Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Lance, can you please just give me one good reason why you don’t want to go this year?” Veronica asks, following closely behind Lance as he walks through his house. He doesn’t answer.

 He simply opens the front door and gestures for her to leave. He raises his eyebrows expectantly when she doesn’t get the hint.

She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. “You do know your friends are going to wonder where you are, right? This is the one day out of the whole year that you don’t just not go. Didn’t you guys make it a rule or something?”

“An unspoken one, which means it’s not technically a rule if we never really discussed it,” Lance answers matter-of-factly, and Veronica rolls her eyes.

“It’s Reunion Day, Lance. You always show up. You don’t think anyone’s gonna be suspicious when you don’t show? Have you met your friends? They’re gonna be knocking down your front door as soon as they realize you’re not coming.”

Lance shrugs. He doesn’t know what to say. A part of him knows that what she’s saying is true, but another part of him is telling him the opposite. 

“Look,” Veronica says, adjusting her glasses. “I know it’s hard, okay? I’ve been there, too. But running away from it isn’t gonna solve any of your problems. It’ll likely only make them worse.”

Lance doesn’t understand what the big deal is. 

“How about this? How about you get out of my house and stop telling me how to deal with my problems when you can’t even fix your own?” He asks, his tone harsh, but Veronica doesn’t so much as blink.

She raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. “That all you got?”

He sighs, resting his head against the open door. “I don’t want to go, V. Today’s just an all-around bad day,” He says, but she shakes her head.

“Maybe going out will cheer you up. Have you ever thought of that?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Yes, going to meet all of my old friends on the seventh-year anniversary of the day that Allura–” He cuts himself off and looks away, avoiding Veronica’s knowing gaze. 

After a few minutes of silence pass, Veronica’s eyes soften. “It’s still that bad, huh?”

Lance doesn’t answer and chooses to focus on the cool air blowing inside his house. He exhales slowly, letting his silence speak for itself. 

“Why don’t you tell anyone about it? Go to therapy, or tell one of your friends. You don’t have to suffer like this. Grieving isn’t supposed to be this hard. You know that, right?” Veronica says gently. 

“You say that like it’s easy to do any of those things,” Lance says bitterly, keeping his eyes trained on literally anything else but his sister. He knows she’s giving him one of those pitiful looks. He hates those looks. Those looks always make him feel small and weak; they make him feel like he’s still eighteen.

“It’s hard because you don’t make an effort. You don’t try to get better. You just let it consume you,” Veronica says, and Lance shakes his head. “I’ve tried, okay? And I’ve gone to therapy. It does nothing for me.”

Veronica frowns. “You went to therapy once. It helps if you actually, you know, continuously go. It isn’t a one-day process. It takes time and effort on your part to actually make it happen.”

“Well, I don’t have the time to go, alright? I’m too busy,” Lance excuses and chooses this time to walk out of his house, leaving the front door open behind him. Veronica follows closely, shutting the door behind the both of them. They stand there on the porch, with Veronica still trying to catch Lance’s eye and Lance still not looking at her.

“What, too busy farming? We both know you absolutely hate this,” Veronica says knowingly, and Lance finally looks at her.

Trying to mind his tone, he carefully says, “I don’t hate it. It’s very relaxing, and I can pretty much do whatever I want out here.” 

The excuses sound fake, even to his own ears, but he doesn’t say anything else. “Lance, I’m your sister. I know you. What happened to the excited teenager who stuck his acceptance letter from the Garrison to the fridge? What happened to the boy who always talked about following in Dad’s footsteps? What happened to him?”

Lance feels his eyes watering and pinches the back of his hand. He’s not going to cry here. He’s not. 

Veronica slowly reaches out and grabs his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. Her gaze is kind, unwavering. “Please just go . Talk to your friends about this. Get your life back. You don’t have to stay here forever. Nobody’s gonna blame you for leaving. You can be happy. You don’t have to feel guilty for that.”

Her words are supposed to enlighten Lance and kick his ass into gear; he knows this, but…he still feels nothing. “You make it sound so easy,” He says and winces internally at his voice crack. 

Veronica purses her lips, clearly displeased that her words didn’t get through to him. “What’s it gonna take? Hmm?” 

Lance raises an eyebrow, not understanding the question. A part of him knows he’s being purposefully obtuse about all of this, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to be alone, and Veronica being here is disrupting that.

“What do I have to do to get it through your head that you can be better than this?” She asks, her tone starting to sound frustrated, and he sighs.

“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do except leave me alone. Just go home, Veronica. I’m tired, and I would really like to get some sleep. Can we have this talk another time?”

Veronica shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re really not gonna go see your friends? I told you, they’re going to–”

“I remember what you said, and I don’t care. I’ve blown them off before. It won’t be any different,” Lance says plainly.

Veronica just stares at him, her eyes growing colder and colder the longer she looks at him. “What happened to you?” 

Lance can’t stop the sarcasm before it comes out of his mouth. “A war happened, Veronica. Bad things happened. People died. And you know what happens when people die? People get sad as a result. Shocking, I know, but it really is quite the phenomenon.”

Veronica lets out a shaky breath. “You need help, Lance. Do you really think pushing me away is going to solve anything? Do you think pushing your friends away is going to make you feel better? It won’t. I’m telling you that right now.”

“You’re telling me a lot of things,” Lance says observantly. “But I don’t need you to. Do you know what I really need you to do? Leave. Please just leave.” He means these words as a plea, but it comes out more angry than he’s expecting. 

Veronica laughs, bitter and broken, backing away from him like he’s hurt her in some way, and he knows he has. That’s what he was trying to do. Hurt her, so she’ll never come back. Hurt her, so she’ll never have to worry about him ever again. 

Hurt her, so that she can finally get back to her own life instead of worrying about his.

She walks down the porch steps in a hurry, and Lance catches her faintly muttering about calling Marco to come and check on him. She’s already made it to her truck by the time Lance fully processes those words, so he’s not able to get a word in edgewise. 

He flinches as Veronica peels out of the driveway, her truck tires throwing dirt and pebbles every which way. She finally drives off, and Lance feels like he can breathe again. 

He sits down on the porch steps, watching her truck get smaller and smaller the farther it drives off. 

Lance knows he’s being difficult. He knows he’s being bratty and uncooperative and everything he shouldn’t be at his grown age. But he can’t handle people worrying about him. He already feels like enough of a burden on his own. Having people around, trying to help, and feeling sad on his behalf makes him feel even worse. He doesn’t want that. 

Suddenly, a familiar ringtone fills the silence Veronica left, and Lance closes his eyes in disappointment. Someone’s already calling to ask where he is. He doesn’t know if he wants to pick up the phone. 

