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Lance can’t stop holding Keith’s hand. It fits so perfectly, that warm, callused skin nestled against his own. He might not remember anything past his own name but there’s no question that this feels right .
He woke up falling out of a strange contraption alongside a man, who he later learned was named Keith, experiencing the same confusion right beside him. Neither of them remembered the other as much as they didn’t remember themselves or where the hell they were. But the screens attached to the pod-things displayed healthy vitals for a ‘Lance’ and a ‘Keith’ so they adopted those names.
Which proved to be the correct thing to do when the Others found them. The Others, of course, consisted of a group of diverse strangers who seemed to readily know ‘Lance’ and ‘Keith’ and were all too horrified to discover that they themselves didn’t.
A wild morning, really.
Unless it’s not morning. Lance thinks they might be in space based on some of the observation windows they passed by when guided out of what he soon learned was the medical bay. But that sounds crazy. Even crazier than losing all your most prominent memories. Somehow he still knows what cheese tastes like but can only wonder if he has any parents. They’re certainly not here if he does.
At least, Keith is with him in this. A drum beats inside Lance’s chest, calling out to his empty brain, trying to signal the lost connection. It’s the only small spark of something Lance has had since he fell out of the pod—even more than his own name—so he grabs onto it like a life preserver.
Everything—everyone—else he keeps at a healthy distance.
There are five strangers in total, all who are a blank void to Lance. They shower him and Keith with concern, fretting over their amnesia and hoping for their recovery. The group, through various degrees of bluntness and soothing, also departs some basic grounding facts about their lives and current situation.
It is, however, all a bunch of mumbo jumbo Lance doesn’t understand. There’s a war, apparently, and they’re defenders of the universe and they got hurt in some battle. Oh, and their memories will return in less than twenty-four hours, hopefully. Lance wouldn’t be able to tell you some of the finer details of their potential recovery. He kind of couldn’t stop staring at the pointy-eared man’s pure orange mustache wondering if it was real or fake. Corn was his name? Maybe?
Basically, Lance stopped listening a long time ago. Something about his attention span also constantly wandering to Keith sitting beside him whenever he brushes his thumb across Lance’s knuckles or presses his foot against Lance’s hasn’t helped matters. It’s the consistent contact that distracts him. He loves it.
“Please explain again what the issue is here?” Keith asks, directing a sharp glare towards the group.
The man across from them rubs his temple. He called himself Shiro earlier and that certainly didn’t ring any bells in Lance’s head. His recognition still remains blank. Though that surface level frustration feels eerily familiar.
“I’m not saying you two can’t hold hands. It’s just—”
“This is going to be great blackmail material for when you regain your memories.” Lance dubs the person who spoke the Gremlin. They have yet to provide their name but Lance does get a warning sense in his gut not to make them mad, despite them being almost a good foot shorter, or he’d find himself and his mattress floating in the middle of a river one night. If they weren’t in space, that is. Light flashes off the lenses of their glasses, not improving Lance’s impression.
“ Pidge ,” the Shiro guy gently admonishes. Pidge rolls their eyes but backs off on providing any further peanut gallery commentary.
Lance still doesn’t understand what’s amusing.
Unwilling to break off the hand holding, he crosses one arm against his chest as he leans back against the couch and glares to emulate Keith. He hopes the attempt at guardedness comes across just as well. “I think it’s fair to say I don’t have to believe a thing you’re saying. For all I know, you’re lying. I don’t see how I could not be in love with this man.” Lance raises their clasped hands, Keith moving with him willingly, and feels that should sum up everything.
“Technically,” one of the other strangers says, strong and large like he could crush a boulder or provide the biggest teddy bear hug, though Lance’s assumption leads more toward the latter, “you just met each other.”
“It feels deeper than that,” Keith replies, voice low and brows pinched. His gaze tracks the randos continuing to interrogate them. He squeezes Lance’s hand tight when he glances at him for reassurance and Lance quickly nods his agreement.
It does feel deeper, so deep that Lance’s gut has become a bottomless well of intuition telling him that this man is his everything, his one shining light amongst the cold darkness of space. That he’d be able to recognize even something as simple as the back of his head from many miles away.
