Author's Note: You guys make me laugh. I forget that most of you are quite a bit younger than I am and three years seems like forever to you. Meanwhile, I'm over here thinking, "that's not long enough. Not near long enough. Lance isn't even close to finishing medical school and Keith is just barely getting into his mandatory service commitment." Three years can blow by in a hurry.

Thanks for indulging me and letting me go through Lance and Allura's relationship. It felt right to me to give it a little time, though I understand if it was trying to some of you. I like what they had. I like where they're going. I liked this chapter much more than I thought I would. I hope you do too.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Postdrome

Allura kept quiet. Lance also kept his mouth and his eyes carefully closed, the pain now so bad that it was sending creeping tendrils of stiff agony down the left side of his neck into his shoulder and jaw. Any movement of his head made it feel as though the entire world were rotating, trying to flip itself upside down, so Lance dedicatedly locked all his vertebrae in an attempt to keep it still. He didn't want to throw up again. He wondered how he'd lasted so long, sitting up at that outdoor table at the wedding in the sunlight. He wondered if it wouldn't be so bad right now if he'd admitted that something wasn't right a lot sooner.

Somewhere between the grass on the lake and the apartment parking lot, he weakly managed to tell Allura what was going on. That this wasn't food poisoning or motion-sickness or even exhaustion. It was just a headache, though admittedly the worst one Lance had ever experienced. He heard Allura take breaths, the start of questions that she swallowed instead of asked. Lance never opened his eyes as he got out of the car. Instead he kept one hand pressed against his forehead and blindly let her take the other to lead him all the way from the parking area, through the front door, down the lobby, into the elevator (where he had to lean on her due to the queasy start and stop of it), down the hall, through the apartment, and finally, finally, into his familiar room.

He continued to put all his trust in Allura as she helped him out of his suit. He didn't bother to see what she picked for him to wear afterward, though it felt like a pair of his pajamas as she smoothly pulled a shirt over his head for him. His headache was so debilitatingly distracting that he didn't even think about what she was doing, though he noticed that she left almost immediately after pulling his quilt over him on the bed. Not just left his room; she left the apartment. He heard the front door open and close and did have a moment of tired curiosity about what that meant. There was a fleeting, sinking thought that she might not come back and he had been left alone. Well what did he expect? Her mother had mentioned them getting married and he'd immediately puked. The events were completely unrelated, of course, but Lance wasn't an idiot. He knew what that had looked like.

But no, she returned after a short while. Or maybe a long while. Lance wasn't sure how long she was gone. He'd spent all of her absence with his throbbing head pushed hard into his pillow, surprised at how lying down wasn't helping much with anything except the nausea. His jaw remained involuntarily clenched, his body tight without any conscious thought from him. Because the only thing he could think, repeatedly, was how much it hurt and how much he wished it didn't.

Allura's cool hand on his forehead made him realize that she'd come back, that she was near enough to touch him even though he hadn't heard her come in. His skin wrinkled beneath her fingers, and he groaned, a strangled sound of partial relief. The initial contact felt nice, but only for a couple seconds. Fortunately, Allura had only touched him to get his attention and removed her hand once she knew she had it.

"Lance, can you sit up?" Allura encouraged, her voice low and quiet, just barely above a whisper. Lance did what she said, struggling to open his eyes for her, noting gratefully that she'd left the lights off and pulled the shades, darkening the room as much as possible. She took his hand as if he truly were blind and dropped a jumble of medication into his palm. He blinked at it, noticing tablets of Aleve, Advil, and Benadryl in the mix. He heard a sharp pop and lifted his head slightly to see that Allura had opened a can of Coke that she must have obtained from the vending machines downstairs. Huh, he thought blearily. All the ingredients for a migraine cocktail. Lance felt suddenly stupid for not even considering that; of course that's what this was. Why didn't he think of it sooner? If someone had come to the ER presenting with these kinds of symptoms, Lance would have said migraine right away without thinking twice. But he'd never had one before. Never had to diagnose himself. Didn't know how awful they were.

"This should help," Allura told him.

"You clever girl," Lance murmured appreciatively before shoving all the capsules into his mouth at once and taking the Coke from her. It took several swallows, but eventually he got them all down. As he took the medicine, Allura arranged some pillows that he didn't know she'd brought in with her against the corner, a cushion that Lance could lean back into, resting his head while still staying upright enough to sip at the soda in his hand. Man, this girl was a miracle. And apparently experienced with migraines. He'd have to ask her about that. Later.

"I'm so sorry," Allura whispered, a catch in her voice, and Lance wished he had the energy to address all that seemed to be in that apology. Starting with why she thought she had to apologize at all. Another item to add to his list for later. He hoped he'd remember them all when he could think and talk again. Something about weddings and graduation . . . and lies. He winced as a particularly sharp pain staked his temple. Took another sip of Coke.

Allura disappeared once more, returning this time with a sewn flannel bag about the size of a textbook that Lance recognized. He wasn't sure what was inside it, corn or rice or some other kind of grain, but he remembered it held heat. Allura used it sometimes for cramps or to put over her feet on the couch when it was viciously cold outside. He let her position it over his left shoulder, wrapping its heated weight around the back of his neck. It felt amazing and smelled of lavender. And it relaxed his tense muscles all throughout his neck and shoulder almost instantly.

"Is this any better or should I bring you a bowl or . . . something?" Allura asked him, standing at his bedside rather helplessly now that she'd apparently run out of remedies.

"No," Lance breathed, melting against the heat and the pillows. "This is fine." He didn't feel sick anymore at least, now that he was still with his head supported. "Thank you," he managed.

She kissed him softly on the top of his head. "I hope it goes away soon," she wished for him. "I'll check on you later." She took his phone with her when she left this time, shutting the door behind her, securing Lance in dark silence.

He drank the Coke, finishing it and stretching just enough to put the empty can on his desk next to the bed. Then he settled back and waited for the medication and the caffeine to work, thinking about the wedding and all that had happened there. What everyone had said that Lance had questions about now. Like Keith missing him, and Allura's graduation plans, and why Melenor was already booking spaces for . . . nope, he couldn't think about that one. Not yet, but he knew that he'd have to go over it with Allura soon. Time was almost up on not talking – Melenor had just made that very clear, though deep down, Lance had always known, hadn't he? Known that nothing was real. His breathing sped up, rousing the pain, so Lance forced himself to slow everything down, take only deep, ragged breaths, insisting that his brain only focus on one hurt at a time, the throbbing gradually dying down as the Benadryl dragged him into unconsciousness.

Lance found himself drifting in waves of sleep for what felt like days. He'd surface to discover his surroundings still pleasantly dark, and he removed the heat pack from his shoulder after it had returned to room temperature. At some point, he shifted from sitting propped against all the pillows to actually lying down. He heard Allura in the apartment, her voice but not her words as she spoke to someone on the phone. He thought she sounded upset, and he wanted to get up and comfort her but somehow couldn't manage. His eyes closed again almost against his will, but then he thought he heard the shower and realized that he'd dozed off without realizing. It felt nice, so Lance just let himself drift, relishing the boneless comfort that sleep and drugs were providing him.

