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Lance found that there was nowhere to hide in the Castle. There were traces of him everywhere. His jacket left on the back of a chair in the dining hall, to his whetstone on the seats of the lounge, nowhere safe from his storm of random shit.
On a day calmer than usual, Lance took the opportunity to clear his head. The training deck was good for that. A moment of peace where there were no distractions could get in the way. Each blast of energy out of his rifle and sharp exhale from his lungs forced any unwanted feelings or thoughts further to the back of his mind. He felt the sweat pool at the back of his neck and the top of his brow. He took a moment to catch his breath, turning his eye to the corner of the room for just a moment and there sat an empty water bottle. Detail oriented and methodical as he was, Keith was one untidy bastard.
He cursed in a whisper, words that, had he been back home, his mama would have threatened to rinse his mouth out with soap. The dampened ringing of his mind was quickly sharpened as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead, short hair starting to stick to skin.
He didn’t appreciate how much space Keith took up in his brain. He hated how much he compared himself to him, how much he wanted to know what he thought of him. He especially hated how consistent that occupancy in his mind has been, so much so that his time at the Galaxy Garrison was much the same.
He remembered the morning before his first day, the sun barely taking its place in the sky as the chill began to creep in for the fall. It was a shamble getting ready, as it usually was in the McClain house, and Lance shoved himself into the car as his brother, Marco, took his place in the driver’s seat to drop him off.
Before he left the car, Marco reached over to put his hand on Lance’s shoulder.
“Look dude,” he said, barely turning to face his younger brother. “You’re in a totally different playing field now. Find your people, stick with them. Be a fox, smart but charismatic. You’ll do just fine.”
The pep-talk made him want to curl into himself and die, but he took it to heart. Smart and charismatic was his forte, he could manage that. He remembered making his way through, chatting up anyone cute he could find, scoping the competition. He was like a skater on ice, smooth and sure. His confidence was quickly shattered, though, when a kind introduction to a certain mulleted-boy was met with a flat “Okay?” He remembered his face burning a red so bright as he watched him walk away, a mixture of embarrassment and something else he didn’t care to unpack at the time festering within him. Unfortunately for Lance, one sometimes doesn’t choose who sticks with them, and his mind was stuck on Keith.
He’s sick to his stomach as he leaves the training deck, cheeks and ears warm, head no clearer than when he entered.
Time didn’t change much of anything.
On a different day, the team faced a squadron of Galrans larger than what they were used to. At Allura’s command, they were quickly deployed and took their formations defending the Castle and tried as they did, their team of 7 could only do so well. They were so outnumbered that there wasn’t even a moment to form Voltron. Lasers flew past, barely missing the Lions as they pushed themselves further than they ever had before, and the team was only just able to retreat to safety.
“I know we’re tired, but work like today can't be happening again.” Shiro said once everyone was back in the Castle. Everyone could acknowledge he was right, but god did he not know how to give them a break. “We need to be working better as a team if we want to have any chance against Zarkon.”
Lance let himself zone out to the reused lines of scold-tinted encouragement and he slipped away to take a shower. The steam from the warm water fogged up the glass of the mirror and Lance sighed as it hit his skin, running down the ridges of his back. He let the drone of the water accompany the mental replay of the night’s battle, regret slipping to annoyance.
It was awful, the barrage of fire stole any moment that could potentially be used to think, and Lance had taken a beating. He kicks himself for not being quicker. He kicks himself for, in a moment of overwhelm, Keith having to swoop in and save his ass.
The Red Lion had always been faster than Blue, better at dodging and at sharp turns. It helped that Keith, Lance thought, though he wouldn’t care to admit it, was also a more skilled pilot. He knew that Keith was better than him. He never second-guessed a single move, never faulted on an intricate maneuver. He’s watched him do things on the field he would sooner die than even attempt to do. He was passionate, stalwart, he worked from a place of true strength and intent. It made Lance’s stomach turn, face burning to more than just the heat of the water.
So when Blue was surrounded and being bombarded by god knows how many ships, Keith knew exactly what to do.
“You okay Lance?” Keith asked quickly as he fell back into formation.
“Yeah,” Lance returned, shame audible as he tried to cover a voice crack. “Thanks.”
“Don’t sweat it, I’ve got you.”
His words echoed and rewound and repeated, even now.
It was unfair, he thought, stepping out onto the cool tile. It was unfair how effortless heroism and selflessness came to Keith. It was unfair that it didn't stop there, how the effortlessness melted into his strength, and his accidental humour, and his beauty. It was unfair that his hair fell perfectly and his body stayed toned when he didn't even try, and that he made his face flush and chest tight without even noticing it. His heart picked up and he tried to convince himself it was jealousy or anger. He toweled himself off and breathed. He didn’t need to let Keith take up any more space.
