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Lance waltzes into the recording studio with four cups of coffee, his favourite jacket hanging over his shoulder, and a mood so sour it could give a lemon a run for its money.
His bandmates are scattered around the lounge area. Hunk and Allura are on the floor, cross-legged and chatting. Pidge sits on the couch with their legs propped up on the arm rest, tapping away at some game on their phone. All of their instruments rest further inside, put together haphazardly from last night’s practice, where they got chased out of the studio for accidentally staying too long.
“I brought coffee!” Lance yells as a way to announce his presence.
They’re all of varying colours with excessive amounts of whipped cream and drizzle, because none of them can keep away from sweet goodness. His bandmates stumble up, grabbing their respective orders and chirping their thanks, and Lance jokes about making them pay him back even though he used Coran’s card to buy these.
His joke doesn’t have its usual lighthearted tone, though, and he knows it shows when Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Dude. Why do you look like someone stole your dog?”
Lance clicks his tongue. He doesn’t even have a dog. “It’s worse than that, Pidge,” he says gravely. “Someone stole my ears.”
“…Okay.”
“My ears!” he emphasises, gesturing wildly to the things on the side of his head, accidentally hitting one of his dangling earrings when he does. “I had to listen to the worst songs ever in the café while I was waiting for these. So really, you guys should pay me for going through this utter torture—”
“Oh, you mean Keith’s new song,” Hunk states. He doesn’t even ask. He just says it like it’s a duh thing, like Lance is predictable or something. Which he totally isn’t, but since they’re already on this topic, he might as well complain.
“It wasn’t just his new song. It was his whole discography! I had to listen for twenty whole minutes to his terrible voice. I think the workers probably have posters of his shitty mullet stuck up on their walls!”
“It’s a good song,” Allura muses like she didn’t hear him. “I really liked the bridge. I texted him my congratulations the other day for a hit single.”
Lance stares, betrayed.
“Oh, yeah. The backing vocals were solid. Maybe we should get in touch with his producer,” Pidge continues.
Hunk whips out his phone. “I haven’t actually listened to the full thing. Let me play it now—”
“Guys!” Lance fumes. “Can you not play our worst enemy’s music right in front of my face?!”
“Keith isn’t our worst enemy,” Pidge says, rolling their eyes. Lance should steal their kneecaps for their attitude. “But if you don’t want to listen, you can wait in another room.”
The dismissal makes Lance’s eye twitch, but he is nothing if not always ready to prove a point. So he snatches his drink up, grabs his guitar along the way, and storms into the music room. He might as well get some practice in while his bandmates are busy being traitors.
It was two years into their career as an official band when Keith left.
VOLTRON is an indie pop band started up when they all met in high school, paths crossing unconventionally. None of them were in any music-related extracurriculars, but through a whirlwind of events and coincidences, they ended up performing for their school festival. They turned out better than expected, and from there, they started playing together more.
Until a year after graduating high school, Allura suggested turning their whole thing into an actual career. And so they found a way to release their songs, and soon, their debut album met the public, known as FIVE LIONS. To represent the five of them.
It did way better than expected, and if Lance is able to be honest with himself, it’s because of the star of their band.
Keith’s voice has a unique quality to it. Lance doesn’t know how to describe it, but his natural rasp and tone makes him sound all… sparkly, when he sings. When they perform at local gigs and clubs, fans always fawn over Keith too. He gets the most attention, but Lance assumes that’s what happens when you’re lead singer. He never minded so long as the band got to keep playing together.
And then a few months after their debut album, Keith left.
It wasn’t a huge ordeal. Keith settled the whole thing on his own with their record label. He barely needed help. It’s like leaving their band was the easiest thing he ever did, and now he’s a hit solo artist, and Lance has taken his place—
Lance strums his guitar. The strings don’t play the way he wants them to. He hums the correct note, as if teaching the instrument how to do it right, then lets out a frustrated noise as he bangs his head on the wall he’s leaning on.
Lance has taken Keith’s place as the lead singer of VOLTRON, but he knows he’ll never live up to the legacy Keith managed to create in such a short period of time. And it makes him furious.
