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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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Lance never shuts the fuck up.

Keith can’t get enough of it.

It’s been like that for as long as Keith can remember. Lance was the motormouth in, like, 6 of his classes; always had his hand up with a question or answer, and comments in between. Keith had been annoyed with it, that first year.

But then he’d shared classes with Lance again.

And again.

By then, they’d had their fair share of group projects together. Keith came to know that for all he was a rambling mess, Lance was really fucking smart, and funny besides. He was also endlessly kind and supportive, at least when he wasn’t egging on their rivalry that he’d invented (and that Keith hadn’t known they’d had — not that he wasn’t an active participant, once he knew. Riling Lance up was the most fun he’d had in ages).

Keith doesn’t remember exactly when he’d started smiling whenever Lance looked at him, feeling proud whenever Lance got a question right in class. Doesn’t remember when the mild annoyance turned to genuine appreciation. He does remember looking down at his notes one day, in Algebra II, only to discover a blank page, and realising that he’d spent the whole class just watching Lance talk. (He also remembers feeling pleased instead of the disappointment he should have felt, because he figured he’d have an excuse to hear Lance talk more if he asked him to help Keith catch up. He knew he was in quite the mess, then.)

Keith knew he had a crush on Lance, after that. And Keith was never one to sit idly — he’d asked Lance on a date right then and there. Lance had, for the first time in Keith’s working memory, gone speechless. (And quite the pretty shade of red.)

The speechlessness didn’t last long, that’s for damn certain. Keith took Lance to the Applebee’s at the plaza near his house that very night, because Shiro worked there and would give him a discount. Also, Lance had once mentioned he liked the lemonade there.

Keith met Lance there because neither of them had their full license yet. He doesn’t remember what exact table they sat at, only that they must have been near a window, because Keith remembers swooning over the sunlight warming Lance’s beautiful brown eyes no less than six times. They’d ordered, Keith some sort of fried dish and Lance — Lance had ordered a four-cheese fettuccine with a garden salad and, of course, a lemonade. Keith remembers so specifically because Lance spent the next thirty minutes excitedly telling him every piece of history surrounding the dish, down to the prehistoric origins of wheat-made pasta and the disturbing account of the first pink lemonade. He’d looked sheepish after looking at his watch and realising how long he’d been talking, and Keith hadn’t known how to assure him that Lance could narrate every detail of paint drying in a wall and Keith would swallow up every word.

(Later that night, Shiro sent him a picture he took while the both of them were distracted — Lance, animatedly waving a fork in the air as he lectured, and Keith, chin in his hands, meal forgotten, looking at Lance with a face more besotted than he knew he was even capable of making.

Keith sent the photo to Lance, asking him if he’d like to go out again, confessing that he enjoyed every second of Lance’s rambling.

Lance said yes. Very quickly.)

The rest, to a degree, had been history. They’d dated for the rest of high school, staying together even as they attended university and trade school on either side of the country. It was easy, really. Lance made sure they always had something to talk about. (Lance loved university. He was enamoured with every second of it, every niche interest of his getting its fill. He switched his major fourteen separate times, chasing every one of his ambitions, and Keith loved every story he heard. He also liked becoming an expert by proxy, because that was inevitable — you could only hear about the important of spiders in the ecosystem so many dozen times before the information was reflective whenever someone brought up the subject.)

As soon as Keith got his mechanic’s certificate — and he passed his exam in the highest percentile, meaning he could practice anywhere in the country, much to his pleasure and Lance’s overwhelming pride — he took off to California, his one and only thought being that he had to get to Lance. (Not that it had been impulsive — this was planned, something they’d been waiting for. Did Keith run over as soon as he could? Yeah, kinda. So maybe it was a little impulsive. But mostly it was planned.)

Not to sound like a Disney princess, but Keith really felt like their life began once they moved in together. Keith was able to find a job at a pretty decent garage, bring in money for them immediately. Lance had his library job until he graduated, and of course then he was snatched up by the nearest ecological restoration effort — he got to spend his days crawling through the forest, fawning over every tiny bug and critter. He is so fucking cute. Keith loves him more than anything in the world.

Lance’s constant lectures never stopped, either — any interest he picked up, he told Keith about it. From his knitting club to the new beetle species he’d found at work, Keith got the pleasure of hearing about it. And it truly was a pleasure. Keith had his fair share of time being a motormouth, too — he’d bought a project bike as soon as they’d saved enough, and spent a fair chunk of free time building it back up. (Lance helped, or at least as much as he could. Mostly he sat in their garage, handing Keith tools, and talking about anything he could think of. If Keith could go back and tell his ten year old self what his future would look like… God. Sometimes he can’t even believe how lucky he got.)

Keith has it made. He comes home from work every day to Lance’s beaming smile and gentle teasing about the grease on his clothes. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted. He’s happy. So fucking happy.

Except that things have been a little different, recently. For the past few weeks, he’s been coming home to his usual smile and kiss, but the idle chattering or excited rambles — Keith feels as if they’ve become a rarity. Their home used to be filled with the sound of Lance’s voice, silent only when he’s reading or focused intently on something, eyes narrowed and tongue peeking out of his mouth.

Lance still looks happy. He still curls up with Keith on the couch after dinner, socked feet in Keith’s lap and three million blankets over his shoulders. He still sends Keith a myriad of heart emojis on his lunch break. Their sex life has not suffered.

But the lectures. The constant infodumps of whatever passing thing has grabbed Lance’s attention. They’re gone. And Keith’s devastated about it.

He misses Lance’s voice.

———

Shiro is not getting it.

“It doesn’t sound like a big deal,” he says, voice staticky because signal at the shop is ass. “I mean, maybe you two are just growing up and settling down. How long have you guys been together, now? Seven years? Eight?”

“Almost ten,” Keith says quietly.

Ten years of the same thing. This change is new. It’s strange, and Shiro isn’t getting it at all.

“Exactly! Ten years! You guys were so young when you started dating, kiddo. Hell, Lance was still wearing braces, wasn’t he? I’m not shocked that he’s mellowed out a little.” He chuckles to himself. “Hell, maybe he’s finally just learnt every bit of knowledge he finally can.”

Keith frowns. “I dunno, Shiro. Sometimes I feel like he wants to say something, but he’s holding himself back. Why would he ever hold himself back from me? I don’t — I don’t want him to hold back from me. I like it when he talks.”

