zel's trove!

Gojo, the bastard, is somehow onto him the moment he first hacks into his palm, and the two of them just sit together, Gojo rubbing his back with an odd seriousness while Megumi’s wheezes punctuate the silence. Once Megumi finally squeezes out the worst of whatever’s stuck in his throat, he spits it out into a napkin graciously–suspiciously–handed to him by Gojo. If he was alone, Megumi would have just thrown out the surely-disgusting glob of foodmass without looking twice, but something about Gojo’s solemn expression makes him feel unsteady. Without speaking (and isn’t that strange all by itself?) Gojo flicks his eyes down at the tissue and finally, finally talks.

“How long have you been in love with Itadori?”

“What?” Of all the questions he could have asked, Megumi would not have predicted that to be Gojo’s first words after he spent five minutes scaring the shit out of Megumi with his ominous silence. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Gojo tsks. “No denial. At least that won’t be a problem. Let me rephrase: how long have you been coughing up flowers?”

“What are you talking about?” Megumi leans away from Gojo, pinching the bridge of his nose. And to think that he was worried when all Gojo was doing was pulling a prank.

And yet Gojo didn’t seem intent on revealing the joke soon. “Open the tissue, Megumi.”

“...No.” Cupping the napkin in his hand, Megumi gets up and is about to head to the trash can to toss whatever he threw up–and admittedly, it doesn’t feel like digested food, but Megumi’s too deep now to consider playing along with Gojo’s farce–when he feels a familiar ache in his chest and doubles over, fist thumping into his chest. Gojo gives him a good whack on the back, dislodging whatever got stuck in Megumi’s throat again, and out comes…a yellow petal. Megumi stares. “Holy shit.”

“I’ll ask this again, Megumi–” and Gojo was right, goddamnit, he’s going to be insufferable, “–how long have you been coughing up flowers?”

Megumi looks up, struck by how Gojo suddenly seems aged in a way that he only gets every Christmas Eve, and answers honestly. “Today was the first time.”

Gojo exhales, lightly gripping Megumi’s shoulders. “And do you know what this is?”

Unfortunately, Megumi does. ‘It’s Hanahaki disease. It only–” here he gulps, throat dry, “It only occurs when a person’s love is unrequited.”

“Your symptoms will worsen over time. This disease causes flowers to take root in your lungs, not only clogging up your airways but also taking energy from your body that you need to survive.” Gojo guides him back to a sitting position, something grim settling over them as he continues to explain. “You’ll feel fatigued and lightheaded, coughing up these petals every day as your immune system weakens. Eventually, you could die. So!” He claps one hand on Megumi’s shoulder, his voice bright but forced. “What do you plan on doing about that?”

It’s a lot to take in. Megumi leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. “I’m not telling Itadori. Yet.” He can feel Gojo’s disappointed gaze, but he forges on. “I can’t ruin our friendship over a couple of flowers. Just…give me some time.”

Gojo stands up and stretches, the conversation finally over. “It’s your call. But if I think your life is in danger, I’m taking you straight to the hospital or to Itadori’s house.”

Megumi snorts, getting up too. He knows that Gojo knows that his answer was a copout, a refusal to take action, but what is he supposed to do? All he needs is some time to figure out his next steps. Megumi can handle this. 

Yet before they part, Gojo stops him with some advice that sounds a little too specific to not have come from personal experience.

“Don’t let your fear of Itadori’s reaction be what holds you back. 

Be a little greedier.”

~

Easy for him to say. Megumi can’t exactly be greedy over someone so kindhearted, someone who gives himself away so freely to the world around him. Every week, it seems that Itadori’s fending off confessions left and right, and all Megumi can do is look away.

They’re finishing up gym class, the two of them washing up in the locker room, when Itadori finally asks the question that Megumi’s been bracing himself for. “Fushiguro, are you okay? You’re looking kinda rough there.”

Upon looking in the mirror, it’s true–with the disease sapping what little energy he has, Megumi looks gaunt, pale with prominent bags under listless eyes. He sighs, splashing water on his face in an ineffectual attempt to regain some vitality. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” he tells Itadori as they head out to the hallway. Itadori clearly doesn’t believe him, based on his raised eyebrow and the way he sticks just a little closer to Megumi’s side, but he’s very soon distracted by one Yuko Ozawa approaching the two of them with fidgeting hands and a bright flush.

“Itadori, could I talk to you for a moment? Alone, I mean.” Ozawa twists her fingers, voice hesitant and shaking. Before Itadori can respond, Megumi’s already walking away. Sue him, he doesn’t need to watch Itadori receive his fifth declaration of love that week.

