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“That asshole,” Keith muttered as he rooted through his drawers, pulling out sweatpants and boxers in a futile search. Each article of clothing settled on the floor as he chucked them over his shoulder, on the hunt for a certain jacket. Although Allura had provided each paladin with all the outfits they could possibly need for their stay at the castle, there was no replacing the soft red polyester he’d brought from home.
“He insults my favorite jacket, then steals it from my room,” he huffed, shutting his drawers a bit too firmly. “Typical Lance move.” With a thirst for vengeance, he stormed through the castle halls, arms chilled with only a T-shirt for cover.
Once he reached Lance’s room, he hesitated before knocking. Muffled sobs came from inside, so he pressed his ear to the door, curious to discover what could have possibly caused the great Lancelot to crumble. The dry sobs increased in volume, and a particularly loud one was followed by choking. It was all too unpleasant for Keith to listen to any longer, so he opened the door.
Lance laid in bed with his knees tucked to his chest. He wore only a tank top and boxers, both a clean white. Tears and snot mingled as they ran down his face. His whole body trembled. Before Keith could comment, Lance’s bloodshot eyes locked with his. They lacked their usual spark, and instead held a faded, dull glaze. Keith had expected Lance to jump up like a spring released from its coil, yell about how knocking existed for a reason, defend himself with claims that he’d never steal Keith’s jacket, which was really ugly anyways. But Lance remained still and whimpered like a beaten puppy.
“What the hell is up with you?” Although Keith’s words were harsh, he muttered them softly. He took a seat on the edge of the bed with his hands rested on his knees.
Lance’s sobs became less frequent, and he made an effort to wipe his mess of a face with his arm. It had the opposite effect.
Keith leaned toward the nearby nightstand for a tissue box. He handed it to the sniveling lump, who didn’t respond, only sat up and attempted to wipe his face and now-snotty arm. As he used up the tissues, Keith decided not to poke fun at his emphatic nose-blowing method, even though it sounded much like a pained elephant.
Once he was able to breathe properly again, Lance handed Keith the used goods. He couldn’t mask his disgust as he accepted them with a curled lip. The contents looked identical to Coran’s hearty meals of green goo.
“Thanks,” Keith said with acid, tossing it toward the garbage can. He missed, but let it be, with zero interest in picking the sticky mess back up. After shaking the repulsion off his face, he moved positions on the bed, settling into a cross-legged position facing Lance.
He tried again. “Why do you look so gross? Talk to me.”
Lance refused to make eye contact. Although he stared at his hands, his sight went beyond them, to a dimension Keith couldn’t reach. His body still trembled. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s whatever, though.”
Keith sighed. Although the two of them had never engaged in any heartfelt conversations before, he had expected Lance to jump with great passion at any chance to talk about himself. “Try me.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s literally nothing.” He blinked with extra force to his vision from blurring. Tears threatened to spill once more, but he refused to wipe his eyes.
Keith could tell with ease that it was not, in fact, ‘nothing’.
“Just tell me, Lance. You sound like a teenage girl.”
At this statement, Lance heaved his largest sob yet and buried his face in his hands. His fingernails dug into his face as more tears fell one by one. He scratched and dragged sharp nails into skin as he shook his head back and forth. Red filled his cheeks as they flushed with feeling.
“Whoa, whoa!” Keith wrenched Lance’s hands away, yet red nail marks remained on his cheeks, and his whole body shuddered.
“Don’t call me that ever again, you dick,” Lance snapped, followed by a short wail. His hands escaped Keith’s grasp, immediately flying back up to claw at his own skin.
In a last-ditch attempt, Keith grabbed him by the wrists once more and gripped them tight. When Lance tried to pull them away, he only pinned them further down on the bed. Keith hated to look people in the eyes, but he stared at Lance’s, which swam with panic in all shades of black.
“Cut this bullshit out right now.” Keith tightened his grip as he spoke. “Either you tell me what the fuck’s going on, or I’m leaving. I can’t help you if you just sob at me and fuck your face up.” It didn’t take much effort to make his words sound convincing, since the heat poured straight out of him and made no time for sympathy.
