Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Aw, wait! But I didn’t even give you my-“

Shiro hears the sound of shoes clicking against the stone floor, accompanied by the familiar whine of his saccharine employee, and takes his attention away from the coffee grinder in order to see the scene before him; not because it is unfamiliar, but because it is so familiar, that Shiro finds himself in a self-fulfilling prophecy, doomed to his role of support in this failed love escapade. The scene itself is so habitual, Shiro can almost hear the clicking of the heels ghosting in his eardrums long after the woman has disappeared. In three seconds, he’s going to turn around and whine to me about one of three things; how he’s underappreciated among women, how women are intolerable, or how he should try hitting on guys more instead.

One, two, three, and the soft thud of a palm slapping the counter confirms Shiro’s suspicions. “Why don’t women like me,” Lance whines, like a rusty train whistle that manages to both capture everyone’s attention and annoy them at the same time. “They could at least give me a chance!” He whips his head around to face Shiro, who’s already positioned himself against the counter, ready to go through the motions once more.

“You’re not going to be everyone’s type,” Shiro reminds him, again, with the same amount of gentleness and patience as every time before. He doesn’t mind – it’s the routine that makes this coffee shop so comforting, even if it’s just silly talk about flirting. At the very least, the shop is relatively empty, and there wasn’t much else to do at the moment.

The boy pouts, crossing his arms and jutting out his bottom lip like a stubborn child. “At this rate, I’m not going to be anybody’s type. I mean, I’ve only ever gotten one call back, and that guy was a straight up creep.”

“He wasn’t that weird, dude,” Hulk chimes in from the behind the two. He’s fiddling with the espresso machine again, and he’s hooking up some sort of tank to the machine that Shiro doesn’t really want to ask about. His current long-term experiment involved pressurizing the coffee so much it turned gaseous, which sounded so ridiculous that Shiro couldn’t possibly say no to it.

“He had pet cockroaches!” Lance has turned around and is jabbing a finger at Hunk now. “Are you really going to tell me that that’s not weird, man? That is like, so weird!”

A shiver runs up Hunk’s back, so contagious that even Shiro finds himself getting goosebumps. “I mean, I’m not saying that I would ever own cockroaches,” he explains as he fiddles with the tank, his motions having stalled slightly now that’s he’s thinking about gross, creepy bugs. “I’m just saying that it’s not as abnormal as you want to believe. I mean, come on, Pidge owns a freaking chameleon. Is that even legal?”

“I heard that!” A small high-pitched protest rises from the corner of the shop, and Shiro glances over to the small boy, who is currently wrapped up in a hoodie two-sizes too big (even though it’s summer, Shiro notes), and is furiously typing on their laptop. “Spunky wouldn’t appreciate you saying that.”

“Ok, but like seriously. Who names their chameleon Spunky? What kind of name is that? And why would Spunky care about whether or not he’s legal to own?” Hunk has all but aborted his science project, electing instead to glare down Pidge from across the counter to get his point across.

Lance is leaning on the counter now, eating one of the free samples of biscotti next to the register and wiping the crumbs on his apron. “Who cares if it’s legal,” Lance grumbles through a mouth full of crunches, willingly ignoring Shiro’s look of disapproval. “Spunky’s cool, and he listens to me when I talk about girls. What more could I ask for?”

“UUUUUUUUUGH,” and the groan is synchronized between the three friends, all three heads thrown back in frustration.

Lance smirks to himself, like he’s getting some sort of high from this attention, and he’s eyeing another piece of biscotti before he’s startled by the ruffling of his hair. “Sometimes I wonder about you,” Shiro murmurs, as if he is some sort of wise deity who has seen the all of the world’s truths and is knowingly blessing them with a tiny morsel of that knowledge. “There’s more to the world than flirting with people, you know.”

“I am well aware of that!” He’s got a palm to his chest now, acting as if he is simply astounded that Shiro would imply otherwise. “You know, I am a man of many talents-“

The door’s bell rings, and on cue, everyone returns to their work; Hunk’s back to tinkering with the tank, Shiro’s cleaning the coffee grinder, Pidge is working on some sort of research in the corner, and Lance learns over the counter with a smolder, ready for attempt #354.

Attempt #354, however, is ruined once Lance truly gets a look at the new customer, because something within him lights his nervous system on fire and he’s tingling all over.

The first thing that Lance notices is that she looks positively unsure of herself. She’s frozen at the door, one arm awkwardly clutching the other, and she’s staring at the menu with apprehension, as if it’ll jump off the wall and attack her at any second. The second thing that Lance notices is that she’s got high cheekbones, and they’re angling her face in a way that hitches Lance’s breath. The third thing that Lance notices is that her lips are powerfully red – like, Lance can tell if someone’s wearing lipstick at this point, and nope, that is totally natural, holy crap. The fourth thing that Lance notices is the way her bangs, colored like obsidian, simultaneously frame and cover her face, making her seem both powerful and unsure at the same time. (The hair’s kinda greasy, but whatever, Lance has flirted with worse.) The fifth thing that Lance notices is that he is completely thrown for a loop and he’s not sure why.

She’s still seems uncertain about something, and Lance is feeling oddly nervous about this whole thing until he realizes, hey, he’s done this 353 times before, what could go wrong? And that signature smirk is back in a flash.

“Can I help you, beautiful?” And ooooo, Lance feels like he’s nailed it, but then she looks even more jittery and God, did Lance already fuck up this attempt-

“Shiro?” The word is blunt and it comes out quick, like she’s forcing it out through will alone.

The broader man turns around at the mention of his name, and Lance deflates, no longer finding the motivation to hit on what is probably Shiro’s girlfriend, or something.

“You came!” Shiro throws his cleaning rag over his shoulder and he’s happy in a new way, a way Lance hasn’t seen in a while. It’s borne out of sympathy rather than comfort, and it’s softening the sharpened corners of his mouth, loosening the creases on his forehead. He’s waving at the person, warm and caring, and Lance wonders if this is how people feel when they meet their hero, just like in his comics.

It’s as if Shiro had caused the girl to shed into a new skin, because she’s smiling too, and her bangs have somehow moved out of her face, like a sunflower turning towards the sun. She’s walking towards the wooden counter now, and Lance figures that there’s no point in him being involved in this interaction anymore, but his nerves are still tingly, and he can’t find the motivation to move his feet.

Shiro flinches suddenly and his smile falters. “Um….what should I…?”

“Clara.” They share a knowing look, with a ferocity that unnerves the olive-skinned boy. Shiro’s tense and she’s serious and he’s doubting his decision to stay involved with this.

“Ah, alright. Clara.” Shiro’s shoulders sag, and the tension disappears just as quickly as it came. “Would you like a drink? That’s our specialty, you know.”

She’s looking back up at the menu, and Lance’s mind unconsciously notes that her eyes are almost violet in color. “I don’t know what any of these things are.”

“Are you telling me you’re in a café and you’ve never had coffee before?” The words slip out of Lance’s mouth before he processes them, and Shiro’s giving him another stern look (which, y’know, is probably fair).

“I, uh-“ fuck, why do I keep accidentally making this girl nervous? – “….Yeah, I guess that’s what’s I’m doing. Aren’t you supposed to help me or something?”

“Well I can help you with more than just coffee, beau-“

“Lance.” His “Shiro’s done with my shit” punchcard was filling up quick today, and Lance figures that now’s not the best time to cash in his free jab, so he migrates to the back of the room to help Hunk with his experiment.

The girl stays for a while, just talking with Shiro about coffee and Lance is only casually eavesdropping because this situation is too damn weird (“You mean to tell me that coffee is made of beans?” like, does this girl ever get out?). Eventually Shiro makes her a coconut milk mocha macchiato, and she ducks out of the building quietly without a word, and the moment that that doorbell finishes ringing, he’s on Shiro like a cat.

“And who, exactly, was that?” He’s wiggling his eyebrows and Pidge groans in the corner.

“Why is it that every time Shiro talks to a girl, you have to be on him like the damn inquisition?” She gets up and begins dragging her feet to the counter to buy her 4^th drink of the day.

Lance’s muscle memory kicks in and he begins to work on her vanilla latte. “Well, Pidge, why do you bother buying coffee when you could just as easily drip feed it and get the job done faster?”

Shiro actually chuckles, and Lance can feel at least one stamp erasing from his shit-talk punch card. “They’re from the youth center I volunteer at. I figured recommending my kids come to The Lion’s Den is a much better activity than what some of them could be doing.” He shrugs and moves over to the sink, washing his hands. “No one usually comes, though.”

Oh yeah, Lance had forgotten about that. Another gold star on Shiro’s flawless resume, so compact already with gold stars that it might as well be a fucking galaxy. Shiro often volunteered at the youth center, and this one in particular dealt with troubled kids, so it made sense that his boss would want to invite them to the Den. The environment was (usually) calm and relaxed - on Thursdays they had Open Mic Nights, and on Sundays they had Craft Days. Shiro, more than anything, wanted to give back to the community, and Lance understood that better than anyone else. He didn’t exactly end up with this job because of his flawless espresso skills.

“Either way,” Lance whines, scooting Pidge’s latte across the counter like some sort of western-action bar drink (because he’s cool like that). “You ruined attempt #354, because I didn’t even give her my number, so thanks boss.”

“LAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE.” The three heads are thrown back again in exasperation, Lance is wearing a shit-eating grin, and everything is back to normal.

--

It’s been about four months since that interaction, and Lance has all but completely forgotten about it until the door bell rings again.

A young man is standing at the door, and something about him is eerily familiar. But Lance doesn’t remember ever seeing this guy around; he’s wearing a red motorcycle jacket, for fuck’s sake. He would remember that gaudy piece of clothing anywhere. And he’s wearing knee-high black pilot boots like he’s straight out of an 80’s cartoon and seriously, what the hell is up with this dude?

Still, Lance’s mind says fuck it, and he’s ready to go for attempt #628. “Can I help you, beautiful,” and oooo, Lance totally nailed it-

“Do you greet everyone with that statement?” The boy is dripping with confidence as he strides up to the counter, and Lance is taken aback at the sudden aggression.

“Well excuse me,” he growls, ghosting buttons on the register with his fingers in a weak attempt to look busy. “Maybe I just think everyone is pretty.”

“Hey, Shiro.” and the boy has absolutely ignored Lance’s statement which wow, rude. The white-haired manager turns around and does that sympathetic smile thing again, and Lance figures it’s time for him to fuck off. He hops over the counter and joins Pidge in the corner, absently flipping through the pages of one of his research books.

Pidge, predictably, slaps his hand away. “I’m looking at these right now,” she grates, sipping her vanilla latte and examining the page. “You wouldn’t even understand any of it.”

Lance hmphs and sits down across from the autumn-haired prodigy. “Well then, amuse me or something, because whatever Shiro’s doing with that dude over there is weird.”

For a moment Pidge actually looks up from the book, glancing over at the annoyingly prominent cobalt red jacket in his peripheral. “He certainly doesn’t look like a normal customer.”

“Right? Like, did he join a biker gang for skinny, pretty dudes?” Lance is fiddling with a coffee stirrer and glaring at the boy.

“Skinny and pretty huh?” Pidge throws him a knowing look and smirks.

Lance sighs and flicks the stick at Pidge, who pulls back and squeals, hands flailing. “If you can somehow manage to look past the weirdly cropped red jacket, the annoying boots, and the greasy hair, then yeah, he’s skinny and pretty.” He shrugs and notes the strangely-bulky belt on the boy, pockets stuffed with gods knows what. “So what. I have a type.”

“Your type is anything that can move.” Pidge throws the stick back at him and he’s mirroring her earlier flailing and squealing.

“What was that for?!!?” Lance gawks, and he crosses his arms in a pout, somehow oblivious to his own hypocrisy.

“You’re kidding.” Pidge returns to her work, and Lance is fiddling with her pages again, unable to keep his hands still.

“Electromagnetic waves, huh?” He changes the subject now that he’s concentrated, examining the complicated diagrams presented before him. “What does this have to do with military planes?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” The engineering student lights up, sipping her latte with a newfound glee. Pidge is the sort of person that gets a kick out of sharing his knowledge, even if the other person has no clue what’s going on, and Lance likes to indulge this. “You see, planes communicate with each other using the spectrum of waves. I’m sure you know about radio waves, which consists of this sliver of the spectrum right here…..”

Pidge rambles on like that for a few minutes, and Lance really is listening, but that jacket is so goddamn bright that he keeps inadvertently looking up and staring at the boy. Something about him just seems so familiar, and it’s driving Lance crazy because he has no fucking clue why. He’s got a weird mullet, which Lance really should be repulsed by but he isn’t, even though it’s grimy and the back hairs are jutting out in random directions. They weren’t one of Hunk or Pidge’s friends, either, or Pidge would’ve at least said hi. And what was he doing in a quaint little coffee shop like the Den? Shouldn’t he be out like, I don’t know, beating up dudes with his biker gang?

Well, Lance has had enough of this mystery, and he formally decides to show this guy a piece of his mind. Even if it’s just with dumb flirty jabs.

“I’ll be right back Pidge,” Lance interrupts, feeling a little guilty at jipping his friend like this but dammit if he isn’t a man on a mission. Pidge sighs, knowing exactly what Lance is trying to accomplish, and resigns herself to research in front of her.

The boy’s got a coffee now (black with only a scant amount of cream, because of course), and he’s smiling, listening to Shiro’s story of something or another when Lance slams his hand on the counter between the two.

“Have I met you before?” Lance interrogates, causing the boy to shoot an extremely dangerous, if confused, look at him. It’s kinda hot, but now Shiro looks startled and Lance feels a little guilty and whoops, there’s another stamp on the punch card.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answers in monotone, so goddamn vague that it drives Lance up a wall. He’s not having any of that.

“Are you from high school or something? Maybe you go to the flight academy. Or wait, you kinda look like the cashier at the froyo shop down the street, maybe that’s-“

“It doesn’t matter.” His stance is ice cold, body closed away from Lance, and Lance winces at the chill. It’s not until Shiro glares at the boy (not Lance, surprisingly, but at the mullet head) that he opens up a little, looking sheepish. “I’m Keith.”

Ok, now we’re getting somewhere, although Lance doesn’t know any Keiths in particular. “Lance, if you couldn’t tell by the tag.” He flicks the name tag on his apron to reinforce the idea and smirks.

Keith looks uninterested, which is just great. What the hell did Lance ever do to him?

Shiro senses the unnecessary tension and leans across the counter, somehow mentally soothing the two boys. “Keith hangs out with me at the youth center,” Shiro notes, smiling at the pale boy in reassurance. “I told him he could hang out at the Lion’s Den whenever he wanted. Maybe you two should go play one of the board games in the corner.” He motions to the corner opposite Pidge, where bookshelves full of board games and light reads sit, slightly dusty but also worn from use.

Lance shrugs, examining his cuticles absentmindedly. “Sure, why not.”

“Hey, I wanna join!” Hunk pops out from some unknown crevice behind the coffee machines, wrench in hand, and he looks absolutely delighted. “Let’s play Jenga. I love building the blocks-“

“Nope. Not doing that.” Keith pushes his hip off of the counter and waves dismissively at the two workers, his mouth curved in a slight scowl. “Just here for the coffee. I’ll see you around Shiro.” In a flash, he’s out of the building without even a glance back, a dust cloud of unease left behind.

“Aw man,” Hunk groans, his eyes no longer glistening with interest. “I was really looking forward to playing Jenga too.”

“I’ll play a game with you,” Shiro soothes, patting the larger boy on the back. “You’ve worked hard enough today, you deserve a break.” Hunk smiles at him, so tooth-rottingly sweet that it makes puppies seem ugly in comparison.

Lance is ready to jump over the counter again and get the game’s box when Shiro coughs, catching his attention. “You, young man, could stand to work a little more today. Put your intellect to use and figure out what’s wrong with the ice machine. It’s slower than normal.”

“Aw, come on,” He whines, throwing his hands up dejectedly. “Why not have Hunk fix it? He loves doing that stuff!”

“Because I know you’re smart and capable enough to do it.” And Shiro smiles, that kind of smile that reminds Lance of his mom’s constant reassurances when he’s having a bad day.

“Yeah, alright.” He accepts his fate, because he’s tired of thinking of mullet head, and he likes that Shiro acknowledges his skills. He owes Shiro a lot, after all, and he honestly feels somewhat validated when he does minor things like clean the toilets or fix the ice machine.

He can hear the wooden blocks clunking in the background as he grabs a screwdriver and gets to work.

Chapter Text

“Dude, Hunk, the raspberries were such a good idea.”

Shiro nods in agreement, eyes curiously aimed towards the ceiling as he mulls over the new concoction. “They really add to the texture of the muffin.” He’s chewing it slowly, allowing the taste to mingle on his tongue in order to fully analyze it.

“You guys really think so?” Hunk’s taking apart the muffin, grinding bits of the baked good between his fingers in order to gauge how moist it is. “I wasn’t sure if it would contrast too harshly with the almonds. It’s not always about the taste, you know.”

The two muffin-samplers nod in agreement, and Lance swipes another muffin from the test batch. He’s much less delicate with his appetite this time, ripping into the muffin like a carnivore that just caught new prey. “Mmp-so gewd,” he mumbles, face full of food, causing a couple crumbs to fall onto his apron. “Mmmaybe wess awlmunds though.”

“I disagree,” Shiro dissents, taking a much lighter bite of his own muffin. “The almonds really do contrast the raspberries’ texture well. Like Hunk said-“

“IT’S HERE!!!!!”

The café door slams against the wall as an overexcited bundle of nerves bursts into the building, arms raised high with her prize in hand. Her grin stretches from wall to wall as she looks to the two coffee workers with absolute glee, almost vibrating in place. “You guys, it’s finally out! AND I GOT A COPY!”

“No. Way.”

Lance has already jumped over the counter (Hunk elects to walk around instead) and the skinnier boy snatches the item from Pidge with ease, startling and pissing her off. “I have been waiting so long for this,” he marvels, savoring the feel of the comic’s glossy cover in his hands.  

“Aw man, I’m so pumped!” Hunk admires the cover in Lance’s hands, rubbing his own hands together in anticipation. “I can’t believe they would end it on such a cliffhanger last time. I am dying to know if the Yellow Lion can get back in time to form Voltron.”

Pidge tries to steal it back but Lance holds the comic above his head. “That’s not fair Lance! I bought the copy, I get to read it first!”

“Well then why didn’t you read it before you got here?” Lance snaps, hopping over to one of the tables in the corner. Pidge begrudgingly follows and sits across from him, flicking his forehead on the way down.

“Because I was excited, you idiot!” Lance winces from the flick and releases of the comic momentarily to reach for his forehead, allowing Pidge to swoop in and steal the comic without a sound.

“Hey! Cheap tactics!” Lance whines, rubbing the sore spot with annoyance.

“Don’t make me force you guys to take turns,” Shiro yells from behind the counter, rolling his eyes. One palm is spread on the counter and the other is casually holding the test muffin. “You guys are adults, you should be able to at least handle this.”

Lance pouts, Hunk nods in agreement, and Pidge squeals again as he clamors to turn the first page. “Why don’t we play a board game while we wait,” Hunk offers, tipping his head in the direction of the bookshelf. “You know I love me some Jenga.”

“But you kick my ass at Jenga,” and god, could this child be any more whiny right now? “Let’s play something more fair. Like Connect Four.”

Hunk’s walked over to the bookshelf and is waving the game box around with doubt. “Bro, I’m an engineering student. You really think you can beat me at Connect Four?”

“Absolutely. Game on, Hunk.” He’s tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, now properly motivated.

They both quickly set up the stand, sorting the colored pieces to the respective player while Pidge blasts through the comic like an overstimulated child. The two players make eye contact, with a look of competitive camaraderie, and Hunk puts in the first piece.

“Man, I hope the Yellow Lion saves the day,” Hunk comments, analyzing potential plays from the game in front of him. “Like, he doesn’t get a lot of moments to shine, so I think it would be totally cool if he could be the hero, just for once.”

Lance leans his face onto his palm and slumps into it, toying with his red piece and airily considering his options.  “Dude, that’s because you are such a Yellow Lion. Like, you two are mirror images of each other. Right down to the cooking skills.” He places his piece on the far end of the stand, and Hunk’s eyes light up with glee.

Immediately, Hunk follows his move with another piece. “He’s the backbone of the entire group, man! He may not get as much credit but he’s arguably the most important member of Voltron.”

“Backbone, schmackbone.” Lance slides his chip on top of Hunk’s. “It’s all about the glory, baby. Swooping in and saving the day with style.” Hunk counters his piece, and Lance’s eye twitches, slightly taken aback.

“So, what?” Hunk inquires, with a smug look on his face. He’s got this game in his pocket and both of them know it. “Do you like the Black Lion or something?”

“Psssssssh.” Lance throws his chip in without a glance at where it lands. “Red Lion all the way. He’s so cool!” Lance is waving his hands like a child now, all starry-eyed and dreamy. “Like that time when the other lions were about to be destroyed by that Galran Guardian and he swooped in and stabbed it right in the heart, saving them all. That was so cool. And that is totally what I would’ve done in that situation.”

The door bell rings and Keith strides in, and Lance is suddenly bothered. Mostly because every time he’s tried to talk to the mullethead, he gets brushed off, and Lance is not a person to be ignored. It’s to a point where Keith’s very presence bugs him, and he knows he’s being pitiful, but who cares.

“Whatever you say, Lance,” and Hunk proudly drops the last piece into place, winning the game. “If you’re the Red Lion, then it must suck at Connect Four.”

“I wasn’t even trying!” Lance throws his hand in the air and shoots friendly daggers at the larger boy. “If I really wanted to, I could totally kick your ass.”

“NO!!!!”

The scream startles everyone in the café and they all turn to face a very nervous Pidge, who is so concentrated that they could burn holes into the comic before her. “No no NO!!! They can’t do that!!!!!”

“What, what’s happening-“ and Hunk is leaning over Pidge’s shoulder, trying to see what’s going on-

“NO SPOILERS!!!” Lance is forcing his hands to his ears and closing his eyes, as if the comic will jump out of Pidge’s hands and spoil him personally. “I WANT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS FOR MYSELF!”

“What are you yelling about?” Keith suddenly appears, pissed off, and he’s crossed his arms in front of them, demanding an explanation.

The three friends look startled at this rude interrogation, with Hunk subconsciously hiding behind Pidge for protection. It’s Lance who breaks first, falling into his cocky bravado like a second skin. “We’re reading the new issue of Voltron dude. Issue #75. It’s a big deal.”

“You’re screaming over comic books? Really?” He eyes the glossy pages in Pidge’s hand with confusion and annoyance, tapping his fingers against his biceps restlessly. “That’s, like, the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not lame!” Pidge is shouting defensively, somehow still reading the comic despite all of this, “Especially because the Black Lion just crashed-“

“I SAID NO SPOILERS!!!!” Lance lurches across the table and slaps his hand over Pidge’s mouth, almost knocking his glasses off.

“MMmmhph!” Pidge’s muffled mouth is saying incomprehensible things, and realizing she’s not getting anywhere, she licks his hand.

“EEEEEWWWWW!” He recoils immediately, grasping his hand like it’s been defiled by the devil himself.  “What the hell, Pidge? That is so gross! So gross!”

“You weren’t letting me talk, Lance!” Hunk’s got his hands on Pidge’s shoulders now, a failsafe in case she decides to jump up and attack the brown-skinned boy.

“Quiet down over there! This is a coffee shop, not a boxing ring, for goodness sake.” Shiro yells at them like an old man who just wants some peace and quiet (which everyone suspects he secretly is).  He inches a coffee cup across the counter, nodding at Keith. “Your coffee’s ready.”

“Hmph.” God, that fucking hmph pisses Lance off. He thinks he’s so cool, with his flowy hair and his dumb pilot boots and-

“Well I was going to do some studying here, but I could probably get more done in an airplane bunker, with how loud you guys are.” He flicks two fingers out, striding towards the door with his black coffee in hand. “See you around.”

Lance is out of his chair before the door fully closes. “What the hell is up with that guy?!!?” He’s pacing the store bitterly, fists clenched at his sides. He’s not sure where he’s going with this, but now he’s too fired up he can’t stop his feet from doing their circles.

Shiro sighs and walks around the counter, leaning against the glass barrier that shows off the pastries. “Calm down Lance, he doesn’t mean any harm.”

“He just called Voltron lame, Shiro!” He’s thrown his hands up in the air like he’s begging to the lord for answers. “He hasn’t even read it! He’s just being a dick!”

Shiro’s shoulders slump, a bout of frustration overtaking his thoughts. “There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye, you know.”

“Then tell me, Shiro, what’s so cool about him that he thinks he can just walk into my café and insult my interests!” He’s still pacing, but he’s slowing down now, his mind searching for answers instead of questions.

“Just take a breath and I’ll tell you, alright? This isn’t something to get so worked up about.” He pushes off of the glass wall and strides over to the table where an antsy Pidge and a nervous Hunk are still sitting, sliding into the chair across from them.

“Fine.” He stills his legs and takes a deep breath, tensely pushing his hair back with his hands. Of course Shiro was right, he probably was getting worked up over nothing. So he concedes, and takes the chair next to Shiro, a shadow of annoyance covering his face.

Shiro flattens his palm against the smooth surface of the table, thinking his words through. “You guys know I volunteer at the youth center a lot.”

“Yep.” All three of the boys chirp in agreement, leaning in towards Shiro.

“Well, the youth center focuses on problem children specifically. So naturally, we get some rowdy kids there. Keith showed up about two years ago and was just as rowdy as the rest of them.” He takes his prosthetic and runs it through the small tuft of hair that droops on his forehead. “He’s an orphan and he doesn’t really have any positive role models in his life. One of the goals of the youth center is to provide those role models for them, and so I tried my best to influence him in a good direction.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s working,” Lance grumbles, earning him a flick on the forehead from Pidge.

Shiro shrugs the negligent comment off. “He’s the only kid from the center that comes here regularly, even if he’s in and out. I was hoping you guys could potentially try and hang out with him, or something, because he could use that healthy environment.”

“No. No no no.” Lance is shaking his head with a scowl of disgust, looking at Shiro like he just grew a third arm. “Not happening. No way. He insulted my comics, and therefore he insulted me.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Lance,” Hunk groans, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his chin on them. “Maybe he’s just never given them a shot.”

“He’s been through a lot in his life, Lance. All I’m asking if that you try to be nice to him, maybe invite him to stuff, I don’t know.” Then Shiro gives Lance that look, the one that reminds Lance that Shiro really is a hero and that Lance owes him the world for all he’s done. “Do this for me, alright?”

Lance goes silent, a trace amount of guilt entering his system. All he can do is shift uncomfortably in his chair and nod.

“We’ll try our best to get him to hang out with us,” Hunk chimes in, warming the tense air. “I’m sure he’s got some cool stuff he can show us.”

“Yeah, totally!” Pidge smiles at Hunk in agreement. “I mean, did you see how well he did in the flight simulator the other day? He killed it!”

“Wait. Hold on. What?” Lance’s entire demeanor shifts into bafflement. “Are you telling me he goes to Garrison with you guys?”

Hunk’s nodding eagerly, just as enthusiastic as Pidge. “He appeared out of nowhere last week. He’s only been in the simulator twice and he’s already one of the top pilots. It’s freaky, man, how good he is.”

“God dammit.” Lance forces his face into his hands and groans. God, he wanted to hate this guy so much, and now he can’t even do that, with Shiro depending on him to be, like, a good person.  

“That’s good to hear,” Shiro notes, always the supportive type. “You see? You guys already have some shared interests. It shouldn’t be too hard to be nice to him.”

“I wonder if he has access to the flight tower,” Pidge sticks her tongue out, her mischievous side appearing. “I’d love to get my hands on some of the new experiments that Garrison holds up there.”

“Dude, that would be so cool! Maybe they have some spare parts up there that I can use to work on my new project.” His hands begin shaping a rectangle in front of him, like he’s trying to form a blueprint for everyone. “It would be a self-cleaning blender. You just press a button and bam, no more gunks of smoothie stuck to the bottom of the blade. How sick would that be?”

“That would be pretty neat,” Shiro agrees, gingerly patting Hunk on the shoulder. “But let’s hope it goes better than your gaseous espresso. I don’t think that old lady appreciated it when the gas blew up in her face.”

Hunk goes sheepish and blushes. “I told her sorry like, a million times. And I still feel bad about it.”

They’re all giggling at the memory, sharing stories from the past, and Lance accepts the flow of the tide. He might want to pull his own teeth out at the thought of being friends with that weirdo with the bright red jacket, but if Shiro wants him to be nice, then god dammit, he’ll at least try.

But why did Shiro have to go and be a positive role model on him?

Chapter Text

Unknown to most people, Lance – the whiny, gangly man child who liked comics just a little too much and had a tendency to speak when he clearly hadn’t thought his words through – was a bottler.

And why would people know? That’s, like, the definition of bottling. Not letting people know when something bugged you. Keeping it inside so you wouldn’t burden other people with your problems. Shoving it down deep and sticking a cork in it. That’s the whole point.

That’s why on this particular day, when Lance’s eyes grazed upon the two engineering students furiously scribbling notes in their textbooks, highlighters gripped tightly in one hand and post it notes scattered across the café table like a tornado of one-off facts, he actively chose to get some work done. Because distracting himself with reorganizing the pastry display was much, much better for everyone involved than hearing him whine about his problems again.

Yeah, Pidge and Hunk had noticed that Lance was being weirdly distant. Although there were plenty of moments where the two boys wanted nothing more than for Lance to just quit talking so much, they both understood that it was his chatter that filled their days with interestingly odd adventures and stories, and that that chatter was just an inherent part of Lance’s being. He liked to talk, that was Lance, and that’s what they enjoyed about Lance. So it was quite notable when he chose instead to actually get some work done, with an uncomfortable grimace plastered on his cheeks. Even though a small alarm was alerting Pidge to the unusual productivity of the brown-haired boy, she consciously decided that today was not the day to give a shit, because there were a thousand more alarms going off in her head, overshadowing that small beep and telling her to fucking study for the mid-term, oh my god Pidge, why did you procrastinate so bad this is like a third of your grade.

The same alarms were going off in Hunk’s head as he skimmed through the pages of the book with such speed, it was as if the sentences were on fire and he had to read them before they burned into nothingness. His highlighter was permanently pressed to the page, Pidge noted, and almost the entire page was highlighted in a potent neon yellow that threatened to melt Pidge’s eyes if he looked at it for too long.

“Have you gotten to Chapter 6 yet?” Hunk was panicking, looking at her like a lifeguard in a sea of sticky notes and bad decisions. “Dude, I do not remember any of this, at all. Did we even go over this in class???”

Pidge quickly glanced at him simply to acknowledge his question, but then immediately returned to her own work. “Hunk, I’m not even at Chapter 4 yet, because unlike you, I started three hours ago. Give me a bit and I’ll help you, alright?”

Hunk’s posture slouched, in both acceptance and defeat. “Fine, but you gotta catch up, ok? I’m not kidding when I say I remember none of this.”

Pidge’s pen was tapping on the table insistently. “I am going as fast as I can Hunk, trust me.”

Both resumed their silent panic, furiously turning pages and exchanging occasional looks of fear. The store was quiet like this for a few minutes, with Lance still busily rearranging the bear claws and the muffins, when the door bell rang and Lance was forced to extract himself from his aesthetic-oriented pastry rearrangement.

Seeing mullet head walk in didn’t help his sour mood, and he didn’t try to hide it. “You want me to get Shiro so he can make your precious black coffee?”

The shorter boy scoffed in annoyance. “You can make it just fine, thanks. I’m in a bit of a rush.” Those words forced Lance to actually pay attention to the boy, and he noticed that he was carrying a bunch of textbooks, cradled in his arms. The covers were similar to Pidge’s and Hunk’s books. Great.

“Studying for the midterm?” Lance took the coffee pot out of a machine near the front and began pouring the caffeine into a tall cup.

Keith was somehow surprised to learn that Lance, in fact, had eyes. “Um, yeah. I guess.” He took the opportunity to set his books down on a table near the front of the shop while he was waiting for the drip to finish.

Lance didn’t bother with a reply, too caught up in his own rotten head to be polite. Once the cup was full, he slapped a lid on it and slid it across the counter, immediately refocusing his attention onto the pastries to distract himself. He was glad when Keith seemed to accept his piss-poor attitude and decided not to comment on it, simply taking the coffee and slipping a few dollars onto the counter. (Or perhaps he was just completely oblivious and acting as if everything was normal. Lance couldn’t tell.)

The brown-haired boy tried to busy his hands with the pastries, rearranging them in unorthodox ways in order to grab the customer’s attention, but his mind wasn’t 100% into it. But he was a bottler, brutally honest with himself but no one else, and he couldn’t stop thinking about those textbooks, and why Keith of all people was the one who got to hold them. Thus, he resorted to spying at the pilot from behind the glass barrier, with curiosity and jealousy, in order to satisfy his palette.

What he saw was a boy with two books and a legal pad in front of him, angrily sipping his coffee and looking incredibly uncomfortable.

It seemed that Hunk and Pidge had taken notice as well, because Keith kept occasionally cursing to himself under his breath, and it was really killing the ‘silently panicking’ vibe they had going on.

“What the hell is he doing?” Pidge gritted, a little pissed off and very over-caffeinated, as she downed her 5^th vanilla latte.

“It looks like he’s trying to study.” Hunk stretched his neck in an attempt to read the scribbles on the legal pad. “I mean, he’s in the same class as us. It makes sense.”

“I guess.” Pidge was too busy blasting through both her coffee and her textbook to really give a shit.

Hunk tried to mirror Pidge and continue studying, but the continuous string of swears and hitches that came from the corner table worried him. He was able to focus (not successfully) on the highlighted pages for a few minutes before his guilt overcame him, forcing him to look at the boy once more. He saw the way that Keith kept swearing to himself, and the way that he kept anxiously combing his hands through his (notably messy) hair, and his nurturing side kicked in, poking Pidge on the shoulder with concern.

“Do you think we should ask him to study with us?” He leaned in and whispered, as if the notion itself was sacrilege.

Pidge thumped her pen onto the table, eyebrows creased in annoyance. “Look, Hunk.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I know that Shiro said we should hang out with him. And we will. But right now, I am running on 2 hours of sleep and about 3 gallons of liquid caffeine and sugar, and I don’t have the time to help someone I don’t know.” He made a half-assed motion with his hand and grabbed his pen again. “Do what you want, but I’m literally dead inside right now.”

Hunk dared another glance over to Keith, whose hands were clenched into fists on the table. Everything about him was tense, way too tense, and it was making Hunk uncomfortable in his own seat.

He couldn’t ignore that. How could anyone ignore that? Clearly he was struggling with something, and someone needed to help him. So Hunk chose to ignore the sirens in his head that screamed ‘BUT YOU HAVE A MIDTERM TO STUDY FOR, DUDE’, and slid out of his chair, a mixture of determination and nervousness.

There were a lot of scribbles on the note pad. They were angry and bold, completely obscuring whatever numbers they covered, and Keith was forcing a hand roughly through his hair again.

Hunk paused behind the table for a moment and considered his options. On one hand, Keith was a loner. Always was. He saw that in class – he didn’t talk to anyone willingly, and he was always the last to arrive and the first to leave. Maybe Hunk was crossing a line by assuming that he even wanted help, and he should just leave the dude to himself.

On the other hand……his mama always told him to help anybody who he saw was in need. And Hunk was danged if he was gonna ignore his mama’s wise words.

“You studying for the midterm?” He started out incredibly gentle, testing the waters. Keith snapped his head up and hissed, like a startled black cat. Upon seeing the gentle giant, however, he eased a little, breathing outward slowly.

“Trying to.” He refused to make eye contact and took a sip of his disgustingly bitter coffee.

Hunk could tell that Keith needed help. Those scribbles weren’t there for doodles – they were signs that Keith was struggling but unable to admit it to himself.

He took it upon himself to lead the charge. “Do you….” He made a whimsical motion with his hand, “maybe, want to study together? We could help each other out.”

Keith immediately tensed up, like a coil ready to spring. Inner turmoil oozed onto his skin, and he was visibly battling with himself whether or not to accept the offer. The silence stretched a little too long, uncomfortably so, but Hunk refused to take it as a ‘no’.

“I’ll just move my stuff over here, alright? We don’t even need to talk.” Hunk rushed over to his previous habitat and gathered all of his items in one big swoop, stumbling back over and spilling them across from Keith. When Keith looked at him, stunned, his mouth slightly ajar, Hunk just smiled back in reassurance and sat down in the seat opposite of him.

“Studying with other people is fun,” He whistled, reassembling his notes so that they were at least semi-organized. “Even if you don’t talk, it’s nice to just have somebody else around, you know? It helps to make me feel better, at least. And besides,” he nodded his head in the direction of the overcaffeinated boy, who had escalated from being merely overstimulated to basically vibrating in place. “I could use a break from the ticking time bomb over there.”

That joke managed to fully deescalate the situation, and Keith finally eased up and relented, a small smile creasing the corners of his mouth. “I guess I could, uh, use a little help.”

“What are you stuck on?” Hunk leaned over the table, scanning the pages of Keith’s textbook in order to gauge the situation. “I’m no prodigy, but I know my way around a linear equation.”

“Uh,” and Hunk could see Keith visibly swallow his pride. “I um, I’m stuck on this.” His finger grazed over the page to a problem near the bottom of the page.

“Taylor series, huh?” Hunk sighed to himself, almost dreamily. “I worked all last night on those. I can help you out, man.” He ripped a piece of paper from his own notebook and grabbed a pencil, angling his body so that he could write on the paper and show Keith at the same time. “Now, the thing about Taylor sums is that it’s attempting to explain a function using a sum of terms that goes on forever. Like, infinitely forever. So when we look at the sigma notation…”

Lance, literally desperate for some sort of distraction, had actually volunteered to clean out the cupboards. (Nobody volunteered to do that, because they were gross, and dusty, and you needed a ladder to reach them.) He was on the middle tier of the ladder, leaning into the cupboard to try and reach the crumbs in the back corner, when he suddenly heard something that completely bothered him. So much, in fact, that he jutted his head right back out, hitting the edge of the cupboard along the way and sending a seering pain into the back of his skull.

It was laughter. Coming from Keith. Because of Hunk.

They had since stopped, because when Lance hit his head it basically echoed across the shop, and now he was stuck in a compromising position, rubbing the back of his head furiously and looking like an idiot. Bottle it up, man. Keep it together.

“What’s up with him?” Keith shot a questioning look to the larger boy, genuinely curious. “Usually he’s louder. And more annoying.”

Hunk snorted at that and leaned back into his chair. “He always gets this way whenever we study in the store. It’s the only time he ever willingly does all of the dirty work like this. Like, cleaning the cupboards? Seriously?” A joking shudder ran down his spine, amusing both of the students. “The back of those are super gross, man. Like, sometimes there will be dead spiders and it is the worst.”

“Dead spiders, huh?” His left hand began to mindlessly scribble in the margins of the pad. “I think that’s a health code violation somehow.”

“Well, we can’t help it if the spiders love our coffee just as much as humans!” Hunk giggled to himself lightheartedly, but then immediately froze when he remembered he was joking about dead spiders which, again, so gross.

There was a few beats of silence as Keith watched the skinny boy crawl back into the cupboard, muttering curses along the way. “Why does he care, though?” Keith swished the next sentence around in his mouth like mouthwash. “Like, all we’re doing is studying. Why would it bother him so much?”

Hunk’s eyebrows creased and he frowned to himself, mulling over the words. Keith didn’t know a whole lot about him, but from what little he had observed, he knew that the larger boy was conscious about other people’s borders. (Something he himself was not very good at.)

“I’m not sure if it’s my place to tell,” he edged, still carefully considering the words. “But without revealing anything, Lance is…uh…” Hunk made a jerked motion with his hand. “…Jealous.”

“Who the hell would be jealous about this?” Keith was so shocked he was almost pissed off, flailing his arms over the scattered textbooks and notes on the table. “This sucks! I could be doing much cooler stuff right now, but I’m stuck learning about functions and crap!”

Hunk nodded mutely, understanding Keith’s position, but he held firm. “Again, can’t say much, but I think that we are luckier than you think we are.” He looked over at his auburn-haired friend (who has somehow gotten stuck in the cupboard, dear lord), and his veins dripped with guilt. “Studying kinda sucks, yeah, but maybe look at it from this perspective – we are pretty lucky that we even get the chance to study, you know?”

“I guess.” It was clear that Keith didn’t actually get the point, or maybe he didn’t want to, but all Keith really wanted to do at this point was to figure out these fucking Taylor sums so he could do something better with his time.

Hunk decided it was better to drop the point altogether. “Anyways, so when you’re expanding the sum, you have to write it out like this….”

For the first time in about an hour, Shiro emerged from the back office, holding a couple vanilla folders full of legal papers. He was humming a soft tune, slightly off-key but overall wholesome – but he stopped in place when he saw a ladder in the middle of the coffee shop, with two sticks of legs sticking out of a cupboard near the ceiling.

“Are you actually going out of your way to get some work done?” He gawked, half-jokingly but with a tinge of concern.

“It’s better than doing nothing, alright?” Lance was snappy, and Shiro heard a thud ring out from the cupboards, followed quickly by a whine.

Now, Shiro liked to think he understood Lance. And for Lance, doing nothing was absolutely better than doing one of the grossest activities in the shop. Quizzically, Shiro glanced out into the shop, locking onto three boys (Keith was with them?) studying furiously, like the moon was about to collide with Earth and the only way to stop it was to figure out calculus. He understood in a heartbeat.

“You doing alright?” Shiro was concerned now that he had more context. His prosthetic grabbed the ladder for support, sturdying the structure.

“Just great.”

Shiro wasn’t sure if he should push the issue. This wasn’t the first time Lance had been sour about this situation, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but Shiro felt guilty about it every time regardless. At the very least, he could provide some reassurance. That never hurt, at least.

“I know it sucks Lance. But…..you’ll get there. I know it, and you know it too. Just give it time.”

No sound came from the cupboards.

“Hey.” Shiro tapped him on the ankle. “If you do a good job with the cupboards, I’ll let you off work early. That sound good?”

A drained sigh. “Sounds good, boss.” Although Shiro knew that Lance was actually quite enthusiastic about the proposition (he clocked out 10 minutes too early much too often for him not to be excited about it), it didn’t feed into his words, which sounded exhaustedly recumbent.

“Good. I’m glad to see you taking initiative.” He gave him a modest pat on the calf before returning to his office.

With Shiro gone, Lance peeked out of the cupboard once more. When he saw Hunk explaining a problem to Keith, hands waving in the air to accentuate his words, and Keith watching him intently, not completely understanding but still somewhat appreciative, he felt angry. Angry, jealous, and unjustifiably betrayed.

He threw the rag onto the ladder and buried his face into his hands. Bottle it up, man. Bottle it up.

Chapter Text

The coffee shop was meant to be a place of quiet reflection, in many ways. That was the atmosphere that Shiro constantly strived for, at least – though many customers came and go throughout the day, and rush hour in particular was rather chaotic, the general state of the café was always half-empty and full of a sort of warm bliss. The light Latin-American serenade that played through the store’s speakers compounded this feeling, especially for Lance, considering he was the DJ of the hour.

There were only two other people in the store; Keith, who was sitting at one of the tables with a quiet smile, carving into a piece of wood sloppily with a knife, and Shiro, who was in his office, likely working on tax papers or something equally boring. All three figures were absorbed in their own world, focused on conquering their own mini-battles of the day, unable to pay attention much to their surroundings.

Lance didn’t like when the store was so quiet. The peaceful atmosphere helped to alleviate Lance’s general concerns in life, sure, but it was also rather unsettling. His entire life was a cacophony of loud noises, squealing siblings, overworked parents, annoying customers, overexcited friends - they all combined to form a very sound part of his core. The silence, while nice, just wasn’t a part of who Lance was.

Thus, one can imagine the relief he felt when two overexcited faces crashed into the store, voices high and papers held higher.

“I GOT AN A ON THE MIDTERM!!!” The only two pairs of eyes in the store set their sights on Pidge, thrashing the paper about, eyes closed and arms shot into the sky. The sleeves of her baggy sweatshirt were whipping in the air as she showed her grade off to the store, not caring if she had an audience. Nobody ever knew why Pidge was so excited about getting an A – she could’ve slept through the midterm and still passed, with how smart she was – but everyone relished in the enthusiasm nonetheless.

“I did too, somehow!” Hunk was much more modest but equally as pumped, the midterm crunched in his hand carelessly. His cheeks were flushed and he grinned, throwing a punch of victory into the air.

Lance’s bitterness from the day before had completely dissipated, replaced instead with a warm sense of pride in his friends. He leaned over the counter casually, elbows firmly planted on the hard surface, throwing a cleaning rag over his shoulder. “Man, when have you guys ever been seriously concerned about failing a test?” He teased, sticking his tongue out playfully. “You two are, like, crazy smart. You could pass that test with your eyes closed.”

“You have no idea man!” Hunk’s palms were plastered on the counter, his midterm now crumpling under the weight. “If I hadn’t studied so much all week, I would’ve been dead in the water!”

“Or you could just be like me and cram it in the 24 hours before the exam.” Pidge was wearing the shittiest-of-eating grins, like he was proud of nearly destroying his body with caffeine and lack of sleep.

Hunk gaped dumbly at Pidge. “You know I can’t do that, man! If I don’t get at least seven hours of sleep at night, I sleep through class. And I can’t risk that anymore, because last time I drooled all over the desk, and no one has let me live that down since.”

Pidge cackled at the memory, and even Lance giggled at the thought of the memory he didn’t have. He didn’t need it – he’d seen Hunk drool all over the place during various sleepovers throughout their lives, and it never got any less hilarious.

“You know what this means though.” Mischievousness glinted in Pidge’s eyes. She reached into her sweatshirt’s droopy pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of cash, holding it in the air like a prized heirloom. “It’s time for us to celebrate.”

“HELL YEAH!” Lance’s whoop bounced across the walls of the shop, forcing the reserved boy in the corner to look up from his craft, vaguely agitated. Lance immediately threw his apron onto a hook in the wall, his body brimming with excitement. “I’ve been waiting all day for this, man!”

“You and me both,” Hunk concluded, nodding energetically. He stalled, however, when he felt an eerie pair of eyes on him, curiously nervous.

He turned around only to make eye contact with Keith, who immediately broke and resumed their carving.

Pidge and Lance tittered excitedly behind Hunk, but now he was too distracted to engage. Past memories resurfaced in Hunk’s conscience, most prominently Shiro’s request of him; but it mingled with others as well, memories of loneliness from childhood, a sense of yearning to belong, and being unable to find that connection. Those memories exerted themselves now on Keith; he sensed a kindred spirit, one he needed to help, just like he had been helped by others before.

“Guys,” Hunk jerked back suddenly, interrupting the talkative boys with a harsh whisper. “We should invite Keith.”

“Huh?” Both reflexively questioned, eyes turning to the boy in the red jacket.

“Let’s invite him to come out with us.” Hunk’s eyes were pleading with passion. “Come on man, he took the midterm too, he deserves to come celebrate.”

“But….” Lance’s protest was weak in the wake of Hunk’s plea, but he followed through regardless. “This is our special celebration. The one we do every time something cool happens to one of us. I don’t….”

“Hunk’s right.” Pidge elbowed Hunk, a sign of mutual agreement. “I bet he’ll be fun to hang out with. It might even give you someone to compete with.”

Lance’s ears turned up at the suggestion. “You guys just don’t like competing with me because I always win.”

Hunk and Pidge exchanged side glances, smirking. “Yep. That’s exactly why.”

Keith refused to look at them, pouring all of his focus into the butchered piece of wood in his hands. Lance wanted to ignore him, act like his silence was just some sort of broody bitchiness inherent in assholes only, but he knew Hunk was right. And Shiro was right. And he was always wrong. God.

“Fine. But if this all ends up going to shit, I’m blaming it on you two.” Lance prematurely took action, jumping over the counter and striding up to the boy in the corner.

“Hey. Pretty boy.” He impatiently snapped his fingers in front of Keith’s face.

Lance should’ve known better than to startle someone he constantly associated with words like ‘asshole’, or ‘constantly agitated,’ or ‘needs to pull that stick out of his ass’. He also should’ve known better than to startle someone currently holding a very sharp knife.

But he didn’t.

“OOOOOWWWW!” Lance was grasping his right hand, trace amounts of blood dripping off of the inner palm. “What the fuck, dude?”

Keith immediately dropped his knife on the table, no longer startled but certainly pissed. “Why the hell did you snap your fingers in front of me?” He leaped out of the chair, fists clenched, and shot daggers at the boy who was now bleeding all over the floor.

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU CUT ME?” Lance was unnecessarily delirious, swiping napkins from one of the nearby tables and pressing it to his palm.

“Ooooooh God,” Hunk was frighteningly pale, looking at the crimson splatter on the floor. “Not blood. Anything but blood.”

“I’M BLAMING YOU! I’M TOTALLY BLAMING YOU GUYS!”

“Why are you blaming them? And why did you snap your fingers at me? What is going on-“

“Ooooooh god, oooooooh no-“

“EVERYBODY SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!!!”

Pidge was on top of the table, hands shaking at her sides, screaming at the top of her lungs. Almost instantaneously, the three other boys sat down, with Hunk pressing a napkin to his forehead and Lance dabbing lightly at his palm with his own.

Shiro emerged from his office, dumbstruck and nervous. “Did you guys light my shop on fire?”

“NO.” All four voices responded, agitated.

“Then what-“ His mouth froze in place once he fully absorbed the sight in front of him; a panicked Lance, bleeding out of his palm and muttering curses under his breath; a pissed off Keith, twiddling with his knife and ignoring the others; a very pale Hunk, sweating profusely and taking deep breaths; and a flustered Pidge, perched on top of one of the tables and looking very annoyed.

“I…….what?” For once, Shiro was truly at a loss of words, only able to make ambiguous motions with his arms. “Just, what?”

“Keith started it.” Lance crossed his legs defiantly, with a pout.

“Are you kidding me?” Keith was up on his feet again, arms splayed in disbelief. “You were the one who snapped at me! I was holding a knife, what the fuck did you think was going to happen?”

“Uh, I thought you wouldn’t try to kill me, like any rational person would think.”

“That tiny cut isn’t going to kill you! Don’t be overdramatic.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the table with his own immature pout.

“Pidge.” Shiro looked up at the boy on the table, ushering him to come down. “Tell me what happened.”

He scratched his head as he jumped off the table, landing with a soft thud. “Lance, being an idiot, tried to get the attention of a dude who was holding a knife by snapping at him.”

Lance stabbed a rebellious finger in Pidge’s direction. “I told you it was your fault if anything bad happened!”

God. Shiro audibly groaned, dragging his hand through his tuft of hair. “Can’t I leave you guys alone for more than five minutes without someone getting hurt?”

“Hey Shiro, do you have a paper bag? I really really need a paper bag right now.” Hunk was a skip and a half from passing out.

Shiro ducked behind the counter to find a bag while Keith rolled his eyes. “What did you even need my attention for anyways, dumbass?”

Lance grimaced. “Absolutely nothing-“

“Not true.” Pidge had stepped between the two, flipping the metaphorical bird at Lance. “We were going to invite you to come hang out with us tonight. We always celebrate after something really good happens to one of us.” Lance turned away and pouted, pleading the fifth.

“Yeah,” Hunk concurred, still taking deep breaths. “Pidge and I aced the midterm, and since you took it with us, we figured we would ask if you wanted to join.” Shiro straightened, bag in hand, and handed it over to the bulkier boy, who took it gratefully.

“I….” Keith was dumbstruck. Awkwardly, he tilted his head towards the ground, unsure of where else to look. “…..Really?”

Pidge saw the pleasant surprise on Shiro’s face, and it made her feel rather honored. “Yeah dude. And the offer’s still on the table, despite all of…..” She splayed her hands out, disbelieving, “…..This.”

She felt a cold, metal grip on her shoulder, reassuring and proud.

“It sounds like fun,” Shiro chimed in, automatically sensing the skinnier boy’s apprehension. “It’s a good opportunity for everyone involved.”

The two maybe eye contact, exchanging a silent conversation that made the trio of friends feel invasive. They were well aware that the relationship between Shiro and Keith was rather unorthodox; the shop owner seemed to exude a profound influence on him, one that caused Keith to betray his own attitude and soften up significantly. All of them were curious about the nature of their relationship, but none had the balls to ask, especially not when Keith was holding a knife.

Shiro’s face was stern, creased around the edges, and urging, and Keith reacted sheepishly, resigning himself to the plea.

“…..Fine.” His shoulders sagged, no longer able to resist. “I’ll go….celebrate.”

“Alright!” Hunk was notably more colored, but sweat still generously crowned his forehead. “This is gonna be awesome!”

“Yeah!” Pidge leaned over the table, hand in air, and Hunk reciprocated, colliding his own in a high-five. “I heard they got a new game a week ago.” Pidge’s hands were now shaking in glee. “I’ve been itching to get a new high score on something!”

“Wait.” Keith jutted his neck forward, eyebrow raised quizzically. “How exactly are we celebrating?”

Lance finally turned back, newly minted with a shit-eating grin. “Keith, compadre,” he purred, shooting finger guns out in random directions. “We are going to the arcade.”

Keith wanted to die.

---

It was that point in the fall where the cold was just noticeable enough to tinge nosetips with a dusting of red, where a light push of the breeze could send chills down your spine if you weren’t dressed properly enough. The sun was still fully up, but only barely so; it edged the horizon daringly, hueing the sky with a unique lavender that was quickly turning into an indigo haze.

