Archive of Our Own

     i. strange you never knew

Keith lets out a relieved sigh as he steps into the so lovely, so warm dorm building, finally free from the incessant cold that billows throughout the campus outside.

“Yeah?” Comes a voice from behind him, amused, but there’s a shake in it that gives the speaker’s own coldness away. “Not a fan of the snow, Frostbite?”

Keith huffs, and he’s almost surprised he can’t physically see the fog of it in his face anymore. “Snow’s just fine, Lance. It’s the whole ‘going out and not letting me bring a jacket because what if someone’s in our spot, Red? Ace? Any weird nickname that’s not my actual name? We can’t study in a different corner, hurry up!’ thing that I am still not a fan of.”

Lance laughs. “And I’m the dramatic one,” he falls into step beside Keith, flicking his forehead when Keith nods in agreement, before continuing, “I wasn’t wrong, though. Our table was free.”

“And so was the rest of the library.” Keith replies, “We were the only ones in there. All night.” He looks to the side and up, where Lance keeps his gaze forward, purposely ignoring him. He’s trying to suppress a smile, Keith notices. The dimple gives him away.

Lance purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, before surrendering. “I don’t have any response to that.”

“Mhm.” Keith nods, now smiling to himself. It’s strange, how suddenly the lasting cold he felt has melted away, kindling into something warmer the more they talk.

Him and Lance are finally back inside their dorm after studying for… 4? 5? hours at the library on campus. Keith isn’t sure how long, just that when they left initially, the sun was high in the sky, and now the campus is that kind of foggy black that you can only see in the winter. The sun has definitely set, but the snow that cascades softly down to kiss the earth and the lights that are strung across every building, lamppost, and bush brighten the atmosphere in a glowing, enchanting way that makes Keith uncaring of what time it may be.

Inside, it’s dim, the only illumination coming from a few decked out trees in the lobby and fairy lights that line the walls. A group of students decided to put them up a few weeks ago. (“Group” as in Lance, their friends, and any more people he could rope into helping out. He’s good with people in that way, Keith thinks, being able to unite a tired college crowd under something mundane as Christmas decorations.)

They’re the only ones in the halls at this time— it’s the beginning of December; finals are soon, and everyone’s out spending their final moments of freedom out and about, or relaxing alone in their dorms. For Keith, tonight was a mix of both. He may have been studying, but an evening with Lance doing anything always shapes up to be not at all how you’d expect.

Without Lance, Keith knows he’d be succumbing to the pressures of too-long essays and annoyingly detailed presentations. But he’s managed to stay afloat so far, as Lance makes it a point to pull him out of his dorm and go do something every week besides homework. It helps.

“Okay, but was one cold walk really so bad? At least it was pretty.” Lance interrupts his thoughts as their steps stop to stall in a doorway, to which Keith is grateful. He’s grateful for any extra time he gets to talk to Lance, who leans back against the doorframe and faces him fully. He shoves his hands in his pockets and crosses his legs. “Also, you love snow.”

“I love snow when I’m allowed to have a jacket and preferably a scarf.” Keith says, mirroring his posture as he, too, leans back. The doorway isn't very wide, their knees and feet knocking into each other every few seconds.

“Allowed,” Lance echoes, kicking at Keith’s foot. Keith kicks back. “Like you couldn’t have just not listened to me, like you always do,” he says, before squinting at some spot down the hall. “Or, don’t. Whatever, you get it.” He amends, shaking his head.

“Do you know how hard it is to say no to you, Lance?” Keith asks. He doesn’t mean for it to come out so overwhelmingly fond, so hushed and full of a type of yearning Keith can’t identify (or doesn’t want to), but it does. Your voice always tells on you, he vaguely remembers Shiro pointing out once.

It catches both Lance and himself off guard, the tips of Lance’s ears and Keith’s cheekbones reddening. 

“Wow, you really know how to charm—” Lance starts, as he does that nervous tick he thinks Keith doesn’t know about— the high-pitched chuckle paired with a quick look up, when he just— stops, as his eyes catch on something. “—a guy. Huh.” He finishes, voice tapering off into a dazed and considering tone that Keith doesn’t get.

Until he looks up.

“What are you—?” Keith follows his gaze. “Oh.” 

And there, tied innocently above their heads with a festive red ribbon, hangs a sprig of mistletoe.

“Yeah.” Lance says. “Oh.”

After a beat, Keith lets his eyes fall back to Lance, who’s staring straight back at him. 

Immediately, it's like a switch was flipped.

He’s not sure why their atmosphere immediately transforms; why their comfortable and casual energy is suddenly charged and off and awkward in a way Keith hasn’t felt around Lance in years, but Keith hates it.

Break the tension, Keith's brain screams at him, agonizing. Say something, anything to make things feel normal. And Keith would love to, really, but being able to cut through tension like it's nothing has always been more Lance's thing.

And, Keith realizes, the longer time goes on, they can't break the tension. Their window for forcing a laugh and moving on closes further with each awkward second, their eyes ping-ponging back and forth between each other's and the evil, unassuming plant that hangs above them.

They're stuck. Buried in snow up to their knees and it's just— so awkward.

All because of some glorified leaf.

Abruptly, Lance pushes off the wall to stand at his full height— and Keith feels like his fingertips could short-circuit any second now. He follows suit, because he'll latch on to any cue to escape this... whatever they're in.

But, the doorway they're taking up is small and the actions only serve to push them that much closer. They're not touching, and Keith doesn't know whether he's grateful for that or not. He looks up, breath catching.

From here, Keith can make out the light smattering of freckles across Lance’s cute nose that have faded over the autumn and winter, the remnants of snowflakes that still lay atop his tousled hair, some even caught in his eyelashes. He can see where Lance chewed on his lips during their study session, a habit that he always swears up and down he doesn’t have.

He wonders what Lance might be noticing about him as he looks back.

Clearing his throat, Lance speaks up first. (As Keith should’ve guessed.)

"Caught under the mistletoe." He says casually, but Keith can sense the underlying caution. He's glad he's not the only one affected by the situation.

Caught, Keith wants to say, stuck is a better word for it. But right now, it doesn't feel like he can say anything, and it doesn't seem like the right time to point out the obvious. The awkward reality.

"That we are.” Is what comes out, and he mentally cringes at how stilted and formal it sounds. Why can't they just walk away?

It rewards him a chuckle that's overwhelmingly fake, and Keith catches Lance look up for a split second as if confirming their predicament. He then takes a breath, as if steeling himself?

“Well, it is tradition?” His tone is playful, but Keith can see the way his eyes dart between his own nervously, the way his head tilts with too much force to be natural. It's questioning, testing.

