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The castleship looked different at night. Or at least, Lance thought it did, since nighttime wasn’t exactly a concept in the far reaches of the universe. Sure, it got dark cyclically, but the Earth concept of night was unique.
As Lance wandered down the hall, he couldn’t help noticing each minute difference. Rather than a serene glow from the moon, LEDs illuminated the castle paths, their stark white color severe against silver walls and contrasting shadows. Under his feet, the floor was hard and created echoing sounds with each of his footsteps. It was a far cry from pliant soil and sand.
When he’d woken up in the middle of the not-night, Lance wasn’t sure what had compelled him to rise to his feet and confront all these disparities. All that guided him out of his room was a tugging in his gut. It was kind of ridiculous– who had somewhere to be at 3:00 AM? Still, he followed that tug, pushing himself out of bed and shaking out his stiff limbs. He’d pulled on his sweater and strode out the door a moment later, following the halls and his own gut instinct.
That was something he’d leaned into more and more since leaving Earth. His instincts were one of his few traits that hadn’t screwed him over. They’d led him to Shiro, after all. While he wasn’t as prone to impulse as Keith, he wasn’t so stubborn that he’d ignore when he felt something was off.
Speak of the devil. Just before Lance was about to pass the doorway to the kitchen, a barely-there clank sounded from inside, followed by a muffled “ shit .” He paused, waiting by the door to hear if Keith would respond to the sound of his footsteps and maybe invite him in.
Lance was met with silence. He snorted quietly. Of course Keith was trying to hide his kitchen escapades from his right-hand man. Maybe he was afraid that it was somehow embarrassing to be caught having a midnight snack, or he was trying to have a brooding sesh away from the team. With a wry grin, Lance clicked the button to open the kitchen doors and stepped inside. The sudden shift from dark to fully-lit caused him to hold a hand over his eyes, blinking so his pupils could adjust to the overheads.
He was met with a glorious, devastating sight. Keith wasn’t sitting at the island or lounging against a wall. No, Keith was seated atop the counter, purple eyes blown wide and mortified at being caught. Lance’s eyes caught on a bag Keith clutched between his hands: Hunk’s Space Yogurt Pretzels That Weren’t Really Pretzels or Yogurt (name coined by Pidge).
A moment of silence lasted between them, but it was only a beat.
“It seems our fearless leader has a secret sweet tooth,” Lance mused aloud, breaking the tension. Keith swallowed a mouthful he’d apparently squirreled away, crumbs falling from his cheeks. It should’ve been gross, but Lance couldn’t claim to have any normal opinions when it came to Keith Kogane.
“What do you want, Lance.” Keith’s tone was dry as he attempted to school his features into a neutral facade. Unfortunately for him, his acting was about as convincing as Coran high on a mind-control bug.
The former blue paladin shrugged and walked closer to Keith, hopping up on the island to sit across from him. The cold countertop seeped through the thin part of his slippers, waking him up further. His view of Keith from closer up allowed him to see more details he’d missed, like his leader’s hair tangled from what was likely an uneasy sleep, or the bruise that bloomed on a tantalizing patch of exposed collarbone.
“Food,” Lance lied. Hunger was less creepy than admitting that a mysterious gut force had guided him. Said gut was now attempting to do Olympic-level gymnastics in his stomach as Keith leaned across a cabinet to put away the not-yogurt pretzels, revealing a thin line of hard stomach over the band of his joggers.
Curse Allura and her impeccable taste in clothes.
“Then eat, I’m not stopping you,” Keith huffed in response. Bemused, Lance waited for another beat, but neither made a move to stand.
“You’re sitting in front of the snack cabinet.” Lance gestured to Keith, his grin widening into something more playful. The black paladin flushed, and quickly turned around to open up the cabinet and pull out a jar of some sort. He threw it at Lance, who reached for it just soon enough to prevent it from exploding across the kitchen.
Lance held the jar out in front of him, rotating it to read the label.
“‘Hunk’s Twizzlers. Do not eat. Yes, Lance, I mean you,’” he read off with a pout. “Man, if only he knew who was really the sugar addict around here.”
“Shut up,” Keith responded cleverly. Lance ignored him and twisted open the lid, pulling out a rope candy. Only, instead of being red, it was bright purple.
“Close enough, I guess,” Lance sighed, biting off the end of a Twizzler. It tasted like a combination of fake Stevia-style sugar and… mango? In any case, he wasn’t exactly picky. He kept chewing on the candy, staring blankly at Keith, who glared at him in response.