He opened his eyes, unsure what had woken him this time, focusing on his desk, noting that his suit and the empty can were both gone from the room, or at least from his field of vision. Light tried to slip through the slits in the blinds, but for the most part, the room remained shadowed. Lance couldn't remember the last time he'd been this comfortable, and he thought about going back to sleep, but then he heard Allura talking outside his door. When he realized she was speaking Spanish, he twisted on the bed, trying to pull himself awake enough to pay attention.

"No estoy segura," Allura was saying, her voice quiet but her words clear. She spoke Spanish with the same clipped accent she had for English, an endearing mannerism to her speech. Lance lay still for a moment listening to her answers to unheard questions, trying to get oriented. "He's still asleep. . . . I don't know, but sometime while we were at the wedding yesterday. He didn't say anything. He never says . . . No, just the one time. . . . I know he'd love to talk to you, but I don't think it's a good idea to wake him." Lance was shocked at her fluency, her flawless use of the subjunctive tense. When had she become so good at Spanish? Then it sunk in what she was saying, who she must be talking to. How long he must have been sleeping.

"P. . . princesa," Lance tried to call her, not even noticing that he'd slipped into Spanish too. He paused to clear his throat to make himself more audible. His voice sounded as though he hadn't used it in a century. "Ven . . .ven acá, por favor. Puedo hablar con ellos." He said he could talk to them, but knew he'd have to do a better job than how he'd started or he wasn't going to ease anyone's worry over him. And he didn't want anyone to worry about him, especially his family who were so far away. He tried to swallow some of the stickiness in his mouth. The residue of the sugar in the Coke felt disgustingly caked on all his teeth.

"Hold on," Allura said after a pause. "It sounds like he just woke up; he wants to talk to you."

Lance sat up carefully and rubbed his hands over his face, breathing deeply, trying to sort out if he was ok now or not. His head no longer hurt, thank God, but his limbs felt weak, and he felt faded and shaky. Like he actually had been sick. Or maybe he still was.

Allura wore a complicated smile when she came in the room, partially relieved that he was awake and sitting up and partially doubtful that he should be either of those things so soon. And something else. Something that Lance would have to squint to see that was gone before he could. She dutifully handed over his phone so he could talk to his family, then patted him once on the shoulder and disappeared. Lance really had to talk to her. But first he needed to address the phone in his hand.

"Guys?" He asked hesitantly, bracing himself for their enthusiasm. Even though his head didn't hurt, he felt as though he were walking a very fine line about it. It seemed that it could start pounding again any second if things got too loud or bright.

"It's just me, mijo," his mother answered, her voice steeped strong in worry. "Are you feeling better?"

"I . . think so?" Lance tried to answer with conviction but failed miserably. He just hadn't been awake long enough to tell. And even though he thought he was ok physically, his soul ached, like something inside him was torn. The why of that wasn't coming to him yet either. He had known yesterday, he thought, but today . . . what was it? Something was over; something was gone. He needed some time to think. "It was just a headache, Mom."

"Oh, honey, your voice. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure, but I promise to take it easy today, ok?" Lance assured and compromised together, eager to pacify her. It wasn't like she could do much to help him from where she was anyway. Lance was actually glad she couldn't see him right now, and especially not yesterday. He hoped Allura hadn't gone into too much detail. But he didn't want to talk about that anymore; he was ready to switch subjects - especially because yesterday was starting to come back to him in painful little tugs along that tear in his heart. Weddings, graduation, lies. Keith. "So where . . .where is everyone? Why are you alone?"

"I sent them out; they're waiting for me outside. I wasn't sure you could handle all of us at once."

"Is Luis with you? Marco?" Because he needed to talk to them, needed to ask them something. It was important.

"Yes, they're here. But don't push yourself. We can talk another time; I don't want to wear you out."

"No, please, call them in?" I need my brothers. I need their advice. Lance lifted his gaze, looking around for Allura, though he already knew that she had left him alone for some privacy. But he needed to make sure. He felt guilty about it, but she shouldn't hear what he was about to discuss. At least, not until he sorted out what he needed to tell her. What did he need to tell her? That something was broken. Inside him. But first he needed to confirm.

"Just Luis and Marco?" Eva checked, unused to requests like this to speak to specific family members and still sounding uncertain about Lance's wellbeing.

"Yes, for now. I need. . . need to ask them about something." Need to wake up enough to listen to them.

"All right," Eva acquiesced, though she sounded confused. Lance didn't blame her; he knew this was strange. He heard her call to them, heard a door open in a church very far away, then heard a muffled warning from his mother to her older sons. Something about being quiet. He wanted to roll his eyes but didn't dare chance it. Instead he leaned his head back, waiting for distances to close.

"What's up, Lance?" Marco came on first, his voice enthusiastic, quick. Lance smiled at the familiarity of it. Because Marco's idea of being quiet was nowhere near being actually quiet.

"You all right?" Luis joined in, more serious, mature.

"Y-yes," Lance wanted to skip over the part where he'd have to convince every single member of his family individually that he was ok. Especially since he wasn't all that sure. "I have a question."

"Shoot," Marco invited. Lance opened his mouth and closed it several times, his lips still dry and sticky. He knew this discussion would probably break the glass that held his perfect universe, but he was starting to think that maybe it was already broken. Yesterday, the car, the expectation . . . no, they couldn't keep doing this.

"I was wondering," Lance forced the words out. "How . . .how long did you date Paloma and Isabel before you," deep breath, Lance, this is stupid, it's not a hard word, "proposed?"

"Ha!" Marco blasted, assuming the reason Lance could be asking this. Lance winced. "Way less time than you!"

"Not so loud," Luis warned him. "Can't you hear he's not ok?" Then he moved on to also answer the question. "Paloma and I were together for a year before we started talking about that. Then we waited another four months so I could figure out where we'd live."

"So you're slow, bro," Marco nagged in the background, though he was making more of an effort to gentle his tone. "In fact, I'm surprised no one's come and snagged her away from you yet. She is perfection."

Lance knew that. He'd known that before he ever thought he'd have a chance to go on one date with her, let alone share his life and apartment with her. Now that they did share a living space, he knew that she wasn't perfect. . . but honestly, that didn't at all damage her charm. If anything, her imperfections increased his affection for her. Which made this somehow harder.

"Everyone's different," Luis commented, picking up on Lance's unease. "But are you thinking of proposing to Allura, Lance? Have you talked to her father yet? You know you're supposed to ask his blessing, right?"

"No, I mean, yes I knew that, but I haven't. We've never really . . ." Wow, what a conversation that would be. Lance and Alfor did talk, but mostly about books and work ethic. Lance had learned early that the best choice of attack for being alone with Mr. Lyons was to get him talking about something he felt passionate about – a simple task considering the man had many passions and an enthusiasm to share them. Lance usually learned something as he listened, and they would part ways for the evening with Alfor in good humor. It was a little psychology trick Lance employed – forcing Alfor to include Lance as someone he felt good about because whenever Lance was with him, he was always discussing things that made him feel good. Made him feel as though they had a lot in common. A solid defense tactic, in Lance's opinion.