They can ignore it, Lance is really saying, they can just keep walking through the doorway and pretend this too-long moment never happened. Or, he asks, they don't have to?

When he thinks about it, Keith realizes two things. One, that moments like this keep happening — like when their pinkies brushed this evening across the table as they were studying and their conversation was suddenly forgotten; like that night this summer at a bonfire with their friends, sitting much closer than was necessary and blaming their flushes on the flames in front of them.

And two, that moments like these will keep happening, and unfortunately, it's up to them to do something about it.

Keith’s tired of pretending. 

So he nods. “It is." He says, staring into Lance's eyes. "Tradition."

It's okay. Come closer.

Lance's expression turns soft as he registers the words. Relieved, one might even think from the glint in his eye. That's how Keith knows he made the right decision; seeing that charming, fond half-smile grace his lips again, replacing the shy and awkward and bracing-for-rejection look that just doesn't make sense on Lance's features. When Lance smiles like that, any decision feels easy.

Keith closes his eyes, expecting a light, maybe tentative peck to his lips, but it doesn't come.

He barely resists flinching when Lance brushes a light kiss over his cheek instead, tender in a way that could melt the snow outside. It’s over before it started, and Keith almost startles when he realizes how desperately he wants Lance to come back.

Even with all of his talk of pretending and moments , Keith still somehow didn’t realize the depth of his own feelings until that kiss glided over his cheekbones, so natural and easy, so overwhelmingly perfect. Keith finally understands what "clicked into place" means.

He opens his eyes, meeting Lance's still-so-close ones, and based on what's reflected back at him, Keith thinks that puzzle-completing feeling is mutual.

“Do you want—?” Keith begins, the same time as—

“Can I kiss—?” Lance starts.

Keith smiles. And like that, the charged air dissipates, floats up and away to make room for their gingerbread-sweet laughs. Lance knocks their foreheads as they share a sigh of relief, tinged with newfound love.

Lance takes a breath, before asking the question fully, "Can I kiss you?"

He didn't even need to ask. " Please. " Keith nods, a smile evident in his tone, "I'm not getting any younger."

Lance rolls his eyes, but leans forward that tiny distance between them. Keith meets him in the middle, nervous but eager.

It's different, but in a great way. Keith was almost worried it would feel weird, but Lance tilts his head and presses in further, sure and tender, and everything falls into place like snow. It's new, but the way their lips start moving against each other feels practiced, as if their bodies just knew somehow that it's always been each other.

Lance tastes like mint. He tastes like the best parts of winter and summer: the soothing wintergreen mint that cools you off when it's too hot, and the peppermint hot chocolate that provides a steady warmth when you need it most; he tastes like mint.

Keith sends the mistletoe a mental apology as they part for a quick breath and come back together, smiling. He's very grateful, actually, for what it brought him.

They pull away fully, taking a moment to stare at each other. Keith still feels like he can't speak, but unlike earlier, he doesn't feel like he needs to. He's breathless and light in an entirely uncharted way. Even if he wanted to talk though, Lance sneaks a coy glance up and beats him to it.

"We're still under it, looks like we have to kiss again." Lance whispers, giddy as he reels Keith back in. Keith doesn't protest, instead laughing against grinning lips and letting himself be taken away by the current belonging to the ocean that is Lance Serrano-McClain.

Slowly, their hands find each other and entwine at their sides as they share a series of lingering pecks.

Their smiles get too wide to continue, however, so Keith settles with pushing their foreheads back together as they catch their breath. Lance's eyes are closed, and he lets out a content sigh as he nuzzles their foreheads together, Keith's hair tickling his own cheek as their noses brush.

Lance's eyes finally open, soft and bright and adoring and Keith can't believe that look is being directed right at him. What are you supposed to do when the lights on display, captivating and shining, stare right back at you like you're the same?

Pulling away slightly, Lance brings their still-joined hands to his lips, brushing a kiss over kiss knuckles, and Keith's heart about gives out. Such a gentlemanly gesture, or it would be if not for the rambling that follows it—

"So," Lance starts, "Remember back at the library? When I asked you 'what are your plans for the night?' and you were like, 'uhh, I'll probably go to bed early,' because no matter how cute you are—" Both of their flushes deepen, "That's still like, really lame? Yeah. So about those plans. I was wondering maybe—?"

"They're all yours, Lance." Keith interrupts him, using Lance's following silence to press his own kiss to their entwined fingers.

Lance grins at the action, "They're all mine?" He asks, voice now calm, soft and searching.

"All yours."

.・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

     ii. everybody talks too much (started with a whisper)

A few weeks later, he and Lance will find themselves back in a doorway under another innocent sprig of mistletoe. Or, Keith wonders, is it still considered innocent if they put it there on purpose?

They're at Adam and Shiro's apartment after setting up for a pre-winter break, post-finals party that became a tradition their first year as a group. Keith doesn't really understand their insistence on hosting it every year, because they already see each other every single day, but he's still grateful for it; even though he has trouble saying it out loud, he loves seeing his whole family together and laughing, especially before they all leave for their own homes scattered across the world.

Keith's heart pangs with the knowledge that he won't see Lance for so long, a whole month until Lance flies back from Cuba, but at the same time he's excited to spend time with his own family; he doesn't think he's spent enough time with Adam, Shiro and Kosmo lately. He misses them.

Plus, as Lance has made sure to remind him every few hours, they'll still text and call as much as they can. And Keith, already accustomed to his boyfriend's texting etiquette (or lack thereof), knows that's true. Lance already texts him fast, in high amounts, and about three different topics at once. Sometimes it's hard for Keith to catch up, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

He looks across the room from his place at the window, watching as Lance puts the finishing touches on the table. He's humming lightly, some poppy Christmas song Keith probably wouldn't know, and he's looking handsome in a navy blue sweater that hugs his shoulders and waist.

When Lance notices his staring, after an amount of time Keith would never admit to, he sends Keith a wide grin; nose crinkling, eyes shutting and teeth fully on display, and Keith feels a restless kind of affection burst from his chest, that only comes out in the form of a soft chuckle as he resumes staring out the frosted window.

To prepare for their winter party gathering thing, Shiro had left them in charge of the decorations a few hours ago because apparently "Lance puts together a great party," and Keith "does whatever he says." Whatever that means. Lance had laughed in response while throwing Keith a secret wink, and assured Shiro that they had it handled.

Shiro had nodded, promised to be back with Adam and food soon, and went to leave, but not before throwing Keith a knowing, smug, have fun with your crush type of grin over his shoulder as he closed the door.

If only he knew. If only any of them knew.

Neither of them had meant for their relationship to become a secret, to not tell their friends about a very important development in their lives, they really just forgot. Look on the bright side, babe, Lance said a week ago when they had this realization, now we can have fun with the announcement.

