Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lance liked to think himself an observant man; after all, he has seen many things in his relatively few years alive - more than most, really. From the minute and mundane of earth, to the outright bizarre and wonderful of the wider universe. He also liked to believe that he could spot when his friends had a change in their moods - be it for the better or worse (minus Keith)(but Keith only had two - three at most - moods and facial expressions). 

So, all in all, a rather observant guy.

The fact he couldn't spot what kept constantly bumping into him wasn't evidence for the contrary.

Yeah, sure, it kept happening basically every ten minutes since they landed on what was basically an over glorified extra-galactic shopping mall, but that didn't mean he was blind! He wasn't the only one being nudged, and in the end he had been accused as being the culprit behind it.

Keith's exasperated voice as he told Lance to "cut it out already!” annoyed him, yes, but when Hunk ended up being thwacked across the head whilst Lance wasn't near him, all Lance could do was jab his finger in Keith's face and retort with a very mature “you see that, mullet head!?”

Mullet head did in fact have to admit that it wasn't Lance behind the bombardment of hits coming their way. Unless Lance was able to teleport and go unnoticed by the group, it had to be someone else. Something else.

The problem was, nobody could figure out the culprit. 

In the end, they all just started to ignore it in the hope that if they didn't acknowledge it, it would get bored and give up.

Being defenders of the universe and the galaxy and whatnot meant that they were constantly on the lookout. But whatever was teasing them was by no means malicious. If anything, it was playful (albeit really annoying) and posed no greater threat. 

So, it went ignored.

The plan seemed to work.

Or at least it worked for everyone except Lance. For some unknown, godforsaken reason, Lance became the invisible pest's target. No matter what he did, he was constantly being touched and nudged and hit by a ghost. 

For a split second he assured that he was free, only to end up being slammed into so hard that he dropped all the food he was carrying, spread out on the floor in what must have been the most pathetic sight known to mankind considering how Pidge was quick to snap a picture.

As Lance stayed on the ground, his front soaked with this intergalactic station's version of a milkshake, he could feel Keith's eyes on him. If he weren't so pitiful looking and embarrassed, he would have made a point to say something to him, but alas, he wasn't about to fight a losing battle.

After getting washed up, Lance decided he had enough. Something was clearly out to get him and he didn't care how harmless everyone else seemed to think the space ghost was, he was determined to find it.

In whatever way one could possibly find something invisible.

Since everyone had their own plans as to what to do on their rare vacation day, it was easy enough to slip away from everyone in pursuit of the unknown. He made sure to not draw any suspicion to himself - especially around a certain easily agitated someone.

Keith. It was Keith.

The last thing he needed was mister I wear fingerless leather gloves because I'm so cool and mysterious to suspect he was onto something. If he caught on, then Shiro would probably get a whiff of Lance's grand ideas, and that in turn would make him try putting Lance on a leash. 

So you accidentally cause trouble a handful - a couple handfuls - of times when left to your own devices and suddenly everyone needs to keep an eye on you. How dull, how boring. How predictable.

Lance didn't want any of that.

What he wanted was to be free from the gremlin finding pleasure in his misery.

Separating from the group was easy enough for the most part; as Hunk went one way, Pidge went the other. Keith didn't bother sticking around Lance for long, departing with a cautionary side eye. Would it kill him to be nice? Possibly. 

Thankfully Shiro had his own plans for the day so that left Lance alone soon enough.

Perfect.

Now to hunt a weaselly little creature. 

Lance walked around, going from one store to another, occasionally asking if anyone else was experiencing phantom pains to which the answers always ranged from polite smiles or looks of outright confusion. So it seemed that he really was the prime target. He had heard plenty of times that he had a punchable face (thanks Keith) but nobody had ever actually acted on that instinct. Until now.

And once he found the pest behind it he would give it a piece of his mind.

But that would take time.

For a while, things really did go back to normal. There were no attacks and Lance was starting to get ticked off. Ignore it and it annoys him. Try to confront it and it decides its feeling shy. Typical, honestly.

But then, after flipping through racks of clothes, it finally hits him - quite literally. 

He whipped his head around instantly, hand over the back of his head. It stung where something small had made an impact. Whatever it was, it felt different to before. As opposed to a mysterious force, this felt for more tangible, like he could make out the shape of the object that had been tossed at him.

A second, then two, and then something hits him again.

He also hears a clatter.

When he looks down, he sees a small glass marble rolling across the floor. 

Marbles?

The gremlin was now throwing marbles!?

“Oh it's on,” Lance said, rushing out of the store as another marble hit him.

He followed the trajectory, running in the direction from which the small objects were chucked at him. This sound strategy led him to a quiet path between two shops. It looked like a passageway for staff, meant to connect to the corridor which joined all the stores along the strip. 

Currently it was empty apart from himself and the stray marble which rolled away from his feet.

It's hauntingly quiet as well. 

“Alright, it looks like it's just us two now,” Lance said to whatever being was there with him. 

The rational part of him would have long realised he was being led to a trap - a fairly plain one at that, really - and that this was a bad idea. However, another part of him - the one currently fueled by sheer annoyance - drowned out any common sense he had. 

Besides, what was the likelihood this thing would be some large, horrifying, strong creature capable of whooping his sorry ass? Probably not zero, but also not a hundred, and that was a risk Lance was willing to take.

Another marble.

Lance groaned. “Do you think this is funny? Do you find my misery amusing? Because I don't,” he stated, looking around himself in an attempt to catch even a glimpse of what could be there with him. 

But, just as before, there was nothing.

“Why don't you show yourself?” Lance continued, placing his hands on his hips in a firm stance against the creature. He just really hoped it wasn't anything big and scary because his tough guy act would crumble apart fast. “Come on, I'm waiting,” he added, tapping his foot.

That just earned him a marble right between the eyes.

Lance winced and rubbed the spot.

Quite a mean throw.

As Lance dealt with yet another humiliating blow, he spotted something in the corner of his eyes. When he looked up, he was greeted with nothing. 

But when he looked down, he saw an alien - small and by no means intimidating. It was fluffy with cloud-like puffs of hair, purple in colour. Its eyes were large and beady, glimmering as they looked right up at Lance. Its lips, thin and blue, were curved into a sheepish smile as if aware of its wrongdoings. For cover, the creature's small body used a cloak. All in all, it really looked innocent and harmless.

Too bad it had been an absolute pain in the ass, ruining a significant chunk of Lance's free day.

“So?” Lance asked, feeling a sense of deja-vu as he acted like a big brother scolding a younger sibling. It was nostalgic, yet somewhat bittersweet.

The creature grinned, feigning innocence.

“That won't work on me, buddy,” Lance pointed out. “Aren't you even going to apologise? Those marbles hurt, you know? I'm gonna have bruises all over thanks to you.”

At that, the creature looked down and twiddled with its thumbs. After a second, however, it seemed to get an idea. It dug into the small satchel hung around its waist and pulled out yet another marble. A part of Lance thought it was about to hurl it at him, but that never happened. Instead, the fluffy creature extended its hand, offering the marble as a peace treaty.

