Archive of Our Own

“Okay, so, not to make you reconsider being my official boyfriend, or anything, but there are a few dates you need to remember if you’re going to survive meeting my family more than once.”

While they sit on their couch in their living room, with Lance’s legs stretched across Keith’s lap, Keith turns his head to his right side, raising a brow at Lance.

“Survive,” he repeats back to Lance, absentmindedly rubbing up and down Lance’s ankle and leg, under the sweatpants Lance’s wearing. “That’s a strong word, Lance.”

“Unfortunately, it’s the only word that best describes it,” Lance firmly insists, face very much serious. His hand rubs the ends of Keith’s hair between his index and thumb. Keith can hear the light crackles of the strands grazing against each other. 

Keith leans back in the cushions, frowning. “I thought they liked me already.”

He’s not even trying to fish for reassurance—he just genuinely thought he already had their stamp of McClain approval, considering Lance’s entire family had been begging the two of them to get together. 

And, after all these years of hesitation and yearning, when the news came out that they finally decided to give a relationship a run, they were all relieved to hear Lance and Keith admit what everyone else had already known.

They were in love and had been for a long time. 

Still, Lance doesn’t look any less at ease. 

“They do like you. A lot,” he says, “That’s not the issue. If you show up empty handed on certain special days, they will absolutely stop liking you. There are expectations that will be placed on you, Keith. Sacred Cuban expectations.”

Keith’s hand pauses mid-way of Lance’s calf, fingers curling as he processes the words. “So… you’re saying I’m being, what, graded? Forever?”

“Basically,” Lance says, “Forever-ever-ever. By multiple generations. The old and new. Possibly, even from my dead ancestors, too. Who knows.”

“Oh no,” Keith responds, flat and devoid of actual worry, “Nadia and Silvio judging me. That sounds awful. And ancestral ghosts?”

Lance gives a pointed look, tugging lightly at Keith’s hair as reprimand. “I can’t have anyone looking at you in a bad light, Keith. Therefore, you can’t give them any reason to do it.”

“Why would they do that, though?”

“Because it’s important to them that you participate with our traditions and uphold yourself to their standards. I mean, I don’t think they’re that crazy for it. I was personally taught to be chivalrous and kind and polite. And, trust me, they will notice if you’re not.”

Keith exhales, long and slow. But still, he turns his body towards Lance, giving his full attention. “Okay, what are the days I need to be aware of? So, I don’t get judged forever…ever-ever.” 

Lance brightens, pivoting his body to face Keith as well, hand rubbing the back of Keith’s head. Definitely a nonverbal apology for tugging. “Obviously, there’s birthdays, Mother’s and Father’s Day.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“Oh! And the day my Tata died.”

“Tata?”

“My grandpa,” Lance clarifies. 

Keith immediately feels bad. He’s sure he made a face, judging the absolute hell out of that name choice.

Graciously, Lance doesn’t seem to be bothered. “And March 8th.”

Okay, now that sounds weird. 

“March 8th?” Keith frowns, brows furrowing. “What exactly happens on March 8th? Spring?”

Now, Lance looks at him in utter disbelief. “Wha—? International Women’s Day, Keith!”

“Really?” 

“Uh, yeah, really!” Lance exclaims. “Did you seriously not know, or are you pulling my leg?”

Keith gives the flattest stare. While he had stopped rubbing Lance’s leg, Keith’s hand was in the middle of pulling at his toes.

Due to obvious reasons, he abruptly stops.

And it appears to surprisingly take a while for Lance to actually register and realize the joke he accidentally made. His mouth stays open for a couple of seconds—like the one photo Lance showed Keith, of some yellow creature with pointed ears and red circles on its cheeks—then he starts to grin a little. 

“Oh wow. I’m kinda amazing for that one.”

Keith chooses to disregard the joke entirely. “Yes, Lance, I honestly did not know about March 8th. I mean, it sounds nice. I just… never heard of there being a holiday on that day.”

“Never—? In Cuba, it’s a huge deal! You bring flowers to all the women in your life, acknowledging the ones who raised you, supported you, loved you, and—” He sighs, pulling his hand away from Keith’s hair to place it against his own chest, eyes closed. “Thank fuck we’re talking about this. It’s coming up in two weeks.”

While Keith wants to roll his eyes and scoff, he’s also slightly relieved he’s hearing about this now. Two weeks is better than the day before, or not knowing at all. “What kind of flowers am I supposed to bring?”

“Roses, preferably. But you can always make it meaningful, and change it up,” Lance says. “Though, please, don’t forget. My sisters will think you’re the worst if you don’t get them anything.”

“Just to be clear,” Keith starts evenly, “I need to bring flowers for the women in your family.”

“I mean, yeah, pretty much. But, you know, Keith. You can apply to yourself, too. Bring flowers for the women in your life.”

Keith stills. “I do know… a good amount of them,” he murmurs, more to himself.

Despite whispering it, Lance catches it, smiling softly at Keith. “Yeah, well, that’s the point. You don’t realize how many amazing, impactful, precious women you know and have in your corner, until you stop and think about it. That’s why it’s important to celebrate the day.”

Nodding, Keith’s thumb returns to brush over the skin of Lance’s leg, circling slowly. “I guess I never thought about it like that, before.”

Stressed, Lance exhales loudly, slumping his body closer until he’s pressed along Keith’s right side. He tucks himself under Keith’s chin, draping an arm across his waist as he rests his head on Keith’s chest. 

“I swear, I’m not trying to scare you off,” Lance mumbles, “But, I… really want my family to continue to like you and feel like you’re a good fit. They are very important to me, and, well, I guess I’m nervous.”

Shifting in his seat, Keith’s hand lifts from Lance’s leg, reaching up and tenderly brushing Lance’s brown bangs back. He then presses a firm kiss on Lance’s forehead.

“I’ll do it, Lance,” Keith assures in a whisper. “I’ll make sure my flowers are… meaningful. That way, they’ll know I care about them, too.”

“Am I… forcing you?” Lance asks, feeblish.

Keith shakes his head. “No, not at all,” he says honestly. “I do want to show… that I care.”

“And the other women in your circle?”

“I’ll consider them, too. They deserve flowers just as much.”

Sitting hunched over his computer desk, Keith stares at the screen, eyes slightly hurting against the bright glow of the monitor. His fingers rest over the mouse, scrolling through yet another website listing flower meanings, cultural symbolism, and color variations he didn’t know existed. 

It also doesn’t help that there’s extraterrestrial flowers to consider, from other planets. Though, realistically, Keith thinks he’ll probably keep the flower choices Earth-origin. For his sake and sanity.

Running both hands through the top of his hair, Keith looks down on his desk, reading through again a page on his notebook, listing the names of the women he thinks to give blossoms. 

