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Keith woke up in a cold sweat, his heart still racing from the nightmare. It was the same one he’d been having all his life, the same flashing images, black walls and purple lights and a calming voice speaking in a language he didn’t understand. In an instant, it went from peaceful to terrifying, heavy breathing and thudding boots and something -- lasers or bullets, he can never tell -- whizzing around his head, and then sudden, complete, inescapable darkness, cold and silent.
There was no ghosts, no world-dominating villain, no terrifying masks or monsters, and in anyone else’s head, it might not have been as scary, but to Keith, it represented something bigger, more terrifying, than anything he could imagine. He fell back onto his pillow, grinding his fists into his eyes. Ever since he’d bonded with Red on the Galra ship, his nightmares were more frequent than ever, and sleep was nearly impossible.
Frustrated, he slipped out of bed, ignoring the sting of cold metal against his bare feet. His mind raced as he padded out of his bunk, cycling through anything and everything, his eyes blank and far away. He walked automatically, and found himself staring up at the massive doors of the training room. Out of all the paladins, Keith had definitely spent the most time training -- he had the flight skills to prove it -- but instead, he sighed and walked past, too exhausted to do battle with the training bots.
His feet carried him through the lonely corridors to the common room, the doors of which stood open, light and faint music spilling out into the hall. Keith edged his face around the corner, peering into the room. Even after they learned how to form Voltron, Keith still felt left out of the joking and camaraderie of other boys. Shiro stood above it as the leader, and Allura had Coran, but Lance, Hunk and Pidge had all known each other at the Garrison, and often told stories about or made references to things Keith didn’t understand.
The three of them were there now, Hunk sitting on one of the couches, a pen between his teeth, glaring at the notebook in front of him, surrounded by balls of crumpled paper. Pidge was laying with their head in his lap, computer on their chest, typing furiously. One of Hunk’s crumpled pieces of paper rested precariously in their hair, but they seemed not to notice. Lance was on the opposite sofa, picking the strings of what looked like -- but wasn’t quite -- a guitar, humming under his breath. Keith wondered where he got it, but then noticed the screws and other metal parts littering the floor. Clearly, this was a pet project of his.
Just as Keith turned to go, Lance looked up and locked eyes with him, his signature lazy smile spreading easily across his face. “Hey, man,” he said, his voice gravelly from the late hour, his eyes lacking the mischievous spark that so often resided in them. Keith was slightly taken aback at the note of sadness that lingered in his face. Lance was forever the screwball, loud and energetic, but lacking any real empathy or sentiment. To see him so relaxed and silent was unnerving.
Keith cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, guys.” Hunk looked up from his notebook and smiled, and Pidge acknowledged Keith’s presence with a two-fingered wave, not looking up from their computer. “What’s going on?
“We can’t sleep,” Pidge answered casually, giving Keith a sympathetic glance, “and I’m guessing you can’t, either.”
“Uh, no,” Keith admitted, stepping cautiously into the room. “Nightmares,” he mumbled under his breath, hoping they didn’t pester him into details. The dreams meant something -- they had to -- but Keith wasn’t sure what yet. He wasn’t ready to share something with the other Paladins that he himself did not yet understand.
“Me, too,” Lance sighed under his breath, peering at the makeshift frets he’d marked with bits of wire. He moved one down slightly, strummed a quiet chord, and grinned a little, satisfied. Keith raised an eyebrow at his admission. He and Lance differed on a thousand fronts, but they were both reserved about their feelings, especially in front of each other. Keith decided not to wonder as to why.
“Did you figure out the guitar yet, Lance?” Hunk asked, setting down his notebook on the next cushion of the couch and rubbing at his forehead. His voice was especially hopeful, like this was something he’d been waiting for.
Keith set himself down carefully on the end of the couch opposite Lance, tucking himself into the corner. He peered up at Lance through his bangs, finding himself almost curious at the answer. “Nearly,” Lance muttered, and fiddled with what looked like tuning knobs on the end.