He picks up his phone, scrolling through the demos they’ve recently recorded. They’ve been writing their next album, though there’s nothing confirmed yet. No concept, no music sheets, no finalised lyrics. Barely even a vibe. They just know they want another album, and the songwriting role fell to Lance because he’s always writing songs. He loves doing it.
But his mind is painfully blank right now. All he can think of is Keith’s stupid new single, playing over and over in his head, and it makes him want to scream and tear his hair out.
Why does he still think of Keith? It’s been over a year since Keith left, and he’s doing fantastic. Keith has always had a special quality to him, as if his musical sense was innate. He was a natural at singing and feeling the emotions in their songs. Watching him perform is enchanting.
Lance doesn’t have that. He doesn’t have Keith’s breath control or raspy voice or talent.
Maybe that’s why Keith left, though. The rest of the band just couldn’t keep up with how fucking amazing he is. He’s obviously doing better now, so Lance should just— just—
“Lance?” Allura calls loudly, knocking on the door. He jumps, almost dropping his guitar. “We’re gonna start practicing for next week’s show, come join us!”
“Coming!” he calls back, taking a deep breath. Talent or not, they do have gigs coming up. Forget filling in the gaps Keith left. He just needs to go with the flow and fake it til he makes it.
“I have an exciting announcement!” Coran says when all of them settle into the meeting room. By meeting room, they mean the same old lounge from the same old studio they always practice at, but semantics.
“I love announcements,” Allura says supportively. “What is it, Coran?”
Coran is their manager, and Lance doesn’t want to say they basically found him off the streets, but they did. Like many things with their band, it was by chance that they came across Coran, whose knowledge on the music industry was profound and much needed for a startup band like theirs.
"I got an email from a peculiar person last night. It's a collaboration request with one of their rising stars, which we are all very familiar with." With dramatic flair, Coran flips his laptop around, the screen zoomed in on one particular name. "Keith!"
"Keith!" Hunk says excitedly, at the same time Lance scowls.
"He mentioned that Keith put in a good word for us. Plus, a collaboration would surely be exciting for some of our oldest fans."
"No way," Lance denies. "I'm not accepting that."
A beat of silence passes.
“Dude,” Pidge begins, “a collab would be a big deal for us. Plus, it’s not like we don’t play well with Keith. His voice has always suited our style.”
“Then why did he leave?” Lance challenges. His throat is beginning to hurt. He should stop talking before it’s too late. “Plus, if it’s a collab, then he won’t be the only one singing. I will too. And I say no. I don’t want to sing with Keith.”
“You’re just holding onto an old grudge for nothing!” Pidge snaps. “Who made you leader anyway?”
“Guys,” Hunk interrupts, physically pushing their faces away from each other. Lance didn’t even realise he got so close. “Come on. There’s a simple way to settle this—we just take a vote as a band. There’s no need to fight.”
Lance huffs, lips curling downwards. He already knows he’ll be outnumbered.
One voting session later, Coran sends off an enthusiastic confirmation email to Keith’s manager, and Lance storms off on his own to cool off.
Keith stands and dresses the exact same way as the day that he left, and Lance thinks he might have grown taller too. He’d be able to tell if he was willing to stand next to him, but right now, he’s busy keeping the farthest distance away possible, glaring into space.
He knows he’s not subtle about it. He’s the only one who didn’t give a warm welcome when Keith arrived, the only one who isn’t talking right now and listening to Keith’s stories working with his new manager. Lance notices Keith shooting him a few odd looks, but it’s not like Keith is calling him out on his behaviour, so he doesn’t do anything about it either.
“Anyway, we should get started,” Keith says, which finally catches Lance’s attention. Not that he’d admit it. “I didn’t have any idea in mind for the collab. What about you guys?”
“We’ve mostly been working on our own songs. This is our first time doing anything of this sort,” Allura says. She then taps Lance’s shoulder, making him jump. “Though, Lance is always thinking up song lyrics! Maybe he has some suggestions?”
Lance hopes the stinking glare he sends her way is enough of a warning.