He reluctantly pulls his phone out of his pocket and sighs when he sees Keith’s contact picture.

Lance had taken the picture a few years ago, but he still remembers the day it was taken like it was only yesterday.

Keith had forced him out of the house, one way or another. Lance can’t remember the specifics of how Keith got him out and about, but somehow, Keith managed it. Anyway, Keith had forced him into one of the Blade’s many shuttles after telling him to pack an overnight bag. He had neglected to tell Lance where they were going, only that they were just going off-grid for a little while. 

Lance had not been amused but let Keith take the reins for their little space trip. 

And that’s really all it was: a little space trip. They didn’t go anywhere exciting; they just sailed through the universe in their shuttle, pointing out familiar constellations and naming others. They even made some constellations up because, come on, there aren’t many constellations that resemble a walrus of all things, are you kidding?

The origin of the contact picture came when Lance had caught Keith sleeping. He had looked peaceful, and he even had a slight smile on his face. Lance had decided to take the picture then because Keith hated having his photo taken when he was awake, and Lance still needed a good contact picture for him. 

The sleeping Keith on his phone continues to mock him, and with a sigh, Lance presses accept , before bringing the phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?” Keith sounds worried, his tone low and careful, like he’s expecting Lance to hang up at any second. 

“Oh, uh,” Lance starts, not quite sure what to say. Then he sighs, not seeing the point in lying. “I’m at home.”

“Oh.” It’s silent for a moment, but then Keith clears his throat. “Um, are you running late?”

Lance sucks in a deep breath. “No, I’m, uh, I–” He keeps stammering, not being able to get the words out. After a second or two of struggling, he just stops trying.

“You’re not coming, are you?” Keith sounds resigned, like he had been expecting this. 

“No, I’m not.”

It’s quiet again, and Lance has to briefly check to make sure neither of them has accidentally hung up. Nope. They both just don’t know what to say, apparently. 

“Are you still there?” Keith asks, his tone unreadable.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Okay,” Keith says. “Okay. I’m about to ask a really dumb question, but–”

“Yes,” Lance interrupts. “I’m okay. I’m not in any danger. I’m not hurt. I’m just at home, sitting on my porch steps, talking to you.”

“Right,” Keith responds. “That’s good. But that’s not what I was going to ask.”

Lance sits there for a second, waiting for Keith to elaborate. When Keith stays silent, he says, “What were you gonna ask?”

“I was going to ask if I could come see you,” Keith replies.

“Oh.” Lance bites his lip, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I don’t think I’d make good company right now.”

Keith makes a noncommittal noise. “You’re always good company.”

“Thanks, really, but I mean it. I just got into a fight with my sister, and I just haven’t had the best day in general.”

“What was the fight about? Is that why you’re not coming?” Keith doesn’t sound accusing at all; just simply curious.

“The fight was about me not going. I kept trying to tell her that I didn’t want to go, that I didn’t feel well, but she just kept pushing,” Lance says, not exactly sure why he’s telling Keith this. 

“So your mind was already made up,” Keith says knowingly. His tone is still unreadable, but if Lance had to hazard a guess, he would think Keith sounds a little sad. 

“I guess so,” Lance answers, looking out over the juniberry field across from his house. He pays more attention to the sunset just behind the juniberry field, finding that to be the real beauty at the moment. 

“Would you be alright with me visiting you tomorrow?” Keith asks, sounding hopeful, and Lance tilts his head at the question, even though he logically knows that Keith can’t see his confusion.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Lance replies, feeling a bit stunned. 

“Okay. We’ll make a day of it, then,” Keith resolves. 

“Look,” Lance begins, because he doesn’t know when to quit. “If you’re only coming to visit just to check on me or give me your sympathies, you don’t have to come.”

Keith makes a surprised sound. “No. That’s not why I’m coming. I just wanted to visit you. I was kinda looking forward to seeing you today.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Lance says, still unsure of what Keith is playing at here. 

“You could never disappoint me,” Keith says back. Then there’s some shuffling around on Keith’s end, and then a sigh. “Looks like the others just showed up. Do you want me to tell them you’re sick?”

Lance doesn’t consider himself spiritual in the slightest, but right now, he sees Keith as a gift from the universe. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” Lance says.

“Okay then,” Keith says, sounding a little reluctant. “I guess I’ll let you go. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

There’s a beep, signaling that the call has ended, and Lance lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stares at his phone for a second before turning it off and stuffing it back into his pocket. 

His eyes drift back toward the sunset, and he sits there on his porch steps, watching it. He doesn’t bother to keep track of time. He just observes as the sun slowly disappears below the horizon. The whole process turns the sky a pretty peach color, and Lance almost wishes that he had left his phone on so he could take a picture.

Sure, he can just turn his phone back on and simply do that, but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the sky right now. 

Lance brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, watching the sky steadily turn darker as time goes on. All he knows is that he just wants to sit here and do nothing. 

He can’t help glancing at the flowers in front of the sunset and finds himself admiring them. The juniberry flowers look to be blooming brilliantly this year; the remaining light from the sunset reflecting onto them makes them look even more radiant than usual. 

Lance sighs. A few years ago, he had thought it would be a good idea to plant a small patch of juniberries near his house. He thought it would be a good reminder of Allura because juniberries themselves aren’t exactly eyesores. They’re very easy on the eyes, and they smell pretty good. 

But, when he had planted them, he had no idea that the juniberry flowers were an invasive species, and he was very shocked to see that the small patch he had planted all those years ago had turned into a decent-sized field in the span of just a couple of years. Guiltily, Lance had regretted his decision to grow the damn flowers in the first place, but, he could never find it in himself to just get rid of them. It felt wrong to even think about it.

Without even thinking, Lance gets up from his spot on the steps. He absentmindedly dusts himself off before walking down the porch steps with a newfound yet unknown purpose. He realizes that he’s stalking towards the juniberry field, but he can’t imagine why. His legs feel like they’re made of lead, and it takes more time than it should just to reach the edge of the field.

Lance looks out over the field, feeling a sense of resentment and sadness flow through him. He feels culpable for feeling such emotions towards flowers, of all things, but he can’t help it. Having a constant reminder of the person causing Lance this kind of grief was a horrible idea; he doesn’t even know why he even humored it. What was his dumbass even thinking back then?

He slowly kneels down and plucks one of the flowers from the ground, gently holding it between two fingers. It really is a pretty flower , Lance thinks. It’s a dainty pink flower with three petals that each extend a good 4-5 inches outwards. The flower itself has a slight glow to it, and it stands out even more in the dark. 

