Chapter Text
Keith blinked awake, disoriented for a second by the unfamiliar ceiling. The sheets were soft, the pillow smelled like fabric softener and something vaguely citrusy—definitely not his bed.
Then it clicked.
Lance.
He turned his head toward the other side of the bed, expecting to see the messy tangle of brown hair and long limbs still asleep beside him. But the space was empty. Slightly rumpled, still faintly warm, but empty.
Keith sat up slowly, the sweatshirt he’d worn to bed slipping off one shoulder. The apartment was quiet, except for a faint sound coming from beyond the bedroom door. He froze, listening.
Music. Something slow and jazzy. Was that… cooking?
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet brushing against the cool hardwood. The events of last night came back in pieces—Lance had texted him, said he wasn’t feeling great. Headache, light fever, kinda dizzy. Keith had shown up without even thinking about it. He stayed. They’d ended up curled on the couch, then eventually in Lance’s bed—just for the night, just until he felt better.
But now the bed was empty. The morning sun was spilling through the blinds. And Keith felt oddly... out of place without Lance next to him.
He wandered out of the room, following the scent of something sweet and buttery and the sound of quiet humming layered over the music. He turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.
Lance was at the stove, swaying lazily to the music, barefoot in pajama pants and an old, oversized T-shirt. His hair was a complete mess, sticking up in every direction, and there was a spatula in one hand as he flipped what looked like pancakes onto a plate. He was humming along to the song, totally absorbed, like it was just another lazy morning for him.
Keith just... watched for a moment.
He wasn’t sure what it was—maybe the music, or the way the sunlight hit Lance’s face, or the fact that this version of Lance—quiet, domestic, real—was so different from the loud, flirtatious bravado he wore around others. Maybe it was how comfortable he looked, how warm the kitchen felt. But something about it tugged at Keith’s chest in a way he couldn’t name.
He walked up slowly behind him and, before he could talk himself out of it, wrapped his arms gently around Lance’s waist.
Lance startled just slightly, then relaxed into the touch with a soft laugh. “Good morning to you too.”
“You disappeared,” Keith mumbled, his voice still rough from sleep.
“I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you needed it,” Lance said, resting a hand lightly on Keith’s forearm. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah. Bed’s nicer than mine.”
“That’s because I’m classy.”
Keith huffed a little, but didn’t let go. His arms stayed right where they were, holding Lance against him as they swayed gently to the music.
“You feeling better?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Lance said, nodding. “Like, almost totally back to normal. No headache. I think the fever broke sometime last night.”
Keith let out a small breath of relief. “Good.”
They stood like that for a few more seconds, the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward, just warm.
“You’re being weird,” Lance said, but his voice was light, teasing. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Keith hesitated, but didn’t step back. “You let me sleep in your bed.”
“Yeah. I also let you steal my blanket and kick me in your sleep. So technically, I’m the generous one here.”
Keith smiled against the back of Lance’s shoulder. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“I’m thanking you in advance. Feels polite.”
Lance turned his head slightly, looking back at him with a small, amused smile. Their eyes met for a second—something soft lingering there, something unspoken—but then Lance looked away and gently nudged him with an elbow.
“Alright, emo boy, go sit. You’re getting pancakes.”
Keith let go, finally stepping back, and took a seat at the little kitchen table, watching Lance move around the space like it was his stage.
And even though nothing had changed—not officially—Keith couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted.
Lance set the plate down in front of Keith with a little flourish, like he was unveiling a gourmet meal. “Ta-da. Banana pancakes. There’s cinnamon and vanilla in them because I have taste. And a heart.”
Keith blinked down at the plate. “You made this from scratch?”
Lance tossed a lock of messy hair out of his face and cocked a hip, all confidence and playful flair. “Please. I don’t do boxed mix. What do you take me for? Some basic pancake peasant?”
Keith tried not to smile, but it tugged at the corners of his mouth anyway. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re welcome,” Lance replied, sliding into the seat across from him. He propped his chin on one hand and watched Keith expectantly. “Well? Try it.”
Keith picked up his fork, not breaking eye contact as he cut a piece. He took a bite—warm, soft, sweet in a way that felt like comfort more than just sugar. He blinked, eyebrows raising. “Okay. Fine. This is actually… really good.”
Lance beamed, proud in that specific, dazzling way that always caught Keith a little off guard. “Told you. I’m hot and talented. Triple threat.”
“That’s two things.”
Lance shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”
Keith glanced at him then, really looked—how his oversized T-shirt slid off one shoulder without effort, the subtle shimmer on his lips (was that leftover lip balm?), the way his lashes caught the light when he blinked slowly. There was something about how soft he looked in the morning, no armor on, no teasing hiding behind bravado—just Lance.