When Keith looked up at this sky, constantly shifting colors all the way out into the edge of the world, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. The situation he was in was peculiar, and incredibly unfamiliar; here he was, willingly going to an arcade, with a bunch of strangers from his classes. It was the sort of thing that littered teenage novels, ones he avidly hated for no particular reason other than it ‘wasn’t his style’. And neither was this, any of this; but he played the part, because Shiro wanted him to, because he had nothing better to do, and because maybe, secretly, he wanted this too.

Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, and especially not to the idiot currently skating circles around the boardwalk, cackling like a hyena who just discovered helium.

Lance had thrown on a jacket, heavily worn down and scattered with tiny holes and stains. It looked cargo-esque, colored forest green with a hoodie attached to the back. He was also wearing a snapback, turned around so that light tufts of his hair were sticking out of the hole on his forehead. Notably, the snapback had the words ‘MAMBO JAMBO’ on it in big neon print, which, what does that even mean? Without the apron, Keith also noticed that he wore a modest pair of jeans, whitewashed to hell and full of rips, just like his jacket. He’d look rugged if it wasn’t for the fact that he was so damn scrawny.

“Keithy boy,” he wheezed, weaving his skateboard in between all of his friends, hands shoved into his pockets. “You’re gonna love the arcade. It’s got everything. Neon lights. Arcade shooters. Girls. It even has giant pretzels.” He dramatically threw his hands into the air. “Who doesn’t like giant pretzels?”

“Nobody who’s sane, that’s for sure!” Hunk was layered in a puffy red jacket, somehow cold despite his significant bulk. “I haven’t had one of their giant pretzels in months, man.” He was practically salivating at the thought.

Pidge was walking on one of the cement walls lining the boardwalk, arms perpendicular to her body as he tried to keep his balance. The green sweatshirt seemed much larger now that it wasn’t crumpled up in a sitting position, almost reaching his knees. It contrasted heavily with the neon-blue skinny jeans that poked out of the bottom of the sweatshirt like popsicle sticks. “I heard the new game is like a modern version of Galaga, except there’s more aliens instead of spaceships!” She was grinning, all teeth and no gums, throwing her head back to show it off to the world. “I’m absolutely going to get that high score!”

“Bet you 5 bucks that I can beat you.” Lance circled his skateboard around Hunk, eyebrows raised cockily in Pidge’s direction.

“You have never once beaten my high score, Lance-WAH-” She fidgeted, almost losing her balance, flailing her arms desperately in an attempt to regain stability.

Hunk reached out and grabbed her right arm, stabilizing the small girl. “Seriously Lance, you always lose your money like this. Why not compete against someone who’s more…..” He made an aborted motion with his arm. “…On your level?”

Lance shoved his hands back in his pockets, weaving between Keith and Hunk. “Because you never wanna battle me, Hunk.”

“I hate competition!” Hunk’s hands were braced against his face defensively. “I’m just here to play video games, eat delicious snack bar food, and have a good time. You know that.”

“Well I’m here to kick ass and take names.” He tried to do an ollie, but failed miserably, the board flying out from under his feet as he scampered unsteadily. “That doesn’t count.”

“Oh yes it does.” Pidge jumped down from the wall and ran after the board, making sure it didn’t go too far ahead of the group.

Keith didn’t know what his place in this conversation was. He didn’t even know if he had a place. He was trailing behind all of them, fiddling with his knife anxiously, gritting his teeth.

Why was he even here? Walking with these nerds on the way to a video game emporium. This is not the Keith Kogane way to do things. He should be out, riding his motorcycle, speeding past cops and doing some shady shit. That was what made him feel alive. This all just reminded him of how awkward he was, how truly alone he could feel even when surrounded by crowd of people, and he was about two snippy comments away from just jumping over the cement barrier and making a dash for it.

“Dude.” Lance had stopped in front of him, skateboard recently retrieved from Pidge and cradled under his arm. “What’s up with that knife anyways? Why do you carry it around everywhere?”

Keith spun the knife in his hand with the dexterity of an artisan, subconsciously trying to impress. “It’s handy to have.” It was blunt and to-the-point, and Keith zoned in on his knife, unsure of how to proceed.

“Can you, like, do shit with it?” Lance was walking shoulder-to-shoulder now, excitedly eyeing the piece of metal in Keith’s hands. “Like, fight with it. Throw it or something, like ninjas do. That would be so rad.”

“They throw shuriken, dude.” He smirked to himself, flipping the knife so it was between his pointer and middle fingers. “But yeah, I guess I can do ‘cool shit’ with it.”

“Seriously? Dude, Keith.” Lance skipped ahead of him, clearly excited at the prospect of meeting a real-life ninja. He came across a rotten piece of driftwood, leaned suspiciously against a lamppost, and started pointing to it with vigor. “Throw your knife at that, man! From where you’re standing! Like it’s target practice!”

Keith paused where he was standing, nervously observing his surroundings. Pidge and Hunk, though much more subdued, were equally as wired, looking at Keith with wonder. The wood was decomposed and, honestly, a very poor target for his knife; but there wasn’t much else around, and he didn’t want to disappoint the small audience he had somehow gathered. (Even if they were a bunch of nerds.)

His legs glided apart as he flipped the knife into a more appropriate throwing position, aiming carefully. With a flick of his wrist and a whoosh, the knife was jutted into the heart of the wood, causing a large crack to spread out from the knife all the way to the top of the piece. And, of course, Keith was smirking.

The trio stared at the piece of wood like it was sacred ground, afraid to touch it but desperately wanting to. Lance in particular kept switching between Keith and the knife, mouth agape without a noise.

“Woah.” Hunk’s hand covered his mouth, both excited and frightened. “Dude. Keith.”

“THAT WAS AWESOME!!!” Pidge jumped in front of the mullet head, her hair bouncing just a beat behind the rest of her body. “I can’t believe I’m friends with a ninja!”

“I uh-wait-“ Friends? Ninjas? What?

“Keith, that was fucking cool.” Even Lance, normally cocky and composed, was praising Keith unabashedly. “You gotta teach me how to do that.”

Knowing that the idiot was actually admiring him helped to restore his composure. Cool and collected, Keith strode up to the driftwood and gripped his knife, quickly wrenching it out of place. He then held it out in his palm, the metal glinting in the quickly-fading sunlight, for them to admire.

Pidge and Lance were on it like vultures, flipping the knife over like scientists who had just discovered a new bacteria. “Maybe I could teach you guys a trick or two with a knife,” he smirked, attempting to brush his hair behind his ear with his hand.

Lance, suddenly realizing that the ball was no longer in his court, jerked back from the knife, slapping his skateboard back down on the pavement and swiftly jumping on the rusty board. “Don’t need it,” Lance lied, gliding past the boy in the red jacket. “It wasn’t that cool.”

Hunk saw past Lance’s shit easily. “Bro, come on. That was like, the coolest thing I’ve seen all week.” He scratched his chin with his pointer finger. “And I’d like to think I’ve seen a bunch of cool stuff.”

“Seriously. Keith.” Pidge’s hands were pointed at him, his glasses threatening to fall off of the tip of his nose. “Next time we study together. I’ll help you and you teach me how to throw a knife. Everybody wins.”

“You hardly even helped last time man!” Hunk rolled his eyes to the sky, slightly defeated. “I was the one who did all the work. I wanna learn the cool knife skills.”

“Pffffft.” Lance was far ahead of them now, with no signs of turning back. “Hurry up guys! The arcade’s literally right there, and the sun’s almost down already.”

Hunk and Pidge quickly dropped the subject and rushed forward, sneakered-feet powered forward by the idea of video games and high scores.

Keith followed, gut full of newfound pride and warmth. He hadn’t even shown them anything. He just threw a knife. At a piece of wood. He had soooo many more tricks up his sleeves. And they thought it was cool?

Well yeah, of course they thought he was cool. He was cool. He was Keith Kogane. And he was cool.

Self-consciously, he patted his chest down, savoring in the feel of the flat surface. He was Keith Kogane, and they thought he was cool.

He was Keith Kogane, and they thought he was cool.

--

Everything was so goddamn loud.

Teenagers were squealing like loose pigs from all directions of the arcade, combined with the clanks and thumps of various joysticks being wrestled and buttons being mashed. The carpeted floor was covered with an 80’s space themed mess, planets and stars swirling around in a tornado of neon shit. Even his jacket was much brighter than normal, threatening to burn off his own eyes with how powerful the red was under the ultraviolet lights. And to top it all off, the three tagalongs were having the time of their lives, making Keith feel outcast once more.

A couple was leaning against one of the machines, shoving tongues down each other’s throats, and Pidge stuck his tongue out, disgusted. “Get a room,” she sneered, brushing past them with the grace of a misaligned monster truck. “I’m here for the games, not the gross PDA.”

“Right?” Lance clicked his tongue, pointing his finger at a glossy new machine just a few yards in front of them. “But who cares. We’re here, and it’s time for Pidge and I to duke it out.”

An immediate groan came from the shorter girl, shoving Lance aside. “I don’t want to compete with you, I already told you that.” She swooped in and claimed her stake in front of the machine, fishing around her pocket for a coin.

“That’s because you know you’ll lose.” Lance poked her on the shoulder, leaning over the machine to get a better view.

“No.” She found her quarter and slid it into the coin slot, and the machine whirred to life, beeping energetically. Eagerly, she cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders, vibrating with newfound energy.

“STAGE ONE. BEGIN.” The machine chirped alive, and the three friends leaned over Pidge’s shoulder, ready to watch the conductor lead the way.

 Something about the video game caused Pidge to become a completely different person to Keith. It was like she shed a second skin; she was more tightly wound and concentrated, and she was undeniably hysterical with excitement. Her fingers became more nimble, her glasses now able to stay planted on the bridge of her nose through sheer power of will. She was something new, a stone pillar just begging to be knocked down, and it sent goosebumps up Keith’s arms.

And really, Keith’s knife skills was nothing compared to this complete annihilation of an entire alien species. Had Pidge really never played this game before? Because she was barreling through these stages like she’d been doing it since she was in diapers. It was magical, awe-inspiring, and Keith was almost jealous of these nerds and their video games. Maybe he actually was. What the hell?

“Kick their asses, Pidge!” Lance was whooping behind the alien-killer’s shoulder, completely zoned in on the game. “Show them they’ve got nothing on Earth!”

She lazered a final blow into the boss and leaned back, cracking her fingers. “Boys, I’m not even close to beating this game yet. Just you wait.”

They stood like that for a few minutes, surrounding the sole protector of Earth, watching with amazement in their eyes. Where did one even find the ability to coordinate their fingers that well? Nobody knew, and everyone was too afraid to ask. Surely Pidge was secretly an alien, who specialized in electronic battles of the universe, somehow abandoned on Earth, because her fingers mashed the buttons so fast it was inhuman. It was fascinating to watch for the boy who had never even been in an arcade before, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

What took him out of his concentration was an impatient tap on his shoulder. “Yo Keith.” A familiar whine rang through his ears and he looked up from the game, somewhat dazed from concentrating on the bright lights for so long.

Lance was ushering him away from the machine, aimlessly wandering between the machines. “Pidge is gonna be here for a while. Let’s find something else to do, eh?”

Keith could’ve stood there and watched Pidge for hours, if he was being honest with himself. But that probably wasn’t how people typically ‘hung out’, and his legs were starting to ache from being deadlocked for too long. “Sure, I guess.” He straightened his posture and followed the meandering boy through the arcade.

Keith wanted to hate this place. It was the antithesis of everything he had set himself up to be; it was loud, colorful, bombastic, and full of screaming children getting a rush off of the quarters they found in their parents’ couch. It was everything he set out to actively avoid.

But…..

Keith couldn’t wipe the smile off of his own face, image be damned. His senses were being overloaded with feeling, as he was stuck in a room with people who were having the time of their lives. Their excitement emitted off of them and onto him, making his skin tingle with anticipation. He had no idea what he was doing, or really even why he was doing it, but fuck if he wasn’t going to live in the moment, even if only for a bit.

“You ever tried this?” Lance had stopped in front of an old machine, set up with two joysticks and a matching set of buttons. “It’s a fighting game. You beat people up in it.”

Now that sounded like the kind of game that Keith could get into. “Can’t say I have,” he edged, sauntering up to the machine with a faux confidence. “But I don’t need experience to beat you in it.”

That lit the bonfire in his core that Lance had been aching for all night. He grinned, hungry for competition, and slipped two quarters into the machine without a second thought. “You’re on, pretty boy.”

Hesitation flashed across Keith’s face for only a millisecond as he looked over the unfamiliar set up. He had no fucking clue what he was doing, and the joystick felt slippery in his palm, slick from the sweat of previous players. But fuck it. Right?

“CHOOSE YOUR CHARACTER.” Explosions rang out from the machine as a character menu flashed across the screen, showing a wildly diverse set of characters. Lance automatically set his sights on a scantily-clad woman, holding two whips for a weapon and dawning a purple onepiece.

Keith shot him an annoyed glance. “You’re kidding me.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover dude.” He tapped the screen with his pointer finger, ghosting over the whips. “These whips can land some serious combos.”

What the hell was a ‘combo’? Was the immediate thought that came to Keith’s mind, but he brushed it away, shouldering his fake confidence instead. After quickly surveying the characters, he landed on a bulkier character, wielding nun chucks and spinning them haphazardly.

He heard a snort from the taller boy. “Good choice.” The screen transitioned onto a battlefield, with the two characters facing opposed to each other. “Still not gonna be enough.”

“ROUND ONE. BEGIN.”

This set up made no sense. He pressed the buttons carelessly, watching the character jerk on screen like a confused marionette doll. What did these buttons even do? Three of them did punches and three of them did kicks. Why did there need to be three sets of punches? Or kicks? Why was a video game so fucking complicated?

Lance smelled blood in the water and he attacked without remorse. His character lashed out ruthlessly, dwindling the health bar down into red territory. At one point she grabbed his warrior and threw him over her shoulder like he was a used tissue.

“How the fuck did you do that?” Keith was obviously irritated, impulsively jabbing buttons and rattling his joystick without thought.

“The grab? Just hold A and B at the same time. Like this.” He pressed the two buttons and Keith’s character was thrown across the screen, crumpled like a wet bag.

“K.O!

PLAYER 1, WINS.”

Keith gritted his teeth.

“ROUND TWO. BEGIN.”

Keith can tell when someone is going easy on him. Nothing pissed him off more than being belittled by a half-assed challenge. So when Lance walked straight into his scatterbrained punches, pretending to act like it was an accident, he tensed up.

“Don’t go easy on me.” It came out hot and heavy, and he shot a glare at the auburn-haired boy. “I don’t need your pity.”

Lance took a step back, eyes wide. “I-I wasn’t going easy on you!” He refocused on the game, ghosting the buttons with his fingers. “You just landed a few cheap punches on me. That’s all.”

“Hmph.” They resumed at it with full force, with Keith’s character haphazardly throwing nunchucks around and missing every time, and Lance’s character landing nearly every combo with ease.

One simple jab, and Keith’s health bar was now completely red.

“PERFECT MATCH!

PLAYER 1 WINS.”

“Guess you can’t win them all, mullethead.” Lance leaned back from the machine, oozing pride, and he crossed his arms.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his hands.

 Lance gave him a quick look down, slightly concerned, before walking away from the machine. “Fighting games are hard, man. Don’t feel bad that you lost to a master like me.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that the carpet threatened to blind Keith if he so much as glanced at it, he would spit on the ground right now. “Whatever.” He was still gritting his teeth, and his feet followed Lance simply because he didn’t want to be around that stupid machine anymore.

“Dude, don’t be so moody.” Lance pushed his shoulder with his own. “We’re here to celebrate your midterm success, which as far as I can tell, you worked really hard on. Lighten up a little.”

This was probably the moment where Keith should apologize, but he was a raging pot of stubbornness at the moment, and couldn’t work up the energy to fight it. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking straight, jaw clenched.  

“Tell you what.” Lance was looking at him now, eyebrows curiously peaked. “You pick the next game, and I’ll pay for it. It’ll be fun. Promise.”

With trepidation creeping under his skin, Keith looked at Lance, whose eyes were bright and encouraging. He couldn’t help but blush, unseen under the ultraviolet lights.

“Y-yeah. Sure.”

Keith felt like a kid in a hardware store. Everything was glaringly unfamiliar, all whirring lights, explosive sound effects, and overstimulated children. The two figures weaved through the games quietly, browsing their options carefully, before a large set up caught Keith’s peripheral.

He turned around and saw two virtual pistols locked into slots in front of a larger screen, which flashed with zombies and bloody figures alike.

“That one.”

He pointed in the direction of the post-apocalyptic game, and Lance quickly turned and looked it over. Immediately, his toothy grin returned, and he patted Keith on the shoulder with vigor. “Hell yeah. Let’s do this.”

They looked like two overexcited kids in a candy shop, pounding through the crowd as adrenaline raced through their ears. Lance fumbled with his pocket, searching for two lone coins, and Keith grabbed the red pistol from its electronic holster, getting used to the feel of it in his palms.

“We are going to kick these zombies’ asses.” Lance shoved the two quarters into the machine, picking up his mirrored blue pistol with his bandaged hand. They turned to each other at that moment, eyes ablaze with comraderie and a passion to completely mow down every creature in their path, and Keith’s entire body felt like electricity. He felt alive.

They were shocked out of their glance with a scream, a zombie suddenly jumping in front of the screen and lashing out. Immediately, Keith shot the foul creature down, arms extended and locked in place. The virtual gun felt completely natural in Keith’s hands, and he tore through the undead with grace, shooting the screen with a passion so strong it threatened to burst forth from the screen and come to life.

Lance was no slouch either. His arms stretched out towards the screen, albeit much more relaxed, and he matched Keith’s prowess with his own sturdy sharpshooting, knocking out enemies before they even had a chance to approach.

The two were completely synched in with each other, providing support when the other needed to reload and sniping a unit when it was getting too close to their comrade. Their minds were connected, on some sort of ethereal level, as if they knew when to support and when to charge head on. No words were exchanged in their zombie massacre as they plowed through the levels with finesse, a kind of bond that felt unique and crackled with life.

“Woah.” Hunk’s pretzel dropped from his mouth as he passed the two sharpshooters, completely dumbfounded.

They danced beside each other with the familiarity of two partners who had known each other for decades, light on their feet and full of determination. Keith’s ears were deafened from the blood rushing to his ears, adrenaline pounding through his body at an exhilarating rate. Every zombie that jumped out at him added to this sensation, a smile gradually cracking on his cheeks, flushed with neon and sweat. Everything felt so instinctive, like he had unlocked a new potential within himself, destined for killing virtual zombies. And it felt so right too, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the boy in blue, killing zombies with matching grins. Keith was alive for the first time in years.

“HIGH SCORE ACHIEVED. CONGRATULATIONS.”

Lance screeched and threw his gun onto the ground, leaping into the air. “HOLY FUCK!” He gripped Keith’s shoulders with a vice, shaking him ferociously, a tension crackling from his fingertips. “We did it Keith! We got the high score! That’s so awesome!”

Keith stared back at the boy, also flushed and full of adrenaline, and felt his stomach stir nervously. He saw the way the screen’s flashing lights highlighted his hollow cheekbones, and how smooth the skin was under dripping sweat, and the ascension of life in his beady eyes. It was good. It was natural. And Keith couldn’t stop blushing.

“We make a good team,” And Lance said that so earnestly, looking at Keith like he was the top of the world, and Keith melted in his hands.

“Yeah.” He choked out a reply. “Yeah we do.”

Chapter Text

“Wait for us.”

Who am I?

Keith didn’t know anymore.

And as the skinny boy leaned against the mechanical bike, helmet carried under his arm as he looked out across the sea - he, for the first time in his life, desperately needed to know.

“We are sorry it came to this.”

He had collected vague shards of his identity throughout the years from foster parents and orphanages alike – he was Korean by birth, sent to the Americas in his infancy for reasons no one really knew. He had no siblings and no parents to claim him, either. He was alone, stuck in a system that didn’t want him, without a culture or family to cling to for identity.

When he was younger, one of his earlier foster homes told him that his parents were coal miners who died in an explosion. They were assholes, though, and Keith wasn’t sure whether or not to believe this information.

Not that it mattered. What little memories Keith had of his parents were obscured by time, by a paradoxical need to both suppress and preserve them. His father making googly faces at him. Reaching out and grabbing his mother’s pointer finger, her fat cheeks puffing wide with a grin. Vague words and sentences in a foreign language that meant nothing to him.

“We love you.”

Maybe they weren’t memories, maybe they were just dreams he wanted to believe in. Keith didn’t know. Nothing was certain anymore except for the present, the sea stretching out before him, leading to a place where his identity was stranded in a country that disowned him.

He missed his parents. More than ever, he wanted their caring and warm hugs, boops on the nose telling him everything was going to be ok. Just like everyone else had in their childhoods.

But they were most likely dead, and he was living in the present. He had to accept that. He had to man up and tackle this on his own.

He felt a shove on his shoulder, rough and calloused. “It’s time to go.” A large man, muscled and scarred, glared at him with a scowl. “You ready?”

His past was dead, and he was alive - ready to prove himself to the world that he, Keith Kogane, was a man.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He slipped the helmet over his head and revved his engine, setting off into the city streets, seeking liberation.

--

“Ooooooooh my god guys, I can literally feel myself dying. Please don’t make me do this.”

“For christ’s sake Hunk, you’re three away from winning me the bet. You gotta do this. For me.”

A potbellied Hunk was leaning over the counter, panting and sweating like an experienced athlete. He was flanked by his skinnier friend, dollar bills crumpled in his fists and looking much too eager, and by his shorter friend, equally as eager with hands shaking Hunk’s shoulders.

In front of him sat a freshly-baked pan of cinnamon rolls, three-fourths of the way depleted with only three rolls left.

“Don’t feel bad if you quit!” Pidge’s words, meant to be encouraging, just made Hunk feel worse. “If you quit, I win, and I get all the moolah.”

This all sounded so fun when the pan was full and he was starving. Now he was sweating like a woman in childbirth and people were yelling at him to keep pushing. Great. Just great.

“That’s not gonna happen.” Lance was leaning into his ear, coy and whimsical. “I bet on you because I believed in you buddy, unlike this traitor over here. So win this one for me, ok? Eat those cinnamon rolls like a man.” Pidge coughed in Lance’s face, causing him to flinch and backtrack. “Or a woman. Or anything in between. I get it, Pidge, stop glaring at me.” She stuck her tongue out playfully, but then zoned back in on the pan in front of the trio.

Hunk’s breathing was becoming more labored, and he turned to Lance, pleading for an olive branch. “Please don’t make me do this.”

A plot was scheming in the skinnier boy’s head. “Listen up Hunk,” he was whispering now, stroking his chin enthusiastically. “If you eat the rest of the pan, I’ll pay for your meal next time we go to that one restaurant you like. Where they grill the pineapple and stuff.”

Hunk’s ears perked up. “You’d do that?”

Pidge bonked Lance on the side of the head, exposing his eavesdropping ways. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lance.” Aware of the multiple meanings his words could take, he tightened his grip on Hunk’s shoulder in reassurance. “That’s not on you Hunk, that’s just commenting on the fact that Lance is literally broke all of the time. I’m not even sure if he has the five bucks to pay up for this bet.”

“Pffffft!” Lance threw the currency in his hands onto the counter, sorting it into piles. “I have at least three dollars right here. The other two just happen to be in my coat pocket over there.” Lance winked at Pidge, causing him to roll his eyes. “Now eat the damn cinnamon rolls, Hunk.”

The door bell chirped alive, and a familiar face walked in, cradling a motorcycle helmet. “Sorry I’m late guys,” Keith stated, flipping his hair back like a model in a perfume ad, strutting across the floor like a peacock. “I was busy with other-“

He stopped when he saw the scene before him, three teenagers yelping over a tin of cinnamon rolls with money on the counter like an underground gambling pit.  

“Keith-y boy,” Lance hissed, eyes pointed with glee. “You’re just in time to watch Hunk shove three cinnamon rolls down the hatch.”

“I don’t wanna do this, man!” Hunk’s elbows were weighing on the counter forcefully, the wood creaking under the weight. “I already ate nine in like, ten minutes. I don’t wanna die, I haven’t even graduated yet!”

“Then don’t,” Pidge waved her hand dismissively, a little too overexcited. “Either way, somebody wins the bet. You have nothing to lose by giving up here.”

Keith shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact that they weren’t actually studying. Which is the entire reason he was here in the first place. But watching his tutor shove a bunch of cinnamon rolls down his throat sounded pretty amusing, at the very least, and it’s not like he had anything better to do.

“Get me a black coffee,” Keith barked at Lance, all fangs and no bite. “I want to at least be prepared when we eventually get around to studying.”

Lance didn’t budge. “Why do you drink that bitter crap anyways?” He brushed the money aside and leaned across the counter. “You could probably use a little less bitterness in your system.”

Keith tensed at that, frowning, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. “I’m not that bitter.”

“If you’re not bitter, then I think girls are ugly.” He grabbed one of the coffee stirrers from a cup and twiddled it between his fingers. “And guys too. Which is all, absolutely, 100%, not true. Just like you not being bitter.”

“Just get me my damn coffee.” Keith was blushing and he was pissed off.

“Sheesh, I’m just playing around.” Lance pushed himself off the counter with his forearms, grabbing a cup from one of the towers. “I’m gonna get you some tea instead. It might help calm you down a little. If you hate it, I’ll pay for it and get you your dumb coffee grounds.” He flicked a switch and scalding hot water poured out of a valve into the cup.

Hunk had all but given up on the tin, electing instead to waddle around the counter and plop down into one of the chairs. “I’ve never been in so much pain in my life,” He whined, throwing his head back against the wall. His skin was oddly clammy and his vision was unfocused. Pidge grabbed a fork and dug into the tin, smirking delightfully at the barista currently making tea.

“What are you guys betting on this time?” Shiro popped out from the back office, empty mug in hand. Upon seeing one of his workers keeled over in a seat, with Pidge eating devilishly from a tin of cinnamon rolls, he put the pieces together relatively quickly.

“Pidge cheats,” Lance spat, fingers flipping through the assortment of tea bags. He eventually settled on a small packet of green tea, ripping open the packet and gingerly dipping it into the water. “I’m not paying up to a cheater.”

“How did I cheat?” Pidge’s eyebrows were raised, practically begging for a rational explanation.

“Dunno. You just did.” He popped the lid onto the tall container and handed it over to Keith, who accepted it wearily. “Give the tea a few minutes to settle in. I gave you green tea because everyone likes green tea.” He looked up and made eye contact, noting the tentative expression on Keith’s face. “It won’t bite you. Just try it.”

Shiro looked at the tea inquisitively, taking the pot of coffee out of the drip machine and pouring himself a cup. “You’re drinking tea now?”

“Lance….wanted me to try the tea.” The tips of his ears, normally hidden under his mop of hair, were sticking out and beet red.

“Well huh.” Shiro tilted his head, surprised. Once his mug was full, he placed the pot back into the drip, reaching for the sugar container right next to it. “Not a bad idea, Lance.”

There was something different about Lance’s smile, Keith noted. It was gentle and proud and slightly flustered, like a child, embarrassed by their parent but secretly appreciative. A small pang invaded Keith’s chest as he wondered what that felt like.

“Thanks, boss,” And that smile was gone in a flash, replaced by a signature cocky grin that made his canines stick out, imperious.   

Shiro poured a generous amount of sugar into his mug before setting it down on the counter. The clank of Pidge’s fork jarred his focus to the tin, and he picked up a fork of his own, stabbing the dough roughly. “You were always better at making the rolls than I was, Hunk,” He complimented, smiling at the boy who was clearly going through his own stomach-based ordeal, before sticking a piece of the treat into his mouth.

Lance had never seen Shiro truly flustered before. He had his moments of surprise, yes – most notably that one time he caught Lance trying to fit Pidge’s rubix cube in his mouth on a dare – but this was new. This was a different kind of discomposure that completely defied Shiro’s calm and peaceful aura. What made it understandably hilarious was the fact that he was choking on the cinnamon roll, trying his damned-est to get some oxygen into his system before he just straight up died.

This was all because a new customer had walked in, unfamiliar to Lance, but as beautiful as the sun itself.

She was completely out of Lance’s league. Hell, even if there were leagues, they would have to devise a completely new hierarchy in order to even fit this goddess of a woman onto the chart. She was drop-dead gorgeous, with hair so silver and soft that Lance was convinced it was made of silk, some kind of special silk that shined in the sunlight and reflected back pure beauty. Everything about her was contoured to perfection – the peak of her cheekbones against the soft brush of her eyelashes, her dark skin against the bright shine of her hair. No wonder Shiro was a mess. A goddess had walked into their meager coffee shop and the mortals couldn’t handle it.

Lance would’ve been a mess too, if he thought he had any chance at all. But he didn’t. So fuck it.

“Why hello there, beautiful,” And ooooo, he totally nailed it-

 “Shiro!” The woman raised her hands with glee, strutting up to the counter with confidence. “I finally managed to find the time to stop by here. Sorry it took me so long!”

“And I’m here too!” Oh jeez. Where did this guy pop up from?

He strode a yard behind her, just as powerful with significantly less influence. Once the duo reached the counter, the older man pinched his mustache and twirled, tittering as he observed the modest shop.

Shiro had since dislodged the intrusive confection from his throat, but now he was flushing terribly, his cheeks almost matching the color of his scar. “M-Miss Allura,” and oh my god, did Shiro just stutter? Oh my god. Oh my god.

“This is quite a cute shop you’ve got here.” Her pointer finger was tapping her chin curiously, her eyes skimming across the store. “The Lion’s Den, is it?”

“Yeah…..but some people call it the Den.” He refused to make eye contact with her, seemingly intent on scratching the back of his neck and starting straight into the ground instead.

Now, the trio of friends were absolutely flabbergasted at this show before them, each switching eye contact between each other with a maddeningly fast pace. Each glance only left more questions unanswered, until finally they dared to look at Keith, who was positively scheming, grin and all.

Keith looked at Lance, glint in his eye, and stuck a thumb behind him towards the door, mouthing words. Let’s go.

“I uh-“ Lance shot up like a rocket, hands flailing all over the counter. “I’m-I’m gonna-“ His eyes scanned the floor for something, anything to use as an abort button- “-I’m gonna go uh, take out the trash.” He swallowed thickly, feeling the pressure of seven pairs of eyes on him. “And I need Keith and Hunk and Pidge to come help me.”

Leaving absolutely no time to counter his argument, Lance threw himself over the counter, bulleting for the trash bins in the corner. He nearly ripped the bags out of their respective bins, holding one out for Hunk to grab (who took it looking very confused), and the four were out the door in an instant, leaving the three patrons completely stunned.

“Could you have tried to be a little more subtle about that?” Keith’s arms were in the air, utterly disgusted at the showcase he was just forced to watch.

“I’m not good at making decisions!” Lance was agitated, walking much faster than the other three, bee-lining for the dumpsters. “You put me on the spot, man! I had to do something!”

“Anything else.” Pidge’s hands were buried into her palms, sleeves dangling in the air. “Literally anything else would have been better than that.”

“Who cares! I got us out of there!” Suddenly, Lance realized that he had no idea why he had gotten out of there so abruptly. He just saw the words on Keith’s lips and his legs moved automatically. God dammit. Pavlov’s dog didn’t jump as quickly as he had, and now he was blushing, winded, and embarrassed.

Hunk was even more winded, still on recovery after his cinnamon roll-induced coma. “Why did we need to get out of there anyways?” He was beginning to trail, and the rest of the group slowed down to accommodate. “Like, they seemed nice. What’s the big deal?”

Keith’s grin was back in full force, and he stopped, turning towards the other three mischievously. “That’s Allura. She owns the youth center that Shiro and I visit.” He paused for dramatic effect, the trio leaning in subconsciously. “And Shiro is absolutely head over heels for her.”

“No. Fucking. Way.”

Pidge was jumping up and down like a maniac, her fists shaking with uncontrollable glee. Hunk was still in shock, trash bag unceremoniously dropped so he could cover his mouth with his hands, wordless. And Lance? Well, Lance was about two seconds away from just straight up rocketing into the sun.

One……two…….

“OH MY GOD!!!!!” He was running in circles, flapping his arms like a baby bird just pushed out of the nest for the first time. “OH MY GOD!!!!!!! SHIRO HAS A CRUSH. OH MY GOD.”

Keith was getting a fucking kick out of all this.

Lance’s tiny brain suddenly short-circuited, and his jerked his head towards Keith so quickly Keith was shocked when he didn’t get whiplash. “Wait.” He was crawling towards Keith, hands clasped in a fervent plea, and Keith was just so goddamn amused. “Don’t fuck with me here, Keith. This is super important. I’ll kill you if you’re lying. How the hell do they know each other?”

Keith flicked him on the forehead. “I told you, dumbass,” he retorted, higher than a kite from all of the attention. “Allura owns the place, and Shiro volunteers there sometimes. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. It’s almost pathetic.”

“IT’S NOT PATHETIC!” Lance was back to flailing, all limbs and no rationality. “It’s adorable! I can’t believe I never knew about this! Oh my god!”

“This is so cute.” Hunk was blushing furiously, palms pressed together in front of his face. “Our boss is in love.”

“Yeah yeah, get a grip.” Keith picked up Hunk’s trash bag and slung it over his shoulder, returning the group’s attention to the slog towards the dumpster. “That’s why I got you guys out of there. So they could talk. Without loudmouth over here ruining it.”

Lance had never been so offended in his life. “I would not ruin it!” He ran up to the boy in the red jacket, flustered and annoyed. “I’m the best wingman ever! I would make her fall head over heels for Shiro in a heartbeat!”

“Tch.” Keith spat on the ground, amused. “Clearly I’m the better wingman here. He’s talking to her because I got our asses out of there, after all.” They finally reached the dumpster and Keith threw the smelly bag over his shoulder and into the large bin.

“Whatever, pretty boy.” Lance’s bag was soon in the bin as well, and the four turned around and begin a (deliberately slow) march back to the store.

“Does she like him back?” Pidge looked at Keith particularly, lips pursed with the question.

“I don’t think she does.” Keith’s eyes glinted mischievously once more. “Not yet, at least.”

“We shouldn’t get involved.” Hunk’s words were firm and cautious. “This isn’t any of our business. Let’s just let them fall in love naturally, and then they can get married, so we can be Shiro’s groomsmen-“

“We absolutely have to get involved.” Lance was jittering like a child hyped up on too much sugar. “Let’s set them up on a date. Or we could accidentally lock the two in the store. Wait, Shiro has a key. Well we could-“

Keith stopped him by smacking him in the back of his head. “Not like that,” he gritted, leaving Lance rubbing the back of his head. “We just have to convince her to come to the Den more. That’s all.”

“Ooooooo,” Pidge was nodding fervently, “That’s a good idea. I like that idea.” Lance consented begrudgingly with his silence, still rubbing his head with a grimace.

“I don’t know guys,” and Hunk, always the cautious one, stood his ground. “This really, really isn’t any of our business. What if we ruin it? What if we make them hate each other-“

“That’s not gonna happen, big guy.” Keith confronted Hunk head on, and the larger boy immediately stepped down. “They’ve been talking for years. Convincing her to hang out at the coffee shop isn’t going to ruin that.”

Hunk nodded mutely, secretly excited but still nervous.

The door was mere meters from the group, and they all paused in unison, unsure of how to proceed.

Naturally, it was Keith who stepped forward. He squinted his eyes in a rudimentary attempt to see what was going on past the glass door, and what he saw was not surprising – Shiro was a blushing mess, Allura was cheerfully oblivious, and the assistant was walking around the building, swiping his fingers across undusted edges and spouting disapproval.

“Who’s the weird dude?” Pidge peeked out from under his arm and pointed towards the mustached man.

“That’s Coran. He’s Allura’s assistant for the youth center. He’s kinda crazy, but he means well.” His eyes found themselves back onto blushyface. “He’s equally as oblivious as her.”

“Guys, I really need to sit down.” Hunk’s hands were over his stomach, which was growling queasily. “These cinnamon rolls are contemplating whether or not come back up, and I just really really need to sit down.”

Keith nodded, ready to go. "Just act casual guys. Let me do all of the work." The bona fide leader of the moment, Keith pushed open the door, a sudden gust of air conditioning brushing past his face. The rest followed in a single-file line, trying to act casual but failing miserably.

Allura glanced back at the door, a tepid smile appearing on her soft lips. “Keith,” and she waved, cheerful and bright. “I forgot to say hi to you before you left for the dumpsters! It’s nice to see you here hanging out with Shiro.”

“Likewise.” Keith strolled up to the counter, while the other three each found a respective spot on the wall to stare at. (Did none of them know what ‘casual’ meant?)

“Hey Keith.” Shiro was looking at him like he was his goddamn savior. “Good trip to the dumpsters?”

“Wasn’t bad.” He looked back at the zombies behind him, all posed like ceramic figurines, trying to look natural. It didn’t look natural.

“Anyways.” Keith diverted their attention back to him, the only rational member of the group. “Isn’t it nice here? Shiro’s place makes great coffee. You should stop by here more often.”

“YEAH!” Lance’s screech completely ruined the moment, and Keith shot daggers at him. “We-would-love-to-have-you-here-more!” (Fucking Christ.) Allura looked at Keith, basically screaming ‘why is that guy so weird’ into his eyes. He merely shrugged back, unable to find even a morsel of an explanation.

Coran popped back up into their group, fingertips coated with grime and disappointment. “Do your employees never clean, Shiro?” He raised an eyebrow at the owner, who looked away rather sheepishly. “Why, this dust could be centuries old! Just imagine!”

“Well I try to get them to clean,” and he glared at Lance, and if he wasn’t completely frozen in place before, he was now. “The general area tends to be rather tidy though.”

“Indeed!” Allura was chipper again, taking a sip of her cappuccino. (Shiro must’ve made that for her while we were all out at the dumpsters.) “I think I will be stopping by here more often. This coffee is impeccable!”

Shiro looked like he was melting, and Keith so badly wanted to giggle.

Coran tapped his watch impatiently in front of the silver-haired woman. “You have an appointment in 10 minutes, remember now!” His palms were ushering her towards the door. “We can always come back here later!”

Allura seemed disappointed, dejectedly allowing herself to get swept up in the flow. “I’ll be sure to be back soon!” She tipped her coffee in the direction of the white-haired man, jittery from the sudden burst of caffeine. “Goodbye for now!”

“I’ll see you later,” it was raspy and nervous, and she was out the door.

One……two……

“HOLY SHIT SHIRO!” Lance was on him like a panther, wide eyed and exhilarated. “I didn’t know you liked a girl!”

Shiro’s face was in his hands in an instant. “I’m not some middle schooler with a crush, Lance.” The red that threatened to explode from his body betrayed this fact.

“Shiro likes a giiiiiiiiiiiiiirl, Shiro likes a giiiiiiiiirl!” Pidge was sticking her tongue out and rocking back and forth, making fun of Shiro with the innocence of a toddler.

“I’m going back to my office.” Shiro was a mess. Without looking back, he basically flew into the office, the door slamming shut behind him.

And gods if Keith wasn’t deliriously amused the entire time.

He could get used to this. Maybe, somehow, he could get used to this.

He found himself giggling like a child, unabashed and liberated.

Chapter Text

The environment upon which one feels most comfortable tends to correlate with where they were raised – or at the very least, where they spent most of their childhood at. For some, this was the beach; tanned and lithe bodies laying in the sun, the smell of freshly-applied sunscreen burning one’s nostrils, the softness of the saltwater air on heated skin. For others, it was simply home, where home cooked meals and bickering siblings provided a familiar sort of white noise to help soothe away any pain.

For Keith, it was the grime and dirt found in urban back alleys, with brick walls scuffled into decay and dented water pipes dripping leftover drainage from rooftops. This was the environment he thrived in.

“This place is gross,” Pidge protested, flinching when he thought he heard the sound of a rat scraping at used trash. “Can’t we go to the boardwalk and do this or something?”

“If you want me to teach you how to use a knife, you play by my rules.” The group passed by a dumpster and Keith absentmindedly swiped at it with his knife, leaving a thin line where blue paint once stood.

Hunk was tapping his biceps with his fingerpads, biting his lower lip. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never explored the city, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to this area before. Is this even safe?”

“Absolutely.” Keith stilled as they neared a large cement entrance, leading into a suspiciously empty parking garage. Fluorescent lights flickered ominously and trace amounts of graffiti lined the stained walls, and Keith strode in, completely at ease. “Even if something bad were to happen, remember, I know how to use a knife.” He spun the knife in his hand to prove his point.

“Still don’t see why we couldn’t have gone to the beach or something.” Lance was grumpy and very much uncomfortable, his hands shoved deeply into his jacket pockets. “The beach is warm, and nice, and has hot people. This place just smells like dead fish.”

Keith turned towards the grumpy barista, eyebrow raised. “You really think we can just practice throwing knives at a public beach?”

Lance turned away. “I guess not.”

“Smart.” Keith shrugged him off, savoring the small victory. “Besides, I’ve already got everything set up here. It’ll be fine.”

They walked past a cement archway into an empty lot, spacious and uninhabited. A bag of hay sat on an upturned cardboard box in the middle of the room, adorned with various slits from previous sessions. The acrid yellow air flickered under the lights, weary and tired from years of usage, but the sun was still up and outside light pooled into the edge of the room, warming up the unsettling atmosphere.

Lance poked the straw bag with curiosity. “Did you set this up just for us?” He was looking at Keith with surprise, nose turned up and pupils slightly dilated.

Keith was slowly starting to become a blusher, and he hated it. “Pidge mentioned you guys wanting to try this out after class. So I came here and……” His hands thrashed about randomly. “…..did this. But it’s not-“

“Aaaaaw, Keith!” Lance’s palms were on his cheeks, with a leg kicked into the air overdramatically. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me!”

Keith crossed his arms, hunching his shoulders defensively. It was not sweet, and it wasn’t for him. Not at all. It was for everyone. “Pidge and Hunk promised to help me study more if I taught them this, so you’re just getting a free ride. Don’t push it.”

“It was the tea, wasn’t it.” Lance was observing him, and for all Keith cared he might as well have been holding a magnifying glass, with how scrutinized he felt. “It really did make you less bitter. Look at you! You’re even blushing!”

“Stop looking at me like that!” Keith was as red as a goddamn rose and everything felt too hot. He turned away from the olive-skinned boy, taking his knife and getting a proper grip on it, in a very desperate attempt to change the subject. “You wanted to learn how to throw a knife, so we’re gonna learn how to throw a knife. Now everyone step back from the bag, I’m gonna show you how to do this.”

The trio circled around Keith, curious and erratic. Keith held the knife out, gesturing to it with his other hand vaguely. “Now when you want to throw it at a specific target, your grip on the knife has to look something like this.” His palm wrapped around the handle, pointer finger sticking out and pushing against the blade. “Your pointer finger helps to determine the spin on the knife, but since you’ve never done this before, don’t push too hard with it. Just let it sit there.”

He looked up briefly, a tad nervous, to gauge the reactions of the trio. At the very least, Hunk and Pidge seemed much more attentive here than they did in class, so he took that as a good sign. “When it comes to actually throwing it, it’s all about your wrist.” He spread his legs slightly, right arm laxly pointed forward for aim. “Just a flick of the wrist, and your knife will be flying where you want it.” He did exactly that, flicking roughly and watching as the knife soared out of his left hand and sliced through the rough burlap, now firmly jutted into the bag.

Just like before, the trio were staring at the bag, eyes wide in disbelief.

Keith felt good. Maybe a little too good, but fuck it. He wasn’t used to being looked up to, and everything about this was making his nerves titter. “Pidge, you try first. You seem like you can pick it up quick.”

“Alright!” Pidge scrambled up to the sack, ripping the knife out of the bag with what was probably too much enthusiasm. “My brother’s gonna think I’m so cool when I show this to him.”

“Now come here so I can watch you do it. I need to make sure you don’t accidentally throw it at Hunk or something.” He was ushering towards himself, watching as the smaller girl skittered towards him, all smiles and nerves.

“Don’t worry bro.” Hunk had mysteriously moved all the way back to the cement entrance, waving at them nonchalantly. “I’m good over here. Real good.” Lance walked over towards him, shoulders saggy and snapback flipped backwards, and leaned against the wall next to his larger friend.

Keith was surprisingly patient about the entire ordeal. Pidge kept getting just a little too excited and the knife would end up missing the mark entirely because her motions were too erratic – yet Keith stayed composed, going through the motions with his own wrist and encouraging Pidge to do the same. Eventually, Pidge managed to at least hit the bag, though the knife fell out with a disappointing thud.

Hunk shouldered Lance lightly, watching as Pidge swooped in and picked up the knife from the ground. “So like, I know that I was just as down for this knife throwing thing as everyone else, but have any of us stopped to wonder why he knows how to throw a knife?” Mild panic settled into his eyes and he turned to Lance, worried. “Do you think he’s killed a guy?”

“Aw, come on Hunk.” Lance rolled his eyes. “Keith’s probably killed, like, ten dudes.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Hunk was beginning to sweat, bottom lip projected out with concern. “I asked you because you were supposed to make me feel better, you know that, man.”

Lance pushed off of the wall, right hand patting Hunk on the shoulder. “No, Hunk, I don’t actually think Keith has killed anyone. But you do have a point.” Eyebrows creased, he watched Keith try to steady Pidge for another swing. “Where does someone learn knife skills like that?”

“You know what.” Hunk swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “I don’t even wanna know. He’s being cool to us right now, and the rest of it doesn’t matter.” Lance raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Ok, it matters a little. But I’m gonna try really really hard to pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

“Shiro did say he was from the youth center. You know, the one that focuses specifically on problematic kids.” Lance stared at Keith, half amused and half concerned. “Shit, maybe Keith really has stabbed someone.”

Hunk was back to panicking. “Maybe we should have told Shiro we were coming here.” His eyes were darting back and forth between the graffiti on the walls, and he bit his fingernails nervously. “Remind me why we didn’t tell Shiro we were coming here?”

“Because I doubt Shiro would’ve approved of us going to some random back alley in order to learn how to throw knives.” He shrugged and looked at the ceiling. “Besides, he’s not our dad. He’s our boss. He doesn’t need to know everything.”

A stern voice knocked the two boys out of their conversation.

“Lance. Your turn.” His vision leveled only to see a knife firmly planted in the bag, with Pidge jumping around it ceremoniously. Eventually she calmed down and unslung her backpack from her shoulder, taking out a laptop and running away to go do God knows what. Keith was looking at Lance, composed yet antsy, waiting patiently.

“Show time.” Lance dragged his feet over to the bag grabbed it jerkily, struggling to get the knife out of the sack. When he finally was able to dislodge the metal, his body shot back in recoil, causing his ass to land on the asphalt.

Keith chuckled at the sorry sight before him, no longer nervous. “Need a hand?”

“I don’t need your help.” He was back on his feet in a flash, rubbing his ass with his hand in an attempt to soothe the pain away.

Keith shrugged, amused, and sauntered up to the skinny boy, hands sprawled out. “Now you have to hold the knife like this-“

“I said I don’t need your help.” His face was smooth and dimpled, cocky grin plastered across it. “I can do this juuuuust fine.”

“What are you talking about? I’m literally here because you guys asked for my help.”

Lance puckered his lips, aiming the knife lazily. “Correction: They asked for your help. Like you said, I’m just here for the ride.” He glared at Keith, and Keith wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

He decided that Lance, in all of his self-preserving glory, was very serious. “Bye-bye.” Lance shooed him away with a flick of the wrist. “Time for target practice with Lance McClain, party of one.”

What the fuck? What the fuck was that. Keith was confused, and angry, and a little disappointed, and he didn’t know what to do. He shot a look at Hunk, arms raised questioningly at his sides, and Hunk merely shrugged in response.  

He left the boy to toy around with the knife, storming over to Hunk, who tensed up. Behind him, Lance sloppily tossed the knife, and Keith could hear yelping followed by the irritating sound of metal against concrete. “Hunk,” he started, sour-faced. “What the hell is Lance’s deal?”

Hunk motioned for the two to sit, sliding his back down the wall himself. Keith joined him, legs sticking out awkwardly like dried straw, and crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation.

“He’s just being Lance. Don’t let it get under your skin, man.” Hunk’s tension hadn’t eased up, and Keith felt abnormal about the entire situation he was in.

“How can I not let that ‘get under my skin’?” Keith leaned into the wall and watched the boy ready his stance for another throw. “He’s being a dick, Hunk.”

“Yeah. I know.” He exhaled a large sigh, one that made Keith wonder if he’d been holding in for quite some time. “You’ve probably already figured this out, but Lance is a bit of a showoff.”

Keith spat on the ground. “Tell me something new.”

He shouldn’t have been so angry. For god’s sake, even Keith knew that he himself was being a little cocky lately. He was a hypocritical child, getting all worked up over the idiot brown-haired barista, but something about him just bugged him, deep under his skin, all the way to his core, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. It unnerved him, and he looked over to Hunk, sending some sort of silent plea for something, anything, to calm his senses.

Hunk eased up slightly, empathy running its course in his system. “You know, I’m sure most people probably look at Lance and I’s friendship, and they go, ‘oh wow, why’s that big nice guy hanging out with that idiot?’ Heck, I’m sure you’ve thought it before. You’re probably thinking it now.”

Keith turned away, agitated. “It’s not an unfair thought to have.”

“No, it isn’t.” Hunk shared his agreement with a bit of a chuckle. “I’ve done some weird things in the name of Lance McClain. I owe him a lot though, so I’ll keep doing them, if only to make him happy. Though usually they make me pretty happy too.”

Keith was confused, and he thudded his head against the wall, thinking. “Did you lose a bet or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Hunk smiled dreamily, tilting his own head backwards to think as well. “When I was a kid, I used to get bullied a lot, you know. Even though I was the biggest kid in the class, my mama always said that I had a heart that was even bigger than me, and I was too nice to ever fight back.” Hunk heard a snort from Keith, and he let one slip from himself as well. “The only person that ever stood up for me was Lance, which is hilarious in retrospect. He was the skinniest kid I’d ever met, and here he was, getting beat up just because he wanted to make sure I was ok.”

Keith was astonished, mulled into silence by the sight of Lance accidentally dropping the knife and jumping away, afraid it would fall on his foot. This guy? Protecting Hunk from bullies?

“It’s hard to believe, I’m sure.” Hunk read Keith’s thoughts with ease, and he chuckled, cracking his knuckles. “Lemme tell you a story. In our fourth grade class, there was this nasty kid named Nemo. He picked fights for no reason other than that he thought it was funny, and I ended up being his main target because I never fought back or complained. Well, one day, he was shoving playground bark down my shirt, calling me chubby, all this stuff.” Hunk seemed oddly composed, no longer disturbed by the memories of past. “Well, all of a sudden, this stick of a kid runs up to Nemo, grabs his underwear, and just gives him the biggest weggie I’ve ever seen!”

Hunk was roaring with contagious laughter, and even Keith was chuckling through gritted teeth. The larger boy leaned forward with animated hands, simulating Lance’s from the past. “Seriously. He just reached down and grabbed them, and yanked them like this—“ Hunk ripped his hands sky high with a screech, giggling all the way. “It was the greatest thing I’d ever seen. When Nemo ran away, crying like a baby, Lance just pointed at him and yelled—“ he was pointing a faux finger at nothing, his voice taking on a squeaky high voice ’--Don’t you ever bully him again, you turd!’” He laughed again at the memory, like a ball of warm light that Keith felt lucky to bask in. “At the time I was mostly shocked that he had called someone turd, because that was like, a huge deal to me. But I ended up being really grateful, because he came up to me and asked me if I wanted to play tetherball with him. And we did. Every recess after that, it was Lance and Hunk, Kings of the Tetherball Pole.”

Keith curled his knees into his chest, confused by the flurry of emotions in him. Lance McClain, annoying barista and egotistical showoff, was a protector. A guy who would throw himself into danger just to make sure his friends were ok. Hell, he’d do that for complete strangers, just like he had for Hunk. Keith, in all honesty, had never met anyone like that before. All of his old ‘friends’ would drop him in a heartbeat if push came to shove. He was a loner, always had been, and the idea that this prick was a good person put his mind into overdrive.

And then, of course, he remembered the small moments. Lance offering to pay for the zombie shooter at the arcade. Lance telling him how cool it was that he knew how to throw knives (even if he did recant the statement later, it still happened). Lance giving him tea because he wanted Keith to calm down and feel better. Everything made sense. Everything made so much sense and Keith hated it all, hated the fact that he felt warm and hated that he was probably blushing right now because Lance Goddamn Motherfucking McClain was, against all odds, a good person.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, abruptly jarring him from his thoughts. “It’s pretty easy to write off Lance. He does a lot of stupid stuff and he can have too much pride, like he does right now.” They heard the metal clank against the ground with a muffled ‘fuck’ in the distance, an autumn-haired boy stomping his feet, complimenting Hunk’s point. “There’s a lot of reasons why Lance is the way he is, but deep down, he’s one of the nicest, most selfless people I’ve ever met. Just give him time, you’ll see it too.”

Keith felt soft, burning alive and very overwhelmed. “I guess I will.”

A bombastic muffler roared through the walls, so loud that the cement was vibrating, and Keith shot up like a live wire, full of panic and fear.

“HIDE!” He was screaming as he was running, the noise dimmed out by the sound of putrid exhaust. The other three flailed hurriedly, with Pidge shoving her laptop into her backpack clumsily and Lance bolting behind Keith like a cheetah, Hunk not far behind. Once they were past the looming entrance, Keith rolled behind the nearest wall, clutching his jacket for dear life, adrenaline threatening to stab his heart alive.

“What is-“ Lance dove behind the wall, with Pidge and Hunk skittering right behind. “What is going on, dude?”

