Archive of Our Own ^beta

While the experience through the Quantum Abyss brought him so much closer to his long lost mother, gave him a brand new space wolf animal companion that teleports and also looks like a Pokémon, and made him for a lack of better term (thanks to Lance) cooler, older, and grizzled — there’s a vision that haunts Keith’s every waking daydream since that harrowing journey that spanned two years for him, but only three to six months for the rest of the team.

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter.

He dreams of it. He awakens to it. All through the god damn road trip to Earth, it was sometimes all he could think about; a passageway lit up, guiding him beyond the stars with flickering, hot torches to the door of tomorrow. 

It’s a wonderful vision that leads him to hope, to believe that maybe they would have a chance at winning the war, to find that peace the universe has been longing for.

He never thought it would be at the expense of their reality.

He never thought it would be at the expense of Allura.

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter.

The vision starts with a bright light… as they all do. Bold, bright and blinding at the edges, colourful, warm and homely when it blurs to a cosy, dawn-lit kitchen — pinks, golds, and waves of red and blue blend and blur through the kitchen’s sliding door like a softened kaleidoscope. It’s warm (perhaps a summer’s morning) and the smell of lush coffee overwhelms his senses. 

Brisk, bright, and frankly a little too early for anyone in the waking world to be up, there’s a man holding a little girl in his arms, settling her little body over his hip, dancing barefoot on the tiles singing a short song with a fond melody, echoing through the kitchen with energetic flair.

Her little laugh is what sticks like taffy in his mind.

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter.

It plays over and over in his head like a never ending merry-go-round, distracting him during missions, during board room meetings, during when they once and for all go back to space on board the Atlas. 

It’s hopeful, joyous, and it reminds him every day that there can (and will) be a good ending to all of this destruction: the war-torn environments, collapsed homes, and endless tragedy.

Dawn. Coff—

“Keith?” Lance taps his shoulder, after another many-hour long boardroom meeting. He looks over his shoulder and meets his endlessly blue gaze, melting with concern as he stands directly behind him. 

Keith swivels his head to find nobody in the room with them. 

When did…

“You okay?”

He blinks at his hushed voice, snapping out of his hazy daydream, turning to meet his blue eyes once more.

“Oh, uh, I’m fine.”

Lance looks right through him — unsure and unconvinced with a small frown and knitted brows. Keith doesn’t like it when Lance looks at him like that, so he feigns a smile. Albeit, a tired one.

“I promise. I’m fine.”

...

Honerva’s been tracking them down. 

Allura’s been arguing with them non-stop about seeing the Altean Colony. She absorbed the dark entity during Clear Day festivities, is now having visions of Lotor, is speaking as cryptically as a half-assed poetry book, and man, Keith wishes he kept the receipt because he sure as hell wants a refund. 

And now she wants to enter Honerva’s bloody mind. 

Everyone is against the idea. It’s dangerous, egregious to even think about knowing the risks. 

But nobody more than the team’s sharpshooter. 

Lance is so vehemently against this idea. He questions it, simmers in the heat of his anger, starts yelling about it across the boardroom and questioning why the team are all agreeing to this quiznaking plan?! 

And after a perilous, debilitating meeting where the inevitable solution wasn’t even a decision anymore and Lance was outnumbered, he reluctantly stands too. Allura attempts to cheer him up, and Keith attempts to smile his way.

But then they enter Honerva’s mind, and Keith keeps a close eye on him. He sees him fracture just as much as Honerva’s collapsing mindscape did, with an onslaught whirlwind of emotions: Anger. Shock. Disappointment. Disgust. Fear.

Lance does not want to be here. He makes it well known to the team that this idea is insanity, and Keith wonders if somehow, someway — he absorbed the dark entity too along the way. 

He’s never seen Lance so close to being unrestrained, bursting at the seams on the cusp of an inevitable mental breakdown.

“…Does this mean Honerva knows we’re here?”

Dawn.
Coffee.
Laughter.

Back on board the Atlas, they have one final meeting before what they imagine is the final battle. They have no plan, but they at least know Honerva’s motive now. They can work around it. 

Getting to Altea will cost them everything — including their lives. 

But they need to prepare.

Krolia suggests they reverse the Zaiforge Cannons, Hunk, Coran and Romelle suggest that they retrieve the Balmera’s help, Pidge tries to get everything technologically sound and in order on the Atlas, the MFE pilots are on call for anything to happen.