But then again, they didn't talk. Alfor didn't even give Lance any of those threatening little chats that American movies had conditioned him to expect from his girlfriend's father. Nothing about treating her with respect or what he would do to Lance if he ever caused his daughter pain. The extremely firm handshakes and piercing glares were enough. Still, Mr. Lyons must be expecting Lance to ask for his blessing at some point if Mrs. Lyons was already looking at locations for the event. He couldn't believe that this had never even occurred to him. How long did he think he and Allura could just go on doing what they did without anyone ever expecting them to do something more? Because really, that was the next step, right? That's what was supposed to happen. The next check on the list. The future Mr. and Mrs. McClain.

Lance swallowed; he felt dizzy again.

"Lance?"

"How did you know?" Lance blurted out, closing his eyes, using his free hand to press against his forehead, reminding himself that nothing actually hurt. Even though everything did. "When it was the right time, or the right . . .the right person?" He'd been about to say the right girl, but he couldn't get it out.

"Lance, take a deep breath," Luis coached him, then paused while Lance maintained a slow inhale. "Why are you even asking us this stuff right now when you can barely talk at all? Let's wait until you feel better, ok?"

"No," Lance denied. "I . . I just need to know. I'm fine."

Why do you always pretend that everything's fine when it's not? Why . . .why had she said that? What did she mean?

The glass was cracked already; he could hear it crunching all around him, a disorienting static. He was sitting still; he'd paused for too long and now the floor was dropping out from under him. The next choice he made had to be the right one, and not just for him. He had to do the right thing for Allura too. And he needed his brothers to answer this question for him; he needed to hear what he was supposed to feel. He'd never manage to summon it on his own unless he heard it from them first.

And it had to be now. Before Allura came into the room or Lance went out to her. Because he knew she was going to ask about it, knew that it was too much into their heads now and needed to be addressed. It had to happen before they went to all the weddings in June. Before they graduated, and definitely before Melenor planned the entire thing without them even knowing about it. Lance did not want to get in a car and be driven to a chapel somewhere, his suit all laid out and waiting for him, all the particulars set in order on an assumption. This was higher stakes than the first night with Allura in that hotel – and even then, he had wanted to be more in control of what was going on. This was more important than letting Allura choose the color of his tie. More important than what kind of milk to get at the store.

He had to wake up. Someone was going to get hurt if he didn't. Or maybe it was already too late for that.

"Ok, calm down," Luis cautioned. "I don't get it. What's the rush all of a sudden? You've been living together for years. What happened?"

Lance took another deep breath. "It's just . . . it seems like everyone we know is getting married, and Allura's mother mentioned picking out a place for . . . for our . . for our wedding . . . and how big it should be . . . and we have been together a long time . . . so . . . that's just what you do, right?"

"No," Luis, and surprisingly Marco, said in unison.

"Hermanito, if you can't even say it without getting all gaspy like that, then you are definitely not ready. And since when do you do what anyone expects you to?" Marco continued.

"This is too important a choice to let someone else make it for you," Luis added. "Besides," he went on. "You're telling me all about people who don't actually matter in this decision. What does Allura have to say about it?"

"I . .don't think she said anything," Lance confessed, though even as he said it, he remembered the sharp way Allura yelled at her mother about picking a venue. "We haven't really talked about it."

"Lance, she's the only one you really should talk to about it," Luis scolded gently. "It's your life – yours, hers. It's no one else's business. Not her mother's – not even your mother, ok? So if you're thinking about marrying her, you've got be honest with yourself and ask some important questions."

"Questions?" Lance repeated.

"Like if you really love each other enough to want to spend the rest of your life together – a life outside of college because it will be completely different once you're out of school. You both have huge career commitments; do they even synch up? And are you thinking of proposing because it's something you want or if it's because you think everyone expects you to do it because it sounds as though you're being pressured into it. Do you love her?"

The question caught Lance off guard. That was something else he didn't think too much about. He knew he should love her. She certainly was loveable.

"Of course, I do," he answered. He thought it was the truth. They couldn't have stayed together this long if he didn't love her, could they? How could he not love her? Except . . . as he said it. The way Luis asked. No. No, how could that be possible? Three years?

"Wow," Marco drawled, one of the few English words he knew. Lance put a hand over his eyes, hoping that he wouldn't start crying. He was sure that would start the headache thing all over again. He loved her; he must. Except he'd forgotten what it felt like.

"Look," Luis cut in. "We're really far away, so I can't tell you for sure, but from what I can see in the pictures you send us – everything looks just right. You say the right things, and you wear the right things, and you pose just the right way. But I know you, Lance, or at least I knew the Lance who was more Cuban than he was American. That Lance knew exactly what he wanted, and he did not hesitate in throwing all his effort into getting it. That's how you won the scholarship. That's why you're living in the US now. And unless something happened to you where you've completely changed from that Lance I watched grow up, you're going to succeed in everything you've decided you want for yourself. But it has to be a conscious decision."

"Luis," Lance choked, not sure if he wanted his brother to stop or to continue. He couldn't even remember that Lance. That passion. That certainty. Where was it now? Had he truly lost it or was it just resting somewhere inside him? Asleep. But either way, he didn't know how to get it back.

"I wish we were closer," Luis confessed. "I wish I could be there to help you; it's so hard to hold onto a phone and listen to you when you sound like this. But I can't be there, so will you listen to me?"

"Yes," Lance promised, his throat closing around the word. Yes, please tell me what to do. I'm just not sure anymore. My God, three whole years.

"I don't want you to think about this anymore right now. You shouldn't make big decisions when you're feeling bad. I want you to rest and get well again first. Then, when you feel better, have a talk with Allura. An honest one. Think about where you'll be in the next five years. Ten years. Where she's wanting to be. I admit, I would be thrilled to hear that she's going to be my new sister-in-law; we all would love that, but mostly we want you to be happy no matter what you decide. And I want you to be sure about your decisions again. Understand?"

"I think so," Lance murmured.

"Good. Now focus on getting better, please. We love you, Lance. We want you to be ok."

Lance stopped himself before blurting out an automatic, "I am ok." How had he gotten so off track here?

"Thanks Luis. Marco."

They only spoke another few minutes. Lance begged to have everyone come in; he wanted the room filled with the flow of their voices, their stories, their love. He assured them all that he did feel better, just tired and weak on this side of his recovery. He promised to send them the pictures of the wedding, but found he didn't have the heart or the energy to talk about it with them. He exchanged parting words of promise with his mother, telling her that he'd take care of himself. They all wished him well. He told them he loved them. Streaks of sunlight were pushing themselves stronger against the closed blinds by the time Lance finished speaking with them. Part of him felt better after their conversations, but there was still an underlying dread. About what he had done. About what he had to do.

But Luis was right. He had to talk to Allura. There were things he wanted to ask her, things he needed to say. He wanted to apologize for yesterday, or maybe for the last three years. He wanted to test himself on whether or not he could actually tell her he loved her. Because he'd never said it. He called her princess and told her thank you a lot, but he honestly couldn't remember a single time he'd told her that he loved her.

And he couldn't remember a single time she'd ever said it to him either.