It did something to Keith’s chest. Again.
They ate quietly for a minute, the music still playing low in the background. Lance tapped his foot along with the rhythm, absently, and every once in a while he’d glance up at Keith like he was trying not to be obvious about it.
Then, Lance broke the silence with a little smirk. “You know, you’re kind of clingy in the morning.”
Keith paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “I’m not.”
“You totally are,” Lance said, smile widening. “Woke up and you were wrapped around me like a koala. It was cute. Unexpected. But cute.”
Keith flushed, immediately scowling into his pancake like it had betrayed him. “You didn’t seem to mind.”
“I didn’t,” Lance said, a little softer this time.
Keith looked up. Lance’s expression had shifted—less teasing now, more thoughtful. The playful energy was still there, but dimmed down into something warmer. Calmer.
“I liked waking up next to you,” Lance said, voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say it at all.
Keith’s throat felt tight all of a sudden. “Yeah?”
Lance nodded slowly, his gaze flicking down to his plate and then back up again. “It was... nice. I don’t usually do that. Let people stay.”
Keith studied him. The vulnerability in those words. How carefully they’d been offered.
He set his fork down. “I don’t usually stay.”
Lance’s lips curved into a smile—this quiet, beautiful thing that made Keith’s heart thud a little harder.
“Guess we’re both full of surprises,” Lance said.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Not saying anything, not needing to. The sunlight spilled across the table, catching the glint of syrup on Lance’s lip, the soft shimmer of morning in his hair, the way his fingers lightly tapped the rim of his mug like he needed something to do with his hands.
Keith wanted to reach across the table, brush that syrup away, maybe hold that hand.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, he said, “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”
And Lance laughed, bright and beautiful, and said, “Damn right they are.”
The plates were mostly cleared, the coffee was half gone, and Lance stretched his arms overhead with a satisfied sigh.
“Alright, kitchen’s a mess. You wanna sit there looking pretty or be my assistant?”
Keith raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me pretty?”
“I said look pretty. Very different,” Lance teased, standing up and collecting the empty plates. “Don’t worry, I’m still the star of the show.”
Keith snorted and got up, grabbing the syrup bottle and the two mugs. “Fine. I’ll play backup.”
Lance turned on the faucet, water rushing into the sink as he squirted a generous blob of lemony dish soap onto a sponge. His T-shirt hung loosely on him, sleeves falling just enough to show the slope of his shoulders. He leaned over slightly, starting to scrub the first plate with practiced ease.
Keith stood beside him, setting the mugs on the counter. “You wash, I rinse?”
“Ooh, look at you offering domesticity,” Lance said with a grin. “Careful, I might swoon.”
Keith rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were faintly pink. “I just want my mug back, Lance.”
“Mhm. Suuuure you do.”
They settled into a rhythm easily. Lance washed while Keith rinsed and set the dishes in the drying rack. Their hands bumped once, then again, knuckles grazing under the stream of warm water. Neither of them moved away.
At one point, Lance turned his head slightly, close enough that Keith could see the water droplets clinging to his lashes, the faint blush in his cheeks from the heat.
“This feels weird,” Lance murmured, not looking at him directly.
Keith froze, his hand half-submerged in the sink. “Weird… bad?”
Lance gave a little shake of his head, biting his bottom lip for a second like he was choosing his words. “No. Just... weird because it’s nice.” He finally looked at Keith, eyes softer than before. “Like, really nice.”
Keith swallowed. The warm water kept running. So did the music, still low in the background. Everything around them felt suspended—like time was giving them a chance to say the things they hadn’t said yet.
“I don’t do this kind of thing with just anyone,” Lance added quietly.
Keith’s heart beat harder. “Yeah,” he said. “Me neither.”
They didn’t look away from each other for a moment too long. Then Lance nudged him lightly with his elbow, breaking the tension with a small smile.
“You missed a spot on that mug.”
Keith rolled his eyes, but smiled back, taking the mug and rinsing it carefully.
When they finished, Lance dried his hands on a dish towel and offered it to Keith without a word. Their fingers brushed again—more deliberate this time. Keith took the towel but didn’t move right away. They were still standing close, still turned toward each other like gravity was playing some kind of trick.
“I don’t mind waking up to you,” Lance said suddenly, voice quiet again.
Keith held his gaze. “Maybe I could stay again. Next time you’re not sick.”
Lance’s eyes flickered, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”
Neither of them moved to step away just yet. The kitchen was warm, the dishes were done, and outside the window, the morning sun kept shining like it didn’t know they were on the edge of something new.
