Archive of Our Own ^beta

No matter what, Keith thinks, the next time Allura sends him to check out a long-abandoned space station somewhere out in uncharted territory, he’s going to ask for financial compensation.

It’s very definitely empty, but that doesn’t make it any less creepy. If anything, it only adds to the terrible ambience this place exudes.

“This place is giving me the creeps, man,” Lance’s voice comes from next to him. 

At least he’s not entirely alone.

“Agreed,” Keith answers curtly. 

His eyes drift across the white, scorched walls, the lights on the floor that miraculously still seem to be functional, and to the doors along the sides of the hallway that have been broken or pushed open in places. Debris lies scattered all over the ground – clear signs of a fight that happened long ago. However, they haven’t found any remains of a crew even after an hour in here. Regardless of if Keith wants to see it, the place should be littered with just that. 

Lance stops in his tracks to press a few buttons on the data pad attached to his wrist.

“What now?” Keith asks. He’s getting closer and closer to actively rolling his eyes. Last time was the fifth time Lance had stopped and declared the room closest to them as the command central. It’s also the fifth time that Lance had been wrong, so Keith highly doubts that the sixth time’s the charm.

“Command central two hundred meters to the right,” Lance answers, shifting his weight and cocking his hip out to the side.

Keith sighs. “Are you sure this time?”

“Keith.” Lance’s voice is edging on exasperation, clearly just annoyed as Keith is. “Pidge said she was guesstimating, okay? You and I know the same amount, I’m just the dumbass with the data pad.”

He doesn’t deign Lance with an answer. Of course he’s right, and he knows it’s not really anyone’s fault that there’s no real map of the alien space station that’s been sitting empty for presumably hundreds of years. He’s still pissed, though, and if they don’t find the command central sometime soon, he’s going to start just hacking at the walls with his sword.

Fortunately for both of them and the walls, the next room to the right actually does turn out to be the stairway to the command central. It winds up and up and up in a circle, enough to give Keith a bit of vertigo before they finally make it there.

Large window panes offer them a fantastic view of the outer hull of the station, of muddy grays and browns. All of it is backed by an unending stretch of space and twinkling stars. Keith stops walking for a few seconds to just take it in.

The room is dome-shaped, windows curving all the way up to the top. Controls panels are installed in multiple rounded rows on the ground. The middle of the room is what appears to be the leader’s seat, surrounded by another, more sturdy looking panel. 

“That’s the one,” Keith supplies, already moving towards it. His hands find the silver chain around his neck, tugging it out of his armor and removing the USB dangling from it.

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, no shit.”

Keith holds his breath instead of biting out an insult that would most definitely get him berated by Shiro later. He maneuvers between the rows of panels, keeping watch for a bright purple screen that should be around here somewhere.

The communicator on his wrist pings. 

“Have you guys found it?” Pidge’s voice fights its way through crackles and static. “Your position is not really moving much.”

“I think so,” Keith says, looking at Lance for confirmation.

“Bright purple screen?” Lance yells across the room, not bothering to open his own comms line.

Pidge affirms. “There should be a port underneath it. You might have to crawl under the desk to access it.”

“Great,” Keith deadpans as he gets closer to the middle of the room, the purple glow already visible from here. Ah, he thinks, found it. “Can’t wait.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Pidge warns. “This intel is just going to possibly give us access to new technologies that Alteans have been trying to replicate for centuries. No big.”

“Possibly,” Keith mimics with a huff. “Sounds super promising.”

He’s finally reached the console with the screen and for now, turns off his comms. Letting his gloved hands run over the metal surrounding it, he tries to feel for an opening somewhere. When there’s nothing, he bends over the console and feels over the back of it, only to be greeted with absolutely zilch as well.

With an annoyed sigh, Keith lets his head fall back, blowing out a breath from between his lips. His shoulders sag.

“C’mon, Samurai, we’re not paying you to stand around,” Lance croons from the other side of the console, a lot closer now than earlier.

Keith stares at Lance, arching an eyebrow. “We’re not being paid at all,” he says.

“Figure of speech.” Lance shrugs. In this light, the deep blue of his eyes looks like an almost purple-indigo. Keith tries not to get too hung up on it. “Now, chop-chop! On your knees!”

Moment over. 

Keith clenches his jaw to hide a smile, raising his right hand in order to flip him off, when–

The room explodes into blinding light.

Keith barely registers anything except the searing white behind his eyelids and a shockwave that throws him against the console behind him. The crunching noise from his armor is sickening – the crack forms right across his chest plate, along his spine up towards his neck.

They’d foolishly left their helmets aboard the pod, and Keith only makes that realization as his head snaps backwards and he braces himself for the impact against metal. It doesn’t come – something clutches at him, offering a layer of protection between skull and raised metal buttons.

Keith coughs, pain rattling his system as he tries to catch his breath, inhaling against the straining in his bones. He attempts to regain control over his limbs.

But he can’t breathe, and it’s dark when he opens his eyes, blinking into nothing. His vision is the least of his problems though, because something fucking exploded and debris has him pinned right in his place of impact.

He gasps for air, scrambling at the weight that’s compressing his ribcage. His lungs can’t expand enough with the weight on his chest. It makes panic claw its nails into Keith’s sides. Keith barely contains himself from thrashing.

His fingers dig into something– 

It’s soft.

It throws him for a temporary loop. A very short fraction of a moment where the panic subsides.

He gasps for air again, no more successful this time.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice. From right above him. Muffled through a loud, screaming ringing in both his eardrums.

His heart slams in his chest. That’s louder than the voice.

“Oh, damn,” he hears Lance say. “Hey, Keith?”

And then the weight lifts from his ribcage, and very dim red light illuminates the world around him. The emergency energy supply must’ve kicked on in the blast. Keith breathes in greedily, sucking in the oxygen in large gulps.

Whatever saved his head from certain death moves away too, gently setting him down against the console. 

There’s a persistent weight still pressed up against his lower body, and there are hands in his face – they’re holding him by his cheeks, his jaw, turning, inspecting and checking for injuries. 

Warm fingers brush his hair out of his face. A tender gesture that has Keith’s heart racing for all the wrong reasons. His eyes begin to adjust to the dim light, very clearly recognizing Lance above him.

“There you are,” Lance whispers, almost inaudible to his ringing ears. “Are you okay?”

His fingers are still on his face, he’s still leaning against Keith, and he’s too close, too close, too close, and– has Lance always had that scar through his right brow?

Keith coughs again, loud enough to morph Lance’s expression from mildly worried to rather panicked. “Stop touching me,” he croaks, trying to twist his arm free to swat at Lance’s hands.

“What?” His tone sounds more shocked than misunderstanding.

“Get off of me,” Keith tries once more. “How fucking hard did you hit your head?” As if Lance hadn’t saved Keith from busting his own head right open. 

“Keith, what are you–”

He stares at Lance, incredulous, and only then he notices that he’s only in his flight suit, with just the leg parts of his armor on, and he’s wearing his jacket that he most certainly was not wearing earlier. Unease brews in his gut, settling in right along the pain. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.

There’s a groan coming from his right somewhere and Keith’s head snaps to the side fast enough to make him dizzy.

“Keith?” 

It’s not the Lance right in front of him speaking, but it’s Lance’s voice. There, on the ground, pushing himself up, dressed exactly how Keith remembers him from earlier, no helmet, blood spilling slowly from his temple. 

“Lance?” Keith echoes, his voice trembling.

If that’s Lance, then…

Terror surges in his veins as he blindly pulls his blade out of his belt. It transforms in his hands, turning into the familiar curved sword as he presses it upwards against the impostor in front of him.

With heavy breaths he pushes further, hands shaking as he stares right into Lance’s face.

“Who are you?” he snarls and bares his teeth.

The other Lance raises his hands, immediately stepping away from Keith until his back hits the console behind him. “What do you mean? I’m Lance! I’m your–”

“Lance is right there,” Keith cuts in, jutting his chin into the direction where the real Lance has finally managed to stand up, steadying himself on the back of a chair. “So, I’ll ask again”– another cough rattles his throat –“Who the hell are you?”

“Keith, I swear it’s me!” the other Lance tries. His eyes frantic and wide as he stares at Keith, his gaze flicking over to the right. 

It’s not until Keith’s blade almost slips from his grip as he pulls back to gather enough momentum to hurt that his own voice cuts through the ringing in his ears.

“Lance, what the fuck did you do?”

But Keith hasn’t said anything.

He stops mid-air. Searching for the source of the voice.

To his left, dusting himself off, is– That’s Keith. That’s him. A second Keith.

He thinks he’s going to be sick.

Their eyes meet and Keith’s breath catches. 

