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Lance excuses himself from the sixth dance of the night, letting his hand slip from the Paenitean as he bids her goodbye. He slips away from the dance floor, weaving through dancing couples toward the edge of the crowd.
He sighs, adjusting the mask over his eyes as he makes his way over to the drinks table. He catches sight of Allura and Shiro talking with the officials of planet Paenite, both holding drinks in their hands. Coran is still on the dancefloor, showing off his talent for ballroom dancing with a Paenitean that struggles to keep up with his bizarre movements.
Lance casts his eyes over the hall, hoping to locate Hunk and Pidge but to no avail. They’ve most likely disappeared off to hassle a poor Paenitean engineer, he thinks as he picks up a glass of pink liquid. It tastes sweet but burns his throat and Lance leans against the table, staring at the dance floor.
The hall he’s in is decorated with intricate red designs scaling up the walls, and lightbulbs hang from the ceiling like a shower of raindrops. Dressed in elaborate gowns and suits, the Paeniteans move around in a flurry of activity, their faces obscured by the masks concealing their identities. The orchestra located on the balcony above the dancefloor plays a gentle tune for the dancers, and the dance floor beyond him, is a sea of elaborate gowns and embellished suits, long feathers peeking out above the masks adorned in jewels.
The navy blue piece he’s wearing matches his old lion, and Lance tugs the collar away from his neck, adjusting it so that it doesn’t wrap around his throat so tightly. He sips his drink, wondering what he would look like if he wore a maroon red suit instead.
Lance looks down at his feet, trying not to let thoughts of the previous red paladin intrude on him. Flashes of dark violet eyes and glistening red lips skip through the forefront of his mind, and Lance shakes his head, attempting to rid himself of his thoughts, but it’s no use. He wonders which galaxy Keith may be on now, which Galra base he’s infiltrating right this second as Lance stands in a hall surrounded by dancing Paeniteans.
Maybe if Keith were here with him, he wouldn’t feel so out of place right now, even when he’s at his best in a room full of people.
Maybe he could have goaded Keith into seeing which one of them could get drunk the fastest like the last time they’d been at a ball, because Keith was funny when he was inebriated, he giggled and smiled a lot more than he ever would if he were sober.
Maybe he could have annoyed Keith through the night, because he would have traded hours of dancing with pretty girls for just a moment by Keith’s side. Maybe Keith would have made him laugh, made him feel better than he’s feeling right now, because even if he’d never admit it to another living soul, just standing next to Keith makes him feel like he’s more himself than he does any other time, and it doesn’t terrify him as much as it should.
But above all, maybe if Keith were here, Lance wouldn’t feel so completely alone.
Keith has only been gone for a month, but to him, it feels like years, and Lance had never anticipated that he would miss someone as much as he misses Keith. He doesn’t know when it had happened, but Keith’s absence had turned from an empty place on the battlefield beside him to a gnawing ache in his chest that he couldn’t ignore even if he tried.
He doesn’t know when it was that he had started looking at Keith as someone other than a teammate and more as someone that he needed to see just to get through the day, as though Lance is in a ship being thrown across storm-tossed waves and Keith is the lighthouse leading him to the safety of the shore. Without him, everything is tumultuous.
Lance catches a flash of amber, Hunk’s head peeking above the scattered crowd in a corner near the doors leading to the gardens. Lance sighs in relief, setting down the cup of pink liquid and making his way toward him.
He weaves through the small crowd spilling past the edge of the dancefloor, twisting away from stray elbows and avoiding stamping feet. As he peers above the crowd, he sees Hunk moving away from him.
With his eyes on the top of Hunk’s head, he fails to notice his surroundings until it’s too late. A body slams forcefully into his, making him stumble back. Lance groans quietly, and the stranger in front of him winces, equally pained.
When he looks back, Hunk has disappeared, swallowed up by the throng of bodies.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger says. Lance pauses, gazing at him contemplatively. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Over the loud waltz music resonating over the room, his voice tugs a familiar chord inside Lance, and he frowns beneath his mask, wondering why that voice sounds awfully intimate.