“This is taking too long,” he grumbles under his breath. 

The thought of giving up and just giving everyone the same bouquet starts to creep in—very tempting, actually. 

But, then, Keith thinks back on Lance, and well, if he were Lance, he’d go the extra mile, no matter what that entitles. 

So, Keith mentally channels his inner-McClain, slowly breathing through his nose, and out his mouth, before going back to reading the article on his screen. 

If he’s going to do this—honor not only Lance’s family’s traditions, but also the women Keith appreciates—then, he does want to do it right, even on the first try. 

He needs to learn to be thoughtful, meaningful with intention. 

Because that’s how Lance loves. 

Loves his friends, family, people in general.

And especially how he loves Keith. 

With all his heart and a whole ton of effort. 

When Keith enters the Galaxy Garrison laboratory, Matt looks up first from the workbench, smiling at first, only for his eyes to widen slightly. 

“Oh woaaaah,” he drawls out, “Since when are you a flower delivery guy, Keith?”

Shoulders tense, Keith steps further inside, holding two wrapped bouquets in both hands. The brown paper crinkles slightly as he adjusts his grip. “Hey, Pidge, Romelle,” he calls out. 

Lifting her head up, Pidge pauses her delicate work on the wiring on the open chest cavity of the Holt robot, Chip, and meets Keith’s gaze. “Oh, hey, Keith!” she exclaims, pushing up her goggles to her forehead. “Did you need something?” 

Standing behind Pidge—more like hovering over her—Romelle also turns to face Keith, smiling bright as she waves him over. “Hello, Keith! Are you perhaps also interested in observing the creation of robots with me?”

Keith clears his throat, slowing to a stop, beside the workbench. “Uh, no. I’m here for other reasons.”

Romelle steps forward, drawn in by the bright yellow in Keith’s hands. She’s obviously very intrigued. “What have you brought in? Flowers?”

Hesitating for half a second, Keith then extends one of the bouquets towards her. “This one’s yours.”

Stunned, Romelle quickly looks down to stare at the flowers Keith presents to her, before taking it with a gasp. “For… me?” she whispers, her purple irises shimmering.

Keith nods once, then lifts the other bouquet towards Pidge’s direction. “And this one’s for you, Pidge.”

Standing up from her chair, Pidge walks up to Keith and easily accepts the flowers. However, as she cradles it, she squints at the flowers, then up at Keith. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” she asks, sounding suspicious, “Why are you giving us flowers?”

“It’s March 8th,” Keith says simply. “Happy… International Women’s Day.”

Matt’s face falls before he winces, hands on his hips. 

“Oh shit,” he mutters, “That’s today, huh?”

Romelle tilts her head, confusion obvious across her face. “Women’s…Day?”

“Yeah, it’s…a special day for women,” Keith starts to explain, recalling Lance's words from weeks ago. “People give flowers to the important women in their lives, to show appreciation and acknowledge them by giving thanks… I’m giving these to you, because I… appreciate you.”

Romelle gasps, her posture straightening as she absorbs the information. “That’s so lovely! I didn’t know Earth had a special quintant like that.”

‘Yeah, me neither,’ Keith thinks. 

Though, before he can respond to Romelle, Pidge noisily lifts her bouquet up, examining the small yellow blossoms with growing recognition. 

“Hold on—Keith, these are yellow mimosas,” she says, voice softening. “My dad gets these for me and my mom every year. How did… you know?”

Keith blinks. “Oh, I, uh, didn’t actually know that,” he admits, “I looked into common flowers to give on March 8th, and thought they’d be the best ones for you. Considering how much you’re proud of your Italian background. They give these in Italy.”

“Y-Yeah, that’s why my dad gives them…” Pidge’s expression then shifts, fond and sweet. “That’s… actually really thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

Stepping forward, Pidge gently nudges past Matt, lifting one arm up. Keith readies for the hug, putting his left arm up and tucking her close. It’s brief, but the closeness is still appreciated on both ends. 

When they pull away, Romelle’s standing very close to Keith. “What about mine? What are my flowers? Do they have meaning, too?”

“They’re daffodils,” Keith steadily informs her, “They symbolize optimism and hope for a bright future. I wanted to let you know that…” He pauses, taking a few seconds to make sure he says the right words. “I know like many others, you’re starting a whole new life here on Earth, without family. I can only assume that’s scary sometimes. But, I hope you keep finding good things here. With all of us.”

Smiling, Romelle bows quickly at Keith, clutching the flowers close to her chest. “Thank you. I am truly touched by that. I find this arranged set of petals one of the many reasons I find peace on Earth. Bandor would have…loved to see these.”

Turning behind her, Pidge scowls over at her brother. “You. Where the heck are my mimosas from you, huh? Mom’s probably wondering where hers, too.”

“I—uh—well, you see—” Matt starts, clipped and awkward, before standing abruptly from his seat, knocking over a tray of tools on the counter. “You know what? I think I have some back at my place. Yeah, I grew some flowers for you and Mom.”

“Oh really?” Pidge asks, though it sounds more like a mock.

“Totally,” Matt walks past them, towards the door. Keith notices his temples are sweating. “I have to go real quick. I’ll be right back!”

When he slips out of the laboratory room, the sliding doors hissing close, Pidge snorts. 

“To be fair, he has been up in space for a long time,” she secretly reasons with them, “But, I seriously doubt my mom will take that as an excuse.”

Romelle looks back up at Keith, her brows suddenly pulled together. “Keith, if this is an established quintant, how come we didn’t receive flowers from you last year? Or the years before?”

Keith feels the faint flush creeping behind his neck. “I actually didn’t know about the day, either,” he admits, “Not until… Lance told me recently.”

Instantly, Pidge’s grin spreads, shit-eating. “Oh, how lovely. Lance’s already shaping you up to be boyfriend—no, husband material. What’s next, you start having a skincare routine?”

Keith elbows her lightly. “If I did start one, it’d be a good thing.”

“Perhaps next year, I’ll return the sentiment and give you some yellow mimosas. For being a girl sometimes when you’re in a huffy protective mood about your boyfriend. Like right now.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a girl part-time, so be grateful.”

“Part-time?” Romelle asks. 

Getting Keith’s joke, Pidge sticks her tongue out at him. “Gender is a social construct, and I get to choose when I’m a girl for my benefit,” she diligently informs, “Especially when today, that benefit is flowers.”

Keith then proceeds to roughly ruffle Pidge’s hair, despite her immediate lightly swatting at him to stop. Though he doesn’t feel bad in the slightest, as he can see her smile betray her. 

It reminds him that no matter how much time passes between them, she'd always be the little sister figure he never had.

