Archive of Our Own

On the day the war ends, Lance doesn't look at Keith. He knows this, and promises himself not to admit it, because he watches Lance. He's there when the final bell tolls, when everyone entwined between enemy planets falls silent, and when Lance collapses into his family's arms knowing that it's over. Keith witnesses from the sidelines because it is all over now.

It's over. The end has been and gone.

The silence of it all is so momentary that Keith gets swept up in how loud everything becomes in the aftermath. People celebrate in the streets, on the ships that now decorate the thin lining of earth's atmosphere, in their smiles and waves directed at parading paladins. Keith walks through hallways lined with classrooms he once counted down the hours in. These students are distracted just like he had been when the Garrison reluctantly called itself ‘home’; though their gazes lock onto Keith as he walks by, rather than the empty horizon through window panes. It's Keith who stands as a paragon of curiosity to explore and to escape to.

He feels sick at the feeling of being watched. Keith hurries down the Garrison corridors to avoid each and every classroom, his boots clattering against the tiles bringing even more attention to himself.

Initial celebrations die out over the coming weeks - people fall back into their routines, now accompanied by the grief that forces itself to slot into gaps left behind. Memorials are built out of heavy, commanding stone and delicate names are carefully etched into columns side by side. Keith finds Shiro here most days. Shiro, whose hair has thinned and eyes have sunken, runs his finger down the list of names as if he's not at all familiar with each and every one by now, as if each letter is still so new to him. And Keith watches when Shiro hesitates at the same few points in the stone. He knows those names without having to read them.

Commander Iverson still works out of that same back corner office Keith remembers, the same office he would be dragged to after every fight and insult aimed at other students. Lance would sit in the left chair that rocked if leant into hard enough and he would scowl at the back of Keith's head. Keith, in contrast, would keep his eyes trained on lights behind Iverson's desk. Lights of a deep glowing orange illuminating an office with no windows.

It's here that Iverson breaks the news on where Lance has disappeared to after the war.

“Offered indefinite leave in Cuba. McClain said he had to ‘deal with the pain his own way’ whatever that means.” Iverson's droning voice hadn't changed in the years Keith had been gone.

There's a pang of anger that settles itself in the space between Keith's chest and throat. Anger at Lance for leaving, for not telling him where or why or anything at all really. The two hadn't spoken since the final battle; even then those were just desperate shouts of communication to hit a target rather than a conversation. Keith felt the same anger when Hunk announced he'd be going home to see his family. Keith bit back the same anger when Pidge locked herself away in one of the tech labs, only allowing Matt or her parents to enter, and the two no longer shared words in the mess hall.

He feels… stupid for being angry. Sitting here in front of Iverson's desk he feels so angry that the others have left already. It's irrational, he tells himself, because why shouldn't they retreat to the comfort of their own families? Why shouldn't they revel in being home just as it had been promised to them in those distant years of the past? This is what they'd all been fighting for, and yet Keith turned bitter at the thought. He wishes it were Shiro standing proud behind that desk instead of wandering the pathways left in grief’s wake.

Lance doesn't wander the corridors. Keith comes to terms with it all so fast, all too encompassing for his tastes, and curls up scared in a bed that isn't his. Garrison issue sheets, a singular pillow, a cold metallic room with a door that doesn't lock. It's a private suit at least, with a bathroom tacked onto the side - this time the door does lock - and a window programmed with a variety of synthetic holographic views. It had been less claustrophobic on the castle ship. The red and white of his dress uniform sticks out like a sore thumb where it hangs against grey walls. Medals are pinned onto the breast, the fabric is steamed pristine ready for more ceremonial funerals the next day. Keith hadn't attended any of the personal funerals since Allura's. The ones left were more of an opportunity for the media to latch onto any remnants of troubled war heroes or the failing reputation of the Garrison.

‘Deal with the pain’ echoes in Keith's mind. He wonders how the rest of the world deals. Supposedly through these memorials and elongated journalistic displays do ordinary people find peace in the aftermath of war. Mothers raise their children to remember lost fathers, schools embed new histories into the curriculum, interstellar coalitions form under the guise of harmony, and Keith pulls paper thin covers over his head. It's better than how Lance had coped. It's better than running away. ‘Deal with the pain’ is an excuse.

It's in the quietest parts of night when Keith misses Lance the most - he misses badly timed jokes, over the top line deliveries from shows he's never seen, and the warmth of someone else's body pressed close to his. The two never uttered much in those moments tucked away in either Keith or Lance's room on the ship, instead choosing actions over words to dispel any and all frustration from the days or weeks that have passed. Lance preferred gentle touches over talking about near death experiences, and Keith found complete comfort in the feeling of resting his head on Lance's chest to follow the rise and fall of every single breath. Keith utterly misses those moments. He's angry at Lance for denying the pleasure of comfort now that they had returned to earth. He's angry, ever so angry, at Lance.

When James Griffin sits at the same table as Keith for breakfast the next morning, he comments on the dark circles around Keith's eyes and how the latter looked as if he'd been crying - though James had lost the snide tone in his voice, favouring something akin to genuine concern. Keith ignores James. He pushes half eaten eggs around on his plate.

—

Keith meets with Krolia upon an Olkari ship just beyond the gravitational pull of the moon. It's neutral ground out here, with the human federations refusing any Galran ships to enter orbit despite the Marmora being formally recognised as a resistance group.

The wounds of battle aren't entirely healed over yet, they still bleed and scab over to form nasty scars, so Keith settles with the reality of human apprehension.

Krolia doesn't look at peace, she never has, where she paces the span of the delegates hall. Her steps sound in time with the tap of her blade against a metal clasp on her uniform. Keith watches the furrow form in her brow and the stress lines that find a home in her paralysing stare. If she were anyone else Keith would be too intimidated to continue walking into the room. Instead he would employ every strength to sneak out without Krolia noticing.

“Mom.” Keith says, breaking her concentration.

Tense shoulders relax when Krolia turns to face her son. Her gaze falls soft, welcoming, and Keith is greeted with a Galran smile that doesn't send spikes of fear through his nervous system.

“Keith,” Krolia pulls him into a light embrace, neither preferring long hugs. “I'm glad you made it. Though I can't say I understand why you did not request Kolivan to be present.”

“Can't I just… talk to my mom every once in a while?”

