Archive of Our Own

Keith has always known he’s different.

That part is old news. He made peace with it a long time ago, somewhere between flunking out of the Garrison and discovering he was half-Galra. Compared to that, being a little awkward, a little out of place, barely even registers.

He’s never been tall. Not at the Garrison. Not when he became a paladin of Voltron. Standing next to Shiro and the others (well, except for Pidge), he’d always been firmly on the shorter end of the lineup. It was just a fact, like the way he preferred quiet or the way he never knew what to do with his hands.

Then the universe happened.

The Quantum Abyss, for one. A trip through a place where time stopped behaving, taken with his long-lost mother, which somehow managed to rearrange his life again. Keith is aware it changed him. Stronger, sharper, steadier. That part makes sense.

What does not make sense is the rest of it.

Because at no point during the rebuilding of the universe, the formation of the Coalition, or his promotion to Blade Leader did anyone sit him down and say, hey, by the way, you got taller.

And Keith, being Keith, did not notice.

If he had been better at it, he might have realized sooner that he’d had some sort of growth spurt. That the combination of weird space physics and time had done what years of normal living never did.

But he didn’t.

The first one to notice it was Pidge.

1.

It was, by all reasonable measures, a perfectly normal day at Garrison Headquarters.

But if you asked Katie “Pidge” Holt, pioneering scientist, galaxy-renowned engineer, and former Green Paladin of Voltron, it was a fucking humid one.

The desert heat pressed in from every angle, thick and unrelenting. There was a reason Pidge maintained precise temperature controls in every hub, lab, and spaceship she worked in. Not too cold, never too warm. Just enough to keep her mind sharp and her thoughts moving faster than the problems in front of her. Heat like this was a distraction, and she had very little patience for distractions.

A bead of sweat slipped down her temple. She ignored it.

It wasn’t often she stayed at the Garrison for long stretches anymore. Most of her time was spent off-world, hopping between Coalition projects and half-restored systems that needed her expertise. This visit was longer than usual, at her father’s request, to oversee the calibration of recovered Altean technology ahead of an upcoming Coalition campaign scheduled for later this phoeb.

Pidge adjusted the console, eyes flicking between data streams without missing a beat.

It had been a long time since that day.

Since the day the lions decided they were finished.

Since the day they lifted off and disappeared into space, leaving the universe quieter than any of them had expected.

She has had more than enough time to sit with it. With the absence of the lions. With the cost of the final battle against Honerva. With Allura’s choice. 

It never gets easier, revisiting those memories. The helplessness still sneaks up on her sometimes, quiet and uninvited, flooding her mind when she least expects it. Pidge has learned to live with it, but that doesn’t mean it ever stops hurting.

Still, whenever her old team gathers, something inside her loosens. Her chest feels lighter. Because no matter how far life pulls them in different directions, she is reminded of one simple truth.

She was never alone.

“Professor Holt?”

A voice pulls her back. Pidge blinks, refocusing as the present comes back into view. Maya Calder, the cadet assigned to assist her today, stands a few steps away, shifting her weight like she is unsure whether she has interrupted something important.

“Yes, cadet?” Pidge answers.

“Are you alright?” Maya asks, hesitant but earnest.

Pidge offers her a small smile. “I’m okay. Thanks for asking.” She pauses, then tilts her head slightly. “Did you say something just now?”

“O-oh, yes!” Maya straightens immediately. “I was just informed that Blade Leader Kogane and former Paladin McClain have arrived. They’re currently in room 1207, sector twelve.”

Pidge nods once. “Alright. Thanks, Maya.”

She turns back to the simulator console, fingers already moving as she pulls up the next diagnostic screen. The Coalition Training Hub is a cavernous space, layered with holographic emitters, motion sensors, and modular platforms designed to simulate everything from planetary rescues to close-quarters combat in failing gravity fields. It is impressive, even by Garrison standards.

It is also wrong.

Not broken. Just... incomplete.

On top of her father’s request, Pidge also has spent the past few weeks refining the simulator’s Voltron-era modules, updating them so cadets can train using real historical data instead of approximations. The problem is that Voltron never moved like a standard unit. Their instincts, their timing, the way they reacted to one another under pressure, none of it fits neatly into modern Coalition models.

Especially not Keith’s.

The simulator flags it every time she runs the data. Maneuvers cut short. Reach calculations that fall just shy of success. The system assumes hesitation where there was none, restraint where there had only ever been momentum.

It needs living references.

Which is why she requested them.

The doors slide open with a soft hiss.

Pidge doesn’t turn right away. She doesn’t need to.

Keith’s presence registers first, familiar as a shifted gravity field. Quiet. Focused. Like the room has decided to pay attention. Lance follows half a step behind, voice already filling the space as he greets her and Maya, warmth trailing in his wake.

“Wow,” Lance says, looking around. “Okay, this is officially cooler than the flight sims back when we were cadets.”

Pidge finally looks up. “You’re standing in a multi-phase combat and rescue simulator built from Altean tech and Coalition modeling,” she says. “It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t.”

Lance grins. “Missed you too, Pidgeon.”

Keith offers her a nod. “You said you needed help.”

“Yes,” Pidge replies, pulling up a holographic map of the simulator floor. “The Coalition wants to standardize paladin-era maneuvers for cadet training. The problem is, the data doesn’t account for how you actually moved.”

She gestures to a glowing outline, a projected scenario of a narrow evacuation corridor. “Keith, I need you to run a close-quarters pass. Just instinctive movement. No thinking.”

Keith steps forward without hesitation. “Where do you want me?”

Pidge glances at him. Then at the projection.

She pauses.

The simulator highlights his expected movement range in yellow. It stops short of where he is already standing.

Pidge frowns, then taps a few commands, expanding the boundary with quick, practiced motions.

“What are you changing?” Keith asks, glancing at the display.

“Your reach,” she answers simply. “The simulator’s using your old measurements.”

Lance, leaning against the railing, straightens. “Old how?”

Pidge doesn’t look at him. “From when Voltron disbanded. You’ve got a longer range now. If I don’t update it, the system thinks you’re overextending when you’re not.”

She adjusts the boundary again, nudging it outward until it aligns cleanly with Keith’s stance.

“There,” she says, satisfied. “That should stop it from flagging false errors.”

Keith blinks, looking down at his arms like they’ve betrayed him. “I didn’t think I changed that much.”

“You did,” Pidge says, matter-of-fact. Then, softer, almost fond, “You were always growing. Just… not in the ways people expected.”

She clears her throat and steps back. “Alright. Run the maneuver.”

Keith moves.

It’s seamless. Controlled. Efficient in a way that makes the simulator lights shift and recalibrate around him. He reaches for a stabilizer point high along the projection wall and doesn’t have to stretch. His body slots into the space like it was designed for it.

Behind him, Lance has gone quiet.

Pidge notices. She always does.

She files the data away, watching Keith move through the simulation with the ease of someone who has learned, slowly and painfully, how to take up space in the world.

And for the first time, she wonders how long Lance has been noticing too.

—

2.

Hunk has always believed that the fastest way to reach someone’s heart is through their stomach.

It’s something his moms taught him, intentionally or not. Food brings people together. Food says I see you, I care, you don’t have to carry this alone. Somewhere along the way, that belief became the foundation of who he is now.

He learned how to cook when he was ten.

One of his moms had gotten sick, and the other taught him how to make Koko Alaisa, a traditional Samoan comfort dish. Simple. Warm. Made with water, milk, or coconut cream. Something gentle enough to nourish the body, something steady enough to soothe the soul. He remembers standing on a stool to reach the counter, carefully stirring while being supervised like the task was sacred.

He remembers the smiles afterward. The ruffle of his hair. The way the kitchen felt safe.

They are some of his best memories.

When he became a paladin of Voltron, Hunk carried those lessons with him into space. Whenever things got bad, whenever the weight of the universe pressed a little too hard, he tried to cook. Tried to recreate the dishes he knew his friends would like, even if the only available ingredients came from the Castle of Lions and were, frankly, mostly space goo.

He laughs quietly when he thinks about it now. The looks on their faces. The hesitation. The relief. The gratitude, even when the results were questionable.

Food didn’t fix everything. But it helped. Sometimes, that was enough.

These days, Hunk’s life looks a little different.

Right now, his ship is docked within Balmera’s satellite range, engines cooling as he finalizes a delivery order. Supplies in, supplies out. Negotiated, documented, double-checked. It’s honest work, and he likes that.

And, if he’s being honest with himself, this stop isn’t just about business.

He’s also here to pick up Shay.

Which is funny, because the universe has always had impeccable timing.

The door slides open.

“Hey, honey!”

