Everyone knew Allura had white hair.
It was a sign of her lineage, her as a person and whatever style it was put up in showed her mood for the day.
Most days she let it flow loose.
Letting it float in whatever wind it caught. Hypnotising. Swirling and twisting as it followed the air.
Or sometimes she wore it in a crazy hair style.
Like when the mice had done it for her to keep her busy all those years ago. Mesmerising. Poofy and free as it ignored all rules of gravity.
Lance hadn't ever told her but he loved her hair.
He wanted to plait it for her, like he'd done to his sisters. Put beads in or jewels to highlight her beauty. Or just kiss individual strands as he told her he loved her.
Her hair isn't like that anymore.
Now it's grey and it doesn't flow. It's heavy and doesn't move, no matter how strong the wind. Gravity keeps it under its laws as it stays frigid. Cut into a sharp state that isn't malleable.
The statue of Allura is nothing like the real her. Everyone knew her white hair, what it did, what it looked like — except the sculpter.
But if someone asked, he'd say he loved it. Because when he stared up at it, it reminded him of her.
But only Allura had Allura hair and that's what kept him sane.
No one in all the universe could have her soft curls, it's freedom, it's life, like she did. And the glimpses he got out of the corner of his eye as he worked on his farm didn't help.
He just felt like he was going crazy.
No one had Allura's hair, only she did.
He wiped the sweat off his face with the back of a muddy hand. He got up from his plucking, the basket holding carrots in his arm as he looked around.
No kids were coming today, it's only me. No one else.
So why did he keep seeing her white hair in the corner of his eye?
It must have been the sun raining down on him.
He hefted the woven basket with him and brought it inside. He lightly kicked open his front door before squirming out of his wellingtons. Once only in his blue socks, he moved towards the kitchen to set the carrots down.
I'm probably dehydrated; I've been working since seven in the morning.
He ignored his sweaty state, pushing his hair — brown, dull, floppy — from his eyes. He slid over to the sink and inspected his glasses before picking one up.
He liked his blue glasses. If he put the cup over his eye, it turned everything a nice shade of sea-blue. If he squinted enough, it was like he was back in space with her.
He shuffled over to his fridge wondering where his cat had gotten to. Her food bowl was still untouched from this morning. He brought his watch to his face.
1:03pm. Hmm.
Rosalina could fight for herself so if she'd went exploring, she would be fine. He pulled open the fridge, scooping around for some orange juice.
I remember when it used to be food goo for everything. He chuckled to himself in the quiet of everything, only the birds tweeting outside.
He pulled out the jug of the home-made mixture and rested it on the table. Allura would have loved it here... If only we had more time.
Despite the years that had gone by, his chest still panged. He doubted he would ever stop loving her.
He tilted the jug over his blue glass, waiting until the right time to stop pouring. Feeling someone stare at him, his eyes flickered around.
"Quiznack."
Too busy looking around, his glass began to overspill and he put down the jug to look for a cloth.
He was becoming more scatterbrained lately, always spotting someone with white hair walking past. Whether that was in the city streets, in the barn with Kalternecker or when talking to the other Paladins.
But he wasn't going crazy.
He mopped up the wasted citrus drink. The wooden table going to smell of it for a while if he didn't act fast.
He wringed it over the sink when it had soaked in as much as it could before bringing it back to clean again.
"Almost done."
He was and it was whilst he was wringing the cloth out for the second time, that something white ran across the edge of his vision. He span aroun to follow it, dropping the tea towel in the sink.
"Who's there?"
He wasn't scared of things as he used to be. The war against the Galra making everything he used to fear ineffective.
He scanned his kitchen but nothing was out of the ordinary. The lights weren't flickering since none were on with the light spiling from outside, everything was in its right — although slightly messy — place and his carrots were where he left them.
Until one of the orange fruits started to roll.
"Okay, I'm being serious." He moved around the table slowly. "Just because I don't have my bayard doesn't mean I can't bring you down."
What he wasn't expecting in response was a laugh. Maybe someone bursting in but not an angel-like laugh. Her laugh. It put him on edge more than any bat-wielding freak could.
He swallowed, his hands shaking slightly. "All - Allura?"
The tinkling had stopped and he pressed himself against his dormant oven. I should've picked up a wooden spoon while I was next to the sink.
"Come out and fight me then!"
A warmth, like hands, enveloped both sides of his face and he stumbled forward, happy with running out of there. I could go to Hunk's.
His exit was blocked when the kitchen door shut before he could reach. He caught the white strands again and spun.
"Oka - Okay, this isn't funny anymore."
Pushing himself up against the table, he had no choice but to grasp his glass of OJ. If I'm going down, someone else was getting their clothes ruined.
He couldn't carefully scan the room when white danced across his vision and his hand jolted towards it. The orange juice sprayed over his kitchen but he would have been blind the miss the shape left that wasn't covered.
The Allura-shaped space.
"I'm sorry Lance for scaring you." Her voice was soft, lighter than air and his heart was pounding.
His throat was dry and he didn't know if he was dreaming, if the dehydration had gotten to him—
He could feel a moventment in the air like a helmet was took off and he couldn't breathe.
It was her white hair.
Up to her knees now, swirling, floating, drifting, like he remembered. The rest of her body came into view, the weird white suit orange now, as if she'd turned off her invisibility.
Laughter bled into her tone and he couldn't move. "But I love your home, especially this creature."
He could hear Rosalina's meow but he couldn't move his eyes from her face, tears pooling in his eyes.
"L - Lance? Are you alright?"
He dropped his blue glass on the floor, no time to contemplate if it would — it didn't matter. Launching himself into her arms, he wrapped his arms around her tight as sobs shook his chest.
"Please can you be real bec - because I can't... I can't talk to you now only for you to be gone."
She smelt like summer but he knew the dream-her smelt like it too.
His eyes stung and his chest heaved and he could only focus on the person in his arms. "I ne - need you Allura. I need you wi - with me."
She didn't reply and an overpowering wave of fear swelled in him. She wasn't real was she?
He moved to step back, ready to see her gone, that she was a figment of his imagination.
That he was alone again.
He couldn't wipe his burning eyes when he was yanked back into a tight grip, it almost crushing.
"Lance I've been trying - I've - I didn't know you've been feeling like this."
He could only focus on her warmth, that her shaking voice was talking back — the figment-her never spoke.
He raised his head slowly, placing his forehead against hers. "Are you real? Is it, is this, you?"
Her eyes were bluer than he remembered but that might have been because of the sheen in hers that he mirrored. "Yes Lance. I'm home."