It's half a joke, half sincere. There's discrepancies between mother and son, oftentimes leading Keith to just mutter ‘it's a human thing’. She seems to understand the sentiment enough for it to count. In reality, Keith neglected to invite Kolivan because the guy made everything feel like battle stations - Kolivan spoke in commands and strategy, deciding on a basis that helped the greater good rather than open discussion. Keith didn't need the added pressure of Kolivan's opinion in this conversation.

“I wanted to return this to you.” Keith pulls out his Marmora blade from his belt, holding it out horizontally towards his mother.

She looks at the blade as if Keith had just coughed up a purple fur ball and thrown it at her. Actually, much to his surprise, she even takes a hesitant step back. It's rare for a Galran to show such outward vulnerability, even rarer an occurrence for Krolia. Her pointed ears tilt back and Keith feels the red rush of shame rise to his cheeks. It's strange to him that even though Krolia hadn't been around in his childhood, she still had the ability to make him feel like a scolded boy with scraped knees.

Maybe this was culturally insensitive. The luxite blade was a gift after all, and even humans frowned upon those sort of things being returned - even in good faith. For all Keith knew he could be insulted centuries of Galrans right now.

“It's not mine to take back, Keith.” Krolia says.

The knife is gently pushed back towards him, Krolia's hand curling around Keith's clenched fist. She holds it against his chest. She looks at him with this plea for acceptance.

“You've earned this blade, it is no longer just a knife I left with your father for protection. The Blade has brought you to victory, so here it is really yours to keep.”

To make his point even clearer, Keith flips the blade so that the tip points back to himself and the hilt juts out towards Krolia; he's holding it out for her to take. The view of it all is something a younger Keith would have blanched at the sheer thought of. Not only was the knife a symbol of a mother he never knew, but also the last item left of his father. A willingness to let go of something so important was just not a characteristic Keith possesed. He's twenty three now, not thirteen. He's old enough to let go of the past, old enough to give the blade back to the woman who'd abandoned him once and never again.

“I won't be needing it anymore.” Keith explains. “The war is over, and I need to leave it with someone who won't give it back to me no matter how much I ask. I can't let myself be dragged back into a battle - this blade is keeping me tied to bloodshed and misery.”

The weight of the blade is even heavier as it's taken from Keith's grasp. He can't help but watch Krolia’s face dissipate from confusion to sympathetic sadness. She stops for a second as the words click into place.

“You're leaving the blade of Marmora.” Krolia states, it's not a question.

A month after the war ends, the Marmora strategise to free the remaining colonies and those captured under lone Galran generals, and almost every waking hour is spent in diplomatic meetings between earth nations and allied aliens to put these plans into place. At first Keith felt relief in the idea of getting back out there and continuing what Voltron - no, what Allura started. But as further weeks passed the crawling guilt consumed him. Each meeting, each colony marked on the map, wore away at what little Keith had left to give; he had to get out. Being part of the blade was just as important to Keith as his position in Voltron, it was who he was as a person and as this glorified ‘hero’.

Going back out into space felt wrong. Going back as only a member of the blade felt even worse.

Fuck. Keith groaned with tiredness as he collapsed into bed one night after a particularly grueling meeting with some Unilu ambassador he couldn't care to remember to name. It was here he realised why it all seemed like a punishment - Keith couldn't bear to go back out into space without Lance.

“There's more I have to do here. Here on Earth. I can't- I can't continue with the blade.” Keith's taken to staring at the floor rather than looking at his mother.

“This is about your friend, isn't it?” She speaks with such gentle conviction. “Your loyalty lies deeper with him.”

Krolia doesn't say it like an insult, doesn't insinuate that she's upset by Keith's reasoning. Instead she's understanding. These are words Krolia can form because she too felt it once, felt the same emotion that bubbles up under the skin just begging to be noticed and coddled. Keith sometimes wonders if he's always been more like his mother than he previously thought. He's glad Kolivan isn't here to witness how quickly Keith breaks down. Glad Kolivan can't use Lance as a stepping stone to place Keith back into the palm of the Marmoran hand.

Keith doesn't cry. Not from his perspective at least, another might tell another story. He allows Krolia to encapsulate him into an embrace, to hold him like he really is just a small child again. It's cathartic - an action they have to figure out for the first time because neither has the experience. Keith wonders if Krolia feels the same guilt he does.

“You remind me so much of your father sometimes. It's not just his face I see in yours, not just his smile and his laugh. But his heart too, Keith, and I do not possess the ability to hold you from it.”

His mother strokes his hair. It's gentle, calming, all too familiar yet distant at the same time. They've never spoken about his father, only once was it ever brought up during their two years on that space whale. Keith felt like he was overstepping a boundary to ask about his dad, like treading some invisible line that could implode such a new and fragile relationship with Krolia.

“You love Lance just the same as I loved your father. I hated leaving him, leaving you, and if allowing you to fulfil what I never could then that is redemption enough.” Krolia finishes.

The blade is placed on the meeting table beside them. The purple metal is reflective, bouncing light off the walls in an array of patterns. Keith doesn't know when Krolia figured out he was in love with Lance, but then he's not entirely sure when he realised it either. It's just sort of… always been there. Maybe not love in the way it had grown into but definitely a deep adoration. An ability to care for someone above himself. The ability to wholeheartedly trust.

One day Krolia will return the luxite blade to her son. He'll accept it when the time is right; when he has justified his loyalties once again. Keith doubts he'll ever rejoin the blade of Marmora.

—

The hire car Keith drives is old, chipped with light blue paint that mirrors the cloudless sky and a sticking radio that's lost the ability to play more than half a song. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel mindlessly. The drive is quite honestly peaceful for the most part - ignoring all the times the wheels have fallen into potholes or swerved to the opposite side of the road - and Keith can't help but gaze out at the horizon. It's one of those quintessential postcard views of the ocean, a clear beach, and the height of summer all wrapped up in one.

Growing up in a desert never really acclimatised Keith to this sort of heat. He ties his hair up with a borrowed elastic band and the relief it provides is minimal at best.

The man who gave Keith the car was elderly, hairs greying with a bald spot in the crest, and spoke far too quickly for Keith to understand how to drive an automatic. Really, he shouldn't be driving a car at all - Keith is great on a hoverbike though never acquired an official licence, but the Garrison seems to think he can pilot a lion well enough to warrant driving a car. How different could it really be? Surely the old guy was trying to tell Keith something important with how many times he smacked the gear with that annoying walking stick because two hours into the drive Keith can't get the stupid thing to stay in place.