Hunk turns, and there she is.

Shay ducks slightly as she steps inside, all long limbs and easy confidence, her smile wide and unmistakable as she crosses the space between them. Hunk doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close as she laughs and folds herself into the embrace.

“Hey, my love,” she says, voice warm as she nuzzles into his hair. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Always,” Hunk replies, grinning as he presses a kiss to her cheek. He pulls back just enough to look at her. “So. Are you hungry? I made some food for the trip. We’ve got a few vargas before take-off.”

Shay’s eyes light up instantly. “I wouldn’t miss your cooking for the world.” 

She steps away to set her bags down, movements practiced, then pauses mid-adjustment with a small gasp.

“Oh! Hunk, I almost forgot,” she says, turning back toward him. “Your paladin friends stopped by earlier.”

Hunk straightens immediately. “Oh?” Hope flickers across his face before he can stop it.

“Yes, there’s—”

The door slides open again.

“Hey, Hunk!”

Lance steps inside first, bright and familiar as ever, already smiling like he owns the place. Keith follows a beat behind him, quieter, shoulders squared as he takes in the space.

Hunk’s grin spreads, wide and unguarded. “No way—you guys!”

He closes the distance immediately, wrapping Lance in a tight hug. Lance lets out a dramatic oof but laughs anyway. Hunk then turns to Keith and pauses, catching himself. Instead of pulling him in, he offers a warm nod instead, remembering—yeah, Keith’s never really been big on the whole physical affection thing.

Keith nods back, appreciative.

The intergalactic chef waves them further inside, already turning back toward the small kitchen space he and Shay share aboard the ship.

“Hey, since you’re both here,” he says, casual, like it hasn’t been years since the last time they were all in the same room, “you should stay for a bit. I made food. Actual food. None of that emergency ration stuff.”

Lance perks up immediately. Of course he does.

“Food food?” he asks, eyes lighting up as he drifts closer, peering over Hunk’s shoulder. “Like… warm? With seasoning? With love?”

“With love,” Hunk confirms solemnly. “And coconut cream.”

Lance gasps. “You’re spoiling us.”

Keith lingers near the doorway, arms loosely crossed, gaze flicking between Hunk and Lance like he’s deciding whether this is a trap. But when Hunk looks at him and jerks his head toward the kitchen—

“C’mon, man. You too.”

Keith hesitates for half a second. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

They settle around the low table not long after, bowls steaming, the space filling with the familiar, comforting smell of something slow-cooked and intentional.

Hunk watches them without meaning to.

Lance talks with his hands as he always has, animated even now, describing Balmera’s markets, the colors, the people. He keeps stealing bites between sentences, grinning when Shay laughs at one of his exaggerated stories.

Keith listens more than he talks. That’s normal. What’s not—what pings at the back of Hunk’s brain—is how closely he listens. Like every word Lance says matters. Like he’s memorizing the sound of it.

Hunk tells himself it’s nothing. They’ve all been through a war. Of course they’re different.

Still.

“Okay, I just wanna say,” Lance says, pointing his spoon at Hunk, “this is illegal. You can’t just casually make something this good and not warn people.”

Hunk chuckles. “Pretty sure I can.”

“I mean, I came to Balmera for Coalition work,” Lance continues, leaning back in his seat, “but honestly? This alone makes the trip worth it.”

Keith hums in agreement, eyes still on his bowl. “Yeah. I missed this.”

Hunk notices how Lance smiles at that. Small, quick. Like he wasn’t expecting it, but it still landed.

Funny, Hunk thinks distantly. Keith could’ve eaten like this anywhere. Coalition bases. Blade ships. He’s got access to half the galaxy.

Yet here he is.

Hunk clears his throat, trying to shake the thought. “So,” he says lightly, “how long are you two sticking around Balmera?”

Lance answers immediately. “A couple more days, I think. Depends on how long meetings drag.”

Keith doesn’t answer right away.

“Same,” he says eventually. “For me.”

Hunk blinks.

Same.

He doesn’t comment on how vague that is. Or how Keith’s eyes flick to Lance before he looks away again.

Instead, Hunk nods, offering more food, doing what he’s always done best: feeding people, keeping things easy. Still, as he watches Lance talk and Keith listens, watches the way their movements seem to unconsciously align—leaning in, pulling back, mirroring without trying—something warm and knowing settles in his chest.

Not certainty. Not proof.

Just a feeling.

Hunk smiles to himself, passing Keith another serving and nudging Lance’s bowl closer when he notices it’s almost empty.

Whatever this is, he thinks, it’ll reveal itself when it’s ready.

Until then, he’s happy to let them eat.

Eventually, the conversation drifts into familiar territory. Keith talks about his work with the Blade of Marmora, focusing on humanitarian efforts and rebuilding worlds still scarred by the war. Lance shares updates on his expanded ambassadorship for Earth and New Altea, working closely with Coran to strengthen interplanetary ties. Shay speaks last, describing Balmera’s new housing systems and how the crystal has adapted, stronger and more stable than ever.

The Balmeran woman listens more than she speaks, chin resting lightly in her palm as the conversation flows around her. When there is a lull, she turns her attention back to Lance, her expression open and kind.

“You travel often,” she says. “More than before.”

Lance blinks, caught. “Guess that comes with the job,” he replies easily, too easily. “Lots of meetings. Lots of smiling.”

Shay studies him for a moment longer than politeness requires. “And Earth?” she asks gently. “Do you return often?”

The question lands softer than it should, but it still hits. Lance hesitates, his smile faltering just a fraction. He shrugs. “Not as much as people think.”

Hunk feels it then. The shift. The way Lance’s shoulders tense, the way his voice drops just a notch. Shay nods, unhurried. “Being a symbol can be tiring,” she says. “Even when it is an honor.”

The Cuban man exhales, the sound barely audible. “Yeah,” he admits. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t get to be… just me.”

Balmera’s atmosphere hums around them, low and steady, like it is listening too.

“You are welcome here,” Shay says simply. “Not just as an ambassador, even just as Lance.”

Something in Lance’s expression softens. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “That means a lot.”

Hunk smiles, small and fond, watching the moment settle.

And then he notices Keith. At some point, Keith has shifted closer, close enough that their shoulders brush. He says nothing, doesn’t draw attention to it. He just lifts his hand and rests it lightly on Lance’s shoulder, steady and sure.

Lance leans into the touch without thinking.

It’s instinctive. Familiar.

Hunk’s chest tightens, warmth blooming behind his ribs.

Oh, he thinks again.

Shay catches his eye across the table, her smile knowing and soft.

She knows.

Before any of them really notice, a couple of doboshes slip by, and it’s time for Hunk and Shay to head out.

Hunk is never subtle when it comes to goodbyes. He pulls Lance into the biggest, warmest hug he can manage, all solid arms and familiar comfort. If he happens to slip a few extra packets of Lance’s favorite cookies into his belongings while he does it, Lance very deliberately pretends not to notice.

“Don’t forget to call me once you get to your next stop, ’kay?” Hunk says, squeezing Lance’s shoulder before pulling back.

Lance smiles, softer now. “Okay, bud. You too. Be careful on your way.” He glances at Shay. “Please take care of him, yeah?”

“I will,” Shay says warmly, stepping forward to wrap Lance in a hug of her own.

And then, suddenly, it’s just Hunk and Keith.

Hunk has known for a long time that Keith keeps his distance. Even back in their paladin days, he was more comfortable with space than touch, favoring quiet presence over anything overt. Touch was reserved for Shiro, and—on rarer, more telling occasions—Lance. Hunk had noticed. He always did.

So when Keith takes a step closer, Hunk doesn’t register it at first.

Not until arms settle around him.

Hunk blinks, then laughs softly, returning the hug without hesitation. Marmoran leader or not, Keith is still family.

But something feels off.

Hunk pulls back just enough to register it properly.

He remembers, very clearly, being a good five inches taller than Keith. He remembers looking down when they stood side by side.

Right now, his chin lines up almost perfectly with Keith’s shoulder.

Hunk freezes for half a second, eyes flicking downward, then back up.

Huh.

That’s… new.

And somehow, telling. Hunk grins, clearly enjoying himself now. “Since when are you taller than me?”

Keith frowns. “What?”

“I used to be able to rest my chin on your head,” Hunk continues, easy and fond. “All the time.”

Keith scoffs. “You’re exaggerating.”

“My neck does not exaggerate,” Hunk says solemnly.

Keith straightens without thinking, posture snapping into place. He looks between them, then down at his boots, then back at Hunk. The realization hits him slowly, like it always does.

“Oh.”

There’s a brief silence.

“…Huh.”