“Shut up. For the love of God, just this once, shut the fuck up.” Keith was stonewalled, his eyes betraying his emotionless composure by lighting alive with fear. Lance gulped and nodded, unsure and afraid.

“Guys, what’s-“ Lance’s hand shot out and covered Pidge’s mouth, effectively silencing the small boy. The mufflers died down, lowering to a dull purr, and the crew could hear the heavy sound of boots patting where they once stood.

Keith dared to look over his shoulder, just barely around the edge of the wall, and shot back into place immediately, near hyperventilation. He was right. They were here, and they were looking for him.

The three friends looked at him, different amounts of worry sketched across their faces (with Lance’s being the most concerning, as Hunk was too frightened to be overly worried), and he gripped his own jacket once more, looking for some semblance of stability.

They could hear the boots treading their ground, slowly but powerfully, the mufflers still overriding any other sound. There were words being exchanged between the people (it sounded like there were two of them, based on the amount of footsteps), but no one could make it out over the harsh noise. Keith was shaking, panicking, and Lance gripped his forearm and forced him to make eye contact, snapping Keith out of his own head. Lance was strong, shaky but assured, and his eyes forced the boy in the red jacket to stall as he communicated to Keith wordlessly; Everything is fine. Everything is fine.

He believed it because it was his only option. His hand gripped over Lance’s, emotions overriding his rationality, finding stability in the skinnier boy.

A few minutes passed in this panicked purgatory, with Lance’s grip the only thing keeping Keith steady. He was buzzing in place, ready to dash but frozen in time, scared and feeling all too much, too soon. The boots echoed around the room a little longer, at one point kicking over the burlap sack onto the ground, before they eventually faded out of the parking garage, the mufflers intensifying once more and setting off into the distance.

No one talked once the noise died down. Keith had stopped shaking, but residual panic still settled in his pores, leaving him humming with emotion. Lance’s grip eased up, but didn’t fully release, and he looked at Keith with a worry that would’ve melted his heart if he was in a better state. Pidge and Hunk were coming down from their trepid high, looking at Keith only to see if it was ok to move. He nodded, barely a registered movement, and the two scampered over to him, now equally concerned as Lance.

“Who was that?” Pidge got on his knees to level himself with Keith, leaning to the side in an attempt to examine their previous habitat.

“That’s not what matters right now, Pidge.” Lance was unusually harsh, concern sweeping his features as he knocked Keith’s focus onto him, shifting Keith’s cheeks toward him with his palms. “Are you ok, man? Were they after you?”

Keith could speak, but scarcely, his lips humming with a thousand incomprehensible thoughts. “I’m fine,” he writhed, the weak lie escaping his lips, dead on arrival the moment they hit Lance’s ears.

“No you’re not.” Lance released him and stood up, albeit unsteadily, and ushered Keith to join him. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

The gravity of the situation hit Keith like a thousand bricks, and he was jolted alive by the realization that he had just put his friends though a terrifying situation that was entirely his fault. He shot up the wall, leaning against it heavily, panic rising in his eyes.

“I have to go.” He was sprinting, legs powered solely by cowardice, hearing dulled by dread. “I have to go now.”

“What are you-STOP!” Lance was after him in a flash, with Hunk and Pidge trotting behind.

“Where are you going, Keith?” Hunk’s worries had evaporated, replaced now with utter and complete concern over the pale boy. “Stop running, I can’t keep up!”

He had to get away from them. There was a chance they could be in danger, and he had to get away from them before he caused anymore unintentional harm. They were good people. They were good people and he was not. He had to get away before…..before…..

Keith turned a corner, without sound, and when Lance sped around it, there was no one in sight.

Chapter Text

Nobody saw Keith for three days.

And nobody knew exactly what to do about it, either; Keith was, by all counts, good at covering his own tracks, so pinning a location onto him was near impossible. There were only three places where it was widely known that he visited on a regular basis; The Garrison, for classes and such, but not much else; the youth center, although his time there had been on the decline recently; and the coffee shop, where, to make up for his deficit at the center, he had began to settle in. Where he spent his time otherwise, no one could truly know, and it caused anxiety to run through the coffee shop crew, permeating the normally relaxed atmosphere with a nervous gloom.

The Lion’s Den had become the unofficial base of operations for the search, and even though it was still open to customers, any spare moment saw the owner, his two baristas, and the sit-in customer circled tightly around a table, discussing potential plans of action. Even Allura and Coran dropped in frequently, and everyone was grateful for the powerful direction the woman seemed to have. Although Shiro’s leadership was impeccable, Allura had experience and much more confidence than the coffee shop owner, providing invaluable information to the cause itself. Despite all of this, however, Keith had yet to appear, and the situation was slowly escalating into dangerous territories.

On the third day, when Allura and Coran strode into the shop, they found the four regulars sharing harsh words, eyebrows tightly knit with concern. It was Shiro who was speaking the most, acting as a temporary leader until Allura showed up.

“He still hasn’t shown up to class?” Shiro looked to Pidge and Hunk for confirmation, his prosthetic rubbing a circle into his temple as a headache began to rise in him.

The two shook their heads, worried. “He always showed up late, but he never actually missed class. Even the teacher’s starting to notice.” Pidge readjusted her glasses, thinking hard. “And usually the teacher doesn’t notice much of anything.”

“And we all know he hasn’t stopped by here either,” Shiro sighed, large and hollow, closing his eyes in an attempt to stabilize his nerves.

“He still hasn’t shown up to the youth center as well, unfortunately.” Allura pierced the circle with grace, Hunk and Lance’s feet automatically stepping aside, as if they were in awe of her presence. Coran shadowed behind her, clipboard in hand, jotting down notes.

“I suppose that’s to be expected. He never actually liked the center much.” Shiro’s fingers tapped the table impatiently, thinking. “The only reason he kept coming after a while was because of me.”

Allura nodded firmly, palms against the table. “That’s very true, Shiro. It’s good that you volunteer, or else we probably would have lost Keith long ago.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, despite the nerves lighting unpleasant fires in his stomach and despite the genuine fear that Shiro felt over Keith, over a boy he had seen grow so much over time, nature rebelled against him and he blushed, softly, barely a tint of pink against his hard jawline.

Lance noticed this immediately, and he would’ve elbowed his boss in any other situation, but right now he was……confused. Confused, and concerned, and a little frightened. At this point, it was fair to say that he didn’t hate Keith. Hell, he didn’t even know anything about the guy really, aside from his (begrudgingly) cool knife skills, and his terrible-ness at fighting games, and his weirdly grimy yet flowy hair. All he had were snippets, bits of a film that were left on the cutting room floor, and he had no ability yet to view the actual movie itself. And that bothered him.

People usually liked to open up to Lance. He was an idiot, and a damn good one at that, but that seemed to put people at ease around him, and he had a knack of getting people to open up to him. But Keith? Keith was shut tight. Lance had never met someone so resistant to others. Everything with Keith felt like pulling teeth, and even though he was sure he had gained some ground in the last few weeks, on the whole, Keith was completely closed off. There was a brief crack, however, when they were hiding in the parking lot, and Keith grabbed his hand, actually reached out and put his gloved hand over Lance’s thin fingers. It was minor detail, completely overlapped by the fear the two were experiencing, but it happened, and Lance wasn’t going to let go of it. Something was happening.

And why did Lance care? The strongest reason was that something about Keith felt familiar. Like Lance had seen them before, long ago, a ghost in his subconscious that refused to disappear. But there was another layer too, much more unrecognizable in its feeling; Keith was wildfire, chaotic and untamed, completely polarized from everything that Lance was used to. Keith threatened to take down everything in his path in a wild blaze of glory, and Lance had never met anybody with such wild strength; he found himself almost wanting to get caught up in the blaze, to burn alive in whatever chaos surrounded the pale boy. It was….new, and erratic, and refreshing, and it filled some hollow niche within Lance, one he didn’t know needed filling.

None of that mattered, however, if Keith was missing. Lance could figure out his thoughts later. Now was the time for action.

Shiro titled his head towards Allura, cautious but inquisitive. “You’ve had cases like this before, right? Where kids have gone missing without notice. What’s the protocol for something like this?”

“Coran and I have already taken the usual steps with this situation.” The mustached notetaker raised his pen eagerly, happy for the recognition. “We’ve scouted out his regular hang-outs and tried to find him there. Unfortunately, as you all know, this has failed.” She looked around the table, her lips pressing into a thinly taut line, and she titled her head downward, resigned to the facts. “Normally we would contact family and close friends, but Keith doesn’t have any close relations with which we can exercise this, so we’ve run out of leads.”

Lance jerked upward at that. “He doesn’t have any family?”

Pidge shot him a glare, sympathetic yet annoyed. “Shiro mentioned he was an orphan when we first started hanging out with him. That’s the kind of fact that people tend to remember, you know.”

Lance felt rather guilty, if anything. Embarrassed, he crossed his arms and closed himself off. “I guess it just didn’t matter to me.”

“Ahem.” Shiro reeled the two boys back in, and he was thinking hard once more. “Are there any places we’ve missed that he goes to? The Garrison, the coffee shop, the youth center…..”

“Where does he sleep?” Pidge’s question stuck out like a sore thumb, blindingly obvious, yet unasked up to that point. “He has to sleep somewhere. Does the youth center house people?”

Allura tapped her chin, raking through her own memories. “We do house some kids, and Keith did sleep there from time to time, but not recently, no.” She paused, scrutinizing a tangent thought in her head. “In fact, he stopped right around the time he got accepted into Garrison….”

Hunk jolted forward, straight as a toothpick. “I know where he lives. Holy crap, I know where he lives.”

Lance wanted to shake the larger boy into oblivion. “You know? And you didn’t tell us????” Lance’s arms were out, disbelieving, unable to comprehend how Hunk could just leave out such an important detail.

“I don’t know, man!” Hunk was defensive, hands blocking his face off from the skinny boy, and he was crashing through his thoughts like a runaway train. “Like, I’ve never actually seen it or anything, but every time he left class he’d always go to the same place, one of the dorms on campus, y’know? It wasn’t like I was actively paying attention, I just happened to notice a couple of times, seriously. And I don’t even know if he lives there, actually, but it makes sense?”

“That makes sense.” Pidge’s eyes were wide, as if he were amazed he hadn’t thought of it himself. “Holy shit, it makes sense.”

“And how does that make sense?” Lance had turned to Pidge now, still disbelieving. “He’s an orphan, as you very annoyingly pointed out to me. It doesn’t exactly sound like he has the funds to afford to live in a fucking Garrison dorm room!”

“Oh wow.” Shiro’s movements were slow, as if he had just registered Pidge’s words. “You’re right. It does make sense.”

Lance threw his hands up in the air, all but ready to give up. “None of this makes sense, guys!”

Shiro studied the skinny barista, still swishing the thoughts in his mouth. “Keith’s on scholarship at Garrison. Considering he really doesn’t have any money or family, the only way he could afford to go there is if it was full ride. Which usually includes room and board.”

“Hunk.” Allura’s eyes lit on fire, grabbing the lead and running for it. “Do you remember what dormitory it was? This is very important, so try to remember it clearly.”

Hunk froze under the newfound pressure. “Uh…..” He pulled at the collar of his shirt, sweat tickling the back of his neck. “It was small, and it was to the east of the building where our class is, so that means….” Hunk’s finger stuck out, sketching an imaginary map in front of him. “……That means it’s probably Montgomery Hall. I think. Maybe.”

“Montgomery Hall it is.” Shiro was around the counter, grabbing his jacket and keys. “Hunk, you’re in charge of the store while I’m out. I know it’s tempting, but don’t give any of the muffins to the cat that’s been wandering around in the back alley. He’s been getting fatter and it’s worrying.” He was at the door in a flash, swinging it open wildly, just gently enough so it didn’t hit the wall.

“B-but-“ Lance was a step behind him, arm reached out desperately. “Shouldn’t we go with you? I mean-“

Allura grabbed his shoulder, rooting him firmly in place. There was something about her aura that calmed him, just enough to listen to reason. Her words were confident and reassuring; “Shiro understands Keith better than anybody. It would be better if we didn’t overwhelm him, especially if he is as frazzled as you claimed he was when you last saw him. As hard as this might be, it would be best for Shiro to go on his own.”  

Lance turned to her, still anxious, and seeing the resolve in her face, sighed. This wasn’t his battle to fight, as much as he might have wanted to, and he had to accept that.

The door was closed and Shiro was gone, and the store was quiet again, nervous but hopeful.

--

In all of the foster homes and orphanages that Keith had been subjected to, he’d never once had his own room. There was always limited space, too many kids stuck in a bloated system, and Keith had gotten unsettlingly familiar with sleeping bags on the floor, one dusty and stained pillow being the only thing he could claim as ‘his’. And he was fine with it, too; contrary to his rebellious nature, Keith loved small spaces. It felt nice, to be able to curl up in your own corner with no intrusions, and now that the Garrison had provided him with a tiny room, barely large enough to hold a twin-size mattress and a closet, he relished in this constriction, especially the constriction that was very painfully choking around his ribcage, providing some sort of masochistic pain.

He hadn’t taken it off for days. For three days, he sat in the same binder, refusing to even try and ply it off of his chest. He didn’t know any better, honestly – he thought that this pain was normal, that the bruising on his ribcage was just a necessary part of the transition. No one had told him otherwise, and he was too stubborn to back down and ask for advice. It was to a point where when he moved too quickly, twisted his torso in an impulsive motion, it sent shockwaves of pain through his system, and he groaned, often involuntarily, to no one but himself. Because he was alone, and he was going to get through this by himself, despite the bruises, despite his shallow breathing.   

No one should have known that he was here. As a protective measure, he refused to disclose where he slept to anybody, lest someone take advantage of his weakened state. Keith was no fool. He always slept light, in a full set of clothes and with his knife under his pillow, just in case. Anything could happen while he was asleep, and he wasn’t going to allow himself to be unprepared. If nothing else, it put his frantic mind at ease, and allowed him to sleep a little easier.

This tiny room that the Garrison had provided him was his only safe place. No one else had ever been in the room, aside from the occasional Garrison leader checking in on their prized scholarship boy, and that was how he liked it. And that’s why he was completely thrown into a hellish wormhole of paranoia when he heard a knock on the door, firm and concerned.

“Keith? Is this Keith’s room?” The voice was palpable, firm, and, most worryingly, unmistakably Shiro’s.

He refused to move. Maybe, just maybe, if he stayed completely still and didn’t make a sound, Shiro would assume he wasn’t here. The lights were all off, after all; his room was pitch black, yet his vision was clear, having adjusted to the comforting darkness of his room. It would be easy to assume that no one was home.

Shiro, however, knew him too well. The next knock was harsher, and his voice had escalated into a nervous yell. “Keith, I know you’re in there. Please let me in. I’ve been worried about you.”

Damn it. Shiro, much like Keith, had the unfortunate quality of being stubborn. Keith knew that Shiro was not going to leave the door. Not until he got an answer, at least. But unluckily for Shiro, Keith was frightened. Frightened of himself, frightened of the people outside of his room and, honestly, frightened of the power Shiro had over him. The influence that two years of gentle inspiration had done to Keith, the ability to save him when he was drowning in his own head. Because deep down, really, Keith didn’t want to be saved; he wanted to wallow in his own misery, and he wanted to do it alone, so that he didn’t hurt anybody on the way down. He’d dug himself into a shithole, again, but this time, there was no foster family to kick him out, no orphanage to scold him. It was just him, and a couple of people from a coffee shop he didn’t even know very well, and Shiro.

Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. Keith couldn’t allow himself to wallow anymore. Not if Shiro was at his door, begging for answers. Because Shiro was probably hurting too, all because of him, and Keith didn’t want that. He wasn’t going to open this door because he needed, or even wanted, saving; no, he was opening it so Shiro could save him, and maybe even Shiro himself.

When he finally shifted the overheated blanket off of him, sticky and damp with sweat, and he moved his heavy feet onto the ground, he could hear a sigh of relief from the other side of the door.

Keith was sluggish, his body rusty from three days of inertia. He wanted to stretch, and yawn, and get himself a proper meal other than instant noodles and stale tap water, but that all could wait. The heaviness of his burden was making it hard to breathe, harder than usual under the tight fabric constricting his rib cage, and he needed fresh air. He needed to open the door and let the fresh and gentle breeze sweep over his musky room, and maybe sweep away his burdens as well.

When he found the energy to reach over and unlock the door, there wasn’t an immediate response. The door laid slightly ajar for a few ticks, with no motion from either patron, until finally, finally, the door brushed open, gently, with massive amounts of trepidation. The light from the outside fluorescence blinded Keith, too used to the darkness of his habitat, and he recoiled, cornering himself on his own bed, covering his face.

“Keith.” The whisper was as calm as the breeze, relieved and sincere in its intent. Keith was still squinting, pained by the bright light, but he moved his hands to unveil himself, a glint of white hair the only thing recognizable in his blurry vision.

“Shiro.” A weight counterbalanced him on the bed, the metal frame creaking under the newfound burden. Leaning to the side, he closed the door gently, allowing them some privacy as the room was cast in darkness once more.

Shiro knew that Keith liked the darkness. He chose to keep the lights off, despite his own reservations, and the two sat in silence, mulling over their own thoughts, unsure of what to say but fighting to say it all the same.

“Everyone was really worried about you, you know.” Keith felt a soft hand on his back, not asking for anything in return. His body tensed instinctively at the foreign touch, mostly in pain, and he curled into the wall, nervous, finding resolve in the darkness.

“That’s not true.” He didn’t believe his own words, not really, but Keith spat them out anyways, needing confirmation. He was too used to being alone and he didn’t know what it felt like to have people worry over him. He needed Shiro to say it.

Shiro’s hand begin moving, rubbing gentle circles into the boy’s back in an attempt to ease his worries. “It’s very true.” Keith couldn’t see it, but he knew that Shiro was likely smiling, the radiant inflection of his words being a dead giveaway. “Hunk and Pidge have been asking around the Garrison for the last few days, trying to see if anybody had seen you. Allura and Coran tried to see if the kids at the youth center knew anything, as well. Even Lance started doing his own searching. He even went back to…..whatever parking lot you guys were at, to see if he could find anything.”

A boulder fell into the pit of his gut, rumbling his senses into action. He was guilty, and pleasantly surprised, and unsure all at the same time; and afraid that his words would let something internal slip, he shut his lips tightly, tensing up once more.

Shiro had noticed how ragged Keith’s breathing was, how he flinched whenever he made too sudden of a movement. He knew something was wrong, and he had a good guess as to what it was.

“Keith.” The soothing hand was stiffer, still meant to ease Keith but now full of questions that needed to be answered. “Have you been wearing your binder too much? You seem like….you’re in pain.”

Keith flinched at the statement, biting his tongue anxiously. He’d never worn it for this long of a time, no, but he didn’t understand why Shiro was suddenly nervous about it. He was fine. He was in pain, but he was fine, because this was normal, this was part of the transition.

“Not any more than usual.” His voice hitched, unintentionally, as a spike of pain jabbed at his side. This is normal. This is fine.

“I don’t think you’re fine.” Shiro’s hand moved to his shoulder, and he flinched again, hissing. “I bet you’ve been wearing it ever since you went missing.” He paused, willing the silence to pressure Keith into being honest. “Am I correct?”

Keith stared at the wall. “Y-yeah.” It’s fine. It’s normal.

“Oh no.” Shiro let go of his shoulder, moving it to pull his own hair. He was utterly wrecked with concern now, and he couldn’t stop raking his hair, pulling at it, trying to figure out how Keith could be in so much pain for so long. Had no one ever told him? Shiro had just assumed that Allura would have told him how to properly bind. And she should have, which meant only one thing; Keith’s pride and stubbornness kicked in and he refused to get proper consultation.

He should have known this was how it would play out. Keith had a habit of letting his pride take over when his senses told him otherwise, and that had been especially true about his transition. It wasn’t hard to imagine how it had played out; Allura giving him the binder, telling him how to properly wear it, with Keith scoffing and telling Allura that yeah yeah, he already know how to wear a binder, no need to worry. But clearly, he didn’t, and Shiro didn’t even want to imagine the damage he had done to his chest in the last few days.

He had to stop him, now, before it got any worse. “Keith, you’re not supposed to bind for longer than 8 hours at a time. Any longer and you can do some serious damage to yourself.”

He perked right up at that, staring at straight at Shiro, tentatively upset. “You mean this isn’t normal?”

“No, Keith, it’s not. You need to get out of that thing and let yourself breathe. Please.”

Contemplating the words, almost wanting to just reject them, he put a hand on his chest, and he felt the dull ache in his core expand to his arms, weary and tired and bruised. Shiro was right. It hurt. It hurt a lot and Keith had done it to himself in some foolhardy attempt to prove something to himself. Fuck.

“I’m not mad.” There was just the tiniest hint of anger in his voice, but Keith wondered if it was directed at him or Shiro himself. “I understand why you did it. But you can’t do it anymore, ok? I don’t want you to…..hurt yourself, trying to prove something that doesn’t need to be proven.”

Above everything else, Keith felt stupid. Stupid for not listening to Allura when he had the chance, stupid for getting himself into a mess inside of a mess, and stupid for making Shiro feel guilty. If he could, he would hole himself up even more, but he knew that was the coward’s way out, the way that would hurt Shiro the most. And he didn’t want to do that anymore.

“Have you been hanging out with them again?”

The sudden change in subject made Keith shiver nervously. He shouldn’t have been so on edge, but he was worrying Shiro and he was angry at himself and he couldn’t control himself right now. Reflexively, his cool exterior bubbled up and caked his skin with a sharp edge. “I hang out with a lot of different people.”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.” Keith could feel eyes on him, daring and afraid, afraid of the fact that he already knew the answer to his question. “The Galra.”

The silence was overwhelming, swallowing the two boys deeper into the dark confines of the room. All of Keith’s nerves froze in place, as if hearing the words make his skin prickle with ice, and Shiro knew he was right. He was right, and he wanted to be angry, to be disappointed of all things, but now wasn’t the time for that. Now was the time….to be a good role model. Now was the time to help Keith out of this mess.

Shiro turned to him now, his hand stalling, but still comforting all the same. “Are you hanging out with them because you’re insecure?”

Keith was losing his resolve. All of this, his hermiting, his fear in the face of someone who only wanted to help him….it was exhausting. And he was tired, after three days of losing himself into his own abyss. Maybe it was time to face the facts. He eased up slightly, allowing the hand to sink into his skin, and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

“Are you hiding because you’re afraid they’re coming after you?”

The words struck bluntly, and Keith’s muscles contracted, as if sensing danger. The hand pushed into his back, reminding him of where he was, and he relaxed again, not completely, but just enough to form one solitary, stuttered word on his lips;

“Y-Yeah.”

“That’s ok,” Shiro smiled, scooting closer to the boy, his presence lighting up the darkness. “I understand. It’s ok to be scared. It’s ok to be insecure. You’re not any weaker because of it.”

Shiro continued to massage the words into his back, allowing the full strength of his reassurances to sink under the skin, and Keith found himself unconsciously turning away from the wall, into the hand, into the body counterpoised next to him. Admitting his fear out loud, even if it was indirect and weak, made Keith considerably more at ease; like he was a valve, closed off and on the verge of breaking, finally able to release.

Shiro sensed that progress was being made, and an immediate weight lifted off of his soul, allowing him to smile more fully. “You know, the kids that hang out at my store really enjoy you. You don’t have to put up such a brave front around them. Or any of us, really. They’ll like you for who you are.”

“You don’t know that.” The words were autonomous on his lips. He wanted them to be venomous, to possibly even sting, but they just came out flat and dull, with no weight to the words.

Still, Shiro considered them all the same, able to read Keith without much effort. “You’re right, I don’t. But that’s because you’ve never given them a chance to see the real you, you know. I can assure you, the moment you start really being yourself around them, they’ll accept you in a heartbeat.”

He was weak, and vulnerable, and in need of validation. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” He patted the skinny boy on the back, now confident enough to take initiative. “Now come on. It looks like you’ve been holed in here for long enough.” He stood up, stretching his arms above his head in a show of action, and flicked on the light switch, evaporating the tense air. “You should get showered and change. And don’t wear your binder when you get out, ok? You need some time to recover. I’ll give you my coat so you can have that extra layer of coverage. Then we can go down to the shop and hang out with everyone, maybe get some dinner with them. It will be a good time, I promise.”

Keith’s bones ached for movement, voicing their opinions for the first time in days. He was relieved at Shiro’s ability to take action when he himself couldn’t find his footing, and he pushed himself off of the bed, feeling warm and comforted.  “Thank you, Shiro.”

For the first time all day, Keith could see Shiro’s face clearly, and it was as bright as the sun itself. And it made Keith feel like everything was going to be ok. “Anytime, Keith. Now let’s get some food, I am starving.”

--

Everyone in the store was wholeheartedly relieved when Allura got the text from Shiro, the one that signaled that Keith was safe and sound. And even better, Shiro had said he was going to treat everyone to dinner. Everything had turned out ok. Everything was good.

Now, as the five patrons mulled around the store (With Hunk trying and failing to feed the alley cat, Coran swiping the muffin away with just a little too much glee), Lance found himself buzzing with excitement at a new revelation, one that threatened to shake the foundation of the store itself; Shiro had Allura’s number. And they texted.

And now here he was, poking at Pidge like a child, his body vibrating with euphoria, while Pidge typed at his computer, very annoyed and very busy.

“Do you think he texts her often?” Lance’s pokes were getting more intense, leaving visible dents in the baggy sweatshirt that swallowed the younger friend in a warm ball of comfort. “I can’t believe he never told us he has her number. Like, what a wasted opportunity! He’s had so many chances to make his move. And I mean, I have soooo many lines that could sweep her right off her feet-“

“Lance, remind me.” The boy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, refusing to even glance at Lance. “How many times have you tried to text those lines to people?”

The skinnier boy moved one of his fingers to scratch his chin in thought, while the other maintained a rapid-fire poking pace. “Somewhere around fifteen.”

“And how many times have they led to a date?” Pidge’s canines were showing, ready for the kill.

Lance frowned. “That’s low. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“It’s not cheap if it proves my point.” Pidge’s fingers were electric on the keyboard, typing god knows what, and she was grinning with the taste of fresh blood on her tongue.

“See, this is why I always talk to Hunk about this kind of stuff.” Lance was making a show of his pouty face, daring to even block the screen with his face. “At least Hunk tries to play along. You’re just mean.”

“You want me to play along?” Lance jolted his head back, startled, and Pidge closed her laptop in a show of sincerity. “Fine, I’ll play along.”

This new revelation was scaring Lance, and he was stuck in place with a very nervous expression on his face, unsure of what Pidge’s definition of ‘playing along’ was. “Now listen–“ She tilted her head towards Lance, all serious now, with her eyebrows furrowed tight- “Shiro is one of god’s greatest creations. We both know that, and any person would be lucky to date him. Allura sub-consciously likes him, because how can you not, but she is such a busy and powerful woman that romance is not something she cares about right now. And Shiro knows that too, and that’s why he hasn’t done anything about it yet. So in order for anything to happen between them, we have to make Allura realize two things; one, that a romance with Shiro would not impede her professional lifestyle; and two, that she really does want to make out with him. So once you’ve figured out how to do those two things, everything will be golden. Do you understand?”

Lance looked like he was malfunctioning, a thousand thoughts currently trying to process in his head with only a few of them connecting. “Uh, wow, Pidge. You uh…..you’ve put some thought into this.”

“I didn’t get into Garrison at seventeen years old without merit, you know.” Her glasses glinted as she shifted back towards her computer, pulling the lid open.  “And I’m not exactly typing a research paper right now, either.”

“Uh,” Lance was leaning over her shoulder, smelling a hot juicy piece of gossip, “What are you-“

The door bell rang open, and in walked Keith, eyes to the floor, with Shiro shadowing him, hands reassuringly gripping his shoulders.

There was a moment of silence, mostly because no one knew, exactly, what to do; was Keith actually ok? Would he be overwhelmed? Was there the potential, maybe, of him running away again? It was hard to tell, and everyone was scared of accidentally tripping the wire and setting Keith off. They wanted to welcome him with open arms, but did he want that? It maybe the air prickle with unease, as Keith continued to stare at the floor, looking incredibly nervous.

The one who managed to break this tension, who walked up to Keith with open arms and swept him off the floor in welcoming hug, was Hunk, bless his heart.

“You’re okay!” He howled the words with reckless abandon, tightening his already-constrictive grip on the thin boy. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Everyone melted in unison, completely heartwarmed over the show before them, and they all got up from their seats, circling the hug with glee.

“I knew you were gonna be okay!” Pidge was jumping, punching the air, before she latched onto one of Keith’s legs, wrapping her arms around it wildly. “With your pilot skills and your cool knife tricks, nobody stood a chance against you!”

“Why, you seem to have grown thinner!” Coran was tapping Keith’s bicep with his pen, tittering with a mixture of concern and happiness. “We’ve got to put some meat on these bones! Maybe I can whip you up a batch of Coran’s Special Stew – it’s a crowd hit!”

“Oh my goodness, Keith!” Allura was hugging both Hunk and Keith, reminding everybody just how tall and powerful she was. “I’m so glad no harm came your way. You almost worried me to death!”

Lance had jumped into the pile, throwing his arm around Keith’s shoulder with a grin. “We were pretty worried about you for a while there, pretty boy.” His cheekiness was prominent, but it softened as he looked at Keith, a new sense of gratefulness now overtaking him. “It’s…….good to see you’re still in one piece.” And he smiled.

Shiro simply patted Keith on the shoulder, a thin smile crossing his cheeks. “Like I said, everyone was worried about you. We’re all happy to have you back.”

Keith was completely and utterly overwhelmed, unable to withstand the tidal waves of empathy crashing against his chest. His body was being crushed like a leaf, but he didn’t care, he hardly even noticed; because it was being crushed under people who cared, people who were genuinely worried about him, and Keith was overloading at this new experience.

It was new, and it was warm, and a thousand fireworks were igniting in his heart.

And when, finally, Shiro eased up, alerting the others that it was time to go to dinner, Keith found that he never wanted them to let go.

Chapter Text

Keith couldn’t believe he was getting roped into this.

“No.”

“Come on man, it’ll be awesome.”

Keith did not think it was going to be awesome.

“Nope, nada, zip.”

“There’s gonna be ice cream. And movies. Come on.”

Keith secretly thought it was going to be awesome.

“I refuse to subject myself to your propaganda, Lance.”

“WE CAN CUDDLE IN MY SLEEPING BAG!”

Oh my god.

“Fine. I’ll go. But not because of that last comment, for your information-“

“KEITH’S COMING TO OUR ANNUAL SLEEPOVER!!!”

Keith was going to a fucking sleepover.

The three friends were jumping in glee, with huge grins and puffy cheeks plastered on their faces, and Keith was in front of them, unable to hide his coy smile.

Keith was going to enjoy going to this sleepover.

--

The Holt household was unlike anything Keith had ever seen. It was massive, first off; from the driveway (which extended impossibly long), Keith could see the multitude of angles that constructed the house, building on top of each other in convoluted ways to reach at least three floors. The entirety of the structure was painted a light beige, which seemed to blend in nicely with the slowly-setting sun in the background. The driveway was cobblestoned, drifting and weaving all the way up to a panel of garage doors that were undoubtedly full of expensive gadgets and objects. It was extravagant, something that Keith only thought he’d see in his wildest dreams, and here he was, about to actually go in.

Yet, somehow, it all seemed so modest. Children’s handprints were cemented in the cobblestone pathway, littered with trinkets and jewels that spelled out ‘Katie’ and ‘Matt’ in various different sizes and styles. A homemade ornament, made of popsicle sticks and glitter, hung on one of the lampposts near the garage doors. Chewed up dog toys were thrown haphazardly across the expansive lawn, covered generously in mud and slobber. The entire place was exorbitant, yet homely – both feelings that Keith didn’t understand, and he felt jaded, trailing behind his newfound friends as they rushed down the cobblestones to the side door.

He was nervous for a lot of reasons, but the main reason was because of his chest. Ever since Shiro had scolded him gently about how to properly wear a binder, he’d been much more conscious about only wearing it for certain amounts of time (although if he was being honest, it was still longer than Shiro had recommended). For his sake and Shiro’s, he knew he couldn’t sleep with the binder on. He was nervous they were all going to find out, somehow – that they would see how not-flat his chest was when he was sleeping and that would be the end of everything. As a protective measure, he wore two-too-many layers of clothing, just in case, which was easy to explain as it was now fully Autumn and the air was much colder than before.

It was going to be ok. These were his friends, and they were being nice to him, and it was going to be ok.

At the very least, he had one thing he could be certain of – his dusty and stained pillow, grey from years of movement and misuse. He clung to it as he walked up to the door, sticking closely behind Hunk.

“Mooooom, we’re here!” Pidge took off her shoes frantically, before bolting around the corner into the kitchen. Lance and Hunk followed suit, untying their shoes with more care. Keith took his cue and began unlacing his boots, cursing himself with his complicated choice for footwear.

The voice in the distance was bright, and energetic. “I’ve been waiting for you guys! Katie, I need you to feed the dog super quick, I’m busy with the dinner.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance, who leaned in to whisper in response. “Katie is Pidge’s bitrth name. They tend to prefer the name Pidge around us because, in case you didn’t get the memo, Pidge and gender don’t really get along.”

Before he knew it, Keith was smiling to himself, a private smile that didn’t go unseen by Lance. “Gender is stupid.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Lance threw his sneaker on the tiled floor, quickly getting to work on his other shoe. “Pidge doesn’t mind when their family calls them Katie, though. Says it feels home-y or something. But don’t call them Katie.”

Keith nodded, not completely understanding but appreciating the sliver of solidarity all the same. “Got it.”

The scraping of claws against tile alerted the three boys to attention, and a giant ball of fluff came crashing around the corner, slobbering and barking all the way. Before Keith could brace for impact, he was thrown onto the floor in a mess of hair and drool, and a slimy surface was dragging across his face, leaving a trail of rancid breath and dried slobber.

“No! Rover!” The dog was being pulled away from Keith with almost inhuman strength. Keith gagged, frantically wiping away the mess on his face with the back of his gloved hand. “Bad Rover! Your food is over here, not on Keith’s face!” Pidge was somehow dragging the dog behind her, off to some distant area where a food bowl most likely waited.

“Ugh, God.” Keith pushed himself off of the ground, brushing dog hair off of his dark clothes, and when he finally looked up from himself, he saw Hunk and Lance cackling on the ground.

Lance was wiping a tear from his eye, his body shaking with uncontrolled glee. “I totally forgot about that, oh my God,” he was wheezing, two seconds away from just keeling over and exploding into a fit of giggles.

“I know man, me too,” Hunk concurred enthusiastically, hands sprawled across his belly. “It’s been so long since that’s happened, but it just gets funnier every time.”

Keith was a little agitated, taking his now-damp gloves off and whipping them in the air in an attempt to dry them off. “Why’d he only go for me and not you guys? That was, honestly, super gross.”

“Rover is not gross!” A high-pitched protest could be heard from the distance. “Rover is adorable and you will appreciate him as long as you are in my household!”

“Yeah, yeah, Keith will warm up to him in time.” Lance had calmed down, and was rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wipe away the remnants of his laughing fit. He stood up, quickly patting himself down to get rid of hair, before he shouldered Keith with a giggle. “Every time someone new walks into the house, Rover always attacks them like that. Every time, guaranteed. It happened to me and Hunk too when we first came here, although that was years ago.”

He leaned into Keith with a wink. “Think of it as an initiation process. You’re not really one of us until you’ve been slobbered all over by a walking deathtrap of fluffiness.”

An initiation process. Right. Because these were his friends now. He was friends with them. And their version of initiating him was by unleashing a monstrous dog on him. Right.  

Ok.

“Kids, I’ve got some chips and dip for you if you want a snack!” The voice, which must’ve only belonged to Pidge’s mom, sounded like bells in the breeze.

Hunk was on his feet in a millisecond. “Yes! I’m sooo ready for some of the Holt Family’s famous Chip N’ Dip!” He swerved around the corner in a flash, stars in his eyes. Lance and Keith followed him shortly after, with Lance still giggling at dried slobber present on Keith’s face. (Admittedly, it was kinda funny, although it smelled gross and Keith was just a little too prideful to ask for a wet rag to wash it off.)

When he walked into the kitchen, Keith immediately felt dirty. It was modern, pristine, full of brand-new granite counters and stainless steel appliances, surrounding an expansive island where Mrs. Holt was cutting up peppers. Keith wanted to throw away his soggy gloves now, because there was no way in hell he was going to get away with putting them on any surface in this room. He hadn’t showered in days. Was he even allowed to sit in one of the chairs?

“Hello Hunk, hello Lance,” She nodded to the two regulars, who each smiled back and leaned against the island like it was their own home. Hunk was already hands-deep in the chip bowl and Lance had picked his phone out of his pocket when the woman noticed Keith, nervous and out of place, still standing by the doorframe.

The woman sensed his trepidation, and she smiled, softly, just the smallest of dimples forming at the edges of her lips. “You must be Katie’s new friend,” she wondered, setting down the knife on the cutting board. “I’m Katie’s mother, Maria Holt. It’s always nice when they bring home new friends. Come try some of the chip and dip!” She motioned towards the two bowls that Hunk was gleefully digging into. “I made it this afternoon. You’ll love it.”

Maria Holt was thin, a head shorter than Lance, and her youthful appearance betrayed the clear wisdom she had. She didn’t seem like the kind of mother that Keith had imagined mothers should look like; he thought they should be plump, with fat cheeks and stout bodies, and that they would immediately hug him and touch him all over, doting and worried; but when Pidge finally came around the corner, covered in sweat and dog hair, and Mrs. Holt leaned down to peck her child on the forehead, Keith recognized that he just didn’t understand what a mother should look like.

Pidge, with all of his foresight, had brought a damp rag for Keith to clean himself off with, and Keith mumbled out a ‘thanks’ as he took the rag from the shorter student and excused himself to the sink.

Everything about the Holt household was so….casual. Hunk and Mrs. Holt shared puns with smiles and pats on the back, Lance absentmindedly browsed his phone while occasionally making remarks about how bad Hunk’s puns were (only to earn a lighthearted glare from Mrs. Holt), and Pidge was eating chips and dip while telling her mom about the new gadget she played around with today at the Garrison. It was safe, and it was nice, and Keith felt his barriers slowly crumbling off of his skin, onto the cold tile ground under his feet.  

Eventually, Mrs. Holt remembered that Keith was a newcomer and she pestered Pidge into giving Keith a tour. And Keith didn’t know how someone could tour a mansion as big as this, but his natural sense of adventure kicked in, and soon enough Pidge was grabbing his forearm and dragging him down the halls, with Lance and Hunk not far behind (chips and dip in hand, of course).

“I know that the house seems really big, but once you’ve gone through it once or twice, it’ll be really easy to remember,” Pidge was rambling, pulling on Keith’s arm as they climbed the first set of stairs into a dark hallway. She began pointing out the different rooms, not bothering to give Keith a chance to get more than a glance into the rooms before she was onto the next; a guest bedroom, a computer room (there was a room exclusively for a computer?), another guest room, a weight room, a closet. Soon enough they were crossing some sort of bridge (what the fuck? People can just put bridges into their own home?), one that joined two sides of the second floor and looked over the dining room table. If you reached out far enough from the bridge, you could touch an elegant glass chandelier that dangled over the table itself, and that idea just straight up stumped Keith.

Everything was grand. All of it was expensive, and pristine, and Keith felt like he didn’t belong here, not at all. But every time his body started tensing up, Hunk would grab his shoulder or Lance would pat his back, a wordless reminder that yeah, he absolutely belonged here, don’t worry about it, we had the same reaction the first time too.

Once they crossed the ‘sky bridge’, as Hunk had labeled it, they entered a part of the household known as ‘Pidge’s Island’ (also Hunk’s label), which was just two rooms across each other in a hallway. According to Hunk, the room on the left was Pidge’s bedroom, whereas the room on the right was her ‘experiment room’, which sounded much more eerie than it had any right to. Pidge let go of Keith and sprang into her bedroom in order to grab some movies, and Hunk followed, mostly because he thought that Pidge’s bed was ‘unnaturally soft’ and he wanted to belly flop onto it.

Keith stayed in the hallway, however, because they were lined with multitudes of picture frames of various sizes and depictions. In one, a small girl in overalls and a taller boy stood shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling big for the camera. In another, the same girl and boy each sat on the knee of an older man with peppered grey hair. Portraits of the boy and girl were scattered across the wall at various ages, the most recent one looking like Pidge with longer hair. Above them all stood a family portrait, with Mrs. Holt and the man’s arms slung around each other’s waists, the older boy smiling coyly and the younger girl grinning broadly, braces proudly shown to the camera.

Keith was….curious. He’d never taken a family photo with any of his foster families before, not once. In fact, most of his foster parents were mere blurs in his memory, nevermind any foster siblings he had. These pictures….the loving scenes they all portrayed…..Keith wanted it. A small burn lit in his core, full of envy, and Keith frowned, unable to look away from the photos.

Just like every other time he tensed up, there it was, the hand on his back to calm him down. “It’s a nice looking family, isn’t it.” He pointed to one of the portraits of the boy, the most recent one where he seemed to be in an official uniform of some sort. “That’s Matt, Pidge’s older brother. He’s about the same age as Shiro, I think. He’s a lot more relaxed compared to Pidge, but just as smart. And that-“ he pointed to the older gentleman with greyed hair- “is Pidge’s dad, Mr. Sam Holt. He’s where Pidge got all of her excitement from. He has a collection of model airplanes in the garage, and he likes to fly them when he can, from what I’ve seen.”

Keith’s eyebrow quirked, his mouth wet with curiosity. “Is he currently in the garage right now? I haven’t seen him since we got here.”

He felt Lance tense up, and he mirrored the olive-skinned boy’s actions, wanting to bite back his words. “Well….” Lance was looking at the ground, chewing his lip, unsure if it was his place to say what he wanted to say. “Matt and Mr. Holt are….both enlisted. In the military. They’re both currently off on military tours, and usually they’re gone for months at time. The last time they were here was a couple of months ago.” He looked at Keith, more serious, putting more pressure into the hand on Keith’s back. “We usually don’t talk about them around Pidge. He’s very sensitive about it. We never know if they’re going to come back from their tours, so….”

Keith nodded silently. His hands unconsciously clutched his pillow tighter. No wonder why there were so many pictures near Pidge’s room. He may not have completely understood, but he could be sympathetic about it.

Pidge sprang out of the bedroom, movies in hand, and grabbed Keith’s hand once more, sprinting across the bridge. “IT’S MOVIE TIME!”

“WOOOOO!!!!” Hunk and Lance were barreling across the bridge, chasing after the two unabashedly. They all rounded a corner, went up another pair of stairs, where only one door remained at the top, and Pidge crashed through it, squealing all the way.

The room was massive. There were couches everywhere, all coated with multiple layers of pillows and blankets. There was a mini-kitchen in the back corner, stocked high with ice cream, sodas, and multitudes of snacks. Across from the couches stood the largest TV that Keith had ever seen, covering the entire wall in a landscape of electronics. The room was set up for surround-sound, and a bunch of video game consoles and other gadgets sat in a glass cupboard under the TV.

It looked like a teenager’s paradise. And Keith was So. Fucking. Excited.

Pidge had scampered up to the cupboard, where he was plucking a DVD out of its case and was putting it into one of the towers of machines. Hunk sat down on the comfiest-looking couch right in front of the TV, wrapping his expansive arms around a pillow to his side. Lance threw himself next to Hunk, sprawling out generously across the couch, and Keith sat on Lance’s legs, purely for spite.

“Heeeeeey!” Lance was hitting Keith with a pillow, causing Keith to giggle like a maniac. “If you sit on my legs the entire movie, they’re gonna fall asleep!”

“Then move your legs, dummy!” He was fighting back against the pillow with his own, aiming for Lance’s thin legs, and before they knew it they were on the floor, squealing like pigs and hitting each other recklessly with pillows.

“Pillow fight!!!” Hunk jumped in immediately with his own, whacking Lance’s head purposefully. Keith caught on to this and the two teamed up against the boy in the green jacket, causing him to drop his pillow and try and block the blows with his hands.

“Nooooot faaaaaair!” He was kicking his legs, trying to throw Keith off of him. “Piiiiidge come join me so this can be an even match!”

“Sorry bro, but somebody’s gotta set up the movie.” Lance could’ve sworn he saw Pidge’s glasses glint devilishly, that kind of glint, but then Hunk whacked him in the head again and now he couldn’t stop whining.

Eventually the whining got too loud and Hunk started to feel a little guilty so he stopped, giggling, and he threw his pillow back onto the couch. Keith was laughing openly, and despite Lance’s annoyance, when he saw Keith’s openness, the first genuine laugh he’d had since he’d gotten to the Holt household, he cracked a smile of his own.

The movie was in and everyone was back in their regular positions on the couch, with Lance significantly more cramped and Keith grinning like a cat at the end of the couch, Pidge cozied up against Hunk on the other end (“he makes a good platonic cuddle pillow, guys!”).

Keith hadn’t bothered to ask what movie they were watching; he would watch anything, really, he was just grateful to even be in this mega-complex of a room. Yet now, as pirating warnings flashed across the massive screen, he finally noticed just how excited his friends were, how they almost bounced in their seat and how they kept sharing knowing glances at each other – and he wondered maybe, if he should ask what he was getting into.

Massive trumpets blared in the surround sound, the back screen flashed with power, and two neon yellow words stood at attention in the middle of the wall: Star Wars.

The trio were all screaming along with the theme song, with Lance being by far the loudest; “DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUUN, DUUUUUN!!!! DADADA DAAAA!!!” Their heads were thrown back as they howled and Keith just sat there, stumped and a little scared, staring wide, unsure of what to do.

Keith had never seen Star Wars. He’d heard about it from people, and he knew that it was a massively popular thing, but he’d never cared enough to actively go out of his way and watch it. He wasn’t really a TV-and-movies type of guy anyways, much more prone to actual adventure. So yeah, he felt a little out of place, again. Yet, again, Lance sensed this, and he threw his arm around Keith and Hunk, swaying along as they hollered the syllables with glee, winking at Keith all the way. And damn it if Keith wasn’t blushing, allowing himself to be swayed and enjoying the comraderie of the motion.

They all settled down once the movie started. From the first moment of the movie, Keith was absolutely, undoubtebly, one-hundred percent, enthralled. Everything about this movie was cool; the lasers, the Stormtroopers, Darth Vader, the lightsabers, the hotshot rogue pilot of the Millenium Falcon (Lance seemed to really like Han Solo, much to Keith’s amusement) – everything was brilliant, and Keith could not tear his eyes away from the screen. The others had seemed to notice (though he didn’t notice them at all), and they kept poking at each other, whispering things like ‘he’s going to LOVE this next part’ and ‘he is such a Han Solo’ (Lance whined at that). They were having a hell of a time, and so was Keith, in his own way. He was completely locked into the movie, jaw slightly open, eyes wide, and he never wanted the spectacle to end, not ever.

Unfortunately, the movie did end; fortunately, Pidge had informed him that there were two sequels that they were absolutely going to watch right now. Keith was in heaven.

And so the night went on, with Hunk eventually grabbing some snacks from the kitchen and sharing with the others. Keith didn’t notice at all, and when they tried to push a bowl of ice cream into his hands, he took it mindlessly, immediately setting it aside and forgetting about the treat. Pidge was practically burrowed into Hunk’s side, blanket covering the two of them, and he kept squeaking whenever Chewbacca appeared on the screen (Chewy was Pidge’s favorite). Lance just casually watched, occasionally checking his phone and eating his ice cream, only getting fired up whenever Han Solo did something badass, which caused him to jump out of the couch and stomp around the room while he yelled about how badass said thing was. Keith couldn’t look away; every moment just got more and more amazing, every lightsaber battle and every plot twist bigger (he screamed when he found out Darth Vader was Luke’s father, which caused the other three to basically die with laughter). It was amazing. It was beautiful. And before he knew it, it was over.

When the screen went dark and the music stopped, Keith finally regained his senses and looked around, remembering where he was. Hunk had fallen asleep near the end of the second movie, and he was now snoring loudly into his pillow. Pidge conked out near the middle of the third movie, much to Keith’s surprise (he had pegged them as the one who would stay up all night), but he figured that Hunk was just too irresistible as a cuddle pillow, with Pidge curled up like a cat against his tummy. And Lance was sitting next to him, grinning like the devil, phone in hand as he recorded Keith.

“Why are you recording me?” Keith questioned, still a bit dazed, before he realized that Lance was actually recording him, what the fuck. “Stop recording me-“ He lashed out to grab the phone, but Lance was prepared, immediately throwing his arm back in the air.

“I wanted-“ Keith was trying to climb over him to get the phone, and Lance slid under him and off the couch- “I wanted to film your reaction to the end of the movie! I thought you would cry!” Lance was giggling, swiping the phone with his thumb and backing away from the pale boy. “But you didn’t, somehow! So I’m gonna delete it because the video is worthless, promise!”

Keith eased up at that, crossing his arms and pouting. “I wasn’t gonna cry.”

"Yeah, whatever, pretty boy." Lance swiped a couple more times on the phone, before he shoved it in his pocket and looked at Keith, amused. “You know, I thought you were gonna just get up and make out with the screen. I’ve never seen someone so into Star Wars before.”

The pale boy sunk back into the couch, instinctively grabbing his pillow and clutching it to his chest. “I’ve never seen it before. It was…..really cool.”

“We figured when you found out about the whole ‘Luke’s father’ thing.” Lance pushed himself off of the ground and wandered over to the TV, turning it off with a push of a button. “And yeah, Star Wars is like, mega super awesome. Especially Han Solo.” Lance shot him a mischievous glare. “I saw how you were looking at him. Don’t be shy. He’s super hot.”

This statement caused Keith to throw his face into his pillow with a groan, blushing wildly.

“Ha. Gotcha.” Lance backed away from the TV, eyeing the two cuddlers on the couch. “Well…..even though this is a sleepover, I’m not sleepy yet. And I imagine you’re still pretty wired too. So do you wanna go do something else?”

Keith backed away from the pillow and looked at Lance. “Like…..what?”

“I dunno. We could go explore. Pidge’s house has some cool stuff but I don’t even wanna try to fiddle with it.” He shrugged and walked over to the couch, leaning into Keith just a little too closely for comfort. “Whadaya say?”

Keith’s mouth felt dry. “Uh…..sure.”

“Great.” Lance extended a hand out to Keith, which he took rather gingerly. “Lance’s and Keith’s Big Adventure, coming right up.”

Was this what people did at sleepovers? Keith didn't really know. But if Keith knew one thing, it was that he loved adventures, especially the kind that weren't necessarily allowed. If sneaking out and wandering around was what Lance wanted to do, then he was absolutely going to join in, sleepover etiquette be damned.

For the first time that night, Keith set his pillow down, allowing himself to get swept up in this grand adventure.

--

They were deep in the throes of fall now, and the bitter wind was nipping at their faces relentlessly, forcing the two to bundle up in scarves from Pidge’s closet. At Lance’s suggestion, Keith was also wearing another coat from the closet (he assumed it was Matt’s, as it was much too big for Pidge). The coat was thick, lined with wool, and Keith shoved his ungloved hands into its plaid pockets gratefully, nuzzling his own face deep into the scarf around his neck.

Lance was, more or less, dressed the same as usual. He was wearing the ragtag cargo jacket that he wore religiously, somehow impervious to new stains and holes, and the white hood was drooped lazily over his head, pushed back by the snapback he also wore much too often. In fact, most of what Lance wore was entirely familiar; same tattered jeans, same sneakers that were a size too big, same white shirt with navy blue sleeves. Keith wondered if Lance either had very little clothes or if he just had a very typical style of fashion.

They’d somehow wondered into a park, one of those suburban types that were supposedly ‘private’, where a large plot of green grass surrounded a playset, complete with swings and a plastic slide. Lance took aim for the swings, his feet turning towards the playground, and Keith followed, still shoulder-to-shoulder with the boy.

“So Keith,” Lance started, eyes darting over. “I realized the other day that I know next to nothing about you. So we’re gonna play a game of 20 questions, but instead of like…..trying to guess what something is, we’re just gonna ask each other questions. I guess.” The boy shrugged away the lack of confidence in his voice.

“Uh…..” Keith gulped, burying his nose further into the scarf. He didn’t like questions, and knowing what he did of Lance, there was a chance these might be particularly nosy. And the last thing he wanted was for Lance to cross a line. He breathed deep, closing his eyes momentarily to remember what Shiro had told him. Just be yourself. It’ll be alright.

“Yeah. Sure, alright.”

“I get the first question!” Lance jumped onto one of the swings, clearly misusing it, and he grabbed the metal chains harshly, trashing about on the swings. “Question number one: Why the mullet?”

Keith groaned in response to the question, plopping down on the swing next to him with his face in his hands. “It’s not a mullet! My hair’s just kinda long.” Without thinking, one of his hands began to comb through his hair, and he flinched at how greasy it felt in his hands.

“Listen, Keith.” Lance was standing still on the seat of the swing, squirming in an attempt to angle himself better for swinging. “Your hair is the definition of ‘business in the front, party in the back’. It’s absolutely a mullet. Which brings me back to the question; Why the mullet.” He turned his nose down towards Keith, jokingly inquisitive. “I gotta know.”

His hand started raking through his hair faster. “I don’t know……I cut my own hair, and I guess I just never really thought much about it-“

“Wait wait wait wait wait.” Lance jumped off of the swing, leaning over Keith in order to scrutinize the cut. “You’re telling me that you did this? That Keith, which, by the way my next question is going to be what’s your last name because I don’t actually know that, but- Keith, ace pilot, cuts his own hair?”