Lance brings it closer to his face, taking a small whiff. It gives off a fruity scent, but the scent is familiar enough to make him feel uneasy. Lance knows that it’s familiar for a reason but can’t remember why. He has a feeling that Coran had explained the lore of juniberry flowers to him once, but he must’ve not been paying good attention because he can’t recall what Coran’s explanation had been. Maybe he’ll ask the next time he sees him.

Before Lance can contemplate whether he should crush the flower or put it in a vase, a particularly powerful gust of wind blows through, and the flower falls apart at the force. He can only watch as the petals get blown away from him, leaving him with nothing but a stem in his grasp. 

He doesn’t know why the sight of this seems to break his heart, but it just does . There’s a whole metaphor hidden in this situation somewhere, he knows it, yet he can’t bother to look for any hidden meanings. His eyes start to water out of frustration, and he chokes back a wounded sound. He brings his hands up to wipe at his eyes, dropping the stem in the process. 

Ugh , he hates crying. 

As he tries to rid his eyes of any remaining moisture, his hands rub against the Altean marks on his cheekbones, and he has to pause. He lets his fingers drift over the smooth, almost scaly-feeling surfaces, and he has to swallow back the lump in his throat. He always feels helpless when he thinks about the marks. It makes him want to just rip them off .

Lance keeps realizing, again and again, that he’ll never be able to truly move on from this, not as long as there’s a reminder peeking around every corner. The Altean marks, the juniberry flowers, his friends . They’re all reminders of one of the worst days of his life. And he hates thinking of his friends that way. He loves them; he thinks of them as family.

But he can’t deny that it gets harder and harder to see them each and every year. He knows they mean well, he does; but the pitiful looks and sympathy hugs just make Lance feel awful. 

The juniberry flowers are just as bad. They’re beautiful, don’t get him wrong, but jeez. The mere presence of the flowers expanding and invading the spaces all around him makes Lance feel claustrophobic. He knows they’re just flowers, but it feels like the walls are closing in sometimes.

And the Altean marks are the worst by far. The marks are mainly the reason Lance can’t even look in the mirror anymore; the main reason why he doesn’t even own one.

A month after Allura, Lance had swallowed down his grief for just a second and bit the bullet, finding a minuscule amount of courage to look at himself in the mirror. He had eye bags from not being able to sleep, and his eyes had been puffy and red from crying. His Altean marks seemed to glare back at him from his own reflection, mocking him for the very reason they were put there. Lance had immediately regretted his decision and made a note to himself that day to throw out every mirror he owned and never buy another one.

The reminders just make Lance’s grief even worse. Every day, he feels so, so helpless when he thinks about back then, about the lives he couldn’t save. It wasn’t just Allura’s death that ate him up; it was countless others that Lance wasn’t good enough to save, that he wasn’t even able to protect. He wishes that he could’ve changed the outcome of so many people’s fates, but he also knows that that isn’t possible. 

Despite that fact, Lance can’t help himself from pondering the possibilities. If only back then he knew the things he knows now. It doesn’t stop the pain, not by a long shot, but it eases the ache. A little bit, anyway.

Lance kicks at the ground thoughtlessly, watching a lone pebble skip across the dirt. He decides then and there that he’s done looking at the flowers and turns on his heel to leave, walking back to the house. He’s tired, and he just wants to sleep.

He walks up his porch steps and turns around once more, looking at the sky one more time. It’s dusk, and the sky is finally turning into a dark blue color. Lance can even see the beginnings of stars if he looks closely enough.

His friends would be eating dinner right now or even finishing up if they decided to cut it short this year. 

Lance sighs. He can’t say he would blame them if they did cut the dinner short. He doesn’t mean to imply that he would be missed since he didn’t show up, but he’s not dumb enough not to know that his absence will still certainly be noticed. He knows his friends; either way, they’ll be worried, or at the very least, their mood will be low. That is if they bothered to show up.

That’s not fair , his brain argues. You’re the one skipping out. 

Lance can’t really refute that. As far as he knows, he’s the only one not attending the Reunion dinner this year. Everyone else has always made time in their schedule to attend, with no exceptions. Whether they all had planning to do or meetings to attend, they would always make time. It was kind of an unspoken agreement to always show up; seven years later, Lance has finally broken that agreement, but he can’t say he feels super guilty about it. 

He does feel awful about it, don’t get him wrong, but there’s a really big part of him that’s just done with pretending. He’s done with faking smiles, and he’s done with trying to convince his friends that he’s okay and that he’s doing a lot better. He has grown tired of the looks of pity and quiet whispers behind his back and isn’t going to do it for the seventh year in a row. He is exhausted , and going to New Altea and seeing Allura’s statue isn’t going to help him at all. 

It’s too much for Lance’s heart to take. He won’t do it anymore.

Lance eventually gets tired of looking at the night sky, too, and turns around to walk inside his house. He locks the front door behind him and exhales slowly. He proceeds to go through the house and turns off each and every light, wanting to maintain the illusion that he isn’t there if anyone gets the bright idea to come and check.

After he’s sure the entire house is locked up, he makes it to his bedroom and simply stares at the sight before him. The clothes he had laid out just a few hours before mock him from their place on his bed. 

Just this morning, he had been set on going, set on going to dinner and seeing his friends again. He had been prepared, he had even hyped himself up, and yet, he wasn’t completely sure what changed his mind about it all.

It was like, one moment, he was actually ready , and the next moment, he had given up hope on the whole idea. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but it did, and the next thing he knew, Veronica was knocking on his door and asking why he was still at his house. 

Lance picks up the blue button-up shirt he had been planning to wear and hangs it back up before turning around to fold up the pair of jeans he had chosen to go along with it. He shoves the jeans into the bottom drawer of his dresser, this drawer being typically used for clothes Lance only really wore on special occasions.

There’s the blue bowtie he had worn to Shiro and Curtis’ wedding. Then there’s the blue dress shirt he had worn on his first date with Allura. Finally, Lance’s eyes fall on the leather jacket that belonged to his late Pop-Pop, and he has to close the drawer quickly before he does something stupid, like cry again.

Lance steps away from the dresser, not liking the melancholy coursing through his veins. The feeling threatens to swallow him whole, so he chooses to collapse onto his bed instead of thinking any more about it.

He turns over and smothers his face into his pillow, pulling up his comforter over him. He’s just going to sleep. 

Sleep has never let Lance down, no matter what. Contrary to what everyone said would happen, that he would have nightmares and that he undoubtedly has some form of PTSD, bad dreams have never interrupted Lance’s sleep. He will forever be grateful for that, considering sleeping has become his coping mechanism.

Now, is that healthy? Probably not. 

Is he gonna do it anyway? Obviously. 

Lance closes his eyes and welcomes the sleep that gladly takes him into its embrace.

When Lance finally opens his eyes after however many hours, he’s a little confused.

Hold on.

