Heartline: Fragments of a Blue Paladin

by CookieTails

Summary:

“Home… is where the heart is, right?”

“Moo.”

He giggles, as light as the morning breeze.

“I knew you’d understand.”

---

Exploring the fragments of Lance, one prompt at a time.

Julance 2025.

Chapter 1: Garrison

★

 

In the quiet confines of a cosy office is a coffee cup, stacks of papers, and the quiet humming of Lance McClain. Commander McClain, that is, grading his student’s papers, playing with his pen, and on the verge of falling asleep.

It’s been a looooong week. Not a vent session to Veronica, calls to his friends, or even viewing the Kosmo & Kaltenecker cams at home has been able to cheer him up.

He had dinner plans they had to cancel and it really soured the rest of the day. He was extremely uninterested in everything and anything, and when Keith called with love-laced apologies that he’s stuck in the next orbit and wouldn’t be able to come home in time for their dinner plans, he was disappointed but… you know, he couldn’t be mad at him. No. It wasn’t his fault.

But he is a little mopey—so what, sue him. Did he have a little cry? Maybe, but he’s chalking that up to his cadets being a little more difficult today too. 

His cadets were lovely, sharp individuals who fortunately love him as an instructor. Today? They were a little restless and a simulation went wrong and one of them barfed—

He sighs. He didn’t want to clean barf today, but he had to—right after the news dropped too of Keith not coming home for dinner.

He’s teary again. He puts down his pen, grabs a tissue and presses it gently underneath his waterline. He just really misses his partner in crime. 

A rhythmic knock is heard at the door and it takes all his strength to chuck the tissue underneath him in the bin and brush off his little too wrinkly Garrison attire. “Come in!”

The door slides open and in comes his sister and strategist of the Garrison, Veronica McClain. “Heeeey, Lance.”

“Hey Ronnie.” He responds, still brushing his uniform, voice light yet closer to small and frail than intended.

She frowns at the noticeable shift in tone, but thankfully doesn’t comment. “I know today’s been a little tough for you, sooo I bought you some cake?” In her delicate hands is a plate with a slice of vanilla cake. She narrows her wide, crystal like eyes to the side with a little cheekiness. “Well, I stole it from the fridge in the kitchen. Don’t tell anyone.” She whispers, pointing her finger up against her lips with a wink. 

Lance smiles but it comes through as a twitch from the curve of his lips instead. He sighs, slouches in further. He then drops his pens onto the table, crosses his arms and buries his face into the arms. 

Veronica strides forward, puts the plate down next to him and rubs the top of his spine. Lance groans. 

“Let it out.”

“I just—!” He grumbles into the mahogany of the desk. He lifts his face out of his arms, and leans his cheek into the palm of his hand, elbow on the desk and other arm still curled in. 

Tears glimmer beneath his lashes. Do not cry. Do not cry. 

“I… it’s been a day and Keith is in another orbit, all I wanted was dinner with him; it’s been weeks since he’s gone on this mission, and then, and THEN a simulator went wrong! One of my cadets barfed—and I can’t really blame him, the simulator is barf worthy—And. I just.” He catches his voice cracking, like broken glass stuck in his throat.

Do not cry. Do not cry. You are a strong, cute, legs-for-days, handsome guy. Leave the tears for the pillow.

“I… I really miss him. So much.”

And the hot tears flow down his cheeks. 

“It’s been so, so hard without him, and I hate that I couldn’t go this time. He has really good hugs; even better than Hunk’s but, but please don’t tell him that.”

“No, no.” Veronica comforts, reaching for his hand and rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. “I won’t. Aw, Lancey Lance.”

Her phone chimes in her pocket. She grabs the phone with her other hand, checks the screen and smiles. She puts it back in her pocket and glides a hand, rubbing his shoulder blades.

“Hey, I got a surprise for you~!”

“Is it the sweet release of death?” Lance deadpans.

“Oh hush,” she laughs, low and light. Her thumb becomes a constant, soothing Lance’s dismay like ocean waves to the shore. 

“I understand. Acxa’s also with Keith. They’ll be home soon, sooner than you think. I promise.” She pulls him up from his seat with her cusped hand, rubs away the stray tears and pulls him forward. “C’mon, let me show you.”

Cake forgotten, she drags him out the door and through the hallways, heels clicking on the marble floor tiles. Weaving through the halls, saluting in between to certain individuals, they end up bursting through the doors of the restricted access rooftop—the getaway from the hustle and bustle of the Garrison. 

The desert is very hot, but a tad breezy. Sun beaming down onto the two siblings on the rooftop.

“Surprise!”

He can’t see anything yet. “I don’t…” As the wind sweeps his hair, his heart stops, voice catching in his throat.  

Leaning against the railing is his husband in his dangerously attractive Marmoran fit, hand on the rail, the other on his hip and legs crossed. Next to him is Acxa, both mirroring each other with that damned half smile curve of their lips. 

“Hey.” Keith grins, smile curving into a smirk. “I made it.”

Lance’s heart pounds in surprise, lashes fluttering low and fond. He can’t submerge the rich excitement on his face; grinning cheek to cheek, lovestruck and breathless. “You did...”

He abruptly runs, leaps into his arms and nuzzles into the space into his neck. Keith instinctually loops his arms around him. Lance’s tears flow freely, staining his cheeks and embedding a home into the seams of Keith’s high neck suit. 

“I missed you so, so much.” Lance whispers, rain drowning his vocal chords as he nuzzles into him. “You’re hooome.”

Keith’s cheeks hurt from the big grin plastered on his face. Acxa, on the side, is holding Veronica from the waist, a calm, present smile aimed in the lovebirds direction. 

Veronica smiles, “So… dinner double date?”

“God, please, I’m starving.” Lance groans in appreciation, nuzzling closer into Keith’s shoulder and cheek. 

Bright laughter rings in the summer, desert air—warmer than the sun itself.

 

★

Chapter 2: Curse

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

 

The first time Hunk heard Lance curse, he almost dropped his space croissants as he pulled them out freshly baked from the oven.

He had to contain himself, find central peace, re-evaluate his mental state and restore balance in his hand-eye coordination to save the hot pastries when a surefire word was hushed as Lance walked past Hunk in the castleship kitchen and towards the fridge. 

“I’m so fucking over it.”

If you know Lance McClain, family man extraordinaire, lover boy of the universe, happy happy joy joy man—he never curses. Never. You couldn’t find a bone in his body that would allow him to naturally swear. So this revelation was concerning to say the least.

“Uh,” he intellectually states, swivelling around in his direction with the hot tray in his mitted hands. “You… You okay, man?”

Lance yanks open the fridge, gets a water pouch, stabs it quite viciously, and slams the fridge shut with such a scary, neutral expression that if he wasn’t aggressively using all of his body language and you just looked at his face, you’d think he’d be okay.

“Fine, man.”

Clearly not. 

“Are… Are you sure?” He digresses, coaxing him to speak up.

Instead, Lance walks away with a degree of sass—hand on hip, legs on a mission—that would scare off every individual within a five foot radius. “Never better, Hunk.”

Uh… Sure.

 

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

 

The first time Pidge heard Lance curse, it swept them off of their feet… quite literally.

They were both feeling a little competitive and on edge from a mission prior that almost had half of Voltron blown into smithereens, so Pidge offered to play a fighting game with him on the video game console they purchased at the Space Mall to blow off steam. 

Nothing was out of the ordinary. 

“Oh, come on!”

Except Lance was playing so aggressively that…

“Why?!”

…when Pidge won, he detonated like a ticking bomb. He stands up with the controller, incredibly pissed off, and literally sweeps Pidge off of their feet (“W-woah!?”) due to tangled cords and the unexpected flash of movement from Lance.

“What the fuck?! That’s so unfair!” He cries, almost screeching and shattering the metaphorical glass of the fourth wall. 

If you know Lance McClain, and Pidge does quite well, he usually defaults to ‘what the cheese,’ or ‘holy crow,’ maybe a ‘holy cannoli,’ or some variation to which he doesn’t need to swear.

Pidge finally speaks up—a little unsure, a little defensive: “Lance…? Are you… okay?”

Being the king of avoidance when he wants to be, he throws the controller onto his bedroom floor, puts his hands in his pockets, and yells to no one in particular: “I’m checking on Kaltenecker.”

As the doors swooped closed behind him, only the sounds of the fighting game echoed in his room. Pidge was stunned into complete silence.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The first time Shiro heard Lance curse, it was at the Garrison when they landed back on Earth.

Coran and Allura were working on some Altean technology to get the Atlas ready for launch when Lance had exited Iverson’s office in complete rage. He was in tears as he power walked away from the office door and right into the lounge where Shiro was, playing Sudoku and trying to take his mind off of things.

Adam, the impending war, Earth being taken over, building the Atlas to go back into the void of Space; you know… Things™

He looked up at a sullen Lance and immediately put down the Sudoku book. “Lance? Are–”

“I hate this shit.” He huffed, seeing red like a bull meeting a matador.

Now, if you know Lance, he does everything in the book to avoid cursing and swearing inappropriately. He has a big family, a niece and nephew he hung out with constantly growing up. He wants to be someone they look up to.

So it takes Shiro by surprise that he just said the word shit. 

Before he can say anything though, Lance storms past like a man on a mission to the door on the other side of the lounge, but not before he stops, sighs, and grabs the Sudoku book. Scratching his head, he passes the book to Shiro and simply says: “Four is in the upper right corner.”

He then walks out, moving on from his outburst and into the next room.

Shiro checks the book.

Huh.

He was right.

He writes the number four and wonders if he’ll be okay.

 

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

 

The first time Keith heard Lance curse, it was on the Atlas, after their private conversation in the boardroom (which he thought went pretty well, to be quite honest).

Scratch that, he was proud of himself. Both of them had made a gigantic breakthrough in their friendship. Lance has been struggling since they traverse Honerva’s mind, and they have no plan for the final battle. Feeling defeated and blue, he sat in a chair and vented to Keith about their line of action, and Keith actually got through to him, made him laugh, and they held hands.

Keith even gave him heart eyes, and he’s pretty sure Lance sent some in his direction too!

He really wants to fist pump to himself later in victory. Hell freaking yeah. You see, for Keith, making friends was like trying to get honey out of the carpet—not impossible, but very annoying. 

…And look, they didn’t hug, but they’ll work on that. He’s sure of it. 

Patience yields virtue, or whatever the saying is. 

Just then, much to his surprise, he heard a sob as he walked through the halls, past their dorms, and past a little pocketed alcove amongst the walls. Leaning against the wall of the alcove is Lance, crying to himself in amongst the shadows surrounding him. 

Keith leaned against the wall beside the alcove to listen in closer. His next words out of his mouth—so quiet and incredibly private—shakes him to the core, catching Keith off guard. 

“...Fuck.” Lance whispers to himself, tears trembling down his cheeks. “I like him. I like him so much and knowing my luck, we’re not gonna make it home.” His lips wobble, a shiver of fear tingling his spine as he cries quietly in private. “Fuck, what am I gonna do about Allura? I… I-I like Keith?”  A sob that sounds like it hurts ripples through his chest. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Unbeknownst to Lance, Keith pockets that information for later, but in that moment, his thicker brows furrowed in concern and a frown takes over the lingering curve of his lips. He wants to comfort him, reassure him, shelter him in that missed opportunity of a hug and tell him everything will be okay. But he can’t—he’s eavesdropping and it’s not right.

With blood boiling and determination ringing under his skin, he walks away, vowing in his mind for them to win. No matter what.  

We’ll make it home. I promise.

 

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

 

The last time Lance heard himself curse, he was caught off guard by his beautiful Voltron family.

He honestly, genuinely forgot it was his birthday. Everyday blurs between each other post-war; post-integration back into society, and it’s been difficult to figure out what the time and day was anymore post-reality reset. He stopped attempting to. 

So by the time it hit 7pm and he was eating some subpar pasta bake he cooked up on the fly (it was actually incredible, thank you very much), he heard a knock on the front door and jumped out of his skin, dropping his fork on the floor with a squeak.

“I got it, sit down.” Keith commands as he stands up from the opposite seat. All Lance can see is his exquisite lips and muscles ready to burst out of his tank top. 

But all he does is blink, says “Mkay,” and stares absentmindedly into his pasta bake. He disassociates a lot. 

Maybe, it’s the PTSD. Maybe, it’s the intangible feeling of his mortality shriveling away. Maybe, his therapist was right and he’s just depressed by the constellations of mental issues chipping away at his sanity. 

Regardless, he hears a carnival of voices stemming from the front door, and then…

“Surprise!” Hunk and Pidge cheer from the open doorway of the dining room. “Shiro sends his regards from Hawaii,” Hunk quickly informs, with a giant box in his hands. Lance blinks in surprise. “Huh?”

Pidge pulls a popper in their hands, and out bursts a cheerful, colourful noise. “Happy Birthday! We brought you cake, and…” Pidge pulls out some presents, wrapped nicely in shiny wrapping paper and blue ribbons. “Presents!” 

Keith smiles from the front door, walks back to the dining room and sits down besides Lance in another chair. He faces his direction, grabs his left hand and rubs soothing circles into his soft skin.

“Lance…” Keith begins with a cautious, genuine smile; no judgement, just warmth beneath his radiant, moonlit eyes. “You forgot your birthday, didn’t you?”

Oh my gosh. It’s his birthday. Keith hands him his datapad to his right, and he swiftly checks through. He hasn’t touched it since two days ago, and it’s filled to the brim with messages, voicemails, inbox notifications.

How did he forget his birthday? He loves his birthday.

Hunk and Pidge sit down opposite beside him, presents and cake in tow on the table, and as tears well in his eyes, there’s only one thing he can say in response as a broken sob breaks through the echo chamber of his chest:

“What the fuck.”

Tears cascade down his face as quick as lightning. 

“How did I forget my birthday?”

Pidge chimes in at the ready, “We know it’s been hard for you transitioning back into this wacky sort of reality reset. It’s been hard for all of us, too.” Lance turns towards team punk in shock. 

Hunk bridges the gap, extending a hand on Lance’s shoulder and rubbing his thumb into a pesky knot. “Just know, you’re not alone, okay? You can call me anytime, any day, heck, every second if you want to.” Lance feels the burning heat behind his own eyes grow with wonder. 

“You know I love you,” Keith kisses his cheek with a big ol’ mushy grin and stands up, walking away towards the kitchen. Lance stares agape as he reappears just as quickly with a bouquet of worn, blue flowers and places them gently on the table. When did he get those…? 

“But just know, we all love you.” Keith finishes, returning to his side to place a hand on his free shoulder. Lance notices that now Hunk is comforting one side, Keith the other side, with Pidge holding his hand—tight and soothing like a warm hug. It grounds him from disassociation nation. 

“Every single part of you. Happy Birthday, Lance.”

His mind is a clean slate.

His tears are hot to the touch, treading streaks down rudden, red cheeks.

But, for the first time in a while, he smiles—laughs, even.

He feels fuller, lighter, softer, warmer.

He thinks he’ll be okay.

“Guys...”

They wait for his response.

“...Thank you. So much.”

They smile in return. He’s crying softly, so overjoyed to the brim and warm with love.

“I love you all so much.”

 

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

 

Chapter 3: Earth

𖤓

 

Lance is humming to himself, brushing Kaltenecker’s fur with a dense brush in the cusp of autumn to winter weather. Clean air fills his lungs as the breeze is crisp with frosty air and the faint scent of morning dew. Air eases through the barn doors, mixing in between the smells of hay and the barn heaters in the corner.

He wears an olive puffer vest, old jeans with a bit of dirt across the knees, and black boots. His nose and cheeks are a little red (like Rudolph) from the chill of the morning air.

It’s easier to breathe on Earth, miles and miles away from the stratosphere he spent a few years defending the universe.

“You know what’s so special about Earth, miss Kaltenecker?”

“Mooo.”

Chuckling, he continues to brush as he reminisces.

“It’s the fresh air that fills your lungs with life, the trees that make your heart sing with colour, the green grass that comes to life from the soft soil of the ground. It’s…” He pauses to reflect, eyes downcast and vulnerable. “It’s the home you build with your loved ones along the way.”

“Mooo.”

“God, I missed Earth.” His brows knit together with a lopsided smile as he lifts his head up. “You must’ve missed Earth too, huh?”

“Mooo.”

He found Kaltenecker in the Space Mall, given away free of purchase with a game console. You know, he didn’t realise cows were genuinely abducted by aliens.

He sighs, he can imagine how scared she must’ve been.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, sweet girl.”

Indifferent, the cow moo’s, chewing on hay.

“You know, we’re kind of alike, you and I.” He chuckles, brushing away. “We were both abducted by…” he pauses again, a little murky in his eyes. “Alien war machines… taken away from our families, thrust into the unknown.”

It’s a little scary to think about how quick it all happened too.

“Mooo.”

“One day I’ll take you to the beach. Aw, it’s beautiful, just like you.”

He loves the beach—the sand between his toes, the smells of the salt breeze on the tip of his tongue, the feeling of the cold water crashing into his body, swimming and surfing away the stresses of everyday life.

“You know, I went to the beach recently with everyone. It was so fun.” He laughs at an abrupt memory trickling through his mind. “Pidge became a mermaid in the sand, Hunk made these really intrinsically detailed sandcastles, and Keith… well…“

A quick flash of memories wash over his mind:

Keith and Lance wrestling in the water, ocean drops laying bare on his chiseled chest, dripping down every inch of his crazy-toned body, his swim trunks becoming a bit too heavy and tight around his hips and butt. Damp hair dripping onto his broad, strong, grizzled, tanned shoulders as he tackles Lance into the water, chests touching with giddy laughter…

A thought echoes: he looked criminally good under the Cuba sun.

He coughs, his cheeks deepening a damning red in colour.

“Nevermind.”

He stops brushing, puts down the dense brush and grabs a bucket. He puts it down under her udders, grabs a stool and sits down. Lifting his jacket sleeves up, he prepares to milk her.

“You ready, sweet girl?”

“Mooo.”

He grips her udders gently, pulling down and the rush of milk falls into the bucket.

“Good job, beautiful. Now, where were we? Yeah, Earth is my favourite planet, hands down. It’s the seasons shifting, being surrounded by family, eating pizza by the waters of Varadero Beach…”

His mind wanders wistfully to Keith again, who’s currently miles away from Earth on a relief mission.

He thinks he should take him to that pizza shack.

Show him around Cuba, where he grew up, the markets, the plazas, the parks, his family home.

Maybe during the summer when it’s all being rebuilt again from the war.

Maybe they can both help with relief in Cuba.

A thought echoes in his mind: Maybe if I’m brave enough, I’ll video call him later.

Which is silly In retrospect—he’s fought wars alongside his friends, his found Voltron family, has almost died a few times in the process, and that’s what makes him nervous?

He can process that line of thought later.

“Home… is where the heart is, right?”

“Moo.”

He giggles as light as the morning breeze.

“I knew you’d understand.”

 

𖤓

Chapter 4: Greatness

✎ᝰ.

 

"Some are born great. Some achieve greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them."

He doesn’t know where he fits into this quote from Shakespeare.

Lance McClain never thought he was the birth of greatness. Maybe his Mom and Pop Pop disagrees, but nobody is born great. Maybe cute?

…But most babies look like shriveled up potatoes when they’re born into this wide, open world.

He digresses. Being born doesn’t necessarily mean you’re born into greatness. You can still be born into higher than average circumstances and still have a bad life.

His family grew up okay. There was an abundance of love to make up for the lack of funds. So, if he was born into greatness, that would mean that greatness stems from his tight-as-a-clam family.

But that doesn’t make his birth great.

He scratches off the first part of the quote on his notebook with a pen and presses on.

Okay. “Some achieve greatness.”

Hmm. He did get into the Garrison on a scholarship, that’s a pretty good measurement of greatness, right? He felt really good about that…

Veronica’s letter of recommendation did help that process. Alright, he had a slight advantage but outside of that, he worked really hard to get into the Garrison to become a fighter pilot.