He stayed in bed for one last minute, gathering his strength and his thoughts. He heard faint sounds coming from the kitchen and decided that he would rather go to her than have her come to him. It was time to be present again. Make decisions. So he pulled off the quilt and gathered up her flannel heating bag, testing his balance by standing up, satisfied that it wasn't too difficult to be upright. The room didn't spin today. The light . . well, it was a little too strong, but nothing like yesterday. If Lance took it easy like he'd promised his mom, nothing too bright or too loud, he thought he'd make it through just fine.

Allura was indeed in the kitchen as Lance walked from his bedroom to the living room couch, leaning heavily against the wall the entire way. The apartment smelled of strong coffee and frying eggs. Lance smiled sadly to see Allura putting the finishing touches on a tea tray. He saw her as though he'd never looked at her before. How could he not love her?

"Hi Princess," he greeted softly, sinking cross-legged onto the sofa, glad that it was a short distance from his bedroom since his legs felt strange and rubbery today, everything loosely put together. Or as though he were falling apart.

Allura lifted her head from her tray and her face immediately broke into a sad smile of her own. There was an extra shine over her eyes, like she was holding back tears. Not a good start.

"I take it back," she told him, her voice solid, business as usual.

"What?" Lance asked, unsure what she was talking about. Of all the scripts he'd started in his room for what she'd be most likely to say, that wasn't one of them.

"All those times I was secretly mad at you and wishing that your schedule would catch up to you like mine does. I'm sorry; I take them all back. I don't ever want to see you suffer another minute."

Lance found himself smiling at her confession. She'd thought that? Really? But having her tell him this, getting a more complete picture of just how competitive she truly was, didn't damage his opinion of her. Whenever Allura seemed human to Lance, that's when he found he cared for her the most.

She brought the tray over, setting it down on the coffee table before taking a seat next to him, turned toward him. Her body told Lance that she wanted to talk, but her face said she had reservations about it. Like she wasn't sure he'd be ready for all she wanted to say, or maybe she wasn't ready.

"I suppose you're looking a little better. How is your head?" She asked him first, concerned. She curled up on the opposite side of the couch, leaning against the back of it, considering him. She was wearing white linen capris today with a loose blue top that had small bunches of pink and white cherry blossoms on it. Adorable. Classy. Her hair bound up in a thick ponytail. What the hell was wrong with him?

"It's good," Lance acknowledged, nodding, though he did it carefully. It seemed a good strategy to start with safe topics. Easy questions. "Much better, thank you. How did you know what to do, the right medication to get? You don't . .. you don't get headaches like that, do you?" If she had, he'd never noticed. He didn't think that it could be something she could hide from him. Not for this long.

"No," Allura assured, her eyes widening at the thought. "Luckily, no. But my mother used to get migraines often. How about you? Was that your first one?"

"Yes," Lance said, also leaning against the couch, resting his head, hating how Allura's words reminded him that migraines, once they'd started, were usually a reoccurring thing. He'd have to start paying attention to this, have to start writing things down, looking for connecting scenarios that would reveal to him what his particular triggers were. Damn. "And hopefully it was a weird, one-time thing. How'd your mom get hers to stop?" Because Allura said used to, which meant she didn't get them anymore. Which meant there was a way to prevent this from happening again.

"My father put a hard limit on how many things she could say yes to doing," Allura answered, speaking casually, keeping things light. "And she quit eating chocolate and anything that has red dye in it. You know," her eyes were so sad when she looked at Lance, even though she was smiling playfully, "all things you're going to have a hard time doing."

"I could maybe give up red dye," Lance mused, trying to keep with the tone of their talk. He handed her heating bag back to her, frustrated how he could hardly handle the weight of it as he stretched his arm across the couch toward her. This migraine thing was a trip, even after it was done. "Thanks for letting me borrow that; it really helped."

Allura took it from him only to lay it flat on the arm of the couch behind her. Her face changed, noticing Lance's weakness for the first time. "You need some food," she told him, matter-of-factly, gently pushing the tray a little closer to him. He hadn't even looked at it until now, but she'd made him an intense sort of breakfast. A sweet potato and sausage hash with onions and peppers in it, topped with a couple of eggs. Something they were more likely to eat for dinner than breakfast.

"Try it," Allura encouraged. "It's good for migraine hangovers, and you look like you're going through a bad one. I can go downstairs and get another Coke if you think that would help?"

"No, that's ok," Lance assured before she could move. He wasn't sure he liked Coke, and he didn't want Allura to leave. "This is perfect." As he said that particular word, he paused, staring at her. The girl he'd lived with for three years now. The girl who learned how to speak Spanish almost as fluently as Lance could. She was perfect.

How could he not love her?

"Allura," he began, not touching the food yet. He really wanted to get this started now that he'd decided it was the only way forward. He'd already stolen so much of her life. But which question first? It felt like he was about to start a verbal game of Jenga, each question he asked a block taken out of their relationship. Which one to start with that wouldn't topple the whole thing? And yet, just like Jenga, Lance knew that at some point, whether he meant to or not, everything was about to fall apart. And still . . . conscious decisions from now on. He took a deep breath. "About what your mom said yesterday –"

"Eat," Allura suddenly demanded, talking over him, plucking the bowl from the tray and physically pushing it into his hands. Then without any kind of pause, she was standing up and heading back toward the kitchen. Her reaction confused him, and he caught that sheen coating the crystal of her eyes again. What happened? Why didn't she want to talk about that?

Because you probably hurt her feelings, idiot, he realized as he held the warm bowl. Allura moved with graceful purpose to the sink, turning on the faucet in order to wash up the dishes she'd used for cooking. How would it feel to have your mother mention getting married and then have your boyfriend leap out of the car to vomit? Bad timing. Really bad timing. It probably made it look as though even the thought of marrying her made him sick. Which wasn't what happened, but he could see how it would leave her feeling rejected and unwilling to talk about it. How was he going to tell her? He didn't want to hurt her. But staying together would hurt her more in the long run.

He didn't want to eat, especially not after what he'd seen in Allura's face, but she was right. He knew he'd need the calories. He wanted her to know that he appreciated her efforts, and he needed some energy for what he wanted to do here. What do you want to do here, Lance? Talk. You sure? Yes, he wanted to talk about something real. They were so good at talking about grocery lists and chores and appointments. Fantastic at commenting about the weather and books and things that just didn't matter. Lance had even forgotten the last time he'd ever asked her about the future. About what she wanted in life. They'd been drowning so long in their checklists, he wondered if either of them even knew what that was anymore.

Lance brought the bowl with him as he followed Allura into the kitchen, just that short walk making him feel as though he'd run across campus for her. He hoped this sluggish exhaustion wouldn't cling to him too much longer. He had stuff to do. He'd already been still for too long. He leaned against the counter next to her, letting it prop him up. She avoided eye contact with him, but stayed where she was, very studiously and carefully washing each dish as he started eating. The food tasted pleasantly wholesome to him, familiar, and he took a minute to consider how far Allura had come since she'd started living with him. When she first moved in, she didn't even know how to boil pasta. Now she could do entire menus. It didn't take long for the taste of the hash to wake up Lance's appetite. He'd actually been much hungrier than he thought and for a few minutes, eating consumed his entire attention.

