, the snow. All of it. What I didn’t know was that even if the road’s not icy, the bridge might be. And that I might not be able to tell. So when I hit the bridge, I lost control. It was...It was bad. I hit one of the towers and the car just... crumpled . Like a piece of paper.” Keith looked up from his lap. Lance was staring at the corner of the coffee table. Shiro was staring at him. He had never recounted exactly what had happened to Shiro either. Keith swallowed hard, and looked back down at his hands splayed palms-up in his lap.

“They didn’t find us for hours. It was the slums, so no one was on the bridge. No one coming or going. Shiro was the one who called the police. The weather had gotten worse and we hadn’t come home. When I regained consciousness, I was still in the car. Stuck, in the front seat. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. I remember trying to move my arm, rubbing my fingers together and feeling blood. I don't really remember the pain.

“When I think back, I don’t remember all that much else. I can still hear the metal crumpling, the glass shattering. I can see the flashing turn signal light on the dash, the blue and red from the cop cars. I can hear Shiro screaming my name, over and over, trying to get to me. But the cops held him back. I remember the snow coming in through the broken dash. I remember thinking how funny it was that it was still coming down, completely indifferent...

“I woke up in the hospital days later. Broken ribs. Broken legs. Broken arm. Concussion. I was covered in bruises and cuts. They waited to tell me...tell me they died. Our parents.” Keith remembered the hollow, empty feeling in between hearing the words and and understanding. And again, between understanding and believing. Then the grief, the kind that never truly left.

“It took months for my body to heal, and even longer for me to forgive myself. Shiro had to leave. He didn’t have a choice. He’d been drafted. They put me in a home with a really nice couple. Just until I could live on my own. I hated them. I hated the doctors who took care of me. I hated store clerks and random people on the street. And I made sure they knew. I became more and more withdrawn as time went on. Until I became like I am now. Loud noise, flashing lights, people’s voices, and I’m right back there, stuck inside that car. It used to be that I couldn’t even turn on the TV or listen to music.” Keith paused. Remembering his life during those two years, his life now was a dream. Not a great dream, but not a nightmare, either.

“Then Shiro came home. He pretty much broke into the house to get to me. ‘This is not your fault, Keith,’ he said. ‘The weight of the world is not on your shoulders. They’re gone, and you’re still here, and there’s nothing you can do about it except pick up and keep going.’ And it was like a spell was broken. I began to wake up. To move. To eat three meals a day. Do yoga in the living room. And I began to sketch again. And then I began to paint. I began to move on.

“You think that if you move on, it’s wrong. That you’re supposed to grieve forever. You’re supposed to be in love forever. That you have to feel that way forever. And maybe you did screw up, Lance. I don’t know. But I do know that it happens. And sometimes, things go horribly wrong. But it doesn’t make you a shitty person. It makes you a person just like everybody else, just doing the best you can with whatever you have.” He looked up. Lance was crying, tears falling silently, just like winter snow.

Hesitantly, Keith scooted himself over to sit next to lance, legs crossed. Lance managed to extricate his legs from under the coffee table until he was curled up on the floor, and put his head down in Keith’s lap. Keith sat stiffly, unsure of how to react. In the past six years, the only physical contact Keith had known aside from hand-on-hand was with Shiro. And Shiro was his brother, so that didn’t count for anything. And no one had ever put their head in his lap. That was for people who had someone. People who mattered. People who deserved it. Lance sniffled, shoulders, body shaking with fresh tears, and Keith, brow furrowed, slowly put his uncharacteristically steady hand in his fine brown hair. It was soft and smooth. He could feel a wet patch growing on his jeans from Lance’s tears.

Keith could feel Lance’s warmth sinking into his body. It was a new, almost alien sensation. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have somebody. It must be nice, he thought, coming home to somebody every day. No wonder Shiro couldn’t shut up about Allura.

“Sorry about your jeans,” Lance mumbled tearfully.

“It’s okay,” Keith said, putting as much kindness into his voice as his limited social skills would allow. “They’re six years old and I’ve been wearing them for three days straight. Upside of owning only black jeans. They all look the same.”

“They do not . You have the worst sense of style,” Lance grumbled into the worn cotton. “You should probably wash them, at least. Or burn them.”

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna sell these. ‘Jeans Blessed With Lance McClain’s Tears-five hundred thousand dollars. I’ll be rich in like, three days.” Keith grinned and Lance gave a watery chuckle.

“Gimme one of your paint jars and I’ll collect more tears for you. Then you can afford a new haircut.” Lance was quiet for a minute, then said, “You cut it with the kitchen scissors, don’t you?”

“Guilty.” Lance groaned like he was in actual pain. Keith laughed. He felt Lance smile against the snug, worn fabric, amused in spite of himself.

Keith carded his fingers through Lances hair, inspecting it, like his mother had done that time he’d caught the flu. She really had loved him. And she hadn’t been required to, or even expected to, when he thought about it. But she and his father had chosen to love both their sons anyway. They’d yelled at their sons for misbehaving, nagged them about their homework, asked about their likes and dislikes, and even tried to accommodate them, making food they liked and buying clothes that suited their tastes.

They’d given the boys the best education they could afford. They’d let Keith choose an American name, back when he’d tried to erase everything that had made him unwanted. They’d asked their sons what they wanted to be when they grew up and helped the boys make plans to get there someday. Their mother and father had wanted them to achieve their dreams. Yes. Their parents had loved them. And Keith would be willing to bet that somewhere out there, Mrs. McClain felt the same way about her messy, emotional trainwreck of a son who loved too much too big and too wide.

So, in honor of all of that love, unneeded but so desperately wanted, Keith sat there and stroked Lance’s hair and told him about two boys, two and six, who had been found on a barge from Japan around the time the Red War had begun. He told Lance about growing up in Hopeful House in the slums and how hard it had been to feel so much hurt and anger all the time because Why weren’t they wanted? and How come there was no one to take them away to a suburb with a dog and a green front lawn? and Why did no one ever pick him?

Keith told Lance about how he and Shiro had been inseparable from the day they touched State soil. About being six and ten and being told that they weren’t make-pretend brothers anymore, but that they were Real Brothers because by some stroke of chance a couple had come along and made room in their hearts for a boy and his “problematic” younger pretend brother. He told Lance about not being able to believe Mary and Paul for a long while when they said they loved him because he was a Half, and therefore a problem child, and the problem child was the burden, nothing more.

He told Lance about how, eventually, he actually felt loved. Enough to stop wondering why his birth parents hadn’t wanted him. To stop caring that, to some other couple, he’d been their mistake. He’d stopped feeling unwanted, unneeded, unloved. Unwantable. Unneedable. Unloveable. Because two people had chosen him. Him and his Real Brother. Because a family of two had become a family of four and suddenly blood didn’t seem to matter. Not even a little. Suddenly, it didn’t matter at all.

And Lance listened. And he smiled. And after a while, he fell asleep there in Keith’s lap.

And Keith looked. And he smiled. And after a while, he wished that he could have this.

***

Shiro stared, which he knew was incredibly rude. But he couldn’t help it. Because Keith, his antisocial, misanthropic little brother Keith, was sitting on the floor with another boy’s head in his lap and the sweetest expression on his face. Shiro managed to come to reality just long enough to get a picture and send it to Allura.

Nevermind that the boy in question was A-list celebrity Lance McClain. Nevermind the fact that it was approaching midnight and the three of them were apparently frozen in place. Nevermind the fact that Allura was probably waiting up for him back at the Atlas Tower penthouse. Nevermind that’d he’d probably gotten a parking ticket because his meter had timed out hours ago.

Because there was his little brother, his rough, angry, “problem child” little brother, taking care of somebody else. Someone he’d only known four days, but clearly had some kind of a connection with, because holy hell was that he softest expression he’d ever seen on the boy’s face. The culprit in Keith’s lap rolled over with a small sigh, and Keith’s expression deepened. The cat (who didn’t hold any opinion of Shiro whatsoever) came over and curled up against the boy’s stomach, purring. Keith reached out with his free hand and rubbed the top of her head. The other hand remained fixed in Lance’s hair.

Suddenly, Shiro felt guilty. He’d been jealous the instant Keith had answered Pidge’s Messenger call, angry when Keith had called Lance, and downright furious when Keith had invited the boy over. He’d said reprehensible things that he couldn’t take back. But what made him feel truly guilty was that Keith had been helping a friend. And that friend clearly meant a great deal to Keith, in spite of what he said.

“I’m gonna stay up and keep an eye on him,” Keith whispered. He was still gazing at the boy in his lap. Shiro considered this. It was a wise call, considering how drunk Lance had been when he’d stumbled in.

“Right.” Shiro fumbled with his pockets, looking around for an excuse. He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay and watch his brother take care of another human being. Wanted to watch him heal. Grow.

“You can stay, if you want. You should probably let Allura know, though. She might get worried.” Keith didn’t look up.

“And you should probably call or text that girl,” Shiro said, suddenly remembering the tiny angry person on Keith’s computer.

Keith groaned. “Yeah, can you grab my phone off the kitchen island? Also, you’re gonna play more DBH to keep me awake.”

Shiro got up, grabbing the controller and the dishes as he went. The boy had only eaten about half of the eggs and banana, but at least he’d finished the water. He traded the dishes for Keith’s phone, checking the notification light. It was blinking blue. He checked the homescreen and stifled a laugh.

“What?” Keith whispered, finally looking up.

“‘I swear to fucking God if you’re ignoring me it had better be because you’re six inches deep in Lance’s ass.’ Wow. That’s…” Horrifying. The mental image was horrifying.

“Pidge,” Keith said, holding out his free hand (the one that wasn’t in Lance’s hair). “That’s Pidge.” He read through the text messages. “So...If you never see me again, it’s because I was murdered and dumped in the river.” He began typing furiously. When he was finished with his Lance Report (Shiro had no doubt that there was some sort of conspiracy between the two), Keith went right back to gazing at Lance.

A: I thought Keith was a recluse? And is that Lance McClain?

S: Yes and Yes.

A: Holy quiznack

S: The boy climbed in the window piss drunk and in the middle of some kind of quarter-life crisis.

A: He climbed in through a window drunk? Impressive.

S: I’m gonna stay here tonight.

A: You do that. Also, do not lose that picture. We’ll need it for their wedding. Or blackmail.

S: I love you. Like, so much

A: you too <3

Yeah, Allura was great. Shiro smiled, then looked over at the dysfunctional duo. Keith’s expression had shifted slightly, to something quizzical, almost confused. He ran his fingers through Lance’s hair again, and Lance shifted in his sleep, moving into Keith’s touch. Shiro tried and failed to suppress a grin as his brother turned a deep shade of red. Then, his mouth formed a little “o” shape. There it was. The realization. The acknowledgement of what was happening.

The rest of the night passed in relative silence save for the sounds of the video game, which had been reduced to a low volume to accommodate their guest. Keith’s fingers were woven into Lance’s hair, watching Shiro play through the game, occasionally making a request to the choices available. And Shiro complied and was silent.

But inside, Shiro was screaming. He was proud and excited because this was shaping up to be the start of an entirely new chapter in Keith’s life. A life filled with sound and color

How am I gonna get myself back home?

Ay-ay, ay-ay, ay-ay

How am I gonna get myself back home?

Ay-ay, ay-ay, ay-ay

We are the last people standing

At the end of the night

We are the greatest pretenders

In the cold morning light

This is just another night

And we've had many of them

To the morning we're cast out

But I know I'll land here again

Chapter Text

When Lance woke up, the first thing that registered was his pounding headache. His body was stiff and sore. His hip hurt from lying on the floor. But his head was strangely comfortable. There were fingers worked into his hair. Why- Oh. Lance turned his head slowly and carefully up to see Keith, sound asleep, head leaning up against the arm of the couch. Lance had fallen asleep in his lap.

Lance looked at Keith’s sleeping face for a short while, marveling at how someone who normally looked so grumpy and twitchy could look so soft. Those dark eyelashes were so long Lance was surprised they didn’t tangle. Waves of soft black hair shone aubergine in the blue morning light, another undertone of his Galra heritage. His pink lips were parted ever so slightly, each breath a tiny sigh, the glint of white canines just barely visible. Beneath his pale skin, there was a rosy flush to his cheeks. He had a strange, ethereal grace to his features, but also that regal edge that the Galra flaunted without even trying. Lance realized that Keith really was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his entire miserable life.

As a typhoon of emotions and memories from the night before swirled up inside him, Lance sat up, mindful not to wake Keith. Wasn’t there someone else here? Had they left? Lance really hoped that they’d left. So naturally, he heard the clunk of a coffee cup hitting the counter. Groaning inwardly, he turned around to see-

Shiro. Keith’s enormous fucking tank of an older brother. Now that Lance thought about it, he’d seen a picture of the guy before. He’d lead a platoon in Daibazaal and been captured. The man had spent a year and a half being tortured and pulled apart by a bunch of Galra terrorists. Then he’d escaped and finished his top secret mission. And his Altean girlfriend was none other than Princess Allura, the last surviving member of the Altean royal line who had deep connections to the Blades. In other words, if Lance wanted to live, he needed to be incredibly likeable. He headed over to the island.

“Sleep well?” Shiro asked, handing him a cup of coffee and three ibuprofen.

“Y-yeah, uh thanks.” Wow, so likeable. You stutter like a god. Lance downed the pills.

“So…” Lance winced. “You’re Keith’s new friend, huh?” And Lance saw the threat coming. He elected to bite the bullet.

“I-I think so? I guess that wasn’t the best first impression to make, was it?” Lance chugged the coffee. Black and bitter. Shiro might be the best human being ever born, but he wasn’t Keith. Wait. What?

“No, it wasn’t.” Crap. “Allow me to officially introduce myself. I am Takashi Shirogane. I completed two tours in Altea and Daibazaal, spent two years fighting at the border, and eighteen months as a prisoner of war in the middle of the Red Wastes. I speak six languages, I am the best marksman in the American military, earned doctorates in Engineering and Biochemistry while serving, and I am proficient in four different types of martial arts. My girlfriend runs the world’s second most advanced technology industry in the world and works closely with the Blade of Marmora, the largest private task force and security organization in history.”

“Um...” Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. “Okay?”

“And if you ever, ever , do anything to cause my brother any type of distress, I will use said task force to hunt you down and then I will give you first-hand experience in every single one of my various skill sets, understand?” Lance swallowed hard. There was no doubt in his mind that Shiro was one hundred percent serious. And that he hated- “More coffee?” Shiro refilled his cup without waiting for a response. Then his gaze fixed on the man asleep on the floor.

“I’m a bit jealous, you know.” Shiro said. “Of you.”

“Of what, exactly? I’m told there are many aspects of my life one should be jealous of.” Lance was surprised at the bitterness in his own voice.

“I always thought...well, assumed, that I would be the one to help him. That I was the only one who could. And I know I should just be happy that he’s doing better, that he’s doing okay, but…” Shiro frowned. “What makes you so special? Why are you able to do what I can’t?” Lance decided to be honest.

“I didn’t realize I was doing anything.” Lance stared into his coffee cup. “I was just lonely. I had pretty much nothing to do, and he said I could hang here if I wanted, so I did.” Was he really helping Keith?

“I noticed it before he called you last night. He was...bright, alive. At ease. I hadn’t seen his hands that steady, his shoulders so straight. Not in years.” Shiro turned to Lance and smiled. “I have you to thank for that.” Lance met the older man’s eyes. Shiro was looking at him, his eyes full of gratitude and respect. It meant something, he realized, to have this man’s respect. It was like having Iverson’s respect. Lance cautiously returned the smile.

“You love him, don’t you?” The question, which was barely a question, caught Lance off guard. “Or at least, you’re starting to.”

“Wh-what? I-I mean-” Lance spluttered into silence.

He turned, fingers wrapped around the cup of coffee, and looked at Keith, still sleeping peacefully on the floor. Keith, who had noticed how lonely Lance was and decided to take pity on him. Keith, who poured him coffee without waiting to be asked, and just how he liked it. Keith, who did his very best to be kind and patient and welcoming even when the circumstances caused him nothing but stress and anxiety. Keith, whom he had known less than a week. Keith, who had seen him in a state of such vulnerability, and rather than take advantage of him or tease him or tell him to man up, had made himself vulnerable too.

“Oh.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out. But it had. He turned to Shiro, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. But Shiro was smiling, gray eyes full of warmth, and Lance had a second epiphany: Takashi Shirogane was without a doubt one of the kindest human beings to ever grace the planet, in spite of the fact that he had seen the worst the planet had to offer.

At that moment, a groan from the living room caught their attention. Lance followed Shiro’s gaze. Keith was stirring.

“Oh, God. My legs.” Keith moaned, falling on his side, curling up in a ball. “Oh, my ass. Fuck.” Shiro snorted and tried to hide his laughter behind his metal hand when-

“That’s what he said!” a voice called from the window. Keith groaned again. Lance groaned too. This wasn’t going to help his hangover.

“Hi, Pidge.” Keith looked around until he found Lance. “Oh, there you are. Thought you might’ve left.”

“Pidge,” Lance said. “What are you doing here. By yourself? On a Thursday?” He emphasized the last bit.

“Oh, shit. Forgot. Sorry. Also, it’s a Senior Skip Day.” Then why didn’t you go to school Monday?! Pidge did not sound sorry. “How are you fine people doing this morning? And who is that giant Adonis behind the counter?” Lance hesitated, wondering if it was okay if he made introductions. He glanced down at Keith, now sitting on the floor, looking less than thrilled to be awake. Yeah, it would fine if-

“How’s your ass, Keith?” No, he’d kill Pidge first, he decided. Keith scowled at her, morose and unhappy, and incredibly endearing with his hair sticking up on one side where his head had been resting against the arm of the couch. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it with a snap. He resumed glaring at her for another few moments, bottom lip stuck out just a tiny bit. It was unbelievably cute.

“You are a demon,” he said finally.

“I know,” Pidge said brightly. Lance held his breath, praying that Pidge hadn’t just ruined anything. Or everything. He turned to Shiro, who again seemed less than impressed. Dammit.

“Gimme that vodka,” Keith grumbled, pointing. Pidge did as she was bid, staying with Keith on the floor. Keith snatched it from her and took a swig. “This is mine now,” Keith sulked, hugging the bottle to his chest. Lance thought he heard Pidge whisper something about indirect kissing, but he was honestly afraid to ask.

“Is that your brother?” Pidge whispered softly. At least Pidge had a little sense.

“Yeah. Pidge, Shiro. Shiro, Pidge. Also known as Gremlin.” Keith finally smirked at her. She stuck her tongue out, and to Lance’s surprise, Keith responded in turn. Lance felt a shudder run through him at the sight. Don’t. Even. Think about it.

“Hello, Gremlin,” Shiro said, and Lance registered a careful tone to his voice. Lance thought back to Veronica during their first year in the States, constantly ready to tear new assholes if she or her siblings were messed with. Even Luis, who was older, but far more passive. Pidge stood up, brushing off her jeans and removing her coat, draping it over one of the barstools. She moved around to the other side of the bar.

“Nice to meet you-oh my God!” Pidge sounded incredibly excited. “Is that an Altean prosthetic?” Lance helped Keith up off the floor while Pidge squealed. Keith met his eyes briefly, then looked away. Oh, no. Had he done something wrong? Well, wrong enough?

“Are you okay?” Lance asked softly. He didn’t want to annoy Keith, and he didn’t want to alarm anyone else. Keith dragged his eyes up to meet Lance’s.

“Fine,” he said. Lance couldn’t help but think he seemed a little bit sad. Or maybe he was just tired. Probably tired. Lance had kept him up late last night and made him recount the worst memories or his life. Lance squeezed Keith’s arm gently, letting it linger there, reluctant to pull away. Oh, no. He drew back his hand and turned to call off Pidge but-

Shiro was sitting on the floor next to the dining table, shirtless, Pidge poking and prodding excitedly at the point where the man’s flesh met his prosthetic. Her mouth was running a mile a minute and Shiro looked uncomfortable, but also like he was trying not to laugh.

Lance couldn’t help but stare. The man’s torso and arms were covered in a systematic patchwork of puckered scars, laid over a separate random assortment of other disfigurements. Beneath the scars, there was nothing but muscle, stretched over what was probably fucking adamantium. It was like if Wolverine and Thor had an Asian lovechild.

“Holy shit,” Lance murmured.

“Sorry,” Keith whispered back. “He’s taken.” Then he clapped Lance on the back and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. Lance felt his heart break a little at Keith’s comment.

“Your eyes are prost-Wait, you had a degenerative disease? In your muscles ?” Pidge sounded incredulous.

“Yes. But Allura found a cure.”

“Who’s Allura?”

“The love of his life,” Keith said loudly around a slice of cold pizza. “He can’t shut up about her.” He took another drink of vodka.

“Awww…” Pidge sounded strangely soft. “Tell me about her.” She sat back on the floor, expectant.

“Well,” Shiro said hesitantly, a little pink, “She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And she’s so smart and funny. I’ve never met anyone so capable.”

“‘You should meet her, Keith,’” Keith said, mimicking Shiro’s voice. “‘She’s amazing. With eyes like a summer sky and hair spun from moonlight and skin made of pure bronze. Her voice is beautiful, like water pouring over glass and-’”

“Alright, I get it!” Shiro said, laughing. “Sorry!”

“Don’t be.” Keith smiled, leaning up against the stove, shoving another slice of pizza in his mouth. “Don’t ever apologize for being happy, Shiro.” There was so much warmth in Keith’s gaze. Lance felt his heart break a little more. He wished Keith would look at him like that. Oh, NO. No. Nnononononono-

“Hey, Lance?” Pidge was looking at him, a little concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I’m just...tired. And my head is killing me.” It’s actually my heart, but whatever.

“Yeah, you should get home,” Keith said sincerely, still stuffing cheesy pizza in his mouth without any fear of consequences. This man really would be the end of him. “You need rest, Lance. In a real bed. In a fresh set of clothes. And maybe a shower.” Lance sighed. Keith was right. The clothes he was wearing were forty-eight hours old and he was exhausted.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He didn’t want to leave. He made eye contact with Keith for a second, but he couldn’t hold that midnight gaze. His heart ached.  He’d cried so much in the last day, but he felt like crying more. “I guess I’d better go.”

“I drove here. I’ll take you back to your place.” Pidge stood up. Shiro was still sitting on the floor, watching.

“Okay.” Despite the rapidly increasing desire for him to be alone so he could cry without judgement, Lance knew he wasn’t in any condition to be driving or walking. Pidge pulled on her coat and put a tiny hand on his arm. “See ya, Keith.”

“See ya, Pidge.” Keith paused. “Lance, come back and see me tomorrow, okay?” Lance turned and looked at him. Keith still wanted to see him? Really? Well, there he was, smiling. And there was maybe the tiniest bit of softness to it...yeah, right.

“Okay,” Lance said, forcing a tiny smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And Lance let Pidge guide him out the window and down to her car.

Chapter Text

While Shiro pulled his shirt back on, Keith straightened up in the kitchen, washing cups and plates streaked with pizza grease, ignoring the angry goose-stepping in his gut (he could deal with that later). Then he went around to the living room and straightened up the books Pidge and Lance always toppled over- Lance.

Keith sat down. Right there on the floor. Because he was so completely, utterly, and thoroughly screwed. To think that just last night he’d been amused by Shiro’s ramblings about Allura. Twelve hours ago, it had been downright funny. Not anymore, because his mind was swirling about all the things he could already say about Lance and his unbelievably blue eyes.

Shiro came and sat down next to him. Crap. Keith had no doubt in his mind that Shiro already knew. His older brother wordlessly handed him what was left of the vodka. He took another swallow, already his third of the day. He got the feeling he’d end up drinking more.

“I am so totally fucked, aren’t I?” Keith didn’t look at his brother.

“So it would seem.” Yup. Shiro knew. Great. “I like him, Keith.” Keith groaned.

“There is absolutely, positively, no fucking way-” Oh, hi Despair. Nice of you to drop in. It’s been a while. How’s life?

“Oh, yes there is,” Shiro said.

“No, Shiro, there isn’t,” Keith argued. “He’s an A-list actor, and I’m-” Keith broke off. What was he? “I’m nothing . I’ve done nothing. Accomplished nothing. I have nothing. Nothing to give, nothing to offer, nothing to contribute.”

“That’s not true, Keith. That’s just not true!” Shiro cried. “You have so much to offer. So many wonderful gifts. Hey, look at me.” Keith lifted his gaze from a spattering of purple paint on the canvas beneath them. “You are greater than you know, Keith. You have so much warmth and kindness in you. I see it so clearly. And I’d bet my other arm that he sees it too.” Keith looked back down at the bottle in his hand. The stuff was strong. If Lance had drunk that much without getting sick, he must drink a lot. The thought broke him a little.

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith geared himself up, eyeing his steady, almost lifeless hands.

“Hmm?”

“When did you know?”

“When did I know…?”

“When did you know you loved Allura?” Shiro was quiet for a bit, then took the bottle from him and drank a few sips.

“Three months ago, I had my last procedure. It was gonna cure me, once and for all. And it did, but there were...complications.” Shiro paused, took another drink, and handed the bottle back to Keith. “The serum they used was the strongest yet. I’d had mild reactions in the past, but this time...they were severe. I almost died.

“Apparently, Allura became frantic. We’d been growing closer. I had nowhere to go and needed to be monitored, so I stayed on the floor I was being treated on. Well, that’s where my stuff stayed.” Shiro glanced up, and Keith gave him an understanding smile. “I’d written to her a lot while I was away. Hand-written letters, all that. Until I was captured, of course. But I hadn’t thought...Her ex came in to sit with her. He told me later he’d never seen her like that. But when I woke up, she was sitting there, whispering softly, ‘Come back to me. Shiro, come back to me.’ It was...the first time I ever heard her sound vulnerable . Like she might just shatter at any second. That’s how I knew. Because I realized I’d give anything, do anything , to make sure she never sounded like that again.” Keith and Shiro sat in silence for a long minute.

“I don’t care if he never loves me. Or if I never fall for him like that. Or even if someday, he leaves,” Keith finally whispered. “I’ll always be here for him.” Always.

***

Lance was curled up in the back seat of Pidge’s sedan, clutching his throbbing head. He felt utterly broken, exhausted inside and out. He’d barely made it to Pidge’s car before the tears started. As she pulled up outside his apartment, they were still flowing.

Pidge pulled Lance out of the car and asked the valet, Emmett, to park her vehicle. He smiled brightly at them, nodding. How dare he be so happy when Lance’s world was literally ending!

It was in the elevator that Lance finally found the strength to speak.

“I love him so much,” Lance sobbed.

“I know,” Pidge whispered, leading Lance by the hand into his apartment, keying in the code at the door.

“What?” Pidge knew? Knew what? Pidge led him into his room and shoved him onto the bed, bending down to remove his shoes.

“I know. I see the way you look at him. Like he hung the moon?” Oh. Was he really so obvious? “You’ve never looked at anyone like that,” she whispered. Pidge pulled back the blankets and helped him into bed.

“Is it okay?” Was it okay for him to love Keith? The guy who kept knives all over his apartment? Who ate things he knew he was allergic to without fear but was afraid to go outside? Was it okay to love someone who was such an absolutely perfect, utterly glorious mess of a human being? Who said all the right things? That he barely even knew?

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Pidge sat next to him as he curled up on his side beneath the heavy blankets, hugging the body pillow that served as a substitute for another human’s warmth. She brushed his oily, dishevelled hair away from his face, a stray tear from his cheek.

“He makes me feel like I’m worth something,” Lance whispered. And it was true. He felt like he had value, for the first time in years . Maybe even in his entire life. “Like I’ve got all the potential in the world, but I don’t have to use any of it. Like I can just be , and that’s still good enough.”

“Well that sounds more than okay to me,” Pidge murmured, still stroking his hair. “That sounds really nice.” Lance sighed. He had Pidge’s approval. And she was right. It was really nice.

“Hey, Pidge?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you feel when you look at Hunk? Did he hang the moon?”

“No, he didn’t hang the moon. He hung the sun.” Lance sighed again. He was almost asleep.

“I like him.” Lance liked Hunk.

“You’ve never met him, you big dummy,” Pidge laughed softly. “How could you know if you like him?”

“Because when you talk about him, you’re like a giant sunflower. All big and bright.” Everything began to fade away. He was so proud of Pidge. “More beautiful with every passing day.”

And Lance finally fell into a deep, deep sleep.

***

Allura was reading a book when Shiro got home. He stumbled over to the couch and threw himself down, snuggling up to her. She smiled, happy to have him home. Shiro sighed, wrapping his prosthetic arm around her waist.

“Whatcha readin’?” He murmured.

“ Beloved ,” Allura whispered back. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Oh? Why?” Allura smiled, looking down at his head, which had worked its way into her lap. She plucked at the fluffy tuft of white hair on his forehead. She flipped to the back of the book, to a page worn from being dog-earred and fingered over and over.

“Many reasons, but...I love this quote near the end: ‘ She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It’s good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind. ’ I like that. The idea of someone who takes everything that I am, and gives it a new clarity.”

“You and Keith are that person,” Shiro said. “In different ways. He puts me together. And you keep me from falling apart.” Allura smiled, placing her hand on his cheek. It felt warm. Warmer than usual.

“Had a bit to drink, did we?”

“Mmn. Vodka. Lance McClain smuggled it into the apartment in his coat.”

“Oh! Right! How’d it all go?” Allura felt her face light up. “I want every detail!” Shiro sat up, and smiled down at the carpet.

“It was...I don’t even know. We’re sitting there playing a video game, and the next thing I know my reclusive, misanthropic brother is answering a FaceTime call from a friend, then he’s ringing up another friend. I get pissed because it took me six months to be able to get to him, and then this drunk celebrity falls through the living room window and...I’m not even sure what to think. It was insane.” Allura inspects his face, the slight frown, the furrowed brow, the burning eyes, and decides she doesn’t feel like waiting.

“But…?” She prompts.

“I saw that side of him again. The side of him that helped me when I was first starting out here, when I was homesick for Japan and lonely and hopeless. That nurturing side of him no one ever expects. And I...I saw it from the outside, looking in. For the first time. My brother. My angry, problematic, ‘troubled kid’ little brother that kept us out of more foster homes that I can count, taking care of someone else, someone who wasn’t me. And I’m sitting there, thinking of Keith, and Lance, and their other friend, and it’s like this little corner world the two of us made for ourselves twenty years ago just got infinitely bigger. I-I feel almost as if I achieved some kind of nirvana in there, like we’ve reached a new chapter in our lives.” He put his head back in her lap, as if trying to describe what he’d felt had taken the last of his energy.

Allura stroked his face. He looked up at her with those enormous grey eyes, and Allura’s heart swelled. How could this man be so kind?

“So what happens now?” she asked. What would the future hold? Shiro took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“I want you two to meet. I think you’d like each other. A lot. After a little while, anyway. You’ll probably hate each other in the beginning.” Allura considered this. She knew, logically, that if she wanted a happy life with Shiro, then Keith would also have to be a part of that. But she was also apprehensive about meeting this person that even Shiro admitted had some serious problems. At the same time, Allura secretly wanted the boy to be her brother too, one day.

“”I’d like that,” She whispered. Shiro grinned, and it was the best thing she’d ever seen.

Chapter Text

Hunk was busy. He was a senior in high school, and for some stupid reason, Pidge had decided to take the absolute hardest classes possible. Which meant Hunk was taking five AP classes (Psychology, English Literature, Physics, Calculus, and Economics), along with Anatomy and Physiology (the hard one with Ryner, which involved calculus), Experimental Science (also the hard one with Ryner), and their Teacher’s Assistant class (again, with Ryner). Hunk’s life was a nightmare. But it was nightmare burrito filled with a daydream, and that daydream was Pidge. The teachers of Garrison High must’ve been rooting for him, because each and every class he took had Pidge in it.

P: Can you do me a favor?

Oh boy. This was gonna be trouble. But it was Pidge, so...

H: Of course! What do you need?

P: I need you to grab all of my school stuff and come to Lance’s so I can do homework while I babysit.

Right. Lance. Pidge’s sun, moon, and stars. Lance McClain, the ultimate-no, no. That wasn’t a nice thought. Of course Pidge loved Lance. He’d done so much for her. He was so nice, and so handsome, and everything Pidge deserved. And he clearly needed help. Pidge was just being nice.

H: Absolutely. I’ll be there as soon as I can . We can work on that AP Lit assignment

P: Sounds “lit” lmao

Hunk couldn’t help but grin. Her purposely dated humor would never fail to make him smile.

H: You’re the worst

P: no u

Hunk gathered his own belongings and packed a second backpack full of snacks. It was going to be a long Saturday.

As he got in his mom’s car and headed to Pidge’s house, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Hunk! I just thought I’d check in and see what you thought of our potential coworker!”

“Lotor? Honestly, the guy seems alright. I think he likes what we’re trying to do with the place. And he seems genuine...I’m willing to give him this chance.” Hunk meant it. Lotor seemed like he could be a really good guy. A really good friend. And friends were something Hunk really, really needed.

“I’m very glad to hear it! I had hoped you’d be open to the idea! The young man desperately needs a positive environment! And supervision! We should bring him in on our preparations for when we open, too! He’s not exactly overflowing with common sense or genuine social skills, but he’s quite smart and physically capable!” Unless Coran was having a particularly bad day, which occasionally happened, he spoke entirely in exclamations. Hunk loved it. He loved the positivity that Coran brought to everything.

“Hey, Coran. I’m at Pidge’s place so I have to go. We’ve got a ton of homework due on Monday. Let’s all three of us meet up this weekend, alright? I might even bring Pidge. I get the feeling she and Lotor have a certain...energy that will lead to them becoming the best of friends.”

“That sounds wonderful! I’ll message Lotor presently! Farewell, Hunk!”

“‘Bye, Coran!” Hunk sat back with a satisfied sigh. He felt hopeful. Hopeful for a future in which he felt at home. Where he no longer missed the white sand beaches and lush tropical jungles quite so much.

He took a quick breath. Right. Time to get Pidge’s stuff, then on to some random address at some random, overpriced apartment so he could babysit his beloved, sweet, adorable, scatterbrained Pidge while she babysat a full-grown celebrity with a drinking problem.

***

Pidge let Hunk in and watched as he looked around. She couldn’t blame him for being impressed. The place was all brushed steel, gray wooden floor, white fabrics and light fixtures, black granite, and glass tabletops. It looked expensive, stylish, and-

“Dude. Does anyone actually live here?” -desolate of any sense of home.

“Yeah, Lance. Silly,” Pidge said, poking him in the hand. It was her replacement for ruffling his hair, because unless Hunk was sitting and she was standing, she couldn’t reach.

“Oh, right! So, um, where is he anyway?” Hunk looked around as if expecting to see Lance hiding somewhere.

“He’s asleep right now. I think he had a long night. And he definitely had a hangover. Again.” Pidge ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. There were several seconds of awkward silence. Pidge honestly wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Lance didn’t know Hunk was here. He might not even know Pidge was still here. Then again he might not even know he was here. But Pidge knew two things: first, that she wasn’t leaving until she was sure Lance would be okay, and second, she had a ton of homework to do. Speaking of which…

“Hey, do you have my stuff?” she asked, fully aware of the extra backpack on his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah! Here. I also brought snacks,” Hunk said, holding up a drawstring bag crammed with carefully wrapped homemade goodies.

“Oh my God, I love you so much!” Pidge sighed as she took the bag from him and carried it over to the glass coffee table. She felt a bit of warmth in her cheeks as she registered what she’d said.

Pidge turned back around to see Hunk shifting uncomfortably on his feet, unsure of what to do. Pidge’s heart all but ached with fondness.

“C’mon, Hunk,” Pidge said, and gently as she could. “Over here. We can work at the coffee table.” Dining room tables and kitchen bars were for chumps. She slid Lance’s laptop over to the far end of the couch as Hunk cautiously approached. “Where do you want to begin?”

“Um…” Hunk hesitated. “Can we start with the physics homework? I’ve been having trouble with it and-”

“Oh, yeah! Of course!” Pidge brightened. The lesson the homework was based on had been easy for her. She’d be able to help him. She just hoped he didn’t mind her teaching him.

Quickly, she pulled out her materials, and he did the same, offering her a coconut almond cookie as he did.

“Mmm...Hunk, you sure know how to keep a girl happy,” she said around a mouth full of cookie. She climbed into his massive lap like she always did.

“Anything for you, Pidge,” Hunk all but whispered. Pidge suppressed a smile, ignoring the fluttering feeling in her chest. She brushed aside her feelings as best she could. There were more pressing matters at hand. Like their entire futures.

“Right. Now show me where Ryner lost you.”

***

They worked for hours. Until late in the afternoon. They’d gotten through nearly all their homework, and were reading aloud chapters of Pride and Prejudice for their last AP Literature group project. Pidge had ordered food ingredients through a delivery service so Hunk could cook. It was nearing six o’clock when a voice from the hallway entrance interrupted Pidge’s reading.

Hunk had always had some idea of who Lance McClain was, even before he’d met Pidge. He was talented, with a natural gift for storytelling. He was charismatic and outwardly kind, though heavily flawed, sometimes coming off as obnoxious or vain, and certainly flamboyant. Whatever Pidge had been telling him, Lance McClain was a monument, a pillar of life and all its wonderful pleasures.

So when a man stepped out of the shadowed hallway in rumpled clothes, socks still on, and hair askew, with swollen, shadowed eyes and shoulders slumped, Hunk couldn’t believe it. This piece of human wreckage leaning in the entryway looking so incredibly sad couldn’t possibly be Lance McClain.

Hunk’s mental processes were cut short as the man stepped out of the entryway to survey the mess Hunk and Pidge had made in the living room. Hunk held his breath. He’d known better than to visit someone’s apartment without the resident’s express permission. But the man seemed utterly indifferent. His brilliant blue eyes dragged from the crumb-covered glass coffee table to Pidge sitting in Hunk’s lap, uncharacteristically frozen, book still in her adorable hands, and finally to Hunk himself.

With some seeming effort, the man met Hunk’s eyes. His were a truly incredibly blue. Unmistakable. Legendary. Only one man in the world had eyes like that. Which meant-

“You must be Hunk,” Lance McClain finally said. “I’m Lance.”

“H-hello, sir. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Hunk wanted to offer his hand, but was too nervous.

“Likewise,” Lance said, cracking a small smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Lance’s eyes flicked momentarily down to Pidge, and Hunk couldn’t help the excited flutter in his chest.

“You too, sir. Pidge talks about you a lot.” He had to level the playing field. He didn’t want to drive any wedges.

“Yes, she likes to recruit people to interfere in my personal life.” Lance’s smile grew just a tiny bit and he headed to the kitchen. As he pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer, he continued, “I’ve no idea why. She seems to do just fine on her own.”

