Archive of Our Own

Lance is an idiot and here's why:

Keith is attractive. Alright? Like unfairly, effortlessly attractive.

Lance recognizes this.

He recognizes it by noticing at the most inopportune times: When he should be paying attention during a meeting and instead finds himself staring at the cut of Keith's jaw, or those thick, beautiful eyelashes kissing his cheeks. When they're debriefing for an important mission and Lance's gaze catches on the dip of Keith's spine and then rolls down to appreciate the snug fit of his black flight suit. When they're training together, swords clashing, bodies pressed close, and all he can focus on is the intense violet of Keith's eyes - the way they change in hue, from the rich purple of orchids under the morning sun to the thunder-cloud purple of an ocean storm.

Keith is heartbreakingly, soul-searingly beautiful, and it makes Lance's heart thump and his stomach shudder whenever those eyes are trained on him. It makes his legs weak, and his breath catch. It sends electricity shooting to the ends of his fingers.

In moments like this, it's an unwelcome distraction.

It allows Keith an advantage that he doesn't need, or appreciate.

The grate of his sword sliding down to the hilt, twisting, breaks Lance's grip on the weapon, sends his broadsword twirling across the deck in an arch that glints elegantly, red and white, before it clatters to the floor a few yards away. Lance's wrist throbs. His brain is still trying to catch up with what just happened. Keith takes a single step back from him, but he's standing close enough that Lance can see the fine beads of sweat dampening his dark hair, the flush of his cheeks.

"What's wrong with you?"

It's more of a demand than a concern, pushed out of Keith's mouth in between harsh breaths.

Lance makes a face. Cold rushes down his insides in a stark contrast to the rest of his body, the quick beat of his heart wrenching painfully and lodging in his throat. He's glad the steady heat rising in his face - embarrassed because he was caught off guard, caught staring, and hurt because of Keith's tone - isn't going to be noticeable because he's already steaming from the workout.

Lance turns without answering and goes to pick up his bayard.

Behind him, Keith swears under his breath.

"Lance. Sorry. I meant - you seem distracted," Keith says haltingly. Lance pauses, glancing back. The eye contact makes Keith hesitate and drop his gaze. He taps the tip of his sword against the outside of his boot. "Is there… Is something on your mind?"

And that right there, that's why - the bitter tension in his chest giving way, the void filling up with an unrepentant urge to smile like an absolute idiot. Keith being awkward but trying so hard anyway shouldn't be this endearing, and yet Lance is in this so deep that it is. His knee-jerk reaction to that tone shouldn't be so… defensive. Not when he knows better after almost two years in space - after two years as a team, when he and Keith are a single thinking, feeling unit, perfectly harmonized, perfectly in sync.

Past that prickly exterior, Keith is one of the softest, most caring people Lance has ever met.

"I…."

Jesus, is he really going to confess like this? Sweating through his deodorant and looking like a total mess, and having just shamed himself by losing his grip on his weapon? Yeah, it's just training, just practice - but that's still embarrassing.

He should be more focused than that.

Keith perks up at the sound of his voice, all of his attention always on Lance the moment he opens his mouth - serious, attentive, earnest - and Lance's heart slams into his ribs.

He thinks of all the missions where they've been working with a larger group of people or coming up with a plan, and Keith has looked at him like that. He thinks of all the times he's reached out and been vulnerable about his position or something that's bothering him, and Keith has always met him halfway. It's not just being heard, or being acknowledged, it's…

The thing is, Lance has four older siblings.

And it's not that he didn't get enough love or attention growing up. There was more than enough of that to go around, especially in his house, especially being the youngest. He was the baby. The one everyone indulged and cuddled and loved to love. Veronica was six years old when Lance was born. She carried him around, "This is my baby!" until he got too heavy for her to lift. Lance learned to swim in the ocean before he ever learned to walk properly because all he had to do was hold out his hands and someone was there to pick him up.

So it's not a lack of affection.

It's that anything Lance ever did, anything Lance was good at, had already been done four times.

His marks were never as good as Veronica's - he could barely pay attention in class at all, let alone be considered studious. The only good thing his ADHD ever did for him was make picking up a second language (and then a third) look embarrassingly easy. But he wasn't great at soccer or cooking or crafting like Rachel. He didn't have Marco's affinity for puzzle-solving or fixing things. He wasn't the model oldest child that Luis was, funny and confident and keeping the peace among his rambunctious, opinionated siblings.

Even when he worked his ass off to get into the Garrison, Veronica had already graduated at the top of her class. So it hadn't really felt like he was achieving anything new.

It's why he had tried so hard to be the best pilot.

It's why - he's able to admit this now, in hindsight - it's why he had been so aggravated with Keith in the beginning. Because Keith was spilling over with natural talent and didn't even seem to care that he was so good at something that Lance was fighting tooth and nail to make his.

So to be years down the road from all that, to no longer be uncertain of his place and his value, to be solidly and confidently rooted in his position on the Team as Keith's Right Hand. To have Keith (and the others, too) asking for his input and then taking it to heart and trusting his judgement - with missions, and with anything else - knowing that he's being placed first, for the first time in his life, and being made to feel like he's actually contributing something worthwhile…

Lance doesn't even know how to begin explaining that.

So what comes out of his mouth is,

"Nothing." A little flat, choking back his own emotions, "I-it's nothing, I just… I don't know where my head is lately. Sorry, man."

"Lance." Keith's expression is iron-hard. "I'm not asking as the leader. I'm asking as a friend."

It's spoken so seriously, and it sounds so rehearsed, like Keith practiced this line again and again until he felt like he could get it right - it breaks Lance's melancholy all at once. He can't help it. A laugh startles out of him, and it's worth just seeing the look of surprise on Keith's face, the flashing resurgence of his hesitation, even if Lance feels a little bad for it. He knows that. But he does need to hear it sometimes -that Keith is his friend - and maybe that's why he keeps right on laughing.

At least now they're both embarrassed.

Keith is frowning, face heated, voice doing that cute raspy thing when he's indignant, "What?"

Lance is braced against his knees, gasping to fill his lungs around heaves and soft shrieks of laughter. His sides ache with the effort and he hugs his stomach.

"Lance." There is half a laugh in Keith's tone this time, right in the middle of Lance's name, like he wants to stay mad but can't because Lance is laughing, even if it's at him, and he shows no sign of stopping. More laughter works its way into his voice, impatient, "You're stupid." It's affectionate, and it doesn't hurt Lance's feelings. "What's so funny?"

Lance shakes his head. He eases himself to the floor because he just can't keep standing, laughing so hard that tears are sliding freely down his face. It takes him several minutes to recover.

In his defense, he hasn't had a laugh that good in a while. The inappropriate ones are the most cathartic, and Lance feels years lighter as he wipes the last of the tears from his cheeks and climbs off his sore knees. Keith is standing over him with his arms crossed, displaying a patience that is growing more and more commonplace, doing that thing with his face that means he's trying very hard not to smile.

"You," Lance finally answers, still in good humor, "You don't have to be so serious, man, I didn't mean to make it seem like it was a big deal. It's really not."

Keith doesn't look convinced.

Lance can tell by the almost-pout, and finds himself flushing all over again when he realizes he's staring at Keith's mouth.

