Archive of Our Own

Keith doesn’t look at girls. 

Lance notices this slowly, collecting data periodically as he sees it, and at first it means nothing; so what if Keith didn’t seem to care about those hot mermaid chicks? Hunk didn’t really either. Even Lance can admit that that was kind of a stupid move on his part—just distracting the mission entirely because he saw someone attractive—but come on, they were babes! He thinks he’s allowed a little leeway when he’s seeing pretty girls. 

But Keith didn’t look at them—which was fine, whatever, Lance was the only one of the team looking at them anyway. Point taken. This didn’t really stick in Lance’s mind before, but he knows better now, knows that it wasn’t an isolated incident. Stuff just like that kept happening, again and again. And Lance kept noticing—noticing more, in fact, because he was maybe sort of kind of POSSIBLY becoming a little obsessive about cataloguing who Keith did and didn’t look at. 

Not that Keith looked (or looks) at many people, but…he’s not, like, not into sex or anything like that; Lance knows this because he has a room next to Keith on the castleship and, one night (November 9^th  at 2:13am, according to Lance’s earth calendar, but really, he barely remembers it) he could hear him, like…breathing hard and making sounds and moving on the bed and ohgodhewasdefinitelymasturbatingjesusfuckingchristKEITHCANBETURNEDON—

So, Lance knows Keith isn’t against the concept of sexuality, at least when it comes to himself. Cool. After this little episode, Lance started keeping tabs on him to figure out who he might be interested in, if anyone. In order to, you know, understand him better as a teammate or…whatever. 

Ignoring the fact that at this point he and Keith could barely be in the same room together without wanting to kill each other, Lance was really just trying to get to know the guy! And what he found out—slowly, incrementally—was that when Keith looked at someone (which he rarely did as it was) it was never, ever a girl. 

Take, for example, this one night on a random planet Lance doesn’t remember the name of, when Shiro, Allura, and Coran had (blessedly, miraculously) given them leave to do whatever they wanted. Of course, Lance was ecstatic, and promptly located the swankiest club-like place in the area and dragged the entire team (well, sans Shiro, Allura, Pidge, and Coran, who were staying at the castleship and doing stupid stuff like resting and being too young to party and testing defenses, ugh) there for a good, old-fashioned night out. 

This club, completely unbeknownst to Lance (no, really, he genuinely had no idea, why would he bring Keith to someplace like this when it was Keith he wanted to fu—), was…well, basically a strip club. Or at least the alien equivalent of a strip club? Honestly, the figures were disturbingly humanoid, with only a few extra eyes and weirdly textured skin as signs to differentiate them. But their parts? Extremely similar. Lance had entered the club, full of excitement and energized bravado, ready to dance, and his eyes had immediately snapped to the models on stage…and then to their chests. And then…lower. 

Yeah. He was suddenly very glad that Shiro had put his foot down and banned Pidge from coming. 

After returning to his senses, Lance immediately turned to Hunk and Keith, laughing nervously. Hunk had been staring-but-trying-not-to, blushing a red that even his dark skin had revealed in hues. But Keith…Lance turned almost apprehensively to gauge his reaction, unsure if he could handle seeing Keith lust over someone, but what he found was infinitely more interesting. 

Keith was staring, that much was true. But he wasn’t staring. Not like Hunk had, or Lance before him. He was looking with curiosity and embarrassment, not shy appreciation as Hunk had been, or shocked fervor like Lance. There wasn’t a trace of interest in Keith’s deep purple eyes, and even the curiosity was gone when he blinked a moment later. 

“This is not what you forced me to sign up for,” he had said simply, and then turned around and left. 

Admittedly, this was a rather damning example. But as dramatic as it was, there were ten more smaller instances just like it. Whenever Lance nudged Hunk and Keith and pointed out a pretty-looking alien girl, Keith would just sigh in annoyance, not even deigning to look at whoever it was Lance was gesturing to. His eyes never wandered around the populations of planets, seeking out women. Even Pidge looked at girls more than Keith did, and Pidge was fourteen and probably wanted to marry a robot instead of a person anyway! 

So, yeah, Lance’s investigations had heralded contradicting results: Keith can and (possibly? probably?) wants to fuck (hhhhrhrhrhrhrmrmrmmhmhmrmtmhmhmtmtm), but he doesn’t pay attention to the girls that he could do that with. 

What is the truth, then? Has Keith ever had sex? Has he ever kissed someone? Lance can vouch from personal exp—uhm, from hearsay—that he had many waiting and willing hopefuls back at the Garrison who would have killed for a night (an hour, a minute, a second…) alone with him. Then again, Keith never really looked at anyone back at the Garrison either. 

But now is different. They’re older now; surely the topic must be on Keith’s mind, at least in some capacity? Surely their never-ending mission doesn’t consume Keith so much that he can’t even spare a glance at a pretty lady that passes by? 

Well, Lance intends to find out. These questions have been driving him crazy for the better half of a month by now, and it’s edging on distracting him from his work as a pilot. Keith already occupies an absurdly large area of his brain; Lance doesn’t need to be sitting around wondering about Keith’s sexuality too. Those deep purple eyes and fiery personality are already enough.

Thus, a rather boring evening finds Lance poised at Keith’s door, fresh from a needed pep-talk from Hunk and with only vaguely sweaty palms. 

He takes a deep breath. It’s just Keith—Lance has sparred (verbally and physically) with him before; he can handle this. And he’s chosen this moment on purpose, because Keith’s actually in his room instead of killing himself on the training deck. 

Lance steels himself. Now or never. 

“Hello? Keith?” he intones, knocking twice and then immediately taking a step back in case Keith barrels outside like an angry cat, upset at his ruined peace. 

That (thankfully) isn’t what happens, though; there’s a little bit of shuffling and then the door opens on a very disheveled looking Keith with mussed hair, bleary eyes, and pillow creases marring his otherwise smooth cheeks. 

Lance’s heart flutters almost painfully. Keith Kogane was napping. And, fuck, he’s cute. 

“Hi,” Lance begins, and then starts at the shy, boy-next-door quality of his voice. He coughs once and tries again. “Hi, Keith. Mind if I come in? Didn’t mean to wake Sleeping Beauty, of course, so if you wanna get back to that I understand—” 

“It’s fine, Lance,” Keith replies abruptly, and Lance’s stomach swoops at how gentle and sleepy Keith’s voice sounds. It’s adorable. So adorable that Lance almost forgets the reason he’s here to begin with. 

“Okay, well, if you’re sure—” 

And then Lance is being pulled into Keith’s room, ending his sentence with a high-pitched yelp. Once he’s inside, Keith releases his arm and (Is he smiling? Is he SMIRKING?!) presses the button to shut his door before calmly positioning himself on the other side, arms folded and leaning like the utterly annoying, emo, hot person he is. 