“No, no,” Lance says, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, I should be the one apologizing,” he reasons, offering him a smile, and the stranger jerks his head up as their eyes lock.
Violet-hued gray eyes stare at him beneath a black mask covering the stranger’s features, and Lance’s heart skips a beat in his chest, because for a moment, it had felt like he was standing right in front of Keith.
But that’s not possible, Lance tells himself, forcing down the hope that blooms within him before it can sprout and take root in his chest, because Keith is away with the Blade of Marmora, and he wouldn’t be caught dead at a place like this if he could help it.
“I should’ve been more careful,” the stranger says, and Lance attempts a strained semblance of a smile, trying to ignore the uncanny likeness to his gravelly voice.
It can’t be Keith, because if it truly is him, then Lance will have no idea what to do with himself, what to do with the ache inside of him that longs for a home outside of his own body, a home within violet eyes and a crooked smile.
“Excuse me,” he says, and Lance moves aside, letting him pass.
He turns to Lance one last time, his eyes roaming over Lance’s masked face as though searching for something. He seems satisfied enough and turns to leave.
Lance’s breath hitches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribcage in an attempt to escape from him, and he knows then, with unwavering faith, that it’s Keith.
The raven hair styled at the back of his head is curled in small waves, and Lance would know that terrible mullet anywhere, knows it better than he knows himself. He had spent years staring after Keith and his turned back, has every minuscule detail memorized right down to the small dot on the skin below his hairline to recognize him without a doubt. He’s never been so certain of anything in his life.
“Keith.”
He halts to a stop, the set of his shoulders tensing. He turns around slowly, eyes wide as he removes his mask. Keith stands across from him, and he’s as beautiful as the last time Lance had seen him.
“Lance?” he asks, and the sound of his name falling past Keith’s lips feels like everything in the universe has finally fallen back into its rightful place.
“Keith,” he breathes, his heart leaping in his chest.
His legs move of their own accord, carrying him to Keith. A wide grin splits across Lance’s face until it’s mirrored on Keith, and Lance thinks that he may never be happier than he is at this very moment. They rush toward each other and Lance throws his arms open. Keith falls into them like he’s been waiting for it all along and they’re hugging, incredulous laughter ringing in his ears.
Keith fits against him like a piece of a puzzle that’s been missing, and Lance has never felt so whole. He smells like the citrus-scented shampoo that he had always used back at the castle, and Lance wonders how it still clings to him when he’s been away for so long. The thought has Lance holding him closer, because he doesn’t know when it’ll be next that he’ll have Keith so close, and he’ll take all the seconds he can get.
“What—what’re you doing here?” Keith asks, his voice muffled against Lance’s shoulder. He pulls away slightly, and Lance reluctantly lets him go.
“The ball, it—it’s for us,” he says, removing his own mask.
Voltron had freed planet Paenite almost a week ago, and now that the Paeniteans have regained their footing, they have thrown a celebratory ball, with other inhabitants from neighboring planets invited. Coran had decided that it was the perfect opportunity for them to gain more allies and encourage other planets to join their coalition.
Keith nods. “I heard. But I thought you guys would have already left by now.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Lance shrugs.
“No I’m—I’m glad you’re here,” Keith insists, his gaze heavy on Lance. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” Lance says, feeling warmth pool in his cheeks. The last time he had been this close to Keith was the night before he had left, both of them inching toward something that would have ruined everything between them from something so irrational and reckless.
“How is everyone? Is Shiro around?”
“Yeah everyone’s good,” Lance nods, peeking above the crowd to see if any one of their teammates is nearby. “Hey, you wanna come say hi?”
Lance would have expected him to jump at the idea of seeing everyone after so long, but he seems conflicted. He casts a cautious eye over the scattered crowd of people around them. “I don’t know—I want to but—I can’t be noticed.”
“Why? You on the run from the blades or something?”
“What? No—besides I don’t think I’d get very far.”
“Then what’re you doing here?”
Keith looks around warily, before noticing an alcove in the wall behind them and pulling Lance along with him. They stand together in the small, dimly lit space.
“Kolivan sent me here to gather intel on a merchant from Paenite,” Keith says quietly. “Apparently he’s been selling weapons to the Galra.”