The dishes were done, the kitchen wiped down, and Lance had flopped dramatically onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, flipping through something on his phone. Keith lingered in the doorway, watching him for a beat longer than necessary—until his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Shiro.
Keith blinked, then slipped quietly toward the front door, mouthing a quick “one sec” to Lance before stepping outside onto the small balcony.
The morning air was cooler than inside, crisp with a soft breeze rustling through the leaves. Keith answered the call and leaned against the railing.
“Hey.”
“Keith,” Shiro said, a touch too casual. “So… where are you right now?”
Keith frowned slightly. “What?”
“I swung by your place this morning to drop something off—you weren’t there.”
“Oh.” Keith rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh. I’m not home.”
There was a pause. Keith could feel the smirk coming through the phone before Shiro even said it.
“Really? Not home? Hmm. Interesting. Did you stay the night somewhere?”
Keith rolled his eyes. “Shiro—”
“Oh no, wait,” Shiro continued, feigning surprise. “Was that Lance’s voice I heard in the background just now?”
Keith froze. “...Maybe.”
Another beat of silence.
“Oh my god, you stayed at Lance’s?” Shiro sounded way too excited. “Keith. Did you sleep in his bed?”
Keith flushed immediately. “It wasn’t like that.”
“So that’s a yes,” Shiro laughed. “You so slept in his bed.”
“He wasn’t feeling well,” Keith muttered, like that was going to help somehow. “I stayed over to make sure he was okay. That’s it.”
Shiro was quiet for a moment. Then: “Okay, but like... did you two—”
“No!” Keith cut him off, voice sharp with embarrassment. “We didn’t—we didn’t do anything, okay?”
There was a pause, then Shiro burst out laughing.
“Relax! I’m just messing with you, man.”
Keith groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m your concerned older brother, just making sure you’re... y’know, hydrated.”
“I swear, Shiro—”
“Okay, okay! I believe you. Mostly.”
Keith let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t hang up. A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips anyway.
“You like him,” Shiro said, gentler now.
Keith leaned against the railing again, gaze drifting toward the window where he could just barely see Lance still lounging on the couch, bathed in soft morning light.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
Shiro’s voice softened. “Then you’re right where you should be.”
Keith didn’t respond right away. Just stood there with the phone to his ear and that unfamiliar flutter in his chest.
“…Thanks,” he said finally.
“No problem. Just don’t let him make you eat weird fruit smoothies again.”
Keith laughed under his breath. “Too late.”
“Godspeed, soldier.”
They said goodbye, and Keith pocketed his phone, taking one last breath of the cool morning air before heading back inside.
As he stepped into the living room, Lance looked up at him with a lazy smile, his hair still a mess, sleeves half-slipping down one arm.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Keith nodded. “Yeah. Just Shiro being annoying.”
Lance smirked. “Lemme guess. He thinks we—”
“Nope,” Keith said quickly, holding up a hand. “Don’t even start.”
Lance laughed.
“I’m going back to the balcony.”
“No you’re not,” Lance said, scooting over on the couch. “You’re gonna sit here and deal with me.”
Keith rolled his eyes, but he sat down anyway—closer than he needed to.
And neither of them moved away.
The couch was warm from where Lance had been curled up, and the second Keith sat down, he felt the quiet tension settle again—comfortable, but charged. The kind of quiet where everything unsaid floats just under the surface.
Lance glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “Soooo…”
Keith groaned. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying, you’re very defensive for someone who claims he and I are just friends,” Lance said, nudging him with his knee.
Keith crossed his arms, trying to look unimpressed. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” Lance said brightly. Then, after a pause, “But seriously… why’d you stay last night?”
Keith blinked. “I told you. You weren’t feeling well.”
“Yeah, I know. But you could’ve just helped me get settled and left.” Lance wasn’t teasing now. His voice was quieter. Softer. “You didn’t have to stay.”
Keith looked down at his hands for a second. Thought about the warmth of Lance curled up beside him. The way he’d watched him sleep, listened to every breath, made sure he was okay. The way it felt right, even if he hadn’t fully let himself think about why.
“I know,” he said, voice low. “I just… didn’t want to leave.”
Lance tilted his head, his expression unreadable but intent. “Why?”
Keith hesitated. His heart picked up a beat. He wasn’t used to saying this kind of thing out loud—not when it mattered.
“Because,” he said, finally lifting his gaze to meet Lance’s, “I didn’t like the thought of you being here alone. Feeling like crap and… I don’t know. I wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about you.”
Lance didn’t say anything at first. Just watched him, eyes soft and almost searching.
“Oh,” he said, voice barely more than a breath. It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t teasing.
Just real.