He’s dressed similarly to Lance, but he’s not even wearing his leg armor. Just the flight suit, sneakers, and his jacket. 

“I didn’t do anything!” the other Lance says. “I was literally just trying to get us out of there.”

Keith focuses his attention back to him, sword still raised, brain reeling as he tries to process what he’s seeing.

What the hell?

What the actual hell?

“Hey!” the other Keith snaps at him. “Drop that.”

“Not until you tell us who you are!”

A beat of silence passes, the only noise coming from his Lance who’s dragging himself to his side.

“Shit,” Lance breathes. “This is so freaky.”

Keith can hear the laugh in his voice, trying to wrap his mind around how he could find humor in a moment like this. His muscles are taut with anxiety, and Lance still manages to crack a joke.

“Right?” the other Lance agrees. “Two of us, ha.”

“Enough,” Keith cuts in. “There’s about to be only of one of you if you don’t start talking soon.”

“Jeez, you’re intense,” the other Lance says to his Keith, eyes crinkling softly at the corners. “Would hate to get on your bad side.”

Keith realizes he can’t just keep calling them the other Lance and the other Keith as he watches their interaction, trying to parse the situation. Keith 2 and Lance 2 come to mind. Idiot 1 and Idiot 2. Dumb and Dumber. 

He watches the other Keith roll his eyes (god, almost fondly. With horror, he thinks he might look like that too). “We’re not a threat,” he says to Keith, gesturing for him to lower his blade one more time. “We– Lance opened a wormhole, I think.”

“I saved our asses, you mean.”

“You were just pressing buttons.”

“Pressed enough to land us here.”

“Yeah, and almost got us killed by ourselves in the process.” The other Keith shrugs before turning back to Keith and Lance. “Since you’re here, I’m assuming you know that the Driqna had wormholing technology?”

“Didn’t even know they were called that,” Lance says, voice rough. His shoulder presses into Keith’s. If Keith didn’t know better, he’d say it’s for comfort. It’s probably that Lance can’t hold himself up properly yet though. “We just knew they were technologically advanced. That’s all.”

“Ah,” other Keith mutters, clearly processing, thinking. “And you fought your way here?”

“Didn’t do that either. Place is empty.”

“Huh, that explains why the station was full on our side of the wormhole. They may have set this connection up years ago.”

“What are you saying?” Keith presses on, even as Lance’s hand lands on his arm, gently pushing down to get him to lower the Blade.

“I think my Lance and his fantastic button pressing skills landed us in your universe.”

Kogane and McClain, Keith decided as he was piloting the pod back to the castle. That’s probably the easiest way to go about this. Lance agreed.

Now, in the medbay, he studies his counterpart as Coran is checking them out.

So far, their story holds up. There’s no evidence of cloning or spy-technology at all. Same age down to the second, same mannerisms, same genetic makeup. They’re the same, just a little bit different in places. 

Looking at himself is weird. 

Keith decides he doesn’t like it. 

Still, he can’t tear his eyes away as Coran treats the wound across Kogane’s side, where a piece of debris had slashed through his flightsuit and left a clean cut along skin. 

His hair is a little longer than Keith’s, bunched together in a small bun at the nape of his neck. Apart from that, he’s got the same scar across his cheek, the same twice-pierced ears. 

The only noticeable difference is that the bridge of his nose was seemingly never broken, perfectly even, and he doesn’t have that bit of cauliflower ear at the top right part of his ear. 

Lucky bastard must’ve won that stupid bar fight last year. 

Keith huffs angrily, collapsing back into his chair, and pressing his lips together to keep the sensation of slowly building sickness at bay. He looks to his right to see Lance, clearly just as intrigued, watching Kogane as well. 

The wound at Lance’s temple got glued shut since he refused the healing pod for such a small thing, and Keith is still waiting for his evaluation – taking care of their counterparts seemed like a priority earlier, even if his head feels like shit. 

He’d probably made the right decision, seeing as McClain’s hand had been fractured in the impact. That, in Keith’s opinion, very much needs the healing pod. 

“His hair is shinier,” Lance says without taking his eyes off of Keith’s counterpart. 

“Huh?”

“Kogane over here.” Lance points his way. “He takes better care of his hair than you do.”

Keith squints slightly, trying to lean forwards but immediately aborting that movement as nausea bubbles in his stomach. A concussion is starting to seem more and more plausible, even if McClain’s hand had been a bit of a buffer.  Better than a fractured skull, at least. Certainly better than straight up dying. 

“I don’t see it,” he answers. 

“Of course you don’t.” 

“It’s just longer.”

“Nope,” says Lance, popping the ‘p’ just to be annoying. “Hey, Keith,” he then says, loud enough to catch Kogane’s attention, “what hair products do you use?”

Kogane, as Keith’d expected, arches an eyebrow, looking severely unimpressed. “Shampoo and conditioner,” he answers flatly. 

Lance seems pleased, though. He turns to face Keith again. “And what do you use?”

“Bar soap.”

His mouth falls open. “You’re crazy.”

The sight is almost comical. Something about the genuine offense of it all is more than enough for Keith to have to bite down a laugh. “That’s normal, Lance.”

“Sure, in hell, maybe.”

“Everywhere is hell with you.”

“Wow, okay.” Lance scrunches his face up. “Little overkill, don’t you think?”

Keith snorts. “Nah.”

A little laugh escapes Lance as well, grinning as he bumps their shoulders together.

Keith tries not to lean too hard into Lance’s side as to keep the contents of his stomach right where they are. Still, Lance’s body is warm through his shirt he’d changed into after getting his check-up, and that feels increasingly nice against the thin fabric of his flight suit.

Keith can feel Kogane’s eyes burning holes into them from across the room. It’s unnerving, making him nervous enough for him to look back at Kogane. The corners of his lips tilt upwards the very second their eyes meet.

He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

 ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 

Lance is still sitting in the med bay after Keith gets forcibly ordered into a healing pod by Coran. 

Dumbass got himself concussed and didn’t say anything until everyone else got checked out – in true Keith fashion.

He watches Keith’s still form in the pod, his eyes closed and features more relaxed than ever. Maybe he’s staring a little too hard, because he almost misses the telltale hiss of the pod door opening on the other side of the room.

Tearing his eyes away, he watches his counterpart stumble forward. He’s still half asleep as he falls right into Kogane’s arms. Lance expects Kogane to push him off, but instead he helps him stand upright and steadies one of McClain’s hands on his shoulder. He even interlaces their fingers between them. Kogane then softly rests his head against McClain’s chest for a moment, just breathing him in. They’re so close, right there, and then he watches Kogane lift his head, watches his mouth move, saying something that’s enough to make a smile light up on both of their faces. McClain nods slowly, letting Kogane carefully check his hand for any residual injuries.

Lance’s throat feels too dry as he watches the interaction between them. It feels like a stone has lodged itself in his windpipe, like he’d accidentally inhaled one like some sort of shitty vacuum cleaner.

They look so familiar with each of their gestures, as if it’s second nature to be so unguarded around each other. 

He’s pretty sure that if he tried catching Keith after a healing pod, he would just punch his dick clean off. With a ninety-nine percent certainty. 

The one time he actually did that goes towards that one percent (catching him, not getting his dick punched off), because Keith had been too woozy after a whole day aboard the healing pod train to do anything but lean closer. That doesn’t really count, except on nights where Lance lies awake to pick apart everything they’ve ever said to each other. It’s whatever, honestly. He ignores it for the most part.

The other two slowly untangle from each other, but Kogane wraps a hand around McClain’s waist as they walk towards Keith’s pod. 

“What’d he do?” McClain asks, groaning as he very carefully sits down. Kogane squats next to him, heels on the ground. 

“Concussed,” Lance explains. “The blast got him good.”

“Ah, man. I really thought I had him.” 

“To be fair, your impact literally broke his armor and your hand. Not a lot you could’ve done,” Kogane offers, setting his hand down on McClain’s upper arm and squeezing in a gesture of comfort. “Same goes for you,” he says to Lance. “I can feel you worrying from all the way over here. He’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lance waves him off. He’s totally not worried. He’s completely calm and collected. 

The fact that he is literally sitting next to his own self isn’t freaking him out either. That when he looks to the side, he sees the same profile he sees in the mirror, but different. The differences in how he perceives himself are subtle, but they are there. If he hadn’t known, he wonders if he’d have recognized himself as, well, himself.

It’s a bit like a fun-house mirror, but reversed – where Lance is the reflection and McClain is the person looking at it. He didn’t think his freckles were this pronounced. Nor did he ever see his shoulders as that broad. And somehow, his limbs look strong and lithe, rather than awkward and gangly. It’s reassuring at the very least, to know he doesn’t look as much like a mess as he feels.

