Lance is gone when Keith wakes up the next morning.
The feeling of his presence, not fully there yet undeniably so, fleeting and transient, like the residual wisps of a dream slipping just out of reach, strips Keith of any desire to open his eyes and confirm this. He can still feel the warmth from Lance's body lingering next to him, still smell the familiar mixture of ocean spray and wildflowers and cinnamon that makes him want to sink into the covers and stay there forever, surrounded by Lance's intangible but ethereal embrace. The sheets are tucked gently underneath his chin, wrapping him up in a cocoon of soft, silky fabric.
For one perfect, peaceful, blissful moment, Keith feels... okay.
It's such a different sensation than he's used to, so wonderful and soothing and pleasant, he's hesitant to let himself enjoy the moment, to savor the comfort only these very circumstances could provide. This morning is the stark opposite of the past several, during which he's spent the entire nights before fighting with his demons, waiting desperately for the light of the Olkari sun to come to his aid and relieve him of the hold that darkness inevitably takes over him. This morning is what takes the dying, sputtering flicker of hope in Keith's chest and lights it anew. This morning is proof that the invisible battle warring in his mind between logic and fear is one worth fighting.
A faint recollection of last night's events trails through Keith's thoughts, leading him out of his daze. He wonders briefly if he should feel embarrassed about his meltdown in front of Lance. The whole thing really had been kind of pathetic, the way he stumbled to Lance's door in the dead of night, desperate for comfort in a sudden, yet not unfamiliar, moment of weakness. The rational part of his brain assures him that he had made the right choice. Because when he'd startled awake in the middle of the night, panicked and out of breath, Lance had offered him a shoulder to cry on without hesitation, without any previous knowledge of the constant inner turmoil taking place behind Keith's eyelids, without asking, without needing an explanation, without demanding a reason that he should share his sympathy with a boy who can offer nothing in return.
Keith thinks of Lance's face, soft and understanding, blue eyes reflecting starlight, freckles from his past days in the hot Cuban sun scattered across his nose and his cheeks. The image itself makes him weak, makes his heart ache with a longing he'd only recently given up on quelling. Weakness is funny that way—it's like a paradox. Keith has a hard time remembering any case in which accepting or admitting his weaknesses actually made him weak. If anything, recognizing them had only ever made him stronger, especially when he had someone by his side to guide him, as Lance had done for him last night.
That's what's been different about Lance since he returned from his mission with Krolia, Keith thinks idly. No, not different—just more obvious, more self-evident. Lance has always been the one dishing out pep talks and life advice, the one to offer kind and reassuring words in a time of need, the one who always insists that the team stay together because they're a team, and that means supporting and encouraging one another no matter the circumstances.
A memory, tinged with red and clear as day. Planet Thayserix. Shiro's sudden and unexplained disappearance was still a fresh, gaping wound, a thorn in Keith's side that made his vision blur around the edges. Forced to assume the position as the black paladin, perhaps the most qualified and yet the least prepared. He was bitter, angry, stricken with grief and filled with resentment for Lotor, for his own incapability to lead the team because his emotions, raw and unrestrained, took full control over his actions. The instantaneous horror and regret he felt when he realized he played right into Lotor's hands, resulting in the separation of the entire team, who had tried but failed to talk some sense into him. The glow of the Blue Lion's eyes as he drifted closer, bathed in clouds of red syntian nitrate, unable to find a way back to the others in such a foreign and hostile environment.
And Lance. Lance, his voice firm and assured: "Now we gotta fix it."
'We', as if the impossible position they were in wasn't entirely Keith's fault, as if Lance was willing to share the blame if it meant bringing the team back together.
Keith has always admired that about Lance. His selflessness, his undeniable and unwavering dedication to the team, his idiotic impulse to put himself in harm's way to protect those he cares for. Keith wants nothing more than to wrap him up and tuck him away for safe-keeping. And, he thinks, to be the person to Lance, that Lance is to so many others.
Thoughts of last night's nightmare begin creeping into his mind, prowling around the edges of the prior memory and bleeding through the cracks. Ugly images flash behind his eyelids that threaten the peace. Keith opens his eyes in defiance and everything dissipates, or seems to shrink away at the very least. He squints against the light of the Olkari sun shining brightly into the room and rolls over, letting his hair fall into his eyes.
No sooner had he rolled over than there's a bright flash of light accompanied by a whoosh of air, and suddenly Keith is buried in a slobbery mound of fluff that knocks the breath out of him. "Oof! Kosmo!" He spits out a mouthful of fur as the wolf lets out a single excited bark. "Get off!" He makes a half-hearted attempt to shove Kosmo away, but the thing about him is that once his mind is made up, there's no stopping him. He even gives Krolia trouble sometimes, which honestly gives Keith a lot of respect for the animal, because his mother can be plenty intimidating without even trying to be.
Kosmo plants his front paws onto Keith's chest and starts rubbing his wet nose against his cheek, drooling all over his face and ruffling his hair with his hot breath. "Ah, stop that!" He laughs, trying but failing to block Kosmo's attacks with his hands. "That tickles—hey! Quit it! What are you even doing in here?"
The pressure on his chest disappears and he sits up, still laughing and wiping drool from his face as Kosmo circles a stray pillow on the bed before settling down beside Keith. "You're so needy," Keith sighs, smoothing the hair on the top of his head and reaching his arms out to stretch. Kosmo barks impatiently and prods Keith's knee with his nose. At first he thinks it's because he's offended the space wolf, until he sees the folded piece of paper deliberately tucked into the long gray fur of his back.
"Oh, so you're playing messenger now?" Keith rolls his eyes, scratching behind Kosmo's ears and earning a satisfied growl of pleasure. He reaches for the paper with one hand and carefully unfolds it, glancing down at the words scribbled in that dumb blue marker Lance always carries around.
Morning, mullet. Sorry you didn't get to wake up in my arms, I'm sure that was very disappointing for you. As adorable as you are when you sleep, I had something I had to take care of earlier this morning so I had to bolt (you drool a lot by the way, I think you and Kosmo are meant for each other). Anyway, meet me in the cargo bay ASAP. We're going on a field trip! Like, now. Like, I'm currently sitting in Red waiting for you to get your butt down here. So hurry up. Also, it's almost noon and you missed our team meeting and supply haul this morning. Sorry.
