Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It didn't go unnoticed that something was up with Lance. It was sudden, and slow all at once; slow enough that it took a while to notice, but quick enough that people must've by now, although nobody pried. They waited patiently for Lance to come to them, though he never did, and now, they didn't know how to start the conversation with him; although it needn't be much more than a 'Hey Lance, is everything okay? You seem to be going through something right now, and we want you to know that we're here if you need us'. Or, maybe, they hadn't noticed like Keith assumed they must've done. Or maybe, they didn't pay as much attention to Lance as Keith did.

At first, it had been as simple as Lance being quieter- not necessarily withdrawn, but distracted. Which wasn't out of the ordinary in particular- Lance and focus weren't best friends at the best of times after all, but he seemed so deep in thought and so within his own head that it was unusual for him. Whilst it wasn't unusual for Lance to become so focused he forgot to drink water or move from his seat, it was unusual for Lance to be so much less... present. He seemed sad, or troubled somehow, although Keith couldn't directly pinpoint what was going through his head at the time.

And then it manifested in less time spent with the others, more solo training, less physical contact. The cuddle piles Lance used to love became something he seemed to be uncomfortable with- and when he seemed to allow himself that closeness, sometimes relaxing back into his usual smiles and jokes, he'd eventually seem to fade into insecurity. He'd go from laughter and jokes to a wavering smile, a fake yawn and a sad departure off to bed. Lance loved physical affection- he always sought out cuddles with Hunk, or lay himself across Pidge to start telling her how rough his day had been. Lance thrived in social situations, and struggled when he was isolated, so it wasn't healthy for Lance to be actively denying himself that comfort. It was a sign that something was wrong, but nobody seemed to notice that Lance was becoming withdrawn. Keith wanted to be annoyed with them all, for not paying better attention to their friend. Had they all pushed him away? Had Lance pushed himself away? What had happened? And why weren't they doing anything to help? Were they assuming he needed space? Because that wasn't like Lance, and it made Keith question if the others truly knew Lance at all. Hadn't they taken the time to get to know him better than this? Didn't they know that Lance needed people to support him and keep him company when he was going through it?

He stopped flirting with the women he met at planets they stopped at, even when they flirted first. There were no finger guns anymore, his hands stuffed rigidly in his pockets despite his constant need to move. The lack of finger guns made sense with the lack of flirting at first, although it was unusual for Lance to cut them out all together. It was something he seemed to do instinctively, and on occasion he'd begin to raise his hands, before abruptly stopping as if realisation burned him for doing so. It made no sense to Keith; finger guns were a Lance thing. Had Lance been told he was annoying and lame one too many times? Had he lost his confidence and self-worth when it came to women? Lance had craved female attention like his life depended on it, although Keith suspected he was missing something. Lance was never a fuckboy, never the type to use women, so why was he so... fuckboy-esque? Was he flirting for validation? Was he lonely? Did he need to feel like he could be wanted and loved because he had self-esteem issues and unresolved childhood insecurities? But why had he stopped? He loved flirting, craved the attention. He would seek out social interactions with women until Shiro warned him not to, and Lance would be blissfully smiling and recounting their smiles and giggles in a dreamy state for hours after. It made him happy, so Keith didn't understand why he stopped. What had changed?

He stopped taking care of his skin, acne scars more visible without the layer of foundation, and fresh acne painting his cheeks now he'd stopped doing his nightly skin care. There were no face masks; no moisturiser nor toner; no exfoliant nor cleanser. Lance had been so dedicated to keeping himself well cared for that Keith couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't. No matter how bad things were, Lance stuck to his skincare routine like glue. He took good care of himself, but now he'd stopped. There wasn't anything wrong with not religiously applying fuck-knows-what to your face every night, and there certainly wasn't anything wrong with having acne and not hiding it under foundation, but it wasn't like Lance to neglect his skin and not freak out if he missed a day or two. It wasn't like Lance to stop taking care of himself all together.

Something was wrong with Lance, and he was excellent at putting on a mask. Keith wasn't so sure the others noticed their friend struggling. They seemed too wrapped up in their own duties and hobbies, but Keith noticed; and Keith was notoriously bad at understanding people, so this was a problem. Why hadn't anybody else noticed something was wrong? It was so painfully obvious, but then again, nobody ever noticed when something was wrong with Keith either. There must've been a pattern, a link to the social cues Lance stopped using- but this was Keith's weak point, and he didn't have access to databases on human culture up here, and he also didn't want to ask the others in case he overstepped, or the anomalous behaviour pointed to something Lance was trying to keep a secret.

○●○

The mirror had always been a safety net for Lance.

He remembered being five, happy, until the teacher gave the class an exercise to do, and one of the questions hit him harder than it should have done. "If you could change one thing about the way you look, what would it be?" And Lance left it blank. But the teacher insisted there had to be something. And it made Lance look too deep inside. He actively tried to look for that one thing he didn't like, because arrogance was bad, and not liking your appearance was normal, it seemed.

When he'd started to spiral, saying how he didn't like the way his nose curved up, or his freckles, his pointy chin or large forehead- Veronica sat with him, and told him that instead of focusing on what he didn't like, he should focus on what he did like. And the stuff he didn't like, he should imagine what he would think if they were someone else's face. And that's how Lance realised he liked the way he smiled, and the way his hair curled, and learned to love his freckles, and his nose was cute. And maybe his big forehead and pointy chin weren't bad things- he didn't have to love them. They were a part of his face. And beauty was subjective- he wasn't ugly, because ugly didn't exist. And even if it did, it sure as hell didn't define his worth. And maybe his chin was pointy, but he rather liked his jawline anyways.

When school got rough, and bullies would make fun of Lance- for anything from his threadbare clothes to his appearance to his self-confidence and his enthusiasm- he'd always go home and walk straight to the bathroom, lock the door- and look in the mirror. He'd tell himself his clothes were well-loved: Comfortable for him, even if he didn't own much. He wasn't ugly; he was okay just the way he was. It was okay to love himself, it was okay to be confident, he didn't have to beat himself up over it or feel guilty. He wasn't dumb and he wasn't annoying- he was passionate about what he loved, and they just didn't vibe with that passion and that was okay, because Lance was okay just the way he was and he shouldn't stop being passionate and energetic for others.

Sometimes, the mirror grounded him. When he felt himself denying his grades were slipping, he'd look in the mirror. He'd notice the dark circles under his eyes, and he'd go through his school grades in his head, and try to figure out why, why couldn't he focus? Why did he struggle to even clean his room of a morning? Maybe he needed a break, and maybe he could try a different approach to studying. Being mad at himself wouldn't help, because he wasn't purposely slacking off. Other times, he'd remind himself that maybe he did go a little too far with a joke he made, or maybe his flirting really had made that girl uncomfortable, and maybe he owed people an apology, and maybe he would learn and do better.

Sometimes he didn't have anything to think about. Sometimes, just staring into his reflection when things were rough was enough.

But right now… the mirror might be giving him answers he wasn't ready for, but the mirror was the one place that felt safe to confront himself by. The one place he felt he could go to when he really needed to think and reflect on himself, in an honest way. It was hard to lie to something that showed your true reflection, after all. Something that showed you just how false that painted smile really was, or just how exhausted you were when you'd been in denial.

And Lance was shaking. Lance was shaking because he couldn't understand- because he couldn't see it even though it was right there, but when he looked at himself deeper, it was obvious.

He didn't look like the stereotype. He looked like a regular person. He didn't look like the kind of person you'd look at on a sidewalk and immediately know that part of them. He didn't look gay. And Lance knew- he knew that was bullshit, that it was just a stereotype, or for some a purposeful choice. He knew that, and he never applied this kind of backwards thinking to others but… he looked like… your average guy. The average guy you'd assume to be straight, the type to get a girlfriend and only ever a girlfriend. As soon as Lance heard himself think 'I look normal', 'I look like… a regular guy', he knew he had to stop himself. He knew it implied that somewhere, he'd internalised gay to be different, other- and maybe that's why he'd never considered it for himself. Maybe that's why it was so hard to accept yet another way that he was different.

He couldn't stop noticing his behaviour. Finger guns were bi culture, cuffed jeans, tucked shirts and oversized hoodies and- a lot of his self care things were girly things, like face masks and skincare and-- that was deeply misogynistic. Lance had been so sure he'd worked through that, yet here he was, seeing himself as less masculine and less normal for liking nice skin, seeing femininity as less than- and as some kind of obvious proof that he was gay- that was problematic all of itself too. Where had all this come from? Why was it so deeply rooted? And… if he didn't hate gay people, why did it feel so… scary, to apply 'gay' things to his own appearance and behaviour?

He decided to take a deep breath- he'd noticed those biases now. and his own residual toxic masculinity, and he'd work through them more carefully when he was laying in bed before returning to the mirror again. For now, he wanted to focus on why this all bothered him so much.

He liked girls. He knew that, wasn't confused about it. He'd kissed girls, and he really liked kissing girls. They were beautiful, so beautiful, so breathtaking when they smiled at him that Lance's chest fluttered at the sight. Lance liked girls.

But… was he straight?

… he didn't want to look in the mirror anymore, but he wanted answers. He knew what attraction felt like, because he'd been attracted to people, but he hated that he knew it so well, because it meant he knew he was attracted to a boy, and that scared him, and he didn't know why it scared him so much. He'd never had an issue with the lgbtq+ community- he considered himself an ally. He wasn't uncomfortable when guys talked about their boyfriends and girls talked about their girlfriends or people talked about their partners- hell, he'd even seen two guys make out in the changing rooms and he'd cheered for them.

So why was he so scared?

… because it made him vulnerable. It was private, and scary- not because it was wrong to like boys, but because he'd internalised that hatred and fear. He was scared of rejection. He was scared of all the things that set him apart from the others. He was scared of all the times he'd heard homophobic comments in casual passing, not realising that they applied to him, not knowing why they hit him in the chest so harshly. And he'd taken it all to heart and let it bruise his love.

He was scared because people still got hurt for it. People still fought for their basic human rights. People still said slurs and people still rallied against equal marriage. People still turned it into a moral argument and people still oversexualised it and people still saw it as predatory and sinful and wrong. People still got rejected and shunned and worse. People still stopped being so touchy, stopped talking about partners around gay people, kept assuming people were flirting with them- or that bisexuals were all promiscuous cheats who wouldn't choose a side and were secretly one or the other in denial or trying to be special.

And Lance knew that all of that hatred was aimed at him.

It was hard enough adjusting to trying to figure out your identity, but it was even harder to do when you were just so scared.

His family, back in Varadero, had no idea. How would they react if they knew? How could he go about day to day life knowing he might be bisexual, knowing he'd have to come out of the closet, knowing that he didn't want to deny himself his own identity but that fully embracing it would mean being so vulnerable?

Would he be accepted like he always had been? Would he be cast out violently into the cold dark rain like he'd never belonged in the family before? Would they accept him, but not understand, worry for him, assume things, erase his identity, be uncomfortable about it because they didn't know how to approach him?

What about his team?

They were all he had, and this could change everything.

He didn't even know why he was thinking about this. He didn't even know for sure. He'd gone over and over things in his head now for months, and still he hadn't processed it at all.

What if he came out? What if he came out as bi, and everything went perfectly, but then he realised he was actually just straight? What if he put himself through potential rejection and homophobia, to turn out to be straight?

Lance shook his head. That wasn't the right way to think about it. Sure, he was strongly attracted to women, but that didn't make him straight. Bisexual for Lance included women too. He was definitely into girls. But… boys? In truth, Lance liked to dance around it in his head.

Sometimes, asking himself if he liked boys, he found the truth terrifying, so he shut it down. He told himself he was just confused, it didn't feel the same, and distracted himself from any thoughts about men by thinking of pretty women instead. He hadn't really… allowed himself the room to seriously consider that he might be bi.

His phone chimed softly, a gentle reminder that it was lunch time. Lance's mood felt heavy, low- and scared. It was as though an irrational part of him was convinced that people could read his mind, would find out he thought he was bi. What if he wasn't bi?

He walked to lunch, thoughts still fixated on his sexuality. He had tried to shift his focus- to set aside a set few minutes to think about it then stop- but Lance's brain wouldn't always comply. And sometimes, his thoughts would overlap, so changing subject didn't always work. It was such a weird experience, to be constantly thinking of his sexuality, especially when so many insisted that being gay wasn't all they thought about all of the time. But it was always there in Lance's head, to the point he couldn't recollect a time where he hadn't been so utterly consumed by his sexuality that it wasn't at the forefront of his mind.

He sat down, trying desperately to change his thought track through irrational fear that everybody could tell he was thinking he might be gay- bi- queer, in some way. Lance fought the urge to sit comfortably in his chair with a leg on the seat- gay people couldn't sit in chairs properly, so what if they guessed? So he sat as socially acceptable as possible, both feet on the floor, and trying his hardest not to bounce his legs. He failed the latter, drumming on his thighs with his palms and biting at his lip. All the weird energy building up needed an outlet, and right now, fidgeting was the only thing grounding him. He knew he was being ridiculous by refusing to 'sit gay', but he didn't have the mental energy nor the headspace to process it right now, so he added it onto the list of personal failures he'd work through later.

"Lance?"

"Hm?" It took a few seconds for Lance to register that, yes, he had indeed heard them ask him something, but his brain straight up refused to process it. "Sorry," Lance apologised, hoping he wouldn't have to bear the humiliation of asking Hunk to repeat himself. Hunk repeated his question, and Lance focused carefully- and yet again, his brain didn't process it. And now he was struggling to form words, so he just forced out an "okay" with a nod despite wanting to ask for clarification.

Which Lance came to regret when he got purple food goo instead of green. Of course, he whined about it, so everybody looked at him with some kind of displeased expression, and Lance felt himself shrink away under the pressure.

"Because you said 'okay' when asked if you wanted the purple," Pidge said, tone a little lower and slower than usual.

"But-" Lance sighed heavily, "I don't… I wasn't listening," he mumbled. He was listening, as best as he possibly could- but it wasn't enough. And he was overwhelmed and tired and stressed and distressed all at once.

"Why didn't you ask Hunk to repeat the question? I'm sure he wouldn't have minded," Shiro added kindly, and Hunk nodded in agreement, but it only served to make Lance more frustrated than before.

"It's not that easy…" Lance replied quietly, but he'd already given up in his head.

"I can get you the green if you-"

"No no, it's alright. I asked for this anyways," Lance replied quickly, picking at his food. Conversation resumed around the table slowly, and Lance wanted to join in- but his mood had dropped so drastically, so completely at the thought that he'd annoyed his friends, that he'd unintentionally been rude and nobody ever understood why he did this sort of thing. Keith probably thought he was an asshole. And the worse his mood, the harder it was to focus on what everyone was saying. And yet somehow, his brain still managed to focus on the volume and brightness of the room, the disgusting texture of food goo he tried so hard to ignore, and everything was too much.

Everyone was laughing and having fun, and Lance found himself on the outside of all of that. Everything was too loud, his thoughts were too anxiety-inducing, and he had no idea how to join in with everybody despite desperately wanting to. He'd interrupted so many times in the past, completely missing the social cues that he shouldn't. So now he waited to be prompted into conversation, except no one ever did. It was an isolating experience, to have a mind so full of thought it pulled you away from your friends and made you watch them laugh without you, without flashing you even the smallest opening to join in, like you didn't exist, like you weren't right there.

Getting up and going to his room right now would be rude, a social faux-pas that would only worry or annoy the others. And maybe there was reason to be worried, Because Lance was drowning in everything, but he was tired of being the burden to people who rarely remembered to include him. Hunk had grown closer to Pidge, spent most of his time tinkering with tech with her. Shiro often sought out Allura's company, and besides, Shiro was in that age category of still young and cool but too mature to want to willingly befriend people Lance's age. And then there was Keith, who Lance couldn't figure out. He was blunt and abrasive, but so quiet and isolated. Keith could cut in the middle of a conversation to correct Pidge on something, but would remain completely silent even when people talked about things he liked to prompt him to join in. Keith was constantly annoyed with Lance, but Keith matched Lance's energy like a tiny aggressive social chameleon, whilst everyone else would just tell him to go elsewhere and stop bothering them. Besides, didn't Lance have anything better to do than ruin everything?

Lance didn't even notice everyone leave until he noticed Keith staring and scowling. "What?"

"Lunch is over," Keith stated, looking as though he expected Lance to do or say something to him stating the obvious. Lance didn't have the energy for more fighting today. Not with Keith. Lance scowled.

"Yeah. I'm aware. So?"

Keith's frown deepened. "You seemed spaced out. I didn't think you realised. Also you're always the first to leave. But if you're gonna have an attitude with me, then fine. You stay here and fester. See if I care." Keith went to walk out, but Lance was already royally pissed off.

"Oh, so I'm the one with the attitude? You're the one who was just standing there and staring at me aggressively like a weirdo."

"Fine. Believe whatever you wanna believe, Lance. I don't have the time for this. I was just trying to help, but if you're gonna be a dickhead about it, fine." Keith walked out quickly, tense and angry-looking. Lance sighed heavily, having no idea how to interpret Keith's volatile moods anymore.

Rubbing his palms harshly over his face with an exhausted and tired-of-everything sigh, Lance headed back to his room, preparing for the inevitable overthinking he'd endure.

Chapter Text

Lance had no idea how long he'd been laying in bed going over and over the same cycle of thoughts again and again. Was he straight? Was he gay? Was he bi? Was he something else entirely? Why was he? Did he like boys? Nope he's straight this is stupid. But what if he is? He couldn't understand why he was so confused, but it must've been the way he shut down any coherent thought that he might like boys. Sure, he may have acknowledged that he suspected he liked boys, but he'd never… given himself the room to actually explore that side of himself without shutting it down out of fear.

He didn't understand where the fear fully came from. He knew there was nothing wrong with liking boys, and yet, here he was, struggling to accept the fact that he might. It was a lot to process. Because it changed the way Lance saw himself. He'd spent his whole life convinced- absolutely cock-sure- that he was straight. And now, questioning whether he might not have been, meant that he didn't truly know himself. How much more of his life, his personality was a lie? He felt so fake, like he'd worn a mask for so long that he had no idea who he even was anymore. Loverboy Lance was a fraud, a flirt with no means to an end, a fake floating around in underachievements and achievements not meant for him.

He could feel himself growing increasingly distressed, going round in circles asking himself why he couldn't just accept that he was bi-

It felt too easy, to look at himself and just declare himself bi. It felt like there should be more steps, like he had to question it for years, hide it, come out in some big dramatic way when someone called him a faggot in the corridor at school, get kicked out and live alone frequenting secret underground gay bars full of leather clad men and big butch lesbians. It didn't feel like he could just… say he was bi, having never spoken to a gay person about sexuality, or having never had some kind of cliché Love Simon experience.

It felt like he was an impostor, imposing on the community in some way. He hadn't kissed enough guys, slept with enough guys, dated enough guys and loved enough guys to earn his magical gay card that would grant him access to the elusive alphabet mafia he was so outside of. It didn't feel like he'd done enough, when he'd only ever kissed a woman. It felt like bi men didn't exist, and Lance couldn't be one of them, that he was just That Spicy Straight who's Quirky and Different because they say they're only gay when they're drunk and they're not really gay, obviously.

Was he a fraud?

The lights on the castleship brightened, and Lance instinctively looked out the window into the perpetual night searching for the sun.

He concluded that he was just straight, a fraud, that he was terrible for faking being gay in his own head.

He needed to let his thoughts stop spiralling, but his mind didn't seem to comply. He was shaking, unsteady, but he tried to ignore it and remember his morning routine. He neglected his skincare, neglected his morning shower- just did the bare minimum of using the bathroom, brushing his teeth, and putting his clothes on before leaving his room. He felt such anxiety in his stomach, like everyone had known he'd done something wrong, like he'd walk in to judgmental stares and condemning glares.

He took a deep breath, finding the dining hall already in chaos. Pidge was grabbing violently at Hunk's arms, trying to get to a plate of pancakes that were Lance's favourites. "HE'S NOT HERE SO THEY'RE MINE!"

"Pidge, let go-"

"NO!!!"

Lance knew Pidge didn't mean anything mean- Lance had siblings himself. Sweet treats were War. Nothing was yours. If you had pancakes or waffles or any other kind of sugary heaven, suddenly your siblings were Communists and it was Our Pancakes, and not just Lance's. But Lance couldn't help but feel a pained pang deep in his stomach, because nobody ever saved him the last seat or the last pancakes or one of his favourite chocolates before everyone ate them all for themselves, even if it had his name on them.

He sat down in the only seat left close to the group; the one next to Keith. Keith was glaring into his cereal, which he was eating with a fork, getting frustrated when every piece broke apart when he violently stabbed at the colourful grains. Lance had so many questions, but he didn't want to end up a disembodied piece of Lance Cereal like the poor innocent grains currently being savagely murdered by Keith's terrible table manners, so he decided not to pass comment on Keith's unusual behaviour.

Shiro was sitting the other side of Keith; he looked like he hadn't slept at all. He seemed sluggish, zoned out. Lance hadn't talked to Shiro much- mainly because of his phase of hero worship where he had his posters and all- but also because Shiro was just so much older and more mature, and near constantly disappointed in Lance's attempts to flirt with hot alien chicks. He didn't know anything about the guy apart from the fact that Keith clung to him like a lost turtleduck looking for its mommy and instead following the nearest stranger who gave it bread. Lance did recognise this set-up though. After a lot of arguments with Keith, a tired Shiro would sit next to an angry Keith, like he'd spent the night talking Keith out of first degree murder or something else violent and/or illegal. Like stealing Shiro's car or, Lance remembered, blowing up garrison property with homemade explosives to get Shiro back.

Lance watched as Pidge succeeded in grabbing the pancakes off Hunk, not noticing Lance and scoffing them as though they were a life saving medication. Hunk was the first to notice Lance’s presence once he’d finished making Allura’s breakfast, at which point he looked awkward, and Lance knew what he was gonna say- that they didn’t have any more ingredients left to make him his pancakes, and they probably wouldn’t for a while. Lance knew not to take any of it personally, but it still stung hard. He didn’t like any of the other options- he found the cereal too bland, to the point he couldn’t stomach it. He didn’t know what went in the waffles, but he couldn’t have those. He’d tried them as soon as Hunk first made them- had been looking forwards to them all day, in fact. And they’d tasted so good- fluffier than he was used to and sweeter in the best way- but then he found himself spending the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon and a fair portion of the night and the next morning stuck on the toilet convinced his spleen was gonna fall out of his ass. It turned out Lance was- unfortunately- intolerant to one of the key ingredients in the alien waffles. So he stayed well away from those. There were no chickens in space, and Lance didn’t like eggs anyway- but the alien eggs were even more slimy than Earth eggs, so naturally, Lance avoided them. The only other options for today’s breakfasts were fruits, and all of them Lance was either allergic to, intolerant to, or couldn’t stand the taste or texture.

He wished he was Keith right now, happy to live off weird alien cereal and Hunk’s rendition of Turkey dinosaurs, and whatever the fuck was in those protein bars Hunk had made him to keep in his pouches. Keith had found food similar enough to what he ate on Earth, and ate nothing else. Lance had only liked the pancakes for breakfast, and Hunk’s recreation of spaghetti and the not-garlic bread. But they were in the wrong corner of the galaxy right now. None of the planets were in the right climates to grow the grains and goods Lance liked.

So Lance grabbed himself some water, and sipped at that, but Keith was glaring at him for absolutely no reason again. “What now, Keith?”

“You’re not eating breakfast.”

“Yeah, no shit, genius(!)” Lance sipped his water again, hoping Keith would quiet down and leave him alone.

“You should eat breakfast.”

“Yeah- I know, believe me, I want to, but I don’t have-” Keith shoved his bowl in front of Lance and stormed out. Lance huffed in exasperation, staring after Keith.

“What’s his problem?!”

“He doesn’t have a problem, Lance, he’s just trying to be polite,” Shiro replied, but his tone seemed cautious, tired almost, like he was used to explaining Keith’s behaviour.

“How was any of that polite?!”

“He’s trying his best,” Shiro answered, taking a deep breath, “he always leaves breakfast as soon as he’s finished. He feels too awkward to stick around, he’s not used to it and he needs people to be more direct when they’re trying to start a conversation with him. And to understand that Keith may answer bluntly and not elaborate unless prompted to. Keith wasn’t glaring at you, his face is just… like that. Resting Bitch Face, I guess. I blame Adam for that. He was concerned you had no food, so he gave you his to eat so you wouldn’t have to go without. He knows you don’t like them very much, but the cereals are better than nothing.”

“And… I snapped at him, like an asshole,” Lance realised, rubbing his face with his hands. It would be terrible for his skin, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore.

“Look, I know Keith can seem a bit blunt at times, or standoffish, but he’s… not like that, if you actually get to know him well enough to read his body language. Keith is just… a bit different, to me and you and everyone else.”

“Because he’s part galra?”

“No, not like that. Well, that does make him different, but that’s not what I’m talking about, Lance. I’m not gonna ask you to become his best friend overnight, but please cut him some slack?”

Lance sat in silence whilst he considered everything Shiro had said. He didn’t fully understand Keith- far from it- but it made him wonder how many more interactions like this Lance had misunderstood. "Yeah… I guess I don't need reddit to tell me I'm the asshole this time."

Shiro snorted in response, and Lance was minutely proud of himself for making Shiro laugh. Humour was a good way to make people happy and to stay useful enough to them for them to want to keep him around, although lately, almost all of his attempts had been brushed off as annoying or immature or unwarranted. Lance may not have liked the cereal much, but he did need to eat, and Keith had willingly sacrificed his food for Lance. So Lance made sure he ate the rest of the cereal before heading to the training deck early, to thank Keith and apologise for being the asshole.

Lance made sure to enter the room carefully; quiet but not completely silent, so that he wouldn’t be sneaking up on Keith or startling him with loud and sudden noise. Lance had learned the hard way that startling Keith during training could nearly get you decapitated. Lance expected to see Keith going completely feral with a knife and the remains of a gladiator droid, but when he finally found Keith in the room, he was…

Quietly spinning around, lifting his arms out slightly and spinning them slightly more than his body, occasionally setting himself off balance from the motion, although he seemed to be getting a great deal of joy from doing it. His face looked so relaxed and peaceful, happy almost, even when he was only doing short half spins. A few times between spins, Keith would stop and lightly flap his hands with a smile before continuing. He eventually fell on his ass, but that didn’t seem to deter him; he just flapped his hands and scrunched his face up in a wide grin, then jumped up and continued to spin around as he was before, occasionally pausing to jump up and down as though he’d only just discovered the joy of doing so, watching his feet carefully and turning to see how it looked like from the back and losing his balance all over again-

Lance maybe felt a little warm inside at seeing Keith so… un-Keith-like. It didn’t last long, though, before Keith spotted Lance and the warm smile from Lance’s face dropped into a nervous one, and Keith’s entire being became taut with defensiveness, like a cat raising its hackles. It would’ve been endearing, Lance thought, if only it wasn’t such a stark contrast to how carefree Keith had looked when he didn’t realise Lance was around. Did Keith really hide so much of his natural joy away from others? Away from Lance?”

“What do you want, Lance?”

Lance’s heart dropped at the realisation of what he had the misfortune of witnessing here. Lance recognised this response, from his own personal experience. The way Keith shut down any traits or behaviours that othered him; the way he clammed up, adopted a standoffish- no- defensive, persona. It was the behaviour of somebody used to being mocked and teased, bracing themselves for more mocking and teasing and trying to stay tough to get them to lay off or to at least pretend it didn’t get to you until you were alone again.

Keith was expecting Lance to tease him for spinning.

“I just, I came to say sorry, man,” Lance stammered out, hoping Keith would know this wasn’t a cruel trick. “I was a jerk to you, about a lot of things. I just, I don’t think I really understand you, all of the time? I mean- that’s totally not your fault, it’s a me problem, but I mean that, I’ve been a jerk to you, because I assumed you were being a jerk to me, when you wasn’t, and, that wasn’t fair on you. And I’m sorry that I made you feel like-- I… don’t know how it made you feel, but, I can’t imagine you felt good about it. And I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused you. And I know this might not be enough and I know I’m rambling now, but oh man, I’ve completely misjudged you these past few months and you deserved better from me. You still deserve better from me, so going forwards, I’m gonna make the effort to uhm- to try and, learn to speak Keith. I mean I doubt I’ll get fluent right away, but, I mean I’m already bise-uH- bilingual, haha, yeah, so, uhm, I’m, gonna try to learn how to, communicate with you, more on your wavelength, instead of you constantly trying to adapt to me-”

“Lance.” Lance immediately shut up, mentally chastising himself for a poor apology. He couldn’t bring himself to look Keith in the eye- not when he felt so anxious, about the apology, about almost outing himself, about all of it. But Keith never continued speaking after he interrupted him.

“Was there… something you wanted to say?”

“No.” Blunt, to the point. “I just wanted you to shut up.”

“Oh…” Lance wasn’t quiet sure how to take that. “... sorry…”

Lance looked up just enough to see Keith nod in acknowledgement, before going over to the bench and picking up his sword. Instead of asking for the droid verbally, he just programmed it into the monitor, and immediately started to rip into it.

Lance sat down out of the way, trying to figure out what was going on in Keith’s head. Lance didn’t think he was angry- Keith had seemed too awkward. Maybe Keith was overwhelmed? Or figuring out how to process it. Lance barely ever received an apology, so when he did, it usually took him days to fully process it, and fully process that he wasn’t being blamed and that somebody was genuinely sorry- and cared enough to be sorry- and then Lance usually had to figure out if he even wanted to forgive them. Of course, Lance was a mug, and always did. And usually got his heart broken in the process.

He remembered his first girlfriend, Jenny Bradshaw (man, there were a lot of Jenny’s at school), who had seemed so sweet and nice. She always giggled at Lance’s jokes, until Lance felt comfortable enough to be more himself around her. Until he took her on a mall date, made a joke, and this time, she laughed almost nervously, and walked away. She kept doing that, until Lance took her hand and asked her what was going on. “I just don’t want people to think I’m with you, Lance. You’re embarrassing me.”

Lance had been crushed, broken it off, and she’d apologised; “come on, don’t be like that, I said I was sorry! You’re a funny guy! It’s nice how you always act like a clown so I can laugh at you. It gives me and the girls something to laugh about! Give me another chance?”

And Lance did, like a mug. Until he caught her laughing about it with some douchebag guy, James Griffin, both of them talking about how dumb Lance was.

“Why are you with him, then?”

“He dotes on me. He buys me nice things and takes the blame for me when I mess around in class. But he’s just… so embarrassing and so… /slow/, I just, I can’t, I’m cringing every time he suggests we kiss or go out in public.”

Lance hadn’t stuck around to hear any or much more of it.

And his heart kept getting broken and broken and broken and the more they all broke it, the more he stayed. He stayed because he didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to be heartbroken again. Accepted apology after apology after apology and let them treat him like shit, tried to change and hide who he was in the hopes he could stop being an embarrassment. Lance hoped so desperately that somebody could love him, that he wasn’t unlovable, but it just felt so hopeless.

So Lance understood that Keith might not accept his apology. Keith had way better boundaries than Lance. Keith may not have always known his own worth, but Keith cut people out like celebs cut out carbs. Keith didn’t do second chances. He was a boy who learned not to play with fire, because it would only get him burned. Whereas Lance was the kid who kept putting his hand in the flames time and time again, in the hope that one day it would bring him warmth instead of pain, like fire was supposed to.

Lance forced himself to pay better attention to Keith’s training, but he hadn’t noticed that Keith was already walking up to him. Keith was standing in front of him, staring directly at him. Lance looked up nervously. “Hey… Keith…”

“You’re different.”

Out of all the things Lance might have expected- from a decapitation to an apology- he really hadn’t expected that. It sounded like an accusation, but Lance remembered what Shiro had said, about how Keith would point things out to be helpful. Maybe he was trying to connect with Lance, or maybe he had a point he didn’t know how to elaborate on. “Maybe, buddy… why, is there… something you have to say about that, or…-”

“I’m different.” Right. Lance could work with that.

“Yeah, you sure are, buddy. ‘s not a bad thing, though.” Keith nodded, and held out his fist. Lance, of course, went to fist bump Keith, but Keith just glared daggers into his soul. “No…? You trying to punch me there, buddy? Because my face is a little more further away from you than-”

“I’m trying to bond.”

“Okay…?” Lance was so confused, and he realised he really didn’t understand Keith at all.

Keith sighed in frustration, holding his fist out more insistently. “Hold out you hand, Lance.”

“Oh! Sorry, buddy, I didn’t, pick up on the fact you wanted me to do that. You’ll have to be a little more explicit for things to get through my thick sku-”

“You’re not thick,” Keith interrupted, nodding in the direction of his fist.

“Oh! right! sorry!” Lance held his hand out, and Keith finally dropped something into Lance’s hand, standing over him and watching him expectantly. It kinda reminded Lance of the time he got a cat and it used to leave him dead mice and stand at the foot of his bed staring until Lance accepted the dead mice and pretended to eat them in front of the cat.

He looked into his palm, confused but mesmerised to find a crystal, of some sorts- it was like an oil slick, iridescent, irregular but so… square. It was spirals of squares and oblongs and edges and corners, almost like staircases, leading into pits and protruding squares growing out of squares. Lance moved his palm, the light catching it differently and revealing the pinks and yellows that had been obscured by the shadows. He shifted it again, enrapt by the way the blue and green tones shimmered like a peacock, then gave way to the beautiful oranges and purples when the lighting changed. It was so beautiful, so unique, and Lance figured it had to have come from another planet. There was no way something as pretty as this could be found on earth.

Lance found himself completely caught up in admiring how pretty it looked that he completely forgot he hadn’t thanked Keith- he looked up with wonder in his eyes, but Keith was already looking back at Lance with a fond and proud expression, and that’s how Lance knew that Keith /understood/. Lance may not have verbalised his gratitude, but by enjoying the crystal, he showed it- and that was enough, that was more than enough for Keith: more meaningful than an awkward ‘thank you’.
“What is it,” Lance asked, glancing down at the crystal then up at Keith again before the crystal won out. It was just so shiny, and metal, and chrome and rainbow and beautiful. It simultaneously calmed Lance’s brain and made the serotonin machine finally kickstart itself into working.

“Bismuth,” Keith replied, “a radioisotope that undergoes alpha decay into thallium. You can make the crystals in an oven, because it has a low melting point of 520.53 degrees Fahrenheit. Its atomic number is 83 and its atomic symbol is Bi and it has an atomic mass of almost 209. It’s a pentavalent post-transition metal- pentavalent meaning it uses five electrons available to form a chemical bond. It has a half life so long scientists didn’t even realise it was radioactive at first. It’s half life is about ten billion years longer than the age of the universe- about 20 billion years. It’s safe, though. It’s an active ingredient in Pepto-Bismol-”

“It’s from Earth and I eat this when I have a bad stomach?” Lance looked up now, and Keith nodded seriously.

“Yes and absolutely not, that would be stupid. You don’t just eat it. Please don’t do that: It’s still toxic. Pepto-Bismol contains bismuth subsalicylate. I know you miss home, and I notice you linger on sequins and shinies like a magpie, so I thought you might like it if I gave you one.”

“But- why? And how do you know so much about chemistry?”

Keith shrugged. “Olive branch. And how else do you think I knew how to make homemade explosives at home?” He sat besides Lance, who turned his focus back on the bismuth, twirling it in his hand to watch how the light fell on it.

“Oh, cool.”

“I know more about bismuth, but I won’t bore you with the details.”

“No no, please, bore away!” And that was all it took for Keith to jump into an animated ramble session on the chemical properties of bismuth, only pausing to explain chemical terms. By the time the others walked in, and Lance had gathered significantly more information in a matter of minutes than he’d be able to retain, and all he could think whilst looking at the metal in his hand was, ‘wow… it’s bi, like me’.

Chapter Text

Lance, to be perfectly honest, had been having a crisis ever since Keith had given him a bismuth crystal. Sure, Lance had been given gifts and trinkets before from family and friends and pretty girls, but he’d never in his entire life had a guy just… hand him a shiny rainbow crystal. It was so left-field, so out of the blue, and so different to what he was used to. Hunk excluded, most guys Lance had known only made an effort with gifts when it came to girls they were being creepy about, and they’d always default to jewellery rather than tailoring the gift to the girl’s genuine likes. Sure, some girls liked jewellery, but grabbing a dollar store necklace and claiming it was diamond really didn’t count as getting a girl nice jewellery. The bar was so low for dudebros and gift giving that Keith giving Lance a literal lump of metal was the most meaningful gift he’d ever received from a guy friend. Lance figured whatever girl Keith ended up with would be very lucky, because if this is how Keith treated his friends, Lance was sure Keith would pull out all the stops for a romantic interest. Lance needed to step up his game, that was for sure.

Nonetheless, Lance couldn’t stop the way his mind fixated on the gift. He knew it was a friendly gesture, that Keith probably just happened to have it in his pocket and gave it to Lance because Lance seemed sad lately- but it made Lance feel like he meant something. And Lance didn’t know what to do with that so he shoved it aside. Keith was just being a dudebro and picked up the nearest rock he could find. Yes. That must be it. And Lance was just starved for affection up in space so of course he liked the gift. That totally made sense, no need to overthink things at all. Nothing whatsoever in the way that Lance knew Keith didn’t miss Earth much, but he went out of his way to gift something to Lance from Earth, something he chose to gift to Lance because he’d taken the time to observe what Lance had an interest in, absolutely nothing in the way that Keith handed it to him as an olive branch, and told Lance lots of cool facts about it in his own adorably awkward way.

So naturally, Lance decided to completely ignore the scary complicated resurgence of his bi crisis, and decided to throw himself into helping Coran with the cryo-pods all day. Despite his usual protesting, Lance actually didn’t mind cleaning as much as he thought he would. Sure, the idea of spending hours scrubbing the castle was the least fun he thought he could have, but he found that once he’d gotten started- so long as there was a clear way to clean up and a clear way to tidy things- he tended to lose track of time whilst focused on the scrubbing. It also sometimes helped him to clear away all his racing thoughts, because he’d lose himself in the focus. Of course, Lance’s room was a complete mess- he hadn’t cleaned it since he arrived, and now things had piled up, he had no idea where to start. He couldn’t even see where he could put stuff to one side to organise it and declutter the floor and dressers so that he could actually put things away and rearrange his room neatly.

So cryo-pods were Lance’s go-to activity for cleaning. It was very rare they actually got visibly dirty, and they almost never accumulated dust, because they were cleaned after regular usage. It was mainly just residues from the freezing process, and chemicals the pod used to heal with. The pod itself didn’t store any waste from patients; they were designed to send any waste into the hazardous materials tank after filtration. So cleaning the cryo-pods was simple: scrub the grime off with a scouring pad, wipe it down with cleaning solutions, and buff and shine the pod ready for the next use.

By the time Lance had finished with the last pod, he still felt in a productive mood, so he finally decided to sort out his room. Usually, the prospect of clearing his room out would immediately kill his mood- but today, he had thoughts to avoid, and it turned out avoiding facing those thoughts was a very powerful motivator. Yay, unhealthy suppression(!)

Lance’s genius idea involved removing absolutely everything from his room and laying it all out in the hallway- after all, it was too early in the day for the others to be likely to walk past. There was something oddly fun about grabbing all of his stuff and throwing it all over the floor in the hallway- like the naughty child in Lance was finally able to get away with making a mess because he was practically an adult now and adults can do whatever they want. And the corridor just had so much space-- Lance lost himself in digging through everything and grouping objects into sets and envisioning the layout for his room and where everything would go and where everything could be stored and kept neat. Although, he did need better storage, so he sprinted down to some of the old storage rooms for some stackable boxes and some various trays and carts he could use to store his stuff on. And of course, an unholy amount of pen holders, mainly in the form of cups he’d stolen from the kitchen. They only needed like- six cups anyway, and on the rare occasion they did hold a party, they almost never actually used that many cups, so they could stand to miss ten-to-twenty cups for a while.

Lance almost never folded his clothes- mainly because he could almost never get it right- so for the first time in his life, he actually put everything back on the hangars in the wardrobe, or in the laundry. Of course, he only had one outfit from Earth, his Paladin armor, and his Paladin pyjamas, and he was wearing his clothes, so his armor got hung up and his pyjamas went in the laundry. Now all Lance had to do was learn how to do the laundry, but that shouldn’t be too hard, right?

… Lance decided to leave his laundry for another day.

Lance hadn’t even realised he’d missed lunch until he’d organised his collection of random rocks he’d picked up on missions and heard a crash in the hallway, followed by a very startled “FUCK!”

Wincing at how much trouble he was probably in, he walked out sheepishly to find Shiro on the floor, having tripped over Lance’s new pen holders that he hadn’t put in his room yet, because he was saving the desk ‘til last. Shiro immediately glared daggers at Lance, who awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry…”

“Lance,” Shiro began, and wow he sounded exhausted- “why is all your stuff on the floor in the corridor? What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” Lance replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets and avoiding eye contact.

“Can’t you keep your cleaning inside of your room?”

“Uhm, nope,” Lance shrugged, cringing at his lack of explanation as Shiro sighed in exasperation and sat up.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why not?”

“Oh! Uhm,” Lance froze. He’d never really had anyone ask why he was making a mess before they just assumed that he was doing something wrong. “I, uh, I needed to organise my room, but I didn’t know where to start tidying because there was just so much stuff in there, so I figured if I took everything out of my room and put it all on the floor, I could sort through the piles with all the extra space, and then it would just be a matter of figuring out what goes where, which can be the fun part, sometimes. Which is why I got all of the pen holders from the kitchen, because if I put all of my pens in a pencilcase, they’re gonna get muddled up. Also it’ll be like they didn’t even exist if I can’t see ‘em, so, you know, yeah. Clutter.”

Shiro sighed in response, and started to re-tidy the piles of stuff he’d tripped up on. “Okay, that makes sense. Although I recommend leaving a good foot or so of space by the wall so people can still walk past without almost breaking their necks. Do you need any help?”

Lance had never been more mortified in his entire life. If it was Hunk, or Pidge, or Coran, or even his mom- Lance would not have hesitated to immediately accept the help they offered. But this was the guy Lance idolised as a kid and as a teen. He’d wanted to be just like Shiro- a legend. The guy who got to go to space and the guy who got to be recognised for all the hard work he put into things. And Shiro was practically Space Dad now, and he was near constantly disappointed in Lance. “Uhm, no, I’m good,” Lance replied awkwardly, eyes trained to the ground as though looking up would burn a hole through his brain.

“You sure? You look like you’ve got a lot of stuff left to tidy, and given the amount of heavy boxes and sets of drawers you’ve dragged out here, you could probably use some help.” Lance knew Shiro was right however much he didn’t want him to be, so he nodded awkwardly.

“Yeah, okay,” he replied, “but just don’t expect me to be very organised in how I do things. I’ll probably jump around a lot, you know? Like, start in one place then get distracted by something else before going back to the original thing.”

“Oh, I know,” Shiro replied, “it looks like you’ve been doing a good job so far.”

“But it’s a mess,” Lance protested, “and I hadn’t cleaned my room in months!” Lance always got in trouble for a messy room. Always, no exceptions. Hadn’t Shiro realised how messy his room had been? Didn’t he care that he’d tripped over Lance’s stuff because he carelessly left it out in the hallway?

“But you’re cleaning it now, and that’s the important part,” Shiro replied, moving some of the boxes to create a pathway in the hallway, “back at the garrison, I could never keep my half of the dorm tidy. Adam would always glare daggers at me because he found one of my gym socks on top of his paperwork.” Lance snorted at the thought, although he found it pretty hard to envisage Shiro being so messy. Although, now he knew who Adam was: Shiro’s roommate at the garrison.

“Was Adam a neat freak?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a neat freak,” Shiro began with a smile, “but he was certainly more tidy than I was. He liked to have everything organised, he had a system and apparently my sweaty gym socks were a threat to that system. And whenever we went out flying together- we were flight partners- he was forever chewing me out for leaving my stuff all over the floor of the cockpit. I guess his neatness eventually rubbed off on me. Sometimes I see how messy my space is and all I can think about is how Adam would stand there glaring at me until he decided to just passive-aggressively tidy it and leave a note threatening my sock collection with the shredder if I didn’t keep my dirty laundry away from his work station. But he never actually minded cleaning up. In fact, I know he enjoyed it. And he never did shred my socks. He even set up this corkboard where he’d pin up any unpaired socks he found. After that, it was much easier for me to find my missing pairs of socks.”

Lance laughed lightly, because he could certainly relate to having a messy room. Hunk was always chewing him out for leaving sticky sweets all over the room, especially when they became stuck to Hunk’s clothes or his homework. Although Hunk would never tidy his stuff up for him. No, Lance had to do it himself. Even if the once his late night vaccing session got Keith standing by his dorm door glaring daggers at him like he was personally offending him. “Did I tell you about the one time Hunk made me clean my side of the room so I decided to do it at night whilst Hunk was working late on a project in the labs? Oh man, Hunk had been so mad one of my open packets of sweets had gotten stuck to his jumper and he’d been walking around with a pack of melted blue sweets stuck to his back all day. But like, I even decided to actually hoover the place, but it was a little late past curfew and like?? Keith, for no reason, decided to stand at my door and glare daggers at me? And I was like- ‘can I help you???’ So Keith replied with ‘die’ and just- walked off! I was?? so confused??? But it was just so funny to me because I had a cat just like that once?”

Shiro snorted in response, lifting a heavy box to move it to the corner of Lance’s room. “Keith gets overwhelmed with loud noises. He was probably glaring at you to stop hoovering, he hates the hoover. I swear the once he actually hissed at me for hoovering the carpet whilst he was on the sofa. As for telling you to die, that’s how he bonded with Adam. I promise he didn’t actually hate you, it was just his way of playfully expressing his annoyance.”

“He was friends with your old roommate?”

“Adam and I lived together,” Shiro replied casually, and Lance figured it was probably financially convenient to rent a flat together or something. “Keith stayed with us during half term and in the summer because they wouldn’t let him stay at the garrison.”

“Didn’t he just go home?”

“That was his home,” Shiro replied, and whilst his tone wasn’t necessarily standoffish, Lance got the message loud and clear not to pry- he’d have to get it from Keith, if Keith trusted him, that is. Didn’t Keith have a family? Surely they weren’t that busy over summer that they couldn’t let Keith go home and stay with them?

“Did Keith and Adam get along very well?”

“Oh, definitely,” Shiro replied, “for a while, at least. At first, Keith and Adam were like two peas in a pod. They had a lot in common, and they just- understood each other. Adam was just as stubborn as Keith was sometimes. But in the lead-up to Kerberos… well… Adam didn’t want me to go, because of my health and the risks and all, and Keith didn’t either. But things were so strained between us and… Keith had always been closer to me, so things got strained between him and Adam as well. And then when Adam finally walked out, Keith couldn’t understand why and Keith took it personally. I know they never reconnected after I went missing on Kerberos. That’s why Keith moved back to the shack, I think. I don’t know what happened to Adam. He’s probably still at the garrison in his teaching job. He’s… probably moved on by now. I think. I don’t know. Adam isn’t very sociable. He’s less so than Keith. Befriending Adam is like getting blood from a stone. Keith is desperate for friends even if he thinks he has to be alone- but Adam was happy alone. So maybe he hasn’t, but, I doubt he’d want anything to do with me again. It was a messy break-up.”

Lance thought Shiro’s roommate was kind of a jerk. As his friend, shouldn’t he have supported Shiro and his decision to go to space? Besides, what was wrong with Shiro’s health anyway? The guy was the poster boy for good health and fitness, major gym freak vibes. “But why would your health have been a valid reason for him to have wanted you to not go to space though? I don’t know, Adam just seems kinda selfish to me, and-”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Shiro interrupted suddenly, although Lance didn’t miss the way his robot arm twitched. Shiro took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if summoning the patience to continue. “Anyway. What’s the deal with you and Keith always arguing? What happened between you two?”

“Nothing did,” Lance replied with a shrug, glad Shiro didn’t seem that mad at him. “Keith just… hated me, for some reason. Although, I’m not so sure about that now. I remember before he dropped out, he used to call my name like he wanted to talk, then just bolted or scowled at me before walking away a lot. But he’d always glared at me. To be fair, we do have a rivalry. He’s always gotta be better than me at everything, it’s annoying, you know, like, why couldn’t he just- let me win, for once? Even after he left, Iverson was always comparing me to him and reminding me that I was only a fighter pilot because Keith flunked out.”

“To be fair, you were the one who started the rivalry in the first place. I think Keith just wanted to communicate with you on your level, but he wasn’t purposely trying to take away from your achievements. I’m sure you know how often he got in trouble. If his grades so much as slipped by one, He’d be back in Iverson’s office getting yelled at. More than once when Keith’s grades slipped, I had to go vouch for him in the office, or when Keith got into fights all the time. If it helps, I don’t think he ever looked down on you. He doesn’t think you’re not smart or capable or competent at what you do. But Keith is… very used to people trying to knock him down a peg or two. Keith is- naturally good, at school. Gifted and Talented group and all. He pinned so much of his self worth onto academics because he had a lot to lose if he didn’t meet the standard expected of him, and in the end, he just kinda… burned out, I think. And people celebrated his failures. I’m sure you know how it feels to be held to unrealistic expectations of you. And every time Keith achieved good grades… having the teacher compare people to him and having those people turn against him was… unfair. It’s unfair for everyone, but it wasn’t fair for everyone to take it out on Keith, when it was the school’s fault for turning everything into a competition.”

“Oh,” Lance replied, because he’d really never thought of that. When Lance had gotten an A in class once, Hunk had congratulated him and took him out for ice cream. Everybody congratulated him on his hard work and mentioned how proud his family must’ve been. When Keith got an A… well. They’d all tried to tear him down for it, and Lance was ashamed to say he’d gathered some resentment for Keith in the heat of the rivalry, even if he’d never been nasty about it like the others had.

“Yeah,” Shiro replied, “Keith hated it. I think that’s another part of why he flunked out. There’s… no competition anymore, if you remove yourself as a player. He can just be average Keith, when he’s not competing with you.”

“I was never good enough,” Lance began, sitting down on one of the boxes. Shiro paused in his work and looked up, sitting down on another box when he realised Lance was going to continue. “No matter how hard I tried to study, or how good my grades were, it was never good enough. Somebody was always better than me. I still averaged a C-, and even though that was still so much better than what I used to get, I still constantly had letters sent home about my grades. My whole school life was getting in trouble and being asked, ‘why can’t you be more like Hunk? Why can’t you be more like Pidge? Why can’t you be more like Keith?’ And I always thought Keith was arrogant, but… now I know that he wasn’t. I tried… so hard to study. I barely got into the garrison, and as soon as I did, I was bombarded with this, inflexible routine and this, heavy pressure to- be better, to do better. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how proud, I was of myself, it was never enough. I was sent out of class all the time because I couldn’t keep still; I was constantly belittled and treated like I was dumb; when I didn’t understand or didn’t process the lesson, or, I struggled to focus on it, nobody tried to accommodate that or teach me how: They just yelled at me for not paying attention. So my grades would fail because they wouldn’t repeat the lesson for me and I found it hard to get into a healthy headspace to study. So yeah. I’ve never been good enough, and the rivalry, it… makes me feel like I’m actually a competitor. Like… I’m not just cast aside. Like I’m actually a threat to the top spot, like I’m actually- good enough, for once.” good enough for somebody…

“...Can I be brutally honest with you about something?” Lance nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He fully expected a lecture about how he was making excuses, about how he should do better and grow up. He braced himself to hear it again, but from his idol this time.

“I don’t think the rivalry as it is right now is very healthy or sustainable for either of you. Sure, there’s such thing as a healthy rivalry, but I think you both need to set boundaries. Stop actually trying to compete with each other as though winning or losing dictates your worth or your place on the team. Compete because it’s fun and it motivates you, and not because you feel as though you have something to prove.”

Lance squirmed uncomfortably, because he knew that Shiro was right- and he knew deep down that Keith would agree too. Whilst their dynamic had never gotten nasty, it wasn’t always healthy. It certainly wasn’t irreparable, and after the olive branch… well. Lance was realising he’d misjudged Keith a lot. “I just… I’m the dumb one,” Lance replied, “and I don’t have a thing. I wish I did but… I just wanna be good enough for once…”

“You’re not dumb,” Shiro replied, soft but firm, “you struggle. And that’s okay, and it doesn’t make you dumb. And besides, you’re our sharpshooter. Don’t be too harsh on yourself. The system does that to you plenty, you deserve to let yourself breathe. You’re not a failure, or useless. The system just wasn’t built for people like you, and that’s not your fault. The system is broken. Not you, Lance. So give yourself a break. Your worth isn’t defined by how good you are in school or what you can contribute to a team or how good you can focus in class. You have worth, because you’re a whole person. Your worth is intrinsic. You have worth because you’re a person with your own rich experiences and your own viewpoints and your own motivations and dreams and wishes and talents, even if others don’t recognise them and especially when you aren’t the best at them. Knowledge must yield to experience. Your experiences in life will always be worth more than somebody who read a textbook thinking they know how you should live. Try to remember that next time you catch yourself berating yourself for ‘not being good enough’ or ‘not trying hard enough’. Be mad at the system that’s made you live like this, instead of being mad at yourself for not meeting society’s impossible standards of productivity and worth. You deserve better than that, Lance. You are not broken. You never was.” Shiro patted his shoulder firmly and left, and Lance was left staring at the wall with more to think about than he’d had before.

Chapter Text

Lance had let everything that Shiro had told him settle deep. He’d gained a lot of food for thought: from his own perspective on his worth, to his strained rivalry with Keith. He had more questions than answers when it came to Keith, but he was determined to get those answers by talking to Keith directly and getting to know him, like he’d committed to doing in his apology. He wanted to build the bridges he’d blocked from being built between them. Keith had already been trying to build a bridge, and Lance had taken a wrecking ball to it in an instant, and Keith had only matched that energy. But Keith had extended an olive branch in the form of a rock, and now it was up to Lance to follow through on his commitments to repairing things between them. He needed to learn how Keith communicated, how Keith worked, and what a happy bond looked like for Keith, and perhaps the answers to Keith’s elusive past would follow that, and maybe those revelations would ultimately help him to better understand Keith’s language of bonding.

Today was an off day, where there was no training scheduled, so Lance figured that Keith would be on the training deck. Keith almost never took a day off, and honestly, Lance didn’t know what else Keith did in his free time. Sure, he liked knives and space wolves, and probably chemistry based on his lengthy infodump on bismuth alone, but that didn’t really reveal any hobbies Keith could do in his free time. Maybe forging blades? Lance vaguely remembered an offhand comment Keith made about watching Forged in Fire, so it made sense to think that he might have an interest in that. But that wasn’t something Keith could do at the castle, and Lance knew he was never at the labs- no, that would be Pidge and Hunk. Keith watched How It’s Made, but Lance doubted Keith decided to wake up and build a car or make glass or something random that he’d need a whole factory for, or something.

Lance suspected that despite Keith’s clear interest in chemistry, he likely never got much practical experience because he dropped out. He wouldn’t have had access to the garrison’s equipment. He hadn’t known what Hunk meant by Fraunhofer lines (was that even chemistry? It might’ve been physics, but Lance didn’t know), but it made sense that if Keith had never gotten to that module in class, he wouldn’t know to research them, especially if Keith wasn’t applying chemistry often . Lance had a feeling that Keith was rather learning the properties of each element, so it made sense that his knowledge would differ to somebody with greater access to journal articles, textbooks, and equipment. Besides, Keith didn’t have a computer in the desert, and he almost definitely didn’t have internet. The records on Altean chemistry missed out a lot of elements found on Earth, and not all of them were translatable via computer, due to some tech issue Lance didn’t really understand. So Keith must’ve infodumped information that he hadn’t had access to study for years, which was really quite impressive, if Lance really thought of it.