First, he knows that he’s not at home. 

Wait.

Second, he only knows this for sure because he’s currently staring at a ceiling right now (not his ceiling at home, thank you very much) that is covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. 

Huh?

And third, the reason that he’s confused right now is because his ceiling at home doesn’t have glow-in-the-dark stars on it. His ceiling at home is blue and is also covered in cobwebs that Lance was too lazy to clean up.

This ceiling he’s looking at right now is light gray and is covered in star stickers. And there’s a suspicious stain in the corner that vaguely reminds Lance of a time back at the Garrison when he shook up a soda pop and opened it prematurely, causing it to explode everywhere.

In fact, the resemblance is almost uncanny.

Lance sits up in bed suddenly, finally taking the time to truly take in his surroundings. He feels his heartbeat begin to quicken as his eyes drift over every little detail of the room he’s in. 

He knows this room. He remembers this room.

The motivational posters, the photos of Lance and Hunk in middle school, the star maps riddled across the walls. These are all things Lance remembered having during his first year at the Garrison.

What. The. Fuck?

Lance blinks. He blinks again. Then he blinks one more time, just to make sure he’s not dreaming. 

Nope. Everything’s still there, and nothing has changed. 

Lance gets up out of bed and slowly walks around the room, taking his time to examine every minute detail. His old desk is covered in papers, and when Lance looks through them, he realizes that they’re all letters from his family. 

There are a few from Marco, a lot from Mom, and more than a dozen from the rest of the family. Lance actually feels a small smile form when he sees a few drawings from Sylvio and Nadia. The scribbles are a little shakier than Lance has gotten used to seeing, and he starts to get a bad feeling. He hasn’t seen drawings like this since they were five. 

Lance organizes the papers before setting them down, and he steps away from the desk. 

There has to be a clock around here somewhere. Perhaps a calendar.

He spots an alarm clock that’s on his bedside table, and he steps closer to read it. 

It’s three o’clock in the morning. Okay, that’s something. It’s three o’clock in the morning wherever the hell he’s at. Now he just needs to find out the date because he has a very real, very ridiculous suspicion of what’s going on, but he needs to see the date just to make sure. 

He already feels crazy for even thinking it in the first place.

Lance backs away from his nightstand and turns around to look at the other side of the room when he freezes. 

He’s not alone.

Hunk.

Hunk is there, in the bed across the room from his, snoring away. He’s still sound asleep, with a sleeping mask pulled over his eyes and a pair of comically large headphones placed over his ears. 

He looks younger than the last time Lance saw him, at least from what Lance can see right now, anyway. Hunk’s hair is shorter, his face is devoid of any stubble, and his jawline is rounded out, and Lance is reminded of their teen years when Hunk looked exactly like this.

In fact, this whole situation feels familiar. It reminds him of his first day at the Garrison.

Lance remembers.

 The night before their first day, he had been so amped up about just being there that he couldn’t go to sleep, no matter how many times Hunk had begged him to try. And because of how Lance was back then, he simply couldn’t. Hunk had looked like he was going to cry about the whole situation, so he had offered his headphones and sleeping mask so Hunk could block out his incessant chatter.

Hunk had gladly accepted the offer and was out before his head even hit his pillow. 

Lance takes in a shaky, quiet breath, trying to process what the hell is happening. 

Hunk, his best friend, is currently ten years younger than the last time Lance saw him, and he’s just sleeping. 

Lance turns on his heel and walks into their shared bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He runs a hand through his hair and is even more shocked to find that his own hair is shorter.

First off, what the hell? He’s been spending the past two years trying to grow it out since Sylvio, the little rascal, shaved it off in his sleep, second–

Lance shakes his head. Now’s not the time for that.

He sighs tiredly before facing the mirror and stops short. 

It isn’t only Hunk that looks ten years younger. 

He steps closer to the mirror, resting his hands on the sink as he takes in his appearance. He hasn’t seen himself like this in so long.

He hasn’t seen his freckles, or his wavy hair, or even his smooth, healthy complexion in this way for so long. Lance hasn’t seen his reflection in so long.

The thing that shocks Lance the most, however, is the distinct lack of Altean marks on his cheekbones. 

Lance watches his own reflection as he brings his fingers up to poke and prod at his face. He stretches and pinches, watching his skin slowly get irritated at the pressure he’s applying. Surely, he would’ve woken up by now if this was a dream? 

He feels tears form in his eyes against his will and wipes them away. Despite his best efforts, though, the tears continue to fall, and he can only sit and watch himself cry in the mirror. The tears drip down his mark-free but freckled-filled cheeks, and all he can do is smile. 

It turns out he’s not crying out of sadness like he thought he would. He’s crying out of relief. 

Lance turns away and quietly closes the bathroom door before slowly sinking to the floor. He brings his knees up to his chest and just sits there, huddled in a ball. He simply lets the tears fall and doesn’t bother to try and wipe them away. He doesn’t cry out or make any sort of noise; he just sits there and lets his tears speak for themselves. 

It’s been so long since he’s seen himself without the Altean marks Allura had given him all those years ago. He had forgotten how he used to look without them. It’s refreshing, and Lance has to guiltily admit that he likes himself better without the Altean marks rather than with them.

After what feels like an hour, and after his tears have dried, Lance gets up and steadies himself by leaning against the sink. He looks in the mirror again, relieved to see that nothing has changed in the past hour or so. He’d almost thought that this little crying fit had merely been a dream and that when he looked in the mirror again, he’d be twenty-five again. Lance truly thinks that would’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

He looks at himself thoughtfully, trying to remember how his first day at the Garrison went. If he’s remembering correctly, the classes at the Garrison don’t start until around seven o’clock.

That gives him about three hours to get himself fixed up and ready for the day, which is too much time, frankly, but he isn’t going to complain either.

Lance exits the bathroom and goes to his dresser, gathering up his first-year uniform, grimacing at the unflattering orange color. He had forgotten how truly ugly the uniforms used to be. Not only does it have a surprising lack of pockets, but the material also smells vaguely of motor oil. He shakes his head and walks back into the bathroom, uniform in hand, and starts a hot shower, still not quite sure what to make of all this.

He knows he should be freaking out right now. That’s what any sane person would do if they were sent back in time, right? And normally, a sane person would be running around, asking questions, and just overall freaking the fuck out because this is not normal. People don’t just go back in time. This sort of thing only happens in movies, doesn’t it?

Lance strips off his pajamas and is disappointed to find that he’s lost all of his muscle definition from his time as a paladin. Yeah, it makes sense, considering he’s only supposed to be fifteen or so right now, but still, it’s disheartening. Not to mention how self-conscious he’s going to feel. He sighs. Just when he had finally gotten past it.