And Keith keeps a sharp eye on his right hand man, who almost loses his already withered voice at Hunk for talking about starbombs and tractor beams. 

“There is no plan, Hunk.”

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter.

In the privacy of the very same boardroom closed off from the rest of the Atlas crew, Lance slumps in his chair, arms crossed over his chest like the frailest of armour, and he looks as if he’s about to cry. 

He’s losing hope. He’s exhausted. He wants to go home. Who can blame him? 

Lance doesn’t say a word.

Well, not until Keith tests the waters, reassuring him that Allura’s going to be okay. Lance responds, worn like the split ends of a thread.

“…I hope so.”

But, they both know this conversation isn’t about her.

Lance swiftly changes the subject to how they have no plan and all they’ve come up with is additional manpower and a prototype weapon. Keith then tells him that he knows it’s not ideal, but when has anything been ideal?

And he thinks of that vision once more to temper him. 

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter.

Keith sits down next to him and reminisces of better days. He catches onto the ember of deflection when Lance jokingly self-deprecates that he thought that he was ‘cocky enough to be the greatest pilot in the universe’. Keith counter-argues how he thought he could do everything himself.

A budding connection blooms to life between them — warm, untapped and uncharted.

A soft reassurance: “We’ve come a long way since then.”

A breathy reply: “Yeah, we have.”

“We haven’t lost until we’ve lost hope.”

Keith catches himself staring as he stands, just enough to notice the flickering ember of determination in his eyes. The same flicker that strays to his lips for half a second, but pulls back at the last second with nerves, just as fast. 

Quick enough that when he meets his gaze, he wonders if it was another one of his daydreams.

“I haven’t given up.”

When they clasp hands and Keith brings him back to the light, he knows they’re gonna be okay. 

Then the battle goes into disarray. 

An absolute shitstorm of chaos. 

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter. 

   Dawn.   Coffee.    Laughter. 

Dawn. 

Coffee. 

 ̶̠̱͐L̸̰̩̓̚a̶̭͓̓͊̍u̵̹̘̠͐̑g̷̖̿͠͝ḫ̴̲͗t̵̫̯̒͂̔͜ě̴͖̲̐r̸͓̟̈́.̴̨̣͆́ ̶͈͍̏̎̋

D̷͕̹̉͊̈́ä̷͙̻́̓ẅ̴͕n̴̨̠̽̕.̷͍̓̓ ̸̯͈̳̿̍C̸͎̺̋o̶̲̽f̷̛̮̬̱͊f̴̺͐̚e̷̮͎̩͋̽͗e̶̥̒.̸̱̥̏̃ ̶̠̱͐L̸̰̩̓̚a̶̭͓̓͊̍u̵̹̘̠͐̑g̷̖̿͠͝ḫ̴̲͗t̵̫̯̒͂̔͜ě̴͖̲̐r̸͓̟̈́.̴̨̣͆́ ̶͈͍̏̎̋

Reality collapses at the seams. A black void closes in and shrouds this version of Altea like the darkest of nights, and Pidge, the last one to ever call it in, gives up hope.

“This reality… it’s over.”

No.

I-It can’t…

Da...

Coff...

Laugh...

D̷͕̹̉͊̈́ä̷͙̻́̓ẅ̴͕n̴̨̠̽̕.̷͍̓̓ ̸̯͈̳̿̍

C̸͎̺̋-Co̶̲̽f̷̛̮̬̱͊f̴̺͐̚e̷̮͎̩͋̽͗e̶̥̒.̸̱̥̏̃ ̶̠̱͐

L̸̰̩̓̚a̶̭͓̓͊̍u̵̹̘̠͐̑g̷̖̿͠͝ḫ̴̲͗....̴̨̣͆́ ̶͈͍̏̎̋

D̷͕̹̉͊̈́ä̷͙̻́̓ẅ̴͕n̴̨̠̽̕.̷͍̓̓ ̸̯͈̳̿̍C̸͎̺̋o̶̲̽f̷̛̮̬̱͊f̴̺͐̚e̷̮͎̩͋̽͗e̶̥̒.̸̱̥̏̃ ̶̠̱͐L̸̰̩̓̚a̶̭͓̓͊̍u̵̹̘̠͐̑g̷̖̿͠͝ḫ̴̲͗t̵̫̯̒͂̔͜ě̴͖̲̐r̸͓̟̈́.̴̨̣͆́ ̶͈͍̏̎̋

