Reminding himself to be firm, he pushes open the training room doors, mouth already open to remind the boy that rest is of equal if not more importance than training.

But the words die on his tongue, because Number Four is not the one training so late at night, for once.

Lance lets out another frustrated yell, angrier than the one Coran heard before, and runs at the gladiator. He swings his sword — his sword? — at its torso, but the manoeuvre is sloppy, anger making his movements choppy and predictable. The gladiator dodges easily, and with one more furious growl Lance throws his sword at the training room’s emergency power kill switch, making the gladiator dematerialize mid-swing and plunging the room into darkness.

For a moment there’s only silence, except for the red paladin’s heavy panting, and then he sighs, and there’s the unmistakable sound of his sword clattering to the ground and him flopping down after it. The emergency lights flicker on, confirming Coran’s thoughts. Lance lays sprawled on the ground, hand pressed harshly to his eyes.

“I want to go home,” he mutters defeatedly, clearly not intending anyone to hear.

Coran waits a moment, processing all he has just witnessed. Then he takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and clears his throat. Lance screeches at the top of his lungs, scrambling to his feet and looking around frantically.

“It’s just me, lad,” Coran rushes to assure.

“Jesus fucking — you scared me, Coran!” He presses a hand to his presumably galloping heart, panting. “Fucksake!”

Coran can’t quite bite back his smile. “Deepest apologies.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Lance says, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t look upset. “What’s up?”

Coran hums, rocking back slightly on his heels. He gestures to Lance’s forgotten sword, which has returned to its bayard form. “I could ask you the same.”

Lance’s expression turns bitter again, and he glares at his bayard. “Oh, that.” He kicks at it slightly. “Nothing to worry about. I promise I’ll get the hang of this stupid thing soon.”

In the decaphoebe or so they’ve been in space together, Coran has spent a lot of time with Lance. He quite likes the boy’s company, and enjoys exchanging stories of home with him. He’s seen Lance excited, bubbly, seen him determined, even seen him insecure. He’s seen almost every mix of emotions he’s ever seen on a person when Keith is brought up in conversation — which is frequently.

But he’s not sure he’s ever seen Lance look so bitter and defeated, before. It’s an unsettling expression to see on his usually cheerful face.

“I was unaware you’d unlocked a third bayard form,” he starts carefully.

Lance scoffs. “Yeah. Because every stupid thing has to change, now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything, Coran,” Lance repeats, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. “First we lose Shiro, which is probably the worst thing that could ever happen. I mean, Shiro, who is probably the most important person on this team and who has already been through enough. And then Blue decides she doesn’t like me anymore, and I have to go to Red, who would rather Keith than me any day of the week, and then I get to look even more like Keith’s replacement when I get this stupid sword!” He scoops up his bayard, and, as he glares at it, it glows in his hand, stretching into a heavy broadsword. He drops it again in disgust and it clatters to the floor, glowing again as it changes back. “I dunno if I can even get a gun anymore, because clearly Lance McClain has nothing to offer. Point fucking taken.”

Coran blinks, more than a little shocked at the onslaught of real pain in Lance’s voice.

No wonder he’s been so withdrawn lately.

At Coran’s silence, Lance begins to shift uncomfortably, guilt beginning to cloud his brown eyes.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. I can handle it. I swear. It’s just been something of a rough night, is all.”

“Oh, Lance,” Coran says, rushing forward to pull the boy into his arms. Lance resists for a moment, tense, but then he sags forward, letting Coran hold his weight.

“This sucks, Coran. I’m not good enough anymore.”

Coran holds him tighter, rapidly trying to formulate a way to fix this. It turns out that it is insecurity, as much as it’s bitterness — Coran has noticed that it always takes Lance time to fully adjust to big changes, but at the same time he gets frustrated with himself when he can’t handle the new status quo with ease. He hates it when he feels like he’s falling short.

Coran might have an idea.

He squeezes Lance once more, then pulls back slightly, still resting a hand on his shoulder. “You are more than good enough,” he says firmly. He shushes Lance’s immediate protests, continuing on. “You are adjusting, dear. We all are. You’re allowed to struggle for a moment.”

“We can’t afford time for me to struggle,” Lance argues.

Coran raises an eyebrow. “We are fighting an empire that has dominated for longer than your planet has had civilization. We don’t have time to eat or sleep. And yet, we must make time.”

Lance hesitates, then scowls. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Coran laughs, patting him on the back as he guides him to the door. “Then you’re going to hate my suggestion to have some rest.”

“You’re right. I do. Also, no.”

Lance tries to resist, but Coran easily yanks him along. “How unfortunate.”

Lance continues to resist, so Coran decides to let him in on his plan — at least a little.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he starts, and Lance immediately looks intrigued. “You go to bed now, and tomorrow evening after regular training and supper, you meet me here. I’ll help you learn how to use that sword to your strengths.”

Lance perks up. “Really? You know how to use this thing?”

Coran smiles. “I have a few ideas.”

