It takes a close eye and no small amount of dedication to successfully tend to the Altean flowers that Lance has taken to planting around the borders of the food crop patches on the family farm. They didn't naturally evolve in this galaxy, yet many of them manage to thrive with the right attention.
It's not what he'd ever imagined for himself, but Lance takes pride in his work.
That's something that had come up early on in the now regularly-scheduled therapy his mama had convinced him to take up as he was settling back in to life on Earth. Work was a seemingly easy neutral topic meant to get Lance talking and eventually moving on to the harder-hitting topics. Without considering it, Lance had downplayed the whole thing, let himself repeat the same phrases that had become his go-tos.
"Well, it's no fighter pilot career, but I work on the family farm. I was always fighting so hard to avoid falling back on it growing up, but here I am."
The thing is, Lance had his taste of the alternative he'd spent so long fantasizing over with Voltron. He's still dealing with the bitter aftertaste of the team atmosphere that goes with that life in the way none of his old teammates have initiated contact since parting ways, the way he mentally kicks himself for not seeing it coming with how everyone was acting while Voltron was still needed. It's been less than a year since the final split, and Lance has made his rounds—multiple times for some—checking in, visiting, sending the friendly "how's it going" texts, and making future plans with the people he'd considered his second family, yet not one of them has initiated a text conversation of their own, let alone come to see him. That's probably yet another thing he should bring up with his therapist, but there's only so much time in a session.
They're still scratching the surface. Even with his vocation, Lance hasn't managed to reshape his thought process to the extent Dr. Jordan wants. He can admit to himself, Dr. Jordan, and most of his family that he's doing what's right for him, but when he imagines talking about it with anyone else…
"This isn't you," Lance thinks Hunk would say as he begins his day sowing a new row of crops. "You never wanted a laid-back life. What happened to the Lance always looking for the next adventure and trying to see something new? You can't tell me that Lance thinks growing the perfect zucchini is the thing to dedicate his life to."
Hunk doesn't say that though, because Hunk hasn't taken the time to see Lance's life since the war. Like the others, he's flexible enough with letting Lance come to him, but when it comes time for the other way around, there's never enough time, always too much going on. Hunk can't possibly leave the intergalactic dignitaries unfed or Shay unattended.
Let's ignore the entire back of house team that knows all the recipes by heart, Lance thinks. Let's forget Hunk knows Shay would be completely welcome to join for a weekend trip.
He doesn't understand what changed. Just like this isn't the same Lance from before, this can't possibly be the same Hunk he met on his second day at the garrison, his ride or die best friend who never failed to put everyone else above himself.
Not that it was a good thing to watch Hunk prioritize everyone but himself in the past, Lance corrects himself as he thinks it. It is good that Hunk prioritizes himself now, actually.
Lance had just always imagined he'd remain one of Hunk's priorities too.