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Sometimes, Keith thinks about what his life would be like if he had never joined the garrison, never been scouted, never met Shiro, never made it to space, met the lions, or learned about anything going on beyond earth's atmosphere.
It's easy to dwell on the negative or get lost in the traumatic experiences, but there’s really so much he would have missed out on. He would have never seen the brilliant constellations and planets, never felt the exhilaration of piloting red. He would never have met his teammates. his family.
And he certainly would never have gotten accidentally kidnapped by said family.
He thinks about everything that’s led up to this point in time, wonders if maybe he had turned left that day or eaten oatmeal instead of cereal for breakfast another, would he still be stuck standing handcuffed in the helm of the castle ship, surrounded by loud, over-confident paladins (and one particularly cheery coran), with the knowledge that his mission was basically just completely blown to pieces by the idiots he cares about the most?
He hopes not, it’s rather embarrassing if this is the only reality where he managed to get stuck in this situation.
The din of voices in the room sharpens as he gives up questioning life as it is and he comes back to himself.
“Are we sure he’s as high-ranking of an officer as your little google search said? He's kinda super short.”
The existential crisis was preferable.
“Okay, there’s so much wrong with that sentence I don't even know where to start.”
Pidge and Lance, completely forgetting to keep up any appearance of professionalism, begin the bicker endlessly about whether or not Pidge’s Galran database should be considered google. Officially present and in the moment, Keith can also pick out Coran and Hunk excitedly regaling each other with their perspective of the recent battle and Allura and Shiro quietly deliberating over actual logistics and planning.
Despite being seemingly caught in a hell of his own making, being in the castle, surrounded by the familiar chatter filling a silence he didn’t even realize was there, recovering from the adrenaline high of active combat, Keith finds himself wrestling down a smile.
“Okay. Here's what’s gonna happen,” all conversation dies out as everyone’s eyes reach Shiro, who approaches Keith.
Standing at the center of the group, he crosses his arms, “we’re going to ask questions. You're going to answer,” he enunciates his orders by pointing in Keith's direction.
Keith, who has cycled through all five stages of grief (and a secret sixth) over his lost control of the situation, gives a very serious nod.
Shiro's eyes narrow in suspicion at that, but he continues.
“Hunk, Lance, hold him please.”
Keith feels two firm grips on either bicep as they comply. Shiro takes a few steps forward, reaching out towards Keith's head. Keith takes a moment to school his expression, hoping to channel Shiro himself with a deep set paternal look of disappointment. Shiro's hands land on the sides of his helmet.
The helmet comes off.
Keith would pay a truly disturbing amount of money to have pictures of the faces his (ex) teammates make at the reveal that their high-reward, hard-fought, galran capture is actually just. Keith.
The world is still for several moments. Keith only spares a glare over his left shoulder when Lance loudly exclaims, “Keith's a turncoat!?”
Shiro stands with the helmet tucked under one of his arms, his other hand pinching his nose. There is the slightest bit of color in his cheeks. This is the most flustered team Voltron has ever seen him.
“Oh my god.”
After releasing Keith and awkwardly shuffling to the lounge, the pieces of the misunderstanding come together to form a big, mortifying puzzle that really emphasizes the need to have a talk about how much information the blade of marmora shares about important covert operatives.
Keith, now one of the few people still standing, watches the tension in Allura's shoulders ease as she lets out a deep sigh.
“Well. this is a bit of a tricky situation. I'm sorry for the inconvenience we’ve caused, Keith."
“It’s- well, not fine, exactly but- uh. It happened. And I can deal with it, so.”
Keith's arms tighten around where they’re crossed on his chest and he finally flicks an uncertain gaze on Allura. she seems to let out another breath and sends him a friendly, if a little exhausted, smile.
“We certainly have no problem delivering you back to the blade via wormhole, just say the word and we can have you back in a jiffy, but…” she trails off for a second, sharing a glance with Shiro beside her, “we happen to be rather close to the base already, only about two weeks of normal travel, should all go well…”
Shiro picks up where she falters easily, “how would you like to take a break, Keith? you’ve been working so hard we’ve hardly had any contact with you at all. A couple of weeks together again would be nice for everyone, we’ve already been in kind of a lull of Galran activity for voltron to take care of.”