Allura took his bowl when it was empty, keeping quiet, and Lance thought again about leaving it alone. The way they'd been doing it this whole time. It would be easier that way, no one's feelings would be hurt. She seemed to want to just move forward like yesterday hadn't happened. A quick stumble to their routine, but not so difficult that they couldn't brush it off. But Lance knew that he couldn't do that. Knew that something was different today. Something was broken. He wasn't sure what caused it – whether it was their upcoming graduation, what her mother had said, his migraine, Angelique and Fritz's wedding. Maybe it had taken all of that to pierce through. But it was done now. Lance knew they'd never get it back to the way it was. The only thing to do would be to talk about what happened and see what they could save.

If there was anything there to be saved.

Lance picked up a dish towel and began drying the skillet before putting it away. "Thanks for breakfast," he said to her, monitoring her expression. She only nodded, carefully avoiding his eyes, even when he leaned down to try and force her to look at him. "Thanks for always taking care of me."

His cleaned breakfast bowl slipped right out of her fingers, bounced against the edge of the counter, and shattered on the floor. Lance blinked at the pieces, surprised at first that she'd dropped it at all and then even more shocked when he heard her start sobbing. He stood there stunned for a few seconds until Allura began to kneel down to start cleaning up the fragments, her hands shaking hard enough that he knew she'd cut herself on them. That made him move. He grabbed her arms and gently tugged her away, out of the kitchen, away from the broken glass, back to the couch, all his senses screaming at him to fix this. Fix it somehow. But how were they ever going to get anywhere when he couldn't even start?

"I'm sorry," Allura apologized repeatedly, her whole body shuddering with anguish. Lance pulled her tight against him and she eagerly curled against his chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt. "I'm so sorry, Lance!"

"It's just a bowl," Lance told her awkwardly, knowing that whatever was causing this had nothing at all to do with the broken bowl. In fact, he probably shouldn't have said that. It made her cry harder. He let his head rest against hers, running his hand up and down her arm, trying to hold her together. He didn't know what to say, didn't even know what was going on. Everything was so messed up since yesterday. Although, the way she was crying cemented the fact that something had been wrong a long time before that.

"It's ok, Princess," Lance soothed, hoping they could sort it out.

"No, it's not," Allura denied, taking odd little hitching breaths around her words and tears. "Lance, I . . ."

You're sorry, yes, I know. I am too. But what are you sorry for?

"Allura," Lance began.

"You're so perfect," Allura cried, and he was shocked all over again. What? He was perfect? No, that was his line. He was supposed to be saying this to her. She was perfect. He was a mess. He kissed her forehead, wishing she hadn't said that, wishing she didn't think that. How was he supposed to tell her anything when she was already this upset?

"Allura, you know I'm not," Lance whispered into her hair. "No one is," he told her, though it was mostly to remind himself. She shook in his arms, crumbling under the weight of a secret, or a lie.

"Take your time," Lance encouraged. "But I think this might be one of those things where you'll feel better if you can tell me what's wrong." The truth of what Lance just said smacked him hard at the base of his skull with all the force of three years of denial. Yeah, well, he was getting to it! He had to calm her down first.

"I've been trying," Allura sniffed. "I've been trying so hard. I've been doing what I'm expected to do my whole life, but -" That's it, Princess. Lance waited, knowing that her words would likely speed up as she went along, an emotional landslide that was just starting to flow. He mentally braced for it, unsure what would happen. Allura's emotions were so carefully constrained; she kept them so rigidly in place. Even now she paused herself, tensing a little, as though she were going to retreat.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again. "I shouldn't be bothering you with this right now. You're still not –"

"No," Lance interrupted her, making sure she couldn't move away from him. "No, please, Allura, keep going. Whatever you have to say is important, and there's no better time for it than right now. I'm listening."

"I'm just not who you think I am," Allura sighed, weary. "I'm not who anyone thinks I am."

Lance waited, knowing his silence would prompt her better than anything he could think of to say. She pulled back, and he allowed it, though he kept her hands in his. Her eyes fixed on the couch cushion between them.

"Lance, I . . I lied to Mr. Shirogane yesterday. And to you. Remember? When I said I didn't know what I was going to do after graduation?"

"I remember," Lance said. "I wanted to ask you about it. It's not often you don't have a plan."

For a second, he thought he'd ruined everything. She tried to laugh, but it came out strangled and he was afraid she'd start crying again. A tear fell between them, but she shook herself back into semi-control.

"I have a plan," she whispered, which made way more sense. Of course she had a plan. She probably had more than one. And something clicked for Lance, a little bit of sense slipping between their fingers. He tightened his hold.

"I'm not part of it, am I?" Lance asked her, making the only guess he had about why she wouldn't want to tell him that, and this time she really did start sobbing, bowing her head over their hands as if she were begging for forgiveness.

"Lance, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me," Allura told him. "You've taught me so much. You're so sweet and respectful and encouraging. And I know everyone's getting married and my mother's already looking at buying baby clothes, and it just makes sense and everyone expects us to . . . "

"It doesn't matter what they expect," Lance explained for her what his brothers had already just explained to him, and something tore free inside his soul. But it felt good. A pressure being released. He lifted Allura's face, allowing her to see his, see that there was nothing wrong with what she was saying. Nothing shameful about her feelings. "This is our decision," he assured her. "And the truth is that I care about you a lot, Allura, but I don't think we should get married."

There. He said it. It felt good to say it. Allura looked as though something heavy had just been taken off her, and he knew that she agreed with him. That she was glad he said it first.

"I wanted to tell you," Allura confessed. "I knew I needed to. But there was always one more thing to do first. One more banquet. One more test. One more phone call with your family or one more dinner with mine and time just kept moving forward and it got harder and harder. I'm so sorry, Lance, for using you the way I have."

"I don't feel used," Lance revealed, hoping she understood him. Though this felt like the first actual conversation they'd had in a very long time. Perhaps the first since Keith forced them to talk together at the coffee shop. "It's been a dream," he told her. "A lovely dream. All the things you've shown me, all the places and people. So many experiences that I would have never been able to have without you. It's all been wonderful, every second of having you here with me . . . but, I don't know . . . no matter how I tried, it just has never felt . . it's never been . . ."

"Real," Allura supplied. He slumped in relief, smiling. She understood.

"Exactly," he agreed.

She dipped her chin, gently touching her forehead to his, and he felt closer to her in that moment than he ever had before. Which was strange since he thought that they were actually breaking up right now. Except they were still holding hands. It was a little confusing. But at least nothing hurt.

"What do we do now?" Allura finally asked, sounding drained, but clear. "Did you want me to move out?"

"No," Lance said quickly. "God, no. Not until you want to." Because he knew that she was leaving. Probably soon after graduation. Allura had places to go, and he didn't want to stand in her way, but he wasn't in any hurry. "Tell me your plan?" Lance suggested.

"I actually have three," Allura divulged, and Lance's smile broadened. They may not be romantically compatible, but he still knew her well.

"That's my girl," he snickered, trying to be playful. It seemed to work. He watched some tension leave her shoulders as she sat up a little straighter. "Show me your pros and cons spreadsheet – I know you made one. Maybe I can help you figure out which one you like best."

Her eyes were shining again, but not in pain. Mostly gratitude. "Does this mean we can still be friends?"