Lance eventually found Keith sat in the library, surrounded by books. He’d clearly been here all day- he’d already set aside an old Altean textbook and a field journal that appeared to have some sketches and estimates on some undiscovered elements, and what properties they may have based on the Altean observations. The textbooks couldn’t be translated, given the fact that humans and Alteans had only just begun to communicate since the start of this wild, wacky space adventure. Sure, translation technology helped exponentially with spoken Language, but some words likely wouldn’t directly translate if there wasn’t an equivalent in the other language- like Quiznack- and the dialect in most of these books had gone extinct centuries before Coran’s birth, and whilst he’d studied history, many Altean dialects and languages had unfortunately died out, and the books were too old to be read by the computers. Lance honestly thought Keith’s work was impressive, even though he had no idea if Keith was right or not. Keith seemed to be having fun naming them randomly, though. From Aurellium to Landakadmium, Lance was sure none of the elements had logical names beyond what Keith probably thought the words might sound like- or perhaps Coran had managed to figure out a rough translation of some words.

Currently, however, Keith was surrounded by old books and watercolour paints. Lance recognised a lot of the books- mainly because they were duplicates. Popular books, Lance assumed, hence there being multiple copies in the library. And with no sketchbook, Keith appeared to be repurposing the books as his own personal sketchbooks. Lance managed to get close enough to see what Keith had been painting without Keith noticing, and Lance was in awe. Beautiful crystals and galaxies and the Northern Lights, all from memory or imagination. Deep cobalt and azure tones with brilliantly vibrant magentas and ruby jewel tones, deep emeralds and bright mustards, bright oranges and beautiful lilacs. And on the page, a beautiful bismuth, a swirling monolith of chrome.

“I didn’t know you could draw-” Keith startled, whole body jumping in shock and head whipping to Lance with wide, startled eyes, before relaxing into a scowl. “Sorry, dude, didn’t realise you were so focused,” Lance apologised, trying to hide the amused smile on his face as best he could.

“What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I just want to read,” Lance shrugged, because what was he supposed to do, just tell Keith that he was here to talk to him, after obsessively searching the castle for the whole day? No thank you. Besides, people usually laughed if Lance said he read, so he doubted Keith would take it seriously anyway.

“Oh,” Keith replied, getting to his feet and brushing a thick layer of dust off his lap from the books, “You should’ve just said.” Keith kicked his legs out, shook them slightly as if getting rid of the stiffness of sitting in one place for a while, before walking over to a set of shelves where the dust had been significantly disturbed. “Coran translated all of these. They’re romance books, I think. Either Romance or Horror or Action. I don’t know. Coran says Altean genres are kinda… blended into one. Things like science fiction don’t really exist, given the fact most surviving Altean literature comes from the post- space exploration era for them. So it’s called ‘Action and Exaggeration’, I think. I saw one that looked like a godzilla-like weblum that I was gonna read later, but I probably won’t get around to it. The books to your left are all history books, or journals. Coran wrote down some Altean folk tales, because most of them were part of an oral tradition but he’s afraid that the tradition and those stories would die off, given nobody from the Altean colony knows them. He recorded the most special ones, because they were too sacred to transcribe into text.” Lance nodded, and honestly, he was kind of interested, but he didn’t have the focus for that when his brain was already fixated on his goal.

“Thank you, Keith,” Lance replied honestly, making a mental note to return to the library later to get better acquainted with the Altean literature- although Lance was a lot more interested in the untranslated texts in comparison to the translations, since he’d started to develop a hyperfixation in Altean language and literature. It was sad, to think that when Coran was a little boy, these stories were everywhere, but now these stories were archived relics of a lost culture, ripped from the universe by Zarkon, almost older than humanity’s dawn. It made Lance more interested to learn, to keep it all alive, somehow, to connect better with his Altean friends. But he couldn’t shake the warm feeling he felt upon realising that Keith was one of the first people who didn’t treat Lance like he was dumb, didn’t act as though he didn’t believe him when he said he wanted to read a book.

“Are you gonna pick up a book?”

“Later,” Lance replied, and Keith opened his mouth to speak, but Lance raised his hand slightly to indicate he was going to explain. “I know I said I came here to read, but I’m not in the right mindset yet. Maybe we could, I don’t know, hang out or something? Talk, or, whatever? Or, I mean- you could continue to paint, and we can just sit here in silence together, I could, y’know, keep you company, or something?”

Keith stared whilst considering, before nodding with a half smile- or, at least, what may have been an attempt at a smile, perhaps. “Okay.” And with that, Keith sat down, and continued to paint. Lance really hadn’t expected Keith to want to sit there in silence, but apparently he did, so Lance sat down and hoped he wouldn’t get mind-numbingly bored. He supposed that in the very least, he’d learned something new about Keith- that Keith actually didn’t mind company, but was content to just sit in silence.

Half an hour in, and Lance realised that this wasn’t quite so bad. There was something peaceful about watching Keith paint and allowing his thoughts to wonder about things, knowing he wasn’t alone, but with no pressure to talk about the right things at the right time. Keith seemed to be enjoying himself too; he looked more energetic in his painting, more content and relaxed than he had when Lance had first walked in, like perhaps Keith didn’t always like being alone. Maybe sometimes, he just wanted the company, or somebody to take interest in what he was doing, rather than expecting him to engage in other’s activities all the time. It made sense- almost nobody had interests that directly overlapped with Keith, and at first, he had tried to linger, but after a while of nobody saying anything to him, outright ignoring him, or showing no interest in getting to know about his hobbies, Keith had probably given up.

It hadn’t been intentional: Lance was sure nobody had noticed that Keith was attempting to be friends. They waited for Keith to initiate conversation, whilst Keith was waiting to hear that it was okay to join them. It was a miscommunication on both ends, but unfortunately, it had isolated Keith from the group. Lance hoped that he could integrate Keith into the group, help him to feel welcome, and hopefully Lance would forge a much closer friendship with Keith too. Lance felt as though he’d reached some kind of important milestone, now he’d cracked some more of the code that was Keith. He’d learned that Keith wasn’t actually antisocial: he just needed the right amount of inclusion and companionship. Lance wasn’t quite sure exactly why it was so important to him to be closer to Keith, or why this particular moment felt quite so profound, but Lance certainly wasn’t complaining.

He just didn’t want to think about what it might mean.

Keith eventually finished the page he was working on, carefully putting down his tools and stretching his arms out with a yawn. He yawned like a cat, Lance thought, mouth opened impossibly wide and fangs on full display-

Wait.

Fangs??

“Are they-”

“Yes, I have fangs, Lance,” Keith managed to mumble mid- yawn, stretching his arms higher and arching his back backwards, his shirt riding up to reveal a muscled section of tummy and a lean section of hips that Lance absolutely only stared at because he was jealous and of course all guy’s stares at their buddy’s midriffs, it was perfectly normal bro behaviour, so-

Keith pulled his shirt down as he finished yawning and stretching, and started cracking his back and shoulders, and apparently his jaw too. “Why’s everyone always surprised by my fangs? Y’all know I’m half galra.”

“Well- yes, but-” Lance stopped himself before saying ’you look so human’, because that really didn’t sit right in Lance’s head as something to say to someone. “They’re so sharp, Keith, how do you not like- constantly bite your own tongue?!”

“I do,” Keith shrugged, “got used to it. Doesn’t stop me chewing the inside of my cheeks, though, but I accidentally catch my tongue a lot. My tongue’s always been weird, though, like a cat’s. It feels spiky.” Keith stuck his tongue out, and Lance stared at it. It looked like a regular human tongue, apart from the presence of small spines covering the top surface almost entirely. Lance stared, and resisted the urge to poke it and see what it felt like. Keith put his tongue back in, and looked up at Lance’s eyes. Lance filed away the feeling in his stomach as just a reaction to the intensity of his gaze, and not to do with Lance’s ongoing crisis at all.

“…Galra really are just giant space cats, huh,” Lance mused.

Keith gave what Lance assumed was an unimpressed glare, and Lance had resigned himself to the fact he’d fucked up, before Keith, in the most deadpan, bored voice he could muster, spoke a deep, husky “meow.” And Lance immediately burst out laughing, because the contrast of serious, murderous Keith taking Lance’s joke well and adding to it filled Lance with a vibrant feeling of vitality. It was funnier because a cat’s meow was so tiny and cute, nothing like the dulcet baritone of Keith’s voice saying the word out loud. He risked looking up at Keith through his laughter, who had that same proud, smug smile on his face as he had when he handed Lance the bismuth. He looked like the cat that got the cream, although Lance supposed that was a stupid idiom, given that cats were lactose intolerant anyway. Lance laughed a little too long, and now Keith was staring at him with an innocent curiosity, head tilted slightly to the side.

“Okay, kittyboy,” Lance teased, “let’s get out of here. Everyone should probably be eating soon anyways.”

“Oh,” Keith began, as though snapped out of a train of thought, “Okay. Lemme just… clear up my stuff.”

“Yeah, this is… quite the organised chaos, huh?”

“Oh, it’s not organised,” Keith began, “it’s just chaos. I mean I tried to be organised, but then it just…” Keith gestured to the pile, “became a mess.”

“Oh god, I felt that,” Lance laughed, “want help?”

“No thanks,” Keith replied, “I just need to leave my stuff open to dry, then come back for it later. Nobody ever comes in here anyways, and even so, I doubt anyone here would be as much of a dick as to ruin it.” Lance shrugged, because that made sense, and waited for Keith to tidy his paints away.

“I didn’t know you liked art,” Lance stated casually, hoping to learn more about Keith.

“I never used to,” Keith replied candidly. “It’s… hard. No amount of studying makes you get good at art. It’s not like I can read a book and parrot the information in my own words. It’s practically guaranteed you fail at art your first few attempts. And in the desert, there was nobody to encourage me to draw, or to tell me that I wasn’t a failure. But I needed something. So, here I am. Painting in my spare time. It’s all just patterns and shapes… I can understand patterns and shapes, even if I’m bad at replicating them, at first.”

“Well, you’re amazing at art,” Lance began, “you don’t have to hide it away, you know.”

Keith blinked. “I’m not. Nobody ever asked.”

“Oh…” Lance mentally berated himself for never thinking to ask, to never think to even make small talk. He’d assumed Keith was quiet, and moody, but it turned out Keith was an open book if you took the time to ask. “Well, do you have any other hobbies?”

“Making bismuth,” Keith shrugged, “knives. Training, I guess. I tried writing once, but it’s not my thing. I get too frustrated, and it’s hard to visualise where I’m going wrong. You?”

“Oh! Uh, well swimming is one, reading sometimes, uhm… I like to journal when I have the chance, although, mama always said I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my body, and she’s probably right, so journaling keeps me organised sometimes. I like learning about dolphins and other sea creatures, and I went through a huge mermaid phase as a kid that I never fully grew out of, but I can’t draw, so that sucks. Oh! I did meet mermaids with Hunk, and Plaxum kissed my cheek. She was pretty. But that’s just about it.”

“Oh… you dated before?”

“Yeah,” Lance replied awkwardly, although he couldn’t pinpoint why he suddenly felt so guilty about it. “But nothing ever… I got my heart broken a lot.”

“Oh,” Keith frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lance replied, “if they broke my heart, those girls certainly wasn’t the right ones, so… I guess they’re all just, dodged bullets. What about you, were you seeing anyone?”

“No,” Keith replied, although his body language turned awkward, his frown deepening. “I never really- I don’t really, get crushes. Think I might be broken, or something. I do fall in love, though. But I don’t-” his frown deepened. “I don’t know. But I’m not good with people anyway.”

“I doubt you’re broken, Keith,” Lance replied carefully.

“Everyone kept telling me that I just needed to meet the right one, or maybe I was just a late bloomer. Someone even offered to ‘fix me’ and it creeped me the fuck out so I started carrying my knife around with me. But no matter what, nothing changed. And I didn’t feel comfortable trying to force myself to have feelings I don’t have, so I didn’t try to fix it. I guess I’m just… permanently broken, and that’s all. I never tell anyone. I don’t like how people respond. It makes me uncomfortable and I don’t trust it.” Lance considered carefully before he thought about responding. Lance remembered the lesson in sex ed about asexuality and aromanticism, and Keith’s description sounded a lot like asexuality, but Lance knew it wasn’t up to him to label Keith. But Keith had been absent for almost every sex ed lesson, and if he just convinced himself he was broken all the time, he might never have came across the correct terminology before.

“Have you heard of asexuality?”

“You mean like plant reproduction? Yeah. Why?”

“No no, not that.” Lance shook his head, before figuring out how to word his reply. “Asexuals feel little to no sexual attraction. So the whole, ‘holy shit, she’s hot, yes please’ response just… isn’t there. Of course, objectively you can tell if someone’s attractive or not without being attracted to them. So crushes would probably feel pretty different without the physical attraction involved. But you can still be romantically attracted to somebody too, if you’re not aromantic.”

Keith frowned, and stopped walking. He seemed deep in thought, and Lance wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. “There's a word for that?”

“Yeah,” Lance replied nervously, “it’s a whole identity. I’m not asexual myself, but, I learned about it briefly in class. It doesn’t mean you’re broken.” Keith stared into nothing, still deep in thought, like he was processing. Lance figured it must be a pretty huge thing for Keith to come to terms with, so he stayed quiet to give Keith a chance to process. Keith seemed to take a while to mull it over, before he continued walking to lunch. Lance matched his pace, allowing Keith the space to think it through thoroughly.

By the time they reached the dining hall, Keith paused, looking Lance directly in the eye. “Thank you.” And with that, Keith walked in, and Lance was left feeling glad that he’d helped Keith to realise that he wasn’t broken, he was asexual.

And by the next morning, Lance woke to find a whittled wooden pen sitting atop his desk, with a small bismuth crystal glued carefully to the top. It came with a small note; ‘Thank you. Use this for your journaling. Keith.’

Chapter Text

Lance found himself deep in self reflection. Yesterday had yielded a fair pocket of revelations for Lance, especially about Keith, but it had also prompted him to reflect more on himself. Keith had been struggling with his asexuality and the aphobia he faced for years, without anybody to guide him towards a label, with nobody to tell him that he wasn’t broken. And Keith had accepted it almost immediately, pausing to reflect on it. Keith finally had the answers to years of questioning himself, and it made Lance wish he had the same too.

It made Lance realise that he couldn’t run from his problems forever. He was always going to be confused and struggling if he shut down any serious attempts at questioning. He needed to take time to truly reflect on who he was, but they were currently crammed on a drifting shuttle with no mirrors. So Lance did the closest thing he could do: he looked through his camera roll, bunched himself as far into the corner as he’d fit, and found a picture from his childhood. It was a photograph of a photograph, when he was about six, on the beach, wide toothy grin with a gap, holding up a crab. It was his only unfiltered photograph of himself, the most candid one. And the one he felt he owed this to. This was his young self, the Lance that wanted answers. The Lance who dreamed, and the Lance who would write to his future self asking him to tell him what his future looked like; if he went to space, if he met a pretty girl, why his heart felt so wrong and empty, like he was an actor trapped in a sad play.

Lance took a moment to take note of his surroundings before delving into deep thought. Pidge was playing Mars quietly on her phone to introduce Romelle to Earth music she might like or relate to, Hunk had his headphones in listening to an instruction manual, Coran was talking quietly with Allura up front, Keith was sitting quietly watching space go by, and Shiro was napping in his seat. Everything seemed quiet, individual, private. It was the calm kind of anxiety, the comfortable and settled state you entered when you knew you had no control over your circumstances. Lance took a deep breath, and looked back to the photograph.

The answers were there, somewhere, even if Lance was terrified of them. He’d buried them, suppressed them, shut down any serious reflection on himself because it terrified him. But he was only hurting the little boy in the picture… hurting himself in the process. He was hurting himself, by not allowing himself to explore who he really was. And he hadn’t faced how much that was damaging him, how much happiness he was denying himself. He thought back to Keith, going his whole life thinking he was broken, and he thought of himself, thinking he had to shut down his sexuality to feel normal. It was stressful, but Lance hadn’t realised that denying a big part of himself was only going to fracture his heart. How much happiness and freedom was he denying himself? How much pride and confidence? How big a part of him was obscured? How many answers were there hiding behind the curtains Lance didn’t want to open? What audience would cheer for him, and what audience would boo him?

Lance took a deep breath, and admitted it to himself. He was questioning his sexuality. He didn’t think his attraction was solely towards women. He thought he might like other genders too, including his own. He thought he may be gay, if he was to use the term loosely as an umbrella. It helped him face it more bluntly in his head, where he couldn’t default back to focusing on his attraction to women. He thought he might like boys. He was questioning if there was a chance he did, if he could, if he was queer, in some way. If he wasn’t straight, he certainly wasn’t exclusively gay, he knew that. Bi, pan, omni, poly? M-spec, either way, seemed the most likely direction. Lance decided not to put a label down until he’d laid the rest of his cards down on the table.

He fully believed in and supported non-binary identities, couldn’t see himself excluding them from his potential dating pool. He could admit to himself that he found many non-binary individuals attractive in the past. He absolutely didn’t need to question if he was into women, because he knew that he was for certain. But was he also attracted to boys? He found the urge to shut it down, save it for another day that would never come. He knew it was time to stop running from the possibility that he wasn’t straight.

Did he like boys? Why did he suspect he might?

Boys were… something Lance hadn’t allowed himself to reflect on. Sometimes, he felt so disconnected to the boys at school, so othered, and Lance had questioned for so long why. He’d wondered if it might have been his gender, but Lance felt comfortable with himself, so he chalked it down to the toxic masculinity of other men and disconnected himself from it. But it hadn’t stopped him from feeling like he didn’t belong, and now he was wondering if it was because of the heteronormativity surrounding him. Because of course he’d feel other, being a queer boy in a group of heterosexuals. His instinct was to search for signs, to look back into his past and find ‘evidence’ he wasn’t straight, but he knew that wouldn’t help much, because he knew he’d suppressed most of it for most of his life. He knew he couldn’t keep lying to himself, so he had to make the effort to allow himself the space to think about what he might like about boys, or what qualities of boys he found attractive. Which wasn’t easy to do: just like girls, boys didn't all share a single, ubiquitous body and personality.

Maybe, Lance thought, some boys were pretty. Some boys had a gentle, kind expression. The kind to help you with your groceries, and send you a smile as if they were grateful they got to help you, even though you were left feeling like you were blessed by an angel. There was the kind of boy who would help you move dorms, the kind with big muscles and a football jersey, the true himbo who would show off his guns and simp for you. And there was the type of guy who would take you to a quiet spot in the library and ask you if you wanted to spend the evening solving differential equations. There was the type of guy who burned bright with passion no matter what. The type of boy who nobody could tell him who he was or who he should be. Or the type of boy with long hair and rings and open pirate shirts with a chest full of treasure he swears pales in comparison to the treasure he’s caught with you. And maybe Lance had been watching too many pirate movies, so sue him. Piracy was a gender neutral fashion, in his opinion. And maybe during his mermaid phase, he’d imagined what it would be like to be the mer who captured a pirate’s heart, even if Lance had always imagined that to be a woman. He could imagine a guy in her place now, with a cocky half-smirk and a smooth but husky voice, the kind of guy who looked like he’d also belong in sleek black leathers on the back of a motorcycle, or in his billowing shirt with blood red fangs and a casket, to boot. A guy with long hair, rugged and masculine but so adorably endearing at times that he made Lance’s heart grow fond. If only there was a boy who could look so good.

Could Lance see himself being physically attracted to a man? Could he see himself craving a kiss from those lips, running his hands through a man’s hair? Could Lance see himself loving the shape of a man’s body, cis or trans, the same way he did a woman’s? Would he still want to trace words into a man’s flesh as they lay besides each other, words of endearment and heartfelt promises, the same way he had with girls? Would Lance accept a partner, of any gender, and find them just as beautiful and handsome as he’d envisioned girls to be? Could Lance imagine losing himself to the intoxicating scent of a man’s cologne, breathing it in and borrowing his jacket as a pillow just to feel at home? Could he see his heart skipping a beat when a man laughed, when his eyes lit up with mirth and joy? Could he see himself leaning close to embrace a man with passion, just the same as he’d wanted with a woman? Could he imagine that electric pull in his gut at the thought of a beautiful man picking him up and carrying him home and kissing him silly long into the night?

Upon reflection, Lance was realising that perhaps straight boys really didn’t think of other men like that. Lance wondered briefly if it would feel any different kissing a man, if he’d be more rough than a girl, or if he’d be just as shy and nervous. Would the dynamic be much different, out of the grips of allo/amato/cis/heteronormativity? With a guy, the whole point was that there wasn’t a woman in the relationship (unless the person was in a poly relationship that involved a woman). Would Lance be expected to take on a more feminine role? Would the other guy? No, that all felt like heteronormative bullshit. Sure, some people naturally fell into that dynamic just by being themselves, but there was absolutely no reason two masculine dudes couldn’t just exist as men who loved men where neither of them was playing the role of the ‘wife’.

Would a guy understand Lance in a different way than a woman would? Would a guy understand what it was like to unlearn toxic masculinity? Would he empathise better with Lance’s experiences with his sexuality? Would he be less inclined to erase the part of Lance that still liked women, because he’d understand bisexuality deeper than a straight person could? Would he be patient whilst Lance prepared to come out, understanding how difficult and scary and complicated coming out would be? Would a guy still hold him close at night, and kiss his forehead goodnight? Gift him little trinkets, take him out for drives and watch the sunset and run with him into the ocean? Could he find that kind of happiness with a guy? Would they simply just chill in their boxers together watching shitty action movies and eating hot chips? Would a guy hold his hand, tell him that he was the best future husband a man could ask for? Would he get down on one knee with a ring, or would Lance be the one to do it? Would they lay together, listening to each other’s heartbeats, scared as fuck of what the world would think but facing it all with bravery and grit, refusing to let the world shame them for something so beautiful? Would a guy be his mama’s favourite around the house? Would he be the one holding Lance’s hand through good times and bad? Could Lance have all of that with a guy, and would he want to?

Lance took a deep breath, re-focusing on the picture of his younger self. The little boy in the photo looked so happy, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes, because he was different, somehow. He was always different, no matter how hard he tried. Lance wanted younger Lance to hear and know that it was okay, that he’d figure things out and find a way to live happily, with his differences embraced by those around him. But he just didn’t know if those differences would be accepted or not, and that broke his heart to think that one day he’d look the same little boy in the eyes, and tell him that loving who he loved would have him cast out into the rain, with nothing but mud and heartbreak to show for it. Although, maybe, if he allowed himself to be stronger than his shame, he could have somebody with him, to hold his hand and take him into the ocean to scream until the pain went away and he’d cry on his shoulder, and he’d never let go of what love he had left. Perhaps, he’d have to tell little Lance that his parent’s love for him was conditional, and that thought broke his heart. And it broke Lance into pieces that made him want to run away and hide forever, because he wasn’t strong enough to face that pain, at least not yet.

But Lance was fucking terrified, and he had no idea how to process that. If he loved a man, what was the cost? Was it worth it? Should he shut himself away, put the mask and the barriers back up, settle with a woman and deny any trace of pride he may have had, bury the rainbows in the back of the closet? Lance had never felt so vulnerable, like he was stamped and branded with a rainbow he didn’t ask for, like everybody could see it and everybody could leave, like Lance wanted to cover it, and- fuck- maybe even protect it, because what if somebody tore it from his chest in the name of helping people, and left him empty and desolate and broken with a piece of his identity corroded down in shame and corroded by acid words and burning vitriol? Wasn’t that exactly what Lance was doing to himself, by denying himself his own sexuality? Couldn’t he keep it safe, nurture it until it was ready to shine, until he was ready to find somebody who would see it and say: I accept you. And I love you. I’m with you.

Lance took a deep, shaky breath wishing he could shut this part of himself down and reprogram it, wishing more that he hadn’t been made to think like that. The hate, Lance thought, wouldn’t be so bad, if those people didn’t have the power to take his rights away: or worse, love forbid, take away his life and snuff out the rainbow for good. He wished there wasn’t a world with so much hate. He wished there wasn’t a world where his own family could stop loving him. He wished there was such a thing as unconditional love, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that the world existed without it. Lance had learned to love conditionally, in the sense that if somebody hurt him and hated him, he had to stop loving them; he had to let them go, because he always deserved better than hurt. He hoped his family’s love for him could be unconditional, if only so Lance wouldn’t have a condition to have to leave it all behind.

Lance was finally realising why he’d never truly allowed himself to question his sexuality, or accept that he might not be straight. It was because Lance was scared as fuck of how much he stood to lose. He was terrified, because he could lose everything, and gain nothing. And Lance didn’t know if he had the strength to take the pain, but he just knew that he had to find it from somewhere. He had to find the strength to stop denying who he was. He had to find the strength to be vulnerable in a way he never had been before, by accepting that he had the capacity to love men.

Lance just really wished he had somebody to talk to, who he could guarantee would understand. Somebody else with a rainbow heart, maybe somebody who had lost everything, so that Lance could see that there was room on the other side to grow again, even in the dead and barren grass. Maybe the grass wouldn’t be greener on the other side, but maybe that meant Lance had to fight twice as hard to make it green and bright. Maybe there wasn’t always a rainbow waiting for him at the end of the downpour, and maybe he had to shine his light just the same to herald in the end of the storm. And maybe Lance would have to go through this alone, but maybe it was time that he stopped giving up on himself and started to fight for himself even when the pain was too much to bear, because who else would? Who else would…

Lance hadn’t realised he was shaky and tearful until he looked up, felt the suffocating weight of suppressed emotions sit heavy on his chest. It felt so different now, knowing that his experiences, the way he viewed the world, was shaped by the rainbow lens he hadn’t even realised he’d been looking through. It could’ve been a privilege or a curse, but terrifying nonetheless. It felt like so much had changed. The world he’d learned to live comfortably in suddenly felt full of monsters out for blood. The love he’d surrounded himself with felt rigged on a trigger wire, waiting to be tripped at the slightest inkling of homosexuality, waiting to rip into his flesh and leave him helpless and bleeding with no mercy or compassion or second chances at a family.

“Lance?”

He snapped out of his headspace registering the urgency in the tone that suggested he’d been called multiple times. He braved looking up, to see Shiro’s concerned eyes searching his face for answers, and with a deep breath in, Lance fought against the urge to burst into tears.

Chapter Text

The last thing Lance wanted was to show weakness in front of his idol. He didn’t want anybody to see him like this, vulnerable and on the verge of tears, but let alone Shiro. Shiro was too kind, and Lance was too vulnerable, and he was just so scared he’d let all of his secrets spill out, and he didn’t want that. Lance sniffled, before starting with an excuse; “‘s just space dust.” Lance hadn’t expected Shiro to buy it, but he’d hoped Shiro would take the hint and leave. Unfortunately for Lance, Shiro sat beside him instead.

“Does the space dust make you sad?” Of course his excuse had fallen flat- nobody else was getting space dust allergies, because there was no space dust in this shuttle.

“It’s nothing,” Lance mumbled, “just miss home, is all.” That wasn’t strictly untrue; and Lance had cried about missing home plenty of times, so he doubted Shiro would judge him for that, or find it suspicious.

Thankfully, Shiro brought the story, his concerned expression relaxing a little. “Me too, kid,” he replied softly. “Feels like forever since I felt the grass or, went for a walk in a park where it rained.”

“I miss the rain too,” Lance replied, and Shiro laughed softly.

“Of course you do, you’re a water baby. I used to hate the rain so much. But now I miss it. I remember taking Keith to the zoo once, with Adam. Adam said it was gonna rain because my joints were achy, but I insisted the weather was gonna be clear. Of course, as soon as we got there, it started to rain so Adam spent the whole time glaring at me because the rain kept getting on his glasses so he couldn’t see properly. And Keith found the hippos and absolutely refused to leave. We stood there for two hours gently asking Keith to please let us go home so we could come back another day, but he refused to leave the hippos. So Adam went into the gift shop and spent his last few dollars on this big, soft hippo plushie. Keith carried it with him absolutely everywhere, apart from around school. Hippo even came to the dinner table most nights, except for the time we told Keith he couldn’t have ice cream for breakfast, so apparently Hippo was boycotting the dinner table until we gave in. Adam was disappointed in me when I caved, but he probably would’ve caved too.”

Lance huffed a small laugh at the anecdote, imagining a tinier Keith with a hippo plush probably as big as him, glaring up at Shiro angrily. It was an adorable image, although he still knew next to nothing about Shiro’s roommate besides the glasses and resting bitch face. Hearing anecdotes of Earth made Lance’s chest ache, but it was a welcome melancholy, a nostalgia he didn’t want to let go of. Shiro took Lance’s small laugh as a cue to continue, which Lance was grateful for.

“I remember homecoming the once, and everyone was dressed to the nines, acting way older than they were. And Adam was sat in the corner with his headphones in doing math. I went over to him asking why he wasn’t enjoying the party, and he just looked at me like I was stupid. And of course, I was, because it was probably way too loud and he didn’t really know anyone there very well.”

“Why’d he go to homecoming if he didn’t like it,” Lance frowned, “I mean I can’t really relate, but…”

“Because I asked him to,” Shiro replied casually, and Lance swore his heart legitimately stopped at the implication. “He wanted to be at homecoming because he knew I really wanted to go, and he really wanted to spend the day with me. When I noticed he was overwhelmed, though, I suggested we go sneak out instead. Of course, Adam protested that we’d get in trouble, but he didn’t really mind. He suggested sneaking out just as much as I did, usually. We ended up by this cliff overlooking the desert, where the stars were bright and you could only faintly see the city in the background. It was romantic until a bug flew into my mouth and I nearly choked to death, which Adam found absolutely hilarious. At school, Adam was always so stressed out he’d barely talk, and he’d always look so uncomfortable, but out there in the desert, away from all the people, he was laughing and smiling and…” Shiro smiled fondly, a light blush dusting his cheeks, “he just looked so beautiful under the stars, and that’s where we shared our first kiss. We were barely seventeen and neither of us had been in a relationship before, but we said we’d figure it out. Adam was… the love of my life, no doubt about it. I think I might have been his too.”

“You’re…?”

“Gay,” Shiro said, “you can say the word, Lance. It isn’t a dirty word.” Shiro seemed to be regarding Lance cautiously, but Lance felt now more than ever that he understood why. Shiro had no idea how anybody would react whenever he came out to somebody, and Lance had just been facing how completely and utterly terrifying that was. And Shiro was his idol, and his idol was scared too, and it made Shiro feel a bit more human to Lance.

“Sorry,” Lance replied, “I know that. I just, didn’t want to assume a label.”

“Ah. Well, I appreciate that, but for the record, I’m gay. Adam was my fiancé before I left for Kerberos.”

“Did anyone… give you trouble for it?” Shiro was regarding Lance with an expression Lance couldn’t read, and it made Lance anxious he’d messed up and crossed a line. “I- I mean- you don’t have to tell me or anything, I’m just… I’m sorry, that’s a really invasive question”

“It’s okay, Lance,” Shiro reassured. “I…” He sighed heavily, dropping his guard slightly. “Did get a lot of hate, yes. I’m not going to sit here and sugar coat it. People were homophobic pieces of shit at the garrison, and in everyday life. And I can’t say it didn’t get to me, because it did. It was rough. But it wasn’t all the time. I was called slurs at lunch and at home- not from my parents-, but I also had a lot of support in my life. Obviously from Adam, but, from others too. Honestly, Adam inspired me a lot. One time, the captain of the football team asked him if it was true he was a fag, and Adam just looked up from his homework and replied; ‘why, you interested?’ In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s when I fell in love with him. I thought he seemed so unbothered by it and couldn’t understand why he was so unbothered when it hurt me, but… we talked about it a few months later, and, Adam admitted that sometimes he cried himself to sleep because of it. But he decided he wouldn’t let that pain take away the pride he fought so hard to embrace. That it didn’t matter who hated him, because the gay wasn’t going to miraculously go away, and why should he have to be ashamed? He was angry at the world, and decided to be proud out of spite. Adam said every pissed off homophobe added a year to his life.

“So yeah… I did get a lot of trouble for being gay, but that should never let me deny who I am. I remember being young and questioning, so terrified and wondering how the elder gays did it. How they could just… wear a rainbow and go out on marches and come face to face with homophobes. It took me a few years to learn that it was because they learned to love themselves, and learned to fight for a world where there was no hate. And now… I’m the 'older' gay. I’m exactly the type of man I never thought I could be. Does it still hurt when people throw slurs at me? Yeah. Yeah, it does. But I could never feel ashamed for having loved somebody as perfect as Adam. I refuse to let it take away the pride I spent years building up on my own. I did not go through years of hurt and confusion to let them put me back in the closet.

“If you would’ve asked fourteen year old Takashi if he was gay, he probably would’ve denied it. But now I’m happy to say I’m gay just to cause a problem at the dinner table if I hear any homophobia. I may not have developed a thick skin, but I did develop a reason to fight. And I learned to love the part of myself that loves men. I refuse to hate myself for it again.”

Lance didn’t know what to say. Lance didn’t know what to say, because his idol was just like him. Takashi Shirogane liked men, and he was proud of it. He’d found love, he was living proof, sitting next to Lance, that Lance could have a future too. He’d always looked up to Shiro so much, wanted to be like him so badly, but Shiro was always some unobtainable ideal. But now he was learning that Shiro, just like Lance, was human. And he was more of an idol to Lance now than he’d ever been before, because Lance thought he might like men too, and Shiro liked men, and Shiro gave Lance hope that he wouldn’t feel this scared forever. That one day, Lance could be proud to be queer too. “That’s…”

“Yeah,” Shiro replied, “it’s a lot. Is there… a reason, you asked?” Shiro asked carefully, as though Lance would bolt, and honestly, the question immediately sent a wave of terror through Lance. “I’m not going to assume or judge,” Shiro clarified carefully, “you don’t have to give me an answer you’re not ready to give.”

Lance decided to deflect for now, although he figured Shiro most likely suspected the true reason why Lance was asking these questions. “How did you… know you were gay?”

“Ah,” Shiro replied, as though he’d been asked this question a lot by other questioning queers. “Well… liking men was a pretty strong indicator to me.” Shiro huffed out a laugh at himself, then continued. “I mean… some people seemed to just, always know they were gay, but it took me a while to figure it out. I mean my whole childhood it was just… assumed I’d be straight. I had no reason to question it. I was a boy, and boys liked girls. So when those feelings didn’t develop… well, I just assumed that maybe I was a late bloomer, or that other guys were exaggerating when they talked about girls. I wouldn’t say I was repulsed when boys talked about girls, but… it didn’t feel right when I tried to think about girls. I felt uncomfortable. And for a while… I thought that maybe I was broken. Because boys were supposed to like girls, and gay people were this… other community, that existed outside of the society I was a part of. I wasn’t one of them, how could I be? But then, I… remember sex ed class, and everybody was talking about what attraction felt like to them. And the girls were describing their crushes on guys, talking about how hot boys were, and, well. I mean, I couldn’t argue with them on that. But that was normal, right? All guys thought guys were attractive, it didn’t make them gay. Well. Apparently it did. I talked about it with the guys in the locker room to confirm it was a normal bro thing to want to kiss your homies, and- well. Let’s just say I found out that I can, in fact, be squeezed into a locker. So then I… really believed that maybe it would go away. That my hormones were just playing tricks on me and, I’d start liking women soon enough. And then Adam happened. And… wow. He was beautiful, and strong, and handsome, and witty, and savage, and… perfect. And… I tried to pretend that those feelings didn’t exist, but then he’d laugh or smile, and… the butterflies would just be going crazy and I’d be so nervous around him and I found myself intoxicated and addicted to being the one making him smile. Every time I got to talk to Adam, and got to be the one to make him smile, it was like… my whole world got brighter.”

Shiro was smiling fondly, and it was so painfully clear how in love he still was with Adam. “I found eventually, that… I didn’t want to be straight. Because if being straight meant I never got to feel these things for Adam, well. I never wanted to lose that feeling. And when we kissed, I… I knew I was gay. And I just felt so- so happy... so right... it felt so right and so real and… yeah… I came out as gay after that, and I wasn’t ashamed of it anymore. And I had to fight so hard for myself, had to fight so hard to get respected, but I did it. I refused to stop being gay. I refused to go back in the closet. I accepted my role as a simp for Adam, and never went back.”

“I never realised you struggled so much with accepting yourself,” Lance replied quietly, and Shiro nodded quietly.

“Yeah… I struggled a lot. But it’s okay, because I’m comfortable with who I am now.”

“That’s… so brave of you, Shiro…”

“Thank you, Lance.”

Lance took a deep breath. Shiro would understand. Shiro was the one person right now in the entire world who Lance could say for certain would be empathetic towards Lance, and he really needed the guidance of an older gay whilst he navigated his complicated feelings. “I like women,” Lance began, although he didn’t chance a glance up at Shiro in case Shiro took the statement as Lance being an insecure straight. “But I think-” Lance swallowed hard, the words choking in his throat and threatening to push back down. “I might be- that I might- um-” Lance huffed out a deep breath, trying to find a way to force the words out. “I think I might like guys.”

He let out a shaky breath, the tears that had threatened to spill out earlier taking an unexpected tumble down his cheeks, hot and burning. Lance’s whole chest felt just about ready to implode, because saying it out loud had made it suddenly so real. He didn’t want to cry- not about this. He was supposed to be proud. He wasn’t supposed to cry over this. He sniffled, wiping harshly at his eyes with his arm and trying to force himself to stop.

“That’s okay, Lance. You’re not alone.”

Lance couldn’t hide the tears after that, because he’d needed to hear that for so long and he was so so scared and he’d really needed to hear those words. He’d needed to hear that it was okay. “God, thank you. I… I’m sorry.”

“Hey now, don’t be sorry,” Shiro soothed gently, putting his arm around Lance and squeezing his shoulder supportively. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m so proud of you. You can get through this, I believe in you. I know you can learn to accept yourself, and I know it’s not going to be easy, but I’m here for you.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I… I’m just, so scared, and- confused, and- it’s just so much to think about and my mom and- how will I- what if-...”

“If...” Shiro began carefully, “they don’t accept you, then we can make a plan for that. We can get you a solid support network and figure out a plan for if you need somewhere to stay after that. We can walk through all the ways of coming out, and gather all the resources you might need to explain to them how you feel and educate them on who you are. And you don’t have to come out if you don’t want to. If the closet is safer for you, and more comfortable for you, it is perfectly okay to stay in there until you feel ready to come out. There’s no rush, and I’m not going to out you before you’re ready, okay? I won’t let you go through it alone if I can help it. We can work on getting you ready to come out to people, that’s okay. I’ve been there, I can help guide you through it. And if it helps… I really don’t think any of your team will respond badly to you not being straight. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that one. I mean I know for a fact Keith will accept it, I mean, he always supported me and Adam. I’m sure if anyone ever did give you trouble for it, you’d have me and Keith at the absolute least fighting in your corner and helping you through it. Just know you can come to me, okay? I’m here to support you, not just as your team leader, but as your ally and friend. I’ve got your back, Lance.”

Lance nodded, and buried his face in Shiro’s armour. He didn’t want anyone to see him crying, and he really needed the comfort. Shiro wrapped his arms around Lance in a tight hug, and Lance finally let himself cry. He let himself grieve. Because he needed to grieve the life he thought he’d have, and the amount he might have lost because of his sexuality. He needed to grieve the easy life he’d imagined, because any potential partner could now reject him because of his sexuality. Even if they really fancied him, they could reject him based on the fact he liked guys and girls and non-binary people, and that hurt deeply. It hurt because he could be denied jobs because of his sexuality, no matter how lawful or unlawful it may have been. It hurt because Lance knew that there were people in the world who would gladly murder him themselves because of who he loved. So he allowed himself to grieve, and he allowed himself the space to truly process his fear. He was absolutely petrified, paralysed by the terror in his blood. It felt like his blood ran cold whenever he thought about losing his family, but right now he felt so safe, so reassured.

Even if the worst happened; even if he found himself on the streets, battered and bruised, somebody was here to pick him up. He didn’t have to face any of it alone anymore. He didn’t have to go into this experience blind, because he could talk to somebody who had already been there, and make a plan. He could make a plan, and that was so much pressure off his shoulders. And he was so grateful that Shiro didn’t judge him for being so scared, that he didn’t feel offended by Lance’s fear.

Chapter Text

It had taken Lance a while to calm himself down from hysterics. He’d cried so much his head hurt, and his eyes were heavy. Shiro had carried on out of the shuttle and told everyone that Lance wasn’t feeling very well, and left it at that. Lance had taken a few minutes to mentally prepare, rocking himself back and forth and hugging himself until he knew he needed the fresh air. He still felt overwhelmed, but they were stopping off on this planet on a tight schedule. Hunk and Pidge immediately looked to Lance with concern as soon as he stepped off, but Lance couldn’t meet their eyes. He knew he looked pale and rough; he didn’t need a mirror to tell himself that, so he was glad he could pretend that he was ill for the day. It meant nobody had to know, and if Lance felt too overwhelmed, he could make up an excuse about stomach ache and hide in the bathrooms or go lie down in the shuttle, and nobody would question it. Allura gave Lance a soft, sympathetic smile, and patted him briefly on the shoulder. Lance was glad the feelings he’d once had for her had faded, because it allowed him to be closer to her; as a friend.

Keith was staring at Lance intently, until Lance looked back at him, at which point Keith walked towards him and placed another bismuth in his hands. “Don’t eat it. It won’t help your stomach ache.” Lance laughed lightly, clutching the bismuth tightly. It made Lance smile a little, knowing that Keith was trying to make him feel better, even if he didn’t necessarily know how to. But the bismuth would keep his hands busy, and give him something to look at when things got too overwhelming.

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance replied softly, and Keith nodded, finally breaking eye contact. Lance hadn’t failed to notice that Keith and eye contact weren’t exactly friends, so he didn’t pressure Keith to make eye contact when he didn’t want to. But when Keith did make eye contact, it was so intense, and Lance couldn’t help but feel like Keith was trying to remind him that he was important, somehow, that he mattered, and Keith cared and wanted him to know that and be okay. It was…

It made Lance feel…

He looked over to Shiro, who gave him a soft smile, and Lance made the decision to stick next to Shiro for the remainder of the day. He felt so supported, and he knew he could tell Shiro if he felt uncomfortable, and Shiro would cover for him. Lance felt lost, like a baby duck, and Shiro was just so easy to attach yourself to, because he had major supportive Space Dad Vibes, and Lance really needed that kind of comfort right now. Shiro had gone from some distant hero that Lance could only aspire to, to being somebody real, and tangible. He was willing to keep Lance safe, to allow him the room to explore his identity safely and comfortably, at his own pace. Shiro would protect him, help him figure out what to do if things ever went wrong, help him to find safety and shelter. And right now, Lance felt vulnerable, and walking besides Shiro made him feel less so.

Lance had pushed himself so much in the past hour to think about who he was and how he felt, and he was exhausted by it. He didn’t have the energy anymore, but saying it out loud had made it feel so much more real and so much more tangible and Lance didn’t know where to go from here. Maybe trying labels? Lance had considered pansexual as a label, but it didn’t feel like home. It felt strange in his mind, when he applied it to himself. But bisexual had always felt familiar, somehow. Maybe because it was the first m-spec label Lance had heard of, or maybe because it’s the one he’d already applied to himself before. He’d read the bisexual manifesto, liked the way of defining bi for himself as attraction to the same gender and other genders, liked how it said not to assume that there were only two genders. It felt… whole.

Because Lance felt his attraction was more of that dual nature; same and other, rather than the all-encompassing pan. Lance felt as though his experiences with women and his experiences with his feelings for men were different, whole experiences, and he felt as though pan, for himself, would erase that difference if he applied it to himself. His experiences with men would always be different to how they were with women, same for enbies, and Lance felt as though the bisexual label separated that better for him, personally. Pansexual was a beautiful label, but it just wasn’t for him. As for omnisexual and polysexual, they simply didn’t feel like home. Whilst he fully supported poly and omni people- and their decision to choose a label with the nuances that fit their experiences- Lance felt as though he wouldn’t feel entirely comfortable applying them to himself, like they simply didn't quite fit. Just like pan, they were beauty meant to enrich the lives of others, but for Lance, they didn’t make him feel like he’d come home.

But bisexual? Lance had fallen in love with the label. He’d fallen in love with the words he’d read in the bisexual manifesto, remembered the feeling of being understood when he first read it. He remembered tearing up, because he felt seen. Perhaps somebody else would think another label better applied to Lance, and perhaps for their own definitions they might have been right- but not by Lance’s definitions of his own identity. Bisexual fit him like a glove. The words in the bisexual manifesto had resonated deep within him long before he’d allowed himself to acknowledge that they genuinely applied to him. Bisexual was Lance, described to a T.

Lance felt the urge to suppress and repress; to dismiss himself, to tell himself that he was just being silly, because what if he wasn’t really bi? What then?

But…

He looked to Shiro, remembered everything that Shiro had said to him; remembered how real and raw it had all felt. Did people who were pretending really feel so much fear over being rejected, when they could just go back to being straight? Did people who were pretending feel so much relief at being able to open up to somebody who promised them a shoulder to lean on?

...Lance had told himself for so long now that he must be faking it, that he was deluded, confused, just going through a phase and that puberty was messing with his head. Shiro had thought all of that once, and now he was gay. He’d been engaged to a man. It made Lance feel as though, maybe, this was real. His experiences as a young, questioning bisexual, had similarities to that of Shiro, an out and proud gay man. It made Lance realise that maybe he was bi. Because surely, making it up and faking it required you to genuinely sit there and decide to fake it, knowing you didn’t believe you were actually who you were pretending to be. And Lance? Lance had been genuinely thinking that he might be attracted to men for a long, long time.

Lance didn’t feel fully confident solidly saying he was bi yet; didn’t feel as though he’d taken enough steps to earn that title, but he felt as though, maybe… maybe it fit just right, and maybe he really was bi. Maybe, there was a stronger chance that at the end of his questioning process he would find out that he was bi than there was a chance that he wasn’t, or that he was just straight and faking it all along. So maybe… just maybe, the next stage was seeing if the label really did fit.

Lance decided to progress his questioning to the next phase, the part he’d been scared of. Allowing himself to seriously say, in his own head, that he was attracted to men, and that he was bisexual, to see if it felt comfortable, and to see if it felt true.

The anxiety of admitting it to himself made him feel nauseous, because he felt as though he already knew the answers, that he was stalling for time. That he didn’t need to try the label out, because he already knew that it fit. And he knew that this was the worst time to be caught up in his own head, on a diplomacy mission where he really needed to focus, but Lance knew that it wasn’t going to happen today. His head was a complete mess, and he was barely finding the energy to focus on his own personal reflection. He wouldn’t be at all, if only his mind could stop obsessing. It was becoming so exhausting, so real. The cost of love was a price paid only by the few whose affections blossomed countercurrent to society’s bounds of acceptability. It was a cost that should have been reserved for deviants and predators, yet those fond of heart for the same sex were treated as though they were wrong instead, when they should have been embraced with compassion and love. Lance felt like he was drowning in an ocean of overwhelming rejection before he’d even been rejected. Suddenly, the ocean was less inviting, and more terrifying. It felt like one minute he’d been enchanted by this beautiful river, only to step his foot inside what should be shallow water to find himself being pulled beneath the surface, like the currents of the Bolton Strid had pulled him deep through the crack in the Earth, underwater rocks meeting him before he could pull himself up from the surface.

“Lance?”

“I’m doing okay,” Lance lied easily, and Shiro didn’t question it. When had Lance gotten so good at lying about his emotions? He remembered when he was younger, how quickly his mom had always noticed when he was struggling. He remembered when he started hiding his emotions as a teenager, struggling with so much mess in his head, trying desperately not to worry anybody. Over time, he’d gotten so good at lying that he didn’t know how to end the charade; didn’t know how to admit that he was struggling, that he just wanted to sleep until the hurt was over, wake up when he was wiser, older, when his heart was solidified against the hurt and he could cope and thrive instead of drowning.

Lance took a deep breath, looking down to the bismuth in his hands against the onslaught of his turbulent emotions. The bismuth was complex, winding, and Lance could find himself tracing each line down into each core of the crystal, following another back out and wondering if he could explore every last corner and step. The amber, almost red light cast by the planet’s sun distorted the colours of the crystal, yet it shined in rainbow nonetheless when the light caught it. It was less overwhelming to look at the patterns of the bismuth than it was to look up and around. The planet’s sun was large in the sky, too red-tinged for Lance to feel safe. He had the irrational fear that the sun could destabilise and go supernova at any point, and Lance and the bismuth alike would become rainbow stardust once more. Maybe it wasn’t so irrational, given the fact that the star appeared to be a red giant, but it didn’t bear focusing on too heavily. He didn’t have the energy right now. Besides, the people they were visiting had advanced technology, and if they felt as though their star was going to wipe them out, they could easily relocate, so it likely wasn’t an issue. Pidge seemed to be glancing up at the sun too, which made Lance uneasy.

“Force field,” Pidge noted, jolting Lance from his thoughts. “Around the sun. Huh… smart. Wonder if it’ll hold.” Lance decided that the force field preventing it from exploding or expanding outwards was good enough for him, and returned his focus to the bismuth whilst Pidge continued to vocalise her observations. He wasn’t really looking where he was walking, but he doubted he’d trip up.

The bismuth was chunkier than the ones Keith had already gifted Lance. It was heavier, bulkier in his palm. It wasn’t the squishy texture Lance preferred to hold onto and fidget with, but it was the right kind of shiny to pull Lance out of his own head and allow him to focus on one thing instead of getting overwhelmed by his panic and the noise.

Because this planet was loud. The whine of generators, low and heavy, was almost nauseatingly deep. The generators reminded him vaguely of Naxzela, and Lance did his best to try and block out that memory. They weren’t the same, Lance knew that, but he couldn’t shake away the spike in panic, the image of Keith’s glider going kamikaze head-first into the shield. He looked up sharply, taking in a deep breath at the sight of Keith waking ahead of him. Right. Keith had lived. He was safe. He was okay. Everything was okay.

Lance took another deep breath, focusing back on the bismuth until they reached a crowd. There was some kind of festival, Lance guessed, given the music. Different woodwind instruments carved from wood and different string instruments carved from rocks played gentle but upbeat melodies, reminding Lance of folk music. It was loud, though, heavy like a concert, the kind that made you feel as though it could force your heart to beat to its rhythm. It made Lance feel vaguely unwell, but he tried not to dwell on it too hard. He focused on breathing, clutching the bismuth tightly in his pocket and blindly tracing its shapes to try and ground himself.

The irony was, Lance loved parties. But he hated festivals. At a party, you were usually inside. There were clear boundaries to the crowd, a clear exit he could run to. You knew to expect raucous behaviour and loud music that drowned out speech. It was loud, but it was the good type of loud, where everybody would be too drunk the next day to care about how embarrassingly bad your dancing was or how many people you’d flirted with or who you’d kissed if you were single. Whilst Lance might not have ever gotten drunk at a party, and whilst he didn’t really like the way that some people behaved, he liked how easily you could get lost in the dancing and the people, how easy it was to forget who he was and focus on how good it felt to move, how good it felt to dance in time to the pound of the music in his chest and the way it made his adrenaline spike alongside his confidence.

But festivals? All the crowds were outside, and Lance couldn’t see where it ended. Whilst there were less crowded areas, they soon became full with unexpected conversations and crying children. There weren’t rooms to escape to in order to calm down, the bathroom facilities were almost always nasty and certainly not a good place to hide in until you were ready to face the crowd again, and worse, festivals were inconsistent. The volume of the music depended on where you stood, the crowds changed every five seconds, the shouting and laughter everywhere. Parties were too loud to hear the talking, festivals were not, and Lance’s focus was pulled apart by the voices shouting across the plains. There was no exit to run to, no quiet room to rush into whilst he controlled his breathing and made the horrible overwhelming feeling of dread go away.

Lance hadn’t even realised he’d started to breathe heavily in his panic until he felt something being pushed into his chest. He looked down, a pair of black headphones with red and white spikes being shoved against him. He looked up, barely able to process that the guy was Keith. Keith looked like he was talking, and Lance could hear it, but there was just so so much and Lance really wasn’t processing anything. Keith gestured his hands over his own ears, nodding towards the headphones, and Lance finally got the message, pulling the headphones tight over his own ears, looking back to Keith, who gestured to the end of the crowd by the palace steps. Lance nodded, and Keith honest-to-god murder walked until the crowd parted, and the team could reach the steps. Lance tried his hardest to stay composed, but he felt weak and dizzy, sitting down on the steps. The headphones took away so much of the noise, and whilst they felt perhaps a little tight, they made the noise go away, and Lance had needed that so badly. He pulled his knees up to his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around himself and pressing his face into his knees whilst he focused on breathing through it. He didn’t have the mental energy to care about the mission or what his team must be thinking right now. He was already on the edge of his limitations from his crisis, and now he was just overwhelmed by all the sensory input.

He could still feel his body protesting against the input from the environment, could still feel his chest constricting and his head hurting. His ears still hurt despite the quiet, and his skin felt like it was crawling. He wanted to rock himself back and forth to make it go away, to help soothe himself, but he was too close to a crowd, who could judge him, and fear and embarrassment stopped him from doing so.

He took a deep breath and looked up, although he wasn’t expecting to see Keith sitting beside him, looking at Lance encouragingly and rocking himself casually. It was probably in time to the music, Lance thought, but it helped Lance to feel a little less embarrassed, pressing his face back into his knees and rocking like he needed to.

Lance wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach a point where his thoughts were able to slowly bleed back in, and he was able to focus on his breathing and calming himself down. He focused on taking slow, steady breaths, focused on his body and how he felt, focused on the way he hugged himself tightly to ground himself, remind himself that he was here and he was whole and he was back in his own head instead of drowning in his senses. He took a few more deep breaths, before lifting his head and dragging his hands down his face, not yet ready to open his eyes and face the sight of the crowd. He leaned back slightly to cool himself down from overheating, rested his elbows on his knees and tried to relax the tension in his muscles.

He was so disappointed in himself for getting overwhelmed, because what if they’d have been attacked? What if this happened in the middle of an important mission? What would he do then? Feeling guilty for holding back his team, Lance slowly peeled his hands away from his face, taking several anxious deep breaths before finally opening his eyes. His team was all sitting on the steps too, relaxed. Pidge was sipping water, a half-eaten breakfast bar in her hand. Hunk was reading over notes he’d prepared for this mission on his tablet. Allura was pulling her newly braided hair back into a hair tie, and Shiro was carefully observing the crowd. And Keith was still sitting beside Lance, hadn’t stopped rocking until Lance had.

Keith didn’t talk, offering Lance a soft smile. Lance returned it to confirm that he was okay, and Keith turned away again, getting a tangled mess of some kind of putty-like rods out of his pocket, squeezing it and tangling and untangling the ends of the rods, looking pretty focused on it. Lance remembered the bismuth in his pocket, pulling it out and rolling it in his hands, before holding it so that the light caught it, watching it glisten and shift in chrome. He traced the swirling patterns with his eyes, watched the way the light danced across the edges until his head felt a lot more balanced and everything wasn’t quite so overwhelming as before.

He didn’t feel fully recovered from this, but he felt okay enough to continue the mission, he hoped. He didn’t have much of a choice anyway. Whilst he knew that Shiro had told everybody that Lance wasn’t feeling very well, he still felt guilty at the idea of just leaving and sitting this one out. He really needed to lie down in his bed and pull the thick quilt over his head and curl up tight with his music and eye mask until he finally felt fully balanced again, but he couldn’t. He might have gotten over the initial sensory overload, but that didn’t mean he was fully recovered. He needed time alone, where he could block out everything, and he didn’t have that. Comfort was a luxury in space, Lance thought.