“It’s no fun on my own!” Pidge finally, mercifully cried. “I need minions!” And Lance put his head back and laughed. It sounded hollow and a little lethargic. The last bit of illusion Hunk had managed to cling to since he’d met Pidge shattered. This was a broken man.

“So,” Lance said, leaning against his counter separated from Hunk by both an island and the bar dividing the kitchen and living room, one leg crossed over the other. He sipped the vodka. “It’s like, six pm. And I have nothing in my fridge but milk, vodka, and gluten-free frozen meals-” Hunk let out of whimper of horror- “-and judging by the expression on my new friend’s face-” Lance finally managed a ghostly grin. “-we might wanna order something. Or I can take us out. Whichever.”

“Okay, first of all,” Pidge said, sitting up straighter in Hunk’s lap, “your entire kitchen is a shit show. Second of all, going out to eat takes too long. Third, Hunk is literally going to be a chef in two months. So we ordered some ingredients. They’ll be here in a few minutes.” Lance shrugged, heading over to the living room.

“If that’s what you want. Heaven knows my kitchen could use some, well, use.” He flopped down on the floor next to them and picked up Pidge’s half-eaten cookie, washing it down with the vodka.

“You really don’t cook?” Hunk asked in disbelief. Lance seemed like the type of person who cooked unnecessarily fancy meals for himself. “Ever?” Pidge and Lance laughed. It sounded more real this time.

“The furnished kitchen is strictly for aesthetic purposes. I burn everything. I once burned water.” Lance grinned sheepishly. There was still a little something missing from his expression. Something felt a little empty.

“This one time,” Pidge said, shifting in Hunk’s lap to face them both, “he ruined a tea kettle trying to boil milk in it! For hot chocolate!”

“You did not!” Hunk cried. It was perhaps the worst thing he’d ever heard of in his life.

“I did,” Lance said, chuckling. “It made sense at the time. I wanted hot chocolate with milk, so…” His voice faded away. Hunk was speechless. It was then that Hunk’s phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, so they won’t let me come up. They won’t even let me enter.” The delivery guy.

“Oh, okay. I’ll come down.” Hunk turned to Lance. “If I go get the ingredients, will they let me back in?” The actor glanced down at his watch.

“Yeah, Dayak’s working the desk, so she’ll let you back up. Just tell her I said ‘Hi’. I’ll shoot her a quick text.” Lance pulled out his phone and began typing, which Hunk took as his cue to leave.

Five minutes later, Hunk was in Lance’s kitchen, preparing arroz con pollo , as per Pidge’s request. Hunk had the feeling she’d picked it because it would appeal to Lance. It was so sweet of her. The guy was clearly feeling a little down.

As he cooked in Lance’s criminally underutilized kitchen complete with a truly glorious amount of counter space, he found himself fishing for conversation with the celebrity.

“So…,” Hunk began. “Um. What do you do in your off time, anyway?” He glanced over his shoulder to Lance and Pidge, who were sitting at the bar that divided the kitchen from the living room. He was whispering something about epistolary frameworks, writing furiously on a blue sticky note. He turned to a page covered in layers of green, blue, and yellow stickies and slapped it on the pile.

“I’m still figuring that out, to be honest.” Lance’s face transformed, becoming quizzical and oddly introspective. “I’ve never really had any down time. I was always either in school, until I dropped out, or acting. When I’m without company, I find it near unbearable, if we’re being honest.” Hunk registered that this wasn’t a solicitation, but an openness that Hunk couldn’t help but respect.

“Wait, so you’ve been pretty much constantly doing stuff, surrounded by people for…” Hunk did some quick math. “Thirteen years?”

“Fourteen, actually. I began acting hardcore when I was seven. I only got my big break when I was eight.”

“Dude. That’s...that’s a lot. I mean, I’m a high school student. I’m getting ready to start a business, and I still think that sounds like too much.”

“Hence, the self-enforced period of unemployment.” Lance ran a hand through his bedhead. “Speaking of which, Pidge tells me you’re employing yourself come summer.”

“Oh, yeah!” So Lance had heard of his restaurant? Hunk couldn’t help but feel pleased. “It’s gonna be great. My new partner, Coran, is running one half. It’s this, like, a bakery-coffee shop type deal. And then I’m in charge of the actual restaurant part.”

“Now, when you say partner…” Lance leaned forward on the bar, a spark of intensity in his blue eyes.

“Oh, no, no! Coran is just my business partner. I’m unattached myself.” Hunk laughed.

“Aw,” Lance sympathized. “That’s a bummer!”

“Eh,” Hunk shrugged. “I’m just waiting on the right person. It’s important, y’know? I’ve never had a girlfriend, and whatever happens, I want my first time sharing my life with someone to be special, right? Whether it lasts or not, I want my first experiences with love to be positive.” Hunk suddenly remembered who he was talking to. “Not-not that there’s anything, y’know, wrong , with dating a lot or-” Lance just laughed, and Hunk turned to see him waving a hand dismissively.

“No, Hunk. You’re absolutely right. You should be careful.” Lance’s face took on a wistful quality. “I don’t recommend following in my footsteps.” Lance grew quiet. “It’s strangely isolating, the lack of anonymity. Lonely, even. For the longest time, I’ve just had a string of lovers that I grew attached to. But thinking on it now, I suspect they were substitutes.” Hunk glanced over from his rice.

“What do you mean, substitutes?”

“Well, like I said, fame can be isolating. The people I was with, all of them. I think they were just substitutes for an actual human connection. A warm body, instead of a lover. Sex, instead of a relationship. I didn’t even have any real friends, until I met Pidge three years ago. I just had people I clung to in an effort to fill the gap.” Hunk served up the food, thinking.

Hunk watched as Lance took a bite of the rice. “Don’t worry. I was careful in checking for gluten. Ended up making my own spice mix, just in case.”

“Holy fucking shit! This is amazing, dude!” Lance’s eyes grew wide, and Hunk grinned.

“I’m glad you like it,” Hunk said, positively tickled at the praise. He turned to Pidge. She was looking back and forth between the two of them, a smile forming on her face. She raised her eyebrows at him, nodding slightly. Hunk got the message.

“I know it’s not the same, but I kinda see where you’re coming from. I immigrated here about six years ago, about time to start seventh grade. It wasn’t until my freshman year of high school that I made a friend. For the first two years, I was so homesick, I could barely function. I’d go to school, do my work, go home, do my homework. Eat, shower, bed. Wash, rinse, repeat. All I could think about was what I’d left behind. It wasn’t until freshman year that I realized how long Pidge had been there.” Hunk turned to Pidge and gave her the warmest smile he could. He was rewarded with a blush and a tiny smile.

“She’d literally been there since day one in half my classes, at every meal, walking home with me. And I realized two things: one being that we lived right down the street from one another, and the other being that I’d had what I’d been missing most from the first day of school. I’d had it right from the beginning, and just never realized it."

“Maslow talks about his Hierarchy of Needs, and he put love and belonging in the middle. Because love and belonging are at the center of everything. It’s not even necessarily romantic, or particularly profound. Love and belonging is in the food people eat together, the smile you get everyday from that one street vendor. The stray cat that kind of just adopts you. Love and belonging is everything. It’s all around us. We just have to be able to see it.” Hunk took a bite of his arroz con pollo , and had to agree with Lance. It was pretty damn good. He glanced up only to see Lance and Pidge staring at him.

“Pidge, you’ve got yourself a philosopher,” Lance finally said, his voice thick with emotion. Hunk liked that Lance was so expressive. He liked Lance a lot, he decided.

“Yeah,” Pidge sighed. “I think I do.” She was smiling at him so sweetly. Hunk felt his face heat up like he’d just spent three hours with his head in an oven.

“I-I don’t know about that. I just...I dunno. It just feels right, y’know?” Lance was still smiling as he took another bite.

“Yeah, I do.”

Chapter Text

Lance waited for Hunk to leave (the kids did have school in the morning, after all), then turned to Pidge with a smirk. Pidge was glaring at him, a pink tint to her cheeks. He raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you even dare- ” she began.

“I like him.” Lance said. And he did. Pidge had told Lance so much about the guy, he felt like he already knew him. And now that he’d actually met him, Lance was sure. “If you don’t marry him, I will.”

“First of all, shut your whore mouth. Second of all, he’s pan, but you're not allowed to touch him.” Pidge was cleaning up the mess she and her totally-not-boyfriend had made in his living room. She was glaring, red-faced, at the vacuum cleaner.

“No, but seriously. Marry him,” Lance reiterated as he picked up the last piece of crumpled up loose leaf paper, registering that it had a drawing of Dickbutt with various, partially erased Archimedes Spirals drawn into it. What the fuck?! He threw it into the bin.

“You really like him?” Pidge asked. She looked up from the vacuum as she finished with the carpet.

“Yeah, I really do.” Lance smiled. “He has my seal of approval. He’s as close to good enough as you’re gonna get.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Pidge scowled at him.

“No one is good enough for you, Pidge.” Lance reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. It sprang stubbornly back into place. “No one.” Pidge just sighed and rolled her eyes. She had no idea, Lance realized. No idea just how fucking awesome she was. Passionate, nosey, opinionated, and so very compassionate. Ah, well. She’d figure it out in her own time. She was still a teenager, after all.

Pidge turned back to the vacuum, wrapping up the cord. She bit her lip. “Hey, Lance?”

“Hmm?” Lance eyed her closely. Her brow was furrowed.

“What are you gonna do about Keith?” Lance groaned, throwing himself dramatically down onto the couch. Pidge abandoned the vacuum immediately and sat next to him. Lance put his socked feet up, curling against her tiny side, staring at the bottle of vodka on the coffee table. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at himself.

“Nothing,” he admitted. “I’m not gonna do anything. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I’ll just keep him as a friend for now.”

“But what if he feels the same way? What if he loves you back?” Lance’s heart melted at her pleading tone.

“I doubt that he does, considering the trouble I bring with me every time I show up. I don’t mind having him as just a friend. That’s enough. At least for now. And…” Lance hesitated, brows contracting. “I meant what I said, about not being ready. I’m not. I-I don’t want to get hurt again. I just really...I-I can't handle that. Not this time. Not with him.” Lance wrapped his arms around one of Pidge’s. She reached over with her free hand and ran her tiny fingers through his hair.

“Okay, Lance. Whenever you’re ready.” What a pair they were, Lance thought. One too broken to make another attempt at a relationship, the other too filled with self-doubt to believe what was right in front of her. They may have been a mess, but at least together, they made a complete mess.

“Whenever you’re ready, Pidge,” he whispered.

***

By the time Pidge got home, she was exhausted. She kicked off her shoes and hung her backpack, coat, and keys up by the door.

“So…” Pidge turned around to see Matt leaning up against the kitchen entryway, holding a tray of oreos. “How’s the brother? He better not fuck up my betting pools.” Pidge sighed and plucked a cookie from the tray.

“He’s huge.” Pidge grinned. “I mean, actually huge. Shiro is over six feet tall and made of muscle. And he’s got an Altean prosthetic and a ton of scars.” Matt dramatically dropped the tray and grabbed her by the arms.

“Wait! An Altean prosthetic? Does he have a scar across his nose?!” What?

“Yes, Actually.” Pidge’s brows furrowed. “How did you know that?”

“My professor for Engineering? Professor Shirogane . He’s a war veteran with an Altean prosthetic and a scar across his nose and white-ass hair, even though he can’t even be thirty yet. Talks about his girlfriend a lot.” Matt picked up an oreo with his toes, took it in his hand and ate it. Pidge was too stunned to even judge him. She took a few seconds to process. The two stared at each other, eyes wide.

“HOLY SHIT!”

“OH MY GOD!” Pidge yelled.

“I KNOW RIGHT?!”

“What are we gonna do?!” Pidge asked.

“Perhaps go to bed? It’s one in the morning.” Pidge and Matt turned to see Sam standing in the hallway, arms crossed. He looked amused.

“Dad, I love you, but you don’t understand. The odds-” Matt began while Pidge nodded furiously, calculating in her head.

“Yeah, I can do math too. Now go to bed.” Sam turned around, then paused. “Twenty bucks says all this nonsense goes nowhere.” Matt pulled out his Rite in the Rain as Pidge spluttered indignantly, furious at her father. How could he be so faithless?! They’d make it for life. She’d bet her future on it.

As she crawled into bed, Pidge’s mind was swimming, estimating probabilities. She knew that despite what her parents had put in Matt’s pool (which had come right the fuck out of nowhere, as usual), they were still rooting for the boys. She wondered how Keith and Lance would react if they knew about the ever-increasing number of people who were cheering for them to beat the odds.

***

Keith hadn’t had nearly enough sleep since the previous night (maybe two hours) and he’d been tired when he’d woken up the day before (admittedly after only six hours), but he’d spent the entire day going back and forth between rearranging his art supplies (basically just shifting the mess around as opposed to cleaning), moving his books around, and just pacing his apartment. He’d tried to watch television, but couldn’t sit still. He’d tried to paint, but couldn’t even crank out a sketch. He felt like something was wrong. Like there was a “something” out of place or a “something” that wasn’t right, but visually, everything was fine. But that feeling was there, under his skin, and he just couldn’t scratch at it. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time, not since he was a child afraid of the monster that looked back at him in the mirror.

He felt wired, restless, and strangely claustrophobic. As he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling fan, willing sleep to come to his exhausted, uncooperative brain, he could feel all of the plain white walls pressing in on him from all sides, narrowing and stretching like some weird illusionist painting. It pressed down on his lungs but expanded his chest, heart pumping freely even as he couldn’t get enough air. The breeze from the fan was smothering and the bedsheets suffocating. Finally giving up, Keith shot out of bed, kicking back the sheets. He tugged his clothes back on, yanked his phone off the charger, put in his earbuds, tugged on his boots (sliding his Luxite blade inside), grabbed his oversized black hoodie, wallet, and key, and scrambled down the newly re-broken red fire escape and out into the night, giving Red a pat as he left.

Outside, the chilly air was refreshing, the breeze liberating. The wet sidewalk made a sticky sound underneath his boots. Tiny drops of rain drifted on the breeze into his hair, into his hoodie, into his jeans. The street lights lit up the night with dim, multi-colored hues, at once vibrant and subdued in the curling mist. The people around him didn’t even realize how profound the night was. How important. How much weight these few precious hours carried.

What the fuck are you doing? He wondered. You hate going outside! Why the fuck are you outside?! Keith had no idea. He had no destination in mind. He had no purpose. He just needed to move . This wasn’t like one of his attacks, where he couldn’t breath and couldn’t think and just shut down and couldn’t move. No, this was a new kind of restlessness, where his brain was moving and thinking so fast he couldn’t even comprehend his own mind. He couldn’t keep up with the voices, the images, feelings, ideas swirling in a cosmic maelstrom inside of his head.

And why? Lance Fucking McClain. Those stupid blue eyes that sparkled like sunlight on water. That irritating laugh that made Keith want to shout for joy in his near joyless world. That annoyingly perfect brown skin with those distressingly cute cinnamon freckles that the industry in all its cruelty had chosen to hide from the world. That distracting nibble of his lower lip that did thing to Keith he would never openly admit to. Those irritating, delicate fingers that Keith wished so much would- No. Don’t even go there. Keith was upset because Lance McClain, fellow certified human disaster, was fucking perfect. In every possible way. Right down to getting piss drunk and stumbling through his window at ten pm. And Keith apparently couldn’t handle it.

So instead of handling it, Keith walked the damp, dirty streets of The Pit in the persistent end-of-winter drizzle, watching half-drunk people trip arm-in-arm out of bars, couples walk hand-in-hand through Market Square, the graffiti reflecting on the glistening wet asphalt. The ethnic market glittered with grime by the short bridge to the slums. He looked up at the sky. The clouds had parted just enough that, for now, the fingernail moon shone through. What was he going to do?

There wasn’t really anything to do, he realized. He only had two choices. One, tell Lance how he felt (HA!). Or two, keep it to himself. The choice, he realized, as he walked along, past the market and the bridge and the people who belonged, was actually quite obvious. Keep it to himself. Lance, doubtless, did not feel the same way he did and he barely new the actor to begin with. Lance had more emotional baggage than he had money and Keith could tell the guy was nowhere near ready to even think about pursuing a relationship. And despite what he’d said, Keith wasn’t entirely sure Lance would ever actually come back. Not after yesterday. If he came back tomorrow, after everything that had happened one twenty-four hour eternity ago, then maybe Keith could buy that he’d stick around a while. Why, however, was something Keith would never understand.

He came to the next bend in the river and walked across the long bridge. Mist curled over the empty asphalt like questing hands, reaching out to touch him, but passing right through. On the other side lay a forested park with an overlook, obscured in more fog. The longer he walked, the clearer his head felt. He pulled out his earbuds, walking up the forested hill to the lookout point.

He was vaguely aware, now, of what was actually happening to him. He was getting better. He wanted to get better. He wanted to be functional. Like, actually functional. With a job that covered all of his expenses, in a decent apartment. He wanted to be able to use the actual entrance, rather than keep breaking the fire escape. He wanted to not be afraid of sleeping, of what the night would bring. He wanted to one day visit his parents at their cemetery. Go to Japan and see where he came from. Or maybe just walk down the street in daylight, like everybody else. He wanted to be able to visit the new friends he’d made. He wanted to walk to Atlas Tower and see his brother. He wanted to stop buying pills from some guy at booth in a parking garage, who sold tacos for ten GAK. Keith wanted a life. And maybe he could have one.

It had been three days since his last genuine attack. Three days since the last time Motorcycle Guy had almost sent him into cardiac arrest. For three days, he’d lived in a world outside of his own head, where things were warmer and the stars occasionally shone and where he readily smiled and sometimes even laughed.

Keith reached Overlook Point and looked out at The Pit. The expansive organism before him was loud, and bright, and violent, and it was so easy to get lost in all of that miserable chaos. But from a distance, it was almost beautiful. The murmur of car horns and airplanes and random chatter. The glittering lights of the buildings. The faint sound of blues music from the bar right across the river. Wind whispered overhead and slipped through the fabric of his hoodie, his clothes, but he barely noticed the chill. He was too busy waking up. He just hoped he’d woken up in time.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, yanking out the earbuds and letting the music play aloud.

S: Hey. I know you’ve been through kind of a lot these last few days, but I wanted to ask you something. Or rather say something? Idk

Keith felt some level of trepidation. Shiro clearly had a bush he was beating around.

K: What? Just tell me

S: I want you to meet Allura.

Fuck. That...probably wasn’t good.

K: You KNOW that’s probably a bad idea

S: Why would that be a bad idea?

K: Shiro, your girlfriend is ALTEAN. I am half GALRA. And I look it.

S: So? She works with the Blade of Marmora. Most of them are at least half. And her ex is half

Keith groaned. He didn’t know how to explain to Shiro that it would be different. Shiro just didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

K: Yeah, but she only works with them. And that’s her EX.

S: Look, I know you don’t want to. But it’s really important to me that the two of you meet. Please?

Keith sighed. Shiro clearly really liked Allura. Really, really liked her. But he also had a feeling that the Altean princess wasn’t going to like the half-Galra delinquent who mooched off her boyfriend and had kept him from being adopted twenty-three times because they had insisted on being a package deal. He was exactly the kind of person she would hate. A low-life Galra who would rather depend on the generosity of other, upstanding people than actually try to contribute to society.

But she was Shiro’s girlfriend, and Keith could see just how much Shiro loved her. And she apparently loved him, too, in spite of her knowledge of his past relationships, which had been a deal-breaker for a lot of girls back when they were still in high school, even before Adam. She made him happy, and Shiro deserved that more than anyone else in the entire fucking world.

Keith gazed out at the city stretched before him. Mist drifted over the river, a gossamer sheet in the moonlight. Princess Allura had taken Shiro in when he had nowhere else to go, cured his disease, healed his wounds, given him a new arm, new eyes, a new life, a second chance. As he watched the tiny pinpricks of life move about The Pit like so many ants, he couldn’t help but think that he might like to meet the woman responsible for all of that, just so that he could thank her, regardless of whether she liked him or not.

S: Please, Keith? I swear I’ll never ask for another thing. Ever.

A deep breath. He knew that Shiro’s promise was complete bullshit, but didn’t care. It was Shiro, and Keith could bring himself to do anything his brother asked of him.

K: I want to meet her. Dinner. Tomorrow. My place. I’ll even cook.

S: :D

Keith snorted. Shiro was such a dork. Most people just didn’t know. The way he used to charge at Keith in nothing but his boxers and socks, wielding a yard stick and his plastic model version of Glamdring , shouting “You shall not pass!” whenever Keith had a test at school. The way he knew the words to every Adele song ever written ever and would sing at the top of his lungs if he thought no one was around to hear. The way he loved crepes with nutella, bananas, and strawberries. That he still cried when he watched The Land Before Time. That he could cook pretty much anything except rice, even though he was full-blooded Japanese. Keith wished other people knew the Shiro he did. He wondered if Allura knew. If she knew how much he’d love it if she bought him flowers, because he was such a fucking sap. If she didn’t know, she would. Keith would make sure of it.

Keith stood there at the Overlook for a long time, watching the lights in the windows of the high-rise apartments slowly flicker out. He couldn’t help but wonder if any of them belonged to Lance McClain. On an impulse, he pulled his phone back out and snapped a selfie of himself against the cityscape and sent it to Shiro.

K: *image* Felt like going for a walk.

S: !!!!!!!!

Keith laughed. He turned toward the tall, white tower with the blue lights, the tallest building in the whole Pit, and he just knew that at the very top, his idiot brother was probably jumping up and down in the penthouse living room, whooping at the top of his lungs. And Keith kinda felt like doing the same. He felt hopeful, and excited, and just so alive . The Pit was a beautiful city indeed, full of opportunity and second, third, and twenty-sixth chances. And one day, with luck, he could live in it, instead of on it. Another breeze blew, and the bare branches of the trees shivered, whispering conspiratorially to each other, and Keith realized that he was only a little bit cold. A new spring was here and summer was on its way, just out of reach but drawing ever closer. He looked up at the sky again. The clouds were gone, and he was gazing at a sky full of stars.

This may be the night my dreams might let me know

All the stars are closer, all the stars are closer, all the stars are closer

This may be the night my dreams might let me know

All the stars are closer, all the stars are closer, all the stars are closer.

Chapter Text

Pidge had no regrets. Sure, she had raccoon eyes and was exhausted but it didn’t matter, because Hunk had procured a dirty chai for her from Coran’s cafe on his way to school, along with a delicious croissant. As she reorganized the wire drawer for Dr. Ryner, she couldn’t help but feel happy. Last night had been surprisingly okay. Hunk and Lance had gotten along well, and Hunk had already expressed a desire to see him again. Pidge could only hope that they would become the best of friends. She wondered if maybe someday, she and Hunk, Coran, Lance, Keith, and Shiro and his girlfriend would all become friends.

Pidge finished sorting the wires and headed over to her laptop, resuming the essay due by midnight for AP Lit. She was typing furiously about the “Significance of an Epistolary Framework in Works of Literature” when Hunk came over to her. She felt more than heard or saw him. The guy was so quiet, hovering just behind her like a big, cuddly bodyguard. She brushed off the observation, opening up her copies of Pride and Prejudice and Frankenstein to page 124, the page always designated to Lance’s helpful notes, and thumbed through the blue stickies.

“ Pidge. ” Hunk’s voice reached her ears. Pidge could tell from his tone that this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get her attention. She swallowed the flicker of guilt.

“Hmm?” She didn’t look up. This was going to be a kickass essay. She needed to get it banged out before she lost her train of thought. And Hunk was the easiest way to get said train hopelessly derailed for hours.

“Can we talk?” Pidge heard the self-consciousness in his voice. Probably about something from last night, what with the last of his glowing image of Lance McClain being kind of shattered and all. She found it hard to relate. Pidge had never seen Lance as a celebrity really. She'd only ever seen him as a friend and mentor. And maybe something of an older brother.

“Mnh. Yeah, we can talk.” She forced herself to stay focused. She could multitask. “What’s up?” There was a pause, then Hunk just sighed.

“No, Pidge. I mean actually talk. Like, face to face? Without the laptop?” It was Pidge’s turn to sigh. This was why she didn’t have a lot of friends.

“Listen Hunk. I can either pay attention to you or this monster of an essay, so-”

“Then pay attention to me !” Pidge stopped in her tracks. In all the years she’d known him, Hunk had never come so close to raising his voice. Ever. At anyone. Even if they deserved. Like now. “Please, Pidge? Just this once? Just this one time will you pick me?” Pidge’s hands hung frozen over the keys. Who even gave a fuck about epistolaries? She turned and looked into the sun.

“Sure, Hunk,” Pidge said, as gently as she could. “Whatever you want. I’m sorry.” Hunk let out a puff of air.

“Thank you.” He wrung his hands, shifting nervously on his enormous feet, shoulders up by his ears. It was honestly precious. Pidge waited patiently. “Pidge, do you know when prom is?”

Pidge resisted the urge to sigh again and turn back to her laptop. Seriously? Who gave a crap! Certainly not her...not even a little bit. She was only going because Lance had told her she should.

“No, Hunk. I don’t. I’m sorry.” She began to turn back to her books, to check Lance’s notes again.

“April third.” Pidge paused. “Your birthday. Your eighteenth birthday, Pidge. Y'know, the one that's a week from now?”

“Oh! Great!” Pidge laughed. “That means I only need to buy one dress!”

“Come with me.” Pidge’s smile dropped. What? She scrutinized his expression. It was oddly stoic. Fully serious. He was serious.

“What?” she whispered. Hunk swallowed hard.

“Come with me. We can make a night of it. We can go out to dinner beforehand and I’ll rent a nice ride and-”

“ Why? ” Why would he want to go to prom, or anywhere really, with her, who couldn’t even bother to give him her undivided attention most of the time?

“What do you mean ‘why’? Are you serious?” Hunk sounded incredulous. “Pidge, you’re not serious!”

“I am serious! Why the fuck would you wanna go to prom with me ?!”

She was rude, and she cursed too much, and she wasn’t ladylike. She was easily distracted, or hyper-focused, and she was flaky when it came to their partner projects. She mooched off his cooking and didn’t say thank you half the time. She wore her brother’s clothes more than she wore her own, hadn’t worn a dress since her First Communion eleven years ago, and constantly dragged Hunk into trouble. She glanced desperately to Ryner, who was legitimately cooking popcorn in the microwave behind her desk. The Olkari woman gave her a tiny smirk and went back to fiddling with the tech on her desk.

Hunk took a step closer and sat down on the floor next to her chair. She was still only a few inches taller than he was. She drank in his face like it was life-saving water. The jet-black hair and warm doe-brown eyes. His smile wasn’t wide enough right now, but she knew the dimple on his left side like it was her best friend. She knew every inch of his face like the back of her hand. Better. It was the kindest face she’d ever known, kinder than her hands. And she’d latched onto that. She loved that.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love your hands?” Hunk took one in each hand, turning them over, examining the little scratches and burns from her work. He ran his fingers lightly over the lines of her palms. His hands were so warm on her chilly ones. She could feel the heat transferring between them. “They’re just...the best . They can do so many amazing things. They’re so smart and clever and just wonderful to watch. I could sit here and watch you work all day long.” Those soulful brown eyes looked up into hers. “I love it when you run your mouth a mile a minute, just spewing every little detail of whatever’s going on in that brilliant little head. You laugh like the world’s cutest mad scientist and you’re constantly dragging me into trouble. And I moan and groan and stress over getting in said trouble but it’s okay because getting into trouble with you is fun . You-Pidge, you make me feel at home. Samoa might be all the way on the other side of the world, but every time I look at you, it’s like coming home after a long trip.

“And since meeting you, I have done everything possible to make sure we have as many classes together as we can, and I guess the universe must be in on it too, because I got so lucky, especially this past year. I go out of my way to find recipes I think you would like. And we just spend so much time together and I...I love that, Pidge.” Hunk squeezed her hand. “Please, Pidge? Can’t we give it a shot? Even just one?”

Pidge stared at him. She tried to find words, but she seemed to have forgotten how to speak. Hunk liked her! Actually liked her! And Hunk just sat there and smiled, waiting. He knew she wasn’t good with this stuff. At least, not when it came to herself. But eventually, her brain began to function again and she broke into a grin.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Hell fucking yes!” She threw her skinny arms around his neck. “I’d love to go to prom with you, Hunk!” Hunk pulled her into a hug, and she buried her face in his neck, just like she always wanted to. He was soft, and cozy, and he smelled like warm brown sugar.

Hunk drew away first, and she followed his lead. Her grin was reflected in his face, eyes sparkling like the sun on a summer pond. He tucked a lock of her unruly hair behind her ear.

“God, you’re beautiful...Now get back to your essay, while you still have time to work on it. The bell rings in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, shit! You’re right!” She’d completely forgotten. You think I’m beautiful.

“Well, it’s about freaking time!” Ryner laughed behind them, and they turned to see her, feet propped up on the desk, dramatically shoveling popcorn into her mouth. Hunk wadded up a ball of paper and threw it at her while Pidge flung a rubber band, grinning ear-to-ear.

***

Lance couldn’t decide if he was surprised or not that he’d slept through the night. On one hand, the six hours he’d grabbed on Pidge’s couch, followed by seven he’d grabbed on Keith’s lap fourteen hours later, followed by an eight-hour nap seemed to be more than adequate. On the other hand, Lance actually felt well-rested for the first time in ages. That second eight hours he’d snagged after Pidge had left, followed by waking up, all on his own, at eight-fifteen, had apparently been sorely needed.

So now he was drinking coffee mixed with Bailey’s, chasing off his typical morning hangover, and thumbing through dresses on his laptop, folded over into a tablet in his lap. He turned and looked at the balcony to his right. He ought to put a little garden out there. Maybe a fern and a patio table. Maybe Keith, holding a coffee of his own, leaning up against the railing, watching a purple sunrise. But whatever. That was (maybe) Future Lance’s aspiration.

He stared at the dress on his screen. It was truly beautiful. A simple, one-shouldered, floor-length dress in green, with a golden yellow iridescence. The bodice was decorated with a few delicate sunflowers and would accentuate all of her slender curves and small waist in all the right ways. It was perfect. He opened Messenger and sent the picture to Pidge. He doubted she cared that class was still in session.

P: OMFG I LOVE IT

L: Then I need your measurements asap. You never sent them

P: Sorry, forgot

P: I’ll get them to you when mom gets home

P: Don’t forget you told Keith you’d visit him today

P: Don’t pussy out <3

P: Come over tonight? Mom can fix you something

L: Sure, Pidgeon. See you tonight

Lance finished the last of his coffee. He really needed another. Pidge was right. He had agreed to visit Keith today. He really wanted to take the day to decompress and think through some things, but whatever. It wouldn’t kill him to see Keith. Well, it might. He’d just have to wait and see.

K: Do you mind coming over? I was hoping you might be able to help me with something

Keith wanted his help with something? Well, he definitely owed the guy. The knowledge that Keith had come to him for help was an encouraging sign as well.

L: Yeah, I was actually getting ready to come over now, if that’s cool

K: Cool

L: Actually let me shower first. I’m gross

K: Lmao okay. Not like I’m going anywhere

Lance sighed, running a hand through is hair. He hadn’t washed it in three days. His fingers came away oily. Showering was a good call. Maybe it would make his head feel better.

Bare feet echoing in the emptiness of his apartment, Lance headed down the dark hallway to his room, past three spares, the library, the music room, a bathroom, and a room that was entirely empty. All of the doors were shut. He almost never used those rooms anyway. He never turned on any lights, either. He couldn’t really see the point.

Lance stood under the hot water of his shower, covering himself in overpriced soap. Luxury was boring. He had no one to share it with who would appreciate how hard he worked to get here. Sometimes it was okay, like when he bought things for Pidge. He loved to shower her with gifts and fun adventures. The money itself didn't matter to her in the slightest, but he knew his gestures did. At least, he hoped so. He wondered what Keith thought of the disparities between them. Did it make him uncomfortable?

It probably didn't matter right now, only spending time together inside Keith's apartment. Not a whole lot of opportunities to display his wealth and status there. It worried him. What if they ever did go somewhere together? Would Keith be offended or uncomfortable if Lance tried to pay for him? The guy clearly didn't have a lot and what he did have was more likely Shiro's, so-Lance was getting ahead of himself. A lot. He really needed to play music or podcasts in the shower so he wouldn't think so much.

Back in the master bedroom, shrouded in semi-permanent dusk thanks to the curtains and blinds, Lance pulled a long-sleeved, blue-and-white raglan tee and a pair of jeans from his dresser. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled the worn army jacket he’d inherited from his father from his closet. He didn’t care if Keith saw him dressed so simply. Keith wouldn’t mind. In fact, it might make him more comfortable. It might better hide the distance between them.

Lance inspected himself in the mirror, putting a touch of concealer under his eyes to hide the shadows and a tinted lip balm to add a healthy shade to his lips. The cold wind that fluttered through the city would color his cheeks fine. He hadn’t gone casual in a while. He looked like a normal person. Just like anyone else. He was warm and comfortable in his soft shirt and old jacket. He pulled on a pair of fluffy socks and an old pair of brown leather boots. He felt cold on the inside.

***

“And that’s time!” Shiro called over the din of students already packing up. “Don’t forget your exam is Monday! And don’t forget to study, because when you come grade-grubbing, the first thing I’m gonna ask is for you to show me your notes and tell me how you prepared! You’ve been warned!” Shiro packed up his own belongings and turned to leave, only to find himself torso-to-face with- “ Pidge? ”

“No, but good guess!” the boy in front of him said with a grin, stretching a thin scar on his cheek. He was wearing an old set of fatigues in various shades of red. Odd to be wearing them on a Friday. It was usually a Thursday thing. Must’ve had something special going on. Or recruiting.

“I’m Matt, Pidge’s older brother. And you’re her latest victim’s older brother.” Shiro frowned. “As well as my professor, sir,” he amended. “Can I walk you to your office?” Shiro pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and sighed. This was probably going to be trouble. Pidge had an older brother. Who was in one of his classes. He looked down at the kid, still grinning a familiar grin. A grin that meant trouble.

“Yeah, fine. That’s fine.” Whatever. Matt grinned and trailed after Shiro as he headed up the steps to the top of the massive lecture hall. “What did you mean by ‘latest victim’?” It didn’t sound good, and Keith had suffered enough in his life already.

“Pidge and Lance are super close. He’s basically her second big brother,” Matt began. “She’s super protective and loves to interfere. Her latest mission is getting your brother, Keith, and Lance together. Speaking of which…” Matt peered up at him, eyebrows questioning.

“Oh, I am so down,” Shiro said without hesitation. “They’re adorable. Utterly precious. It’s disgusting.” Matt was now walking side by side with him, laughing, as he ascended the three flights of stairs to his office. Shiro sighed. The ascent would have been easier about fifty-something airdrops ago. Oh, well. Knees could be replaced.

“That’s great!” The kid looked utterly gleeful.

“Who else is in on this anyway?” Shiro asked, reaching his floor. Perhaps Cadet Holt could be of some use.

“Oh, you know. Pidge. Her best friend and future husband -don’t tell-, Hunk. Me. You. The dust bunnies under Keith’s couch. Any spiders within earshot.”

“My girlfriend,” Shiro deadpanned. “The entire Galra pantheon. The White Lion. The Skrulls. Captain Kirk. The Force.” He unlocked his office and held the door open for Matt, who walked right in and threw himself down the chair in front of the desk, propping his feet up. Shiro closed the door.

Matt peered at the ofuda charm on the back of the door, then turned looking around more carefully. Shiro assumed the boy was looking for other spells. Matt plucked up a bundle of herbs from Shiro's desk, inspecting it. 

"This isn't Shinto. Is it-"

"I practice Shinto, but my brother...He's not exactly devoted, but in times of need, he practices Daiba Nekati."

"A moon spell? What's it for?"

"That one is for protection. Some who identify it tell me it must not have worked. I like to think it's the only thing that brought me home at all." Matt gave him a skeptical look. "Either way, my brother deserves the same happiness he wants for me."

“Which brings me to my actual purpose for being here.”

“Oh?” Shiro turned on his coffee maker and selected a pod.

“Yeah. Do you wanna join in on the fun? Force them into awkward situations? Enter the pool? Start a ‘#Klance’ groupchat? We have options, here.” Shiro poured sugar in his coffee and sat behind his desk. Matt clearly meant well, but Shiro still felt the need to lay down some laws.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, and then I want you to pass along my orders to everyone involved in this. I am fully in support of Keith and Lance getting together. However, if you do anything to make my brother anxious, or afraid, or even marginally uncomfortable, I will kill you. Or worse, I will make sure you spend your four years active duty doing nothing but guarding Sendak’s cryocell. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Matt looked nervous. He put his boots back on the floor and brush some dirt off the desk.

“Furthermore I cannot join your group chat because you are my student. Sadly. When the the semester is over, absolutely. That said, fifty bucks says they’re together by the end of May.” Shiro grinned. Matt brightened and pulled out a Rite in the Rain, turned it upside down and flipped to the back (now front) page.

“Really? That’s only two months. Pidge is projecting for the end of summer…My mom doesn’t think they’ll get together at all. Neither does Dad...” Shiro snorted.

“Two months. But either way, they’re definitely gonna get together.” Shiro took a sip of his coffee.

“Wow.” Matt was looking at him wide-eyed. “You actually think they can do it?”

“Absolutely. Getting them together isn’t even going to be the hard part. The hard part is going to be keeping them together. That’ll be up to them. With help from us, of course. But mostly them.”

“Uh-huh…” Matt turned the page. “And...how long do you think they’ll be together. Pidge says forever...I say three months. Hunk says-”

“Forever. Fifty on forever.”

“Longest we can go is five years. I’ll put you down for that.” Matt pulled out a ballpoint pen and began scribbling. He looked up, brow furrowed. “You really think this is going to go that well?”

“Yeah, I do.” Shiro leaned forward. “No matter what, I’ll always bet on my brother. Always.” Matt smiled. “Now, my office hours start in two minutes, so unless you have a question about the material, I’ll see you on Monday at nine.” Matt stood up, sliding his notebook back in his pocket. He paused when he reached the door.

“Hey, Professor?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it...What I’m doing. Is it worth it?” Shiro looked at Matt. Young, maybe twenty. Small, for a soldier. Smiling, humorous, seemingly carefree, but with a burden looming just behind him. His generation would be tasked with making sure the Red War never happened again. A heavy thing indeed for anyone, least of all a twenty-year-old. Shiro would know.

“Yeah,” Shiro said, without hesitation. “If you’re up for it, it’s worth everything.”