"If it's… bothering you," Keith says. Instead of 'distracting you', a distinction to make sure that Lance knows Keith's concern is for him as a person and not solely how he's benefiting or hindering the team. Coran has been helping him with that a lot, with Keith's terrible inability to communicate with people, something he desperately needs as a Leader. "If it's bothering you, then it is a big deal."

"It's not," Lance promises.

He wants to believe that it's not a big deal.

That it is just his affection shifting, broadening, into something that will ease up with a little time.

Keith opens his mouth to argue - and Lance is almost thrilled by the prospect. He likes arguing with Keith, because they are nothing like the heated insults and the petty disagreements that they always had before. But a soft alarm blares. The red light blinks twice before Allura's voice reaches them over the Castle's PA system, "Keith. Lance. We've received a message from one of our Coalition planets in the Xenaee star system. They have concerns about some rogue Galra activity that doesn't seem to be sanctioned by the Empire. They've requested a conference."

"Is Hunk back from his mission?" Keith asks. He shoots Lance a look that clearly says their conversation is not over, but he's already striding toward the exit.

Lance follows half a step behind him, smiling.

"He's still about two vargas out," Allura says.

"Go ahead and set up the conference, then. We can fill him in later. We'll meet you on the bridge."

"Alright."

"We've been having a lot of trouble out of that system lately," Lance says in passing.

"Probably because it's so isolated," Keith says, "It's easy to hide a base and do whatever you want if there aren't too many habitable planets around. It's basically the badlands of outer space."

"So that makes us space rangers, I guess," Lance says, grinning at the withering look Keith sends his way. He punches Keith's arm. "Can I get a howdy, partner?"

"Not a chance."

"Aw c'mon!"

"No."

"Please start the conference off with howdy, Keith, I am literally begging here."

----

Keith hates fun and happiness. So he does not start the conference by saying howdy to the handful of relevant Coalition members that make an appearance via holo screen to hear the reports and decide what should be done. Lance masks his disappointment, but tries to make up for his earlier lapse by paying close attention to the meeting instead of Keith.

It doesn't seem too serious. The Coalition picked up some poorly-hidden chatter that makes it sound like certain groups of defectors from the Empire (pure-blood elitists refusing to follow their new Emperor) are attempting to come together.

Not a problem now, but these situations have a tendency to escalate.

"If we're going to find their base and flush them out, some of these smaller planets will have to be checked on foot," Pidge says, bringing up an array of graphs and photos pulled from their long-range scanners, "This sporous plant life has spread to a lot of the bodies in this system. It releases an electrical discharge that hangs out in the atmosphere, disabling communications and rebuffing most types of scans. What we do get back is indecipherable static. Ideal for a hidden base."

"So those are the areas we focus on," Lance says.

"Right," Pidge says, bringing up a solar map dotted with various colors that highlight the density of the plant life. "Some of them are so barren that a quick pass by them should yield adequate visual results, and the ones that are actually flourishing have a small enough radius that teams of two or four people should be able to cover them within a few vargas."

"Then that's what we'll do," Keith says, addressing the room at large, "The Paladins will check the more high-risk areas ourselves. The rest of you…"

Keith assigns everyone present a section of the system. Recon is their priority until they know who they're dealing with. Once everyone has their orders to not engage with any enemies they encounter until the base's location has been logged, the room disbands.

For the record, Lance hates it when routine survey missions go off the rails.

----

He should have brought Red.

He should have brought Red instead of tagging along with Keith in Black, and Lance is regretting his choice - his complacency, his lack of foresight - more and more every second. Any excuse to be closer to Keith, any reason is good enough as long it puts them in the same close space. There was a million reasons not to leave Red behind, waiting on a nearby moon. Lance only latched onto the one reason he wanted: they were going to be scouting on foot, anyway.

Stupid.

Lance tries reaching out to his Lion, tries calling Red to him like he has so effortlessly before, but he can feel the buzz of interference even in his head, and if Red could hear him, he would be here.

Lance's heart is in his throat when he jogs to a stop at the feet of the Black Lion. Black recognizes him and drops her shield as soon as he approaches, but Lance doesn't even think of getting aboard without Keith. He spins to scan the area, holding his bayard ready to fire. He still prefers the rifle or blaster as his go-to weapon - prefers the advantage it gives him over opponents at a distance. Of course, that security is totally irrelevant if there isn't anyone to shoot.

The static over his comm lapses, releasing Keith's harsh breathing into his ear, and Lance flinches.

"Keith! Where are you?"

Lance thought he had taken the long way around in an attempt to lose the Galran soldiers that were following him, and he still got here first. There's no sign of Keith. There's no sign of the soldiers, either. He could have sworn they were right behind him.

"Keith, can you hear me?"

Lance thinks he hears words garbled in the static and growls in frustration, pounding the side of his helmet as if that will do him any good. He casts around anxiously. Above him, a low rumble and a sense of unease touching the back of his mind gives Lance the impression that he's not the only one worried about the Black Paladin. Lance reaches out automatically, putting his hand on the enormous forepaw beside him, taking as much comfort in Black's warm metal as he can and hoping the small gesture gives some of it back.

"Keith."

Keith's voice prickles in the static, barely there, "...aid..'m ...orry….. ance…"

"Keith, you're breaking up! Seriously, dude, where - "

"...ance! … ou liste...ng?!"

"I'm listening! What do you need, where are you?"

"...ink I'm…to get captured!" Keith's strained voice breaks through the static in a rush of clarity. He must have come out into a clearing. He sounds out of breath, like talking is a huge effort. Is he hurt? "Sorry. Did you make it to Black? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you and - I'm here! Keith - "

"Listen to me, just stay there okay? The others will know something went wrong when we don't check back in with them and they'll come get you - "

"There is no way that's happening, tell me where you are- "

"Lance, they're only after me. Just stay with Black, you'll be safe inside her forcefield."

Lance grits his teeth.

He hates this.

It is not exactly a ground-breaking plan, but it is frightening in its effectiveness. Capturing Keith gives these renegades of the Empire a hefty bargaining chip, and it makes Lance and the coveted Black Lion easy targets. This tiny planet was a prime location for something like this. Lance feels stupid and angry for falling head-first into a trap this obvious.

"Keith, I'm not going to stand here while you get captured or killed! Keith? Keith!!"

The static is back, and Keith isn't talking. It's just white noise hissing in Lance's ears, the sound of his own ragged breathing, his own pulse running away with all the things he has done wrong. An explosion in the distance shakes the soft ground under his feet. Lance turns toward the plume of grey-blue smoke rising steadily into the air, barely glimpsed through the dense tangle of the surrounding canopy, green sandy spores rising with it. The sight of it doesn't chill his blood the way a broken cry over the comms does, half lost in the interference.

Lance is leaping in that direction before the ground is even still - before the static even fades, before he can even think.

Something slams into the ground directly behind him, makes him lose his footing and fall. Lance scrambles back upright and turns around, bayard still gripped between his hands, and if his heart already wasn't beating a mile a minute it would be jumping out of his chest right now. The Black Lion looms over him, an intense sound rippling through the air. Lance feels it reverberate in his veins, pounding through him with the same intent, a singular focus, with trust and understanding.