Chapter Text

Walking into the Talustrean Diplomacy Hall was just as intimidating to Lance as walking into Iverson’s office at the garrison had been. There was an imposing presence here, the feeling that everything you did was being judged. The Talustrean ambassadors themselves were a very proud group of people, in a way that reminded Lance of the staff at the garrison. Whilst the people outside had been loud and carefree, the ambassadors were rigid. The soft antlers the festival-goers sported outside were tied back or clipped short and flat for the ambassadors. The comfortable variety of modest and revealing clothing of the people outside was nowhere to be seen, replaced by deep green robes that reminded Lance of a judge. Sword motifs adjourned the walls, large and imposing- a symbol of justice for the Talustreans. Lance felt as though he was beneath the sword of damocles, as though he was under scrutiny already.

Keith seemed to be drawn to the sword motifs, pausing to trace over the pommel of the one closest to him, following the intricate swirling designs with his fingers. He frowned, before stepping away, and Lance didn’t miss the way the ambassadors stared at him. Lance couldn’t read their faces; different planets had completely different body language and facial expression customs than humans did, although Lance felt as though perhaps they were unimpressed. The Talustreans drew their gaze over everybody, pausing long enough to likely get a good first impression. They seemed most impressed with Shiro’s military stature and Allura’s royal decorum, seemed to take notes of Pidge and Hunk but seemed to approve- and then their gaze fell to Lance. Lance, who was bouncing his leg under the seat and tapping his pen against the paper. If Lance had to hazard a guess, he’d peg them as disapproving, judging, so he stopped, sitting on his hands to keep himself from fidgeting so much.

The negotiations started shortly after Allura introduced the team, making small talk in the way she’d gotten good at by now. Lance was seated nearest to the exit, as per Hunk’s concern due to Lance’s excuse of being unwell. The negotiations seemed to be going smoothly, and Lance was able to vaguely follow along at first, although he found himself unable to stop the way his mind kept blanking and leaving him feeling fuzzy and unfocused. Negotiations could get technical, and Lance didn’t always understand what was going on. He zoned out when they started talking about export tariffs, but a gentle nudge from Hunk reminded him of where he was and that he had to focus, even if it was increasingly hard. He tapped his pen against the notebook he had again in an attempt to somehow ground himself to the real world, but a short, disapproving look from one of the ambassadors had him abruptly stopping and putting his pen down in favour of tugging at the fabric of his paladin suit around his wrist.

He managed to gather enough focus to listen in on some comments about import tax, but as soon as technical terms started to eek their way in more and more, Lance found himself feeling lost and frustrated. He’d been in this meeting for what felt like an hour now, and his body did not like being made to stay still in one place for very long. He squirmed in his seat, trying to get rid of the achy energy that accompanied his need to move, before bouncing his leg when he realised that he was drawing attention to himself. Unfortunately, two of the diplomats kept sending him looks, and upon hearing one mutter something about ‘unprofessionalism’ to a colleague, Lance forced himself to still. He found the bismuth once more, settling for quietly fiddling with it under the table. It was barely enough, but he was just about able to remain present in the conversation despite his mood dropping further, until he dropped the bismuth and it clattered to the floor loudly, drawing the full attention of the opposing diplomatic party to him.

They stared at him expectantly, and Lance felt his stomach drop with shame and guilt and anxiety and a strange sense of sadness. He felt like a child sitting outside the principal’s office, being chastised for not paying enough attention in class. Lance quietly picked the bismuth up, opting to say nothing and fix his gaze to the table like a scolded child.

The ambassadors continued their talks, but not before giving Lance a lingering, disapproving look. Lance felt the urge to move come back with a vengeance, sitting on his hands again and planting his feet firmly on the floor. He could feel himself getting twitchy, could feel the urge to move protesting against his refusal to indulge it. When the urge to move wasn’t satisfied, the urge to make noise came, although he tried his hardest to keep his mouth clamped shut and keep his tongue wedged tightly onto the roof of his mouth.

After another eternity of trying and failing to focus on the Talustrean trade deals, he found himself letting out a loud breath and slumping in his seat, picking up his pen and holding it up to the light, staring at all the little faux diamonds in the barrel and the way they shined and rolled. He pouted like a duck and attempted to balance it on his top lip, although it wasn’t worth the blind panic Lance felt when the pen dropped down, and Lance barely managed to catch it before it could hit the edge of the table. Lance counted himself very lucky, resisting the urge to start clicking the pen in favour of doing tiny scribbles all over his notepad, hoping he could pretend to be taking notes. After all, how were they to know Lance’s language wasn’t made up of scribble-like letters? Whilst he might not have been letting himself move like he needed to, this would have to suffice. Lance found himself pausing his scribbles when his wrist started to cramp, instead chewing on the end of the pen until it made his teeth ache, at which point he returned to scribbling.

Unfortunately, scribbling on a page wasn’t quite the same as actually moving his body, and Lance found himself quickly becoming bored of the scribbling, and he already knew that it was the kind of bored where nothing would feel like enough to satisfy him. He resisted the urge to groan out loud, a telltale ache in his head starting to take up even more of his focus. He decided to forget about diplomatic etiquette, slouching forwards and resting his head on his arms on the table. Lance vaguely registered an ambassador question the behaviour, but Lance didn’t care to respond. Shiro covered for him, informing them that Lance hadn’t been feeling well. It didn’t feel that far from the truth anymore- Lance felt utterly miserable now, bored and somehow overwhelmed and underwhelmed all at once. He was never the right kind of ‘whelmed’, it seemed. Was that a thing? Oh man, imagine if people walked around saying they felt perfectly whelmed with the world or something. That would be weird.

Lance allowed himself to take a deep breath, closing his eyes a little.

...he woke up to disapproving stares from the Talustreans, although thankfully Allura requested a recess, citing Lance’s illness and exhaustion as the reason. Lance was thankful, getting out of his seat slowly and following the team to the break room.

The walk was long enough to wake Lance up, although the crick in his neck and ache in his back probably wasn’t worth his nap, and neither was the exhaustion and increased boredom that accompanied it. However, he was grateful that he could finally move, resuming bouncing his leg once he was seated again. Allura asked if he was feeling alright, if he needed to sit the rest of this one out, and Lance lied casually on both counts, before excusing himself to the bathroom to go splash water on his face and calm himself down some. He stretched out his joints, yawning and glancing at his reflection. He looked like shit, skin slightly ashen and eyebags like Keith’s. He splashed more water over his face with a sigh, glad it helped stave off the anxious pounding of his heart he hadn’t even noticed. He took more deep breaths, before leaning heavily against the sinks and avoiding the mirror. He knew if he glanced back at it, he wouldn’t recognise himself in it. So for the first time in a long, long time, Lance looked away. He didn’t want to confront anything else about himself. He just wanted to focus on the diplomacy and sit still like everybody else. With another deep breath, he pushed himself away from the sinks and dried his face on what he hoped was alien paper towels, and headed back to the group.

They were all laughing and talking, so Lance stayed back and sat alone. Keith seemed to be doing the same, and Lance could hear how loud the music he was blasting from his headphones must’ve been from across the room. Keith briefly glanced over at Lance, then looked away again, leaning his head back against the wall. Lance took a deep breath and finally allowed himself the luxury of part relaxing, even though he hadn’t unclenched his jaw or un-hunched his shoulders. But he let himself take as much of a mental break as possible, legs outstretched in front of him and feet moving from side to side. The constant movement helped him recharge a little easier, until it was time to go back into the meeting.

He was still stupidly bored, but he hoped he’d be able to focus better this time. The negotiations turned into cryo-pod technology, which Lance knew a little more about than he did finances or whatever the fuck they’d been talking about previously.

They were rambling on about issues they were having with their own, how sometimes the cryo-fluid didn’t freeze fully and left a wet coating inside that dripped into the wounds and-

“Do you use Beluvian cleaning jelly?” Everybody snapped their gaze towards Lance. Lance failed to pick up on the disapproving glares from the Talustreans, and took the attention as a cue to continue. “Beluvian cleaning jelly lowers the melting point of cryo-fluid, so it means the fluid won’t freeze at the right temperature. I suggest Alectonian disinfecting fluid instead, and save the Beluvian cleaning jelly for your ships.” Lance was met with stares. “What? I learned from Coran when I was cleaning out the cryopods,” he shrugged, “it’s a common problem people have.”

“Whilst we appreciate the input,” an ambassador began through their teeth, “it is rude to interrupt others when they are talking, and we will choose to disregard your comment, and if you-”

“He’s right,” Keith interrupted suddenly, “it also reacts badly with water, which I’m assuming is what you’re using to rinse it off. When mixed with water, it creates a mild nerve gas. That’ll be why your patients aren’t waking up, or experience unexplained cognitive and motor delays for a couple of hours after leaving the pods.” The ambassadors levelled Lance with a strong glare, even though Keith had also interrupted them too.

The meeting continued, and Lance didn’t have it in him to focus after that. He knew he’d fucked up by interrupting, but he’d honest to gods tried his hardest to contribute and gain their respect again by being helpful, and it had backfired. He should’ve waited, but he didn’t want to forget and lose his train of thought, and he had missed that the social cues all pointed to it being a bad time for him to speak. He found himself bouncing his leg again, increasingly anxious and guilty feeling. His mood had finally picked up, he’d finally felt useful, and now it crashed right back down instead.

He tried to ground himself again, remind himself not to let his thoughts spiral with his mood, to remind himself that things likely weren’t as bad as he felt they were right now, but with the gentle reminders that soothed him ever so slightly came the sudden onslaught of his earlier crisis. He’d finally been able to push it out of his head, so naturally, it came knocking. He tried to ignore it once more, because this wasn’t the time or the place, but it only pushed more insistently at the edges of his mind until it broke in and realisation hit him all at once.

This was his first mission since he decided to identify as bisexual in his head. His first mission since realising fully he wasn’t straight. He was a bi man, in front of these probably straight ambassadors, and wow, that felt weird and alienating. Could they tell? Was he sitting gay? Did straight boys sit like this? Should he even try to hide it, or should he let it show? How should he act? Maybe if he thought about how bi it was, it would somehow radiate and let them know. Or what if this time, they really could read his thoughts? Oh god, what if he developed a limp wrist whilst talking now he knew he liked men? What if the way he naturally rested his weight on one hip with his hand on his hip whilst talking to people had clued them in? Was Lance overthinking this? Absolutely. Was he being irrational and stupid over it? Absolutely. Did his brain care at the time? Absolutely not.

It hit him full force, right as he once again started noting the imposing presence of the room. It made him feel exposed, judged, like something about the room knew who he was, knew he was a fraud letting everybody think he was straight and, oh god, was he creepy for not letting the team know he liked men? Was it wrong to pursue a friendship with Keith when Keith didn’t know that Lance was bi? Lance grimaced, trying to remind himself that no, that wasn’t fair, that wasn’t the right way to think and it wasn’t helpful, and that he should focus on the meeting or at least calm his thoughts.

He knew he had to give himself the room to reflect on this, because it was here to stay, and the thoughts weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. They’d consume him either ways, so he needed to try to control them. He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he was closeted. Nobody but Shiro knew that he was bi, and nobody had reason to assume he might be. Society was still overwhelmingly heteronormative, so they probably noticed Lance’s attraction to women and assumed that he was straight unless proven otherwise. Lance reminded himself that nobody could ‘tell’ he was gay, especially not by overanalysing the way he was sitting. The Talustreans weren’t a species who were able to read minds without machines, and whilst Lance briefly worried if the sword statues and motifs could have concealed mind reading devices in them, he reminded himself that the Talustreans likely would have reacted to his thoughts by now. Nonetheless, he called one of them a dickhead in his head, rather amusing himself in the process.

So nobody but Shiro knew he was bi, and even then, Shiro only really knew that Lance was struggling with his sexuality. And besides, Shiro was gay, and Shiro was kind. He’d covered for Lance and lied for him, which Lance was eternally grateful for.

Lance was… alone. Sure, he was in a room full of people, but he was alone in his head. Maybe Blue could read his thoughts, but she’d never planted any suggestions in Lance’s brain to indicate that she might know. She’d missed him. Red never pried, which had always surprised Lance, because he’d honestly expected her to immediately invade his mind and push him to his limits, but red was more private, efficient, encouraging in a fiery way- but not invasive. So Lance didn’t think the lions would know, and he was sure that if they did and they’d told the other paladins, Hunk would’ve guiltily blurted something out to him about it by now.

Lance could have secrets. His thoughts were safely contained in his own head. Nobody would force him to tell. These weren’t his siblings. They didn’t go snooping through his journal. Not even Pidge, although that was because when she’d tried to, Lance had lied and said it had details about his love life, at which point Pidge decided that she didn’t want to know. Of course, it was all perfectly innocent, but if implying that it wasn’t kept Pidge out of his diary, then Lance was perfectly fine with that. Lance… could genuinely give himself the room to stay in the closet and come to terms with himself, with no rush to figure it out before the others found out, because it was all on his terms.

Lance felt peaceful.

He took a deep breath, sitting up straight and resting his elbows on the table so it at least looked like he was paying attention. The feeling of safety he felt now made his thoughts bolder, because finally, he could fully allow himself to admit who he was to himself in the comfort of his own head. He could test out his label, see how it progressed in his mind from foreign to natural, if it ever did.

Bisexual.

Lance was bisexual.

It felt… weird. But not necessarily the kind of weird that indicated it didn’t fit. It felt new, most likely, because it was. He’d never allowed himself to apply a concrete label to his identity, had never allowed himself to do more than entertain a suspicion that he might be gay or bi. And now, he was entertaining more than a distant suspicion he could brush off by citing his attraction to women. He was openly acknowledging to himself that he was. He was finally viewing himself as bi, and it was terrifying, but more importantly, Lance felt free

Unfortunately, Lance hadn’t registered ambassador Kran directly talking to him until Hunk carefully nudged his shoulder. “Huh? What?”

“Paladin, please remove yourself from the chamber if you cannot keep still.” Lance hadn’t even noticed that he’d been bouncing his leg and tapping his hands against his thighs until that moment, stopping mid-motion like Keith caught raiding the fridge at 3am.

“I-”

“Ambassador Kran, please understand that he can’t help it, he has-” Shiro replied calmly, before Lance was able to apologise.

“He is in full control of his conduct, Ambassador Shirogane,” Kran interrupted curtly, before turning back to Lance, “and he will do better to control his behaviour in the chamber.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance mumbled, preparing to apologise just like he was taught to by his teachers, although he found his stomach dropping along with his mood again, could feel tears welling in his eyes. He hated how he felt like this, like he was always messing up, couldn’t understand why it affected him so harshly. “I shouldn’t have been messing around in the meeting, I’ll make more of an effort to focus on the negotiations and not disrupt the ambassadorial teams. I promise to work on my professionalism if you’ll allow me to stay.”

“Very well,” Kran replied, “but if you shall continue to act like a child, we shall treat you like one-”

“Hey now, that’s not fair!”

Everybody turned sharply at the sound of Keith’s chair scraping back. Kran went to interrupt, but Keith continued loudly. “You know nothing about Lance, and it isn’t fair that you decide to treat him like a child because his behaviour doesn’t meet your stupid societal norms! Lance fidgets, it’s as much a part of him as the colour of his hair or his eyes. He doesn’t owe you his discomfort by forcing himself to sit still. He’s already overwhelmed today and I won’t stand for you treating him like a child. Just let him bounce his goddamn leg or whatever it is he feels he needs to do to regulate his brain, or we’re walking out of here and you can forget about the trade deal and shove your balmera crystal trade routes up your-”

“Keith,” Shiro interrupted quickly.

“ASS!” Keith shouted anyway, much to Shiro and Allura’s disappointment and everyone else’s amusement.

“Just what, exactly,” Kran began slowly, seething, “is an ass?”

Keith opened his mouth to reply, but Pidge jumped out of her seat and began to push Keith out of the door. “NO NO! NO NEED, IT’S UH- LET’S JUST TAKE A RECESS!”

“Agreed,” Allura replied quickly, “we shall reconvene on the hour. I shall discuss with my team and ensure the rest of the negotiations go smoothly.” Allura walked the team out before the Talustrean ambassadors could call them off, and Lance had two thoughts left rattling around in his skull: If Talustreans didn’t know about asses, did that mean they didn’t have asses? And, more importantly, what made Keith defend Lance? Lance had never had somebody stand up for him like that before. Lance used to stand up for himself, argue back, and it always got him into more trouble. He learned quickly that his voice didn’t matter, that his experiences didn’t matter. He was disruptive, it was all his fault, and he should learn to do better.

He figured he was in for the lecture of a lifetime when he got back to the castle.

Chapter Text

Lance walked with his head down and his hands stuffed in his pockets as he headed to the kitchen in the castle. If the trade deal was still on, Lance was sure he was gonna be asked to sit the next round of talks out. Shiro opened the door for him, offering a kind smile, but Lance hesitated. “Come on, fidgety-pants,” Shiro prompted, and there was no malice in his nickname, “I’ll make you alien cocoa and we can talk about what happened back there. You’re not in trouble.” Lance nodded doubtfully, heading in and sitting down on one of the stools of the breakfast bar. He likes the one closest to the fridge, mainly because Hunk had pinned up photographs of the team. Lance’s favourite was the one of Keith in the dark, frozen on top of the kitchen counter, crouched like a gremlin with a pack of space doritos (it was a Haggar snack pack, but still) hanging out of his mouth, eyes wide and honest to god glowing in the dark like some freaky catbat cryptid. It was just so funny, especially hearing how Keith had skittered out of the kitchen at record speed with his arms and mouth full of snacks as soon as Hunk had turned on the light. Shiro, amused upon hearing the news, had gone to Keith’s room the next day to find a stash of stolen snacks in his room. Keith had protested that none of it was true, but he never asked Hunk to take down the picture. Lance suspected he liked it, deep down. Maybe it was because he’d never had friends like this, who liked to keep photographic memories of each other.

Shiro eventually sat opposite him, handing him a large mug of space cocoa. Lance immediately took a sip. When it burned him, he immediately took another, because apparently, no matter how many times his gums blistered, Lance didn’t learn. “So,” Shiro began, “those Talustreans were stuck-up bastards, huh?” Lance immediately choked.

“What?”

“The Talustrean ambassadors. Bunch of prissy arseholes.”

Lance was in shock. Shiro didn’t swear like this. Shiro was Space Dad. He was professional. Shiro should be telling him off, not… this. Lance had no words. “...Keith told them to stick their trade deal up their asses.”

“They’d have to remove their own heads from up there first,” Shiro replied, and Lance choked again. “Between Kran and Slav, I don’t know who I’d like to strangle more.” Lance burst out laughing at Shiro’s sudden savageness. Shiro laughed with him, and suddenly, Lance felt a lot more relaxed and a lot less terrified that he was gonna get yelled at. “I honest to god am so proud of Keith for saying that,” Shiro grinned into his cocoa, “but it wouldn’t be responsible space parenting to tell him that.” Lance snorted, poking at the newly formed burn blisters on his gums from drinking his cocoa too hot.

“I’m sure Pidge is encouraging him plenty,” Lance replied, and Shiro laughed again.

“Oh, Keith encourages himself plenty,” Shiro added, “Keith isn’t even remotely sorry for what he said, and if anything, he’s probably mad Pidge escorted him out before he could tell them what asses were-”

“What if Talustreans don’t have asses?”

Shiro blinked. And stared. Lance registered late that he’d just interrupted, and awaited the disappointed reminder to control his behaviour. Instead, Shiro’s face cycled through the five stages of grief. “I am officially revoking your speaking privileges,” Shiro joked, “I’m asking Allura to add it to the paladin code:” Shiro switched his voice into an imitation of Allura- “ Paladins are henceforth forbidden from speculating on the booty status of alien species” Lance didn’t even try to contain his hysterical laughter, folding himself half over the table to keep himself from falling off. “See,” Shiro smiled, “I do have a sense of humor after all.”

“So I’m really not in trouble?”

“For what,” Shiro shrugged as the laughter died down, “your behaviour was just fine.”

“But… I couldn’t keep still,” Lance protested weakly, “and I fell asleep and interrupted and… yeah… zoned out a lot.”

“I know,” Shiro replied, “and whilst it would probably help to work on that, it doesn’t necessarily mean you did anything wrong. Just that we need to find ways to help you manage your struggles better so you’re able to focus better during meetings.”

“What, no ’quiet hands’ talk?”

“Nope,” Shiro replied, “there’s no need. If it was genuinely bothering somebody or overwhelming somebody, that would maybe be a little different, but just because you needed to move around a little or spoke at an inopportune moment doesn’t mean you aren’t professional and it especially doesn’t make you childish. They had no right to scold you like a naughty child just because you were struggling to focus very well. If it was genuinely bothering them, they could’ve just asked nicely instead of giving you a hard time for something you struggle to control. As for falling asleep, that’s probably something we need to work on. But you’ve had a difficult day, Lance, so cut yourself some slack. I’m pretty sure we can make an exception for that. Besides, I’d be a hypocrite if I scolded you for that. I was in detention all the time for falling asleep in class at the garrison. To be fair, the coffee-induced last minute homework sessions at 5am exhausted me, but I swear coffee actually made me calm-”

“YES I GET THAT,” Lance yelled suddenly, “I swear coffee relaxes me!”

“See? You get it!” Shiro huffed a small laugh, then continued, “Have you ever fallen asleep in Iverson’s class? Because I have. When I came back as a teacher, he made a point of reminding me that it would be unprofessional to fall asleep at the desk whilst teaching.”

“And did you fall asleep?”

“I fell asleep,” Shiro confirmed, “but in my defence. I stayed up all night because Adam was watching a documentary about whales and I got distracted and forgot to sleep.”

“You forgot... to sleep?”

“Oh yeah,” Shiro replied, “wanna know a secret?” Lance nodded. “The real reason I talk shop with Allura all the time after a mission?” Lance nodded again. Instead of replying verbally, Shiro showed his notes from today’s mission. The first page was neat notes, which slowly descended into illegible writing as the pages went on, until it became complete chaos and doodles and scribbles.

“Uh…”

“We have a deal. I teach her Earth customs so she can bond with you guys better, and she lets me copy her notes. Adam would be so disappointed in me.”

“But- you’re Shiro! You- you can’t be a disaster! You- You’re a hero! You don’t- you- you’re so organised and so regimented!”

“I learned how to bullshit,” Shiro replied, “convincing, right? Haven’t you noticed how much I bullshit through motivational speeches in Voltron? It’s because I have no fucking clue what I’m doing! So I spew some random speech about teamwork and the power of friendship, and hope to fuck we don’t die this time.”

“But… You’re Shiro…”

“Yes,” Shiro replied carefully, “I have to act professional. I have to be a role model and a leader. It’s what I’m trained to do and what I’m supposed to do. But that absolutely doesn’t mean I’m not a disaster gay. So no, I’m not gonna judge you for fidgeting in a meeting when I spent the whole meeting playing wii music in my head-”

“OH GREAT, NOW IT’S STUCK IN MY HEAD, THANKS SHIRO!”

“You are very welcome, Lance. May I make it worse with Nyan cat? How about What Does the Fox Say?”

Lance screeched in response. “I… hate you right now, I hope you know that.” Lance glared, and Shiro laughed softly. Lance pouted and huffed, folding his arms in a mini tantrum.

“Anyway,” Shiro began as the laughter died down, “what was on your mind earlier during the meeting? You seemed more distracted and distant than usual.”

“I just… guess I had a lot on my mind,” Lance shrugged, glancing around to the door. What if someone overheard?

“I asked Allura to rope them into a team meeting whilst I talk to you,” Shiro said, “I’ll make sure you get the notes after but I figured you might not want people to overhear you if it’s to do with what we discussed earlier.”

Lance nodded gratefully “Kinda,” he replied quietly, “I don’t know. Talking about it and realising how scared I was kind of… drained me, you know. It’s just, so heavy. And I tried my best but, as soon as I walked in, it felt so… imposing. Like, the one time when I was five I put worms in Veronica’s bed but it was a Sunday we had to go to church and suddenly it seemed so big and imposing and I felt like something about it- god or something- knew what I’d done, so I blurted out in the middle of service that I put worms in her bed.” Shiro snorted a small laugh, and Lance decided against overthinking how that same church would feel to him now he knew. “But, uh, this, ambassadorial hall felt like that. So it kinda unnerved me, you know? And then they started talking about trade deals and it got super technical and I’m dumb so I didn’t understand and then I just… yeah.”

“You’re not dumb,” Shiro said instantly, “most people don’t know about trade deals. None of us really do. Allura only knows about it because she was trained by her father as a diplomat. I sure as hell didn’t know what the Talustreans were talking about. If it still bothers you, you could read up on it, but it’ll probably bore you to death. Don’t beat yourself up over not knowing these things. It’s complicated enough on Earth, experienced diplomats mess up all the time. We didn’t even know aliens existed until Kerberos, and alien diplomacy is way more complicated than Earth alone. So cut yourself some slack, you’re still a cadet and none of you were trained in diplomacy.”

Lance shrugged, not wanting to unpack all of the memories of Iverson yelling at him in class, calling him dumb, of the way kids he was partnered for in group projects would get frustrated with him and call him less-than-kind words. Lance was always the laughing stock, and being class clown… well, at least they were supposed to laugh if he acted out on purpose, right? “I just need to pay attention more,” Lance mumbled, “it’s my own fault for not trying hard enough.”

“Lance, you had a pretty tough journey here. You were on the verge of tears for most of the way, then you cried during our conversation. I remember feeling like that, I know how terrifying it is and how completely gutting it feels. You weren’t okay.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, staring into his cocoa, “I wasn’t…” I’m not...

“I get that,” Shiro replied softly, “you have a lot to think about. It’s easy for others to tell us that we shouldn’t worry about our parents rejecting us. That a mother’s love is unconditional and nothing could come between that.”

“What a lie that can be,” Lance scoffed glumly, and a silence of mutual understanding followed.

“It’s depressing how intrinsic this experience can be to questioning your sexuality. Having to question if your parents could stop loving you over this. And when personal beliefs overrule a parent’s love for a child, whether that be religious or otherwise… it’s tough. I know you came from a big family, Lance, and I know how much you talk about them and miss them. I can see that you’re scared of finally seeing them again for them to cast you out. I’m not going to sit here and lie to you and say that won’t happen because it could. But… it might not. Did they ever… give any indications that they might be homophobic? Or did the church you went to say anything about it, good or bad or...?”

“That’s the thing,” Lance replied, shoulders slumping, “I don’t know. I rarely focused at church and I don’t remember it being brought up during sermons. I don’t remember anyone in the family ever talking about it. Which makes it worse because I’m preparing for a rejection that might not happen. At least if I’d heard somebody say something against it, I could fully prepare, you know? I could start cutting emotional ties so when they found out, I’d know it was goodbye and I’d feel ready for it. But they might still love me and, I can’t let go of them emotionally when I might be accepted into open arms.”

“When I came out,” Shiro began softly, “I didn’t know either. It never came up, I never asked. So I had no idea if they’d accept me or not. I felt the same as you do right now. So I packed a bag just in case. Adam was already out and he spoke to his sister and she said I could stay with her if my family rejected me. Adam’s family were a bit of a mixed bag of reactions to his coming out. So I packed a bag ready. I… convinced myself that I’d be leaving home. That they’d reject me. And then… I went downstairs as though it was a regular school day, with my clothes and belongings in my backpack, and mom had made breakfast and dad was sat reading the paper and, I told them I wanted them to know something. Mom gave me my breakfast and dad gestured for me to go ahead and speak. So I did.”

“What happened next?” Lance asked carefully, bouncing his leg nervously.

“Mom stood there staring at me and I freaked out. I wanted to play it off a prank and just, high tail it out there, but… I was rooted to the spot. Mom then… told me to sit down, so I did, and she sat beside me and told me that she loved me just the same and that she supported me. She admitted she didn’t know much about it, but she’d started to do her research around the time I started puberty because she figured that’s when people probably start questioning who they are. She didn’t know back then if I was gay or not, but she wanted to educate herself so that if I was… she’d be ready to support me. I think I cried at that point and she hugged me and, asked me if I was okay so I told her that it took me a while to accept myself and I was terrified she’d hate me for it, and she told me that she was sorry she didn’t do more to make sure I didn’t have to go through that, and promised to make sure I knew I was always loved, no matter who I was. Whether I was gay or straight, cis or trans, tall or short, anything- she’d love me just the same for it.”

“What about your dad,” Lance asked carefully, and Shiro smiled softly.

“He waited until mom had stopped talking then asked me to come sit by him. So I did, and he put his arm around my shoulders and said that he supported me. And that if ever I had a boyfriend whose dad rejected him, that I was to tell my boyfriend to talk to him, and my dad would do all the things with my boyfriend that a father should do with his son. That he wouldn’t let me or any future boyfriends miss out on that experience of having an accepting father figure in his life. Adam’s dad hadn’t accepted him, so… my dad accepted Adam instead. I hope when me and Adam broke up, he stayed in touch with my dad…. So yeah. My parents accepted me. My aunts and uncles not so much, but mom and dad always had my back.

“My next birthday after that, my mom brought me so much rainbow merch it hurt and my dad got me rainbow socks and everything. It was cheesy and awkward, but it was a gesture of love and acceptance. They got me extra presents that year to make up for the missing presents from my aunts and uncles.”

“That’s… I’m happy for you, Shiro,” Lance replied honestly, “Your parents sound like great people.”

“They were,” Shiro smiled softly, “and whilst not everybody in my family was great about it, my parents had my back.”

“I have nieces and nephews,” Lance began, “and I’m terrified that if my brother doesn’t accept me, then I’ll never see ‘em again. They’re only kids, and, I wanna be there for ‘em, you know? I wanna sit with them and get the glues and paints out and help them make a mess, I wanna run around with them and, take them to the park and use them as an excuse to run around climbing on everything. I wanna be fun uncle Lance, you know? I wanna take them to the aquarium and show them the sharks and, I want to see their faces the first time they see a shark swim over their heads and how thrilling that is, and I wanna tell them about the mermaids and sit them in my lap whilst I tell them about how I got kissed by a mermaid once. I wanna pretend to be a space pirate with them and pick them up and run around the room with them and… take them swimming and play jousting with the pool noodles… I wanna take them to Varadero and nag them about suncream and watch them run off into the ocean and start a splash war and… I wanna be there...”

“You say that now,” Shiro joked, “but wait until they’re moody teenagers. Keith was a nightmare.”

“Oh god, now I have to know,” Lance’s mood immediately improved, sitting up and leaning forwards to pay attention. Shiro laughed softly, and continued.

“Slamming doors, blasting MCR, stealing my car- again- and having to be bailed out of jail again. Getting into fights at school, refusing to do his chores… oh god, I had to rugby tackle him to brush his hair,” Shiro snorted, “that was a joke, by the way, but he hated brushing his hair.”

“Oh god,” Lance laughed, “he hasn’t changed!”

“Not one bit,” Shiro replied fondly whilst Lance imagined teenaged Keith throwing a strop whilst wearing an MCR shirt with the classic emo fringe.

“I was so awkward as a teen,” Lance began, “like, I had one of those diaries that locks with a password, you know the ones? And I just used to drone on and on about pretty girls and how annoying boys in my class were and Veronica guessed my password and teased me about it relentlessly. I used to be really short and goofy as a kid, then I had a sudden growth spurt and I was so awkward with all the extra limb that I was constantly tripping over myself and then the acne came in with a vengeance and oh man, it took me three years to find a way to keep it at bay after so many medications from the doctor. And when I discovered feelings for girls, well, I flirted my way around school and decided to shoot my shot with the older girls. I wasn’t very successful, but man, what was I thinking? Oh god, and then my voice broke and I swear to god I was so squeaky Marco compared my voice to a dog’s chew toy so I told him his voice sounded like somebody farting down a tuba and I got grounded for a week which was totally unreasonable!”

“Sounds like you have quite a few good memories with your family,” Shiro commented, and Lance nodded, nerves creeping back in.

“Yeah… and I don’t wanna lose that… it’s why it scares me so much, you know? I didn’t have a bad childhood, and, I don’t want… all of those happy memories to just- be forever tainted because I fell in love with a man, or something.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Shiro replied sincerely, and this time the silence lingered for a lot longer.

“I think I’m really not straight, Shiro,” Lance admitted, “I don’t- I don’t think I’m just questioning anymore. I think I’m actually… that I’m actually into dudes and it’s here to stay.”

“I’m proud of you,” Shiro replied softly and Lance gave an awkward half-smile.

“I just… feel so lost, right now. I know I’m not straight, but… that doesn’t automatically give me the right to just- steal a label from the gay community and start parading around like I’m a part of it.” Shiro looked at Lance like he was stupid. “I- I mean, I’ve never kissed a guy before,” Lance continued to ramble, “I’ve only ever dated women and, I’m not like- fully gay, and I haven’t been to a gay bar or had a guy hit on me or take me home and I’ve never, like, been initiated into the community or-”

“Let me just stop you there,” Shiro interrupted carefully, “I’m glad you’re opening up to me and I don’t want you to stop voicing these fears to me, but I need you to understand something first.” Lance gulped and nodded, an irrational part of him waiting for Shiro to tell him he was an impostor, that he was just straight and he should stop trying to butt in where he didn’t belong. “You don’t need any of that to be LGBTQ+. You like men, that’s literally enough. And so what if you’ve only dated women? It doesn’t mean you don’t like men. You know the B and the Q and the plus? Yeah? They’re a part of the community, Lance. There isn’t an initiation. You just need to not be a cishet. Lance, you literally like men. You’re a man who likes men. That’s literally all you need. There isn’t an initiation, you already are LGBTQ+. And if down the line you found out you weren’t then you’ll have learned how to be a better ally in the process. But from everything you’ve said, I’m pretty certain you’re a part of the community, Lance. There isn’t some strict set of requirements. This isn’t an exam, there isn’t some test you have to sit to prove your gayness. You say you like men, and I believe you. I believe you belong in our community.”

Lance blinked and stared. In his head, he’d spent so long going back and fourth over whether he was queer enough to be a part of the community, that he’d overcomplicated it massively. He was a guy who liked guys, he was pretty sure he was the B in LGBTQ+. Lance was mentally facepalming, but he still felt an odd sense of nerves. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready yet. Maybe he wanted to test out the label a little more before acknowledging and confirming that he belonged in the community. But it reassured him that he didn’t have to rush to give up his first male kiss to a man he’d probably never see again on some random mission before he could consider himself as fully bi: He didn’t have to get experience with guys first or do anything scary he wasn’t ready for; he just had to be not allocishet, which he was pretty sure he was.

“Yeah, thanks, Shiro,” Lance replied numbly, “I think I need to go lie down…”

Chapter Text

Keith didn’t know what was wrong with Lance.

He’d tried to figure it out, but nothing he thought of seemed to make sense. He knew he was missing something important, and he found himself laying on his back trying to go through everything in his head in the hope the pieces would fit and he’d figure it out.

He was late to breakfast, but Lance was even later, and he looked like shit. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, although he’d gone to bed early, so Keith figured he’d overslept. It looked like he’d completely skipped his morning routine again, hair sticking up in greasy strands and skin a mix of dry and flakey and oily. His acne looked almost painful, red and irritated all over his cheeks. He’d picked at them, Keith concluded. Lance sat down without looking up at everyone, without cracking a joke or flirting with Allura again. Shiro squeezed his shoulder as he walked past, and Keith’s anxiety eased slightly knowing that Lance likely confided in Shiro.

Keith frowned, picking up his fork and starting on his cereal. He didn’t feel hungry, but he knew that didn’t necessarily mean that he wasn’t. The cereal was mostly bland, but it was almost familiar. It was one of the few foods on the castleship that had a reasonably tolerable texture and taste, that didn’t make him cringe and want to scrape his tongue off until it went away. He’d figured Lance would’ve appreciated it too the day he gave Lance his, and Shiro reported that Lance had finished the cereal off.

Lance wasn’t looking after himself. And whilst Keith wasn’t the best at looking after people, he wanted to at the very least make sure Lance was okay. Whatever he was dealing with was probably pretty heavy. Lance had mentioned before that his acne was usually worse when he was stressed, and if he hadn’t broke out when he first blasted off into space, Keith couldn’t even imagine how much stress he must be going through right now. For Lance to stop his skincare and fall asleep in the middle of important meetings- well, something was definitely wrong, and Keith wished he knew what. The guy was clearly going through a tough time, and Lance thrived off social interaction. He needed people. Lance couldn’t be content in his own space, with his own company. He needed validation and care from others, needed to talk to people to gain his smile back.

Keith wanted friends, real friends. But Keith could cope on his own. Keith was happy to sit with his music on or draw the day away, but Lance? Lance couldn’t bear the silence. He had to fill it with something, had to get the conversation going with the most random thoughts that popped into his head and start a loud, heated debate on why beans and cheese on toast counted as a pizza whilst Hunk and Pidge yelled back that it wasn’t, thank you very much.

Keith rather liked those moments, sitting around them and listening to the chaos, knowing that even if they didn’t talk to him, they weren’t annoyed at his presence. He liked hanging out with his friends, even if sometimes he craved what Lance had. Lance’s complete lack of volume control or filter during those heated debates was the best, because it was Lance at his most candid. When he started yelling and waving his arms around, completely unaware of just how loud he was being, completely caught up in the passion of debate- yeah, that was the Lance Keith liked to remember. The Lance who let his guard down. The Lance who, in those moments, wasn’t hiding.

Because Lance had gotten good at hiding. Keith had seen it at the negotiations- how completely different his behaviour was to what it would’ve been around the team alone. If that had been a team meeting, he would’ve ended up swinging on his chair and groaning in boredom and bouncing his pen up and down so it looked like it was bendy. Allura would remind him to please pay attention, and Lance would loudly state that he was bored and hungry. Keith preferred Lance at his most candid. He didn’t like seeing Lance hiding that, even when social convention dictates he should. Because maybe it had started with being quiet in the classroom, not drumming his equipment on the edges of the table- but it bled into almost every aspect of Lance. It might have started off with necessary adjustments to Lance’s behaviour, but it didn’t stop there.

Keith could tell that Lance was used to suppressing himself. He was used to carefully monitoring his tone, used to counting the seconds in his head before he spoke to make sure he didn’t accidentally speak at the wrong time, learned to note stuff down when he had something to say or decided it best not to speak at all. Silence is golden, and good children are seen and not heard. He could see when Lance’s composure would sag, when his mask would drop slightly, and Keith could pinpoint the exact moments when he put it straight back up. Presentable, respectable Lance was an act, and Lance was the sole actor.

The negotiations were a day where Lance had struggled to maintain the mask, and had struggled to regulate his own needs. It was clear he needed time to recover after freaking out at the festival- he probably still did, although Keith wondered if he was already struggling before then.

But other days? Other days, Lance was the poster boy of diplomacy. Nodding at the right times, smooth-talking the right people, standing or sitting like you were taught to in school, completely still, with a soft smile on his face, hand movements limited and stunted, clasping them together on top of the table. But Keith saw when the mask would slip. Keith noticed when Lance would start shifting in his seat or start fiddling with his sleeves, or when he’d sigh more, eyes going glassy and words turning into well-timed nods before snapping himself back into his rigidly professional persona. Keith could see how it exhausted him to keep it up. Once they were out of whatever talks they were, Lance would groan loudly and run his hands over his face. He’d throw himself onto the couches in the castle and sprawl out, leg over the top of the couch and arms dramatically moving as he ranted about how boring the meeting was. Everybody would sit down and grumble in agreement, and Lance would lay there complaining.

Keith noticed it when they were waiting for training. Everybody would be standing around, maybe stretching, and Lance would be boredly sprawled out, kicking his legs in the air like a tortoise that got flipped over. If he was really bored, he’d kick the wall, and wouldn’t stop unless he was asked to, at which point he’d start pacing and swinging his arms or spinning around. It’s what gave Keith the inspiration to try it himself, and wow, it really felt good to do that. Eventually, training would roll around. Some days, Lance would be so focused it was scary. Keith remembers watching Lance get hit by the gladiator and continue training for another three hours. He hadn’t even sipped his water, waved off the team when they were inviting him for a break because he was just so close to the next level, ’just one more level, five minutes, tops’, until Shiro was cutting in and ending the training sequence. Lance would insist he was fine, but Shiro would remind him of the time and ask him if he’d had any water, and Lance would’ve forgotten. The exhaustion would hit him quickly after that, and he’d realise how hungry and tired he was.

Other times, Lance would start training and he’d be struggling to keep up. He’d focus on one target and miss another, or he’d get distracted by one of Keith’s jibes. Keith had reminded him to concentrate on their first day of training, and instead of Lance concentrating, he got distracted insisting that he wasn’t the one who needed to focus and Keith got sucked into the floor of the training deck. It wasn’t a fun experience. Sometimes, Lance would get bored of whatever equipment he was using and pick up another, or start a conversation with Pidge or Hunk until Allura reminded him that he was supposed to be training. Those days, Lance usually ended up being scolded for his poor performance, and he’d be silent for the rest of the day, or he’d blame Keith for something and they’d argue and Lance would spend the day loudly complaining.

So Keith liked it when Lance was passionately debating with his friends over something stupidly trivial. Because Lance didn’t try to hide his natural behaviour. He didn’t monitor his tone or stop himself from yelling out something random. He didn’t stop himself from waving his arms around or bouncing up out of his seat and changing position every five seconds. He smiled, a big, toothy smile, and he’d laugh obnoxiously at the stupidest, most juvenile jokes. He’d flash finger guns and suddenly interrupt with another random thought that everybody would suddenly start to yell about. Lance wouldn’t hide his emotions, even when that emotion switched to outrage at something Keith was supposed to have done or said wrong. Even when that emotion became boredom and Lance would literally poke people in the side to tell them he was bored and everything they suggested would be something he couldn’t be bothered to do. Even when it was overwhelming, or even when Lance perhaps did cross the line into rude and inconsiderate with his interruptions, even when Lance perhaps should’ve made the effort to regulate his behaviour a little better- Keith preferred it because Lance looked alive.

Recently, Lance had been withdrawn. He’d been quiet and muted, toned down. Keith could see the way he’d stop himself from speaking or moving, how he’d cycle through training on autopilot. The apologies Keith could recite without fail, because they were practiced from slips you were given in school. ‘I’m sorry that I ___. I should have ___. To ensure this doesn’t happen again, I will ___. To show that I’m sorry, I will ___.’ Apologies from Lance were like that. Rehearsed. What people wanted to hear. Promises to do better, followed by more suppression. The most candid apology had been the one he made to Keith, one that wasn’t scripted and expected of him. One that wasn’t from societal obligation. One that wasn’t Lance apologising for who he was, in some way.

Right now, Lance had his hands wedged between his thighs, none of his usual energetic hand gestures in sight. He was practically a shell of himself. He was the perfect example of the well-behaved child everybody wanted to see. He didn’t fidget, didn’t make smiley faces in his food goo, didn’t talk too loud, and only spoke when spoken to. Keith found it sad that good children were supposed to be obedient shells, and not vibrant and energetic. Lance wasn’t a child, but he was acting like children were taught to act in order to be respected. Respect has to be earned.

Keith hated that. It literally would cost people nothing to respect others. They demanded immediate respect merely for the fact they were in charge, and felt it perfectly okay to disrespect others and make them meet stupid requirements to earn even a sliver of respect. But why would anyone want to respect somebody who demanded respect and didn’t give it back? Why was respect a reward instead of a standard? Why did people like Lance have to learn to suppress themselves until they lost themselves and broke apart? Why did people like Keith get sent to bed without dinner just because he wouldn’t take his gloves off at the dinner table? don’t be rude, Keith. What was so rude about pieces of fabric covering his hands? If people would withhold respect because of a pair of gloves, or a too-energetic conversation, how much respect would they withhold for your identity? Your bodily autonomy? Keith didn’t respect people who didn’t show him respect. People who wanted you to earn their respect were like ringmasters expecting their inferiors to do tricks for rewards. Lance had been taught respect. He’d had to earn it. Keith knew he had; at the garrison definitely, but Keith could see it clear as day in how freakishly natural Lance’s fakery looked. Quiet Lance who only spoke when spoken to and kept his hands still wasn’t real Lance. People were so used to being treated like an authority figure, they confused it for respect, and if you didn’t treat them like an authority figure, they didn’t treat you like a human.

Lance was so painfully repressed that Keith wondered just how much he was repressing. Keith himself was a master at repression; he’d had to be to survive. Schools and Keith weren’t friends when Keith was growing up, so he learned how to behave and act the way everybody else was supposed to. And then his dad kicked the bucket and Keith was alone. Maybe he was surrounded by people at the home, but they weren’t his allies. They never asked him why he lashed out in anger, why he refused to take his gloves off, why he didn’t talk much. They just expected him to meet their standards, to integrate with the other children when some of those children mocked him for his natural behaviour and mannerisms. Keith didn’t. He was never able to be the perfect kid, and that meant that Keith got used to rejection.

Being passed from foster home to foster home, being rejected over stupid things that blew up into stupid rows, winding up back at the home so often they didn’t bother to give his room to any newbies because they knew he’d be back. Sometimes Keith actually lasted past a week before waking up to his bags packed, or to his hosts sitting at the dinner table avoiding eye contact and saying they needed to talk. That Keith just didn’t fit. That he was too hard to handle. Hard to fall in love with. And Keith had gone off the rails. Rejection was all he knew. If he was in trouble every day anyway, he might as well live the way he wanted. Small things at first, like black nail varnish to school, up to stealing the cars of the staff at night and leaving them wherever he wrecked them and dragging himself back to his room to care for the bruises himself.

Keith had been so angry, and he’d turned it on himself for not being perfect. It was only when Shiro bailed him out of jail that Keith began to realise rejection wasn’t the only thing made for him. And Keith hadn’t believed it at first; why would he be forgiven? Why wasn’t he being yelled at when he resisted Shiro’s advice at every turn?

Keith began to realise that Shiro didn’t expect him to be perfect. Shiro wasn’t expecting Keith to conform. He wasn’t berating Keith for his trauma. When Shiro asked Keith about his gloves, he never asked Keith to take them off at the dinner table- just that Keith wash them more often. He never berated Keith for his silence or his screaming: Shiro offered compassion. And Keith stopped suppressing. He noticed how hard he found it to behave candidly instead of how he was expected to behave. He realised how much of himself he’d lost and hid. He realised he didn’t even know if his interests were his or what people expected and wanted him to like. It took Keith a long time to learn how to stop suppressing himself, although the emotional repression never truly ended- being vulnerable never felt like an option when vulnerability had gotten him hurt.

So Keith learned how to accept himself, because if nobody else but Shiro was going to, Keith would have to be his own ally. He soon realised he didn’t owe himself to anyone who would ask him to change who he was or how he felt. He didn’t owe anyone a haircut or bare hands or heterosexuality or rigid masculinity standards. He didn’t owe his silence or his words- they were his choices to make. He didn’t owe an explanation for who he was, and he didn’t owe anyone his pain for their comfort.

When Keith was realising his sexuality, he was already deep into his self-acceptance journey. He didn’t agonise over it like he might have done just a few years earlier. He didn’t bury it, or wait to see if it went away. He noticed himself thinking boys were cute, finding himself daydreaming about boys in a way other boys daydreamed about girls. He sat himself down and asked himself if he’d kiss dudes and if he even wanted to date women. He asked himself who he could see himself being in love with and being comfortable loving. And that was it. His whole journey of realising he was gay and accepting himself had been ‘oh, boys are cute,’ ‘wait, that makes me gay’... ‘OK, guess I’m gay now, cool, wonder if I’ll ever get to kiss a dude’

Keith acknowledged he was into dudes within a few minutes of realising he was drawn to men and told Shiro the next day: ‘Shiro. I’m gay. I wanna kiss dudes.’

‘Cool,’, Shiro had replied, ‘welcome to the club.’

Acceptance.

Keith didn’t have to explain himself to Shiro. He didn’t have to prove anything. And if Shiro could believe him without question, then why did he owe anyone else an explanation of himself? Why did he have to be a walking dictionary to people who were just sealioning or trolling? If somebody couldn’t accept Keith as easily as Keith had accepted himself, then Keith didn’t owe them anything. He didn’t have to compromise all that he’d worked towards in being okay with being Keith just to baby other people through accepting his sexuality when it literally had nothing to do with them anyway. Keith didn’t need to please people who would never be pleased with who he was.

So Keith thought, in a way, he maybe understood what Lance was going through. Lance probably wasn’t questioning his sexuality, and perhaps Lance had grown up in a big, loving family. But Lance had started to suppress himself like Keith had. Lance’s radical self-acceptance of who he was seemed to have faded. It was like Lance had lost his sense of self through all the masks he put up. What was he trying to hide? What made him suppress everything? Why was he a shell of the Lance Keith knew? The Lance who knew who he was?

Keith knew rationally that Lance was deeply insecure, always had been. His relationships had all crashed and burned, Shiro’s clone had chipped away at his confidence, and Lance had felt useless and othered. But this? This was different, somehow. That sad Lance could bounce back to who he was if you believed in him. This Lance wasn’t bouncing back. Keith remembered how Lance’s loud persona had become a mask for insecurities, and Keith had watched Lance reclaim all of it as a natural part of himself that he needn’t be ashamed of.

But since everything was supposed to be over, since they all blasted off into space again to help rebuild the places destroyed, Lance had been oddly distant and quiet. It was like the suppression was no longer a subconscious defence mechanism he could be snapped out of, but it was something Lance had been actively doing. He looked like a man at war with himself, and Keith didn’t want Lance to go through the rough time accepting himself that Keith once had.

Keith abruptly left the dining hall, rushing down to the training deck. He needed to get rid of the uncomfortable energy building up inside him, and letting it explode out was the best way to do that.

Chapter Text

Lance had been having a crisis ever since his last talk with Shiro. It had been weird anyways that Lance hadn’t been yelled at for how he behaved during the Talustrean negotiations, so Lance had already been thrown off balance by that, but then Shiro had told him there were no magical requirements for being LGBTQ+ apart from actually believing you fit under one of the identities? Wack. Did that make Lance bi? Did being bi make him… well, bi? Could he really just see himself as bi?

He’d spent the past week or so after the Talustrean negotiations and after the talk with Shiro allowing himself to try out the bi label, and so far, Lance hadn’t felt as though it was too foreign and out there. Sure, it felt weird to put a label to it all, but the label didn’t really feel wrong. It was as simple as saying the blue lion was blue. Sure, it was life-changing to find a giant blue lion, but labelling it as a blue lion was just stating the obvious. Calling it anything else wouldn’t stop it from being a giant blue lion, but acknowledging and labelling it as a giant blue lion sure made it easier to process.

Lance’s bi-ness was a trial period right now. Or- at least, the label had been. And so far, Lance was feeling like he might end up paying for the subscription. At least with Netflix you could cancel your subscription, but what was Lance supposed to do? ‘hey, gay fairygodmother, I decided to be hetero, can you rescind my bi card now?’ Lance scoffed a laugh at the absurdity. His sexuality wasn’t going to go away, and after a week of letting himself try out a label, well: Lance didn’t think he wanted it to.

Sure, it was a really freaky experience to go your whole life thinking you know yourself and to finally accept yourself for your sexuality to start banging on the closet door and flip your perspective of who you were completely upside down, but that was just a Lance problem. He was so sure of himself that finding out he really didn’t know who he was had thrown him a curveball that he hadn’t been prepared for. It hit him right in the face full-force, unavoidable, and the existential crisis Lance had been stuck with just wasn’t going to go away until Lance fully acknowledged what was going on with his mind.

He’d been so sure that he knew the real Lance McClain, the cishet ally who was enthusiastically supportive and felt a weird kinship with this community he wasn’t a part of, but then suddenly his sexuality came to light. Everything Lance knew about himself crumbled. His heterosexuality, may it rest in pieces, had been so fragile it could only have been a fantasy. In the aftermath of a war, Lance was kissing his heterosexuality goodbye, and whilst he had no issues with the idea of being bisexual, it was a lot to process. He’d been so sure that he knew himself that to find out he never really knew himself at all was intense and terrifying. It was isolating, and Lance felt lost. How much more of his life was a lie?

Boys liked girls, so when Lance liked girls, he didn’t consider he liked other genders, because it simply wasn’t a question that boys who liked girls needed to ask themselves. Society masqueraded as binary, male and female, one or the other. Opposites attract, and nothing is grey. Lance’s world had been black and white stripes, monochrome and mainstream, and now it was exploding in pink, purple, and blue, and the black and white lines were blurred and grey. Life wasn’t binary, and boys didn’t always just like girls. People weren’t always binary, sexuality wasn’t always binary, identity wasn’t always binary. Life wasn’t just heterosexual. Life wasn’t always a wife and two kids and a white picket fence. Sometimes life was the incomparable urge to kiss a guy because you were a guy who liked guys and guys were fucking hot .

Lance had believed everything that society told him he would grow up to be, so when he found himself to be different, his entire sense of self had crumbled, because it felt like so much of it had been one, big lie he was fed about himself and Lance was angry. He was angry that society had robbed him of his identity for so long. He was angry that nobody had considered that Lance didn’t have to be straight. That straight didn’t have to be the default. He was angry that he’d grown up being told he’d find a good woman to settle down with one day, and that nobody had told him that he might find a man or enby or nobody or multiple people. Nobody had told him that he might not have been born allo or cis or het, because they just assumed he’d grow up to be a cis boy attracted to women and women exclusively. Nobody had given Lance possibilities of who he could be, and now Lance was having to give himself those options after seeing them so closed off from him for so long. The binary sucked, heteronormativity sucked, society sucked, and Lance was frustrated.

He felt like he’d been robbed. He never got to be a baby gay, aged 13 with 20 different pride pins on his backpack and funky dyed hair because he’d just discovered he was queer and he wanted the world to know. He was robbed of that young experience of self-exploration and unapologetic cringe. He wanted to have that phase. Wanted to be that over-excited baby gay. He wanted that freedom . But he was an adult now, drifting in the middle of nowhere, where time and space were irrelevant and only seven other people could hear him scream. Where the variety of norms on Earth weren’t the norms of everywhere, where war had touched every last scrap of vitality left in people and left everybody a shell of themselves. He had to be sensible and serious, had to handle things like a mature adult even if he just wanted to be that little kid again. He was constrained by the expectations of being a child soldier that grew up into a seasoned veteran. He didn’t get to be young again, because it had been stolen from him. He mourned the Lance he never got to be, mourned the baby gay he should’ve been, new to the community and unafraid and unashamed to try out every label under the sun without the pressure to be right and be presentable to others. He wanted that back, but he’d never had it in the first place.

So it was hard for Lance to question himself. Because the more he became comfortable with who he was, the more he realised how much he’d missed out on. All those teenage years where he could’ve allowed himself to daydream about boys and dream about being kissed by boys. All those trips out of the garrison where he could’ve also looked for cute guys and cute non-binary people, because women weren’t the only option. All those teenage years of exploring his identity and finding out where he fit in such a binary world. All the people and accounts he could’ve followed online who could’ve taught him how to accept himself before he came out loud and proud. All the boys in school he could’ve flirted with, all the late night pillow talk sessions with Hunk where Lance could’ve talked about his sexuality instead of being blinded to his own reality. All the pins and flags and merch he could’ve brought himself, all the books he would’ve checked out of the library and carried around so people would see he was reading some seriously gay shit. All the witty comebacks he’d have come up with if someone gave him trouble. All the people he could’ve confided in. All the openly gay kids at school he wished he’d talked to more and befriended. The community he never got to meet. Lance felt robbed of so many important milestones, and now he didn’t know how to reclaim himself and discover who he really was, be who he really is.

His alarm buzzed for lunch, and Lance realised he’d have to assess his identity and his connection to the bi label a little later. He wanted to at least try to be mentally present this time, wanted to hold conversations and feel connected to his friends again.