Lance looked at the glass object. It was larger than the ones he had been hit with previously. It also seemed to be filled with something; the opaque glassy exterior gave glimpses of slowly shifting colours, from blues to reds and purples, evening out with a pearlescent glimmer before returning back to blue.

At least it was a pretty dope marble.

“Oh… Thanks, I suppose,” Lance said, reaching for the marble. 

The instant his fingertips made contact with the smooth glass, the creature grinned and vanished.

But before Lance could react, it was already too late.

Multiple things happened at once. One second Lance was in a narrow corridor in a space mall, and the next he was standing in the middle of a kitchen. An alarm rang somewhere from the side and a door closed. The sound of a radio playing low filled his ears, some upbeat song on.

It was instantaneous. Seamless. 

Somehow, Lance ended up in a completely different place.

It took him a few seconds to adjust to the change - the surroundings jarring despite how mundane and… earthly they seemed. He was standing in a generic kitchen, small but open. There was a kettle. A microwave. A toaster - currently filled with two pieces of bread, the scent vivid as it filled the kitchenette. There were two mugs on the counter - a large white one with ‘insert your own text or image here’ written across it in generic font and a smaller red one. The latter was practically empty apart from a few small sips of black coffee which was on the verge of being cold. The former was filled with steaming, milky coffee.

Two people.

Lance looked around, breaking out of his daze.

He had heard the sound of doors closing just a second prior. 

Could it have been the alien that had transported him here? And where even was here?

Sure, he was in a kitchen - a very underwhelming one at that - which didn’t look like any he had been in during his life, but one that really wasn’t anything special. He was in completely different clothes to what he had been wearing before the jump - still casual but a tad bit smarter, a blue sweater and a khaki jacket thrown over it. Not exactly his go to style as it made him look older, but not something he looked bad in, per se.

The alarm kept blaring from his side. When he looked to see what the cause was, he found a phone ringing. As he picked it up, he saw the display name was Hunk.

He picked it up instantly.

“Hunk, buddy, you have no idea how glad I am to hear you,” Lance said, feeling a sense of relief that his friend was there with him. Whatever happened, it must have affected the other paladins as well - or at least Hunk, given that he was calling. “I have no idea where I am but I know that that purple alien is behind it and-”

“Lance?” Hunk interrupted, his voice familiar but different. Not right. 

Lance’s stomach dropped.

“Hunk?”

“What are you talking about?” Hunk questioned, sounding genuinely concerned. “Did you just wake up? You better not because I am like… ten minutes from your place.”

Lance remained silent. 

Alright, so things weren’t as straightforward as he initially thought them to be. It seemed that Hunk wasn’t teleported with him, or, if he was, he didn’t remember. Or, maybe Hunk was playing along, worried that if he didn’t act a certain way, something bad would happen.

It was worth figuring out which one of those it was.

“Umm… No, I’m up and ready,” Lance replied, hearing an audible sigh of relief from the other end of the line. “But uh… You ever heard of Voltron?”

Might as well be upfront about it.

The silence was promising. Lance was fully expecting Hunk to suddenly burst out in relief, saying that yes, he had heard of it and that he thought he was alone in this strange new world they found themselves in. But that never happened. Instead, Hunk trailed out in a long umm.

“Nothing?”

“Is that some new show you’ve been watching?” Hunk asked. 

“No it’s-” He paused. Even if this was his Hunk, perhaps talking about Voltron over the phone wouldn’t do much to help. He could leave that for later. As for now, it was a good idea to figure out where and when he was. “Nevermind. Why are you coming here anyway?”

Hunk laughed on the other side, as if Lance had actually said something funny.

But when Lance didn’t respond, the laugh faded out.

“Seriously? Are you sick?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Lance stated. “If not a bit… disorientated?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hunk asked, lovable voice laced with palpable concern.

“Yeah. Totally okay. Peachy, even. But please Hunk, humour me and answer my questions.”

“Well… Sure, I guess,” Hunk uttered. “I’m picking you up to give you a lift to work. Unless you have a different means of getting there?”

Work. Alright, that was something.

“Huh? No, no. Just… forgot. You know me, buddy - mornings aren’t my forte.”

Hunk snorted. “Yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot what year it was.”

Lance laughed. “Totally. But actually, what year is it?”

At that, Hunk laughed. “Nice one. I’ll be there in… eight minutes. Later!”

And the line hung up.

Perfect. Totally perfect.

Eight minutes. Lance had eight minutes to figure out what was happening before he potentially managed to screw things up for himself. 

First thing first, he left the kitchenette to look around the small apartment he was in to find even just one clue as to what was happening. If this was some elaborate game or prank or trap left by that small, seemingly harmless marble throwing alien, then surely there had to be signs scattered around. This wasn’t something he couldn’t get himself out of. Sure, maybe he wasn’t as analytical and brain smart as Pidge, or maybe he didn’t have the rationality and intellect as Shiro, but he could figure something out.

There wasn’t a sticky situation the Lance McClaine couldn’t get himself out of.

The kitchenette gave him very little information other than the two mugs, so he left that area quickly. But not before spotting post-it notes on the fridge. 

Mundane to-do lists and requests to buy so and so.

Lance recognised his handwriting. Not the other one though.

He didn’t dwell on it.

The living room was far more promising; there were books on the coffee table, some loose papers which looked like they were in the middle of… being marked?

Lance picked the top one up and gave it a quick read. 

It was a literature paper. 

Marked fifty-six out of a hundred. 

“That’s rough, buddy,” Lance said as he looked over it. 

Literature. Marked papers. Was that his job then? Was he a teacher? That would technically explain the teacher-chic fit.

How old was he even meant to be?

To see if he could answer that question, Lance rushed to the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror. First of all, he was still handsome as ever, but he definitely lacked some of his youthfulness. The softness in his features had been replaced with sharper lines, looking less like a boy and more like a man.

If this was how he was going to age, Lance didn’t have anything to complain about.

The bathroom, however, gave him a few more little details of what was happening wherever he was.

Two sets of everything. 

Two towels. Two toothbrushes. Two shavers.

A roommate?

But when Lance looked around some more, he came to the realisation that there was only one bedroom. One, large bed.

There were probably quite a few things to unpack there, but Lance really did not have the time nor mental capacity at that moment to delve into a certain realisation. Now was not the time in the slightest. 

He kept finding more and more details scattered around the place that pointed at there being someone else living with him. As different as this place was, Lance knew he wasn’t the type to read magazines about motorcycles or cars or anything along that line. But then again, he was apparently a teacher here, and that also was something he would have never even thought about back home. 

Before he could snoop around some more, there was a ringing from the front door.

There was also the smell of burnt toast, so Lance took care of that first. He pulled out two charred pieces of bread that got stuck in the toaster and instantly threw them in the bin. As if he could ever eat that.

