Archive of Our Own ^beta

Valentine’s Day was stupid.

Keith had decided that sometime around middle school when he realized it mostly consisted of plastic roses, chalky candy hearts, and people dramatically pretending they weren’t checking their phones every ten seconds.

So naturally, this would be the year he ruined everything.

Because this was his first Valentine’s Day with Lance as his boyfriend.

And Lance loved Valentine’s Day.

Not in a subtle way, either.

Lance loved the pink decorations in grocery stores. He loved heart-shaped everything. He loved the dumb puns and the cheesy rom-com marathons. He loved public declarations and soft gestures and over-the-top drama. He’d been talking about “our first Valentine’s as boyfriends” since January 2nd.

Keith, meanwhile, had been quietly spiraling.

Because this wasn’t just a holiday.

This was Lance.

And Lance deserved something real.

⊹₊❤︎₊⊹

Three days before Valentine’s, Keith was in the mall with Hunk and Pidge because apparently he couldn’t be trusted alone.

“This is painful,” Pidge muttered, watching Keith stare at a display of stuffed bears like they’d personally offended him.

“I’m not getting him a bear,” Keith said flatly.

“Why not?” Hunk asked. “It’s classic.”

“He deserves better than something you win at a carnival booth.”

Pidge blinked. “Wow. Who are you and what have you done with our emotionally constipated friend?”

Keith ignored that.

He had gotten Lance things before—hoodies, his favorite snacks, that one time he impulsively bought him a silver chain because it reminded him of the ocean. But this was different.

This was their first Valentine’s Day as boyfriends.

He wanted it to mean something.

Not flashy. Not generic.

Something that said: I see you. I choose you.

⊹₊❤︎₊⊹

Across town, Lance was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, leather scraps scattered everywhere.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, tongue poking out in concentration.

He’d looked it up.

Sheath.

That was how you spelled it.

A knife sheath.

Keith always carried that folding knife—tucked awkwardly into his pocket or clipped inside his waistband. It was old, worn, something he’d had forever. Lance had noticed the way Keith absentmindedly checked for it when he was anxious.

So Lance decided he was going to make him something.

Not buy.

Make.

The leather was deep black. He’d stitched a subtle red thread along the seam—just one line running down the center.

He didn’t even know if Keith would notice.

But he would.

Keith always noticed.

⊹₊❤︎₊⊹

Keith had locked himself in his room with a small wooden box and a stack of photographs.

He wasn’t crafty. Not like Lance. But he could be precise.

Inside the box he placed:

A printed photo of the first time Lance dragged him to the beach at sunrise.

A polaroid Hunk had taken the night Keith officially asked Lance out.

A folded piece of paper with a small letter Leith has written for Lance.

And beneath all of it: a red thread bracelet.

Hand-woven. Slightly uneven. Definitely not professional.

He’d read somewhere that red thread symbolized connection. Fate. The idea that two people are tied together even when they don’t see it.

It felt stupidly poetic.

Very Lance.

But it felt right.

On the inside of the lid, Keith had carved something.

It wasn’t fancy. The letters weren’t perfect.

But it said:

You found me.

He closed the box, heart pounding like he was about to go into battle.

⊹₊❤︎₊⊹

Lance showed up at Keith’s place in a pink hoodie.

Keith nearly died on sight.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!” Lance sang, immediately wrapping himself around Keith like a koala.

Keith hugged him back automatically, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder for just a second longer than usual.

“You’re wearing pink.”

“Obviously. It’s the aesthetic.”

“You look…” Keith trailed off.

Lance smirked. “Say it.”

Keith sighed. “…good.”

Lance beamed like he’d just been crowned prom king.

They spent the morning at a café Lance loved. Keith had reserved a table ahead of time—something he never did.

Lance noticed.

Keith tried to pretend he didn’t notice Lance noticing.

They ended up at the little park near the pier by sunset.

Wind coming off the water. Sky streaked orange and gold.

Lance bounced slightly where they sat on a bench.

“Okay, okay, I can’t wait anymore. Yours first.”

Keith blinked. “Mine?”

