Chapter Text
Lance liked to daydream about what his soulmate might be like. When he felt scraped knees from a fall what wasn’t his, he wondered if his soulmate played tag with siblings too. When he felt a phantom loose tooth suddenly tugged out, he wondered if his soulmate’s parents bribed him with sweets the way that Lance’s did.
He didn’t feel his soulmate often, but when he did there was a small sense of relief along with the pain. Somewhere out there, he had a soulmate who would be there for him no matter what. Those small scrapes and invisible bruises were reminders that Lance would never have to be alone. They were reassurance that he was lovable.
When he was about 8 years old, Lance started feeling his soulmate a lot more frequently. It felt like he got in fights a lot, and Lance didn’t know what to make of the fact that he usually felt the first burst of phantom pain on his own knuckles.
It didn’t matter, he decided eventually. Lance just hoped someone was there to take care of him afterwards, until Lance could be there himself.
Lance learned that his soulmate is a guy during one of these fights, when a dull pain on his knuckles was quickly followed by a sharp pain between his legs. Thankfully, Lance had been alone when it happened, so he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t feel it; there was no way he could have hidden that one.
He still isn’t sure why he tried so hard to hide how often he felt his soulmate. Most people don’t feel the need to be secretive about it, even as children. Feeling your soulmate’s pain is just a part of life. Maybe he was worried about what his family would think, knowing his soulmate seemed to be picking fights that caused Lance pain. It was probably protective in some way; he didn’t want others to judge his soulmate before they even met. He didn’t want to judge his soulmate before they even met.
As they got older, he wondered about what type of person his soulmate might be. He wondered what he looked like, what they would have in common, and what they wouldn’t. He wondered if he would feel comforted when Lance stroked his hair, and if it would be long enough for Lance to run his fingers through.
Sometimes, after fights that felt more intense, Lance would imagine comforting his soulmate afterwards. He would picture himself holding a bag of frozen peas to the parts of his soulmate that ached, finding his own comfort in knowing that he’d always be able to tell where he needed the care.
Despite the frequent fights, Lance felt reassured to know that somewhere out there, there was someone who would love him unconditionally. The bursts of pain were a promise that he was good enough for someone; a promise that he wouldn’t have to be alone.
Keith’s dad insisted, whenever Keith asked, that his mom was alive, but they both knew Keith didn’t believe him.
“If she’s alive, and she’s your soulmate, how could she leave you?”
They both knew he was really asking how could she leave me?
His dad tried not to look pained when he answered, always placating, always vague.
“There was something important she had to do. Even though she wanted to stay more than anything in the universe, she had to go. But even when families – when soulmates – are apart, they’re still connected. You have these reminders that you’re never as alone as you might feel you are.”
And then dad died. And Keith sure as hell felt alone.
Keith tried not to think about his soulmate, after that. A soulmate was just another person who would leave an aching hole in his chest when they left. When he felt scraped knees that weren’t his, or a loose tooth yanked free, he tried to pretend he didn’t feel it. He tried to pretend he didn’t have a soulmate at all.
It was pretty easy, most of the time. His soulmate didn’t seem to get hurt often, and when he did it was usually minor enough to ignore. Mostly stubbed toes and scraped hands or knees. Errant thoughts like I wonder what he tripped on, or …was that an actual noogie? snuck up on him sometimes, but got easier to ignore with time.
It took a while for Keith to figure out that the strange pressure he sometimes felt on the tips of his left fingers was the tension from guitar strings. That feeling was always more difficult to ignore; it brought up more questions Keith didn’t want to ask.
Is he any good at it?
What kind of music does he play?
…Is anyone teaching him, or is he alone too?
These traitorous thoughts sometimes brought up a strange ache in his chest he knew his soulmate couldn’t feel. Keith pretended he couldn’t feel it either.
Keith especially tried not to think about his soulmate when he got in fights.
Sometimes, he wondered if his soulmate would hate him because of the fighting, before they ever met. Sometimes, he thought it might be easier that way.
Missing someone who was never there, he learned, is easier than missing someone who was.
Lance is making his best effort to keep his shoes from squeaking as he sneaks through the dark hallways of the Garrison with his roommate-turned-best friend Hunk, who is acting like personified anxiety even though this excursion was his idea.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Hunk’s nervous voice wavers behind him as Lance peeks his head around a corner, and he can’t help but roll his eyes before Hunk adds, “we have that big exam tomorrow….”
Trying to avoid an echo in the empty halls, Lance hisses over his shoulder, “yeah, and you’re the one who said you needed to stress bake about it. Also – you promised me garlic knots! So, no backing out now.”
“Yeah, yeah okay,” Hunk sighs. “Garlic knots heal all w – ouch!”
He cuts himself off with a slight hiss of pain and Lance whirls around, equally concerned for his friend and for the success of their stealth mission. But before Lance can decide which concern to express, Hunk explains in his best attempt at a whisper, “sorry, it’s my soulmate. They surprised me, my bad.”