He was almost the last to lunch, bar Pidge, who was likely waiting for an important piece of tech to download or update. Hunk had managed to make a new dish, which Lance eyed with suspicion because whilst he’d never had any issues with allergies other than hayfever and dust back on Earth, it turned out a lot of tasty alien dishes seemed to make his immune system go nuts. There were not-Turkey dinosaur nuggets for Keith, with the closest thing to ketchup that Hunk could make and fries of some kind, and food goo just in case the meal didn’t work out for someone. Shiro was nearly falling asleep at the table, Coran was excitedly detailing his time on Thraxis, Allura was waiting patiently and giggling softly with the space mice, Romelle was playing with her cutlery, and Keith was still out of breath and sweaty from training. His unfairly fluffy mullet was clinging to the back of his neck and his forehead, and his already tight shirt was clinging to him even closer-

“What?” Lance panicked immediately at the sudden realisation Keith had caught him staring.

“Nothing!! Nothing! No no, just, um- your hair is dumb!”

“Your face is dumb,” Keith replied with a scowl, and what was Lance supposed to do, let Keith win?

“Not as dumb as yours!”

“At least I-”

“Boys!” Shiro interrupted sternly, levelling them both with tired glares. Keith huffed and folded his arms, and Lance slouched in his seat. Sure, he’d been entirely responsible for that, but he was still mad about it.

Pidge finally came in, and Hunk began to dish the food up as she sat down. She seemed nervous and distracted, so Lance made a mental note to keep a closer eye on her and check that she was okay. Maybe he could talk to Hunk about looking out for her, because Pidge seemed closer to him anyway. Casual conversation never really picked up, although Lance supposed he had to take responsibility for that. He was usually the one who started conversations, so it made sense that there would be less talking and bonding now.

Lance decided to brave the new food, sniffing it first and poking it to make sure the texture didn’t seem gross. It seemed okay, so Lance decided to try some of the probably-meat first, pleased to find it had a natural spice to it. Potential allergies be damned, if Lance died eating his best buddy’s cooking, then that’s just how it would have to be. Lance was definitely gonna sneak into the kitchens and eat the leftovers later, although he’d just have to take the risk of Hunk catching him red-handed when Lance was stuffing a plate of spicy meat in the not-microwave whilst in his underwear and a blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape.

“Hey, um, guys, I kind of have something uh, important that I want you to know.” Lance looked up to Pidge, who pushed her glasses up her face and kept her eyes trained resolutely to the table whilst everybody looked over at her.

“Is everything okay,” Shiro asked gently, and Pidge nodded quickly.

“So um. Remember when I said I was a girl? Yeah, well I um. Turns out I’m not a girl. Basically um- so you all know I pretended to be a boy to sneak into the garrison, right? Well I hated every minute of it, because- well, I was pretending to be something I’m not and the boy’s locker room stunk of asscrack and axe body spray- no offence, but being a boy sucks. So obviously I was uncomfortable, so I eventually told you guys the truth- or well, at least what I thought was the truth at the time but that’s besides the point, the point is that, er, after I told everyone I was a girl, I kind of felt like I was lying to you all over again. And I felt just as uncomfortable with everyone seeing me as a girl as I did being seen as a boy. So I did a lot of thinking about gender and stuff and, well, I’m not a girl or a boy. Neither binary option feels right , you know? Well, I’m guessing you don’t, but I guess I can’t really assume, but my point is- I’m not a girl. I’m agender non-binary, and, I want you all to know that my pronouns are they/them, and I still go by Pidge but I want to go by Pidge full-time and disconnect from my deadname. So… yeah. Oh, also I’m aroace, so I’m officially triple A, which, ironically, is my favourite type of battery-”

“You have a favourite type of battery?”

“Yes, Lance, I have a favourite type of battery. I’m weird, you know this by now.” Pidge half-glared at him, and Lance internally cringed at how much he’d derailed their coming out. “Anyway,” they continued, “I know I’m still young and all, but, I know myself . I know myself and I know who I am and I don’t fit into any kind of binary. I’m not sure if I’m just aroace or if I’m oriented aroace, maybe girls if I am, but that’s for future Pidge to figure out, because I’m not ready to explore that until I feel ready to date, which, I don’t feel ready for until I’ve gotten a stable career and finished my education. But either way, I’m definitely aroace, and I’m definitely non-binary. And I know you all adjusted to calling me she/her relatively quickly when I revealed that I wasn’t a boy, so I’m hoping you’ll be able to adjust to using they/them for me, but I get it may take a little while to get used to, you know? But as long as you all try, I’m not gonna be upset if you struggle. So yeah, that’s me coming out to you.”

“Coming out like that was pretty ace of you to do,” Keith replied, a small smirk on his lips, because of course he had to make a pun about it before Lance could.

“Bruh,” Pidge grinned, “did you just make an ace pun?” Keith nodded, and Pidge laughed happily. “I guess you’re cool with it, then?”

Keith shrugged. “You don’t need my approval to be yourself. But yeah. The binary’s stupid anyways.” Keith reached over and patted their head awkwardly. “I’m, uh, proud of you.”

“Thank you for the, uh… head pats, I guess? But seriously though, dude, thank you for being so cool about it.”

“It’s no problem,” Keith replied, looking down briefly at his food and then Pidge as if he didn’t know if it was socially acceptable to retreat back into his own headspace again.

“I’m proud of you too, Pidge,” Shiro said softly, “owning who you are will make you a better paladin, and I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to open up to us. Just know you can always come to me if you need to vent about things. I may not fully understand, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be your ally.”

“I appreciate your allyship, Shiro,” Pidge replied, giving him their own soft smile in return.

“Pidge, buddy,” Hunk began, tears already streaming down his face, “I love you, man, and I love your labels too!” He immediately squeezed them in a tight hug, startling them, although they soon relaxed into it.

“...you’re planning the cake you’re gonna bake already, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” Hunk began, finally letting them go, “I’m gonna make it all green and funky with little iced flags on top and I’m gonna fill it with your favourite Azoraberry jam from the new Olkari settlements when we stop off there. And I promise not to eat the frosting before I give it to you.”

“Maybe make two lots of frosting so you can eat some to yourself without stealing mine?”

“...Pidge you absolute genius, I love you.”

“Love you too, big guy,” they replied, patting his back. They turned anxiously to Lance, and Lance realised he was the last of the paladins to comment.

“You’re doing great, Pidge,” Lance said sincerely, “I’m glad you’re able to be yourself around us and I’m glad you figured things out, especially whilst you’re still so young.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Lance,” Pidge accused playfully, pointing their fork at him.

“I told him he was an idiot,” Lance replied with a half laugh, “man I reacted so stupidly when you said you were a girl, I’m sorry for that, man. Like I know I was surprised and all but, I probably didn’t need to make such a fuss about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” Pidge replied, shaking their head, “I mean yeah you were a bit dramatic about it, but I get you weren’t being weird about it. Although I’m glad you’ve matured since then because if you’d have shrieked like a yelmore when I came out today, I might have just threw food at your face.”

“Well maybe you should throw food at Keith’s face, because-” Lance didn’t get to finish his sentence before Keith grabbed the giant bowl of food goo from the middle of the table and threw it right at Lance’s face.

“WHAT THE HELL, MULLET?!”

“FOOD FIGHT!!” This time, the onslaught of food came from Pidge, and Lance shrieked loudly as he was pelted with food. Lance supposed Pidge would talk to the alteans after lunch, but for now, it was war, and Lance had a food fight to win.

Chapter Text

It took Lance twenty minutes to pull all the food goo out of his hair in the shower. He had not expected Keith to wake up and choose violence today, yet here he was, absolutely covered in food goo from head to foot. It had been worth it though- Pidge had opened up about their gender and the food fight seemed to have distracted them from their anxiety about it. And Keith had been smiling and laughing instead of brooding though lunch, which was nice to see. More than anything though, it made Lance realise just how much he’d missed being with his friends and how much he missed goofing off with them all the time and getting into trouble. Shiro was not happy about the food fight, despite the fact he threw a fair amount of food at Keith himself, but it was totally worth it for the serotonin.

Lance decided to change into his pyjamas early, glad he’d been able to grab some stuff from Earth. He definitely kept the lion slippers, although he appreciated having a fluffier, warmer robe to wear around the castle. He glanced briefly at all of his skincare products, but decided to leave it for another day or something, instead opting to lay back on his bed and stare at the ceiling.

Pidge had come out to the team, and everything was okay. Nobody was weird about it, nobody questioned and interrogated them about it, and everybody immediately respected who they were. Lance had no chance of sneaking to steal the leftovers because Hunk had decided to start immediately on the cake, and Pidge decided to join him because it was as good of an excuse as any to make a mess with flour everywhere, and sure, Lance could just ask for leftovers, but where was the fun in that? Keith had gone to bed early for some reason and Shiro had decided to hang out with the alteans for a late night coffee. Which left Lance on his own for a while with his own thoughts.

Pidge was so young, and they were just owning their identity so casually and openly, and it made Lance long for that too. He wanted to be able to come out like Pidge, like Shiro, and embrace his identity. He was getting tired of hiding and suppressing who he was, and he just wanted to live. He’d been his own worst enemy lately. He’d buried everything so far down that he lost sight of what really mattered. He’d felt safe in the closet, but now he was starting to feel like he’d shoved himself in there and locked himself in instead of accepting that he was allowed to be different and he was allowed to feel different and exist different to everyone else. He wanted to be like Keith, who found the ace label and immediately adopted it without overcomplicating the thinking process. Lance wanted to be free .

The truth was, Lance hadn’t felt like himself for a long while now. He’d felt like an imposter in his own skin, like a fraud, and he rarely stopped to ask himself if that was unhealthy or not- or more importantly, how much it had stopped him from accepting himself.

He stood up abruptly, and made his way to the mirror. He needed to look at himself and face it once and for all, because he was never going to be like Pidge or Shiro or Keith if all he ever did was ruminate on it and go in circles when he knew he already had the answers and he just needed to take charge and own who he was.

He’d been exploring the bisexual label for the past week, had applied it to himself in his head without doubting if he really liked men or not. And it hadn’t felt wrong yet. It didn’t feel alien. He’d been allowing himself to put a name to how he felt instead of just acknowledging it and burying it. Maybe he hadn’t connected with the bisexual community yet, and maybe he’d have to wait until he got back to Earth to do that, but he didn’t mind so much anymore. He needed to stop waiting for other people to tell him who he was, and start defining his own labels. Because nobody could better judge whether Lance was bisexual or not than Lance himself. Nobody could wave a magic wand and confirm his sexuality for him, and if Lance was constantly waiting for people to tell him who he was, then he’d never find out. People would erase him or label him wrong, or some would agree with him but Lance would hesitate because not everybody thought so. He’d let the world tell him he was straight, and he was hurt because of it, so he wasn’t going to wait for the world to tell him who he was anymore. Whilst he could go to Shiro for guidance, Shiro couldn’t tell him who he was, and Lance needed to take the power back over his own identity for once.

He took a deep breath, and assessed how he’d felt whilst trialling the bisexual label out.

He hadn’t felt as confused. He’d stopped questioning himself when he saw a pretty girl and stopped doubting if he was really attracted to men, and accepted that it was simply a part of a more complex sexuality than one or the other. He stopped agonising over who he might or might not like, and allowed himself to be compassionate towards himself. He gave himself the room to exist as someone whose sexuality was not singular in nature, but rather he accepted his duality. He swung both ways- same and other genders. Lance had stopped questioning who he was and had started moving towards more than just acceptance of himself, moving instead towards truly understanding everything.

Acknowledgement became acceptance became understanding became nuance became comfort.

So Lance was beginning to feel as though the bisexual label wasn’t just an experiment anymore. It fit, and Lance knew it fit. It fit freakishly well, and Lance couldn’t deny it. It made him feel less constrained by who he should be, and instead allowed him to get comfortable with who he was. His feelings were no longer a nebulous mass now he had a word for it. It wasn’t a matter of seeing what works anymore: Lance was bisexual.

He wasn’t straight. He wasn’t gay. His attraction wasn’t binary. He was bisexual; whole and beautiful. Other genders, the same gender, all a part of Lance’s attraction, both different to Lance but both equally as important. It wasn’t something he could switch between or turn off; it was all an intrinsic part of him. He was whole . He wasn’t fragmented into binary attractions he could change or choose. He would always be bisexual. And maybe he’d find a person he really loved, and maybe he’d commit to loving them. Maybe he’d lose interest in whether he found others attractive or not, but he would still always be bisexual. It was a part of him, a part of his identity that couldn’t be erased. His experiences being attracted to people in all their uniqueness, across genders and outside of the duality of man and woman- that wouldn’t fade away. That was a part of Lance just as important as any other, if not more, because it shaped such a big and important part of him. His love didn’t have to be a binary coded performance. He could love as part of a whole, deeper identity.

He didn’t have to sacrifice that. If he settled with a woman, he didn’t have to be heterosexual. If he settled with a man, he didn’t have to be gay. He didn’t even have only men and women as options anymore. He could love anybody across the gender spectrum, and he would still be a whole, complete bisexual. His attraction to the same gender would not be erased when he dated other genders. His attraction to other genders would not be erased when he dated the same gender. And if people thought it did- well, he didn’t owe them anything. He didn’t have to give up his labels just because other people didn’t understand his nuance.

Lance let out a shaky breath, emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He finally had the answers he’d been looking for, and a word for his experiences. He was bisexual, and that was who he always was. He was bisexual .

He smiled to himself, letting out a small laugh as he sniffled and wiped at his eyes. He’d spent so long in turmoil over this, and now he was liberated from that pain. It felt good to call himself bi and accept that it wasn’t just a phase or a suspicion or a trial. This was real, and this was his. It was his identity and his label and his experiences, all summed up under one neat little word and one cool little flag. Lance was not a monochrome man, but he was pink and blue and purple and it bled out into his smile in waves of self-discovery.

He laughed with joy, because he finally felt like he truly knew himself. He finally felt open to the idea of love and suddenly everything felt resolved. He’d been so scared of commitment in the past because he wasn’t himself. He was living a lie thinking he was straight and could only ever be straight, and how could he be open to the idea of loving somebody when he’d been ignoring who he really was and burying it? Of course it didn’t feel right to settle down, because he knew deep down that he didn’t want to tie himself down before he accepted his attraction. He didn’t want to trap himself with a woman thinking he was straight instead of being with somebody knowing he wasn’t. He was still open to dating women, of course, but it was different now. He wouldn’t also be trapping himself in an identity that buried who he really was. If he did love a woman, he’d love her as a bisexual man, and she’d have to accept that part of him first.

Allura had felt safe to fall in love with. She was pretty and kind and compassionate and strong and whole. Allura knew herself. And Lance knew he didn’t have a chance with her. And then he did, and suddenly he was in a relationship and she should’ve been all he’d ever wanted, but it never felt right. And now Lance knew why it never felt right. He was hiding, and she made it easy to hide who he was. He could pretend with her, and he wouldn’t have to confront who he was. But his heart hadn’t been in it, because it was built on lies. It was built on Lance’s suppression and it only hurt him. And her heart wasn’t in it either. She needed to feel loved, needed somebody to love her back, and Lance had loved her, so it had been safe for her too. But neither of them were truly present in the relationship. They were friends who had both needed something precious, who had turned to each other because it was the safest option, to realise that kissing didn’t feel right when their hearts weren’t in it.

Being friends with Allura on the other hand felt right. It felt like freedom. Lance supposed they were closer now they’d both matured and realised they weren’t the perfect fit for each other that they thought they were. He figured Allura would be one of the first people he’d want to tell about his sexuality in private, because she was still special to him. She’d grown to be like a sister to him now, and Lance was grateful for that. She hadn’t been the girl of his dreams, but she’d been the right girl to make him realise he didn’t want the heterosexual dream. Allura didn’t feel bitter about the relationship either. She’d learned from the care Lance showed her that she could learn to love herself too. Allura had invested so much of her energy into loving other people that she’d forgotten that she also deserved her own love, and that seeking it from others was completely okay but it couldn’t replace learning to love yourself. And of course, she was still capable of loving others wholly without loving herself, but for Allura at least, it had been toxic, because she didn’t love herself enough to realise she deserved better. She’d settled for men who weren’t right for her, because she didn’t feel worthy of love so when it found her, she latched onto it and compromised herself and her identity, had given love out without boundaries and conditions, and gotten her heart broken. So whilst it was perfectly possible to love somebody else and learn to love yourself along the way, or to love somebody else and be loved but not love yourself yet, it hadn’t been healthy for Allura personally to love others before she learned to love herself. Every person was different, and unfortunately, Allura needed to learn to love and respect herself before she gave too much of herself away to others.

So Lance didn’t regret his relationship with Allura, but he was glad they broke up. Lance hadn’t been ready for a relationship, because he hadn’t figured out who he really was yet, and Allura needed to work on prioritising herself before rushing into another relationship. They’d both been struggling, and they depended too heavily on each other for self-worth. They both wanted somebody to fix them, and that wasn’t how it worked. A partner could hold you together and help you out and support you, but relationships didn’t fix people. They couldn’t. And the break-up had been rough, because Lance had felt as though he was finally being fixed and suddenly he was on his own with nobody to fix him. But Allura’s job was never to fix him. She was his girlfriend, not his saviour. And he was her boyfriend, not her strength.

And now they were friends. Allura still leaned on others, admitted when she couldn’t stay strong anymore, and Lance still leaned on others, let them hold him together so he could fix himself. But neither of them were using a relationship as a miracle cure when all it ever did was plaster over the cracks and fracture them both further. As friends, Lance and Allura were closer than they’d ever been. Lance learned a lot about himself, and his behaviour. Allura had talked to him honestly about how his flirting had made her uncomfortable when she hadn’t reciprocated it and had showed her disdain for it, and Lance admitted to himself that he’d been a jerk, that women deserved better. He should’ve backed off. Lance had also learned that he wasn’t selfish. His whole life, he was told he was selfish, too much, but he’d given so much of his heart to Allura, gone out of his way to do things for her and put her needs first. Allura had told him that he was selfless, but putting his life in danger for her wasn’t selfless, it was reckless. She never wanted him to die for her; she wanted him to live for her. Lance understood that without a fuss: when he’d almost lost her, when she’d sacrificed herself for everyone, he’d wished she would’ve lived for them instead. He was glad that she did.

So Allura would be one of the people he talked to about it one on one. He wanted her to know how important she’d been to him on his journey of self-discovery, and how grateful he was for her friendship. And maybe Lance wasn’t ready right now to come out to people, because it was terrifying and he’d only just found a label, but when he was ready, she’d be one of the people who was important to him in a way others couldn’t be, because Allura had taught him that he needed to be himself and not just her boyfriend.

Lance took a deep breath and stepped away from the mirror, instead wondering down to the observation deck. It had been an emotional few hours, and Lance needed to stretch his legs and feel like he’d gotten some air to breathe. He’d finally concreted a label in his head, finally put a word to his sexuality, finalised his sexuality crisis with an answer that felt like freedom, however scary it was. He just had to work on his fear now, because he’d worked on his identity. Years of feeling out of place, years of feeling like a fraud, all behind him now. It felt so odd, to look back at how long it had taken him to get here, and to remind himself that he’d finally reached the end of his journey. He no longer searched for the answers, because he’d found them now.

The stars were disorientating to look at whilst the castle was moving so fast, but the observation deck was bigger, cooler, less stifling. Lance felt at peace now. He felt full, and whole. He was a bisexual man, and he was free .

He might have still been scared, and he might still have had some work to do on being comfortable in his identity, but he’d fully accepted who he was. He didn’t have to keep waiting for some kind of sign, or some kind of external validation, because his identity was enough. He was enough. He was whole, and he didn’t need somebody else to tell him that, or to tell him how he should feel, and how he should identify. Like Keith had told Pidge, he didn’t need anyone’s permission to be himself. He didn’t need to wait for others to decide who he was for him. He could just be Lance.

Chapter Text

Lance wasn’t so sure if he was ready for the next stage of his journey. He couldn’t keep procrastinating his sexuality, especially now he’d already figured it out and put a name to it. He’d spent long enough questioning what he already knew deep down, trialling things out and shutting himself down because it would lead to this step. The step that Lance was most scared to take.

Coming out.

It wasn’t going to be today, Lance had decided that much. He wasn’t quite ready yet, full of fears and internalised biphobia he needed to shed first, and besides, he still needed to figure out a solid plan of how to come out. Did he come out to everyone at once? Individually? What if they didn’t know if the others knew or not and accidentally outed him, or never talked about it through fear of outing him? But if he told them all at once, he couldn’t make it so personal. And would he come out seriously? With a pun? Would he find his most bisexual outfit to put on? Would he see if he could go on a trip to the space mall to see if they had a bi flag? A t-shirt saying ‘bi-sexy’? How was one supposed to come out? Should he find a literal closet and burst out of that?

Lance shook his head, pushing the thoughts from his head. He could already feel himself getting a headache from overthinking it, knowing he wasn’t going to get the answers like this. Shiro was his safest option to come out to, mainly because he already kind of had, so that should be easy for him. But it wouldn’t necessarily be so easy to tell the others. Sure, they’d responded well to Pidge, but Pidge’s coming out was about gender and lack of attraction. Maybe if they knew about Shiro they might not be homophobic, otherwise they’d definitely have said something, but what if they didn’t understand being bi? What if they believed all the stereotypes? What if they saw Lance as a straight guy trying to be special, or a gay guy in denial? What if they saw him as a promiscuous cheat? What if they got sick of him talking about both and yelled at him to just pick a side? What if they stopped trusting him because of it? What if they told all his future dates to be cautious, because he’d leave them for another gender? What if they erased his bisexuality, calling him straight when he was with a girl and gay when he was with a man? What if they told him he couldn’t be bi when he’d only dated women? What if they didn’t understand that Lance’s dating history didn’t mean he only liked women? That it was easier to date just women so far because he wasn’t out yet, was still working through his confusion? That it was easier to date a woman than try to figure out how to respectfully ask a guy if he’s into dudes, and hope to high hell he didn’t get pummelled into the dirt for hitting on the wrong guy? How did he explain that no matter who he dated, he would still be bisexual? That Lance took fidelity and loyalty very seriously, and being bi wouldn’t change that at all, because who he was attracted to did not dictate his moral compass or corrupt it in any way? What if they just didn’t get it?

Lance didn’t realise he’d reached the training deck until he walked smack into the door frame, the sudden shock of hitting his head ripping him out of his thoughts. He blinked, shaking his head and trying to bring himself back into coherent thought before going in. Everybody was already there, and Allura looked pissed off. Lance must’ve been late. “What time do you call this exactly? Training was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago! What were you even doing?!”

“I’m sorry, Allura,” Lance mumbled, scuffing his boot across the floor and stuffing his hands in his pockets, “didn’t realise the time.”

“Then set an alarm,” she chastised, “this cannot happen again.”

Lance shrugged, tempted to just sit on the bench and take a long nap, but he didn’t wanna be yelled at again today, so he tried to force himself out of his exhausted daze and start stretching out. Keith was watching him with a scowl, which only pissed Lance off even more- was Keith really that jealous that Lance was more flexible than he was? Lance huffed, taking his sweet time to stretch, because he was in a foul mood now after being chastised and glared at. He was going to start identifying as a problem if everyone kept treating him like one. And maybe that was petty and dumb, but Lance was getting real tired of trying so hard to be good enough and always falling short of impossible standards. He didn’t have the energy for this; not today. He missed Allura explaining the training drill, but he figured he’d adapt and figure it out as he went along. Maybe he should spark up the rivalry with Keith. That was always a good way to get his frustrations out, although he’d try to keep the competition healthy today. Besides, his new maybe-friendship with Keith was fragile, and he really didn’t wanna spook the poor guy by being too intense.

Lance joined the others, Hunk kindly explaining what they were doing, because of course Hunk was an angel of a man who always knew when Lance hadn’t been listening. Lance, of course, immediately turned to Keith, who was stood there with his arms folded all pouty and broody. “Hey mullet,” Lance began, leaning into Keith’s space, “bet you can’t take down as many gladiators as me.”

“Believe whatever you wanna believe, Lance,” Keith replied, turning to Lance with a dangerous smirk, “but if I win, you have to do my share of the dishes for a month.”

“I won’t be doing any dishes, mullethead,” Lance scowled, “Because I’m going to win, and then you’re gonna do all my laundry for a month!”

“Good job I’m gonna wipe the floor with you then,” Keith jibed, “because never in a million years would I wanna touch your biohazard laundry pile.”

Lance squeaked in indignation, turning to face him fully and throwing his arms out in offence. “Oh my laundry is a biohazard?! You don’t even put pyjamas on for bed, Keith! You don’t even change after training! You’re a stinky, sweaty boy!”

“Oh yeah? Well you’re just a-”

“Boys!” Both boys paused immediately, eyes wide as they registered Shiro’s disappointed dad voice. Keith was the first to break out of his surprise, face settling back into an easy smirk.

“If I win, now you’re doing my dishes and my laundry.” Keith walked off, leaving Lance stood there staring into the space Keith had previously occupied in indignation. He looked around at everyone as if to say ’did you just see that?!’ Pidge and Hunk had already partnered up, and Shiro was stood there facepalming and shaking his head. Allura was rolling her eyes, and Lance realised he should probably get ready for the training drill to start.

It was a disaster from start to finish. The room was filled with artificial smog, and Lance was glad he had his paladin helmet to filter out the thick air. He could barely see, even with the lights on his helmet and the lights on his gauntlet. Even looking through his rifle’s sight left him just as blind, the smog too thick to see more than a few metres in front of him. He had to listen out carefully for the sounds of the gladiator droids approaching, and more than once Lance had gotten his ass kicked only for Keith to butt in and kill steal from him. Keith was completely savage, tearing through bots like they were butter, and all Lance could do was stare at him through his rifle in absolute jealousy because how did he look so- so-

“Lance!” Lance jumped at the harsh sound of Keith’s voice, Keith barrelling towards him full speed. Lance shreiked and lowered his gun, ducking just as Keith reached him and leaped like some kind of demented cat over his head. Lance squeezed his eyes shut, the sound of metal scraping against metal way too close to him for Lance’s comfort. When he heard the whine of the gladiator settle down into silence, he chanced a glance behind him. Keith was stood with his back to Lance, running a hand through his mullet- when had he took his helmet off? The remains of a gladiator droid were mangled on the floor, broken circuitry sparking and flickering where clumps of wires had been ripped out, still in Keith’s hand.

Keith called out to end the training sequence whilst Lance just sat there on the floor, shaking with adrenaline as he realised just how close the bot had been to caving his skull in. If that had been a galra soldier, Lance would’ve been dead if it weren’t for Keith turning absolutely feral and going ham on the droid. Lance felt his cheeks flame with the heat of what Lance assumed must’ve been embarrassment, pulling his helmet off as the smog began to clear, watching Keith’s heavy breathing as he remained stood there over the decimated gladiator.

Keith eventually turned to face him, concern etched onto his face for a while, before settling into another dangerous smirk. His eyes had gone all galra, pupils slitted and sclera yellowed and glowing faintly through the remainder of the smog. His skin had taken on a weak lilac tinge, fangs seemingly larger than Lance remembered them to be. The heat returned to Lance’s face, which totally made sense given how much running about they’d just been doing. “You’re welcome,” Keith replied, voice way too smooth for somebody with a clump of severed circuitry in his hands, “Oh, and Lance? Good luck doing my chores.” Keith grinned, walking off before the realisation of what he’d just said hit Lance. Lance squawked indignantly, following after him, but the stupid mullethead had already dissapeared off, leaving Lance standing there trying to process what the fuck just happened to his brain to make him lose the bet in the first place.

Lance finally gathered the remaining pieces of his fried brain together for long enough to hit the showers and grab himself a snack from the kitchen. They had more training after, so Lance didn’t bother to get changed yet. He decided not to dwell on whatever happened in training, because it must have been that Lance got too fixated on the rivalry with Keith that he merely watched him a little too closely and forgot to take down any bots himself. It was the only rational explanation Lance could think of, so he decided to cut himself some slack and promise himself to do better next time.

Instead, he lay in the middle of the floor and cycled his legs in the air, letting the reality of losing to Keith set in fully. Keith always made bets that resulted in Lance doing his turn on the washing up. Every time, without fail. Lance was pretty sure the guy had never touched a single dirty dish in the entire time he’d spent on the castle. Well, castles, being as the first castle had been thoroughly decimated a while ago. At least on the Atlas the kitchen staff did the washing up, but at Keith’s shack back on earth it was just ready meals and disposable plates. Keith had never asked Lance to do his laundry, though. Keith had once completely flipped when Coran picked up a different fabric softner than usual from the space mall, and for a week Keith had refused to wear his normal clothes, keeping his paladin undersuit on the whole time. Coran ended up turning the castle around and getting the right fabric softener, and Keith had looked guilty about it for a month after. Lance suspected it was a texture or sensory thing with his clothes, which would probably explain why Keith tended to wear his clothes until the knees stretched out, often replacing them with the same clothes but new. Lance didn’t really mind the idea of doing laundry, but he really didn’t wanna do it wrong and cause Keith unnecessary distress.

Hunk eventually came to collect him for training, at which point Lance’s back felt pretty stiff from laying on the floor for so long. His legs ached a bit too. Maybe that was a bit of a bad idea to do before training, Lance mused belatedly, but there was no time to dwell on that either. He stretched out a little before heading to the training deck, the back soreness easing, although his legs still burned. He was getting used to that burn, though, so he figured he’d just have to push through it anyways, depending on what type of training they’d be doing. If it was the invisible maze, it wouldn’t matter much, but the chances of Keith or Pidge guiding him straight into the walls for entertainment was far too high. It didn’t actually hurt much, or cause any damage, but Lance would still be dramatic about it for the sake of it anyways.

When Keith finally walked in late with no explanation of where he’d been or why he was late, Allura announced something far worse than the invisible maze.

They were gonna be using the telepathic headsets. Lance really didn’t wanna be using a telepathic headset when all his brain could focus on was being bi and how to come out. He wasn’t ready for them to find out, and Lance wasn’t quite sure if he could keep his thoughts focused.

The first long session with the headsets had been… something, to say the least. Hunk had kept thinking about food so much it made Lance hungry, and Pidge had kept thinking of family memories that made Lance really miss home. Shiro had been scarily good at keeping his mind closed off and only showing what he wanted to, although too many pushes in the wrong direction had a wall of distress hitting everyone through the connection before he was able to keep it concealed. Keith had been good at staying on task, until Pidge mentioned knives, and then Keith’s mind kept projecting random facts about knife making and knife collecting and why some swords were really better for horseback than close combat.

And then they got to Lance, and- well.

That was a mess.

Lance just couldn’t find the focus under pressure, and it all just kinda spiralled. Even when Lance was doing his best to focus, his brain would decide it was a great time to play word association and start leading Lance off on a tangent of barely linked concepts to completely irrelevant thoughts. He managed to get through the tasks just fine, but his brain was just so disorganised the whole time and Lance felt embarrassed about it.

Eventually, Lance had come to accept that his brain would do whatever it wanted, and the team were patient when a task made his mind remember something else, like a certain phrase reminding him of song lyrics reminding him of a party reminding him of an ex reminding him of kissing reminding him of a random fact he’d learned about how crows kiss until somebody gently reminded him of his task, at which point he’d do as he was asked. Sometimes the others ended up getting distracted much like Lance did, so he felt a little less alone after that, but the others had managed to refine their focusing abilities over multiple sessions. Lance’s brain, however? Absolutely refused to focus. He’d tried bribing himself with food. He’d tried music. He’d tried giving his brain half an hour before the session to wonder wherever it wanted. But still, it was rare Lance could keep himself fully focused on the task. Even when he mastered managing to ignore all the thoughts in his head, they still leaked through and overlapped. Even when he smashed every task without going on a tangent, whatever thoughts decided to pop up at the same time would leak through the connection.

On rare occasions, Lance would focus so hard on the task the team couldn’t follow his thought process, because it seemed to skip ahead several steps, or the thought would occur to him without the mental image or his inner voice getting involved. So even when his thoughts didn’t all overlap, sometimes they just seemed to go so fast and process everything so efficiently that it seemed like he was jumping around and skipping steps, but the computer would show that Lance had already thought through those parts.

Lance knew today wasn’t going to be like that. His sexuality was something his brain had decided to fixate on for a long, long time now, and it hadn’t decided to give him a break from it. Lance’s brain was in overdrive all the time recently, and whilst he’d gotten used to having such a busy head, and ignoring how many thoughts overlapped or tried to pull his focus away, he still hadn’t been able to manage them well enough to keep them from bleeding through the connection. He could push them away and keep his focus on the right train of thought, or could recognise and dismiss thoughts that managed to distract him, but Lance’s thoughts just kind of… happened. He didn’t have to decide to think about anything for his brain to be thinking. It made sleeping and meditating absolute hell, because no matter how much he tried to keep his thoughts calm and quiet, or simply stop thinking, his brain would still have twenty tabs open, at least one of which would be music. Listening to actual instrumental music through headphones helped him focus on only the music, allowing his thoughts to calm enough for sleep to happen, but Allura had lectured him over it since Lance often slept through alarms. So now Lance slept terrible, and most sleep was achieved by being so exhausted his body decided to shut off his brain for him.

Lance hadn’t even realised how lost he’d gotten in his own thoughts about his own thoughts until Hunk nudged him and Lance looked around to see everyone with the headsets already on. He put his on, grateful that he was usually last to go. Today’s task was sifting through memories of the last battle to figure out tactical weaknesses and plan better for next time. Seemed simple enough, except Lance was already remembering by association that during the last battle he’d narrowly avoided being hit by a laser because he ended up being suddenly bombarded with his sexuality crisis. So Lance really wasn’t confident he could keep it from leaking through the connection, especially when today had already been a little difficult to keep his mind in one place.

Pidge’s memories were somehow both scattered and organised, like little clusters of information all connected by strings. They kept circling back after remembering a new piece of information, or jumping forwards when something made them remember something they didn’t want to forget. Their memories weren’t in order, but by the time they finished recalling, they were able to piece it all together in full order and detail. Lance was always a little awestruck by how their brain worked, but it definitely worked for Pidge. Pidge’s recall abilities allowed them to retain more information than their peers, which made it easier for them to expand on existing pools of knowledge. It was like Pidge never got bored of new information, never felt overloaded with too much new information at once- they identified patterns and associations, connected the details, found the concept, then everything would be neatly organised and remembered quickly, like a very efficient computer.

Hunk’s memories were more disjointed, with more gaps. He tried to remember events based on what he was feeling, or the points where he was nauseous. He tended to remember events in more detail when he recalled his anxiety, because he’d usually been overthinking every move. It came in useful sometimes, when it came to figuring out traps, because sometimes Hunk’s overthinking found the right answers. The memories of nausea weren’t exactly fun, though, but Hunk usually came up with ways to improve next time as he recalled the battle, which was more than welcome.

Shiro’s were like a battle report. Efficient, quick, only the important details. He didn’t focus on the details of what happened when, but rather focused on memorising their tactics. Sometimes his memory had gaps, or sometimes he’d stop and fixate on a single detail again and again trying to figure out what important information he was missing. He remembered most of his commands, memorised tactical patterns and what had worked before against what techniques. He usually spotted weaknesses in their tactics, or noticed weaknesses or opportunities in the Galra’s tactics that they’d missed during the battle. Shiro seemed very present and focused in every battle, whilst the rest of them usually struggled to think about tactics and formations when they were too busy trying not to get shot by the ion canons.

And then there was Keith’s. Keith’s was always thorough, but it could be hard to pinpoint his thought processes. One minute Keith would be recalling planning to take out a cruiser, and the next he’d have turned to take out a cluster of fighter jets, with no explanation of why he did other than just knowing what to do. It didn’t feel like instinct to Lance- at least, not in the gut feeling kind of way. It reminded him of when his own mind would seem to skip the part where he had to think things out in words and pictures- not instinct, but knowledge and thought. It was like Keith’s brain was assessing the battlefield and figuring out what to do, but Keith wouldn’t be made aware of that thought process. It seemed to just happen, and Keith would follow it through because he knew his idea was better than what he already had. It made it hard to see his reasoning behind things, but it was terrifying and thrilling in the best way to see Keith snap from focusing on the plan he’d communicated to suddenly switching it up and attacking full force with a completely different tactic. It kind of explained why Keith didn’t communicate his plans very well, because things in Keith’s head just seemed to make sense even when he didn’t have a way to visualise and verbalise it. How was he supposed to explain something his brain hadn’t given him the explanation for? Lance wasn’t sure if he would call it instinct, and he vaguely remembered reading about this kind of thinking- unsymbolised thinking- and it sure was impressive in battle. Keith didn’t exclusively think like this, but Lance could try forever to get to the bottom of how Keith thinks and still not manage to capture how complex it was. Maybe there really was a brain beneath that mullet.

And then it was supposed to be Lance’s turn. He hesitated, resisting the pull of the machine against his mind. He knew he needed to go through the battle like the others, but he could already feel his sexuality crisis clawing to the forefront of his mind. The more he tried not to think of it, the more he thought about it. It was like it just knew he didn’t want to be focusing on it right now, so it made it its mission to push it to the forefront of his mind and leave him trapped with no way out. He knew how he needed to think; knew he needed to get lost in the details of the battle even if he’d find himself thinking chaotically, but he didn’t think he’d be able to hide his sexuality from the team. It had such strong emotional context that it was the kind of thing that would almost certainly bleed out. His family was something that bled through the connection a lot- most of the team knew his family by name now, or knew what everybody liked for breakfast or who spent the most time in the bathroom getting ready of a morning (it was Lance), and Lance had come to terms with them knowing all about his family. But his sexuality was something he wasn’t ready to share yet, especially not like this, where he’d be so out of control of how it happened or what he projected.

Lance did long for a day where he could allow these thoughts to simply happen, without fear of outing himself. He wanted to be able to let the thoughts flow through the meld so they could see just how beautiful his bisexuality could be, but Lance didn’t want it to be so involuntary. He wanted to come out when he felt ready, and not when his brain couldn’t keep things hidden when he needed it to.

He considered throwing the headset off, but he knew it would draw attention to himself. He knew they’d all want to ask why, and Lance wouldn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t want to lie and say the memory was too painful, when he knew he might have important things to show them, and he knew he didn’t want to make them worry when there was nothing to worry about. But he really didn’t think he could filter his thoughts out and keep them away- he’d been working on it tirelessly, but he hadn’t mastered it by a long shot. He hoped the fear of being outed would keep the thoughts from bleeding through, but he feared that his fear of being outed would project through the headset.

Lance ended up ripping it off his head when he felt the machine about to break through his walls, blind panic taking over. He had too many secrets he wasn’t ready to spill, and he knew he couldn’t keep them contained. He’d tried so hard to contain them even in the safety of his own head, and they distracted him in battle and withdrew him from his friends. He couldn’t keep his thoughts stable enough, couldn’t trust himself to keep them away from the forefront of his mind for long enough to recall the battle. He knew he had to do the task, but he needed some time to think first, and figure out what to do.

He didn’t explain; he just ran.

He ran straight to his room and straight through to his personal bathroom, not pausing to see if anyone was following him and barely registering the sound of his own door closing. He briefly managed to feel sympathy for Hunk’s nausea issues, the anxiety making his stomach churn dangerously, panic still washing over him in near unmanageable ripples. He splashed cold water on his face again and again until he felt put together enough to grab some ice and pop it in his mouth, shocking his brain out of the panic and cutting out his flight or fight response.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to calm down, or how long he’d sat there just eating the ice after his anxiety had calmed, but he already felt exhausted, and he still didn’t know what to do.

He knew he’d have to go back. He knew that even if it wasn’t today, he’d be expected to do it soon, preferably before the next battle. Whilst they could happen at any point, it was more likely to happen on the fringes of rebel hotspots, where warlords were still trying to keep a hold of galra territory. They’d arrive at one in a few days, so Lance was on a timer. And he didn’t like that. Sure, Lance could sometimes thrive in the chaos and pressure, but when his sexuality was the thing he was running away from confronting, how was he supposed to feel comfortable with this? He could be outed by his own mind and nobody would know that Lance was trying desperately not to out himself until it happened. He couldn’t just tell them all he was trying not to out himself, because that would out him too. Maybe he could tell Shiro? Shiro would cover for him, Lance knew he would, but he also knew that he could only refuse the task for so long before it jeopardised the team and future missions. These exercises in the past had become so integral to their strategy meetings that Lance wasn’t so sure they’d have survived so many battles without it. Lance knew he needed to complete the task. He wanted to. He just wanted his brain to stop throwing his sexuality at him.

The door knocked, and Lance jumped out of his skin with a new wave of panic and anxiety, barely managing to settle it enough to put on an uneasy smile and open the door.

He’d never been more thankful to see Shiro in his life, although Shiro had his worried space dad face on, and as far as Lance was concerned, it was far better when people weren’t worried for his mental health, because then he wouldn’t wind up bothering them and traumatising them with all his problems. “Lance?”

“I’m good,” Lance replied a little too easily, “I just, uh, you know how it is! Anyway, great talk, Shiro! Bye now!” Lance tried to push him away, but it turned out trying to push away somebody taller and stronger than you was like trying to push Kaltenecker up the ramp to his lion. Shiro wouldn’t budge, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “...I’m not ready for them to find out,” Lance admitted, moving away from the door as an invitation for Shiro to come in. Shiro nodded in understanding, quickly moving to stand in the room.

As soon as the doors closed, Shiro looked at Lance with an empathetic half-smile, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Lance sat beside him, finally allowing himself to slouch with mental exhaustion and put his head in his hands. “I just- I can’t filter my thoughts, Shiro,” Lance began, letting all of his anxiety pour out into his voice, “I can’t, and I’m not ready to come out yet. And I’m terrified that I’m not gonna figure out how to keep it hidden before I have no choice but to go over the battle, and it’s all gonna come pouring out of my brain and I won’t have any control over it. It wouldn’t be so bad if nobody could see in my head, or if I knew a way to filter out all my thoughts, but I can’t. I can’t just do that, I’ve tried, but it just doesn’t work!”

“Hey,” Shiro began gently, “I won’t let you get outed. We’ll figure something out somehow. I don’t know, maybe I can ask Coran if there’s a way I could act as a filter, of some kind. Get the thoughts from you before the others do and, filter out the stuff about your sexuality. I mean I don’t know if it works like that, but if it doesn’t, I’ll try and buy you more time if I can’t get you out of it entirely. Just hang in there, Lance. I’ll figure something out, I promise.”

“I don’t know,” Lance huffed, trying to push the stress away, “I don’t know. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to come out, and the thing is, I want to go over the battle with the team, but I just… I just, I’m not ready to come out yet, not like that. I don’t even know who to tell first or, or how to do that. And I know I still have some stuff to work on about it first, y’know? A-and maybe through the mind link would be the best way to come out, because I could project what I wanted everyone to know and stuff, and talk to everybody individually and at once, but at the same time, I, want it to be when I’m ready to. And I genuinely can’t predict how long it’s gonna be. It feels like- sometimes I’m ready for it, and I’m absolutely sure I’m ready to come out, and then others, it feels like I never wanna say it out loud. And that makes it harder for me to figure it out, because I already have too much trouble sorting out the future. I can’t just, pick a day and decide that’ll definitely be the day I’ll do it. I’ve tried planning ahead, but it just makes me panic so much because that feels so out of my control even though I know it’s more controlled than waiting for whatever random time my brain decides I should just come out with it, but it’s like- if I set a day, what if I’m not ready by then? I can’t just set a timer on my feelings, I don’t work like that, and I don’t feel like anybody does. So I’m just- kinda stuck, not knowing what I should do about it.”

Shiro stayed quiet for a little while, and Lance was glad for the breathing room in his head now he’d voiced all that, even if his mind was still swirling. The thought that somebody else could be there to help him sort through the mess and find the solution in there felt like a fresh breath even if his head was still below the water.

“I’ll buy you some time,” Shiro said, “I’ll tell Allura you’re not feeling well again and I’ll do everything I can to delay our arrival at the next planet. Just keep me in the loop, I’ll do what I can, and if time runs out, I’ll figure out a way to stop everyone finding out through the link. We can stall for time, I’ll do that. Don’t worry about the time, just focus on sorting out your head and what you want to do about it, okay?”

Lance nodded, torn between the grim feeling of his world collapsing and the relief he had at the breathing space created by Shiro holding up the sky like Atlas and stopping it from crumbling and collapsing down onto Lance’s head.

Chapter Text

Lance couldn’t focus. Not on training, not on his friends, not even on himself- or, at least, not even on his own basic needs. All he could think about was whether he was ready to come out or not, and how he’d do it. It felt too soon, like he’d barely just figured himself out, yet at the same time, it felt so stupidly unnatural to hide it all away in his head and wait for it to burst out anyways. He was now consciously aware of his own suppression on a level he never really had been before, and it made him double think almost every interaction he had. It felt like he couldn’t even get through one conversation without thinking about how they didn’t know he was bi, how he was hiding a part of himself he should be proud of away.

He was so mentally drained from finally processing his crisis that he genuinely couldn’t figure out what outcome he wanted from this, or how soon he wanted it. He didn’t feel ready, yet at the same time, he felt stifled. It felt wrong- he felt wrong: everything about himself suddenly felt so unnatural now that he knew he was hiding a part of himself away; a part of himself he should be proud of. And he wanted to be proud of it. He wanted to burst out of his suppression and shout his truth for all to know, but it just didn’t seem possible, and Lance wasn’t sure why.

He couldn’t figure out why he was holding back.

He wanted his friends to know, and he wanted to be open about who he was. He wanted to embrace his bisexuality and profess his attraction to men and rant about hot guys whilst laying on Hunk’s bed just like he’d yell about girls before. He wanted to stop hiding when he saw somebody hot who wasn’t a woman, wanted to flirt openly without worrying about his teammates knowing he was bi, because he wanted it to be a natural part of who he was.

He wasn’t ashamed of being bi anymore, and he wasn’t afraid to be different. Realising why he was different usually seemed to resolve that fear for Lance, because once he knew why he was so other, he could usually process and embrace his difference openly, because rather than other people noticing he was different and pointing it out to him teasingly, maliciously, he could take control, embrace his differences, and celebrate them. He’d have the answers for why he was different, why people treated him weirdly, and he could confront them about it. Now he knew he was bi, he knew why he felt so othered, why the other boys treated him weirdly, because even if they didn’t know Lance was bi, they picked up on the ways his masculinity deviated from the toxic rigidity they were all brought up in. Lance was ‘too feminine’, ‘too fruity’ for their approval, because of what? The odd skincare mask? The fact he didn’t like guys talking about women like they were pieces of meat in the locker room?

But now Lance realised that the same boys would cite his effeminate nature as a sign of his homosexuality, that they’d take the way he defended women as some kind of proof that he was gay, that he was queer, that they’d accuse him of perving on them, then get offended when Lance said he wasn’t attracted to stuck-up arseholes like them. They’d reduce his identity down to sexual roles, mock Lance for being less of a man, tease him, treat him like he was less of a man just because he liked men.

...and that’s what had been holding Lance back. Even if his team wouldn’t act like that, there’d certainly be people throughout his life who would, and Lance wouldn’t know who until they found out about his sexuality and exposed their true nature in a torrent of homophobic abuse. Lance closed his eyes and hoped it would just be words and slurs hurled at him, and not worse.

And Lance realised he was absolutely terrified of all the hate in the world, of all the toxic vitriol that could be directed at him if people really felt like hurling it at him. He was scared to be himself in a world that wanted him to shove himself away into a tiny, dull box, and forget who he was and why he was in favour of being ‘normal’. And Lance had been suppressing himself completely for so long now, because if he made it too obvious, maybe people would notice, and maybe he’d face the worst.

He was terrified, more terrified than he had been on the battlefield, because at least on there, the only judgment would be on his actions, his character, and not his identity. Not who he fundamentally was as a person. On the battlefield, he could wear armour, could raise his shield and shoot back and ask people to cover his back and not take a single shot in the process.

But being openly bi, he’d take all of the shots. He’d hear all of the words because they’d be said directly to his face, and no amount of thick skin would stop him from caring.

All his life, people had told him not to care about the haters, had taught him ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’. But it didn’t work. Apart from nightmares of saying that and having people throw sticks and stones at him instead, it gave him nothing but pain. Because when the words hurt, he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge that they did, because they weren’t supposed to. He never learned how to process the pain they caused, because he felt guilty for feeling the pain in the first place. And he’d taken it all to heart, changed himself, fought twice as hard to love himself than others around him had, and had still fallen short of the golden ideal. He couldn’t ignore the haters. It hurt when people used to bully him, and it would hurt him if people were biphobic towards him, and he’d never learned to develop a thick skin, because instead of being taught how to cope with and process the feelings caused by hate, he learned to shame himself for feeling, for being ‘too sensitive’, for ‘letting’ it all get to him. It was his fault the hate destroyed him so much, and not theirs. The onus was on him, rather than the responsibility being theirs not to hate. Instead of teaching people not to bully, instead of teaching people to set firm boundaries or keep themselves safe or to intervene when they saw something wrong, they tried to teach the victims not to care.

What a pathetic world that would be, if nobody ever cared.

So Lance had to try now, to teach himself how to handle the hate, because he’d only learned to shame himself for feeling, had hidden it away when it affected him until there was nothing left but shame and guilt for feeling. How much more shame would he have to endure? Why was it branded as being his fault for being too sensitive? Why was it even considered a bad thing, to have basic human emotions, to feel sadness and empathy and a healthy spectrum of human emotions? Why was it seen as a weakness? And how did that ever make it his fault for the hurt he endured?

So Lance was mad at the world, angry that his strength had been robbed from him, because he’d never been able to develop his strength and resilience when all he was taught was how to be ashamed and hide himself away, minimise his existence into a tiny corner, lie and pretend words didn’t affect him whilst they destroyed him inside. He’d been taught how to wear a mask, and the thought of taking it off, the thought of being truly, irrevocably vulnerable- yeah, that absolutely terrified him; petrified him, even.

He didn’t know what he would do when that mask came crashing down, when he allowed himself to show his authentic self. He wasn’t exactly living a lie, because he was always honest with himself, and had himself under no illusions about who he was and what he worked for anymore- but he was constantly behind a mask, hid under the mezzanine for none to see and all to know.

Coming out to his friends, his family, the people he trusted- it was supposed to be easy. Yet Lance was paralysed with fear; fear that he couldn’t even tell himself was irrational, because what he feared was a reality he’d seen and one he’d likely face. He wasn’t ready for that, and even if his friends supported him, the world out there was scary and unsupportive and unknown and intimidating, and Lance couldn’t do anything to stop himself facing that apart from minimise himself and suppress his identity until nobody ever knew. But Lance didn’t want that. He didn’t want to hide who he was forever out of fear of bigotry he might one day face. He genuinely didn’t think that his fear was worth compromising his sense of self over.

He took a deep breath, trying to re-organise his thoughts. He knew he couldn’t ruminate on this forever, that the time to come out would likely come sooner rather than later, but he needed so desperately to find the thing that was holding him back and confront it, if only he knew what it was.

Was it really only fear? Lance had never let fear stop him before, but perhaps this was different. Perhaps in the past, his hand was forced- he had no choice in fighting this war, had no choice in too many aspects of his life, and now he was faced with a part of himself that he couldn’t and didn’t want to change, but he could control how he presented it, how much he hid it and tried to appear normal-

And there it was. Normal.

The root of his problems; the desire to be seen as normal, stemming from the innate belief that he somehow wasn’t. The crushing isolation of being seen as different; of being read as other. Growing up, Lance had always been very aware of how different he was from his peers. He was the one singled out in class, made to stand outside, made to stop raising his hands, forced out of his natural behaviours; ’quiet hands, Lance, come on, we’re in class now, not the playground’. Forced suppression, because he was always too much. Too different, too other- because he didn’t work- didn’t exist- the way that they did. Mocking renditions of his natural energy being the source of laughter on the playground. Growing up, internalising everything he was told about himself- disruptive, naughty, a problem child. Dating, only to hear that he was too much, that he was too weird, too quirky, too loud and embarrassing, that he had no filter, that he needed to control his behaviour better.

And that’s all it was ever about, wasn’t it? Control. Lance fell outside of the norm, and that threatened the status quo, threatened the fragile world view of one way to act as think, shattered the illusion that ’there is no war in ba sing se’. His existence threatened the facade of normality, and his difference made it harder to mould him into what they wanted him to be. He wasn’t the same as everybody else, his behaviour wasn’t as easily controlled, his thought processes too differentiated and deviated from everybody else’s for the control to work on him the same way that it did for others. And maybe that sounded dramatic, and maybe Lance had read ‘divergent’ too many times growing up, but maybe there was a reason he felt it hit so deep. Because Lance was different, and it was never celebrated- it was only ever a threat to the norm, an unpleasant reality and existence that people wanted to hide away, mock into not existing.

So all of Lance’s life, he’d had to learn how to act normal. Small things, at first, like keeping his hands still, harder skills, like only speaking when spoken to. Scripted words and phrases, suppressing his likes and dislikes to only show a socially acceptable level of interest in them, learning about popular culture he didn’t care much about to blend in, appear normal. Normal was a myth, and a pretty insidious one at that.

Because now Lance was queer, yet another way that he was other, different. And now he found himself trying to hide it, to appear normal, like that was ever a good thing. He found himself hiding himself away because he didn’t fit in, and not fitting in lead to ostracisation. And he didn’t want that for himself.

But he thought of Keith.

Keith, who didn’t fit in, probably couldn’t if he tried. Keith, with the social skills of a spoon and the attitude of a punk. Keith, who refused to be backed into a corner. Lance might not have known much about Keith’s past, but the stench of rejection permeated through his attitude, rippled out in the magnitudinous waves of passion and anger. It was like Keith had once caught so hard to be normal that realising how much it sucked fueled every last jet of passion in him to flare up and explode out in a spectrum of human experience that he didn’t know how to say, how to verbalise.

Keith never tried to fit in. He made no apologies for it, either. It was like Keith had been where Lance was now, bound tightly by the constraints of normality, a square peg being forced into a round hole, being hurt in the process, being sanded down and moulded into the perfect model citizen, except it didn’t work. And even though Lance could still see- could still feel the suppression rolling off him in waves, Lance knew that Keith fought against it with every fibre of his being. Maybe Keith didn’t express himself through the movements he’d express himself through alone, maybe he wouldn’t stand in front of the team and jump and spin, but he was getting there. Small things, like rubbing his thumb against his forefinger, the way he’d grunt and roll his neck, or the occasional bounce when he was impatient, to the way he exploded outwards through combat, coming alive like no other. Maybe Keith didn’t voice every interesting thought, every interesting bit of information he had, everything he found amusing, but sometimes he’d tell a joke and explain it, or when he understood a joke, explain why it was funny, eyes wide with mirth when somebody confirmed that he’d gotten the joke. Lance didn’t miss the ways his hands would almost flap when he got a head pat because he got the joke for once, even if he’d brush it off with a scowl and a shrug.

Keith might still be suppressing himself, masking his natural state of being, but he was rebelling against it in small ways. He was standing up for others, standing up for himself, refusing to bend for other people’s comfort. His suppression was for his own personal boundaries, and not because it made others feel more comfortable. Keith refused to take his gloves off, defended himself loudly when implored to remove them on an alien planet, loudly, explicitly, clearly grit out the words that Lance had felt within his soul. ”I refuse to yield my comfort for your norms. My discomfort isn’t for you to demand. Your rules should not come at the expense of my boundaries or anyone else’s boundaries, and if you think otherwise, you can kiss my ass!”

Maybe Keith had been pretty pissed off, but something about it had stuck Lance hard. Because Lance always sacrificed his personal comfort to make others happy. It was just the norm, just what was expected of him. And Keith having basic boundaries, asserting his basic right to human comfort- well, that idea was just so radical that it genuinely angered people when Keith set that boundary and refused to yield. It made them uncomfortable that Keith refused to disrespect and violate his own boundaries for other people’s comfort. That Keith refused to minimise his existence and comfort for others to control him and mould him into their ideal behaviour and appearance. And it wasn’t like Keith was even doing anything wrong; he was just wearing pieces of fabric over his hands. No crime except the crime of being different from the status quo, of deviating from the societal norms, and yet he was still constantly labelled as volatile and unstable for it.

