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Keith lived with two tallies on his wrist. One reminded him of the view from his lion: darkness speckled with stars of happy memories. The other seemed to glare up at him: a harsh, Jigglypuff pink he liked to call it.
And it was all Lance’s fault.
Keith blamed Lance and his stupid jokes, and his stupid smile, and his stupid face, and his stupid tan skin, and his stupid caring heart, and a billion other things he couldn’t imagine putting into words. He couldn’t stand that someone so perfect stood just mere feet from him but just out of reach.
And he hated that it was Lance who owned his second tally.
Keith wasn’t really sure when he fell in love with Lance. To him, it felt like the warm feeling in his chest and the small pink tally had been there his whole life. But he had an idea.
About a month after they were proclaimed defenders of the universe (it still sounded like a joke to them), Keith had found Lance alone in the observatory. This in itself wasn’t uncommon. Sailing through the cosmos was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to Keith and his friends so they often spent hours in the observatory, staring at the stars (in fact that's what Keith had come up there to do). No, what was strange was that Lance was crying. Keith was taken aback. He’d seen Lance upset before (like the time Allura hadn’t let Lance take a pet jubbith he’d found on a friendly planet with them). He’d seen Lance sad before (like the time Lance had watched an old Altean melodrama that Allura found in the castle [Lance cried for an hour when it ended]). He’d seen Lance depressed even (especially after a rigorous battle, he’d find Lance curled up next to Hunk late at night; the two would talk late into the night about anything and everything).
He’d never seen Lance so . . . broken though.
Lance sat on the other side of the observatory, knees drawn up to his chest, and his breathing short and heavy. Keith chewed on his lip, unsure if he should enter the room and attempt to comfort Lance, or give his friend space. He rubbed the single tally on his wrist in though before stepping forward quietly. In a soft voice, he said, “Lance? Can I sit next to you?”
Lance looked up and Keith felt something not entirely unfamiliar land in his chest. Lance’s eyes were red and puffy. The tip of his nose was red and Keith felt his heart clench in sympathy at the hopeless look in Lance’s eyes. He sniffled and moved over. “I guess so,” he muttered.
Keith sat down awkwardly. He stared up at the stars for a few moments, the only sound in the room was Lance’s sniffles.
“If aliens are real, do you think Bigfoot is real too?”
Lance looked up, shooting Keith a confused look. “What the fuck, Keith?”
Keith shrugged. “It’s possible. I mean if we were right that aliens are real, then who’s to say Bigfoot isn’t,” he said. “Or Nessie. Or the Yeti. Or-”
“Okay, but aliens being real made sense,” Lance said, wiping his nose on his sleeve (something Keith would usually find disgusting, but with Lance it was almost endearing). “It would be prideful of humans to think their the only sentient lifeforms in the universe.”
“What if Bigfoot is a stranded alien though?” Keith said. He stared up at the stars before them. “I mean, who’s to say he isn’t a Wookie that got stranded during the Clone Wars?”
Lance was silent for a moment too long and Keith felt his heart pound in his chest as thoughts of overstepping boundaries trickled into his mind. Then suddenly, Lance let out a bark of laughter that grew into a fully blown belly shaking laugh. Keith felt a smile tug at his lips until he let out a small laugh as well. Lance wipe tears from the corners of his eyes as he said, “I didn’t think you were a Star Wars fan, Keith.”
“I guess there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me,” Keith said nonchalantly.
Lance’s eyes soften as he gave Keith a small smile. “Yeah, I guess so.” Keith stared a Lance for a moment too long, his ears heating up at the tender look Lance gave him. He turned his gaze to the stars before them in an attempt to calm down.
His heart only raced faster as a familiar itch grew at his wrist.
The week he’d spent stranded in space was the hardest of Keith’s life. Not because he was alone. No he didn’t really mind being alone and Red had enough supplies to last him a month if need be. It was the horrid feeling of dread that made its home in the pit of Keith’s stomach that had Keith’s mind reeling. He had no idea if his friends--if Lance --was alive. His only comfort was that the pink tally on his wrist (one that was beginning to look suspiciously red to him, though that may have just been Red’s lights) hadn’t turned a glaring, scarring white.
It reminded him terribly of the time he spent staring at his first tally every night the year Shiro had gone missing. He would stare that the many years old black tally, afraid that any moment it would change into a scar that would leave Keith ruined, a boy who had lost his best friend and first love.
When the transmission arrives, Keith feels like he can finally breathe again because behind Allura’s reassuring voice, he can hear Lance joking with Hunk.
Even with the poor audio quality of the transmission, Keith can hear a certain edge to Lance’s voice that lets Keith know that the jokes are a ruse.
