Archive of Our Own

When Lance’s coach announced that Keith Kogane would be joining them for the next season, and that his practice with the team started immediately, Lance was awestruck. It was a well-known fact that Keith didn’t stay in one place too long, but Lance never suspected that his team would be good enough to recruit him. Keith was one of the best players in the NHL, first draft pick last year and second this year. How the Arizona Cardinals, a team from the desert, had managed to snag him, Lance would never know. But this was a golden opportunity, and he was ecstatic to get to know the man who had been inspiring him for years. 

“What do you think he’ll be like?” Hunk asked Lance as they were putting on their pads. 

Lance shook himself out of his thoughts. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know? You know basically everything about him!”

Lance fought the blush that was threatening to rise on his face. “No, I don’t. Keith keeps his private life private. No one knows anything about him, other than the fact that he’s extremely good at hockey, and that he grew up somewhere in Canada. Makes sense though, right? Hockey is more popular there than it is here.”

“Well, I’m excited to get to know him, then,” Hunk replied, putting his helmet on and walking out towards the ice. Lance followed suit, and the two joined the rest of the team for their first practice since the end of the last season. They had a few weeks off between seasons to go see family and relax after playoffs, but it was always right back to business as soon as their feet hit the ice again. 

Most of the team were standing around, waiting on their coach to start practice. But Lance spied someone on the other end of the rink, someone he hadn’t properly met yet. His number, two zeroes, was prevalent on his back, a small sliver of black hair peeking out of the bottom of his helmet. He was firing shots at the goal at a speed that Lance could barely keep up with watching. Every shot hit its mark-- top left, top middle, top right, middle left, center, middle right, bottom left, bottom center, bottom right. And it had all been in the span of about a minute. 

“Woah,” Hunk said from next to him. “It’s a good thing his team was in a different bracket last season, huh?”

“Damn,” was all Lance responded with. He gulped, and Keith Kogane turned around, stick in his hand, as he made his way back over to the team. 

“Hey, nice to meet you, my name’s Lance,” Lance introduced himself as Keith skated by. The man said nothing, sliding right past Lance as he headed over to where their coach was now standing. 

“That was rough, I’m not gonna lie,” Hunk said, and Lance shook his head. 

“Who does he think he is?”

--

Coach Shirogane was not a cruel man. Usually. He didn’t let players slack off, but he treated his team like they were his family, and that meant knowing when to stop and what was out of their limitations. 

Somehow, Keith Kogane had changed that. 

After their first drill, Keith had skated over to Coach Shirogane, the two of them talking in low voices, before going back to his spot in the lineup. First, as always. And then, somehow, some way, Coach Shirogane cleared his throat. 

“I do not respect nor appreciate the lack of effort that I am receiving from you guys today. We lost in the first round of playoffs this past season. I will not tolerate it again. We may not be the best, but we can be better than that. Start your laps; if I see any one of you quit before reaching a hundred, you will be benched for the entire first half of the season.”

Lance and Hunk exchanged a glance. What had Keith said to him? 

There were a few groans, but Keith started skating away, making his trip around the rink, and the rest of them followed. 

After lap 50, people started to lag behind, and Keith lapped them. 

After lap 75, Lance’s legs felt like they were going to fall off. 

After lap 100, the majority of the team collapsed on the ice, and Keith continued skating. He looked like he was floating. Lance kind of wanted to punch him. 

--

“What is your problem?” Lance asked Keith when he found him in the locker room. Most of the other players had gone home already, but Keith had stayed after to run a few extra drills. Lance had waited him out, watching him from the stands. He probably looked like a mere speck of dust from where Keith was, if Keith had even seen him at all. 

“What is yours?” Keith retorted, taking his helmet off, his long black hair falling down, cascading around his neck. Lance looked anywhere else. Noses were safe, weren’t they?

“You are my problem. It’s your first day with us, and you blow me off, don’t talk to any of us, and then you convince Coach Shirogane to practically torture us on our first day back from break? Is that why your past teams didn’t want you sticking around?”

Keith jumped slightly at that, but he then cooled his expression, face going into a completely straight line. “No. I switched teams because I wanted to. And to answer your question, my problem is that not a single player on this team has reached their potential.” Keith pulled his jersey up over his head, and then started to work on the padding underneath. Lance watched as his hands worked. 

“And how would you know that? You don’t even know our names, much less our potential.”

Keith scoffed. “I can see it from a mile away.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What about me, then? How have I not reached my potential?” Lance asked. 

Keith gave him a once over, like he was really thinking about it. “You’re fast, and you tend to use that to take shots close to the goal. But where you really should succeed is in distance. Your long-distance accuracy is unmatched in the NHL; I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. But you don’t train it, and you don’t trust it, so you get too close to the goal and miss your shots. I don’t know if it’s because you’re completely unaware or because you don’t care enough to study your own body properly.”

Lance stared at him. He tried to think back, but he didn’t think he had that high of accuracy with his long-distance shots. Those were only for when his teammates were blocked, or when the buzzer was about to go off. Lance shook the thought off, blowing air out of his mouth. 

“You’re not as smart as you think you are,” Lance retorted. “You might be good at what you do, but that doesn’t mean you can tell everyone else how you think they should play.”

“As their captain, I can do exactly that.”

“What?” Lance asked, mouth agape. How and when had that happened? Lance thought for sure that he was supposed to be in the running for the position, especially since Coach Shirogane had injured himself at the end of the last year and had switched to coach permanently following it. He used to be their Captain, but Coach Allura insisted he become Coach after his injury, demoting herself to Assistant Coach to open up the position. Lance knew she had done it because she cared about him, as she did all of her team. Watching Coach Shirogane after his injury was like watching someone die slowly. He had almost stopped coming to watch their practice entirely, and Lance wouldn’t have blamed him. If he couldn’t play anymore, Lance wouldn’t have a life anymore. Hockey had been his life since he was a child, and he knew this was true for Shiro as well. 

But for Coach Shirogane, after everything they had been through together, to give up the Captain position to some hotheaded prodigy who hadn’t even known them a day? Lance had been playing for the Cardinals for 5 years, and he thought that surely…

Surely Coach Shirogane saw his leadership potential. Didn’t he? 

Lance must have been standing in the locker room for a while, because the next thing he knew, Keith was completely changed, and he was grabbing his bag to walk out to his car. Lance stopped him, grabbing his elbow and turning him around. Keith’s face was filled with anger, like Lance’s touch was contagious. 

“Did he tell you why he promoted you?” Lance couldn’t help but ask. 

Keith shook his head. “It’s what usually happens when I join a new team. I’m used to it.”

“So that you can abandon them and leave them without leadership after? Classy move. Weakens your future competition.”

Keith snarled at him, yanking his elbow out of Lance’s grasp. “Don’t,” he growled, and his eyes were dark, so dark that Lance thought that they might be black. 

Lance didn’t say another word, letting Keith walk out of the locker room, feet stomping on the ground as he left. 

--

The following day’s practice was torture. Coach Shirogane had confirmed that Keith was indeed their new Captain, and he had elected to let Keith run practice for the rest of the week. Most of the Cardinals cheered, excited for Keith Kogane to teach them what he knew, but that excitement was short-lived. By the end of practice, Lance could hear a few of his teammates cursing at each other about how irritated they were with their new Captain. 

And Keith just skated by them, his voice low. “That’ll be ten laps,” he said, and Lance’s teammates groaned, feet pushing forward as they started around the rink. 

Keith was ruthless. He pushed and pushed until people nearly started collapsing. Each drill was worse than the next, and Lance was sore all over. He was used to getting hurt, and he was used to training hard, but this? This was insanity, is what it was. 

And Coach Shirogane sat just outside of the rink, his clipboard in his hands, dotting down notes as he watched their practice. 

After practice ended, Lance could barely stand up in the shower. His legs and arms were on fire, and he felt like collapsing as he rubbed soap over his body. He stepped out, changing into his comfortable clothes before walking back into the locker room.

Of course. Just his luck. Keith Kogane was sitting on one of the red benches, phone in his hand, gear still on his body. 

Lance tried to just walk past him, but Keith’s voice stopped him.

“How’d you hurt your foot?” He asked, and Lance paused, turning to look at him. Keith wasn’t even looking up, still typing something on his phone. Lance wanted to scream at him for all of his nonchalance. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Your left foot,” Keith said, like it was obvious. He lifted his head, mouth in a frown like always. “You always hesitate slightly with your left foot. It slows down your turns.”

“You noticed that?” Lance asked, an odd lilt to his own voice. “That happened like 10 years ago. I thought that it must be gone by now.”

“Well it’s not. And you need to work on that. You can’t have it holding you back.”

“I broke my ankle on the rink 10 years ago. Some guy checked me pretty hard, and I fell over. One of his teammates stepped on my ankle and went down with me. It’s been recovered for a long time.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Keith said, and Lance was a little smug at winning their definitely-an-argument. “But I can recommend some exercises to get you to become more comfortable with pivoting on your left foot, if you want,” he added, shrugging his shoulders. “Or be weak, for all I care.”