And maybe Lance wished that that could be him. That he could set those boundaries too, refuse to minimise his existence and hide himself away just because his divergences made him a bitter pill to swallow.

Chapter Text

Expect the unexpected. That was something Keith had always been taught to do, but he never quite mastered it- how were you supposed to expect something that was… unexpected? That was kind of the point, right? It wasn’t, and couldn’t be expected, so how the fuck didn’t people just. Do it? Expect what you couldn’t expect?

Keith wished now more than ever that he knew how to expect the unexpected, because he found the one thing he didn’t expect to have to deal with. Lance asking him for advice. But he was being stupidly cryptic about it, because of course, humans were all mind readers and it really would kill everyone to be a little more direct.

“You know, like, confidence? Or something? How?”

“I don’t-“ Keith huffed in frustration, trying to decipher what was going on. Loudmouth Lance, the one person who had enough confidence to fill a football stadium and then some, was asking Keith Kogane, introvert extraordinaire, how to be confident. “What?”

“Um. Like, you know, confidence. You know, not caring what other people think and all that.”

Keith snorted. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody, I just-“ Lance seemed nervous, cutting himself off. “Nothing ever gets to you, dude, you just, flip them off and tell them to go fuck themselves if they don’t particularly like you, and, yeah…”

Keith blinked. Couldn’t Lance see how much he’d just contradicted himself? People didn’t get angry because they didn’t care. People got angry because they cared so much it boiled over in rage. Did people really think that Keith didn’t care, that he wasn’t affected by all the judgment? That he’d never cried himself to sleep as a little boy because the way he stuck his teeth over his chin looked- “that’s bullshit,” Keith announced loudly, bluntly, and Lance just looked confused. “You think if I didn’t care, I’d waste the time and energy punching them in the face? Of course it gets to me. It always does. I just. Don’t, show it like you do. Because I refuse to let it change me.”

“But you always seem so…” confident.

“It’s not confidence,” Keith stated. Grass is green, the sky is blue, hippo milk isn’t pink. A fact.

“But… then what is it?” Why was Lance so… confused? Why did it read as confidence to him?

“Radical self-acceptance,” Keith relied. Lance just stared at him, and Keith realised he’d need to elaborate. “I’m not confident. I never have been. But I accept myself. And, I accept every part of myself, even the parts I never used to love. And I try to embrace it. I try- I fight to love myself even if the world doesn’t want me to. And because I fight to love myself, I fight for myself. I don’t hide myself away, or, pretend I’m not scared, or not different. I embrace it, and maybe that comes across as confidence to you, but it’s not. I am constantly unsure of myself. Conscious of, what people think, or, how people interpret how I act, or, how I speak. But I accept myself regardless. I-“ Keith huffed, frustration taking over.

He didn’t know how to put it into words. Not even in his own head. He took a deep breath, trying to piece it together- but it was just something he knew, deep down, a process he’d been through, a level of self-awareness and self-knowledge he’d achieved, something abstract he’d never had to put into words, never had to verbalise. So he gestured vaguely instead, cursing his terrible communication skills and hoping Lance got the gist of it.

“I already love and accept myself,” Lance replied with a casual shrug. did he? really?

Keith looked at him intensely. “Do you?”

“I…” Keith watched Lance’s facade crumble around him, watched the way his brows scrunched together and his eyes darted back and fourth across Keith’s face as he seemed to link things together in his own head.

“Jeez man, did’ya have to give me an existential crisis before breakfast?”

Keith blinked, assuming Lance was being dramatically joking. “Yes.”

“Damn, man, I-... always thought I loved myself, you know? But I guess I really just shoved all my insecurities down instead…”

“Oh. Uh…” Comfort. Lance needed comfort. Keith rarely had to comfort others, rarely ever received it himself, but Lance usually liked physical touch, right? Keith reached out tentatively, not entirely sure where to place his hand. Head pats? That was more congratulatory, not consoling. Holding hands was- well, easy to read as less-than platonic. Holding the back of his neck would probably be comforting- something about feeling safe or something, but that felt overwhelmingly intimate for friends. A hand on the arm wasn’t exactly intimate, but whenever people touched Keith’s arm, he usually felt a panic away from reporting workplace harassment and running away forever. He placed his hand gently on Lance’s back instead, and kept it deadly still to not make it weird. “What happened to the Lance who knew who he was?”

“I changed, I guess,” Lance replied, leaning into Keith’s touch. Keith wasn’t so sure Lance was aware he was doing it in the first place. “I don’t know… maybe I matured too fast, with the war and all. Didn’t give myself enough space to breathe whenever I got mad at myself and criticised myself.”

Keith didn’t think that was entirely it, but that was Lance’s to decide. Keith could listen, try advise him and help him figure it out, let him know that he understood- maybe that would help.

“I-“ Keith took a deep breath, shuffling a little to get more comfortable. “I had a rough childhood. I don’t really, talk about it much, but my dad died when I was a kid. I was, always on the outside looking in, but I always had my dad. Until I didn’t. And… mom wasn’t around, but I’m sure you figured that out. Dad had no family but me. So, I got bounced around the system for a while. Learned some neat tricks, like, how to hide money, or, how to get out of cuffs, but I was angry. So angry, and I had nobody to teach me how to grow up. People told me who I should be, how I should act. Nobody told me how to exist as I am. Everybody treated me like I was a broken personality, like I needed fixing and changing. Nobody taught me that- I didn’t need fixing. I was a whole person, not some- fine China dish in the back of somebody’s kitchen cabinet they got as a wedding present twenty years ago and only ever used once. I was a person.

“And I tried to fit in. I tried to do as they asked and act as they asked, and it just tore away any sense of self I had. Their idea of growth was stripping me of everything that made me me. So I stopped that shit. I stopped apologising for who I was and what I couldn’t help. If nobody would love me, then I’d have to love myself, somehow. I’m not exactly a- a feelings guy, as such. I- I mean I have them, but I don’t really- I struggle to figure them out a lot. They feel all, jumbled, and, I just. feel. I, don’t know how to explain it. It’s why I get angry the way I do. I don’t recognise it until I’m already at boiling point, already too much and, too intense and overwhelming. But- that’s. besides my point. I’m not good at feelings, and, being a guy, it’s… not exactly the norm to, focus on self-love and all that mushy crap. But, maybe the norm is stupid. So I. Worked on it. Went solo. Didn’t use self-help books, because they all wanted me to- change who I was and do some yoga or some shit. I just felt stupid.”

Silence stretched between them, Keith pausing to see if Lance had anything to add. Maybe he didn’t reply because Keith sounded mid-explanation, so Keith continued on, hoping he was comminucating well enough for Lance to understand.

“I focused on my anger,” Keith continued. “It came from somewhere. And it hurt. I had to confront why I was so angry, all the- all the trauma and the tears and- everything I hid away for them. And I had to teach myself to stop hiding away from myself. I had to teach myself how to embrace it all. Even my less social, qualities, like, punching people in the face. I mean- I obviously had to not punch people in the face so, uh, but instead of hating myself for it, I accepted it came from a place of pain. That, I felt constantly on the back foot, that I felt trapped and cornered and- and scared. I thanked young me for doing everything he could to fight for himself, and learned to let go of how I did that. I learned to walk away, how to figure out if it was worth my energy. How to- shout, instead of punch. How to stand up for myself, instead of blindly lashing out. Learned the words for who I was and why I was different, learned how to set boundaries. So… yeah. It’s not confidence. It’s radical self-acceptance. Personal growth, or some shit.”

“Life sucks, huh?” Lance didn’t say much else. No ‘I’m so sorry for your loss , no pity, no sugar coating and telling him he should be grateful his life is better now, or misguided comfort that Keith didn’t ask for. Just a simple acknowledgement that life fucking sucked.

“Yeah,” Keith replied, “it does. What’s stopping you from loving yourself?”

“I… guess I always thought that I had to be better... and I tried so hard that I just- I don’t know… lost myself along the way.”

“Then find yourself,” Keith replied plainly.

“I thought I had…” Lance sighed heavily, shoulders slumping with defeat.

“Did you really lose yourself, or are you just telling yourself you did so you don’t have to face who you really are?”

Lance winced, and Keith felt a pang of guilt, realising he might have pushed too far. “Because maybe I’m, not ready to accept that…”

“Accept what,” Keith pushed gently, but Lance just screwed his face up.

“I thought I’d already… accepted it,” Lance replied quietly. Keith didn’t push him any further to elaborate on what it was. He figured Lance would tell him anyways if he felt comfortable to do so. “I mean I- spent so long fighting with myself to accept it, but… did I really- accept it? I always try to accept myself for who I am but… truth is… I’m scared of how much could change in my life because of it, and… I’m not sure if I’m ready for that change yet, but… I want to be ready…”

“You need to accept yourself fully,” Keith reiterated, and Lance shied away from Keith’s hand. Keith dropped his hand without question, didn’t take it personally. Lance was on the verge of a personal breakthrough, but Keith didn’t think he was supposed to see that part yet.”

“What about the parts of me… that I'm scared of?”

“Especially those parts, Lance. You need to accept those too- uh- the .” Keith looked at him again, but Lance seemed so conflicted, on the verge of running or breaking apart, as though he was confronting some kind of uncomfortable truth in his head.

“I… don’t know if I can, Keith…”

“Why. Why can’t you?”

“I… don’t know…” But Lance did know. It was clear in the way he curled in on himself, avoided eye contact, completely clammed up like he was caught with a lie.

“Then accept them. Work on them. Get used to them because it’s a part of who you are and you need to come to terms with that to love yourself as a whole, complete human being. And maybe then, you’ll stop holding yourself back.”

And with that, Keith walked off.

Chapter Text

Keith had hit the nail on the head. He’d unwrapped it all and laid it all out perfectly: Lance didn’t accept himself. Too many words he didn’t believe in had sunk deep beneath his skin, branded him with their hate and made him believe it all for himself. He’d never considered that they had, because he’d never direct this hate at somebody, at Shiro, at Pidge, at Keith- at anyone. He knew it was wrong, yet Keith’s words had opened a locked door Lance hadn’t even realised he had; the skeletons in his closet tumbled out: the slurs he heard, the nasty comments, the pure vitriol and hate justified with twisted words- all in Lance’s voice, all aimed at himself, all burning with such self-hatred that Lance wanted to brand it onto paper, write it in marker on his flesh and scrub it away until it stopped branding him with this- this

fuck.

Lance took a shaky breath, trying to find the room to catch a breath. He hadn’t even noticed how much he’d absorbed, how much he’d grown to believe, how much he resented who he was, until Keith made him confront the truth.

He didn’t accept himself.

He wasn’t completely unaware of his sexuality all these years.

He’d been hoping it would all go away, that it would just be a phase, that he could wake up normal.

And Lance felt sick. He felt sick and angry, because the world stole acceptance from him. They tainted his mind with disgusting bigotry, and Lance couldn’t seem to shake it off. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the homophobia inside him. He hadn’t wanted to confront the amount of times he was telling himself that he was nothing more than a useless faggot; told himself he liked girls and only girls; told himself to snap out of this stupid phase and be a man for once.

He’d buried the fact he hated himself to the point he hadn’t even realised it was a barrier for him accepting himself, because he thought he already had.

He rushed to the mirror, fighting against the waves of panic and disgust, because this wasn’t right. He shouldn’t hate himself like this, and he was barely sure of where it all came from. It wasn’t the judgment from others that stopped him and held him back. It was the judgment he cast unto himself, and it was coming back to haunt him horribly. He was shaking, gripping the sink tightly and forcing himself to look in the mirror- really look in the mirror.

He had to acknowledge that he’d hated who he was. That he wasn’t oblivious to his own sexual crisis all these years, that he’d hidden it with purpose, because he’d internalised it all and didn’t want to face what he was. Who he was. He hadn’t come out yet because he was disgusted with himself. And Lance hated that he could ever think so horribly of himself. It was intrusive. Because Lance didn’t believe it was wrong… ’for other people’. And fuck, that was it, wasn’t it? Everything was okay, as long as it wasn’t him who was the freak. As long as he wasn’t the laughing stock, the clown, the othered, the different, again.

He shook his head, took another deep breath, trying to reign in his thoughts. He knew this wasn’t right. He knew it was stupid, bullshit, useless hatred with no purpose other than to hurt himself. Another way to beat himself up for not being perfect, not being good enough.

He forced himself to look himself in the eyes, even though it was hard. Forced himself to confront the fact that he was bi and it was here to stay. That as scared as he was, he knew his friends would accept him, and that’s exactly why he’d felt so uneasy about coming out, dropping the mask. Because the hate inside wasn’t ready to hear the support he’d get.

And that’s exactly why he needed to come out.

He needed to kill the hate. As long as he kept it all in his own head, those voices could drown out his light and push it back down. He could convince himself to live a heterosexual lie and suppress himself further. And he needed to make that feeling die. He needed friends, allies, who would tell him he was perfect just the way he was, that he was okay, that he was welcome. He needed to hear it out loud, like he had from Shiro. He needed them to see. He needed them to turn the closet light on so he could chase the ghosts away in his head. He needed to live his truth and spite the hate within, because it wasn’t going to go away unless Lance refused to let it stay.

And refuse he did.

He refused to let it get into his heart. Refused to let the tendrils of hatred grip him, because he was queer, goddammit, and it wasn’t going away. It wasn’t going away, and he didn’t want it to. Words he called himself couldn’t hurt him if he wrenched them out of their hands, if he took their hatred and turned it into a shield. Those words couldn’t hurt him if he took them away from the sneering, nameless faces of hate and turned them into his greatest strength, his greatest source of pride. If he took their weapons and crafted his home out of them, then those weapons couldn’t hurt him anymore. If somebody threw a slur at him, he could look them dead in the eyes, respond with a ‘yeah, I am. What a-fucking-bout it?”

Just the thought of turning the hate he faced into his strength filled his veins with a burning passion he hadn’t known he could’ve felt. Just the thought of existing loudly out of sheer fucking spite filled him with such a deep burning rage against the hate he’d heard that he finally felt strong enough. He felt stronger than he ever had, and he was terrified, fucking shaking in his boots- but he was tougher than that. He was strong and sensitive and bi and human.

He didn’t need to change. There was nothing wrong with him, and he didn’t have to feed the hate within. He could cut it off, starve it, amputate it and let it rot like a severed limb, because he didn’t need it anymore. He never needed it, and he deserved better.

He took a deep, determined breath, looked deep within himself through his reflection, the proud purr of the red lion reverberating through every fibre of his being, feeling the newfound fire within and adding kindle to it, encouraging him in punchy growls to fight back and grab the reigns to his own fate, to his own narrative. ’yes, good. Let go of the hate. Stop holding back. It is time to burn bright.’

And burn bright he would.

He took a deep, determined breath, leaving behind his plan to carefully, nervously over-explain himself to everyone through the headset’s link, because confidence was burning through his veins, impulse and instinct taking control and finally fighting through all the hurt inside and cutting through in a burning rage at the world and a burning need to burst free of all the hate. He turned without second thought, made his way through the castle to arrive late for training.

The thrumming growls of the red lion thundered through his veins, energised him, made his reflexes sharper, more sure- because he’s stopped second guessing himself. He found himself smirking as blade clashed against blade, as he pushed back and won. He was on fire, outperforming himself like never before- because he’d finally stopped holding back. He’d finally started to burn bright enough to burn away the hatred that had run so dark through his veins and replaced it with a burning gold. Keith seemed to notice, offered one of his dangerous, galra smirks, didn’t hold back either. He impressed himself with his fire: pure, raw confidence oozing out of him in torrents. Lance had never felt more alive in training, more in synch with his own instincts. He was moving faster than ever, his reflexes sharp, his trust in himself at its highest. He wasn’t held back by the way he usually second guessed everything he did- every move was calculated, decisive, sure- and Lance was unstoppable.

By the end of training, he’d broken all of his previous records, had outperformed Pidge and Hunk by a long shot, had come closer to Keith’s stats than ever before, closing the gap a little further between him and Shiro and Allura. He felt powerful.

He didn’t find the time to be disappointed in himself. It didn’t matter to him that he wasn’t the best paladin, that his scores were perfectly average- it didn’t matter that he wasn’t on top, because he’d fought with such passion, such vitality and energy that he’d outperformed his own expectations of himself by a long shot. He’d finally stopped holding himself back, finally stopped second-guessing himself and learned to just do. He’d found his confidence, his fire, and he wasn’t going to let anything hold him back anymore. No more self-doubt. He didn’t need it, didn’t want it holding him back anymore. He hadn’t even been aware of how much he’d been doing it until now; now, when he was so cock-sure of himself, so completely in tune with his own instincts and abilities that he didn’t stop to second-guess if he was doing the right thing, making the right move. He just trusted himself to get it right, and get it right he did. Trusting himself and his own abilities and instincts had paid off: and knowing who he was had made him ooze ephemeral confidence with every breath.

By the end of training, Lance felt ready. With the buzz of adrenaline flowing through his veins, and the rush of endorphins from such a satisfyingly vigorous training session, Lance felt better than ever. He’d finally confronted his demons, de-closeted all of his skeletons, and now he was ready to de-closet himself. He threw his original plan out the window- he was going to tell everyone before lunch, one by one, and he wasn’t going to be scared.

…

Okay, maybe he was going to be terrified, but he was finally strong enough to push past the fear he had and fight back against it. He was finally brave enough to find the strength to push through it all and continue despite and in spite of his fear. He couldn’t be stopped; he was doing this, whether the world liked it or not. And he knew where to start now- or at least, he hoped he did, but he reminded himself not to doubt himself- he knew himself better than anyone, and that meant that he knew what to do.

“Alright everyone, I have something pretty important to tell you all, and no, it’s not that I’ve found the future Mrs Blue Lion, so don’t worry, I’m still available-“ he flashed some joking finger guns and a smile at Allura, who rolled her eyes- “but I’m, gonna tell you all one by one before dinner, so please make sure I can find you all because man, I do not want to try crawl through an air duct again, Pidge, so yeah! Uh- Hunk, can I borrow you for a sec, buddy?” He slung his arm around Hunk’s shoulder, leading him away from the group and pushing through the swirling butterflies in his stomach.

They walked until they reached the kitchens, the one place that Lance always associated with his best friend’s comfort. Whether it was at the garrison or in space. Hunk would always walk Lance down to the kitchens to whip up some creamy cocoa and a batch of cookies so they could talk the while. So it had good memories, and set the tone that this was something serious.

“So… is everything alright?” Hunk asked with caution, immediately grabbing the cups and rinsing them out again whilst he put the kettle on- or rather, the strange, triangular vessel the alteans used for heating water with.

“Yeah yeah, everything’s fine,” Lance dismissed, waving him off before pausing. “Everything’s great, actually,” he amended, smiling slightly to himself in spite of his nerves.

“Oh?” Hunk encouraged curiously, briefly turning from his task to look at Lance, showing his interest in Lance’s secrets.

“Yeah, I, um, I kind figured some stuff out about myself and uhm… wanted to tell you about it.”

“I’m listening,” Hunk insisted, quickly finishing the drinks and turning around, sitting opposite Lance across the breakfast bar.

“Okay, well. Here goes nothing, I guess. So, I’m kinda, like. Bi. As in, bisexual. Like, I like dudes and all. Guys are… yeah. Guys are good.” Lance felt himself blush darkly, ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks and reminding himself that his internalised shame wasn’t helpful at all, and that he could exist in spite of it. He kept his head held high; didn’t look down to the table, although he did rub the back of his neck rather awkwardly.

“Oh?” Hunk smiled slightly, looking up to Lance fully.

“Yeah. I uh, I’ve kinda been battling it for a while now, but yeah, I sorted my shit out and, I’m officially coming out, to you guys, at least.”

“I hope you know how proud I am,” Hunk began softly, “and I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. Am I the first person you’ve told, or…”

“No, not exactly, but kinda yeah?” Lance scratched the back of his neck awkwardly: “I told Shiro when I was still having my crisis, but he doesn’t know I finally figured it all out yet.”

“I’m honoured you told me,” Hunk replied, making his way around the table to wrap Lance in a warm hug. Lance immediately melted into it, the reassurance that being bisexual changed nothing between their usual touchy dynamic enough to re-fuel Lance’s confidence.

For the first time in a long time, Lance felt genuinely proud of himself, and the fire of the red lion burned through his body once more.

“So… why now? I mean- don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you finally told me, but what prompted you to finally come out?”

“Just something Keith said,” Lance replied with a shrug, “he has some good advice sometimes. Intense maybe… but good.”

“Keith ordered me to go to bed once,” Hunk replied, “but to be fair, he was also awake at four o’clock in the morning.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Keith,” Lance responded fondly, “he uh… gave me some advice on self-confidence. Something about radical self-acceptance. It was the most un-Keith like thing, man, but so much like him too. Maybe I just don’t know him as well as I thought I did. We’re kind of friends now, but I guess I haven’t been making as much time for him as I should be making.”

“Well,” Hunk began, “maybe you should start by giving him something nice. I mean, he gave you those shiny rocks, right? Maybe you should get him something in return when we stop off at the next planet.”

“Hunk, you’re a genius and I could platonically kiss you right now! Maybe I could invest in some cool alien paints for him, he loves art!”

“He does? How do you-“

“We hung out together in the library,” Lance replied, “he paints in the old books with his watercolour sets. We just kind of sat in silence, you know? He recommended a book for me and I’m about half way through it. Well, he mentioned a book he wanted to read himself and it sounded cool- Godzilla-like Weblums, Hunk! Maybe I should ask him for more book recs later, he’s a cool guy. I never expected him to be the type to read for fun, but I guess he had to do something to keep himself occupied in the desert all those years-“ Lance abruptly cut himself off, aware that he was rambling and getting off topic, Hunk smiling at him with a strange smile that Lance decided couldn’t possibly mean anything good. “Anyway! I should uhh… go tell everyone else! Do you have the stuff for pancakes later?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hunk replied, patting his back, “good luck telling everyone about yourself!”

“Thanks, buddy!” Lance rushed out, determined to tell the world who he was before lunch- or, at least, the population of the current castleship. He figured he’d never truly stop coming out to people, and whilst it would probably become exhausting in the long run, right now it felt like a blessing. He felt as though telling the world about who he was had become the most integral thing to him right now, like he could do it forever so long as he believed in himself and supported himself. Then again, he supposed, talking to Hunk always gave him a fresh lease of life.

Chapter Text

After coming out officially for the first time, Lance’s inner fire had only grown in strength. He had a lot of people left to tell- and if he was honest, he didn’t really have an order to tell them in. Telling Hunk first had been a no-brainier- after all, Hunk was his closest, most long-term friend. Hunk was the one who got to hear about every single girl Lance had ever had a crush on, so it seemed only fitting that his longest confidant should know first that Lance was bisexual. He looked forwards to being open about his sexuality from now on, being able to point out people he liked to Hunk who weren’t just girls, and having Hunk being his wingman.

Lance decided on telling Shiro next- he already kind of knew, so Lance could leave some of the longer talks to last. He wasn’t hard to find: Shiro was on the observation deck, a place he’d been frequenting more regularly since they left Earth again. It was recommended by his therapist, to spend a little time in an open space just reflecting on his personal progress and his past. He didn’t seem too deep in thought, so Lance merely sat quietly besides him.

“Hey, Lance.”

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance replied, glad with how easy and calm talking to Shiro was. “We’re a long way from Earth, huh?”

“We’ve been further,” Shiro replied carefully, although Lance wasn’t entirely sure whose benefit the comment was really for. Shiro was just as homesick as Lance lately, and seemed to miss Earth even more now he’d seen what he’d come back for after so long accepting that he’d lost his home for good when he was first abducted all those years ago.

“We have,” Lance replied quietly, and a comfortable, reflective silence passed over them for a while.

“So, you wanted to tell me something?”

Lance nodded peacefully, taking a deep, steady breath. “I finally accepted myself as bi,” he spoke, letting a soft smile pass his features. “It feels pretty good to say it out loud like that, with so much certainty. Especially after so much instability.”

“I’m proud of you,” Shiro replied, clasping him on the shoulder, “welcome to the community, Lance.”

“Thank you, Shiro,” Lance responded candidly, allowing himself to be pulled into a warm hug.

“I’m still here if ever you need to talk, okay? Queer to queer, if you’re okay with that word.”

“I am,” Lance replied, “it feels kinda right to say for me.”

“I don’t use it much,” Shiro began with a slight shrug, pulling back from the hug, “but I’m comfortable when people I trust use it for me. You’re one of about four, maybe five people I’m okay with calling me that, so keep that in mind.”

“I will,” Lance replied, smiling softly, “and thank you. For trusting me with something so…” Lance wasn’t quite sure what word to use. Queer was a word many didn’t like and equally as many would love. It had harsh roots as a slur, but had been reclaimed by the wider community some decades ago. It tended to be very personal, and Lance could understand the weight that being trusted to call somebody queer carried with it. He was being trusted to say it as a way of empowering others, rather than demeaning and belittling. Shiro trusted him enough to use a word he wasn’t so widely comfortable with, because he knew that Lance understood the provenance of the word enough to use it cautiously and righteously, as opposed to maliciously or in passing without considering the full impact it may have and carry at times.

“Of course,” Shiro replied, because of course he understood. “Thank you for being somebody I felt I could trust.” Lance smiled softly in response, cheeks heating up a little out of embarrassment: it wasn’t often anyone truly complimented Lance, so ever since he was a child, he tended to go bright red at the slightest bit of praise from anyone, but especially from his mother. “So,” Shiro began, “how does it feel to be coming out officially?”

“Pretty good,” Lance replied honestly, “terrifying, actually. I uh… quite like being open about it but there’s just, so much adrenaline in me right now, you know? My heart is pounding a stupid amount.”

“I know it’s cliche to say ‘it gets easier,’” Shiro started, “but it kind of does, depending on who you’re coming out to. My first coming out I felt like I was going to be sick. It took me a lot of time to even be able to force the words out. But within a few months, I found myself casually telling neighbours when they ended up talking to my parents, and I found myself showing it somehow in small ways. I had this black leather braided bracelet that I attached rainbow beads to the end of. I was never really the type for bold dress back then or anything, so that bracelet was… my subtle way of telling the world. I remember when I used to wear it every single day. It almost felt like I couldn’t be confident without it on because, well, after so long of keeping it hidden, it felt wrong to hide it again. To not show every part of me with pride. And maybe one day that’ll be you, although I have a feeling you’ll become a lot louder about it.”

“Oh yeah,” Lance replied with a small laugh, “I’ll definitely be loud about it once I'm ready. Bi flag cape and all.”

“Well,” Shiro laughed lightly, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Lance.” Shiro gave Lance a firm and supportive back slap. “I look forwards to seeing you become comfortable openly embracing your bisexual identity.”

“I should tell the others,” Lance began, standing up, “and I’ll be sure to come to you if I need anymore gay-space-fatherly advice.” Shiro gave Lance a thumbs up before Lance walked out; Lance looked back with yet another soft smile, and left the room feeling calm and at ease.

Things felt less frantic, like Lance finally had some breathing space. Whilst his passion and drive for coming out hadn’t waned, and he could still hear the proud and firery purr of the red lion guiding him on, she was fading slightly into the background bit by but the more Lance settled into his confidence, a familiar, gentle purr beginning to overlap with her fire. For a second, Lance almost thought that she might have been blue, a wash of melancholy settling over him at the fond memories of flying with her. But she was Allura’s lion for the foreseeable future, and she likely always would be. Lance suspected that Keith missed red just as much as Lance missed blue, and Shiro appeared to miss Black too. With that final thought, Lance headed towards the labs towards Pidge.

Chapter Text

Pidge wasn’t hard to find. They were, as expected, in their lab building robots. They were making tiny little cookie-shaped kitchen assistant bots for Hunk, although Lance really wanted to keep one as a pet. Unfortunately, however, they looked a little too much like cookies, and both Keith and Shiro had painfully bitten the bots and found out the hard way that unalu dentists aren’t the most gentle of dentists out there in the galaxy.

Lance knocked on their door loudly, suppressing a laugh as they jumped out of their seat, nearly knocking the glasses off their own face.

“LANCE!” They exclaimed, smoothing down their clothes; “I didn’t see you there! Um, come in! Just mind the robots, they’ve developed a bit of a habit of tripping people up. Or, uh… I may have programmed them to um… trip people up on… purpose…”

With a sheepish yet blatantly unapologetic look, Pidge sat back down, clearing a little space for Lance to sit down. Instead of tripping him up, one of the cookie boys crawled into his lap, nudging his hand and demanding attention until he began to absently pet it. Lance immediately looked at Pidge with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster.

“No, Lance.”

“Please?”

“You’re not keeping the robot.”

“Can I keep him?” Lance held the cookie-bot up, stroking it as though it was a kitten. Pidge glared. “Pretty please with a cherry on top and I won’t tell your mom your robots broke Keith’s teeth?”

“Oh alright, fine,” Pidge conceded with a huff, “you can keep him. Just be careful. He bites.”

“Well, he’s friendly to me, so as long as he only bites Keith and maybe Romelle and Hunk when they steal my clay masks, we’re Gucci. Huh… guard cookie. Cool.”

“Uh uh,” Pidge vocalised slowly, “anyways. Why are you here?”

“I kinda have something I wanna tell you,” Lance began, holding the baby robot cookie in one hand and petting it with the other. The metal was warm, almost soft despite the rigidity. The thrum of the machinery inside almost felt like a gentle purr. It was a lot easier to think about saying the hard to say when he could focus his attention on the tiny robot instead of Pidge. Of course, he knew Pidge would be okay with it. They’d be supportive, and loud, and glad they weren’t so alone on the ship in their queerness (if they used that term, that is), but it didn’t make Lance any less nervous about sharing something so deeply personal.

“I’m listening,” Pidge said with a soft seriousness Lance wasn’t used to in their voice.

“I’m bi,” Lance confessed, not daring to look up from the robot, which nestled closer to his hand as if seeking the warmth. He cradled it a little closer to his chest, and the robot seemed to nuzzle his hand and settle.

“Nice to meet you, bi, I’m Pidge.”

Lance snorted, half disappointed Shiro hadn’t been the one to tell such a classic dad joke, and mostly relieved that acceptance could be so casual. “So that’s it, huh? It’s… really that easy to come out and be accepted?”

“Yup. Welcome to the community, Lance. We’re glad to have you here.”

“Glad to be here,” Lance replied, and Pidge took a deep breath.

“I kinda wanna say something,” they began, “but I don’t want you to… take it the wrong way. I know how terrifying it can be for some people but it’s something that some find comforting, is… that okay?”

“I mean I guess,” Lance began tentatively, focusing a little harder on the robot at the lump of anxiety building in his throat and in his chest.

“I kind of already knew,” Pidge began, “and I. I don’t mean that I made assumptions based on your hobbies or, any of that. I just… I noticed you seemed to be struggling, and I noticed you kind of focused more heavily on somebody in particular more recently whilst you seemed to be struggling. A guy, I mean. And I noticed how you look at this particular guy, and… I guess I know love when I see it. It’s the way my dad would look at my mom at breakfast or, whenever she weaned another one of Matt’s dead plants back to life as though it were her child. So I guess I noticed that you were in love, more than anything, with somebody who wasn’t a cishet girl. So I figured that maybe you might not be straight. Again, I really don’t mean to take anything away from you coming out, or, scare you into feeling exposed or vulnerable. I guess I’m just… trying to say that because I already suspected, nothing’s gonna change between us. I wanted to ask you about it, but you weren’t ready to come out. I wasn’t gonna take that from you. And, I hope this wasn’t too invasive. I’d probably find it invasive from somebody outside of the community or somebody who I wasn’t super close to. Anyways… yeah. I noticed you’re in love.”

Lance frowned. He didn’t really know how to process the mixed feelings that somebody had already guessed, but he was more confused about who Pidge meant. He knew he’d gone to Shiro for advice a lot, but he certainly wasn’t in love with him. Besides- Shiro was out of Lance’s age bracket, and Lance saw him more as a father figure. His own dad was unable to be around, so Lance tended to gravitate towards father figures in his life to fill the void. “I’m not in love with Shiro,” Lance clarified, but Pidge merely shook their head.

“Not who I meant,” they clarified, standing up and clasping his shoulder ( or rather, using him to balance whilst they stood up, the cheeky little gremlin,) “figure it out.” With that, they left, leaving Lance feeling confused and weird.

Did everyone know? Would he ever come out to somebody who hadn’t assumed his sexuality? Was he safe if people could just tell? If he’d purposely coded himself as bi, he’d have appreciated that they’d noticed, but this did feel a little invasive. But he understood they meant well; that they were younger and likely would have found it a comfort to be told somebody already knew rather than feeling so invisible all the time. So he wasn’t upset at them, even if he did feel a little uncomfortable. They’d been respectful about it, and it came from a genuine place and not because they saw him wear nail polish the once or because of the way that he walked or talked. But could he really live in a world where he didn’t have to go through the exhaustion of having to constantly come out, because people recognised that straight wasn’t the default and looked at love all the same enough to notice he wasn’t only into women?

Did they mean he was in love with Hunk? no, that certainly wasn’t it- Pidge must have been mistaken. Lance wasn’t in love. Being in love was something that happened at first sight- he’d see a pretty person, and daydream about them for weeks wondering how to get a date, then get his heart broken when they inevitably rejected him.

(Maybe, a traitorous part of his brain supplied, that was just infatuation. Maybe real love is so subtly built and so soft and gentle that it feels like home. That he feels like home.)

Lance wasn’t ready to confront or decrypt that, so he didn’t. He didn’t know who. And perhaps he never would. Because love was fleeting and love was explosive and love was butterflies and sweaty palms and badly doodled hearts in the margin of his text book. Love wasn’t…

Love wasn’t…

Lance shoved his crisis aside harshly, jumping up to rush to come out again so he could avoid the moment his brain would tell him who it was that he was falling in love with. He wasn’t ready, so he wouldn’t confront it.

He really wanted to talk to Keith and get some blunt, casual comfort and a shiny rock for his troubles. There was something so genuine in Keith’s unusual methods of comfort that Lance felt was familiar, like home, almost.

Chapter Text

Coran and Romelle. They were next on Lance’s list; Coran was like an uncle to Lance. Often, Coran had been the only one willing to sit with Lance when he felt tearful because he missed home. Coran was the one who always tried, even when his efforts were rejected, and he had a knack for not letting it get to him when they were. Lance often wondered if Coran felt like Lance sometimes, an outsider on the cusp of society but not quite good enough to fit in; not normal enough, not wanted enough, not appreciated enough. But Coran seemed to have made himself a home in that space. And Romelle reminded him of Hunk, in some ways. She wasn’t afraid to be the voice of common sense, wasn’t afraid to tell you when something was a stupid idea. But she’d come along for the ride anyways. She was genuinely sweet and kind-hearted, strong-willed in a way Lance admired. She knew how to assert herself alongside her kindness, and Lance couldn’t admire that enough. Romelle could fit in anywhere even when she wouldn’t normally, because she seemed to have this incredible ability to insert herself anywhere and find a way to stay.

Coran was easy to find; he’d be cleaning out the cryo-pods. They were the most high-maintenance equipment on the ship, arguably the most important, and certainly the most dirty, most days. Coran also seemed to reminisce more freely when clearing them out, reminding him of his childhood duties. Nostalgia worked in weird ways, Lance figured. Lance didn’t need to speak loud enough for Coran to notice him.

“Ah! Lance, my boy! Come join me, we’re fresh out of buffer pads so we need to make some new ones!”

“Alright,” Lance replied, sitting on the step and waiting for Coran to join him. He started putting together some new buffer pads, just the way Coran had taught him to do, carefully and slowly, but absently enough that he could still talk if needed. “I uh… I have something to tell you,” Lance began nervously.

“I figured you might,” Coran replied softly, “been eating my stash of ambuvian biscuits again, have you?”

Lance snorted lightly at Coran’s joke, but it lightened the mood enough for Lance to feel a little more comfortable. “That’s actually Shiro,” Lance replied, “but no, uhm… I came to talk to you about something else. And, I don’t even know if Alteans will understand or, if it’s a purely human construct or… I don’t know. But, I figured I wanted you to know.”

“Must be serious if you haven’t made another moustache pun yet,” Coran acknowledged, briefly glancing over to Lance.

“Well on Earth, we have this concept called gender. For a lot of people, it aligns with their birth sex, but gender is… this whole separate entity. This identity you feel deep within and, this construct of roles that society made to be restrictive. And… my attraction transcends that. It transcends sex, it transcends gender. I, am attracted to people who are the same as me, and those who aren’t. Same and other. I define that as being bisexual. And… on Earth, it’s a big deal to like the same sex or gender as you. A huge deal, really. Some people are… it’s exhausting. You never know if someone’s gonna be okay with it or, if you’re potentially gonna be in danger. If you can even get a job where you’ll be respected as a human being. If you even have friends in school. Maybe, I guess it was easier to push it all down until I was out of school, because of that. But I don’t know. I’ve… I've made it through now, I’ve figured out who I am. So yeah… I don’t just like girls. I never have done. And I hope you can accept that, because I’ve grown to see you like my own family, and I could do with your support.” Lance took a deep breath, letting the tension sag from his body. He put his tools down, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees and clasping his hands together loosely, hanging his head with a deep sigh.

“You’d be right to say Alteans don’t have that concept,” Coran replied, “at least not in that context. Identity… has never been anything of a big deal for Alteans. Maybe the fluid nature of our physical forms allowed people to express who they were a lot easier, so maybe it was a lot harder for people to even try to tell somebody who they should be, or who they should love. I gather it’s something I’d need to learn a lot more about before I can say that with certainty, though.” Coran paused, putting his tools down too. Lance didn’t look up. “As for who you love… I don’t understand how it’s a big deal, but I understand that it must be for you. On Altea, things are just… accepted. Every curio, every experience. It’s just… normal. But I gather it’s not the same on Earth. So I, guessing it took a lot of courage to come to me about this, didn’t it, my boy?” Lance didn’t reply, so Coran continued on. “You’ll always be accepted with me, lad,” Coran affirmed, “no matter who you realise you are deep down.”

“Thanks, Coran,” Lance replied softly, “it means a lot to me.”

“I know it does,” Coran confirmed, “know you always have a place here. No matter what. Well, unless you steal my ambuvian biscuits again, and then it’s lights out and sleepy time!” Coran circled his fists comically, and Lance actually managed a laugh. He didn’t know where his shame had suddenly sprung up from. The confidence seemed to wear off, become exhausting. He just wanted a hug, but he felt too overwhelmed to accept one right now. A comforting purr washed over him.

“I should… get going,” Lance said eventually, “I still have to tell some people. Or, want to tell people. I don’t technically have to, but… I feel like I do. Like I should. Like I um. Want to. Aha, so… yeah. See you around.”

“Bye bi!”

Lance ignored the dad joke, the pun honestly going completely over his head due to the phonetic similarities. He just walked out, hoping to find Romelle quickly before he ran out of steam. He found himself back at the kitchens, where Romelle was licking a bowl of chocolate pudding clean.

“I’ll give you two some space to talk,” Hunk said kindly, gently patting Lance on the back on his way like he always did. Like nothing had changed at all.

“If you want the chocolate pudding,” Romelle began, “I’ll fight you for it.”

“You’re good,” Lance replied, awkwardly leaning against the counter.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Romelle replied, and Lance nodded absently.

“Cool, cool. Um. I kind of wanted to tell you something, but um. How are you?”

Romelle eyed him suspiciously, her ear twitching. “Single and not ready to mingle, if that’s what you were going to ask.”

“It’s not, I promise,” Lance replied earnestly.

“In which case,” Romelle began, “I’m doing okay. You? You look like you’re about to shit out a yelmore.”

“What a delightful mental image,” Lance cringed, “ but uhh… I’m kind of nervous, because I’m about to tell you something that’s a big deal on Earth, but apparently isn’t a big deal on Altea.”

“Do you have a nose piercing?” Romelle interrogated, “because I despise nose piercings. Unless I’m allowed to get one too, in which case, I suppose I can make an exception if it draws attention away from your ugly human ears.”

“Love you too,” Lance deadpanned, feigning offence, “but no. I like guys-“

Romelle choked, narrowly avoiding spraying chocolate pudding all over the floor.

“What a plot helix!”

“Plot twist,” Lance corrected. “I’m bi, as in, bisexual, as in, I’m attracted to same and other genders.”

“And to think I turned down a prince for you!”

“What?”

“The Talustrean Prince. He asked if you were single.”

“He, I, wait- what?!” Lance felt his face flush almost painfully hot, trying to process that a guy had asked Romelle if Lance was single, and Romelle had turned him down on Lance’s behalf. “Was he- was he hot?”

Romelle got out her space-phone, showing Lance the photo. Lance gave a low whistle. “He’s cute for a guy with a flat ass.”

“I’m taking it you’re disappointed.”

“Oh, very,” Lance replied, “damn. And he liked me?”

“I’m just as appalled in his taste in men as you are,” Romelle sassed, “but yes” she assured; “he found you most handsome.”

“I kinda like his antler mullet,” Lance commented absently, “he looks like kind of a bad boy. Do you think he’d make out with me on a motorcycle?”

“Ooohhh,” Romelle gasped suddenly, “oh, now I get it!”

“Wait- get what?”

“You mean you’re really that oblivious?”

“I mean- um- yeah?” Lance looked at her with confusion, but her face merely lit up with mischief.

“Well, good luck figuring it out. I’m off to go gossip about you with Hunk. Nothing bad, don’t worry!”

“I- hey! oh, come on!” Lance huffed indignantly, watching as Romelle rushed away. He huffed once more, running his hands over his face and going to go and find Allura.

Chapter Text

Lance took a deep breath before knocking on Allura’s door. He remembered all the times he stood outside her door with a handful of flowers and way too much aftershave on himself, nervous to finally get the whole dating thing right. Now, he was standing outside her door just as nervous, but without flowers or too much aftershave, hoping she’d understand more about why they split. Now Lance had realised he was trying so hard with her because he didn’t want to confront the other side of himself yet. Here he was, about to talk to his ex about his potential future dating life, and about to tell her that his future spouse may not be a wife.

Allura opened the door still in her pyjamas, but immediately opened the door for him. She’d set out her favourite face mask for herself, and immediately offered Lance the opportunity to join her. Lance took it. “I… had a feeling you were going to come to me today,” Allura began. “Something changed, hasn’t it?”

“Sort of,” Lance began, before hesitating. “Not really.”

“The blue lion… she’s been pushing me towards the castle,” Allura admitted, “gently nudging me away from her. It’s like… she had a lesson to teach me. About how to be kind to myself, and how better to support my team, and that I’ve finally learned it.”

“Oh,” Lance began, having not expected this to be the direction of the conversation today. “I uh… come to think of it, felt similar. The red lion- well, she gave me a push towards something important today. And… once I overcame this… this massive barrier, it’s like she started to fade away. I… thought I heard blue again, almost.”

“What was this barrier,” Allura asked, reaching over to help Lance with his face mask.

“I realised something about myself,” Lance began, pushing down the nerves once more. “Something that… I spent so long hiding from even myself that… I let it get in the way. Of- of us. It stopped me from giving you my all.”

“Oh,” Allura responded uncertainly, “I… had no idea you came here to talk about us.”

“It’s not really about us,” Lance clarified, “it kind of is, but… not, at the same time.”

“Right…” Allura began, leaning back into her own space again. Lance leaned forwards to help her apply her face mask without being asked to do so.

“I… there’s no, easy way to. Say this. But uh… I’m bi. Uh- bisexual. It’s an Earth word for… people who are attracted to or fall in love with… people who may be another gender to them, but also the same gender to them. So I don’t just… like girls. And, I was scared to admit to myself that I might be different in that way, and when I was with you, I could just… pretend that the other part of my sexuality just didn’t exist. That I was just straight, that I only liked girls. I didn’t have to admit to myself that I liked boys or- or people in general. I could ignore it. And that wasn’t fair on you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t fully realise how much I did that. Hid, I mean. Because I didn’t want it to be real.”

“Lance,” Allura began softly once he finished her face mask, “you didn’t think I’d think any less of you for this, did you?”

“I… don’t know,” Lance admitted honestly. “I did really love you, you know? But I… think I fell out of love, over time. Because deep down I… I knew it was just my way of pretending that this part of me didn’t exist. That I could just ignore it forever.”

“I’d have been okay with it, you know? If you’d have told me back then. I wouldn’t have loved you any less. I just would have understood more about who you were. Who you are.”

“I know,” Lance admitted, “but I was scared. A lot of people, as soon as they hear their partner isn’t just attracted to one gender, they… get insecure and accuse us of being cheats. And I didn’t want you to ever think I could hurt you in that way.”

“I would never have thought that, Lance,” Allura reassured, scooting closer. “I hope you know that I’d have only loved you more for your courage.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance managed to say, tears welling up as everything inside him seemed to break.

“Don’t be sorry,” Allura soothed, shuffling across the floor to sit besides him and rub his back gently. “You needed to find who you were, and I was easy to use as a shield from that truth. I know you loved me, Lance. I know you never set out to use me. We just… weren’t meant for each other, and that’s okay.”

“I denied this part of myself for so long and now I’m. Telling people, and- the magnitude of it all is setting in. Like, the bravery is wearing away and now I’m just exhausted and frightened again and- and very aware of how vulnerable this makes me.”

“Lance, it’s okay,” Allura said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer, “I’m happy that you felt able to finally say what’s been eating you up inside. Because I… I did notice,” Allura began, “that you didn’t seem to be yourself. It was like… you were hiding yourself away, and it made me sad. Knowing now that you’ve found the bravery to come to me with this and tell me… it reassures me so much. And Lance? I want you to know that I don’t regret you. I only regret that we both couldn’t find our happiness in each other back then. That… I didn’t support you through this, that I didn’t know you were struggling so much.”

“Don’t regret that, Allura,” Lance replied gently, “I wasn’t ready for you to know. That’s not your fault.”

“I hope you know, Lance, that I want you to be happy. And I know that’s not with me. I don’t want you to hold yourself back because you’re worrying I’m not quite over you yet. I want you to find that person who makes you feel alive. Somebody who treats you with respect and kindness. Somebody who kisses you like you’re the only one in the entire world they want, and somebody who is loyal and true to you. Somebody who sees you, all of you- and loves every last part.”

“Aww, you’re getting soppy on me,” Lance smiled, heart pounding wildly with the idea of finding a love like that. “I wish I knew somebody who’d love me like that already.”

“I have a good feeling about your person,” Allura smiled, sending a devious look to the mice, who squeaked excitedly like they knew something, “I have a great feeling, in fact.”

“It’s always great talking to you, Allura,” Lance smiled softly, “you’re one of my best friends.”

“Go, be happy,” Allura prompted, “and be proud!”

Chapter Text

Keith had been resting after a training session when Lance finally stopped by his room. Lance looked exhausted suddenly, a contrast to the unusual burst of genuine confidence he seemed to have gained earlier. Keith invited him in, but Lance didn’t sit down, so they both stood awkwardly in the room. “Is everything okay?” Keith asked awkwardly, and Lance nodded I’m response.

“Yeah yeah, um. I have something to tell you, and um. Yeah…” Lance rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, and didn’t elaborate. Keith waited patiently, but an awkward silence happened instead.

“So. Um. Would you… like to tell me the thing you have to tell me?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah I would,” Lance began slowly, but again, didn’t elaborate.

“Could you tell me?”

“Yep.”

“Now?”

“Uh, yeah, I, just uh. Stalling for time,” Lance replied. Keith didn’t miss the way his hand flapped a little anxiously, and Keith found himself absently mirroring the action; Lance was clearly stressed, and was reluctant to tell Keith why. With no other context, Keith was concerned, and unsure how to handle the situation. He wasn’t entirely sure what reassurance Lance needed, if any.

“Is… stalling for time helping you, at all?”

“No,” Lance admitted, dropping his hand from the back of his neck and seemingly deflating, “not really, so I guess I should just… come right out and say it.” Lance offered a crooked smile, looking back up to Keith a little. Keith wasn’t big on eye contact, mostly because it could be painful sometimes, but he decided he could look up when Lance said something that must have been important to him, and look away when he was talking himself, to show that he was listening maybe. “Keith, I’m bisexual. As in uhh… yeah, I’m not straight. Like, at all. I like guys. As in... l really like guys. Not just girls. And uh. Not just guys and girls. So yeah… I’m bisexual. And… wanted you to know, because. Well. The advice you gave me, it… it was spot on. You… helped me to figure it out. And I mean, when you figured you were asexual, the way you just accepted yourself, it made me question why I… couldn’t just do the same for my sexuality too. Accept it, I mean. And… yeah. I- I mean my mother might not understand when I tell her, she’ll just think I’m gay- which, liking men, I suppose I am, kind of, except I don’t just like men, I like other genders too. So yeah… accept me?”

Keith blinked. In a round about way, Keith wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d recognised that Lance seemed to be fundamentally questioning himself, and he’d even compared it to his own coming out journey before, although he’d dismissed it. He also remembered when Lance had apologised to him, and he’d began to say what sounded like bisexual before correcting to bilingual instead. Maybe his slip of the tongue had been because it had been on his mind the whole time. Didn’t he know Keith would accept him anyways? “Lance, it’s okay,” Keith affirmed strongly, “it’s okay that you like guys. I accept you. I accept your bisexuality.” Keith made sure to look him in the eyes as he affirmed that, making sure to try to convey how sincere he was.

“Thank you, Keith,” Lance replied, easing into an easy smile, “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us. Like, I hope we can still be rivals and friends, and that we… that we can be the same as we were before. That, you won’t be awkward around me when we get changed or when we have to work in a team.”

“Of course not, Lance,” Keith began, making a conscious effort to relax his rigid posture. “It won’t change that. I hope you realise I’m gay, though-”

“Wait, wait… you’re gay? Since when?!” Lance’s surprise was cut off by his own brain catching up to him. “I mean- obviously since always, but I mean- I never- I never knew.”

“I, didn’t give it much thought. I wouldn’t have told anyone in school, and then I got used to Shiro and Adam knowing. And then I was on my own, and then we were in space and, I don’t know, I guess I assumed you knew? I show no interest in women, romantically, and I mean- I know I don’t really, flirt like you do, but I guess I just, thought you knew?”

“Well, it’s news to me,” Lance replied, “wow… I guess I… don’t have to overexplain myself to you then, I hope.”

“You don’t,” Keith clarified, “you don’t have to explain anything. But you’re welcome to share your experiences with me and share how you define your own identity.”

“Oh,” Lance began quietly, sitting down, “well, I define it as being attracted to the same gender as me, and other genders, you know?”

Keith nodded, sitting beside him. “I’m attracted to men and masculinity in gender,” Keith replied, “romantically, I mean. I’ve never fallen for a woman, or anyone feminine or androgynous in gender.”

“People assume being bi is all about being… you know. Easy.”

“There’d be nothing wrong with anyone knowing what they want and getting it,” Keith replied, “but being bi and enjoying the good times like that aren’t synonymous. It’s unfair that people will judge you and assume your behaviour just because of your attraction.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Lance replied, “or people will assume that I’d cheat.”

“You wouldn’t,” Keith replied easily, “ I know you wouldn’t. Cheating… that’s not you. You have a heart of gold, Lance,” Keith said earnestly, “people who could think so bad of you just because they have no idea what bisexuality actually is… they suck. Don’t let them get you down.”

“Sometimes it feels like nobody could ever accept me,” Lance sighed, “as a partner, I mean.”

“What, like you’re the only bisexual on the planet? Or the only person who doesn’t believe biphobic stereotypes?”

“Well no, but…”

“So there you go,” Keith replied firmly. “I can see how easy it would be for somebody to fall in love with you. I- I mean, um-“ Keith cleared his throat awkwardly, “I mean you know they can. Because you’ve had loads of people fall in love with you, and, want to date you. You’re Loverboy Lance. Everyone either wants to be you, or they want to date you.”

“I wish,” Lance scoffed, “if only.” if only he knew

“Anyway…” Keith began, “I, forgot to give you this- uh, keep giving you these, so, uh- hang on…” Keith awkwardly dug through his drawer, pulling out a large bismuth crystal and plonking it straight into Lance’s lap. “Bismuth. It’s uh. It’s rainbow. Like you. Because you’re not straight. And it’s bi. Like you. So. Yeah. Shiny rainbow bi for a shiny rainbow bi.”

Lance looked at it in wonder for a split second, before breaking out into a grin and a hearty laugh. “That’s… actually really thoughtful,” he smiled, “you uh… caught that slip-up before, didn’t you? When I almost outed myself.”

“I… did,” Keith admitted, but I didn’t want to assume. And I guess, the bismuth, it was… a way to show I’d support you, without being obvious that I suspected you were bi. So you didn’t have to come out there and then and you could just… enjoy the bi crystal and appreciate the gesture as it was. It was my way of letting you know that it was okay, whilst leaving room for it to just be a cool crystal if you weren’t. And then after that, I… figured you might be going through something, and compared it to when I was realising my sexuality, but I didn’t solidly assume anything.”

“That’s… a very cryptic way to show your support,” Lance mused, “very Keith.”

“It’s also my favourite,” Keith continued, “as I’m- sure you know. But, this… this is my way of sharing my world with you. Sharing a part of me with you, and… letting you in. So…” Keith gestured to the bismuth in Lance’s palm, the size of his hand. “Have a nice bismuth party, or, whatever it is you do with them, I guess, or something. Yeah…”

Keith made a point of never omitting important details, but today was the exception to his rule. He chose to admit the most important significance of the bismuth; the romantic intentions behind them. He’d always figured he’d been half in love with Lance since the garrison, and then just as he’d convinced himself that maybe it wasn’t so, Lance came crashing into his life, a little older and definitely not wiser, twice as reckless and just as annoying in the good way. And Keith had been falling all over again for the boy as unpredictable as the tides and as reckless as heroes searching for the mighty kraken. And then Lance had nearly become calamari protecting Coran’s life, and Keith had held his hand and cradled him in his arms- all for Lance to insist he never remembered.

And Keith, like an idiot, had remained in love. And Lance remained painfully unobtainable. And despite every fibre of common sense in Keith’s brain telling him to give up and let go, his heart hadn’t quite accepted the message.

“That’s… actually really thoughtful of you, Keith,” Lance replied with a rare, soft smile, “thank you.”

“It’s okay,” Keith replied, knowing his voice had melted into a soft velvet, hoping it didn’t give him away. He decided to change the subject a little. “I uh… I’ve been feeling the red lion in my head once more,” he deflected, “and I uh… had an inkling you might tell me something like this, at some point. Especially after you came to me for advice so… unsure and… un-Lance-like in a very vulnerable way. No um, that’s not right- very vulnerable in an un-Lance-like way. You always did seem a little unsure of yourself, deep down. But uhh… I could sense the pride the red lion had in you. She was roaring, and you carry yourself differently now. You have her confidence and self-assurance. The black lion, she… taught me responsibility. Leadership, collaboration. But she was never my lion, and I knew that from the start.”

“The blue lion’s been calling to me again,” Lance admitted, but didn’t elaborate much further.

“Things are changing,” Keith mused.

“Yeah…” Lance breathed, “they are.”

Chapter Text

Lance walked to dinner with his head held high and a bismuth in his palm. He still felt a little emotionally drained, and a little insecure and raw and vulnerable- but at the same time, it felt as though a weight had lifted. He realised it was because it was a layer of his mask he could peel off, a facade he no longer had to keep up, because he’d allowed everybody the privilege of knowing his sexuality. He wished it didn’t have to be like this; that coming out wasn’t necessary. He longed for a world without heteronormativity, but that wasn’t the world right now. But at the same time, he was proud of who he was despite the internalised homophobia he still struggled with, and sharing that pride with others meant a lot to him.

