Chapter Text
The old lake house had become something of the family’s vacation spot. Whenever Shiro had reached a break in his work he would pack up the car, round up the kids, and rip across the country to the house.
Allura had told him he was welcome anytime after her father passed and nobody was living at the house anymore. Actually, she had told him it was okay even before the house was empty. She practically begged him to use the wooden lodge with direct lake access and a swing in the yard.
Lance loved it. He loved swimming in the shallow water near the shore and feeling fish nibble his toes when he stayed still. He loved watching the sunset on the water as it turned everything shades of red, orange, violet, and pink. He loved eating watermelon and having water balloon fights with Hunk and Pidge (and Keith). He loved everything that the house had to offer, every memory and future. So, he was noticeably heartbroken when he saw the old tree out back had fallen down, crushing the dock and downing his swing.
He blamed Keith.
Shiro called in to the city to ask for tree removal when he was done cutting up and taking what he could use for wood. After setting everything inside and asserting no damage was done, he pulled out the old chainsaw and set to work. Lance may have cried when he saw the first deep gash, Pidge may have cheered at seeing the object of her hate torn up. Keith may have been helping clear leaves because he’s a daddy’s boy to Shiro and always tries to help. Hunk was certainly organizing and folding his clothes so he didn’t have to deal with that mess.
“I miss the swing,” Lance said around the (new) campfire that night. He wore a dejected face and was roasting a perfect marshmallow.
Hunk licked his lips after eating his second s’more, “Well, now we can have fires every night. So, i think it’s a good trade: swing for s’mores.” Lance was not moved by the sentimentality. His marshmallow was now a puffy ball of fire. His eyes looked sad and tired as he blew out the fire and took a sorrowful bite of his charred food. Everybody cringed at him eating the thing.
“Here, have mine,” Keith handed over his slightly undercooked s’more. It didn’t have any chocolate because of his lactose intolerance but it was still a heartwarming offer. Lance took it, bit into it, and smiled.
A few more bites and he was good as new. He didn’t say thank you but it was implied in the nod he gave. Keith returned no response.