Okay, but what about being able to fly a mechanical lion into space? That’s a pretty great moment.

It’s not everyday (if, at all) that you get to do something like that. Flying those bad boys is hard too, especially when he transferred over to red as Keith’s right hand man.

Maybe it was unlocking all the different types of weaponry in his bayard. The Altean broadsword was pretty badass. The rifle, too!

But now, he thinks that’s not an appropriate answer to which category he fits into.

Maybe it was when they rebuilt Keith’s barren farm into a flourishing farm with relief supplies post-war?

Sigh.

He scratches off the next part of the quote with his pen, even messier than last time.

Too complicated. None of that shows how he achieves greatness.

Okay, last part: “Some have greatness thrust upon them.”

Well—

“What are you doing?”

He almost leaps out of his skin, closing his journal in fright. Lance sits on a hay bale in the barn writing in his brand new journal he got for his birthday—blue, leather bound, and velvet in touch—as he writes down all his thoughts.

Well, was, until Keith scared him shitless.

“God, Keith, can you not be a ninja for five minutes?” Lance stresses, pointing a pen at him like it would absolve anything that just occurred.

Keith doesn’t respond. He just hands him a breakfast bar (“Oh! Thank you.”) and sits down next to him.

“So, back to my question: What are you doing?”

Lance sighs, looking downcast at the journal in his hands. He flips back to the page and points at the quote, now scratched out almost completely bar the last sentence. Keith leans in closer to read.

"Some are born great. Some achieve greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them…?” Keith repeats word for word, line for line.

“I’m trying to do some self reflection exercises as per our mandated therapists, and they told me to find a quote that resonates and write down how you fit into it.”

Lance leans his head onto Keith’s shoulder. “So I found one, and it’s like—the answer is right there, tip of my tongue—but I can’t seem to write it down without psyching myself out.”

Keith hums, deep in thought. “I see why you chose this quote.”

“I knew you saw greatness within me, Keithy-boy.” Lance replies with a cheeky cat smile, low and playful in tone.

“Well, duh.” The ex-black paladin rolls his eyes. The direct nature in which he says that throws Lance right off. “But that’s not why.”

“Then… why?”

“You fit all three categories.”

Lance blinks, a little stunned by his answer. He waves his hand silently at him to continue. In the meantime, he opens his breakfast bar and digs in, chewing away on the yoghurt-y granola bar with joy.

Keith points at the first sentence. “So, some are born great. You took on every challenge since birth. Didn’t Marco say you took on every hobby you could find as a kid and were naturally great at it?”

“I mean, yeah, surfing, skateboarding, wasn’t that good at drawing, but I worked hard to be good at those hobbies. I refused to give up.”

He lifts his brows with a small, catlike smile and continues: “I can do aerial silks too, a-and gymnastics, and cheerleading!”

His grin turns cheshire like in nature to illuminate a point at the man next to him: “I’m also very… flexible.” His brows bounce; a subtle implication.

Keith grins at him, pride laced across the peaks of his eyes. “See? Not many people can do that.”

Lance groans internally.

Externally, he bites on the bar and chews in thought. He swallows, shrugs off the silent compliment, and waves at him to continue.

Patiently, Keith proceeds to the next part of the quote: “Some achieve greatness… that’s an easy one.”

“Gosh, you gonna take me to dinner, too?” Lance jests.

Keith tilts his head, leaning in a tad closer and meeting his eyes. “If you want.”

Lance’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. Keith tilts his head back to the journal and points at the scratched words.

“Now, you’ve achieved a lot.”

He lifts his fingers and puts them down with each example: “Let’s start with being accepted into the Garrison, becoming a universal diplomat, piloted two lions, unlocking as many bayard forms as you did, you became an uncle to Silvio and Nadia, you saved the universe, restored the farm, you’ve been learning to cook, and became a Blade Leader without having any Galra lineage and had the idea to reform its message in the first place—“

Lance shrugs it off. “Well, the whole Victory or Die thing and putting the mission over yourself subtext was kind of bleak, so…”

Keith looks at him with concern. Lance takes another bite of his bar and refuses to look at him.

“…Why do you brush off all of your achievements so quickly like that?” Keith asks, genuinely curious.

Lance doesn’t know how to answer that one. He chews, swallows. His mouth opens, then closes again. He truly doesn’t know how to answer that one. He might have to unpack that with his therapist later.

Keith keeps his eyes on him, laced with a gentle tinge of concern, before dropping off the topic and pointing at the final sentence and emphasising the final point.

“Some have greatness thrust upon them. I’d argue you had a destined path since birth. You were the only one able to wake up the blue lion we found.”

“True.”

“You were also the most adaptable and flexible paladin. Pidge and Hunk were great in their own right, but you moulded yourself to fit where you needed to in order for the team to grow. You’ve also done that here on the farm. You took one look at this place and said—ahem.”

He does his best impression of Lance, hand gestures and all.

“Keith! This place has potential, pizzazz—let’s start fresh!”

Thankfully, it doesn’t fall flat; he was able to get a giggle out of Lance.

Keith looks his way, warmth laced beneath his tanned skin. “Do you think many people could do that?”

Lance hums. Keith continues.

“You have greatness within you. That’s all you.”

He gasps, eyes widening in surprise.

…there is greatness within you, Lance…

He just remembered. Allura said that, too.

A smile blooms from Lance’s lips, dimpling into his cheeks. “Wow.”

Eyes sparkling in sheer delight, he turns Keith’s direction, beaming and oh so fond.

“Thank you, Keith.”

His counterpart blushes a little pink on his cheeks, unable to handle the way Lance is looking at him. He smiles, however, also delighted at the attention pointing in his direction.

“No problem. Did I help at all?” He asks, curious.

“Sure did, samurai.” Lance nods, pen in hand and itching to write. “I’ll write down my thoughts and come inside.”

Keith nods, “Glad I could help. Don’t be too long,” and walks out of the barn, leaving him to his own devices.

You have greatness within you. That’s all you.

Damn right, he does.

 

✎ᝰ.

 

Chapter 5: Family

₊˚⊹

“To Family!”

When Lance was just a few years old, he did his first family cheers at the kids table. 

A bit shy but with the love of a total sunshine care bear, he didn’t know what he had to do, so he fumbled as he raised his glass in harmony with his family and mumbled the same words.

He then fell off of his chair, and Rachel laughed at him as he began to cry.

He got ice cream later, so that cheered him up very quickly. Chocolate! His favourite.

Take that, Rachel.

 

---

 

“To Family!”

When Lance got into the Garrison, his family cheered for him. He smiled, bright and wide with a white toothy grin in his chair, as they brought out ice cream cake and cheered for his success.

“Congratulations, Lance!” Marco exclaimed proudly. “Don’t terrorise your sister while you’re there.”

His Mama was so proud of him. She kissed him on the scalp and pulled him in from his right shoulder into her arms.

“Mijo, you’re such a star. Congratulations.”

Veronica came in with a bright grin, a sing-song tone, and the classic McClain brows that spoke with cheek. In her hands is a Garrison uniform, one that would fit just right. 

“Laaaance, I got your uniform today!”

Lance scanned her face in emboldened surprise, lips ajar with a big ol’ gasp, and leapt out of his chair. His family all around the dining table looked at him with such pride and joy as he ran to Veronica, grabbed her hands and pulled her into the other direction. 

“Vero, I’m trying it on!!” He turns to his family with the biggest smile. “I’ll be back!”

When he came back strutting his new uniform with sparkles in his eyes, pride in his posture and Veronica in tow, his Mama started to cry, his dad smirked with pride, and Marco, Luis, and Rachel all teared up.

“Look, he’s all grown up!” Marco teased. 

Luis laughed, “What do you mean? He’s the size of a peanut; still has more growing to do—ow!”

Rachel, understanding the gravity of his acceptance into the Garrison, smacked him on the arm and whispered harshly. “Let him have his moment, Luis!”

Lance started to tear up, but instead, anger seeped through his voice and his smile turned into a pout: “I’m not a peanut!”

His Mama agreed with his stance, “No, you’re not…” and hugged him fiercely. “You’re my beautiful mijo, and you’re gonna become a star fighter pilot.”

Lance hugs her back, and can’t help the feeling of being homesick already when he hadn’t even left Cuba yet. He cries in her arms. She cries with him.

A beautiful bonding moment between a doting mother and an adventurous son. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.”

 

---

 

A few years later, he flew out to space with his roommate, a tech wizard, a wolf-like loner, his idol and then met a space princess and her royal advisor. 

After an adventure in the Space Mall with his new paladin family, he brought home a cow named Kaltenecker and used the AI room as a paddock for her needs. 

They were able to replicate a sunny day with a field of grass, and were able to also find hay bales! They made her a shack and Lance decided this cow was his new family (next to the space mice, of course). This cow was going to traverse the universe with him—whether she liked it or not.

Her indifferent moo said she agreed.

One day, he was sitting in there with Kaltenecker and the space mice when Hunk, Pidge and Keith walked in with juice pouches. It was an unusually quiet day on the castleship, and thus, they decided to sit around Kaltenecker, share stories, play with the space mice, and drink the oddly milky juice mixture in the pouch.

Hunk is the first to chime in: “Hey, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill… but I miss my family.”

Pidge nodded, now a little downcast with a frown. “I miss my brother, my parents, my dog Bae Bae.”

“Wait, what sort of dog is it?! I love dogs.” Lance quickly dives into the conversation, hands slapping on the grass in excitement.

Unbeknownst to them, he’s an expert at pivoting away from sad topics if he needs to. If they continue down that route, he might not come back from another spiral episode.

Pidge is none the wiser and takes the pivot with grace. “She’s a pitbull terrier.” Pidge begins to use her hands to exasperate her point. “She’s got a looooong face, and an even longer stomach.”

Keith raises his brows and then smirks delightfully, a dry tease incoming. “Oh. So Lance.”

Hunk laughs, boisterous and bright, welcoming the tease with arms that hug his shaking sides and legs that spread across the grass. “Oh my gosh. Owned, Lance.”

“What—?! Keith, excuse you!” Lance yells dramatically.

Lance does notice immediately that Keith never contributed to that conversation, choosing to stay quiet. 

That’s okay. Maybe family is uncomfortable territory for him. He understands that train of thought (if that’s the case). He feels homesick every damn day up in space. He can’t talk about it without crying.

Lance looks at him like a kicked puppy and Keith concedes with a soft smile.

“My bad,” Keith pacifies, tone at ease with hands in the air. “I meant Hunk.”

Hunk laughs harder. “Oh buurrrn, Hu…” His eyes comically grow wider. “Oh wait, that’s me.”

Pidge is picking at the AI grass, lost in thought. Lance takes one look at them and decides to lift their pouch into the air.

“To Family. To our Voltron family we have here and now, the family we’ve had to leave behind, and to the family we’ll reunite with soon.”

Pidge blinks, lifts their head to look at Lance, and as tears start to swell beneath their lashes, they smile. Hunk grins at the sight. Keith is a little unsure, but he joins in anyway with a smile.

Lance can’t help but hope he can make Keith feel like family too someday.

They all collectively push their pouches together and cheer together: “To Family!”

The space mice cheer together and Kaltenecker moos.

 

---

 

Post-war. 

Reality reset, seasons change, memories stick close to home. On New Altea, the first annual dinner for Allura comes just as quick.

Coran is the first to address the table with a beautiful, soft spoken speech.

“For some of us she was a diplomat, a teacher, a leader, and a friend. But to those of us around this table, she will always be… family.”

He lifts his glass and solemnly raises it to the sky.

“To Allura…”

Around the table, Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, Keith and Lance lift their glasses in her honour. 

“To Allura.”

Later after midnight, Pidge, Hunk, Keith and Lance have a few shots after the lions flew away. Shiro, hugging them all, went to bed to rest.

As they all laid on the grass reminiscing, crying and truly knowing they just said goodbye to their lions in finality, they felt the sore, bitter feeling of a connection completely severing, and an even larger void opening in their hearts. 

Like Allura said to Hunk, the universe doesn’t need Voltron anymore. They need to rebuild on their own. It’s frankly, a real bitter pill to swallow.

Still, they had each other. 

In a rare case of dry humour, Keith chimes in: “Shiro once told me when we were stranded in our early days of Voltron—My wound’s great! It’s getting bigger all the time—I finally understand what he meant by that.”

Hunk laughs, takes a shot of his drink, and makes a choking sound. “Man, Keith, you’re killing me. That’s my third shot.”

“Work on your poker face, big guy.” Keith teases. He’s become very good at that—it’s less awkward, more fond. 

They’re playing a try not to laugh game. It was Pidge’s idea to drown their sorrows with some fun. Arguably, it’s well deserved considering they saved the universe and all. 

Lance is next.

“Allura and Coran wanted me to make them a milkshake, found out where the milk came from, and promptly floated away like ghosts.”

Pidge snorts, swears to themself (“Fuck.”) and takes a shot. Keith’s mouth wobbles, but he’s stubborn as a mule, so he saves himself. Hunk has tears falling down his cheeks, biting his lip to try and save it.

“Wait until Coran finds out milk isn’t semen.” Keith casually quips with a broad, attractive smirk and a proud, bombastic side eye.

All of them lose their cool, swear, and before they take the shot, Lance interrupts, and oh man, is he drunk.

“To Family.”

They all stop to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“To our…” he starts crying as he slurs his next words. “To our Voltron family, the Lions up above, and Allura, who we’ll reunite with someday.”

Hunk cries, Pidge sobs, and Keith stares with a smile—tears glimmering against his waterline. While the hole widens in their hearts, a glimpse of mesh carefully stitches against the wound. It’s not fully healed, not yet. But it will as time moves on.

They all raise a shot…

“To Family!”

…to their family. 

 

₊˚⊹

 

Chapter 6: Altean

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

 

“FATHER. MOTHER.”

The throne doors SLAM open, almost breaking off of their hinges and into the adjacent walls.

Prince Lance of Altea, the beautiful, bountiful ocean kingdom, bursts into the room with such a dramatic flair that it startles the guards standing next to the entrance doors and the surrounding staff sweeping dust off of their egregiously long curtains against the windows.

The King hums, light and airy—without a care in the world in the seat of his comfy, new, golden throne. “Good morning, Lance.”

“Father,” Lance strongholds in tone, strutting up to him in his royal armour and the attitude of a brazen beaver. “I cannot believe you!”

His mother lifts her hands to her lips and yawns with grace. Seeing her youngest son storm in like this, she stretches her arms upwards before intervening with a softer tone, “Honey, it is not even nine o’clock yet. What’s got you so ablazed?” 

“Wha–?!” He huffs, puffs, almost blows their thrones down with their nonchalant to his absolutely dire situation. “You both were in on this charade!”

“In on what, son?” he says, none the wiser. His father puts his elbow on the arm of his throne before resting his fist in his cheek with a pout and eyes that scream tired. 

“Oh, I don’t know, papa, how about—” Lance thrusts a handwritten letter towards the King’s face. “A debauchery of an arranged marriage?!”

His father gently lifts the letter out of his enraged hands and promptly reads: 

~~

To Her Serene Majesty, Queen Ariel of the Altean Kingdom,

May your tides remain steady and your realm ever in balance.

It is with careful thought and long counsel that I write to propose a union—not of arms, but of blood and future. The seas and the stars have long moved in parallel, and I believe the time has come for the moonlight to shift the tides as one.

In the interest of lasting peace between our great nations, I suggest a formal bond be considered between our heirs: Prince Keith of the Galran Empire and Prince Lance of Altean Kingdom .

Such a union would not only mark the end of generations of unease and tension, but forge a living symbol of trust, alliance, and mutual respect. I believe both princes, though very different in nature, may eventually come to see the strength and love in one another as they rule together across this vast universe.

If this proposal is acceptable to your court, I invite your reply so that we may begin the steps toward a brighter shared future.

In honour and flame, Emperor Kolivan

~~

The King and Queen both look at each other in mere confusion. At the same time, the gears turn in their royal crowns. Finally, both their mouths open ajar with a gasp. Nodding, they both finally understand what’s going on. 

“Oh, that was tomorrow, wasn’t it?” His mother chimes in.

“Ooooh, yes, indeed, I forgot about that.” His father concurs nervously. 

Lance is about to burst a royal blood vessel as he snatches it from his father’s hands and throws the letter on the ground in retaliation. “Forgot what?! A whole marriage on the table for your son that apparently nobody wanted to tell me about?!”

His parents look at eachother, turn to him, and sigh deeply. Here we go.

“Yes, well…” The King starts, however, the Queen continues, “…we weren’t sure how to tell you, dearest. It was arranged a few months ago.” 

Lance gasps in the sheer audacity. “A few months ago?!”

She weakly tries to jest, “Surprise…?” 

The prince’s gaze sours more than rotten grapes in a wine barrel.

“Honey, let’s not.” The King whispers towards her. 

The Queen winces, hands up in surrender. “Apologies, my love, I was just trying to razzle dazzle the mood.”

Utterly betrayed, the victimised prince’s jaw tightens. He paces the throne room floor like a caged lion, eyes wild with disbelief. “So you were just going to spring it on me the day before coronation? ‘Hello, son, here’s your future spouse. Hope you like surprises!’”

The Queen twitches, but she doesn’t back down, crossing her arms in a huff. “Well… not like that, however, you were never meant to find out like this.” 

“Because that makes it better!” Lance lifts his head and hands to the ceiling and pleads to the universe.

The King clears his throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s not just any marriage, Lance. It’s a bond that could unify two entire kingdoms. End centuries of tension. You know how fragile things are with Altea and the Galran empire.”

Lance stops, turning slowly to face them, his voice pushing through like a lethal dose of poison. “Altea? Galra…? And what about me?! Do I matter to you in this debauchery of a diplomatic performance?”

The Queen sits up out of her throne and walks forward towards her betrayed son. “Of course you matter. But this isn’t just about love, Lance—it’s about duty. Securing peace between nations. We’ve raised you to be a fine man, but you’re heir to the Ocean Kingdom of Altea now. You have responsibilities you must abide by.”

Lance scoffs bitterly. “You mean I have to be miserable with some sad sack of a prince for the sake of the realm? You could’ve arranged me with a beautiful royal princess, but instead you hand me on a platter to some… some Galran prince…?!”

“Now, now.” the King says firmly from his seat. “You have to choose who to rule with and how you’ll serve the realm. That’s what we didn’t tell you—because it was supposed to be your decision.”

Lance stares unamused, eyes ablaze once more.

The King wavers in thought, “We also considered this carefully. He–He is also half Galra, like you, son! Except, you’re half Altean; not Galran. So… there’s that.”

The Prince quips his eyebrow up, still unamused—the embers in his eyes airing into flames of spite and anger. 

Respectfully, the King sighs and gives up. He looks to his Queen for help. She takes the cue, walks over to her son, and holds Lance’s shaking hands in her fragile palms.

“My beautiful, sweet, baby boy…” 

Oh no, she’s unsheathing all of the tactics, he thinks with the biggest internal groan known to mankind as the kingdom knows it. 

“Prince Keith is a lovely prince from what we know of him. He’ll be here tomorrow to meet you during the coronation. You still have a choice in this.” His mother yearns, pleads for his understanding. 

He doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. 

Nobilities and diplomatic tensions are on the line, and he is the heir of the throne.

Still, he tries to bargain. 

“Mother, I–”

“Please? Just meet him, that’s all we ask.” His mother pleads, warm and tender. “We trust in your decision.”

His eyes tear up, the marks on his cheeks blooming in blues, and he sighs in defeat. He agrees with a nod, very, very reluctantly with a nervous smile. 

“Thank you, my sweet baby boy.” His mother smiles, blinding and bright. Beside her, his father beams at him proudly for agreeing.

He groans internally once more.

What in the world did he get himself into?

 

｡˚○

 

Sweet mother of pearl. 

His heart drops when their eyes lock from across the middle of the empty ballroom. 

Violins play on his heart strings. Roses bloom around his line of vision. Thunder strikes his achy heart. Ocean tides meet moonlight eyes, and the prince feels so, so shy. He feels a push on his back from the King, forcing him to step closer towards the middle of the room as the prince steps forward from the other side. 

