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Lance first hears of Shiro by word of mouth.
As with any group of teenagers, there are plenty of nosy people lurking in Lance’s class. He hasn’t been a part of the Galaxy Garrison for long, but it doesn’t come as much of a surprise. It’s like living in a zoo, trapped with animals raring to fight and assert their dominance. And the juiciest rumors spread like wildfire.
That’s when Lance learns of the great Takashi Shirogane.
Okay, now, Lance isn’t a skeptic. But he also isn’t naïve like other classmates, who shall remain nameless.
He takes each piece of information passed around and carefully considers how true it could actually be. Lance is a smart guy- not some blind sheep willing to believe everything he hears. Even before he joined the Garrison, he dealt with kids spreading crazy talk. It’s a school thing; you can’t escape it.
So, curiosity piqued, Lance starts to eavesdrop on people during class. A few girls talk about how tall Shiro is. One even goes so far as to say he’s the “perfect height.” Which Lance guesstimates to be six feet? He’s always dreamed of being tall. Curse my tiny mother and average height father. Another group, in the row right behind Lance, discuss his piloting skills in conspiratorial whispers. The nearest guy kicks at the back of Lance’s chair and insists Shiro is “the best damn pilot in the Garrison.”
Lance isn’t sure what to make of that one.
“Hey, man, are you even listening to me?” Hunk sounds exasperated and prods Lance’s cheek with his pen. Lance startles as if he’s been shocked.
“Hunk,” Lance growls under his breath. A bit flustered, he reaches for his pen and scribbles what’s written on the board, as if he’s been attentively writing this entire time. “What’s your deal?”
“My deal? You’re the one who’s been zoning out the last couple days!”
“I have not been ‘zoning out,’” Lance says, lowering his voice after a sharp glance from their professor. “Just… listening, is all.”
“Listening,” Hunk deadpans.
“Yeah, yeah. Listening.”
“Okay, well, then listen to this,” Hunk says, flashing Lance an aggravated totally done with your shit look before continuing. “Apparently we’re going to watch this senior officer go through the piloting simulation today.”
“Senior officer?”
“Some guy named… Takashi Shirogane? Shiro? Yeah, that’s it.”
Oh.
Lance tries to keep his tone neutral when he responds. “Oh, huh. I’ve heard a lot about him. Seems like a cool dude, I guess.
“Everybody’s talking about him! I can’t wait to see this guy in the flesh. He sounds intense.”
Lance’s gaze strays to the familiar mullet at the front of the room. His pen lies neglected beside his notebook. Looks like Lance isn’t the only person to lose focus.
He can only wonder if it’s for the same reason.
The students file into the room reserved for simulation viewings. Lance and Hunk are lucky enough to score a spot near the front of the pack. Unfortunately, it isn’t the most spacious of viewing rooms, and Lance ends up wedged against- ah yes.
Arms folded across his chest, he pays no mind to Lance. Keith- yeah, this is Keith. The rising star of the fighter pilots. Lance gives him a quick onceover as they wait for Shiro and his mock crew to arrive. From here, at least, Keith doesn’t seem like anything too special. Lance has never really paid the guy much attention before now. But there is this sort of confidence about him that makes Lance want to… reach out and ruffle his hair. Or something that’ll break his concentration. Nothing is even happening yet, and Keith is leering at the simulation pod like it’s the source of all evil in the world.
Before Lance’s self-control slips, though, Shiro and his crew walk into the room.
And Shiro actually sort of fits the mental image Lance conjured up for him.
As expected, he’s tall. Broad shoulders fill out his fighter pilot uniform, a fringe of dark hair hanging over his forehead. Although his very presence exudes Serious Leader vibes, Lance senses some softness in his eyes. A “gentle giant,” that’s what his madre would call a guy like Shiro.
“Thanks for coming out today, everyone,” Shiro greets them. A genuine smile curls his lips as he surveys the crowd. “Hopefully this demonstration will help make all of you better pilots.”
His tone certainly has Lance convinced.
Shiro and his crew slip into the simulation. The whole class goes quiet, the quietest Lance has ever heard them be, as it begins. Lance watches in stupefied silence as Shiro seamlessly navigates through foreign terrain, commanding the rest of his group with patience and vigilance. Lance has never witnessed anything like it before. Shiro is textbook- no, better than textbook level. He makes it look so damn easy. Like scary easy.
Once it ends, Shiro and his crew step out of the simulation pod. His gaze sweeps over the crowd and, for just the briefest of seconds, lingers on the person beside Lance. Fucking Keith. Lance almost has himself convinced he imagined the purposeful eye contact.
For the next twenty minutes, Shiro takes questions. Lance has an entire notebook page- or 5, it’s whatever- filled with questions he’d like to ask Shiro. Some are serious questions about the program. What made you want to be a pilot? What’s the hardest challenge you’ve faced in the program? While the vast majority are personal questions like What gel do you use in your hair?
It’s also why Lance left said notebook in his room. Far away from his poor, unsuspecting idol.
As expected, none of his classmates ask about Shiro’s personal life. They stick to inquiries about the Garrison and different training programs, about missions and one especially daring girl asks what he thinks of his superiors. To which Shiro sagely replies, “They’re the best around.”
Eventually, no more hands are raised. Shiro seems relieved, and Lance wonders how someone this young got saddled with this responsibility. Sure, he's a kickass pilot and leader but, from what Lance has heard, he's only in his early twenties. Most senior officers are around the same age as his parents.
Shiro thanks everyone for their time, and people make their way towards the exit. Except, of course, for the Great Walking Mullet.
His feet are rooted to the spot. Openly staring at Shiro, he blatantly ignores classmates pushing past him as they head for the door. Shiro meets his gaze, unfazed by eyes that could probably burn holes through metal.
“You must be Keith,” Shiro chimes. He stops in front of Keith and expectantly holds out his arm. “I've heard a lot about you.”
Lance can't make himself move. He's stuck.
Keith hesitates, concern furrowing his brow, before he eventually takes the proffered hand and shakes. “Likewise.”
What the hell? Lance feels his hackles rising. He's kind of pissed, okay. Keith is the top fighter pilot, and Shiro is the young prodigious senior officer so of course they know of each other. Not that the thought does anything to stamp down the abrupt surge of jealousy.
“Lance?” There’s a hand on his shoulder and, wow, Lance isn't ready for that. He startles, turning wide eyes on- Hunk. Oh. Right, Hunk hasn’t left yet.
“You coming, man?” Hunk glances at Keith and Shiro a few feet away. “We gotta get back to the room or our asses are grass. Besides, I bet we'll have a quiz on that simulation.”
“Yeah,” Lance answers too quickly. And apparently a little too loudly because Captain Mullet flashes Lance one of his trademark glares. “Yeah, I just uh. Wanted to wait until we could get to the door, you know? Didn’t wanna get trampled.”
Hunk clearly doesn't buy it but shrugs off the pisspoor excuse.
Lance follows after him as he leaves. Over his shoulder, he catches more of Keith and Shiro’s conversation.
The last thing he hears before the door seals shut behind him is Shiro asking Keith to be his training partner.
No matter what Hunk says, Lance has always frequented the training room. It's not like he's there more often to spy on Shiro and Keith or anything. He just needs to sharpen his combat skills. Important skills for a cargo pilot to have under their belt.
Lance dives for his sparring partner- Joe? John?- and lands a solid hit to his stomach. They've been going back and forth for a good thirty minutes now, and Lance, for once, has scored more winning strikes than usual. Not to toot his own horn, but he's getting better at this.
His partner sits hunched over on the training room floor, clutching at his stomach. “Nice one,” he wheezes.