So he isn’t surprised when he finds Lance curled up in the observatory the first night he’s back. He enters the room quietly and sits down next to Lance without a word. Lance hardly looks up at Keith. He leans closer to Lance, knocking their shoulders together softly. Keith could tell through their little contact that Lance was worse than he was that first night. So Keith is content to sit in silence until Lance is ready.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been homesick,” Lance said quietly, his chin resting in his arms. “But being stranded in space . . . I guess this is the first time I realized that I might not make it home.”
“You’ll make it home, Lance,” Keith said, with the utmost certainty.
Lance glanced over at Keith. “What makes you so sure?”
Keith smiled tenderly at him. “Because I’m watching your back.”
Keith let himself believe that the tint of red on Lance’s face was just a trick of the light (although some part of his mind reminded him that there wasn’t much in the observatory to cause red light). They sit in a comfortable silence for the better part of an hour staring at the billions of stars above them, their bodies pressed together, enveloping them in a comforting warmth.
Keith isn’t entirely sure how the sleepovers started, but suddenly it’s normal for him to open the door to his room and see Lance, wrapped up in his blankets and staring at his toes with a small pout, muttering softly, “I couldn’t sleep . . . your room is warmer.”
Not that Keith minds either way.
They’re at the point where Lance leaves his blankets on Keith’s bed when he gets up for breakfast and their friends only smile knowingly when they enter the mess together with hair standing in every which way and shoulders that brush a bit too often. On good nights, Lance snuggles up next to Keith and they fall asleep to the steady music of each other’s breathing.
On bad nights, Keith stays up listening to Lance’s worries and thoughts, trying to keep himself from pulling Lance into his arms. It’s these nights that Keith feels something stir in his stomach and feels his wrist itch.
On other nights, they stay up late talking about everything and nothing at all.
Tonight is one of those nights.
They lay close together, legs tangled together and the blankets temporarily forgotten at the foot of Keith’s bed. Lance played with Keith’s hands sleepily. Keith watched with heavy eyes as Lance ran his thumb over the tallies that lie on Keith’s wrist. There are six tallies now. The first is a soft orange that is tinted with specks of black. The second is the rosy pink that Keith stares at for hours when he’s alone, recounting every heart fluttering moment he’s had with Lance. The other four are a pure tangerine orange. “Who are they all for?” Lance asked softly.
Keith hummed quietly. “The orange ones are for you guys,” he whispered.
Lance lifted his wrist to inspect the tallies. “The first one is specked black,” he said. “Who’s that for?”
“It’s for Shiro,” Keith answered bashfully. “I fell in love with him a few years before he disappeared. It was unrequited.”
“And the pink one?” Lance asked, stroking the tally gently.
Keith felt his heart catch in his throat. “That one’s a secret,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. Lance runs his thumb over Keith’s tallies a few more times before sighing. He buried his head in his pillow and pulled Keith a little closer. “Good night, Keith,” he whispered.
Keith stared at Lance’s face a little longer before replying, “Good night.”
They were trapped. A simple mission gone terribly when a the cave they were in began to shake. Keith remembers the moment as they sit in the darkness. The cave began to collapse and Lance--stupid, stupid Lance--stood in the way. Keith doesn’t remember making any conscious decision to move, but before he knew it, he had Lance pinned to the cave floor, the entrance blocked behind them.
So there they were, sitting with their backs to the cave wall, trapped in almost total darkness. Lance rested his legs on top of Keith’s comfortably. “Wanna play a game while we wait?” he asked.
Keith began to shake his head when a stabbing pain comes from his temple. “I think I hit my head on a rock earlier,” he said.
Lance leaned forward. “Let me see,” he said. Keith sits uncomfortably as Lance removed his helmet and inspected Keith’s head. “Well you aren’t bleeding,” Lance said after a few moments. “But I wouldn’t rule out a concussion.”
Keith groaned. “That’s just what I needed.”
Lance settled down next to Keith with a chuckle. “Keep talking,” he said. “I don’t want you passing out on me.”
Keith found it hard to focus on the stones near his feet as he said, “I’m still convinced Bigfoot is a Wookie.”
“Does that make the Yeti a Wampa?” Lance asked.
“It only makes sense,” Keith replied.
“What do you think it would take to turn you to the dark side?” Lance asked. “For me, it would be someone stealing my face masks.”
“If someone hurt you,” Keith said, his thoughts blurring, “I would probably lose it.”
If Keith had been more attentive, he would have noticed the blush that spread across Lance’s face. “Oh,” Lance said, “thanks man.”
“If this tally on my wrist ever turned white,” Keith continued, pointing drunkenly to the dark, rosy pink tally, “I’m not sure what I’d do.”
“Keith--”
“Lance, I . . . my head feels foggy,” Keith interrupted.
When Keith woke up, he was cold. He stumbled from the healing pod right into someone’s arms. Keith sighed, leaning into whoever it was who’d caught him. “How are you feeling?” He heard the person ask with a familiar voice.
Keith blinked the sleep from his eyes and pushes himself up. “I’m better. A lot better,” he said. Keith raised his head to see that he was clinging to Lance. Keith cleared his throat and straightened, stepping away from Lance.