His showers, unlike this outlier, usually end just before dinner time. Whenever Hunk was cooking for the night, he would spend the last half an hour or so sitting in the kitchen with him and keeping him company. He would mostly use it as an excuse to air his grievances to the only person on the ship that he could.
“I just can’t do this anymore Hunk!” he lamented one night, sitting on the counter. “What do you mean he’s gonna get all cocky with me? Helloooo! Last time I checked we’re both plummeting down to the surface of the planet here!”
Lance leaned back on a hand, waiting for Hunk’s reaction as he spoke. Hunk took his time responding, preparing for his friend to beat the now rotting horse once more, and Lance sat in the quiet. He watched Hunk weave through the kitchen. The sizzling of whatever ingredients Coran decided to order in the pan laid a perfect backdrop to the aromas rising from it. One after the other, they breathed in deep, connected in action but not in intent.
“Well… Didn’t you retaliate? And didn't this happen ages ago??” Hunk said, finishing up his work. He barely looked up, adding extra spices to his cooking as Lance responded.
“I- I mean yes, it was, and yes, I did, but what was I supposed to do? Just sit there and take it?”
“From him? I don’t think you'd have much of an issue.” Hunk snorted.
Lance scoffed, hand to his chest. “Who do you think I am?”
Hunk finally turned to Lance properly, free hand on his hip. Lance didn’t have to look at him to what he would be graced with, a raised eyebrow and a smirk, smugness barely shielded.
“Alright, alright I get it, sheesh!” Lance groaned, sitting up straight. “Can you really blame me though? You’ve seen him yourself.”
“Yeah, I have,” Hunk said, loading some of the food onto a spoon and walking over to Lance where he sat. “And frankly, I don’t get it a bit. Then again, I’ve never gotten your taste in people. Here, try this.”
Lance took the spoon off of Hunk to taste, trusting that past the weird visual, the food would be as good as always. He let Hunk rattle off about his process and the components of the dish, nodding mindlessly every once in a while to feign active listening.
Of course he didn’t get it, Lance thought to himself at Hunk’s words. No one got Keith like he did.
No one has spent hours, probably days, of dissection and digesting to try and ‘get’ him. Embarrassing as it was, it was a loop Lance found himself in all the time. After particularly close conversations with Keith, he would let his eyes linger, trying to pick apart each of the words to get to their true meaning. During, he’d note a dart in his eyes, the pulling back of his hair, a sigh of frustration at being misunderstood.
“It’s okay,” would often slip out of his mouth before he could catch it. “Take your time.”
The loop followed him. In the rare moments of one on one connection, Lance wanted to express his understanding, to pour it out to Keith. An arm would outstretch as the two of them spoke and as Keith looked away to hide a shine over his eyes, another thing Lance always noticed. As quickly as Keith would turn back, the arm would get withdrawn.
He would lay, same arm tucked under him in bed, wishing he had connected. His breath would be heavy with the desperation to know what could’ve happened if he just reached forward. If he let himself make contact.
It made him angry, the emotion a link between the two of them he could actually afford. Keith lived off of it, his anger. Lance saw how it laced his every action. He felt how often he would unload that anger onto others, and onto him. There was a fire that Keith carried within him, one that Lance was desperate to see, and that enraged him. He was angry that he would put this much effort into understanding a guy, who didn’t even remember who he was before all of this space bullshit started. He was angry because he could stop, he just didn’t want to.
“Oof, does it taste bad?” Hunk said, causing Lance to finally come back to.
“No! Nono-” He responded, realising how furrowed his brow had gotten and quickly straightening his face. “It’s really good dude, of course it is.”
“Bro,” Hunk chuckled, taking the spoon back from Lance, “You were in another galaxy.”
Lance let dinner and the rest of the evening wash over him, moving through it on autopilot. It was like that when nothing special happened; he went through the motions, cracking a joke or two where they came naturally, and headed straight to his room, trying to occupy himself before bed. It was a bit of a trance. He walked through the halls like a hovercraft gliding smoothly over the surface of a planet, keeping his eyes on the ground as the tall ceilings of the Castle halls often made him queasy.
One night, the spell he was under was rudely broken as he walked straight into a form.
“Sorry-” He was quick to say, before he looked up and acknowledged who it was. “Sorry, do you look where you’re going?” Lance rephrased, as he adjusted his posture.
“You weren’t looking where you were going?” Keith responded, genuine in his confusion.
Lance’s mouth hung open as he didn’t have a retort, and Keith was right. He waved his hand at him, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, whatever man.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You can at least apologise like you mean it.”
“I-” Keith sighed, wiping back his hair. “I didn’t even bump into you, you bumped into me! I don’t- forget it.”
Keith quickly turned and walked the way he came from, stomping hard enough that it bounced on the walls. Shit, Lance though, picking up and following after Keith.
“Hold on- Keith, Wait.”