Even the pillow creases don’t ease his roguish quality, much to Lance’s chagrin. 

“Didn’t know you were so eager to have me in your room with you,” Lance tries, but even he can tell that the pick-up line is weak; he’s still a little too flustered to fully be in it. Either Keith can tell that or flirting doesn’t faze him right now, because he just rolls his eyes. 

“You’re the one knocking on my door. Got something you want to do with me?” he responds evenly, causing Lance’s entire body to warm. Since when did Keith get so good at mirroring Lance’s language back at him? 

Lance is nothing if not a performer, though, so he waves a hand easily and draws a casual, confident smile back to his face. “I have reasons Keith and, unfortunately for you, they aren’t the sexy kind.” 

“I’m so disappointed,” Keith drawls. He’s definitely smirking. Lance has to look away, lest he risk showing exactly how much Keith is getting to him. Maybe he’s more confident after sleeping… 

“Anyway,” Lance presses on, striding across the room and draping himself dramatically on Keith’s bed, “I have questions for you.” 

Keith looks curious, which is good; Lance can deal with that better than teasing. “Yeah? Shoot. I’m awake now anyway.” 

At this, Lance pauses. Hm. This is all a bit…quick, isn’t it? He’s not entirely sure if he’s ready for this conversation, actually. In fact, doing a quick stock of his body, Lance discovers clammy hands, roaring blood, and nervous jitters; not exactly the signs of cool confidence that he needs right now. 

Hunk had said, when Lance had brought up this exact question, that this was anything but quick—that Lance had been wondering for too long anyway, and it was about time that he “got it out of his system.” Whatever that meant. Lance is having trouble remembering right now; his focus feels completely drawn inward, with only a peephole allowing him to throw concentration onto Keith as well, like a narrow beam of light. 

He’s been silent for too long. Keith is beginning to look a bit miffed. 

“Uhm, well, actually, I should probably be training, you know, and I did interrupt your sleep, so it’s fine if you just want me to leave—” 

“No?” Keith’s brows are knitted in confusion. Shit. Is Lance going to have to explain himself now? “It’s…fine? I already said it was fine. Why are you so nervous?” 

Fuck! “I’m not nervous, what? Who’s nervous? Maybe you’re nervous, but I never get nervous, so—” 

“Lance.” Now Keith just sounds tired. “Dude, it’s fine, whatever you have to say, just say it. I don’t care.” 

Lance licks his lips and doesn’t notice when Keith’s eyes catch and hold on the motion. 

He has to know, though, doesn’t he? He has to know why Keith never looks at girls, because if Keith Kogane isn’t straight, then that means something, that means something for Lance, and he has to know why it means something and what that something is and if Keith would just tell him then maybe Lance could figure all of that out and it would finally be over—

“Are you gay?” 

…

…

The tension does not leave Keith’s body. In fact, the exact opposite happens; tension enters Keith’s body, drawing him up straight and taut, hardening his formerly slacken arms and turning his casual lean into an army-style attention stance.  

Lance barely has time to start freaking out about ruining the vague friendship they’ve just started to form when, suddenly and without further preamble, Keith responds with a simple, “Yes.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe Lance hadn’t been as prepared for this as he’d thought. Because that answer, that simple word, yes, sends him into a tailspin he doesn’t know how to control, knocking him far, far back, back into the Garrison, where Keith was a dark, talented, beautiful enigma and Lance spent all his time trying to catch that enigma and solve it for good. It knocks him back into Astronomy class, into Math class, into all the basic classes he took (was allowed to take, even as something as small and insignificant and talentless as a fucking cargo pilot) with Keith Kogane, where he spent the entire time staring at him and wishing he would notice, notice the boy who could do nothing but notice him.

Lance could never stop noticing him. How could he, when Keith was so—Keith? So fascinating and edgy and blazing and red, a force of nature all onto himself, unparalleled in his passion and determination and the only reason Lance was forced to be a cargo pilot and not a real pilot like he was meant to be from the start. 

Keith’s answer throws Lance back to all of that, all of those feelings, and it takes him a moment to drag himself out of them and back to the present, back to the current Keith, who’s standing and staring at him with a hard line in his brow and unsureness in his eyes. 

“Oh,” Lance says. It’s all he can manage. 

Keith, however, doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer. His gaze, which had been quietly averted before, suddenly snaps back onto Lance, who finds himself at the receiving end of an expression so cold and dripping with hostility that it actually makes him recoil a bit. 

“Do you have a problem with that, McClain?” he says, low and deadly. Lance’s eyes widen, and he wrestles himself back into coherency, because he has to talk now, or else Keith is going to get the completely wrong idea and Lance is fucked. 

“I—No, no!” Lance rushes to say, actually raising his hands in defense. Keith is scary when he’s genuinely mad. “Of course not, I totally—It’s not a problem at all. No.”

It can’t be a problem, or else Lance would be a hypocrite. 

Keith seems to be calming down, though, which is good; that intense, angry look is gone, replaced with an expression of wariness that his posture—less strict and more poised for escape—reflects. 

“It’s not a problem,” Lance repeats, because he has to make sure that Keith knows that it’s fine, that he understands that Lance doesn’t see anything negative about him being gay. Keith has to know that. 

“…Okay.” Keith allows his body to fully relax, leaning back into the doorframe and exhaling quietly. Lance feels a pang at the thought that he’d been the one, unintentionally or not, to cause Keith to get so genuinely, heart-wrenchingly tense.

However, Lance knows he’s not going to be able to hold himself together for long. Now that Keith isn’t shooting mental daggers at him, the past crashes back into him and all he can think about is the Garrison and Keith, with his fiery light that both scorched and warmed Lance with its proximity and intensity. The Keith in front of him isn’t the one he’s thinking about anymore, and that’s why he needs to leave. 

Before he says something stupid and ruins everything. 

“Okay,” Lance says, and abruptly stands. Keith jerks upright, seeming surprised at Lance’s sudden movement. “Well—thanks. Thank you. For, uh, answering. I’m just gonna—go, now—”

“Lance?” Keith sounds alarmed, but Lance is already moving, shirking Keith aside as he goes for the door. “Wait, why are you—You’re leaving? Why did you ask me that? Lance, I swear to god—” 

“I’m sorry,” Lance interrupts, fast and pleading. There must be something about his tone, because Keith shuts up immediately and looks at him with wide, concerned eyes. Lance is already standing outside of Keith’s room now, though, and he can’t waste this chance at escape, even when Keith is looking at him like that. “Everything’s fine, I promise. I’m just gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Keith.” 

And with that, Lance turns heel and walks away. He at least has the sense to not start running until he hears the click of Keith’s door sliding shut. 