This shut Lance up. The teardrops fell silently as he kept his eyes locked on Keith’s, which glittered with gems of emotion, a rare sighting. They both stared and said nothing. Lance heaved out a sigh. He was the first to blink.
Hands still held captive between them, he leaned forward to rest his head on Keith’s shoulder. After stiffening at the touch and swallowing sharp words about personal space, Keith exhaled. He let his bodily defenses melt into passivity.
As the sobs subsided, the only sound was the hum of a silent room. Both boys closed their eyes and listened to the breaths they took, which got deeper and steadier with time. Minutes blended together, and all they knew was the warmth that traveled through hands on hands and head on shoulder. Both heartbeats slowed.
Keith didn’t force anything, and Lance raised his head back up in his own time. Two wet spots remained on the fabric of Keith’s shirt. He didn’t mention it.
Lance opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He instead pointed to his tank top with both pointer fingers.
“What about it?”
Lance bit his lip a bit too hard before responding. “It’s a binder.”
“Huh?” Keith looked closer at the tank top. It was noticeably tight around the upper chest area. “What’s wrong with your chest?”
Small beads of blood formed at Lance’s lower lip as he dug his teeth into it again. “You’re so slow, Keith.” He took another breath. “I’m trans.”
Keith stared. “Oh,” he said, followed by a stronger, more meaningful “Oh.”
The words brought him back to his days in the Garrison, and he revisited the memory of one particular meal in the cafeteria.
---
A trainee at Keith’s table had only a few strips of bacon on his plate, which he stared at with glassy eyes. A friend beside him snatched up one of the untouched slices and shoved it in his mouth without hesitation. When no protests came, he paused to give the silent boy the side-eye. “What’s wrong with you, Cole?”
The boy finally moved, only to pick up his friend’s fork and scrape it against his plate. He winced at the sound. “My sister killed herself.”
Everyone stared. He dropped the fork. Nothing was said until the same friend questioned, “I thought you had a brother, though?”
Cole picked up the fork again, making screeching sounds that clawed at Keith’s ears. He stabbed at the remaining bacon. Finally, a couple tears escaped along with the explanation.
“My ‘brother’ is actually my sister. She’s transgender. ‘Girl in a boy’s body’ kind of thing. My parents would always yell at her.” His voice began to tremble. “They told her she was a stupid boy. She’d refuse to eat. And people beat her up at school. It was bad. Really bad.” He wiped his eyes with shaky hands. “That’s why she’s dead.”
All three sets of eyes watched as the fork was tossed across the table. A quiet “I’m sorry, man,” was muttered as his friend gave Cole a pat on the back. It didn’t stop more tears from falling, or sobs escaping as he stood up, or Keith fetching the fork himself as Cole sprinted to the bathroom.
Acid boiled in Keith’s stomach as he imagined a girl skipping meals to tend to dark bruises. Being ordered to “Man up!” as she clenched a bloody fist. Being taught how to throw, how to catch, how to shave. Being lowered six feet into her early grave.
Keith looked back at the bacon on his own plate. He pushed it away.
---
Keith wasn’t much of a hugger. He tended to avoid physical contact like the plague. But this time, he wrapped his arms around Lance and held him close. Lance’s body shook, but he brought his arms around Keith’s waist, moving slowly.
Attempting to convey comfort, Keith rubbed Lance’s back with callused hands, and his nose found its way into the crook of Lance’s neck.
They stayed like this until Lance pulled away to look at Keith. Taking this as his cue to try again, Keith prompted, "Let's talk about this, then. Tell me what's up."
Lance tested out his voice with a stutter. "There's... there's just so much."
"Well, you gotta start somewhere."
"Okay." Lance stared down at his hands before beginning. "I guess I'm just sad ‘cause I miss my family. They've always been really supportive and nice. I got so happy when they started calling me Lance. And I started hormones last year."
He paused to collect himself, tugging at his binder as a distraction. "I was supposed to have top surgery last month. But since we're out here, with no hormones, and no surgeons..."
Keith rested his hand atop Lance's, running out of ideas to comfort the teary-eyed boy. He decided to put it simply: “We’ll get back. You’ll get home.”