“You’re an asshole,” Lance remarked, and it wasn’t the first time he had wanted to say it. “Saying these things like you do… like you’re some sort of hockey god. It’s in my file; I’m sure that’s where you read it. Don’t act like you actually noticed.”

“I didn’t read your file,” Keith responded, standing up from the bench, holding his phone out in front of Lance’s face. “It’s subtle, but it’s there. I noticed during practice,” he said, and Lance watched a video playing on Keith’s phone. Lance didn’t know when he had the opportunity to take it, but sure enough, it was Lance, during one of their scrimmages, starting to take off with the puck towards the other side of the ice. He faltered for a moment as he turned around on his left leg, and his teammate swiftly took the opportunity to hit the puck away to someone across the ice. 

It was practically imperceptible. If Lance himself hadn’t known about his injury, he probably would’ve called bullshit on this whole thing. But Keith was right. He didn’t trust his left ankle, and he was slow. Slow enough to lose possession. 

Lance shoved the phone back down towards Keith. “Alright, I’ll give you this one, Kogane,” he said, deliberately putting most of his weight on his left leg. “What exercises do you recommend?”

“Stay with me after practice tomorrow. I’ll show you,” Keith said, and Lance nodded, turning away from him to leave the locker room. He had had enough for today-- he was going to go home and pass out on his couch, if it was the last thing he did. 

--

After yet another excruciating practice, Lance regretted agreeing to meet Keith afterwards for his supposed ‘exercises.’ But here he was, and Keith was there too, helmet and gloves discarded on the ice a few feet away from them. Lance pointedly did not look at his sweat-soaked hair or his dark eyes. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Lance said. “I’m not doing that.”

“It works,” Keith retorted. “Just try it.”

Lance shook his head. “You’re going to record me, just like you did yesterday, and you’re going to put it online to ruin me.”

Keith tilted his head. “Why would I do that?”

Lance spluttered. “I don’t know! You hate me!”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t care about you.”

“That’s so much better!”

Keith nodded, and Lance, for what must have been the hundredth time, wanted to punch him. 

Lance sighed, taking a deep breath in. “Fine. But I swear, if you record me, I will… I will cut your hair and sell it on Ebay,” Lance settled on, and Keith gave him a disgusted look. 

“Your lack of maturity amazes me. Now get started,” Keith said, and Lance wanted to scream. 

Keith had wanted Lance to do pirouettes. On his skates. On the ice. Lance had never taken ballet, and Keith had to know that hockey was in a completely different field from figure skating. He was trying to make a fool out of Lance, with his smugness and foreboding sense of self. 

But Lance lifted his ankle, standing further forward on his left foot. He wanted to wobble, to give his ankle extra support somehow, but instead he lifted his right leg, letting all of his weight fall on his left. 

“Good,” Keith said. “Now spin as best as you can.”

Lance had never spun before, unless you counted when he was in socks on his kitchen floor as a kid. And Lance respected figure skaters and ballerinas, but he respected them because he knew how difficult it was. 

Lance fell on his butt. 

Keith skated over to him, grabbing the front of his jersey, face getting way too close. “Why did you do that?” He spit, and Lance grabbed his hand and roughly threw it off of him. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Lance yelled, and Keith shook his head. 

“You were balanced perfectly. You had it, and then you fell. There was no reason for you to fall; your center of gravity never shifted.”

Lance pulled himself off of the ice, dusting off the back of his shorts with his hands. “I lost my balance, and I fell.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Keith sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I’ve seen the way you move. You have the grace of someone with a dance background. Am I wrong?”

Lance froze. “Are you sure you didn’t read my file?” He asked, voice weak. 

“No. Shiro gave them to me, but I lied and said I read them. I didn’t want them to cloud my judgment,” Keith said, and Lance didn’t know what that meant. “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

It was Lance’s turn to sigh. “Yes. My twin sister and I did ballroom dance when we were younger. It wasn’t ballet, though.”

“Of course not. But you’re light on your feet, and your balance is excellent. Apply those, and you should be able to do this. Do it again.”

Lance hesitated, but he lifted himself onto the pads of his feet, and then he raised his right leg into the air, He pulled it behind himself, grabbing onto his heel with his right hand. He was shaking, his leg wobbling as he did so. 

“You’re fine,” Keith assured, and it sounded so honest that Lance was caught off guard. “Spin,” he commanded, and Lance took a deep breath.

Ice collided with his stomach as Lance fell forward. He had fallen enough times for instinct to kick in and his face to not hit the ice, but Lance’s body slid forward with the force of the fall. He could sense Keith’s anger before it came at him. 

“Get back up. Do it until it’s done,” Keith ordered, and Lance stood up shakily. “Stop thinking that you’re going to fall. When you think it, it happens. You’re afraid of hurting your ankle again-- you won’t. It’s healed physically, just not mentally. You’re building walls in front of your own success.”

“It’s easier said than done,” Lance retorted. “You’re asking too much.”

Keith skated over to his helmet and gloves. Lance thought he was going to put them on, but he didn’t, instead shoving them underneath his right arm, right leg pushing forward as he made his way to the exit. 

“Maybe you’re not willing to do enough,” he said right before he stepped off the ice, walking back towards the team’s locker room, the two zeroes on his back like eyes staring back at Lance as he left. 

And Lance didn’t know why-- maybe it was Keith’s persistence, or the uneasy feeling in Lance’s gut at his reaction-- but Lance stayed at the rink for the four hours it took for the cleaning crew to come through and ask him to leave, trying to spin and failing in one way or another the entire time. 

--

Keith was an asshole, and he was rude, but Lance still felt his body light up every time he watched him on the ice. The way he moved was magnetic, and his shots made their way past Hunk every time.

Hunk was the biggest guy on their team, and he was a fantastic goalie. His body took up most of the small net, and his heavy goalie padding made him slow, but he had a knack for being able to tell where a shot was going based on how the player was shooting it. 

Lance had asked him once how he did it, but Hunk had just smiled at him, that big, bright smile he had that lit up a room, and said, “Science.” Lance hadn’t asked again since. 

But, for some reason, when Keith shot on goal, Hunk could not seem to stop the puck. Lance watched his friend grow frustrated after the fifth shot, and Lance called out to him. 

“Focus, buddy!” He yelled from where he stood across the rink, weaving through cones with about half of the team. The other half was sprinting back and forth across the rink. Keith had declared that the fastest would be a starter at their first game of the season; Coach Shirogane had immediately agreed. 

Lance felt the wind as his teammates flew by him. 

Keith shot on goal. It was a nasty shot-- Hunk had just thrown the puck back out at Keith, and he was positioned center-left in the net. Keith, at an intense speed, had returned it to him at the bottom-right corner, and Hunk tried to stick out his leg to let it ricochet, but he was too slow, and the puck grazed the top of his padding as it found its mark at the back of the net, the red light behind it lighting up upon contact. 

Hunk laid there, legs outstretched, body shaking with frustration, as Keith yelled at him. 

“Get up! Send it back to me and we’ll do it again!” 

Hunk did not look like he was getting up. Lance left his position as soon as he made it through the cones again, and the teammate behind him called out his name as he skated across the rink. 

“It’s none of your concern,” Keith said, and Lance knew he was talking to him. 

“You’re destroying his self-esteem,” Lance said back, and Keith was holding his stick in his left hand. Lance hadn’t realized it before, but Keith was actually left-handed. He wondered if that gave him some sort of advantage, or if it was a hindrance to his game. 

Lance ignored whatever Keith’s response was, squatting down by Hunk, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ve got this, buddy,” Lance said in a hushed voice that he hoped Keith couldn’t hear. Hunk looked up at him. “Keith isn’t like most people; he’s going to be much harder to read. But I think that he has a tell, too. If he’s feigning a shot, I’ve noticed that he always looks down for a short second before shooting. It’s like his body responds to tricking people-- he hasn’t perfected his poker face. If he’s shooting straight, he doesn’t do that; he keeps his eyes right on the goal.”

Hunk looked at Lance with furrowed brows. He was incredibly aggravated; Lance could see that. But he also knew Hunk, and he knew that he never gave up. If Lance was right, he knew Hunk would be able to use it to his advantage. 

“How do you know?” Hunk whispered back.

“Science,” Lance said, and the small smile on his friend’s face was worth more than anything Lance owned. 

Hunk started to stand up, the process slow due to his heavy gear. Lance nodded at him, turning around to go back to his own practice. Keith watched him leave, an inquisitive look on his face that Lance could see even underneath his helmet. Hunk grabbed the puck in his mitt, throwing it back out onto the ice.

Keith paused for a moment, stopping the puck with his stick. He skated back and forth in front of the net to reset his position, and then he swung. The puck flew through the air, and it was going for the bottom left corner. 

There was a loud clink that echoed through the mostly empty rink as it bounced off of Hunk’s outstretched skate. 

Lance could only see the back of his head, but somehow he knew that Keith had finally gotten what he wanted. His movements slowed, and ice flew in the air as he stopped suddenly. He reached his gloved hand out towards Hunk, and Hunk took it, shaking it as a show of mutual respect. 