"What?" Keith rips the sheets away and tumbles out of bed, scrambling to get his boots on. Almost noon? He'd slept half the day away and Lance hadn't even bothered to get him up? He's the leader of Voltron, what kind of leader doesn't show up to team meetings and help carry supplies because he's asleep in his teammate's bed? What must everyone else be thinking about him right now?
He scowls and starts muttering something under his breath about strangling Lance in Red's cockpit as he struggles to shove his feet into his boots. It takes three tries to put the right shoe on, then two for the left, and he almost trips on his way to the door. Kosmo barks one more time before Keith stumbles out into the hallway—and right into Shiro.
He screeches to a halt, his eyes wide. "Shiro!" The level of panic he reaches in that split second should have been enough to send him into cardiac arrest. Not only did the sight of him involuntarily trigger his fight-or-flight response, but he had literally just been caught red-handed coming out of Lance's room. After missing the team meeting. And their haul onto the lions for their trip to Balmera tonight.
Keith feels a mortified blush creeping up his neck as Shiro's gaze flicks over Keith's shoulder to Lance's door, then back to Keith, an amused grin spreading across his face. This is quite possibly the most embarrassing moment of his life. He thinks about running back inside and making Kosmo transport him back to the Quantum Abyss so he can hide in another godforsaken cave on another godforsaken space whale. Wait, scratch that. Pit stop in the Red Lion to throttle Lance first. Then he can escape to the Abyss.
"Wait, I—uh—no, it's not what it looks like—"
"Keith, relax." Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder and it takes every muscle in Keith's body to keep himself from flinching. "I was just coming to see how you were doing. Did you sleep well?"
"I–yes. Uh, yeah." Keith clears his throat, struggling to keep his voice steady. He thinks he keeps seeing a flicker of pink fluorescent light in Shiro's eyes, and his brain is working overtime to assure him he's just imagining it. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep so late." I'm going to kill Lance, he thinks.
Shiro's hand drops back to his side and he smiles again, the face of understanding. It kind of makes Keith want to pull his shirt up over his head and hide, it makes him feel so awful. "Don't worry about it. It's been a long week. You didn't miss anything anyway, just seating arrangements for our trip tonight. You've got Krolia and Kosmo first."
"Great," Keith chokes out, hating himself for the sharp pang of relief that shoots through his body when he realizes he and Shiro won't be in the same Lion.
"The team was actually kind of glad when you didn't show up. You've been going really hard lately. We're just glad you're getting some rest."
"Yeah, um. Thanks," he responds weakly, distracted by the mechanical stub on Shiro's other side. He can practically feel the blood draining from his face as the image of his bayard slicing through metal flashes in his mind.
There are a few seconds of silence, which Keith doesn't even notice at first because he's so stuck in his own head. He has this horrible terrible awful feeling in his gut, horrible enough that he's worried it's going to eat him alive. His pulse is steadily rising, which is ridiculous because he's not even in any danger. Not physically, at least. It's like the nightmares have conditioned his brain to broadcast warning signals throughout his entire body whenever Shiro is present, which is totally unfair, to both of them. It's just Shiro, Keith chides himself. The real Shiro. He would never hurt you. Everything's fine. Just relax.
"Keith." Keith drags his eyes up to meet Shiro's. The way he's looking at him, he swears he can feel Shiro rooting around in his brain, which is concerning because he's never been any good at hiding things from him. Once, back in his Garrison days, Adam accidentally broke Shiro's favorite mug and made Keith swear not to tell. Long story short, Shiro found his broken mug and immediately targeted Keith, who fought valiantly but eventually cracked under the pressure, and then Shiro didn't talk to either of them for the rest of the day. Adam kept telling him that he should be thanking him, because he'd done him a 'great service' (to be fair, it was a really ugly mug). Another time, Keith hid the car keys because he overheard Adam telling Shiro that he should take Keith's bike-riding privileges away if he didn't start paying attention in his class. When it was time to leave and they discovered that the keys were missing, a massive search throughout their quarters ensued. Shiro figured him out when he asked Keith if he'd seen the keys and he responded by choking on his orange juice because he was trying not to laugh. Adam was late to teach his first class, and, needless to say, Keith didn't get to ride his bike for the following two weeks.
"How are you?"
Keith starts. Another loaded question. Maybe even worse than 'are you okay', because with the latter, at least Keith could just give a yes or no answer, or maybe an 'I don't know'. But this question forces more specificity. Because with Shiro, it's never just a generic conversation opener or an attempt at polite discussion. He asks because he genuinely wants to know how someone's doing. An 'okay' or 'alright' isn't going to cut it.
Keith considers his next words carefully. Shiro won't be fooled so easily—a side effect of all the time they spent together at the Garrison, pre-Kerberos mission. Between the day that Keith stole Shiro's car and the day that Shiro left for Kerberos, he'd learned Keith's facial expressions and vocal fluctuations like the back of his hand. He could always tell when Keith was hiding something, whether it was because his voice was strained or he was too obviously trying to maintain a neutral expression. Meaning, he could always, always tell when something was wrong.
"I'm managing," Keith decides finally, resisting the urge to cross his arms since that would tell Shiro without a doubt that he was holding back. The response is neutral enough. He's not exactly telling the truth, but he's not exactly lying, either. And it admits that, yeah, okay, maybe something's wrong, but he's dealing with it. Hopefully it's enough to keep more of Shiro's questions at bay.
Shiro studies him for a moment longer, the way he does when he knows something's off but he hasn't quite put his finger on it yet. Keith tries not to squirm. Half of his brain keeps yelling at him to make a break for it while the other half yells back about what a stupid idea that is, so at this point all he can really hear in his head is a bunch of unintelligible screaming. It's a good metaphor for how he feels right about now. Finally, Shiro sighs. "Lance told me what happened last night."
Keith's blood goes ice cold. His throat suddenly feels very dry. No. No, Lance wouldn't have. He wouldn't go behind his back like that. He wouldn't. "He—oh. He did?"
"He asked me to stay behind after the team meeting to talk about it. And, he mentioned it was probably the reason you didn't show."
Lance. Is. So. Dead. He tries to take a calming breath, which is hard to do because it feels like his entire body has decided to go on full lockdown, and he can barely move at all. "Shiro, listen—"
"I just want you to know I'm proud of you."
The warning alarms blaring in Keith's brain take pause. "Oh?"