After a drawn-out silence, Lance snapped to attention, watching Keith with guilty eyes. “I’m sorry, Keith. Shit.”
“What?” This was not the expected result.
Lance put his hand to his head in exasperation. “Here I am, crying to you over not seeing my family, when you've been living alone for years. I feel like such an asshole.”
Keith laughed at this. “Nah, it's fine. It doesn’t really bother me. And we’re not talking about me right now.”
After receiving a nod of understanding, Keith brought the topic back to the matter at hand. “I don't think the rest of the team would think any different of you if you told them. I mean, everything was cool when we found out that Pidge is a girl, and that’s basically the same thing, right?”
Lance pulled his hand out from beneath Keith’s at the speed of light. “It is not! Pidge is a girl and she's always identified as one, we just didn't know. The whole team already knows I'm a guy, just not all the bullshit I have to go through for everyone else to see me as one!” He finalized his point with a light slap of correction to Keith’s hand.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Makes sense.” Keith tried to conceal a grin as Lance slid his own hand back under his. “Correct me next time I say something dumb.”
“Everything you say is dumb.”
“Now there's the Lance I know.”
As silence settled in once again, Lance shifted his hand to interlock his fingers with Keith’s. He received a light squeeze and an eyebrow raise in response. With a gentle expression of the trademark confidence that made him so Lance, he brought his face closer to the boy across from him.
Keith only stared, in an attempt to see beyond those eyes still red from tears, and held his breath, and blinked slowly, and prayed inside his mind that it would be everything he had always dreamed it would be. Their noses brushed.
His heart almost exploded, adorning his ribcage with bits of membrane, because Lance didn’t kiss him, he pulled away, God why did he pull away, leaving half-parted lips behind and wondering.
Lance grinned. He swiveled so his legs dangled off the bed, and reached under it to retrieve a balled-up red object. It took only a matter of seconds for Keith to launch forward and grab it.
“My jacket, you asshole!”
Snorting in amusement, Lance kept it out of reach, and took the opportunity to throw it onto Keith’s steaming head, covering his face.
“You’re a dick,” Keith said as he pulled it off, irritation already subsiding at the sound of Lance’s laugh. “I knew it was you.”
He slid it back on and smoothed out the wrinkles, which had appeared thanks to its sad position under the bed. Lance watched with pride.
Hopping back onto the bed to face Keith with crossed legs, he let out a breath. “Now, where were we?”
“I dunno.” Keith masked eagerness behind a blank expression. “Having a bonding moment.”
This earned him another small laugh from Lance. “You sure? I wouldn’t do something like that. Not with you.” He didn’t look up, but his grin gave him away.
“Do what?”
“Bond. That’s off limits for rivals like us.”
Keith scoffed at this. “Says the one who just put his face like a centimeter away from mine.”
Lance raised an eyebrow, anticipation hiding behind a facade. “It’s just like that time you ‘cradled me in your arms’ or whatever.” Air quotes accompanied his words. “You’re just making stuff up.”
“Dipshit,” Keith mumbled, taking hold of Lance’s shoulders and pressing his own lips against his.
When they met, it was the crash of a wave. Keith had only been to the ocean once, with his foster parents, when the sea had seemed larger than life to the small and desolate boy. He had fallen in love with the tide as it rolled so slowly, with the shells and crabs that slept under the sand, with the salted air that brushed his cheek as it blew by. For years to follow, Keith could never replicate the feeling of bliss as the sun’s rays kissed his nose and seafoam lapped over his toes.
This kiss brought back that euphoric rush as Lance hummed and traced a finger along his jaw. His hand drifted back to Keith’s neck and tangled itself in long strands of hair as, elsewhere, lips met and met again.
Lance pulled back just enough to mumble “Such a dumb mullet,” before leaving a soft peck on Keith’s cheek. These kisses continued downward, from lips to chin to neck to shoulder, before he paused to glance up and lock eyes with Keith.
Lance broke into a grin. Exhilaration pumped through his veins, and the blood made his face flush in a way that Keith couldn’t help but smile back at.
The blushing boy broke the silence. “I’m irresistible, aren’t I?”