Lance doesn’t stop running until he’s reached the Big Window on the south side of the castleship, the one he always goes to when he needs to get away and lose himself in the stars for a while. He has a feeling that he won’t be able to lose himself this time, though, even staring at his friends in the sky. 

It’s like being transported back in time. Years and years ago, to the very beginning, to when Lance first saw Keith—scraggly, wearing a weird red jacket, blowing that stupid hair out of his face and looking so abjectly disinterested in everything that 14-year-old Lance was immediately fascinated and annoyed by him. He’d spend the next few months watching in barely concealed wonder as this person, Keith Kogane, rose through the ranks of the Garrison, climbing to the top and staying there with seemingly no effort, always with this intense yet vaguely distant, bored attitude about him. The only time Keith would even come close to smiling was when he was piloting, and even then that tended to be when he was doing something stupid, something at the expense of his team. But Lance just couldn’t stop watching him. 

His confidence. The way he floated above it all like he had no idea it was even there (Lance would realize later that he, in fact, hadn’t).  Lance’s fascination was half-jealousy, he was sure, but it was also half…something else. Something deeper, and scarier, something that kept Lance awake at night twitching feverishly and checking to see if Hunk was awake.

Lance knew he wasn’t straight before Keith Kogane came along, of course. It was hard to ignore the way he’d dream about kissing boys and girls, the way he’d latched onto Joe Jonas the same way a 10-year-old little girl would when he was in fifth grade and didn’t quite know what was “appropriate” yet. The way his first experience in the locker room with other guys was characterized by a lot of blushing and averting eyes and then, a few hours later when he arrived home, rushing straight to his room and locking the door for a while. No, Lance McClain wasn’t straight. He knew that. 

But…that didn’t mean anyone else had to know that. 

Perhaps this was one reason Lance was gunning so hard for the Garrison: it was a chance to start fresh, to actually be himself away from the conservative Catholicism of his family and the oppressive familiarity of Florida. Here, he could do whatever he wanted, and as long as it didn’t get him kicked out, his family would be none the wiser. It sounded perfect. 

And then Keith Kogane came in and nearly ruined all of that. 

First, as Lance would realize later, Keith was one of the reasons he didn’t get into the fighter pilot program right away, which was a scare that left him reeling for days after he first got the letter of rejection; he’d only applied to be a fighter pilot, nothing else, because how the fuck are there a surplus of 14-year-olds wanting to go to a governmental space recruitment facility in the middle of the fucking desert? It was a horrible and scary 72 hours when Lance thought all of his hopes and dreams had been brutally murdered and thrown to rot on the roadside, but he was saved when another letter came in from the mail saying hey, actually, Mr. McClain, we have an opening in the cargo pilot program, would you be interested in that? Um, YES. It wasn’t what he’d planned for or really wanted, but it was at least something, and Lance was willing to take whatever he could get. 

Second, Keith also threw a wrench into his glorious bisexual plans of flirting and hooking up with both girls and boys, because it was kind of hard to flirt with anyone else when he was so caught up in cataloguing everything about Keith Kogane instead of meeting people. Sure, Lance still got experience—it still ended up being more girls than guys, but he did get one steamy make out session with a guy in there too, thanks, even if that guy had suspiciously similar hair to a certain person—but it was never his full self, because part of his mind always wandered back to Keith.

Third, Keith was unapproachable in almost every way—or, at least that’s what it had seemed like to Lance. Aside from his complete indifference to everything that wasn’t piloting, Lance had thought he was straight. Looking back now, in light of what he’s just learned, Lance can’t actually pinpoint why he’d thought that in the first place; Keith didn’t act particularly straight, and he sure as hell was never seen with any girls (or guys, for that matter) after school. Maybe Lance just assumed he was because of, like, heteronormativity or whatever. Maybe it was because he had a devoted fanclub of girls at the Garrison, and girls wouldn’t be that interested in a gay man, right?

Man. Lance was so, so wrong, and the worst part is that it seems so obvious now. Someone that emo and brooding—someone who wears a cropped jacket—couldn’t possibly have been hetero. 

Leaning his head against the window, Lance sighs, letting the cold seep into his face as he recalls Keith going wide-eyed when Hunk gave him a hug once, or when he’d caught him gazing with intent interest and a tiny smile at Rolo when he was lifting things and being generally cool. 

Lance even recalls, with more than a little bit of a blush, how flustered Keith used to get in the (admittedly rare) times Lance turned his flirty comments on him, or the mysterious redness he’d sport on his cheeks whenever Lance threw an arm around him or jostled his hair. 

Of course. Of course. Keith didn’t ever look at girls, but he certainly looked at boys. 

“God, I’m stupid,” Lance says with feeling. All he gets in response is silence, but that’s all anyone ever gets in the vastness of space, so he’s not offended. 

Well, Keith’s gay. Like, gay gay. And from the sound and look of it, he’s been out and chill about it for a while. 

Where does that leave Lance? 

The next morning, Lance is sluggish. He’d fallen asleep at some point last night by the window, and only made the trek back to his room after waking with a jolt and a horrific ache in his neck. So, yeah. Not his best night of sleep. And since he’s generally a morning person, the entire castleship picks up that something’s wrong the moment he trudges into the kitchen late, robe bunched in front of him and shoulders hunched to hide his droopy eyes. 

In Lance’s defense, Keith’s not so subtle either, so maybe he tipped off the team before Lance had even woken up. When Lance enters the kitchen, he immediately pinpoints Keith’s position—he’s sitting in the corner chair of the table, arms folded, head turned away from everyone else, not touching his food-goo.

The team looks from Keith to Lance and sighs. 

Lance ignores them. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” chirps Pidge, offering a sarcastic wave in Lance’s direction. “Glad you finally decided to join us.”

Groaning internally, Lance turns and tries to give the sunniest smile he can, but it sort of just comes out as a pained grimace. “Glad to be here. Is there any food left for me?” 

“Near the sink,” Shiro responds, with a voice tight and clipped but simultaneously questioning. God, what could he think Lance did to Keith? Cringing a little, Lance turns away, locating his food and walking briskly back to the table. 

They’ve left one empty seat. It’s next to Keith. Thanks, guys. 

Lance sits down heavily and picks up his spoon, eating quickly as he always does, because Hunk can do wonders in the kitchen, but he still can’t quite get rid of the texture that is always just going to be goo. It tastes better the less time it stays in your mouth, is all. 

Keith is still gazing resolutely in the exact opposite direction of Lance. Lance kind of wants to nudge him and point out that he’s making it really obvious that they’re in a thing right now, but he seriously thinks that Keith might turn around and bite him if he does that, so he keeps his hands and his words to himself. 

Just like everyone else. It’s so quiet. 

“So!” Coran pipes up, mercifully ending the silence. Lance raises his head immediately, eager to get things back to something at least resembling normal. “Paladins! How did everyone sleep? We’ve got a big day of training planned for you, so I hope you slept well!” 