And Keith absolutely can't. He can feel the no on the tip of his tongue, his brain revolts so viscerally at the idea it’s almost a physical sensation. His mission is already wrecked, he can’t imagine what kolivan would have to say about blowing up the operation then taking a break but it can’t possibly be good, he could lose his place in their ranks permanently. All the worst possible scenarios flash through his mind, vivid as memories.
But.
He can’t quite get the word out. His brother stares at him hopefully across the room and suddenly all of the longing he’d been pushing to the edges of his mind is crashing on his shoulders. He’s been pushing, pushing, pushing himself to get through this meeting, this battle, this mission, this war that he hasn’t even allowed himself to think about the team since he left. He has the sudden realization that he is exhausted. It feels like he’s been held taught by strings for months and they’ve just been cut.
He scans the room, trying to build up the last few bits of his energy to just say no. Get the word out and keep fighting.
It’s Lances eyes that seal his fate. He didn’t even realize he’d been paying attention, slumped on a couch, at least 90% of his weight supported by Hunk but there he was, staring so intently at the scene, something swimming in his eyes that made it seem like it was somehow vitally important to him what Keith’s decision was. Like, for some god forsaken reason, he really wanted Keith to say yes.
Keith says yes.
He watches everyone halfheartedly celebrate, too tired to really process what’s going on, in a daze. Allura mentions something about returning to his room and spare clothes he left behind but it sounds like she’s speaking through cotton.
He only really comes to when, as everyone’s making their way out of the lounge to head towards bed, Lance stops, glances at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Sorry about the whole turncoat thing earlier, it’s just like- how did you not say anything the whole time we were kidnapping you?”
He's provoking Keith and he knows it. This is the first time they’ve spoken since Keith left and he can still read on his face the teasing intent behind the words. For some reason, despite all the insanity the last few hours have brought him, this return of their dynamic makes Keith feel…normal. For the first time in a long time, he feels normal.
“I did, you idiot. Several times. Rather loudly.”
Lance shrugs it off and continues his way out into the hall. Keith follows after a few seconds of staring at his retreating back.
The first couple of days are strange. Keith feels out of sync and out of place. He spends half of the first day locked in his room, coming to terms with his decision and the second half essentially wandering, trying to reacquaint himself with the castle and its occupants. It seems like everyone’s operating on their own schedules and every one of them lines up with the others perfectly, they know where to find each other, how to talk to each other, they navigate each other easily. Like a team.
And then there’s Keith.
If everyone else is smoothly cruising throughout their day, Keith is crashing and burning and taking out several pedestrians with him.
On the third day, he walks into the kitchen for breakfast warily, having heard rather…active conversation from all the way down the hallway and is immediately assailed by Pidge.
“KEITH!”
Before he even has a chance to grab a bowl, his arm is wrapped in a vice grip and Pidge is up on her toes, suddenly very close to his face.
“You'll be my assistant today! someone is testing my patience, and you’re better company anyway,” she huffs, sinking back down to her heels.
Keith’s gaze is drawn to the table, where Lance still sits, spoon pointed accusingly in Pidge’s direction, "I'm just pointing out that it would be better organized alphabetically!”
“Ignore him. c’mon, Keith!”
And suddenly he’s being dragged out the door.
In the lab, Keith spends about 10 minutes sitting tensely next to Pidge as she works on a complicated project she still hasn’t elaborated on before she speaks, eyes still hidden behind protective goggles and intent on welding the wiring in front of her.
“We really are happy to have you back.”
Keith impossibly tenses even more at the suddenness of the sentiment, “oh, I'm, uh, happy to be back.”
He catches a noncommittal hum over the sound of sparking wires and Pidge goes quiet for a few more moments.
“I want that to be true,” she sets her tools down and leans back in her chair, “we’ve been kinda worried and, well, I'm not going to presume to know what’s best for you or ask you if you’re truly ‘happy,’” she lifts the goggles and turns to meet his eyes.
“I just want you to have a good time while we’re all finally together again. Y'know, relax a bit. I promise we won’t reject you if you reach out.”