Huh, Lance thought. Maybe Keith actually did care. 

--

“The ballerina returns,” Keith called out from where he was skating around at the other end of the rink. He was moving a puck around with his stick, probably practicing his movements. He came over to where Lance had entered, his gear still on as he skated out to center ice. “I thought you had given up.”

“Cardinals don’t give up,” Lance replied. “It’s not in our nature.”

Keith glared at him like he didn’t get it. “So you got it then?”

“No. But I’m going to try until I do.”

Keith nodded at him. “I hope you do,” he said, but he didn’t stay to watch. Instead he skated back over to the other side of the ice, weaving the puck back and forth with his stick. Lance took this as an invitation to share the ice, so he took a deep breath in, and got ready to fall and get back up as many times as he needed to. 

--

Once the janitors came in to tell the boys they were closing up, Keith and Lance exited the ice, grabbed their stuff, and walked out the back door to the team parking lot. It was early June, so the Arizona heat was blistering despite it being pitch black outside. The change in temperature between the rink and outside didn’t help, either. 

Lance was about to part ways with Keith to head over to his blue Toyota when Keith spoke. 

“What did you say to Hunk?” He asked, and Lance had nearly forgotten what he was talking about. He remembered then, the moment being earlier in the day when Hunk had finally stopped Keith’s shot. Keith had not heard Lance after all. 

“I encouraged him,” Lance replied, pulling his bag up over his shoulder. “You should try it sometime. It works wonders.”

Keith looked down, almost like he had never considered this. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he quickly closed it. Lance started to walk away. 

“I am thoroughly impressed at your dedication,” Keith’s voice rang out. Lance stopped, feet on autopilot as they turned back around to face him. Lance’s face must have looked absolutely bewildered, because Keith turned, almost bashful. 

“That was a good start,” Lance said, because he didn’t want to undermine Keith’s effort. It looked almost like it pained Keith to say what he did, and he seemed embarrassed that Lance had heard it, despite how loud his voice had been. 

“You fell a lot,” Keith added, and Lance snorted. 

“Not as good.”

“But you got back up every time,” Keith finished, and Lance cracked a small smile. 

“I did.”

“That’s brave of you.” 

“Thank you.”

“Okay,” Keith said. He seemed like his mind was in a different place. “Okay,” he repeated. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m not very good at this,” Keith sighed, and Lance was pretty sure this was the first time he had seen Keith with his guard down. He normally held it up in front of him like a second helmet, words like daggers and scowl like a knife. He attacked all the time, and he was comfortable with that. But now, he wasn’t attacking at all. Lance had expected it, but the reality was that Keith Kogane, hockey prodigy since he was practically in diapers and Captain after just a day, was taking a chance with Lance. He was letting Lance help him, let him see places where he was weak too. Lance wasn’t going to shoot him down now. 

“Then work on it,” Lance replied, eyes looking right at Keith’s. “Do it until it’s done,” he repeated Keith’s words from the previous day. Keith must have recognized them, because there was a small glint in his eyes. “If you fall, then get back up.”

“I’m not like you,” was Keith’s response, and Lance didn’t know what to make of that.

“You don’t have to be,” Lance answered, and he turned around for the final time. The lights of his car flashed on as he unlocked it. 

He wasn’t sure if Keith was still there, or if he had walked away too. Lance didn’t want to know. He didn’t know what to make of Keith Kogane anymore. It had been only 3 days, and Lance was utterly perplexed. Keith went from ruthless dictator during practice to scolding leader afterwards to vulnerable acquaintance in the parking lot. 

And Lance wasn’t sure which Keith was the real one. He couldn’t be; there were too many differences between them.

Lance knew he should probably keep his distance. Someone like Keith, cold at the best of times and downright mean at the worst, someone who ditched teams like they didn’t matter after only one season, someone who had been told his entire life that he was great and that he would succeed, well…

Someone like that wasn’t good for Lance.

But he had to admit that he was intrigued. 

--

The Arizona Cardinals practiced together for the entirety of summer. It was nice to get out of the dry Arizona heat during June, July, and August, but they were pretty tired from the constant practices and scrimmages. 

Coach Shirogane still watched every practice; Keith Kogane still led every one. 

Lance had asked Coach Shirogane at one point why he let Keith lead.

“A team is only as strong as its weakest link,” he had said, and Lance didn’t know what that had to do with Keith; he was far from the weakest player. “And Keith, despite his talent, has a problem with working with others.”

Lance had thought about that for a while. Coach Shirogane was perceptive; he always knew when to step back and when to butt in, especially during practices. It had come from his time working with the team, but also his wisdom and general knowledge about the sport. When he had been injured, he spent his recovery studying strategy and famous coaches. Lance had admired his dedication to the game. 

And now Lance realized exactly what Coach had meant. 

Lance originally thought that Coach Shirogane had promoted Keith because he was so skilled, or because he was better than the rest of the team. But really, he had promoted Keith because it was the only way to get Keith to bond with the team.

At their first practice, Keith had initially spent their warm-up on the other side of the ice. Lance remembered his clear and utter boredom that he had exhibited during their first drill, right before he had spoken to Shiro in those soft whispers that Lance despised. 

Coach Shirogane had promoted him on the spot, Lance knew now. He had identified their weakest link, and he was working to strengthen it for the sake of the team. 

And it was working. 

Keith was still harsh-- his words were icy and his drills were insane, but the team had slowly started to realize that despite his approach, his methods were working. Keith was targeting each of their weakest points, and he often did so one-on-one. He may not say it with his words, but he cared about each of them and their success. 

Maybe it was because Keith was on their team now. Maybe it wasn’t. Lance didn’t know his motivations, but what he did know was that the team was closer now than they ever had been. 

Nothing like a common enemy, right?

When Lance had finally stuck his pirouette, about two weeks after Keith had ordered him to try, Keith had skated over from where he was practicing across the ice, slapped Lance on the back hard enough that Lance thought he might fall over, and then skated back over to keep practicing. Lance just watched him for a few moments, wondering what had even happened, before going back to do it again. 

Now Lance could consistently stick his pirouette. It wasn’t beautiful like a figure skater’s would be, but it was practical, and Lance could feel his doubt lessen every time he did it. He had also noticed that sometimes he even preferred to turn on his left leg instead of his right, and when he discovered that, he couldn’t keep his smile to himself. 

The Cardinals’ first game of the season would be in October. It was currently mid-September, and Lance and the rest of the team were exhausted, everyone crashing in the locker room after another long practice. 

“Can’t we take a week off before the season starts?” One of the shorter boys asked. 

“Yeah,” another agreed. “We’ve been working hard.”

“The season starts in three weeks,” Keith said. He was standing by his locker, cool and collected as usual, his water bottle nearly at his lips. “Playoffs start in six months. We don’t have time to slack off now.”

“Come on, Cap,” Lance said, leaning on his hands. “Even someone as surly as you needs a few days off.”

Keith glared at him then, and the team erupted. Everyone was complaining at Keith, begging for just a few days to do this or that. Keith’s eyes narrowed like he was getting a headache. 

“Quiet,” Keith declared, and he didn’t even raise his voice, but the entire team hushed. “If you all want a break so badly that you’re willing to give up valuable practice time, then that’s your decision, not mine,” he said. “But don’t blame me if you’re extra sore on Monday.”

The team cheered, and Lance smiled despite himself. The energy in the air was palpable as the team quickly got dressed, starting to filter out of the stadium one by one. Lance waited, just like he always did, for Keith to get back on the ice. 

“You’re still going to practice while we’re gone, aren’t you?” Lance asked, following Keith onto the rink. Keith glided across the ice, turning around and continuing his momentum backwards. Lance kept pace with him, facing forward. The two moved around the rink like this, Lance forward and Keith backward, doing slow laps as they spoke. 

“Of course I am,” Keith responded. “I can’t afford to slack off.”

Lance snorted. “Mr. Number One Seed can’t afford a day off? You of all people could probably afford it the most.”

Keith’s face was unreadable. “It doesn’t affect you, so why do you care?” He asked. 

Lance shrugged. “Can’t have my Captain overworking himself, can I?”

“It’s not overworking. It’s just working.”

“Semantics. Take one extra day. Today’s Wednesday. Come practice tomorrow, but on Friday, I want you to go somewhere with me.”

Keith looked at him like he was an alien. “Where would you possibly want to go with me that isn’t the rink?” 

Lance smiled. “Friends go places together, Keith. And despite your… this,” Lance said, gesturing to Keith’s whole body, “I would say we’re friends. Begrudgingly. So let me help you, like you’ve helped me.”

“What do you mean?”

“A few days after you got here, you told me you weren’t good at being nice to people. You helped me get my confidence with my ankle back, and now I’m repaying the favor.”

“You’re going to help me… be nice to people?”

“By being nice to me! See, isn’t that a good idea?”

Keith’s glare was practically his default face, or at least Lance saw it a lot. “Why?”