Everyone turns to Lance. Yeah, he knows the question is mostly directed at him. 

“Sleep was kinda rough,” he admits. “But I’ll be fine. We can’t afford to lose someone as important as me in battle, can we?” he adds with a sheepish grin. It’s a fairly obvious and weak attempt at lightening the mood, but it does the trick; everyone (except for Keith) relaxes a little, and Hunk starts talking about the dream he’d had, which involved some kind of killer rabbit with a hang-up over a love note. 

Thank god, Lance thinks, leaning back in his chair and letting out a breath. The atmosphere feels much better now. 

Keith, though… Lance looks at him out of the corner of his eye, all curled into himself and moody and very purposefully oriented away from everyone else. It doesn’t look like he’s slept very well, either; his eyes have tiny dark circles underneath them, and he’s slumping in his chair even more than usual. It makes Lance feel a pang in his heart, knowing that he’s responsible for some of this, but he has no idea how to make it better. He barely knows what to do for himself.

“So, Keith,” Allura starts once Hunk is finished with his story, bringing Lance out of his musings and making Keith jump a little. “What about you? Did you sleep alright?” 

Lance can feel it before it happens; he sees Keith’s shoulders tense, notices the flash of his eyes, and he’s actually raising a hand to try and do something that might calm him when—

“Do I look like I slept alright?” 

The room goes silent. Keith had snapped out the words, harsh and poisonous, and Allura is instantly taken aback, eyes widening in surprise for a split second before they harden and narrow. Oh, god, Keith. 

“I do beg your pardon,” Allura says, matching Keith’s scathing tone. Even Keith moves a little back in his seat, shoulders hunching in guilty defense. “I was just trying to ask how you are. There’s no need to be rude about it. Though you do look rather…rough, so yes, I suppose I should have assumed the answer. My apologies.” 

Everyone stays silent, awkwardly pushed in between Keith and Allura’s hard glares at each other, when suddenly Keith pushes out from his chair, sending it clattering away, and steps out from behind the table. 

“Ask him,” he nearly hisses, pointing at Lance, who flinches slightly, “if I slept well last night. He should know.” 

Lance stares, feeling dread settle in his stomach, because why did Keith have to have an outburst like this in front of the entire team? He can’t contemplate for long, because before he can open his mouth to defend himself (or otherwise berate Keith), Keith’s already stomping out of the room, and Lance can hear his angry footfalls even after he’s fully gone. 

The entire table turns and looks at him, but this time it’s pointed. It’s the look he’s gotten used to getting as of late—the you’re-the-resident-Keith-whisperer-now-so-go-deal-with-him look. 

At least this time it’s kind of valid for him to be the only one picked to handle Keith. 

With a heavy sigh, Lance stands as well. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. It has something to do with me anyway.” 

Well, he’s back in front of this door again. Keith’s door. He’s pretty sure that his knocking isn’t going to get him a cute, sleepy Keith this time, though. 

“Keith?” Lance knocks lightly on the door, scared of being too loud. “Can we talk?” 

“Oh, so you actually want to talk now?” Keith’s voice is muffled through the solid walls, but Lance can feel the bitterness and confusion in his tone. It’s fair, but it’s still troubling. It still makes Lance’s stomach swoop in a foreboding way. 

He leans his forehead against the door. “I do,” Lance says quietly. “I know I was being weird last night. I’m sorry. I just—I want to talk, Keith. Please.” 

There’s silence for about thirty seconds, and to his credit, Lance allows it to stay for as long as Keith wants it to, keeping his mouth shut and focusing on how cool the door is on his skin. Maybe some of that coolness will seep into him, give him the calm he needs to figure out this situation. 

When the door finally opens, it’s sudden and without preamble; one second Lance’s face is still pressed against it, and the next he’s yelping and falling straight forward, banging into the ground. 

“Owww—”

“Sorry!” Keith says, sounding genuinely panicked. “I didn’t know you were doing that—why were you doing that? That’s dangerous!” 

“I like the feeling of doorframes on my head,” Lance replies sarcastically, staggering up and rubbing his head all the while. He whips around, folds his arms. “You could’ve given me some warning.” 

“You asked me to open the door. Shouldn’t you be expecting it?” 

“Yes, but it had been a while, so at that point you should maybe just—”Abruptly, Lance realizes the pointlessness of this conversation, and throws his hands up with a groan. “Oh my god, this is not why I’m here right now.”

“Then why are you here?” Keith responds, voice still nettled and carefully guarded. He moves and shuts the door, closing off the room to just the two of them, and immediately everything feels a lot more serious, a lot more concrete. 

Lance swallows. How much is he prepared to admit here? How much should he as an explanation for his concerning behavior? 

…However much it takes to get Keith to feel better. That’s the answer. 

Lance has never been very good at the whole self-preservation thing, least of all when it comes to Keith. 

He sits down on Keith’s bed; Keith takes the cue and slowly lowers himself next to him, making sure to leave about six inches of distance between them, which makes Lance feel even worse. He accepts it, though, and braces himself for the talk.

“To start off—I’m not, like, homophobic,” he begins, staring only at his hands. He hears Keith’s little sigh of relief, however, which does bring him some comfort. “I’m fine with you being gay. It just surprised me.” 

He feels rather than sees Keith roll his eyes. “Straight guys think everyone’s straight, huh? Do I act straight? I feel like I need to change something if I do,” he says. 

Lance sits up straight. There’s no way Keith could know how hard his words hit, how the fact that he’s been interpreted as straight himself both stings and relieves him at the same time, a complicated mix of self-loathing and defiance. It’s not like he blames Keith, though; Lance flirts with girls most of the time on purpose, because there’s no risk in doing that. Of course he would be assumed heterosexual. He did what Keith’s saying straight guys do, anyway, so what’s the difference? 

(There is a difference. There’s a difference in the way Lance looks at boys; their necks, their stomachs, their smiles, lower. There’s a difference in his understanding of love, of sex, of relationships. The word is a difference. It’s different.) 

“I’m not, though,” Lance says finally, steeling himself. Keith leans down a little, scrutinizing Lance’s face. 

“Not what?” 

The word. His word. His identity. If he can’t say it to Keith, who will he ever be able to say it to? 

“Not straight.” Lance resolutely turns to fully face Keith, taking him aback a little. “I’m bisexual. Not straight.” 

Predictably, there’s silence. Keith’s eyes are wide, though, and his mouth open in shock. Lance keeps his gaze trained on him, wanting to know what his reaction is even if the thought of seeing it turns his legs to jelly and his blood to ice. What happens now, then? What happens when two boys who like other boys come out to each other? 

“…Wow,” Keith says after what seems an eternity. Lance waits a beat, but nothing comes after it, which is so absurd that it makes Lance laugh out loud. 