This isn’t at all how he saw this morning going. Yesterday, he ran into Hunk in the kitchen when he was making dinner and their attempt at small talk was so stilted and pathetic Keith had just resigned himself to sticking to his room or the shadows until the two weeks were up just to save himself the embarrassment of not fitting in anymore.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times like an idiot before stammering out, “it’s just, like, a well-oiled machine around here, I guess, and I’m all out of sync. It’s…intimidating.” He prays to whatever cosmic being that might be listening that he’s earning some solid brownie points for actually talking about his feelings instead of bolting.
“Well, that’s kind of unavoidable whenever you’re away for months at a time. Things change.” There’s a wry grin on her face.
Bolting sounds startlingly appealing right now.
Pidge settles her goggles over her eyes once more and turns back to her work. “Oh chill out, this isn’t as big a deal as you’re making it out to be. Start by bothering Shiro or something, by the end of this we’ll be so used to each other again you’ll cartwheel off the castle ship you’re so sick of us.”
Neither Keith nor Pidge are the most emotionally available and their bond benefits from it, they’ve always had this silent agreement to be each other's reprieve from the more outspoken members of voltron. But this attempt at reassurance, the fact that she went about it in the most Pidge way possible, it helps.
He feels himself relax and there’s a smile that’s way softer than he’d ever admit on his face when he says “Thanks.”
“Now, hand me that screwdriver before I do something gross like hug you.”
Keith does, in fact, trail after Shiro for the rest of the day. His lips curve knowingly when he first approaches him and his interactions with everyone else as they’re following Shiro’s chores feel a little closer to normal.
Despite settling in a bit more, Keith does find himself preoccupied with thoughts about work a lot. The things he’s missing and the position he abandoned make guilt and restlessness curl in his gut but he’s here voluntarily and the blade knows he’s alive which is more than they can usually say when an undercover mission goes wrong so he tries to cast it aside and relax like the vacation this is supposed to be.
The unease drives him to the training room today. That and the nagging fear that he’ll somehow forget everything he’s been specially trained in for years within the span of two weeks.
He’s going three v. one against the simulation on the hardest difficulty and it’s just when he fakes out an attack against the bot charging in front of him and ducks to deliver a spinning kick that rattles the artificial skull of the bot that was creeping behind him that he hears the doors whir open and a voice that causes him to lose focus, glancing at the figure who’s entered.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lance says.
With his head turned to the left and the bot having ample time to recover from his trick, it’s nearly at the expense of a shot straight to the head that he dives and rolls, sending his sword plunging into its chest and effectively ending the simulation.
Lance audibly groans, the most exasperated sounding thing, even though Keith was the one who almost just sacrificed his face. He takes a breath, collecting himself and wiping some sweat that threatens to enter his eye, before turning to address the intruder.
“What’s your problem?”
Lance crosses his arms and tilts his head as he rolls his eyes as though he’s mad Keith has the nerve to even exist around him let alone ask him a question. “This is exactly like that time you showed up after disappearing and had a space dog and a bad ass mom and were all—” he narrows his eyes as he gives him an examining look “ —tall.”
“What?”
Lance waves his hand, “eh, you know what I mean.”
This is one of the few extended interactions they’ve had since the big mishap that started it all and maybe a bit of that anxiety Keith’s been feeling had something to do with the fear that they’d regress back to hating each others guts or that they’d act like strangers but right now, even though he has no idea what the fuck Lance is talking about, he finds he’s holding back a smile.
He nods seriously, “right. Sure.”
Lance throws his hands up and starts making his way across the room. “Whatever, asshole. Come teach me some of those crazy marmora moves.”
Keith quirks a brow even though Lance is turned around and started stretching. “Maybe don’t ask a favor of the guy you just called an asshole?”
“You can take it. Now, let me at ‘em.” He’s facing Keith now and is ridiculously stanced up like he’s about to get into a fight with someone in a parking lot back on Earth.
Keith tries to cover his mouth as he huffs out a laugh. Lance is smirking at him like they’re sharing some sort of inside joke and Keith averts his eyes when he feels a prickle of heat in his cheeks as he sighs out “okay, no. Just—no.”
He makes a broad gesture towards everything Lance is doing, “stop—that—stop doing that.”
He throws a fake jab just for good measure and Keith bites the bullet and takes a step forward into his space to circle his hand around his outstretched wrist.
“I know you actually know how to fight, idiot, do you want real tips or not?”
Lance seems incredibly pleased with himself when he shrugs and says “fine, fine. Walk me through that kick you landed, that was sick.”
