Author's Note: Hey there, everyone. It's been a while, huh? We're coming up on the one-year anniversary of when I posted the first chapter, isn't that wild? It continues to consume my thoughts most of the time, though I confess that I've been focused on events that happen after Hunk's birthday. And I've been stuck in that place that all writers go sometimes. You know? The place where I'm pretty sure that the story is all wrong and my writing is awful and what on earth am I wasting time on this for? It'll pass; and I will NOT abandon this story. In fact, I think it's time that Lance and Keith got to spend some time together, don't you?

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Gravity Turn

At a quarter to seven, Lance had already been awake a long time, though he hadn't moved from his bed. He lay there, hands behind his head, watching the shadows in his room dissipate as shards of sunlight speared their way from his window, across his desk, along the carpet, until they finally hit the closed door on the other side. He'd eased himself onto his back, a position that had stopped being painful thanks to Keith's and Hunk's dedication to keeping antibiotic on the long wound from the coffee table. Lance had never seen it, but the heal time on it made him suspect that there would be some sort of scar.

Worry had kept rest at bay for a long time last night, after the movie, after the pizza had been put away. After Hunk had helped Lance with medicine before quietly and sadly drifting back into his room – Lance's attempt at lifting his spirits only partially and temporarily effective. The worry had turned into one of those nights filled with excruciating dreams, as though Lance's sub-conscious was waging war with his decisions. In one, he kissed Keith just as Allura walked into the room. She burst into tears and Keith shoved him back with a growl, as aggressive to Lance as the first day they'd met. In another, Lance watched Hunk destroy his radio more than once, asking Lance if he was happy, until Lance finally woke up and stayed that way. The scenes remained, but at least now he could sort through them.

What shook him the hardest was that everything that was happening right now had been his deepest desire. He'd desperately wanted Allura to be his girlfriend. He'd wanted that connection, that ease in being with her. With almost the same fierceness, he'd wanted Hunk and Pidge to stay here in Chicago with him. Now he had both, but he couldn't enjoy either. And the guilt was crushing him under his quilt as though he'd been the one responsible for denying the internship application, as though he'd done something unethical in order to trick Allura into liking him. And there was the other guilt – the darker one that made him involuntarily lock muscles all over his body – his jaw, his hands, his core and shoulders. The feeling that he was so incredibly selfish for not appreciating enough how he'd just gotten everything he'd ever wanted. How could he not be grateful?

Because Hunk was miserable, for starters. Probably Pidge too, but Lance hadn't spoken to her about it yet. The weird woven, knotted thing that was Keith and Allura was too complicated to touch, so Lance was avoiding it. Now that the sun was up, he could settle into his best avoidance strategy – keeping as busy as possible. It wasn't hard; he had plenty to do. Homework, birthday preparations, which included a trip to the nearest Latino grocery store for plantains. Then, of course, today was still laundry day. No time left to think at all, really.

In the quiet of the early morning, Lance kept mostly to his room, leaving it only to make coffee and use the bathroom to brush his teeth. He wanted to let Hunk sleep as long as he liked today. He was going to do everything to make his birthday as good as it could be, despite JPL.

While Lance waited for Hunk to wake up, he wrapped the gift that he'd asked his mother to send from Cuba, a native blend of spices that Hunk had tasted in a restaurant once and then continuously tried to replicate without success. He was constantly coming at Lance to try a new experimental combination, never quite getting it, asking Lance all the time whether he needed more or less of one thing or another. Lance knew what the spice was, but growing up eating something and knowing what was in it were very different things, so he asked his mom to mail the authentic mix almost four months ago, figuring that it would take forever for something like that to make it through customs. It didn't help that, as usual, Eva overdelivered. Lance had asked for 200 grams. Eva had sent a two-kilogram brick. Before he sealed it with tape, Lance reserved a couple tablespoons to use when he cooked dinner later.

Somewhere between Lance's chemistry and biology assignments, he heard movement in the kitchen. Cupboards opening, mugs clinking together. Hunk was up. Lance finished the last couple sentences of his chapter before heading to the table to keep Hunk company. It was a relief to see Hunk wearing his apron over his pajamas, steaming coffee mug on the counter by the sink, a bowl and a wooden spoon in Hunk's hands.

"Hey, there he is! Happy birthday," Lance greeted cheerily, making himself at home at the table, watching Hunk carefully, trying to gauge his mood today. Just because he was awake and baking didn't necessarily mean anything good.

"Thanks, man," Hunk replied, sort of smiling down at the contents of the bowl. Ok, so borderline on the despair. It looked like Hunk was trying to pretend like yesterday had never happened. Lance was more than prepared to run with that plan.

"So where's Pidge taking you?" Lance moved them forward with the question, knowing too long of a pause would be like disappointment quicksand. "Somewhere special?"

"The Museum," Hunk answered, placing the bowl on the counter so he could rummage through the cabinets for one of his large skillets, checking if the oven had preheated. Lance was glad Hunk's back was to him because he didn't think he'd done so great at keeping his face neutral.