He is in shambles. 

“Lance? This is Prince Keith from the Galran Empire.” His father introduces with a firmness only royalty could muster.

In front of him is the half Galran Prince himself—dazzling and attractive with sand-toned skin, a scar the size of Cuba on his right cheek, the most gorgeous pair of platinum eyes, a thick mane of raven hair that fell just above his shoulders. He bears Galran Royal attire and arrests his heart in purple, reds and golds embellished in every stitch of his outfit. Across his waist is a blade, sheathed away over his midnight skin-tight leg garments. Even lower then, he wears black boots with red, gold, and white enstitchment and panels.

Behind him is Emperor Kolivan and Empress Krolia from the Galran Empire. 

He blinks, waits, as the shock unfolds and turns into a tangible look of—

“Hello.” The prince speaks indifferently.

Oh nooo, that voice. It's rustic, rough, and a husky blaze of fury on his heart. His stare is egregiously intense but one that’s kind.

“Hi-He-Hah!” What in the stars? His father nudges him on the back to continue. “Oh! Good… Good day. I am Prince Lance of Altea.” He greets, bows a little embarrassed. The Prince opposite to him smiles in his direction with a glint in his eye. Heaven almighty.

“Hi.” Krolia behind Prince Keith gives a deadpan look at the little reaction her son is giving. Fortunately, Keith can sense his mother’s objections from a mile away and corrects himself. “I-It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Introduce yourself.” Emperor Kolivan demands, straight to the point.

“But the King already—“

“Keith.” Empress Krolia chimes in, and that’s enough to stop his complaints in his tracks.

Narrowing his eyes to the floor, he pulls out his most diplomatic voice that sounds so forced, it feels like a cat scratching on a chalkboard. “I am Prince Keith of the Galra Empire. It is an honour to meet you. I look forward… to…” he sighs. “Our union.”

Lance lifts his head and the hearts in his eyes snap in half in an instant. 

Does he… not want to be married to him?

Why does this always happen? Anytime he’s interested, the other party is never interested. 

He feels his eye twitch, the sweeping feeling of disappointment and a rush of realisation blazes through his bloodstream, sinking perilously deeper into the shores of his body. 

He wasn’t ever going to be this brute of a Prince’s first choice. 

Truly, it cuts deeper than any physical wound ever could. In turn, he responds, low and frightening, with the grace of a diplomatic, political mess.

“I’m sorry, am I not what you were expecting?”

"What?" Prince Keith says in surprise. In his finest graces, corrects himself (a little too late). “No, I…”

“I’ll have you know I have SO many suitors who would want a piece of this marble, and I’ve activated MANY a particle barrier.”

Keith’s eyes bulge out of his head in shock. The Emperor and Empress behind him share a look of pure astonishment.

The King puts a hand on his shoulder, the Queen disapprovingly looks at her son from behind him. Ignoring both of them, he continues spiralling with disdain.

“Do you understand that I will never, ever be someone’s second choice, and within a mere five doboshes, you’ve already made me feel like the lacklustre option in the room you’re just settling for?”

Keith shoots him a wary look and tries to defend himself. “Hold on, that’s not why—“

Prince Lance marches right up to his attractive face, his glare delivering the bountiful flames of Kral Zera on a platter for breakfast. “What? Just because you’re a Prince from another Kingdom does not ever make you better than me.”

“I never said—“

“I can’t believe you!” His voice becomes uncouth and shrill. “Day one and you’ve already offended me like this?!”

“Lance.” His mother stresses behind him. “Enough.”

He stops, suddenly catching himself breathing heavily. He pouts, steps back and stands to attention, tears shimmering across his waterline. 

“I’m… I’m going to my chambers. I’ll be back for lunch. If you’ll excuse me.” 

And with that, he storms off. He can’t help the feeling of being gravely misunderstood by everyone in the room.

How humiliating.

As he storms his way out of the empty ballroom. Keith blinks in the awkward silence. And then, curiously, a small grin grows on his face. 

Suddenly, hearts wake beneath his eyes and he feels a way he's never felt before: lovestruck. He feels a fire beneath his skin and hears love songs ringing in his ears.

While this isn’t what he was expecting at all, he’s suddenly incredibly grateful for the arrangement. His eyes glimmer in delight. 

Lance is fiery, strong-minded, stubborn, emotionally open, doesn't put up with anyone’s misdemeanours (including his own unintentional transgressions) and commands the attention of the room so easily and effectively?

He’s not afraid to disturb the peace or put him in his place? He wants to be someone’s first, and assumptively, their only choice?

Unintentionally, he crossed off every note on his scrolls. How refreshing.

Heaven almighty. 

What a man.

His lovesick thoughts are interrupted by the King apologising deeply to the three of them. “My deepest apologies. Truthfully, he hasn’t taken the news well and I think is just lashing out. Please excuse his behaviour, we will correct him accordingly.”

The Prince intervenes immediately. “No, I apologise for offending your son. That was never my intention.” He bows, ever the polite Prince as he addresses the stunned King and Queen.

“I would tremendously appreciate the honour of courting your son. I will do my very best to prove our alliance shall bear fruit.”

Empress Krolia and Emperor Kolivan bow as well, smiling just as politely and proudly behind him with the grace of royalty.

“You’re… you’re not mad?” The King, dazed and confused by the turn of events, queries to the subunit of Galran royalty.

“Au contraire, my son has made his decision.” The Empress states directly, a tinge of amusement. “How about we all sit down with some tea and discuss the details?”

The Queen jumps with Royal joy and shakes the Empress’ hand. “It would be an honour, your highness.”

“Please,” Krolia smiles affectionately. “Call me Krolia.”

Kolivan stands with pride, stepping beside his step-son and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Keith, why don’t you ask one of the staff to take you to the Prince?”

Keith beams, taking both the King and Queen’s hands and kissing the back of each hand.

“It is an honour to make your acquaintance, your majesties. I’ll do my very best to turn it around.”

 

｡˚○

 

In his chambers, he lays face up on his bed in embarrassment. He rolls over and screams into his pillow. 

Arranged?! Arrange his execution at the closest hour at hand.

He was so stupid for ever thinking for a tick that this could ever work out. 

 

 

Notes:

Plot twist: It does work out... eventually.

Chapter 7: Pilot

ᯓ ✈︎

 

“...Kyuun, kyuun! Kyuun, kyuun! Boyfriend or Lover, he is my pilot…”

For some reason, since entering the peace era post-war, there have been a mass culmination of songs on the radio that emulate the themes of pilots, going to war, love.

It feels very strange to Lance considering the radio only really had love songs, party songs even, before they had flown to space in the blue lion.

They’re not bad songs, but…

“...He glitters bright as he nosedives! He revs his engine and does a steep climb…”

Some of them are a bit too on the nose.

“...I love you, he loves me! But he melts more for his jet plane than me…”

He switches the radio station channel. Lance continues washing his dishes as another song echoes into the air of the kitchen.

“...Pay me no mind, I'm just a pilot roaming. Look to the sky, you'll see a pilot soaring…”

He gives the benefit of the doubt, and tries one more time.

“...my baby is soaring, gliding—only him and I!”

He turns it off. 

Nope. That’s enough.

Lance dries his hands with a kitchen towel and leans against the counter, staring at the blank radio with a frustrated frown. The silence is almost jarring after the relentless barrage of synth-pop ballads featuring heartbroken co-pilots and metaphor-laced dogfights over doomed romances.

Look, it’s not like he hates the songs. God, no. Not at all. Some of them are catchy.

But they throw him off-kilter; they all paint this weird, overly glamorous version of what being a pilot is like.

If he’s honest, he guesses he believed that too, once. He was sold the dream—a younger Lance, practically vibrating with excitement when he got accepted into the Garrison, the elite school where you trained to fight for the universe. 

Kind of… crazy, now that he really thinks about it.

He was a kid.

And none of these singers in their glossy, white-glowy music videos and bedazzled outfits know what that actually feels like. 

What it’s like to lose someone in the silence between the stars. To hear your comms go dead mid-sentence. To shout out your every move into an empty channel, waiting for a response.

Lance stares out the kitchen window. The garden is still. The little wind spinner shaped like the Red Lion—Nadia made it for him at school—lazily spins in the wind.

He’s home.

He should be enjoying it.

As screwed up as it is… he misses it. He misses flying the Lions. Misses the adrenaline, the mission calls, the quiet camaraderie with everyone, hell, even the sheer ridiculousness of riding a cow through the space mall with the family he found along the way.

“Lance?” Veronica calls from the hallway.

“Yeah,” he answers, instantly lifting the corners of his mouth into a foreboding, practiced smile. “Come in.”

She steps into the kitchen with a small smile and a large basket of fruit. “Hey! I got these at the farmer’s market—strawberries, oranges, grapes—all so cheap!” She pauses mid-step, her eyes flicking to the silent radio, then to Lance, who’s barefaced and too casual for a guy trying to bide their time within a peaceful, sunny afternoon.

“…Another pilot anthem?”

“Two in a row,” Lance mutters, tossing the towel onto the counter. “One of them was titled My Boyfriend is a Pilot.”

Veronica snorts, catching the bitterness beneath his usual bravado. She watches him for a moment, then softens. “Does it… bother you? More than just being a little cringy?”

Lance stills. Hesitates. 

Then, quietly, “Yeah. Kinda.”

She nods, not pushing. She just moves around the kitchen, unpacking fruit, letting the silence settle between them like a guest who doesn’t need much entertainment.

If he’s honest? Lance dislikes how all these new songs romanticize the war they barely survived through. Heartbreaks over lovers who became pilots like they were left at the airport of romantic movies. Mournful songs about vapor waves in the air reminding them of a long lost love. 

It’s as if none of the actual horror of the war had ever happened. 

The worst part? No one seems to notice. 

Or maybe… they just don’t care. 

They dance in clubs to lyrics about ejecting from love, make viral videos to songs with titles like Missile Lock My Heart. It’s surreal, and honestly, more than a little exhausting.

In a strange way, he wants to go back to his astral plane, find his inner child, and tell him how cool and awesome he is, how he became a fighter pilot, and even better, became a saviour of the universe piloting his favourite animal in robot form—a lion. 

He wants to hug him and tell him everything will be okay. That it’s brave and so strong of him to be homesick sometimes in the library and cry.

He wants to protect him from the horrors of the impending war that will sweep him away from Earth, his family, and how he’s bound to protect the universe.

He wants to tell him to not follow his dreams. Maybe, to study and become a teacher instead.

But he can’t.

He can’t.

As much as he wants to erase the horrible memories, he also wants to hold them in the palm of his head and cradle each fragment like a precious star in his arms. Like Keith once did with him, breathless and desperate, as he ran through the castle with him in his arms and the team in tow to get him quickly into a healing pod.

He had a lot of fun up there—despite the universe trying to kill him every step of the way.

He wants to see his friends.

Yeah.

“Veronica?” He calls her name. She turns to him, surprised at the sudden mention. “Yeah?”

“I’m going out,” Lance walks away towards the hallway and marches up the stairs to his room to get ready. “Lunch plans.”

He doesn’t have lunch plans. She knows it too. 

But she also knows her brother—he needs time to reflect; to spontaneously see people. Veronica grabs out her phone and calls the one person who may be able to help.

“...Hello? Hunk speaking.”

“Hey Hunk, it’s Veronica.”

“Heeeeeey Vero! How are you?”

“I’m good! Hope you’re well. Hey, look, I know Lance has probably texted either you, Pidge, or Keith to hang out tonight, but keep an eye on him, okay?”

“Gosh, you have impeccable timing. How did you know?”

“Easy. I’m his sister.” Veronica smiles into the phone. She’s very thankful he has the greatest of friends by his side. “Thanks, Hunk. I owe you one.”

“No problem! I’ll let the others know, too.”

“Thanks Hunk. Ciao.” She hangs up with a smile. When she hears his bedroom door close upstairs, she hums to herself and silently turns on the radio.

“...Zero-G love! Zero-G love! Four, three, two, one!”

She turns it off. 

Nope. That’s enough.

“Man, he wasn’t kidding.” She mumbles to herself with a furrowed brow. Veronica looks down at the counter where the towel lays and sighs deeply.  

You know. She doesn’t know what it is. Maybe, lady’s intuition? But, it’s not going to be very long before he flies again. She feels it in her blood. 

He was never made to stay in one place for long. Much like another paladin. 

Ding! 

Speaking of which. She looks at her phone, and once again, her intuition is correct as a text appears on her phone screen.

Keith: Is everything okay? 

She grabs her phone, flicks it open and presses the call button. While she waits, she stares out the kitchen window—the little wind spinner shaped like the Red Lion lazily spins in the wind.

Yeah. It won’t be long at all before he’s a pilot in the universe again.

 

ᯓ ✈︎

 

Chapter 8: Anxiety

Summary:

Lance comforts Nadia through her first ever anxiety attack, right before her ballet recital post-war.

CW: Nadia has a small anxiety attack. Nothing major, but wanted to give the warning / heads up in case readers may want to skip today's prompt.

𝜗ৎ

 

It’s the first time Lance has ever seen his niece this quiet.

Nadia stands in the wings of the stage, her tiny pink slippers motionless on the polished wooden floor, the satin ribbons around her ankles trembling with the force of her shallow breaths. She's nine years old (ten in a week), all limbs and wide brown eyes, her thinner pigtails pulled back into a tight bun that somehow made her look even smaller in stature.

The other girls whisper excitedly, adjusting their tutus, the soft rustle of tulle brushing over the murmurs of the growing audience, including her parents—her brother Luis and his sister-in-law Lisa—and her beyond proud older brother Silvio, all in their seats beyond the curtain. 

But Nadia just stands there, hands clenched, shoulders high and stiff, soothing herself with her thumbs against her index fingers.

Lance crouches beside her, his tone soft, almost joking in tone.

“Stage fright, Nadia? You definitely did not get that from me. Must be from your silly dad, huh?”

She didn’t laugh. Her throat bobs as she swallows, breathing shallow, her voice barely a whisper above the noise.

“Uncle Lance… I c-can’t breathe.”

His smile vanishes.

He knows what this is—heck, he felt this before many times over the course of the war. 

In the cockpit of Red Lion, in the Garrison days, in the silence of his bed after the war was over and the galaxy was safe but his chest still felt like it was caving in. 

Cradled in the arms of his space ranger partner, heaving breaths against soothing sounds and comforting words. 

Lance…? Hey, hey, it’s okay, hang on. 

God, I-I’m so sorry.

No, no, you’re fine, you’re okay. Lance, breathe with me. 

Anxiety. 

Fear. 

The body was convinced that something terrible was about to happen even when everything was fine. 

The war was tough on Nadia and Silvio. They were only kids, adapting quickly to the circumstances beyond their control. While they do go to therapy every month, the after effects of the war tends to catch up to them. It wasn’t that long ago either, nor was it kind to either of them; two children living through the rubble of some intergalactic war they never asked for. 

He thinks this might be one of those times.

“Okay,” he said, voice steady but low. He knelt fully down now, so they were eye to eye, glistening tears to firm blues. 

“Okay. Look at me, Nadia. Just me. Forget the lights, forget the people, forget it all. It’s just me and you.”

She blinks, her lips parting, struggling to breathe as if she was still trying to catch the words stuck in her throat like toffee.

“I c-can’t—my h-heart, it's—”

“It’s beating fast, right?” he gently says, taking her little hands and unclenching each small fist with love and care.

“But it’s just doing its job. It thinks you’re in danger, so it’s revving up like a fighter jet. But you know what your Uncle is an expert in?”

“W-What?”

“Threading the needle,” he says with soft confidence, a breath of a whisper just for her little ears to hear. His smile curves into the smallest of smirks, the smallest of cat smiles. One that says, we got this in the bag, my love. “So, we’re gonna nail the landing together. Okay?”

She nodded, eyes brimming; wavering.

“You trust me, right?” He nudges.

“Y-yeah.” She nods.

“Good. Then follow my lead.” 

He breathes in deeply, cheeks puffed and over-exaggerated; a breath he used to take when Shiro was about to tell him off for instigating an argument with Keith in their lions mid-battle.

He holds it. Then slowly lets it out.

“Try it, okay?” Lance prods. “Just one.”

She copies him, shaky at first, but she does it.

Then they do another. And then another. And then one more. 

He puts a hand on her heart and feels the quick pace of her heartbeats steadily slow in rhythm to their breaths.

And then, her chest slows down; stops fluttering around like a trapped bird in a locked cage. 

He gives her another minute to think, to conquer the white noise echoing in her bright mind. She’s so, so good, and he feels an inkling of sadness knowing anxiety caught her for a hot minute. 

She’s way too young to feel this way, he thinks underneath the mask of a smile on his face.

Way too young. 

When he dares to speak again, his voice is warm like sunlight. 

“Nads, do you remember that night we watched the stars from the roof with Silvio? You told me the sky made you feel small, but in a good way. You said it was like being part of something big and beautiful.”

Nadia nods again, slower this time; coming back to him one breath at a time.

“Well, that’s what this is too. Dancing. Performing. It’s not about being perfect or doing every pirouette right. It’s about showing people your heart. And your heart, Nadia? It’s mighty big, enough to fit a whole galaxy of people in there.”

Her smile was small, fragile, faint... but thankfully, still there.

“You don’t have to be fearless,” Lance whispers, brushing a stray baby hair back against her perfectly still, slicked back hair and tucks it underneath a pocket within her hair. “You just have to be brave. And you most certainly are, mi vida.”

The stagehand gives the signal.

Her ballet group is up.

Lance stands and pulls her up gently with his hand. She trembles, almost tripping in the process, but she doesn’t trip. 

See? A star in the making. 

“Go show them the stars, prima ballerina.” He beams in her direction with a wide smile filled with affection and pride. “I love you, okay? You got this.”

Nadia looks to her Uncle before she fiercely, boldly hugs him tight. She then steps out into the light, chest still rising and falling, and yet, no longer trembling. 

In fact, she bears a soft smile brimming with surefire confidence.

And as the music begins for Swan Lake, and as her body moves in time to the chords, Lance watches quietly from the sidelines, the slight ache in his heart replaced by the profound feeling of pride.

She charts a map of stars to the audience with every plié, every kick, and every twist and turn of her young body.

He wipes away a stray tear as he watches her perform. To him, there’s a symbol of hope in the aftermath.

And it looks like his little navigator of a niece, dancing away on stage as she heals in the afterglow. 

His starlit niece. 

𝜗ৎ

 

Chapter 9: Star of the Show

✎✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

 

“Class, we have a very exciting guest for the end of the day.”

Ms. Montgomery’s voice called attention as she leaned in front of her desk with a sing-song, lilting excitement that teachers used when they were about to announce a surprise party, maybe some pizza, or maybe when they’re about to pull down the projector so the class could watch a movie. 

Twenty-seven fourth-graders turned as one toward the door—some with a yawn, some out of curiosity. One kid tapped their pencil on their desk, and another scratched their face in boredom. 

“He’s veeeery famous across the universe.”

The room filled with gasps and curious whispers. Eyes widened. Some kids sat up straighter, others whispering amongst each other in confusion. 

That caught their attention. 

“Who do you think it is?” 

“Maybe it’s an actor, or a singer!”

“What if it’s Bi Boh Bii?! I love that show!”

She walked towards the door with a breath of laughter. “Okay, everyone. Let’s be nice.” Ms. Montgomery said, brimmed with anticipatory glee as she slid the door open. 

“Now, say hello to…”

Lance McClain stepped in—tall, handsome, and relaxed with a familiar lopsided grin—looking only slightly out of place in his Blade of Marmora uniform amongst the paper stars with everyone’s names propped up against the wall, the whiteboard upon pristine, white walls, and the wooden desks lined up in rows in front of them. 

“Lance McClain! Former Voltron paladin and leader of the newly reformed Blade of Marmora.”

He gave a casual wave with a coy, cat-like smile. “Hey there, room 4B.”

