Archive of Our Own

Lance slowly peeks behind his shoulder, making sure that the lump on the bed is asleep.

He carefully slides the covers off, moving as quietly as possible not to wake Keith up. The floor only squeaks once as he tiptoes out of the room, and when he closes the door behind his back his stomach growls painfully loud.

Lance sighs with relief, now with the bedroom door closed and Keith successfully still asleep, he walks into the kitchen with quick steps, his stomach growling, again. He hasn’t eaten anything for what feels like the entire day.

Now, would he be this hungry if he had eaten that stupid cafeteria sandwich from work? No. Was it a matter of pride? Yes.

He turns the lights on, eyes ready to roam around and find anything that is at least half-edible, only to jump five feet in the air and shriek like a started squirrel at the sight of Keith, and the bird’s nest that is his hair.

“What the hell?!” he pipes, hand coming up to his chest, clutching the material of his pajamas tightly.

Keith blinks at him. Lance blinks back.

“Hi,” Keith says, casually, and continues to look through the fridge.

Lance calms down, his breathing going back to normal now that he’s certain there are no ghosts in their apartment.

“Wait,” he says. “Did you seriously replaced yourself with pillows? ” he looks at Keith incredulously.

“We gotta use those decorative pillows for something,” he answers, now checking the freezer in which Lance knows is nothing but ice.

“You made me cheat on you with pillows?” Lance deadpans. “You made me into a cheating man, Kogane?!”

“Remind me, again, why aren’t you an actor and making us rich?” Keith says, voice equally monotone. He closes the freezer with an unsatisfied expression, sighing.

“What will I tell the kids?” Lance says dramatically, running his hands through his hair.

“Maybe you should audition for Marvel?” Keith says, tapping a finger on his chin like he’s actually considering the possibility of Lance becoming an actor. “You’re superpower would be to over-dramatize everything.”

“I could,” Lance shrugs, leaning against the counter in front of Keith and crossing his arms over his chest. “But then I’d get famous and would travel most of the time and you’d be grumpy that I’m never home and would get jealous of my fans wooing me over,” he says with a sly smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re a paladin, you’re already famous,” Keith deadpans.

“And you’re already jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“Just say you are sometimes.”

“No.”

“A lil’ bit.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Lance shakes his head, words on the tip of his tongue and ready to break Keith’s composure when he’s suddenly reminded of the reason why he’s standing in the kitchen at almost one in the morning.

He pats a hand on his growling stomach, looking around the room which is, painfully, empty.

“We’ve got anything?”

“No,” Keith sighs, leaning against the stove. He tucks his white hair behind his ear, revealing two spheres of metal shimmering underneath the light. “We really need to go grocery shopping.”

Lance hums in acknowledgment, reaching a hand to play with Keith’s earrings mindlessly.

Then he has an idea.

“You know who would have something, though?” Lance says, voice low in a way that only means trouble.

Keith squints at him, looking dubious. Then he’s hit with realization and his entire face lightens up and curves into a wicked smile.

“Adam and Shiro,” Keith says and Lance nods, mimicking Keith’s smile.

“And we have a spare key,” Lance continues innocently, gently twirling one of the earrings between his fingers. “You know, for emergencies. Like starving to death.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Then they’re walking out of the kitchen with quick steps; Lance struggles to hold back a snicker.

Keith grabs a jacket for both of them and Lance gets the keys. They put on their boots, tuck their pajama pants in it, and walk out of the apartment.

“Y’know,” Lance begins casually as they jog down the stairs. “Maybe it’s time we took a step forward in our relationship.”

Keith stops, looking up at him from the bottom stair, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes slightly wide with alarm.

Keith visibly swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and asks with a slightly hoarse voice: “Like—like what?”

Lance stalls for a second longer, amused with the panic slowly overtaking Keith’s features.

“Like, perhaps, I could ride the bike this time,” he says slowly, walking down a few stairs until he's standing next to Keith.

Keith noticeably deflates, his shoulders drop with a long exhale and his entire face relaxes; Lance wonder what exactly went through his mind, but he doesn’t really wonder because there’s only one thing that could’ve come to Keith’s mind and if that thing caused a reaction like this then—

Lance ignores his thoughts and the bitter worry curling inside of him.

You’re overthinking, again! his mind scolds.

“Do you know how to ride it?” Keith asks, oblivious to Lance’s inner turmoil.

Lance scoffs, because how dare he.

“Uh, yeah?” he says. “How do you think I brought you and Shiro home from Oklahoma?”

“...to be fair I remember nothing from that day… or the following week.”

