Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If these walls could speak to me
Or sing these eyes to sleep
For what is broken is in the past
As this perfect pitch won't last

- Future Islands, One day

Lance missed the rain.

He missed its crisp smell that came before and after the clouds had grieved, and the way the world felt a little cleaner each time a storm rolled through. But most of all, he missed his family, and the familiar sight of Varadero Beach’s sparkling shoreline dotted with leisurely surfers.

Space had always fascinated Lance, but he never fathomed he would feel trapped amongst the stars and watercolor galaxies. Of course, he didn’t expect to learn the star-speckled prison was as binding to him as the green and blue planet he once called his home, either.

-

The team was in disarray. At this point, Lance wasn’t sure where to draw the line, because it seemed with every passing day in Shiro’s absence their feelings of hopelessness only increased.

No one was handling their leader’s disappearance well, to say the least.

Keith was doing his best to uphold his friend’s promise, but it was obvious he was falling apart at the seams, unable to heed Shiro’s composure as the hot-tempered red paladin. He was afraid, and unexperienced. No one would say it, but they were all secretly relieved that Voltron was, for the time being, no longer needed by the universe following Zarkon’s defeat. Keith wasn’t ready to lead them, especially not after losing someone dear to him.

Pidge, however, was Lance’s primary concern. She had already lost her brother and father, so the disappearance of Shiro had completely destroyed her. While the team was working hard to search for him, Pidge continued to work through the nights, obsessed with finding him, them. She rarely slept, and it shown on her face lately.

Alurra was distraught, but constantly made it her best interest to try and keep the paladin’s spirits high and finding ways to motivate them. Lance could tell she was pushing herself too hard, as she had the tendency to do, so he had backed off from the usual flirting for both their sakes.

As for Hunk, he spent much of his time in the kitchen cooking. He claimed that it helped him clear his head, though even his famous goo cookies failed to lift his spirits. He was trying, at the very least, Lance had to give him that much. They all had their ways of coping, and he only hoped Shiro would get to try Hunk’s improved recipe.

Lance’s efforts in finding Shiro, on the other hand, were half-hearted lately…and he hated himself for that.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to find Shiro. Rather, he had his own set of problems to tackle.

They all started, and ended, with a dream.

-

He was standing in a field of sunflowers.

Or, at least, they looked like sunflowers…a closer inspection and he realized their seeds were not brown, but in fact, a deep purple hue. Definitely not of Earth.

He tasted rain on the horizon, but this only relaxed the blue paladin as he looked to the darkening horizon. It reminded him of Altea, or as Allura would often described it. However, he could tell wherever they were, it wasn’t the princesse’s fallen empire. For one, Coran had told him Altea’s rain was not that of water (something far less pleasant, if he remembered correctly).

A small altean child tumbled past him, causing his thoughts to quickly gravitate as he watched a second chase after them, their giggles lighting up the cool air. They didn’t seem to notice him; this, or they felt at ease in his presence. Their heads bobbed in and out of the imposter sunflowers, before they eventually disappeared over the slope.

How strange. He could of sworn this planet wasn’t Altea.

“I figured I might find you here.”

Lance turned. His breath was momentarily stolen from him as he studied the visitor; his purple-hued skin and yellow-lit eyes immediately gave him the impression that he was galran, yet his hair and lashes were a snow-like shade of white, long locks spilling over his shoulders almost effortlessly. He was clad in royal attire, with a crimson sash and a few glittering jewels decorating his neck. He was beautiful, simply put, enough to momentarily stun the Cuban into silence. The Altean children were quickly forgotten from his mind.

“I needed to think.”

The words left his lips before he could really think about it. They felt so natural on his tongue, as though he had spoken them a long time ago. He was certain he knew this man, though from where, he had no clue. Based on his friendly stance and warm gaze, this wasn’t their first conversation - nor their first meeting in the field of alien sunflowers.

The galra smiled. It was a small, gentle simper, but he saw a flicker of pain behind his cat-like eyes. He didn’t question it. “As did I.”

There was a short pause, and then he took a step closer, cupping Lance’s cheek with his hand in a soft embrace. “Tell me…Is there anything you would not do for your father? For your people?”

Lance swallowed, lost in those bisque orbs. “…Of course not. I am loyal to my blood.”

He felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Lance’s eyes fluttered shut, allowing his chin to rest on the galra’s shoulder. He smelt of fine oils and lavender, and…home.

“Then you understand why I must do this.”

There was no time to investigate the sorrow behind his words, for he was abruptly silenced by the blade that was plunged into his lower abdomen.

Lance had been punched in the face on multiple occasions when standing up for his younger siblings. He had nearly been blown to bits by the imposter rover, and thrown around like a ragdoll by Galra soldiers. Hell, he had been zapped by pure quintessence during their final battle with Zarkon, a feeling that was anything but pleasant despite it’s contradicting definition.

However, nothing could have prepared him for the pain he felt in that moment.

It wasn’t the blade itself that hurt. It was the betrayal that came with it, and the catastrophically beautiful face that watched him as he crumpled to the ground, crushing the alien sunflowers beneath him.

-

He shot upright in a cold sweat. One hand clutched his abdomen, the other gripping his sheets as he heaved.

It was…a dream?

Someone was standing at his bedside. Lance proceeded to scream, which made Pidge scream.

“Quiznak, Pidge, you gave me a heart attack. What the heck were you doing?”

The short-haired girl went to push her glasses further up her nose (a tic that had formed shortly after Shiro’s disappearance), only to remember she wasn’t wearing them. “You were talking in your sleep.”

Lance narrowed his eyes, a frown settling on his darker features. “That doesn’t explain why you were in my room.”

She glanced away, hands linked behind her back like a child caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar. She looked tired, but more than that, she looked anxious. Oh, so that’s it.

He had no idea why she had chosen to wander into Lance’s room out of all the paladins. Surly Hunk was a cuddlier sleeping partner (the guy was like a giant teddy bear for crying out loud), and Allura’s bed was much bigger and comfier, not to mention the mice slept with her. He didn’t question it, however. If anything, he was flattered she had chosen to come to him.

“Com’ere.” Lance moved over to make room, patting the spot beside him on the bed.

Pidge’s face lit up with relief, and she crawled under the sheets, ducking so he couldn’t see her flushed face. She was embarrassed, though he couldn’t help but find it cute. Pidge might be the team’s genius, but he sometimes forgot she was only a fourteen year-old girl.

“Lance?” she whispered, peeking out just enough to peer over at him.

“Mmm? What’s up?”

“I miss them.” Them could have meant a lot of things. Shiro, Matt, her father, her mother… It made his heart ache, being able to list off so many people to miss. He began to think of his own family back on Earth. He wished he could let them know he was okay - but that led to the question, was he really?

“Me too,” he settled for. There was no use trying to comfort her with the overused ‘we’ll find them’. She had heard it enough already, and it felt like the sort of thing Shiro would say.

“Night, Lance.”

“Sweet dreams, gremlin.”

Pidge rolled onto her side, letting her face nuzzle his chest and sighing contently. He waited until she had fallen asleep before letting his own eyes drift shut, the dream quickly forgotten.

For just a moment, he was a big brother again.

He missed that.

-

Mornings in space were a lot different than mornings back home.

When he didn’t wake up from being shoved off the bed by young siblings that had snuck into his bed, he was woken up by the smell of his mother’s cooking; cafe con lecha with tostadas was arguably her best dish, and it’s ridiculously magnificent smell alone was enough to rise the boy from his quarters at the earliest of hours.

The table was always full, the kitchen always bustling as each Mcclain member stuffed their faces for the day before marching off to find an adventure, whether it be at school or the beach.

Nowadays, he awoke to the stifling silence of the castle - sometimes the occasional alarm.

And let him tell you, waking up to a surprise attack from Zarkon (or lately, thanks to the wrinkly turtle’s demise, practice drills from their endearing princess) was not Lance’s idea of a good time.

The spot beside him where Pidge had once slept was cold. This much didn’t surprise him; she was notorious forgoing to bed late and rising early.

Lance withdrew a yawn, slowly dragging himself out of bed. He slipped into his lion slippers, then made his way down the hall towards the control panel.

He could hear multiple voices, and upon entering realized the entire team had already risen.

They were all in their paladin gear. Even Pidge was clad in her armor, sitting criss-cross as she tapped away furiously on a device she had been tinkering with a few nights ago. She hadn’t tamed her bed-bead, which might have made him laugh, if not for everyone’s ominous expressions.

“Looks like I’m a little late to the party,” Lance observed with a small chuckle.

“It’s not something to celebrate.”

The crude comment belonged to Keith.

He didn’t know where to begin with this one. Their rivalry had dated back since his first day at the Garrison, when Keith had effortlessly won the hearts of everyone (namely every girl) during their entrance simulations without even trying, leaving Lance to wonder what the mullet-head had that he didn’t.

Evidentially, it had been a one-sided rivalry back then. The guy hadn’t even known Lance existed back then, based on their conversation during Shiro’s rescue.

And man, did that sting.

He thought things were getting better between them. Sure, they made sweet rivals, but they made an even sweeter team kicking butt. Admittedly, he had the most fun when they were working together. It was exhilarating, and there was something about being side-by-side with Keith that made him feel invincible.

…And yet, so small.

They hardly bickered like they used to anymore. Keith hardly talked to him, and when he did it was to point out how immature Lance behaved, and how he needed to shape up and contribute to the group.

He knew Keith was just trying to fill Shiro’s big shoes as the leader, and that he should respect the former black paladin’s wishes.  But he just couldn’t look up to Keith the way. Hell, he had been trying so hard all this time just to be seen as an equal - now the guy was supposed to be on an even higher pedestal than him?

It wasn’t fair.

“So what should we be celebrating then? Your nomination as ‘best asshole for a leader’ award?”  It wasn't his best insult, but certainly not his worse.

He saw the flicker of indignation in Keith’s eyes. It left him with a bitter satisfaction, but it burned as he swallowed it down.

“Do you really want to start something right now, Lance?” the raven-haired boy warned, taking a step forward.

“Enough, you two.” Allura turned away from the panels, eyes narrowed. “Lance, do not forget who you are speaking to. Keith is your leader now, you must learn to respect him.”

The Cuban crossed his arms, shooting Keith one last glare before he returned his attention to the princess, ignoring her words. “So, what’s up? Why is everyone down here?”

And why didn’t anyone bother to get me?

Allura exhaled softly. Pidge stopped working to look up, and Hunk rubbed the back of his head.  Even Coran looked nervous. Keith continued to look ahead with his thick eyebrows knit together.

“It appears we’ve received a distress signal from the galra.”

Lance perked up, feeling a sense of dread and confusion intermix in his stomach. “What? They’re still kicking?”

Allure gave him an annoyed look.  “Of course they are. Zarkon may have been defeated, but the galra race lives on.”

He saw Keith’s fist clench at his side.

“Right, right…but why a distress signal? Is it one of those Blade of Mamora guys?” They were the only friendly galra they had encountered thus far (besides Keith, but he didn’t really count), so he hoped that was the case.

Allura shook her head, causing a tousle of white hair to unravel from her bun. “I am afraid not. It appears Zarkon is not the only galra who has lived through the destruction of my people.”

Lance frowned, disgusted by the thought. “What? There’s other galra as old and wrinkly as he is?”

She nodded. “Not just any galra. Zarkon..." she hesitated, "had a son.”

He felt a chill run down his spine. He wasn’t sure why, but his abdomen began to throb, and he went to hold it.

“His name?” The blue paladin croaked out.

“His name,” Allura said carefully, “Is Prince Lotor. And he is expecting us.”

He thought of the sunflowers, how they looked beautiful painted in his own blood.

Chapter Text

“Lance? Lance!”

“Lance, can you hear me?”

“He needs to go to a healing pod, something isn’t right!”

Lance used to keep a journal back home.

He was the kind of guy who would joke that journals were lame, yet kept a well-organized and heavily detailed one hidden away in his nightstand drawer.

It accounted for every every good and bad memory, every important thought worth jotting down and a few messy song lyrics here and there. Sometimes he thought about it, and how he regretted not bringing it with him when he left home and started training at the Garrison.

He hoped, if they never made it back to earth, his family never found it. But he knew they would. He imagined his mother sitting on the floor of his bedroom, now collecting dust, tears in her eyes as she read his daily entries.

It hadn’t been as bad, before he became a paladin. It was rarely ever more than the occasional negative thoughts - sometimes an anxiety attack when life felt overbearing.

Thankfully he had a supportive family, one that was perceptive of the emotional state of their children and knew exactly how to deal with his insecurities.

He loved the other paladins - they had grown close over the months, close enough for Lance to consider them friends (besides Hunk, who had been an inseparable companion long before they joined the Voltron ranks.)

But they weren’t like the Mcclains. They couldn’t tell when Lance was hurting, and they didn’t know the difference between a Lance that made jokes for his own benefit, and the benefit of hiding his pain.

He liked to thing he cracked jokes when his mind wandered to darker places so that others wouldn’t worry about him. But being in a dark place without a family that picked up on it regardless of his efforts made the Blue Paladin realize something - he wished they would notice anyways.

He had broken down a few times in his own quarters alone, but never in front of the team. Until now, that is.

When his eyes opened, there were ten more fixated on him. Multiple sighs of relief ensued.

“How do you feel?” That was Pidge. Her voice sounded distressed, and he felt an instant stab of guilt for making her worry, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to do that.

“Uh, fine, I guess,” he managed, slowly sitting upright. “What are you guys all staring for?” It was only then he realized Keith’s arms were wrapped around his waist, steadying him. The galra quickly withdrew them, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Everyone glanced at one another, and it suddenly occurred to Lance that they didn’t seem to know what had happened, either.

“You started to hyperventilate,” Allura finally spoke, her words much gentler than before. “You were very panicked, and your legs failed -”

“You had a panic attack and fainted,” Keith concluded, causing the others to go very still.

Something about the indifference of his voice pissed Lance off.

“A…panic attack,” he said slowly, then laughed. It was a forced sound, one that grated at his own ears. “I don’t think so.”

Keith looked irritated, but it was a different expression than the one he usually wore when Lance questioned his authority or made a jab at his appearance.

No… it was the same expression he made when Lance had told him he didn’t remember their bonding moment in the dining hall.

It was the second time he lied to Keith.

“Well, you did. And we’d all kind of like to know why.”

What the hell was wrong with this guy? “Well gee, Keith, let me just go ahead and write you an essay in MLA format explaining to you why I had an emotional breakdown.” He paused, then quickly added, “which, I didn’t.”

“Keith my boy,” this time it was Coran who spoke, quickly interjecting before the leader could open his mouth, “why don’t you accompany me downstairs? It’ll take more than a few ticks to decrypt the entire distress signal, and I’d like to take a look at the scaultrite lenses before we make another jump. A leader ought to know how they function.”

The red paladin gave Lance one last look before he nodded to Coran, slowly standing. He stopped, then turned, his eyes telling a story his mouth wouldn’t. If he wanted to speak in that moment, he thought against it, because he turned heel and headed after the Altean man.

“Can you stand?” Pidge asked, trying to brush off the lingering awkwardness as she offered him a hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance managed, taking her much smaller hand into his own yet relying on his strength rather than her's. He felt a small wave of dizziness as soon as he stood, but was able to steady himself. “Thanks, dude.”

“Not a dude,” Pidge reminded him with a smirk, rolling her eyes.

“Now then,” Allura sighed, brushing herself off and rising with the rest of the remaining team, “where were we?”

His abdomen started to throb again.

-

“So…let me get this straight. Zarkon has a son, and he’s somehow survived all these years completely unheard of.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s sent us a distress signal from some junky planet.”

“That is correct.”

“And he personally requested me?”

“It would…seem that way.”

Allura’s arms were crossed, and he noticed the slight twitch of her brow as she confirmed his questions for the second time. He could tell she was annoyed, but doing her best not to snap at him after his incident (the incident he stubbornly refused to acknowledge).

It was a lot of information to digest, to say the least. His feelings of unease had only increased with each confirmation, though he hadn’t fainted this time, so that was a start.

“What does a Galra prince want with Lance?” This time it was Hunk who asked, tilting his head. “I mean, love the guy - ”

“Thanks buddy.”

“ - but why him? It’s not like they’ve met before.”

The princess wrapped her finger around the strand of hair that had unraveled from her bun earlier, twisting it.  She hesitated, as though debating whether she should tell them or not. “Lotor has…a fickle past with the Blue Paladin.”

“You mean, the original Blue Paladin?” The word original felt like sandpaper on his tongue. Original, superior. Their definitions seemed to intertwine in Lance’s case.

Her blue and violet eyes flashed briefly with recognition, and she cleared her throat a bit awkwardly. “Yes, right. You see, Lotor was one of many suitors when the Blue Lion was first created. She chose an Altean as her paladin, however, which didn’t settle well with Zarkon.”

“An Altean piloted the Blue Lion?” This was news to Lance. His hand hovered over his side, which had not yet ceased its throbbing in the duration of her speech. He noticed Pidge watching him with unease from the corner of his eye. He pretended not to notice.

“None of that matters right now,” Allura said, perhaps a bit sharper than she intended because she immediately lowered her voice, letting her eyes close for a moment. “I fear this is a trap. I don’t know why else Lotor would request we send the Blue Lion and its paladin.”

Lotor. Why did that name sound so familiar? And why did his chest ache each time he heard it?

His mind was like a cluttered night sky. It held an endless amount of questions, and all the answers were stars dancing around in his head, in sight yet out of reach.

Lance was smart. He knew three languages, if you counted math (which, surprise, he was great at). But being the funny guy who made people laugh was easier than being the guy who was good with numbers and tactics; he was afraid people would expect more from him if he tried, and he wouldn’t be able to live up to those expectations.

This was different, though. He wanted to understand everything. He wanted to know why he kept waking up from his dreams troubled and distraught, yet unable to remember why. He wanted to confront his insecurities and stop using his humor as a coping mechanism.

But most of all, he wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, when Keith didn’t look so broken up over someone that wasn’t Lance and they kicked ass in metal lions together. Back when things made sense, and there was no Prince Lotor to complicate his judgement.

-

They discussed.

And then they discussed some more.

It all felt irrelevant, in Lance’s opinion, considering it was ultimately Keith’s decision whether they heeded the distress signal.

Allura’s insight on Lotor was less than helpful. He had been an enigma, as it seemed; a reserved but well-liked prince whose association with Allura was sparse beyond a few childhood playdates. There were rumors that he had murdered the Blue Paladin, an act of many that ignited the war. However, no one could confirm the accusation, for Lotor disappeared shortly before the destruction of Altea, never to be heard of again. It was almost as if he had vanished.

Coran and Keith returned some time after. Lance was slouched in his seat, drumming his finger on the front-board. He looked up, pursing his lips as the Red Paladin entered the control room.

“Have you located the coordinates of the distress signal?” he asked.

“We’ve encrypted everything, including the coordinates,” the princess answered, looking at Lance for a heartbeat before back at Keith. “As well as…a few extra details.”

Keith frowned, his eyes scanning over the galran script on the main screen for a brief moment. “Like what?”

She told him said extra details, as well as her lacking knowledge of the Galra prince, and Keith came to the decision that they would go despite the many risks. If it was a trap, he said, then they had the upper-hand in suspecting one, and could snip the bud early before Lotor became the next Zarkon. If it wasn’t, then they would have made a powerful ally.

And then she told him that Prince Lotor had requested Lance’s presence.

“Absolutely not.”

He didn’t skip a beat.

Lance was no longer slouching in his seat. He stood up, marching over to the raven-haired boy until there was little room between them, scowling. “Okay, let me get this straight - you’re fine nose-diving right into a trap, but heaven forbid Lance gets to come along on a mission where he’s actually wanted?”

Keith’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t shove him back, but lifted his chin to meet Lance’s eye level.  “If it’s a trap, then we’ll be giving him exactly what he wants. And even if it isn’t, you’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

Everyone held their breath.

“Are you really one to talk about conditions?”  It was said lowly, without hesitation.

The silence that pursued was almost stifling. He could sense a heavy discomfort in the air. It was the unspoken reality that they all refused to speak of; the unspoken reality they never expected Lance of all people to address.

“When’s the last time you slept, or ate a decent meal, Keith?”

Stop it.

“How many hours have you spent trying to bond with the black lion now?”

Shut up. Shut up.

“You’re in no place to order me around, and you know it.”

He wasn’t sure why he always made it his first priority to be an asshole to Keith. He told himself it was because they were rivals, that it was a necessary part of blue and red coexisting - but it didn’t feel that way anymore.

He just wanted Keith to fight back, like he used to before Shiro disappeared.

He wanted those sterling grey eyes to be on him, even if only in malice.

If Keith was bothered by the Blue Paladin’s words, his eyes didn’t betray that disquiet. He simply stared at him for a moment, lips pressed together.

Then he tore them away from Lance.

“Set course for the distress signal, Princess. We leave in an hour.”

-

He was lying in bed, arms behind his head as he studied the ceiling.

The others (not including Keith, of course) had suggested he take it easy and try to get some rest before the mission, and he heeded their concern, only because he wanted an excuse to be alone.

He couldn’t relax, though.

On top of everything that had happened, Keith went on to announce he would be going down to meet Lotor alone. Even Allura thought against it, but changing Keith’s mind was like trying to give a cat to take a bath. Try to dunk them, and you end up with a face full of claw marks.

It was the kind of brave thing a suicidal leader did. Hadn’t Keith seen Star Trek?

Lance let out an irritated sigh, rolling over on his side. He’s such an idiot.

He hated him.

No you don’t.

His eyelids began to feel like lead, which he thought irritable, considering he didn’t want to sleep.

He fell asleep anyways.

-

He was back in the sunflower field.

He squatted down to inspect one, letting its petals graze his hand. It was a brilliant shade of yellow, with purple seeds that seemed to glitter like bijou amethysts in the sunlight that lazily beat down on them.

When Lance looked up, the galra was standing in front of him, his smile as warm as the sunshine.

He looked somewhat younger than before. His hair wasn’t nearly as long, either, but a blunt cut just below his chin and a bit of fringe across his forehead. He wasn’t wearing a royal uniform, but black high-waisted trousers and a white blouse buttoned down the front. It was surprisingly casual, granted it was an alien clad in the attire.

“You’re late.” It was Lance that spoke.

“Haggar caught me sneaking out,” the galra admitted cheekily, and Lance felt himself grin. “Did you wait long?”

Lance leaned forward, and in one swift motion had taken his partner’s hands and tugged him downwards. The galra laughed, which caused Lance to laugh, and the two were rolling in the flowers, before eventually stopping with the other atop him.

Lance looked breathlessly up at him. “I would wait a thousand years for you.”

His cheeks hurt from smiling, but it softened as the galra dipped a hand down to cup his cheek. His yellow eyes hooded, and he leaned down, lips brushing gently against Lance’s.  His own eyes fluttered shut.

He tasted of rain.

Chapter Text

His cheek was damp when he woke. He went to wipe the tear away before it could travel down his chin, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he studied the ceiling.

He felt sad, yet warm inside at the same time.

How strange.

The door made a fsshh sound as it opened, and he blew out a sigh. “Look, Pidge, I love you, but I just want to be -”

It wasn’t Pidge standing at the door frame.

“We are preparing for departure,” Allura announced, hands laced in front of her. “You should get into your paladin armor.” She paused, a small frown settling on her lips as she watched him. “Are you…feeling any better?”

Lance didn’t respond right away, his gaze remaining trained on the uneventful sight above him.

He added ‘popcorn ceiling’ to the list of things he missed about home.

“Did you know the Blue Paladin?”

Part of him expected Allura to dodge the topic again, or perhaps lose her temper with him. He was good at annoying her. It seemed to be one of his very few talents.

“I did.” He heard the bed groan beneath her weight, and slowly sat upright, surprised to find the princess had taken a seat.

“What…” he cleared his throat, daring to pursue her unexpected compliance further, “what was he like?”

She smiled fondly, but it looked melancholy against her chocolate features. “He was the son of a foreign affairs council member. A selfless, and brilliant paladin. He knew how to make others feel at ease with just a few words. He…” she gave her hands a little squeeze. Her smile looked forced now, unlike before. “He was a lot like you, Lance.”

Wow, was she joking? “That’s a little mean, Princess,” he said, upper-lip sticking out slightly in offense.

She blinked a few times. And then she began to giggle. “Lance, I wasn’t teasing you. I really mean that.”

He didn’t believe her.

“I must still be dreaming, if the Princess is complimenting me.”

Another giggle. It was super cute, but if Lance was being entirely honest, he had never taken his own flirting seriously. Allura was beautiful, and intelligent, and basically everything a guy - or girl - looked for in the perfect partner. But she wasn’t the one whose attention he desired.

Lance flirted with people he didn’t want, because it would hurt less when they rejected him.

The giggling ceased, and she looked back up at him, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “I know I haven’t been fair to you lately. The truth is, I was very fond of the former Blue Paladin. You remind me so much of him, it often gets the better of me to remember he passed on many millennia ago.”

She paused, recalling something. “When I first woke and you caught me, and I looked into your eyes…I thought for sure I was seeing the ghost of Kieran.”

Lance perked up. “Kieran? Was that his name?”

Allura’s shoulders stiffened, and he instantly regretted saying anything.

“I should let Coran know we are ready to use the worm hole,” she said after another pause, suddenly sounding distant again. She didn’t meet his gaze as she stood up. “I expect you to be ready in full armor in a few ticks time.”

He lay there after Allura left, trying to imagine a world where he didn’t screw everything up. Knew how to make others feel at ease with a few words, huh? That didn’t sound like Lance at all.

He dragged himself out of bed and got suited up for a mission he wasn’t wanted on.

Everyone was saying goodbyes.

Except Lance. He stood, back pressed against a wall, hidden behind the corner and just out of sight as the paladins wished Keith good luck in the hangar.

He kept telling himself he would stop acting like a coward and make an entrance - tell Keith he was sorry, and that he hoped he returned safely. But he didn’t. Instead he remained rooted in place, festering in his own frustration.

Coran was rambling on about something to Keith, probably concerning the planet and its environment. When he finally stopped, there was a short, expectant silence that followed, as though they were all waiting for something.

“Where’s Lance?”

He thought he detected a sliver of dismay in Keith’s voice. He felt himself hold his breath.

“Probably still in his room,” he heard Pidge say, almost apologetically. They all knew better, though.

It’s easier this way. You’ll just set him off again, and make things worse right before he leaves. He doesn’t want you there.

“Come back to us, Keith.” That was Allura. Her voice was soft, yet pleading.

“I will,” Keith promised.

And then he was gone. He heard the Red Lion let out a roar as it launched out of the castle into open space. 

-

Waiting around was agonizing.

Apparently the planet’s atmosphere was surrounded by its own debris, which made it a difficult process getting through, even for the Red Lion. In the meantime, the team was on standby.

Eventually, Lance broke, practically squirming in his seat. “Why would he send a distress signal from a planet that’s barely standing, anyways? This is ridiculous.”

Pidge pushed her glasses up her nose, causing them to reflect the light. “Planets don’t ‘stand’, Lance. They accelerate towards the center of the Sun's mass, which -”

Lance groaned, loud enough to shut Pidge up. She huffed and crossed her arms.

“It’s not just any planet,” Coran piped up, twisting his mustache. “Back in the good old days, it was neutral territory between the Galra Empire and Altea. Many peaceful gatherings and council summits were held there between our two nations before the war.”

His head was starting to hurt.

“What the heck happened to it?” he asked, staring out at the planet that hardly looked like a planet anymore.

It gave him the impression someone had taken a huge bite out of its side and drained it of color and life. It looked oddly familiar, in a way that it didn’t.

Why was that?

He sensed a new tension in the air. “The Galra happened,” Allura said simply. “Zarkon wouldn’t let a single trace of our existence remain, especially not a planet that symbolized the peace between our people.”

And nobody finds this suspicious at all?  He bit back the thought.  It's not like they would take him seriously.

“A shame, really,” Coran continued, a bit softer than before. “It was a beautiful planet - known for it’s wild flower, the Lalet. They were the prettiest shade of yellow you’d ever seen, with amethyst seeds -”

“Sunflowers.”

Everyone looked to Lance. He was staring down at his lap, trembling hands at both sides of him. He was pale, far too pale for someone of his complexion.

“W-Well…no. Lalets. But, ah, I suppose you could tag them ..that .. Lance? Where are you going?”

He started to run. He didn’t look back, even when he heard his teammates begin to shout his name and his head started to pound harder.

He pictured Keith, his body still as he lay amongst the flowers, their petals glistening with his blood.

He didn’t stop until he reached the hangar.

The Blue Lion had been sealed off. Keith’s orders, no doubt.

Lance recalled a conversation they had a few weeks prior. Shiro had only been gone a few days, and the initial shock was finally starting to wear off, replaced by a sense of quiet despair.

He couldn’t sleep that night, so he wandered off in search of something to gaze at. He settled for space, but when he reached the castle’s heart he discovered he wasn’t the only one with the same intentions.

Keith was sitting with his legs hugged to his chest. A blanket was draped over his shoulders as he studied the open galaxy through thick lashes. When he heard Lance approach, he looked up. “Why are you awake?” His voice was soft, like honeydew. He much preferred it to the tone he used when they argued.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Lance hummed, taking a seat beside him. Open space was a beautiful, lonesome thing, he concluded as he studied the galaxy. It reminded him of a painting, where the artist had dashed on paint without a care in the world. 

It made him feel better, to imagine space was artwork to admire, rather than a place to explore. He felt less homesick that way.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith admitted.

“Me neither,” Lance concurred.

They sat in mutual silence for a little while.

Then, “Why did he choose me, Lance?”

The Blue Paladin leaned back. “Because he believed you could do it.”