Chapter Text

Keith had his forehead resting on the bar of his kitchen island when he heard Lance knock over his books. He really needed to move those...nah. It’d be more fun to see how long it took Lance to stop falling over them, and when had he decided Lance was definitely going to keep coming back? And why the fuck was his heart so damn skippy about it? He was a weak man, and growing weaker, that's why.

“Ah, fuck. I did it again.” A minute of shuffling, then- “Hey, Samurai. You okay?” Samurai? Keith liked it immediately. Footsteps. A gentle hand on his shoulder. Keith made no move except to give a you-cut-your-hair-with-kitchen-scissors-you-ungodly-monster-styled groan. The creak of a bar stool.

“I have made a terrible mistake,” he finally mumbled.

“Let’s hear it. I can help. Trust me, I’m an expert on making terrible mistakes.” A warm hand on his shoulder, now squeezing gently.

“I told Shiro he could bring Allura over to meet me. In person. Like, face-to-face.”

“Okay...I mean, I can see how it might be hard for you, but-”

“Face to face, Lance,” Keith said, turning to face him. He opened his eyes wide, showing off his indigo irises and yellow sclera, letting his dark hair fall across the faux granite, even going so far as to part his lips enough for the tips of his elongated canines to show, and a strange look passed over Lance’s face, brief and fleeting, replaced by a slight pink tint to his cheeks. What was that about? Fear? Somehow, Keith doubted it.

Fleetingly, Keith looked him up and down. He had a jacket in his lap, the old one that Keith had seen on the day they’d met. Keith registered the name McClain stitched onto a strip of fabric sewn over right breast. His father’s? Mother’s? It was green, stained with read earth. From before the new uniforms had been issued. He was wearing a simple shirt and jeans. Lance looked nice like this, Keith thought, like a normal twenty-something. And he himself looked like one of a race that had almost destroyed the world.

“Oh.” Lance’s face darkened a touch. “Allura is the Princess of Altea.”

“Yeah. And she’s coming here. To meet me. Today. And I said I’d cook.” Keith turned back to face his socked feet, hands tugging at his hair, shining purple in the blue daylight. “Why did I agree to this? What the fuck was I thinking?” He groaned again.

“That you love your brother and are willing to suffer if it’ll make him happy?” Keith just let out another groan.

“She’s gonna hate me. She’s gonna take one look at me and she’s gonna hate me. Just like the guy who sells newspapers on the corner and the people who run the grocery store, and that Altean girl in the coffee shop across and down the street-” And every other native in this city.

“Hey,” Lance said softly, shaking his shoulder gently. “Keith, listen. She’s not gonna hate you, Keith. No one could hate you. No one. Not once they get to know you. They spend five minutes with you, and they’ll absolutely love you. Even if it’s an Altean princess.” Keith turned to look at him. Lance was smiling at him so softly, those blue eyes so kind and so certain, Keith almost believed him. He felt the tiniest of smiles cross his lips. “Now, what are you gonna make for them? It should be something that means something to you and Shiro.” Keith furrowed his brows.

“Shouldn’t I try to make something Altean?”

“No way. She’s the guest of honor, yes. But she’s here to see you, and the bond that you and Shiro have. That’s the best way to get her to like you. Let her see how much Shiro means to you.” Keith got up, letting Lance’s gentle hand slide away, leaving an imprint of his kindness behind, and walked over to the high, narrow cupboard between the refrigerator and stove. He opened it and pulled out an old cigar box. It was ancient, the brightly colored stickers worn and faded, the wood nicked and dented. He carried it back over to the island and opened it, Lance peering over his shoulder curiously. Keith inhaled deeply. It smelled exactly as it had sixteen years ago, warm and familiar.

Inside, there were index cards in various shades of yellow and white, old and new. He fished through them, looking for three in particular.

“Our mother was Cuban,” Keith said, thumbing through the cards. “Our father was Filipino. When they adopted Shiro and I, they took us to the Japanese couple next door, who gave us lessons so we could learn more of our native language. They also shared a few recipes with us. Ah, here they are. Tonkatsu, miso, and gyoza. They were Shiro’s favorites. And mine.” Keith smiled at the fond memories of lumpy, ill-formed gyoza and burned rice, courtesy of Shiro. He turned to see Lance trying to peek at the other recipes without getting caught. Lance drew back, looking guilty.

“Sorry,” he said, looking like a kicked puppy. “You-you said Cuban and I-” Keith shook his head, still smiling. He slid the box in front of Lance.

“No, here. You can look if you want.” Keith took a moment to gather his courage, as Lance thumbed through the recipes, eyes as distant as his native home. “If you’ll come with me to get the ingredients I need, I’ll make you anything you want. You can pick one of these recipes, or I can make you something else.”

“Really?” Lance looked at him, aghast, eyes shining. Keith’s heart melted.

“Yeah, man. Anything you want.” Keith shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal. He liked cooking and he really liked Lance, so-

“No, I mean you want me to come with you to buy groceries? Like, outside?” Lance peered at him, uncertain. Keith shifted. He felt warmth begin to creep into his face.

“Yeah, I could use a hand with the groceries and all…” He ran his trembling fingers through his hair.

The truth was, the ethnic market was exactly the kind of place that made him shut down, but he had to go there so he could get genuine ingredients. It was going to take a while and even though he loved the people there, and he had been getting better recently, he honestly wasn’t sure if he could handle it. And for whatever fucking reason, the universe in all her cruelty had deemed celebrity Lance McClain a balm for Keith. A catalyst for getting his life on track.

“I mean, people might recognize me. They might assume…” Lance let the implications hang there. “But if it would make you feel better, I’ll go with you.” Keith glanced at him, and saw a kindness and understanding reflected there. How could the color blue look so warm?! However Lance did it, Keith’s face was heating up. Keith smiled effortlessly, unable to hold back beneath Lance’s geniality.

“Thanks,” he said. They sat there a few more minutes, then Lance stood.

“Well,” he said, bouncing in place on his heels. “If we’re gonna go, we’d better go. Before we hit the lunch break rush.” He leaned back over the box and plucked a yellowed card out. “This one?” he pleaded, holding it up and making puppy eyes over the top, which was completely unnecessary and, in Keith’s opinion, utterly unfair because while he had no intention of denying Lance anything , he also didn’t like the idea of being physically and emotionally incapable of saying “no” if he felt like it. Which he was, apparently.

Keith plucked the index card from Lance’s fingers and looked at it. Ropa vieja . Keith smiled, not at all surprised, tasting bittersweet nostalgia on his tongue. Ropa vieja had been one of his mother’s favorites. She’d said it tasted like home. He checked the ingredients. He had some of them already.

“Alright. But I get some. It’s the Chef’s Tax.” Lance laughed, and Keith grinned, pleased with himself. He could bear to be Lance’s source of laughter more often. They pulled on their jackets and Keith tugged on his beat-up boots.

“After you!” Lance said cheerily, gesturing to the window. Keith leapt through the window feet first, earning an appreciative whistle. Lance followed after, struggling with his long legs.

The walk to the ethnic market district was nice, at first. Lance told Keith about the time he’d told his first-grade teacher he’d wanted to be a stripper. Keith confessed he’d wanted to be a hippopotamus, because they were vegetarians, but also tough enough that no one wanted to mess with them. But he’d lied in second grade and told his teacher he wanted to run a biker gang. Lance’s favorite animal was a shark, because he had a deep fear of his teeth falling out due to a rather cruel joke his eldest sibling Marco had played on him, and Sharks lost teeth all the time (apparently), but were so badass that they just grew more teeth their entire lives. Keith couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Did you eat those little shark-shaped fruit snacks during Shark Week?” he asked, grinning ear-to-ear.

“ Ay, Dios mio. I’d eat like, a box a day!” Keith roared with laughter while Lance chuckled sheepishly. Keith grinned at Lance, registering the Spanish phrase. It was the first Spanish he’d heard the actor say.

“I’ve never heard you speak Spanish before.”

“Sorry. I’ve been texting my mom since I woke up. She uses a lot of Spanish. I’ll try not to-”

“No! No, no. You don’t-no. It’s fine. Use all the Spanish you want.” Lance’s face broke into another smile, eyes sparkling and face lighting up like a million splendid suns. And...there goes my train of thought. After that, every now and then, Lance would pull out his phone to text his mom, and Keith would grip his elbow and guide him through the thin foot traffic. Keith and Marisol exchanged greetings, mediated by Lance.

Keith noticed that a few people seemed to recognize Lance, but he also found that people also had the decency to mind their own business, going about their lives as usual. Lance, noticing the more crowded section of street, put his phone away, and Keith released his elbow. Lance began looking over his shoulder, keeping an eye out for anyone who might try to pull out their phone, but nothing happened that they saw, and soon they moved past the crowd, Keith taking Lance’s elbow again while he texted Marisol. He liked the contact. And he liked that Lance had come to his aid, making an effort to preserve his anonymity. It made him feel more grounded. It made him feel safe. It had been a long time since he'd had people around who cared about him. The list of people who ever had could be counted on his fingers.

Then they reached the ethnic market, which was essentially a defunct parking garage that had been repurposed, though not legally. It had just kind of happened after people stopped using it once the slums became more populous and no one wanted to park there anymore. It was conveniently located within walking distance of the Latin, Asian, and Altean neighborhoods, as well as being right across the short bridge from the island of slums and ghettos, where many of the Galra citizens were still living. The market had no name, but was known to be a place of spices and exotic foods and materials, diversity, and acceptance.

So when Keith saw the protesters holding signs with racist slogans (Including one that said, “Vrepit get the Fuck Out! ”), he couldn’t help but dig his fingers hard into Lance’s arm. Lance looked up from his phone, frowning, eyebrows contracted. His warm blue eyes became frigid and hard. Keith watched his kind-hearted companion’s jaw tighten. Lance reached over and placed his hand over Keith’s, squeezing it firmly and Keith tried to ground himself in that contact.

“Ignore them, Keith. They’re not worth it,” he murmured. Keith nodded. But the feeling was there, a rolling boil in his heart at the injustice of it all. He forced himself to release the hold of his jaw, before he cracked his teeth. As they walked past the protesters, the men caught their patriarch’s words:

“These arrogant, meta-human Alteans up there in their ivory tower looking down on us all, LORDING over us with their technology, PROUD of the fact that we MERE MORTALS can’t understand, REFUSING to assimilate! Believing themselves to be above US! Above GOD! Then, even worse, are these proto-human, pagan Galra SCUM! These ANIMALS that destroyed their own country, incurred the WRATH of God, and now seek to tear us apart from the inside out! They LIVE with us, BREED with us, and yet they contribute as little as possible, preferring to stay in their SLUMS and pollute OUR city with their STINK than work as honest, hard-working citizens…”

Keith’s ears were ringing. His body trembled. He’d have to apologize to Lance later for the bruises he was no doubt causing, but if he relinquished his death grip on Lance’s arm, loosened his hold even a little bit, he knew he’d have a knife to that man’s throat in a matter of seconds, psychological state be damned. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to get made.

“Keith!” Keith started, looking around. He was inside the market, where the hum of noise and energy echoed in his chest like a thousand drums, shifting the rhythm of his heartbeat. Even at this hour, when so many people worked, the ethnic market was bustling with activity.

Keith didn’t hear the protesters anymore. They were drowned out by the sound of coins, different grains, and large seeds hitting scales, laughing children running past, chatting men and women, knives hitting wooden boards, people haggling. Somewhere, someone was selling wind chimes. Somewhere else, live music was rising up to the floors above, Galra drums pounding out a primal beat that stirred something hot and wild in his chest. He could smell unregulated food cooking, spices, animals, the river. And he could smell lavender. Lavender and what Keith now recognized as bergamot.

He turned to look at Lance, who was looking at him with concern.

“Keith, are-are you alright?” Lance pulled him over to a support pillar, painted with symbols and phrases in multiple different languages. Lance was gripping his arm (the one Keith wasn’t still using to anchor himself). Keith stared at him blankly for a moment, trying to get his thoughts into some kind of working order as one form of extreme over-stimulus replaced another. He forced himself to unhook his fingernails from Lance’s old army jacket and looked down at the ground, trying to get a grip on himself. His body was shaking, world swimming in and out of focus. He could hear his heart pounding in his skull and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. This isn’t fair. I didn’t ask-

“Hey.” Lance’s soft voice reached him. Lance didn’t try to touch him, which was fortunate, because Keith honestly didn’t trust himself not to go into fight mode at the moment. “Hey, it’s alright, Keith. Give it a minute, okay?” Then, Lance did touch him. He took Keith’s face in his hands, gentle and warm, and pressed their foreheads together. “Just give it a minute and come back to me.” Inhale. Exhale. It’s not my fault It’s not my fault I didn’t ask I didn’t want- “Come back to me. Samurai, Come back to me.” Keith took in another, shuddering breath and blinked, once, twice, three times and gently drew away. Lance let his hands fall, offering no resistance. Their warmth ghosted across Keith’s face.

“Lance?” Keith could feel how wide his eyes were. He blinked at his companion again. Lance broke into a relieved grin.

“There you are!” he laughed. “Shit, I thought I’d lost you for a minute there!”

“I think you did,” Keith mumbled, turning back the way they came. If he strained, his highly attuned ears could still pick out the angry ranting. He wondered how many people listened. He wondered how many people agreed.

“Hey.” Lance pulled Keith around to face him again. “Don’t you dare look back. Don’t you dare .” Keith met those brilliant blue eyes and was extremely relieved to see that at least one of them was functioning to some degree. There was a glittering fierceness in them too that touched him deep in his heart. Keith nodded to show that he was listening. “Now,” Lance said, sliding his hand down and away from Keith’s arm. “What’s first?”

Keith looked down at the index cards in his hands. Right. A purpose. He had a purpose. Something he needed to do. Something he could focus on. The world swam around him again, the ringing in his ears returning. He must’ve been swaying, because Lance took his arm again, gripping it tightly, bracing against him, trying to keep him grounded, making sure he didn’t fall. Focus. It’snotmyfaultIt’snotmyfaultIdidn’twanttobethiswayIdidn’tasktogetmadeIt’snotmyfault-FOCUS.

“I know it’s still kinda cold, but we should get the vegetables first so the meat won’t go bad.” Lance nodded, not commenting on the shaking of his voice, how utterly shattered he sounded. And they were off, Lance releasing his arm. Keith took hold of Lance’s elbow again, glad, for once, that he wasn’t alone.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance said a few minutes later as he and Keith headed to the level above.

“Yeah?” Lance sounded nervous, a little on edge. Maybe they weren’t functional together after all.

“Are you sure this place is safe?” Keith looked around at the people leaning up against the filthy walls, sitting behind their little stands or on the dirty floors. People openly armed. People begging. People in dirty, worn out clothing, or old military fatigues, threadbare and faded, tapes stripped off or blacked out. People without shoes. People missing hands, feet, arms, legs, eyes. People covered in scars. People burning papers in garbage cans, huddling for warmth, commenting on the need for summer to hurry. A Daibazaani Wolf, large enough for a person to ride.

There was some kind of offering table covered in dog tags in the far corner, a monument to any and all fallen, regardless of sides. Graffiti-, banner-, and paper-covered walls and pillars. The asian pictographs and Galra hieroglyphics and beautiful sanskrit and myriad other languages scrawled across every surface. More religious icons and symbols than one could count marked every surface, were painted on the floor.  And it clicked. Lance had probably never been in so sketchy-looking a place in his life. Not while sober enough to remember it, anyway.

“Oh, yeah. No need to worry about it. These people? They’re good people, Lance. I promise.” Keith looked around, searching for examples. The bouncer, Throk, nodded at him. Okay, maybe not the best example. Throk was definitely some sort of criminal. “See over there?” Keith pointed to a man selling weed, khat, and Nekati grass. Also, tacos, empanadas, and tamales, but that was far less interesting. “That’s Ararso. He’s been in The Pit for ten years now. Works at the Starbucks around the corner Monday through Thursday. Over there-” Keith turned, using his finger as a guide, pointing at a young woman surrounded by small children. “-That’s Ina. She watches people’s children, tutoring them while their parents shop. When she can, anyway. She’s in college, so her hours are really odd. But you can bet your ass that parents have her schedule down within one week of the new semester. She and her boyfriend, James, are some of Shiro’s best students. And upstairs is Thace. He’s a codebreaker, and sells Luxite goods. If he trusts you. And he’s a mole for the Blades. His husband, Ulaz, works solely for the Blade of Marmora, and his friend Kolivan and his wife work as P.I.s or bodyguards for hire, among other things. There's also Ryner's son, Lasai who sells herbs. In the summer, he sells daffodils in colors you won't find anywhere else in the world. He's also who to contact if your super won't fix your appliances."

“Listen, Lance. These people? They’re good people. They just know better than to expect a hand out. Or even a hand up. This is just how people get by in The Pit." It's just how I get by. "Stay close to me, and we’ll be fine, okay? C’mon, I’ll even give you a tour. You can meet the people and decide for yourself!” Keith managed a smile, despite his distress. He’d be alright in a bit, once the good memories started coming back and he forgot what he was. Lance made him forget what he was. Please just stay. Please just let me forget.

Chapter Text

As Keith led him through the market, Lance tried his best to brush off the uneasy vibe he’d had after he’d seen this place. And what had just happened with Keith. And what he’d heard outside. And he tried to help Keith forget too, pointing out things he found interesting. They ended up just wandering around for a good hour, going all the way up to the top level to see what was there. Lance stared, unabashed, as they passed a group of Galra men and women pounding on drums, all of them topless even in the deathrattle chill of winter. In front of them, a woman in a floor-length robe and mask performing some kind of ritual over a brazier.

"It's an offering," Keith whispered. "To Daiba, the earth. Daiba is the father of the Galra race. Prayers are offered during times of hardship."

"Why to Daiba, specifically?" Lance asked. He eyed one man in particular, an older, well-muscled man with white tattoos on his head, who turned to Keith with a wink.

"That's Ulaz, Thace's husband. Daiba tried to destroy Nekati, the mother. The moon," Keith clarified. "Daiba grew jealous that Nekati loved the Galra so much, he shot arrows at her, but they caught in her cloak and made the stars. The Galra pray to Daiba before a new moon so that he'll show mercy." Lance stared at the dance men and women, at the hooded figure chanting over the brazier. "It's said that the Galra with be destroyed beneath a moonless sky." Keith guided him away from the ceremony and up to the next level, clinging to his arm. "You know, they say the night Daibazaal was destroyed, there was so much smoke it blacked out the sky. You could stand at the peak of the border mountains and see nothing, not even the fires." 

Lance said nothing more. He didn't know what to say. Instead, he took in his surroundings. Graffiti art and banners and religious symbols covered the walls and floors. They passed a wide variety of brightly colored cloths and large bowls of powdered spices, fragrant teas and pungent herbs, the smell of frying food and raw fish, strange weapons from far away countries, glittering Balmeran jewelry and luxite blades (definitely not legal), and live animals invaded every corner of his senses.

His eyes lingered over the top floor booths, which functioned as a veritable garden of Eden. Lance had had no idea that “The Pit,” as the city was apparently called here, could have so much green in it this time of year. Apparently Olkari had a magic touch. There, he met a young man from Olkarion, Lasai, who gave him a bag of free starter plants for his balcony garden. Herbs and a lovely purple lavender.

“Are you sure I can just... have these?” Lance could hardly believe it. He couldn’t believe it. People didn’t just give stuff away.

“Yes. My mother, Ryner, talks about you. Your friend Pidge is her best student.” Lasai smiled. “You are an important friend. One of us. The Olkari look after their own.” Lance was touched. It was strange to think that he was so warmly and genuinely received for something other than his social status. As they said their goodbyes and walked away, Keith squeezed his elbow.

“Wow. Never would have thought the Olkari would claim you,” he whispered. 

“What do you mean?” Lance had never met an Olkari before. Most of their kind were either living in Olkarion or the surrounding countries. Very few travelled this far West.

“Apparently, you’re an Olkari citizen. If someone of rank claims you, you’re considered one of them. Ryner is their chief technology expert. She’s in the city so she can collaborate with Altean Tech at Atlas Tower. It was on the news a while back. I guess she claimed you for taking care of Pidge. Which means she’s probably a citizen as well. Just don’t try to claim it on any forms. It’s not a legal thing.”

Lance’s mind was blown. He was apparently an honorary citizen of another country. How long? Was there someone he could ask? Did he need to do anything to maintain his status? What were the rules? He made a note to ask Pidge about it later. She might know, or at least be able to find out for him.

“You sure know a lot about all of this stuff.” Lance looked at his companion, noting that Keith’s hand had slid around to the crook of his arm. It made his heart flutter in horribly familiar ways.

“I grew up here. Well, in the slums. You learn things,” Keith said with a shrug. He seemed to think that explanation was enough. It really wasn’t. Lance took a deep breath. For the first time, we wondered if he was in over his head living in Garrison City. He’d come here with the idea that he could blend in as just another foreigner, but now he was thinking he might not be foreign enough.

“Hey,” Keith said. “You’ll get it. Don’t worry. People move in and out of The Pit every day. They figure it out and so will you. Besides, you’ve got me. I can help.”

Lance reached over and put his hand over Keith’s for a moment, not trusting himself to speak. Keith alway seemed to know how he was feeling, knew just what to say, albeit with little tact or art. Galra instinct? Maybe. But the guy clearly cared, and that honestly made a nice change. The lack of a headache was just a bonus.

He drank in the third floor, which was pretty much a flea market. There, Keith bought paints from a Balmeran man named Rax, who was kind of a dick, but whatever. Lance admired the crystal jewelry, but didn’t dare make a purchase. He so did not need an arrest under his belt. Keith introduced him to Thace. Thace was a tall, well-built Galra man with a friendly smile and an even friendlier disposition that made Lance feel comfortable, even if Thace sold spyware and Luxite blades. Remembering what Keith had told him about Thace working for the Blades, Lance wasn’t surprised that he was some kind of mole. Lance told Thace about Pidge and her quests to bring JARVIS and Terminators to life, and the guy was totally down for it. Then Keith pulled him over to meet Kolivan.

“Hey, Kolivan,” Keith said, walking up to another Galra man, larger than Thace, and considerably older, with red tattoos on his face, a long white braid and a beard, and a long scar from his forehead, over his white right eye, curving to travel over the corner of his lip and down to his chin. His harsh, brutish expression softened somewhat when he saw Keith, smiling with his one good eye.

“Hey, Keith. Long time. How’ve you been?”

“Doing alright. Been a lot better lately.”

“Yeah?” Kolivan leaned forward, tone mock-conspiratorial. “Sure you don’t want us to dismantle that asshole’s bike? It wouldn’t cost you that much, and Thace would definitely go down on you for the parts.”

“I heard that! Not sure Ulaz would appreciate it!” Thace called. Everyone within earshot laughed, but Lance only heard Keith’s laugh, calm and easy. Like he’d finally loosened up. This, Lance realized, was a place that, regardless of how often he managed to come here, Keith had a place, a belonging. And Lance realized he wanted to belong here too. He liked these people. He wanted to know them all. They were friendly, as generous as they could afford to be, and didn’t give a shit. Some of them recognized him, but none of them treated him any differently than they did Keith.

“Nah, that’s alright. It actually hasn’t been bothering me so much lately.” Kolivan raised an eyebrow, smile widening ever so slightly. Aww. He’s happy for him. That’s so sweet. Okay, Lance definitely wanted to be friends with Kolivan.

“Oh, allow me to introduce my wife, Krolia.” Kolivan gestured to a woman sitting on a milk crate next to the booth, hands wrapped around a chipped mug of dark, steaming liquid. And- HOLY SHIT -she looked like Keith, right down to an awful, DIY haircut. Except she was full Galra, pale skin, purple hair, yellow sclera, slanted pupils and all. She was even built like Keith, with broad shoulders and a slender build. But she looked even stronger, like a rapier. Lance made a note to never, under any circumstances ever, piss her off. He also noted something flicker across her face when she set eyes on Keith. Weird.

“Hello, Krolia,” Keith said with an unassuming smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been hearing about you for, what? A decade now?” The woman who looked like Keith smiled.

“Probably. I’ve heard of you too. Your family as well. I’d always hoped I might actually be able to meet you guys at some point.” She stood up, holding out her hand. Keith clasped her arm just below her elbow, and she did the same. They held the greeting for a second before releasing each other. “Who’s your handsome friend?”

“Oh!” Keith grinned, and Lance’s heart tripped. “This is Lance.” Lance stepped forward, glancing at Krolia’s extended arm, and took it, just like Keith had done. He turned to Kolivan and did the same.

“I like him,” Kolivan growled. “Catches on quick. Where you from again, boy?” There it was again, the recognition and the merciful lack of giving a shit about it, but still the acknowledgement that Lance thrived on.

“Originally? Cuba.”

“I’ve been there. Nice beaches. Great coffee. Lots of people who may or may not have had it coming.” Lance laughed.

“Tell me about it. I can’t cook to save my life, but I can make a great cafe con leche . I’ll have to bring you some sometime.” He like these people.

“We’d like that,” Krolia said. She had moved to stand by her husband, and their arms were wrapped around each other’s waists. Something about their body language struck Lance. Like they knew exactly where the other was at all times. There was trust there that he’d once heard his mother talk about, a very, very long time ago. The kind you only had if you’d been through something truly awful together.

Krolia turned to him with a smile. Jesus, Lance swore she and Keith had the same fucking eyes. The only differences were that Keith had round pupils and his eyes were more slanted.

“Please, come back and see us sometime. Coffee or not. I’m in the city for the time being, working on something personal,” she said, giving Kolivan a squeeze. Kolivan gave a nod, tightening his grip on his wife. Lance would definitely come back. He wondered what the personal something was, but instinctively knew it wasn’t for him to ask.

As they headed away, Lance turned to Keith and whispered, “Dude. Krolia looks so much like you!”

“What?” Keith turned back around and waved. “No she doesn’t. Not all Galra look alike you know!” he teased, poking Lance in the side. Lance couldn’t help but laugh as Keith hit a ticklish spot.

The second and first floor were entirely for produce, which apparently included live khat and marijuana. And some weird red plant that Keith eyed hungrily, but turned his back on. Lance had no doubt that you could get other drugs here as well, if you knew who to ask. Here, Keith bought a number of fruits and vegetables, many of them not included in the recipes. They would have a great deal to carry by the time they were done, but Lance didn’t even care, because Keith introduced him to everyone. And he liked everyone. They didn’t gape at him, or try to ogle his ass, or ask nosey, stupid questions. He was introduced to them as  “my friend, Lance” and everyone welcomed him as such, exchanging small talk and planning future trades that may or may not ever actually happen. He was having a great time, and when he glanced sideways at Keith as they headed to the third level, where Keith could purchase meat (dead or alive), Keith was smiling too, and it warmed Lance up on the inside to see it.

So, with all the life and bustle and exciting new everythings around him, Lance let the stimulation flood his senses, pushing out his anxiety. Lance let his excitement boil over, pulling Keith every which way to see whatever new and exciting and potentially illegal thing had just caught his eye. And Keith watched him the entire time, still holding onto him by the arm, like a blind man.

After Thace, Kolivan, and Krolia, Keith began to laugh and talk more animatedly, sliding GAC (which Lance had seen before but never used) across countertops. Soon, it was just as it had been on the walk over, lively conversation. Lance asked Keith if he’d teach him how to count GAC, and Keith began teaching him immediately as they went along, helping him make the transactions himself. Keith knew how to swim, but had never been to the beach. Lance promised him that some day, he’d teach him to surf. He told Keith about surfing in California as a kid, about going to the beach to escape the kids who teased him, thinking he couldn’t understand that’s what they were doing. Keith told him about learning Japanese fluently, and how much trouble he’d had with the written language, and Lance countered with a story of himself as a boy listening to audiobooks in order to hear how the words were pronounced as he followed along in a real book. And about his agent who had sent him to a language coach to get rid of his accent.

“Wait, what?” Keith stopped.

“Yeah. Luc said that if I had an American accent, people would be more likely to take a liking to me. Something about not wanting to need subtitles.” Lance swallowed. Luc had also been the one who’d told Lance to hide his freckles. Lance had hated Luc. They had been such an asshole.

“Okay, wow. That’s...heinous.” Lance watched as Keith broke eye contact and turned away, but his grip on Lance’s elbow got just a tiny bit tighter. “Didn’t this guy know that Latin accents are the sexiest thing on this Earth? Along with chocolate, or course.” Lance chuckled, face burning. Oh we was definitely going to be speaking more Spanish in the future. He also made a note to start keeping high-end chocolate in his jacket pocket.

“Well, I was seven. But no, I guess they didn’t. Or maybe they just weren’t thinking about the future. Or maybe they just had trouble with understanding my accent and were too lazy to try.” Lance shrugged. “But it’s alright. My accent will come back a little, now that I have someone to speak Spanish to on the regular.” He grinned at the prospect of speaking his native tongue.

“Shit, you can speak it whenever you want. I won’t care. And neither will anyone else who cares about you. Hell, if you want, you can try and teach me.” Lance swallowed, usure why exactly he felt the way he did. He was strangely touched, affected by Keith’s warmth and acceptance for something other than his “Latin charms”.

“ Me gustaria eso. ‘I would like that’,” he whispered. When he glanced over, Keith was staring straight ahead, smiling. “Hey, Keith?” Lance just had to know.

“Yeah?”

“When I first saw you, my immediate thought was, ‘This guy has a knife collection.’ Do you?” Keith laughed.

“I wouldn’t call it a collection, but I like knives, and when one catches my eye, I…” Keith’s eyes widened. “Oh, by the gods, I do have a knife collection.” It was Lance’s turn to laugh. “By the gods” , Lance thought. So Keith did connect with his Galra side. He wondered if it was faith, or just a colloquialism to him.

“‘By the gods’?” He wanted to know.

“Well...I mean, I’m not sure if I believe or not, but it doesn’t hurt to give a little sendup every now and then, y’know?” Keith gave him another smile. “All it costs is a bit of hot air.”

“I think it’s cool. Hey, which knife is your favorite?” Keith looked around to see who was watching, then pulled a dark, glittering blade out from under his jacket.

“This one. I had it when I arrived. My parents gave it back to me when I turned twelve.” Keith proffered it to Lance, and Lance took it. He ran his fingertips over the navy metal, an amethyst glyph glittering at the hilt. It was clearly of Galra make, deceivingly simple in design, but exceedingly well-crafted, even to Lance’s untrained eye.

“Wow,” Lance breathed. It was wicked-looking, but also incredibly beautiful. “I-I’ve never touched Luxite before.” He couldn’t stop staring at it. “Does it-does it transform ?” Lance felt the need to whisper the last word.

“No,” Keith said with a shrug. “Maybe the blade hasn’t been unlocked, or maybe I’m not Galra enough to activate it. But it...It’s a piece of me. I just know it. I like to think it belonged to whoever-”

“Keith!” The men turned, and Lance saw Krolia jogging up to them.

“Krolia?” Keith asked. “What is it?”

“Before you leave, Kolivan said you should visit Narti. She’s here today, and I’m sure she’d like to see you. Someone to talk to-where did you get that?” Krolia was staring at the knife, familiar eyes glittering with intensity. “That’s quite a fine blade.”

“It’s mine.” Keith said. “I’ve had it forever. It came here with me.” A strange look flickered across Krolia’s face, so fast Lance thought he might have imagined it.

“May I?” Krolia asked, keeping her eyes on Keith, hand extended. Keith gestured to her, and she took it. Lance’s jaw dropped. He barely dared to breathe. The knife had transformed in her hand, curving into a deadly sword, beautifully lethal.

“Well,” Krolia said, examining the knife. “That is incredible. Truly magnificent. This is perhaps the most well-crafted weapon I’ve seen outside of Daibazaal.” She smiled and handed it to Keith. “Once you reach maturity, I suspect it’ll take to you nicely.”

“Maturity?” Lance asked, confused.

“Yes,” Krolia explained. “The Galra race tends to reach maturity around the age of twenty-five. So a little late.” Krolia grinned, teeth glinting in the gray light, and even her smile reminded Lance of Keith. Krolia shifted, and sighed (like Keith). “I’d better get back. Always work to be had in The Pit. I’ll see you around, Keith. And bring your cute friend again.” Krolia gave a sly smile, slanted pupils sliding over to Lance. Lance felt a blush rise in his cheeks.

“See you, Krolia!” Keith called, clearly thinking nothing of the exchange. Lance thought it a little weird, but since he couldn’t place why, he elected to keep it to himself.

After a few minutes, Lance decided to engage Keith in more conversation, wanting to learn as much about him as he could. He asked why everybody called Garrison City “The Pit”, and Keith explained the rather unpleasant origins of the name. He told Lance about his friends from school who lived in the slums or in the elite district, and explained that there really wasn’t much of a middle class here. His street alone functioned as such, and it was barely a step up from the slums. He talked about how the two halves of the city intermingled, and it was strangely amicable in spite of the dissenters, whom they both agreed should just GTFO and save everyone else the trouble.

Keith told him about an island park, and Lance thought how nice it would be to go with Keith to see it, not that he said anything about it. Keith talked about how he’d like to one day do some commissioned street art, to help bring some color to his beloved Pit. Lance couldn’t help but think how nice that would be to be able to walk by Keith’s paintings every day. A relative newcomer to the city, Lance realized that this “Pit”, the “Most Diverse City In The World,” had its own way of life, different than any other city he’d ever been in. As Lance explored the market, he decided that he loved it, and the fact that Keith was a part of the crawling, writhing, multifaceted system didn’t really have that much to do with it. He loved both things separately, and also together. Especially together.

Just as the two were ready to exit, a young woman in a hijab sitting straight and still by the entrance caught his attention. She had a cardboard box next to her and a cat on her lap.

“Who’s that?” Lance whispered to Keith.

“Hmm? Oh!” Keith pulled him over, hand still gripping Lance’s arm. “NARTI!” The girl looked over, and Lance saw that she was blind. “Narti, it’s Keith!” Narti’s face broke into a grin and she waved. She held up her hands, signing.

“What’s she saying?” Lance whispered, ignoring the way Keith shivered when he leaned down to his ear.

“She’s asking who I’m with. Narti, I have a friend with me named Lance. Lance this is Narti.” More signs. “She says it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello, Narti.” Lance tried his best to make his smile audible, the way Keith’s was. “What’s in your box?” Narti signed some more.

“She says for you to look.” Lance hesitated, then headed over and peeked into the box. He gasped. Inside was a litter of kittens. He reached in to pet them as Keith asked Narti if some other people were doing well. It sounded like they were, although one seemed to have a boyfriend of moral dubiousness. Been there, done that. Zero out of ten, do not recommend. After a few moments, he sensed Keith behind him.

“Aww. They’re cute!” Lance turned, somewhat surprised to hear the word “cute” come out of Keith’s mouth, especially in such a tender way. He was smiling sweetly, softly. Lance’s heart nearly gave up on trying to keep its distance from Keith Kogane. Fuck, it nearly gave out.

“How much are they? Do you take cash?” Lance asked, staring at one kitten in particular, a little blue-gray one with blue eyes. Narti signed.

“GAC only. Five thousand,” Keith translated. GAC were like Yen, so it wasn’t a lot. Not for him, anyway. But it was a lot more than zero, which was exactly how much GAC Lance happened to have.

“Oh.” Lance tried not to look and sound utterly devastated, but it apparently didn’t work, because Keith pulled some coins out of his pocket, counting them out.

“I have four-fifty,” Keith said. “And some Yora root, if you want it.” Lance’s heart gave up, and he knew he was in freefall. He felt guilty, too, until he saw how eagerly Narti nodded, holding out her hands. Keith picked up some weird, striped pink tubers from their bags, and handed them carefully to Narti, who smiled joyfully and set them gently next to the box, like they were some precious treasure. Lance had a sneaking suspicion that Yora root was a delicacy of some kind. In that case, it was probably native to Altea or Daibazaal. And probably contraband. As it was, Keith had hidden a small bag of Juniberries in the inside pocket of his Jacket. “There you go. Make sure it’s ripe before you try and eat it,” Keith said with yet another warm smile. “I hope it tastes like home.” Narti took both of his hands in hers and squeezed them, her body filled with the emotions she couldn’t express with her voice. Lance was touched. He thought suddenly of twenty-three families who had walked away. They had no idea what they’d missed out on.

“Keith,” Lance said, with not a thought of what to say next. Any potential words were cut short as he heard the way Keith’s name came out. Like and incantation. Narti turned to him then, still holding Keith’s hands. She didn’t sign anything. She didn’t need to. Lance could tell that she knew. There were several seconds of silence before Keith spoke.

“Yes, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out. Now pick one and let’s go.” Keith was smiling, a little bit of pink in his face. Lance did as he was told, hiking the bags up his wrists. He reached in and pulled the tiny kitten out. “Pfft. Figures you’d pick the runty one.” A soft hiss of air, Narti’s laughter, reached his ears. She was signing. “Eh, she says it’s healthy. Just small. So whatever.” Keith shrugged. Lance held the tiny creature to his chest, beneath his jacket, endeavoring to keep her warm, ignoring the strain on his forearms from their purchases.

“I-” Lance broke off, unsure of what to say. Keith smiled at him, his yellow and midnight eyes unfathomable, yet warm, face so soft Lance thought he might just melt away into nothing. Lance recalled how he’d first thought of Keith as a “Malignant Artist.” He couldn’t have been further from the truth. Keith was a bit rough and coarse, sure. But he had a warmth and compassion to him that, try as he might, he just couldn’t hide.

“You nothing,” Keith said firmly. “Come on, we gotta get home. That beef needs to roast for four hours. We’ll be cutting it close.” And with that, they said goodbye to Narti and headed back to the apartment.

Si, mi artisto precioso.

Chapter Text

K: Don’t be angry

S: God dammit what did you do?

K: I spent 5000 GAC on a kitten

S: You fucking what?!

K: Technically, 4500 GAC and 500 GAC’s worth of Yora root

Keith grimaced. He looked at Lance, walking just a few steps ahead of him, reaching the broken fire escape, and beginning the ascent. The tiny kitten meowed from the hood of his weathered jacket. He sighed and followed Lance up to his apartment.

A few minutes later, Keith was separating the purchases by what would be used for what. He turned, seeing Lance holding the kitten to his chest like a sleeping baby, it’s entire body cupped in his beautiful hands. Keith could hear the kitten purring from across the kitchen. Best $46 of Shiro’s money Keith had ever wasted. Keith snapped a picture and texted it to Shiro.

K: I have no regrets.

S: …

S: You had better be on your best behavior tonight or I swear to god

K: I find your lack of faith disturbing

S: Says the man who suddenly forgot how to say “no”. What happened to “everyone is horrible and I hate them?”

Keith looked back to Lance, whispering to his “ gatita azul ”. Dammit. This is how I die.

K: I am a weak man

S: I’ll say

K: I can tell Allura which movies you cry at. $46 buys my silence

S: ...