By the time he got there, everybody was already sat down. Nothing was out of the ordinary, except perhaps Lance was a lot more conscious of their expressions and his own behaviour. He’d spent so long trying to appear straight that he wasn’t really sure how to just act like himself. Ever since he was a young teenager, he’d tried to hide it, changed how he acted to appear straight. Recently, he’d taken to hiding his finger guns just in case they read as bi to people. It wasn’t a privilege to hide his identity away or to have it erased. It wasn’t a privilege to have his identity and sexuality ignored, or to have been stuck in the closet for so long.

He hurt, and now he could be free, but his wings had been clipped for too long and he had no idea how to fly. He had no idea how to take down the pretence and the straight persona, and act as his normal, natural self. He had no idea how to show his pride in a way that wouldn’t seem immature or over the top- but maybe it was unfair to label explicit queer presentation as childish or weird. Lance didn’t know how to be himself in an openly queer way in a way that would be approved of and acceptable by society. He had no connections to the community, and nobody to ask for help. Sure, there was Shiro and Keith and Pidge, but they weren’t what he needed. Pidge was younger, and it wouldn’t be fair or healthy to lean on them so much. Keith struggled with giving advice and generally didn’t let it show if he cared what people thought, and besides; neither Shiro or Keith were bisexual, so they couldn’t help him understand how to live a healthy, bisexual life.

He felt alone, and he didn’t like it.

“I see you have a shiny gay rock,” Pidge commented, hand reaching towards it. Lance slapped their hand away, cradling the bismuth to his chest.

“Get your own gay rock,” Lance protested, and Pidge stuck their tongue out.

“It’s bismuth,” Keith interjected, “you can make bismuth crystals with an oven- it’s not too complicated to do.”

“Well I want that one,” Pidge protested. Keith scowled at them, but Lance couldn’t figure out why Keith was so protective over Lance’s crystal. Probably because it had been a gift, and nothing more.

“Anyway,” Shiro interjected, “Hunk, what did you make us?”

“Food goo, but in a pie,” Hunk replied, “I only had ingredients for the pastry and nothing else, so… food goo pie to turn the stomach it is!”

“Is the pastry touching the food goo,” Keith asked, poking at it with his fork.

“Sorry, buddy,” Hunk shrugged sheepishly, “I don’t have any other supplies left until we stop off at the next planet tomorrow, but I did make some like- pastry shapes, if that helps?”

“Uh- sure,” Keith replied, and Hunk left the table to go get food.

“What’s wrong with it touching,” Pidge asked curiously.

“Everything,” Keith replied, face completely serious. “The textures clash. The goo affects the texture and taste of the pastry it touches. The pastry flakes into the goo. The flavours clash. The consistency doesn’t feel right.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Pidge shrugged, taking a bite of their food. “Nope, I don’t get any of that.”

“Well I do,” Keith replied, looking at his plate awkwardly. Hunk returned with some of the pastry for Keith, folded into a myriad of shapes from flowers to envelopes. He also returned with some of the space turkey dinosaurs.

“I found some leftovers from yesterday,” Hunk began, “I genuinely forgot about them. Are leftovers okay?”

“Leftovers are okay,” Keith replied, “I appreciate it.”

Lance tried his food goo pie, deciding that it was weirdly nice and oddly delicious for food goo, and that he’d definitely eat it again. “So, why’d you love turkey dinosaurs so much,” Lance asked, making the effort to include Keith in the group chat.

“Oh, uh-“ Keith stopped eating abruptly, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to engage with him much. “I, uh. My dad used to buy them from the gas station and make them whenever I was sad or sick or injured. They’re a comfort food. And a safe food- they’re always the same. Same texture, same flavour, same consistency, familiar smell. I know I like them, I know I can stomach them well, and they’re a fun shape. They make me want to eat them.”

“Do you have any other comfort foods,” Lance asked, “back on earth?”

“Burgers,” Keith replied, “but only certain burgers. And not with some sauces or ketchup brands. No pickles, unless they’re diced up small in the burger sauce. I like most fries, but especially waffle fries and curly fries. I don’t like it when the burger has gristle in it. But none of the alien meats taste right or have the right texture, and neither do the alien breads, so I don’t like spade burgers. But uh- galra food is the worst. Their food goo is purple and tangy and lumpy. When I was with the blades, I just brought my own food from the space mall because Vrepit Sal’s still uses Hunk’s recipes and that’s edible.”

“Sounds like you lived in fast food joints,” Lance began, “I like Italian food a lot, especially garlic knots.”

“I can cook,” Keith replied, “if I put the ready meals in the microwave and don’t forget about them. I mean- I know how to boil pasta and cook beans and put turkey dinosaurs in the oven but I hate washing up. The food feels horrible in the sink and it smells bad, so, I just buy disposable plates or order takeout or go to the closest burger joint.”

“My mom’s the best cook,” Lance replied, “I have a large family, and we’re all sort of fussy eaters, so sometimes she has to cook separate meals to please everyone. And we’re poor, so she couldn’t always treat us to anything fancy, but she’d haggle at the market or go through different shops to find the cheapest ingredients and she’d adapt recipes to make them need less ingredients. She’d go hungry if it meant feeding us right. She spent her birthday money on treating us to takeout every year.”

“She sounds… nice,” Keith replied, “and caring.”

“My mom overcooks all the vegetables until they’re flavourless mush,” Pidge replied, “dad gives us space food and it’s low-key nice.”

“My family always made us help in the kitchen,” Hunk replied, “whether we were baking cupcakes for school or whether it was the evening meal, we’d all have to wash our hands and put our aprons on. I used to hate waiting for the food to cook the most, and on Mother’s Day I’d always surprise my mom with all her favourite foods. She taught me everything I know.”

“I can’t cook,” Shiro added, “I can’t even bake.”

“Oh yeah, I know,” Keith replied, “Adam cooked better.”

“Well thanks, Keith,” Shiro deadpanned, “I appreciate the support.”

“But you can’t cook,” Keith replied, not picking up on Shiro’s joking tone, “your food is terrible.”

“Father was a good cook,” Allura intervened, “he insisted on cooking his own food instead of using servants. Every planet he visited, he’d make it his mission to visit the kitchens and learn at least one recipe, and he’d excitedly cook it for us that evening. He made the best birthday meals and the best sick foods. Diplomats would always asked who made the meals, and whenever father told them he’d prepared the meal himself, they’d be very impressed.”

“Unfortunately, people don’t quite understand my palette,” Coran interjected, “but I enjoy my food and that’s all that matters!”

“I mean, I made scaultrite cookies,” Hunk laughed, “man, that was terrible.”

“So Lance,” Allura began, “how are you feeling? From earlier, I mean.”

“I… don’t know,” Lance replied honestly, “it took a lot out of me.”

“I know what you mean,” Shiro replied, “I bet you just want to exist without having to constantly come out or explain yourself.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Lance replied, breathing out deeply, “I’m just… tired.”

“You were brave,” Pidge replied, “we’re proud of you.”

“Yeah, you were real brave,” Keith added, “it took some guts to come out to us.”

“I mean, I barely feel I’ve had time to breathe,” Lance replied, “and I’m realising how much I suppressed myself. I barely know who I am anymore, and I thought I knew myself well. I guess it was just… a mask.”

“You don’t need a mask,” Keith replied bluntly, “you shouldn’t feel like you need one. The thing is, you can’t please everyone, so why try? Just be you. If people don’t like it, find people who do. If people can’t accept that you’re bisexual, then let them leave your life. Everybody who walks out of your life is leaving room for people who do accept you.”

“I… still have some internalised stuff to work through,” Lance replied, “and I’ve been hiding it for so long that… I’ve lost myself.”

“Then find yourself,” Keith replied, “the best Lance is the Lance who knows who he is. And I think deep down, you do know who you are. You just… need to look for yourself again.”

“I think Keith just blew his own mind again,” Pidge snorted, “that was deep for Keith.”

Lance hadn’t thought much about comments like that before, but now, they lingered and didn’t settle right. Why did people think Keith couldn’t think deeply? Why did people have to comment on it in a way that implied Keith somehow wasn’t capable of thinking deeply? It might not have been meant in a bad way, but it seemed backhanded.

“Keith gives good advice,” Lance defended, “he’s the reason I came out. He’s actually really complex if you get to know him properly instead of assuming he’s not.” Lance looked over to Keith, who smiled softly at him.

“Keith doesn’t mind,” Pidge shrugged, before they seemed to pause, “do you?”

“You never asked,” Keith replied, “but yeah. I’m not some… some caveman. And Lance isn’t dumb either. I know you’re only joking, Pidge, but it’s not funny for us.”

“Oh,” Pidge replied, thinking deeply, “you guys always seemed fine with the jokes, so… I never thought about it. Give me tonight to reflect on my behaviour and… I’ll stop making jokes about people’s intelligence. If… either of you want to come by my room later and talk about how I made you feel, I’ll listen. But… I’m genuinely sorry.”

“Thank you,” Keith replied cautiously, looking to Lance. To be honest, Lance didn’t remember the last time anybody apologised to him. “And I’m sorry too, Lance. I… wasn’t the best towards you either.”

“It’s cool,” Lance replied, “I mean… I’m sorry too. Maybe from now, we can… let bygones be bygones and just… accept there was no malice meant from either of us and work on repairing things.” Everybody at the table nodded and agreed, but Lance desperately hoped the uncomfortable atmosphere would ease off soon.

“So,” Keith began quietly, “do you… feel any better? Now that you’ve come out, I mean.”

“Kind of,” Lance replied, “like I can breathe again. Like… I’m not holding my breath anymore or hiding anything or putting up as much of a mask. I just… want to be my authentic self, but I’ve always been afraid that I’d be too much for people. So… yeah. I still need to work on that but, coming out has helped a lot. And I still have a lot of internalised biphobia, but I feel like now I’ve said it out loud and people around me know about it, I can work on it without also feeling like I have a massive secret or like everybody can read my mind and figure out my deepest secrets. Maybe now I’m not going back and forth on my identity or whether to tell people, I can actually confront the issues that held me back for so long.”

“We’re all proud of you, Lance,” Shiro affirmed, “and we’re here to support you.”

‘Yeah, all the way,” Pidge chimed in sincerely.

“You’re always gonna be my best friend,” Hunk confirmed, and Lance smiled, blushing.

“And we’re still best exes,” Allura replied with a kind smile.

“And you’re still annoying,” Romelle added cheekily.

“And you, my boy, are still my favourite paladin,” Coran added on.

“Yeah,” Keith started awkwardly, “you’re Lance. It’s better when you’re yourself, so. Yeah. I’m happy for you. I’m proud to be your friend.”

Lance felt a little overwhelmed and embarrassed, certainly a little flustered, but he’d never had this before. He’d only had his own mind and his own doubts and advice; he’d never known what it was like to have all of the friends he was so scared of losing tell him that they still loved him in their own ways. It made him feel emotional, but he vowed to himself not to cry at the dinner table. Maybe, he thought, he could finally breathe and move on with the rest of his life.

Chapter Text

The next day felt weird. Lance didn’t quite know what to expect from waking up after coming out, but he certainly didn’t expect it to feel this weird and awkward. He knew he could mention it with the team, but he felt so awkward about doing so. Maybe it was the vulnerability of having his soul bared out after so long of keeping it under a mask, or maybe it was just a Lance thing- either way, he didn’t like the feeling. He knew that every time someone saw him or spoke to him, they knew he was bi, and he was struggling to handle that realisation. Would people see him differently now? Well of course they would, because they knew something else about him that they didn’t know before. They knew his sexual orientation, that he liked guys too, enough to tell people about it, and gods, why did it have to be so awkward to tell people about it? Did it get any easier? Would it eventually be easy, like it felt normal?

Lance didn’t know, but he knew he had a duty to fulfil. There was a battle brewing- a Marmoran tip-off informed them of a planned ambush by the moon of Phobosia, a rough moon known for galra factions fighting each other because the moon was rich in a powdered mineral that could blow an entire fleet into high heavens if added to enough water and soil. The moon had neither of those, making it virtually uninhabitable, but that never stopped the galra. So that meant that Lance had to go through the last battle with the team, headset and all. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure if he was ready for that yet: coming out hadn’t seemed to make him feel any less uneasy about the team rooting around in his head. But it had to be done, and they already knew, so at this point, he wasn’t risking being outed at all. It didn’t make vulnerability any easier, though.

Nevertheless, he made his way down to the training deck, and sat down with the headset on. The vulnerability only made him feel worse. He’d barely thought about it before, when he was new to all this cool tech and when he was blissfully in denial of who he was. But now he felt uneasy about being so exposed to everyone on his team. He tried not to overthink it, though, and instead prepared to go through the last battle. The memory was a little more hazy than he’d have liked, but he could just about remember it.

And the recall was a mess. It had been too long since the battle, so Lance was struggling on this one. And the more he jogged his memory, the worse it would be. He kept trying to search his own mind, but it seemed so randomised- like he could search forever and never find the information he was looking for, just the unnecessary details and random facts he’d picked up along the way.

He tried to focus on the battle, but his mind kept wondering to the party beforehand- of the strange bracelet the Prince wore, or the way the snake insignia upon it seemed out of place with all the Androgoran cobra motifs dotting the hallways- the snake the Prince had was more like a Tikastrian viper, but it would make no sense for the Prince of Androgora to wear a Tikastrian motif. The two countries, Lance recalled, had been at war for the better part of sixty decaphoebs, until the Androgoran Prince started to broker treaties. Not much was known about him- the Androgoran king had been slain in battle about three decaphoebs ago, by the Tikastrian Crown Prince. The planet had a rare, unifying tradition of never revealing the identity of their princes until the king was slain, so nobody knew what the Androgoran Prince supposedly looked like- until, of course, the king was slain. The Prince would usually then remove his helmet in battle- but that hadn’t happened. The Androgoran Prince had been unaware of his father’s demise. The next day, the Tikastrian Crown Prince had been declared dead; the Androgoran Royal Guards had been called to the Prince’s chambers to find the Tikastrian Prince dead on the floor, with the Androgoran Prince claiming he’d attempted to assassinate him mere minutes before, but he’d been victorious. Since then, the Androgoran Prince seemed to broker deals with the Tikastrians without his royal court present- until the galra showed up-

“The Tikastrian Prince isn’t dead,” Lance exclaimed out loud, “He’s an imposter. The Androgoran Prince- he’s the one who’s dead! That’s why there’s so many treaties being signed- and we know the Tikastrians worked with the galra on the Beluvian trading lines infiltrations- and the gift he gave us- do we still have it? Because it looked suspiciously like a Phobosian tracking device- because sure, we might be able to find out about the ambush, but if we changed our course, it wouldn’t make any difference, because they’d know- and- we’ve been set up!”

Lance yanked his headset off in a hurry, standing up- “we have to get rid of the tracking device! We have to lure them away- ambush them instead! I’ll go in my lion- I’ll take it into the asteroid belt by Arktikranken, hold them off long enough for you guys to ambush the ambush so we can safely get to Phobosia and dispose of the rebel galra factions when we rendezvous with the blades-“

“Lance, that’s stupid,” Keith interjected, “I’ll go. My Marmora training makes me better equipped to handle galra-“

“But only the red lion can dodge the asteroids,” Lance interrupted, “there’s no other way to avoid the ambush.”

“I’ll bring green,” Pidge interjected, “I can cloak her on one of the asteroids, act as back-up. Keith, you should go to the Marmoran outpost, let them know about the ambush. They can’t afford any more losses. Hunk and and Allura can stay with the castle- Yellow is well-equipped to hold off any attacks and has a heavy artillery, whilst Blue can scramble their signals, buy us some time. Blue’s also surprisingly agile and flexible for such a big lion. Shiro, can you get the atlas?”

“No,” Shiro replied, “they’re nowhere near here. It’d take about a week for them to catch up to rendezvous, and I don’t plan on us sticking around here for that long.”

“I don’t like it,” Keith began, “but it’s our best shot. Everybody, get to your lions!”

The paladins wasted no time in scrambling to their hangars, uniforms already on. The adrenaline hadn’t kicked in for Lance yet- but it sure started to once he started running. The plan was vague, wreckless, poorly thought out- but when was it ever anything different? If he was in charge of Voltron, he’d take them all to a beach planet and stay there for good, ice cream on the house and snow cones all day, garlic knots and pizzas and barbecues in the evening, and game nights on Sundays. It also wouldn’t rain on his fictional planet, so they’d all sleep in hammocks next to the waves, which surprisingly wouldn’t kill them.

Lance reached his lion quickly, rushing to tug his helmet on and make sure the seal was airtight before running smack into the barrier. “Oh, come on!” He tugged his helmet back off, staring up at Red with a huff. “Look here, you impertinent giant space cat,” he began, pointing his finger at the mecha lion, “I don’t have time for this! I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but this is kind of an emergency, so I’d really appreciate it if you could let me in-“

“Uh, guys?” The nervous voice came from the comms- Lance listed his helmet to his ear, turning the volume on in time to hear things get worse. “My lion’s not responding,” Keith admitted sheepishly.

“What did you do, Mullet, give her the wrong kitty feed?”

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith growled down the comms, “I didn’t do anything! Maybe I scratched her a little during the last battle, but she’s never had a problem with that before! I scratch her all the time! I even dented her hull before!”

“Remind me never to get in a car with you,” Pidge snorted over the comms, “my lion’s working just fine. Engaging cloaking now.”

“My lion’s good to go,” Hunk confirmed, “Allura?”

“Blue’s not responding either,” Allura replied, “I think- maybe…”

“Maybe what,” Keith asked. He sounded like he’d lost all his patience.

“Lance,” Allura began, “is your lion responding?”

“…no,” Lance replied, “she’s been real mean and fussy, and after I cleaned out her jets last week, too!”

“I think, maybe… do either of you feel… particularly called back to your original lions?”

“Blue has been kinda in the back of my mind all week,” Lance shrugged, “moreso the past few days.”

“Red’s been calling me back, I think,” Keith conceded, “she’s been roaring in my mind.”

“I fear my time with blue is also over,” Allura explained, “and I’ve been feeling a pull towards the castle again. Shiro- get to Black. I have a feeling the lions are calling back out for their rightful paladins, now we’ve learned the lessons that we needed to learn. Keith, Lance- get to your original lions.”

“No, I- blue is supposed to be your lion. I can’t take her away from you.”

“She was never my lion,” Allura replied, “she was always meant to be yours. I belong in the castle, not here.”

“That’s very admirable of you, princess,” Coran interjected, “but are you sure-“

“I’m sure” Allura replied boldly, “it’s time I accepted my place in the castle. Truth is, I’ve been hiding behind being a princess for too long now. But I’m not a Princess. My mom, my dad… died a long time ago. It’s time I stopped being so afraid of the responsibility, and took on my rightful place as Queen.”

“All hail Her Majesty,” Coran began, “Queen Allura of Altea.”

“All hail,” Lance muttered in awe.

Chapter Text

Lance barely remembered the battle; they’d successfully gotten through the ambush almost completely intact, aside from Keith, but he insisted he was okay and not to fuss. He’d managed to get a mild concussion, and a broken arm- which he refused to use a pod for, insisting that it didn’t feel broken, therefore it wasn’t. There were several things wrong with that statement, but Shiro had managed to negotiate that Keith at least wear a cast. Keith conceded.

Now, Lance was stood in front of the blue lion- his lion- trying to process the events of the day. He was joined by Queen Allura, who stood regal as ever. She looked at peace, which she hadn’t done in a long time. He felt a little awestruck, thinking about the fact that one of his best friends in the whole universe- and his ex- was now a Queen. He knew as soon as he got back home to Earth that his mom would chastise him for letting her go when he could’ve married a Queen, and he was sure that all of his siblings would agree and try to set them back up again. Which reminded Lance that he didn’t feel he could hide in the closet forever, and that he’d have to break the news to them that one day, he might bring home a guy or non-binary person instead of a girl.

“I don’t think I ever told you the virtues the Blue lion represents,” Allura began quietly, pulling Lance out of his thoughts. “The Blue Lion is the Healer of Voltron- its Paladin must be adaptable and versatile, and capable of connecting with people regardless of diversity. Only those with the kindest intentions may pilot the blue lion.” She smiled softly, reaching her hand out delicately to Blue’s barrier. “But it isn’t my job to heal the bonds of Voltron, or the universe, for that matter. Blue… she taught me how to heal myself. She taught me that I had a softness within, that I didn’t need to reject. I didn’t always have to be battle-hardened. It was okay to hurt or cry or feel vulnerable… that I could accept help and lean on others. I carried a great deal of pain before my time in Blue. In honesty… it held me back from being Queen. But now… I know I can do this. I’m not being demoted from Voltron, or rejected by the lions now I’m with the castle; It wasn’t supposed to be permanent, it was to teach me how to heal, so that I may inherit my birthright.”

“Blue is… so easygoing,” Lance began, “she doesn’t make me feel like an idiot, y’know? I’ve only had her back for a day, but… I’d gathered all this anger inside, and now it feels like it’s lifted. She just… soothes me, y’know? It felt like my life was all becoming a blur, but Blue… she slows things down. Helps me to feel at ease, even when I’m scared. Instead of telling me fear is a hindrance, she helps me to feel like I can still do this even though I’m scared. Red was… intense. Like, I can see why Keith has so much rage capped under that mullet, y’know? I needed her, I think. So I’d fight for myself. But… She’ll never be the right lion for me. That was always Keith’s place. I think he thrives under the pressure, for some reason. Me, on the other hand? Absolutely not.”

“I noticed,” Allura replied with a small, amused laugh, “you should go get some rest, Lance.” She rested her hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, “you’ve had a rough time lately. Here.” In her other hand, she held out a few GAC, giving him a kind smile. “Treat yourself to something. Maybe a new lotion or aftershave- just something nice for yourself.”

“Thanks, Allura,” Lance replied with a small smile, “you get some rest too. Your Majesty.” Lance punctuated his statement with an exaggerated bow, and Allura laughed.

“Lance, please. The last thing I want is you being annoying about it.”

“Oh, please, this is me you’re talking to,” Lance replied “I’m annoying about everything.”

“That you are,” Allura replied under her breath, “now, go rest.” She left, leaving Lance with a handful of money.

A part of him wanted to splurge and spend it all on skincare and stuff from the Earth shop, but a part of him had an entirely different purpose for the money. Keith had been so integral to Lance’s coming out journey, and he was always gifting Lance with small bismuths. Lance decided he needed a treat, but he wanted it to be meaningful. The bismuths he’d given Lance had a meaning behind them. They were designed to be a personal gift, so Lance wanted to get him something equally as personal. He knew a pretty knife would go down well, but he’d want to make sure he knew Keith’s favourite type of knife first.

He remembered one detail in particular, though; Keith used to have a hippo plushie. Adam had got it for him, at the zoo, and Keith and Hippo had been inseparable. He didn’t have it with him in space, so it was safe to assume it was lost. It made sense that maybe he’d left it back at his shack, but that was back on Earth.

So Lance began to do some digging. He found out from Shiro that Keith had lost the hippo at the garrison- and the garrison sold any unclaimed lost property at the end of the year. Keith had lost it the day before this, and hadn’t realised until it was already sold.

So Lance asked Pidge if they could do some hacking and computer stuff to find out who brought it, which brought him to a small dead end- the man who brought it brought it for his two year old daughter, whose mother didn’t approve of him giving her a gift, so the girl’s mother had taken it to a charity shop.

From there, it had been sold to a young single parent, who unfortunately lost it when their house was burgled. The case was in the news, because of their claims that a ‘giant purple cat’ had mistaken it for a ‘baby giant purple cat’. This had prompted conspiracy theories, ranging from were-cats to aliens to probably an attention seeking story.

So Lance went about bothering Pidge again, this time asking them to check out Galra missions to Earth. Two were found that would fit the time frame, so Lance asked them to hack into both fleets.

An hour of bribing and several loads of laundry later, and Pidge found that one of the ships had indeed mistaken a ‘poor rendition of a Terran mammal’ for an infant galra, mostly because it smelled faintly of a galra child (likely from Keith hugging it so much). The ship had made several stops to unload defective or unwanted stock onto other galra ships- the hippo was transferred between ships in these backhanded trades for about a month, before being dropped off at a Terran enthusiast- for a high price, of course. It was marked as a rare artefact, so it would be pricey.

Lance didn’t need to know any more.

He grabbed Coran, and hightailed it to the space mall.

Unfortunately, the Earth shop had sold it to the Unalu swap shop in exchange for a broken toaster and some pocket lint- but the good news was, Coran was excellent at negotiating with the Unalu.

Unfortunately, the guy had already sold it on to another Unalu.

Three swap moons later, and Lance’s journey led him to the new Olkari homeworld- where the toy was in a museum.

With a lot of explaining, and a lot of negotiating and begging, Lance handed over his entire saved allowance, and was left with one, purple hippo plush. The ink on the label was faded, but there, in ballpoint pen, was a name: Keith.

It needed some care, so Lance went out of his way to source some polyester fibres and purple dye, and took the time to dye the fibres and painstakingly sew them into the bald spots. He added some additional stuffing, and reinforced the stitches on Hippo’s eyes- and finally, gave Hippo a good wash.

Now all he had to do was give it back to Keith, and hope Keith appreciated the gesture. Sure, it was just a toy, and it was certainly no bismuth, but still… Lance really hoped Keith liked it.

He knocked on Keith’s door after a long week of toy hunting, Hippo hidden in his jacket. Keith opened the door looking slightly annoyed, but moved out of the way as soon as he saw that it was Lance. “I uh… wanted to say thank you,” Lance began nervously, “for everything that you’ve done for me. But uh… I don’t know how to make bismuths, and I wanted to get you something nice too, y’know? So I- I did some searching around, and maybe spent all of my savings- but um. I found someone you might like to hug again.”

Keith gave Lance a confused frown, but then Lance pulled Hippo out of his jacket, nervously holding him out. “He got a little damaged, but I fixed him up for you… I uh… I hope you- hey, are you… are you crying? I’m so sorry, oh my god, I am the worst-”

“You… you did this for me? But- how, I- I lost him years ago…”

“I asked around,” Lance replied awkwardly, “did I… did I do the wrong thing?”

“Lance… you have no idea how much this means to me,” Keith replied, holding Hippo to his chest and closing his eyes. “I didn’t- I thought he was lost forever, and I know he’s just a stupid toy, but- Hippo was my best friend,” Keith confessed, taking a deep breath. “Adam brought him for me, at the zoo. My dad, he… died, when I was a kid. He always wanted to take me to the zoo, so I could see the hippos, but he never got the chance to. Shiro and Adam didn’t know how much it meant to me to go see the hippos, but… they took me. And, I refused to go home. Until Adam brought me Hippo. Instead of being in care homes and… being rejected by families, I was accepted by Shiro and Adam. For the first time since my dad, I felt like maybe someone cared. And Hippo was a sign of that. It was Adam caring enough about some street rat kid who stole his boyfriend’s car once that he spent all his money on it. Shiro cared so much that he let me take Hippo everywhere with me, even in the car. He had his own seat, next to mine. And now you… you went and- and found him and brought him back to me… you went to all that trouble… for me…”

“I- I mean…” Lance felt his cheeks heat up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “yeah? It’s just- the bismuths were so meaningful, so I just… wanted to reciprocate?”

“How did you even- how did you even find him? What happened?”

Lance sheepishly explained, from the anecdote about how he first found out about the hippo to the money Allura had given him after the ambush, to the long, long route to space that Hippo had taken. What he didn’t expect was for Keith to cut him off with a bone-crushing one-armed hug, Hippo between them. The thing with Keith was that he really didn’t give hugs, but when he did, the guy was surprisingly cuddly. He hugged kind of like Shiro did, but with a slight nervousness that suggested the guy didn’t get hugged much. Right now, he was kinda squeezing the life out of Lance, but Lance found himself compelled to hug back. He was absolutely a touchy-feely guy- Hunk could vouch for that- so getting the opportunity to properly hug Keith was like winning the lottery. Keith let go slowly- a little too soon for Lance’s liking, but the fact he’d been hugged at all was surprising. Keith’s cheeks were ruddy, likely from the crying, and his body language became awkward. “…sorry,” Keith mumbled, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Dude, why say sorry? You’re welcome to hug me any time!”

Keith frowned. “You… want me to hug you?”

“I mean- I guess? Jeez man, I hug my friends all the time.”

“Right. Yes, of- of course. You like hugs. I just, didn’t think I’d be included?”

“Well, it would be kinda weird if I hugged all my friends but you, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not good at hugging,” Keith replied, “maybe sometimes. Would Wednesdays work?”

That stopped Lance right in his tracks. Sure, he’d not expected Keith to accept the possibility of regular hugs, but it didn’t mean he expected him to schedule them. Did Keith feel uncomfortable with hugs? Or maybe he just wasn’t used to them? “If that’s the boundary you’re most comfortable with, then okay,” Lance responded, “but so you know, you can hug me at any time, for any reason. I mean, you don’t even need a reason. Hunk hugs me just because. Pidge usually only hugs me if they want something. Shiro sometimes hugs me if I cry. I used to cuddle with Allura all the time and we hug sometimes too. And Romelle sometimes hugs me when we bump into each other on missions and she’s feeling unsure. And Coran isn’t a big hugger, but he hugs me when I’m homesick. He smells of food goo, but it’s okay. He’s kinda like space uncle, but that would make him either Shiro’s space brother or Shiro’s space brother-in-law, and that’s a weird thought. So… feel free to hug me.” Lance felt a little awkward asking a guy like Keith for hugs, but now he knew how warm Keith’s hugs were, he kind of wanted more.

“Oh. Alright. But uh… I still don’t like touch too much,” Keith replied, “I mean- it’s not that I don’t like it, just that I get overwhelmed a lot and- yeah… but uh- you can hug me too. If you want. Just ask first.”

“You don’t have to ask to hug me,” Lance replied with a soft smile, “and don’t worry, I’ll make sure to ask consent.”

“I guess Mama McClain raised a gentleman after all,” Keith replied, a little awkward. In Keith’s defence, hug negotiations seemed weird enough as they were, especially when his friendship with Keith still felt so… fragile, and temporary. There just seemed to be something that felt incomplete, like they weren’t getting everything they could get from the friendship. Lance hadn’t figured out what that missing part was, or why it left him feeling a little empty sometimes, but he hoped his friendship with Keith would feel stable enough soon.

“I should go,” Lance replied awkwardly, “take care, Keith.”

“Yeah, uh- you too,” Keith replied awkwardly. Any focus he’d been reserving for Lance seemed to vanish as soon as Lance announced his departure. Keith sat on his bed, hugging Hippo to his chest despite the cast he was in, eyes closed and rocking slightly. Lance left him to it, and headed to his own room in the hope listening to some music would lift the weird, empty feeling that had taken up residency in his chest now.

Chapter Text

Things continued to feel weird after that. Lance hung out with Keith, and they laughed and goofed off, and Lance walked off feeling empty. It was like for a moment, when Keith was smiling instead of frowning, things felt peaceful, but then they’d walk away, and Lance would feel like a cog somewhere in the universe’s great machine was missing somehow. Nothing felt right, anymore, and Lance couldn’t figure out why. It was like the last piece of the puzzle was hidden away, or buried somewhere deep in the corner of his mind, where he shoved everything he didn’t know how to deal with. Except he didn’t know how to find those parts of him, aside from his sexuality.

He’d been working on that, actually. Now he’d come out, all the little mannerisms he’d abandoned in favour of staying in the closet seemed so trivial and so juvenile, almost. He’d stopped taking care of his skin, because according to past Lance, skincare was too gay and everyone would magically sus that he liked men. It seemed so stupid, in hindsight, to suppress himself just on the off chance somebody was dumb enough to just assume a sexuality just because he acted a bit fruity or whatever. Now he’d come out, he was realising how shit-brained it was to just stop making finger guns even exclusively at girls in case somebody was like hey Lance, that’s kinda bi, do you like kissing dudes or something? It was absurd. And sure, bi coding was a thing, but that was both a mix of stereotypes picked up by kids on the internet and genuine signals designed to alert other bisexuals you were in the community. And the point of coding your behaviour or outfit was that it had to be on purpose, and the risk of it was well-meaning straights picking up on fashion trends not realising they were gay, and running the risk of accidentally approaching somebody who definitely wasn’t interested in you.

Lance knew this wasn’t the be all and end all of coming out. He hadn’t told his parents yet, hadn’t told anybody besides who was already on the ship. Truth be told, he was a little terrified of what would happen when he came out back at home, when everybody in his life would know and it would make or break his future. What if he lose his home? What if he never got to sleep in his own bed again? Never had another hug off his mom?

Lance pushed those thoughts aside- they were unproductive, and it was all just conjecture and gloom, and wholly unrepresentative of his full situation. So he decided instead to take care of himself. He was struggling, and maybe he could find a silver lining and do some work on reclaiming himself, starting with his skincare again.

He went to the mirror in his bathroom, looking over his face. Lance had always struggled with his skin- ever since he was young, his face would break out in painfully aggressive spots. Sometimes, it felt almost like his face was burning, hot to touch and a little red if you looked close enough. It definitely couldn’t be blamed on puberty anymore, that was for sure. Maybe he’d get his skin looked at by a doctor when he got back home, just in case he had a skin condition or something that could be managed better than he could by his current skincare routine.

He pushed his hair out of the way with his headband, and began washing his face gently with warm water. Once his face was wet enough, he moved onto his cleanser. It was gentle- a gel that foamed up with water, made for combination skin. But it still stung mildly at some of the spots on Lance’s face that were red and weeping. He gently massaged it into his skin in circles, lathering up his neck too, before eventually rinsing it off with the water in the sink. He patted his skin dry, but left it a little damp. He didn’t have any serums or treatments he used anymore, due to a lack of availability in space. He didn’t really feel like putting space products on his skin, because most aliens had different skin to humans- because they were different species- so there was a high chance that products were tailored to their skin types, and not Lance’s. He moisturised next, making sure to not pull down on his face and rub the cream in through upwards motions- he’d read somewhere that it helped prevent wrinkles, so he went along with it. He finally applied a generous helping of suncream to his body. He had a big plastic container of it, with a pump nozzle like kinda like hand soap to dispense it. It lasted longer, and had only been about ten dollars. It was spf 30, with both uva and uvb protection. It also smelled like citronella, which absolutely wasn’t his favourite smell, but tended to keep the bugs at bay. Besides, he could disguise the smell with aftershave. Also, this sun cream was the only one affordable he’d found so far that didn’t leave a white cast on his face. In fact, he’d had a suncream before that left a purple cast on his face, like a blueberry or something.

By the time he was done, he looked at his face in the mirror. Of course, it didn’t look any different, but it was his face, and he’d taken care of it. He’d finally committed to an act of self love and self respect, and taken care of his skin health. He’d also accumulated a small layer of stubble on his face, but his face was too flared up for him to even want to try shaving. Shaving could cause microabrasions, which could allow bacteria into his skin and make his skin worse. Plus, there were spots there, and shaving the top off spots definitely wasn’t a dermatologist approved method of spot removal. Plus it would sting like fuck. So until he managed to shift some of the acne from his jaw, he was gonna have to deal with stubble. He never grew much anyway, so it wasn’t the worst, but he just didn’t like it very much.

He left the mirror, and lay on his bed instead to collect his thoughts once more. He’d started to look after himself again, but that was just the start. He needed to stop suppressing his natural mannerisms, needed to stop hiding every part of him lest it look like he was afflicted with the homosexual. But Lance knew it wasn’t just about that. Lance knew it went deeper than that, to his childhood. All the times the world was too much or not enough, the constant feeling like nothing was balanced right in his head. The racing thoughts, the mannerisms he had that made people laugh at him or chastise him like he was a child- he was so tired of hiding all that. He was tired of waking up and pushing all of that down just so others wouldn’t think he was weird.

He didn’t want to dwell on the negatives, not so soon after coming out. He wasn’t in a good headspace. He instead decided to go to his desk, and go to his pile of journals. The point of them was to keep everything organised, in one place, but naturally, Lance had accumulated ten journals for different purposes. And naturally, he regularly forgot to do them, because he really had no concept of routine since leaving school, where the routine was forced. 5:30am wake ups weren’t fun, and neither was the yelling. ‘WHERE IS YOUR OTHER SHOE, CADET? AND WHY AREN’T YOUR BOOTS SHINED? DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!’ Jeez, it was like being in the military or something. Well. It was a military school.

Lance failed to journal today. He just sat with the blank pages and no ideas for a plan and too many ‘what if’s circling his head. So he headed towards the training deck, where Keith would be. Keith seemed to just get it, somehow. Whenever Lance explained how certain things were hard for him, Keith just shrugged and said something like ’it’s fine. Who cares, anyway? I don’t. Society sucks.’ And Lance wouldn’t be able to argue back, and would walk away feeling reassured that he wasn’t failing as a human being. He sat and watched Keith train for a while, then Keith sat next to him whilst he caught his breath and drunk way too much water for post-workout. “You look like shit but your skin is shiny again,” Keith replied. Lance snorted.

“Well thanks,” he replied, “you look like Kosmo does when we give him a bath.”

“Thanks,” Keith replied, pushing his hair out of his face. Some strands shook to his forehead stubbornly. “What’s up?”

“Life sucks,” Lance shrugged, “tired, I guess.”

Keith hummed in response as he took a sip of his water again, before swallowing and responding. “You seem pretty down in the dumps.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, “I’m not sleep tired, y’know? I’m just… mind tired. Tired of just… being presentable to everybody else when it takes up so much of my energy.”

“I want to say stop trying,” Keith replied, “because fuck everyone else. But, I know it’s not that simple. It’s easier sometimes, to just- pretend to be like everybody else. I’ve been practicing.”

“What, practicing how to talk to people?” Lance snorted, and Keith shrugged, before clearing his throat.

He straightened up his posture, and relaxed his face into a smile that reminded Lance of a salesperson on TV. “Hi, I’m Keith, nice to meet you,” he began, “I work for Voltron and the Blades, what about you? Anything interesting?” It was… weird, seeing Keith so… so… whatever that was. Even his hand gestures had been different, more contained. Even his smile. It looked like he was making eye contact too. Lance went along with it, and put on his own mask.

“The name’s Lance, I work for Voltron too! I’m one of the paladins, so I have to train hard every day, and I don’t have much free time. What about you, tell me more about your time in the blades.”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old, training and more training. But the grind is worth it, we get the job done. I can communicate effectively as part of a team-“ Keith snorted loudly, laughing a little and immediately hunching back over into his normal posture. Lance had serious concerns for the health of his spine. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it,” Keith snorted, “how do-” he gestured vaguely with his arms, almost whacking Lance in the face, “people! How do people? Yes, because that’s absolutely a coherent question, well done, Keith(!)”

Lance snorted in response, breaking out into a laugh himself. “Oh my god, Keith, that was weird man, it was like you were trying to sell me car insurance or something!”

“No no, wait wait.” Keith took a breath, and shifted back into that weird not-Keith posture. “Have you had an accident at work-“

Lance couldn’t contain the laughter this time. He sounded exactly like the guy off all the adverts, and it was so uncanny it was funny. Even the tone he used perfectly mimicked it. Lance had to introduce him to vines, because he felt like Keith would be able to quote them and match the tone too. The thing with Keith’s laughter was his face tended to split apart. Like a cat yawning, but with bigger fangs, and a louder noise. He didn’t laugh much, but when he did, it was completely unrestrained and wild and loud. He’d certainly amused himself, and that itself made Lance smile a little in his amusement.

“Wait, wait, I have another one, I have another one,” Keith began, trying to quell his laughter. He took a deep breath, and adopted a serious face. “ANY CADETS CAUGHT BREAKING INTO THE TEACHERS LOUNGE WILL BE SUSPENDED EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!”

“Oh my god,” Lance snorted, “even the facial expressions, dude, how did you do that?”

“I observe and copy,” Keith replied, “like a parrot. I was told I do a scary good fear response in acting. I was good at acting in school, I guess. I mean- I’m kind of used to it. Presentable Keith for the foster parents and all. Taking my gloves off, remembering to say thank you- I don’t get that one, actually? Like, if I’m clearly showing my gratitude, by engaging with whatever it is I was given, why do I get chastised for not showing it how they show it?”

“Beats me,” Lance shrugged, “did you ever get it where you were in class and everything was like, loud, but not loud? Like, it was quiet, but there were so many sounds? Scratching pens, the overhead projector-“

“Oh my god, yes,” Keith sighed, “drove me nuts! Gave me a headache I couldn’t shift,” he grumbled.

“So it’s not just me?” Lance turned to face Keith better, almost bouncing in his seat. “Like, I’m not going insane or anything?”

“Oh my god, do you remember those fuckin… those hand dryers?” He said the words ‘hand dryers’ like he was talking about poop or something, with complete disgust. “It was like- a jet engine taking off, dude. But when I wore ear plugs, suddenly it was rude and unprofessional and an accessory”

“No no, forget the hand dryers dude. The library”

“Oh, that fucking- how the fuck were we supposed to concentrate?!”

“EXACTLY,” Lance screeched, flailing his arms out, “AND THE COMPUTER SMELL-”

“IT SMELLS LIKE A WARM SEAT FEELS,” Keith yelled back.

“EXACTLY!! OH MY GOD, YOU PUT IT INTO WORDS!”

“YOU GET IT! YES! FINALLY SOMEBODY WHO GETS IT TOO!”

“NO NO, THE WORST IS THE TEACHERS- hey, what happened to our volume control,” Lance realised with a snort. Keith stared at him and blinked, then laughed too. “Anyway,” Lance began, immediately forgetting what he was saying.

“Do you remember when they banned fidget spinners?”

“Oh, that was so like? I don’t understand? They were all like- ‘Lance, you’re not five, you don’t need a toy to help you concentrate’ and then when I struggled to follow the lesson and said I was processing, they were like- ‘well stop processing and start writing’-”

“Okay, okay, serious question,” Keith began, “did you ever just sit in class and literally nothing the teacher said even made sense? Like, your brain just, stopped processing the words? And you were just like… can you repeat that? Because like, you were listening, and you heard, but it’s like your brain just refused to translate it? And they’re like no, pay attention, and you’re just trying not to go apeshit because the projector is blinking and like, you wanna punch something because it feels horrible behind your eyes?”

“Uh, no to the last part, but yes to the speaking part. Keith, my focus is like, a goldfish or something, okay? Sometimes I get distracted telling myself to focus and talking myself into focusing and miss like- half a conversation.”

“Have you talked to a doctor about it,” Keith asked suddenly, “all these things, I mean. You struggle a lot.”

“I mean… no,” Lance replied, “I guess? When I was a kid, my mom took me to the doctors, and they thought something might be up like ADHD or something, but… money, y’know? So… I guess I just… never got the answers and never had the words to explain to people why I was like the way I am. So I just… settled for being labelled the naughty, attention seeking class clown, I guess.” Lance shrugged.

Keith nodded. “Yeah, I know. Shiro took me to a doctor not long after we met. A few doctors just kinda, like, were rude and said I’d grow out of it and needed to play with other kids more, but eventually some listened and decided to get me statemented for autism. You know, I had an appointment, the day after we blasted into space. I was supposed to be getting the answers. I never got them. But when I got back, I had like- tonnes of emails about it, but it’s not like we had the time or anything for that. So I asked they send a letter. And they did. And I never opened it.”

“You should open it,” Lance replied gently, “get closure.”

“Maybe,” Keith replied, “I don’t know. I want the answers so badly that… I’m scared that when I have them, they won’t fix everything. That, the answers won’t help, somehow. But I also- I need to know. I need the answers.”

“Do you have the letter?”

“Shiro has it,” Keith replied, “I asked him to keep hold of it for me, until I was ready.”

“Do you think you are?”

“How about… if I open the letter, you agree to see a doctor. It’s… it’s not gonna be easy, maybe. I don’t know. We’re on different paths from different backgrounds. It might be years and you might get dismissed a lot before somebody has the answers. But… you deserve answers too, Lance. You deserve to find out what’s going on, to- to be able to tell people why you act the way you do, instead of settling for being judged all the time.”

“With what money?”

“Word has it that the Garrison are gonna pay us off soon. A big sum of money to keep us sweet and entice us to work there. Use that money and don’t stop searching until somebody can give you the answers. So. Do we have a deal?”

“We have a deal,” Lance replied, “but don’t pressure yourself into opening the letter until you’re ready, okay?”

“Okay,” Keith replied, taking a breath. “We deserve answers, Lance. We don’t have to stay in limbo forever.”

Chapter Text

Keith came to Lance’s room at about 3am with a look of complete defeat on his face. The dude looked completely frazzled, and completely soaked in bubbly water. “Kosmo won’t let me bathe him,” Keith complained, “and he rolled in mud.” Lance snorted, taking in Keith’s bedraggled state with an amused half-smile.

“So you came to me?”

“Kosmo likes you,” Keith explained, “so. Yeah. Also he’s getting too big for the tub, and when he licks my face, his breath smells.”

Lance snorted, getting up from where he was laying in bed with a small stretch. “Alright, I’ll help you, just give me a sec to change into something I don’t mind getting dirty,” he replied, “how’d you know I’d be awake at this time, anyway?” Keith stared at him like it was a stupid question, and Lance realised it was. Sure, Lance enjoyed his beauty sleep, but actually getting his brain to switch off so he could sleep? Lance quite often found himself getting a random burst of productivity in the middle of the night, and would find himself focusing on journaling or something else random in the middle of the night. He’d bumped into Keith in the kitchens multiple times— and Keith, like Lance, always picked the weirdest foods. They had an unspoken ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ when it came to their respective choices in midnight snacks.

Lance got changed quickly into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that had been in his unofficial laundry pile (on the floor) for a month now, and followed Keith back to his room.

Kosmo was sat on Keith’s bed, tearing chunks out of the mattress. Keith didn’t even look sad— just mildly disappointed, like this was a regular occurrence. Kosmo looked up as soon as they came in, and immediately ran at Lance. Lance barely remembered to close his mouth as Kosmo immediately began licking his mouth, knocking Lance flat on the floor and resting his paw on Lance’s chest. Lance had experienced his fair share of being knocked on his ass in battle, but a massive teenaged cosmic wolf who didn’t know his own strength? That was like being hit by a very large, very furry and enthusiastic truck. “Keith tells me you’re supposed to be having a bath,” Lance wheezed. Kosmo’s ears perked up, and he barked loudly, skittering off Lance and resuming his assault on Keith’s mattress. A spring popped out and almost hit Keith in the head, bouncing off the wall with a tiny clang.

“Kosmo, come on,” Keith pleaded, staring in defeat at the wet, muddy, shredded remains of his bed, “it’s just a bath!” Kosmo growled, and ripped a hole clean through the mattress.

“I mean, he is a wild animal, Keith,” Lance shrugged, “even if you raised him, he’s not exactly… domesticated.”

“You’re a wild animal,” Keith grumbled, “just help me get him back in the tub. I can carry him.”

“No way can you carry him, Keith, he’s heavier than you-“

Keith strode over to Kosmo, picking him up around the midriff and lifting him up with a grunt. He seemed to get his balance, before walking towards the bathroom with Kosmo blocking his view. Kosmo howled in protest as Keith dumped him in the tub, turning on the showerhead. Unfortunately, Kosmo only skittered out of the bath, and went running out and down the corridor.

Keith and Lance sprinted after Kosmo, who would conveniently teleport every time they managed to get close— but he wouldn’t teleport far; no, Kosmo seemed to be finding this fun. “Maybe…” Lance paused, panting for breath. “Maybe we should try heard him into the team showers,” he suggested. “I doubt you want fur in your bathtub.”

Keith seemed unaffected by all the running, of which Lance was jealous. “Well,” Keith began, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head. “If I ever start sprouting purple fur…” Lance snorted, trying not to laugh. “Besides,” Keith continued, “I’m more concerned about the fact he chewed up my bed again.”

“Good point,” Lance replied, lunging at Kosmo and managing to grab hold of his fur, “let’s get this dog to the showers.” Lance attempted to lift Kosmo, who decided to become a deadweight. Lance grunted with effort, but Keith tapped him on the back as a signal to put him down. Lance let go of the hefty lump of fur, who flopped to the ground with a howl of protest. Keith strode over to the oversized dog confidently, and took a deep breath, putting his hands underneath Kosmo and lifting the animal like a very large, very fluffy sack of potatoes. “How do you do that,” Lance asked in exasperated awe.

“Weightlifting,” Keith replied, “my dad wanted to take me as a kid. When I told Shiro, he took me to the gym. And… yeah. My specialty is the clean and jerk.” Keith paused. “I don’t recommend lifting a dog in a clean and jerk. I tried it with Kosmo once, and got him to my collarbones, but as soon as I tried lifting him overhead, he started squirming and I almost got crushed under him.”

“I’m… somehow not surprised you do weightlifting,” Lance replied as Keith set Kosmo down in one of the showers. Kosmo whined, and teleported back to where Keith had picked him up from.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Keith grumbled. Kosmo barked in response.

“We need to get smarter about this,” Lance mused, putting his hands on his hips whilst he thought. “Give me a stubborn cow anyday, but a cosmic wolf?”

“I’m guessing you don’t have wolves on the McClain farm,” Keith joked.

“I mean we had a dog,” Lance shrugged, “but Kosmo isn’t exactly a dog as such. He’s… well. An alien wolf. Who’s weirdly domesticated.”

“And stubborn,” Keith added. “So… so stubborn.”

“Well, you know what they say. Like owner like dog.”

“Yeah, that’s— hey!”

Lance flashed Keith a cheeky smile, to which Keith growled. “I mean it in the best way possible,” Lance defended innocently, raising his hands in mock surrender. Keith breathed out heavily through his nose, taking a deep breath.

“Okay… we need a new plan.”

“How about… peanut butter?”

“This isn’t the time for a snack, Lance—”

“No no, I mean for the dog. I mean, some people back on Earth put peanut butter on their foreheads so their dogs are distracted trying to lick it whilst they clip their claws. And once at the zoo, I saw a bunch of wolves go crazy for peanut butter.”

“…I’m not covering my body in peanut butter.”

“Seriously?! that’s what you get from this?”

“I’m not doing it. I draw the line.”

“I was gonna suggest like— a bowl of the stuff,” Lance huffed, “like. Empty two or three jars of the stuff into a big mixing bowl and let him eat it whilst we wash him.”

Keith paused, thinking about the possibility. It seemed to please him, because he nodded curtly. Lance ran down to the kitchens, rooting through the cupboards for the forbidden space peanut butter supply Pidge kept stashed (it was supposed to be communal, but Pidge was a little possessive over their peanut butter). Running to put peanut butter in a bowl at 3am really wasn’t a part of Lance’s average night, and neither was giving a cosmic wolf a shower. It felt absolutely absurd, but Lance hadn’t even hesitated to immediately rush to help Keith. Did all friends go out of their way to help a bro like that?

… Lance didn’t dwell on it. 3am wasn’t the time for questioning everything. Besides, who had a clear head at 3am anyway? Certainly not Lance. He jokingly blamed his bisexuality on one too many late night thinking sessions, before rushing back to Keith with a bowl of peanut butter.

Kosmo immediately bounded up to Lance, who just about managed to dodge the huge beast and get the peanut butter into the shower. As soon as Kosmo stuck his fluffy snout in the bowl, Keith turned on the shower. Kosmo didn’t even seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t care.

The wolf just licked at the peanut butter leisurely, not seeming particularly fussed when Keith began to shampoo the wolf. “Is that stuff even safe for him?” Lance asked curiously.

“Yeah. I got it at the space mall. It also gives him a nice shiny coat and de-frizzes. Brushing his fur is a nightmare when he gets frizzy. He hates having knots brushed out. But he usually sits still when I brush him. I use it in my hair.”

“You… use wolf shampoo… in your hair?!” Lance didn’t know how to respond. Sure, he’d figured Keith might be one of those three-in-one shampoo guys, or one of those bar soap guys— but using space wolf shampoo on his very fragile, very human hair? Lance could feel his own follicles shrivelling up just at the thought of using dog shampoo.”

“Dude, do you want to go bald before you reach thirty? Because you will.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s shampoo. Shampoo is for hair.”

“No no. It’ll totally mess up your pH. You’re gonna get mad dandruff, and that’s not even considering the bacterial infections!”

“I mean, I could go back to food goo.”

“Food—” Lance let out a heavy breath through his nose. “Me and you are definitely having a spa night. Tomorrow. End of. I’m gonna teach you how to properly take care of your hair before your scalp falls off.”

Kosmo snorted loudly, tail wagging and thumping heavily against the floor, like this thought amused him. Keith continued to lather up his coat, his fur quickly becoming a mass of blue bubbles. “You’re not putting face masks on me.”

“You don’t need them,” Lance replied, “just cleanser, moisturiser, and sun cream.”

“In the summer maybe,” Keith shrugged.

“No no. If the sun’s in the sky, you need sun cream. Even if it’s cloudy. At least factor 30, and preferably applied twice, thirty minutes apart before going out on a hot day. You need uva and uvb protection, and if you’re just doing your face, neck and arms, you need two heaped teaspoons, and if you’re doing the whole body, that’s tablespoons. Seriously, Keith, you lived in the desert! I fear for your skin so much.”

Keith shrugged again. “Maybe being galra makes my skin tougher, or something. I don’t know. Sunburn sucks, though.”

“Well luckily for you, there’s this magical thing called sun cream designed to prevent just that!”

Keith snorted, smiling slightly. “Let’s just wash Kosmo,” he prompted, “he has a lot of mud on him. He’s probably gonna need another shampoo.” Lance nodded, and began to help Keith in washing Kosmo. He was calm, for a wolf. Even if Lance were to compare him to a wolf dog— Kosmo didn’t quite act like one. For one, Kosmo didn’t seem bothered by the lack of wild space. He also never tried to challenge anyone’s leadership, and you could take things from his mouth and still walk away from it with your life. Well, sometimes, with toys at least. Nobody had tried taking away the food he found (apart from chocolate), and nobody really wanted to either. He also didn’t hunt. But sometimes, he was a lot like a wolf— he’d lick at your mouth and nip at your face if he couldn’t lick your teeth, and when he walked, he left single tracks. He howled, growled, and bit whenever he had something to protect or felt threatened.

Kosmo was pretty chilled out, happily licking the peanut butter still. He probably could’ve lapped the whole lot up in two bites, but he seemed content to take his time. Lance certainly wasn’t complaining- it gave them time to wash his fur off. If Pidge asked what happened to the peanut butter, they could blame Kosmo— who was, in fact, eating their peanut butter, so it wasn’t a lie, really. Besides, it wasn’t really theirs, it was everyone’s so they couldn’t really complain. Lance had left a little in one of the jars, after all. Enough for a sandwich or two, or maybe toast.

It took an hour to shampoo and rinse Kosmo. Keith insisted he liked being blow-dried, but as soon as he realised his fur was wet— he shook himself off, soaking Lance and Keith completely, and ran off down the hallway.

It was going to be a long, long night.

Chapter Text

Lance didn’t expect Keith to actually take up his offer for the spa night. Keith turned up at 10pm sharp, with a duffel bag and a nervous expression. He fiddled with the strap, looking down at the floor. “You bring all your worldly possessions or something?” Lance asked, gesturing for Keith to come in. Keith shrugged, putting his bag on the floor.

“I uh. I didn’t have any skin care, so. I went to the space mall earlier. I didn’t know what to get, so… I found a shop who tailored the uh. The products to my skin. They’ve never met somebody like me, which, checks out, I guess.”

“That’s… a lot of preparation,” Lance mumbled.

“It’s important to you,” Keith explained, “and you chose to share it with me. So. I came prepared.”

“That’s…” Lance frowned, thinking— “really thoughtful, Keith.”

“What do I… shall we start, or?”

Lance nodded, gesturing to Keith to follow him to the bathroom. “I always keep all my stuff organised,” Lance explained, “I have a few more products than you might need, because my skin flares up, y’know?”

Keith nodded. “Is that… painful?”