“’Wow’?!” he repeats, shaking his head. “I come out to you and all you say is wow?!” 

“All you said was ‘oh’, which is worse!” Keith returns defensively, voice rising. “I’m just—I’m shocked! You never seem interested in anyone but girls, so I just thought that—”

Lance takes a breath, exhales. Well, that was the worst part, wasn’t it? And now it’s over. Lance is never going to have to come out to Keith Kogane again. Hallelujah. Praise be. 

That wasn’t really the crux of the issue, though. 

“I’m telling you so you know that I’m not, like, just some straight guy coming for you and being weird about you being gay,” he says, trying to wrangle them back on topic. 

Keith swallows thickly. “You like boys,” he says, his voice quiet. Somehow, hearing that sentence come from Keith’s mouth makes Lance’s entire body coil and simmer, perking up like a hound smelling blood. Excited. 

“Y-Yeah, I like boys,” Lance confirms. “You like boys, too.” 

In response to that, Keith nods ever so slowly, his eyes flitting about Lance’s body like he’s not sure where he should be looking, what’s appropriate. The simmering heats up even more. 

“…Well, uh…” Lance starts, but it’s a shallow start at best, because he’s not quite sure what he should be doing right now. “Glad we—Glad we got that cleared up! I, uh—” 

“You should go,” Keith interrupts, looking away. Lance hears the sound of breaking glass, from within himself. 

So that’s where they are, huh? 

“R-Right,” Lance croaks, and then winces openly, ashamed of the way his voice sounds. Keith’s responding wince feels both demeaning and relieving all in one. “Right. Well—” Lance walks backwards, nearly trips over himself in his haste to get to the door, and then almost falls through said door when it slides open with a whoosh. “Bye.” 

And then he’s out of Keith’s room, feeling empty, for the second time in two days. 

The narrative of gay acceptance that Lance has been taught—well, taught is a strong word, more like learned-through-osmosis-of-media-and-mostly-straight-friends—was that it shouldn’t change anything, that coming out in a healthy atmosphere to a person that isn’t a bigot shouldn’t be a big deal, and you should just be able to continue on as if nothing happened afterward, comfortable with the knowledge that you both know and that everything is okay in normalcy. 

…Yeah, no. That is not what happens between Lance and Keith. 

At first, Lance doesn’t know what to make of this entirely new brand of awkwardness he’s greeted with the next day, after he and Keith had kind-of-maybe-purposefully avoided each other throughout the rest of the day before. Nothing should have changed between them, right? If they both knew that being gay was okay, as Lance knows they do? The furtive looks Keith is giving him says otherwise; the way they’re refusing to touch each other implies different; the renewed fascination and heat with which they catch each other’s eye says no, things have definitely changed. 

Is Lance being accepted? He can’t tell. He doesn’t know. 

Keith trains a lot, that first day post-coming-out. And the next day, too; he’s at the training deck from 11am to 4pm—Lance knows, because he watches him intermittently, trying not to think about how fluidly his body moves, how nice he looks all sweaty and spent with a sharp sword in hand. 

(He does think about those things. A lot. So much, in fact, that he has to scurry away the moment Keith is done and duck into his room to try to get the coiled tension out of his body.) 

What is with them? On the fourth day of Lance and Keith skating around each other like two magnets with the same charge, Hunk approaches Lance at the kitchen counter, looking tired and thinly annoyed. Lance swallows down the anxiety that expression gives him, and meets Hunk with a tiny, unconvincing smile. 

“Hey, there, Hunk-o,” he says, trying for the bright cheeriness he’s known for and achieving only a slightly overcast neutrality. “What can I do for you?”

Hunk levels him a very straightforward, very clear “I’m-not-playing-games-right-now-don’t-try-me” look, which Lance, to his credit, takes account of immediately and drops the pretenses with a sigh. 

“Look—” he begins, but Hunk quickly cuts him off. 

“Did you and Keith hook up or something?” 

…

…

“What?!” Lance flails his arms and nearly falls off the counter stool. “H—Hook up?!” 

Hunk raises and eyebrow an squints, studying him. “Did you?” 

Lance’s eyes are nearly bulging out of their sockets. “No!” he cries, still flapping about and sputtering. “No, absolutely not, I’ve never even touched Keith that way, what are you thinking—!?”

Hunk raises his hands in surrender, hard look softening with amusement. “Alright, alright! You didn’t hook up! I hear you!” 

Throwing a singular murderous glare Hunk’s way, Lance slumps forward in his seat with a huff, willing his accelerating heartbeat to calm itself down. But, like—that was the first place Hunk’s brain had gone to?! That he and Keith had had a steamy one-night stand and were unsure of how to deal with it? Lance doesn’t have one-night stands, least of all with his crush of four years! He wouldn’t be able to live with the awkwardness, the embarrassment, the casualness. It would kill him. 

“So…” Hunk slides onto the stool next to Lance, leaning close, “if that’s not it, then what is it? You two have been acting weird. Like, really weird. I’ll just be sitting there and you guys will come into the room and it’s like you can just feel the awkwardness in the air, it’s claustrophobic.” 

“Yeah, you’ve been suffering so much, huh?” Lance quips, rolling his eyes. 

“We all have,” Hunk replies solemnly with a grave shake of his head. He is so dramatic, Lance thinks (with no small amount of fondness). 

“…I came out to him,” Lance admits after a brief pause, eyes dropping down to his nails. He hears the tiny, surprised intake of breath from Hunk next to him. 

“And? How did that go?” 

“Not badly?” Lance carefully lifts his head and turns to face Hunk, taking in the concern and thinly veiled curiosity on his face. It reminds him of their generic gossip sessions back at the Garrison, and that familiarity comforts him a little. “We kind of just, like, looked at each other. And said that we both liked boys. He thought I was straight,” Lance reveals with a half-hearted laugh. 

Hunk snorts. “I want to say I can’t blame him, but any of my ‘Lance-is-straight’ feelings have gone out the window seeing how much you talk about Keith, who is very much a boy.” 

“Shut up.” Lance swats Hunk’s arm, annoyed. “I don’t act that straight when I’m not gushing about the boy I like.”

“Sure you don’t,” Hunk says. Lance maturely decides not to comment on the placating tone. Hunk continues, “But, we’re off topic. What else?” 

Lance gives a noncommittal shrug. “Nothing else. I came out to him, he looked shocked, and then he asked me to leave. End of story.” 

“He—” Hunk blinks a lot, confused. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you right—He asked you to leave? Is that what you said?” 

Lance nods, feeling shame wash over him again, though he’s not sure why. “Yeah. He asked me to leave.” 

Hunk is quiet; he sits back, eyebrows knitted and lips in a thin frown, the picture of unhappiness. There’s something a little relieving in knowing that perhaps Lance isn’t the only one to think that Keith’s reaction had been strange. 