“Just take the flowers, Pidge,” he huffs, smiling. “You earned them, regardless of what gender you decide for yourself."

After leaving the base in Planet Daibazaal, many of the Blade of Marmora members choose to fly and be stationed at the Garrison during their leave from active duty. Especially those who either have no home planet to return to, or prefer the relative calm of Earth over the outer territories. 

Ezor, Acxa, and Zethrid are among those who return to Earth, residing in an assigned, shared personal quarter tucked in the residential wings of the Garrison base. 

And, they should still be here this morning.

Keith wanders the corridors, peering down each door panel until he finds the one marked with their unit number. Standing in front of the door, he pauses long enough to breathe in, before knocking. 

The doors slide open, revealing Ezor. Her gaze lights up in seconds, delighted to see him. “Well, lookie here, Keithy boy is here,” she chirps, smiling, “What’s brought you he—”

Her words cut off in a sharp, long, dramatic gasp as she notices the bundles of colors in his arms. 

“Ohhhh my gooooodness,” she awes, hand up to her mouth. “What are theseeeee?”

She leans in so close that Keith instinctively shifts sideways, slipping past her to enter the room. While Ezor trails after him, glued to his back as she eyes over his head, he walks forward. 

With a small coffee table between them, Acxa and Zethrid sit across from each other on low couches. Acxa turns her head to see Keith approaching, while Zethrid simply stays facing forward, her arms draped lazily over the back of the couch. 

“Hello, Keith,” Acxa greets, declining her head politely. “How has your stay on Earth been treating you? It’s been awhile since we saw one another.”

Zethrid snorts, eyeing at the bouquets with disgust. “Yeah, and what the hell is all that?” she asks in a scruff, “Looks like you’re carrying fungus.”

With Ezor still insisting to be in his personal space, Keith sighs, turning to her and offering the first bouquet, multicolored with reds, pinks, and yellows. “Here.”

Ezor laughs brightly, grabbing them. “Gosh, Keith, you’re cute when you do stuff like this!”

Keith then moves closer to the couches, handing Acxa and Zethrid their respective bouquets.  

While Acxa silently accepts the flowers, Zethrid takes a while scowling down at hers, before finally taking it. Though, she does hold them at an awkward distance. 

Acxa seems to also have her own reservations. “What exactly are these?” she asks, studying at the petals of her flowers in her hands. She even squints at the burlap holding them together. 

“Can I eat them?” Ezor asks, a bit eager. “They look tasty.”

“No,” Keith says immediately, lifting a hand before Ezor can even decide to nibble on her flowers. “They’re meant to be gifts for you to have.”

“For what?” Zethrid barely asks—more like demands.

“International Women’s Day,” Keith states, “It’s a day to give flowers and… show gratitude for all women.”

“Is it an Earth-human thing?” Acxa tries. 

“I mean, not all humans celebrate it, it’s—” Keith sighs, a bit annoyed at himself. “Lance could probably explain it better than I can, but it’s that some humans find it important to give gifts to mothers and friends in the form of flowers. That’s the gist.”

“Do we have to give you flowers back?”

“No, I—Female friends,” Keith backpedals, “I don’t receive any. My job is to give them. To you. Since I consider you all…” Then, he chews at his lips.

He doesn’t think he’s ever outright called them his friends, before. 

In his head, he does consider them important, but it’s rather odd. As Galra, they don’t often verbalize the obvious like that. Being sentimental is definitely not a part of their relationship, let alone in their culture. 

Unfortunately, for him, Ezor doesn’t let him finish his train of thought. “Soooo, what are we supposed to do with these, if we can’t eat them?”

Sighing, Keith’s head and shoulders droop a little. “I mean, I guess you could do whatever you want with them. The whole point is that you get to keep them.”

Zethrid gives a dry chortle, her lips curling into a smirk. “Don’t tell me these puny plants have meaning or something.”

“Yeah, they do, actually,” Keith admits, before pointing each bouquet in turn. “Ezor, yours are gerbera daisies. They represent cheerfulness and child-like wonder. Acxa, yours are called violet gladiolus, and they symbolize courage and resilience. And, Zethrid, yours are red protea with leucadendrons. They stand for transformation and strength. They’re… qualities I see in you as individuals.”

“Wait,” Ezor starts, voice rather small, “why did you give us these? I mean, I get you’re saying it’s for some special day or whatever, but… with those… meanings. What gives?”

The questions do land heavier than she probably intended. But still, he stands in front of them, mulling in his mind for words that don’t come as easily as they would for Pidge, or even Lance. 

“I…” He hesitates further, before looking down at his boots. “I see you all as my friends.”

And, yup, the room goes still, almost deafening, as Keith’s ears start to pick up on a faint, high whistling. 

“Despite our differences in the past,” he pushes himself to continue, face warming. “We’ve worked together in this organization, side by side. I’d trust each of you with my life.” He lifts his gaze, jumping between them. “I know we don’t feel it’s necessary to say it to each other, but… I do have love for all of you. Thank you for accepting me as not only Galra, but… as a commander and a trusted companion.”

For a couple of heartbeats, no one moves. The only sound Keith hears from the trio is their steady breathing, as they all stare at him, almost blankly. 

Then, Ezor breaks, dropping her flowers to the floor and launching herself at him with a squeal. 

“Keith!” she cries out, wrapping him in a hug so tight he wheezes. “You big damn softie! You love us? You love us! And, we love you, too!”

Keith coughs, face burning. “I—Ezor—okay, okay—”

Getting up from her seat, Acxa smiles faintly at him, a rare softness in her face. “That is… very meaningful to hear,” she says, as she bends to gingerly pick up Ezor’s fallen bouquet. “I speak for everyone when I say the feeling’s mutual, Keith. And, well, we appreciate these and your words, deeply.”

“Tch,” Zethrid grunts, looking away. “No need to get all mushy when you’re stating the obvious, idiot.”

However, despite those words, Keith notices that Zethrid has adjusted the flowers closer to her center.

When Ezor finally loosens her arms and eases her hold on him, Acxa hands Ezor both bouquets in her hands, before stepping forward, arms open toward Keith.

While he’s slightly surprised by the gesture, he accepts the hug. Acxa’s embrace is light and far more tolerable than Ezor’s rib-crushing enthusiasm, though it carries a sincerity that he finds comfort in. 

Stepping back, Acxa tucks a hair strand behind her ear. “This tradition of yours… March 8th,” she starts evenly, meeting Keith’s gaze. “Perhaps we should bring it to Kolivan’s attention. The Blade of Marmora could push for the Galra to adopt it as part of being in the New Galactic Coalition.”

Ezor nods, grinning. “Yeah, absolutely! The Galra should totally start appreciating all the female warriors! Imagine it—a whole event with flowers for us! Right, Zethrid?”