“Tell him that, then. The only way you’re going to get answers is if you ask him, you dork.”

“Some brother you are,” Keith mutters, pouting. “You’re supposed to solve things for me.”

“Hm. Pretty sure you’re a grown-ass man who’s capable of solving his own problems, bud.”

“Ugh. You’re horrible. I’m changing the Netflix password to kick you off.”

Shiro laughs. “Sure! No more Costco membership for you. Password sharing goes both ways, you little snot. Now hang up and call your man. I have to leave for work soon.”

Despite his ongoing frustration, Keith can’t help a smile at the familiar banter. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your upcoming fourteen hour shift of hell.”

“Go fuck yourself! Love you!”

“Love you too. Bye.”

It shouldn’t really surprise him that Shiro’s no help. As much as he pesters his brother as often as possible and generally finds joy in making himself into a nuisance, they haven’t seen each other face-to-face since Christmas. They’ve lived in different states for years.

But, still. There’s some part of Keith that will always think of his big brother first when he has a problem. And that part of him had the right ideas, because Shiro is unfortunately right — he really does just need to talk to Lance. There’s not much else he can do.

He spends the rest of his shift wondering how he’s going to bring it up. He has his own motormouth moments, sure, but realistically? Keith doesn’t talk all the much. He’s more of an action person. How the hell is he supposed to breach the subject? ‘Hey, Lance. I’ve noticed that you are talking less. This change has consumed my every thought. I miss the sound of your voice. How come you don’t talk to me about your life anymore?’

Yeah, no. It sounds ridiculous even in his own head. He’ll have to — plan it out, maybe. He’s not sure. He’s never had to worry about making Lance talk more before.

He’s so distracted that he nearly burns off his eyeballs, forgetting to put on his welding mask before trying to make a part he couldn’t source for an older car. His boss sends him home early, worried he might accidentally leave a blowtorch by an air compressor or something and send the whole place up in smoke. Keith tries to take it as a blessing — maybe he’ll ride around on his bike for a while and clear his head. A way to bring it up might come to him naturally.

It doesn’t. He spends the whole ride just stressing himself out. He does drive by a flower stand, and turns around to pick up some poppies and peonies — Lance’s favourite. It won’t breach the subject, or anything, but it’ll make Lance smile. Hell, maybe he’ll start talking to Keith about all the different pollinators that made this bouquet possible. That would be a dream come true.

He hasn’t come up with any new ideas by the time he makes his way home, but he’s less stressed. He sets the flowers on the counter and takes a quick shower. Maybe he’ll start some dinner? Surprise Lance, for a change. Yeah. That won’t solve the problem, but it’ll be nice anyway.

He starts making four-cheese fettuccine and pink lemonade, because he is a sappy loser.

By the time he hears Lance’s key in the lock, he’s got the table set and the food is done. He keeps it heated on the stove, ducking into the bathroom to check his reflection as Lance steps into the apartment.

No grease smudges on his face. His hair is braided, the way that always makes Lance all blushy. He’s wearing the v-neck, too-tight black sweater that Lance likes, too. He’s got this. He doesn’t have a solid plan, or anything, but he thinks maybe if he turns up the romance then Lance will just spill whatever’s wrong. That works in the movies.

“Keith, baby? You home?”

“You have leaves in your hair,” Keith says, stepping out to meet Lance by the door. Lance smiles immediately, laughing to himself as he cards his fingers through his hair in an attempt to find them. Keith takes pity on him after a few seconds of fruitless searching, reaching forward and running gentle hands through the curly mess of his boyfriend’s hair, half to get out the leaves and half just to touch.

“Yeah — climbed a tree to check out a new weaver ant colony. Watched ‘em for hours — pretty boring, I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”

I want to hear about it, Keith thinks mournfully. Please, please tell me about it.

“I made pasta,” Keith says quietly, when it’s clear that no more details are forthcoming. “And, uh, got you some flowers.” He tugs Lance gently towards the kitchen, placing the flowers in his hands.

“Oh, Keith, they’re gorgeous! Man, I love peonies. They looks like pink cabbages, it’s the best. And poppies —”

Yes, Keith thinks. Tell me about how California poppies were traditionally used as stress-relief medicine, but not like opioid red poppies. Tell me —

“I should put these in a vase,” Lance says instead of any of that. Keith feels like he could cry, honestly. Lance leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, patting him on the chest. “You want to set the table while I do that? Or do you want to eat on the couch and watch a movie?”

“Table sounds good,” Keith says, because if they watch a movie then there’s no chance of Keith finding out what’s wrong.

“Okay! I’m going to get changed, too, I’ll meet you in ten.” Lance kisses him again and then rushes off. Keith waits until he’s disappeared into their bedroom to cover his face in his hands and scream silently.

Fuck! He just wants his Lance back. So badly. He wants to be woken up at strange hours of the night to hear about how trees communicate. He wants to get spam-texted as he’s trying to work, phone practically buzzing out of his pocket. He wants to hear about marketing strategies when they’re grocery shopping. He wants Lance to get distracted mid-sex by reading the back of the condom box, and then remarking with vague interest that they use the same dye in some cereals.

At the very least, he wants to know why Lance is acting so strange.

“So,” Lance says, once they’ve both settled down at the table and started to eat. “How come you’re home early?”

“Boss sent me home, I was distracted. I’m not mad, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve done something special for you, which is a travesty.”

Lance smiles. “Dork. I appreciate it, though. Very sweet of you.” He shifts in his seat, tucking his legs up under him and leaning his head on his chin to look at Keith properly. “How come you were distracted?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Thinkin’ about this hot bod all day?”

Keith huffs a laugh. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Tell me! I’m curious now. I have to know or I’ll die.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Mhm. That’s not even the half of it, and you know it. If you don’t tell me right now I’ll just start listing the names of royals throughout European history and how freaky it is that most of them are directly related.”

Lance is teasing. His tone is light and playful; he’s obviously trying to goad Keith into playing along and groaning theatrically. A few weeks ago, Keith might have given in easily, and started ribbing him about why on Earth he has the names memorized in the first place.

But all Keith can think about is just how badly he would love to hear that.

“Promise?”

Keith’s voice comes out embarrassingly sincere. Soft and hopeful and dead-serious.

Lance’s hand stills, mid pasta-swirl.

“You…want me to? List names of inbred royals?”