“How’s the hand?” Lance asks eventually, ungluing his eyes from his counterpart to look back at Keith in front of him. 

McClain stretches his fingers before coiling them into a fist again. “Solid, I’d say.”

“That’s good.” Lance hums. “Thanks for saving Keith’s head. Could’ve turned out a lot more ugly.”

“No need to thank me, pretty sure he would’ve done the same.”

“Yeah, but– Just… Thanks, man.”

“‘course.” With a smile, McClain bumps their shoulders together. “You just wanna sit here and watch him until he gets out or would you rather hit the lounge couch with us?”

He considers for a moment, but his eyes stay fixed to the pod. Leaving Keith to wake up alone seems like an asshole move. 

“Nah, I think I’ll stay.”

Keith makes it out of the healing pod a little later – Lance is there to catch him. 

Not quite like their counterparts, not quite as familiar, and not quite as intimate. There aren’t any interlaced fingers and hushed voices. Keith doesn’t rest his forehead against Lance’s chest.

But Keith lets him offer to be a secure anchor. He lets Lance steady him by the shoulders.

The small smile Keith flashes him in thanks is enough to make Lance feel like he’s the one who just fell out of the healing pod instead the other way around.

“Why couldn’t there have been two of me and Hunk instead of you two clowns?” Pidge laments as she enters the lounge last.

The entire team, including their latest two additions, is already seated on the couch. Said additions are the main spectacle of the evening. 

There is always some sort of Situation (capitalized – that’s important) happening, but nothing quite like this has managed to happen to them yet. 

“Hey!” McClain complains from where he’s sitting, leaning a little too close into Kogane’s side. His arm is slung around Kogane’s shoulders and resting across the couch’s backrest. “We’re pulling our weight here!”

They look comfortable, Lance catches himself thinking. He wonders, daring to let his eyes drift towards Keith next to him, if he should try the same. Unfortunately, the near-murderous look on Keith’s features tells him to do anything but that. It’s just Keith’s resting expression, but Lance knows better than to provoke a twitch of an eye or bared teeth.

Pidge huffs. “Your wormhole knocked out the power on the entire station.” She lets herself sink into the cushions next to Shiro. “Hunk and I are going to have to go in to restore it if you want to go back.”

“Of course we want to go back. That’s not even a question,” Kogane mutters. “Is there anything we can do to help with that?”

“Not really, all you guys can do is wait and when the time comes, press exactly the buttons you pressed the first time around.”

“Sounds doable.” 

“The wormhole should close on its own after it’s sent you two back, but in case it doesn’t, we’ve got this stick that’ll kill the electricity.” Pidge holds up a stick not unlike the one Keith had earlier.

Keith wastes no time reaching for it, pocketing it almost immediately.

“Alright,” Pidge says. “I guess that takes care of that.”

“How do we know it’ll send us back to the same universe?” Kogane asks. 

If Lance isn’t imagining things, he sounds a little nervous, almost as if he doesn’t quite believe that it’s going to work so easily. He watches his hands reach up towards McClain’s hand. His fingers begin to play with it in an attempt of what Lance interprets as calming himself down. It’s a strange sight. Never in a million years he would’ve thought that something as simple as touching Keith could calm him down. Or that Keith would initiate a touch at all.

And that, too, makes Lance want to replicate what he’s seeing in front of him. Lay his hand on Keith’s to give his restless hands something to toy with and slot their thighs further together to chase down Keith’s warmth and comfort him.

“Keith, buddy,” Hunk soothes, “Lance’s data pad was monitoring his vitals as well as picking up the frequencies from the station you guys were on.”

“Safety measure,” Pidge cuts in, nodding so hard their glasses slip down the bridge of their nose. 

“It keeps track of a whole bunch of things, but if we’re lucky, it got the exact frequency needed to send you guys back properly. So when we head over later, we’ll directly input it into their system for you. Pretty much zero work on your part.”

Kogane deflates a little. “Alright.” His lips tug upwards – slowly, carefully and softly. “Thanks, guys.”

“Anything to get rid of you two,” Pidge teases.

Bringing the electricity back turns out to need more than just two hands on deck. Allura and Shiro join Pidge and Hunk on their journey, while Coran takes over the outside-coordination for them.

It leaves the four of them alone in the lounge once again.

Lance would be lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for another opportunity to talk to their counterparts freely.

“Should we call Slav for this conversation? He could probably tell us what universe exactly you’re from,” Lance suggests, pulling his knees up to the couch. 

“Sure, if you want to give Shiro an aneurysm,” Keith answers flatly.

“Shiro isn’t even in the room anymore.”

“He’d somehow feel it.” He turns to face the other two, fumbling with the drawstring of his hoodie between his fingers. “So, if you got into a bar fight last year, you definitely won that one.”

“In Mitkø?” Kogane clarifies. When Keith nods, he says, “I very much didn’t win that one, because this idiot over here took the hit for me.”

“Got a cool souvenir from it, at least.” McClain vaguely gestures to that scar through his brow. Lance hates to agree, but it does look pretty cool. Especially if he got it for defending Keith’s honor. He keeps his mouth shut though, not really in the mood to get attacked by two Keiths at the same time. “Just because this dumbass is starting fights doesn’t mean I can’t finish ‘em for him. Gotta keep his pretty face looking pretty, you know?”

Keith noticeably tenses next to him at the comment (compliment?).

“No offense,” McClain tacks on, holding his free hand up defensively.

“While it’s nice to have found the first divergence, I feel like it’s probably not a great starting point for us.” Lance cuts in, instead of letting the word pretty connected with Keith linger in the air between them for any longer.

McClain laughs. “Sore subject?” 

“You’re a sore subject.” Never mind that Lance is still mad at Keith for that bar fight. Lance had been sitting too far away from Keith to hear what was said that led to Keith getting his face bashed in by some drunk alien’s fist. He’d also been sitting too far away to drag Keith out of there without any injuries. All around a very uncool evening. 

“Maybe we need to work out the basics first,” McClain says after too much back and forth between him and Kogane about who saved whose ass during that fight that ultimately resulted in nothing.

“Like what?” Keith asks, thumbs pressed against his temples.

“Like, you pilot Black, I pilot Red. Has been that way for almost four years.”

Seeming to think for a moment, Keith’s eyes move from left to right. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You didn’t remember who I was when we saved Shiro back then,” McClain states.

While Kogane just rolls his eyes, Keith looks vaguely offended, his mood shifting. “It was a high-stress situation! I was busy trying to actually save Shiro, sorry I didn’t recognize a class-mate I hadn’t seen in a year!”

“You mean you were busy committing several felonies,” McClain corrects him with a smug grin. 

“Wasn’t.”

“Totally were. I bet you got wanted posters with your face on it back on Earth.”

“Nope,” Keith argues. “They didn’t even catch me, there’s nothing to prove it was me.”

“Ha! So you admit it!”

Keith glares at McClain with an intensity that would make Lance question everything he’s ever said in his life. “Hard to believe you’re actually this annoying in every universe.”

It stuns McClain into silence while it makes Kogane laugh out loud. 

They go through bit by bit of their history,  which while not exactly chronological in nature, mostly overlaps.

They fought Zarkon: check. The Quantum Abyss happened: check. They made sure Lotor bit the dust: check. They haven’t made it back to Earth yet: check. Coran had a brain worm that one time: check. Keith almost had to get married to an alien prince because he didn’t have his translator on him: check. And he only got out of that because Lance insisted that he was already taken by him: check. It was weird and awkward for a week after that between them: also check.

Their universes only start to diverge from each other around three years in the past. 

“And then you both got approved for leave on Sgrian, right?” McClain asks, mindlessly scrolling through Lance’s data pad at this point, as if he could find any more info on it.

“Sure did,” Lance says. His eyes are glued to whatever his counterpart is doing on his screen. It’s not like they’re not, like, the same person, but some of that stuff’s private enough that Lance would feel wildly uncomfortable if McClain got his hands on them. Like diary entries and the letters he occasionally writes home but never sends. Maybe some raunchy pictures. Maybe not.

McClain sighs. “Super romantic destination and all.”

“I guess,” Keith answers curtly. He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Didn’t finish it though.”

“What? That’s–”

“Yeah, we only spent eight of the twelve days there.” 

Kogane’s face scrunches up in sympathy as he looks back at them. “We definitely finished it,” he says, and if Lance isn’t hallucinating it, his cheeks flush with a soft red. “Chronologically, that might be our first divergence.”

“Of course you guys got the full vacation,” Lance groans. “This sucks.”