Hunk smiles. “Yeah. Huh.”

Behind them, Lance lets out a laugh a second too late.

It’s light. Casual. Perfectly timed. Except his ears have gone pink, and he’s suddenly very invested in adjusting the strap of his bag. Then adjusting it again. And again.

Keith glances back at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lance says, far too fast. He clears his throat, then does it again. “Just—guess puberty finally clocked in, huh?”

Hunk snorts.

Keith rolls his eyes. “You know we’re well past puberty at this point, Lance,” he says, unimpressed. “Yeah, well,” Lance mutters, waving a hand vaguely. “Late bloomer. Intergalactic edition.”

He laughs again, a touch higher this time, and pointedly looks anywhere except Keith.

Hunk watches all of it with narrowed eyes and a knowing smile.

When neither of them is looking, he pulls out his communicator and types quickly to Pidge:

HEY. IS KEITH THAT TALL NOW???

He hits send. 

Some mysteries, after all, require expert confirmation.

—

3.

Ever since the war ended, approximately eight deca-phoebs ago, since Voltron disbanded, Shiro no longer carries the weight the way he once did.

He isn’t a survivor anymore. He isn’t a warrior. He’s just Takashi Shirogane. Commander of the IGF-Atlas by day, Curtis’ clumsy and well-meaning husband by night. And for the first time in a long while, he’s content.

That doesn’t mean the regrets are gone.

They still surface, quiet and uninvited. His actions as a Kerberos pilot. His time as a Galra prisoner. His choices as the Black Paladin, as the leader of Voltron. And, perhaps most persistently, the decisions he made in his personal life.

Adam. 

Keith.

Sometimes, Shiro lets himself drift back to the days before Kerberos. Simpler times. Bickering with Adam over nothing and everything. Constantly reminding Keith to focus on his studies. Taking care of the two people who mattered most to him, without realizing how fragile that normalcy truly was.

But the war happened. Voltron happened. For a reason.

Even his death, unpleasant and deeply unfair, carried meaning. In hindsight, it feels like a kind of rebirth. Literal, in every sense of the word.

That doesn’t mean he believes it needed to happen.

Shiro doesn’t think he will ever fully forgive himself for the pain he caused his team. For what Hunk, Pidge, Coran, Lance, and Allura had to carry in his absence. For what Keith had to shoulder alone.

Keith. His little brother.

Still, when Shiro looks at them now, scattered across the universe and living lives shaped by both loss and survival, pride settles deep in his chest.

They grew. They endured.

And somehow, in his absence, they became even more than he had hoped.

“Hello? Earth to Shiro?”

Shiro blinked, caught off guard as Keith stepped into his line of sight. He cleared his throat and adjusted the frame of his glasses.

“Whoops, sorry, Keith. What were you saying back then?”

Keith sighed, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you sure you’re okay today? Do you need me to call Curtis?”

Shiro shook his head. “I’m good, Keith. Just… lost in thought a bit.”

“Well, old age will do that to you,” Keith teased, smirking.

Shiro grinned and reached up, trying to deliver the familiar noogie. Only this time, he had to stretch just a little. Keith’s head was level with his own, and the usual effortless motion now felt a touch awkward.

“Argh! You jerk! I just tied them this morning!” Keith groaned, leaning back slightly. His hair caught under Shiro’s knuckles, and he squirmed with playful protest.

Shiro chuckled, amused at the subtle resistance. Their shoulders were nearly aligned, making the gesture feel like a mix of teasing and.. a tiny bit of surprise.

Because Shiro couldn’t help noticing.

Keith was taller. Not a little taller. Eye-to-eye taller. The alignment of his chin with Shiro’s shoulder made something click. A quiet, almost imperceptible shift, but it was enough.

Shiro froze for a moment, knuckles resting awkwardly on Keith’s crown. He let the realization sink in. Noticing didn’t require comment, yet.

Keith, blissfully unaware of the exact effect, tilted his head and smiled, thinking the playful scolding had ended. Shiro just let the moment hang, small and soft, as if to say: I see you now. All of you.

“Did you tie them this morning, or did Lance?” Shiro arched one eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. He caught the faint pink bloom on Keith’s cheeks and couldn’t help but snicker.

“Oh, fuck off,” Keith swatted at his hands, trying—and failing—to look unimpressed.

“If I manage to need help, what’s it to you?” Keith shot back, petulant as ever.

Shiro chuckled, shaking his head, and let it slide. He leaned slightly closer to glance at the hologram Keith was tugging at. Something about the way Keith moved, still carrying that familiar intensity, yet… taller, more grounded, made Shiro pause for a split second.

Noticing this wasn’t teasing or judgment. Just awareness. Keith had grown, in ways both subtle and obvious. And somehow, that made him feel both proud and oddly protective.

Shiro refocused on the hologram, letting the thought settle quietly.

Keith tapped the edge of the holographic map, brow furrowed. “Alright, so.. I need your advice. The outpost at Veyra-9, they’re resisting Coalition oversight, and there’s a risk the Galra remnants might exploit the tension. How much do I intervene before I make things worse?”

Shiro leaned over, elbows resting on the console, eyes soft. “You don’t have to solve everything by yourself.” He paused, noticing Keith’s eyes flick away to the map, jaw tight. “I know it feels like the weight is all on you, but it’s not. You’ve got people around you. People who trust you.”

Keith exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I know that.. but sometimes I feel like I’m always one step behind. Like every decision I make could end up hurting someone. What if I fail them?”

Shiro’s expression softened further. “Keith, even leaders like me make mistakes. Even as the Black Paladin, I didn’t have all the answers. I’ve made calls I regretted, and I’ve stumbled more than once.”

Keith’s brow furrowed, casting a questioning glare.

Shiro chuckled, leave it to Keith making an expression translatable. Leaning back slightly, Shiro continues, “Believe it or not, yes. What makes a good leader isn’t perfection. It’s getting back up, learning from your mistakes, and caring enough to try again. And you… you do that, Keith. Every single day.”

Keith’s shoulders shifted slightly, leaning closer to the console as he pointed at a small marker on the map. Shiro’s gaze caught the movement, and for a moment, he realized just how much Keith had grown—not just taller, but stronger, steadier, more grounded.

“You’ve become someone I’m proud to call my little brother,” Shiro said, voice soft, fond. “Someone I trust. Someone who can handle more than he gives himself credit for. And.. well,” he added with a gentle smile, “my little brother isn’t so little anymore.”

Keith blinked, warmth blooming in his chest. “Yeah.. I guess not.”

Shiro nodded, letting the words settle. “You don’t have to be a perfect leader. You just have to be you, and that’s enough. And whenever you doubt it, I’ll be here to remind you.”

Keith smiled, soft and relieved, feeling the weight of the moment, and maybe a little of his own growth settle into place.

Shiro leaned back slightly, letting Keith’s words settle, eyes flicking toward the doorway out of habit more than intention.

There, just beyond the threshold, stood Lance. Not quite hidden, but careful—trying to look casual, arms crossed, one hand fidgeting with ends of his shirt. Shiro’s experienced eyes caught the faint flush climbing Lance’s ears, the subtle twitch of a shoulder as he fought to stand still, the way he kept glancing at Keith like he didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

Shiro allowed himself a small, knowing smile. He had trained with these two, fought alongside them, and seen countless battles—not all of them fought with swords or lions. Some were quieter, more stubborn battles of the heart.

Keith, for his part, was oblivious, leaning over the hologram with that familiar intensity Shiro had always admired. The set of his shoulders, the way his hands hovered over the console—Shiro noticed the strength, the thoughtfulness, the careful balance between control and care.

And Lance… well, Lance was holding onto that moment just as tightly, heart and attention entirely focused on Keith, even as he tried to hide it.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, Shiro realized:

Oh.

Keith is not the only one.

Shiro lets Lance off the hook, clearing his throat lightly. Keith looks up, catching Shiro’s subtle gesture toward the doorway. That’s when he notices Lance.

“Hey, Lance,” Keith says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Lance waves, stepping closer, trying to keep his composure. “Sorry, did I interrupt something? I, uh, grabbed some burgers and fries. Thought you two might want something to munch on while discussing… leader-y stuff.” His words tumble out a little too quickly, and his ears betray him with a faint pink flush.

“That’s great,” Keith says, his whole body shifting toward Lance, attention fully captured now. Somehow completely missing the flush Shiro was seeing.

Shiro allows himself a quiet smile. 

Well, this certainly is interesting—and definitely group-update-worthy.

—

4.

Coran leaned against the balcony railing of New Altea’s Grand Hall, eyes sweeping across the glittering city below. 