“Weird,” Hunk says thoughtfully after a moment. “Very, very weird.” 

“Right?” Lance’s response is energetic, more energetic than he’s been this whole conversation. Having someone who agrees with him generally inspires this kind of thing. “Like, what gives? He’s gay too, why’s he having the most generic homophobic reaction in the world?” 

At that, Hunk seems to break out of whatever spell he was under; he lets out a scoff, shakes his head, tries to look Lance in the eyes. “He’s definitely not homophobic.” 

“Well, I know that.” Lance rolls his eyes. “But he sure acted like he was.” 

“He acted like someone who doesn’t know how to handle new information,” Hunk corrects, squinting the same way he does when he’s trying to work out the name of a rare specimen, or figure out which parts connect on a machine. “Which is definitely…interesting.” 

Lance blinks. “Alright, you lost me. What does ‘interesting’ mean, exactly?”

Hunk pauses again, regarding Lance meaningfully—and with more than a little pity, which doesn’t make sense, like, at all. “Actually, don’t worry about it. I gotta find some things out before I say anything.” 

Oh, now he’s done it. He’s presented Lance with a secret, and he expects him to just sit there and allow it to go untold? Who does Hunk think he’s talking to, anyway? 

“No, no way,” Lance begins, actually getting off of his stool so he can work himself closer to Hunk and press a finger into his broad chest in warning. “You are not going to not tell me something, especially when this is my situation. You can’t keep a secret about my situation! That’s not fair!” 

And, because Hunk is an asshole who knows his strengths, he simply shrugs and gets off his stool, crowding Lance back and raising a deceptively innocent eyebrow as he looks down at him. He curves his lips into an o and, in the sing-song voice of the truly impish, says, “No.” 

Before Lance can speak his outrage at the blatant denial of his wishes, Hunk is gone. Lance lets out a moan of frustration, raking a hand through his hair. So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Well, two can play at—

Lance sighs. Who is he kidding? He’s completely at the mercy of Hunk’s whims right now. The energy drains from his body; there’s no point in fighting back, no way to do it that makes any sense. Besides, he (mostly) trusts Hunk to get to the bottom of things in a way that doesn’t hurt Lance.

…Mostly. 

Suddenly tired beyond belief, Lance resigns himself to ignorance and despair for the night, and trudges back up to his room. 

The energy in the room is tense, despite the fact that Hunk is humming a melodic tune and looking at Keith with open, unguarded eyes. Nobody but Lance ever visits Keith in his room; not because the others don’t like him, of course, but it’s just not something they’ve made a habit of. They respect Keith’s privacy perhaps a little too much, but Lance often doesn’t have that problem. 

Well, except for lately. Lance hasn’t done anything but respect Keith’s privacy lately. It’s fraying Keith’s nerves. 

The context being what it is, sitting here with Hunk, whom Keith usually regards with feelings of friendship, is foreboding. Why is Hunk here? What’s with the casual attitude—is it even real? Can he start talking yet?

“You look like I’m the ghost of Christmas past, or something,” Hunk pipes up, giving Keith an amused look. Keith blinks, uncomprehending. 

“Huh?”

Hunk’s face falls. “A Christmas Carol? Scrooge? You know, classic story, Charles Dickens…?” 

Keith thinks for a moment. “I think I’ve been called a Scrooge by Adam before.”

Hunk’s palm lands flat on his face. “Oh my god,” he mutters, shaking his head, “Keith, I love you, but we need to get some culture into your system, like, right now.” 

“Is that why you came here, then?” Keith snaps, irritated at what he considers to be the massive stalling campaign Hunk is trying to pull right now. “To inject me with culture?” 

Hunk snorts, which only fills Keith with more indignant annoyance, but the next second Hunk’s warm hand has settled on his shoulder, an even Keith is not immune to the instant mood improvement that comes with a kind touch from this particular kind person. 

“That sounds a lot more fun than what I’m actually here for,” Hunk confesses with a somewhat wary smile, “but, no.” 

The mood’s turned back to serious again, and Keith can feel the nettles of anxiety digging into his skin, pulsating in time with his heartbeat. Okay, so…? 

Hunk sighs, straightening up in his seat on the chair near Keith’s bed, and schools his face into neutrality. 

“I’m here to talk about Lance.” 

A pulse of panic reverberates through Keith’s system, startling him nearly off balance, though he straps himself under control quickly enough that he manages to not even sway. He’s—yeah, he’s been expecting this, though maybe not from Hunk. He’d expected Shiro to give him a talk about it, or even Lance to finally stage a confrontation, both of which are simultaneously easier and scarier than what he’s being faced with now, with Hunk. 

Keith knows he’s not dealing with this well. He’s been jumpy around Lance, a frightened cat afraid of touch, afraid to look into the eyes of the boy he wants so much but can never have—this time not because that boy doesn’t like boys, but just because that boy doesn’t like Keith. 

It’s agony. It’s closer to a direct denial than Keith ever thought he’d get with Lance, this unspoken statement of, “yeah, I like boys, but not boys like you.” Keith would take the impenetrability of having a crush on a straight guy over the rejection of a gay one. It hurts less. 

“What about him?” Keith mumbles, folding his arms and looking away. “We haven’t fought or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Well, no, you haven’t fought, but you’ve both been acting weird for a while,” Hunk replies. He’s treading carefully; Keith can tell, because he’s not explaining in detail like he usually does. He’s leaving things open-ended, waiting for Keith to fill between the lines. 

Keith doesn’t know if he can, though. 

“Have we?” Keith shrugs and gets an exasperated sigh in response. 

“Keith,” Hunk says pointedly, leaning forward on the chair. Keith can hear the intensity in his voice. “Come on. You know what I’m talking about.” 

Keith breaks. He was never very good at hiding his emotions. 

“So what if I do?” he bursts out, snapping his gaze sharply onto Hunk and then looking away again when he sees relief and concern looking back at him. “What am I gonna do about it? There’s nothing. It’s done.” 

“What’s ‘done’?” Hunk asks. 

Keith waves his hand dismissively, indicating, like, everything. “Me and Lance. This. All of it, it’s over.” 

“I—” Hunk pauses, staring critically at Keith, like he’s trying to work something out. “Wait, okay, so—what do you think is happening here, Keith?” 

This is so frustrating; why is Hunk making Keith spell it out? Just to torture him? What had Keith done to deserve punishment from Hunk like this? “You know what I’m talking about, it’s just—I like Lance, he doesn’t like me, he thinks I’m weird, so things are awkward. That’s what’s happening, okay? Fuck.” 