Keith swallows. It’s as good of a segue as any, he supposes.

“Yeah.”

“…Why?”

“Because I — I miss your voice, I guess.”

“Keith, I talk all the time,” Lance says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He snorts to himself. “One might even say it’s my defining quality.”

“You haven’t been. Not recently. You used to talk all the time, but now — I dunno. The house is quiet. I miss you talking about random things. I miss hearing about your day and the million creatures you met and the people you saw on the bus home and the weirdly-shaped stone you tripped over on the sidewalk. I miss you bazillion lunch-break texts. I miss your running commentary when we watch a movie, even though you miss important dialogue and have to rewind to hear it again. I dunno. I just miss you.”

Keith keeps his eyes downcast on his plate as he speaks, and keeps it there after he finishes. He’s finished his food, already, but he can’t bring himself to look at Lance’s face.

“Keith?”

There’s a strange quality to Lance’s voice, a sort of — bewildered breathlessness. Keith risks a glance, finding his boyfriend staring at him with a dropped jaw and wide brown eyes.

“You really — you miss my motormouth?”

Keith shrugs. “I fell in love with your motormouth. Of course I miss it.”

That makes Lance’s cheeks heat, and he glances down at his plate like they’re teenagers again and Keith told him he was cute for the first time.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Keith’s not sure what else to say. He doesn’t know how to express that there’s nothing that Lance does that he dislikes, not truly. Sure, it’s annoying when Lance leaves a million half-full cups of water around the apartment, and Keith is regularly tripping over the shoes that he never puts away for some reason, but there’s nothing — every part of him is precious to Keith. Everything he does and everything he is, Keith knows he can’t live without.

“I know you love me,” Lance whispers. He looks pointedly away from Keith, pushing a couple wayward noodles around on his plate. “I’ve never — I’ve never needed to doubt that.”

Keith swallows. “Good.”

“I — yeah. You show me all the time. And, I mean, look at today! You brought me flowers home just because. You do things like that for me regularly; I never forget that you care about me. But —”

One word. Three measly letters. But it’s enough to feel like a stone is dropping on Keith’s chest.

“— sometimes I feel like I’m too much? Like, I’m kind of intense. I know that. And I can’t always tell when I’m being weird or annoying. And you’d never — you’d never string me along, I know that. If you stopped loving me you’d tell me.”

“I would never stop loving you.” Keith can’t say the words fast enough. He wants to print them out and — tattoo them on his forehead. Melt them into gold and press them into Lance’s hands. Smash them to dust and sprinkle them in the air. Whatever — whatever it takes to prove to Lance that they’re true.

Lance bites his lip. His eyes are wet. “I — I don’t want us to —”

Keith doesn’t wait for the tears to fall. He stands and hurries the two feet over to Lance’s chair, carefully pulling him up and wrapping tight arms around his waist. Lance falls into him willingly, resting his forehead on Keith’s shoulder and leaning into him.

“Three of my coworkers think I’m annoying,” he whispers, long after the food’s gone cold and the light from the window has begun to dim. After Keith’s arms have gone a little numb and a wet spot has grown where Lance’s face is pressed into his shirt. “I just thought — I thought we were friends, but I heard them talking about how exhausting I am to be around. I don’t want — I don’t want you to get tired of me, too.”

Keith closes his eyes as he exhales in a shudder, firmly reminding himself that unfortunately, being a two-faced asshole is not illegal, and Keith has no defense for hunting those shitheads down and murdering them a little.

“They are not worth the ground you walk on,” Keith whispers, pressing a firm kiss to Lance’s hair. “You have more value in your toenail clippings than they do in their entire bodies.”

Lance giggles wetly. “Gross.”

”I mean it,” Keith says, smiling. “I love you, Lance. All of you. I never get tired of listening to you talk. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

———

It takes a while. Those asshole coworkers did a number on Lance’s self-esteem, because they’re horrible, and they deserve every horrible thing that happens to them. Honestly, Keith kind of hopes their cars break down and they have to spend ridiculous amounts of money getting them fixed by idiots, because Keith has quietly blacklisted them to every good mechanic in town. (Not that Lance knows. Lance is too nice to ask for something like that. Keith, however, is a bitch, and has no problem doing shady things to appease his own sense of justice.)

Eventually, though, the apartment stops being so silent. It starts with a shark documentary that takes them three hours to watch because Lance keeps pausing it to point out specific behaviours to Keith. And then they get kicked out of a casino they go to for shits and giggles, because Lance can’t contain himself and points out how the house is strategically winning all the card games they’re calling ‘luck-based’. And then grocery store trips start taking too long again, and Lance gets distracted mid-shower comparing the ingredients of shampoo and conditioner, and then they start a small fire in the apartment because he was explaining how broccoli evolved from mustard seed and burnt a whole pan of stir-fry to a crisp.

One day, seemingly out of the blue, Shiro sends him a picture of him and Lance, fifteen years old, at the shitty town Applebee’s.

I was looking at old pictures, the text reads. And you were right. It is strange that Lance was so quiet. I can’t imagine how that would feel. I’m glad you two worked things out.

Keith looks over at Lance, who’s singing a the periodic table song to himself as he washes the dishes for Keith to dry, and smiles.

He’s glad they worked it out, too.

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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For all that Keith easily sees the strength in others, he struggles to accept just how much value he holds. He’s not like Lance, of course — Lance sees the good in every person he meets because as much as he hates to admit it, he’s gullible. But Keith looks at every person he meets and easily identifies their strength. Sometimes it’s with fondness, sometimes with wariness, but he is completely certain that everyone in the universe has a value to them.

He, however, struggles to see how he is valued by others.

It’s not that he thinks he’s useless. He knows he isn’t. He knows he’s skilled. But Lance has always observed Keith in any way he could, and that didn’t stop when they got married. Lance knows his husband can’t quite understand why he is loved as much as he is. He’s happy to explain why he values everyone else, from earnestly explaining to Allura that she’s the spirit of Voltron and fondly telling Lance to leave the math to Pidge — he loves metaphors, that husband of Lance’s, because heaven forbid he just says what he wants to say — but vehemently denies that he might be held in just as high regard.