The Coalition ball was only hours away, and the palace hummed with activity, banners being strung, lights twinkling in every corner. But even amid all the organized chaos, his mind wandered elsewhere.

It had been several deca-phoebs since the lions disbanded, since Allura’s light had graced his side. Her absence still left a quiet echo in these halls. Even now, the palace felt too large, too silent. 

Sometimes, when the chandeliers glinted just right, Coran could almost imagine her presence, commanding the room with that perfect balance of grace and authority.

New Altea thrived in ways even he hadn’t expected. Diplomatic exchanges with countless worlds, trade agreements, shared technology—the Coalition had flourished. He would have given anything for Allura, Alfor, and every Altean who had passed to see it. But it was hard not to feel a pinch of guilt. Why was he here, still walking these halls, while the princess was gone? Could he ever contribute enough to honor their legacy?

“Coran?”

The voice pulled him from his thoughts. Lance stepped into view, moving with a careful precision that was almost imperceptible—fiddling with banners and lights, adjusting silk drapes over his shoulder, trying not to make it obvious that he was nervous. 

The Red Paladin’s suit shimmered with traditional Altean royalty colors, red and purples trimmed in gold, with a strip of pale pink silk running diagonally across his chest. Coran noted the subtle cheek markings left by Allura, and if he didn’t know better, he could almost believe Lance was a prince, not the former joker of Voltron.

“Yes, Lance?” Coran asked, letting a soft smile tug at his lips.

“I… uh… I just wanted to make sure I’m doing this right,” Lance said, voice quieter than usual, hands tugging nervously at his suit strap. Even the smallest adjustments were a give-away, but Coran didn’t point it out.

“Number Four,” Coran said gently, “you look splendid. And I daresay, anyone at this ball would agree. Truly.” He reached up, brushing at his own moustache in the classic, deliberate way that always made Lance chuckle nervously.

Lance let out a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks, Coran. I tried to hang the decorations like you said, but Keith… barged in.”

“Hey, Coran!”

Lance sighed, and Coran could feel the warmth in it. “... Aaand there he is.”

And then, Keith appeared on the balcony. A tangled bundle of cables and twinkling lights slung across his shoulders, standing taller than Coran expected.

“Where do you want me to put this? Lance’s instructions..” Keith said, lifting his gaze to the elder Altean, before catching sight of Lance. 

His words faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching as he struggled to focus.

“… aren’t helping,” The Blade of Marmora leader finished weakly.

Coran’s eyes narrowed just slightly. He had been updated by Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk. They’d mentioned Keith’s growth spurts—not just in height, but in presence, in quiet confidence. And it’s affecting a certain Red Paladin. 

The two froze. Lance shifted, tugging at the strap of his silk sash like it could somehow hide his pounding heart. Coran tilted his head, noting the perfect symmetry of blush creeping up their cheeks. 

Dense as Balmeran crystals, these two, sometimes he really did want to cry in frustration.

“Number Two, come, I’ll show you exactly where the lights should go,” Coran said smoothly, wrapping a hand around Keith’s bicep and guiding him away from Lance. 

The younger man didn’t protest, stepping in stride with Coran. Lance lingered near the doorway, every muscle taut with something unsaid.

As they moved through the Grand Hall, Keith climbed a stepladder Coran offered him. The younger man’s reach now easily spanned the upper walls, hanging the lights perfectly in place. Coran leaned against a nearby column, watching quietly, as he let the observation settle in.

“Well, my dear Number Two,” Coran said finally, voice low but fond, a small twinkle in his eyes, “you’ve grown taller than a Korvian lumitree, I’d say.”

Keith chuckled, eyes on the lights. “Thanks, Coran. I didn’t even realize I’d grown this much.”

“You have,” Coran said, smiling, eyes flicking momentarily toward Lance. 

The former Red Paladin was peeking around the doorframe, cheeks pink, attempting to look casual but failing spectacularly.

Coran allowed himself a small shake of his head, an amused sigh. Yes. This was exactly what Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge had been saying in their private conversations. 

He guided Keith down from the stepladder, keeping a light hand on his shoulder. 

“Growth isn’t just about height, you know,” Coran said softly, almost as if to himself. “It’s about how you carry yourself, how you lead, how you care for those around you. You’re doing well, Keith.”

Keith paused, glancing at Coran, a faint weight lifting from his chest. “I… thanks, Coran.”

“Remember,” Coran continued, voice gentle but firm, “even the tallest towers need support beams. Even the strongest warriors rely on those they trust. Lead, yes, but don’t carry everything alone.”

Keith nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful, and stepped back. 

Coran watched as he straightened, taller, steadier, lighter in ways beyond the physical.

And if he had noticed that night at the ball that a certain leader of the Blade of Marmora and the ambassador of New Altea were swaying side by side, the height difference was somehow perfect, like it belonged in one of those overly dramatic Altean holo-dramas, well. 

Coran simply pretended not to see, tucking the observation away with a knowing hum.

–

5.

In all her time out here in space—first as a spy for the Blade of Marmora, and now as a special envoy for New Daibazaal, handling trade negotiations and the quieter matters of planetary security—Krolia had seen a great many things.

There had been moments when she sabotaged her own mission. The moment she chose to protect the rediscovered Blue Lion instead of reporting it.

Falling in love with a human had not been part of the plan either. Nor had staying long enough to have a cub.

Years later, she had watched that same cub stand before the Blade of Marmora and take his initiation—only to raise a blade against her moments later.

Following him into the Quantum Abyss had been another first. Being trapped there for nearly two years, less so. Helping him guide the universe’s greatest defender in the war against the Galra Empire..

Well.

That had certainly been memorable.

Saving the universe together had a way of putting things into perspective.

By now, Krolia had long assumed she had seen enough strangeness to last several lifetimes.

But right now, seeing her son stuck waist-deep in a mass of purple goo was certainly something else.

Krolia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Beside her, Kosmo was doing his best to help. The wolf padded forward with determination, teeth gently clamped around Keith’s wrist as he tried to tug him free from the stubborn substance.

“Hrrngh, Mom, a little help would be nice,” Keith grunted. His head finally popped free of the goo with an unpleasant schlck. One arm was already loose thanks to Kosmo’s efforts, the wolf pulling with admirable dedication.

Krolia watched the scene for a moment longer before letting out an exasperated chuckle.

“You brought yourself into this situation,” she said mildly. “Surely you can manage to get out of it yourself.”

Keith groaned.

“Visit your mom, he said,” Keith muttered under his breath, still struggling against the stubborn purple goo. “It’ll be fun, he said.”

Krolia’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “Well,” she said lightly, “if you truly don’t want to come see me, you should simply say so, Keith.”

Keith immediately shook his head, the motion only managing to make the goo slosh unpleasantly around him. “But Lance would be sad,” he mumbled.

Krolia hummed, tilting her head slightly.

“What was that, kid?”

“Nothing!” Keith coughed quickly, trying very hard to look anywhere but at her.

He would never admit that this impromptu visit to New Daibazaal had been heavily encouraged by Lance. The former Red Paladin had grown increasingly tired of watching Keith pace around like a restless blade, clearly missing his mother but refusing to admit it.

Lance had simply crossed his arms one day and told him to go. Keith doubted Lance even realized how much that push had meant to him.

Still.

Being stuck inside a mass of purple goo in front of his very serious-looking mother was, without question, the most embarrassing possible way to reunite.

The whole reason Keith ended up stuck in purple goo is funny. To anyone witnessing it. 

But not to Keith. Of course.

He had been assigned to lead a new Marmora squad for a relief mission in the same sector as New Daibazaal—on a small moon a few planets away. It was supposed to be an easy mission. It always started like that.

What the team, and inevitably Keith, failed to predict was that the moon had entered its molting stage, when tiny, harmless earthquakes rattled the surface every few vargas.

A rookie Marmora member lost their footing during one of the tremors and nearly slid down a gentle slope. Keith reacted on instinct, lunging forward and shoving the rookie to safety.

Which, unfortunately, meant he was the one who lost his balance. Keith tumbled down the slope and straight into the moon’s infamous sticky purple goo. 

The same goo that the local inhabitants harvested as food.

The rookie team watched in stunned horror.

Keith, meanwhile, was extremely unimpressed.

He tried muscling his way out first, attempting to cut the goo away without slicing himself in the process. When that didn’t work, he tried shaking it off. Both attempts only succeeded in making the goo cling tighter.

And that’s where Kosmo came in.

Several vargas later, Keith finally decided the situation wasn’t improving. So he did the only reasonable thing left. He climbed, purple goo and all, into his jet and flew straight to New Daibazaal.

Lance had called him earlier.

