It's OK
Tags: Body Dysphoria, A little internalized Homophobia, Shame, Self hate, Anxiety, Depression, Panic Attacks, Insecure Lance, Awkward Keith, Fist bump, This is like a character study of Lance, With Bonding time for him and Keith, Hunk is a good friend, Hunk is an angel, Hunk can't handle all of Lance's problems, but that's OK because he's human, Self realizations, Learning to look outside of yourself, Some Pinning, friends to lovers, Slow Burn, like really slow, abstract description of being suicidal, Cuban Lance, This takes place after season 2, There is a time skip and Shiro has already been found, also what happened while he was gone is sorta a plot point of this story, Everyone is mentioned, Flashbacks, Lance's childhood, Lance's family, Lance has a bit of the 'I can't do it until someone else can't do it more' syndrome, sorta gender neutral Lance, sorta gender Dysphoria, secret relationship
(check for keith and lance touching)
Part 1 - Mirrors
Lance looked at his reflection in the mirror. He had been in the en suite bathroom for a long time, as he tried to reconcile with his own reflection. He smiled, and it was displaced. A cobbled together group of features, all from the wrong puzzle box, that's what he was made of. His mother's eyes under his father's brow, his lips were full like his mother's but shaped like his father's, they didn't work well together.
He stroked the pad of his finger down his cheek. Lance could see his sisters in himself, but they were more carefully constructed than him. Each of their features was plucked with care from their parents, and seamlessly organized. When they smiled, their mouths formed a graceful shape, their cheeks moved appropriately, and their appearance was whole; every bit of them complemented every other bit. They were well thought out mosaics.
Lance pressed the palm of his hand where his finger had been, his skin was dry. He reached for the face cream and unscrewed the top. Maybe this time when he rubbed it in, everything would blend together. Slowly he spread the cream over the bridge of his nose, under his eyes, down to his chin, and every single part struck an off key note. He tried to relax his tense jaw, and furrowed brows, to bring together the notes of his song. But his mouth was flat and out of sync, the color of his lips was a pitch to high, and didn't harmonize with his skin tone.
The thud of the cream jar as it met the counter, rippled through the silence of the bathroom, sharp like his irritation. Lance leaned over the counter closer to the mirror, breathed in, and then slowly out. He locked eyes with himself, and thought about how his oldest sister's upturned lips complemented her applecheeks. He tried smiled like her; but it was a twig, bent and straining, anymore force would snap it.
Everything collapsed, his mouth didn't belong, his face just squished weirdly when he smiled. Lance made and even uglier face when frustrated tears brim his lashes. He pushed away from the counter with a jerked movement, and slapped the useless cream with a lashing swing of his arm.
The crack of it colliding with the wall was satisfying, and it helped quell the hatred, caustic and sour, that turned inward more often than any other direction. When the acidic loathing drained away, it left a dry riverbed. The same one it had been carving through Lance his entire life, slowly eroding with each pass.
He didn't know what he was feeling anymore, and so he sighed.
Lance left the bathroom.
The earth smartphone on his dresser -that Pidge magically found a way to charge- told him it was time for bed, he would need to be rested before the mission.
He would need his sleep, so he would have the strength to lift his blanket of confidence. Every year it became heavier, as another layer was woven into the linen that hid his insecurities, and sometimes his arms became too tired to lift it around himself.
The last thing he needed was to drop his shroud while he was trapped in space for an unforeseen amount of time.
Lance pulled his bedding up around his shoulders, and let himself drift.
The morning came, as bright, and synthetic as always.
Lance tumbled to the bathroom, practically a baby deer this early in the morning. His eyes glanced over his own reflection long enough complete his extensive morning rituals, never once did his sight stray to the cracked jar on the floor.
When he was finished he left for breakfast.
Voices skittered off the walls to meet Lance in the hallway as he approached the kitchen. He was often the last person to arrive at due to his beauty regimen. He washed his face twice to stop the burning in his chest, and used three different creams to blend his face, one that he washed off before the other two. Then he brushed, flossed, and rinsed, before he put his hair in order, all of this to keep the walls around his lungs from closing in.
The kitchen door swished open to grant Lance access. He sauntered in as he usually did, letting everyone know he was not concerned about being last, he really wasn't. Having a large family made being last to get someplace, or do something, a fact of life.
Everyone looked at Lance when he entered, and he became a lizard basking in their light as he walked to his usual seat. This act was the furthest from the truth. He wanted to hide behind someone brighter than him, as most people were. Being from a large family made it easy to duck down and go unnoticed when he wanted, but ever since he entered the Garrison, he had an unsettling number of eyes directed at him. He handled his new situation the way he handled his dislike of his own appearance, he lied.
If everyone believed he loved the attention he was less likely to get it, if they thought he loved his appearance then their eyes wouldn't linger to long. No one liked to feed an ego.
Lance took his seat and began eating without comment.
"Today's mission will hopefully be an easy one," Shiro spoke to the room in general, his gravitational pull on the team as strong as always.
Lance glanced at their leader, still a beacon of light, despite his newly acquired rough edges. His second imprisonment by the Galra was visible in the dark smudges under his eyes, and the way he held his shoulders. It had only been two weeks since they rescued him, and he had yet to say a word about his experiences while captured.
Every one of the room's occupants was weighed down by guilt, each one of them taking on the blame for the month Shiro spent with the enemy. Lance could see his own guilt reflected back at him, every time any of them looked at Shiro. If they had been a little faster, a little smarter, a little more collected and calm, then maybe Shiro could have pulled his shoulders back a little more.
Shiro's briefing floated around Lance's head, something about the planet they were going to today, but he let the words flow past him, and used this time to turn off. It was a rare moment where he wasn't expected to speak or smile. He always needs to be 'on' since becoming a Voltron paladin. There were only seven people on the ship, always together, training, eating or 'bonding', so he couldn't slide between the cracks if he needed to.
A sigh escaped Lance as he lazily glanced around the table. He stopped when his eyes met Allura's, she was looking right at him, and he noticed the concerned crease of her forehead, or what looked like concern, but Lance had trouble believing that it was. Either way he wasn't in the mood for extra attention, he smirked at her the way he usually did when he was flirting, and she immediately looked away. Lance wasn't sure if he was glad it worked, or hurt that it was so easy to dissuade her worry.
"Hey buddy," Hunk whispered from Lances left. "you should eat, the briefing is almost over."
Lance knew he was right, Shiro's tone was winding down and everyone else had finished their goo. Hunk was looking at him expectantly, a mess of concern, always worried about how hard he should push at moments like this. Lance smiled at him, crooked and strained, a poor attempt to smooth down Hunk's frayed edges.
"I'm not hungry, it's OK."
Hunk looked skeptical, and rightfully so. He grew up with Lance, and was the only person to witness him completely exposed; it allowed him the ability to see all the loose threads Lance tried to hide. But it was OK, Hunk was a welcomed crutch during the rough times.
The silence of exhaustion settled over the table, it was a film of humidity, sticking to every person present. The mission had gone as well as Lance could have hoped, everyone was alive, in one piece, and another planet was released from the Glara's grasp. With Zarkon gone, all they did was go to Galra controlled planets, free them, and try to form an alliance. This one, just like every mission, was draining and violent, bringing everyone's worst feelings to the front of their minds.