Maybe it was the way his hair fell into his eyes or the artificial lighting catching the gradient of his dark irises or his slightly crooked smile as if he was new to the action. Whatever it was, something about their first moments together had Lance's empty brain saying, 'that one's mine; he's always been mine,' and he didn't question it for a second.
A rope connects them, tugging them together despite whatever distance the absent memories might create. He won’t let that chasm win.
Keith’s glare intensifies as more protests ring out. “I may not know myself or remember any of you,” he says to shut them down, “but I think I can trust my own heart.”
Lance beams. He loves this man. He knows he loves him. It’s undeniable.
The five strangers look at each other, not saying a word before they all nod. “For everyone’s sanity.”
The Others separate them.
It takes Lance two tries to locate Keith’s room. Luckily no one else was in their quarters when he knocked on the wrong doors. He’d been too restless while trapped in his room, tapping his foot against the floor, and didn’t quite appreciate being treated like a prisoner in what was supposedly his own home. He also really wanted to see Keith. Desperate even. So he told his assigned babysitter, the one named Hunk (who definitely doled out great hugs), that he was hungry, gave him the puppy dog eyes and everything (only to be internally baffled at knowing that concept and not his own last name), and split the minute Hunk turned the corner.
He feels slightly bad for the deception but the guilt doesn’t last for long.
After a quiet knock on the third door, it opens to reveal a wary Keith but he instantly brightens when he realizes Lance was the one who knocked. Lance is thankful that whoever was sent to guard Keith has shirked their duties or maybe Keith found a way to distract them too.
“We’re not supposed to be around each other,” Keith says as he leans against the doorframe, not quite giving Lance access but a coy smirk appears just as quickly.
“Have you ever played by the rules?”
“I’m not sure. Probably not.”
Lance nods. “Good. Because I don’t know why but I really want to piss that Shiro guy off.” He steps into the room, hands stuffed into his pockets, as the door softly shuts behind them, concealing them from the rest of the group if they should come searching. Keith steps towards him to lock it for good measure, and Lance grins. “How can he be certain we weren’t together before? Maybe we kept it a secret.”
“I can see that. With the way everyone reacted, it’s possible.”
A soft smile spreads across Lance’s face. He ducks his head as if suddenly shy, as if suddenly conscious of Keith’s beautiful dark eyes trained on him. The blood in his cheeks begins to warm before he admits, “I’ve been dying to kiss you for what feels like years.”
When he forces himself to lift his head, he’s rewarded by a lopsided smile growing on Keith’s face. Keith leans closer to him, not quite a hair's breadth away but close enough to feel whenever he exhales. “Me too.”
Cupping his face, Lance steps into Keith’s personal bubble and kisses him.
A spark of energy explodes against the back of his eyelids. Keith gasps against his mouth as if caught up in the same startling sensation. Nothing since Lance woke up to an unfamiliar world and unfamiliar people has felt more true than the warmth of Keith’s body against his own and his chapped lips matching every move he makes as if reading his frazzled thoughts.
This is perfect.
They’re perfect.
No memories needed.
He flips them around until Keith presses against the door. Lance slots his leg between Keith’s as Keith’s hands set up a permanent residence under his shirt. Rough calluses brush against his ribs; his nails gently dig into Lance’s skin. His nerve endings catch on fire. The little moan that escapes from Keith when Lance twists and tugs his long hair around his fingers adds to the pooled heat of his stomach.
They start to step away from the door, leading each other blindly into the room. Lance bumps into the mattress and falls onto the bed, bouncing a bit before he settles. He grins as Keith crawls on top of him. He straddles Lance’s stomach, leaning forward to continue what they started. His kisses are a fevered frenzy and Lance is glad to be devoured. He jerks on Keith’s shirt a few times, giving him a cheeky smile as he kisses the corner of his mouth.
“You’re clearly too warm.”
“Yeah?” Keith raises an amused eyebrow before he strips off his shirt. It lands somewhere among the shadows.
“Wow,” Lance breathes though he must have seen this sight a hundred times before. He sits up, keeping Keith in his lap, and starts to kiss his way down Keith’s neck, sucking on the soft parts that cause Keith to rumble against him. He pauses against his right shoulder, taking time to pay special attention to the scar cutting across his pale skin. It’s puckered against his lips, not recent but not faded from age either. “Where’d you think you got this?”