And Lance was definitely enjoying the view, judging by how he kept laughing and laughing at Keith’s misery through the comms.

(And if Keith was secretly smiling while watching Lance struggle to catch his breath between laughs… well. Maybe it was kind of worth it.)

When Keith finally managed to escape the stubborn clutch of the goo, he excused himself to his assigned room to clean up.

Krolia watched him go, amused. Even as he disappeared down the corridor, she could still spot a stubborn streak of purple goo clinging to the ends of his hair.

Which brought her to a curious realization.

Has Keith grown… taller? Or am I imagining it? Krolia wondered.

Back when Voltron disbanded and the Lions returned to the cosmos, she had made certain Keith would be safe. No strange astral time jumps, no vanishing into some impossible pocket of space again. She had trusted that his teammates would keep him grounded.

Still, she found herself intrigued.

It had been far too long since she had spent any real time with her son. Their reunions were often brief—missions, responsibilities, the endless work of rebuilding a universe after war always pulling them in different directions. Keith had grown into a capable leader, someone the Blade relied on, someone the universe trusted. Krolia was proud of him for it.

But pride did little to replace time lost.

If Keith was here now, even briefly, she intended to make the most of it.

Traditionally, Galran families shared a special bonding activity between a cub and their parents. More often than not, it involved some form of survival training.

When Krolia was a cub herself, she often went hiking with her own mother—trekking through unfamiliar terrain, discovering strange species, and learning new survival skills along the way.

But after that ridiculous mission, she doubted Keith would have the energy for a proper hike.

“Oh,” Krolia murmured, a bemused smile tugging at her lips.

There was certainly one thing her son would never deny her.

-

Krolia found Keith in one of the indoor training halls the following afternoon.

The room was one of the newer facilities built after the reconstruction of New Daibazaal. Smooth metallic walls lined the space, and one entire side was fitted with tall reflective panels used for combat analysis. Weapon racks stood neatly along the opposite wall, filled with practice blades, bo-staffs, and other nonlethal training equipment used by the Blade.

Keith stood near the center of the room with a bo-staff in his hands.

Kosmo lay stretched out near the doorway, half dozing but clearly alert.

Keith was already warming up. The staff spun through his fingers in controlled arcs, wood humming faintly as it cut through the air. He shifted stances smoothly, feet sliding across the training mat with quiet precision.

Krolia paused near the entrance and watched. His movements were efficient. Clean. Deliberate. No wasted energy. He had clearly trained.

But that wasn’t the only thing she noticed.

When Keith turned slightly toward the mirrored wall, the reflection caught the light, and Krolia’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. His shoulders looked broader than she remembered. His stance is more grounded. Less of the lanky imbalance he once carried.

Then Keith spun the staff once more and caught it behind his back just as he noticed her reflection.

“Mom.”

He turned.

Keith stepped toward her, resting the staff across his shoulder.

“You’ve been standing there long?”

“Long enough.”

Keith rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had never quite grown out of. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

Krolia stepped further into the room. Up close, the difference became clearer.

Keith had grown.

Physically, yes.

But something else too.

Still, one detail kept tugging at her attention. She tilted her head slightly.

“…Keith.”

“Yeah?”

“When did that happen?”

Keith blinked. “When did what happen?”

“You grew.”

Keith stared at her for a moment. Then he glanced past her toward the mirrored wall.

And paused.

Their reflections stood side by side in the polished panels. Keith straightened unconsciously. So did Krolia.

The comparison was immediate. They were nearly the same height. Keith squinted slightly at the mirror.

“..Huh.”

“Huh?” Krolia repeated.

“Yeah.”

“You have no reaction to this?”

Keith shrugged lightly. “I thought you just looked shorter today.”

Krolia stared at him, unimpressed. Keith immediately raised both hands.

“That was a joke.”

Kosmo let out a quiet huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Krolia crossed her arms. “You were not this tall the last time we sparred.”

“That was years ago.”

“You were still a cub.”

“I was twenty-two.”

“Cub.”

Keith sighed. “Okay, fair.”

He shifted the staff in his hands and glanced back at the mirror again, almost like he was noticing the difference for the first time.

“Well, I guess I did grow a little.”

“A little?” Krolia repeated dryly.

She stepped fully onto the training mat and gestured toward the weapon rack.

“Spar with me.”

Keith groaned immediately. “Oh no.”

Krolia raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no?”

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you're about to make me regret my life choices.”

“I am your mother,” she said calmly. “That is practically my responsibility.”

Keith dragged a hand down his face.

“I just got back from a mission.”

“And you are currently healthy.”

“That was not the point.”

Krolia reached for a bo-staff from the rack and twirled it once experimentally. The motion was effortless.

“Spar with me.”

Keith looked between the staff in her hands and the one he was already holding.

“…You're serious.”

“You used to beg me for sparring matches.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

Keith shifted his grip on the staff and rolled his shoulders.

“I was trying to prove something back then.”

“And now?”

Keith glanced briefly toward the mirrored wall again before returning his attention to her.

“Now I know you're going to win.”

Krolia allowed the faintest hint of a smile.

“We will see.”

They stepped apart on the training mat. Keith rolled his shoulders once and adjusted his grip on the bo-staff, sliding one hand lower along the wood. Across from him, Krolia spun her staff once in a casual warm-up motion.

Kosmo lifted his head from the floor, ears pricking with interest.

The mirrored wall reflected them both—two figures standing at equal height now, staffs angled and ready.

For a brief moment, neither moved.

Then Krolia attacked.

Her staff cut sideways toward Keith’s ribs in a sharp horizontal strike.

Keith reacted instantly. His own staff snapped upward and caught the blow with a solid crack of wood against wood. The force traveled down his arms, but he held steady, feet planted firmly on the mat.

Krolia’s eyes sharpened.

Good.

She shifted immediately, twisting the staff downward toward his shoulder.

Keith raised his weapon overhead to block. The staffs collided again, and he pushed the strike aside before stepping forward to counter.

His staff swung outward in a wide arc. Krolia leaned back to avoid it, and paused.

The reach was different.

Keith noticed it too. He blinked briefly, glancing at the end of his staff as if surprised by how far it had traveled.

“…Huh.”

Krolia smirked.

“Just noticing?”

Keith rolled his wrist and reset his stance. “Maybe.”

She lunged again.

This time the strike came low, aimed toward his knee.

Keith stepped back, the movement longer than it used to be. His leg cleared the attack easily, and he rotated the staff downward to intercept her weapon near the middle.

The staffs locked together.

For a moment they pushed against each other. Keith’s arms were slightly higher now because of the height difference—or, well, lack of one.

Krolia’s gaze flicked upward. Yep, definitely taller. She twisted her staff free and struck again, quick and precise.

Keith blocked.

Another strike.

Block.

Then Keith moved first.

He stepped forward and swung the upper end of the staff downward toward her shoulder. The attack came from a higher angle than before, forcing Krolia to raise her staff above her head to intercept it.

Wood cracked loudly as the staffs met. Krolia slid one foot back, absorbing the impact. Then she laughed softly.

“Well.”

Keith frowned slightly. “What?”

“You are taller.”

Keith groaned mid-stance. “We established that already.”

“Yes,” she said, pushing his staff aside. “But now it matters.”

She stepped inside his reach suddenly, aiming a quick jab toward his ribs.

Keith twisted away, but his counterstrike swept wider than expected. The bottom end of his staff cut across the space where Krolia had just been standing.

She had to hop back to avoid it.

Keith froze again. “Okay, that one was new.” He huffed.

Krolia chuckled.

“You have longer leverage now.”

Keith rolled the staff through his hands thoughtfully.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now I have to relearn all my spacing.”

“Correct.”

She attacked again, faster this time.

Three strikes in quick succession—high, low, then center.

Keith blocked the first two. On the third, he pivoted sideways and redirected her staff with a smooth rotation of his own weapon.

The motion carried naturally into a counterattack. Keith stepped forward and swung horizontally. Krolia ducked under the strike, but the staff passed closer than she expected. When she straightened, her eyes gleamed.

“You’re using it.”

“Using what?”

“The height.”

Keith blinked.

“…Am I?”

“Yes.”

He frowned thoughtfully, then tested the movement again. He extended his arms and rotated the staff in a wide sweeping arc. The extra reach was obvious now.

Keith exhaled.

“Well that’s.. convenient.”

Krolia spun her staff once and reset her stance.

“Do not rely on it.”

Keith smirked slightly.

“Says the person who trained me.”

“That is exactly why I am saying it.”

They circled again, reflections moving across the mirrored wall.

After a moment, Krolia spoke again.

“You’ve grown.”