Lance looked around. Pidge ate slowly with a wrinkle between their brows, probably wondering where the rebels that took their brother were hiding. Hunk was worn, the fighting always seemed to take a part of him when the dust settled. Allura and Coran shared an identical expression after every mission, a mix between the thrill of victory, and the realization that none of this would bring their people back. Shiro was the hardest to look at, his eyes far away, in a terrible place that held him captive with every flashback.
And then there was Keith… Lance lingered on the red paladin's face. He was well put together, everything about him harmonized, he was symmetrical. His features blended together into a pleasing image, and he wasn't even entirely human... it wasn't fair. Jealousy, acidic and ugly, rolled in Lance's chest. It flowed through the well worn path left by his self hatred, eroding just a little bit more of him away. It only lasted a moment, because Keith sighed, and the jealousy was washed away by a different feeling, warmer, but terrifying.
The sigh was silent; a slightly larger breath through Keith's nose, just a bit slower, and his shoulders dropped. Lance could tell that sharp, and dangerous thoughts, were rolling around in Keith's mind when the skin around his eyes tightened. The different and scary feeling settled in Lance's chest as he watched, it was warm water that ebbed and flowed with Keith. He wanted to help.
"What?"
Keith had noticed Lance staring.
An exhilarating rush curled up from Lances lances toes to meet the warm fear in his chest.
"Nothing, mullet."
Lance looked down at his food and began to take his first bite, ignoring his rapid heart beat.
Staring at his friends wasn't going to make anything better. His outward show of confidence helped him cope and kept people from looking too close, but his rambunctiousness and general goofball attitude were genuine. Sometimes he just had too much energy, scalding water would rush through him, just under his skin, and he needed to talk or move. He tried to always focused his silly actions on helping his friends, he would cheer them up, direct attention away from them if needed, or simply break the tension.
Lance leaned over the table in Alluras direction, "Hey, Princess."
Allura looked up from her food and frowned at Lance's wiggling eyebrows.
"I didn't get my morning kiss," Lance made an exaggerated kissy face.
Allura deigned a response to his kissy face because he wouldn't stop until she did.
"Good Morning, Lance."
The kissy face fell away, replaced by an equally exaggerated frown.
Groans sounded all around the table. Lance smiled and shrugged with an air of 'better luck next time.' He secretly took joy in each exasperated face that was layered over a tinge of amusement. He glanced back at Allura to see her amused smile, but instead she looked worried, it was only for a moment, and then it fell away and she smiled at him. Lance shrugged it off.
Chatter fluttered around the table, shoulders relaxed and eyes became brighter. Lance felt his mood improving with every bit of tension that slipped away from his companions. He wasn't very good at much, but he hoped that moments like this kept him a part of team Voltron.
Lance secreted a peek at Keith. He was looking down at his food while Pidge rambled at him; the column of his neck was exposed and the muscles were relaxed and soft. Lance trailed his eyes down the smooth white skin until it met the collar of Keith's black shirt.
Lance swallowed to wet his dry throat and looked away.
The warm water in his chest had begun to trickle downward, looking at Keith to long always did that to him.
The lights of the castle dimmed for the night cycle. Lance walked down the hallway past his bedroom, he couldn't stop because sitting still was not an option. His skin was covered in ants, every movement caused them to scatter, but if he was still they would bite at him. His chest was an overinflated balloon that every moment threatened to burst, waiting for the POP made his body taut, and no matter how much he anticipated it, he was always surprised.
There wasn't enough room in his chest for his lungs, his breaths were shallow as he walked his patrol around the castle.
Hunk was in the kitchen.
Shiro was in his bedroom.
Pidge was in their workshop.
Keith was on the training deck.
Allura was in the control room.
Coran was in the pod room.
Lance waited for the slow leak of pressure that usually came with every teammates confirmed location and well being, but it didn't happen this time. A sharp needle of fear pierced his chest, it inched closer to his anxiety.
He walked around the castle again.
Hunk was in the kitchen.
Shiro was in his bedroom.
Pidge was in their workshop.
Keith was on the training deck.
Allura was in the control room.
Coran had joined Allura in the control room.
Still no relief, Lance made a third and then fourth pass. It wasn't helping like it normally did, if anything his coping strategy failing was making him panic. On his fifth pass everyone was in bed, except Hunk was in the kitchen, and Keith was on the training deck.
Lance tried to distract himself, he made a mental note to mention to Shiro that Keith was over taining again. He wouldn't say it outright, but he would find a roundabout and insulting (to Keith) way to let their leader know. He tried to script what he would say in his head, but his mind was foggy, and he was short of breath.
All he could think about was how Keith had almost trained himself to death while Shiro was gone. Lance hadn't done anything about it then, and he regretted it. Maybe it was a mixture of anger, jealousy and fear, that had kept him from dragging the Red Paladin kicking and screaming from the training deck. He had been so scared when Shiro was gone, and he redirected it at Keith as anger, but he was also afraid because he didn't want to show he cared, terrified of someone finding out how much he liked Keith. He could imagine the hate and disgust that would be thrown at him if anyone knew, because the same hate flowed through him at times like this.
He wasn't going to make the same mistake again, he couldn't make any more mistakes. He would keep an eye on everybody, quietly, while still maintaining their team balance. This reasoning is why his patrol normally helped alleviate his anxiety, but tonight it wasn't working.
When he got to his bedroom door again he entered.
He should go to bed, but he looked at the bathroom. If he didn't do his routine it would make him anxious, but if he looked in the mirror… it could be worse.
Lance looked at his bed, it would be OK if he just went to sleep. Despite his thoughts and his reasoning, Lance went into the bathroom, he picked up the cracked jar of face cream, and looked in the mirror.
Lance first became aware of himself in a mirror. His reality clashed with his imagination.
It was one of his first clear memories. It started with his sister, who was a little less than twelve years older than him.
She was in her room, sitting at her vanity, and he was in the doorway behind her. The long grain carpet was rough beneath his bare feet, its original color lost to time and traffic. The metal bar that ended the hallway and began the bedroom, was cold where it pressed into the skin of his arches.
His sister picked up one mysterious container after another, white creams that she rubbed into her face, and tan ones that she dotted here and there. He watched as she painted her face smooth. she widened her eyes by drawing around them, and turned her lips to rose petals. With or without the makeup, he thought his sister was perfect; a painting that someone spent hours on, placing each stroke of their brush just right.
Her eyes caught his reflection, he backed up a step, his other sisters hated him being in their room.
Maritza smiled; it was a blooming rose.
"Está bien. Come here, Lance."
He slowly entered the room, he never got to spend much time in here. It smelled like apples, he liked it.
When he was at her side Maritza lifted him onto her lap.
"Did you want to help your big sister?" She asked.
Lance basked in the attention and nodded. There was an array of items spread across the vanity, he had no idea what any of them did. Maritza picked up a brush and began sweeping it over his face, first on his forehead, his cheeks and then the tip of his nose. it was soft and tickled, he giggled and squirmed.
"Done!" Maritza announced as she pulled the brush away.
"Look at you, Lance! Eres muy hermosa." Maritza placed her chin on top of his head.
Lance looked into the mirror, and even while on his sister's lap he could barely see his entire face.
What he saw disappointed him.
He was four years old.
Lance looked into the mirror at nineteen years old.
What he saw disappointed him.
He turned the cracked jar of face cream in his hand, regretfully.