Keith shifted slightly, nervous energy crackling just under his skin. “I mean, I didn’t plan on falling asleep. I figured I’d hang out a while, make sure you were okay, and then—”
“I’m glad you did,” Lance interrupted quietly.
Keith stopped talking.
Lance was looking at him like he hadn’t expected to hear any of this—but now that he had, he didn’t want it to stop. His fingers twisted absently in the fabric of the blanket thrown over his legs.
“I don’t really let people see me like that,” he added after a moment. “Sick. Half-dead in ugly pajamas. And you still stayed.”
Keith let out a small breath. “Of course I did.”
Lance laughed once under his breath, the sound dry but fond. “You’re either really into me or just weirdly stubborn.”
Keith gave him a look. “Probably both.”
That earned him a real smile.
Lance looked down for a second, then back up. “If I asked you to stay again sometime—even if I wasn’t sick… would you?”
Keith didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
The silence after that wasn’t awkward. It just was. Full of things that didn’t need to be said right away.
Lance nudged Keith’s foot with his own under the blanket. “Okay. Cool. Good to know.”
Keith smiled a little. “Cool.”
And then they just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, the morning slipping into afternoon, the weight of something new between them—quiet, comfortable, and absolutely inevitable.
They sat there for a while longer, neither one speaking, wrapped in the kind of silence that only feels safe when it’s with someone who gets you. Lance’s foot was still nudging lightly against Keith’s, like he couldn’t not touch him, even if it was just that small point of contact under the blanket.
But then Keith’s phone buzzed again.
He glanced at the screen and sighed, the small moment between them suddenly shifting.
“What is it?” Lance asked, sitting up a little.
Keith locked his phone, stuffing it back into his hoodie pocket. “Work. I have to head in.”
Lance blinked, his face doing that flicker of expression thing again—where he tried to hide the disappointment but didn’t quite manage it. “Oh. Right. Responsibility. Capitalism. All that fun stuff.”
Keith stood, smoothing out his clothes with a sigh. “Yeah. I’ve already pushed it farther than I should’ve.”
Lance stayed sitting on the couch, looking up at him with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for staying last night. And… for everything this morning. I mean it.”
Keith lingered a second longer, like he wanted to say something else—do something else—but didn’t know if he was allowed.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked instead.
Lance nodded. “Yeah. I’m good now.”
Keith opened his mouth, closed it, then finally turned toward the door.
But just as he reached for the handle, Lance’s voice stopped him.
“Hey, Keith?”
He turned.
Lance was standing now, blanket wrapped loosely around his shoulders, his hair still a mess and his eyes still impossibly warm. “You’ll text me later, right?”
Keith’s lips quirked, just a little. “Yeah. I will.”
Lance smiled—smaller this time. Real. “Good.”
Keith hesitated for half a second longer, then pulled the door open. “See you soon?”
Lance nodded. “You better.”
And with that, Keith stepped into the hallway, the soft click of the door behind him echoing louder than it should have.
He made it halfway down the stairs before he pulled out his phone, already typing.
[to Lance]: let me know if you start feeling off again. or even if you don’t.
Three dots. Then Lance’s reply came almost immediately.
[from Lance]: i’m already feeling off. like… in a keith-shaped way.
Keith stopped walking and just stood there for a second, staring at the message. Then he smiled, biting back a grin, before tucking the phone away and heading out into the cool morning sun.
*******************
📱Group Chat: "Voltron Vibes Only 🚀✨"
Allura: okay sooooo picnic next weekend??? 🌞🌸🥪
Hunk: yes PLEASE I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life
Pidge: i will bring the superior potato salad. don’t @ me.
Lance: I am @ you. no one even asked for that, gremlin.
Pidge: and yet it shall appear
Coran: I’ll bring the sparkling juice and the weird international snacks no one trusts but all end up loving 🌍✨
Allura: it’s settled then!! next saturday, noon, same park as last time?
Hunk: bringin’ the grill 🧑🏽🍳
Lance: I’ll bring vibes and fashion 😌
Pidge: I’m inviting my brother btw, he’s around
Allura: MATT? OMG I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM IN AGES
Pidge: yeah yeah you can flirt with my brother later 😒
Pidge: he’s bringing some of his friends too
Lance: wait who even are his friends? 👀
Pidge: you know… his whole nerd gang. shiro, adam, keith—
Lance: KEITH???
Lance: KEITH is coming??
Lance: why was this not mentioned IMMEDIATELY
Hunk: oh no
Coran: oh dear
Allura: 😏
Lance: i need to know now so i can emotionally prepare. should i wear something hot? do we think he’ll wear that one sleeveless thing? he knows what he’s doing with that
Pidge: oh my god. this is already a mistake
Hunk: no no this is PERFECT
Allura: I support this. I’m bringing strawberries. For aesthetic.