"I think that's what we always have been. I . . . I think the only thing that changed here is that we finally figured that out."

She threw herself at him, hugging him tight, and he squeezed her back, amazed at how different it felt now. Fresh. True. It reminded him of how Pidge used to wrap herself around his arm sometimes, how she'd toss her feet into his lap while they were watching something – the affection of a sister. A friend. And Lance suddenly realized that he did love Allura. Not the same way he loved Pidge, or the way he'd love a girlfriend, but something similar. It felt so good to finally know that.

Somewhere shortly after she let him go, it seemed they both remembered about the broken glass on the kitchen floor. With all the cleansing drama of finally pulling up and exposing their true thoughts and feelings, they'd forgotten all about it.

"I'll get it," Lance offered, but he stood up too quickly. The room blurred around him as a sharp, oppressive buzzing drowned out all sound. Defensively, he dropped back onto the couch before he fell, raising his hand to his head, breathing heavily. Damn, he'd forgotten about that too. How long did the postdrome phase of a migraine last? Allura pressed him securely against the couch, stabilizing him and keeping him in position as the buzzing gradually faded and his vision returned to normal.

"Take it easy," she cautioned him. "It'll go away faster if you do. I made the mess; I'll clean it up."

He didn't like it, but he knew she was right. But somehow, sitting still didn't seem like such a frightening thing anymore. Lance actually felt better than he had in a long time, postdrome symptoms and all. He felt at peace about Allura, about who they were together. He couldn't be more relieved that she felt the same way, that they could come to this mutual understanding and somehow be stronger together as friends than they had been as a couple. It was like a miracle. Lance suddenly wished he'd done it sooner.

Allura's mother called as she was finishing up with the floor, so Allura paused, propping the broom into the crook of her elbow to speak to her. "Hello Mother, I was just about to call you. Thanks for checking on us. Yes, he's doing a little better now, but I'm going to keep him here and resting today just in case. That means we won't be able to join you for dinner tonight, sorry. No, it's ok, don't worry about what you said about the wedding." Allura turned to look at Lance for this, a pure smile on her face. "I'm glad you said it, actually. It's given us a lot to think about. Oh, no, you don't have to – ok sure, we could probably do that. Thank you. I love you too. We'll see you later."

After she hung up, she returned to Lance's side, kissing him softly on the temple. "That's from my mother," she explained. "She says she hopes she didn't cause any trouble yesterday, and she wants you to feel better soon."

"I feel great," Lance said, never meaning anything more. "We probably didn't have to cancel." Though he was a little worried about what Allura's parents were going to say once they learned that Lance was not going to be their son-in-law after all. Allura laughed.

"They actually offered to come to us," Allura revealed. "Mother wants to bring dinner over instead."

"Oh," Lance said, even more worried. Allura's parents had never been to the apartment before; it seemed to be an unspoken rule between them that they not damage Allura's new independence by invading her space. He wasn't all that sure what they'd think of it. After all, they lived in an enormous house on more acreage than the entire campus. There were two alabaster lions the size of helicopters guarding the gate at the entrance, and whenever Lance heard anyone talk about the place, it was always referred to as the Castle of Lyons. Lance was pretty sure that Allura's old bedroom was likely bigger than this entire apartment. Meanwhile, he didn't even have four matching dining room chairs.

"I can call her back and tell her you're not up for it," Allura said, noting his expression. "But I think it could be a good thing."

"I think you're right, and that's very nice of them," Lance agreed, letting it go that they were coming and they'd see where he lived. After all, the hardest part of his day was already over and had worked out better than he'd expected it to. It didn't really matter what Allura's parents thought of his apartment, if they agreed or not with the choices that he'd made with Allura today. They were good people, and they loved their daughter. Lance felt sure that they'd be supportive of whatever conversations took place tonight. And Allura had said it herself – Lance's apartment was warm and felt like home. Though Allura renewed her effort with the broom with particular vigor now that she knew her parents were coming over and she continued to clean after the broken glass was disposed of.

Lance helped as much as he could, but mostly Allura demanded that he simply sit and keep her company while she spruced things up as much as possible to prepare for their guests. And all while they worked, they continued to talk, going over their whole relationship again with fresh perspective now that they understood their true feelings about each other.

Lance explained how time had done strange things during the years they'd been together. He told her how he liked watching her hands, how much he enjoyed her room and her passions. Alternately, Allura told him how amazing it had been to finally live independently, how that wouldn't have been possible without Lance helping her learn how to cook and vacuum and all the other little trivial details of maintaining a household that had always been done for her up until she moved out.

They talked about their favorite experiences together, what they liked most and admired about each other. Allura expressed her gratitude on how Lance had taught her that it was ok to be flawed, that mistakes happened.

"You're the first person who really allowed me to be myself," Allura told him seriously as she set their table. "It was ok with you when I messed things up. I feel so safe with you."

In fact, it was exactly that safety, that trust, that had given her the courage to pursue what she actually wanted to do. Lance found it rather ironic that he, himself, had built up the very talents and confidence that Allura needed in order to leave him. And it wasn't that she wanted to leave him; it was more that she wanted to go somewhere he couldn't follow. Like Hunk and Pidge – like Keith. Their dreams all led out of Chicago while Lance's had brought him to that one campus and wouldn't let him go.

Allura had been accepted to graduate programs at Stanford and Columbia. She could also take up an internship position in the White House if she wanted. Lance didn't want to influence her too much about her decision, but he listened carefully as she went over each scenario with him, asking her questions about her ultimate goals and how the different places could best help her get there. She still had a little bit of time before she had to commit to anything – most of her programs began in the fall.

Mr. and Mrs. Lyons arrived punctually bearing pizza, wine, and flowers. Lance eased into their visit almost immediately when he noticed how hard they were trying to appreciate the apartment. Melenor hugged Lance first after she'd set down the flowers on the table, taking his face into her hands and looking at him discerningly.

"You poor dear, how are you?" She asked him, and for the first time since that morning, Lance was reminded that something had been torn inside him. While he and Allura were certainly ok with everything that had happened today, everything they'd talked about, Lance remembered in that moment what Allura had said about Melenor already picking out baby clothes. He hoped she wouldn't hate him after they explained the changes that were about to take place in their relationship. Then he remembered that he'd have to tell Eva too, but quickly dismissed that thought. He had a week to prepare for that. One thing at a time.

"Much better, thank you," Lance replied, bowing down a bit because Melenor was shorter than he was.

"I'm glad to hear it," Melenor said, genuine and sweet. She let him go, but Alfor was right behind her, ready with a handshake and also bearing wishes for Lance's good health. They'd barely said anything to each other before they were interrupted by a joyous exclamation from Mrs. Lyons.

"Oh my goodness! Alfor, would you look at the view!"

Because after making sure that Lance could tolerate light again, Allura had thrown the balcony curtains wide, opening the apartment as much as possible and providing a view of the Museum grounds and the lake. "Aren't you fortunate," Melenor clucked affectionately while Lance and Allura smiled at each other. "The whole world out your window."