———

OMFG YES FOR REAL!! the on going family joke is to see who can get him the ugliest Hawaiian shirt, the current winner is one with ten different colors as the backdrop for palm trees, both sleeves are different colors, nothing about it is symmetrical, the palm trees don’t line up anywhere and there’s random bird shadows in spots that make no sense😂😭

Keith & Coran (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Fluff, 1.2k Words

Summary: After he impulse-proposes to Lance, Keith asks for Coran’s blessing. 

---

“Hey, Coran? Can I talk to you for a second?”

Coran pauses, turning to face an uncharacteristically nervous Keith. 

“Absolutely, my boy! What can I do for you?”

Keith wrings his hands together, staring at the floor. He takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, and when he looks at Coran his eyes are steady and determined. 

“There’s this… human custom,” he starts. “When you intend to marry someone.” Keith pauses a moment, staring hard at Coran. Perhaps he’s expecting surprise, or shock. Maybe he’s even expecting a scolding or a lecture. 

He is not going to get it. 

Coran always knew about Keith and Lance. Always. He was never fooled by their rivalry, and noticed the second Lance realised he had feelings for Keith (Keith, bless his soul, took much longer to realise, although to his credit he did act on those feelings immediately. His impulsivity reminded Keith so heavily of Alfor that he felt as if the man was in the room. He supposes the fiery nature of the Red Paladin is a permanent feature, lion change or no). He watched the two of them fall in love, and slowly build their relationship, as oblivious as Keith may have been to it. He’s truly grateful to have witnessed such a devoted and endless bond. 

So unlike the rest of the team, who likely believe Keith’s proposal in the common room earlier this evening was a joke, Coran knows better. He recognised the sincerity in Keith’s voice, and the quiet joy in Lance’s teasing response. He knew Keith fully intends to marry Lance, and Lance fully intends to marry Keith. 

“Walk with me,” Coran says, gesturing down the hallway. “Tell me about this custom.”

Keith jogs forward a few steps to stand next to Coran, and the two begin their stroll around the castle. 

“It’s an older tradition, called asking for a blessing,” Keith explains, “and many people dislike it. And they’re right to dislike it, honestly. It was invented in a period where women were the property of their families and were sold off to husbands. But the meaning behind the tradition has changed, over time. Hundreds of years ago, it was a request for a transference of ownership. Now, it’s more of a promise to the parents and family of your betrothed. A promise that you’ll love and care for them when they start their new life with you.”

“I see,” Coran responds. “There was a similar occasion on Altea, called the Ahinikov. It was a celebration of the change of households.”

“Did it have the same dark history?” 

“Much of Altea’s history has been lost, and the history behind this tradition is no exception. Our species has been around for over fifty million decapheobes – not including cryosleep – and at one point there was more history than there was space to record it. If there is a reason for the tradition, it has long since faded into the stream of time.”

Keith is silent for a moment, as he always is when he’s contemplating information. “I’m sorry,” he offers eventually. “I know a thing or two about lost history. It sucks.”

“It does, my dear,” Coran agrees softly. “But you did not come to see me to mourn.”

“No, I didn’t.” Keith takes another deep breath, clenching his shaking hands into tight fists. When he releases them, they’re still. “I came to ask you for your blessing. To marry Lance.”

Coran smiles. “Lance is not mine, child. The blessing is not for me to give. His family is on Earth.”

“One of his families is on Earth,” Keith corrects. “His other family is here. And you are as much of a parent to him as his parents on Earth, he told me that himself.”

Coran closes his eyes as they begin to water, mind flashing to a young boy with curly pink hair, holding his hand and calling him father, lost long before the rest of his people. An old pain, a wound that has been scabbed over, but that is painful nonetheless. He thinks of the daughter he’s found in Allura, and all the other children he’s found in the human paladins of Voltron. He thinks of their relentless hope and optimism, their determination to end this war and to avenge its victims. He thinks further of their pain and exhaustion, of their struggles, because war is never without pain and casualties. 

He thinks that these soldiers, only children compared to Coran’s many decades of life, and thinks that he would do anything to bring them all the happiness they can get.

He reaches forward and grabs Keith’s hands, which have tensed again, and holds them gently. “You do not need my permission. Not now, not ever. But you have it, dear Keith. I know you will be everything Lance deserves in a husband, because you already are. Your love for him is evident in everything you do, child, because you love so strongly. Your heart is filled with strength and softness, and there is no man I would choose more than you to be the husband for our Lance.”

Keith’s hands grip Coran’s tightly, and Coran can feel tears drip onto his skin. He’s not sure whose they are. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I will do right by him. I will.”

Coran squeezes his hands again, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I know you will, Keith. I don’t doubt you for a second.”

—

Coran sees Keith again the next morning, far before anyone else has awoken for the day. This is not uncommon – the two of them are the only early risers on the ship (stars know that the rest of them would sleep for a week should they have the chance), and often sit and chat together in the kitchens as they wait for the everyone else to greet the day. 

“I don’t think I can wait very long to marry him,” Keith confesses, swirling a spoon through his tea. “I kind of want to be married yesterday, actually. If I married him right this second it wouldn’t be soon enough.”

Laughing, Coran nudges Keith in the shoulder, who smiles sheepishly. “Trying to make up for all the years you made Lance wait?” he asks teasingly. 