Lance: okay okay okay. strategy time. if he brings something like a sad sandwich I’ll offer him some of my pasta salad and then casually sit next to him. by the water. with perfect lighting.
Pidge: i regret everything
Lance: also if shiro starts grilling him i’m gonna throw myself into the lake. just warning everyone in advance.
Hunk: we will retrieve you with the picnic canoe
Coran: I’ll prepare a “Love Emergency” floatation device
Pidge: you people are OUT OF CONTROL
Lance: out of control and in love 💅
Allura: we stan
The Picnic – Saturday, Noon. Sunny. Slight breeze. Suspiciously romantic atmosphere.
Keith stepped out of Shiro’s car, blinking against the sun as he scanned the park.
Blankets were already spread across the grass, colorful and mismatched. Coolers were open, food being unpacked, and someone (probably Hunk) was setting up a speaker with a chill playlist already going. Pidge was half-sitting on a log, dramatically arguing with Allura over who got the “good” spot under the tree.
Keith hadn’t even taken three steps before he felt a presence zoom in.
“Look who finally showed up,” Lance’s voice sing-songed, practically gliding into Keith’s line of vision.
Keith turned—and froze for a second.
Lance was in a loose, cropped button-up with short sleeves and pale yellow sunglasses pushed up into his hair. The sunlight hit his cheekbones like he’d paid it to, and he was holding a mason jar with something pink and sparkly inside like a Pinterest witch. His shorts were criminal.
Keith’s brain: 🧍♂️💥❓
“Hey,” he said, far too late to be cool.
Lance gave him a look. The kind that hovered somewhere between teasing and do not think I didn’t notice you checking me out, Mullet.
“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” Lance said, sipping dramatically from his drink.
“I was invited.”
“You always say that like you weren’t personally requested,” Lance replied, walking backwards toward the picnic area without breaking eye contact. “C’mon. You’re on blanket duty with me.”
Keith blinked. “What does that even mean?”
“It means I saved you a spot,” Lance said with a flash of a grin, turning on his heel and strolling back to the group.
Keith followed, brain still buffering.
Shiro and Adam were chatting with Matt near the grill, while Pidge loudly tried to convince Coran that space-facts weren’t appropriate conversation starters around food. Allura looked like she was carefully arranging strawberries into a heart shape on a plate and pretending she wasn’t watching Keith and Lance with a smirk.
Hunk handed Keith a soda as he passed. “Hey, man. Nice timing. Lance has been… uh. Preparing.”
Keith narrowed his eyes. “Preparing?”
Hunk only winked and patted him on the back.
By the time Keith reached the blanket Lance had claimed, there was a perfectly empty spot next to him—conveniently shaded, facing the lake, and right next to a mini cooler of drinks.
Keith sat. “Did you actually make me a seat?”
Lance tilted his head. “It’s a picnic, Keith. I’m just being polite. Also, yes.”
Keith tried not to smile.
The afternoon passed in a blur of food, sunshine, and laughter. Hunk manned the grill like a master chef, Matt told horrifying childhood stories about Pidge, and Allura and Coran got into a passionate debate about who would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse.
Keith and Lance sat close—maybe closer than necessary. Their knees kept brushing. Lance offered bites of food off his fork like it was normal, and Keith… didn’t question it. Not even once.
At one point, Shiro sat next to him, passing over a soda and leaning in slightly. “Nice spot you got here.”
Keith side-eyed him. “Don’t start.”
Shiro raised his hands. “I didn’t say anything. Just… you look relaxed.”
Keith sipped his drink. “It’s not a crime.”
“Nope,” Shiro said, smiling. “Just nice to see.”
Lance plopped down next to Keith again before Shiro could say more, and the conversation shifted. The sun dipped lower. The lake shimmered. People started laying back on blankets, full and content.
And Lance, ever so casually, leaned in close enough to whisper, “You should come to more of these.”
Keith glanced at him, heart stuttering. “You gonna save me a seat every time?”
Lance smirked. “Only if you promise to sit next to me.”
Keith didn’t say anything.
But he smiled—and he didn’t move an inch.
A few hours into the picnic…
By now, the blanket was a battlefield of crumpled napkins, open chip bags, and half-eaten desserts. Everyone had eaten way too much, and the energy had shifted from chaotic to chaotic-but-in-a-food-coma.
Pidge was lying dramatically across two people’s laps, sunglasses crooked and a cookie in hand. “If I die, I want my gravestone to say ‘Taken out by Hunk’s third cheeseburger.’”