It was a loaded question, and Lance had a multitude of answers for it, but he settled on, “Because I think that you believe that everyone needs to work on their weaknesses. Why should your own be an exception?”

Keith didn’t say anything, but he moved out to center ice, grabbing a puck from his pocket and throwing it on the ice. He smacked it so hard that it completely missed the net, flying into the protection panel behind it. The force left a decent-sized scratch mark about three feet above the net. 

Lance didn’t know what had possessed him to ask Keith to hang out with him. Keith wasn’t that type of guy, so he should have expected him to turn him down. But, for some reason, Lance was hopeful. He could tell that there was more to Keith than meets the eye.

But Friday came and went, and Lance never saw Keith. 

--

The Cardinals’ first game of the season was against the Seattle Kraken, a team that they theoretically should be able to beat. The Seattle Kraken were not very highly-ranked in their division, but playing poorly would allow them to destroy the Cardinals without a second thought. 

Lance’s family was in the family and friends section. He couldn’t see them from the pit, but he had sent them their tickets a few weeks ago, and they were excited. They didn’t go to every game, but they never missed his first game of the season. They were like his good luck charm.

Keith was talking to Coach Shirogane, and they were staring at the teams’ book of plays, Keith pointing at something on the page as Coach furrowed his brows. 

“Alright Cardinals!” Coach Shirogane called out, and everyone quieted, nearly fully geared up, sitting around the locker room in various states of dress. “I want a clean game. Keep the penalties to a minimum; the Kraken have an outrageous scoring percentage during power plays,” he explained. “You guys got this. Let’s have a good season!” 

The team cheered, and they all finished putting on their gear. A few minutes later, the announcer started talking into the microphone, and the team lined up in the order they would be called out in. 

Lance was a starter, so he stood in line with his fellow starters, the rest of the team going to sit in their box as they waited for the game to start. Keith was right behind him, and Lance could have sworn he could feel Keith’s breath on his neck. 

When Lance’s name was called, he skated out onto the ice, nerves not quite fully dissipating as he saw the crowd in the audience. It wasn’t the playoffs, so the stadium wasn’t full by any means, but there was quite a crowd of loyal fans, and Lance spotted his family in the stands. 

Lance thought they had a quiet crowd today, but after Lance strode out onto the ice, the noise level tripled. Lance turned his head to look at Keith, whose face was on the giant screen above the scoreboard, his stats listed beside it. Keith’s face was impassive as usual as he made his way to the face off in the center of the rink. Lance’s eyes drifted to friends and family… no one was cheering. Had Keith invited anyone?

Did thousands of fans’ screams overpower the lack of his family’s?

Keith won the initial face-off, and passed the puck to Lance. Lance felt invigorated as the wind sliced through his face, his speed unmatched as he headed towards the net. 

He missed the shot. The thump of the puck in the goalie’s glove made Lance’s mind wander. 

Keith had said that Lance was better at shooting from a longer distance. This was never true in hockey; the goal was too small and there were too many defensemen. But something about the way that Keith had already started down to the other side of the ice before Lance shot made him believe that Keith was right. 

And he didn’t know what to make of that. 

Lance was benched for the final period. The score was 3-0, which wasn’t extremely impressive, but they had shut out the other team, and Lance was happy with that. 

That was until Lance heard the crowd collectively gasp. 

One of the Kraken had Hunk by the head. He had grabbed onto the wired front of his mask and was pulling Hunk’s head back and forth with a great amount of force. Referees were blowing whistles, trying to get in to stop the fight, but it was pointless.

Lance didn’t even have a second to think before the Kraken was on the ground. Keith had pushed him with a heavy shove, and his fingers slipped from Hunk’s helmet, falling to the ground with a thud. 

That would have been fine. The Kraken would have received a penalty for attacking the goalie, and Keith would have been pulled away with a warning. 

But Keith dropped his gloves. They hit the ground nearby, both teams watching with both shock and horror, as Keith knelt down on top of the Kraken, yanking his helmet off, punches flying at his face in rapid succession.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but the Kraken’s face was bloody. There was a streak of blood spraying out from where his mouth had been open, and he looked completely dazed. 

Lance and the rest of his team stood up behind the fence. Coach Shirogane was shouting Keith’s name. Hunk was holding onto Keith’s arms, keeping him away from the Kraken. 

Keith looked feral. Despite having his helmet on, Lance could see him snarling from this distance. His arms and legs were flailing; if Hunk hadn’t been as strong as he was, Keith probably would have broken free. 

One of the referees called over the medic and the coaches while one of the others grabbed Keith by the jersey. Hunk let go, and the referee dragged Keith on his skates towards the exit of the rink. Keith’s face was still twisted up, but he let himself get shoved off of the ice and he walked out of view of the arena. 

“Player 00 of the Arizona Cardinals, Keith Kogane, expelled from the game for disorderly conduct and bad sportsmanship.”

Keith’s picture and stats were once again displayed on the giant screens. Despite being the same picture, his face looked different somehow. 

Lance hadn’t noticed it before, but the crowd was still extremely loud. The fight had drowned it out in Lance’s ears, but now that he was brought back to his body, he could hear his teammates conversing, arguing about whether or not Keith was in the right. The crowd was deafening, chatter filling up the entire arena despite every seat not being filled. 

It took a good 15 minutes, but the rink was cleaned up and the Kraken was taken to the back of the arena for medical care. 

Coach Shirogane made his way back to his team. He hopped over the fence with practiced ease despite his injured arm, and he instantly quieted his team before speaking. 

“The refs wanted to keep Keith out for the next game, too,” he said. “I convinced them not to. But he’s out for the rest of this game, and he’s gotten a warning. I didn’t get to talk to him yet, but I will once the game’s over. For now, the Kraken are going to get a 5-minute power play.” The team started to argue, but Coach put a hand up. “We need to be careful; Keith isn’t out there, and the Kraken are notorious for scoring during power plays. Lance, I need you to sub in for Keith as soon as the power play is over.”

Lance nodded. “Yes, Coach.”

It was the longest five minutes of Lance’s life. Coach Shirogane hadn’t been joking; there were only 7 minutes left in the period, and the power play had given the Kraken a second wind. They were flying across the ice, and the Cardinals couldn’t keep up. Hunk blocked a lot of the shots on goal, but the defense was falling, and he could only block so many before one slipped through. 

Lance felt tense at the first score. He felt worried at the second. And at the third, he wanted to rip his own hair out. 

He watched the clock count down. The millisecond that the power play ended, Lance darted out onto the ice, stick in his hand as he tore over to their side of the rink. His teammates recognized him as he entered, but a Kraken shot at the goal.

There were less than two minutes left. 

Hunk caught the puck. It went to a face-off. 

The Cardinals won the face-off, and Lance suddenly had the puck in front of him. He began to dash down the ice. He was faster than most; his long legs and quick stride allowed him to soar, and he was reinvigorated by the tied score and the break he had taken since the second period. 

Lance was outpacing everyone; he was going to make it all the way to the net unopposed. 

The clock was ticking down. 

There must have only been a minute left. 

He was going to make it.

But a voice in his head, one who had just recently been used to beat another man bloody, told him that he shot better from a long distance. 

Lance slowed; the defense were catching up to him.

He started to swing his stick. The goalie looked alarmed; he had been positioning himself in preparation for Lance to get close. Lance felt the contact of the puck with his stick, and it reverberated through his arms. A defenseman shoulder checked Lance, and he was pushed to the side roughly. 

There were 65 seconds on the clock, and Lance had just scored for his team.

The crowd erupted, both in excitement and in aggravation. Lance felt his teammates clap him on the back as the regrouped at center ice. 

The power play was over, and the Arizona Cardinals won 4-3.

--

Keith was nowhere to be seen after the match. Lance had tried to stick around after the press and the sportsmanship rituals of high fives and “well-played’s,” but he couldn’t find their Captain anywhere. 

It must have been an hour after everyone had left before Lance heard the telltale sound of a puck hitting the back of the net. 

Lance raced out to the ice. He wasn’t wearing his gear anymore, so his feet started to slip as soon as his shoes touched the ground. He righted himself, and slowly walked over to the other side of the ice where Keith was banging shots at the goal. Each one made their mark, in the same pattern he always did when he was by himself. 

“Keith?” Lance called out, and Keith looked shocked, turning around to look at Lance. 

“Where are your skates?” Keith asked, staring at Lance’s feet. The ice was cold even through Lance’s shoes and socks. 

“It’s been a while,” Lance said, “since you hit a puck that hard.”

The last time had been a few weeks ago, when Lance had asked Keith why he ignored his own weaknesses. The scratch was still present on the protective backing behind the net. 

Keith shrugged. He turned back into his stance, sending another puck flying at the top right of the net. Lance knew from experience that the next one would go mid-left. He was right. 

“Did you want to talk about it?” Lance asked, and Keith’s next shot missed the net completely. He had whiffed the shot, and the puck barely slid a few feet in front of Keith, sliding sadly across the surface. 

“What is there to talk about?” Keith responded, his voice clipped. Lance walked closer. 

