I was supposed to be working on my other stuff, buuuuuuut I got distracted lol, and as such here's like 3,000 words of Lance contemplating space with a dash of Keith at the end!
The tall windows of the observation room felt oddly warm where Lance's knees were pressing into them, having seated himself crosslegged against the glass, staring at the darkness that blanketed the outside of the castle. He thought it was funny, how warm it all was, considering how cold the dark vacuum of space was.
Probably some more weird Altean technology.
Lance's gaze was fixed on a small cluster of lights off to the left, too far away to make out what they were. Everything was too far away right now. There's nothing within a couple thousand lightyears of them, according to Pidge, which in some ways gave Lance peace of mind. The castle was left floating aimlessly between galaxies after yet another surprise warp, the princess believing that separating them from all life, from all possible threats, was the best decision. Lance, at the time, had agreed.
Though he wasn't so sure now. Staring into the endless expanse of space, Lance realized there really wasn't anyone here. Not even cargo ships would venture out this far, warping being the only reasonable method of transport between the galaxies, unless you wanted your delivery billions of years later. This time, no one would find them by mistake. And that didn't provide the same level of comfort it had five days ago when they'd arrived.
If the castle got hacked again, and Lance actually got projected into space by a rogue gladiator, his body would just float lifeless through the darkness forever. If he took Blue out for a quick fly, and ventured off too far to see the castle any more, he could be lost in space forever. If Zarkon found them again, and managed to damage the castle, managed to hurt one of them, they would be left as rubbish to float between galaxies forever, scatterings of them collected by scavengers. Out here, no one would even know if they died.
Lance felt the spike of fear race through his system, not for the first time since Pidge had told them they couldn't even communicate out here. There was no way to send messages across what could be millions of light years, to planets they weren't even sure were capable of supporting life, and expect a response anytime within the next millennia. They could broadcast all they wanted, let the message float across the seemingly endless distance, and hope someone thousands of years from now would hear them.
Maybe he could broadcast a message before he died, let the people know what had happened to the great paladins, ask them to make legends in his name.
This is Lance, last survivor of the Castle of Lions, signing off.
Lance leaned forward until his forehead rested against the glass as well, the weird magic technology stopping even his breath from fogging up the window. Lance figured that if he closed his eyes it'd be about the same as what he saw out there, the same darkness, the same emptiness.
Space was lonely.
Lance hadn't really thought about it before, being tossed from planet to planet, jumping solar systems in the blink of an eye thanks to the Altean warping technology. He'd met hundreds of races, talked to thousands of beings, and all of that seemed to pale in significance to the realization before him.
Space was lonely, not in the way that Lance was lonely, but lonely nevertheless. Lance was lonely in a way that his soul craved his family. In a way, the paladins were his family now, the ragtag team nestling it's way into his heart, even their Altean comrades settling themselves deep into the crevices. But Lance couldn't stop himself from missing his family back home, back on Earth. The loud family dinners, the constant struggle for attention, the late night sibling talks that always seemed to drown out the world around them.
Lance was lonely, but he hadn't considered space lonely until he was forced to face the reality of the gaps of nothingness between everything he's been shown.
He'd always known, objectively, that most of space was just that. Space. The actual stars and planets made up such a small portion of the universe, there was so little content, so little of it consumed by beings, consumed by life. Out here, this space, it was too dead.
Lance clenched his hands together to stop the shaking before it became uncontrollable, releasing a shaky breath against the warmed window, letting his eyes slip shut. In the quiet confines of the observation room, with no one but him and his thoughts, Lance was willing to admit that he was scared.
He was scared of the Galra and what they'd done. He was scared of losing the team, his new family, the same way he'd lost his old one. He was scared of dying in the dark vacuum all around them and no one knowing he'd died, no one ever finding his body, no one even knowing that he'd been here. That he'd been alive.
For all of it's vastness, the endless expanse of nothingness spreading in all directions, space was oddly suffocating.
It wasn't something Lance usually dwelled upon, but it was a fact driven into him time and time again. His team usually helped, made it easier with distractions to lift the coiling constriction on his lungs, letting him breath just a little easier. It was when he was alone, left with his thoughts for too long, that the tightness started to seep back into his skin. Some days, he would swear he could feel the frigid hands of death waiting just on the other side of the castle walls, nails scraping across the metal, taunting him.
Lance sighed as he pulled his hands from each other, leaning back on them instead, forcing himself to unfurl from the position he'd curled into. His breaths were coming shorter, slightly more painful than a few minutes ago, and he had to talk himself into calming down. The tension in his chest had been worse before, the panic he felt racing through his blood calm in comparison to a few nights ago, but that didn't take the edge off it.