Keith’s hand stays around his wrist for a few moments longer than normal as they transition to actual training and the time they spend together is a comfortable give and take of the knowledge they’ve gained during the months apart interspersed with teases and name calling he had no idea he’d missed.
After, when they’re sitting on the floor with water, Lance sprawled on his back and Keith with his legs crossed, he hears, soft as ever, “you should visit more often.”
It’s spoken into the ether, not really even addressing him or meaning to be heard but Keith still takes a moment to watch the rise and fall of Lance’s chest, the curves of his side profile, and responds just as quiet, “yeah. I should.”
The time passes and, much like Pidge hypothesized, Keith slips back into having a familiar role on the castle ship. Between movie nights and family dinners, he finds the tension he’s been carrying in his shoulders easing and the weight of the pressure he’s been under lifting. It’s nice.
It really was only a matter of time before something like this happened.
The fact that a whole week and then some has passed without a mission or distress call is nothing short of a miracle so it’s kind of an overreaction when Keith is surprised by Allura calling an emergency meeting to inform them that there’s a situation they’re landing to deal with. He finds himself standing a little straighter and nodding seriously through the debrief. He’s not an official part of Voltron anymore but there seems to be no question about the fact that he’ll be joining them and assisting.
It’s thirty minutes maximum before they’re touching down on a plant covered in deep red sand and vibrant green plants. They’re all suited up and as they approach the greeting group of aliens that contacted them he can’t help but feel a little awkward sticking out like a sore thumb among the paladins in his blade armor. Keith doesn’t actively participate in any conversation but the aliens, short, bipedal, and vaguely lizard-like, are incredibly polite and it hardens his resolve to help in whatever way he can.
The gist is that after a Galra attack a couple days ago, they’ve had some structural issues with their architecture. The species ‘cities’ are essentially just connected series of structures made out of a material that’s sandstone-like in quality. It’s pretty magnificent and mind-boggling to behold because the things they’ve managed to achieve don’t look like they follow the laws of physics exactly but damage from the fight has put them all in a dangerous situation. There’s a section in the center that’s sustained a complete collapse and the damage is threatening to take the rest of the place out with it.
It’s a large area to cover so they split up into groups. The goal is to evacuate the surrounding space and find and stabilize the spots where the collapse is spreading. A few hours later finds Keith’s group making their way back to the heart of the cave-in after some intense building improvisation.
“Y’know, Pidge undoubtedly could’ve done a smarter and better job but I gotta hand it to you, the things you can do with vines and a dream are incredible, Lance,” Hunk notes with a hand on his chin.
Rolling his eyes, Keith can’t help but say “incredibly foolish, maybe.”
Lance, who had been basking in the praise, whirls on him. “You take that back! It worked! I saved this city with my ingenious thinking.”
And fine, Keith will give him that it was a pretty quick-witted fix at the time and Hunk was only able to actually get in and fix the real problem because of his stupid vines but he’s not gonna say that to his face so he just hums noncommittally and breaks eye contact as they trek forward.
Lance turns back to Hunk. “He totally thinks it was a good save, he just can’t stand to see me winning.”
Keith delivers a forceful shove to his shoulder.
It’s as they’re picking their way through the rubble with the rest of the gang in sight that something goes wrong.
This place is elaborate and complicated, they’ve gotten turned around and lost more times than they would care to admit and it shows in the debris. It’s a crazy pile of former walls, stairs, and flooring and though a few of the more dangerous sections show signs of some interference, it’s obvious that the resident aliens haven’t explored this place much at all when a large hand reaches out from under and grabs hold of Keith’s ankle.
He’s quick to stumble away, breaking the grasp, and the three of them watch as a half-dead galran soldier pulls their way out of the wreckage.
Keith hates to make generalizations. Especially about technically his own kind, but after his time spent both with the blade and undercover, he's come to figure that the Galra don't really work together. They'll fight for the same cause, sure, but there's not a whole lot of teamwork when it comes to actual on the ground battles.
Keith is pretty quick to find that this 'every man for himself' mentality clashes pretty harshly with his former teammates.
The moment is fast and breathtaking and the only thing he can really gather after is snapshots of his own incompetence, the awful feeling of being a broken piece trying to jam itself into an already complete puzzle only punctuated the harsh slash of a knife in his shoulder as he fumbles his footwork because he's reverted back to that angsty kid who doesn't know how to play with others.