“Yes. You open mine first.”

Keith hesitated, then took the rectangular package Lance handed him.

It was wrapped terribly.

“Don’t judge me,” Lance warned.

Keith peeled the paper away carefully.

Then he stilled.

It was a leather sheath.

Custom fit.

Sleek black leather, hand-stitched.

And that red thread.

Running down the seam.

Keith’s throat tightened.

“You made this,” he said quietly.

Lance suddenly looked nervous. “Yeah. I mean. You’re always shoving your knife in your pocket and it’s going to stab you one day, and I just thought— I don’t know, I thought maybe you could have something that was actually made for you.”

Keith slid his knife into it.

Perfect fit.

He ran his thumb over the stitching.

“You used red.”

Lance shrugged, trying to play it cool. “You look good in red.”

Keith stood abruptly.

Lance startled.

And then Keith kissed him.

Not soft.

Not shy.

Firm and grounding and full of everything he didn’t know how to say out loud.

When they pulled apart, Lance’s face was pinker than his hoodie.

“So… you like it?” Lance asked, breathless.

Keith pressed their foreheads together.

“I love it.”

Keith handed him the wooden box.

“This isn’t as cool,” Keith muttered.

Lance opened it.

He went very still.

He touched the photos first. Smiled softly at each one.

Then he found the bracelet.

His fingers trembled a little as he picked it up.

“You made this,” Lance whispered.

Keith nodded once.

“And this?” Lance traced the carved words inside the lid.

Keith swallowed.

“You found me,” Lance read quietly.

The wind shifted around them.

The ocean roared softly in the distance.

“I was kind of… not great before you,” Keith admitted, voice low. “I didn’t really let people in. You didn’t exactly ask permission.”

Lance laughed weakly.

“You just kept showing up. You kept choosing me. Even when I was… me.”

Lance looked up at him, eyes shining.

“You think I don’t know what that’s like?” he said softly. “You found me too.”

Keith reached out and tied the bracelet around Lance’s wrist himself.

Their fingers lingered.

“I didn’t want to get you something generic,” Keith said. “I wanted something that meant something.”

Lance launched himself at him.

They nearly fell off the bench.

“I love you,” Lance said into his collarbone.

It slipped out.

Unplanned.

Silence.

Keith froze.

Lance pulled back slowly. “I mean—you don’t have to say it back yet, I just—”

“I love you too.”

Immediate. Steady. Certain.

Lance’s breath caught.

Keith rarely said big things casually.

Which meant he meant it.

As if the universe couldn’t handle this level of softness, Lance’s phone buzzed.

It was Shiro.

Group call.

“Don’t answer,” Keith muttered.

Too late.

The screen filled with Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, and Allura.

Behind them—

A massive banner that read:

HAPPY FIRST VALENTINE’S, NERDS.

“You guys are on speaker,” Lance warned.

“Good,” Pidge said. “Did he cry?”

“He cried,” Hunk added confidently.

Keith glared.

“I did not cry.”

Lance grinned. “He cried.”

“I did not—”

Shiro chuckled. “We’re proud of you, Keith.”

“Stop encouraging him,” Keith groaned.

But he was smiling.

Actually smiling.

Open and easy.

Lance noticed.

And that was maybe the best part of the day.

⊹₊❤︎₊⊹

Later That Night they ended up back at Keith’s place, sitting on the floor, backs against the couch.

Lance traced the red thread bracelet on his wrist.

Keith absentmindedly rested his hand over the sheath clipped at his side.

Two handmade gifts.

Two red threads.

“You know,” Lance said softly, “we’re kind of disgustingly in love.”

Keith hummed. “Yeah.”

“Like… it’s gross.”

“Tragic.”

Lance leaned his head on Keith’s shoulder.

“You think we’ll look back on this someday and laugh at how nervous we were?”

Keith tilted his head, brushing his nose into Lance’s hair.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I think I’ll remember exactly how it felt.”

Lance’s heart practically melted through his ribs.

Keith intertwined their fingers.

“You’re stuck with me,” he said quietly.

Lance squeezed back.

“Good.”