“Even adrenaline-filled hockey players with lots of testosterone don’t take peoples’ helmets off and punch them for no reason. Especially with a bunch of cameras on them,” Lance stated, and Keith’s shoulders tightened. He didn’t turn back to face Lance, but he didn’t line up another shot, either. “Or is that part of the Keith Kogane brand? I’ve never heard of it. Maybe it’s a new feature.”

“You’re going to get sick being out here like that,” Keith said, and Lance had not expected that response. He had expected “go away” or “you’re stupid,” but what was that?

“I’ll be fine,” Lance shrugged it off. “Will you tell me?”

Something in Keith must have snapped in that moment, because he whipped around, the ice flying as he did so. His face was red, maybe from cold or from anger, Lance didn’t know. His eyes were wide and bright instead of their usual narrowed and dark. He wasn’t quite feral like Lance had seen him earlier, but he was not quite himself, either. 

“Why? We still won. You should be happy about that,” Keith spat out. “You were the reason we won.”

Lance was taken aback. “I scored the final shot, but I wasn’t the reason we won.”

“How is that even possible?”

“It’s a team game, Keith. You scored 2 of those goals. If we’re measuring, you won more than me. But we’re not.”

“I messed up,” Keith admitted, and it was quieter than Lance expected. 

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “You did. But I don’t think you did so unprovoked.”

Keith looked down. He was fiddling with his stick, but he then dropped it, skating over to Lance.

“Get on my back,” Keith instructed, turning around and holding his hands out. Lance didn’t move, and Keith turned back around. “You need to get off the ice. I’ll take you back,” he clarified, and Lance hesitated, but he climbed onto Keith, wrapping his legs around his torso and arms around his neck. Keith supported Lance’s legs with his arms. 

Keith skated off the ice, setting Lance down next to him as they both walked back to the locker room. There was a chill in the air as Lance gestured for Keith to sit next to him on one of the benches. 

“What happened?” Lance asked again. Keith still had his gloves on, so Lance could hear the sound of the fabric rubbing against itself as Keith fiddled with his hands. 

“It was a bit of a blur,” Keith began, and Lance stopped himself from reacting when he realized Keith was actually going to tell him. “One moment, that guy was holding onto Hunk, and the next we were both on the ground.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Hunk was saying something.” Keith paused, like he was working up the courage. “He was saying that his family was in the crowd. He was asking the guy to stop so that he wouldn’t get hurt in front of them.”

Lance didn’t understand what that had to do with Keith’s outburst, but Keith continued. 

“The guy said, ‘Doesn’t matter. You’ll be a disappointment to them either way.’”

Lance took in Keith’s appearance. His long hair was sticky against the nape of his neck, and his helmet was not helping his shaky breaths. He still wore most of his gear, but his jersey was nowhere to be found, and his legs were shaking slightly, rattling the bench. 

“Why did that bother you so much?” Lance asked, and he knew then that he had hit a nerve. Keith recoiled, and Lance could pretty much see him shutting down. 

“I don’t know. It shouldn’t have. I went over the line.”

“You did. But it’s okay.”

“It will never be okay.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Keith’s breathing was coming back to normal, and Lance took Keith’s helmet off, throwing it behind them. It fell to the floor and rolled slightly before stopping. Lance then reached for Keith’s gloves, yanking them off one-by-one and throwing them to the ground, too. There were bandages over the knuckles on Keith’s left hand. Lance rubbed his fingers over them lightly. Keith flinched. 

“Why does no one ever come to your games?” Lance asked. No one had been there today, and Lance had looked into it a little bit while he was waiting. It seemed like no one ever was there, even going back to Keith’s college days. Lance didn’t know what to make of that. 

“I don’t let them,” was Keith’s simple answer. It wasn’t the one he had anticipated. 

“Why?”

Keith shrugged. “Why do so many people come to yours?” He rebutted. 

“To show their support. To say they believe in me.”

“Then you have your answer.”

--

The Cardinals’ next practice was beyond tense. Hunk looked like he wanted to talk to Keith, but he instead kept tiptoeing around him like some sort of mating dance. The rest of the team were too scared of Keith to say anything, but the questions hung in the air anyway. Coach Shirogane had to step in at one point and tell them all to forget about the last game.

“What’s past is past,” he had said. “Let’s move into the future.”

Despite Keith’s outburst at the last game, he didn’t let up on his team. In fact, he probably pushed them even harder. Lance didn’t know how to solve Keith; he was like a puzzle or a code, and Lance didn’t have the solution. He wanted to crack it so badly, it was almost like a hunger. But Keith refused to talk to Lance during practice, and when Lance stayed afterwards, Keith drowned Lance out with the sound of the puck hitting the net. 

There was nothing Lance could think of to do himself, so he knew he had to call in backup. He cornered Coach Shirogane after Friday’s practice. 

“Can we talk in your office?” Lance asked, and Shiro agreed, leading the way. Lance closed the door behind them to make sure no one was listening in. 

“Is there something I can help you with, Lance?” Shiro asked, gesturing for Lance to take a seat. Lance did so, crossing one leg over the other. 

“I need to know more about Keith,” Lance said, and Shiro raised a brow. 

“What do you need to know?”

“I need his file.”

Coach Shirogane leaned back in his chair, his arms laying across his chest. He looked at Lance like he was trying to figure out why he wanted to know.

“Files are reserved for the eyes of the coaches and the captain,” he finally said, and Lance grew angry. 

“Coach, it’s important that-”

“Lance,” Shiro interrupted. “Would you like to become co-captain?”

Lance stared at him for what felt like a few minutes. Shiro smiled at him, his eyes bright as he watched realization dawn on Lance. 

“Why?”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Lance.”

“I’m very grateful, Coach, but… what about Keith?”

“Co-captain, as I said.”

“He wouldn’t like that.”

“I dare to disagree.”

Lance considered this for a moment. “What would that look like?”

“Whatever you and Keith want it to look like. There are no rules. If you want to split the work 50-50, then do that. If you want to handle morale while Keith handles drills, do that. But I think that you two work well together, and I think that you and him could whip this team into shape. Together,” he added.

“Have you told Keith yet?”

“He was the one who asked me,” Shiro said, and Lance… 

Lance felt his entire face go up in flames. 

“You can’t be serious,” Lance accused.

“Deadly. When he proposed it to me, I wasn’t sure what to think. But then… let’s just say I realized the potential that the idea had.”

“Coach, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

Lance breathed out a “Yes,” and Shiro smiled even wider at him. 

Alright, Co-Captain,” Shiro said, leaning towards his desk and opening one of the drawers. “The file you requested,” he finished, handing Lance a manilla folder that had a small sticker on it with KEITH K. written in Shiro’s handwriting. Lance stared at it in his hands. Now that he actually had the file, he didn’t fully know what to do with it. He hadn’t thought he would get this far. 

“Bring it back before you leave for the weekend,” Shiro instructed. “And lock up, too,” he said, and he shoved a set of keys across his desk. Lance, fumbling, grabbed them and stood up.

Lance bowed. Since when did he bow? “Thank you, Coach.”

He could hear Shiro’s laughter through the door. 

--

Keith’s file began with his stats. It was what Lance expected to see, but the data itself…

It was no surprise that Keith had been drafted first and second in the last two years. 

Keith played hockey his whole life. Lance knew that. But what Lance didn’t know was that he was originally an orphan. He was adopted when he was eight, into a poor family that had a lot of kids. How CPS had allowed for them to adopt another was beyond Lance. 

He was the youngest in his adopted family, but he burned bright. He worked hard enough to get a full ride to the University of Toronto, on a hockey scholarship. His sponsors in college apparently paid him enough to allow for his family to move to a better neighborhood. 

Keith was supporting his entire family, Lance realized. They didn’t work, not even most of Keith’s older siblings. They relied on him-- he was their star, but he was also their breadwinner. 

What would happen to Keith’s family if he lost his salary? Surely that must be a lot of pressure. 

But that didn’t explain many other things about Keith. Lance now understood why Keith didn’t invite his family-- they relied on him, but they didn’t care about his goals, only their means. What Lance didn’t understand was why Keith insisted on switching teams every year, and why the Kraken’s jabs had cut at Keith so deep. 

“You’ll be a disappointment to them either way,” was what Keith had said. That was what threw him over the edge.

How could Keith see himself as a disappointment? Certainly there was no way. He was rich, and famous, and successful, and talented…

And maybe Lance was going too far. But still, the point remained that someone like Keith could not be a disappointment to anyone. That would be insane.

So what was it? None of it made any sense. 

And why did Keith switch teams every year? What did he gain from that? 

Would he leave the Cardinals after this season?

Lance felt like throwing up, so he put all of Keith’s papers back into his file and headed back to Coach Shirogane’s office to put them back in his desk. 

--

“Can you be honest with me just this once?” Lance asked Keith as they passed the puck back and forth up and down the empty rink. Keith raised an eyebrow at him. 

“About what?” He asked, sending the puck at Lance. 

“Why do you insist on practicing after practice every day?” Lance inquired. It was something he had been curious about since the first time Keith had invited him to join. It was only five months ago now, but the thought had been weighing on him. 