They walk out the building and into the parking lot, the chill midnight air instantly surrounding them; it’s quiet outside, the only source of sound being their steps.

“Yeah, I know,” Lance scoffs. “You called me Leonardo for an entire day.”

“Well, at least we learned never to drink alien alcohol again,” Keith sighs, walking towards his bike.

“Wait wait wait,” Lance says, stopping Keith with a hand on his arm, and frowns. “That’s not fair! I want a drunken adventure with you, too!”

“Is it really an adventure if you don’t remember most of it?” Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Lance exclaims, letting go of Keith to throw his hands in the air, then continues firmly and points between them: “You and I. One day we’re gonna go out and drink unknown alien drinks and end up on a different planet, I will have nothing less.”

Keith has an amused smile on his mouth—Lance catches the softness in the curve of his lips—and he flicks his eyes around Lance’s face. Keith shakes his head like he can’t believe Lance is being serious right now.

Oh, Lance is serious. He’ll be damned if he won’t have a drunken adventure story to tell his grandkids.

“Sure,” Keith shrugs and grabs the helmets. “And when I die from alcohol poisoning don’t start crying about it.”

“You grew up with Shiro and his cooking, you’ll handle another drink or two without trouble,” Lande waves Keith off and bypasses him. He puts on the black helmet over his head and swings his leg over the leather seat, carefully curling his fingers around the handles.

Keith sits behind him, wrapping his hands around Lance’s middle and resting his head comfortably on his shoulder. Keith’s presence is warm behind him, hugging Lance close and tight, and Lance understands now why Keith enjoys their bike rides so much.

“Okay, now what?” Lance asks.

Keith pulls back, turning Lance by his shoulder to properly face him.

“You said you knew how to ride it!”

“I can,” Lance assures. “I just don’t remember how to start it.”

“You drove across another state, how do you not know how to start it?”

“I was panicking, Keith, I pressed all sorts of buttons and it somehow worked,” Lance defends and even though Keith has a helmet on, Lance is sure his face is borderline done . “Although, it was beeping the whole time,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Okay, you amaze me every single day, but okay,” he sighs, leaning forward to instruct Lance better. “Just turn the key… yeah and then push that button—no the other button—yeah that one, it puts the engine on On Mode.”

Lance nods as he does exactly how Keith tells him to.

“And then press the one below it to actually start the engine,” Keith finishes and the bike roars to life when Lance presses the grey button.

“Alright!” Lance crows, wiggling a little to settle better on the seat. “Hold tight.”

Keith does, clutching his arms around Lance and sticks to his back like a koala bear—it’s extremely endearing, causing Lance to smile like a fool. It’s nothing new, Keith being so close to him, but Lance’s chest still flutters, his skin gets warmer and warmer despite the cold air around them.

***

“When you said to hold tight, I thought you meant I’m gonna fly and don’t fall,” Keith says once they’ve stopped, removing the helmet to expose his hair sticking all sorts of direction. Lance snorts at that, flicking one of the strands out of Keith’s face.

Lance removes his own helmet, running a hand in his hair to soothe down the possible mess there; the way Keith keeps staring at it tells Lance he didn’t succeed.

“I was going fast,” he retorts.

“You were crawling,” Keith deadpans. “It took us half an hour to get here and it’s a ten-minute drive away.”

“Whatever, stop acting like you didn’t enjoy every second of it,” Lance says with a huff, getting off the bike.

Keith mutters something under his breath.

“Do you think they’ll be awake?” Lance asks as they walk towards the building. Keith walks next to him, his hands buried in his pockets and his shoulder occasionally brushing against Lance’s.

“Who? Two ninety-year-olds?”

“Fair point.”

Lance stops in front of the elevator, staring at it. He glances at Keith. “Wanna use the fire escape for aesthetic reasons?”

“Definitely.”

Lance starts climbing the ladder and asks: “How should we prank them this time?”

“We’re gonna eat their food, for starters,” Keith says below him. “Adam will lose his shit when he’ll find the fridge half-empty and dirty dishes in the sink.”

“...you know I can’t leave dirty dishes like that,” Lance says, helping Keith climb up the rest of the way. They stalk toward the right window and crouch down.

“This one time tell your OST part to take a nap,” Keith speaks quietly. Then adds when Lance doesn’t agree: “To drive Adam crazy.”

Lance sighs and nods. “To drive Adam crazy.”

Lance peeks through the window and frowns when he sees nothing but darkness.

“Why do they have to have their apartment on the dark side,” Lance mutters, struggling to lift the window up. “Why can’t they be like normal people and have it on the street side!”

“Our apartment’s on the dark side, too,” Keith whispers.