McClain’s lips tug up into a smile. “I’m glad we got it, though.” He turns to face Kogane, eyes all disgustingly soft, and Lance genuinely hopes he doesn’t look like that when Keith talks to him. He already wears his heart on his sleeve most of the time, he doesn’t need it to be showing so blatantly on his face as well. “It was really– Just nice.”

“True,” Kogane agrees, “even if you decided you wanted to become a master at skating on the last day and almost broke both of your legs.”

“I’m adventurous,” he rebuts. McClain waves his hands into Kogane’s face. “You just wouldn’t know fun if it kicked you in the head.”

“You’re a dumbass and I have a basic sense of self-preservation.”

“First of all, you don’t. Second of all, that’s a lotta words to say you’re boring.”

“I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are. Ready for retirement, if I’m being honest.”

“Shut up.” Kogane grabs both of McClain’s wrists and pins them down between them. “I would’ve tried it with you if you hadn’t eaten shit like two minutes in.”

McClain narrows his eyes at him. “Boring,” he whispers. “So, so tragically boring.”

“Okay, what else happened after that?” Kogane continues, finally focusing his attention back to Keith and Lance, keeping McClain’s hands right where they’re pushed into the cushioned seats. 

Lance can’t help but stare at the pale fingers tightly wrapped around tan wrists, mesmerized by how their skin tones contrast against one another.

They realize, not soon after, that that’s where the similarities end. A branching point, eight days into their shared shore leave on Sgrian. Unluckily, they’re all still fighting in the same war, neither one of them much further ahead than the other, but the details start to change – different planets got liberated, different leaders got involved, different diplomatic problems arose, Pidge got a buzzcut one time in the other universe.

Lance zones out more than once, so focused on over-analyzing the interaction between their counterparts. When they speak to each other, it’s so similar to how he and Keith act that it strikes a nerve for him. They seem to always be touching somehow, which would be something Lance would raise an eyebrow at if he didn’t have his thigh pressed against Keith’s right this very second. Still, it catches his attention – the simple fact of how intimate it looks when it’s never really been like that between them.

Eventually, they tire out and the lights slowly dim, bathing the room in blue hues. Just before the sofa cushions nearly swallow them up, Kogane says they’re going to get something to eat in the kitchen before heading to bed. Lance offers to tag along, but both of them wave him off.

That leaves him to make the trek back to their rooms together with Keith.

The air between them feels a little tense, but Lance tries his hardest to not read too much into it or let himself spiral. Either of those seem like downright terrible ideas.

Maybe Keith had seen how they acted around each other too, had seen the same thing Lance had seen, and deemed it too much.

But maybe, and Lance tells himself this is the most rational explanation, Keith’s just fucking wiped from being in the healing pod and talking to their counterparts from a different universe for a whole evening. And he’s tense because of that. Not because seeing their counterparts’ back-and-forth has made him uncomfortable.

Lance tells himself to get a grip.

When they round the corner, Lance says, “So, this is super weird, right?”

Keith exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he looks at his feet. It’s not quite a laugh. “Very weird,” he agrees. 

“Those assholes got everything.” Lance decides then that complaining might be the best way to keep the conversation going. Complaining has always been safe with Keith. Complaining and gossiping were great to keep him engaged without drawing too much attention. “First off, the whole vacation? That’s just greedy.”

Keith hums, slinging his arms around himself. There’s a tug somewhere in the back of Lance’s mind that tells him he said the wrong thing, but he’s started and now there’s no stopping the word vomit that’s exploding from his lips.

“They get a cooler Pidge and they even got Earth-like food a whole year before we did!” He gestures with his hands, trying for a grand swing of his arms to get Keith to loosen up. It doesn’t really work. “And of course the other Lance gets a cool scar for defending your honor. And they both have better hair. This shit su–”

Lance stops dead in his tracks as they round another corner leading to the hallway to their bedrooms. 

He blinks three times to make sure that he’s not having a full-on hallucination.

He can see it, but Keith doesn’t, because he’s staring at the floor while he’s walking.

Time seems to stand still as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Kogane’s got McClain pushed up against the wall, hands on his waist, pressed in close, while McClain has his fingers buried in his unruly black hair, tangled in the strands.

Lance is pretty sure his heart falls out of his ass.

Their counterparts are – and there’s no other way to possibly describe it – making out sloppy styles in the middle of the goddamn hallway.

Kogane’s all over his (teammate? Rival? Friend? Friend with, uh, benefits?) boyfriend? 

Hands wandering, cradling and gripping so tightly as if trying to burrow themselves through the fabric of the flight suit without ever even opening it in the first place, and Lance can see from all the way over here that there’s a lot of tongue and spit involved – again, in the middle of the hallway – and they need to not be here anymore, like, right now.

He holds his breath, trying not to gasp as his mind struggles to wrap itself around the picture in front of him. Without giving it even half a thought, he folds his hand around Keith’s arm before pulling him back into the hallway they came from.

“What the f–” Keith protests, but Lance cuts him off by pressing his palm against his mouth, shushing him.

“Don’t look right now,” he whispers.

It’s the last thing he wants. The very last thing. He doesn’t want Keith to take that step around the corner, lift his head and see this manifestation of Lance’s best kept secret become real in front of him.

Because it’s not real for them. Because those two act the very same as they do. Because it’s always been friendly banter and it hasn’t ever been fucking romantic between them, has it?

Lance knows romance.

For heaven’s sake, he’d tried romance on Keith. He’d really tried all those times, but it always just seemed to glide off of Keith’s skin like rain on a car’s windshield. Pick-up lines didn’t work on the guy. Asking him out for a little one-on-one time didn’t work outside of training. Purposefully stretching his arms above his head so a little sliver of skin on his stomach would show didn’t work on him either.

But now he’s seeing their counterparts making out, which means it clearly seems to work for them. While here, in this shitty universe they’d ended up in, Keith has never once reciprocated any of Lance’s advances. 

Jealousy and bitterness rear their conjoined heads in his mind, even as he desperately tries to ignore them. He’s mentally calling pest control on that thing.

Keith, in an insane fit of strength that Lance should have anticipated ahead of time, peels Lance’s palm away from his face, grips him by the wrist and twists his arm backward, forcing his chest against the wall behind him. 

“Don’t do that,” Keith warns quietly.

Lance barely bites down a yelp. “Okay, okay, shit.”

Showing a bit of mercy, Keith lets go of his wrist, letting Lance shake it out, angrily rubbing at it.

“What am I not supposed to look at?” Keith asks. His dark eyes are overwhelmingly intense as they stare up at him. Their height difference is almost unnoticeable unless they stand this close to one another, and Lance usually embraces having those five centimeters over Keith. Right now, though, it feels like Keith might as well be hovering above him.

“Jeez Louise, you might wanna keep your freaky Galra strength for the b–”

“Lance.” His expression itself is a warning. “Stop dicking around. What is it?”

“Just don’t look, man,” Lance tries. He hopes the pathetic pleading tone is enough to sway Keith.

 ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 

Keith looks. 

Because he’s, quite frankly, a grade-A idiot. Sometimes he thinks he’s above listening to Lance even though he’s right more often than not. It’s really fueling his demise as of right now.

He should’ve listened to Lance.

Because when he sees that different version of himself harshly kissing that different version of Lance, he begins to hope that the ground could give out underneath his feet and suck him right out into space.

There’s a too familiar swirl of anguish picking up speed somewhere in his chest, enough to make his stomach feel too heavy and make his heart thud hard enough to hear it on the outside. 

Lance had been right, in more ways than one. These two really do have everything. They even have each other in a way that Keith couldn’t even hope to wish for.

He finds himself not really caring about what the specifics here are – if they’re dating or just fooling around, because given the chance, Keith would take it. He’d take it without asking questions, take it and never push for more, to keep it close to himself and keep it safe.

It feels like hours must pass by in what may merely be three seconds – a glimpse of red-yellow and green-orange, of black and brown, of hands and mouths – before he catches himself and turns back at Lance.

He inspects his expression, trying to see past what’s obviously shock and gauge if there’s anything underneath it. 

Who is he trying to fool? Reading Lance has always been nothing short of a nightmare.

All that comes out when he opens his mouth to talk is, “Why didn’t you tell me not to look?”

“I literally did like, half a second ago.” Lance curls his upper lip in irritation. “Not my fault you can’t listen.”

Keith clenches his hands at his sides. Nails dig into the soft parts of his palms.

Part of him isn’t quite sure if what he just saw was a figment of his imagination – maybe a side-effect from the concussion that hasn’t fully healed or an after movie of his life that he got as a thanks for dying in the blast.

Because there is no way, is there?

“Great, now I feel like we’re the perverts because we’re listening to them making out,” Lance whispers after an excessive span of silence between them. They’re just standing in place, neither of them making a move or daring to do anything at all.