Keith shrugged. “Because I need the practice.”

“You don’t, though. That’s the thing.”

“I do. My shots are sloppy and I haven’t gained any speed in months.”

“That’s normal. You can only go so fast,” Lance pointed out. 

“I can go faster,” Keith rebutted. 

“You know…” Lance began, whacking the puck in Keith’s direction. He wasn’t entirely aiming, but Keith grabbed it anyway. “You don’t have to play perfectly all the time for people to still be proud of you.”

Keith stilled. The puck hovered in front of his stick. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, resuming himself and sending the puck back to Lance with way too much force. 

“Well too bad,” Lance argued. “As your Co-Captain, your worries are my worries.” He had made that up, but it didn’t matter. Co-Captains were made up, too.

Keith heaved a sigh. “If we’re going to talk about this, can we at least do it anywhere else?” He asked, and Lance agreed. They both skated off of the ice, changing out of their gear and grabbing their stuff. 

“How about my car?” Lance asked, and Keith shrugged. Lance took that as an okay, so he led the way, unlocking it and throwing his bag in the backseat. Keith followed suit, then climbed into the passenger seat to sit next to Lance. 

“So… are you worried that people won’t be proud of you if you aren’t perfect?” Lance asked, and he felt like there might have been a smoother way to do so. More subtle, maybe. 

“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Keith responded. 

Lance paused. 

“You… wouldn’t be proud of yourself?” He postured. 

“What is there to be proud of?”

Lance could not believe his ears. “How hard you play? Goals you score? How well you work with teammates? The fun you had?”

Keith shook his head. “Maybe. If you’re someone random, sure. But what is it about any of that that I haven’t done before?”

“If you’re so sure you’ll do well, then I still don’t get why you don’t let other people come to your games. What about friends?”

Keith waved his hand flippantly. 

“You hold yourself to such an insanely high standard, much higher than you do anyone else. When I score, you get this look on your face. It’s only for a few seconds, but I see it. I always do. I’m always watching you when I score because I see this flicker of pride in your eyes that helps me understand that you are actually human too. That you care, despite it all. But then you score, and all I see is fury. Like you’re angry at yourself. Like you’re angry at everyone. And I could never understand it. I didn’t know if you were upset that someone else didn’t score, or if you were mad we didn’t get it sooner, or if you nearly missed. I never knew. But I think I get it now. You’re always angry when you score because you scoring is something you expect. You nit-pick everything you do like somehow your anger will make your next shot smoother or your feet go even a smidge faster. Like anytime you don’t exceed your previous shot, making it better or faster or stronger, it brings you nothing but shame.”

Lance hadn’t expected to talk that long, and he certainly hadn’t expected Keith to listen. Keith looked… Well, Keith looked dazed, if he had to describe it. He looked far away, like he was both here and somewhere else at the same time. 

“Make that two,” is what Keith said, and Lance wondered why Keith could only talk in riddles. 

“Two what?”

“Weaknesses. You said my first was that I can’t be nice. This is my second: I have to be perfect.”

“Don’t you want to change that?” Lance prodded. 

Keith looked at him. “I don’t know.”

“For me? Would you try, for me?”

And Lance didn’t know why, but for some reason, Keith nodded.

“For you,” he repeated. “I would try.”

--

The Cardinals made it through the rest of the season without any major hiccups. Keith had been on the news for his fight at their first game, but it all quickly died down as the season went on. Hockey players fight all the time; this wasn’t a rare occurrence. 

And Keith… despite Lance’s hesitancy, Keith had been trying. It was in the little things. When someone beat their sprinting record, Keith would give them a curt nod instead of telling them they could do even better. When they won a game, Keith would give them the next night off of practice. 

And it didn’t go unnoticed by the team. Morale was up, and the Cardinals were itching to get into the playoffs. 

But Lance had noticed that Keith struggled with his perfectionism. He still trained extra most days after practice. Lance would always stick around, helping Keith with his drills, even if he thought they were unnecessary. 

Sometimes Keith would think about his reactions. If he scored a goal at a game, Lance would see his face scrunch up, but then it would change into one of confusion, like he realized just now that he had been doing it. 

It was a work in progress, but he was trying. And that was what mattered. 

--

“Are we going to make it through this first round?” Coach Shirogane chanted in the locker room of Las Vegas’s arena before their first playoff game. 

“Yes Coach!” Was the resounding reply. 

“Are we going to play as a team?”

“Yes Coach!”

“Are we going to let these Knights know who’s boss?”

“Yes Coach!” 

“Alright! Look alive out there!”

The Las Vegas Golden Knights were a difficult team to beat. Because the Cardinals were ranked fairly average, they usually started the playoffs with a match against a very similarly-ranked team. But it could be worse. Low-ranked teams usually always went out first-round; they always had to play the high-ranked teams. 

Lance found his eyes drifting to Keith despite all of the chaos. 

“You ready?” Lance asked, holding out a gloved hand for a fist bump.

“Let’s do this,” Keith responded, hitting Lance’s glove with his own. 

--

The Cardinals beat the Golden Knights in overtime, with a final score of 3-2. Keith had scored the final point in overtime, ending the game. Lance watched as he beat himself up over the fact that they had to go to overtime at all. 

Keith had missed his final shot during regular play. It hadn’t been his fault; he had to shoot from far away because of the timer, and there was just no way he would’ve made it. 

But Lance found Keith, hours after the game ended, at the center of the rink, blasting shots from this long distance at the net. 

He missed the two that Lance watched. One flew way right, and the other rolled too fast, bumping off the post and ricocheting nearly all the way back to him. Keith was about to set up another shot when Lance called out to him. 

“We’re supposed to be at the hotel!” Lance yelled. His gear was already packed, so he stood outside of the rink. 

Keith didn’t even react; he must have figured Lance would come looking for him. It was their thing at this point. 

“We have to drive back first thing in the morning,” Lance added. “You need to get some sleep.”

Keith grunted, and swung at the puck. It flew into the goal, just barely not going over the top. The red light behind the goal lit up. 

“You promised me,” Lance said, and Keith’s shoulders tightened. He looked like he wasn’t sure what to do next. Lance didn’t know if it would be enough, but he tried anyway. “You promised me that you would try. And I’m telling you that this… isn’t healthy. You can’t beat yourself up over things that are out of your control.”

Keith whacked one last puck across the ice, and it flew way too high above the net. It hit the backing and fell down onto the rink. Keith neglected the pucks- they were probably part of the stadium’s set- and skated over to Lance. 

“I am trying,” Keith said, small, and Lance nodded. 

“I know. I see it every day,” Lance assured. “But I can’t let this go on.”

“Why do you care?” Keith asked, and while that would be offensive from most people, Lance knew that Keith didn’t mean it as an insult. He was just very blunt sometimes. 

“Because…” Lance explained. “Because I care about you. And you care about me. What more reason do you need?”

Keith looked puzzled. “I do, don’t I?”

“You what?”

Keith shook his head. He took off his helmet, letting it rest in his left hand. Lance could more clearly see his face now, all beautiful and slightly sweaty. Keith’s eyes looked warm in this lighting. 

Lance took a step closer to Keith. With Keith on his skates, he was at least 5 inches taller than Lance, who had flat shoes on. Lance looked up at him, and Keith’s face had a pretty shade of red coating it. Lance grabbed onto the front of Keith’s jersey, his hand fisting the top of the left zero as he pulled Keith closer. 

“Is this okay?” Lance asked. 

Keith’s eyes were half-closed. “Yes,” he breathed out. 

Lance wasn’t sure who leaned in first. Maybe they met in the middle. Keith was hot and sweaty and Lance was frigid from the ice, and they mixed together to make a soothing temperature. The kiss was soft and sweet, and Keith grabbed onto the back of Lance’s head for support with his right hand. 

When they pulled away, Keith rested his forehead against Lance’s. He was breathing heavily, more so than when he actually exercised. Lance found it charming somehow. Meeting Keith had made his brain a little wonky, he thought. 

“I care about you,” Keith said, and he whispered it like it was a secret. “I care about you a lot.”

“I care about you, too,” Lance replied. “I care about you a lot, too.”

--

There were highs and there were lows. Highs included beating the opposing team at the next round of the playoffs. And kissing Keith. There was a lot of kissing Keith. Lows included Lance popping out his shoulder after a rough check and the ever-consistent intensity of the team’s practices. 

Keith had insisted that Lance take a break after his shoulder got popped back in. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” Lance had said, and Keith gave him a feisty look that Lance should not have loved that much. 

Their relationship was tender, much more so than Lance would have expected. There was a newness to it that Lance didn’t want to break, and Keith was more than happy to go slow. He still had a lot on his plate, and he was still working every day on being nicer to both others and to himself. 

Lance and Keith had stopped practicing, and they were instead laying face-up on the ice, their hands interlocked between them like they might drift away. 

“Do you think we’ll make it to the finals?” Lance asked, looking over at Keith. 

“Yes,” Keith said without hesitation. “I do.”