But Lance knows. Quietly, proved over and over again through the years, he knows that Keith is who people turn to when they need someone. Keith is reliable, he’s dependable, he’s strong — a little tactless, sure, but when you’re scared and vulnerable and you don’t know what to do or who to rely on? You turn to Keith. Lance did it himself, years and years ago, when there were five lions and six paladins and he didn’t know where to go from there. The war may be behind them, but that didn’t stop their team from needing their leader.

1. Pidge

Lance really starts to clue in when Keith’s phone goes off, late at night, when they’re cuddling and watching a movie (but mostly cuddling).

“Sorry,” Keith mutters sheepishly. Lance just rolls his eyes fondly and digs around for the remote to pause the movie (he is not going to have Keith talk over Legally Blonde. That’s a sin). Remote search or no, though, Lance refuses to move even one inch away from his own personal space heater, so he feels it when said personal space heater tenses up.

Here we go.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just — don’t hang up. I’m coming, okay?”

Keith puts his hand over the base of his phone, looking at Lance urgently.

“It’s Pidge.”

“Is she okay? Does she need Voltron?”

“Not all of us,” he says, hushed. “She’s just — she messed around in the wrong server and got herself arrested in the Delrn quadrant. She needs someone to go get her.”

Lance exhales, shoulders slumping. That’s not — that’s not good, obviously, but after years of Pidge needs help meaning Pidge is being ambushed by dozens of armed soldiers, it’s a lot less scary.

“You need my help?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, you stay here. I’ve got it. It shouldn’t take too long. Don’t wait up though, okay?”

He presses a kiss to Lance’s cheek before untangling himself from the blankets, walking over to the front door and sliding on his boots.

“I’m coming now, Pidge, okay? Keep on, I’ll transfer your line to my ship in a minute.”

“Text me when she’s safe,” Lance calls as Keith unlocks the door.

“Will do.” He shoots a rueful smile in Lance’s direction. “Sorry for ditching movie night.”

Lance shakes his head fondly, waving him away. “Go, Oh Mighty Black Paladin. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Keith grins at him one more time before he ducks into the garage, locking the door behind him. Lance sighs, turning off the T.V. and folding the blanket, heading over to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. He won’t be able to sleep until he knows Pidge is home safe, anyway. (And, he’ll be honest, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll be able to sleep without Keith’s constant snores.)

By the time Keith gets home, Lance has finished three (3) coffees and has sewn the lining of the current project he’s working on. It’s something like 4 in the morning, but Lance stopped looking at the clock a couple hours ago.

“I thought I told you not to wait up,” Keith says, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Lance’s lips.

“Mm,” Lance mumbles, grabbing Keith’s shirt and keeping him right where he is (pressed close close closely to Lance, where Lance has selfishly and unashamedly decided he belongs). “Can’t sleep without you. I’ve unfortunately fallen victim to your conditioning, Pavlov.”

Keith snorts, kissing him one last time before fully scooping him up in his arms.

Lance, whipped as he is, does not protest.

“I think you’re maybe just in love with me,” he says, smirking.

Lance pretends to think about it. “I dunno. There’s this really hot guy, maybe you’ve heard of him. Leader of Voltron? Ex-Blade? He’s got this dreamy mullet. I kind of have a thing for him.”

Keith rolls his eyes, fully throwing him on the bed and crawling in after him, ignoring Lance’s indignant yelp.

“He sounds like a dork,” he says drily.

Lance grins. “He is.”

“Whatever, you butthead. Get over here so we can sleep.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Lance flops into Keith’s open arms, snaking his arms around his husband’s waist and tangling their legs together. He holds him closely, head over his heart, listening to it beat.

“Pidge okay?” he asks softly.

Keith hums, running his hands through Lance’s hair. “Yeah. Pretending to be less shaken up than she is. She got cocky and got caught and it freaked her out, so she started running her mouth. You know her.”

Lance laughs quietly. Sounds like Pidge.

“But it wasn’t that big of a deal. I went to the station and talked them out of pressing charges for spying. She’s banned from the quadrant for life, but nothing else. Dunno why she called me to help. Coran probably would have been more helpful.”

Privately, Lance thinks he knows exactly why Pidge called Keith. Why, when she was scared and alone and knew she had fucked up, she immediately called the one person who would drop everything to make sure she’s okay. Who has done it for her before and will do it again. Who respects her as a grown woman, now, who doesn’t need his guidance, but who will never stop providing his support.

“Bet she thought the big bad Black Paladin would win her some intimidation points,” he says instead, because he knows his husband isn’t yet ready to hear it.

They’ll get there.

2. Hunk

It’s not that Keith gets these calls often. Hell, definitely no more than once every five or six months. Few and far between, really. Staggered enough that the pattern might skip most people’s notice.

But Lance knows better.

So when Keith’s phone rings — and of course it actually rings, because Keith is the only person Lance knows who never, ever turns his ringer off, because even though he might not realise it he is constantly ready to help and would never put himself in a position where he can’t — in the middle of their mortgage meeting with the bank, Lance ducks his head to hide his smile.

He figured that might happen.

“Fuck,” Keith mutters, digging around in his pocket. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

The bank teller — a very serious-looking woman in her late sixties — does not look amused. She mutters something about professionalism.

Lance does her a favour and does not point out that Keith is one of five reasons that Earth is not currently a pile of space dust, and she should perhaps provide some lenience.

“Keith?” comes a nervous, teary voice from Keith’s phone (the bank teller’s office is real small, and there’s no room for privacy).

“Yeah, Hunk. You okay?”

“Um, sorry to bother you. You’re probably busy. But, uh. My car broke down? I tried fixing it myself but I don’t have the parts I need, and triple A says they can’t send a tow because of all the snow, and I’m wearing a coat but I don’t really want to be here for hours so —“

“Hunk,” Keith interrupts, “breathe, buddy.”

Hunk does, deep and noisy enough to be heard through the phone.

(Lance thinks back to the first time he can remember that Hunk’s anxiety made itself known around Keith. He remembers seeing Keith, eighteen and still bitter and unsure but desperate to be part of a family, with wide panicked eyes and stuttering advice about ‘not worrying about it’, trying to calm Hunk down to no avail. It’s certainly something, he’s thinks, that Keith can now calm Hunk effortlessly through the phone.)

“I’m leaving now to come pick you up. We’ll come back later to get your car, yeah?”

“I don’t want to put you out —“

“Hunk,” Keith says firmly, “chill out. Or, er, don’t, I guess, since that’s the problem. Um, stay in your car so you’ll stay warm. I’ll be there soon. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

Keith hangs up, and looks apologetically at Lance.