“Oh, of course. I’ve always liked your lyrics,” Keith says, looking straight at Lance with a small smile.
He bristles, tightening his grip on his arms. “Of course you do. You can’t write for shit.”
Instead of taking it personally, like how the old Keith he knew would, Keith just laughs, offering a light shrug. “Yeah. You’re way better at it than I am.”
Lance grits his teeth. What is he playing at, acting all nice? Just because he left and matured in his own individual way or something?
Lance hates everything about this. He hates the way Keith speaks about their band as a past of his so freely, like the wound isn’t still fresh and stinging on Lance’s end. He hates that leaving was so easy for Keith, like he doesn’t even know of the massive gap he left in their band, and the struggles Lance went through to fill in his shoes.
He hates that Keith’s smile is just as sweet as he remembers it to be, framed by dimples and lighting up his eyes like—
“Maybe you two can brainstorm separately on the theme of the song, then!” Coran proposes brightly. “I’m thinking something electrifying, something that would make the crowd go wowza!”
“So like all of our songs,” Pidge says with a grin, flipping one of their drumsticks over. “I’ve got a few beats I’ve been dying to try. Hunk, come with me!”
“I’ll go too,” Allura says, getting up. “I feel I haven’t practiced in so long. We’ve all got work to do.”
As quick as a flash, everyone is gone, leaving it as just Lance and Keith, sitting on opposite sides of the table and avoiding each other’s gaze.
“…So, um,” Keith begins, breaking the terse air between them. “What have you been working on recently?”
Straight to the point. He always cuts to the chase like this. A mastermind at ignoring the elephant in the room. Lance can only imagine having that sort of ability.
“Nothing much,” he mutters back.
Silence hangs between them. Keith fidgets in his seat. Lance crosses one leg over the other, looking away.
“…I caught some clips of some of the gigs you guys have done,” Keith continues. Why is he still trying? Lance clearly wants nothing to do with him. “You sound nice. I think it’ll be fun singing alongside you—”
“Keith,” Lance finally interrupts. He sets his foot back down. “Are you patronising me?”
“What?”
“Out of all the band members, I was the only one to disagree on the collab idea. Because I don’t want to sing with you. I don’t know why you’re back here, but you made it clear that we weren’t good enough for you to stay a year ago, so there’s no point playing pretend now.”
Keith stares at him, lips parted in shock, and Lance’s throat feels like it’s closing up on its own, making it hard to breathe.
“I never—” Keith begins, then cuts himself off to take a deep breath. “I never hated the band. I loved it here. You know this. I-I was always an outsider doing my own stuff, but then you invited me to join, and I’ve never had more fun—”
Lance is getting tired of repeating himself. “So why did you leave?”
“It wasn’t because of you guys!”
“Then why?” Lance grips the edge of the couch so hard he can feel the leather beginning to crack.
Keith’s jaw snaps shut, and he falls back into silence. His gaze shifts away. Lance scoffs.
“Typical,” he says, pretending his throat doesn’t feel raw and scratched up. “Fine. I have a few drafts in my notebook. Let’s just look at those.”
“Aren’t you being a little too mean?” Hunk asks as Lance fiddles with his guitar, back pressed to the corner of the music room and trying to make himself as small as possible. “I mean, I know his leaving was sudden, but we’re all glad he’s doing better now. You don’t have to take it so personally.”
Hunk sits down next to him, then offers a cold can of soda, to which Lance takes begrudgingly. “It is personal, Hunk. He doesn’t get to just up and leave and then come back when he feels like it. Who does he take us for?”
“I think he misses us,” Hunk gently corrects.
“Well, fuck that. I don’t miss him.”
“You do.”
Lance narrows his eyes. “I don’t. Leave me alone.”
“I still remember those songs you wrote right after he left, you know.”
Lance’s fingers twitch to a stop. For a while after Keith left, he wouldn't talk to anyone, unable to find his voice. Instead, he'd spend hours holed up alone, scribbling away until his wrists ached and his pencil was breaking. He’d completely forgotten about those songs, those memories locked and hidden deep in his mind, and— wait a damn second.