"Yeah? That'll be fun." He tried to sound excited, but really, Pidge and Hunk went to the Museum at least once a week. They knew everyone who worked there and could probably give the tours themselves. He'd thought Pidge would have stepped it up a little bit for a birthday, but then again, maybe it really was their favorite thing to do.

"Not that Museum," Hunk corrected Lance, as if he'd seen his face anyway. "The Field Museum. Pidge wants to introduce me to Sue." Lance must have looked confused when Hunk resurfaced above the partial wall with the skillet. He was certain he'd never heard either of them mention an acquaintance in any of their groups with that name. "It's the T-Rex skeleton," Hunk explained. "They named her Sue, and they have just about every other animal that's ever lived there too. Plus an Egyptian exhibit and . . . Pidge says there's a ton of stuff there. I don't think we can look at everything in one day but we're going to try. You want to come with us?"

Lance couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more than go look at dinosaur bones with his friends. It had been one of the most magical days ever when Pidge had dragged them both to the Museum of Science and Industry with her for the first time, intent on showing the island boys a little taste of what Chicago had to offer. They spent all day there and then went out for gyros afterward. Life had been easier then.

"That sounds awesome, Hunk," Lance told him, meaning it. "I wish I could."

Hunk's face crumpled, so he hid his disappointment by being extremely dutiful in scraping the batter from the bowl to the skillet. Lance wondered if he should change the plan a little. Maybe he should call Allura and they could all just go to the Museum together. He'd make dinner tomorrow, stretch the birthday out for a few days to make it last longer. If there weren't a dozen people coming over tonight expecting food and a cake, he probably would have done it.

"Maybe you and I can go later," Lance suggested hopefully. "Or maybe I can finish my stuff and meet you there for a couple hours this afternoon. It's not far away, right?" Lance went through his calendar and to-do list as he spoke. If he pushed back the laundry until tomorrow and went to the store the second that Pidge left with Hunk and walked extremely quickly, then maybe that could work. The idea that Lance could meet up with them later brightened Hunk considerably.

"That would be great," Hunk said with so much conviction that Lance felt absolutely compelled to make it happen. "Just like old times."

"I'll hurry," Lance promised just as Pidge let herself in. Her inquisitive eyes took in everything in an instant, and she jumped into the conversation as if she'd been there all along.

"No, Hunk needs to hurry," Pidge chastised, pulling off her coat and making a shooing gesture at Hunk at the same time. She shifted into a lecture. "Come on. You're not even dressed and they open in twenty minutes! If we're going to have the best day ever, I'm going to need some cooperation here."

"Best day ever?" Hunk echoed like he had no idea what Pidge was talking about. Or maybe that such a thing wasn't going to be possible.

"Yes," Pidge said, rather manically. "Starting from the very dawn of time, there were about five million things that had to go exactly right to put you on this earth, and so the anniversary of all that success simply must be celebrated with the best day ever – damn the admittance committee to hell." Pidge spoke faster and faster until she got to the very end where her throat seemed to close up on her, Lance's first and only indication that she was suffering as much as Hunk was. He made the mistake of watching her too hard and with too much sympathy, causing her to jerk her head down. Lance's instinct was to go to her, but he knew that touching her right now was a bad choice. He looked instead over at Hunk, who was normally much more receptive to comfort, but Hunk was fixated on Pidge, immobile and rigid. Lance saw a delicacy between them, something that had cracked along with Pidge's voice, and Lance understood that they were both going to force themselves into a good day for each other's sake.

"Pull out the skillet if the timer rings before I get back," Hunk instructed Lance as he detached himself and disappeared around the corner to follow Pidge's directions. Meanwhile, Pidge angrily dragged her arm across her eyes, plopping down at the table across from Lance.

"You all right?" Lance bravely asked.

"Shut the hell up," Pidge returned. "It's the best fucking day ever."

Lance took a long swallow of coffee, suddenly glad that he'd excused himself from going with them. He wondered if they'd make it out of the apartment, much less the six miles up Lake Shore Drive. He also wondered how he was supposed to comfort Pidge without getting snapped at. He silently judged her reaction to different phrases like "they have no idea what they're missing" and "I hate them for you" but decided in the end that the safest thing would be to just keep quiet. When Pidge was ready, she'd start talking.

"You're all set for when we get back, right?" Pidge finally initiated conversation again, the snarl gone from her tone, knowing Hunk would return any minute.

"I will be," Lance promised. "Cuban comfort food for twelve."

"Twelve?" Pidge checked. The last time she'd given him a headcount, the number had been lower.

"Uh, yeah," Lance confirmed, hoping he hadn't just gotten himself in trouble. "There's your five physicist friends, then the three of us, then Keith and Shiro, and . . . Romelle and Allura?"

"Lance, really," Pidge warned him around a tight jaw and shoulders that were suddenly up around her ears. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I am in no mood for –"

"Romelle is the girl that Keith saved and Allura's her best friend," Lance explained quickly before Pidge tightened to the point where she exploded. He thought he might have broken her anyway since she paused, her head tilting and her eyebrows scrunching together, her lips flattening into an incredulous line. He heard her take an exaggerated breath.

"You're joking," she said, all emotion gone from her voice. As though she still had to say that line even though she already knew he'd never joke about something like that. Her face went slack. "It's like your whole life is a movie."