Zethrid shoots her a sideways look, grimacing at first, but then blowing some air. “Whatever makes you happy, Ezor,” she grumbles under her breath. 

Keith, however, thinks it’s unlikely. “I doubt either Kolivan or Krolia would find it… beneficial towards the rebuilding of the Galra regime.”

“Speaking of your mother, do you have one of these for her, too?” Ezor asks, genuinely curious. 

Immediately, Acxa turns to her, eyes narrowed, sounding off a ‘shush.’ 

Again, other than the occasional slip ups from Ezor, the trio does their best efforts to not pry into Keith and Krolia’s familial connection. It’s something Keith does appreciate, more than he ever says aloud; it shows they care enough to treat his personal life with a level of respect and dignity. 

Though, in this case, he doesn’t mind the question.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly, “I do.”

“Ah, interesting,” Ezor voices, “Do you think she’ll like it?”

Keith honestly says, “I… don’t know.” 

Keith manages to radio Krolia in advance, asking her to come down to Earth on March 8th and meet him at his cabin home. It seemed like a simple request at the time, but now that the hour is approaching, he feels his nerves twisting tighter by the millisecond, coiling in the bottom of his stomach. 

Sitting on their front porch, with Lance beside him, Keith’s knee bounces relentlessly. 

He’s surprised Kosmo hasn’t awoken from the vibrations that he must be sending through the floorboards. Kosmo continues to be curled at their shoes, dozing. 

At least Lance notices, reaching over to place a steady hand on it. “Keith,” he voices gently, “you’re seriously overthinking this.”

Keith huffs a short breath, gaze fixated on the grassy horizon. “I just… I don’t know if she’ll get it.”

“Get what?”

“The flowers.”

“What is there… to get?” Lance asks, still soft as ever.

“Lance, my relationship with my mom isn’t exactly…” Keith sighs out. “Saccharine,” he chooses to say.

“Hey, it’s never too late for you and your mom to try something new, you know, discussing feelings and being sweet,” Lance offers. “You said you opened up to her a lot when you were stranded on the space whale with her, no?”

“Yeah, but that was situational,” Keith insists, “Besides, that was the last time we got deep like that.”

“Okay, well, even if she doesn’t ‘get it,’” Lance continues, using airquotes. “The flowers you picked out for her are stunning and meaningful. Like very meaningful. I think they’re the sweetest.”

Keith swallows, closing his eyes. He doesn’t want to look down at the bouquet in his hands, so instead, he just shuts out his sense of vision. 

Leaning back, he lets his head rest against the exterior wall of the cabin—the pressure against his hair grounding him for a moment. He tries to will his anxious fluttering in his chest to settle. 

But, then, his ears perk up. 

Opening his eyes, Keith cranes his neck, past the rooftop of the cabin, to stare at the sky. 

Sure enough, he sees a traveler’s ship descending. 

Together, he and Lance—and even Kosmo, now awake with ears up—watch from the porch as the ship nears landing, kicking up powerful gusts of wind that ripple across the grasslands of their farm. Kaltenecker lets out a startled moo, head-spearing the exiting group of the other cattle and sheep that hurriedly leave the area. 

Finally, the ship lands with a thud and subtle shake of the ground, dust swirling in the air, before the ship’s engines audibly sound off. 

Pressing a quick kiss on Keith’s cheek, Lance then squeezes Keith’s shoulders with both hands. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” he teases, though encouraging. "Reow."

As he gets up, careful to not step on Kosmo, Keith lightly shoves him. “Don’t call me that.”

Keith catches the grin that graces Lance’s pretty face, unbothered, before he forces himself to turn away, walking down the steps and onto the grass. 

“Do you mind if I watch and cheer you on from here?” Lance calls after him.

“Do whatever you want.”

“Good luck!”

Once he makes his way towards the ship, Keith stops a good distance away from it, as he spots the ramp begin to lift open and lower down, metal groaning softly. 

When the hangar lid opens fully, he sees Krolia standing at the top of the ramp, from inside the ship. 

She descends the ramp with long strides, and as she nears closer to Keith, he starts realizing that her expression seems rather stricken with concern. 

Before Keith can even open his mouth to ask, Krolia closes the distance, cupping his face in both hands. She firmly moves his head to the far right, then far left, up and down, her gaze jumping everywhere, head to toe. 

“Keith, what happened?” she asks urgently, commanding. “Why did you request my presence so suddenly? Are you hurt? Hurt where? Where do you require—?”

Keith’s eyes widen. Swiftly, he lifts his right gloved hand, pulling her left hand away from his face. “No—no, Mom, I’m okay. Nothing’s wrong with me.”

It doesn’t seem to calm her. Krolia narrows her sharp eyes on him. She drops her other hand on his face to her side. “Then why did you insist I come to you so soon? You gave me only one week to travel from Daibazaal.”

Shit, he didn’t think about space travel. 

On Earth, seven days means a long week, maybe. But, in space? Seven days to travel across the galaxy is a stressful sprint. He had basically asked her to drop everything and launch herself through star systems to reach him in a short amount of time. 

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Keith says honestly. “It was just important you came today. I wanted you here because…”

In his left hand, his fingers tighten around the burlap-wrapped bouquet. 

“I have something for you,” he finishes, lifting it to her. 

However, just as he dreaded, Krolia simply stares at them, then at him, incredulous. 

“What is this?” she asks, voice a bit intense. “What are you doing?”

Internally groaning to himself, Keith thrusts the bouquet forward a little more. “They’re flowers, Mom. You’re supposed to take them.”

“They look…” She eyes at them. “Poisonous.”

“They’re not.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Krolia grasps the bottom end of the bouquet. She turns it on its side in her hands, inspecting. 

“What do you think of them?” Keith wills himself to ask. 

“What am I supposed to think?” Krolia counters, frowning. “Are they medicinal? Have any use in battle? Nutritious?”

“They’re just flowers to have.”

“Then, I don’t need these,” she bluntly tells him, holding the bouquet to Keith to take back. “They will die.”

Sighing—and feeling rather stupid—Keith gestures at the flowers with an open palm. “It’s the sentiment that matters. I gave you this because I wanted to acknowledge you. Appreciate you. Love… you. As my mom.”

The words feel clumsy in his mouth, and make him feel even more awkward as Krolia continues to stare at him, her expression unreadable even for him.

Though, he knows Lance’s watching, so he can’t walk away from the sheer embarrassment. 

“These flowers are called black scabiosa,” he recites, voice quiet—timid actually. “They symbolize protection, guardianship… and mourning.” He tacks on at the end, “Because of Dad.”