"For taking the time to talk with Lance about how he was feeling, even if it meant staying up half the night." Shiro gives Keith a warm, fond smile. "Being a leader means being there for your teammates. That's exactly what you did. And whatever you told him convinced him to open up to me, too."
Keith doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. Okay. Lance will live to see another day after all. "Yeah, um. It's not a big deal."
"I'm glad he felt comfortable to come to you about that sort of thing. I wish he would have told someone sooner, but... well. Guilt likes to sit and fester, I guess."
Keith coughs into his fist, doing his best to ignore the immediate pang of guilt he feels in his own chest. "I guess. Uh, speaking of Lance, I think I'm supposed to be meeting him in the cargo bay, or something. So..."
There's just a moment of silence, which to Keith feels like years. And it's unsettling—to him, at least, which makes him feel awful, because he's never felt uncomfortable around Shiro, never felt like he couldn't tell him anything if he wanted to. Once that young, arrogant, inexperienced version of Keith cast caution to the wind and put his full trust in Shiro, it never went away. And it was still there. Even now, Keith trusts Shiro more than he ever has or ever will trust anyone else.
He suddenly realizes with startling clarity exactly why he's so afraid of telling Shiro about the nightmares. He doesn't want to lose that part of himself. The part of him that trusts so blindly, so deeply, so passionately in the man who had taken the broken pieces of a hopeless, abandoned, orphaned boy and put them back together into something—someone—worth fighting for. Admitting to the nightmares would feel too much like shattering all over again.
"You're doing okay?" Shiro asks again, once the silence has stretched dangerously into awkward territory.
For a split second, Keith feels the sudden urge to spill. And then his brain reminds him why he's kept the nightmares such a secret for this long, and the urge subsides. This is different, he tries to convince himself. It would only hurt Shiro. I can't do that to him. He's been through enough.
"I'm fine," he answers, too quickly.
Shiro's brow creases ever so slightly, and Keith knows he hasn't fooled him for one second. But instead of pressing, he just nods. That somehow makes Keith feel worse. "Right. Well, I won't keep you."
But Keith is already walking away.
It's starting to become clear to Lance that Keith isn't coming.
He leans back into his seat with a frustrated sigh, dropping his arms over the sides and stretching out his legs. Why do I even try, he thinks with a half-hearted attempt at bitterness. But really, he's just disappointed. And worried. It's not that he'd expected last night to instantly change everything, make it easier for the two of them to open up to one another, easier for Keith especially to open up at all—but he'd at least thought it could have been enough to make him want to try.
Just a few more doboshes, Lance promises himself, flexing his fingers impatiently. They're sore, aching from the amount of exertion they'd used lately, grasping the edges of supply boxes, gripping Red's flight controls, clutching the rim of his rifle, finger poised to squeeze the trigger at a split second's notice.
Ever since that day when they climbed into the Blue Lion for the first time and launched into space, his hands have always seemed to be searching for something to do, something to hold, constantly itching for action and begging to be used. They're oddly comforted now by the ridges of the Lion's thrusters, the rough handle of his bayard, the smooth edges of his rifle once transformed. Those things have all come to belong, fitting easily and comfortably in the curves of his hands, the creases of his palms. Empty hands don't even feel natural to him anymore—they desire to be filled.
Another dobosh passes. Lance stares listlessly out into the cargo bay.
His thoughts drift to his conversation with Shiro just a few hours earlier. After the team meeting, he asked him to stay behind, a sick, queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that threatened to make him abort his mission altogether. But the expression on Shiro's face was so open and so sincere that Lance couldn't help but tell him everything. Keith had been right, of course. Shiro didn't blame him for anything that happened, assured him that there was no guilt to be felt, no blame to be placed. And deep down, Lance had already known that, but hearing the words out loud, from the very person he felt he had let down the most, brought him a kind of relief he couldn't have found anywhere else. The guilt was still there—it might always be—but only just barely so, hanging on by a thread to the part of him that still felt insecure about his abilities, his value, his place on the team.
Keith's incredulous laugh sounds in the back of his mind."Like you, of all people, could single-handedly destroy the universe."
He sure has a funny way of making a person feel worthwhile.
But Lance remembers the surprise he felt at the earnestness of the following words, the feeling of a strong hand on his shoulder, steady and unwavering. And the intensity of Keith's gaze, the flutter of his stomach at the deep violet eyes illuminated only by starlight. Lance had asked a question he was convinced had no answer. Keith accepted the challenge without hesitation. And he realizes, with a sort of selfish satisfaction, that Keith Kogane, practically known best for his difficulty expressing emotions, feelings, and words in general, had so easily assured him of his importance in more ways than one, as if he'd already thought about these things himself, carefully crafting the words in his head like he wanted to be ready to speak them should the opportunity present itself.
Maybe Keith just really likes to prove Lance wrong. Or maybe he just cares more than Lance ever could have expected. Either way, it makes a feeling of warmth bloom in his chest, replacing the disappointment in Keith's absence with a belated sort of gratification.
If he's perfectly honest, when Lance wrote that note this morning, with the blue marker of his that he knows Keith hates so much, tucked it between the long tufts of fur on Kosmo's back, and asked the big gray wolf to deliver it for him, he had zero expectations that Keith would actually show.
He's pleasantly surprised to be proved wrong, for the second time in under 24 hours.
An unprecedented surge of excitement makes Lance shoot up in his seat when he sees Keith entering the cargo bay at a brisk pace. Lance watches as he approaches the Red Lion, disappearing momentarily to climb the ramp of Red's unhinged jaw. His footsteps echo up the metal walkway and into the cockpit, almost in time with Lance's heartbeat, which has consequently accelerated.
"Well," Lance sighs dramatically and leans back in the pilot's seat as Keith finally reappears and stops at his side, placing a hand on the headrest. "It's about time you—"
"Just go."
Lance blinks, and it takes another second for his brain to reroute. He realizes suddenly that something's wrong. Keith's head is down, his hair falling into his face. He looks too rigid, too tense, not quite panicked but certainly not relaxed. Did something happen in the time it took him to reach the cargo bay from Lance's room? "Hey man, are you—"
"Just. Go," Keith growls through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from his tight grip on the soft cushion of Lance's chair.
Lance only takes his eyes off Keith so he doesn't crash into anything. He takes the controls and propels them forward, maneuvering quickly through the rest of the Lions sitting quietly in the hangar, stoic and regal, before soaring out into the golden light of the afternoon sun. He navigates smoothly through the Olkarion city, twisting to avoid a building or two before reaching a steady altitude well above the rest.