He has felt this connection with Blue, and more intimately with Red, and while the others have brushed against his consciousness from time to time, offering solace or comradery in times of need, Lance has never quite felt something like this. It reminds him so much of Shiro that tears sting his eyes, and Lance forces them back.

He can't do this right now.

He has to get to Keith.

The Black Lion lowers her head to the ground and opens her jaws, and Lance stares with his mouth wide open in a vague imitation of it. Desire pours over the open link between them, through the bond that weaves itself into his very being, bright and new.

A sense of urgency and warmth that Lance feels pulling him forward, legs trembling up the ramp.

We will save him together. 

----

Lance completely understands Keith's early frustrations with piloting the Black Lion.

He's gotten used to piloting Red - the speed, the split-second reaction time, the heat and the dizzying rush that blares through their link at all times. Black's controls are heavier, more nuanced, and require a little more concentration. Lance takes to the transition a bit easier than his hot-headed leader did. And then he crushes an entire ground cruiser in Black's jaws without realizing that Keith was inside of it. When a scan for Keith's biorhythm among the other Galra reveals his mistake, Lance lets the rest of the soldiers escape. They're panicked at the sight of the Black Lion, anyway, when they thought they had captured its Paladin - a ghost rising from the ether.

Lance spends several terrifying minutes sifting through the wreckage of the cruiser with his bare hands.

He feels sick, bile rising in his throat as he claws his way through sparking wires and pieces of torn metal, following the weak read-out from the fuzzy screen inside his helmet. He tears it off once he finds Keith, throwing it to the ground and dropping to his knees. He grabs at Keith's bloody black armour with both hands, turning him over. Keith groans, his eyelids fluttering, and Lance almost explodes with relief that he's even alive .

Tears are streaming down his face, his hands shaking as he undoes the handcuffs binding Keith's wrists. His armour was pierced through the back, but the wound itself isn't bleeding badly. There is chunk of armour still embedded in it, stopping the flow. Lance brushes his hands over it, and leaves it, checking every part of Keith that he can get to, poking his stomach, gripping his arms. He finds some scratches and bruises from the crash, but they're all superficial. There's a welt on the side of his head that's bleeding, matting his dark hair, and Keith winces when Lance touches it.

The pain brings him back to the edge of consciousness. He stares up at Lance uncomprehendingly for several seconds, and then just exhales, tries to smile, "Howdy….."

The laugh that busts out of Lance is half a sob.

"Man, you're stupid. Unbelievable. That supposed to be a joke?" He moves his arm behind Keith's back, careful of the puncture in his armour, and the other under his legs. Keith struggles to put his arm around Lance's shoulders to help as he's lifted off the ground. Lance makes sure he's got a good enough grip before he starts picking his way back to Black. "Don't move around too much, okay? I'll get us home, I promise. Try to stay awake, Keith, talk to me."

"There's….no way," Keith slurs. He's concussed, his eyes unfocused and drooping closed. He tips his head onto Lance's shoulder, smearing blood, and mumbles, "No way I'm…. Letting you fly us back… after that. Soo bad..."

"Black did most of it, honestly," Lance forces out a laugh, "I was an unwitting passenger."

"Don't blame… my Lion… for your bad… piloting."

"Wow, is this the thanks I get for saving your sorry butt? You're the one that got captured. That's so lame, Keith. Wait til I tell the others."

"Why didn't… you…. Why didn't you listen….t'me…?"

"Huh?"

"Should've just… left me, Lance. S'not… safe."

Keith murmurs this against Lance's neck, clearly slipping. There's a bubble in his voice that makes Lance's insides writhe with fear, makes him pick up his pace. Did he puncture a lung? Is he going to make it? Lance tightens his grip on Keith, quickly climbing up the ramp between the Black Lion's open jaws and into the cockpit. He sets Keith down as gently as he can, props him up against the console on his good shoulder and kneels in front of him, taking Keith's face in both his hands.

"Keith," Lance says, voice thick, determined to be heard. Keith has to hear this. "I'm not leaving you. Not ever. You hear me?"

Keith's head nods, but his eyes are closed. There's blood popping at the corner of his mouth and his breathing wheezes slightly. Lance presses their faces together, his lips against Keith's bruised cheek, and he stays like that, trying to calm his tremorous nerves, for as long as he dares.

----

"So," Pidge says, breaking the silence.

They nudge up their glasses, prop their hands on their hips. Lance is still exactly where they left him, his forehead pressed against the healing pod that Keith is going to be calling home for the next day or so. He had to be stabilized before he could even go in, had to have the excess fluid drained from his lungs. Pidge is glad there are more people aboard the Castle who have some medical expertise, and glad that they personally decided to expand their scientific prowess into biology and medicine, because it probably saved Keith's life.

They've had just about enough of losing people they care about out here.

"I went down to scope out the base like you asked," Pidge ploughs on when Lance doesn't really give them any indication that he heard them. He's probably listening. This is important. "That static completely trashed my cloaking on Green, but she blends in well enough that I was able to get a proper visual on the base without being spotted. It's a lot bigger than we expected. I saw at least three former generals. Allura has sent the pictures I took to Lotor, so we should know who we're dealing with pretty soon. I have a suspicion that the chatter the Coalition picked up a few days ago was either bad, or it was all just a set up to lure us in, because they were too prepared for an ambush."

Pidge pauses, waits for some input. When it doesn't come, they continue, "Anyway. The base is big, but it's not so big that we can't comfortably handle it with only three Lions, with the other Coalition members helping with support. Unless you want us to wait. I brought back some specimens of the plants to examine and I'm running a diagnostic right now. When it's finished Hunk and I should be able to pick out a frequency that doesn't shut down all communication on the surface."

It's quiet for a few tics.

Pidge examines the gunk under their fingernails, and looks up when Lance finally speaks.

"Let's just wait," he says, "We're gonna need to be able to talk to each other once we're down there." So he was listening. Pidge is relieved that they don't have to repeat it all. "Is Hunk back?"

"He is. Allura already talked to him. We've also got the long range scanners watching for any unusual activity just outside the planet's atmosphere in case they get any ideas about coming after us. I don't think they want to tango with us in open space, though. Their ambush didn't work, and they seem to be scrambling to come up with a new plan. We've got some time."

Lance sighs. "Have someone sitting on the scanners, anyway."

"Already done."

"Okay…. Thanks, Pidge."

Pidge's foot taps the floor. It's the only sound in the room, so they quickly stop, and decide to bite the bullet, "Are you going to stand there the whole time? Coran said it would be tomorrow's night cycle at the earliest before he gets out." Lance's shoulders tense, and Pidge adds, voice softening, "Lance, this isn't your fault. You know that, right?"

"It's kind of my fault…."

"No, it isn't," Pidge says, "You saved him from being captured - there's no telling what those soldiers would have done to him - and you were able to pilot Black and get him back to us in time. That's amazing! Don't beat yourself up over one accident. You're used to piloting Red, and overzealousness is a given with you anyway. It's kind of who you are as a person."

