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If you told Keith a year ago that his favorite part of being in space would be sneaking off with Lance McClain to stargaze, he would have laughed in your face.
If you told him that stargazing with Lance also included introspective conversations about the nature of the universe and war and loss—frequently reaching an emotional depth that Keith had never shared with another soul? He’d probably assume you invented a new fucked up way to bully him for being gay and punch you in the face.
But here Keith is, on the observatory deck of the castleship with the blue paladin instead of sleeping. Again.
They’re in their usual spots—each on one edge of the window, facing each other so they can both lean one side against the viewport as they chat. It's so usual, even, that the spare comforters and pillows are now a permanent fixture in the room. Somewhere along the way, watching the stars together became routine, and now the bedding stays put as a promise that the conversation will continue tomorrow, so long as they make it through the day.
Tonight, the mood has been a little somber but comfortable so far. Lance jumps from one childhood story to another, and Keith listens, taking in every word until the rambling fades into an uneasy silence.
“What if they’ve given up on me?”
“They haven’t,” Keith replies easily. Not to comfort Lance, but because it's the obvious truth.
Keith doesn’t even know these people beyond Lance’s nightly reminiscing, but every single story paints the picture of a tight-knit family with that goofball right at the center, holding them together just like he does for Team Voltron. They wouldn’t just move on. Keith is positive the McClains are still raising hell, even after all these months. Probably giving Iverson a run for his money, too.
Lance doesn’t say anything else for a while, just keeps gazing out of the window with a soft smile. He sinks further into the comforter wrapped around his shoulders, and Keith’s chest tightens at the sight. It’s a rare glimpse of a quieter, more sincere Lance that seems to only exist in this room.
Eventually, he looks forward again, a knowing grin tugging at his lips as they make eye contact. An eyebrow cocks—just a hint of his normal bravado resurfacing as he asks, “Enjoying the view?"
Keith goes red; he's sure of it. Caught off guard, he clears his throat, trying not to sound as nervous and awkward as he feels, as he carefully answers, “Yeah, the stars—they’re nice to look at.”
Lance laughs, and there’s not an ounce of ridicule present, just… fondness?
“The same stars you haven't even glanced at in the last half-varga?”
Keith snaps his attention back out the window. “I don't know what you’re talking about,” but even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. The scattering of stars is at a totally different angle than the last time he checked, and the castleship is fast, but it's not like they are in warp speed right now. He definitely wasn’t looking at the stars.
In his peripheral, he can see Lance moving: gathering up the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and crossing the unspoken barrier to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with Keith. The two of them have been in close quarters hundreds of times by now, but the buzz of anxiety it sends through Keith makes it feel like new territory.
Keith doesn’t dare look back over at him. Instead, he listens to the rustling of blankets and hopes that Lance becomes so distracted by the task of resituating himself that he lets Keith get away with the lame excuse. But of course, he isn’t that lucky.
“You know, the whole castle has noticed your little staring problem at this point.”
Keith narrows his brow at the accusation, studying the asteroid going by with much more scrutiny than necessary. He’s aware.
Hunk very cautiously brought it up last week while Lance was cleaning the pods with Coran. Then Pidge felt the need to add that Keith has the subtlety of a brick and is about as emotionally adept as one, too. Shiro cut them off with an offhanded, “No teasing Keith about his crush,” which had Allura in tears, laughing…
There's no denying it. Lance knows what it means. But it's too big, too risky to put any words to it. Anything he could possibly think to say dies in his throat—either completely embarrassing or way too intense, which pretty much sums up everything he's been feeling for Lance recently.
It's been a long day. A long year. Keith isn’t equipped for this.
A minute passes, and Lance sighs, dropping his head to Keith’s shoulder. The connection is tender—a stark contrast to the shoving and sparring they usually default to. The guilt hits Keith immediately. He doesn’t know how to do this. He hates using his words; doesn’t know what to say except, “Sorry.”
Sorry for being obvious. Sorry for feeling too much. Sorry for not being enough.
Lance’s head jostles against his shoulder, and Keith’s just as confused as he is relieved to hear soft, almost delirious laughter.
“It's okay,” Lance chuckles as he snakes his arm around Keith's waist. “It's going to be okay.”
Keith can’t help but melt into the touch, the tension leaving his body as he relaxes into Lance’s side. They’re basically cuddling now, and Lance is lazily tracing patterns along Keith's hip—and Keith agrees, it is going to be okay. All of it. Any of it. Whatever Lance says.
“I think the stars are nice to look at, too, by the way,” Lance teases with a poke in the side.
Keith elbows Lance in the ribs and calls him a jerk, but he's smiling wider than he has in years. He leans in, lets himself stay there, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel like he has to pull away.