The raven-haired boy let his head drop into his knees. “I’m not cut out to be a leader. I just…” A break. “I miss him so much.”

Lance’s heart ached. It was a selfish ache; one out of jealousy, not accord.

He really hated himself sometimes.

A few moments passed, Lance unsure how to respond, before he realized that the other had fallen asleep. “Hey…” he murmured, nudging the Red Paladin’s shoulder.

This only resulted in Keith slumping against him, head lolling into the pool of Lance’s much broader shoulder. His lips were parted slightly with quiet snores of content.

Lance flushed, then flushed harder, before eventually accepting his own fate and sighing with defeat, a smile tracing his mouth.

Perhaps Keith would never look at him the way he looked at Shiro. But at the very least, he could be a shoulder to lean on.

“Buenas noches, Mullet.”

“Quiznac.” It came out loudly, furiously. “Stupid Keith! Damn it!” His knuckles were bloody by the time he finished punching the wall. He sank to his knees, breath coming in soft pants. “You’re such an idiot,” he whispered, teeth clenched.

No, you’re the idiot for letting him go alone.

And then he had an idea.

It wasn’t a good one, by any means. But Lance’s ideas were very rarely good by definition (precarious and idiotic felt more fitting), and he was somehow still in one piece.

He found himself before the Black Lion. It stood like a magnificent beast, looming down at him in an almost intimidating manor.  Sometimes he forgot, Shiro had actually managed to tame the big cat.

Lance swallowed down his nerves. “Listen,” he began, picking his words carefully, “Keith is in trouble. I’m sure of it. I know you two have tried to bond and for whatever reason you aren’t letting him in, and I’m like, half the man he is. But that guy…” he felt himself clutch his chest, looking up to meet the lion’s unlit and unsatisfied gaze with a determined expression. “He means the universe to me, and more importantly to Shiro. I need you to trust me. Please!”

Nothing.

Lance’s heart sank.

Of course she wouldn’t let you in. Seventh wheels don’t pilot the Black Lion.

He would later convince himself that the Black Lion only responded to him afterwards out of spite.

“No way…” Lance heard himself say, mouth practically falling open as the Black Lion woke from his stubborn slumber, engine humming and eyes flickering as it approached.

It stopped, then leaned down to touch foreheads with the tanned boy. Lance, suddenly overwhelmed by relief and gratitude, closed his eyes, arms draped over its metal snout in an embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Lance pulled back, wiping away a tear that had begun to bud in his left eye. He grinned as the black Lion parted its jaws, permitting entrance.

“Let’s go bring that idiot home.”

-

Navigating the planet’s debris was no walk in the park, even in the Black Lion.

Heck, neither was piloting the Black Lion.

It wasn’t anything like Blue. They had a special bond, those two, but more than that, he felt in his element with his own lion. The Black Lion came with a whole new set of traits, none of which he was entirely familiar with.

The interior smelt like Shiro. It didn’t settle well with the guilt already planted on his shoulders.

“Lance!”

The voice was coming from inside his helmet.

“Don’t try and stop me, Allura,” Lance grunted, veering sharply to the right in an attempt to avoid a hunk of detritus.

“We aren’t trying to stop you!” came Pidge’s voice, crackling through the static.

“We’ve lost contact with Keith,” Allura went on hurriedly. “Something…somethings terribly wrong.” She sounded strained. “Bring him back to us, Lance.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed ahead on his target. He was getting close. “Copy that.”

Even with part of it missing, the planet still had plenty of ground to cover. It was barren, thankfully, which made it easy to scan for the missing Red Paladin from the sky.

“Come on, Keith, where are you?” the Cuban muttered, one hand moving to hold his head while the other steered.

He felt sick.

It was as if his body was telling him he shouldn’t be here.

And then he saw him: a streak of red sprawled out against the banal earth, unmoving. And above him, with a blade raised, a dash of purple from his past.

The Black Lion landed so violently the ground seemed to quake beneath it.

Lance dropped from its jaws in one fluid motion, face screwed into one of rage as he raised his bayard and aimed for the back of Keith’s attacker.

He didn’t care that everything inside him was telling the paladin he knew this galra, or that his mind was currently at war with itself as he stood on a planet that felt more personal than his memory was willing to let on.

None of that mattered, because Keith was hurt, and someone was going to pay for it.

His digit flexed over the trigger. “You have two seconds to step away from him, or I’m going to blast your purple ass into the next galaxy.”

They turned, very slowly.

It felt like a movie, where everything was in slow-motion.

“My, my, if it isn’t the Blue Paladin,” purred a painfully familiar voice.

Purple skin, with yellow eyes like sunshine. Long white hair that pooled over his shoulders, and lashes that looked frost-bitten.

He was wearing the red sash from his dream.

Lance had tried so hard, to remember that dream every time he woke up from it. But now it was starkly vivid in his mind, and all he wanted was to forget the pain.

Lotor.

It wasn’t just the name of a galra prince anymore. It was personal.

His smile had been beautiful. Now, it held only poison as he looked into the eyes of his former lover.

The lalets would have been in full bloom around this time.

Chapter Text

He remembered.

It happened slowly, in fragments, then all at once.

He remembered the lalet field, how it looked its finest when bathed in sunlight and he could write journal entries amongst the glistening flowers in peace.

And he remembered Lotor, how he was more beautiful than any lalet he had ever laid eyes on.

He was the son of a foreign affairs council chairman, and he the son of Galra’s ruler.

The two first met during a council meeting. It was Kieran’s first, and he couldn’t help but fidget in his seat as it droned on. He was fifteen at the time and on the cusp of maturity. His face still held a youthful frame to it, his hair shaggier than his father liked, and stature not yet at it’s full potential.

He wasn’t particularly interested in whatever it was the council was arguing about.

Alteans and Galrans claimed they were on good terms, but it never seemed that way when they spoke of politics and foreign agency in the same room together. He might not wholly understand what was being said, but the tension that hung over the elongated table was clear as day.

That’s when he saw him. It was the first time he had laid eyes on the young prince.

Allura had described him a few times before. They used to play together as children, granted their fathers were both kings, and he often accompanied Zarkon more recently when they visited the castle for foreign affairs.

She spoke of him as if he was a prize to be sought.

He scoffed at the idea a galra, and a male one at that, could be described as being “pretty”. There were rumors, that Lotor’s mother had been altean - he shared similar features, and the matter of her bloodlines and whereabouts were as missing as she - but surly not even that could make up for his father’s genes.

Zarkon kind of looked like a yorbul (a small, aquatic creature with a hard-back shell), and not the cute kind.

He was sorely wrong.

His entrance was dramatic in every sense of the world. The corridor doors swung open with a groan, and silence quickly fell over the table. Whatever they had been ‘peacefully’ disagreeing about was forgotten in that moment.

All eyes were on the Galra prince as he entered, flanked by two much larger soldiers. Kieran could practically feel Allura hold her breath beside him.

The princess’s description of Lotor didn’t do him justice.

“Excuse my intrusion.” His voice was light, yet controlled. It didn’t have the squeak of a maturing boy’s like Kieran’s.

“Take a seat, Lotor,” came Zarkon’s coarse voice from the opposite head of the table.

He didn’t look at his son as he said it. How odd, Kieran thought.

Lotor obeyed. He sat a few seats down from the Galran king, then tucked his alabaster hair behind his pointed ears, hands folding neatly in his lap afterwards.

Kieran stole a glance at his own father, who sat beside him. He was looking at Lotor with an approving gaze in his eyes. That, they seemed to say, is how a son should behave.

He found himself disliking the prince and his stupidly pretty hair already.

At some Kieran must have fallen asleep during the meeting, because Allura had to nudge him back to consciousness. “Altea to Kieran.”

He wiped away a string of drool from his chin, straightening in his seat. The meeting had concluded, and any remaining Alteans and Galrans alike taking their leave out the doors.

He began subconsciously searching for a particular face among the dwindling crowd.

“He’s gone,” Allura said beside him, rolling her eyes as she stood up and pushed her seat in.

“Who?” Kieran asked innocently, hands clasped behind his back.

“You know who. So has your father, so I pray you have some other means of getting home.”

“No, I really d- wait, what? He left me?” It came out as a yelp.

“That’s what you get for falling asleep. It was your first summit, Kieran, and you snored through well over half. He has higher expectations of you. You know this.”

It was hard to believe Allura was the same age as him. She spoke so eloquently for being only fifteen. She might as well be his second mom.

“I don’t want to be a councilmen,” Kieran muttered, blowing out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not my fault he won’t listen.” I want to fight bad guys. I want to make a difference out there, not in some stuffy room full of old guys who pretend to get along.

He bit back that last part, knowing all too well it would only result in another scolding.

The princess smoothed out the folds in her blue dress, picking her way past him. “My father and Zarkon are discussing personal matters, but then we’ll be returning to Altea,” she said, turning back to look at him. “You can leave with us. Don’t cause any trouble until then.”

He knew he should thank her, but a groan came out instead. “What am I s’pose to do until then?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, waving him off. “It’s a lovely day, go visit the lalet fields or something.”

So he did just that, though a little begrudgingly.

It started to rain on the journey there, much to his displeasure. He suspected it was Allura’s doing somehow, even if that was an impractical accusation.

He didn’t mind the rain, really; rather, he minded when it rained on him without his consent.

As he trekked up the slope (he came all this way to see the lalets, and he intended to do just that, rain or shine) he came to the conclusion his cape was better suited as a means of staying dry than an unwarranted accessory dragging behind him.

When he reached the top, Kieran noticed a figure standing amongst the drinking lalets, and with a small curse felt his legs carry him further up the slope.

“What the quiznack are you doing out in the rain?” he demanded. In hindsight, one could ask the same of him, but that was beyond the point.

It wasn’t until he got a better look that he realized it wasn’t a stranger at all.

The galran prince was soaked to the bone. He didn’t acknowledge Kieran’s presence right away, instead staring ahead at the fields’ vastness. After a few heartbeats, he finally turned his head to study him. His hair was plastered to the frame of his face, and rivulets traveled down his flushed cheeks.

“Aren’t you cold?” Kieran asked, flabbergasted by the other’s lack of sentiment. And why aren’t you with your father? “Here, get under,” he said when the other didn’t respond, gesturing the cape he was currently canopying over his head, “we can go back together.”

Lotor took a step forward, and then another. Kieran looked to him expectantly, but a look of confusion was written across his face when the galra continued to walk past him, avoiding the makeshift canopy. He stopped just close enough within earshot for the other boy to hear:

“Nuisance.”

Kieran continued to stand there even after the galra had gone, trying to register what had just happened.

“…Huh?”

Allura wasn’t going to hear the end of this.

-

Kieran would go on to convince himself he was the only Altean alive who knew how truly terrible the Galra Prince was.

Even Allura didn’t whole-heartedly believe his encounter with Lotor. “Perhaps you heard him wrong”.

Kieran knew better, though.

His third summit was held during the lalet’s blooming season.

Kieran had just barely turned sixteen, Allura a stroke behind him. He had grown a few inches in a short span of time, and his shaggy white locks slept with the fishes, now shorter and trimmed. He had matured some physically speaking, but his recalcitrant tendencies and lack of interest in council meetings still pursued.

He dared shoot Lotor a few dirty looks from across the table.

He hadn’t seen him since the rain incident, which was anything but forgiven.

When the meeting was concluded, his father was whisked away by another Altean chairman, leaving him just enough time to wander the building.

It was an interesting fusion of Altean and Galran architecture, despite not looking as advanced as either civilizations’. It was outdated, and had been used for peaceful summits and gatherings for decades.

He heard voices coming from one of the empty halls and went to investigate.

Once again, he found himself face-to-face with Prince Lotor in a bizarre predicament.

His back was pressed against the wall. In the room adjacent, two young Galra officers were chatting.

It wasn’t concerning the afternoon summit.

“- has nothing in common with his father.”

“Including looks.”

Wiry laughter.

“He’s hideous. Like a female altean. I pity Zarkon, producing such a disappointment. It’s no wonder he only drags him to summits.”

Lotor was looking down at the ground. His hair curtained whatever expression he was making, but Kieran noticed the tips of his ears were red. Mauve fists grappled the sides of his tunic.

Kieran’s hands imitated the prince’s, if only out of anger. He marched into the room, gaze narrowed as he glared up at the startled galra soldiers. They were huge compared to the tiny altean boy, but he didn’t waver before them.

“It would be a shame, if Zarkon were to hear that you pity him,” he mused, one hand on his hip.

Both soldiers stiffened. The broader of the two took a step forward, lips peeled back into a snarl and eyes glittering with vexation. “Why, you -”

“What’s that? You want me to tell him personally?”

His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. Why the quiznack was he standing up for that jerk, anyways?

The galra stopped, nervousness clouding his yellow gaze.

“Get lost kid,” his companion finally growled in warning, clasping a hand on the other’s shoulder and pulling him back and away from the boy.

Kiera’s lips curved into a proud smile. He only hoped the terror he felt on the inside wasn’t showing in that moment as he turned his heels sharply in the direction he came.

He paused at the entrance of the door, glancing back. “In my culture, we call someone like the prince ‘beautiful’. I think your judgment is a little lacking, good sirs.”

He took Lotor’s hand, hissing “run” as he made a break for the nearest escape route.

As he led them down the hall, he saw something on the prince’s face he had never seen before on a galra: Astonishment.

They became inseparable friends after that.

Kieran never imagined he would spend his afternoons stolen away with Zarkon’s son in a lalet field, but fate had a funny way of intertwining even the most unlikely of duos.

He remembered the first time they held hands.

Kieran had surprised Lotor with a picnic on his seventeenth birthday. They shared favorite foods from their cultures and talked about their dreams and aspirations (and their irritable, unfair fathers). At some point he found his hand inching towards the galra’s, and Lotor eventually complied when Kieran’s courage fizzled, slowly and nervously lacing their fingers together.

They sat in flustered silence, stiff as boards but content in knowing the feeling was mutual.

He remembered their first kiss under the stars. It was a crisp and breezy evening, and the lalets kissed their resting sides as they gazed up at the infinite universe.

“Allura says King Alfor and your father are searching for paladins to pilot the lions,” he broke the silence, looking over at Lotor. “Wouldn’t it be amazing, if we were both paladins? We could defend the galaxy together.”

Lotor smiled back at him, but it was subdued. After a moment, he twisted his body, moving over the altean.

“I quite like the way things are now,” he murmured, and then he kissed him.

Not all their memories were ones he could think fondly of, of course.

The first time Lotor took off his clothes in front of Kieran, he was unable to look away from the array of bruises and marks that littered his body.

“Father wants me to learn humility, and discipline,” Lotor had told him. He didn’t meet Kieran’s gaze as he said it. He had taught him ‘humility and discipline’ for seven years.

He remembered telling Lotor he was going to kill his father, and Lotor begging him with tears in his eyes to promise he wouldn’t say anything. For him.

Kieran promised, but the guilt never did cease. He kissed every bruise and every scar until morning light.

The Blue Lion chose Kieran when he was seventeen.

He became a defender of the universe, just like he always dreamt as a child. His father was finally proud of him, and he was doing something that he loved. He had a bond with Blue, and an even stronger one with a galra prettier than a thousand lalets.

How dismal, that in creating a peacemaker, war was Voltron’s greatest product.

Kieran never got to see the war in its prime, however, nor did he witness the fall of his nation, for
the Blue Paladin was the first to be abated.

His last memory was of Lotor; his greatest love, and his greatest fault.

Even as the blade turned in his abdomen, he had only one thought.

He didn’t regret loving Lotor for a second.

He only regretted not loving him enough to see the signs.

-

He looked just as he had that day in the field of alien sunflowers.

Lance’s hands began to tremble as he pointed his bayard at a man he would have once given up his life for.

“What’s wrong, Blue Paladin? Cat got your tongue?”

The galra's smirk melted, his eyes scanning the Black Lion before he looked expectantly at his opponent. “I see you’ve come in my father’s Lion. Pray tell me you actually are the Blue Lion as I requested. I’ve already lost my patience once today.”

Keith’s previously still form began to stir. He looked up through half-lidded eyes, busted lips parted as he struggled to make out his comrade. “..La..nce? You shouldn’t..” his head rested back on the ground again, “be..here..”

Lance remembered why he had come. Everything previously racking his mind burned away, replaced by a desire to protect the one he loved, that one he hadn't already lost.

“Yeah, you’re looking at him,” he said lowly. “And you’re gonna regret that.” He threw down his bayard, and in one swift motion had scooped up Keith’s and unsheathed the blade.

It made a clank as it deflected Lotor’s. The galra whistled, seemingly impressed. He studied the Cuban, hardly breaking a sweat as they resisted one another’s blades in a sort of dance.

“You’re quite beautiful. Like a lalet.”

Lance froze. He felt the hilt of the prince’s sword strike the back of his head, and heard Keith cry his name.

It didn’t sting nearly as much as his words had.

He remembered his eyes, they way they used to shine for him.

There was a dullness to them now; a fog that had been there before the rain cleared it away all those years ago on a hill of lalets.

As darkness washed over him, Lance came to a devastating realization.

Lotor had forgotten him.

Chapter Text

During the fall of the Castle of Lions, Lance recalled how helpless he had felt.

It was a crummy feeling, not being able to defend your comrades or yourself. Death was a scary thought, but it didn’t scare him nearly as much as failure did.

It was silly, but at the time, Lance genuinely thought he wasn’t going to make it.

Even as Keith held him in his arms with reassurance, and Lance admitted they made a good team, he couldn’t help but foresee that the Red Paladin would let him go - that he would leave him behind, and let Lance lie there wondering where he had gone wrong.

As he looked into sterling grey eyes, distraught yet smiling cheekily at their victory (the victory he took little part in) he found himself counting the subtle freckles the dusted Keith’s nose and cheeks. He never noticed them before.

That was the moment he fell in love with Keith.

He denied they bonded, both to Keith and to himself, because he refused to accept this simple fact.

If he gave in to his feelings, then surly Keith would leave him, just like the pretty galra in his reoccurring dream in the sunflower field.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

-

“Lance.”

“Please, Lance, open your eyes.”

When he finally regained consciousness, Keith was looking down at him.  His expression changed from anxious to relieved.

Lance, however, was not relieved in the slightest, but very much so panicked to have the raven-haired boy’s face so close to his own. He tried to sit upright a little too hurriedly, which resulted in banging their foreheads together.

They both swore as they scrambled back, holding their heads. Lance’s swear consisted of quiznack, while Keith’s was less than child appropriate.

“What the hell, Lance?”

He looked up with one hand pressed against his throbbing head, staring at the other hotly. “What did you expect? Who the heck would want to wake up to your face in theirs like that?” In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have minded (and had fantasized it at least once). He wasn’t about to say that, though.

He wavered, and Keith’s glare quickly retreated, nearing him again and extending his arms onto his shoulders to steady the injured paladin. “Whoah, take it easy. I’m sorry, okay? You had me really worried.”

Keith, worried about him? It was the best joke he had heard all week.

“Good one.”

“Good what?”

He’d forgotten just how aloof this guy really was was.

Lance laughed. It was hoarse, but genuine. He couldn’t remember the last time they bickered like this…couldn’t remember the last time he laughed without having to force it out to save face.

Keith looked worried again as he slowly let go of his shoulders. He most definitely thought his comrade was losing it. Which, granted everything that had happened, was very plausible.

Reality finally began to set in. Or maybe that was just the throbbing of his initial wound reminding him this was definitely not a time to be laughing, but asking questions.

“Where…are we?”

It occurred to him he probably could have looked around and answered his own question without asking, but even as his eyes scanned the dimly lit cell and purple beans that served as bars, he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing.

They were prisoners of the Galra.

“Lotor knocked you out,” Keith began slowly. “He…the lions, he’s taken them too.”

It was only now that he noticed how beat up Keith looked; his lip was busted, his left cheek bruised, and his hair was a mess. He had taken a beating, probably worse than Lance - and that was only judging from the parts of him he could see.

He hesitated, and Lance realized he was holding onto a lot more than just him getting knocked out. “What happened, Keith?” he asked, lowly. “Why didn’t the others try to stop him?”

Keith swallowed hard and looked down at his lap. “I was in and out,” he began, “It’s all kind of a blur. But just after you went down, I…” another pause, “I saw an explosion. On the Castle.”

Lance’s blood ran cold. “An explosion?”

Keith nodded. His hands had curled into fists in his lap. “The distress signal was just a ploy. Meeting Lotor was most likely a distraction to attack the ship and take the Blue Lion.”

Or the Blue Paladin, he thought, stomach making knots.

“I shouldn’t have gone alone,” Keith whispered, more to himself. He hung his head.

Lance thought about the promise Keith made to Allura, about returning safely.

And he thought of his own promise, about bringing them both back.

“You had no way of knowing this would happen,” he said after a moment, daring to place his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “None of us did. It was a collective failure, really.” Okay, not a great way of putting it, but he figured Keith would get the message.

“The castle has taken a beating before,” he continued. “I’m sure they’re fine, and they’ll come for us.” It didn’t matter that he felt helpless and terrified, or that all he could picture was Pidge, Hunk, Allura and Coran, out there somewhere hurt and in desperate need of their help. Because if he let himself look weak, or let his leader fall prey to the same mindset, then all would be loss.

Lance had looked into the face of death many times. Yet he was still alive somehow, and that had to count for something. It didn’t matter how broken up he was on the inside, as long as he continued to grin through it.

“You’re hiding something.”

His grip on Keith’s arm faltered. “What?”

“You’ve been acting strange lately. But back there, when you..” a break, as though Keith was struggling to convey his thoughts into the proper words, “…saw the Prince’s face. It was like looking at stranger. It wasn’t…you.”

All Lance wanted was for Keith to look at him, to notice his existence in their vast universe. But not like this, not with those eyes peeling away all his layers in a quiet and cold cell on an enemy ship.

“I thought I was the one who got struck over the head,” Lance said after a long pause, feigning a chuckle. “Of course it was me. I was just..surprised, that evil could be that, y’know, pretty, and -”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Lance.”

Lance fell silent. He stared at Keith, blue eyes wide.

And then he started to cry.

Evidentially, Keith hadn’t expected this kind of reaction based on how startled he looked the minute the waterworks began.

It was silent at first. Lance didn’t cry very often, so naturally he didn’t know what kind of facial expression to make as hot, thick tears began to well in his eyes and spill over his cheeks.

He thought of Lotor, and the sunflowers, and how he didn’t understand a single thing in his vastly complicated and teenage mind.

He cried like he was singing the lyrics to a song he had written himself, yet couldn’t remember a single note to.

At some point Keith threw his arms around Lance, and he crushed himself against the other, burying his face in his neck and stupid mullet, his cries turning into muffled sobs.

He’d forgotten how nice it was to just let everything out.

Eventually Lance calmed down enough to catch his breath. Keith was practically cradling him in his arms, but he didn’t let go of him even when the other quieted down. One of his hands was splayed in his hair, fingers playing with the short chocolate curls. It felt nice, and he was on the verge of falling asleep when he finally spoke up.

“You piloted the Black Lion.”

“I know. I’m kind of awesome.”

“Dude, you sound gross. Blow your nose.”

Lance complied, reaching down to tug up his shirt (it’s not like the cell had any tissues to offer) before he stopped, staring at the unfamiliar and ratty fabric.

“We’re in galra prison clothes,” he noted, sniffing loudly.

“We are,” Keith confirmed.

“So..who dressed me?”

Keith blinked once, as if it was obvious. “Well, they just sort of threw us in here and gave us the uniforms after taking our armor and clothes, and I figured you wouldn’t want to wake up half naked, so-”

“So you dressed me?”

Keith looked at his flushed face incredulously, before the heat entered his own cheeks. “Are you seriously embarrassed right now? I literally just cradled you in my arms while you cried, Lance.”

The darker-toned boy leaned back, not moving out of his lap quite yet but crossing his arms. “Two very different things, Keith. One was consensual.”

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, and then Keith made a sound he hadn’t heard from him in ages.

Laughter.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Lance quirked a brow, but found himself laughing too. “The cutest dang idiot you’ll ever meet, mullet-head.”

Their laughs bled out into the silence of the cell. The two boys eventually untangled themselves from one another, falling onto their backs. He winced as his head touched the cold mecha ground.

“Do you trust me?” Keith asked softly, glancing at him.

I’d trust you with my life. He nodded.

“Then will you tell me what’s going on with you?”

Lance told him everything. He told him about the dreams, about the sunflowers that weren’t really sunflowers but lalets, and how after seeing Lotor’s face he was flooded with memories of a past life that surly didn’t belong to him.

Keith was silent for a little while, taking in all in, before he finally spoke up. “So…you think you’re remembering the original Blue Paladin’s life?”

Lance returned his gaze to the ceiling. He never thought he would miss the castle’s metal ceiling the way he missed his room’s, but he would give anything to see it again. He wouldn’t mind if Pidge was curled up next to him in his bed, either.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It just feels so…personal. I don’t understand any of it. I don’t want to.” A pause. “I’m just a boy from Cuba who misses Earth. So why…” he moved his hand up to wipe a tear that had escaped his eye, “why do I feel so sad for him?”

Keith’s lashes hooded. “The Blue Paladin?” he asked, gently.

Lance shook his head.  “Lotor.”

-

Keith didn’t have an answer, and Lance hadn’t expected him to.

The only one who could answer his questions, he concurred, was Lotor, the man who infested his memories more than anyone else.

Until then, there was no point trying to theorize. Keith seemed to understand the other paladin was distraught enough as it was, so he didn’t push the topic further - that or he just didn’t know what to say to comfort him.

He wished he knew what was going on in Keith’s head. Was he actually worried about Lance, or did he only hold him so he would stop crying? Did he even believe him about the memories? Was he secretly resentful that Lance piloted the Black Lion?

There was really no telling with the Red Paladin.  He was one puzzle Lance couldn't solve (and believe him, he was pretty dang good at puzzles).

Time was irrelevant in the cell. He couldn’t tell if an hour had gone by, or ten minutes. So basically, it was home-schooling before the Garrison all over again.

Spending so much time with Keith was…strange.

There were no Zarkon or teammates getting in the way of their company, and it didn’t look like Lotor or any other galra soldier planned to pay them a visit anytime soon, so it left them with no other choice but to acknowledge one another.

He really hated silence.

Lance talked so much and spouted nonsense because he desperately wanted to cancel out his thoughts. He would rather people call him obnoxious than have his insecurities and fears swallow him until he had no desire to talk at all.

Not even the infamous Blue Paladin number two could bring himself to say something stupid, though. Their situation was grim - like, really, really grim. The Galra were now in possession of the Red and Black Lion, and two members of Voltron, with one already missing. The rest of the teams’ whereabouts and conditions were unknown, and there was no way to reach them. In other words, they were on their own.

Perhaps the only sliver of hope they held onto was the knowledge that Keith was galra, and if they were somehow able to break out of the cell, would be able to get through the alien technology.

As if reading his thoughts, Keith’s voice rang out beside him. The two were now sitting side by side against the wall, arms wrapped around their tucked legs. “Why didn’t you say anything when everyone found out I was galra?”

Out of everyone in the group, Lance was the only one who handled the situation of Keith’s descent by not handling it at all. While the rest of the team had eventually come to an acceptance (some quicker than others), Lance had not once mentioned it. In fact, he avoided the subject all together.

Hell, Hunk had made more jokes about it than him.

“What was there to say?” Lance said, sensing the Red paladin’s eyes on him now. “I just…I don’t know, okay?” He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the unpleasant bump he received from Lotor. He swallowed awkwardly. “It’s not like it bothered me or anything. You’re still Keith, galra or not. Annoying, mullet-head Keith.”

It felt like he was lying - but how could he tell him that the reason he never confronted his bloodlines was because he was afraid he was going to lose him if he did? He hadn’t even known at the time why he thought this - but now it made sense. The original Blue Paladin had shared the same feelings for a galra, and had lost them as a result.

Lance’s subconscious was only trying to protect him from ending up in blood-bathed sunflowers again.

Besides... Lance really hadn’t minded that Keith was galra.  Memories and sunflowers aside, he could have turned out to be any other enemy alien race, and he wouldn’t care. Sure, they had dealt with some assholes who happened to be purple, but how could he hate an entire race and more specifically Keith, just based on that? 

“And anyways, I can’t even begin to imagine how that would feel,” Lance went on, feeling himself blush a little in embarrassment as he looked away (empathizing with rivals was not his strong suit, clearly), “So I don’t have any right to judge -”

When he turned his head to look at Keith, he was met by a pair of lips.

At first, he was too stunned to do anything but sit there dumbly, but at some point he melted into what he presumed was a kiss. Blue eyes fluttered shut, and he let his hand cup Keith’s cheek, if only to make sure he was really there and this wasn't another dream.

Keith pulled back, a deep red hue quickly spreading over his face. It was the closest to purple Lance had ever seen him.

“Uh,” he said, “I’m also gay.”

Lance touched his tingling lips as he stared ahead devoid of expression, evidentially not reciting any other sign of life because Keith began to say his name worriedly and wave his hand in his face.

He tasted of sunshine.

Chapter Text

Lance wasn’t sure what shocked him more about the last twenty-four hours: the fact some dead guy’s memories were living vicariously through him, that he was prisoner of said dead guy’s apparent lover, or that Keith had come out to him with a kiss.

They were sitting in opposite corners of the cell.

He had lost track of how much time had passed. After a minor brain malfunction, Keith went on to claim (whilst red as a tomato) that he had just wanted to shut Lance up.

The thing is, Lance believed it.

Even if Keith was just trying to kill some of the awkward in the air and didn’t actually expect the other to fall for it, Lance’s insecurities fed on this kind of stuff.

He believed that Keith was gay. It didn’t surprise him, to be honest; he just didn’t expect him to come out in their current predicament, the way he had.