That gets one small laugh out of Lance, which is exactly what Pidge was going for, and it helps shake him free of the spell he's put himself under. Lance lifts his hands, rubbing his face, and sighs again, clasping the back of his neck with both hands. He still hasn't changed out of his armour, and the red-on-white is accented even more by the dark places of dried blood all down his front when he finally turns away from the healing pod. Keith's blood is on his neck, smeared along the side of his face, and Pidge winces at the sight of it.

"If you wanna take a shower and change, I'll stay with him until you get back," they offer.

Lance still looks reluctant to go.

"I…." He starts, then stops. Pidge waits while he figures out whether it's worth saying out loud, and when he does his voice is heavy with it, "I told him I wouldn't leave him."

Pidge recognizes that look on his face - Why did I say that? Why did I promise him that? is written into every line - and wonders with ageless exasperation why it is so hard to admit that you have feelings for another person.  They make each other laugh. They blatantly flirt. They train together, eat breakfast together, fall asleep in the lounge together. They care a little too intensely sometimes, and even when they argue or fight they're always able to get across to each other in a way none of the others can. Keith has been ready to go there forever, and Lance is the one that's still holding back.

Pidge doesn't get it, but Lance been through a lot today.

"You'll only be gone a few minutes," Pidge says, thinking that might encourage him. They know that Lance doesn't want to sit here all night and look at the gore on his armour, and they know he doesn't need to. "Besides, he's basically sleeping right now. He won't even know."

"....I'll know."

There's a tremor in his voice.

"Do you want me to bring you a change of clothes, then? You can at least get out of the armour."

"Yeah… Sure. Thanks, Pidge."

"No problem. I'll be right back." They take a single step away, still watching Lance, then add, "Will you sit down?"

"Sure," Lance says it faintly.

He's not even looking at them anymore. He's staring down at his upturned palm, the black glove that is bright with Keith's blood. He looks lost and unfocused. Pidge says it louder, "Lance." He looks up, like he's surprised to see them standing there, and slowly closes his fist. "Sit down, alright?"

They wait, arms folded, until Lance does as they ask. (He half-smiles, mumbles, "Sorry." "It's fine. Just sit. Please.") Once Lance eases himself down onto the step right below Keith's healing pod, closing his hands between his knees so he doesn't have to look at the blood on them, Pidge walks calmly out the door. They break into a run out in the hallway, thinking, I need to find someone to talk to him. Feelings aren't their strong suit. They get a little too emotional and snappy sometimes. Not exactly the best at comforting.

Hunk is good at that. Especially when it comes to Lance.

Luckily, they come across Hunk about halfway between the infirmary and the corridor where their bedrooms are located. He's still in his full armour, also. He didn't take the time to change out of it. There's a huge roll of blankets and pillows tucked under one arm, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and his face lights up when he sees Pidge skid around the corner, his shoulders relaxing despite the burden he's carrying.

"Pidge! Great timing, you can help me carry some of this. I've only got so many hands and I wanted to swing by the kitchen to grab some snacks." 

Pidge smiles and falls into step beside him.

"Nice, Hunk. I was just coming to look for you. Lance won't leave the pod…"

"Aw, man. I figured he might be like that," Hunk says, worry heavy in his tone. He hands over the duffel bag when Pidge beckons for it.

"I got him to sit down, at least," Pidge says, shouldering the bag, "What's in this?"

"Uh, y'know, just a change of clothes, tablet - a pack of those disinfectant wipes. I figured if he hasn't left yet, then he probably won't, so." Hunk shrugs. "Allura said it was… she said it looked pretty bad."

"It is pretty bad," Pidge says quietly, making a face that Hunk matches, "But it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse. D'you know how much fluid I pulled out of Keith's -?" Pidge stops themself, because Hunk looks nauseous and upset. They adjust the way they're carrying the bag just for something to do with their hands and lower their gaze. "Sorry."

"S'okay." Hunk's big hand falls on their shoulder in a reassuring pat. They've come to a cross section of the labyrinth of familiar hallways, and Hunk points to the left. "You go ahead and take him the clothes and stuff, and I'll grab the snacks. He's not gonna want to eat, but I know he's probably hungry and exhausted and I am personally starving."

"Grab the not-peanut butter for me?" Pidge asks, walking backwards down the hall.

Hunk shoots them a thumbs up, "You got it."

Hunk is too good for us, Pidge thinks, hurrying back to the ward clutching the duffel bag.

They're worried about leaving Lance alone in there for too long. It's strange seeing him withdrawn like this when he's usually one of the most upbeat people on the team.

Lucky them again - Coran is there. He's standing at Keith's pod with his arm around Lance, poking at the cold screen and explaining to him, again, what all the graphs and readouts mean. They've all learned Altean by this point - Lance is actually more fluent that the rest of the Earthlings, having already had to undergo the ordeal of learning English from Spanish - and they all know how most of the equipment in here works, but it's always good to have Coran around for another crash course when they inevitably forget something.

It's actually not often that any of them are in the pods for something serious.

Mostly, it's minor injuries, or broken bones - things that would be an inconvenience to let heal in their own time. Coran patiently shows Lance how to switch between the touch-sensitive screens without messing anything up.

One shows vitals, Keith's slowed heartbeat moving steadily, his regulated temperature; another shows progress on any open wounds, adjustments that are being made as the hole in his lung, muscles, and skin is repaired, fiber by fiber; another shows brain activity, which is difficult to decipher if you do know what you're looking at; and another shows time lapsed vs estimated time remaining.

Coran claps his hand down on Lance's shoulder, gives him a hearty shake.

"It's all coming along fine," he says, then pivots at the waist as Pidge approaches, "Ah, excellent! You've returned bearing goods, Number Five?"

"Courtesy of Hunk," Pidge says with a smile, lifting the bag off their shoulder, "He's bringing blankets, pillows, and snacks so we can all settle in. Do you need help?"

Lance turns away from Keith with relative ease this time, though that small crease between his eyebrows remains, and he's still only half paying attention. He blinks up from staring at the strap of the bag Pidge places in his hands. He looks like a wreck.

"Huh?"

"Washing... washing up."

Pidge hesitates, then points to their own neck, staring at Lance's. Keith's blood has dried, matting the hair at his temple and the nape of his neck. He's going to have a hard time getting it out on his own with just those wipes Hunk packed, even if they are soaked with soap and disinfectant. Lance lifts his gloved hand to touch it and Pidge almost holds their breath, wishing they hadn't pointed it out even though they know he can feel it, stiff and tugging at his skin.

"Oh," Lance says, "Sure. Yeah."

"Well, get undressed," Pidge urges, gesturing.

They take the bag back and set it on the floor, unzipping the top to rummage through it. Lance starts unbuckling his armour, drops the wrist and arm guards, working his way up the suit. He fumbles with the clasp of his chest plate, and the movement of his fingers jerk like he's suddenly desperate to be free of it. Lance makes a frustrated noise when he can't get it undone right away. He's looking down at it, really looking at it, really seeing it, for the first time in hours, and the white armour is streaked with red where it doesn't belong.

Lance's face crumbles and he blinks hard, his breath sucking in.

Pidge jumps back up to help him. Coran beats them to it, turning Lance around by the arm and brushing his hands away. He easily undoes the plate, talking in a steady voice all the while, "These things just don't know when to let go sometimes. Like a Bavarian mostletup! Ever seen one of those? Nasty, clingy little buggers, and they've got teeth the size of a trok! Make you think they're all cute and cuddly until they get ahold of one of your toes!"