S: That is a very cute cat which anyone with half a brain cell would purchase for $46

K: That’s what I thought, bitch

“Hey, Lance! You wanna come help with cooking?” Or do you wanna just sit there looking cute until my heart gives out?

“That depends. Do you want the final results to be edible?” Keith threw his head back and laughed, enjoying the dopamine coursing through him. It made a pleasant change. “You can laugh, but I’m serious. I burn everything, even water. The only things I eat when I’m on my own are microwave meals.” Lance put the kitten in one of the pockets of his jacket, its tiny head sticking out. “Perhaps I could find a place for all…” Lance gestured vaguely to the dining room table. “This.” Keith laughed again.

“If you wanna try, go right ahead. If you can organize it and put it in the corner of my room, I’d actually really appreciate it.” Keith proceeded to brown the beef flank for the ropa vieja , while setting a pot of water to boil for rice and preparing frijoles negros . He pulled out his phone and began slicing plantains for maduros , another of Mary’s favorites that he’d wanted to make for Lance. He put on some Alabama Shakes (his cooking music) and checked the clock over the stove. Two-thirty. Well, They’d be cutting it close, but he could probably get Lance out before he had to convince Princess Allura to like him. Or at least, that he wasn’t the absolute worst. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

Bless my heart, bless my soul

Didn’t think I’d make to to twenty-two years old

There must be someone, up above

Sayin’, “Come on, Brittany, you gotta come on up."

Keith began frying the maduros in a pan of oil and turned to slicing onions and other vegetables. He glanced over to check on Lance. He was picking out all of the half-filled water jars, placing them on one of the wooden trays Keith had once intended to use to keep his materials organized before they just became another layer of junk collectors. Lance carried them over to the sink and began dumping them out.

“Can I wash these? Like, actually wash them?” Lance said, holding up a sponge.

“Yeah, but do it by hand. I don’t want paint fucking up the dishwasher.”

“You got it!” Lance said cheerily. Keith set down his knife, stirred the maduros , pulled the kitten from Lance’s jacket, and carried it over to the litter box. Red came over, curiously, and meowed at the tiny creature. The kitten fluffed itself up and hissed, but Red seemed unfazed. Lance leaned over the kitchen counter to watch as Red began licking the top of the kitten’s head. Blue mellowed out almost immediately, snuggling against the larger feline.

“Ha! She’s just like you,” Keith said. “She melts when you give her attention!” Keith was laughing again.

“Awww! They’re friends! Blue made a friend!” Lance freaking beamed, a happy blush rising into his caramel cheeks. Keith grinned. He was going to die.

“You’re just gonna call her Blue?”

“Well you call your cat Red!” Keith considered that.

“Yeah, but I’m lazy. You’re not.” Lance let out an offended sound as Keith headed back to the kitchen.

“I can be lazy too!” the man whined. Keith heard the laughter in Lance’s voice, and he laughed too. This really wasn’t bad at all. He could get used to this, he thought. Not that it mattered.

“Dude you literally offered to clean my dining room table. And you’re actually doing it.”

“Please. I just wanna see what your table looks like !” Keith laughed yet again. His face ached from all the smiling he’d done today. Keith reached over and turned the beef flank so another side could brown, and began the arduous task of peeling tomatoes. He sighed.

“You know my mom could peel a tomato in under thirty seconds?” he said. “There must be a trick to it. Something i forgot,” Keith muttered, sighing as he picked at the skin.

“Yeah, my mom too. She tried to teach me but...I’m pretty much a bad luck charm in the kitchen.” Lance began setting clean, paint-free jars on the bar. Keith was impressed. He’d never really bothered to wash any of them. Just rinse and reuse. He pulled a towel from the pile in his pantry and laid it out on the bar.

“Here, put them on this.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s all good.” Keith checked on the beans and water. It was boiling, so he poured in the rice, stirring it. He began adding pinches of spices to it, along with a touch of olive oil, and turned down the heat, covering the pot. He’d make the white rice next.

So bless my heart and bless yours too

I don’t know where I’m gonna go

Don’t know what I’m gonna do

There must be somebody up above

Sayin’, “Come on Brittany, you gotta get back up!”

“You’re really good at all this,” Lance said.

“I helped my mom cook every evening. I…” Keith hesitated. “I wanted her to like me, to not feel bitter that she’d taken me in too. It never occured to me-” Keith put a tray of onion, sliced bell peppers, and salt in the preheated oven. He turned and pulled the maduros off the stove and rotated the beef flank again. “-that she already liked me, that she and Dad had actually wanted me too, and not just as a charity case, so I tried to earn my keep. But as time went on, I really began to like it. So we’d cook and chat and Dad would join in, and Shiro too, and that’d be the most I’d talk all day. It...it felt like home, I guess.”

Keith turned to see Lance smiling down at the jars. His eyes darted up to Keith’s, making eye contact. Keith’s heart rate picked up and his breathing deepened as he held Lance’s gaze. But it wasn’t like when he was out on the street, or when Lance snuck up on him. This was a good feeling, like he was getting extra air instead of not enough. Keith indulged himself for a few more seconds before forcing himself to tear away and began cutting pork into tiny pieces to put in the food processor (He didn’t have a meat grinder, so he’d have to make do.) and slicing the rest for tonkatsu. He turned and added garlic to the mix in the oven, stirred it, and turned the beef flank a third time.

And that’s how it was. Keith cooked, Lance cleaned, and once the food could stand some neglect, Keith came over to help. By the time seven rolled around, The apartment was clean. The books were stacked neatly up against the wall between the entertainment center and the window, all the way up to the ceiling, not under the island bar or next the couch and not on the coffee table, which had been cleaned. The dining table was clear, and all of the canvases and tarps (all of them!) were hidden beneath Keith’s bed. His art supplies were carefully tucked away in the mostly empty walk-in closet in his room. The floor beneath the canvases had been swept clean and Keith’s paintings had been stacked up against the wall behind the couch.

And it was nice. It was work, and an injustice to Lance, and Keith had generally hated cleaning (and was usually too depressed to even bother), but it was nice. Just working beside Lance. The easy conversation. Getting to know each other better. Just being near Lance. It was nice, and it was easy. Easier than Keith ever thought it could be.

Lance was wiping down the dining room table (“So this is what it looks like!” “Yeah, it looks old as fuck.”) and Keith was finally packing up the ropa vieja , maduros , and frijoles negros , topping it off with some yellow rice, when there came a knock at the door. Lance froze, turning to Keith. Keith was touched to see the concern in Lance’s face.

“Could you get that?” Keith asked, trying to keep his voice steady. His hands shook, and a few stray grains of rice missed the tupperware. Lance nodded and went to the door.

“Hi! Sorry, Keith’s hands are full, so…” Keith could hear the false smile in Lance’s voice, and his own heart broke a little at how much Lance seemed to care.

“Oh, that’s alright! You must be Lance, Keith’s boyfriend!” said an exotic voice. The Princess, no doubt. Keith heard Shiro chuckle. Keith wanted to say no, that Lance was not his boyfriend and never could be, but his tongue felt like it was made of cotton balls. He finished packing up Lance’s food and inspected his shaking hands, marveling at the fact that he’d only spilled a little rice. He really did look like Doctor Strange, just like Pidge had said. He took a deep breath. Pidge who’d somehow (probably from Lance) caught wind of his situation and had sent him encouraging texts all day. That girl just might grow on him.

“Oh, I’m not his boyfriend. Just his friend,” Lance said, falsely bright. “And you must be Princess Allura! Keith said he got to meet you today!”

Keith heard them enter. Lance came over and carefully took the pot and spoon from Keith’s hands, and washed them quickly, with the skill of someone who’d never had enough dishes to bother with a dishwasher. Keith didn’t even move. He was frozen. He’d already done so much today. Couldn’t he just be done? Forever?

“Keith?” Keith tried to move, but couldn’t. He felt Lance grip his arm. “Keith, are you okay?” Lance leaned forward, into his personal space. “Hey, come back to me, Samurai,” he whispered. Keith forced himself to blink, and looked up at Lance with a tiny fake smile that turned real when he met Lance’s eyes. Samurai . He’d almost forgotten.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’ll finish bagging this up for you if you’ll go find Blue. She’s probably wherever Red is.” Lance headed off to Keith’s bedroom to look for Blue, who had last been seen playing in the cat litter, and Keith took a deep breath and turned to face his guests.

He’d meant to smile, he really had, but the moment he saw Princess Allura’s face, he forgot how. She really was beautiful, with long silver curls all the way to her knees with delicate features and eyes the color of a summer sky, just like Shiro had said. And they were looking at him with shock, alarm, and suspicion, which rapidly became dislike. Perfect. He turned his vacant face to Shiro, who was looking at him nervously, with concern.

“Keith, you could at least say ‘hello’,” he said, hopefully. Pointedly. Keith swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak. It wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t fair. Not that his inability to communicate was making things any better. Keith turned to Shiro, who was silently begging him to say something, but Keith still couldn’t open his mouth. He felt sick. He’d already failed before he’d even started and now he’d let Shiro down and it wasn’t fair because he hadn’t asked for any of this.

“Hey,” a voice said softly. Keith felt a hand on his shoulder and he gasped, finally breaking out of the mold. He began to breathe again, breaths coming in fast and shaky. “Are you sure you’re alright?” There was an edge to his voice. Keith turned to him, and saw his eyes, frighteningly gelid, flick to Allura and back to him, a silent offer to throw the bitch out. Keith took a deep breath, swallowed the bile in the back of his throat, and nodded. He felt small.

“I-I think so. Sorry.” Lance gave another fake, million-watt smile to hide their silent communication. When had they been able to do that?

“You gotta stop checking out on us, dude!” Lance said with an artificial laugh. Keith forced a grin. He picked up the tupperware. “Right, I’d better go. I’ll see you soon, okay?” Lance gave his arm a squeeze and headed to the window. He already had one leg out when Keith found his voice for real.

“Wait!” Keith ran to his room and grabbed a purple marker from the closet and headed to Lance. “You…” Keith said, grabbing the other man’s wrist. “...get to use the VIP entrance from now on…” We wrote a large 527 on the inside of Lance’s wrist. Lance looked at him, blue eyes filled with so many emotions. He was touched, pleased, and worried. 

The taller man seized Keith and Keith stiffened, suddenly finding himself in a soul-crushing hug. It was warm, and he could feel the taller man's heartbeat against his. Keith found himself melting into the embrace, fists curling into the old army jacket, Lance's perfect scent filtering through his anxiety. He sighed, relief flooding into him as he was given something he hadn't realized he'd needed. He allowed himself to snuggle into the crook of Lance's neck and shoulder for just a second longer, shaking ever so slightly.

“Don’t forget. Show her what Shiro means to you,” Lance whispered, stroking Keith's hair. Keith nodded and released his grip on Lance’s jacket, letting him go, and closing the window, smiling at the tiny gray head peeking out the hood of the man’s jacket. Then he turned to face his frowning guests.

“So...an introduction, Keith? Or something? Anything?” Keith worked his jaw. He was being rude and he knew it.

“Hello,” He said softly. He walked over slowly, working his way between the couch and kitchen island, offering Allura his shaking hand. Allura didn’t move for a few seconds, and Keith began to lower his hand. Then a brown hand darted out to clasp his, briefly, and then dropped it. Keith took it as a sign that there was hope. So he headed to the kitchen and began pulling ingredients out of the pantry and fridge. Time to get to work.

“Shiro can you do me a favor?” he whispered.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to go pick a dessert while i finish this up. I forgot.” Keith began chopping another onion from the basket on the counter next to the fridge.

“Okay,” Shiro said immediately, and headed back out the door without another word, leaving his girlfriend behind, though he did give her a chaste kiss on his way out. The look in Shiro’s eyes made Keith shiver. Did he look at Lance like that? He hoped not. Then everyone would know. Keith finally managed a real smile, a tiny one. They’d had to play this game when he’d brought Adam home too, because he hadn’t been thrilled to meet Keith either. Something about half-Galra just seemed to piss people off...Keith felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket and pulled it out.

S: Let me know when I can come back

P: Yo. Lance said she’s a bitch. I can weaponize her entire tower if you want. It’s probably already one gigantic weapon anyway...OOH! Maybe it’s a spaceship! Ask her for me if you can, okay?

Keith snorted, and began pressing garlic. He threw the garlic and onion in a stock pot on the stove and began cutting the chicken into small pieces.

“Princess, would you mind stirring this for me?” Keith asked. The princess came over and began stirring the onions without a word. They stood like that for several minutes, until Keith switched the stock pot of onions for a pan with the chicken. He was glad he and Lance had had time to do dishes.

“So…” Allura finally said, leaning against the stove next to him as he took over. “Shiro said dinner would be ready when we got here…”

“It is. But I kicked him out so we could talk.” Keith shrugged and turned to Allura. She gave him a hard stare. Keith sighed, stirring the chicken.

“Mmn.” She still wasn’t impressed. “And what exactly do you hope to accomplish?”

“Civility. You had better at least be nice to me, because he loves me a lot.” Keith looked at her sideways, gauging her reaction. She’d pursed her lips. “He loves you a lot, too,” he said softly.

“Does he? And how would you know? You don’t talk to him.” Keith took another deep breath. He could tell she was being difficult on purpose. She wanted him to work for it. Fine. He would. For Shiro.

“Because he wanted you to meet me. He begged me for this dinner. The fact that he wants us to get to know each other means he wants you around for a while.” Keith set the chicken aside and returned to the stock pot. He pulled the leftover black beans out of the fridge. To the stock pot, he added tomato sauce (which he’d made earlier), oregano, chili powder, condensed chicken broth, and a bit of water. “He trusts you enough to let you near me, and he almost never does that. That and the fact that he never shuts the fuck up about you.”

“Look-” Keith decided not to wait and find out if she meant to threaten or placate him.

“He doesn’t see it. It’s his greatest flaw,” Keith whispered. He looked at the red mixture he was stirring. It reminded him of the red sand that Shiro had tracked in when he’d come home the first time to wake him up. He suddenly thought of Lance, sitting beneath his window, wrapped in sunlight. Waking up, huh?

“Doesn’t see what?” Allura asked, crossing her arms, clearly offended by the idea of Shiro having a major flaw. Okay, that was worth a point in her favor.

“He doesn’t see you as Altean. He doesn’t see me as Galra, or Japanese, or half and half. He doesn’t see any of it. He just outright refuses. He just sees people. And then he separates them into two groups: good people and bad people. To Shiro, that’s all there is. That’s...I think that’s just how he gets by. It’s what gets him through the day. What helps him live with-with everything.”

“That’s why he didn’t tell you I’m half Galra. He...he’s unable to believe it could be a problem. Plus, We’ve been together for twenty years, so he probably doesn’t even notice anymore, if he ever did. Not like you or I do, in any case.” Keith went to the fridge and produced the Juniberries he’d purchased. Allura gasped.

“Where-”

“At the ethnic market.” Allura looked confused. Keith returned to the stock pot, adding the chicken, corn, hominy, black beans, and hot green chilies. “It’s this abandoned parking garage out on the river, at the edge of Market Square, right by the bridge to the slums. You can get anything there. Drugs, Luxite, Juniberries, Hentai. You name it.” He began chopping cilantro.

“I never knew there was such a place. I thought it was abandoned, or a homeless village,” she whispered. Keith looked over. She was cradling the berries in her hands. Keith wondered how long it had been since she’d seen any. Probably not since she was very young, before all exports in Altea finally went kaput. She’d definitely never been to a place like the ethnic market.

“You should ask Shiro to take you there. We’ve been going there since we were kids, with our parents. Just be aware, you’ll have to either barter, or bring GAC if you plan on purchasing anything.” Keith slid the cilantro into the pot and stirred the soup. He loved soup. It was easy, and this was a quick recipe. He began chopping up yet more green onions.

“I don’t know how to count GAC. I’ve...I’ve outright refused to learn.” An admission. Keith was pleased. Another point for the princess. “My bodyguard offered once, and my adviser has suggested it several times, but…”

“Shiro does. He’d be over the moon to teach you.” Keith smiled at her. He pulled a paper bag filled with tortilla chips from on top of the fridge. “Now. I have an important question. One that will decide once and for all if we can ever be friends.” Allura shifted uneasily, a worried furrow to her brows.

“Look I’m sorry for...I mean, I just wasn’t expecting-” She looked ashamed.

“Forget about it. Are you down for pregaming before dinner?”

“What?” Allura looked at him, eyes wide. Her eyes really were pretty, but always second best.

“Well, I’ve never made this recipe before and I need a second opinion. So I know if it’s worth sharing.” Keith prepared two bowls, crushing the tortilla chips and adding green onions to the top. He added spoons and passed one of them to Allura, who took it up eagerly. Keith pulled out his phone to tell Shiro to start heading back.

“You mean worth sharing with Lance, I presume?” Allura grinned. Keith nearly dropped his phone. He felt his face turn bright red. But it was whatever.

“Did you know he can’t cook? From what he’s told me, I don’t think he can even measure ingredients without blowing something up.” Allura laughed. She stirred the soup and took a bite. Her eyes widened.

“Holy quiznak, this is amazing!” She took another bite. “Did you know Shiro took a picture of you with his head in your lap?”

“What?!” That couldn’t be good.

“Yes!” Allura pulled her phone out and scrolled through her albums for the picture. “See?” Keith took her phone and looked at the incriminating photo. His brows contracted. The look on his face was so far from his usual frown, Keith wasn’t even sure if-

“Is this real?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper. “Do-do I really look at him like that?”

“Yes. Well, I suspect so. You did today, while he was still here.” Keith swallowed hard, trying not to panic. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” he croaked. He looked at Allura, who was gazing at him with something like pity.

“I’ll let you figure it out.” Allura shrugged. “I’ll send you the picture. Maybe it’ll help.”

More likely, it'll keep him awake at night, but at least, Keith thought, it would give him something to hold onto.

Chapter Text

Shiro walked in to see Keith and Allura chatting, leaning up against the stove, scrolling through their phones, and eating something that Keith had made after sending him away.

“Oh! Pidge wanted to know if Atlas Tower is secretly a giant spaceship. Or like...'an anime style robot mech warfare type deal'.”

“I wish...I should look into that.” The two laughed. Allura was barefoot, and Red (who was indifferent to almost everyone) was out, watching from the entertainment center, reposed like a small god.

“What the fuck!” he exclaimed, pretending to be upset. “Are you two pregaming without me? Traitors!” Shiro stuffed the quart of mango sorbet in the freezer. Keith and Allura laughed and Keith prepared him a bowl. “What is this?”

“It’s chicken tortilla soup. Eat it and shut up.” Shiro mixed it up and took a bit. It was delicious. He looked at Keith, raising an eyebrow.

“She pregames. I like her.” Keith grinned. Shiro couldn’t help the swelling in his chest as he filled with elation. He’d done it. Shiro had no idea what the problem had been, but clearly, Keith had cleaned it up. “Now where did Lance hide the sake ?”

Allura giggled. “Are you sure it was wise to let Lance touch groceries? They might go up in flames.” Keith snorted. Shiro suddenly couldn’t wait for an opportunity to see Lance’s culinary handiwork firsthand.

“I’m just gonna FaceTime him,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I bet he put it somewhere I couldn’t reach.” Shiro gave Allura a glance. She was smirking. She knew the excuse was bullshit.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shiro teased, deciding to play along. “He’s a human giraffe with those arms.”

“Hey, man.” Lance’s voice came from Keith’s phone. Shiro registered that the boy’s accent, usually nearly indiscernible, sounded a little stronger. Apparently, Keith had a weakness for Latinos. Which was fair. He’d heard Adam speak Romanian once. And when Allura spoke Altean...Well, in any case, Shiro understood. “What’s up? Are you okay?” Shiro registered an edge in the boy’s voice he wouldn’t normally have expected. He found it oddly touching that kind gentleman Lance McClain was so openly willing to throw down for his little brother. Two months might have actually been too long.

“Yeah, everything’s good. But where did you hide the sake ?”

“Oh.” Lance sniggered. “Check the very back of the top of the refrigerator, in the corner where your shrimpy arms can’t reach.” So maybe Keith’s excuse wasn’t complete bullshit after all.

Keith sighed and handed Shiro the phone. Lance greeted him, waving a bottle of whiskey, as Shiro watched Keith climbed onto the counter to retrieve the bottle, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little. After a moment’s deliberation, Shiro turned the camera around so Lance could watch, training it right on...his brother’s toned abs, well-sculpted, with a thin trail of dark hair leading up from his jeans. Whoops. Shiro aimed the camera a little higher, though not really in much of a hurry. And not before snagging a screenshot to commemorate his accidental handiwork. But he did make a mental note to tell Keith to throw the stretched out old shirt away.

Lance’s face turned bright red and his mouth fell open. In the background, Pidge held her thumbs up and mouthed an appreciative “thank you”. A bejeweled roomba drifted into frame, followed by a wobbly-legged kitten. What the… Shiro grinned. He could feel Allura next to him, shaking with silent laughter.

“Got it!” Keith turned around, smiling. “Thanks, Lance!”

“N-no problem. Um...So I’ll see you later, yeah? I’ve uh...got some stuff I need to do, for once, and...yeah, so I’ll see you around, alright?” Shiro almost felt bad. Almost.

“Alright.” Keith’s brow furrowed. “Is everything okay? You seem a little, I don’t know, weird all of a sudden.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just, um, never give your brother the phone again, okay?”

“Okay? Well, um, ‘bye, I guess.”

“‘Bye.” And the call ended.

“Wow, he was really weird.” Keith turned on his brother. “The fuck did you do?” he hissed while Allura dissolved into laughter on the floor. Shiro pulled up the photo and showed it to him.

“What can I say except ‘You’re welcome!’” Shiro sang as he howled with mirth.

“OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK! タカシ、あなたが死ぬとき、私はあなたの棺の中に急いでやる！ ” The Japanese barely registered as Shiro leaned back against the island sink, unable to keep himself standing on his own. He looked at his little brother through his tearing eyes to see him drinking straight from the bottle.

“Hey, save some for us!” he cried, reaching for the bottle.

“Fuck off! I need it!” Keith cried, pulling his Luxite blade from his boot. Shiro just laughed harder.

***

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen. Do you think Shiro did it on purpose? Do you think he screenshot it? Oh man do you think he’d send it to me if I asked?” Pidge was howling. Lance just kept his outright flaming face in his hands. But it didn’t matter, because she could still see the red of his ears and neck. They were almost the color of Keith’s horrible jacket.

“If anyone gets a copy it’s me!” Lance wailed from behind his hands. Pidge cackled. But still, wow , like, yeah, she’d known Keith was pretty. Beautiful, even, like Lance. But Pidge hadn’t realized that Keith was hot . Hot as in, toned and sculpted in all the best ways, with depressions between the outer edges of his pelvis where his jeans hung low on his hips and she’d bet fifty bucks the guy had back dimples and if she weren’t kinda sorta in a relationship with Hunk now and Keith weren’t as straight as ramen noodles, well...Okay no, she couldn’t do that to Lance. But still, there was no argument that Keith was hot as fuck.

“Jesus, fuck, Lance. I didn’t realize he was hot, too!”

“I kinda did. I saw him shirtless once. But…” Lance finally uncovered his still burning face to look at her. “I was more focused on the scars than anything else. That and I nearly gave him a heart attack. But I don’t care if he’s hot. Or pretty even.” Lance turned, if possible, even redder. “He’s perfect anyway,” he mumbled. Pidge wondered what he meant about scars. What kind of scars? Not your business! Or the kind you’re going to nose into!

“Aww…” Pidge relented, joining her blushing best friend on the floor. “That’s so sweet. And, yeah. I know how you feel. Which leads me to why I invited you over on a Friday night, instead of sleeping off this absolute bitch of a week.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Lance asked, returning to his laptop and entering her measurements. And his debit card information. Pidge noted to do something nice and somewhat pricey for him later. She pulled out her phone and texted Keith.

“Hunk asked me to prom!” Pidge all but squealed. She could feel the excitement. She’d been smiling all day and her face hurt and this week had been exhausting and she was so thrilled because Hunk had called her beautiful and now Lance was here, and she’d had to wait for him to finish showing her his incredibly cute gift from Keith(!!!) and talking about the ethnic market which actually sounded really cool but she had so much energy built up inside her that she thought she was going to lose her mind and-

“HE FUCKING WHAT?!” Lance let out a scream and tackled her in a massive hug, tangling her up in his stupidly long legs and arms. Pidge just laughed, elated and excited even with the whiskey on his breath. She wondered if she’d ever come down from this. “Oh my God! Holy shit! Oh we are gonna make you look so-fuck it! No! We are not making you look unrecognizable! We’re gonna make you look like you! Oh, Pidge!” Lance finally disengaged his tentacles. He brushed his knuckles down her cheek, grinning. And she was grinning too. “You are a goddess. And on April third, everyone else is gonna know it. I’m proud of you, Pidgeon.”

Pidge wasn’t entirely sure what exactly he was proud of, but she snuggled up against him to watch RoboCop anyway. The kitten was still chasing the roomba. She made a mental note to do something nice for Keith because that was easily the best thing anyone had ever done for Lance in years .

It had been a really good day. She had a date set for approximately eight days from now, Lance had gone on an unofficial (but still official) date with Keith, literally spending the whole day with him, and it seemed that things were going really well between Keith and Allura (even though she couldn't like the princess because Keith came first in her hierarchy). A very good day indeed.

***

It was only eight, but Hunk was already in bed, watching cartoons. He’d had a great day. Looking back on it, Pidge had said, obliquely, that she couldn’t focus on him and anything else at the same time. And she’d agreed to go with him to prom! Hunk smiled, not paying any attention whatsoever to Steven Universe. He felt so excited.

P: New Klance development: Keith has abs and is in fact, hot as fuck. Lance and I got a really nice look thanks to Shiro’s (accidental) talents with a camera phone and a little help from Messenger, That and the fact that Keith really needs some new clothes.

P: Also he bought Lance a kitten

Oh for heaven’s sake! Actually...that was an incredibly nice thing for Keith to do.

H: Oh brother. Also, that’s really nice of Keith to do

M: #SaveKeithsAbs #Bless

M: Well if it isn’t the man of the hour! How’s it going, Hunk?

H: Isn’t Lance the man of the hour? He’s the one who apparently got a softcore porn shot of Keith

M: Nah. You landed yourself the hottest girl in school. Kudos

P: Matthew Holt I know where you live! I will convert your gaming consoles into scrap I s2g

P: PS: It’s partially Keith’s fault for wearing a really loose shirt and climbing on top of the counter

M: I’ll see if Shiro got a screenshot. I bet he did. For blackmail. Or bribes.

H: Shiro? Nah. No way. He’s too good of a guy. He’s like, an actual real life hero

M: Hunk, as a big brother, it was Shiro’s solemn duty to get a screenshot. Trust me, I’d know. I’ll ask him about it in class on Monday. Let’s see how Galra abs square up to ours

P: MATT!!! Don’t start again

H: Wait, what? You have a class with Shiro?

P: We found out last night. Shiro is Matt’s engineering professor

H: OMG

M: I KNOW RIGHT?!?!? Also, Keith was right. Shiro never shuts up about the princess. He works his girlfriend into the lecture every day, without fail. It’s kind of amazing.

H: Princess? There’s a princess now?

P: Shiro’s girlfriend is Princess Allura of Altea. Keith (half-Galra) met her tonight.

H: Oh boy

M: How’d that go?

P: Seems to be going okay. Lance was worried because she didn’t look happy when he left Keith’s. It was so cute! He called me. Sounded ready to throw hands with the princess. But it seems Keith changed her mind

M: Awwwwww. That’s honestly really, really sweet

H: I do not condone violence, but that IS incredibly sweet. Those two really seem to look out for each other.

P: Yeah. It’s nice having someone to help me micromanage Lance’s melodrama lmao

Hunk grinned. He really was enjoying this. It felt like he was finally building a life for himself. His phone buzzed. An image from Lotor. He’d been overseeing some late night floor design. Hunk opened the message.

The hole-in-the-wall brick entrance was done. It was made (successfully) to look like someone had pried a bunch of bricks out of the wall separating Coran’s half from his.

L: It matches the brick floor perfectly

H: I’m glad we decided to do the entire floor the same as the walls. It’ll really tie the place together

L: Agreed. Have you thought about how/what/if we’re going to paint?

H: I may have a friend of some friends who might be able to do some artwork for us. I’ll see about reaching out.

L: Excellent. Is it alright if I check out? I’m meeting someone

H: Yeah. I’ll probably stop by tomorrow, take a look. Might bring Pidge. Coran’ll be there.

L: Let me know and I’ll see about dropping by

H: Will do

Yes. Things were going quite well for him indeed.

***

They only remembered that there was the actual food to be eaten around eight-thirty. They’d been too busy laughing and horsing around. Which was fine with Allura because it gave her plenty of time to see Shiro and Keith interact.

They were incredibly close, with an understanding she hadn’t comprehended before. Shiro was taking care of Keith, funding him (which didn’t hurt given how much he was being paid for essentially not dying). And Keith clearly gave him something in return, but it wasn't something that could be described. It was simply understood or not understood. Language was limited.

“Why do you love Keith so much? I mean, I know he’s your brother, but I’m sometimes surprised you’re not estranged.”

“Well, there are just some things in this world that, when you go through them together, you just never drift apart no matter what. I barely remember my home in Japan. It’s like the ghost of an echo. So Keith has always, always been there, right beside me the whole time. And that’s just the way it is. That’s how it always will be.”

His explanation had, at the time, been far from adequate, though she hadn’t said so. But now, seeing the unspoken history between them, Shiro’s words made perfect sense. It was just a truth. There wasn’t a way to explain it. Not in any of the seventeen languages they knew between them. But there it was anyway, plain as day.

Allura had been awful and she knew it. Not that Keith had taken it personally, but he hadn’t seemed at all surprised either. It hurt to realize he’d actually been expecting her initial hostility. And she hadn’t meant to. He’d caught her unawares. And his kind, or half of his kind, had been responsible for the destruction of most of her people and her homeland. But still, she felt truly awful.

“What did you make for us, Keith?” Shiro asked, hand between the boy’s shoulder blades. Keith pulled out a ceramic dish of what appeared to be some kind of fried meat, and a tray of dumplings from the oven, and set them next to a second, closed stock pot on the stove. Shiro seized her hand.

“You didn’t,” he said, voice think with emotion. Allura looked up at her boyfriend. He looked like he was about to cry. Keith began moving the two dishes to the table, already set, and Allura slipped her hand from Shiro’s to help with the pot.

“ Akira ?” Shiro choked. He was actually crying a little bit now.

“I did, Takashi .” He spoke Shiro’s true name almost like an incantation.

“I don’t understand,” Allura said. Keith pulled out a chair, offering it to her. She sat and let him push her in.

“This is tonkatsu with fried rice and green onions. This is gyoza, a Japanese dumpling. And this is miso soup,” Keith said, gesturing to each dish from behind her seat. “When Shiro and I were adopted, our parents went to their Japanese neighbors for some recipes. They wanted us to have something of our home country. These three were our favorite, and the four of us would always make them together for special occasions. We’d have it on holidays, birthdays, the last day of school, all of that. It’s...It’s something that Shiro and I haven’t made for six years,” he said softly. Six years. Allura knew exactly what had happened six years ago. “But I made it today.” Keith stepped to the side and Shiro took his seat on her right. “You’re family now, Allura. I want you to be our family,” he whispered.

Allura looked up at the boy, touched. She thought back again to when she’d first walked in the door. He’d taken one look at her and completely shut down, frozen in place, needing Lance to call him back, to thaw him. Looking back on it, it reminded her of the way she sometimes had to call Shiro back to her. This boy was damaged, almost broken. And he’d still gone to all this trouble. For her, someone he’d known wasn’t going to like him. But he’d seen how much she meant to Shiro, and gone so far out of his way to make it work. He’d procured Juniberries as a peace offering and effectively baptized her into his family. She felt her eyes sting a little and did the only thing she could think of.

Princess Allura got up and hugged the boy, gently at first, but when he responded in kind, hesitant, but warm, she grew steadily firmer, more certain in her choice.

“Thank you, Keith.” I’d love to be part of this family.

We are the reckless

We are the wild youth

Chasing visions of our futures

One day we'll reveal the truth

That one will die before he gets there

And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones

'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone

We're setting fire to our insides for fun

Collecting pictures from the flood that wrecked our home

It was a flood that wrecked this

Chapter Text

Hunk sighed and rolled over. He could tell without even looking that it was too early to be awake. As in, it definitely wasn’t even ten AM yet. He hadn’t slept well. Prom was only a week away and Hunk wasn’t yet sure of what he was going to do for Pidge. He’d mentioned...something...about something...but in his nervousness, he’d forgotten what he’d said. Maybe...Lance. He should ask Lance. Of course! Lance would help him. The guy might be the most unhappy one-percent-er in existence, but he loved Pidge almost as much as Hunk did. He grabbed his phone, checking the time. Eight-fifteen. On a Saturday. He didn’t deserve this.

H: I need a favor.

M: Hey, future brother. What’s up?

Hunk groaned, his face heating up. Leave it to Matt to always know how to make him feel uncomfortable and/or embarrassed.

M: Has Pidge taken you to meet the Half yet?

H: If you mean Keith, then no, I haven’t met him yet.

H: You have got to get over this prejudice, man.

M: Hunk, I love you. But let it go.

H: Fine. Can you send me Lance’s number? I wanted his help.

M: Yeah, sure. On its way

H: Thanks man.

M: *screenshot*

M: Hey

Hunk took a moment to shoot Lance a text.

H: Yeah?

M: Just so you know, I think he’s alright

H: Who, Keith?

M: Lance is like a brother to me, and this guy bought him a cat. It just sounds like an expensive but nice thing to do, but Lance is so lonely. And Keith gave him a friend he could take home with him. That’s not your everyday kind of nice. That’s...idk it’s just something else

H: So maybe you’re having a change of heart?

Matt didn’t reply. Hunk hadn’t expected him to. There wasn’t really anything left to say except maybe “yes” or “no”. But it hardly mattered. Clearly, even Matt wanted Lance to be happy. It was nice.

P: Hey, Hunk. You up yet?

H: Unfortunately. You?

P: Unfortunately

Hunk bit his lip, a habit he’d picked up years ago from Pidge. He decided to go for it. It couldn’t hurt.

H: Wanna come see my restaurant? Coran’s there today and I’ll ask Lotor to come too, so he’ll be in at some point. You could meet them. And FREE COFFEE

P: Can I possibly get free breakfast too? I’ll leave my laptop at home

Aww. Pidge was going to leave her laptop behind? For him? Hunk was honestly quite affected by the gesture.

H: Deal. And bring your laptop. I intend to throw you to the nerds. Pick you up in 20?

P: Sounds great! OMG I get to meet Prince Lotion!

H: Somehow I suspect he doesn’t care for that label. And don’t call him that. He’s had a hard enough time without your ridicule

P: Can’t imagine why. Either way, don’t expect me to behave.

H: Oh no. I actually expect the two of you to get along frighteningly well. He’s absolutely a closet nerd I just know it. Bet he’s got your sense of humor too

P: So I am to be an experiment? Bring it on. See you in 20

Hunk dropped his phone back onto his nightstand and dragged himself to the dresser, pulling out an olive green shirt and grabbing his yellow quilted vest from the closest. Adding a pair of jeans, Hunk dressed in pensive contemplation.

Pidge had gotten accepted to Garrison University and MIT, but she was still on the fence about where she wanted to go. Time was running out. Hunk was torn. If Pidge chose to go to GU, she could get a top-notch engineering degree, no question. GU was one of the top ten best universities for her degree. But MIT still had way more prestige. It was supposed to be the dream school for tech junkies. And Hunk wouldn’t want Pidge to give that up for him. Either way, for Pidge, Hunk would make it work.

Hunk headed out of the apartment, texting his parents to let them know he was leaving.

***

Shiro’s good mood had traveled all the way through from last night on into the next morning, with a solid nine hours uninterrupted sleep followed by an offer to cook her breakfast. The man was downright effervescent.

Allura had never seen him like this before and honestly, now that she had, it was by far the most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced. She sat at the table, tablet in hand, while Shiro sang along to Adele (which she’d put on at a brilliant suggestion from Keith), dancing around the kitchen like a quiznaking fairy princess, making crepes. She pulled up her camera phone and slyly began to record for the boy.

“I’ll forever be whatever

You want me to be

I’d go under and all over

For your clarity

When you wonder

If I’m gonna lose my way home just remember

That come whatever, I’ll be yours all along”

It didn’t take long for Keith to respond. He was a morning person, like his brother. Though, she suspected, of the far less chipper variety.

K: By the gods, thank you for this. I swear I will put it to good use

A: Thought you might appreciate it. If you ever need blackmail, just show him this and tell him you’ll send it to that young lady, Pidge. Shiro teaches her brother.

A: Does he know every song?

K: You have my undying loyalty, Princess

K: Yes he does

A: Oh, he’s a keeper

K: He loves Mean Girls. Just thought you ought to know

K: He knows every single line

Allura stifled a laugh. This truly was the beginning of a new and wonderful friendship. She was excited for it.

C: Princess!

A: Good morning, Coran!

C: I’d like to invite you and Shiro to Every Corner this morning to meet Hunk! It would be a great opportunity for you to make a friend!

Allura looked up at her boyfriend, still smiling brilliantly while spreading nutella on a crepe. Considering the man’s sweet tooth, Allura marveled that Shiro was only four percent body fat.

“Shiro?” Allura turned down the music.

“Yes, Love?” Allura’s cheeks warmed with pleasure at the endearment.

“Would you like to go to Every Corner after breakfast? Coran has invited us to meet Hunk.”

C: Just to warn you, Lotor will be there! He has some work to do this morning!

“And Lotor, apparently. Coran has a task for him.”

“Yeah, why not?” Shiro came over with their breakfast. The nutella crepe was garnished with strawberries, bananas, and powdered sugar. Oh, yes. Shiro was definitely marriage material. Who needed to be a queen anyway? “I don’t mind the guy, and I’d love to see how everything’s coming along.” He was still smiling brightly, and Allura couldn’t blame him. He’d had a very good few days.

Allura took his warm hand in hers. He always sat on her right (with the exception of dinner at Keith's last night) so she wouldn’t have to hold his robotic hand. She’d said before that she didn’t care one way or the other, but he did. He wanted to know what he had, to be able to feel it in his own hand, he’d said. And, well, who was she to argue with a sentiment like that?

Her thoughts traveled back to last night. Keith had been, well, not at all how Shiro had said he was. He had been, after the first bit, animated, lively, and happy . And Shiro hadn’t stopped yammering about it the entire drive home. He was over the moon. Keith may have claimed that Shiro never shut up about her, but Shiro never shut up about him either. It was frankly hilarious. And uplifting. Keith’s newfound vibrance had clearly had a massive impact on Shiro’s well-being and Allura was thrilled.