“A traitor?”
“He’s not Paenitean,” Keith shakes his head, and a tuft of hair falls over his eyes. “He’s been taking refuge here since his home planet was destroyed.”
“Don’t tell me we have to free Paenite a second time,” Lance says, trying not to focus on the stray tuft of Keith’s hair. “That kinda puts a downer on the party celebrating their liberation.”
“I don’t think he’ll contact the Galra tonight, especially if Voltron is here.”
“Isn’t that more reason to make contact, when they can hit us while we’re not prepared?”
“They’d be stupid to attack right in the middle of a star system that’s a part of the Voltron coalition,” Keith points out. “They’d be ambushed within minutes.”
“So Kolivan sent you to scope him out before he contacts the Galra?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Keith shrugs.
The dimmed light from the ceiling falls across the planes of his face, casting gentle shadows over him. Keith seems strangely out of place in such an elegant scene, because Lance had always associated him with the battlefields, right in the midst of the fire.
Lance regards him curiously. “Huh, I thought you were off somewhere training to be a ninja, not playing dress-up on a random planet.”
“A ninja?” Keith turns to him, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
“Yeah, isn’t that what the Marmorites do? Teach you to be all secretive and stealthy?” Lance asks. “Not that you’ve had much luck.”
“Hey, I’m stealthy,” Keith argues, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lance scoffs. “Please, you have all the stealth of an elephant.”
“Alright Mr hotshot,” Keith rolls his eyes. “And before you bumped into me, I was laying low. How did you even know it was me?”
“Your hair,” Lance says almost immediately. “I’d know that terrible mullet anywhere.”
And it’s the most truthful thing he’s said in a while, he thinks, because even if they’re galaxies apart, Lance will always find Keith.
“Of course,” Keith smiles, and Lance’s heart stutters and trips inside his chest.
“Of course what?”
“Of course, you’re still obsessed with my hair,” Keith says, and it feels like how it always had been. They’ve seamlessly fallen back into their easy rhythm, like the missing chunk of time in their friendship didn’t even exist, like Keith hadn’t even left.
“I’m not obsessed,” Lance argues. “Your mullet just—it sticks out like a sore thumb.”
Keith grins. “Whatever you say.”
“Shut up,” Lance huffs and shoves his shoulder gently. The fabric of Keith’s suit is smooth under his fingertips, and Lance stares curiously. The suit hugs him, accentuating his broad shoulders and the hard lines of his body. “Where did you even get this? Kolivan sewed it up for you or something?”
“What? No!” Keith laughs, and the joyous sound of it echoes throughout him, warming his bones. “God, can you imagine Kolivan sewing something?”
“I’d pay good money to see that,” Lance says, and finds himself unable to take his eyes off the lingering smile on Keith’s lips. It feels like he’s reliving the past when he jerks his eyes up to Keith to find him already staring back at Lance. He looks away, seeing one of the Paenitean girls he’d danced with before, glancing in his direction. “You know… if you really wanna keep a low profile, hanging around me isn’t the best option.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“The ladies might think they have some competition.”
“Really?” he asks flatly.
“Oh yeah,” Lance continues, smirking. “Next thing you know, Kolivan will be getting complaints that the former Black Paladin is preventing them from the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a dance with the Red Paladin, and then you’ll really be on the run from the blades.”
Keith scoffs. “If it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, then why’s no one asking you to dance?”
“If you really must know, I was on the dancefloor for most of the night,” he says smugly. “All the ladies want a piece of this.”
What he doesn’t say, is that he’d spent every dance wishing that it was Keith with him, wishing that he was holding Keith in his arms.
Keith raises a brow. “Alright, Casanova.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you,” Keith says, clearly not believing him at all. “I just don’t think you’re that good of a dancer.”
Lance gasps. “You take that back. I’m an excellent dancer.”
“Sure.”
“You’re hurting my feelings, Keith.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“Fine,” Lance bites, his competitive streak flaring to life inside him as it always does when he’s around Keith. “Dance with me, I’ll show you what an amazing dancer I am,” he says unthinkingly, and stops short when he sees the surprise flickering across Keith’s face.