Keith scowls, going a little red around the ears. “I didn’t mean to make him wait. I didn’t know!”

“I know, my boy, I know. I’m only joking.”

Keith huffs, but he’s smiling. They sit in a comfortable silence, sipping their tea and enjoying the early morning quiet. 

“You know,” Coran says eventually, “Olkarion marriage certificates are recognised nearly everywhere in the universe. And several marriage offices are always open, regardless of the late hour.”

This makes Keith perk up, looking at Coran with wide eyes. 

“Oh?”

Coran nods, smiling. “Yes.”

There’s another silence, as Keith stares at the wall in front of them, fingers tapping rapidly as he considers the information. 

“Are we busy today?”

“We have training until noon, but there’s nothing scheduled after. Although,” Coran grins at Keith conspiratorially, “I could arrange for Lance’s help with some chores, if you needed to step out of the castle unattended for a few hours.”

Keith grins back. “I would appreciate that.”

—

Coran notices the rings before anyone else, as he is wont to do. He sees them as Lance and Keith enter training together, giddy and whispering. He catches Keith’s eye and winks, and the boy winks back. 

Coran smiles to himself. Devoted and endless bond, indeed.

---

— read the other chapters here

--- --- ---

Shiro is the first of the team to reach Lance and Keith. He ignores the rest of the team cheering and screaming behind him, pumped up by the win. He runs right up to them, grabbing them both by their arms, inspecting them up and down for damage or injuries. He doesn’t see any, but not all injuries are external, maybe –

“We’re fine, Shiro,” Lance says softly. 

“You don’t know that, what if you hit your head –”

“We’re fine,” Keith reiterates, and his eyes are just as soft. 

Shiro exhales deeply, closing his eyes briefly and letting some of the terror whoosh away. He loops his arms around their shoulders, crushing them both against his chest. 

“I was so fucking worried,” he breathes. 

He doesn’t need to see Keith’s face to know the boy is rolling his eyes. 

“We were fine, you worrywart. We knew what we were doing.” 

(Lance, wisely, keeps his mouth shut.)

Shiro pulls back, raising an eyebrow. 

Look, Shiro loves his kids. Really. A lot about his current situation sucks – being forced to be a gladiator? Sucked. Non-consensual body modification? Sucked. Fighting in a war he didn’t sign up for? Sucks. – but he honestly would not go back and change things. Not if it meant losing his kids. His kids are brave, they’re smart, they’re good and kind and wonderful and thoughtful and strong. 

They’re also impulsive dumbasses who Shiro occasionally wants to smother. (Okay, maybe a little more than occasionally. In his defense, if they did less stupid things, he would want to kick their asses less.)

Lance and Keith are the prime examples of this phenomena. Like, Shiro could go on and on about how proud he is of them. He could also go on and on about how the rest of his hair is also turning white, and it is at least ninety-four percent their fault. 

Seriously. Pod racing?! On a planet famous for dirty deals and lawlessness?

“You sure you guys are fine?”

“Yes,” Keith says, exasperated. 

“Good. Then that means I can do this.” 

He reaches over and slaps them both upside the head.

“Ow!” Keith exclaims.

“Saw that one coming,” mutters Lance, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“What were you two thinking?” Shiro shouts. “I like to think I’ve done a decent job keeping you safe! Both of you, but especially you, Keith! I’m pretty lenient, sure, and maybe I should have nipped that demolitions obsession in the beginning, but overall I think I’ve done okay!”

Keith has the good grace to finally start looking guilty, but Shiro’s too worked up, now.

“Fucking pod racing! Did you plan this out, thinking ahead? No. Did you have a contingency plan for if and when someone decided they weren’t gonna play by the rules? No! You made it up as it happened! Which –” Shiro falters a little. “Well, it was a good plan, but still!”

“We’re sorry, Shiro,” Lance says, reaching up to hug Shiro tightly. 

Keith nods. “What he said.” He reaches over next, wrapping his arms around his brother just as tightly. 

Shiro sighs. 

Yes, his kids are impulsive dumbasses. Yes, they stress him out. Yes, he can still feel the terror pumping through his veins, and he’s likely going to have nightmares of the Electrifier charging up and shooting at the two for months. 

But, like. Objectively. They really kicked ass. 

“I’m proud of you two,” he says, sagging into their embrace. 

Lance giggles. “I knew you thought it was cool.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, pulling away. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t do it again.”

“No promises,” Keith teases, grinning, making Shiro pinch him. 

“Are you done lecturing them, Dad?” Pidge complains from behind him. “I want to go collect their winnings! And then I want to see if I can find a lightsaber!”

The word ‘lightsaber’ draws Keith and Lance’s attention so quickly that it’s comical. Shiro sighs, shaking his head fondly. He could grow a set of arms out of his ears and do a cartwheel and that wouldn’t get their attention, anymore. Dragging them – any of the kids – away from a conversation about lightsabers is going to be impossible. (Not that he wants to draw them away, that is. As long as they stick to the buddy system Shiro’s happy to let them explore around. Also, he won’t lie – he’d kind of like to see if they can find a lightsaber, too.)