Once he’s out of earshot, Megumi takes out his phone for something to do while he waits for Itadori to inevitably rebuff Ozawa’s heartfelt advances. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Ozawa’s blush becomes even more prominent while Itadori grins widely, presumably giving Ozawa a goodbye as she ducks her head and darts away. Megumi puts his phone away, cocking one eyebrow in question as Itadori approaches. 

Unbidden, pain rises in his chest at the sight of Itadori’s blinding smile, but he pushes it down to ask, “What was that all about?”

“Ozawa asked to spend some time with me after school, so I said yes,” Itadori responds, unfazed by the aghast look Megumi sends his way. “She’s nice, and I like her enough, so why not, you know?”

“Oh.” Megumi hates himself for the way his voice cracks, but luckily Itadori hasn’t noticed that anything is amiss until Megumi quickly turns around. “I, uh, I actually think I left something in the locker room, so I’ll meet back up with you during lunch.”

“You sure you don’t want me to go back with you? More eyes means we’ll find it faster!” Itadori’s already walking back to where they came from, but Megumi waves him off.

“Nah, I’ll see you at lunch. Save a spot in the cafeteria line, will you?” Megumi claps a hand on Itadori’s shoulder, the picture of nonchalance, before quickly shoving him away and hightailing it to the gym bathroom.

Cowardly? Sure. But as Megumi hits the floor with a sickening thud, he finds he can’t spare much concern over Itadori’s reaction before flowers spill out of his mouth and into the toilet.

Itadori does not see Megumi at lunch.

~

He’s not sure how he makes it through the rest of his classes, let alone stumble his way home, but the next thing Megumi knows is the piercing blue of Gojo’s eyes as he leans over him. Groggily, Megumi lifts his head, only to flop back down on what must be the living room couch when a headache fills his senses. 

“Megumi.” 

Nope. Megumi tries to shove Gojo’s face away, but his vision swims and he ends up missing by a mile. He huffs, pressing his face into the soothing darkness of the couch.

“Let me at least get you to bed.” Gojo tsks, but his annoyance is belied by the gentle way he lifts Megumi up and smoothly carries him to his bedroom. “Does this mean you haven’t figured it out yet?”

A sigh quickly turns into a cough as Megumi lurches over the side of his bed, wheezing. A trash can quickly appears under him, which he grabs with gratitude and spits out a furled sunflower. “...Itadori’s going on a date with another classmate.”

“I’m sorry, Megumi,” and isn’t that sad, how this is the most genuine apology that Gojo’s given him in a long time, “but that means I’m going to have to take you to the hospital sooner rather than later.” Megumi doesn’t respond, staring up at the ceiling. Gojo nudges him. “Hey, you want to be here when Tsumiki wakes up, right? You can’t do that if you’re choking on flowers.”

“One more day.” Megumi doesn’t beg, but he’s not above doing so if it means he gets to keep his memories of his best friend and his only love. “I’ll stay home tomorrow and save my energy, and then I’ll…and then we’ll go from there.”

“Whatever you say, Megumi.” Gojo gets up with a sigh. Megumi shuts his eyes, pretending that he can’t feel a hand ruffling his hair and tears sliding down his face.

~

The next day passes in a haze. Whatever sickness Megumi’s been hit with seems to be much worse than the common cold, since he’s bedridden for most of the day and barely lucid for any of it. When he is awake, he’s preoccupied with either puking out his guts or forcing liquids to stay down. Gojo’s usually there, ready with water and a bucket, but when the doorbell rings around five he leaves Megumi’s bedside for the first time that day. Megumi flops back and just hopes that his pounding headache will recede eventually.

“Well if it isn’t Itadori!”

Shit. 

He can hear Gojo’s voice ringing from the doorway, ushering Itadori in. Megumi has no idea what in the hell he’s playing at before a head of pink hair pops through the doorway, and Itadori steps through, carrying a comically large basket of goodies. He beams at Megumi, who quirks his lips in return up until he descends into a fit of coughing for what was probably the fifth time that day.

“Oh, man,” Itadori mutters, quickly uncapping a water bottle from the basket and holding it up to Megumi’s mouth. They’re next to each other on the bed, Itadori sitting on the edge while Megumi’s propped up on the headboard, and Megumi’s blushing something fierce even as he gulps down the water. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Megumi rasps, and at Itadori’s unimpressed look, he amends, “I’ll be fine.” Turning away, he grits out, “How was your date with Ozawa?”