Things settled down more seriously then, pouring wine, serving the pizza. Lance had no idea it was possible to make pizza so fancy, but of course the Lyons had managed it. They said it was one of Allura's favorites and they'd picked it up from a restaurant at the very top of Water Tower Place. Not a single pepperoni on any of it, but Lance had to admit that the combination of chicken, rosemary, and potato smothered in cream sauce and cheese was extremely delicious anyway.

They spoke a little about migraines and how terrible they were; Melenor offering her best advice for handling them in case Lance should ever suffer one again. They talked about preparations for the dual graduation party that Melenor and her Charity Aid Ladies were all excited to put together, and Melenor again expressed her apologies for what she'd said about weddings. She emphasized clearly that she of course didn't mean to rush them at all and it certainly wasn't her place to put any pressure on them. No offense meant.

And Lance was again grateful to Allura because she took the conversation over after that. It made sense; they were her parents, but Lance couldn't help but admire the way Allura spoke. So much logic and reason, with just the right amount of genuine emotion to it. You'd never have guessed that she'd been broken and sobbing in his arms on the couch this morning. The way she talked, everything had progressed smoothly and naturally to the only available conclusion. That she and Lance were and always would be close friends and compatible roommates, but neither of them were ready to commit to anything romantic or legally binding.

Alfor sat nodding his head sagely as Allura talked, complimenting them on their responsible maturity after she'd finished. Melenor was visibly disappointed but tried hard to hide it.

"I always knew you'd have to fly far before ever thinking of settling down," she acknowledged to her daughter, dabbing at her wet eyes with a napkin. "There's so much of your father in you." Then she smiled at Lance, reaching over to pat his arm. "And please don't feel that you aren't still welcome anytime," she pleaded. "You are very much a part of our family now and I cannot bear to think of you not coming to our events anymore. The ladies would be devastated if you disappeared. No matter what happens, please be sure to at least keep the Christmas auction and the Midsummer luncheon on your calendar, won't you?"

"Sure," Lance promised, wondering what it would be like to go to either of those things without Allura picking out his clothes, without leading him around arm and arm. He wasn't sure about what he was saying, but he thought he'd be willing to promise Melenor anything right then to try and make up for upsetting her plans for the future.

They chatted for a short while longer about those usual, comfortable subjects. The pieces of light and nonsense that had no bearing except to pass some time on a warm, May evening. They took a tour of the apartment – a monumental event that lasted all of two minutes to peek into every nook and cranny of the place, and then they all made their way to the door again to say their good-byes.

"That went well," Allura ventured when it was over. When the table had been cleared and the generous leftovers had been put away. When Lance and Allura had returned to the couch, the rest of the Chardonnay split between them.

"It was all you," Lance complimented, raising his glass to her. "You speak so elegantly. You are going to be so impressive as a leader. I'm looking forward to seeing it."

"Lance," Allura said, blushing hard, sipping at her wine to hide it.

"Seriously, I'll vote for you when you run for president," Lance told her, and it sounded like a joke when he said it out loud, but he hoped she knew it was true. "Well, I mean, if I could vote, I'd vote for you. I'll tell everyone who can that they should vote for you." She smiled.

"But what about you?" She pressed, obviously ready to change the subject, and there was some weight to her question. "What are you going to do?"

"I think I'll move in with your parents," Lance said teasingly. "And we'll all just sit around and miss you. Waiting for the next time you'll be on TV addressing the nation."

"Oh honestly," she chided him, wanting him to answer her properly. But he didn't want to think about that, didn't want to ruin their progress by thinking about any dark future. He'd happily accepted Allura into his life because he needed something to fill the aching hole his friends had left in him when they moved. That's why he let them go on so long too; he just couldn't imagine being alone. Though with the career path he'd chosen, there didn't seem to be any way out of it. He was tied to this place and this program for another decade at least.

"I'm going to medical school," he finally said, his voice solid, surprisingly cold. "My plans haven't really changed at all."

"I feel terrible about leaving you, though. You'll be all right on your own?" Allura asked him, and Lance remembered Romelle. Remembered that Allura had faced a choice like this before. She could have gone to Columbia already, years ago, but she'd stayed behind because Romelle had needed Allura's support at close distance. Now she was looking at Columbia again but feeling restrained because of Lance. He didn't want that to influence her choices; she needed to be free to make decisions for herself. He didn't want her to feel guilty for going. Just like he hadn't wanted that for any of the others who were already gone. This had been his choice. No one else should suffer for it. He'd already taken so much of her time.

"I'm not going to have any time to think about it," Lance quipped, desperate to keep this light. "I think Dr. Delacroix has the next ten years all booked out for me. Plus I'll be calling you and Hunk and Pidge and my family and sending pictures and keeping the Charity Aid Ladies happy. And of course, I'll be emailing Shiro and writing. . . " Shit, he'd been doing so well too. Allura turned to look at him, her features sharp, gauging what had tripped him up. "Writing Keith," he finished, though it was too late to be smooth about it.

"Lance, are you feeling ok?" She asked him, noticing that the atmosphere of the room had changed very drastically in the last couple seconds.

"Yeah," he assured her, half-heartedly. Damn it, Keith.

"You know," she started. "I've always wondered." She spoke hesitantly, as though she knew that she probably shouldn't bring up what she wanted to say, but since they were going over all their secrets, since they'd been so successful in finally communicating today, she was going to go ahead and do it anyway.

Lance couldn't look at her. Instead he kept his eyes down, looking at his wine, at the intense colors of the slow-moving sunset that flooded the room through the open balcony door, spinning rainbows on the coffee table. May in Chicago had always been Lance's favorite.

"I've always wondered," Allura repeated, taking her time with how she wanted to phrase it. She seemed to change her mind and started over a different way. "You know, it was such a relief when we started dating. I was so happy to have photos of us on my phone and something true to say to all those . . . all those idiots. Sorry – I have a handsome, smart, and successful boyfriend. I couldn't be less interested."

"I imagine you got asked out a lot," Lance allowed, wondering where this was going. Worried about where this was going.

"Daily," Allura burst out, annoyed. "I've heard everything, I think. The shy ones who can barely get the words out. The arrogant jerks who seem to think I'd be doing them the favor of going out with them. Being asked on dates is fine. It's . . . all the other things I was asked to do. Things I had to fight not to have to do before I had your picture to protect me. Things I had yelled and whistled and written to me. It was revolting, and so I shut everyone out. I was completely disgusted by even the thought of being in a relationship with someone. Before I met you, I'd gained a pretty solid reputation of being a cold-hearted bitch to be honest. And I was ok with that even though I hoped it wasn't true. I just . . . I hated that every single one of them seemed to only want to be with me for one thing – no one seemed interested in me for who I actually was."

Lance remembered the hotel room, a new tenderness in his heart about it now that he understood exactly what Allura had been offering him then. What it had probably taken for her to leave herself vulnerable that way. It gave him some satisfaction in how he'd handled it, how he'd treated her. The fact that they hadn't done anything. How Lance might be the only one who hadn't wanted that from her. The thing he'd never asked her for. The thing they'd never done in three years of sleeping in separate rooms.

"Then I met you at the donation center, and you were . . . so pure. I was so relieved when I realized that you liked me and I actually liked you back," Allura confessed. "I was so happy I'd finally found someone who truly respected me, who didn't just want to have sex with me. At least, it was like that until I started to wish that you wanted to."