Keith kept his eyes on her stance.

“You said that already.”

“I do not mean your height this time.”

Keith paused.

Krolia attacked again, forcing him to block before he could answer.

Their staffs locked together once more, wood creaking under the pressure.

Up close now.

Eye level.

Krolia studied his expression carefully.

“You fight differently.”

Keith hesitated.

Then he pushed away and stepped back into guard position.

“Yeah.”

Krolia tilted her head.

“You are not fighting like someone trying to prove himself anymore.”

Keith spun the staff once, thoughtful.

“Turns out that gets exhausting after a while.”

Krolia hummed softly. She could see it clearly now.

Not just the height, or the skill. Her cub now moved with the steady confidence of someone who knew he wasn’t alone anymore.

She smiled faintly. Then, she attacked again. But this time, she didn’t aim for distance.

Instead, she closed it.

Keith barely had time to react before she stepped inside his reach, her staff sliding along his and redirecting the angle of his guard. The movement was quick, practiced, forcing him to adjust.

Keith stumbled half a step back.

“Oh, that’s dirty,” he muttered.

Krolia’s eyes glinted. “Adapt.”

Keith huffed and shifted his grip.

They circled again.

Keith tested the range first this time, extending the staff in a probing strike. The tip of the weapon cut through the air toward Krolia’s shoulder.

She deflected it, but the distance forced her to move earlier than she normally would.

Keith noticed.

His stance changed subtly.

He stepped forward and swept the staff low across the mat. When Krolia jumped the sweep, Keith immediately rotated the weapon upward, bringing the opposite end toward her side.

Krolia twisted away just in time.

Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Well done.”

Keith blinked. “Wait—really?”

“Do not get distracted.”

She struck again.

Keith blocked high, then pivoted. His longer stride carried him farther across the mat than he expected, and suddenly Krolia was the one adjusting her footing.

Keith took advantage of the opening.

He stepped forward and swung downward.

Krolia caught the strike, but the force drove her back half a step.

The wood of their staffs pressed together as they locked again.

For a moment neither moved.

Keith blinked.

“…Wait.”

Krolia tilted her head.

“Yes?”

“I think I might actually win this one.”

Krolia laughed.

“Confidence.”

Then she twisted her staff sharply and broke the lock.

The movement was so quick Keith barely saw it coming. The end of her weapon tapped his shoulder before he could react.

Krolia hummed thoughtfully. If it wasn’t clear then, it was now. Keith no longer fought like someone trying to survive alone. His movements had a rhythm now. A steadiness that came from trust.

Someone had his back. More than one someone, most likely. She watched him roll the staff through his hands again, absentmindedly, before asking casually, “The human.”

Keith froze. “…What.”

“The one you mentioned earlier. The former Red Paladin,”

Keith turned bright red almost instantly. “Oh my god.”

Krolia’s lips curved slightly. “So it is true.”

Keith covered his face with one hand. “Please stop talking.”

Krolia tilted her head, amused.

Shiro had mentioned it to her beforehand—Keith’s… fondness for the former Red Paladin. He had tried to explain it with careful diplomacy, but the meaning had been clear enough. If even Krolia could see it, then it was likely the rest of Keith’s friends had noticed long before she did.

It wasn’t difficult for her to believe. Keith had never been subtle about the things that mattered to him. When he cared, he cared completely, fiercely, stubbornly, with the same intensity he brought to everything else in his life. Wanting something had never been the problem for her son. Keith had always been willing to fight for the things he believed in.

The real battle had always been the quieter one inside his own mind.

Keith doubted himself far more than he ever let others see. Beneath all that determination was the quiet fear of reaching out for something only to find empty space waiting on the other side. Of wanting someone who might never look at him the same way.

Krolia understood that fear more than she liked to admit.

Once, long ago, she had stood in the same uncertain place herself, caught between instinct and hesitation, wondering whether crossing that distance was worth the risk. Loving a human had never been simple, not in her world, and yet she had done it anyway.

Looking at Keith now, she could not help the small warmth that settled in her chest. 

Some things, it seemed, truly did run in the family.

–

+1.

Lance used to think he understood his place in the universe.

Back when there were lions. Back when the war had a shape, when the days were measured in missions and arguments and late-night strategy sessions that turned into stupid jokes. Back when he could tell himself exactly what he was good for. Sharpshooter. Morale guy. Occasional genius. And, if he was being honest, the guy who had Keith’s back.

That part had always been easy.

Keith rushed forward, Lance covered him.

Keith charged into danger, Lance made sure he got out of it.

It was a rhythm they’d fallen into so naturally that Lance had stopped thinking about it somewhere around their third near-death experience.

But the war had ended. The lions were gone. The team had scattered, trying to figure out what “normal life” meant after saving the universe.

Keith had the Blade of Marmora.

Lance had… time.

Too much time to think.

Which was exactly why, when Keith mentioned a recon mission, Lance had volunteered before anyone else could open their mouth.

“Someone’s gotta watch your back, Mullet.”

Keith had rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t said no.

Lance walked a step behind Keith out of habit, rifle resting against his shoulder as he scanned the side corridors. The place looked dead. Dust on the floor, inactive terminals, flickering ceiling panels.

The mission itself sounded simple. A deserted Galra listening post on the edge of an asteroid belt. Marmora scouts had picked up faint power signatures and wanted confirmation before committing resources. In and out. Quiet. Nothing dramatic.

Lance had heard “quiet mission” before.

The asteroid facility loomed ahead of them, embedded into black rock like a rusted wound in the stone. The landing pad was empty. No lights. No patrols. Just wind whispering across metal corridors and the distant groan of old machinery.

Keith moved first as the shuttle ramp lowered, silent and fluid in the way Lance remembered from the old days. There was something different about him now though. Broader shoulders. Longer lines in his stance. Leadership sat on him the way armor used to.

A few Marmora operatives spread out behind them, cloaked in shadows. The plan was simple: sweep the outer halls, confirm the power readings, then get out.

They entered through a cracked service door. The interior smelled faintly of ozone and old metal. Lance’s boots echoed softly as they moved down the corridor, rifles raised.

For the first ten doboshes, nothing happened.

Keith checked inactive terminals and door panels as they moved, his movements quiet and efficient. Lance covered the angles out of habit, eyes sweeping the hallways and open maintenance bays.

It was routine. Familiar. Keith walked ahead of him, stepping past an open cargo rack bolted into the wall.

Lance’s gaze followed automatically. Then he noticed something. Keith’s head nearly brushed the underside of the rack as he passed.

Lance blinked.

For a few ticks, his brain refused to process the information.

That.. hadn’t always been a problem.

Keith kept walking like nothing was unusual, ducking slightly beneath the low frame before stepping into the next stretch of corridor.

Lance cleared his throat. Okay, right.

Maybe the rack was just low.

That had to be it. Except the next one was the same height.

And Keith ducked again.

Lance stared.

When the hell did that happen?

Keith had always been.. well, Keith. Sharp edges, fast reflexes, terrible hair. Lance had spent half their early missions teasing him for being shorter than half the team.

Now Keith moved through the corridor like the space had shrunk around him.

Lance dragged his eyes away quickly, focusing on the hallway ahead.

This was stupid. They were on a mission.

He should be watching for enemies, not—

His gaze flicked back again.

Keith’s shoulders had broadened too.

Great.

Fantastic.

Lance swallowed and flexed his grip on the rifle. His palms suddenly felt a little too warm inside the gloves. If there had been a mirror in that corridor, Lance was fairly sure it would’ve shown his face turning an extremely traitorous shade of red.

He cleared his throat again. Louder this time.

Keith glanced back over his shoulder. “You good?”

“Yep,” Lance said immediately. Too soon.

Keith frowned slightly but turned back to the corridor. Lance exhaled slowly.

This was fine. Totally fine.

Keith had grown a few inches. Big deal. People grew. It happened. Lance himself had shot up during high school and no one had made a cosmic event out of it.

Still.

Keith ducked slightly under the next hatch frame.

Lance’s eyes betrayed him again.

He looked away immediately.

Focus. Mission.

They moved deeper into the listening post, boots echoing softly against the metal floor. The corridor split ahead, dim emergency lights pulsing along the walls. Keith slowed, scanning the inactive consoles and sealed doors before crouching beside a terminal.

Lance automatically shifted position, covering the hallway behind them.

The silence stretched.

Too quiet.

Lance tapped the side of his rifle against his shoulder. “So,” he muttered, “on a scale of one to ‘obvious trap,’ where are we?”

Keith didn’t look up. “Three.”

“Wow. Optimistic today.”

