Chapter Text
Lance McClain was never “The Best.” He was mediocre, average, pretty okay. He was never first at anything—probably second place at most. At the grade 2 paper airplane race, his airplane flew second-furthest before crashing headfirst into a tree, handing first-place to Kathy Johnson’s wad of paper. In grade 5, his best friend, Josh, declared with pride that Mark was his new best friend, running away with him to the monkey bars while leaving Lance to sit by himself in the wood chips. In grade 7, Lance got his first girlfriend on account of her crush rejecting her the day before. It wasn’t that big of a deal; they held hands and sat together on the spiderweb at recess before she ultimately ended their relationship on the last day of school.
This pattern continued up to highschool. In group projects, Lance would be picked last, having solidified his reputation as the class clown who puts no effort into school. He had many nice acquaintances, but never any real close friends until he met Hunk in junior year.
When he got the results for the Garrison, he was waitlisted. He got in because of some guy dropping out due to financial issues, and even then, he was dropped into the cargo pilot course. It’s become common knowledge around the Garrison that Lance was only able to crawl his way into fighter pilot as the bigshot star of his grade flunked out.
Suffice it to say, Lance McClain was not all that special.
Which is why he would not be surprised at all if he were kicked out of Voltron in favour of Shiro rejoining.
Lance may not have been honour roll, but he’s smart enough to know that right now there are six paladins and five lions. That’s not enough for everyone to get one. So obviously, someone has to go.
It’s not like Shiro could just stay on the sidelines, either. The man is a space piloting legend on Earth, not to mention the fact that he spent a whole year in Galra clutches before they discovered Voltron. Out of everyone in Voltron, he’s probably the most invaluable. Probably.
Lance let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. He’s been lying in bed for hours, completely unable to sleep. He did everything—counted sheep, that one military sleep method, and even laid with his head on the opposite end of the bed.
As he turned for the umpteenth time, he watched the clock hit 4:00 a.m. Seeing as he’ll have to be out of bed in a few hours, Lance relents and crawls out of his covers. He slowly gets ready for the day, shuffling out of his comfy pajamas for his usual attire.
He officially leaves his room at 4:45 a.m. The castle is quiet. It’s normally quiet, given the enormity of it and the few occupants, but this quiet is different; it’s the quiet of a world still at sleep. No sign of life, just the hum of the ventilation system.
Lance takes in his surroundings, looking up at the castle ceiling. Space is…lonely. The expansive hallways of the castle make him feel small. He misses his cramped house back on earth, full of life and noise, constantly bustling with movement. Before the sun even rose, his sister, Veronica, was already up and about. When the moon was at its highest, and the earth was silent, his brother, Marco, would just be getting back home from work. No matter the hour, someone in the McClain household was awake. It was comforting, knowing that there was always someone there.
A small noise brought Lance out of his reminiscing. Turning to its origin, he saw that it could’ve only come from one place: Keith’s room. Was he up already? At this hour?
He stared at the door, waiting. Waiting for what, he can’t exactly say. Then another shuffle. Then a thump. Keith is definitely awake.
Lance had half a mind to turn back and hide out in his room, not entirely sure what would come of him bumping into Keith out here. But as he looked back into the hallway, that feeling of quiet crept up at him. That absence of life, that ringing in his ear. He needed noise—something that was alive.
Before he registered it, he was walking towards Keith’s room, footsteps heavy with purpose, loud and echoing in the silent hall.
He stops right in front of Keith’s door.
He can still go back. Keith doesn’t know he’s here, so he can’t make fun of him for running away. He doesn’t have to humiliate himself in front of his archrival. Why is he trying to hang out with Keith of all people? He should just go back. But then he’d be alone.
Lance doesn’t want to be alone right now.
He hits his fist against the door, the knock almost deafening to his ears. Can’t run anymore.
The door opens with a woosh. Keith is standing there, sans his iconic red jacket, just in his black tee. He looks a little tired, his eyebags only being highlighted by the lighting of his room. His hair is a mess, but when is it not? Somehow, Keith manages to pull off that disheveled look. Stupid Keith. Perfect in every way.
Lance hates him.
Well, he doesn’t, actually. When Keith took over the Black Lion, Lance noticed a shift in their relationship. Something changed. Keith started to listen to Lance a bit more instead of immediately shutting down his ideas. He didn’t immediately stalk off to his room after training, hanging back a bit to chat with everyone, even staying later to chat with Lance (this was extremely rare, however.) He stopped berating Lance (sometimes.) His icy demeanor towards him began to thaw, and sometimes, if Lance was really lucky, Keith would smile at him.