"I just found out yesterday," Lance continued, not sure what his words were going to do to help but something shivery in his chest was forcing him to speak. "Keith and I were in this coffeeshop when Allura came in with Romelle and –"

"Stop talking," Pidge cut him off, disgusted. "That's ridiculous." Lance obediently clicked his teeth shut. Pidge had her head in her hands now, elbows on the table, a portrait of a long, frustrated night followed up by a little too much reality distortion from Lance this morning. Lance reminded himself that he absolutely should not put a hand on her shoulder.

"So," Pidge breathed, talking to the table. "You discovered you all knew each other yesterday, Keith probably talked Allura into forgiving you, and now you're telling me that you purposefully asked for Keith and Allura to be in the same room with you at the same time?" Pidge lowered her shoulders incrementally as she thought about that. As she sorted through all the data that Lance had just given her. "At Hunk's birthday party?"

"Well when I invited them to come I thought it would actually be a party," Lance defended himself and simultaneously put himself into new danger. "I can call and cancel if you want me to."

"No, no," Pidge said, shaking her head as she lifted it, spreading her hands out across the table. "I think I want to be there for that. And here I thought we were being masochistic today." Lance heard her murmur the last bit under her breath. The timer rang before he'd decided if he were going to say anything about it, forcing him out of the conversation in order to pull Hunk's skillet out of the oven, a beautiful, fragrant pastry bubbled up high in the middle of it.

"Was that the timer?" Hunk brought himself back into the room just as Lance was coming out of the kitchen with the skillet.

"Ack!" Lance exclaimed, watching as the gorgeous puff popped open in a flush of steam and deflated in his hands before he'd had a chance to set the thing down on the table. He froze lest he cause more damage, eyes wide in guilt as he watched Hunk's reaction. "Hunk! I'm sorry! What did I do?"

Whatever he'd done to the pastry, it actually rewarded Lance with the first genuine smile from Hunk that he'd seen in a long time. And he heard Pidge snickering from the table too. Lance didn't trust himself to move, afraid that he would break whatever was going on here.

"It's a Dutch baby, Lance," Hunk explained, nodding toward the table, an invitation for Lance to put it down. "You didn't do anything; it's supposed to sink like that."

And even though Pidge had been in a rush when she arrived, she didn't say a word as Hunk doctored the weirdly named pancake thing with berry compote and powdered sugar. She held her peace as he dished it up with eggs and sausage on the side. And she ate every bite on her plate with dedicated enjoyment while Lance watched them both. If he didn't know about yesterday, if he hadn't been here before breakfast was on the table, he could have pretended that this was an ordinary Saturday. One like the dozens of others where the three of them had sat at this table and eaten breakfast together, or dinner, or worked on homework or electronics or a crowded combination of them all. He hoped that the JPL thing wouldn't sour any of the future memories they would make together. That there wouldn't be a before and after, separated by quiet tension. He hoped that their disappointment and his relief would level out sometime in the very near future.

When breakfast was over, Lance ushered his friends out the door with the assurance that he didn't mind cleaning up after them and thanks for the food, it was marvelous even if it did have a strange name. He exchanged a meaningful look with Pidge as she was leaving. She was going to give Hunk the birthday he deserved if it killed her. And Lance already knew that Hunk would pretend to enjoy it if it killed him. And hopefully, at some point, they would both not need to try so hard to make it happy. But until that happened, Lance intended on doing what he could to help them.

He thought about his own dedication to other people's happiness as he washed up the dishes. How he was preparing to settle himself between Keith and Allura as a best friend and boyfriend and how it might take some getting used to, but with time and effort, he thought it would be the same as Pidge and Hunk getting used to not going to JPL like they expected. And how someday it would feel as though it could not have turned out any other way. Lance had known that something big was happening; he'd talked about it with Hunk last Monday morning before taking Keith to court. Something huge was going to change. Now that change had happened, and even though Lance hadn't pegged what it would be, he had been anticipating that something massive was going to shift his life. And he was going to run with it, just like everyone else was doing around him. But first he was going to wash the sheets and towels. He had planned to skip it, but looking out his window at the snow made him want to procrastinate the long walk to the store for just a few more minutes. So sheet washing was back on the schedule.

Well, he was going to wash Hunk's sheets at least. His still smelled a bit like Keith, and even though Lance had firmly decided on moving forward for the sake of everyone including himself, he didn't see the harm in holding on to just that tiny thing for a few more days, or however long the scent would last on his pillow. Ease the transition a little.

Lance stripped Hunk's bed and threw all the laundry together into one of the big mesh bags that Hunk had specifically for this kind of thing. Then he indulged in kicking the floppy bundle all the way down the stairs instead of carrying it, his inner ten-year-old enjoying watching the amoebic mass flipping over itself through three entire stories while he justified his decision in that it was actually safer since he couldn't see the stairs if he had everything in his arms. Besides, he was going to wash it anyway, right?