The soldier goes down, obviously, but not without taking a good chunk of Keith's meticulously built up confidence with it.
Keith is silent the whole way back to the castle ship. His arm throbs and the blood is seeping into his clothes, tacky and chafing. When they gather in the lounge he tries to not be obvious about how little he’s paying attention, gaze distant and chest hollow.
His inner monologue since everything went down has just been incessant repetition of one thought. You fucked up.
And he did fuck up. It’s not that he believes himself infallible or incapable of mistakes it’s that it was stupid. His clumsy fumbling around the people he used to be closest to, the people he could literally soul bond into a giant mech with, were ridiculous and embarrassing. He sees the past week with a new clarity, he’d been fooling himself into believing he had a place back here, that he could rest and pull stupid shit with his friends like they weren’t in the middle of a war.
He’s so unbelievably stupid for forgetting his place, his purpose, and the dryness in his eyes, the blood loss dizzying his mind, is his punishment.
When it’s obvious the meeting is winding down, he bolts. He can see shiro take a step forward, hear him call out his name.
He keeps walking.
For the next two days he does nothing but train and avoid everyone else like the plague. He feels like a child throwing a tantrum, further fueling his self-loathing.
He hasn’t done a thing to help the gash in his arm.
Back in the garrison, Keith would occasionally have ‘off days.’ Days where he would wake up and not move a muscle, miss his classes, refuse to eat. Days where he just wouldn’t wake up at all.
Shiro, of course, was kind about them; adapted quickly the first few times it happened and made efforts to help.
When everything went wrong, he spent a few weeks stuck like that but was quickly swept up in his manic quest for answers, no better at taking care of himself but at least motivated to do something.
And then he was in space.
He’s undoubtedly still had bad days since leaving earth but having such a strong sense of purpose now leaves the ones like before few and far between. He just grits his teeth and pushes through.
He fails at pushing through today.
He’s just been laying in bed, out of it, disconnected from the swarm of negative emotions beating in his chest because he doesn’t think he can handle it right now. Because it’s a bit easier this way and he just really doesn’t care anymore.
Every part of him is uncomfortable and sore and annoying so he shoves his face deeper into his pillow and swallows down the ridiculous tears stinging his closed eyes, tells himself to sleep.
It could be minutes or days later when there’s a curt knock at his door and then the sound of someone entering uninvited. There are a few light steps and then a weight settles at the edge of his bed.
He breathes for a bit before peeking an eye out and opening his mouth to say something like it’s fine, Shiro, I'll get over it, but he stops, suffocating the words before they’re out.
Lance is sitting on his bed, eating a bowl of what looks kind of like a new experimental version of fruit loops, looking entirely disinterested. Keith frowns.
“What are you doing?”
Lance swallows his bite and mutters “went a little strong with that weird star fruit, Hunk. can’t tell if I'm enjoying that mix of bitter and sweet.”
“What?” Keith is now shifting to sit up, entirely lost.
Lance shrugs, “they were gifts from those lizard people apparently,” he turns slightly and balances a spoonful of the loops over the bowl and holds it out, “wanna try it?”
Keith sits and stares cause what the hell else is he supposed to do? this isn’t how this goes. Lance just waits for him as he looks between his face and the spoon and his hands and back to his face. It’s open and casual and Keith feels a strange appreciation mounting in the back of his head.
He tries the cereal.
Lance is right. It’s got a strange and uncanny balance of bitter and sweet in addition to a strange tang that lingers after he’s finished.
“I don’t think it’s…bad?”
Lance shrugs again and then he’s standing up and setting the bowl on keith’s dresser and settling back on the bed, leaning back and sprawling his arms out in the center like he owns the place.
“What is this? You’re weird you’re being weird.”
“I'm being weird? I'm not allowed to—to hang out with my best friend.”
Keith feels himself grimace. “Ew. That. Don’t say that, that’s what I'm talking about you absolute freak.”
That gets a good chuckle out of Lance and at this point Keith can’t help but relax a bit into the comforting and familiar air of the moment.
The mood shifts when Lance sobers and says “you don’t have to punish yourself, y'know?”
Keith feels his awareness of the past few days, the moments just before Lance stumbled in, creep back into his mind. He doesn’t say it with any expectation, just puts it into the world for the sake of it.