“We won’t find a lightsaber, Pidge,” Lance argues. “It’s Tatooine. Not the Jedi Palace. Besides, we don’t know if this is actually Tatooine. It could just be a planet that resembles it.”

“Well, I mean, we could look.”

“Yeah, fair. Hey, let’s check that place out –” 

“Buddy system! Please do not wander off alone!” Shiro calls as everyone starts to split up. 

Allura rolls her eyes, teasing, before grabbing Hunk and Pidge’s hands to drag them off somewhere. “Okay, father.”

Shiro pretends that doesn’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy. He is fooling no one. 

Keith and Lance, who have a lecture fresh in their minds, are a little less testy.

“We’ll stick together, dork. Quit worrying.”

“We’ll keep our comms on! Love you, Shiro!”

Soon, only him and Coran are left just outside the racetrack, carefully watching the rest of the kids run off until they’re no longer visible. 

“I have not seen them so free of stress for many varga,” Coran notes quietly. “It’s good to see them so happy.”

“It is. I wish they were less happy doing dangerous things, but. You know. Teenagers.”

Coran snorts. “I do know. Allura was not the first child I have reared, but she was the most stressful. She went through a phase in her early teenhood where she was convinced she was foing to work in a circus, and attempted on more than one occasion to juggle luxite blades.”

“Oh, I feel you on that one,” Shiro says, picking a random direction and starting to walk. Coran does not hesitate to come along. “Keith’s obsession was demolitions, which was about as stressful as you’d expect.”

The two paternal figures of Voltron continue on their walk, sharing stores of various ridiculous and terror-inducing situations they’ve found the paladins in. Shiro tells Coran of the time he caught Lance attempting to parkour off Blue’s snout – 40 feet in the air – with zero safety equipment. Coran, in return, tells Shiro of the time he found Hunk and Pidge shocking themselves with various foreign batteries, to attempt to discern their voltage by feeling. 

Shiro feels like he’s finally joined a single-dad support group, something he’s secretly wanted to do since 11 year old Keith stole his car for the first time. (Adam would be so proud of him. The thought makes him melancholy, as usual. He misses his partner. He hates that he doesn’t know what Adam is to him, anymore. He wishes they’d at least had the chance to break off on better terms. More than anything, though, he wishes he could see Adam again. Differences or no, anger or no – Shiro loves that man, and will until he dies. It’s genuinely painful to know Adam is not in his life.)

Coran lays a kind hand on his shoulder. “You’ve gone morose, Number One. Anything you’re comfortable sharing?”

Shiro stops walking, right in the middle of the street. 

Is he comfortable sharing? Is Adam something he’s ready to disclose? This team is his family, in every possible way. He trusts them more than anything. But Shiro has a responsibility, as their leader. He’s supposed to be the one they rely on, not the other way around. Shiro has to be strong enough to handle himself. 

The truth is, though, he’s really not strong enough. As much as he feels like he ages a year everyday, he’s really only twenty-five. (Twenty-six, really. Twenty-seven? Who knows. Time is weird.)

Coran notices his hesitation and turmoil, pulling him gently to the side of the dirt road so they’re not creating a massive block for all the foot traffic. 

“You know,” he says after a moment, “you are only a person, Shiro. You are not a mindless drone, a soldier to the Coalition. You are a living person with thoughts and emotions and stressors, and you are allowed – encouraged, really – to feel these emotions. We want you to express yourself, Shiro. We don’t want you to bottle yourself up. You may be the leader, child, but you are still very much a part of the team, which means you can lean on us as we lean on you.”

Shiro takes a deep, shuddering exhale. His eyes close, his hands shake, and he does everything he can to keep himself upright. 

“I can’t let anyone down,” he chokes out, right as the tears give way. “I can’t, Coran, they need support, they need –”

“They need you, Shiro, as you are. Just as you are.” 

Shiro sobs, and Coran catches him as he collapses forward. Goosebumps erupt over his skin, and his flesh burns in every place that Coran touches. A feeling bursts in his chest, and some of the terror he’s been holding with clenched fists finally leaves. 

He cannot remember the last time he’s been held so protectively. 

“Let it out, child,” Coran soothes. “Let it out.”

Shiro stays in Coran’s arms, for minutes, hours, days. He doesn’t know how long. All he knows is that the foreign feeling shooting through his body is safety, and he’s been deprived of it so long that he had completely forgotten how quiet it makes his brain. For the first time in what feels like forever, he can hear thoughts in his mind that aren’t crowded in panic. 

“Shiro?”

Shiro quickly pulls away, trying desperately to wipe his eyes even though he knows they must be red-rimmed and swollen. 

“Lance. What happened to the buddy system? Where’s Keith?”

“He just left to join everyone else, I saw you before he let me go. We were safe.” He steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Shiro’s arm. “What’s wrong, Shiro?”

Shiro does his best to plaster a reassuring smile on his face, but it’s flimsy at best and Lance is no idiot. “I’m fine.”

Lance flits his eyes to Coran. “What’s wrong? Why is he upset?”

