#ether fic

But then the stars came to him.

Aliens—their existence was a mystery no longer. Area 51 couldn’t build a facility big enough to contain the ships that suddenly made it onto the scene, one so remarkably like every alien invasion film ever that everyone was prepared for the worst. They sat and awaited the end.

It never came.

And suddenly Lance was looking up no longer. All the adventure was on his doorstep, in the streets of Plaht city, a hot pot for human and alien life alike, all so intermingled it’s like it was always so, the days of Lance’s childhood a distant memory. There’s something in this community here, something that’s kept him tied, feet planted in soil. It’s the greatness of it all, in a universe so large, so vast, much more so than he ever imagined.

He’d feel small, out there. Here, he has his family, and a taste of the unreachable.

(“I’m sorry you didn’t get into the garrison,” Veronica had said, the rejection letter in her hand. Now the stars are closer than ever, technology capable, the call to flight had swept up his entire generation. Overwhelmed in numbers, he hadn’t made the cut.

Veronica ruffled his hair. It eased the pain, somewhat. “They don’t know what they’re missing out on,” she’d said.

Lance sniffled. “Maybe.”)

So, maybe he didn’t get into pilot school. Maybe he didn’t go to the stars himself because Earth kept ahold of his shoes and tugged. Maybe he’s still here, in the same place because a dream died in his heart.

And he’s fine with that, really. The sting has left him. And he’s not trying to convince himself otherwise. Not with the vastness of the universe, and the knowledge that, wherever he’d go, he’d miss home.

Lance is at peace with continuing the family business. With staying here, with them. For them.

Mostly.

More so now than when he was younger.

The Serrano’s floristry shop ‘Florrano’s’ has been in the family a fair few generations, long enough that the shop has become a bit of an heirloom itself. Even after the chaos the arrival of their interstellar friends caused, the shop has stood strong, ever resilient. Even if it were to have fallen, it would have been built again. Family roots are like that.

Lance likes to think that he’s taken to the business quite well, in fact, well enough that he’s known as the flower tailor around these parts, a name that, though he may have given to himself, is one he’s sure that others are calling him. He’s certain—it’s cool. Like him. Lance makes the best arrangements on the block. And he’s competing with that olkari run shop, so you know he’s good.

He’s the flower tailor, after all.

Any occasion, he has the flowers. Weddings, funerals, apologies—

***

“Excuse me, tell me, how would you go about saying ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

Lance blinks. “… Huh?”

It’s been a steady day, really. A few customers in to browse, a bulk purchase for in upcoming event, and someone looking for the most expensive bouquet to salvage his relationship—not that Lance has much faith in flowers being able to save that. The guy seemed like a grade A jerk. No, an A+++.

But other than that, steady.

And then in comes this hurricane of white hair making a beeline for the till, slamming down ten, no, twenty GAC onto the counter, and suddenly grade A+++ jerk guy is already fading from Lance’s mind.

“Did I not say it right?” says the woman, frowning, her head tilted in askance. She’s got this accent—English perhaps, a slight lilt to her words that makes him think he’s speaking with someone who’d outstretch their pinky when sipping a cup of tea, regal, refined. Or perhaps there’s some sort of space equivalent, because one look at her ears tells him he’s speaking to an altean, and a gorgeous one at that. He allows dreamy bubbles to float across his vision for the bliss of about one second before he remembers that a) she’s talking to him and b) he probably hadn’t hallucinated the vein that had popped on her forehead. This woman had not shown that GAC any mercy, slamming it down like that.

“The human language has so many curses,” she continues. “Hmmm… I want this.” Lance almost chokes on his own spit when she pulls out a middle finger on him. “In flower.”

“Yeah, I heard you loud and clear the first time, lady,” says Lance, his hands raised in defence. He motions to her. “You can put that thing away.”

Her cheeks darken, an embarrassed flush as she lowers her hand, now rigid at her side. “Oh, right. Sorry. I’m… a little out of sorts.”

Lance goes for an easy, relaxed smile. The kind he uses when he turns up the charm—ladies totally dig it. “Hey no worries, I can forgive a pretty face like yours.”

Well, they usually dig it, deep enough to tunnel in. This woman just gives him and his Lance ™ wink this unimpressed look as his insides wither and die. Oh to have that tunnel—he’d love for a getaway right now. “Hmm.”

Lance clears throat, resolving to pretend that just straight up never happened. He can play this off, he can play this off. “You know, people don’t usually say that in flower. Usually in words, just to keep things from getting confusing.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. But Lotor just doesn’t want to get the message.”

She’s a talker, it seems. Lance may be getting his dose of drama today. “Lotor?” he pries.

“He’s my ex.”

“Ooof. Rough breakup?”

“Putting it mildly,” she says, and he can see it in her eyes—the emotionally wringing flashback she’s thrown through, all amounting to one singular wince. “So, do you have any flowers that could help?”

“Ahaha, now that’s where you’re in luck,” says Lance, slipping past her from around the counter. He starts pulling up several flowers from around the shop, talking as he goes. “You’d want a bouquet with orange lilies in for sure, maybe some geraniums… and some yellow carnations. Anyone well versed in flower would know a hatred bouquet when they saw one.”