Keith felt embarrassed, and the tips of his ears, already red from the cold, were now a bright scarlet. “My last name is Kogane.”

“Keith Kogane, huh.” Lance straightened, giving Keith a pat on the back before returning to his own swing. “I like how that sounds. It rolls nice on the tongue.”

“I uh, yeah. I guess.” He swallowed thickly, kicking his feet against the playground bark.

“I didn’t mean to insult you dude.” Lance was back to thrashing, trying to swing forward purely with willpower. “Well I kinda did, I guess, but look – next time you need a haircut, just come to me. I can do much better.”

Keith jerked his head back. “You can cut hair?”

“Well yeah, of course I can. I uh….” Lance’s attention was divided between Keith and the uncooperative swing, and he grunted under his breath when his foot almost slipped off of the seat. “I cut my siblings’ hair all the time. And I do a pretty good job of it, if I do say so myself.”

The wind was getting colder. Keith shoved his hands back into his pockets in response, pushing his feet lazily against the bark in an attempt to get propulsion. “You have siblings?”

“That counts as your first question.” It was clear that Lance didn’t actually care about the question’s number, but it was part of his innate nature to be a bit of an ass, Keith figured. “And yes, I do have siblings. Five, actually. Three little brothers and two little sisters.” He jumped off of the swing, no longer interested in it, and motioned for Keith to follow him elsewhere. “I’m the oldest.”

They walked aimlessly again, through suburban houses and paved driveways, with the two occasionally bringing their hands up to their faces in order to blow hot hair into their palms. They were both very clearly cold, but they were also enjoying themselves, and the night, and the cool, dark air – so they dealt with it, if only to allow the conversation to flow a little longer.

“Question three.” Lance casually picked his nose with his pinkie, much to the disgust of Keith. “Favorite food.”

Keith snorted at the simple question. “Pears.”

“Pears? Why pears?”

“I dunno.” Keith shrugged. “They taste good. And they’re cheap to buy in a can. My room’s littered with empty cans of pears.”

“You’re a very pragmatic person, aren’t you?” Lance smirked at him, kicking small pebbles that were dislodged from the tar on the street. “You drink black coffee. You eat canned food. You’re very to-the-point with your words.”

“Is that bad?” Keith kicked a pebble back at Lance, and thus ensued a mini game of pass-the-pebble between the two teenagers.

“No, not at all. Just interesting.” Lance allowed the thoughts to swish around in his head, kicking the pebble back over to the mullet-haired boy. 

“I actually hate black coffee.” Keith was smirking to himself, looking up at the stars, waiting for Lance’s inevitably overdramatic reaction.

“WHAT?” And there it was, hands out, eyebrows creased, jaw dropped. “That’s like, all you drink man! I mean yeah, I totally agree with you, black coffee is gross, but……why?”

Once again, Keith shrugged, although this time he seemed a little more embarrassed. “The only coffee I like is the really fancy stuff. Like one time, Shiro made me this…..it was uh, I think it was a ‘coconut milk mocha macchiato’ or something, and it was amazing. But it’s expensive, and I don’t have a lot of money, so....I just get the cheapest thing you have.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Lance tightened the scarf around his neck, just now beginning to feel the chill of the wind in his bones. He seemed to be pondering something, staring at the ground rather intensely, but he stayed silent, focusing on getting the scarf snug around his face.

“What about you?”

“What?” Lance snapped out of his trance, almost tripping over his own feet. Keith reached a hand out to grab his sleeve, but stopped when Lance steadied himself on his own, leaving Keith’s hand to linger awkwardly in the air.

“Um.” Keith pulled his hand back, oddly embarrassed, unsure of why he felt so jittery over such a small motion. “I uh. Your favorite food. What is it?”

“Oh.” Lance rolled his eyes, like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “Pizza, of course.”

Keith scoffed at that, shooting playful daggers at the brown-haired boy. “Really? Pizza?”

“Dude. Pizza is amazing. Like, one of my uncles owns a food shack down by the beach, right? And he makes the best pizza I’ve ever had. Homemade dough and everything. When I was little, my mom would take me over all the time and we would just spend all day making pizza. And sometimes he’d let me steal a slice, and it was always delicious.” He was looking up at the stars, lost in his memories, smiling peacefully.

“Wow.” That envious feeling returned again, less vicious but still prominent in his gut. “That sounds….really fun.”

Lance straightened, eyes wide, as he remembered the situation he was in. Or at least, who he was with. “I didn’t mean to rub it in, or anything, I just-“

“You’re fine.” Keith waved it off dismissively, putting on a half-genuine smile. “Really. I think it’s cool that you’re close with your family. I……” He flinched, eyes looking down to the ground, “……I would like it if you talked more about them, actually. If that’s ok.”

Lance was still apprehensive, and he looked to Keith for some sort of confirmation, letting him know with a glance that it was ok if he didn’t actually want to talk about this. But Keith just smiled, relaxing his shoulders, elbowing the skinnier friend as a show of affirmation. He really was curious, after all – and Lance was really nice, so.

He brightened up after that, elbowing Keith back before launching into his seemingly pre-prepared autobiography. “So like I said, I have three little brothers and two little sisters. The youngest is Anabel, and she is completely nuts. I mean, I’ve helped to raise pretty much all of my siblings in one way or another, but never have any of my siblings been this crazy just straight out of the womb. She loves to try and eat my hair, which is really weird, but babies are weird, man. And then the second youngest is Daniel…..”

Keith listened avidly as Lance went on to describe all of his family (of the immediate kind, as far as Keith could tell); Anabel was the youngest girl, with Daniel being the youngest boy, followed by Javi, then Rachel, then Alex. Their respective ages were one, five, nine, twelve, and fourteen, and most of them looked a lot like Lance. Anabel and Javi were the crazy ones, whereas Daniel and Rachel were relatively responsible; Alex could go either way, depending on which sibling he was hanging out with that day. Rachel loved science, Javi loved to draw, and Daniel loved to cook. On and on and on the list went, to a point where Keith couldn’t keep track of just how much Lance knew about his siblings. It was encyclopedic, and incredibly impressive, and even though Keith kept forgetting little facts or losing track of Lance’s tangents, he was still enamored with the conversation. He felt like an outsider looking into something intimate, and he loved it, even if it was only a glimpse.

What was most impressive was that Lance just kept going; there were endless memories stuck in his head, ones that he had no qualms talking about, and he kept laughing at his own thoughts, as if he was reliving them for himself. And Keith just kept nodding, occasionally asking questions, only to be met with even more enthusiasm, more memories, more laughter. His eyes would light up whenever he would remember some particular event involving one of his siblings (usually Alex, who was his closest brother in both age and sibling-ship), and he would immediately begin to flush and stutter when he accidentally let slip some embarrassing detail that involved him screwing up. Lance was being undoubtedly, unabashedly Lance, and Keith felt like a child seeing fireworks for the first time; amazed, fascinated, and wanting more.

Somehow their feet had led them out of the neighborhood, onto the boardwalk, where mist from the freezing sea water brushed against their flushed cheeks. The wind was stronger and the tide was high, and Keith watched the sea waves methodically roll across the sand, over and over, with Lance still rambling away, unaware of where they even were. As much as Keith wanted to keep listening to Lance’s stories, a very warm feeling in his heart also wanted to watch the sea with him.

“Hey Lance.” He elbowed the boy in the green jacket, interrupting him for the first time since he had started rambling about his family. Lance, who was clearly lost in his own memories, jolted back to reality at the touch, frantically observing his surroundings.

“What? Whats—oh hey, we’re at the beach!” Lance grinned, huge dimples denting his cheeks, and he leaned against the metal railing separating the boardwalk from the beach. “I hadn’t even noticed that we ended up here.”

“You’re telling me.” Keith mirrored Lance’s stance, arms crossed against the railing. Both boys looked out into the sea, into the waves gently lapping the sand. “We walked a lot farther than I thought we were going to.”

“I got kinda caught up in my own stories, I guess. And....I guess it’s just easy to talk to you.” Lance was flushing, from his ears down to his chest, but Keith didn’t notice, too busy observing the metronome of the waves. “Not everybody just lets me ramble about my family like that, you know. It’s nice.”

“I enjoyed listening to it.” Keith gulped, looking down into the sand. “I enjoyed listening to you.”

“Yeah?” Lance felt jittery, and he attempted to run his hand through his hair, yet he was thrown for a loop when he remembered he was wearing his stupid snapback, causing his hand to awkwardly brush over his hat. “Well that’s…..good. I guess.”

They both stared out into the sea, not daring to look at the other, confused and exhilarated and freezing all at the same time. It helped to set both of them at ease, watching the waves, listening to the roar of an approaching wave before it crashed against the water, drifting into the sand, before receding back into the watery abyss. And it happened again, and again, and again, with the moon illuminating the water’s surface, making it shimmer, until it crashed into another wave, and so on. The sleepovers and the movies were long forgotten, and the two thrived in the present, in the now, with the waves crashing against the sand and the blood crashing against their ears, too cold to think rationally but thinking too much all the same.

“The beach is my favorite place in the world.” Lance was lost in the sea, his face precariously soft, and when Keith finally turned to look at the boy, he found himself staring. “If it weren’t too cold, I’d probably go and jump in right now.”

“Heh.” Keith smiled, his breath coming out as a fog, quickly brushed away in the wind. “And why is the beach your favorite place in the world?”

“There’s a lot of reasons for that.” Lance nuzzled into his scarf. “My family practically lives on the beach, for one, and I basically grew up here. And I like swimming, it’s something I’m actually really good at, and I like playing Chicken with my siblings. It’s usually me and Javi against Rachel and Daniel, and those two are usually pretty tame, but they get wild when it comes to a good game of Chicken. And Rachel cheats, so.” Keith laughed at the thought, teeth chittering, unconsciously leaning in closer to Lance’s radiant heat.

“But you know…..” Lance’s voice dropped suddenly, and he looked up into the stars, with a certain fondness that Keith couldn’t recognize. “I want to be a pilot. I want to be able to fly high, above the sea, and do everything that pilots get to do. I’ve always wanted to, since I was a kid.”

Lance clutched his scarf tight, and a new set of shakes overtook his body. His voice cracked. “But I can’t.”

Keith wanted to hug him. He wanted to hold him, to understand, to make him stop shaking in a way that made him feel like he was being eaten alive. But Keith didn’t know how to take care of people, especially emotional people, and he didn’t want to cross any boundaries, not now. He merely scooted closer, not daring to go any farther, and he elbowed Lance, the only way he knew how to show his sympathy.

“My dad is a fisherman.” Lance was still shaking, but now it seemed to be purely from the cold. “He’s the main source of income for my family. He’s often gone for months at a time, just to be able to make enough money to support us. But we’re still low on money, and I can’t afford to go to Garrison. So I’m working, at the coffee shop, just trying to help my mom where I can. Shiro pays me more than I deserve, because he knows my situation. And I’ll thank him every day of my life for it. But I…..” His breath hitched, and he looked up to the sky. “I want to fly up there, with the clouds and the stars and stuff. But I can’t, so I…guess I just have to settle for the ocean instead.”

Keith felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. No wonder he was so distant whenever Keith studied with Pidge and Hunk. No wonder he didn’t go to Garrison even though, by all counts, he should have been going. No wonder Shiro and him were so close. Lance, coffee shop barista, big brother, cocky bastard, comic book aficionado – was stuck to the ground. All so he could help his family.

And Keith was living his dream.

He felt selfish. He felt ungrateful. He regretted every moment he had spent complaining about studying, or thinking about skipping classes, or just all-around being a dick about his piloting skills. Because, despite it all, he was still doing all of those things, for free. All the things he was doing, Lance was stuck dreaming about, and Keith had been a complete ass about it.  

God fucking dammit if Keith wasn’t going to set this right.

“They have scholarships.” He was staring at Lance, determination piercing his gaze, and Lance seemed taken aback. “I got one, and I know you can get one too. If we work hard enough, we can get you that full ride, and you don’t have to settle for anything less than being a pilot.”

Lance sighed, clearly having already thought these thoughts as well. “Those scholarships are hard to get. And I’m not as smart as Hunk or Pidge. I really don’t think I have a shot at them.”

Keith grabbed his shoulders, hard, forcing Lance to stare him straight in the eyes and see his unbridled willpower, his will to see Lance get his dreams. “If I can get one, then you sure as hell can too. Pidge and Hunk can help you study for the test, and I have access to the flight simulator, so I can take you there and show you the ropes. We’re going to get you that scholarship, Lance, if it’s the last damn thing I do.”

Everything else was forgotten. The wind, the waves, the beach, the cold – all of it was forgotten as Keith stared into Lance, pleading, trying so hard to make Lance realize that he deserved this scholarship more than anyone. And Lance, the Lance that would give up everything just to help out his family – for once, Lance felt like he deserved it too.

“You’d…..” His words were slurred, his face slowly lighting up with hope, “You’d break into the flight simulator for me? Really?”

“Absolutely.” And Keith smiled, the kind of smile that made Lance feel all tingly inside. “Besides, it might be fun to show you that I’ve got more skills than just throwing a knife.”

Keith was suffocated by the fabric of a green coat as he was thrown violently into a hug. The hug was so tight that Keith felt his heart stitching back together, warm and proud, and he was grinning ear to ear, hugging back just as tightly. He felt a matching smile on his shoulder, muttering unspoken thank yous, and despite all of the cold, despite the biting wind and the freezing splashes of mist, Keith was burning. For the first time in his life, a life full of mistakes and broken promises, Keith felt like a good person.

“We’re going to get you that scholarship Lance. I promise it.”

Chapter Text

Keith had joined Pidge in becoming one of the resident campers of The Lion's Den. It had been a slow but gradual process, because usually Keith would only stop by only for one of three reasons; when he needed to talk to Shiro about something, when he needed help studying from Hunk or Pidge, or when he actually genuinely needed something to drink other than shitty Garrison tap water. But he kept lingering longer than he intended, usually because Hunk had convinced him to another round of Jenga (Hunk always won, but he was really nice about it so Keith couldn't even be mad) and because really, he didn't actually want to leave. And as he admitted that to himself, more and more he kept coming to the shop, to a point where Pidge was just basically reserving a seat for him at all times, just waiting for him to get his greasy ass into the shop.

Today was different. Today, for the first time, Hunk and Pidge had actually managed to catch him after class (a rare feat), and they asked him if he wanted to walk to the shop together. So he agreed, maybe a little too enthusiastically for his own liking, but he was smiling the whole time and he couldn't help it.

"You were geeking out like, so hard at Star Wars." Hunk was grinning, larger than life, somehow still pumped over their previous sleepover.

Keith breathed hard, watching his breath condensate the moment it left his mouth. "You know, usually I'd get defensive about something like that, but I'm not even going to lie - that was the coolest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"It totally is! Especially the lightsaber fights, those are just the coolest. You know, the way they just go-" Hunk was holding an imaginary lightsaber, swinging it with precision in the air- "Nyoooom, nyoooom, nyooooom-"

Pidge jumped in with her own space sword, frowning at the noises that Hunk was making. "That is NOT what a lightsaber sounds like! It totally sounds like this-" She began swinging wildly, elbowing Keith at one point- "FFCHOO! FFCHOOFHCOOFHCOO-"

"That's sounds like a rocket launcher dude, what the heck?" Hunk had stopped his swinging and was now turning to Keith for support. "Come on Keith, you have to back me up here. Like seriously, Pidge's lightsaber noises are just plain wrong."

The coffee shop was just a few yards ahead of them, and it was lightly decorated with carved pumpkins and stringed colored leaves, signifying the fact that Halloween was coming up soon. Pidge ran forward and got the door, holding it open for the two as they walked in casually.

Keith shrugged the comment off. "I think you're both wrong, I guess? I don't know." When he walked in, he noticed Shiro was busy cleaning blenders and pans, with Lance nowhere to be found.

"Then what do you think it sounds like?" Pidge let go of the door and came running in behind his friends.

"Uh, I guess......" Keith locked his knees, pretending to spin a lightsaber in his hands sylishly - "WAshhheew, WAsheewwww.....WASHEwwww....."

Hunk, Pidge, and even Shiro were staring at him, seemingly almost offended.

Pidge in particular seemed rather aghast. "I never thought I would hear a lightsaber sound worse than Lance's, but you really took the cake."

It was Keith's turn to be offended. "I don't even know what Lance's sound is like, but I cannot possibly be worse than his."

"I'm actually gonna side with Pidge on this one." Shiro had put down a half-cleaned blender and was now leaning over the counter, incredibly amused. "That was pretty bad, Keith."

Keith's entire face lit up red. "I cannot believe this."

"Besides," Shiro was walking around the counter, wiping his hands on his apron in order to dry them off. "Clearly, this is what it sounds like." He widened his stance and held his arms out, slightly bent, composing himself. Suddenly - "Ffffkrrrrshhzzzwooooom-" he was parrying with an imaginary foe, skidding across the hard wood floor with blocks and slashes. "Woom woom, psssssssshwooom.....wooom....." He stopped, imaginary lazer sword pointed at the opponent's neck, smirking.

"Holy shit." Pidge was standing still, jaw dropped to the floor. "It was like I was actually watching the movie."

 Hunk and Keith were in similar predicaments, with Hunk covering his mouth with his hands. Even Keith had to admit, that was good.

"Now if you're done gawking," Shiro cracked, showing just the scantest amount of ego, "I need Hunk to get back there and work on that self-cleaning blender idea. I really, really hate cleaning the blenders." He dropped his position and walked back around the counter, ready to tackle the disgusting containers once more.

"Got it Boss!" Hunk scrambled around the corner like an excited child in a toy store, screwdriver already in hand.

And that left Pidge and Keith. This was a pretty typical situation at this point; Lance and Hunk, though usually able to hang out and screw around, still had to work from time to time, and Shiro was often in and out of their debauchery. Jobless and lazy, the two friends were free to do whatever the hell they wanted at the shop, although most often that lead to them studying for something or another. (Or more accurately: Keith trying to study for something while Pidge typed questionable things and occasionally snickered to himself.) Keith pulled his books out of his backpack and sat across from Pidge, who was already on her laptop, fingers blazing.

Keith very, very much wanted to talk to Pidge about.....things. He had been well aware of their identification outside of the binary, but it just seemed so easy for them that he felt bothersome about questioning it. There was also the fact that they had never once brought the issue up; it seemed to Keith that Pidge gave no shits about any of it and would rather not talk about it. He was almost jealous, how little it seemed that Pidge cared about gender. And he wanted to talk about it, at least, to maybe help him get a better understanding of Pidge's situation.

Keith also recognized that he couldn't solely rely on Shiro, and to some extent Allura, about his own issues. He'd seen how haggard Shiro looked when he found him in his dorm. He'd seen the way he pulled at his hair when he realized that Keith had fucked up his binding. He knew Allura worried about it as well, even if they hadn't talked about it in a while. It was hard on them, all because he was stupid and reckless about it and didn't know who else to turn to. Pidge was the best alternative outlet he had right now, and he wanted to at least try and utilize that.

But he couldn't just come out of the gate with such a personal topic. He had to.....what was it? 'Break the ice'. Just talk with Pidge, it's fine.

"Uh." Keith scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Where's Lance?"

What a great conversation topic, Keith, good fucking job.

Pidge snapped up from her computer, and there was a glint to her eyes that Keith couldn't recognize. It almost seemed devilish, but it was too soft for that, and Keith was left puzzled. "His brother is home sick, so Shiro gave him the day off." She put her elbows on the table, on the sides of her laptop, and leaned her face into her hand, eyebrow raised. "Why?"

Fuck. He kept scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting to the side sheepishly. “I don’t know. Guess I’ve just never not-seen him here before.”

“Interesting.” Pidge did not, in fact, seem very interested in Keith’s lame backpedal, so she went back to typing without giving him so much a glance.

He looked down at his books, flushed and rigid. Maybe if he just started off asking the usual study questions, it could naturally lead to other sorts of conversation. That’s what they did anyways, right? So this should be fine.

“Hey Pidge,” he questioned, pointing to a diagram in his book. “So this is….the electromagnetic spectrum?”

She merely glanced up from her laptop, unamused. “Yep, that’s what it is.”

“Uh.” Christ, get it together Keith. “So…..it’s a spectrum. Which means that there’s different kinds of waves all across it……?” He extended that last word abnormally long, choking on the last letter.

Pidge pushed up her glasses. “You already know all of this Keith, I know you’re not that dumb.”

Fuck. Okay. Just go for it. Just go for it, Keith. “It’s kinda like…..the gender spectrum, right?” He was sweating, and his eyebrows were raised just a little too high, and his mouth couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to smile or just sit there.

Jesus fucking Christ.

She didn’t seem pissed, despite her aggressive body language. She glared at him, arms crossed, the only thing betraying her seemingly angry attitude was the small smirk on her lips. “You know, if you’re curious, you can just ask. It’s not like it’s some big secret or anything.”

He groaned and leaned back into his chair, hands bustling through his hair. “I’m not good at reading people, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh I have.” Keith flinched at the bluntness of the words, and Pidge smiled at their own savagery.

“Well alright.” He felt oddly on edge now, granted access but still unsure of how to approach. “I guess my first question would be…..” He waved his hands absentmindedly, as if trying to paint a picture he couldn’t envision himself- “Where do you fit on…..it? The spectrum?”

“No clue.” Pidge fully expected the confused eyes now on him, and closed his laptop in order to keep himself from getting distracted. “And by that I mean, I really don’t think there’s a specific spot I can point to on the spectrum where I feel most comfortable assigning myself. If anything, it changes on a daily basis. So I just consider myself non-binary.” He purred the words as if they were music to his ears.  

Keith had never actually heard of someone who had identified as such. Thus, there was a fair amount of confusion that he had, but it was mixed with a hefty amount of genuine interest. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table, head pushed forward slightly. “So how do people, like, refer to you? Does it change on a daily basis too?”

Pidge seemed to be enjoying this, and Keith felt his shoulders easing up at the realization. “I don’t care how people refer to me. If I had to choose a preference, they/them is the way to go, but I like it when people mix it up a little.” The boy itched the bridge of his nose, grinning. “It’s like a grab bag of pronouns, just like me.”

“That’s….” Keith leaned into his forearms, smiling to himself. “That’s cool. I like that. It makes it sound like you’re getting candy at a pick n’ mix. Except instead of candy, it’s…..gender.” He chuckled at the last word, and Pidge enthusiastically nodded, very much liking the simile, storing it away in their vast mental intellect for another time.

A question remained in Keith’s head, one that contradicted everything he had seen up to this point. Seeing how at ease Pidge was about all of this gave him the confidence to ask. “So if you’re non-binary, why do you let your mom call you Katie?”

Their ebullient nature was gone, replaced by a certain anxiety that Keith knew all too well, and he didn’t understand the sudden shift in attitude. They were staring at their laptop, emotionless, shoulders awkwardly hunched, and Keith wondered if he should backpedal out of this situation.

She spoke before he could think about it too much.

“It’s….hard.” For the first time that Keith could remember, Pidge’s voice was soft, and reluctant, and that spark in her eyes was gone, replaced by a sobering sense of reality. “When I told my mom that I didn’t think I was a girl, she didn’t really understand. Which was weird, because she is the smartest person I know, but she acted like it was so weird. We fought about it, and she’s slowly coming around to the whole idea, to a point where she even uses they/them pronouns. But I can tell she doesn’t completely get it, and that’s why she calls me Katie, even though I hate the name.”

Keith nodded, giving his own silent strength to the conversation. Even though Pidge was somber, this seemed to give them some therapeutic relief, which helped keep Keith off edge. “My dad and my brother don’t know either. I only came out after they left for their last tour, so they have no idea that this is who I really am. And I’m scared that when they come back, they’ll react even worse than my mom did. But I can’t not tell them, you know? And I can’t keep letting my mom call me by that name. But I don’t know what to do, and it’s really scary.”

They looked at him, bottom lip puckered, still somewhat morose. “And I don’t want you to try and comfort me or anything, I just needed to vent to someone. Lance and Hunk and Shiro know, but it helps the more I vent about it, I guess.”

“That’s fair.” Keith was relieved to learn that his support wasn’t needed – not that he didn’t want to provide it, but because he was very bad at doing so. But he could always listen, at least. “If you ever need to vent, I’ll listen, even if I don’t completely understand the whole…family thing.”

“That’s all I ask.” Pidge mirrored his relief, slowly perking back up to her normal self. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

Suddenly, Pidge's eyes flashed wide with realization. “That reminds me, actually.” He was tapping his chin, lips pursed. “I never asked you what you liked to be referred to as. Are masculine pronouns what you like?”

“Yeah-“ Keith blurted that out much too fast, and he found himself having to reel himself in. “Yeah. He/him. That’s what I prefer.”

Pidge was staring at him questioningly, thinking over something. A small hmmmmmm vibrated off of her lips, and she kept tapping her chin, before she eventually settled on smiling. “That’s good to know. Let me know if it changes.”

“Yeah. Ok.” Keith was squirming nervously. Now was the time to do it. If he didn’t do it now than he….’d probably do it some other time, but he was so tired of relying on Shiro and Allura too much. And they were his friends. Pidge was his friend. They’d understand for sure.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, which only marginally worked. “Pidge. I have something I need to tell you.”

The serious tone in his voice did not go unnoticed, and Pidge instantly tensed, her usual playful demeanor now gone. “I’m listening.”

“Um.” Keith’s voice immediately lost its nerve, and he sat there, sweating, looking at the ground, unsure of how to proceed. And Pidge kept looking at him, not with any vicious intent, but he felt preyed upon nonetheless. He couldn’t move his lips. He couldn’t, but he couldn’t back out now.

His hand snapped over to one of the napkins, grabbing it much too swiftly, and his left hand grabbed a pen, shaking unsteadily. He slapped the thin paper onto the book in front of him, quickly scribbling the words he could not say. Before he could think twice about what he was doing, he threw the piece of paper at Pidge’s head and closed himself off.

She was startled, and sat in place for a few moments, registering what had just happened. Slowly, she peeled the piece of paper off of her face, holding it between her fingers like it was a foreign object. When Pidge saw the ink, she lowered it in order to examine it.

Keith refused to look up. His nerves were on fire and the only way to contain the blaze was to just stare at the ground until Pidge did something to snap him out of it. He expected her eyes to go big, to hear a small gasp, something overreactive and highly jarring. He expected all of that because he didn’t know what other kinds of reactions there would be – Shiro and Allura, as accepting as they were of the entire ordeal, had initially reacted with a surprise that made Keith much too uncomfortable.

He felt little hands grab his shoulders excitedly, snapping him out of his head ferociously. Pidge was on her feet, jittery and grinning, a stark contrast to the image he had painted in his head. “That’s so cool!!!!! That’s so cool that I have a friend that’s sorta like me!!!” She was jumping now, and had to force her down with his own hands, much too embarrassed and confused by this show and not wanting any unnecessary eyes and ears on his conversation.

“What are you-“ Keith leaned into Pidge’s ear, his words needlessly harsh, “What are you doing? What are you jumping around for?”

Pidge was undeterred by the edge in his words. “I’m excited for you, that’s what! And I’m excited for me too. Maybe we could go shopping together for binders and stuff. That would be so cool be able to go with someone else! And we can-“

“Y-you bind?” Keith shot back, still gripping the small boy.

“Yeah! Well most of the time I do, at least, some days I’m fine without it but most days I do. And I am right now! Cool huh?”

The conversation finally began to settle in Keith’s mind, like a wave washing up to the shore – slow and steady, but full of impact. He looked at Pidge, brimming with happiness and energy, and it was almost overwhelming, how much enthusiasm they had to share. And here they were, willing to share it with Keith, almost forcing him to take a chunk of it with him.

His face softened, like blossoms in the wind, and he smiled, completely relieved. “That sounds fun. I’d….like to do that.”

“Woo!” Pidge exclaimed as they walked back to their own seat, still full of energy but in the process of winding down. They reopened their laptop, eyes glinting with purpose. “And I won’t tell anyone else, ok? Just our little inside friendship knowledge for now.”

Keith wasn’t good with words, he never was, and he wasn’t good with emotions either; but he was standing in the face of a much-too-bright star and he felt honored to be receiving some of its brightness. He allowed the emotions to flow through his voice, pure and wholesome: “Shiro and Allura know. But….thank you. For all of that. Really.”

“Psssh.” And Pidge, inquisitive and daring, did exactly what Keith wanted him to do – accepted it without a fuss. “You’re fine. I’m just excited that I finally have someone to talk to who actually understands.”

Keith smiled, blushing and relieved. “Yeah. Me too.”

Even though his chest was constricted and somewhat pained, he felt light, one more burden falling off of his core.  

--

The only thing lighting the streets this late in the night were half-dead street lights and the headlights of occasional passing cars. All of the stores were closed and most people were asleep, leaving the streets deserted, aside from the sound of scurrying rats and crushed tin cans. It was cold, but the wind was tame, and through it all walked Keith, his boots marching forward with purpose.

He was too familiar with this scene. The quiet, the darkness, the graffiti sprawled on the walls. He relished it all in the day, but rejected it at night, well aware of the dangers they implied. Yet, he was here for a reason. A reason that he initially thrived in, taking it on with a certain reckless joy; but as time went on, he became much more apprehensive about it, choosing to make this walk less and less. And he knew that wasn’t going unnoticed; they were probably going to comment on it the moment he set eyes on them, and he was going to have to squirm his way out of it somehow.

But he was stuck. Stuck in this endless cycle, held on a leash that he didn’t know how to break out of. So despite his trepidation, he marched forward, fake confidence worn like a skin, knowing he would be disappointing everyone he knew if they were aware of what he was doing.

When he rounded the final corner, there he stood, two heads taller than Keith with a mighty scowl.

“You’re late.”

Keith scoffed, staring the taller figure down. “Have I ever been early?”

“Hmph.” He crossed his arms, obviously not pleased. “You’re being rather feisty for someone who’s been mysteriously absent. Is it possible that you’re avoiding us?”

The pale boy felt a shudder go down his back. He strode up to the figure, rolling his eyes. “Just give me what I came here for, Sendak. I don’t have time to kill.”

His purple ears twitched at the sound of defiance. “I don’t like your attitude, boy. Don’t forget that I’m the one who has what you need.”

Keith flinched, unfortunately not unseen by the purple giant. “I’m going to give you this out of the good of my heart. But if you don’t show up tomorrow, know that we will find you. And it won’t be pretty.”

Adrenaline flooded Keith’s ears and he gritted his teeth, resigning himself. “I’ll be there. Now just give me the stuff.”

“Hmph. Good boy.” Sendak pulled a crumpled brown back from his back pocket. It seemed to be about the size of a baseball, the contents obscured by the bag itself. He tossed it carelessly towards the boy, who panicked and rushed to it with an eagerness that pleased Sendak. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Keith didn’t amuse him with a reply. Instead, he turned back around, leaving the Galra in the dust of his boots. He could hear a snicker as he turned the corner, and he cursed himself.

He didn’t want to do this, not at all. But he wasn’t left with much of a choice. He held up the bag, savoring the weight of the contents in his hand, and sighed.

Sorry Shiro. Sorry everyone. Hopefully you’ll never have to find out about this.

Chapter Text

Keith was in a very piss-poor mood.

The sun kept getting in his eyes and it felt like knives in his skull. Even though blinds were half-closed, just enough light shone through them at just the right angle to effectively make Keith’s blood boil. He kept trying to move his head to avoid the rising sun’s rays, but then the sun would just inch with him, and he’d growl and curse himself and pout in his poorly-cushioned seat.

He didn’t want to be here. He hated check-up day. Even though it was usually quick and painless, it still felt like such an ordeal, and it invaded every inch of Keith’s privacy that he had worked hard to maintain. And it’s not like he really gained anything from coming here anyways. The only reason he came was so that Allura and Shiro could feel better about everything. Otherwise, he’d break that window open in a flash and get the hell out of this stupid room with the half-closed blinds and the awkward sunlight.

Allura’s office was incredibly modest. It was tech-savvy, computer monitors and tablets hooked up and scattered across the room (and password locked, much to Keith’s chagrin), but that was the only distinguishably grand thing about the room. Otherwise, it felt like just another office – wooden desk with haphazard scratches across the surface, stacks of papers piling up in various in/out boxes, a headlamp in the corner for late night work.  The chair behind the desk was large and leathery, seemingly too large for Allura, and every time Keith ended up here, he wondered how long that chair had been here. It was too big for Allura, and it made her look quite childish when she sat in it, but she adamantly refused to get another chair for reasons Keith didn’t know. The only other distinguishable things about the office were the small trinkets littered across the walls and on the desk, items that Keith assumed were from her homeland but was unsure of where that was.

She barged into the room, clipboard in hand, heels clicking against the linoleum floor, and Keith snapped to attention. “Sorry I’m a bit late,” she reassured, quickly rounding the desk and sitting in the broad chair behind it. “As technologically oriented as Coran is, he still can’t figure out how to unjam the printer.” Despite her weariness, she smiled, finding solace in the small wrinkle in her schedule. “How have you been, Keith? You’re not around here much anymore!”

The light was still blinding him and Allura’s prominent voice didn’t help the pounding in his head. “I’m fine.”

“Hmmmm.” Allura examined him precariously for a few moments before grabbing the keyboard on her desk and sliding it over to her. “Did something happen to get you in a funk?”

Keith turned away from the lights and crossed his arms, the invasive question only pissing him off more. “No. I’ve got somewhere to be soon, so let’s just get this over with.”

Allura was typing, most likely notes about Keith’s piss-poor attitude, and that knowledge put him on edge. “I know you don’t like these meetings, but you’re usually not this…..aggressive about it.” She stopped typing and turned to him, genuinely worried but still holding an air of professionality. “If something happened, you need to tell me. I’m here to help Keith, you have to remember that I’m not your enemy.”

He was coiled like a spring in the chair, one bad comment away from just leaving the room entirely. But her statement ebbed guilt into his system, and although he didn’t physically relax, he opened himself up mentally, just enough to calm down. “Nothing major has happened since the last checkup. Don’t worry about me so much.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.” She smiled, brushing the comment away in a way that somehow put Keith more at ease. “Although, according to Shiro, a lot of ‘major’ things have happened since your last time here. He tells me you’ve been hanging out at his shop a lot, yes?”

Allura always knew how to cut right through his cool exterior, straight into the heart, and now he was blushing because of it. “Um,” he was mumbling now, caught red handed, “Yeah. I have been hanging out there more often…..I guess.”

“That’s just wonderful!” She clapped her hands together exuberantly. “I’m glad you’re making new friends. They all seem so lovely there, I really should stop by there more often.” She was thinking to herself, eyes raised to the ceiling, and Keith couldn’t help the coy smile that surfaced on his lips.

“You should,” he urged, tilting his head slightly in a vain attempt to escape the sunlight once more. “Shiro always likes it when you swing by.”

“More reason to go then!” She was back to typing, smiling to herself, and Keith was amazed at how completely oblivious she was. Shiro exclusively blushed around her. Shiro exclusively stuttered around her. Shiro exclusively turned into a mess around her. How had she not noticed any of this?  But there she was, typing away, happy as a clam and very unaware of Shiro’s feelings. And it would’ve driven him up a wall, but she was looking at him now, fingers waiting on the keys, loaded with another question that Keith didn’t want to answer, and he forgot about it entirely.

Keith moment of happiness disappeared when she dropped her smile, suddenly turning serious. “Shiro told me you….were binding improperly, when he found you.” She paused, mulling over the words, very aware of Keith’s anger and not wanting to destabilize it any further. “Do you need me to, uh, teach you how to do it properly? Or get you some resources?”

“I’m fine.” The words flew out of his mouth like hot oil, making Allura fidget uncomfortably. “I learned my lesson. I know what I’m doing.” He refused to look at her, staring intently at a scuff mark on the floor instead, anger bittering his tastebuds in a not-unpleasant way.

Allura looked at him, confused and slightly irritated herself. Keith was usually resistant during these checkups, that wasn’t problem – it was the fact that he was being outright aggressive, his emotions seemingly flicking on and off like a light switch. He was gripping his biceps too tightly, shoulders too hunched, body too closed off, and it made the entire situation wholly uncomfortable.  It wasn’t like him, and it contradicted the recent progress he had been making.

She didn’t have much ammunition left, and Keith walls were reinforcing themselves by the second.

“Shiro also told me you’ve been hanging out with the Galra.” Just the word itself made wrinkles appear on her forehead, made her mouth tilt downwards with too much force. “And frankly, I don’t understand why, especially when you’ve been doing so well.”

“You don’t need to know.” The words were fully venomous, and he was staring daggers at her, much too threateningly. She almost felt unsafe at how hostile he had become at the blink of an eye. Something was definitely wrong.

“You don’t need to be involved with them!” She stood up forcefully from her chair, staring back into Keith’s soul, and he backed down immediately, turning back to the spot on the floor. “They do nothing but terrible things, and you know that! They’re nothing but a bad influence-“

“I’ll do what I WAA-nt!” The last word came out completely cracked, awkwardly hitching two octaves lower, and Keith shot up in the chair, stunned and embarrassed and turning a little red. “I mean, I’ll do what I want, Allura, it doesn’t matter what I’m involved with-“

“Keith, did your voice just crack?” All of Allura’s previous anger was gone, and realization was very slowly overcoming her, tentative but knowledgeable enough to know she was probably right.

“NOOO-oo!” Keith’s hands flew to his mouth, eyebrows sky high, and his entire body was flushing crimson.

She was flipping through a vanilla folder, skimming various papers from previous check-ups, concerned. “Keith. As far as I know, you’re not on any hormones. Why is your voice cracking?”

He panicked. His hands reached down to grip the arms of his half-broken chair, sweating. Allura noticed that his pupils had shrunk considerably. “I don’t know! It’s never done this before! I don’t know what’s going on!”

She rushed around the desk, arms outstretched, just shy of grabbing the pale boy. “Calm down, Keith! It’s ok! Just talk to me, and we can figure this out together, ok?”

Her fingertips brushed his shoulders, and he reacted violently, all but throwing his body away from her. “I need to be somewhere!” He was thrashing, grabbing his bag with too much force. “I have to Goo-Oo dooOO something! I can’t do this right now!”

“Keith, please! I’m sure whatever you’re doing can wait-“

“No! It can’t! I’m sorry!” The door was flung open and Keith flew out of the room, not even bothering to close it. Allura ran out of the room, yelling at him to wait, but he was already out the building by the time she was out of her office.

Coran stood near the door, making his own commotion over the incident. “He’s got quite the legs, that boy! I didn’t stand a chance against him!”

Allura groaned, leaning against the doorframe, and despite her own personal wishes, she let out one harsh, solitary “Fuck.” This did not go unheard by Coran, who was next to her in a flash, jaw wide and full of surprise.

“What’s got his boxers in a bunch?” He stood a foot away from her, head bobbing up and down as he examined her for any signs of a physical altercation. “And did he hurt you, Mrs. Allura? Why, I’d give him a piece of my mind if he did!”

“No, none of that.” The side of her head clunked against the wooden frame, too tired to try and do it any gentler. “But something is wrong with Keith. And Coran? I think it has to do with the Galra.”

Coran dropped his smile, his mustache sadly falling along with it. He looked down, hand covering his mouth, and sighed, defeated. “I thought I’d been making good progress with the Galra! I don’t understand. Why would the boy go back to them?”

All Allura could do was rub her temples and try not to worry. “I don’t know, Coran, I really don’t know.”

--

“How’s Javi doing?”

Lance was in the middle of making a latte, pouring the steamed milk into a large mug. “He’s doing better today. It was just the flu, nothing deadly or anything, but…..being home helped.” He put the container down and set the mug on the counter for the customer, giving them a curt nod and a signature wink.

“That’s good.” Shiro was making an Italian soda in his corner, pumping the flavoring into a plastic cup. “Was it at least fun, or were you just on nanny duty all day?”

“Pssssh. I make it fun.” Lance was turned around, leaned against the counter, watching Shiro make his own drink. “Javi mostly slept all day, so I ended up playing hide and seek with Danny and Anabel. Which made me realize that babies aren’t really good at playing hide and seek, because Anabel kept trying to crawl into the dryer, and I kept having to scoop her out before something bad happened.”

Shiro belted a hearty chuckle at that, warming the spirits of everyone in the building. He grabbed a bottle of club soda and filled the cup to the brim before slapping a lid on it and sliding it across the counter. “You sound like the older brother I wish I had. I’m sure your family appreciates your antics very much.”

Lance raised his eyebrow at that. “You’re an only child, right?”

“Yep. Takashi Shirogane flies solo.” He jokingly flexed a bicep at that, an equally joking grin to match, and a high pitched squeal could be heard in the distance (which the two politely ignored).

“I wonder what it’s like to grow up without any siblings.” Lance looked wistful, leaning over to take a free sample of the new pumpkin spice muffins they had on display. “I wouldn’t trade any of mine for the world, but it’s interesting to think about, at least.”

Shiro joined him in his muffin escapade, leaning over to take a piece himself. Hunk’s new recipes were always delicious, and Shiro wondered what his baked goods selection would look like if the gentle giant wasn’t around. “You’d probably be a lot quieter. And you would flirt with the customers less. I think I would like that, actually.” He chuckled, small crumbs falling off the crinkles in his mouth.

“Hey!” Lance stepped back, mock offended. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of shutting up. I just choose not to, because everything I have to say is funny.”

Pidge and Hunk walked in the store, and Lance glanced at the clock – just as usual, late afternoon, right after classes had ended.

“You’re not completely wrong.” Shiro waved at the two patrons, who waved back with glee, quickly walking up to the counter. “You’re just mostly wrong.” Shiro patted him on the back when he noticed the blush creeping up Lance’s face, just to remind him that it was all in jest.

“Hey guys,” Lance glanced at them nonchalantly with his mouth drooping open. “Where’s pretty boy?”

Hunk shrugged the question off, rolling around the counter to where his apron was hooked. He dropped his backpack under the bar and slipped the loop of the rough fabric around his neck, moving to tie the two strings behind his back. “He wasn’t at class today, which was weird. I just figured he was sick or something.”

“He wasn’t at class today?” Shiro’s voice was stern, concerned, and it took Hunk back a little.

“No. Why, is something up?”

Shiro crossed his arms and looked to the entrance of the store, somewhat distressed. His lips were taut in a thin line and there was a noticeable crease in between his eyebrows. “Allura texted me earlier today. She said Keith was acting odd at his checkup this morning, and that I should talk to him when he stopped by. But if he missed class……”

It was Lance who jumped into the train of thought, more curious than concerned. “What’s he need a checkup for? If he was going to the doctor, than Hunk’s probably right and he’s just sick.”

“No, nothing like that.” He waved the idea off and leaned over to grab another chunk of muffin. “They try to do monthly checkups on all of the youth center visitors to see how they’re holding up. Allura handles them personally, and even though I think that’s too much work for her, she still does it anyway.”

Lance, on cue, pounced his boss’s sudden flush. “Shiro and Allura sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-“

Shiro slammed his prosthetic’s hand over Lance’s mouth, completely silencing him. “Nope. You are not doing that to me right now.”

Hunk was now next to Shiro, giggling innocently. “But it’s so adorable, Boss! Every time I see you two together my heart feels like its melting, it’s so cute.”

A knock on the wooden counter centered everyone’s attention to Pidge, who was giggling along with Hunk but still concerned about other matters. “Does Keith have a phone we can call? We could also go check out his dorm. I don’t know where his room is, but if you found it, I’m sure we could do it too.”

“He doesn’t have a phone, which I should probably remedy in the upcoming month, because he makes me too nervous not to have one.” He chewed on the muffin, allowing the flavor to mix in with his thoughts as he formulated a plan. “Everything seems weird, but it’s not dire yet. Let’s see if he comes into the shop at all today. If not, then I’ll go pay his room a visit after work.”

“Hmmmmmmm.” Lance, oddly enough, seemed to be thinking hard about all of this, his piece of muffin now forgotten. “You sure we can’t just send Pidge over to check out his dorm? It’s not like they have anything better to do anyways.”

“Hey!” Pidge leaned over the counter to take a swipe at Lance, who barely dodged it. “I’ll have you know that I was planning on looking up sweaters to buy for Spunky! It’s getting cold and he needs to be kept warm.”

Hunk groaned into his hands. “That is so weird. I don’t understand you and that chameleon at all.”

Shiro was chuckling, his distress somewhat relieved, and he pushed off of the counter, smooth as a whistle. “He’s an adult, and we’re not his parents. Let’s just do what we do normally until he comes in. Then we can figure it out from there.”

And that’s exactly what they did; Shiro forced Lance to grab a duster and swipe the neglected corners of the store, still slightly embarrassed from Coran’s showcase from before; Hunk continued to experiment with his blender, coming close to cutting off his finger one too many times; Pidge bought a couple of stylish sweaters for her chameleon while chugging down vanilla lattes like it was water; and Shiro worked on odds and ends, cleaning various machine parts in the sink and occasionally slinging back into his office to work on some paperwork.

The sun was beginning to set earlier and earlier as Autumn settled in, and only the dimmest of sunlight haze was left in the sky now, the shop solely illuminated by the warm lights dangling from the ceiling. It was about a half hour before closing, and Shiro was beginning to get worried. His fingers kept slipping under the soapy sink water and he kept having to wipe his forehead clean of sweat with his sleeve, and as the sun went down and the lights went up, he found himself biting his lip with anticipation and hope.

A few months ago, this wouldn’t have been unusual. That was who Keith was, before Garrison and before the coffee shop; rebellious, prone to impulsive decisions, and very off-the-radar. And it was hell, in its own way, because Shiro knew he wasn’t exactly out volunteering for charity. The resurgence of the Galra in the last year didn’t help matters, and they seemed to specifically target kids at the center, knowing they were easily susceptible to such influences. Keith confirming his involvement with them made his heart go cold, and new worries flooded him now, because the Galra were growing powerful and he didn’t know what to do about it. At least, based on the other night, Keith seemed to be moving away from that direction, but nothing was certain, especially with his disappearance today. He didn’t understand it fully, no, and he hoped for the best, but feared for the worst.

No one usually came this late in the evening, but Shiro kept the place open for the occasional patron who did. This, along with his heightened sensitivity, is what caused Shiro to snap his head up so suddenly when the bell rang, and finally, in walked Keith, looking like a bat out of hell.

He refused to look up and bulleted towards the counter, ignoring the relieved and excited declarations of joy around him. His hair was tattered and greasy, more than usual, and he was so tense that Shiro was afraid he would just pop off and run away at the slightest intrusion of personal space. There were scuff marks all over his boots and his hands were firmly shoved into his pockets, body closed off entirely. It looked bad, and from the sounds of it, the reality was even worse.

“Look who finally showed up!” Lance was swooning over the counter, cheesy grin ready to go. “We were a bit worried about you, you know, but I figured you’d-“

“Just…..” His voice was harsh, edged, and he gritted his teeth so hard he could’ve chewed through steel itself. “Just get me the tea. Now.”

Everyone took a step back. The animosity was rolling off of him in waves, and every word he choked out crashed into them hard. Even Hunk, the one with the most ability to cut through such layers, was powerless, standing near the back of the shop, stunned.

Lance was deterred, but he powered on regardless, his momentarily-shaken confidence now back in stride. “You gotta say please, you know, baristas have feelings too-“

“Get me. The tea. I can’t…..” He finally looked up, and an entirely new world was shown to Shiro and Lance – there was a cut mark on his cheek, recently scabbed, and his eyes were red and puffy but empty of tears. “I need some tea right now. And I need to go.”

Lance dropped the act entirely, now fully worried and slightly emotional. “Dude. Keith? Are you ok? You really don’t look ok.”

Shiro moved to the skinny boy’s side, already prepared tea in hand, gently handing it over like an olive branch. “Here’s your tea. Now, will you tell me what’s going on?” His eyes were pleading, his face soft, and Keith refused to look at any of it.

“I can’t.” His hand was shaky as it reached over to grab the large cup of tea. He spilled some of the steaming hot water on his hands, but he didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, he just moved the tea closer to him, turning around and headed for the door. “Forget about this. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He was storming towards the door, a little panicked, tea shaky in his hand, trying to follow his own words.

“What the-“ Lance was over the counter in an instant, chasing after the haggard boy with the matted hair. “What the hell is wrong with you? You need to talk to us-“ He reached out and gripped Keith’s shoulder, trying to slow him down-

He was thrown violently backwards, the tea was spilled all over the ground, and Keith was staring at him like a feral animal, holding him at knifepoint.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” His hair was sticking in all directions, his canines flared out viciously, and his eyes were filling with something primal, something ferocious that didn’t seem natural. The cut on his cheek was puffed out, and his stance was wide, aggressive, ready to pounce at the slightest movement.

Nobody dared to move. Pidge and Hunk just stared, frightened to the core, frozen in place by their second-hand adrenaline. Shiro was shocked, less scared than the others but completely taken aback, petrified by this new, carnal vision of the boy he’d mentored for so long. And Lance? Lance was shaking, hands raised high, unable to move, scared for his life, scared for his friend, and a million thoughts running in his head, all incomprehensible under the rush of fear.

Keith just kept staring, his grip on the knife so tight that his knuckles were white, and his breathing was shaky, coming out in short and powerful bursts, powered solely by adrenaline and anxiety. Staring at Lance. Staring at Shiro. Staring at the knife in his hand, glinting under the hanging lights, seeing a haze of a reflection of himself in the metal, the feral and rabid self he was, all teeth and sweat and fear.

Then he remembered where he was, and who he was with, and rationality flooded his senses, dropping the knife and stepping back from himself, the self he just was, the monster he had become for just a few moments, but long enough to make a catastrophic impact.

“I-I-I’m not…..” He was stepping back, and they were still staring at him, like he was a caged animal they were scared of, and he was shaking, stuttering, confused and angry and scared and so so lonely. “That’s not….I WAAAaasn’t….”

“Keith.” It was Shiro’s voice, an anchor in a sea of anxiety, but it did little to help the boy whose entire body was flooded with unstable feelings. “I need you to take a deep breath, calm down, and take a seat. You have to tell us what’s going on.” Even Shiro’s voice wavered occasionally, but he tried his best to remain steady, if only for himself.

He kept moving to the door, ever so shakily, the words came out cracked and needy: “I can’t. I can’t, I can’t…..”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He threw the door open and bolted, needing to be anywhere but here, where he had just thrown away everything he had been given.

His mind could recognize that people were screaming his name, but his feet didn’t listen, pounding against the pavement at breakneck speed, going, and going, and it hurt to run so much, so hard, but he couldn’t stop, not until he was absolutely away from that damned shop. All he could think about was that knife, the way he looked in the reflection, like a goddamn animal, and how Lance was so scared, terrified for his life, all because of Keith. Because of him.

When he finally slowed down, he was on the beach, and the stars were shining oh so brightly in the sky. And when he looked up at them, the crash of the waves roaring in his ears, he realized that he had just destroyed everything he had been working towards in the last few months in a matter of seconds.

Like a wildfire, Keith had burned everything in his path, leaving behind only ashes and broken dreams.

Chapter Text

Here he was again, in his room, lights off, blinds closed, and alone.

Keith was flat on his bed, right leg dangling carelessly off of the edge, staring at the ceiling which contained nothing but generic white paint. Little bumps and marks marred the surface in atypical ways, his vision just dulled enough to make the wall look like it was constantly shifting with the small grooves. Just like Keith, it was blank, unnoticeable, and full of little marks that ruined the smooth image it wanted to portray.

He didn’t have his knife to fiddle with in order to distract him. The instant noodles and canned pears had long lost their flavor, his homework was shoved into a pile in the corner, and his shame sat on his chest like a physical weight, keeping him down on the bed, forcing him to stare at the ceiling and confront his own mind.

Twelve hours. Twelve hours was all it took for him to cut himself down, again and again and again, until he was nothing but a friendless, helpless mess in a dark room with too many canned pears and too little soul. Just like he was months ago, before all of this bullshit that he had gotten himself involved with, but this time it was different. This time, Keith had actually hurt people on his way down, dragged his friends into the hellhole he constantly occupied. This time, he’d truly fucked up.

With the clarity of retrospect, Keith could see how much they cared. Shiro, who must’ve been frightened by the monster he was, still managed to find the strength to look after him, to ask him to calm down and explain everything so they could help him. Hunk and Pidge, who had been there for him the moment he walked into the shop, didn’t even seem angry at him; they were just terrified and unsure what to do. And Lance, the one he had arguably done the most damage to in his rampage – Lance was what hurt Keith the most. Because when he remembered how Lance looked, sweaty and panicked, bottom lip quivering and eyes blown wide, he saw the look in his eyes, one of fear – not for himself, the boy who was being held at knifepoint; but for Keith, and how quickly he had changed into an animal, and not understanding why but wanting to stop it anyways. That was who these people were; they were Good People, people with families they loved and people they cherished and joy they brought to the world just by existing. And Keith was a Bad Person, tainted by his own reckless mistakes, burning alive anything that got caught up in his path.

Nobody was going to come knocking on his door this time. This time, Keith had to fix his mistakes on his own.

It was time for Keith to become a Good Person.

Fueled by the sudden burst of passion in his core, he jumped off the bed, grabbed his winter jacket, and slammed the door behind him, forcing himself to take on the world.

--

The Den’s warmth was absent that day, replaced by a tepid anxiety that settled uncomfortably under everyone’s skin. The normally carefree and talkative atmosphere was gone; and the four members of the crew seemed like ghosts walking on air, trying and failing to cheer each other up, eventually settling into their own private routines when everyone had given up on lightening the mood.