Again, despite her sternful set of eyes, she silently waits for him to explain, patient. 

So, Keith pushes on, even though his throat feels tight and his eyes sting. “I know our relationship is rather recent. Complicated, even. But, I am thankful for what we have now. I didn’t think I’d have anyone at this point in my life, so I’m glad you’re here with me.” He exhales shakily. “I love you, Mom. The last time I told you that was on the space whale, and well, I want to remind you again that even six years later, I still love you. I always will.”

At first, Krolia doesn’t speak, let alone move. 

It’s like she held her breath for a long moment in time. 

But then, Keith starts to see it—the subtle softening of her facial features, the lowering of her shoulders, and the faintest twitch of her lips. 

Krolia looks back down at the flowers. “So they are called… What was it again?” she murmurs. 

“Scabiosa,” Keith repeats. “And in this color, they’re also called ‘Black Knight.’”

Nodding slowly, Krolia hums. “What about the ones made of metals?”

“...What?”

She lifts her gaze, their eyes meeting. 

“Your father once gave me a flower,” she recounts, “It was shaped differently from the ones you’ve offered. They had imperfect petals and jagged edges, made of a hard alloy. I have yet to find ones like those on any other planet.”

Keith’s chest tightens. “There aren’t metal flowers on Earth.”

Krolia frowns slightly. “Then how come he found one?”

“He… made that. That’s the only explanation.”

“Then what would it mean? Or, does it not have any meaning?”

Swallowing, Keith has to will himself to not to cry. He struggles to think, speak, and hear about his father at his age. It’s been worse even ever since he’s started openly loving Lance. His heart aches to imagine what his father must have endured when it came to love, what he carried alone, and what he never got to say.

“He gave you a flower that doesn’t wilt,” Keith voices quietly, “A love that doesn’t die.”

Krolia’s expression dips, her eyes blinking rapidly as she processes the meaning. 

“Do you believe he gave it with that sentiment in mind?” she asks. 

Without hesitation, Keith nods. “Yeah. I know he did. He would’ve wanted to acknowledge you as his wife.”

He catches that his mother gives him an odd stare, so Keith offers her further meaning, 

“A lover. A trusted partner until death does him part. Someone unlike anyone else. Humans call that a spouse. A wife, in your case.”

She seems to understand, mouth parting a little, then closing to nod shortly. “I see.”

“Do you still have it?” Keith questions back. “The metal flower?”

As he had expected, Krolia shakes her head. “I had left it on Earth with your father. I didn’t… want to lose it,” she admits. “Though, while it may be gone, from the house fire you told me, I… never forgot about it.”

“I’m sorry. Mine aren’t metal. They will eventually die.”

The corners of Krolia’s lips upturn. She lifts the bouquet to her nose, inhaling for a short moment. 

“That may be so,” she starts, “However, yours smell far better.”

Keith snorts, smiling faintly. “Yeah, well, the one Dad gave you probably smelled, well, metallic."

Krolia chuckles softly—a short, warm sound he doesn’t hear often. “Thank you for giving me the scabiosa, Keith.” She then pauses, her brows furrowing a little. “However, was there a reason you had to give me these today? You could have given them to me any other time.”

“It’s International Women’s Day,” Keith explains, sighing. He feels he’s said this for the umpteenth time. 

She doesn’t seem to catch his tired expression, raising a brow. “Ah. So these are not for me, necessarily.”

“No, no, these flowers are for you, Mom,” Keith corrects quickly, “The day calls for me to give flowers to the other women in my life, too. So, I have handed out other bouquets. But, this one in particular is only yours.”

“And when did you learn of this… tradition?”

Easily, without any additional word needed, Keith jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward the cabin behind him, where he knows Lance’s still watching them.

Though, Krolia seems to be intrigued. “Next time Lance comes to Daibazaal, I should suggest for him to have him meet with Kolivan, then. We could incorporate this ‘Women’s Day’ into the new Galra calendar.”

Keith blinks. “Wait—you think that’s a good idea? But, how exactly does it fight against the outlaws and establish reform?”

But Krolia’s already walking past him, bouquet in hand, sighing tiredly. “I am rather starved. Though, I believe Lance will cook a nice meal for me, before I head back.”

Keith turns after her, still in disbelief. “Are we seriously considering March 8th as a Galra holiday?” he asks, calling out.

Deliberately ignoring her own son, Krolia lifts a hand in greeting Lance on the porch.

Of course, Lance’s entire demeanor lights up, waving excitedly back, before scrambling to his feet and hurriedly walking—Kosmo trailing after with a bark—to open the front door for her.

Placing a hand to the side of his head, Keith releases a long, resigned, yet undeniably fond sigh. Because, yeah, Lance wouldn’t mind having Krolia over for lunch. Thrilled, probably, eager to gain his ‘brownie points’ with Keith’s mother. Especially with the roses he had for her, inside their cabin.

Though, a thought pops into his head. 

Honestly, if it’s Krolia asking for March 8th to be recognized—or she just so much as mentions it—Kolivan may actually establish the holiday as bible, pushing for it for all Galra to abide by.

Did Keith just accidentally become the reason the Galra will celebrate International Women’s Day?

…

…Figures. 

Spilling out of the front door of Lance’s family home, Lance practically herds his entire family to the driveway, insisting they ‘just come look at something real quick.’ 

Keith doesn’t know what exactly they had expected, but it seems they’re all surprised to see the back hatch of Keith’s SUV open, revealing a neatly arranged lineup of bouquets—each wrapped in different colored tissue paper and cellophane. As the women all gasp, turning to each other in glee, he stands beside his trunk, hands tucked awkwardly into his jacket pockets, desperate to not to look as self-conscious as he feels. 

One by one, he hands the women their bouquets. 

“Oh my god, Keith, these are so freakin’ beautiful!” Rachel shouts, smiling. She even makes a twirl, with her pink roses and asters close to her face. 

Towards Keith, Luis smirks, lifting his empty hands up in an exaggerated gasp. “Hey, where’s mine, Kogane? How could you forget about me?”

And, you know what, Keith decides to offer a small smirk back. “With all that whining, I’ll get you flowers just to shut up, Luisa.”

Luis barks a laugh, playfully shoving Keith. “Ahhhh, look at you! Getting all comfortable and chummy with me, finally!”

Beside them, Veronica narrows her eyes at Lance, accusingly pointing at him with her bouquet of pink roses and—beautifully—blue Veronicas. “Lance, what the hell? The ones you gave us this morning are so lame compared to your boyfriend’s. He got flowers with my name!”

Bursting out laughing, Marco claps Lance on the back. “He’s putting all us McClains to shame!”