As Allura summoned Acxa to meet her at Every Corner, she couldn’t help but hope Keith’s inspiring progress would continue to rub off on Shiro, so she could have two very happy brothers instead of just one marginally happy boyfriend. Of course, Shiro was hers either way, but if she could have Keith happy too, then she could see a truly joyful future for herself.

***

Acxa inhaled deeply and turned over, only to find herself against another warm body. Dammit. She’d done it again. And by “it” she meant the Prince. She heard a good-humored sigh.

“Why do you always have to say ‘dammit’ whenever I stay the night?” Shit.

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Not that Lotor was all that hurt. He sounded more amused than anything else. He’d been in an uncharacteristically good mood lately, like he was happy. Disgusting. Honestly, how dare he? How dare anyone be happy at this time of morning? She groaned and buried her head in her pillow. A phone vibrated on the stacked milk crates next to her.

“I swear to the gods, if the Princess wants me to come in on a Saturday morning…” she growled. Lotor chuckled, reaching over her for the phones. Lotor’s warmth pressed down on her body for a moment, and electricity shot through her. Two more buzzes, harsh against the warped plastic of her makeshift nightstand.

“Hup, three buzzes. Probably me.” Lotor returned to his place beside her, phone in hand.

“Who the fuck texts like that?” Who the fuck is awake this early on a fucking Saturday?! Have some consideration! Acxa forced herself to roll over, ignoring the pain in her ribs, the friction against her tender face. Last night had been a bitch. But she’d won enough money that she and the girls didn’t have to move to the slums, so fine.

“Someone seriously lacking in self-confidence. My boss, for example.” Acxa pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing. She really needed some ibuprofen. And more ice. Lotor silently handed her a bottle of pills from underneath his pillow. Acxa wordlessly shook three out and dry-swallowed. It took a while for his words to hit her. She really wasn’t a morning person. At least not on Saturdays or Sundays. Lotor was. He was an anytime person. She sometimes wondered if he actually needed sleep at all, or if he just enjoyed having it.

“Wait. You’re working ? Since when!” Acxa leaned over to see his conversation. It was group chat with two other people named Hunk and- “You’re working for Coran?! He practically raised the Princess!” He’d actually been helping micromanage Lotor for the six months as well, but she didn’t want to bring all that up.

“Technically, I work for Hunk. He’s the guy that hired me, but he and Coran are co-owners of this hybrid cafe/restaurant thing, so-”

“No. You are working. For my client’s former guardian. You. Are. Working.” It was hard to believe. Since they were children, Lotor had avoided any kind of responsibility or attachment to reality.

“Yes, Acxa. I’m working. I…” Lotor’s brows furrowed along a glorious line. Acxa glanced down to his tangled hair, and twinged with guilt at the mess she’d made of it. He shook his head, clearly ridding himself of some solemn thought. “I need a shower.”

Acxa heard her own phone vibrate and looked at the summons. She texted a quick reply. She’d meet Princess Allura at Every Corner. Might as well. She was already awake. Still, Acxa couldn’t help but lament the ice she was going to be missing all day.

“Princess Allura is going to Coran’s restaurant.” Acxa drug herself out of the bed. “Guess I need a shower too.”

“Mhn. Well, you’re welcome to join me.” Lotor didn’t bother to dress as they crossed the short hallway to the bathroom, and neither did Acxa. Only Narti (a very happy morning person [see also: monster]) would possibly be up by now, and she couldn’t see anyway.

“Oh, am I? I’m welcome to join you in my shower, eh?” Acxa gave him a playful shove. Acxa started the water while Lotor checked his reflection in the mirror.

“Good gods what did you do to my hair?” Lotor plucked at a near-matted lock of long platinum hair. “This is going to such a pain to deal with you know.” Then cut it, Princess. Actually, he’d better not. Ever. She’d kill him.

“Sorry,” Acxa muttered. She didn’t sound sorry, thanks to her naturally sarcastic tone, but she was. Lotor turned to her then, tucking a forefinger under her chin, turning her face side to side. He leaned in, inspecting the damage.

“I wish Krolia would stop sending you in to fight. The Princess won’t care for that mark.” Acxa turned to look at her reflection. There was a large, dark red mark under her right eye. The Prince found her hand and lifted it, inspecting her bruised, scabbed knuckles. He ran his fingers over the tender flesh. “Is anything broken?” He drew his own knuckles along her ribcage. She tried not to wince. Or shiver at the sight of Lotor’s dilating pupils. Directed at her .

“I don’t think so,” Acxa said, stepping into the shower. “Maybe some bone bruising. Cracked rib or two. But nothing broken-broken. And you don’t like it because you’ve never been to a fight. You’d enjoy it. The atmosphere is contagious. Besides, someone has to be the mole.” Not that he could ever go to see her in action. Lotor didn’t bother to iterate that. They’d discussed it before, and he’d decided on his own that he didn’t want to be anywhere near that shit. Too much betting. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Lotor stepped out from under the water, trading places with her. He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, running conditioner through his hair. He began combing it out with his fingers. Acxa forced herself to focus, a blush throbbing under her swollen cheek. He was so beautiful. Prettier than she. Not that he seemed to care about the disparity.

“Why a restaurant? I can’t really see you as a busboy. You in it for the free food or something?” Acxa shampooed her short, blue hair. She swirled some shower water around in her mouth, trying to wash away her morning breath, only partly successful. Toothpaste didn’t go on sale until Thursday.

“Well I was originally hoping for a babysitting gig, but the Blade of Marmora wasn’t hiring.” Acxa could hear the humor in his voice, and she laughed, trading places with him again so he could rinse his miles of hair. “And…” Lotor paused, and Acxa ran her fingers over his growing pectorals, evidence of his vastly improved health. She felt him flex beneath her fingertips. Not for the first time, Acxa wished she could trust him. But she had people she had to protect. “I like it. I like what Hunk is trying to do with the place, make a spot that everybody in the city would want to go to, and can.” He paused again, pulling his hair over one shoulder and squeezing it gently. “I also liked how when I told him who I was, he didn’t give a shit.”

“So...you actually like working there?” Acxa studied Lotor as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, handing her a towel.

“I do, actually. Granted I only work in the cafe part for now. But I’ve also been helping get the restaurant open for business. And it’s dry, so I don’t have to worry about falling off the wagon.” Lotor’s voice was bright. Like, genuinely bright. “At any rate, I like Hunk and I’ve always liked Coran, so I doubt I’ll mind shit detail that much.” Lotor gently squeezed his hair with the towel. “Anyhoo, how’s your life? We didn’t exactly talk last night.” Acxa smirked. They had not.

“I met with Kolivan and Krolia yesterday before the fight.” They headed back to Acxa’s room to dress.

“Ah, yes. How are our fearless leaders?” Acxa smiled. Even Lotor admitted that when it came to The Pit, those two were running the show. Granted the city was still an absolute shitshow, but under their micromanagement, it was slightly less of a shitshow.

“Krolia was...emotional.”

“ Krolia was emotional? I wasn’t aware the woman had emotions.” Lotor didn’t say it with venom, so she didn’t bother to defend the woman.

“It was…” Acxa paused, aware of her vulnerability. “ Heart wrenching .” Lotor paused in his pale blue, washed jeans, cream henley still in his hands, paused halfway over his muscled torso. Acxa picked up her issued weapons and belt, gathering her equipment.

“What happened?” Lotor asked, voice softer. He pulled his shirt down and bent to retrieve his socks.

“She thinks she may have found her son. That he might have been living right here in The Pit. For twenty years . Can you even imagine? Just looking for someone for so long only to find out they were there all the long? That they weren’t missing you and weren’t thinking of you?...The boy had someone with him. He smiled. He seemed happy. Gods, he already had his own life, maybe a future with somebody. And she wasn’t a part of it. Lotor, the woman was distraught. She kept asking, ‘What if I’m too late? What if there’s no room for me?’ And I-” Acxa broke off, swallowing. “I didn’t even know what to say.”

Acxa knew for a fact that no one was looking for her. No one ever had been and no one ever would be. Barring of course the girls and the perfect idiot who was sharing her bed more and more often. No one had ever kept her or the girls around for long. If it weren’t for Dayak...well. She didn’t want to even think about what might have happened to them. Acxa heard the bed creak as Lotor sat down, and she turned. He was sitting there, hands clasped in his lap, shoes forgotten at his feet.

“I looked for Honerva for years,” he whispered. Oh. Oh, man she’d fucked up. “I know exactly what it’s like.” Acxa sat down next to him, lacing her fingers with his. She didn’t trust him, but she did love him. He rested his head gently against hers, testing the spot where they met in case it hurt. She leaned against his side, feeling the heat that constantly radiated off his body. “It’s devastating,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Acxa murmured. And she meant it. She was sorry she’d dredged up the past like that. She was sorry she kept messing with him, unable to push him away, unable to let him go. She was sorry she couldn’t allow him to stay. At least not yet.

“Don’t be. Just, somewhere down the line, if you can, give me a chance. I’ll make it worthwhile. I swear.”

Acxa unlaced her white fingers from his brown and stood as Lotor stooped to pull on his brown leather boots. He shrugged on his coat and she did likewise. Lotor picked up a hair tie from the stacked milk crates in the doorless closet. He braided his hair, drawing the long coil over his shoulder when he couldn’t contort his arms any further. Well, not without revealing his special trick. Which Acxa honestly hated . That shit was so gross.

“I will. When we’re ready.” And Acxa meant it. She hoped it was soon. She smiled at Lotor, and the Prince offered her his arm. She hesitated.

“Might as well. We’re going to the same place.” Lotor smiled at her so softly, and her resolve broke yet again. She shrugged like it meant nothing, linking her arm with his. They were indeed going to the same place. Sooner or later.

Chapter Text

Lance woke mercilessly early. The audacity of his own body shocked him. He didn’t deserve this. Well, maybe he did, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. The headache from last night’s (and this morning’s) drinking episode throbbed dully behind his eyes. His phone said 8:15.

Lance tightened his arms around the body pillow, letting his own absorbed body heat transfer back to him. He wished desperately that he had another person there with him instead. It hurt, being alone. His memories flashed behind his eyelids.

A pair of chocolate-brown eyes and golden skin. An arrogant, elegant eyebrow. Bleached dreads coming in brown at the roots. A saccharine-sweet smile that didn’t extend past that perfect mouth. A cough-drop colored tongue, hungry, expectant.

He gasped softly, choking on his grief. Loneliness weighed heavily on his lungs. His eyes stung viciously. Mornings were hard. Mornings hurt. It was part of the reason he’d gotten into the habit of starting his day with booze as opposed to finishing with it. Not that he’d really stopped finishing with it…

There was a quick yank at the plush comforter near the foot of the bed, followed by an unsteady, arrhythmic tugging. What- the tugging stopped, and he heard a little squeak. Lance forced himself to roll over onto his back and push himself up. There was a tiny kitten, still wobbly on its legs, navigating the mountains and valleys of the over-luxurious comforter.

“Blue!” Lance broke into a smile. He wasn’t alone this morning after all. “Mi gatita! Ven, ven!” Lance tapped an irregular beat out next to him, and Blue pounced on his fingers. Lance rolled her over onto her back, tickling her belly, laughing as she captured his hand in her tiny claws, munching on his knuckles. “Mi bebe feroz! Tienes hambre? Quieres comida, Azul?”

Hangover temporarily forgotten, Lance revelled in the liberty of his native language. The sound of Spanish on his tongue only brightened his newfound smile. He hadn’t spoken Spanish like this since he was seven. “Latin accents are the sexiest thing on this earth.” His smile only widened and he felt that all-too-familiar flutter of his heart. Good to know. A buzzing sound reached his ears.

Lance leaned over to check his phone (8:19) and Blue squeaked indignantly at the sudden removal of Lance’s affection.

“Lo siento, Azul. Lo siento.” Lance turned back to his new charge, phone in hand.

Hunk: Hey, man. It’s Hunk. I was wondering if you could help me with something?

Hunk: I mean, if you’re not busy, that is

Hunk: And only if you want to. You don’t have to

Lance: Of course dude! Always happy to help PIDGE’S BOYFRIEND

Lance added a set of finger gun emojis for good measure.

“Come on, Blue. Let’s get some breakfast.” Lance threw back the comforter, Blue following as he left the bed. Lance stumbled as carefully as he could around the tiny creature as he remade the bed, re-arranging pillows and tucking in sheets. He tied back the canopy. Once it looked like no one had ever been in it, he headed out to the main room, bare feet echoing on the floor. Blue scampered ahead a few feet and stopped, waiting for him to catch up. Sorry, Blue. His head hurt, and he was still a little unsteady on his feet. He swore he could still taste the whiskey from yesterday. This morning was very mixed bag of emotions indeed.

Hunk: Actually, about that. What should I do for dinner? I think I said I’d take her out, but idk where to…

Lance: Dude take her to your restaurant and cook for her. Duh

Hunk: I mean, is that okay? Like, wouldn’t she rather we went somewhere else and sat down and all that stuff?

Lance: Nope. She doesn’t care. She just wants to be with you. Wanted it for a while now, I think.

Hunk: What, really? I didn’t know that

Lance: Well you know how she can be…

Hunk: right

Lance: Take good care of her, Hunk

Hunk: I will

Another squeak recaptured Lance’s attention. Blue pawed at her empty food bowl. What a smart girl! She already knew where to go for food. Lance padded into the kitchen, walking around a series of new cat toys. He picked up the bowl, depositing it on the counter, wincing at the sound of ceramic (Keith’s suggestion) against granite. He pulled a can of wet cat food from one of the mostly empty cupboards and emptied half of it into the bowl, followed by some kitten formula, mixing it up. 8:22 on the stove.

He looked down at the gray fluffball next to his feet, sitting primly with rapt attention. A tiny pink tongue flicked out in anticipation. Lance replaced the bowl, unwilling to make his baby wait any longer. Blue immediately fell upon her breakfast, purring with satisfaction. Oh, man. Blue was cute. Cute enough to evoke a reaction from-

A sweetly soft smile, lips parted slightly, just a hint of pointed teeth. Slight crinkles at the corners of a pair of midnight eyes, sparkling warmly. A deep, instant affection gracing a face so often solemn.

And Lance groaned.

“Why does this always happen, Blue?” Lance asked as he turned on his Keurig. He headed to the fridge and pulled out a Just Crack an Egg and a certified humane egg. The process for the Just Crack an Egg being about the most advanced cooking he could manage without something going horribly wrong, Lance enjoyed making them. It was fun. And so was tequila sunrise.

“What are you thinking about?” Those arms around his waist, those cold hands on his stomach.

“I don’t know. Lots of stuff, I guess.”

“Like…?”

“I don’t know, like, what I’m doing, I guess? Where I wanna go from here? Like, do you ever think about -and I mean this life, acting and all, is great, don’t get me wrong- but do you ever wanna be something else? Or rather, something more?” A pretty, sarcastic laugh, stevia-sweet.

“Aw! You are cute! But let’s be honest, acting is pretty much the only thing you’re any good at. If you leave, you probably wouldn’t even have that. You’d be forgotten. Vanish.”

Yeah, tequila sunrise was a good choice. Something to drown out those awful memories. And fix this damned headache...

Lance had his hand on the bottle of tequila, hovering over a glass partially filled with orange juice, when he hesitated. 9:07. Early, even for him. His brain pulsed angrily in his skull as he slammed the bottle down on the counter.

“Dammit!” He heard an indignant squeak but couldn’t turn.

Lance leaned forward on the counter, arms shaking. He choked out a gasp. What was he doing? Was this really how he wanted to live? Wake up hungover and then drink so he could tolerate existing for another day? No. He didn't want this. He couldn’t keep doing this, and he knew it. The drinking was becoming a problem, and he was starting to think that if he didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t be able to.

There was a tug at his pant leg, followed by a little squeak. Lance looked down with a tired smile.

“Hey, Blue. You done?” Lance felt himself shaking as he checked the bowl. Empty. “Good girl, Blue!” Was this how Keith felt when Lance came to see him? Lance put the previously forgotten egg cup in the microwave and started it. He picked up the kitten and held her close. She felt warm, purring vibrantly against his chest.

“Your life is better with me in it, Lance. I’m the only one you need. I’m all you’ll ever need. And you do need me, Lance. Don’t ever forget that.”

...

...

“Your life is better with me in it, Lance”

But he had forgotten. He’d wanted to forget. And that was his fault. He’d known better than to turn around and treat her like that, but he’d done it anyway. And now he’d be alone forever. It’s what he deserved. 9:12.

He turned back to the tequila sitting innocently on the counter. He still wanted it. A lot. He took a shaking breath. So this is what it felt like. Like a burning itch that he couldn’t scratch. Well he could. He needed to. His breath began to come more rapid and he couldn’t get enough air. His mind began to blank on him as it finally hit him full force what exactly was going on. This wasn’t a “sleep aid” or “enjoying being twenty-one” or just “recreational fun”. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been.

Lance felt as if ice was spreading from his heart all through his chest. A wave of nausea washed over him, forcing him up against the counter. No. He was losing control. What little control he’d managed to maintain over his young life was being torn away in a riptide. And the riptide was him . He was doing this. 9:27.

He felt his breathing become heavy and labored as a hand tightened around his throat. His heart clenched in his chest, constricting painfully. Distantly, Lance heard a crescendo of shattering glass as the ice spread to his arms and legs and he slid to the ground, unable to remain standing. Blue slipped through his grasp. She squeaked with concern, standing next to him on her hind feet, tiny front paws pressed into his hip.

Lance’s body became covered in a slick of sweat as his shivered like he’d just been violently ill. He vaguely wondered if he might be. His entire body was shivering, but it felt like he’d been buried in hot coals and like his skin was covered in crawling insects. The world spun around him as he gasped for breath. Was he dying? 9:46.

Lance’s heart rate had spiked, working overtime against a sudden, invisible pressure. He could feel it, pounding in his chest, in his throat, in his fingers and toes. He could feel it in his still aching head and in his back pressed against the kitchen cupboard and in his shaking hands. He couldn’t breathe. He could barely think. The world just...stopped. Horrible, contradictory, disjointed sensations surrounded him, pressing in until there was nothing left, creeping closer and closer like the fuzzy blackness crowding the edges of his vision. His only thought was that he wished he weren’t alone. 10:19.

***

Keith had fallen into a doze after texting Allura. It was a Saturday, and a particularly quiet one at that. The sleepy kind where all he wanted to do was just...be. Just exist there in his bed, warm and peaceful, with Red curled up against his belly beneath the blankets and just spend the entire day drifting on the edge of sleep.

Which is naturally when his phone began to buzz in earnest. He groaned and checked it. Lance. Figures. He was probably that sort of morning person who believed that the singing of birds was a sign that whatever god he believed in loved him and sunshine or no, it was a beautiful day and he just had to share it with someone right now or he’d explode with joy. Keith could just...let it ring out? It was still early? He could just pretend to still be sleeping? But the thought of the dejected look that would undoubtedly come over Lance’s face convinced him otherwise. He really was a weak man.

“Hey, Lance. What’s up?” He couldn’t hear anything but short, panicked breathing. “Lance?” Keith felt his heart constrict in his chest. He sat up. “Lance, what’s wrong?”

“K-Keith?” The raw fear and despair in Lance’s voice immediately sent Keith into action. Keith pulled his laptop up and opened Messenger.

Emo Twink: Pidge, I need Lance’s address ASAP

Emo Twink: And change my name

“Lance,” Keith said, managing to keep the majority of his own panic out of his voice. “Lance, I need you to breathe, okay?” Keith could hear the other man’s sobs, the kind that racked your entire body and left you sore for days. The kind that made you sick and weak. Keith was scared. Lance wasn’t supposed to do that, to sound like that. That was Keith’s thing. Had been for years.

“So...rry. I...I’m...sorry.” This shit again. “I-I couldn’t...I didn’t…”

“It’s okay, alright? You don’t need to be sorry, you need to breathe. Whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it, okay? Everything’s going to be okay.” Keith kept talking. He just said anything. Anything he could think of, as gently as he could. It was all he could really think to do. As many times as this had happened to him, no one else had ever been there when it had. He didn't know how to help Lance any more than he knew how to help himself.

As he sat there, talking Lance down, Keith couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t picked up the call. He really didn’t want to think about it. He also really didn’t want to think about all the things that might’ve already happened.

The Pidgeon: sorry abt wait. Was texting Hunk. *image*

The Pidgeon: fine, Emo Tea

“Give me one minute, Lance. Okay?” Keith waited to hear a response.

“Okay.” Lance managed to get the word out without dying, so Keith must’ve been doing something right. Keith quickly entered Lance’s address into his phone. Twenty minutes, huh? He could beat that.

“Right,” Keith said, picking the phone back up, holding it to his ear with his shoulder as he pulled on a fresh pair of paint-stained jeans and then managed to keep the phone mostly to his ear as he tugged on a fresh shirt. One that fit (Thanks again, Shiro). “How we doing, Lance? Better?”

“I don’t-” Keith heard a choked sob. “-I don’t know. I…” Lance’s voice was weak. Broken.

“That’s okay. We’ll get there.” It was gearing up to be a long day. Again. On his way out, Keith grabbed a backpack from his closet and loaded it with the candy bars he kept hidden in his nightstand, his drawing pencils, and a sketch pad. Might as well try and get something sketched out if he had the chance. Besides, Lance seemed to have liked watching him paint that one time. How long ago was that? Maybe a week? It felt like forever. “Hey, I got your address from Pidge. I’m gonna come over, okay?”

“W-what did you-”

“Nothing. I told her nothing. Just that I needed your address.” He knew that would only keep the girl at bay for so long, that the moment she wasn’t distracted she’d be right up his ass, but it would give him time to assess the situation. Keith tugged on his boots by the door, admiring the new splash of blue paint (still not quite right) on the toe. It had mixed in with a fresh bit of red, blending purple at the seams as it ran down.

“You...you don’t...have to-” Lance broke off, breathing becoming more panicked again amidst his sobs.

“I know I don’t have to, Lance,” Keith said as gently as he could. “But I’m going to, so you just hang tight until I get there, okay? And we’ll get everything figured out, alright?”

Lance didn’t say anything, but his breathing began to steady out a little more. Keith swore that whoever was responsible for Lance’s state was definitely going to get a knife for it. He was frustrated, angry. Possibly enraged. Yesterday had been so great. Lance had been happy and smiling. He had been happy and smiling. Shiro and Allura had been happy and smiling (at least by the end). Why couldn’t things just not go to shit? Just for a little while?

Keith stayed on the line the entire walk to Lance’s place. He spent the fifteen minute - Suck it, Google! - walk to Lance’s recounting the previous night in detail (minus the shirt incident) and about how Lance had been right as far as food went. Anything to keep the man busy, to keep him focused on something else. The last thing he needed was for Lance to end up like Keith, stuck inside his own head, asleep to the world.

If a car ran a red light and very narrowly missed hitting him, Keith was none the wiser, focused solely on the shattered voice on the other side of his phone.

Chapter Text

Pidge leapt into Hunk’s car, backpack in tow and a smile on her face. She really needed to sleep tonight, but it was fine to be tired for now, because she was going on an adventure . Matt poked his head out the door after them, waving.

“Alright,” Hunk said, pulling back out onto the road. “Dish. Last night. I wanna know everything .” Pidge grinned, bouncing up and down in her seat. Today was going to be a great day, she thought. Yesterday had been great, and today was going to be even better.

As Hunk drove, navigating to the main road that pretty much served as the border between the Lower and Elite Districts, Pidge recounted every detail she could.

“So then they went and met these people that Keith seemed to know really, really well, and Lance swears one of them looked just like Keith. Like she had the same smile and everything. And there was so much stuff going on and he got some plants for free and apparently he and I are honorary citizens of Olkarion because we know Ryner and then Keith bought him a kitten and they went back to his apartment and hung out and basically they just spent the entire day together and Lance was so worried about Keith with the Princess but they ended up really hitting it off and basically that’s the happiest I’ve seen Lance since I met him and oh my God Hunk I’m just so excited because I feel like this could go really, really well-” Pidge paused for a breath. Hunk chuckled.

“I’m really glad things are going so well, Pidge. I might have only met him once, but Lance deserves happiness.”

“Yeah this last week has been one helluva bitch, but honestly, it’s been really great too! And now I finally get to see your restaurant and meet Coran and Lotor and Shiro and Allura are gonna be there and, I mean, this is your baby and I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working for this and all the risks you’ve taken and everything you’ve put into making this a reality and I’m so proud of you and-”

“Pidge, how about you stop for one second and breathe, okay?” Pidge could hear the laughter in Hunk’s voice.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just so excited.” Pidge bounced up and down in the seat. She picked at her green sweater dress and plucked a piece of lint off her leggings, just to give her hands something to do.

As Hunk pulled into the not-defunct parking garage next to Market Square, Pidge found herself barely able to sit still. A glance over at Hunk showed that he was trying very hard not to laugh at her.

“Are you laughing at me?!” Pidge grinned.

“No,” Hunk chucked, getting out of the car.

“Yes, you are!” The two made their way toward the square. “You’re laughing at me, jerk!” Pidge bodychecked the gentle giant, and he stumbled dramatically. He pushed her playfully, just enough to make her sidestep. As the two laughed, Pidge found Hunk’s hand and Hunk immediately tightened his grip. Pidge quieted, but the spring in her step bounced even higher. Her face was still warm, despite the chilly air. She glanced up at Hunk. He was smiling. She squeezed his hand and Hunk squeezed back. Yes. This was going to be the best day .

***

Keith had never once been to the Elite district, so when he reached Lance’s apartment building, he couldn’t help but stare. The entire (brand new) building was made from black marble and brushed steel, with lots of very large glass windows that wrapped around corners. It had about fifteen floors, rising high into the sky. He could see the white carpets and lobby furniture and glass tables from here. There was what appeared to be a doorman out front, dressed in a suit.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “Lance, this place…”

Keith felt anxiety build up inside him as he stood in front of the monument to excess. He just knew he didn’t belong. That he wouldn’t be welcome. This place wasn’t for him. He’d walk inside and some poor girl would be sent to follow his progress with a mop and straight bleach. After they strip-searched him, demanded proof of his citizenship, ran a background check, and scolded him for his audacity to exist.

“I know,” Lance half-whispered. He’d quieted down quite a bit. Keith had put in his microphone-enabled earbuds so he could walk freely, but he hadn’t stopped talking yet.

“How do I get in?”

“Emmett will open the door for you. Then go to Dayak at the front desk. When she goes to buzz for me, just hand her your phone.” Keith took a deep breath and walked toward the doors, acutely aware of his paint-splattered clothes and skin. When he reached the door, the older gentleman smiled.

“Welcome to Monolith! Are you visiting?” The man was friendly, genuine. It put Keith almost at ease. But he did note that Emmett clearly knew his broke, homeless-looking ass didn’t belong here. At Monolith. God that's awful.

“Y-yeah. I’m visiting a friend,” he mumbled. Emmett smiled, gesturing for him to enter. “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he whispered into the mic on the left cord.

“Yeah,” Lance sniffled. “Emmett’s nice. He likes to tell me about whatever book he’s reading.” Dammit he was still crying. At this point, all Lance had to do was give Keith a name, and he’d end up hiring Kolivan after all. Kolivan could give one hell of a smackdown, and this motherfucker definitely deserved it. Maybe Keith would get lucky and the culprit would be Motorcycle Guy...

Keith reached the desk, presided over by an elderly Galra woman who was, in all honesty, scary beyond all reason. She was on the phone with someone, looking very stern and not at all impressed.

“Yes, Lubos...Yes...No, I don’t know where your son is...You’re absolutely right. I don’t care. You’re a terrible parent and a mooching lowlife and you’re lucky Ryner simply divorced you instead of having you sent back to Olkarion so you can be tried and imprisoned.” Damn that’s harsh. “Good day, Your Majesty.” “Your Majesty?!” What kind of people live here?! Keith was definitely in over his head here. Clearly, his street smarts did not extend past his own territory. Improvise, adapt, overcome.

The woman, Dayak, Keith supposed, set the phone back on the receiver and looked at him. Her eyes lingered over his choppy hair, roving over his face, narrowing with a downward twitch to her mouth when she met his yellowed eyes. Her examination drank in the paint all over his clothes and her eyes narrowed at his hands. Keith suddenly became extremely self-conscious, remembering the paint caked under his fingernails and the red jacket that everyone except him seemed to have an immediate dislike for.

“Can I help you?” Yep. Definitely not impressed.

“Yeah, I’m here to see Lance McClain.” Keith swallowed. “He’s my friend.”

“Right, you and about twenty other people a day. Get out, or I’m calling security.”

“But-”

“You people ought to be ashamed of yourselves, stalking the poor boy like that.” Dayak stared down her nose at him, her entire being a pillar of disgust and disdain.

“I’ve literally got him on the phone right now! Just let me see him!” Keith yanked out the earbuds and shoved the phone at her. The severe woman glared daggers at him, and Keith was tempted to stab her with a real one. She was seriously pissing him off and he just wanted to get to Lance. He didn’t have the time, energy, disposition, upbring, money, status, heritage, or most of all patience to deal with this.

“Lance?” A pause. “Yes there’s some ridiculous-looking imbecile with a bad attitude here to see you...Really? Well, if you’re sure. Of course, lad. I’ll add him to the list.” She turned to Keith with a reappraising eye. “Fifteenth floor, number one-five-oh-three. The code is-” Dayak leaned down to whisper, “-oh-seven-two-eight. Got that?”

Keith swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to glare too much. The purse to Dayak’s lips told him he failed entirely. Whatever. He snatched his phone from the woman’s claws and stomped off toward the elevator, taking pleasure in the clump of muck that sank into the white carpet. He hoped the stain would be there forever.

He sulked all the way to the top floor, worried when Lance didn’t joke about him pouting in the elevator. Please just be okay.

Chapter Text

Pidge was in love. The cafe was wonderful. There were the traditional tables and chairs by the windows at the front, but the rest was soft rugs, armchairs, loveseats, and beanbags. The lighting was warm and so was the electric fireplace, where Shiro sat, no-room-for-Jesus-style with his arm around a person who could only be Princess Allura. Pidge suddenly understood why silver hair had become more popular in recent years. Allura really was as beautiful as Shiro had said. There was an older Altean too, with dyed red hair. Coran, she supposed.

“Coran,” Hunk began, leading her over, “This is Pidge. Pidge, this is my partner, Coran.” Pidge almost burst with her enthusiasm.

“Hi! I’m Pidge!” Pidge offered her hand for him to shake, which he did. “It’s so exciting to finally meet you! And of course I’ve already met Shiro, and you must be Allura!”

“What’s up, Gremlin?” Shiro laughed. Allura chuckled, offering her own hand, which Pidge took with only slight reluctance. She wasn’t ready to forgive yet. “Thank you for not murdering my brother. Or weaponizing Atlas Tower,” Shiro said. Pidge grinned evilly. She hadn’t entirely given that tower up yet. There was a bell at the door, followed by what Pidge could only assume was the voice of God himself.

“Weaponizing Atlas Tower? Princess, I thought you’d already done that.” Pidge turned to see a tall man with strong, handsome features and an amused smile. Pidge noted the yellowed blue eyes, orange tattoos, and long braid of silver hair. The Prince. The one she’d secretly come to see. Aside from Hunk of course. The man smiled with amusement and raised one perfect eyebrow. He was arm-in-arm with a young half-Galra woman who was clearly armed beneath her unbuttoned coat. The blue, armored bodysuit wasn’t terrible either.

“Ah, Lotor! So good of you to come in!” Coran exclaimed. “And welcome, Acxa! It’s truly lovely to see the two of you together like this!” The woman, Acxa, was silent, with blue, edgy hair and a dark maroon bruise under her eye. She hung her coat up on the hooks by the door and then stood at attention against the wall.

“Yes, Coran. Now, what do you want from me today?” Yep. That’s definitely what God sounded like.

“You’re to run the cafe while I goof off with my friends! Now tie up that ridiculous hair of yours!”

“Excellent.” Lotor drew his long, thick braid over his shoulder and began to carefully unwind it. “Is there baking to be done, or am I set?” He began to twist his hair, working it into a messy, loose knot at the nape of his neck.

“You should be fine, but perhaps more muffins later! This is Pidge!” Coran introduced her. “She’s Hunk’s sort-of-but-not-really girlfriend until one of them actually works up the courage!” Lotor laughed, deep and rich, drowning out Hunk’s timid protests. In other words, Pidge was not at all disappointed.

“Well, step up to the counter, miss, and I’ll get you settled before I serve the rest of these clowns. And Shiro.” Lotor blew the man a joking kiss as he shrugged off his coat, revealing a lean frame with broad shoulders. Shiro gasped, catching the kiss and swooning back into Allura, who laughed musically. She wrapped her hand around his waist, kissing his head. Nauseating. Keith was right. The two were infatuated with each other. Lotor chuckled, hung up his coat next to Acxa’s, and sauntered off behind the counter as Pidge trotted up. 

“So…” She began, swallowing her excitement. “You’re Prince Lotion.” The small talk in front of the fireplace came to an abrupt halt. Pidge heard Hunk facepalm.

“Pidge,” Hunk began. “You had one-”

“I prefer Prince L’Oreal, thank you. Hobgoblin.” Lotor gave her a first-class smirk.

“Gremlin. I am called Gremlin.” Smirk returned. Yeah, this guy was super cool.

“Well does Gremlin want a dirty chai and a blueberry muffin?” Pidge grinned.

“Hell yes! Two shots!” Lotor chuckled, then winked at Hunk.

“I like her.”

“Well, I for one, am terrified.” Pidge turned to see Allura, eyes sparkling with amusement, still holding a happy-looking Shiro. “The two of you should definitely not be friends. You’ll destroy the world.”

“On the contrary, Princess,” Lotor said, turning from the espresso machine to get a jug of milk from a mini fridge beneath the counter. “Gremlin and I shall rule the world.” Shiro gave a smirk, and Pidge began to suspect that the man had a secret, less...boyscout-y side to him. She made a note to ask Keith. Coran was sitting there, stroking his awesome mustache, eyes still sliding back and forth between Lotor and Acxa. Clearly, nothing got past him. They were totally doing it. Though, she did wonder about-

“Acxa, where did you acquire that bruise?! Are you still fighting?!” Dammit. Coran beat her to it.

“What? You fight?” Shiro sounded excited. Allura scoffed and rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by Shiro’s enthusiasm. The arm still around his shoulders and the hand still in his hand revealed that it was no real problem. If fact, Shiro just snuggled closer into her side. Pidge ran her tongue over her teeth, checking for cavities.

“Yes. I had to fight Throk.” Acxa grimaced.

“Who’s Throk?” Pidge asked as Lotor slid her a hot muffin and a pad of butter. He handed her the latte.

“He’s the bouncer at the Ethnic Market,” Acxa explained. “Not above hair-pulling. A massive dick. Also, a sore loser,” she added with a cocky grin.

“Wait, you won?” Shiro asked. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know Throk could lose.”

“Well, Acxa certainly can’t,” Lotor said, leaning on the counter. “She never has, in any case.” Pidge noted the fond smile, which Acxa returned minutely. Pidge turned to the four in front of the fireplace, and caught Allura’s eye. Allura winked and Pidge smiled into her dirty chai. The son of whom some called “The World’s Greatest Tyrant” was surprisingly cuddly. And Coran seemed pretty cool too.

“Pidge,” Hunk called. “Show Coran and Lotor some of the projects you have planned. They’re geeks for that stuff.”

The day couldn’t get any better.

***

When Keith opened the door, there was Blue, waiting for him, squeaking anxiously. When Keith closed the door, the tiny cat squeaked again, moving toward the kitchen. What Keith saw scared him.

Lance was leaning up against the cupboard next to the fridge like a broken doll, right next to a pool of liquid and shards of glass. He smelled tequila. He ran his tongue over his lips, nervously, and tasted the liquor in the air.

Blue squeaked again, looking at him expectantly. Keith sighed. Perfect. Even the cat expected Keith to fix Lance. Keith couldn’t even fix himself! How was he supposed to-Lance sniffled. Right. Figure it out. Come on, Keith. Use your instincts. Adapt. That’s what you’re supposed to be good at. That’s the only thing he was supposed to be good at. Keith went over and squatted next to Lance, tossing his backpack and phone on the island as he went.

“Hey,” he said softly. Lance didn’t look up. His gaze remained fixed on the corner of the island in front of him, unfocused. Keith stripped off his jacket and threw that and his jacket up onto the island. “Are-are you...What happened?” Keith mentally kicked himself. “Are you okay.” Seriously? Lance was obviously not okay. And he didn’t respond. So Keith sat down on the floor a foot away and across from the other man, leaning against the kitchen island. He did his best to sort through all of the emotions he didn’t know how to deal with. And he waited.

“I don’t know what to do.” Lance’s voice wavered. It was defeated. Scared. It reverberated off the gleaming pans hanging from the rack above the island. The glass wall of the living room, hidden by heavy drapes, rattled in its frame. The darkened hallway whispered the words back to them from its shadowed maw.

“Well.” Keith began picking at the paint edging his fingernails. “In order to figure out what to do, I need to know what the problem is.” “I.” Again, you’re not good enough for this. Don’t forget that.

Lance heaved a sigh. He picked up a larger piece of glass, turning it over and over in his hand, inspecting it. Blue crept up, squeaking softly, pulling herself up onto the man’s lap. He absently stroked her tiny head with the tips of his fingers. Blue pushed into his hand, inviting further attention, purring loudly.

“She loves you,” Keith said. “A lot. She showed me where you were.” Lance picked the kitten up, holding her to his chest. Keith held his tongue for as long as he could (about five seconds). “She was worried about you, Lance. And so am I.” It was the truth. There were a lot of things that Keith would probably never tell Lance McClain, but he would do everything that he could to make sure Lance knew that he cared.

Lance slid his eyes over to Keith, and Keith saw caution there. There was a lack of trust, an uncertainty there that put Keith’s heart in his throat. What had he done wrong? Lance took a deep, shaky breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. So they sat there a while longer, and Keith did his best not to take Lance’s reticence personally.

“Keith?” Finally. Maybe.

“Yeah?” Keith rolled his head to look at Lance. There was such a defeated sadness there, it broke Keith’s heart to see it. The man swallowed hard, chewing on his bottom lip, blue eyes empty and distant, and Keith instinctively knew there was no one he could punish for Lance’s pain, whether he’d be able to summon his courage or not. Whatever this was, there was no vengeance or justice to be had. He heart froze in his chest as he stared at the first friend he'd made in over six years.

“I-I think I’m an alcoholic.”