“I told you not to eat three,” Hunk said from where he was laying on his back. “They were loaded.”
“They were divine and I regret nothing.”
Allura sat primly nearby, somehow still graceful, carefully weaving little flower crowns she’d made out of clovers and dandelions. “She did moan dramatically with every bite.”
“I have no shame.”
Coran popped up like a cartoon character behind her, placing a crown on her head. “The Queen of Overindulgence!”
Allura bowed. “I accept this title with honor.”
Meanwhile, Matt and Shiro were throwing a frisbee back and forth with slowly increasing competitiveness. Adam had given up trying to referee and was now lounging on a blanket nearby, sipping from a thermos like this was just another day in paradise.
Lance, eyes hidden behind those too-cool sunglasses again, was sitting cross-legged, now holding a portable speaker in his lap. “Okay, okay, I vote we play volley-frisbee again.”
“That’s not a real game,” Keith said flatly.
“It is if you believe in chaos.”
“I believe in laws of physics,” Keith shot back.
Lance grinned, already standing. “That’s your problem, Mullet. You believe in too many things.”
“We’re literally in the middle of a picnic, Lance.”
“And that is exactly the right time to invent a game that involves running, throwing, and inevitable injury.”
Pidge raised a hand. “I volunteer to film.”
Hunk: “I volunteer to coach.”
Allura: “I volunteer to win.”
Coran: “I’m not sure I understand the rules, but I am excited!”
Lance held the frisbee above his head like a sacred relic. “Alright, teams are: me, Keith, Shiro—because I need height—versus Allura, Matt, and Hunk. Adam’s referee. Pidge is on chaos duty. GO.”
Keith blinked. “What? Since when am I—”
Too late. The frisbee was already flying, and Shiro was sprinting like a gazelle.
The next twenty minutes were pure madness. The rules didn’t make sense, someone kept yelling “FREEDOM POINTS,” and Allura absolutely tackled Lance once and then apologized while laughing. Keith caught the frisbee with a weird little spin that made Lance actually whistle under his breath, and Matt and Hunk invented a celebratory handshake that involved jazz hands and elbow bumps.
Pidge filmed the whole thing like a war correspondent. “They’re sweaty. They’re yelling. Someone just slipped on a juice pouch. This is exactly the kind of content the people need.”
Eventually, they collapsed back onto the blankets in a pile of tangled limbs and loud, happy groaning.
Adam handed Shiro a cold drink and kissed his forehead. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
Lance dramatically flopped sideways onto Keith’s blanket, resting his head on Keith’s leg. “If I die, tell the world I was tragically hot and devastatingly talented.”
Keith raised an eyebrow, then (after a moment of hesitation) brushed a stray curl out of Lance’s face. “The world already knows.”
Lance blinked, lips parting for just a second. But then Pidge shouted, “HA! I got that on camera,” and Keith immediately shoved a pillow at her.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the group lay sprawled across the grass, still laughing, still full, still glowing with that kind of warmth that only shows up when you’re surrounded by people who really see you.
Someone (probably Coran) had started passing around popsicles. Hunk was beatboxing badly while Matt tried to freestyle. Allura was doing her best to teach Adam how to braid wildflowers into his hair. Shiro looked the happiest Keith had seen him in a long time.
And Lance?
Lance was still next to him. Still close. Still there.
Keith leaned back on his hands, glancing over at him.
This? This was nice.
Really nice.
Early evening.
The last hints of sunlight slipped behind the trees as Hunk and Coran finished building the little bonfire at the edge of the clearing. It crackled to life with a satisfying whoosh, sending golden sparks spiraling into the dusk. Everyone cheered like they’d just summoned fire from the gods.
“Alright,” Coran declared proudly, “now that’s a blaze worthy of storytelling!”
Pidge was already curled up with a blanket and a bag of marshmallows in her lap, looking way too smug. “Who’s ready to hear the story of how Lance fell in the lake last summer trying to impress a girl?”
“SHE WAS REALLY COOL, OKAY,” Lance yelled from across the fire, already roasting a marshmallow.
Everyone laughed. Even Keith.
Allura pulled out a little portable speaker, switching from pop to something softer—guitar-heavy, slow, the kind of music that made everything feel closer somehow. Matt leaned his head on Hunk’s shoulder. Shiro and Adam were sitting on the same log, hands clasped between them, firelight flickering across both their faces.
And Keith… Keith found himself sitting just outside the glow of the fire, staring into the flickering light like it might answer something he wasn’t brave enough to ask.
Lance dropped down beside him without warning, knees tucked in, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands now that the chill had kicked in. His marshmallow was slightly burnt.
“Here,” he said, offering it. “One slightly destroyed marshmallow. It has personality.”