But he couldn’t get it through his head that Keith liked him like that.

He always imagined it would be with Shiro, if anything were to ever come from Keith’s obvious sexuality. The two were inseparable, and had apparently known one another a lot longer. He saw the way they interacted, how Shiro favored him above the others… How Keith’s eyes always lit up for Black, not Blue.

Besides, Keith wasn’t making the notion he wanted to pursue anything but a quick kiss on the lips, because shortly after they migrated apart. Maybe he had just been trying to comfort himself, or both of them.

Maybe he just wanted to get it off his chest, in case they didn’t make it.

Whatever the case, it was eating Lance up, not knowing.

“It’s Valentines day.”

He blurted it without really thinking.

Keith, who had been studying the wall like it was one obstacle he couldn’t cut down with his blade, turned his head to look incredulously at the Cuban. “What?”

“Well, I mean, it’s probably February 15th by now, but - it was Valentines day.” Lance shrugged, toying with a loose string hanging from the frayed fabric of his shirt.  “I’ve been keeping track of the days, since we left the Garrison.” It was his way of coping. That’s what he told himself, anyways. “I figured everyone needed a little cheering up, so I made Valentines cards. Pidge helped a little. Did you know she’s actually really good at drawing?”

He managed to successfully unravel part of the shirt’s hem. “I was gonna hand them out and everything. Hunk would probably make some kind of goo-substitute chocolates, and we’d talk about worse dates and former crushes and junk.” He leaned back against the wall, smiling to himself. “Everything would be okay for just one day.”

Keith was staring at him now. He couldn’t quite decipher what kind of expression he was making, but if he had to take a guess, he might say it looked a bit repentant.

He wondered why that was.

-

They agreed to take watches while the other slept. It would be best, if someone was on guard in case anything were to happen, or an opportunity to escape arose. Both unlikely scenarios, but neither were willing to admit it.

Lance volunteered to take first watch, mostly because he was afraid if he fell asleep he would find himself in the sunflower field again.

Keith was curled in a ball, tucked away in the corner and breathing lowly with his head at an awkward angle in his arm.

Lance wished he had his jacket with him, so he could pillow it under his head.

He didn’t know what was a minute and what was an hour anymore. It was devastating, especially after keeping track for so long. It felt like his last remaining lifeline to Earth had been torn away, and at the hands of the galra.

He could hear footsteps traveling down the dim hall. Lance held his breath, inching away from the neon bars as a robotic sentry approached.

It was holding two plates. They exchanged glances, one apathetic and lifeless and the other hostile, before the sentry crouched down and slid what appeared to be dinner underneath the bars. They seemed to momentarily lift in its favor, before touching the ground once more.

He didn’t drop the glare, nor did he move towards the plates, until the sentry had gone.

Once the footsteps began to fade, Lance scooted over to inspect the meals’ content, which looked a lot less appetizing than goo. The galra have really outdone themselves, creating a food that looks grosser than goo, he thought, making a face.

Nonetheless, just the smell alone was enough to make his stomach growl.

Keith shifted in his sleep. Lance looked up from the food, running his eyes over the Red Paladin. He really was beat up. The exhaustion shown on his face, too.

He remembered their argument, right before Keith left.

When’s the last time you ate, Keith? Guilt welled up inside him.

He looked back down at the plates. He picked up his own, then proceeded to dump its portions onto Keith’s plate.

He needed it more than him.

-

“Are you sure this is food?”

Keith was staring down at his plate skeptically.

“I ate mine, and it didn’t kill me,” Lance offered. To be fair, he had taken a very small nibble, just to ensure it wasn’t actually poison. If it took more than that to kill a guy, then Keith was out of luck.

He poked at it a few times, like a child who stubbornly refused to eat their greens.

“Come on, Keith,” Lance sighed. “You have to at least try. Who knows when’s the next time we’ll get to eat? Even if we find a way out of here, we won’t make it very far if you don’t have the energy.”

As a middle child in a big family, Lance’s job was to make even the grossest things look delectable to his younger siblings, and make arguments that contradicted his own life choices. That’s just what big brothers did.

After an overly dramatic pause, Keith took a hesitant bite. And then another, and another. It must have struck him just how hungry he actually was, because he was practically licking the plate by the time he finished.

Lance beamed. “See? Not so hard.”

“And I thought goo was terrible,” Keith muttered, wiping the corner of his lip.

The Cuban grinned, placing a hand on his stomach when it began to gurgle in protest.

There was another pocket of delicate silence, and for a split second Lance almost considered pretending to sleep, just to escape the awkwardness.

Finally, “Have you remembered anything else? About, the, uh..”

Okay, not exactly the topic he was hoping to delve into. Lance began to fiddle with his plate, unable to meet Keith’s gaze.

“Not really,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “It all hit me like a freight truck when I saw Lotor, but since waking after getting knocked out it’s starting to get all fuzzy again.” He didn’t know whether that frustrated him, or relived him more.

“Do you…think he’s trying to connect with you?” It was a vague question, but Lance knew well enough what Keith was trying to ask.

It was something he had been pondering for a long time. If the Blue Paladin was trying to reach out to him via their minds like the Blue Lion did, then surly that meant he was trying to warn him of something. It would explain the sudden outpour of past memories, at the very least.

But if that was the case, why weren’t any of the other past Paladins trying to contact the team?  Why just Lance?

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Keith?”

He saw his shoulders stiffen a little. It was pretty obvious he had been tempted to ask Lance’s thoughts on it, but was beaten to the punch. “I..no, not really,” the Red Paladin confessed. “It doesn’t seem very…scientific?” He frowned. “Though, I guess druid and altean magic isn’t very scientific, either, and we’ve seen both.”

One thing was for sure: whatever was happening to him, was happening for a reason. And if it could be used to his advantage against Lotor, then he would do whatever it took to make sure Keith made it off this ship alive.

He didn’t know what to say, so he just shrugged and balanced the plate in his lap.

When it became clear Keith had retired from being the talkative one, he dug around in his head for something that would change the subject. “Does it ever bother you, that you don’t know your parents?”

He wished he hadn’t asked, because the sudden look of pain that glittered in Keith’s eyes made his chest ache.

“I know how you feel,” he tried for quickly, “I-”

“No,” Keith snapped, “you don’t, Lance.”

“I was adopted.”

Keith wasn’t looking at him with hurt anymore, but shock.

“I’ve never met my biological parents,” he went on, running his fingers through his hair and over the bump on the back of his head. “I was found near Varadero Beach when I was really little. No one ever claimed me, so I was put up for adoption, and the McClains took me in.”

He laughed, but it was the sort of laugh you made when you were trying to hold back tears. “It sucks, not knowing why they gave you up, y’know?”

If Keith wanted to say something, he didn’t. He just stared at his teammate, devoid of words.

His eyelids suddenly felt like led. Or maybe that was just the exhaustion from saying and doing so many stupid things in one day. Even the gnawing in his stomach wasn’t enough to deny the sudden wave of tiredness that washed over him.

Right now, he would much rather be in the sunflower field, then under Keith’s gaze.

“I think…” Lance sighed, turning his back to the other and falling onto his side, “…I could use a little beauty sleep.”

Keith didn’t try to stop him. He felt him nod from behind. “S-Sure.”

-

He was lying in the field of lalets.

The sky was a deep blue, with scattered clouds that stretched out like a feathered arc above him.  A soft breeze tousled his white locks, and just on the horizon, he tasted a hint of rain.

At some point he noted the flowers were speckled with blood. It wasn’t until he looked down that he realized his side was drenched in crimson.

The blood on the lalets was his own.

I have to warn them.

A jolt, and he forced himself to sit upright.

I have to stop him.

“Nng..” he grit his teeth, hand pressed against his abdomen, the point of betrayal. It took him a few tries, but he finally managed to stand.

His first step resulted in a stumble, and ever so softly he apologized in short breaths to each and every sunflower he trampled in his path as he made his way down the slope.

I have to stop him. I have to save him. I have to save him. I have to -

He was ripped away from the dream, and off the cell floor, by a pair of unfamiliar arms.

He heard Keith yell.  “Don’t touch him!”

Lance blinked the sleep from his eyes, panic welling up inside him when he looked up and was met yellow glowing eyes.

it wasn’t a sentry, and it wasn’t Lotor - it was a galra soldier, three times his size.

Another slightly lankier soldier flanked him, and as Keith approached with teeth bared he raised his blade to cut him down.

“Stop!” Lance shrieked, voice hoarse as he started struggling in the galra’s arms. “Keith, stop! It’s okay!” He went still, voice softening as the Red Paladin reluctantly halted. “It’s okay.”

“Prince Lotor would like the Blue Paladin’s audience,” the galra purred, studying Keith. “But he has no interest in Red. Would you like to see your favorite color paint these walls, human boy?”

Keith answered him with a glower.

“I’ll be fine,” Lance said, trying to control the tremor in his voice. “Please, Keith.”

They exchanged glances. After a long pause Keith nodded, looking broken up.

The galra smirked, slowly releasing Lance. He put his arms out, allowing himself to be cuffed and led out of the cell.

He looked back as the neon bars reformed, but Keith wasn’t watching him anymore.  His head was hung, hands balled into trembling fists.

“I remember.”

Keith lifted his head, eyes wide.

“The bonding moment, I remember it,” Lance admitted with a sheepish smile, just before he was shouldered forward and lost sight of his comrade for what may very well be the last time.

-

It felt like they had been walking for ages. He took it as an opportunity to rehearse what he might say to Lotor, but nearly everything that came to mind would probably result in getting bitch slapped by the universe’s prettiest galra.

Scratch that, second prettiest galra.

There was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to ignore it, even when the lanky galra excused himself, leaving the larger one and Lance alone.

“In here,” the galra soldier grunted, stopping at a door on the right and placing his palm on the panel beside it.  It lit up, making a sound of acceptance and gliding open.

Lance was roughly shoved inside.

He expected to see Lotor awaiting him, but was instead met by a spacious hangar. There were a few galra spacecrafts and random equipment pieces stored away that looked like they had been collecting dust.

It was common myth amongst siblings that big brothers didn’t get scared. Lance liked to pretend he was a brave guy (he had a reputation to uphold for his little sisters, after all) and often times even managed to convince himself that he was fearless.

But as he heard the door shut behind them and felt the hot breath of the soldier against his neck, it occurred to Lance just how afraid he was.

“Feel free to scream, no one will hear you in here,” the galra murmured in his ear, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He was pressed against nearest wall, one hand grappling his neck and the other on his waist.

He could have screamed a lot of things then, but of them all, he didn’t expect it to be a name. 

“Lotor!”

It came out a desperate cry for help.

There was little time to wonder why it had been Lotor’s name, because in a split second the galra’s hands had released him.

Lance turned slowly, tears pricking his eyes.

The soldier was on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. And above him, the galra prince himself, looking hardly disheveled.

He fished out a cloth and began to wipe off his blade.

“I’ve been asleep for ten thousand years and this is the group of soldiers my father has left for me. Such a pity.”

Unlike Keith, Lance was infamous for being compulsive in terms of tongue, not action. But something overcame him in that moment, and with a sob of relief the Blue Paladin rushed into him, burying his face against the galra’s chest when he found himself unable to throw his bound arms around his neck.

He smelt just like he did in his dreams.

Chapter Text

There was something about Lotor’s eyes that told a story.

It was a sad story, because when he looked at you, it was with a raw, yet withdrawn gaze. Lance could get lost in those sunny eyes of his, and this was exactly what happened.

Even when the galra prince ripped him from his chest and slammed Lance against the wall he had just rescued him from, he couldn’t help but search those stoic yellow orbs as his breath grew jagged.

“Have you any idea who I am, boy?” Lotor sneered, pressing his blade against his throat as it eagerly tasted dusky skin. “I’ve already taken one Blue Paladin’s life. Taking a second would be a privilege.”

He didn’t so much as blink when he said it. There was no pain behind those words, no notion of remorse.

Where was the beautifully distraught face that had watched him during his final hour?

The breath caught in Lance’s throat. Suddenly, the world was spinning. He might have thrown up, if not for the fact there was nothing in his stomach to reject.

He saw Lotor’s quizzical face looking back at him before he fell forward. The blade was withdrawn, and he was welcomed by the other man’s arms. He crumpled into him like a wilted flower, and the world went still, painting itself in darkness.

-

The air was brisk, and tasted dry.

The lalets looked duller than normal that day, as though they had been drained of their traditionally vibrant color.

Or perhaps he was only seeing what he felt.

They never looked so bright or beautiful to him until he started visiting them with Lotor, now that he thought about it.

“Lotor, wait.”

He was clad in royal attire. He couldn’t fathom how Lotor tolerated wearing it so often; it was heavy, and restricting in more ways than one. Just sitting through the summit had been unbearable, but chasing after a distraught galra through the tall stalks of flowers took a certain degree of skill.

A white cape billowed behind him, brushing against the whispering lalets.

He reached out and touched his shoulder, but the galra prince jerked it away roughly, causing him to flinch.

“Please,” he said softly, withdrawing his hand, “Show me your face, Lotor.”

Lance - No, Kieran - immediately regretted wishing this of him, because his heart began to ache when the galra turned to look at him.

Lotor was infamous for hiding his emotions; it was one of his many talents, fooling people into thinking he didn’t care. But Kieran knew better. Seeing it written on his face so clearly, though, he felt like someone had plunged a blade into his stomach and twisted it for pleasure.

He never imagined he would be the cause of Lotor’s pain. From the very beginning, all he wanted was to make him smile where his father could not.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He was biting his lip, but it trembled anyways.

Kieran thought of their stolen kisses in the lalet field, their many promises and spilt secrets. The lalets had become confidants of their love.

The morning dew that clung to their petals made it look as though they were weeping. He realized now that they wept for Lotor, and for the promise Kieran had broken.

“What is it, your highness?” It was said with mockery, but he detected the underlying hurt behind those words.

“Don’t,” Kieran took a breath, “Don’t call me that. Nothing is absolute yet.”

“You’re engaged.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t have a right to defend himself, not when Lotor was making such a crestfallen expression. The altean’s gaze became downcast, and he studied the ground.

They had both known for some time, of Alfor and Kieran’s father’s agreement. They both knew their love was taboo, and would end disastrously if it the lalets could talk. But neither of them expected to have to face the consequences so soon, or so young.

Lotor hadn’t expected Kieran to sit through the summit silently as Alfor announced his engagement to the princess in unspoken accord.

“It’s okay.” When he lifted his eyes, Lotor was smiling through his tears.

He knew what this was - whenever the galra prince was angry or upset, he tried to convince those around him he was fine, so that they might leave him alone.

It was his way of telling you to go.

“You’ve always spoken of making a difference. And you can do that, as the Prince of Altea. Allura is fond of you, and you’ve known one another since birth. Your father was practically beaming at the summit. …It’s everything you’ve always wanted.”

That’s before I met you, Kieran thought, but he didn’t say it.

“You’re going to make a great Prince.” It came out soft, dripping with bittersweet honesty.

Lotor moved his hands over his face, rubbing furiously at the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks. He laughed, but it cracked in his throat. “I always imagined I would call you Prince Kieran one day. I just thought you would be my prince.”

He let his hands fall to his sides, walking past Kieran with his head held high. It was how he carried himself in front of those who looked down on him for not meeting the expectations Zarkon set in place as their ruler.

“Let’s stop coming here,” he said, and then he left.

The last time they met in the lalet field, Kieran had asked for a sign.

Lotor had been that sign. At least, that is what he thought.

He had so much to tell him, so much to apologize for. 'I don’t care if I disappoint my father,' he would tell him, 'None of that matters if I can’t be with you.'

Of course Kieran wanted to ascend the Altean throne as both its prince and Blue Paladin - it was everything he had dreamt of as a child. But he already had Blue, and Lotor, if he could fix this mess. That’s all he needed, and more.

He failed to remember the first time Lotor had gone up to the lalet field alone, it was because he was lost.

He should have detected the pain behind those eyes, the strain in his voice.

But all he could feel was relief as he was enveloped in his arms, drunk on forgiveness that wasn’t really there.

Kieran had been willing to let go of Lotor for his father, and for his blood.

As the blade was driven into his abdomen, he realized Lotor had done the same.

-

Smells nice.

Lance’s eyes slowly opened. He blinked away the grogginess, but when he tried to move his hand up to wipe the drool from his mouth he found himself unable. He tried to crane his head to look down and realized he was moving, yet his legs were tucked and he was several inches off the ground.

What the crow?

“Stop squirming,” came a grunt, and he stiffened.

Lotor was carrying him on his back.

Lance hesitantly relaxed against him, chin resting on his shoulder as he looked ahead a little blearily. He really did smell nice… like lavender and jasmine.

Note to self, ask the galra prince what brand of shampoo he uses.

“Did I faint?” Lance asked, softly, since Lotor’s ear was close to his face.

“Yes. You’re quite good at doing that,” the galra reported.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He fell silent for a moment, lips pursed.

“Thanks. For, uh…” Literally saving my ass? Was that a good way to put it?

“Don’t thank me yet,” Lotor cut in, glancing at him from the corner of his eye before he returned his attention ahead of them. “A sleazy galra soldier is the least of your problems, Blue Paladin.”

Lance swallowed. “It’s K-“ He stopped himself, and Lotor made a sound of question. “Lance. My name is Lance,” he finished, a bit hollowly.

“I don’t recall asking.” Lotor stopped at the end of the hall. He successfully managed to place his hand on the panel without Lance slipping, but once inside he dumped him on the bed.

He landed less than gracefully, to say the least.

The room was spacious, but this was mostly due to the fact that there was very little in it. It reminded him a lot of their rooms in the castle, except with a galra ship color scheme.

So basically how Keith would have his room, if Allura let him paint the walls.

“You brought me to your quarters? I’m starting to get the feeling you just wanted me for yourself,” Lance mused, but it came out nervous.

He kept forgetting that this guy had tried to kill Keith, and evidentially Kieran, too.  He shouldn't put it past him to take advantage of the situation.

In his defense, it was easy to forget when every time he looked at him it was like getting hit by a bad case of nostalgia.

“If I desired you, dear paladin, I would at least have the decency to make sure you were properly bathed and groomed first,” Lotor hummed, and Lance wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or offended by the statement.

He sat upright, shifting his cuffed hands before lifting them up with a tired but cheeky smile. “Any chance you could get me out of these bad boys? Starting to itch.”

The galra smirked, moving over to a futuristic-looking trunk in the corner of the room. “You may be scrawny in comparison to myself, but I will not overlook you so easily. I am no fool - I know you and your comrades are the reason my father may never wake again.”

“It was a group effort, really,” Lance tried for. “‘Sides, I didn’t have much part in that, anyways..” he deflated a little, and Lotor raised a brow as he turned, holding something in his hands that he had dug out of the trunk’s compartment.

“I didn’t peg the contemporary Blue Paladin to lack confidence. Your latter was -” He paused, and his brows knit together, as though trying to remember something. He seemed to lose himself, because he promptly shook his head, advancing towards the bed and sitting on the end.

Lance inched away as he eyed the contents in his hand. “What is that?”

The white-haired man rolled his eyes, opening what appeared to be a small bowl and dipping a paintbrush into its contents. “It’s a yuuberry concoction, for your face.”

The Cuban took a moment to register his words, then blinked. “A face mask? Seriously?”

“There is nothing wrong with taking care of your features,” Lotor snapped in defense. “I’ll have you know your skin is in dire need of it.”

It occurred to Lance this probably wasn’t a normal galra custom. Yeah, he could definitely relate to that as a male specimen of the human race.

“Cool your purple jets,” he said, making the appropriate gesture with his hands the best he could with them cuffed together, “I just wasn’t expecting an evil overlord like yourself to appreciate skincare. It’s a pretty under-appreciated art.”

He stopped, shooting him a glare. “And hey! I take excellent care of my skin, okay? It’s just been a rough past few weeks.”

Lotor eyed him a bit skeptically, but the expression slowly melted away and he lifted the brush, leaning forward. “Stay still,” he ordered softly, and Lance obliged, holding his breath when the first stroke touched his cheek.

Lotor was close. Very, very close.

Lance was glad the yuuberry mix was covering his cheeks, less Lotor might notice the hint of scarlet trapped in them as his eyes traced the galra prince.

How could someone be so pretty, yet so handsome at the same time? It was baffling how he could share both feminine and masculine features, with his sharp jawline and broadened shoulders yet soft features and graceful white locks.

Lotor was, simply put, the epitome of beauty. 

The way he painted on the face mask led Lance to believe he was an entirely different person (galra?) than before. His touch was so gentle, and his eyes reserved a calm glow as he painted the cool mixture onto his skin. There were still clouds cast over his sunny gaze, but it was no longer stormy.

Perhaps…there was hope.

Once Lotor finished, he pulled his own hair back and out of the way. A few ivory pieces escaped the loose pony-tail, framing his face. He began to apply the mask on himself, pausing when he noticed the human boy’s staring. “What is it?”

Lance quickly diverted his attention, coughing awkwardly. “Nothing.”

A sentry brought a platter with two dishes just then, which Lotor gladly accepted and placed on the bed between them. “Perfect timing,” he purred.

As Lance inspected the platter’s contents he found his mouth watering. It kind of looked like a quiche, but it was a blue hue. It smelled heavenly.

“It’s a Galran dish,” Lotor explained proudly, but before he could continue Lance cut him off without looking up.

“Kvånna, I know. It’s your favorite.”

When he looked up, Lotor was staring at him in shock. “How did you..?”

Lance stiffened a little, realizing what he had just blurted.

And then his eyes hooded, betraying his jaded demeanor on the matter. “Would you believe me, if I told you I don’t know?”

The prince was studying him now, as though trying to solve a riddle. “Back there, in the hangar,” he said slowly, “You called out to me. But there was no way you could have seen me from the angle you were at.”

He remembered something just then. A memory, faint but flickering, in his mind. It wasn’t the first time Lotor saved him from a galra with ill intentions - nor the first time Lotor killed one of his own for Kieran.

Because I knew you would come for me. The words caught in his throat.

Lotor withdrew a tepid sigh. He cut out a piece of the kvånna with his fork and brought it to the paladin’s lips. “You’re ashen,” he murmured. “You need to eat.”

Lance took a bite. He chewed, then swallowed, allowing a moment to pass.

It tasted like a picnic in the lalet field, a tender kiss from his prince.

He remembered how charming he looked in his black trousers and neatly tucked white blouse, and his shorter blunt hair that Kieran had cut himself when Lotor announced he wanted a change.

Tears ran down his cheeks in hot rivulets, working away at the face mask that had just barely dried. “How could you,” came his broken voice.

“How could I what?” Lotor asked, quietly.

“How could you forget about me?”

Chapter Text

Lotor remembered the fall of Altea.

He remembered Zarkon turning his back on the empire they had once held an alliance with, the empire his birth mother hailed from, and he remembered standing half-heartedly loyal on the side of his father.

He remembered feeling guilty, but swallowing that guilt deep inside him until he couldn’t bare it.

He remembered taking a critical hit during the final hour of the war, and being confined to the suffocating contents of a healing pod.

Then, nothing.

When he woke up, Haggar assured him he would regain the rest of his memories with time. It was only natural, she said, that after ten thousand years, his recollection of the past would be compromised.

Lotor couldn’t help but suspect she was lying.

He didn’t say this, of course. Instead he smirked, the way he did whenever she caught him sneaking off and threatened to tell his father. Haggar,” he had practically purred, “You don’t look a day over ten-thousand.”

It was strange, but he got the feeling it wasn’t the sort of thing he would typically say, and especially not to his father’s terrifying advisor.

Almost as if he was repeating the cheeky line of someone he knew a long, long time ago.

The Galra Empire had stretched as far as the universe allowed it in his absence, and upon waking up, Lotor found himself both disgusted and amazed by its vast growth in comparison to what he knew as a child.

How in galra’s name it had taken ten-thousand years for Voltron to return and take a stand against Zarkon, he had no idea.

No matter how much he mulled it over in his head, there was one thing he was certain of: his father had not wanted him around, to leave him in a healing pod for so many millennium.
Haggar insisted he had kept Lotor in isolation for this very state of affairs; with Zarkon defeated, the Galra empire needed a new ruler to take its place. Preserving the Emperor’s son gave them the opportunity to rise up where Voltron had cut them down.

Voltron.

He always despised those lions.

He despised his father, too, and waking up to learn he may never see him again - especially when he was finally presented with an opportunity to make him proud after being stuffed inside a pod for centuries - well, it was infuriating.

It was like being told he endured his father’s constant berating and abuse all those years for nothing.

Things would have been so much easier if he just stayed in that healing pod, unconscious of the disaster waiting for him outside.

Lotor would kill the paladins personally for forcing him into this hell.

And he would do it where their latter had once all met on peaceful terms.

There was an ache in his chest when his feet touched down on a planet that was barely standing.

He wanted to see him.

But who was him?

When his eyes fell upon vermillion armor, a rise of anger tumbled over his head like a frothing current. That, he thought, was not him.

Lotor desperately wanted to feel something other than confusion or rage when he finally met the Blue Paladin face-to-face. He wanted to understand this ache in his chest, the underlying guilt that was choking him.

He remembered the blade, how his father had given it to him with special instructions.

But he didn’t remember wanting to take the Blue Paladin’s life all those years ago.

When Lotor laid eyes on their latter for the first time, he wasn’t sure what to think.

He was human.

It was a race Lotor wasn’t particularly familiar with, nor was he from a planet the Galra Empire had conquered.

His skin was a warm brown hue, and gave Lotor the impression that he was of Altean descent - but he lacked the proper features to accompany his pretty eyes and smooth complexion.

He reminded him of a lalet. It was a strange thought, but standing on a cemetery of the once beautiful flowers, it was the only thing that came to mind in that moment.

When their eyes locked, he expected to feel something.

He thought that if he were to see the Blue Paladin for himself, perhaps he might remember a missing piece from his past.

Part of him hoped the memories might slowly trickle back, if he just caught a glimpse -

- and yet, nothing.

The disappointment that cut into him left the galra prince raw.

Just as he suspected, the only connection between them was that Lotor had taken the previous Blue Paladin’s life.

When he finally did feel something, it was on his bed in a face mask, watching a prisoner wash his away with his tears.  It was a baffling sight, but it didn’t strike a chord with him quite like the words that left those trembling lips.

“How could you forget about me?”

Then, louder, with a hiccuped sob, “How could you forget about us?”

Us.

It was a foreign word to Lotor.

His father never addressed them as “us”. 

Even so, he failed to see a correlation between Lance and his past.

“You’re ruining the mask,” he said softly, struggling to weigh out the awkwardness in his voice. He didn’t know how to deal with tears.

For someone so beautiful, he was quite the ugly cryer.

Lotor stood up, then returned with a clean handkerchief (this one not stained with blood), and tenderly wiped away the remains of the yuuberry mix from his face. He removed his own afterwards, setting the cloth down and glimpsing the sobbing human in exasperation.  If they had been tears of fear, he might have been proud to make so many leave the human's eyes, but they were not.

It was brief, but for a heartbeat, he saw something.

A head of hair with short white tendrils in the place of brown, pointed ears dusted with pink, and two light green markings just beneath brilliant blue eyes.

He blinked, and the image dissolved.

“Kieran.”

It rolled off his tongue like honey.

Lance’s eyes widened like blue moons, allowing any lingering tears to spill over. He nodded, hopeful.

Lotor placed his hands on raspberry cheeks. His thumb traced a faint scar just below the boy’s lip, swallowing hard as he studied him. “Kieran,” he repeated, and the Blue Paladin nodded again, desperately this time.

He wanted to kiss him. Lance seemed to want that, too, because he was leaning into him, breathless.

“No.”

Lotor removed his hands from his cheeks, planting them on the boy’s shoulders and forcing distance between them. He’s only trying to deceive you. He’ll do to you what you did to his former.

“Lotor,” Lance said desperately, reaching out towards him. “Lotor, please, I -”

The door opened, and standing at its metallic frame was Haggar, flanked by two galra soldiers.

“You dare defy me, Lotor?” the witch hissed. She pointed a clawed finger at the darker-skinned boy. “Seize him.”

He watched, helplessly, as the soldiers heaved Lance up by both arms, dragging him off the bed.

“Lotor, you have to listen to me,” he shrieked, kicking and fighting against his containers with what little energy he could muster. “You know me! You know Kieran!” He was practically screaming now, and every word felt like a dagger to his heart.

He only wished he could remember more than a name.

He might have believed him.

“We met in the lalet field!”

Lotor slowly lifted his gaze, fixing it on the paladin. He stared back at him, stolen of breath.

“It was raining, and you were drenched.” Lance’s voice lowered into something much more melancholy. He stopped fighting completely, having exhausted himself. “You kissed me under the stars. We had secret picnics and told each other about our dreams. I was…”

He smiled tearfully as he was hauled out the door. “Your lalet.”

-

Lance studied the floor as it moved beneath him. He didn’t know where Haggar was taking him, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t enjoy this particular field trip.

At least his skin would be radiant and glowing in the face of impending doom.

Even so, he felt hollow. Defeated.

He remembered everything.

Yet he understood nothing.

Do I really know who I am?

A few days ago, he had been worried about being an unwanted seventh wheel on the team. Now, he wasn’t even sure he was Lance.

It was like two lives were inside him - two lost pilots - fighting for dominance over the other. And he wasn’t sure which he wanted to win, if any at all.

He was taken into a room with a long passage that forked away and bled into the glowing designs of the walls.

Pretty extra layout, if you ask me, Lance thought, unimpressed. Trashing the galra’s taste in architecture was one way to ease his nerves, but nothing could prepare him for the horror that quickly filled his stomach as his eyes fell upon the contraption that loomed over him in its center.

He was strapped onto it, his arms and legs bound by neon cuffs so he was completely defensiveness.

