#lexwrites

With the memories of your past life slowly resurfacing, you were never great at or had much of an interest in physical affection. Grace, of course, respects your boundaries, but you see the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking. Hell, even Rocky reprimands you if you’re alone with him or if you’re both watching Grace sleep.

“Why won’t you give friend Grace an embrace? Bad bad bad companion!” says Rocky, the octave in his voice sharp.

You’ve had enough of Rocky’s (well meaning) comments.

So, you start with little actions. Rubbing Grace’s back if you’re near him or elbowing his side after teasing him. But when you find Grace uncharacteristically quiet in the lab, you need to provide him physical comfort. He's hunched over on a table with a computer in his lap.

Awkwardly, you shuffle towards him. You slowly extend your hands towards him. “Do… you want a hug?”

Grace looks dumbly at your face, then your hands. He slid the computer onto the table. He wraps his arms around your back, melting into your touch. Your limbs tense as you gingerly rub his back. You feel yourself relax into the embrace, and he pulls away, rubbing his face.

“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable…” his voice trails off.

You wave your hand. “No, no, it didn’t. I’m just…” you pause. “Not really touchy feely. But I wanna be better at it, for you.”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t want you to accommodate yourself for me. If you don’t like it, you don’t like it.”

You take a step toward him. “But I want to! Promise I do.”

You grab his hand, staring at him intently. “We’re the only humans out here in space. I feel like it’s reasonable if you need some hugs to get you by.”

Grace turns away, a little embarrassed. You squeeze his hand, and he doesn't pull away.

You run into Rocky later, on his side of the barrier. He’s fidgeting with a device in his claw. He tilted his carapace towards you, trilling.

“You helped Grace? Amaze amaze amaze!” He makes jazz hands.

Jazz hands are a gesture both you and Grace taught him and it's something that Rocky uses whenever he sees fit. You think it's cute that he's using some of earth's culture.

You let out a small sigh, fighting off a smile. “You didn’t have to spy on us.”

“No understand. I hear the embrace.”

Your smile widens. “I know, Rocky. I was just teasing.”

"Oohh. Understand." Rocky returns to the device.

You hummed in response and placed it on the counter to cool down. You tugged the oven mitts off your hands. You leaned your back against the counter.

“You came back rather late," you replied.

Angel nodded and walked towards the cookies. You gently slapped his hands away from the tray. “You’re gonna burn yourself. Wait until the cookies cool off."

He frowned at you with heavy bags under his eyes. “But I’m hungry and I had a long ass shift. Val worked me overtime as punishment from the bar,” whined the spider.

You sighed in response. “One of these days I’m gonna jump him,” you warned. Angel snorted.

“Just by yourself?”

“Nah, I think Husk and Pentious would join me,” you conceded.

“It’s cute you think you can take down an Overlord.”

You shrugged. “Anything’s possible in this shithole we live in.”

You moved the cookies onto a plate and stacked them on top of each other. Angel quickly snatched one when you weren’t paying attention. He happily munched on his stolen treat as you nibbled on your own cookie.

You nudged the spider with your elbow. “You should go to sleep.” He looked at you quizzically.

“Says the one who was caught baking before the sun’s even out,” teased Angel.

“I’m sure Nuggets wants to see his dad,” you retorted.

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words left his lips. “I will if you explain why you’re up so damn late.” He crossed his arms.

You pressed your lips together before you threw out the baking sheet and moved the tray into the sink. You pulled out a plastic wrap and rolled it over the plate to keep the treats fresh.

You drew in a deep breath and turned to face Angel. “Just a rough night, I suppose. I needed a distraction, so cookies were a solution.”

“Well, you have a better way to cope than most of Hell’s sinners,” commented Angel. He stretched his arms. He placed his hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently. The spider offered you a tired smile.

“Alright, I’m going to bed.”

You waved him off as he headed upstairs. He paused on the first step and turned his head.

“Just make sure you sleep soon, alright?”

Your eyes softened at his words. “Thanks, Dad,” you joked.

Suya does not see herself as a sadist. But there is just something about Mina… her gasps when she cried, the way her voice pitched up when Suya told her to do something she didn't want to (though she still did it, always), even how she sniffled in the change rooms after Suya left, as if she wasn't still in earshot. It felt nice. Satisfying, almost, like beating a strong opponent in battle.

Suya remembers the moment she realised she wanted Mina to be hers only as clear as day. One week after she made it to the over-15s sector, she was re-watching the previous days' trials when the girl caught her eye. Wispy blonde hair tied into a bun, glinting, ambitious eyes and a body that moved in ways Suya never considered possible in practice. She was perfect. As she inspected her further through reports, asking around and viewing her first-hand, she realised she was even better than she had hoped for. She was strong, flexible, smart, eager to please, and best of all, pliable. A better partner than she could have ever asked for.

The first time they talk, it goes exactly how she wanted to. Suya carefully bumps into Mina, just enough for the other to spill water on her, and while Mina babbles apologies, she slips in a few well-thought-out compliments to hook her in. Mina is exactly who Suya thinks she is. She watches the emotions in her eyes collide in full time, and since then, neither has looked back.

Now, Suya considers both of them to be much better than the naive children they used to be. Their skin and bodies are thicker, taller, and more refined than ever. In fact, Mina is still getting taller at an alarming rate, almost as tall as her now. Something also developing at an alarming rate is Mina's almost embarrassingly obvious crush on her. Nowadays, she does nothing but orbit around her all day, becoming a nice little sidekick in Suya's success. Mina's affections are nowhere near subtle, constantly gushing about how amazing she is. As if she already doesn't know.