His cheeks flame in embarrassment once he realizes that his proposal is far too intimate for two friends, especially himself and Keith, but he pushes through, holding his hand out for Keith to take. Some secret, selfish part of him, hopes that Keith will accept.
Keith’s gaze flits between him and his offered hand, contemplating. Before he can tell Keith to forget it, he places his hand in Lance’s open one, his skin soft and warm.
“Fine,” Keith says, a brow raised in defiance. “Do your worst.”
“I’m going to give you the best dance of your life,” Lance smirks, tugging Keith toward the dancefloor, their hands clasped together between them.
“I seriously doubt that.”
“You’ll eat your words.”
They weave through the throng of bodies swaying to the tune of the waltz music and when an opening appears between two couples, Lance tugs Keith and fits them both seamlessly onto the dancefloor, in the midst of swaying bodies.
Lance hums to himself, pleased, and places a hand on Keith’s waist, tugging him closer. Standing so close to Keith and being pressed against the hard line of his body causes Lance’s heart to kick into a gallop, a nervous shiver crawling down his spine.
Despite his confidence a moment prior, Keith stares back at him like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide and limbs stiff. He raises their linked hands between them, adjusting his grip so that Keith’s hand fits snugly against his. Hesitantly, Keith places his free hand on Lance’s shoulder, almost afraid.
“Relax,” Lance whispers, beginning to sway them along to the tune of the waltz music. “I don’t bite.”
“I don’t know how to dance,” he hisses.
Lance snorts. “I figured,” he replies to Keith’s heated glare.
“I’m never listening to your stupid ideas ever again,” Keith huffs.
“I’ll teach you, just follow my lead,” Lance says, and twists them around in time with the music.
Unprepared for the sudden movement, Keith stumbles and steps on his toes. Lance hisses through his teeth, his hand involuntarily squeezing around Keith’s.
“Sorry,” Keith apologizes, righting himself.
Lance twirls them both around, the other couples dancing around them gracefully in a flurry of colors, gowns billowing and ribbons floating. As they circle the dancefloor, Keith grips his shoulder, holding onto him tightly and focusing on his feet.
“This is a disaster,” Lance mutters.
“I know.”
“No, you’re the disaster. It’s like you’ve got two left feet.”
“It’s not my fault,” he hisses, glancing up momentarily to scowl at him, and the sight is so familiar that it soothes a weary part of him. “I hate it when I let you talk me into stuff.”
“You could’ve said no.”
“And let you go on about how you’re such a dance prodigy? No chance.”
“Hey, your words, not mine,” Lance smirks.
Keith huffs. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Here I am.”
The music crescendos, and Lance abruptly pries himself away from Keith, lifting their joint hands and gently pushing Keith forward into a spin. He twists before circling back into Lance’s side with a dull thump, both of their chests heaving as they sway along with the music.
“Not bad,” Lance whispers. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
“They’re all staring at us,” Keith mutters uneasily, glancing to the side, and his breath fans across Lance’s lips. A tremor goes through him, muscle memory awakening to life.
A crowd has gathered around the edge of the dance floor, and as they circle their way through, he thinks he sees a flash of gold and silver, meaning the rest of their team is amongst the group of spectators.
“We’re kind of a big deal,” Lance replies. “That’s bound to cause a stir.”
It doesn’t seem to put Keith at ease. He’s tense in Lance’s arms, muscles strung tight, hands stiff and rigid in his hold.
“There’s a lot of people.”
“It’s okay,” Lance says softly, readjusting his grip on Keith’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Don’t look at them, look at me.”
Keith gazes up at him, letting himself be carried with the motions, muscles slowly easing and his hold slackening in Lance’s hand. He peers into Lance’s eyes intently, and the world behind him becomes a blur, reduced only to the pools of violet staring back at him.
His eyes roam around Lance’s face, searching for something. Before he can even blink, however, Keith’s eyes dart down to his lips, a sudden yet unmistakable glance. Lance feels his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he loses his rhythm, stepping on Keith’s feet.