They talked about it, yeah. It was mostly Hunk who kept bringing it up, because the sadness in the air was killing him and he just wanted to fix it and move on to being happy and having cinnamon roll-eating competitions again. But everyone was curt about the situation, shutting it down before anyone elaborated on it too much. This was because, simply, they were all very confused and unsure of what to even talk about. Pidge was anxious, mostly about the knife thing. He’d had so much fun learning about it and practicing throwing knives with Keith that seeing it turned against one of his friends shattered any naïve illusions he had about the sharp object. Hunk was just worried and needed to voice those thoughts, but he recognized everyone’s need to process their emotions, so he would back off when things got too tense. Shiro’s deeply-trenched sense of worry for the pale boy was in full swing, but now it was accompanied by, for the first time, disappointment. He’d tried his best in the last few years to not feel that way, trying instead to build Keith up and lead him down better paths so he could replace that feeling with pride, but this was bad. This was a new low, a kind of low that Shiro didn’t even know Keith had, where he held one of his employees at knifepoint. Shiro couldn’t wipe that away. He saw it with his own eyes, and it destroyed him on the inside, because he couldn’t decide whether or not to seek the boy out or leave him to stew in his own guilt.

And Lance? Well, nobody had a clue what was going on in Lance’s mind. On the surface, Lance was acting exactly the same as he would on any other day. He’d flirt with the customers, wink at them when he gave them their drink, make annoying jabs at Hunk and Pidge, and steal too many free food samples from the plate on the counter. He was a constant in a sea of variables, grinning and pointing finger guns along the way. But to Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro, something was incredibly off. His smile was just too slow to rise, like he was pushing it out instead of allowing it to rise, and there were bags under his eyes, which was a red flag considering how precarious he was about his skin routine. The jabs he made seemed half-hearted, and his voice had little inflection, seemingly monotone in places where he’d be off the charts with his tone. There was nothing natural about Lance, it was all robotic and forced, and nobody knew how to approach him about it, especially when they were all dealing with their own demons.

It’d been like that all day. The Saturday sun high up in the sky, lighting up the Den with a faux warmth that didn’t actually warm up anything, the smell of coffee beans bittering the air.

This was the scene Keith walked into, head low, lip bitten nervously.

The lack of response was stifling. Or maybe it was the fact that what response he did get was tense and unsure, a stark contrast to the normally bright faces he’d gotten used to at this point. It was off, and it was cold, and it was discouraging to him, even though Keith didn’t know what he had really expected. But this wasn’t the time for him to play the victim card. He was the reason everything was so messed up, and he was going to have to cut through this tension, even if he had to barrel through it with no concept of how deep it went.

Hunk’s hand naturally went to wave at him, but it stopped once he remembered the situation, and he turned away, a little scared of Keith. Pidge noticed him, but refused to look up from his computer. Lance had saw him, and his eyes stuttered for a moment with many different emotions –fear, worry, a tiny glint of happiness and a whole lot of sadness- before he shuffled to the back of the store, trying desperately to find something to work on so he didn’t have to confront any of this.

Shiro was the only on to tackle him head on, staring at him with a seriousness that Keith had seen before but was still unsettled by. He stood behind the counter, hands at his hips, waiting, challenging Keith to prove himself, to prove that he was here and he was going to take this entire mess seriously.

That revved Keith up. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially not one with as heavy of implications as this one.

He strode up to the counter, previously bitten lip now stongly pouted out as his feet settled a foot away from the wooden barrier. “I need to talk to you.”

Shiro’s face stayed stone cold, the only change being a slight raise of his eyebrow. “What do you plan on talking to me about, exactly?”

Keith could tell there was resistance in his voice, mingled with just a pinch of hurt, and he had to steel his nerves in order to stand strong. “I need to…..” He reached back and scratched his neck, looking at the ground. “….Apologize and explain everything. From last night. I screwed up.”

“You did more than screw up, Keith.” Shiro, normally calm and gentle, was not mincing words today. “You almost hurt one of my employees.”

“Um.” There was too much pressure in his ears, and his fists kept clenching and unclenching anxiously. He’d seen a disappointed Shiro before, but it was always counteracted with a strong wave of support and a want to help Keith out. None of that was present here – it was just Shiro and his stone cold disappointment, providing no cushion for the fall. “I’ll tell you everything. And I’ll apologize for everything. I just need to talk to you…..” his eyes jumped across the other three patrons nervously- “…..in private.”

Keith couldn’t tell if Shiro was considering the proposition, because his stonewalled face refused to let out any emotion other than weariness and disappointment (which Keith deserved). But when no immediate response came, he had to assume that the broad Japanese man was at least thinking about it. So Keith stood there, nervously, his fate in the hands of Shiro.

“Hunk.” His sudden bark jolted both Keith and Hunk to attention, with Hunk the more flustered of the two. “You’re in charge of the store while I’m gone. Lance, you’re in charge of making sure Hunk doesn’t feed the cat, because clearly Hunk can’t control himself around that furball.”

Lance snickered at the jib, and Hunk blushed and stammered, caught red-handed in front of everyone. “He’s adorable, I’m sorry! I just want to make sure he’s happy!”

“He’s plenty happy just by having you around, trust me.” Shiro swung his apron off of his neck and onto the hook. “Keith and I are going on a walk. I should be back soon.”

Keith sensed the trepidation emanating off of the three at the sound of his name, but it was lost to him under the wave of relief that Shiro brought him. His role model was giving him a chance to prove himself, even though he probably didn’t deserve it, and he was silently grateful, showing off a small smile at Shiro.

He smiled back, but only for a moment, before he was back to his heavy seriousness as he grabbed his coat and slid around the counter. “See you in a bit guys, you have my number if you need me.”

And next thing Keith knew, he was out of the building, walking down the street with the one person who he could talk to.

--

They’d ended up in a public park, much to Keith’s chagrin, but Shiro had sat them down on a bench in a more secluded part of the park, far away from the scampering kids playing tag and the concerned parents watching from afar, so he didn’t complain.

Very few words were exchanged on the short walk here. Shiro made one or two passing comments about how he looked better today, and how he was happy that Keith had bothered to shower, but other than that it was just tense silence, waiting until they could settle down and figure everything out. Now that they were finally settled, however, Keith’s mouth dried up and the realization that he was actually going to have to talk to Shiro about everything made him feel like there were hot irons against his chest.

Shiro threw him a bone, more relaxed now that they were out in the sun and away from the unfortunately cold atmosphere of the Den. “No more hiding things from me, Keith. I need you to tell me what happened last night, and I need you to be honest. You did a lot of damage, and I feel like I’m owed an explanation for it.”

Always so rational and composed, words that had never once applied to Keith. He sighed and kicked the dirt below the deteriorating oak bench. “You know I’m not good with words, but I’ll try. And I know that I probably don’t deserve to ask for this, but…..try not to judge me, ok? I’m ashamed of what I did, but I did it and I had my reasons, so just…try to understand.”

 The taller man nodded mutely and creaked back into the old bench, crossing his legs. “I’ve never judged you for anything before, why start now?”

Something warm tingled in the back of Keith’s neck, and he was smiling unconsciously. “Yeah. Alright. That’s fair.”

He took a deep breath and leaned his elbows into his knees. This was either going to be cathartic or explosive. It was up to him to decide what direction that went.

“I know you don’t like me hanging out with the Galra. And frankly, I don’t either. I know it seemed otherwise because I was always dodgy about it, but I never wanted to hang out with the Galra. I got roped in with them because they have something that I need.”

“Something that you need?” Shiro’s eyebrow quirked at the boy who was leaning forward too harshly.

“Again, don’t judge me.” Keith reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar crumpled brown bag, slightly lighter than before. He held it like precious cargo, only allowing Shiro to take it from his hand when he was sure that he had a firm grip on it.

Curiously, Shiro opened the bag, inspecting its contents carefully. Keith didn’t look up, but he could hear the sound of the contents jostling around in the bag, and he could hear the not-subtle gasp that came out of Shiro once he recognized what he was looking at.

“Keith,” he gasped, his voice cracking upon recognition. “Is this testosterone?”

“Yeah.” Keith was still staring at the ground, and his hands were on the back of his neck, gripping it tightly. “That’s exactly what it is.”

“That’s….” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to need you to explain why you’re getting your hormones from the Galra, and not a doctor, like Allura told you to do.”

He swallowed thickly. “I went to the doctor about two months ago. I told him about my situation, and he told me I had to wait six months before they could do anything. Six months, Shiro, six months of routine checkups just for the doctor to prove to himself that I wasn’t fucking lying about my ‘condition’.” Anger began to spillover into his mouth, and his voice began to get horse. “Do you know how hard it is? To live in a body that doesn’t even feel like it’s yours. I have to basically break my ribs just to even feel a little normal. And even if I did wait six months, there was still a chance they could reject it.”

A palm was on his back, and Keith flashbacked to that one night, not so long ago, where that same hand was helping him through a similar situation. His shoulders instinctively loosened, but he was still stiff as a bone, breathing heavily. “The Galra somehow knew about my problem. I don’t know how. One night they approached me, telling me they would give me the hormones if I just did what they wanted. I was desperate, Shiro. I needed the hormones. I didn’t want to get involved with them, but I also couldn’t wait six months just to get rejected. I couldn’t. I couldn’t…..”

“I understand, Keith.” The palm was rubbing circles into his back. A little boy squealed in the background, followed by childish laughter, and the wind kicked up, blowing newly fallen leaves across their feet. “I wish you had told me sooner. I could’ve helped you. Or at least, we could have figured out something. But now….” He held up the bag, eyebrows creased, now stuck in the complex situation that Keith had been in for a while. “Now I don’t know what to do. And none of this explains why you did what you did last night.”

He tensed up at the memory. He couldn’t scrape away the image of himself from last night, feral and wild, no matter how much he tried. It was probably going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Like I said, in exchange for the hormones, the Galra had me on a leash. I had to do what they told me to do. Yesterday……I had to do one of those things. I can’t tell you what I did, but I need you to know that I’m ashamed of it and I will never do anything like it again, so please just….” He threw his hand into the air impulsively, “….Just don’t ask me what I did, ok? But it was awful. It was awful, and I needed to calm down, and I was hoping that maybe if I saw you guys and just got some tea it would help me feel better, so I came to the shop. I don’t know what happened after that.”

Shiro’s hand was still on Keith’s back, but he leaned backwards, generously digging into the bench, letting out a long and hefty sigh. There didn’t seem to be any more animosity, but now Shiro just seemed careworn, and he was looking up at the trees, watching as the wind jostled the deadening leaves and let them fall onto the ground. “When was the last time you took the testosterone?”

“The night before last.” The change in subject left him feeling guilty and exposed.

“Ah. That explains it.” He sniffled and ran the sleeve of his jacket against his nose, which was turning cherry red under the cold breeze. “If you’ve been self-medicating, then I doubt that you’ve got your dosage right. And if you just took your dose the day before all of what happened, then no wonder why you were so uncontrollable. Your hormones were out of whack, you were having a stressful day, and you were emotional over it all.”

Keith’s lack of knowledge was now exposed, and he was blushing, frustrated at himself. “I’m not proud of any of it.”

“I know you’re not.” Shiro patted him between his shoulder blades. “But you’ve got a lot of things you need to fix, Keith. You really hurt everyone when you did what you did.”

“I know,” he sighed, bringing his hands up to his face in order to breathe warm air into them. “I’ll do whatever I can to try and make this right.”

A small hum of approval came from the broad man’s flush lips. “First, you owe Allura and Coran an apology for storming out of their office the way you did. After that, you’re going to try and figure out how to get hormones the proper way, because this-“ he waved the bag around for emphasis- “Is not ok. And you know that too.”

The smaller boy nodded mutely, ashamed but willing to listen, and Shiro continued. “Then you’re going to apologize to Pidge and Hunk. Though you didn’t explicitly do anything to them, they’re scared and angry at you because of last night, and you need to make it up to them. They’ve been nothing but nice to you, so it’s time for you to own up to them and make this better. After that, you’re going to have to really figure out something for Lance, because what you did to him was unacceptable. He may seem like his happy-go-lucky self right now, but you really hurt him, Keith. I mean, God, you held him at knifepoint. I don’t know how you’re going to make it up to him, but you’re going to have to do it, even if it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

Keith was wringing his hands together, burdened with guilt and a newfound sense of responsibility to make things right. “I’ll do it all. I’ll do whatever I need to do to make everything ok again. And Shiro?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“I’m sor-ry.” His voice cracked and his arms were wrapped around Shiro. Keith buried his face deep into his chest, suddenly highly emotional and incredibly guilty. “I don’t deserve any of this, and I just……Thank you, and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

Shiro’s arms were around him, one wrapped over his back and the other wrapping under the body that was awkwardly pressed against his chest, and he smiled to no one in particular. He could hear a stifled sob against his jacket, and he pressed Keith closer. “It’s gonna be alright, Keith. You can fix this. Everything will end up ok.”

“Y-you really think so?”

“Yeah.” He looked back up to the trees, colored like wildfire, lighting up the sky in a blaze of rebirth. “Everything’s gonna be ok, I promise.”

Chapter Text

When he walked into the youth center, Allura and Coran were consoled by his presence but also, consequentially, guarded and unwilling to make the first move.

Keith had expected that. There were probably a lot of questions left unanswered after his checkup-gone-wrong. But, unfortunately, that wasn’t the first time Keith had overreacted in their presence. It was the worst time he ever had, yeah, but the repetition of his reckless actions seemed to have helped soften the blow on the two youth center workers, who had probably built up a tolerance for reactive, problematic youths over the years. Hell, Keith was probably one of the main builders of that tolerance. The thought unnerved him a little and he forced himself to take a deep breath. He had to remain calm, he couldn’t just blow up and run away like the dozens of other times he had.

He had to make things right. He had to prove to himself that he, Keith Kogane, could be a Good Person.

“I’m sorry.” He charged forward like a runaway train, glaring at Allura and Coran way too intensely, hands shoved into his pockets and mouth puckered with the feeling of sourness. “For yesterday. For all of that.”

Allura stepped back, startled and then immediately confused, quirking an eyebrow in the direction of her assistant. He was just as lost, raising his palms up in a way that indicated as such. Now mutually confused, they turned back to the boy in the red jacket, stiff as a plank and incredibly unaware of their confusion. “You’re what now?”

“I said I’m sorry.” He flinched at the edge in his own words, unintentional but automatic, and he took a moment to re-steady himself. “Yesterday. When I ran out and was being weird. I didn’t mean to do that.” He looked away from the two, suddenly sheepish. “And I’m sorry for everything else too.”

“Oh, Keith!” Allura’s hands were clasped together, and the smile she wore could melt iron with its warmth. “You’re apologizing! That’s so wonderful. I was worried you’d never come back after yesterday.”

“You’re a flighty one, you know that?” Coran’s grin was equally as bright, but less warm, more curious than anything. “I’ve never seen someone bolt out of Allura’s office like that! It was actually quite interesting to watch.”

“Coran, please.” Allura was rolling her eyes lightheartedly, and she reached over to grab both Coran and Keith on the shoulder. “I’m sure we can figure everything out. Why not come into my office? I’ve got a spare moment and I’d love to talk out whatever happened yesterday.”

Keith wanted to be mad, mad at their assumptions that he never apologized, mad that they were almost playful about his aggressive attitude. It felt wrong. It was too happy, like Keith had merely knocked over a vase by accident, or something similar to that nature. They’d forgiven him in an instant, already willing to help him out with his problems, and he really, really wanted to be mad, because this didn’t seem fair and he deserved to be scowled out, deserved rejection and deserved to be yelled away, told to never come back, all of the above and more.

He didn’t deserve to be welcomed back into her office, smiles readily available, and he didn’t deserve to be handed a cup of earl grey tea from Allura, to be patted on the back by Coran while he twiddled his mustache and rambled about the old days with a twinkle in his eye.

Or maybe he did. He wasn’t really sure. Maybe this is what redemption felt like, with smiles and tea and people who cared about your wellbeing. Maybe this was what he had been missing all these years, when he chose to be reckless and he chose to be alone. Maybe other people weren’t a burden, maybe they were actually a blessing, the kind of thing that makes life brighter than it should be.

Maybe he didn’t deserve it, and maybe he did, but for once, he wanted it, and he wasn’t going to run away this time.

--

With Hunk, he hardly even had to say sorry.

He’d intercepted him on his way to work, and just like with Allura and Coran, he barged in headfirst, ready to apologize because he didn’t know what else to do. “I’m sorry,” he barked, a little too aggressive and therefore contradicting the actual words, but Hunk didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was fine with it because he could see the amount of passion Keith had, at that moment. It wasn’t really displayed prominently, what with him being a nervous, awkward mess who didn’t know how to properly apologize, but it was there in his eyes, that feeling of trying, so hard, but not really knowing how to show it.

Hunk didn’t need anything more than that. He understood perfectly. “I’m glad you’re back,” He’d murmured, sweeping up Keith in his signature bear hug, as if trying to squeeze out his own personal demons himself. “I knew that wasn’t the real you. Now come on, let’s go work on some calc. I only worked on it for like, five minutes before I got stuck.”

And that was that. They walked together, shoulder to shoulder, complaining about calculus and shooting the breeze.

--

Pidge was a much tougher cookie for Keith to crack.

At the sleepover, Keith remembered Lance mentioning it to him – that Pidge could be volatile and react poorly when personal things were brought up. Even though this wasn’t about her family, the idea still applied (or at least to Keith it did), because he had screwed up and hurt them in an unintentionally personal way. To top it all off, he’d never even really seen an angry or emotional Pidge, so he had absolutely no basis upon which to base his apology. He had an idea or two though, and it’s not like he had any other options, so just like the previous two apologies, he was going to have to barrel his way through this one, even if it was filled with more awkward mishaps that might go poorly.

When he and Hunk walked into the store, there they were, the littlest of the bunch, curled up in their habitual spot in the corner. They didn’t look up, just like before, and at least Keith had planned for this part, because otherwise he might have just given up and ran away. But he was still a little frozen, very nervous and very unused to this situation, and what pushed him over the edge was a small, reassuring smile from Shiro, across the counter, knowing what he was trying to do and supporting him all the way.

With that smile, Keith moved forward, strolling up to the boy in the green sweatshirt. They didn’t bother a glance at him, but they also didn’t react when he sat down across from them, which told Keith that he wasn’t outright hated, at least. From this position, Keith could tell they were straining to not look at him. There was just too much tension in Pidge’s shoulders, and his mouth was thinner than silk, tight and trying very hard not to move. It was a weird look for Pidge – trying to act calm and collected, like it didn’t bother than when it clearly did. Keith suddenly felt both guilty and energized.

“I’m sorry,” he started, much more gently than the other times but just as jittery. When Pidge didn’t react, Keith hasted to reach for his backpack, pulling it onto his lap and zipping open the largest pocket. “I didn’t really know how to make you feel better, so I went and got these for you, I guess.” From the backpack, he pulled out two books, one large and wide like a coffee table book and the other, thick and worn down. Carefully, he placed them parallel to each other on the table, towards Pidge, so the covers were in full view. “I thought you might like them. Or at least, I thought they were cool, so uh….”

His sentence died out into silence when he noticed that Pidge was actually looking at them. With his glasses balanced precariously on the tip of his nose, Pidge examined the two covers curiously, before picking up the smaller, thicker book. “Alien conspiracies?”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith stammered, now both nervous and embarrassed. “That one’s mine. It’s got like government conspiracies and shit. Can you believe how much the feds are hiding from us? I mean, you probably wouldn’t because you haven’t read the book but uh……” He was turning red as a beet. “….I thought you might be interested in that kind of stuff?”

She was flipping through the pages, occasionally stopping to examine some blurry picture of a UFO or a picture of supposed alien DNA. No emotion crossed her face as she scanned the pages, and Keith found himself biting the inside of his cheek. Was this how children felt, when they were being judged by a teacher or a mother? He had vague notions of that feeling, and it lined up well with how he felt now, but he couldn’t be completely sure.

After a minute or two of brief silence, Pidge put down the book and examined the other one, much more confused this time as she wrapped her hands around the wide cover. “And a book about iguanas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he repeated, like a broken record, making jerky, aborted motions with his hands. “I know you have that, like, pet lizard, and this one’s more of a picture book with some cool facts, but I figured you would still like it, because it’s interesting, I guess?”

Pidge was examining the book, same as before, but this time she was smirking, her breath coming out in short puffs from her nose, like she was holding back laughter. “Keith,” she started, looking up at him for the first time in the whole conversation, “Spunky is a chameleon. Not an iguana.”

Keith’s blushed face suddenly went pale. “Are you serious?”

“Incredibly.”

Keith felt dumb. He wanted to stab himself with one of the plastic knives on the counter, because he was stupid, and Pidge was laughing at him. In fact, it was a full blown laughter, with Pidge’s head back against the chair, clutching his stomach, knees heaving upward from the heavy force of the laugh. It was so magnetic, and so opposite of how Pidge had been when he first got here, that Keith found himself getting swept up in the laughter, fully embarrassed but giggling too, hand muffling his mouth slightly.

“Well shit,” he choked out amongst the fits of giggles. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Pidge concurred, slowly winding down but still wiping her eyes with the back of her finger. “That’s hilarious.”

“So you actually like it?”

Pidge’s coldness had been completely shed, now revitalized by their characteristic hyperactivity. “It would be pretty cool to get an iguana. Spunky is probably pretty lonely all by himself. Maybe this book will convince me to get one. And this?” They lifted up the book of conspiracies excitedly. “This sounds super interesting. I’ll probably read through it tonight.”

Keith’s face stuttered. “You can read that entire thing in a night?”

“Uh, yeah?” Pidge jokingly rolled his eyes, self-aware but still showing off a bit of ego. “I’m a quick reader. I mean, that’s how I can wait until the last second to study for our tests.”

“Jesus.” Keith was grinning, eyes blown wide, amazed and relieved and excited all at once. “Are you even human?”

And there it was, that wide, childish grin that covered her entire mouth, as she waved the alien book around carelessly. “I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

--

Lance.

Keith had really fucked up with Lance.

This was the boy that Keith had loathed just a month or so ago, and now here he was, completely ridden with guilt over that mop of brown hair. It was Lance that had rambled about his extensive family, all smiles and laughter, while he watched on, completely smitten with the entirety of the moment. It was Lance that he promised to help get a scholarship to Garrison, no matter how hard it was going to be. It was Lance who helped him with little things, whether it be introducing him to tea or hanging out with him when he felt ostracized or just putting a hand on his back when he needed to know he wasn’t alone. It was all Lance, always Lance, driving him up the wall and saving him from drowning at the same time.

Shit.

Fuck.

He was going to fix this. He was going to fix this.

Lance showed up ten minutes late to work, which according to Shiro, was a regular thing. For some reason, Keith was surprised at how undeniably Lance he looked when he walked in: cargo jacket, neon snapback, sunglasses, toothy grin. It was like he’d forgotten that Lance actually has a life outside of the shop, where he was free to be as douche-y and radiant as he wanted. He felt a little better knowing that Lance was still the same despite everything that had occurred.

Or at least, he felt better for a little bit, before Lance noticed him and immediately dropped his act.

He only looked at Keith for a brief moment before he forced himself to look away, now frowning intensely, moving to take off his jacket and his snapback in order to get ready for work. His reaction was completely opposite of how Keith would have reacted had they switched positions; non-confrontational, reserved, somewhat emotional, and surprisingly calm. That made him nervous, because Keith was confrontational by nature, and he didn’t really want to push Lance away by jumping the gun too fast.

But, again, he was confrontational, and he was impulsive, and he was desperate to fix this situation.

“I’m sorry.” There was much more emotion behind this apology than any of the other ones, and he could see how Lance winced at the bluntness of it. Keith had barreled his way to the front counter, watching Lance as he slid the apron over his neck, politely ignoring him but unable to keep his mouth shut.

“’Salright.”The word was dead on his lips, in the air, and it was completely soulless by the time it hit Keith’s ears. This wasn’t the Lance he knew. This wasn’t ok.

“It’s not alright.” Keith slung his backpack onto the counter, opening the big pocket just like before. “I screwed up big time, Lance, and I need to make it up to you. Don’t brush this under the carpet.”

He looked so tired. All of this had clearly been weighing on his mind since it had happened, and it showed in the bags under his eyes and the tiredness deep in his pupils. “You don’t need to make up anything to me. You’re fine. Now please, just let me work.”

A massive book, much larger than the previous two he had pulled out before, emerged from his backpack. It must have had a thousand pages, all filled with practice questions and theorems and everything under the moon to help prepare its reader for an entrance exam. “This was the book I used when I practiced for the scholarship exam. I want you to have it. It’s got everything you need to pass the exam, and I did promise you that we would get it, so….”

Lance opened the cover of the book, examining the tiny scribbles of words on one of the hundreds of pages of test problems. He then took a large chunk of pages and flipped through it carelessly, letting the pages fall like dominoes, only briefly getting glimpses of the concepts and practice problems that littered the book itself before the cover fell back on the pages. He was smirking, a very small but very acute heh breaking out of the corner of his mouth, before he forced out a response that was only a little better than before. “Thanks for the book. I’ll be sure to use it.”

There was still heavy resistance, a whole lot of masks simultaneously being worn but unable to hide the core tiredness that existed on Lance’s face. He seemed truly grateful, but it was unable to overcome the hurt he felt, Keith knew, and he turned around and went back to work, trying his damned-est to just let everything go back to normal.

Well, Keith wasn’t going to have any of that. He was going to rip off those masks one by one until everything was ok again. It was time to pull out his biggest weapon.

“Hey,” he barked at Lance, and he probably shouldn’t have, but he needed to get his attention – and it worked, because Lance turned back to him, a little scared (whoops). “I’m going to take you to the flight simulator today, ok? I want you to try it out for yourself.”

And while Lance was comprehending that, he looked at Shiro with a sheepish grin, because Lance was technically supposed to be working and he really should have ran this by Shiro beforehand so this wouldn’t have been a problem. But he didn’t, because he was impulsive, and even though Shiro had given him the world and a half, he was asking for just one more thing, just a small morsel of help to make everything right again so they could all move past this mess. And Shiro, the wonderful soul that Keith didn’t deserve, just nodded and smiled back, always understanding and willing to help.

Now Lance’s guard was completely down. His face was overly dopey, eyes wide and eyebrows drooped low, his lips tightly knit in a small circle, because he hadn’t expected that kind of offer. Keith didn’t know what was going on inside of his head, because Lance was currently a combination of masks and surprise and resistance, but he wanted to guess that Lance was at least excited about the idea. It showed a little bit, when the corner of his mouth kept twitching upwards unwittingly, so Keith pushed his odds. “I can help you out with everything, so don’t worry about not knowing what you’re doing. And it might be fun too? I mean, I always have fun in the simulator, so I imagine you will too, I guess.”

Lance was still unsure, standing behind the counter, not making any movements, so Keith tried for one final, desperate push. “Just let me do this for you, ok? I screwed up and I don’t know how else to make it right. If it sucks, you can tell me to fuck off, and I will. Just give it a shot. Ok?” Keith couldn’t remember a time in his life when he was actively pleading for something, or at least when he had done so as intensely as he was now. But here he was, with a cracking voice, staring at Lance in a way that made him wonder if this was how Lance stared at the night sky. Lance stared back, broken down, wanting to forgive just as much as Keith wanted forgiveness.

“Yeah,” he choked, and it was quiet and a little hesitant, but it was still there. “Yeah, alright. I’ll check it out.” Just like Keith, he looked at his boss for permission, and merely received a pat on the shoulder and a small smile as Shiro headed into his office in the back, his job now done.

“Good.” And Keith was wasn’t really a grinner, much more a smiler, but damn if he wasn’t grinning now. “It’s still pretty early so no one should be there. Perfect for you to try it out.”

Lance was already in the middle of throwing off his apron and snapping on his stupid hat. When he had properly suited himself up in his worn-and-true clothes, he jumped over the counter (because he could never just walk around the thing), his mood considerably more open and warm. “I call shotgun!”

Keith let out the most exasperated, relieved sigh he’s ever had. “You’re going to be piloting the thing, Lance! And there’s no ‘shotgun’ in a jet airplane!”

Ah, yes, there it was, that stupid toothy grin, uninhibited and full of an endearing amount of douchebaggery. “There is in my plane, Kogane. I’m going to be both the pilot and take shotgun.”

“Jesus.” Keith’s grin hadn’t disappeared yet, and it served to only grow wider as the two boys walked out of the store. “You’re something else.”

--

It was quiet in the simulation’s hallways. Just how Keith liked it. He probably should come here more often on weekends, because it was silent and empty and it had an odd sense of privacy that made him feel much more comfortable than he did when he was flying the hunk of junk in front of all of his peers, critiquing him without even knowing him. And yeah, he knew he was one of the best pilots in his class, but that didn’t mean he liked their prying eyes any less.

In front of them, on a metal archway signaling the entrance to the simulator, there stood a broad, red sign with bold, white letters: “NO GUESTS PAST THIS POINT.”

“You’re not gonna get caught,” Keith eased, aware that there was possibly a chance that they were going to get caught. “No one’s ever really here on the weekends. And even if we did get caught, I’ll take all of the blame, so don’t worry about it.”

“Psssh.” Lance was right next to him, full of unnecessary swagger. “Like I was worried about that. I always knew you would fall on the sword for me, Keith-y boy.”

He gritted his teeth as he pulled his ID out of his pocket, lifting it to the scanner on the door. “Just this once. Don’t make me take it away.”

The metal doors slid open to reveal a vast, cavernous metal structure, domed and hollow aside from two large, hydraulic structures in centered in the middle of the circle. Up a floor, there was a steel walkway surrounding the perimeter, planted with screens, meant for observers who wanted to watch the simulation from the outside.  Keith stepped in without a second thought, having done this plenty of times before, but he stalled when he realized that Lance was still stuck at the entrance, flabberghasted to all hell. He’d forgotten, really, how big of a deal this actually was for Lance. This was a taste of his dream, finally in front of him after years of doubt, and something about that thought tingled Keith’s nerves.

“This is……” Lance was looking all over, at the apex of the dome to the balcony to the simulators in the middle of the floor. “This is so cool.”

“You get used to it after a while.” Keith was in his environment, and he was wearing his cockiness on his sleeve. “This isn’t even the cool part, Lance. Now come on, let’s get in the simulator. Then you’ll see what’s cool.”

Lance jolted out of his thoughts and quickly caught up with the pale boy, who was busy scanning his ID on the machine itself. After it registered, a green light beeped in response and the hatch unlocked, which Keith yanked aside easily. He stepped inside the cramped compartment, with Lance closely behind, like a little kid following his mom.

It was small enough that neither of them could stand up straight, and they were both awkwardly hunched half-over, heads bumping the ceiling and grazing their hair. At the front of the simulator sat two chairs, side by side, towering over a panel full of various knobs, handles, buttons, flashing lights, and all sorts of gadgetry that was both enticing and nerve-wracking for Lance. But none of his nerves mattered to him, because he was here, finally, and he’d be damned if that pilot seat wasn’t calling his name right now.

Lance all but jumped into the metal seat, head banging roughly against the ceiling as he settled in, ignoring the growing pain on the top of his head because he is here, and ready to go. Keith took the copilot seat and began typing in some instructions into a monitor on the side, flipping a couple switches along the way.

“I’m gonna put most of the settings on autopilot, because it’s your first time and I want you to just get a feel for the whole thing. You’re just gonna be in charge of the actual piloting, along with a couple of propulsion settings that I’ll help you out with.” A green light flashed across the screen, accepting Keith’s commands, and the machine roared to life, the dark screen symbolizing the front of the plane lighting up in a fury of colors.

“Holy shit!” Lance yelped, accidentally bumping his head into the hard ceiling once more. Still, he wasn’t deterred as the screen settled on an airplane runway that stretched infinitely outwards, waiting for takeoff.

Keith was smiling at the show of enthusiasm before him, even blushing a little. It was cute to see Lance so riled up, and the fact that it was Keith that gave him all of this made him blush even more. “Alright, so put your hands on those two levers in front of you. I’m gonna flip a couple of switches to get us going, and once I tell you to pull, you need to pull on those levers, ok?”

His face turned serious, and his sweaty palms gripped the levers with newfound confidence. “Got it.”

The simulator purred like an engine when Keith flicked the switches, and the machine was propelled virtually forward, quickly gaining momentum. To Keith, this was nothing, just a necessary step in order to get to the really juicy parts of flying; but to Lance, this was happening, the levers were in his hands and the machine was moving forward under his command, and God, he felt so alive.

“Now!” Keith snapped, and Lance yanked his arms back, pulling the airplane into the air, upwards and upwards and upwards. The shorter boy started pushing buttons on the dashboard, trying to stabilize Lance’s sloppy technique (not that Lance was aware of this) and smooth out the climb. It was like this for a solid few minutes, Lance fiddling with the levers but maintaining a solid pull, while Keith fail-safed his every move without him knowing. Finally, they were at an acceptable altitude, above the clouds, and the pixelated sun shined brightly on the screen as the engine settled into a dull purr.

Everything about Lance, in this moment, was radiant. The way he stared at this nonexistent sky, the way his hands cramped up from overexcitement, the way his eyes kept glimmering, like he was constantly having to remind himself that he was here, and that he was flying this simulator. Keith was almost envious of his passion. When he first got into the simulator, he remembered being excited, but nothing near the caliber that this olive-skinned boy was, all shimmering eyes and flushed face and sweaty palms. But any sense of jealousy was overshadowed by a sense of awe, like he was watching something meant only for private eyes, something ethereal and pure and magical.

Keith felt like he was freefalling, and when that beautiful grin resurfaced once more, he all but hit the ground, hard, confused and exhilarated and completely, utterly gone.

“Can I do stuff?” Lance was bouncing in his seat, fiddling with the levers tentatively, waiting for Keith’s command. “Takeoff was awesome, but I want to actually fly this thing, you know?”

“Oh yeah. Uh, of course.” Keith felt like he was dying.  He tried to hide his flush as he typed some more commands into the screen. He kept missing keys and having the backspace, which flustered him even more and even pissed him off a little because fuck, he was gone. “You should be able to fly around now without worry. Just use those levers and if you feel up to it, try the third one to your left. That’s when things get really fun.”

And of course, Lance, the kid who was living his dreams, immediately yanked the third lever.

“Holy fuck-“ Keith panicked to try and steer the plane into a more stable position through the computer, watching with horror as Lance cackled his way through a barrel roll. Normally, he lived for this kind of recklessness, but now he was gripping the panel for dear life as Lance screamed his way through another one, completely throwing the simulation off balance.

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!!!!” God, he was so loud, and so annoying, and Keith couldn’t stop watching this mess in action. “Lance McCain, ace pilot, at your service!” He corkscrewed into the clouds and Keith was trying so hard to make everything work so the simulation didn’t automatically shut itself off.

“Calm down!” He tried to scream over the boy as he frantically pushed buttons as a countermeasure to Lance’s impulsiveness. “Jesus, Lance, can’t you just fly this thing like a normal pilot-“

The plane immediately eased up, returning to its original place back above the clouds, leaving Keith amazed at the speed of Lance’s recovery. “I was just fucking around,” Lance brushed off, still grinning like a maniac high on adrenaline. “Don’t worry, I’m not that terrible. Besides, that was pretty fun, wasn’t it?”

This boy was going to be the death of Keith and his stupidly red face. “Whatever.”

The simulation coasted for a while, Lance savoring the feel of the mechanism while Keith watched, earnestly, a little more into it than he should’ve been. Lance was like a cat, purring to himself, his eyes slanted thinly with a grin that just refused to go away. It was kinda cute, and oh so very Lance-esque. Fuck.

“Hey Keith-y boy,” Lance purred, not taking his eyes off of the screen before him. “Halloween’s coming up and usually Pidge, Hunk and I take my siblings out trick-or-treating. Afterwards we usually have a sleepover at Pidge’s house. Their mom’s gonna be gone for business this time around, so it’ll be extra fun. Was wondering if you wanted to join.”

He hadn’t ever stopped, but Keith’s blush was back with reinforcements. “D-does that mean we’re, like? Ok?”

When Lance looked at him he felt his heart rise to his throat. “We’re better than ok, Keith, we’re fucking golden.”

Keith had to look away. If he didn’t he was probably going to burst into flames. Or die. Or something. “Do I have to wear a costume?”

Lance jolted upright immediately, hands pressed against his forehead. “Holy shit. Holy shit. You’re the missing piece.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The missing piece.” Lance kept murmuring that phrase to himself, suddenly delirious. “Listen, Keith, If you’re gonna join us on Halloween, you have to wear a matching costume with us. Otherwise I immediately declare our golden friendship over.”

Well, Keith didn’t want that, especially after all the work he’d put into fixing everything. “What would I have to wear?”

And Lance, sly as a snake, leaned over the chair into Keith’s ear, much too close for Keith to feel anything but death at his core, and whispered.

The moment the words hit Keith’s ear, he knew he was going to die.

Keith Kogane was going to die of embarrassment on Halloween.

Chapter Text

Keith had never been trick or treating in his entire life. The closest he got were the church drives that his foster parents sometimes took him to when he was too young to have any substantial memories of it. The only thing he really remembers was walking home with a couple of candies in his hand, scolded by his parents about how he needed to ‘make the candy last’. He’d ignored that advice and eaten it all in one go, which meant a grounding for a week, and he pouted the entire way home.

Some might say that he needed to make up for ‘lost time’. He never really understood that expression; it wasn’t really time lost if he didn’t know he had lost it. And he hadn’t actually lost it, either, because he usually spent Halloween minding his own business, maybe sharpening his knife or watching some random cable show on the broken antenna TV in someone’s living room. He was fine with it, but the others weren’t satisfied. He had to be part of the ‘trick-or-treating’ experience, they told him, and in order to do that, he had to wear their costume, or else he wasn’t ‘having fun’.

That’s how he ended up here, in the middle of a street, worn-down tar under his costumed feet, completely willing to just fall over and die.

“Oh my god, Keith, you’re adorable.”

Considering how cold it was outside, Keith was positively on fire.

“It’s a little big on him, but it’ll work.”

Oh my god. Oh my god.

“Hey Keith?”

And that one, with the stupid brown hair and the stupidly pretty grin-- he was going to kill that one.

“Yeah?”

He raised a paw up near his face. “Nyah!”

What the fuck is that. Oh my god.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Lance was standing in a red cat suit, complete with red paws and a hoodie with prominent cat ears. He’d even painted on his own whiskers, which was so cute oh my god Keith wanted to DIE. “You know,” he repeated the motion, swatting his paw in the air and sticking his tongue out. “Nyah!”

Hunk, dressed in a matching yellow cat suit, did the exact same thing, like it was some sort of elaborate, torturous inside joke that Keith was being forced to watch. “Nyaaaah!”

The green-suited Pidge, thank god, did not join in. “Don’t you guys think that Keith would be more suited for the red lion costume?”

Keith lifted up his own paw to examine it. It was big, and it was blue, and it was fluffy, and it was completely awful. According to Hunk, he was dressed up as the blue lion, mostly because no one ever wanted to be the blue lion. Keith didn’t have enough context for any of this to argue, but Pidge seemed to be doing the work for him.

Lance was pouting, hard. “I’m the red lion, because the red lion is cool, and badass, and he always saves the day, just like I would!”

Those qualities did not sound like Lance to Keith. Some better descriptors would be “annoying”, or “weirdly boney”, or “smiles too much at his own jokes”.

Pidge seemed unimpressed. “Dude, Keith is more of a red lion than you are, and you know it. At least, you’re more of a blue lion than he is.”

They all turned to look at Keith, who was standing there with his arms crossed, flushed as all hell, dying of embarrassment. He refused to put on the whiskers and only very reluctantly wore the hoodie with the ears over his mop of hair, which caused it to push down and awkwardly block his vision. He kept having to swipe his hair away with his paws, which was just a whole other level of shame, and every time he did it he could hear a giggle from the idiot in red.

The McClain Clan, which consisted of Daniel and Javi, ran up to surround Lance. The younger boy was dressed as a pirate, with a gold earring dangling from his left hear and a broad pirate hat sticking up from his buzzed head, while the older boy elected to dress as a Squirtle, complete with a huge shell backpack and a blue onesie with a tail attached to the rear. “It helps me to carry more candy,” Javi had whispered to him, slapping the backpack with that sense of wildness that told Keith that this kid really was a McClain. “Lance usually gets more candy than me, but I’m gonna show him this year!”

“I heard that!” Lance yanked on the boy’s hoodie, pulling him away from Keith. “You’re on, little man, I’ll be able to get more candy than you without batting an eye!”

“I’m gonna win!” Daniel, with his youthful innocence, jumped into the pile, and thus initiated a three-way battle of brothers, shoving and tickling each other in an attempt to gain dominance. Lance went down first, giggling on the ground as he swiped his useless paws against his brothers in vain, while Daniel poked him in the stomach with his plastic sword and Javi just tried to tickle his sides.

“Stooooooop!” Lance was laughing, mostly in pain, trying to push away Javi before he did too much damage. “I’m ticklish and you know that! Stop stop stop!!!”

Keith didn’t understand what was going on. Why were they tickling each other? And even though Lance had declared his intent to win, he was clearly losing, despite his larger size. He shot a look to Hunk, who just put a fluffy paw on his shoulder. “This is how siblings act around each other, bro. My older siblings and I used to do the same thing. It’s hard to understand when you’re not involved with it, but trust me, this is pretty par for the course.”

Keith sniffled from the bone-chilling cold. The onesie kept him warm and uncomfortably sweaty, but it didn’t cover his face, which was slowly going numb under the wind. “You have siblings too?”

“Oh yeah. But unlike Lance, I’m actually the youngest.” He stuck out two padded fingers. “I’ve got an older brother named Brody, who’s about Shiro’s age, and an older sister named Lila, who’s a little older than that. I’m bigger than both of them though, which is pretty funny.”

Keith tried to imagine what Hunk’s older-yet-smaller siblings look like and failed to come up with anything. “That is pretty funny,” he croaked, a little soulless, still confused. He only found it funny theoretically, unable to really grasp the kind of intricacies that bonded families together, or why Lance could shove his sibling away and it could be viewed as a positive, gleeful thing.

In fact, he didn’t really understand the intricacies that bound him to these cat-costumed oddballs. Here he was, standing in a cat costume, based on a comic that he’d never read, watching his friend goof around with siblings he’d never had, grinning the kind of grin he’d never worn. He was no longer embarrassed as much as he felt hollow, like he was missing a fundamental piece that seemed to unite this entire group – the piece of family, the piece of home, the idea that no matter what you did, there was always someone waiting at home to tickle you to the ground. Lance had it, Hunk had it, and Pidge had a mutated form of it. He had nothing. He had his Garrison dorm room and his canned pears and his one pillow and his knife, and even that was completely tainted now.

He felt bad for not ‘getting’ it. He felt alone, and weird, like he did the first time he’d hung out with these people, chalk full of inside jokes and elbow jibs that he didn’t recognize were supposed to be friendly. His insecurities were getting to him now – did he belong with these people, or were they just hanging out with him out of pity, guilty over the poor orphan boy with a fucked up background? He didn’t know. And it was getting to him a little.

At the very least, he could feel comfort in the fact that he was no longer, by his own definition, a Bad Person. He’d made his amends, somewhat. He was climbing up. Keith Kogane may not be a Good Person yet, but he could figure it out. These people would help him, even if it was only out of pity. He was fine. All he had to do was take these kids around the block, wear these stupid blue cat ears, and then the real fun could begin.

Now Keith may not have been excited about the trick-or-treating aspect of the night, but he was absolutely pumped for the afterparty, especially in a house as big as Pidge’s with no adult supervision. Keith hated the idea of teenage novels, and everything about tonight was like a scene straight out of a cheesy teen novel's pages, but this? This was the kind of shit he could live for. He was going to give these nerds the greatest party of their life, and maybe they would watch Star Wars again, and everyone would be drunk, and everyone would gush over how hot Han Solo was, and it would be fucking awesome.

Javi and Daniel were already running for the first door, with Lance and Hunk not far behind, all of their minds swirling with visions of free, delectable candy. Though Lance and Hunk were much too old for this, Lance could pass as a young teenager, and Hunk was so nice that no household could deny his large puppy eyes a free mini Twix bar. Pidge almost looked about Javi’s age, and was ready to take advantage of that by robbing every household on the block of their Smarties, but he understood Keith’s uncomfortability and stayed back on the street with him while the others ran forward, bags of candy rustling under the dim porch lights.

“Hey Pidge.” Keith’s mind was still on the afterparty, and he was smirking in that kind of way that would send him straight to the first circle of hell if God was paying attention. “I brought some stuff for tonight. It should be really fun.”

The little lion looked up at him, in an innocent, excited way that thrilled his bones. “Oh yeah? Well I brought some stuff for tonight too! Wanna see it?”

Keith was not expecting that. How the hell did this little kid get their hands on a handle? But he wasn’t about to question Pidge’s ethics here, because the more, the absolute merrier. “I’ll show you my stuff if you show me yours.”

He recognized just how shady that sentence sounded, but they were doing shady shit, and even though Keith was improving himself, he really did thrive on doing said shady shit. And besides, it wasn’t even that shady. It was just booze. That was, like, a two on the shady scale.

Their backpacks were cradled in their arms, faux paws momentarily ripped off as they clasped the zippers, looking quite impish. Keith broke first, ripping open his backpack in an eagerly mischievous way, reaching down into the depths of his bag to pull out two half-gallons, full of cheap, gag-inducing alcohol. Pidge was almost ready with her own item, but the moment she saw the swish of liquor in cheap plastic bottles, she gawked.

“What the-“ Pidge was going nuts, trying to shove the bottles back into the backpack before anyone could see them, squealing like a goddamn maniac. When the bottles were safely hidden, she hissed at him, venomous and on edge. “What the fuck? Did you bring al-co-hol?”

The way that Pidge pronounced the word queued Keith in on the fact that they had never, not once, ever drank alcohol, and that he had made a very teensy mistake assuming as such. He probably should’ve just dropped it there, and let Pidge have their innocent little sleepover, but the shadiness scale just went up to about a five at least, and Keith very much wanted to break these nerds’ drinking virginity.

“Yes I did,” he barked back defensively, yanking away the backpack from the smaller boy. “I was told that your mom was gone. That’s like, the perfect opportunity to get completely wasted! In a goddamn mansion!”

“We can’t drink! My mom will kill me if she finds out!” Pidge was panicked, tugging at her own hair and trying to bite back the squawks that kept coming out of her mouth. For all of Pidge’s intelligence, Keith was reminded that they were still the youngest of the group, and there was still a decent amount of nativity that came alone with that.

“And that’s why-“ He slid a hand over her mouth to silence the squawks himself – “She’s never going to find out.” He felt oddly predatory, trying to convince Pidge to go along with his plan, like he was taking advantage of their empty mansion and their lack of drinking experience. And he was, a little – but he just wanted everyone to have a great time, really, because booze was fun and they needed to learn that the proper way.

Daniel and Javi were already skipping across the sidewalk, making their way to the next house, and Pidge and Keith were forced to catch up with a stalling yellow and red lion. Pidge was still flailing, unable to keep her mouth shut, especially not to those two trick-or-treaters who were still blissfully unaware of their newfound adventure. “Who the fuck told Keith to bring booze?”

Hunk and Lance’s reactions pretty much mirrored Pidge’s, and what the fuck, did these people not see an opportunity when it was presented to them on a golden fucking platter?

“We can’t drink!” Hunk was now panicking alongside Pidge. He almost looked like he was ready to cry. “We’re not legal! This is illegal!”

Lance’s version of panic was much more subdued, subtly hidden under his naturally cocky exterior, but Keith saw the initial flash of it in his eyes, the way his pupils shank into beads before he recovered by leaning against Hunk’s shoulder, paws playfully spread in the air. “It’s just alcohol guys, come on! I think it sounds like a pretty good idea.”

The two children ran up to the next door, but the lions were too busy squabbling to notice, now with Pidge staring daggers at the stupid boy with the sweaty brown hair. “None of us have ever drank, you idiot! We have no idea what we’re doing! We could get caught!”

“We’re not going to get caught,” Keith finally interjected, and he felt like he had said that one too many times recently. “I’ve drank plenty of times before, I’ll make sure none of you are idiots about it, ok? Don’t worry about it. Alcohol’s supposed to be fun, why else do people drink so much of it?”

“I did not agree to this.” The hefty yellow lion was walking away, following the two children and getting the fuck out of this mess. “I did not agree to this!”

“Huuuuuuuunk,” Lance was right next to him, pleading with him with a pair of childish eyes that Keith was sure he’d used plenty of times before. “It’ll be fun! Just like Keith said! And it’s not like there’s any haaaarm to it!”

“There is definitely a lot of harm that comes from it!” Hunk’s hands were in the air, all but ready to just give up. “Have you ever heard of alcohol poisoning, Lance? Because that is a direct harm that comes from alcohol! We could die!”

It was Keith’s turn to sway the boy over, swinging over to his other side and boxing him in. “You’re not going to get alcohol poisoning, Hunk, I’ll make sure of it. And besides, if you really don’t want to drink, you don’t have to. I’m not going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t wanna do.”

That seemed to comfort Hunk significantly, and he visibly sagged now that the brunt of the pressure was gone. “I guess if you guys want to do it, perhaps, maybe, possibly, I might try it. Maybe.”

Keith cast a look over his shoulder to the jittery boy now trailing behind them. “Are you game, Pidge?”

It seemed like peer pressure was doing a number on Pidge, who didn’t actually seem opposed to the alcohol itself, more opposed to getting caught than anything. “As long as you guys don’t screw up my house, I’m fine with it.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s settled, now we can move on and forget about all of this and get some free candy from some very nice people.” Hunk pushed out of the box and caught up to the two children, now leagues ahead in terms of their candy collection. Lance followed suit, but not before sending Keith a look, the kind of look that just screamed we are going to have some fun tonight, pretty boy and maybe Keith was just injecting that last phrase in because he was grasping for straws, but this fucker in a red catsuit was looking at him much too devilishly and Keith was burning, all the way up to his ears.

“Pidge.” Keith was overloading, and he needed to abort, immediately. “What were you going to pull out of your bag, anyways?”

“Oh yeah!” Pidge jumped to retrieve his backpack from around his shoulder, grabbing it once more and unzipping the biggest pocket. “I thought we were just talking about cool stuff we brought, so I was gonna show you this!”

Keith’s impulse was to slap the backpack right out of Pidge’s tiny little hands, because something crawled out of the pocket, something bug-eyed and gross and clothed generously in a black hoodie that clearly did not belong on it. It moved up out of the backpack, across Pidge’s arm, before settling on the crook of his neck, looking at Keith with an emotionless stare.

“I brought Spunky along! He seemed a little lonely in his cage today, so I figured he could go trick or treating with us.” He reached a finger up to scratch the reptilian figure, who did not react in the slightest to the new touch. “Aren’t you a good Spunky? And you’re warm too, in your little costume!”

“You gave your pet chameleon a costume?” Keith didn’t like the way it was staring at him with its weird, beady little eyes. Why a chameleon, anyways? Why couldn’t Pidge have just brought along Rover or something?

Pidge pulled the costume’s hoodie over the head of the lizard, revealing a pair of hidden cat ears on the head. “Somebody has to be the black lion! How else are we gonna form Voltron?”

Keith groaned into his paws. “I am going to get you nerds so drunk tonight.”

--

Pidge’s house was just as Keith had remembered it; grand, expansive, modernized to all hell, and best of all, completely open and ready to be pulverized by four drunk teenagers.

The four juxtaposed friends surrounded the island in the middle of the kitchen, where Keith had ungraciously slammed his bottles of booze right into the center for everyone to examine. Despite everyone’s willingness to participate (although that amount of will differed greatly per person), the three newcomers were treating the bottles like voodoo, mystified but not daring to even touch it. Lance was trying his best not to commit a faux-pas, casually sticking pieces of chocolate in his mouth with a tact amount of carelessness, only glancing apprehensively at the bottles when he was sure no one else was looking at him. Hunk, in contrast, was wearing his heart on his sleeve, sweaty and nervous and awkwardly pawing at his own face to try and get himself together (he was the only one still in his costume, Keith having ripped his off the moment they got in the house while Lance and Pidge took their time). Pidge was securing the kitchen down, hiding expensively fragile objects and snipping at everyone to ‘not break anything or else I will break your neck in half’, which actually sounded rather intimidating considering how little there was to Pidge. And Keith was searching the cabinets, slowly growing agitated when he couldn’t find the small objects he was looking for.

“Don’t your parents have any shot glasses in this place?” Keith frustratingly swatted another cabinet door closed, quickly gripping another small knob and ripping it open. “I didn’t bring any because I didn’t think this was going to be a problem.”

“How would I know?” Pidge snapped, currently in the process of storing away a ceramic vase. “Even if they did drink, they never do it around me.”

Keith growled to himself, allowing the last door to slip from his fingers as he forced himself to resign to Plan B. “I guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way,” He grumbled, opening a previously-slammed cabinet door and grabbing eight large glasses, pinching them together and dangling them off of his calloused fingertips.

“Whaddaya mean, the ‘old-fashioned way?’” Lance was gently losing his cool now that improvisation was on the table.

“I mean, the old-fashioned way.” Keith slid a glass to each of the newcomers and grabbed the handle of the smaller bottle, popping the cap off unceremoniously. “We don’t have shot glasses, so we’re gonna have to eyeball this. It’ll be fine, trust me.” He crouched on his knees so he was eye-level with the translucent vessel, before pouring himself a very generous shot of vodka.

“Oh God.” Hunk was panicking again, now that this entire escapade was slowly becoming reality. “This is how people die, isn’t it? We don’t know what we’re doing! This is irresponsible! I don’t wanna die!”