Lance stops, meeting her eyes. He’s listed off the flower equivalent of an all out verbal assault, no remorse, completely soul crushing stuff. If he were the recipient, him and his self esteem would never recover, but—

“But something tells me you need a little more than subtle. Something that speaks to him in a language he can’t ignore, so he knows your lovely rose has thorns.”

She considers this. “Then what do you propose?”

“Lotor—that’s a galran name, right?” Lance thinks that’s what they’re called, the fuzzy purple ones. Lotor’s got something distinctly galran about it. He swears he’s hard the name somewhere before.

“Well, derived from both altean and galran history, but yes.”

“Thought so.” Lance puts down his collection of flowers onto the counter, and dives into the ‘staff only’ room, back where they keep and grow some of their more exotic plants. Veronica’s job at the garrison had got them in contact with one of their most reliable suppliers, Colleen Holt. And the amount of alien plants she’s come across—man. Supplied from anyone else, Lance would assume she was trying to get them killed with carnivorous foliage. But no, alien plants are just weird and wonderful like that. He picks up an incredibly velvety looking plant, its petals a deep rouge seeping into black, jagged edges making the petals themselves look like they’re laced with thorns, though they’re as soft as they come. A few snips, and Lance has enough for a bouquet, should the woman want them. He exits back out to the till, waving the flowers upon return.

“See, this here is—”

“Grunarvexus,” the woman finishes for him, her eyes widening in recognition.

“Yep! That’s the one. Others call it the galran catastrophe plant. They see it as a bad omen—always growing in places of calamity.” He grins, sharp, smug. “It would be pretty hard to ignore a bouquet with these in.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t consider it before. Please, I’d like you to add some grunarvexus to those orange lilies, and the other two.” She looks at her cash, still where she had slammed it down earlier. “Would this be enough to cover it?”

“More than enough, but for you? I can offer a discount.” Not that his parents would be pleased, but you know. Cute girl. “I’d say on the house, but a guy’s gotta put food on the table somehow.”

Sharp eyes—he feels the sting of her skepticism. “What’s with the charitable mood?”

Lance shrugs. Says it how it is. “This ex of yours does not sound worth your money.”

Seriously. For a guy to fumble this girl as bad as he did? Not even worth a cent. Or GAC in this case.

“I suppose you’re right.” Her lip twitches into a light smile, amusement a gift like sunrise on her face, positively radiant. She glances at his name tag. “Thank you… Lance.”

The way she says his name, something in Lance’s heart stutters, caught on the ghost of an r that reshapes his name to her design—something so spectacular in a nickname that isn’t really a nickname at all.

“No problem,” he says, sounding a little faint. With her attention on him arranging the bouquet, tying it up with a nice, black ribbon, he hopes the rising heat to his face goes unnoticed. “Just doing my job, Princess.”

“Princess? How did—” She cuts herself off, looking down at her shirt, its bright pink declaration that she’s a ‘princess’ inspiration for the endearment. “Oh. I forgot I put this one on. I’m Allura. Just Allura. And certainly not a princess.”

“I don’t know,” he draws out. “You seem like one to me.”

“I assure you I’m not!”

“Well then,” Lance says, putting her bouquet through the till. “Here’s your change ‘just Allura’.”

“Thank you,” Allura says, taking the change and the flowers along with it. Her eyes trail the shop, admiration soft, tender, every plant truly a marvel under her eyes, and Lance’s chest swells with pride, cosy and warm in its golden glory. Maybe this isn’t his original dream, but he’s proud of his work, proud of what his family has built here. “You have a wonderful shop—I’m glad Romelle told me about this place.”

Romelle—he knows that name. A regular, one who often stops by with her brother—Bandana? Banana, no, Bandor, he thinks—and, like Allura here, an altean too. She’s chatty, friendly, and even brought him in some of her freshly baked blomfruit pie when he let slip about his breakup with Jenny. He’s still gotta get her recipe for that, and ask her what a blomfruit even is.

“Oh, um, thanks! You know Romelle?”

“She’s a friend.” Allura gives him a strange look. “One who may have had ulterior motives in brining me here.”

“… Huh?”

“No matter,” she says, already heading towards the door. “Take care, Lance.”

“You too,” he says, caught in a daze. He shakes himself to, brings back some of his ol’ Lancey Lance confidence. “Oh, and Allura? If the flowers don’t work and he’s still bothering you, we could always turn this flower shop au into a fake dating one. You know where to find me.”

Allura looks back at him, apparently just to make a show off rolling her eyes before she leaves. “I’ll consider it.”

(And like a star—she comes to him, brilliant, blinding, beautiful.

Ⓜⓐⓖⓝⓔⓣⓘⓢⓜ

When Allura and Lance had fused all those phoebs ago, they hadn’t imagined being able to let the other go, not after coming so close to being separated forever, death so close they can still feel breath on their neck, a cold prickle of fear.

And so, they don’t let the other go.