He steps into the shower and feels relief at the feeling of the hot water. There are no sore muscles or nerves for the hot water to soothe, and Lance just revels in this, content to just live out the rest of his life in this shower. It’s just him and the hot water now, with no bruises, scratches, or soreness to ruin the moment. If Lance is being honest with himself, he probably would’ve started crying again if he hadn’t cried himself out earlier. 

After another hour passes (because Lance doesn’t really give a quiznak about the Garrison’s water bill), he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. He takes a glance at himself in the mirror and is still blown away by what he’s seeing. He looks so, so young. 

Yeah, he’s definitely just turned fifteen at this point in time. 

He looks away from the mirror and gets dressed in the ugly uniform he laid out earlier, surprised that he still has the muscle memory to remember all the buttons and latches he has to undo to put the damn thing on. He’s glad that they decided to abandon this design during his third year, but unfortunately, he didn’t really get a lot of time to enjoy it due to…circumstances.

Case in point: Voltron.

As Lance zips up his jacket, he feels a wave of unease consume him. His mind keeps telling him he should be freaking out, but here he is, happy as hell to just be taking a shower . He has to be in some kind of shock, but he’s not going to worry about that right now. 

He’s going to enjoy this peace while it lasts. He has no idea how he’s going to act when the shock finally wears off, so he’s just going to do his best to act as normal as he can.

Lance finally exits the bathroom and is pleased to see that his sense of time is correct, as the time is currently 5:15 a.m.

He could easily sneak out and get breakfast if he really wanted to. He knows and remembers all of the escape routes, and he isn’t forcing Hunk to come along, so it’d be the perfect opportunity. He’s practically the master of stealth. 

Lance decides to bite the bullet and sneaks out of the room and down the numerous hallways the Garrison has, hopping into empty trash cans and ducking behind walls when a guard passes by. The Garrison’s about a thirty-minute walk away from Atco, a small town that is home to one of the best donut shops ever: Donut Paradise.

Yeah, okay, the name is pretty cliche and a little on the nose, but it seriously fits because the donuts there are the best.

Lance used to hate making the walk down there before he got a car, but right now, he seriously needs the exercise. If everything really is going to play out the same as last time, he needs to try and get as strong as he can be before he and his friends get shot up into space. 

Okay, that sounds kinda ironic, considering he’s going to a donut shop of all places, but he digresses. 

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, even if it’s pure sugar. 

Lance bursts back into the dorm room, gasping for breath. He leans back against the door, locks it, and listens as the guard who had caught sight of him stalks by his door. 

Whoo, that had been way too close.

Lance looks up and takes notice of a wide-eyed Hunk, who is now currently awake and looking at Lance as if he just shot someone. “Dude, where have you been ?” Hunk asks, his voice certainly a lot higher than the last time Lance heard it. 

Wow, Lance thinks to himself. We’re really going to have to go through puberty all over again, huh?

“Uh–”

“Because I woke up,” Hunk starts, standing up. “And you weren’t there. So, my first thought was to check the bathroom. And guess what? You weren’t there, either .”

“I have a good explanation for that–”

Hunk begins to pace the room. “And so I thought, Oh no, I slept in, why didn’t Lance wake me?” Hunk continues. “But then I checked the time, and it was only 5:30, and the Lance I know doesn’t wake up until the very last minute. So,” Hunk says accusingly. “Where the heck have you been, young man?”

Lance holds up his box of donuts, albeit feeling just a little shameful. “Getting donuts. Want one?” 

Hunk squints his eyes suspiciously. “Did you get the ones that have jelly and cream cheese?”

Lance nods. “Of course I did.” 

Hunk’s expression melts, and he finally smiles. “Okay. You’re forgiven, then.”

Lance gives Hunk the box and cracks his own smile. He hasn’t talked to Hunk like this in a while. 

The last few times they had been together, it was mostly small talk and gossip about diplomats Hunk didn’t particularly like. They sadly hadn’t bantered like this in years, and Lance couldn’t deny that that was mostly his fault. Lance was the one who pushed everyone away. Everyone else made an effort to stay in touch, but not him. 

They had once promised each other in middle school that they would always be friends, that they would be the best man at each other’s weddings, and that they would never be strangers to each other. And while Lance had kept the first promise, he couldn't keep the other two. After Allura, he could hardly hold a conversation with Hunk, let alone with anyone else. There was always that underlying feeling of guilt and shame that he felt. And as for being his best man...he never got the chance. Hunk and Shay were still mailing out wedding invitations in the previous timeline. Hunk had asked, and Lance had accepted, but the wedding was still months out, so it was really just a matter of timing. 

It sounds kind of narcissistic, but Lance had felt like everyone silently blamed him for not saving Allura. After Coran, he was probably the closest one to her, and yet, he couldn’t do anything to stop the inevitable. It’s stupid, considering everyone and their mother told him that it wasn’t his fault, but a part of him couldn’t help feeling that way.

“You okay, man?” Hunk’s question breaks through Lance’s thoughts, and Lance nods.

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” He excuses, but Hunk, as always, is curious. 

“About what?”

Lance shrugs, not able to come up with a good reason off the top of his head. “Just stuff.”

Hunk takes a bite out of his donut, frowning. “Okay? What kinda stuff?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Lance says, trying his best not to sound snarky. “Just stuff. I guess I’m feeling kind of homesick, that’s all.”

“I feel that,” Hunk nods understandingly. “I had a dream last night about my family. I was gonna call my mom to tell her about it until I saw you were missing.” He raises an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you took off at the crack of dawn to get donuts ? Not that I’m ungrateful or anything, but it’s sorta off-brand for you.”

Lance bites his lip, not able to come up with a good enough excuse. “New year, new me?”

“It’s the middle of August,” Hunk says, unimpressed.

“Well, I meant, like, a new school year? I’m trying to be more mature,” Lance says. 

“Just last week, you drew on my face while I was sleeping. With permanent marker.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance starts, that memory slowly returning to him. He and Hunk decided to have one last sleepover at Lance’s house, where Lance had decided to draw something not-so-nice on Hunk’s forehead, which earned him a light smack on the head from his Mom, who seemed a little amused herself and a long lecture from Veronica, who was not nearly as entertained. 

Hunk found the whole thing funny until they both realized that Lance had used a permanent marker instead of a washable one. Then Hunk started freaking out, and Lance had to run to the store to get hand sanitizer so they could remove the offensive drawing from Hunk’s forehead. 

“I’m trying to learn from my mistakes?”

“You are? Because you don’t seem that sure about it,” Hunk says, squinting his eyes suspiciously. 

“Definitely.”

“Whatever you say, dude.” Hunk finishes off his donut and gets up from his bed. “I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick. Maybe after that, we can walk around the school for a bit?”