"You wanted me to?" Lance broke in, surprised, his head swimming a little at this abrupt change in topic. Well, no, it wasn't a true change in topic, but it felt darker somehow, and Lance felt a little sad for Allura. For how she'd been objectified because of her beauty. For how he hadn't noticed that she might have wanted to be more physical with him. But they'd been so busy. He'd had this amazingly strict, Catholic upbringing. He hadn't really thought of it. He'd watched her get dressed and he'd tucked her into bed and he'd kissed her a million times, but . . . he'd never once thought of doing anything more. And it hadn't hit him until just now how strange that must have seemed.

"I thought I did, for a while at the beginning," Allura clarified, as if to make it clear that Lance hadn't disappointed her in this regard and they were all ok in that area. "But it never seemed that you did. And sometimes when we kissed it felt like you were . . .forgive me, but it felt like you were trying to force yourself. That you wanted to get it right even though you weren't sure what right was supposed to feel like."

"That's astonishingly accurate," Lance complimented her, whispering, wondering what her point was in bringing all this up.

"And so I started to wonder if maybe. . . . well, if maybe you might be more attracted to Keith than to me."

Lance had to shut his eyes; the room had started spinning again. Here he thought he'd hidden it so well. He'd worked so hard, and she knew anyway. She'd noticed. Sure, she'd noticed. She was so smart, summa cum laude indeed. She reached across the couch to take his hand, and he gripped her hard, unable to answer her.

"Lance, it's ok," Allura assured him quickly. "It's ok to be who you are."

"It's not," Lance denied, eyes still closed. One problem solved, but there was always that last one. The one that had followed him for years. The one he didn't think would ever go away.

"Why?" Allura pressed, and all the reasons came to Lance in a dizzying rush. Because his mother didn't know. His brothers couldn't know. Keith could never know; it would kill Lance if he knew. If he pushed Lance away because of it. "Lance, you were the one who taught me how to be comfortable with who I am. To be honest with myself about what I want. You're not going to allow yourself the same thing?"

"It's not what you think," Lance told her.

"Are . . I'm sorry, but are you sure?" Allura pushed, and Lance didn't know if they were talking about the same thing anymore. "It's just – well, you should see how happy you are when a letter comes from him. It's obvious that you care about him a lot."

"I love him," Lance heard the confession slip out of his mouth before he could even think what he was saying. "I've known what I am for a long time, Princess; that's not the problem." What a weird day. He couldn't believe he was talking about this. Talking with Allura about this. But like before, it was a release to give voice to these things. Allura's hand remained sure around his, supportive and kind.

"You don't think he could feel the same way?" Allura guessed, and Lance felt himself fold up inside, his ribcage crushing, squeezing the air from his lungs. He almost wished he could be numb again, that this had never come up.

"Keith's not like that," Lance said determinedly. Allura took several breaths, contemplating what she wanted to say.

"How do you know?" She finally asked. "Have you ever talked to him about it?"

"I don't even know where he is," Lance said, dejectedly.

"You don't really need to," Allura suggested quietly, gently pointing out that Lance was holding on to fragile excuses as a method of avoiding something he was terrified to find out. "You have his phone number."

"Keith has never, ever, not once answered the phone when I called him," Lance explained, rather violently actually, but it was the truth. On rare occasions, they sometimes texted in real time, and Keith called Lance once on his birthday that first year after he left, but for Lance to call Keith? Forget it. Pointless. Lance had given up on it.

"I think you should try," Allura prompted, which sparked something like terror in Lance. He quickly diverted it to anger.

"No," he protested, shaking his head. "I don't want to lose him."

"So you're never going to tell him?" Allura asked, sounding inexplicably sad.

"No," Lance exclaimed, shocked that she wasn't understanding this. "Do you realize that he went over to talk to you at the coffee shop that day as a thank-you gift to me? He brought us together, Allura. Why would he do that if he were interested at all?"

"Oh, I can think of several reasons," Allura shot back, quick and fierce, bringing Lance's next point up short.

"Wha . . Really?" Lance said, suddenly conflicted.

"Oh, you're kidding. You're as bad as . . . . and weren't you the one telling me this morning that it's better to say these things out loud rather than let them weigh you down forever? Lance, think about it, he probably stepped out of your life for the same reason you're not asking him now. You'd both rather hide and suffer in silence so as to not risk your friendship by bringing it up. I'm pretty sure this is the basic plot of every star-crossed love story in history."

Lance cocked his head at her. "When was the last time you read a star-crossed love story?" He challenged.

"Why do I have to read it?" Allura responded coolly. "I'm in one."

Lance rolled his eyes. He had to admit, he sort of liked talking with Allura like this. Kind of. He'd rather they were talking about her love interests, but the freedom of the back and forth that was going on . . it felt good and real. Even if the subject was awful and terrifying. Or . . maybe it felt hopeful? Allura had a way of making things sound so logical; Lance wasn't sure he could trust it.

"Could it be possible?" Lance questioned Allura, the girl he'd shared his life with for three years. The girl everyone thought he was going to marry. His newest and closest friend. She smiled at him.

"There's only one way to know," she told him with conviction. "Call him."

"What – right now?" Lance demanded. They'd just barely broken up and now she wanted him to call Keith? A shudder ran over him, cold and lonely and frightened.

"Oh my God," Allura gushed, a curious twinkle in her eye. "Yes, now. It seems to be a good day for confessions, don't you think?" She gave a little huff, shaking her head. "Look at you – you are so in love with him."

"I'm so sorry," Lance apologized, realizing what that probably meant for her to realize this. He'd been her boyfriend for so long. But she didn't look upset. Not at all.

"Don't be," Allura dismissed. "It's . . . it's nice to see you like this. The Lance I met. It's good to have him back."

"Thank you, Princess," Lance said, grateful for all that she was. She leaned forward, setting her empty wine glass on the table, piercing him with her crystal gaze.

"You're welcome," she accepted graciously. "Now call him."

"Ok," Lance accepted, though he wasn't sure what he'd say. He couldn't even breathe. But Allura was sitting there on the couch, looking sweet and certain and just a little big smug. He thought he could borrow her courage. It was just a phone call.

Just a phone call, but his hands were shaking as he dialed Keith's number. He wondered where he was – how many time zones away. Was it the middle of the night? Was he in a training? In a battle? It must be far, it was taking forever for the number to connect.

Allura took his hand again. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He closed his eyes as the phone started ringing.

Author's Note: Take a deep breath, guys – this is exciting, isn't it? I love Allura – she's been so good for our boy. I'm going to keep up on this as best I can – I'd really like to see it finished here very soon. If my internal planning is correct – there are four more chapters. I'm not quite done ripping Lance up yet, and I've had a LOT OF TIME to think about how I want this to end. The scenes I have in store have been with me since the start of this piece (which is actually unusual for my writing process. This whole story has been a wild ride of discovery for sure).

And for those of you who are so frustrated – the ones gritting your teeth and swearing, wishing Lance could get it together and Just Tell Keith Already . . . may I suggest you look at the title of this fic again. It's kind of the whole point. Hang in there, please. I love you. I'll try not to torture you.

Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it. I'll probably see you early in the New Year.