He doesn't look at Keith again until they've reached the edge of the city, flying just out of the hungry reach of the twisting branches and rustling leaves making up the vast forest below, leaving in their wake a momentary split in the swaying trees. A tense silence fills the air as Lance steadies their course. He risks a peek over his shoulder to see Keith staring determinedly at a fixed point on the ground near his feet, his lips pressed into a tight line. He closes his eyes every time he inhales, in for two, then exhales quietly, out for three, each breath shaky, like he's trying to calm himself down.
"Everything okay?" Lance asks quietly.
Keith just shakes his head dismissively, eyes still closed, his face twisted into a grimace. Lance decides that his silence is an answer in and of itself, even more so than a 'yes' or 'no'. He briefly considers cracking a joke or two, if only to lighten the mood, but quickly decides against it. He just needs time to process, Lance tells himself. Give him time.
At length, Lance grows comfortable with the silence, if only because he has no other choice. His gaze tries to keep up with the sea of green racing by outside, following one point until it flies out of sight before choosing another. He wants to ask Keith again what's wrong, but doesn't want to risk upsetting him further. Distractedly, he wonders if it has anything to do with what happened last night, with the nightmares he's evidently been having.
It broke Lance's heart, to see Keith like that. Reduced to something so small, so fragile, so utterly broken that Lance was afraid that his arms around his shoulders were the only things keeping him from falling apart completely. He can't pretend he understands, doesn't know what all has happened to Keith between the time he left to join the Blade and his return from the Abyss with their new friends. But he's seen all the ways that Keith has changed, everything both hardening him and prying him open all at once, forcing him to put his feelings aside and yet demanding that they be addressed, acknowledged, and experienced. Lance can't imagine having to lead the team with such a burden on his shoulders.
But when Keith had finally fallen asleep, one hand tucked against his chest, the other resting calmly on Lance's, his hair a mess of black swept over his forehead, Lance's breath was almost taken away at the stark contrast of it all, how different he looked. The crease in his brow from a perpetual scowl, the constant guarded expression, the hardened glint in his eyes—it was all gone, swept away by the peace of sleep. And Lance wonders, with a pang of sympathy, when the last time was that Keith had been able to sleep like that.
"Where are we going?"
Lance starts. He glances sideways at Keith, smiles a little at the sight of him leaning over one of the control panels, one hand pressed tentatively to the glass. He seems calmer now, evidently letting curiosity win over his previously sullen mood.
"Don't be nosy," Lance tuts, still watching Keith out of the corner of his eye. "It's a surprise."
Keith hums distractedly, his gaze fixed on the blur of trees and forest and overgrowth flying by outside. Lance finds himself frowning concernedly, almost disappointed by the lack of a reaction. Not that he's made it his mission or anything to purposely get a rise out of Keith. But the absence of a half-hearted scowl or an eye roll at Lance's teasing comment and vague answer makes it clear that Keith's mind is still preoccupied.
After another quiet moment, Lance spots their destination, smiling excitedly as he steers in the direction of the thinning trees. They descend into a small clearing only just big enough for Red to fit comfortably, the surrounding branches swaying wildly in the stirred wind. As they land, everything slowly begins to settle, and Red lowers her mouth to the ground.
"We're here!" Lance leaps out of his seat and shoots a grin at Keith, who's returned to his side.
"Where are we going?" He asks again, sighing when Lance bounds past him down the ramp and into the tall grass, spreading his arms wide and lifting his face toward the sun. His heart hums happily as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of fresh air, letting out a satisfied exhale. If he stands perfectly still, the warmth of the sunshine and the gentle breeze almost feels like home.
When he opens his eyes again, Keith is standing at the bottom of the ramp, watching him curiously. Lance just smiles back.
"I told you, Keith. It's a surprise."
Keith frowns, crossing his arms. "Lance."
"Relax, would you?" Lance huffs, mimicking Keith's stance. "I thought you liked the forest."
Keith's frown lessens. "What?"
Lance's arms fall slowly back to his sides and he looks down, feeling suddenly shy. "I thought you... well. The first time we came to Olkarion you said you liked it out here. Because it's quiet. And, I don't know. I thought you might appreciate it right now." He glances up cautiously and sees Keith staring at him, arms at his sides, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
"You... remember that?" he asks incredulously.
Lance almost laughs. Like I could forget anything you say even if I wanted to. "Yeah," he says slowly. "What, did you change your mind or something since then?"
"What? No—"
"Blade of Marmora suck all the joy out of you? All that fancy technology finally get to your head?'
"What are you even talking about—"
Lance is just teasing at this point. He finds Keith's stammering rather endearing. "But if you just want to go back, I understand, it's cool." He shrugs, just to sell it. "No big deal—"
"Lance!" Keith cries, flustered. "No! I haven't—I mean—yes, I still like the forest. I just didn't know—I didn't—realize you really... cared." His voice tapers off at the end, subdued, like he was just coming to a sort of realization.
Lance's smirk falters. Does Keith really think that? Of course he cares. He's always cared. Even when he'd convinced himself that they were the ultimate rivals, told himself they hated each other, made it a priority to make a jab at Keith at every opportunity. He regrets that now. And so he makes a silent vow, right then and there, that he'll never let Keith think he doesn't care ever again.
"C'mon." He turns, waving at Keith to follow him. "I wanna show you something."
Keith follows behind at first as they step out of the bright clearing and into the darker foliage beyond. Lance lets him. But he's so quiet, Lance finds himself periodically peeking over his shoulder to make sure he's still there. And every time he does, Keith's gaze is sweeping around the forest, his eyes open wide, like he's trying to take in every little detail.
Lance smiles a little to himself. He can't blame him—the view is pretty incredible. Everything is so green, and so tall, and so full of life that it's hard not to be in awe. Thin beams of light scatter throughout the trees, trickling in through the canopy of leaves above and casting peculiar patterns on the soft earth below. And the bark on the trees isn't anything like Lance has ever seen on Earth, seemingly fading from light to dark, dark to light as they walk on.
Eventually, Keith falls into step beside Lance, and the two of them continue on in a sort of appreciative silence. Lance feels oddly satisfied at how entranced Keith seems to be by their surroundings, his head constantly swiveling so as not to miss anything. He wonders if the reason Keith seems so fascinated by the forest is because all he'd really known before was the desert, all sand and rock and wind. Lance can't imagine living somewhere so barren, not after coming to call the ocean his home, where it was all sand and rock and wind, but also all salt and sound and ocean.