A bright collection of gasps and woah’s echo out through the classroom. The one kid that was tapping their pencil dropped it on the desk, mouth ajar in shock. It rolls to the ground in the brisk silence. 

“Sorry if I look a little rusty, my hair is a mess , folks.” he jokes, some kids chuckling at his worn apology. “I’ve only returned from a restoration mission about an hour ago. My bad.”

“That’s Juni’s dad! Oh my gosh, he was in Voltron!” One kid whispered loudly, like it was a secret you only shouted across a lunch table.

Juniper, his lovely little cherub of joy, practically bounced out of her seat in pride with a big ‘ol smile. 

Lance chuckled and sent her a wink before turning to the class. “It's true! I used to fly a giant robot lion in space. It's a... strange résumé builder, I can tell you that much.”

“What’s a resume?”

“I don’t know, but I want one if he’s got one!”

“He looks like an action figure–!!”

“Class,” Ms. Montgomery claps her hands together. Lance looks at her with crescent moon eyes and a glimpse of excitement, almost like a cheeky cat. “Mr. McClain is here today to tell us stories from his time in Voltron, and what he does now. Now, say, welcome, Lance, bright and loud—everybody ready?”

They all take a deep breath, pause, and then excitedly cheer: “Welcome, Lance!”

He blushed with laughter, bright and boisterous. “Hello, everyone! It’s nice to meet you all.”

The excitement quickly grew within the classroom. An eruption of children descend into the kind of chaos only adolescent children can generate; hands flailing in the air, overlapping questions, hands raised, and a chorus of questions such as, 

“How do you keep your hair clean?!”

“Can you shoot lasers right now ?”

“Why was your lion red… ? Did they have purple?”

Lance laughed, hands raised in surrender. “One at a time! I promise, I’ll answer everything. But first, let me tell you a little bit about what we did as paladins, shall we?”

As he spoke, the class settled—entranced at his every word, movement, and gesture. He told them about Blue Lion, how it flew them out of space, how it felt like riding the wind inside the tornado that lifted the house in the Wizard of Oz . He told them about learning to work together as a team, his found family, the mind-melding, visiting new planets, and most importantly—becoming part of something much bigger and greater than he ever imagined. 

He glossed over the scarier parts—the near-deaths, the quiet grief and losses along the way—these children didn’t need to know that. He softened the edges of every page in his storytelling and turned each story into an imaginative children’s book filled with wonder and delight.

Throughout the lesson, all of the kids were eating up every single word he spoke.

All but one.

Near the window sat a small boy, palm on his cheek with a mop of dark curls, not paying attention and detached from the world, staring out at the playground outside like it held some form of magic; one that could make him fly away from here, out into the ever growing galaxy instead of the classroom.

Lance’s gaze kept circling back to him. However, they curled away from the world, everyone and everything, and refused to look his way.

It intrigued him.

He pocketed that information for later.

When the questions started up again, he fielded them like a pro. He sends a mind full of thanks to Coran for his incredible, intergalactic PR training and diplomacy skills.

One kid chimed in: “Did you die…?!”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” He jokes with him, shooting him with his classic finger guns. 

Another raised their hand and shouted: “Have you met Bi Boh Bii, the famous actor?!”

“I have! In fact…” he grabbed his datapad out with a cocky grin and showed a photo of him and Bi Boh Bii together. “I have them on speed dial .” 

The gasp he received elated him greatly. 

“Why Lions?” Another kid promptly said before raising their hands, mouth responding before their little body could coordinate.

“Well… Princess Allura is the Lion Goddess.”

“But why?”

Ah, one of those kids. Why ? At every corner.

This question, however, he was not prepared for to be quite honest. He thinks about this one a lot, actually—why were Lions such prominent figures? Why were they chosen? Did Alfor know about Earth? Did they have Lions in Ancient Altea too? 

Hm. Food for thought. 

“That’s a really good question. I really wish I knew. What I can tell you is that when we found the cavern with carvings in the wall, there were Lions—that’s how we found Blue.” Looking around the room, he points at a little girl in the back with her hand politely raised. “Ah! You.”

A little girl with her hand raised, timid and listening intently, points at herself as if to question, “Me…?”

He smiles at her graciously. “You’ve been very well-mannered, honey. Thank you for waiting.”

“Oh.” She twiddled her fingers together and looked away.

“What was your question, sweetheart?”

She staggered in her speech, blushing a tinge at being noticed by her hero. “I… I, um.”

Ms. Montgomery leaned over to his ear, “She’s always been a little shy.” 

He nodded, acknowledging her advice and taking it on board with stride. He walked over to her, the class eyeing his every move as he kneeled down in front of her, his ear out and ready to listen. “Did you want to whisper it instead?” He suggested, lowering his voice.

She nodded gratefully, almost frantically, before leaning into his ear to whisper: “H-How, how did you, how did you pilot two Lions?”

He nodded back, listening very intentionally before responding in kind. “Great question!” Lance leaned over, hand out to cover her little ear and let her in on a little secret: 

“What if I told you… I also piloted black too?”

She softly gasps, covering her mouth, stunned and in shock while the class watches on in silence. She whispered back in his ear, hands both enclosed against his, ensuring they’re covered from anyone hearing on all fronts: “ Three ?”

He leaned away with a coy smile, winked at her, and extended his pinky. “I’m about to show you something very cool, okay? But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone what I just told you.” She nodded, extending her shaky pinky out in return. 

“Now this?” He pointed to his pinky with his other hand. “ This is a paladin’s promise. Once you take my pinky, this is a sacred bond forged between paladins.”

She blinked at him in awe. “I-I can be a paladin…?”

“ Anyone can become a paladin. Being a paladin comes from the heart; not cool suits and flying Lions.” He laughed confidently, “If I can do it, anybody can, right? I was just a boy from Cuba!”

He linked their pinkies together—a symbol of forged comradery between a blade leader and a little girl in awe. “Once we meld these two fingers together and shake on it… you become a paladin too. Okay?”

“Like the TV show?”

“Even better—a real paladin.”

She excitedly nodded, but before they shake on it, he interrupts: “But, you have to promise you won’t tell a soul about what I just told you. It’s between you and I. Paladin’s promise. Okay?”

“P-Paladin’s promise.” She shakily said, pushing their pinkies down together. He smiled graciously and thanked her—eye to eye; not as shy anymore—as her confidence grew by the second.  

He asked for her name. Spent another few minutes with her. 

Rosie. She’s nine and her favourite animal is a Meerkat. She also likes seafood and loves her cat, Mr. Mittens, the third. It’s very important to remember the third part of their name, she noted explicitly. He laughs, agrees— extremely important , he repeated to her in the softest voice. She giggles too, coming out of her shell a little. 

He stood up, clapped once to demand the attention of the room, and declared boldly, brightly to the class: “Your classmate Rosie just became a paladin, everyone!”

A mixture of ‘Huh?!’ ‘What!?’ and ‘No way!!’ all echo through the room. 

One of her classmates almost blew a casket: “Why Rosie?!”

Rosie’s doe eyes grow two sizes too big, just as shocked by this earth shattering turn of events; almost as big as Lance’s heart felt talking to her. 

“Because! Paladins, most importantly, have heart—and Miss Rosie over here, is a fine example of it.” He hummed to himself with mirth before he leaned against the front of the desk. “We had a little bonding moment.”

A young boy, perhaps three apples tall, raised his hand and impatiently yelled, “Oh! Oh! I have a question!”

“Marcus.” Ms. Montgomery glanced in his direction in disapproval. Lance laughed at his excitement, “It’s fine, what’s up, eager beaver?”

“What do you do now in the Blade? Are you a ninja space warrior like in the tv show?!”

Another kid gasps with the most dramatic “Oh my GOSH!” Lance has probably ever heard in his life.

“The Blades are SO cool!!”

He loves this class. They’re so much fun. 

“And what if I told you, the answer was yes?” He chuckled, arms crossing over his chest with a cute smile. “I co-lead the Blade of Marmora, a humanitarian group that has recently been integrated alongside the coalition. We deliver relief supplies, plan and strategise team restoration missions, send doctors to underprivileged locations, and ensure the safety of many citizens across the universe.”

One kid in the middle—she has the coolest microbraids, beautiful ebony skin, and bright ruby eyes—raised her hand politely. He nodded in her direction and responded just as kindly. “What’s your name?”

“Jade.”

“What a pretty name! What’s your question?”

“Does that mean you help people?”

Oh right, he is talking with ten year olds. Maybe he went too technical with it. 

A little embarrassed, he chuckled with mirth, eyes squinted and lifted like crescent moons in delight.

“I sure do, with the ever growing mullet that is my co-leader… Keith Kogane .”

Some of the class gasps. One girl blatantly whispers to her friend in front of him, “My mom has a poster of Mr. Kogane from the cologne ad!”

Juniper, in the back of the room, smiles so brightly. The pride she sends his way is enough to feed Lance for many years to come.

“He’s my space ranger partner—wherever he goes, I do too. We’ve been through a lifetime together in a few years…” he stated, more fondly than he intended to let out. He continued with a toothy grin, “…and yes, we are space ninja warriors. Just like the tv show.”

Marcus slammed his palms onto his desk in cheer. “I KNEW IT.”

He looked around the class, noticing he’s grabbed the attention from the inattentive kid from earlier. The kid noticed he was caught, blushed, and looked out the window again muttering to himself. 

Lance decided to take the initiative and walked to him. He kneeled down, hands on his lap, and asked him a bold question: “What’s your name?”

“Nunya.”

“Nunya who?”

“Nunya business .”

His snarky response blows a laugh right out of his throat. The kid turned to him, curls bouncing along the way, and stared at him with a deadly glare. 

Oh, this kid was funny .

“Wanna hear a joke?”

“No.”

“That’s fair. You seem funnier anyway, my jokes are terrible.”

His glare falters, and yet, his posture stiffened like a threatened cat. 

“Did you know one time, Keith tried to fight an Arusian, because in quote, ‘he was their bravest warrior?’ ”

His posture goes from stiff to shrinking, lowered shoulders and a look of pure astonishment. His surprise and confusion gives up the fight to combat Lance entirely.

“…Aren’t Arusians the size of a peanut ?”

Oh, he likes this kid. He’s like a blend of angsty, baby Keith and Lance’s young quips combined.

“Yeah, but size doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. You can be small and still have a mighty impact on the people who love you.”

Just as quickly, the kid’s face falls. He turned back to the window with a hot glare and an uninterested look once more. 

Still, he did get a response, albeit a muffled one from behind the tiny hand covering his cheek and mouth. “Mhmm.”

He pocketed that for later, too. 

He stood up and glanced around the room, commanding their attention from every corner. “The truth is, being a hero isn’t always about flying a lion or fighting in space. No, sometimes, it’s just about being yourself. You don’t need to be a paladin for that.”

A beat of silence. Then a small, chipmunk-like voice asked quietly, “...But flying a lion is really cool, right?”

Lance laughed. “Oh, absolutely.”

When the final bell rang, the class swarmed him—shouting thanks, hugging his legs, and asking if he could come back every week. Juniper beamed like her chest couldn’t hold her pride. 

Lance caught the inattentive boy slipping out with the rest of them, and their eyes met just for a moment. The boy gave him a tiny wave. Lance returned it.

“So, Ms. Montgomery–”

“Please, call me Lauren.” She smiled, cleaning the whiteboard as the silence echoed throughout the near empty classroom.

“Lauren,” he politely corrected himself. “Who is that young boy that was staring out the window? He was a hoot.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. His name is Aaron. He’s had…” She paused, thinking about how to respond. “I can’t say much about it, but he’s had a rough life. He’s in foster care at the moment.”

…Interesting…

Once more, he pocketed that information for later. 

Outside, Juniper waited patiently, scuffing her shoes on the ground as she slipped her backpack on. When her Papa came out of the classroom, she ran—skipped even—to him and extended her arms out in glee. “Papa!” He grabbed her, swung her around as she shrieked in delight, and held her in his arms. 

“Junibear! Was I cool today?” Lance asked with a wide tooth grin. 

“You’re always cool, Papa.” She said, muffled in his shoulder, hugging him so tight, while she reaffirmed his confidence with glee.

“D’awww.” He coo’ed, a warm blush filling his cheeks. “You got that right, Juni.”

He spun her around again before walking down the emptier hallways.

“Let’s go home, mi vida.”

✎✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

The kitchen was cozy, warm with the scent of spices and roasted vegetables. Lance sat at the table beside Juniper, twirling saucy pasta onto his fork. Across from him, Keith leaned back in his chair, sipping from a glass of water, watching the other two with mirth and quiet attention.

Juniper had been recounting her day in between bites of spaghetti, nearly bouncing in her seat.

“—and then Papa spun me twice in the hallway,” she giggled, holding up two fingers for dramatic effect, “and then, I almost dropped my backpack but I caught it, like this —” she mimed a dramatic swoop with her arms.

Keith grinned, warm under the reflections of purple in his sharp eyes. “Wow.”

“You proud of me, hubby man?” Lance asked, confident, and yet seeking that much needed assurance and validation he craves like no other.

Reading him like a storybook, Keith grinned wider at his eccentric husband. 

“Of course. You were the star of the show.”

Juniper giggled. “He even got through to Aaron.”

Lance blinked at her, a little surprised. “...You think so?”

Juniper nodded seriously, twirling a piece of spaghetti around her fork with both hands, not quite getting the specific piece of spaghetti she wanted (but she still tried, bless her heart). “He was watching you a lot, Papa.”

“Who’s Aaron?” Keith queried.

“Aaron is my classmate.” Juniper finally grabbed the slippery piece, but it fell off of her fork just as quickly. Pouting in defeat, she continued casually with a tinge of sadness towards her classmate. “He doesn’t really talk very much.”

Keith leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, gaze shifting to Lance. “You really got to him, huh?”

Lance turned his gaze to him, moonlit eyes to wavering blues, and sighed, unsure of their reassuring words. “I don’t know. At least, I hope so. He was barely paying attention—kept looking out the window instead of the lesson, but I tried. According to Ms. Montgomery, he’s in foster care.”

“Oh,” A flash of memory popped into Keith’s mind—of him staring out the window back in school, trying not to pay attention to Shiro in the same way. 

“It’s funny, he kind of reminds me of…” Lance paused in his own words, hesitant. Keith’s eyes sharpened at his pause, noticing his posture still instantly. Lance, still unsure, persisted anyway in his statement. “Well, kind of a mix of us, actually. He had your angst and some sharp wit to him when I carved through the cracks.”

Keith was quiet, listening, thoughtful when he hummed in acknowledgement. “You did good today,” he said. “You saw someone who needed to be seen. That probably really mattered to him.”

Lance’s mind drifted off, collapsing in his thoughts a little but masked over with a neutral expression. 

Thankfully, Keith knows him all too well.

“You’re concerned.”

“God, when are you not sharp like a blade?”

Keith bursted out in laughter, warm and wondrous at his space ranger partner.

“Newsflash, Lance. I know you.” Keith reached across the table and gently laced his fingers through his, sending him a broad, lovesick smile as his ring glimmered in the dim light of the dining room. “Plus, we reformed the blade together. It’s stronger and sharper than ever. Like us, actually.”

Lance glanced up at Keith with puppy dog, heartworn eyes. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Keith smiled, and then prodded for more information. “What did you see in Aaron?”

Lance put down his fork, pulled back his hand, and crossed his arms. Low, almost like a faint whisper, he responded. “...Potential, I guess. He was a hoot and a half.”

Keith huffed with mirth, fondly reminded of a fragrant memory in the wind of his mind. He grinned, bright and wide, as he tried not to laugh. “Huh.”

Lance hummed at him to continue, one brow quirked up in curiosity. 

“If you really saw potential in him, I have an idea.” Keith replied, steady as ever. 

 

✎✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

 

Notes:

To be continued... 👀

Chapter 10: Broadsword

||—||

 

“Hey, uh, I want to break up.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, Lance... There’s someone else.”

“Wh… what? I-I don’t…”

“Well, your name is Lance, which is cool and all, y’know, fun weapon name, but I met someone else with a cool weapon name too, and honestly it’s only been like two weeks so you shouldn’t be that upset.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I’m—oh, yeah coming! Gotta go, bye.”

*BEEP*

 

What the hell? Jenny Shaybon just broke up with him over the phone. God, he thought he found the right one this time.

Ugh. He throws his phone across the room. To be honest, he isn’t even upset about it. He’s more upset that she pursued him and he fell for it so quickly.

What kind of name would beat Lance of all things? His name is a weapon! A LANCE.

Whatever. Genuinely, no drama.

No problem.

No… girlfriend. 

… He’s fine, he thinks as he messages the group chat to hang out with last minute notice. Sure. Maybe he can go to the gym—you know, get it out of his system productively. 

*Ding!*

“Nope, not free. Sorry, man.”

“Sorry, beating up people online.”

Yeah, okay. Gym it is. 

 

||—||

 

“What do you mean she broke up with you?” Keith queried, sipping on a bottle of water post-lifting weights. Lance lays down next as he sets up the weights for him. “Didn’t you start dating Jenny the other day?”

“Two weeks, four days, and six hours,” he says. His eyes widen, catching himself before he spills how much he cared previously. “I-I mean, who’s counting, really? Not me, pfft.”

Keith, his best friend and personal trainer, looks at him with concern. 

His silence is enough for him to rip open his chest, spill the beans, and inflames his chest with raw emotion. “She met someone else with, quote, a cool weapon name. What a joke.” He raises his arms into the air, dramatics and all. “My name is Lance!”

Keith smirks attractively, holding onto the weight bar and looking down at his woeful face. “What if their name is something like Pike?”

“Keith.”

“Or, Arrow.”

Lance starts to chuckle. “Keith.”

“Hey, what about Boomerang so when it flies and hits her in the back of the head, she might think, ahem.” He clears his throat with a curled fist, and puts on his prettiest expression, lashes fanned out exaggeratedly, and adopts a breathy, high-pitched tone that practically drips with mockery.

“Oh no! I regret leaving you, my Lance. Please marry me! Have my babies!”

Lance loses it. He doubles over with laughter, clutching his stomach as if it might split open from how hard he’s laughing. His breath comes in broken gasps, holding onto himself for dear life at his baffling (and very accurate) representation of his ex. 

“Keeeeith, stoooop!” Lance wheezes between laughs. “I need to work out my woes, not laugh myself to death!”

Keith chuckles, smug and satisfied, moving toward the weights. “Alright, alright. You’re right,” he says, tossing Lance a towel. “Time to lift. I’ll spot.”

Lance miraculously does one set, and then he grits out two more. His arms are trembling, chest heaving, but the moment they get the bar safely back into the holder, Keith leans in with that all-too-familiar glint in his eye.

“Hey,” he says casually, like he hasn’t been waiting the entire set to deliver this. “What if his name was Sword?”

Lance snorts mid-breath, then immediately shifts into character. He straightens up, smooths back his sweat-mussed hair, and raises a dramatic eyebrow. His voice drops into a silky accent as he pantomimes holding a martini glass with grace and the elegance of a swan.

“The name’s Sword. Broad Sword. Shaken, not stabbed.”

“Oh my god,” Keith complains—exasperated, and yet, so fond. Lance beams, heart a little lighter, muscles aching in the best kind of way. 

He suddenly feels very glad, grateful even, that he has a best friend like Keith.

“That joke was awful, no wonder she left you.”

Wow, nevermind then. 

“You can choke,” he grumbles, wiping sweat from his forehead and shooting Keith a wounded glare. He snatches Keith’s water bottle without asking, because rude comments = forfeited hydration privileges, obviously, and takes a long, dramatic sip.

Keith just watches him with a maddeningly smug tilt to his head.

“…Maybe I can choke on a broadsword,” he adds casually, “like Jenny.”

Lance sputters mid-sip, almost snorting water through his nose. “You…” Lance starts, trailing off as he coughs into his fist again, trying to process the words, the tone, the look. “Oh my god, Keith.”

Keith shrugs, eyes flicking to the floor like he’s studying the pattern of the gym mat. His lips twitch, but he keeps them in a straight, almost bored line. 