“Hardly. I just did that to shut you up.” Keith flicked his forehead. “You do smell like the beach, though, which is kinda nice.”
“Really?” Lance’s eyes seemed to gleam, like dark rocks found buried deep on the shore. “That’s so cool. I’ve always wondered what I smell like...”
As Lance continued talking, Keith’s attention wandered, memories of the beach drifting through his mind. He decided to visit it as soon he had spare time back on earth. This time, he would take Lance with him.
Speaking of Lance, the boy was still rambling with no sign of stopping. Keith brought his own focus back to the present, with a new goal of regaining Lance’s attention, too.
“Okay, I’m gonna leave now.” He placed his hand on Lance’s cheek in a mock slap. “I got my jacket back, that’s all I wanted.”
Lance dismissed this claim with ease as soon as he heard it. “Nah, I know you want me, too.” To prove his point, he moved to bring their lips together again. Keith closed his eyes as he reciprocated, and took the opportunity to take hold of Lance’s shirt and push him downwards.
The falling boy gripped onto Keith’s sleeves as his back met the mattress. Once he was comfortable, he moved his hands back to the other boy’s hair. Keith let out a small sound without intention, causing Lance to smile and kiss him with more force.
Keith made sure that his weight didn’t press too hard on Lance’s chest, which was already bound by dysphoria in the suffocating form of nylon and spandex. He distanced himself from this area, instead focusing his attention on the boy’s neck. With each new sign of affection he gave, Lance giggled louder. This brought a couple huffs of laughter from a smug Keith.
“You’re ticklish?”
“Nah.” Lance took a breath, smirking. “Just laughing for no reason.”
“Sure.” He blew on the area right above Lance’s collarbone. It led to more giggles and a bit of squirming. “See? Ticklish.”
Lance took no hesitation in returning the favor by blowing on the other’s face with much more intensity. He took pride in the resulting squeezed-shut eyes and sounds of irritation.
Keith retaliated in the form of rolling off Lance and settling down with his back turned to him. He crossed his arms and stared at the peeling wallpaper, blue-green like the waves of the sea that Lance brought with him to any part of Keith he touched. Keith’s mind got caught in memories of the salty air.
“Huh, is that an invitation for me to be the big spoon? I guess I win,” Lance said from behind him, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist. It took him a moment to comfortably fit a leg in between Keith’s, but once he was settled, he rested his head on the pillow and let his nose find its way into Keith’s hair. “It’s dark in here.” He received a hum of acknowledgement.
Lance couldn’t wait more than a few seconds before breaking the silence once more. “You don’t smell like the beach, though.”
“What do I smell like?”
“Keith.”
“I hope that’s a good thing,” Keith replied, and hugged Lance’s arms around him. With his usual defense reflexes now dormant, the skin-to-skin contact warmed him both inside and out. “Also, you feeling better?”
Lance snorted. “I forgot about all that crying already. Yeah, I’m fine as ever, babe.” His lips planted a particularly large smack on the back of Keith’s neck, earning him a squeeze on the arm and a mutter of “Fuck you, asshole.”
The voice that had just been so tart turned to a gentler tone to make a proposition. “Speaking of the beach, I think we should go there together. Once we get back.”
Lance went still. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Once you’ve gotten that surgery for your chest.”
They both imagined kicking sand in each other’s faces, digging up crabs to pinch each other’s cheeks with, daring each other to swim further until their feet couldn’t reach the seafloor and the waves pulled them under and back up again.
“You’ll look like one of those dumb surfer douchebags from 2003. Collecting shark tooth necklaces, hitting on all the hot babes, never wearing a shirt.”
Lance tugged at Keith’s hair in response. “You know me too well, you creep.” Although his words were tart, Keith could hear softness in his tone. “But yeah. Sounds like a plan to me.”
In both their minds stood Lance, slow-healing scars visible on his bare chest. He waded through knee-deep water hand-in-hand with Keith, talking nonstop as per usual. He spoke with enthusiasm of the home-cooked meal waiting for them on his family’s kitchen counter, only a minute’s walk from the shore. As Keith listened, his face glowed, full of love for the radiance of both the sun and the boy beside him. It felt good to be home.