“I’m sorry, babe, I know this is important —”

Lance squeezes his hand. “Go. I got this.”

Keith quickly gets up from the stuffy chair, presses a kiss to Lance’s temple, and rushes out without a word.

The bank teller sniffs. “High demand, your husband. Can’t even make time for one appointment. That doesn’t inspire confidence, you know.”

“Family emergency, ma’am,” Lance says with great amusement. “Besides, we’re nearly finished. I’ll make sure to relay everything you say to him when he gets home.”

Lance decides to walk home after the meeting, since Keith has their car. It’s nice. Despite the mishap, the meeting had gone rather smoothly, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t get approved for their mortgage within the week. That’ll keep things going nicely. Lance will miss their quiet little apartment, but he’s excited for what they’re going to build together next.

Besides, he thinks, when Keith gets home several hours later with a sheepish Hunk in tow, it’ll be nice to have a couple guest bedrooms.

He’s sure they’ll need them.

3. Romelle

The ring of the doorbell makes them both panic.

“Is that the social worker?”

“She’s not supposed to be here for another hour,” Lance hisses, three steps away from freaking out. Keith is not far behind him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can we ignore it?”

“No, we can’t ignore it! It’s a home visit! We need to be home!”

“Fuck! Okay! I’m gonna answer the door, fix your hair!”

Lance does, frantically trying to pat it down so it doesn’t look like he’s been nervously running his hands through it for four hours (he has) or that he just had sex (he hasn’t). (Well. Not since this morning.)

“Here, let me —” Lance practically melts at Keith’s touch, his gentle hands through the knots in Lance’s un-straightened hair, even though it’s certainly not a new sensation.

But he always appreciates Keith’s hands on him.

“We’ll be okay,” Keith says, dropping a kiss on Lance’s forehead before stepping away. “I mean, if we fail we can just be assholes and pull the saviours-of-the-universe card, right?”

Lance flicks him on the forehead, unable to fight back a smile. “We’re supposed to be responsible now, Mullet.”

Keith grins, curling one hand in Lance’s and one around the doorknob. “Whatever you say, Kogane. You ready?”

Lance nods, squeezing Keith’s hand.

They’ve got this.

“Hi,” says someone who is decidedly not the social worker, looking at them nervously from their front door.

Keith and Lance blink at her, and then each other, shocked.

Well. At least this is better than Mrs. Kreft coming early, at least.

“Romelle? What are you doing here?”

The Altean’s face crumples, and she throws herself at Keith.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life,” she wails.

Lance sighs fondly, shaking his head.

He should have known.

“I’ll call Mrs. Kreft,” Lance says as Keith guides the sobbing woman to their couch. Keith nods gratefully, then turns his attention back to Romelle, so Lance heads to the kitchen to give them some privacy.

He quickly dials the social worker’s number, resting his hip on the counter and fiddling with a random pen he found.

“Lance! I’m about to leave for your place now. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he reassures. “Keith’s sister popped by unexpectedly, though. She’ll probably stay for a couple weeks. I was wondering if you could maybe do one of our character evaluations at the same time as the home visit? Two birds with one stone, you know.”

If there’s one thing Lance is good at, it’s rolling with the punches. He’ll handle this.

“You caught me at a good time, then,” Mrs. Kreft says jovially. “I’ll get the right paperwork. Is Keith’s sister prepared for the interview process? She’s not really meant to rehearse or anything — she’s supposed to provide an honest and timely assessment of your caregiving abilities — but it would be best if she knew it was coming.”

“I’ll make sure to brief her. Thank you, Mrs. Kreft. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Lance. I’m rooting for you two. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”

“Alright, thanks. Bye.”

Keith walks in to the kitchen just as she hangs up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Lance says, reaching over to rest his hand on the side of Keith’s neck. He rubs his thumb over the tense muscles there, tracing over his clenched jaw and pursed lips. “I handled it, baby. She’s going to do a character interview with Romelle at the same time, so this worked out.”

Keith sighs in relief, tilting forward to rest his head on Lance’s shoulder. Lance shifts so he’s comfortable, running his hands through Keith’s hair.

“Oh, thank God.”

Lance hums. “Told you it would be fine.”

“I know. It’s just — I feel like every time we try and do something for our future, something happens and you end up picking up my mess on your own. We’re about to — we’re trying to be parents, Lance. I want us to be on equal grounds.”

“Hey.” Lance tugs gently on his husband’s hair. “Look at me.”

Keith does, looking down at him with a furrowed brow and frustrated pout. Lance reaches up to smooth the line between his eyebrows.

“Do you think I walked into this unprepared?” he asks sternly. “I know you, sweetheart. I knew exactly what I signed up for when I agreed to be your right hand. Do you think that stopped when the war was won? Do you think I didn’t know that were were going to be doing this leading schtick our whole lives? I knew who you were when I married you, baby. This is not a surprise. You’re not leaving me to clean up after you. We’re a team, cielo. And sometimes a team means I stay home and hold the fort while you’re picking up our dumbass friends from a holding cell, or calling the social worker as you make sure everything’s okay. Okay?”

Keith exhales, pressing his forehead to Lance’s.

“Okay. Thank you, Lance. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lance presses a quick kiss to his lips before stepping away, grabbing a box of tissues and filling up a glass of water. “Okay, Samurai. Fill me in. What’s up with Romelle?”

“She’s worried she’s got no future. She’s been kind of drifting around between New Altea and the Rebels and the Blades, doesn’t feel like she fits in anywhere.”

“So she’s going through the emo Keith phase,” Lance teases.

Keith scowls. “Whatever. Technically.”

“She came to the right place, then. Your earnestly awkward life-coach ass will have her fixed up in no time.”

“You’re mean to me,” Keith says, pouting.

Lance laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Mhm, and you’d be lost without me. Let’s go make sure you’re sister is okay.”

Intermission

To Lance’s relief, there are no interruptions on the most important day of their lives — the day everything they’ve been slowly working for comes together. The day their family grows to four — two kids, siblings, lives uprooted by the war — there are no interruptions. No one calls, no one shows up unexpectedly, no one needs their help.

It’s just them, terrified and elated at the front door, meeting Mason and Keevah for the first time.