“Should we”– Keith uselessly moves his hands in front of him –“make some sort of noise? Open the door over there or something?”

Lance opens his mouth and closes it again, clearly considering. His eyes narrow as he taps his pointer finger against his pursed lips. “You know what?” he says. “That might be the best idea you’ve had all day.”

With rapt interest, Keith watches Lance’s closed fist slam on the button next to the supply closet door behind them over and over again. The door slides open a bit, hisses back shut, slides open a bit, squeaks as it shuts again, slides open a little more this time, and Lance goes in, kicks at a metal bucket for good measure before opening and closing the door again.

Keith begrudgingly bites down a laugh as he watches Lance go through the motions.

“Think that’s enough?” Lance asks with his lips screwed up into an annoyingly handsome smile.

Shaking his head, Keith says, “I think that bucket hasn’t gotten enough action yet.”

“Honor’s all yours.” 

The button feels the wrath of Lance’s closed fist again, so Keith can give the bucket a last, good kick. It dents the metal and makes a noise loud enough that Coran is probably gonna be able to hear it in the medbay.

“Thank you.” Keith looks up, finally meeting Lance’s eyes. He really can’t keep the grin down anymore, the feeling in his chest too big to be contained inside of his ribcage.

Lance looks back at him, the skin crinkling at the corners of them as his smile grows. “Now, let’s see about the other two, shall we?”

Somehow, it feels a lot less daunting now.

There’s no denying it now that their counterparts are actually their counterparts, because Keith honestly can only see this sheer level of dumbassery coming from the two of them. 

They’re both intensely looking at one of the plants on the windowsill next to them. McClain is thoughtfully rubbing his chin while Kogane nods slowly, uh-huh-ing at whatever McClain’s saying. 

Lance clears his throat, making them flinch in response. 

“Yo,” McClain says, clearly staggered, waving his hand. “We were just looking for you!”

“Sure you were,” Keith mutters under his breath, quietly enough for only Lance to hear. He snorts, and that alone sends a thrill like none other through him. 

Keep it together, he reminds himself. 

“What’s up?” Lance croaks through the laugh making its way up his chest. 

Keith’s glad Lance isn’t immediately coming out of the gate with the fact that they know there’s something going on between them. Maybe he knows too, that the second the others ask them the same question, it’s going to get so much more awkward than it already is. 

“We were just wondering which bedroom you guys usually sleep in?” McClain scratches the back of his head. 

Without thinking, Keith answers, “Mine.” 

Because that’s obviously where he sleeps. 

“Perfect,” McClain says, gently wrapping his fingers around Kogane’s wrist, “we usually take mine anyways.”

If shit hasn’t been going downhill already, it certainly is doing that now. 

It’s not until they’ve said good night and parted ways that Keith realizes the fatal error he’s made. 

He’s brushing his teeth in the mirror, only to lock eyes with Lance, who’s doing the very same thing. Lance’d brought all of his usual beauty products and his favorite pajama shirt, because he’s sleeping in Keith’s room tonight.

This may very well be one of the worst decisions he’s made so far in his life. Okay, maybe this week. Today. But it’s certainly up there. 

He should’ve seen that coming the very second McClain asked about the bedrooms. 

At least the non-concussed version of him would’ve seen it coming. He’s not quite sure if the healing pod did anything at all. 

“I can take the floor,” Lance offers, standing in the middle of Keith’s room while Keith sits on the very edge of the bed in his boxers. 

Keith feels his facial expression derail against his will. “Are you crazy?” he argues. “You’re a guest, you’re sleeping in the bed and I’m taking the floor.”

“Absolutely not.” Lance makes an ‘X’ with his forearms. “You’re piloting us back to the space station tomorrow, so you’ll need the sleep.”

“And what are you going to do without your beauty sleep?”

“I can handle it.” Keith watches Lance sink to the floor, sitting down cross legged with his head in his hands. “See? Turbo comfy up in here.”

“You haven’t even laid down yet.”

“Just you wait.” Lance points a finger at Keith, and then, in the most pitiful series of movements and noises, lays down on his side. “It’s great,” he says through a pained sigh.

“Dumbass.” Keith inches his bare feet forward and uses one of them to kick Lance’s hip. “You really want to go through with that?”

“Yup, don’t even need blankets.”

“So you’re just gonna stay there? On the cold floor?”

“I feel right at home.”

Keith shakes his head. He’s not going to let Lance sleep on the floor. And if he can’t convince Lance to let him take the floor either, he might have to pull out the big guns. 

He scoots backwards until his back hits the wall of his bed and pulls the covers to the side. 

“Just get in here with me,” he mutters, not looking at Lance at all. 

Keith braces himself for the inevitable letdown, for an awkward rejection – instead the awful mattress dips underneath Lance’s weight. Rather unsurprisingly, cold feet press up against his own as Lance shuffles closer.

“You really wanted to sleep on the floor?” Keith asks, because it’s easier than asking Lance to come even closer. 

“No, I was hoping you’d ask to share the bed,” Lance confesses. “I need a half-human furnace to keep me warm.”

“Then how are you still this cold?”

Lance grumbles, pushing his frostbite-inducing feet harder against Keith’s shins. “Why aren’t you? That’s the real question here. Castle runs cold as hell.”

“I don’t get cold so easily,” he answers, pulling the blanket up to his chest. 

Lance grabs his part of the blanket and fights with it until it covers his chin and mouth. He looks at Keith over the red-stitched border of it. “Bastard,” he says.

“Hey!” Already laughing again, tension draining, Keith reaches out to half-heartedly shove at Lance’s shoulder. 

It feels a little like a slumber party, or at least it’s how he imagines one to be. Not that he attended many. Lance laughs, smile hidden away by the blanket, and Keith has to fight the urge to pull it down to see.

“So,” Lance starts, crinkles in the soft skin around his eyes slowly dissipating. Keith already knows what he’s going to say. “Kinda crazy that our counterparts are like, you know…”

That’s putting it mildly.

To Keith, it’s damn near calamitous.

“Do you think they’re dating or just, ugh, doing whatever?” Keith asks and hopes that the shake in his voice doesn’t reach Lance’s ears.

“Doing whatever,” Lance repeats, exhaling through his nose. “I honestly don’t know. Knowing us, it could very well be just whatever the fuck.”

“You might be right.”

Lance chuckles lightly. “I don’t trust those two dumbasses to figure out a working relationship further than I can throw them.”

“That’s not very far,” Keith remarks through a smile. He’s desperately trying to not think about what the hell Lance means, considering they’re talking about what’s honestly just a slightly different version of themselves.

“Exactly.”

“I mean, I could believe it if they were in a relationship,” Keith tries. His stomach is winding itself into tight little knots. “They seemed pretty touchy all evening.”

“Touching is just one thing though. Wouldn’t you think that if they were together they’d be less like…” Lance trails off, but Keith doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what Lance is trying to say. 

They can’t possibly be together, because they’re acting too similarly to the two of them.

‘They’d be less like us,’ is what Lance probably wants to get across.

It’s so obvious that Lance doesn’t want what Keith has always tried to offer him.

“Maybe they’d be a little different,” Keith hears himself agreeing, voice distant and dissonant. 

“Or, maybe”– Lance sounds a lot more alive now –“they literally just kissed for the first time then.”

“That didn’t look like a first kiss.”

“Ah, yeah. Forgot that you were the expert on first kisses.”

Keith’s brows furrow. “And you are?” His fingers tighten into the hem of the blanket. “I’d bet you a month of doing dishes that I’ve got more experience than you do.”

Lance narrows his eyes at Keith, mentally calculating his odds. “A month?”

“Four weeks.”

Lance calculates some more. It’s not looking good if his expression is anything to go by.

“Whatever, man. I’m not taking that bet,” he says, dismissive, while Keith very silently celebrates his win. It’s cut short by the next words out of Lance’s mouth. A tiny high among the lows.  “Dunno, just– You know, they’re from a different universe. Anything’s possible.”

“They’re still you and me.” There Keith goes, putting the unsaid thing right out in between them, creating a wall of syllables and spaces in the middle of the mattress. Maybe he’s said it too forcefully, as if he’s trying to convince Lance of it.

Lance sighs, a sound too harsh in the momentary silence. “They’re different.”

“Right.” With distaste, Keith catches the inkling of hurt in his own voice, letting that feeling bubble to the surface even if he’d kept it so well hidden underneath his skin. “Just because they’re dating or something doesn’t mean we have to be.”

Shooting himself in the foot, if only to drive it home a little deeper than Lance had, only to have the last word. It might honestly be what Keith is best at.

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

He does end up having the last word, because Lance only nods in response before telling Keith that he’s tired.