Afterwards, he rushed to the door and was met with a familiar face.

Hunk.

But not his Hunk.

Imposter Hunk, if you may.

Lance opened the door, not missing the leather jacket hanging on the coat rack. Not his style at all.

“You’re alive,” Hunk said when the doors were open. “Seriously, I’ve been ringing for like five minutes now.”

“Sorry,” Lance said, feeling uncomfortable as he was faced with a friend that didn’t seem to be him in a life that wasn’t his own. “Just needed to get ready,” he added. Ready for what? He didn’t know. It was possible that this was leading him to some trap, or a very intricate prank in which he would have pie in his face, humiliated as everyone stared and laughed. 

Dramatic? Maybe, but plausible. 

Lance followed Hunk out, grabbing what he thought was his bag from the coat rack and tossing it over his shoulder. He used the keys he found on the cabinet in the hallway to close the doors behind him, taking note of the key-chain of a black crow.

Too many small details that didn’t make sense for there to not be some wider story.

Too many details for Lance to understand. 

It made his head start to spin.

Throughout the drive to what Lance assumed was his workplace, he tried his luck by asking Hunk a few questions. Of course, there was very little he learned from the other man who, understandably so, thought that Lance was just playing dumb. But the unsuccessful exchanges did help Lance come to the conclusion that Hunk really didn’t know anything. The Hunk he was sitting next to had no idea what Voltron was, he never heard of the Garrison or the Galra, and he wasn’t the same Hunk Lance knew. 

Of course, Lance could have been wrong and Hunk did in fact have his memories erased, or he was simply acting. But it really couldn’t be the latter considering the fact that Hunk was a terrible liar that couldn’t act even if his life depended on it. Okay, maybe he could somewhat play a part, but he would crack under pressure under enough scrutiny. If this was the real Hunk, he would have broken by now. But he didn’t.

So, Lance was back to square one.

For now, his plan was fairly simple with very little explanation needed. The most important thing for him was to try and find his way to Blue - or any of the lions, really. He could figure his way on from there. If this was a mirage, then hopefully the lions would be able to dispel it. If this was a dream… then maybe he needed to find a way to wake up. But if this was anything else… Well, Lance didn’t really know what to do other than try and find what he from henceforth will refer to as the marble-chucker. A truly well deserved title for that menace. 

Maybe it was hiding at the school. Or maybe it was nowhere near. 

No matter what, Lance had to find some way of getting back home.

Hunk parked in one of the few bays left available. He exited the car first, waiting around for Lance who was taking his sweet time for the simple reason that he didn’t know how to act. Of course, Lance was totally capable of winging it and acting as if everything was perfectly fine when that was actually far from the truth, but he needed to first compose himself before he could put on that unassuming smile and air of infuriating confidence. 

But in the end, Lance came out and joined Hunk.

They both walked towards the building. It was early in the morning, but there were already a few eager students - mostly older ones trying to get as much studying in as they could - in the halls and classrooms, chatting or working.

Not knowing where he was going, Lance followed Hunk. If anything, he could always use the excuse of wanting to be with his friend. 

In the end, he found himself in the teacher’s lounge. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but there was a small fridge, a kettle, two large sofas, and a few tables to work and eat on. Not as miserable as it could have been.

But what stuck out to him the most was the presence of Allura. 

“Allura!”

The woman in question nearly dropped her mug of tea, jumping in shock. She placed a hand over her heart, a humoured smile on her lips as she slowly looked over at Lance, offering him some sort of comfort.

Surely this Allura was his Allura, not some cheap imitation of her. 

“Morning, Lance,” she greeted warmly. “You seem to be in high spirits. Did you have a good weekend? A road trip, was it?”

Lance blanked. 

“Umm… Yeah, it was great. Saw many roads and all that,” he replied, his heart hammering in his chest. “Listen I- Do you- Is this-”

Allura, concerned, tilted her head to the side. “Are you alright?”

No, actually, but Lance wasn’t about to say that. 

Instead, all he could do was sigh, his shoulders slumping. “It’s nothing,” he said. “How are you?”

Allura smiled. “I’m all good, thank you,” she replied. “Mainly working on trying to organise this summer’s school events, even if the budget this year is a tad too tight for my liking,” she said and Lance could only nod along as if he understood what was going on. 

Lance winged his way through the first part of the morning, but after two hours, he was horrified to learn that he actually had lessons to take care of. 

He found his class after mindless running around and sheer luck, standing in front of the door to room V6. When he walked in, there were already a few kids sitting at their desks, mostly chatting amongst one another since the day wouldn’t start for the next ten minutes. 

Great, Lance had ten minutes to figure out what to do.

He tried to find out if he had a lesson plan or anything, and exhaled in relief when he did see that this version of himself had in fact planned ahead. He even had a seating plan on his desk - one for each class. Okay, this was somewhat doable. How hard was teaching literature anyway? He could read. He had some understanding of the written word. That was more than he could say about some people.

Keith. He was thinking of Keith. But then he felt dumb, because Keith actually seemed to read a lot in his free time. So, bad target for his hate train.

Lance flipped through his lesson plan for the week. Hand back papers. Go through a few poems. Read through some books. Watch a movie.

Watch a movie.

Lance could do that. He just had to double check that this was the right class for it. After giving the paper a few more read-throughs, he saw that this was in fact the same class he was going to play a movie for later in the week. It didn’t look like there would be any harm by switching around the lessons just this once. Besides, what kid would say no to a movie session? 

With the decision made, Lance tried to figure out how to work the computer. 

Seeing that he was fiddling around with the video player, the students seemed to perk up. What better way to start yet another tedious week than with a free lesson? No mental stimulation whatsoever! 

In the end, Lance got the movie up just before the bell rang.

The entire class filled up and Lance was left standing in front of roughly twenty students, all looking at him with an unfamiliar sense of respect. Maybe he was a decent teacher? Or at least he wasn’t as annoying as some of the old farts he himself had to put up with in his earlier years. 

“Alright,” Lance said, clapping his hands together. This whole teacher thing didn’t seem all too hard for now. As long as Lance got through the day, he could possibly find the marble-chucker or some clues on how to get back home. For now, he just had to put on an act. 

Simple enough.

“I decided to swap a few things around this week so we’ll be watching-”

Before Lance could finish his sentence, he saw a bright white light and the wind was knocked out of his lungs. No longer was he standing in a classroom, but instead he was in… a garage? A breakroom? He didn’t even know what to call the place, but he was now there instead of a class. Surrounding him were not students, but the familiar faces of his friends, worry and perhaps some anger written across their faces.

Wait… was he back home?

“Lance? Are you okay?” Hunk asked. 

“Lance, that was reckless even for you,” Shiro said.

“I’d say dumber than reckless,” Pidge chimed in.

Did he do something stupid? 

All he did was chase after the marble-chucker and maybe ended up teleported to some other world, but that was it! He was fine now, wasn’t he?

One quick glance down told him that no, he wasn’t fine.