Keith's never seen pictures of Cuba before; the castle ship never had any images from Earth, and Lance couldn't draw an accurate landscape even if his life depended on it. Yet all the verbal descriptions of the island are just enough. It's as Keith imagined.

It's overwhelming to be standing here in Varadero, to find himself amongst visions he'd been told about but never really considered to be real. Passing stories around huddled up together in bedrooms or the ship's common rooms created this falsity to everything his friends spoke about, almost as if the earth had never been real in the first place. Hunk spoke of surfing with his brothers, and Keith could only picture characters rather than real people, Pidge would recant recipes her mom would teach her, and to Keith these ingredients sounded fictional. Lance described his house in such vivid detail that Keith could see the watercolour paintings of it when he closed his eyes. It's all too familiar when he's standing right in front of it.

There's an electric gate separating the house from the street and Keith's hand shakes as he presses down the buzzer. The house is a perfect box in shape, with mesa red accents on the outside half walls that match the ceramic roofing tiles, and it's all brought together by the calming beige exterior. Keith knew the house would be more red than any other colour, but he had always imagined it as blue. Just as quickly as the buzzer had chimed, a woman's voice came through the speaker.

“Hello?” She says, then follows up with a Spanish phrase Keith doesn't know.

“Uh- It's Keith… Kogane. I'm here for Lance?”

Another quick buzz and the gate slides open. Keith takes it as an invitation to walk up to the patio steps. It's when he gets to the front door that the guilt and fear rushes back to overwhelm his consciousness.

He shouldn't be here. Turn around, leave, it's not too late to apologise for wasting time and to walk back to the car. The old man wouldn't mind that Keith only hired the car for a couple hours if he tips double. His palms sweat with nervousness, the hairs on the back of his neck stick up uncomfortably. It's too late when the door opens and the woman's voice is given a face; a young woman Lance's age stands there expectantly, her face is pointed in all the same ways that Lance's is, and her eyes are the same deep brown Keith knew so well, but she's not identical to the blue paladin in the slightest. He recognises her from the day Voltron landed on Earth. He recognises her from the memory of Lance pulling Pidge and Hunk over and declaring ‘meet my twin sister, Rachel’ with the awkward handshakes that followed.

“He's out back.” Rachel says. “He didn't mention you were coming over.”

“I didn't call ahead. It’s uh- Surprise visit, I guess.”

“Well, decide if it'll be a long visit so Mama knows how much to cook tonight.” Rachel ends her sentence by gesturing for Keith to walk behind the house before she closes the door.

He's sure she's much kinder if given the chance. At least that's what Lance would say.

Keith honestly expects ‘out back’ to be a simple garden, a quiet lawn where Lance would be watering plants. Instead the short walk leads him to an expanse of lush land that seamlessly blends into a white sand beach. Instead of quaint flower patches, it's intricate lines of towering trees and a paddock with cows and an excitable goat. Keith recognises one of the cows to be Kalternecker and can't help the fond smile that forms. And for all intents and purposes, the ‘out back’ of the McClain house was a fully functional farm.

Lance has his back to Keith, his focus on tying sticks to saplings to support their growth and padding the dirt tight around each and every one. He's wearing a casual blue shirt, and it shocks Keith for a split second; he was half expecting Lance to be wearing his jacket, even though he knew it didn't fit any more. Keith still thinks there's time to up and leave before Lance catches sight, but then Lance has pulled himself up from a crouch and turns to meet Keith's eyes.

He shouldn't have come. This is overstepping, it's intruding. Keith's shoved himself in where he doesn't belong, into Lance's home, Lance's Cuba. This is wrong, it's all wrong, Keith is in the wrong. He should leave before-

“-eith? Keith… I didn't know you were here. Did I miss a call? Did Hunk forget to mention you were coming?” Lance's voice is so familiar it stings.

Eight months elapsed since the end of the war. Eight months since Keith had heard Lance's voice, seen the grown out length of his hair, seen a smile he was beginning to forget. Keith wants nothing more than to step forward and close the gap between the two; he wants to take Lance's hand, to gently greet him with a kiss, or even just to embrace Lance like an old friend. He feels the weight of the past months come crashing down on him as if they were decades.

Keith is silent for too long. He forgets how to speak, and Lance's gaze has turned ever so slightly confused.

“Sorry.” Keith mumbles. “I didn't call. I showed up on impulse, really, I shouldn't have been so abrupt.”

“You caught a flight to Cuba on impulse? Just randomly, no thought at all?”

“...Yeah.” Keith is meek with his replies.

But Lance's confusion quickly morphs into elation. He grins wide, closes the gap and swings an arm around Keith's right shoulder. The touch is friendly, almost too full on in intensity, and Keith naturally falls into it. He laughs alongside Lance's playful jibe.

“That’s one hell of an impulse, Red.”

The day isn't all that long once Keith settles, having arrived in his shitty car well past midday. He finds himself seated to the left of Lance's grandmother at the diner table and opposite Lance's older brother, Marco. Mrs McClain feeds him more food than he's ever seen - he makes a mental note to teach Krolia how to make kimchi, for the sake of his childhood memories and heritage - until Lance steps in to steal from Keith's plate.

He's told that the McClain house is uncharacteristically empty tonight, much to Keith's surprise, as Lance's father is working a later shift and that Luis and his family only come over on the weekends now that the kids are in school. Veronica is mentioned with high spirits at any given opportunity - Mrs McClain asks if Keith comes across her at the Garrison, he lies and says ‘often enough’. Lance himself never sits at the table. He hovers between the kitchen and dining room, alternatives between washing dishes and plating up whatever his mother asks. Keith keeps watching, he follows each movement casually enough that surely Lance doesn't notice - if he does, then he doesn't mind enough to mention it. Though the act puzzles Keith seeing as there's more than a few empty chairs, even the one next to him, so why wouldn't Lance feel the need to sit down?

“Keith doesn't seem to agree.” Mrs McClain laughs when Keith pulls a face at whatever story Lance was telling.

“Ah, he's too honest!” Lance claims. “You can see every thought on his face. No wonder he failed me as a wingman.”

Keith turns red. Lance flows seamlessly into another story, one where he saves a group of alien girls who were ‘pretty like in Mama's old movies’. It seems that after eight months of being home Lance hasn't run out of tales to tell, and that his family haven't grown tired of hearing his voice. Even when Rachel sighs in annoyance Keith can tell it ultimately comes from fondness rather than any disdain.