Keith thinks he should apologize and bend things back into place. Unfortunately, he thinks, if he were to say sorry out loud, their whole foundation could crumble. Because what does Lance say? Acknowledge that he’s upset about it? And what does Keith say? Indirectly accuse Lance of being upset? Of putting on a stupidly thin front?

It’s not in the cards. Not right now. So Keith will just have to deal with it.

Lance isn’t too upset though, Keith realizes soon, because Lance’s feet stay wedged against his legs, and when Keith scoots a little closer after Lance’s breathing slowly evens out, he doesn’t move away. He falls asleep with a warm hand resting at the nape of his neck and the smell of sea salt in his nostrils.

Keith’s always been an early riser, and even if he is sharing his bed tonight, there’s no real difference here. The only difference is how he comes to.

Warm, even puffs of breath are beading against the columns of his throat.  Unruly hair is tickling at his jaw, there’s one leg kicked out over his hips – it looks like Lance had curled up against him in his sleep.

It makes him feel warm all over, a blistering glow starting where Lance’s breath meets his skin, crawling out through his nerves into every single centimeter of his system. A certain peacefulness comes with it.

And Keith, he lets himself bask in this, just for a few moments. He draws circles into Lance’s shoulders with his fingers, featherlight and not even enough to stir him awake yet.

He doesn’t want to wake Lance at all, would rather that he wakes up by himself. Not that Lance would hate the position they’re finding themselves in. They’ve fallen asleep together on the couch before, having planned missions together for too long and woken up tangled. 

But Keith has a plan, and he doesn’t want Lance to be present for that.

Keith takes one last deep breath and then, woefully and with an almost-ache in his heart, untangles himself from Lance and climbs over him to get out of the bed. He slips on the same hoodie from last night and a fresh pair of sweatpants before setting his plan into motion.

He’s going to grill Kogane.

The only question is where to find him.

He answers that on the first try – Keith hates how predictable he is.

Kogane is running laps in the training center and he’s really taken out all the stops to make it as hard on himself as possible. He’d fiddled with the settings until he either found some of Keith’s own room presets or just configured his own that overlapped with Keith’s because they’re the same damn person. The ground is no longer solid, but rather emulates sand now. As if that isn’t enough, the fans have picked up to blast him with scorching winds. It’s a pretty perfect replica of the landscape outside of his old shack. Keith only uses it when he’s feeling particularly stressed out and needs the wind to knock the thoughts right out of his head.

He can imagine Kogane needs that right now as well. Being stuck there, if the roles were reversed, would certainly do a number on Keith too. 

He waves his hands until Kogane spots him and slows to a stop. As he walks towards Keith, he tightens the ponytail at the back of his head. A simple thing that’s still somehow different enough, because Keith’s hair isn’t even long enough for that yet.

“Hey,” Kogane says, bringing the bottom hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off of his face. “Sleep well?”

Keith stares at him for a short moment, recognizing the gym shorts he’s wearing as very distinctly Lance’s with a blue trim around the legs. It helps to sort through a few things in his head.

Instead of answering his question, Keith just blurts right out what he came here for.

“You and Lance,” he says, attempting to not sound too accusatory.

Kogane’s lips curl up into a smirk, and now Keith understands why it drives Lance up the wall: he really looks way too smug right now. “Yeah.” Kogane tilts his head. “You and Lance.”

Keith’s mouth drops open.

That’s not even close to what he’d expected to hear.

“No,” he answers. “Not me and Lance. Not at all.”

Kogane squints at him, clearly just as caught off guard as Keith had been. “What do you mean? You’re not–?”

About to start stomping the ground in frustration, Keith says, “No, we’re not– whatever the hell you guys are!”

“Dating.”

“Not doing that.”

“But you–”

“We’re not together,” Keith brings out, and with the words, all the air leaves his lungs. “We’re – Lance doesn’t see us that way.”

“Are you sure?”

This feels like talking to a vaguely emotive brick wall. It doesn’t ease his frustration or makes him feel any better for that matter. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Nothing Keith has ever done made Lance seem like he’d been interested. He engaged, yeah, gladly taking Keith up on offers, but it never felt quite like he was doing it out of more than friendly obligation.

“On Sgrian”– Kogane’s expression twists into something that’s barely masking pity –“did he turn you down? Is that why you left early?”

The mention of Sgrian is enough for Keith to want to pull his jacket over his head and bury himself in the ground. It’s his probably greatest fumble to this day, one that he’s not sure he’ll ever end up recovering from.

He couldn’t believe his luck back then, almost two weeks with Lance on a planet with endless city scapes, glowing like an unending swarm of fireflies in the night. By the midway-point Keith had actually been under the illusion that he and Lance were growing closer. That there might be something blooming and blossoming between them. It had felt like tensions were rising – in a good way. More held breaths, more eye-contact, just waiting for something to happen.

They’d been gearing up to participate in the planet’s active racing culture, and even signed up for one of the big races happening during the time they’re there. Who were they kidding, honestly? They requested leave specifically timed for this occasion.

The racers, as they zipped past them from where they watched together over the city rooftops while pouring over strategies, seemed like little more than bright flashes of light. Colorful and intense, loud as they reached the curves of the tracks. 

When it was finally their turn, they’d squeezed into one of the tiny spheres together. Every centimeter of their skin somehow touched – even worse so when they picked up speed, g-forces unlike anything they’d felt before pressing them back into their seats and one another. 

Lance screamed with gleeful laughter as he whipped the steering wheel around, nearly sending the two of them crashing into the barricades. Keith yelled right along with him, at the top of his lungs until his throat felt raw, trying to pull his weight on his side of the sphere, assisting Lance where possible. 

They finished in eighth place out of twelve, but they celebrated arguably the loudest out of all of them the very second they stepped back outside. Legs still shaking and out of breath, they crashed into each other’s arms. 

Seeing Lance in the night lights of the city had punched the air clean out of Keith’s lungs. It had consumed him and pulled him under like riptides in the ocean. 

Lance’s skin glistened with sweat and his smile shone as he untangled himself from the embrace but didn’t let go entirely just yet. He just kept his arm slung around Keith’s waist. Lance pumped his arm into the air in victory and Keith couldn’t keep his feelings at bay. He’d stood perfectly still, a marble statue, forever fixed to Lance’s laugh. 

And when Lance turned, Keith should’ve kissed him. 

“I didn’t kiss him. There was nothing to turn down in the first place.”

Kogane stays silent, just watching Keith’s face intently. Something in there makes him want to keep going.

“It was just– I think I was way too nervous and I didn’t want to screw it up. And then I just ended up freezing, because I… I don’t know what I thought.”

They stand in nearly unbearable silence for a moment following Keith raising his voice. All he hears is the sound of wind still blowing from the fans. It makes him feel like he should say more, like Kogane is waiting to squeeze more information from him. 

“Not like you to freeze up,” Kogane finally answers.

“I know!” Keith groans, lifting his hands and gesturing. “But Lance didn’t make a move either! He just– He just stood there and looked at me!”

“Ever thought about how that was his way of giving you an opening?”

“I– Obviously not!”

“Obviously,” Kogane echoes, shaking his head. “Lance and I are together because I kissed him then.”

Keith bites his lower lip in worry. The sheer luck these two have seems unbelievable, and it twists and writhes itself around his heart, squeezing tight enough to hurt. “And that’s great for you guys, but my Lance–”

“Your Lance is stupidly head over heels for you, you just don’t see it.” An accusing finger bores himself into Keith’s chest. “Because you’re as dense as a bag of bricks.”

Because the words take a moment to sink in, Keith mutters, “Kind of hurtful for you to say that.”

“I can say that because I’ve heard it a million times from Lance.”

Keith hesitates. “So what if I kiss him and I end up ruining a perfectly good friendship because of that?”

“You won’t,” Kogane assures him. “Do you really think Lance, out of all people, would drop you over something like a kiss?”

The tiny possibility of Lance reciprocating looms threateningly over Keith’s head now, dark and yet so unbelievably enticing. He wants to reach up and grab.

“He wouldn’t.”

“Exactly,” Kogane says. He lays his hand on Keith’s shoulder, in the same almost awkward way that Keith regularly inflicts on other people. Something about the sincerity of it, the earnesty of Kogane’s expression is still comforting, though. “Lance, he… Lance works differently from you and me. He’s all about romance and classic, candle-lit dinners.”

Keith opens his mouth to protest, but Kogane shushes him. “Before you say anything, I know you think you don’t fit into that, but you do. You absolutely do.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do,” Kogane rebuts, “I’ve got three years of dating him as experience. That not enough?”

And it makes sense, of course it does. Keith presses his lips together, brows furrowing. He’d just never really thought someone like Lance, like sunlight incarnate, even with his bumps and edges, would ever fall for someone like him. 