Wincing from the recoil, Lance then elbows Marco, before turning to Veronica. “Hey, hey, it’s his first time! Of course Keith’s going to be guns blazing. I, on the other hand, have been doing this for years. Since I was little! Remember? I used to pull dandelions from the ground and give them to you, Rach, and Mama.”

Veronica scrunches her nose. “Yeah, no, we threw those weeds away.”

“You—! Wait, Mama threw away my effort?!”

“Do you blame her?” Rachel counters, shrugging, “Who knows where your grubby hands had been.”

“My hands were clean!” Lance insists, utterly flabbergasted by the reality-breaking revelation. 

Choosing to tune out the chaos now erupting on his left side, Keith turns to his right, handing Nadia her bouquet. 

She stares at the yellow roses and solidago, absolutely starstruck, before grinning up at her mother. “Mommy,” she starts, delight evident in her voice, “I got flowers just like yours!”

Lisa smiles down warmly, rubbing her daughter’s back with one hand, and holding her bouquet of yellow roses and white freesia. “And what do we say?” she asks, with a slight tune to the words. 

Instantly, Nadia looks back at Keith, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Uncle Keith!”

Keith freezes for half a second—Uncle?—but he decides not to correct her, instead choosing to smile down at her. “You’re welcome, Nadia.”

Of course, being the sweet twelve year old she’s become, Nadia pulls a yellow rose from her arrangement, trying to offer it to her older brother Silvio. 

But, being in his early teens, Silvio pulls back, hands out, as he gives her a stink look. “Ew, I don’t want your stinky flowers,” he mutters, “What are you doing, dummy?”

Nadia pouts. “I’m not a dummy, you dummy! And they are not stinky!”

While Lisa discreetly hushes them both to quit it, Keith tilts his head, peering over Lisa’s shoulder, just in time to see the front door swing open again. 

Walking slowly, Lance’s mother steps out, helping Lance’s grandmother walk towards the driveway—her left hand steadying the grandmother’s right arm, and the other hand helping maneuver the walker over the uneven pavement. 

As they approach Keith’s SUV, Lance nudges past his siblings and walks up to his grandmother, facing her directly. 

“Mima,” Lance tells her readily, “Keith has flowers to give you.”

“Hah?!” she barks out, squinting. 

Sighing, Lance then leans closer to her left side. “Keith. My boyfriend. Brought you flowers,” he voices louder and more elongated. 

“Qué?”

“Mi novio. Tie-nes. Flo-res. Tu-ya.” 

His mother swats at his arm lightly. “Lance. Stop talking like that.”

However, it seems to do the trick, as positive surprise dawns on his grandmother’s face like the breaking of the morning sun. 

Keith’s convinced she’s faking the hearing loss—she never seems to catch any English words, yet the moment someone switches to Spanish, she’s sharper than a hawk.

“Eh? Qué caballero!” She announces brightly, smiling so wide, her eyes look closed. “Lance, cuida tu mangón, antes de que me lo llevé yo,” She says lowly.

Yeah, Keith has no idea what Lance’s Cuban grandmother said, but judging by the way Lance’s siblings burst into laughter—and the way Lance’s face turns red—it must be hilarious. 

When both Lance's mother and grandmother finally step up to him, Keith first holds out the grandmother’s bouquet, steady and in front, so she can properly see the white roses and blue delphinium. Hopefully. 

Or, maybe her eyesight’s as selective as her hearing, too.

“Um, pah-rah tee,” Keith voices as best as he can. 

Though, thankfully, it seems she doesn’t mind at all. Smiling, Lance’s grandmother lifts a trembling hand to Keith’s cheek, gently guiding him lower, and planting a big, wet kiss on him. 

“Muchas gracias, mangón.”

Once he gingerly hands her bouquet to Lance to hold for her, Keith then reaches into the trunk for the final  arrangement—the largest one he’s given today. 

“This is for you as well,” he voices towards Lance’s mother, presenting the bouquet of red roses and alstroemeria. 

She looks genuinely stunned, hand coming up to her chest. “Oh! No, you shouldn’t have—”

“I insist,” Keith says firmly, then more earnestly, “You’re a huge reason Lance exists in the first place. I don’t… know where I’d be right now without him. So, thank you. For allowing me not only in your home, your family, but also for allowing me to love your son. I’m in your debt. As long as I have Lance in my life.”

Beside his grandmother, Lance stares at Keith, breath caught and eyes glossy. 

It's words that really only meant for Lance’s mother, but it seems to have equally captivated Lance and everyone else around to hear it, astonishment evident across all their expressions. 

Keith starts to wonder if perhaps he said the wrong thing, until Lance’s mother releases her mother’s right arm to hug Keith properly, bouquet slightly pressed between them, in Keith’s hands. 

“No, I should be thanking you, Keith,” she utters thickly. “Thank you for bringing my son back home to me, to us. Alive and well. You protected him when I couldn’t reach him. You… are an angel to this family, mi yerno.”

While he’s unable to hug her back, Keith rests his head on the side of her face, nodding. “You’re welcome… I’ll continue to look after him.”

When they separate, Keith turns toward Lance, only to find him frantically trying to hush—pressing a finger to his clenched mouth—his siblings, who each are trying to muffle their laughs. He then bats at Rachel and Luis, who decide to crowd around him and lift Lance’s left hand up to his face, knuckles facing him. 

Once all the women have received their flowers, giving their sincerest thanks to Keith, everyone finally heads inside for dinner, with the mouthwatering smell of Lance’s father’s cooking guiding them.

However, Keith grabs Lance’s hand, gently pulling him to a stop. He lets the others pass by them, so he can take a quick moment to talk to Lance in the small pocket of quiet. 

“What’s so funny?” Keith asks, once everyone’s inside, doubt now settling. “Did I mess up?”

Lance’s expression softens. “Why would—? No, Keith! You did incredible,” He assures firmly, squeezing Keith’s hand as emphasis. “My family’s just being… over the top and ridiculous per usual.” 

“What are they being ridiculous about?”

“I promise you, it’s nothing against you.”

Keith’s frown deepens, no longer convinced. “Lance, just tell me.”

Groaning, Lance grimaces, shoulders slumping, as his face turns slightly red again. 

“I think, unironically,” he starts, muttering, sounding utterly embarrassed, “my family wants us to get married already.”

“H-Huh?” Keith sounds off, genuinely dumbfounded. “But we only started dating six months ago?”

Huffing a short laugh, Lance steps closer, bumping their shoulders together. “Yeah, but, technically, we’ve been in love with each other for like… three years,” he states, a bit sheepish. “So, I guess that’s why.”

“Three years, huh?” Keith echoes, a shy, crooked smile rising out of him. 

Shrugging, Lance smiles back at him with that easy sun-warm affection, brightening Keith’s entire view even in the fading evening light around them. 