“Thanks, buddy,” Lance preens, fixing the sweaty hem of his gray shirt. He extends a hand to help his defeated classmate stand.
“I'm going to get some water.” He winces and heads for the water fountain. There's a slight limp in his step, and Lance feels sort of sorry for the guy.
Until he remembers the main reason he came down here at this ungodly early hour.
Shiro stands behind Keith, tweaking his fighting stance. He shifts Keith's shoulders, nudges one of his feet, and settles large hands on his waist, twisting it ever so slightly. Prickly as a porcupine, Keith appears unnerved by the contact.
Satisfied, Shiro steps away and mirrors Keith's current pose. “Remember, Keith,” Shiro says, tone soft and soothing. “Patience yields focus.”
Keith stares back like the fucking sun is shining out of Shiro’s ass, eyes sort of glassy, and nods. “Patience yields focus.”
And, just like that, they're fighting again. Lance can easily tell Shiro's been practicing longer. His moves are calculated, careful and precise, while Keith's are more sporadic, honed through pure instinct alone. Even though their styles differ, the combination creates a fluid sequence of ducks, dives, and extensions. It's almost like watching a couple dance, kind of like when Lance's parents took dancing classes and excitedly demonstrated their new moves at family reunions.
Eventually, Shiro finds an opening and tackles Keith to the ground. Keith is sprawled out with Shiro straddling his hips, arm drawn back with his fist poised inches away from Keith's face. He smirks triumphantly and moves, helping Keith stand. Keith is breathing heavily, face flushed from the exertion, and, right, that's Lance's cue to look away.
Lance suddenly feels… warm. Which is maybe weird.
But he's also angry. Keith isn't that much better than Lance so why does he, of all people, get to train with Shiro? The pessimistic asshole living in Lance's subconscious reminds him Shiro is the one who picked Keith so he can't actually place the blame on Mullet Boy.
“You ready for another round?” His sparring partner has returned and, Lance notes, with impeccable timing. “Not gonna lie, though, I'm pretty worn out.”
Lance peeks at the dueling star pupils. Keith manages to twist Shiro's arm behind his back and now Shiro is the one being taken down, Keith sitting astride the back of Shiro's thighs, chest nearly close enough to press against Shiro's back and-
“Nah, I think we can call it quits.” Lance beams and his partner fixes him with a strange look.
“Okay... see you around,” he calls with a half-hearted wave.
It isn't until Lance returns to his room and looks at his reflection that he notices. Shit. His face looks like a fucking tomato.
“Like, who does he think he is?” Lance angrily jots down the equation on the board.
“Oh yeah,” Hunk drawls, “Ridiculous.”
“Just because Shiro trains with him all the time, he walks around like he’s some big shot. Listen, Hunk, big shots don’t have mullets. This has been proven by science.”
“You’re totally right.”
“And now he’s becoming an even better pilot? Yeah, right! I bet I could fly circles around that jerk.”
Hunk sighs and props his chin on his hand. “The flight simulations say differently, dude.”
“Whatever,” Lance huffs. His gaze falls on the familiar head of dark hair at the front of the room, and he groans. “It’s just annoying because it’s not like that guy’s ego needs stroking anyway.”
“You wanna stroke Keith’s ego?”
“Wh- no, what the hell?”
“Well, as much as you talk about him, it certainly seems like you’re thinking of doing some stroking…” Hunk turns away, barely stifling his laughter.
“Hunk! No!” Lance cries and, oh God, his voice cracks. It fucking cracks, and it’s too loud because their professor is staring right at him along with everyone in the class. Including Keith. “Oh, uh. I-”
“Keep goofing off like this in class, McClain, and you can kiss the simulation room goodbye,” their professor threatens.
Lance sputters out a quick apology and, cheeks red, straightens up in his seat. Content- for the time being, at least- the professor turns back to the board, ready to resume his lecture on Newton’s law of universal gravitation. Hunk eventually ceases his snickering, and, slowly but surely, the rest of the class returns their attention to the professor.
Except for the Main Mullet Man himself.
Lance has never noticed how blue the asshole’s eyes are until they’re concentrated on him, piercing and unnervingly attentive. His lips are drawn into an indifferent line, but, seconds before he turns around, Lance catches a slight upturn that might just be a smile.
Don’t do that, Lance wants to shout. There’s a fluttering feeling in his stomach, which happens, of course, because he’s never seen Keith smile before. Because it’s strange and new and he’s grossed out seeing his sworn nemesis smile. That’s exactly it.
The moment passes, though, and class resumes as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. More equations are being scrawled on the board, Hunk is animatedly scribbling every number and symbol, and Lance… well, he can’t bring himself to pick up where his earlier rant ended. He blames it on that stupid head of thick, black hair and those dumb ocean blue eyes.
Wait, where did that come from? Lance fidgets in his seat, unsettled by the bizarre itch beneath his skin from comparing Keith's eyes to the ocean, of all things.
First, Keith steals the legendary Shiro’s attention away from Lance and then this?
Whatever this is, Lance isn’t sure yet.
Lance adopts a new strategy.
Keith, the jerk, has improved. It’s absolutely insane because the guy was already crazy talented to begin with. After a few months of Shiro’s teaching, Keith learns to rely less on impulse and instinct. Lance continues to watch the two spar- which, by the way, is still totally normal for someone spying on a rival- and immediately spots the difference in Keith’s technique.
For example, he wins more often. When they first began, Shiro successfully trapped Keith almost every round. And within a matter of seconds. But now, they’re practically on equal footing, splitting their wins and losses 50-50.
Once Lance spots the difference, he starts taking notes. Because, contrary to popular belief, he’s an upstanding student. Instead of just observing, he gets serious and uses their matches as a learning experience. Whenever his sparring partner for the day goes off to grab a drink or hit the bathroom, Lance pulls out his notebook as casually as possible and writes down any noticeable observations from Keith’s and Shiro’s practice matches.
And, really, it’s a pretty brilliant idea. Until Shiro’s Kickass Fighting Techniques quickly becomes Shiro and Keith’s Kickass Fighting Techniques.
That’s when things start going downhill.
Because soon enough, the bulleted list consists of more than just fighting techniques.
The first strange observation happens two weeks after he creates the list. Lance’s eyes follow Keith and Shiro across the training room, tracing the path of their moving bodies, and Keith effortlessly pins Shiro to the ground. His forearm pressed against Shiro’s throat, Keith hunches over the other man, one knee between Shiro’s thighs. A trickle of warmth spreads through Lance at the sight, but he’s used to that weird- no, normal reaction by now.
It’s what happens next that throws Lance off-balance.
Shiro grins and Keith mirrors the expression. Keith moves and stands, helping Shiro to his feet. They’re close enough for Lance to make out their voices.
“You really are talented, Keith,” Shiro insists. He sets a hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezes, expression softening as Keith meets his eyes. “I’m so happy to see you improving.”
And Keith- he gapes. A distinct red flush creeps up his neck, over his cheeks, and reaches to the tips of his ears. Never in a million years did Lance think he would witness Wonder Mullet, star pilot Keith Kogane, blush.
Lance wants to be mad, wants to hate Keith for making Shiro stare at him like he’s the proudest mentor in the whole fucking world. And, okay, he is pissed but not for the reason he expects. His mind is a mess. Little Lances frantically scurry around inside his brain trying to put together a solid explanation for the flood of frustration flowing through his veins.
Panicking, Lance dives for his pen and writes. He doesn’t think twice about what the hell his hands are doing and just writes whatever comes to mind.