Keith is the first to react. He squeezes Lance’s hands three times in quick succession then lets go, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor, eye-level with Mason. He looks at Keith warily, untrusting.

It makes Lance’s heart ache, for this little boy who had the worst thing that could ever happen to a kid happen to him while the entire planet was falling apart, who has learned to be jaded and icy to every adult he’s met, who only barely remembers what it’s like to live in a loving home.

“Hi,” Mason says eventually.

Keith smiles slightly. “I’m Keith. My husband’s name is Lance.” Lance waves. Mason glances at him, but does not wave back. “We have a room prepared for you and your sister.”

Mason blinks, surprised. “Me and Keevah?”

Lance smiles, finally losing the battle with his tears. (He’s doing everything he can to keep the smile on his face, keep himself from openly sobbing. He keeps imagining himself in Mason’s position, losing his parents before he could talk properly and suddenly desperate to stay with your infant sister. It’s heartbreaking. He already aches for this kid, and he barely knows him.)

(Yet.)

“Yes,” he says, voice cracking. “We figured that would make the transition easier.”

Mason hesitates a moment. Lance can see the emotions warring on his face — to trust, or not to trust — and he can hear Keith’s breathing shift, slightly, like he’s remembering feeling those exact same emotions himself, years and years ago, stepping into Shiro’s apartment for the first time and wondering if it’s worth it to hope.

“Okay,” Mason says eventually. He tugs on Keevah’s hand, wrapped tightly around her big brother’s finger, other thumb in her mouth as she stares at Keith and Lance with blatant curiosity. “Let’s go, Keevah. It’s late. Time for bed.”

Lance moves to guide them to their new room, but Keith stands, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“It’s the first door on your left,” he tells them. Mason nods once and walks off, superhero suitcase rolling behind him. (They hadn’t known if Mason liked superheroes, or Keevah, but Keith had been adamant that they buy a set of luggage before signing all the paperwork, quietly confiding that the worst thing about moving to a new home growing up was packing all your shit in a garbage bag, like that was all it was worth. Lance was quick to agree.)

“They’ll need time to adjust,” Keith murmurs. “I always hated the fosters that were too overbearing.”

Lance sniffles, nodding. “Good point.”

Keith’s smile is soft as he reaches over to brush the tears from Lance’s cheeks, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Everything will work out,” he murmurs. “Promise.”

The surety of his husband’s voice makes him smile. Keith’s strength is unwavering.

“I know. I trust you.”

4. Allura

By the time the fourth call comes, half a year later, Keith is starting to catch on. He’s in the middle of shoving their last duffel bag into the trunk when his phone rings, and his sigh is so heavy that Lance can hear it from the driver’s seat. He hides a smile in his hand.

Keith’s phone is connected to the car’s bluetooth, so Lance turns down the volume — high enough that he can hear, but low enough that Mason and Keevah, who are playing patty cake in the back seat, can’t.

“Allura? Everything okay?” Despite his exasperation, his voice is calm.

For a whole fifteen seconds the other end is silent, long enough that Lance would almost think that the Queen of New Altea had simply butt dialed them were it not for the faintest sounds of heavy, stressed breathing. Then Allura blurts out: “I can’t do this anymore.”

There’s another moment of silence as Keith processes that.

“Do what?” he asks hesitantly. He slides into the passenger seat, buckling up and flashing a small smile at Lance. Lance shoots him a thumbs up in acknowledgment, glancing in the rearview to make sure the kids are buckled too, before peeling out of the driveway, setting route for his parent’s house.

“Do this!” Allura cries, tears audible in her voice. “I’m — I’m quiznaking everything up! I can’t — I’m not fit to be a leader, Keith! I’m not you, I’m not Shiro, and I’m certainly not my father, and I am going to lead my entire people and our planet into a flaming pile of Weblum dung! I am the worst queen to ever be coronated! I’m a mistake!” She sobs, so loud the audio crackles with it. Lance exchanges a worried look with his husband.

He’s never heard Allura so upset — not even when they were facing the end of the universe and none of them had a hail mary to fall back on.

“You’re not a mistake, Allura.” Keith’s voice is quiet, but firm, full of undeniable conviction. He leaves absolutely no room for doubt. “Don’t insult my friend that way.”

Allura chokes on another sob over the phone. For a while there are no words, just the sound of her cries, long enough that Lance feels his own heart start to hurt and chin start to tremble. He hates hearing his friends — his family — suffering.

“I don’t know what to do,” Allura chokes out. “I’m not — every choice I make is the wrong one.”

Keith reaches over and plucks one of Lance’s hands off the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s done it, staring thoughtfully at his phone, like he needed to borrow Lance’s strength for a minute. He hates hearing any of them in pain, too.

Lance squeezes tightly, happy to lend it.

“What happened?”

It’s hard to make out everything she’s saying, intergalactic calls already so staticky on top of her emotions making her accent thicker than usual, but the gist is pretty obvious. Allura has been queen for half a decade, now, a little more — the honeymoon phase, so to speak, is starting to wear off. No longer are all her people just relieved to be out from Lotor’s tyranny — like with any nation, tension has arisen, and Allura is struggling to handle it all on her own. She can’t please everybody, and it’s beyond disheartening to have so many people, who were once completely happy with her and her leadership, frustrated with her.

Keith lets her vent until she finally stops for a moment to breathe. He takes a moment to gather himself, frowning deeply.

“I don’t understand why all of this is resting on your shoulders,” he says carefully.

There’s a pause.

“…Pardon?”

“You seem to be the only one putting out every single fire that’s popping up,” Keith repeats. “Where’s Coran? Or the rest of your council?”

This time the pause is much longer.

Guiltier.

“I don’t want to burden them.”

Keith sighs, but it’s not disappointed. It’s exasperated. Concerned, more than anything. Despite himself, Lance smiles; it’s the exact same sigh Lance would often heave when Keith was trying to do everything by himself, in his earliest Black Paladin days. It’s beyond a little amusing to hear it from the other end.

“Allura, that is their job. They are paid to take some of that burden from you, dude. Quite a lot of it, in fact.”

“Still,” Allura says stubbornly. “It’s not — I’m the queen. ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown’, as you humans say.”

Keith’s indigo eyes brighten. Lance groans, barely resisting the urge to slam his head on the steering wheel — he recognises that look. That’s his husband’s I just thought of an applicable metaphor look.

Keith gleefully ignores him, bolstering right on.