He regained his maturity on the first floor, scooping up the bag and carrying it properly into the laundry room, where he sighed at the sight out of the windows. It wasn't snowing, but it was yet another gray and dreary January day. Windy, of course. Probably the bitter kind of cold that would partially freeze his blood while he walked, making his legs feel weird and tingly for hours after he got back. The closest grocery store that had what he needed was still almost six miles away, and the more Lance thought about that, the more convicted he became that he had to find a ride somehow for the sake of time and potential hypothermia. Hunk's car was gone already, six miles in a different direction. Allura had a car, but Lance wondered if that would be too much to ask her to come to a party almost nine hours early so she could drive her stranded boyfriend to the grocery store. Lance didn't want to start that way. He'd have to suck it up and try that Uber thing that Pidge had installed on his phone even though he wasn't keen on the idea of strangers picking him up and taking him somewhere. But it would be warmer, and he wouldn't have to carry everything so far. And it might get him home early enough that he could meet up with Hunk and Pidge at the Museum.

Tucking the laundry detergent under his arm, Lance dashed back up the stairs to get his wallet and phone and see how that app worked. He'd already written out the list of what he'd need, but he went through it again in his head as he walked down the hall from the stairwell. Plantains, but he needed bananas too, chicken, they already had the rice. He'd have to double check the flour and sugar.

Distracted, he let himself back in to the apartment, nodding as he ticked off each ingredient and when he'd need it during preparations, murmuring them out loud as he stepped through the door, where he immediately registered unexpected movement and sound that threw his heart into his throat and right out of his mouth.

"Rainbow sherbet and Sprite and what the hell?"

Lance dropped the detergent, shocked to find someone in his apartment, though he was certain he'd left it empty and he'd only been gone a few minutes. His muscles jammed together as his brain and body fought with each other. His body was still working on the 'enter the apartment' programming, which conflicted with the frantic new spark of, 'get out of here now!'

"It's just me!" The movement and voice came together to form a word, then an image of a dark-haired boy in black jeans and a maroon sweatshirt, hands extended in peaceable fashion, and eyes that were too large on his face.

"Keith, you scared me to death!" Lance squawked, his heart rate downshifting. The hand that had been holding the laundry soap pressed against Lance's chest as he looked between Keith standing in his kitchen and his dropped detergent. Fortunately, the fall hadn't caused the lid to pop off. Lance was embarrassed enough. Had he screamed? He couldn't remember. He really hoped he hadn't. What was Keith even doing here? Not that Lance could be anything other than uncomfortably delighted to see him, but he had to wonder what brought Keith to his apartment. And when? Lance had only been gone a few minutes, how had they missed each other in the hall?

"You left the door unlocked," Keith said, as if that were an explanation. "I figured you hadn't gone far and thought it'd be ok to let myself in. I . . .didn't mean to scare you." As he talked, Keith walked toward Lance, glancing at the detergent on the floor, but Lance darted too quickly and picked it up before Keith could.

Lance tried to take a deep breath to calm down, but it wasn't every day that people just appeared in his apartment. It didn't help that he hadn't been planning on seeing anyone until much later today; he thought he'd be alone. It also didn't help that Keith sort of took his breath away just by looking at him.

"It … is ok, right?" Keith pressed, and Lance saw him as he must have looked when he realized that he'd have to move again, that whatever foster family he was staying with had made the decision that they couldn't handle him anymore and wanted him gone. He stood uncertainly, awkwardly between the front door and the table, wondering if he'd made some kind of unfixable mistake, wondering if he'd been wrong about being allowed in this space now that everything was over. Lance took another breath, knowing that Keith was misinterpreting Lance's surprise, because being unwanted was Keith's default setting.

"Of course it's ok," Lance told him, rearranging his features so he could smile, finally taking the final steps into his own apartment and closing the door behind him, needing to reassure Keith that this was one place where he would be accepted, all the time. "You're always welcome, Keith."

His words made Keith smile, a rare and beautiful thing. That's right, Keith. You know I'm telling you the truth. It's ok to smile. God, you're pretty when you smile. Lance forced himself to swallow, then move, trying to be natural in his own environment. Keith is welcome here. So am I. And we can coexist here together; we've done it before.

"So where's Shiro?" Lance asked Keith, just so they could talk, so they wouldn't be standing there staring at each other. Lance made his way to the hall closet to replace the detergent, grabbing a couple dryer sheets while he was there so he could take them down with him later. Natural. Keith followed him to answer the question.

"He's working today," Keith said, sounding suspiciously guilty. "There's a pile of stuff that needs to get done since he missed so many hours last week." Oh, that's where the guilt came from. Keith was still feeling bad that he'd demanded so much care and attention, forced so many people to rearrange their lives for him. Still felt as though he didn't quite deserve it. The emotion didn't stop as Keith made eye contact with Lance, only deepened. "You probably have a ton to catch up on too, don't you?"

Lance shrugged it off. "No more than usual, but that's tomorrow's schedule," he dismissed lightly. "Today my biggest worry is getting to Mi Mexico grocery store on 59th and Rockwell."

The response puzzled Keith. Lance could see him process both the name and the address, but it did the trick of calling Keith's attention away from his unwarranted guilt. "You know anyone with a car?" Lance asked him.