“We’re sneaking into our friends’ house at one in the morning to eat their food because we haven’t gone grocery shopping for weeks,” Lance deadpans. “How normal does this sound to you?”

Keith snorts and pinches his arm.

They lift the window soundlessly, climbing into the apartment with careful steps. It’s dark, not a single source of light except for the moonlight, which is barely any help.

Lance bumps his knee on the edge of the sofa and barely surpasses a whimper. Keith chuckles— asshole —then nudges Lance’s back with a hand, gesturing for him to keep moving.

“OW!”

Lance blinks. He looks back at Keith, who’s a frozen form of a shadow.

“What was that?” Lance whispers.

“I don’t know,” Keith whispers back, sounding just as confused as Lance feels.

“Lance, you’re stepping on my finger,” someone says and Lance jumps, stumbling back into Keith. Keith instinctively wraps his hands around Lance’s arms, pulling him even closer.

“What the hell?!” Lance screeches. He sees a big shadow grow tall in front of him that—that looks a lot like Hunk. “Hunk?”

“Yeah, man, it’s me,” he reassures.

“Why were you on the floor?” Keith asks, still gripping Lance’s arms like someone will jump out of the dark.

“I was hiding,” Hunk says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“From who?”

“Possible intruders who ended up being the two of you.”

“...okay,” Lance drawls. Keith lets go of him now that he’s sure they’re not in any danger. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“We haven’t paid our Netflix bill, yet, and we’re here to hack into theirs,” Pidge whispers from somewhere behind Hunk and Lance screeches, again, and Keith’s hands are gripping him protectively within seconds, again.

“Stop jumping out of nowhere!” Lance says at the same time as Keith asks:

“Why didn’t you hack from home?”

“...I’ve always wanted to break into someone’s apartment,” they say quietly.

“Fair point.”

“We could ask you the same,” Hunk says, suspicion clear in his voice and if not for the darkness, Lance is sure he’d be squinting at them.

“We’re hungry and have no food,” Keith answers, walking towards the kitchen and dragging Lance with him.

“You already ate all the dumplings I gave you yesterday?” Hunk asks, following them.

Lance frowns. “What dumplings?”

“Nothing,” Keith blurts out, letting go of him to turn the light on.

Lance squints at the sudden brightness and then glares at Keith, who looks oh so innocent while looking through the basket of biscuits, throwing one of them into his mouth.

“We had dumplings and you ate them all?!” Lance exclaims loudly, but not loud enough to wake anyone up. “Without me?!”

Keith slides his eyes to the left. “I didn’t know you’d want them?”

Lance throws his hands in the air. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry?”

Lance points his chin up, turning his back to Keith. “Hunk, tell him I’m mad and I’m not talking to him.”

Hunk nods, looking at Keith with a blank expression. “Lance says—”

“I heard, Hunk, thank you,” Keith says, walking around the island to poke his head in front of Lance. “Let’s just eat, mess this place up and leave okay?”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you over my empty stomach and broken heart,” Lance says dramatically, refusing to look at him.

Keith kisses his cheek as an apology—Lance is ashamed how easily it flutters his chest with sparks—and returns to the fridge, shuffling through it.

Lance grabs a biscuit and chews it idly.

“I miss being roommates with you,” he says to Hunk. “You never ate every bite of food.”

Keith sighs.

“Aww, man, I’ll bring some over tomorrow, how’s that sound?” Hunk says, swinging an arm over Lance’s shoulder to pull him into a side hug.

“Sounds great, buddy,” he smiles at him, then looks across the room at Keith and feigns a glare. “And I won’t share them with you.”

Keith mutters something.

“Shiro said he had frozen nuggets the other day,” Pidge walks to Keith, squeezing into his side so they’re looking through the fridge too. “Ooh, and some leftover lasagna!”

“Not anymore he doesn’t,” Keith says, pulling out two bags of chicken nuggets and cold lasagna. He has a smug smile on his face that reminds Lance that as mature and serious he is, he’s twice the goofball, a boy who loves pulling pranks on his brother and thrives on driving his brother’s fiancée crazy. A boy who enjoys midnight bike rides with his boyfriend and using the fire escape for fun. It makes Lance feel goofy himself, makes him want to grab Keith’s hand and—and explore unknown cities and try all sort of new food and laugh when one of them trips and falls. He wants to watch Keith smile—playfully and smugly and softly and sincerely and—

Hunk elbows him in the ribs and Lance flicks his eyes up, feeling as if he just snapped out of a trance. Lance raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“You look dopey,” Hunk says, smirking with an amused spark in his eyes.

“No, I don’t!”