He forced his eyes open, head tilted up to stare at the ceiling instead, trying to stop his eyes from misting any further. It was almost time anyways.
A few minutes later, when Lance felt like he'd finally composed his breathing, the soft slide of a door alerted him to his visitors presence. His visitor doesn't announce himself like he had the prior nights, instead just shuffles across the floor to Lance, sitting down with a light huff beside him. He sat close enough that Lance could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the soft smell of soap from the shower floating off of him, but just far enough that the two of them weren't touching.
So close, yet so far.
"Hey." Lance offers quietly, turning his gaze from the ceiling to settle it on the boy beside him, who was lost in the same view Lance had been for hours.
"Hey." Keith replies, even softer than Lance, turning his head just enough to make eye contact. Lance notices the heavy bags that have etched themselves beneath Keith's eyes, and can't help but think that the colour really doesn't match his complexion.
"You should sleep." Lance says, turning back to the window to stare at the largest galaxy he can pinpoint amongst the small cluster, still too far away for him to determine the type.
Lance had grown comfortable with Keith being in this room with him, and even a little with Keith outside of their late night observations. He hadn't expected it when Keith showed up on the second day, mere minutes after Lance himself had settled down, and situated himself next to the other. They had sat there in silence that night, even when Lance leaned over to touch their shoulders, letting himself rest just a little.
Lance had been even more surprised when Keith kept showing up. It was always around the same time, Keith slipping in after training, freshly showered based on the way his hair dripped softly onto the floor. Lance wasn't sure how he'd felt about it at first, him and Keith didn't exactly see eye to eye, but seeing the most aggressive member of the team quietly and calmly sit on the floor next to his named rival was a kind of magic Lance didn't want to break.
"So should you." Keith says, and continues to watch Lance, turning his shoulders to angle himself better. Lance wonders if it's just to avoid looking out at the emptiness around them, because maybe if Lance could do that, he could stop thinking about it. Stop suffocating in it.
Lance just hums in response, mentally counting the lights in the small galaxy cluster. It's the same seven spots as always, nothing really changes lightyears and galaxies away, but if he stares long enough he can convince himself that the one on the far right, the one that looks just a little bit too large, is actually two galaxies. He can convince himself that maybe it's just a little less lonely out there.
"I don't know if they told you," Keith starts, sliding his gaze down to his own hands, and Lance can see him fiddle with his fingers, "but Pidge has been working on a new communication device. They said it should project to the nearest planet in less than a day. And that, given they can create a device that responds with the same speed, we could have round trip communication within 36 hours or something."
Lance tears his eyes from the seventh, possibly eighth, galaxy to stare at Keith.
"Oh." Is all he can say. Because of course Pidge was working on something like that, the little genius. Here Lance was, mourning the loneliness of their current predicament, and Pidge was off solving the problem. Lance wondered if Pidge would let him try it out when they finished.
"Yeah." Keith continued to twist his hands together, gaze flicking up to Lance before returning to the large pane of glass. "I thought you might want to know. You've seemed a little… down… since Pidge mentioned how far away everything is. I think they noticed a little, and this might be their way of helping."
Lance let his eyes roam over Keith, the way his shoulders slumped forward with exhaustion, the way his eyes stayed closed just a millisecond longer when he blinked, the way he looked like he'd be swaying on his feet were he standing.
"Yeah, I should go see them." Lance replies, never taking his eyes off Keith's face. He ignores the subtle question Keith posed, in hopes of the other letting it alone. It's a long shot, he knows Keith won't be deterred, but at least he can use the extra time to think through his answer a little.
"You should." Keith turns back to Lance, and they're locked in a pseudo staring contest. Keith's gaze is searching, watching Lance for a hint, a break, anything he can work with. Lance is closed book, too used to masking emotions behind layers of confidence and bravado, but he finds himself lost in Keith's open expression. He watches the other's curiosity fight with the frustration, an overwhelming amount of concern lining his features, and once again Lance realizes Keith looks so tired. Possibly far too tired to fight Lance tonight.
Keith sighs as he looks away again, frustration causing a cute furrow in his brow, and Lance watches Keith fight down the instinct to pelt him with questions.
"You should talk to someone." Keith says, and Lance can feel the self directed anger in that statement, hears the 'even if it's not me' that slips into his tone. Like Keith doesn't think he's good enough for Lance. Like Keith thinks Lance would rather talk to anyone but him.
"I will." Lance replies, finally looking away from Keith, dropping his gaze to his lap. Lance leans forward again, clasping his hands together, slightly twisting his hands to try and quell the nerves that spark at the thought of talking about any of this.