So, they put up mistletoe in the doorway connecting the kitchen and living room so they could get "caught under it" and just have to kiss in front of everyone.

It was Lance's idea. And Keith apparently does anything he says, so.

(Although, it wasn't Lance's idea to "test" the mistletoe. Multiple times.

Keith just wanted to make sure it worked.)

・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

Adam and Shiro arrive first, followed by a disgruntled Pidge mumbling something about their astronomy professor, and Keith feels a fizzy anticipation start to form in his stomach.

He's currently in the kitchen, helping Shiro set out drinks with shaky hands as Lance greets everyone in the living room. He can hear Hunk and Coran chattering with him, probably about some new discovery in the marine biology world. He'll ask about it later if Lance hasn't already excitedly told him yet.

He suppresses a smile at the thought, at how Lance always talks fast, both with his hands and voice. It rubs off on Keith, who finds himself talking more and happier, if that makes sense. He's excited to tell everyone.

"You okay?" Shiro asks, shaking him out of his thoughts. He's staring at Keith's hands with mild concern, "Your hands are out of control."

"Sorry," Keith says, automatically, "I'm just nervous, I think."

Shiro's expression turns smug and nothing short of evil in two seconds , "Oh? Just nervous? What could be causing that?"

Keith rolls his eyes. Sometimes it's so easy to pull his brother's strings. "Nothing I could think of." He plays along.

"Mhm. Couldn't have anything to do with 'tall, blue-sweatered and excitable' out there? Helped you decorate? You're hopelessly devoted to him?"

"Okay," Keith's responding flush is 100% authentic, "I can't do this, you're so annoying." He mumbles, shaking his head as Shiro laughs.

"It's way too easy sometimes, kiddo."

"Yeah, whatever," Keith says, turning away to hide his reddening face. He catches sight of their topic of conversation, who's currently hugging Romelle and Allura. "Lance?" He calls out.

Footsteps, loud and excited as they bound into the room. "At your service."

"Help me with the drinks?" Keith asks, a not-subtle plea, purposefully ignoring Shiro's smug humming as he walks out the door. Lance nods enthusiastically.

"Hey, Lance."

"Shiro." Lance greets, bowing as he passes. As soon as he's through the door, Lance's face crumples into somewhere between a smile and a cringe that startles a laugh out of Keith.

"Don't—" Lance holds out a hand.

"Why did you bow?" Keith asks, trying to quiet his laughter; he doesn't want anyone walking in and ruining their set up.

"It— felt right, okay?" Lance defends, all fast hands, wide eyes and whispers as he walks over to Keith, which only serves to spur on his chuckles, "Better to be on His Highness' good graces when he finds out I stole his crown jewel in a few minutes, right?"

"Lance—"

"Stop laughing!"

"Stop talking like some court jester, then." Keith wipes a fake tear from his eyes, while Lance bats at his arm.

He looks up, then, into fond and amused blue eyes, that soften by the second.

"Hi there." Lance says, with a little head tilt that only makes Keith want to kiss him right here.

"Hi." He replies. Not yet.

Lance looks behind them then, into the living room where everyone lounges, the sounds of their idle chatter carrying in music to Keith's ears. When he turns his head back, it's with a crooked, playful and mischievous smile that's just so inherently Lance, and somehow it takes Keith's breath away.

"Ready?" Lance asks.

Keith nods. "Let's go."

・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

Their plan is smoothly in motion.

After passing out drinks, hugging everyone and getting to know exactly why Pidge was angry about their astronomy final (they ended with a 94; could've been higher, apparently, but Keith is proud either way), they find themselves in yet another doorway, under yet another sprig of mistletoe.

They're making light conversation about an upcoming movie Keith knows nothing about, leaning in a bit closer than what might be considered strictly platonic and definitely laying the flirting on thick, when Keith catches Pidge realize their situation out of the corner of his eye. Their head perks up as they spot the mistletoe, but before they call it out, they seem to think better of it and instead start vying for Allura's attention.

Pidge whispers something to her, prompting Allura to look up with a gasp and an excited smile, before they lay back on the couch to not-so-subtly watch Keith and Lance and wait for them to notice. They already have, though.

Allura interrupts both Hunk, Romelle and Adam's conversation about recipes passed down from their families and Coran and Shiro's argument over the best character in a book series (which they're both wrong about) and points in their direction.

Lance can see them, too. Keith knows he can: with each word, his smile grows wider and his eyes kindle with an anticipatory amusement that Keith knows he mirrors.

Taking what he hopes is a subtle deep breath, Keith scratches his nose. Lance nods in return. Their signals they had decided on earlier, for when they were ready.

In their peripheral, the whole group is now staring at them with smug, expectant little faces, and Pidge is gearing up to strike—

But before they can get to the punchline, Keith looks up.

"Oh." He says, overtly loud. His eyes fall back to Lance, who's grinning up at the mistletoe.

"Huh." Lance says, meeting Keith's gaze. "I think there's something we have to do now." He comments, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Keith rolls his eyes, though his smile has never been wider. "Wouldn't wanna oppose tradition, right?"

Lance nods, feigning solemnity. "Course not."

And they kiss; a light, casual, and smiley peck that still causes a flurry within Keith's chest. Before they lean away fully, Lance kisses him once more—

—and then they're back to their conversation. Keith leans back against the doorframe as he tries to school his features into something serious, nodding along as Lance attempts to keep going on about the movie that they’re both just making up at this point—

"What?" He hears Allura and Hunk wonder in unison, the same that Pidge mutters, rather confusedly, "That was anticlimactic..."

"Oh!" Lance snaps his fingers. "Have you seen the trailer for that new animated one?" He asks, crossing his arms, "It's Disney, I think? And it's like, about a cute little dude that has to leave home and go on some life-changing, magical journey? There's talking shoes in it."

"Did they just...?" Romelle.

"That could describe a lot of movies, Lance." Keith says.

"Huh." Adam.

"Okay, sure, but—"

It's Shiro that finally interrupts them.

"Lance? Keith?" He asks, and when Keith looks over it's to a somehow blank yet entirely too expressive gape. Shiro blinks, once, twice. "Care to explain?"

"Well," Lance starts, laughing nervously, "Funny story—"

"We've been dating for two weeks." Keith says, cutting that off immediately.

Everyone jumps in unison; Allura, Romelle and Hunk yelling excitedly and rushing them. Hunk embraces Lance and picks him up while Allura and Romelle pull them all to the couches. Everyone's talking over each other, a mix of "How?" and "When did this happen?" and a lot of "Congratulations!" that make Keith's heart burst.

