*Allura*

Her heart stuttered when he smiled. Not because he'd said something romantic, and not because she was in love with him. Not because they were destined for one another, or that his laughter awakened her hidden feelings for him. It slammed against the confinement of her ribs because she knew. She knew how artificial his mask of happiness truly was. Every smile that fell from his lips was a lie, and Allura despised lies. But she hated seeing him suffer more. Her pulse quickened with rage at his laugh, at his cockiness, at his jokes. Every single time he talked, he tried to bury himself deeper into the persona that he'd woven for himself. She didn't care to understand his reasonings, although she might have wondered what they were. She merely wanted him to feel his misery. Or, more accurately, to show it. She knew, if he continued like this, he would never step past his ordeals. Allura rarely felt rage. But she could not contain how livid she felt when he sat, within sight but so far out of reach, and laughed like it was nothing. Like he was nothing. Allura knew what he was doing. She didn't know how, but she saw through him as if he were transparent. Perhaps Lotor's betrayal had ripped an opaque cloth from her naive eyes, or perhaps she knew Lance too well now for his ridiculousness. The span of Lance's captivity, when Lance was an unknown coordinate that had to obtained, Allura had felt helpless. Weak. And worried. When he returned, she'd felt relief. After he woke, she felt joy, if not shock. Now, she could only feel fury. And fury did not suit Allura well. It did not frequent her as often as it did Keith, or even Shiro. And it did not carry a layer of politeness because she was a Princess. She experienced it completely, the fire, the blind affinity for violence. Allura did not know how to deal with the emotion, but all too quickly, it washed away. And in the drenched ruins of her heart, she experienced true sorrow. Allura realized, Lance was not the same. And she didn't know why, or even what was so different. As she watched him from a separate world, she felt the gap amassing between them, and worried that it would only continue to grow.

*Romelle*

Romelle didn't know Lance. She'd only just met the members of Voltron, and until recently, she'd never really had many friends of her own. Her knowledge of Lance spanned from the few, brief interactions they'd shared before his capture, to the gripings of his teammates. She'd heard them call him a flirt. But she'd not once seen him flirt. They called him dumb, but she'd time and time again witnessed his deep understanding for strategy and his ability to quickly assess and adapt to a situation. Granted, he wasn't technologically smart, but by no means was he unintelligent. She definitely knew that he thought very much of himself, she could tell from his words and his body language. Or at least, she'd thought that originally, when she'd first met him. Now, as she observed him, she began to notice small gestures that belied his smiles. A hand shaking. A set of shoulders hunching. Two misty eyes narrowing. At first, she'd dismissed these underlying motions, but after she continued to see them, they screamed at her. She couldn't escape seeing the dark shades that surrounded his eyes, the nervous fidgeting, or even the stuttering. No one else commented about these things, so Romelle considered that, perhaps, she was either delusional, or he had always had these characteristics. But the longer the silence stretched, the more the tension in the space between the group tightened. Stress clung to the air, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath, fearing what might happen if they exhaled. Romelle didn't know what to do, or how to deal with her observations, so she kept quiet, concluding that, surely, someone else on the team had noticed. Yes, the motions were so obvious, someone was probably already planning how to deal with it. But, Romelle's discomfort only persisted, and it developed into a nagging thought, always prodding the back of her mind, never allowing her a moment to rest. Finally, she'd taken her concerns to Allura, hoping for release from her mind. Allura, however, offered no such comfort. She'd merely nodded and told Romelle, "I know. But I don't know what to do about it."

And that's when Romelle truly understood. There was much more beneath the surface. His gestures hinted at a storm under the depths, and no one knew how to deal with it. They could only sit on the shore, watching the ocean war with itself.

*Coran*

The product of war is often ruin.

Coran's uncle once recounted that old proverb to him, but Coran had never really dwelt on it. At the time, peace reigned over Altea, and Coran had no use for a saying about war. When he had thought about it, he'd assumed that his uncle meant the physical results of war. The destruction of worlds, the damage to nations and governments, or the grief assigned to families. Coran had never considered that the ruin ran much deeper than that. It seeped into minds. It rooted itself in the brains of soldiers, or generals, and even kings. Some went mad. Others knew war and only war, and grew violent. And still others...the survivors, they were left with the guilt. And the horrors that never ceased to be recounted, in their thoughts, and in their dreams. Coran had always feared that this ruin would fall onto Allura, the brilliant Princess whom he'd sworn to protect. But as the Paladins had fought harder, and longer, he dreaded the moment that one of them showed signs of this infestation. He'd suspected Shiro at times, Keith at others, and even Pidge. But never Lance. Coran had always assumed that Lance would forever be the optimist, the energetic star that spread its warmth and glow to the others, who desperately needed it. Ironically enough, it was Lance that seemed to hold the most ruin in his mind. The rot had already begun, and Coran knew that if someone didn't try to stop it, it would rule Lance forever. Except, that everyone appeared to be ignoring the Yalmor in the room. They purposefully avoided talking about Lance's time in imprisonment, and hesitation weighed down the entire team of Voltron. In the end, Coran decided, if no one else was going to talk to Lance, then he would have to be the one to do so. One day, when the team had stopped for supplies, he'd approached Lance and laid bare, in what Coran considered was an extremely tactful and sensitive manner, the facts about Lance's ruin. Of course, Lance didn't quite understand everything that Coran said, and he'd directly shifted the subject, which he appeared to comprehend all too well.

"Honestly, Coran, it's not a big deal. I mean, it wasn't like I was gone for a year or something. Hey, what are those animals called?"

Coran had become so engrossed in explaining the intricacies of the Florpax, including it's digestive tract and mating habits, that he'd quite forgotten his original intent, and spent thirty minutes teaching Lance about the orange, winged creatures instead. After they'd returned to the Lions, Coran had slapped his forehead with a resounding "Quiznack!" as accompaniment, and sighed. If Lance wanted to dodge all forward attempts to talk, then Coran would just have to find alternate methods.

A/N:

Hey! Thanks for all the reviews! You guys are so nice and encouraging, and you all brighten up my day. Also, the Florpax is something I made up, I don't think it's mentioned in Voltron anywhere.

I hope you all have a wonderful day!