“I'm not—it’s—…” his fingers begin to pick at his blanket “…it’s been better. I've been better. This is like—a fluke.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I believe you. I think you know yourself best and trust you to not be too dumb. I just…wish you’d let us take care of you while we have the chance or whatever. Something like that.”
while Keith has steadily moved his gaze to rest on Lance, Lance is now the one pointedly averting eye contact.
And none of this makes sense. Not Lance in his room or being half alien or the way he can’t shake his emotional problems even in space.
But Keith wasn’t lying. Things have been better. You don’t go through the things he has without growing as a person and he’s had some pretty damn good people to help support him through it all even if they don’t know the extent of their help. He feels like he’s on the precipice of one of those moments where he can grow.
Keith shifts out of bed, joints cracking, and retrieves a first aid kit that’s been stashed in his room due to being ‘prone to injury.’ he settles back on the bed and begins taking out the necessary supplies and slipping off his jacket.
“What are—oh.”
He feels the mattress shift but doesn’t bother looking up as he holds out a bottle if antiseptic. He feels the weight of it leave his hand and bares his arm.
The press of gauze is cold and biting. He can hear the fizzle of dry blood and open wound responding to the solution, feels it, too. He sits still and silent as Lance dresses the gash and there’s this awful unnamed feeling clawing its way up Keith’s throat.
Just as the last bits of wrapping are settled and Lance is about to pull away, he stops him, his own hand wrapped around Lance’s wrist. It’s a split-second decision and now he’s the one being weird but he just—pulls. Just a little bit, not even with any force but it’s like Lance knows exactly what he’s asking, what he needs, because he’s following and then there are arms around him.
There are arms around him and they’re Lances arms and it’s so good. Keith sinks into the embrace, his head resting against Lances shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft against keith’s forehead and the warmth of his skin seeps through, pleasant and steady at all points of contact.
A few minutes pass and then lance is murmuring softly, right next to his ear, “You can't expect yourself to be back in tune with us immediately. One bad fight doesn't get rid of the fact that you were a super important part of the team for a really long time. And it'll never get rid of the fact that you're part of the family."
Keith gives a gentle nod as a couple of tears finally break free and streak down his cheeks. He takes a deep breath.
"Do you want to go get some real food? This was originally meant as a ploy to get you to come out of your hovel.”
Keith huffs a laugh, burying his face and taking in the comfort one more time before shifting to ease off the bed, wiping his face. “Fine, can’t have your visit be all for nothing.”
As he passes, Lance knocks their shoulders together in a move that was passive aggressive in a different life but now bleeds reassurance, like maybe he can’t go all that long without touching Keith. He likes the idea more than he should.
Keith shakes himself a little, aware he’s gotten lost in thought while Lance has begun to lead them towards the door.
“Think my visit would’ve been worth it regardless.” Though Keith can’t see his face, there’s a smile in his voice as Lance says it.
Vaguely dumbfounded, flustered, and feeling significantly more like himself, Keith just follows him.
On the second to last day of this entire two week ordeal, team Voltron is invited to a festival. Something about a coinciding double lunar holiday and the official removal of the last few Galran troops on this planet inspired it.
The preceding days have been spent settled in the castle ship, still unable to entirely give up training and studying intel, but more comfortable and sure than Keith maybe ever has been. They get ready for the festival in a similar manner, ambling from room to room for opinions on outfits and makeup because they’ve been granted permission to treat this less like an official showing and more like a night out. Keith sits at Allura's feet doing eyeliner, both utilizing her extravagant full length mirror while Lance fusses over Pidge's jacket in the background. Keith can practically hear the cheesy teen pop song that’d be playing in the background were this a coming of age film.
The planet itself, when they touch down, is beautiful. It's sun is setting which paints everything in gold and orange and it’s rife with sprawling plants all sorts of shades of green and a surprising amount of pink. The entrance to the festival venue that they approach is heralded by an elaborate arch and beyond that the place is packed with shops and patrons of all kinds.