"Yeah," Keith responded, straightening, coming back into himself. "I've got Shiro's. Do you . . . I can drive you, if you want."

"That would be great, if you have time," Lance acknowledged, relieved and happy. This was a million times better than an Uber. Keith shrugged.

"That's why I came over," Keith said. "To see if you needed any help." For some reason, Lance didn't think Keith was telling the whole truth here. Not that he was lying, just that he was holding something back. Lance suspected it had something to do with the prospect of staying alone in Shiro's apartment all day while he was at work, how that would be too new and lonely and strange. Lance knew he'd feel like that if he were in Keith's position. He'd want any excuse to not stay home alone too. And now neither of them had to be alone, and Lance could spend the entire day with Keith. Perfect. Sort of.

"I need all the help I can get," Lance told him, genuine. "This birthday really needs to go well, so I'm glad you're here."

"Huh?" Keith asked, looking confused again, but no longer self-conscious, no longer worried. Lance slipped his phone, wallet, and list into his pockets before grabbing both their coats.

"I'll tell you on the way," he promised.

As Keith drove, Lance filled him in on what had happened last night, starting with the internship position itself and how much work his friends had put into their application. He went through it all, the Metallica, the missing radio, how both Hunk and Pidge were still in denial, not talking about it, forcing themselves to keep going like it hadn't affected them at all. How he felt like such a jerk for being relieved that they wouldn't be moving away and now felt extremely responsible for making sure that the party was an uplifting, positive experience to take everyone's minds off the disappointment.

Lance hadn't really meant to put in that last part. His feelings about the internship weren't important at all, but Keith was so quietly attentive through the whole thing that it seemed so safe to tell him. And it made Lance feel so much better to finally confess about it, sitting there in the passenger seat of the Altima. Keith drove Shiro's car with casual ease, eyes on the road, but Lance still knew that he held Keith's complete attention. He continued to listen as they walked through the icy parking lot of the store, silently grabbing a cart for Lance while he unburdened himself to Keith about what a jerk he was for wanting his friends to fail.

"How awful is that?" Lance burst out at the end. "I shouldn't be happy about this when they're so upset."

"That's not it," Keith told him, looking around the unfamiliar aisles of the store. It wasn't too busy for a Saturday morning, but the design felt crowded and close. "You aren't happy because they're disappointed; you just wanted to stay together. But I see your point on making the party extra special. What's the plan?"

"I'm making dinner," Lance started, then realized how completely boring that sounded. "It's just this Cuban thing that my mom made all the time, but it's one of Hunk's favorites and I don't make it very often. And I'm going to try and make a hummingbird cake."

"Hummingbird cake?" Keith repeated, in exactly the same tone of voice that Lance had used when he'd learned about it. It didn't even sound like cake – it was full of bananas and pineapple. The most tropical dessert that Lance could find that was still cake-like enough to stick candles in.

"That'll be new," Lance admitted. "I've never made a cake before, but how hard could it be? Then we somehow have to convince Hunk and Pidge to go through with their radio test. They were so excited and went to all that trouble to get their ham radio licenses. But we'll have to look around for the radio. I can't find it, and I'm a little worried that Hunk took it apart yesterday. Do you think you could put it back together if he did?"

"I . . ." Keith paused, overwhelmed.

"Hunk said you put the dial in," Lance reminded him.

"Sure, the dial. They did all the hard, technical stuff," Keith protested. Lance was ready to let it go; they didn't even know if the radio were in pieces or not yet, and he didn't want to push Keith too hard. He added canned pineapple and Sprite to their cart, moving on to the produce when Keith seemed to make up his mind about something.

"I'll try," Keith said, with such determination in his voice that Lance melted a little inside. The way Keith spoke reminded Lance that having friends was a relatively new thing for him, that he wasn't sure how it worked, and he wasn't used to any of this.

"That's more than enough," Lance emphasized, wanting him to understand that it was the attempt, the thought, that would be appreciated even if he didn't succeed. And it might be completely fine. Hunk might have just moved the radio to his closet or something and there would be no assembly necessary.

The rest of their shopping adventure was slightly less intense, and extremely enjoyable for Lance. He showed Keith the difference between bananas and plantains as he put both into the cart. They debated on how many chickens it would take to feed twelve people – Lance's generous Cuban 'everyone needs to have enough to eat' combating with Keith's much more conservative 'six chickens is way too many. When was the last time you ate an entire half a chicken?' They settled on three, though Lance was more than certain that Hunk at least could eat half a chicken and Keith was certain that they still had one too many.

They paused in the baking aisle when a tiny woman stopped Lance, one look at him sufficient for her to assume correctly that he was both tall enough for what she needed and could speak her language well enough for her to ask. She needed help reaching a bottle of almond extract high on a top shelf. Her Spanish was languid and sweet, as rich as chocolate to Lance, and he smiled as he handed her the extract with a fond, "Aquí tienes, abuelita," knowing that even though she wasn't his grandmother, she wouldn't really mind if he called her that.

She responded in kind, calling him her son, "Gracias, mijo." She patted his arm before going on her way, and Lance watched her for a second before returning his attention to birthday candles. Though he noticed Keith staring at him oddly.