“At minimum,” Lance says, “But, honestly? I think I’ve loved you longer. Add another year to it for me.”

When they finally step inside Lance’s family home together, hand-in-hand, Keith lingers on Lance’s words. He keeps his own reply tucked away, to himself, letting Lance think he’s had Keith beat. 

Though, he’s pretty certain he’s loved Lance far longer than four years. 

After having dinner with Lance’s family, wishing everyone a goodnight, Keith drives him and Lance away, heading towards their last destination to their—or, more like his—busy day. 

“How’d you feel about dinner?” Lance asks from the passenger seat.

“It was good,” Keith states easily. “I enjoyed the food.”

He can quite literally hear Lance’s flat stare. 

“I meant, my family,” Lance corrects, a bit puffy sounding, “Like I know they were being embarrassing earlier, but they were a lot calmer once we got inside. They were very impressed by you, actually, I got so many compliments about you! And, you know, I promise the teasing and marriage stuff will die down. They just tease you because we’re finally together after so long, and they’re just relieved you and I decided to give us a chance at romance and—”

“Lance,” Keith voices, hands on the wheel, focus facing forward, “I like your family.”

“Yeah, but like… do you like-like them?”

As the streetlight ahead turns red, Keith eases the SUV to a stop, decidedly taking the moment to breathe through his nose. 

Over the years, he’s grown to go along with whatever phrases and lingo Lance decides to throw into conversations. Because, much to no one’s shock maybe, Lance talks like this all the time—even during serious, emotionally driven moments.

And, Keith has figured that the best way to make Lance feel heard is to meet him right where he is. 

“Yes, Lance,” he assures, turning his head to meet Lance’s worried gaze. “I like-like them.”

After taking in the seconds Keith’s eyes are on him, Lance slinks back into his car seat, relaxing into the leather. He begins to smile, wobbly.

“Okay, okay, I’ll trust you,” Lance says with a small chuckle. “...For now,” he tacks on at the end, probably meant to make Keith feel on his toes.

But, from the dopey look on his face, his expression says he believes Keith completely. 

After a few more turns and minutes on the road, Keith finally reaches their location, parking his car in the lot and killing the engine. 

Together, they step out of the SUV without a word, moving in sync to open the back passenger doors and reaching in to grab their respective bouquets. 

While they both have juniberries, Keith has hyacinths, while Lance paired his with sweet peas. 

Once he locks the car, Keith and Lance fall in step beside each other, walking on the paved, cobblestone pavement. The only light shining their walk appears to be the streetlamps over their heads, and the moonlight of the full moon. 

“When was the last time you said hi to Allura?” Lance asks suddenly.

Pressing his lips together, Keith mulls through his thoughts. “...Last month, I think,” he admits. “When I went with you.”

“Oh… huh.”

“...What about you?” 

“Last week,” Lance says, with a little airy laugh. “I told her we’d be coming to see her.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s good to give people a heads-up. So, they know to show up.”

They walk past rows of monuments, before finally stepping off the pavement to walk on the grass, walking over the turf until they reach the porcelain-white memorial grave monument that marks Allura’s resting place. 

It's almost been six years since her passing.

Time passes and stops for absolutely no one, it seems. 

Kneeling, they each remove the old flower bouquets from the two permanent vases—one on the left and right side of the upright headstone. Once they laid them across the grass, they then placed fresh juniberry arrangements into the holders, magenta bright against the pale stone. 

Sitting on the back of his legs, Lance clasps his hands together in his lap, before tilting his head down, eyes closed. 

“Happy Women’s Day, Allura,” he whispers to the air. “We miss and love you very, very much. Thank you for giving us, humanity, and all the intergalactic worlds a second chance of life, and instilling purpose into each and every one of us. I’m forever grateful to have met you.”

Keith stares at the Altean markings beneath Lance’s eyes, starting to glow bright light blue, contrasting against the dark night encompassing them. 

They remind Keith of stars; how mesmerizing they are to stare at and get lost in the gleam of them. And, while it’s not the first Keith’s seen Lance’s markings glow, they seem to shine brightest when Lance thinks of Allura. 

It’s rather bittersweet to see it, really.

Keith closes his own eyes, clasping his own gloved hands. 

“Thank you, Allura,” he starts quietly, with only Lance being the only other living person to hear his words, “for everything you’ve done. Bringing peace to the universe. Giving me a new, found family. And… for Lance. Thank you for bringing us together as paladins, and now, as partners.”

With that, they kneel in front of the headstone, heads bowed in a long, reverent silence. 

Keith feels when Lance leans into him, resting his head on Keith’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming with me, Keith,” he murmurs, voice thick. 

Opening his eyes, Keith peers down. He then takes a hold of Lance’s clasped hands into his own. 

He doesn’t need words to convey his loyalty to be beside Lance for as long he lives. The gesture alone says enough, from the way he cradles Lance’s hands and gently pushes his fingers to weave their hands together.

Lifting his head, Lance looks up at Keith, the blue in eyes looking more blue in the pool of his tears gathering on the surface of gaze. 

“Do you miss Allura?” he asks.

Keith meets his glossy gaze evenly. “I do. But not nearly as much as you do.”

Lance snorts wetly. “It’s not a competition, you know.”

“I know,” Keith says softly. “I… I’m reminded how much I miss her when I see you. Not in a bad way. Just sometimes I forget I should properly grieve. But when I’m with you, I remember.”

“Because you’re with me?”

“You loved her so fiercely. You still do,” Keith further explains. “You don’t let yourself forget her, even when it hurts to remember and when it weighs heavy on you some days. I… struggle to be comfortable with feeling things that deeply. But, being with you helps me be brave enough to feel.”

“Is that why you only ever see her with me?” Lance asks finally. 

Keith can only nod. “I’m able to come here because I have you. I don’t think I could do it alone. Ever.”

“How come?”

“...Because if I came here without you, I’d never make it past the parking lot.”

A tear slips down Keith’s cheek. 

Of course, Lance catches it, the side of his index finger brushing gently under his eye. 

“She’d be appreciative of you visiting her, regardless if you can only come with me,” he voices. “And she would love the flowers you gave her.”

“I hope so,” Keith murmurs, sniffing. “I really hope so.”

Lance cups the right side of Keith’s face.

“I know so,” he affirms. 

By the time Keith and Lance make it back to their cabin home, it’s late. Keith can tell because Kosmo, who normally, excitedly greets them at the door, only lifts his head from the couch, only to tuck his nose back into himself, snoozing in his fluffy ball of warmth. 

Though, when Keith closes the door behind him, he hears Lance let out a soft gasp.

Keith already knows what exactly he’s reacting to. 