Coran, bless his heart, shakes his head. “Not my story to tell, Number Four.”

“Shiro,” Lance says, voice firm, “before I say anything else, I need you to understand something. Look at me.”

Shiro has no choice but to obey. Lance’s tone leaves no room for argument. 

“You are loved, do you hear me? I love you. I fuckin’ adore you, Shiro. We all do. I am so proud of you that it is truly ridiculous. Do you understand me?”

There is nothing he can do to keep his face from crumpling all over again. Somehow, in spite of not hearing a word from Shiro, Lance read him like a book and knew exactly what to say. 

“Aw, Shiro,” Lance says, pulling him into his third major embrace of the hour. Lance gets on his tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek and making a loud ‘mwah’ noise. “It’s okay, Shiro. Take some time. Here.” He moves one hand back from Shiro’s shoulders, rummaging through his bag. He grabs a water bottle, handing it over. “Drink this, or you’re gonna get a headache.”

“Thank you,” Shiro rasps, realising suddenly that yeah, holy shit, he’s parched. He resists the urge to chug the whole damn bottle down, taking a couple sips, but gives in when Lance raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, lad,” Coran says, patting him on the back. 

Shiro shoots them both a small smile. “Yeah, I am. Thank you. Both of you.”

Coran returns his smile, but Lance squints at him, contemplative. 

“Hm. No. We are not done here. Hold on a second.”

He turns around, pulling out his comm and dialing someone. “Hunky-bear, light of my life! …Yeah, yeah, okay. I do need something. Has Keith dragged you guys to that knife stand again? …Yeah, thought so. Did you see the booth before it? …I know! You know who needs that place more than anyone else? …Mhm. I’m with him and Coran now. Meet us there in five? …’Kay! Love you.”

Shiro exchanges a look with Coran. Lance's plans are kind of a hit or miss. Plans going awry isn’t really the problem – his ideas almost always go exactly as planned, as Lance is an excellent strategist. The problem lies in the ideas themselves – sometimes Lance forgets that, unlike him, most people fear death. 

Lance is already speedwalking away, though, so Coran and Shiro trip after him. (Buddy system, Lance, Jesus!)

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks after a couple minutes of powerwalking.

Lance smirks at him. “You’ll see.” And there’s nothing else Shiro can get from him in the short walk they take to the rest of the team. And it is a short walk, as it’s only been a few minutes and Shiro can already see the rest of the kids standing off to the side of the road.

“Shiro!” Everyone calls his name in unison, facing literally lighting up, and –

And. 

Shiro swallows the lump in his throat, tears threatening to bubble right back up, but they’re happy, this time. Gods above, he loves his fucking team. 

Before he has a chance to greet them back, Lance pushes him gently through a purple curtain that serves as the door to – well, to somewhere. 

“Lance, where are you talking me, seriously –” 

Bark!

Shiro whips his head up. 

No. No way!

Bark! Bark! Bark!

In front of him, in a giant, fluffy pile on the stone floor, are more puppies than he can count. Dozens of ‘em. Blonde puppies, curly-haired puppies, puppies big and small. Yipping puppies and puppies sitting quietly. Every puppy you can possibly imagine, tussling and crawling on the floor. 

“Oh my God,” Shiro breathes. 

He hears various giggles from behind him, and Lance lovingly shoulder-checks him. 

“You like?” 

“Oh my God!” Shiro can no longer hold himself back – he rushes forward, landing on his knees with his hand outstretched in front of him. At first one by one, a couple puppies amble forward, sniffing his hand curiously before yipping excitedly and jumping all around him. Once a couple establish that he’s safe, the rest come stampeding over, running jumps from every angle that knock him flat on his back. The puppies are undeterred, continuing to crawl all over him. 

“This is the best day of my life,” Shiro says, muffled under two puppies wrestling on his face. “I love you guys. You guys are the best.”

Various ‘Love you too, Dad!’s chime out, before Shiro hears six people shuffle forward, presumably to join him in the puppy pile. Shiro has never felt so safe.

—

Hours later, when the Tatooine suns are low in the sky and they decide to trek back to the Castle, Shiro hangs at the back of the group, pulling Lance back with him. 

“I wanted to say thank you,” he starts. “You really helped me, Lance. Seriously. I needed to hear the words, and they were especially meaningful coming from you. I’m sorry you had to deal with that on your birthday, though.”

Shiro is expecting a few different responses to that, and he can honestly say that a punch to the arm is not one of them. 

“Hey!”

“Were you not listening to me? What part of ‘we love you and want you to be healthy, Shiro,’ did you miss?”

“I got that. I just… I dunno. Isn’t your birthday supposed to be about you?”

Lance softens. “Shiro. First of all, it’s just a day. Yeah, it’s an important day, and I’m happy to celebrate it, but really and truly – it is simply a day. Secondly – and I want you to get this through your thick skull – there is nothing in this universe more important to me than my family. Nothing. And you are my family, Shiro. I want to know that you are healthy and happy, and if you’re not – which is fine and normal, remember that – I want you to be better. That’s it. There’s no greater gift to me than my family.”