“I have eyes, and I’m telling you that you do,” Hunk shrugs, but there’s something genuine in his voice, a note of specific happiness you experience at the sight of your friend being—well, dopey and in love.

“Whatever, you should see your face when Shay visits,” Lance says, crossing his arms and pouting. “The air starts stinking with love.”

“And I’m proud of it,” Hunk says, opening his mouth to say something else when his eyes flick up, and he’s bolting towards the other two in a blink of an eye.

“Who in their right mind makes chicken nuggets in a stockpot?!” he chimes, almost too loudly, and rips the pot out of Pidge’s hands.

They end up using the stockpot. And it’s Keith’s fault—Hunk had to leave the room.

By the time they make chicken nuggets, the place is successfully messed up—the stove covered in drops of oil and the sink full of dirty dishes, which Lance only once tried to wash, thank you very much.

Hunk pours himself another glass of orange juice, and Pidge continues telling them how Matt once programmed a robot to follow Iverson everywhere, all the while playing Overture by Mozart.

Lance, however, with the burning ache of emptiness gone from his stomach, can’t get rid of the tight feeling in his chest. And he knows, okay, he knows it’s way too soon to be worrying about that and Keith’s reaction was normal but—

But he can’t help and feel a little—hurt at the idea of Keith feeling relief that Lance didn’t actually want a step forward. Was Keith not seeing them together in the future? Was the idea of Lance and him… getting even more serious something he despised? Didn’t want? Was… afraid of?

Ugh!

He should really stop overthinking this. And, yet, it’s the only thing in his mind, Keith’s reaction replaying over and over like a broken record, continues and unchanging.

“Lance?” Pidge throws a nugget at his face and snaps him back into reality.

“Huh? Yeah?”

“Are you in?” they ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I still don’t like this,” Hunk mutters and Pidge shushes him, staring at Lance expectedly.

“Umm, yes…?” Lance drawls.

“You didn’t hear a word we said, did you?” Keith sighs. Then, without Lance having to say a word, he adds: “We want to prank Shiro—“

“OH, HELL YEAH, I’M IN!” Lance cuts in.

“Shh, dude!” Hunk hushes him, throwing his hands forward; Pidge sighs and Keith just grins.

“Oh, hell yeah, I’m in,” Lance whispers, grinning back at Keith. “What’s the plan?”

***

They push the window up and help Allura climb in. She looks puzzled, roaming her eyes around the dark living room.

“Do you have the thing?” Pidge whispers solemnly.

Allura nods and hands them a bag, still looking confused.

“What is happening right now?” she asks quietly.

“You’re about to witness something amazing,” Keith says, checking the box in his hand. He waves at them to follow him back into the kitchen.

Allura looks at Lance, brows furrowed, and shakes her head in a questioning way.

“We’re making Shiro beautiful.”

“He’s already beautiful.”

Lance thinks she’s too good for this world.

“Yes,” Lance says. “But now he’ll be even more beautiful.”

“How do we know he won’t wake up?” Hunk asks, his eyes flicking from side to side in a nervous way like Shiro might jump out from a corner at any moment.

“Have you met him?” Keith says, turning around to face Hunk. “The guy sleeps like a dead man.”

“Adam and I did an experiment about what would it take to wake him up,” Pidge says. “Marilyn Manson barely caused a reaction.”

“Can we do that instead? I wanna know what will wake him up,” Hunk says. “Plus it’s way less risky and… lasting,” he adds.

“We can do that after ,” Keith says. He opens the package and pours the dye into a plastic bowl, mixing it up with the rest of the products.

“How did I end up being dragged into this?” Allura murmurs under her breath, watching Keith curiously. She sniffs and asks: “And is that edible?”

Keith pauses to look at her.

“What?” she defends. “It smells good.”

“Maybe another time, ‘Lura,” Lance sigh, patting her shoulder.

With the hair dye all mixed up and ready, the five of them quietly make their way into the bedroom, walking on tiptoes and holding their breaths. Hunk keeps fidgeting anxiously and Pidge can barely hold back their snickers.

“All right,” Keith mouths, his face illuminated with the light coming from the open door. “You make sure they don’t wake up, I’ll work with the dye.”

They nod and crouch around the bed, carefully eyeing the two men buried under the covers.

Lance almost screams and Pidge can’t hold back her snickers this time. Hunk just stares with horror on his face and Allura—she seems unaffected, probably not seeing anything wrong with Adam hugging a plushie. A plushie of Shiro.

Keith snaps his head up, glaring at them and ready to mouth something when his eyes fall on the item squished between Adam’s hands and he freezes. Lance sees how his chest moves up when he breathes in, trying to keep his composure. Keith closes his eyes and shakes his head, and continues sliding the brush on Shiro’s hair.

