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There were few things that Keith cherished from his childhood that he had managed to keep positive, clear from the ever-present tint of sorrow and pain. Some of these precious few memories were of the quiet moments he and his father had in their desert shack. It might not have been much but it was
theirs
and the cozy comfort it provided Keith would not trade for any mansion in the world.
One of those memories were the barebones breakfasts near the fire on Saturday mornings. His father had made a point not to work that day. That day was reserved just for the two of them. They camped out in the backyard and prepared breakfast right there on the fire. His father would make the most watered down americano possible in a beaten down pot with the worst cookies from a barely doctored store-bought mix. But, to Keith, this was better that he could be served at Versailles. To this day it has remained the fondest food memory he kept under lock and key deep within his heart!
So many years later, to his surprise, it was when a barista in the newly reformed after the war, SpaceStars coffee chain, mismade his order and added a syrup to his plain coffee order, that this cherished taste came back to life.
He was on his way to rip the poor person a new one or maybe passive aggressively pout for the rest of the day (he had not yet made up his mind), when the message his taste buds were sending finally reached his brain. That goddamned syrup tasted just like those misshapen pine smoke infused cookies.
He froze.
The red of the pen his name was written with on the cup blurred with the memory of the red of the blanket his father used to wrap around his shoulders on the chilly mornings. His whole body was shaking and the mist gathering in his nebula eyes threatened to spill over.
“Hey Mullet! The others are waiting, come on!” Lance’s familiar voice was so distant now, tapering out with every syllable.
He could not move, rooted to his place, his mind years away, back to those silent cozy mornings. The Voltron captain barely felt his right hand man tapping his shoulder to get his attention.
“Keith?” Lance’s voice was tinged with concern that raised an octave when he noticed the silent rivers that were soaking Keith’s pale face and dark shirt. “Keith, buddy, are you ok? Speak to me, come on. We survived an intergalactic war, I am not losing you over coffee!”
Lance sounded frantic as he dragged him to a nearby secluded table. Distantly, Keith felt a soft hand grabbing his chilled thermos and then returning to pat him down making sure he was unharmed. A shy smile formed somewhere in the depths of his mind. It felt nice to be cared for so much, especially by Lance.
They had grown closer over the many months of working together during the war days, yet Keith yearned for more. The long hours pouring over the maps and devising battle strategies for team Voltron, had created between them a real closeness that went beyond a team leader and his right hand man. Somehow that thought grounded him and brought him to the moment.
“I am… I am ok, Lance. Thank you.” Keith had to take a moment to remember his words. “I just…”
Lance brought his hands up, and cupped his friend’s face, gentle thumbs whipping away the still wet tear tracks. Keith’s breath hitched, his body trembling for a whole different reason.
“You scared me so much, stupid mullet. What the quizznack happened? Did the new bii-boh-bi barista mess up your order? Never thought a simple dark roast plain cold brew could be messed up. But you never know with these bii-boh-bis, they are so– so, I don’t even know if a proper word exists to describe them to be honest–”
Lance was positively rambling, as he usually did, that is until calloused fingers gently brushed his cheek. “You know what I order?”
Keith seemed stunned and that somehow made Lance’s eyes pancake even more.
“Well, duuh , of course I do. Or do you think your beat up thermos magically refills itself with that horrendous bitter liquid you enjoy so much? It’s not that difficult. Now my order, that’s a masterpiece that could potentially trip up even the seasoned coffee connoisseur.”
“I suppose that’s true.” A wet laugh came out of Keith’s throat just before his voice rose with amusement. A small grin appeared on his lips before he continued on, teasing the other man. “After all, a caramel drizzle frappuccino with six and a half shots of half-caf blond roast espresso, skimmed milk and three extra pumps of dulce the leche, a pump of maple syrup and please use only 6 cubes of ice, is definitely a mouthful.”
For once, Lance seemed completely tongue-tied. It was a difficult feat to achieve. Keith marveled at the stunned silence. The fond smile that graced Lance’s face after that though completely speechless.
“That’s my morning order to a T. I can’t believe you know that, Keith…” It was taking Lance too long to regain composure. He glanced to the side as a slight dusting of pink coloured the apples of cheeks, making the freckles across the bridge of his nose sparkle. A distraction. Keith needed a distraction. All of a sudden this was becoming too much. “Anyways, what happened dude? It was as if you weren’t here. Did the barista really botch your coffee that bad?”
Lance took a quick swig from Keith’s thermos as if it was a regular occurrence. For a tick was back to being mutely flabbergasted.
“Funny you would mention that,” his voice was shaky and unsure. “My coffee was indeed tampered with but I think it was an accident. It's just… It just all of sudden… the taste… It reminded me of… the breakfasts Dad used to make on Saturday mornings. It just tasted so much like the pan-cookies and his coffee… I…”
Keith was on the verge of tears again. Without an anchor, he was drifting away. Then, warm hands grasped him tight and tethered him to the present. He melted into Lance’s embrace and let himself fall apart, silent sobs wracking through his entire being.