“Well?” Keith demanded, crossing his arms. “Are you going to ask me why I’m here, in the middle of the night?”
“Not technically night. Just a circadian rhythm light cycle, remember?” Lance shot back.
“You know what I mean,” Keith weakly let out.
That was a good point, in all honesty. Lance pretended to consider that thought deeply, if only to rile Keith up more. It worked, and Keith’s thick eyebrows lowered somehow deeper.
“Galra puberty just started and your hormones are out of whack,” Lance guessed.
“What the fuck–”
“Or, or, maybe you finally realized that you need to dye your hair bright yellow to offset the extremely edgy vibes you practically ooze whenever you enter a room.”
“Okay, now you’re just–”
“Or,” Lance cut him off with a pointed look, dark blue eyes locking onto Keith’s, his voice tightening. “You’ve decided to assume total responsibility for a difficult situation again, guilting yourself to the point where you can’t sleep, agonizing over the lives we couldn’t save today as if it’s entirely your burden to assume. Alone. ”
That silenced Keith. The sudden quiet made every noise and light seem louder and brighter all at once.
“I know I like to joke about you being an emo, or whatever,” Lance started, and oh , he genuinely seemed to feel angry . That wasn’t usual for him. “But you can’t just hide out in weird corners of the castle in the middle of the night and hope that I’ll come searching for you. You have got to improve at this whole communication thing, Team Leader, okay?”
Keith shifted where he was sitting and his shoulders drew in. “I wasn’t hoping you’d find me.” Lance put up a hand to nullify his protests. The sweet candy felt like lead in his stomach.
“I’m tired of this song and dance where you martyr yourself and come to me with all your shattered pieces. You can’t spend days on the training deck tearing yourself apart anymore, or locking yourself in a room, or even staying up until the odd hours of the not-night. You’re too important for that shit now.”
Every word seemed to hit Keith like a bullet, causing him to look away, dark locks fluttering in front of his eyes. Wow, he really needed to cut his bangs.
“I’m sorry.”
No. That’s not what I wanted.
“Then what do you want, Lance?” Fuck, he said that out loud. Lance hopped off the island, walking up until he was right in front of Keith. He put a hand up on Keith’s shoulder.
“I want you to talk to me, okay? I don’t always have the right words, and I might piss you off, but it’s a better alternative to all the shitty coping mechanisms you developed living in a literal shack in total isolation.” Keith let out a breathy laugh that didn’t contain much real humor.
“You’re probably right,” he admitted, clearly unsure what to say. Still, his shoulder relaxed under Lance’s hold.
“I know I’m right. I’m your right-hand. It’s literally in the job description.” Now that made Keith actually laugh, a sound so rare it almost made Lance forget he was still gripping the black paladin’s shoulder a little more closely than a bro might. Almost. He hurriedly detached his hand, moving to step back. Before he could, though, Keith grabbed at his wrist.
“For what it’s worth, you’re a way better right-hand to me than I ever was for Shiro.”
And… Lance wasn’t sure what that statement meant to him. It felt all kinds of warm and good and painful and wrong all at once, like he was occupying a space designed for not-Lance, the same way all the other placeholders in their fucked-up space lives existed.
He looked up at Keith again, at his awkward smile, shaggy hair, scarred skin. All of Keith stood out against the right angles of the sterile castle rooms, his flaws absorbing some of the chill, rounding out the lines. The sight made him tuck away his discomfort in his role.
There went Lance’s gut again, tumbling around. He ignored it, resolute, and gently pulled his wrist from Keith’s loose grasp.
“Thanks, Samurai. We should get some rest.”
Keith didn’t look like he wanted to leave, as if he had something more to say to Lance, who held his breath anxiously as he watched Keith’s gaze trail over him.
Lance knew what he was ready for; he just didn’t think Keith was there yet. The other paladin proved him right, hopping off of his counter perch and making his way toward the door. “You’re probably right. Again.”
He turned back at the doorway, facing Lance as he bid him farewell and goodnight.
For once, Lance was speechless. He simply waved a hand as Keith left, stunned to his spot, legs rooted by some unimaginable illusion.
Because it had to be an illusion. Lance had never seen Keith smile that smile before, one that brought dimples up from some closed-off place and made his eyes all gooey. Lance would remember that smile.
With a groan, Lance reached into the jar of Twizzlers and pulled out three ropes, shoved them between his teeth, and tore them off in his mouth.
“I’m so, so fucked,” he muttered around a mouthful Twizzlers.
The castleship and its LEDs hummed in agreement.