Deep breaths, buddy, he thinks, find your chill. And finally he does. He sticks the pen behind his ear, takes a deep breath, and peers down at the newest addition to his list.
#16. Keith likes to be praised. About his combat skills (?)
Lance squeals and drops the notebook. Thankfully, it lands face down to hide the hastily scrawled last item.
“Oh, shit, you dropped your book,” someone comments, and, ever the graceful cargo pilot, Lance snatches the notebook and cradles it to his chest. But it isn’t Keith like he imagined. Tierney, his fighting partner for the day, is frozen in place, arm poised over where the book previously was. “Uh.”
“Thanks,” Lance blurts, hugging the notebook tighter. He’s too afraid to look and see if they’ve distracted Keith and Shiro.
“What is… that?” Tierney points at Lance’s chest, thin eyebrows creeping up into their hairline.
“Oh, this? It’s just a list of…” Lance curses everything, especially Keith, and picks his brain for plausible excuses. This is usually the moment he’d turn to Hunk for advice, but he refuses to set foot in the training room with Lance until he “stops using the time to pine over his rival-crush.”
“A list of…?” Tierney cocks their head to the side, strawberry blond bangs slicked to their forehead.
“Of special moves!” Close enough, Lance decides.
Tierney purses their lips, eying the notebook skeptically. “Special moves?”
“Yeah! Because that’s how awesome I am. The Tailor’s got his own book of secret special moves.”
“Seems kind of… interesting. Lame. But, okay, sure.” Tierney rolls their eyes. “Now, get your lazy ass up so we can get another round in before dinner.”
Lance jumps to his feet and hurriedly tucks the notebook back in his gym bag. Thank God for distractions.
#17. Shiro smiles at Keith a lot. Kind of like a proud older brother. Keith has a nice smile
#18. Keith likes training in tight clothes. Like super tight pants
#19. Keith sweats a lot. More than Shiro.
#20. Keith sometimes wears a ponytail. He should do it more often, looks cool. Probably to keep hair out of his face.
Considering the recent turn of events, Lance hides the list.
Not because it’s bad or anything, but, honestly, Lance is embarrassed by some of the bullet points. Plus, if Hunk ever finds it, Lance will never hear the end of it. He already deals with enough of Hunk’s wild crush theories on a daily basis; adding fuel to that fire would make his life a living Hell.
The Garrison dorms aren’t spacious, but there’s enough room under Lance’s mattress for one measly spiral notebook to fit. To ensure maximum security, he hides it between his actual notes for class and scrawls Lance’s Special Moves across the cover. Just in case.
And, if worst comes to worst, what’s so wrong about using two skilled fighters as role models?
Because you started taking notes on one of the fighters instead of paying attention to the actual fighting, dumbass. Subconscious Lance is a real dick. Kind of sounds like a combination of his uptight older brother and Keith. The mental image of them morphed into a single human being makes Lance shudder.
Lance slings his school bag over his shoulder and heads out the door, trudging along to his physics class. He slips into his seat unnoticed- he’s only a couple minutes late, alright- and Hunk shoots him a Look.
Here’s the thing: Lance has known Hunk for years. They went to the same elementary school, practiced surfing on the same tiny slice of shoreline, and even applied to the Garrison at the same testing center. If you spend enough time with someone, you come to be sort of an expert on their body language. Hunk is far from a closed book, too, so Lance can tell how Hunk is feeling from a single glance alone.
The look he’s wearing now spells danger.
“Hey, buddy, you alright?” Lance whispers, assessing Hunk’s current state. His clothes don’t appear rumpled or dirty. His notebook and pen sit in their usual place. Other than the troubled set of his mouth, Hunk seems alright.
Which can only mean one thing.
“Hunk-”
“It’s about Shiro.”
Lance feels his heart crawl up his throat.
“Shiro? You mean the Kerberos mission?” The news had originally hit Lance pretty hard. He would miss seeing Shiro around the building, would miss watching him practice with Keith. Boy, would he miss watching their fights. “What about it?”
Hunk averts his gaze, and time grounds to an earth-shattering halt.
“Lance…” Hunk hesitates. Every ounce of pent-up fear lying dormant beneath Lance’s skin rises, his fingers clenching painfully around his pen. “The ship went missing. The whole crew went missing.”
No, no, that can’t be right.
“They think the ship crashed due to pilot error.” Hunk labors through the rest of his explanation. “Lance, they- they pronounced the entire crew dead.”
Dead.
The surface of the desk is cool beneath Lance’s fingertips.
Dead. Pilot error.
Something is wrong with his pen.
Shiro was the pilot.
Dead.
Lance pushes his chair back and shakily stands, gripping the edge of his desk like a lifeline. “May I be excused?”
He barely manages the four words, but their professor must see something in Lance’s posture. Lance struggles to lift his head. It’s like his neck forgets how to function properly. Stiff and unmoving.
To his surprise, their notoriously stoic professor doesn’t chew him out for interrupting. “Of course,” he responds calmly.
Lance nods and makes a beeline for the door. Classmates stare and probably laugh, but Lance gives zero fucks about their opinion. As he leaves, he can’t help but notice an empty chair in the front row. Keith is nowhere to be seen.
#21. Shiro is fucking strong. Can throw Keith like a sack of potatoes
#22. Starting to think Shiro is a little taller than 6’ (unfair)
#23. Shiro wears gloves like Keith. Keith’s are cooler Shiro’s are cooler
#24. Shiro likes lifting weights. Probably to be strong enough to throw mullets
Lance blindly wanders the halls of the Galaxy Garrison facility.
Where the hell is he going? Who knows. His feet are on a mission, and Lance can only follow their instructions and trust they won’t deceive him. Walls pass by in a blur, simulation chambers and classrooms, dorms and even the mess hall. Lance walks aimlessly through hallway after hallway until he reaches a circular portal. Fingers quivering, Lance fishes in his pocket for his keycard and presses it to the scanner beside the door.
It hisses open to reveal the training room.
At this hour, most classes are in session. Which means he should have the entire place to himself. Lance steps through the door and surveys his surroundings. A tiny irrational part of him assumes he’ll see Shiro, decked out in his usual sleeveless shirt and spandex pants, arms raised and ready to defend. Of course, it’s just his imagination playing tricks on him.
Shiro is dead.
Lance winces and wobbles over to the nearest bench. He drops with an unceremonious huff, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. His eyes flutter shut and he inhales, slowly exhales. Lance has been through a lot in his life, but death- that’s different. Distant relatives of his have passed away, but mostly from natural causes like disease or old age. None have ever died in a fucking spaceship crash.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Lance practically jumps out of his own skin. Screaming, he falls backward, head smacking painfully against the foam mat below. He curses under his breath in flustered Spanish, and blinks back stars to reveal the intruder.
Keith. The Mullet Guru.
His stare is positively murderous, and Lance thinks he finally grasps the meaning of “glaring daggers” at someone. Sweat droplets glide down Keith’s face, loose strands of dark hair flying freely as he bends over Lance. He’s suddenly reminded of the list. Keith sweats a lot, he remembers.
“W- What am I doing here?” Lance says, affronted. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“Well, I-” Lance pauses. No outrageous lie comes to mind. Normally, he’d change the subject and snap at Keith until he forgot why they were even talking to each other in the first place. But Lance is tired, okay, and his hero, his idol, just recently died. As sickening as the concept is, Lance decides Keith deserves the truth. “I heard about Shiro.”
Now it’s Keith’s turn to look surprised. And downright furious.
“He’s not dead,” Keith says between gritted teeth. “The ship is missing. They have no proof anyone is dead.”