“Don’t know,” Keith mumbles. It was a dumb question to ask, Lance inwardly admits. “You have one on your back too. I can feel it.”
“Really?” He closes his eyes as Keith’s warm hand traces the edges of something rather large. The scar must cover the entire expanse of his back. He shivers.
Just what has happened in their lives to cause all of that pain? To cause the creation of all of these scars? At least they had each other to get through it. He doubts he could have survived any of this alone.
He wonders how long they’ve been together, what their first date was like, who confessed initially, if thoughts of marriage have ever been spoken aloud. Lance could believe anything at this point. They’re the type of couple that already has forever locked inside them.
Keith leans toward him again, stopping an inch, a centimeter, a millimeter from Lance’s lips as he whispers, “Do you really think we love each other?”
Lance tucks a bit of hair behind Keith’s ear. “I do. I’m as sure as space is cold.”
Keith kisses him hard, digging his hands into his hair and scratching his scalp. Lance groans against Keith’s mouth. Everything rushes downwards and Lance willingly falls into him.
Lance wakes up after what feels like a bad dream. He rolls over in his bed only to be blocked by another body—a semi-naked body. Weird. Very weird. Very, very weird. His mind starts to fracture as he notes the mounting oddities like that he’s also only clothed in his boxers (he prefers a full set of pajamas) and the sheets are a different color (a muted gray rather than baby blue).
It’s not his bed after all.
Not with Keith right next to him.
Wait. Lance’s brain stutters as he physically does a double take of the person lying next to him and scrambles back as far as the wall will allow. Keith?
Even in the dark, Lance can’t mistake that mullet.
Rubbing crust from his eyes and stifling a yawn, he struggles to remember exiting the healing pod after their most recent battle. His shoulder feels normal, no sharp biting agony of a laser shot ripping straight through him, so he must be healed. But the last twenty-four hours are a dark haze. Almost like he got black-out drunk but without the after effects of a roaring hangover.
So what the hell happened…
They must have exited the pods.
It’s a slow trickle as the lost memories begin to creep up on him. Flashes at first, a word or two.
The team was there and Keith, of course. Keith with his little smiles. Keith against the door with Lance’s leg between his and his hand wrapped up in his hair and they couldn’t stop kissing.
They didn’t want to stop kissing.
They—
Lance’s sluggish eyes snap open. “Fuck.”
And then Keith wakes up to their new nightmare too.
It’s awkward. It’s really fucking awkward.
Lance automatically hunches, shoulders rising to his ears, whenever he and Keith pass each other in the halls as if that’ll conceal him from view and block every thought racing through his head. If only he could have amnesia now . They’ve barely spoken a word to each other since the Incident. Every time they interact since it all happened, whether at breakfast or training or even during battle, it’s become nothing but stuttered, frantic glances and silent parted mouths. A small sliver of Lance’s mind wants to discuss things but where would he even begin?
It’s a miracle that they’re still able to form Voltron when needed. It’s probably the sole reason why Allura hasn’t forced them into some dangerous Altean bonding exercise to fix their issues. Lance shudders at the thought of having to try that invisible maze exercise again. Keith would certainly lead him into the electrified walls this time.
Then again, maybe a shock to the system is exactly what Lance needs.
They lost their memories and immediately started making out.
It says a lot that Lance wished would remain forever silent.
There came a point during the last two years where he had acknowledged his feelings, accepted those feelings, and then made sure to bury them deep into the dark crevices of his soul where they would never be able to see the light of day. Because it’d be truly insane for them to not be unrequited. Yes, he can get Keith to smile and laugh, incredulously, at stupid jokes he makes, and it’s true that they have grown far closer together during the couple years of fighting side by side—too many near death experiences will bond anyone. It’s true that Keith is sometimes the only one Lance can share his inner thoughts with. It’s true that Keith always seems to seek him out when it’s late at night and he wants company but not questions and they’ll sit together watching the stars on the bridge, shoulder to shoulder.
It’s true that Keith has become the person he trusts out here the most.
But that’s all platonic.
So knowing what they did during their amnesia episode drives Lance up a fucking wall. It’s an itch he cannot reach and thus cannot scratch.