Lance watches him. Watches as Keith sticks his tongue out with concentration and furrows his brows and moves the brush steadily and carefully.

He watches when Keith finishes one side of Shiro’s head and smirk with that childish mirth in his eyes, snapping them up at Lance like he’s making sure Lance is watching and grins when he finds his gaze already on him. It makes Lance’s heart ache and chest feel tight because it’s so childish and so sweet and of course, of course, he’s watching.

Keith struggles to turn Shiro’s head on the other side, Adam jolts at one point and all of them freeze, not daring to breathe until they’re sure he’s asleep.

Keith does the rest of Shiro’s hair and eyebrows and punches his hand in the air with triumph when he’s done.

“This is bad,” Hunk whispers after they close the bedroom door. “This is really bad.”

“Hunk, relax,” Pidge says.

“What if he loses his job?” Hunk ignores them, continuing with his nervous rambling. “Because they won’t take him seriously with that hair and then he’ll have to work at a garage and raise his only child alone only to watch them die from cancer and then he’ll live a lonely, sad life and—oh, we ruined his life.”

“Hunk,” Lance says sternly and plants his hand on Hunk’s shoulders. “Stop panicking.”

“Besides, he dyed mine, it’s only fair I do the same,” Keith says, he places the dirty bowl in the sink—Lance snaps Allura’s hand away when she tries to take it—and washes his hands. His eyes roam the kitchen, nodding at each messy plate. “Okay, everything looks fine—nope, wait.”

He opens a couple of drawers and cupboards. Lance knows it drives Adam crazy, and he cannot believe how petty Keith is.

“Seriously?” Lance says, looking at him incredulously.

“You did not grow up with Adam, he deserves this,” Keith reasons and with one last checkup, he turns to leave—

—and knocks his knee on one of the open drawers and causes it to fall down on the floor, the kitchenware clattering across the ceramic tiles with such noise it sounds like a nuclear explosion.

All of them freeze and glare at him.

“Wha—Takashi!” Adam yells, followed by the sound of shuffling and a low bang—Lance tries to imagine him falling off the bed—and footsteps. “Takashi, I think your mother came to visit!”

Lance snorts. Allura covers her mouth with a hand, hiding her smile.

Lance debates if they can manage to outrun him, but then the bedroom door is slammed open and Adam is rushing into the kitchen and Lance knows they’re all doomed.

Adam stares at them. They stare back.

“You’re not Takashi’s mother,” he says.

They exchange looks.

“...yes, we are,” Keith says slowly. “We are, Adam, your interior decorating displeases us.”

“You’re not Takashi’s mother,” he echoes, exhaling a relieved breath, only to suck it back in and glare at the five of them with downright wrath. “You are not Takashi’s mother!”

“Adam, say something else so I know you’re not broken and then you can yell at us,” Lance says.

“Oh, I’m gonna yell, alright, I’m gonna—I’m gonna...“ He slowly takes in the mess they’ve created, his eyes widening with every new spoon on the floor or oily plate in the sink.

“I’m here, Adam, don’t worry!” Shiro shouts, running in the room and coming to a halt. He’s holding his prosthetic arm like a baseball bat, hair wet and pink from the dye and—and he’s wearing a Victorian nightgown, with puffy arms and collar.

Lance stares at him with disbelief, his jaw hitting the floor and eyes almost jumping out from his head.

There’s a snapping sound of the camera.

“Totally worth it,” Keith nods, his voice smug and proud, and slides his comm back into his pocket.

***

“Totally not worth it,” Pidge grumbles, picking up another spoon from the floor.

Keith huffs from where he’s scrubbing the stove clean, blowing at his bangs only to cause more of it to fall down.

“I didn’t even cause this disorder,” Allura whines under her breath, her hands deep in the sink as she washes the pot. “Why did I even pick up the comm in the first place.”

She washes away the soap and hands it to Lance to dry it off. Lance grabs it, reluctantly, he hates drying them off and Adam is an evil, evil man.

“Keith, get the corners,” The Devil™ orders, sipping his tea calmly.

“Keith, get the corners,” Keith mocks, pinching his voice high and making a funny face while clearly scrubbing harder at the corners.

“Oh, what is it? You’ll restock the fridge and clean it?” Adam says and Keith is stuttering for words within seconds. “Well, of course, my dearest, how could I ever say no to your wishes.”

Keith stares at him; Lance only holds back his laughter because he genuinely feels sorry for him.

“Hell is filled with people like you,” Keith says and return to the stove.