The longer Lallura spends in a fusion, the more independence they gain, able to make their own decisions and try new experiences, becoming more than just their components, Allura and Lance every bit apart of them in the way that foundations are. They chose a new fusion name to go by, a self-given nickname that sticks too well. Lallura turns to Lure.

It suits the face in the mirror, they think. The face that winks back agrees.

Between Lure and Coran, they set to rebuild Altea as it had once been. No, better.

Their new Altea.

It’s in this time that they spend a considerable amount of time running into Keith. He’s trying to turn the blades into a humanitarian effort, as well as trying to deal with the civil unrest amongst the galra. But he stops by New Altea often, helping where he can.

Lure finds themselves looking forward to these visits, fond of his company. Perhaps it should surprise them more than it does, but he has become someone they trust with their life, all of them, wholly and completely. Where there had once been distrust, jealousy, so many emotions that had thrown them at opposite ends of a divide, Keith finally, finally has become someone they can rely on. The kind of person Red and Black had once seen the potential for him to be.

When he leaves, Lure trusts that he will always come back.

Then that feeling grows into something else.

They know what love feels like. They’ve been here before. Still are there, their very self composed of the feeling. They are love, and they are the fear to lose that to death. This fusion is their comfort, their promise, to follow each other across the universe and live long enough to do it.

But here they are. The pull of red and blue.

Feeling it again as Lure. Or something adjacent to, but they know it’s strong and makes their heart quicken with every beat.

They wonder what Lance and Allura would say if they could see them. They’re happy like that, as them. And yet, Lure is yearning.

“Stay safe out there,” they say every time Keith leaves.

And he’ll smile at them something soft, and say, even though staying safe has never been something in his blood, “I’ll try.”

But this time, this time it changes.

“Stay,” they say simply, foregoing the rest. Why oh why they let the mice talk them into this, they do not know. “Please, just a tick. Let me… there’s something you should know.”

Maybe the galra are more cat than just in appearance, because that confused head tilt Keith gives them strikes them as incredibly cat like. And trust them, Lance has adopted enough of those to know what they’re talking about. “… Lure?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I also can. It makes too much sense. You have done so much for me, become so much to me, and I—“ Their eyes meet, his like deep space, and theirs a candy floss sky. They falter. “You’re really activating my particle barrier right now.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

(Of all the lines, why?

What’s so memorable about this one?)

“Err,” says Keith after an uncomfortably long stretch of silence. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh quiznacking crow, yes. I’m fine.” They take a deep, calming breath and try again. “I like you, Keith. You’re the future, but I also want you to be my future. I thought I knew where the future would take me, but I’ve been surprised yet again and it’s by you and your hideous mullet.” A pause. “Well, maybe it’s not quite so hideous.”

“Lure… what?” says Keith, strained, unsure. His eyes dart over their face. “You’re Lance and Allura. Why would either of them want…?”

“Because I do. And I’m them.” They take a step towards him. “And I’m me. And I don’t know how you managed it, not when half of me loves to bicker with you. But that’s just it. There’s so many things I love doing with you that all of me just really, really likes you Keith. We make a really good team. You, me… and me.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I only wanted to let you know. But— please don’t let this push you further away. I’m sorry.”

“No, I—” He frowns. “I just thought you were happy.”

“I am. But you can never be too happy,” they say, light, playful. “If you’re willing, I’d like to let you into my relationship.”

Their stomach swoops, a sickly feeling, holding out on a hope they have no idea will come.

Keith’s feelings are a mystery. The way he sometimes looks at him has them wondering, but ultimately, they do not know.

Not for sure.

“Does Lance—” starts Keith, his voice catching. There’s a shine to his eyes, moonlight hung there. “Are these feelings his too?”

“Yes,” they say, something singing in their chest. “They belong to all of me. Lance included.”

Lure reaches out to his face, cupping it with their hand. Keith stills, then relaxes, and the look he gives them, oh ancient stars of cheese above, it’s breathtaking.

“Why?” they say, coy. “Don’t tell me you liked me before you. Can’t I at least beat you at something?”

“Lance, no. Allura, maybe,” says Keith with a smile. “But being fused with the princess is cheating.”

“Is this really cheating?” Lure says, taking their chance, and closing the distance between them. Keith, always having their back, now has their lips too, his warm like the sun that has long since set, dusk now glittering behind them.

Keith lets out this breathy sort of laugh, then deepens it, teeth clicking. It’s not perfect, it needs practice, but they can do that.

And Lure would very much like to do this more.

“So?” says Lure against his lips. They pull away. “Is that a yes?’

“Mhm,” Keith hums somewhat distractedly. “That’s cheating.”

“No. Before, when I asked you if you wanted to join our relationship.”

“Someone’s got a case of Lance brain. I just kissed you back.”

“Hmph. Well, smart people can’t assume.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Keith, rolling eyes ripe with amusement. “I want to give us a try. I’ve liked Lance for some time now, and honestly thought I was jealous of Allura, but now, I don’t know. Allura means a lot to me, she’s—you’re amazing. And you, you mean a lot to me, so… can we see where this takes us?”

This.

This is what Lure was missing.

Their third and final member to chase across the stars.

“Yes, let’s,” Lure says.