Lance lets out a small huff and nods in understanding, turning back to the task at hand. “Trust me, I get it. Mine gets in fights all the time, it’s such a pain–” he cuts himself off at the realization that no, his soulmate hasn’t gotten into a fight in a while, has he? Lance had been so preoccupied with moving into the Galaxy Garrison and starting all his new classes that he hadn’t even noticed his soulmate’s sudden absence.
The guilt of forgetting about his soulmate rams into him only moments before Hunk does, but at least Hunk had the decency to apologize to him for it.
Lance brushes it off and continues walking in silence, too lost in thought to be as diligent and careful as he normally is when they sneak around after-hours.
Even with Lance distracted, they make it to the kitchen without incident, and Hunk’s anxiety visibly melts away the second the door closes behind them. It always does, once they get here.
The room is smaller than someone might expect for a kitchen that feeds an entire school/military compound, but Hunk admitted once that they don’t make much of the food fresh in-house. The kitchen is mostly for heating and assembling frozen ingredients, and is outfitted with plain industrial-looking countertops and basic, large appliances for cooking in bulk. Absolute essentials, only, in monochrome stainless steel.
To Lance, it feels sterile and cold, so unlike the kitchen he grew up in. But to Hunk, it’s a sanctuary.
Lance had been surprised by this the first time they visited the kitchen after curfew; he had expected them to sneak in, steal snacks, and abscond back to their room with the prepackaged goods. As Hunk started rifling around for ingredients with familiarity, he explained to Lance that he had a work study job in the kitchen to help supplement his scholarship.
“Doesn’t that like, distract you from studying?” Lance asked, thinking about how much time he spent pouring over his own textbooks until his eyes burned and his head ached. He realized after he spoke that maybe he sounded a little harsh, but Hunk didn’t seem to mind.
He just shrugged and said, “nah, baking calms me down. Chef said I can come in here and ‘practice’ when I’m stressed. She didn’t specify when I’m allowed – or not allowed – to be here, but I think that was on purpose. She won’t say anything if she finds out I was in here after hours, but if someone else caught me I don’t think she could keep me out of trouble for it.”
“So, we’re in the clear?” Lance asked as he explored the dark room. He rested a hand on what he expected to be solid countertop and was instead a pile of metal trays, which clattered loudly to the floor.
A beat after the last tray settled, Hunk said casually, “yeah, as long as we’re quiet.”
Late-night stress baking quickly became Lance’s personal favorite of Hunk’s coping skills.
Usually, Lance chats idly with Hunk while he bakes, rambling about his own anxieties or his impressions of different classmates. On more than one occasion he’s spent nearly the entire time lamenting to Hunk about how a particular classmate with long dark hair and a constantly broody expression won’t so much as look his way, no matter how hard Lance tries.
But this time he’s too lost in thought about his soulmate to be very talkative; guilt hangs heavy over him as flexes his hands absently, trying to remember the last time he felt his knuckles ache. He feels selfish for not noticing sooner that he hasn’t felt his soulmate in what must have been months.
Hunk probably notices something’s off but is generous enough not to ask right away. It only took a few weeks of living with Lance for him to figure out that he only gets quiet when he’s really bothered by something, and that he’ll start ranting about it again the second he’s ready to.
It’s only after Hunk has finished making the dough and set it to rise that he asks, “you okay, Lance?” with a careful but casual tone.
“Huh?”
“You’re almost as broody as your favorite classmate right now.”
The ridiculous accusation finally snaps Lance back to reality. “He is not my–”
“Right, sure, my bad,” Hunk placates dismissively. “Obviously, I’m your favorite classmate, since I’m here making you garlic knots instead of studying.”
“This was your idea!” Lance reminds him.
Brushing past Lance’s half-hearted protest, Hunk finally asks, “do you want to talk about what’s on your mind then?”
“Not really,” Lance sighs, leaning a hip against the countertop beside Hunk and crossing his arms. “It’s just that I realized earlier that I haven’t actually felt my soulmate get into any fights recently, probably since we started school. And I feel really guilty for not noticing sooner, I guess. And I know it was kind of a difficult change for me to move away from family for the first time and classes have been hard so I get why I didn’t notice the absence of something, you know? But I still feel guilty for forgetting about my soulmate and like in hindsight that’s probably part of why I’ve been feeling so lonely, because I used to feel him almost every day but now I couldn’t tell you the last time I did.”
He pauses only to catch his breath, and notices that while he was rambling his arms seem to have developed a mind of their own, and were now very un-crossed and waving around wildly in agitation. He crosses them again with a huff.
“Lance,” Hunk starts, but Lance gasps at a sudden realization and grasps Hunk’s shoulders in a slight panic, cutting him off.
“Wait – you don’t think it’s possible that we’re not soulmates anymore, right? Like maybe me moving here was the wrong choice and it changed the course of my destiny or something and now I messed it up and we’ll never meet and I don’t have a soulmate anymore!”