They explain the whole thing; the library, the mistletoe, the first kiss and their decision to  become boyfriends as soon as they got up to Keith's dorm.

As the cheers die down, though, everyone pulls them aside at some point for more personable congratulations.

"I'm so happy for— so proud of you both." Allura tells them, hugging them both. They thank her with watery eyes.

 "Congratulations, boys." Coran says, before launching into a long-winded story about his first love and how it always prevails. Lance is enthralled start to finish.

"I wanna say you're gross," Pidge starts, "But, I don't think I've ever seen either of you this happy in awhile, so." They say, crossing their arms and kicking at some spot on the floor.

"You're saying you regularly measure the circumference of our smiles, Pidgeon?" Lance goads, but his voice and grin gives away how touched he is.

"No." Pidge rolls their eyes, "Also, it would be diameter. Smiles aren't circles, therefore no circumference—"

"Whatever," Lance says, effectively cutting them off with a hug that they pretend they don't enjoy. "You care about us."

"A bit." Pidge admits, making eye contact with Keith as they bring their arms up to hug Lance back fiercely. Keith sends them a private smile in understanding.

He feels a touch to his elbow as Lance mentions something about maybe measuring the radius — and turns to see Adam, standing beside him with a dropped jaw and an appraising grin.

"We'll talk later?" Adam asks, eyes drifting over to Lance, before they're back on Keith, kind and safe, like they always have been.

Keith smiles. "I'd love that." He nods.

As Keith turns back to Lance and Pidge— he finds them gone, but his boyfriend's voice is instantly heard across the room, in a high pitch that only comes out when he's nervous, followed by what Keith knows is a joking Shiro's tone masked in a fake, stoic anger. Oh no.

Him and Adam turn around, watching as Shiro narrows his eyes at Lance and tilts his head just so, menacing in a way that Lance's eyes somehow widen further at: the shovel talk.

Shiro looks over then, a glint in his eye that tells Keith that it's all a joke.

But to Lance, it's a nightmare.

“Shiro please—” Lance laughs nervously, “You can’t kill your brother’s boyfriend! It’s almost Christmas!”

“Consider it my present then, McClain. From you to me.”

“But! What about my present, or— or Keith’s! I think he would like to have, you know, a partner that's alive, wouldn't he?”

Shiro pauses to look at Keith, raising his eyebrows.

Keith shrugs, pursing his lips to hide a grin. “I’m not picky.”

 “Wha— Keith!”   Lance yelps, narrowly dodging a suddenly fast-moving Shiro.

Keith laughs, loud and unbridled as he watches his brother chase his boyfriend around the couch—

"I thought you liked me!"

— into the kitchen, and outside to where they start having an impromptu snowball fight.

As he runs out to join them, his family following suit, Keith realizes Pidge was right; he hasn't felt this light, this happy in years.

Keith generally makes it a point never to ask for much, but God, does he want this to last.

He hopes it does.

.・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

     iii. home to your sweet nothings

They're moving in together.

2 winters later, Lance is unlocking the door to their brand new apartment with one hand, while Keith stands behind him anxiously clutching the other. Lance squeezes three times, takes a breath and turns the key.

A faint click, and they're in.

They're home.

They've seen the place before, having visited countless times for the first look, inspections, and the final signing, but the moment still feels monumental.

They walk to what they've decided will be the middle of the living room, and take in their surroundings.

Lance squeezes his hand, "Welcome home." And— wow. Hearing those words straight from Lance's mouth puts everything in perspective. Keith can hardly believe where he's standing. Home.

They take a tour of the apartment even though they both know exactly where everything is and what everything will become, but it's different. It feels like they're seeing everything for the first time again, after planning for so long. Now, the bare walls and floors can finally be made their own.

It's not a far-fetched daydream anymore. They're really home.

Keith's not sure what to think about that.

They were quiet as they made their way through the apartment, but as now they stand back in the center, Keith thinks it's time to start unpacking.

Lance suddenly looks up, though, seemingly searching for something with a calculating eye.

Keith goes to ask him what he could possibly be looking for in an empty apartment, especially on the ceiling, no less— when Lance turns those determined eyes on him, cutting off all his thoughts with a sharp, "Let's get to work."

Keith nods back, tamping down a blush at his firm expression, and goes along as he's tugged down to the truck.

・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

2 hours later, Keith is exhausted.

So many boxes.

When they were packing all their things throughout the last week, Keith had the thought that huh, they didn't end up with as many boxes as he thought they would. Lance especially, who Keith expected would have more, being a collector of everything, but they ended up about equal.

But, after making all those trips up and down the stairs (due to the elevator being broken, because Keith and Lance are nothing if not lucky) to their new 3rd floor home, Keith successfully proved himself wrong.

So many boxes, so many trips, and he is tired.

When they first started out, they had made it a fun little competition to see who could carry the most and get them up the stairs the fastest, but they quickly realized maybe heavy boxes and multiple flights of stairs isn't a combination that should be made into a game.

Nothing is broken, thankfully.

Now, Lance is upstairs inside beginning to unpack their necessities for their room and the kitchen, and it's Keith's job to close up the truck and bring in the last crate, which he just picked up.

As Keith hauls up the final box, he finds himself in a purgatory state of gratefulness that they're almost done while simultaneously wishing there were even more things to grab. He doesn't quite want the unpacking phase to end, because what comes after?

Each step feels heavier as he gets closer to their door, but he doesn't know why. He had already gone up and down these stairs, what, 30 times just today?

He steels himself as he walks over their threshold, and kicks the door lightly behind him to close it.

"Last one?" Lance calls out from what Keith thinks is the kitchen.

"Yep." He yells back a little unsteadily, walking over to their already-going pile. He sighs as he puts down the box with oops, a little too much force than necessary, but hopefully Lance is preoccupied in the other room and won't notice—

"Careful!" He hears almost immediately, followed by footsteps and a mumbled never any respect for the labels.

Keith glances down at the box. The word FRAGILE glares back at him, underlined seven times and undeniably written by Lance.

He sneaks a glance over to where his boyfriend now stands in the middle of their ( their! ) new living room, arms crossed and eyes narrowed expectantly.

"Sorry?" Keith tries, before shrugging, "To be fair, your handwriting isn't exactly the clearest."

" Wow, " Lance says, grin finally breaking free. He shakes his head, "You're lucky you're cute, you brute."

"You only said that because it rhymed."

It's Lance's turn to shrug, although Keith thinks it's much more endearing when he does it. "Maybe." He says with a wink.

Keith smiles, and makes the split-second decision that they need a break. It seems Lance agrees, as he wastes no time in pulling Keith into his arms after he crosses the room.