He thinks Keith would like the ocean too.
Lance doesn't even notice how close together they are until their hands brush and he nearly grabs for Keith's before he can stop himself—out of instinct, or for personal reasons, he's not sure. Maybe both? He shoots an inquisitive glance at Keith, but he's looking the other way, either completely oblivious or possibly embarrassed. Either way, Lance notes that he doesn't try to move away or put any distance between them.
He's momentarily distracted from the situation when he spots a familiar clump of oddly-colored plants (most of the plants on Olkarion were odd to him) clustered around the base of a fallen tree, decorated by the strange glossy blue petals of said clump. Just beyond that, the ground slopes up slightly, until the horizon disappears behind it. "Look! We're almost there. C'mon, mullet, race you to the top!"
"Race me to the top of what—"
Keith cries out in protest when Lance suddenly darts forward, laughing as he vaults himself over the tree trunk and starts up the hill, jacket billowing behind him. The trees start to thin again as he clambers forward, letting more sunshine spill through the gaps overhead and warm the skin on his neck and his face, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. He almost trips halfway up the hill, when it ascends sharply and suddenly, so he glances over his shoulder to see if Keith had seen—and lets out an involuntary squeak of alarm when he sees Keith hot on his heels.
"See you at the top!" Keith bursts into laughter as Lance stumbles again in surprise, which slows him down long enough to let Keith easily take the lead.
"Hey! Wait—Keith—not fair!" Lance puffs as he scrambles up the rest of the hill, any chance of him catching up long gone since he'd lost his momentum. He rolls his eyes when Keith, who's already made it to the top, turns around and smirks triumphantly down at him, arms crossed. Lance finally joins him, bending over and planting his hands on his knees, panting. "Seriously, man?"
Keith is reveling in his victory, laughing breathlessly as Lance gasps for air. "You should've—" He takes gulping breaths between giggles. "You should've seen your face. It was—" He doubles over in a fit of laughter and Lance shoots him an annoyed look. "It was so—you were so freaked out—" Keith has to crouch down because he's laughing so hard, and suddenly Lance can't find it anywhere in him to be annoyed anymore.
He's laughing even harder than he did last night, when he accidentally sent Lance tumbling over the side of the bed with a well-aimed pillow. Lance feels his mouth twitching up into a smile as he watches Keith fold in on himself, laughing into his knees. "Shut up, mullet. Okay, jeez—Keith, pull yourself together!" He pulls on Keith's arm, fighting back his own laughter so as not to encourage him. "Get up!"
Keith swats him away, still snickering. Lance can't find words substantial enough to describe it, but this warm, glowing, heartfelt feeling bubbles in his stomach, and he can't imagine it being for any other reason than that the sight of Keith being happy makes him happy. He deserves this, Lance thinks, still smiling as Keith gradually brings himself under control. After everything that's happened... he deserves this.
And he wonders, as he only half-heartedly sighs at Keith to mask his own giggles, when this started. When the pair of them became so in tune, so balanced, not only on the battlefield as teammates, but on the sidelines as friends, as two former rivals learning to look past their insecurities and build a bond forged upon understanding and trust. Lance decides he doesn't care when this started, as long as it never ends.
"Sorry," Keith says finally, straightening up and brushing the hair out of his eyes, still laughing slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just—sorry. You didn't think I was actually coming, did you?"
"At first I just didn't think you were coming, period," Lance admits, jokingly.
Keith's smile falters, and Lance wishes he hadn't said anything. "Oh. Yeah, um... sorry," he says again, his voice quieter. "I came as soon as I got the note from Kosmo, I just... got held up."
Lance starts to ask what he means, then thinks better of it, still not wanting to push Keith out of fear that he'll be shut out again.
"What did you want to show me?" Keith asks. His tone is light, but it's forced now, as if he hadn't just spent the last five minutes curled into a ball, laughing hysterically at Lance's clumsiness.
"This way," Lance obliges, not wanting to lose any more momentum.
He leads Keith further away from edge of the hill, the ground flattening out and trees growing thinner with every step until they've completely left the cover of the forest. It's not long before a ledge comes into view, the earth giving way to a steep drop into a sort of valley. The rest of the forest sways in the distance below, and when they actually reach the edge and look out over the gorge—Lance hears Keith gasp quietly beside him.
The view is breathtaking. Below them in the valley is an enormous lake, the mesmerizing crystal clear water glittering in the sunlight and rippling softly in the breeze. The entire basin is surrounded by the encroaching forest, the trees curling around the edge of the water like the wings of a protective mother bird, rising up and down on gentle slopes. A flock of some kind of Olkari creature takes flight from their perches of the branches, peppering the blue sky with dots of white, casting shadowy streaks across the lake before soaring back into the forest. The green goes on as far as the eye can see, disappearing into a point on the horizon. It's beautiful—Lance can tell by the way Keith is looking at it, even if he doesn't say anything.
Lance takes the opportunity to watch Keith again. He studies the prominence of Keith's jawline, the curve of his nose, the shifting glimmer in his eyes, the scar on his cheek, the way his hair falls into his eyelashes and frames his face like it's a work of art meant to be admired from afar. And admire, Lance does. He holds his breath, trying his best to memorize every feature and every detail so he can keep them tucked away in his mind for as long as he wants, never to be forgotten should they ever be separated again. The memory of Keith's figure disappearing behind closed doors when he left to join the Blade full-time suddenly hits him, hard, reminding him of all the hurt and pain he felt when it finally sank in that he was really gone. But now he's here. And he's standing right in front of him.
"What?"
Lance blinks and comes back into focus to see that Keith is looking back at him now, one eyebrow raised. The words come out of his mouth before he really thinks about what he's saying. "I really missed you."
"I missed you too."
Just like that. Without even missing a beat. Lance's heart skips one.
And in a moment of total unawareness, Lance takes a step forward, his hand reached out to touch Keith's cheek—then he freezes, his eyes widening slightly when he realizes what he's doing.