“Lance,” Hunk tries again, covering Lance’s hands with his own comfortingly (and effectively pinning Lance in place), “I don’t think that’s possible. You know the soulmate connection isn’t that flimsy. Unless you had to sell your very soul to get into school here – which I know you didn’t, because I’ve seen how hard you work – then I think there has to be another explanation. Maybe he went to therapy or something.”
“Or prison,” Lance counters gravely, but there’s humor around the edges of his tone now.
“Or maybeeeee he started at a fancy boarding school somewhere too,” Hunk supplies.
Gesturing to their aggressively lackluster surroundings, Lance laughs, “I wouldn’t describe the Garrison as fancy. But you’re probably still right.” He sighs dramatically, “I hate it when you’re rational.”
“One of us has to be,” Hunk shrugs. “And I think we take turns at it, anyway.”
They’re both silent for a moment before Lance muses, “huh, I guess I did want to talk about it.”
“You usually do,” Hunk replies sagely. When Lance starts to protest, he clarifies, “your compulsive honesty is something I appreciate about you. Want to help me shape the dough?”
Another thing Hunk seemed to have figured out quickly is that making Lance work with his hands tends to help him calm down, and Lance loves him for that.
With a relived smile, Lance agrees and rolls up his sleeves. “Just tell me what to do, Chef.”
It doesn’t take long for Lance’s mood to improve, and even less time after that for their conversation to go its usual route.
“I swear, Hunk, it’s like he’s ignoring me on purpose!”
Hunk hums in response, his focus probably more on the dough before him than on the rant he’s heard from Lance a million times by now.
“I mean it! I swear I saw him almost smile at that pun I made in physics last week, but he still wouldn’t look at me. I’m not that bad to look at, am I?”
“Uh huh,” Hunk responds absently, and Lance gasps in offense.
“Okay, now you’re not listening to me! And I know that because you are normally an excellent hype man! What gives, Hunk?”
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just,” he pauses and rubs the back his neck, leaving a trail of flour in its wake. His tone is careful and kind as he continues, “I’ve heard this all before. And you don’t want to hear what I think about it.”
Lance insists ardently that he does, and after a minute or so of badgering Hunk begrudgingly complies.
“I think he’s trying to ignore everyone, I don’t think you’re special. And I don’t mean that in a bad way – I just mean he’s not ignoring you, specifically, but you specifically try the hardest to get his attention so it feels more personal to you than it probably is.”
“I am not trying to get his attention!” Hunk gives him a flat look rather than dignifying that outrageous lie with a verbal response. Lance sighs in defeat. “Okay, fine, maybe I want his attention a little. I just know I’ve seen him have to try not to laugh at my jokes. Who stops themselves from laughing? Sociopaths, Hunk, that’s who!”
“Or people who are trying to focus in class,” Hunk counters with annoying rationality before adding conspiratorially, “maybe his sense of humor is actually really stupid, and he’s scared of people finding out and ruining his bad boy reputation. I bet he’s actually a secret softie.”
“What? Come on man, no way!” Lance protests, laughing. “You’ve heard the rumors about how he got in fights all the time before he got recruited! I heard he pierced his own ears back then too, but he had to take the piercings out because they’re against dress code.”
“Oh? And what else have you heard about him through the grapevine, totally by coincidence?”
“Not much, no one seems to know anything but James Griffin, and I hate talking to that guy. I guess they went to middle school together, but all he ever has to say about Keith is the same recycled garbage. It gets old.”
“Yeah, who would want to hear the same things about Keith over and over again, right?”
Hunk’s sarcasm, as he expected, is completely lost on Lance. “Exactly!” he continues. “Like, why is James so obsessed with him being an orphan anyway? What a weird thing to be fixated on.”
“Totally weird,” Hunk agrees, his attention back on knotting the dough before him. Lance’s portion of dough sits forgotten in front of him and he barges on.
“Thank you!” Lance exclaims. “I don’t know why James is so obsessed with him in general.”
“You don’t?”
“No! Keith doesn’t even give him the time of day. I don’t know why he wants Keith’s attention so badly anyway; it’s not like he ever has anything nice to say about Keith.”
Hunk sighs, turning away from the dough once again to level Lance with a heavy, even stare. “You really can’t fathom why someone might want Keith’s attention so badly that he resorts to talking about Keith behind his back at every possible opportunity because it’s killing him a little that Keith doesn’t react to any of his bids for attention?”
“Well,” Lance considers for a moment, “when you say it like that, it sounds like James has a crush on him or something.”
“Right, interesting that you’d say that, because I wasn’t talking about James.”
Lance blinks in confusion at his best friend once, twice, three times, before admitting “…okay, you lost me.”
With a sigh, Hunk grabs the forgotten dough in front of Lance and gets to work portioning and shaping it. The motion has become so habitual now that he is able to maintain eye contact with Lance when he asks, “do you really not see the parallels here?”
“Parallels to what?”
Hunk groans. “Lance, buddy, I say this with love, but you are just as obsessed with Keith as James is.”
“What?” Lance practically squawks in indignation. “No, I’m not! How could you say that?”
“Last time we were here, when I made cookies, you were stressing about grades and listed off all of Keith’s flight simulator scores from memory.”