The sun has long since set by the time Keith feels like an intruder again. Rachel has already disappeared upstairs after saying her good nights, and Lance's grandmother had already been pushed in her wheelchair off to her room.

“Where are you staying, Keith?” Mrs McClain asks.

Keith… forgot to book a hotel. Coming to Cuba really had been on impulse with very little thought given to the intricate logistics, and having a place to sleep for who knows how long had slipped Keith's mind completely. Lance seems to notice the vacant look on his friend's face because he steps in before Mrs McClain can offer up a spare room.

“With me, obviously. Who else? It's not like we didn't share the castle for four- three years.” Lance slips up, hesitation clear in his words.

The two had never really spoken about Keith's absence from Voltron. At most there was the initial shock when Krolia and Keith returned from the space whale, and Lance had been so jealous that Keith was now older by two years rather than nine months. Keith knows by now that it wasn't really jealousy, just loneliness in the years Keith was gone. He feels the guilt from those years return to him.

“C'mon, Mullet, show me this piece of crap car you've got sitting out in the street.” Lance places a hand on Keith's shoulder and pulls him to stand.

Keith doesn't expect Marco to also stand and hug his mom goodbye, but the eldest present McClain son follows Lance through the front door. Marco lifts the hood of the car to inspect the engine out of sheer curiosity. Lance slides into the front seat, settling his hands around the steering wheel with a look of excitedness or even childlike wonder.

“You can't drive.” Keith states.

“Neither can you.” Lance winks. “Besides, you don't know the way to Marco's place, so it'll be quicker for me to drive rather than giving directions you'll just ignore.”

“I don't ignore-”

“Yapyap, Keith-y boy. In Cuba I'm the boss. You can drive when we're back in Texas.” .

During the short drive Keith learns that Lance lives with his brother in their grandparents’ old house - Keith assumed Lance would still be living with his mom, especially seeing as he loved the farm so much - and that Marco is tone deaf when it comes to singing along to whatever plays on the radio this late in the night. Keith tries his best to catch glimpses of the passing houses lit by warm street lamps, but his attention is caught when Lance casually places a hand on his knee. Keith's attention snaps when Lance puts his arm around Keith's shoulder when he looks back to reverse park the car. The entire night at the McClain house Lance had barely come close enough to Keith to even brush the back of his hand let alone do something so outwardly ‘more than friends’ in front of Lance's family. Though Keith realises Marco is too caught up chasing the music to notice anything Lance is doing.

He wonders, if Marco weren't in the backseat of the car, would Lance kiss him? If Rachel hadn't been watching from the kitchen window when Keith first saw Lance again, would he have kissed Keith like he used to? The urge eats away at Keith.

—

Keith spends eight days in Varadero with Lance.

He learns the best way to sow seeds in the damp soil of the McClain farm, and learns how best to approach the cows without startling them. Marco has him elbow deep in car engines and scrap metal most mornings, the pair trying their best to salvage anything that can be fixed up enough to sell. Keith asks if Marco needs the money; Marco laughs out a ‘I just do this for fun’. Keith likes working with the car grease trickling down his arms, and he likes the way Lance watches from the porch with a coffee mug in hand.

It's all oddly domestic when Keith thinks about it. The way he's fallen so easily into a routine here, the way Lance's siblings include him in conversation or when they pick up his favourite snacks on store trips without him even asking. Rachel gives up her tough act the second she realises Keith knows just as much about geographical wonders as she does, they fall into casual greetings each time they pass each other. It's weird, he thinks, how being in Cuba for little more than a week makes him feel more invited and accepted than he ever was in Texas or at the Garrison. For a brief moment, when he's sitting on the floor with his head resting against Lance's knee in the McClain's front room, Keith is reminded of the castle ship and how much this all felt like being back in those blue lit corridors.

They used to chase each other down the corridors; Pidge would invent different attachments to her shoes in an attempt to speed off the furthest, Hunk would always stay back with whoever was at the back to keep them company, Shiro would pace with a steady jog like an athlete warming up around a track. The real race was always between Keith and Lance. Rivals - neck and neck, who would win? Coran would chart their wins and losses to compare through the weeks and months, commenting that ‘Lance has won four times in a row’ before Keith beats his personal best. Always a to and fro, always trying to one up each other. Keith misses those races when he watches Lance's niece and nephew come running down the pathway to their grandparents’ house. He can't help but hear Lance's own words laced with pride and competitiveness when Sylvio wins against his sister.

Keith likes Cuba. He likes Lance's family, the farm, and the warmth of early summer nights. There's still this invisible string pulling him away from it all. The quiet, ebbing urge to return to the stars once more. He likes Cuba, but he knows he can't stay.

Lance wanders down to the beach with the kids just ahead, Keith's steps mirror his in a steady pattern. One foot in front of the other in perfect tandem. Nadia hands him purple flowers she picks from cracks in the pavement and he takes each one as if they were delicate relics just the same as those gifted by ancient alien cultures. She smiles up at him the same way they did, the only difference being she doesn't thank him for saving her planet. At some point, when the flowers start becoming difficult to keep hold of, Lance chides her softly to hand some to Sylvio instead. It's a futile effort when Nadia finds a snail and tries her best to hand it over to Keith.

During the short walk to the beach Keith's hand brushes the back of Lance's. There's a split second where Keith swears Lance looks around, looks to see if anyone notices the light touch. He must be satisfied with no one seeing because Keith feels their hands entwine ever so gently, ever so soft and memorable. He strokes Lance's hand with his thumb, just mindless circles. It's been too long since he's been allowed to hold Lance so he takes for granted this small peace offering. Though Lance's grip loosens all too quickly for Keith's liking.

This beach is busier than the very few Keith has visited before - he's seen the private sands by the farm, and the quiet beaches outside alien cities that no one ever goes near, and the burial grounds of those who wished to lie near the oceans of their planets. This one is full of tourists soaking up the sun and setting up umbrellas to shade their children while they play. This beach is loud, cramped, suffocating in the same way the sand granules stick to his skin. Keith quite honestly feels out of place standing here wearing borrowed board shorts and a long sleeved shirt - Lance tried convincing Keith to wear literally anything else, but Keith didn't feel like getting burnt to a crisp today - even his sunglasses read more ‘fighter pilot’ than ‘enjoyer of the sun’. The audacity to feel embarrassed dies away when Lance smiles, laughing out a joke about how Keith's individuality shines through like this.