Keith slid the terminal panel open, examining the wiring. The motion pulled his shoulders forward slightly, the fabric of his uniform tightening across his back.

Lance noticed that too.

He frowned.

Okay, seriously. When had Keith gotten so broad?

The thought appeared before Lance could stop it.

He groaned internally.

Great. Fantastic. Now his brain had moved from height to shoulders.

Progress.

Keith stood again, turning toward the next corridor. For a second he paused, waiting for Lance to move with him.

Lance stepped forward automatically. The hallway narrowed ahead. Old maintenance piping ran along the walls, forcing them closer together as they passed through.

Lance became suddenly, painfully aware of how little space there was between them.

Keith walked in front, one hand hovering near the hilt of his blade.

Lance’s gaze drifted upward again before he could stop it.

Keith’s head nearly brushed the overhead piping.

Unbelievable.

Lance cleared his throat, again.

Keith glanced back. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yep.”

“Because you keep—”

“I’m fine.”

Keith studied him for a second longer, then shrugged and kept moving.

Lance exhaled slowly.

This was ridiculous.

He’d fought Galra warships, giant robots, and universe-ending threats without blinking, but apparently Keith growing a few inches was enough to break his brain.

Amazing.

A faint hum suddenly vibrated through the walls.

Keith stopped.

Lance noticed immediately. “You hear that?”

Keith nodded slowly.

The hum deepened.

Then the lights flickered.

Lance sighed.

“Oh come on.”

Red emergency lights snapped on along the corridor.

A second later the alarms started screaming.

“Yep,” Lance muttered, raising his rifle. “There it is.”

Metal shutters slammed down behind them.

The wall panel beside Keith unfolded with a mechanical hiss.

A turret deployed.

Keith moved instantly.

He grabbed the front of Lance’s armor and yanked him sideways just as the turret fired. The blaster bolt scorched past Lance’s shoulder and exploded against the far wall.

“Move!” Keith snapped.

They dove behind a support pillar as another volley tore through the hallway.

Lance leaned out, aimed quickly, and fired twice. The second shot punched straight through the turret’s lens. It sparked violently and collapsed.

For half a second the corridor went quiet again.

Then footsteps echoed from the far end.

Lance tilted his head.

“Please tell me those are friendly footsteps.”

Keith’s blade unfolded with a sharp metallic snap.

“I don’t think so.”

Several Galra soldiers rounded the corner, rifles raised.

Lance grinned despite himself. “Well,” he said, lifting his blaster, “good news.”

Keith didn’t look away from the hallway. “What?”

“At least the trap wasn’t boring.”

The first shot fired.

And suddenly the quiet mission was very much over.

—

The ceiling cracked with a sound like splitting metal.

Keith barely had time to register the shift before the corridor dropped.

“Move—!”

Keith grabbed Lance and shoved him back.

The corridor collapsed.

Dust exploded into the air. Metal shrieked as a support beam crashed down behind Keith’s shoulders.

Keith planted his boots hard. One forearm slammed against the wall to Lance’s left. The other braced against the right. Lance barely had time to register what was happening before Keith was suddenly right in front of him, caging him in, their chests almost touching.

Another beam slammed against Keith’s back.

The entire corridor sagged.

Keith grunted.

For a second Lance just stared.

Keith’s arms were stretched on either side of his head, forearms braced against the walls, shoulders shaking under the weight pressing down on him.

Debris clattered across his back instead of Lance’s.

The structure groaned ominously.

Keith’s arms trembled.

“…Keith?” Lance said.

Keith sucked in a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Still here.”

Another small shift ran through the walls.

Keith’s muscles tightened instantly.

The movement forced him to press down harder—and that’s when it clicked in his head.

He had the reach for this.

A few years ago he wouldn’t have.

The thought flickered through his mind even as his arms shook harder under the pressure.

Right.

Taller.

Useful timing.

Lance snapped out of his stunned silence. “Okay—okay—hold on.”

He immediately moved forward.

Keith barked, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Lance shot back, already crouching beside him. “Help you not get crushed?!”

Keith’s glare snapped toward him.

“If you push that side,” he said through clenched teeth, “the weight shifts.”

“And?”

“And then this whole thing comes down.”

Lance froze.

The walls creaked like they were proving Keith’s point.

“You’re kidding,” Lance said weakly.

“I wish.”

Keith’s breathing was already getting rough.

Dust clung to his hair, his armor, the sharp line of his jaw. His arms were fully extended now, muscles visibly straining under the load.

Lance looked at the gap above them.

Looked at Keith.

Looked back at the collapsing corridor.

“This is stupid,” Lance said.

“Correct,” Keith wheezed. “But it’s happening.”

“I can help you hold it.”

“No.”

“Keith—”

“No.”

The word came out sharper this time.

“If you move the structure,” Keith said, voice tight, “the pressure redistributes. Best case, we both get pinned. Worst case—”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

Lance’s jaw clenched.

“So what?” Lance demanded. “Your brilliant plan is just… what—stand here until your arms fall off?!”

Keith shot him an incredulous look despite the situation.

“My brilliant plan,” he panted, “is for you to get out.”

Lance blinked.

“.. Excuse me?”

“There’s a small gap on your left,” Keith said, nodding slightly toward the partially collapsed doorway further down the corridor. “You’re smaller. If you’re careful, you can crawl right through it.”

Lance stared at him like he’d just suggested something deeply offensive.

“I am not leaving you here. And mind you, I am not small!”

“You’re not leaving me,” Keith snapped. “You’re getting help.”

“And what happens to you while I’m gone?!”

Keith shifted slightly as the wall shuddered again.

Bad idea. The strain made his arms shake harder.

“I’ll manage.”

“That is the most obvious lie you have ever told.”

Keith glared. “Lance—”

“No!” Lance’s voice cracked louder than he meant it to. “No, I’m not doing that again!”

The words hung in the dust-heavy air.

Keith blinked.

Lance was breathing hard now too, though he wasn’t the one holding up a collapsing building.

“You think I’m just gonna walk away while you—while you—”

His voice faltered.

Keith frowned slightly. “Lance.”

Lance shook his head violently. “No. I’m done with that. I’m done watching people stay behind while everyone else runs.” His laugh came out thin. “Great strategy. Worked so well during the war.”

Keith’s expression shifted.

“…Lance.”

“Allura did that,” Lance said quietly.

The name hit like a shockwave. The corridor went very still.

Lance swallowed hard.

“She stayed behind. Made the sacrifice play. Everyone calls it heroic.” His hands clenched into fists. “You know what it felt like from our side?”

Keith didn’t answer.

“I’m not doing that again,” Lance said, voice rough. “Not with you.”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Keith’s arms trembled harder.

A deep groan ran through the structure overhead.

Lance immediately looked up.

Then back at Keith.

And that’s when he really saw him.

Keith was shaking.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just small, relentless tremors running through his shoulders and arms as he held the crushing weight apart.

Dust streaked his face.

His breathing was uneven.

And his eyes—

His eyes were locked on Lance like he was the only thing in the room that mattered.

“You don’t get it,” Keith said quietly.

Lance frowned.

Keith’s voice dropped even lower.

“I moved because you were about to get crushed.”

“I can handle myself!”

“I know.”

The words came instantly.

No hesitation.

That threw Lance off balance for half a second.

Keith continued, breath hitching slightly as the strain increased.

“But I was closer,” he said. “And faster.”

Another creak echoed through the corridor.

Keith pushed harder.

His boots slid half an inch.

“Keith—”

“And if I hadn’t moved,” he said, voice rough now, “you’d be under that wall right now.”

Their eyes met.

Up close like this, Lance could see how hard Keith was breathing.

Could see the sweat starting to form at his temples.

Could see how his arms were shaking harder by the second.

And still—

Still Keith was leaning forward.

Shielding him.

“You’re an idiot,” Lance whispered.

Keith let out a breathless huff that might have been a laugh.

“Probably.”

The structure shifted again.

Keith’s head dipped briefly as the weight pressed down harder.

When he lifted it again, his gaze locked straight into Lance’s.

Up close.

Too close.

For a split second Lance forgot how to breathe.

“Lance,” Keith said quietly.

Not angry now.

Not arguing.

Just tired.

“You have to go.”

Lance shook his head immediately.

“No.”

Keith’s arms trembled violently.

“Lance—”

“No!”

“You staying here doesn’t help me!”

“I don’t care!”

The words burst out before Lance could stop them.

They both froze.

Lance’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“I’m not losing you too.”

Keith went very still.

The air between them felt suddenly fragile.

Keith’s expression softened in a way Lance rarely saw.

“You’re not going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

Keith held his gaze.

For a long moment.

Then he quietly adds, “I do.”