Chapter Text

“-and then yesterday, they spent the entire day together and Keith bought Lance a cat-”

“You mean I bought Lance a cat.” Shiro smiled. It really wasn’t a big deal. Well, it was a huge deal, but not for that.

“Nuance. Anyway now Keith asked for Lance’s address, so I guess they’re hanging out again today, and this ship is so gonna sail.” Pidge folded her arms, looking so proud of her supposed handiwork. Shiro honestly suspected that she had less to do with it than the boys, but he wasn’t about to tell the girl that. More than anything, she just seemed happy for Lance and Keith. And that was something Shiro definitely understood.

“I am so on board this ship,” Lotor said, leaning against the counter. The morning rush was dwindling, and he’d been participating in their conversation as much as he could. “Sign me up.” It was good, Shiro thought, that the guy was turning his life around. If Shiro had grown up in Lotor’s shoes...well, he wasn’t sure he’d have handled it any better. But here was the Prince, laughing and joking around, healthy, and forming a terrifyingly solid friendship with Pidge.

“Dude, you can absolutely come aboard. We can blast Careless Whisper at three AM.” Lotor laughed, and Pidge grinned at him over her laptop from her place in Hunk’s lap. She had been explaining about a to-scale insect drone she and Hunk had been working on, that was apparently able to smell and taste as well as see and hear (programming for texture analysis was nixed due to time constraints), but it had gone way over his head. Acxa and Allura had mostly given up. Coran was able to follow along reasonably well, and Lotor seemed to understand to an extent, with only the occasional question.

Lotor, in a moment of reprieve from sorority girls ordering the most overly complicated drinks Shiro had ever heard of, walked around the bar with a cup of coffee and handed it to Acxa, who accepted it with a smile.

“Thank you-what’s that smell?” She was looking at the man (Adonis, really) intently. Listen, Shiro had already ordered, but he could still look at the menu. He and Allura were known to oggle people together...

“What smell?” Lotor asked with an eyebrow. Acxa leaned in and sniffed him.

“Why do your clothes smell like that? Like...nice, and not laundry detergent. Is it a perfume?” Lotor gave his clothes a quick sniff.

“It-it’s literally just fabric softener. Why...why are you like this?” Lotor looked at her with exasperation and pity. Shiro tried his best to stifle his laughter.

“What the quiznak is fabric softener?” Acxa demanded, bottom lip stuck out defensively.

“You don’t know what fabric softener is?” Allura asked, incredulous. Acxa shook her head.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Lotor said leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eye. He whispered in Acxa’s ear. He must have told her something along the lines of “it softens fabric”, because she shoved him away with a scoff. But still, she grinned.

“But seriously,” Pidge said. “It’s great. It makes your clothes soft, and last longer, and then they smell really nice.”

“So it’s for pussies,” the woman confirmed. Easy for Acxa to say. She was a badass. She could beat Throk in a fight. Though, Lotor probably could too. Maybe Shiro could. He wouldn't mind a crack at the fucker. Though if Throk didn’t kill him, Allura and Keith would.

“Hey!”

“What? Did I hurt your feelings, Princess?” She laughed at Lotor, still standing next to her. He gave an exaggerated gasp, mock offense all over his handsome features. Then he replaced it with a shrug.

“I mean...that’s fair. I’m the one who uses fabric softener, and wears the makeup, and has the long hair...I guess I’m just destined to be the bottom bitch.” Lotor gave a theatrical sigh.

“I hate you. So much.” But Acxa was laughing, trying not to spill her coffee as she did so. But ultimately, her laughter was cut short as she winced, placing a hand on her ribcage. “But I hate Throk more.”

Lotor chuckled. “Well, that’s something, I guess. I can work with it. Want some ice?” Lotor headed back to the counter, whistling the sax from Careless Whisper while Acxa just shook her head, amused by the man’s antics. Allura was right, Shiro thought. They really were a cute couple.

Just as Lotor finished preparing Pidge another drink, the door opened and a slender Galra woman with strangely familiar features walked in. Acxa straightened, setting her coffee down on the sill, and Lotor paused in rinsing his equipment. He set aside his work immediately, focusing all of his attention on the woman.

“Welcome to Every Corner,” he said with no trace of his former smile. “What can I get for you?”

“House blend, medium. No cream or sugar.”

“For here or to go?”

“Here.” She was humorless, almost solemn. Lotor handed her the coffee.

“On the house.”

“Now, now, Lotor!” Coran cried, clearly unfazed by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “We can’t just go handing out free drinks!”

“Well, then, it’s on me,” Lotor said, with a tone that declared the matter settled, and he returned to his work without another word.

Shiro scrutinized the woman. She was smaller, for the Galra, not even six feet tall, but strongly built. She could probably give him a run for his money in a fight, which was exactly what concerned him. He wasn’t a fool. He knew he’d made many enemies in his life. As the woman took a seat at the table closest to the door, Shiro immediately tensed. She kept looking at him. The woman was here with a purpose. He just knew it. Living with Keith “Team Instinct” Kogane had taught him a few things. And so had war.

“Can I help you?” Shiro asked. The woman gave him a level stare.

“That depends. Are you in fact, Takashi Shirogane, adoptive brother of Keith Kogane?”

“Who’s asking?” Shiro stood up, powering up his arm just in case. Everyone tensed and Allura shifted back against the the arm of the couch. He didn’t like that the woman already knew about his brother. He also didn’t like when people stared at him. Since he’d gotten back, Shiro had been waiting for someone to try and take a shot at him, and he was thinking that today might be the day. The woman stood, abandoning her mug on the table.

“I am Krolia, co-leader of the Blade of Marmora, wife of Kolivan. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.” Allura gasped, and Shiro’s eyes widened. So this was the enigmatic Krolia. That explained Acxa and Lotor’s sudden recovery of professionalism. Shiro had never met the woman, but knew that it was her handiwork as a spy that had led to his final mission. That had led him into hell...

Shiro stepped forward immediately, offering his arm.

“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m actually surprised we haven’t met already, given I practically grew up knowing Kolivan.” Krolia smiled briefly, taking his arm without hesitation, and as they greeted each other, the tension in the air began to dissipate. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Krolia’s face remained a mask, betraying no emotion. She didn’t have the “creepy smile and underhanded compliments” thing going on that some Galra did. Shiro wondered how long it had taken her to lose that habit. Fewer and fewer practiced the old ways. Those who did found their lives that much harder.

“I’m honestly not sure. Perhaps we could step outside? This isn’t...It’s personal.” Shiro nodded. He trusted this woman. He knew exactly how good of a person she was.

“Sure. After you.” Shiro held the door for her as they stepped outside.

***

Lance swallowed. He felt like he might be sick. He’d said it. He’d actually said it. Out loud. Which was a problem because that’s what made it real. He swallowed the bile at the back of his throat and waited for Keith’s reaction.

“Okay.” WHAT? He turned to Keith. The other man was sitting about a foot away from him. Keith took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “So what do you want to do about it?”

Lance just stared at him. Keith took another deep breath, blowing it out through his cheeks. Then he ran one of those shaky hands through his hair a second time. Lance realized it was an indicator. It was what Keith did when he was trying to decide what to do. But...how could Keith always be so calm with him? Keith was a maelstrom of anxiety and annoyance and yet Lance could probably declare that he was a Jedi or a flat-earther or a purple people-eater, and Keith would probably have the same reaction. He didn’t get it, and he wanted to. Lance really wanted to understand Keith.

“I…” Lance finally managed to redirect his train of thought. “I don’t want this,” he whispered.

“Well, I don’t know anybody who would, but it seems that you’ve got it.” Damn, Keith might be able to exercise patience with him, but he sure didn’t know how to pull punches. “Which means you’ve got two options.” Keith turned to him, and Lance saw shadows under his eyes. The poor guy hadn’t been getting much sleep lately.

“I have options?” How many options could there be?

“Yeah. Keep drinking or sober up,” Keith said with a shrug, like it were so simple it required nothing. Like none of this was a big deal. Like it was a minor inconvenience and not something that was going to affect the rest of his life. This was anything but simple.

But the choice was there. Where Lance would have spent God-only-knows-how-long overthinking everything, panicking, and ultimately achieving nothing, Keith simplified it down to a fork in a road, and he just had to choose.

“This is just gonna get worse, isn’t it?”

“You tell me.” Still so calm. He’d call Keith indifferent, except that he’d dropped everything to help him. Again.

“Yeah, this is just gonna get worse...I think it’s been getting worse for a long time.”

How long had this been a problem? Since Nyma? Longer? He thought back to that first party six years ago, where he’d been so uncomfortable and that boy had been so pretty and then an hour later, he’d suddenly found this awesome new courage to just be himself, consequences be damned. And then the consequences came, and he’d had to figure out how to keep up his courageous façade. And then later, he’d just wanted to feel nothing at all...

“It won’t be easy,” Keith said, a little softer. “It’s gonna start to suck really soon, whichever you choose.”

Truthfully, it already was. He could feel his skin beginning to itch. That restlessness that came when he needed something but didn’t know what. Except now he knew. And a big part of him wished he didn’t.

Lance looked at the shard of glass in his hand. A single, bloodshot, exhausted blue eye stared right back at him, shining with years of unshed tears.

“You know whatever choice you make, I won’t judge you, right?” Lance looked at Keith, startled. “I’m still your friend. Either way, I’m your friend. And I’ll do everything I can for you, Lance.”

Keith was looking him directly in the eyes, not down and away, not at his hands. At him. And Lance wished so much that he could just get lost there, where is was dark and safe, and always warm for him. But Lance could see fire there too, that even twenty years worth of racism, abandonment, neglect, and loss hadn’t managed to extinguish. Keith had come so close to breaking, Lance knew. Maybe even had, some years ago. But that fire was still there, hot and burning and fierce, and Lance couldn’t help but draw strength from that. If Keith could get on with his life after everything he’d been through, then so could Lance.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I already had my last drink.”

Chapter Text

“Tohru, we’ve been made. We have to go!” Krolia came running into the apartment. They’d been found. The Galra had found them. Which would have been fine. She would have died gladly, were it not for-

“Where are Hiroshi and Ayame?” Tohru came over to her, alarmed by the hand clasped to her side, blood welling up from between her fingers. He pulled off his shirt, applying pressure, his black hair and eyes intense and burning. Krolia took in the shabby living room, with the peeling wallpaper and stained carpets. Her home. The boys, six and two, sitting on the floor, playing with second-hand toys. Yorak. Krolia felt her heart shatter. Her baby. Her best mistake.

“They’re gone. We have to go now .” Krolia wished Kolivan were with them. Her golden-eyed friend would know what to do. She was too green for this. She had too much to lose. "T here’s a barge leaving in an hour. It’s bound for Garrison City. We can leave the boys there, find them later. We’re too close to finishing this. We can’t stop now,” she said.

“Leave them? Abandon them?” Tohru’s grip tightened around her hand, her own turmoil swirling through the air. She could smell his confliction. She could taste his panic on her tongue when next she spoke.

“We don’t have a choice.” Krolia turned to him. He was so steady, so gentle. Too gentle. Too warm. “It’s their best chance. If the Galra find them, they’ll kill them.” Tohru looked deep into her eyes, and finally nodded.

“Let’s go,” Tohru whispered. “Knowledge or death.”

Krolia couldn’t help but glance up at the man walking next to her. He was different from what she’d expected. She’d expected Takashi Shirogane to be cold and stoic and bitter after all he had suffered. But instead, he was warm and good-natured and expressive, with a genuine smile and kind eyes. She wished she’d gone to him sooner.

That CPT Shirogane had a younger brother had been a secret. There was seemingly no information on the boy. No credit cards, no bank account, no apartments, nothing. The boy didn’t exist in the digital world, save a certificate and a social security number. He had been erased. For a long time, she’d thought the Galra had erased him to punish her.

But there was a space in Shirogane’s digital trail that didn’t add up. Purchases that didn’t make sense. A shabby apartment on Middle Street. And she was ashamed she hadn’t seen it sooner. But she’d thought he’d been alone.

“Stay together, Takashi. Stay with Akira. Do you hear me? Promise me you’ll stay together!” The boy stared up at her with huge, dark eyes. He didn’t understand. He probably wouldn’t remember any of this. Not for long. But-

“I promise. Akira is my brother, always.” Even at age six, the boy’s Japanese was better than hers. Krolia turned to her own son, running her fingers through is black hair. The blue lights of the barge hit the strands, and they gleamed purple. The lenses of his eyes looked like glowing yellow moons. But gods be damned, he looked so very much like his father. Round pupils, soft eyes. Just... soft . Her baby. Tohru’s baby. Krolia leaned in close.

“I love you, Yorak,” she whispered. Her own special name for him. She’d hoped to one day tell him what it meant. Tell him he didn’t need to be ashamed. “I’ll come back for you and Takashi. I promise.” She took off her red leather jacket and draped it around his shoulders. Her luxite blade she slipped into the left pocket. Krolia swallowed, feeling the unfamiliar sting in her eyes, the one she hadn’t felt since she’d first held him in her arms. And never before that. It was a weakness. I promise.

She turned to Tohru. He was standing there, having already said his goodbyes. His burning eyes were filled with sadness. A single tear drifted down his cheek, glittering like a solitary diamond in the dark. Krolia reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tight.

“Come on. We need to find Sendak and take him out now if we want to live through the night.”

“So what did you want to discuss? Did you need help with something?”

“I…” Krolia wasn’t even sure where to begin.

“How did you know of my affiliation with Keith? When I was drafted, I requested that he be erased from public records. Just in case.” Krolia understood. Shirogane had been serving on the ground and in the air in high-risk, high-profile missions since his first day. He’d made enemies almost from the moment his plane touched down in the Red Wastes.

“Kolivan. My husband he-”

“ You’re Kolivan’s wife?! Holy quiznak he never even told us your name! Outright refused!” Shiro frowned. “I knew he was married and that he knew you, but…”

“Yes, well. I am a spy of sorts.” Krolia waited to see if Shirogane had anything else to say. “In any case, I was at the market yesterday when I caught sight of your brother.”

Sendak looked up at her with a bloody grin. His one remaining eye was glittering in the near-black, blood running thick and dark from the other, now empty socket. It mixed with the pouring rain.

“You’re too late. Your precious mate is dead and the war has already begun. Don’t you see? You failed.” She had. The body staring at her a few meters away told her that. The triumphant face of the now one-armed, one-eyed man told her that. The despair in her chest told her that. But her face betrayed nothing.

“Well...I have you, at least. So there’s something,” She hissed. “You’ll be going into a cryo-cell for this, Commander. And you’ll be in there until this world freezes over and Nekati falls from the sky.” Sendak grinned, showing missing, pointed teeth. The split in his swollen lip began to bleed again.

“Either way, I did my duty.” Krolia raised her weapon to knock him out. “Vrepit s-” Thwack!

“Vrepit Sa,” Krolia whispered into the night. The clouds broke, allowing the red sunrise to bleed through. A few yards away, Tohru’s body stared at her, empty and vacant. In the distance, she could see a barge sailing for Garrison City, half a world away. Somewhere deep inside, Krolia knew, was what little was left of hers.

“Why are you interested in Keith?” Shirogane was immediately on guard. “He’s in no shape to be of use to you.”

“Has that always been his name?”

“What?” Sharp. Suspicious. Shirogane might not remember the promise he’d made (Krolia was almost certain), but he’d kept it as best he could.

“Has your brother always had the name ‘Keith’?” Shiro turned abruptly, leading her into a reeking alley behind a Chinese restaurant.

“Why do you care? Look, I respect you. But I won’t let you do anything to him-”

“I think he might be my son.” Krolia watched as Shirogane’s expression became unreadable. His face became a blank slate. She stared at his gray eyes. Last time she’d laid eyes on Shirogane, he hadn’t had any eyes at all. If she strained her own, she could see the artificial pupils dilating.

“Akira. His legal name is Akira. When we were adopted, our parents let him pick a western name to be called. He-he wanted to fit in.” Our parents. So someone had loved her son? Someone had taken him? Had seen past his heritage? A weight she hadn’t been aware she was carrying lifted from her tired shoulders.

“Akira,” Krolia whispered. The name Tohru had given him. She’d been hesitant, but when he’d told her what it meant… “Akira Kogane.” Her sun and moon . And he was. But he was also Yorak to her. Her shining star . “I’ve kept an eye on you, since I first learned your name. Hiroshi and Ayame’s boy.”

“You knew my parents?” Shiro gaped at her. At least she didn’t have to explain what she meant.

“Oh, yes. They were some of my greatest friends.”

“I’m sorry, Kolivan. I’m so sorry.” Krolia buried her face in her hands. She hadn’t been ready for this.

She was sitting on the floor of a cargo plane bound for Naxela, capital of Balmera, where her next mission would be.

“We would have failed anyway. We just received word.” Kolivan looked at her, his expression grim. “King Alfor Malara of Altea was murdered this night by Emperor Zarkon himself. Altea has fallen. The country, annihilated. Maybe a few thousand escaped, including the child princess and Alfor’s advisor and consort, Coran Smythe.”

It was a devastating blow. They had failed. They had failed to stop the fall of Balmera three months ago. Olkarion teetered on the brink. Japan and Altea had fallen today.

“I’m so sorry, Krolia.” Krolia looked up at her friend. “I’m sorry about Tohru. I know he meant the world to you.”

“What about Yorak?” she whispered. “I know we have to push on. I know we have to continue. But what will happen to him?”

“He’s headed to Garrison City, like many refugees. He’ll be taken care of, I’m sure of it. And when we can, we’ll find him. We’ll find both of them.” Krolia stared.

“We?” Kolivan gave her the tiniest ghost of a smile, and sat next to her on the floor.

“Yes, Krolia. ‘We’.” He put a hand on her arm. “We’ll save the world, and then we’ll find your son.”

And for twenty years, it was all Krolia could do to push on and pray to the gods that her sun, moon, and shining star was alive and well, and she’d see him again.

“They...they’re dead, aren’t they?” Shiro said. “My parents.”

“Yes. Keith’s father as well. I can’t tell you how. I can’t tell you why.” Krolia saw him wilt a little. That last, tiny bit of hope snuffed out. Even after all her training, all she’d experienced, there was something about watching a man like this break, even a little, that struck her to the core. “But I can tell you that they loved you.” Shiro looked up, startled. “We lived in Japan together for seven years. They had you within the first couple years. People had begun to ask questions about the four of us, so...it was decided one of us should conceive, help the illusion that we were putting down roots. I was the better fighter, so Ayame got pregnant first. Yo-Keith was something of an...accident. You boys were their pride and joy. Mine and Tohru’s too.

“We’d come home, discouraged, another day of work with little to nothing to show for our efforts, and you’d be there, smiling and happy.” Krolia smiled, studying the ground. “Coming home to you boys was often the only good thing in a day.”

Krolia looked up at the man before her, with the scar across his nose and the prematurely white hair and the prosthetic eyes and arm. The world had chewed the both of them up more than once, but here they were. Drawn back together after so many years by some bizarre stroke of chance.

Shirogane was quiet for a long time. He stared at her, eyebrows contracted. Prosthetic or not, those eyes had a great deal of expression in them. But there were too many emotions for Krolia to sort through, so she had wait until he finally spoke.

“How long?” he finally asked. “How long have you been looking for him?” Krolia felt her expressionless façade slip for a fraction of a second. So long.

“Twenty years, off and on. I’ve had a lot of missions and saving the world came first, but…” Krolia’s voice trailed off, and her gaze fixed on the slimy pavement beneath her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t find you boys sooner. I’m sorry about your parents. I’m sorry we abandoned you two on that barge. I’m sorry that we failed so miserably. But I have spent twenty years looking for you both. All I ask is a chance. To meet him. To let him know that I love him. That his father loved him. That I never wanted to leave him.”

Shirogane stared at her and was silent. Krolia waited. It was a great deal to take in, and she hadn’t the skill or patience to go through it gently or with tact. She hoped her Yorak was more like Tohru in that regard.

“So…,” Shiro finally spoke. “You want me to arrange a meeting?” Krolia nodded once.

“Kolivan tells me Yorak is fragile, at least emotionally.” Shiro nodded sadly, not blinking at the name she used. “I don’t want to hurt him or force him into anything.” She observed that Shirogane’s expression deepened.

“And if he says ‘no’?” Shirogane whispered.

“Then nothing. I’ll leave the offer open. But the choice is his. I’ll live my life, watch from afar. If there’s something I can do, I’ll do it. But if he doesn’t want me-”

“He will. Probably not at first. But someday, if you’re willing to wait for him, he will.” Krolia looked up from the ground, finally meeting his somehow-still-warm eyes. “And he’s worth waiting for, if you’re willing. He’s a great person, even though he doesn’t know it. He’s impatient, and has about as much sense of tact as a hand grenade at a dinner party, but he’s smart and clever.-” So much for him taking after his father...

“-He’s kind, too. And gentle, and when he tries really hard, I mean really, really hard, he can be patient. And he’s so warm, underneath the coarseness. He doesn’t see it, and a lot of other people don’t either, but it’s definitely there. I still see it more and more each day.” Then again, maybe he does.

Krolia watched the man. Takashi. Hiroshi and Ayame’s son. She watched the way his face lit up as he talked about her son, the man he’d called his brother all his life, even back before he remembered.

“I just realized,” Krolia said. “I never thanked you.”

“Thanked me?” Takashi looked at her in confusion.

“When Tohru and I left the two of you on that barge, I made you promise to stay with him. I...I couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone. Thank you. For not leaving him, I mean. I can’t imagine it made your life easier.” Takashi smiled.

“No, it didn’t. But it did make my life better. Worth it. Worth everything.”

Krolia took the man’s hands in his and squeezed them, betraying the emotions she wasn’t supposed to have.

“They’d be proud of you, Takashi. Hiroshi and Ayame? They’d be so proud of you.” Takashi swallowed hard. “And I am so grateful, no matter what happens. Thank you.”

And Takashi smiled. And nodded. And there was nothing more to say.

“I can’t believe I never realized.” Kolivan had his arms around her, allowing her this moment of weakness as she trembled from the effort not to break. He ran his hand through her choppy, DIY haircut, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

Krolia had managed to keep it together for the rest of the day, but the moment she and Kolivan had arrived home, the moment she’d told him what she’d seen, something inside her had healed, and something else had shattered.

Acxa sat on the floor in front of them, squeezing her hand. The young woman had come to give an update on the Prince.

“What if I’m too late? What if there’s no room for me?” Kolivan wrapped her up tighter, kissing her temple again.

“Don’t you worry, my love. You’re not too late.”

Don’t let me be too late. Not this time.

If Krolia still had a single god left that she cared to pray to, she would have.

***

Lance hit the eight-hour mark about the same time he asked Keith to pour every bottle of booze he had down the kitchen drain and make him watch. The eight-hour mark meant he was growing irritable. Which meant that Keith’s hesitation annoyed him where it might normally make him smile to see the other man’s concern.

“Are you sure that’s wise? What if you get sick? What if something goes really wrong? We should get you actual help, Lance-”

“I just escaped substance abuse allegations. I don’t need people to know about this! My life is already hard enough!” Lance heard the snap in his voice and cringed, expecting Keith “Grumpy-Pants” Kogane’s expression to harden.

Instead, Keith took no offense, and simply nodded. Lance saw a flicker of understanding, sympathy. He found that annoying too, but managed not to snap at the man again.

“Is it all in here, or…?”

“There might be a bottle or two in my room. Then check the master bathroom and the bathroom down the hall. Then the living room. There’s a wine cooler at the end of the kitchen counter and the freezer is full of vodka. There’s an assortment of stuff in the dining area, and there might be stuff in the fridge, too. I think that’s it.” Saying all that out loud was awful. He sounded like someone who literally swam in booze. Actually, he might have done that at a party once. But he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember.

Keith nodded, not saying anything. Lance had expected at least a “Gods, Lance,” but there was nothing. Instead, Keith gave him an option.

“Do you wanna come with me, or are you going to stay here?” Lance scratched at his skin, knowing it wouldn’t help the itch underneath. The fire in the back of his throat was already becoming unbearable and he felt jumpy, like he was waiting for somebody to attack him. He looked at the mess beside him.

“I’ll clean this up, then come help,” he decided. He wanted a few moments alone.

“Okay,” Keith murmured. He reached out slowly, giving Lance time to move away, then squeezed his shoulder. “Be careful, alright.” Lance nodded, immediately assuming Keith meant “Don’t drink, dipshit,” but then- “I don’t want you to cut yourself. That glass looks sharp.”

Lance nodded, and Keith stood, offering a helping hand and an uncertain smile. Lance took both.

“And then what?” Lance whispered. What happened now? What was he going to do? How was he going to do this? He didn’t trust himself anymore. He was a stranger now. To himself, to everyone.

“Well.” Keith ran his fingers through his hair again. “We’ll figure it out.” He sounded so certain.

Lance swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to cry. A tear slid down his cheek anyway, and he swiped at it furiously, only for another to follow. He tried his best to keep up, but they outran his already shaking hands. He could feel his breathing coming more and more difficult. Oh, God. Was he having another attack? He really couldn’t handle another one. Then Keith stepped forward and brushed the tears away, one after the other, then drew him in, gently. It was more of an offer, an invitation, than anything else. Lance took a tiny step forward, and Keith met him the rest of the way.

Lance felt the heat of Keith’s body acutely. It chased away the ice in his chest and put air back in his lungs. The gracefully muscled torso pressed against him. The smell of ginger and mint and Keith’s own unique scent. The silky dark locks against his ear. The arms around his waist. The hand that slid up into his hair. And he sighed. Lance allowed himself to place his hands on the small of Keith’s back. He allowed himself to melt into Keith’s embrace. This was good. It was good not to be “wanted”, but still wanted . Still cared for. Still embraced. It was a nice feeling.

“It’s going to be okay, Lance.” Keith’s voice sounded so very sure. Lance heard that secret fire again. How could Keith know that? “We’re gonna get you clean, okay? If that’s what you want. You won’t be alone. I won’t leave you alone, alright?”

Keith’s voice was soft in his ear, with that steadiness no one would ever suspect and that fierceness that Lance had so quickly come to love. He heard the kindness and warmth, too, and marveled how no one else seemed to notice. It was so obviously there. He rested his head on Keith’s shoulder and nodded. He wasn’t alone. He could do this.

“Alright,” he whispered. “Just please stay.”

Chapter Text

Keith left Lance to clean up the mess he had made, and headed for the darkened hallway. He’d decided to start at the back of the apartment and work his way to the living and kitchen area. He took his time, making sure that Lance would have a few minutes to himself. At the same time, he elected to push his own emotions to the back burner and focus on surveying Lance’s living space. It should offer some insight.

Keith opened the door at the very end of the hallway. This room, like the living area and hallway, was rather dark, with the blinds closed and the curtains drawn and not a single light on. A quick peek out the window in front of him revealed an unfurnished balcony facing east, overlooking the city and the mountains beyond. The four poster canopy bed to the left of the door was carefully made, and were it not for the subtle hint of lavender and bergamot clinging to the plush comforter, he’d assume to room was unused. The window behind the bed looked north, toward forests of great red trees, but it too was covered.

The nightstand. On top was a framed picture of Lance and Pidge, wearing matching blue and green bracelets. Another picture of a man and  a brown-eyed woman, another, elderly woman, and five brown-skinned, brown-haired children of various ages. Keith noticed that all five of the children had blue eyes and freckles, like the man. But Lance was still unmistakeable. His eyes were just that blue, his features so astoundingly unique, even as a little boy. His family.

Keith opened the drawer. Lube (cherry and regular), condoms, a few other “select” items (not that Keith was judging or in the mood to care one way or the other), a copy of Jane Austen’s Persuasion (excellent choice), earbuds, charger cables, and a stack of take-out menus. Pitiful. Keith picked up a familiar-looking bottle wrapped in a paper bag. Empty. Hadn’t Lance brought this to his place a couple of days ago? He gave it a sniff. Bourbon. It was a harsh contrast to that glorious image of Lance McClain surrounded in sunlight. Keith swallowed hard, wishing he could have just the second one.

The dresser. Socks and underwear (including some very interesting pieces, and only a few pairs of boxers) in the left top drawer, ties, pins, and cufflinks in the right. Pajamas in the second. T-shirts. Pants. No booze.

The walk-in closet. Suits, hung with matching pants. Winter clothes. Blazers and button-downs. Shoes. A suitcase. A large, very battered cardboard box with the words “home stuff” written on it in faded blue marker. It only had a single, peeling layer of tape, duct tape holding the corners together. Oddly enough, it was this, and not the cock ring or the blue lace thong, that made him feel like an intruder.

The bathroom. A bottle of vodka on the sink, along with numerous bottles and tubs and tubes of...okay, Keith had no idea what any of that stuff was. There was another, mostly empty vodka bottle on the edge of the giant bathtub. A bowl of spherical...somethings. Candles. Six different bottles of brightly-colored soaps. The shower, encased in frosted glass. There was actual soap in there, the ones that smelled like lavender and bergamot. No booze.

Everything that wasn’t soap -or whatever the hell that stuff was- was on a scale from white to gray. The sight of the never-lit candles and the lack of water stains on the bathtub faucet made Keith strangely sad. It felt like he was taking a tour of Lance’s life, and all he got to see were the empty spaces where things were supposed to be or used to be, but weren’t. And instead of filling those voids with paint jars and books, Lance hadn’t even bothered to try. He’d just let those spaces stay empty, let them linger and gather dust.

The rooms on the left side of the hallway were all guest bedrooms. Beds that had never been slept in, windows and curtains never opened. They were all the same, too. White bedding, gray floor, black wood furniture. There were specks of dust on the light switches. No booze, but still disheartening. Keith could imagine Lance thinking of his family, of the idea of someday reconnecting, of them coming here to visit him. But the rooms were empty.

The guest bathroom had another bottle on the back of the toilet, and at this point, Keith just left them out in the hallway. The curtain to the tub shower was drawn, and upon investigation, there was nothing in it. Like the master tub, it looked entirely unused, and the faucet was dusty. Everything was dusty. The medicine cabinet was empty. The sink drawer was empty. Everything was empty. The only sign it had ever been used was the half-roll of toilet paper on the dispenser and a mostly empty soap dispenser.

The first room on the other side of the hall was...impressive. A library. Every wall was covered in bookshelves. There was a nook out facing the river to the west, with one of those cushion-seat-thingies built into it. Another book, Finding Mañana , sat on the grey upholstered fabric. There was a coffee cup on the floor, and a half-empty bottle of Kahlua. Keith looked up and smiled at the fairy lights winding along the nook and edging the ceiling and all of the bookshelves. This was a space Lance loved. The bookshelves were only half full, but still. Effort had been made to make this room comfortable. It was a haven from Lance’s own emptiness.

The next room was also great. There was a black grand piano as the centerpiece, and also a Spanish guitar, an acoustic guitar, and a violin, all on stands. There was a window in here as well, drawn and curtained like all the others.  The stereo system seemed brand new and untouched. There was dust on the violin strings. On the lonely music stand, devoid of sheets. Keith looked sadly at the closed piano. There was a bottle of scotch that stood bare of dust on dusty ledge of the beautiful centerpiece instrument, not even a fingerprint to hint that it had ever been opened.

Once, Lance had entered this room. Perhaps, he’d thought to play. Why hadn’t he played something? Anything? How had this happened? What was he, Keith, going to do? He began breathing faster, hand shaking. No. He couldn’t do this here. Not now. Keith just had to swallow his own emotions and deal with the problem in front of him. At least for a little while longer.

The next room was entirely empty, nothing but another covered window. The blue light from the window was just enough that he could see the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. They settled on the floor, like a thin layer of apathetic snow. Gods, no wonder Lance was depressed. It was a marvel the man was functioning at all. There, he thought. See? Much more detached. Much better. Stay like this.

Keith somehow managed to gather up all the bottles and hauled them to the kitchen, laying them up on the bar. He looked at Lance, who had placed three bottles of vodka, a bottle of Kahlua, a bottle of Bailey’s, some whiskey, bourbon, wine, and tequila on the bar. Keith was impressed by the variety. And quantity. The luxury of being rich, perhaps. Or maybe it was Lance’s way of adding variety to the monotony of his own chaos.

Keith met Lance’s eyes. They looked broken and sad. But there was something else now, too. Something like determination. Something like pride. You should be proud. You should be proud of this. But Keith didn’t know how to say that, so he gave Lance a smile. Lance almost managed to return it. Almost.

He turned to the living room, separated from the kitchen by the bar running from the east wall where the shrouded glass stopped to where the living room and dining room blended together. This, Keith saw, was where Lance spent most of his time. There were brand new cat toys littering the floor, including a condo and a bed up against the window-wall. The entertainment center was made of a black wood and brushed steel, the wall behind it unadorned, even in large spaces where there was definitely room for something .

To the right of the large television, the shelves were full of DVDs in alphabetical order, and to the left, he saw a record player and a large pile of vinyls. There was a Mumford and Sons vinyl cover on the glass coffee table. The white carpet was worn, but clean. Keith smiled, despite the view of another empty balcony, a few vacant shelves, and that plain wall staring back at him. He really should have known. Lance was an arts nerd. Books, film, music. Lance clearly loved it all. Keith grabbed the vodka bottle from the coffee table and slid it up onto the bar.

The dining room was last. He saw what Lance meant. Lance had a fully stocked floorbar. Perfect. That was going to be a pain. Oh, well. Better start somewhere. His eye roved over the bottles. Many appeared to be foreign, expensive, and interesting. Like you could start a conversation with them. Keith smiled. Lance, the miserable drunk. Lance, the emotional pretty boy. Lance, the estranged son and youngest brother. Lance, the best friend and big brother to Pidge. Lance the arts nerd. Lance, the entertainer.  So many facets to someone the world would have him believe is a suave sex kitten/party animal. That version was fine, but Keith liked this version of Lance so much better. This version was so painfully human, and so much more beautiful for that.

Five minutes later, the ceremony began. Keith poured out the liquor, and Lance watched.

“So what happens now?” Lance asked. He was beginning to shake already, which had Keith worried. He’d seen a classmate in high school go through withdrawals once, and it had freaked him out. It was why he chose not to drink very often.

“Probably?” Keith said. “You’ll go through withdrawals, which means you can’t be alone...You might hate me for it later, but...I can stay, if you want.” Keith slid his backpack and phone onto one of the island chairs. “Or, if you’d rather, we can call somebody else, and I can wait with you until they get here.”

“You would do that?” Lance whispered. “You’d actually stay here? For...who knows how long?” Lance’s brows contracted, like he was confused. He had a tiny frown on his face, bottom lip stuck out just so as he tried to understand.

“Lance…” Keith took a deep breath. Emotions could happen later, being a friend needed to happen now. “You’re the first friend I’ve made in...fuck, like eight years. I don’t wanna lose you so soon. My-my life is better with you in it, Lance.”

And it was.

***

Shiro was blabbing his entire conversation with Krolia to Allura when his phone rang. He ignored it. The phone rang again. And again he ignored it.

He’d had to wait two hours more to tell her about. Had to brush off curious questions as best he could, and fend off an extremely persistent Pidge. But he outright refused to keep any secrets from Allura.

“-So she spent the last twenty years looking for us. I mean, mostly for him, obviously, but still...someone was looking for me.” It was a difficult concept to grasp after so long believing that he’d simply been unwanted and shipped off (literally) to be someone else’s problem. It was hard to believe the whole “I bet they’re out there somewhere” thing when you were found on the last barge to ever leave Japan. Allura’s hand tightened around his. And then his phone rang a third time.

“You should get that. It might be important,” Allura said softly. “Besides, they seem quite persistent.” Shiro sighed and pulled out his phone. The name Akira, followed by a purple monster face with fangs and six knife emojis. Shiro answered. But only because it was Keith.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I need you to do one of two things for me.” A pause. “After you promise you won’t tell anyone but Allura and she won’t tell anyone at all.” Well, at least he was thinking of Allura. Shiro relayed the terms to his girlfriend. She nodded with a smile. It probably wasn’t anything bad. Hopefully it involved Lance McClain-

“Done. Promised.”

“Good.” Aw. He didn’t even question it! “I need you to either come to Lance’s apartment and keep an eye on him for me, or I need you to go to my apartment and grab me some clothes and the stuff in my shower. Also set the cat up for a few days.” Shiro sighed.

“Keith, I love you, but if you wanna spend nights with Lance-wait, what do you mean ‘keep an eye on’? Is there something wrong?” Shiro stopped on the busy sidewalk, and Allura moved to stand facing him, bright eyes narrowed and keen.

“Yes. And I need help to make sure it gets better and I’m not calling Pidge because she’s been messaging me all day about what an awesome time she’s been having and it’s not my place to say anything. But I trust you, and you care, so…” It felt like a little weight had been lifted from Shiro’s massive shoulders. Keith did still trust him.

“Alright I’ll go to your place.” Allura made a pouty face. “Does it matter what I grab?”

“Just make sure the shirts fit. Dick.” Shiro grinned despite his growing concern.

“I think you mean ‘hero’.”

***

“My life is better with you in it, Lance.”

“My life is better with you in it, Lance.”

“My life is better with you in it, Lance.”

Lance buried his face in his hands beneath the hot water. His skin was crawling, he felt nauseous, and his body was shaking. His throat burned and ached with thirst. But it was that one declaration that was truly killing him.

“Your life is better with me in it, Lance.”

But it hadn’t been. It hadn’t been. Lance’s life was better now, with the beginnings of what could be weeks worth of withdrawals, than it had ever been with Nyma. And though the guilt and personal blame and all that other gunk was still in his heart, he could see that it was all lies. Lies and manipulation that he was finally starting to sort through. He wondered if this was going to end up being the worst best day of his life.  At the very least, Lance wasn’t so sure he’d be forgotten. Pidge and Keith, at least, wouldn’t forget.

“My life is better with you in it, Lance.”

Lance smiled. He made Keith’s life better. He’d improved someone’s life. Just by being him. He hadn’t even really had to try very hard. That someone being Keith Kogane was just a bonus. He wouldn’t mind, he thought, if Keith were to stay. As Lance stumbled into his bedroom, dressed so he wouldn’t end up flashing Keith by accident, he found the man waiting.

“You should try and rest. You might have trouble sleeping later,” Keith said, placing a gentle hand on Lance’s back and guiding him to the bed. Lance let Keith pull back the blankets. He didn’t feel like sleeping. He was too twitchy and nervous, but he did want an excuse to be alone. He spotted the trash can right in front of the nightstand the glass of water waiting next to the two lonely photographs. He wished the water was vodka. But there wasn’t any left.

“Hey,” Keith said, sitting on the bed next to him. “Shiro’s coming over to bring me some stuff so I can stay for a few days, okay? I don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want me to.”

“He’s your brother. And he’s Shiro.”