That strange feeling of domesticity returns when Keith builds sandcastles with Sylvio. He shapes the sand to resemble Taurjeerians and listens to Lance retell stories of their time with the aliens. The kids listen with intent to Lance's songs, and Keith has to remind himself that everything they had been through was real - it sounds like fiction the way Lance tells it.

There's a few times where Keith and Lance are approached for autographs, pictures and videos saying ‘hi' to strangers. Lance takes it all in his stride as if this was all natural; Keith is slow to growing used to it.

“Come this way with me.” Lance says.

Sylvio and Nadia are still waving goodbye, having been picked up by their mother just minutes before, as Lance leads Keith further down the beach. It's quieter now that the sun is starting to set, painting the sky in watercolour hues of pinks and oranges against where the blue of the sea turns dark, and the tourists slowly dissipate away. Keith follows the steps Lance leaves, placing his feet in each indent before the waves can lap up and steal the imprints away. He takes the risk of lacing his hand back into Lance's and revels in how easily Lance accepts it - the grip is tighter this time, and neither takes the time to glance around as if they're being watched. The two paladins dance around each other as they walk, ending up in a secluded area of the beach hidden away by jagged rocks, and Keith drapes himself against Lance's back to press his forehead into Lance's shoulder.

“Tourists never come this far down,” Lance explains. “We used to sneak out as kids to set off fireworks here. Luis is still convinced Mama never knew, but I totally know she's known.”

“This is the high school girlfriend spot, isn't it?” Keith asks, laughing when Lance turns red.

“What! No! No way, I'd never- Well… I didn't bring any girls here. Marco definitely did though. Guys tried to bring Veronica here all the time, but she's scared of the ocean. You can't tell anyone I said that-”

“I get it, I get it.” Keith throws his hands in the air in a faux surrender. “You're the perfect kid of the family. I see how it is.”

There's sand being thrown at Lance before he has time to react. It begins this battle of who can shove the most sand down the other's shirt or shorts, or whoever could twist out of the way fast enough. Keith laughs just as he did in those early days of Voltron where every planet was new, when they explored the castle with wonder, and before every layer of hell opened up and descended upon naive teenagers. He laughs just as loudly as Lance does, just as comfortingly as the moon makes an appointment in the sky. When the water encroaches far enough to reach them consistently Lance pulls the pair of them further up the beach to sit against one of the larger rocks. Keith thought it would be uncomfortable with his back pressed against something so rough, but Lance lets him lean into his shoulder and wrap an arm around his waist. It's hard not to close his eyes in response to Lance's body heat.

It's here that Keith takes in all that is different about Lance. Years away in the void of space changes so much of a person, shapes them into someone else entirely. Keith knows Lance would have always ended up a different person four years on from where they started, even if he had been granted the wish of staying on earth, because everyone evolves whether they like it or not. Lance isn't a teenager anymore, no longer that scrawny seventeen year old babbling on about some imaginary rivalry. Instead he stands confident now, though shorter than Keith, and walks with this sincerity that a younger Lance was merely trying to put on like a shirt three sizes too big. A fake smile turned into a genuine one. Keith runs his fingers gently over the visible scars on Lance's skin. He thinks of the shape of an exploding star etched onto Lance's back - it's the largest, most impending of Lance's scars, and Keith's mind calls back to the first time he saw it in its entirety. Lance standing shirtless in the bathroom of his room on the ship, washing his hands in the sink while Keith watches from the tangle of sheets in Lance's bed. He traces the outline of that scar when Lance returns to him, crawling over to engulf Keith.

There was one night, near the end of the war but not soon enough, where Keith had snuck back onto the castle ship against the Blade's orders. It was only days since he'd fought Hagar's clone that wore the ghost of Shiro's personality. Lance had touched the fresh scar on Keith's face, letting his hand cradle Keith as he cried and collapsed in on himself.

It felt like the world was ending. But it couldn't be, because Lance was there.

“It reminds me of her, sort of. I don't know why.” Lance says.

“Hm?” Keith opens his eyes, he glances to where Lance stares up at the sky.

“The moon. I always thought it looked like Allura, they're both pretty in the same way. Both have this… presence to them. But I never mentioned it to her, never pointed it out when we were out walking late at night.”

Lance loved Allura, they all did, but it was Lance in the end who had loved her more than anyone. Keith was never resentful over it, he never wanted to get between the two, and instead resided in the lull of space where Lance would fall into his arms in the nights much like this one. In the end it hadn't been romantic between Lance and Allura; that didn't mean it hadn't hurt any less.

“I'm sure she knew, Lance.”

“That she reminds me of the moon?”

“That you loved her enough to see her everywhere you go.”

Keith presses a kiss to Lance's shoulder. He lets the moments sit, settle and form itself to fit the gap, he lets Lance take all the time he needs. It's a tranquil silence that they fall into for half an hour or so, just watching as the waves crash and the stars emerge out of darkness. Keith would like to point out each star and name the galaxy it lights, he wants to name the surrounding planets they've been to, but he had never been good at memorising constellations. He sucks in a breath and holds it when Lance runs his hand through Keith's too long hair - he makes a comment about Keith needing to shave.

“Do you ever…” Keith hesitates, building himself to ask the one question he came here for. “Think about going back?”

“No.” Lance replies all too quickly. He's lying.

Keith can tell it's a lie because of the way Lance's hand stills in his hair. It's obvious in the way Lance's eyes dart from the stars to Keith's face and back again with this glint of fear in his brown eyes. They've known each other too long to pretend as if Lance is telling the truth.

“No.” He repeats. “I can't- Won't. I got out of there, I've put it behind me. I can't go back to all that.”

“It's not the same as it was-”

“It's arguably worse out there than it ever was when we were forced into it. People are lost, angry, they're willing to take down anyone they can. Legends like Voltron aren't the kinds of heroes they need.”

Keith pushes himself up from where he rested against Lance. Sand digs into his knees, he knows it'll leave angry red imprints. Lance won't meet his gaze when he looks at him. Keith sighs. Lance always says too much when he's hiding something.

“I've lost too much. It hurts too much-”

“You think you're the only one to lose everything?” Keith snaps without meaning to.