Pidge gratefully latches onto the distraction, "I have seen mostletups, and they are cute. If you like knife mouths."

"And when have you been on the Somdar Kep flats in early spring, Number Five?"

"I haven't. I space googled local animals and stuff when we were on Bavaria a few movements ago."

Lance huffs a small laugh, lifts his arm out of the way and lets Pidge and Coran help him out of the rest of his armour. He breathes a little easier once he's down to the flight suit, but his hands are still shaking so Pidge pulls down the zipper for him.

"Thanks," he says.

"Stop thanking me," Pidge says, grabbing his wrist to pull his gloves off next and tossing them aside.

Coran picks them up, along with the scattered pieces of armour.

"I'll get these cleaned and check how things are going on those scanners," he says.

Lance shoots him a grateful look. "Thanks, Coran."

If Coran's arms weren't full, he would swoop the young man into a firm hug. As it is, he simply nods, "Any time, my boy," and carts the ruined armour away so Lance doesn't have to look at it.

Lance starts peeling the sweat-stuck flight suit from his shoulders. Once he gets it down to his waist, Pidge kneels over the open duffel bag and digs out the packet of wipes, and then starts handing Lance his clothes; boxer briefs, socks, joggers. They hold onto the shirt because there's no point in getting blood all over it, and only glance up again when they see Lance sit on the top step to pull on his socks in the side of their vision. They snap open the packet and move to stand behind him.

"It's cold," is the only warning Lance gets before Pidge hits the back of his neck with a wipe.

Lance flinches and shrieks, "Jeez!"

"Told you," Pidge says, putting one hand on his shoulder to use as leverage as they start scrubbing.

The blood comes off Lance's neck easily enough. The previously-white wipe is a ruddy brown color by the time Pidge starts tackling the congealed mess in his short hair, though. They drop it with a grimace, pulling out a new one, and kick the packet forward when Lance reaches back for one. He scrubs his face clean, then his hands.

Pidge doesn't comment on this.

"You're not exactly being gentle back there," Lance complains, after the fourth or fifth time they've yanked at his hair trying to work a stubborn clot out of it.

"Sorry," Pidge says, "I think it just runs in my family. Mom was notorious for violent head-scrubbing. And Matt used to scrub my head way too hard when he would wash it, instead, when we were still taking baths together."

"Yeah? Rachel used to dunk me after she peed in the water."

"Your Irish twin is disgusting, and that is saying something coming from me."

Hunk arrives during this exchange, with Allura in tow. Between them they've got enough blankets and pillows to fortify the entire room, plus a huge container of assorted snacks, which Allura is carrying propped on her hip. She sets it down on the nearest available chair, while Hunk drops the roll of blankets he's carrying right beside it and immediately sets to work unpacking everything.

"Okay, I may have gotten carried away with the comfort food," Hunk admits with absolutely no remorse present, "But y'know what? Sometimes we stress-eat." He gives Lance a worried look, hands working nervously. "How ya holdin' up, bud?"

"I'd be better if Pidge wasn't trying to scalp me," Lance says ruefully.

He reaches up to investigate the situation Pidge has encountered at a sensitive place behind his ear, and gets his hand swatted down. Allura comes over to have a look and gets her hand swatted away, as well. She drops it onto Lance's shoulder and props the other on her hip.

"Let it soak a moment," she tells Pidge, "The disinfectant isn't going to strip it out right away."

Pidge drops the wipe and lifts their hands.

"You do it. My fingers are getting all pruned up. Scalping starts at the forehead, by the way."

"Information I did not need."

"Well, you have it anyway."

Allura takes Pidge's place as they step away. She sits beside Lance and picks up the packet, setting it in her lap. Lance reaches for it, "I can do it. It's fine." But Allura shoos his hands away with an impatient motion of her wrist.

"Don't be absurd." She changes her mind a moment later, "Hold this in place for me."

A fresh wipe gets folded into a smaller square and placed on Lance's hairline at the back of his neck. Lance puts his hand over it, and allows Allura to turn his head and hold his chin steady so she can get at his temple. He washed his face, but missed some blood clinging to the ends of his hair where it's longer in the front. Allura's hands are a lot more gentle than Pidge's, stroking instead of scrubbing like she's trying to take his hair out at the roots, and after a few seconds Lance closes his eyes.

Pidge and Hunk are arguing over the way the pillows should be arranged to maximize comfort. Allura's voice is soft enough that it doesn't draw their attention when she asks, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Lance says.

"Don't lie."

"I'm fine, Allura."

"Physically," she says, peering closely at his face. He does a fine job of pushing his feelings down when he wants to, but Allura knows him well enough by now to see when he's hurting. Lance doesn't answer. He shifts, gaze drifting away. Allura pulls his hand away from the back of his neck and washes the rest of the blood out of his hair. "Keith is going to be alright, Lance."

She knows there's more to it than that, but can't offer him any consolation if he isn't willing to talk about it. Instead, she cleans up the surrounding mess, picks his shirt up from the top of the duffle bag and hands it to him. Lance takes it, feeling the fabric between his fingers, and gives her a small smirk.

"Not enjoying the view?" he asks.

"I'm not the one in need of a distraction," Allura quips, playfully turning her face away.

Lance laughs under his breath and pulls his shirt on. He's still shrugging into it when the healing pod behind them beeps. Allura turns around, her brow furrowed. It beeps again in quick succession, and Pidge and Hunk stop arguing. A third series of rapid beeps has Lance launching to his feet, his pulse matching the erratic sound as he trips up the two steps between him and Keith. There's a red box on the screen. Lance puts his hand on the cold veil covering the front of the pod.

"No. What's wrong?"

His voice breaks halfway through.

Allura puts a hand on his arm and eases him out of the way so she can read what it says. She pokes the screen, and the beeping stops. The box keeps flashing - Altean words that Lance is too upset to try and decipher. Allura starts punching in a series of glyphs. The box disappears, another screen pulls up. Inside the pod, Keith's face is resting like he isn't in too much pain and the dark bruises on his face have already begun to fade, the cuts on his forehead and across the bridge of his nose shortening.

He looks pale through the blue-tinted front of the pod.

"It's too early for him to be coming out, isn't it?" Hunk asks, putting both hands on Lance's shoulders.

"Let me see," Pidge says, looking over Allura's elbow.

"Everything's fine," Allura says, visibly relieved. She lowers her hand and lets Pidge step in front of her to poke at the screen. Keith's vitals are all normal, his progress steady. Pidge checks everything twice, just in case, and Allura continues, "The temperature dropped, and the silly old thing didn't know what was happening. It has to be colder in order to repair cranial damage. It was just switching back and forth. The wound in his lungs must have stabilized somewhat. That's good."

Hunk sighs and props his elbow on Lance's shoulder, laying his hand over his face.

"Man, have we considered replacing or updating these things? They're like waaayy over ten thousand years old and we're still relying on them not to kick it when one of us is trying not to kick it, and honestly? That's just a little too stressful for me."

"Perhaps it is time for an update," Allura admits.

Pidge pushes up their glasses.