Itadori hums, taking out some items from the basket and arranging them on the bed. “It went fine. She’s nice, and I like talking with her.” He trails off, starting at Megumi.

“And…?”

Itadori chuckles, scooting onto the bed so he’s pressed up to Megumi’s side. The contact feels like a burn against Megumi’s feverish skin, so he grabs a teddy bear from the basket and pretends that Itadori can’t see how harshly he’s digging into it. “And I realized I had my heart set on someone else!” 

Megumi feels what little of the breath he has get knocked out of his lungs. He can’t let himself hope, and yet, and yet, he dares to ask, “Who is that?”

“Jeez, Fushiguro,” Itadori huffs, pulling one of Megumi’s hands off of the teddy bear and interlocking their fingers. “You’re really gonna make me spell it out? I like you.”

“I like you too,” Megumi stutters out, a laugh catching onto the end of his confession, before he hunches over into the worst Hanahaki attack he’s had yet. Itadori yelps and starts rubbing soothing circles into his back with one hand and using the other to scramble for the trash can nearby. 

Tears pour from Megumi’s eyes and his lungs feel like they’re bursting open in agony, but through it all, Megumi doesn’t feel sad. He doesn’t feel the numbness that’s been sitting in his chest ever since he got this stupid curse, and he sure as hell doesn’t feel despair at the thought of Itadori loving someone that wasn’t him. When the last of the sunflowers finally falls into the trash can, Megumi turns to Itadori and knocks his forehead against his shoulder.

“Fushiguro?” As if he feels Megumi staring at him, Itadori looks back, visibly relaxing when he sees the other right behind him. “Oh phew, I thought I lost ya.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry.” Megumi knocks his knuckles on Itadori’s forehead. “Eyes forward, you don’t want to run over any of these people.”

Itadori splutters, much to Megumi’s amusement, but then he gets this determined glint in his eye and–

“Is this okay?” Itadori tilts his head, eyes soft. They’ve stopped just before the train station exit, letting everyone else flow around them. Megumi curses his reddening cheeks, as well as the overwhelming warmth radiating from where Itadori is holding his hand from where it was pulling away from his head. 

He looks a little silly there, with his hand–their hands–still raised in the air. Megumi curses himself again, and Gojo too for good measure, and tugs him along with the crowd. “Let’s just go, idiot.” Megumi winces at how pleased he sounds, so he refuses to look back as they walk towards the mall.

Just as well, since he wouldn’t have known what to do with Itadori’s face being as pink as his hair.

-

“So I was thinking,” Itadori starts, swinging their still-intertwined hands back and forth between them, “we should get some drinks first! That way, we’ll have something to sip on when we walk around.” He turns to look at Megumi with a wide, goofy grin.

“Sure.” Megumi looks away when Itadori pouts at his one-word answer, but he really couldn’t be blamed for his reticence when all he could focus on was the feeling of Itadori’s hand on his. 

Itadori's comical pout turns back into a beam, as he tugs Megumi along with a joyful, "Let's go!" 

Once they finally weave their way around the throngs of mallgoers, they find themselves in front of a quaint bubble tea stand manned by a droopy-eyed teenager. With his free hand, Itadori taps his chin in thought. "What do you want, Fushiguro?"

Megumi shrugs, inadvertently lifting up their linked hands. He chokes out, "Up to you. I don’t usually get bubble tea so I’ll try whatever you recommend.”

Itadori’s eyes widen. "Whatever you say!" He steps up to the worker, who jerks awake from her stupor. "Can I get a strawberry smoothie and an oolong milk tea?" 

"That'll be 1500 yen," she drawls. "Cash or card?"

Before Megumi can react, Itadori gleefully slams his wallet on the counter.

"Itadori, I can pay for my own-" Megumi starts, before he looks down to see a very familiar credit card. "...How'd you get Gojo's credit card?"

"I told him we were going shopping and he was happy to lend it to me!" In what can only be described as a devious manipulation tactic, Itadori strokes Megumi's hand with his thumb. "Let me pay, man. It's on Gojo!" 

Megumi snorts, and jerks his head away. "Fine," he mumbles, once again cursing his flushed cheeks. The worker eyes the two with mild disinterest, and turns her back to start their drinks.

To Megumi’s relief, she finishes quickly and sets their drinks on the counter with nothing more than a monotone “Have a good day.” Itadori immediately drops Megumi’s hand to approach their drinks, and Megumi can’t decide whether to feel relief and disappointment in the few seconds before he returns and shoves the oolong milk tea towards him, once again taking Megumi’s hand in his. Megumi exhales, and takes a sip. 