Lance is speechless in response. His mouth hangs open just slightly as he watches Keith, eyebrows stitching together in confusion.

“I know it hurts. God do I fucking know - it's my pain too. The Lance I knew would never turn his back on anyone, he'd never let people live like this after the war. He'd be back in that lion first, before anyone else, he'd fight to go back out there because he knows the war is not over.”

Keith's standing now, taking steps back from where Lance looks small against the rock. He's made no attempt to follow Keith. He's barely said a word in retaliation. And a pang of hurt shoots through Keith because Lance isn't doing anything - he's not standing to grip Keith's arms to pull him into an embrace. It's a cold gap between them, a silence in their movement all too similar to the dead air Keith breathed when Lance left. He feels stupid for thinking Lance would have ever stuck around.

This isn’t the same Lance he once knew.

“I know that pain. I know it all too fucking well, because I went through it all too just as you did. I came here because I wanted you to come with me, to go back out there with me. With me. Not for anyone else but ourselves.”

“Keith-” Lance finally stands, finally takes a step forward.

“I just- I just wanted it to be different. I wanted us to go back to how it was.” Keith chokes out between dry sobs.

He doesn't know why, but Keith didn't expect Lance to wrap his arms around him. Didn't think Lance would like him enough anymore to hold him close, to trap his hand raised against his chest right where his heart beats rapidly. A soft hand comes up to cradle his face, to trace the scar there, and Keith leans into the touch all too naturally. He's surprised when Lance all but smashes their lips together, kissing Keith like he never had before - maybe as if one or both of them would suddenly disappear. Keith's too caught up in thinking of how much he had missed this. He had missed kissing Lance so much that even now, after all these months, it felt like they were still sitting in Lance's bed aboard the castle ship.

Keith tries to deepen the kiss, but he's gently pulled back into reality by Lance's hand shifting away from his face. He mourns the touch.

“Is it really you? Did it really have to be you, Keith?”

Lance doesn't break the embrace, he's clinging too tight for either to pull away far enough. Keith drops his head down and the crest of his hair lies against Lance's chest.

“Is it really you who has to pull me back?” Lance murmurs.

“Yes.” Keith replies, all too quietly against the sound of waves crashing. “It'll always be me. Every time.”

—

Keith's gaze hasn't left the faint light of stars streaming in from outside Lance's bedroom window - the curtains always remained open, as far as Keith knew, so that the natural sunlight woke Lance each morning.

He reads the early time on the alarm clock. It's been eight months to the day since the war ended; Keith's heart rate beats faster now than it did in battle, now that peace became suffocating without his usual escapes. It's here that space lures Keith back in, tugs at the string tied to him, and that familiar hum of the red lion breathes through him. Keith wonders if Lance still feels Red's quintessence too or if their bond had split the second she accepted Keith back.

The first time Keith felt desperate to run back into space he was sure it was something residual from the lions, some lingering magic that would eventually roll off him like dust - but the need to leave never became quiet enough to ignore. Months persisted and Keith couldn't sweep it under the rug no matter how hard he tried to rationalise it. Being out there between the stars was where Keith belonged, searching the skies of distant planets where black holes threatened to swallow galaxies whole. It wasn't that Keith turned restless without war, without a new battle on every horizon as Shiro had said, but that he felt entirely hollow at the thought of remaining on Earth for the rest of his life. Spending every day walking the Garrison halls was not for him, not like how Shiro and Matt found comfort in the grey walls or how Hunk would rattle off fond memories of his classmates and teachers. Returning to that shack in the desert meant nothing to Keith - nothing at all.

Lance's bed is softer than the couch Keith used to sleep on in that shack. Lance's walls are decorated with a cream wallpaper, splattered blue accents, instead of the red string connecting clue to clue of where the blue lion was on a peeling wooden wall. Every little detail of Lance's bedroom was so different to Keith's shack.

Everything about Lance is so different to Keith.

He breathes differently, Keith notices, when the two are pressed chest to chest against each other. Lance snores quietly against the skin of Keith's ribs, one arm thrown over Keith's waist to anchor him to the bed. Lance shifts in his sleep too much. He's always twisting side to side, pulling the sheets to one side or the other, always kicking Keith's shins or hooking an ankle around his. He glances over to where the bed sheets have fallen to expose Lance's bare torso, covering the little dignity he had left, and wonders if it's worth the risk of pulling the covers back up. Would Lance wake at the movement? Would he ask Keith why he's still awake in a soft, mumbled voice? Keith doesn't take the risk.

Any other night Keith would have collapsed contempt into Lance's touch, he would curl up against the other's side and run a hand through his short hair as they drifted off to sleep. It's a ritual all too familiar to Keith, all too encompassing of what they would have done back on the castle ship. If Keith closes his eyes now he can almost see the faint blue glow of Lance's old room. Though tonight Keith doesn't move any closer to the blue paladin, instead lying still in the vacant space of someone else's bed.

Watching through the bedroom window Keith follows the burning trails of shooting stars, he takes in the sight of suns that have long since extinguished before earning themselves a name.

If Lance were to wake now, Keith would ask him to escape back to space with him. Keith knows the answer - knows it won't ever change - but a man can hold out hope in the dead silence of night. Almost as if Lance heard his thoughts, the hand around his waist shifts and curls tighter around Keith; Lance hasn't stirred, but Keith takes hold of that hand and rubs small circles into the skin of Lance's knuckles. The crashing impact of the two paladins, Keith thinks absentmindedly, is far too similar to colliding stars. Imploding against each other for no other reason than proximity or even destiny depending on if it were Keith or Lance answering such a question. Though just for a while, for as long as it'll be allowed, Keith would like to collide like stars with Lance.

—

There are only a few feelings that come close to that of being frozen in place. Fear comes to mind most often, conjuring images of unknown creatures over the horizon or the anxieties of discussion with a new delegation with Coran’s little preparation beforehand. Keith feels it most whenever he is plagued by confrontation on Lance’s behalf, when the blue paladin questions his shades of red. But it is here and now when Keith really does succumb to the cold that he notes the irony of Lance’s absence.

Of course he would freeze without Lance.

The snow compacts tight around the expanding movements of Keith’s ribs as he tries desperately to breathe. Desperate to climb out, to break out, to crawl himself out of the gap he’s mistakenly tripped into. If Kolivan were here he would laugh at the simplicity of the mistake, if Krolia were here she would tut in annoyance at first before extending a helping tip of a blade. If Shiro were here then Keith wouldn’t have fallen into the cave at all. Though he’s entirely uncertain of what Lance would do now - the unsettling idea that Lance wouldn’t help felt the most realistic of all the pitiful options given.