Lance wrapped a shaky arm around the overworried boy. “We’re not gonna die, Hunk, my broseph, my compa-dre.” The last word came out unintentionally choked, and Lance had to scramble to cover it up. “I mean, we’re not idiots, and Keith’s here to make sure we don’t die, so we’re not gonna die, ok?”

“Just-“ Keith was now forcing himself to remain composed as he poured larger-than-average shots for the rest of the group. “Just try one shot. It’ll be over before you know it. I’ll give you guys chasers, too, so you can have an easier time with it.”

While the group all examined their shots with an increasing amount of hesitancy, Keith was digging through the fridge to find something suitable to chase their cheap, plastic-bottled alcohol with. Eventually he settled on a half-full carton of orange juice (the high quality kind, with no pulp and ‘ORGANIC’ printed boldly on the front) and slid it across the island. “Each of you get a glass and pour yourself some juice, that’ll help make it easier to take down. You won’t even notice how bad it is after you chase it with the juice.”

Lance was sniffing his cup nervously. It smelled like rubbing alcohol dunked in hydroxide, and he had to catch himself from gagging openly. “Couldn’t you have gotten us something that didn’t smell like death?”

Hunk had poured himself an incredibly generous glass of juice, sliding the almost-empty carton over to Pidge. “At least I get some quality OJ out of this,” he grumbled, more to himself than anybody, eyeing the glass of booze with suspicion.

Pidge just poured the rest of the carton into the glass, and Keith went without. He motioned for all of them to lift their glasses (which they did, nervously), and Keith grinned, full of adrenaline, excitement, and an odd sense of pride. “On my count, just down it as quickly as you can!”

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!” Keith led the brigade by slamming his shot down like a bullet, leaving nothing to the imagination as he swallowed the disgusting liquid with ease. Almost immediately, his body tingled with the familiar feeling of alcoholic warmth, that pre-buzz kick already setting his senses alive.

Hunk was sputtering, coughing harshly with only half of the shot down. In a desperate attempt to drown the burning sensation, he downed half of the OJ in one go, still lurching into the glass when the burn did not go away instantly. Lance was trying, so hard, to not gag at the disgusting feeling in his throat, to a point where his eyes were watering dangerously as he sipped on his wobbly cup of juice. It was amusing, in that inaugural sort of way, where their alcoholic nativity was being shattered before his eyes, opening up opportunities for something hilarious and, hopefully, fun.

Keith got shocked out of that vision when he finally checked on Pidge, who sat there, shot downed, OJ untouched, and face completely unfazed.

“Uh Pidge?” He nervously inquired, his face stuck somewhere between shocked and terrified. “Did you take your shot?”

That toothy grin stuck the fear of God into his heart. “What, like it was hard?”

 “Yeah,” Lance simmered, his eyes growing red with water every passing second. “Seriously, that wasn’t that bad. Give me another one.”

And even though Keith could see through his thinly-veiled fragility, he wasn’t about to deny such a request, especially when it lined up exactly with what he wanted – a good, drunk, stupid time. “Another round of shots, coming up!”

Hunk looked like he was ready to pass out. “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to keep this up,” he groaned, wiping the copious amounts of sweat that was pooling on his forehead. “Can I tap out? Is tapping out an option?”

“You’re more than welcome to stop whenever you’d like,” Keith assured, just a little too devilishly, as he poured generous shots into the glasses. “But maybe try to get one more shot down, huh? Don’t you feel pretty good?”

Hunk’s eyes bugged out as he considered the thought, rubbing his arms curiously. “I feel kinda warmer, and sweatier, and funny.”

“You’re on the right track then.” Keith raised his glass once more, signaling the others to do the same. “On my count!”

And this time, now emboldened with slight amounts of liquid courage, they lifted their glasses up with morsels of excitement.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

--

Pidge had gotten piss-drunk the fastest.

“Oh my goooood, Keiiiiith,” Her words were high pitched and heavily slurred, and she was face down-against the counter, slinging her upper body across the surface like a ragdoll. “The aliens! The government is hiding the aliens from us!!!”

Keith, while not nearly as drunk as Pidge (but trying very hard to get there), was drunk enough to indulge the conversation passionately. “I knooooow,” he slurred back, leaning heavily on his palms, standing across the island from Pidge. “Ever since the 80’s, man! The government is lying to us, and we gotta like-“ Keith threw his arm against the air wildly- “like, we gotta go down and break them out.”

“Oh my GOOOOD!” Pidge rocketed up, a slight amount of dried drool caking the corner of his mouth, eyes wide as saucers. “We gotta go break them out! They’re lonely, Keith! They’re lonely!”

And now Keith was gung-ho about this idea of driving into the desert and breaking the aliens out, and he lurched over the island in order to grab Pidge’s shoulders tightly. “We gotta save them from the government! Holy fuck!”

In the living room, openly adjacent to the kitchen, lay the second drunkest member of the brigade on top of his warm, bulky friend. “Hunk, you’re like, the best bro a bro could ask for, youknowthaaat?” He was overly dopey and completely flushed, wearing the kind of grin that could make wilting flowers bloom. “Like, you’re the best, the-best, man, I love you sooo much.”

Hunk, the least drunk and still semi-lucid, felt like he was being wrapped in one hundred blankets of comfort and warmth. “You mean that bro? You like, super mean that?”

“Yeeeeees.” Lance rolled over onto Hunk’s tummy, flopping his arms out over his head. “I can’t even describe how much you mean to me, bro, I just--- you’re just----uuuuuuugh!!!!” His clentched hands were flailing all over the place in a fit of passion.

“Oh my god, Lance,” Hunk gushed, wrapping his brown bear arms around the skinny twig that was freaking out on his lap. “I’d die for you, bro. I-would-die-for-yoooou.” His lips were huge and puckered, complete with doe eyes and sweaty, flushed cheeks. “You’re my man.”

Back at the island, Pidge was now piggybacked onto Keith, a tight grip on his greasy, damp hair as he pointed forward dramatically. “We’re gonna go save the aliens, Keith! We’re gonna break them out!!!!!”

Keith downed another shot and almost wobbled over when Pidge jerked too far forward. “Howaaaare we gonna break’m out?”

“Oh shit!” Pidge was punching his head, with so little power that the mulleted boy hardly even noticed it. “Oh shit! I know what we gotta do!”

“M’what’s that?”

“Pidge lurched forward like a cavalier leading the charge into battle, mouth wide and eyes even wider.

“We gotta form VOLTROOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!!”

“OH MY GOD!” Lance snapped up from his bro-fest at the call to arms. “We gotta form Voltron, Hunk! Getup, get-up, man!” He was sloppily tugging on Hunk’s arm, who was practically melting into the couch below him.

“Can’t we form Voltron later?” Hunk looked so blissful, like a newborn baby tucked into the warm blanket of buzzdom. “I’m so coooomfyyy.”

Pidge was having none of this. One glare was all it took to set Hunk in motion, and he clambered onto the floor with a drunken giggle. “I’m the yellow lion, so I gotta be the leg! I’m gonna be like, the best leg ever!” He playfully swiped his paw into the air, reminding everyone of his current state of cat-costumed bliss.

“Keith’s the other leg!” Lance was pulling Keith down to the ground, all but falling with him as Pidge jumped off his back with a small thud. “Keith’s the other leg, b’cause he’s the blue lion, and I am totally the red lion, so I get to be the arm!” 

Keith teasingly shoved him away, unable to stop himself from giggling at it all. “’D probably be a better arm than you, iiidiot!”

“Too late!” The taller boy was sheparding Keith into position next to Hunk while Pidge scrambled to find the most important piece of the puzzle. “I’m Lance MmmClain, and I’m the fucking right arm of Voltron!”

“This is so weird.” Keith was staring up at the towering boy, who still had his stupid whiskers painted on, although they were smeared now under the bright flush and sticky sweat that covered his face. “You’re so weird.” He couldn’t keep the seriousness of the statement intact, and he turned into a giggling mess on the floor once he realized how adorable those faux whiskers looked. There was too much blood in his ears and everything was starting to spin – the alcohol was finally starting to work its magic on him, and all of that energy was targeted at the cat boy above him, now with a bent knee digging into Keith’s back as he struck a dramatic pose.

Hunk couldn’t stop giggling next to Keith, and it got even more saccharine once Pidge was on top of him, barely able to keep her balance. Unlike Lance, both of her knees were spread on Hunk’s back, her arms darted outwards to try and regain some sense of stability on top of this pretend-drunken-robotic mess. “I’ve got the shield!” She squealed, grabbing onto Lance’s shoulder when she threw herself too far to the right. “I’ll protect everyone while we save the aliens!”

“Where’s the head?” An irate Lance was throwing a mini-tantrum over the accuracy of their sloppy, impulsive stance. “We can’t form Vol-troooon without the black lion!”

“Don’t worry!” Pidge leaned back to the hood of her hoodie, pulling out a small, familiar black ball from its depths. “He’s right here and he’s gonna safffe the day!” And like a true defender of the universe, Pidge lifted the chameleon up, high in the sky, in a Lion King-esque manner, showing off the head to the world of drunken ignorance below. “FOOOOOOORM VOLTROOOON!”

Lance smacked the small teenager on the back of the head. “We gotta yell it together, idiot, or else it isn’t authentic!”

“Fooooooorm Voltron!” Hunk yelled prematurely, looking content as all hell, like he could just float away and fall asleep at any moment.

“NO!” Lance leaned down to slap him on the back of the head too. “Just like Keiff did earlier! On my count!”

Keith interjected before it was too late for him. “Do I have to yell it too?”

Lance jumped down from his back and grabbed his thin cheeks roughly, forcing him to stare at the flushed boy who was way too into this whole thing. “Yes, Keiff!” He slurred, trace amounts of spit spattering onto Keith’s thin face. Everything about his glare was intense, from the way that his teeth were gritting to the look that he was drilling into Keith, all fiery and needy and wet. Keith felt his mouth go dry, and Lance didn’t notice any of this. “If you don’t yell it out, we’re never gonna form Voltron, and we’re never gonna save the aliens, and then we’re all doomed!”

A short time ago, Keith’s would’ve protested his way out of this nerdy, alcohol-infused blaze of glory. But now? Now he was being stared at by some olive-skinned boy, whose hair was stuck to his forehead over a sheen of sweat, spitting his way through words that didn’t completely register in his spinning head, looking at him like he was the missing piece of a puzzle that Lance desperately needed to finish. Drunk Keith was a weak man.

“OK!” Pidge renewed their call to arms, and Lance stabbed his knee back into Keith’s shoulder (which hurt like a bitch, but he was too dazed to care), and struck a ridiculously dramatic pose that Keith wished he could’ve seen.

“One!” Hunk’s lovey-dovey face zoned back in, his muscles tensing with purpose.

“Two!” Pidge thrust the lizard back into the stuffy air, locking their arms into place.

“Three!” Keith, despite it all, was smiling the dopiest smile of his life.

“FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORM VOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLTRON!!!!!!!!!”

--

In all of his drunken glory, Keith had forgotten about the fact that these kids were alcoholic virgins who had no idea what they were doing, and everything was crashing before it could really begin.

Pidge crashed first, and they crashed hard. She was currently upstairs, keeled over one of the toilets, heaving out the remnants of her stomach while Hunk, the most sober and most supportive of the group, rubbed circles into her back. It all happened so quickly, too; one moment, they were all smooshed up in a collapsed pile of broken mega-robot limbs, giggling and squealing like loose pigs, and the next Pidge was running to the bathroom at breakneck speed, a new, sickly green taking over the color on her face. Once the sounds of gagging hit their ears, Hunk clamored up the stairs, his yellow tail dragging awkwardly against the carpet, in order to protect the drunken cub. Keith should have followed, but the room was beginning to spin now that he was laying on the ground, and his senses were on high alert once the skinny bastard next to him started mewling like an idiot.

“I feel funny,” he started, throwing an arm over Keith’s stomach in such an imprudent manner that Keith was almost pissed. “D’you feel funny? I feel warm.”

He felt more than warm. He felt like he was going to explode in a ball of fire, because Lance’s skinny arm was touching his sweat-tinged shirt, and it felt too light to be real, light enough that Keith wanted to reach out and touch it for himself just to make sure it was actually there - but he held back. “I feel pretty good. ‘N pretty nice.”

And he did, really; laying on the floor, perpendicular to Lance, with his arm draped across Keith’s stomach carelessly, staring at a ceiling that was much higher than it had any right to be. His vision kept shifting, especially when he tried to stare at something, and his head felt too full, too heavy, but it was a good kind of heavy, the kind that made his face warm and his bones feel like pudding. It was nice scene, being next to Lance like that, and he didn’t dare ask for more, lest he curse his recent stroke of good luck and ruin the entire world he’d built up in his head.

Lance, it seemed, had other plans.

“Dude,” he burped out, bobbing up into a sitting position that caused him to sway. “Is that muscle?”

“Uh.” Keith felt bothered and uncomfortable and the blood was rushing into his head way too quickly. “I guess?”

“Lem’ see.” Carelessly, Lance pushed the sweat-dripped T-shirt up about an inch, just enough to see taut muscle and a very thin happy trail that Keith was embarrassed by. “Shit!”

He was getting too close to personal quarters; Keith hoped to god Lance didn’t push his luck here, as much as he might have wanted it. “Is it weird?”

Lance’s eyes were crossing and he kept smacking his lips, telltale signs that he wasn’t completely in touch with what was happening. “That’s muscle-y. Damn. ‘M jealous.”

Keith was going to die. “Can we watch Star Wars?”

Lance did not notice the awkward transition one bit. And like the dopey prince he was, he lit up at the suggestion, that drunken glaze in his eyes now mixed with genuine passion. “Sure! I freakin’ looove Star Wars!”

“Let’s get upstairs b’fore the floor gets too comfy,” he suggested, using every ounce of willpower he had in order to push himself onto his wobbly knees, the first step in a long series of movements that would eventually end with him on his feet. Lance, somehow, had a much easier time with the process, rejuvenated by the idea of a sci-fi marathon, and he pulled Keith’s arm up roughly before he could complete the next few steps of movement on his own.

“Shit!” Keith howled, his balance thrown completely now that he was staggered into a standing position. The room wasn’t spinning as much once he was on his feet, but his legs were considering the idea of giving out. “Couldyou’ve been a little gentler?”

“Star Wars!” Was the very undignified response Lance gave as he ran up the stairs, Keith’s arm dragged behind him with a tight grip. It actually hurt, how tight Lance’s vice was. It made his skin turn white with a hot pressure that wasn’t entirely unpleasant but still very unnatural. Because of this grip, Keith was also now blushing again, slowly descending into hot mess-ness with his sweaty hair, and his wobbly, uncoordinated feet, and his inability to stop looking at the goofy grin that was permanently plastered on Lance’s dimpled face. He was just drunk enough to embrace all of this.

On top of the first flight of stairs, they quickly checked in with Pidge and Hunk (the former still throwing up, the latter giving them a thumbs up while rubbing Pidge’s back) before they stumbled up another flight of stairs, into the megaroom that Keith remembered so fondly, with its multitudes of couches and its ridiculously sized screen not meant for average homes. It was much brighter than he remembered, with the lights now on and the TV screen currently off, and Keith could feel the vaguest echoes of a future hangover rumbling deep in his skull. To distract himself, he looked back down at his arm, where Lance was still gripping him. It made him feel better, in an abstract way, like two globs of paint being blended together, sloppily, still retaining their original colors but slowly forming something new.

Lance flopped himself onto one of the couches, refusing to let go of Keith’s arm, almost dislocating Keith’s shoulder with the amount of pure carelessness he put into the fall. It jerked him down onto his knees, right next to the couch, where Lance was eye-to-eye with him, still wearing that dopey face that Keith assumed was an inherent part of Drunk Lance. “So soft,” he burped again, slumping harder into the leather cushions that were slowly molding to his skinny frame. “So nice.”

It seemed like the Lance had completely forgotten about Keith’s presence, the only reminder being that damn grip that was starting to become familiar. Not really wanting to let go of it, but too drunk to properly throw his ass onto the couch, Keith elected to lay back down on the soft, carpeted floor. The ceiling had the same pattern his room had, with all of the little bumps scattered across the surface. It made him feel juxtaposed, seeing something so prosaic and familiar in a place that was anything but.

“Do you have any fears?”

The question blindsighted Keith, who had become lost in his own world of cream-colored dots and bumps. Lance was looking at him now, not with a pained look like Keith had expected, but more of…curiosity. Intrigue. A little bit of emotion. His bottom lip was slick and pouted, and his eyes, although still glazed over, had a sense of clarity to them that made Keith want to answer honestly.

Except he didn’t. Not really. That was a personal question, and not only that, it was a personal question that struck hard. And even though every coherent thought in his head was screaming at him, telling him to shut up and lie and move on from all of this, the alcohol was muddling all of those thoughts and collaging them into a forced honesty that landed harshly on his own, dried lips, with a barely audible yes.

Lance seemed surprised, sobering up for a mere moment before thumping his head back onto the couch. His pointer finger started absentmindedly tracing back-and-forth on Keith’s forearm, cooling the blood underneath that was now boiling with panic. “What’syer biggest fear?”

His eyes were still on the ceiling. That, and the cool presence on his forearm, were the only things anchoring him in this bout of raw honesty. “’M scared of bein’ alone.”

The skinnier boy was too drunk to be overly dramatic, simply accepting the fact at face value. But now he was staring at Keith, his palette now tinged with both curiosity and sympathy. “I thought you liked being alone?”

“Well, I do.” The spots on the ceiling were moving too much. Was this because more of the alcohol was kicking in, or was it because he felt much too vulnerable at this moment? Keith couldn’t tell. “I like control. And I can’t control other people, but I can control if I’m alone or not, so……if I force myself to be alone, then no one can hurt me.”

Lance didn’t seem to know how to react, and Keith didn’t want his pity. He didn’t want any of this, actually – he wasn’t in control right now. There was too much going on. He had to get back on the rails. “Weren’t we going to watch Star Wars?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Lance hummed, in a pleasant way that offset Keith’s edge. “But this’s important. Talk to me.” He squeezed Keith’s arm to reinforce the idea. “D’ya think you could get over that fear? ‘F bein alone?”

Could he? He’d never really thought about it. His instincts always just drove him to avoid people, and he didn’t have a need to question it. But now? Now he was very much questioning it, and all of those questions were directed at the force on his arm, the blessed cold that was anchoring him to the ground. “Maybe. I dunno.”

There was silence, not an uncomfortable kind, but a kind that made Keith ferment in his thoughts for longer than he wished. If he sat like this for too long, he was afraid he was going to start building up his walls again, and the vulnerable, intoxicated, honest side of Keith didn’t want that.

“I think you could do it. Y’know.” Lance rolled over so his entire body was towards Keith, paralleling him on the higher surface. “You could get over it.”

Keith didn’t believe it, and he voiced his dissent with a discordant grunt.

“No, really.” Lance was balancing precariously on his side, too wobbly to be secure but too into this conversation to turn away. “I mean, you managed to apologize t’everyone. You hang out with us. Hell, you’re here right now.” A giddy chuckle bubbled out of him. “You’re here. Right now. I think you’re already getting over it.”

Lance’s eyes were genuine. That, combined with the half-smeared whiskers still painted on his face and the drunken flush that had taken over his body – Keith had to put a fist to his chest to try and force this new feeling out. It was hot, and it was dangerous, and it was overwhelming.

“What about you? Are you scared of anything?”

Lance didn’t necessarily wear his heart on his sleeve, but he didn’t cage it up like Keith did either. The closed-off side of him was suppressed by liquor, however, and it only took him a few moments of thought before he presented himself like an open book, flipping through the pages at a surprisingly rapid pace. “I got plenty’ve fears. I’m scared that my parents’re disappointed in me. I’m scared that I’ll be stuck at the coffee shop forever. ‘M scared that I’ll fail this test and I won’t get the scholarship. I’m scared that Hunk and Pidge secretly think I’m annoying. I’m scared that-“

“Stoooooooooop.” Keith yanked him arm down, forcing Lance off of the couch and right on top of him, sprawled out awkwardly against his stomach. “Stoooooooop.”

“The hell was that for?” Lance barked, more agitated at being interrupted than he was at this new position he was in. “I wasn’t even done yet.”

“You’re wrong.” Keith couldn’t find the courage to look him directly in the eye. “You’re wroooong.”

He felt a palm press against his stomach, Lance pushing himself up so he could stare at Keith more effectively. “What’re you talking about?”

“None of those things are true,” Keith clamored, his instinctive sense of recklessness now ebbing back into his nerves. Under the hot pressure of Lance’s intense stare, Keith found no other option but to stare right back. “Yer parents aren’t disappointed in you, you’re gonna get that scholarship, you’ll become a pilot n’ get outta the shop, and Hunk and Pidge are your friends. That’s all ffffact.”

“You don’t know any of that.” Lance plopped his head back onto Keith’s chest, taking the breath right out of him. He seemed tired and weary, just like before, when Keith hadn't apologized to him yet, and Keith wondered just how much energy Lance put into appearing like his happy-go-lucky self. “’M just a big fuck up. A big ol’ fuck up.”

“Stooooooooop.” Before his lagged brain could catch up to his arms, he was swinging them around the sweaty body sprawled over him, reckless and needing to ease the pain on both of their hearts. “You’re like, th’opposite of a fuck up, Lance. You’re kind, and you love your family, and you care about, like, a lotta stuff. You’re a good person. Stop putting yourself down.”

It was clear to Keith now that Lance, drunk and completely un-adjusted to the feelings that came with that, was stuck in the muddy trenches of his own head, unable to listen to reason. “Nobody likes me. They all just put up with me. ‘M just here, y’know. Not mattering.” 

Lance was floating away. He was up in the clouds, threatening to dissipate under the pressure of the world, and he needed something to anchor him before he was gone. Keith made the conscious decision to act as that anchor, and he squeezed Lance's arm as a physical reminder to Lance that he was here, and he wasn't going to fly away.

“Well I like you, Lance.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” He forced his head upwards, minute amounts of vertigo kicking in, and he had to steady himself for a moment before could turn to Lance. “I like you. Even if you can’t see your own goodness yourself, I sure as shit can, and I like it.”

Lance propped his chin up on Keith’s chest. He could feel the unsure tempo of Lance’s breathing on his face, and the feel of those tepid pair of eyes on his own made his heart go weak. “You really mean it?”

He probably should have said something like ‘yes, I absolutely mean it’, or ‘you’re a wonderful person, Lance’, or anything else other than the embarrassing, lethargic phrase that his mind spat out instead; but he smiled as he slurred the words anyways, and it felt like the greatest thing he’d said all night. “You’re cute.”

Lance’s eyes went wide. “I’m cute?”

“Yeah.” The word felt like butter on his lips. “I should be scared when I say that. But for some reason I’m not. Maybe it’s ‘cause of you.”

It was probably, in reality, the booze. But Keith didn’t know that, nor did he care. And it didn’t look like Lance did either, because that toothy, cheeky grin was back, with an extra amount of dimples and sweat, and Keith wondered if he could just melt into the carpet below him and never let this moment go, because he was grinning too, and everything felt so goddamn warm. “I am pretty cute, aren’t I?”

“Oh my goooood.” His unattached hand gave him a light bonk on the side of the head. “I can’t believe you.”

“I can’t believe me either,” Lance chuckled, and he pushed himself forward so his forehead was pressing against Keith’s. “But I can believe you.”

It was too much. There was too much happening, in this buzzed-induced moment, and his skin was hot, and Lance’s skin was icy, chilling him up everywhere it touched, and somewhere deep within him, a dam that had been holding all of his subdued emotions back burst magnificently, and his pushed his mouth against Lance’s like a hurricane, sweaty and exhilarated and drunk and like he was on top of the world.

And the moment was brilliant, and cathartic, and wonderful while it lasted; but it was all too short, because he had pushed forward too hard, and now Lance was leaning back, pinching the bridge of his nose, whining like an idiot. “Oooowowowoww!”

“What?” There was fright in his voice, fleeting only when that dopey smile returned, albeit much more annoyed than before.

“Have you never kissed anyone before? You rammed your nose into mine! Jesus Christ, that hurt,” he grumbled, making a show out of the minor injury he’d attained.

“Sorry?” was the only response he could think of, but he wasn’t actually sorry, because the annoying brat deserved it a little, and he was back to smiling anyways, and that wasn’t something to be sorry over in Keith’s mind.

“You’re not sorry. You’re awful. You’re awful.” Lance, still rubbing his nose, settled back into Keith’s, chest bringing with him that comforting chill that soothed his core.

“Yeah.” He moved a hand to Lance’s hair, threading it in his hair in a half-mix between ruffling and combing it. “I’m pretty awful, but you’re the worst.”

“What’d you say, punk?”

“I said, ‘you’re the worst’.”

“I’m going to fall asleep, right here so you can’t move, just to spite you.”

If that was Lance’s idea of acting spiteful, than Keith was in for a wild ride.

Chapter Text

Keith had learned the hard way that the worst part of a night of careless drinking was the entire 24-hour period that followed it.

He’d heard all of the tips before – drink water, space out your shots, liquor before beer, and so on. And every time Keith told himself that this would be the time when he’d take that sound advice, and take it slow, and hydrate himself properly, so he wouldn’t wake up feeling like he personally got dragged through all nine circles of hell by the devil himself. But then he would throttle that first shot, and the giddy buzz would kick in, and Keith would convince himself that he’d be fine in the morning, live in the moment and stop worrying about tomorrow, because alcohol caused his impulse control to implode upon itself. Sober Keith was reckless, but Drunk Keith was unstoppable, a force that crashed into any threat thrown in front of him without care for the wreckage he would ultimately leave behind.

Now, as he barely managed to force his eyes open, crusty and dry from a lack of sleep, that wreckage was presented to him with a neat little bow, drooling all over his shirt and snoring so loudly that Keith could almost feel his eardrums painfully vibrating in protest.

Almost. Because that pain was completely overshadowed by the impossibly heavy weight in his head that pounded along with his heartbeat. It felt like his skull was swelling, pushing his skeleton to the absolute limit, one shot away from bursting open and killing him softly. And that was only the start of it, too – his legs were sore, the spot between his shoulder blades had a dull ache where Lance had forced his knee into the crevice, and his chest groaned in protest at even the slightest of movements, because he had been stupid and reckless, again, and worn his binder all night even though Shiro had warned him not to, but he was drunk at the time and unaware of anything going on with his chest aside from the soft, sleepy face that was mushed into his flattened torso.

He looked down at that face, and it fluttered his heart slightly, seeing it so blissfully unaware. Keith, however, was very painfully aware, and he needed Lance to get off now before he sobered up and started asking questions.

“MmMFmfff!!” Lance’s mumbled protest did nothing to stop Keith from shoving the sloth-esque body right off of him, flopping him over onto the carpeted spot right next to him. Newly awakened and agitated, he rubbed his eyes and readjusted to the weak sunlight filtering into the room before propping himself up on an elbow to glare at Keith. “Why the hell did you do that? I was comfy.”

Keith had pressed himself up against the couch, wrapping his knees towards his chest defensively, flinching at the sudden irritation of his binder twinging against raw, sensitive skin. “What were you doing?”

“What do you mean, ‘what was I doing?’” Lance was staring at him like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “I was sleeping on your chest. To spite you. But it ended up being surprisingly comfy, kinda like a pillow.”

‘Comfy like a pillow’. That was not a phrase that Keith wanted to associate with himself, and Keith felt electricity jolt through his spine when he realized the implications of such a phrase. He dared to question it, concern creasing his eyebrows as he closed his knees into his body. “That wasn’t like, weird, was it? Did you notice anything weird about it?”

Lance was too natural about all of this. Keith concluded that somehow, he had avoided a hangover, because there is no way anyone even remotely rational could be so lighthearted and chipper after they’d drank so much last night. “I don’t think I noticed anything weird about it? I mean, your shirt was really sweaty, and it kinda smelled, but that was it.” He looked at Keith inquisitively. “Why? Was I supposed to notice something weird?”

“No,” Keith retorted through gritted teeth. And then, added, without thinking; “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fine.” Lance scooted up to him, hand tentatively raised towards the boy with a searing hangover. “You saying that makes me think that you’re not actually fine. What’s up?”

Keith bit his tongue. “I’m just hungover. That’s all.”

“Hmmmmmmm.” Lance didn’t seem entirely convinced, giving him another investigative look-down, before ultimately dropping the topic altogether. “I’m gonna go get you some water and aspirin. That’ll probably help take off the edge.” He pushed himself off of the carpet and onto his feet, with such a steady, joyful precision that it pained Keith just to even think about it. “I’ll be back in a minute. I wanna check up on Pidge and Hunk too.”

He slumped out the door, propping it ajar as he clamored down the stairs, leaving Keith to his lonesome self. His haggard, aching body was tempted to go back asleep, right on the leather couch behind him, and just forget about all of this. Drunk Keith had been impulsive, and boundless, and enamored, and he pushed much faster than Keith was prepared for. Drunk Keith was weak and desperate for affection, enough so that’d he’d even gone out and kissed Lance. Drunk Keith thought he knew what was best for Keith, but Drunk Keith was wrong, and now Keith was scared of the implications of what he had done, and sleep was the most tempting solution at the moment.

It didn’t take long for Lance to come back, gripping a glass of tap water in one hand and two white pills in the other. He plopped down on his knees right next to Keith, not even close to touching but still too proximate for comfort, and handed over the two items. “Pidge and Hunk fell asleep in the bathroom,” he chuckled, dropping his hands and scooting into a spot against the couch adjacent to the pale boy. “Looks like Pidge had a rough night. Thank God Hunk was there to help. He always was the most responsible out of all of us.”

The inclusive phrase did not go unnoticed by Keith, but he found little comfort in it. His head pulsed and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his forehead before dry swallowing the two pills with a quiet ‘thanks’.

Lance watched as Keith buried his face into the crook of his knees, and he bit his lip nervously. “Did I do something wrong last night?”

“No.” Keith sounded agitated, and Lance couldn’t pinpoint whether it was at him or Keith himself.

Lance dragged a finger across the carpet, trying to distract himself and failing. “So why does it feel like you’re trying to push me away?”

Shit. This wasn’t what Keith wanted. This wasn’t how Keith wanted Lance to feel, more importantly. This was the wreckage in action, the battering ram colliding with wood, the loose splinters flying dangerously outward. This was his fault, and this was him hating himself for every act of impulse he had failed to control.

He wanted Lance, but he was scared of Lance. He wanted that kiss, but he was scared of the touch. He wanted the proximity, but he was scared of losing it. He wanted, wanted, wanted – but he was a coward who had always been alone, who had always pushed himself away from others willingly. This was his biggest fear, thrown in his face by his own hand, and he was drowning under the weight of it all.

“I’m sorry.” He was gripping his legs much too tightly to his chest, and the words came out more pained than he had intended.

Lance turned to him, his face soft and wide. “What for?”

“For all of this,” he growled, more to himself, as he threw his hand aimlessly into the air. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I hurt you in the process. I’m not trying to push you away, I just…….” He snarled angrily when the words he needed did not come.

“Hey.” Lance, somewhat relieved, tapped Keith’s foot with his own in reassurance. “I get it, kinda-sorta. Stuff like this is scary. Especially if you don’t know what you’re doing, like you said. Hell if ever know what I’m doing either.”

Keith peeked an eye out over his arm. “What do you mean by ’Stuff like this’?”

Lance scratched the back of his neck, tensing up slightly. “I mean, we kissed, right? And you said you liked me, right? Or was that just…..” Lance turned to stare at the ground. He was back to biting his lip nervously, and Keith saw that vulnerable look in his eyes from the night before that he repulsed so much. “I mean, I get if it was just some ‘drunk thing’, because that stuff happens, right? Or that’s what I’ve seen in movies, at least-“

“I like you, Lance.” He’d blurted it out before he even processed it, because any fear he had was swallowed whole by that dejected, doubtful look on Lance’s face. When his words made Lance’s face light up, he decided that his words, however terrible he was at organizing them, were the best weapon in his arsenal right now.

“I wasn’t……lying. I’m just confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what you want, Lance, I just went and kissed you without even thinking, and I don’t even know if you liked it.” He dug his face back into his knees, unused to such openhearted honesty from himself and somewhat nervous because of it.

He felt a hand ruffling his hair, and when he looked up to protest, there it was, that dimpled grin that made the world fall apart in his peripheral, because he couldn’t focus on anything but that. “Your hair’s really greasy,” he remarked, taking an individual strand and rubbing it in between his fingers. “We’re gonna have to fix that. I might even let you borrow some of my special shampoo.”

Keith swatted the hand away franticly. “What are you doing? This is serious, Lance, stop touching my hair!”

The idiot was giggling as he fell backwards on his ass, and he teasingly swiped back at Keith’s hand. “Listen, Keith, if I’m going to keep calling you ‘pretty boy’, you’re going to have to start looking the part, because I’m not going to date someone who can’t even shampoo their hair properly.”

Keith’s brain all but glitched out. His mouth drooped open. “What?”

“I think you know exactly what I said, pretty boy.” Lance shot him a cheeky grin before standing up and heading to the side-kitchen in the corner. “Neither of us know what exactly we’re getting into here, and if I’m being honest, I think we’re both a little scared. But I’m interested to see where this could go, and you’re pretty cute, so it can’t be that scary.” He opened a pair of cabinet doors and scrounged around for a few seconds before pulling out some saltines, unopened and recently purchased. Using his teeth, he ripped open the plastic wrapping and dipped his fingers into the package as he bent back down to be eye-to-eye with Keith.

“Besides,” he purred, putting two crackers into Keith’s hand, “I’ve never dated anyone who kissed me first. I guess that means you think I’m pretty special, huh?”

Keith wanted to slap that shit-eating grin off of his face. “I take that back. I don’t like you anymore.”

“Whaaaat? Already?” Lance feigned disappointment, and examined a watch that didn’t exist on his wrist. “That only took, like, ten seconds. I think that might be a new record for me.”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh.” Keith lolled his head back onto the couch, rubbing his temples. “I’m hungover, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I like an idiot. This day can’t get any worse.”

Lance smirked. “Well it’s about to, because I’ve got work in a few hours, so I’ve gotta go home and wash up.” He ruffled Keith’s hair again, recoiling slightly once he felt the greasiness of it, and stood up fully, stretching his arms above his head. “If you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, let’s hang out after I get off work tomorrow. We can figure out something to do.” Lance let his arms fall to place at his sides before he looked down at the hungover boy with uncertainty. “I mean, if you want to? We can always do it some other day.”

Keith lazily shook his head, his hair sweeping across the leather surface. “Nah. That sounds, uh, good. To me.” He was blushing now, and he didn’t have the alcohol to pin it on this time.

“Good.” The hairs on Keith’s neck bristled when he realized Lance was already at the door. He glanced over one last time, only to be met with that stupid, cocky grin and a matching wink.

“It’s a date, pretty boy.”

--

It was becoming a standard thing for Shiro to choke on whatever he was drinking whenever Allura walked in. Which was fantastic for everyone involved, because it was happening much more frequently as she took more visits to the Den- and best of all Allura and Coran were as naive as doorknobs, and they just figured Shiro had weird eating habits. Afterwards, he would continue to flush so red that dead flowers in foreign lands would brilliantly come back to life under the radiance of his blush. After a while, Allura and Coran assumed that he was just naturally red, and at one point Coran brought him some sunscreen because he was concerned about the fact that Shiro was so burnt despite it being the middle of October. Shiro just accepted it without comment and went redder.

There were two things different about this particular situation; one, no one was around to make fun of him for it, which helped dampen the color significantly; and two, they were talking about the Galra, which arrested any feeling of embarrassment that he could have felt at the moment.

“So you’re telling me they’ve actually expanded in the last few months?” Shiro questioned, looking to Coran for answers.

“That seems to be the case,” Coran sighed, tapping his pen against his chin with growing irritation. “My investigations in the last month show that the amount of incidents has increased from before, and it looks like it’s going to keep going up.”

“We’ve been trying to convince most of the kids to stay with the center, but we’re losing more and more to them each month.” Allura was dejected, pinching the bridge of her nose with a weariness that showed how truly exhausted she was. “I don’t know how they keep slipping under our noses like that. Everything I’ve tried so far has failed, and we just keep losing them as the weeks go on…..”

“Don’t forget the cut in our funding!” Coran chirped, much too cheerfully for this kind of conversation. Shiro and Allura groaned simultaneously.

The silver-haired woman slumped into one of the chairs, defeated. “How could I possibly forget the budget cut! Oh gods, this is all terrible.”

“Ms. Allura, if I may,” Shiro tried to comfort, unconsciously blushing once Allura turned to him with a look of hope. “I think Keith’s done with the Galra, permanently. Especially now that you’ve got him on the right path with his hormones.”

That helped to soften her concerns, somewhat, and she took a deep breath of relief. “I can’t believe the Galra tricked him by using such a vile tactic. But I’m glad the doctor was more….cooperative once I went in and gave him a ‘talk’.” She smirked at the memory, which Coran also seemed to remember vividly.

“You mean when you went into his office and yelled at him about how misguided and idiotic he was for two hours straight? Why, that was a speech for the ages!” He twirled his mustache with glee. “I was shaking in my boots, and I wasn’t even in the same room!”

“Well, he deserved it.” She shrugged the problem off like it was merely a bug to be flicked away. “If doctors don’t want to prescribe proper health care, then I’ll go in and remind them what their job is.”

Coran was clapping along, bouncing up and down in his spot. “Yes, Ms. Allura, I agree! And you sure gave him a piece of your mind! I’m glad that this Keith business as finally been properly sorted out. But,” he turned grave, turning to Shiro with a seriousness that he had rarely seen before. “You do realize that they aren’t going to let him go that easily. They’ll come for him once they realize he’s left.”

“Afternoon, everybody, your resident barista is here and ready to mingle.” And just like that, Lance strolled into the coffee shop, completely unaware of the conversation before him and too into his own act to care, sliding over the counter with a whistle and a smile.

Shiro shot a curt glance at Coran. “We’ll talk about that later.” He looked up to the plastic clock on the wall and shook his head dully. “You’re ten minutes late, Lance.”

“According to your clock, I am,” he countered, as he slipped off his jacket and hooked it on the bar in front of him. “But according to my clock, I’m right on time, boss.”

“Is he always like this?” Allura groaned, staring at the skinny boy with a concentrated amount exasperation, who just grinned right back.

“I can be anything you want, princess,” he purred, wriggling his eyebrow and pointing flourished finger guns at her.

Shiro yanked him back by his collar, causing Lance to let out an undignified yelp. “Not today, Lance. Ms. Allura doesn’t need that right now.”

“Hmph.” Lance was pouting like an overzealous child, shot down before he could truly lift off. “You’re just jealous because I’m making the moves that you’re too chicken to do-“

“Nope.” The prosthetic was covering Lance’s mouth, his other hand wrapped around his eyes as he dragged him into the back of the store. “Nope. You’re not doing this right now. We’re not doing that.”

“Bfffffyuou liiiiiiike fheer-“

Shiro leaned in to whisper harsh words, his grip unrelenting on Lance’s face while he whined. “I swear to God, Lance, I will make you clean the bathrooms for the next week if you do not shut up right now.”

He stopped thrashing about. “Fffyou wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would.” He pushed Lance out of his grip with a light shove. “Now make her a cappuccino while I finish talking to her.”

“But she never asked for a cappuccino?”

 And there it was, the blush of a thousand fires, back in a flash. “T-that’s usually what she gets before she leaves. I just want it to be ready.”

Lance looked like he was about to explode. Anticipating this, the broader man shoved Lance right into the coffee machine before he could react, and stared at him with such sharp daggers that it stabbed any sense of hilariousness he felt about the situation right out of him.

“Now what was all of that about?” Coran questioned, raising an eyebrow at the coffee shop owner. “And have you been using my sunscreen at all? You’re as red as a honeycrisp apple!”

“Ehrm, yeah.” Shiro was back to scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hasn’t really been working. Sorry, Coran.”

Coran wilted faster than a dried-up sunflower. “Oh, what a shame. Back in my police days, that sunblock used to work like a charm! You know what they say-“ He held his hands up, dazzling the fingers like he was showing off a product – “Sunquil! Hits the spot when you need to repel the sun and repel crime!”

“Oh, Coran.” Allura was back on her feet and rolling her eyes at her assistant. “I don’t think Sunquil can help us repel off the Galra. It’s just a silly slogan.”

Lance was in the middle of steaming milk, eyebrow quirked. “What is ‘the Galra’? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of the Galra before?” Coran swing a finger at him and ticked. “Well consider yourself lucky, because they’re a right nasty bunch! Brutes, absolute brutes.”

“What Coran means to say,” Allura swung in, tapping her nails on the counter impatiently, “is that the Galra are a group that’s been on the rise as of late. They specialize in ‘attacks’ – where on certain days of the month, they’ll send out all of their recruits to wreak havoc on Altea. It’s an effective method of attack, because it spreads the police’s forces out way too thin. They’re an evil bunch, and we’re been trying to stop them since they popped up a couple of years back.”

“Huh.” Lance moved over to the coffee machine and began to grind the beans. “Wonder why I’ve never heard of ‘em. That sounds like a serious issue.”

“The Altean government tries to censor news of the attacks when they can.” Shiro cocked his hip against the counter, observing Lance’s cappuccino-making technique with a small sense of pride. “They don’t want people to panic, and they believe they have the situation under control. It’s a complicated issue.”

The olive-skinned boy hummed to himself as he fiddled with the buttons on the machine. “If they’re such bad people, then how do they manage to get people to join them? That sounds like an awful gig to me.”

A helpless sigh found its way out of Shiro’s lips, and he slumped into the counter. “The Galra have power, and with that power comes influence. They tend to target those who have a hard time providing for themselves, and lure them in by exploiting that. That’s a big reason why Allura and Coran run the youth center – to help give some of those at-risk kids some relief. And that’s a big reason why I volunteer there too.”

“Right! Well, speaking of the youth center, it’s about time the misses and I got hopping!” Coran pirouetted on his foot, ushering Allura to the front entrance. “I forget to tell you before I left, but I jammed the printer again and I might need your help with that.”

“Don’t forget your drink,” Lance swooned, sliding the finished concoction across the counter and right in front of the dark-skinned goddess. “Specially made with a touch of love by yours truly.” He winked at her, already prepared for the eventual slap on the back of his head that would come from this.

She took it with a groan, and that slap on the head came swiftly after. “Someone needs to put you on a leash,” she growled, glaring at him before teasingly eyeing Shiro with a smirk. The blood in his veins froze in place, and the only part of him that could move was the robotic attachment that foolishly waved goodbye as the two walked out of the store with subtlety and grace.

He expected Lance to whine about his lost chances, or complain about how he should flirt more with boys, or make fun of Shiro for how he could turn beet red at the drop of a hat. What he didn’t expect was for Lance to turn to him, with a sober look on his face, as if he was pondering something that wasn't clicking in his head.

“I still don’t understand it,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead as he looked up to the ceiling. “The Galra sound like bad people. Even if they have something you really wanted, that doesn’t make joining them any better, if what you said was all true.”

A small flicker of empathy pained Shiro’s core. Unsure of what else to do, he put a hand on Lance’s shoulder, urging him to look at Shiro and understand. “Some people aren’t as lucky as we we are, Lance. Sometimes, when everything seems so hopeless, even an organization like the Galra seems better than what you have. It’s hard to understand, but it’s the truth.”

The thought slowly integrated itself into Lance’s mind, but he still didn’t seem to fully accept it. He turned away from Shiro and grabbed a rag from the sink, washing out the old water and twisting the fabric to strain it properly. “I’ve got my own set of problems too, but you don’t see me turning to corrupt organizations in order to fix them.”

“Yeah, well.” Shiro accepted his defeat, just this once, too tired and overwhelmed to properly fight back. “Sometimes the world is an unfair place. We’re all just trying to figure out our place in it, even if it doesn’t want to cooperate most of the time.”

Lance just shrugged back. “I’m just a simple barista making a cappuccino for your girlfriend, boss. I don’t need an existential crisis right now.”

And there was that normality that Shiro so desperately needed at the moment. “She’s not my girlfriend, Lance.”

“Well, you definitely want her to be.”

“The bathroom offer is still up for the taking if you want it.”

Lance groaned, Shiro smiled, the sun was high in the sky, and the world kept spinning.

Chapter Text

The Holt household was too quiet without their older brother and their dad, eerily so when the departure was recent.

Pidge tried his best to shrug it off. They were doing their jobs, they always came back, life with just mom and he wasn’t so bad. Soon enough the silence would stop feeling temporary and would start feeling normal, and Pidge could work on experiments and Garrison projects, and he could play with Rover and Spunky, and Lance and Hunk would come over and fill the void that consumed the household with strained reticence.

But ‘soon enough’ wasn’t now. Soon enough didn’t cover up the awkward silence over fast-food dinners, and it didn’t cover up the late night phone calls that Pidge’s mom excused herself from the dinner table for, chatting away with some random tech executive about things that could have waited, things that didn’t justify leaving Pidge alone at the table to eat soggy French-fries dipped in packets of company-brand ketchup.

The worst part was that she never went far away enough to be completely out of ear-shot. That left Pidge with the ability to hear most of it, especially when her voice pitched as the conversation turned personal.

“Oh, Katie? Why yes, SHE’S doing wonderful, actually-“

“Just yesterday SHE got the top score in HER class! I am so proud of HER-“

“My DAUGHTER is doing good things, why actually just yesterday SHE-“

Every word felt like pricks to their spine. It didn’t feel completely wrong, but it was never right either; it was a dull ache that followed them around, pricking itself only when those words were used so carelessly, words used without their permission to describe an identity they didn’t align with.  They’d done their research, Pidge knew that they weren’t alone in this feeling. Cutting their hair off was the first step she’d taken to accept this new, comforting identity; explaining to Lance why she wanted him to cut her hair short was the second step. He’d taken it in his Lance-esque stride, going overboard with how much he tried to switch up the pronouns (“HE brought THEIR chameleon to HER presentation!”) – but it was a genuine overboard that made Pidge feel understood all the same.

Hunk and Shiro respected Pidge’s identity too, and so did Rover and Spunky, even if they couldn’t vocally confirm it (he knew they respected it in their little fluffy hearts). He had confidence now in his identity, and he had confidence in his mother’s ability to respect him for who he was.

Baby steps. First, Pidge would come out to Mom, and then to Matt and Dad when they came back. Pidge was non-binary, and that’s ok, and they would understand. Deep breaths.

Phone call completed, Mrs. Holt scurried back into the dining room, mumbling half-hearted excuses such as ‘it was for work’ and ‘it was an important call’ as she scooted back into her chair, straight across from Pidge on a table much too long for just the two of them.

“Alright honey,” Mrs. Holt chirped, dipping her hand into the greasy bag of food centered at the table. “It’s been a while since we got food from here! I guess I just wanted a change from always getting it from the place down the street.” She chuckled as she pulled out a wrapped up burger, lukewarm and soggy after waiting for too long to be eaten, and peeled off the waxy paper carefully. “So what’s going on in your life? Anything exciting happen today at the Garrison?”

Ketchup was pushed and molded against a limp fry as Pidge dragged the piece of food across the condiment, biting her lip skittishly. “Today was fine. We worked on calibrating field monitors. It wasn’t anything special.”

“Oh, well that’s good.” Mrs. Holt was observing her burger tepidly. “Not every day can be an exciting day. “

Pidge could feel herself losing her nerve already. She had to act now before it was too late, before she convinced herself to ‘just do it another day’.

“Hey mom?”

Mrs. Holt wiped smidges of ketchup from the corner of her mouth, tilting her head towards her child curiously. “What is it, Katie?”

Goosebumps surfaced on his forearms, and Pidge shuddered at the name before steeling his resolve. “I’ve been thinking a lot about, um--“ they swallowed thickly, forcing themselves to make eye contact-- “who I am. How I identify as a person.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Holt was smiling, setting the burger back down on the plate in order to wipe her fingers with a wrinkled, somewhat-crumped napkin. “I expect nothing less. You are still a teenager, after all, so it only makes sense for you to be exploring yourself.”

“Yeah, well uh, I guess I’ve been doing some of that.” Pidge felt awkward, like her words were going completely over the head of the person she needed to talk to the most. “But mom, I think it’s more than that. I don’t think I’m a girl, mom.”

That hollow silence faded in once more, stronger than ever as Mrs. Holt tried to process those words. “I don’t think I understand, Katie.”

Deep breaths. In and out. Be confident.

“I’ve been doing some research, and I’ve realized that I’m non-binary, mom. As in, I don’t really identify as a girl or a boy. I feel like something in between, I guess.”

“That doesn’t-“ Mrs. Holt was cradling her head in her hands, shaking it mildly- “That doesn’t make sense, honey.” She forced the claims to roll off of her back. “I’ve worked with transgender people before, and you aren’t like them.”

That was a blow that Pidge was not expecting to take. Her resolve was staggered, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to ground herself back down. “I’m not transgender mom, I’m non-binary. There’s a difference – like, I’m not not a girl, and I’m not not a boy, I’m just – I’m just me, mom. I-it’s like Spunky – he changes color all of the time, and that’s how I feel about my gender! He’s still a chameleon despite his color, and I’m still me despite my gender! Is this really that hard to understand?”

She was still shaking her head, throwing the pleas off of her like blemished ticks. “You’re still so young, Katie, you still have a lot of growing to do. You feel this way because you’re still so hormonal. That’s why you cut your hair, right? You’ll grow out of it-“

“Mom, you’re not listening to me!” Pidge threw their fry onto the ground, splattering ketchup all over the tiled floor. “I’m not going to grow out of anything. And even if I did, why would it matter? Why can’t you just-“ their voice cracked and tears threatened to slip out, held back purely by will – “just let me be who I am? This is who I am!”

“Because this isn’t who you are!” The chair screeched against the hard tile floor as Mrs. Holt stood up abruptly. “You’re my daughter, Katie, my brilliant, talented daughter who I love so much! This shouldn’t even be a problem!”

She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Drip by drip, they fell onto the pearl white tablecloth, now stained with harsh words and a quivering confidence. Her hands were shaking, vibrating uncomfortably with venomous sentiments and an unexpected sense of fear. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Katie, why are you doing this to me-“

She stopped when she heard a choked, broken sob come from her child.

They were crying, closed off from their mother, wholly wrapped up in sobs that wrecked her body painfully. It was heartbreaking. Utterly heartbreaking, enough to make Mrs. Holt swallow her words.

“I’m not lying.” She was pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes, frantically wiping away the tears that refused to halt. “Why would I lie about any of this, mom? Why can’t you just believe me?”

“Oh gosh.” Only a second went by before Mrs. Holt was by her child, hugging them with that delicate care that only a mother could have. “Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry, Katie, please don’t cry.”

It wasn’t that easy for Pidge to just stop crying. They were emotional, and wounded, and taken aback from the attack on their identity. Though Pidge didn’t fold easily into the hug surrounding their small frame, they didn’t turn away from it either, instead choosing to stiffen up and continue to sob, to allow the hurt she felt to ooze out of her system, to make their mother understand how powerfully she felt about all of this.

A long time passed before the sobs began to die down, the tiny child slowly growing exhausted from their disappointment. Mrs. Holt just kept holding on, stroking his hair, allowing Pidge to use her shoulder as a tissue for the multitudes of tears that flowed from her eyes, until they pushed away and tried to regain composure.

“You don’t have to understand.” Pidge wiped the remnants of snot from his nose with her sleeve, refusing to look at the guilt-ridden mother beside him. “I just need you to respect it. I’m not just your daughter, mom – I’m a lot of things, and just because I have a hard time defining it doesn’t mean you can be mean to me about it.”

“Oh, honey.” She was trying so hard to stay strong, to be the pillar her child needed, but she couldn’t help the solitary tear that rolled over her thin cheekbone. “I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry for lashing out the way I did. It wasn’t right of me at all.”

“It’s fine.” Their voice was still cracking, weighted by half-heartedness and shame.

“No, it’s not.” Mrs. Holt raised her hands to her child’s cheeks, wiping away stray tears with her thumbs. “A mother should never make their child cry. I hurt you, and that’s not ok for me to do.”

Pidge didn’t say anything. Pidge had nothing to say.

“Honey.” She turned her palms so Pidge was looking her in the eye. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But I want to understand, and I don’t want you to feel like I don’t love you or respect you. You say you don’t feel like my daughter?” A strong, reassuring, thin-lipped smile flashed across Mrs. Holt’s face. “Then you’re not my daughter. You’re my child, and I love you so, so much.”

The short-haired boy looked at his mom with swollen, red, slightly hopeful eyes. “Y-you’re not angry with me?”

“Oh gods, no.” Mrs. Holt’s palms fell to Pidge’s sides as she wrapped her child up once more, exuding mountains of motherly warmth. “I could never be angry with you. I love you, Katie, and I’ll try my best to help you along your journey with this.”

It was weak, and it was doubtful, but a small smile flickered onto Pidge’s lips. Finally, they wrapped their arms around their mom, embracing the love that surrounded them unconditionally. “That’s all I wanted, Mom. T-thank you.”

The child felt a kiss on her forehead as her mom finally pulled back, slightly unsteady but powerfully warm. “Let’s go get some ice cream and watch some history channel, honey. You deserve to have a fun night after all of this.”

He felt frail, but ultimately hopeful, nodding his head sluggishly. “Yeah, ok.” And he smiled back, grabbing his mom’s hand one more time as they walked back into the kitchen in search for frozen delights.

It was harder than Pidge had expected. Maybe they were lucky, having friends that accepted them without qualm and without fuss, and this was the result of such blinded optimism. That was possible; but Pidge didn’t want to accept that. They wanted to accept a world where people were open about who they were, where people could be who they wanted to be without screaming fights over the dinner table, and without dried tears staining the silken tablecloth. Ultimately, Pidge was in control of their identity, and even if it was difficult for others to grasp, it didn’t make them matter any less in the grand scheme of things.