“He’s top of the class, Hunk, everybody knows his scores!”
“The time before that, I made soft pretzels, and you talked for ten minutes about how absurd it is that his eyelashes are so long.”
“That’s because it is absurd!”
“And then another twenty minutes about how his skin is flawless, even though you’re convinced he washes his face with bar soap.”
“But–”
“When I was making brownies, you were convinced he never showers because you’ve never run into him in the communal dorm showers. Have you really never thought about why you were so eager to see him–”
“Okay, enough! I get it!” Lance sits down heavily and scrubs a hand down his face. “Oh my god, do I have a crush on Keith?”
“Lance,” Hunk pats his shoulder sympathetically, leaving a flour handprint on Lance’s pajamas. “I’ve never seen you so down bad before. It was getting a little painful.”
With a gasp, Hunk’s eyes suddenly go wide with excitement and he exclaims, “aww, Lance!”
Able to see exactly where this is going, Lance tries to protest “Hunk, no–”
“What if he’s your soulmate!!”
“Come on man, be serious.”
“I am being serious!” Hunk insists. “You said your soulmate used to get in fights a lot? Well, so did someone else we know!”
“Hunk,” Lance tries again, but he barrels past him.
“You said you haven’t noticed any fights since you started at the Garrison – Lance, maybe that’s not because you were distracted, maybe it’s because your soulmate is also here!”
“No dude, there’s no way.”
“How can you be so sure? Come on, what else have you learned about your soulmate?”
“Hunk–”
“Pierced ears?”
“Well… yeah, but lots of people have pierced ears.” Lance elects to leave out that he could tell that the piercings were uneven from where they stung the next few days.
Hunk opens his mouth to reply, looking smug, and Lance scrambles for anything else he remembers about his soulmate that doesn’t sound like Keith.
“My soulmate is ambidextrous!” Lance blurts out as he remembers, snapping his fingers with finality. “And I’ve only seen Keith write with his right hand.”
“Okay so, what I’m hearing is: you’ve checked to see if Keith is ambidextrous.” Hunk asks, grinning. “Checkmate on my crush theory.”
…fuck.
“Okay, fine, I guess I might have a tiny bit of a crush on Keith.” Lance concedes. Hunk looks far too victorious for Lance’s liking, so he adds defiantly, “but he clearly isn’t my soulmate if he isn’t ambidextrous!”
“Why do you want him to Not be your soulmate so badly if you might have a tiny bit of a massive all-consuming crush on him?”
Lance ducks his head again, feeling a little embarrassed all of a sudden. With a shrug as casual as he can manage, he replies, “you said it yourself, Hunk. He doesn’t know I exist.”
“Hey,” it’s gentle, pitying, and Lance hates it. “I didn’t mean–”
“I know you didn’t, but you were right. He’s not into me, man. I’m not good enough for him. He and his perfect skin are top of our entire grade, and I’m fighting for my life to make it to the bottom of fighter class and had a zit so massive on picture day it’s noticeable on my student ID!”
“Is that why you’re so obsessed with skincare?”
“I’m not obsessed! Hygiene is a normal thing for a guy to be concerned about, it’s not my fault the rest of you are a bunch of animals! Anyway man, that’s not the point. The point is…” Lance sighs; he didn’t think he’d ever say this out loud to anyone. But here he is, and here it goes: “I guess I always assumed I’d be good enough for my soulmate just as I am, but Keith is so far out of my league that we might as well be playing different games.”
“Lance,” Hunk sighs sympathetically, finally abandoning his dough and sitting down beside him. “I totally hear you – I promise I do. But look, not to be that guy, but we’re literally sixteen. You’ve got time to catch up, man, we’re still basically kids. And you’ve only known him for like six months. He’s only known you for six months, too.”
Leaning his head onto Hunk’s shoulder, Lance can’t help but feel small when he says, “I thought my soulmate would be someone I didn’t have to prove myself to. I thought he’d be someone who sees my worth, sees me, without me having to fight for it – for once, I thought someone might just… see me.”
With a sympathetic hum, Hunk replies, “even true love takes time, sometimes.”
“Yeah, I guess I imagined meeting my soulmate would be a love at first sight feeling, you know?”
Hunk scoffs, but not unkindly. “Maybe that’s how it works on some other planet, but human soulmates have the pain connection to help us find each other. It would be kind of cheating to have more than one indicator, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” Lance concedes.
“Besides,” Hunk adds, “you said it yourself; it might not even be him.”
Months later, when Lance feels a burst of pain on his knuckles for the first time in about a year, he’s surprised enough to react. Surprised to feel it, sure, but even more surprised to see it happen.
“Is that what mommy and daddy told you before they–”
Keith is right to punch him, Lance thinks. But then, somehow, the knuckles on his right hand are aching, and he’s too shocked by a dawning realization to think anything other than holy shit.