“And what happens if the head is too heavy, ‘Llura?”

Lance groans louder, so Allura can hear this time. It startles a laugh out of her, which brings a smile to Lance’s face and a scowl to Keith’s.

“…You topple right over,” Allura admits begrudgingly.

Keith nods, inordinately pleased with himself. “Exactly.”

“You’re infuriating,” Allura informs him. She blows her nose. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Well, good thing that doesn’t happen often,” Lance chimes in, because the opportunity was right there and the whole point of marriage is that he has the opportunity to mock Keith until they both finally bite it.

Allura laughs as Keith glares at him. Lance smiles primly.

“I cannot believe you two,” Keith mutters to himself. Lance kisses the tips of his fingers with an exaggerated mwah noise and presses the fingers to Keith’s forehead. Much to his own chagrin, no doubt, the action makes his lips twitch up into a smile.

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura says. “You too, Lance. I — appreciate it. And you.”

The softness bleeds back into Keith’s expression. Sap. “Of course, Allura. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He’s quiet for a moment after she hangs up, contemplative.

“Isn’t it strange that she called me for — for leadership advice?” he questions finally, turning to face Lance. “I mean, I stumbled through every day as leader. Shiro was more of a natural. Hell, you’re better with pep talks, Mr. The Black Lion Chose You And I Trust It’s Judgement.”

The set up is there. Lance could spell it out for him now, gently explain what he’s observed over the years, what he knows to be true — Keith, even though he refuses to admit it or even let himself notice, is the cornerstone of their family, the one who grew up with so much change so constantly that he learned to find steadiness in himself.

But that’s a longer conversation. That’s a quiet conversation, for when Lance can give his husband his full attention, when they can face each other and be honest and work through the inevitable pain of Keith accepting that as truth. Not when Lance is driving, and their kids are in the back, very obviously listening in at this point.

“Oh, come on, Fearless Leader,” Lance teases. “She knew she needed a nice, cheesy metaphor to set her head on straight, isn’t it obvious?”

Keith scoffs, smacking him on the bicep. “Jerk.”

Lance gasps loudly, clutching the bicep dramatically.

“Mason! Keevah! Did you see what your evil, evil daddy did to me?! To your beloved Papa! Oh, how I am wounded! Betrayed! By the love of my life, my dearest husband, the man to whom I have pledged my heart —”

The kids giggle, Keith rolling his eyes so hard it has to hurt him.

Lance smiles to himself. Now’s not the right time, but they’ll get there — soon.

5. Sylvio

The truth finally starts to cement itself in Keith’s head by the fifth phone call.

Lance groans as his husband’s ringtone drags him from his sleep, glaring at the man who sleeps peacefully right through it. He smacks him with a pillow, waking him with a startled “Wha—?” and then hands him his phone.

“Hello?” Keith asks groggily, sitting up — dragging Lance, who was laying on his chest, up with him, much to his chagrin — and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

There’s a beat of silence, then a timid: “Tio Keith?”

Both of them shoot up in alarm. Lance hasn’t heard his nephew sound so close to tears since he was much younger.

“It’s three in the morning, kiddo,” Keith says, looking at Lance as if to ask what’s going on?. Lance shrugs, gesturing at the phone — find out!

“I fucked up,” Sylvio says in a small voice, and then he bursts into tears. Keith leaps out of bed immediately, frantically looking for some pants. Lance grabs them and tosses them to him, watching in concern.

“Woah — Sylvio — slow down, I can’t —”

But Sylvio keeps rambling, in a mix of Spanish and English so muddled that even Lance has no idea what he’s saying.

“Just please come get me,” he cries, the first clear words in minutes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, kiddo. Where are you?”

Sylvio rattles off an address, and Keith nods. “I’m coming, okay? Keep your phone on you.”

Sylvio says something in affirmation, then keeps crying, muttering to himself. Keith covers the phone with one hand, he other tugging on some socks. He looks at Lance in panic.

“Why is he calling me?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You should go,” Keith says nervously. “He’s your nephew, you —”

“He’s your nephew too,” Lance interrupts quietly. “You know that. Plus, he called you, cielo. You’re the one he needs right now.”

Keith doesn’t look any more reassured. In fact he looks more desperate and confused by the second. “Maybe we should both go.”

Lance is already shaking his head before he finishes his sentence. “Keevah’s sick, baby. One of us has to stay home in case she gets worse, or throws up.” He slides off the bed, padding over to Keith and cupping his face gently. “Go, Keith. Bring him back, we’ll talk to him then, okay? I’ll wait up. Luis and Lisa aren’t far from here, it won’t take you more than twenty minutes both ways.”

“Right.” Keith takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, most of the panic is gone, replaced with the same determination he always has when things get a little dicey and hopeless. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Lance’s lips. Lance holds him there for a moment, trying to press a little bit more of his love into it than usual.

“I’ll be here.”

+1. Keith

A little less than an hour later, Lance hears their car pull into the driveway. He tugs his robe around him tightly, hurrying to open the door.

“Hey,” Keith says, kissing him quickly and then moving to let Sylvio come through. His face is creased in worry. Sylvio walks in after, silently, shoulders hunched and eyes puffy, face streaked with tears. Lance closes and locks the door behind him, reaching up to hug his nephew tightly.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Sylvio sniffles, face crumpling. He leans into Lance’s embrace, face to his neck, and Lance feels his face get wet with tears again. “Hi, Tio.” His voice cracks.

Lance guides them both to the living room, setting them down on the couch.

“I’ll grab some tea,” Keith murmurs.

Lance hums at him, leaning back onto the cushions and stroking Sylvio’s hair as he cries. Keith is back shortly, setting three mugs on the coffee table and sitting on Sylvio’s other side, arm over the back of the couch. He’s silent for a while, waiting for the kid’s cries to peter out.

“What happened?” he asks, once Sylvio has finally calmed down a bit.

“Dad and I have been fighting a lot,” he says quietly. Lance winces. He’s heard from Lisa and Luis, of course, but he would have figured it out even if he hadn’t — Sylvio has called Luis ‘Papa’ every day of his life, since he was a little boy. He’s only called Luis ‘Dad’ when he’s furious, when he’s deliberately trying to hurt Luis, when both of them can barely stand to be in the same room as each other.

Lance rubs his shoulder. “What happened?”