“Try something,” Pidge encouraged, their eyes soft and tired. Hunk ran his hand absentmindedly through their hair, the tawny strands pointing in every direction. Pidge leaned into the touch slightly, and Hunk gave them a brotherly smile. Keith realized with a jolt that these three had become something of a family in the Garrison, with Hunk as the rock, Lance as the humor, Pidge as the ingenuity. Pidge had lost their entire family, and had turned to the two older boys for guidance and support, and they responded in kind. Something in Keith’s chest ached, a longing he thought he’d gotten rid of long ago.
“Like what?” Lance asked, picking absentmindedly at the strings. Keith couldn’t help but follow the motion with his eyes, a thousand different emotions churning in his chest. He’d spent years crushing any feeling -- any vulnerability -- into submission, but this small family he’d found suddenly cared for him, too. And then there was Lance, at the center of it, beautiful and honest and sometimes stupidly sincere. At first, Keith thought he hated him, but moments like these made him want to change his mind.
“You remember that old song you tried to teach me?” Hunk answered, staring up at the ceiling, still threading his fingers through Pidge’s hair. They curled up in his lap like a cat, pushing their computer to the side. “You said your dad used to sing it.”
A sad smile curled across Lance’s face, and he paused, positioning his fingers on the strings. “Yeah, I remember.” He strummed with purpose now, placing his fingers in an actual chord progression rather than just messing around. Keith relaxed against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes and sinking into the soft music.
“Darlin’, we’re both scared…” Lance sang softly, ducking his head to watch his hands dance over the strings. “But where love is, fear won’t tread.” Hunk hummed along as Lance sang the next line, and Keith could hear the smile in his voice. “All of these friends here agree, we’re right where we should be.”
Lance’s voice lifted to catch the next notes, and the melody started to tug at something within Keith. “Underneath all, you’re why…” Keith’s lips silently formed the next words as they floated through the room. “My lady, my love, my bride.” He knew this song. His mind called up long-buried memories of a white-and-blue living room, a small Korean woman holding a baby on a striped couch, a warbling male voice coming from behind him as Keith held another instrument between his knees. “In your darkest hours, well, I love you still. I have and I always will.”
Unconsciously, Keith’s fingers pressed against the cushions, fingering long-forgotten chords, remembering the bite of the strings and the resistance of the bow. He practiced this song on the cello with his family, what felt like a lifetime ago. His first foster parents; how could he forget? They’d taken him in when he was three -- the first family who had ever wanted him, who had ever looked past whatever made his birth mother drop him in the yard of an orphanage and love him for who he was. He stayed with them for seven years, but he couldn’t ever remember what had made them send him back.
“I guess it’s because I just do…” Lance went on, oblivious to the turmoil in Keith’s mind. Tears sprung up in Keith’s eyes, and without realizing it, he opened his mouth to sing along with the next line.
“Following heaven’s clues…”
The music faltered and then stopped, and Keith opened his eyes to find the room staring at him. Not in shock, but in curiousity. “You sing?” Lance asked, his dark blue eyes wide and soft. For once, he didn’t look like he was about to laugh.
“A little,” Keith responded, trying to maintain nonchalance, the welling tears threatening to give him away.
“Keep going,” Pidge muttered sleepily from the other couch, struggling to keep their eyes open. “S’pretty.” Hunk made a soft noise of agreement, and Keith couldn’t help but smile. What had Hunk called them, that first long, successful day of training? Brothers-in-arms? Keith couldn’t help but feel like he’d finally found a family who wouldn’t abandon him.
Lance, for once, held his tongue, and instead resumed his melody, singing the next line. “This is a big mystery…”
Keith joined him, taking the harmony by instinct. “How I found you found me.”
They went into the next chorus, their voices blending and ringing through the high-ceilinged palace. Keith couldn’t keep his eyes off Lance as the other boy swayed slightly to the music, his voice rising and falling with the melody. Lance’s eyes were tired and broken, an enormous change from the usual enthusiasm that sparkled through them. Keith had always known that there were things about Lance he didn’t know, but this was the first time he found himself wanting to find out.