His clothes had been changed again. Instead of normal, everyday wear, Lance seemed to be in racing gear, thick material protecting his body. A body which was aching more than usual.

Before Lance could adjust, the doors to the room were kicked open and in came a flurry of red leather and navy eyes. Keith looked beyond pissed as he rushed in, making a direct line towards Lance and his friends. He pulled his racing helmet off and slammed it to the ground, the protective gear clattering as it hit the hard floor. 

“Do you think you’re fucking funny?” Keith spat out, burning anger singeing his words. 

As soon as he rushed in, the attention was on him. Shiro was already acting, trying to get to Keith to calm him down.

“Is this some fucking joke to you?” Keith continued, burning bright with emotion. “You think you're invincible or something? You nearly got yourself killed!” He was fuming, taking large steps towards Lance, jabbing his finger up in his face. “It was a simple command, Lance: don't overtake. But you can't fucking listen, can you?”

Though Lance had no idea what was going on, he still felt like fighting back. That's just how it was with him and Keith. There was no talking, just butting heads and shouting, two polar opposites that could never come together. 

“Now half your car is scattered across the track!” Keith continued, and though Lance did not appreciate his tone, he also had a feeling that perhaps anger wasn't unwarranted. “Do you know how lucky you are to be alive right now?” He continued and suddenly the pain shooting down Lance's body made sense. “Just because you wanted to show off? Fuck you!”

“Keith!” Shiro called out, pulling him away from Lance since he was getting far too close for comfort. “Enough! What Lance did was stupid, but he's still in shock. Now is not the time to start yelling at him.”

Keith glared at Shiro, then back at Lance.

“Now is the perfect time,” Keith argued. “Maybe he'll finally learn something useful.”

“Oh shut it,” Lance said without thinking. 

He made a mistake.

Keith laughed - a vile, bitter thing. “You're telling me to shut up? Oh how fucking mature. But fine! I'll shut up! See if I care if you kill yourself next time,” he said, causing his friends to gasp and utter his name, aware that he had gone too far. “You clearly don't care about us, so why should I care about you? I'm done,” he declared, his voice becoming uncomfortably… fragile?

Like he was the one that got hurt.

Clearly that wasn't the case, but why did he sound like it?

“Keith…” Allura said, her voice knowing and worried.

“Whatever,” Keith said, freeing himself from Shiros's hold on him. He looked at Lance one more time, his navy eyes flickering with a sense of sadness. 

And then he stormed off. He made sure to pick up his helmet on the way out, slamming the doors shut after himself.

The air was suffocating.

Shiro sighed. “He'll be fine. He just needs to cool off,” he explained, glancing over his shoulder to the door. “It was a close call.”

After that whole ordeal, Lance managed to piece together a timeline of events: he was in a race, he tried to overtake someone that would rather die than let that happen, he crashed in a rather horrific manner, he had a checkup, and then he was teleported into this world. 

Why exactly he was here now, he had no idea, but the marble-chucker was definitely behind it. 

Lance was pulled to the side for a few more inspections, wincing at the state of his body. Nothing broken, but everything buried and sore. Then, once the doctors said he was fine as long as he rested, he was cleared to leave.

Allura was waiting for him, her arms folded over her chest, hugging a clipboard. When she saw him, her eyes lit up, expression softening from the constant state of worry she had been in previously. 

“All done?” She asked, taking brief steps towards him. 

“Done,” Lance replied, offering her a smile. “Just need some rest.”

“And you'll get it,” she stated. “You're not driving in the remaining races. Even if you cry and beg. I can't risk it, and I fear that you used up all your luck today.”

Lance would argue that today was not a lucky day for him, marble-chucker and teleportation here and there considered. But he understood what Allura meant, and so he nodded. It was probably for the better that he was left alone right now. Maybe now he could actually try to look around to find a way back home.

“Now, let's get you back to your room,” Allura said, leading Lance over to a car. She opened the passenger side for him and waited for him to sit down. 

Once done, she drove him to a hotel and handed him his keyboard as well as the clipboard she had brought with her. 

“Thought you might want it,” she said. “Now rest up.”

Left alone, Lance collapsed onto the bed, regretting it immediately when he felt his body cry out in pain. 

His hand searched around for the clipboard on the bed, pulling it closer and rolling onto his back, looking up at it. Perhaps this was a clue - a breadcrumb left by the marble-chucker for him to figure out how to escape what felt like a very vivid dream. And so, Lance read through each sentence carefully, putting his expert literature knowledge to delve deeper into the words on the page.

But there really was nothing written between the lines. All that he saw was a report of the accident with a transcription of everything that was said by all drivers involved as well as their teams.

There was a lot of bickering between himself and Keith.

So nothing out of the usual.

What was surprising was the fact that Keith, defending the first place (because of course he had to be winning, boy wonder and all), basically came to a complete halt once he heard of the crash on the team comms. 

Was that why he was so pissed? Because he lost first place? If anything, he should be angry at himself for not continuing on! If winning was so important to Keith, why stop and then take it out on Lance? It's not like Lance was dying!

Though, he could have died if the severity of the report as well as the fact his entire body was bruised and aching were anything to go by. 

Lance groaned, tossing the clipboard aside. He had very little to go off and it also didn't help that right now, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to sleep for at least ten days straight. How cruel of the marble-chucker to teleport him right here, right now out of all places. 

Couldn't it have chosen a calmer, normal world in which he wasn't injured? Was that too much to ask for? But that was probably too kind of a task for a creature which found enjoyment in tormenting Lance. 

Since he had no clues, Lance decided to brainstorm, throwing some ideas to the wind and seeing what stuck. 

First: the facts.

Were there any?

Scratch that - first: what Lance assumed were facts.

The culprit behind this was the marble-chucker which, for some unknown reason, had a vendetta against Lance and didn't want him to have a single peaceful day. Whatever the marble-chucker was, it was powerful enough to either a: put Lance in a deep dream which it had control over, b: warp reality to play out certain scenarios, or, the option which seemed the most absurd, c: teleport Lance between different dimensions or universes on alternative timeliness.

Lance would have preferred option a or b to be the case. Whilst he was no nerd, Lance understood that the concept of infinite, alternative universes was something potentially possible but unknown. If the marble-chucker did in fact have the ability to travel between universes, then it was, quite frankly, the most powerful being in all existence.

And yet it had beef with Lance.

Forever the universe's punching bag.

Alright, so with those three possibilities, it was important to figure out which one exactly it was.

A dream, an act, or inter-dimensional space travel?

Before Lance could delve into the intricacies of each option, there was a knock on his door. As if knowing he was unable to move, the door opened and in came Shiro, pushing a small kart with a food tray. He wheeled it inside and pulled off the lid, revealing a full course meal.

Lance's eyes lit up, his stomach growling. 

“Shiro,” he said, voice honeyed and touched. “Thank you, man.”

Shiro smiled, crossing his arms over his chest, shrugging. “I'm only the delivery man,” he stated. “This was someone else's idea.”