Somehow the scent of Keith’s deodorant remains on Lance’s skin no matter how much he showers, and the phantom press of his lips is a permanent fixture against his mouth. Oftentimes, Lance finds himself absently touching his lips before he can stop himself. He remembers Keith’s hands, where they held him, where they touched him. How rough his calluses felt against his stomach, how sharp his blunt nails were against his scalp, how gentle his mouth was against his skin. A shiver races through him at the mere wisp of a thought of that night. He can only be grateful that their amnesiac selves didn’t go further than boxers before exhaustion from their time spent in the healing pods caught up to them.
(Except it feels like they did so much more)
He’ll always remember Keith’s thick hair curled around his fingers, his chapped lips, the depth of his eyes close to the edge.
Yet, now Keith can’t even spare a worthwhile glance at him. A vacant chasm has opened up inside Lance and the empty space beside him has grown cold.
Despite what his amnesiac self couldn’t, Lance understands, and is grateful for, their friends trying to separate them, even though they ended up being spread too thin to keep a proper eye on both of them. Every second that passes since he woke up in Keith’s bed, he wishes they succeeded.
In losing his memories, even for that brief stint, he fears he has lost Keith entirely.
The streets are dead. They’ve been patrolling this section of the abandoned capital city of Narwan for what has felt like hours, waiting and watching for any hidden Galra forces to spring out from behind broken buildings and piles of debris. Whether good or bad, everything has been silent. The city, the fauna, and, most annoyingly, Keith.
When the team decided to split up, Lance drew the metaphorical short straw and got stuck with Keith. Though, he believes Shiro placed them together on purpose so they could figure out their shit. It’s a nice gesture—or more accurately, a slight punishment—but it’s also a problem Lance really would rather not deal with right now. And if Shiro thought, for god knows what reason, that Keith could actually be the bigger person and try to bridge the gap first, then he was surely mistaken.
Lance has tried to start little, meaningless conversations with Keith only to receive blank stares and small grunts in response.
He’s so freakin’ stubborn.
Unfortunately, it’s something Lance will never be able to beat him at. His body itches all over from lack of conversation, from having to listen to them crunching over debris as they wordlessly make their way around corners and scout dead ends. It’s too quiet. He’s losing it.
“You know we’re going to have to talk about it,” Lance mutters once they’ve patrolled their eleventh city block. He raises his rifle to scan the semi-intact rooftops but no movement appears through his scope.
Keith growls, a literal growl. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on, dude, someone has to break the ice first.”
“Don’t call me dude.”
“Why? Because you had your tongue down my throat? I guess that would call for more intimate pet names,” Lance muses behind a pained, sarcastic laugh.
The glare Keith sends his way could pierce through a thousand Galra soldiers. Too bad there aren’t any around. Lance’s laughter breaks.
“Mullet it remains then,” he grumbles, perturbed, and falls silent once again.
It’s not until another hour of silence passes that Lance snaps and he decides to screw it. There are no Galra soldiers anywhere in their vicinity, and they’ve tucked themselves into a quaint little alcove between what was once an alien bakery and a cobbler’s shop, based on the amount of weirdly shaped shoes lying scattered amongst the shattered glass of the front window—at least, Lance assumes they’re shoes; could be hand-warmers for all he knows.
“Hey,” he calls out, that one word a bullet, and Keith immediately turns over his shoulder. Lance glares, crossing his arms after his bayard disappears, and leans against the side of the building, foot propped up. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
Realizing that he wasn’t calling out about anything to do with the mission, Keith scowls and returns to his sentry-like state. He stares at the street, as if hoping for something to interrupt them, and his shoulders start to hunch the longer that wish remains unfulfilled. “I’ve said there’s nothing to talk about,” he finally mutters. It’s quiet enough that Lance has to tilt forward to catch it all.
His scowl deepens as he stares at the back of Keith’s head. “You know that’s not true.”
Keith sighs as he kicks a sizable stone to clatter off the sidewalk. He still refuses to glance Lance’s way. “Let’s—Let’s just pretend it never happened and be done with it.”
Pretend? Lance can pretend about a lot of things—like the stomach bug he had for thirteen days or that he’s the best pilot in the universe or that he’s great with the ladies—but there are just some things he can’t so easily bury because it’s convenient for someone else. Fuck that.
Stalking forward, Lance grabs onto Keith’s shoulder, wrenches him around, and decides to also screw thinking before he speaks. “Was it really that embarrassing, being with me? Did you hate it that much?”