It’s the longest sentence Lance has ever heard come out of Keith’s mouth. “Ships don’t just vanish, dude. There’s no way-”
Strong hands grasp at the collar of Lance’s shirt and haul him to his feet. Lance gasps, startled by the sudden change in position, and blinks owlishly at Keith’s face, now only a matter of centimeters away. Flames dance behind narrowed blue eyes, nose wrinkled in obvious disgust. You fucked up, McClain.
“Shiro is alive,” Keith hisses, “The Garrison is trying to cover something up, something big. Because they’re scared. But I’m not. I won’t buy into their lies.”
“Uh-”
“And if you do,” Keith says, “Then leave me the hell alone.”
His mouth is suddenly dry and, for once in his life, Lance is speechless. Keith seems to take his silence as a yes and releases his grip, dropping Lance flat on his ass. He grunts, silently cursing his parents for depriving him of much needed cushion in the ass department.
Keith sends another menacing look in Lance’s direction before turning on his heels, shoulders tense as he stomps away. Lance considers firing back some insults, perhaps in Spanish for safe measure, but the words die in his throat.
Of everyone in the Garrison, Shiro was closest to Keith. Or at least that’s the way it seemed to Lance. Most times he saw Shiro, unless he was giving demonstrations or lectures, Keith wasn’t far behind. And most people in his class agreed. As a matter of fact, many girls were envious of how much attention the two paid each other and how little they spared for everyone else.
Friends. The title didn’t fully encompass their relationship, but Lance wasn’t aware of a more suitable term. Brothers? Regardless, the two were inseparable.
And now Lance feels like the world’s biggest douchebag.
Sure, it’s hard for pilot hopefuls to lose a role model like Shiro. But Lance can’t even begin to imagine how tough it is for Keith.
Lance pays less frequent visits to the training room.
He doesn’t make the decision right away. Actually, he trains more initially following his confrontation with Keith. He needs an outlet and training always served as an effective one in the past. Hunk, thankfully, stops teasing Lance about his visits. And stops joking about his “crush” altogether. Lance is relieved or, well, he should be.
A week or so after Shiro’s disappearance- Lance has taken to calling it a “disappearance” rather than “death,” as if Keith is there in his head, waiting for any chance to strike- Lance realizes he needs to adjust his training schedule. Because there’s no way in hell he can put forth maximum effort with Keith in the room.
Keith only shoots dirty look at Lance the first couple days. He must expect the act to scare Lance off, but it has the opposite effect. More than ever before, Lance is motivated to improve. Hell, he even puts more stock in his studies. If he wants to move up the ranks to fighter pilot class, he’ll have to raise his grades. A high C in math just won’t cut it.
Eventually, Keith realizes his posturing has no effect on Lance. He returns to the same laser-focused fighting machine he’d been before Shiro took him under his wing. But there’s something… almost sad about his practices. Always alone, always drenched in sweat, always a grimace or sneer on his lips. Lance gets to the point where he just can’t watch anymore.
Instead of going during the day, between the end of classes and homework, Lance drags his ass to the training room in the mornings. Early morning, while only a handful of senior officers are there.
But Lance can’t shake this feeling. Every time he catches a glimpse of that damned mullet, a twinge of sympathy stops him in his tracks.
You see, Lance is a sympathetic guy. He understands and cares about other people’s feelings. Close friends and a huge family have taught him the dos and don’ts of relationships. It isn’t odd for him to worry about someone or want to console them, give them a hug and listen to their problems. So it shouldn’t be a big deal when he gets the urge to comfort Keith.
Except that it is because- Keith? Really?
He shouldn’t feel sorry for his rival. If anything, he should want to capitalize on Keith’s drastic regression and use it to claim his rightful spot at the top of the class.
But no. The mere thought of overcoming Keith when he’s like- like this makes him sick to his stomach. There’s no satisfaction in beating a rival who’s only half-assing their usual regimen. I mean, what’s the fun in that? And besides, it’d be like kicking a puppy. His abuelita would kill him for kicking a puppy. So would Hunk. Honestly, he’d kick his own ass for something so heartless.
Lance backs off. Well, as much as he can. The list gets pushed to the backburner and Lance only pays the Magic Mullet attention when he’s sitting a few rows in front of him during class.
They never speak, never make eye contact, never even brush shoulders in the hallway. And Lance convinces himself he’s okay with that.
Seriously, he’s fine.
#25. Not sure how Shiro smells but Keith smells like rain. And apples
#26. Shiro gives probably gives good hugs. Keith doesn’t like hugs
#27. Keith drinks a lot of water. Spills half on himself. Hole in his mouth (?)
#28. Keith has good balance. Probably would be a decent surfer
#29. Shiro has long arms. Handy for reaching tall shelves at the grocery store. what the fuck lance
Word travels fast in Lance’s class.
So when rumors are flying around about Keith Kogane getting kicked out of the Garrison, it doesn’t take long for them to reach Lance.
“But why?” Lance and Hunk are eating lunch together in the mess hall. But Hunk has killed any semblance of an appetite he had. “Why would they kick him out?”
Hunk chews his genetically modified carrot thoughtfully and swallows. “Well. Apparently, he showed up at the commanding officer’s front door, demanding to know the truth about the Kerberos mission.”
“And? They can’t kick him out just for bitching.” Lance taps his spork nervously against the edge of his plate, a faint clicking noise filling the lulls in their conversation. “People complain all the time! You do, I do!”
“Well-”
“He’s been spouting conspiracy theories for ages, and they’re just now making a move?”
“Yelling about aliens and the government isn’t a crime, dude. But he didn’t just do that,” Hunk sighs, long-suffering, and sets down his silverware. He sets a reassuring hand on Lance’s shoulder. “The officer came out, politely asked him to be quiet and return to his room. But Keith… he um.”
Lance continues to fiddle with his spork.
“Keith punched him in the face.”
That’s awesome! Lance almost rebuts. He can imagine the smug asshole getting a face-full of fingerless-gloved fists. But the reality of Hunk’s words sink in and strike as if he’s the person Keith hit.
“Oh,” Lance replies smartly.
Hunk drops his hand and spears another carrot, gesturing at Lance with the mutilated vegetable. “They called it a ‘disciplinary issue’ and kicked him to the curb. They had to make an example out of him or something.”
An example.
“So, what, they needed an excuse to expel the most rebellious pilot?” Hunk motions for Lance to be quiet, but he ignores it. “The guy doesn’t even have a family. Where the hell is he supposed to go? Live on the streets? Fix up a nice cardboard box for himself?”
A group of engineers at a nearby table glance warily in their direction. Hunk’s eyes widen. “Lance, buddy-”
“They could’ve suspended him instead. But, no, of course not. Let’s get rid of the temperamental orphan kid before he-”
Hunk clamps a hand over Lance’s mouth. His eyes bug out of his skull, and he peers down in wonder at the fingers clenched around his cheeks. Hunk leans forward in his seat, tone level and dangerous. “Yeah, Lance. I guess so. But this isn’t the place to run your mouth about it, dude.”
Lance blinks. The red clouding his vision starts to clear, and reality comes crashing in. Woah. Everyone in the nearby area is ogling their table. Some offended- and not trying to hide it- while others appear curious. So maybe he got a bit carried away. Lance swallows down the lump in his throat and nods.
Hesitantly, Hunk removes his hand and shifts back into this chair. He swipes the same hand down his face, letting out a long, drawn out groan. Meanwhile, Lance stares down into his lap like it holds the secrets to the universe. Which, if it does, he wishes it’d offer advice or something because damn.
“Okay. Alright,” Hunk eventually mumbles. “Yeah. I should’ve anticipated that. Good job, Hunk.”