It’s all fine. It’s not bad , holding Itadori’s hand as they aimlessly walk through the mall. Compared to before, Itadori’s hand is moist now from the condensation of their drinks, but Megumi can’t bring himself to pull away. It’s just so that they don’t lose each other in the crowd, he tells himself. And– Itadori’s a naturally touchy guy. He’ll sling an arm over Kugisaki’s shoulder or leap into Gojo’s arms, so this is normal for him. Megumi shouldn’t read any more into it. 

He’s knocked out of his thoughts when Itadori lets out a huge gasp, yanking Megumi towards a row of claw machines outside an arcade. 

“Look, Fushi, they have Pokemon!!” Itadori lets go of his hand–for good, it seems–to press up against the glass. The machine they’ve stopped in front of holds a variety of Eeveelution plushies, much to Itadori’s delight and Megumi’s amusement. Determination shines in Itadori’s eyes. “Mark my words, I’m getting that Umbreon even if I have to max out Gojo’s credit card to do it.”

“Please don’t,” Megumi mutters halfheartedly, but at Itadori’s pleading face, he takes up position at the side of the machine. Once Itadori swipes the card, Megumi tries his best to instruct him on where to drop the claw, but despite Itadori’s utmost concentration, the plushie slips right through the claw’s grasp. So they try again. And again.

After about the third try or so, Megumi snags the card from Itadori’s hand before he can swipe it again. “I think we’re gonna have to cut our losses with this one,” he says wryly, casting a glance at the line forming behind them. “And don’t we have errands to run anyways?”

Itadori groans and drapes himself over Megumi’s side. “But Fushiguroooo, my pride is at stake!” His grip tightens for a moment, Megumi’s only warning before he’s whirled around to face a way-too-close Itadori. “What if you do it instead? Maybe you’ll have better luck than I do!”

“It’s not about luck,” Megumi protests, though he knows he’s fighting a losing battle as he steps up and swipes the card. “Just once,” he warns, jerking the stick to get the claw moving, “and not a word to Gojo about why we spent so much.” 

All too aware of Itadori’s rapt attention, Megumi hovers the claw over his target and, struck by a memory of Gojo struggling with a similar arcade machine in front of him and Tsumiki, he swings the stick around before finally pressing the button.

Both Megumi and Itadori watch with bated breath as the claw latches onto the plushie, slides over to the hatch, and opens up. Itadori erupts into a cheer as a Sylveon tumbles down into Megumi’s waiting hand. 

“Fushiguro, you’re the best!” Itadori crows, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Man, you should’ve said something about that trick earlier! Otherwise we wouldn’t have wasted so much of Gojo's money.” 

Megumi huffs and shoves the plushie towards Itadori. “Just take it. You wanted one so badly anyways.” Itadori brightens up at first, but to Megumi’s surprise, he waves it off.

“Nah, you keep it. You’re the one who got it in the first place.” Itadori slaps a hand on the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I only wanted to get the Umbreon because it reminded me of you, but I guess I needed you to save the day.”

“You–” Megumi splutters. He takes a sip of his long-neglected drink to calm down, hoping that his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “How does an Umbreon remind you of me anyways?”

Itadori blinks. “Dude, are you serious? It’s a Dark type, and it’s all grumpy and stern. That’s totally you.” He takes another look at the plushie in Megumi’s hand, and grins. “What I wanna know is why you headed straight for the Sylveon.”

“Shut up.” Megumi rolls his eyes, but his victory–and Itadori’s teasing–embolden him. Tossing his tea into the trash, he grabs Itadori’s hand and drags him away. “Sylveons are pink and bubbly, so they remind me of you. We can just share.”

“You think I’m bubbly?” Itadori beams. Megumi yanks harder. “Ow, ow, sorry! …Thank you, though.”

Megumi keeps his eyes forward. Anyone would think that about Itadori, with his abundance of energy. It’s only natural that Megumi would say the same. And yet there’s something about the way Itadori seemed almost shy in the last few minutes, and the way he’s practically blushing now, that causes something a little like hope to plant its seeds in Megumi’s cursed heart. Still, he can’t help but feel like something’s missing…

“Itadori. Where’s your drink?”

Itadori freezes, and then looks dumbfounded at his empty hand. Megumi only sighs, and marches back in the direction that they came from.