--- --- ---

The slow and careful creaking of his door opening is what wakes Coran from his slumber. The next thing he hears is quiet footsteps, slow and careful, like a lion cub carefully sneaking up on its mother.

Coran grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and tensing in wait. He knows exactly what’s coming. 

“Coran!” comes a whispered yell, right before 140 pounds of scrawny Latino human comes running and landing on top of Coran’s poor body in a flop. “Coran Coran Coran you need to wake up –” Lance needles, shaking the Altean’s shoulder.

“Oof,” Coran groans, feeling his very bones creak. He sighs, although he can’t help the smile taking over his face. “It is early, Lance. I am old. Go back to bed. Wake me up in the morning.”

Lance’s knee digs into the Altean’s back as he moves, turning around to flop on his back (still on top of Coran, of course). 

“But the sky’s awake, so I’m awake,” Lance huffs theatrically. Coran can imagine him throwing a dramatic elbow over his eyes. 

"It’s the middle of the night, child. You are growing. You need sleep.”

“That’s not true anymore!” Lance says excitedly, squirming around some more. “It’s past midnight! It’s my birthday! I’m 18 years old!” He shakes Coran’s shoulder again, and Coran opens one bleary eye, taking in Lance’s blinding beam and flapping hand. “I’m an adult now!”

18? Adult? Please. 

“If your argument to your newfound adulthood and lack of further growth is that you have completed 18 trips around your sun, then I have some shocking news for you, dear.”

Lance pouts at him, and Coran groans one more time, before hefting himself up. 

“No need to pout, Number Four. I’m up.”

Lance claps his hands, elated, and Coran smiles fondly as he drags himself out of bed. 

“Okay okay okay! Meet me at the bridge! I already went to three locations, but I need your help to get to the fourth, so meet me there!”

…Locations?

Lance rushes out of the room before Coran can ask further questions. 

Suspicious.

Coran shrugs, changing out of his blue silk pajamas into his royal attendant uniform. He doesn’t have to wear it, not anymore, but he likes wearing it. It was designed especially for him, after all. (And any memory from Altea always brings him deep comfort, even with the accompanying painful sting of loss).

Coran takes his sweet time strolling to the bridge, enjoying the quiet of the night. He finally arrives after several minutes of walking, and he pauses at the door, grinning as he watches the Blue Paladin dance around the bridge.

Lance twirls around, humming to himself, stopping abruptly when he sees Coran, nearly falling right over. 

“Coran! You’re here! Let’s go!”

Coran squints at him. 

“Leandro Agustìn,” Coran scolds as he’s heard Hunk do several dozen times, “is that a scar on your face?”

Lance smiles sheepishly. “Location 2 was a dragon’s den, it was wicked. She thought I was attacking her at first so she scratched me, but then we bonded and we’re friends now! She even let me keep this cool diamond.” Lance pulls a diamond seemingly from thin air, roughly the size of his face. Coran raises an eyebrow. He decides not to address the fact that Lance approached an actual dragon on his own, because honestly Lance is excellent with dangerous animals and has yet to give Coran a reason to doubt his abilities, and he has remained in one piece, so Coran’s not going to push the matter.

“Lance, child, you have not yet explained what these ‘locations’ are,” Coran reminds him. “I’m a little lost.”

“Oh! Right!” 

Lance strides over to his station, grabbing his holopad and hurrying back to Coran. He flips it over, showing Coran a document with nothing on it but a few coordinates, no context at all. 

“So this future version of me visited me at midnight,” he says casually. “We chatted for a bit, but he told me the reason he contacted me was because there was a list of locations he needed to show me that I am not, under any circumstance, meant to visit. So I ignored him immediately, obviously. The first location was this cool beach planet about a twenty minute flight from here – the time there ran differently, so I got to spend like two days scuba diving and it was my birthday the whole time! Only, like, a half-hour had passed when I got back to the Castle. Isn’t that cool? And look, these are all the shells I got!”

He pulls out a huge bag of shells, also seemingly from nowhere. Coran blinks at him.

“Oh, wow,” he says, leaning forward to inspect them closer, “these are beautiful shells! Excellent eye, my boy!”

Lance beams at him. “Thank you! They were fun to collect.” He sets the bag down carefully on his chair, then turns back to Coran. “The last location I’ve been to so far was this piercing place! Look!” He sticks out his tongue, showing off a blue stud nestled proudly in the muscle. 

Coran grins. “That explains the lisp.”

Lance closes his mouth, smile sliding right back into place. “Yep! I don’t mind it though, I look so cool. My sister has a tongue piercing, I’ve always wanted one, so I was so pumped to pull up at the parlour.”

“Those sound like excellent adventures, Lance.”

“They were! The rest of the coordinates are too far to reach in Blue, though. That’s why I need your help!”

“For wormholes?”

“Yep! The next set of coordinates is in the Seflarn quadrant.”