"What?" He asked, feeling heat rise in his face for no other reason than Keith was looking at him. He quickly turned toward the candles, deciding on whether he wanted the regular kind or the ones that wouldn't go out no matter how hard Hunk blew on them.

"Nothing," Keith said, unexpected warmth in his tone. "It's just cool, watching you do stuff like that. I like hearing you speak your own language."

Lance made a strange huffing sound. It was weird to be admired for something so simple, especially by Keith.

"Did you know her?" Keith wanted to know, almost as if he could tell how embarrassed Lance felt.

"No," Lance said dismissively, reaching for a pack of normal candles. Be normal. He began pulling the cart away, candles secure.

"Oh," Keith sounded surprised. "It looked like you did."

"Well, we're Latino, you know? That means we're all family in one way or another. You could walk up to anyone in this store and call them grandma, or sister, or cousin, and they'd probably just go with it." Lance hadn't meant the statement to have the impact it did, but Keith stopped walking, grabbing on to the cart as if he needed something to steady him. Lance realized what he'd said, what it meant for Keith who had grown up without anything even close to a family.

"You too," Lance reminded him, which made Keith turn toward him, looking wounded and hesitantly hopeful. "You're part of our family now, like it or not."

Keith gave a little bark of a laugh that had too much of a different emotion in it. And even though Lance knew he shouldn't, he reached out to put a hand on Keith's arm anyway, making sure that Keith understood that Lance meant what he said. Keith stared at him, eyes unquestionably violet, and huge, surprisingly innocent even after all Keith had been through.

"Lance?" Keith began, though Lance had nothing to communicate in words here. Having a hand on Keith again spread warmth all down that side of his body, and he fought with himself on taking another step closer. Only friends, Lance told himself, removing his hand with dedicated effort. If I want him to stay in my life, we have to keep it at friends. Don't make it weird.

"Come on," Lance invited, pushing the cart toward the frozen aisle. "Let's see what kind of sherbet this place has so we can make punch."

By the time they'd gathered everything on Lance's list and were placing it on the belt at the cashier, Keith was shaking his head and making little frustrated noises to the point where Lance had to look up from double checking that he'd remembered everything to see what was going on.

"What's up, Keith?" He asked, slightly concerned.

"Nothing," Keith denied, but then decided that he was going to say what he was thinking anyway. "How the hell were you going to get all this back to the apartment?"

"Carry it?" Lance answered, but his voice tapered off as Keith gestured to all the groceries, looking at him with one eyebrow raised as though he were patiently waiting for Lance to realize something. Like how there was no way one person could carry three whole chickens, six liters of soda, two gallons of sherbet, and all the other little pieces of birthday that lay scattered among the larger items.

"Six miles in the snow?" Keith forced the insanity of his plan onto him.

"I was going to try that Uber thing," Lance defended himself, not particularly sure he was pronouncing Uber correctly. "Pidge put it on my phone, but then you showed up just in time. Thanks."

"Next time just call me," Keith instructed, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. As if Lance had ever called him and actually got him to answer. But he wasn't going to point that out while Keith already looked insulted about it.

"I will," Lance promised, which seemed to satisfy Keith. They piled the bags into the trunk of the Nissan and were already on the way back home before Keith spoke again. Lance stared out the window, waiting for the lake to come back into view, deliberately scanning for it so he wouldn't keep sneaking glances at Keith. It was enough that he was sitting next to him, a presence that excited and soothed him at the same time.

"So, um, when's your birthday?" Keith asked out of nowhere, giving Lance an excuse to turn his head back Keith's direction.

"July 28th," he answered, glad for a summer birthday when Chicago attempted to mimic Cuba a little in its weather patterns. Half drowning its citizens in humidity and heat. Last year, Lance had tried going to the lake front, to the sandy patches around it, pretending it was the beach. It kind of worked. "You?"

"Shiro says it's October 23rd," Keith replied without much fanfare, and he switched the subject back to Lance almost immediately, though at this point, Lance felt slightly crushed. Had Keith even had a birthday before Shiro found him? "Are birthdays different in Cuba? What kind of stuff did you do?"

"No, they're pretty much the same," Lance answered, trying to shake off these dark hints that Keith kept casually throwing out there, that he didn't seem to notice drenched Lance in icy sorrow. Instead Lance forced himself to think of his own childhood, something he could share with Keith by remembering cakes and candles, piñatas, and the one year they had roasted a whole pig. "Everybody comes. There were a lot of years where I didn't know hardly anyone who showed up, and when I was younger, I was put to bed way earlier than my own party ended."

Keith made a small sound of amusement at that, pulling up to a red light. "Shiro took me to the air field once," he volunteered with obvious enthusiasm, sharing one of his favorite memories. "We watched the military jets coming and going with binoculars behind the fence. I don't think we were really supposed to be there, but no one tells Shiro what to do."

Lance internally thanked Shiro, again, for giving Keith a glimpse of what normal kids can expect on birthdays. Then he decided that this year, he'd give Keith a Cuban birthday. The kind where the whole neighborhood shows up. He'd roast him a pig; Hunk would love to have an excuse to do that. The plan hitched in his mind when he remembered how many months away October was, but he smoothed it over quickly. Hunk and Pidge were staying. Keith was pulling into a guest parking lot at the apartment complex with a confidence that meant he was getting used to being here. In nine months, they'd have settled into routine. They would know how they fit together and be closer than ever. It was already easing into place.