Even though he sees it coming, Lance is too stunned to keep himself from flinching when James swings back, landing a solid hit on Keith’s left cheek. Lance feels the flesh inside his mouth – Keith’s mouth – slice from the impact on one of his teeth. Keith spits out blood before throwing a left hook, catching James by surprise.
Both fists, Lance remembers, distantly. He’s ambidextrous.
He isn’t the only classmate that flinches with every blow, and even if he had been, he doesn’t think anyone would have noticed; every eye in the room is glued to the fight in front of them and the officers rushing in to pull the boys apart.
Keith is my soulmate?
Lance watches the fight unfold as if it’s in slow motion. Even so, he can’t wrap his head around what’s happening.
Keith Kogane, who’s too good for everyone, and especially too good for me, is my soulmate?
His eyes track every movement, every blow that lands on Keith that he feels so acutely, as if he’s the one getting hit.
…he’s going to be so disappointed.
After what simultaneously feels like forever and no time at all, Lance feels Commander Iverson’s grip as Keith is hauled away from James, and he has to bite his lip to fight the urge to tell Iverson to stop, that Keith is hurting enough.
Classes with Keith become painful for Lance after that. He drops the rivalry stuff for a while – it’s not like it ever worked to get Keith’s attention anyway – until his advisor asks him about it.
“Look, McClain, you’ll never be as good as Kogane,” and she must have seen that it stung, because she adds, “none of you will, the kid’s a damn prodigy. But striving for that was good for you. You’re not far off from qualifying for fighter pilot, but if your grades keep dropping, you won’t make it.”
As if Lance needed another reminder that he’d never be good enough for Keith.
“I don’t know what happened between you,” Lance feels himself flush, and the officer is kind enough not to comment on it, though he’s sure she’s taking a mental note, if her raised eyebrow is any indication. “But don’t let that discourage you in your studies and your training, alright?”
“Yes ma’am,” Lance salutes stiffly, and gets dismissed.
Alone in the hallway, he allows himself one moment to slump against the wall before straightening his spine, schooling his expression, and commits to doing what he does best: fake it ‘till he makes it.
He leans into the old, painful normal of a one-sided competition. Pours himself into his studies and gets passes to practice after-hours in the simulator. Claws his way up to the top of the cargo pilot ranks, vying for fighter class where he can prove to Keith, begrudgingly, that Lance can be good enough for him. That they can be equals.
Lance is only a few points shy of fighter class when the Kerberos Mission goes dark, but he’s still too far behind Keith to help him in any way that matters.
“The Kerberos Mission was lost due to pilot error. All three crewmembers are presumed to be dead.”
Keith’s whole body goes cold. He stares at the screen in the corner of the cafeteria without registering anything that’s on it, the words coming from the speakers sounding like nothing more than static.
Pilot error?
There’s no way, Shiro was – is – the best. And Kerberos has barely any atmosphere to cause them trouble on the landing – this can’t be true. It just can’t be. It doesn’t make sense.
Shiro said he would come back, Keith thinks through the ringing in his ears. He can’t leave me too.
He thinks of his father, who ran into a burning building knowing he might not make it out, knowing he might leave Keith behind, alone. Shiro had promised this wouldn’t be the same, he promised Keith would always have him and – oh god, Adam.
Before he even registers what he’s doing, Keith is shoving out of his seat and moving towards the officer’s lounge. A sign on the door reads no students beyond this point.
Keith puts his hand right on it when he throws the door open. The officers all turn their attention away from the broadcast to face him. The same broadcast.
It must be everywhere right now.
Distantly, he hopes that the Holts are alone when they see the news. He always prefers to grieve in private.
A small part of Keith wishes he could grieve in private now, but he reminds that part that he’ll have plenty of time for that later.
Keith knows better than most that grief never really leaves.
A quick scan of the room shows him that who he’s looking for isn’t here.
“Cadet Kogane,” a firm voice cuts through the static in his ears, “cadets are not permitted–”
“Where’s Adam,” he demands. He notices some officers exchange glances he can’t interpret, beyond confirming that he’s onto something. None of them will meet his eyes, except the officer in front of him. A tall, blonde man Keith vaguely recognizes but can’t remember in his agitated state.
“Cadets are not permitted in the officer’s lounge,” he repeats. “If you have a question for a professor, you can schedule a meeting or go to their office hours.” The officer remains firm and expressionless, and Keith feels an old but familiar itch on his knuckles. But he holds himself back, forces himself to breathe. Patience yields focus, Shiro’s voice reminds him, and he almost starts crying on the spot.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me where Adam is,” he insists, and his voice barely even shakes.
The hard eyes before him soften, just barely, and the officer replies, “Officer Williams is on extended medical leave.”
It takes Keith a few moments to process that. Adam was perfectly healthy when Keith saw him last, and even Shiro’s illness had never stopped either of them from working for more than a day or two. A sudden extended leave is completely out of character.
“Medical leave? Since when?” Keith shakes his head, trying to focus. “It doesn’t matter – I need to talk to him.”
“He was placed on leave earlier this week,”
…placed?
The whole room stills. Everyone noticed that slip, and is waiting to see if Keith will catch it too.