“Yeah, but he tells Allura everything.” Oh. “I don’t think she’d tell anyone, but…”

Lance thought about it. He wasn’t sure at all that he wanted Allura to know. He didn’t like Allura. But it seemed that Keith did. He’d said as much on his way over. That she was kind. That she’d done more for Shiro than Keith ever could. Lance wasn’t so sure about that last part, but hadn’t felt like arguing...No, Lance didn’t trust Allura. But at the same time, he didn’t want to force Keith to keep secrets from his brother.

“You can tell him the situation, but don’t tell him like, any stories or anything.”

“Can’t tell him what I don’t have,” Keith said. He gave a tired smile and ran his fingers through Lance’s wet strands. Lance shifted uncomfortably from his words. The fingers ran through again. “It’s okay, Lance. You don’t have to tell me anything. And I’m not going to ask.”

“You’re not?” Well that never happened. Even Pidge demanded everything.

“No, Lance. It’s your life, and you’re entitled to keep it as private as you want.” The hand moved again. It felt so hot in his chilly wet hair.

Lance furrowed his brows, concentrating on Keith’s words. The man was so mystifying. So...respectful. Even if he was hella rude and said “yeah” instead of “yes”. Actually…

“Keith?”

“Yeah?” Lance’s lips quirked.

“Dayak hates it when people say ‘yeah’. She says it make me sound uneducated.”

“Yeah, well. I’m some uneducated piece of shit from the slums, yeah? So yeah, I say ‘yeah’ a lot, yeah?” Lance couldn’t help but giggle at that. And to sigh into Keith’s touch. Keith didn’t mention that little detail, for which Lance was grateful.

“You’re not uneducated. You’re super smart. I know it.”

“Dude I don’t even have a GED. And with my...uh, discipline issues...I didn't do that great in school in any case, so...Yeah, I’m uneducated.” Lance slid his eyes to look at the man.

“Neither do I. Dropped out as soon as I could. It got in the way of my acting.” Lance swallowed. “I’ve always kinda regretted that.” Keith said nothing.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?” And Lance could hear that smirk in his voice.

“What ‘discipline issues’? Was it the fun kind?” Keith laughed, and shooed him over. Lance scooted, and Keith lay down next to him on top of the blankets.

“Oh, yeah. They were the fun kind.” Lance’s poor, exhausted heart skipped a beat at the absolutely evil grin on Keith’s face.

“Will you tell me?” The grin only widened.

“Well…” Keith worked his shoulders down into a more comfortable position. “Okay, so I was...bullied? I guess? A lot? For-for being a half. And for being gay. So, like, two winners, y’know?” Lance nodded, immediately feeling sad. “And, like, the cheerleaders were the worst. You’d think it would be the football players, but no, the cheerleaders.”

“Oh my God, what did you do?” Another evil grin. Jesus, Evil Keith was just as hot as Soft Keith.

“We’ll get to that. Anyway, the cheerleaders were the worst. They’d grope me and make fun of my looks and pull my hair. So after school let out, I went into the girl’s locker room with this other girl, Ina, who’d been having problems with them too, and we put bullion cubes in all of the showerheads while they were at practice. Then we just had to wait.”

“Keith, that is-you are the worst!” Keith just laughed.

“At the time, I was pretty sure it was the best thing I’d ever done in my life. Anyhow, Ina and I waited in the janitor’s closet with the janitor, Sal-because long story short, he hated them too-and just listened to the screams. And I swear, it was the best music I’d ever heard.” Keith smiled, and Lance felt himself smile too, even if only a little.

“You really didn’t get any shit from football players?”

“Nah, not at first. Because I was fucking James Griffin, the quarterback, until he decided it was time to make my life hell to prove how straight he was. Oh, yeah! Okay, so this one time, I was really pissed at my brother, right? He told me I needed to shape up my act ‘or else’. So this particular day, I was in a really bad mood. And Griffin comes up to me in front the school after he caught me skipping and…” Keith swallowed hard. “He called me a Half, and a faggot, and a bunch of other stuff, so I beat the shit out of him and then sucked him off right there in the school parking lot, in broad daylight, and like eight classrooms saw me do it. He and I were actually cool after that, but my parents had to pull the ‘broken home’ card to get me out of that one. And that’s the story of how I was officially outed to my parents.” Lance really was laughing now. “But...they already knew.”

“Oh? How?” Keith was quiet for a while.

“Because I saw you in a movie and said you were pretty. I was ten then. And then Shiro, who’d kinda already figured, had me list off some of my favorite movie characters. And...well, they were all really pretty guys, so...I didn’t get it at the time. I didn’t get it after the...exhibition, either. At first I thought they were disappointed because I was gay. But no, they were just disappointed because I basically turned a large portion of the student body into voyeurs. My bad.”

Lance chuckled weakly, pushing down his symptoms in favor of this authentic moment. This was a side of Keith that was in no way surprising. That this man could raise all the hell in the world and be entirely unrepentant was the best kind of obvious. And it brightened his day.

“Wait, so I was your sexual awakening?” Keith gave an exaggerated groan. “I mean, I don’t blame you. I am quite beautiful-oof!” Keith hit Lance square in the face with a pillow. Lance found he wasn’t bothered by Keith’s confession. He didn’t seem to mind Lance now one way or the other.

“Let’s see. What else did I do? Oh! I took a shit in the garden club’s vegetable patch. I didn’t even have a reason. I just did it. Because I could.”

“I caught a raccoon and locked it in the art room after the art teacher made a homophobic comment about another teacher. Also, Griffin and I broke into the gym and painted a mural of a tanuki holding a pride flag riding a Daibazaani wolf on the wall.”

“I once got caught eating an edible in English class and my teacher just leaned in and whispered, ‘Listen, if you give me some, I won’t tell,’ so I did and I’ll be damned if that wasn’t the happiest I’d ever seen that miserable son of a bitch.” Lance just laughed. Doing the math, Keith had probably only spent two, maybe three years in high school. And it must’ve been wild.

“I took Shiro’s supervising officer’s vehicle for a joyride. In front of both of them. And a sergeant. And a sergeant major. The only reason I wasn’t arrested was because the Army literally couldn’t afford to take me to court because of the war.”

“Shiro once got so fucking drunk he hit on his own boyfriend, then cried about how pretty he was. I recorded the whole thing. I might actually have it somewhere. I’m not sure. I was drunk too, and high, so I hid the camera from myself and still haven’t found it. Then Mom came home, took in the scene, and said, ‘If you boys share with me, I won’t tell your father.’ Then later, Dad came home to find all four of us drunk, high as Atlas Tower, watching Heavy Metal. He just looked around really slow, turned around, and left. He told us the next morning he spent the night at a 24-hour Starbucks.” Lance roared with laughter. He couldn’t help it.

“I put hair remover cream in the conditioner bottles in the boys’ locker room, just to see who used conditioner.”

“I had sex with some guy I only ever met that once in the recording studio for morning announcements. I’m not even sure if he went to the school. I think he might’ve been a parent.”

“The janitor and I put rubber ducks in every single toilet.”

“I put skunk oil in the AC vent of the teacher’s lounge.”

“I outran the entire cross country team and then spoke only Japanese when the coach asked me to sign up. I wrote an English paper in Japanese too.”

“I’d make hentai covers for people’s notebooks for five dollars or fifty GAC.”

“I walked out of sex-ed and told the protesting teacher that the class ‘didn’t apply to me’. One of the other kids said, ‘Yeah, ‘cause no one’d wanna fuck you,’ so naturally I said, ‘Not true, just ask your dad.’ and walked out. I only found out later, his dad was young and hot and actually was gay, so I kinda felt bad. But I still never told him it was just a joke. I hope it worries him forever. I hope it keeps him up at night.”

“I rigged the speakers to play ‘My Pony’ during a school assembly. Not that filthy, I know, but Garrison High’s rival team is the Stallions, so naturally, the entire student body was roaring and the teachers were panicking and I’m probably really lucky I didn’t get caught. Later, at the game, the entire school played the song on their phones. Some even brought speakers for the occasion. I’m just glad I was there to see the birth of the tradition. I only know about it because Griffin was sucking me off under the bleachers before the game started.”

“For good luck?” Lance managed to get out. God, Keith had been a legend, and probably no one even knew.

“Oh, you know it. Let’s see. What else did I do?”

“There’s more?!”

“Oh, yeah. Tons. I was right demon in high school. Got in a lot of fights. Drove my brother to tears. My father to tears. Mom was either in tears of frustration or amusement, depending on what I’d done. After Griffin decided he hated me, she was the one who bought the fart bombs I put in their lockers. Idiot never thought to hide his combination from me. The rest, well, that’s why they make stethoscopes.”

“That is not why they make stethoscopes, Keith!” Lance was grinning, though. “Your mom sounds really cool.”

“Yeah, she was. My dad, like, we loved each other. Really. But we didn’t have the same connection. He and Shiro were really close, and I was really close with Mom…” A small smile crossed Keith’s lips. “She was my biggest fan. Always on my side. Even when I was wrong. And I was wrong a lot. She was adventurous and cool and she didn’t yell at me unless I deserved it. Sometimes, not even then.”

“Do you-do you ever go and visit them?”

“Not for a while. In between Shiro’s tours I went. He made me go. I might ask if he wants to go some time, but he seems really busy with his classes and all.” Lance hummed in thought. “But...I’d like to have something good to tell them, first, y’know?” Lance did know. If he had something good to say, he might go see his father. “Not just say, ‘Hi, it’s Keith. I’m a fucking useless trainwreck. Anyway, how’s death treatin’ ya? Food good?’ I want...I want to give them something that they can be proud of.” Keith opened his mouth to say something else, but then closed it again.

“What?”

“Shiro’s here,” he said, getting up. “You stay here and rest, okay?”

Lance nodded, knowing Keith probably wanted a private conversation with his brother. He wondered how Keith could know his brother was here. He assumed the man’s hearing was better than his.

“Okay. Tell him I said ‘hi’. And...thanks, Keith.” Keith smiled that crooked, pointy-tooth smile, eyes shining luminescent in the dark, and Lance’s heart fluttered. But that just might be the onset of withdrawals.

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re probably gonna hate me by the end of the week.”

“If I say so, don’t believe it. Also...you’re not fucking useless. Not even a little bit. A trainwreck? Yeah, maybe. But who isn’t? Just...you’re not useless, okay?”

“Okay, Lance. Whatever you say.” Keith smiled, and Lance knew he didn’t believe it. And then he exited the room, leaving Lance to toss and turn by himself, Blue curled up on the pillow next to him, picking her head up and squeaking softly at him.

As much as he had to think about and reflect upon, Lance could only focus on one thing. As much as he was feeling, as much as his heart was breaking, it was there. As much as his head was aching and his hands shook and the bugs crawled and his stomach twisted and his muscles tensed, Lance couldn’t help but play those words over and over in his head:

“My life is better with you in it, Lance.”

Chapter Text

Keith took a moment in the hallway to compose himself. He took a shaking breath and looked down at his hands. They trembled before him, like snow-covered branches in a storm. This had been exhausting. One gasping breath after another rattled in his lungs as he forced air in and out, heart pounding in his chest and in his ears. Get a grip. You can't do this. Not now.

Detaching himself had been exhausting, and now that he had a minute away from the root of his problem, he was having trouble keeping the panic at bay. But there was only so much he could do, and he needed to talk to Shiro. Shiro would know what to do. He always did.

Shiro was surveying the main living space, taking everything in. Keith caught the slight furrow to his brow, and knew Shiro could feel it too. The miserable fog of isolation that permeated every corner.

“Hey,” Keith said softly, leaning in the entryway. Shiro still started.

“Jesus, this place is depressing.” Shiro’s voice was only a whisper. Like he was afraid the dust might hear him and take it personally.

“Yeah. I’m thinking about painting something for him,” Keith said, looking at the sheer amount of empty wall space in the living room and dining room. “Or more than one something.”

“Or maybe just turn a light on, I mean damn .” Keith walked over and threw himself down on the couch. “Do you wanna start talking?”

“Give me a minute. I’m-I’m…” Keith ran his hands through his hair as panic threatened to swallow him again. “I’m really tired.”

“Your stuff’s on the island with your backpack.”

“Thanks.” How was he supposed to begin this conversation?

“Keith,” Shiro began, sitting down next to him. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Leave it to Shiro to help him out. Shiro knew how the whole “social interaction” thing worked.

“So...Lance is, um. Lance is an alcoholic.” Shiro blew air out through his cheeks. “And, I mean, I know I haven’t known him that long, but I feel like I should have figured it out somehow? So there’s that and then Pidge is gonna fit into the same category as soon as she finds out, and she will find out and Lance of course wants to dry out because duh so of course now I’ve volunteered to help him do it and I have no idea what I’m doing or-fucking shit, I don’t know anything!”

Keith put his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, fingernails digging into his scalp. His breathing was becoming ragged again. Shiro began moving his hand in circles on his back, the way he used to do between his tours when Keith was struggling.

“But I know I care. A lot. Probably more than is warranted, honestly. But...he’s my friend, Shiro. Maybe the first real friend I’ve ever had. Ever. And I don’t wanna lose that. But I also don’t know how to fix this. I’m so far out of my depth. So out of touch. With all of this. With-with this . With people. With emotions. With giving a shit. I just-”

“Hey,” Shiro whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. “One thing at a time. The people stuff doesn’t come to you naturally, so this’ll be good practice. Lance is fragile, especially now, so he’ll be a great crash-test dummy-”

“Wow, okay. That’s fucked up, man.” Shiro shrugged.

“Test subject then. As for Pidge, yeah, you probably won’t be able to avoid her much longer. Maybe until tomorrow morning. And then it’ll be up to you to make it better-”

“Oh perfect.” Just perfect. Keith got to solve that too.

“As for Lance, he should probably get professional help.” Shiro spoke with a finality that gave Keith the opening to state what Shiro probably already suspected.

“He won’t. He doesn’t want to risk what the media would do with the idea. Apparently he was accused of a cocaine addiction not long ago and he’s worried it’ll come back. Shiro, Lance is not going to get professional help. I can tell.” Shiro took a deep breath and sat back on the couch, staring at the weird, expensive ceiling lights.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. So what are you gonna do about it?” Damn.

“I was kinda hoping you were gonna answer that, to be honest.”

“You know better than that.” Keith did know better than that. But it hadn’t stopped him from hoping.

“Well…” Keith ran his fingers through his hair again. “He obviously can’t be left alone. Contact with Pidge should be limited to after the worst of this is over. In the meantime, I’ll stay here and make sure he doesn’t die or anything.”

“You’re a true sentimental, Keith.” Says the person who referred to Lance as a crash-test dummy for my emotional constipation.

“I just-I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.” Keith was disturbed by how small his own voice sounded. How small, how ineffective he felt.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but it seems a lot of bad stuff has already happened to Lance. And it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.” Keith could feel more coming, so he waited for Shiro to work up to it. “I’ve known a lot of old army buddies. I’ve known more than a few with drinking problems. It’s not like you’re sick for a few days and then everything is fine again. The psychological effects can last years . Depressive, anxious, or irritable mood swings. It’ll take at least a week before he can function day-to-day without help. There’s no trigger for it, no way to prevent it. One minute, hour, or day he’ll be bright and enthusiastic, and then the next, he’ll be depressed, anxious, maybe even paranoid. And Lance? Keith, Lance is already all of those things.

“If you’re going to do this, if you’re really sure you want this, then you need to realize what you’re doing. You’re going to be a part of his life for longer than a few days. This is probably a few years you’re talking here, at least in one way or another and I’m not sure if-”

“I know. I’ll do it. I can do this.” Keith hadn’t known how long of a commitment he was in for with this, but he wasn’t backing out. He wasn't letting go of the one friend he'd made in the last six years.

Shiro appraised him, clearly impressed. A proud smile slowly crossed his face. He reached out and ruffled Keith’s hair, just like he used to do when they were kids.

“You know,” Shiro began. “If you stay, you’re either gonna hate him, or you’re never gonna get over him.”

“I know. But I’m still gonna help him.”

“Okay,” Shiro replied with a smile. “So how do you wanna start?”

“Avoid Pidge for as long as possible. Let Lance sleep for as long as possible. He’s not that heavy of a drinker. Mornings and nights, it seems, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And take these stupid things down,” he growled. Keith marched over to the long glass portion of the wall, obscured by heavy drapes, and surveyed the task before him.

“Here,” Shiro said, kneeling down. Climb up. I can take it.” He was grinning, and Keith smiled, kicking off his shoes. He climbed up and stood on Shiro’s shoulders, placing his hands on the covered glass, walking them up as Shiro slowly stood. “Can’t believe he let those nasty boots in his apartment.” Shiro grunted once he straightened his legs.

“Hey, Shiro?” He began detaching the end of the first curtain rod. Hopefully, Lance wouldn’t be too mad at him later.

“Yeah?” Keith heard the strain in Shiro’s voice and began working fast as he could without fumbling. His brother was only just twenty-seven, but his body seemed far older, his bones weary and worn.

“What’s it like in Atlas Tower? In-in Allura’s place, I mean?”

“You mean was it a culture shock?” Keith got the rod unfastened and removed the thick, heavy curtains.

“Yeah, like did you step in and think, ‘I definitely don’t belong here,’ and ‘Everyone knows I don’t belong here’?” Keith refastened the rod and Shiro walked sideways to the next one.

“Oh, yeah. I think it was obvious the first time Allura invited me up that I’d never seen anything like that before. And I definitely felt out of place, like I didn’t belong. The help was there, and one of them was Asian, so that made it even weirder.”

“Do you get used to it?” Keith got the second rod unfastened and slid the curtains off.

“Yeah? I guess? It really comes down to your mentality.” Shiro slowly lowered himself back to his knees after Keith replaced the naked rod. They began folding the thick curtains together.

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, so you kind of have this mentality of ‘there are people like us and there are people like them’ when it comes to Lower and Elite, right?” Shiro looked like he was giving a class lecture, professor voice and all. Keith nodded. “You just have to realize that they’re people, just the same as you. They might have it a little better, or a lot better, or maybe even easier, but they’re just people. There is no ‘us and them’, Keith. There’s just ‘people who live somewhere and somewhat different.’”

There was an “us and them”, but Keith didn’t care to argue with Shiro. He didn’t want to be the one who broke Shiro’s illusion.

“So if I try hard enough, could I blend in here? While I’m here, I mean?” Because this definitely wouldn’t be permanent.

“I’m saying you don’t have to. You just have to be a person, and that’ll be good enough.”

Keith nodded slowly. He could do that.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“What I said earlier, about hating Lance or being-”

“Completely screwed?” Keith mumbled. “What about it?”

Shiro looked out at the river, and the slums, and the mountains on display before them.

“I know you never really wanted a relationship, but-”

“I’ve always wanted that,” Keith interrupted again, without really thinking about it. His voice was small, almost pleading as he said, “But no one else ever wanted that with me.”

Keith plucked at a shredded hole in his jeans, hating how vulnerable he sounded. He really shouldn’t have said anything. But the image of Lance cloaked in sunlight, the image of the broken yet somehow determined blue eyes staring him down from the other side of a sea of bottles, the image of long brown fingers running all over his paint brushes, his jars, his art, his life. The image of a man curled up asleep in his lap. The warm blue eyes searing into him, heating him up from the inside out in ways he had never known before.

He shouldn’t say anything, but it was Shiro.

“I’m definitely not gonna get over him,” he all but whispered.

***

Hunk was washing dishes while Lotor cleaned the equipment. Coran was sweeping the floor. Acxa had been dismissed and had gone to tonight’s fight (if Lotor was to be believed). Coran had just finished telling some wild story about his grandfather with an unpronounceable name.

“So…,” Lotor said into the peaceful silence. “I like Pidge. I think she’s great.”

“Yes! I quite like the young lady! Granted she’s very energetic and...enthusiastic...but I feel like she is your perfect complement in many ways!” Coran set the broom aside and grabbed the mop bucket and began aggressively mopping the floor. Hunk laughed.

“I’m glad you guys like her. I like her too.”

“You say she’s Italian?” Lotor queried, setting his rag in the basket to be washed, along with his apron.

“Kind of. After Colleen graduated from GU, they were sent to some base in Italy. Pidge only moved here when she was ten. She speaks Italian fluently, learned it concurrently with English.”

“Then you need to find out what her favorite Italian cuisine is, and make it for her!” Coran cried. Lotor hummed in agreement. “And Lotor, you need to ask Acxa out on an actual date!” Lotor grimaced.

“I’ve tried. She refused. Doesn’t trust me. Which is fair, but still…” Lotor sighed, untying what was left of his bun. “But she says maybe someday we can give it a shot. I’m willing to wait for that.” Lotor smiled. Hunk couldn’t help but smile too. He clapped the man on the shoulder.

“Right, so tomorrow, we should start putting in the sconces and the rest of the lighting and I’ll reach out to Keith to see if he wouldn’t mind doing some artwork for us.” Lotor nodded in agreement.

“I do hope he’ll agree to it! This is something of a family and friends enterprise isn’t it?!” Coran set the mop aside. His demeanor had a sudden solemnity to it that Hunk and Lotor registered immediately.

“You know,” the older Altean began. “I’m awfully proud of you boys. This place has given me a renewed sense of purpose, and you two give me hope for the future. I’m truly proud to see the young men you’re both growing up to be.” Coran smiled with his eyes, mouth hidden in his mustache. “Now you two get out of here. I’ll finish up.”

Lotor and Hunk grabbed their respective coat and vest and headed outside, only to find it was barely cold enough to need them. Lotor sighed happily.

“I know. It feels good, doesn’t it? Waiting for spring? Knowing it’s on it’s way?” Hunk was eager, almost impatient for it to come.

“Hunk, my friend? Spring is here . Why, by the end of the week, the afternoons will be downright balmy and the sun will show his face each day. I suppose you’ve missed it?”

“So much. I miss it from the onset of fall to the return of spring.” Lotor clasped his arm and headed to his mother’s place on the edge of the Middle Street. Hunk headed for the parking garage. From there, he’d drive to the Middle Street apartments on the edge of the city. And he’d dream of the sun the entire way there, the second he climbed into bed, and straight on until morning.

***

Ten minutes later, Shiro was walking home, he’d already texted Allura what had happened. It was only five minutes from Monolith to Atlas Tower. Closer. Everything was getting closer. As he headed into Atlas, he stared at the interior, putting himself in Keith’s introverted, suspicious shoes. He could see how the Elite District could freak him out. Quiznak, it had freaked him out. He stared up at the large wall depicting the Castle of Lions and the Great City, the rolling hills and distant purple mountains cloaked in Juniberries.

Shiro trudged over to the elevator and hit the top button. He stared out the glass doors, watching Altea and the Border Mountains fade from view. He sighed.

He’d thought Lance was fine, honestly. Yeah, he’d shown up drunk the first time Shiro had met him, but that had seemingly been a one time thing.

Shiro ran his real hand over his face. He should have known. He of all people, having known over a dozen people with the same problem, should have known. He should have known when Lance woke up the next morning with seemingly nothing more than a headache. He should have known. Hindsight is a vicious thing.

It was disturbing. Lance McClain was, by all media appearances, an admittedly hard-partying, but still exceptionally vibrant, happy individual. He oozed exuberance and enthusiasm wherever he went. He was never without that smile plastered to his face. He should have known. He should have known that person wasn’t real.

He should have known.

The glass doors slid apart, and Allura was standing there waiting for him. Shiro walked into her arms, and she drew him close.

“He’s just a kid,” Shiro whispered. “He’s so young. How could I-” Allura drew away, taking his face in her hands.

“Now you listen to me, Shirogane Takashi. This is not your fault. Do you hear me? You do not know this boy. You’ve met him only once. This is not your fault, my love.” She brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones. “Not even a little bit.” Shiro nodded. It really wasn’t, he thought. But he couldn’t help the guilt.

“Now,” Allura said, taking his hands. “Did you tell Keith about his mother?”

“No. Now isn’t the time. But I will.” Shiro looked down at her, the fierceness in her eyes. Keith was wrong. Allura’s blues were prettier. “I-I’m so proud of him, ‘Llura. Of Keith. For sticking with his friend.” Shiro didn’t miss Allura’s smirk at the word “friend”. “I’m proud and surprised and-God it’s just so much for him in one week. I just hope he’s up for this.”

“I’m sure he is,” Allura said gently. “Now come on, you need to eat something.”

***

It's just another day

It's just another year

"One step at a time", they say

"One trip, and you're back that way"

I don't recognize these eyes

I don't recognize these hands

Please believe me when I tell you

That this is not who I am

Lance jumped when he felt the hand on his shoulder. He was nervous and fidgety. He was trying to sleep, but he couldn’t. There were bugs all over his skin and no amount of rubbing or scratching would send them away.

“Sorry,” a voice whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Were you asleep?”

“No,” Lance mumbled into the pillow. “I’m trying, but I’m all...twitchy. I can’t get comfortable. I keep getting up to pace. My head hurts. My hands are shaky. I swear my body is covered in ants and...I swear no matter how hard I try, I can only think of one thing.”

The echo of Keith’s words from earlier had long since faded in the last few hours. Now all that he was left with was growing discomfort and an obsession he couldn’t shake. Maybe he couldn’t do this. It was going to get a lot worse.

That perfect hand found his hair again.

If I recover, will you take me back again?

I'm just another, trying hard to fit right in

But my photographs remind me of who I used to be

If only I could go back when I, I was me

“Everything’s going to be okay, Lance,” Keith whispered. The man’s voice shook, betraying...no, not fear. Care. Keith cared . “I’m right here, and everything is going to be just fine.” The hand stroked his hair. It didn’t help his anxiety, but it helped him to not feel alone.

“But I fucked up so bad! I can’t believe this! Keith, look at me! Look what I’ve done to myself! I can’t believe I did this.” Lance rolled over onto his back, arm over his eyes, tears streaming down to his ears. The ants crawled into them to drink the water that collected there.

“This is not your fault, Lance.” That hand didn’t stop. “This isn’t your fault. You’re twenty-one years old and you’re a mess. Well, guess what? Same goes for every other twenty-one-year-old I’ve ever met. Or heard about. You’re not a failure, and you’re not weak. And I’m proud of you. Do you hear me? I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for admitting you have a problem and I’m proud of you for trying to overcome it. And don’t you ever doubt it, okay?”

Lance bit his lip.

I'll try hard to make this right

I'll try hard to win this fight

"One step at a time", they say

"One trip, and you're back that way"

I don't recognize these eyes

I don't recognize these hands

Please believe me when I tell you

That this is not who I am

“Don’t let me slip up, okay?” Lance sniffled. “Promise?”

“I promise, Lance.” The hand in Lance’s hair didn’t pause in its rhythm. Keith’s voice did not waver. Lance nodded minutely.

“I won’t beg. No matter how much it hurts, I won’t beg.” It seemed a hollow, untrustworthy declaration for a suffering addict to make.

“I know you won’t. And even if you did, I wouldn’t cave to you.” Lance managed a tiny smile. He felt the mattress shift as Keith sat down next to him on top of the blankets.

“Thank you, Keith.”

“Anytime, Lance.” And Lance couldn’t help but think he meant it. He sighed, feeling his body finally more at ease. His exhausted mind began to drift immediately, on toward the what he knew would likely be the worst morning of his life. But it didn’t matter. He was going to be fine. Keith would make sure if it.

Keith’s hand was still in his hair, just resting there now. Its heat was soothing to his aching, itching body. Lance drifted closer. He could do this. He could.

"Keith?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope when I get better, I'm someone I like." I hope when I get better, I'm someone you like.

"You-You will be. I know it."

Give me strength to fight

Help me feel alive again

Make me whole inside

Instead, this hole inside is killing me

And I'm begging you

Chapter Text

“The Warden is coming to see you. You’d do well to cooperate.”

Shiro maintained silence. His one remaining arm hung from a chain lodged into the rock wall. His hand was numb, tingling when he moved. He could still feel the dull throb where his fingernails had been removed. Along his torso, long burn marks oozed, glistening in the dim light of the stone cell.

He spent his time counting. He counted seconds, minutes, hours, days, footsteps. As best he could, anyway. He thought it was days since he’d slept. They kept kicking him awake. He thought it was weeks since he’d been captured. But he couldn’t be sure. He just knew he had to escape. He had what he needed. Now he needed to get it to the coalition.

A set of heavy footsteps. And a large...dog? Shiro thought it was a dog.

“This him?” said a deep voice. Shiro looked up. A massive figure stood in the entryway. A huge mastiff loomed next to the shadow.

“Yes, Warden.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He won’t talk.”

“I see.” The figure turned to him and Shiro stared, maintaining careful control of his emotions. The less fear he felt, the better. “Tell me, soldier. Do you know what your codename is?” Shiro said nothing. “You’re the Paladin. A knight of heroism and chivalry. Do you know what that means?”

It could mean a lot of things, but he doubted any of them were good coming from “The Warden”. Shiro stared at the massive figure. He was unafraid. He would complete his mission, or he would die trying. They would get nothing.

“It means you are a relic. A man of honor. Not a dying breed, but a dead one. You are the last of your kind, Takashi Shirogane. Especially now that we’ve taken care of your platoon. There’s nothing left for you, Paladin. You’ve lost.” A heavy hand settled on his head, drawing down his face, under his chin, mocking in its imitation of affection. “There’s no place for good men anymore.”

I haven’t lost unless you break me.

“But I am a man of mercy. The Galra Empire will rise, and we can either raise you as a hero or crush you beneath our boot. If you tell me what your precious coalition is planning, then I can show you mercy. If you remain uncooperative, I will break you.”

Shiro wouldn’t break. He stared down The Warden, gaze unwavering, blood boiling in hatred. Men like this were going to tear the world apart, their own country included.

“I don’t like his gaze,” The Warden finally said. “Take his eyes.”

The next thing Shiro knew, he was being restrained against the wall, and he was screaming.

I will not break.

…

Shiro woke with a start, staring at the ceiling. Beside him, Allura was sleeping peacefully. He felt like he was being smothered, blankets, pillows, the mattress pressing in on all sides. There was sand all over in the sheets, grinding against his skin. He couldn’t breath and he couldn’t trust it. It was too comfortable. Too uncomfortable. The ground wasn’t destroying his hip, his ribs, or his shoulder and he could feel his arm. He wasn’t in pain. And it was wrong .

Slowly, carefully, Shiro slipped out of bed, feet hitting the rug. It was incredibly quiet in the penthouse. He could barely even hear the thrum of the heater. He crept silently to the walk-in closet and curled up on the floor. Much better.

There was no warmth here, no companionship. Just him smuggled away into a small, dark space, hidden and exposed at the same time. It was familiar. It wasn’t safe.

…

He woke hours later with his head in Allura’s lap, her warm brown fingers running gently through his silver hair. She kept his head out of the sand.

“Come back to me, Shiro.” Allura murmured. “Shiro, come back to me.”

It took Shiro a minute to remember he had eyes he could open. When he finally opened them, there was Allura, long hair fallen and dishevelled, eyebrows knit with tender concern.

“There you are,” Allura said, voice oozing affection. “I woke and didn’t know where you were.”

Shiro said nothing, snuggling against her belly. He hadn’t meant to worry her. But then, he hadn’t meant to spend his second tour as a prisoner of war either. That’s just what happened sometimes.

“Yeah, just...give me a minute. I got a little lost.” He wasn’t ready to move yet, despite the soreness of his limbs and the sand against his skin. Allura nodded, still stroking his hair.

“You should go visit Keith today. I’m sure he could use you. And...I’ll bet you could use him too.” That didn’t sound good...

“Hey. Allura, listen-”

“No, my love. You listen. I love you, always. But sometimes, I don’t know what to do. I don’t always know how to help you. But Keith? He helps you. You always come back from seeing him a little bit stronger. Like you said, he puts you back together.”

“And you keep me from falling apart. I remember,” Shiro murmured, pressing her fingers to his smiling lips. “And I won’t forget. I promise.” Shiro sighed and picked himself up off the floor, helping Allura up.

“Good! And maybe consider talking to him today about his mother.”

Shiro wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. He knew that the longer he waited, the less likely it was that he’d find the courage to say something. Keith wouldn’t likely have any interest in meeting his mother, whether she’d been looking for him or not, but Krolia deserved an opportunity to be a mother to her son. And Keith definitely deserved someone else to love him.

When Shiro looked back, most of the blood-red sand had drifted away back into the corners, waiting to find him.

***

Lance had hoped that he’d feel better come morning. He hadn’t expected to, but he’d hoped. Instead, he felt so much worse. A cursory glance at his phone (which had somehow found its way to the nightstand) told him it was just after eight in the morning.

Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours clean. Which meant his body hated him even more now. Twenty-four hours clean. Lance had barely slept. He couldn’t rest for long. He’d felt twitchy and anxious and thirsty . But he must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because this felt infinitely worse.

Twenty-four hours clean. His heart was beating too fast and his breathing came in short, rapid breaths. His entire body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. The anxious feelings from yesterday had been intensified and his stomach was twisted in knots. His body was shaking. He could still feel the bugs crawling, but there were more of them now, and they were bigger. Díos , he just wanted a drink. He needed a drink. Twenty-four hours clean. Twenty-four hours clean. Lance got a sticky note out of his nightstand and a pen and wrote it down in shaking, nearly illegible cursive. Twenty-four hours clean.

There was a knock at the door, followed by Keith. Keith looked hardly better than he did. The man had deep purple shadows under his eyes and his skin was even paler than usual. His hair was dirty and his clothes were rumpled.

“Did you sleep?” he asked. Why are you stalking me?

“Not really,” Lance admitted. Of course I didn’t sleep, dumbass. “I must’ve gotten a few hours though, because I feel so much worse than last time I remember. You didn’t sleep much either.” You look like shit.

“No, but that’s normal for me. Um...If I were to go out and get some food, would that be okay? I didn’t bring much with me-”

“What’s mine is yours. Take it. I’m not up to eating anyway.” If he ate anything, it would definitely be coming back up. He needed a drink.

“Are you up to moving?” No. Keith took a few steps into the room. Lance flinched. Keith’s presence wasn’t doing anything for his current state, despite the man’s obvious effort. Relax. It’s Keith. He’s not going to hurt you.

Keith noticed the flinch, and he stopped. His face turned even paler than usual as he froze, clearly wounded. Then he shook his head, trying to dislodge some painful thought.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Lance’s heart twinged with guilt. Keith’s kicked puppy look would probably stick with him for awhile.

“I know you didn’t. And I didn’t mean to get upset about it. I just…” Keith trailed off.

“Get that a lot, huh? Donde esta Azul? ” Lance pushed himself up, searching for his cat. He really wanted to stay in bed, but he figured the living room might be a better space to spend the day. He felt a need to be alone, but at the same time, he didn’t think he’d be able to bear the isolation.

Díos , was this how Keith felt all the time? Snarky, with barely controlled anger and  constant irritation at the existence of other people? Probably. Which only further begged the question of why Keith wanted to be around him. Maybe he really did just want a chance to bone him after all? Wait, what? Where had that come from? Keith is your friend.

“Uh…”

“Sorry. Where’s Blue?” Focus. The asshole’s right in front of you. Now’s not the time.

“Oh!” Keith grinned, long canines glinting in the blue light peeking through a crack in the drapes. “You’re gonna wanna see this. She’s being very cute in the living room. Come on. You should get some water anyway. Are you hungry?”

“I’ll be lucky if water stays down to be honest.” The moment Lance’s feet hit the floor, he stumbled. He gasped in alarm, not having expected to be that unsteady. Keith leapt forward with a cat-like grace and caught him.

“Come on,” Keith said, slipping a shaking hand around Lance’s waist. “I’ll keep you on your feet.” Lance swallowed a nasty remark about Keith wanting him on his back instead. This isn’t you. You’re not like this. You’re a nice person. Get your head on straight. Keith cares about you.

“Thanks.” Lance whispered. In other circumstances, Keith’s arm around his waist would probably have been the best thing that ever happened to him. Now, it was just a reminder of his own weakness. Keith gave his waist a gentle squeeze.

“You can walk on your own,” Keith whispered. “I’m just here if you need me.”

Lance nodded.

“You’re tense today. I’m sorry.” If this bothers you so much, leave. Please don’t leave. Just leave. Lance could feel the tightness in Keith’s body as they walked down the hallway toward the living room. It was odd, but something seemed different about the space ahead.

“I’m usually tense. But Pidge texted me a few minutes ago, so that doesn’t help. She wants to know why she hasn’t heard from us.”

“Did you say anything?” Lance felt his erratic heart rate quicken. More sweat beaded up on his forehead. If he could just breathe normally, he’d feel so much better...He really needed a drink.

“I said that I’d talk to her later.” Well that’s just fantastic. Lance said nothing, trying not to panic, or to get angry. Keith had done the best he was capable of. Lance probably could’ve done better, but objectively he knew Keith tried his best. “It’s not right to keep her in the dark, Lance. Pidge loves you. A lot.”

Lance knew Keith was one hundred percent right, but still. He was afraid. He had absolutely no idea how to handle this. He didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want her to think less of him. Or worse, blame herself.

His thoughts were cut short when he entered the living room. The light fixtures hanging suspended above the bar and island were on and the drapes had been removed from the glass wall, exposing the barren balcony. Wow. It almost looks welcoming in here.

“I hope you don’t mind. I was thinking I could find something else to go there. Something...I think the word Shiro used was ‘sheer’? Like, translucent, I guess.”

Lance looked around the space. He could see the river and the long horizon out the glass and just the fact that there were lights on utterly transformed the space. He noticed the rumpled couch cushions.

“Did you sleep on the couch?”

“I...laid on your couch. Didn’t do much sleeping.” Seriously? Lance sighed, taking his weight off Keith. Keith let his arm fall. Lance threw himself down on the couch. It was all he had energy for. He really needed a drink.

“Keith, I have three spare bedrooms. Just pick one.” Keith looked at him with uncertainty. It suddenly occurred to Lance that Keith may never have been welcomed as a guest in someone else’s home unless they were a foster family. Maybe not even then. And, given how fucked up Garrison City seemed to be, he may very well never have seen what the Elite District looked like. Keith wasn’t comfortable here. It wasn’t even close to his element. Sympathy cut through his scathing inner voice like it was butter.

“No, seriously, Keith. Make yourself at home. Eat what you like. I have a keurig that you’re welcome to. Put your feet up on the coffee table. Shower, if you want. Forget to use a coaster. I don’t care, just...make yourself comfortable, okay?” Keith gave a hesitant nod, not meeting his eyes. Lance looked around. “ Donde esta Azul? ”

“Curled up on her bed. She went to sleep a little bit ago after she finished her breakfast.” Lance turned to the little cat bed next to the condo. Azul was curled up in a little fluffy disk in the middle of her bed. Glad someone can sleep.