This time, it’s Keith who comes to his rescue, righting them both and falling back into the rhythm, circling them around the other couples. Keith squeezes his hand gently, keeping his gaze focused on Lance, and he’d forgotten how easy it was to fall into those eyes and lose himself entirely. But it’s Keith, and Lance will always find his way back to him.
The music flows faster, and Lance takes the lead again. It crescendos like the crest of a wave growing taller, and Lance pushes Keith forward, keeping him tethered with their linked hands as he spins twice under his arm before drawing him back in.
As the music wanes and the wave crashes, Lance turns them into a dip, holding Keith up by his waist. Keith looks up at Lance with a shocked smile playing on his lips, and Lance cannot help the mirroring grin that breaks out across his lips. His hair has come undone, loose raven tufts falling around his face, and his cheeks are flushed with a pink tinge crawling across the bridge of his nose. Lance’s heart pounds against his ribcage with an ache for Keith.
He stands him to his feet as they continue dancing, and he wills his pulse to calm, fearing that Keith might hear his treacherous heart over the music.
They have somehow made their way to the center of the dancefloor, hundreds of watchful eyes on them. Keith seems sure of his footing now, his steps certain and his turns steady. When he least expects it, Keith pulls away from him and nudges Lance into a spin, pulling him back against his body with a smile.
“You’re a fast learner,” Lance whispers breathlessly.
Keith hums. “I have a good teacher.”
“I bet.”
“Don’t get so cocky.”
“I was being modest, mullet,” Lance says, and watches Keith’s lips pull into a small smile.
“I’ve missed that,” he says fondly, his eyes softening around the edges as he gazes up at Lance.
“What?”
“You calling me mullet,” he replies, and Lance feels his breath hitching in his throat.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There are a thousand confessions clambering their way up his throat, but he can’t get the words out. They stick to his tongue, cold and uncertain and he’s slowly choking on them.
Lance had told himself that he’d be ready when he next saw Keith, told himself that he’d get it over with like ripping off a bandaid, too fast and sudden to even register the pain. But now that moment has come and everything he’s been waiting for is right in front of him. He has Keith right here in his arms, but he cannot say the words that he truly means, cannot force them past his lips.
Instead, he says, “Come back, I’ll call you Mullet as many times as you want.”
Keith huffs out a small laugh. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
The music winds down, gradually getting quieter and quieter as their dancing slows into a gentle sway. They watch each other, eyes locked and arms entangled, bodies pressed close together. If he pays enough attention, Lance would be able to feel Keith’s heart beating against his own chest, a staccato rhythm to their dance. He doesn’t want to let go, ever.
As they circle at the center of the dancefloor, Keith’s lips pull up into a slow smile, and Lance wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips against that smile. Instead, he smiles back and keeps Keith held against him for however long he’s permitted to.
The music fades away and they halt. There’s a moment of silence as they hold each other in the stillness of the dance floor, then a smattering of applause breaks out through the crowd, murmurs of approval drifting over the haze in Lance’s mind and breaking him away from his thoughts and back into the present.
“Not bad for a first dance huh?”
“Not bad at all.”
“I told you I’m an amazing dancer,” Lance smiles smugly.
“Yeah yeah,” he chuckles, and it’s as close to an agreement as he’s going to get. Keith moves to stand beside him, hand in hand as they bow with the rest of the dancers, and Lance tries not to miss the warmth of his body pressed against him.
As he straightens, however, his hand tenses in Lance’s hold. When Lance turns to him in confusion, his eyes are narrowed. He follows Keith’s line of vision, seeing a man at the very edge of the crowd conversing animatedly with a Paenitean.
“It’s him,” Keith whispers as the other dancers begin to leave the dancefloor and the music begins again. “Come on,” he says, and drags Lance along, weaving through the crowd as the Paeniteans look at them expectantly, like they’re waiting for another show.
Unaware that he’s being tailed, the man leads the innocent Paenitean out into the gardens. Keith ducks behind the door, waiting until they’re a few feet away to dart behind a bush. Their hands are still linked, and Lance lets himself be pulled along.
