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Training was finally over.
Lance completely disassociated during the entire process of ‘getting ready for bed.’ It was all a formality to keep up appearances. By the smiles on his friends' faces that he vaguely remembers, he’d say he did his job.
The comedic relief. That’s all he was to the others. He was practically the Michael Scott of Voltron. The one that is there to make others laugh but never taken seriously. Even when he was genuinely trying to help, he was brushed off.
On a superficial level, he knew his friends didn’t hate him. How could they? It was Lance they were talking about, he was basically unhateable. Even though he knew this like the back of his hand, he couldn’t help but feel like it was all a lie. A less-than-truth all for the sake of keeping him from breaking down. No one wants to deal with that situation, especially not Lance. It was so much easier to bottle it all up and pretend you never felt it in the first place.
Maybe if he pretended for long enough, he’d actually start feeling like everything was okay.
He knew the cracks in his facade were beginning to show but it didn’t stop him from buying sealant in bulk and DIY-ing his way to something barely noticeable. The kind of thing you only show off to brag about how good of a homeowner you are, except the mess creeps back in once the guests are gone.
He only realized he was in his room when the scent of home hit him. It wasn’t his Mamá’s cooking or Veronica’s incense permeating throughout the house(she still lit it even if Rachel hated it) but it was enough. At least, that's what he told himself to get through the day.
The water still clinging to his hair dripped onto his shoulders, a chill running through his body as it did. All he wanted to do right now was crawl into his warm bed and sleep. A sigh escaped his lips as he pulled a clean shirt over his head, kneeling on his bed to grab his only stuffed animal.
It was a relatively big alien rendition of Stitch, his only comfort on nights like these. He doesn’t know how it even existed but according to Coran, the Linkah were friendly creatures that were often kept as pets on their home planet. The thought warmed his heart for a moment before exhaustion hit him like a bag of bricks.
He didn’t even remember that normally functioning people didn’t skip dinner, or forget about its existence entirely.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Shiro couldn’t help but notice the fact that Lance didn’t show up for his nightly bowl of food goo accompanied by his favorite(and currently only) friends. Not that he really blamed him, the food goo typically tasted like trash, but it was out of character for Lance. He was always filling in the empty space with stories he may or may not have made up for the sake of preventing silence from lingering too long.
It was unnerving to say the least. The same Lance that always looked up at Shiro like he’d hung the moon.
And sure, Shiro might have been dramatic but the thing is, he wasn’t. Not coming to dinner once in a blue moon wasn’t much of a warning sign. They did train extra hard today so it could easily be chalked up as being too sore to get up or something of the sort. This wasn’t the case, though, and Shiro knew it. He’d begun to connect the dots and uncover the bigger picture just like he had as a kid, except this time it actually meant something.
Lance was starting to sport eye bags. Anyone else would just think he’s stressed and he’ll get over it soon, but they didn’t know him like Shiro did. To Lance, the same Lance that wore face masks on a daily basis and couldn’t function properly if his skin felt too dry, eye bags were a death sentence.
Anyone who even remotely knew anything about the boy knew how important his beauty routine was to him, and yet it seemed like he hadn't done it in days.
He picked and prodded at his goo until he finally stopped trying. Lance didn’t eat and it seemed like Shiro couldn’t either. He was their leader, it was his job to analyze his team and figure out what their tells were. Pidge got more grumpy than usual, Hunk practically slaved over the stove, Keith wouldn’t leave the training room until he was black and blue all over. Shiro knew all this and yet, it seemed like Lance was always okay. He knew there was statistically no way this could be true, even if he didn’t figure it out until now.
He realized that Lance’s tell was so obvious that he honestly felt stupid for not noticing it sooner.
Wordlessly, Shiro got up and cleaned out his bowl in the weird Altean sink he was still trying to get used to. If the others wanted to question what he was doing, they didn’t. They just wished him a goodnight when he said he was heading to bed early.
Except he wasn’t even tired, he just wanted to know what was going on with their blue paladin.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Sleep wasn’t coming easy to Lance. He tossed and turned for he didn’t even know how long, but now he was almost there. He could feel himself slowly but surely drifting off into the short empty abyss that was sleep, a rare moment where he could feel truly alright. It was mostly because of the nothingness he felt, the only time he didn’t have to worry about the dangers of constant intergalactic war or how far away from home he actually was.
Lance was so close to his temporary freedom from his never ending thoughts when there was a soft knock on his door. He let out a hum in response, hoping that whoever was on the other side of the door knew what it meant. He was too emotionally drained to move from under the layers of blankets he kept on his bed.
He heard the door slide open and close behind his guest before he finally opened his eyes to figure out who it was.
“Shiro?”
“Hey, uh… sorry to intrude.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d developed pre-Kerberos that somehow still stuck with him.
“S’fine. Did you need-“ Lance yawned and a hand came up to cover his mouth as he did so, “Need something? I’m really tired from training today. Those bots keep getting harder.”
Shiro let out a little chuckle at the joke. A genuine Lance smile peeked out from under the covers, the sight almost melting his heart. He tried not to stare but it was pretty dark in Lance’s room and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t notice. He could let himself get away with it for once.
“You didn’t come to dinner. Are you feeling okay?” Shiro asked without even hesitating to enter Lance’s personal space bubble in order to check his temperature via the back-of-your-hand-to-the-forehead method. Not exactly effective but it’s not like they had spare thermometers just laying around.
“Yea, no, I’m fine.” His voice was muffled by his pillow at this point, “Not really hungry. Sorry for making you worry.”
“Lance… you don’t have to apologize. I care about you.”
He believed him. It was so easy when he had such an earnest look on his face, even if it was mostly just a silhouette and shadows. He could hear it in his voice.
He didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. He let his actions speak louder than words, pulling his sheets back ever so slightly in an invitation.
Shiro didn’t get it at first. He assumed Lance was getting hot and was letting his body breathe for a minute. That obviously wasn’t the case.
Lance huffed just barely loud enough to be heard, grabbing Shiro’s hand and gently tugging on it. Shiro finally got the message and crawled into bed next to Lance’s lanky but toned frame, every bump and muscle etching itself across his skin as if he’d never be in this position again. He was just in a vulnerable state of mind and needed some physical contact therapy.
“Hey, Shiro?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For everything.” He managed to get out before he promptly fell asleep, his arms loosely wrapped around Shiro’s torso and his head buried in his chest to the point where Shiro could only see the top of his head.
Only the stars would know whether he placed a kiss there or not, and as cheesy as it sounds, he knew they weren’t telling.