But Keith doesn't seem fazed, just levels his gaze with Lance, showing no sign of moving away. And he gives Lance a look that gives him permission, tells him that it's okay. Lance's eyes drift to Keith's scar, his hand hovering in the small space between them. He can see that it's still healing, the skin red and raw on his jaw, almost like an oddly-shaped sunburn that won't go away. And if it's painful, Keith doesn't show it. Sometimes Lance thought he didn't even remember it's there. Last night told him otherwise, the way he had so abruptly flinched away from Lance's touch. Wherever it came from, however he got it—it's clearly associated with some kind of memory. A bad one. And it's created a complementary emotional scar that's infinitely more painful than any physical scar could ever be.
Lance finds himself holding his breath again as he slowly moves to touch Keith's face where the scar rests on his cheekbone—and Keith immediately flinches again at the slightest contact from Lance's fingertips. Lance instinctively begins to withdraw his hand, terrified that he's hurt him somehow, but Keith catches his wrist. "Wait, it's..." Keith lets out a shaky exhale, grimacing slightly, but his eyes never leave Lance's. "It's okay."
The only reason Lance tries again is because of the way Keith looks at him, because of the unmistakeable resolve in his eyes. Like he needs this. And that's the only reason Lance needs. He gingerly stretches his fingers out again, cautiously, slowly enough to let Keith brace himself. Keith doesn't let go of his wrist.
When he makes contact again, Keith inhales sharply and tightens his grip on Lance, his eyes fluttering closed and brow creasing. Lance breathes out slowly, tracing the outline of the scar as lightly as he possibly can, careful not to apply unnecessary pressure for fear of it hurting Keith. It's an odd feeling—the untouched skin is cool on his fingertips, but the scarred parts are so warm, and somehow soft, ironically comforting in a way. It makes Lance sick to his stomach, the unfairness of it all. How something so clearly painful in so many ways could feel so soothing.
He gently brushes his knuckles against Keith's cheek again until he reaches his jaw, resting his hand there, pushing a lock of hair away with his thumb. "Keith..." he starts softly. "What—"
Keith just barely shakes his head, a silent plea for Lance not to finish his thought. Lance quiets reluctantly. He has so many questions—too many—but that doesn't mean he knows all the answers, he thinks sympathetically. Then again... who does?
Lance brings his other hand up to the other side of Keith's face, willing the warmth of his hands to seep into the other boy's cold skin. "Keith," he says again. Keith leans into Lance's other hand, opening his eyes slowly to meet Lance's gaze. Lance gently swipes his thumb over the scar again, imagining how he would just wipe it all away if he could, if it meant it would take all of Keith's pain with it. "You've got to stop."
"Stop what?" There's no defensiveness in Keith's voice. It's just... tired.
"This," Lance frowns. "Acting like you're all alone. Like you have to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. Like you can't let anyone see that you're hurting."
Keith shakes his head again, a little harder. "I don't—it's not about that. I can't afford to be weak. The team can't afford for me to be weak." He laughs bitterly. "I'm supposed to be the fearless leader of Voltron, but I'm just not—I can't—" His voice cracks. "I can't lead the team like this. I'm not..." He falters, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Your feelings don't make you weak," Lance replies softly. "It just makes you human." He reconsiders, Keith's eyes flicking up momentarily. "You know what I mean. But you can't keep them bottled up all the time. That never ends well. Trust me."
He feels Keith working his jaw. "I'm not like you, Lance. You know I'm not good at this. All I've ever known how to do is push people away."
"I'm still here."
A small huff escapes from Keith's mouth, and he looks down at the ground again between their feet. "Yeah. I haven't been able to figure that part out yet."
Lance studies him for another moment. The breeze carrying through the valley drifts up toward the ledge, sweeping softly through their hair. He sighs with it, then closes his own eyes and presses his forehead to Keith's, hands still cupping his face, Keith's fingers still around his wrist.
"I promised. Remember that? I promised I'd wait for you."
Keith squeezes his wrist in response.
"No. I promise I'll wait for you," Lance amends, speaking softly. He feels Keith take a breath to steady himself. "I'll wait for you as long as I have to. However long you need. I'll wait for you until I can't wait anymore, and then more. I'll even wait for you until the end of the world, and then some."
"Shut up," Keith whispers, but Lance isn't done.
"I'll literally wait for you until I die, Keith. And then I'll come back as a ghost to haunt you and wait for you to die, and then I'll wait for the ghost you—"
"Shut up," Keith laughs quietly, clasping his other hand over Lance's. His heart flutters.
"I'm not going anywhere," Lance finishes.
Keith sighs one more time, his breath tickling Lance's neck. "I know."
They stand like that for a while longer, their foreheads pressed together. Lance listens to the sound of Keith's breathing, focuses on the warmth of Keith's skin where his hands have settled. And he basks in the moment, wishing he could stay this close to Keith all the time, keep him right under his thumb, so he could be certain that he'd never get away again.
When they finally pull away to look back at the scene before them, Lance tosses his arm around Keith's shoulders, unwilling to let the moment go completely. Keith shamelessly leans into it. "How'd you find this place, anyway?" he asks, his shoulders sighing contentedly under the embrace of Lance's arm.
"Just got lucky," Lance shrugs. "I happened to pass over it when Hunk and I flew out here for supplies this morning."
Keith groans. "Why didn't you wake me up? I was supposed to help Pidge load her Lion."
"Chill out, you didn't miss anything. Besides, I thought you could use the extra shut-eye." Lance glances sideways at Keith. "Was I wrong?"
"...No," Keith mumbles.
"You're welcome," Lance nods sensibly.
A pause. He can hear the leaves rustling as the trees sway all around the edges of their little island.
"Thanks," Keith says at last. And Lance can tell he means it.
This time, when their hands brush on the way back to the Red Lion, Lance doesn't stop himself. Keith doesn't stop him either. And Lance can't help but notice how naturally Keith's hand fits in the spaces between his fingers.
When they return to the Olkari base, the sun is sinking below the horizon, signaling both the end of the day and the nearness of their oncoming voyage. Keith parts ways with Lance to go back to his room so he can change into his armor and gather what few belongings he'd left there.
Kosmo is already inside when he steps through the door, lounging lazily on his bed. He lifts his head at Keith's arrival, thumping his tail against the sheets in a sort of greeting.
"Hey buddy," Keith pokes his nose before retrieving his armor, and Kosmo sneezes in protest.
Keith is glad for the change of clothes, even if the armor isn't the most comfortable thing ever. At the very least, it's nice to get out of the same ratty T-shirt he's been wearing pretty much since they left Earth, other than his Blade of Marmora suit. When they'd been stuck on the space whale, there was only so much he and Krolia could do to clean themselves up. It'd been a pain trying to wash their clothes.