The rest of Pidge’s family still didn’t know. There was a chance they wouldn’t be as open to understanding as Pidge’s mom was, and everything would go much, much more poorly than it had this time. But Pidge had hope. Every step was a step forward, and every obstacle was just an object to be overcome. Pidge was strong, and capable, and confident in themselves, and the world was just waiting to be tackled by such a powerfully dauntless figure.

They were Pidge, and they were non-binary, and they were going to take on the world, one step at a time, with ice cream in hand and the history channel in their eyes.

Chapter Text

For once in his life, Keith is completely overthinking everything.

Does he show up early, or should he play it off and show up late? Should he hang out and screw around with Lance at the coffee shop when he’s not busy, or should he at least pretend to have some semblance of a life? For fuck’s sake, all he’s doing is meeting Lance at the coffee shop after he’s done working. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal.

There’s a lot of factors going into this that Keith didn’t prepare for, most significantly the boulder that settles itself in the pit of his gut.

He calls it a boulder, but it’s more like a geode – harsh and unwanted at the surface level, but secretly full of crystallizing edges, of emotions and feelings of unwarranted joy that threaten to explode and overwhelm his entire core. Unfortunately, Keith can’t see any of that underlying beauty, focusing instead on how heavy his torso feels and how Jesus God, I can’t believe I can’t stop thinking about an idiot who’s about as smooth as a goddamn plunger.

But he was, and he was only half-pissed about it. Things could’ve gone a lot worse. He could’ve leaned in for that dumb, drunken stupor of a kiss only for Lance to push back in horror, skitter back away from him, and tell him that it’s not like that, Keith, I don’t really LIKE you in that way. He didn’t though. Even if Keith had been a little overeager and rammed their noses together in a very awkward, this-is-my-first-kiss kinda way, Lance just laughed it off and melted right back into him for the rest of the night.

The memory makes his cheeks warm up with light tints of pink. The boulder in his stomach shifts uncomfortably and he’s forced to refocus on the fact that he was in the now, waiting for a first date (his first date ever, not that Lance really needed to know that right now), and he felt like a bent nail sticking out of wood.

Lance gets off at seven. It’s currently four. Three hours to kill, and Keith finds himself back at square one.

He looks up to the sky, greyed and murky with the call of an oncoming winter. He’d never been much of a winter person, as it signaled family holidays he never really got to have and snow days that forced him to stay inside when all he wanted was to get out and get away from everything.

Maybe this winter will be different. Maybe he’ll finally have a reason to stay inside, somewhere, with people he actually enjoyed.

Keith smiles to himself and settles in a bench near the café, just far enough away that he’s relatively unnoticeable but close enough that he can still feel the warmth of the hot chocolate that was sure to be brewing inside the hearth of a building. He can wait. It may be cold, and it may be a long wait, but Keith doesn’t mind. Considering all of the twists and turns his life has gone through, waiting might as well be the biggest blessing he’s ever received.

From his coat pocket, Keith pulls out a chunk of wood and a thin knife (a new one, and noticeably less intimidating). He grips the underside of the wood and pushes the knife against it, cutting with the grain and chipping slivers off with a hefty precision.

A gust of wind gusts against his cheeks and Keith finds himself perpetually red. The boulder settles into his stomach and he wonders if the newfound color on his face is because of the autumn chill or because of something much, much more.

--

By the time Lance walked out of the store, metal keys clutched casually in his gloved fingers, Keith was already there by the door, looking rather odd with his hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets.

Lance gives him a quick look-over before smiling, shoving the key into the door and locking the building up for the night. “You’re not very subtle, you know.”

Keith feels a jolt run up his spine and he jumps up from the shock. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you’ve been at that bench all day.” The snarky grin that flashes on his face is intentionally clear, and Keith feels himself burning up under his wool-lined coat. “I can recognize that mullet from anywhere. Like, anywhere.”

Self-consciously, Keith pets the tuft of hair that falls on the back of his neck. “Is it really that bad?” He murmurs, now on edge, all those jittery feelings he had managed to calm down now bursting through the seams.

“I never said it was bad,” Lance reassures, turning around and giving Keith his full attention. “I just said that it was recognizable. Which it totally is.”

The tips of his ears feel like they’re on fire. Keith tries not to read into it too deeply – his hair was pretty recognizable, after all – but he can’t help the flutters that form deep in his gut.

Lance gives him another look-over, remembers how un-social Keith can be in foreign situations, and promptly takes the lead. “You got any plans?” He echoes out, bumping Keith gently with his padded shoulder. It startles him, just for a moment, but it takes Keith off of the edge and he feels himself adjusting to this new, very warm situation.

“I uh, actually didn’t think that far ahead, honestly.” His eyes fell towards the ground, which shone with the light of an oncoming sunset. “I figured you might have some ideas up your sleeve.”

Lance gapes at him for a moment, then lets out a hefty chuckle that sweeps him off of his feet. “You’re telling me that you sat on that bench for three hours and you couldn’t think of one date idea?”

“W-what?” Keith falls into the defensive, gripping his frozen hands reflexively against his sides. “I was doing other things! The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.” He crosses his arms and turned away with a pout.

“Pssssssh. Whatever you say, pretty boy,” Lance chuckles again, and he slaps a palm onto Keith’s back. “But yeah, I’ve sorta got an idea or two in mind. Let’s get goin’.” He doesn’t give Keith time to comprehend before he’s off, walking lazily with his hands shoved into his own pockets.

Considering that Keith was the one with the reputation for being a reckless hot-head, Lance sure gave him a run for his money sometimes, with how often he did things without any chance for objection. He chased after the lanky boy, whose long legs carried him much faster than his slouched position would imply, and shot him a nasty glare once he was side to side. “Shouldn’t I get a say in what this idea is?” He spat, well aware that it wouldn’t phase the taller boy one bit.

And of course, it didn’t. “It’s not that big of a deal, Keith. We’re not doing anything that’s going to put your boxers in a bunch.” The slump on his shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, allowing the question to roll off of him easily.

Keith let out a huff at that. He was a blunt man, and this dancing around the topic was not something he particularly liked. “Then what are we doing?”

Finally, Lance let himself smirk, raising a gentle eyebrow in Keith’s direction. “I already told you what we’re doing.”

“Jesus.” Keith could not believe this was happening. It felt like he was pulling teeth, only he was pulling them from a sabretooth tiger that was eyeing him for dinner. “Can’t you be straightforward for at least one moment in your life?”

“Only if you say please.”

“Oh my god.” Keith rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw the back of his own skull. (That statement wouldn’t be cliché if it wasn’t true.) “I cannot believe you. You’re the worst.”

“Come ooooooooon,” was all Keith heard in its slurred, sloppy glory before a slacked arm wrapped around his shoulders and a sharp-toothed grin was shoved into his peripheral. “You are so easy to rile up, you know that? You put on this tough ‘cool guy’ act, but you are seriously just a huge dork.”

The arm feels cold and heavy on his shoulders and Keith feels his eyes dilate. “If I’m a dork, then you’re basically King Doofus,” he quips back, a little breathless, still staring holes into the cement pavement below them.

Like the roll of a tide, Lance shrugs it off again, reining Keith closer into his arm. “Now you just sound like my mom. Are you sure you haven’t met her? She’d probably get just as much of a kick out of your hair as I do.”

Blood is rushing to Keith’s cheeks and he unconsciously leans into the arm slacked around him. He can feel his muscles loosening up and he allows himself to fall into the jubilance of the moment. “No, Lance, I haven’t met your mom,” he laughs, with a staccato that thumps every gush of air that flows out of his lungs. “But are you really implying that you want me to meet your family on the first date?”

Lance throws him wildly aside, screeching and flailing in that Lance-esque way that Keith is slowly growing accustomed to. His eyes are wide and he’s stumbling backwards, waving his arms, mumbling incoherently. “N-no that’s not- That’s not what I meant I was just- you know not that I don’t think that would be cool sometime in the future, I just-“

“Oh my god, you really are King Doofus.” Keith rolls his eyes again, with no malicious intent, and in a moment of brevity wraps his arm around the thin waist that’s flailing right next to him. “We’re not going to meet your parents on the first date, Lance. But I still have no idea what we’re doing.”

He looks up to Lance, and a squeamish smile twitches across the thinner boy’s dusted cheeks. “Yeah yeah,” he starts, still quivering his words, “Just m-making sure that we were like. On the same page. Because that’s not happening! Not going to see my parents tonight, nope.” Soon enough he realizes he’s rambling incoherently and he turns away with that quivery smile.

Keith can feel the canary dangling right in front of his paws, but for once, he doesn’t take the bait. He’s trying to have a good time with Lance, not embarrass the living daylights out of him. So instead, he grips his arm a little tighter, and cocks his head in Lance's direction with a coy smirk. “If we aren’t meeting your parents, then what are we doing, Lance?”

Some sort of realization sparks in Lance’s brain and he jolts back up, nerves completely abandoned, falling naturally right back into that signature smirk of his. Keith feels his heart thump hard at that, and he can’t help but shrink at the bold presence of the boy next to him. “Oh yeah,” he chuckles, “I already told you, we aren’t doing anything, buddy.”

Keith shoots him a half-hearted glare. “If you don’t tell me what we’re doing in the next ten seconds, I am going to go home and never come back.”

God, that grin is infectious. Lance throws his arm back over him, and they walk aimlessly together, gripping each other much more tightly than they would ever want to admit. “We’re doing nothing, Keith. Nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G.” He flicks his tongue at out the last letter, purposefully over-enunciating every syllable.  

“Huh?” The statement bounces off of Keith like a brick wall, and he tries to read Lance’s face for any signs of stupidity. He finds a lot of them, but he can still tell that Lance is absolutely serious about this, and the corners of his mouth twitch downward in confusion. “I don’t get it. We can’t do nothing, Lance, we have to be doing something. That’s not how things work, we’re never actually doing nothing-“

“Alright, alright, don’t overheat too much thinking about this,” Lance laughs, pushing his palm against his own chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am incredibly broke, and I’m sure you’re not exactly raking in the dough either, considering you don’t have a job.” He glances down to the pale boy under his arm, and watches as he gives a sheepish nod back. “So, since we’re both broke, we can’t really do anything, right? So let’s just like….I don’t know. Do whatever. We’ll figure something out as we go.”

It sounded stupid, but Keith actually liked the idea. At the very least, it was a lot better than what he had imagined it would be like, with stuffy dress shirts and awkward ice-breakers across an overly-fancy dinner table. He felt his barriers slide away and he shrugged under the coated arm slung around his neck. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do nothing¸ then.”

“See? Not too bad of an idea once you think about it.” He flashes a thumbs up right under Keith’s nose before throwing the arm out in front of them, palm wide, as if he was showing off his prized possession. “The world is our oyster, and we are going to do absolutely nothing with it.”

The two boys chuckled in unison, gripping their arms tighter, and strolled lazily forward, starry eyed and ready to do absolutely nothing.

Keith was slowly learning to stop having assumptions about anything that had to do with Lance, because every time, he was always proven delightfully wrong.

--

Keith was pretty amazed at how fun ‘nothing’ could be. It basically amounted to them wandering around the city, kicking rocks, allowing their shared impulsiveness to lead them through the night.

They walked by a free newspaper stand, full of the thick, heavy paper that Lance deemed ‘terrible’ for making paper airplanes - not that it stopped them from having a competition anyways. (Lance’s was better, but Keith wasn’t far behind.)  There was a park with a couple geese that apparently hadn’t gotten the cue that it was time to migrate, so Keith dared Lance to chase after them. (Of course, Lance did, and of course, his screams of fear once he realized that they had teeth and that they were chasing him back was something Keith was never going to forget.) Mostly, they just weaved through the bright lights of city life, observing shops that they couldn’t afford, watching drunk people pass by, occasionally building up the courage to bump the other’s shoulder or wrap the opposite’s hand within their own.

It time really did exist, in this moment, Keith had no concept of it – the only indicator of how much time had passed was the dwindling amount of people wandering the streets, and the amount of bright, neon ‘OPEN’ signs shutting off right as the pair walked by.

Oh, and the sudden growling of Keith’s stomach that erupted suddenly and very unromantically. That was a good reminder that he hadn’t eaten in a good ten hours or so.

“What’s that? Are you hungry?” Lance teased, bending down ghosting his ear near the flat pane of Keith’s stomach. “I couldn’t hear ya. Try to be a little louder next time.”

Keith audibly groaned, lightly shoving Lance’s head away from his body. “Yes, I’m hungry, but don’t worry about it. I’ll just eat something when I get back to my room.”

“Nuh-uh. You can’t seriously expect that I wouldn’t feed you at some point tonight.” Lance jokingly wagged a finger in his face, sticking his tongue out with mischievous glee. “How crappy of a date would I be if I just left you to starve?”

Now Keith was confused, and the feeling was etched onto his face. “You said we were doing nothing? You can’t do nothing and have plans at the same time, Lance.”

Keith wondered if ‘shit-eating grin’ was just a permanent emotion that Lance wore. Because damn, he’d seen that grin too many times tonight, and he was starting to get too used to that stupid wink that came with it. “I said we were doing nothing, Keith, I didn’t say I didn’t have any plans for us.”

“But you did! You literally said that, Lance!” Keith’s arms were in the air, unbelieving and intense; he was not exactly fed up with Lance’s shit, but god did he know how to toe a fucking line. “You literally said we were going to ‘make it up as we go’, dude. Having plans is like, the exact opposite of that!”

Lance’s head jutted backwards, eyes darting back and forth, trying to remember the conversation they had before. While he waited for that lightbulb to inevitably go off, Keith stood there, arms crossed and smirking, biting his lip as he watched Lance bite his own in thought.

Ding. There it was, that dopey, wide-eyed look that Lance got whenever he realized he was totally wrong. And finally, Keith could shoot his own shit-eating grin back, teethy and harsh and so goddamn right.

“Whoops.” Was all Lance could utter before he was scrambling, struggling to piece back together his shattered bravado. “Well like, alright, we still didn’t really do anything, you can just add a clause to it, ok? ‘Nothing-with-a-side-of-food’. Yeah, that sounds right-“ Lance nodded to himself before grabbing Keith’s forearm, refusing him the opportunity to brag about this, and dragging him forward. “-Now come on, they’re probably closing soon, and I’ve been waiting for this all day. It’ll be good, promise.”

Promise. That was something that Lance did a lot. It was foreign to Keith – he never made promises, and he never really accepted them. It just wasn’t in his nature to believe that someone could be absolutely certain about keeping true to their word.

But again, Lance just kept surprising him more and more, to a point where Keith had even promised him something, not too long ago - that scholarship. And fuck, Keith had meant it. It was hard to believe that every time Lance promised something, he could mean it with as much heart as Keith had that one time, but that was another thing about Lance – he had a lot of heart. Copious amounts, enough to share with the world. Maybe it really was possible to promise so much, even if it was just the promise that they were going to eat good food tonight.

He allowed himself to be swept away, down the empty streets, under the haze of street lights with chipped paint. Lance didn’t stop grinning the entire way, rambling about how ‘this pizza is killer’ and how it ‘was just as good as my uncle’s, but in a different way’. Keith could only half-heartedly focus, as he was still reeling from his own thoughts, wondering how he had gotten here at all, how lucky he was to even be alive in this moment, dragged along by some lanky goofball who couldn’t shut up if someone paid him a thousand dollars to zip it.

Lance was always, always, full of surprises.

Keith’s feet automatically stopped only when his leader skid to a halt, right in front of a dusty brick building Keith had never seen before. He looked up at the half-broken neon sign above him and read the words ‘PIZZA FACTORY’, the last few letters barely sputtering to life, right next to an equally bright ‘OPEN’ sign. From the expansive windows, Keith could see nobody in the building aside from a lone girl in a ponytail behind the counter, her body powdered with traces of flour.

“You ready?” Lance winks at him, not bothering to wait for a response before he throws himself into the building, arms wide and hollering like he owns the place. It’s not unlike how he comes to the coffee shop, Keith thinks, and he wonders if there’s a limit into his chauvinistic attitude. He knows there is – he’s seen Lance vulnerable, but only twice, and very fleeting. It makes him wonder if he’ll ever be able to dig deep and see that side of the tan boy with a smile that could power the city with its voltage alone.

The cashier looks up, slightly startled, and immediately rolls her eyes when they land on Lance. “You know, considering how inconsistent you are about everything, you sure know how to show up on time when there’s free stuff involved.”

Lance ignores the jab and shoots fingerguns at the larger woman, planting his feet right on the cheap mat in front of the register. “You know me,” he whistles, shooting exaggerated bullets at the woman in front of him. “Besides, a deal’s a deal, right? I held up my end of the bargain, now it’s your turn.”

“Hmph.” She rolls her eyes again, humming to herself, and moves toward the racks of pizza that are shown off behind a muddied window pane, halting momentarily when she notices the quiet, new face near the door. She smiles brightly, too uncomfortably genuine for Keith, and turns back to Lance with a quirked eyebrow. “Who's this you've brought along with you?”

Lance snaps out of his own charade momentarily, remembering Keith, and scuttles over to throw an arm around his shoulders.  “This,” he slurs dramatically, and Keith can already feel himself flushing under the weight of his arm, “is Keith. And he’s hungry for some pizza, just like I am. And Keith,” he turns back, face softening momentarily when he makes eye contact with Keith, “This is Ro. She’s a pal from way back. Don’t mind her sassy comments and her eye rolls. She’s just feisty.” Lance lifts a hand to the air, jokingly swiping the air with a hisssssss.

“And don’t mind his stupid jokes and his shitty flirting,” she quips right back, reaching under the heated lights and grabbing a large slice with ingredients on it that Keith can’t instantly recognize. “God help you if you somehow manage to hang out with him for longer than ten minutes.”

“You love me, Ro, don’t even kid yourself.” His eyes light up as Ro grabs a bottle of sauce from under the counter and drizzles generously onto the slice.

Keith feels out of place. He knows nothing about their friendship but he can tell they’re some kind of close, a kind of close he is not familiar with at all, and he wonders if he should just leave, let them have their friendly banter in peace. Somehow, Lance senses this, and he moves his arm from his shoulder down to his back, quickly rubbing reassuring circles into the fabric. While Ro turns to throw the slice into the heater, Lance leans into his ear and whispers “Don’t worry, you’re alright” and Keith doesn’t have time to process the words before Lance’s breath is suddenly too far away.

“So Keith.” The plump woman slaps her hands against each other, a cloud of light flour puffing out in front of her face. Her youthful face is accentuated by a septum that makes Keith unconsciously rub the back of his hand against his own nose. “What’s your story? Haven’t ever seen you around here before, I’m curious.”

Well. If there’s one thing Keith is good at in social situations, it’s deflection, and he plays it in spades at the awkwardly personal question thrown at him. “I should be asking you the same thing,” he pushes, shoving his hands in his pockets once Lance takes his hand away and moves towards the counter.

Ro eyes him for a quick moment, studying him, but decides to roll with the comment. “I’m just your average pizza girl working late into the night,” she shrugs, grabbing a pair of tongs and slipping the hot slice of pizza right out of the heater and onto a paper plate. “But how I got to know this doof?” She eyes Lance sinisterly as she slides the pizza towards him. “Well, maybe I should make him tell you. I bet he would love to do that.”

Lance seems to lose his appetite and he flushes beet red, dropping his eyes to the floor with a squeamish frown. “I uh,” he squeaks, “I would rather we didn’t talk about that! I mean not right now at least, maybe some other time?”

“Uuuuuuuuh, no.” Keith steps forward, grinning like a cat. “Now I absolutely have to know. How’d you two meet, Ro?” A new shade of red explodes across Lance’s face and Keith grins wider at the sight.

“You still haven’t gotten a slice!” Lance interjects, scrambling for an escape. “You know, they have some crazy ass combinations here, I usually get the bacon and potato with some hot sauce over it, it sounds weird but it tastes like heaven-“

“Nu-uh, pretty boy, you’re not getting out of this one.” Lance’s eyes go wide at his own petname being thrown back at him. “And while you’re telling me the story, I wouldn’t mind having the same kind of slice, I’m sure Lance has some good taste.” Out of the corner of his eye, Keith watches as Lance rakes his hand through his hair, pushing back his beanie until it’s barely hanging on, thoroughly flustered and blushing like all hell.

Ro lets out a hearty chuckle and throws out a thumbs up before she moves back to the pizza racks. “You’re not gonna believe this, Keith, but Lance is the best Paladin I’ve ever had the chance to quest with. This kid knows how to smite a demon when it needs to get done.”

The jargon goes completely over Keith’s head and he turns to Lance for answers, only to find him nervously chomping down on his pizza and purposefully avoiding eye contact.

“Come again?” He turns back to Ro, who’s sliding the pizza into the heater with a smirk.

“I had a feeling this one wouldn’t know.” Her hands slap away the flour once more and she clucks her tongue in the direction of Lance, who only turns away. “Your friend Lance and I met through a fun little game called Dungeons & Dragons. Imagine my surprise when the comic shop put out an advertisement for the weekly meetings, only for this guy and his two doofus friends to show up with bags full of dice and eyes full of wonder.”

“Hey!” Lance barks back weakly, crossing his arms in a pout. “You make us sound like we’re five or something. Jeez, we sat down and played like everyone else, it wasn’t even that big of a deal.”

She rolls her eyes again and Keith feels a kindred spirit in this fellow perpetual eye-roller. “Seriously? You were practically bouncing in your seat the first time we played. Babbling about how ‘excited you were to kick dragon ass’ or whatever.” Another hearty laugh flows from the plump woman and she throws her head back. “Man, you were the worst to play with back then. But you picked it up quick, just like everything else you do.”

Keith can’t help the chuckle that squeezes out of his pursed lips, and he presses a hand to his face to try and cover it up. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” he murmurs between his fingers. “But it definitely wasn’t that. That’s so…..” He turns to Lance, who’s pulling his own beanie down awkwardly over his head, gripping onto it much too tight. “That’s so you.”

The taller boy lets go of his hat momentarily and gapes his mouth, in both confusion and surprise, eyes wide towards Keith. Whatever word he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.

Ro slides his heated pizza across the counter towards Keith, who turns away from Lance with a shrug and takes the slice with mild suspicion. He’s never seen a slice of pizza look so….bizzare. Tentatively, he takes a small bite, only for his mouth to be flooded with all kinds of contradictory tastes, spicy and subtle and crunchy and soft and overall, undeniably tasty.

“You like that?” Ro questions, already knowing the answer, licking her lips in glee. “It’s one of my personal favorites too. Lance doesn’t like experimenting with it, but maybe you should try it with pesto instead of marinara next time, it really makes it taste unique….”

And there they sit for the next hour, eating pizza and coming up with bullshit combinations for new pizza recipes. Lance remains sheepish the entire time, only returning to his normal self whenever Keith gives him a reassuring bump of his shoulder and a smile. Keith wonders just how large Lance’s group of friends is, and considers himself pretty damn lucky to be able to include himself in that group. In any friend group, really, for the first time in a long time.

--

“So Dungeons and Dragons, huh?”

Keith nudges him with his shoulder as they stroll down the empty street. The only presence of life are the taxi drivers that line the streets waiting for customers, and the hollow buzz of the street lights above them. It’s late, and it’s been a long and exciting day – Keith can feel the tiredness settling into his skin, threatening to droop his eyelids.

Lance is even more tired, much less of a late night person than Keith is, and he’s groggy enough to just accept the shove, shrugging in response. “Yeah, I like to play. It’s not a big deal, seriously.” He anxiously pulls down on his beanie again and glances up to the cloudy sky. “Of all the things to talk about, she had to tell that story? I can’t believe it.”

A frown creases across Keith’s face and his feet begin to stall. “Hey,” he starts, concerned, “Are you alright? You’ve seemed…..off, I guess.” He waves his hand dismissively, biting his lip.

Lance stops his own feet but doesn’t turn towards Keith, electing instead to stare wistfully at the sky once more. “Huh? Yeah, I’m fine, one-hundred percent, muy bien, all of the above.” He forces out a smile that Keith can see through like cracks in a pot. “It’s getting pretty late anyways, maybe I’m just tired. I should probably head home really soon.”

“Hold up.” Keith steps forward, right into Lance’s personal space, and looks almost accusatory in his glare. “I can tell something’s off, don’t hide it from me. Seriously, did I do something wrong or what?”

A startled puff of air escapes from Lance and he steps back, eyes wide. “W-wha -? Dude, you can’t just like, demand answers out of me like that! Jesus, nothing’s wrong, I’m fine.”

Keith watches the way Lance shrinks away from him and immediately feels guilty. Goddamn, he is not good with stuff like this.

With agitation, Keith swipes at his own forehead, wiping off the sweat that’s starting to accumulate there. “Sorry. I’m not good at like…..this stuff.” He makes another absent motion with his hand, hoping that Lance gets the point. “But also, I can tell something’s bugging you, and I want to try and help you if I can? If that makes sense?” He makes a tentative step towards Lance, who doesn’t back away. “And if it’s my fault, then at least I’ll know and I can try to fix it.”

He can hear the breathy sigh that comes out of Lance, like he’s been holding it for years, and Keith's heart sinks for reasons he can’t articulate. “I’m just being a baby about it. I’ll get over it.”

“About what?” Keith takes another step, and reaches a hand over to Lance’s, grasping it gingerly.

Lance accepts the warmth of Keith’s hand, but doesn’t tighten his grip, still looking up at the sky absently. “I don’t like talking about my nerdy stuff with people, alright? Me and Pidge and Hunk have been called ‘dumb nerds’ by way too many dickbags in my life. It just feels…..I don’t know.” His other hands rakes through his hair again, harsh enough to push his beanie right off of his head and into his hoodie. “I guess I’m kinda embarrassed about it. I didn’t want you to know about that stupid crap just yet.”

A pang of sympathy stabs Keith in the heart and he grips the hand in his tighter. “That’s really shitty,” he blurts out, unable to find better words, and he hopes that Lance can feel his emotions through his grip because his words feel awkward in his mouth. “I didn’t think it was dumb though. Kinda funny, yeah, but I think it’s cool that you’re so into the things you like. And I mean, you make a lot of friends doing that stuff, which I suck at, so more points to you.”

Finally, Lance looks back down at Keith, and he can see that light slowly returning into his irises. “If I recall correctly, at one point you called my comic books ‘lame’. And trust me,” he sighs, putting a hand to his chest dramatically, “I’m not one to forget such a grave statement. I was mad at you for so long after that.”

It takes a moment, but once Keith remembers what Lance is talking about, he immediately steps back, somewhat ashamed, unconsciously hiding under his hair.

“Shit.” His eyes dart back and forth, unsure. “I was kinda an ass when we first met, wasn’t I.”

“You’re telling me.” Lance lets out a small giggle and reaches for Keith’s other hand, now grasping both tightly in his own sweaty palms. “I used to think that you were the absolute worst.”

Keith looks up at him under the dim street light and smirks. “So what changed?”

“Hmmmm.” He thinks loosely as he leans in, pressing his forehead to Keith’s. “I guess I realized there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

“Yeah?” Keith’s face feels hot and puffy under Lance’s half-lidded gaze. “I could say the same about you.”

Lance hums again, smiling dreamily. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

Keith hums right back, grinning wide. “I’m pretty glad it worked out the way it did.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Lance leans forward, closing his eyes, and presses a kiss against Keith’s thin lips.

Somehow, despite everything, Keith Kogane has ended up here, under a dimly-lit streetlight, kissing a barista who he had completely brushed off just a few months before. Somehow, despite everything, Keith finds himself pressing back into the kiss, awkward and inexperienced but so, so right, the tip of his nose brushing against Lance’s, distracting him with how soft the skin feels against his own.

Keith Kogane, under the dimly-lit streetlight, wonders what he did to deserve a life like this.

Chapter Text

There’s something peculiar about the September sun at the height of the afternoon. It’s hot on the skin and it still burns when one is exposed to it for too long, but it’s a dull heat, unfelt deep beneath the surface of the body. It’s a hollow warmth that signals the end of a season, the top of a zenith before the inevitable swoop to its nadir, a whisper in the wind that signals oncoming and unknown change.

It’s the kind of warmth that does nothing to settle the goosebumps that litter Pidge’s thin arms as she sits by the creek, right next to her mother, uncomfortably silent and ebbing with hints of dread.

“I did some research,” Mrs. Holt starts, gazing hopefully at her child. “You know. About the gender stuff.”

Pidge’s head automatically jerks back, lips pursed in surprise. There’s a couple images that run through his head from that night not too long ago, images of rejection and tears and eventual but hesitant and uninformed acceptance. The hairs on his neck stand straight at the thought, and Pidge awkwardly nips at the collar of his hood as a lazy attempt at distraction.

“Well, what did you find out?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” A playful smile forces its way onto Mrs. Holt’s lips, an attempt to keep the mood light that Pidge can see through like glass. “There’s all sorts of terms out there, like ‘genderfluid’ and ‘demigirl’, and apparently it’s all on a spectrum, it’s actually quite fascinating.” She pushes her glasses up the slight curve of her nose and lets out a wispy sigh. “And it makes sense.”

Pidge finds the courage to look their mother in the eyes. The sudden shift in attitude has caught them off guard and suddenly the heat feels less hollow and more suffocating. “Do you….” Pidge’s voice falters for a moment, laced with unsureness. “You think it makes sense?”

“Yeah, I do!” Her eyes light up brilliantly, that Holt-esque light full of an intense love for knowledge and inquisitive insight, and her smile widens into a motherly grin, cornered with dimples. “I mean, everyone has their ‘masculine’ and their ‘feminine’ moments, and for some people that’s more of an inward feeling than it is how they present, I guess….” She rambles off for a few moments, still unsure of her position but happy to learn, and Pidge leans into her words with a newfound sense of hope.

The flow of words halts abruptly with a jolt of realization, and Mrs. Holt’s eyes narrow as she concentrates.

“I do have some questions about it all though,” she states, awkwardly monotone, and she tilts her head to her child seated right next to her. “Is it alright if I ask you them?”

“Uh, sure.” Pidge crumples her knees up against her chest and wraps her sleeved arms around them tightly. The intentions are pure but the air feels heavy and there’s distrust deep in her heart. “I’ll try to answer them if I can.”

Mrs. Holt takes a moment, lets in a deep breath, and gazes out onto the slow-rushing creek. “How do you know? That you’re not exactly a girl, I guess.”

It’s not a foreign question to Pidge – in fact, it’s one he has thought about constantly, turning it over and over and over and over until there was no corner left unchecked, but still unable to find a complete answer – but it still weighs uncomfortably over his head and he has to take a few breaths before he can find the courage to answer it properly.

“I really don’t know how to explain it in any tangible way. Most days I wake up and I’m fine with, well,” Pidge gestures haphazardly at his chest, “this, but there are some days where it just feels absolutely unbearable and wearing a binder makes me feel really happy. Some days I look down at my leg hair and I cry because it doesn’t seem long enough, other days it’s perfectly fine. I really, really don’t know, and it…..kinda sucks.” He lefts out a defeated sigh at that, turning away from his mom and clutching his fingers around the dents of his bony knees.

Mrs. Holt accepts the words like a sieve, slowly and carefully, giving it all time to sink in. She stares out to the creek once more, still bubbling with life under the glare of the sun. “That sounds like a pretty understandable thing to feel. You’re still young and you’re still trying to figure yourself out.”

Pidge nods mutely, still on edge, and says nothing in return.

“So since you’re going through all of these feelings,” Mrs. Holt continues, eyeing her child with curiosity, “How exactly would you label yourself?”

Their face scrunches up in confusion, eyeing their mother wearily. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Oh, you know.” She makes an absentminded motion with her wrist. “Genderqueer, transgender, boy, demigirl, all of those terms.”

“Um?” Pidge knows the word they’ve attached to themselves, but it still feels awkward and slippery on the tongue, like they’re trying to force water to mix with oil. “I’m non-binary. That’s the term that feels the most ‘right’ at this point, I guess.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that.” Pidge can’t see her mother’s face, but she can hear that knowing confidence, the kind that mothers seem to have in unlimited supply.

And it strikes a nerve, because she’s absolutely right. Pidge isn’t sure about that, or any of this, and god, it makes her angry, it makes him angry, it makes all of the above and everything so fucking angry because they don’t know what the hell they are, and it drives them absolutely insane. Every night, when they stare at the ceiling wondering if the answers will come tomorrow, and every morning, when the answers still remain deceptively far away, Pidge has that exact same through run through their head – you don’t sound too sure about that, you don’t sound too sure about that, you don’t sound too sure about that.

“Why are you so concerned about labeling yourself?”

The question takes Pidge out of their head, and turns their attention back onto the creek, still flowing without a care in the world. The only constant in a world that keeps shifting unexpectedly under Pidge’s feet in this moment.

The answer is automatic but half-hearted. “If I don’t label myself, then other people are gonna do it for me, you know?” He sneaks a look at his mom, who is listening intently, and hopes that she can’t see the straws he is grasping at. “Like, if I don’t call myself ‘non-binary’, then other people are gonna automatically call me a ‘girl’, which is wrong, so I gotta….find a label that fits me. For the sake of other people.”

“But you don’t sound that confident about the ‘non-binary’ thing. So isn’t someone calling you that just as wrong as someone calling you a girl?”

The frustration overwhelms Pidge and she throws her body back onto the grass with a groan. “I don’t KNOW, mom. I really, really really, really, don’t know. None of the labels I’ve found completely fit yet.”

“Then don’t label yourself.”

The words are slow to impact, but their vibrations are felt deep under Pidge’s skin, and he has to take another moment to breathe. The sentence sounds so easy and so simple, but it goes against all of the research Pidge has done, all of the websites and the forums with statements of ‘demisexual genderfluid!!!’ bolded proudly under little icons, and -

Is that even possible?

“Listen, honey.” Mrs. Holt scooches closer to her child, and rests a gentle hand on Pidge’s shoulder. “Why are you so concerned about what other people think about you? No matter what you do, people are going to judge you in ways you probably won’t like. They’ll give you labels that you don’t like even if you clearly define yourself as otherwise. I mean, goodness, I’m an inventor and so many people at work still mistake me for someone else’s assistant.” A lighthearted chuckle flows out of the woman and it feels just as constant and reassuring as the creak in front of them.

“You can’t control how other people are going to treat you. But you can control how you treat yourself. It’s alright if you haven’t found anything that you completely resonate with – you’re still young, and you still have a lot of time to figure it all out. And if you never completely figure it out, that’s alright too. Just be you. There is no one word that can completely define ‘you’, so just……don’t worry about it. Live your life free of those labels.’

The sun edges ever closer to the right and hides behind the shadow of a tree, casting itself generously over the Holt family. A mother and her son skip along the sidewalk on the other side of the creek, speaking Spanish as they kick rocks against the soles of their feet. A breeze catches the lip of Pidge’s hood and ghosts across their spine, giving rise to new goosebumps that don’t feel out of place.

Pidge always felt like water – constantly moving, never ending, slippery and unable to hold in the palm of your hands. Or maybe it wasn’t water, maybe it was coarser, like sand, or more ethereal, like stardust.

Pidge had no idea. And for once, Pidge felt completely ok with that notion.

Pidge didn’t know. Pidge, the inquisitive and daring, the one constantly on the search for endless knowledge, the so-called ‘brains’ of their friend group, suddenly realized that it was ok not to know.

When Pidge put on their binder the next morning, it felt less constrictive than before. When Pidge took it off five minutes later because it didn’t feel quite right today, they realized that that was completely ok too.

When asked what they wanted to label themselves as many weeks later, the short teenager just grinned and said their label was ‘Pidge’.

Chapter Text

Keith is well aware of how gross and grimy he can be on most days. He’s heard the not-so-subtle jibes from those around him, sneering about how ‘greasy’ his hair is and how he smells a little too pungent. Shiro always told him to shower more, and he’d agree half-heartedly, because he knew how repellent he looked on his worst days. In the end though, he’d usually end up in the same position – right in front of his skinny dorm room mirror, can of dollar-store air freshener in hand, nuking himself down until every pore in his body smelled like artificial lavender and chamomile.

It was a quick fix that barely got him through the parts of the day where he was actually around people. That was good enough for him.

There’s a reason why Keith and his shower aren’t exactly on great terms. It’s not a reason that is obvious to the average eye, and it’s hidden well enough that his blatant avoidance seems petty. But it’s there, and it always has been there, like a leech stuck on a part of his back that he can’t quite reach, and it’s powerful enough for him to shove his own unhygienic practices away and to reach for that half-full can of cheap, scented coverup when times got desperate.

Keith likes his barriers. People are selfish and unpredictable and he’s never quite learned how to interact with them on a truly relatable level, so he puts up his walls and goes about his day without thinking twice about it. It’s a method that has worked well enough all his life. Most people give up when they recognize his gruff, distant attitude, and he can focus on the task at hand rather than socializing with people who had no business knowing anything about him. It’s effective, and he doesn’t have very many alternative methods to use, so he values his boundaries rather highly.

When Keith steps into the shower, all of those barriers – both physically and metaphorically – are gone.

There is nothing to protect him from the cheap, grout-ridden tiles and the hot flush of water that runs down his too-bare skin, and he’s forced to turn the water up hot hot hot so the tiled confines of the shower will steam up, fog his vision, stop him from staring too hard when he looks down to his toes and notices all of the bumps and curves that shouldn’t be there. He’s in the shower just long enough to throw some generic shampoo into his greasy hair, rub a bit of soap under his armpits and spit at the ground to rid his mouth of his own self-loathing bile; any longer and he’s close to punching the goddamn mirror that the Garrison just had to place on the bathroom door, as if anybody wants to fucking look at themselves when they’re so bare and vulnerable.

That’s the routine. Get in, clean the bare minimum, get out.

Today is not a routine day.

There’s been a lot of change in Keith’s life as of late. He’s finally started taking proper doses of his hormones, which has considerably mellowed him out – not that he’s ‘mellow’ in any sense of the word, per se, but he doesn’t feel as savage and uncontrollable as he did when he was depending on sporadic doses straight from a brown bag given to him in a shady back alley. And yeah, he’s hornier than he’s ever been in his life and his back acne has begun to flare up, but it’s manageable. There’s consistency.

It’s a word he’s not used to, really, but he finds that he’s quite enjoying the new routines that he’s fallen into. Keith hates sitting in drawn-out Garrison lectures and he loves piloting the simulator because fuck, he knows he’s good at it; he’ll walk to the Den afterwards with Pidge and Hunk on most days, chatting about space and mechanics and sometimes boys but mostly just more space; he’ll chat with Shiro, do homework with Pidge, play board games with Hunk, and deal with the cheesy pick-up lines Lance has begun to throw his way more and more (not that he minds, at all); and maybe afterwards, he’ll hang out with said lanky barista, either studying for entrance exams or doing everything and nothing at all.

The shower doesn’t seem so evil anymore when there’s so much to like about himself.

When he gets in the shower this morning, he brings with him the small bottle of shampoo Lance had loaned him (“like I said, you gotta live up to the name, pretty boy,” he said with a wink), and stays just a little longer than normal so he can properly lather and rise. It smells like coconut and tea leaves and he can feel his roots singing to life at the touch of the concoction. When he looks down at his toes, there’s less curves and more edges, and it suddenly doesn’t seem as unbearable as before. The soft burn of the water feels good on his skin. Keith takes a breath and smiles to himself.

When he stands in front of the full-length mirror this time, he stops focusing on the aspects of his body that he hates and starts noticing the unique parts of him. There’s a few stray hairs on the bottom of his chin, and even though it’s been there for a while, there’s still a giddiness that warms his nerves when he realizes that this is a regular thing now. His workouts are finally noticeable and he’s filling out, most notably in his upper body, and Keith can’t help but trace a finger along the crease of his thin biceps. His happy trail is filling out, coarse and dark, and it’s one of Keith’s favorite things about this entire process – it’s fun to fiddle with and run his fingers through when he’s sitting down, and he’ll do it literally anywhere, weird stares be damned. It’s a slow process, and there’s certain areas he really does not want to look at too hard, but it’s improvement. It’s growth. It’s consistent.

He knows he’s going to have to tell them all sometime. Eventually. Hell, he’s surprised some of them haven’t figured it out yet – his voice has gotten deeper, and his face is sharper, on top of all of the other minor changes he’s gone through. Maybe they do know and they just don’t care enough to bring it up. Maybe they can’t tell that easily because it’s cold and he’s wearing enough layers to warm up Neptune. Maybe they’re just oblivious as all hell and can’t tell the difference between a stick and a tree. (That last one may or may not be directed at a certain boy who can’t keep his mouth shut.)

Blissfully, he puts the thought away for another day and dresses himself for the autumn chill. The thought of his first date passes through his mind and he grabs one of the folded shirts in his closet instead of the crumpled up half-dirty laundry on the chair in the corner. He passes the air freshener and goes for the cheap cologne hidden deep in his closet. He still passes up the brush but he at least gave it a thought, for once.

There’s nothing special about today, and Keith doesn’t know why, but he still wants to try and make it special anyways.

Keith gives himself one more look-down in the mirror and he smiles just enough to crease the corners of his mouth before he’s out of the door.

--

“Alright, explain this to me right now, Keith.”

Lance stares at him, eyebrow raised with a faux sense of seriousness, and Keith purposefully ignores the gaze and continues to skim his textbook instead. 

Of course, this doesn’t faze him in the slightest. “Why, out of all of the potential tasty and delicious drinks you could have chosen-“ Lance swipes the small, half-filled bottle adjacent to his book – “did you choose to buy soy milk?”

Keith flails an arm in his direction, snatching back the bottle with ease before setting it down on far, far away from Lance. “Soy milk tastes fine,” he mutters, more amused than irritated at this point. “It’s good for your bones.”

“But it tastes awful, Keith.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust, his face scrunching up tight. “Seriously, compared to the normal blue-container milk, that stuff tastes like moldy cheese. Why the hell do you drink it?”

Keith rolls his eyes and finally looks up from his textbook. “Alright, there are three things you’re forcing me to address here.” He stares daggers at Lance, who is, one again, seemingly unfazed. “One, ‘blue-container milk’?”

“Yeah, duh.” Lance shrugs the scoff off with a cocky sense of impatience. “The milk in the blue container has more fat than the milk in the green container, and soy milk goes in the purple container. Everybody knows that.”

Keith refuses to accept that everyone does, in fact, know this, and he shows it by gritting his jaw and refusing to comment on it. “Two, I’m lactose intolerant, and I have no idea how you didn’t know that considering I never get milk or creamer in my coffee.”

His head lolls to the side as groans. “You always order your coffee black, dude, I just thought you liked things that matched your personality – bitter and awful.”

Keith scrunches up a scrap of paper and flicks it at Lance, punting him right in the forehead. He recoils drastically and his legs flail outwards, almost throwing him completely off balance before he latches onto the edge of the desk with thin, desperate fingers. The shit-eating grin on Keith’s face is subtle, but oh-so satisfying.

“What the hell was that for???” Lance looks at him, almost hurt, and Keith doesn’t fall for it for a second.

“Three,” He continues without pause, “shouldn’t you be studying instead of asking me dumb questions about milk?”

Lance holds the puppy-eyes for a little longer before he regains his stability and spins his pen between his fingers, kicking his feet up onto the desk with a pout. “I can do both at the same time, buddy pal. Ask me a question, I’ll answer it no problem.”

“Ok.” Keith closes his textbook and pushes it away, staring at Lance once more. “What’s heavier, one kilogram of steel or one kilogram of feathers?”

Lance scoffs, brushing of the question with a smirk. “Clearly the steel is heavier. What kind of question is that?” He makes an aborted motion with his hand, still spinning the pen in his other. ”Next.”

“Lance.” Keith furrows his brows and leans into his elbows towards Lance. “Think about it. Really hard.”

“I did.” Lance sticks out his tongue towards Keith. “Steel’s heavier than feathers dude, I know I’m right.”

Keith just stares at him harder.

“Alright, I get it, you’re having a hard time believing I can solve such a hard problem in so little time, but you’ve gotta give me some credit here.” He flips his hair defiantly and puffs his chest. “Next.”

“No, that’s not-- that’s not what-“

Keith groans into his fist, his own words failing him for the millionth time in his life. “Just. Just think about it Lance, ok? A kilogram of steel is heavier than a kilogram of feathers?”

Lance seems to sense something is wrong here, and his cocky resolve begins to fade away. “Uh, yeah? Because steel is heavier than feathers by like, a lot? I don’t understand the confusion here?”

“Lance,” Keith re-emphasizes his name, splaying his hands out parallel to each other, trying to enforce his point. “Listen. They’re both kilograms. If they’re both kilograms, they would weigh the same.”

For once, Lance doesn’t automatically respond, and Keith can see the way his eyebrows crease, the purse of his thin lips, the immediate blowout of his pupils once he finally puts two-and-two together. Keith can also see the way his brain practically blue-screens, as if he can hear the dial-up crackle in his own ears.

“No. That’s not-“ he makes a choked sound in his throat, and Keith can see a bead of sweat form on the crest of his forehead. “That’s not right. That’s not ok.”

Keith tentatively reaches a hand over, grabbing Lance’s newly-clammy hand in his own. “That’s just how science works, Lance. This isn’t as groundbreaking as you’re making it out to be.”

“But it doesn’t make sense.” Lance is practically bouncing in his seat, his skin shining under a new layer of sweat, and god, Keith does not understand this boy at all. “Steel is heavier than feathers. It just --- it just is. They can’t weigh the same. That’s not-“

“Yes, they can, and they do, because kilograms are the same unit.”

He swallows thick and grips Keith’s hand tighter, and he almost looks lightheaded. Keith wonders if he might even pass out from this entire ordeal.

“I’m done. I can’t do this.” His other hand flips the textbook away from him, crumpling the pages when it lands on the floor. “My entire perception of the world has changed. Am I still Lance? Are you still Keith? Are we still at the library? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore, Keith, not in a world where feathers can weigh the same as steel.”

“Oh my god, stop being so melodramatic.” Rolling his eyes once more, Keith lets go of the sweaty hand and thwomps Lance on the side of the head. “I don’t understand how you can grasp questions about aerodynamics so easily but you can’t understand a riddle about feathers and steel.”

He groans in response and flops his head against the desk. “Can we go back to talking about cows and shit?”

God, this boy is really something else. Keith can’t help the small, lighthearted chuckle that he lets free, and it feels so natural that he’s almost taken aback by it. “Yeah, sure,” he sighs airily, grinning. “Let’s go back to talking about milk, although we never mentioned cows once during our conversation.”

“Well yeah.” Lance regains some semblance of composure and reaches down to grab the crumpled textbook on the ground. “Milk comes from cows, and cows are cool, or whatever. I don’t know. I just had a life-changing moment, bear with me here.”

Keith shrugs and returns to his own textbook. “I mean, soy milk doesn’t come from cows, but if that’s the connection you make in your head, I’m not going to stop you.”

Lance freezes in place, textbook slapping helplessly against the ground. “What do you mean soy milk doesn’t come from cows?”

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

Keith stares deep into Lance’s eyes and tries desperately to search for some modicum of intelligence. All he finds is a newfound sense of panic and a lot of disbelief.

“No.” Lance stands up so abruptly, his chair clatters helplessly behind him. “No no no no no no no no no. I’m not doing this. I refuse to listen to these lies.” Sweaty and panicked, he begins to pace around the table, pressing his palms hard against his ears.

“Oh my—“ Keith reaches for his forearm, trying to yank him back down to reality, but Lance shakes away from his grip and continues pacing frantically. “Lance, soy milk comes from soy beans. How did you never make that connection before?”

“LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA I’M NOT LISTENING TO YOUR DAIRY PROPAGANDA.” He sings at the top of his lungs, tongue thumping against his roof dramatically with every syllable. “IT’S NOT MILK IF IT ISN’T MILKED FROM A COW. IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. LA LA LA LA.”

Keith is now flailing his arms and screaming, completely aware that he is in a public library and completely not giving a shit. “Then how do you explain almond milk, you idiot?”

“YOU CAN’T MILK ALMONDS, IT DOESN’T COUNT. LA LA LA LA.” Lance looks like he’s two thoughts away from bursting a blood vessel.

Now a public debacle, the librarian from behind the assistant’s desk makes her way over to the two bickering boys, glaring at them menacingly. “Be quiet!” She hushes, pressing a frail finger to her chapped lips. “This is a public library, you need to calm down!”

Lance turns to her, face red with rage and disbelief, and throws his hands into the air with a scream. “YOU CAN’T MILK ALMONDS, LADY! IT’S IMPOSSIBLE!”

Keith, like everyone else in the library, stares at him with a jaw wide open; but Keith, unlike everyone else in the library, immediately follows it up with the loudest, most gut-busting laugh that’s ever ripped itself from him, completely overwhelming him and folding him over against the table. The librarian looks between him, and the boy who won’t stop screaming at her, and lets out an exasperated sigh before pinching the bridge of her nose.

Keith doesn’t stop laughing until Lance runs away in embarrassment, and he doesn’t stop smiling until well into the night.

--

“Have you been keeping an eye on him?”

Shiro settles deep into his plush office chair, tapping his prosthetic fingers soundly against the armrest. The sun is setting early now, casting a hollow, mid-afternoon hue of marigold across his desk through the thin lines of the blinds. Coran sits across from him, unusually serious, sipping his tea with a purposeful frown.

“Yeah, of course,” he mumbles, leaning his face into his palm. He’s weary and tired and very aware of why this conversation is happening in the first place, and he’s exhausted by it already. “No unusual activity as of late. In fact, I’d say he’s happier than he’s ever been.”

“Good.” Coran taps the edge of the cup with his finger before taking another sip. “That’s quite good.”

Silence permeates through the room and Shiro presses his face into the palm harder, hoping he might just sink into the creviced skin. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He never wants to talk about this, and he can feel the anxiety tightening his chest, his nostrils flaring out with each rapid breath.

Coran looks up from his cup, gives Shiro a look over, and hesitantly continues. “You know they’re going to come after him, eventually. You don’t get to betray the Galra without consequences.”

His prosthetic clenches automatically and he winces, his nerves freezing over. “I’m well aware of that, Coran,” he deadpans, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check. “You know I know that better than anyone.”

“Ah, right,” Coran gasps, unsubtle about how he eyes the artificial limb. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Shiro blunts the memories away and forces himself to remain focused on the topic on hand. “I know they’re going to be after him soon, but I don’t know when, and I don’t know how. And God knows what he was up to even when he was with them.” A heavy breath escapes from his lips and Shiro realizes he’s breathing too fast again.

Coran raises an eyebrow to that statement, holding the cup against his lips. “He wouldn’t tell you what he was up to?”

“No.” Shiro dismisses the statement with a wave of his hand, before settling his cheek into the palm once more. “He didn’t want to tell me, and I didn’t want to push him. It would be helpful to know, of course, but you know how quick he is to explode if you push him too hard.”

“Right.” Coran hums in agreement and sips the edge of the tea with caution. “I suppose that’s not what matters here, anyway. We have to figure out a plan to protect him. I've thought about this a lot, mind you, and I know you don't want to hear this, but the only viable plan I can think of at this point......is relocation.”

Shiro stiffens at the thought, so much so that he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck straighten to a point. “We can’t do that to him,” he sighs, dry and croaked, and he pushes a hand through the tuft of hair that crowns his forehead. “Keith finally has some positive stability in his life, and you’re asking me to take that away from him?”

Coran can feel the hopelessness in his words, and he sits back, face painted in guilt. “I don’t want to suggest it, but you know as well as I do what the other option is.” He sets the cup down onto the edge of the desk and leans forward with a gaze that pierces through Shiro’s cloud of emotion, grounding him to Coran’s rationality. “Either we move him, or the Galra come after him. There’s no other alternative at this point.”

A whole flurry of emotions floods Shiro’s system at this point, and he’s forced to lean back into his chair, palms pressed against his face as his eyes threaten to water over. “You can’t…..” he breathes out, and it’s watery and full of heartbreak. “You can’t ask me to make this decision, Coran. I can’t.” He shakes his head low and meagerly. “I can’t do this.”

“I know.” Coran leans back, twiddling his mustache anxiously, and Shiro can feel the matching pain in his own eyes. “I don’t want to do this either. I’m sorry Shiro, but I don’t know what else there is to do.”

It suddenly hits Shiro that Keith has grown so, so much since they first met, all those years ago. For the most part, Shiro himself has remained relatively the same; his coffee shop grows steadily in profit and popularity, he hangs out at the youth center and helps out when he can, he tries to maintain his workout regimen and his boxing training – there’s little waver in his life, and he’s content with that. But Keith, Keith, that kid who wandered in with a punk attitude and a bruise on their cheek, who Shiro had to fight tooth and nail just to get to talk to him – Keith has blossomed, especially in these last few months. He’s found new friends, new hobbies; he’s going to school, he’s got a future; all these things that weren’t even on the radar so long ago are now here, concrete, and real, and Shiro has never seen Keith happier.

And Coran was asking him to take that way from Keith?

That wasn’t an acceptable solution, Galra be damned.

His teeth grit as he throws his hands against the desk, upsetting the tea cup just enough that Coran panics and wraps his hands protectively around it. His face hardens, cheekbones edging out slightly, and a single bead of sweat runs down his jawline, trailing onto his neck.

He’s tired of feeling helpless towards the Galra. He’s tired of seeing kids disappear from the youth center, one by one, he’s tired of the flashbacks and memories to that incident, the incident that wakes him up with shivers and cold sweats that freeze his body, he’s tired of the overwhelming fear and the screaming at night, remembering, flailing out in a desperate attempt to grab anything within reach – he’s tired of it, tired of it all, and he’s not going to repeat the same mistakes again. He’s not going to hurt Keith like this.