Lance's eyebrows quirked upwards as he reached for the fries. “And whose was it?”

“Well… Keith's,” Shiro admitted, sounding like he knew Keith would kill him for telling Lance the truth. He sighed, leaning himself against the wall. “All Keith's idea. He just didn't want to see, hence my presence.”

“Keith?” Lance questioned, nearly choking on his fry upon hearing that shocking revelation. “The same Keith that came guns blazing to shout in my face? That Keith?”

“Unless you know any other Keiths, then yes, that Keith,” Shiro replied, voice lightly humoured. 

Lance blanked momentarily. “Yeah, I find that hard to believe,” he said, gulping down some water to wash down the food. 

“He cares, you know?” Shiro said, glancing out of the window. “He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Lance found it hard to believe that Keith cared about anyone or anything. After all, he was the mysterious, lone wolf type that would much rather fuck off and do everything himself. He was hot-headed and irritable, always finding a reason to have a go at Lance, making it hard to like him. And sure, did he work relatively well amongst the Voltron team? Yes, he actually did, but that's besides the point. What Lance was trying to get at was that Keith didn’t give a flying fuck about Lance unless it was to dog on him; oh you’re flying is terrible this, oh you’re dumb that - well fuck off Keith!

Just because he was handsome and a great pilot and his stupid mullet actually looked good on him didn’t mean that he was better than Lance! Yet he still thought that. 

Or at least, that’s what Lance thought Keith thought. 

After all, talking wasn’t exactly their strong suit. Keith seemed to have the emotional intelligence of a rock - and even that was generous. Lance, unfortunately, wasn’t that much better than him, but at least he was willing to talk. If only the mere sight of Keith’s good-looking face didn’t rile him up.

“Well he’s got a funny way of showing it,” Lance said. 

He wanted to laugh. Keith? Caring about him? Maybe in the context of him being one of the paladins - someone they needed to form Voltron - but not in any wider sense. They were on decent terms at best, and Lance wouldn’t be surprised that if anything happened to him so that he could no longer pilot his lion, Keith’s first reaction would be trying to find someone to fill his spot. 

Oddly pessimistic and depressing, but Lance was one for adding some dramatic flair.

“Yeah, he does,” Shiro agreed, shaking his head. “I suppose this is still relatively new to him.”

“Caring? Having feelings?”

Shiro snorted. “He’s not as heartless as you paint him out to be,” he said. “But… Yeah. It’s different for him this time around.”

Confused, Lance tilted his head to the side, brows furrowed. 

Yet Shiro refused to go into any further detail. He pushed himself up from the wall, looking as if he was about to leave. However, before he could do so, he paused and scrutinised the floor, finding something unusual there. He bent down and picked up something small. Something round. 

A marble.

Seeing that, Lance jumped up from the bed. 

Of course! A marble! That had to be the clue or - even better - a way out. If he got teleported here because of the marble he touched, then perhaps touching another one would be the answer to his dilemma of how to get back to his world. 

Lance rushed forward, but a mixture of excitement, lanky legs and an aching body ended up being the perfect concoction of factors to have him tripping over and falling forwards.

Accepting his fate, Lance expected to end up in Shiro’s strong, firm arms.

He closed his eyes, but instead of black he saw white, and just like that, he was elsewhere. 

Still falling.

But instead of landing face first on the floor, someone did catch him. 

It definitely wasn’t Shiro judging by the fact this person’s torso was smaller - their frame leaner yet still fit and muscular. Boney in places but toned. 

Lance grabbed onto their arms, feeling the flex in their biceps.

A second, then two, and Lance finally opened his eyes. First thing, he saw a man’s chest, a loose black t-shirt, a thin silver chain with a pendant hooked onto it. Higher, and higher, until he saw a sharp jaw, parted lips and-

“Keith?”

As soon as he spoke, Keith dropped him.

Lance fell to the floor.

Thankfully, his body wasn’t the same as in the previous world because such a drop would have been excruciatingly painful. Instead, it just left him with a dull ache in his knees as he managed to catch himself on his hands. 

“What the hell, man!?”

Keith stepped over him. “Tie your shoelaces, dumbass,” he said, voice trailing away as he walked to the opposite side of the room. “You’re only wasting my time.”

Lance groaned and rolled over, sitting on the floor. Mirrors along the wall, glossy wooden floors, a spacious room.

A dance studio?

“I still have the room booked for ten minutes, so get your sorry ass from the floor so I can dance,” Keith said before taking a large sip of water, wiping a stray droplet from his chin. His mullet was tied in a ponytail, exposing the pale skin on his neck - a truly rare sight. Has he always had a mole there? 

Actually, that really didn’t matter. So what if he did? It’s not like it changed anything in Lance’s life.

Keith cleared his throat, alerting Lance to the fact that he had been staring. Rather openly as well - back hunched and lips agape, eyes wide as they took in the sight of Keith in that loose t-shirt and grey sweats, a sliver of chest visible from how the black fabric fell over his slim frame. 

Lance felt his face turn red as he snapped back into reality, mind completely blank as to why that just happened. 

“Are you getting up or are you set on pissing me off?” Keith asked, putting his water bottle down and approaching Lance. He stopped right in front of Lance, his arms folded and looking down. 

“I…”

“Tie your shoes,” Keith interrupted, directing his gaze at the undone laces which had seemingly tripped Lance up. “If you fall again and break your nose then that’s on you.”

Lance rolled his eyes but still did as told, ensuring that the laces were nice and tight. 

To his surprise, Keith extended his hand out to him, waiting for Lance to take it.

There was a moment of hesitation and confusion on Lance’s part, but that didn’t last too long. He took Keith up on his offer and got up on his feet with Keith’s help, taking the smaller but rougher hand into his, finding the feeling strange without the gloves Keith wore constantly. 

“Thanks,” Lance said, the air around him unfamiliar to him. There was an unknown tension lingering above, his mouth going dry as he realised how close to Keith he was standing. Their hands still joined.

Keith’s eyes flickered down briefly, his lips parting. He hesitated, but in the end, all he could do was let go and take a step back, turning his face away from Lance. “Just stay out of my way,” he said. “You’re taking up my practice time.”

“So I’ve heard,” Lance muttered, resting his weight on one leg, hands on his hips. 

Keith walked around him, reaching where his phone was plugged into the speakers. He bent down and scrolled through his playlist, pressing play on one of the songs. The studio was instantly filled with music - something smooth and sultry.

“Umm… What is this?” Lance asked, feeling like this was getting a bit too weird. 

“A song,” Keith replied blankly, getting back on his feet to stand in front of the mirror, catching Lance’s eyes in the reflection. “Which is out in a week. Which is why I need to practise the choreography. Now.”

Lance wondered where in the wider universe he was now. Keith? Dancing? Now that was something he just couldn’t wrap his head around. As if Keith would willingly do that.

But apparently he did.

“Are you going to leave or watch?”