Of course he caught it.
Keith’s tone is grave when he says, “was it the day the Kerberos mission was lost?” and it’s apparent that he isn’t really asking. He already knows.
The tense silence and more wary glances between the officers are all the confirmation he needs.
“Cadet, return to the cafeteria or I will have to write you up for disobeying orders from a commanding officer.” Keith barely registers the hand on his shoulder guiding him to the door, surprisingly gentle. The officer’s expression softens once it’s just the two of them in the hallway, his hand still light on Keith’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Kogane. I know Shirogane was important to you.”
“He is important to me,” Keith corrects him, shrugging off the hand and stalking off.
And if the officer notices Keith is walking away from the cafeteria, he doesn’t comment on it.
Keith briefly considers stopping by the clinic, but he knows Adam won’t be there. There’s very little medicine can do for soulmate pain. Even less for grief.
His trek to his hoverbike and following ride to Shiro and Adam’s pass in a blur; it almost feels like Keith blinked and found himself pounding at the familiar door, with barely any recollection of how he got there.
He’s choking on tears as he yells, “Adam! Adam it’s Keith, please –”
The door swings open and before he knows what’s happening, he’s pulled into a hug. He tenses only a moment before registering the faint smell of Shiro’s cologne; but it’s not Shiro. Adam must be wearing one of his shirts.
Keith would find it kind of gross if he didn’t also feel so comforted by the familiar scent.
Adam doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. Keith is familiar with grief. Adam knows this.
They don’t need to talk about it.
They both just know.
Keith only has one question; he asks it into Adam’s chest, terrified of what his answer might be.
“Adam – dad said you would know. That soulmates can feel it when….”
He can’t bring himself to say it, but Adam squeezes him tighter and starts, “your dad was right, I –”
Their embrace is interrupted by a woman Keith doesn’t recognize clearing her throat behind them.
“Officer Williams, please come back inside,” her scrubs and nametag signal to Keith that she’s some kind of nurse, but she has a hardness in her eyes he’s used to seeing in the professors and officers on campus. Still, she sounds uncomfortable as she cautions, “and you know the policy about visitors.”
Adam sighs so heavily Keith can feel it ruffle the hair on top of his head. Adam pulls back from the hug just enough to look her in the eyes as he replies coolly, “yes, of course I remember. Immediate family only.” Keith hasn’t even opened his mouth to protest before Adam tucks him protectively into his side with an arm around Keith’s shoulders and walks them right over the threshold into the apartment. He leaves the door wide open behind them and the woman scrambles to close it as he asserts, “and I told you; Keith is immediate family.”
It feels so stupid, to Keith, that what finally makes him break down is feeling loved, of all things. But Adam’s words, and the fierce protectiveness with which he said them, break the dam that was holding Keith’s grief at bay with such a force that he nearly collapses.
He slumps further into Adam as the tears finally fall, and Adam easily pulls him back into a hug and remarks casually over Keith’s head, “would you mind making us some tea? I’d hate to be a bad host.”
Keith is confused for only a moment before he hears the nurse leave the room with a small huff; he had already forgotten she was there. He absently wonders why a nurse is in their home making Adam tea, but it’s not high on his priority list as he cries into Adam’s chest that smells like Shiro’s cologne and aches like the day his dad died.
Adam steers them gently to the couch that was always a little too small for all three of them, but still nestles himself into the armrest on his usual side and Keith, for once, has no complaints about his middle spot between the two cushions.
The other cushion – Shiro’s cushion – feels like a cold, endless expanse beside them, and Keith is grateful that Adam also feels the need to leave it open.
“Adam,” Keith tries again, fighting to keep his voice even as he sits up enough to meet Adam’s eyes. “Did you feel… is he….”
Adam opens his mouth to respond, but then flinches and grits his teeth, letting out a pained grunt. He clutches at his right bicep, which Keith can see is unmarred.
He’s experiencing phantom pain. Soulmate pain.
And Keith can’t help but feel relieved.
The woman rushes back into the room empty-handed and fusses at Adam; asking him a barrage of questions like how he would rate his pain on a scale of one to ten, and can he describe the type of pain, and can he guess what may have caused it?
Adam glances pointedly at Keith and declines to answer.
“Sir, this is why we have the visitor policy,” she reminds him weakly, her already marginal resolve from earlier rapidly waning. She sounds fully resigned as she concludes, “no one is supposed to know.”
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? He’s already here, and he’s already seen.” Adam is still holding onto his right arm and sounds pained but convicted as he levels her with a defiant stare. “I told you he’d ask. And I told you I’d tell him.”
The nurse bows her head in acknowledgement and leaves the room; whether it’s to give them privacy or give herself plausible deniability, Keith can’t be sure. He doesn’t quite care either way.
Breathlessly, he asks “tell me what?” but he already knows. He just wants to hear it. Needs to hear it.
“Takashi is alive,” Adam confirms, “but he isn’t safe. The Garrison won’t tell me what they know, and they have someone here monitoring me constantly. They ordered me to take medical leave so no one finds out that he survived, but I guess now that they’ve announced he’s dead, they’ll change the story to bereavement leave.”