Turning back slowly to Keith, pointing to their dining table. “Keith, did you forget to give someone their flowers? There’s a small one left here.”

It's almost comical how genuinely worried Lance looks right now—like Keith might’ve accidentally left an important bouquet behind and now some poor, fragile woman is devastated and flowerless because of him. 

Taking the moment to shrug off his jacket and placing it on the coat hanger by the front door, Keith glances back at Lance, gesturing towards the bouquet with the tilt of his chin. “They’re for you, actually.”

When he fully turns back to Lance, Keith’s met with Lance’s confused expression. 

“Are you trying to say I’m a woman?”

“What?” Keith steps close to Lance, hands lifting and loosely holding on the sides of Lance’s arms. “Why would you say that? I see you as a man, Lance.”

“Why did you get me flowers, then?”

And just like that, Keith thinks he shouldn’t have gotten Lance an arrangement, even if it were small. It made sense at the time when he was picking it up at the florist shop, but now he wonders if he was sorely mistaken. 

“I thought to give you one as thanks,” Keith tries to explain, rubbing his hands up and down Lance’s arms, hoping to soothe the scrunchy wrinkles on Lance’s face. “I know it's Women's Day, but I wouldn’t have even known about today if it weren’t for you. You often teach me not only how to love myself, but also how to love others better. You make me appreciate the people in my life more. And it makes me appreciate you tenfold, Lance. So, consider it a token of gratitude. For… enlightening me every day we’re together.”

Blinking in a daze, seconds are needed for Lance to recuperate his thoughts together and realize he should look at the flowers. With a quick nod, he walks away from Keith, reaching the dining table. 

He then picks up the bouquet wrapped in white ribbon, turning it in his hands. 

“What are they called?” he asks, already starting to smile up at Keith from across the room. “And don’t say you don’t know. I know you did your research.”

“Blue nigella,” Keith says. “They’re also called ‘Love-in-a-Mist.’ They represent long-lasting love and faithfulness.”

But, now, compared to the huge roses bouquet he gave Lance’s mother, they now seem too miniscule to represent his love for Lance.

“Listen, I know I probably should have given you roses or carnations," Keith continues on, sighing, "but I wanted you to have something different, unexpected, and meaningf—”

Keith barely has time to react before Lance sharply spins back and rushes straight into him, arms thrown around Keith’s neck. The small bouquet ends up pressed behind Keith’s back, petals against his body as Lance holds him tight. 

Even the kiss itself surprises Keith, as Lance fully captures Keith’s parting, initial shocked lips, mouth slotting together. 

Though, like reflex, Keith’s eyes flutter closed, and his hands reach around Lance’s waist, kissing back. 

“Goodness, I love you so much,” Lance breathes against his lips, ending his sentences with feverish kisses. “You might not believe me.” 

Kiss. 

“But, you have such a generous, beautiful heart, Keith.” 

Kiss. 

“And when you let yourself love.”  

Kiss. 

“It floors me.”  

Kiss. 

“Every time.”  

Kiss. 

“It shows me how deep your heart really goes.”

Pulling away to stop the onslaught of smooches, Keith raises a hand, slipping it to cradle the left side of Lance’s cheek. His thumb slides over, pressing against Lance’s intoxicating lips.

“Lance, I learned to love through you,” he swears, staring into Lance’s loving gaze. “You’re the one who showed me how to receive it and give it back.”

“My whole family really, really, really loves you, Keith,” Lance breathes out, even with a thumb in his way. “They—god—they said great things about you, tonight. Because Keith, you blew them out of the water.”

Keith’s starting to feel overwhelmed with emotions rising too fast in his chest for him to manage, and he tries to look away, dropping his hand from Lance’s face.. 

But, Lance easily catches his chin with his free left hand. 

“I mean it,” Lance pushes, leaning close to brush their noses together. “You made them feel loved. And that made me feel loved.”

Keith exhales shakily, the words hitting deeper than he anticipates. “I wanted… them to know that they matter to me,” he struggles to voice out. “My friends, my family. And if there’s people that matter to you, then they matter to me, as well.”

“That’s exactly why I adore you. You don’t even seem to realize how much heart you got in you.”

“I’m still learning,” Keith huffs a helpless laugh. “I swear. I just want to be good to the people you and I love.”

“You already are,” Lance whispers, breathless. “You’re good to me. You’re good to my family, your mother included. You’re good to our friends, alive and dead. You’re good, Keith. You’re a good man that I’m happy to call my good, happy love.”

Keith notices Lance smiles, already anticipating that Keith’s about to kiss him silent. 

And he’s right. 

Keith slides their mouths together in a slow, grateful kiss, eyes closed as he focuses on the feeling and pressure of Lance’s lips.

He doubts he’ll ever get tired of them. 

If the feeling of love needed to be described, he’d refer to all the kisses he’s ever received from Lance.

When their lips finally part, Lance’s grin has seemed to have grown. 

“Next year,” he starts, sounding teasing, “we’re getting flowers together and saying they’re from us both.” 

Rolling his eyes, Keith tries to scoff, but it comes out more like a short laugh. “You just want to piggy back off my hard work.”

“Or,” Lance drawls out, bringing his blue nigella bouquet between them, using it as a pointer to Keith. “Our bouquets would be double the size. And we’d be unstoppable, together.”

Keith chuckles, shaking his head, but after a while, his laughter quiets down the longer he stares at the flowers in Lance’s right hand.

“...Maybe one day,” Keith murmurs, “we’ll have someone else to give a bouquet to.”

“Someone else?” Lance asks, smiling still, but visibly unsure what he means.

Keith shrugs, suddenly thinking he’s going to sound impulsive or coming off strong. But, he decides to verbalize it anyway. 

“A daughter. With you,” he voices quietly. “I think I’d like that. To give her flowers on March 8th. Teach her what today means. Show her how much we love her. Remind her how important she is to us, and everyone around her. I’d want her to be… a lot like you, and a little bit like me.”

Lance’s eyes go wide and bright, breath stilling altogether. 

“Keith,” he finally cracks, seemingly overwhelmed, yet full of wonder, “I’d love that. More than anything.”

Holding Lance close, pressing his head on Lance’s shoulder, Keith breathes out a heavy sigh, relieved that he and Lance are on the same, possibly crazy wavelength. Still, hearing Lance finding the idea of having family together precious makes their future feel tangible, almost inevitable. 

As long as Lance continues to be in his life, along with all the incredible women he has—his mother, mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, friends, and everyone in between— it seems March 8th will only continue to grow more meaningful from here on out.

And maybe one day, Keith will place a bouquet into the hands of a daughter they will all help raise together, teaching her the same love Lance taught him, and having her spread that love to all the important people in her world.