“I never showed anyone those songs!” he squawks. “What the hell, dude?!”
“The notebook was just lying around! I didn’t mean to snoop!” Hunk defends, but it’s too late. Lance has already put his guitar down and is leaping at him.
“You traitor! This is why I don’t tell you my Netflix password—you’ll leak it to the entire world!”
“Maybe you should find those songs and polish them again,” Hunk suggests, smoothly dodging all of Lance’s attempted slaps. Lance hates how well they know each other sometimes. “It might help you work through your feelings! You used to spend the most time with Keith anyway, I’m sure you miss it at least a little bit!”
He stills, one hand still raised and ready to strike. It falls to his side when Hunk’s words sink in.
It’s true that he and Keith used to be attached to the hip—he was the one who invited Keith to join them, after all. Plus, with Lance writing all the songs, Keith often joined him to plan a melody or just practice. They’d spend countless hours together in the studio, Lance strumming the guitar and listening to Keith sing with the softest voice in the world—
He shakes those memories out of his head. He doesn’t need to get sentimental over someone who won’t even tell him the truth.
“That’s stupid,” Lance huffs, dusting his clothes. “No one wants to hear those songs.”
“Just think about it,” Hunk insists, eyes growing wide and pleading. “It’s not like you guys have come up with anything else, right?”
At that, Lance grimaces. That’s definitely not a lie.
“I’ll think about it if you buy me ice-cream,” he decides.
Hunk groans, flopping back in defeat, and despite the situation, Lance manages a loud laugh.
A notebook is tossed onto the table, landing with a pathetic slap.
Keith looks up at him from where he's sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around a guitar. He's not the best at it, at least not as controlled as Lance, but it seems he's improved quite a bit from what Lance remembers.
Lance drops onto the floor on the other side of the table, resting his elbows on the surface. "I found this earlier," he says, trying to be as vague as possible so that Keith doesn't realise he came here on purpose. Lance, willingly spending time with him? No way. He can't give off the wrong impression. "There's some old stuff I wrote in here. I thought we could pick one and improve on it together."
Something like light fills Keith's eyes. "Actually?"
"Don't make me take it back."
Keith shrugs, taking the notebook. He flips it open, and Lance suddenly feels an impending doom as regret fills his bones. Maybe he should have looked through the notebook first before just throwing it at Keith. Even he doesn't remember what's in there.
He drums his fingers on the table restlessly as Keith reads in silence, only breaking it whenever he flips a page. Lance kind of expected him to just skim through, but it seems Keith is giving this his full attention. He doesn't know how to feel about that, so he just looks away and tries not to think too hard about it.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Keith sets the notebook down. It's opened to one of the pages somewhere in the middle. "I really like this one," he says, tapping on the paper.
Lance side-eyes him. Which one is that..?
Keith passes the notebook back so he can look at it. The moment Lance reads the first line, he already knows which song it is.
"Really?" he asks, feeling a little sick at the idea of singing this one with Keith. "It's— It's not the best one here by far, dude. It's not even complete."
"Then let's complete it together," Keith replies. "I have a melody in mind already."
They spend the next week working on the song together.
It's definitely not Lance's top pick. Its unpolishedness aside, it's one of the sadder songs he wrote, filled with vulnerability and insecurity. On the surface, though, it just sounds like a typical heartbreak song, and Lance is lucky Keith isn't reading between the lines.
(If he did, he'd find his own shadow rooted in the pages, haunting every lyric.)
It's not like it's entirely Lance's song to sing. The more they practice, the more Lance can recognise Keith's style bleeding into the song, in the way he pronounces certain words and the range he prefers to stay within.
"I can't do that, dude," Lance groans when their attempt at harmonising at the chorus falls flat for what feels like the hundredth time. It just sounds bad. They're totally out of sync. "Never mind. You sing that part alone."
Keith frowns. "I think it'll sound better together. Here, just go like—" He parts his lips. "Ohh."
Lance rolls his own eyes. Leave it to Keith to be pitch perfect or whatever. It's tough singing next to him, because Keith's voice outshines his without even trying. He mimics what Keith just did, but his voice is shakier. Weaker.