Keith’s immense relief is short-lived, and quickly morphs into confusion and budding anger at the growing bitterness in Adam’s voice as he concluded.
“Why are they lying?” He asks, desperate, pleading. “Why aren’t they planning a rescue mission?”
“I don’t know,” Adam sighs, and Keith can see the weight of Adam’s grief and anger in his shoulders. “Trust me, I’ve asked. Many times. They aren’t giving me any real answers. I think they know that nothing could justify this coverup happening at the expense of three people, two of whom are confirmed to still be alive.”
Keith’s eyes widen with realization. “Mrs. Holt?”
Adam nods, grimacing slightly. “She’s in a similar situation to me. Although from what I can gather, she’s in less pain.”
Keith had met the Holts a few times for family dinners with Shiro and Adam. Even though he did his best to spend the majority of the time socializing with their dog, he remembers them well enough. He remembers what a loving family they were, remembers it was hard to watch, sometimes.
Keith’s heart is breaking from the weight of his grief and flooding with rage in the same breath.
He remembers the younger Holt kid, Pidge, and wonders if they felt as angry and confused as he is right now.
How could they abandon Shiro like that? Abandon all of them?
Keith’s eyes are dry now, his tears vanishing with the ignition of an angry spark. “They won’t let you talk to each other?”
“No, the Garrison has my phone and my computer. No communication goes in or out without monitoring.” Adam’s own anger leaves his expression briefly then, and he gives Keith a confused look. “You didn’t notice before you came here?”
A little sheepishly, Keith replies, “I didn’t think to call ahead. I just came straight here when I saw the news.”
“You found out about this from the news?” and just like that, Adam is furious again, and something about it lights a warm fondness in Keith’s chest. “I told them someone needed to talk to you directly, who–”
“Adam, it’s okay,” Keith reassures him, even though they both know it’s not. “I would have come straight here anyway.” He pauses briefly before adding, quietly, “I’m glad I did.”
Adam reaches out to ruffle Keith’s hair in the way he knows Keith hates and replies, “I’m glad you did too, kiddo.” He knows Keith hates being called kiddo too, but also seems to know Keith is too relieved and exhausted to complain, and is taking full advantage.
“It might have been better this way, to be honest.” Keith admits. “There’s a decent chance I would have punched the person who told me.”
Adam considers this for a moment, and then his laughter fills the room around them and Keith feels a small piece of his broken heart fit itself back into place.
“Never tell Takashi I said this, but I would have loved to see that.”
Keith hates how small his voice sounds when he asks, “you think we’ll see him again?”
Adam pulls Keith into his side again and rests his cheek atop Keith’s head. “I know that wherever he is, he’s fighting like hell to get back to us.”
Even though he knows the answer, saw it firsthand, Keith is nervous to ask, “you can tell that from the pain?”
“No,” Adam says gently, “I just know Takashi well enough to trust that’s his priority.”
“Do you think there’s anything we can do?”
Adam sighs heavily. “When I think of something, you’ll be the first to know.”
Keith stays at Adam’s that night, despite the nurse’s halfhearted protests. Now that Keith knows, Adam reasons with her, it’s not like forcing him to leave makes any difference.
He spends hours lying awake, thinking, flooded with dread at the thought of returning to campus tomorrow, of seeing officers and wondering bitterly which of them know, which of them are contributing to the coverup.
He thinks of the officer he spoke to in the lounge today, whose words softened once they were alone, and wonders if he knew.
He thinks of Adam, forced to hurt and to grieve in isolation to maintain a coverup he doesn’t understand.
And, not for the first time – but certainly the first time in a while – he thinks of his mother. Wonders where she was when she felt his dad die. Keith wonders now if she was allowed to grieve how she wanted to. If she was allowed to express the pain when she felt it.
He thinks again of Adam, and vows to remain detached from his own soulmate, so it only hurts Keith physically when he inevitably dies too.
Keith tries to keep his head down and stay in line, tries to be a good cadet and stick with the program despite his near-constant boiling rage. It’s what Shiro would have wanted, he thinks. What Shiro wants, he corrects himself.
It’s hard, being surrounded every day by people who believe – or pretend to believe – that Shiro is dead. It’s hard to keep his hopes up.
He’s been in contact with Pidge, the other Holt kid, and he knows that they’re planning on infiltrating the Garrison as a student to try and learn more about the truth. How they plan on doing that when they look nearly identical to Matt, Keith isn’t sure, but the kid’s basically a genius so he’s sure they’ll figure it out. And when they get here, they’ll work with Keith to figure out what really happened to the Kerberos team.
He just has to make it through this school year.
But he only lasts another month and a half.
“You cursed or something, Kogane?”
It’s been more and more difficult to ignore James’ taunts, which only seem to be escalating recently as Keith withdraws further into himself.
Careful to keep his expression cool and disdainful, he lifts his eyes to meet James’ and replies, evenly, “excuse you?”