“That’s what they call me.” Keith jests, trying his best not to laugh as he keeps a straight face. 

Lance is stunned beyond belief. Keith finally lets out a snort, and the mask cracks—just a little.

Lance blinks. 

Keith grins. 

He then points to the bar. 

“Back to it. Another set.”

“Oh, come on!” Lance complains at the demand in question. Keith just smiles, that jerk. 

“You wanna get fit and strong for yourself or your next love affair? Lay down and lift the bar like your standards.”

Woooooow. 

“Remind me why I like you again?”

“Raise the bar, Lance. Adding another set for that one.”

At the tail end of his next set, Lance’s arms are already shaking, sweat beading along his forehead. But it’s Keith’s next comment that almost does him in entirely.

“Hey,” Keith says, far too casually, “What if their name is something like Gun? Or Cannon?”

Lance wheezes, a laugh bursting out of him mid-rep, and the bar wobbles dangerously above his chest.

“Dude!” he chokes, muscles faltering as his laughter hits full force. “Don’t—you can’t—”

But somehow, through sheer willpower (and a healthy dose of fear), he manages not to crush himself under the weights. Barely. 

Keith steps in smoothly, helping him guide the bar back into its holder with practiced ease. His expression is pure mischief, one brow raised, lips curled into an audacious smirk.

“Nice job, sharpshooter.” He says, genuinely. He then thinks about it for a second. “...Hey, I’m gonna call you that from now on. It suits you."

Lance sits up and groans at the audacity. Keith just laughs, tosses him a towel and his bottle of water before gleaming from the eyes. “It’s canon now. Get it? Cannon.” 

Lance lets out a dramatic sigh, but his fond smile gives him away. What a dork of a man, personal trainer, and best friend. He takes a sip and passes it Keith’s way.

“You know, sometimes I wonder why you hang out with me. I’m no Hunk.” Keith says, sipping on his bottle of water, intense eyes on the prize that is Lance McClain as he stands in front of him. When he puts it down however, he then floors Lance with his next murmur: “You were laughing though, so that counts as a win for me.”

He blinks, stunned in his tracks and shock blatant on his face, brows skyrocketing into his hairline. 

And then, his eyes shine, his brows furrow and a smile forms—small and shy on his face.

“D’aww, you do care.” He says, a little too softly for two bros at the gym.

“Sometimes,” Keith replies, the corner of his mouth twitching with something dangerously close to a smirk. “Maybe I like my men with Broadswords, if you catch my drift.”

Lance stares at him, so truly deadpan that he’s unable to cook further commentary without disintegrating. “Keith.”

“Lance.” Keith returns smoothly, tone maddeningly innocent. Then, like it’s the most natural progression in the world: “Or, should I say… Pike?”

Lance lets out a sound of utter betrayal. “You are the worst.”

Keith shrugs, completely unbothered. “Would you even have a broadsword if your name is Lance?”

“What do you mean?” Lance asks, narrowing his eyes, towel half-forgotten in his lap.

Keith shrugs, leaning back slightly with the easy arrogance of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing to him. “Like, in the right circumstance—fictional or not.”

Lance scoffs. “Maybe in an RPG game, or a TV show. Not in real life.”

“Shame.” Keith sighs, exaggerated and dramatic, like he’s genuinely disappointed. “I was so sure you would.”

Before Lance could even question what in the hell did that mean, Keith tilts his head toward the next machine, chin jutting in that silent, universal trainer-language that says: Next one, let’s go.

Lance rolls his eyes but stands anyway, slinging the towel over his shoulder. “You’re genuinely a beast sometimes, you know that? I don’t know how you train for so long without breaking a sweat.” 

Keith meets his eyes for half a second longer than necessary, his expression unreadable as if he was reading Lance like an open book filled with poetry and fun words. 

Fondly, softly, he lets out a whisper of a thought: “I’m the Broadsword to your Rifle, huh?”

Lance paused, caught off guard by the metaphor. Then, a slow smile spread across his face—equal parts amused and warm like summer.

He’s so glad he has him as a best friend.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, suddenly smiling cheek to cheek. “I suppose you are.”

||—||

Chapter 11: Storms

Summary:

Rain falls for the first time post-reality reset.

⚡︎⚡︎⚡︎

Hope came to him at the drop of rain one morning on the farm. It began slowly—just one or two drops with the rocking of light thunder through grey clouds amidst a cloudy day.

He was hanging out with Kaltenecker in the barn, talking away and laughing with her when he heard it. The first drop.

No way. 

It's raining.

His eyes widened a fraction before he stood up from the bed of hay he was lying in. His boots felt the rocking of the earth, and the crescent-shaped marks under his blue eyes responded with a glow. It made him vastly aware of the unique smell of soil, illusively sensitive to the rumbling feeling beneath the ground, and most importantly—he felt the dew of moist air settling into the atmosphere.

I never thought I’d see rain again, he thought to himself as he stepped to the barn doors to watch rainfall from the sky. 

He extended his palm out as the rain thickened in humidity, sped up its tidal showers, and he distinctly felt his skin tremble with the shifting liquid in between the lines of his palm, the skin between his knuckles, and the cold touch of each drop warming his skin.

Water pelted down from the sky quickly thereafter. Any sane person would just stay indoors until the rain evaporated into the air.

But Lance wasn’t your average person.

He comes from a time where they had to reset reality, brought peace to the universe, and missed all the normalcies of what makes Earth, Earth. What he really missed most (other than his friends right now) was storms; rain falling from the grey skies, one drop at a time.

He felt even less sane when he stepped out, immediately standing under its showers and soaking his hair, cheeks, neck, olive green parker jacket, the navy turtleneck underneath, his blue jeans, and black boots. His blue marks glimmered like a firefly near sunset’s creek, even though it was the middle of a wet, grey day.

The first thing he did was smile, laugh, and then tears blended with the drops of rain melting on his cheeks. 

He then group video calls his friends—Pidge, Hunk and Keith, who were all in many ways, so, so far away from each other. He aims the camera far away from his face; only showing the showers that soak the sea of prospering, wondrous Juniberry flowers in front of him.

Pidge and Hunk open the video calls at the same time. Hunk is the first to respond, brown eyes in awe at the sight before him. “Is that… rain?”

“Yeah,” croak in his throat and shaking through suspended tears, he laughs with the purest of joy. It echoes, bringing a smile to all of their faces. 

“Woaaaaah!”

“It’s raining, Hunk!” 

Pidge, needing to see for themselves, runs to the Garrison window and gasps so loud at the sight. Outside, the desert windows filter the boldest of showers entrenching the Earth and snapping sounds echo on the military windows. 

“It’s raining here, too!” In awe, Pidge sighs a little lovesick and marvels at the Earth’s wondrous ways of prospering through the worst of circumstances.

“Pidge, you know what you said about the ‘Old making way for the new?’” Hunk asks, tearing up at the sight. “I don’t know why but… this feels like that moment.”

On cue, Keith answers the phone yawning. Right now, he’s on a blade ship, surrounded by the phenomenal stars in space. Little do they know—he’s on his way home, back to Earth, and back to Lance.

“Hey guys, what’s…” he pauses, expression shifting from tired, to surprise, to fond in a heartbeat’s notice, like the tide shifting in his heart’s caverns. “Oh, wow…” 

“Keith, it’s raining!” Lance cries in tearful bliss.

Keith grins, wide and beautiful. He can only agree with his excitement with a nod and a smile that gives too much away. “Wow… it’s heavy too.”

A sign that Earth is mending like the wounds on all of their war torn hearts. The sky cries out, but with each tearful raindrop rustles a new rumble beneath the Earth’s core: the gift of life.

The Juniberry flowers gleam a bright and beautiful pink colour, like a mystifying light show under the trenches of water building on the now muddy soil.

“Lance, buddy, you should probably head inside before you get sick.” Hunk suggests, openly shedding a tear and wiping it away on call.

All of them pretend not to hear the twinkle of a sob from Lance’s throat. None of them argue his silence. All four of them continue to sit on a call together, watching the steady rainfall brim the Earth back to life.

“We’re home.” Pidge says wistfully, a little teary themself. “We’re home, Lance.”

“It’s a great day for rain.” Keith agrees, smiling at the sight. A few more hours and he’ll be on the farm too. Hopefully it’s still raining by then. 

Hunk sighs at the sight of it, longing for the weather of his home planet. “I miss Earth.”

“Don’t worry, a month left, Hunk, and you and Shay will be back here from your diplomatic food trip.” Lance reminds him with a little too much emotion. Hunk’s brows furrow with loving concern, but he lets it slide. “Yeah, we will be.” 

Lance turns and he sees a plotted hole filling with water. He smiles so brightly, his cheek marks match in luminosity.

“Oh man, puddles!” Lance runs around the mud and points the camera at a developing puddle in the soil. He jumps in it, water splashing at the camera as he laughs, and laughs, and laughs with unadulterated joy—like a kid playing in the rain for the first time. 

Keith’s heart soars at the delight in his voice. He looks to the side and the mask slips, giving all of his feelings away. “You’re so…”

Hunk’s brows raise, catching the look, glimmering with a faint tease. “So, what, Keith?”

Keith’s cheeks sweep pastel pink, eyes widening from being caught red-handed. He looks away just as quickly. “N-nothing.”

Pidge chimes in, spinning the camera to the window and breaking the moment with tears in their eyes: “I love you guys. So, so much.”

Lance responds just as quickly, heart soaring and fraught with emotional depth on the surface of his glowing cheeks. “I love you more.”

“I love you most.” Hunk responds, challenging anyone to oppose the team’s teddy bear. Keith chuckles, harmonious and vibrant in nature, but also a little tired and oh, so soft from his current road trip. “I love you all too.”

“D’awww!” Lance blooms, heart soaring at his vulnerable admission.

“Keith wins, we never get one of these from him.” Hunk declares.

“Yeah, that’s a special one. You won that round.” Pidge states, yawning and wiping their tears outside of their camera’s view.

“Knock it off.” Keith quips affectionately. His light tone of voice gives away that he doesn’t mean it at all. “

When the rain gets a little torrential and the thunder rumbles overcast, Lance takes that as a cue to walk back towards the barn doors. Rain rushing down his cheeks and clothes, he feels a light shiver from the cold water now seeping through everything he’s wearing.

A hot shower would do nicely later. 

“I should… I should probably go, y’know, check on Kaltenecker and the mice.” He says, a little unsure. It’s a smidge bittersweet, a bit sad, but he still hopes with a yearning he can’t afford to have amongst the distractions he has on the farm. “I’ll see you guys soon, hopefully?”

Keith grins with an all-knowing smile. “Sooner than you think, sharpshooter.” Hunk and Pidge both nod on camera, too. 

“Thanks for sharing the moment with us, Lance.” Hunk vibrantly thanks his way. Lance almost cries on the spot. In this fragile, emotional moment, all he can think of is that he really misses his friends. 

“Ciao for now.” Hunk says wistfully, signing off from the call.

“Thanks, Lance. Bye!” Pidge waves, hanging up, too. Before Lance can hang up, a familiar, grizzled and rugged voice stops him in his tracks. 

“Lance?” Keith pauses, hopeful that he doesn’t hang up. Not yet. “You okay?”

In an instant, tears flows down his cheeks. God, he can’t help but feel like the world—heck, the universe—is finally healing. He closes the barn doors, sits down on the hay inside, and lets the moisture of his clothing breath in, breath out. He can feel his senses lift into overdrive with the way his clothes stick to him like ice now. 

He smiles to not worry his space ranger partner anymore than he has to. Keith sends an hesitant smile in his direction too, unsure of what to say. 

“Rain makes me feel... kind of nostalgic, I guess?” Lance murmurs, wiping both types of water on his face away. “S-Sorry, I got a l-little—Achoo!” He sneezes, his voice cracking with a fragile edge. “...Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Keith says gently, voice steady and warm. “Thanks for sharing that. I... I miss the rain too.”

“...Really?” He looks at him through the camera.

Keith nods. “Yeah. Storms, rain? Both remind me of you.”

Lance chuckles, soft and kind with withered jest. “Is it because I’m loud and dramatic?”

“Hah, not exactly.” Keith doesn’t say the word out loud, but it hums in his chest like thunder waiting to break through the clouds: Beautiful, like a brilliant storm. He’s wild and overcast now, but when the clouds break, he shines—radiant and warm, like sunshine returning home to Earth, fragrant and full of life.

Lance, with his storm-blue eyes and fragile heart, is home.

Weathered, weathering, and yet, he’s still the silent calm after every storm.

“Okay, maybe the dramatic part.”

“Hey!”

⚡︎⚡︎⚡︎

Chapter 12: Undercover

Summary:

It's not an undercover mission without a spicy, kick ass outfit, is it? Enjoy.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

“You want me to do what now?”

“Lance, it’s not a big deal.” Pidge states bluntly, yawning at the outfit held out in front of them by Allura. 

Hunk chuckles, murmurs, “Oh man…” to himself, Shiro raises a questionable eyebrow, and Keith has a broad hand covering over his face. Coran’s eyes are sparkling like the finest of diamonds, before he interjects: “Yes, it’s just for the mission, my boy!”

“This is… something.” Lance hesitantly responds, brow twitching.

“It’s a beautiful outfit.” Allura explains, almost too delightfully; eyes shimmering in delight, not dissimilar to Coran.

The outfit was quite extravagant—but essentially, it’s a fancier version of a maid outfit type dress; royal blue with golden trims across the front of the fabric where the front buttons line up, two skirt like petals on the back of the top, blue that gradients into purple and red tips, with a matching blue skirt and white thigh high socks underneath. 

It's a magical bishoujo heroine on crack. 

“Why don’t you wear it, Princess?” Lance asks, a little defensively. 

“Well…” Allura thinks this through, strategically picking every word in accordance. “I would be caught immediately. It would be improper for me to, considering my role amongst the team.” She explains. 

Lance narrows his eyes in her direction. “But… you can shapeshift.”

Allura smiles wider. “…Please?”

“Ugh, can’t Keith wear this? Or, Pidge?” His negotiation tactics fall onto deaf ears. 

“Leave us out of this.” Keith and Pidge both demand in unison. Lance groans, low and mighty enough to get their point across. “Shiro?!”

Shiro puts their hands up defensively, patting the air as he looks away from the outfit in Allura’s hand. “Nope, I am not getting involved.”

“Coran…?” He pleads, almost in feigned tears at this audacious request. There is no way.

“I think you’d look quite dashing in it.” Coran nods, agreeing with Allura. He grabs the other side of the outfit in Allura’s hands and stretches it out. “Look, it’s even got frills on the arm sleeves! Very stylish.”

Lance raises his hands, almost as if he’s pleading to the wider universe to pay attention to this debauchery. “Oh, come ON.” 

“C’mon, just try it on!” Coran grabs his hand, pulling him along while Lance whines with an abundance of complaints. “We have to seduce the prince for information somehow!”

“Se-Seduce? Can’t I do that with a normal tuxedo or something?!”

“He has specific tastes.” Coran responds, throwing him behind the cryopod with the outfit. “C’mon, hop to it!”

After a few minutes of rustling and silence, Lance meekly walks out, a faint blush swept across his cheeks. He feels ridiculous. Genuinely, this is probably the most mortifying idea they’ve ever had as a team. 

Unfortunately, the outfit fits way too well and he receives the opposite response from Allura.

“Perfect.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

They arrive in time for a Gala on the outer Kingdom of Triyal, a planet in the Xercin galaxy.

The plan is for Lance to distract the Prince of Triyal, flirt with them, maybe make them drink more Nunvil to ensure his lips are loose, and retrieve information on the upcoming coup against the Coalition whilst the others lay low within the Gala and retrieve information through other means. Keith and Shiro will be around him at all times to ensure the mission is a success (and to go full bodyguard in case the Prince gets a little too hands on).

Tonight, Lance is Leandro Pike, a cultural advisor of the planet Croixal. Maybe even royalty, if he plays his cards right (and if the prince will believe him).

As soon as he walks into the Gala, team in tow with this insane outfit and glitter across his eyes, he feels the piercing eyes of the Prince from across the hall. The Prince looks Altean, almost a cut clean copy except for the grizzled appearance, the marks illuminating all down his cheeks—like streaks, rather than crescents beneath his eyes—that extend from the outer corners of his eyes. He looks dangerous, like a mafia boss rather than a Prince. 

The rest of his team are in typical formal attire, all associated with their colours.

He feels the deepest ick feeling submerge into his heart, but he carries on with duty.

“This is humiliating .” He whispers to Keith on his right. “I look like I’m cosplaying an anime Pidge watches in their free time.”

“You look… nice.” Keith offers with a small smile. It throws Lance right off kilter, so he chuckles briefly at his space ranger partner with a wide brim smile.

“...Thanks for trying, Keith.”

Keith discreetly slips a hand in his, his fingers intertwining for a few seconds while they’re surrounded by socialites partying none the wiser. He squeezes, then pulls away just as quickly. Lance fumbles, feels a little dizzy from the sudden contact when he turns in his direction. 

“You got this,” Keith says with such a charming, elegant smile. What did he do to deserve that? “We’ll be right with you.”

Shiro chimes in with a little mirth in his smile from the other side of Lance: “I’ll be here too, but you might be tempting the wrong prince.”

“…Huh? But, there’s only one prince?” Lance responds, brows furrowing with a little confusion. Keith narrows his eyes at his brother with a ruddy red colour blooming on his cheeks. “Shiro—“

“Why, hello there.”

All three of them turn to the Prince. Allura and Pidge quickly mesh with the crowd and become illusive socialites. 

“I see, three is company?” His speech is a little off, he looks slightly tipsy, and his eyes are on the prize. Lance walks towards him with the grace of a prince.

“It could be one if you want it to be.” Lance immediately responds, low in volume but oozing with appeal. He sinks his claws right in, and his prey eats it up for breakfast.

“How bold, I do love your attire. It’s very flattering on you.” Coran was right. “My apologies, I’m Prince Axello, Prince of the Planet of Triyal.”

He extends a hand out while Keith tries not to grit his teeth. Shiro moves to the other side and with no sense of subtlety, takes Keith’s arm and drags him away. Lance shakes it in return, notably lingering his fingers over his rugged ones and plays up the innocent act.

“…Leandro Pike, Cultural Advisor for the Council of Croixal. It’s an honour to make your acquaintance.”

The Prince smiles, eating up the explicit attention. “I must say I’ve never seen eyes so strikingly blue. Is that common on your planet or are you just unique?”

2/10, it doesn’t land like he hopes because he slurs at the tail end and Lance has standards . However, Lance pretends to chuckle, smacks his arm lightly and gracefully, and puts on his very best interested face. “Oh… uh, you .”

It feels terribly fake. 

Suddenly, the eye contact radiating from the Prince feels very predatory. Lance shivers (and not in the hot, sexy way). Eugh. 

“Forgive me for being a little forward, but would you like to see… my…” he leans a little too forward; right into his ear with a disturbingly hot breath. “Chambers?”

His heart drops as he feels Prince Axello’s hot breath linger into his eardrum, his pulse quickening in fright. He plays it off and theatrically giggles, a little too jerky and fraught. Shiro and Keith are blended into the crowd now, but he can feel their protective stares honing into their conversation. 

Lance offers a quick alternative to ease the tension lingering in the air, “How about a drink first? I would love to know more about your culture.” 

Play cool, be cool, keep cool.

“You’re fascinating .” The Prince laughs, a little too treacherously for his liking. 

Lance laughs too, polite with an easy charm, “Well, in my culture, you gotta work for a slice of blueberry pie, should you not?”

Prince Axello chuckles, low and predatory. “Well, Leandro; Sir. Cultural Advisor, teach me more about your culture… before I show you mine .”

Okay, 4/10, a bit better but not that great of a line either. Despite that, he loops his arm into his and leans in to whisper, sultry and wondrous, in his ear back, “Lead the way, Prince.” His warm face blooms a bolder red, and Lance knows he’s hit the mark.

He can feel the distinct feeling of being watched by others; not just his teammates. He does his best to lean into the Prince, ignoring it all.