Keith tilts his head. "Is the key too low?"
"The what?"
"The key." Keith reaches for Allura's keyboard, which she's kindly lent them for the day so they can figure things out. He thinks for a bit, fiddling with a few notes, until he presses down on a key that echoes loudly in Lance's ears. "Try that note."
"This is so annoying," Lance mutters, but he does it anyway. This time, it sounds a lot clearer.
Keith nods, a small smile gracing his lips. "That. Go up instead of down."
"You're not my boss."
Keith just snickers. The banter is familiar, even if Lance doesn't want to acknowledge it.
By the time the sun is setting, they've finished up the first demo. Lance's phone is one recording heavier, and despite his aversion to working with Keith, he'll admit he's satisfied with the progress they've made.
"How're you getting home?" Keith asks as they lock up the studio together. They're the last ones to leave.
"Uh… Train," Lance answers, not facing him. Damn it. Why isn't this door locking? They really ought to get a new one.
"Oh, okay. Shiro's picking me up."
"Wasn't he studying abroad?"
There's silence for a bit. Lance finally manages to lock the door, and he turns around with a relieved sigh, only for it to fade when he notices Keith staring at him in mild surprise. "What?"
"...He is," Keith replies, an odd look in his eyes. "You remember that?"
"I—" Heat rushes to his cheeks. "I guess? What's so weird about that?"
There are a million things Lance still remembers about Keith. It's only natural, with how close knit they once were. A year's worth of distance isn't enough to erase the memories, as much as Lance wishes it was.
"Nothing," Keith replies, and it doesn't sound like nothing, but Lance doesn't want to push. "Anyway, he's back from university for summer break. That's why."
"Oh." Lance takes an awkward step away. "Then— I'll just leave now. Tell Shiro I said hi."
"Of course." Keith is still watching him, and Lance feels a little pinned by his rapidly softening gaze. "By the way, Lance…"
"What now?"
Keith's lips part. A stilted noise leaves his throat, and he visibly struggles to piece together his words for his next sentence.
"Never mind," Keith decides after a while with a shake of his head. "I just wanted to say that I really like your voice. I'm glad you're singing with me."
A furious blush hits his cheeks. What, Keith thinks he's so great now, just dishing out compliments like it's nothing? He shouldn't give those away so easily. It totally plays with people's feelings.
"Whatever," Lance grumbles, turning away. "Bye. Get home safe."
He doesn't stick around long enough to hear Keith's reply. Not that he would've been interested in it, either way, or at least that's what he tells himself as he makes his way to the train station, his heart pounding in his chest and a sickly familiar feeling threatening to rise again.
Keith's producer is a no-nonsense, serious lady with a gaze sharper than a dagger, going by the name Acxa.
They've already shared the demo with the rest of the band. When Hunk hears the lyrics, he gives Lance a look, one which Lance steadily avoids. Acxa listens to the whole thing with an impassive expression, and Lance slowly gets more and more nervous as time passes, but when the voice memo finishes, she nods affirmatively.
"This is easy to work with," she says. "Much better lyrics than what you usually come to me with, Keith."
Keith scowls, hitting her shoulder with a pen. She snorts, a bit of that hard exterior cracking, and Lance physically feels his own shoulders drop in relief.
Their recording schedule is created by Coran in a jiffy once Acxa agrees to work with them on the song. Afterwards, the actual recording begins.
Pidge goes first, followed by Hunk, then Allura, and then Lance with the guitar. Keith isn't playing, despite him creating most of the melodies—the role of guitarist still falls onto Lance, ultimately. He's not sure how he would have felt if Keith were to take that from him too.
When he enters the recording studio, a microphone, metronome, and his instrument have all been set up for him already. Acxa's engineering and tech team is productive to almost a scary degree, wasting no time. She walks in with him just to make sure everything's in order. Right before she enters the monitor room, she turns back. "Lance, correct?"
"Huh?" He looks up, still gripping onto the strap of his guitar. "That's me!"
She regards him with a long look. It reminds him of his sister, honestly—Veronica's gaze holds so much judgement sometimes that Lance feels crushed under it. Hah. He should tell her that when he heads home next holiday.