Lance lifts his head and sheepishly peers over at his far too understanding friend. “So…”
“So yeah. No more Keith. Also, hold on.” Lance feels his stomach drop. “How did you know that stuff about Keith? Like his family and everything? A lot of people think he’s an orphan, being sort of socially awkward and quiet and all, but I didn’t think anyone knew for sure.”
Fuck. My. Life. Lance smiles weakly, hoping it looks realer than it feels, and laughs. “Oh, just some rumors.”
The truth is, Lance did a little digging. The more of a recluse Keith became, the more Lance wanted to know why. With the help of one of his sparring partners- Jordan- he hacked into student records. Keith’s file was horrifyingly short and didn’t satisfy Lance’s curiosity as much as he had hoped. But it did confirm the orphan theory that’s been floating around ever since he and Keith were first accepted into the Garrison.
To his relief, Hunk appears to believe his lie. Which doesn’t happen often because Hunk is the most perceptive person Lance has ever met. He thanks his lucky stars for every time he shit-talked Keith to Hunk; it finally paid off.
“Whatever,” Hunk says, pushing around chicken pieces with the prongs of his spork. “It does suck if he has to live alone. At least the dude is self-sufficient. He’ll be alright.”
“Yeah,” Lance agrees. He pictures Keith, aimlessly wandering city streets in search of food. He pictures Keith at night, curled in a blanket from the trash, shivering as the temperature drops. He pictures Keith trying to fend for himself. Keith is tough- strong, resilient, smart and, sure, maybe he’ll be fine.
But what if he isn’t?
The first month passes uneventfully.
Nothing significant happens around the Galaxy Garrison, nothing worthy of rumors. Probably because Keith and Shiro are no longer in the picture.
Lance learns he has a guilty conscience. And, of course, learns this the hard way.
Put quite simply: his brain is an asshole. He can’t stop thinking about Keith. If he’d tried talking to Keith when Shiro originally vanished, would things have turned out differently? Lance might not have been as close to Shiro, but he cared about him enough to suffer from the loss. Even if Keith shied away from the matter, Lance could’ve- dare he say it, dare he even think it- befriended him when he needed a friend most.
Lance is an expert at helping people chase away negative thoughts. He’d tell ridiculous stories from his childhood or try explaining the latest meme or just laugh at his own sucky jokes- anything to put a smile on Keith’s face. Lance knows, deep down, he could’ve been that for Keith.
A Keith surrounded by friends, or at least people he tolerated, would never have lashed out at their superiors.
Or least that’s what Lance likes to think.
The guilt eats away at Lance for days until, one night, he retrieves the notebook. It’s been a while since he last leafed through it. Lance flips it open and smooths down any crumpled pages. He rereads list items, chest aching, before reaching the bottom.
He knows what he has to do.
Lance reaches toward his desk and snags a pen, pulling off the cap hastily with his teeth. He closes his eyes, worrying his lip, and presses the pen’s blue tip to the page. “Alright, here goes nothing.”
His final entry.
List finished, Lance forces himself to forget about it.
He pushes any thoughts of Shiro out of his mind, and, whenever Keith is brought up, he sticks solely to scathing insults.
Shortly after Keith’s expulsion, new teams are posted. Hunk and Lance sprint down the hall, Hunk screaming at Lance to calm the hell down, and slide to a stop in front of the board. Each team is neatly organized by rank and position. Lance skims the list, muttering names under his breath, and-
“I made it! I’m a fighter pilot!” Lance pumps his fists in the air. He swivels around and, singing his victory song, dances around beside a very unfazed Hunk.
Only because Keith is gone. Nope, not going there. Lance disregards that nastiness and lifts his arm in a mock salute. “Hasta la later, Keith!” He grins, pleased by how convincing he sounds to his own ears, and turns back to Hunk, propping his elbow on Hunk’s shoulder. “And look, you’re my engineer!”
Hunk seems hesitant about this information. Moments later, they come across the name of their communications officer. A new student?
Luckily, their other crew member- Pidge- shows up right on cue. He seems cool enough, but darts off at the mention of “pizza” and “girls” and even “astronauts.” Their cageyness reminds Lance of Keith, and, well, his brain really does need to cut him some slack here. He’s trying.
An entire year passes and, with the addition of Pidge, Lance is lucky to find even more liable outlets for his emotional turmoil. Keith and Shiro both become distant memories. Even their classmates quit gossiping about the “lost prodigies” and spare Lance the trouble of grappling 24/7 with his guilt.
He learns new ways to keep himself occupied and continues to pour his heart into training. Fighter pilots don’t screw around; with great power, comes great responsibility. Or however the saying went.
And besides, Lance needs to be in tiptop shape when Keith returns.
Lance can’t believe his eyes.
When he woke up this morning, the last thing he anticipated was climbing up this mountain, finding Pidge, and witnessing a ship crash. And he sure as hell didn’t expect the ship to have him on board.
“That’s Shiro! He’s the pilot of the Kerberos mission,” Lance blurts, riveted to the familiar body strapped to the operation table on screen. “That guy’s my hero.”
Hunk, Pidge, and Lance all move closer to the monitor as Shiro speaks, frantically warning everyone in the room. He carries on and on about aliens and a weapon and, shit, did he actually just say evil aliens were on their way? To Earth?
And the bastards inside have the nerve not to listen to him.
“What are they doing? He’s a legend,” Lance says, pointing angrily at the live feed. “They’re not even gonna listen to him?”
Shockingly, Pidge is on board with Lance’s idea to rescue Shiro. And Hunk, self-proclaimed voice of reason, is against it.
Ideas fly around, but they can’t seem to agree on a course of action. Every plan calls for disguises, even Hunk’s unrelated kitchen raid idea, and yet none will actually work if they can’t get past the guards. Guards who will know if three students try slipping past them.
“What we need is a distraction-”
A series of explosions interrupt Lance, and everyone screams. Hunk is sure the aliens are there to destroy the human race as Shiro predicted. And Lance actually has to take Hunk’s side on this. Sorry, but he doesn’t fuck with any race of aliens capable of scaring Shiro.
“No, those explosions were a distraction,” Pidge urges, pointing toward the crashed ship’s entrance. “For him. The Garrison’s headed toward the blast, and he’s sneaking in from the other side.”
Lance squints, following Pidge’s line of sight. Peering through his binoculars, he watches a figure hop off the front of a red aircraft. Lance isn’t an expert on aircrafts- that’s Hunk’s area of expertise- but it appears to be a G-01 Firebird. How did this guy get his hands on one of those? They stopped making G-01 a decade ago.
The figure moves forward, crouches, and Lance swears there’s something familiar about the way they move. Curious, he looks closer, and that’s when he spots it: in all of its dark and flowy glory, Keith’s mullet.
“No way! He is not going to beat us in there,” Lance cries, lowering his binoculars. “That guy is always trying to one-up me!”
Which is mostly true. Only a half-lie.
He takes off down the side of the cliff without a second thought. Keith is there, Shiro is there, and they’re both alive. Alive.
“Who is it?” Hunk calls out.
“Keith!”
Pidge seems rightfully confused. They were fortunate enough to never meet and greet with the Majestic Mullet.
“Are you sure?” Hunk asks through panting breaths, jogging to catch up with Lance.
“Oh, I’d recognize that mullet anywhere!”
The three slide down the rocks, and Lance charges ahead the moment his feet hit the ground, following Keith’s path. The guards lie facedown, no longer a problem, and Lance knows they didn't stand a chance against Keith. With Hunk and Pidge on his tail, Lance jogs through the entrance. The cries of other fallen guards echo throughout the ship. Poor dudes, Lance thinks, remembering how students at the Garrison got thrown around by Keith on days Shiro couldn’t practice.