“Sometimes,” Lance admitted, “I was supposed to see a doctor about it, but… here I am, in space. I usually keep it well managed, but…”

“You stopped looking after yourself,” Keith replied. Lance nodded.

“Yeah, I… didn’t respond well to my crisis, y’know? I’m still working through actually… being out. It feels weird, like— I’m exposed, somehow.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really— I mean, I can’t relate to that, but I can figure how it could make you feel that way.”

“It’s all just a bit of a headfuck, y’know? Like, I’m bi, and I’m out. It’s weird and… I don’t know. Feels fake? But it’s not.”

“It’s new,” Keith replied, “not in the sense that being bisexual is new to you, but being so aware of it and having others aware of it. New things always feel silly and weird and wrong. You have to give yourself time to adjust, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance replied honestly, “I don’t think I’ve really… talked about it with anyone, y’know? I feel insecure about it. Anyway. What products have you got?”

“Uh…” Keith opened his duffel bag, dumping its contents unceremoniously over the counter. “Here. This stuff. I don’t know. It’s just. Stuff.”

“Alright, let’s take a look,” Lance said with a heavy sigh, looking at the cluttered counter. “Okay, so… this one looks like a cleanser… this is a moisturiser… chemical exfoliant… sun cream… actual shampoo… conditioner… hair mask… this isn’t a bad haul, good job!”

“So uh. What about the rest?”

“The rest?”

Keith unzipped another pocket of his duffel bag, and dumped more products over the freshly-organised ones Lance had just organised for him. Lance sighed heavily, and set to work. “This is a hydrating sheet mask… these are for your under eyes… this is just petroleum… and this is a peel for your nose, this one will hurt. And… this one’s a vitamin infused clay mask. Those ones are fun.”

“So… did I get everything right?”

“Yeah, you did,” Lance replied, “you gotta build up slowly, though. No more than two new products at a time, always give each product a month or two to work though. We’ll do the chemical exfoliant next week, but you only need to do that like- once a week, and it’s okay if you skip. Do you have a headband?” Keith nodded, and pulled a black plastic hair band out of his bag. He put it in, scraping his hair back from his eyes. He looked weird with a forehead.

“So… do I just… slap these all on my face?”

“Start with cleanser,” Lance replied, “just rinse your face with water, then gently massage in the cleanser, and rinse off.” Keith nodded, turned the tap on, and immediately started to scrub at his face full-force. “No no no! Stop, you’re gonna scrub off your entire face! And then all the skin will fall off and you’ll just be a skeleton head, do you want that?” Lance put his hands on his hips, glaring. Keith laughed lightly at Lance’s dramatics, rolling his eyes with a snort. “Gentle, Keith, treat it like a baby’s face. Gentle.”

“Whatever,” Keith snorted, but did as told. “There. Satisfied?” Keith looked at Lance, arms flared out in mock confrontation. He looked kinda funny, because he hadn’t dried his face and water was dripping off his eyebrows.

“Congrats,” Lance responded with dry sarcasm, “you finally mastered washing your face.”

“I’ll show you how to wash my stupid face, I’ll wash my face harder than you,” Keith grumbled. Lance snorted, handing Keith the moisturiser.

“Just put this on your face. Not too much, not too little, okay? Based on the products you were given, you have combination skin? I’d avoid oil based moisturisers. Thankfully this one doesn’t look too heavy. Believe me, the last thing you want is greasy skin. Now. Stop grunting like a caveman and slap this on your face.”

“I want to be a smartass so bad right now and literally slap it on my face out of spite,” Keith quipped, a small half-smirk on his face.

“Dry your face off a little first. Just pat-dry, leave it a little damp before you put your moisturiser on.” Keith frowned and nodded, and began to put his moisturiser on. He used way too much, white streaks all over his face and hands completely saturated with grease. Lance couldn’t help but laugh a little as Keith gave a kind-of-adorable pout at himself in the mirror and started trying to rub the excess off with his arms. Lance took the opportunity to use his own cleanser and put on a moisturising sheet mask whilst Keith tried to fix his moisturiser nightmare. Eventually, he roughly scrubbed half of it off with a towel. Lance almost wept for the poor guy’s skin getting such rough treatment, but honestly, he hadn’t expected anything less from Keith.

“Stupid moisturiser,” he grumbled.

“You put wayyy too much on,” Lance clarified, “and then scrubbed it off.”

“How long do you have to leave that on your face?” Keith asked, pointing to the sheet mask.

“Like, ten minutes,” Lance clarified, “I usually just goof off or do some journaling.”

“Can I… see? Or is it private?”

Lance didn’t even wait for Keith to finish before he rushed to his desk, getting out his pile of journals and opening them all up. Keith followed, looking over Lance’s shoulder curiously. “This one is my collections journal, where I put random topics, random trackers, mind maps, to-do lists, wish lists— everything random! And this one’s my reading journal, which— I either fill in like, a week, or leave to gather dust for like— a year. And this one is where I do my weekly spreads…”

Keith didn’t even interrupt once, just listened to Lance explain how he set up his journals until his alarm went off to remind him to take off the mask. He went back into the bathroom to remove it, and Keith followed closely. “I like to schedule,” Keith replied, “like. Half-hour chunks. I write everything I’ve gotta do of a morning, then put it all in an order that doesn’t sound boring. But I usually just write on scrap paper and highlight when I’m done.”

“If you wanna try journaling,” Lance began, “I have like- so many empty journals and pens I can recommend to you. Like, then you can keep your schedules in one place. And it doesn’t have to be neat! Just functional. No need to make it all pretty, but you could also do doodles for each month and do themes and that’s a way you can do your art and be organised!”

“I’ll… think about it,” Keith replied. I’ll see how I feel about it in a week. Because sometimes things sound great at the time, but then… I get too lazy to commit to it.”

“I can’t imagine you being lazy,” Lance noted, starting to apply his suncream. Keith copied, albeit rubbing it in a little too rough.

“Oh yeah. I mean— sometimes it’s more, like, executive dysfunction or some shit, but I can definitely be lazy lazy. Hazard of living alone in a desert for a year.”

“I think everyone can be lazy,” Lance replied, “I see it as more of a human trait than a flaw, y’know? Like, if I have non-urgent work, and I can handle leaving it, why can’t I just take a lazy day? As long as being lazy isn’t hurting you or others, it’s not a bad thing. It’s just knowing your limits and taking a break.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Keith agreed, “it’s not possible to be productive all of the time. People only seem to justify taking breaks for the purpose of being more productive, instead of like, actually wanting to just be lazy. Why is it so bad to just slob out in your pyjamas?”

“I don’t know, man,” Lance agreed, “society.”

They finished the rest of their self care in silence, then Keith awkwardly followed Lance to his room. He’d put all his stuff back in his bag, and was awkwardly winding the excess strap into a coil. “So… uh. What’s the protocol for this? I’ve never had a self-care night before. Do I just… go back to my room?”

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Lance replied awkwardly, “I mean, if that’s what you want?”

“I mean… I’m sleeping in the common room, so.”

“Why?”

“Kosmo,” Keith replied, “he chewed up my bed, remember? There’s officially no more spares in the castle, and the nearest space mall is a few hours away so… I have to wait until tomorrow when we get castle supplies.”

“Wait wait wait,” Lance interrupted, “did you sleep on the couch last night?!”

“No, I slept in an airlock.” Lance blinked at how deadpan Keith delivered his sarcasm. He paused his worry to glare briefly.

“Okay, no. You’re staying here tonight. Go get your stuff. There’s no way you’re sleeping on a couch, dude. That’s literally so bad for your spine.”

“But where will I sleep?”

“Well I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor, am I? Go! Shoo! Go get your stuff and get your butt back in here.”

“But uh, um. O-okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Keith put his bag back down, and went back to go get his stuff, and that’s when Lance’s brain went into overdrive. Sure, he shared a bed all the time- having so many siblings and nieces and nephews and niblings meant anyone who had a nightmare tended to go crawl into someone’s bed for comfort- Lance had been both the cuddle provider and the cuddle needer, so sharing a bed? No problem. He’d shared with Hunk before plenty, and whilst he hadn’t shared a bed with Pidge, they’d fallen asleep on his shoulder countless times. He’d had accidental sleepovers with Allura all the time— spa nights that went on too long so both of them just curled up and took a nap together, days where either he or Allura felt under the weather so they’d curl up and sleep— so Lance could share a bed. Cool. No problem.

… but this was Keith, and Lance didn’t know why it weirded him out so much. He wasn’t homophobic or anything dumb like that, and he did get along well enough with Keith to consider him a friend, but something about it made Lance feel… well, something, but whatever that emotion was, he wasn’t at all sure.

Keith came back in already changed into pyjamas— which he literally never wore to bed.

“What, not jeans?”

Keith shrugged. “I prefer to sleep in my clothes,” Keith said, “but, like, I don’t wanna mess up your bed so. This is my attempt at being… nice and considerate. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Those pyjamas are like, a size too big.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, “castle issue. I just grabbed the nearest ones and got changed. Then I couldn’t be bothered to change again.”

“Makes sense,” Lance replied awkwardly, “do you wanna…” he gestured at the bed awkwardly, before realising that he should probably clarify a little better. “Inside or outside?”

“Outside,” Keith replied. He’d brought his own pillow, although Lance couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t gonna get smothered with it in his sleep. He hoped he didn’t fart in bed or something tonight. He’d never be able to face Keith again.

“Okay, cool, cool,” Lance responded, climbing into bed and scooting up against the wall, “feel free to uh, relax and sleep.”

Keith waited a few seconds, then climbed in quietly. He lay so deadly still, there was no way this couldn’t be awkward, so Lance’s thoughts decided to make it awkwarder. This was just… two bros, chilling in a bed… literally no feet apart… and they are gay… which, totally isn’t in like, a gay way. Just two buddies getting some sleep. Absolutely platonic. Right?

Lance tried to shake away the thoughts. Sleepy Lance had weird thoughts and Lance was electing to ignore them, and ignore the redness of his cheeks— at least, he was trying to ignore the redness, until Keith’s hand practically slapped his forehead. “Keith, what are you doing?”

“You went bright red,” Keith responded, “checking you didn’t have a fever.”

“…Oh,” Lance replied quietly, because that was genuinely thoughtful of him, and caring, and Lance felt a little guilty because he was only red because his brain was being weird.

’So a disaster bisexual and a knife gay share a bed together,’ his brain supplied unhelpfully.

Keith moved his hand back, and pulled the covers over himself— leaving a slither of Lance uncovered. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight…”

Chapter Text

Lance woke up to a sharp pain in his hand. “Ow!” He glared at his assailant— who happened to be Keith. “You bit me?!”

“YOU WERE SPOONING ME!”

“I WAS—“ Lance’s protests died on his tongue when he noticed he was, in fact, spooning Keith. His totally platonic, totally gay bro. “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO BITE ME!”

“…Reflex. Sorry,” Keith muttered sheepishly, “half asleep.”

“Yeah, well, you’re forgiven,” Lance mumbled, untangling himself from Keith and willing the sleepy fog to go away. “I, uh… didn’t mean to spoon you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I uh… accidental sleep cuddle. I swear. I know you’re funny with touch. Didn’t have to bite me though, cat boy.”

“Call me that, and I’ll bite you on purpose,” Keith grumbled, rolling over and taking the rest of the blankets with him— which was barely any blanket in the first place, given Lance had woken up to find the only bit of blanket still covering him was a small corner on his calf.

“Could’ve warned me you were a blanket hog,” Lance complained. Keith looked like a very sleepy, very grumpy burrito in his— Lance’s— blanket. Keith merely hummed dismissively, curling up tighter.

“Didn’t hog the blankets,” Keith grumbled, “you’ve still got plenty.” Lance narrowed his eyes in a glare, and attempted to hog the blankets back. He tugged on a corner, but Keith grabbed it, turning to glare as his eyes slitted into cat-like daggers. It was enough to make Lance freeze as he processed, and then Keith was robbing the entire blanket and scooting away from Lance.

“Keith, come on!”

“Get your own blanket.”

“I— this is my blanket!” Lance squawked indignantly sitting up. “Give me back my blanket, Keith!”

“Well I’m comfy so you can fight me for it, now goodnight,” Keith grumped, closing his eyes with a pouty frown.

“Oh, I’ll fight you alright,” Lance replied, finding an ungodly amount of energy for this time in the morning to yank at the blankets. Keith made an annoyed sort-of growl, and kicked at Lance’s shins. It wasn’t a heavy kick— clearly meant to be playful rather than maiming, as Keith grabbed the blanket and fought back for control. Lance grabbed onto the blanket with both hands, tugging it as hard as he could, but Keith— the sneaky bastard— put his foot on the wall as leverage and tugged hard on the blanket—

And tugged so hard Lance let go and Keith practically flew backwards, right out of bed. He landed with a dull thud, and glared up at Lance like a disgruntled farm cat. “I hate you,” Keith grumbled, sitting up, and Lance couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “You kicked me out of bed,” Keith continued, “tried to rob the blanket and kicked me like a football.” The small, involuntary smile on Keith’s face told Lance that he was joking around, which made Lance fold his arms and raise an eyebrow. “You’re mean,” Keith concluded, “you owe me a coffee.”

“Alright, alright,” Lance conceded, “man, you’re grumpy.”

Keith untangled himself from the blankets with some difficulty, then stretched his spine back and split his face open in a yawn. Lance ended up yawning as soon as Keith did, wanting to curl back up and go to sleep. “I just woke up,” Keith replied when he finished yawning, “of course I’m grumpy.”

“Not a morning person, huh?” Lance noted with amusement, unable to contain his smile.

“Oh, definitely not,” Keith replied, “but, I am used to waking up early.”

“We should… get ready for the day and go to breakfast,” Lance yawned again, “man, I’m tired.”

“I mean, what’s stopping you getting more sleep?”

“If I sleep now,” Lance responded, “Allura will probably yell at me.”

“Good point,” Keith replied, “uh… I should go back to my room and get changed and stuff,” Keith replied, “uh… thanks for letting me crash.”

“No problem,” Lance replied, “thanks for uh… not killing me in your sleep or something.”

Keith shrugged, and left the room, leaving Lance to try and process what the fuck that morning had been.

He took his sweet time getting ready, making sure to try and find where he put his contacts. He was honestly surprised Keith hadn’t noticed he wasn’t wearing them last night— for one, his eyes were brown, for two, he’d spent half the night squinting. He failed to find his contacts after a good few minutes of searching, and gave up. He remembered putting them in a place he was so sure he’d remember and find easy— but alas, here he was, confused and discombobulated and squinting at everything. The lights were the worst— sure, the ones in the bathroom just looked kinda smudged, but when he looked through to the other room, the glare off the lights was like a blurry starburst. As his eyes tried and failed to focus, the splitting beams seemed to shrink and grow. He searched his room instead for his glasses— which he found on the floor by his wastebasket, for some reason, and wiped them clean before putting them on. “Oh, wow,” he muttered, “my eyesight is shit.” He took them off to squint at how blurry everything was before putting them back on and comparing how clear everything was. For one, he could actually read things now, and could actually see everything the way it was supposed to look. His glasses were thick. He remembered the opticians looking at the prescription written up and going all wide-eyed, declaring that his vision was terrible. Lance had known for a while that he’d needed glasses, so when he finally went to the opticians and it was affirmed that yes, he was right and he did need glasses, he felt— honestly— a little like he’d won the lottery at Christmas.

He went out to breakfast, coming out of his room at the same time as Keith. It felt a little awkward, though Lance wasn’t entirely sure if that was bad or not. It was never this awkward when he shared a bed with Hunk or something, so why did this feel so weird?

He and Keith arrived at breakfast early, which gave Keith time to make himself a coffee. Lance figured coffee would probably do very little to wake either of them up, so he didn’t bother with coffee for himself.

The morning went by fast; they trained for an hour, headed to the space mall to buy supplies— which meant Lance could keep his own blankets for tonight— and were told last minute that they had another diplomatic visit to the planet. Lance looked straight at Keith, and both of them sighed like they’d just been told they were gonna be executed at sundown.

This planet was kinda cool. The place was covered in shiny rocks and crystals, and of course, Lance was a bit of a magpie, so he began filling his pockets. Shiro gave a half-hearted glare, but it mustn’t have been a bad thing to pick up rocks, because nobody said anything— not even the planet’s ambassadors. The Ambadori people were humanoid reptiles, with elaborate scale patterns decorating ridged scalps. The scales seemed iridescent in the moonlight— the continent they were having the meeting on was going through a bi-annual cycle of darkness right now— and their eyes were pure black.

“So,” the chief ambassador began, “we’ve set up the meeting to be outside. The inside, unfortunately, is unusable. We had a power outage last night, and being as our back-up generators are solar-powered…”

“Sucks to be you,” Lance muttered.

“Sucks…?”

“Oh, uh. Human turn of phrase. It’s unpleasant to be in your position, basically. It’s uh— a display of sympathy.”

“Ah. Well… it does not suck to be a paladin, I would assume.”

“Oh, certainly,” Lance replied, “the lions are pretty cool.” The ambassador gave a small smile, and walked ahead a little to talk technical with Allura and Shiro. Lance noticed Shiro seemed to be in his own head rather than listening, but he nodded at the right times.

Lance had to stop walking abruptly when something suddenly flew into his path— Keith was holding his arm out, a big, shiny bismuth in his hand. “I found this,” he said, “here.” Lance took it, smiling softly.

“Thanks, Keith.”

“I remembered it helped you at the last ambassadorial trip, with the Talustreans.”

Lance smiled warmly, cheeks heating up a little. “That’s thoughtful of you,” he replied, “I appreciate it.” Keith nodded, then put his headphones in. The Ambadori ambassador looked back, and looked to Lance curiously. “Oh, uh— he gets overwhelmed. Too many sounds.” The ambassador merely nodded, and turned back to face Allura, unbothered. Lance was glad these guys weren’t so judgy. Lance glanced at Keith too see if he was okay, but Keith didn’t notice. He had a tangle in his hand, and seemed to be focusing on that. When they reached the ambassadorial grounds, Lance gestured for Keith to remove his headphones, which he did, tucking the tangle back in his pocket. He gave a small, grateful smile.

“Blue paladin,” one of the new ambassadors began, “can you remove your facial accessories?”

“What accessories?” The ambassador made a vague gesture towards his eyes. “Oh! No, I need them to see,” Lance clarified, “I’m short-sighted, my eyes are uh. They don’t bend the light properly so my vision is blurry unless something is really close to me. These bend the light before it reaches my eyes in a way that lets me see properly.”

“Ah,” the ambassador began, “in our culture, accessories are a frivolity. They’re perfectly acceptable in the every day, but we remove them when we are in a situation that is less frivolous, such as times of grief or during important gatherings. However, being as yours are to accommodate your vision, I will talk to the others and see if we can make an exception.”

“Thank you,” Lance replied, “I uh… I’m sorry I can’t remove them.”

“It is quite alright,” the ambassador replied, “same goes for your partner’s ear coverings—“

“My what?”

“Ah… our mistake. Apologies, sir.” Lance heard Pidge snicker, and sent them a glare. He dared to look at Keith, who was bright red and wide eyed. His hands were flapping a little at his side, as though he was flustered.

“He’s um. Keith’s uh. A friend.”

“As said, our mistake. In our culture, speaking in place of somebody is a sign of partnership— we can develop telepathic links in intimate relationships, and our partners will often tell us telepathically to speak on their behalf. It is a sign of trust— trusting your partner or partners to be your voice when you’re unable to be your own.”

“Right, well, um. Yeah, no, we don’t have that sort of thing. I uh, spoke for Keith because the headphones block out sound so he wouldn’t have heard your question.”

“Right,” the ambassador said, “I appreciate the clarification. We are very different cultures, I see. So… sorry, our language is different from yours— most of you use he/him pronouns, did I pronounce those right?”

“Yeah,” Lance replied.

“The long-haired Alteans use she/her, and the short human uses… they/them?”

“That’s correct,” Lance replied, “I uh… why not rely on translators?”

“We believe it respectful to use identity markers in the native tongues of our guests. We, of course, cannot learn a whole language in a day, but we will learn the names, pronouns, species and any other identity markers our guests may use in their language. We, as a species, do not have such verbal customs, so it is our way of accommodating those who do. We do not have verbal names, either. Only our species name, or the name of our job. To address each other, we exchange looks at each other, or gesture to each other. Our language is a combination of verbal iterations…” the ambassador gestured, which Lance’s helmet translated to; ‘and complex gestures made with our body’

“Oh hey, that’s pretty cool,” Lance replied, “we have similar. Our languages are spoken, but gestures can have meanings. There’s also sign languages, developed as a non-verbal form of communication for people with hearing impairments or speech difficulties and stuff.”

“We are not so different as planets,” the ambassador replied. “I see you like our rocks.”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, a lot of these are like, super rare on Earth. I can put them back—“

“No no, keep them. We are used to them, we will not miss them. Take as many as you’d like as souvenirs.” Lance didn’t need telling twice.

The ambassador, whose name was comprised of three gestures— a c-like curved palm, a flick of the wrist behind the head, and a downwards nod— made sure to provide everybody with water for the talks, and allowed them to sit however they felt comfortable. Keith sat with his legs on the seat, hunched over his knees with his chin resting at the top of his shins. Lance sprawled out, one leg on the top of the arm of the chair. The ambassadors didn’t care in the slightest— as long as their guests were comfortable, they were happy. Everyone else sat in the chair properly, apart from Shiro, who sat on it backwards and rested his arms on the back of the chair. Allura seemed a little unimpressed, but didn’t seem inclined to say anything.

The Ambadori diplomatic gardens were beautiful. Flowers on hanging vines surrounded it, falling from stone walls like a courtyard. Sparkling rainbow amethyst crystals outlined the floor like a border, and they’d even given Lance a large basket to collect pretty rocks in. There were old, fading paintings on the walls— some looked like children’s drawings, names, and stunning motifs seeming to tell some kind of story about some kind of diplomatic, unifying feast. The planet was absolutely gorgeous, and Lance couldn’t get enough of it. He realised belatedly the meetings had begun, and snapped his focus back to the moment. The ambassadors didn’t chastise him one bit— they merely gestured to Keith, who pushed his own notes between them. Lance quickly caught up— Keith’s notes were messy but extraordinarily detailed, and Lance quickly got the gist of everything that was happening.

He managed to keep his focus for a while, in a good headspace and able to work through most distractions, but of course, his thoughts still strayed.

The last time he’d been sat like this— in an ambassadorial meeting— was the Talustreans. They were constantly mad at Lance for struggling to focus, and he spent the whole time feeling like he was being judged. He was so scared they’d somehow know he was bisexual, and now…

Now he felt… at peace. Here he was, bisexual, surrounded by a team who knew he was bisexual. Did the Ambadori know? Well, of course not— but they’d assumed he was partnered to Keith, and bared no judgment, so if they did know, it would be safe. Lance wouldn’t be judged. And honestly? Lance felt comfortable. He’d been struggling for a few days, he’d admit— with internalised homophobia. But he was adjusting. He doubted he’d ever fully get rid of it, but he could learn to cope. He was bisexual, and that was okay. There was nothing wrong with being bisexual, nothing wrong with being attracted to the same gender as himself, and nothing to feel ashamed of in being open about it. Other people’s bigotry was not his responsibility, and he didn’t need to let it dictate how he viewed himself. He felt a lot more stable than he had on the day of the Talustrean talks, and he even felt more comfortable than he did when he first came out. He felt less insecure, and more like he actually deserved basic human respect.

His focus was drawn back to the talks when Keith nudged him and gestured towards one of the Ambadori ambassadors. “Sorry,” Lance apologised immediately, but the ambassador merely waved a hand.

“Not a problem. I asked if you needed a break.” Lance took a few seconds to process, realising that yes, he did need a break. He’d lost his focus on the meeting, and a few minutes to walk around would be welcome.

“Uh… if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” the ambassador replied, “take a break. Whatever you need.”

“You guys are uh… really understanding,” Lance replied, a little surprised at the accommodations.

“The needs of our guests are important. There’s refreshments in the far corner.” Lance nodded, and wondered away from the talks. He stretched his legs, and swung his arms back and forth. Walking around sometimes helped re-focus his mind, which was even easier when people weren’t looking down on him for needing to re-charge. He just wondered around aimlessly, occasionally stopping to pick up more rocks, or to stretch. He bounced the tip of his tongue off the roof of his mouth to make a popping sound, and kicked at the ground every now and then as he paced, and nobody said anything negative. After a few minutes, he bounced on the ball of his feet a few times with a huff, shaking out the stiffness and energy in his body, before sitting back down.

“Sorry about that,” he said, a little embarrassed. The head ambassador appeared to do a jerky head shake, and smiled.

“You needed the break. Welcome back. We paused discussions on anything new so you wouldn’t have to catch up. Your Black paladin fell asleep before you took your break anyways.” Lance looked to where Shiro was seated besides Allura. Allura looked done with life, whilst Shiro was snoring softly.

“Oh, I’ve done that,” Lance replied, “we should wake him up.”

“Some of you humans seem to have innate struggles with focus,” the Ambadori lead member noted, “if we would have known, we would have prepared summaries of key points in the talks so you wouldn’t have to take on board so much information. We don’t mind extending our talks for a few days. Besides— we are a sharing bunch. We enjoy sharing our culture— we don’t get many visitors here, because we don’t have resources to trade. Of course, some cultural practises are closed, and we only ask that guests respect that. We, in turn, respect any closed culture practices of our guests, and welcome any cultural exchanges you would like to make. Anyway, I digress— the point is, we can extend talks to make sure everybody has time to process everything.”

“Are you sure?” Allura asked, “we can pay for any additional accommodation—“

“Pay?” The ambassador frowned. ‘We do not charge anybody for the right to shelter. Or for the right to nourish.”

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Lance replied. He frowned over at Keith, who hadn’t said a word the whole time. Keith shrugged and gestured vaguely, and got up first to leave.

Chapter Text

Back at the accommodation, Lance approached Keith. He didn’t speak; just sat beside him quietly. Keith grunted to acknowledge his presence, but still didn’t speak. “Have you gone non-verbal?” Lance asked quietly. Keith nodded. “Are you okay?” Keith nodded again. “Can I stay?” Another nod. Lance stayed where he was besides Keith, sitting peacefully in silence. He let his thoughts keep wondering, not paying them much mind. Keith kept his eyes trained to the tangle he had, twisting it slowly around his fingers and untwisting it again. A loud truck passed by outside— the beginning of the supply convoy, which tended to run for an hour, so Lance offered Keith his own headphones, being as Keith’s were nowhere to be seen. Keith took them with a grateful nod, and put them on straight away. The room was darkened, with only a lamp or two and a few candles lit around the room.

To be honest, Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d just… relaxed. He leaned his back against the wall, and focused on his breathing, trying to re-centre himself. He thought briefly about the talks, and how he didn’t have to worry about his struggles being taken as a negative, so he could just breathe, relax.

He thought about how good the day had felt. Waking up in the morning to a grumpy Keith, going to a planet where he could just grab a horde of precious gems and cool crystals, having his needs accommodated, and feeling— well, genuinely comfortable in his sexuality. At peace, in fact.

Before settling fully to reflect on himself, he did a quick body scan— he felt okay, he wasn’t achy or nauseous, he didn’t need the bathroom or anything to eat— he was a little dehydrated so he sipped at his water— and he wasn’t too hot or too cold.

Satisfied he was okay, he finally relaxed to reflect on his progress. At first, he’d felt so awkward and exposed, but now he’d been out a little longer, things felt better. Keith made it feel better. Whenever he felt bad, or felt those little intrusive tendrils of internalised homophobia start to hurt him, he’d go find Keith. Sure, Hunk and Pidge were great, but… Keith was… different, somehow. Keith didn’t walk around acting like he knew Lance. Hunk was caring, but sometimes, he tended to assume why Lance was upset, and Lance would go along with it. Hunk went straight for comfort, but sometimes… sometimes Lance didn’t want comfort as such. Sometimes, he just needed somebody to agree it sucked. Somebody to get angry for him. And Keith did that. Keith would ask what was getting Lance down. Keith couldn’t read Lance like a book, but he asked. And Keith would tell Lance about similar things he’d gone through or felt, just like Lance would. They were on such a similar wavelength, sometimes, that Lance found it easier to talk to him. It felt like…

It felt…

Lance took a deep breath, pushing down the fluttering in his stomach— nerves, maybe, or random anxiety…

Lance shook his head, trying to re-balance himself. Something felt unsettling. He felt unsettled. And he didn’t know why.

He didn’t…

He took another deep breath, and thought about getting up to take a walk, but he didn’t want to leave Keith alone like this. Since when was he putting Keith first? He instinctively reached for the bismuth in his pocket as soon as the anxiety hit, and then realised— he reached straight for the gift Keith had given him. He sat up on the windowsill instead, where he could bounce his leg and take deeper breaths of fresher air. The anxiety was building up now, like it did whenever he was close to a big revelation he’d pushed down. He found himself feeling a little nauseated, so again, he tried to push it down. He tried to forget about it, but something was niggling at the back of his mind and he had to break through it.

Okay, so. It obviously had something to do with Keith, just like it always had. Lance remembered back at the garrison, how Keith was always so… aloof and alone, and so so angry. He was a fuse wire burning apart. He was the top of his class, then suddenly he wasn’t, and suddenly he was gone. Then he was back and he was more mature and he was angry and blunt and everything Lance remembered him to be— the best at everything he did, and the centre of Lance’s attention. Then he left, and Lance…

What had happened when Keith was with the blades?

Lance had felt so… empty. Alone. He hadn’t realised how much of his time centred around Keith until he was gone, and even then, he just felt… well, angry. Because Keith had left. And he didn’t seem to be coming back.

Everything else… was a bit of a blur. Lance struggled to remember it all, if he was honest- all the death and destruction had messed with his head a little. He didn’t want to go down that spiral.

Recently, after realising Keith hadn’t been purposely antagonising him, he’d come to realise Keith was deeply considerate. He was definitely competitive, but he wasn’t arrogant. He wasn’t some perfect guy who won everything. He wasn’t somebody who had abandoned Lance. He wasn’t even…

Why was Keith so important? What made it hurt so much more when Keith was upset? Why… why didn’t he even hesitate to invite Keith into his life? Why didn’t he even think twice about offering his bed, to show him his private journals? Why hadn’t he genuinely found being robbed of his blankets annoying? Why did he feel so connected to every single bismuth Keith gave him? Why was one of his happiest memories the time where Lance was in a blast and…

And Keith had offered his hand, and Lance had taken it. Keith had carried him, cradled him, and…

And Lance had been a jerk about it because he was afraid of being seen as gay back then. But he’d never hesitated to cuddle Hunk, or… or…

Oh god.

All at once, it started to hit Lance.

Keith… was the one person Lance kept gravitating towards. The person whose opinions mattered the most. The person who he’d always admired, and the one person who Lance turned to when he needed to feel understood. Keith was so genuine, so sweet and kind and oh so blunt. Keith was an enigma, somebody who Lance wanted to figure out. Keith wasn’t like a crush. The way he saw Keith wasn’t so fleeting. It didn’t waver, it didn’t hit in a sudden burst then fade.

Lance was…

Lance was in love.

‘Lance? Are you okay?’ Was texted to him from Keith.

“Wha— I, um—“ Lance licked his lips nervously, anxiety blooming in his gut in a sudden rush. “Uh, bathroom!” He didn’t wait to see Keith’s reaction; he bolted and didn’t look back. He locked himself in the nearest bathroom, leaving heavily against the sink and taking deep breaths. He forced himself to look up to the mirror at his panicked expression, at his flushed cheeks and wild eyes—

He tore his glasses off, roughly running his hands over his face before splashing it with water.

He was in love.

He started to cry.

He looked at himself, thought about how it was Keith, how it was always Keith— and saw it in his eyes for the first time. The love. The love he’d pushed down and not noticed, because he’d never truly loved in this way before. All the others… they’d been infatuation. They’d been like a punch of energy and happiness, but Keith… Keith was a slow, natural thing. So slow Lance hadn’t noticed. He wasn’t a rush of dopamine, a sudden rush of ‘oh wow, he’s perfect’; Keith had worked his way into Lance’s life like he was meant to be there, somehow.

And he’d been so blind to it, because he hadn’t considered that he might fall in love with a man. The more he thought about it, the more he thought about all the nervous thoughts of a hypothetical man he’d made up whilst exploring his sexuality— the more the faces and forms merged into Keith. Every kind gesture Lance remembered, every moment spent with him— Lance had been seeking out Keith because he wanted to be around him, because he loved him. He just genuinely wanted to spend time around Keith, wanted to communicate with him, wanted to love him and hold him and wanted Keith to want him too.

He’d forgiven Keith so fast for leaving, because Keith had come back. Keith always came back. Every mission, Lance had never truly worried that Keith would leave, because he knew, deep down, Keith would always choose to return if it was in his control.

Lance didn’t know how to process this. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do next. It was one thing to have crushes on guys he wasn’t close with, but to be in love with a guy he was close to?

He didn’t have much time to process, because Keith— beautiful, perfect Keith— came to check on him, offering his headphones and tangle. Lance took them, because he did need them, but he really felt like he needed to be alone, especially when Keith was the guy Lance had just been thinking of. He said so gently— that he needed to be alone a while to rest— and Keith understood. Of course he understood, and Lance rushed back to the room he was assigned. He lay on the bedding, staring up at the ceiling silently, heart pounding with anxiety and revelations.

He was in love.

With a man.

With Keith!

He tried taking deep breaths, but his mind was racing— when had this started? When did he start seeing Keith like that? He couldn’t unsee it now he knew, and he didn’t know if that was better or worse. Was he even ready for a relationship? All he felt ready for right now was to panic. Panic and hide. And never be able to look Keith in the eyes again. Out of all the people, he just had to go and fall in love with the person least likely to fall in love back.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock to the door— he knew who it would be. “Come in,” he choked out.

Keith walked in, looking a little like a deer in headlights— like he didn’t really know what to do. He seemed to go to sit on the chair, then pause, then go to sit on the bed, reconsider, and sit down anyways, awkwardly perched by Lance’s legs. “You’re not okay,” Keith noted, verbal again. “And, um. You can talk about it. To me. I mean— I’m here. I may not be able to always understand or, give good advice, but I’m not the worst listener there is.”

“I’m just… stressed,” Lance lied— although, it wasn’t really a lie. He was stressed.

“What brought this on?” Lance shrugged instead of answering, and Keith frowned in worry. “Can I help?”

“Not really,” Lance replied miserably, “sorry.”

“Well, whatever’s going on… you don’t have to be sad alone.” Keith began to shuffle his butt back, so Lance moved his legs. “Go get your vintage video games or your self care stuff or your journals or whatever you need. I’ll sit here with you. So you don’t have to be sad alone.”

Lance recognised it this time; the warmth in his chest, fluttering into a ball of affection and making him feel close to tears— there was the love. The feeling of complete, utter love whenever Keith cared for him. Keith was sitting there awkwardly, completely out of his depth with no idea what to do, on a day he was already overwhelmed, all because he cared that Lance didn’t have to cry alone. It wasn’t that others weren’t there for Lance and Keith was; it was that Keith had never been Lance’s best friend, or had never just attached himself to Lance. Keith was… independent and aloof. He had no obligation to be there for Lance. He wasn’t just nice to Lance because he liked being nice to people; he was nice to Lance because he valued him as a person. He wasn’t a naturally cuddly person, or a naturally loud person— he wasn’t a people person, but he made the effort for Lance.

And Lance couldn’t help but think about what a relationship would be like, with Keith. Keith would be the kind of lover who would find a random trinket and immediately think of Lance and bring it home. He was the kind of lover who would probably learn Lance’s love language. He would probably put up with Lance’s hobbies because if they made Lance happy, then they made him happy, too.

But would Lance be a good lover? Would he get jealous too easily? Would he be able to communicate? Would he be able to give the emotional support Keith needed? Would he be able to carve out a relationship based on mutual independence and a symbiotic dynamic rather than co-dependency? Did Keith even want a relationship? Did Keith have the same ideal relationship style as Lance? He was getting ahead of himself and making assumptions— that wasn’t healthy. Ruminating on everything that Keith might be wasn’t helpful, especially when he had no hope that Keith could even like him—

“Lance?”

“Oh. Right, uh— sorry. I uh… I’m trying.”

“Breathe,” Keith said gently, “it's okay. One step at a time. Go splash some water on your face. Just that. And I’ll go get your favourite games.”

“…Right. Yeah. That… that sounds better than sitting here and panicking.”

“Do you need a hug?” Lance didn’t think twice before nodding. He felt exhausted, and all he wanted was some comfort. Keith hugged him warmly, so much warmer than Lance had known Keith to be. He kept a gentle pressure in the hug, his chin rested on Lance’s shoulder and a hand gently rubbing his back. He let Lance stay there in his arms until Lance pulled back, then gave a soft smile. “Go splash some water on your face. I’ll get everything ready.”

Chapter Text

Lance was panicking.

He’d just figured out he was in love with Keith, and then stupidly let Keith in his room— and they’d fallen asleep playing killbot phantasm. He’d woken up at the same time as Keith, who had been rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and yawning, asking Lance if he’d just fallen asleep, what time it was, and if Lance was feeling okay today. Keith hogged the blankets again, but he was all twisted up and contorted in a position that could not have been good for his spine, and Lance was only half on the bed.

So as soon as he got the chance, Lance went to Hunk. Hunk was still asleep when Lance started frantically knocking on the door, anxiety ramped right up. Sure, he’d talked to Hunk about crushes before, but they were all on girls or very feminine- presenting aliens, not on…

Never on a man they both knew and worked with.

Lance was just about ready to turn back, but Hunk opened the door before Lance could chicken out. “H-Hunk! Uh… hi, buddy. I, uh…”

“Come in,” Hunk said kindly. Lance nodded without question, swallowing around the lump in his throat and making his way in. Hunk’s room was pretty neat; he always hung his clothes up, always made his bed, and kept his desk tidy too. He kept a bin next to his bed, so any food wrappers were immediately binned instead of chucked on the floor. He’d decorated the walls with photographs and posters, and one corner was completely covered with schematics for some kind of machine. The schematics stretched out onto the floor, but that was the messiest corner of the room. It looked lived in, but without the mess or the smell of week old food goo under the bed like Lance’s room. When had he last tidied up? He vaguely remembered stripping out his entire room and re-arranging it with Shiro’s help, but he couldn’t find anything and now it was a mess.

“So,” Hunk began quietly, “what’s wrong? You seem like, spooked man, I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah, I, um. Just… something.” Lance wished he knew why this was so hard to say. Hunk knew he was bisexual, he accepted him, so why was it so hard to just spit the words out?

“Boy trouble?” Lance felt his cheeks turn red as soon as Hunk hit the money on the mark. He nodded awkwardly, pointedly keeping his gaze on the floor. “Come sit down, Lance, I’ll get you a coffee and we can talk about it. Do you want the fluffy blanket or the novelty blanket?” Lance felt like he could finally breathe. Nothing had changed. Hunk wasn’t being weird about it. He was here, making him coffee, letting him sit in his room, and giving him a choice in blankets to wrap himself up in.

“Both,” Lance asked quietly. A few seconds later, Hunk threw both of them at Lance in a ball, hitting Lance with a soft thump. Lance didn’t have the energy to glare like usual, and that seemed to worry Hunk.

“I’m glad you feel able to come to me,” Hunk began, firing up the coffee maker in his room, “but you don’t have to be so nervous, y’know? It’s just me. We shared a room, remember? I've seen the state of your socks and smelt them. We’re tight.”

“It’s just… I haven’t really… told anyone this before. I’m like, freaking out right now.”

“Freaking out, huh? I’ll have to bust out the marshmallows. It hasn’t been this bad since your crush on Farida Ahmed in sophomore, or when you were asking out Allura.”

“Oh, this is worse, Hunk. This is like— the mother of all crushes to end all crushes. This is a level ‘I literally can’t imagine ever wanting anything else other than this guy and I’m freaking out’.”

“Oh damn, that bad, huh?” Hunk walked over with coffee and marshmallows, sitting besides Lance on his bed and wrapping his own quilt around himself. “I don’t think you’ve ever had a crush that bad.”

“Yeah, exactly! I always used to worry about relationships, y’know? I found it easy to commit to one person, but what if one day my feelings faded or changed? Or if I started liking someone else and had to break up with them because mama didn’t raise no love rat? What then? But with this guy, I… don’t really fear that. It feels like it’s… always been him. I don’t believe in soulmates or anything like that, but… man, if that were real, this guy would be mine.”

“I remember you panicking about that,” Hunk said, “I remember asking if you thought polyamory might be more you, or even ambiamory.”

“Oh man, I remember that,” Lance replied, “but man, it just didn’t feel like me, y’know? Committing to more than one person and managing more than one relationship just didn’t feel like what I’d want. So then I was scared because I’m monogamous but I was terrified of finding the one then losing them and being alone again.”

“If it helps, I think a lot of people feel the same,” Hunk reassured, “humans are… insecure, I guess. Being alone sucks, and when we love someone… I guess the fear of losing somebody so good from our lives is natural.”

“This guy I like, he… he’s probably a terrible idea. I mean— he’s flighty and he’s volatile, but… he always comes back… and isn’t that what matters? He makes me feel more secure and stable, like I can talk to him about anything and he’d listen. He learns me. Like, actually takes the time to learn what I need in a connection. And he gives me gifts just because. He’s not embarrassed by me, and… well, he’s pretty fun to cuddle.”

“Oh man, you have it bad,” Hunk sympathised, “this is more than a crush on a guy, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him,” Lance admitted. “Like… proper, full-on love. I mean— I loved Allura, don’t get me wrong, but this love… this love feels more stable and… I feel like I connect with him on a deeper level, especially because he’s not the ideal I had in my head at first. He’s not the ‘mother of my kids, white picket fence, two-and-a-half kids’ ideal we’re sold. He’s more… ‘take you camping in the middle of nowhere and you think you’ll hate it but it’s just the two of you and you don’t care about how damp the floor is anymore’.”

“That’s very specific, wow. I can’t imagine you going camping for anyone”

“With this guy? I would. As long as there was plumbing on the campsite so I could wash and stuff, but the guy would probably make sure of that because he’d care about comfort and hygiene. Though he’d probably let his muddy dog sleep in the tent.”

“It’s okay if you say his name out loud, y’know…”

“It’s Keith,” Lance admitted quietly, “it’s always been Keith…”

“I know,” Hunk replied softly, reaching across them and pulling Lance to his chest. Lance didn’t protest, curling against him. “I’ve known for a while it’s him.”

“What do I do, Hunk? He’s… he’s Keith. I don’t even know if Keith would be interested, and I… I wouldn’t want to lose a friend because of my feelings. I feel completely out of my depth, y’know? Allura was a literal princess, but I wasn’t this scared of crushing on her. Maybe because she felt so unobtainable I was prepared for rejection, but Keith? Sometimes… man, sometimes when we’re sitting together, it’s… like it’s just us in the world. And in that moment, I can’t imagine anything else for myself. With Allura, I had nothing to lose but my dignity. With Keith… it feels like I’d lose my chance at love.”

“I’m gonna give you my advice,” Hunk said softly. “Work on yourself a little. You have… a lot of insecurities, and it’s causing you pain. You wouldn’t lose your chance at love, Lance. Nobody is ever gonna be your last resort or your last chance. But… I think you shouldn’t fight your feelings for him. Obviously, I’m not Keith, but… the two of you seem pretty close. He spends a lot of time around you, and he dedicates a lot of his time and energy into making sure you’re okay. Like… remember when you shielded Coran from that explosion?”

“How could I forget,” Lance mumbled miserably, “I have the scar on my back. Sometimes, the skin there feels so tight and it pulls and… yeah, I remember.”

“Keith… he stopped functioning, whilst you were recovering. He set up camp next to your pod. He stopped showering, and man, we all regretted that phase. He would bang on the glass with his fist and tell you that you’d better get the fuck out of the pod and recover or he’d kill you himself. He’d sit and play music quietly because he figured if you were aware of things around you, you’d be bored and he didn’t want you to be bored or alone. Every time we suggested he sleep, he refused. He didn’t want you to wake up alone, so we had to take it in shifts. I took a few shifts, then Shiro took a few because he was having trouble sleeping anyway, and… Keith cares about you, man. I don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world to be in love with Keith.”

“I doubt he feels the same way,” Lance replied. “I’m just… I’m so tired, Hunk… I just want to be happy…”

“Just trust me, okay? Trust me on this one. Don’t give up on Keith.”

Chapter Text

Keith had stayed up late the last night to watch over Lance. He seemed deeply stressed, which Keith had found unusual since he’d been seemingly okay earlier in the day. Hunk had opted to stay back at the castle, giving Coran the opportunity to venture onto the planet for once whilst Hunk took a break from diplomacy. It stressed the guy out, although Keith hadn’t talked to him enough to figure out why. Lance had probably gone to see Hunk, and Keith felt a little like a spare part just wondering around the Ambadori accommodation. He felt a little anxious and overwhelmed, so he clutched Hippo to his chest, though he felt a little silly. It was seen as childish, and Keith had spent too much of his life being treated like a child, especially now he was an adult. But Hippo was a comfort, and he needed that today.

He found Shiro already awake and sat in the common area, but Keith could see that he’d had no or very little sleep. Keith knocked on the door, and Shiro nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh. It’s just you. Morning.”

“Morning, Shiro,” Keith replied, “you look like shit.”

“There’s a pot of coffee in the kitchen,” Shiro responded, ignoring Keith’s observation. “At least it tastes like coffee. I don’t know, I already drank two cups of it, so if it’s poison, I’m screwed.”

“Not funny, Shiro,” Keith replied with a glare, but he didn’t hesitate to grab the coffee pot and start chugging directly from it. He held it like a mug, though it was heavy, so he had to put his other hand underneath it.

“Christ, Keith, you’ll be awake for a week drinking all that coffee.”

“Mhm. I’ll be bouncing off the walls,” Keith replied, downing the rest of the pot. His vision looked substantially clearer, for some reason. Shiro was looking at him like he’d just turned galra or something, but seriously, Keith was pretty sure that was genetically impossible. “I’m gonna go find Lance. Don’t die or get kidnapped.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Shiro mumbled in response, and Keith darted out. Technically, Keith wasn’t supposed to have coffee. He’d once stolen his dad’s coffee when he was a little kid, and it had given him so much energy he’d ran around in circles for an hour straight. But for some reason, his dad had told him to never touch coffee or caffeine again. Shiro usually kept decaf, but this? This had been proper coffee, and Keith didn’t know why he hadn’t tried to have proper coffee again before. He felt great.

He barrelled into the castle, straight to Lance’s room. He followed the strong scent of aftershave, which seemed stronger than usual— and ended up busting the door and crashing into Lance. “Woah, woah, hey! Slow down, kitty boy! What’s got your whiskers in a twist?”

“Coffee is great,” Keith replied, shaking Lance by the shoulders, “I feel great!”

“Sure thing, buddy,” Lance replied, gently pushing Keith away and patting him on the head. “Maybe uh… you should get something to eat? Soak some of that caffeine up.”

“More coffee,” Keith insisted, “I don’t need food when I have coffee!”

“Keith, Keith, slow down,” Lance said, but Keith had too much energy for that.

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to sort my room out,” Lance replied, “I can’t find anything—“

“Challenge accepted,” Keith replied with a sharp nod, immediately moving to throw the entire contents of Lance’s drawers in a pile on the floor.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey, hold the phone! Keith, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Organising,” Keith replied, hopping into the top drawer and crouching like a gremlin so he could empty the second drawer. He paid no mind to Lance.

—

Keith was a menace on coffee, Lance decided. Caffeine was rare in space; only a few planets, Earth included, had it. Tannins, like in tea plants, were more common, but caffeine? Less than ten planets in this quadrant alone had plants that produced it. The Ambadori had targlim beans that produced it in bucketloads, so Ambadori coffee? It was like every cup was three triple espresso shots. Hunk, the poor guy, drank too much, and was unwell— hence him staying in the castle, but he told everyone it was so Coran could go planet side. Lance had tried some Ambadori coffee, and spent an hour trying to decide if he felt tired or energised.

And Keith? Well, Keith was like the time Lance had a farm cat. The thing was fast as a kitten, bolting down the corridors in the middle of the night and yelling loudly, then shredding his jumpers and sleeping on them. And whilst Keith wasn’t doing any of that— he was ripping through Lance’s belongings like a tornado, throwing things out of his drawers and climbing everything he could to clean. He’d sent Allura a message about it, and she revealed that galra were apparently like, crazy sensitive to caffeine. Like, movie level wired on coffee ball of chaos level sensitive to caffeine. Galra and coffee? Bad idea. That’s how you get your local galra buddy zooming around with way too much energy in his system to sit still. And with Keith? Oh man, it had some strange effects on him.

The guy looked like a fluffy purple space cat. But not like something out of the cats movie, thankfully— more like if Catra was purple and super into organising other people’s belongings. The guy had turned purple. Like, head to toe, how-the-heck-is-that-even-biologically-possible purple. And his eyes? Yellow. Yellow, glowing, big, massive pupils, it’s-3am-and-I’m-a-cat-stalking-your-feet eyes. His fangs Lance would not like to be bitten by them. And Keith had claws now, and Lance feared for the safety of his hoodies. And his ears? fluffy. They’d just grown. Big, fluffy purple ears that started at the bottom of Keith’s usual earlobe and stretched almost another ear’s length up where they connected on his head, and they were pointy and gremlin-like. They were currently pricked forwards and upwards, like a curious cat.

Lance’s thoughts were interrupted by a pair of his boxers hitting him in the face. He removed the offending pair of underwear, and glared at Keith. Keith threw more at him, then ripped the empty drawer out and started on the next one. Lance’s socks were the next items to start hitting him in the face. He figured Keith was not gonna be very happy when the caffeine wore off and he realised he went all gremlin-cat and ransacked Lance’s room. Caffeine Keith was certainly something. Gone was the calm, quiet, slightly angry boy Lance knew. He’d lost all his shyness— and quite possibly— his marbles.

And of course, Pidge— whilst not looking as gremlin-like as Keith— certainly had the same gremlin mischief that enhanced their instinct to make things worse, so they gave Keith more coffee. And that’s when Keith grew an honest to gods tail. Sure, Lance knew in theory that some galra could grow tails— he’d seen a couple of blades with one— but he’d assumed the blades with tails must’ve had non-galra blood that caused the tails, but no— it seemed to be a trait some galra were born with, just like how some were reptilian and some were catlike and some were pixie-like. A quick search on the database explained that it was something genetic, but it usually skipped about two or three generations. It was common for there to only be one or two cases a year of tails, then for there to suddenly be a baby boom of tailed babies born in a year or so.

Lance’s space-google session was interrupted when a soccer ball he forgot he’d gotten was thrown full-speed at his face, and in his panic, he yeeted his phone across the room. Keith looked at him with those big eyes, ears twitching and slowly turning down. Lance couldn’t help but smile a little at how funny he looked, and Keith’s ears pricked right back up and the guy started pulling everything off Lance’s bed.

Shiro wandered in after about the second hour of hurricane Keith— and man, the guy looked like shit. ”So this is where he got to,” Shiro huffed in exasperation. “Oh man. This is bad.”

“He ran through my door then started ‘organising’ my room,” Lance explained, “then Pidge thought it would be funny to give him more coffee and he grew a tail. I don’t think he really knows what to do with it.”

Shiro hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head at Keith. The poor guy had no idea how to balance or manage the extra addition to his body. He’d flick it, then seem to have no idea how he did that, and attack his own tail in an attempt to keep it still. The more he tried to hold it in one place, the more he tried to pull his tail out of his own grip. Lance could’ve sworn the guy had hissed at it.

“I had no idea caffeine had this effect on galra,” Shiro commented. “Man… if I’d known coffee did this to the galra, we could’ve defeated them a long time ago. We could’ve got Sendak distracted by a ball of string.”

“I don’t think Keith would appreciate us doing that,” Lance replied, amused, “but man… that’s a funny thought.”

“I spoke to Allura about it as soon as I gave Keith the coffee. Galra aren’t actually one species, they’re multiple. It’s an example of convergent evolution. Galra like Zarkon— they evolved from a reptilian ancestor first, whilst the fluffy bastards— like Sendak— evolved from a more recent but unrelated feline-like ancestor. And the pixie-like galra? The ones with the human-like skin and pointy ears? They evolved due to interbreeding between the two some millennia ago. So galra are three separate species that evolved to become remarkably similar. Keith’s mom is pixie-like, but she must have had recent feline-like ancestors, because Keith…”

“Has turned into a giant purple space cat,” Lance finished.

“Yep. Caffeine lowers their inhibitions and makes them act more instinctual. Zarkon on coffee would probably find a warm rock to lay on and have a sudden cravings for more bugs in his diet. Keith, on the other hand…”

“It’s like he’s on catnip,” Lance concluded.

“Oh, boy.”

“Should we get Allura?”

“…not yet,” Shiro replied, “I don’t think he’ll appreciate everyone crowding around—“ Shiro was abruptly cut off by a loud yowl: Keith’s tail had flicked out of his grip, and completely thrown off his balance. Keith was currently on the floor, where he’d landed after falling from the top of Lance’s door. He glared at Lance like it was his fault, then started rummaging through the massive pile of stuff he’d thrown all over Lance’s floor. “Man, Adam would find this so funny right now. He’s a massive cat person, but he’s allergic. He always used to sneeze when Keith was around, but we never connected the two… I used to bring home stray cats all the time, and we had a running joke that the reason I unofficially adopted Keith was because he was basically a cat. All he did was glare, sleep, eat, and sneak up behind you.”

“And now he’s gone all space kitty on us,” Lance added, “and Adam was allergic to him-“

“I need a label maker.”

“Keith, I don’t think that’s really necessary—“

“Label. Maker. Now.” Shiro raised his hands in surrender, and walked out. Keith looked at Lance next. “Boxes. Lots of.”

“Yes sir!” Lance gave a mock salute, which earned him a glare as Keith’s ears flattened against his skull— and walked away to go get boxes.

When he returned, Keith snatched the boxes, and began putting Lance’s belongings in them. He worked so fast Lance almost missed just how efficiently he was organising things; every box he filled, he’d written a list of what was in there and taped it to the inside of the transparent lid facing up, then made a label for the general category. He’d re-folded Lance’s clothes and organised his wardrobe by colour, cut, season, and fabric texture and had re-filled his drawers and made lists of what was in each one, which he folded and stuck on with a label.

Within the hour, the pile of mess on Lance’s floor was a super-organised room, where everything had a logical place, and all of his pens were better organised. Even his journals were away neat, upright in a basket rather than stacked on top of each other. Keith had even sourced a bookshelf and filled it with books— apparently he had an ‘algorithm’ for predicting what books Lance would like. It probably wasn’t even remotely anything like an algorithm, but it seemed like Keith knew Lance well enough, when he glanced at the bookshelf. Every book seemed right up his alley, and all of them were printed in a dyslexia-friendly font (Lance wasn’t dyslexic to his knowledge, but he always found it easier to read those kind of fonts— although he supposed that was the whole point of them).

“This is…”

“Not finished,” Keith replied, diving on the bed. Then, he began to fluff Lance’s pillows in the most aggressive, Keith-y way Lance had ever seen. He was squeezing and punching the pillows like he was imagining someone’s face, and a few eiderdown feathers flew out— but by the time he was done, Lance’s flat and worn out pillows looked like the comfiest, most inviting things ever. Keith stared directly at Lance. “You’re welcome,” he responded, then skittered out the door at top speed with exactly no warning.

Chapter Text

Keith inevitably crashed after a couple of hours. He’d ran around the castle, swore he could see into the fifth dimension, stared spookily at a wall for half an hour before bolting, took up residence in a box, almost took out Pidge’s ankle with twice as much vigor than a rogue razor scooter—and then promptly fallen asleep.