“Aww! Mi  gatita linda . ‘My cute kitten’,” he translated, finally cracking a smile. Keith smiled back at him. “I don’t suppose you know what to do about Pidge?” Keith grimaced.

“Honestly? I think we need to tell her the truth.” Of course you do. You don’t know how to do anything else but be honest. Lance took a moment to gauge his current state. He was managing. He was feeling terrible, but he was managing. The rapid heart rate and breathing were freaking him out and his face felt flushed. Not to mention that he had some really nasty comments he was constantly having to swallow.

“Do I have a fever?”

“A small one. I could feel it when I caught you back there. I’d give you something to help with that, and to help you sleep, but I’m worried what it might do to you.” Okay, great. Adding feverish to the list of torments. He really needed a drink.

Keith ran his fingers through his hair and took a shaking breath. Lance watched the waves of panic, worry, and resolve ripple over his face and swirl like a cyclone in his midnight eyes. The yellow sclera were bloodshot with exhaustion and stress. Guilt drove a sword into Lance and he wished he weren’t such a coward. He should be getting actual help, not depending on someone he’d know for literally a week.

“Where’s Azul?” He felt like he might’ve...What was...Lance shook his head to clear it.

“She’s in her bed, Lance. She’s looking at you now.” Lance could hear it in Keith’s voice. He’d done something. What now?

“What-”

“I think you’re just a little confused. You’ve asked where Blue was three times since you woke up.” Azul came over and scaled Lance’s pajama pants to reach his lap. “It-it’s normal, Lance.”

Lance could feel Keith watching him, inspecting him for damage. Hovering just within Lance’s line of sight. Blue pushed her head into his hands. He stroked her, trying to stave off his panic. He really needed a drink.

“I should call her,” Lance whispered. “Before I lose it.”

“If you’re up for it.” Lance nodded. “I’ll get you your phone, okay? But first I need you to drink some water.”

Lance braced himself and worked up his courage. And composure. Then he nodded. This was fine. Everything was fine. He was going to be just fine.

Twenty-four hours clean.

“Lance?” Lance didn’t glance up, holding Azul to his chest. “Listen, I’m gonna go put my stuff in one of the guest rooms, okay? I’ll...I’ll give you a minute or two, okay?” Lance nodded, listening as Keith’s socked feet padded down the hallway. Azul squeaked and Lance gently rubbed her tiny head with the tips of his fingers.

“Es okay, mi gatita. Estoy bien. Estoy bien. Todo está bien.” Lance wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince: Keith’s sensitive ears, the kitten cradled in his hands, or himself.

“Lance?” Keith’s voice reached him from down the hall. “Is it okay if Shiro comes over?” NO. “It’s okay if not, just…” Lance sighed, hearing the discomfort in Keith’s voice. The man clearly wanted to see his brother. Even like this, gross inside and out and so, so, so thirsty, he couldn’t do that to Keith. He couldn’t keep him away from his family, not when Lance missed his own so fucking much.

“Whatever. Just don’t expect me to do the talking. Or be nice.”

“It’s cool. He won’t take it personally. And...thanks.” Lance rolled his eyes. Keith probably didn’t know he’d inadvertently guilted him into saying ‘yes’.

The fact remained that Lance was so easy that he loved Keith with all his heart even when his heart was a shriveled up piece of leather dried up and carefully preserved by years of alcohol.

Chapter Text

Keith: Lance is gonna call you in a few minutes, okay?

About time! Pidge had spent the last few hours pacing her room waiting for Keith or Lance to text her, trying not to panic. Something was wrong. Keith’s unskilled reticence had told her as much. Whether Keith was the problem or the solution remained to be seen. If he was the problem, Pidge would murder him. If he was the solution...okay she had no idea what she would do then, but she’d find some way to make it up to him.

As her phone began to ring, she sank to the floor, leaning back against her bed.

“Hey, Lance.”

“Hey, Pidgeon.” God. His voice sounded awful. It was hoarse and tired. He sounded ill. “How did it go yesterday?”

“Nevermind, that. Where have you-”

“Please, Pidge? I want to hear it.”

He sounded heartbroken in a way that had a chill running up her spine, with an unfamiliar edge to his voice. What the hell had happened? But maybe that was why he wanted to hear about her day. She’d told Keith it was good. Maybe he needed that.

“I spent the day with Hunk,” She began. “He took me to see his restaurant and meet Coran. Shiro and Allura were there. Allura’s actually really nice. Hunk and Coran have someone who works for them named Lotor. He’s really cool. He looks a tanned Victor from Yuri On Ice, but totally different personality. Also, he’s actually a Prince…”

And she began to get caught up in her recount. Lance asked questions. He wanted to know more about Lotor and Coran and Allura and Shiro. He wanted to know what the restaurant was like and how it had felt to spend so much time with Hunk without it being tied to school or work stuff, and just hang out instead.

“We held hands on the way to the restaurant. It was...It was really nice. Just sharing that. I never thought about how special it could be to hold somebody’s hand. I know that sounds really dumb, but-”

“It can be very special, Pidgeon. It’s trust, to let somebody take your hand.”

“Yeah…” Pidge smiled. She could still feel Hunk’s warm fingers wrapped around her cold hand. “Okay, Lance. Now it’s your turn.”

There was a long silence. She pulled her phone away from her ear to check and make sure he hadn’t hung up. Had he fallen asleep? Just...left? Keith was there still, wasn’t he? She assumed he was, given he seemed to be mediating. Was he angry with her? Was that why he was reluctant to talk to her?

“I…” A beginning. “Fuck, Pidgeon, I don’t even know…” A huffing sigh. Frustration? Lance almost never got frustrated. At least not to the point where he’d express it. She heard Keith murmuring something gently in the background. “Pidge I’m-I’m going through withdrawals. That’s why you didn’t hear from me yesterday.”

Pidge drew a shaky breath. Oh God. Oh God. What had happened? What kind of withdrawals? Was he alright? Was he in the hospital?

“I’m okay. I’m at my place. Keith’s with me-”

“Withdrawals from what?” Silence. Pidge felt her eyes sting as she choked on a sob, trying not to let her panic swallow her up. She knew what kind of withdrawals. She was a genius. Not that it mattered, apparently. “Lance, withdrawals from what?”

“Alcohol. I’m an alcoholic, Pidgeon. That’s what I did yesterday: had an existential crisis and poured a fuckload of booze down the kitchen sink.”

And there it was: the guilt. It worked its way through her veins like venom, immediate and without mercy. Because she really should have known. Should have suspected. Should have realized. She’d been there, for Christ’s sake. She’d known Lance for over three years now. They were best friends. Siblings, really.

Looking back on it, there were signs. From months ago, even. He’d begun skipping out on her. He’d show up to make-up in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, shadows under his eyes. He’d get this crinkle between his brows when she asked him where he’d been the night before, like he couldn’t remember. And he’d pulled a bottle of vodka out...three(?) nights ago, during dinner. After a drunken visit to Keith’s the day before. How had she not noticed?

“Oh, God, Lance. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, I should’ve-”

“No, Pidgeon. Don’t do that. This isn’t in the least bit your fault, okay?” That strange edge in his voice shifted to something she was more familiar with: that fiercely protective streak that took outsiders by surprise.

“But I-”

“Nuh-uh. Pidge, you are still days shy of eighteen years old. Too young for this -for me- to be your responsibility. At all. And...Pidge, an addict can’t be told they’re an addict. They’re going to deny it. I would’ve denied it. I’ve been denying it to myself for ages now.”

Pidge wiped away hot tears. He was right, objectively. Her brain told her that. But it was Lance. Like Hunk, Pidge thought with her heart when it came to him. And her heart told her she’d known all along and hadn’t done anything.

“Can I-can I come see you? Please?”

“In a few days, okay? When the worst of it is over. But not now. Keith will tell you it’s a bad idea. I...I’m not myself right now. I should be doing a little better soon.”

“But, Lance-” Pidge wasn’t surprised when Lance cut through her protest.

“I love you, Pidgeon. So much. You know that, right? You know I love you, right? You’re the hermanita I never had. And I can’t wait to see you.”

Pidge wiped away more tears. She wasn’t hurt. Really. But she was upset that she couldn’t just run over and give him a hug.

“I love you too, Lance. So much.” She sniffed. “Please tell me you’re not alone.”

“No. Keith is staying with me so I don’t croak off or get drunk or anything.”

“Okay. You tell that asshole I said he’d better give you as many hugs as you want and humor you when you get cuddly.” Pidge heard Lance give a weak chuckle and she smiled. She really did love him.

“Okay, Pidge. I’ll tell-Nevermind, he heard you.”

“Good. And he’d better actually do it, because I will know .” And I will kick his ass.

“I know you will. And no radio silence. You text me, I’ll respond, alright?”

“Alright. Okay.” Pidge heard Matt call for her from the living room. She’d better go. “I have to go, Lance. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m gonna try and rest. I can’t sleep, so I’m gonna try and find something to do with myself that doesn’t require movement.” A pause. “I love you, Pidge. Te quiero mucho.”

“I love you too, Lance. So much.”

Pidge decided not to answer Matt. Instead, she found herself crawling back into bed, thinking about Lance, and how bad he must be feeling by now, and how she’d never heard him say anything in Spanish before. She hadn’t realized he was still fluent.

Amo tuo anch'io, fratello.

Pidge was holed up in her room for an hour or two before anyone came to check on her. Which was fine. She slept, mostly. And avoided Hunk. She felt bad about it, but she also didn’t feel like dumping more of her baggage on him. He deserved better, honestly. After a while, her dad came in.

“Hey, Katie,” he whispered, working his fingers into her messy brown hair. “What’s wrong, passerotta?”

Pidge couldn’t help a tiny smile at the endearment. She peeked out from under the covers.

“Did something happen to Lance?” Pidge nodded. “Do you want to tell me about it?” Pidge shook her head. Sam sighed. “He’ll be alright, you know.”

“How?” Pidge whispered. “How could he possibly be alright?”

“Well, firstly, he is an adult. A very capable one, given the right stimulus. He’s risen to challenges in the past, right?”

“Right…” And run from them. Was she babying Lance?

“And he hasn’t eaten a loaf of whole-grain bread, or died, or spontaneously combusted, or flown off into space, right?” Or drunk himself to death.

“Right…”

“And I would posit, and if you disagree then by all means say so, but Lance is far, far smarter and more resilient than he lets on, right?”

“Right...Yes. Yes he is.” Pidge pulled the comforter back so she could get a proper look at her father. “He never lets people see just how smart he is. He wants them to think he’s some charming dumbass who only likes instant gratification. Like, this idiot doesn’t even have a worst subject! He’s good at all of them! I don’t get it! I don’t even think he realizes how smart he is!”

“See? So he’ll be fine.” Sam smiled at her.

“But what if he’s not? What if it can’t be fixed this time?” Pidge’s phone vibrated. She sat up and grabbed it.

K: Update: He’s doing okay. Very irritable. Doesn’t feel well. Can’t sleep. But is hanging in there. Let you know if change.

K: He’s stubborn. Refuses to complain, except for jokes. Wasn’t expecting that.

Pidge felt a surge of affection for Keith. Honestly, he really was a nice guy. Once he got around to it.

P: I didn’t know Lance got irritable. He mostly just gets whiny.

K: I figured. It’d be funny if it weren’t for the circumstances. He spent half the morning trying his best not to be a dick.

Pidge managed a weak laugh and leaned against her father’s side. He put his arm around her.

P: Thanks. For checking in, I mean. I appreciate it.

K: I’ll let you know if anything happens.

Sam hummed, reading over her shoulder. Pidge sighed.

“Interesting. Sounds a bit like withdrawals.”

“It’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder.”

“This Keith fellow certainly seems to be one hell of a friend, hmm?” Pidge nodded. That barely scratched the surface of what Keith was at this point, but she let it slide. “Hey, you let him know that Colleen and I can come and sit with him for a bit if he needs it, okay? He’s family, passerotta . ”

Pidge nodded and sent along the message. Left on Read, but that was okay this time. She didn’t expect more. Keith didn’t seem to care for long conversations with anyone. Except Lance.

“He called me ‘hermanita’ earlier. ‘Little sister’.”

“See? Family. And family looks after one another.” Pidge wrapped her tiny arms around her father’s waist.

“Yeah,” she sniffled. “Yeah, they do.” Pidge wiped her eyes and checked the other messages. They were from Hunk. And one from Matt that just said “bitch <3” but that wasn’t important. What was important were the increasingly unsure messages from her almost-boyfriend.

“Also, what are the chances Matt well let me change my bet?”

“Almost zero,” Pidge said with a weak chuckle.

“Dammit. I think I’m gonna be out about sixty bucks.”

***

Hunk wasn’t concerned at all when he couldn’t get ahold of Pidge or Lance. Except that he totally was. He’d thought everything was fine. Dinner with Lance had seemed to go great and yesterday seemed to go fine. Lance had even offered up some advice on what to do for Pidge for prom. So everything should be good.

Unless everything wasn’t fine. Maybe Lance had decided Hunk wasn’t good enough for Pidge. Maybe Pidge had decided she liked the older man instead. It would make sense. Lance was thin, handsome, charismatic, talented, and way more experienced in certain areas. Hunk was always in the background while Lance could command a room just by being there. Plus, they did so much together. Lance probably knew stuff about Pidge that Hunk never would.

Maybe yesterday hadn’t gone as well as he’d thought. Maybe Pidge hadn’t been that impressed with his business. Maybe she hadn’t liked Coran and Lotor like he’d thought. Maybe Pidge was only interested in her science stuff. Maybe she secretly thought he was an idiot and a loser for deciding to try and start a business instead of going to college like a good citizen. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe-

Pidge: Sorry. I was dealing with something

Pidge: *screenshot*

Pidge: there you go

Pidge: why do you want his number?

Hunk: I just thought maybe he could do some art for the restaurant. Get him some work, get him out of his apartment for a bit, get him some money

Hunk: Just thought I’d see if I could help him out somehow

Hunk: Is everything okay?

Pidge left him on Read. For twelve minutes. Twelve long, agonizing minutes in which Hunk went over every possible thing that he could have screwed up. Had Pidge actually wanted any of this? Did she actually only like him as a friend? Was this too much, too soon? Was Lance actually just her friend, like she said? Or was there something more? What was going on? Was everything okay? Was Pidge okay? Hunk really hoped Pidge was okay.

P: Can you come over later?

P: You don’t have to

P: only if you want to

P: nvm

Hunk stared at Pidge’s last message. What the quiznak was going on?

“Hey,” Hunk said, elbowing Lotor. “What do you make of this?

Lotor gave a soft hum as he took Hunk’s phone in his long, slender fingers. He looked down at the screen, scrolling carefully. The man wasn’t wearing makeup today (Hunk suspected it was because the guy hadn’t ended up at his mother’s place last night), but he was wearing yesterday’s clothes (again). Did any of his new circle of friends and potential friends have an actual functional relationship? Aside from Shiro and Allura, who seemed disgustingly perfect.

“Well,” the Prince said after a minute. “Something happened, that much is for sure. She doesn’t do this thing often.”

“Thing?”

“Yes, that thing you do? You know, where you’re unsure of yourself so you get nervous and send a mess of awkward texts instead of just one? Normally she’s very direct and forth-coming. So something must be wrong. But I don’t think it involves you directly.” Lotor handed Hunk his phone and put a hand on his shoulder. “She wants to see you. I suggest you call Keith about some artwork and then go to her place.”

Lotor gave him a million-watt smile full of sharp blue eyes and pointed teeth. Hunk smiled back. The guy’s whole “profiling” thing was unsettling, but Lotor was really growing on him. Hunk could see him becoming manager once the restaurant opened.

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll-I’ll do that. Thanks. And, um. If I might make a suggestion?” Lotor arched a silver eyebrow. “Maybe at least head home for a change of clothes, okay?” Lotor threw his head back and laughed, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks.

“No worries. Acxa’s a Friday-Saturday thing. For now,” he added with a cocky smirk.

“Ah...young love!” Coran sighed. “Why, I remember my first night with Alfor like it was yesterday. We were entangled in a-”

“Coran, no. I love you, I respect you, you’ve saved my life more than once, but just...please don’t,” Lotor said, holding up a hand. Hunk brushed the heavy words aside. It wasn't his business. Lotor was one of what was probably a herd of young people who saw the aging Altean as a father-figure.

“-cluster of Namorean eels,” Coran deadpanned. “Like you’d be lucky enough to get any dirty details of my myriad sexual exploits out of me, young man!”

“I believe I’ll take a hard pass on that should the opportunity ever arise, my friend,” Lotor laughed. Coran grinned.

“Your loss, m’boy.”

Hunk smiled, shaking his head. Right. Time to make a call. Hunk jumped up onto the counter and dialed the number Pidge had sent him. Lotor went back to the wiring, growling at the misbehaving tangle in a slurry of Galra and Altean.

“Hello?” a rather dry, irritable voice said. This was the guy Pidge kept talking about? The guy that Lance had fallen for after less than a week? “Can I help you?” Every word came out like it took a tremendous amount of effort.

“Hi, is this, um…” What was Keith’s last name again? “Is-is this Keith? The artist, Keith?”

“In a manner of speaking. Who are you?” God, this guy did not seem friendly.

“I’m Hunk. I’m Pidge’s...boyfriend? I guess? Almost?”

“Hi, Hunk. Pidge mentioned you.” The tone was a little more friendly now. Or at least less grumpy. And very, very tired. “Is Pidge okay?”

“I’m not sure. I’m seeing her tonight but-” Not your business, Hunk! “Um. I was wondering…”

“Yes?” Annoyance.

“I’m starting a restaurant and…”

“Just spit it out. I’m kind of in the middle of something.” Impatience.

“Iwaswonderingifyou’dliketodosomeartforit,” Hunk said.

“What? Can you repeat that?” Confusion.

“I was wondering...if you’d like to do some artwork. For the restaurant. I’d pay you for it. And it might get you commissions or whatever. I don’t really know how artists work.”

There was a long period of silence. Hunk had to check and make sure the guy was still there and hadn’t hung up.

“I’d have to come in and see the place. Figure out what you guys need and all.” The voice didn’t sound as enthused and Hunk would have liked. It almost sounded resigned. Like Hunk was just another person he had to tolerate because Lance was involved.

“That’s fine! I’d actually really like-”

“And it probably won’t be for a few days.”

“That’s good. Just-”

“And one other thing.” Hunk just waited this time. “Just so you don’t...freak out or whatever, I’m half Galra, so-” It was Hunk’s turn to interrupt.

“I know. And I don’t care. Pidge loves your art and she’s not an arts person in general so...you come highly recommended.” This time, Hunk actually managed to get a dry, darkly sarcastic laugh out of the guy.

“Well, alright then. I’ll let you know when I become available to meet.” Almost pleasant.

“Sounds great, man. Thanks a lot.”

Keith hung up without another word. What a strange guy! Pidge approved of this guy? Wanted to see her best friend with this guy? There had to be more to him. Suddenly, Hunk wanted to see what that “more” was. Just because he could mind his own business (unlike someone else) didn’t mean he couldn’t go out of his way to make something his business.

Chapter Text

“Sir, if I might have a word?” Shiro paused, halfway to the ridiculously fancy elevator, turning to the severe-looking Galra woman. Dayak, he remembered.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Is the boy alright?”

“I assume you don’t mean Keith.” Dayak didn’t even blink.

“If you mean that feral creature who let you in yesterday, I do not.”

Shiro blew through his cheeks and sighed, hands on his hips. Why did everyone always assume he had answers for them? He was twenty-seven years old and he’d eaten nutella for dinner last night and slept on floors almost weekly but people still expected him to know what to do.

“Tell you what. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.” Shiro made for the elevator, then paused. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d be nicer to my brother.” Shiro didn’t look back to see her expression. He just hoped Dayak would treat Keith the same way she treated him.

Inside the apartment, Keith was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Lance was curled up in a fetal position on the couch, face buried in the back cushions. The tiny gray kitten perched on his head mewled at his entrance. Shiro sighed in defeat. Best forty-six bucks he’d ever spent.

“Is Keith still here or did he run off?” Shiro asked quietly, not moving.

“Shower. Think he forgot you’re a lot closer now.” There was a measure of silence. “You can wait for him here. I’m won’t bite.” Shiro went over and sat down at the far end of the couch, pulled out his phone and started scrolling, casually not casual. Lance growled. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What? Sitting just close enough to be mildly annoying but also far enough not to force you to talk? Oh, yeah. I’m an expert in this technique.” Shiro paused. “I remember the day Keith called Mom ‘Mom’ for the first time. Mom was just surprised, and happy of course, but Keith kind of panicked. Thought he’d done something wrong. He went and ‘hid’ on the roof in the dead of midwinter and I sat in the open window on the sill, window slot up my butt, for three hours before he said anything. Took another two before he came inside. There was water all over my desk.” Shiro couldn’t help the smile on his face any more than he could the laughter in his voice. Keith may have grown up, but he still panicked about the same silly things. Patience yields focus. Shiro should get that as a tattoo sometime.

Lance rolled over on his back, moving the kitten to his chest, and Shiro took the opportunity to get a good look at him. He looked pale, freckles more prominent, shadows dark under his wildly dilated eyes. His face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His breathing seemed labored. He might’ve been shivering slightly. Lance looked, in short, awful.

“Yeah. I look like shit. I know,” the boy growled. Then he winced. “Sorry. I-I’m trying not to-”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Lance. Not a damn thing.” This poor kid. He didn’t deserve this.

“I think of all the things that I could apologize for, and I come up with more results than a Google search for ‘symptoms of withdrawals’.”

“Hey,” Shiro said, putting on his best Big Brother TM voice. “You’re going to be just fine, okay? Lesser men than you have been where you are and conquered.”

“What would you know about it?!” Lance snapped. “You’re a soldier! You know how to take a bullet! You don’t know anything about this life!” He threw himself back into the couch cushions, earning a squeak of protest from the kitten. “Not anymore.” He stroked the kitten distractedly, eyes distant and unfamiliar.

Shiro ignored the pain those words caused. They weren’t Lance’s words and he knew it. He wasn’t well. But there was truth in those words all the same. The ache in his shoulder and hip told him that. He spoke up, trying to temper the firm edge in his tone into something gentle. He failed.

“I do know, Lance. People like me? They don’t always end up where I ended up. I got back and found myself in a state-of-the-art facility being catered to by Olkari and Altean pioneers. Medicine, physical therapy, bleeding-edge science, a famous cognitive behavioral therapist, and a woman who loves me with all her heart. I got lucky.” Lance sulked deeper into the couch cushions. Shiro didn’t take it personally. He didn’t back down, either.

“But not all of us are so lucky. Some of my friends, people I fought with, people I saved and who saved me? They came back to nothing. In their minds-” Shiro touched a metal finger to his temple for emphasis. “-some of them never came back at all. So they turn to drugs or alcohol just so they can feel better. So they can feel nothing at all, even. In the two years between my tours, I found myself taking shifts watching a bunch of my old friends dry out. I’d go into the VA hospital on weekends and hold my previous commander’s hand while he suffered through delirium tremens. So don't tell me I don't understand. I understand more about life that you ever will and should be grateful for that.”

Shiro settled back into silence. He was finished talking for now. It was Lance’s turn. He knew Keith had to be out of the shower, but was likely hovering in a shadow somewhere, listening. Waiting until he was needed. Watching, hoping to learn something. Even after all this time, Keith looked up to him. Shiro would never be a bad example. He’d promised himself that twenty years ago. He’d promised he’d keep his brother close.

“Did you come back, Shiro?” Shiro stiffened. That wasn’t what he’d been expected. He’d been expecting another bitter snarl. The snarl would have been easier.

Lance rolled over again, stroking his cat, regarding him with a strangely detached, almost coldly indifferent expression. It was unnerving. Not normal. On Lance McClain, that expression was downright disturbing. Shiro wished Keith would enter the room. But he didn’t. Shiro could guess why.

“Yeah, I came back. But I left a part of myself behind,” he whispered. “I replaced it with sand.”

“Sand?” Lance asked. Shiro thought he saw Keith’s socked foot just for a moment right at the edge of the hallway. Then it was gone.

“Yeah. It…I see red sand everywhere. I feel it in my socks, in my sheets, between the pages in my books, in my coat pockets. It hides under the furniture and in the corners of the penthouse. Sometimes, I wake up from nightmares and the bed is too comfortable, so I sleep on the floor of the walk-in closet and I can feel it beneath me.”

“You’re a mess,” Lance said. No longer irritable, he just seemed emotionally nonexistent.

“Yeah. I act like I’ve got my shit together, but I’m pretty much just a bunch of fragments, literally and figuratively.” Shiro indicates his prosthetic eyes with his metal arm. “But I’ve got Keith to put the pieces together and Allura to keep me from falling apart.”

“How does that work?”

“Keith reminds me of who I am and Allura makes sure I don’t forget.”

Lance’s brows furrowed. He looked sad. He heaved a sigh.

“I guess…I’ve got Pidge. She puts my pieces together. And…maybe Keith can keep me together? For a while, at least?” Shiro smiled, silently praying that Keith heard that.

“Are you asking my permission?”

“I don’t know, maybe?”

“You can keep my brother as long as you want. Hell, keep him forever. He could use somebody-”

“Shiro, are you trying to sell me? What are you, my pimp?” Keith stepped into the room. He looked tired. Exhausted even.

Shiro was tempted to make a joke about getting Keith out of his hair, but he didn’t dare. The boy was too fragile. Shiro worried he might actually believe it.

“Hey, Keith. Watcha doing?” Lance mumbled.

“Trying to sketch. You?”

“Angst. I think I got low-key scolded by your brother.”

“Ah. Happens to the best of us.” Keith came over, backpack slung over one shoulder. He sat on the floor, pausing to card a hand through Lance’s hair and give the kitten a scratch. “Hey, baby. What do you call her? Gatita ?” Lance nodded.

“It means ‘little cat’, technically. But it’s basically just ‘kitten’. Mi gatita Azul. ” Shiro groaned. He’d forgotten just how dorky these two were.

“Seriously? You guys can’t keep naming pets after their basic color scheme. Speaking of which, Keith, what do you intend to do with Red? Are you moving in here, or just staying for a few days?”

“Uhh…I kind of assumed I was staying here for...I have no idea.” Keith looked at the blank sketchbook in his lap, fiddling with a corner worn fuzzy by time and use.

“Have you two actually discussed this at all?” Silence. Then the scratch of Keith’s pencil against paper. So that would be a ‘no’, then. Of course. Why had he expected better? Oh, right; he hadn't. Shiro sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. Right. Maybe Allura was right. Maybe he did give off DadFriendTM  vibes.

“Keith hasn’t eaten anything since he’s been here and he slept on my couch even though I have three guest bedrooms,” Lance mumbled, eyes unfocused, head listing to the side. It didn’t seem to make any sense in context, but Shiro took a moment to sift through his only semi-coherent line of thinking. He translated Lance’s words to mean, “I don’t think Keith likes it here.”

“First of all,” Keith muttered. “I’ve been eating the candy bars I brought with me-”

“Because that’s healthy,” Shiro interjected, only to immediately remember eating half a jar of Nutella with a spoon the night before.

“SECOND OF ALL, I didn’t want to impose...” Keith’s voice trailed away into an awkward mumble. He picked at a patch of blue and red paint stubbornly adhered to his jeans, avoiding eye contact.

“Why not just move here?” Shiro suggested, with absolutely no ulterior motives whatsoever. Not even one…

“Because I have my own place? And this is Lance’s place? And I look like I live under the short bridge? And I need space for my art?” he growled. Keith was grumpy too. It wasn’t just -Lance had been uncharacteristically quiet. Shiro glanced at him to make sure he was still with them. He was, watching Keith sketch with weary attention.

“Think about it. It’s safer. You’d be closer to a grocery store, closer to the market…”

“Closer to you,” Keith whispered.

Lance shifted his head a little to try and get a good look at his face. Keith hadn’t said it to be snarky. He’d said it like it was something he wanted but didn’t want to let on. Shiro’s heart warmed. He hadn’t planned on mentioning that, but he’d definitely been thinking it. He let himself bask in affection for his brother while he waited for one of the idiots in front of him to say something.

“You could do that,” Lance whispered. “If you wanted to.” Keith said nothing, glaring at a rough sketch of a very familiar cheekbone. “I have an empty room. I don’t have anything to do with it. You could do your art in there. And Red would be welcome, of course.”

“I don’t sell enough art for rent or food or anything,” Keith mumbled. Shiro almost felt bad. He knew Keith hated relying on him like he did. Relying on Lance would be worse. But at the same time, it would afford these two an insane amount of bonding time. Not that Shiro was trying to help his two-month bet along or anything.

“Keith, I eat nothing but microwave meals and gluten-free cereal. You cook for me, make sure I don’t die, we’ll call it even.”

“But-”

“It’s not like I’m hurting for money. I could never work again in my life and I would still be able to live here quite comfortably. If you wanna stay here, keep me company, I won’t complain.” Keith sighed, throwing his head back into the couch cushions. “What?”

“I feel like you guys are ganging up on me.”

“We totally are,” Shiro said. “Thanks, Lance.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lance murmured, reaching for his water glass. Keith grabbed it for him and helped him sit up.

“This could do both of you some good and you know it. Keith, you need to work on…well anything at all having to do with people really. And Lance, you’re gonna need someone to keep an eye on you for a while and you hate being alone in general. You guys were made for each other.” Oh. Oops. Lance heaved an exhausted sigh, clearly not in the mood for what Shiro had implicated. Keith whirled on his brother so fast, Shiro heard his neck pop.

“Fuck off, Shiro!” the boy snarled even while placing a gentle hand on Lance’s arm, letting Lance know he wasn’t mad at him. Shiro barely suppressed a smile in time. His brother could be incredibly protective.

“Sorry, that’s not what I...I didn’t mean…” Shiro huffed. “I didn’t mean you guys are, what, soulmates or anything. I just meant that you guys complement each other. I think it would do you boys some good.” Right. That’s what he meant. No subconscious thoughts slipping out at all. Not one.

Keith sighed, running his hand through his disastrous hair. Shiro pinpointed the exact moment his brother’s resolve shattered. It was when Lance gave Keith a look that was trying not to be pleading but failing entirely. Incidentally, the moment Lance made that face was also the moment Shiro’s bleeding heart liquified. That was it . He was adopting this boy. He had a new child and that child would never make that “please, I hate being alone” face ever a-fucking-gain. Maybe Keith wasn’t the only one who was a weak man.

“I’ll…think about it,” Keith mumbled, clearly not wanting to give Shiro the full satisfaction. Shiro grinned. “No promises. Also, you’re suspiciously invested in this.” Shiro gave him an innocent smile that threatened to lift back into a grin.

“I just want what’s best for you guys.”

Lance and Keith looked at each other, then turned to Shiro with narrowed eyes.

“I shouldn’t believe him for a second, should I?” Lance grumbled, eyeing Shiro in the way one might eye the word “fixer-upper” in the housing section of a newspaper.

“No. No, you should not.”

“Oh, come on, you guys! Listen, I wasn’t-” Except he totally was.

“Uuuhh-huuuhhh…,” they drawled in unison. Shiro sighed. The boys were too smart for their own good. And also too ridiculous. But he was already feeling much better than he had earlier. When he checked his hoodie pocket for his phone, there wasn’t any sand. Just an uncomfortable reminder that he’d agreed to shatter Keith’s world yet again.

Allura: Have you spoken to Keith yet?

Shiro regarded his little brother, busy sketching the view from the sliding glass. Right. Time to rip the bandaid off...

***

“Hi, Colleen,” Hunk said, offering a smile and a small wave. “Pidge asked me to come over.” Colleen Holt gave him a warm smile laced with concern, stepping aside so Hunk could squeeze by.

“Hi, sweetheart. She’s in her room. She’s been hiding up there since breakfast.” Colleen didn’t say why, but there was only one person, aside from her family and hopefully himself, that Pidge would care for so much. And the other Holts seemed fine, and he was fine, so there was only one option.

Hunk headed down the hallway to Pidge’s room. Pidge and Matt’s doors were very similar, and it had taken him a few visits to figure out which door was hers. Both were covered with stickers. He’d eventually determined that Pidge’s was the one with the Pretty. Odd. sticker right next to one of Nicholas Cage coming out of a half-peeled banana.

“Pidge?” Hunk asked, knocking on the door. No response. “It’s Hunk. Can I come in?” Still nothing. Hunk tested the knob. The door was unlocked, which was a good sign. He opened it slowly, in case she was pissed and elected to throw something at him. She didn’t.

Pidge was at her desk, programming a LilyPad Arduino. The project was a commission, Hunk knew. A peer’s costume for Drag Club (not technically put on by the school) involved lights, and Pidge was programming them to blink in a certain order. Hunk registered that she wasn’t into it. Her typing was slow, heels of her hands resting below the keyboard. There was no intensity in her gaze, no enthusiasm or passion.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Close the door, would you?” Hunk did as he was told and waited, sitting on the extra chair she’d purchased just for him.

He looked up at the row of claymation Kubos on the shelf above her desk. On the corkboard behind the PC, he spotted a series of pictures: the Holts in Italy. Pidge at her First Communion. Next to Matt in his uniform. Sitting on Hunk’s lap. With Hunk at their first robotics competition. Their backs at this exact desk, bent over two laptops, the PC, and their phones in hand. Her and Lance at Halloween, her as Rapunzel and Lance as Flynn Ryder. Her and Lance, sitting on the floor, Lance’s legs and arms all wrapped around her. Smiling. Happy. He recognized the matching bracelets on their wrists. Pidge had pretty much built half her wardrobe around that bracelet.

“You wanna talk?” Hunk whispered. “Or just hang?” Pidge was quiet for a minute, fiddling with the blue and green beads on her wrist.

“Can I ask a really blunt question?” Pidge asked, glaring down at the computer screen. She had her laptop open in her lap and was scrolling through her phone. Pidge probably hadn’t done something so simple as this in years, so she needed a refresher.

“Do you ask any other kind?” Hunk asked, touching her arm gently so she knew he meant it kindly.

“Are you my boyfriend?” She went back to her typing.

Hunk’s brain blanked. There wasn’t panic or anything. Hunk.exe just stopped working, and he stammered for a good sixty seconds, face on fire.

“Uh...W-well, I, I-I mean. Th-that’s, well...um. Okay.” Hunk scratched the back of his head, blushing, trying to form actual words. “If-if you want me to be, I-I’d like that?”

He glanced at Pidge from the corner of his eye and saw she was blushing too, shoulders raised and held closer to her neck. Nervous and shy. He couldn’t help a tiny smile. Her self-consciousness was so endearing.

“Okay. Okay, so…” She kept her eyes resolutely between her devices, nibbling on her lip. Hunk brushed some of her fluffy hair out of her eyes. “So if you’re my boyfriend, I can tell you anything, right? You’re exempt from secret-keeping, right?”

“Um...I think so?” Hunk sighed. “Pidge, what’s wrong?” Hunk takes her sweet little hands, never mind they were clammy with emotions, and held onto them, forcing her to turn in her chair to look at him.

Pidge was pretty. No one ever really noticed because she didn’t bother to make any sort of deal out of it, but she was. Delicate cheekbones and a cute little nose. Those huge amber eyes looked at him, so tired and sad, but also flickering with unwavering determination, and her tiny, chilly, clever fingers slowly wrapped around his. She was small and slender, but there was a grace to her that left him breathless. It was a quiet beauty, one born of natural features rather than make-up or nice clothes. There was a lock of fluffy hair in her face (again), and Hunk released her hand just long enough to brush it out of the way. She gave him a tiny smile.

“Lance called me this morning.” Hunk sighed with relief. She’d decided to talk to her.

“Okay, and? I thought he’d...uh, spent the day with Keith?”

“Yeah. Keith is babysitting him in case he dies from withdrawals.” Pidge looked down at their hands, brows furrowed, bottom jaw stuck out just a tiny bit, angry and contemplative. “And I can’t even go see him. I just have to trust that that antisocial porcupine can be patient long enough to deal with it.”

“I thought you liked Keith?” Hunk said, purposefully avoiding the actual problem and swallowing his holy-shit-oh-my-God-is-he-okay-is-there-anything-I-can-do panic. He also swallowed his own caution about Keith. It was only based off of one phone call answered during what he now knew was a very distressing situation. His less-than-warm welcome was likely his own fault, not Keith's.

“Well, yeah, but he can only tolerate so much, y’know and...no. That’s not it.” Hunk sat there, holding her warming hands, waiting for her to work through her thoughts, listening. He watched her eyes flicker back and forth as she sorted through her brain.

“No, I’m angry. I’m jealous. I’m angry that I didn’t realize what sort of problem he was having and I’m angry I didn’t say anything. And I’m angry that I can’t even do anything to help. And I’m jealous because I have to sit here and do nothing while Keith , the guy I told Lance he should fight for, is the one who gets to help. Keith gets to take care of him. Keith gets to spend time with Lance, my best friend and I know I’m being selfish. I know I’m sitting here thinking about how I feel about this when Lance’s feelings are the only feelings that should matter here, but I feel like I’ve failed somehow, that there’s something I could have done or something that I could be doing right now.”

Hunk sighed. He wasn’t bothered by her thoughts. They seemed perfectly normal to him. This was a frustrating situation. Pidge was frustrated. Duh.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re not the only one that gets jealous of innocent people. I do it too.” Pidge snorts, apparently not buying it. “If you only knew how many times I’ve gotten jealous hearing you talk about Lance, you wouldn’t believe it. And I know he’s your best friend, but sometimes-” Hunk shrugged. “Sometimes I wish you’d talk about me the way you do about him. And everyone feels like that sometimes. It’s part of being human.”

Pidge took a deep breath, looking up at him from underneath her unruly tufts of hair. She gave his hands a squeeze and let out the breath in a long sigh.

“Okay, first of all, who do you think Lance has to hear about every damn time we talk? Who do you think I went to when I realized I was crushing on my best friend from school and had to see him everyday? Who do you think I go to when I’m worried about you, huh? That’s not a family talk and Rover’s great, but he’s not much for conversation.” Hunk blushed. A lot. “Quit selling yourself short, you big dummy.” Pidge sighed, turning her gaze to the computer. She didn’t release Hunk’s hands, squeezing tighter instead.

“Second of all, what am I supposed to do? How can I help him?” Hunk didn’t even hesitate.

“Well obviously the first thing we need to do is make sure Lance knows we still love him and he’s a part of our friend-ily. The second thing we do is cook food for him and Keith.”

“Friendly?” Pidge asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Friend-ily. Friend family.” Pidge giggled. Win. Huge win. Twenty points to Hufflepuff. Hunk made his girlfriend laugh. His girlfriend . His first. And hopefully last. “Of course, we need parents.”

“Shiro’s definitely the dad,” Pidge said, standing. “Which makes Allura the mom by default.” Hunk grinned.