D̷͕̹̉͊̈́ä̷͙̻́̓ẅ̴͕n̴̨̠̽̕.̷͍̓̓ ̸̯͈̳̿̍C̸͎̺̋o̶̲̽f̷̛̮̬̱͊f̴̺͐̚e̷̮͎̩͋̽͗e̶̥̒.̸̱̥̏̃ ̶̠̱͐L̸̰̩̓̚a̶̭͓̓͊̍u̵̹̘̠͐̑g̷̖̿͠͝ḫ̴̲͗t̵̫̯̒͂̔͜ě̴͖̲̐r̸͓̟̈́.̴̨̣͆́ ̶͈͍̏̎̋

D̷͕̹̉͊̈́ä̷͙̻́̓ẅ̴͕-

“No.”

He refuses to give up; refuses to let go.

Maybe Zarkon was right in Honerva’s mind.

Maybe it is his Galra lineage that refuses to call it here.

Maybe it is the end of the line.

But still, through the pain — he persists.

Dawn.

“We’ve always done the impossible.” 

Coffee.

“Our strength is our bond.” 

Laughter.

“This isn’t the end just yet.”

His mind shrouds with visions of the man, watches him dance in the kitchen in his line of sight, smells the coffee and feels the sun prickle his skin, and asks the universe for one more god damn chance before it all crumbles around them.

He feels the smile stretch on his face in his vision, and Keith cries out in this apocalyptic moment. 

He now, more than ever, feels his heart pounding a mile a minute, reaching out to the stars and screams for that future.

“We need to get back up and stop Honerva once and for all!”

They fly into the hole closing off in the distance, and pray, and pray, and pray for one more chance.

One.

More.

Chance.

He sees the familiar face of the man in the kitchen.

He sees the little girl in his arms, giggling away.

One.

More.

Chance.

The vision blurs, crumbles in his mind’s eye.

One. More. Chance.

Ò̷̼͇͗n̷̡̺̩̣͛ê̷̥̆.̵̮̋̿͒͘ ̸̥̞̪̺̎͛̍̔̿͒M̸̱̓́͂ơ̸̛͉̮̻̤͇̋̑̋͌̃r̶̛͚̎͑̚͝ͅe̵̘̺̠͇̾̿̌ͅ.̴̧̛̬̹̪̯̟̳̒̔͝͠ ̷̪̖̜͙͂̿̚C̶̱̹̠̗̃̕͝h̷̖͓̋͌̌͂̋a̷̮̱̟̤̠͑̉̀̅͐͝n̶̼̭͇̾̀̚c̷̠̱͍̜͋̓e̷͍̝̱̓͂̇̒̈̑͝.̵̭͇͍͗̎̆̓͛͊

Ò̷̼͇͗n̷̡̺̩̣͛ê̷̥̆.̵̮̋̿͒͘ ̸̥̞̪̺̎͛̍̔̿͒  M̸̱̓́͂ơ̸̛͉̮̻̤͇̋̑̋͌̃r̶̛͚̎͑̚͝ͅe̵̘̺̠͇̾̿̌ͅ.̴̧̛̬̹̪̯̟̳̒̔͝͠ ̷̪̖̜͙͂̿̚  C̶̱̹̠̗̃̕͝h̷̖͓̋͌̌͂̋a̷̮̱̟̤̠͑̉̀̅͐͝n̶̼̭͇̾̀̚c̷̠̱͍̜͋̓e̷͍̝̱̓͂̇̒̈̑͝.̵̭͇͍͗̎̆̓͛͊

He feels the tears prick, hum over with heat and down the stroke lines of his scars, and wonders what it was like to hope at all.

It’s unfair. Totally, unequivocally unfair. 

The Quantum Abyss never showed him a vision like this.

How were they ever meant to save the universe?

...And then, a miracle occurs. 

They make it to Honerva.

Somehow.

Alive.