“Lance thinks that you starting a bar fight for him is peak romance,” Kogane adds as he takes in the uncertainty on Keith’s features.

“Doubt it,” Keith answers. “My Lance is mad about it.”

“Is he?”

“He doesn’t even know what started the fight in the first place. Got really, really mad at me for provoking people.”

A hint of a laugh graces Kogane’s face. “Sounds like him,” he says, fondness bleeding into the words. “Look, I’m just saying, you guys work well together. Whether you believe it or not.”

 “I–”

“Don’t go around just starting bar fights now. Lance loves being around you either way. Around you and me  – both versions of him. Even if we’re romantically stilted.”

“Did he call you that?”

“Yeah.”

Keith kind of wants to test if doing an EVA without a helmet is really as deadly as everyone says.

“Do you want to run a few laps with me before you face the others again?” Kogane asks before Keith can spiral, intimately familiar with his terrible thought processes. 

He nods, taking that offer with the first honest smile that morning. Clearing his head is probably a good idea before he dives back in. 

 ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 

“I can’t believe this,” McClain complains around a mouthful of leftover pancakes from yesterday. “We get sent to an alternate reality and instead of getting to see some crazy hot alien babes, I have to fix my own relationship problems?” 

The kitchen is blessedly empty this early in the morning. 

The sound of the door hissing shut had woken Lance up from a very, very restful sleep. He’d sat up, blinking into the room, trying to figure out just where the hell he actually was before putting the pieces back together again.

Right, he’d shared a bed with Keith.

And he’d never fallen asleep faster than with Keith’s breathing to calm him down.

And then Keith had gone off somewhere and didn’t even leave as much as a note to tell him where. He knows he’s being just a little bit dramatic here, but he also feels like he deserves to be a drama queen right now. It would’ve been nice for Keith to tell him where he went, or at least wake him up. That’s all. Really. 

Lance sighs. “Man, you’re making it sound like it’s some awful task.”

“It is a garbage task, dude.” McClain finally swallows. “Just get your shit together, grab him by his stupid jacket and kiss him. Literally the easiest thing in the world.”

He’d found McClain in the communal room, where he’d sat with his legs crossed on the couch, and he’d answered, “Well, I know my boyfriend went running this morning. I guess yours is doing the same thing.”

Which led to Lance immediately having to correct him, which in turn led to an insanely uncomfortable conversation about how they’re not together at all.

“Yeah, right,” Lance exhales, a sound that resembles a strangled laugh leaving his mouth. “Sure. Obviously.”

McClain unceremoniously bites down on another piece of pancake. “Yeah.”

There’s no other way to say it, the certainty that McClain is putting into what he’s telling him is enough to make him just a little nervous. A tiny bit nervous.

Who is he kidding? It makes his heart flutter like crazy, but he’s also not stupid. He doesn’t – can’t – want to delude himself here.

He pushes his own plate away from himself. A ceramic clink rings through the empty room as their plates tink against one another. 

“He’s not even into me like that.” The words feel weird and forced as he says them. He thinks back to small, private moments, where Keith would just quiet down and look at Lance.

After particularly intense sparring sessions, both of them panting after aggressively putting their whole weight into pinning each other to the mat. After a mission gone wrong where they’re patching each other up in the medbay. After a long day of shared paperwork that has both their eyes falling shut at the desk.

Just in those moments, Lance allows himself to let that locked-up, hopelessly romantic part of his brain run loose.

McClain groans, throwing his head back. “Oh my god, man, you’re like, actually clueless.”

“I swear I’m pulling every trick in the book! He’s not rocking with it!”

“Tricks like what? Bending over to pick up something you dropped on purpose?”

Lance glares at his counterpart. He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t think he needs to.

“Yawning and putting your arm down around his shoulders?”

Dead silence.

“Telling him you hate his stupid mullet?”

“Okay! I get it!” Lance finally breaks. “You’re annoying.”

“Look, I can tell you one thing.” With a loud bang, he claps his hands down on the table next to the plate. An expression that couldn’t be more serious if he were held at gunpoint decorates his features. “Your flirting doesn’t look like Keith’s flirting.”

Lance squeaks, “What do you mean? What does Keith’s flirting even look like?” He grasps on to the edges of his seat for stability. “Not that I’m ever going to see it.”

McClain just shakes his head. “Do I really have to lay it out for you, man? Use that pretty head of yours.”

Lance slumps into his seat, pouting. 

If he were being honest with himself, he’d admit that McClain may be onto something. Maybe at this point, he’s just being stubborn for the hell of it, but he needs to hear McClain outright just say it before he can actually let himself believe it.

“Okay, so he laughs at my jokes, big deal,” says Lance.

“He always laughs, even if they’re not funny,” McClain adds, lifting his pinky to count. “Does he let you touch him?”

“What? I mean–” 

“Think about how many times you’ve touched him since we got here.”

He flips through his memories like they’re a picture book, trying to remember. Between the fits of doubt, the pictures become clearer. A touch here, a linked ankle there, a curled hand around a wrist to top it off. He’s just– He’s always touching Keith. 

McClain lifts a second finger. “See?” He’s grinning, stupidly smug as he takes a hammer to the brittle old lock in Lance’s mind. “How many times did he offer to teach you hand-to-hand?”

“I’m long-range, to be fair, and he says I need to study up on my melee techniques.”

“Oh yeah. I’m sure that’s why.” McClain is full-on making fun of him now. What a jerk. “He’s also always trying to challenge you, isn’t he? Making up competitions over the dumbest shit imaginable?”

Lance crosses his arms in front of his chest, sinking further into the chair until only his eyes are visibly over the table. “…Yes,” he mumbles.

Another finger lifted. McClain pushes his hand over the table, pretty much rubbing it into Lance’s face. “And does he do that with anyone else?”

Lance half-heartedly swats his hand away. “…No.”

“Now, what could that mean?”

“It means you’re being rude to someone who’s very clearly in a crisis!”

“I’m just telling you what you need to hear, buddy.”

“Hell of a buddy,” he echoes.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” McClain does not take mercy on him, not in the slightest. It’s like he delights in seeing himself suffer. “Again, what do you think it means?”

“Fine!” Lance sits back up, glaring at his counterpart. “What does it mean? Since you apparently know everything?”

McClain grins almost devilishly. He knows Lance has taken the bait and swallowed it right down. “It’s how Keith flirts, man,” he says, as if it’s the most natural conclusion in the world to come to. Something in Lance’s brain chemistry changes permanently, he thinks. Neural pathways rearrange themselves, building new bridges and connections. Synapses guiding electric impulses into his neurons fast enough to make him dizzy. Maybe something is short-circuiting. He can’t be too sure.

“That guy has no idea what a normal romantic date looks like, but he sure knows how to fight and he’s pretty damn good at that.” McClain holds his hands out, as if to say, ’see?’. “And to keep guiding you into situations where you have to get your hands on each other? I don’t know, but it sounds like classic Keith to me.”

And that’s about when Lance has to bury his face in his hands. “Oh, shit,” he whines. “I think you’re right.”

Pidge and Hunk call in their successful reinstatement of electricity in the space station a couple of hours later. Just when the team plus counterparts were getting comfortable in the lounge again, playing card games together, Lance had to be overly cautious of how much he was touching Keith, only to notice that Keith kept leaning in first.

Immediately, Keith volunteers to fly them back to the station, and Lance has no choice but to step up alongside him.

They make it back to the station without so much as a bump in the pod’s hull, docking expertly and getting through the decontamination process easily enough.

The empty station is no less scary than the last time they were here, but at the very least now they know where they’re going.

It takes them ten minutes to locate the command center and another ten minutes for McClain to hit all kinds of buttons on the middle panel without too much of a plan.

Keith and Lance have taken to hiding behind one of the destroyed panels in the back of the room, just in case this whole thing explodes again. Simple safety measure.

Lance turns, peeking out over the console. Keith follows immediately after.

They watch as McClain finally seems to hit the right button and a glowing white ball of light opens up in the middle of the room. They can’t see through it, the light too bright for their eyes.

“I think it’s stable!” McClain exclaims, waving them over.

Keith looks to Lance, presumably for his opinion, but Lance just nods. He gets up and slowly steps closer over the debris that lies scattered all across the floor. The fragmented pieces don’t offer safe passage, and Keith slips once, but Lance is fast enough to catch him and steady him by his arm. Walking becomes a two-man job until they reach the middle.

The pull of the wormhole is palpable, kicking up wind and dust, framing Kogane and McClain in its light from behind. Lance really has to squint against it to see.

“Pidge said they managed to extract the data from this place,” Keith says to the other two. “With a little luck, we might get to see each other again, or at least send messages.”