It was Keith’s offering. He was the one to step forward, to put his name in for the mission. A former mining colony, newly rescued by the efforts of the Marmora, came to Earth with the plea for Paladins to retrieve their religious texts from where they had been hidden for safety. Knowing it was a moon covered in isolating snow, Keith still volunteered.

Those aged scrolls had never even reached Keith’s eyes, let alone landed in the security of his hands, before he started to fall. It’s easy to cop out and blame another, saying no one thought to tell Keith of the ravines hidden by blinding white layers, but Keith knew it all. Researched it all by himself. His suit was fitted with Atlas technology that mapped out each cave and came with this shrill voice in his ear warning the red paladin of when the floor beneath him became too fragile. It was Keith’s fault he had fallen down into one of the gaps, as it was Keith who had turned off all of Atlas’ attempts to keep him safe.

The last thing Keith had heard was the disappointment in Shiro’s voice telling him to do no such act.

It’s funny, really, how easy it is to ignore every warning. Funny how the pain shoots up his leg as it snaps on impact against thick ice, letting a numb sensation spread faster than the temperature. The only sound was that of his own yell - his own voice calling out not to his comms but the moon itself. Screams of insults fell on no ears at all. What’s worse, the spasming muscles in his leg desperately trying to dissipate the weight put onto shattered bone, or the smell of metallic blood consuming every single one of Keith’s remaining senses. The deep maroon colour of it spreads and ebbs out of him - trickling down from his nose, from the nail beds of his fingers as he scratches to haul himself out - to create a rorschach pattern in the snow. He’s bleeding out, he’s sure of it. Oh God, fuck, it won’t stop. Get him out of here, please, grant him the mercy of one more day. This is by definition not the first time Keith has died, or tried, but it is the first that sends genuine tendrils of terror through him.

Lance comes to mind. A man so blue, matching the hues of ice and emerging from the origins of water with all that he stood for, and yet so warm to the touch that if he were here now Keith was convinced he could melt the land beneath. How it is so ironic that Lance couldn’t be here to see this.

Would he laugh? Stab a joke through the wounds on Keith’s delicate skin? He would turn it into a game, an event to declare to everyone, asking audience participation ‘what do you think will kill Kogane first?’ and spinning a wheel of fortune for the most common answer. Always the entertainer that hero was - Keith laughs outwardly at the mental image. Lance would stand there and stare, watching as the blood drains from his temporary lover’s face, and utter such soft simple words.

“I know.” Lance would respond.

“Please,” Keith chokes out, talking to no one. “I’m hurt- Bleeding, I can’t move.”

“I know.” Lance would repeat.

Keith wonders if Lance were here would he cradle his face? He decides eventually that Lance would; that Lance would stroke the long strands of his dark hair, now riddled with frozen split ends, and trace the visible scars on his face. It is here in the comfort Keith’s mind provides in his final few moments that it becomes ever so clear that Lance would not help him. It was set in stone the moment Lance took him to that secluded beach and lulled Keith into thinking he would ever say yes to going back out into space again. All that love and adoration built up over the years was fake, a facade of shared secrets and hidden kisses that ultimately meant nothing in the end. Keith had always been alone throughout it all and Lance was just one big futile attempt to feel seen. Can he even be seen by someone with no eyes?

Keith feels the last remnants of the warmth of his blood leave his limbs, rushing to his heart in a last ditch effort before it all gives out in a vision much akin to the falling of empires. His obituary will read of the eternal fire of the red lion and how it was swiftly quelled by water, his name will become immortalised on a marble plaque but forgotten in the minds of those who never tried to greet him in the Garrison halls. Keith Kogane - destined to live half a hero’s life and fulfil a stranger’s grave.

And how he misses Lance as it all comes crumbling down on him. How he wishes Lance were here to see this.

—

The chemical smell of citrus is what comes to Keith first as he wakes. It’s almost like chlorine, but only slightly sweeter to taste, and fills his mind with absent memories. Cold, empty hospital rooms with the linens freshly changed in the aftermath of whoever used to lay in those beds.

Keith feels the relief wash over him in recognition of the hospital room. The guilt goes missing behind the orange medical gowns of the Garrison infirmary.

The nurse that removes the breathing tube is heavy handed. It stings, tugs at his throat, making Keith cough for almost a minute longer than he had expected. Her greying hair is tied up nest in a bun, the crows feet of her eyes make her appear as anything but kind, and the clacking sound of her heels on the linoleum floor rings out in Keith’s ears. Though he recognises her as the same nurse who treated Hunk the day the war ended. Instinctively, Keith splutters out an attempt to talk - he’s not sure what he even tries to say but it sounds all too similar to ‘Lance’.

“Not much use in talking just yet, honey.” The nurse says. It’s condescending.

Call it narcissistic but Keith always thought there would be people waiting for him in situations like this; Krolia and Kolivan had patiently sat at his bedside after the war, and even Iverson was there when Keith first woke up in the infirmary after another cadet knocked him out. But now it was just Keith. Time passes slowly with minutes feeling like hours and the hours feeling like days, the only interaction being the nurses that came to check on him. The most nauseating aspect of the Garrison hospital was the silence - not just this ward, but every ward was void of all noise from the beeping of monitors and the whispers of nurses trying not to wake other patients. It was as if Keith was the only person in the building at all. When he asks, the nice young nurse taking his blood pressure confirms that it's only been a day since he awoke.

Through the room’s frosted window Keith recognises the silhouette standing on the other wise, tall and commanding in all the ways a good leader should be - the quality never truly goes after even if retirement is an option. Keith wonders why it took so long for his brother to come, and wonders if he had already accepted Keith as a name carved into a memorial wall.

Shiro holds Keith’s medical file in his hands as he explains it all to Keith - heart failure, pneumonia, frostbite so severe that Keith’s lucky to still have all four limbs intact - his words all formal and put together like a eulogy. It's now that Keith realises why Shiro hadn’t visited the first day. The black paladin always turned away from reality no matter how successfully he hid the fact but almost losing someone as close as Keith is enough to break that facade and seclude himself entirely. Afterall it had been Shiro’s orders under the Atlas that Keith ended up bitter and frozen. Perhaps Shiro even thought Keith wouldn't make it to the morning, and so avoided any chance of witnessing his final breath.