After he's changed, he sinks down on the bed next to Kosmo and lets out a long sigh. The soft cushioning shifts as the wolf makes himself comfortable, settling his head in Keith's lap and growling quietly until Keith starts stroking his fur in soothing, repetitive motions.
His eyes drift toward the dark shape of his bayard, lying motionless on the bedside table. In response, his thoughts drift toward the memories of his nightmares, of the cold metal pressed against his back as he desperately pushed back against Shiro's attacks, the flash of light as he sliced through his arm—
Keith quickly swipes his fingers over his hip, the bayard disappears in a small flash, and suddenly he can breathe again.
There's a knock on his door only a moment later, and it slides open to reveal Krolia.
"It's almost time to leave," she says simply, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. It almost makes Keith laugh, it reminds him so much of himself.
"Okay," he acknowledges, nodding distractedly. "Thanks."
She taps a long, slender finger against her arm. "I hope you got some proper rest last night?" The way she says it is more of a question than a statement, and Keith realizes she's searching for an explanation of his absence this morning.
"Ah..." he mulls over his words carefully, not sure why he suddenly feels the need to go on the defensive, to answer so curtly, as if his own mother wouldn't understand or sympathize with him if he were to tell her what's going on in his head. "Yeah."
She studies him for a moment, her expression completely unreadable. He tries not to break eye contact. Even after being separated from her for most of his life, he's learned that she always seems to have a way of figuring him out if she watches him long enough, not unlike Shiro, meaning he's had to really work on his poker face. So it surprises him when she's the one to look away first. "Are you ever going to tell me how you got that scar?" she asks quietly, and it's the gentlest tone of voice he's ever heard her use in all the short two years he's spent with her.
That doesn't make the question any easier to answer. Keith follows suit and looks away, busying himself by brushing his fingers through Kosmo's fur, flattening down random tufts that are sticking up. He feels Krolia's gaze lingering on him now, but he can't bring himself to meet it. That would only make the guilt worse.
A moment of silence passes between them. He waits for her to say something else, but after a while she just sighs, and he listens apprehensively as her footsteps slowly approach him.
"Keith..." Her voice sounds tired, but sympathetic. She reaches down and brushes the hair affectionately from his eyes, lifting his chin to make him look up at her. "I know the time we've had together doesn't mean you automatically feel comfortable talking with me about just anything." She moves to rest her hand on his shoulder, her face softening. "Just promise me you will talk to someone else."
As if he can understand the conversation, Kosmo nuzzles his head underneath Keith's arm, blinking up at him in silent reassurance. Keith looks down at him, smoothing out the fur between his ears and sighing in defeat. "Is it really that obvious?" he asks.
Krolia seems to understand what he means without much of a clarification. Is it really that obvious that something's wrong? That I'm off? That I'm not okay? "I've never seen you so distracted," she says gently. Keith doesn't know how to answer, so he just continues to give his attention to Kosmo, scratching dutifully behind his ears. Krolia brushes the hair out of his face again, and he knows it's to get a better look at the discolored streak of skin on his cheek, but she doesn't say anything about it. Her hand slips from his shoulder. "We leave in half a varga." She pauses. "Don't be late."
Keith's head snaps up. "This morning wasn't even my fault—" She fixes him with an amused look and he catches himself, immediately deflating. "Whatever," he grumbles. She turns to leave, stopping in the doorway and looking back at Keith expectantly when he calls for her to wait. His eyes flick down to the floor, then back to her. "Thanks, Mom."
Krolia just smiles again before she disappears back into the hallway.
Kosmo flicks his tail, looking up at Keith curiously. Keith squints back down at him. "Don't look at me like that." He inhales deeply and breathes out the tension he hadn't even realized had been building up in his chest. Just promise me you will talk to someone else. Keith has a certain someone else in mind—he's just not sure he'll be able convince himself to follow through. Kosmo whines as Keith reaches for his helmet, pulling it into his lap. "You think I should talk to him too, huh?" Keith murmurs, patting him on the head.
In his defense, he doesn't know the mistake he's making until after the fact. Kosmo is a lot smarter than he realized.
One second he's in his room, sitting on a comfortable bed, and the next he's sprawled on the ground in another room entirely, staring up at a pair of familiar wide blue eyes.
"Um?" Lance says.
They're lying in a tangled heap on the floor of Lance's room, their faces so close to one another that Keith could count every single freckle splayed across the other boy's upturned nose if he so desired. And he might have, under different circumstances. Their paladin armor isn't exactly the most comfortable attire for such a situation. Kosmo's tail flicks the side of Keith's face and he splutters out a mouthful of fur. "Are you serious—" He tries unsuccessfully to pull his arm out from under the wolf's belly.
"Is this payback for this morning?" Lance leans back on his elbows. "Because I thought you had a good time—"
"No, this isn't—Kosmo, I swear, so help me or I'll sic the mice on you—"
Kosmo blatantly ignores him, growling softly and giving Lance a sloppy kiss. Lance giggles, pushing his face away and rubbing under his chin. "Yeah, okay, love you too bud."
"Since when did you two get to be such pals?" Keith grumbles, trying again in vain to free his arm.
"Since always, thank you very much," Lance gasps indignantly. "We just get each other. Don't we?"
Kosmo barks happily, flicking his tail against the side of Keith's face again—Keith is certain he did it on purpose—before disappearing in a flash of glittery blue. Keith immediately disentangles himself from the pile, flustered. "Stupid dumb wolf—"
Lance starts laughing from the floor as Keith scrambles to his feet. "What was that even about? We just got back, if you already wanted to see me again so badly, you could've just knocked—"
"What—I wasn't—" He huffs, irritated by his own stammering. "That was all Kosmo," he protests, brushing himself off and picking his helmet off the ground.
Lance pouts, sticking his hand up in the air. "At least help me up."
Keith rolls his eyes but obliges, using his free hand to grab Lance's. "You just want an excuse to hold my hand again," he mutters under his breath. He hauls Lance to his feet and moves to let go, but Lance tightens his grip in return.
"You're not wrong."
Keith can literally feel his cheeks turning red. He didn't actually mean for Lance to hear that. "For the love of—you're so—"
"Charming," Lance supplies helpfully, nodding sagely.