Together, Keith and Lance managed to get all the shopping bags through the snow, into the elevator, and up to the apartment in one trip. Though Keith muttered the entire time about how Lance was incapable of asking for help and what was up with that anyway? Lance pretended he didn't hear him. If he'd really needed help, he would have asked for it. But the "need" threshold was so high. He was used to just figuring things out on his own.

They separated only for a few minutes so Lance could run down to the laundry room to switch the sheets over to the dryer. When he came back, he showed Keith some of the pictures Hunk and Pidge were sending from the Museum. Hunk standing for scale beside the massive T-Rex, Sue. Whale bones suspended from a ceiling in a dark room. It reminded Lance that he hadn't taken a photo yet of Keith – a problem he remedied on the spot by snapping about five candids of Keith emptying out the contents of the grocery bags onto the table.

"What are you doing?" Keith demanded, blinking at him.

"Pictures, remember?" Lance said, grabbing one more now that Keith was actually looking at him. He checked the phone, curious to see whether Keith's peculiar eye color would show up properly in photos. Disappointingly, it seemed not to. They just looked nondescript and sort of gray. "My family wants me to send more pictures."

Keith shook his head, still unconvinced that anyone would want to see a picture of him. Lance just smiled at him, wishing he could tell him how important he was, what he meant to Lance. But that was taking things a little too far, and Lance did not want to ruin the good vibe they had going. So he went to work. There were chickens and sweet potatoes to roast, a cake to bake, a radio to find.

Through all the prep, Keith remained an arm's length away. Sometimes at the table, watching Lance do one-person jobs. Other times he fetched and carried, holding tape for streamers, blowing up some balloons. They put on some music, ingredients disappearing from the table as Lance transformed them into their final forms. They finally found the radio, stuffed in a box underneath Hunk's bed, thankfully still in one piece. Lance set it up as the centerpiece on the table, on top of the galaxy-themed tablecloth he'd bought online.

They talked as they worked. About Hunk, who Keith didn't know much about but wanted to know more. About music, which Keith also didn't seem to have an opinion on. The boy was like a blank page, ready to accept Lance's commentary on just about everything. They texted pictures back and forth with Pidge, and Lance noticed that their expressions seemed less strained as the day went on. They looked to be truly enjoying themselves, though Lance had to be careful not to let Keith see some of the things that Pidge texted once she found out that Lance was alone in the apartment with Keith. From some of her suggestions, Lance was certain that Hunk hadn't filled her in on all the details yet. He'd have to figure out how to do it soon, before she came home, or it could ruin all the good that was happening today.

Breaks happened as both Lance and Keith had to pause to accept phone calls. Krolia contacted Keith, giving him an update on how things were going with his financial paperwork. Keith pulled Lance into the conversation for a few minutes to discuss Keith's health and when it might be appropriate to have a medical exam performed. Lance had no idea what Keith's bloodwork had to do with finance, but he said it would probably be best to schedule this after Keith was finished taking prescribed medication. That conversation finished with Krolia promising to take Keith to lunch sometime soon, and Lance speculating that if Shiro hadn't beat her to it, Krolia would have adopted Keith herself.

Lance's call came from Dr. Delacroix, who informed him that she had spoken with Dr. Coran, and they were both going to talk to the College Dean about letting Lance shadow at the ER for credit if that was something he wanted to do.

"Yes!" Keith hissed at him, though Lance remained undecided. He stood there in the kitchen in the middle of shredding three chicken carcasses. Could he really handle the pressure of the ER? Lance glanced at Keith, who nodded encouragingly to him. "Do it," he mouthed.

"Lance?" Dr. Delacroix checked to make sure he was still there. She had expected him to be faster in answering.

"Ok," Lance burst out, wondering if this was something he could back out of once he'd started. Somehow, he didn't think so. Keith flashed him that knee-buckling smile as he agreed, which meant that Lance only barely heard the rest of what Dr. Delacroix said. Something about a schedule. He'd have to confirm by email later.

"How come everyone thinks I can do this except me?" Lance wondered out loud, surprised that he sounded breathless, as though he'd just made some sort of crossroads deal with the devil.

"I don't know," Keith mused as he poured Lance a cup of coffee that Lance had begged him to make. The good, rich black stuff that tasted like lightning and home and something else that Lance hadn't bothered placing yet. "Because the guy that found me in that apartment seemed pretty damn confident about what he could do and completely saved my life, so it doesn't really make sense, does it?"

Lance braced himself on the counter, overcome by Keith's encouragement. He wished they could still touch each other the way they once had, so easily, so often. Right now all he wanted to do was lean his head against Keith's chest. He was standing close enough to do it. He was right there.

"Lance?" Keith said his name questioningly. He did it a lot, that unasked question that started and ended with Lance's name. It probably meant something different every time he did it, but lately it sounded too much like an invitation, and Lance needed to move away quickly before he did something he would regret.