“It’s not that bad, actually,” Shiro walks in, holding a mirror and running a hand in his hot pink hair. “Makes me look younger.”

He’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt now, which Lance is extremely thankful for. He doesn’t think he’d be able to take another sight of—of it ; Keith was barely able to scoop him off the floor after Lance had laughed himself to near death.

Hunk walks behind him, looking tired after changing the sheets—which were ruined by the hair dye—and dusting the entire apartment.

“Yes, you look wonderful! Is there anyone else more beautiful than Shiro? I don’t think so. You’re a star among men,” Lance coos, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Thanks, Lance, but flattery won’t help you,” he smiles, and it’s nothing but pure evil. Like Haggar would be jealous kind of evil.

“And people call you heroes,” Lance grumbles, toweling the plate idly.

“Yes, Lance, of course, you can help Keith out with the fridge,” Adam says.

“What?! No, that’s not fair, I’m already being tortured here!”

“Ha!” Keith chimes, sounding pleased.

“Shut up, mullet!”

“If I have to suffer, so do you.”

“Your love for me, darling, never ceases to amaze me,” Lance deadpans.

Keith looks at him pointedly. “The sooner we finish the quicker we’ll get out of here and never come back.”

“You know,” Shiro says to Adam, voice carefully casual that sounds like a thunder strike, loud and painful and threatening. “The windows are smeared with their fingerprints.”

“Oh, really?” Adam says and takes a sip of his tea.

Lance looks at the two of them with terror, he thinks the rest of them do as well. He feels like he’s waiting for a death sentence, and wishes he could throw a pan on Adam’s stupid, smug face.

“Pidge,” Adam decides.

They don’t even protest, just sigh loudly and walk out of the room.

***

It’s nearly five in the morning and each muscle in Lance’s body is screaming. He sinks deeper into the couch and groans.

After finishing the dishes and helping Keith with cleaning the fridge, Adam—because he’s Satan and lives off on their suffering—decided that the bathroom needed some tidying up. And then the living room. And then the curtains had to be changed.

Basically, the entire apartment is spotless.

And the five of them are dying.

“Who’s idea was to come here?” Keith grunts next to him, his arm lazily dropped over Lance’s back.

“I don’t know, but let’s never let them decide again,” Lance answers.

“Okay, this time I’ll do it,” Hunk says. Lance peaks from one eye, looking at Hunk who’s lying on the floor trying to get up.

“We’re here for you, buddy,” Pidge says, their voice muted by Hunk’s stomach.

He fails, again, for what Lance thinks is the fifth time.

“I’m blocking your number, Keith,” Allura says. She’s a formless lump on the armchair.

“Whatever, there won’t be a Keith after tonight anyway,” he grumbles.

Lance decides he can’t make it home tonight and turns around, burying his face into the other’s chest.

“We’re staying over,” he says and feels Keith nod. Keith wraps an arm around his shoulders, wiggling a little before he settles both of them comfortably on the couch.

Lance is about to doze off, the warmth of Keith’s presence surrounding him like a blanket and his breaths fluttering over his forehead and his heart beating sweet melodies across his ear, when something claps, loud and painful.

Keith curses and Lance jerks, tilting his head to glare at Adam.

“Since you all are here, for one reason or another,” he begins, sliding one arm around Shiro’s middle. “Takashi and I have an announcement to make.”

Lance sits up with a grunt, pulling Keith with him. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, the sincerity of Adam’s voice sweeping him back into reality.

“Wassup?” Pidge mumbles, their face still planted into Hunk’s belly.

“Well,” Shiro says. He looks down at Adam, pulling him closer by an arm over the other’s shoulder. Lance notices the way his eyes light up and feels his own shine as well, his heartbeat fastening with anticipation.

Lance glances at Keith, taking in the excitement in his eyes and hope in the curve of his smile.

“We’ve decided on the date,” Shiro announces. Lance thinks he imagined the warmth and utter devotion in his voice because the intensity of it is almost palpable. “10th of June.”

The room drowns in silence for a beat, then everyone jumps up, their fatigue state being forgotten, and crush the couple into an extremely intense group hug.

They all scream and yell out words, some asking questions and some expressing how happy they are and some not even making sense.

Lance thinks he might explode, his chest burning and his heart jumping wildly and his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. He’s being crushed into Keith’s side and Allura accidentally kneels him in the stomach and his arm is getting numb but everything is perfect, exactly the way it should be.

They step back and when everything seems a little blurry, Lance realizes he’s on the verge of tears.