How long had he been in the bathroom? he wasn't sure. He couldn't take his eyes off of his mouth, his brows, his nose. all of them a little too big, or too small. His pores on his cheeks were visible, and the end of his nose was a funny shape. He was disjointed.
A familiar burning filled his chest, he took a deep breath to release the heat, but it didn't help. Scorching water flowed under his skin and filled his lungs, he took another deep breath to no avail. He was drowning. He gulped air, faster. It still burned, he had to breathe faster, faster, even faster.
Lance gripped the sink's edge, his head dropped, as his back heaved with every, quick, desperate gasp.
What was wrong with him? why couldn't he control this? He wasn't stupid, he was aware of what was happening, that he was coming apart in a fit of useless panic- because he was useless.
His body was dissolving in a flood of anger, frustration and disgust. His woven confidence was sodden with it, heavy and cumbersome, it dragged him down further into the waters of his anxiety, but he refused to let go. Flailing arms strained for the surface, but it was out of reach, and the light began to dim as he descended.
Lance's knees hit the cold tiles of the floor. His stomach churned, and his throat burned with bile; those were the only physical sensations he had left. The white bathroom ceiling started to gray at the edges, and he could only hear a high keening that came from nowhere.
Lance was going to vomit, he didn't want to. His own quick breaths were making it worse, creating a frothy blend of acid and hate. He sat back and pulled his knees to his chest to hold it in, as his stomach cramped, and squeezed.
Someone knocked at his door.
"Lance?" It was Hunk.
The doors on the ship only locked and unlocked for Alteans. The humans on the ship had limited control over the technology, but Hunk didn't enter, the team tried to respect each other space.
Lance was afraid that if he didn't say something his friend would come in out of worry, and he didn't want that. Lance couldn't be seen like this, he couldn't do that to Hunk, his closest friend who had been there through the hardest times. Lance didn't want to disappoint him… again.
He tried to respond, but opening his mouth was a mistake.
All of the pressure that had built him inside Lance, rushed to escape. He slapped his hand over his mouth and scrambled across the slippery floor to the toilet. He retched, and sour foam was all that came up. The searing pain in his lungs radiated through him. He tried to breathe, but his body was still heaving. he choked on the foam, coughing violently, as his sinuses burned.
The sound of the door opening and closing hardly registered, but a large warm hand on Lance's back let him know that Hunk had heard him being sick. He was still gagging, and more foam came up, but Hunk didn't say anything, he just rubbed soothing circles and waited.
Spit and tears dripped from Lance's face. He panted, still leaned over the toilet.
He didn't want to look at Hunk.
This time, a swell of regret, and shame, rose from Lance's stomach, and it left his mouth as a small, shuddering sob. He couldn't stop the trembling, airy, and almost silent cries that followed, but he still refused to move. His face was distorted as he cried, and he didn't want anyone to see him so ugly.
The warm hand on Lances back moved, and Hunk gently grabbed him on either side of his chest. Lance didn't fight it when Hunk pulled him backwards, he was so tired. His back was against Hunks front, large comforting arms wound around him, as Hunk sat them both on the floor against the wall.
Lance was hollowed out, and swept clean. He sighed into the silence.
"I was doing so much better."
Hunk's arms tightened, but he didn't respond.
Lance would have been frustrated by the setback if he was capable of feeling anything, but his mind was and empty chamber, as it alway was after an attack.
He had gained a handle on his anxiety and depression, it had started when he was young and got worse as he got older, When he was fourteen he hit a breaking point, it was the worst day of his life.
But he had eventually improved. He was self aware, could tell when he was slipping. He knew when he needed support or solitude, and could regulate himself. The last time anyone had to hold him like this was when he was sixteen, and it had been Hunk back then as well. He was a person that needed social bonds, loved them, but feared that people would hate who he really was. So he built a persona, but it got heavier the longer he held it.
He really had been doing better, before Voltron, and being stuck in space, trapped in a spaceship castle… But that wasn't completely true, it had started at the Garrison.
His previously large support system had shrunk down to only Hunk. His coping strategy of overconfidence swelled by ten fold while he was surrounded by so many people outside his circle, and at the Garrison it was almost all the time.
While he was there he didn't speak spanish, his native language that grounded him. It would draw too much attention, and he wanted to fit in. He still didn't speak it in front of anyone except Hunk, with no one who could speak it in the castle, he felt uncomfortable.
He also kept his sexuality to himself while attending the Garrison. it wasn't against the rules, but it made life in a military school harder. The stigma that was ingrained in the social institution was archaic, but no less real. As a part of Voltron he had no idea how to handle the topic, and so he continued as if he still had to hide it.
Hunk was the only person that knew he was bi, his friend kept the fact secret and Lance had one more thing he felt the need to compensate for.
Everything had started to crumble when he left home, and then became dust when he joined Volton. He thought he could handle it, but he was put into situations he wasn't prepared for, and confronted with emotions he had never dealt with. He was separated from the things that gave him sense of self, and was forced to recognize that he didn't know who he was without them. He didn't know much about himself at all… and since coming to space, had done things he didn't think himself capable of...
All he knew for sure, was what his anxiety whispered to him, it told him that he was put together wrong, was useless, and a burden. He was full of fear, uncertainty, and hate, but under all of it, he wanted to prove himself, be accepted, and maybe even love himself. If only he could reach out for help.
He kept it all inside, he didn't want to pile it on Hunk… that had certainly worked out well.
He let his head fall back onto Hunks shoulder and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Lance whispered.
Hunk blew out a breath onto Lance's shoulder, "It's OK, I think I needed this too."
To reinforce the sentiment Hunk squeezed his friend again.
A string of guilt wound around Lance's heart, and the emotion echoed in all the empty space inside him.
Hunk had his own problems, some similar to Lance's, and had been keeping them to himself.
"Have you been staring in the mirror again?" Hunk asked.
"Yeah…"
A beat of silence.
"Have you been creating worse case scenario plans late into the night again?" Lance countered.
Hunk laughed nervously, "Maybe…"
With clarity that could only be obtained in the aftermath of a panic attack, Lance knew that both he and Hunk were guilty of the same crime. Each of them afraid of burdening the other with their issues, but it was time to take another path.
Lance hugged the arms around his chest, "I'll take half of your baggage, if you take half of mine?"
Hunk chuckled around his reply, "Deal."
Three weeks went by without another break down, but those weeks had their ups and downs. Many mornings Lance would wake up feeling in control. He had Hunk to thanks for his progress, he was a rock in the river rapids for Lance to cling onto. But some mornings Lance would open his eyes, and his body would be tense, his skin would feel hot, and his lungs would be on fire. None of his rituals would ease the pain, and he would begin to sink into depression and anxiety for the rest of the day.
On those days he knew that Hunk couldn't bear the weight alone, he had his own issues, and Lance needed more than his friend could offer.
It was one of those bad mornings that lead into a bad evening, which brought Lance and Hunk together on the observation deck. It was about 7PM, according the the 24 hour schedule that had been set up to regulate the teams circadian rhythm. The Alteans didn't completely understand the Human's need for a night and day cycle. According to Coran, Altea was in a two sun solar system, the planets suns were far enough apart so that every side of Altea was lit up by some amount of daylight. Sometimes bright and sometimes dim.