Sylvio’s chin trembles, and another tear drips down his cheek. “He never — no one I bring home is ever good enough. Nadia can bring home whomever she wants and it’s never a problem, but when I do it, suddenly he has a million faults and he’s bad for me or too old for me or just a shitbag.” He makes a noise of frustration. “He treats me like a baby, like I’m incapable of of making a fucking decision for myself.”

As subtly as he can, Lance exchanges a look with Keith. This is not the first time this situation has been brought up, by more than one person. Sylvio calls Lance to complain about his parents on a semi-regular basis, and both Luis and Lisa have confided in him on more than one occasion.

The problem is, Sylvio is…kind of in the wrong, here.

Privately, when they try and make light of the situation, they joke that Sylvio has the Lance taste — that is, garbage. Before Keith, Lance was very good at falling for people who were either really bad for him, bad in general, didn’t like him, or treated him like shit. A good portion of that came from his own insecurity and cripplingly low self-esteem, and Sylvio is no exception.

Every guy he has brought home has been, to Luis’ credit, not good enough. Once it was someone who made fun of Sylvio every other sentence, once it was a guy who was three times his age, once someone who was clearly using Sylvio as a rebound… Luis saw it, but he was incapable of handling it in any way other than outright banning Sylvio from seeing whomever the loser of the month was, which went about as well as you would think.

It’s been an ongoing problem.

“I’m sorry you guys are fighting,” Lance says, because it’s truly not his place to try and parent Sylvio. He’s tried to guide both his brother and his nephew into the right direction, but neither listen. “I’m glad you called us first, though. That was the safest thing for you to do.”

Sylvio bites his lip. Keith shakes his head slightly.

Lance’s face drops. “Oh, Sylvio…”

His nephew’s face crumples. “I thought the party would be a good distraction,” he whispers. “I didn’t think — he’s supposed to love me, why did he —” Sylvio interrupts himself with a sob. Lance holds him tightly again. He’s not sure exactly what happened, and he won’t know until he can ask, but he can make a pretty good assumption.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it out.”

Sylvio cries on his shoulder for a while longer, long past when he runs out of tears, just dry-sobbing until his whole body shakes and his eyes must be burning. Lance holds him through it, and Keith keeps a steady hand on his back.

“Daddy?” comes a small voice, at least a half hour later. All three of them crane their necks towards the sound, seeing Keevah, eyes watery, standing in the low light of the kitchen with her stuffed lion clutched in her hand. “I threw up.”

Keith gets up immediately. “Oh, c’mere, sweetie.” He scoops her up, her head resting on his shoulder, then turns toward Lance. “I’ll put her back to bed, you get Sylvio to bed?”

Lance nods, and Keith heads back to her and Mason’s bedroom. Lance stands, gently pulling his nephew to his feet, guiding him to the guest room.

Once he’s got the bed turned down and Sylvio in some of Keith’s old pj’s, he tucks him into bed like he’s nine instead of nineteen, kissing him gently on the forehead.

“I’ll call your parents to let them know you’re safe, okay?” Sylvio nods, half asleep. “Sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

By the time Lance hits the lights, he’s out. Lance watches him for a moment, smiling sadly.

He’ll figure it out. Lance did, when he was nineteen, even though it sucked.

He pads over to his and Keith’s bedroom, exhausted, but knowing that he won’t be sleeping for a while. Keith is already there, pulling off his vomit-stained shirt — poor Keevah — and pulling on a fresh one.

“She okay?” Lance murmurs, crawling under the covers and into Keith’s open arms. Keith nods, tightening his hold and pressing a kiss to Lance’s hair.

“Yeah. Fell asleep halfway through her bath.”

“Poor thing.”

Keith is silent for a while, fingertips tracing circles on Lance’s lower back, but he’s nowhere near falling asleep. He’s tense as a live wire, and Lance can feel his heart pound where their chests are pressed together.

“I don’t understand,” he says eventually. His voice is so quiet Lance can barely hear him.

Lance doesn’t need him to specify. “I do.”

The mindless shapes Keith is tracing shift to something more deliberate, tapping, seeking comfort rather than mindless fidgeting.

“…Explain it to me?”

Lance shifts slightly, so he’s still in Keith’s hold but there’s a bit of space between them, so he can look Keith in the face.

“People trust you, Keith. There’s nothing to explain.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Keith’s neck, the hollow of his throat — not to instigate anything, but to touch, to press his lips somewhere vulnerable and say I am watching out for you. “You are so deliberate, my love. So devoted. Everyone knows it, even if they don’t realise it outright.”

Keith’s breathing is laboured. “I’m not what they think I am,” he says, voice wrecked. Lance presses another kiss right on his adam’s apple, to his trachea, to the underside of his jaw, to his chin.

“You are more than you think you are.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” Lance kisses right under his ear, and he tastes salt, from where a tear finally escaped and trailed down his cheekbone. “I’m a mess, Lance. Nothing about me is stable. Why do they rely on me?”

“I rely on you.”

“That’s different. We’re — you’re my husband. We rely on each other.”

Lance pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts, considering his angle. How can he explain the fundamental truth about Keith Kogane that is so obvious to everyone who knows him? That is the clearest part of him?

“When Pidge wanted to run from Voltron and find her family, who convinced her to stay?”

Keith is silent.

“When Shiro had flashbacks of his year of torture and couldn’t tell reality from nightmare, who sat with him until he could breath again?”

Keith’s chin trembles.

“When the Blades were out of ideas and out of luck, who changed everything?”

His breathing gets heavier. “Lance —”

Lance ignores him, barrelling on. “When Hunk’s panic attacks got so bad he was convinced he was having a heart attack, who squeezed his hand until he could breath again?”

Keith sobs. “Lance, that’s not —”

Lance reaches up to gently wipe the tears, staring at his husband until he finally looks back, until indigo meets brown and he knows that Keith is finally getting it.

“Who,” he asks quietly, determined, “was it that I came to, when there were five lions and six paladins? Who stepped down for me?”

Keith laughs wetly. “I gave you the worst pep talk in the world,” he protests, but Lance can finally hear the acceptance in his voice. He smiles.

“And yet.”

“And yet,” Keith agrees. He ducks down and kisses Lance soundly, hands cupping his face, lips moving like he’s trying to fuse himself to Lance.

“Thank you. For knowing and watching and waiting for me.”

“Always,” Lance murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Always, my star.”

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