Lance wanted to laugh at his faith, but he didn’t. “Do you think we’ll win?”

“I’m not sure,” was Keith’s honest answer. “But someone wise once told me that you don’t have to be perfect all the time to make people proud,” he said, and Lance couldn’t hold in his smile. “So I’d be proud of us either way.”

“I’m always proud of you,” Lance cooed, and Keith’s nose scrunched up.

“Don’t be gross like that,” he said. 

“You like it.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Keith sighed. “I’m never going to win one of those, am I?”

Lance squeezed his hand. “Nope.”

“So what’s your plan for after the season?” Lance asked. “Vacation?”

Keith tensed. Lance felt like he was forgetting something. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, we have a few weeks off, and then next season will start up again. It’s a nice time to do something special.”

“I…” Keith trailed off. “I might not have a few weeks off.”

“Why? You working another job?”

“No. This is my only job.”

“Then…?” 

Keith let go of Lance’s hand, and he began to sit up. Lance felt like he must have said something wrong, so he sat up, too, putting a hand in Keith’s lap. There was a tenderness to the touch that would have shocked the Lance of 10 months ago. 

“Keith?” Lance prodded. 

“I… haven’t signed for next season yet,” Keith admitted, and Lance…

Lance had forgotten all about it. 

Keith Kogane never spent more than one season with a team. In his now 6 years of playing professionally, he had switched teams after every season. It was rumored that he would do it more often if his contracts allowed. 

Because Lance had forgotten that his Keith, the one who practiced with him after-hours, making jokes and laughing at his, knocking him on his butt on purpose, his Keith, the one who commanded their team like no one else, his Keith, who had shot impossible puck after puck at Hunk to get him to realize his full potential just days after meeting him, his Keith, the one who figured out Lance had injured his ankle and was mentally blocked by it for years and helped him overcome it, his Keith, the one who gave him quiet kisses in his car, or in the locker room, or on the ice, or even at Lance’s apartment one time…

Lance had forgotten that his Keith was Keith Kogane. 

Because now the two didn’t feel anything like one another. 

But they were the same. And Lance couldn’t change that. He could tell Keith about his problems and listen to Keith’s. He could help Keith overcome his weaknesses and Keith could analyze Lance’s. And Keith could change in so many ways, and Lance could change right alongside him, but Keith was always going to be Keith. 

And Lance couldn’t make him stay. 

“So what?” Lance asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “You have a team in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Keith answered, and because he was Keith, his Keith, Lance knew that he was telling the truth. 

Lance stood up on his skates, ignoring his gloves and helmet, grabbing his stick and skating out of the rink. 

--

When it was announced that the Cardinals were going to be in the finals, it was bittersweet. Lance had been avoiding Keith at every turn, only tolerating him during practice and at games. Keith had been trying to talk to him, but Lance refused to see him. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to hear Keith tell him that he was leaving in just a week. 

Because that was it. There was finals, and then the season was over. Keith had nothing tying him here anymore. The contract that Keith saw as a paperweight would be gone, and he could move on to the next team that was awaiting him.

And maybe Keith would find someone on that team, too. Lance tried to push the thoughts out of his mind. 

Coach Shirogane had benched Lance for the entirety of the previous game. He had taken one look at Lance and decided he wasn’t fit to play. Lance didn’t know he looked that bad. 

But Keith had shined out there on the ice, and he had led his team to victory.

Lance dreaded seeing him on the opposing side. But he would have to get over it. 

When finals came, Lance was ready to play. He had assured Coach Shirogane that his issues wouldn’t interfere with his game, and Coach had agreed to let him play. Lance figured he also would have felt bad benching Lance on their last game of the season. 

The Edmonton Oilers were nothing to sneeze at. They boasted great records and an incredible offense. Lance thought back to how Keith had said he wasn’t sure if they would win. 

Keith was usually right. 

But the Cardinals held their heads high. They were going to go out swinging, no matter what the outcome was. 

Because this… this feeling was enough.

The crowd was full. People paid thousands of dollars to come and see the game between the two winning teams. It was an event to behold, and it was taking place in neutral ground, the UBS Arena in New York. Lance had been here a few times, but never for something like this. 

Lance wasn’t a starter this game, so he was sitting with the rest of his team behind the gate as the starters were called into the arena. Lance, naturally, watched Keith, his black hair longer than ever, billowing out below his helmet. Lance wanted to run his fingers through it. 

But what caught Lance off-guard was what Keith did next. He stared out into the crowd, his eyes searching. Lance followed his gaze, and he froze. 

There, in the family and friends section of the stadium, for the very first time in his career, Keith had two of his seats filled. His adopted mom and one of his older sisters were holding up signs, small cardstock with one saying “Go” and the other saying “Keith!” Their faces had small black lines drawn across their undereyes like warpaint, and they had on matching jerseys with Keith’s number 00 on them, the top of the zeroes peaking above their homemade signs. 

Lance looked back at Keith, who was taking deep breaths. He held tightly onto his stick, hands gripping it like he thought he was going to drop it. 

Despite himself, Lance smiled. 

He really was trying. 

Keith looked over at Lance then, and they locked eyes. Lance wasn’t mad at Keith; he never had been. He had been mad at himself for forgetting what exactly Keith’s life was like. Keith had never lied to him-- Lance had forgotten it on purpose. 

So when their eyes met, Lance smiled a great big smile at Keith, waving his hand at the man who he loved. 

And he did love him. Of that he was sure. 

Keith’s demeanor shifted. His shoulders broadened, his hands stopped fidgeting, and he smiled back. Lance didn’t think Keith had ever smiled in public before. It was beautiful. 

They ended the second period with a score of 2-4. They were losing. 

Lance wasn’t sure that he cared. 

Keith had been really great out there. They were playing against the best team in the country, and they were living to tell the tale. Lance was so, so proud of him.

When Keith and Lance swapped out in the third period, Lance was pretty sure that they were going to lose. Keith had played on and off for the first two periods, and he was tired. They wanted to pace themselves, so they left Lance, their fastest player, for the last period in a last-ditch effort to make up some points. But Lance wasn’t as good of a shot as Keith, not in the slightest. 

Lance began to wonder if this was the sort of pressure that Keith felt all the time. 

Before the period started, Lance pulled Hunk aside. 

“If we have more than 5 minutes left and we are still down 2 points or more, I want you to pull yourself out of the game and put in Keith,” Lance said to him.

Hunk looked at him like he was crazy. “We never pull our goalie!”

In hockey, you could only have six players on the ice at once. You didn’t have to have a goalie, though. So, if you pulled your goalie, you’d leave your net empty, but you’d be up a man compared to the other team. It was a glass cannon sort of move, and the Cardinals never used it. Coach Shirogane saw it as suicide to have a wide-open net. 

“I am your Co-Captain,” Lance said, trying his best to seem like a leader. “And I am telling you, Keith needs to rest, but if it comes down to it… you need to yell at Keith to get on the ice and you need to get off of it. Ignore Coach, ignore everyone.”

The referee blew his whistle, and Hunk and Lance dispersed to their positions on the ice. Lance wasn’t sure if Hunk would do what he suggested, or if it would even work, but…

Lance knew how badly all of them wanted this. Lance knew how much it would mean to Keith if his first game with his family here would be a winning one. And Lance knew that Keith could catch them up on goals… if they had an extra body. 

The third period went by too fast. Lance was tired; he swapped out a few times, but hockey was an exhausting sport. The period was halfway over, and the score remained stagnant. 

Lance stared up at the scoreboard. Someone on the Oilers had high-sticked one of the Cardinals, so they were getting a penalty and a power play was about to start. 

He knew what he told Hunk, but…

As Lance stared at the scoreboard, that same 2 sitting there since Keith had scored halfway through the second period, the small Power Play written underneath their team name, he thought he might just be crazy.

“Hunk!” He called from halfway across the ice. “Now!”

Hunk’s eyes went wide. He looked from Lance to Coach and back to Lance. The timer hadn’t yet resumed, and Hunk was skating off the ice as fast as his heavy gear would allow. Lance heard Coach and the other players yelling at him, telling him to get back in the net. 

He also heard Hunk shouting at Keith over all the noise. Keith took one look at Lance, and like he could read this thoughts, jumped over the railing and glided across the ice. 

“Empty net!” Lance heard the announcer say. “With 10 minutes left in the period?”

“Keith!” Coach Shirogane called out. “Get back over here!”

Coach couldn’t send another player out without a penalty. The face-off began way too close to their now-empty net, but the Cardinals won, and Lance had the puck. 

Lance took off. He sped around one of the defensemen, his body honed from years of practice. He felt infinite, he felt free…

Keith was nearby. He wasn’t quite as fast, but he was still fast. Keith was the better shot, even if Lance was pretty good from far away. He had to get the puck to Keith. 

Lance knew the sound of Keith’s skates anywhere. That sound haunted his dreams and his nightmares, the slush of the ice and the speed that was nearly unmatched. Lance didn’t even have to look-- he sent the puck exactly where he knew Keith would be.