When Coran looks at him, questionable look obvious on his face, Shiro just stares him down with a determination that can rattle bones.

“Call Allura. I think I might have a solution to all of this.”

--

“You do realize that the act of ‘milking’ implies the extraction of liquid, right?” Pidge furrows her brow at Lance, mildly concerned. “Like, milking isn’t something that happens inherently to cows. So yes, you can theoretically ‘milk’ an almond, as weird as it is.”

Lance scowls at the child from across the counter, sending him a middle finger before he resumes cleaning the blenders. “Every single word that came out of your mouth is pure garbage, and you know it. Science never intended for us to milk almonds, or soy beans, or anything that isn’t a cow, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

“Listen, normally I would side with Pidge since they’re the one that has evidence for these kind of things.” Hunk props his elbows against the counter and grins sheepishly at Pidge, already prepared for the disappointment they’re ultimately going to shoot his way. “But honestly? Lance is totally right. You can’t milk an almond, Pidge, it’s just wrong.”

“My man Hunk.” Lance raises his soapy hand from the sink and leans over for a fist bump, which is gladly reciprocated. “I knew I could count on you for this.”

Hunk grins wide at the compliment and Pidge groans, throwing their hands up in the air. “I cannot believe,” she starts, sleeves slipping down from her hands and piling on her shoulders, “that I am friends with you two. I cannot believe we are even talking about milking nuts.”

Lance straightens, just for a moment, and then he snorts. “Heh. Nut milk.”

The door bell rings before Pidge can jump over the counter and tear him apart, and Hunk is forced to have his giggle fit in the corner with a very annoyed Pidge so Lance can take care of the new customer. Quickly, Lance rinses his hand and wipes them on the stained surface of his apron before turning around, flashy grin in tow, ready to go.

“Can I help you, beautiful?” And ooooo, Lance has totally nailed it this time-

The blonde woman giggles, holding a soft hand to her lips. “Hello to you too, handsome,” she hums, and it sounds sweet, like honey and marzipan. “Are all of the baristas here charming, or is it just you?”

Lance stalls, mouth quirked awkwardly, and begins to sweat.

Oh god.

He nailed it this time?

 “J-just me,” he stutters, with a twitching smile. And then, he blurts as an afterthought with too squeaky of a voice; “Coff-ee?”

“Well, why else would I be here?” She giggles again, leaning forward onto the counter, and Lance’s heart feels too warm for all of this. “Although, I guess now I have another reason to stop by here.” She winks and pouts her lips, and Lance is hook, line, and sinker.

“You’re too kind,” he utters, unusually bashful, and he leans into the counter as well, mirroring the woman’s position. “Can I get you something to drink? I-it’s on me.”

Her eyes widen just a bit too drastically, too playfully, but Lance is too gone to notice. “For me?” She gapes, spreading a palm against her heart. “Why, that’s so sweet of you-“ she examines his nametag closely for just a moment- “Lance. I would love a large iced coffee with milk, please.”

“Of course!” Lance pushes himself off of the counter, and sets himself to work, scooping ice into his shaky cup like a man possessed, and all he can hear is the pleasant mixture of blood in his ears and the woman’s occasional giggles in the background. Pidge and Hunk watch the scene unfold with mild belief, because for all the time they’ve seen Lance hit on people in the store, never once has it worked, never mind had them flirting right back.

Lance pours some milk into the cup while the coffee drips into the container, and he finishes it off by slapping a lid on it and poking a straw through the hole in the top. Normally he would slide it across the counter like the Casanova he knows he is, but he’s also well aware of how his hands are stupidly shaking, so he opts to hand it to her instead. “One iced coffee with milk for the missus!” He blurts, too fast, but it only serves to make the thin woman giggle even more.

Their hands touch briefly as she grabs the coffee from his sweaty hands, and she smiles a grin that could light the sun on fire. “You’re too kind, Lance,” she purrs, already turning on her heel, carelessly throwing a palm in the air behind her. “Thank you so much for the free coffee!”

She’s out the door before he knows it, and Lance is struck dumb, short-circuited from the entire conversation.

He all but explodes when he looks down on the counter and sees a white slip, written on with beautifully fluid, loopy handwriting.

--

Nyma

2X3-1X1-XX80

--

While Hunk and Pidge gawk at him over the fact that he hit on a girl and it worked, he quietly slips the number into his back pocket, smiling to himself a little too generously.

Chapter Text

If one was to apply a metaphorical term for what Hunk represented, the most likely term his friends would use for him would be ‘anchor’. It was not without merit, either – in almost all situations, he proved to be the voice of reason, the heavy weight that kept the boat from rocking too far into a regrettable, icy abyss, puncturing them with holes and innumerable bouts of remorse. He was the frame to a picture, the glass case that held the trophy; maybe not the most noticeable part of the show, but arguably the most important, supplying a foundation that was necessary for the others to build and grow upon. This was a role Hunk relished, able to indulge in his friends’ dumb antics while avoiding the majority of the consequence, standing on the peripheral with a sheepish grin while his friends bore the brunt of the punishment.

Most of the time, this role consists of Lance coming up with some idiotic, most likely painful idea, Pidge following along out of pure curiosity for how stupid Lance could be; and Hunk would groan, burying his face into his clammy hands, and beg them to reconsider, always falling on deaf ears, always leading to the worst possible ending.

There are times, however, when this role isn’t as heartwarming as it seems.

It becomes clear to Hunk when he walks into work, layered from head to toe in wooly warmth with a nose just runny enough to annoy him constantly, that today, he was going to have to fill that role.

And he realizes it when he waves at Lance, and Lance waves back, not even sparing a glance in his direction.

On a normal day, Lance has absolutely no ability to keep his lid shut. He yells, he whines, he pouts when things don’t go his way, but most of all, he’s undeniably exuberant. Whether he’s whispering or screaming to the heavens, Lance is smiling, flailing his arms, pointing finger guns and radiating positivity, and although it can be overwhelming at times (to put it lightly), it’s hard to imagine life without it. By all accounts, Lance is the sun – bright, full of life and willing to give it all, but occasionally he’s too hot and he’ll give you a nasty sunburn and piss you right off.

That’s why Hunk refuses to accept a simple wave. Lance never just ‘waves’.

He’s already thought of at least five different ways Lance could great him today – he’s wearing enough puffy coats to warm an entire orphanage, for god’s sake, at the minimum he expects to be compared to the Michelin Man. But no, it never comes, Lance just waves at him and continues to clean, no crack of a smile, no heartwarmingly-condescending sneer to start the day. 

Cautiously, Hunk strolls around the corner of the counter, unzipping one of his many layers of coat while keeping a tepid eye on Lance. He can see it more clearly now that he’s closer; his skin is paler (but only just), his hair is tussled, but overdone and unplanned, unlike his usual woke-up-like-this tuft with mismatched strands of hair in all of the right places, and there’s a lack of flicker in his celestial-reamed pupils, seemingly dead where heaven would normally reign. At this sight, all of the pieces finally click together in Hunk’s head, and as he leans over to hang the last of his coats, he sighs, slightly pained and sympathetic, scratching the back of his neck so he can feel just how straight the hairs back there are, on edge and leery.

“How’s it going?” He starts quietly, throwing on his apron and quirking a weary eyebrow. Lance registers the comment, mulls it over for a bit, before ultimately shrugging and continuing his meticulous cleaning of the counters.

“S’alright.” Lance doesn’t look up from the stained dishrag in his hand, and Hunk notices just how heavy his limbs look in this moment, low-strung and lagging behind his movements. If they look heavy, well, Hunk wonders how heavy they must feel.

Once he ties up the ends of the apron in a sturdy knot, Hunk leans onto the counter next to Lance, a respectable amount of distance away so as not to invade his unusually-wide personal bubble.

“Bad day?”

Lance shrugs his shoulders again, somewhat more earnest this time but still weighted with a lingering sense of melancholy. “Bad day.”

This is their code that they’ve formed over the years, guided and designed by Hunk, whom Lance has termed not only an ‘engineering genius’, but an ‘emotional, hunky genius’ as well. Hunk can read Lance like a manual; for all of his spontaneity and ebullience, Lance is predictable, especially on his ‘bad days’, and it only takes a second and a half for Hunk to know exactly what to do, sympathetic grin in tow as he puts a gentle palm onto Lance’s back.  

“Long term bad or short term bad?” He asks, gentle and lacking in pressure, and Lance stalls his cleaning, sighing hard enough that Hunk can feel the gust of wind leave his body deep in his palm.

“I was really hoping it was going to be short term, but it’s starting to feel like it’s going to be a long-term thing.” Lance sinks into his shoulders and Hunk firms his hand to keep him from slinking any further.

He humms to himself, watching Lance as he continues to scrub, seemingly more as a distraction than any desire to actually clean the place, before he elbows the thinner boy in the side and draws his attention to Hunk’s face. “Do you want to talk about it, or nah?”

Lance looks him straight in the eyes, just for a moment, not questioning the genuineness of the sentiment but searching for affirmation nonetheless, which Hunk provides in all of his robust and vigorous glory.  Still, Hunk senses hesitation, and he refuses to push any farther when Lance turns back to his work, slumping into his own body once more.

“Maybe later.” He gives a half-hearted smile, more for Hunk’s sake than his own, before shrugging his baggy shoulders in defeat. “Shiro wants me to clean the ice machine today, and that’s gross as hell, so I should probably……get to work on that.”

Hunk watches as Lance slinks away to the back, rag carelessly thrown over his shoulder and hands shoved deep into the apron’s pocket, and he feels a weight tug his heart down into his gut. He knows exactly what he has to do at this point; he’ll stop by the store before he heads back to their shared apartment, pick up Lance’s favorite shitty foods (pizza rolls and thin mints), rent a shitty action movie with enough explosions to blow Lance out of his own thoughts, and he’ll stay up with Lance on their tattered futon, extra-large blanket thrown around their shoulders as they engorge themselves on microwavable foods and ultraviolent fight-scenes. And maybe, if the stars decide to align themselves tonight, Lance will be able to tell him what’s going on.

That’s all he can hope for. For now, however, all he can do is head to the back kitchen, prepare the dough for a brilliant batch of croissants, and keep on eye on Lance, hoping that the anchor on his heart will lighten up along with Lance’s own burdens.

--

Keith looks up to the darkened, murky sky and all he sees is vast stretches of muted grey. They are undoubtedly deep into the throes of fall now, bordering soon on winter, and it seems that this change of weather has caused the sky to dye itself lifeless, vibrant expanses of blue now weighed down by darker, less welcoming colors of black and white. The opposite effect has happened to the trees; they stand strong, fiery and full of life even as they creep towards the brink of death, bright oranges and tinted reds falling towards the ground and painting the deadened landscape into something much warmer, much more welcoming.

Shiro asked him to meet him at the park again, much like before. Keith didn’t know the circumstances, but he assumed for once that they were actually pleasant – he hadn’t fucked up recently, or done anything of concern, and as much as he raked his brain to try and figure out why he was back here, in this park full of screaming children in puffy coats, he came up with nothing but potential praise.

Maybe Shiro was happy for him? Proud, even?

The thought excited him more than it should have.

Soon enough, Keith saw a broad figure in a tan, corduroy jacket stroll down the littered sidewalk, his nose scar faded against the flush pink on his cold cheeks. Hands shoved into his pockets, Shiro gave Keith a nod as he walked up towards the bench, smile as warm as the leaves crunching under his feet, before he settled down close to Keith on the rotten oak bench.

“Chilly, isn’t it?” Shiro started, rubbing his gloved palms together in a futile attempt to gain warmth.

“I suppose so.” Keith watched as Shiro exhaled a hearty sigh, vapors condensing into a cloudy thickness the moment the breath left his lips. His own eartips felt numb, but aside from that he was unbothered by the nip of the cold.

Shiro turned to him, eyed what few layers he was wearing, and chuckled to himself. “You always were a human furnace, you know that? I’m freezing my butt off here and you’re wearing the exact same thing you wore during the summer.”

“That’s not true,” Keith laughed back, moving his fingers so he could tastelessly pop his hood with a click of his tongue. “I even put on an extra jacket, just for you.”

 “That’ll give you about ten extra minutes before the hypothermia sets in.” Shiro was back to rubbing his gloves together, desperately seeking warmth in his numbed hands. “You’d think I’d get used to the cold after living here for so long, but it always takes me off guard every year.”

A gust of wind scattered the leaves in front of them as Keith grunted, wordlessly crunching the leaves that fell under his boots. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t even know why he was here, and even though he was sure that nothing bad was going to come of this, he was still on edge from the mysteriousness of it all.

Which, of course, wasn’t Shiro’s intention, and as he eyed the quiet boy next to him, he smiled to himself, close-eyed and dreamy, combing his hair back with his gloved, thick fingers. “You’ve been doing really well recently, Keith. I’m proud of you, and I know Allura and Coran are too. You know that, right?”

In Shiro’s dreamlike state, he couldn’t see the immediate flush that powdered Keith’s face, and the back of his neck, and the tips of his ears – and he certainly wouldn’t have been able to guess that it wasn’t from the cold. Keith’s body vibrated with unprecedented warmth, and yeah, he had been expecting some sort of praise, but that didn’t make him any more prepared for it. Now he felt too warm, enough so that he considered throwing off the jacket, before he remembered how Shiro would scold him if he did so.

He realized he had been quiet for a beat too long, and his overheated brain scrambled to find some sort of string of words to throw out into the frigid wind.

“I uh,” he choked, scratching the side of his face nervously, “Yeah? I’ve been doing good?”

“Is that a question?” Shiro laughed, scooting closer to Keith so he could give him a pat on the back. “Of course you’ve been doing good, Keith. And to show you how happy we are for you, the three of us chipped in to get you something nice.”

Keith’s head jerked back in reflex, mouth slightly ajar. “You got me a present?”

“Yes we did,” he concurred, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal, and his eyes unconsciously rolled upwards as he searched deep in his jacket pocket for some sort of item. “I know that you never really got presents growing up, and I’m sure there’s way too many birthdays I’ve accidentally missed because it didn’t cross my mind to ask, so just think of it as a really late birthday present from the three of us.” He grinned once his hand gripped the object and he slid it out of his pocket, extending it over to Keith with his palm wide open.

On his palm lay a box, about the size of the palm itself, wrapped in gift wrap with kittens plastered all over the green paper. (Keith vaguely remembered seeing similar paper at the dollar store during the holiday season, and smirked at the thought of Shiro doing some budget shopping.) It looked weighty for its size, but nothing overly heavy, and Keith’s impatience took over him as he swiped the box from Shiro’s hand and began to pick at the taped edges with his bitten fingernails.

“Easy now,” Shiro mused with another chuckle, watching as Keith’s chipped stubs of fingernails failed to find purchase within the paper’s edges. “I don’t think the gift warrants this much excitement, you know. Just don’t be disappointed when it isn’t what you expect it to be.”

“Pfffft, whatever,” Keith grit, patience slowly wearing thin as he picked futilely at the kitten wrapping paper that almost seemed to mock him. “Just let me enjoy my present, if I could open this stupid paper-“ he groaned with frustration, muttered fuck it under his breath and lashed out at the paper, tearing it to complete shreds as the strips of paper fluttered onto the ground. Before they could fly away, Shiro bent down on his knees and sweeped them into his palm, crumpling it all into a ball and shoving it into his pocket for later disposal.

Keith moved his fingers out of the way and gazed at the glossy surface of the box, sleek, modern, and white as snow. In the center was a picture of a smartphone, bright and full of neon buttons just begging to be touched.

His pupils blew wide as he turned back up to Shiro, who was still busy shoving the ball of shredded waste into his coat pocket. “You got me a phone?”

“Huh?” Shiro stalled and looked back to Keith, then to the box, before realization hit him and he began to beam. “Oh yeah! We all figured you probably needed one. Do you know how hard it is to keep in contact with you without one of those things?”

He turned the box over in his palm, glancing over the instructions on the back, still somewhat in shock. It wasn’t one of the newer models he’d seen some of the other Garrison students use, he knew that for a fact, but he could tell it was by no means cheap, especially since it was brand new. Not a hand me down. A brand new phone for him.

“I don’t,” Keith started, and then stalled, still staring at the box with a sense of awe. “I don’t understand. Why did you get me this?”

A rumble of laughter erupted from the seat next to him, dancing along with the gusts of wind nipping at the tips of Keith’s ears, and he would’ve been embarrassed by his own ignorance if he wasn’t still in shock and slow to react. “You kidding me?” Shiro started, leaning over Keith’s shoulder to inspect the box with him. “It’ll be much easier to keep in contact with you now that you have this. And I mean, there’s a lot of things you can do with a phone, like if you need to study with Hunk and Pidge for an exam, you can just set up a group message…..”

Shiro picked up the box from Keith’s splayed palm, pointing at different buttons highlighted on the cover of the box and explaining the different purposes of certain apps and functions built within the phone. Keith tried to listen, he really did, but all he could focus on was the eagerness with which Shiro showed off the present, the present that was his, the one that Shiro, Allura, and Coran had all spent hard earned money just to keep in contact with him, to make sure he was safe. He was dumbfounded, stupefied, exhilarated, and warm, so so warm, a pleasant kind of warmth that turned his furnace of a body into a hearth of comfort, inviting and lovely and full of a new kind of life he wasn’t quite used to. It was feeling he wanted to keep forever.

“Oh!” Shiro snapped the phone out of Keith’s reach, a mischievous grin slithering onto his face. “Even though this is a present, I do have one condition for you that you need to meet in order to get it.”

Keith raised an unwilling eyebrow, pursing his lips as he eyed the phone that Shiro hovered to his opposite side. “And what sort of condition is that?”

 “Weeeeeeellllll,” Shiro hummed, drawing out the syllables purposefully, “You see, Allura wanted to implement this new program at the center…..a sort of…..mentoring program, if you will.” He made an absentminded motion with his hand before shoving it back into his pocket. “We’ll have some of the older kids hang out with the newer and younger kids. Be a positive role model to them. You know.”

“No.” Keith slouched into the rotten bench, crossing his arms as he refused to make eye contact. “I hate kids, and you know that. And I would do a terrible job being a ‘positive role model’-“ he over-exaggerated his air quotes with his thin fingers – “because I hardly can take care of myself, nevermind a kid.”

“Oh come on,” Shiro urged, his face morphing into something stern and serious that made Keith feel like he was almost being scolded. “Even you know that you’ve been doing excellent recently, you’re more than capable of handling this. Besides, it’s not like I’m asking you to adopt them or anything, just…..hang out with them from time to time.” He made another absentminded motion with his hand. “Do stuff with them. Show them that there’s better things to do than…..well, you know.”

“Ah.” Keith’s eyes flickered for a moment, recognition in his mind, and his jaw locked itself in place. “So that’s what this is about.”

Shiro stiffened, a shiver visibly running down his spine, and he stared forward towards the deadening trees. The crackle of leaves was audible over the newfound tension. “It’s more than that. That’s certainly a factor, but this is meant to be good for everyone involved. Including you.” He shot a sidelong glance at Keith, whose hair was gradually getting more and more ruffled as the wind picked up.

“How is this going to be good for me?” Keith guffawed, arms spread wide in disbelief. “I’m terrible at socializing, and I hate hanging out with kids. You’re asking me to do both of those things. Which I hate.”

A frustrated groan fell unintentionally off of Shiro’s lips, and Keith receded back into the bench, feeling instantly guilty. With his prosthetic, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, measuring his words carefully. “Can you just trust me on this one, Keith? I wouldn’t make you do something if I thought it was going to be bad for you. I promise it isn’t going to be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

That familiar rock settled itself deep in Keith’s gut, the one that reminded him that Shiro had done nothing but help him all these years and that yes, he was being a whiny brat, and he sighed. His eyes glanced between the phone and Shiro as he pursed his lips in a pout.

“Yeah, fine. I’ll do it.” He pushed a hand through his muffled hair, strands sticking out everywhere as he combed it back carelessly. “Don’t expect me to be the shining paragon of excellence, though. God help whatever kid you stick with me.”

“Oh don’t worry. I’ve got the perfect kid in mind.” The phone was back in Keith’s palm, his eyes lighting up once more, and Shiro was back to patting him on the back with a chuckle. “Now don’t get too absorbed into this phone. I don’t need another Pidge hanging around the shop, nose-deep in whatever screen is closest to them.”

The leaves skid across the pavement and onto Keith’s boots, and he kicked them off with a laugh, feeling trepidatious yet warm and alive. “Yeah, don’t worry,” he reassured, gaze drifting back up to the darkened sky. “I’m not going to become some sort of technological freak. I bet I’ll hardly even use the thing.”

--

Keith is sitting stiff in his cushioned chair, nose-deep into his new phone, when he accidentally lets it slip.

“Yeah, I went on a date with Lance the other day, it was cool.”

It doesn’t register to him that those are actually words that slipped out of his purse-lipped mouth until, after a moment of silence too long, he looks up from his screen and notices Pidge and Hunk staring at him, varying degrees of shock written across their softening faces.

It still doesn’t really register to him until he sees Hunk slip and a sly, dimpled grin rises to his cheeks, his eyes sparkling with a sense of pride and joy.

“I probably should have predicted this,” he mumbles, grin still wide as he leans his cheek into his palm. “I didn’t, but now that I think about it, it totally makes sense.”

Keith briefly considers hiding into his jacket – he’d camouflage pretty well with it, considering he’s as red as a fucking rose right now.

“How could you have predicted this?” Pidge questions, eyes darting between her laptop screen and Hunk with a growing sense of annoyance. “They hated each other when they first met. Like, rip-out-each-others-throats-for-fun hate. How could anyone have guessed they were gonna kissy-face?”

“We don’t kissy-face!” Keith flares up, his voice a harsh whisper, before the sock-in-mouth syndrome kicks in and he’s red as a beet once more, slinking deeper into his coat. “We’ve only kissy-faced, like, twice. And why are we calling it kissy-face?”

“Gross.” Pidge glares at him for a moment, truly disbelieving, before she turns her attention back to her screen. “And besides, I would have never guessed Lance went on a date with you. His flirting has been off the charts recently.”

Like a turtle, Keith’s neck slowly popped out of the recesses of his coat, raising an eyebrow towards the two across from him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Uh,” Hunk stutters, scratching the back of his neck uneasily as he purposefully avoided eye contact. “Now before we get all judgmental-y, let’s just remember that Lance would flirt with anything that moves. Hell, I don’t even know if that’s a requirement anymore, but-“

“But why has it been ‘off the charts’ recently?” There’s a bile that’s settling in the back of Keith’s throat, unpleasant and brewing into something potentially hot and dangerous. “Why would he flirt more if he’s been……” He glances to Pidge and makes an aborted motion with his hand, “kissy-facing with me? Why would he do that?”

Hunk’s eyes dart back and forth nervously, a grimace twisting his face into something unpleasant. “Well I mean, this is kinda uncharted territory for him so I’m not sure if he’s doing it on purpose, I mean, he’s been pretty down lately so I’m not sure-“

“Do you know why he’s being a flirt or not, Hunk?” Keith doesn’t mean the words to be as venomous as they are, but now he’s confused, and angry, and admittedly jealous, and he’s not used to any and all of these emotions but they’re building up in his chest and in the back of his throat and it hurts, like some sort of disease taking root in places he can’t reach. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and he can feel the pressure building, in his chest and behind his eyes, like a damn about to burst, because fuck if everything is going to collapse again just when things were starting to become ok again-

“Dude dude dude,” A voice breaks though the overheated smog in his brain, and Hunk leans over the table to grip him by the shoulders. “I’m not here to make excuses for Lance, alright? But I have been his best friend since like, forever, so I probably know him a little better than the average person.” He loosens his grip on Keith but doesn’t let go, slouching into his own shoulders with a sigh.

“If Lance is doing something that hurts you, he probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Sometimes he just gets stuck in his own head. Some weeks, more so than others.” He nibbles on his bottom lip and darts his eyes away momentarily. “Try not to overthink it, alright? Go and talk with him about it. Because even though I haven’t seen you two do couple-y crap yet, I bet it’s cute as heck, and I don’t want Lance to ruin it just because he’s a lovable idiot.”

His shoulders feel heavier, but his chest no longer wants to cave in on itself, and his thoughts become lethargic and less corpulent. As Hunk moves his hands off of Keith’s shoulders, Keith spares a glance at the shorter boy beside Hunk, who is tapping away at the computer with seemingly little care for the conversation in front of him.

“Anything else about Lance that’s been different lately?” Keith’s pushes a hand through his hair, weary and slowly growing tired over all of this.

“You act as if I’ve been paying attention,” Pidge snorts, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Which I haven’t. And I don’t. I only noticed the flirting thing because of that one girl the other day. But-“

“One girl?” Keith snarls, unintentionally baring fangs, and Hunk yelps in response, slapping a palm over Pidge’s mouth.

“Why would you mention that?” Hunk scolds, holding Pidge firm as she tries to wiggle her way out of this situation. “He’s already clearly stressed out about this, you’re not helping-“

He suddenly squeals, flinching his palm away into the air, and Pidge sits there with a shit-eating grin, sticking her tongue out victoriously.

“You licked my hand! You licked my hand! That is so gross!” In his peripheral, Keith can see Hunk snatch dozens of napkins from the holder, wiping them furiously against his own palm.

“Well then don’t cover my mouth like that!” Pidge crosses her arms and tilts her nose upward, passive towards Hunk’s scramble for sanitation. “Besides, if you had let me finish, I would have said that Lance hasn’t even brought it up since, and I doubt anything came of it.” She shrugged, sweatshirt sliding farther down her shoulder. “Like Hunk said, Lance is a huge, massive, completely moronic idiot, but he’s not ill-intentioned. Talking to him is probably the best option here. And besides, if you are making the kissy-face,” she leans in dangerously and Keith shrinks into himself, “then you should be able to communicate when you have problems with each other. I thought that’s how these sorts of things worked.”

“Is it?” Keith squawks, wincing at the stupidity of his own words. “I mean, yeah, I guess you’re right, uh….”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Yeah. Ok. I’ll wait till he gets here, and then we’ll talk.”

“There you go.” Hunk gives him a pat on the shoulder before he slides out of the booth, still holding a crumple of napkins to his palm. “His shift starts in a few, so he should be here relatively soon. If he feels like being on time.”

“Alright.” Another deep breath leaves his lips and Keith reopens his eyes, a faint smile gracing cheeks. “Alright, yeah.”

Hunk moves to go behind the counter, preparing for his own shift, and Pidge shoots one more smirk across the table before returning to her screen.

He looks down at his phone and checks the time. If memory serves him correctly, Lance should be here in a half hour.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

But Lance never comes that day.

Chapter Text

There’s a knock on his door.

“Lance? Buddy? Are you in there?”

His eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness enveloping his room, and if he squints hard enough at the ceiling, he can see the toy mobile his little brother made him, adorned with space ships and paper-mache comets, spinning lazily in a circle above his head.

More knocks, rhythmic and firm.

“We’re really worried about you Lance, you didn’t show up for work today…..are you ok? Do you wanna talk about it?”

He does. In fact, that’s all he wants to do. But little does Hunk understand that he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He hears a vibration to his left and a flash of light brightens the room. It’s probably Pidge, asking where the hell he is among the other dozens of texts he might’ve received today - not that’s he checked.

“Well, I’ll be up, and I bought some more pizza rolls since we ate them all last time, so if you wanna talk, let me know.”

The light thud of socked feet hitting carpeted floor echoes away from his door, and he’s alone again.

Regret and anxiety slam into him like a harsh gust of wind, making it hard to breathe as his mind works into overdrive – there was his opportunity, someone was reaching out to him, offering him the release that he needed, and like the moronic idiot he was, he shoved them away, told himself that he wasn’t worth their time, let himself swell up in his own sorrows.

He feels worse than before. Like a balloon one pindrop away from exploding, like a boiling pot of water threatening to overspill – but he lays still, stares at the ceiling, wonders why he can’t stop staring at that ceiling with the mobile full of starships and comets, wallows in his own misery.

He’s screwing up everything, and he feels like there is nothing he can do about it.

Lance can feel the darkness swallowing him whole.

--

“He’s not dead, is he?”

Pidge curiously pokes Hunk’s bicep, looking at him with half-concerned eyes. Those hulking shoulders immediately slump, and Pidge leans back to give him space.

“No, he’s not dead,” Hunk sighs, throwing his weight against the counter with a carelessness that was unusual for the gentle giant. “But he hasn’t left his room at all, and he refuses to respond whenever I ask him if he wants to talk. I mean, I don’t even think he’s left the room to pee, and like, does that mean he’s peeing in a water bottle? Because that’s a new low for him, if he’s being so avoidant that he’s actually going into survivalist mode.”

“Well whatever it is, I don’t appreciate him skipping out on work,” Shiro grumbled, more to himself but audible to everyone, as he swept stray crumbs out of the display case. “He knows he can just text me if something’s up, but he didn’t even do that, which has never happened before.”

“So Lance has never done anything like this before?” Keith asks, rather obviously. His arms were crossed and he raised a questioning eyebrow towards Hunk, who gave him a half-hearted shrug in response.

“I mean, not really. He’s had his bad moments but I don’t think it’s ever been this bad.”

Keith wants to be angry. He feels like he deserves it, too – Lance’s fucked up hot-and-cold game is driving him up a wall, and Keith does not appreciate being taken for a fool. A small, rational part of his brain tells him that he’s overreacting, that Lance probably isn’t doing any of this with venomous thoughts, and he knows that part of his brain is right; but God, he’s tired of playing the game, and he wants answers, even if he has to pry them from some mopey hermit’s dumb, beautiful hands.

There’s a pause of silence as Keith mulls over his options, tapping his arm impatiently, before he throws his arm into the air with a growl. “Well, where the hell is his apartment? I’m tired of waiting. Sitting around moping about whatever isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, there’s a certain someone who also thought that sitting around moping was the best answer to all of their problems, once upon a time.” Keith feels a steady grip on his shoulder and in the corner of his eye, he can see a lukewarm smile, all lips and no teeth.

It goes unappreciated, and Keith shrugs the hand off of his shoulder without a second thought. “And what got me out of my mopey bullshit was having someone come over and slap some sense into me. Which is what I’m about to do to that idiot.”

“I dunno,” Hunk muses, always cautious, tapping a finger to his chin. “No offense to you man, but if I couldn’t even get him to come out, I’m not sure how well you’re gonna do.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Pidge chimes in, scooting across the counter with a Cheshire grin. “I mean, the two of you have done the kissy-face, after all-“

“We’re not calling it kissy-face anymore! Oh my god!” Keith’s arms were undoubtedly in the air, palms balled into fists, scowling at the shorter boy on the counter-

“Kissy-face?” Shiro stalled, lips ringed with an unsaid question, and his eyes flashed for just a moment, realization slowly eclipsing over him. “So does that mean you and Lance….”

“Sorta! Kinda! I don’t know! Shit!” A low, frustrated growl passed between Keith’s teeth, and he pulled at his hair, exasperation tingling his gloved fingers. “I have no idea what is going on and I’m tired of it. Just give me the address, Hunk.”

Hunk continued to tap his finger on his chin, pondering. “I still don’t know if this’ll work, buuuuut…..I suppose I don’t really have any better ideas. He’s got it bad, man.”

Coffee-stained fingers slipped into his pocket as Hunk searched for his keys, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “I locked the door when I left, and I doubt Lance has left since this morning, so I’ll give you a key just in case he feels like being difficult. If you lose it though, I swear to all of the beautiful and gracious lords above-“

“I’m not gonna lose your key, Hunk.” He stuck a palm out, open wide, and waited impatiently as Hunk fiddled with slipping the key off of a ring full of jingly, matching keys. “If you could get it to me sometime between now and tomorrow, though, that would be great.”

“It’s not my fault key rings are so dumb!” The ring slipped through his sweaty fingers and the keys fell with an unceremonious jingle onto the hardwood floor. “Crap- but they’re so convenient, dude, I have everything I need in one place, but every time I have to remove a key it decides to be all annoying and weird and-“

“Just give it to me,” Pidge groaned, hand outstretched next to Keith’s, who was becoming more and more restless as time passed. “My tiny and nimble fingers can get the job done.”

Hunk considered Pidge, shrugging with a non-verbal ‘that’s fair’, and handed over the pile of metal keys. Before he could get up from his knees, Pidge had the key out and was dropping it flat into Keith’s palm, grinning much wider than she had any right to.

“Go get ‘em, lover boy,” She cooed, all eyebrows and finger guns, and now Keith was agitated and flushed straight red, which didn’t help the situation at all. “Go save your annoying, gross, idiotic sleeping beauty.”

As Hunk scribbled down an address on a spare napkin, Shiro’s jaw dropped back open, pupils rapidly growing in size. “I uh- lover boy? Does that uh, does that mean you two have-“

“NO!” Keith buried his face in his hands, groaning vehemently. “Why are you guys making this so difficult, oh my god-“

“Please take this address and never talk about whether or not you and Lance are doing nasty stuff ever again.” A napkin was slammed against Keith’s chest, shaking him out of his hands as he snapped for the piece of paper. He could see Hunk sweating bullets with a displeased look on his face. “It’s not far away from here. There’s leftover thin mints and pizza rolls in the kitchen if you get hungry. But don’t eat them all, because I have been super stressed all week and I have been looking forward to those pizza rolls all day, and if they’re gone when I get back I think I might actually die.”

“You won’t die,” Shiro mused, cocking his hip against the counter. “If you’re that hungry, you know you can just have a muffin from here. Can’t have you working on an empty stomach, now can I?”

“No you can’t!” Hunk was already back around the counter, sliding the glass door to the side with an excited carefulness. “You know, just last night I had a really big craving for one of the apple strudel muffins, they way they crumble in your mouth I just- hey Keith, Pidge do you want one?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll take one.” There was a snicker and Hunk heard the echo of the door bell. “I think Prince Charming left to go save his beauty, though.”

When Hunk poked his head out from behind the display case, two muffins in hand, he could see the shadow of Keith hurriedly walking away from the building, straight into the sunset that lined the buildings overhead.

--

Hunk was right, their apartment wasn’t far away from the Den at all; by foot, Keith would gander that it was about fifteen minutes away, probably twenty minutes if you weren’t in a hurry.       

The complex was elevated, grey, and overall uneventful; even from far away, Keith could see grimy streaklines running down the sickly colored walls. As he closed in, he noticed how dim the open hallway’s lights were, covered with dead bugs and cobwebs, only getting dimmer and grosser the farther he climbed up the stairs. No doubt it was cheap to live here, and although Keith wasn’t the least bit perturbed by the disrepair of it all, he did wonder how someone like Lance dealt with it on a daily basis.

Speaking of which – third floor, second door on the right. The door itself was painted forest green, a paper pumpkin taped right in the middle. It was cartoonish and wrinkled, and most notably out of season, a contrast to the various Christmas and Hanukkah decorations that adorned the other doors. He could just imagine Lance begging Hunk to keep the decoration up, purposefully mismatched and playful and oh so very Lance, and he smiled at the domesticity of the thought, before he remembered why he was here in the first place.

Keith was a flurry of emotions – anger, anxiety, nervousness, guilt, empathy – and it was with a deep breath and a crack of his neck that he pushed the doorbell placed just to the right of the door.

He heard no noise from behind the door, which wasn’t a surprise to him. It did re-agitate him, however, and he waited only a few moments before he jammed the bell with his thumb again, bated breath fanning hot against the paper pumpkin.

“Lance? Are you in there? It’s me, Keith.”

He pressed his ear against the chipped paint of the door, keening to hear anything, but still no sound came.

“Come on Lance, just—just let me in. I’m not angry.”

Which was a bit of a lie, but Keith could smother his anger for at least a little bit while he tried to figure out the situation at hand. When still no sound came from the inside of the apartment, Keith fumbled around in his pocket for the small key granted to him earlier.

“Hunk gave me his key, so if you don’t let me in, I’m going to let myself in.”

 He shoved the key into the lock, jiggling it aimlessly, gritting his teeth while he tried to figure out the damn thing-

The door swung open suddenly, thrusting Keith forward with his grip still around the knob. He just managed to plant his front foot firm, right in front of the figure before him, and he was about to give Lance a piece of his mind-

“What are you doing here?”

When Keith looked up, fangs bared, ready to lash out – he had to stall at the sight before him.

There Lance stood, wrapped in two different blankets, with not a hint of happiness in any of his features. His eyes sunk into his cheekbones, grey and dusty, and his hair was tussled beyond purpose, a mix of bedhead and carelessness, sticking in every direction. There were two distinct pimples protruding from the bridge of his nose, looking so wrong and out of place, and bits of stubble ran up his jugged jawline. What bothered Keith most of all was the way he stared at Keith, like he was a zombie, lifeless and completely out of it, as if he were staring at the wall behind Keith rather than Keith himself.

“Take a picture, it’ll fuckin’ last longer,” Lance grumbled, turning on his heel, and slinked over to the futon in the middle of the living room. At the very least, he didn’t close the door on Keith, so he took that as an invitation and strode in behind him.

“Lance, are you-“

“Take your shoes off before you come in.” Lance didn’t spare him a glance as he sank into the makeshift couch, tugging his blankets closer. “I don’t need any of that grimy crap on my floor.”

“Oh, uh.” Keith bent down to unlace his boots, frustrated at the complicated mess of strings before him. While he worked the knots out of his boots, he observed his surroundings; it was small, the living room and the kitchen cramped into one small area, the only divider being where stained carpet met chipped linoleum. There was a small hallway that led to the back, lined by four doors; he assumed two were Hunk and Lance’s room, while the other two were most likely a bathroom and a storage room. Against the back wall sat a bulky CRT TV, hooked up to a DVD player and a gaming console of some sort, and in between lance and the TV was a wooden table, low enough for Lance to kick his feet onto, scattered with empty soda cans and wrappers. And on the futon sat Lance, crumpled in a mess of blankets, hunched over and staring at one of the empty cans.

There were Christmas lights lining the walls, the only light source in the darkened room. Now that Keith was inside the apartment, deep in the heart of Lance’s fog of misery, they felt unfitting. They sparkled and gleamed across Lance’s muddied eyes, providing false life where there should be endless amounts of joy.

Keith gave him one more look-over as he tossed his boots aside. “You look like shit.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Lance refused to make eye contact, slumped too deeply into his shoulders, disappearing under the blankets.

“Dude, Lance.” Keith strode up to the lump on the couch, sitting himself down right next to Lance. “What the hell gives? You missed work yesterday, and you’ve been being a shit all day.”

The lump shifted away from him, staring hard at the sole window in the room. The sun was completely down at this point, only traces of reddish-purple hue remaining in the distance.

“I didn’t let you in here so you could nag me about my shitty decisions, so if that’s what you’re gonna do, then just leave me alone.”

Something was different between them, Keith could feel it. Even though he could physically reach out and touch Lance if he wanted to, he still felt so far away, like he was talking to a distant shadow of a person.

This wasn’t the Lance he had gotten to known over the past few months. This was a shell of a person, hollow and numb, sunken eyes and heavier than the moon.

Keith felt his anger sap away into the darkness. Gently, he reached out a palm and placed it on the blanketed shoulder, worry lacing his eyes.

“Did something happen to you?”

Lance stiffened, slowly turning towards the warm body next to him, but stalled before he could make it all the way. “No, nothing happened.”

Keith shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to proceed. “Well then, why are you like this? This isn’t like you, Lance, I’ve never seen you like this before-“

Lance’s head whipped in his direction, and he snarled, feral and dangerous. “Well, here’s a reality check, Keith, this is actually who I am. Lance McClain, eternal fuck up, constant human mess, at your service.”

Something in Keith’s heart dropped, so unsettling that he almost wanted to throw up.

“You’re not a fuck up, Lance.”

“Yes I AM!” The blanket was thrown off and Lance was pacing the room, all nerves and gritted teeth, still avoiding all eye contact with Keith. “Jesus Keith, we’ve only known each other for a couple months and this is the first time you’ve even been to my place, we barely even know each other! You barely even know me! And fun fact, this is who I am, just a big ol’ fuck up who can’t even manage going to work, nevermind my own goddamn issues, and—like—like—“

His voice cracked, and he cradled his head in his hands, shaking it wildly. “Fuck. Fuck me. God.” A whimper escaped his lips, barely audible, and in the dim reflection of the Christmas lights Keith could see that he was shaking.

“Lance—“ Keith was off the couch in an instant, and he crashed into Lance with all of his weight, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Jesus, Lance, none of that is true at all. You’re not a fuck up.”

“What do you know?” Lance didn’t pull away, but he stayed still, staring at the ceiling with watery eyes. “You don’t know me at all, Keith. Nobody knows me like this. I’m a mess, and you don’t even know.”

He could hear how harsh and worn out his breathing was, irregular and rapid breaths puffing against his ear. A heartbeat thumped against his own, and Keith held him tighter, closer, seeking the small warmth that his heart emitted, despite Lance’s shivering.

“Then tell me.”

Keith could feel the small intake of breath that tickled his hair. “What?”

He held him tighter, tighter, impossibly tighter. “Tell me how you’re a mess. I want to know.”

A beat.

Two beats.

Two heartbeats beating as one.

“You’re not….this doesn’t freak you out?”

Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

“Nope.”

Thu-thump.

Thu-thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“Um. Yeah. Ok.” A wet, muddled sigh. "Yeah. Ok."

Tentatively, Keith took Lance’s hand and guided him back to the couch. He sat down and tugged on Lance’s arm, encouraging him to do the same, and he followed wordlessly, leaving no space between him and Keith.

“Here.” Keith bundled up the blanket Lance had carelessly thrown off and draped it over his shoulders. He was still shivering, but only slightly, more likely from the chill of the under-heated apartment.

“Thanks.” He smiled, weak and thin-lipped, but it was the first glimpse of happiness Keith had seem from him since he’d gotten here, and his chest tingled with newfound warmth. Lance lifted up part of the blanket with his arm, beckoning for Keith to join him, which he obliged happily, crawling into the blanket cocoon so he could sit shoulder-to-shoulder with Lance.

“You know, I don’t…..” Lance started then trailed off, looking into the distance, eyebrows creased with unease. “I don’t really like talking about my stuff. With anybody. This isn’t something I’m used to.”

Keith bumped his shoulder, a light chuckle vibrating from his body. “You and me both then.”

And there it was – a snort, full of built-up phlegm, slipped straight out of his nose. Lance immediately clasped it, flushing at the touch. “Oh my god. I just snorted. That’s so embarrassing.”

Keith’s chuckle turned into full-on laughter as he leaned into Lance’s arm. “Yeah, you did – but it was kinda cute.”

“Cute?” Lance looked at him with disbelief. “How is snorting cute?”

“I don’t know! It just was, alright?”

“Alright, alright, sure, whatever.” Lance was smiling, pure and genuine, and it was such a sight for sore eyes. Keith could feel his cheeks heating up to impossible temperatures. “I guess that’s the least of my problems right now.”

“You should tell me about those problems then.” Keith leaned in just enough so that their shoulders were constantly touching, making Keith’s skin feel electric.

The smile dropped, replaced with a solemn stare, and Keith could feel the way that Lance’s shoulders slumped back into himself.

“I just—“ He palms reached up to cradle his head again. “Fuck. Ok. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry Keith-“

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” His palm automatically moved to Lance’s back, rubbing soft circles into the thin cloth. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“It’s harder than it sounds.”

“I’m sure it is. Now tell me what’s up.”

Keith could feel Lance keen into his touch, and he watched as Lance closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You know, I’ve always struggled so hard to like, be good at anything. Even when I went to school, yeah I was in the top of my class, but I had to pull so many all-nighters just to be recognized like that, whereas everyone else barely had to pull a muscle, you know? And it feels so bad. Knowing that I have to try three times as hard just to get where everyone else is at.”

A pang of guilt seeped into Keith’s core, but he tried to ignore it. He focused instead on the movement of his calloused fingertips, gliding them across the soft surface of Lance’s back.

“And it’s still like that. I have to work so hard just to get anything done. I know Shiro only keeps me around because he feels bad for me, I’m a terrible worker, Hunk can bake and clean way better than I can. Hell, Pidge probably could, and they don’t even work there. And then with this scholarship stuff, God I feel so stupid, because I’ll make progress but then I’ll get stuck and it’s so frustrating, because I’ll sit there for hours trying to figure out a problem and it just doesn’t click, and then I’ll finally ask Hunk for help and he can figure it out in like three seconds, and I feel so dumb, like what’s the point of even applying for the scholarship if I’m just a miserable failure?” He gasps, suddenly realizing how out of breath he is, and groans into his hands.

“You know, the reason I didn’t go to Garrison or university or anything was because my parents really needed help taking care of the family. Especially because my dad is gone for weeks at a time, and there’s just so many of us, you know? And yeah, I had my dreams of becoming a pilot, ever since I was a kid, but family is important, and who cares about my dreams when there’s mouths to feed?”

A choked sob takes Keith by surprise, and when he looks back to Lance, a solitary tear runs down the side of Lance’s cheek. “It’s not like I’m good enough to accomplish my dreams anyways.”

“Stop.” Keith can’t take it anymore. He wraps his arms around Lance and tucks himself into the crevice of Lance’s neck, closing his eyes with a hiss. “Stop lying like that. None of that is true.”

Lance tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and heartless. “You haven’t even heard the half of it. That’s only the beginning.”

Keith breathes hot and humid onto Lance’s collarbone. He brings his hands down to Lance’s sleeves, clinging them tight, trying to keep his cool. “Lance, I will listen to whatever you have to say, but after you’re done I am going to tell you why all of those things you said are completely wrong.”

He can hear Lance’s heartbeat again, rapidly beating against his own. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

There’s no noise to fill the void of silence. All Keith can focus on is the heat of his breath against Lance’s neck, and the feel of the thin cotton between his fingers.

He feels Lance shift under him, and thin arms wrap around his body, pulling him closer.

“I don’t deserve someone like you.”

Keith pulls his head back, staring at Lance with wide eyes. “What?”

“You heard me.” Lance smiles and humms, looking much too content with the situation at hand. “You’re so good at everything you do, and you’re pretty, and you’re even kind once you get past the whole tough-guy schtick, and what am I?” He shrugs and smirks to himself. “I’m just some lanky loser who can’t control his depression enough to manage his face care routine.”

“Stop saying stuff like that, Lance.” His palms glided up from Lance’s sleeves to his cheeks, thumbing them gently. “I’m really not any better than you are. I have my flaws too.”

“Yeah?” Lance stared at him straight with watery eyes, looking like a dam about to burst. “Do you know how many dates I’ve been on, Keith? A decent amount. And do you know how many have gotten past the second date?”

He stares hard, a newfound fury in his eyes, and Keith is unconsciously taken back. “How many?”

“None.” He laughs like a maniac, eyes flooding over onto his reddened cheeks. “None of them, Keith. Because by the second date they realize what a fucking loser I am and they dump me before it goes too far.”

Keith’s thumbs move to swipe away the tears, hoping to God that his own don’t spillover. “That’s not-“

“And you know what? I really am the worst.” Laugh continues to laugh, tears now on full overdrive, breaking Keith’s heart. “Because after the first date I started flirting so much, with everyone, because I knew you were probably going to dump me soon, it’s always after the second date, so why not just prepare for the inevitable right? I even got this chick’s number, that’s how bad of a person I am. I didn’t even text her or anything, but god, the fact that I even got her number is just the worst.”

He was sobbing, full-on sobbing deep into Keith’s shoulder, heaving uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry, Keith, I’m so sorry I’m the worst.”

“Stop stop stop.” Keith tightened his grip around Lance, burying his face into Lance’s shaking shoulder. “You’re not the worst, Lance. Just because you made a few mistakes doesn’t mean you’re the worst. I’m not even mad at you anymore. If anything, I’m surprised.”

He heard a hiccup, muffled into his jacket. “Surprised?”

“Yeah, surprised.” He leaned back and pulled Lance’s face from his shoulder, gripping it tight so he could stare straight into his eyes. “Surprised that you think I’m even considering dumping you. Surprised that you feel comfortable enough around me to let all of this out. Surprised that you think all of this changes how I feel about you, when I still, very much, definitely like you.”

The body in his hands stalled, still vibrating from held-back sobs, and everything was silent once more. The Christmas lights blinked endlessly around them, like a halo of light, illuminating the shadows of their cheekbones and the streaks from their tears.

Slowly, the slumped body leaned back and looked at Keith with red, bleary eyes. “You like me?”

“I like you.” Keith grinned, stroking his thumb against the streaks on Lance's cheek, tilting his own head slightly. “Do you like me?”

Lance scanned his face, as if he was searching for something. His eyes went down to his chest, then back up, staring into his eyes, and then-

He lunged forward and gripped Keith’s face, pressing his mouth against Keith’s.

It was like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, overcoming Keith, and he gasped straight into Lance’s mouth as he was pushed back against the couch. Lance held onto him with everything he had, slotting his mouth perfectly against Keith’s, full of passion and life and so undeniably Lance, Lance, Lance, and Keith pushed back with an equal amount of force, open mouthed and wet, pushing past the undried tears and pushing past the lingering regret, giving Lance everything he had and more.

They held each other close, not daring to let their hands explore lest they forget that they’re here, noses bumping rough against each other, like a wildfire against the force of the ocean. They were caught up completely in each other, forgetting the outside world, savoring the feel of the other’s lips as they kissed under the strung up Christmas lights. Nothing else was on Keith's mind but Lance, and Lance's mouth, and Lance's hands, and Lance's everything. He melted into those lips, impossibly soft, and relished in the thought that this was his moment, a moment shared only with Lance, something he could treasure forever. 

It was Keith who pulled away first, completely out of breath, his too-tight chest heaving with adrenaline. With bleary, love-dazed eyes, he glanced at Lance, whose face he still held in his own palms, and he realized that Lance’s expression mirrored his own.

“Wow,” Keith breathed, his body now impossibly warm. “God, Lance.”

“You like that?” And there it was, that signature, cheesy grin Keith didn’t realize he missed, toothy and wide and radiating exuberance.  “Well trust me, pretty boy, there’s more where that came from.”

Yes, Keith’s mind was reeling, yes, more, I want more, and he was about to lean in and take it for himself-

Out of the corner of his eye, the street light flickered as something fell from the sky.

Something that Keith had only seen a handful of times in his life.

“Hey Lance.” He nodded towards the window behind the dazed boy. “I think it’s snowing.”

“Pft, what?” Lance rolled his eyes as he turned around, following the direction of Keith’s nod. “It never snows here, what are you-“

For once, Lance was silenced, jaw dropped and eyes wide as he stared, hard, at the flecks of white falling graciously outside his window.

“No way.”

Keith bumped his shoulder against Lance’s, softly smiling. “Yeah way.”

“No way.” His voice dove to a whisper, as if he could will the snow away by accident if he spoke too loud.

They watched, silently, as the snow drifted down from above, just barely sticking to whatever surface it landed on, gentle and calm and slow, illuminated by the street light outside. It was the kind of picaresque scene Keith could only dream up, huddled under a blanket next to a pretty boy, bodies warmed by the other’s presence, watching as a miracle occurred right outside their window.

And then Keith felt a shift to his side, and the blanket was thrown off of them in an instant, Lance stomping wildly towards the door.

“It’s SNOWING!” In nothing but boxers and a stained, long-sleeve shirt, Lance threw the door open, whooping without a care in the world. “It’s snowing, man! It’s fucking snowing! Holy crap!”

“What are you-“ Keith was stunned, watching precariously as the boy tromped down the apartment stairs, before leaping up and following him, not even bothering to put on his boots. “Jesus, Lance, its cold outside! At least put on a jacket or something!”

“Nope! Too late! It’s snowing and I’m outside!” Lance disappeared around the corner of the stairs, already almost to the ground, and Keith began to skip steps just to keep up with him.

“It’s not like the snow is going anywhere! At least wait up for me-“ His foot missed a step and he stumbled forward, arms flailing, barely catching himself before he faceplanted straight into the cold cement.

In the distance, Keith could hear the whoops and screams echoing off of the hallway’s dimmed walls. Quickly, he re-stabilized himself and bolted down the last set of stairs, all but jumping over them, and jogged out into the half-empty parking lot, only to halt and stare at the sight before him.

There Lance was, barefoot and wearing nothing but cat boxers a smudged shirt, twirling in circles on the pavement lightly dusted with snow, arms wide and eyes closed as he sing-sang towards the clouded night sky. “Snoooooow~, Snoooooow~, I love the snooooooow~, it’s snooowing~, and I’m dancing in the snooooooow~,” on and on he sang, off-key and wild, endlessly spinning in his own snowglobe of wonder.

No one was around to watch this charade, it was just Lance, him, and the snow falling from the sky.

Keith felt like he was in a dream. As he stood there, slightly out of breath, beads of sweat matting his hair in front of his eyes, he realized that the two of them must have looked like the most dysfunctional mess in the entire city.

“Keith!” And then Lance was prancing towards him, with black feet and hair dotted with flecks of snow, grabbing his hand and pulling him out into the parking lot.

They were spinning, spinning in circles, Lance’s laughter boisterous and pure as a child’s, head turned to the heavens with his eyes closed, living in his own fantasy.

All Keith could do was stare. He watched the way his adam’s apple bobbed generously with each laugh, the way the melted droplets of snow made his skin sparkle in the reflection of the street lights, the way his eyes lit up when he finally turned towards Keith, a fiery blue that ignited something deep within Keith’s heart, burning him alive and swallowing him whole.

And as they spun in circles, without a care in the world, Keith couldn’t care less if this boy thought he was a mess. He didn’t care if he had flaws, if he struggled some days just to get out of bed, or if he couldn’t see the good in his own heart.

He didn’t care because, under the glint of the freshly fallen snow, Keith realized he could possibly fall in love with a person like Lance.