“Oh hell yeah, I’ve always wanted a weird alternate universe pen pal,” McClain says, whistling lowly.

Kogane actually snorts at that. “As long as we don’t let Slav find out.”

“That’d kill him,” Keith adds. “But for now, let’s just get you back.”

McClain salutes, nodding to the  both of them. “Was good to get to know you,” he says. “And it’s been a real pleasure to find out that I genuinely do look great from all angles, so, thanks for that, too.” He shoots the coolest finger-gun-wink-combo that Lance has ever seen at him, and he swears he can hear Keith’s eye-roll from the side.

“Anytime,” he responds, smiling brightly.

“Alright.” Kogane finally turns and holds his hand out towards McClain. “After you,” he says, in a way that is so insanely charming (and hot. Oh boy, is it hot) – Lance didn’t know he was capable of that. 

McClain lays his hand atop Kogane’s fingers, as if he were entering a horse-drawn carriage rather than a wormhole, and steps right into the light.

He’s pulling Kogane’s arm along, but Kogane decides to halt at the last minute. He turns his head toward Keith. 

“Think about what I said, alright?” His voice soft around the edges.

Lance blinks at Keith next to him, taking note of the faint blush painting his cheeks even in the bright light.

Keith nods, steadfast.

Kogane seems satisfied with whatever the hell that was. “Good luck,” he tells the both of them before he, very unceremoniously, follows his boyfriend back into their universe.

They watch the light in front of them spark and get bigger, ready to sprint for cover if they have to, but it then curls back into itself, folding and folding until it disappears from their sight.

“Guess we should get going, huh?” Lance asks.

Keith just nods, eyes cemented to where the light had disappeared.

Later on, Lance is hanging out his bed, talking himself through what happened in the past twenty-four hours – out loud, so he feels a little more insane than he would have otherwise. He’s rudely interrupted by the telltale beep of his door-code being punched in from the outside.

“Hey!” he squawks, scrambling up, glaring at his visitor.

“You shouldn’t make your code something that obvious,” Keith says, unimpressed, inviting himself in. 

Lance flips him off, kicking into his general direction. “I could’ve been naked!”

“Okay?” Keith shrugs, leaning against the wall at the foot-end of Lance’s bed. “You weren’t, though.”

“You’re an animal.”

Keith doesn’t even deign him with an answer, but instead flashes him with a small smile that exposes the sharp edges of his canine teeth, something that Lance can never really get enough of.

“Okay, okay,” Lance says then, because he needs to hand-pull every single request out of Keith’s mouth himself. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Keith lets his head tip to the side, dark hair against grey metal. “I was wondering if you were up for some hand-to-hand? Coran cleared me this morning.”

The smile that creeps onto Lance’s lips almost splits his face in two. McClain’s voice rings in his ears.

And now he sees it for what it is.

This is Keith making moves.

“Sure, since you want to lose so badly,” Lance answers, even if it’ll mean a few bruises here and there.

Keith’s eyes sparkle with a wicked fire. “You’re on.”

Boy, does he bruise.

Keith is ruthless today, but Lance isn’t complaining for once.

He dodges hit after hit, focusing all his attention on defense instead of staying on attack like he usually would.

“What was it that Kogane told you to think about?” Lance asks, halfway through opening a path for himself.

Swing and miss. Hit and dodge.

“Pretty sure you can figure that one out yourself,” Keith wheezes, shaking out his arms.

“Give me a hint,” Lance says, even though Keith may very well be right.

“How about you win, and I’ll tell you after?”

“What if I lose?” Lance asks, narrowly avoiding a kick against the muscle above his knee.

Keith shakes his head. “Thought that wasn’t an option?”

“Alright. Deal.”

Keith has his hands raised to his temples, sweat dripping down his face, beading on his cheeks and gathering at his chin, flushed red up to his hairline. And Lance honestly loves this, because Keith is laughing, taunting, and daring Lance to try harder.

“That’s all you got?” Keith heckles, cheeks dimpling. Out of breath, he’s circling Lance, and Lance moves with him. Every step to the right is one to the left for him, keeping distance and keeping safe.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Lance teases.

Keith takes a swing that connects with Lance’s side, harsh enough to force an exhale from him. But Lance needs Keith to think he’s winning. Even if only for a moment.

“Ha!” He really considers himself victorious already. 

So overeager.

Lance puts his plan into action.

The next time Keith lunges for him, Lance clasps his hand around Keith’s wrist, pulling him in close enough that their chests collide. Keith stumbles with a gasp, steadying himself on Lance with his free hand.

The harsh stop to his momentum is just what Lance needs.

He lets go of Keith’s arm, and instead uses both of his hands to grab Keith by the sides of his face to pull him in closer. 

Between sweat and salt and heavy breaths, their lips connect, crashing against each other.

It’s overwhelming and so natural at the same time. An avalanche that just waited to happen, a rockslide that has been a long time coming.

Lance gets swept up in it, kissing Keith like it’s what he’s been born to do, and Keith melts against him, hands scrambling for purchase in his sweat-soaked shirt, nails digging through fabric. Keith kisses back harder, as if this, too, is a contest to win, like Lance is a prize to claim and Keith is dead-set on getting first place.

Nothing’s ever been easier, Lance thinks, and Keith is playing right into his hands.

After what could either be two hours or just thirty seconds, Lance, because losing isn’t an option, hooks his foot around Keith’s ankle, knocking him off-balance and sending him straight to the floor.

What he hadn’t counted on were Keith’s hands still fisting into his shirt, holding on with a vice-like death-grip, pulling Lance right down on top of him.

“I won,” Lance says, just before Keith is surging back up to move in for another kiss. Lance lets him, because he can taste Keith’s smile, can feel the dimples forming underneath his thumbs where they rest on Keith’s cheeks. He feels incandescently happy. 

“Still wanna know my secret?” Keith gasps out when he eventually lets himself fall back down on the mattress. 

Lance laughs, a hand splayed across Keith’s chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath his palm. The fabric separating Keith’s heart and Lance’s skin might as well be nonexistent with how close they feel.

He kisses Keith again, just because he can. 

“I think I figured it out myself.”

+

Unsurprisingly, going on leave together is a lot more fun when they’re actually, well, together. 

The bar they’re in is cramped as hell. Sweat is condensing on the walls and dripping from the ceiling, neon lights floating through the air like overgrown fireflies. Loud music blares from the speaker, making it hard to hear anything else. 

That doesn’t stop Lance from speaking to his boyfriend though. 

He’s draped halfway into Keith’s lap, barely even touching his own bar stool anymore. 

“Are you ever going to tell me what that fight on Mitkø was about?” Lance asks. He tries for a sweet and convincing smile, dragging his fingers along Keith’s arm for extra effect. 

Keith shivers under his touch as a small smile fights its way onto his features. He looks away, trying not to meet Lance’s eyes. Instead, he reaches for his glass from the bar and lifts it up to his mouth to take a sip. 

“Really? The silent treatment?”

“I don’t think you’d like the answer,” Keith says after a bout of (relative – it’s still insanely loud) silence. 

“Oh?” Lance cocks his head to the side, snaking his arms around Keith’s shoulders to pull himself in even closer. Their noses almost touch. “I think I can handle it.”

Stalling, Keith takes another sip from his glass.

“Keith,” pleads Lance.

Finally, finally, finally Keith sets the drink back down on the bar. “Some guy was talking shit about you and I ripped him a new one for it.”

Lance’s mind almost explodes at the admission. “What?” 

“Some guys was–”

“No, I heard you, just…” His heart is threatening to beat out of his chest. While Keith getting into fights is definitely not a good thing, the fact that he did it for Lance is sending a shiver down his back. He read too many bad boy romance novels as a kid, sue him. On that topic, though. “You did all that and you didn’t even give me a chance to have a ‘no, Keith, this isn’t you!’ moment?”

“A what moment?”

“You’re so uncultured,” Lance complains, but it’s hard to sound upset when his face literally won’t let him stop smiling. “I can’t believe it.”

“Lance, I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re going to have to start another fight with someone.” 

Keith’s brows raise in question. “Right now?” 

He’s already scooting forward on his seat, moving Lance backwards with a steady hand on his hip. 

“Woah, hey there, Red.” Lance reaches for Keith’s shoulders to sit him back down. “I’m loving the energy here, but maybe we have to postpone the impromptu fight club for the next time we go out.”

“That a promise?”

“That’s a threat,” he answers, bending forward to press a soft kiss against the corner of Keith’s mouth. “Although next time I’ll save your ass, not the other way around.”

Keith grins and knocks their foreheads together. “Like hell you will.”

If McClain can do it, so can Lance. He’s sure of that.