D̷͕̹̉͊̈́ä̷͙̻́̓ẅ̴͕n̴̨̠̽̕.̷͍̓̓ ̸̯͈̳̿̍C̸͎̺̋o̶̲̽f̷̛̮̬̱͊f̴̺͐̚e̷̮͎̩͋̽͗e̶̥̒.̸̱̥̏̃ ̶̠̱͐L̸̰̩̓̚a̶̭͓̓͊̍u̵̹̘̠͐̑g̷̖̿͠͝ḫ̴̲͗t̵̫̯̒͂̔͜ě̴͖̲̐r̸͓̟̈́.̴̨̣͆́ ̶͈͍̏̎̋

D̷͕̹̉͊̈́ä̷͙̻́̓ẅ̴͕n̴̨̠̽̕.̷͍̓̓ ̸̯͈̳̿̍C̸͎̺̋o̶̲̽f̷̛̮̬̱͊f̴̺͐̚e̷̮͎̩͋̽͗e̶̥̒.̸̱̥̏̃ ̶̠̱͐L̸̰̩̓̚a̶̭͓̓͊̍u̵̹̘̠͐̑g̷̖̿͠͝ḫ̴̲͗t̵̫̯̒͂̔͜ě̴͖̲̐r̸͓̟̈́.̴̨̣͆́ ̶͈͍̏̎̋

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter.

Dawn. Coffee. Laughter.

Dawn... Coffee... Laugh...

And as they fight against Honerva, a scorned woman who would do anything to reach for a reality where her family will accept her sins…

They fight for their lives, their universe, their home.

Keith and Lance form the wings; broad, big and beautiful angel wings on the cusp of darkness.

They fly their way into a universal star scapes where strands of white, olive branches, protected veins of life veiled in light, filled with alternate realities one can only dream of, are nuclear bombed at a critical rate. 

They can’t help but feel the impacts of every reality that’s being destroyed in front of their eyes, explosions pushing them backwards, flashes of visions, of lives that tear apart upon impact.

Lance does the impossible, pushing them forward, wings evolving in the dark, pushing them and Honerva’s satanic scorpion-looking devil mech into the white, ominous void of light.

Bright.

Bold.

Beautiful.

“Where are we?”

And Allura, beautiful, bolder and brighter than all the stars in the cosmos, steps forward from the sea of stars shrouded in white, and addresses Honerva with firm regality. 

“The collective consciousness of all existence.”

At the edge of tomorrow, their souls rise up in this heavenly scape of stars to face Honerva one last time.

Keith stares coldly at Honerva.

Pities her.

He can’t help it. 

They traversed collapsing realities; universes ripping apart limb from bloody limb to reach her, to stop her, cease her from crumbling the vision he once saw in the Quantum Abyss that kept him afloat in this rippling sea of bloodshed, war and tears.

But he wonders.

Was he any better?

Were they any better?

He questions the morality of it all.

He questions what he would do if he were wearing the same shoes of burden on his feet.

For the family at the end of the silver lining, dancing in the kitchen at dawn’s break.

At the edge of the afterlife, at the edge of death and destruction, at the edge of the collective consciousness, for whatever unbecoming reason, he sadly knows that he would’ve done the same journey to find his family too. 

Unfortunately, he knows that he’d also do it again and again and again, resetting realities over and over in a heartbeat to find them too.

So he can’t help it.

He feels something weep for her in his heart.

But if the only thing he can name right now is the coldest depths of pity, then so be it. 

“I’m afraid… this is where we part ways.”

Allura chooses to reset it all, reverse the damage with her life, a sacrifice that will save them all, alike to what she did with the White Lion of Oriande in the trials she once mentioned to them with Lotor long ago. 

He feels the golden glow breaking through the horizon line of the collective consciousness basking their cold souls in a warmth that’s so beautiful, a glow so profound, as Allura strides into the void of calamity with Honerva. 

She meets her father, the original paladins of old, Lotor, and echoes of the people she lost through time from this selfish, tirade of destruction. 

And then, he remembers. 

He did see a vision like this in the Quantum Abyss. 

It was much too bright, much too blurry to understand. 

He clutches Lance’s hand like a lifeline, trembling as he squeezes their hands together. 

Lance squeezes back, just as strong, just as weak as tears trickle down his cheeks too, marks aglow.

He remembers crying when the vision ended in the Quantum Abyss, wondering why? It didn’t make sense, he could barely see anything. But he knows now, and the lodged lump of shrapnel cuts deep and full against his spirit: raw, sharp and true. 

He can’t bear to see her go.

And then like the glimmers of a dying star, an implosion occurs like the press of a button.

And they’re back in their lions.