Keith, only a few feet from the net, sank the shot. His eyes didn’t even glance down at the puck; he shot it straight and true, into the top right corner of the net, and the red light behind it illuminated, and the crowd went wild. 

Lance skated over to Keith and pulled him into a hug. It was brief, but he hoped that it conveyed everything he needed to still say. 

It’s okay, and I’m proud of you, and I’m sorry. 

Keith latched on like he didn’t want to let go. Lance felt bad, but they still had a game to win. 

The score was now 3-4. They had to score two more times in the next 9 minutes to win the trophy. Lance wasn’t sure if it was possible. Coach Shirogane called one of the other players in, having given up on Keith, and sent Hunk back to the net. It didn’t matter now; he had Keith, and they made an amazing team. 

The Oilers clearly hadn’t anticipated Keith and Lance. They surely had studied the way the Cardinals played, but that was before. That was when Keith and Lance weren’t yet Keith and Lance. They had tiptoed around it, and then they had broken it apart, but now… now they were a unified front, and the Oilers were not ready. 

With 3 minutes left on the clock, Keith scored a fourth point for the Cardinals. It was his third of the day. They were tied. 

Lance was nervous. Everything was dependent on the next 3 minutes. He glanced at Keith, who looked as determined as ever. Lance smiled to himself. 

The Oilers won the face-off. Their offense was strong, and the Cardinals were worn down. They landed a shot on goal, and Hunk caught it. He handed it over to the referee. 

The Oilers had the puck, and Keith had acquired it before Lance could even blink. He quickly moved towards the other end of the ice. Keith passed it to Lance, and Lance crossed the blue line.

No one was between him and the goalie. This was his best chance at a shot. He got ready, hoping his aim practice with Keith would pay off. There were two minutes left. 

Lance went to hit the puck, but it didn’t fly. Instead, Lance’s legs were cut out from underneath him, and he hit the ice with an unceremonious thunk. Lance felt a sharp pain shoot up his arm, but he stood as quickly as he could.

The whistle had been blown. A referee in his black and white stripes came to check on Lance, asking him if he was okay and if he needed his coach. Lance told him he was fine, and he grabbed his stick off the ice, waiting on the final call. 

The clock was paused at 1 minute 48 seconds. Lance would have made the shot; he knew he would. And the Oilers had studied; they knew he would too. 

The 2-minute power play didn’t feel like punishment enough for costing Lance the game, but those were the rules, and the Oilers were not afraid to play dirty. 

But the Cardinals would be up one person for the entirety of the game now. Lance was in the face-off, but his hand was killing him, so he was too weak to win it. He saw Keith’s face scrunch up in concern, but it was only for a moment as they soared towards the puck to get it back from the Oilers. 

The defense managed to intercept one of the Oilers’ passes, and they sent the puck to Lance. The Oilers were ready for him this time, as one of the defensemen had hung back right behind him to not let him shoot across the ice and score. 

Lance knew that he was going to have to get the puck to Keith, but he couldn’t do it too soon. Keith was better at short-range, and even though he had practiced longer shots, they would only have one chance. 

Going to overtime was infinitely worse. The Cardinals were exhausted, and the Oilers would be off of power play. They’d be matched up in numbers, and the Oilers would beat them in strength. They had to end this now. 

43 seconds. Lance tried not to pay too much attention to the clock. He maneuvered his way across the ice, using the tips he had learned from one of Keith’s cone drills. He cursed the fact that all of that torture had actually been worth something. 

When Lance got closer, most of the defensemen started to float closer to Keith. They knew each of their strengths, and they were closing them off at the net. This wasn’t pretty. 

Lance was body checked into the wall, which was completely normal. He held his ground to keep the puck in front of him, but then he was checked again…

His injured hand fell between his body and the wall, and Lance cried out in pain. 

Despite that, he still had the puck tucked behind his stick, between his body and the wall. The defenseman was checking him again, and Lance did his best to keep his hand out of the way. 

Lance heard the sound of a slushy before he could process what was happening. Keith was pushing his way into the fight instead of staying where he was supposed to in front of the net. He must have heard Lance’s cry, and what was he doing? Lance was going to be fine! Keith couldn’t check them out of the way; none of them had possession of the puck, but he instead let Lance know that he was there by making extra slush when stopping, and Lance didn’t even look backwards. He lifted his right leg, and he spun.

His left leg was strong, holding its ground as he spun away from the defense and towards Keith. He gently nudged the puck closer so Keith could get it, and Keith did. 

He flew. The defense charged after him, and Lance got into position in front of the net. They were all so focused on Keith as their short-distance scorer, and they were down the player who would usually block Lance, since he had tripped Lance only a few minutes ago. 

That turned out to be the deciding factor. Keith looked down at his stick, and then he shot the puck. The defense blocked where he was looking and aiming, but at the very last second, Keith shot it towards Lance. 

There were 9 seconds left. 

Lance received the puck. The goalie was still on the same side as Keith and the defense, and Lance knew he was going to be too slow to move all the way over. 

Lance shot the puck towards the bottom left corner, just like he had seen Keith do a million times. The goalie extended his leg to try and block it. 

He was close, but the puck whizzed above his leg and into the net.

The buzzer for the end of the game went off.

Lance looked up at the screen. 

He saw his own face, close up and personal, his statistics next to it. 

Winning shots: 1

When Keith came over to tackle him, and the rest of the team followed, Lance completely forgot about the pain in his hand. 

--

After the game, Lance went to go greet his family. They all congratulated him, telling him how proud they were and recounting that final shot like it was a movie. 

Press was annoying as usual, but being champions made it a bit easier to manage. Lance stopped as he saw a familiar head of black hair, and he was going to go up to him, but…

Keith was talking animatedly with his adopted mom and sister. Lance smiled widely; the Keith of 10 months ago never would have even invited them. The Keith of 6 months ago would’ve cursed himself for not being the one to shoot the winning shot. But this Keith… 

He looked happier, both with himself and with his life. And Lance took zero credit for that. All of that change, that difficult, horrible change, had to come from him. 

Lance was asked for the hundredth time what it was like to shoot the winning shot, and he answered for the hundredth time that it wasn’t his shot at all… it was his team’s. 

--

Keith and Lance sat on the balcony of Lance’s hotel room, on the ground despite the two chairs that were right behind them. They stared out into New York, bright lights and loud sounds completely outshined by the high of the night. 

“So…” Lance began, taking Keith’s hand in his left hand, since his right was still in a cast after the game. “Now that the season is over, you think you could give me a hint as to where you’re going next? Baltimore? Seattle? Which team am I going to have to fear next season?

Keith rubbed Lance’s hand with his thumb. He had callouses on it from holding his stick. “I signed for next season, but it’s confidential.”

“I wouldn’t tell,” Lance promised. 

“I know.” The answer was immediate. 

“So?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Well, since you care about me, and I care about you, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I come to your games. Season passes are cheaper further out from the season,” Lance said. He had determined that when Keith left, Lance was still going to be in his life. It wasn’t all or nothing-- Lance could have it all. And he was greedy, so he would. 

Keith’s face quirked up into a small smile. Lance felt giddy knowing he was the only one who got to see it. “Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your pocketbook to be hurting,” he added sarcastically. Lance was beginning to think he was a bad influence on him. 

“It’s the least you can do.”

“It would be a problem, though.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Keith explained, “You can’t watch a game you’re already in.”

Lance whipped his head around to look at Keith. Keith never lied to Lance, so he should have known, but the dastardly look on Keith’s face was enough to confirm it. 

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly. The media is going to have a field day with it. It’s the first time I’ve stayed with the same team in the six years I’ve been pro. I’m sure they’ll think that someone convinced me to stay.”

“Did they?” Lance couldn’t help but ask. 

“Try as they might, I’m pretty stubborn. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” Keith said, voice soft and sweet. “But maybe, just maybe, someone gave me the courage to realize that this was what I wanted.”

Lance couldn’t resist anymore; he pulled Keith into a kiss. It was soft, and Lance reached his right hand up to caress Keith’s cheek, but he forgot it was in a cast, so Keith chuckled lightly against Lance’s lips when he felt the fabric. Lance smiled, and pulled away gently to stare at Keith against the New York backdrop. 

“I wanted to kill that guy,” Keith said, though he said it with a grin. 

“I know you did. I kind of did, too,” Lance replied.

“And when that guy kept checking you, even though you were clearly hurt, I wanted to kill him, too.”

Lance’s grin grew. “I know.” A pause. “But you didn’t.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because a punch lasts five seconds. A tournament lost lasts forever. Imagine losing the final shot to a guy who you tripped and then broke the hand of. That is beyond embarrassing,” Keith said.

Lance laughed. “It is. I’m disappointed in them,” he joked. 

“Beyond,” Keith added. 

“Let’s do it again next year?” Lance asked, a hopeful tint to his voice. 

“Give me a few weeks,” Keith said. “I think I need a vacation.”

Lance could not believe his ears. “No take backs,” he taunted, finger pointing at Keith.

Keith poked Lance’s finger with his own. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”