From the time that Keith became the Black Paladin to now, they’ve become friends. Somewhat.
Lance still kind of hates him.
“Lance?”
Huh?
Lance blinks, focusing back on Keith’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth tilted downwards.
“You good?”
“Huh? Oh I–” Lance is stupid. He never should’ve come here. What did he think he was gonna do? Confess his worries to Keith? He should turn around and march straight back to his—
“Do you… wanna come in?” Keith shifted, standing to the side to allow space for Lance to walk in.
Lance shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. It would be better for everyone if he ran back to his room and died silently from awkwardness.
“Um… Sure?” Lance forces his foot to shift forward. He crosses the threshold into Keith’s room painfully slowly. This is awkward. He should say something. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Keith replies, eyebrow raised. “I normally get up around this time.”
“The hell? What are you, insane?” What a weirdo. Why is Keith so weird? Lance frowns, shooting Keith the most disappointed look he could muster.
“Says the one waking up at ten in the morning?” Keith retaliates.
“Ten is a perfectly normal time to wake up at!” Lance is kind of shouting. He should be quieter.
“Not during a war, dumbass!” Keith is rolling his eyes now.
“Paladins need their beauty sleep!” Lance rolls his eyes harder. “Something you obviously don’t have.”
“I get a full eight hours!”
“Nuh uh.”
“Yuh huh.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Yuh huh.”
“Nuh uh!”
“Yuh huh!”
Lance cracks a small smile, a little surprised to see one on Keith’s face as well.
They fall into a somewhat awkward silence. Lance hates silence.
“So… why do you get up at 4 a.m.?” Lance asks with an incredibly judgemental tone.
“To train, mostly. And also just ‘cause I like the quiet,” Keith replies. He then shoots back a question of his own, “Why are you up at 4 a.m.?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Lance frowns. He looked away, but he could still see a strange expression form on Keith’s face from the corner of his eye.
“Something happen?” Keith crosses his arms. His voice sounds softer.
Lance has two options: spill out his guts to Keith, or run away.
Running away seems the most viable, because while it’s incredibly embarrassing, Keith will forget about it by the next Galra fight.
Spilling his guts, though, is messy, and difficult to clean up. It’ll stain Keith’s only shirt, and he will never forget it.
Lance turns his head to glance at the door. He can just leave. It’s okay. It’s not cowardly to run from a fight to live another day.
But he’s not in a fight, and when he looks back at Keith, he can’t even think of fighting him. Keith’s eyes are staring into him, as if he was trying to look into Lance’s very soul. Beyond the scarily intense staring, however, is another emotion.
Lance can’t seem to figure it out, and he’s freaking out from the scrutinizing stare of Keith. He really should leave—
“Lance?”
Keith’s gaze has softened. He almost looks worried, now.
“It’s okay. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll uh… I’ll just— I’ll just go take a shower. I’ll see you later for breakfast. Sorry for bothering you.”
Lance doesn’t hear Keith reply—he’s already out the door.
Breakfast comes too soon. Lance is dragging his feet, trying to be as late as possible, just so he could avoid having to look Keith in the eye. That thing he pulled this morning—he really shouldn’t have done that.
He’s almost at the dining room, and dread is bubbling up in his stomach. He slows his feet even more—if that was even possible—trudging quietly as he looks around for any signs of danger (someone who will rope him into breakfast.)
Maybe no one will notice that he’s not there. Maybe they’ll assume he’s sleeping and he can bolt it and hide for the rest of the day in his room.
He’s getting closer; he can hear the voices of his teammates.
Today, Lance McClain will be a coward.
He turns on his heel and begins to walk away.
“Ah, Lance!” He freezes. Coran. Stupid Coran. “Come on! We’ve been waiting for you.”
When Lance turns around, Coran is right behind him with a cheery smile. He swallows down a scream. He can still run. Just say that the food goo didn’t sit right with you last night, and you need to excuse yourself to take a big, massive shit.
Coran, completely unaware of the war in Lance’s head, slaps his hand down on Lance’s shoulder and brings him over to the table. “You really need to wake up earlier, lad!”
“Yeah, sorry, guys…” Lance says as Coran seats him on his chair. Right next to Keith. “Didn’t mean to keep you all waiting.”