“I see,” Acxa replies. “Keith’s mentioned you a lot.”
An awkward laugh leaves his throat. “Uh… All good things, I hope?”
“Of course.” She shuts the door, and Lance watches as she takes a seat, putting on a headset and giving him a thumbs up. Lance tweaks with his own ear monitors and shoots her a finger gun back.
As the metronome begins to tick, Lance closes his eyes and plays.
The last thing to record are the vocals.
It’s getting late by the time Lance finishes his takes. Pidge orders them all dinner and they sit in the lounge together, eating and chatting. Lance finds himself wedged between Keith and Hunk, and with every sputtering laugh Keith lets out, his heart warms terribly.
It feels like old times, when they were still starting out, chasing dreams that felt bigger than the universe and cruising through their lives without a care in the world. When watching Keith didn’t fill his heart with this ache and being by his side wasn’t such a rarity.
A small part of him does wish that things could go back to being this way, but he knows this is only a temporary glimpse into their past. Lance isn’t one to cling onto false hope.
After dinner, they say goodbye to the rest and head back into the recording room.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Lance says, cracking his knuckles. “One take!”
They stand facing each other, two microphones propped up and ready. In his ear monitors, he hears the beat count down and the music starts to play. Lance makes eye contact with Keith, who jumps and glances away, before he opens his mouth to sing.
Three lines in, Keith gets the lyrics wrong.
“Sorry,” Keith groans, running a hand through his hair. “Can we take it from the top again?”
The second take doesn’t even advance, for Keith starts a beat late, as if distracted. The third goes just as bad as he stumbles over his words.
By the fourth take, things are going decently. Lance finally gets to sing his part, but once the chorus hits, Keith messes up all over again, and—
“Oh my god,” Lance mutters, ripping his ear monitors off. Keith, at least, has the decency to look apologetic. A quick glance at the clock tells Lance that it’s past nine, and that they have to close up soon. He makes a noise of frustration. It’s not good to rush a song. “Okay, you know what? It’s getting late. Let’s try again tomorrow.”
“We don’t have to—” Keith begins, but he’s silenced at Lance’s glare. “…Okay.”
He nods at Acxa, who comes out of the monitor room and gives Keith a not-so-discreet pat on the shoulder. She doesn’t say much else before grabbing her things and leaving, and Lance does the same, hiking his guitar over his shoulder and stepping out of the room.
It’s when he’s outside the studio does he pause, having to take a few steps back into shelter when he’s faced with pouring rain.
“Damn it,” he hisses, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He didn’t bring an umbrella.
Something pokes into the small of his back. He turns around to see Keith holding onto an umbrella like it’s a peace offering. Lance narrows his eyes.
“You’re heading to the train station, right?” he asks. “I’ll walk you.”
“…What about you?”
“I just texted Shiro, so it’ll be a while before he picks me up. I can just ask him to meet me at the station instead.”
Lance digs his teeth into his inner cheek and curses in his head. He supposes he has no other choice.
Once the studio is locked up, Lance makes the treacherous journey of being squeezed under a tiny umbrella with Keith, their arms brushing with every step they take. Water still gets onto him, plus his guitar makes it hard to hold the umbrella over, and it’s overall a horrible time.
Keith is quiet throughout, his eyes downcast. He doesn’t even seem to notice where he’s going, and it’s only when he steps into a big puddle, accidentally kicking up a mess, does Lance get irritated and snap.
“So,” he says, “what was up with you earlier?”
Keith flinches. The umbrella tilts, almost knocking into the side of Lance’s head. “Oh. Um, nothing. I just wasn’t in it today, I guess.”
“You’re never not in it,” Lance pushes. “You were always so perfect at music it was almost inhumane.”
“Well, I—” Keith falters. “Thanks?”
“It’s not a compliment,” he mutters back. A rush of wind blows by. He shudders, and Keith pulls him just a bit closer by his sleeve. “So? What’s the real reason?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Yeah, you always are.”
Despite the situation, Keith manages a weak laugh. It makes the dreary sky seem just a bit brighter.