Deciding that it was better to stay close to a familiar face, he moved slightly to the side and sat down, getting a decent view of Keith in the mirror. The music continued to play, slowly approaching the chorus. In the meantime, Keith vaguely moved along to the music, following the moves he knew off by heart, waiting now for the music to finally kick in.

And once it did, Lance was left stumped, his mouth open and eyes filled with disbelief. 

Keith’s body rolled smoothly as a hand went under his t-shirt, rolling the fabric up to expose his lean chest and lithe waist. The hand went up and up, reaching his jaw where it then guided his face, all whilst his body kept rocking to the melody.

Sweet quiznak, how were his hips moving like that!?

Lance knew he was staring, and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, Keith met his eyes once again in the mirror. But this time, it was different; his expression matched the mood of the song - seductive and dark - and those navy eyes of his seemed so much deeper as they peered into Lance’s soul.

It was infuriating and cocky and teasing.

It was hard to breathe.

Lance couldn’t peel his eyes off Keith, no matter how hard he tried and how much he wanted to look away. 

Even as the song ended, Lance felt breathless, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists by his sides. 

That was new. 

As if snappin from a trance, Keith did a stretch before running a hand through his hair, damp with sweat. As his fingers got caught on the tie keeping it in place, he pulled it out and let the long hair free, giving it a few seconds before he tied it up again, this time a bit higher, once more showing off his neck to Lance. He then turned on his heel, going back to his phone to pause the next song playing.

Lance wanted to run.

There was something severely wrong with this place, causing his heart to race and throat to clog up with emotions unlike anything he had ever dealt with. And it was because of Keith, no less! Was he sick? Poisoned? Delirious? It just didn’t make sense why he would react like this because of Keith and his stupid mullet.

But that was exactly what was happening, and Lance didn’t like it. 

He didn’t like that it made sense.

And he didn’t want to linger on it.

This wasn’t how things were meant to be, and so, Lance did what he did best: he ran away from his problems. 

An alarm went off.

Keith looked at his phone. 

“Ten minutes,” he said, unplugging the device from the speaker. “It’s yours now,” he added, pocketing his phone and throwing a hoodie and jacket over himself. Lance watched him as he moved, flinching when Keith tossed a set of keys at him. “Close up when you’re done.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” Lance said, unsure what he was meant to do with the room. It’s not like he was actually going to dance. After all, he had more pressing matters at hand. The marble-chucker and inter-dimensional space travel, not the confusing feelings towards Keith. 

The same Keith that was looking at him with an odd, expectant glint in his eyes. 

As if he was waiting for something. 

Always waiting. 

But nothing ever came. 

Keith looked down at the floor, lips pulled into a butter smirk. “I’ll see you around.”

And he left. 

The studio fell silent, and Lance was left to wonder what on earth had just happened.

Why was his heart pounding in his chest, and why did the room feel so much colder now that Keith was gone? Why was it impossible to pry his eyes from Keith, and why did Keith keep looking at him like he wanted something? Why did he look hurt as he left?

And why was Keith all Lance could think of right now?

Lance slapped his own face, feeling the sharp stink from the force of it. He needed to wake himself up and get a grip before he spiralled into a blackhole of pointless thoughts. What he needed to do was get out - not think about Keith. Keith and his stupid mullet and navy eyes. Keith and his lean body and pretty face. Keith and his loud voice as he yelled at Lance with, which, if listened to carefully, would reveal a hint of something more than anger and hatred. Something more vulnerable. Something that even Keith didn’t want to accept. 

“Stupid Keith,” Lance grumbled, laying down flat on the floor, his hands extended out. He turned his head to the side, looking at the mirror, seeing the same door Keith had just left through, wondering if maybe he would walk back in again.

Would he?

With a tightness in his chest, Lance held his breath. Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn’t.

But Lance would never know the answer.

A small glass marble rolled towards him, and the next thing Lance knew, he was gone.

At least he was laying down this time. 

Hooked up to an IV drip, but laying down.

Just how prone to accidents was he?

Unlike the car crash (which honestly should have been fatal, all things considered), Lance was actually immobile right now. He could barely feel his limbs, and he was drowsy, fed numerous drugs to stop the pain he was undoubtedly in. 

Yet he could just about look around, his head still but eyes searching. Even if everything was blurry.

He saw a sterile room, the drip, and a bouquet of flowers and cards on the bedside table. 

Seems he was popular here as well.

Small victories. 

Taking his current situation in mind, there was very little Lance could do other than sit and wait patiently for the next time he was flung across the universe. He tried to think if there was a rhyme or reason to it, thinking back to the three - now four - realities he’s been to and what they had in common. For one, his friends were there, but that didn’t feel like anything substantial. Then, the marbles. He didn’t see one the first time around, but it was highly likely that there was one and he simply missed it. 

Other than that, he couldn’t think of much else. 

Maybe… Maybe each marble that the marble-chucker threw at him was a separate world? If that was the case, how many marbles did he have pelted at him? It had to be at least two or three dozen. Quite a few, but still not enough for Lance to worry that he would be stuck in this cycle of teleportation for eternity. Sure, even if he had to travel to twenty, fifty, or even a hundred universes, he knew that it would come to an end. 

At least it would come to an end if his theory was correct.

He hoped he was right.

But there was very little time for Lance to dwell on the implications of what would happen if he was in fact wrong; the doors to the hospital room were opened and someone walked in. Lance thought it would be a nurse or doctor coming in to check in on him - perhaps even his friends or family - so he stayed as he was. There was no need for him to do anything in this universe other than stay in bed and pretend to be asleep.

Easier said than done when Lance realised who had just come in.

Keith pulled up one of the chairs and dragged it over to the bed, sitting down in silence. He remained like that for a minute or two, neither moving an inch nor saying anything.

The quiet was uncomfortable, filled only by the beeping and humming of medical machinery. 

“I hate you,” Keith finally said, not sounding sincere in the slightest. 

Well weren’t those just the most touching words?

Very on brand for Keith; even as Lance was basically unconscious, he still had to make his dislike for him known.

Never change, mullet-head!

And Lance didn’t even have the strength to reply. How cruel can the world be?

“I- I fucking hate you,” Keith continued, his voice wavering in a way which caused Lance’s chest to tighten. “You are so- so- so goddamn infuriating. So dumb and reckless and- and heartless,” he added, sounding pained in a way that Lance had never heard before. “This isn’t fair, Lance. You can’t keep making me worry about you. It’s not fair. It’s not.”

Keith’s voice fading out, a silence blanketing the two of them - all consuming. 

Until Keith cried.

Lance thought he was hearing things at first - an after-effect of the constant dimension hopping - but no, he was hearing correctly: Keith was crying.

It was something he never thought was actually possible; Keith didn’t look like he even knew how to cry - his body lacking tear ducts - or feel sad. Yet there he was, crying by the hospital bed, the sobs leaving him pathetic and wet, as if the thought of losing Lance crushed him. That wasn’t the Keith which Lance knew; his Keith wouldn’t cry - not for him. 