"With all the people and resources we have on deck, now, I think we can work something out. They're still doing the job. They've just got some bugs from sitting so long and then being used so much. The interior sensors should work without someone having to input it manually. We're way overdue for a system overhaul, anyway. I'll get to work on that tonight and have Coran look over it in the morning. Is he still sitting on the scanners?"

"Yes. He said he would organize the shifts himself so we could all stay here, and he's keeping everyone updated so they'll be ready to go whenever we are. I've already spoken with the Coalition members and Lotor. I was going to go over the information we have with you all later."

"Lance?" Hunk tentatively asks, "You okay?"

"I think I need to sit down," Lance's voice is thin, and the others look at him with concern. He pulls his hand off the healing pod, and it's shaking. His face is pale, his eyes dark. "I'm gonna pass out...."

"Okay," Hunk says, steering him toward the steps where he can sit down, "Okay. Don't do that. Let's just take it easy, okay. Just breathe, dude, a lot's happened today, but it's totally fine."

"It's not," the two words are a solid tremor, a short gasp, "It's not fine. It's not fine…"

Lance collapses into a sitting position. He puts his face in his hands, curling over against his knees, a sob breaking in his throat and shuddering back in. The pod's unprompted tantrum seems to have been the very last thing that he could bear. Lance digs his fingers into his hair, presses his face against his knees, and his voice wobbles with the force of holding back the tears he doesn't want to let go of. Hunk sits beside him on the step and carefully puts a hand between his shoulders.

"Just get it all out, bud," he says quietly, rubbing Lance's back, "It's gonna be okay."

Pidge is starting to think that they should have made him leave while they were stabilizing Keith. Draining his lung was messy business - any kind of surgery is. But Lance had wanted to stay, and he had seemed okay at the time. Upset, obviously, but focused and determined to do whatever needed to be done. He had held Keith's hand the entire time.

Pidge hesitates, then sits down on Lance's other side. They wrestle one of his hands free of the grip he has on his own hair, still damp from the soap and disinfectant. There's so much tension in his body that his hand curls into a tight fist before Pidge even gets their smaller hands around it, and they cradle it between their knees, leaning against Lance's side. Allura sits beside them, puts their hand over Lance's as well and squeezes it in reassurance. The four of them huddle together like that, and they wait.

It's a while before Lance stops crying.

----

This can play out one of two ways:

Lance can stand here the last fifteen tics - fourteen, thirteen, twelve - and be there for Keith, and deal with his feelings and deal with what he said to him on that small, insignificant planet, when Keith was barely conscious and drowning in his own blood, when Lance thought he might lose him. - Nine tics. - Or he can not do that. - Eight tics. - It's not like it's anything he hasn't already said before. - Seven tics. - Hunk notices him fidgeting and glances over from where he's standing to the side of the pod, watching the monitor countdown.

Four tics.

Allura touches the small of his back.

Two tics.

Lance's heart must have beat fifty times between that last tic and the pressurised hiss of the pod releasing.

He's been anticipating it, and he still jolts.

He can't do it.

Hunk puts an arm out to steady Keith. Lance trips over Allura, then Pidge, trying to get out of the room before Keith can fully shake the lag of cryosleep, and he barely even hears the reproachful, "Lance," that follows him through the door. He reaches out, mentally or with his soul or whatever it is creating that intimate link, and is immediately swamped with a searing heat from Red as he runs to his hanger. He gets more of an impression than actual words - concern for his obvious distress, suppressed anger.

Who hurt you?

Me.

Come here.

Piloting the Black Lion actually scared the hell out of him. It wasn't amazing. It wasn't validating. It wasn't everything he wanted. All he had wanted in that moment was for Keith to be alright, and the terrifying reality that he might not be - that Lance, if it came down to it, would have to take his place and do all of this alone - alone - the thought that he might lose Keith and the realization that he was so close is still alive and thriving under his skin. His muscles are weak with it, making him stumble.

He still misses Blue sometimes.

He misses her calm reassurance, her understanding and quiet nature, but he wouldn't trade Red for anything. This feels right in a way that being with Blue somehow didn't. Being beside Keith, being his Right Hand - this feels like his place. Finally. This is something he's good at, something he's confident with, something he can do. And if this is anything like what Keith was feeling when they lost Shiro, Lance gets it. God, he gets it. All the uncertainty, all the outbursts, all the fear materialized as anger, because this is gutting and Lance can't breathe.

The hanger lights clip on when he rushes in, accompanied by a deep rumble. Red lowers his head to the floor, but Lance climbs up onto one of his forepaws instead and lays there curled against the warm metal.  He feels the minute movement underneath him as Red settles, the reverberation of a mechanical purr that chases away the anxiety seeping into his veins through his fast beating heart.

He breathes, and he waits, and, eventually, he sleeps.

----

Lance is an idiot, and here's why:

He doesn't say anything about his promise.

He doesn't say anything about his feelings.

He keeps all that stupid, impulsive stuff to himself, locked away in his chest, where he can let it sit until he's ready to sort through it and deal with it (which is going to be never). Maybe it's not the best coping mechanism. He's...starting to realize that his feelings for Keith might not be so… fleeting. It's taken him long enough to even process the fact that his friendship feelings for Keith have shifted into something more romantically inclined - has taken several long, late night talks with Hunk to realize that this is completely normal. The thought of losing Keith was just so jarring, as if the threat of that isn't hanging over their heads every moment, anyway.

Lance wasn't ready to confront all those big emotions just yet.

Especially since he was the one who ended up hurting Keith in the first place, accident or not.

He doesn't even have the chance to get that guilt off his chest. Keith recovers from his stint in the healing pod with no trouble at all, except that he doesn't remember what happened - the mission itself, or anything Lance might have said to him. Allura assures them that memory loss sometimes happens with head trauma and that they can't always be recovered. Keith doesn't seem any worse for wear and is satisfied with the briefing Lance and the others give him. He shows no hesitation in diving right back in to finish what they started, and though he notices Lance is carrying some tension when they're alone together, once Lance assures him that he's fine, Keith doesn't push it.

Lance is glad when the mission is over. And he's glad that the following weeks pass exactly the same as all the others before. Distance, however, makes it easier to fall back into habits that are well-worn and comfortable. It makes the tumultuous sea of his feelings for Keith calm into something warm and soft again, like well-scrubbed skin after a day spent on the beach.

And then he gets caught don't that thing that he does.

Pidge kicks Lance's foot underneath the table during a meeting. Lance jolts, his spine snapping straight, eyes leaping away from Keith to the holoscreen in front of them. After a beat, and a cursory glance around the semi-darkened room to be sure no one else noticed, Lance looks questioningly at Pidge, who doesn't even have the decency to hide the smirk on their face.

They mutter, "You're not subtle, you know."

Lance glowers at them, hating the way his face heats at the vague accusation.

"Mind your own business, Pidge," he says under his breath.

Pidge is like a dog with a bone, though, chewing relentlessly. They fold their arms, reclining back into their seat.