“…I was distracted,” Keith says after a beat. His grip noticeably tightens on the umbrella handle. “It’s been so long since we’ve been together. I guess I forgot what it was like, so I was in my head about it.”
“It’s your fault for leaving.”
“I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” Keith bites back. “You know it wasn’t that simple.”
Lance can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Seemed real easy to me.”
Their footsteps have slowed by now. Lance doesn’t know why—it’s not like he wants to prolong this conversation any further than it has to go.
The same question surfaces to the forefront of his mind. He’s never gotten a solid answer from Keith. He doesn’t expect to get one now, either, but maybe it’s the rain splattering on the pavement, or maybe it’s the proximity they’re forced under, but Lance finds himself asking again, desperate to know, “Why’d you leave?”
This time, to his surprise, Keith replies.
“It was you,” he whispers. It’s so quiet that if it wasn’t for the fact that Lance is standing right next to him, his voice might have been carried away by the wind.
Is Keith blaming him? Lance’s lips part, anger rising, but Keith corrects himself.
“Not that it was your fault. That’s not what I mean. I was just distracted, like how I was today. Every time you were in the same room, it felt like I couldn’t breathe…”
“Oh, so you left because you couldn’t stand my presence?” Lance asks sarcastically. “You didn’t want to be stuck in the same room with me?”
“It’s the opposite,” Keith argues back. Lance can see the train station in the distance. They’re almost there.
Keith comes to a stop. He hooks his finger into the crook of Lance’s elbow, forcing him to stop as well. Lance turns to him, irritation all over his face, but it melts when he sees the raw honesty in Keith’s eyes.
“…I don’t understand,” he chokes out with a slight shake of his head.
Keith’s lips tremble. His hold on his umbrella tightens until his knuckles grow white.
But still, he steps closer. Still, he looks Lance in the eyes. It’s the first time Lance thinks that he definitely won’t run away.
“I mean that I liked you, Lance,” Keith confesses, his breath coming out shaky afterwards. “I couldn’t stand having those feelings and still being by your side all the time. You were so— distracting, I don’t know. It interrupted my flow, made it so hard to sing when all I could think about was you. I didn’t know how to get rid of those feelings, so I left.”
Keith finally tears his eyes away, looking at the road behind Lance, where cars are passing by. Lance can see their headlights reflected in Keith’s dark irises and bouncing off his skin. His heart feels stuck in his throat.
“It didn’t work, if I’m being honest.” Keith laughs dejectedly. “I missed you so much. And I thought the distance would fix me, but after coming back, I realise that things haven’t really changed. Especially after how badly I fucked the recordings up earlier.”
“So you—” Lance’s voice cracks. He can’t hear much past the roaring in his ears, the rest of his attention all focused onto Keith, like he’s the centre of his universe. “You left because you liked me?”
“Like,” Keith corrects, looking back at him, then frowns. “It sounds a bit stupid when you put it like that.”
Lance wants to throw himself onto the road. Or throw Keith. Or both. “You’re so—” He chokes on his laughter.
“Dumb? Idiotic? Ridiculous?”
“No! Yes! Ugh, I don’t know!”
Keith laughs again, though this time, it rings fond and affectionate in Lance’s ears. It makes heat rise to his cheeks, and Lance can’t even be mad because he’s so unbelievably—
“—relieved,” he admits, breath rattling his ribcage when he exhales. “I thought… I thought so many things, but I mostly thought you hated me.”
Keith’s eyebrows pinch together. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Well, you did!” Lance huffs. “I cried, you know?! Many times!”
“I’m sorry.”
“And I wrote so many stupid songs about you!”
“They’re not stupid. I love your lyrics.”
“And— S-Stop doing that.” Lance’s cheeks are starting to feel like they’re on fire. “…The song we’re singing is about you, you know.”
“Oh.” Keith makes a surprised noise. “I didn’t realise that. I thought you dated someone else and broke up.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re dense as a rock.” Lance crosses his arms. “If you weren’t, you’d know that I liked you too the entire time back then.”