Keith’s whole body sags; just saying it out loud is like a stab to the chest, and he buries his head in his hands, full of embarrassment and bitter disappointment. How pathetic a scene this is, Keith telling the best friend of the boy he likes how that boy rejected him. It’s enough to make Keith want to launch himself into space and never come back, Voltron be damned. 

(No, he’d never do that, but he’s definitely thinking it.) 

As opposed to the awkward pity he’d been expecting, however, Hunk just stares at him, eyes wide and rimmed with what looks like satisfied delight. 

Delight? 

“What?” Keith asks, beginning to feel self-conscious. He wraps his arms around his shoulders, protecting himself from whatever Hunk’s going to do or say. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

At that, Hunk sighs. Not just a normal sigh, though; a deep sigh tinged with laughter, a sigh of exasperation, a sigh of relief, a sigh of—what, exactly? What is going on here? 

“Keith, buddy…” Hunk takes a step froward, claps his hands onto Keith’s shoulders; Keith has to work hard not to stumble under the weight of the slap. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are so. Goddamn. Stupid.” 

Whatever Keith was expecting, it wasn’t this. Is Hunk insulting him? It certainly sounds that way, like he’s saying Keith’s stupid for thinking he’d ever had a chance with Lance in the first place, which kind of hurts in a way Keith hadn’t thought Hunk genuinely capable of. Before the bile of pain and heartache actually has a chance to burst from Keith, however, Hunk starts talking again. 

“We all made a deal to let you two figure this out on your own, but that was before we knew you were both so oblivious.” Hunk shakes his head and then looks Keith squarely in the eyes. “Listen to me, Keith, because I’m only gonna say this once, okay?”

Keith nods mutely, too confused to do anything but comply. Hunk nods back, takes a deep breathe. And then speaks. 

It’s quiet. 

Lance stares up at the ceiling from his bed, which is sleek and devoid of blemishes just like everything on the castleship is. Usually, Lance doesn’t notice that; right now, though, it is wildly unnerving, chasing his mind in circles as he hunts for something to catch his attention on. In these rooms, sometimes it feels like you’re only meant to sit and think, an activity that is not Lance’s forte at all. 

Just as he’s getting up to resume his wanderings around the numerous hallways of the castleship, however, there is suddenly a very rushed knock at his door. 

Lance stills. Who—? 

“Lance?” It’s Keith. He sounds urgent. “Open the door.” 

…Fuck. 

Maybe if he just stays quiet, Keith will assume he’s not home and go away? 

There’s a tired sigh from outside the room. “Lance, I know you’re in there. I heard you.” 

“No you didn’t,” Lance says automatically, and then slaps a hand over his mouth, because he’s genuinely an idiot. “I mean, uh—” He pitches his voice slightly lower. “You couldn’t have, because Lance isn’t here! Just me, Hunk! I’m Hunk. Yeah.” 

A light, breathy laugh sounds, one that makes Lance’s heart leap into his throat. “Good try, but I just talked to Hunk,” Keith says. Now that piques Lance’s interest a bit, in an oh-god-maybe-doomsday-cults-were-right kind of way. 

Lance lets his voice return to normal. “You talked to Hunk? About what?”

“If you let me in, I’ll tell you,” Keith says, his tone prickling with mounting annoyance. Lance sighs. He’s not going to get anything out of Keith if he makes him stand outside for much longer, is he? 

Gloomily, Lance approaches the door and presses the button to open it. It pans open with a whoosh, revealing a vaguely bewildered Keith with his hand frozen in the air, clearly poised to knock again. 

Once he sees Lance, he lowers it awkwardly, and tries for a smile. “Hi.” 

It’s impossible not to respond warmly to Keith when he’s being cute. Lance offers a smile of his own, much brighter, much more confident, and waves. “Hiya.” 

Seemingly satisfied with their small exchange of greeting, Keith steps in, allowing the door to whoosh closed behind him, leaving them both alone together. He looks shy, which is practically unheard of (well, mostly unheard of, if Lance doesn’t count all the times he’s seen Keith blush and get clumsy after Hunk hugs him), and he stands there as if not sure what to do with himself, swaying a little and twiddling his thumbs. 

Lance’s heart goes out to him despite his anxiety. Sure, he can try to help out. 

“Wanna sit?” Lance asks, though he doesn’t really mean it as a question; he motions Keith to the bed where he himself sits down, leaving ample space next to him so Keith feels comfortable. Keith nods and heads over, a look of relief washing over his face. Lance regards him fondly. It’s nice to be the person that can soothe another’s worries, even for just a moment.

“Well, what’s crackalackin’, then, samurai?” Lance jokes, nudging against Keith playfully. Keith shivers a little—wow, his skin is hot to the touch, what’s with that?—and his eyes flit to and from Lance’s nervously.

Okay, Keith, work with me, Lance thinks, exasperated. I can’t make us both more comfortable if you won’t try! 

“I, uh, just wanted to talk to you about…something. Something important,” Keith explains unhelpfully. He’s still avoiding eye contact, which is putting Lance on edge. 

“What ‘something’?” Lance urges, raising an eyebrow. 

Keith looks down at his hands. 

“Well, I was talking to Hunk just now, and…” he starts, then pauses to take a deep breath. Lance waits, utterly bewildered. After a moment, Keith continues, “…He told me something about you.” 

Okay, that is definitely in Lance’s top-ten-list-of-sentences-that-give-him-a-panic-attack, right after yo sé lo que hiciste, mijo and it’s not you, it’s me. He squirms a little, mind whirring with all the blackmail material Hunk has on him. Nothing’s happened recently that would upset Hunk so much that he’d take a hit out on Lance like this, right? They just had a normal conversation and everything. But what if that was all a façade? What if Hunk is raging at Lance for something he has no idea about and now Keith knows that there’s a video out there of he and Hunk dancing wildly to Boom Boom Clap and Jesus Christ Lance needs to burn that the second he gets back to earth—

“He told me that you, uh, like me.” 

Lance’s racing thoughts slam to a halt, nearly crashing into each other at the abruptness. What? he thinks, as those thoughts look around at each other, unsure how to proceed now that something far worse has come to pass. What? 

“Hah,” Lance hears himself say, but it’s not him; his voice is far-off sounding, like Lance is listening to it from a black pit, hearing it like it’s a TV playing in the next room over. “Well, we’re friends. Of course I like you?” The end of his sentence tilts up in a question, though he doesn’t intend it to. 

A tiny, irritated sigh breezes past Keith’s lips. “Not in that way. In the other way,” he says, looking over at Lance meaningfully, though Lance steadfastly ignores his gaze. 

Well, he thinks, as his entire brain gets up and starts packing its things, this is it. I’m done for. 

“I’m not, like, saying that’s a bad thing,” Keith continues quickly as Lance’s silence stretches out. “It’s not a bad thing at all. But, I don’t know if it’s actually true, so I just—” He rakes a hand through his gorgeous hair, eyes dropping to the floor. “I want to make sure.” 