“Sure,” Lance agrees. “I saw a vending machine during my donut run. We can grab a drink.” He’s silently hoping that when they’re walking around, they’ll catch a glimpse or two of the others.

Hunk nods before grabbing a change of clothes and entering the bathroom. 

Lance sits on his own bed and sighs, thinking over what his plan is going to be for the next few years. First, he needs to find the others and make sure they’re okay. Hunk is literally his roommate, so Lance will have no problems keeping an eye on him.

He likely won’t see Pidge at all until Keith drops out, so that’s a bit of food for thought. It’d be almost two years before he’d even see her. Her brother, Matt, would surely be here, but he’s in a completely different class from Lance, so there’s not going to be any chance of them talking anytime soon. 

Keith’s a different story. As much as Lance would prefer it, he doubts Keith would be amenable to starting a friendship. It had been impossible the first time, so why would this time be any different?

And then there’s Shiro. At this point in time, Shiro has just become a very well-known pilot at the Garrison, and in a little over a year, he’s going to be one of three people chosen to go on the Kerberos mission. Lance doesn’t exactly want Shiro to go through the pain of being tortured and forced to kill for a year, nor for Pidge and her mom to go through the pain of missing her brother and father, but how else are they going to find out about Voltron?

If there were any other way, Lance would obviously prefer not putting any of them through that, but it doesn’t seem like there’s a whole lotta choice in the matter. The only reason Lance can even feel positive about the matter is because he knows they all come out of it alive. Well, Shiro, somewhat, but the others will be fine, at least.

He feels horrible for even thinking of it that way. 

After Hunk finishes with his shower, he and Lance make their way to the lounge. The lounge pretty much serves as a breakroom for the Garrison students and staff. It has a fridge, 6 different vending machines, and even a microwave. 

Despite it being one of the more roomier places to hang out, Lance and Hunk hardly ever spent any time here in the last timeline. They had a mini fridge and a microwave in their room (against regulations, mind you), so they never really saw the point in going there.

Now, as Hunk marvels over all the drink and snack options, Lance finds himself slightly regretting their past decisions. Hunk puts a dollar in and gets himself a bottle of water before looking around the room. “Uh,” Hunk starts. “Are you sure we’re allowed to be in here? I figured there’d be more people.”

“Well, there’s a sign over the doorway that says, “ All cadets welcome!” , so yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Lance says conversationally. He can understand Hunk’s concern, though; besides the two of them, there are only a couple of teachers in there. The time is only 6:40, there are still twenty minutes before the big opening speech. 

“Everyone might be in the auditorium,” Lance suggests. “We could head over there so we can get some half-decent seats.”

“Sure.”

Despite Hunk’s calm tone, he seems to get amped up as he starts to remember that this is their first real day at the Garrison. Regardless of the fact that Hunk took a two-week-long summer course at the Garrison, he still preferred a full school day compared to a few short hours. While Lance could understand Hunk’s preference, he couldn’t personally relate. 

He grabs the sleeve of Lance’s jacket and drags Lance behind him as they exit the room, not noticing Lance’s grunt of pain when he hits his head on the doorway.

When they make it to the auditorium, they’re pleased to see that there are still two empty seats in the second row and promptly sit in them. Hunk starts muttering to himself excitedly, and if Lance pays attention, he can hear Hunk pondering to himself about which classes he should take. 

Lance takes a quick glance around the room and recognizes Shiro, who’s currently standing near the front of the room, talking to one of the other staff members. 

Oh.

That isn’t just any staff member. That’s Adam West, the teacher who taught Aviation Theory and Shiro’s dead ex-fiance. He’s here, alive, well, and happy. Lance examines the two of them from his seat and notices that neither of them have an engagement ring as of yet. 

If Lance remembers correctly, the two got engaged right before the Kerberos mission announcement and before it was decided which team was going to go. 

Shiro went on the mission, and Adam stayed, and they never saw each other again.

Whenever Shiro used to talk about Adam, as rare as it was, he always had a measured sadness behind his eyes, like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to grieve the loss or not. 

“I left him,” Shiro had said once, running a hand through his chalk-white hair. His eyes had been bloodshot from holding back tears. “Is it acceptable for me to feel like this, considering I knew that was a possibility when I left him in the first place? He told me not to expect him to be there when I got back. I never would’ve thought…” Lance had assured him back then that grieving was okay, that Shiro could let himself feel sad about the loss. Shiro had simply looked at Lance like he was a hypocrite, which wasn’t exactly untrue, and that conversation had ended in silence. 

Lance never met Adam, nor did he know him personally. He only knows small tidbits about the man that Shiro felt comfortable sharing. Keith never talked about him, but Lance chalked that up to him just being tired of losing people and just not wanting to think anymore about it.  

As Lance recalls, Adam died during Sendak’s invasion of Earth. 

Knowing that, and if Lance really did go back in time, it’d probably yield better results if he could defeat Sendak the very first time the team encounters him. It’d save countless lives for sure, considering the commander had been the root of a lot of their problems. Lance has a few ideas on how he could remedy the immediate threat the commander possessed but decides to save that train of thought for a later time. He still has a few years before he has to cross that bridge, and he never has been that good at decision-making. 

There’s also still the very real possibility of all of this just being a weird ass dream he’s having. He wouldn’t put it past himself to make up something like this in a dream. He’s sincerely hoping that isn’t the case, though.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by Hunk grabbing his arm.

“It’s starting!” Hunk says excitedly, shaking Lance’s arm. Lance has to resist the urge to wince at Hunk’s steady yet underdeveloped strength. 

Shiro makes his way up to the stage and introduces himself like he isn’t a widely renowned pilot who encouraged more than half of the kids here to enroll. He starts his speech, and the auditorium quiets down as he talks.

He speaks with authority, and as he continues to talk, Lance finds that he can recite this speech word-for-word if he really wants to. Lance remembers this speech; it’s the standard first-day-of-the-school-year speech for all cadets, nothing too important in hindsight. 

The two times (now three, technically) that Lance has heard this speech from Shiro, he’s always added his own spin to it, always added a motivational quote here and there to make it unique, even threw a dad joke or two in there, causing some of the more nervous new cadets to loosen up a little. 

Whenever Iverson gave the speech, it sounded like he was reading from a script, and the gruff tone he spoke with only seemed to make the cadets even more nervous and on edge than they already were. Iverson himself seemed to take great pride in being an asshole, so he probably thought it was funny to torment the new recruits.

The speech starts to come to a close as a nearby secretary comes up to the podium beside Shiro. She tells everyone where to go to figure out their schedules, and then says, “We hope you enjoy your first day of the new year!”