It was an interrogation room.

“Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?” the witch asked from beneath the ominous hood. Her voice was grating, and he couldn’t help but groan.

“Okay but, do you really have to talk like that? You sound like you’re doing a bad impression of an abuela who’s been a chain smoker her entire life.”

Lance had a tendency to run his mouth when he was scared. It was a coping mechanism, but something told him it wasn’t going to aid him now.

He was royally screwed.

He couldn’t see her eyes from the shadow her hood cast, but if he had to guess, they probably looked pissed.

“Enough,” she spat, lifting her hands. They began to conjure some kind of pink electricity, and she seemed to play with it in a threatening manner. It was all show, but it served its purpose by momentarily silencing the terrified paladin. “I sense an energy within you, Paladin. You will tell me what you know.”

His brow furrowed.  “Lady, I don’t even know what I don’t know. If I did, I probably wouldn’t be in this hole.” He paused. “Wow, that rhymed. I should be a poet. They usually have miserable lives, too.”

People tended to mistaken Lance’s infamous habit of getting himself into more trouble than it was worth as infantile pride. This, however, was not the case at all. He cracked jokes in dire times, and endured the scrutiny of his teammates for it, because it hid the fear behind his words.

He just wanted to be brave, like Shiro.

By the time he noticed her digit moving over a switch on the control panel, it was too late to serve an apology.

An excruciating jolt of electricity surged through his body and forced a shrill cry out of his lungs. Afterwards, he was fairly certain he smelt burnt flesh.

“This is one game I can play all day, Kieran.”

Lance froze. He weakly tried to lift his head as her words sank in. He saw her crooked and knowing smile leer out at him. “But how long can you endure it?”

His voice came out a rasp, but he forced his head to remain high as he smirked down on her. “You guys tried to kill me once, yet I’m somehow still here. So my guess is as good as yours, bi- I’m sorry, witch.”

At some point, when the magnitude of the shocks increased and the pain became almost unbearable, his mind started to wander.

He thought about home.

Not the one from his dreams, but the always bustling McClain household. He thought about his many siblings and their many adventures, and the sands of Varadero Beach warm beneath his bare feet.

He thought about his older sister teasing him for wearing pizza socks with his burks, and the munchkins crawling into his bed late at night because they knew no matter how much they kicked in their sleep, he wouldn’t protest.

He thought about all those years he studied and worked hard to get into the Garrison, and how wonderful yet small he felt on the first day as a cargo pilot. The top of your class, they would tell him, but not quite good enough to be a fighter pilot.

He thought about Keith, and that stupid mullet that looked so good when he pulled it back so it was out of his face. He thought about the time he cradled him, and the night following when he lay wide awake in bed, terrified of his undeniable feelings. He thought about his smile, how seldom it graced his lips, but how bright and beautiful he looked with dimples and a carefree expression. He had memorized Keith’s smile in his mind, like a candid shot on a vintage polaroid.

He thought about his teammates, and how he had let them down so many times with his big mouth, but he wouldn’t do it now, not if there was a chance they were still out there.

He didn’t think about the sunflower-lalet field, or Lotor.

At some point he realized Haggar was speaking to him again.

A bead of sweat traveled down his forehead, and he lifted his eyes, his vision dotted by white. His body must have been in shock, because he couldn’t feel a thing. He almost would have preferred to feel some kind of pain; at least then he’d have an idea what kind of condition he was in.

“I’m impressed,” she croaked, but he detected vexation within her grating voice. “I didn’t expect you to hold out this long. If pain isn’t enough to make talk…”

He heard the door open, and someone was shuffled inside and roughly shoved to their knees by a galra soldier. “Get your hands off of me.”

“…Perhaps the fate of your comrade will.”

Lance was filled with horror. He recognized that voice anywhere.

He forced his head upright, meeting Keith’s gaze. The other boy gaped at him.

Lance must have looked pretty bad, because his eyes instantly filled with fire and he shot upright, only to be violently slammed down by the soldier while he struggled against them and spat up a cussing storm.

“No, no, no,” he sputtered, looking from Keith to Haggar desperately when the soldier raised his blade, waiting for the order to cut him down. “I don’t know! I don’t know, okay? I’m telling the truth. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about Voltron, but I - I’m just Lance! I’m not Kieran!”

She paused, and for a moment he thought she might actually reconsider. But then she nodded at the soldier. “Kill him.”

Lance’s screaming was abruptly silenced by a loud explosion that rocked the entire room. The door was literally blown from its futuristic hinges, taking out the galra soldier but missing Keith by a hair.

Haggar vanished into thin air; teleportation, Lance assumed. Her hood had fallen away from her face during the blast, and just before she dematerialized, they locked gazes.

He could have sworn he saw fear in her eyes.

In the midst of the chaos, the raven-haired boy broke free and hit something on the control panel. Lance’s cuffs vanished, and he tumbled to the ground with a weak groan.

The Red paladin was instantly at his side, arms embracing him protectively. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, but his attention was quickly directed ahead, tensing up in defense.

A black hovercraft screeched to a halt just outside the now empty entrance, and a stranger clad in a drape that looked suitable for some kind of space assassin gracefully jumped down. He was wearing a helmet, making him unrecognizable.

“Who are you?” Keith demanded.

Lance blinked several times, trying to clear the white dots from his vision.

The newcomer placed their hands on both sides of the helmet, removing it. They blew out a short breath afterwards, then held it at their hip, looking to the two.

“Pidge?” Lance gawked, mouth falling open.

Except, it wasn’t Pidge at all, and a few furious blinks later he could confirm this.

They were taller than her, for starters, with more masculine features and a head of wild chestnut hair.

Matt Holt fixed them a toothy grin. “Not quite.”

Chapter Text

“Matt?”

The name was thick with disbelief on Lance’s tongue.  It was still hard to believe, that standing before them was a man they had only seen in a photo Pidge held close to her heart until now.  

“That’s me,” Matt confirmed, nodding.

“Like, Matt as in - Matt Holt?  Pidge’s brother?”

The grin had mellowed into a smile, but the corners of his lips seemed to twitch as he nodded for the second time.  “You must be Lance, then,” he guessed.

“Yeah!  How’d you know?”  

“How about we talk about this later, after we’ve escaped the Galra ship?” Keith suggested, jerking Lance back into reality.

He deflated a little.  “Fine, fine.” Lance waved him off, but his attempt to stand failed miserably and resulted in his legs buckling beneath him.  

Quiznack, that hurts.

Thankfully, Keith was there to break his fall.  “Don’t push yourself.  You can’t walk on your own in your condition.”  The raven-haired boy helped him to his feet with one arm wrapped around his waist.  Lance swung his own arm over Keith’s shoulder to further steady himself.

The Blue Paladin grunted in response, feeling an embarrassed heat enter his cheeks.  He really hated this damsel in distress dynamic that seemed to be ever so prevalent lately.  

Normally, he wouldn't be one to complain about two pretty boys doting after him in the same day - but it sucked, constantly feeling like a hindrance because he was too roughed up to act as a valuable part of the team.  

Keith looked expectantly at Matt once the two were both standing.  “So, what’s the plan?”  

“We need to get to the hangar where they’re keeping the Red and Black lion,” he explained, heading over to the hovercraft.  “I snuck on alone, but it won’t be long before-” as if on cue, sirens began to wail around them and red lights pulsed through the corridor.  “-that happens.  We have ships in wait ready to attack as distraction. It should buy us a little time, but-”

“That’s only if we don’t get caught in the attack ourselves,” Keith concluded.  

Matt tossed his helmet aside and climbed onto the hovercraft, extending his hand out towards them.  “Exactly.”

Lance was carefully helped on.  Every little movement caused the pain to flare up, and he hissed under his breath as he swung his leg over the seat.  

He didn’t say anything, however, simply nodding when Keith climbed on and looked over his shoulder to ask if he felt okay.

“Hold on tight!” Matt called as he revved up the engine.  Lance found himself snaking his arms around Keith’s waist, gritting his teeth in an attempt to endure the discomfort that ensued.   

They tore out on down the hall, and Lance buried his face into Keith - or more specifically, his mullet.  He would never admit it, but there was something about his smell and his stupidly soft hair that put him at ease.  

They were making progress, when a series of loud booms shook the foundation of the ship.  Matt’s rebel buddies, Lance guessed.

The guy was undoubtedly a skilled driver (perhaps even more so than Keith), because he somehow managed to scale right over the wall as the ship momentarily tilted sideways.

“We’ve got company!” Matt yelled, and Lance peered over Keith’s shoulder to see what the commotion was about.  A line of sentries  had blocked off the hall leading to the hangar’s entrance, weapons aimed at the hovercraft.  “Keith, take over.”

There was movement up front, followed by Keith’s reluctant voice: “What?  H-Hey!  Wait-”

Matt didn’t give him any time to protest, however, surrendering the wheel.  Lance was pretty sure he was hallucinating, because in one swift motion the eldest Holt child had balanced himself on the head of the still-moving hovercraft like it was a surfboard.  

Just before the sentries were in range of taking aim, Matt jumped off the front.  Keith jerked the wheel to avoid collision (while Lance’s shrill voice rang out: “ we’re gonna die we’regonnadiewe’re-- ”), and they screeched to a stop, Lance still panicking into his mullet.

Matt hit the ground and rolled, and for a moment it looked as though he had taken a bad tumble; but he was back on his toes almost instantly, unsheathing a pistol from a hidden belt before the sentries could react.

One by one, the automatons dropped.  And standing victorious amongst the robotic corpses was Matt, his wild hair tousled and smile triumphant.  

Keith, looking both awed and envious, helped Lance off the hovercraft.  It was smoking and making questionable noises; no doubt taking its final breath after putting up with Matt’s ridiculously cool stunts for far too long.  

Lance chose to ignore the gentle hands supporting his underarms as he was lifted out of his seat like a child.  Instead, he gazed at Matt with sparkling eyes and an open mouth.  

“Dude!  You’re a freaking ninja!”

Even Pidge’s brother makes a better paladin than you.  

It was an abrupt thought, but Lance swallowed it down, focusing on his excitement instead.  

Matt rubbed the back of his head, his smile far too modest.  “I don’t know about that.”  

“Escape now, talk later,” Keith interrupted.  

Lance rolled his eyes.  “Yeah yeah.  You’re just jealous you can’t drive like that.”

He shot the brunette an irritated glare.  “Am not.”  

It was only a short walk to the hangar, but with Lance partially immobile, it wasn’t long before a new ensemble of sentries crowded the hallway.

Matt was able to take a few out, buying them just enough time to reach the hangar door unscathed.

Keith slammed his hand on the panel, letting Matt pass through before he shuffled them both inside.  

Once the door closed behind them, Matt shot the panel multiple times.  “That’ll hold them for a little while.”

Two massive lions stood in the spacious center.  They were both entrapped within force fields, just like the one Blue was in when they found her in the cave.

Lance had been wondering why Red didn’t throw a temper tantrum after Keith’s capture.  As it seemed, the galra were pretty good at taming the beasts with their technology.

Getting through to the Red lion wasn’t a problem.  All Keith had to do was put his hand on the force field and murmur a soft “I’m here, girl” and it dissolved.  

Red looked like a house cat whose owner had finally returned from a long day of work, her eyes lighting up and massive metal jaws opening to make an excited rumbling sound.  

Black, on the other hand, proved to be more of an issue.

Lance insisted he could walk on his own, but Keith helped him over to the larger beast before he let him go.  When he (a bit too confidentially) put his hand on the force field, Black didn’t react.  

“Uh, Black?  You alive in there?”  Silence.  “Aw, c’mon!  We totally bonded back there!”

“This sounds awfully familiar,” he heard Keith mutter.

“Hey!  I owned up to that,” Lance snapped, glaring over his shoulder before he turned to look at the slumbering cat again.  

His stomach started to feel heavy.  What was so different now?  Had Black only let him in that time because she wanted to save Keith?

Makes sense.

He tried not to think about the bond he seemed to lack with both the Black lion and the Red Paladin.

Keith closed the distance between them, looking like he was trying hard not to roll his eyes.  He wound his arm back around Lance’s waist when he started to waver, ignoring the other boy’s protests.  “Maybe your bond with Blue is too strong right now, or Black is aware you’re injured and aren’t in a position to pilot.”  

Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better.

“That’s all fine and dandy, but we can’t leave without her,” Lance said, lower lip sticking out.  That would be like leaving Shiro behind.  “So now what?”  

“Can I try?”  

Both heads turned to look at Matt, who scratched at his cheek with a benign smile.  

Keith looked surprised, but shrugged.  “Uh…I guess?”

The rebel nodded, gazing up at the Black lion and placing both his hands on the force field.  “Hey, girl,” he said softly.  “I’m…” he paused, and Lance thought he saw a glitter of pain in his brown eyes, “…a good friend of Shiro’s.  I want to help everyone find him, but first we have to get you out of here.  So what do you say?”

A good friend of Shiro’s, he said.  Lance tilted his head, puzzled.  How does he know…?

There was a short pause, and the trio held their breath.  

The barrier dematerialized, causing Matt to stumble a bit.  He caught himself, practically beaming as he looked up at her.

Lance scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Black lion?  More like Hoe lion.   Unbelievable .”  

The heavy feeling didn’t wane.  At the very least, he could pretend it only bothered him outwardly.   

“Someone sounds a little jealous,” the raven-haired boy mused, throwing the earlier comment back in his face.  Lance feigned annoyance, even if it stung more than Keith intended.  “Shut up, mullet,” he grumbled.  

Another boom shook the hangar, causing debris to fall from the ceiling.

Keith straightened a bit.  “I think that’s our signal to get out of here.”

“Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Lance froze, and he felt Keith tense against him.  Matt’s eyes narrowed.

The galra prince stepped out of the shadows.  “I will admit, I’m impressed.  Escaping Haggar takes a certain level of skill - believe me, I know.”

He thought of Lotor's cheeky smile in the lalet field as he told him Haggar caught him sneaking out.

In one hand he was wielding the blade that had nearly taken Keith’s life, and in the other, the stolen Blade of Mamora.  Lotor smirked, dangling it before the seething paladin.  “Looking for this?”  

“If it’s a rematch you’re looking for,” Keith said lowly, “I’m more than happy to oblige.”  

Lance had wanted Lotor to come back for him.

But not like this.

“Keith,” Lance begged quietly. He shook his head, but his pleads were ignored.  

The Red paladin slowly lowered Lance down onto the ground, removing his arm before standing once more.  His gaze was locked on the galra.  

Matt dropped to Lance’s side, stooping onto one knee.  “This is bad,” he muttered under his breath.  

There was nothing either of them could do, however, but watch helplessly as Lotor threw Keith his blade.  

Two half-galras allowed a moment to size each other up, their faces screwed with rancor.  

Keith made the first move.  

Lance held his breath as their blades clashed in a shriek of steel.  

Lotor was stronger than Keith, but where the raven-haired boy lacked brawn he made up for in agility.  The prince advanced the moment the other withdrew, and Keith rolled gracefully out of range, barely dodging his blade.  

It was strange, watching Lotor fight with such vigor.  

Lance - or rather, Kieran - remembered Lotor despising weapons.  

He thought about the bruises and scars that littered Lotor’s body.  And it occurred to him, that maybe, just maybe, his father had been teaching him more than humility all those years.  

When blade finally met skin, it was Lotor that was sent stumbling backwards, hissing in pain as he clutched his arm.

“Stop!”  Lance heard himself scream.  Matt had to hold his shoulders down when he tried to bolt upright.

Both adversaries momentarily froze, Keith looking over at the Blue Paladin with brows knit together in question.

“You hear that?  I think he fancies me a little more than you’ve led yourself to believe,” Lotor sneered.

Something in Keith snapped.  He dropped his blade, letting it clatter to the ground, and lunged at the galra prince.  A few punches were thrown back and forth before they wound up on the floor, snarling and spitting like rabid dogs as they clashed in a flurry of tooth and nail.  

Lance had fought galrans before, but he had never seen two fight one another.  It was brutal.

Where had those gentle hands that cupped his cheeks and dried his tears gone?  

They clawed and tore at skin, drawing blood.   Lotor…

Where had those lips that awkwardly but lovingly dusted his own gone?  

They were drawn back, showing teeth as they spat profanities.    Keith…

He felt his breath shorten, his chest constrict.  

I don’t want this.  I don’t want this.  Just make it stop —

The white dots were back.  He could hardly make out the scene anymore, and he heard Matt saying his name, felt him nudge his shoulder.

His eyes closed briefly, but when he opened them again, Keith was on top of Lotor, blade pressed to his throat.  He was going to kill him.

“Do it,” Lotor challenged, baring bloodied fangs, “I will reign victorious dead or alive.”

He didn’t want to think about the meaning behind those words.

Lance broke free of the arms holding him.  He stumbled forward, and Keith, startled, removed the edged weapon.

He moved over Lotor protectively, forcing Keith off of him.

“He’s coming with us,” Lance said, breathing jarred.  

“What?”  Keith looked incredulously at him as a trickle of blood ran down his forehead.  Even Lotor appeared surprised, staring up at Lance with lips parted.  

“I said he’s coming with!”  Keith flinched.  “He knows about Kieran.  About the Galra empire - maybe even Shiro.  I won’t let you kill him.”   You’re not going to take him from me.  Not again.  “He’s coming with us, whether you like it or not.”

Keith looked over at Matt, expecting him to back his side, but the chestnut-haired boy just shrugged with an expression that seemed to read ‘I have no idea what’s going on, so I don’t really have a say in it’.

Keith opened his mouth to protest, but another boom shook the hangar.  Behind them, the sentries were making progress busting open the door.

He grit his teeth, then withdrew a frustrated sigh.  “Whatever.”  He sheathed his weapon.  “Do you have something we can use to constrain him with?”

Matt nodded, retrieving a pair of cuffs dangling from his belt.  

As the defeated galra was cuffed, Lance stared at the ground, quivering.

He wanted to forget the sight of Keith and Lotor fighting.  But it was stained in his mind, like the blood that speckled their clothes.  

Lance accompanied Keith in the Red lion while Matt piloted the Black Lion with Lotor in his custody.  Keeping the two galra’s apart was vital, but Lance did worry - Matt had never piloted one of the lions, let alone in the presence of a dangerous enemy restrained by mere handcuffs.

Then again, if he could jump off of a hovercraft and single-handedly take out an army of sentries by himself, then piloting Black and babysitting a galra prince couldn’t be that hard.  

They had barely made it out of the ship’s hangar and into open space when Matt’s shocked voice rang out through Keith’s helmet (Lance had forfeit his for the temporary paladin):  “Is that a wormhole?”

“Looks like it,” Keith said, brows furrowed.  “Is it one of yours?”

“No…No, it can’t be.  I never gave any order to open a wormhole.”  

“I think we should go in,” Lance interjected.  He planted his hand on the piloting chair and pushed himself upright with what little strength he still possessed, looking out at the wormhole.      

It was like he was being pulled towards it.

The Red Paladin fixed him a surprised look.  “We have no idea where it leads.  It could be a trap—”

“It’s not.”  

He looked annoyed now.  “How do you know?”

Certain blue eyes met sterling grey ones.  “I just know.  You have to trust me on this one.”  

They stared at each other for a few more heartbeats, before Keith pursed his lips and returned his gaze ahead.  “Alright.”  

Lance felt his heart skip a beat.  Keith was actually listening to him.

“What do you mean, ‘alright’?  Are we really going in?”  

“We’re doing this,” the half-galra confirmed.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut as they braced the mouth of the swirling wormhole.  

While sitting in a cell with his rival, his second love, Lance was certain he would never see the faces of his teammates again.  

His mom used to tell him that people only took things for granted until they were lost to them. And she was right.   He wanted so badly to go home, but after being captured, he found himself wishing more than anything to be back in his paladins’ room, staring up at that metallic ceiling he used to loathe so much.  

They were welcomed by the most beautiful sight he could fathom when the other side of the wormhole spit them out: a castle amongst the many stars, lying in wait for its missing paladins.

 He would never take any of it for granted again.

-

Pidge, Hunk, and Coran were waiting for them in the hangar.  

Matt made it down first, allowing Lotor to help himself but keeping a close eye on him as he made his way out of the Black lion.

Pidge rushed him, wrapping her arms around the taller boy.  “I told you I’d bring them back,” Matt murmured into her hair, and it suddenly hit Lance this wasn’t their first reunion since Matt’s capture.  It raised a lot of questions, but in that moment none of it mattered, because they were okay.

They’re okay.

No one mentioned how beat up the two paladins were, nor did they ask about the galra prince glowering behind Matt.  In fact, he wasn’t sure they even noticed the unwanted visitor.    

Once Keith and Lance were on the ground, they were immediately crowded by their teammates.   Pidge removed herself from her brother to embrace the Blue Paladin, nearly knocking him off his feet.  

“Whoah, there.  I missed you too, Gremlin,” he laughed.

Hunk and Coran joined in, and he was quickly enveloped in a group hug.  Even Keith was entangled in the mess of arms, a small smile lacing busted lips as Coran tousled his hair.

“We’re so sorry,” he heard Pidge sob against his chest, “We’re so sorry for how we’ve treated you.  We should have listened.”  

And just like that, the ache in his heart and the weight on his shoulders lifted.  He knew there were still so many things that had yet to be resolved - his conflicting memories, Lotor’s capture, Allura’s missing body amongst the others - but right now, he just wanted to hear those simple words while his teammates held him like they might never let go.

Lance smiled through joyful tears.

"I'm home."

Chapter Text

While being smothered by the teammates he thought he may never see again, Lance was enraptured in a love he hadn’t felt since he left home for the Garrison.  He had forgotten how wonderful it was to be appreciated.  

Part of him secretly wished they could stay like that forever.  

It was selfish of him, but Lance knew that once the canopy of arms lifted, he would have to face reality again.  He didn’t want that.

‘All good things must come to an end’.  Lance knew that simple fact of life better than anyone, which is why he engraved the heartfelt moment into his mind and then let it pass with a smile.

They eventually broke apart, and Pidge jabbed her finger at the cuffed stranger behind Matt, eyeing him suspiciously.  “Who the heck is he ?”

Coran’s usual bright eyes were narrowed on Lotor.  Ah, that’s right, Lance thought, frowning as he watched the mustached man.  They would have crossed paths, back then.  

Just how much did Coran know about Lotor?  

“Alright, paladins!”  The Altean clapped his hands, tearing his gaze away from Lotor.  “I know we’re all anxious to chat, but before that, you two need to be in a tip-top shape.”  He then pointed at Lance and Keith, who both bristled in protest.

“What?”  Lance sputtered.  “No way I’m going back in a stuffy healing pod before you guys tell us what the heck is going on!”  

He tried to make the proper motion with his hands to further express his disfavor, but began to wobble without the support to steady him.

Hunk swooped in like a hawk, catching his friend in his much larger arms.  

Ah, Hunk.  He really missed that perfect, gorgeous face of his.  

“I think Coran’s right,” the big guy said, smiling sympathetically.  “You’re in pretty bad shape, dude.  It’s kind of killing me to see you like this.”  Lance recalled how distraught the Yellow paladin looked when Shiro was carrying him to the healing pod after they defeated Sendak.

He blew out a sigh.  “…Okay.  But I expect an entire batch of goo cookies waiting for me when I wake up.”  

Pidge rubbed furiously at her eyes as they all exchanged smiles - except Keith.  He was looking off to the side, expression growing distant.  

“Come on, lads.”  Coran clasped his hand on Lance’s shoulder, his smile suddenly lukewarm.  “Allura could use the company.”  

-

Keith spent a night in the healing pod, but Lance was confined in his for a good two days through the healing process.  

Once he awoke (and to a batch of goo cookies, just as promised), the team exchanged their personal experiences during the past three days apart.  

He didn’t tell them about Kieran, or his uncertain relationship with the prisoner.  

Lance could feel Keith’s eyes on him as he gushed over Matt’s ninja moves, skipping the part where Lotor had given him a facial and Haggar called him by the name of a forgotten paladin.    

Keith had been right about there being an attack on the castle.

It only suffered one major hit, but the main deck had been the recipient.  It was a miracle that Pidge, Hunk, and Coran survived with only minor injuries.  

Allura, however, was not as lucky.  The blast left her in critical condition, and she was immediately placed in a healing pod.  With the castle damaged and their only means of creating a wormhole gone, they were unable to pursue Lotor or their captured teammates.  

That was when a commander of the Rebel Fleet showed up like a knight in shining armor (or rather, tight black spandex).  AKA, Matt Holt.  He had received the castle’s distress signal and rushed to the aid of the brave paladins who put an end to Zarkon’s reign.  

Lance could only imagine the look on his face as he boarded the castle, unaware his little sister was one of the heroes he had heard so much about.  

Matt chose to take a leave of absence from his position once the castle was properly restored and help team Voltron bring back their lost paladins.

How he ended up a badass ninja, well, that was beyond the rest of the team - perhaps Pidge knew, but if this was the case, it was between siblings.  He couldn’t imagine it being a happy hero’s tale, so Lance didn’t pry.  

There was one thing he was certain of: Pidge must really care about them, to let the brother she just got back risk falling into the hands of the galra again for her friends.

What none of them could figure out, however, was who had opened the wormhole in Allura’s absence.

It was a fleeting thought, but it occurred to Lance that this wasn’t the first time a wormhole had conveniently appeared before the paladins.  He still remembered his first flight with Blue, and the galra fleet that had pursued the five who would later become team Voltron.  It had been a mysterious wormhole that led the team to the sleeping castle back then, too.

He didn’t think very hard on it, though.  There were plenty of other things on his mind to stress over.

-

Allura looked beautiful against the reflection of the pod.  Even with ghostly pale skin and strained features, Lance found himself drawn to her.

It wasn’t love, in the romantic sense of the word.  No - he was certain Kieran’s heart never stirred for the Princess the way it had for Lotor.  It was the sort of love he felt for Pidge, or his abundance of sisters.  

Seeing her in this state…he realized just how little he really knew about Allura.

At the same time, he found himself wondering if she knew more about Lance than she had let on.

“Is it true?” he asked softly, knowing he would only be answered with silence.

It still hadn’t completely registered that Kieran and her had been engaged.  He was beginning to understand the break in her voice when she spoke of the former Blue paladin on his bedside.

Lance hugged his knees closer to him.  He had so many questions to ask her, yet she felt further from him now than ever.  

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Lance looked up.  Matt offered an understanding smile as he entered the room, and the paladin relaxed.

“No,” he admitted, lashes hooding as he retreated back into his knees.  He hadn’t dreamt of the lalet field since their escape.  Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was Lotor and Keith, their teeth bared as they clashed like animals.  

Matt took a seat beside him, gazing up at the sleeping princess.  “She must be pretty amazing,” he said.  “The others speak so highly of her.”  

Lance nodded, mustering a tired smile.  “Yeah.  She’s something else.”  

Matt stretched his arms above his head, then leaned back, planting his palms behind him.  “I can’t wait to meet her.”  

A short silence passed.  He expected Matt to say something, but he just stared ahead with that tender expression of his.

It was hard to believe this was the same guy who did stunts on a hovercraft just a few days ago.  He looked so delicate now, like a rose.  

“Were you and Shiro close?”

It just came out.  Lance mentally flinched, afraid he had prodded at an open wound - but when he stole a glance at the other boy he had a big smile on his face.

“Shiro and me?  He was-” Matt stopped, realizing the fault in his words and clearing his throat with a small laugh, “he’s my best friend.”  

Lance was looking at him now, not sure what to say.

It had been disappointing, when he learned that Matt was as unsure of Shiro’s whereabouts as the paladins were.  Pidge had been the most distraught out of the team, having been regretfully informed by her brother that he had not yet found their father, either.  

But then Lance thought, Matt must have been even more devastated to learn he hadn’t come in time.  

“I wasn’t surprised at all, when I found out Shiro piloted the Black lion,” Matt continued, his voice a murmur.  “He’s just that kind of guy, y’know?  A natural-born leader.”  Another laugh, but this one came out shaky.  He sounded like he was on the verge of tears.  “I always have this daydream, where we reunite.  He’s waiting for me, and I’m running, and he catches me in his arms and swings me around.  Then he’s crushing me against him, and everything’s okay.”  

A tear streamed down his face, and then another.  

Even when they began to pour, Matt’s smile didn’t waver.  He just panned a hand through his messy locks and smiled through the tears.  “I wonder if he ever has the same daydream.”  

He unraveled so beautifully.  Lance would have never guessed he was hurting this much behind his jaunty disposition.  He couldn’t imagine - didn’t want to imagine - what the galra put him through, or how it felt to have Shiro taken away from him amidst the scourge.  

Just when he thought he had gotten his friend back, Shiro slipped through his fingers once more.  That had to hurt.

Were you two…  The question danced on his lips, but he found himself unable to ask it no matter how much his heart desired to know.

Was it possible Shiro had looked at Matt the way Lance thought he looked at Keith?  

“He’d be really proud of you, Matt,” Lance said instead, and the other boy fixed him wide, glistening eyes.  “You brought Keith and I home.  And we’ll bring Shiro home together, too, as a team.”  

Matt was silent for a moment.  Then, allowing his smile to falter in turn for a genuine look of heartache.  He wrapped his arms around the brunette, burying his face against his chest.  Lance held him close, smiling into his messy locks as he fought back his own tears.  

He hoped Matt and Shiro got the reunion they deserved.

He wondered if Lotor would have swung him around, if he had remembered him in the fallen lalet field.

-

He must have dozed off, because when Lance opened his eyes he was in the lalet field.

A sense of relief washed over him.  

The air tasted crisp, and a cool breeze tousled the flowers.  

Just ahead, he saw a figure with his back turned.  He recognized his white locks and red sash, and with a smile jogged towards him.  “Lotor!”