“Oh, that’s quite a distance away,” Coran agrees, walking over to the podium. He stands with his hands above the controls, and Lance sits on the floor (he has informed Coran in the past of his hatred for chairs). Coran’s eyes glow as his palms make contact with the controls as his quintessence connects and intertwines with the quintessence from the Balmeran crystal. In one second he’s envisioning the notorious emptiness of the Seflarn galaxy, in the next, they’ve arrived. Lance is the first of them to move, rushing forward to the control board and leaning as far as he can over it.

“Whoa,” Lance says as he takes in the galaxy before him, “this bitch is empty. Yeet, I guess. Damn.”

Coran doesn’t know what half of those words mean, but he understands the sentiment. “Yes, child. This galaxy is very, very old. Most of it has already faded away. In a few thousand years, it shall simply be empty space.”

“Hey, what’s that over there?” Lance asks, pointing to a growing flash of bright light a ways to the left. Coran squints at it, considering, and they both realise what it is at the same time, gasping. 

“A supernova! Happening right now! At this very second!” Lance exclaims. Coran rushes over to join him by the giant window, so he can see it better. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a star go supernova,” Coran comments. 

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Lance breathes, and Coran chuckles.

“I take it you’ve never seen one before?”

Lance shakes his head, not taking his eyes off the star for even a second. Coran smiles, quietly taking in the boy’s wide-eyed wonder. To say Lance looks awed is an understatement. 

It’s very sweet. 

“Coran, Coran, look! It’s really starting to explode! Oh, wow, it’s so bright!”

Coran glances at the star, briefly, but finds himself looking back at Lance. He’s seen a supernova before, but it’s been a long time since he’s seen Lance look so elated. He knows which sight he will cherish more.

Lance continues to supply a running commentary, eyes glued to the fiery explosion. As the life of the star comes to an end, and the light finally fades away, Lance looks back towards Coran. He is shaking with glee. 

“That. Was. So. Cool!” he yells, pumping his fists. 

part two

———

Hunk wakes up groggy and confused. Why is he awake? He doesn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night. That’s more Lance’s thing.

Wait.

Lance.

He shoots straight up, heart pounding, turning desperate and bleary eyes to the oven’s clock. He finds, to his horror, that it is currently three in the morning, meaning three hours past midnight, meaning he fucking missed the chance to wish Lance his first happy birthday of the day.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he curses, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and rushes the finish icing the damn cupcake he apparently fell asleep trying to decorate. It’s not like Lance will be mad at him, or anything. But the two of them have had the midnight birthday wishes tradition going on for years, and Hunk is upset to have been the one to break that streak. And on such an important birthday, no less!

He finally finishes icing the cupcake, sticking a candle in it and shoving a lighter in his pocket. He slides the cupcake onto Lance's favourite plate (it’s the only plate in the set with a tiny chip on the side, and as with most broken or disliked things, Lance loves it for the simple reason that no one else does), and pauses, taking a deep breath. He’s already late. It’s done, it cannot be undone. Continuing to fret about it will only make him frazzled and upset, and he doesn’t want to be frazzled and upset. He wants to celebrate his best friend’s birthday. Once he feels calm enough, he heads over to Lance’s room, peeking his head in.

No Lance.

That’s not unusual. Lance is the worst sleeper Hunk knows, and likes to wander around. There’s a list of other places he tends to frequent, and Hunk checks the list off one by one – observation deck, pool, Keith’s room (not that Lance would ever admit to spending a ridiculous amount of time hanging out with Keith, but Hunk knows better), Pidge’s workshop, the long-range training deck, the sewing room – but Lance isn’t in any one of them. At this point, Hunk is starting to freak himself out again, so he decides to stop and approach the situation a little more rationally.

Lance could be anywhere, really. He likes to explore. Hunk could spend another fifteen minutes searching for him, or he could just borrow Pidge’s B.L.I.P. reader and find him immediately. Hunk doubles back towards Pidge’s workshop, quickly locating the device and booting it up.

Ah, Lance is on the bridge. And he’s with Coran, apparently. Hunk quickly makes his way over, finding Lance and Coran deep in conversation about the differences in Altean and Terran precipitation.

Nerds.

He clears his throat to make his presence known, and is a little pleased to see how quickly Lance lights up as soon as he sees Hunk. He knows Lance loves him, obviously, but nothing boosts your confidence like someone’s first reaction to your presence being overwhelming joy.

God, Hunk loves his best friend.

“Hunk!” Lance greets, waving him over. “Come sit with us!”

“Happy birthday, Lance!” Hunk says as he walks over. He holds the cupcake in front of him, which makes Lance clap his hands and then hold them out expectantly. He hands Lance the plate, and Lance wastes no time squeezing his eyes shut and making a wish before blowing out the candle.

“What’d you wish for?” Hunk asks, like he does every year.

Lance makes a face at him, like he does every year. “It’s like you want my wish to not come true.”

Coran looks intrigued. “Humans have the power to negate wishes simply by hearing them?”

“No, no, that’s just a superstition,” Hunk assures.

“No it’s not!” Lance argues. “The only time my birthday wish didn’t come true was the time I told you I wished for a pet black widow in grade three!”

Hunk just shakes his head in fond exasperation, deciding not to mention the fact in no universe would Mrs. McClain ever allow tiny, clumsy, excitable baby Lance to have a deadly venomous spider as a pet.