Keith hugs Shiro again, whispering something in his ear that makes both of them laugh. Shiro ruffles his hair when they pull apart, smiling at Keith proudly and warmly. He hugs Adam next, and Lance always knew their bickering was playful and nothing sort of serious, but the way Keith hugs him tightly and the way Adam hugs back and pats his hair makes Lance realize just how much they truly care for one another.

“This is—this is so worth it,” Pidge says, rubbing their eyes. Shiro pulls them into another hug and Adam pinches their cheek.

“We’re having a wedding,” Lance says out loud, because after everything they’ve been through in space, after everything Shiro’s gone through, he’s finally happy and finally with the man he loves and he’s finally going to live the life he deserves, and Lance needs to say it out loud to comprehend that it’s true.

He feels a thumb brush gently on his cheekbone, catching the single teardrop. Lance looks at Keith, and his breath hitches at the sight of his smile—soft and fond and doting, crinkling his eyes and giving a specific shine to them.

Keith pulls him to his side, resting his head over Lance’s and snaking his arm around his waist. Lance sniffs, his head falls on Keith’s shoulder and his arm wraps around his middle.

Hunk is sobbing on Adam’s shoulder, soaking the material of his shirt while Adam pats his back in a soothing way. And Allura keeps talking to Shiro, probably telling him how happy she is for them; Lance can’t really hear the words, his heartbeat echoing too loud in his ears. Pidge keeps rubbing their eyes and clutching Shiro’s arm like a little child, their cheeks slightly pink.

Lance has never felt this content in his life.

He feels a sudden sting in his chest, among all those buzzing emotions of happiness and fondness and warmth, a tiny sting of—want. A newborn wish that Lance hadn’t even noticed was there.

He looks back at Keith, sliding his gaze across his features, soft and edgy at the same time, and beautiful . And he has the question he’s been wanting to ask all night on the tip of his tongue, ready to be said out loud and—

“What is happening in here?”

Lance hears a voice, and it’s neither one of them.

Everyone turns to look at Matt stepping out of the guest room, rubbing his eyes like he has just woken up.

“I don’t even want to know,” Adam says, turning around and continuing his conversation with Hunk.

***

The couch is small and uncomfortable, but he and Keith managed to make it work. Keith lies on his back and Lance lies half on top of him, with his head on Keith’s chest and their legs tangled together. It’s almost six in the morning, everyone already fast asleep. Lance feels exhausted, his feet hurt and his eyes burn, but he’s still wide awake and sleep is far, far away.

“You asleep?” Lance whispers, gently poking Keith in the rips.

“No,” Keith answers, poking Lance back.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“No way,” Keith says, feigning shock. Lance pinches his arm and Keith laughs.

“You know we have to be the best couple at their wedding besides them, right?” Lance says. “Which means you’re going to have to join my skincare routine.”

“Is that what’s keeping you awake at night? Facemasks?” Keith says, amusement clear in his words.

Lance pauses, playing with the material of Keith’s shirt.

“No,” he says; he thinks his voice sounds even quieter than before.

“Everything okay?” Keith asks. He starts rubbing tiny circles on the small of Lance’s back, the way he always does when he thinks Lance is upset.

Lance stays quiet, not sure if he has the courage to say the words he’s been dying to say ever since they walked out of their apartment building. Keith must sense his hesitation, his hand comes up to lift Lance’s face, cupping his jaw softly.

“Hey,” he whispers, and it’s so sincere and so caring Lance can’t help but look at Keith, at his furrowed brows and the small, thin line of concern between them. “You alright?”

“Do you—why were you so relieved?” Lance blurts out before he can lose his nerve. His heart hammers against the ribcage and his chest feels heavy with nervousness.

Keith frowns. “What?”

“When I—joked about taking a step forward in our relationship,” Lance mumbles, averting his eyes down on Keith’s shirt. He feels like a little child, asking his parents why they were mad, what had he done wrong.

Keith stutters and when the silence stretches into something unbearable, something heavy and choking, Lance starts to ramble:

“And I was joking, I’m not gonna propose to you or anything, yet, it’s just you seemed nervous, which is completely normal because who wouldn’t be, y’know? But then you were so relieved, like, too relieved and I thought maybe you didn’t want that stuff, like, family stuff—”

“Lance—”

“—and I understand, some people just don’t want marriages and all those things and I would never pressure you or make you feel guilty about it. I just want to be on the same page. Because if you don’t want it I can—I can work with that, it’s nothing I can’t get used to as long as you’re by my side—”

“Lance.”

“—I just, I really want to,” Lance stops for a breath, inhaling deep and painful. He snaps his eyes up at Keith’s, feeling the familiar nervousness he had felt the first time he confessed to Keith, maybe even more because this is so much more than a confession. “And I—I was just wondering if... if you want it, too?”

