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Keith knew something was wrong when he woke up with exactly one word on his mind.
Lance.
Keith rubbed his eyes, thinking it was just the leftover pieces of a dream.
Though why would you have been dreaming of Lance? Keith thought, getting up and trying to shake off the weird feeling that settled over his heart.
Nothing he did mattered. That word repeated itself like a horrible mantra throughout his entire morning.
When he was showering? Lance. Deciding which one of his nearly identical black shirts to wear? Lance. Walking down the long, castle hallways to breakfast? Lance. Lance. LANCE.
He made it to the kitchen and slammed the button to the kitchen door harder than was strictly necessary, earning him weird looks from both Pidge and Hunk, while Shiro just looked at him with puzzlement and mild concern. Allura and Coran were in a deep conversation, too busy to engage Keith's childish behavior, talking about the diplomatic conference soon to be held on planet Owjibi.
Keith glanced around, silently looking for the source of his mental discomfort. But Lance wasn’t there yet. He puffed out a breath and made his way over to the counter, mumbling a barely audible, “G’morning” before grabbing one of the plates Hunk had prepared for them. He had barely pulled his chair out to sit – and try to shake Lance’s name out of his head – when Lance walked in.
He was dressed in his normal clothes – light wash jeans, white shirt, green jacket – and his hair ruffled slightly, like he couldn’t care enough to have brushed it after waking up. He looked… normal. So why the quiznack did Keith feel like his heart was about to thump out of his chest and why couldn’t he catch his breath and hell is that him who smells like that?
Keith’s Galra senses were considerably stronger than the other paladins. Over time he had learned that each person aboard the castle carried a unique smell, unwavering no matter what they did to change it.
Lance’s smell was always his favorite. He smelled like citrus and soft coconut and the salty spray of the ocean and somehow also of cool rainwater. He smelled alive and fresh and just so Lance.
Keith nearly fell over when Shiro placed his arm on Keith’s shoulder, knocking him out of his embarrassing stupor, the metal prosthetic cool on his overheated skin. He looked at him with obvious concern and Keith realized he was just standing there – eyes boring into Lance – scenting him from halfway across their kitchen/dining space.
“Keith, are you gonna keep staring at Lance? Or are you gonna sit down and eat your food?” Pidge asked calmly – but her tone was laced with sarcasm, eyes never moving from her own plate.
Keith knew he was blushing red enough to rival his own paladin armor, and hastily dropped to his seat, trying to disappear into his chair. And failing.
If Lance noticed the red paladin’s odd behavior, or heard Pidge’s remark, he didn’t acknowledge it. He simply walked over, got his own plate – thanking Hunk by patting him on the shoulder, all the while stifling a yawn with his arm, and somehow keeping the plate balanced – and set it on the table before ploppling down in his usual seat. Right across from Keith.
Now that they were all seated, they began to eat.
Pidge and Hunk were discussing ways to potentially expand the scouting signal to spot Galra ships from further out, with Coran popping in every now and then. Keith tried to focus on their conversation, hoping to keep his mind off the Cuban boy sitting way too close to him. Why is he SO CLOSE?
But also, way too far.
A disgruntled sound escaped Keith’s throat, hopefully covered up by an aggressive bite of breakfast. He tried to fix his mind on the conversation next to him, and away from the paladin with whom his thoughts wanted to surround themselves with.
Hunk frowned at the scanner on the table. “So the scout drones are detecting Galra ships… just not until they’re already close. That’s not exactly helpful.”
Pidge, bringing her spoon halfway to her mouth, leaned over to look. “It’s the interference out here. The signal can’t reach far enough.”
From across the table, Coran chimed in, “Ah! Quantum eddies. They scramble long-range scans dreadfully.”
Pidge’s eyes lit up. “Wait—if they distort signals, we could bounce the scout signal through them instead of fighting it.”
Hunk blinked. “Like a relay?”
“Exactly,” Pidge said. “A few drones spaced out right and the signal range could be way bigger.”
Coran nodded approvingly. “With a touch of Altean calibration, it should work beautifully.”
Hunk grinned. “Great. Early warning system, here we come.”
Okay I am not mentally stable enough to follow this conversation. Keith thought, pushing himself out his seat to place his plate in the sink.
If Keith had been looking forward as he was walking, he would've noticed the blue paladin pushing his chair out to also get up. But, he didn’t. And ended up tripping over the back of Lance’s chair, his surprised body already preparing for impact against the sleek white floors.
Luckily – or maybe unluckily – Lance’s reflexes were ready. The blue paladin leapt from his chair, his hand snapping out to clasp Keith’s forearm in his grasp.
And when their skin made contact...
Icy heat flared through Keith’s body, originating from each point of contact where Lance had gripped him, flowing through Keith. Warming and cooling him the most amazing way.
It felt like fire and lightning and crashing waves. It was thousands of supernovas all at once, forming and collapsing all around his being. Keith felt his very soul light up, welcoming the sensation with wide open arms. He felt a thread wrap around one of his ribs, not painfully – the exact opposite, actually – it felt like coming home, like finding a piece of his soul he didn’t know he needed. (or maybe he just got so used to the emptiness, he felt numb to it)
The small thread – it looked so thin, but Keith knew it was stronger than steel – its color a pure white, like a star. Keith felt the string bolt towards Lance like a missile, seeking him on purpose and with a purpose. When it found its intended target, the rush of power and life and Lance filled Keith’s very existence. Drowning every other thought, feeling, and word, until only one remained.
The one word that made his soul leap in joy, the breath in his lungs catch in hope, and his heart beat excitedly. The one word he was terrified of wanting.
Mate.
Lance was his mate. The other half of his soul.
His one. His only. His forever.
His mate.
Lance.