Coran had described in great detail, the time of year when one sun always set when the other was rising, and how much he missed the sight of it. The older man's voice strained, tight as a bow string, and then he stared out into space with a sad, wistful expression. Lance couldn't bring himself to talk Coran about his own home sickness again after that conversation, it was like whining about nothing, to someone who lost everything.
"Hey, stop whatever you are thinking, I can feel your depressy-ish aura," Hunks voice was heavy, and smoothing. He threw an arm around Lance's shoulders, "and don't tell me you're not thinking sad things, I can tell when you're doing it."
Lance snorted. Hunk always laid the truth bare so flippantly. He loved that about his friend..
He wasn't surprised Hunk could tell what he was thinking, sometimes it felt like their weird mind-melding-Voltron-thing was happening all the time between them.
"Listen…" Hunk trailed off for a tick.
Lance waited, the rounded corners of Hunks personality soothed his boiling anxiety.
Hunk began speaking again, quieter than normal. "I know we've been doing better, and overall you've been better but-"
"Yeah, but I'm still-" Lance cut in.
"Yeah," Hunk interrupted.
Lance knew what Hunk was getting at, and he understood. They were becoming codependent… and it wasn't solving their problems. Hunk had been spending more time with Pidge working on tech projects, breaking his dependency, also having a hobby was helping him stay calm. Lance was scared, because he didn't feel like he could open up to any of the others on the team the way he did with Hunk, and he didn't think he had anything in common with any of them. But he also didn't want Hunk to feel responsible.
"I think, if I find a hobby or two… maybe I won't dwell on the bad stuff so much."
Hunk pulled Lance a little closer in a one arm hug, "Sounds good. You know I will always be here for you? But I think you need more than just me, and hobbies, try and reach out to someone."
Lance didn't respond. the walls around his lungs were closing in, he knew it was stupid to feel hurt. he logically understood that Hunk couldn't fix all his problems, or shoulder all his emotional baggage forever. Lance had to find some alternative coping mechanisms, and Hunk would always be there… but the air was still rushing out of him faster than he could breathe it in.
He tried to focus on the vastness of space that was just beyond the floor to ceiling window, instead he ended up looking at his own reflection against the black backdrop. his critically assessed his own reflection. Anxiety, that was watery and hot, began creeping up, it threatened to drown him. His breathing was fast, and heavy, he was sure Hunk could feel it.
"Lance."
Hunks wielded his name like a sharp point, it punctured Lance, and the water began to slip away. His body cooled, and his lungs expanded. Lance watched his reflection relax, and was reminded of something he always wanted to do but never had the courage. It was something that seemed so small and inconsequential now that he was in space, and saving the known universe, but he thought it might help his self-esteem.
He looked up at Hunk and then back at his reflection, "I think, I'm going to stop cutting my hair."
"Haven't you always wanted to grow it out anyway?" Hunk asked.
Lance ran his hand through his short hair, "yeah, and now that I'm in space, it seems stupid not to."
Hunk ruffled Lance's hair with the same hand that was over his shoulders, "I think that's a great Idea."
Lance laughed and batted the hand away.
They fell into a comfortable silence. Lance basked in the calm waters that the moment afforded him. They faced the viewing window, sitting on a long, white couch with their backs to the door. He ran his hand over the material and wondered if it was plastic, it felt like pleather.
Hunk leaned to the side and nudged Lance's shoulder with his own, "Talk about earth, but in spanish."
Lance side eyed him, "Why?" his tone was skeptical. Hunk knew very little spanish.
"Oh, come on. You like talking about earth and speaking spanish. Plus if you don't use it you lose it…"
Lance continued to look at his friend through slightly narrowed eyes.
Hunk turned inward, his voice wavered, and he was suddenly small, "and I like when you speak spanish, it makes me feel like we're home, at your family's house or something."
A sliver of warm pride slipped into Lance's heart, and rose to his cheeks. Even if it was a small thing, he was glad he could do this for his friend.
"la lluvia…" Lance began, and he described the rain.
Not just how it looked -a field of grey bowing down to the ground- or how it felt -like a cold awakening- but also what it meant to him. He would look up as it fell on his face, and he let it soak into his clothes. His skin would become numb from standing in it, and he would imagine his body fading away into the mist that it created with the hot sand.
He told Hunk about the first time he imagined hitting the sun warmed beach, and evaporating.
It was the worst day of his life. When he was fourteen, he stood on the beach at midday, the sand was in flames, and his feet were on fire. Lance looked up as the sky cracked. Thunder rolled, the rain poured down, and for a while he was OK.
"Yo estaba bien por un tiempo..."
A whisper of cloth from behind them followed the tail of Lance's tapering words.
Both boys whipped around.
"Was that spanish?" Keith asked from just inside the doorway.
Embarrassment, hot and airy, blew through Lance. It swept away all the other emotions that were battling for his attention. "How long have you been standing there?!" He wanted to slap himself when his voice cracked.
Keith became painfully awkward, he rocked from one foot to another, "not long, I came in while you were saying something in spanish…"
Lance knew that Keith lacked a lot of social grace, but this display was hard to watch, even for him. Lances embarrassment gave way to sympathetic nervousness.
Keith looked at the ground, he seemed stuck between saying something and leaving. He shifted his weight a few more times, and then he began to turn back towards the door.
"Keith, buddy. Don't just stand there, come over here!" Hunk beckoned, his words catching Keith mid turn.
Lance wanted to shout, or punch Hunk. What did he think he was doing?! This was Keith... Keith, the stoic mullet head who spent all his time on the training deck, and almost never hung out with the team.
But at that moment Keith's hard edges were angled in all the wrong directions, he was out of his element, and everything intimidating about him was replaced with uncertainty. Even after Hunks invitation he was looking at Lance as if he expected yelling or protests.
Lance couldn't dredge up his usual mask of irritation, this new hesitant Keith filled him with sympathy. The invitation rolled out of Lance's mouth before he could stop it.
"Yeah… get over here, mullet head," the taunting nickname was still mandatory.
The line of Keith's body relaxed, he crossed the room, leapt over the back of the couch and landed on Lance's left.
"Sometimes I come here when I can't sleep," Keith supplied, it was a reasonable explanation for his appearance in the doorway.
"Us too," Hunk responded, and Lance wants to slap him. His big lovable friend just couldn't keep his mouth shut.
There was a long pause, the tension was becoming thick, and Lance became concerned that it would soon be impenetrable.
But Keith spoke up, breaking through at the last moment.
"Do you guys ever wonder why everyone in space speaks english?"
"Yeah!"
"All the time!"
Lance and Hunk blurted out simultaneously. They looked at each other and laughed.
"Pidge and I have theorised about that, and even investigated," Hunk swooped in to explain. Lance recognized the tone of his friends voice, and knew he was about to be schooled, he leaned back and prepared himself.
Keith on the other hand crossed his arms and raised a brow.
"Ok, explain," he prodded, settling back into his usual attitude.
Hunk sat forward to look past Lance, his face clearly said 'challenge accepted'.
"OK, so get this. The castle was translating for us when we first got here." Hunk waited for arguments.
When curious faces were the only response, his eyes sparkled with excitement and he dove into the details of his theory.
"Pidge and I talked about this shortly after we settled into our Voltron roles. Remember when we first arrived in the castle, and the blue light beam thingy scanned us?"
Lance and Keith glanced at each other and they both nodded at Hunk.