The chord progression changed, and Keith dove headfirst into the bridge, Lance echoing softly behind him, glancing up to meet his eyes. A shiver ran through Keith at the sudden connection. He’d never seen such a circumspect expression in Lance’s face, never seen him look so open, so vulnerable. Every part of Keith wanted to reach for him, but he forced himself to keep his hands at his sides. “And you are changing now…” Keith sang, marvelling at the accuracy of the lyrics. “You’re part of me somehow…”
“And I will never be alone.” Lance took the harmony this time, a kind of resolve settling in his dark blue eyes. The pause for breath seemed to last more than a mere second, some unwritten bond weaving itself through the loaded silence.
“In your darkest hours…” Lance took the first line of the final chorus, maintaining the eye contact in a manner that was almost belligerent.
“Well, I love you still,” Keith joined in, feeling his voice start to shake. He couldn’t look away from the other boy, the blood starting to rush loudly in his ears. He couldn’t begin to fathom what this kind of moment might mean, both in respect to his perception of Lance, and the way the other boy must feel about him.
“I have and I always will… I have and I always will.” they finished together. The final notes rang in the room. Barely, unconsciously, Keith inclined his head, every part of him begging for nearness, for human contact. Lance’s weight shifted the barest amount, and Keith’s heart skipped, sure he was leaning towards him.
Before they could get any closer, a soft snore broke the silence, shattering the spell over the two boys. Keith glanced to the other couch, and smiled softly when he saw Pidge fast asleep in Hunk’s lap, their shoulders rising and falling with even breath. “Well,” Lance said, “Glad to know I can put a room to sleep.” He’d intended it to be a joke, but there was something odd and strained in his tone of voice.
“Aw, they needed it,” Hunk sympathized, and pulled Pidge into his arms, picking them up in a single motion. They nestled into his chest, and Hunk smiled down at them like they were a particularly adorable puppy. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’ll make sure they get to bed.” He stepped over Pidge’s computer and his pile of crumpled paper and left the room, turning toward the dormitory.
Keith swallowed and chanced a peek at Lance. Lance was staring out the door after Hunk and Pidge, an unreadable expression on his face. Keith didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t dismiss what had just happened between them. Intensity still hung in the air, trembling with the last echoes of the guitar. For weeks, he’d been denying that the strong feelings he felt toward Lance were anything but hatred, but as the team grew closer and he learned more about the kind of man Lance was, Keith was having trouble denying the fondness, the longing, that had been growing in his chest.
Finally, Lance turned back to Keith, forcing annoyance where it didn’t belong. “You never told us you could sing!” He was trying to pick a fight, trying to reset the dynamic, put them back at the starting point -- but Keith wouldn’t let him. He’d waited long enough to realize how he felt. He wouldn’t let Lance make the same mistake.
“You never asked,” Keith answered, turning to face him, attempting to maintain what little composure he still had, in the late hour and in the wake of the song. Lance opened his mouth to shoot back before realizing that Keith was staying non-combative.
It took Lance several moments to think of something to say. “How do you know that song, anyway?” he asked, a thin layer of aggression hiding real curiosity. “It’s not exactly popular.”
Keith shrugged, unwilling to share the truth. “I learned it a long time ago,” he replied defensively. “I don’t remember.”
“You knew all the words, dude. And the harmony,” Lance said gently, as if to remind him. “Why do you know that song so well?”
The image of that blue-and-white living room popped up again, and Keith bit his lip, still terrified of vulnerability despite what he felt for Lance. Sharing the story of his childhood was a huge step forward in his relationship with the other Paladins, and his instinct to detach and isolate held it tight in his chest. Lance kept staring at him, persisting, as was typical. “One of my foster families,” Keith finally relented, giving the barest detail without letting on what that household had meant to him. “The dad was really into music. He taught me.”