The half-galra turned, but when their eyes locked the lalets vanished, and they were standing on the barren landscape of a forgotten planet.  The sky was dark, drained of sunlight.  

Lance stopped, staring out at the solemn Prince.  His heart sank as he realized the past was already lost to them.  

This was not one of Kieran’s memories.  It was Lance’s dream.

Lotor’s gaze was apathetic.  “Why do you keep coming here?”

The paladin pressed his lips together, then took a step closer.  “Because it’s ours,” he said, softly.  Lotor proceeded to take a step back, keeping a distance between them.  “Or…it was.  Wasn’t it?”

Lotor was silent for a moment.  He withdrew a long breath, then held something up that had been clasped in his hand.  Lance’s attention was stolen by the familiar object.  “Do you know what happens,” he began slowly, holding up a small glass tea cup, “When you try to pick up the pieces of a glass that has already been broken?”  

Lance recognized the teacup.  Kieran had given it to Lotor as a gift.

He threw it out the ground, and it shattered.  Lance winced.

Lotor crouched down afterwards, picking up one of the shards.  He let it graze his fingertips, and crimson began to seep from them, smearing against the once beautiful glass.

“You get hurt,” he finished.  “The more you try to put it back together, the more you bleed.  Do you understand?”

“Stop that.”  Lance knelt down in front of him, carefully removing the glass from his hand and tossing it aside.  

A few days ago, all he had wanted was for things to go back to the way they were before Shiro disappeared and a certain galra prince began to infest his dreams.  But he understood now, that whatever was happening to him was happening for a reason.  

When Lotor cupped his cheeks and murmured a name he had only heard in his dreams and on the lips of a hurt princess, Lance remembered something.  Not a memory, but a revelation: Kieran had loved this man unconditionally, despite his betrayal.    

He wanted to understand their love.  And perhaps, if it was possible, he wanted to save it.

Lance smiled, and warm blue moons met two surprised suns.  “You’re right.  But sometimes you get hurt when you’re fighting for the things you love.  No one can change the past, but you can learn from it.”    

The sky had regained its vivid blue hue, and the lalets danced gently in the breeze around them.

Lotor studied him for a long time.  He reached his hand out towards the Cuban boy, but his bloodied fingers faltered just before they met his cheek and he let them fall back at his side.

“You really are him,” he murmured, lashes hooding.

He straightened a bit, withdrawing a sigh of defeat.  “I don’t have the answers you desire,” Lotor said after a moment, standing.  He began to wade through the lalets, stopping to look back at Lance one last time.  “But…you might find a few glass shards in your blue companion.”  

-

It was the second time he woke up with Pidge’s face too close for comfort.

He didn’t startle this time, however, too bleary to react.

Lance felt something warm on his stomach, and tore his eyes away from her questionable brown ones to peer down at her brother, who was resting comfortably on him.

It was…a pretty gay sight, to say the least.  He suddenly understood the expression Pidge was making.   

“What,” she inhaled, “Are you doing ?”

Matt slowly rose from Lance’s stomach like a mummy, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he turned to look at his sister.

Huh…so he’s not a light sleeper, Lance observed, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous his bedhead looked.  

“This,” the small girl said, gesturing at the two, “is not okay.  Not.  Okay.  I don’t care if you’re attracted to tentacled aliens, Lance - but not Matt.  That’s like…two of my brothers dating each other!”  

Matt burst into a fit of laughter.

“Relax, Pigeon,” he said, getting to his feet and placing his hand on her shoulder as she broke into a pout.  “We were talking and just dozed off.  You know I can fall asleep anywhere - or on any one .” He cupped her ear with his hand, whispering: “‘Sides, he’s not my type.”  

Lance shot him a glare.  “I heard that, asshole.”  

Matt batted his eyes innocently.  “Heard what?”

Pidge eyed them for a moment, then blew out her inflated cheeks.  “Whatever.  C’mon, Matt, I want to check out those coordinates you were talking about.”  She took him by the arm, tugging him towards the door.  

“Alright, alright,” Matt hummed, looking over his shoulder to give the other boy a grateful smile.  “Thanks, Lance.”  

Lance saluted him, smirking.

He hoped Pidge never stopped showing off those adorable dimples of her’s as she gazed up at her brother, already deep in conversation.  She looked so much happier with Matt at her side.  

Once they were gone, he rubbed the back of his head, frowning at the ground.  

You might find a few glass shards in your blue companion.

“I sure as heck hope no one was throwing glass in Blue,” he muttered, stumped by the words.

He didn’t know what dream Lotor had meant by it, but Lance had a feeling the Blue lion was a good place to start.

-

Being back inside Blue again was…

Awkward.

He could practically taste the tension in the air.  

“Okay, I get it.  You know about me piloting Black, and you’re mad,” he groaned.  “But I had to, babe!  Keith needed me, and you were sealed off.”  

Silence.

“ Baaaaabe .  Talk to me.”  

It took a lot of coaxing, but he eventually got her to open up to him.  She was absolutely terrible at holding grudges.  

He told her everything, even if he was pretty sure she already knew.  By the time he finished venting, an hour had passed.  

“Are you hiding any glass shards?” he finally asked.  It seemed like a stupid question, but to his surprise a square compartment emerged from the side panel.  

And inside, a leather-bound journal was neatly tucked away.

Lance blinked several times, then carefully lifted up the journal to inspect it.  Despite looking ancient, it was in decent condition.  

Just how long had the journal been in Blue’s possession?

He opened the cover, but as he flipped through the pages he realized it was written in Altean script.   It…kind of looks like my handwriting, Lance thought.  His heart skipped a beat.

A glass shard.

He closed it, then climbed out of the cockpit, journal in hand.  Once Lance was on the ground he planted a kiss on Blue’s cold nose.  “Thanks, girl.”  

He heard a voice, soft yet bittersweet, in his mind.   Anything for you, my dear paladin.

For some reason, it sounded like a goodbye.

-

“Okay, so.  I need you to translate this.”  

Pidge looked from the journal to Lance.  She was sitting criss-cross on her bed with pigtails.  Matt was sprawled out on his back beside her, typing something on a tablet - probably plotting out the coordinates she had mentioned earlier.

He raised a brow at the new hair-style.  “Sibling bonding time?” he guessed.  Crap, she’s too cute.  

“Don’t,” Pidge warned, bushy eyebrows narrowed.

He put his hands up in surrender.  “So, can you do it?”

Pidge turned a few of the pages, then looked back up at him.  “Can’t you ask Coran to do it?” she whined.  “My Altean is rusty, you know that.  And where did you even find this?  I swear, if you stole it from Allura’s room-”  

“I didn’t!  …I can’t tell you, okay?  But I promise I didn’t steal it from the Princess.  And he’s busy helping Hunk with something.”  Okay so, that was partially a lie.  He wasn’t busy, per-say, unless you considered taste-testing an important task.  But Lance didn’t want Coran to see the journal - the last thing he could use right now was the Altean man suspecting something, let alone reading what he assumed were Kieran’s private writings.

“Please, Pidge?”  He clasped his hands together over his head, kneeling at her bedside.  “Just a few of the shorter entries, I folded the corners and everything.”  

Pidge closed the journal, sighing.  “Fine.  Only because I could use the extra practice.”  She shot him a suspicious glance from the corner of her eye.  “That, and, I’m a little curious as to why you can’t tell me where you got it.”    

“You’re the best!”  He jumped up and planted a kiss on her cheek before she could protest.  

It took the girl a moment to process the sneak-attack, but afterwards she covered her flushed face with her hands, dropping the journal in her lap.  “Ugh, Lance!”

“Grooooss, cooties,” Matt drawled without looking up from the tablet.

But Lance was already out the door before she could clobber him.

Keith was walking in the opposite direction when he turned the corner.  His hair was pulled back into a bun, and there were beads of sweat collecting on his forehead.  Probably heading back from the training deck, Lance guessed.

He skidded to a halt, and Keith glanced up expectantly, stopping a few feet away from him.

They hadn’t spoken much since the incident.  It wasn’t like Lance meant to avoid him; but it was hard when every time he saw him, all he could think of was how he behaved when he fought Lotor.

He got the feeling the two had spoken in his absence.  And that scared him.

“Uhm…hi,” Keith tried, putting his hand up.  “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Lance said, but it came out more brusque than he intended.  “Sorry, I can’t really talk now.” He ducked his head as he passed the raven-haired boy, looking anywhere but his face.  

He didn’t look back.  He was afraid if he did, he would fall prey to the guilt.  

-

Pidge was looking at him strangely.

She was holding the journal against her chest like it was something precious.

Lance sat up, surprised.  “You translated it already?”

“Once I started, I…I couldn’t stop,” she said, her voice quiet.  The rims of her eyes were puffy, and with a jolt Lance realized she had been crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to swallow the fear in his voice.  “Pidge, what is it?”  

Pidge slowly removed the journal from her chest.  She opened her mouth, then closed it, searching his face.  “Here,” she said finally, handing it to him, “I think…you should just read it.”

He didn’t try to stop her when she left.  Instead, he ran his fingers over the leather binding, swallowing hard.

He opened the first page.

Much of its contents were daily and weekly entries.  He recognized many of the recorded moments from his dreams.  Some made him laugh, some made him choked up.  They were all recorded with dates, and after each entry it was signed in Kieran’s name.

The entries ended after a montage of mostly fond memories, which he found odd, until he realized that the next page was titled “thoughts”.  As it seemed, he had split the journal into two sections and ran out of room to continue his journal entries.  Maybe it was better that way - he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to read the entries that led up to Lotor’s betrayal.

The format changed quite abruptly after that. It reminded him of the song lyrics he used to scribble in his own journal back home.

They’re poems, Lance discerned.  

Each one was dated like the entries.  They were in order too, though some were months apart.  Each one was titled at the end in place of Kieran’s name.

He read the first poem.

he’s a rain storm
that pours and pours
and you hate him for it
but he lingers
like morning dew
and you find yourself
wishing it will rain again
so you can taste him
one more time
-our first meeting

He felt the tears begin to well in his eyes.

He read the second.

that boy, he’s
like the moon
bright and lonely
he waits for you
-i hate him, yet i don’t

if he were
a canvas
his flaws
would make
a masterpiece
-he is art

i killed a lalet
i buried its petals
and sang an apology
i smiled as i did it
because
he loves me
the lalet told me so
-my first love

They were dripping down his face now, but he didn’t wipe them away.

i love him
but we let go of the things we love most
because it’s easier to see them fly away
then watch them suffer on the ground
trapped by the red string
that intertwines you
-sacrifices

i love him
and i know
i should let him fly
but the lalets tell me
i’m selfish and
i let him go
to spread my
own wings
-mistakes

His sobs racked his shoulders.

if i can save him
if we can save us
then we will
in a lalet field
-my last love

Lance wasn’t sure how long he sat there, cradling the journal in his arms while he wept. At some point, he calmed down enough to reach for a pen.

He didn’t think - didn’t have to. He just began writing what his heart felt.

they call lalets sunflowers
in a world far far away
and i think to myself
if could have mended
these wounds
i cut into us
before the rain
washed our
promises away
then maybe
i wouldn’t be
the sunflower
you lost
-i remember, but he doesn’t

Chapter Text

“Okay, I get the whole ‘you sleep in it, you clean it’ thing, but why the heck are you making me do it?  Keith was in a pod, too.”  Lance’s lower lip stuck out as he cleaned the insides of the pod with a rag. “‘Sides, last time you made me do this, I almost died.”

“Keith wasn’t in the pod as long as you were,” Coran pointed out, twisting his mustache.  He paused, glancing over his shoulder.  “That, and, you’ve holed yourself in your room since yesterday.  The others are worried about you.”

Lance lowered his eyes, and the hand that had been working away at the hull with a rag slowed to a stop.  “I know that,” he mumbled, more to himself than Coran.   But I’m tired of pretending I’m okay.  

Even Pidge had yet to approach him since she translated the journal and he retreated into his own personal distraught.  He kept expecting her to come around, but it was now pretty clear if she had questions, she was waiting for Lance to tell her himself.  

The Altean raised a brow, stepping away from a pod to begin working on another.  “I get the feeling you have something on your mind.”

Lance shrugged his shoulders.  “A lot of things, actually, but you’re not wrong.”

Coran hummed thoughtfully, but he turned to look at the brunette this time.  “I won’t ask if you don’t want to talk about it,” he concluded, weighing the rag in his hand.  “But if you do want to talk, you should know that you have a confidant in me, Lance.”  

Lance felt a small smile tug at his lips.  He loved his teammates dearly — but Coran had become like second father to him.  Sure, he might joke that Coran was their crazy space uncle, but he was so much more than that.  He was always there to lend an ear when the boy needed to vent or wanted to pour out his homesick heart without worrying Hunk.  He laughed at all of Lance’s puns, too, no matter how terrible they were.  

Lance was pretty certain the guy was a saint.  

But could he really trust Coran’s judgment when it came to Lotor and Kieran?  

A pause, then, “Tell me about Kieran.”

He looked expectedly at Coran, waiting for some kind of reaction.  But the older man just sighed, fixing his eyes on Lance.  “Allura said something, didn’t she?”  He shook his head.  “She doesn’t mean any harm by it.  Kieran and she were quite close, you see.  I often babysat the two when they were just youngsters, believe it or not.”

He thought of Kieran, piggy-back on Coran’s shoulders with a gap-toothed grin.  

“You resemble him very closely.  Allura has convinced herself that it means something — and perhaps it does.  But Lance.…”  He closed the distance between them, planting his hands on the brunette’s shoulders.  “Even if that is the case, it changes nothing.  You are your own person.  Kieran was a fine young man, and we miss him dearly, but don’t let that diminish your worth.”  

Lance felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes.  His smile didn’t falter, however, and he went to wipe them away before they could fall.  “Allura said Kieran always knew what to say to make someone feel better.  …I think I know where he got it from.”

Coran lifted one of his hands, planting it on top of the boy’s head and ruffling his hair.  There were little crinkles under his eyes when he smiled.

“You’re flattery won’t get you out of cleaning duty,” he said with a wink, and Lance groaned loudly.

-

The smell of acetate was sort of calming.

Out of context, that probably sounded like a questionable statement.  But sprawled out on his stomach with a nail polish brush in one hand, it was slightly less alarming to admit to himself.

There was a soft knock on the door.  

“Come in.”

Lance didn’t look up from his work.  He didn’t have to; he already knew it was Keith standing at the door frame.

The raven-haired boy didn’t move from his spot.  “What are you doing?”

He flicked the brush, coating his thumb in a sky blue hue and then admiring it.  “Painting my nails,” he answered simply.  

Lance knew he wouldn’t make fun of him - the others were already well aware of their teammate’s embrace of femininity, and they had never poked fun at him for his abundance of face-masks or other beauty regimens.  Even Keith didn’t cross that line, despite their constant bickering.  

“I used to paint my little sister’s nails,” he explained, if only to clear the awkwardness in the room that Keith had lovingly bestowed upon them.  “And I’d let them paint mine, for practice.  It grew on me.”  

Painting his nails had become a way of relieving stress, especially after leaving behind his younger siblings to train at the Garrison.  Seeing his nails painted reminded him he had a home, and a family that loved him - human or not.  

He would always be their Lance, even if the rest of the universe called him by a different name.

“Oh,” was all Keith said.  When Lance finally looked up, the Red Paladin was sifting his fingers through the ends of his dark hair, his gaze resting on the wall.  

Lance inwardly sighed.

In truth, he didn’t want to see Keith, let alone have it just be the two of them.  But pushing him away wasn’t doing anything to help him piece together the glass shards of Kieran’s past.  He would have to face Lotor eventually - and he couldn’t do that, until he faced Keith.  

“Want me to paint yours?”  

Keith’s head turned to look at him with a surprised expression.  “Uh…what?”

Lance dipped his brush in the polish, extending his fingers out once more to apply a clear coat.  “Don’t ‘uh, what?’ me, Hot Topic, we both know you used to paint your nails black in junior high.”  

The flush that spread across Keith’s face was satisfying, to say the least.

He couldn’t help but grin.  “You’re way too easy to read, Kogane.”  Once he had finished applying a clear coat to his nails, he sat upright, patting the spot beside him.  “Come on, I don’t have all day.”  

Keith studied him a few ticks longer before he made his way over to the bed, sitting down with his legs folded beneath him.  

“So, what color?”  Lance asked, twisting around to retrieve the other nail polishes. “I have blue, purple, red - or black, if you want to relive your emo phase.”  

“Where did you even get nail polish?” Keith questioned, baffled by the sight.  

“I have my sources.”

After a moment of inner debate, Keith pointed at the bottle of red nail polish.  “That one,” he decided.  

Lance blinked, mildly surprised by his choice.  He really thought Keith would go for the black - it seemed more like his color (and not just because the guy looked like he modeled for Hot Topic in the early 2000s).  Even so, he didn’t question it.

“Red it is,” he hummed, giving the bottle a good pat or two before untwisting the top.  “Give me your hand.”  

Painting nails had always been considered a bonding activity between his sisters, but there was something about doing Keith’s nails that felt so much more intimate.

Only after Lance began working on Keith’s other hand did the raven-haired boy finally speak up, breaking the silence.  “Were you close?”  He cleared his throat a little awkwardly.  “With your family, I mean.”

“Don’t move,” Lance grumbled, lifting the brush as Keith fidgeted.

“I grew up in a big family,” he began once he started painting again, keeping his eyes trained on the small canvases in front of his face.  “I was the only kid my parents adopted, but they always treated me like one of their own.  So…yeah.  I love my family a lot.”  

When he looked up, he detected forlorn within his sterling grey eyes.  

“You guys are my family, too, Keith.”

“Family,” Keith repeated.  The word sounded foreign on his tongue.  “Then…do you see me as a brother?”

Lance swallowed hard.  They had somehow migrated closer together, and despite having finished painting his nails, Keith didn’t try to pull his hand away.

He remembered their kiss, how Keith’s lips felt against his own.

“I…I don't know about that,” he admitted, softly, because Keith was nearing his face now.  

The other boy was looking at something atop his head, however, and he reached for it, letting his fingers sift through his short brown curls of hair.  

“You’re going to mess up your nails,” Lance protested, blatantly flustered, but Keith wasn’t listening.

“There’s…a white streak in your hair,” Keith said, holding the strand between two of his fingers to inspect it.

Lance, unable to see it, simply stared at him.  “White?” he echoed.   No, that’s impossible, he thought.  He didn’t dare consider what they were both no doubt thinking - instead, he racked his brain for any other logical explanation.  “It must have something to do with Haggar’s magic when she tortured me.  Or…y’know, stress.  Marie Antoinette syndrome, or whatever.”

“That’s just a myth,” Keith pointed out, but he wasn’t looking at the white streak anymore.  His eyes were on his lips.  

And then he was kissing him with a fervent urge that had not been there in the galra cell.  Lance was still trying to retreat from the overwrought depths of his mind when the other was suddenly upon him, his lips like a violent storm.  

He tasted the sunshine and the sunshine tasted him back.  It was no longer one-sided, but rather, a competition to see which of the two boys was more inclined to prove how much they wanted the other.

Keith’s hands were in his hair, entangling his still drying nails in Lance’s curlier locks, uncaring of the consequences.  The strand of white hair was quickly forgotten as two mouths became one.  

He felt hot.  It was an overwhelming sensation, being kissed by someone so passionately.  

He wanted Keith.  

And yet, he didn’t.  Not like this.

Lance had thought about having a steamy make-out session with Keith on more than one occasion.  He was a teenage boy, after all.

But those day-dreams always came last, after a proper confession; they were the (long-awaited) aftermath of what started out as tender kisses and pecks on the cheek.  

He thought about Keith’s lips, somewhat chapped but bearable, brushing against his own awkwardly but lovingly.

Keith was infamous for jumping the gun.  But it hurt, that he was doing the same to Lance now.

He put his hands on the other boy’s chest, gently breaking them apart before the kiss could escalate any further.  His breath came in soft pants.  “Stop.”  He let his head hang in order to escape Keith’s hurt and confused gaze, wiping away a string of saliva from his lip as he did so.  “I - we can’t.”  

He knew Keith would have ceased his efforts with just those words alone, but he was afraid if he didn’t put the distance between them, Lance wouldn’t have the strength to do the same.

A short silence.

“Kieran loved Lotor, didn’t he?”  There was a painful crack in the air.  

He had told Keith everything about his memories.  Everything but the romance that blossomed between the two.

Lance couldn’t bring himself to answer.     

He kept waiting for Keith to ask the question that had been dancing on his tongue all this time, but he never did.  

Do you have feelings for him?

He heard shuffling, and then the door opening and closing.  He was left alone in his room once more, his lips still tingling with Keith’s jealousy.

-

He was beautiful, even with a venomous glower and unkept tendrils of hair framing his face.  

Lance released the breath he had been holding onto, letting his lungs deflate.  There was something about the sight of Lotor cuffed that made his chest ache.  

“Why are you here?”  Lotor asked, his voice lacking the warmth it once held for him.  

Lance watched him through the glowing bars, lips pressed together.

Lotor snorted.  Unlike Keith, he had not been graced with the effects of a healing pod.  There were a few bruises littering the exposed parts of his skin, and a thin cut ran down his chin.  

 “Interrogation?” he guessed.  “You must be delighted, to have your revenge.”

He recalled the guilt that trickled over Lotor’s face as Lance was dragged away by a galra soldier.  If it was still there, then the galra was a superb actor.

“I’m not here to interrogate you,” Lance said, holding the journal at his side.  “I just want to talk.”  

“Then by all means,” Lotor’s eyes narrowed, “Speak your mind.”

He knew it was a bad idea.

But he also knew if he wanted to get through to Lotor, it wasn’t going to happen on opposite side of the bars.  It wasn’t exactly a friendly approach.

Lance found himself sitting criss-cross from Lotor in his cell.  The journal rested in his lap.

“You seem a bit tense,” Lotor noted, and there was a smugness to his tone.  His arms were bound behind his back, yet he didn’t display the demeanor of a prisoner.   

“Yeah, well, you’ve only tried to kill me like twice.”  

Lotor raised a brow.  “I believe it was only once,” he stated, as if that made things any better.

“You tried to kill Kieran,” Lance reminded him quietly, betraying hurt.  

“Correction.  I did kill Kieran,” the galra asserted with narrowed eyes.  

Lance wasn’t sure what kind of expression he was making, but Lotor’s hardened gaze seemed to soften a bit, if only so it could be replaced with lassitude.  “You expect me to heed your words,” he began lowly, “yet you keep me locked up, bound like a dog and only come find me when it suits you best.  How should I take that?”

The Cuban boy fell silent for a moment.  Then, ignoring the many warnings going off in his head, gestured for Lotor to turn around.  “If you try anything funny,” he said, removing his cuffs, “I’ll call for Hunk and make him sit on you.”  

Lotor rubbed his wrists afterwards, one brow cocked.  “Fair enough.”

“There has to be something you remember,” Lance went on when the other turned back around, falling back into the same state of desperation as before.  He racked his brain for every memory and every dream of Kieran and Lotor that had ever infested his mind.  

“What about the time Haggar almost caught us together but I shape-shifted to look galra for the first time?”  

“Can’t say I recall.”  

“Not even our first picnic in the lalet field?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

“Well, what about -" his face grew hot and he lowered his voice, “the time I wore that lace thing you liked so much?”

Lotor raised a brow.  “Now this, I wish I remembered.”

Lance opened his mouth, but before he could spitball another fond memory the galra’s eyes flashed with something.  

Recognition?

“I think just now…I may have remembered something,” Lotor said, gingerly, but a little hurriedly.

Lance’s breath hitched as a hand cupped his cheek and the other leaned in closer.  “Yes,” he continued, eyelids fluttering, “Yes…I remember doing this.”

When his lips brushed against Lance’s, he found himself too overcome with disbelief to properly react.  By the time it registered, Lotor was already pulling back.

He had almost forgotten, what rain felt and tasted like.

Lance stared at him afterwards, eyes wide as saucers.

When they met Lotor’s, however, he realized they weren’t on him.  They were looking at something behind Lance, satisfaction glittering in those brilliant eyes.

They reminded him of two lalets.  But even lalets could grow prickly - and just then, he saw thorns in his gaze.  

Lance slowly turned to follow his line of sight, filling with unease.  

His stomach dropped when he saw Keith standing outside the cell.

He prepared himself for another galran bloodbath, but there was no rage etched across his pale features as he looked out at them.

Only hurt.

Chapter Text

He struck Lotor across the cheek, abruptly ridding it of a pleased smirk.  

The sound his hand made when it met mauve skin was almost more shocking that the sting that followed.  

A few white tresses curtained his face.  He was looking at the ground, eyes wide and lips parted just enough to exhale a shaky breath.

Lance had slapped him.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation.  There were still many things Lotor did not remember about his life before the war, but the back of his father’s calloused hand was not something so easily forgotten.

And yet, there was something devastating in knowing this time, the hand had belonged to the Blue Paladin.

He lifted his head, slowly.  Discreetly.  

Lance’s lips were drawn together.  His eyes rippled with a mixture of hurt and anger.  They were beautiful, he thought, even when looking at him with such resentment.  

His intentions were to draw out that face from Keith.  Which, to his delight, he had succeeded in doing.  But upon seeing the same array of emotions captivate Lance’s tanned features, Lotor came to a startling realization.

He didn’t like it.  Not even a little.  

For a heartbeat, Lance looked like he wanted to apologize.  There was a flicker of guilt within his sea blue eyes as he lowered his hand, but it was quickly awash when Keith turned sharply and took off down the hall.

Lance fixed him a look just then.  

How could you do something so shameless?  

And then he was gone, chasing after the one Lotor knew to be his beloved.

He still wasn’t sure why he did it.

He decided the moment he lay eyes on the Red Paladin that he hated him.  His fighting style was arrogant, and he stank of galra, despite his outer-appearance not displaying any signs of his questionable heritage.  

He reminded Lotor of himself.

He tried to kill him.  He really did.  But then the Blue paladin showed up and had to complicate things.

He looked at the half-galra - Keith, Lance called him - with such a tender look.  Why was that?

Why did he claim Lotor was someone precious to him, yet coo the raven-haired boy’s name like he was his whole universe?

It infuriated him, and the fact he couldn’t understand why only heightened his frustration.

He felt no love for Lance, nor the Kieran he spoke of as if he embodied two beings - even if a small part of him wished he did.  But Lotor found himself craving Lance’s love nonetheless; and he would not share it with a mundane human like Keith.  

Lotor touched his cheek.  The stinging had been replaced by a dull throb, but he found himself guiding his hand onto his chest.  It was there that he felt a genuine pain.

He gave it a small squeeze.

My heart, he thought.   Why does my heart hurt so much?

He didn’t realize how truly alone he felt when left to his thoughts until Lance stranded him.

At some point he noticed the journal resting a few inches away.  Lance must have left it when he chased after Keith.  

Now, Lotor was not an intrusive being.  He respected others’ boundaries - to an extent, anyways.  But as he let his eyes graze the journal’s leather cover, he found himself curious.

Hesitantly, he picked it up.  

Why else would he have brought it with him, unless he wanted to share its contents with Lotor?

He opened the cover, letting his finger sift over the thick pages.  

As he presumed, it consisted of journal entries.  Below each entry, there was an english translation in a messier handwriting.  Lotor knew both tongues quite well, but he had always been fond of the Altean language, so he chose to read it in its original print (this, and, the English looked like it had been written by a human child).  

There were not as many entries are he initially expected.  Some were months apart.  Some were long, others brief.

He began with the first entry, and the rest was - well - history.  

Log 001 / (65-02)

Morning

Father gave me this journal to log the summit today.  It’s my first.

As expected, summits are the worst, and the only interesting thing that has happened in the past hour was the arrival of prince fancy-hair.  I figured pretending to take notes will keep me awake without angering father, but I fear I won’t be able to hold out much longer.  

I fell asleep.

In my defense, I had absolutely no idea what King Alfor was talking about.  I’ve only gotten so far in my foreign affairs studies, and what’s the point of paying attention if I don’t even know what they’re talking about?  Father must be pretty mad, because he’s left me stranded.  I’m going to the lalet field until Allura can take me home - perhaps I’ll write a few poems.  

Father says my poetry is flawed and a waste of time.  But I don’t think so.

Afternoon

It started raining.  

You’re a little damp.  Sorry.

But guess who I ran into in the lalet field?  Prince.  Quiznac.  Lotor.  The guy is a total jerk!  And you know what?  I’m not all that surprised.  Allura doesn’t believe me.  Figures.

There’s this thing that’s been bothering me, though.  He didn’t seem to mind the rain.  He was drenched, probably freezing, but he hardly bat an eye.  What must someone endure, to prefer a rainstorm so bitter and cold to his father’s presence?  

Evening

I can’t stop thinking about him.  

Why is that?

Signed, Kieran

Log 026 / (66-12)

We’ve been seeing each other for several months now.

I never knew I could keep a secret this long.  

He’s so beautiful.  And I know father would kill me if he found out, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t stay away from him.  He’s an enigma, that boy.  And his eyes - quiznack, those eyes!  I used to think galran eyes were creepy.  They are just two glowing orbs - but Lotor’s are the prettiest shade of yellow I’ve ever seen.  They are the epitome of sunshine.  

He doesn’t smile much.  But when he does, it takes my breath away.

I think I might love him.

Signed, Kieran

Log 034 / (66-38)

We had our first fight.  We’ve bickered before, but there was a lot of yelling this time.  I said some things I’m not proud of.  Whenever I close my eyes, I see the hurt in his eyes, like two crushed lalets.  

He called me selfish.  

Perhaps he’s right.

Signed, Kieran

Log 069 / (68-01)

We made love.

And before you say anything, I did not intend for this log’s number to favor my experience.  It simply happened to turn out that way.