"Well, that light totally downloaded language from our brains. When we freed Allura she wasn't speaking english, she was speaking Altean…" Hunk tapped his chin in thought, "she probably still is… Anyway, the castle was translating her speech for us, and ours for her in her brain, because of her crazy magic connection to the ship. Same probably goes for Coran as well. Think about it, when Coran uses Altean terms we don't understand, it's because there is no word in English for whatever he's talking about, so the ship just doesn't translate it. The ship probably has tons of languages stored, but one day we might go to a planet that has a language we can't translate, and we will have to scan some of the natives."
Hunk waited for the information to sink in, and when his teammates looked sufficiently blown away, he continued to throw information at them.
"After we freed the Princess and Coran we went after the Lions. If we had waited, and interacted with aliens besides Allura and Coran before we got the Lions, we wouldn't have understood them because we aren't connected to the Castle. But the Lions are connected to our minds and have the same translation tech as the ship, so that's why we understand every alien we come across, and why they understand us." Hunk bounced excitedly as he finished, and waited for his friends to react.
Lance let the information settle, his mind jumped at the chance for a good debate, he felt like his brain had been atrophying recently. This was just like old times at the Garrison, Lance loved when Hunk would bring up theories, and dragged Pidge and him into a good discussion. Hunk always took it way too seriously, while Pidge and Lance just wanted to win the argument (which Hunk would demand they call a debate). This felt really good, he took a deep breath and it was easier than it had been for weeks. Hot energy simmered below his skin, he got goosebumps as he felt his mood improving.
Lance's mind rushed through everything that had happened since they came to space looking for a crack in Hunks theory. He smirked and raised a finger.
"Counterpoint."
Hunk crossed his arms and leaned back with one brow raised, "proceed."
And Lance did proceed, with a cocky tone. "What about the fact that Shiro said he could understand the Galra when he was first captured, and that they could understand him?" He wanted to see Hunk argue with that!
Hunk responded without missing a beat, ripping away Lance's victory.
"If the Alteans had the translation tech ten thousand years ago, do you really think the Galra wouldn't figure it out, or like, bootleg it and turn it all purple and Glara-y?" Hunk leaned to the side to look at Keith, "No offence," he added.
Keith just shrugged.
"Wait, wait, wait," Lance had his hands out, motioning to halt the conversation. "Are you saying that the Galra,took the time to scan Shiro, and his team, so they could understand the prisoners they planned to make fight to the death? I don't buy it."
Hunk rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Pidge brought up the same point, but I have a counterpoint, and he's sitting right besides you."
Lance looked at Keith, and sharp surprise wiped his mind clean. He had forgotten Keith was there, and now his mind was blank, he couldn't put together what Hunk was trying to say. It wasn't fair, it was like he had been blinded by a flashlight to the eyes, but the flashlight was a hot dude. He could only focus on the warm but scary feeling that trickled down from the top of his head to fill his chest.
Keith looked around Lance at Hunk, and spoke up for the first time since he started the topic.
"So, you are saying that the Galra might have been to earth at some point in more recent history and gotten some of our languages?" He sounded hesitant, worried that he was intruding on their friend moment.
"Exactly," Hunk agreed.
Keith's voice brought Lance back to reality, hearing him join their debate prompted Lance to jump back in as well.
"But this is all conjecture," Lance argued.
"I like to think of it as an educated guess," Hunk huffed.
Lance snorted and crossed his arms, mirroring Hunks pose, "Which is essentially just assuming, and you know what they say about assuming? It makes an ass-"
Hunks hand shot out and covered Lance's smirking mouth, "No! We are not degenerating into insults. Not again." His voice was cryptic, and alluded to many other debates that Lance had turned into petty arguments.
Lance pulled Hunks hand down, "Fine, but I still say that this is all guess work."
"That's not the point, Lance." Hunks pitch was rising as he became flustered.
"Yes, it is," Lance bit back a smirk.
"No. It's not!"
"Hunk, my man… but it is."
"Lance, no- it's… uhhg," Hunk ran his hand down his face in frustration, "Point of order."
Lance groaned, "That 'point of order' shit might work on Pidge, but not me."
Hunk put his hands on his on his hips. "I said point of order, so there will be order," He said in a tone that left no room for arguments.
Lance let his head fall back, and the back of the couch was low enough so that he was looking right up at the ceiling. "Fine…" he groused, and tried to hide his smile to maintain appearances, Hunk could never know that Lance thought it was fun when he was in serious debate mode.
"I want to make it clear that we are not discussing whether this theory's basis is conjecture or not, we are talking about its potential validity by extrapolating from what we know. So can we drop it, and get back to the matter at hand?" Hunk recomposed himself as he spoke.
"Fine, fine," Lance gave in before he actually pissed Hunk off. Nothing made him feel worse than upsetting Hunk.
"Thank you, I end my point of order, I believe it was your move." Hunk said formally, like a chess player to his opponent.
Lance scrambled in his mind for a legitimate counterpoint. The seconds went by, and he felt the jaws of defeat closing in.
"Ummm…" Keith's looked at both of them, his expression unsure. "I'm not exactly sure how this works, I feel like this has some rules to it or something... but I have a counterpoint?"
Hunk nodded and made a sweeping gesture with his hand, like a court judge allowing new testimony, "Proceed."
"Well, you said that the Castle downloaded language from our minds, and that's why it and the Lions can translate in English. But if that's true, why couldn't I understand Lance when he was speaking Spanish?" Keith gained his usual reckless confidence back as he spoke, by the end of his point he was crossing his arms and smirking the same way he did when he kicked ass at sparing.
"Yeah!" Lance jumped on the chance to take Hunk down, he threw his arm over Keith's shoulder, and shook him back and forth. "Keith, my man, coming in from left field!" He yelled.
In his excitement Lance didn't immediately register the close contact he was forcing on Keith. After a few moments it sank in… Holy shit, he was holding Keith around the shoulders and there wasn't a fist connecting to his face. What did he do now? Should he stop? Had his arm been there too long? Was he making it weird? SHIT, he was making it weird. Keith looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Hunk smirked, or as close to a smirk as he could get, his face almost incapable of forming an unfriendly expression.
"I have considered that, as well," He said, completely unaware of Lances internal struggle.
Hunk set off on an explanation. Normally Lance would be analyzing every aspect of Hunks rebuttal, but right now all he could focus on was the continual internal scream going through his head. Hunk was saying something about emergency system protocol causing the castle to only take their commonly shared language, but Lance could hardly hear over his own he take his arm off Keith now? Did he wait to long, not long enough? How long was a normal guy hug? He could see the tense lines around Keith's eyes, and felt the muscles in his shoulders bunching.
"Oh, I guess that makes sense, it's like the castle was in survival mode when we got here?" Keith was responding to Hunk, his voice dragged Lance's eyes unwillingly to look at him.
Keith was smiling, but it was tight with obvious discomfort. It was a well known fact that Keith didn't like to be touched... Now Lance was afraid to move his arm, because what if by moving his arm he brought Hunk's attention to the situation? Shit, shit, SHIT! What was he going to do-
"Okay, I think I'm done for the night," Hunk announced as he stood. He yawned, and scratched his stomach.
Lance felt Keith shift away in response to Hunk standing up, and it was the perfect moment to disengage. He pulled his arm back at what he hoped was a natural speed, and when he was once again contained in his own personal space he mentally cheered. Lance's nerves settled, his mind cleared, and that's when he noticed Hunk was already gone. The swoosh of the door closing punctuated his friend's departure.