-

As the day goes on, and the mall crowds thin out as people make their way home, Megumi brings up the question that’s been on his mind since they stepped out of the train station this morning. “Why are we on this shopping trip anyways? I thought Gojo sent us out to buy something specific, but all we’ve done is walk around and look at random stores.”

Itadori looks up from where he’s stuffing his face with ice cream. He tilts his head, his cheeks puffed out and his eyebrows furrowed. “What shopping trip?” Megumi frowns, about to reply, when Itadori’s eyes widen and he drops his head onto the table. “ Oh my god ,” he whispers. Or at least, that’s what Megumi thinks he whispers, though it’s a little hard to hear when his face is smushed into the plastic.

He wrinkles his nose. “Itadori, lift your head up, this table’s probably disgusting.” The other boy slowly raises his head, but for some reason, his eyes are watery and he looks like he’s about to cry. Megumi panics, immediately shifting closer. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I forgot to ask you out on a date!” Itadori bursts out, before letting his head fall back down.

All the color drains from Megumi’s face.

“Itadori. Itadori . What are you talking about.”

Megumi takes Itadori by the shoulder and shakes him, uncaring for once of any looks they might be getting from passerby. He knows his grip is probably hard enough to bruise, but he can’t focus on that or on anything after the bombshell Itadori dropped and then refused to explain. Fortunately for Megumi’s racing heart, it only takes a few more shoves to get Itadori to come back to the land of the living, albeit with a much more devastated look.

“This was supposed to be our first date,” Itadori finally explains, voice miserable and hands trembling on the table. “When you agreed to come with me this morning, I thought you were saying yes, but I guess I didn’t make myself clear.” He turns his head away, but Megumi can still hear the crack in his voice when he continues, “I probably seemed so weird to you today.”

Megumi takes the downtrodden silence following Itadori’s words to mean that he was done with his explanation, so all he does is look at the boy next to him and think back on the day’s events. As much as he hates to believe it, it all makes sense–the hand-holding, the arcade, even paying for each other’s things–but Megumi had refused to see Itadori’s actions as anything more, despite knowing his own true feelings. He huffs out a laugh. “We’re both idiots, then.”

“Huh?”

“Itadori,” Megumi starts, haltingly, “I don’t– I don’t mind that this was a date.” He prepares himself to do what he has avoided all day and looks straight at Itadori. “I do like you, and I’m– glad that you took me out today. I had a lot of fun.”

Megumi wills himself not to look away as Itadori’s face splits into a huge smile. “Really? I’m so relieved, Fushi, I like you too!” Itadori laces his fingers with Megumi’s and giggles. “At least now you know that I’m holding your hand because we’re together.”

“Just be glad I said yes,” Megumi grumbles, but he feels himself smiling too. He stares at the teenage boy next to him, the one with an ice cream stain on the side of his mouth and a Sylveon plushie seated on his lap, and he smiles. Despite the death sentence hanging over them both, despite the thought that they’ll soon have to go back to a reality of fighting curses and finding fingers, despite the constant ticking of the clock…Megumi’s grateful to have Itadori by his side, and now he knows that he feels the same.

“Megumi.” Itadori looks oddly serious, some of the determination returning from earlier. Megumi continues to stare, raising one eyebrow in question. “Can I kiss you?”

On his family's farm, Lance McClain has a routine. He wakes up to bright sunlight peeking through the curtains, taking a moment to just breathe in the new day before getting up in earnest. He goes through all his usual morning steps (albeit without the elaborate skincare regimen he used to be so fond of) and makes his way to the breakfast table, where he greets his mama with a big hug and an exaggerated kiss on the cheek as thanks for the meal she cooked up for the whole family. His mama will laugh and pinch him in return, before sending him out to tend to the livestock and the crops.

Once Lance opens the door, he pauses for a moment to admire the boundless stretches of juniberries that reach as far as the eye can see. Once upon a time, he would bend down to pluck one from its stem, hold it up to his nose, and tuck it behind his ear. As the wilting flowers piled up in his bedroom, though, that step in his routine was slowly phased out. The brief moment of recollection does not stall him for long, though it does give Nancy McClain a few more wrinkles in her brow as she watches her son linger in the doorway, an unexpected addition to her daily routine that started not long after the war ended and has yet to change again.

Lance is, of course, oblivious to his mother's worry, so he meanders through the fields without much on his mind, watering each crop with care and checking their health with whatever new technology Pidge had come up with and wanted him to test out.