Here, for the first time in a long while, they are just people. A group of friends spending a night out. They move as one collective organism for a few hours, egging Shiro on as he attempts some of the (rigged, as he claims,) games, trying all sorts of snacks without really checking what kind of strange ingredients they're sourced from, and window shopping every booth they pass. After sufficient exploration, people start to peel off towards whatever's most catching their attention. It's shockingly easy to follow Lance without question whenever he intertwines his and Keith's fingers and drags him off in a random direction.
It seems like they're in for mostly the same thing they had been doing with the rest of the group but they never let go of each other's hands and there's a distinct feeling in Keith's chest he only really gets around Lance. He's beginning to realize it's been there for a long while now.
As the night drags on, something warm unspools inside of him. It's like this, right now, is exactly where he should be and there's this almost reckless abandon fuzzying his mind even though he's about 90% sure there wasn't anything that weird in the food. He wonders, for a brief moment, if this is how a teenager is supposed to feel.
They eventually settle just outside the real festival grounds on some log after Keith has emphasized that should anything even vaguely predatory emerge from the surrounding woods, he's throwing Lance at it's mercy without remorse. Keith is still trying to stop himself from smiling about the ridiculous combo smirk and finger guns Lance had given Pidge and Hunk earlier as they crossed paths on their way here.
He looks up at where Lance is picking at some pretty normal looking moss with the slightest disgusted touch and fails.
he sighs, "oh my God," and shifts so his previously moss-less spot is free and he's the one taking the brunt of the mossiness.
Lance stops short. "Oh. Well—I was just about—whatever."
He takes the spot and drops the pretense with a small laugh before he faces Keith with a small and genuine smile that Keith really reads in his eyes more than anything else.
"Thanks."
And it's crazy because Keith looks at him and he wouldn’t trust Lance to guide him through the invisible maze without hitting every single wall but he would let him cup his soul in the palm of his hands and believe there was no safer place for it to be.
He desperately wishes he could remember when that happened.
He tunes back into Lance discussing and rating the sweets they tried without a single care as to how uninterested his audience is. He's a beautiful sight, which is pretty par for the course, but tonight he's the slightest bit glammed up like the rest of them and the only light is reflected off the moons and a barely there warm glow from the festival and it's just the two of them on a stupid moss-covered log on an alien planet entire solar systems away from Earth.
"—and then those weird square donut-on-a-stick things, I thought they were pretty good but you hated the sauce so it gets a point off for that—"
"I think I'm in love with you."
There's a pause, Lance glances over at Keith's furrowed brow. He blinks. Once, Twice.
"…yeah. I think so too."
Although previously in concentration, Keith's brow now furrows in exasperation, "oh, be a bit less shocked, will you?"
Lance smiles. "Sorry. If it's any consolation, the feeling's mutual?"
Keith mirrors him, expression real and warm as he lets out a soft laugh and pushes his way forward, leaning his forehead against Lance's shoulder. "Can we not do anything normally?"
There's the gentle impression of a cheek against the top of his head and fingers in his hair. "No. When you never confronted me for calling you grizzled I just accepted this was gonna be a long-term thing. Happy you figured it out?"
Keith turns his smile into the junction between his neck and shoulder. "Shut the fuck up."
For a few moments, they stay like that, breath together, share weight. Then, Lance murmurs "I miss you so God damn much when you're with the blade."
It reads like a secret he never wanted actually addressed, a quiet confession meant to be forgotten, but Keith can't help but bring his arms around him and squeeze as he feels an acute stinging in his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't—don't carry that, I'm just, like, saying—"
"Do you think team Voltron would take me back?"
Keith can hear Lance's breath catch.
"Yes. Jesus, we kinda already have even though we agreed this was temporary."
Keith laughs and presses his forehead hard against Lance one more time before pulling back, still keeping his gaze pinned on his shoulder.
"I think I'm gonna ask Kolivan if I can start pulling back my hours. Start going part time or something, maybe. This isn't—It's not good for me anymore, I don't think."
When he finally meets Lance's eyes, his soft expression is almost too much to bear.
"I think everyone would like that a whole lot," he says as he slowly reaches up to Keith's cheek. He leans into the touch.
As Keith's own hand comes to join Lance's, he lets out a soft "thank you."
Lance's own thanks are whispered against his lips.
In bed on the castle ship that night, a half-asleep Keith thinks about how despite how much there is left to do and how many challenges there are to work out, he's never been more glad he joined the garrison all those years ago if it meant getting accidentally kidnapped by his own family.