"I just think it's funny that you have a type."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know," Pidge says deliberately. They nod toward Allura, her rapt attention focused on the Heresty Minister talking to them through the holoscreen. Then they nod to Keith, whose eyes are glossy and far away, making it obvious that he's not taking in a single word that's being said. "Bossy. Stubborn. Impulsive. Kind of mean sometimes, but secretly a total dork. Super nice. Beautiful eyes." Pidge bats their own average brown eyes at Lance, unnecessarily dramatic. "Smaller than you, but strong enough to bench press you - "

"Pidge, please shut up."

Lance covers his eyes with his hand. Hearing it laid out like that has him wishing he could die of embarrassment - then at least his suffering would end.

Instead, he has to endure.

Pidge's elbow digs gently into his side. "Relax. Lance, I'm just messing with you."

Lance doesn't say anything.

Pidge goes on as if he had. They seem to be glad to finally be breaching the subject that's been nagging at them for weeks, "At least with Keith you're not being so obnoxious. I mean, you're obvious, don't get me wrong, but you don't act like your brain liquifies any time he talks to you. That's growth. I just thought it was an interesting observation. In case you had any ideas about, y'know, telling him how you feel, instead of needlessly pining like this."

"Why would I tell him?" Lance asks, lifting his hand to frown at Pidge. They're both keeping their voices low, but he feels something hot and choking rising in his chest, "I'm not embarrassing myself enough by being obvious?"

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Pidge says, sounding like they genuinely have no idea why he would be embarrassed right now. They lift a shoulder. "So you like Keith. He's an attractive guy. He has good qualities just like everyone else. And it's not like you guys aren't totally compatible with each other. What's the big deal?"

Lance sighs, facing the front again.

His heart pounds, flooding him with mixed feelings.

"It's not a big deal." He says it carefully, and tries not to pay to much attention to how badly it hurts when he adds, "I got over Allura. I'll get over Keith, too…."

It's Pidge's turn to frown. They shift around in their seat, facing away from the screen and looking at Lance head on. "That's not what I meant." Their movement catches more attention than their words, spoken just between the two of them. A couple of heads turn toward them - the Paladins are not the only ones crowded into the conference room, listening to the Minister's report.

This is important stuff.

Lance somehow forgets that.

He pushes back his chair and stands, storming out of the conference room. His ears are ringing, deaf to the sound of the door opening and closing, and opening again behind him - the quick snap of footsteps hurrying to catch up to him, and the confused voice calling his name. It isn't until someone grabs him by the wrist and turns him around that Lance realizes what he did, and that he's an idiot.

Case and point: it's Keith.

It's Keith's fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding him back. Keith's deep violet-grey eyes searching Lance's anxiously, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Lance," he says again, "Is everything okay?"

Lance pulls his hand out of Keith's grip, self conscious about the contact.

"Yeah. I'm fine." The answer is practiced, automatic, and Lance knows right away that Keith doesn't fall for it. He rubs his wrist and tries again, head down, looking at the floor, "It's nothing. I should…. Get back in there and apologize. That was pretty rude of me -"

He moves to step around, to go back to the conference room.

He shouldn't have gotten upset over nothing and left like that without saying a word.

Keith puts a hand on Lance's chest to stop him, and Lance follows the small pressure, lets Keith push him back a couple of steps so they're facing each other again. The height difference is minuscule at most now. They've both shot up and filled out, edging closer and closer to their physical peaks, but Lance still has that almost-an-inch of height over Keith, the wider shoulders, the longer legs. Now is really not the time to be noticing Keith's legs. The dense muscle packed into his shapely thighs and calves, squeezed by the dark fabric of his pants.

Lance keeps his head turned aside. He has definitely done enough staring for one day, and feels that now-familiar heat creeping into his cheeks again when he thinks about how Keith still hasn't dropped his hand, resting it firmly on Lance's chest as if to hold him in place.

He wonders if Keith can feel the way his heart tries to reach him through the cage of his ribs.

It's always doing that.

Keith doesn't say anything.

He's looking steadily at Lance, like he's waiting for Lance to look back. When Lance doesn't, fighting with himself the entire time - when the silence between them has stretched into minutes - Keith finally drops his hand. It's probably an accident the way the tips of his fingers brush against Lance's stomach, but Lance feels the fleeting sensation like a brand through the synthetic fiber of his shirt, a warmth that slides all the way down, landing heavily in his navel.

That's got him way more bothered than it should.

Keith's shoulder lands against his, a playful shove as he brushes past.

"C'mon," Keith says, "The others can handle this."

Lance's stomach leaps, electrified, and he turns to follow without question. He doesn't have any idea where Keith is leading him, lets his legs carry him blindly, until they're in the elevator and Keith is pressing the button to go all the way up, and Lance feels a swell of deep affection and nerves instantly at war with one another. Entering the room that houses the enormous Altean swimming pool is easier through the elevator than it is free-falling out of the ventilation shafts. The impression of being upside down, but not, is always unpleasant - that lurch around as you first step out of the elevator that you can't fully place, that leaves your stomach in a tight knot.

Lance's stomach is already like that, tense with misplaced anxiety as he follows Keith to the bright, glistening edge of the swimming pool. Keith sits without a word and starts unlacing his boots, pulling them off, socks and all, setting them aside. Lance sits beside him and does the same, rolling up his pant legs and plopping his feet into the water once they're bare.

Lance realizes he's smiling as soon as he's got his feet in, his hands clasped between his knees as he stares down into the pool. The water is cold, but comfortable. It's so crystal clear that he can only make out the glints and ripples along the surface, dancing up against his dark legs, throwing reflections of light. He kicks the water gently, enjoying the relaxing motion.

Keith has his body tipped forward, his hands braced on the lip of the pool. When Lance glances over, he notices Keith's hand is within easy reach, and almost - almost - gives in to the impulse to set his over it. He holds on tightly to his own hands, instead, and pulls his eyes away.

"Thanks, man," he says into the easy silence.

"No problem," Keith answers, lifting a small grin at him. He swings his leg toward Lance in the water, but doesn't actually touch him; lets the current his motion makes caress Lance's leg, instead. "You feel any better?"

"A little," Lance admits.

"Good."

Keith is still smiling when he turns away, giving a tiny head-nod, watching his own feet moving through the water. Lance glances at him, and then goes right on looking. He lets himself have this one moment to take it all in - as if he hasn't already memorized Keith's profile, the way his hair falls across his cheeks - as if he couldn't find him in the dark by the sound of his breath.

"I've been sort of out of it lately," Lance confesses, as if he hasn't been obvious.

"I noticed," Keith says, looking at him again. That teasing smirk is there, but it's grown hesitant. Keith's eyebrows knit together again, and all Lance wants to do is soothe that worry away. He wants to take some of that burden back so Keith doesn't have to carry it all. He should. He's the cause of it, anyway, and Lance has one brief, awful moment where he wonders if he's really grown at all. "You don't - have to talk about it. If you don't want to, Lance. I just wanted to try and get your mind off of whatever it is, at least for a little while."

"No, I know, I - there's no reason not to tell you," Lance says, turning red, "I guess. It's…"

Maybe Pidge is right. It hurts keeping it inside like this. Lance feels like at any moment he's going to bust his seams and spill it all out at the wrong time, in the wrong way. What could be worse than feeling like this?

Maybe he can just test the water here.

Dip his feet in.