Or would he?

What was so different about this Keith and the Keith he knew? Why did it hurt him so?

Why had Keith been so angry at him when he crashed? 

Why did he help him up? Why did he wait?

Why did he cry?

“When you- when you wake up,” Keith said, voice thick with tears. “You’ll get the scolding you deserve. And if-” He choked up, not wanting to think of the other alternative. “And if you don’t, I’ll kill you myself. I just- I need you to wake up. Don’t- Don’t leave me alone.”

Lance wanted to look - to turn his head to face Keith. But he couldn’t move. He could barely pry his eyes open long enough to make out Keith’s outline. What did he look like? Did he look as tired and broken as he sounded? Restless and hurting? Were his eyes dulled despite the fact they were wet with tears? Red-rimmed and puffy?

Was it unlike anything Lance had seen before?

“You need to wake up,” Keith said, words barely a whisper. “I have something to tell you, so you need to wake up. You got that?” He asked, desperate now. “It’s something I- something I should have said earlier. You might not like it but just- I need to tell you. So wake up.”

Mustering whatever strength he had, Lance tried to move his finger - a sign he felt Keith needed. 

Something to cling onto.

He tried multiple times until finally, he was able to get his finger to twitch. He did it once, twice, thrice, all whilst Keith watched. He stopped, and then tried again, letting Keith know this was deliberate and not just his body acting up.

Keith was torn between reaching out for Lance and shouting for the doctors. In the end, he did both, holding Lance’s hand as he called out for someone. 

In the distance, Lance heard a marble clatter to the floor.

When he finally managed to pry his eyes open, he found himself under a tree, the branches offering cover from the bright sun above. Deciding he had enough of laying down, he pulled himself up, placing a hand over his chest, feeling a dull ache as the previous scene lingered in his memory. He could hear an echo of Keith’s voice - the way he sounded when he cried, alone and scared. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, nor did it make Lance feel good in any way. If anything, he felt sick, his heart and stomach twisted into a coil.

He could still feel Keith’s hand on his own, calluses evident without the cover of his gloves.

Lance looked around, finding himself in a garden, what looked like palace walls surrounding the space. Grey bricks. When he glanced down at himself, his attire was unusual, looking like something out of a historical romance novel - a handsome young prince meant to steal the heart of a precious damsel. 

Not a bad setup, honestly. 

But knowing how things have played out so far, Lance wasn’t expecting to have a beauty thrust into his arms. 

So he decided to walk around.

If he was forced to get a glimpse of numerous worlds, he might as well enjoy them on the occasions he wasn’t injured or bed-bound. 

As he strolled through the gardens, what looked to be servants bowed to him, greeting him like royalty. Well, Lance always knew he had that princely charm, so this made complete sense to him. If anyone from the Voltron team was meant to be royalty (minus Allura since she was an actual princess) it would be Lance. 

Lance cursed his mind of thinking of Keith again. 

But sure, Keith did have that odd long-lost-prince air around him. That didn’t mean that Lance had to keep thinking of him. 

The universe, however, decided it would be funny if Lance couldn’t escape Keith no matter where he went.

Just as Lance was starting to get familiar with the place, he saw it. He saw him. 

Dressed in far less neat and fancy clothes than Lance and even the servants, Keith stood in what seemed to be the stables ( stables! Now this was getting ridiculous! Were they in the middle ages or something?), totally rocking that whole stable-boy aesthetic. Long, black hair tied up, once more allowing everyone to get a good look of the mole on his nape. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow and neck from a combination of the summer heat and manual labour.

Their eyes met, and as soon as they did, Keith smirked in a manner which felt both parts taunting and playful. 

A challenge Lance couldn’t back down from him.

He looked around and then proceeded to make his way into the stable, feeling as if he had just been slammed into when he got a whiff of the stable smell - definitely not as pleasant as the fresh outdoor air he had just been basking in. Still, he had smelled worse, so he took it like a champ and continued inside. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Keith asked, voice teasing and low, almost like a purr. 

Lance whipped his head around, finding Keith behind him, arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the wall.

“Are you here for a ride, or is it my company you seek?”

“I…”

Keith tilted his head to the side, the slight curve of his lips doing something to Lance. 

If he knew any better, he would have sworn it seemed as if Keith was flirting with him. 

Absurd. 

Now that Lance thought back, this wasn’t the only time Keith had acted this way with him back home. Sometimes, during training, he would get all cocky and playful, challenging Lance in a manner very similar to this. That hint of something in his voice also made an appearance frequently, and even that smirk wasn’t all too foreign to him. 

If this Keith was flirting, then that would mean that the Keith he knew had also been flirting all those times. 

And as if Keith would do that!

Lance felt a chill down his spine as if submerged in freezing water.

No… That’s not right. 

“Cat got your tongue, princess?”

“And why would I want to spend time with you?” Lance retorted, coming back from his monetary Keith induced daze. As if Keith would be flirting! This was clearly a rivalry! Keith already retorted to teasing Lance. Not flirting at all.  

Keith shrugged, pushing himself upright. “Beats me,” he replied. “How would I know what goes in that princely head of yours.” He walked closer to Lance, stopping a mere few centimetres in front of his face. “I’m just curious, that's all.”

Lance’s mouth went dry.

Too close for comfort.

Yet his hands twitched at his hands, itching to reach out.

“Wh-what are you…”

Keith stepped back.

Too cold. 

“I’ll get a horse ready.”

What? No!

Lance extended his hand out, managing to grab onto the small pouch hanging around Keith’s waist. He tugged on it and it fell off, a glass marble falling out from it and rolling onto the ground.

It was obvious what happened next. 

A new place, a new scenario, a different Keith looking at him with expectant eyes.

And Lance was holding onto his arm.

“Did you-” Keith started, oddly jittery. “Were you…”

Lance didn’t know.

There was no time to talk. No time to think. 

Another marble fell to the ground.

Outside in the pouring rain, Keith was standing right in front of him, drenched from head to toe. There was nobody else around but the two of them, Keith out in the open and Lance shielded by a blue umbrella. 

“I know it’s too late,” Keith said, out of breath like he had just ran to Lance from who knows where. “I know that you- that you asked her out but- but I have to tell you this.”

A marble hit the fabric of the umbrella, taking away with it the rain and bringing a much more recognisable scene. 

The Garrison flight simulator. They weren’t inside it but standing outside, perhaps after yet another failed flight on Lance’s end. 

“There is no rivalry!” Keith exclaimed, a hand over his chest. “You just made it up!”

“But you don’t like me,” Lance found himself saying. “You think you’re better than me.”

“At flying? Yeah,” Keith replied. “But I don’t hate you! If anything, I- I-”

Keith couldn’t finish his sentence by the time the next marble clattered to the ground.

Lance was losing track of the wider surroundings. It’s not like they mattered. Any second now, he would be ripped away from the world and into another. There, he would be greeted by the same face, the same voice, the same eyes. Pleading and desperate. Soft and tired. Waiting. Always waiting for something. A response. A clear answer.

