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Lance slams the door shut, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment.
“What the hell was that?” he asks, furious.
“Lance, I’m sorry,” Keith says, his apology now being more annoying than anything else after hearing it for the fifth time. Lance doesn’t want a stupid fucking apology, he wants an explanation.
“Yeah, I got that,” he growls. “Why did you say that? What the hell were you thinking?!”
(“What?!” Keith jumped to his feet, his hands firmly planted onto the table. Lance looked up at him, surprised.
Shiro eyed him warily, frowning. “Is there a problem?” he asked, his words carrying a genuine concern.
“He’s going to face Gyrniz alone?” Keith asked; his glare was so intense Lance had noticed some of the council members squirm a little.
Lance’s surprise was soon swiped away with humiliation. And burning anger.
Shiro held his gaze, not even batting an eye. “That’s what I said, yes,” he said, voice completely professional.
“What? And—”
“Sit. Down.” Lance hissed through his teeth, covering one side of his face. Keith looked at him then and Lance saw the exact moment when his face changed from fury to realization to guilt.
Shiro looked between them for a second, then, clearing his voice, he continued the meeting.
Lance hadn’t looked up until the gathering ended, and even then, he walked out of the room staring at his feet, embarrassed and completely mortified.)
“Listen,” Keith says, struggling to keep his voice even and patient. Oh, Lance is listening alright. “He was talking about you facing Gyrniz alone, I just—”
“You just decided to humiliate me in front of the whole fucking board,” Lance cuts him off. He's so pissed he can’t even care what Keith has to say. God, why did he do that?!
“I said I’m sorry, Lance,” says Keith, finally losing the cool in his voice. Good, Lance wants him to feel as resentful as he is feeling. “What do you want me to do, ask Pidge if she can build a time machine to go back and fix it?”
“Why yes, Keith, that’s such a good idea, great job, bud,” Lance scoffs, smiling what he wishes is a sardonic smile. “You can just solve everything so nicely.”
Keith frowns. It deepens into a glare, hot and boiling and satisfying.
“Well, what did you expect me to do?!” he snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “She’s the most powerful dictator between what’s left from Zarkon’s empire and you’re going alone against her!”
“I won’t even have to fight her if all goes according to the plan!” Lance yells, tilting forward, almost into an attack stance. “And if expressing your worry was what you wanted to do, you could’ve waited until we were home!”
“What difference would that have made, you’d have already agreed on going!”
“And did that outburst changed something?! I’m still going anyway!”
Keith grits his teeth, so tight Lance thinks he hears them grinding.
“Only now,” he adds. “I’m entirely mortified in front of Shiro and the others!”
“Oh please,” he says, rolling his eyes. “If Shiro’s opinion is what’s gotten you all worked up, then relax, he knows I was just worried.”
“Were you?!”
Keith looks taken aback, stuttering with his mouth open. He finally settles for words:
“Of course, I am!” he shouts, looking offended and sounding vex.
“Okay, but are you just worried?!” Lance pushes further.
“What are you saying, Lance.”
“I’m saying you don’t trust me!”
“Wha— of course, I trust you! Don’t assume bullshit just because you’re angry!” he yells, stepping closer. Keith’s face is inches apart and for the first time since they’ve been together, Lance doesn’t want to kiss him, doesn’t even feel flustered at the proximity. He only feels anger and hurt, blinding his vision with red and filling his veins with something like wildfire.
“You’re off to face Gyrniz, I’m—”
“And you should be trusting me to handle her!” he yells over, and the words seem to shut Keith up. “I get that you are worried, hell, do you think I don’t know how it feels to have you away for a mission?!” Lance says, leaning back and dragging his hands down on his face. “I worry sick when you’re gone, not hop around like a fucking— Eastern Bunny or whatever.”
“Listen, there’s a reason why she’s still out there,” Keith still tries to reason and Lance has this sudden urge to punch a hole in a wall. “She’s good, at fighting and overstepping.”
“Keith. I know. I’m not dumb, I’ve memorized her files a million times, why—” he stops when he feels his voice becoming weaker. He’s not yelling anymore, the anger has slipped into something more wet and heavy and hurt. “God, maybe I will have to fight her and maybe I’ll get injured, you shouldn’t make me seem like a helpless little puppy in front of the council.”
Keith looks less angry, too. With regret ghosting his features, he casts his eyes down. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“I work hard,” Lance continues, because he has to say this, has to convince Keith that he’s not just wondering around. He has to convince himself now, because it’s Keith who usually quiets his screaming thoughts, and now Keith is those screaming thoughts. Lance hates that. “I train hard, with both my sword and gun, Keith. I— I’m not going to mess this up, okay. People on Aiin need help and if it means I have to take out an entire fleet of Galra, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Keith glances up, a line of worry between his eyebrows. God, Lance hates this. Hates feeling this way, especially towards Keith. He feels restless, wanting to go back to feeling calm around him, but then he feels his chest tighten even more and his skin burns even more at the thought of what Keith had done and thinks that calm won’t come for a while.
“I… I could delay my meeting with the Olkari and come with you,” Keith says.