Keith is watching him again; waiting. Patient but not expectant, maybe a little nervous. He's…. Jesus, it's hard to read this guy. It's always been hard. It's no wonder Lance always thought he was being antagonized any time Keith even opened his mouth.

Lance takes a steadying breath and looks at his knees.

"I guess I… I'm… I'm bisexual." Well that isn't what he had meant to say. The confession feels stupid, like he hasn't made the shift of his attraction known lately by flirting indiscriminately. He already told Hunk. It's safe to assume Hunk mentioned it to everyone else, but the way Keith's eyes widen slightly makes Lance think otherwise. Makes him think maybe he's not as obvious as Pidge says. Makes him really fucking scared of being turned away, suddenly. "I mean I'm kind of just, y'know… noticing… that I like guys as much as I like women. Or maybe a little more? I dunno. I - I guess it depends on the person."

Keith sits up straighter.

Lance doesn't look at him. He plucks at a crease in his pants at the bend of his knee, where it's bunched up safely from the water. God, he wants to throw himself in. He wishes it were lava.

"So," his own voice shocks him. It's too late to back down, so Lance plunges on, rambling, "I'm just having a little bit of an existential crisis, I guess. It's - it's been pretty confusing lately. I've been - thinking about it a lot." A high, nervous laugh. Lance rubs his face with one hand. "So, like. Sorry. If I've been like super out of it, or weird or anything. It's - This is… It's…. It's kind of stupid - "

"It's not stupid, Lance," Keith says. Lance flinches, swallowing the rest of his self-deprecation. Keith's tone changes swiftly from something stern to something… else, "I mean, it's stupid for being so confusing but - you're not stupid for being confused."

"Right," Lance says.

"What I'm trying to say is - I know how you feel."

Keith's voice is surprisingly earnest, and Lance's heart absolutely does not do a cartwheel. It does not liquidate in his chest and flood his insides with a warm and hopeful glow. Lance lifts his gaze up from his lap and latches onto Keith's bright violet eyes. He's turned toward Lance as much as he can while still keeping his legs in the water, one knee crooked more than the other and close enough to Lance that if he moved his hand just an inch he could rest it on Keith's thigh.

That brand new hope leaps into Lance's chest, pounding through his veins.

But then Keith says,

"How I felt before... It was pretty confusing for me, too." Keith inclines his head. "Being kind of attracted to guys, but not really being interested in being with anyone… like that."

That big feeling ballooning in Lance's chest like a roar of victory shrinks back, quiet and defeated.

It's not that he forgot that Keith wasn't interested in being with someone, romantic or otherwise. That he's asexual. With the kind of proximity to each other they've had, sexualities and preferences - or a distinct lack thereof - has been a subject that has come up between the growing Paladins on more than one occasion. They're all intimate friends, bonded in a way that few others are through their Lions, through sharing quintessence and their unique experiences.

Lance had just… kind of hoped that Keith might be interested in being with him.

The affirmation that he isn't - and that he's never going to be - and that's fine, it's just - Lance wants to love someone who loves him back so badly. Pidge is right. He does have a type.

He keeps falling in love with people that only see him as a friend.

Lance can barely register that Keith is still talking, and he wrestles his shredded attention back into place for Keith's careful voice.

"Adam and Shiro kind of helped me a lot with that," Keith says, his eyes wandering now as he thinks back to his emotionally hectic Garrison days. He's rubbing his knuckles with his thumb, distracted. That seems like eons ago. "They were both really accepting, obviously, and they didn't make me feel like I was weird or broken or anything. I mean. I didn't really care about what anybody else thought, especially back then. But it was still good to like… have that reassurance."

"Makes sense," Lance says, feeling a smile on his face.

"You know that's okay, right?" Keith asks, suddenly looking worried, "Anyone would be lucky to have you, Lance. You're… you're great. And you've got a lot to offer someone."

It's so forthright that Lance aches. It's not like he's expecting anything less.

For all his awkwardness, Keith is nothing if not direct. It's one of the things he and Lance have in common, a thing that has magnetized them from the very beginning. It's one of the reasons - now - that Lance trusts Keith, both as a leader and as a friend. Knowing that Keith has the same kind of trust in him - that he's willing to work past and admit his own kind of insecurities in order to bridge the gap between them - is why Lance is absolutely bananas about this stupid boy that doesn't want him back.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," Lance says it as a half-laugh, softly. He offers up a small shrug. "Hunk already gave me the 'you're totally valid' speech. I just… needed to get it all out in the open with everyone, I guess. Thanks for listening, man. That's really all I needed, I think."

Keith hesitates, looks like he wants to say something and then holds back.

"Was there… anything else?" he asks.

"That was it," Lance says, looking at his knees again.

Honestly, he feels stupid.

He should have known not to get his hopes up like that. And he feels like crying, but he is definitely not going to be doing that in front of Keith. Not when Keith hasn't done anything wrong, not when it isn't Keith's fault that he feels like this.

"You, uh…." Keith starts, then hesitates. He glances away, and what he says next seems like it wasn't the thing he was originally going for. "It wasn't… What happened with Black, a few weeks ago. That hasn't been bothering you, has it?"

Lance blinks down at the water and lifts his head, frowning.

He couldn't exactly have omitted that part when they filled Keith in on all that time he was missing. The new bond that Lance shares with Keith's Lion is absolutely something that he knows Keith can feel.

But why is Keith bringing it up now?

"Some of my memories came back," Keith goes on, eyes downcast as he rubs his thumb over his knuckles. Lance's heart kicks hard in his chest, anxious. "Nothing… I mean, it's kind of hard to tell if they're actual memories, or if my brain is just substituting stuff to kind of fill in the blanks or something. But I - I've been feeling kind of bad about it. About… putting you in that position. I know what that feels like. And I've been wanting to apologize, but I never… got around to it. I thought that might have been what's been bothering you."

"Oh," Lance says, beyond surprised. He doesn't really know what to say. He reaches, without thinking, to grasp Keith's arm, to still his worrying hands. "No. No, Keith, that - it wasn't." He laughs, looks down. "I mean, yeah, I did have like, a panic attack afterwards. You… that scared the hell out of me, man. I didn't…. I don't. I don't want to lose you. Y'know? We're a great team. You're one of my best friends, Keith."

His own honest words push some conviction into Lance's heart, push all those heavy feelings out of the way so he can have some peace of mind. He's not going to lose his friendship with Keith. He's not going to ruin this when what they have is enough.

When Lance looks up, Keith has got that… unbelievably soft look on his face, that small smile.

"Sorry I scared you, Lance."

"You better knock that martyr shit off, man," Lance quips.

"I'll try."

"I mean it. You're better than that."

He moves his foot in the water, bumping his toes against Keith's leg. Lance is glad to be sitting on the side of the pool, thick sprays leaping free of the surface as their foot-splashing naturally escalates, turned into something competitive, something silly and fun. Lance's heart is so heavy right now, he's sure he might sink. But it's also going wild in his chest, lifted by the sound of Keith's sharp laughter, a vibrant echo that carries across the water and fills Lance' veins with light, with a heat that sears him to his bones.

As long as he still gets to hear that, every single day, for the rest of his life - he'll be fine.

Standing beside Keith as an equal is enough.

It's more than enough.