Another deep groan rippled through the collapsing structure.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Keith inhaled sharply through his teeth.

“Okay,” Lance said suddenly.

Keith blinked.

“Okay?”

Lance wiped the dust and almost tears from his face.

“Fine. New plan.” 

Keith frowned. “What plan?”

Lance forced himself to crouch inside the tiny pocket of space Keith had created, shoulders hunched beneath the warped metal overhead. Keith’s forearms were still braced against the walls, locking the collapsing corridor in place. His back bowed under the weight of the fallen beam pressing across his shoulders.

Every tremor made his arms shake harder.

Lance tried not to look at that.

Instead he turned toward the wall behind him.

His hands slid across the metal plating, searching through dust and jagged seams. The corridor had buckled inward during the collapse; the panels were misaligned now, edges lifted just enough to feel.

Keith’s breathing was getting rough.

“You keep being ridiculously tall and heroic for like… thirty more seconds,” Lance said.

Keith blinked down at him, sweat dripping off his jaw.

“And?”

Lance flashed him a quick, determined grin as his fingers probed along the paneling.

“And,” he said, “I figure out how to get us both out of here.”

Keith opened his mouth—

The corridor screamed. Metal shrieked as the structure shifted again. The beam across Keith’s back dropped another inch. A strained sound escaped him before he could stop it.

Lance glanced up.

Their eyes met.

Then Lance turned back to the wall. “…Thirty seconds,” he repeated.

Keith exhaled shakily.

“You better be fast.”

Lance’s fingers caught on something.

A seam.

Thin. Almost invisible beneath the dust.

He leaned closer.

“Oh.”

His grin widened.

“Oh, you beautiful engineering disaster.”

Keith’s voice came strained. “That good?”

“Maybe.”

Lance shoved his fingers into the seam and pulled.

The metal panel shifted with a dull clack.

Behind it—

Darkness.

A narrow maintenance crawlspace.

Barely wide enough for a person.

Lance laughed under his breath.

“Oh yeah. That’ll work.”

Keith’s arms trembled violently now.

“Please tell me you found something.”

“Exit route.”

“Define exit route.”

“You drop the hero pose and come through here.”

Keith blinked down at the small opening behind Lance.

“…That’s barely a person wide.”

“You’re the one who got taller, remember?” Lance shot back.

The corridor cracked above them. Keith’s arms buckled for half a second. He forced them straight again with a grunt.

Lance swallowed.

Okay, no more time. He shoved the panel wider and turned back to Keith.

“Alright,” he said quickly. “Listen carefully.”

Keith’s breathing was rough now.

“On my mark,” Lance said, grabbing Keith’s armor strap, “you let go and come forward.”

“Forward?”

“Through me.”

Keith stared at him.

“Lance—”

“Trust me.”

Another violent tremor rattled the corridor. Dust poured down, and the beam across Keith’s shoulders shifted lower.

His arms shook so badly Lance could see the metal scraping under his palms.

“…Three,” Lance said.

Keith sucked in a breath.

“Two.”

The hallway groaned like it was about to tear apart.

“Lance—”

“ONE.”

“MOVE!”

Keith dropped.

The corridor collapsed instantly.

The beam slammed down where his shoulders had been.

Keith lurched forward as his arms finally gave out.

Lance grabbed his armor and yanked him down.

Both of them dove through the maintenance opening.

Behind them—

The hallway imploded.

Metal thundered down in a deafening crash as the corridor finally gave way.

They tumbled through the narrow crawlspace, half crawling, half falling.

Lance burst out the other side first into a small maintenance access room.

Keith came right after him.

Momentum did the rest.

They both went down hard.

Keith crashed forward—

And landed squarely on top of Lance.

All the air punched out of Lance’s lungs.

“—oof!”

For a moment neither of them moved.

Behind them, the corridor finished collapsing with one final echoing boom.

Silence followed.

Keith’s chest heaved against Lance’s stomach.

Dust floated lazily in the air around them.

Lance stared up at the ceiling, still wheezing.

“…Ow.”

Keith lifted his head slightly. “Sorry.”

He didn’t move.

Neither of them had the energy.

Lance let out a weak, breathless laugh, as the half-galra blinked down at him.

Then he started laughing too.

Quiet at first. Then harder. Both of them shaking with exhausted, hysterical laughter after the adrenaline crash.

“You said thirty seconds,” Keith managed between breaths.

“Give or take,” Lance wheezed. Keith groaned and dropped his forehead against Lance’s chest.

For a moment they stayed like that.

Lance hesitated.

Then gently lifted a hand. His fingers slid into Keith’s hair, cradling the back of his head.

Keith stilled under the touch.

“…You okay?” Lance murmured.

Keith nodded faintly against him.

“Yeah.”

Instinctively, Keith shifts a bit so he could hold Lance on his waist and torso. His breathing was still uneven. 

Lance let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

His hand stayed there, gently holding Keith in place.

“…You’re heavy,” he added after a moment.

Keith huffed weakly. “You dragged me through a wall.”

“Yeah, but now I’m the one being crushed.”

“You’ll live.”

Lance smiled faintly.

“Yeah, whatever you say, Mullet.”

For a moment longer they stayed there on the floor of the safer room.

Collapsed together.

Breathing, laughing quietly.

Alive.

–

A few years had passed since the war ended, and with them came the quiet tradition the former paladins had built together. Every year, on the anniversary of the war’s end, they gathered at the same place, a peaceful clearing overlooking the rebuilt city. It had become their meeting point, a place where stories were retold, food was shared, and the weight of old battles softened into laughter. At the center stood Allura’s statue, carved in pale stone and crowned with gentle starlight. She watched over them with the same calm grace she always had, as if approving of the joy filling the air.

Tables were crowded with dishes Hunk insisted on cooking himself, Coran’s booming voice echoed across the gathering, and Pidge animatedly waved her hands while recounting some exaggerated version of a mission. The stories had a way of growing larger every year—more explosions, more heroics, more embarrassing moments. Inevitably, the conversation turned toward a certain Blade of Marmora mission involving a collapsing corridor, a questionable maintenance crawlspace, and two very stubborn paladins.

Laughter erupted around the table.

“Oh come on,” Pidge snorted, leaning forward. “You literally held the entire hallway up just so Lance wouldn’t get squished.”

“That’s not what happened,” Keith muttered quickly, though the faint red creeping across his ears betrayed him.

Krolia only hummed knowingly beside him. “Keith,” she said calmly, lifting her drink, “your priorities become remarkably clear whenever Lance is involved.”

The table exploded into louder laughter.

Lance choked on his drink, face turning red as he waved his hands in protest. Keith looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

Eventually the teasing died down into softer chatter. Conversations split into smaller groups, people drifting around the gathering as the night deepened.

Keith stood after a moment.

“I should head out,” he said quietly, brushing dust off his jacket.

“Already?” Hunk asked.

“Blade patrol,” Keith replied simply.

The explanation was enough. Old habits never really left them.

Lance followed him a few steps away from the table as Keith moved toward the edge of the clearing. The night air was cooler out there, the hum of distant ships faint against the stars.

Keith turned back to say something—

—and Lance stepped closer.

Then, suddenly bold, he rose on his toes and pressed a quick kiss against Keith’s cheek.

Keith froze.

“Be safe, Red,” Lance said softly, like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

For a second Keith didn’t move at all.

Then Lance stepped back, suddenly very interested in the ground, pretending nothing had happened.

Keith stood there a moment longer, stunned.

Across the clearing, Pidge was already staring with wide, delighted eyes while Krolia quietly hid a knowing smile behind her cup.

Keith paused for a moment before turning away.

“Will do, Blue,” he replied softly.

His hand lifted almost without thinking, brushing lightly against Lance’s fringe and tucking the stray strands of hair behind his ear. The gesture was brief—gentle enough that Lance blinked in surprise.

Then Keith stepped back.

He exhaled slowly as he walked toward the edge of the clearing, glancing down at his hands.

They were bigger than they used to be.

Stronger.

The recent growth spurt had caught him off guard at first—longer limbs, broader shoulders, the strange realization that he now stood noticeably taller than most of the team. It had taken time to get used to the shift in balance, the extra reach, the quiet strength that came with it.

But when he glanced back toward Lance—still standing there with flushed cheeks and stubborn bravery—Keith felt something settle quietly in his chest.

Maybe the change wasn’t so strange after all.

If being taller meant he could shield someone from falling walls,
and if being stronger meant he could hold the line a little longer,

then maybe it wasn’t something to question.

Maybe it was something to embrace.

Keith looked back once more.

Lance met his eyes from across the clearing.

And this time, Keith didn’t look away.