Keith took it. “Thanks, I guess?”
They sat in silence for a moment, the soft hum of voices and laughter behind them, the fire crackling like it was holding secrets.
Then Lance tilted his head toward Keith and asked, quietly, “You having a good time?”
Keith looked at him. The glow from the fire danced across Lance’s cheekbones, softened his expression. He wasn’t teasing now. Just asking.
Keith nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
“Even with the frisbee injuries?”
“Even then.”
Lance smiled, small and genuine. “Good.”
Keith glanced away for a second, then back. “You… you always make this feel easy.”
Lance blinked. “Make what feel easy?”
Keith hesitated. Then shrugged, eyes on the fire again. “Everything.”
Lance didn’t say anything for a long beat. The fire popped softly, and someone in the background laughed too loud.
Then: “That’s funny,” Lance said, softer now, “because around you, I feel like I can finally stop trying so hard.”
Keith turned his head slowly. Lance wasn’t looking at him, just watching the flames, arms pulled around his knees.
“I always try too hard,” Lance added, like it was a confession. “To be funny. To be on. But you… I don’t feel like I have to be anything else around you.”
Keith’s chest felt full and light all at once.
And for once, instead of running from the feeling, he leaned into it—just a little.
He nudged Lance’s knee with his own. “You don’t have to try. I already see you.”
Lance looked at him. Really looked at him.
And smiled like he meant it.
Back at the fire, someone (of course it was Coran) had broken out a travel-sized ukulele and was strumming a slightly off-key rendition of some old folk song while Allura harmonized perfectly just to show off. Matt was passing out s’mores with military precision, and Shiro and Adam were swaying in time with the music.
It was warm. Bright. Safe.
And Keith and Lance sat just a little closer, knees pressed together, watching the fire like they’d found something worth staying for. It had gotten late and the gang decided to head home.
Later that night — Lance’s driveway.
The car ride back had been quiet in that kind of content way. Lance had the windows cracked, wind slipping through gently, and a playlist of low, mellow songs playing under the sound of tires on pavement. Keith sat in the passenger seat, one leg pulled up, hand curled loosely on his knee.
Neither of them spoke much. But neither of them had to.
Now they stood outside Lance’s front door, the porch light casting a warm glow over them, quiet filling the space between their shoulders.
Keith had one hand in his pocket. His hair was a little messy from the wind. He glanced at Lance, then back down at the welcome mat.
“I had a good time,” he said, and his voice was quiet—almost cautious. Like if he said it too loud, it’d stop being true.
Lance smiled. He was still in Keith's hoodie, sleeves tugged over his fingers again, leaning against the doorframe like he was trying to look casual, even though his heart was definitely racing. Keith had given it to him after he saw Lance shivering.
Keith stepped just inside the doorway, enough for the door to shut behind him with a soft click. The house was dim and quiet, filled with that cozy, late-night stillness. Lance lingered a few steps ahead, hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.
Neither of them said anything for a second.
“I, uh… I should head out,” Keith said, voice low. “It’s late. And if I don’t leave now, I probably won’t.”
Lance let out a tiny laugh—barely a breath—and nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah… right. Totally.”
He walked Keith back toward the door, but slower this time. Like every step felt heavier. More final.
They stopped just before the threshold, both of them facing each other again in that warm little bubble of light spilling from the hallway. Lance’s hand hovered like he was going to reach out, then pulled back.
And then he said—quietly, a little rushed:
“I’m really glad you came today. I mean… you always act like this stuff isn’t your thing but you looked like you belonged there.”
Keith’s brows pinched slightly, caught off guard. “With the group?”
Lance shook his head slowly, eyes meeting his. “With me.”
Keith’s breath caught, chest suddenly too tight. “Lance…”
But before he could say anything else, Lance leaned in.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t some wild, sweeping kiss. It was small. Shy. A soft, barely there press of his lips against Keith’s—so fast he could’ve imagined it if it weren’t for the warmth still lingering on his mouth.
Lance pulled back almost immediately, eyes wide, clearly panicking. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to make it weird—I just thought—”
Keith blinked at him. Then blinked again. Lips still parted. Frozen.
And then—
“Holy shit,” he breathed, barely audible.
Because yeah. He was gone.
Lance’s nervous rambling died off instantly. “Wait. Was that okay? I—I mean, you didn’t say anything and you’re just standing there like—”
Keith surged forward.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t planned. It was just pure reaction—months of pining, days of tension, and one little kiss that completely shattered him. His hand came up to cup Lance’s cheek and he kissed him back, deeper this time, with something urgent and dizzy and real behind it.