“Lance, punctuality is extremely important as a member of Voltron. I hope to see you at breakfast on time tomorrow,” Allura chides, stabbing her fork into the goo.
“My bad,” Lance smiles, sheepish. “I was like—knocked out last night, you know? Couldn’t wake up. Zarkon himself wouldn’t be able to wake me up.”
He could feel Keith staring at him.
“Well, in that case, I believe this calls for a harder training session today,” Allura replies, an unimpressed look on her face. “We can’t have the paladins of Voltron slacking off.”
The entire table let out a simultaneous groan.
“Hey, Allura? Maybe Lance should just get a special training session,” Hunk says, “‘Cause like— I dunno about you, but I was here bright and early! I even helped Coran with preparing the food!”
“Adding on to Hunk,” Pidge chirps, “I have some new tech I’m working on that could be really beneficial to our missions, and an extra-long training session could hinder my progress and even the performance of the entire team if I don’t get this stuff done, y’know?”
Lance wishes looks could kill, because he’s shooting Hunk and Pidge imaginary laser beams from his eyes right now.
“Now guys,” Shiro says, “Whatever one of us goes through, we all go through. We’re a team. I hope to see you at the training deck on time. No excuses.”
“In your faces!” Lance shouts, smiling triumphantly at Hunk and Pidge who are sharing a look of despair.
“Thanks a lot, Lance,” Pidge rolls her eyes, angrily squishing the food goo on her plate. Lance is still smiling, a snobby smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Keith is still looking at him.
After breakfast, Allura quickly ushers the team onto the deck, claiming that the minute she lets them out of her sight, they are certain to disappear. No one objects her accusation.
“All right, team,” Shiro starts, crossing his arms. “Let’s start with some spars to warm up. Keith and Lance, you go first.”
Today has to be a joke. Lance glares at the floor, hoping somehow that the floor will feel his anger and swallow him up to rescue him from this joke of a life.
Keith is already on the floor, waiting for Lance to go up and join him.
Lance makes his way toward Keith, albeit extremely slowly. He really doesn’t want to do this.
When he comes face to face with Keith, the other boy stares at him with an unreadable expression.
“Are you okay?” Keith asks. Is the world backwards? Is Keith asking him if he’s okay?
Lance frowns, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh. Um, it’s just– it’s just that this morning—”
“C’mon guys, get on with it already!” Pidge hollers from the sidelines, and with that, Lance dives straight at Keith, punching him with full force into his stomach. Keith, completely caught off guard (is that normal?), stumbles backward, the wind knocked out of him. He recovers quickly, dodging Lance’s next hit aimed for his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Lance?” Keith attempts to uppercut Lance. It kind of works. Lance rubs his jaw, jabbing his foot into Keith’s shin.
“I’m just peachy, dude.”
Keith frowns. He throws a punch at Lance’s face. “Then what was that whole thing this morning?”
Lance dodges. “What thing?”
“You coming to my room at four in the morning,” Keith blocks a punch from Lance, “Running away when I try to talk to you,” he knees Lance in the stomach, “Not looking at me during breakfast.”
“Oh. That.” Lance jumps away from Keith’s oncoming kick. He’s a little out of breath. Talking and fighting are hard. “I get like that when I’m hungry. No big deal.”
“You weren’t hungry.” Keith is starting to sound annoyed, the next punch carrying a little more weight to it. “You didn’t eat a single thing at breakfast.”
“Were you watching me the entire time? You must be obsessed with me or something,” Lance smirks, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Huh? No, I wasn’t!” Keith scowls, grabbing Lance’s incoming arm with his right hand and hitting him with his left. “I just wanted to know if you were okay, but I guess you’re doing ‘just peachy.’” Keith was getting angry now; Lance could almost see the volcano of Keith’s emotions beginning to bubble and rise.
“Teehee, Keith loves me!” Lance shouts. He can see Pidge and Hunk laughing to each other in his peripheral vision. “Keith’s obsessed with me!”
Keith’s next kick comes hard. To his head.
Lance’s world starts spinning as he tumbles down to the floor. A throbbing pain begins to blossom in his head. Thanks a lot, Keith.
“Oh, shit– Lance? Lance, are you okay? Oh, fuck, my bad, I’m– I’m really–” The next words are lost on Lance. Why listen when you can sleep? He didn’t get to sleep last night, so right now would be a good time to make up for that.
It's really noisy; everyone's yelling.
Lance closes his eyes.