"Welcome home." Lance says softly, wrapping his arms fully around Keith's waist, prompting Keith to lay his own around Lance's shoulders. Home.

Keith hums in response, tucking his head into Lance's neck. He feels a light kiss to the crown of his head as Lance slowly starts swaying them to the rhythm of the soft instrumentals he turned on earlier, festive but unassuming.

He finally gets a chance to breathe as he's guided around the room in Lance's arms, to let himself catch up to his racing mind.

There's a growing pit of nerves in his stomach, making its home just behind his ribcage and threatening all of the bubbly, excited feelings about moving in.

He's just nervous, Keith thinks. Now that the day's here, he's just feeling the regular anxiety that goes into something big like this. Moving in with someone.

With Lance.

It seemed like the right idea at the time, the perfect idea, even, because they were practically already living together. Four toothbrushes split between two apartments, skincare products clogging up Keith's usually-bare counters, a drawer of Keith's sweatpants in Lance's dresser.

But now it's real. A lease was co-signed three weeks ago, there's a (now empty) moving truck downstairs, and their bare apartment is now containing all of their joint belongings and they're moving in together.

Technically, with all of their boxes inside and almost all of them open, they've already moved in together. Home.

"I hear some gears turning." Lance says, quiet yet prompting in Keith's ear.

Keith leans back, enough to look Lance in the eyes. "What?"

Lance reaches up to brush a rogue strand of hair back behind Keith's ear, "What are you thinking so hard about, love? I can tell something's up."

Lance drags an adoring thumb over his cheekbone, eyes open and trusting as he settles the hand back on Keith’s waist, and of course he noticed. He’s always somehow shocked at how well Lance knows him, how much Keith’s unconsciously let him find out.

Sometimes, it feels Lance understands him better than he does himself. 

"You okay?" Lance asks, after Keith's responding silence. He runs his thumb back and forth at the small of Keith’s back, a grounding gesture which Keith is grateful for. 

The way Lance looks at him — warm and attentive yet so overwhelmingly patient, letting Keith know he doesn’t have to say anything at all and it’d be okay  — Keith just has to be honest. With both of them.

"I'm nervous." He says. It's the truth, but he's also not sure if that describes it all. He's set in and sure of their decision, excited even, living with the love of his life is a dream, but he's just... nervous.

"Yeah?" Lance asks after some time, not impatiently. Never impatiently. Just waiting, showing a genuine interest in their conversation and letting him know he's a willing listener, something that Keith's always appreciated.

Keith blows out a breath, laying his head back on Lance's shoulder. It feels safer, somehow, without the eye contact. "I guess home has always just been a kind of weird concept to me, and I'm—" He pauses, searching for the right word.

"Nervous." Lance supplies, not unkindly. He runs a hand up Keith's spine as a comforting cue to continue.

"Yeah." Keith says, nodding against him, "I love you so much, and I'm so excited and happy, but for some reason I'm also just so worried."

Keith feels an encouraging kiss pressed to his temple as he continues, "I think somehow I've just gotten it into my head that this has to go wrong, because it's— me. Because I've been in a lot of homes in my life, but—" Keith breathes in a shaky breath, as he admits, "But this is the one I want to keep the most."

He feels more than hears Lance inhale, sharp and shocked as he clutches Keith tighter, if only for a moment.

"I want this so bad, Lance." Keith says, voice small as he squeezes back. "It's almost terrifying."

It's scary, being so vulnerable; saying out loud what he's never even allowed himself to think, to the person he loves most. It's an admission to both Lance and himself, and he finds himself feeling lighter for it, even if his nerves are still going haywire.

They stay there for Keith doesn't know how long, embracing each other so tight and unyielding that both of their breaths come out short. As if letting go meant the other would disappear.

Slowly, their arms slacken, and they resume their light sway, tinged with a newfound understanding, until Lance speaks up.

"Can you look up for me?" He hears, barely a whisper. Keith leans back, looking into Lance's eyes and expecting him to launch into some speech about love and all the feelings that come with it, but Lance just quirks a sweet lip at him and nods, gesturing up, "Higher."

Keith furrows his brows, but does as he's told.

A sprig of mistletoe hangs above them, and despite the heavy atmosphere,  Keith's lips curve. His eyes narrow, though, as he tries to think back to where he's seen the decoration before.

He recognizes it; tied in a red ribbon, a slightly plastic look...

"I hear some more gears turning," Lance says, still quiet, drawing Keith's eyes back to him. He's pursing his lips to hide a grin, eyes bright and amused even as Keith squints at him.

"I know it's just mistletoe, but why does it look so—?"

"Familiar?" Lance asks. "I grabbed it from a certain hallway our third year at Altea after the admin told me to take down my impromptu decorations."

"Lance," A startled, disbelieving laugh bubbles out of Keith, "That was—"

"Two years ago?" Lance lets his smile free, dimples on full display, "Yes it was."

"Stop interrupting me." Keith says, half-heartedly, even as his chest bursts with affection, his heart beats at least 2 speeds faster than normal, and his breathing turns uneven.

"Talk faster."

Keith sighs, touched and still in disbelief as he shakes his head, "Why did you—?"

"I was hoping one day," Lance interrupts again, quick to just get the words out, before his tone softens, "I could have a moment like this. With you."

And somehow, his heart still manages to surprise him, skipping what feels like multiple beats while his fingertips fill with electricity.

"What?" He asks; it feels like the only word he knows.

"I grabbed that mistletoe, Keith," Lance says, a soft, doting smile adorning his features as he speaks, "Because I was hoping I could make all my childhood, fairytale romance dreams come true and have some magical 'remember our first kiss?' callback moment, and I wanted it with you."

“Lance—”

"I wanted a long, dreamy future with you, Keith. Chock full of mistletoe and wonder and all those perfect words you only find in storybooks." Lance says, stable and sure and aching. "I still do, but I think we're doing pretty good so far."

There's the speech, Keith thinks as he blinks back a not-so-subtle tear. He feels like he can't say anything, he feels like the way Lance is staring at him, so sure and raw, pins him to his spot while making him restless down to his bones.

"I'm not going anywhere, Keith," Lance speaks up again, tone final. His own watery stare turns playful as he squints, "Are you?"

"No," Keith says immediately, sure. "No way." He says, wobbly but firm.

"We have a deal, then."

Keith nods, laughing as he sniffles. He didn't know he could feel this, such deep and all-encompassing love and devotion from someone he feels just as much in return for. All because of some mistletoe.

At the thought, he looks up. "You and your hopeless romantic tendencies." He comments, tone overwhelmingly fond.

Lance hmms. "They paid off though, didn't they?" He asks, grabbing Keith's attention as he leans in, nosing at his cheek.