Mission Seduction is underway. 

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

It’s very clear the Prince loves to drink. Either that, or he’s hoping he’ll drink too so they both get tipsy enough to spend the night in his chambers. 

Not happening, but Lance appreciates the effort, he supposes. 

“Another drink?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Pick whatever your heart desires.” Prince Axello lifts a thick brow in an attempt to thicken his flirting game. “Even if it’s me? In my Chambers, Leandro?”

Ick. 0/10.

“Sure…” He randomly picks one of the drinks that’s handed to him on a silver platter from what he suspects are just everyday waiters for the Gala. It’s red, a little sparkly like starlight, but he pretends to take a sip anyway. “But, I would love to know more about your relationship with other cultures too.” He says politely. 

“What would you like to know, Leandro?” Prince Axello queries curiously. 

Christ. Is it too on the nose to ask directly? Lance is so nervous he’ll be called out. But maybe his drinking might throw him off the trail. He takes the risk. “Let me think.” He pops a finger on his chin, patting it with feigned thought. “What about…” He moves his finger and starts fingering his royal tunic, tapping his fingers on his chest like he’s nothing but into the dude. “The Galra?”

“Ah yes, I know a lot about the Galra.” Bullseye. “They’re very possessive in nature, but they’re a good race; perhaps a little more traditional than most. I’m in talks with them right now, actually.”

“Oh? Whatever for?” He glides into the conversation smoothly. 

In his peripherals, he sees Pidge and Keith taking some food from the banquet table, whispering amongst one another. Keith’s senses are extra sensitive—thanks to his half-Galran lineage—so he should be able to hear this conversation (theoretically). 

“Well, our planet is not a part of the Coalition.” He takes a sip, his eyes not leaving his line of sight. Is it too hot in here? “As you may be aware, the Empire wants us to bear fruitful relationships in the interim. Political stuff, you must know how that is, Leandro.”

“I certainly do,” Lance pulls gently on the front of his tunic, pulling him a little closer and serving sultry eyes for his dessert. “I know all about them, being Cultural Advisor of my planet. It must be so stressful for you as a Prince. I can be an open ear for you, if you’d like that?”

“Oh? Are you offering stress relief?” The Prince responds, oh so smugly. “That can be arranged.”

Lance hears a plate drop in the background. He pulls back, and takes a (pretend) sip of his drink and puts it down, ready to politely reject his explicit agenda. “My liege, I…”

He looks up to the Prince growling at him. “Say that again?”

“Apologies, did I offend you?” He says, patting down his tunic and stepping back. He feels a bit dizzy and lost in direction when the Prince instead steps forward to match. 

Uh oh.

“No, I just, I’m terribly sorry, I—” He does not look sorry at all. “You just, to be frank, got me extra aroused saying ‘my liege.’ Say it again.”

Oh shit. That was not…

“Can you say it again?”

“I, uh…”

“You're shy now?” He gleams, sending a malicious smirk his way. “Simply adorable.”

“N-No! I, just, um. I-I just wasn’t expecting your boldness, my liege.” Oh fuck. He said it again. His confidence shatters and a fragrant blush blooms on his cheeks, bright as scarlet as the Prince takes a mighty, confident step forward. “I, I-I mean, um.”

You see, he might be loverboy Lance, but Lance is not ever able to recover from someone sending him signals. It throws him so off kilter, the mission is borderline in crisis now. He needs to pick himself up and rein it in before it’s compromised. 

The Prince grabs his wrist and he has to stop himself from shrieking like a banshee. He feels a bead of sweat drip down from his temple, his smile becomes too shy and it sends the completely wrong message to the Prince.

Get. It. Together. Lance.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want…” The Prince glimmers, pulling him from the wrist, arm across the waist and hugs Lance way too tight, lips centimetres from his. It’s less on the sexy side and more on the ‘ I need to run immediately’ side. “...If you come with me to my Chambers?”

Oh, he’s pushy, but he might be able to turn this around. His heart is pounding. His skin is trembling. These are not the good kind. He feels a little scared.

But he braces himself. Puts on his best sultry smile. Takes the risk. “It would be an honour, my liege.”

He hears another plate drop and feels an intense stare from his peripherals. Still, he lets himself be led, fingers tingling from the vice grip around his wrist.

Look, it might not be the best idea, but he can’t shoot his way out of a corner. He can shoot his way out of a Royal Chamber though. 

He does try to find a familiar gaze as soon as the Prince pulls on his wrist. 

He locks on to Keith and Pidge, who are staring from the banquet. They stare back. 

A mutual understanding between eyes. He feels safe. It's go time.

As he’s pulled in the direction of the halls, the hallways blur by in velvet, reds, and gold, guards turning discreetly as they pass. 

As they approach the chamber, the doors swing open, and as soon as he steps in he notices that the room is suffocating with opulence. 

Curtains like blood. Candles lit in uneven rows. A faint, pulsing hum in the air like the walls themselves are breathing. 

Lance's foot hesitates on the threshold, and the Prince senses it. “No need to be shy,” he purrs, his voice lower now, edged sharp like a blade. “You said it yourself… An honour, right?”

Shuddering, Lance steps inside. Not because he wants to, but because the door has already started closing behind him. He takes a deep breath.

Click.

He scans. Every instinct twitching. His heart races from the danger. But he knows his friends are just outside lying in wait for anything to go wrong.

He feels the thrum of his bayard, hiding beneath the blue glow of the garter beneath his shorts.

“This room is… exquisite , my liege.” 

“Quite, isn’t it.” 

The Prince walks forward, sits in front of the edge of the extremely over-compensation bed, and then looks at him like a piece of meat. “Turn around.”

“I-I’m sorry…?” He feels his eye twitch as he plasters on a small, polite smile, posture straight like a threatened cat.

“Turn. Around.”

Sigh. He knew this mission, wearing this god awful cosplay was the worst idea. So he does what he does best. He oozes fake confidence and twirls around like a magical girl. 

“Too quick. Slower.”

The internal groan he exhales is excruciatingly long. Externally, he smiles wider, pulls his best sultry face. He twirls, elegant, graceful, and flips up the two petals on the back of his tunic like a runway model showing off certain pieces of their intricate outfit. It exposes the back of his shorts, which isn’t anything special, but it does something to the recipient and thinks maybe he did a good job.

Back to the Prince, he turns his head towards him and his jaw almost drops. Sometime in between all of that, Axello is now topless, broad hands unbuckling his belt.

“Uh, um, m-my liege…? What are you doing?” 

He rips the belts from the loops and whacks it on the bed edge. The whack creates this provocative sound that rips Lance’s heart in fear. 

“Just getting ready. Ask away.”

Oh. Oh! Time to ask what he needs for the mission. Got it. He’s on a time crunch. Great.

“H-How…” he coughs, a little shaken by the unwanted, bold nature of the Prince. He looks away and he swears he can hear a growl emanating from his mouth. He sounds like a lawnmower. 

“How do you feel about the Coalition? Th-they’ve been vital to learning more for my role as a Cultural Advisor.”

“Hate ‘em, baby.” He says, tone filled with a weird mix of turned on and hatred.

Interesting. Also, gross.

“…Why?”

“Look, they upset the Galra Empire, and therefore upset the trade markets for our planet, which is run by the Galrans. Makes my job harder. We have to make them happy politically so they don’t overrule my planet.” He explains, eyeing him off once again like a piece of meat. Ick.

It’s… reasonable, I guess. 

“Makes sense.”

“Leandro, do you want to show me what your culture can do?” The Prince requests. Lance turns around, brows furrowing in confusion. “Uh, we have… great, mining operations? I don’t know how to show you that, though.”

Axello bursts out into laughter, loud and maniacal. It scares him a little but he keeps his posture straight. 

“You come into my palace wearing that, not knowing what that implies?”

Huh.

“It’s a servant-type of outfit. Surely, you know what that means. Your planet served you on a platter for me to have. Stress relief .”

He knew it.

He’s gonna kill Allura and Coran later. 

“Right. Apologies, I did not realise.” Lance expresses, bowing politely in response. He cringes, that was very maid-like too.

“You’re too cute.” He smiles at him, almost genuinely. He feels sick. “Come here.”

He walks forward, trying excruciatingly hard not to show his disgust as this ick of a Prince unbuttons his pants. “Be a good servant.”

He feels the thrum of his bayard, waiting to be summoned by his garter. Lance unbuttons his shorts and pulls them down, kicking them off on the floor with his shoes; thigh high socks and garter on display so he has better access to the garter. Axello licks his lips in excitement. 

“Getting ready for me?”

“You know it.”

“Love your confidence.”

He’s gonna hurl, but he’s got to play the part. He kneels down on the ground and turns around, confusion displayed on Axello’s face.

“Axello, can you help…” Lance turns his head back around to the Prince with such innocence, that he’s unsure if he oversold it or not. “Unbutton my blouse from the back? It’s…” he looks down, lingering his eyes from the floor to his treacherous gaze. “It’s hard to reach… my liege .”

Ready to devour him, Axello does as requested. He places a hand on his garter, closing his eyes and focusing his energy on the thrumming he feels within his fingertips. He uncomfortably hears his pants fall to the floor, hands on his collar, and he takes his opportunity. 

At the same time, Lance feels the energy of Pidge, Keith, just beyond the door…

His bayard comes to life in his hand, immediately shifting its form into an Altean broadsword and he swings his body around, sword to his neck. He stands quickly and kneels one knee down on the bed just as quick, threatening him for all his worth. 

Axello frowns at the turn of events. “What is this, Leandro?” Lance glares at him, ready to kill if he needs to. 

“Tell me all you know about the coup.”

“This is kind of hot. I love the hot and cold nature of you.”

He doesn’t respond. Axello sighs. “Nothing?”

“I’m not into you. Sorry.”

“I figured that when you put a sword next to my neck. You should bend over next time before you threaten royalty like this.”

Lance’s glare deepens to hatred. “Keith. Pidge.”

Suddenly, the two paladins burst into the room and have their eyes slammed by the sight of Lance in his attire, sword against the Prince’s neck. 

“La…” Keith’s face morphs into a few facial expressions in half a second; shock, anger, impressed, turned on, then back to the mask of defiance, ready to fight.  

Pidge notices the pause, but doesn’t say anything—more focused on any impending dangers surrounding them rather than Keith’s existential crisis masked beneath his poker face. Pidge runs to cuff Axello’s hands behind his back whilst Keith walks right up to the scene. If he notices the shorts on the floor, he does not comment. Not the time.

“You okay?” Keith checks in. “Not hurt?”

“Peachy.” Lance says, blade still on their neck. Axello’s gaze lingers on Lance’s face. 

As Lance moves his sword away (once Pidge has safely cuffed him) Prince Axello chimes in, raw with defensive anger: “This slutty maid of a spy? This is so ridi—“ 

Keith elbows him in the face, knocking him out cold.

Lance turns to him with a look that says why did you do that? But it quickly disperses, as Keith wordlessly passes over his shorts, pointedly not looking at him, a blush swept over his cheeks. 

“You shouldn’t have agreed to go to the Chambers. What if we weren’t there?”

Lance stalls, gently grabs the shorts and holds it tight. He blushes too. His body trembles as the aftershock echoes through his body. 

Keith’s right, he could’ve been assaulted. He shouldn’t have taken the risk. If Keith and Pidge weren’t around, he’d have been screwed.

Humiliation frills across his skin. 

“…I’m sorry.” Lance murmurs low, tinged with embarrassment.

Keith turns around, eyes on the floor but the blush is now on full display.

“…No, I’m sorry. You did a great job. We trust you and you don’t need protection, but I should’ve done a better job in protecting you knowing you were put in a vulnerable situation in the first place.”

Lance lifts his gaze to him, blue eyes shimmering in appreciation. Wow, he’s actually—

“This is nice and all,” Pidge breaks their moment, snapping them both out of it like glass shattering on a window. “But we have a knocked out Prince in his bed. We need to leave his chambers without being caught.”

Right. That is a huge problem. 

Keith and Pidge pull him under the covers, making him look like he was knocked out from drinking. In the meantime, Lance tries to fix his attire, puts on his shorts and tries to rebutton the back. This button is excruciating to clip on.

“Need a hand?”

He feels warm hands move his hands to his front, and reclips the button. It feels extremely intimate. “There you go.”

His cheeks warm slightly at the touch. Unimaginably shy, Lance turns to him and nods with thanks. An echoed smile is sent back to him.

Pidge, seeing all of it, rolls their eyes and murmurs to themself: “Can’t wait to tell Hunk this one back on the ship.”

All in all, the mission was successful and they managed to sneak out of the Gala without a hitch, and with new credible information about the Galra Empire’s coup. 

Except…

“Coran, why Lance?” Hunk asks inquisitively, waiting with Coran for everyone else to arrive back on the Castleship. He receives a smirk in return.

“He’s got a good body, that boy.” Coran says slyly, pulling at his mustache with glee. “If you got it, flaunt it, I say. Have I ever told you about the time Alfor and I went on a similar mission together?”

“The same outfit?” Hunk blinks at him incredulously.

“The very same, and might I say, I looked quite dashing.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Chapter 13: Animal / Animal Traits

Summary:

Lance and Kosmo's spa day... from Kosmo's POV.

🐾🐾

Kosmo is having a spa day. 

Not his favourite day—no, that’s park day—but it eventually becomes one of his favourite days because his Mama Lance makes it fun.

It always starts like this: Kosmo slinking low through the hallway like a secret agent on a classified mission. His tail swishes with purpose. 

The vicious enemy? Bubbles. The typical objective? Avoid the bath. The high stakes reward? Treats he steals from the kitchen pantry of the farmhouse. Maybe head scritches too from his Papa Keith, who would be none the wiser.

But one day, the direction abruptly changed. Mama Lance asked Kosmo to put trust in him to make it fun. Of course he does. But still, the first spa day is tough for Kosmo. 

How does he feel about spa days now? Uncertain.

The space wolf’s ears flicked. Footsteps.

It’s Mama Lance.

He flattens himself against the floor underneath the hallway table like a pancake. If he were flatter, he’d be invisible. Probably. Maybe. He might zap away. Unsure. He steels himself.

Kosmo hears a playful gasp. “There you are, my handsome space wolf! Is that Kosmo, sweet baby boy?” Lance says playfully with a soft smile in his voice, crouching down on his knees to his level and hugging his knees. Kosmo’s tail betrays him and thumps against the floor once.

Dang it. 

He’s compromised his position. 

“Kosboy, I get it. I truly do.” He scratches under his ear, and it’s all over. “But, spa day is fun! You trust me, right boy?” Kosmo closes his eyes. That spot. That is the magic spot. His hind leg twitches involuntarily. Curse his soft underbelly and emotional weakness.

Lance chuckles. “You are such a drama king.”

He sneezes defensively. Mama, that is a fragrant lie. He is composed. Majestic. He… just happens to dramatically flings himself into the corner when Lance tries to find him on spa day because he has tactical instincts. That’s different.

“Come on, Special Agent K. Are you ready?” Mama Lance holds up a secret weapon: the squeaky duck. 

The Space Wolf narrows his eyes. A rubber ducky bribe.

Mama Lance identifies an excruciating weakness, squeaks it. 

Strategic. Impressive. 

Fine. Spa day moves ahead. You win, Mama, the wolf thinks to himself. 

Kosmo gently gnaws the duck from his hand, and struts toward the bathroom. He hears laughter from his Mama as he walks through the door and into the bathroom, tap running loudly and steam blowing through the air. 

In front of the bath is the Space Mice: Platt, Chulatt, Plachu, and ChuChule, all in a row on the ledge of the bath tub ready to assist, next to the shampoo bottle and freshly dried towels. 

Ah, his Mama brought assistance. 

Plachu, the skinny one with narrow, red eyes, scurries across the ledge to the other ledge on the other side of the bathtub, and puts it on. It plays soothing, relaxing music on the radio as he turns the volume down, and the ambience brings the room to life.

…I could be your escape, take you to a place, where there's no time, no space… 

Kosmo nods at Plachu. The mouse nods back. He then scampers back over, returning to his friends. Impressive. If he were human, certainly, he would receive a tip for his top-tier service. 

Lance closes the door, turns on the fan, and walks forward towards the bath to feel the water. He hums, turns the tap to mix the hot water with colder water. When happy with the temperature, he turns the taps off and smiles. “Ok, it’s ready, big boy. Hop in, monsieur.”

He is not a Monsieur. He is a Space Wolf. 

Silly Mama.

Kosmo drops the rubber ducky into the bath and sinks in, water elevating quickly over his fur. Mama Lance brings out a large pot and scoops the water in with laughter. “How do you get even bigger? You need to stop growing, you big cuddlebug.” Mama covers his eyes and pours the water down his fur. It splashes down over his blue shirt, and he joyfully laughs. 

Mama’s laughter keeps him calm. He feels safe. Warm. Fuzzy with gratitude and lovely feelings towards him.

This? This is the life.

After roughly ten scoops and thoroughly soaking his fur, Lance grabs the ominous shampoo bottle. The Space Wolf stiffens at the sight. He hears Chulatt, the smallest of the mice with big, round ears, squeaks in his direction. 

It’s okay! It’s just soapy-soap. 

The soapy-soap threatens his comfortability. He huffs, looking away from the mouse in defiance. Chulatt squeaks again. Soapy-soap just makes you clean! 

“Kos, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t your favourite part.” Lance apologises, grabbing the bottle and snapping Kosmo out of his thoughts. He turns to his Mama and softens. “But, it’s soapy scrubs, scritches and pets from Lancey Lance! Isn't that fun?” 

As Kosmo’s distracted, Lance pours the shampoo bottle over his big ol’ head. It bubbles up, expanding quickly over the soaked fur as he immediately begins to scritch, pet, rub it in, massages it into his skull—oh my goodness gracious. 

He relaxes, tail thumping in the water, but it splashes over the Space Mice. Squeaking in unison, they hide behind the towels. Kosmo notices immediately.

Oh no. Are they mad at him? Oh no.

He whines.

“Aw, buddy. No, no. No whining, Mama’s here.” He softens his massages into even softer, more perfect massages beneath his ears. “Just picture all the bad energy sweeping out of the room, drifting away. Here, I’ll sing for you, mi vida.”

Little does Mama Lance know, Kosmo loves his singing. Oh, yes. Mama Lance has a beautiful singing voice. Sometimes, he’ll hum while petting him in bed. Sometimes, he’ll serenade him while cleaning the house. Sometimes, when he’s feeling sad, he’ll hum to himself in the kitchen, staring out the window as if he’s yearning, longing for something or someone. 

He wonders what he’ll sing today. Will it be the song on the radio? Will it be his own selection?

Lance wipes a hand over the tuner on the radio and laughs at the song choice. It’s a beautiful ballad, one Kosmo is sure he knows with laughter like that. 

“God, I haven’t heard this song in years. Ready for the chorus, Kosmo?”

He barks with joy.

“...Can I be your hero, baby…? Can I kiss away the pain…? Can I stand by you foreeeeever?”

He howls quietly as Lance continues to scrub Kosmo’s fur, scaling down his ginormous back and scritching down to a special spot near his—oh my goodness gracious, a booty scratch! An excellent place indeed.

“You can take… my breath awayyy.” 

Yes, he is simply a marvelous parent. Kosmo wonders how he got so lucky being found by Papa Keith, and then earning himself another wonderful parent down the way with Mama Lance.

Lance grabs the pot and once more scoops up the water, covering his eyes as he pours it over the Space Wolf’s fur. He does this quite a few times, surprised that his arms aren’t gravely tired. 

Who would blame him? Certainly, not Kosmo. He has thick fur like his Papa.

Once satisfied, he speaks up again. “Alright, I’m gonna turn on the shower head to rinse the rest out, okay buddy?”

Kosmo lets out a low, contented woof—his surefire signal of approval. The bathroom fills with the soft echo of splashing water as Lance detaches the head and twists the knob. A gentle spray rains down from the shower head, adjusting the taps to keep it warm and steady, and then rinses through the deep layers of Kosmo’s coat.