Shiro thanks her and then turns back towards the rest of the cadets. He claps his hands together. “Well, I think that just about covers it,” He says finally. “Thank you guys for listening, and please, stay focused during your time at the Garrison. Remember, patience yields focus.”

Lance frowns at that last line. He didn’t remember Shiro ever saying that last time, not during this speech at least. Weird. Maybe he just wasn’t paying attention?

Shiro’s eyes scan the room as he takes in all the newcomers, and Lance almost swears that Shiro’s eyes light up with recognition at the sight of him and Hunk. He can’t be completely sure, though, considering Shiro’s gaze only lasted a brief second before continuing around the room and stopping again.

Lance follows Shiro’s gaze, and his eyes widen when he sees a familiar head of hair. 

Damn. Has there ever been a time when Keith didn’t have a mullet?

“Who’re you starin’ at?” Hunk suddenly whispers, causing Lance to jump. “No one!” He answers defensively, feeling a little flustered that he just got caught staring. “Just checkin’ out the competition.”

Hunk just raises his eyebrows, expression full of skepticism, like he knows something Lance doesn’t. 

Lance clears his throat. He needs to redirect this conversation somewhere else. “Anyway, what classes did you sign up for? I know you got a head-start since you came here during the summer—”

Hunk shrugs. “I still had to sign up for most of the standard ones since apparently the credits I got during the summer don’t count until next year.” Then Hunk smiles nervously. “I did get to choose Cooking as my elective, though, so it won’t be all bad.”

Lance smiles. Hunk has always been a decent enough chef, even since they were kids, but something about the Garrison, or perhaps it was being up in space, changed the way Hunk prepared meals. “You think you’ll have fun?”

Hunk nods, though he still looks a little unsure. “I hope so.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lance says, certainly, because this, he knows for sure. 

“Thanks,” Hunk says back appreciatively. “What about you, though? You still have to pick out your classes, don’t you?”

Lance thinks about this for a second. Last time, he had taken Flying class, which was fun, all in all, but he never really learned anything during his first year. He mostly sat on the sidelines, watching the senior cadets. He only got to fly in the simulator one time, and that was on the last day of the year. 

He needs to take another class this time, one that he’ll actually learn from. 

“What about Flying ?” Hunk suggests, noticing Lance’s pause. Lance shakes his head. 

“No, I think I need something more technical than that,” Lance says. He could take Engineering, but that’s really more Hunk’s thing. Besides, he’s better at breaking stuff rather than putting it together.

Hunk hums, thinking deeply. “Maybe Aviation Theory? I think Mr. West teaches that.” Then Hunk frowns. “Are you sure you wanna do that, though? You won’t get a lot of practice in the simulator. Last night, you were talking my ear off about getting to try it.”

Lance shrugs. “I probably won’t get much time in it, anyway. I hear the senior cadets take that class more than anyone since it’s an easy grade, which means—”

“They’ll have seniority,” Hunk finishes, finally understanding. “Gotcha. Wow,” Hunk expresses, looking impressed. “Who are you and what have you done with Lance?” He asks jokingly.

Lance is about to respond when a booming voice cuts him off. 

“All cadets can start signing up for their classes! Dismissed!”

Ugh. Iverson. Lance could’ve definitely gone another year or two without hearing that asshole’s voice again. Lance scowls, not able to hide his annoyance. 

Lance and Hunk get up from their seats and head over to the secretaries at the back of the room, who are diligently signing each cadet up for their desired classes. “Wow, this is starting to feel real now, huh?” Hunk asks, beaming with excitement. It’s so surprisingly childish that Lance almost recoils from the innocence of it.

The happiness is coming off of Hunk in waves, and from the looks of it, the people around him are getting affected by it, too. Lance can’t hide his own grin, though the moment almost feels lost on him now. 

He’s already been through this before. He can’t feel genuinely exhilarated about it. “It is,” Lance agrees anyway. 

They make their way to the front of the line and go through the motions. Lance ends up taking Hunk’s suggestion and chooses Aviation Theory as his elective. The words themselves feel foreign coming out of his mouth, but the secretary doesn’t even bat an eye. She has his schedule printed out in less than two minutes and hands it back to him with a smile. 

Lance remembers the whole class-choosing process taking way longer last time, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The whole situation is weird. He needs to get used to it. He’ll just need to handle stuff as it comes along. If he wakes up tomorrow morning and he’s still here, then he’ll put some more thought into this whole thing.

He looks down at his schedule and notices that the elective he chose is the first class of the day. Lance doesn’t have any problems with taking the class, none at all, but it’s an odd change of pace. Hopefully, it’ll work out to be a nice one. 

Lance bids Hunk farewell with the promise to meet up later, before turning around and walking down a familiar hallway. He passes by the Flying classroom and feels an immediate sense of loss at this.

While the class itself wasn’t exactly fun for him last time (not during his first year, anyway), he still made a few friends around his own age who would goof off and joke around with him. The few good memories he has of the class flash through his mind in a second, and he sighs. 

One man’s loss is another man’s gain. Or whatever the saying is. Lance will choose to think about it that way. 

He finally makes it to Mr. West’s classroom and walks in. The classroom is pretty basic, all things considered, but the thing that stands out to Lance the most is the chalkboard at the very front of the room. Mr. West is written in the top right corner of the board in pretty cursive, and Lance tilts his head at how old-school this feels. 

He reluctantly takes a seat near the back, one that’s closer to the door, and sets his bag down. Lance starts to feel a little anxious. This change is different, though he can’t tell if it’s good or bad, yet. 

“Hey, McClain,” A voice calls out from the doorway. Lance looks up and immediately scowls. 

“What are you doing in here?” James Griffin asks, and, to his credit, he doesn’t sound snarky or as annoying as Lance remembered him to be. He just seems…confused. His eyes are narrowed, and Lance realizes he’s waiting for an answer.

Lance motions to his desk, pointing out the obvious. “What does it look like, dirtbag?”

Okay, whoa. Lance hadn’t meant to let his irritation show, but clearly, it did. 

James lets out an annoyed huff. “Well, it just looks like—”

“Go sit down,” Lance simply says, cutting him off.

Surprisingly, James walks off without another word, though he maintains angry eye contact the whole way to his seat, which is thankfully on the other side of the room near the front. Lance doubts that’s the last he’ll hear of James, but, for right now, he’s going to choose to enjoy the peace and quiet.

Then someone plops into the seat in front of him. Lance recognizes the mullet instantly and briefly goes through a small crisis. 

Keith took a class in Aviation Theory? Lance supposes that makes sense. Keith seemed to always be an expert at pretty much everything. Why wouldn’t he take this class? It’d look nice on a transcript, plus it’d probably give him a few more pointers on learning how to pilot a ship. Even then, though, from what Lance has heard, Keith’s always been a prodigy, at least at this sort of thing. 