Keith doesn’t say anything at all. He just listens.

“Lance is on his way.” Shiro mentions in passing.

Everything in Keith’s world likes to stop at times like these, it recurs over and over again like a scratched record player trying its best to align back onto the grooves to play the same song. Not by coincidence his world always stops at the mention of Lance. He’s coming here? To the Garrison, to Arizona and the furthest from Cuba he’s been all year? Keith wants to laugh in Shiro’s face, to claim his best friend as a liar, but his voice falls flat in the attempt. Why would Lance come to the hospital if he couldn’t even cross the stars for him?

“I don’t want to see him.” Keith croaks out.

“He wants to see you.”

It’s an order, clearly, and Keith is too scared to disobey Shiro’s orders again. He’s working on improving that track record if he’s given the chance.

Watching Lance as he walks through the doorway into the room is suffocating. Outright lung collapsing - which Keith really shouldn’t joke about after actually experiencing that. He’s wearing the Garrison uniform, disappointingly but Keith knows the rules, and the blue of the fabric makes Lance’s eyes look even wider than usual. Upset, even. Everything in the room becomes fragile and apprehensive as if the air would be sucked right out if any of the three paladins said something wrong. Keith doesn’t miss how this is the closest he’s gotten to a Voltron reunion since the end of the war. The way Lance shuffles awkwardly near Shiro even makes him wonder if Lance had ignored their leader too upon his disappearance to Cuba; Keith always thought the younger man had stayed in touch with the rest of their team, with his friends. It takes Shiro a couple moments before he mutters out an excuse and leaves the echoing room. And Keith really wishes he had stayed just so neither of the red lion pilots could speak to each other.

Though unexpectedly Lance seems to relax as Shiro leaves, as if he’d asked for it to happen, and lowers himself to sit in the chair beside Keith’s hospital bed. A soft, tan hand comes to rest in Keith’s open palm.

“We thought we lost you out there, Red,” Lance’s voice shakes, but it’s calm to Keith’s ears. “When Shiro called me in I didn’t understand, but when- When I saw you. God, Keith, you were so cold.”

Keith remembers nothing from the ice planet, nothing after his eyes closed and it all went dark. But he’s sure he would remember if Lance had been there - no one had been there, it was a solo mission. Even the Atlas was stationed lightyears away for any rescue team to show up in time. Shiro, upon being asked, would tell Keith of the wormhole tech Coran had been testing out and how experimental it was - almost too much of a risk to be used for Keith.

“You fucking scared me. Dying like that? When I told you I wasn’t going back out to space I didn’t think you’d resort to being suicidal just to…”

Lance doesn’t need to finish the sentence, the complaint, for Keith to understand. Lance thought Keith had pulled such a stunt to drag him back into the frontlines. Thought Keith had orchestrated his own death as one last ‘fuck you’ in their rivalry. Admittedly, now that he saw the reality of it, Keith couldn’t look Lance in the eyes and deny that.

“I can’t abandon you, Keith. That’s the problem with you and me, we’re tied together whether we like it or not and nothing I do can keep us both safe. I would follow you to the end of galaxies if I could, but whenever I do one of us ends up hurt. I can’t keep doing that to you.” Lance explains with pain flushing through his expressions.

“You ever wonder if you’re just wrong?” Keith says.

Lance meets Keith’s eyes. He’s been avoiding Keith’s gaze as he spoke, regarding the white sheets as more interesting than the pained look on Keith’s face. Perhaps it was an excuse to hide his own face.

“Every day of my life.”

“Give into it some time.” Keith replies. “Let go and come with me, go anywhere with me. Maybe if you stuck around nothing would happen. Maybe it’s your tugging on the connection that’s pulling me apart.”

If you had asked Keith years back when the five of them first climbed into the blue lion if Lance would ever stop talking, he would answer ‘no’ without a second thought because that’s all Lance knew. He told stories at inconvenient times, spoke inappropriate jokes during diplomatic meetings, sang loudly through the castle ship corridors when the lights indicated night. Lance sits here silently now in the shadow of those years. Keith lets the other man trace the skin of his knuckles and inch the chair closer to the bed, letting Lance’s head fall to Keith’s aching shoulder in a sign of defeat. He always thought of how strange it was that the pair always pushed themselves closer together when they argued - always spat insults at each other just to end it with soft embraces and the opening of one of their bedroom doors while no one else looked. Keith felt the drawing urge to hold Lance whenever he cried. Lance would always adorn Keith with nicknames that should offend him, and yet the sound of Lance’s voice makes his heart turn warm.

“Please love me just once. Love me enough to stay. To follow me.” Keith says.

“Keith…”

“Just love me.” Keith repeats for as long as Lance lets him. “Love me. Love me, please, love me.”

The Garrison is witness to more than what it was built for. The walls echo orders, commands towards men and children alike, and looming death confessions. There’s nothing else Keith can say in this moment of silence as Lance struggles to reply. A mantra of begging that instills the words into the very fabric of his life no matter how long he has left. Now that Keith knows what it feels like to bleed out he knows the sensation is just the same as loving someone too much. And of all places he ends up it had to be the Garrison, never an isolated moon.

“I always have.” Lance whispers.

—

On the day Keith wakes up before Lance, four years to the day the war ends, he looks at the man sleeping close next to him. He knows Lance is dreaming because he watches ever so quietly in hopes to not wake him. Ever so peacefully Lance twists in the sheets to keep Keith within arms reach as stars pass in the darkness outside. He’s woken up every morning next to Lance since that day in the hospital, and Keith finds comfort in the endless memory of it rather than in the comfort of the bed itself.

Their ship is by no means big, with just a handful of rooms to keep the pair satisfied, and it does not hold any insignia of Voltron or Atlas like they initially thought. Just swirls of red and blue decorated the twin pilot chairs. Just red and blue neon strips that light the passageways they walk through each day. It’s a quiet, almost silent, life out in the voids of space. But Keith likes it. He likes bearing witness to all that each galaxy could offer as long as Lance is right there next to him.

It’s easier now that the war is over. Now that it has all been said and done. Here within Lance’s embrace it is over. The end has been and gone.

Though there is still work to do for those still caught up in the tragedy of war; at least Lance is here to help Keith with each and every moment of it all.