(The first time she approached him with her latest farming invention was a couple months after the final battle, when the Voltron Coalition was still recovering and Lance was still hesitant to see any of the former paladins lest he unintentionally reminded them of Allura's absence. Now, he is thankful for the excuse to reach out and check on her, even though she usually has so much on her hands with the Coalition and doesn't always have the time to get back to him. He gets it, really, he does. All he can hope for is that his findings are actually contributing to her experiments rather than distracting her.)

After making sure the fields are as healthy as can be, Lance surveys the land again to reap any ripe crops to send to the Garrison for storage. The school always asks for rations to pass on to the students or the Coalition, and the McClains are always happy to oblige. Idly, Lance thinks he should visit the place on his next transport run - it's been too long since he last stepped foot outside the farm.

(Sometimes Hunk sends in a special request too, so he can recreate an Earthen delicacy, and Lance looks forward to those days so he can get to work planting something new. The chef is not often available to pick up the ingredients himself, but on the rare occasion he is, Lance is all too eager to grab the opportunity to see his best friend. Again, it's really been too long.)

Once his harvesting duties are done, Lance heads to the barn to spend some quality time with his favorite space cow. Though Kaltenecker has long passed the age of milk production and spends the days chewing hay and lying around, Lance is still content to chat her up and pretend that they aren't two souls past their prime, stuck with their feet on the ground.

(Coran still tells the story of how they found Kaltenecker to anyone who will listen. Lance gets messages of how much the Alteans loved hearing about the paladins of Voltron, lauded for their dignity and bravery, airborne on the back of a stationary Earth cow. Coran sends selfies recreating the face he made when he saw the absurd sight with his laughing audience in the background, and asks for pictures of Kaltenecker in return. Lance fulfills his request with a grin behind the camera, even as he wonders, a bit ludicrously, if the cow ever missed the feeling of taking flight.)

Lance finishes checking up on the rest of the animals and heads back inside for a quick lunch, usually whatever is left in the fridge. His farming duties are finished, so he heads out to the nearby town square armed with a book and some headphones. When he gets there, the square is already busy with families having a picnic and vendors hawking their latest wares, so Lance settles down with the expectation that he won’t get much reading done. Like clockwork, a few children stop their game of tag to stare at him with large, starry eyes. Lance puts his book to the side and smiles as encouragingly as he can, beckoning them closer. A million questions immediately burst forth, and Lance chuckles at the endless curiosity of a child before answering them all to the best of his ability. A crowd forms, as it usually does, so he tries his best to regale them with the tales of Voltron, only exercising a small amount of artistic liberty. Sue him, he wants to sound as cool as possible.

(As he looks over his captive audience, he’s reminded of a message that Shiro had sent in the paladins’ groupchat. He and Curtis were thinking about adopting, but they weren’t sure if they could balance a kid while working on the Atlas at the same time. Lance remembers being overwhelmingly enthusiastic at the idea, looking forward to spoiling another kid now that his niece and nephew were getting older, and he wonders if the married couple had gone forward with the idea yet. A familiar ache climbs up his throat at the thought. Lance was happy for Shiro, is happy that he was able to move on from a fiance that the paladins only heard about in stories, but his heart can’t help but throb at the reminder that he hasn’t even had the chance at love since Allura passed. Still, he’s satisfied with catching glimpses of romance through his friends–not just Shiro and Curtis, but also Hunk and Shay and even Keith with James for a very short time. He’s fine just watching them be happy. It’s fine.)

Dusk falls, so Lance bids farewell to the crowd and promises the younger, more teary-eyed ones that he’ll return the next day. He always does. As Lance traipses home, the route familiar despite the darkness, his eyes trace the constellations above. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but he thinks that since he first started this whole routine, the amount of stars in the sky has multiplied. Lance hopes it’s a sign of the peace that Voltron brought to the universe and everything that lies beyond–a sign that Allura’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. For just a brief moment, he wishes that he was out there, too, helping spread Allura’s message of goodwill to the aliens who needed to hear it or aiding in diplomacy and negotiations. Every night, he feels the same rush of longing, and every night, he quashes it down the second he reaches his family farm.

(A long, long time ago, Keith had offered Lance a place in the stars. He had gone on and on about Lance’s skills and capabilities, introduced him to people who had been personally impacted by his work as a paladin. Lance had shaken hands with mermaids, taken selfies with Galrans, and chatted up ambassadors, and at the end of it all, Keith extended a hand and asked if he would join him in making the universe a better place. Lance looked at his outstretched hand, at his hopeful smile, and felt a crushing guilt nestle in his chest, right next to his ever-present grief.)