He looks ahead and, there in the middle of the room, stands Keith with Shiro’s arm slung across his shoulder.
“Nope. No, no, no you don’t,” Lance rambles, stomping into the room. His emotions are a jumbled mess and any relief at seeing the two alive is shoved deeper into the recesses of his mind to deal with later. “I’m saving Shiro.”
He moves to Shiro’s other side and grabs for his free arm, hanging it over his neck. Keith watches Lance the entire time, confusion and frustration warring on his face. “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” Lance scoffs. Did Keith truly not know? “The name’s Lance.”
He waits, searching for some flicker of recognition in Keith’s gaze but nope. Nothing.
“We were in the same class at the Garrison,” Lance tries again.
Keith continues to stare blankly at Lance. “Really? Are you an engineer?”
He… he legitimately doesn’t know who I am. Disappointment swells up inside Lance, along with a heady rush of resentment and irritation. Months of watching Keith spar, years of watching the back of his head during class, that time in the training room when Keith reprimanded him for giving up on Shiro. Had Keith forgotten all of it?
“No, I’m a pilot! We were, like, rivals, you know?” Lance urges with enough ferocity to hopefully drag Keith’s repressed memories to the surface. “Lance and Keith, neck and neck.”
Keith’s brows draw together and finally- recognition. “Oh, wait, I remember you. You’re a cargo pilot.”
“Well, not anymore,” Lance grits out and, dammit, he can’t stop himself and wants to stick his stupid foot in his mouth for what he says next. “I’m fighter class now, thanks to you washing out.”
Oh boy, McClain.
Keith pauses, jaw clenching, and hurt flashes across his features. It’s there for a second and then gone. “Congratulations.”
Heavy sarcasm colors the response. There’s not even an ounce of sincerity behind it, and that alone stings more than anything. Lance wants to sink into the floor, wants to run. This is wrong- everything about their reunion in wrong. In every scenario he pictured, he and Keith shared a good laugh as they reminisced about their school days. Keith would complain about how much of an ass Lance had been, and Lance would pseudo-apologize even though he fully planned to keep ragging on him. A nice, hot-blooded rivalry is too fun for Lance to pass up.
But never, not in any version of this moment, did Keith forget him.
Keith only remembers him as “some cargo pilot.” Not even the cargo pilot, just a random classmate. And, wow, does that hurt like a bitch.
Lance decides he’ll change tactics. If Keith doesn’t see their past as a heated rivalry, Lance will show him what he’s been missing. He’ll pester Keith until he acknowledges Lance as a full-fledged, worthy opponent.
And, for now, he’ll disregard every bit of guilt he’d felt after Keith’s expulsion.
I’ll give you a reason to notice me, Macho Mullet.
So the whole “defenders of the universe” gig comes with a lot of responsibility. And physical strain. And chaos.
The whole Voltron team gets swept up in fighting the Galra, and Lance, like everyone else, tries to focus on the task at hand. They’ve got some pretty big shoes to fill. Literally. If their lions had shoes, they’d be massive.
Anyway, Lance doesn’t have much time to dwell on the past. For a while, he forgets about the drama that went on at the Garrison. He does, however, have a huge revelation after a few weeks with the paladins: he’s no longer upset about Keith stealing Shiro’s attention. Okay, fine, Shiro is still way cooler than any of the deadbeat senior officers back home. Anyone with eyes can see that! But any lingering resentment towards Keith has been channeled into something different, something more reminiscent of...
Attraction.
Which is just great.
Lance’s second big blast from the past comes about while they fire Altean goo missiles at Allura and Coran during team bonding.
Lance deflects several globs destined for Hunk. Laughter bubbles up on his lips as he scoops a handful of green gelatinous stuff into his hand and launches it at Coran. Soon enough, everyone is laughing. Shiro, Pidge, Hunk- hell, even Keith! Lance always disregarded a laughing Keith as an urban legend.
But as the room erupts in genuine laughter and Allura ends their impromptu food fight, Lance glances over to his right and- his breath catches in his throat.
Hearing Keith laugh is one thing; seeing it is a whole different story.
Mouth gaping, crinkles forming at the corners of blue-violet eyes, his entire face brightens, like a miniature sun in the distant recesses of space, serving as a brilliant beacon in the midst of darkness. The sound itself is kind of… funny. Dorky. It’s refreshing coming from someone who tries to be stoic every hour of the day. Lance isn’t expecting any of it, and the very nature of the situation forces laughter from his own throat.
Who allowed Keith, of all space-defending mullets, to have a contagious laugh?
Later that same evening, as Lance finishes his nightly ablutions and crawls beneath the covers in full-robed glory, he can’t shake thoughts of Keith. Keith smiling, Keith happy. Back at the Galaxy Garrison, the only time Keith seemed remotely happy was when he had Shiro at his side. And now…
Keith laughed with everyone.
Keith found happiness with everyone.
Lance will go to his grave blaming the surge of cheesiness on the late hour. As he drifts off to sleep, the faint sound of music filtering through his ears, his mind returns to the food fight, to the maze and fight simulation. Maybe Keith doesn’t need a family if he has us, Lance muses through a tired haze.
And that’s when he remembers the list.
“Do you want to practice with me or not?”
Lance blinks. Once, twice. He’s sure this Keith mirage will vanish if he stares long enough. But no, a few seconds of uncomfortable silence pass and the guy is very much still there. Lips pursed, arms crossed. Like he hates asking as much as Lance hates answering.
“The great Keith Kogane wants to train with me?” Lance releases an exaggerated gasp. “How did I get so lucky?”
Why don’t you train with Shiro? Lance thinks and immediately bites his tongue. He’s trying not to think of that stupid list right now. Shiro should be the last thing on his mind. He and Keith were the reason the Incriminating Evidence existed in the first place.
“Because you’ll get yourself killed if you keep fighting the way you are now.”
“Aw, it sounds like you’re worried about me,” Lance coos.
Keith reaches out and smacks him on the arm, just short of causing actual pain. Lance winces. Well then.
“I’m worried about everyone, dumbass. But you’re the most likely to put yourself in a dangerous situation so-” Keith pauses, mulling the words over in his head before finishing. “Here I am.”
“Hey, pot. Meet kettle.”
“Shut up! I'm not that reckless.”
Lance snorts. “Yeah, okay.”
“Do you want to fight me or not?” Keith isn't in the mood for their usual banter. Party pooper.
“Well, I guess I could spare a couple hours for the Mullet Master,” Lance answers with a grin.
“How many times have I told you to stop using-”
“-Mullet McGee-”
“-Lance-”
“-The Marvelous Mullet-”
Keith snags Lance’s wrist and pulls. Lance- because of course he saw this coming, duh- manages to avoid a nasty face-plant. Heat shoots up his arm from the point of contact, like he’s being led along by a volcano instead of a fiery-tempered paladin.
“Where- Are we starting now? Like, right now?” Lance babbles. With every tug on his arm, flashes of Keith fighting Shiro dance before his eyes, unbidden and definitely unappreciated. He needs to shut that train of thought down fast. “Doesn’t it seem kind of late to be, you know, training?”
Without stopping or even sparing Lance a glimpse over his shoulder, Keith replies, “There’s no such thing as too late to train.”
And, based on Keith’s ridiculous training hours following Shiro’s disappearance, Keith likely believes just that.
“Okay, well, I hope you’re ready for my moves. I wasted a lot of students when we were still part of the Galaxy Garrison. They used to call me-”
“A cargo pilot,” Keith interrupts, deadpan.