“My dad loves music,” Lance supplied, setting the guitar down on the floor. He turned sideways and and shifted cushions. Keith kept shooting glances at him, inhaling sharply when he realized that Lance was so much closer now, less than a foot away. Keith could feel the heat radiating off of him, realizing suddenly that Lance smelled like pine trees. The scent reminded him painfully of Earth -- of home -- and he let himself draw closer, hungry for more. “He taught me everything I know, too,” Lance continued, whispering now that Keith was so close, his eyes locked on Keith’s face.
“He should be proud,” Keith replied, not completely paying attention to what he was saying, too focused on Lance, his eyes flicking everywhere, always returning to Lance’s lips. Not for the first time, he wondered what they tasted like, how they would feel against his own. Before, he always chastised himself for wondering such a thing, reminding himself of all the things about Lance that got on his nerves. But now, all he could see was the lovely, gentle boy who sang away his worries. “You’re amazing.”
“Thanks,” Lance responded breathlessly, leaning closer, putting his hand on Keith’s leg. The heat of his hand seared through Keith’s pajamas, and he held in a gasp.
“Lance --” Keith started, intending to warn him, about all the things Keith was afraid he was becoming, about all the things Lance didn’t know. The nightmares -- he had to tell him about the nightmares…
But he never got the chance. Lance’s other hand came up behind Keith’s neck, and suddenly they were kissing. Keith froze for the barest second, and then responded in kind, his hands coming up around Lance’s torso, pressing into his back, pulling him closer. It had been too long since he’d had anything like this, and never with someone he wanted so badly as Lance. He sighed at the feeling of Lance’s tongue against his lips, and answered with his own, pulling Lance down on top of him. Lance shifted smoothly, supporting his weight on his hands on either side of body.
Finally, they broke for breath, and Keith leaned back against the arm of the sofa, smiling when Lance chased after his lips. With a chuckle, Lance swung a leg over Keith and sat brazenly in his lap, one hand still around the back of his neck, the other spread over Keith’s pounding heart. “Hi,” he said, and there was the spark in his eyes he had been missing, challenging and infuriating and beautiful.
“Hi,” Keith answered, sliding his hands up Lance’s chest and into his hair, pulling him down into another hungry kiss. Lance’s hair was just as soft as Keith thought it would be, and he curled his fingers into it as Lance threaded his fingers through Keith’s dark hair. Keith couldn’t even spare a thought to be worried about what Lance may or may not know about him. This -- Lance’s hands on him, Lance’s lips on his own -- was too good to worry about anything.
“So, what?” Lance asked when he leaned back on Keith’s thighs, panting heavily, his lips swollen, his eyes still shut. “I bust out my guitar and you can’t help but jump me?”
Keith blew a soft laugh over the other’s boy’s mouth. “In your dreams,” he mumbled, to embarrassed to admit that Lance wasn’t exactly incorrect.
“If only,” Lance answered, kissing Keith again. Keith sighed into his mouth and relaxed against him. Lance pulled back slightly, concern darkening his eyes. “You must be exhausted,” he said softly.
Keith nodded as Lance’s hands came up to frame his face. “Only a little,” he agreed, But I --” He swallowed the next words, old habits squeezing them tight in his throat.
“What?” Lance persisted. Keith almost laughed. Where before, Keith was refusing to let Lance push him away, now Lance kept pulling vulnerability out of Keith, kept pulling him closer.
“I don’t want to sleep alone,” Keith admitted, bumping his nose against Lance’s, clinging tight to his arms, reluctant to let him go.
“You don’t have to,” Lance reassured him, his breath warm, his body solid and comforting and feeling like the best home in the world. “I’m right here.”
Keith fell asleep with Lance’s face pressed to his neck, their fingers tangled at Lance’s waist and on Keith’s chest. Everywhere they touched burned with heat, and for the first time in ages, Keith slept dreamlessly, revelling in pine-scented warmth, reassured by the heartbeat beside his own. Let the nightmares come. Tonight, he had someone beside him to frighten them away.