“I can’t lose you,” Keith cried, holding a slumped over Lance in his arms. It was dark and cold, their paladin suits soaked with what Lance feared was copious amounts of blood. Their blood. 

Keith fell to his knees, careful to protect Lance from the impact as well as he could. 

“Stay awake, Lance,” he pleaded. “I’ll- I’ll tell you something embarrassing when we get back to the castle. But you have to stay awake.”

“W-what is-”

The marble fell.

Lance just wanted to know.

What did Keith want to tell him? 

So many worlds, and Lance still didn’t hear it.

Keith had his arms thrown over Lance’s shoulder, both of them kneeling on the floor in some dimly lit room. He was shaking from laughter, trying to keep himself quiet despite his own best efforts. With each passing second, it became harder to contain the sound. Even as Keith put a hand over his mouth, Lance could still hear the light, joyful noise. He could feel it against himself, causing his heart to leap.

“You’re so-” Keith’s attempt at speaking was interrupted by further laughter.

Lance couldn’t help but join in. 

He almost missed the marble drop.

Now on his back, Lance’s eyes went wide as he saw Keith hovering above him, legs on either side of his hips. 

They were on a grassy pitch, sports kits on. 

“Quite the tumble,” Lance said, breathless. 

“Pretty soft, actually,” Keith replied, smiling. 

“I’ve been told I’m rather boney.”

“I think it’s fine.”

And another.

“Just listen to me for once in your life!” Keith cried out, stuck in the middle of a tussle with Lance. “Or do you just hate me that much?”

Having flipped Keith over, Lance looked down at him, once more seeing Keith closer to how he knew him, red paladin suit on. They were arguing, but judging by the crack in Keith’s voice, this wasn’t something they had been through before. Lance would have known.

“Am I- Am I that much of a joke to you?”

What? No. Why would-

Another.

“I get it,” Keith muttered. “She’s got everything I don’t.” After a pause, he glanced up to meet Lance’s eyes. “I’m happy for you.”

Then why are you crying?

Lance was getting dizzy, yanked from one place to another, too many questions left unanswered. 

“The truth is that I-”

One.

“All this time I’ve been-”

Two. 

“I love you.”

Three.

There they were, looking right at each other. Keith, afraid. Lance, shocked. 

All this time…

“Embarrassing, isn’t it?” Keith said, managing a pathetic chuckle. “If you want to laugh, then laugh. Just get it done and over with already.”

But Lance wasn’t planning on doing that. In his head, everything started to slot together - a complicated but beautiful puzzle. He saw it now, from the way Keith’s eyes would always find him, to the way he would try to reach out in any way he could, even if it meant he had to provoke Lance to get his attention in the first place. The way he seemed so offended - so hurt - when Lance ignored all his attempts at getting closer.

He wanted to get closer.

And Lance, unknowingly, had been pushing him away. No matter how good things seemed, there was still a bridge between them. One that neither Keith nor Lance dared to cross, scared of what would happen once they got to the other end. 

But maybe Lance knew.

Two cups - black and white coffee. Leather jackets and cardigans. A large bed in a shared room. Bickering and talking through post-it notes stuck to the fridge, a constant back and forth even when apart. 

Worry and fear written across Keith’s face, his voice loud not just because of anger. Gifts and acts he was too shy to give himself.

An extended hand, waiting to be trusted.

Tears meant only for him.

A smile directed his way.

Blood and sweat and tears.

“We can pretend I never said anything and then-”

Lance reached out and pulled Keith towards himself.

The marble fell.

Keith’s lips were on his.

Another.

He was smiling.

Another.

He was crying.

Another.

He was pulling Lance in closer, desperate to feel him against his body.

Wanting hands, clinging on for dear life.

Something light. Something heavy.

It all became a blur - a kaleidoscope of kisses with Keith. Dozens of worlds flashing by in an instant, all connected by a fragile string tying the two of them together - a pull which was beyond any sense of logic. Lance could feel it - the tug at his heart - as he kissed Keith. As he kissed every version of him, the depth of this affection spanning across all of time and space. He felt the way his heart clenched and wanted, leaping as it was pressed close to Keith’s own.

He needed it - a man in search of an oasis. 

Now that he got a taste of it, Lance didn’t want to let go. His head was a mess and the hands with which he held Keith tried to hold on.

Don’t let go, he thought - begged. Don’t let him go.

All around him small glass marbles clattered to the floor.

Just a bit longer.

Let me stay like this just this bit longer.

But the universe was cruel and refused to listen. 

The last marble hit the ground, and just like that, Lance was back to where he started: a corridor in the space mall.

Unfair.

It was unfair.

“Lance?”

The speed at which Lance turned around made his neck hurt, but how could he not move instantly? 

It was Keith calling out for him, a tinge of concern and wariness in his voice. He approached slowly, head slightly forward as he tried to figure out if it was actually Lance in front of him or if he had stumbled onto some stranger. When he did finally decide that it was in fact Lance standing in the middle of some random corridor, he crossed his arms and came to a stop.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-” 

What could Lance even say to that?

I just chased after some all powerful alien that sent me on a trip across alternative universes? Universes in which you and I were together?

No, that would just make him sound crazy.

But Keith was looking for an answer.

“I umm… I got lost,” he said, hoping that his excuse was believable enough.

It was.

Lance was somewhat offended.

“Well, I don’t think we’re meant to be here,” Keith pointed out. “So unless you want to cause trouble again, we should leave.”

“You say that as if I’m a magnet for trouble.”

“And you’re not?” Keith quipped. “Must I remind you of how you got your lion stolen as you got cuffed to a t-”

“Let’s not bring up past mistakes, hot-shot,” Lance said, walking over to Keith. “It’s all in the past anyway.”

Keith quirked his brow. 

Then he frowned.

“Are you crying?”

“Huh?” Lance touched his face only to feel that his cheeks were in fact wet. He wiped at his eyes, the back of his hand damp with tears.

Well that was humiliating. 

“Just had something in my eye,” he explained. 

Keith hummed, unconvinced.

“What? Were you worried about me?” Lance asked, playing it off as a joke when in fact his heart was hammering as he awaited an answer.

Oh this was not happening.

“No. Just thought you looked uglier than usual.”

Lance scoffed, but for some reason he felt relieved. 

He could work with this.

“Don’t worry, Keith, I know that anytime you say anything mean, you mean the opposite.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Sure. Now let’s go.” He turned around, walking away whilst believing that Lance would actually follow after him.

Thankfully, Lance did walk after him, making sure to keep up.

“Hey, buddy, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to date me?”

“Negative ten,” Keith replied - the hitch in his voice not going unnoticed by Lance.

“Aww! You should have said so sooner!”

Maybe it was all fun and games for now, but perhaps, it wouldn’t be long before things changed.

After all, with all the universes and alternative realities out there, what were the chances that this one was any different?