Keith watches them for a moment before pulling up a holographic screen emitting from the thin bracelet wrapped around his wrist. Lance hadn’t even noticed it tucked under the sleeves of his suit. He types away at the screen, sending a transmission back to presumably Kolivan.
When the assumed traitor is within view, Keith reaches for his hand and tugs him up a set of stairs leading to a balcony. Dusk has settled over them, Paenite’s moon hanging over a midnight blue sky. Moonlight streams over them like a veil of silver, and as they crouch behind the balcony, Lance watches Keith.
The moonlight draped over him paints his skin silver, and the hard set of his jaw cuts through the night like the blade of a knife. Lance wonders what would happen if he reaches over and touches him, wonders if he’ll bleed, cut open like the wound inside him, aching for Keith.
“What’re we doing?” he asks instead.
“Spying.”
“Like the old times.”
Keith turns to him, holding his gaze. “Yeah… just like the old times.”
There is something swimming within his eyes, something heavy and incomprehensible that has Lance’s pulse spiking because he knows that look, the last time he had seen that look in Keith’s eyes was when they had almost kissed. He feels like he’s on the edge of a precipice, one small movement away from falling to inevitable ruination. He wills himself to stay as still as possible, holding his breath in his lungs.
Then, Keith is moving, reaching for Lance with desperate hands as they cup his face. Lance relents, his eyes fluttering shut as Keith’s lips press against his. Lance pushes back against his soft mouth, kissing him with a hurried fervor, selfishly trying to take as much as he can before Keith comes to his senses and pulls away.
Keith rises to his knees, and Lance leans up for him like he’s trying to reach heaven, kissing into his mouth and drawing him closer with his arms snaked around Keith’s waist. Keith straddles his hips, pushing Lance back against the hard stone of the balcony, his hands cradling Lance’s face, skin burning where his fingers touch.
Keith pulls away, resting his forehead against Lance’s as he gasps for air, both of their chests heaving.
“Lance,” he pants, his breath ghosting over Lance’s lips.
“Keith,” he gasps in reply, small tremors shaking through him.
Keith leans back a fraction, looking into his eyes, searching. But Lance doesn’t let him get far, reaching for him and capturing his lips, swallowing Keith’s little sound of surprise and kissing back into his mouth, savoring the taste of him on his tongue. Keith groans against his lips and a shudder crawls through him.
He pulls away after a moment to stare up at Keith. Under the silver moonlight, his skin is flushed pink, lips swollen and hair disheveled. Lance wonders for a moment if he’s dreaming, but as Keith’s arms loop around his neck, he knows he’s more awake than ever.
“Don’t make me leave here without you,” he whispers, afraid that if he speaks too loud, the moment will shatter.
Keith shakes his head. “I won’t.”
“Every day without you has been agony,” Lance admits, and it feels like the ache in his chest lessens with his confession.
“Me too… I thought about you all the time,” he says, and Lance feels his heart hammering inside him. “From the second I woke up to the moment I fell asleep. I saw you in my dreams. I thought I’d lose my mind from missing you so much.”
Lance tightens his grip on Keith, keeping him held close. “When I came here tonight, I was hoping… praying that you were here,” he continues. “I wasn’t supposed to be here for another three days and Kolivan told me by the time I got here, you would’ve left. But I left early because I wanted to see you, even if it was just for a second.”
“You did?” he asks softly, his heart tender and raw, beating solely for the boy in front of him.
“Yeah, I did.”
“I was thinking about you… right before you bumped into me,” Lance admits. “Maybe it was fate.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe it’s the universe’s way of telling you to stay with me,” he says. “Then you can see me every day.”
Keith stares at him for a moment, fighting the smile that pulls on his lips. “Well if it’s the universe… I can’t exactly say no.”
Lance grins, feeling like he’s floating above the clouds. “Will you come back?”
“I have no reason to stay.”
Lance hums happily, and leans forward to kiss him again, slotting their lips together perfectly. Keith leans his weight against Lance until he’s pressed against the balcony, and kisses him tenderly.
Behind them, the music floats out from the dance hall into the night, a gentle tune carried through the wind as they hold each other, guarded by the watchful stare of the moon.