“No, nope! Wrong.”
“But that’s what you were.”
“Keith, listen.”
To Lance’s chagrin, the late night practice matches become sort of a thing for them.
Keith already has a reputation for his training room obsession. But now with Lance as an excuse, he practically lives there. Into the later hours, he grumbles something about practice while they shovel down space goo and Lance- well, how can he say no to a chance to train with Keith?
In the beginning, the situation feels surreal, like a scenario pulled straight from Lance’s fantasy world. For months, Lance had observed Keith’s techniques and wondered how the hell a guy his age managed to be such a solid fighter. Of course, he’d wondered and observed other things, too, but Keith definitely doesn’t need to know about that.
Lance plans to keep his months of spying a secret- he honestly does.
They’re practicing as usual, nothing out of the ordinary. Keith leads by four wins, which is fairly small compared to the more commonplace double-digit gaps. Oddly enough, Keith seems to like it when Lance wins a round. Lance will have Keith pinned and, as they climb to their feet, Keith will fix Lance with this proud little smirk that makes Lance feel as if his body has turned inside out. It’s weird. Super fucking weird. But, Lance finds, not in a bad way.
Lance miscalculates his next step and leaves himself wide open for Keith to pin his arms behind his back, pushing him easily to the floor. He swings a leg over Lance’s thighs and sits, using the full force of his weight to hold Lance in place.
Although it means a loss for Lance… it’s far from unpleasant. Quite the opposite.
Except that it should be. This isn’t just anyone; this is Keith pinning him down. This is his self-proclaimed rival. This is the same guy who succeeds in every regard Lance falls short. This is his teammate, his sort of friend, his stupidly attractive but unattainable comrade. A comrade he’s been keeping secrets from and not apologizing to even though he promised himself-
“Keith, I need to tell you something,” Lance blurts and, seriously, his brain-to-mouth filter is broken. Broken beyond repair.
“You can’t fool me,” Keith says, disbelieving. “You’re just trying to distract me because your sorry ass doesn’t want to lose again.”
“False! Completely false.” Lance squirms. Keith carries a lot of muscle and is heavier than most people would assume. Including Lance before the whole “pinning to the ground” thing started happening. “It’s important and uh. I think I wanna tell you. Now.”
“You think you want to?”
“Okay, fine, I know I do,” Lance groans. “Can’t you just… move? It’ll make this a little easier on me.”
For a second, no one budges an inch, and Lance is sure he’s screwed this up somehow. A moment of charged silence follows before Keith finally removes himself from Lance’s thighs. Lance is scared to face Keith- terrified, to be honest- but he swallows down his nerves. It’s now or never.
Lance carefully raises his body and shifts back into a sitting position, turning to face Keith. His legs are tucked beneath him and something about the position makes Keith look… vulnerable. Which feels unnatural for Keith, the spontaneous, hotheaded pilot of the Red Lion. A concerned, thin-lipped grimace replaces the usual impassive set of lips Lance has become accustomed to. He meets Lance’s stare, unflinching, and sends the blood racing even faster through his system.
“So, um, yeah. The thing is…” The words are right there, right on the tip of his tongue. So why are they so fucking hard to say?
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Keith squints, examining Lance like a difficult calculus problem from their Garrison days.
“Nothing!”
“Liar. You’re never this-” he motions at Lance, a short series of flustered gesticulations- “tongue-tied. It’s strange.”
“You’re strange.”
“Listen, just spit it out already.”
“I am,” Lance replies defensively, folding his arms across his chest. “Just… give me a- a tick.”
Silence.
“Okay, a tick is up,” Keith drawls, sounding completely and utterly done with their current conversation. “Seriously, Lance, whatever it is, just say it. Shiro will probably be here soon to kick us out for the night.”
Lance opens his mouth, but- where does he even start? So, Keith, I used to sort of stalk you and Shiro because I wanted to become a better pilot. That’s how I realized you were cool and actually pretty kickass and then Shiro vanished, you got kicked out, and I felt really bad. Sorry for being creepy and for being such a jealous dick after Shiro left. Oh, and sorry you had to live alone in some dilapidated shed-house for a year.
Yeah, Keith would totally accept that explanation. Word for word.
“I used to stalk you,” Lance settles on, like the brilliant conversationalist he is. Real smooth, McClain.
Keith blanches and scoots away, putting more space between him and Lance. “What?”
“I mean! That came out wrong.” Lance scratches anxiously at the nape of his neck. “Really wrong.”
“How could you possibly make that sound right?”
“No, alright, what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry.”
“For… stalking me?”
“No! No, well- yes, but that’s not the point.”
Keith studies Lance closely, like a head shy dog regarding a stranger reaching out to pet them. “I can’t believe you have a ‘point’ and start by admitting to stalking me.”
“I’m panicking a little over here, in case you can’t tell.” A nervous laugh spills over Lance’s lips. “This isn’t something I thought I’d ever actually tell you.”
“Obviously. You don’t just tell someone you used to stalk them.” Keith glances away. “And I thought I was socially awkward.”
“Alright, here’s the deal, Keith. Buddy, my main man. Mullet Extraordinaire-”
“I’m out.” Keith draws his legs in, preparing to stand and leave, which Lance can’t have. Not when he’s come this far.
“Fine, no more nicknames. Will you please just sit and listen to what I have to say?”
Keith blinks, eyes wide like he’s seeing Lance for the first time. “Oh my god.” Slowly, he readjusts his body into its original position facing Lance. “You’re not joking.”
Lance takes a deep breath, settling his hands in his lap. “Nope, deadly serious.”
The residual warmth from training suddenly feels stifling. Sweat makes Lance’s navy blue shirt stick to his skin, rubbing against his shoulders and clinging uncomfortably to his collarbone. He hadn’t lied to Keith; he honestly never expected to discuss this with him, even after promising himself he would.
“When Shiro first started giving lectures and demonstrations,” Lance starts, carefully choosing his words. “I was so excited to finally meet him in the flesh. The guy was a legend around the Garrison, you know?”
Keith nods but thankfully stays quiet.
“Anyway, I was there the day he first met you.” Keith visibly stiffens. “It didn’t surprise me when he asked you to train with him. You hated the rest of our class-”
“I didn’t hate them,” Keith interjects.
“You didn’t seem to like them much. Including me. But it’s not like I lost any sleep over it. I was only upset because I wanted Shiro, my idol, to pick me instead of you.” Lance scoffs, realizing the ridiculousness of his thought process. “Eventually, though, it stopped bothering me. So what if Shiro preferred teaching kids with mullets?”
“Lance,” Keith warns, as if the bastard knows Lance has another prize-worthy nickname lined up for him.
“Well, after that, I decided I needed to practice my combat skills, too. I couldn’t have you getting even farther ahead of me. I purposely dragged anyone I could find to the training room when you two were there. And that’s when…”
“When?”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘stalking,’ but I, uh. I watched you and Shiro spar with each other.” Lance can only imagine how red his face is. “And took… notes.”
Keith bursts out laughing as the last word leaves Lance’s mouth. Head tilted toward the ceiling, mouth gaping, he shakes with laughter, and if Lance didn’t know he was attracted to Keith before this moment, well. There’d be no question now.
“You studied- Shiro and I like lab rats,” Keith manages between breathless snorts of laughter. “Leave it to you.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
Keith rolls his eyes. “Just finish the story. Unless… that’s the end? Please tell me that wasn’t the ‘point’ you were trying to make.”
“No, I- I started taking notes on your fighting techniques. Only a few little things at first, but, after a couple weeks, I decided it’d make more sense to turn it into a list. And then I kind of. Started taking notes on just...”