Keith rolls his eyes as he nods, their lips barely brushing with the movement, "Unfortunately."

Lance chuckles, shaking his head lightly before they meet in the middle. And even though they've done this thousands of times by now, it feels like their first kiss all over again.

In a way, it is; their first kiss in their new home, the first kiss of their real life together. As their lips part and slide together again, Keith feels like he's coming home. That cold feeling thaws, and he doesn't know what he was so worried about.

They can unpack later.

・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

     iv. whatever the weather

"Give me a second, Shiro." Keith says, tucking his phone between his shoulder and ear as he grabs a box from the closet.

"Fine." He hears, the static crackling from the phone only adding to his impatient tone.

Keith sighs. Annoying.

Shiro had called Keith earlier, asking if he had some book Shiro had lent him when he was a teen: something fantasy, with wizards and kingdoms and a sideplot about some important quill.

Keith remembers liking it, but he couldn't remember the name or what the cover looked like, so Shiro has stayed on the phone for about 3 hours now trying to describe it to him. At first, Keith was going through his and Lance's mini-library they keep in their guest room (which is mostly actually just Keith's), but now he's been talked into actively going through their storage closet to find it.

"Why do you want this thing so bad, anyway? Doesn't it have a shit ton of annotations from 15-year-old-you in it?" Keith asks.

"I found out Adam also loved the books as a kid, so I wanted to give him my copy to see if we had the same opinions growing up." Shiro replies, and Keith shakes his head, even knowing he can't see him.

"Like, for Christmas?"

"Yep."

"Only you would wanna give someone their own personal book club." Keith says, picking up a box.

"I'll read it, too. I just ordered another copy to read myself at the same time."

"Wh—" Keith sets down the box he was holding, "Then why am I—"

"Pleaaase, Keith." Shiro's voice draws out over the other line, pleading in a grating way only older brothers can do.

"Fine." Keith mumbles, "So you're really gonna give it to him with all of the notes about how hot you found the mage-dude?"

"Marriage is about baring your soul to your partner, Keith." Shiro says, with all of the wisdom an old owl might have.

"Right." Marriage. Something he's thought a lot about lately, actually.

He continues rummaging around the closet, moving boxes to get to the oldest ones in the back, and asks Shiro how he and Adam are doing, if only to change the topic. Get away from the word marriage, because for some reason, now Keith's hands feel like they can't latch onto anything.

"Oh, you know, we finally got married."

Keith huffs, so much for that.

"I know, Shiro. I was there with the best man speech and the rings." He says, crouching down to open a crate he think has potential.

"And the crying, don't think I didn't see that."

"Whatever. Keep your eyes on your husband, next time." Keith says, prying the box open with still-shaky hands, when his breath catches.

It's a simple box of Christmas decorations, but at the very top: his and Lance's mistletoe, still in the same condition as almost exactly 3 years ago.

He runs a finger down the red ribbon, the words marriage and married and rings playing on a dazing loop in his head. Keith could—

Oh.

And suddenly, Keith has a solution to a problem he didn't know he had in the first place.

His chest bubbles up with an anticipatory mix of nerves and ecstasy, and his skin suddenly feels restless. He shakes the hand not holding the mistletoe as Shiro's voice registers back in his ears.

"Keith?" Shiro asks, and from his tone he's been asking for a while, "You there?"

"Yeah, sorry—" Keith swallows, setting the mistletoe aside gently. "Got distracted by one of the— books."

"Are you finally looking?" Shiro asks, all giddy, impatient excitement.

"Yes, oh my God." Keith laughs — as much as he puts on the act, he did miss calling Shiro like this, "I found a book box, I think this might be it."

"Okay, okay, it's a plain black cover with gold lettering."

"Wow, how could I have forgotten something as memorable as that?"

"Ignoring that— it also has a matching gold stencil of a sword and staff crossed over each other, do you see it? Is it there—?"

"Shiro, I have about 4 boxes full of books in here, give me some time." Keith says, "Age has not made you any more patient."

"Adam tells me I've aged like a fine wine—"

"I don't need to know everything."

Shiro laughs, changing the subject as he launches into some tirade about some projects they've been trying out lately, but Keith's barely paying attention.

His eyes stray back to the mistletoe he set aside, and after a quick moment of deliberation, grabs it and runs it out to the living room.

Keith hides it in plain sight, for later.

.・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

Everything is in place.

2 weeks later, as the windows start to frost over and the nights become illuminated, the mistletoe is hanging red and festive from the beam in their living room, the same spot it hung the first night in this apartment.

There's candles littering their counters and side-tables, and all Keith has to do now is wait.

Lance gets home from work soon, and it's their anniversary: 3 years together, and Keith wants to do everything he can to make sure those 3 years become a lifetime.

He's proposing tonight.

He’s had the ring for what feels like forever, burning a hole in his nightstand, but after he found the mistletoe, everything clicked into place.

It’s the beginning of winter, and Keith hopes he can give to Lance even a fraction of the love he gets in return; he hopes he can give him that fairytale, callback ‘remember our first kiss?’ moment, and promise a lifetime more.

All he has to do is wait.

.・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

"Honey, I'm home!" Lance calls out as he always does, like Keith hopes he always will do, before he registers the state of their apartment. "...Keith?"

His tone's disbelieving, not all there as if his breath has left him. And Keith— now that Lance is here, home, and standing there, staring back at him as the candles paint him in a warm, beautiful glow — he doesn't know what to say.

"You're home." Is all he musters.

He had it all planned out: a speech as Lance walked in the door, that he'd end probably in tears but down on one knee as he asked Lance if he wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. But now, his throat has dried up, and he's left staring at his boyfriend (hopefully soon to be fiancé), and his mind is a blank slate. He had so much time to prepare, and now…

"Yeah, I'm—" Lance looks around again, setting down his bag and taking off his jacket, "I'm— home. Keith, what is all this?" He breathes, crossing the room.

He meets Keith's eyes, confusion dancing in his dim, almost black in this light irises, but there's an underlying understanding, a hope to his expression that spurs Keith into action. He can do this.

Lance hasn't looked up yet, Keith notes. He can do this.

"Welcome home," Keith says, tone soft. He cuts Lance off before he can say anything else, "Can you look up for me?"

Lance gasps before he even follows Keith's directions, obviously already knowing what hangs above them. He's always been so unassumingly observant.

"Keith—"

"I had this whole speech planned, for when you walked through the door." Keith interrupts, doing his best to stare back into Lance's eyes, that are starting to take on a watery shine, "I was even going to write it down— it was all about how I bought the ring and kept it in the nightstand for months before finally figuring out what to do, because—" Keith shakes his head, "You deserve everything, Lance."