Back in their reality.

Alive.

Dawn. 

Coffee. 

Laugh...

...

There were no parades when they landed on Altea; a planet that seemingly came out of nowhere post-reality reset. There were no Alteans. No Olkarians. No Galra. 

Only lush grass, breathable air, and fields of Juniberry.

As they all crawled out from their lions, tired and distraught, they took off their armour plates, laid on the grass, and felt the petals of Juniberry, the flowers, the branches, the leaves and the trees hugging their souls with the gentle breeze for the very first time. Breathing in the lush air of Altea, they stare at the clouds in the sky.

Breathing.

Keith looks to Lance and wonders what he’s thinking.

Lance keeps his eyes on the clouds, tears flowing quiet and free against his cheeks — against his new, striking blue marks that hum to life in the fresh air around them.

Keith takes his hand, threading his fingers through like they belonged there in the first place. Lance doesn’t stop him, nor does he say anything to prevent it.

Suddenly, Lance rolls over, head now on his shoulder, finds a home in his neck and openly weeps. And the hurt of reality ironically hits like a freight train: Allura gave up her life for them to have another chance.

One more chance. 

Keith wraps an arm around his waist, whispers apologies against his sweat-damp hair, kisses his forehead, and allows him the opportunity to cry for their lost friend outside the sight of others.

Pidge and Hunk, who were just laying beside them in the silence of the moment, dogpile into their moment. Rude.

But then they’re all laughing, giggling, wiping the tears glazing their cheeks in stained hues of ruddy red.

Alive.

Breathing.

But… it’s unfair.  

The Quantum Abyss never showed him a vision like this.

How was he ever meant to prevent Allura’s death from occurring?

...

Everyone goes their separate ways for a while, rebuilding the universe in their own way. 

Hunk and Shiro begin food diplomacy onboard the Atlas, connecting the universe one dish at a time.

Pidge is leading a brand new generation of pilots, researching day and night to invent new, exciting ways to recreate what was lost.

Keith and Lance rebuild Keith’s shack; his childhood home, into a prosperous, warm and healthy farm with fields of Juniberry shimmering in their wake.

They use the farm as a hub to supply their humanitarian relief efforts across the universe with the newly reformed Blade of Marmora. It’s also a beautiful home for Kosmo, Kaltenecker, the Space Mice, and all the strays they find. 

One day, as they walk to the house after a hard day's work, Keith is nervously blushing up a storm when he asks Lance to move in together. Of course, he says yes.

They rebuilt the land together, they’re best friends, they co-lead the Blade of Marmora together now, so… it’s only fitting, right?

A natural evolution, if you will.

And if Lance teases him with a cheshire grin, drawing out the end of ‘you like meeee,’ like a fragrant melody, then kisses his cheek sweetly and whispers to Keith that he’s always been his home, and renders Keith utterly speechless when he pulls him by the hand into their house with excitement, sheer urgency towards their bedroom, well…

Who is he to deny heaven from his lover boy?

And if he ever says no to him, please smite him to hell and take no mercy on his soul.

…Coffee…

The very next morning, they’re standing in the half-renovated kitchen at the cusp of dawn’s peak, drinking mugs of hot coffee, tired yet smiling at each other with a bold kind of shyness. Two dorky men in love. 

They’re both in their boxer briefs and Lance is wearing Keith’s t-shirt, the right side slipping over his shoulder a tad. Keith is shirtless, covered in rich, purple marks as he sips on his mug. He catches his lover boy staring, appreciating his physique a few times. 

Lance looks up — Keith’s midnight eyes to his wavering, shy blues — catching his sharp stare, his unabashed grin like he won the lottery, playful and ravenous like the moonlight shifting the tides. 

Lance quickly dips his head, looking away towards the window like it’s the most fascinating thing in the room. A faint heat rises beneath the glow of his cheeks, disruptively enhanced by the light of his marks. It’s gentle, warm, and beautiful like the touch of new daybreak.

Keith decides right there and then, as he sips his mug with the curl of his lips, that he wants to continue to see him glow all the colours of dawn until the end of time. 

A brisk, fleeting thought bubble tells him that the faint scent of coffee smells oddly familiar.

……

They dance in the kitchen. 

They ruffle each other’s hair.

They sing together, laugh together, cry together.

They heal one day at a time together with beautiful harmony. 