“ I’m the one who made a fool of himself!” Keith quietly seethes, trying to contain this from becoming a shouting match. The emotionless mask concealing his face drops. It almost gives Lance whiplash, seeing that outrage that’s not at all directed at him. Keith turns from him again. His shoulders shoot to his ears, curling inward to appear small in a way Keith never has before, and his hands clench into fists. “I hate myself , not—not what happened.”
“You hate yourself because you enjoyed it?” Lance can read between the lines. It’s the only way Keith reveals any of his true emotions. He gaps. “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard!”
Keith whips around. His dark eyes snap wide, surprised by Lance’s outburst and then confused, until they narrow into a familiar wariness. The space between his brows creases and he crosses his arms, fully closed off once again.
Gritting his teeth, Lance marches right into Keith’s personal bubble and pokes his chest plate twice. “If you enjoyed it, then embrace it. Stop running from it.”
“I can’t. Not when the other person didn’t.”
“Not when—what the hell, Keith?” Lance stumbles a foot back. He shoves a hand through his hair as a crazed chuckle drops from his lips. “You can’t just assume things like that without asking. Did you” —Lance cuts his tone to a whisper— “Did you not realize how hard I was?”
Keith flushes and pushes Lance further away. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
It’s sweet that Keith was concerned and didn’t want to presume anything because of one encounter under drastic circumstances. But that sweetness easily turns into annoyance as Lance realizes they’ve been circling each other for no fucking reason these past few days. They were both on the same page this entire time but were too cowardly to admit it. To admit their feelings.
It’s as much his fault as it is Keith’s.
Dumbasses, both of them.
Lance takes a deep breath as he steels himself.
“Then I’ll spell it out for you. I very much enjoyed being with you,” he says, easily gaining Keith’s attention. Yet even he knows this sensation in his chest has expanded far beyond one night that went further than either of them ever expected they would go. He’s constantly in awe of Keith, of his kindness and selflessness, even of his stubborn qualities and recklessness beyond reason. Lance loves all of it and maybe it took him a while to get there, a couple years, but it’s a feeling that has sat in his chest for quite a while now. So he amends his previous statement before Keith can say anything. “I’ve always enjoyed being with you, no matter what we do.”
Keith’s mouth twitches in disbelief. “You’re always arguing with me.”
“Yeah and isn’t it a great way to get your attention? Your full, undivided attention?” A year ago he might have refuted such an analysis of their rivalry but space and war often puts things into perspective. Plus, Hunk has been implying the same thing for months. It’s about time he listened.
Less than impressed with his confession, Keith shakes his head but he hasn’t moved an inch and his eyes glimmer, amused. “You’re ridiculous. Ask someone out like a normal person.”
Oh my god. This is ridiculous.
“Keith.” Lance’s voice is steady, curt but honest. He grips Keith’s biceps and stares at him so there can be no doubt to his confession anymore. “I’ve liked-liked you for a long while. Will you go out with me?”
“Now you sound like you’re twelve.”
Lance throws his hands up as he steps back. He can’t with this man. “Then how would you do it?”
Keith grabs onto the top of his chest plate and pulls him forward. His warm breath caresses Lance’s face when he breathes out, and Lance’s eyes can’t help but flutter closed; a sharp gasp catches in his throat.
“Meet me in the observatory deck at eight and then maybe afterwards we can finish what we started.” Keith’s low voice tickles his ear, causing him to shiver.
When Lance finally opens his eyes, he watches Keith blink as he steps out of whatever sultry mode that just was. He returns to his usual walled self, completely unaffected.
“That’s how I’d ask you out.”
Struggling to catch his breath, Lance splutters. “Wha—You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what? Upstage you? You’ll have more opportunities to practice at least.” Having already started to walk away, Keith turns to look over his shoulder one last time with that stupid infuriating grin of his. “Your face is beet red, by the way. It’s cute.”
Lance scrunches the entirety of his traitorous face, though his heart thumps against his chest, threatening to escape. He wags his finger at Keith as he marches after him. “I hate you.”
“Sure.” Keith suddenly smiles. It’s so genuine that Lance is almost knocked off his feet by how bright it is and how fully and solely it is directed at him, for him, and only him. “I love you too.”