Keith’s hands have stopped moving, Lance thinks Keith has stopped moving. He’s staring at Lance with wide eyes, mouth agape with shock and—and he’s not saying anything. And this was a horrible, terrible idea and it was rushed and too much and great fucking job Lance, you scared him off!

“I’m sorry,” Lance blurts out, his face burning with shame. “You can ignore everything I said, you’re dreaming. Keith, this is not real, it’s a dream—”

“I want it, too,” Keith says suddenly, shutting Lance up, causing the knot in his stomach to dissolve and the heaviness to disappear from his shoulders. Lance sighs, and he feels lighter. “Of course, I want it, how could you possibly ever think I didn’t want that with you, starlight?”

“Well, you just seemed so relieved,” Lance mumbled.

“I was relieved because I’m not ready, yet,” Keith says, a smile slowly morphing on his lips. “And I panicked because that’s—that’s a really big thing for me to mess up and I really don’t want that to happen.”

“You’re not gonna mess anything up,” Lance scolds, frowning down at him. “And I’m not planning to propose any time soon, Keith, I still have a life to live,” he jokes, his eyes following the laugh lines forming on Keith’s cheeks.

“Of course, you still have to get drunk and fly to another planet,” Keith says, his words sound like laughter and sunlight, warm and gleeful.

“Exactly.”

Lance giggles, unable to hold it back anymore. He drops his head on Keith’s chest, quiet giggles growing into loud ones and then into laughter. He might wake everyone up, but he’s too happy to care. Keith wants it, too, and that’s all that matters right now.

He feels Keith’s shoulders shaking, hears the vibration of his laughter through his chest. Lance lifts up on his elbows, looking down at Keith with what he thinks is the dopiest, most in love face anyone has ever seen, and Keith looks back, with the same exact expression, the same exact emotions weaved into his features that Lance is feeling right now, the ones that make him feel rainbows in his chest and blissful sparks on his skin.

Lance looks at Keith. Keith, who’s so childish sometimes, and always so sweet and soft and funny and, just, so perfect and so Keith . And he wants it, too— God, Lance thinks he might explode into tiny pieces of stars and hang among them in the sky.

“I love you,” Lance whispers above Keith’s lips, their noses bumping. “You can’t even imagine how much.”

Keith leans up and kisses his smile, swallowing his words and stealing his breath. It’s different but same, a taste of something new on Keith’s lips, a quiet promise that’s sweet on Lance’s tongue. It makes his face flare and chest swell, blood boiling and fingertips tinging. Lance cups Keith’s cheeks, sliding his thumb over the smooth skin and kisses back just as passionately, sighing into Keith’s mouth when he tightens his arms around Lance to pull him closer.

“I love you, too, you can’t even imagine how much,” Keith whispers back, breathless. Lance follows the movement of his lips—wet and pink and swollen—and slides a finger over the bottom one, pressing slightly to feel it squish under is touche.

Keith slides his gaze across Lance’s face and chuckles. “You worry about such silly things,” he whispers, reaching a hand to gently cup one side of Lance’s face. Lance leans into it and Keith caresses the corner of his eye with his thumb, his touch tender and featherlight over the tiny mark.

“Can’t help it,” Lance whispers back, closing his eyes, and relishes under Keith’s gentle strokes.

Lance kisses him once more, then smirks and grabs his comm from the coffee table.

“One more point for Lover Boy Lance,” he says, adding another check mark underneath his name.

“Wha—? I’m sorry, what?” Keith stammers, lifting up on his elbows to peek at what Lance is doing. “Is there a competition?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“I—about what?!”

“Who’s more romantic…?” Lance says like Keith can’t guess the most obvious thing.

“Since when are we competing in that?!” he pipes. Lance snorts at the high pitched sound of his voice. “And why are you winning?”

“Since Hunk said you were better at romantic stuff and I’m winning,” he stops and pecks his pouting lips. “Because I’m better.”

“Okay, first of all, stop distracting me with kisses, you know I can’t think straight when you’re kissing me,” Keith says, face flushed; Lance notices the way his lips jerk up a little. “And secondly, I knew not!”

Lance laughs. Keith rarely gets flustered and when he does, it’s the most endearing thing Lance has ever seen—his lips pouting and his cheeks dusted with a beautiful shade of pink and his brows only slightly pushed together.

“I’m gonna win this,” Keith mutters for himself, falling back on his back. “I’ll be so romantic you’ll beg me to stop!”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“A threat, McClain, you’ll be in pain from all the roses and chocolate strawberries!” Keith exclaims and Lance laughs.

Maybe he really does worry about silly things.