They chase each other around the house with paint rollers, Lance shrieking his name as Keith catches up to him with his speedy socks on the tiles and paints the back of his new t-shirt.

They watch all of Lance’s favourite movies. Lance searches for Keith’s reaction at specific scenes with a bowl of popcorn shared between them, two cups of soda on the coffee table. 

Keith indulges Lance’s infamous self care routine in matching red and blue robes, matching red and blue lion slippers, and they laugh, they kiss, they hold hands, and do more all night long — all the way until the Kaltenecker’s come home. 

…Dawn…

On a sunlit summer morning on the farm amongst the vast field of Juniberries months later, they find a baby girl that looks suuuuspiciously like them. One visit to Coran on New Altea tells them that yes, that is genetically their child, and in a split-second, their lives shift into a colourful spectrum filled with purpose.

Keith looks towards the cosmos, feeling the gentle breeze; feeling familiar, feminine fingers threading through his longer hair like starlit magic, and smiles.

A cosmic gift from the universe.

A cosmic gift from Allura.

Later, they stand beneath her statue, holding each other as the baby sleeps in Lance’s arms. Keith smiles while Lance thanks her with teary gratitude upon a plateau of bittersweet, wistful wishes. 

Coran stands beside them, all-knowing with a closed, proud smile.

…Laughter…

It’s early morning; a little after dawn.

Keith stares at his lover boy from the counter, watching him dance in the kitchen with their daughter leaning against him in his arms. He sings Part of Your World from a film about Mermaids they watched the other day, spinning her around as he shows her whozits and whatzits galore, including spatulas, cutlery, and pots. 

“You want thingamabobs?” He asks with a melody, showing her a cup covered in flowers, “I got twenty!”

Her bright laughter could cure the universe from their sorrows. The smell of coffee wafts through the kitchen as they prepare for a new day of fun adventures on the farm, now on a well overdue break from leading the humanitarian relief efforts with the Blade of Marmora. 

“But who cares?” He sings, placing the cup back down gently in the sink, “No big deeeeal…”

As he cups his own cheek, fondly watching the two dance, Lance singing softly around the kitchen with their giggly daughter in tow, something clicks. 

His smile quips down in realisation, his lips slack in reverence, eyes widening a fraction as the bells of memory toll across the melting pot that is his early morning brain.

He remembers.

His vision.

“I want mo... Keith?”

He blinks, snapping himself out of his hazy daydream. “Huh?”

“You okay?” He asks, soft and sweet like honey in the morning air of the kitchen. He looks awfully confused by the confusion settling in Keith’s face. “You’re… you’re crying.”

He touches his cheek and feels the sharp, moist trails travelling down his cheeks at an alarming rate. 

Oh. 

“Oh, uh, I’m fine.”

His space ranger partner locks eyes with him from across the counter. He looks entirely unconvinced. His daughter stares at the two interchangeably from father to father, a little confused by the sudden change in tune. 

“Daddy?” 

His tears glisten amongst the bathed colours of the room, a pastel kaleidoscope of colours shaded in gold as dawn peaks for a new day. He really doesn’t like it when they look at him like that, so he smiles, albeit a tired one, and steadily wipes the tears betraying his overwhelming happiness away.

“I promise. I’m fine.”

His lover’s brows knit together fondly.

“You know, you’re not on the Clear day ride. We can stop singing and dancing at any time.”

Keith bursts into the brightest of laughter, a little too loud, the brightest of colours brimming from the overwhelming joy laying abreast in his heart. He wonders how the universe works in such mysterious ways, granting him the heights of happiness like this when he’s just a man raising a family on Earth, on their farm, in the smallest corner of this vast universe. 

He wonders how he deserves even a fractional quip of Lance’s smile — the one disarming him right now, beaming its way over the counter like sunlight over the horizon line, and piercing straight into his heart like cupid’s arrow. 

“I love when you laugh,” Lance compliments, fond in tone and striking with affection. “It’s beautiful.”

Keith glows too, a quiet hum of appreciation slipping from him. “I love you, so, so much.” The words are pure and certain, spilling like starlight from the kaleidoscope of his heart, their warmth tinting his voice in hues of light. “I promise,” he breathes, “I was just enjoying the show.”

“You sure?” Lance asks, soft and unsure.

And this time, on the other side of tomorrow, Keith genuinely means it.

“I promise. I’m fine.”