Lance made a surprised noise against his mouth, but then melted into it, fingers gripping Keith’s jacket like he’d been waiting for this moment since forever.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, foreheads resting together.
“…So you liked it then,” Lance whispered, dazed.
Keith let out a short, breathless laugh. “I think I blacked out.”
Lance giggled—actually giggled—and Keith could feel it right in his chest.
He pulled back slightly, eyes still on Lance’s face. “I really do have to go.”
“I know,” Lance said, smile soft and fluttery now. “But, uh… maybe next time you stay.”
Keith nodded, cheeks flushed but eyes steady. “Yeah. Next time.”
He slipped out the door into the cool night air, heart hammering.
Lance stayed in the doorway, watching him go, fingers pressed to his own lips like he still wasn’t sure it had actually happened.
Lance opened his phone to see that Pidge has added everyone in the groupchat.
📱Group Chat: "Voltron Vibes Only 🚀✨"
Pidge: okay. okay. photo dump time. prepare your phones and your souls
Allura: i’ve already made a folder titled "The Picnic Chronicles 🧺✨”
Hunk: uploading mine now—please note the cinematic framing on the marshmallow roast 🔥👨🏽🍳
Matt: I have 47 photos and not a single one where Shiro isn’t in dad-mode
Shiro: i’m literally just holding a spatula
Adam: that’s the most dad-mode utensil
Coran: LOOK AT THIS ONE OF PIDGE THROWING A GRAPE AND LANCE MISSING IT BY TEN MILES 🍇
Pidge: delete that immediately i will sue
Allura: OKAY BUT HOLD UP—LOOK at this one
Image attachment: Lance and Keith sitting under the tree, knees brushing, sharing a soda with two straws like a lowkey romcom scene. Lance is laughing at something, Keith is watching him with That Look™.
Allura: i mean… HELLO??
Pidge: oh my god look at keith’s face
Hunk: he’s looking at Lance like he invented stars
Matt: i didn’t realize we were hosting a DATE
Coran: young love… it’s so tender… so moody
Lance: WAIT WHAT IS THIS PHOTO I DONT EVEN REMEMBER THIS HAPPENING
Keith: …i do
Pidge: 👀👀👀👀👀
Adam: not to cause drama but y’all look more smitten than me and shiro
Shiro: hey 😭
Adam: it’s true babe. look at this. i’ve never looked at you like this
Image attachment: Another photo. Lance’s head on Keith’s shoulder by the fire, Keith holding a marshmallow stick but staring into the fire while Lance just… rests there. Peaceful. Cozy. Disgustingly sweet.
Allura: okay but why is this so romantic???
Hunk: are we witnessing their soft launch
Pidge: this isn’t a soft launch. this is a feature-length debut
Lance: omg STOPPP 💀💀💀
Keith: stop what
Lance: stop being cute this is ruining my reputation
Keith: too late for that
Coran: i, for one, would like to request a framed version of the soda-sharing photo
Matt: i second that
Adam: we’re all living in the keith+lance cinematic universe now
Pidge: the keith+lance extended edition
Allura: okay. okay. we’ve admired the pictures. we’ve swooned. we’ve screamed.
Hunk: i’ve cried actually. real tears. beautiful tears.
Pidge: and now. a very important question.
Pidge: when are y’all making it official
Matt: yes thank you! the people demand answers
Lance: 😇
Keith: what does “official” even mean
Adam: OH MY GOD you are so emotionally constipated
Shiro: Keith… Keith it means are you dating. you know what it means.
Lance: i mean... i did kiss him
Pidge: WHAT
Coran: aaaah young love
Hunk: why didn't I hear of this??
Allura: GET IT IG!??!
Keith: ...
Matt: he's shyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Shiro: okay but fr… are you guys gonna like… have a conversation? or do we have to bully you into it?
Adam: because I will schedule a zoom call
Lance: ...
Keith: su
Pidge: oh my god they’re both blushing through the group chat i can FEEL it
Hunk: this is the slow burn fanfic we all deserve
Allura: look. we’re not saying you have to define the relationship right now
Pidge: but also we absolutely are
Lance: 😅
Keith: we… we’ve talked. kind of.
Lance: yeah. like. not official-official but… y’know. something
Adam: are you holding hands in public
Lance: not YET
Matt: are you being emotionally vulnerable at least??
Keith: …yes?
Shiro: 😭 i’m so proud
Allura: ughhhhhh just date already so we can double date and make it a whole thing
Coran: can I be the cool uncle friend who gives unsolicited advice and leaves halfway through dessert
Lance: already your role tbh
Hunk: sooooo maybe official by next week?
Pidge: next picnic?
Lance: maybe sooner
Keith: yeah. maybe sooner.