Lance continued after him, until he made it to the entrance of the lounge. Not too far in front of him, Keith had taken a seat, leaning back and covering his eyes with the backs of his hands. Lance hovered in the doorway. He was unsure what he even was doing here, Keith was clearly annoyed with him, he had followed him uninvited.
He held his breath and walked in, taking a seat across from Keith in the round.
“What.” Keith said, his hands unmoving.
Lance opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what was even going to come out of it.
Why am I even doing this, he thought, words scrambling and unscrambling over and over within him, trying to pick the right thing to say.
“I was joking,” He finally blurted out, wincing at the stupidity of it all. “I didn’t mean it. Sorry dude.” Dude.
Keith finally let his hands drop from his face as he sat up to look Lance in the eyes. They rarely did this. Maintain eye contact, that is, and not for Keith’s lack of trying. Every conversation they ever found themselves in, Lance would note Keith’s effort in looking at who he was talking to in the eyes, probably a respect thing, he thought. He couldn’t help it that whenever Keith’s eyes met with his, a jolt ran through his body, forcing his eyes elsewhere. This time, though, he tried to stick it out, ignoring the bubbling in his chest and back of his neck, willing him to look away.
It was a stand-off of sorts, a game, of which neither one of them knew the winning condition or the prize. Keith scanned Lance’s face, eyes tired. Lance willed himself still, and prayed that Keith didn’t notice he was holding his breath.
“I don’t get it” Keith finally said, breaking the silence. “I feel like everything I say around you is gonna end up in us arguing.” His eyebrows screwed together slightly, and Lance could almost see the mental dance he was performing. Lance scooted closer towards him in the seats, trying to make his point more direct as he spoke.
“Look, I don’t mean for it to happen, it’s just-”
“Do you do that on purpose?” Keith interrupted.
“What?”
“Your whole ‘blurring lines, joking until I’m not unless you want me to be’ thing, is it on purpose or am I overthinking?”
Lance paused, taken aback by Keith’s words. He bit his lip, unsure of what answer Keith would want to hear, which made Keith lean forward to look at him even closer. This closeness with him was something Lance wasn’t used to. He tried his best not to lean back, tried his best to make the quickening of his breath and the hard swallow of the lump in his throat as discrete as possible.
He tried to see if Keith was doing any of the same, scanning for a subtle flush or a hand gripping onto the seat too tight, but was too distracted to really discern what the man in front of him was feeling. All he could tell was that Keith was attempting to peer into his soul, and Lance would do just about anything to let him. To not have to say anything and instead let Keith dive into his mind. To let him see through his eyes.
After a moment of silence, Keith sat up straight, closer to Lance than they started.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Keith said, tilting his head slightly as he faced Lance tinged with concern and still maintaining eye contact. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m walking on eggshells around you anymore.”
Lance can’t help but laugh slightly at Keith’s comment, causing Keith to frown at him.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Lance said, finally relaxing into his seat and turning away slightly, “I just feel the same way when I’m talking to you. I can appreciate an occasional debate, but I’m not trying to fight all the time you know? It’s not like I hate you or anything.”
“You don’t?”
Lance turned to Keith, who looked back at him in subtle shock. He almost started to laugh again before he noticed that Keith was waiting for an answer. He found the slight flush he was looking for earlier, but didn’t care to distinguish whether it was in embarrassment or admiration.
“No,” he breathed, deliberate in his words. “No I don’t hate you, I never have. If anything, and if you repeat this to anyone I will sick Blue on you, I used to think you were really cool.”
Keith raised an eyebrow, “And you don’t anymore?”
“Alright, don’t push it.” Lance smiled, shoving Keith in the arm slightly. Contact.
Keith sighed, faint smile playing on his lips. Lance watched as relief settled on his face and his shoulders relaxed, the first time Lance could remember witnessing it on him. He liked seeing Keith like this, seeing him comfortable and happy and unafraid of making a mistake he doesn’t notice. Lance hoped that he could see him like this more.
“Okay good,” Keith said. He rose to his feet and stood in front of Lance looking down to him for a moment. “Let’s keep it like this for a while, maybe?”
Lance nodded, taking in the sight of Keith. He committed the curve of his jaw, and the subtlety of his smile, and the light in the lounge behind him shining through his hair to memory the best that he could.
“Great,” Keith said as he slowly stepped away from him, “I’m glad I can live in my head a little less now.” He made his way to the entrance of the lounge before turning around for a moment, “Go to bed soon.”
“Yeah yeah,” Lance sighed, letting himself smile as he watched Keith leave, “Goodnight.”
He let himself sit back into the chair in the lounge, leaning on the back and turning his eyes towards the ceiling. It felt good to be understood, and it felt especially good to be understood by Keith. It felt like he was being picked apart, but he wouldn’t mind getting used to it.
He sat up, facing the seat where Keith once sat. Maybe he could live out of his head more too.