It feels too good for words, Kosmo thinks to himself. The Space Mice squeaks in his direction, also cheering him on and satisfied at his progress. 

Lance puts the head back once he’s completely rinsed through, turning off the water. He grabs a towel and roughly scruffs it along his neck. 

“What a brave boy. You’re doing so good, mi vida,” he murmurs, more to himself than the Wolf in question. The bathroom smells faintly of cedar and soap now, the scent wrapping around this soft, sincere moment like a quiet blessing.

Kosmo shifts, adjusting his stance with a huff and a small shake, sending a thick spray of droplets across the tiles and onto Lance’s shirt. Lance laughs—soft and genuine, lifting his hands up to defend himself, while the Mice go hide again. “Hey! This is a new shirt, you goose.”

Kosmo blinks slowly.

He is not a Goose, whatever that is. He is a Space Wolf. Silly Mama.

Spa time is going so well today. Kosmo feels as if he’s waking up from a fun dream. He wonders why he was hiding underneath the table in the hallway in the first place. 

Lance pulls the bath plug out, draining the water. He reaches for another towel, wrapping both towels gently around his giant Space Wolf body. Kosmo doesn’t resist, instead lets the towel absorb his leftover moisture and sinks into the warmth, eyes half-lidded and at peace. “You’re so freaking cute, you know that? I love you so very, very much.”

Yes, Mama. Kosmo knows it very well.

Papa wouldn’t have adopted him otherwise.

A surprise visitor knocks on the doorframe. Leaning against it, arms and legs crossed, he watches the two of them have a bonding moment. His amethyst eyes are softer than warm pillows at the sight. “Well, well. What’s going on here?”

Lance turns towards the voice, and a sincere, wide, and toothy grin reaches his cheeks in a heartbeat of a second. Kosmo’s tail thumps into the water once more, splashing all over the floor. 

His Mama purrs at the surprise guest. “Why, hello, stranger. It's actually a spa day for Kosmo and I, and you are rudely interrupting our time together.”

“Is it now?” he says eventually, his voice low and warm with fond laughter. “Save me some hot water, will you?”

“Only if you promise to do face masks and cucumber slices with us later.” Lance jests, voice just as warm.

The surprise visitor snorts. At the same time, Kosmo woofs—agreeing with his Mama. He’s only agreeing because it means he can eat the cucumber slices though.

“Alright. You win. But only if I get the red face mask this time.”

“You always get the red face mask,” Lance whines, looking at him with utter betrayal.

Papa Keith ignores the woeful look on his face, lifting himself off from the doorframe and walks to the bath, crouching down beside Kosmo, giving the now-damper fur a scratch. “You’re a spoiled thing, aren’t you?”

Kosmo licks his cheek, leaving a trail of water behind.

“Yeah, okay,” Keith mutters, grinning now with total understanding.  

Kosmo loves his Mama and Papa, but certainly right now, he appreciates his Mama Lance. 

He likes the cucumber slices Lance insists on putting on his face during spa day, or how when he sings lullabies to him in the quiet fog of the bathroom. 

It’s all part of the magic. All part of the love he feels for Kosmo.

He loves the way Lance never forgets the warm towels. He never forgets the post-bath snacks, too. He never forgets to ruffle behind his ears in that exact spot that makes his tail thump wildly.

So thoughtful. So caring.

Lance continues to rub him with the two warm towels, voice as warm as sunshine against his ears again. “You’re the bestest boy, you know that?” he whispers.

He loves how Lance talks to him like he understands every word—and, well, he certainly does, but Lance never talks down to him. Rather, he speaks to Kosmo like he is their actual son, a child of the pack. 

Kosmo’s tail swishes once, slowly so as to not disturb the Space Mice in hiding. He knows. But more importantly—Lance is the best. 

The best Mama. The softest voice. The warmest heart. The kindest soul. 

Kosmo feels so, so fondly towards his Mama Lance. Unconditional warmth and love. It beats from the little heart inside his big Wolf body. 

Once he’s dried off—by the hum of his Mama’s soft singing, his Papa’s warm laughter, and the terrifying howl of the blowdryer that sends all of his stray fur flying like snow in a storm—Kosmo finally flops into his bed with an exaggerated groan. 

His belly is full of treats, his heart even fuller.

Cucumber slices rest delicately over his eyes (he’ll eat them later, of course), and his fur carries the clean, comforting scent of cedar and gentle soap. His paws feel luxuriously soft, thanks to the coconut oil Mama Lance always massages into them, careful and loving, never missing a spot. Even his nose has a little shine to it now from the coconut oil—moisturised, pampered, and oh, so adored.

Oh, he loves his Mama very, very much. 

So scratch that—Kosmo loves spa days. Spa days might be his favourite soon, despite his fears of the bubbles, the bathtub and the blowdryer of doom. 

Mama Lance makes it fun. 

He feels like the luckiest Space Wolf in the entire universe to have Mama Lance.

“Tuckered out, huh?” He feels gentle scritches behind his ears again, and that warm feeling grows tenfold in his chest. “Sweet dreams, Kosmo.”

Goodnight, Mama... he thinks, gently drifting off to nap time.

Oh yes, he loves his Mama very, very much. 

🐾🐾

Chapter 14: Potential

Summary:

Part Two of, 'Star of the Show.'

The kid at the back of the class staring out the window has unexpected visitors.

𓂃𓂃𓂃🖊

 

“Aaron? We have some visitors for you in the Principal’s office.” A teacher says, interrupting their class from the door with a frank knock.

Huh? 

The whole class is staring at him. Absolutely mortifying. 

“Come now.”

𓂃𓂃𓂃🖊

As Aaron walks into the principal’s office with the teacher, he hears some conversation through the door (and some laughter). 

“...And Kaltenecker moo’d at Keith so abruptly, it scared the bejeesus out of him.” 

“I was milking her! I wasn’t expecting it!”

“Pfft, I’m glad to hear farm life is doing well for you, Keith.”

“Shiro, I will deck you.”

Confusion laces his face as the teacher next to him smiles. “You ready?” 

Aaron stares at the door, a little perturbed. “Ready… for what?”

“You’ll see.” She slides the door open, “Mr. Shirogane? I have Aaron for you.”

“Oh! Thank you, Ms. Claudia.”

Aaron feels a bit starstruck. 

His vision is suddenly blinded by his principal of admissions, Takashi Shirogane of the Galaxy Garrison , sitting at a desk with the two Blade of Marmora leaders, Lance & Keith Kogane-McClain; one on each side of the large mahogany desk (Lance to his right, Keith to his left) with smiles on their faces and both in their uniforms.

He looks away, anger flooding his vision. This must’ve been for his sass the other week, and now he’s being forced to apologise in front of an audience. How humiliating, how embarrassing. God, smite him down. “Look, if it’s about last week, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Lance’s brows furrow in concern. “What happened last week?”

Oh. 

“Um… Am I not in trouble?” Aaron asks, now confused. He pulls his messy hair down to look somewhat presentable but he didn’t really try today. His yellow zip-up hoodie’s a mess with holes and patches, his brown hair’s a spiky mess and frankly, his whole life is a mess. He hates everything. 

Shiro, thankfully, takes the lead on the conversation here and stands with a graceful smile, waving his hand to the seat in front of him. “No one’s in trouble. Please, take a seat.”

Sigh. 

He’s about to be expelled, he thinks. This is his third school in two years. Great. Maybe someone will finally give up on him.

Shiro watches Aaron slump into the seat like a kid being sentenced to death. The kid crosses his arms, eyes darting between the three men in the room with wary. Lance looks like he's trying not to laugh, and Keith’s unreadable expression is vaguely amused—maybe even a little nostalgic. Aaron doesn’t like it. It feels like everyone knows something he doesn’t.

“You’re not in trouble,” Shiro repeats, more gently this time. “Actually… quite the opposite.”

Aaron frowns. “So I am being expelled in reverse. Like… expelled upward.”

Lance snorts fondly. “Promotion by confusion. Bold strategy.” 

Keith stays quiet, arms crossed and leaning on the desk, watching the scene unfold with mirth in his smile. 

Shiro chuckles and picks up a datapad. “Aaron, I wanted to be the one to tell you this personally. We’ve reviewed your application to the Galaxy Garrison… and we’ve accepted you.”

Aaron blinks. 

Then blinks again. 

He opens his mouth—then promptly closes it. 

He grits his teeth, blanks out.

“I think you broke him, Shiro.” Keith chimes in, amusement laced in his tone.

What? 

“Uh, I’m sorry, but… I didn’t apply?”

A chuckle from Lance echoes in the stillness of the room. Aaron feels more confused than ever. Is this an inside joke? Are they pranking him? 

“You didn’t need to, my guy.” Lance finally responds with a tinge of gentle affection. “I may have done that talk last week for Juni’s class, but the Galaxy Garrison has been secretly sending me to schools in the area to help find the next generation of astro explorers.”

What?

“Surprise! You’re one of them.” Lance finishes. 

Keith’s grin widens, a canine peeking through his smile. “Welcome aboard, cadet.”

What?!

Aaron’s jaw drops, and for a solid three seconds, no sound comes out. His eyes flood with shocked tears, and his brain feels like someone hit it with a frying pan mid-thought.

“I—why me?!”

Shiro hands a letter to Aaron. He takes it, hands shaking and feeling all parts overwhelmed at the kind gesture. “After Commander Kogane-McClain’s visit last week, Lance sent through a letter of recommendation to the board of admissions. Me.”

Aaron stares at them, shellshocked beyond belief. “But… I’m not exactly space pilot material.”

Lance waves it off. “We’re not looking for perfection. We’re looking for potential . You’ve got instincts, grit, quick thinking, and witty humour—everything that qualifies.” He leans in, hand on the desk, smiling. 

“Besides, you remind me of a certain cadet I once knew.” Lance says, looking affectionately at Keith. Keith returns the fond look, before looking back at Aaron with amusement. 

“Juniper also had some kind things to say about you last week, too.” Keith implores with a glint in his eyes, and a smile that feels a little too knowing.

Juniper? Juniper Kogane-McClain? The pretty girl in the back of the class who loves flowers, her farm animals, and her family? The one that let him borrow a pencil? The one who pulled a chair across from his desk, slammed down her lunch box and demanded he take half of her lunch and her chocolate milk, all because he didn’t have lunch?

The one he has a freaking huge crush on? 

He feels his face go hot. He almost drops the letter in his hands, but with clammy fingers, he opens the letter. With the letter in his hands, he reads aloud: 

---

August 12th, 2XXX

Dear Aaron Dos Santos,

We are pleased to inform you that, after careful consideration and special recommendation by affiliated alumni, you have been selected for admission into the Galaxy Garrison Junior Cadet Program . 

This invitation is extended to you based on exceptional qualities demonstrated in your personal character, situational instincts, and outstanding field potential.

As a Junior Cadet, you will work towards an assigned class such as engineer, technician, and/or pilot (cargo or fighter) and undergo foundational training in aerospace navigation, astro-mechanics, interplanetary science, and leadership development. You will also receive guidance and mentorship from active Garrison officers and field veterans. 

Housing, education, gear, and training resources will be provided on-site at the New Garrison Training Base, located in Arizona. 

Please report to the Garrison Welcome & Orientation Center by 08:00 hours on September 1st, 2XXX for your official induction, uniform fitting, and cadet registration.

Your journey to the stars begins now.

Welcome aboard, Cadet.

Sincerely,

Takashi Shirogane
Principal, Board of Admissions

The Galaxy Garrison 

---

Tears drip onto the letter in front of him. He doesn’t deserve this kindness. He’s a street rat, a hoodlum, a rebellious orphan—none of what qualifies to be a cadet at the Garrison.

How embarrassing. Humiliating.

This has to be a joke. He’s a discipline case. He doesn’t deserve…

He feels a hand on his shoulder as he tries to desperately wipe his tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie, but they just keep coming, hot and silent. His vision blurs again, this time not from panic, but from an unfamiliar ache. 

He feels seen, but… it feels wrong. 

“Aaron,” the voice says—it’s Lance, he realises, so warm, steady. “It’s okay.”

Aaron shakes his head, sniffles loud, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No, it’s not.” His voice is raw. “I didn’t earn any of this. I’ve done nothing to deserve this. I screw up everything. I fight teachers. I barely show up to class. I don’t even know how to do multiplication without a calculator.”

He looks down at the letter again. The words blur through watery eyes. “I’m not supposed to be the one who gets picked.”

“You’re exactly the one,” Keith says from across the room, and his voice isn’t soft—it’s firm, strong in his approach. “I was an angry kid too. I was scared, so I pushed everyone away. Hell, I stole Shiro’s car and thankfully, he took me into the Garrison the very next day.”

“What?” Aaron questions in blatant disbelief.

Shiro chuckles, “It’s true.”

“Story for another time.” Lance says with a hint of laughter. 

Keith continues, unaffected. “Shiro saw past that. He pulled me in when they didn’t have to. He saw my potential, and at the time, I couldn’t believe it either. I tried every way to get kicked out; to push the boundaries to prove I didn’t belong there.”

“But Shiro didn’t give up on me, and I, him.” Keith smiles, one filled with pride. He puts a hand on his other shoulder, kneeling down and looking him in the eyes. “And we’re not giving up on you, either, kid.”

Shiro steps out of his chair, walks around the desk, and stands in front of him, leaning against the desk. “You’re here because of what you still can become. Patience yields focus, Aaron.”

“I don’t know what I can become,” Aaron chokes out. “I don’t know how to be anything else but... this. A foster kid loser with no support.”

“Good,” Lance says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Then we start from there. We’re not asking you to be someone else, or to decide today. But, we’re offering to help you build who you want to be.”

Aaron looks up at him, shoulders trembling, voice raw and cracking at the seams. “...What if I mess it all up?”

“We try again.” Lance whispers, so kind. 

Aaron feels all kinds of undeserving. 

“We want to help you, Aaron. We think you’ve got a lot of potential, but what you decide to do with that potential is up to you. Don’t give up on yourself.” Lance leans forward, his voice quieter now. “You’ve already done the hardest part.”

Aaron sniffles, blinking up at him. “What’s that?”

“Nunya.”

Huh?

“Nunya…?” 

“Nunya business.”

He blinks. When the retaliatory joke Aaron said to him last week finally registers, he blushes with embarrassment and looks away, deeply ashamed. Lance laughs, bright and kind. 

“Maybe you can also fight an Arusion one day. Maybe, their bravest warrior.” Lance and Shiro laugh at Aaron’s slack-jawed reaction. Again, this feels like another inside joke. Keith scoffs, looks away with a sweep of pink across his cheeks and irritation laced beneath his eyes. 

Aaron looks down at the tear-stained letter again, fingers curling around it like it might disappear if he lets go.

“…So I really get to go?”

Lance smiles at him, so genuine and kind. “A fresh, new start. What do you say, Aaron?”

Well, Aaron thinks with deep consideration, it sure beats the home. 

He nods, once. Small like his voice. “Okay.”

Aaron wipes his face on his sleeve once more and straightens in his chair, like the weight of the universe just shifted—for once, the weight of the world isn’t pressing down on him. 

It’s waiting for him.

He takes a breath, shaky but full.

“Okay,” he says again—firmer this time. 

Lance’s smile widens, and Keith lets out a breath—relief, pride; a hybrid caught between the two. Shiro places a reassuring hand on Aaron’s shoulder, just as steady and warm and filled with hope.

“Welcome to the Galaxy Garrison,” Shiro says softly. “Cadet Dos Santos.”

And with a little hope and a wash of finality, Aaron takes his first step toward the stars.

“I’ll make you all proud.” Aaron promises, bold and brave.

Lance passes him a box of tissues, though he might need it for all three of the men in the room when the little guy leaves the room. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears. 

“You already have.”

 

𓂃𓂃𓂃🖊

Chapter 15: Energy / Quintessence

Summary:

Post-Canon.

Lance feels the world in new and mysterious ways, thanks to the marks on his cheeks.

⊹ ࣪ ˖✦

 

When Lance first received his Altean marks, first felt the hum of energy beneath the tops of his cheeks, he felt… emotional, and a little underwhelmed, to say the least. He felt the thrum of energy from his cheeks to his fingertips. 

Altean magic at the palms of his hands. Yeah, it was cool, okay? 

…If only he knew how to use it. 

Well, it wasn’t really magic per say. Not the kind you’d see in anime or kids cartoons or movies about wizard schools. 

It’s a tad more stranger than fiction. 

His marks, the thrumming of energy beneath his skin, feels endlessly connective to the fabrics of the universe, threads of reality and beyond the moist soil beneath his feet. He feels hypersensitive to the world around him now—smelling, tasting morning dew before waking upon a new day. 

As each season passes beyond time, he feels extra sensitive to the shifting of weather.

When winter rain plummets into the atmosphere, he feels the scent of rain enter his nostrils. And yet, he’s inside with the doors closed and windows shut. The cold sweeps through his body like a tide, and several blankets and heaters will do nothing to help his body balance out the temperature difference. 

(Cuddling Kosmo helps, but ultimately, it does nothing to deter the cold quintessence embedding into his muscles).

When spring rolls around and the Juniberry flowers begin to bloom, he feels their magic pour to life as the sun beams down on their dew soaked petals. He feels the life they give to the Earth inside of his chest, smelling the flora and fauna in new ways as life brims anew in the sun. 

When summer breaks through the clouds, he feels extra hot in his body; sometimes the AC will do absolutely nothing for him, and he’s ultimately in shambles by the time it rolls around to midday at the peak of summer’s wake. 

His tan is suddenly much easier to obtain, which is nice—the sun’s heat strengthens every part of his body, his thrumming energy as his marks hum in delight. 

(He does need to slap on extra sunscreen and has to schedule it into his datapad timers, otherwise he burns; he never used to burn from the summer heat).

As the sun went on vacation and leaves finally fell to the ground for autumn—crunchy and in a vast array of beautiful browns, red, and yellows—he felt the crackle of each leaf floating in his ears; the sound hurting his eardrums with every step. He grew hypersensitive to the trees, breathing their oxygen in like a lifeline as they shed their leaves for the season. But even in the fading days of autumn, quintessence pulses through the lush heart of Lance’s garden, and the magic within him aches with hunger for it.

And don’t even get him started about how quickly he can get sick nowadays. Their medicine cabinet is chock full of a varying list of medications, just on the off chance he does get ill. 

You’d think theoretically, Alteans being life givers and all, would give him more strength than ever before. Well, it did, don’t get him wrong, but it also kind of did the opposite?

For example, if he’s sick—he’s sick. Out for the count, his bed calling his name. He’s out like a light. And yet, just as quickly, he’s back on his feet. 

One time, he was throwing up all morning from a stomach bug, and by dinner, he was just fine with a slight headache; the energy of his cheeks humming on and off, assisting his cells to recover quicker than your average human, emulsifying and killing off the virus with a sword through the virus’ heart as he sweats under the covers of his beloved bed.

It fluctuates, it’s strange, and frankly, he dislikes that part tremendously—the whiplash of his body not knowing what to do with all of these wacky changes vs. the energy doing what it needs to uplift his body back on its feet. 

He called his Mama once and told her about it, who then proceeded to tell him about his Aunty Christa who has fibromyalgia and chronic illnesses all over the shop that affect her immune system quite frequently. 

“Could it be that, mijo?”

Allura, if the marks you gave me a dang chronic illness before you walked into the void, someway, somehow, I’m coming to find you. 

At least, that’s what he thought to himself mid-call as he contemplated his mother’s words. 

He then went to Coran, took some time off from the farm, from the Blade of Marmora, and spent a solid week with the best doctors on New Altea as they experimented and did an abundance of medical work and testing.

And wouldn’t you know it, they found nothing of the sort. 

“You know, my boy, the everyday human stores a lot of quintessence subconsciously. Due to the marks on your cheeks, this has now become a conscious state of mind and it seems like you’re now sensitive to it.”

Coran said to him post-tests while Lance ate some food goo in the hospital bed (it was plain, he needed it after his body went through the ringer all week with all the testing). 