Lance rests his face in his hand and sighs, trying to ignore James’s glare. He wasn’t intentionally trying to make enemies this time around, but it looks like he’s already failed.

That’s what happens when you call someone a dirtbag, dumbass.

“Did you piss him off or something?” Keith’s voice suddenly asks, and Lance looks up. 

Keith’s turned around in his chair, curiosity plain as day on his face. 

“What?” Lance says dumbly. 

“James,” Keith clarifies patiently. “Did you piss him off? Because he’s straight-up glaring at you, and he’s not being subtle about it at all.”

Lance shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. “I called him a dirtbag,” He answers honestly. James lets out a loud grumble from across the room as if he heard them. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Look,” Lance defends. “I’m not usually a rude person who calls people names, but he was totally judging me. With his eyes. Like hardcore judging.”

Lance doesn’t know why he’s defending himself to Keith. It’s not like he has something to prove. 

Keith narrows his eyes into a calculating look. He looks serious. 

But then his lips quirk up into a restrained smile, like he’s trying not to laugh. “You’re funny,” Keith tells him, and then turns back around in his seat, leaving Lance bewildered. 

Lance blinks. He can’t tell if he just got made fun of or not. 

Mr. West eventually enters the room and starts the class, much to Lance’s relief. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but taking this class could have a hand in changing Adam’s fate. The possibility of that is minuscule; he knows that, but he’s going to choose to believe in that, because every time he looks at Mr. West, he feels an insane amount of guilt. 

He logically knows it was Sendak’s invasion that caused the deaths of Adam and multiple others, but he can’t help but feel responsible. If Sendak had been taken out earlier, none of those deaths would’ve happened, and that’s just including the ones on Earth. Who knows how many others Sendak had killed? The thought makes Lance feel nauseous. 

Lance feels his mind swirling as Mr. West goes over the syllabus and almost blanks out completely when he asks the class to divide into groups of two. He wasn’t expecting a group project so soon. 

“Hey,” Keith’s voice asks from in front of him, and Lance looks up from his empty notebook. Keith’s turned around in his seat, wearing the same calculated expression he wore before.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna be partners?” Keith asks, tilting his head. 

“Sure,” Lance answers without skipping a beat, and Keith moves so that he’s leaning over Lance’s desk. The position can’t be comfortable, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Where do you think we should start first?”

The two of them talk idly through the project. It’s a simple slideshow, nothing too difficult, so they really only just take notes and look through their textbooks for certain sources. 

It’s weird seeing Keith actually act like a student up close. Lance never doubted he was smart, of course, but he also never saw him in such a calm light. At this age, he always saw him as the hot-tempered individual who always got himself into trouble. It’s jarring seeing Keith act so calmly, but it’s not bad, not by a long shot. 

Would he be able to befriend Keith at this point in time?

Lance looks up from his notebook and frowns. Another sense of loss hits him again, though this time, it makes his eyes sting a little. 

The whole friendship they had, all their interactions and arguments and fights, they’re all just gone. All that progress. All those memories. 

“You okay?” Keith asks, sensing Lance’s stare, his voice tinged with concern. 

“Yeah, just thinking,” Lance says easily, before looking back down at his notebook.

This whole situation is going to come back and bite him in the ass; he just knows it. There are so many things he needs to keep track of and remember. Lance isn’t sure if he can do it. He doesn’t really think he’s built for it. It’s a lot of pressure. 

The fact that they’re only a few years away from one of the biggest fights of their lives leaves Lance feeling doubtful.

 Kerberos. Keith dropping out. Pidge infiltrating the Garrison. Shiro coming back to Earth. Finding the Blue Lion. Finding Allura and Coran. 

Lance is tempted to make a list, but he doesn’t want to put that kind of thing down on paper. It’s too risky.

The class eventually comes to a close, and Lance shoves his notebook back into his bag. This is going to be a long day. Actually, scratch that. This is going to be a long few years , and he’s not looking forward to it. 

He gets up from his seat and feels a tug on the sleeve of his jacket. He looks down at Keith who’s still sitting in his seat. 

“Hey, what’s your next class?”

Lance pretends to think. “I’m pretty sure it’s First-Aid. Why?”

Keith stands up and throws his bag over his shoulder. “That’s mine, too. Wanna walk there, together?”

Lance nods wordlessly, and they both walk out of the room. He wasn’t expecting Keith to be friendly. Lance figured he’d just talk with him as classmates and then ignore him outside of class. 

This is…nicer than what he was expecting. 

As it turns out, Keith and Lance share most of the same classes, and surprisingly, Keith chooses to sit next to Lance or at least somewhere near him in every one. He doesn’t talk much, but Keith in general has always been a quiet person around people he doesn’t know. 

Lance isn’t sure how to feel about this. 

A part of him is happy, but another part of him is worried because what exactly does this mean?

This is a change he wasn’t expecting. 

Changing classes is one thing because he did it of his own volition, but this? Was befriending Keith supposed to be easy? Was it always this easy, and he just never knew because he was in a different class?

The end of the day comes faster than Lance would’ve liked it to, and Lance finds himself outside of his dorm room with Keith right next to him. 

Keith raises his hand to wave goodbye and turns around to walk away when Lance calls out after him. “Hey.”

Keith looks back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I know we only just met today,” Lance starts, scratching the back of his neck. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, just know I’m your guy, okay, Mullet?”

Keith’s expression softens temporarily before hardening again. “Mullet? My name’s Keith.”

Lance resists the urge to smile. “I know that. Haven’t you ever heard of nicknames?”

Keith just frowns, squinting his eyes in suspicion. 

“Anyway,” Lance says with a cough. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Keith’s expression changes then to something that Lance can’t read. “Yeah. See ya tomorrow, Lance.”

Lance gives him one last smile before entering his dorm room and closing the door behind him. He throws his bag to the side and collapses onto his bed in a heap. 

He’s not sure what to make of today. He wants to make a concrete plan for what to do next, but he’s still not sure if this is all real. If it isn’t, it’s certainly the most lucid dream Lance has ever had. But if it is…he’ll need a plan. A solid one. 

Lance decides to worry about this tomorrow. If he wakes up back in his shack, then he’ll write this off and pretend it never happened. 

But if he does wake up in the morning, and he’s still in this dorm room, then he’ll have some decisions to make. He’ll need to make a plan, and he’ll need to do this right. He can’t afford to make the same mistakes he made last time. 

Lance sighs into his pillow and feels his eyes slowly start to droop. Tomorrow. 

He shuts his eyes. Tomorrow. 

He welcomes sleep. Tomorrow.