“Don’t you get it?!” Lance snaps again, his voice loud as thunder, shaking the place with so much rage Lance thinks he’ll explode. Why doesn’t he get it?!
“I have to do this alone, Keith! I can’t have you babysit me all the time, I need to do this alone, I need to know I can do this alone, do you not get it?”
“You could get injured!” Keith fights back, still stubborn as ever. God, as much as Lance is charmed with his stubbornness sometimes, right now he just wants to rip that trait out of him.
“So, I’ll get injured! The war has maybe ended, but this is still a battle, I’m gonna get hurt at some fucking point!”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Keith says. He looks like he’s in pain.
“I am not going to back down from this,” Lance says firmly, pointing at Keith with a finger. “I won’t sit around anymore and do nothing while you— while everyone else is, is doing something, okay? I— I hate feeling like that. You know how I feel about this, Keith.”
Lance feels the tears slip into his vision and curses under his breath. God, he hates this, hates that he’s crying right now, hates that he can’t stay mad at Keith long enough for him not to end up sobbing. He hates that he can’t keep clinging to his anger because Keith cares, and he’s worried and is looking out for him in his own, invalid but, still, considerate kind of way.
Fuck.
Lance blinks. And blink. He’s not going to cry, he’s not going to fucking cry.
(“Marco won’t stay mad forever,” Rosa said, petting the child’s head.
Lance sniffled, his eyes were stinging with unreleased tears.
“It’s okay to cry, mijo,” his mother cooed. “It means you care.”)
Fuck.
Keith steps closer; Lance can sense he wants to touch him but is hesitant to cross that line.
“I know, Lance,” he tells him, the anger and rage gone from his voice. Now it’s just soft and worrisome. “I never doubted you, okay?” he says, tilting his head down when Lance tries to avoid his gaze.
“I don’t want this place to be like The Castle, too,” Lance whispers, because if he speaks any louder, he’ll sob and sob and sob. When his eyes sting, he looks down, not wanting Keith to see the tears. “You don’t know what’s it like to just… stand and watch everyone,” he adds and scoffs. “Besides flying the lions, I just helped Coran clean the castle, mopping the floor and whipping away space dust. Or playing with the mice or milking Kaltenecker.”
He feels Keith slowly wrap his fingers around his wrist, and despite his upset, it’s still grounding.
“I felt like a fucking maid, like a joke,” he says, scowling at his own feet. “And I’m… I’m more than just a stupid joke.”
“You are, of course— Lance, look at me,” Keith says, gently gripping his chin and lifting his head. Lance looks at him, his vision is blurry. “I never said— I know it came out that way, but I never meant that you couldn’t handle this,” he whispers, voice like velvet. “I’m just… if something happened to you…” he stops. “After that explosion, with you and Veronica, I…” he breathes in; Lance has never seen Keith look scared before, right now he looks terrified. “Lance, I thought I lost you and I don’t want to go through that.”
Lance sobs once, holds back the next one. Keith outlines Lance’s face with his fingers, touching him carefully like he’s afraid he’ll hurt him if he’s not gentle enough. He stops at his jaw, framing it.
“I can’t lose you.”
“I know,” Lance croaks, feeling a tear slip down.
—it’s okay to cry, mijo—
“I don’t want you to think like that, I’ll be damned if I allow stupid Gyrniz to win,” he says, and then adds, because Keith is looking sad and concerned and so, so afraid Lance hates and loves it at the same time. “She’s not frickin’ Beyoncé, walking around all mighty.”
Keith huffs, his lips quirk up slight. Lance follows the movement with his eyes, the heaviness on his chest starts to crack.
“I’m sorry,” Keith says, caressing his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” says Lance. “For, you know, losing my shit.”
Keith hums. He moves his hands to Lance’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Lance snakes his own hands around Keith’s middle, pressing his nose into the boy’s neck. He breathes in—Keith doesn’t wear cologne or use lotion, but he has this smell, this significant scent, a combination of his shampoo and soap and laundry detergent and something else Lance can’t quite name, and it’s so Keith, so boy and so earthy and so, so Keith.
“I don’t say this enough,” Keith starts, voice muffled into Lance’s hair. “But I’m proud of you,” Lance feels his heart shrink, he holds back a squeal. “I’m so proud of you, you know that? I want you to know this, Lance. I’m… you make me proud, Leandro, and I should tell you this more often.”
Lance cries. He sobs into Keith’s neck, he soaks the boy’s uniform with his tears, his chest tightens and his sobs become loud. And Keith is there, holding him, whispering it’s okay, Lance, and cry it out, love and I’m here until his shoulders stop shaking and his breath isn’t rapid and his lungs don’t feel caged up.
Keith is there. He’s there when Lance leans away, his face wet with tears, nose running a little—Keith wipes it off with his sleeve.
“Gross,” says Lance.
“Not really,” says Keith.
He’s there when Lance gets under the covers, too tired to go through his skincare routine. He’s there when Lance starts whispering, talking about everything and nothing; Keith talks back.
Keith is here. And Lance thinks the calm will always come sooner as long as he’s here.