I’m not going to go into details, but…  Holy quiznack.

Also, don’t tell Allura I stole that lace thing from her room, she would kill me.

(But, if you’re wondering, Lotor fancied it ♡ )

Log 084 / (68-04)

Allura caught us together.  Thankfully, our clothes were still intact.  Our lips were laced together though.

I thought of all people, my childhood friend would understand.  But I have never seen such despair on her face until that very moment.

It was only when the tears began to pour that I realized it was not disgust, but heartbreak.

She was in love with me.

How could I have known?  

I feel awful.

Signed, Kieran

Log 097 / (68-21)

Some part of me thought Lotor would be happier for me.  And yet, his smile is plastic whenever I bring up Blue.  I know it isn’t jealousy; Lotor is ambitious, but he has never expressed an interest in Voltron.  If anything, he seemed relieved that he was not chosen to be a paladin.

Zarkon is furious.  This does not surprise me - the Blue lion chose an altean of common-blood over his son, a prince.  He has yet to speak of this rage, but I can see it on his face when our eyes meet.  I hate him for what he has done to Lotor, and what I fear he still does - but more than that, I do not trust him.  Alfor thinks differently, of course; those two are close companions, and my words would never reach him.  

I fear there is a storm coming.  I only hope Lotor is by my side when it strikes.

Signed, Kieran

Log 098 / (68-26)

We had a picnic in the lalet field.  The weather was perfect, and so is he.

I can tell Lotor is troubled, but his smile seemed genuine for the first time in a long time today.  We had kvånna, and I told him about my first time piloting Blue (which was a disaster, in case you were wondering).  I never tire of hearing him laugh.  

I’ve reached the end of this journal, as I have discovered the next page consists of my early poetry.  I fail to understand why I thought it was a swell idea to begin my poetry in the middle of you, but no point in questioning my younger self now.  

As much as I would like to begin a new journal, paladin work has consumed much of my time these days.  For that reason, I’m not sure when I will find the time to continue recording my life.

Thank you for bringing me this far, and for listening to my love-struck rambles.  

Signed, an altean who fell in love with a prince with pretty hair and prettier eyes.

Unlike Lance, Lotor’s memories did not come back to him in a slow trickle.

In fact, it impacted him so harshly that the breath was stolen from his lungs and he found himself doubled over, wrenching.  

-

He was a liar.

A traitor.

And most of all, a murderer.

Surely, he thought, father must be proud of me now.

But Zarkon would never be satisfied.  Not until the entire universe was bathed in the blood of the innocent.  

Lotor had damned himself.  He accepted the moment he plunged his knife into the love of his life that there was no turning back from his transgressions.  

It was raining debris.

Lotor’s face was smeared with blood was not his own.  His breaths came in jarred pants.  

Zarkon was bent over the main panel of the ship, glowering eyes looking ahead as a series of explosions lit up open space.

In only two days, the war on Altea had already taken thousands of lives - both galran and altean.    

“Father,” he said.  His voice was monotone.

But Zarkon did not turn to him.  His eyes were locked on the destruction, hungry and unsatisfied.  And it occurred to Lotor that nothing he did would ever win him the endearment he craved so much.

You promised.  

You promised if I befriended the son of an altean diplomat, you would treat me better.

Falling in love was never the plan.  

You promised after the war, after you conquered Altea, we would be like a real family.  

He understood now, that none of it was true.  

Kieran had been the only family he needed, and he betrayed his love for something unattainable.

Zarkon would never stop.  

He let his thumb trace the trigger, pointing it at his father’s unsuspecting back.

What would Kieran do?

“-And then I would take out the ship’s control panel so it’s rendered powerless - pow, pow, pow !”

Lotor couldn’t contain his laughter.  “What in quiznack was that sound?”

Kieran smirked, an eyebrow cocked.  “Laser guns.”  

Lotor chuckled, looking up at the sky above them.  He paused, then, swallowing what was left of his amusement.  “But then you would perish with the enemy.  Are you saying you would sacrifice yourself?”  

Kieran nodded without skipping beat, his cheeky expression fading into something more serious.  “Naturally.  A paladin of Voltron would never waste time trying to come up with an alternative for the sake of preserving their own life.  I would rather die protecting the ones I love, than live with the guilt of failing them.”

Lotor hummed thoughtfully, then leaned forward to plant a kiss on his nose.  Kieran giggled.  

“My hero.”    

Lotor aimed for the control panel.

Pow, pow -

He was knocked off his feet before he could blast the panel a third time.

Lotor’s father hit him often, but it had never carried such force or excruciating pain as it did in that moment.  It was terrifying, to know that Zarkon was holding back all those times.  

His head hit the ground with a sickening crack.   His vision blurred, and he slipped into darkness.

He found it equitable, that he who killed his lover should be slain by his father.  

The galra did not believe in an afterlife.  This put Lotor at ease.

How devastating it would be, if he should have to face Kieran again.

“I forgive you,” he would say.  

And Lotor would break.   

Chapter Text

His hand stung with regret as he ran.

Lance should have known better than anyone that violence was the worst kind of way with Lotor’s schemes.  It was like stepping on a flower that had already been trampled on.  

Even so, he didn’t turn back around.  Each passing moment spent with Lotor only increased his feelings of hopelessness, to the point he wasn’t sure he could endure it any longer.  

Perhaps he would never remember him.  Perhaps it was better that way.

When he turned the corner and saw Keith making his way down the hall without haste, Lance ceased his running.  He started after him again, this time in a brisk walk.

“Keith.”

He was answered with the back of his mullet.  It was tied into that small but captivating pony-tail Lance loved so much.  Looking at it now, however, he felt further from Keith than ever.

“Keith, please .  I can explain, okay?  Just stop a minute and talk to me.”

He didn’t stop.  

“No me hagas esto... no me ocultes las cosas.”

Lance clasped a hand on Keith’s shoulder when he caught up with him, frustrated tears pricking his eyes. “¡Mírame!”

Keith jerked away from his touch, but turned to look at the other boy this time.  His bushy eyebrows were woven together, hurt and frustration dripping from his ivory features.  Lance inwardly flinched.  “I don’t speak Spanish, Lance.”  

It was in moments of desperation that Lance’s tongue tended to slip into his native language.  Most of the time, he didn’t even realize he was speaking it.

Lance blinked, then let his hand fall to his side, fingers curling into his palms.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” the red paladin continued, bruised lip curled.  He noticed the faintest tremble as Keith spoke; he was trying, and failing, to maintain his indifferent composure.  

Jealousy looked vicious on him.

“I think that little show back there pretty much cleared things up.”  He started to leave again, tearing his eyes away from Lance and dropping his voice to a mutter.  “Sorry I interrupted.”  

“ No .”

Keith’s heels rocked forward, then back, as he came to a stop.  He turned again, fixing Lance a look from the corner of his eye.  “‘No’?”

Lance withdrew the breath he was holding onto, hands curling into quivering fits.  His knuckles were ashen.  “No,” he repeated, closing the distance between them.  Keith tried to back up, only to brush up against the wall behind him.  “You don’t get to walk away from this, broody and sulking, when you don’t know half of it.”  

Keith’s jaw set.

“You asked me if Kieran loved Lotor.  I didn’t answer, because I was afraid of what you might think it meant.  But the thing is…” Lance lifted his chin, lips pressed together as he studied the other boy, “he did.  And I can’t just deny that.  His life, his memories, his love life…it’s become a part of me, Kieth.  I don’t know why, or how, but I can’t deny it.”  His voice broke, and he swallowed, quick to recover.  “I don’t even know who I am .  Do you have any idea what that feels like?”  

Keith’s expression fell, but pieced itself together just as quickly.  He looked exasperated, but more than that, he looked angry.  “You’re Lance .  A paladin of Voltron.  Kieran died, you said it yourself.”

Lance’s eyes hooded.  His abdomen had begun to throb for the first time since their capture, as if to remind him of his uncertainty.  “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he admitted, softly.  It wasn’t fair that he was drowning in bittersweet memories, but even more so than that, not a single one could explain why he had to endure them.

“I care about you.”

It rolled off Keith’s tongue so easily, that Lance was certain he hadn’t heard him right.  He stared at him in tepid silence, unsure what to say.  He could feel the insecurities creep up on him, whispering sweet acrimonies into his ear.   He doesn’t like you the way you like him.  It’s Shiro, it’s always been Shiro.  You’re just a half-assed replacement.

“Lance, I care about you ,” Keith repeated, his heated tone subsiding.

He felt a pair of hands rest on his shoulders, giving them a small squeeze.  Keith didn’t look angry anymore.  He was making that expression that Lance could never quite decipher.  “I don’t want you to get hurt.  I … I can’t lose you too.”

Crestfallen, Lance concluded.  He looked crestfallen.

And he realized, that it was the same face Lotor had made when he called him ‘Prince Kieran’.

Before either could say anything else, they found themselves in the presence of the Holt siblings.

“ There you guys are.  We’ve been looking all over…”  Pidge’s voice trailed off and she slowed to a stop.  Matt frowned beside her.  They looked from Lance to Keith (who quickly stepped apart, Lance shying into himself and Keith coughing awkwardly), before coming to the conclusion they had entered unmentionable territory.

“Coran has an announcement,” Matt finished for his sister, scratching his cheek.  “He wants everyone to meet in the -”

Keith was already moving past him before the brunette could finish, his eyes downcast.  “We shouldn’t keep him waiting, then.”  

-

Lance tilted his head back and let his eyes flutter shut, inhaling quietly through parted lips.  There was a trace of sea salt in the air, and he found his lips curling upwards.   Maybe Coran wasn’t pulling my leg, after all.

The Altean man had been jubilant upon learning there was a planet in their residing solar system whose atmosphere closely resembled Earth’s.  He suggested the group take a mini vacation (he called it a “team bonding expedition”, but Lance knew it was just code for ‘y’all need to loosen up before you combust from stress’).  

Coran’s fault, of course, lay within staying behind to watch Allura - and in turn leaving a few ragtag teenagers and a space assassin alone without adult supervision.

The slope was dappled with small flowers of varying hues, and above them, seamless clouds curtained an indigo sky.  It was a pretty sight, but Lance was more concerned with what was just below the gradient.   

The team allowed a moment to pass in order to gauge their new surroundings.  There was a short silence that elapsed as they came to a stop just below the slope, eyes wandering and brows furrowed as if to say ‘now what?’.  

Shiro would clap his hands right about now, Lance thought to himself, trying to ignore the small squeeze of his heart.   He would come up with some trivial bonding activity that would help us later when forming Voltron, and get everyone excited without us even realizing it’s just training practice.

“Well,” Pidge announced, tearing him from his daze, “Matt and I are gonna go explore the tide pools Coran was talking about.”

Matt made a face.  “What?  But Lance and I were gonna-” She elbowed him before he could finish, and he yelped, rubbing the point of injury afterwards with a mopey look.  “I mean - uh, what Pidge said.”

“And I’d like to scope out the planet’s organic substances,” Hunk added, looking eager to start his cuisine-related expedition.  “He mentioned something about a cocoa plant.  I might be able to extract ingredients that could make the goo cookies taste even more like…well, actual chocolate-chip cookies.”  

Before Lance realized it, the team was voluntarily splitting apart.  “Are you guys serious?” He threw up his arms.  “Coran said we were supposed to bond togethe r!  What if one of us runs into trouble?”

“Coran said all of the creatures are harmless,” Pidge insisted, linking arms with her elder brother as she started to drag him away.  “Plus, you’ve got Keith.  I think you guys could use some personal bonding time.”  

She wiggled her brows (which were even less tamed than Keith’s), and it finally clicked in Lance’s brain what scheme Hunk and her conspired together.  

“That little gremlin,” Lance muttered.  He knew Pidge was just trying to help in her own way, but the only reason he came on this trip was to get away from the ship and Lotor.  He couldn’t dispel Kieran’s memories, but he thought that for a short moment in time, he might be able to pretend he was back home again - that he was just a boy from Cuba who loved his family and the sparkling shores of Varadero Beach.

Being alone with Keith wasn’t helping kindle that fantasy in the slightest.

Lance looked over his shoulder, and Keith consequently averted eyes.  He withdrew a sigh, then marched past the raven-haired boy.  He didn’t wait to see if Keith would follow; he didn’t want to think about anything but what was beyond the slope.

It was steeper than expected.  Lance found himself out of breath when he finally reached the top.  He bent over to regain his composure, then straightened up again to admire the view.

The breath caught in his throat.

The slope bled into a series of grassy but jagged cliffs.  It was the kind of place you would lay out a picnic and read cheesy poems to your significant other.  

It wasn’t the viridescent cliffside that caught Lance’s attention, however.

No —the view lie just below it.  

There had been an abundance of times where Lance thought he may never see the ocean again.  And yet, here it was, on a lonely but flourishing planet galaxies from his home.

Tears began to well in his eyes, and he shamelessly brought his hands to his mouth, overwhelmed by something he hadn’t felt in ages — joy.  

The water was beautiful.  It wasn’t crystal-clear like the beaches in Cuba; rather, it was a deeper and vibrant blue like that of the west-coast.  An outline of foam licked the rocky shoreline, and overhead, grey birds that reminded him of seagulls screeched gleefully.  

It looked like something out of a Vincent Van Gogh painting.

And tucked away in a cove beneath the cliff, a beach.

Lance didn’t skip a beat.  He took off without another word, scaling down the cliff as quickly (and not so carefully) as his feet could carry him.  

He kicked off his shoes, then let his toes curl into warm sand  - if only to confirm what he was seeing.   It really is a beach.  With a grin, Lance shed his clothes to reveal a blue bathing suit beneath them.  He was glad Coran had mentioned there being a large body of water on the planet, otherwise he would have dove into the water in just his boxers.

Keith perched himself a few inches from the nearing tide, hands laced over his knees and many layers of clothes still intact despite the unforgiving sun that beat down on them. Lance thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile on the red paladin’s face just before he submerged again.  

Lance came to the conclusion that playing in the water wasn’t as much fun without a partner.  It just wasn’t the same without his younger siblings there to tire him out.

He plunged his hands into the sea, and without really thinking, flung a stream of water in Keith’s direction.  The other boy let out a surprised yelp as the cold droplets rained down on him, springing to his feet.

“What, scared of a little water?” Lance teased, hands on his hips.  “Who knew the galra were just overgrown cats?”  

Keith’s eyes narrowed.  He didn’t even bother to remove his clothes, shedding only his jacket before rolling up his sleeves as he marched into the water.  “You messed with the wrong galra, water boy.”

A grin twisted on Lance’s face.  “ Bring it on , mullet.”

Before he knew it, the two boys were locked in a watery battle for survival.  Both were completely drenched and out of breath by the end of it.

Keith looked like a wet dog, his hair a black mop on his head.  The sun had magnified the freckles that speckled his face, and the roseate flush spread on his cheeks looked ever so lively on his pale features.  

He was laughing, and it was like hearing an angel sing for the first time.

“Truce?” Lance managed to wheeze, holding his aching sides.  

“As if.  Victory or death,” Keith said with an impish smirk, pushing back his sopping hair.  He lunged for the tanned brunette, and both tumbled onto the shore in a fit of laughter — Lance with his back in the sand and Keith hovering just above him.

A few droplets hit his cheek.

Most of the salt water tears belonged to the ocean.

And then a few did not.

Lance ceased laughing to peer up at his teammate.

Tears he could no longer hold onto coursed down his face, staining his flushed cheeks.  He was biting down on his lip, but it did little to hide its tremble.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat a second time.

He had never seen Keith cry, in all their time together.  He didn’t doubt that Keith cried - rather, knew him to be the type of guy who hated looking vulnerable in front of other people.

“It’s not fair,” Keith choked out.

Lance searched for his voice.  “What?” he asked once he found it, quietly.  

One by one, tears began to fall like rain from a sterling grey sky.  Keith swallowed hard, unable to contain a sob.  “I love you.  I love you so much — but the people I love always leave.”  He brought an arm over his face, sob after another racking his chest.  “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

He thought about Keith, who had grown up with no recollection of his parents.  He thought about those lonely nights he must have spent awake, wondering what he had done for them to leave him at such a young age.  And he thought about Shiro, a man who Keith looked up to and loved so dearly — a man who had left him not once, but twice.  

He thought about how much it must have destroyed Keith to have the people he cared about leave one after another, and how he probably blamed himself for cursing them simply by loving them.

I don’t want to lose you too.

Lance reached up, gently guiding Keith’s arm away from his face.  “Hey,” he said softly, wrapping his own arms around his neck and pulling him close.  He kissed each and every one of his tears until the other boy’s sobs began to stifle.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.”

Once Keith had calmed down, he leaned back just enough to study his face.  “I’m not going to leave you,” Lance murmured, letting his thumb wipe away a lingering tear.  “I’m right here, and I’m never going to leave you.”

“It’s Lotor,” Keith whispered, shaking his head.  “The galra took Shiro, and they’re going to take you t-”

Lance brought his lips to Keith’s, abruptly silencing him.  The other boy stiffened, but quickly melted against him, eyes fluttering shut.

The world went still for a little while.  

His lips didn’t taste like thunder anymore, but the sunshine he had craved since their first kiss on Lotor’s ship.  Lance smiled against him, and he felt Keith follow suit.  

He was certain he would never tire of kissing Keith like this.  

When they finally broke apart, there was a short increment of time where both boys lay there in silence, simply taking the other in.

Lance had spent countless nights imaging that he might roll over, and Keith would be lying beside him where the bed was normally empty and cold.  He would brush his lips over the consolation of freckles that dappled Keith’s nose - the freckles that the sun had kissed during lonely afternoons outside a quiet shack he called his home - and Keith would smile sleepily against him like a rose in bloom.  

He dreamt of the day he might carve those dimples into Keith’s cheeks the way Shiro seemed to do so effortlessly.  He dreamt, and he dreamt, but he never woke up from his quiet fantasies.

For he never fathomed that Keith would look at him the way he wanted him to.  Lance fought his growing feelings, and in turn he fought Keith - afraid of rejection, afraid of losing what was never his to lose.

You don’t deserve him, he thought, looking up at the most beautiful set of sterling grey eyes he had ever seen.   You don’t deserve his love, he repeated, letting his finger trace the Keith’s plump and violet-hued lips.

He didn’t push those thoughts aside.  He didn’t try to swallow his insecurities down only to choke on them alone in his room at a later time.  

Lance was tired of falling prey to his self-doubt.  

It was like a never-ending game, where he purposely let himself loose out of some self-destructive conception that he didn’t deserve to win in the first place.  He acted like a winner, so he was constantly reminded he was a loser.

And he wasn’t going to do that to himself anymore.  

Lance knew things wouldn’t be easy from here on out.  There was a reason they threw in a beach episode as filler before the climax — but if it meant there was a chance he would to wake up next to Keith at the end of it all, then he was willing to do whatever it took to keep his promise.

He smiled up at the boy with the stupidly perfect mullet he had fallen in love with on his first day at the Garrison.  

Telling the truth, he found, was suddenly so much easier than lying to Keith.

“I love you, too.”  

-

The team didn’t ask any questions when both boys turned up shirtless and covered in sand.

They didn’t have to.

Chapter Text

He was standing in the lalet field.

A tepid breeze stirred the alien sunflowers, and he ran his hand over one, letting his digits brush over the bijou seeds.  

It had been a few days since he dreamt of Kieran’s visits with Lotor.  He never thought he would miss the sight of the lalets.  

“You made it.”  The voice didn’t belong to Lotor.

Lance whipped around, but he froze when his eyes fell upon the starkly familiar visitor.  

It was Kieran.  

He looked down at himself, studying his hands and then his clothes.   I’m…Lance.  He wasn’t sure whether this comforted or confused him.    

He looked back up, mouth parted just enough to betray his shock.  Indigo eyes met an identical set.

Kieran was wearing less clothing than usual.  It was hardly conservative, for a better lack of words.  It reminded Lance of something he might wear on a beach expedition that didn’t call for getting wet — except, less contemporary.  Even as revealing as it was, it looked far more elegant than a sleeveless band tee and shorts.  

His vest was blue like the markings beneath his eyes, but the earrings that hung from his ears and bejeweled head-piece were a lilac hue like the cape that billowed behind him.

Lance had dreamt of Lotor’s face more times than he could count — but he had never seen Kieran’s.  After all, he was always looking through the altean’s reverie.  Even in memories, Lance could not quite place his counterpart’s facial features.

He didn’t think much of it.  He simply assumed what Coran and Allura had told him: that Kieran and Lance were mirror images of one another.

And they were.  Except, not really.

Sure, they shared the same face — same olive skin, same defined jawline and bean-pole proportions.  

Beyond differing hair color and attire, however, Lance realized something.

The two of them were very different.

He saw it in his eyes, and the way he held himself.  Kieran, he thought, had not been raised by his mamá, whose up-bringing was as endearing as it was brutal.  He hadn’t spent his summers on the coast, his shoulders and nose speckled with sun-kisses.  He didn’t know what it felt to be flocked by an abundance of siblings, or have to constantly surrender his bed and his sleep to ensure their dreams were sweet on stormy nights.

There was solace in knowing Kieran was his own person.  But there was also melancholy.  

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, quietly.

It felt strange, being able to choose his own words in the lalet field.  That never happened.

Kieran looked up at the sky for a heartbeat, allowing his hands to lace together behind his back.  “I didn’t,” he said after a pause.  “You came on your own.”

It was as if Kieran had stolen his voice.  

Lance swallowed, hard.  “You aren’t real,” he concluded.

Kieran smiled, and it was mesmerizing on his sun-dusted face.  Lance wondered if Keith ever thought he looked that glowing.  “Maybe not.  But death isn’t the end, not really.  I live on in your memories, and in Lotor’s heart.”  

Lance wondered how his eyes could light up like that for someone who had stolen his very being.  

“Lotor killed you.”  

His words were raw, yet Kieran hardly bat an eye.  His smile didn’t waver, not for a second.  

“Are you telling me that, Lance, or are you just trying to convince yourself?”

Lance’s heart did a flip.  

“What happened that day?” he demanded. “Where do I fit into this?  I can’t help him if I don’t know.”

The altean studied him, before letting his gaze retreat.  He bent down, then wrapped his hand around the stem of a smaller lalet. With a harsh tug, he tore it from the ground.  Lance winced.

Afterwards, Kieran lifted the murdered flower.  “When you pick a lalet, it eventually dies,” he explained.  “It may take some time, but essentially, you’ve killed it the moment you pluck it from the ground.  It’s still in my hand, though, isn’t it?”  

Lance frowned.  “Well, yeah, but —”

Kieran closed the distance between them.  He lifted Lance’s hand and carefully placed the lalet into his unfurled palm.  “The flower is still here,” he went on, unwavering.  “The old flower - the one you picked - it’s dead.  But that doesn’t mean it is the end.  You can put it in a vase with water.  It will flourish, even if for just a little while, in a new place, surrounded by those who are not other lalets.  Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t,” Lance said, eyebrows knit together.  “What’s up with all the damn riddles?  Geez, you and Lotor really were made for each other.  Glass shards, now lalets.  Just tell me.”

The alabaster-haired man laughed.  “You said it yourself - I’m not real.”  It almost sounded mocking - as if he knew something Lance didn’t.  “You’re asking yourself these things, not Kieran.  But I think you already knew that.”  

There was a subtle shift in the air.  Lance noticed a flicker of sadness within Kieran’s gaze, and his smile faltered for a fraction of a moment.  

“Give him time.”

He smiled again.  It was dazzling, even when feigned. “I promise, he’s not as bad as he seems.  He has a good heart.  He’s just… lost.  Lotor led a life without love before we met, and he’s fallen into a dark place again without it.”  

He placed his hands on Lance’s shoulders.

It was clear that the altean was doing his best to maintain his collected composure, but there was a ripple in his eyes, and a tremble along his lower-lip.  Kieran might not be real - at least, this is what Lance presumed - but his pain, this he knew to be genuine.  “I need you to do something for me when you wake up.”

Despite his frustration, Lance couldn’t bring himself to deny his request.

“What is it?” he asked, quietly.

“Tell him I’m sorry.  That he’s my whole world - my moon and my stars.  And I’ll wait a thousand years for him.”  

-

Lance found himself studying the metallic ceiling above him as he reminisced the dream.  His cheek felt wet, but he didn’t attempt to wipe away any tears that might have escaped.

“My moon and my stars,” Lance echoed, lifting his hand above his face to glimpse the inside of his palm.

Beside him, someone stirred.  He turned his head just enough to steal a glance at Keith’s sleeping face.  

He looks so peaceful.  A sense of relief washed over the brunette; seeing Keith sleep was…progress, to say the least.  

After their beach expedition, the team had returned in - dare he say it - high spirits.  Coran was thrilled that his efforts actually struck a chord with them (Lance was pretty sure he would never let them forget it had been his idea).  

Exhaustion hit like the plague soon after, and the paladins retreated to their rooms for the night.  Well, all except Keith, who somehow found his way into Lance’s quarters.

It was strange.

They had confessed to each other, yet even when Keith lay beside him in the same bed, he felt far away.  Unattainable.  

Shiro would treat him better.

Making a resolution to restore confidence in one’s self was easier said than done, evidently.  

His eyes grazed Keith’s torso, where his shirt had been tugged at in his sleep to reveal a band of exposed skin.  Lance’s cheeks burned, like he was somehow invading Keith’s privacy by looking.

Which was stupid - he had made out with a very shirtless Keith earlier that day.

Lance withdrew a sigh he had been holding onto.  He leaned over to plant a kiss on the raven-haired boy’s forehead, light enough that it would not wake him.  Keith mumbled something in his sleep, but went still once more as his breath evened out.  

He carefully untangled himself from the sheets and slid off the bed.

Kieran said he would wait a thousand years for Lotor.

Lance didn’t have a thousand years, though.  

-

Kieran was a poet.

Lance was not.

However, Lotor’s existence could breed an infinite number of poems, even from the lips of a boy who barely passed English by the skin of his teeth.  

He was the tide that came and went, sweeping away messages in the sand.  A star, beautiful to the eye but whose light had burned out thousands of years ago.  

He was the rain on your windshield, the kind that stuck in little beads and caused the lights outside to blur as the world rushed past you.  The lyrics to a song you etched in a journal but never sang out loud, because you were afraid someone else might sing it better.

He was the kind of love you had to fight for if you truly wanted it.  

The kind that everyone searches for, but not everyone can preserve once it’s been found.   

Perhaps the reason Lance could not differ between Kieran’s love of Lotor, and his own, was not that they shared distilled memories, but that his love was infectious.  It was perfect, in the sense that it wasn’t.  And Lance wanted more than anything to understand the heart of the catastrophically beautiful enigma that was Lotor.

He was standing when Lance found him.  Almost like he had been waiting.  

Lance felt a rush of shame at the recollection of striking Lotor.  Despite this, when their eyes met, he saw no malice in the prince’s gaze.  

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats before Lotor slowly moved towards the glowing bars that separated them, trapped him.  His eyes were wet, but he didn’t look sad.

His journal, forgotten from his mind after the haze of that afternoon, sat in the corner of the cell.  It was opened.

Lotor pushed back white tendrils from his face, and laughed.  It was a shaky, but pretty sound.  “You’re ears.  What happened? They’re hideous.”  

Lance’s eyes went wide like saucers.   He remembers.

He didn’t care if it was a bad idea.  Nothing mattered in that moment, but Lotor.

He let the bars that separated them fall into nothingness.  Lotor closed the distance between them, lifting his hand and reaching towards the other boy.  He let his fingers graze his cheek, then his ‘hideous’ ears, as if to confirm that Lance was real.  

“You’re not Kieran,” Lotor finally concluded.  He was devastated, yet he didn’t betray it.  Kieran said he was good at hiding his emotions.  

“No,” Lance barely managed to say.

Lotor embraced him anyways.

They held each other in mutual silence, both too choked up to say anything.  Lance was enveloped once more in his familiar scent, yet even as it filled his lungs and began to drown him, he didn’t try to pull away.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered after what felt like hours, squeezing his eyes shut.  “I wish I knew what this all means.  I wish he was here and you could hold him instead of me.”  

Lotor’s arms didn’t leave him.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Lotor murmured.  And then he tensed.

There was fear in his yellow eyes when he pulled back.  It was an expression he had never seen on him before.  Unease crept into Lance’s heart.  “What is it?”

Lotor looked down at his arm, or rather, something in it, then back up at the paladin.  “You have to warn the others,” he said quickly, but before Lance could demand an explanation they were interrupted by a loud boom .

Lance suddenly felt sick.  

“I couldn’t remember,” Lotor blurted, this time desperately. “I had an obligation to my people—”

“You led them right to us.”  It came out hollow.

Lotor winced. “Kieran, pl—”

“I’m not Kieran.”  Lance regretted saying it the moment it left his lips.  

That’s the truth, though, isn’t it?  

Lotor stared at the ground, allowing his white hair to curtain whatever expression he was making.

“You killed Kieran for your blood,” Lance said slowly, and Lotor looked up to meet his hardened gaze, his own wide-eyed.  “But your blood was never family to you, not like he was.  So tell me, are you going to fight for your blood again, or for your family?”

Lance didn’t wait for his response.  There wasn’t any time.  

As he ran, he could feel the blood running down his arm where the glass shard had kissed his skin.

He was beginning to understand it.

The pain of being betrayed by someone you loved.

Chapter Text

Writing was a foolish art before I fell in love with you.

Our technology is so vast, I thought.  Why does he waste his time with ink and paper?  Words were beneath me.  They held no meaning in my heart, in my mind.  It was the same when I looked at the sky—it was one single entity.  I did not see the stars, or the infinite amount of watercolor galaxies that comprise our universe.  It was all darkness.