It was just Lance and Keith… why was Keith still there?
They sat in silence facing the huge window. Normally Lance's mind would wander, a continuous mandering that never lingered to long on one thought. It was a defence mechanism that helped him maintain a good mood by preventing him from settling on a topic that could lead down a negative mental path. But there was no wandering right now. Lance's entire focus was whittled to a sharp point directed at Keith. He kept his eyes intently on the window, only able to see a fuzzy silhouette of Keith in his peripheral.
This was the first time they had been alone together in a long while, Lance couldn't even remember the last time it happened besides a few moments here and there in passing. Normally he would have said something insulting or teasing by now, but without anyone to show off for, it just came off as mean.
Lance felt the beginning of watery panic filling his lungs, an insult was crawling up his throat, as his mind slipped into autopilot, the need to break the tense silence overwhelmed him. Lance opened his mouth, his internal screams of DON'T DON'T DON'T weren't enough to hold back his awful reflex.
And then-
"I didn't know you could speak Spanish," Keith's voice was a sledgehammer to Lance's chest. Whatever words were about to come out of his mouth were cut off so abruptly that he almost choked on them.
There was a beat of silence while Lance recollected himself. Keiths question was something to grasp onto that would keep his knee jerk reaction at bay.
"I'm Cuban, it's actually my first language," His response came out sounding a little strained. As much as Lance bragged and rambled, he almost never gave out actual details about himself. An entirely new type of panic was taking over his mind, this was uncharted territory, and Lance didn't have any behaviors to fall back on. Just don't insult him, just don't insult him, he repeated the mantra, this was maybe their chance to be friends.
Keith shifted so he was facing Lance, sitting sideways on the couch, "Really? So, Hunk knows Spanish too? Because you were-"
"No!" Lance cut in louder than intended, his nerves got the better of him. He curled his hands in his lap to stop himself from putting his face in them.
He was still facing the window as he tried to recover. "Umm… I mean no, Hunk doesn't know much Spanish."
Lance chanced a look at his teammate. Keith didn't look irritated, just confused, and a little sad. Sad? That didn't make any sense.
"Wait, but you were speaking Spanish to Hunk. If he doesn't understand you… why?" Keith was beginning to sound as awkward as Lance felt, but it was a fair question. He pulled himself together the best he could, and turned to sit facing Keith.
"Hunk has known me for a long time, he would spend time with my family. So, I guess when I speak Spanish it sometimes makes him feel less like he's floating in space." Lance tried to not reveal too much about Hunk's anxiety or his personal background, it wasn't his place.
Keith didn't respond, he looked less confused, and more sad than before. Lance felt a pull in his chest, it made him want to do something, put a hand on Keith's stupidly strong looking shoulder, or pet his dumb pretty hair. More than any of that he wanted to ask why he was sad, because it still didn't make sense.
Lance wasn't sure what came over him and gave him the guts to actually ask, but he did.
"Whats wrong, you don't like Spanish?" Lance tried for a light and joking tone, but it fell a little flat.
Keith recoiled, "No! No, no...nothing like that, I didn't mean…" He floundered like he was trying to placate an angry cat, but wasn't sure how to go about it.
Lance realized that his failed attempt to joke probably came off as him being offended, especially considering his history with Keith. But the fact that Keith didn't become defensive and instead tried to keep the peace, warmed Lance. He wanted to say something reassuring, but the warm emotions filling him up were muddling his ability to think.
Once again Keith broke the silence just as it was reaching the awkward point.
"I'm fine with Spanish. I just couldn't help thinking that I don't know anything about you, not even your ethnicity, and it's not just you… I don't know much about any of the team." Keith looked down at his hands, his bangs blocking his face.
This conversation was taking a turn Lance didn't expect, not that he really expected anything, but he didn't imagine it becoming deep, or maybe honest was a better word for it? Keiths words felt more personal than they appeared on the surface, like it was leading to a difficult topic. What was different about tonight that made Keith feel like he could talk to Lance? Then it struck him, this might be the first time they were near each other, and Lance didn't start a fight.
A small flame of hope ignited in him. Maybe Keith didn't want to fight. If Lance could control himself, at least when they are alone, maybe they could get along? He pushed down his embarrassing feelings for Keith that normally caused him to lash out, and tried his best to not treat Keith like… well like Keith. Instead he would act like he was talking to Hunk, just pretend its Hunk. A pretty, pale, purple eyed Hunk, as if Hunk were a guy Lance found ridiculously attractive...well here goes nothing.
"Don't worry about it buddy, it's not common knowledge. Only Hunk knows I speak Spanish, I never really told anyone else, but I guess you know now too." Lance reassured the best he could.
Keith looked up through his fringe. "Really? It seems like something that would come up."
A tiny stream of familiar, and acidic self-hate dripped from Lance's chest to his stomach. He was ashamed, not of his heritage, but of the fact that he felt like he had to hide it in the first place. That his anxiety made him do irrational things like that. He didn't want to think about it, and quickly diverted the conversation.
"Is it bothering you that you don't know much about the team? No offense, but that never really seemed to bother you before."
Keith sighed, "Yeah, but before I had never tried to lead the team." He looked wearily at Lance for a reaction.
Keith was probably worried that bringing up the month Shiro was gone would set Lance off. He didn't know that Lance regretted that entire situation. He had been so mad that Keith was picked to lead, for no other reason than because it was Keith. He let his anger blind him and made everything harder, in retrospect he knew he was wrong. He knew it didn't really have anything to do with who got to be leader, and that he was just redirecting his fear, because he was bad at coping.
Lance didn't explode, and so Keith pushed on with the conversation.
"When I was trying to lead the team I realized... I don't know enough about you or the others. Even if Shiro doesn't know you speak Spanish, he spends enough time with all of you to know your strengths and weaknesses, and how to organize you guys… I didn't. Pidge and Hunk didn't look to me as a leader, because they don't know me well enough to trust me to lead, and you were so mad… and I was mad at you, but you were right-"
"I was right?" Lance cut in, confusion clear in his voice.
"Yes! You were right to be mad, to question Shiro choosing me to lead. I wasn't good at it, and if Allura hadn't stepped in we might have never found Shiro! Black wouldn't even let down her barrier for me." Keith didn't sound angry, but his voice was rising, he looked upset and almost relieved. Like he was getting something heavy off his shoulders. "We couldn't form Voltron! We were so incredibly lucky we didn't need to, we could have failed at our mission to save the Universe because I didn't socialize with the team outside of a few bonding moments!"
Then it clicked in Lance's head, and he forced down the 'bonding moment' jab he wanted to make. This conversation wasn't happening just because Lance held back his insults, it was also because Keith needed to get something off his chest. They never fixed their arguments during the time Shiro was gone, they just dropped it when they got him back. Keith's perceived failure as a leader must have been eating at him, and he wanted to resolve it with the only person that made it clear that they also thought he failed.
Everything came to a crashing Halt. His mind opened up to everything outside the tiny world he had been hiding in with Hunk the last few weeks. He and Hunk weren't the only ones dealing with issues, and it didn't matter whose problems were worse, they could all help each other. Hunk wanted Lance to open up to someone on the team, like he was doing with Pidge, and here was Keith of all people, handing him the chance. And why the fuck not, why not Keith? Lance was so tired, and emotionally drained, that he couldn't panic or worry, even if he wanted to.