“Anyways,” Lance continues, changing the subject. “Guess what I’ve done for my birthday so far!”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “In the three hours since midnight, you’ve managed to do something specific?”

“You’d be surprised,” Coran comments, chuckling.

Honestly, Hunk has known Lance long enough that he doubts it.

“I got a visit from my future self telling me a list of places I shouldn’t ever visit so I visited them and they were so fun!”

Hunk blinks. Huh. That is surprising. He stands corrected.

“And I got a bunch of cool shells and I met a dragon and she gave me a really cool face scar –” Hunk does a double take, noticing that yes, Lance does have a new scar running from just above his left eyebrow to just below his cheekbone, what the fuck – “and also this huge diamond and I got this tongue piercing and I got to watch a real live supernova! Isn’t that the coolest thing in the world!”

Hunk barely understood the last couple part’s of Lance’s sentence, as Lance had his tongue stuck out to show off his piercing, but he gets the gist.

You know what? This isn’t even the craziest thing Lance has gotten into. It really isn’t. That title remains for the time trained a raccoon to attack on sight and almost got Hunk’s childhood bully scratched to death. (They were 9 at the time.)

“Alright,” Hunk says tiredly, because being friends with Lance is really just Like That sometimes. “I’m assuming you’re trying to hit every location on the list?”

“Of course!” Lance says cheerfully, and honestly? Hunk won’t lie. It sounds kind of fun. Besides, if Lance’s future self hasn’t popped back up to stop them, then it’s probably okay.

“Prepare yourself for the next wormhole jump, lads,” Coran says, and off they go.

When the wormhole aftermath clears, they find themselves right in front of what looks to be a very busy Earth, if Earth was pink and orange.

“The coordinates for this location are some of the more specific ones, like the third one, so it’s probably a specific place on the planet,” Lance explains, “so we’ll have to take Blue.”

The three of them make their merry way towards the Blue Lion’s hangar, and Lance pilots them down to the planet’s surface with no issues (and only one random and nausea-inducing barrel roll, but Hunk allows it because it is Lance’s birthday and he’s allowed to do dumbass things on his birthday. That’s, like, the rule).

Lance leads them through an incredibly busy city, through crowded roads and twisted alleyways, until he stops right in front of what seems to be a tattoo parlour.

“Sick!” Lance cheers. “More impulse body modification! Awesome!”

Hunk and Coran share an amused look.

“Do you even want a tattoo?” Hunk asks.

“Yes, obviously. I want, like, 200, but I’ll settle for maybe six.”

“You’ll be here all day, child,” Coran reminds him.

“Ugh, I forgot about stupid time,” Lance pouts, making Hunk huff and nudge him in the side.

“How about we get that matching tattoo we’ve been wanting to get for a while?” he suggests.

Lance brightens immediately. “Yes yes yes! The goggles?”

They had the idea when they were about fifteen. They’ve been friends all their lives, a team in every possible way, but there had been something especially exciting about being on an actual team together, for the first time at the Garrison – the engineer and the pilot. They’d wanted a way to commemorate that, and both wanted a symbol that was common between them but different enough to be individual, as well. They’d come up with the idea of aviator goggles and welding goggles – same concept, entirely different functions, entirely intertwined. As dorky as it was, Hunk found it charming.

“The goggles,” he agrees.

They make their way into the tattoo parlour, luckily pretty empty at this hour, Lance explaining the concept to Coran as Hunk sorts out payment with the receptionist. Twenty minutes later, they’re both sat on giant, leather chairs that remind Hunk of the dentist’s office.

“Where are these tattoos going to be, gentlemen?” the artist asks.

Hunk and Lance turn to look at each other.

“Any ideas?” Hunk asks.

“What if he got them on our legs? Like, side of the calf, right above our ankles?”

“Hugely specific,” Hunk notes. “Why that place particularly?”

“Our first team was the engineer and the pilot. Our new team, our most important team, is the Legs of Voltron. I think it’d be a cool reminder,” Lance explains.

Hunk grins at him, and then nods at the artist. “That sounds perfect.”

The artist – who almost looks like a humanoid octopus slash iguana, and works on them both simultaneously which is so cool – gets right to work.

Lance and Hunk inhale sharply at the exact same time, because holy shit, that hurts more than they expected. Like, they’re Paladins of Voltron, sure, but yeesh. It turns out that a very sharp needle stabbing in and out at 3000 times per minute and dragging through their skin actually does hurt a whole lot, Jesus Lord Above.

Lance reaches out a hand, and Hunk does not hesitate to grab and squeeze it. They keep their hands clutched the whole time the artist works, which honestly doesn’t take long because the tattoos aren’t that big.

On their way back to the castle, after the artist flashes some sort of light on their fresh tattoos which heals them immediately (space is so cool, man), Coran sends Hunk a photo to his holopad, one he took while the artist was working.

It’s a picture of Lance and Hunk, hands held together tightly, grinning at each other as their matching tattoos are nearly finished. It’s abundantly clear how excited they are, how much they care about each other. Hunk makes it his lockscreen immediately, thanking Coran profusely.