Do you remember it?  The first time we saw one another.  I walked in, and the summit room full of diplomats and liars went very quiet. I looked at you, and for just a heartbeat, we locked eyes.  You didn’t smile.  In fact, you seemed to glower a little at the sight of me.

You always denied it, and I’m certain you would now if you were still with me.  But Kieran, my love, at the time it was the most beautiful expression I had ever seen.  You were genuine — you had not been corrupted by politics and greed.  You didn’t feign a smile for a prince you despised like all the others.  You simply…were.

Everything you touched seemed to flourish.  You had this vibrancy to you; I later convinced myself you sprouted from the ground like the lalets.  You gave words meaning.  You showed me the stars and the paintings in the sky.  You brought color to a lonely prince’s life.

I want to say sorry in your language.  Not in altean.  But in ink.  

So — I am sorry we met.  And I am even more sorry that you fell in love with a fallen star.  

Sometimes I like to think we’ve found each other in another life.  I don’t deserve it, but I dream anyways.  There is no war, and I never hurt you.  You’re safe in my arms, reciting one of your favorite poems.  

And we are happy.  So, so very happy.  

-An apology you will never read

Signed, Lotor

-

His chest burned as he ran.

Whether this was due to exhaustion, or heartache, Lance wasn’t sure.

He thanked his ridiculously long legs as he sailed down the winding halls.  They seemed to stretch on for endless miles, but perhaps this was because he knew every second mattered right now.

The castle had been attacked numerous times before.  It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, simply put.  However, both Shiro and Allura had been by their side during those battles.  The team was able to form Voltron and kick galra ass.

They didn’t have their leader, their princess, or their greatest weapon.  

And Lance was terrified.

The ship was struck again, this time with such magnitude that it caused its entirety to shudder and lurch sideways.  Lance lost his footing, consequently impacting with the wall.  

He saw stars, then nothing.

Lotor is holding him.  He doesn’t cry.

When he looks up at the prince, there is no emotion in those sunny eyes.  They are devoid of anything.  

And it finally sinks in, that Lotor’s spirit died the moment he plunged the blade into his lover.

Lotor untangles himself, and gently lays him down so he can rest with the lalets.  He doesn’t stay to see the light fade from the one he betrayed.  He can’t bring himself to watch his mistake unfold.

The scene warps.  Lotor is gone, and he is upright.

He’s limping.  Steadily, but surely, he makes his way down the flowery slope.

As he moves through the lalets, he paints them in red.  He’s clutching his abdomen, and his breath comes in choppy pants.  Above him, the sky is grey, like a diluted oil painting.  

Even as the red gushes from him, he doesn’t stop.   

He isn’t dead.

Not yet.

History was doomed to repeat itself when Lance opened his eyes and found Keith’s face an inch from his own.  With a jolt, he tried to sit upright - which resulted in high-fiving foreheads.  

“Dude, you have got to stop doing that,” Lance groaned, clutching his head.  

Keith didn’t try to defend himself, instead guiding his hands onto the Blue Paladins cheeks to gauge his well-being.  Worry laced his expression. “What happened to you?  Are you hurt?”  And where did you go?  He didn’t ask that last one - he didn’t have to for Lance to know he was wondering it.  

“M’fine,” Lance said, brushing his hand over Keith’s in an attempt to dissuade his concerns.  

It must not have been very convincing, because the raven-haired boy moved his hand over the back of Lance’s head.  His fingers swam through his short curls of hair before inevitably discovering a sore - and wet - spot.  Lance recoiled, hissing through his teeth.

Keith looked at his fingers once he withdrew them, now smeared with blood.  “You’re not fine.  You’re bleeding .”

Lance remembered the red, how it painted his attire and the flowers around him so beautifully.  

“It’s not that bad,” he insisted, getting to his feet.  “I’ve survived a whole lot worse.  Sides - we don’t have time right now.”  

Keith didn’t look convinced, but his attention was quickly diverted as another boom shook the castle.  He took Lance’s hand, steadying them both.  

“ Paladins! ”

Coran’s rattled voice flooded the hallway.  It was barely audible over the speakers against a roar of broken static, but they already knew what was coming next.

“ Report to - main d e - k immediately!  Prepare f - battle! ”

Both boys took off down the hall, their hands intertwined.

The rest of the team had already gathered by the time they arrived.

Everyone was suited up in their paladin gear except for Matt.  The air was heavy; Lance was practically choking on the fatalistic aura as they joined the group.

How bad is it?  He almost asked, but a glance out the glass told him enough.  Hundreds of galra ships dotted their galaxy like stars.  The castle was completely surrounded.

At the very least, they had stopped firing.

Something told Lance it wasn’t something to celebrate just yet, though.

Coran looked like he had somehow acquired a new set of wrinkles.  His usual jovial expression was clouded, replaced by something much more serious.  It was obvious he was doing his best to maintain a collected composure for the sake of the team, but it didn’t do much to clear the feeling of hopelessness in the room.

“Why did you summon us here?”  Keith demanded, stepping up.  “We have to protect the ship.  We need to get to our lions and -”  

“And what?” Coran interjected cooly, hands clasped behind his back.  “You cannot form Voltron.  Going out and fighting in your lions individually - it’s exactly what they want, no?  There are far too many of them.  It would be suicide at this rate.”  His eyes narrowed.

‘This is one fight that you cannot just jump into, Keith.’  It was something Allura would say - and Coran didn’t have to, for Keith to receive the message from his gaze alone.  

The red paladin seemed to tense at the remark.  He pressed his lips together and tore his gaze away from the older man.  

Pidge cleared her throat.  “Then what are we supposed to do?”  Her bushy eyebrows were knit together in an attempt to evade a look of fear.  

Lance recalled the girl who had curled up into him in his bed, eyes budding with tears.  

He pictured his own sister, only a year younger than Pidge, clad in the same armor and wielding a weapon she could hardly carry.   She’s just a kid, he thought, his stomach making knots.  

Fourteen, he concluded, was far too young of an age to die at the hands of war.  

“We can’t teleport without Allura,” Hunk added, dragging Lance back into reality.  His voice sounded coarser than normal.

Lance felt his heart drop at the realization.  They couldn’t create a portal without Allura, which meant if things went south, there was no option to flee.  They were completely, and utterly, trapped.  

Before Coran could respond, a series of alarms racked the castle and the lights pulsed red.

“They’re invading the ship.”  Lance heard himself say it, but his words registered with his lips before his mind.  

The altean quickly turned away, going to work on the control panels.  “Quiznack!”  He cursed when he was welcomed by error messages.  His composure shattered.  “The ship’s system is in a critical state after taking so many hits.  There’s no way to seal any entrances off unless it is done manually.”  

His eyes suddenly filled with panic.  “Allura.  She’s in the healing pod - she’s completely defenseless.”  Coran moved away from the panel board, but Lance planted a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from whatever impulse he was about to act on.

“I’ll go,” he said.  “I’m the fastest one here, so it should be me; I’ll manually seal off the healing pods before they get to her.”

“No.”  Keith shook his head, stepping between Lance and the exit.  “It’s way too dangerous.  It’ll be full of sentries down there - maybe even actual galra soldiers.  I won’t let you go alone.”

“Keith.”  It came out soft.  Lance moved towards him, cupping the other boy’s cheek.  

Keith’s hardened expression broke.  “Don’t do this,” he whispered, leaning into Lance’s touch.

Lance brought their foreheads together.  “You know I have to.  She’s our princess.”

He felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck, squeezing him.  “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Lance let his eyes momentarily drift shut.  Keith had an earthy smell to him, like the ground just after an april shower.  He found himself bathing in his familiar scent for what might be the last time.  “I promise.”

He thought about the broken promise Kieran made to Lotor.

And it occurred to him, that he should have crossed his fingers this time.

-

Lance encountered a few sentries on his way down.  He took care of them easily, not even stopping as he blasted the metal bots into oblivion.  

He didn’t think about his legs on the verge of buckling, or his lungs that begged for air, or the fact that they may have already reached Allura - he was fueled by a desire to protect the ones he loved, and so none of it mattered in that moment.

When he reached the healing pods, his worst fears were confirmed.  A swarm of sentries had infiltrated the room where the altean princess rested.  When they were unable to open Allura’s pod by way of the panel, they began firing at it instead.

“Get away from her!” Lance roared, discharging his bayard into the sea of robots without a second thought.  

It succeeded in redirecting their attention from the sleeping princess, but it left him with the task of taking on nearly a dozen hostile sentries.  

Call it determination, but the end result was a heap of smoking bots and an exhausted - but triumphant - Lance.  He limped out of the room, dragging a cracked and now useless bayard behind him.  Hunk would most likely be able to fix it, but that wasn’t going to help him now.  

“The room is sealed off,” he breathed into his helmet as the doors shut behind him.  “Allura is safe.”  He imagined the static he was getting on the other end was the team collectively sighing with relief - and Keith, telling him to get his ass back there.

But Lance’s plan had only gotten him as far as the healing pods.  Returning was something he told himself he would worry about when he got to that point.  

He turned away from the sealed doors, only to be met by the glowing peripheral of a droid.

Lance brought his arms over his face in an attempt to shield the coming blow, but the force of the droid’s hand alone knocked his helmet clean off.  Before he could react, the droid fired its weapon into his chest.   His armor absorbed most of the impact, but it was enough to send him crashing downwards with a painful surge throughout his body.

His head hit the ground with a resounding crack.  The corners of his eyes blurred with white.  

A few feet away his helmet rolled into the back-wall, leaving the paladin exposed.

He looked up at the sentry, whose gun was now pointed directly at him.

His body refused to move.  Even as the mouth of the gun hummed to life, Lance was only able to muster a weak smile.  

They said your life flashed before your eyes right before death.  And in a sense, it was true.

In that moment, Lance saw his family - his chaotic, beautifully imperfect family.  He saw his younger siblings, snoring soundly against him in a bed that wasn’t meant for four.  He saw bustling mornings and night-time adventures on the beach, and a popcorn ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars.

But then he saw Keith.  He saw himself introducing him to his parents for the first time, and the summer after on Varadero beach teaching Keith how to surf.  He saw them in Lance’s old backyard on a lazy Sunday, watching the clouds amongst yellow dandelions.  He could see genuine and careless smiles on their faces, because they were together, and the war was finally over.  

How cruel, that in one’s final moments you were shown the life you were going to lose.  

Lance closed his eyes, murmuring a quiet apology for the ones he would leave behind.

He braced for the end.  

But it never came.  

Azure eyes opened to find the tip of a blade inches from his face.  The droid had become a shish kabob in the time that Lance surrendered his vision, and wielding the sword was Prince Lotor himself.  

There was something so obscenely breathtaking about the galra’s movements.  They were fluid, even as he withdrew his weapon and tossed the lifeless bot aside.  But his eyes - they burned as he looked upon Lance’s diminished attacker, like the flames of a vengeful lover.  

The vicious expression melted away, and he graced the Blue paladin with a gorgeous smile and extended his hand towards him.  “Are you alright?”  

Dazed, Lance took his hand and stood with effort.  “Lotor.”  It came out in disbelief.

“I thought about what you said,” the galra began.  “And you were right.  I loved Kieran.  Nothing I do will bring him back.  But Lance, you…”  He swallowed, maintaining a small smile, “I’m not sure why all of this is happening, but I want you to live.  For us - for Kieran .   I will protect you, where I could not protect him.  Even if it costs me my life.”

Lance’s chest ached.  No matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the feelings that Kieran once felt for Lotor were engraved into his very being.  

The brunette stood up on the tip of his toes, planting a tender kiss on the galra’s cheek.  “He wants you to know, that you’re his moon and his stars.  And he’s waiting for you.”  

Lotor fixed him wide eyes, but if he desired an explanation, he did not ask.  Instead, he sheathed his blade and wrapped his arm around Lance’s waist as support.  “We must make haste — your teammates are in danger.”  

The sentries didn’t attack them.

Lance realized that they were not attacking, because they had not registered Lotor as a hostile threat - he was an ally, or so they were programmed to believe.

It made sense.  The sword he wielded earlier was the same one he used during his scuffle with Keith, which meant it must have been presented to him via the galra bots.  This was a rescue mission as much as it was a invasion on the castle.  

It was relieving to have the prince on their side.  They might actually stand a chance with such an upper-hand — and yet, as they made their way back to the others, he couldn’t shake off the unease building in his stomach.

-

As they approached the main deck, Lance found the feeling of unease had only heightened with every step.  Just ahead, the mouth of the entrance was visible.  “It’s not sealed off,” he barely managed to say.  “Why didn’t they seal it off?”  

Lotor was silent, but he inhaled deeply.  His eyes narrowed at whatever it was he was smelling, and he went tense against the other boy.  

Lance didn’t need to ask, because they were already passing through the entrance.  

His blood ran cold at what he saw.

Hunk and Matt were motionless on the ground.  Coran was crouched down beside them, cradling Pidge in his arms.  She was conscious, but by the look of it she had put up quite a fight.  

Keith was the only paladin still standing, his feet squared into a fighting stance.  He was breathing heavily, and blood ran down his forehead from a fresh gash.  His bayard was raised, and standing before him was one enemy Lance thought they would never encounter again.  

Sendak turned his head to leer at the two.  He flashed them a toothy grin.  “Well well, look what the cat dragged in.”  

Chapter Text

I had a weird dream last night.  

It was the kind of dream that lingers when you wake up, but the more you try to remember it, the less clear it becomes.  And that’s just not normal for me.  I’ve always had pretty vivid dreams — when I was younger, I would get night terrors and they always stuck with me.  I used to wonder why there were people in the world that didn’t remember their dreams, and why I wasn’t one of them.  

What I mean to say is, I’ve always had a pretty good memory about what goes on in my head when I’m asleep.  So it got me wondering, why was this dream so different?

I don’t remember the details.  

I’m in some kind of flower field - they look like sunflowers, but it’s all kind of fuzzy.  I’m in pain, I think.  I’m holding my side, and it feels wet.  With every step it gets harder to breathe.  I’m walking - real slow, probably because of whatever is wrong with my side - but I seem to have a destination in mind.  I’m determined, I’ll give myself that.

Then it starts raining.  Usually I like the rain, but not now.  The sky is crying, and I’m crying, and the world suddenly feels so empty.  The pain, I think it’s inside of me - not just in my abdomen, but in my heart.  I’m sad.  Why am I so sad?  

I make it down the slope.  There’s this beautiful summit building at the bottom; the architecture looks real familiar, but I don’t know why, because I’ve never seen anything like it back home.  As if the dream can’t get any weirder, a space pod of sorts emerges from a hidden panel in the ground.  I’m pretty sure I’m still outside the building, but this is where everything gets muddled.

I’m inside the pod now.  I cough up red, so much red.  It’s everywhere.  I think I’m dying, but I’m not afraid.  Determined and sad, but not afraid.  I don’t have time to be.

I launch the pod, and I’m ejected into open space.  It’s beautiful - just how I always pictured it would look like.  But then everything starts spinning, and I’m not sure if it’s the pod or everything outside of it but there are colors, lots of colors, all spiraling and blending together like the fractals of a kaleidoscope.

I feel very small after that.  I don’t really know how to describe what I mean.  I just feel…small.  Different, but the same.  

I know there’s more to the dream, but I can’t seem to remember what happens after the colors and the spinning.  Part of me hoped writing it down would help jog my memory, but it’s still as much of a mystery as it was when I woke up this morning.  

Maybe it’ll always be a mystery.

I guess I’m okay with that.

- Lance

-

Sendak was alive.

Lance was suddenly aware of just how indefinitely screwed they are.

The galra commander was as terrifying as the day he stormed the castle.  He looked massive in comparison to Keith, who clearly had put every fiber of his energy into holding him off.  

The grin transformed Sendak’s face, and his lips curled like that of the Cheshire Cat’s to reveal rows of jagged teeth.  His glowing eyes locked on Lotor.  “I see you’ve chosen to betray your people once more, my Prince.  A shame, really - I was hoping you would be of some use to me before I disposed of you like Haggar.”

Lance’s worst fears were confirmed: Sendak had not been part of the plan.  Lotor was as blind-sided by his arrival as the rest of the team.  

Lotor suddenly looked ill.  There were rims around his eyes, and his expression screwed into one of trepidation.  

“What?”  The grin widened on Sendak’s face, if that was possible.  “I thought you despised that witch.  Or …” his eyes flashed with delight, “could it be you were actually fond of her?  She raised you, did she not?  Perhaps… she was the like mother you never had.”

Was, he said.  Lance knew he should be relieved at the insinuation that Haggar was dead.  And yet, the look of horror that dawned on Lotor’s lilac features left him feeling only heartache.  

“What have you done?” the prince barely managed to croak out.  

Sendak swiped his tongue over his lips.  “She retrieved me from open space.”  He shot Lance and the others an icy stare.  “And I am indebted to her for that.  But she was a fool who was blinded by her loyalty to Zarkon.  She refused to reason with me, so I did what was necessary to preserve everything the Galra empire has achieved.  Someone has to step up and ascend the throne in your father’s place.”  He clenched his cybernetic hand, teeth bared.  “And I won’t allow a half-breed, lalet-picking traitor to steal what is rightfully mine.”  

There was a fire in Lotor’s eyes.  He would kill Sendak, Lance realized, or he would die trying.

“You’re a monster,” came a weak voice from behind them.  Matt slowly got to his feet.  He was in poor shape, but he didn’t waver beneath Sendak’s wily gaze.  He stood tall, his chin lifted and eyes filled with valor.

“Ah, the rebel,” Sendak purred.  “I’ve heard stories about you.  You reek of the Black Paladin - a shame, you didn’t get to him in time.  I suppose neither of us did, though.”  

Matt grit his teeth.  “You son of a bitch.”  He charged the galra, and was swiftly thrown across the room as Sendak roared with laughter.  

“ Matt !”  Pidge stumbled out of Coran’s grasp, dropping to her brother’s side.

Lance stood there, taking everything in rigidly.  It was like the whole world was crashing down in front of him, and all he could do was watch helplessly as he lost another family.

But then his eyes fell upon the pillars erect in the center of the room where Allura always stood when navigating the castle - and creating the occasional wormhole.

He wanted to describe the sudden feeling in his chest as a cliche tug at his heart.  But it wasn’t a tug; it was more like a violent pull, and the sound of his mother’s voice echoed in the back of his head: “Ya tu sabes que hacer, mi amor, así que ve y hazlo.”

“Lotor.”  The galra turned his head upon hearing his name.  The fire still consumed his eyes, but when he looked upon the blue paladin they seemed to soften, if only just a little.  “Even if we defeat Sendak, we don’t stand a chance against his fleets.  I need to get us out of here.”

Lotor nodded gravely, but he quirked a brow at him.  “And how do you plan to do that?”

Lance pursed his lips.  “I’ll figure something out.”  He nodded in Sendak’s direction.  The soldier was wearing an amused smirk as they exchanged words, but he didn’t make an attempt to interrupt them.  He was humoring their efforts.  “Think you can cover me?”

The prince dipped his head, tucking the few strands of hair that curtained his face.  “As you wish.”  There was a warmth in his voice as he said it.  Lance wondered if Kieran and Lotor ever fought together.

I bet they made a great team.

He met Keith’s gaze.  The raven-haired boy gave him a small nod, as if to say, I trust you.   Lance smiled, taking in the red paladin’s tousled but stunning features for what might be the last time.  

I love you.   He didn’t say it out loud.  He didn’t have to — a look was worth a thousand words.

As he approached the panels, Lance could feel the fear slowly building inside him.  What if his hunch was wrong, and he failed his team?  What if it wasn’t just a hunch, but he also wasn’t the same afterwards?   What if I’m not the Lance I thought I was all these years?  

None of it mattered.   Lance made a vow to protect his friends — no matter the cost.  If that meant facing a truth he didn’t want to believe, then so be it.  

“Lance?  What are you doing?”  Coran was looking incredulously at him now.  

“You said Alfor connected Allura’s life-force to the castle, and that’s why she’s the only one who can create wormholes,” Lance began.  “But Kieran was her fiancé, and her childhood friend.  Maybe…maybe he has a connection, too.”

The altean’s brows shifted together.  “Kieran?  What does he have to do with this?”

Lance didn’t respond.  He placed his hands on the panel, swallowing hard.

He looked over his shoulder.  

Keith and Lotor had engaged in battle with Sendak.  They fought beautifully side-by-side, both in perfect sync as they took turns landing vicious blows on the enemy; it was amazing, how two very different people could set aside their differences and work harmoniously together for a common goal.  Sendak actually looked overwhelmed.

Lance returned his attention ahead of him.  He took took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting everything around him melt away.   Focus, focus.  How does Allura even do this?  Argh — focus!  

A soft hum from the technology interrupted his thoughts.  Lance opened his eyes to find the panels had reacted to his touch.  Two glowing screens scripted in Altean appeared before him, and the pink light bled against his tanned features.  Stunned, he hesitantly reached his hands out.  

He wasn’t sure why, but the Altean language was suddenly coherent.

I can… read it?  I can read it.

“We’re getting out of here,” he announced, letting his hands dance over the screens.  “Coran, fire at any ships that try to follow us in!”

“R-Rodger!”

They descended into a wormhole that Lance had somehow created himself.  He didn’t think about how little power the ship had left and the fact it might not be enough to put them on the other side, or the strange feeling that washed over him as they were enveloped by the spirals of colors.  He didn’t think about Sendak, who was still on board and very much so a threat, or the fact he had no idea what he was doing.  

Lance let all his fears crash down on him at once.

And then he just let go.

-

He was standing in the lalet field.  Kieran was there, too, studying the boy.  

A breeze kissed the alien sunflowers.  “We’re the same, aren’t we?”  It came out quiet.  Lance didn’t try to cover up the melancholy in his voice.

Kieran’s face softened.  He closed the distance between them, then brought their foreheads together.  “You’re finally ready to learn the truth.”

Lance couldn’t help but chuckle tearfully.  “About time.”

He let his eyes flutter shut, and the scene changed.  

It isn’t like looking through a memory, so much as watching a lost chapter of a story unfold from the sidelines.

Lance watches Kieran stumble down the slope, bleeding profusely where Lotor struck him.  He makes it back to the summit hall, where a pod emerges from the ground.  It’s an escape pod — no doubt one of many planted there by the Altean diplomats who knew better than to trust their galra ‘allies’ when they gathered together to speak of politics.  As it seemed, Lotor had not known about the escape pods, either, or the possibility Kieran would prolong death to try and stop him from falling into his father’s shadow.  

Lotor couldn’t bear to end his lover’s life, but he made one fatal error - he doubted how far Kieran’s love for him could extend, even as he bled out from betrayal.

The pod is launched.  He doesn’t know where exactly Kieran intends to go, but he can only assume it is the galra ship looking over the planet from a distance.  Kieran’s hand leaves his side to navigate the pods direction, but he only manages to smear blood across the panels.  He’s cursing, and crying, but he doesn’t stop.  

Just then, the planet suddenly erupts with light.  It’s beautiful - and it’s destructive.  The planet implodes, and the pod starts to spin as the magnitude of the explosion hits it in violent waves.  The galra ship, no doubt the one Lotor now resides in, has just obliterated their former haven.  

He is comforted by the thought that the lalets must have looked like bejeweled suns just before incinerating.   

Lance doesn’t know exactly where the wormhole came from.  He guesses the galra ship created it, but he never gets an answer.  The pod, still spinning out of control, is unwillingly swallowed by the rip in space.  

Lance recalls the odd dream he had, the one he could never quite place. And he realizes he’s finally going to see the end.  

The worm-hole spits the pod out — 10,000 years in the future, in a solar system far away from his home.  

The feeling of being small - it wasn’t some metaphorical bullshit, either.  Kieran is actually small.  He’s a child, and the wound is gone.

The wormhole wasn’t a wormhole at all; it was some kind of time loop.  He remembers Allura telling everyone about how Coran was de-aged while they were stuck in the black hole.  Was it possible something like that happened to Kieran?   

The pod crashes on Earth, not far from a Cuban beach where Lance would later spend his childhood.  

At some point the Altean toddler crawls out of the pod, having miraculously survived with only a few minor scratches, and wanders the unfamiliar planet with a tear-streaked face and no recollection of his past life.  

Alteans are a Chameleon people.  Perhaps that is why Kieran has no trouble blending into the native population when he spots two Earthling children playing on the beach.  

He is placed in an orphanage, and two months later the McClain family adopts him.  They name him Lance, and he quickly becomes a loved member of their family.  

Kieran’s memory is as forgotten as his pointed ears and blue markings.  His love of the stars and piloting, however, still lingers.

When his eyes opened, Kieran took a step back.  “Do you understand now?”

Lance swallowed, hard.  His voice shook.  “All this time...I’ve just been blending in?  And Lotor...he loves you... me -”

Kieran took both of Lance’s hands, giving them a small squeeze as he looked upon the dejected boy.  “Lance,” he said, and it was almost stern-sounding.  “You were not ‘blending in’.  You were raised in a different culture and came to adopt it as your own.”  He paused, lashes hooding.  “Don’t you understand?  The mind and the body are two very different things.”

The old flower - the one you picked - it’s dead.  But that doesn’t mean it is the end.  You can put it in a vase with water.  It will flourish, even if for just a little while, in a new place, surrounded by those who are not other lalets.  

As the words sunk it, it finally dawned on him what Kieran’s analogy had meant.  Lance stared at him, his face suddenly etched with shock.  “You mean-”

Kieran rolled his eyes.  “What, did you think I was just a figment of your imagination?  Of course I’m real.  Well, dead, and very much so a spirit, but - that’s beyond the point.”  He glances up at the indigo sky, withdrawing a sigh.  “Ten thousand years.  I’ve been waiting for that idiot to come home for ten thousand years.  You’d think by now he would have found me…” a smile, “but I suppose he has a few things to settle before he can do that.”  

He dragged his eyes away from the sky, letting them rest on Lance again.  “So do you.”

Kieran and lalet field dissolved, and Lance was abruptly welcomed back into reality.

-

The castle had successfully completed its journey through the wormhole.    

Everyone was staring at him.  Coran’s jaw was practically on the ground, and Pidge’s eyes were wide like saucers.  To his relief, Hunk had regained consciousness, but as he looked at his friend all he could do was gape at him.  “Dude…”

Even Sendak had ceased fighting.  He was clutching his cybernetic arm, and at a glance it appeared that either Keith or Lotor had managed to impair it.  His glowering eyes were narrowed, clearly as bemused as the others by whatever it was about Lance that seemed to have gained their attention. “Impossible.”

Lance dared to steal a glance at his reflection in the glass.  It was faint, but he could just barely make out a head of white hair and pointed ears.  Two markings rested below his eyes, their color the same brilliant blue hue of his eyes.  He was altean.

He slowly turned to look at Keith and Lotor.

Both boys were frozen in place.  Keith’s expression was riddled with shock and an array of things he couldn’t quite discern, but Lotor - emotion was spilling from his face in waves.

“Kieran?”  

Chapter Text

Lance had never been afraid of change.

It was the consequences of adjusting and adapting that he refused to acknowledge.  

When he left home to join the Garrison, he had been elated; he was finally in a place where he felt he fit in as an individual.  And maybe, just maybe, becoming a fighter pilot would give his love of the stars a purpose.  

He didn’t need answers.  Not if he was happy in his calling.

But oblivion was inevitable.  It was like a shadow; always there, but never quite perceived.  It followed him through every passing moment of his life, waiting for the day when Lance McClain finally started to ask questions.

 

He always wondered why he loved the rain so much - or why his abdomen seemed to hurt whenever the sky shed tears.  

Lance slowly lifted his hands, letting his fingers brush over the pointed tips of his ears.  That was new.

Well, all of it was new.  

He felt numb.  It didn’t hurt, nor had the process of shifting resulted in any pains or aches.  

Rather, he felt indifferent.  He might have subconsciously convinced himself his natural state was human, but his body had known all along it was only trying to blend in.  Perhaps that was why it had no trouble returning to this form.

“Kieran?”

He met Lotor’s gaze, and the world suddenly felt far away.

His sunny eyes had never held so much emotion as they did in that moment.  Lance could have spent an eternity swimming in the shock, confusion, and guilt that washed over them.  

What could he say?  

That his lover was dead, and Lance was the vessel he left behind?

He opened his mouth, then closed it.   I can’t.  

Despite the words that failed to leave his lips, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Lance remembered a poem.  It wasn’t in the journal, but he knew Kieran had carved it somewhere.  

he’s the kind of beauty that is effortless

he makes you stop in your tracks

as you try to regain the breath he has stolen

but he is also the kind of beauty that is dangerous

because you can’t bring yourself to look away

-i’ve crushed lalets in his wake

Why couldn’t he just look away?

It happened so fast.

He remembered Sendak’s face screwing into one of fervent rage — and he remembered the larger galra ripping Keith’s bayard away from him, equipping himself with the stolen weapon in place of his cybernetic arm that had been destroyed.

He remembered his legs not moving in time, and Keith screaming his name as the commander lunged towards Lance with bared teeth and the stolen weapon aimed at his abdomen, where his armor was most penetrable.  

And he couldn’t help but think the universe’s sense of humor was particularly cruel, to take his life the same way it took Kieran’s - at the hilt of a blade that belonged to a galra he loved.

But the pain never found him.

Part of him wished it had, rather than what came afterwards.

Lance opened his eyes, and found his face pressed into someone’s shoulder.  They smelled like jasmine, and home.  

When the realization finally sunk in, Lance pulled back.  His heart dropped at what he saw.

Lotor, positioned between the blue paladin, and —

Why didn’t he just look away?

— Keith’s blade.

He had shielded Lance from Sendak’s attack at the very last moment.  

Lotor looked up, slowly, and gave him a weak smile.  “Sorry, my prince,” his voice was soft, yet strained, “but I think…I may have messed up, just a bit.”  