Lance grabbed his hand. “Come on. It’s the middle of the night. We should sleep.”
Keith, still feeling off from the healing pod, let Lance drag him down the halls toward his room (or what he supposed could be called their room). He let Lance grab pajamas for him and shove him into the bathroom before letting himself wonder . . . about everything. He was sure something had happened, but he couldn’t seem to remember.
He changed and came out of the bathroom, his face still set in a pout. Keith sat down next to Lance on his bed and asked, “Why were you up waiting for me if it’s the middle of the night?”
Lance shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s kinda terrible,” he said. “Turns out I can’t sleep soundly without you. It really does a number on the amount of beauty sleep I get.”
Keith scowled. “You don’t need beauty sleep,” he muttered.
Lance beamed. “You just said I was hot.”
“What?” Keith squawked. “I did not.”
“Admit it. You totally did,” Lance pushed.
Keith felt his face flush terribly. “You have no proof,” he said stubbornly.
Lance smirked and Keith’s heart fluttered traitorously. Grabbing Keith’s wrist, Lance said, “My proof is right here.” He pointed at the rosy tally on Keith’s wrist. (A tally that Keith thought was becoming more and more red by the moment.)
Keith furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
Lance raised a treacherous eyebrow. “You mean you don’t remember?”
Keith shook his head.
“In the cave?”
Another shake.
“About Star Wars?”
And another.
“You don’t remember telling me that you would become a Sith Lord if anyone hurt me because of the tally on your wrist?”
Oh.
Oh.
Keith flushed deeply. He pulled his hand from Lance’s lax grip and covered his face with his hands, mentally cursing his concussion. He heard Lance chuckle softly and scowled. Removing his hands from his face, he said, “Don’t laugh. This is not funny.”
“You’re right,” Lance said, a tender smile spreading across his face. “This is cute.”
“Waha?” Keith sputtered.
Lance pushed up his sleeve and showed Keith his arm. Keith glanced and the numerous tallies on his wrist: some black, others orange, many were yellow, one or two were even scarred. But what caught Keith’s eye was the bright red tally on Lance’s wrist. Lance pointed to the red tally. “That one’s for you,” he whispered.
Keith stared at the tally for a moment longer before letting his eyes travel up to Lance’s face which he now noticed was tinted red. No, Lance was blushing quite hard under Keith’s wide-eyed gaze. “You mean--”
“Yep.”
“And it’s not just--”
“Uh huh.”
Keith fell back, leaning against his headrest. “Wow.”
Lance giggled (Keith couldn’t help but store away the thought that Lance’s giggle was really cute) and sat next to Keith. He took Keith’s hand into his own and squeezed it comfortingly. He ran his thumb over Keith’s hand and they sat in silence, a new sense of intimacy wrapped around them.
“So,” Keith began, cursing the crack he heard in his voice, “is this--are we a thing now?”’
Lance hummed thoughtfully. “Depends,” he said, causing Keith’s heart to fly up into his throat, “are you okay with us being a thing?” He giggled as Keith nodded mutely. (And goddammit Lance’s giggle was too cute.) Lance leaned forward and brushed his nose with Keith’s. “You’re warm,” he said quietly.
Keith turned his head to look at Lance and realized he severely miscalculated because Lance’s faces was a lot closer than he’d thought. He stared into Lance’s eyes for what felt like a moment too long. Suddenly, Lance whispered, “Would it be too forward if I kissed you?”
Keith felt his breath catch in his throat and found himself shaking his head. His heart pounded dangerously as he watched Lance nervously purse his lips before leaning forward.
And it’s really nothing special. The kiss is chaste and lasts only a few seconds. But Keith is on fire. His senses scream that this was all so familiar and so . . . Lance. His heart swells because in those few seconds he can tell that Lance fits into him perfectly. When Lance pulls away, Keith takes a shaky breath, trying to shake off the feeling that the kiss was a little to shot. He gazes tenderly into Lance’s eyes. “Was that good?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lance smiled and Keith feel his heart swell even more because Lance looks so happy. “It was great,” Lance whispered in reply.
Keith giggles (to his own horror) and wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, pulling him closer. He presses another quick kiss to Lance’s lips before burying his nose into the crook of Lance’s neck. Lance absentmindedly runs his hands through Keith’s hair like it was the most natural thing in the world (though as Keith thought about how easy it was to curl up into Lance, maybe it was). “I don’t think I’ll be homesick anymore,” Lance murmured.
“What makes you say that?” Keith asked, his eyes beginning to grow heavy because laying there with Lance--it was so warm .
Lance tightened his grip around Keith. “Because you’re home.”
Keith smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of Lance’s neck, letting sleep pull him into dreams that he knew wouldn’t top reality anymore. Not when he fell asleep in Lance’s arms knowing the tally on his wrist was a deep red that he was sure would never fade.