Keith was still ranting, as if a dam broke and all his pent up insecurities about his time as leader were unleashed.
Lance cut through his waterfall of words with a sharp tone, "Well, who else would have been leader?!"
Without even a pause to think, Keith gestured at Lance with both his hands and yelled, "YOU!"
"Me?!"
"Yes, you! I see you checking in on everyone, you talk to everyone on the ship regularly, and you keep everyone in a lighter mood, but you also don't take crap. Pidge is to focused on tech. can't prioritize, and is fourteen, Hunk is too nice to be firm, and I don't know you guys well enough. I don't even know Hunk's last name, or yours!" Keith finished and looked down at his lap.
Silence.
Holy shit. Lance couldn't find his voice. Everything in him burned up in the wave of hot emotions that slammed through him like a semi-truck, he was happy and embarrassed. Keith through he would make a good leader? Where was all this coming from? Keith was right, he didn't interact with the team enough, if he had then maybe this outburst would have been less of a surprise.
The good feelings evaporated. Keith was also wrong. He didn't know about all Lance's issues, if he did he wouldn't think Lance was a good choice, but now was not the time to argue that point. Grounded by the truth, Lance was able to pull together a response.
"You're right, you don't bond with the team enough." The statement came out harsher than Lance intended. Keith lowered his head more, letting his hair veil his face again.
Lance sighed, he just had to roll with this dynamic shift between them and continue treating Keith like Hunk.
"But you can fix this," He continued. "We can start with me."
Keith perked up a tiny bit, "What?"
Lance let a goofy smile slip onto his face, he didn't even need to fake it. His skin was tingling in that good way it did when his mood took an upward swing. Something about this situation made him feel lighter, maybe it was helping his teammate, or maybe it was just because he could finally talk to Keith normally. Whatever the cause was, Lance didn't care. He felt his mind loosen, and for the first time, in a long time, he felt like he could talk about himself, for real… and that scared him, so Lance began to ramble.
"Yeah! I will like, tell you stuff about me, and you can do the same. I mean it's not completely your fault that you haven't bonded with the team. We got thrown through a wormhole in a magical alien space cat, and then sucked into a ten thousand year old war against an evil galactic empire of purple cat people. Then you found out you are part purple cat person- there seems to be a theme- and then we lost Shiro. Now for the first time we have a break, Zarkon is laying low, if he's alive, we have no leads on this Lotor dude we keep hearing about, and Allura said we were going to make rounds, free planets and find allies… so… yeah."
He lost steam, and felt his face heat up when he realized how long he had gone on for, but Keith wasn't hiding his face anymore. Totally worth it.
Lance wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw a pink blush creep up Keith's neck. Maybe he had some sorta social anxiety, and that's why the dude never hung out with the team? It was possible that he was like Lance. But unlike Lance, who needed social bonds like air, but also feared that people would dislike the real him, maybe Keith was just nervous around people in general, or scared of getting close to people. It fit so well Lance felt dumb for not realizing it before.
The idea that they were both anxious caused the tingling on Lance's skin to settle into hot static that vibrated, boosting his confidence.
"McClain," Lance stated.
Keith tipped his head to the side just the slightest bit to convey his confusion, and Lance almost died. How could one human- umm person? Be so fucking cute. Did he even know how adorable he was? Lance suspected he didn't, or he wouldn't do things that made him more adorable, Keith wasn't the type to try and be cute intentionally.
"My last- it's my last umm, name," Lance choked out. He hated that Keith could fluster him so much.
Keith tipped his head a little more in thought, "Oh, it doesn't sound very Cuban."
Lance rubbed the back of his head, "Yeah, it's not. My mom is Cuban, and I was born in Cuba, but my dad was… Scottish maybe?"
"You don't know if your dad was Scottish?" Keith sounded skeptical.
This was not what Lance expected to be talking about. When he offered to talk about himself he was thinking more along the lines of favorite color, or music interest. Ending up diving head first into deep topics was so very Keith, the boy didn't know the meaning of the word pacing.
Lance sighed heavily, he couldn't really back out now. Well, he could, but then he would probably lose his chance to get to know Keith. So now he was going to talk about his dad, which is something he didn't even talk to Hunk about. It was all or nothing with Keith.
Lance's hand went from rubbing the back of his head to resting on the back of his neck, a comforting gesture to himself. "Ahhh yeah… I didn't really know my dad. I grew up with my mom and my uncle, also my abuela lived with us. I don't even remember what he looks like, my mom didn't keep any pictures, my sisters don't talk about him. He left when I was three, and my mom was pregnant with the twins."
Keith became distinctly uncomfortable, "oh, sorry I didn't-"
"No, no, it's fine-" Lance cut in.
Keith spoke over Lance's reassurance, "No, it's not fine. I get it, and I shouldn't have pried."
An awkward silence left the room feeling empty, and Lance's thoughts echoed in all the space. He didn't think he could count on Keith's impeccable timing to break this quiet, he looked to uncomfortable. Normally Lance would interpret the discomfort as a sign that Keith wanted to be away from him. But now, after finally getting some insight, he saw it for what it truly was, Keith was worried he messed up and said the wrong thing.
Lance felt even more empowered, he could help Keith and himself. Later he might lay in bed and agonize about this entire conversation like the neurotic idiot he was, but right now all he had to do was let go and be himself, and be open. All or nothing right? He just hoped Keith didn't decided he hated Lance after learning more about him.
"Well, Now you have to make it up to me!" Lance swooped into his over dramatic voice.
"What?" The line of Keith's body was unfolding, relaxing into the familiarity of Lance's behavior.
"Make it up to me, tell me something about you that's equivalent and we will be square, more than square, we will be cubed." Lance smirked, leaned back and took a more relaxed pose.
Keith responded to Lance's body language by relaxing even more, and taking the offer to share.
"Well, I never knew my mom, and I only knew my dad until I was ten, then he was just gone."
A thick and heavy realization landed on Lance's head. He leaned forward losing all pretence of being casual.
"Wait, when you were ten? Then who…" He couldn't get the question out.
Keith crossed his arms in a protective gesture, "I was in the system."
Lance leaned forward, the pulling in his chest was trying to reach Keith. "The whole time? No one ever kept you?" He winced at his own wording, poor choice.
Keith bit his bottom lip and shook his head, his composure wavering.
Lance felt immediately guilty, it was slimy as it slipped through him, and he shivered. How was he so dumb? he couldn't even cheer up his teammate right, useless, stupid, fuck up.
Keith took a breath and added, "But, it wasn't all bad."
"How so?" Lance jumped at a chance for a happier topic.
"Its how I met Shiro."
All of Lance's attention was grabbed in a vice grip, even the part that was busy putting himself down stopped. This was something he had always wondered about.
"Really?" He tried to not sound overly interested.
Keith smiled, a real, actual smile, and not a smirk. It was like seeing a unicorn.
"Yeah, when I was twelve we met. He was part of that big brother program, and even after it was over he stuck around. Sorta like a real brother." Keith definitely blushed when he said the last part, Lance was sure of it, and he didn't know what to say in response.
Keith saved him from having to find the words by diverting the subject. "I think I tipped the scale back to you, so now you tell me something to make us square."