“Oh.” This time, Keith’s voice is a lot more subdued. “And now?”
Lance just hums and looks away, unable to voice it out. He thinks Keith gets it anyway, though, with the way his shoulders drop and his lips tilt up into a gentle smile.
Before Lance can think of what else to say, a car zooms by. A bunch of water splashes onto the cuffs of his jeans and he yelps, stumbling forward and knocking into Keith’s body.
“Sorry,” he gasps out. “Um, let’s go.”
“Let’s go,” Keith echoes, and they hurry along on the rest of their journey.
When they arrive at the station, Keith waits on the outside, the umbrella still held over his head. Lance takes a moment to remove his wet jacket and to dig through his pockets for his card.
“Thanks for walking me,” he says once he finds it, looking back up.
Keith smiles again. It’s so dark he can barely see anything past Keith’s frame, except for the lone lamppost illuminating the streets, though its light is weak and flickering. Still, Lance feels like there’s a spotlight over Keith that’s grabbing his attention, and he can’t help himself from reaching out, bumping his fist to Keith’s chest.
“See you tomo—,” Lance begins, but Keith cuts him off.
“Wait.”
Lance’s eyes widen as Keith steps forward, their chests brushing and breaths mingling.
“Can I…” Keith swallows. “Before you go, can I kiss you?”
Lance’s heart soars.
It would be all too easy. Keith is right here, and Lance could just cup his cheeks, let his eyes flutter close, and seal the distance between them. He could finally release all the resentment he’s been harbouring and do what he could have done way earlier, had either of them been brave enough to say anything.
But Keith did make him suffer for a whole year. Lance can’t give in this easily.
So he huffs, putting a hand over Keith’s mouth, and grins at his adorably confused expression. “I’ll kiss you if you manage to finish a proper recording of the song.”
The fire ignites in his eyes. Keith circles his fingers around Lance’s wrist, tugging his hand back down. “Deal.”
The final notes of the song plays, drum beats and guitar riff fading off. A brief laugh is heard in the background, followed by a relieved breath and a few claps.
Acxa clicks the stop button, turning to the rest of the band. “What do you think?”
“You left that last part in?” Keith asks.
She shrugs. “I thought it was cute.”
“It is cute!” Allura gasps, her hands held to the chest. “You both sound so good together!”
The rest of the band make noises of agreement, fawning over the production and the music and whatnot. Lance’s chest feels aglow with happiness, and naturally, his eyes drift to Keith. Keith, who has a soft smile on his face, one he probably doesn’t even realise is there, who looks so accomplished and at home.
“Keith,” he calls, reaching over and lacing their fingers together.
Keith hums, turning to him with a question in his eyes, and Lance lets the tug in his gut pull him forward as he presses their lips together in a sweet kiss.
There’s gasps and cheering from their friends, but Lance is only focused on the sound of Keith’s surprised laugh and the taste of his smile, warm and everlasting.
“Come back,” Lance requests when he pulls back, briefly glancing at the rest for permission. He finds them all smiling supportively and knows that it’s already been given. “Come back to the band.”
“Can I make a request before that?” Keith asks.
Lance pauses, raising an eyebrow. Their fingers are still interlaced, and he gives Keith a reassuring squeeze when he visibly hesitates.
“I want to continue singing with you, Lance,” he says. “Instead of going back to how it was, I’d like for us to be co-leads, if you’re willing.”
“I—” Lance swallows down the lump in his throat. “Are you sure?”
“More than anything.”
Lance feels his cheeks heat up, his heart doing a little skip. “…As long as you don’t fuck up our future takes like you did with yesterday’s.”
Keith’s answering laugh twinkles in Lance’s ear.
It prompts a group hug, initiated by Hunk, who’s started to bawl his eyes out. Lance yelps as he’s squished from all sides, but when he sees Keith smiling again, he finds that there’s no other place he’d rather be.
It’s not that Keith never left. Lance won’t be able to erase that, no matter how hard he tries, and he knows Keith isn’t pretending either. It might remain a scar in their relationship forever.
But Keith is back now, fit perfectly in Lance’s arms, and he finds that that is all that really matters.