“What?” Keith cups a hand over his ear. “Speak up, Lance.”
“I started taking notes on just you.”
Any semblance of smug satisfaction or sarcastic indifference is wiped clean from Keith’s face. His smirk falls, hands curling into fists where they rest on the cold training room floor. Lance doesn’t notice until now that he’s inched his way closer to Keith. And, even more startling, Keith hasn’t moved away.
“Me,” Keith repeats, tone purposefully flat.
“...Yeah.”
“My combat skills.”
“No, no. Like… your hair, your body. You.”
Houston, we have a massive fucking problem, Lance hears his subconscious scream, trying to force the switch for his logical thought process back to ‘ON.’ The scariest part about all of this is that Lance has said far more cringe-worthy, direct things when flirting. But pickup lines never made him feel like this- like he was running around in circles, hopping on one foot, while on fire.
“Oh,” Keith eventually answers, barely more than a whisper. He bows his head, and the dark fringe of hair blocks his expression from Lance’s view. “Me.”
“But the point,” Lance rushes on, frantic, “The point is that I realized you had every right to be at the top of the class. I had no reason to be an ass about Shiro paying more attention to you than me, and I definitely didn’t have any excuse to treat you like shit after the only guy you seemed to like, tolerate, whatever vanished. Then, you were kicked out, and I felt even shittier because you didn’t have a family to go home to and-” A nervous hiccup of a laugh. “You’re not supposed to worry about your sworn rival, but you also aren’t supposed to act like a douchelord and kick them while they’re down. What kind of jackass does something like th- oof!”
Lance jolts, almost falling backwards, thrown off balance by the sudden weight around his neck and against his chest. In a daze, his gaze travels down to find the source and- Lance is dead. Or hell has frozen over or pigs are flying or the world is ending because Keith Kogane is hugging him.
Soft hair tickles Lance’s jaw as Keith mumbles into his shoulder, “Who are you and what have you done with Lance?”
“I could be asking you the same question,” Lance squeaks. “Maybe this is a dream. Or we’re both dead and, oh God, maybe you’re possessed by some freaky Druid creature or-”
“Just kidding. You’re definitely Lance.” The statement doesn’t hold its usual bite, though.
They’re quiet for a minute and neither of them move. Lance is scared to even flinch for fear Keith will let go or disappear into thin air because he actually is some illusion formed by his overactive imagination. The warmth, however, is real. The comfort of body heat, the gusts of breath against his neck, the rise and fall of their joined chests.
“Why?”
Lance nearly misses the single word ghosting across his skin. “Why?”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this sooner, idiot? Would it really have killed you to let me know you cared?”
Lance can’t resist. “You never know, it might’ve.”
“Such a dick,” Keith grumbles half-heartedly.
As an afterthought, Lance wraps his arms around Keith, hands settling on his waist. For someone who ‘doesn’t usually like hugs,’ Keith sure seems to be enjoying this one. “Keith?”
“Hm?”
“If- When we get the chance to visit Earth again, I’ll show you the list.”
“You’d show me your creepy stalker list?” Keith teases, and, boy, does Lance hope this light, borderline flirtatious Keith becomes a regular thing in his life after this.
“Yeah.” Lance tightens his hold on the back of Keith’s shirt. “I’ll show you my creepy stalker list.”
The following morning, as the team gathers for breakfast, Keith slides into the seat beside Lance like he usually does.
Perhaps Lance is being paranoid, but he swears everyone is staring at the two of them. Hunk keeps awkwardly clearing his throat, and Shiro is smiling way too much for Lance’s comfort. Allura and Coran also seem abnormally happy. Lance constantly checks on Pidge because, other than Hunk, Pidge makes the most remarks about their- they often add air quotations around the term- “rivalry.”
Out of the blue, Keith chooses to cut through the building tension.
“You basically confessed to me, right?” Keith crams a purple sausage into his mouth and fixes Lance with a knowing look. “I doubt you’d write about ‘my body and hair’ if you didn’t like what you saw.”
Lance flushes scarlet and almost chokes on his food. “Keith, what the f-”
The entire table erupts into conversation at once.
“You owe me twenty bucks, Hunk,” Pidge cries, pointing across the table at a currently flailing Hunk. “I told you it wouldn’t take that long for them to finally-”
“I should’ve known better, oh my God.” Hunk drops his face miserably onto the table.
“Congratulations,” Allura and Coran both chorus in perfect unison. “But I never had any idea your… interactions qualified as ‘courting.’ Human mating rituals are certainly bizarre,” Allura muses, and Lance feels his face get even warmer at the mere mention of “mating” in reference to him and Keith.
“Guys.”
“I’m glad to see you finally sorted out your problems,” Shiro says, proud as ever. “I was wondering-”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten, Shiro.” Pidge points an accusing finger at Shiro, seated at the head of the table. “You also owe me twenty bucks. Cough it up.”
Oh. My. God.
Lance is about to excuse himself, to find somewhere private to finish this discussion with Keith, but a careful touch to his wrist freezes him to the spot. He hesitantly lifts his head to gauge Keith’s reaction. To his utter shock, Keith is grinning. Grinning. Their team, their friends, created a bet pool for when the two would get together, and Keith is smiling like there’s nothing peculiar or inappropriate about the situation at all.
“Are you okay?” Keith has the gall to ask. If it were anyone different, Lance is sure he would’ve snapped.
“T-That wasn’t- I can’t believe you thought that was a confession!” he hisses under his breath.
“But it was.”
“No! No, no, no.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Am not,” Lance huffs, dropping his spork. “Everyone knows confessions are supposed to include kissing. And, like, the word ‘love’ at least once-”
Lance stiffens. There are lips. On his lips. Chapped, warm, kind of soft, they press chastely to his for the briefest of seconds, and then they’re gone.
Keith settles back into his chair, pink dusting his cheeks, and offers Lance a nervous smile. “Better?”
Yes, oh yes, so much better, Lance wants to say. But he’s too busy internally screaming because Keith totally has no clue that was my first kiss and, oh no, I want to do it again?
“Uh. Yeah,” Lance mumbles. Distantly, he hears a cacophony of voices and realizes the rest of the team hasn’t noticed the exchange. And, more importantly, didn’t see the kiss. “And, I mean, I guess we could get together and, you know. Talk about it.”
“After this next mission?”
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Lance swears Keith sounds… excited.
“After the next mission.”
God gets in one final, boisterous laugh at Lance’s expense.
He never gets the opportunity to sort things out with Keith as planned. Their mission leads to Allura getting captured, Shiro directing them into the heart of the Galra Empire, and a fuck ton of poor decision making and risked lives.
And, to top it all off, it leads them straight into the uncharted territories of a wormhole.
The lions scatter, Lance panics, and everything spirals into madness. When he finally comes to, he finds himself in a strange, aquatic world. The irony of waking up underwater after months of longing for the ocean isn’t lost on Lance. That’s for sure.
He’s relieved to find Hunk when he crawls out of Blue, equally confused and frazzled by their current situation. Well, at least I have Hunk. Being stranded on an alien planet alone would have been beyond miserable.
As he steps- swims- out toward the new world, he can’t help but think of Keith. Keith who had finally found a family. Keith who may be alone now on a foreign planet without anyone to keep him company, anyone to protect or help him survive.
If- When we get the chance to visit Earth again, I’ll show you the list.
And, no matter what happens from here on out, that’s exactly what Lance plans to do.
#30. Keith is cool (be strong lance don’t cross this one out) and deserves to find a nice family. Should probably try making him laugh if I see him again. And maybe definitely apologize