"I'll be right back," Lance excused himself, knowing that even if Keith thought he was acting weird, it was nothing compared to how he could embarrass himself if he didn't take a few minutes out of this room. "I'm going to check the mail. Then we'll do the cake, ok?"

"Sure," Keith said, backing off, and Lance felt something slip between them. He awkwardly escaped to the hallway, bringing his phone with him so he could ask Hunk to tell Pidge that Lance was dating Allura now so she could knock it off with all the images she was putting into Lance's head of how he and Keith could be spending their time alone together right now. Then he rubbed his hands over his face to scrub his mind of those exact, rather tempting images. He even leaned against the cold of the metal mailboxes for a moment, gaining his composure for both returning to Keith and joining Dr. Delacroix in the ER. What had happened to her last student? He wondered if she'd even tell him if he asked.

He grabbed the contents of the slot without really looking at it, folding his hand around it and jogging back up the stairs, ready to keep going. Keith looked up from where he was cleaning the counter of chicken juices, but didn't say anything as Lance joined him again. Lance smiled at him before thumbing quickly through the mail. There was never a lot. On Saturdays, a huge clump of coupons for the local restaurants and things showed up without fail, and for a second, Lance thought that was the only thing that had come. But no, there was one envelope in the chaos of loose-leaf flyers.

"Oh my God," Lance whispered in astonishment, recognizing the NASA logo in the top left corner. It was addressed to Hunk, except his real, full name was typed formally in the exact center. It looked so strange to see Hunk's true name, apostrophes and all.

"Lance?" Keith noticed that Lance stood shocked in the entryway, and Lance tightened his grip on the coupons so he wouldn't drop something else in front of Keith today. "What is it?"

"It's from JPL," Lance tried to raise his voice enough that it could actually be heard, but it was hard to say anything while his insides were twisting up so violently inside him. "A letter for Hunk."

"An acceptance letter?" Keith checked, hurrying over to inspect the envelope himself. "Do you think Pidge got one too?"

"Probably – they applied as a team," Lance spoke words that he didn't even hear himself say. "You're late," he said scoldingly to the unobtrusive, plain white envelope, his voice infuriatingly choked up. "You caused so much trouble."

"Should we open it?" Keith speculated, but Lance didn't need to. The unsuccessful candidates had been notified via a post script at the bottom of a website, unworthy of the cost of postage. Lance knew what this piece of paper said. Congratulations. You're a wizard. We're bringing you into our program and your muggle roommate can't come.

"No," Lance denied quietly, leaning the envelope against the radio on the table. "I'm not opening someone else's birthday present."

"Lance, you ok?"

"Of course I'm ok," Lance said, a little too fiercely, but he needed to make himself believe it. They were going to be so happy. They were going to be over the moon, almost literally. Lance had to be happy along with them. Keith placed a hand on Lance's shoulder, too gently. "I'm such a jerk."

Keith pulled Lance closer, and Lance let him do it. "That's not true," Keith told him, and Lance tried to nod, to accept that, but was finding it difficult. "You're allowed to be happy for them and sad for yourself at the same time." The sophistication of this answer surprised Lance, momentarily distracting him from focusing on his upcoming separation. It made him realize that Keith was holding him, that he was folded up against him. That it was so warm inside his arms. Lance closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it for just a few seconds. He let himself pretend. But he couldn't stay here. The truth was too heavy and dominating. Hunk and Pidge. Keith and Allura.

Romelle.

Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, Lance pushed himself backward, forcing himself to smile at Keith. "Thanks," he said gratefully. Thanks for that memory, that heat, that moment. "Let's make a cake, yeah?"

Lance decided to wait to tell Hunk about the letter. He seemed to genuinely be enjoying himself at the Museum now, and Lance knew if he said anything about it, they would come rushing home. And he didn't want that yet. He wanted to stay with Keith a little longer in this strange bubble, before he knew for certain what was going to happen. Before everything shifted again. He complimented Keith again on the coffee. They made a huge mess with Hunk's electric mixer, and Keith teased Lance about the metric system and how it wasn't on a single one of Hunk's measuring cups.

As far as Lance was concerned, the afternoon could have lasted for the rest of time. Then he'd never know if he were going to be a disappointment or not to Dr. Delacroix. He'd never know what it felt like to help Hunk pack up his things to leave. It would be just Keith, here with him, skeptically dumping an entire can of crushed pineapple into the cake batter, asking him questions about dinner, about his family, about Cuba.

But just as with the court case, time didn't care about Lance's opinion of how fast it should move. All too soon, Keith was pulling on his coat because it was time for him to go pick up Shiro from the office. The text came from Hunk that the Museum was closed, so they were on their way home. In less than an hour, this apartment would be filled with a dozen people.

And in less than a month, Lance would be the only one here.

Author's Note: I know – a little shorter and sweeter than you're used to. (there also might be more errors. My keyboard has started sticking, so I imagine more typos have weeded their way in where I didn't notice.) But I wanted to give you something, and this seemed a good place to pause for a minute until we get into the party. Where it's going to get tense again. There need to be more pictures taken before I break this group into pieces.