He didn't even know where to begin. How could he explain to someone that the very thing his dreams are made of, the very place he's always wanted to be, the very thing that is undeniably the entirety of the universe, was also the very thing he was so absolutely terrified of that there were days he couldn't even breathe. How does he explain that the idea of hopping back into his lion, flying back into battle against the Galra, is both he most exhilarating and horrifying thought he's ever had.
How does he explain this kind of suffocation?
Keith casts him a sceptical look, seeming to not believe Lance's half hearted statement. Justifiably.
Lance briefly feels himself smile, something that's small, and just a little sad, but more than he's done in days. He tries to laugh but it's little more than a puff of air.
"When I'm ready." Lance amends, knowing it's not the answer Keith's is looking for, but it's the best answer he can give right now. It's the only answer he feels confident giving.
Keith hums a little at that, and Lance is just pleased it's not a sound of disappointment. He's not sure he could handle disappointment right now, especially not from someone else.
"When you're ready." Keith says, barely a whisper, before he unclasps his hands, settling them beside him on the ground.
Lance doesn't look at Keith, still too worried about what he'd see there, but he lets a little of the weight fall off his shoulders. He knew Keith wanted to talk, every one of his new family members wanted to talk to him, but he wasn't ready. Lance didn't have the words yet, he didn't have the ideas clear enough in his own head let alone be able to show them to someone else.
If they were willing to wait, if they could give him some time, he promises he'll come to them. He doesn't know when yet, he doesn't know how, but when he's ready. He knows his family will be there for him.
They don't talk much after that, both of them stirring in their own thoughts, staring out at the never changing view, counting the galaxies at the bottom left of their vision. Lance is slightly surprised when Keith inches closer to him, resting their legs against each other, their shoulders brushing every time they take a breath. Lance appreciates it, appreciates the physical comfort, and practically curls into it. By the time he's realized it, Lance is leaning on Keith, and the warmth the other exudes is slowly calling him to sleep.
Lance is just about to nod off on Keith's shoulder when he feels the other's hand slide across his fingers, turning his hand over. It isn't until Keith laces their fingers together, settling it with a light squeeze, that Lance fully wakes up. He moves to sit up straight, to pull away, because this wasn't part of their normal routine.
Why was Keith holding his hand? Why was he sitting this close to him? Why was he acting so nice to Lance when Lance clearly felt like he didn't deserve it?
But the strong hand held in his tightened it's grip, his thumb running soothing patterns over Lance's hand, and Lance slowly begins to settle back down. If Keith was okay with this, Lance wasn't going to reject more physical comfort. Besides, he wasn't going to deny the chance to hold hands with the guy he'd been crushing on since he was enamoured with that mullet back at the Garrison.
Even if he didn't deserve it, he wanted it.
They sat like that for a while longer, Lance refusing to look down at where their hands were entwined, for fear of breaking the moment. Eventually, after yawning for the third time, Keith slowly started to pull away. Lance was already regretting the loss of heat, his hand feeling empty, and he gave one last squeeze before releasing the other.
Keith stretched his arms above his head, keeping his gaze locked ahead of him, not looking at Lance. Lance thinks that might not be a bad idea as the other shuffles like they're going to stand up, and refocuses his gaze on the windows ahead of him.
And then Keith leans over, presses his lips lightly into Lance's temple, and swiftly stands up.
Lance is too startled to do anything but stare awkwardly forward for a few moments before whipping his head up to look at Keith, feeling his face burn as a blush crept over his cheeks, his jaw dropping open. Keith isn't holding out much better, his face a beautiful shade of red, the flush seeming to almost spread down beneath the collar of his shirt. But he's holding Lance's gaze with a determined set of his jaw.
"Whenever you're ready." He reiterates, his voice barely more than a whisper, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.
Lance swallows audibly as he shuts his mouth, feels the blush begin to spread further, and nods his head just the slightest amount. That seems to be all Keith needs, as his lips turn upwards into the smallest of smiles, something that was almost too soft for the whirlwind he knew as Keith.
Then he's gone, slipping out of the room, probably off to bed like they both should have been hours ago.
And Lance can't help the thought that maybe if it's Keith, Keith who's sat with him for days now as he stared his fear in the face, Keith who's being patiently waiting for him to open up and accept him, Keith who could probably understand the loneliness better than anyone on this ship, that maybe, just maybe, he might be ready sooner than he thought.
Let me know any thoughts, comments, or critiques! Thanks for reading 'til the end!
~Katz7777777