Lance's mind filled with possible responses. His anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, all of which caused his mind too close down like a steel trap, to personal and to abstract. He felt like a deer in headlights. What uncomplicated experience did he have that rivaled admitting you're an orphan?
He had one, the memory came so easily. His feet were in the burning sand, and hot mist from the rain swirled around him. He could hear the cries from his house, a painful keening that the rain couldn't drown. He wanted to fall, to scatter and dissipate. It was his fault.
NO! No no no no no, not that. He didn't want to think about it now, he was in a good mood. He couldn't possibly talk about it, he never had and never would. Scorching water flowed under his skin and filled his lungs, he couldn't stop it. Panic clawed up his throat, and he needed to say something, anything to shock his mind, keep it from sinking into the waters of despair.
The words shot from his mouth, it was the secret that was closest to the surface, the one he always wanted to scream to the universe without judgement.
"I'M BISEXUAL!"
Keith jumped, his eyes wide and mouth open in complete surprise. Lance's panic shifted from sinking self hatred to frantic screaming, which was the more manageable of the two.
There was a long, long… like really long, possibly eternal stretch of silence. It was probably the second longest, painful silence Lance had ever sat through in his life. All he could think while looking at his teammates stunned expression was "Don't hate me, Don't hate me, Dont hate me."
Eventually Keith recovered, he closed his eyes, and he took a calming breath.
"We're square," he said.
There was no recoil, anger or disgust. Only the tension of lingering shock.
Lance was relieved and strangely disappointed. He was glad that Keith wasn't freaking out, but he also expected a bit more of a verbal reaction. Don't get him wrong, Lance wished he had a camera so he could forever save the absolutely shocked expression Keith wore. Especially since Keith didn't immediately punch him, or have some other equally absurd reaction that Lances irrational brain could think up. But he kinda expected more, maybe questions or yelling.
"That's it?" Lance found himself saying. He had been keeping that secret for so long, and it kinda felt like a waste of effort.
"I guess? I don't really know what to think," Keith's voice was higher than usual. "You never showed any… ummm, interest in… So it just surprising."
Keith stumbling over his words made it easier for Lance to move on. "Only Hunk knows. I don't really advertise it. So if you could keep it-"
"Yeah, no problem. I won't say anything." Keith was quick to assure.
"And you don't mind or…" Lance wasn't sure how to word his worries without implying Keith was less than accepting.
"No, it doesn't bother me." Keith sounded sincere, it also helped that he managed to say it at his usual pitch.
"Cool... cool, cool, cool."
Lance smiled, and it felt right, like it belonged. He was filled with the familiar, scary and warm feeling that always ebbed and flowed with Keith, plus a new tingling happiness that settled deeper, and latched onto places Lance had never felt it.
He admitted a secret to Keith and wasn't rejected.
Keith smiled back.
They both moved on to lighter topics. Lance was thankful because he didn't think his heart could take anymore shocking revelations, or sad ones. They relaxed into volley of words, back and forth, as they also slowly repositioned until they were stretched out on the couch. They laid on their backs facing away from each other, the tops of their heads barely touched. Both of their faces were turned to the viewing window, staring out into the stars as they talked.
Lance took comfort in the warm point of contact he felt through his hair, it went straight to his toes following the curling path of growing excitement, that was always present through his body when he was with Keith.
Lance was happy.
Slowly a competitive edge began to slide into their conversation, because no matter how well they were getting along, they were still Lance and Keith. Their light banter devolved into a competition over petty insecurities that neither of them could feel embarrassed about in comparison to their earlier confessions. For Lance, it was equal parts, liberating, cathartic and frustrating.
"I don't like the dark," Lance said smugly, top that!
"Well, I'm afraid of spiders," Keith countered.
"I'm afraid of bees!"
"Scorpions freak me out."
"Really? But you lived in the desert." Lance questioned, and turned his head to look at the ceiling.
"Doesn't mean I liked it." Keith chuckled, the sound vibrated through the top of Lance's head and made him blush. Good thing they weren't looking at each other.
"Huh, I guess I just assumed you did like it."
"Well you know what they say about assuming, right?"
Did Keith just make a joke? No way. Lance out right laughed. "So you can make jokes!" A smile was in his voice.
"It's been known to happen, but making jokes is embarrassing to me most of the time."
It took a moment for Lance to realize Keith was back to their little game, he scrambled for a counter insecurity.
"I don't like blue all that much. You know, considering I'm the blue paladin. I don't hate it, but it's not my favorite color."
Keith chuckled again, "That's funny, because I feel the same about red."
Lance nearly sat up in response, "But you always have that red jacket on!"
"Yeah, I look good in red, doesn't make it my favorite color." Keith's words held an undertone of 'duh', which amused Lance more than irritated him like it normally would.
"If it's not red, then what is your favorite color?"
Lance felt Keith shift so he was looking up and not at the window anymore.
"You first."
Without hesitation or complaining, Lance complied.
"Orange, like sunset orange. Now you."
Lance heard Keith let out a long breath, at the end of it he almost whispered his response.
"...It's blue."
The words shocked Lance right at the base of his neck. He sat up and twisted around to look down at Keith. The longer Lance stared the more uncomfortable Keith became.
"For real?" He asked.
Keith didn't look him in the eye, his face was red, but he nodded. Lance turned around and laid back down, turning his head to the window again. There were few moments of silence in which Lance berated himself for putting Keith on the spot like that, he would have hated it if it were him, but the moments passed, and Keith spoke again.
"Blue was always my favorite. I was kinda disappointed when the Blue lion chose you, but I have the Red lion, and she feels, right, so..."
The words hung in the air, and once again Lance felt like he had to say something of equal weight. He wanted to tell Keith everything, all his worries, about panicking, hating himself, being a fuck up, and having nothing to offer Voltron but a body in a pilot seat. He wanted to blurt all of his irrational fears, but it would be to much, he picked one small thing.
"I know I brag about being the sharpshooter, but I worry I'm not actually that good at it." It almost hurt to say something he had buried so deep, like pulling off a bandaid you left on too long.
Keith sat up this time, but he didn't twist around to look at Lance. He completely repositioned so that he was sitting cross legged behind Lance's head looking down at him. Lance tipped his head back a little, and looked up at purple eyes. Keith wasn't smiling or smirking, he looked mad. The fear that began to climb up Lance was quickly knocked down when Keith spoke.
"Are you kidding me? You are the best shot I have ever seen, and I have watched professionals at the Garrison. Some of the shot you have made were insane."
Keith wasn't mad at Lance, he was mad that Lance was doubting his skills. This new concept was shorting out Lance's ability to function.
"Really?" He squeaked. Normally making a sound like that would embarrass the hell out of Lance, but Keith was looking at him with the most earnest expression, and it filled Lance with so much emotion he thought he might cry. He didn't cry, but he could have.
"Yeah… especially when we were rescuing Shiro. You're like an ace sharpshooter or something…" Keith became uneasy, as if he just realized who he was complimenting.
Lance needed to lighten this mood, break the tension. His nervous energy boiled under his skin. He said the first thing he had on his mind, something he hoped was true.
"It's almost like we're friends or something." He held up his fist hoping Keith would understand, and for the first time since they met, Keith grasped a modern social cue.
He bumped his fist against Lances and said, "Yeah, Ace. We're friends."
** End Part 1