Lance gasps, and Keith reaches for his hand. Lance latches on immediately, squeezing encouragingly as Keith continues.

“I love you so much, Lance, and—” He looks up, at the mistletoe above them, before meeting Lance’s eyes again, “I can’t believe how perfect you’ve made my life feel, how you manage to make every day better than the last, even when I’m feeling awful, I just—” He stops, getting choked up.

But Lance needs to know.

“You’re magic, Lance McClain.” He says, his confidence rising by the second. “I don’t know what I possibly did to deserve this… life, to deserve you, but I just want to do everything I can to keep it.” He breathes, “And if it’s okay… I have a question to ask.”

He kneels, opening the box and presenting a ring: a simple silver band, complete with 3 small diamonds inlaid to the metal. It's simple at first glance, but shines with an underrated radiance when you look closer. Keith wanted to get something that suited Lance perfectly and he knew, immediately after laying eyes on it, that it was the one.

"Keith—" Lance says, quiet, broken off, and nothing short of aching. 

There’s more Keith wants to say, but—

“Will you marry me, Lance?" Encapsulates it all perfectly. 

He ignores the way his bottom lashes are suddenly over-flooded, instead focusing on the smile that takes over Lance's face.

Lance has a lot of smiles that Keith adores: sly quirks of the mouth, wild and free grins, but this one, Keith thinks, is his favorite. His eyes are shining, made brighter by the tears threatening to spill over; his cheekbones and ears have a sweet flush to them, and his hair is tousled from running his hands through it so many times throughout Keith's speech. And his mouth is wide open, lips wobbling even as he smiles disbelievingly.

Keith watches as Lance lifts a shaking hand to his eyes, wiping away his slowly-falling snowflakes of tears, and shakes his head a few times.

"Of course I'll marry you, Keith, God." Lance says, voice wobbly, “Yes. Now get up so I can kiss you, please. Yes.”

Keith laughs, wet and sniffly as he does what he's told. Before he has both feet firmly on the ground, though, Lance already has both of his cheeks in hand and is pressing kiss after kiss all over Keith’s face. His forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and finally, his lips.

It’s firm, stable, and Keith finds that their lips are a bit salty, but he doesn’t mind at all. Keith’s hands settle around Lance’s waist as they try to fit themselves as close as physically possible.

"Couldn't have waited, what, an hour?" Lance asks after some time, pulling away slightly. His cheeks are even more flushed, lips kiss-bitten and Keith doesn’t understand how someone gets more beautiful with each passing day.

"What?" Keith asks, a whisper against Lance’s lips, until they’re gone completely. He watches confusedly as Lance steps away and runs across the room to fish something out of his jacket pocket that he tucks into his jeans.

He brings back a small box— and Keith's heart stops.

“You…” Keith trails off as Lance opens it; a similar silver band, this one with a tiny sapphire that’s set in the metal. Keith never liked white diamonds; Lance remembered.

“Got beaten to the punchline, obviously, yes I did.” Lance says, leave it to them to plan to propose the same day. “Should we put them on?” He whispers.

Keith nods, overcome with something he can’t place as they take out their respective rings and slide them on each other at the same time.

They fit perfectly.

・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

     v. to end up with you

"Keith." He distantly hears Shiro's voice. "Breathe."

Keith is getting married today.

"Yes, you are." Shiro says, "In about 15 minutes." He steps up beside Keith, who's staring in the mirror like he's looking at a ghost. He claps him on the shoulder, breaking him out of a nervous trance.

Keith makes eye contact with Shiro in the mirror, nodding in acknowledgment, before looking back at himself.

He's in a suit; a simple all-black ensemble, the only bits of color coming from a dark red pocket square. His hair's pulled back into a low ponytail that can't quite be braided, but Shiro says it pulls the look together.

Keith thinks he looks nice — great, even, he's just... getting married today.

He's getting married to Lance.

In a matter of minutes; short minutes that are passing by the second.

"Okay," Shiro grabs him by the shoulders and turns Keith to look him straight in the eye. "You're doing the crazy-eye thing again, breathe."

Keith does as he’s told, breathing in, 1, 2, 3, 4. Holds, and exhales, deep and looong.

"Feeling better?"

Keith nods. "I'm good, Shiro— perfect, even. I'm just..."

"Getting married today." Shiro completes.

Keith blows out another breath, "Yes. In 15 minutes, apparently."

"More like 10 now, but yeah." Shiro says, but he quickly continues after noticing Keith's breaths quicken again, "Everything will be fine, Keith. It'll go great, you guys have made sure of it."

Shiro takes a moment to stare at him, contemplative in a way Keith’s not sure he enjoys, before he smiles and pulls Keith in for a hug, warm and grounding. “I’m so proud of you, Keith.” He says, and okay— Keith’s not supposed to cry before the wedding.

“Thank you, Shiro.” He manages, hugging back. He feels like a kid again, trying not to cry in his new brother’s arms after being exposed to pure love for the first time.

They pull away, and Shiro clasps him on the shoulder once more, “You got this.”

Keith nods. He’s getting married today.

“Let’s go.”

・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

The wedding goes perfectly, actually. Better than Keith could've ever imagined it.

He honestly didn’t know what he was so nervous about— after seeing Lance for the first time, in a beautiful white suit that somehow brightened everything about his already radiant self, all his nerves washed away, collected by the ocean outside right outside of the venue.

When they join shaky hands, beginning the ceremony, Keith’s never been so sure of anything.

(“You look beautiful.” Lance whispers to him, smiling adoringly.

“So do you.” Keith whispers back, squeezing his hands.)

They did a coin toss the day before deciding who would get to say their vows first. Lance won. That’s fine, Keith thought, not much shakes him, he doesn’t cry often— he can go second, easily.

But as always, Lance is the exception to his every rule.

As soon as Lance started talking, about not realizing you're in love with someone until you accidentally get stuck under a sprig of mistletoe with them, Keith was gone. He was continuously wiping away tears as Lance thanked him for being someone who loved him fully, which is something he'd never thought he'd find.

He got through his own vows though, luckily being written; he thanked Lance for making every day feel like a dream, and that even though people say love is hard, Lance has always made it feel overwhelmingly easy. He never thought he'd get to this point: but God, he's so lucky.

Lance was quickly moved to tears, along with everyone else (even Shiro, behind him, ha.), but they made it through.

They breezed through the "I do"s, being the easiest thing to say, and their first kiss, wherein Lance caught Keith off guard by dipping him, laughing into each other's mouths as the start of their life.

Now, as the excitement has died down, and people have stopped coming up to congratulate them, Keith feels content.

They just had their first dance, and now they’re lightly swaying around the floor to some old 50s love songs, Keith’s head tucked under Lance’s, his chin atop Keith’s.