It’s a warning to back off, but of course James doesn’t listen. James, instead, seems to delight in finally getting a reaction out of Keith, and he keeps pushing. He always, always, pushes.
“I just can’t help but notice that everybody close to you seems to end up dead.”
Keith is seething, fists clenching reflexively at his sides. Through gritted teeth, he replies with miraculous restraint, “lucky for you, then, I prefer you as far away from me as possible.”
James has the audacity to look angry and offended, of all things. As if he’s ever behaved in a way that would suggest he wants Keith around, either. He sneers, “do you think your soulmate will die before they meet you, or shortly after?”
And who could blame Keith, really, when that final thread of restraint snaps?
Keith barely remembers vaulting over the lunch table and launching himself at James, toppling them both to the ground. Barely remembers pinning him and whaling on him. Definitely doesn’t remember breaking his nose, but when he learns this later he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.
He mostly remembers the anger, always simmering under the surface of his skin, rising up to consume him at James’ words. He remembers funneling all of his suppressed rage into his fists, an outlet so familiar it’s almost a relief to have an excuse to punch something.
He remembers someone, another student, wrapping his arms around Keith’s torso to haul him off, spinning Keith to face him and trying to calm him down.
He remembers tan skin, blue eyes, and warm hands.
“-eith,” a familiar but distant voice says, and Keith has to fight through the ringing in his ears to understand him. “Keith, listen to me. James doesn’t know what he’s talking about, okay? He’s just an asshole saying shit to get your attention, it’s not true. I promise-”
“How would you know?” Keith spits, venomous and seething, still blinded by rage.
The face before him flinches, but doesn’t rise to it, doesn’t get angry back. “I guess I wouldn’t,” he admits, sounding strangely sad. “But I do know that James is an entitled attention whore who will say anything to get a rise out of you, and an insufferable teacher’s pet who knows he can get away with picking any fight as long as he doesn’t swing first. Which is unfortunate for the rest of us because he has such an unbearably punchable face that goes so well with his endlessly antagonistic excuse for a personality.”
And Keith is so caught off guard that he’s shocked out of his rage and he laughs; the deep, genuine, belly kind of laugh that has him bending at the waist and gripping his classmate’s arm to keep himself moderately upright.
It brings him back down to earth, which he suspects is what his classmate – Lance, he’s present enough to remember, now – was aiming for.
“Feeling any better?” Lance asks, a surprisingly shy grin and faint blush on his face. Keith is just delirious enough to find it cute.
“Definitely, but–” he’s interrupted by a commotion down the hall, and James (bloody nose and everything) charges back into the room followed by a red-faced Iverson, shouting his name like he’s on a warpath. Turning back to Lance feeling lighter than he would have thought possible, given the circumstances, Keith concludes, “I’m so getting booted for this.”
Keith does, in fact, get booted for that.
He spends the next year of his life like a ghost, finds an abandoned shack out in the desert and spends his days searching for… something, but even he couldn’t say what it is he’s looking for. He just feels called by something, compelled to search the desert and the night skies for clues. He visits Adam every now and then for dinners, but other than that and occasional encrypted updates from Pidge about the Garrison, he’s completely alone.
It should be difficult, he thinks, to be this alone. But it’s not.
It just feels safe.
He’s sure he’ll never see Lance again, but finds himself thinking of his classmate more often than he has any right to. Throughout his entire life, Keith has rarely ever had dreams aside from a handful of recurring nightmares, but out in the desert he finds himself dreaming of Lance with embarrassing regularity. They’re strange dreams, though; astonishingly detailed but incredibly boring. Most are about Lance going about his days at the Garrison, and the only explanation Keith can come up with is that his brain must be kind of bad at coming up with original ideas.
Keith isn’t sure what to make of them, so he tries to put them out of his mind. Tries to stop himself from thinking about Lance at all. But when he finds a cave filled with strange images of a blue lion, Keith still thinks about Lance’s kind eyes and wonders if they’re the same shade of blue.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe, he concedes, he is lonely out here after all.
It’s about a year in total that he spends haunting the desert for answers to an unknown question, haunted himself by the constant ache of grief and strange dreams of a boy he barely remembers.
And then Keith has what must be the strangest night of his life (little does he know, it’s only going to get stranger from here).
For starters, he never would have expected trailing a crash-landed UFO and breaking into a makeshift Garrison medical tent to land him face to face with Shiro; fully unconscious with a shock of white hairs, a gnarly scar across his nose, and a cybernetic arm, but still undoubtedly Shiro nonetheless.
He’s still trying to process the sight before him when fucking Lance appears in the room behind him, and Keith is so caught off guard by the sudden reappearance of two very different ghosts that he barely stops himself from blurting I never thought I’d see you again, and instead manages a very cool and nonchalant, “who are you?”
Keith barely has time to process any of it when, not even a full day later, he finds himself in an immeasurably distant galaxy with Lance, another classmate named Hunk, Pidge Holt – who seemed far less surprised to see Keith than Keith was to see them – and his brother Shiro, back from the dead.