"I'm gonna launch myself into space," Keith deadpans, although he's staring at Lance's fingers wrapped around his hand.
Lance snorts and finally lets go, to Keith's dismay. "I was just about to head to the Lions. You coming?"
Keith hesitates. As much as he resents the way Kosmo dropped him unannounced into Lance's room (he thinks he's sneaky, but Keith will get him back for that), he had just been considering coming clean and talking with Lance about... everything. Now was the perfect opportunity to do just that, but now that he's here, the anxiety he feels at the prospect of reliving his nightmares and the fight increases exponentially from the level he'd already experienced from just entertaining the idea of talking about it.
He knows that Krolia and Lance are right. He can't keep it all bottled up forever—he (and Lance, unfortunately) have seen firsthand what that does to him. At some point, he has to address it, if only to help him process everything, deal with the overwhelming mixture of emotions in his head and his chest. He knows that, and yet every time he decides to try, he panics and holds back.
But he's terrified that if he doesn't say anything now, he never will.
He quietly follows behind Lance into the hallway, absent-mindedly pulling at the edges of his gloves as he runs through his options. One, he could say something now. Right now. His brain and his mouth won't cooperate, so he abandons that idea and moves on. Two, he could just. Not. Nope, not an option, Keith scolds himself. You have to. So then three. Even if he does say something right now, they leave in less than half a varga, which isn't nearly enough time to unpack everything that needs to be said. But their flight to Balmera isn't a short one, so maybe...
Keith clears his throat, falling into step beside Lance as they emerge from the chambers and enter the cargo bay. Conveniently, they seem to be the first ones there. "Hey, who's riding with you in Red?"
"Just Kaltenecker for now. That cow takes up way too much space. Pun intended," Lance says after a thoughtful pause. "Why?"
"Um—" Keith fumbles with his words, stopping to take a breath. I think I'm ready to talk, he rehearses in his head. If you still—if you'd be willing to—if that's okay— Keith grits his teeth, annoyed that even his thoughts are stuttering at this point. "Just—trying to keep tabs on everyone," he says instead, against his better judgment. "Don't wanna lose track of anyone. Or any cow. Or... anything."
"Ooo—kay," Lance agrees cautiously, like he's not convinced. Which is perfectly understandable, considering that Keith doesn't even bother to ask what the other Lion placements are, effectively invalidating his excuse.
They slow to a stop in front of the Red Lion, turning when the entrance to the cargo bay hisses open again to reveal Hunk and Pidge.
"Oh, hey guys." Hunk yawns widely as they join him and Lance. "Mmf. I still vote we leave in the morning. Right now we should be asleep. In bed. Sleeping."
"We have to leave now if we want to make it to Balmera before nightfall," Pidge sighs, adjusting her glasses. "Balmeran nightfall, I mean." She shoots a curious look at Keith. "Hey, we haven't seen you all day. Where've you been?"
Keith starts. "Uhhh—"
"He was with me," Lance cuts in. "We were helping Ryner with some last minute repairs on their defense systems outside the city." Keith stares at him, both confused by the blatant lie and impressed by how easily he'd come up with a decent cover. And, extremely appreciative that Lance seems to have his back, even though he never specifically told him that he'd rather no one else know what was going on.
Pidge looks offended, which Keith hopes means she bought the excuse. "Why didn't she ask Hunk or me?"
"She just happened to find us first," Lance shrugs. "It was just manual stuff. Nothing super techy."
"Alright everyone, to your lions!" Coran's voice echoes around the cargo bay as he appears from the second entrance on the other side of the room, the rest of the team trailing behind him. "We've got a long night ahead of us, so let's get going!"
"I forgot how exhausting he can be during our travels," Allura sighs as she passes the group on her way to the Blue Lion, her shoulders slumped.
"Aw, but Coran is fun!" Hunk contends, as he and Pidge obey and start toward their respective Lions. "He knows all the best Altean music..."
Keith watches as Coran and Romelle follow Allura into Blue, keenly aware of Lance still standing beside him. He sees Shiro walking up the ramp with Pidge into the Green Lion, his one arm swinging at his side. Keith clenches his fists to steady himself. His gut twists with a familiar pang of guilt when Shiro glances momentarily over his shoulder and spots him, offering a tentative smile. Keith's eyes drift away, his mouth suddenly dry.
"We're ready when you are," Krolia addresses Keith as she walks by with Kosmo at her side. She nods in acknowledgement to Lance before sending Keith a seemingly meaningful look and continues to the Black Lion.
He and Lance stand there for another few seconds of silence. Keith shifts his weight uncomfortably, adjusting his grip on the helmet at his hip. Now or never. He needs to say something. He wants so badly to say something. What exactly is he trying to say again?
"Well." Lance looks down. "I guess I'll see you in a bit?"
Keith presses his lips together. "Yeah," is all he can manage, the rest of his resolve crumbling.
It's the slight rush of panic at the sight of Lance turning away that helps him find it again.
"Wait—Lance." Keith catches his arm and Lance halts, looking down at Keith's hand, then back at him. "I'm—" He takes a deep breath, ignoring the paranoid feeling that everyone is watching them from their lions. "I want to talk."
His heart aches at the look of relief that flickers across Lance's face, and he wonders how long Lance has been waiting for him to say those words. "Call me on a private line when you can," he murmurs. "Okay? When Krolia falls asleep or whatever." He pauses. "She does sleep, right?"
Keith snorts and rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betray him. "Yeah, okay, whatever. Now go away."
"I can't. You're still holding onto my arm."
He looks down at his hand, which is indeed still attached to Lance's arm. A little embarrassed, he quickly lets go, now trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. "I knew that."
Lance bites his lip, stifling a huff of laughter. "Talk to you soon then."
They both look back as they're climbing into their Lions. The smile that Lance sends his way makes Keith's insides flutter. Because this smile is one that only he gets to see on rare occasions, behind the scenes, during the scarce moments in between the main events amongst all the chaos that are meant only for him and Lance to share and remember. A sort of understanding passes between them, the quiet recognition of their recent exchanges, all the words spoken and unspoken.
And Keith smiles back despite himself.
I'm not gonna lie, this took me forever to write but I'm so proud of it and how soft it is... My heart is satisfied. Anyway, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know your thoughts and talk to me! Your feedback keeps me going! Stay tuned for the last chapter, hopefully within the next week depending on how school goes!