He feels a squeeze on his waist, before Lance pulls his arm fully away. It prompts Keith to pull back, catching as Lance dips a hand into his pocket, and pulls out—

Oh my god.

Lance brings his hand up, dangling their red-wrapped mistletoe above their heads, grinning proudly at himself. 

Keith loves him entirely too much.

"Lance,” Keith laughs, “It’s the middle of July.”

"And I want a kiss from my husband.” Lance replies, light and easy. He shakes his hand, like the mistletoe’s a bell.

His breath catches. Husband.

The word makes Keith forget to keep bickering like they always do (already being an old married couple, Shiro told him before they walked out), and with a smile he just gives in.

“Come here, then.” Keith says, beckoning his head, “No need to ask.”

Lance’s eyes soften, into something fond and loving and devoted, as he leans down to meet Keith in the middle.

Around them, their dancing friends erupt in cheers to the happy couple, and Keith thinks the feeling of Lance’s laughter against his lips will never get old.

(Hint: he’s right.)

・。*・゜✼・.・✧・゜。

     + i. my love(s) to keep me warm

It's been 8 winters since their first kiss.

6 since they moved in together, 4 since they got married, and here they remain: still falling like the snow that passes their window, a steady and predictable flurry of everything that encompasses them: late-night conversations, memorized coffee orders, mistletoe and wonder and all those perfect words you find in storybooks.

Now, it's Christmas day, and Keith watches with a soft smile as Lance brings over a (very messily wrapped) present and sits down beside him on the couch.

Lance sets the gift in his waiting arms gently, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Keith goes to tear the paper, but he's stilled by a ringed hand.

"Wait." Lance says, grabbing Keith's attention. "Before you open it."

Keith looks over, face inches away from Lance's where he's leaning in with a giddy smile and eyes that have never lost their shine. He has stubble now, the beginning of laughter lines, but the same doting grin. His arm then moves, drawing Keith's attention up to —

Their mistletoe. To the plastic-y green that's somehow never faded, and a new ribbon tied around it.

It's purple now, because after the other got too loose and fell off about 2 winters ago, they decided it needed an update. Lance wanted it to be green to match the holiday theme, but Keith likes it just the way it is.

He meets Lance's eyes, letting out a soft sigh. "How am I even surprised?"

Lance shrugs. "Beats me."

Keith smiles, leaning in, lips barely brushing Lance's—

"Ewwwww—" A little voice draws out.

And Keith pulls away, Lance's head falling on his shoulder as he devolves into a fit of laughter . Every single time.

"—Do you guys always have to do that?"

Keith rolls his eyes exaggeratedly (something he's picked up from Lance over the years), kissing his head before turning and looking at his daughter.

Emelia, their 4 year old they got the pleasure of adopting 2 years ago, stares back at him with that childlike, innocent disgust. And Keith knows that biologically it's impossible, but those bright eyes that shine back at him belong to no one but Lance.

It was a long process, the adoption, but Keith would go through Hell and back to keep his little girl in his life. He'd do it all over again even if it was a million times harder, and he knows Lance would, too.

Keith's heart swells with pride for their family even as he stares back at Lia, narrowing his eyes at her— prompting her to squint back, even deadlier. A challenge and an acceptance.

"Little moon's giving you a run for your money, sweetheart." Lance says in his ear, turning his head to lay more comfortably on Keith's shoulder.

"Aren't you supposed to stand by me, sickness and in health?" Keith asks, as Lia sticks out her tongue at them both. He does it back.

"I don't wanna be on the losing side." Lance replies amusedly, "She might even have you beat."

"Wow—"

"Yeah!" Lia pipes, throwing her hands in the air. "I win."

"Says who?" Keith asks, and he's not sure if the offense in his tone is fake or not.

"Papa. Just now." She says, pointing at him, the obviously going unsaid.

Lance laughs, twinkling in Keith's ear, and even if Keith just wants to lean into his warmth, he shoves him off.

"Okay, rude—"

"I'll open this later." Keith says to Lance, setting his gift down before getting up to pull Emelia into his arms. Their play-fight is immediately forgotten as she throws her arms around Keith's neck, muscle memory at this point.

He squeezes her tight, just because he can, when he hears a shyly whispered, "Can we make hot cocoa?"

Keith's heart feels like it'll burst any second now.

"You know," He says, loudly, grabbing Lance's attention from where he's cleaning up some of the wrapping paper, "I bet someone would make you some cocoa if you asked him really nicely."

Lance grins at the both of them, crossing the room before stopping in front of them. He leans in close to Emelia, "Something you want from me?"

It's so cute, Keith thinks, how Lia is full of energy and opinions and has a voice that could carry down their neighborhood, but when she wants something she turns shy and hides behind the closest parent. As he glances up to a patient Lance, he doesn't have to wonder where she got it from.

"Can you make me some cocoa? With the pretty marshmallows in it?" She finally asks, and Lance's face lights up brighter than their Christmas tree that sits in the corner.

He makes a big deal of sighing, however, wiping his forehead with a long, "Fine," He says, "Anything for you, little moon."

Lia giggles in response, stuttering out a small, "Thank you," And pats Keith's shoulder as a signal that she wants down.

She returns to her last-opened present, a remote control car that Keith can tell is going to cause a lot of problems in the coming months, but he still helps her set it up nonetheless.

"Hey, Melon," Lance calls out from the kitchen, "How many marshmallows do you want?"

"All of them," She excitedly calls back, abandoning their project as she runs inside. "And I told you to stop calling me that."

"You're right," Lance hums, "How about sprout?"

"No." She decides immediately, "That's like a plant, and bugs live on plants, and bugs are gross."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Lance says, chuckling as he grabs three matching mugs out of their cupboard.

Keith smiles, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, watching as Lance hoists Lia up onto his hip and starts grabbing her favorite marshmallows one by one. (They're multicolored, a pastel rainbow that apparently tastes better than the regular white ones.)

"Count how many you want, little moon." Lance says, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "And careful, mug's hot."

She likes that one, Keith notices, the nickname. It's Keith's favorite, too.

She counts up to 13, Lance cutting her off after that, and waits for it to cool off before she takes a sip.

"Can I take it back to the tree?" She asks, a whisper.

Lance smiles as he nods, "Just be careful, promise?"

"Promise." She nods back, and they both watch as she walks out to the living room with incredibly calculating steps.

Keith takes the moment to walk up to Lance, cup his face and pull him close.

Lance looks up teasingly as he purposefully ignores Keith's cue for a kiss, "But there's no mistletoe." He says, still leaning in, arm looping around Keith's waist.

"Next year." Keith whispers. They don't need it, right now.