“Come on, fearless leader, we have work to do.” Lance said softly after Keith had quieted and calmed down. He squeezed him one final time and left a barely there kiss on the top of his head.
The next morning, Keith found a small note under his thermos, which was surprisingly chilled even though he did not remember grabbing a coffee yet. Or maybe he did, it wouldn’t be the first time he would completely zone out and walk through half of his day on autopilot. He then remembered the note. Keith recognized Lance’s fancy yet neat script immediately.
“Keith’s favorite pick-me-up: a dark roast cold brew + 4.5 pumps of the new smoked caramel biscuit syrup. Sweet, just like me.
xo, L.”
= ⭐ =
It felt like they were back on the Castleship. Like the family bonding sleepover night cycles Lance made them do once a week or whenever the situation permitted. Keith would never admit it, not even at knife point, but he loved those nights. For the first time, back then, he felt included, seen, like he belonged.
Last night wasn’t much different. Yet, at the same time it was.
This time, it was just the two of them. Almost like in the days when they stayed long hours pouring over maps and strategies, trying to make sure the team was kept safe.
Last night, for the first time, they talked about the future, about their hopes, dreams, aspirations. For a moment there it almost felt as if they were talking about their future. At least, that’s how it seemed to Keith but his fragile heart dared not assume least it got shattered yet again.
“Slept well, Mullet?” Lance joined him on the small porch overlooking the forest.
The chalet had turned out amazing. Keith had not been there for the end, only managing to help out when Lance started construction. Blade missions still kept him plenty occupied and often off planet. He never did begrudge any of his former paladins for trying to put down roots somewhere or choosing to come back to Earth. He might have been secretly jealous but that was a whole other can of worms he could unearth later. It was too early in the morning to ponder on.
“Keith? You with me, bud?” Lance rested a hand on his shoulder, capturing his attention again.
He simply nodded, feeling his words fail him, trying as best as he could not to fade back into thoughts.
“Come on, let’s go inside and make some coffee. You’ll feel better.” Lance beckoned him in. “Plus, it’s high time I taught you how to make proper Cuban coffee.”
Keith smiled and followed his best friend inside.
Making Cuban coffee felt like a magic ritual. Or maybe it was just Keith being thoroughly mesmerized by those long tan fingers and that sultry voice giving instructions as if Lance was re-telling a fairytale.
Under Lance’s watchful gaze, Keith filled the moka pot with his favorite dark roast and waited with bated breath as it brewed over the stove top.
“Now, pour a tiny bit into each of our cups and then we add the sugar. I make mine with that special caramelized sugar Vero makes for me. Just don’t tell Mama, she will kill me for changing the recipe. Anything but the original is blasphemous in my family’s household. We’re very big on traditions, you know.”
Keith shook his head knowingly as a small smile played on his lips. Lance did love his caramel after all.
“And now, we beat the sugar like crazy! Stir, stir, stir! Stir like the wind!”
And stir they did.
Until the sugar got whipped into foam. A foam the color of mocha, to Keith’s utter disbelief. Once Lance was properly satisfied with Keith’s results, they poured in the rest of the brewed coffee.
“And that my dearest mullet is café Cubano, my favorite cafecito caliente con espumita. Best morning brew this side of the galaxy!”
Keith couldn’t help but be infected by Lance’s glee as they took their mugs back to the porch. He took a small sip of the scolding coffee while reclaiming his previous spot.
Keith could not help the small moan that escaped his lips. The drink was rich, strong, yet sweet but not too much. It danced on his tongue as a passionate rumba, just like he had seen Lance dance with his twin sister. The full-bodied flavor could almost make him tap his foot to a faraway beat that took him straight to Varadero. He had thought that his favorite dark roast cold brew was intense but this was on a whole other level.
“You know, this coffee has started reminding me of you and me,” Lance's voice came from behind him. “Bitter mixed with sweet. But in order to get to the sweetness, you need to put in a lot of effort and work.”
Keith simply nodded, not daring to meet those sharp blue eyes. Lance slowly settled before him, propped on the railing.
“And you know what, Sweetheart?”
Sweetheart?
Keith pondered the word as it lingered in the back of his mind. It wasn’t an insult, it wasn’t teasing. There was so much fondness in Lance’s voice that Keith felt compelled to find his gaze.
Lance continued. “I am more than willing to go the distance and meet you halfway.”
Café Cubano was quickly turning into Keith’s new favorite. It was the right amount of sweet and bitter, perfectly balanced, like a great team.
And it tasted even sweeter off of Lance’s soft lips.
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