Then he crumpled forward, into Lance’s arms.

His weight was almost too much for the blue paladin, whose energy was sparse and fading quickly.  He stumbled backwards, but caught himself, carefully lowering them onto the ground.

Behind them, Sendak had stepped back.  He looked down at the withdrawn blade and then back up at Lotor, fixing him a reticent expression.  His jaw set, but he didn’t intervene again.  

Apparently, even evil galra commanders had enough respect to allow their own kind to die gracefully before they continued their onslaught.

A few weeks ago, Lance might have shouted in desperate naivety for someone to help him: ‘ he needs to get to a healing pod!’   But if there was one thing he had learned from Kieran, it was that there were some things you simply couldn’t change.  Only regret.  

“Is it really you?”  Lotor reached up, brushing the altean’s cheek with his hand.  

His features became blurred by Lance’s tears.   “Yes, it’s me.”

He wouldn’t take this moment from Lotor, no matter how badly he wanted to tell him that his lover had gone away a long, long time ago.  

Lance wiped away a trickle of crimson from Lotor’s lip with his thumb.  He tried to focus on his lilac features, rather than the pool of blood forming around his side and the glaze in his eyes.  

“I did something unforgivable.”

“You made a mistake.”

Lotor closed his eyes, then opened them slowly, withdrawing a shaky breath.  “Do you spite me?”

“Never.”

It was what Kieran would have said.  

The galra’s eyes looked even more distant now, but he continued to gaze up at him.  “Why is that?”

Lance brushed away the white tendrils that framed Lotor’s face.  He leaned down and kissed his forehead, closing his eyes as he felt the hot tears cascade down his cheeks.  “Because you’re my moon and my stars.”  

Lotor was gone when he lifted his head.  There was the faintest smile on his lips.

Even when the sunshine faded from his eyes, they still looked as beautiful as the day he first met the prince.  

And it occurred to Lance that while his love for Lotor may have been linked to Kieran, he was certain of one thing - he could have fallen for the prince on his own.

Lance brushed his eyelids closed, then held the galra against him, letting quiet sobs rack his body.  

Sadness was a strange thing.  It could destroy a person - but it could also drive them.

He gently lay Lotor over the floor, then got to his feet.  The debilitated state of his body no longer meant a thing to him - it was far from his mind as he turned to look at Sendak, his steely eyes ablaze.

“You fucked with the wrong altean.”  

Sendak seemed amused by that.  “Am I supposed to be intimidated?  Your little show changes nothing, puny paladin.”  He tossed Keith’s bayard aside with a sneer.  “Don’t worry, you’ll be reunited with Lotor soon enough.  I’m doing you a favor, really.”  

Sendak looked like he could easily crush Lance with one arm tied behind his back - and he certainly made it clear he intended to do just that.  Out of infantile spite, too, no doubt.

Lance was far beyond reason, though.  

He would be destroyed by the Sendak long before he let himself be destroyed by his sadness.

Kieran had not been a vengeful being; he was the kind of guy who looked out for his loved ones, but tread carefully when dealing with fickle feelings and revenge.   

But Lance wasn’t Kieran.  

And he was pretty sure if the altean prince was watching him, he was shouting “kick his ass!” from the heavens.  

“You have grit, I’ll give you that,” Sendak purred, flexing his arm as the blue paladin approached him, empty-handed and face dark with rage.  “Or perhaps you’re just as much of a fool as Lotor was.”  

Sendak swung his arm with such magnitude that it would have been enough to kill someone of Lance’s stature in a single blow.  

He didn’t try to dodge it.  Instead, Lance raised his own fist, hurtling it towards the galra’s.

“Are you going to tell your father?”

He was sprawled out in Lotor’s lap, looking up at the seamless clouds.  He felt Lotor’s fingers comb through his hair, and he closed his eyes.

“No,” he said finally, opening them again.

Lotor had begun to braid his hair.  He didn’t ask why.   

He knew if Kieran wanted to answer something, he would, and if he didn’t, then it would be put to rest.  

Kieran had always loved that about Lotor.

“I don’t want them to think of me differently,” Kieran said after a pause.  “I don’t know what this power is, what it means.  I don’t even know how to control it.”

The galra hummed thoughtfully as he finished the little braid.  He picked something from the ground and tucked it behind Kieran’s ear.  A flower, probably.   

“Someday,” Lotor began softly, and Kieran craned his head up to meet his gaze, “You’ll understand it.  And you’re going to save the universe, Kieran.”

“The universe doesn’t need saving,” he pointed out with a placid smile.

Lotor kissed just below the part in his hair, letting his lips rest there a moment.  At the time it was a tender moment, but later Kieran wondered if he had done it to hide the expression he was making.

“Not yet.”  

When their fists met, Lance’s entire arm was consumed by a fiery blue.

He saw Sendak’s face light up in sudden fear, but the electricity only swelled as he stumbled backwards.

Lance looked upon his arm, watching the azure power spread to his entire body and lick the air around him.

The altean extended both his arms as he was engulfed by a power he had unknowingly carried within him for ten thousand years.

His eyes narrowed on Sendak for the last time.

“This is for Lotor, you son of a bitch.”  

In the end, it was Lance's sadness that destroyed Sendak.

-

He saved the universe.

But not Kieran's universe.

-

Lance felt a hand clasp his shoulder.

Indigo eyes fell upon sterling grey ones.

“How are you holding up?”  

Keith took a seat beside him when he didn’t respond.  

“Everyone’s waiting in the dining hall.  They’re worried about you.”

Lance studied his lap.  His hand found its way back to his ear, feeling the tip as though half-expecting it to suddenly return to a rounded shape.  “I couldn’t save him,” he barely managed to choke out.

“You did everything you could,” Keith said softly.  “Lance, you killed Sendak.  And that’s after you created a wormhole and saved the lives of every one of your teammates.”  

“But not his.”  It came out hollow.  A pause, then, “Do you believe in an afterlife?”

The raven-haired boy palmed the back of his neck thoughtfully.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.  I like to think there’s a purpose to all of this.”

Lance looked out at the stars that stretched across their watercolor universe.  “Do you think he’s happy?”  

Keith passed a hand through the altean’s soft white hair as he studied him, and Lance leaned against his shoulder.  “Yeah,” he murmured, “I really do.”

They remained like that for a little while, until finally Keith started to get to his feet.  He extended his hand towards the other and helped him up.  “Come on.  I think you owe the team an explanation.”  

Lance nodded, allowing Keith to lead the way.  He looked back once, however, out at the familiar solar system and its abundance of stars.

Not far off, a forgotten planet where a romance once blossomed between two boys gazed back at him.

Chapter Text

Was is possible to miss something that was never yours?

-

“There you are.”

The familiar voice woke Lance from his thoughts.

Keith was leaning against the frame of the hangar entrance, his arms folded over his chest. Unlike Lance, he was no longer clad in his armor from their earlier scuffle with a lingering galra fleet.

“Reminiscing with Blue?” he guessed, observing the altean’s comfortable position with an amused smirk.

Lance removed his arms from behind his head and sat upright, patting the lion’s large metal paw beneath him.  “Yup.  She’s still pretty pissed at me, but I think ol’ Blue’s starting to come around.”

He could practically feel her roll her eyes at that.   You are a terrible liar, Lance Mcclain.

“Come on, babe!  I thought we were past this.”  She made an unimpressed rumbling sound, and Lance began to wave his hands in an exaggerated motion.  “It’s not you , it’s me .”

Keith chuckled.  He unfolded his arms and made his way over to the two.  He wasn’t looking at Lance anymore, but rather, his hair.  “You made some adjustments,” he noted.  

Lance looked up at it, seemingly having forgotten, then twisted a chocolate curl around his finger.  “Ah..yeah.  I wasn’t really feeling the white.  Seemed more like Kieran’s thing.  ‘Sides, my mommá would have a fit.”  

The red paladin hummed thoughtfully.  “I like it.”

He smiled.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the raven-haired boy agreed, taking a seat beside him on Blue’s paw.  “But don’t pretend you didn’t just change it back because you’re afraid you’ll turn out like all those white-haired protagonists in your Japanese cartoons.”

“We’ve been over this.  They aren’t cartoons , Keith.”  

He tried to smack him, but Keith easily dodged the playful blow.  His smirk seemed to falter afterwards, however, and Lance let his hand fall back to his side.

“She’s awake, isn’t she?”

Keith was silent for a moment.  Then he nodded, slowly.  “She’s still weak.  Coran escorted her to her room, but he’s kept the rest of the team out.  Doesn’t want her to be too overwhelmed, I guess.”  

Lance started to pick at a scab on his arm.  

“Lance, you have to talk to her.”

“It’s complicated,” he grumbled.

Keith frowned.  “Believe me, I’m aware.  Your pointy ears complicated a lot of things.”

“You know you like’m.  Admit it, this form totally turns you o-”

Keith tapped his forehead impatiently.  “ Lance ,” he said, eyes narrowed.

Lance let out a sigh of defeat.  “Fine.   Fine .”

“It’ll take time for her to come to terms,” Keith went on, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  “Just like it took a little while for the rest of the team to acclimate.  But she will.  She did with me.”  

She wasn’t in love with you, though.  The brunette swallowed his words, settling for a small nod instead.

Lance gazed up at Blue afterwards.  “See ya later, girl.  Be good to Matt, alright?”  

He got to his feet and turned to exchange one last glance at Keith, who remained perched on the lion.

He gave Lance a reassuring smile.

“Good luck, space ranger.”  

Lance grinned despite the gnawing nervousness in his stomach.  “Don’t need it, space cowboy.”

“By the way,” he heard Keith call after him as he left, “you look good in black!”

-

She looked like a goddess, even with her skin a sickly shade and gaze heavy with lassitude.  

Lance went rigid at the sight of her.

When her prismatic eyes fell upon him, they immediately widened.  She sat upright.

“Kieran.”

He wasn’t sure whether it was a statement, or a question.  

He wasn’t sure which one would have stung more.  

Lance gestured to the bedside.  “Can I sit?”

“I…” Allura nibbled on her lower lip, but nodded.  “Yes, of course.”  He could feel the wheels turning in her brain, hear the roar of questions building in her throat.  

He had rehearsed this moment at least a hundred times since their battle with Sendak, but standing before Allura now, Lance was at a loss of what to say.

He sat on the edge of the bed, then cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the will to speak.  He felt her eyes tracing every inch of him.  

Silence, then—

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice held the slightest tremor.  When Lance looked up, Allura’s head was bowed, and her hands clasped together.  “I’m so sorry, Kieran.  I failed you.  We all failed you.”

“Hey,” Lance said softly, reaching for her hand.  He thread their fingers together, and the princess slowly lifted her head.  “You didn’t fail him.  You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

Her jaw seemed to go slack.  A flicker of realization lit up her features.  “Lance?”

He smiled.  For once, his name was not laced with scorn or irritation on her lips.  It was raw and it was beautiful, because his words alone had justified his existence.  “Yeah…yeah, it’s me.”  

Allura’s brow furrowed, her eyes still glistening with remorseful tears.  “How can this be?”

He told her everything, sparing no detail.  

The betrayal, the wormhole, the poems — everything.

And she listened, never once interrupting.  

When he finished, Allura was quiet for several heartbeats.  

“It explains a great deal,” she said finally, her voice soft.  

He knew she was trying her best to conceal her disappointment upon learning Kieran was gone.  It’s okay , he wanted to say.  I wish he was here, too.  Maybe he could have saved Lotor.

“And the powers?” Lance pressed.  “Kieran knew about them, but he didn’t know what they were, anymore than I do.  Allura…I killed Sendak.  With glowing blue powers.  Not exactly my forte."

“I share them, too,” she reminded him.

“You’re a princess, though,” Lance pointed out, frowning.  “Royal blood.  Kieran was just a diplomat’s son, so how—”

“Blood has nothing to do with it,” Allura cut in.  “It is true, most altean’s do not possess such power within them.  But Kieran was different.   You are different.  Your devotion to Lotor and your desire to protect your teammates must have manifested into a tangible energy, just as it did for me when I faced Haggar.”

She smiled just then, extending her hand to cup Lance’s cheek.  “You are a remarkable boy, Lance.  I am proud to call you the Black Paladin.”  

It wouldn’t be easy, overcoming the past.  

The hurt in Allura’s eyes when she looked at him would take time to fade.  The ache of his heart from memories of a former lover would linger, even when he loved another.  The sight of a sunflower would leave him choked up, and rain would always remind him of a prince’s lips.  

But Lance was okay with that.   

Picking up glass shards left scars, but scars weren’t necessarily a bad thing.  They were a reminder — a carving that told a story, of one that went on.  

Lotor had given him the most beautiful scars he could ask for.

“Well,” Lance said, shrugging, “It’s just a temporary title.  Y’know, until we get Shiro back.  With the galra not being much of a threat anymore, we can focus on searching for him.”

“And your family?  Do you not wish to see them?”

Lance managed a small smile.  “I can’t go home.  Not until we’ve brought Shiro and Mr. Holt home, too.”

Allura hummed thoughtfully, leaning back into her display of pillows.  “I get the feeling there is something else.”

“‘Something else’, Princess?”

She nodded.  “Something you must put to rest before you dedicate your efforts to the living.”  

It was like she could read his every thought.  

Lance swallowed thickly, but didn’t allow his smile to waver.  “I wanted to wait until you had woken up, before…”  His voice trailed off.  The words caught in his throat, and he looked down at his hands.  The slightest quiver had captured them.  

“I am honored,” came Allura’s gentle voice, like sorrowful honey.   “I think it is time, don’t you?”  

-

As he looked upon the barren landscape, Lance remembered children’s feet skittering through the stalks of lalets, growing grimy with soil while his father spoke of politics.

He remembered his first-meeting with Lotor, how his mouth gaped when the shivering galra scowled at his strained kindness.  He remembered falling in love with him amongst the yellow flowers, how lonely afternoons were replaced with wooden sword fights and secret picnics beneath the lazy sun.  

He remembered every stolen kiss and brush of skin, and the familiar aroma of olive and jasmine oils intermixing.  

Lance blinked, and the memories dissolved, leaving a dead planet in its wake.  

“Are you sure Lotor would’ve wanted to be buried here?” came Hunk’s uncertain voice beside him as they looked upon a soft patch of unturned ground.  “It seems…I don’t know…  A little lonely.  Didn’t he kill Kieran here?”

“I think Lance would know what’s best for him,” Keith spoke up, stepping forward to clasp Hunk’s shoulder.  

The big guy blinked, but nodded apologetically.  

“It’s okay,” Lance said, smiling softly at the ground where the prince now rested.  “I know it seems kind of sardonic.  But I just have this feeling inside me, that Lotor would have wanted it to be here.”

It was the place where their love had blossomed.  Surely that is where it should finish its bloom.  

“You do not need to explain yourself, Lance,” Allura told him gently, and Coran nodded in agreement.

“It may not be much now, but this planet was beautiful once.  It is a fine choice, my boy.”

A moment of silence unfolded, before the altean princess spoke up once more.   “Come, paladins.  Let Lance say his goodbyes in peace.”  

They reluctantly obliged.  Pidge took Allura’s hand as the still-weak princess was guided by Coran towards the castle, but looked over her shoulder at Lance with an uncertain glance.

He smiled at the green paladin, and she smiled back.

Once he was alone, he let the corners of his lips fall and sat down beside Lotor’s grave.  “Are you happy?” he asked quietly.

Silence.

“I don’t know that I can really move on, unless I know,” the black paladin admitted, a tremble in his voice this time.

He paused, withdrawing in sudden surprise.

It was small — almost unnoticeable to the eye amongst the soft earth —but in the center of Lotor’s grave was a single sprout.

When did that…?

Lance shook his head.  He let out a watery laugh and rubbed his eyes.  “Can I take that as a yes?”

He remained there until the sun went down, reminiscing about Kieran and Lotor’s time together - the good, the bad, and everything in-between.  Their relationship had not been a perfect one, but it had been theirs.  

Lance didn’t know it yet, but the sprout would soon bloom into a lalet — and many more, after that.

In a few months time, the planet would be flourishing with the colors of their love.  

-

The lalets were in full bloom.

They were always beautiful flowers, but in that moment, they had never looked so vibrant.

Lotor lifted his head, scanning the horizon.  

And then he saw him.

A mistake, a masterpiece.  

He stood amongst the lalets as if he were one himself, with skin so bronze it seemed to glisten in the sunlight.

When his indigo eyes fell upon the galran prince, Lotor expected hatred or malice to paint them.

How was it, that even after everything Lotor had done, they still lit up with elation at the sight of him?

Kieran broke into a desperate run.  He stumbled a few times, but never once stopped to recover as he dashed up the slope towards him.  

When they embraced, the altean threw his arms around his neck.

Lotor didn’t think — he crushed them together and swung him around until his breath ran out.

He had dreamt of holding Kieran again a thousand times, but he never fathomed he would see his lalet again.  

“I’ve waited so long,” Kieran murmured into him.

Lotor set him down gently and kissed his tears.  “I will never leave your side again.”

Kieran met his gaze.  “Do you promise?”  It came out soft, hopeful.

Lotor smiled down at the most beautiful boy he had ever laid eyes.

He lost Kieran once.  Never again.

“You have my word.”

-

Lance found himself staring up at the metallic ceiling.  He sat up slowly, and brushed away a tear that had traveled down his cheek with his thumb.

Beside him, a messy-haired boy stirred awake.  “Lance?” came his bleary voice, muffled beneath the sheets as he strained to glimpse his moved partner.  “Y’okay?”

Lance nodded.  “Just a dream,” he reassured him.  

And yet, he knew it wasn’t. 

He lay back down, gathering Keith in his arms beneath the white sheets.  Keith buried his face in the crook of his neck with a contented hum.  “What was it about?” he asked sleepily.

Lance kissed the top of his head, smiling against him and closing his eyes. 

“A sunflower found its way home.”

Chapter Text

There is a second between indifference and pain that can only be known as solace.

It happens just before the first strike; before his choice of arms licks your skin and you are left to wonder what you have done other than exist to earn another contusion of his disappointment.  

Lotor had come to know this solace many times.  He had counted the seconds and basked in a feeling that was so fleeting and so beautiful that it almost hurt more to have felt it so many times than if he had never known it in the first place.

He would often find himself standing in a field of lalets.  There was the clement hum of the breeze, and he could taste the flowery aroma when he parted garnet lips.  Sometimes his mother was there, too - the version of her that had not disappeared when he was just a baby.  She was beautiful, with long white hair just like his own that fell over her shoulders in snowy cascades and morganite eyes that softened when they fell upon him.  She seemed to be comforting him with her smile, in the way only mothers can.  She would open her arms out to him, but as Lotor took the first step towards her embrace, he fell through the flowers and he found himself cowering beneath his father once more.

This is when the second of solace ended, and the pain began.

It was a cycle Lotor had known most of his life.  A cycle he had grown so used to that he almost did not care whether the cycle was ever broken.

That is, until he met Kieran.

____

Spring

Lotor wasn’t too sure what exactly had just happened.

One moment, he was slumped behind a wall, hidden in curtains of his hair and embarrassment as he listened to a dialogue that seemed to define his very existence, and the next, he was being dragged away by an Altean boy as two soldiers spat nervous threats after them.

He didn’t struggle against his grip, but he continued to drag his heels as he stared ahead, dumbfounded by the sudden change of events.  

It was the same boy from the lalet field.

The same boy who had given him sympathetic eyes and a pity party in the form of a soggy cape.  

I don’t want it.  He felt his lip curl, but he bit back the words.   I don’t want your pity.

At least galrans were honest.  They knew Lotor was an abomination; an ugly half-breed, with no mother to show and a father who exceeded him in every aspect.  

They didn’t cease running until they reached the edge of the lalet field.  

He jerked his hand out of the altean’s grip, yellow eyes shooting daggers in his breathless direction.  

In my culture, we call someone like the prince ‘beautiful’.

He felt his head tilt towards the ground, allowing curtains of hair to frame but also hide his face.  Lotor felt like a wilted flower at times, naturally inclined towards the dirt.

“I hate people like you most,” he muttered.  It was so quiet, he almost thought Kieran hadn’t heard him. That is, until he felt a hand clasp his shoulder and jerk him from his bowed position.  Startled sunny eyes were not being flattened by piercing indigo ones.

‘’Like me’?  You don’t even know me,” Kieran shot back, not skipping a beat.  “I didn’t say those things back there because I felt sorry for you.  And I sure as hell didn’t say them because I admire or fear you.  I said them because they were true.  Because I know you’re beautiful, and because those racist sleeze-bags needed to eat their words.”

Kieran’s cheeks were flushed, despite his sharp and determined gaze.  

Lotor had been left speechless many times.  

He recalled how his throat felt when it began to swell, desperately trying to choke back a sob.  The way his eyes would burn as he blinked back tears.  

Crying is weak.  Princes don’t cry.  

Lotor never knew that you could cry out of happiness.

Not until that moment.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to hold back his salt-water tears.

“Hey,” Kieran said suddenly, and it was softer than before.  He extended his hand, face still stern but eyes like warm ocean tides.  “Do you want to be my friend?”

Lotor stared at him a little while longer, stunned.  His face was wet, wetter than he had ever allowed it to be in another’s presence.  Then, slowly, he reached his own hand out.  His lavender fingers seemed to dance over Kieran’s for a heartbeat, before he clasped them together and initiated a little shake.  

“Okay.”

_____

“What do you possibly have to gain from ink on paper?”

Lotor collected his knees in his palms and sat down on his haunches.  He was studying the leather-bound journal in Kieran’s hands incredulously, the way the altean would often study his own father’s work.  

As if he could not fathom why he could take an interest in something so mundane.  

Kieran lifted the pen, and Lotor seemed to shift a little, as though preparing himself in case the other boy tried to spar with him with it.  “The real question is, what don’t I have to gain from it?”  He trailed the head of the pen over the paper, finishing the last word of a poem he had been writing before Lotor’s arrival.  “It isn’t like our technology, that places the word on a hollow screen for me.  My hand, it has full control over the words I write.  I have a choice - a will.  It cannot be corrupted, or downloaded.  The only way someone can take my writing from me is if I choose to share it - or if they tear it from my cold, dead hands.”  

When he looked up again, Lotor’s expression seemed almost more puzzled than at the start.  “My father says poetry, and literature, are ghosts of the past.  A buried art that should remain in the dirt.”  

Kieran smiled, and gestured towards the hundreds of lalets that danced with the warm breeze around them.  “Maybe.  But in that case, I like to think my poems will feed the flowers someday.  Just like we do.”   

He must have seemed even more peculiar than ever to Lotor.  Even so, he had not managed to scare the galra prince off.  He kept coming to visit him, if only to tell him Zarkon would disapprove of every activity and misdeed he participated in.  It made him wonder how the boy had managed to remain soft and curious-eyed, with a father like that.  

“Will you read me one?”  Lotor said suddenly, and Kieran felt a small jump in his chest.  “A poem, will you read me one?   

Surprised, Kieran said, “You want me to read you a poem?”

Lotor nodded.  “Only if you don’t mind, of course.”

Only Allura had asked to reach his poems; and while she would listen intently, she always had questions at the end: “What does it mean?”  “Is that a metaphor?”  “That was sad, are you sad, Kieran?”

It always left him in a huff.  If there was one thing a poet did not enjoy, it was having to explain or listen to someone over-analyze something he had already poured his heart into.  

When he finished, Lotor’s eyes were clouded over with thought.  He was silent, as though pondering over the poem.

“Well?” Kieran said, squirming a little.  He was used to Allura instantly interjecting her opinions or confusions.  

“I don’t quite understand it,” Lotor admitted, “but...it was beautiful.”

He found it strange, that a beautiful person should find beauty in others before himself.

He wondered, if the flowers thought the sun were beautiful, too.

______

Summer

The Summer after came on steadfast feet.

Daibazaal was hot and miserable.  Altea was no better.  Summit meetings seemed to be the only place Lotor could escape Summer’s wrath; but even in the lalet field, the sun seemed a little less merciful.

He had known Kieran for only a short-while, and yet, it felt like an eternity.  

He liked to think Kieran was his best friend.  But that wasn’t to say Kieran thought Lotor was his best friend.  

Kieran seemed inherently better at everything.  

He was faster, smarter, wittier - but above all, he was kinder.  His temper was not short-fused like Lotor’s, and even when the galra presented him with fits of hostility and distrust, Kieran never once returned such behavior.  He made it his best interest to put the prince at ease, to convince him that he wasn’t tricking Lotor, and “friends don’t have to look or be alike to trust one another”.

Perhaps the real irony of it all, however, was that it was Kieran who should not have trusted Lotor.

For no matter how much the galran boy desperately wished it not true, the same spring that they shook hands, was the same spring Zarkon caught onto their newly awakened friendship.  

At first, Lotor expected a beating.  Maybe something even worse, for befriending an Altean of high status without his father’s consent.  

But Zarkon was not infuriated.  He was delighted by the discovery, in fact.  

For what better way was there to obtain intel, than to have it served on a silver platter?  Having his son establish a friendship with the son of an Altean with political power was the perfect opportunity to bypass the fabricated “peace treaty” between their people.  

Lotor did not refuse.  He knew better than to defy his father.

Besides, the two races were, for the most part, on peaceful terms.  Surly his position in his father’s scheme would never actually take effect when there was no such war brewing between Alteans and Galrans.  He could be Kieran’s friend, without fearing Zarkon might punish him for sneaking around with the darker-skinned boy.

Maybe, just maybe, Lotor could be happy, without fear.

_______

Lotor was in his room.  

Kieran wasn’t quite sure how or why the boy had wandered into his room, or on his planet for that matter, but he wasn’t disappointed in the slightest to see him.

“Father - he has a meeting with Alfor.  The servants told me your room was down this corridor,” Lotor began, gesturing like a fish out of water, “I thought I would say - I’ll, um, go.”  

“Wait!’  Kieran said, and shot up from his perch on his bed.  It was almost embarrassing, how desperately his voice squeaked when Lotor had turned back towards the door.  “...Wait.  Stay.  It’s dreadfully boring here, and I’ve tired of writing.”  

Lotor blinked, then hesitantly made his way over to the bedside.  “Can I sit?”

Kieran nodded.

“I didn’t know you’re family lived in the Castle,” the galra admitted as he climbed onto the unnecessarily large king-sized bed.  His movements were slow, careful.  As though he expected Kieran to ask him to leave at any moment.

Kieran looked up at the ceiling.  “Not always.  Alfor thought it was best someone of my father’s status was kept close and guarded, especially after I was born.  So he had a division added for my parents and I.”

“Do you like it?”

Kieran shrugged, and closed his journal.  “There’s a courtyard where I can write, and the servants are nice.  It doesn’t quite feel like home, but, I don’t mind it much.”

Lotor nodded, thoughtfully.  He seemed somewhat distracted, however.  That, or nervous.  Kieran was somewhat nervous himself, if he was being honest.  

“The princess, I saw her on my way here,” the prince finally said.  “Her hair, it was-”

“Ah, it’s just a bad hair day,” Kieran chuckled.  “She didn’t really cut it that short.  Some days, she can’t stand to tame all that hair of her’s, so she changes it.  Us Alteans, we have chameleon-like abilities, so changing hair length is a breeze.”

He was surprised to find Lotor’s gaze shying towards his lap.  “It was...pretty.”

For a heartbeat, Kieran felt a jab of jealousy (don’t ask him why, he wouldn’t have an answer prepared in that thick skull of his anyways).  That is, until he realized it wasn’t the princess that seemed to have the galra in a flush.

“You want me to cut your hair?”

Lotor looked up, looking panicked.  “What?”

“You hair.  Do you want me to cut it short?

“My…” He ran a hand over his long white locks, “...hair?  It’s been this long as I can remember.  I don’t know if-”

“C’mon,” Kieran said, a grin stealing his lips as he took the other boy’s hand in his and dragged him off the bed.  “There’s nothing wrong with a little change.”

Perhaps change in Lotor’s case was too good a thing, though.

After what felt like an eternity of being even closer to Lotor than ever (who knew cutting one’s hair could be so intimate?) they said goodbye to his once long locks in the quiet courtyard, and the galra looked to him with uncertainty after tucking his much shorter, sleeker hair behind his pointed ear.  “Well?” he pressed.  “How does it look?”

When Kieran didn’t answer, he pressed again.  “It’s awful, isn’t it?  We should have left it alone!  Father will have a stroke when he see’s it!”

“It’s pretty.”

It came out of his mouth before Kieran could stop himself.  He felt his face go hot, and he ducked.  “Only because I cut it, of course,” he managed, doing his best not to look in Lotor’s direction.  Instead, he began to pluck at the grass.  

When he was met with silence, Kieran was forced to meet the other boy’s face, fearful he had crossed a line or made the other embarrassed.  

He was wrong.

Lotor - he had a smile like the sun.  It was warm, and big, yet gentle and comforting all at once.  Kieran was convinced Lotor had not smiled once his entire life, because the force of a thousand smiles had graced his face.  “Thank you,” was all the galra said, twining a short piece of hair between his fingertips.

Kieran’s father warned him, he would fall in love.  

He remembered the man chuckling heartily as his only son stuck out a disgusted tongue at the prospect of willingly putting his lips on someone else’s.  

Since then, he was constantly alert - ready to combat any dangerous feelings that might be roused from the opposite sex; with their twinkling eyes and soft lips and flouncy dresses.  

His father never warned him, though, that love could come in the form of a violet boy with sunshine eyes and a smile brighter than the whole damn lalet field.  

Kieran hadn’t prepared himself for this.  

Springs came, and summers went.  

Kisses were exchanged.  Hand holding became second nature.

The lalets have never looked so beautiful.  And neither has he.

-new beginnings