“Perhaps the quintessence is getting used to being so active in your body, and thus, causing havoc with your immune system. Take it easy, I’m sure it’ll settle in soon.”

It didn’t. He still has hard days. However, he grew to soak in the feelings rather than push it away.

Somedays, out in the garden of Juniberry, if he quiets his mind just enough, he can feel the saplings push against soil, reaching hungrily for vapid rain, their stems and leaves drinking sunlight like nectar from the gods. 

He can feel and hear the honeybees buzz near the bed of sunflowers, aching for pollen and nestling life, even as he sits so far away on the opposite side of the farm. 

Every fragment of life surrounding the air he breathes hums with meaning, held in a quiet reverence. Heck, even the tiniest of cricket noises, and the chirps of birds feel loud with the natural humming of life brimming beneath his cheeks.

One time, he was harvesting some supplies for their next humanitarian mission, and he felt the ripple of life rip away from the plant as he pulled a strawberry off of its stem. He cringed as his marks began to shine, circulating between the cause and effect, and healing the wound with the magic beneath his fingertips. 

He stood there for a solid minute, brows furrowed with confusion, stretching out his fingers—curling into fists, unfurling at the ripple of energy—as the hum thrummed in the palm of his hands. 

He heard the muffle of his name being called beyond the white noise, jumping and trembling at the outstretched hand that gripped unto him to seek his unwavering attention. 

“Lance, are you alright?”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Sometimes, when cooking, he can feel the sizzling of the pan up his nose and he needs to take a timeout. It burns his nostrils and flares the blood under his cheeks to the point where the packet of frozen peas from his freezer becomes his best friend, kissing his cheeks cold.

Sometimes, when writing, he can hear the pen scratch against paper, and he has to learn to tune it out before he can’t write anymore, overwhelming all of his senses.

Some nights are completely unbearable to sleep through when all he can hear is the loud sounds of crickets, cars, dogs barking, cows moo’ing, chickens clucking and the zapping of electricity from the wires outside of his bedroom walls. 

Thank god for his headphones, his eye mask, and the warmth of Kosmo and his beloved. 

Heaven forbid he’d ever get a good night's rest. 

When he cries now? He feels his rush of energy against them—the tears look normal, but they feel extra hot, salty to the touch, streaks his cheeks like lightning, and he feels the echo of simmering quintessence intertwine like knitting needles crocheting heat with his tears.

It’s abnormally comforting, if not, very strange. 

But… It wasn't all bad.

Sometimes, when the wind brushes past him just right, he swears he can hear a melody within the breeze; soft, ancient music notes woven through branches and birdsong, as if the world itself is humming a lullaby meant only for him to hear. 

He hums along with the melody, hums along with his twinkling marks.

Sometimes, when he's tending to his herbs, they respond. Rather, not with words, but with a kind of radiant stillness, a brim of energy beneath the surface. The basil leans toward him. The lavender seems to sigh under his touch. The juniberry kisses his hands with its petals.

It brings him joy with the fauna that blooms faster when he sings. Tomatoes that taste sweeter when he’s had a good laugh under the springtime sun. Letters that write themselves and echo the words in his ears when the chasm of his heart is open wide enough.

It gives him warmth, not just from Kosmo curled at his feet or his partner’s hand in his, but from within, too. A flicker of an ember beneath his heart that reminds him he is alive, deeply and vividly, even when everything is all a bit too much.

He feels his emotions tenfold, but in such a beautiful way. 

For example, he feels the twinkle of happiness glimmer beneath his chest when he laughs, the pride flooding his heart when he feels a sense of accomplishment, the simmering of shyness through his blood when he looks at a certain individual and gets caught. 

It feels like someone is playing a xylophone every time he feels a certain emotion—connecting his emotions to the untapped melody of life.

When he blushes, he feels the roses from his garden kiss his cheeks, the love blooming vastly in his heart, and the red colour settling into the beds of his skin as it sharpens in colour from the wind’s nippy air. 

He’s one within himself, as if his third eye has finally opened to the world surrounding him; to the air he breathes, interconnected with his emotions in ways he never imagined, interlacing all of his thoughts with the pulsating energy radiating under his sun-kissed skin.

And in those moments, those rare, radiant moments, he finally understands.

It’s richer, deeper than he ever knew the world could be. Like the earth is whispering secrets into his bones, much alike to the lions once did. Emotions no longer feel like burdens or waves crashing over him; they are instruments in a grand symphony, and he is both the conductor and the song.

Joy doesn’t just arrive anymore. It blossoms, like golden marigolds stretching toward the sun. Sadness isn’t a void anymore. It’s rainwater, feeding the roots of the seeds yet to bloom. Even fear hums with purpose, like a drumbeat urging him forward, steady and alive with an extra layer of courage.

He notices the world in textures now: the fuzz of peach skin, the warmth of steam rising from his tea, the vibration of bees passing by, the cold plums of the air inhaled into his lungs, an invisible thread that ties him to every living thing on their home planet and beyond. 

He feels love in abundance, in ways he could have never imagined. If he sits in the moment, he can hear heartbeats and feels the nerves gently tremble beneath his skin. He could give you details, but, let’s just say that might be a little inappropriate when it comes to certain topics.

And though there are days when the tickling energy completely overwhelms him, when it threatens to spill out in colours and sounds and sensations too big for one body to hold.

He knows now, that this too-muchness is not a flaw. It never has been. 

Not for Lance.

Allura gave him more than just the delicate gift of those luminous blue cheek marks. No, she offered him an understanding of life that is beyond his wildest imaginations, and a freedom from the chains of self-doubt, the shackles of the subconscious. It's beyond the realms of what one could ever possibly obtain. 

Yes, Allura opened the door for him to a world that’s vast, crisp, rich and true. He’s consciously aware of the atmosphere and the air he breathes, actively listening to the world around him in new and mysterious ways.

It is his magic.
It is his presence.
It is him. 

Beautiful, in full bloom.

⊹ ࣪ ˖✦

Chapter 16: Fairytale

Summary:

Part Two of Day 6, Altean.

Lance is in misery.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

 

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful, handsome prince in the Oceanic Kingdom of Altea… who is unfortunately—currently shedding hot tears into his pillow. 

Prince Lance of the Altean Kingdom cannot help but think as he sobs unapologetically: Heaven above, life is simply not fair.

You see, his mother and father set him up into an arranged marriage to, quote on quote, ‘end generations of unease and tension, and forge a living symbol of trust, alliance, and mutual respect,’ or something along those lines. 

Memory has never really been his forte. Whatever. Anyway.

And thus, to appease his parents, he does give it a chance for once, and unintentionally meets the most egregiously, attractive prince he’s ever laid eyes on. But, the brute of a half-Galran prince swings and misses with a lacklustre attempt of even looking to be somewhat smitten, somewhat interested. It rattled him to the bones.

 

---

 

Narrowing his eyes to the floor, he pulls out his most diplomatic voice that sounds so forced, it feels like a cat scratching on a chalkboard. “I am Prince Keith of the Galra Empire. It is an honour to meet you. I look forward… to…” he sighs. “Our union.”

Lance lifts his head and the hearts in his eyes snap in half in an instant. 

 

---

 

The memory lingers into his mind and sticks there like an annoying leech from the rivers of Altean’s countryside.

Keith clearly, obviously does not want to be married to him. What an insult to his ego, his pride—ripped in half like the finest of parchment on royal scrolls.

Was he not attractive enough? Witty enough? Polite enough? What does he need to do to ever be enough? It’s never enough for any of these half-witted suitors from all across the universe. Lance feels as if the goalposts just continuously move every time and nobody is ever willing to give him a chance; to even be remotely satisfied with him. 

And then! To add the Juniberry on top, he stormed off once his emotions overwhelmed him, seemingly not giving the best of impressions to the Empress and Emperor of the Galran Empire. 

He wants to scorch the Earth. 

How humiliating, he thinks as the pillow beneath his face soils with neverending tears. Arrange his execution at once.

Knock, knock on his grand, blue doors to his suite. 

“Your Highness…?” It's his attendant, Gertrude, who makes their presence known.

He sinks into his pillow. "Present."

“Prince Keith has requested to see you. He’s on his way as we speak.”

Lance shot up like he’s been zapped by lightning, heart pounding out of his chest in fright, shock, and… excitement? Oh, heavens to Alfor, he is not ready. His face isn’t at it’s best, his outfit is now ruffled some sobbing into the pillow and the bedsheets—this is a catastrophe beyond words.

“He what ?! No! Deny him. Tell him I’ve perished. In my grief. Or choked on my own pride. No, do NOT let him in, Gertrude!”

“I’ll let him in shortly,” his attendant says, entirely unfazed, ducking out before Lance can attempt to throw a decorative pillow at her audacious nature.

Lance groans in his palms, dragging his hands down his face. His cheeks are still burning with embarrassment and anger. He should’ve ran to the kitchen or his study to annoy his best friend and chef, Hunk, or his human encyclopedia-slash-scholar, Pidge. 

What could Keith possibly want now? To clarify more terms of their stupid, bizarre arrangement, transaction? He’s going to royally throw up. 

He scrambles up, pacing the room. 

Should he act cool? Aloof? Bitter and wounded? No, he should be the one storming into his bedroom, demanding apologies—wait, no, that doesn’t make sense. He’s not in his palace.

A knock. Firmer this time. He jumps, shrieks at the sudden sound with a shrill yell, then lets go of a deep sigh from his chest, ready to face his worst fears; his heart splitting in two.

Rejection.

“Come in,” Lance sounds out, already cringing, bracing for heartbreak.

The door gently opens, softly creaking. Keith steps in—shoulders square, expression... nervous?

“Hey. Uh, look, I know you’re upset,” he says, hands up in pacification before the door even closes behind him. “But, I wanted to apologise for offending you.”

Huh?

“In fact, I think,” Keith meets his eyes and they glimmer like sunlit beams to his sparkling shores of blue. Mighty Alfor, this one’s going to hurt . 

“Excuse me for being so forward, but you were pretty—uh, I mean, that too,” Keith coughs, looking away in embarrassment, before looking back up at Lance’s wavering, shellshocked eyes. “Pretty brave for standing up for yourself, despite these circumstances being thrust upon you.”

A paused silence fills the room. The Prince of Altea, well, he wasn’t expecting this at all. 

He blinks a few times at the sudden apology. He was expecting the worst of outcomes to ruin his heart so he could cry himself to sleep tonight and forget all about it. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” Keith said, voice low but honest. “Politics. People. Feelings, I suppose.” He steps closer, then stops himself. “I spoke to your majesties after you left.”

Lance narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest and bracing himself for the shrapnel of rejection anchoring in his chest. “Listen, I wouldn’t,” He sighs in fragrant defeat. “I wouldn’t blame you for rejecting the proposal…”

Keith pauses at the allegation and meets his eyes in bafflement and wonder, as if he’s grown a third head.

“What? No. To apologise. And to ask permission. I told them I’d like the honour of courting you.”

Lance freezes—his blood turning into ice, then promptly melting into the hottest fires of Arus’ volcanoes. Pink sweeps his cheeks. “I… Excuse me?”

Prince Keith steps forward, Prince Lance steps backwards. Contrasting expressions; one determined, one mortified with confusion, meeting each other in a waltz of misunderstanding.

“I’ve truly never met someone like you. It’s…” Keith sighs, a blush sweeping his cheeks too. “Awe-inspiring to see how open you were so quickly.”

All the deities above, please cease his heart. 

He meets his eyes again—amethysts to sapphires, and Lance wonders if Keith feels like he’s going to be rejected instead.

His heart is beating out of its chest. He’s never been in this position before. 

“You command the attention of the room so easily, you’re emotionally vulnerable in ways I’ve never seen someone express before. In our culture, it’s not a thing to express your emotions so… so openly, so quickly.” 

“It was an honour to see that side of you so swiftly. Personally, I think it was bold and brave.”

Lance blinks.

“I meant what I said,” Keith says, carefully now, taking another step forward, every word chosen like a bridge he’s choosing to cross, unsure that it will hold its weight. 

“I would like the opportunity to court you.”

Oh, Dios Mio. This isn’t…

His pinks are now blooming into a ruddy red, refusing to calm down. 

The half-Galran man continues to speak. Lance can’t help but keep his focus on the red scar across his stupidly handsome cheek.

“In truth, I didn’t want to be arranged into a marriage, and I’ve met a few suitors before this arrangement occurred who were stuffy and uncouth—not my type at all—but I knew it was my duty as the crown prince of the Galran empire. I just…” 

Honesty bores from his intense eyes from across the room. It stills Lance’s beating heart. “I’m sorry if there was any sort of misunderstanding on my part. I just,” Keith takes the deepest of breath, ruffling a hand through his thick bangs. Nervous.

“I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you; so courageous, emotionally open, fiery, and knows what he wants to boot.”

What. 

Huh. 

Whomst. 

“You ticked all the boxes on my metaphorical scrolls.” Keith laughs, the bright vibrancy lighting up the dark chambers of his bedroom. “Forgive me. It was a very pleasant surprise, to put it bluntly.”

A beat of silence. Lance is openly speechless.

Then, Keith smiles—incredibly shy, incredibly attractive, and maybe even hopeful in his endeavours to court Lance. 

Prince Lance of the Altean Kingdom.

“So… Will you grace me with a second chance?”

Prince Keith, standing there in the softest of Altean sunlight, all bashful smiles and sincere intentions, open body language, is asking him for a second chance. Him. 

This is straight out of a fairytale. 

Lance is someone who has rubbed royalty the wrong way too many times to count, someone who can be dramatic, perhaps almost obnoxious with his insecurities, testing the boundaries of others time and time again. 

Someone who has never honestly activated a particle barrier in his youth, nor his life. 

Nobody chooses to be with him—He drives off others with his bravado and dramatic demeanour.

Him?

He’s choosing him?

The silence stretches a breath too long. But then, Lance laughs—a little too high-pitched at first, like he can't believe what he just heard, but it smooths out quickly into something oddly warm and flush. He looks to the floor, unable to meet his suitor’s eyes.

“I— wow. Okay. Me?” Lance responds, too shy for words.

Out of his sight, Keith’s smile grows, confidence peeking through.

“I have to be honest.” Lance steps forward, almost whispering his words, and it’s enough to make Keith straighten his posture ever so slightly. 

“I can be frustrating to say the least, I was only told yesterday.” Another step forward, heart slowly but surely opening up for Keith. 

“And truthfully, I’ve… I’ve never activated a particle barrier. My ego was just, uh, hurt.”

Keith laughs at the admission, smitten beyond belief. The flush on Lance’s cheeks thickens across his nose and his marks start to glow. 

“You’re funny.”

Christ. 

His heart needs to stop pounding out of order like a trembling lamb.

“But, I’m v-very high maintenance.”

“Adorable.” The Prince states, taking another step forward—now almost face to face with him.

God. 

Lance treads on nervously, “By the time we even walk down the aisle, I’m, I-I’m sure you’ll be sick to death of me.”

“Well,” Keith smiles at him shyly, “It’s only day one, but I’m glad you’re already thinking about that. Besides, I’m confident you could say the same about me too after today’s events.”

Simply? Lance is stunned. He stares at him for another moment.

“You’re incredibly weird,” he declares.

Keith blinks. “Excuse me?”

“And stupid,” Lance adds, lips quirking. “But weird first. Just so we’re clear.”

Keith chuckles, ducking his head. “I mean, yeah, stupid? Sure, I deserve that.”

After a beat of silence, Lance finally pours his heart out, voice shaky and states the obvious (to himself, atleast), “I don’t understand. Why aren’t you running for the hills?” 

Keith’s expression turns into meek confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean, look at me.” He laughs, but it’s brittle at the edges. “I threw a royal tantrum, stormed out in front of your parents, said some dramatic things I probably, most certainly, definitely regret, and I, well, I’m not exactly subtle when I’m mad.”

Keith doesn’t answer right away, but the quiet stretches gently, not awkwardly.

“I’ve been told I’m too much,” Lance continues, breath catching. “Too loud, too emotional, too complicated. You’re calm, mysterious, and while you talk like a soldier who’s never let his guard down long enough to cry in front of someone, you’re strangely kind and caring to boot.”

He looks up then, eyes searching. “So why aren’t you running away?”

Keith takes another step closer, slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. His voice is soft, gentle yet steady.

“I truly don’t think you’re too much.” He pauses, gaze never leaving Lance’s. “Quite bluntly, I’m surprised nobody’s scooped you up sooner. Forgive me for being forward, but I think you’re beautiful.”

Lance forgets how to breathe. 

This can’t be real.

“And I’m not calm,” Keith goes on, almost sheepish. “I just don’t know how to be open. It’s a remarkable quality you have.”

Lance stares at him, eyes wide and glistening. “You really are incredibly weird.”

Keith gives a crooked grin. “Still not denying the stupid?”

“Not a chance, no.”

They’re very close now; closer than ever. Close enough that Lance can feel the warmth radiating from Keith, can smell the faint scent of pristine leather and royal spice clinging to his handsome attire. Too attractive for words.

Close enough that this breathtaking moment could tip into something more.

Keith’s voice drops to barely a whisper. “So… will you grace me with the opportunity to court you? Officially?”

Lance doesn’t answer right away. Then, slowly, coyly, he grabs one hand and presses his own into it with a small smile.

Maybe, this could work out.

Maybe, this could be the start of something new. 

“Fine.” Lance closes his eyes, draws in a steady breath. He exhales, opens his eyes once more, and lifts his chin with practiced royal poise. “Show me you’re worth the arrangement.”

Keith’s breath audibly catches in his throat, eyes dazzling. 

“Tonight. At the Coronation Ball. I’ll make my decision then at the twelfth varga.” His eyes catch his once more, and in this charged moment, the air between them thickens, tightens, the distance between them on the tip of something sultry and scandalous, dense with simmering possibilities. 

His gaze flickers to his lips, and back once more. Keith makes him feel a little braver, and it’s only day one. “For now—”

Lance doesn’t finish.

Because his stomach, in its infinite betrayal, lets out an outrageous growl that echoes off the marble floor like the call of a dying beast.

Both boys freeze.

Then they burst out laughing, the tension dissolving like morning mist under the sun. Lance hides his face behind his hands, groaning through a flustered smile.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he mutters, mortified. “Way to ruin the moment.”

But Keith only grins, eyes still alight with laughter. Without a trace of mockery, he reaches out and gently takes Lance’s hand, lifting it to his lips. The kiss he places on it is light, courtly.

“Shall we see if lunch preparations are in place yet?” he asks, voice warm with amusement, and one of many firsts was just shared between them.

Oh no.

Oh nooo.

Lance feels the hearts that blink to life in his eyes like some lovesick fool out of a bard’s tale. Roses bloom around his line of vision again. Thunder strikes his achy heart once more. Ocean tides meet moonlight eyes, and the prince feels so, so flustered.

He clears his throat, doing his best to gather whatever scraps of royal dignity he has left. 

“Well… I suppose even a prince must eat. Come along, Sir Samurai.”

Without giving Keith a chance to react, Lance grabs his hand—the very same one Keith had just kissed—and strides forward with theatrical flair, chin high, like this had been his plan all along. Behind him, Keith stumbles once, then follows with a stunned laugh, fingers curling gently around Lance’s.

“Sir Samurai?” Keith echoes, half amused, half baffled as he walks alongside him out of the door.

Surely, this will be all over the palace by noon. He wouldn’t be surprised if a servant was already scribbling it into a letter bound for the Altean tabloids. And he has absolutely no doubt it’ll reach Pidge with the speed of lightning and the force of a full-blown storm.

But for once, he feels brave enough to let the bravado down; to give it another shot, another chance.

And he thinks to himself with the most attractive prince, holding his hand, he wants to court him? One of the most notoriously difficult people in the palace? 

He thinks he’s brave, courageous, pretty, adorable? 

He feels pride bubble in his blood. 

Yeah, he is adorable.

Let them gossip.

He’s fine with it this time.

 

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

 

Notes:

We love Lance McClain in this house. 💙

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Lines of Colour