But he hadn’t just fallen asleep in the box, oh no. He’d fallen asleep in the common room, on Lance’s lap. Not fully on his lap—no, he’d just decided that he was tired and Lance would make a sufficient pillow.

Lance had been stuck in the same uncomfortable position on the sofa for a good three hours now, but there was no way he was moving Keith. He’d had a cat—he wasn’t ready to see the face of betrayal. If Keith never moved and Lance died here, then so be it.

Keith on coffee in galra form was a little different to regular Keith sleeping behaviours. For one, Keith didn’t thrash as much, but his legs did kick out and his face did twitch like a cat having a dream. Twitchy Keith was a lot better than waking up with a knee in his face because Keith had managed to twist himself like a gift ribbon in the night. This Keith also let out tiny whines that sounded a little like a trill, but of course, Keith couldn’t meow. No matter how feline he may appear, he wasn’t actually a cat. He did, however—much to Lance’s delight—purr in his sleep.

Lance had taken to gently running his fingers through Keith’s hair. So sue him, his hair looked soft and he’d secretly always wondered what it felt like. And it was soft. So soft and fluffy. Lance was jealous at how soft it was, to be fair. Keith still had big galra kitty ears, so of course, Lance had started to absently scratch behind them, and that’s when he’d heard it.

….rrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkk….. rrrrrrrrrkkkkk…… rrrkk…

At first, Lance had been confused as to where the sound was coming from, until he felt Keith press his head against Lance’s hand, and the sounds had gotten louder. He’d gently laid a hand on Keith’s chest, and he could . He could feel the soft vibrations rumbling in Keith’s chest. Keith was purring and Lance had to convince himself not to cry at how adorable it was. He decided to continue stroking his hair and scratching lightly behind his ears, because he’d never heard anything so adorable in all his life. He’d known Galra growled and snarled and even hissed—he’d been hissed at one too many times by angry blades he’d flirted with— but purring? This was the icing on the cake. Galra purred like giant softies.

More importantly than the purr, however, was the trust. Keith didn’t trust people. Keith was closed off and abrasive. Keith never curled up with people. Sure, he’d fallen asleep with Lance twice before, but Lance had gotten bitten one of those times. But this? Keith was hopped up on caffeine, probably feeling a little bit sick and a lot vulnerable and confused by his own behaviour, and out of all the safe spaces he could go to sleep it off, he trusted Lance. His belly was part exposed, and he was facing away from Lance’s body. If galra body language was anything like cats, that was a massive show of trust. The belly is vulnerable—showing it shows a lot of trust not to hurt you. And a cat turning it’s back on you? It’s not being rude, it trusts you to watch its back. A cat falling asleep with its back to you? That meant something.

The fact Keith trusted Lance at his most vulnerable was what mattered to Lance the most. Even if Keith would never see Lance in the way Lance wished he did, the face that out of all the places and people Keith could have gone, he chose Lance—that meant something to Lance. And as much as he’d been comparing Keith to a cat, he was first and foremost, a person. Keith wasn’t a housecat. He was a young man who’d gone through a lot of pain in his life. He was a guy with every reason not to trust people around him, a guy who had so many barriers up, getting him to open up was like breaking into Fort Knox.

Lance knew seeing Keith like this wasn’t some fun novelty. This was somebody at his most vulnerable, acting in a way completely unlike him, and that musty have been scary. To lose all of his inhibitions and act in ways he didn’t know he would act—that was probably terrifying. Yet, despite all that—or maybe because of—he’d sought out Lance. He trusted Lance to protect him at his most vulnerable, and that was important.

So sure, Keith might be purring like a lap cat, but he wasn’t a cat. He was Lance’s friend, and he was coming down from an adverse reaction to caffeine. His caffeine sensitivity might have given everybody a few giggles, but Keith would probably be embarrassed when he woke up, and more than a little emotionally vulnerable. So Lance silently vowed to look after him and protect him; to keep Keith comfortable and looked after.

So there was no way Lance was moving from his spot on the settee until Keith woke up.

It was another half an hour before Lance had any company, and that was Shiro. Everyone else had fallen asleep hours before Keith had crashed at 3am, but Lance had decided to stay up a while, just to watch over Keith. It was about 6am now, half six maybe—Lance wasn’t so sure. The Ambadori sun rose a little early—4am—so Lance had lost his concept of time a little. Everyone else was probably still asleep, given everyone was going back to talks with the Ambadori today and needed the sleep to be refreshed.

“Is he… purring?”

“Oh, hey Shiro.” Lance smiled softly, gently stroking Keith’s hair and scratching him a little firmer behind the ears. Keith purred louder, so Lance rubbed one of his ears, and Keith leaned into the touch. “Yeah, he is.”

“Oh wow. You have such a dopey smile on your face right now,” Shiro commented, and Lance immediately tried to get rid of the smile, clearing his throat as his cheeks turned red. “I have eyes, you know,” Shiro replied, “I know a lovesick puppy when I see one. Just… look after him, okay? He’s like a little brother to me.”

“I-I’m not—I mean—“

“It’s okay,” Shiro interrupted, “I’ve known for a while now. I can’t think of anyone better to love Keith for who he is. You’ve always been open-minded and understanding, and that’s what Keith needs.”

“Anyway… what’re you doing up so early?” Lance decided deflection was the far better option than confronting the mortifying realisation that he was so obvious Shiro noticed he was in love.

“Oh, I haven’t…” Shiro frowned. “What time is it?”

“Uh… like, six? Half six?”

“Oh… I thought it was earlier than that.” Shiro rubbed at his eyes, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll have to have some coffee to wake up.”

“What time did you sleep?”

“It’s not important,” Shiro replied quickly. Lance translated that as ’I haven’t been to sleep yet.’

“Go get a nap or something, you look like you need it.”

“I’m fine, Lance,” Shiro responded. His tone was soft, but Lance heard the tension behind it. He wasn’t to question Shiro on his sleep anymore.

“So… what’s been eating at you the last few days?”

Shiro sighed heavily; whether in defeat or relief, Lance didn’t know. “It’s Adam,” he responded, “I just… I don’t buy the garrison’s story. A part of me wonders if… he’s still alive. Maybe he doesn’t wanna see me, or… maybe he’s in a coma. Or taken captive like I was. I don’t know. I just… maybe I’m just in denial.”

“If you really think something’s up,” Lance began cautiously, “don’t give up. Look at Pidge. If they hadn’t been so obsessed with finding the truth about the Kerberos mission, we wouldn’t be where we are now, you, their dad, their brother… neither of you would be here today. The universe wouldn’t be here today. So if you really, truly believe that he’s out there… never stop trying to find out the truth. Just… please, don’t lose sleep over it. I don’t think Adam would want that.”

“He thinks I’m dead,” Shiro replied miserably. “If he’s alive… we’d already broken up. And then, he finds out I’ve been dead for apparently years… supposedly died before he could find out I was alive… what if he’s moved on? And he doesn’t… what if I’m not the man he needs me to be? I don’t feel ready to let go of him, but what if he’s already given up on me? And then there’s all the confusing feelings about Curtis, and…—“

“Wait, hold up. Who?”

“Ah. He’s, um. Just some guy I work with—worked with, on the uh—the Atlas.”

“You like him, don’t you,” Lance replied, “but you’re still in love with Adam. And you’re scared to do anything to pursue this Curtis guy because you’re hoping Adam is waiting for you, but you’re scared to let Curtis slip through your fingers because if Adam’s really gone or he’s moved on…”

“Yeah,” Shiro replied miserably, “exactly. Curtis is… the first guy in a long time to make me smile. He found out I wasn’t sleeping so well, back when I was in charge of the Atlas. And… he just, came to my quarters with blankets and hot cocoa and a trashy romance film and, yeah. He’s… so different to Adam. Adam was… Adam wasn’t good with feelings. He wasn’t the kind of guy for cuddles every night or staying awake talking. Adam was the kind of guy who’d quietly sit next to me when I was struggling. He’d make me tea, but he’d make it in his favourite comfort mug, because that meant more to him. He’d pick up a random rock and give it to me or—he’d just lean his head on his shoulders and tap out words in morse code. He never told me he loved me out loud, but he told me in morse code every day.”

“Is the fact he’s so different to Adam good or bad?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro replied honestly, “they’re very different relationships. I was engaged to Adam. Curtis is… someone I haven’t known as long. I don’t know. I don’t know what or who I want. I fall in love so easily and… now I’m stuck between two great guys I don’t wanna lose. Either way… I’m gonna lose out. I either lose out on Adam, lose out on Curtis, or lose out on both of them. And I wish it didn’t have to be like that.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Lance said quietly, but Shiro didn’t seem to be listening.

“Nobody’s there when I have nightmares,” Shiro continued. “I’ve handled them alone for years and I was convinced I was strong enough to get through it alone, but I—“ Shiro huffed, putting his head in his hands. “My head’s a mess. It feels like I don’t know which day it is anymore, I can’t keep up with everything I have to do, I haven’t tidied my room in a month like some kind of lazy teenager, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t—I can’t function. I just, keep remembering everything, and, now I’m trauma dumping to you, I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be strong,” Lance replied, putting a hand gently on Shiro’s shoulder. “You’re human. You’ve been through a lot. You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You don’t owe anybody that.”

“Keith looks peaceful,” Shiro said quietly. He’d deflected it, clammed up again. “He reminds me of one of Adam’s cats. Maybe a little bit of Adam. Keith followed him around like a ducking sometimes, so it makes sense some of Adam’s little quirks rubbed off on him somehow… Adam always thought he was doing a terrible job at being there for Keith. Maybe Keith looked up to him more than Adam thought he did.” Shiro reached over, gently ruffling Keith’s hair and scratching one of his ears, before walking off.

Lance was worried about him. He’d been losing sleep, he was torn between two guys, he was apparently having nightmares and remembering too much, and he seemed…

Lance wasn’t sure how he seemed, but okay certainly wasn’t the word for it.

He decided he didn’t have the mental energy to think on it too much right now on low sleep, and decided to focus on Keith again instead. He seemed to be rousing from his sleep a little, shifting around a little more. It took him a few minutes to wake up, looking confused and a little clammy. “Lance…?”

“Welcome back to the land of the living, buddy,” Lance said softly, “how do you feel?”

“I feel…” Keith frowned. “Sick…”

“Please don’t vomit on me,” Lance replied, and Keith sat up abruptly.

“Oh my god, did I fall asleep on your—“

“Keith, it’s fine,” Lance interrupted, trying to soothe him a little, but Keith looked awkward and out of his depth.

“I—I wasn’t myself, I, trashed your room and I barely remember last night, did I—did I do anything weird? I didn’t—I didn’t kiss anyone or anything really stupid and weird, did I? Everything's cool and not awkward?” Lance found it a little odd that Keith was worried that kissing someone would make things awkward with Lance, or that he was more worried about the possibility that he kissed someone than he was the chaos he caused around the castle, but Lance wasn’t gonna think too hard on it.

“Nothing like that happened,” Lance reassured, “you just went into cat mode for a few hours then crashed out.”

“Cat… mode…” Keith gasped, reaching up to his ears. They twitched, and Keith went as red as a galra could probably go. “Oh no… Lance. Please tell me these are novelty ears. This is a prank, right? I’m not—I haven’t—“

“You purr too,” Lance replied, “a little adorable, to be honest.”

“No no. Nope. I am not dealing with this. Not today. Nope. I will… deal with this, I don’t know. Never. Because this isn’t happening. Lance, please tell me I don’t look like a cat.”

“Hey,” Lance began softly, “it’s okay. Yes, you… look more galra than before, but— it’s okay!”

“N-no. Change is… scary, I—need a minute.” Lance nodded, and Keith sat down on the floor, wincing and covering his ears. Lance stayed quiet for a while, letting Keith process and adjust to the news.

Chapter Text

Keith considered himself a reasonably well-adjusted individual when it came to all the changes in recent years. He’d spent a lifetime where the only constant in his life was change, and he’d succeeded in telling himself that he could handle it. But now, he was sat on the floor clutching at too-large, too-fluffy ears, desperately wishing that things could’ve stayed the same. Maybe he’d learned to push on I’m spite of change, but he hadn’t learned how to handle it; not really. When things around him changed, he left so he wouldn’t have to face the change. Shiro gone? Get kicked out of the garrison. Shiro back and one paladin too many? Too much change, run away. When Keith had first had to take over the black lion, he’d had no choice to stay, and it had gone brilliantly—if by brilliantly one meant utterly disastrous with long-lasting consequences, that is. Whenever things changed, Keith left. Leaving was change, but it was change he could control. He could remove himself from the spoiled remains of what once was, and almost imagine that back before the change still existed, somewhere.

But now, the change was in him. His body was no longer a familiar entity—the body he was used to using to navigate the world through was gone, replaced with a cosmic purple costume he couldn’t rip off his flesh. Everything felt disbalanced inside him now, like nothing was right or ever would be right. The last time his body had changed, it had been puberty, but at least it had happened slowly. Still, he’d struggled greatly, scared and reluctant of change and terrified of the way nothing would be the same. When his voice had started to crack, Keith had found himself unable to speak for the terrifying part of six whole months. By the time he found himself able to produce sound again, it hurt, and nothing sounded right. He hadn’t lost he gravel-like tone to his voice, or the way, sometimes, speech felt unnatural to him.

So Keith had struggled enough with puberty and its other changes too. But this? This was different. Puberty was something inevitable and predictable; something you had a while to prepare for before it happened to you. Drinking coffee then feeling dazed and manic for a day, then waking up in a completely different body that represented a race of aliens most would be fearful of? He had no idea how to handle that. It was a lot of change, and it was very, very sudden. He didn’t want his body to be different. He liked regular Keith. Regular Keith was familiar and comforting. Regular Keith was him. This body? It wasn’t a home to him.

This galra body was uncomfortable. It didn’t feel right. His muscles felt too twitchy, his hearing too sharp, the taste of blood from where he’d chewed inside his mouth with new fangs was too sharp to avoid the nausea he felt from it. He felt like he was just a ghost, just possessing this body. Like he was contained in a jar, watching the world from behind glass. He didn’t know if he was distressed by the new body per se, because it was his body and he never really felt connected to his old one anyway, but it didn’t feel like home. It made it difficult for him to feel like Keith, in this body. Because this wasn’t Keith’s body. This was a galra’s body. And maybe he’d be okay with the way it moved, the way it felt. Maybe he could grow to feel comfortable in it. But he didn’t feel like this body was Keith’s. People wouldn’t look at this body and see Keith, because this wasn’t a Keith’s body, this was a galra’s body. Sure, some might respect that he was a Keith, a human, but his body was galra, and they’d see that he walked the world as a galra, so the way they’d treat him, even subconsciously, would be difficult. He was Keith, and he didn’t hate his body, but his galra body didn’t match him, and he mourned for how much he wished the outside matched the inside, and only hoped others saw the Keith within. A body was just a body, a vessel, not his identity. But his identity being at odds with his body and other’s insistance on him being galra was going to get exhausting no matter whether he loved or hated this body. He’d never feel quite right in the presence of people who didn’t see Keith.

He’d only just found the bandwidth to process any of these feelings. He’d spent the past… whoever-the-fuck-knows-how-long in complete meltdown, and to be honest, his recollection of it was fuzzy now the headache set in. The world felt too sharp, his throat too sore from the screams, his body tired from the complete state of panic. He was used to this. He was used to this feeling, having been driven to such a state on multiple occasions, but in a new body, it was terrifying, and he had no idea how to self-soothe his way out of the distress he felt. His hearing had always been sensitive, but larger ears seemed to amplify a lot of it. Like the constant whine of electricity, high pitched, now louder and sharper than it seemed before, clearer—like it was more comfortably in his range of hearing, rather than a point that was barely on the outskirts of it, supposed to be silent to his ears but never quite so.

He felt out of balance, nauseated. New ears, new vestibular systems, new gyroscopic actions, new sense of balance and motion. He felt like he was about to fall from a height, or like he was moving fast on a train, or maybe both at once. His stomach wasn’t a fan of the new sensations.

The lights were bright, too much all at once. Things seemed sharper, harder to block out or focus on. He allowed his vision to blur in the hopes it would dull some of it down if the harsh lines of light softened into a glow, but it didn’t. It was still too bright, still too much.

He sobbed.

Nothing would be the same again, and everything was far too much, and he had no idea how to cope. It felt like there was no way forwards, no way out, and he was frightened. So he cried. He didn’t hold it all back like he was used to. He didn’t care anymore about looking crazy and insane and weak. He wanted his dad back, so that everything could be okay again.

—-

Lance was at a loss for what to do. Keith had screamed and cried and tugged at his hair and rocked for well over an hour, and whilst the screaming had stopped, he’d resorted to broken sobs. Every instinct in Lance told him to hug him, but the pain came from knowing that would only make things worse. He wished he could give Keith his headphones, but they wouldn’t fit comfortably on his galra ears. He wanted to give him a bismuth, but Keith was in such a state of panic he doubted it would do much, especially with the way the light caught it of an Ambadori morning.

Lance waited with him instead. Maybe he couldn’t help, but he could sit there with him and hold space for him. He was there, and hopefully that was enough. It wasn’t easy seeing Keith like this, so distressed and out of control of everything, and it hurt deeply, but he knew he couldn’t focus on that. He had to focus on breathing through it himself so he wouldn’t be too overwhelmed to help afterwards.

Afterwards came about an hour later, when Keith had stopped crying and was sat silently, exhausted. Hunk poked his head around and mentioned that breakfast was over, but there was food left over for them, and that they were leaving in the next ten minutes to resume talks with the Ambadori. Lance gave a half-smile to Hunk, then sat quietly besides Keith. “Hey, buddy… can you talk right now?” Keith shook his head vigorously, and Lance didn’t reply instantly. “Am I okay to ask you things, that’s not too much for you? Nod if I can speak.” Keith nodded again, and this time Lance’s smile was a little more real than the last. “Can I get you a blanket?” Keith nodded slowly, so Lance grabbed a blanket from the couch and draped it carefully over Keith’s head . He took the corners gingerly, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger a few times, before bringing it up to his cheek. “Do you need to stay here?” Keith hesitated, and his reply didn’t come until after Hunk came back in to say two minutes was all they had. Keith shook his head slowly, and attempted to get to his feet. He was shaking, so Lance kept his arms out, ready to catch him. Keith ended up stumbling, hand falling heavily into Lance’s. The fabric of his gloves was hot, but smooth, and the skin of his fingers cold somehow. Keith cringed away from the touch as soon as he was upright, and shook his head vigorously. “Sorry about that,” Lance apologised gently. Keith managed a grunt of acknowledgement.

If Lance was to make assumptions, he’d assume Keith wasn’t up to the talks today. He was clearly not okay, and clearly struggling. He was walking with his blanket on his head still, to ambassadorial talks. He was still in his pyjamas—standard voltron issue, but a plain red cotton long-sleeved shirt with grey slacks, rather than the usual silken robes. He had his boots on, thankfully, because with the amount of rocks on the ground, Lance figured Keith stabbing himself in the foot wasn’t worth going bare foot over.

Keith still wasn’t speaking by the time the talks began. Lance could see the uncomfortableness still in him. The Ambadori looked shocked by his new appearance, if a little apprehensive, but they took it in their stride. The Ambadori ambassador asked Keith if he was okay, and Keith gave the Ambadori a curt nod. The start of the talks didn’t go too bad. They still talked to Keith, but they didn’t seem to mind when Keith didn’t respond. Hunk kept sending concerned glances to Lance, who shot them back. Pidge seemed to step up to the plate answering questions more than usual, so Keith’s lack of speech capabilities wasn’t something the Ambadori fixated on. It couldn’t last forever, though; eventually, they asked about Keith’s new appearance. They were non-judgmental, but Keith panicked, looking to Lance. Lance made a pen gesture, and Keith nodded, frantically scribbling an answer down and sliding it over to the Ambadori.

“I am… sorry,” the Ambadori head ambassador said awkwardly, “we aren’t literate in this manner. We do not communicate through this medium—our environment has never truly allowed any surface suitable to communicate as so. Humans can communicate in gestures, correct? Would that work?”

Keith shook his head, looking to Lance desperately for help. “I could… translate?” Lance offered. “Read out what he writes? Humans can’t learn a new language so quick, and our sign languages are vastly different from yours from what I’ve observed.” The Ambadori nodded in affirmation.

“Keith? Are you comfortable with me speaking for you like that?” Keith nodded, pushing the paper to Lance. It might have seemed small, but Lance knew the amount of trust it must have taken Keith to allow Lance to be his voice. “Okay… he says ‘I’m half galra. I had caffiene. I didn’t know it would do this. I’m as uncomfortable as you are, and if you have a problem with that, I can’t fix it, I’m sorry. I can leave if you want me to.’”

“No, that’s quite alright,” the ambassador replied, looking to Keith. “You don’t have to leave—we were just curious. I’m sorry that didn’t translate into our way of speaking. We have never hosted anybody with galra blood in a hospitable situation—not in many millennia. Do you know of any dietary requirements or needs we should be aware of?”

Keith shook his head at first, then frantically began to scribble more words. His handwriting was a mess, and Lance could barely read it, but he was determined to help Keith communicate his way, even if it meant giving Lance a headache. Keith slid the paper across and Lance read it out. “Keith said ‘yes. No caffiene, no lactose. I don’t know anything else. This is new to me. I never asked my mother. It didn’t seem relevant.’”

“We will accommodate that,” the Ambadori replied, “next on our agenda for today’s talks—sugar and bean imports.”

Lance continued to read out Keith’s responses. Keith replied more frequently once he settled into the new way of communicating through Lance and writing, and whilst that meant messier handwriting, it also meant Keith wasn’t so locked out of everything around him. The Ambadori asked Keith questions directly. They didn’t ask Lance what Keith thought, they asked Keith directly. They glanced to Lance whilst he spoke, but directed their responses to Keith. It took Lance a while to remember that Ambadori spoke for their partners frequently, so they were used to respecting the silent partner in a conversation regardless of who physically spoke to them. Lance was grateful, because the last thing Keith needed was to be spoken over and treated like a child.

Chapter Text

Keith hadn’t been able to speak for three days solid. Lance had never known it happen like this before—although, in hindsight, Lance had only missed when it happened. All the days in school where Keith didn’t respond to Lance’s clownery with anything but a scowl, and never answered the teacher’s questions. All the days Keith kept to himself in the training room and offered up nothing but a grunt and a shrug when asked anything by the team. All the time Keith couldn’t think of a good word to use, then descended into silence shortly after. It happened a lot, but nobody noticed because they read silence as a choice, and choosing to be silent as a rude rejection.

Keith didn’t contribute much to discussions. People’s casual conversations moved faster than he could write—Pidge was hard to keep up with verbally when they got super-excited about something, and so was Hunk. Shiro seemed to be best-equipped to communicate with Keith well, and Lance?

Lance felt like a massive asshole for all the times he’d assumed Keith was ignoring him when he’d probably lost the ability to speak. Times like this, when Lance had witnessed whatever caused his loss of speech capabilities, had been easy to understand. Something stressful happened, and Keith couldn’t talk. But there were loads of times where because Lance hadn’t seen the moment Keith lost speech, he didn’t even consider that Keith couldn’t talk.

Lance vowed to never assume or accuse Keith of giving him the silent treatment ever again. He’d asked Keith if he knew any other ways to communicate when he couldn’t speak, and Keith shrugged. He wrote that he was fluent in asl once because his grandfather was Deaf, and that whenever Keith went non-verbal, it helped him communicate to use sign, but Keith hadn’t used it in so many years he’d forgotten much of it, and not many people could speak it anyways. (He still sometimes exaggerated his facial expressions out of habit, though.) Lance offered to learn, but Keith told him that it wasn’t a quick fix. It would help a great deal in the future, sure—but right now, writing was best until Keith could re-learn what he’d lost. So they both decided to learn together, so in the future, Keith could communicate a little easier.

The galra traits were still there, but some were fading. The tail had gone, which confused Lance to no end. He could’ve understood losing the flashy yellow eye pigment or the pupil shape snapping back or something—but growing and losing a whole appendage? Not what he expected. But hey—Weblums made no sense, so sure, why the hell not? Coffee makes instant catboys. Completely normal.

Keith’s ears were still fluffy and still large and purple, and a much better indicator of Keith’s mood than most things were. Keith was angry? They were flat against his skull. Keith was sad? They dropped like eeyore’s. Keith was curious? Forward like a horse, big kitty eyes. Keith was excited? Forward and twitchy as hell. Keith was happy? Relaxed but still spiked up, and twitchy. Nervous as fuck? Ears flat and back and twitchy.

His claws had been cut, because they were apparently, really not practical. Getting trousers on meant shredding your hips. Got an itch? Now the itch is a gash and it looks like something out of a horror movie. Trying to pick up a sauce packet? Ketchup Chainsaw Massacre. Making a fist? Hands holy-er than the Pope. Lance didn’t even want to think about how hard wiping your ass would be with claws, which is probably why cats licked their butts. Keith wasn’t a cat, so that wasn’t gonna happen (thank everything), so he got the bolt cutters and snapped them off, then bit down the jagged edges until his nails were as short as they usually were. Thankfully, galra claws weren’t the same as cat claws, so no harm was done to Keith’s toe beans. (Okay, so he didn’t have toe beans, but Lance thought that would have been adorable, and so would whiskers.)

Purple fur still remained across his body, but less so than before. Where did the fur go, one may ask? All over the couch. All over the bed. All over Lance’s clothes. All over the Velcro on his trainers to the point he could no longer close it. All over his comb because Keith apparently didn’t own a single comb, so he had to steal Lance’s. All over Lance’s skin, and boy did it itch. All over Lance’s food. Keith also kept randomly rubbing himself up every rough surface because the fur itched. Allura’s favourite purple velvet dress was one of the victims of the Furpocalypse. Lance thanked his lucky stars Keith didn’t cough up hairballs. If he could, Lance just knew they’d be in his slippers. Like he said. He had a cat once.

His skin was still mostly purple, although some spots had faded to a delicate lavender, or back to his natural skin tone. There were splotches around his mouth and nose that almost looked symmetrical, and above his left eyebrow, there was a splotch of white that looked kind of like a teddy bear. Keith allowed Lance to draw the teddy bear a little face, and Keith hadn’t even attempted to wash it off yet. He was just… smiling. The purple foundation he’d brought to hide it lay unopened for now, and Lance considered that a win—there was nothing wrong with deciding to wear make up, but the fact just a little teddy bear made Keith feel confident enough in his appearance to forgo that choice was kind of making Lance’s entire day right now. He wished he had somebody who made him feel that confident when his skin flared up red and sore, or with his acne scars and hyperpigmentation.

Keith’s teeth were like knives. Sharp. And definitely not something you’d want to be bitten by. Lance hadn’t gotten bitten by Keith with fangs, and he didn’t particularly want to. He’d seen Keith rip through the dinosaur nuggets with them. He did not want to be a dinosaur nugget.

So Lance’s point was—he was absolutely staring at Keith a lot more since figuring out how he felt. He stared at him before, sure, but never so intentionally, and certainly never as aware of his feelings. He decided he really liked Keith’s eyelashes. They were really long and pretty. Keith was pretty. He had a natural masculinity to him, sure—but he wasn’t really fussed about gender roles or how he was read. He had long, beautiful hair (Lance denied thinking that about a mullet), and enduring ugly flawless skin. Seriously, for a guy who almost certainly used five-in-one bar soap to wash, how was his skin so flawless? Keith wore a crop jacket like it was just the norm for a guy to wear an 80s crop jacket. He even wore nail polish—black, of course, but Lance was trying to convince him to paint one red. Usually that was the ring or little finger, but Keith didn’t understand why, so he insisted it be his middle finger. Then he could give people the middle finger just by asking if they liked his nails.

So yeah. Keith was attractive. He was attractive because he was hot, but also because he wasn’t trying to over-perform masculinity. He didn’t care about if his hair was girly—he just cared that he liked it. He didn’t care if people saw him as pretty or handsome. Both were compliments, and femininity wasn’t an insult or a degradation, neither did it take away from his masculinity. Keith was a pretty boy, a feminine guy who was comfortable in his masculinity and didn’t make a fuss about how people read him based on that. He wore clothes because he liked them, not because men liked them. Leggings and a crop jacket from the women’s section? They looked nice, so Keith brought them. Boots that made him look like an anime protagonist and a tight muscle shirt? They looked nice, so Keith brought them. No fuss, no throwing a hissy fit because leggings gave him an existential crisis about his masculinity. Just simple rejection of giving a fuck about what clothes were designed for who, and complete acceptance of his own personal tastes.

That was attractive to Lance. Lance, who grew up painting his nails and wearing foundation. Lance who was never really gonna fit in well with his older brothers. Lance who let his sisters put bows in his hair. Lance who tried hard at one point to fit in by performing masculinity for everyone else, before realising it was exhausting and toxic to do so. Keith and Lance had very different ways of expressing their masculinity, and different ways of existing as queer men—but at the core, both of them rejected the idea that they had to fit in a rigid blue box to be socially acceptable men, because they were both comfortable in who they were as men. Lance wasn’t gonna get a guy who sat on his ass all day grunting and complaining about beta males hitting on his girl. (School was, unfortunately, full of those. Guys who thought they were alphas, because apparently outdated understandings of wolf pack dynamics counted as a personality trait, and apparently they thought girls found it hot. They definitely didn’t. Lance had definitely exchanged looks with many a girl when guys were acting like that.)

Keith was… many things. Lance could list so many things he loved about him. He could write an essay, or ten, about everything he loved about him and why. Like Keith’s facial expressions. Sometimes, Keith’s happy face looked neutral or brooding. Other times, his face was so over-expressive it was near impossible to not see the emotion on there. And it wasn’t just his face. His hands would start moving, start flapping or gesturing when he was happy or excited, or even stressed—Keith’s whole body told a story of how he felt and how he was experiencing the world. It was just a shame people never appreciated that, just because most people didn’t move like Keith did. Lance found it kind of adorable how Keith would walk on his tip-toes and not even realise when he was getting excitable or impatient. Or, when he had something good to give to someone. Lance was losing count of the amount of times Keith did a little chicken run to him on the ball of his feet with his hands behind his back, waiting with big kitty eyes until Lance held his hands out, only to drop a bismuth in his hands. He’d be bouncing on his feet and he wouldn’t even notice he was doing it.

Lance just liked Keith. The way he talked and walked and moved and smiled and everything beyond and in between. He liked the way Keith pouted and frowned when confused. He liked the way he often completely missed Lance’s sarcasm, or the way he still didn’t do the voltron cheer correctly. He liked how Keith’s sarcasm was often delivered in a way that sounded… not sarcastic at all, and Keith would pause and clarify he was being sarcastic. Or the times his sarcasm was comically exaggerated in his tone, and he still felt he should clarify he was being sarcastic. Or the times he said something so sarcastically, then clarified he wasn’t being sarcastic. ‘That sounded sarcastic, that sounded mean,’ he’d write, ‘I was being serious, I don’t know why I sound sarcastic.’ He’d scrunch his face up as though mildly confused and amused, then smile, laugh, and flap a little. Keith seemed so much more comfortable to move in ways that were natural to him around Lance, for certain.

Lance…

Had it bad, holy shit. Keith could breathe and Lance would feel his heart preparing to combust out of his chest. The guy was cute and he didn’t even know it.

Lance had to talk to Hunk. He had to. Hunk… absolutely had to hear about this.

So with an hour to spare before the next round of talks, he grabbed Hunk and pulled him aside, and started complaining. And complain he did, for fifteen minutes straight.

“…and his stupid little—ugh, his stupid mullet! Why is it so cute? All he needs is a shitty moustache and he could be every single one of the village people! He’s like, a 70s reject! He’s—why do I find mullets cute? Is it because so many gay people have mullets so my brain finds it hot? I thought it was because I liked long hair, but a girl shaved her hair off once and I’d never found bald sexy before but man… she was sexy. She made bald fashionable. So I don’t understand why I’m attracted to a mullet? Ooh, maybe I’m, like, attracted to gender non-conformity in people? Like, it takes a lot of being comfortable with yourself to just… ignore the way society expects you to be, and just, be yourself regardless of who you are. To just… ignore the binary boundaries of what a person should look like based on their genitals. Maybe that’s what I’m attracted to in people? Not androgyny per se—though that is hot—and not exclusively people who don’t identify in the binary—but people who reject the idea that the binary should constrain how they act and how they dress? Keith’s a man who’s comfortable in his manhood so he doesn’t feel like his manly manhood masculinity is threatened by wearing crop jackets. Is that what it is? Same with my crush on that girl in middle school, remember the rugby player? Man, she was built like a tank. Her muscles were—wait, am I just attracted to people who could snap me in half and I’d thank them? Gender nonconformity, or muscle wife? Or just, people being comfortable in who they are? Maybe—“

“Lance, for the love of god, please breathe.”

“What?”

“breathe, man, or you’re gonna pass out.”

Lance took in a gasping breath, then breathed some more. Oxygen, he decided, tasted great, especially when he hadn’t even noticed he was going dizzy and sick. “Right… thanks, man.”

“How about instead of questioning why you’re attracted to Keith, just accept that you’re totally in that annoying phase where absolutely anything he does is hot to you and you could see him commit murder and think it was adorable? Because you’re totally in that phase with the rose tinted glasses. He trod on my toes today because I asked if I could tickle his ears. Man, he’s angry.”

“He lets me touch his ears.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Hunk’s tone sounded sarcastic, but that wouldn’t make sense unless Hunk thought Keith liked him back, but that ruined his brooding crush phase, and totally ruined his self-pity party, so he elected to ignore it. Besides, he’d know if Keith liked him. Keith couldn’t do subtle for jack shit.

“No idea,” Lance replied with a hug. “So. What do I do about it?”

“Tell him?”

“No no no no no, Nope. Nopity nope. No. But hey, uh—great talk, Hunk! I uh… gotta go! Because, uh… I left, my uh… my pillow plugged in! Yes, that makes total sense, I left my pillow, which is… uh, apparently an appliance now, plugged into the, uh… very electrical outlet, that, this planet doesn’t have! Yes! Bye!”

Lance bolted faster than he thought he could bolt away from his own feelings before. Man, Hunk had some dumb ideas sometimes. Admit he had a crush on Keith to Keith? Preposterous. No way. Don’t wanna, never gonna happen.

He realised belatedly that he’d just ran out of his own room, and ran directly into Keith. Great.

‘WOAH, slow down, WHAT are you DOING?!’ he wrote furiously.

“Ah, Christ, um—sorry, Keith, I just, uh…”

‘You just…?’

“Bathroom! Ate something, uh, dodgy!” Lance ran off, pure regret flooding his body at his embarrassing excuse.

Cue him hiding in the bathroom for an hour, only to have Keith ask him with genuine concern via note under the door if he was okay, if he needed anything, and a note saying there was a bismuth waiting outside the door, but not to eat it because it wouldn’t make him better, it would make him worse. (The not eating a bismuth had become an inside joke between them, of course.)

Lance’s day was off to a bad start, and dammit, Keith was being adorably sweet and Lance was mad about it.

Chapter Text

Lance was already stressed. After hiding in the bathroom and suffering through multiple looks from Hunk throughout the day, to accidentally getting bitten by Keith—it was a long story involving a gladiator bot, Hunk’s latest burger creation, and Lance being taller than Keith. Like Lance said, it was a long story. (It wasn’t, in fact, a long story. Hunk had declared he’d made the last one, and Lance snatched it. Keith tried to grab it, and Lance held it out of reach. So Keith climbed one of the gladiators like a tree and tried to take a bite out of the burger out of spite, except Lance’s hand was in the way.)

Anyway. The point being, Lance was already stressed. He had a lot on his plate, and not enough hours in the day to deal with it. The Ambadori were amazing, but the talks were wrapping up, and they couldn’t stay forever. Which meant all the kind accommodations Lance had come to enjoy would be gone. With the Ambadori, for a while, it felt like Lance could function. Like, for once, his struggles were worked through and with, like something that could be accommodated, rather than worked against and around, and tackled like something that could be defeated. And now, that would be gone. There was gonna be a banquet-ball later in the evening for them to part ways with, so naturally everybody was browsing through the Ambadori markets for fancy ball gowns.

Which brought Lance to his favourite facet of Ambadori culture: money didn’t exist. Resources were a gift to be shared. As long as something was offered to you, and you accepted politely and acknowledged the labour that went into things, you owed nothing. Which basically meant free designer alien clothes, as long as you said thank you.

Keith had been the first to the market. Pidge had wired one of the data pads up with a text-to-speech algorithm that worked in English rather than Altean, and Keith would flatten his ears any time someone went near his data pad. With the newfound freedom of the data pad, he decided to get his shopping out the way, stating he didn’t want to fuss over it. He was gone for over an hour, which was longer than the ten minutes Allura spent shopping. That was probably because Allura had found a sparkly lilac ball gown in the first shop she went into, and insisted on leaving gifts in return. Pidge had dragged Hunk with them, and came back with two contradicting outfits that they took the whole of thirty seconds to decide on, whilst Hunk had spent a good half an hour deciding between two different suits. The Ambadori had an incredibly wide range of sizes, so Hunk was kind of in awe of the fact there were so many genuinely nice clothes in his size to compliment his shape without costing an arm and a leg and a mortgage to afford. Eventually, the Ambadori came over to him with a bag full of all the clothes he’d liked, and told him to just take them all. Romelle had gone with Allura, and refused to show anyone her outfit yet.

Lance was one of the later ones to go shopping, and Shiro had decided to join him. Shiro, of course, kept giving Lance smug looks. Lance wasn’t going to crack and admit his freak-out had been about Keith. Everything Lance picked out, though, felt wrong. There was just so many rhinestones. Everything the Ambadori had for fancy wear was some kind of gemstone. Lance felt like a figure skater just looking at them. Shiro seemed to be having a similar dilemma, except every elegant black and white item he picked out made him look like a penguin. Lance had voiced this, so Shiro took to calling Lance an abba tribute (and no, Shiro, the flares did not make him look gayer, thank you very much!)

The awkwardness eased, and Shiro’s references got more and more obscure. (Apparently, Lance and Keith absolutely had to replicate the Blades of Glory film cover. Lance had no idea what it was, and Shiro told him that it was a kind of outdated, old, unusually funny film that was the gayest yet most painfully heterosexual film about two dudes banned from skating singles forming a doubles team.)

Either way, the last thing Lance expected was for the funny banter to suddenly fade into nothing. Shiro had just stopped dead in the markets, staring at one of the stools without saying a word. He looked haunted, frozen to the spot. Lance couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the stool; it looked like a regular market stool full of tat. It was rebel-created, full of different cultural pieces that had been shared from different planets. It was for accessories—masks, jewels, elaborate hats—

And a pair of wire-framed glasses that Shiro was now holding in his hand. They looked familiar, human in design, but Lance was struggling to jog his memory on the issue. Maybe they belonged to a famous person? They weren’t Matt’s, because Pidge had those, and they weren’t Sam’s, because he only had silver-coloured frames for his. Plus the shape was all wrong. These glasses were like squashed, upside-down pentagons, with rose gold frames, and Shiro looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Maybe he had, Lance figured, who knows?

“Where did you get these?” The market fell silent. Lance could hear the tenseness in Shiro’s voice, could see the way his expression turned to stone. “Who gave you these?”

“A travelling man,” the marketseller replied, voice a little shaky, “a long time ago—“

“Who?”

“I-I don’t know. He just gave a message, sir.”

“What message? Look—I’m only gonna ask you one more time—Who gave you these?” Shiro was on the verge of shouting, free hand clenched tightly. It was then Lance realised why. They were Adam’s glasses.

“He didn’t leave a name! He just—he left his glasses. He told us that, somebody was out here, and that—whoever he was, the man would know who he was. That—if anybody recognised the glasses, we were to pass on a message—“

“What message?”

“That he was waiting. That you’d find him. He—he didn’t say where, I’m sorry!”

Shiro seemed to freeze, conflicted. The fight seemed to drain out of him in an instant, until he stood, tracing the wire frame of the glasses with his fingers. Lance knew he needed space, but he didn’t just want to leave him like this. “Uh…I should…give you a minute,” Lance began awkwardly, “I know Adam was…that he means something to you. And I can’t really imagine what you must be feeling right now. But we’ll find him, Shiro. As a team.” Shiro didn’t reply, so Lance left him to it. He felt a little guilty, and more than a little bit concerned, but he felt like he was intruding on a deeply private moment, and he didn’t really know how to handle it.

So Lance, looking like an ABBA tribute, awkwardly walked back to find Keith. Keith, who was in a black-and-red rhinestone suit looking cooler than he had a right to look. He wanted to tell Keith that Adam was still out there somewhere, but he wasn’t sure if it would be fair to Shiro to share it yet. But it wasn’t just Shiro’s grief; it was Keith’s too. And Keith would want to know.

“Hey, Keith?”

“You look sad,” Keith observed, “did you get turned down by someone?”

“Nothing like that,” Lance replied quietly. Secretly, it felt kind of good to hear such a neutral statement, to hear the acknowledgment of the possibility of his interest in more than just girls. But now wasn’t the time to celebrate small acceptances. He had to let Keith know. “It’s important, can we go somewhere? It’s uh—not related to me and Shiro isn’t hurt or anything, but it’s…a lot to take in.”

“Sure. I know a place.”

Lance nodded and followed behind Keith, hyper-aware of Keith’s building anxiety. He kept breathing deeply, his walk becoming more and more stiff and irregular, like he was forgetting how to walk without overthinking it. His arms were straight down by his sides instead of swinging gently, and his fingers were twitching and fists clenching and re-clenching like the movement could help regulate the overwhelming mess in his head somehow. He seemed less aware than usual; his gaze didn’t dart around to every dark corner and every minute movement—his usual hyper vigilance was replaced with a glazed, slightly dissociated stare ahead, as though in autopilot.

Keith lead them to a hidden observation deck in the castle, where he stood awkwardly. His hands awkwardly hung by his side; he raised them, then hesitated and dropped them back to his side; he bounced abruptly on the balls of his feet, then went back to holding his stiff posture.

Lance noticed some soft cushions in the window alcove, so he gestured to them. Keith blinked harshly, looking down at the floor before he awkwardly moved towards the space. He curled himself up small and awkward, hugging his knees. Lance didn’t doubt that if he still had that tail, it would be curled around his body at the bottom of his feet defensively. His ears seemed torn between perking up in anxiety, or flattening back and dropping. They sort of awkwardly jutted back midway between the two, a little like a cat aware you were sneaking up on it giving you the stink-eye. Except it was a lot more clear that Keith felt a lot of defensiveness right now.

It made sense; Keith didn’t know what was about to be said, so he likely overthought the bad outcomes, alongside with a fear of the unknown. And truth be told, Lance didn’t know if he came bearing bad news or good news anymore.

He sat down too, and took a deep breath. He rested his head against the iridescent steel walls, and looked out to the stars. “When we were at the market,” he began explaining, “we found something. We found Adam’s glasses.” Lance didn’t miss the alarmed flick of Keith’s ears, or the slight widening of his eyes. He tightened his grip on his knees minutely, but overall, his reaction could easily be mistaken for stoicism if you didn’t know what you were looking for. “At the market,” Lance continued, “on one of the stalls. The glasses were left with a message—that if anyone recognised them, to tell them that he was waiting and they’d find him. So…it seems like…Adam might be alive, and in space. Shiro doesn’t seem to know what to do with the information, so I gave him some space. I thought you should know. I know Adam meant something to you too, even if not in the same way he meant to Shiro.”

“Adam understood me,” Keith replied quietly. “It was like I didn’t need to explain why I was such a screw-up. I didn’t need to talk. Sometimes he’d just move all his work stuff into my room, and sit there silently working. I didn’t feel like I had to talk, so we’d just, sit in each other’s company. It helped me more than kind words ever did. Other times, Adam would give me something new to eat, but he’d always have my safe foods in. And if I liked the new food, he’d make loads of it for me, and he’d let me eat it for as many meals as I wanted. Sometimes, I’d be—I’d be really overwhelmed and, I’d start trashing my room and panicking and—Adam never treated me like I was bad for lashing out. He turned the lights down and sat with me. I just—he made me feel like I could breathe. I don’t know. sometimes I wonder if maybe he was like me too. But different. He’s a square. I’m a spiky cloud.”

“This must be a lot for you to process,” Lance replied sympathetically. The room was already dimly lit, and the stars’ sparkle was calming. Lance wondered if Keith had picked this room out specifically for that reason. From what Keith was saying, and what little he knew of Adam from Shiro, he vaguely wondered if maybe Adam could be autistic too. He seemed to fit the textbook, stereotypical model—which certainly didn’t represent the majority, but it did fit the few.

“Yeah,” Keith replied hoarsely. Lance realised belatedly that Keith had regained speaking capabilities, and he mentally chastised himself for not noticing sooner. He chose not to ask about it; it seemed private, and he didn’t need to know the details of how or why, especially when Keith might not know himself. Maybe having a few days with no pressure to speak when he couldn’t, without being left out completely, had helped replenish his mental batteries enough for him to be able to speak again. It made sense.

“I get it’s gonna hit you hard,” Lance replied, “so. If you need anything, I’m here. If you wanna just sit in my room quietly, you’ll know where to find me. If you wanna skip the ball tonight, I’ll hang back here with you.”

“You hate missing parties,”

“I do,” Lance replied quietly, “but you’re more important.”

Lance really meant it, and it almost scared him how much he did so. Keith was important to him, and he wanted to be there for him. He wanted to give Keith some semblance of comfort and solidarity, even if he felt completely out of his depth.

“I, uh. I can…I can speak, but—do you, I mean—can I, use my data pad? I, don’t think I’ll be able to process what people say very well right now and, talking takes up too much energy. I don’t, want to lose the ability to speak again.”

“We can text if you wanna,” Lance offered, “no pressure to talk or listen.

Keith nodded, and they sat in silence together; dressed to the nines and missing the ball to spend time healing beneath the stars.

Chapter Text

Shiro hadn’t returned the next day, so it was clear to everybody that he’d gone to look for Adam. Keith was still adjusting to the news, and had chosen to take out his frustrations on the gladiator bot. Pidge had programmed it to say ’ow’every time it got hit, which was entertaining for the whole of five minutes before it started giving Lance a headache. Sure, he could’ve just walked away, being as he wasn’t doing anything but sitting on the bench, but he kind of liked watching Keith train. It was clear he’d paid attention in every lesson he was given, executing moves with amazing precision. But at the same time, Keith improvised like he had nothing left to lose.

Precision gave way to split second decisions, sudden stabs or unexpected feints to the side. It made him unpredictable, dangerous, hard to keep up with—Keith made fighting an art. It was like watching a master artist at work; the battlefield his canvas, his sword the brush and the blood he shed the paint streaking ribbons across the no man’s land. Even in training, where the gladiator couldn’t bleed, Keith made everything so much more interesting in the way he moved.

Keith didn’t move fluidly like Allura, or cautiously like Shiro. He ducked harshly, jabbed shakily, messed up his footwork like he’d forgotten what to do with his feet—but the way he compensated was a sight to behold. Every time he lost balance, he countered it with a sharp roll away or a harsh, direct stab, or a wide arc carved through the midriff of the gladiator with his blade. It was the way Keith recovered from his mistakes and turned them into advantages—the way his focus on the battlefield never wavered. He was relentlessly intelligent on the battlefield.

A lot of the unrestrained aggression he’d started with had been channeled, and an amount of his impulsivity had come under control: he fought a little less like a Galra, and more like somebody who had learned how to integrate galra and human techniques in a way that made him hard to defeat. A galra would think like a galra, predict moves based on galra fighting. A human would think like a human, predict moves based on human fighting. But against Keith? You couldn’t predict him by pulling from only one source. You had to think harder and smarter. You had to break your own thinking to try and remember the tactics of another species, but you never knew if the next move he’d make would be human or galra. He had no pattern to how he switched between the two, so it was near impossible to predict what move he’d make next, and trying to anticipate his moves only made you lag on the battlefield.

So Lance liked watching Keith fight. As much as he tired of the violence and hated the bloodshed, Keith made it into a dance. Keith made it something refined. Keith made it into an art.

Unfortunately, Keith also practiced into the night. And Lance, as much as he enjoyed watching, really needed his sleep at some point. But then Keith was making his way over to Lance, out of breath and wild-eyed, and Lance figured sleep wasn’t all that important after all. “You gonna sit here all night or were you actually here to train?”

“How else am I gonna learn how to defeat you, mullet? Call it making tactical observations.”

Keith scowled. His ears twitched. The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Oh, yeah? Then observe this!”

Lance didn’t have the chance to even react before suddenly his face was being smushed into sweaty armpit and his head was in a tight headlock. He shrieked, flailing blindly until his hand found Keith’s face, pushing it back and kicking at his legs. He heard Keith laugh, so he put his body weight into pushing forwards to knock him off balance. It worked, but unfortunately, as soon as they hit the floor, Keith had him in a choke hold. Play fighting was normal, for the two of them. They were just too competitive to not find themselves brawling on the floor. And Lance had missed it; his crisis had pulled him away from everything around him, including away from Keith. So returning to some semblance of normalcy felt good.

Thankfully, Keith let him go, laughing still. He hadn’t heard Keith laugh with violent and competitive glee in far too long, for Lance’s liking. It was one of his favourite sounds, because it was one made when Keith’s glared was down. His eyes had gone all galra, so alongside the shine, his pupils were big like moons, like an excitable cat stalking its playful prey. Lance always used to stuff Keith’s face into his armpit early into the rivalry, but Lance hadn’t expected Keith to finally get his revenge. Lance had tried it on Pidge once. He quickly learned two key things from that experience: one, that Pidge’s nails were sharp; and two, electrocution was less fun the second time.

“Oh, I’ll get you back, mullet,” Lance scowled, “I’ll get you back.”

“Hm. Nah.”

“I—excuse me?”

“Nah. You won’t.”

“You’re insufferable,” Lance grumbled, pulling himself back up on the bench. Keith followed, sitting besides him. Keith had apparently lost his sense of personal space, sitting right besides him, thoughts touching.

“If I was insufferable,” Keith began, pausing to take a drink, “you wouldn’t keep watching me train.”

“Well—you got me there, mullet,” Lance conceded, “touché.”

“Anyway. You don’t need to keep such a close eye on me.”

“I wasn’t—“

“You were. You were watching over me. Because you’re worried. Because, everything going on with Shiro is obviously taking it out of me. But. You don’t need to. I’ve got through a lot worse. I’m stronger than you’re giving me credit for.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Lance sighed. “I know you’re capable of handling things, I just. Guess I didn’t want you to feel like you had to deal with this alone, y’know? Because you don’t. I know you had to before, but you don’t have to anymore. You have…friends now. real friends who are ride or die for you. Who…love you.”

Lance immediately felt his cheeks heating up. Sure, he’d meant that as he said it; that Keith was loved by friends. But it didn’t change the fact that he loved Keith in a completely different way. And it felt, as he’d said it, like it was a private confession. He’d meant it, and it hurt how much he did.

“Maybe I love my friends too,” Keith replied, he sounded hesitant, cautious; like he was bordering on saying something with a heavier meaning.

A part of it felt so in reach. As though that had been a private confession. As though Keith knew Lance’s meaning, and said what he said with intent. Or, like both of them were too nervous to confess, feeling out the boundaries. But that didn’t make sense. This wasn’t requited. This wasn’t the scene where they kiss. So Lance smiled, and instead of reaching out to take his hand, or lean in to kiss him, or tell him everything he felt about him, he patted his shoulder, and walked away.

Lance didn’t sleep well that night.

Chapter Text

Just as Lance had begun to believe he could get through this, he was realising he couldn’t. Sometimes, being around Keith was easy. Right now, though, it was painful. Every minute they spent together was a reminder that Keith wouldn’t feel the same. Every laugh he eeked out of Keith felt like everything was bright and beautiful, until it made the butterflies in his stomach dance and flutter, and his chest squeeze in painful euphoria. And he’d remember that Keith’s private laugh wouldn’t be meant for him. It would be shared with another guy someday. One Keith loved. And as far as he was aware, Keith was monoamorous and not attracted to Lance. So no matter what or who entered Keith’s life, Lance had no chance of being somebody who held him close of a night.

Lance had spent a while privately convincing himself that he could handle his feelings. Because, truthfully, he’d rather have Keith as a best friend than not at all, and he’d happily help Keith find happiness with somebody else if it meant Keith was happy. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It didn’t mean Lance didn’t drive himself crazy with jealousy of the thought of Keith not being his companion. And it didn’t mean Lance didn’t break his own heart every day.

Talking to Hunk often helped, sure, but it was helping less and less. Talking about it only helped when Lance could let go of his feelings. And he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Keith. It didn’t help to eat cookies and cry when it left him feeling emptier afterwards. It didn’t help to have a hug when it wasn’t Hunk he wanted to be hugging. Keith hadn’t taken up the offer to initiate hugs with Lance, so he didn’t push it. They hadn’t shared a bed like before. Lance felt it all right in his chest, deep within his heart. Pain. Yearning. The destructive power of love, burning him once more. He couldn’t stop falling in love with people who were never meant to be.

He found himself talking to Allura about it, sometimes. She seemed to understand more than most. Because she’d loved Lance and Lance had loved her. Sometimes, he felt himself missing the thrilling sense of security he had with her, but he knew nothing inside him would spark up and reignite with her. He missed the feeling of being loved back, and of security; arrogant certainty that everything would work out for the better.

Keith seemed more distant too. Every moment spent with Allura seemed to drive Keith away, and Lance didn’t understand why. Keith had asked him if he was with her again. Lance told him that he didn’t love her in that way anymore, and their love was like an old friend. He just wanted her companionship. Keith was still a little distant, but also a little less so.

Pidge wasn’t a support. They were a kid still. Fifteen, and naive and wholly unaware of their own naïveté. Fifteen was the age of feeling lost, whilst feeling like you knew how the world finally worked. Pidge also didn’t have anything to contribute when it came to romantic advice. They didn’t know how it felt. They spoke like it was as simple as telling Keith how he felt, then moving on. They distracted him with video games, as though Lance’s brain didn’t spend every virtual battle imagining that triumphant laugh Keith did whenever he was winning.

Shiro was still gone. He didn’t check in. It was stressing out Keith, and everyone on the team. Lance wished he could go back to that time, before he’d come out, where Shiro would hold him and give him advice. Shiro, the person who knew Keith the most.

Lance wasn’t even so sure when everyone had figured out that he loved Keith. He hadn’t told them, and they hadn’t told him. It just seemed to evolve naturally, weaved itself into conversations and interactions until Lance felt like he was distancing from everyone he loved, because every conversation seemed to be about Keith these days.

Romelle didn’t tease him anymore. She seemed sympathetic, gentle. Lance hated it. He wanted her teasing again.

Coran sat by him. He didn’t offer advice. After all; how could you be homesick when your home was right in front of you, waiting to belong to somebody else?

Keith was home.

Yearning wasn’t romantic. Romance wasn’t sweet. Love was pain, and nothing but. Bitter vines of thorns and spikes, piercing through the layers of walls he’d put up in a desperate attempt to survive this unscathed. He hadn’t succeeded. The scars of loving Keith were already branded into his heart, and they weren’t healing over.

Pining wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t pretty. It made his heart pound like a war zone, stopped him from living because he already felt like an empty shell.

Nothing made sense anymore. It maybe never would.

He wanted Keith. He wanted Keith to come and make everything better. To hush him and wipe his tears away, to take him into his arms and hold him like he meant something to someone. He wanted Keith to hold him like he was fragile, to hold him like he was made of glass, because that’s how Lance felt.

He felt like glass.

Lance didn’t smile much anymore. He sat there, talked when spoken to, and said nothing. He sat, empty, unsatisfied with the way food didn’t fill him up anymore. Not when there was such a deep emptiness—a carnal hunger for love and desire built up inside him.

He wanted Keith to hold him.

But Keith wasn’t his to hold.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.