In all of his life, whenever Lance has found himself caught red-handed, his first instinct is to push the blame onto someone else as quickly and naturally as he can. A myriad of excuses and justifications form at his lips—Hunk reads too much into things, doesn’t he? or I used to have a crush on you at the Garrison, but I don’t anymore, don’t worry—but he can’t quite get them out. They stick to his teeth, his gums, like peanut butter, making it hard to speak. 

He needs water. The only trickle of water he can seem to access, though, is the truth. 

Lance has never been one to refuse a saving grace. 

“Yeah. Hunk’s right.” Lance’s shoulders sag, the weight of his embarrassing secret finally flying into the air to touch upon Keith’s face, to land on his shoulders instead of Lance’s. Even though everything in him screams to keep looking down, Lance can’t help himself from lifting his eyes to see Keith’s reaction, to see the shock and awkwardness fall across his face in a shadow like he knows it will. 

But…that doesn’t happen. Instead, for a while, Keith is motionless, expressionless. Then, his shoulders begin to shake, and Lance starts, afraid that he’s started crying or something terrifying like that. His mouth is curved upward, though, and that’s not what a mouth looks like when it’s crying, that’s what a mouth looks like when it’s…when it’s smiling. 

When it’s laughing. 

Keith is laughing. 

At me? 

“Holy shit,” Keith says through peels of laughter, hands covering his face. Embarrassment flushes through Lance’s body, though the relief in Keith’s voice doesn’t track with him being mocking. 

He stays put, going against his instincts and refusing to run until Keith unequivocally gives him a reason to. Lance owes his rival at least that for all the shit that’s happened until now. 

“What’s…What’s so funny?” he gets out through gritted teeth, hands clenched. Keith continues to laugh, but he removes his hands from his face, revealing an expression stripped of all its barriers, completely open, and completely…happy. 

“Lance,” Keith says, and then he’s pressing himself forward and into Lance’s space, “I—holy shit, I like you too. I like you too! I really, really—holy fuck.” 

The words don’t reach Lance for a few seconds; he’s still hearing things from the next room over, and it takes him a while to process the sounds. But, slowly but surely, each syllable connects, from Keith’s stuttering first-person pronouns to his swearing to the four words he says twice, I like you too. Four words, four syllables, swirling in front of Lance and then zipping themselves straight into his chest, wounding themselves around his heart, staying there. Warm and true and real. 

And real? 

And real! The thought bursts through Lance’s mind like a firework, and all of a sudden he’s back, completely in himself again, and Keith is there still smiling and laughing like a dork and it’s real, he likes Lance too, he likes Lance too! The grin that splits across Lance’s face is as wide as it is big, and he lets out a choked gasp before doing what he always does when he’s feeling something strong like this: 

He surges forward and wraps Keith in a hug. 

Keith accepts it, laughing a beautiful, musical laugh, and a perfect world does exist and Lance is living in it. All of the things he was making a big deal about—being bisexual, those days in the Garrison, when he was young, Keith being gay—they all shrink to smaller than a pinprick in light of having Keith in his arms, of knowing that he’ll be able to have Keith in his arms a lot now, more than he ever thought was possible. Worrying about his sexuality seems utterly ridiculous now that it’s what has got him this beautiful boy.

“Lance!” Keith mumbles, his face squished into Lance’s shoulder. 

Lance jerks away quickly. “Sorry, sorry!” 

“It’s okay.” Keith is still smiling, and that is a feat in its own right, that he’s been smiling this long. Lance feels like he only ever sees Keith smile for, like, 30 seconds max. Maybe he just has a complex about Keith being emo, though. “I can’t believe you like me too,” Keith continues, his voice thick with awe. 

Lance scoffs. “You’re telling me!” he says with feeling, and then, after a moment of consideration, adds, “Who wouldn’t like you back, though?” 

The effect is instant—Lance can literally see the color flow into Keith’s cheeks, a soft pretty pink that makes Lance want to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. Keith rolls his eyes as if he hasn’t just so plainly shown his hand. “Is the only reason you never complimented me because of your unrequited love, or something?” he asks instead of addressing his clear embarrassment. 

“Shut up,” Lance replies, shoving lightly at Keith, who is snickering. “It’s clearly not unrequited! And, like, you’re not wrong, but I don’t think we’re supposed to actually say that.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” The fondness in Keith’s voice is disarming, and makes Lance want to put his arm around him. He contemplates that for a little too long before realizing that, wait, they’re dating now, aren’t they? He can put his arm around Keith whenever he wants. 

Gleeful with that knowledge, Lance does just that. A minute concern passes through his mind, however. 

“Hey, are we…like, boyfriends now?” 

Perhaps Lance’s tone is more vulnerable than he thought it was, because the look Keith gives him is soft and genuine, and he leans decidedly more into Lance’s space. His face, though, is still turned away from Lance’s when he says quietly, “Is that okay?” 

And, well, what are you supposed to say when Keith “best-pilot-of-our-generation, emo loner catboy, too-cool-for-short-hair” Kogane asks you if it’s okay to be your boyfriend? 

“Hell yes.” Lance’s heart sings, and his smile is broad. “Yes, yes, yes, so okay.” 

Keith giggles, and it’s so cute that Lance just has to lean in and kiss him, and he does—their first kiss, done on a whim, and it’s the best kiss Lance has ever had. They’re both smiling all through it, and at one point Keith collapses into laughter and Lance has to coax him back again, but that’s okay because Lance has always been a fan of the chase, you know? They kiss again. And then again. And then Keith gets that wonderful, gorgeous intensity about his face, and he’s luring Lance down onto the bed, kissing him hard, and every touch is electric and new. 

Lance has kissed people before. Like, at least two people. He’s even had sex before. But this? Nothing can compare to this, to four years of watching and hoping and then hating and then hoping again, culminating into the wonderful feeling of Keith’s lips against his, of Keith’s weight resting on his lap. Lance lets himself be pushed slowly onto the bed, sighs dreamily when Keith climbs on top of him, and they kiss and kiss and kiss until the warmth in Lance’s chest feels like it’s going to make him burst. 

“Hey,” Lance murmurs suddenly, breaking off the slow, deep kiss they’d been sharing. Keith lifts his head a little to show he’s listening, but stays nestled in Lance’s shoulder. “Can you look at me?” 

He wants to see Keith’s face. To know for sure that this is real, to see what his boyfriend and future lover looks like right now, all of it. Lance has always been the kind of emotional, sappy person that can stare fondly at the object of his affection for hours. Hunk can testify to that. 

Right now, all of his affections are trained on Keith, and he’s feeling the simple desire to see his face. 

With an indulgent chuckle, Keith looks at Lance. 

Perfect. Lance wraps him into a kiss again.