The blonde has also, for better or worse, gotten more emotional. Throwing tantrums and such at anyone who dares badmouth her dearest. It's also quite embarrassing to watch, but Suya supposes it's necessary. She's even started talking back to her, but all she needs to do is throw her an uninterested glance for her to go mope somewhere else, before inevitably coming back with a teary apology (or alternatively, another outburst), usually within the hour.

It's everything or nothing at all with that girl, she supposes.

Sometimes Suya wonders if she went too far with Mina, but every time, she bursts in and interrupts her thoughts, showering her with everything she'd ever want. Why change now? She seems perfectly content being treated like this (given the fact she always comes back anyway), so she's just fulfilling her wishes.

One lazy afternoon, the two were taking a small break from muscle training, Suya hunched over on a bench and sipped slowly at her water bottle.

"Sei-ah, what're you thinking about?" Mina asks, turning her head toward the ravenette.

"Mm. Nothing much." She straightens up her posture, brushing the blonde's hair from her face, "You should wear clips for your bangs. It's messing up your kick pattern."

"R-right. Sorry, I'll get them tonight, then."

"Also, your hair's getting too long anyway. You should get a trim."

"Oh, I was planning to go to the barber this weekend, thanks for noticing!"

"I'll come with you. I need to avoid another sponsor request meeting."

Mina laughs softly before glancing at Suya again. "You can't avoid them forever, you know. You're amazing, everyone wants to invest in you!"

Suya makes a point to stare at her blankly. The prickly sensation of praise pokes at her guts uncomfortably, as always.

"… Oh, we should get back to work. Let's go." she grunts as she gets up from the bench, Mina quickly following after her.

Three days after Mina gets her new haircut, Suya decides that they are going to avoid a sponsor once again.

"Don't bother dressing up. It's a waste of time." she continued, tossing her sweatshirt and sweatpants into Mina's arms, leaving her in just the yoga shorts and black crop-top she always wore under her normal clothes, "Put that in the laundry, yeah? 'm gonna take a shower."

When Evan was small, five or six years old, he fell in love with the beach.

It wasn’t more than an hour away, so if he had a rough day, or his parents had some free time, they'd take a day trip. At first, the ocean frightened him.

"The water is chasing me!" he yelped as the waves rolled up to lap at his toes, and his mom scooped him up in her arms.

"It can't get you when I've got you." She hugged him tightly to her chest, kissing his mess of curls, gilded in the sunlight.

They spent the day acclimating to the new experience to make it less overwhelming. Running their hands through the sand, wetting it and making elaborate sand castles. Heidi lounged in the sun with a book as he collected seashells, giving him smiles of encouragement whenever he looked her way.

He didn't get too close to the water again that day.

———

A cold draft jolts him out of the memory. It’s summer no longer—the sun is just beginning to go down, and Evan can feel the warmth dissipating. He zips his jacket up as high as he can, pulling the hood over his head and wrapping his arms around himself tight.

The wetness on his face is getting windblown, making his cheeks irritated and chapped, but he doesn't bother to wipe them dry. They wouldn't stay dry long, anyway.

His mind, teeming with thoughts and worries, has come to a deadly calm. It almost scares him how quiet it's become. The sound of the waves is deafening in his ears, a sort of waltz of noise. Hum, two, three. Whoosh, two, three. Crash, two, three. Hum, two, three.

His mom always liked to talk about things she did while she was pregnant. She'd play classical music, combined with wave sounds while she slept. It was supposed to make him smarter or something. He wouldn't go so far as to say that, but sometimes he wonders if it’s the source of the stillness that washes over him in the proximity of the noise.

Evan had none of this repose when he was driving here. He kept rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeves, gripping the steering wheel like his life depended on it. Taking the longer route that didn't pass any cliffs, muttering obscenities about himself under his breath. As if saying he's terrible could make what he did any less so.

———

Evan always acclimated. If the situation didn't fit him, he'd learned to fold in all the parts of himself that wouldn't fit.

So the next time, at the beach, he let the sound of the waves drown out the sound of his parents fighting. Floating with the ocean. Eyes shut tight. Removed from the world, removed from his body.

Even as young as six, Evan was good at this. Excellent, even. You learn to be, quite quickly, when the world is far too harsh and you are far too soft. So when the kids yelled on the playground, or pushed him, or said he's weird because he liked trees, he distanced himself. It was effective, numbing. Succumbing to the sound of the waves. The only problem was not getting washed away at sea.

"Evan? Oh god, where did he go—Evan! That's too far out—shit, he can't hear me."

He could hear perfectly fine, but none of it registered. Floating...

"I'm coming baby, hold on.”

The waves got drowned out by splashing, and the feeling of familiar arms around him. She sounded like she was crying. Her hands clutched him like he was something precious—cupping his head protectively, supporting the rest of his weight with her other arm.

"You can't scare mommy like that ever again, Evan. You hear me? You're too important."

———

He learned, then, that there are some things that should just be for himself. That floating off to sea isn't worth it when it scares your mom that much. She would always do her very best to protect him, to care for him completely; so Evan would do his very best to make it appear to be working.

Because what was there otherwise? A sad, broken boy, walking alone in the cold on a beach. Evan abruptly stops, squeezing his eyes shut, nibbling at his stubby nails. He's already bitten some low enough to bleed. He sits at the edge of the water, a foot or so above where it's lapping at the sand. Running his hands through it, he rolls the granules across his hand with his thumb.

The grit makes his fingertips burn, but it's nice to actually feel something. Is that what he's been so desperate to find—a feeling?

There came a point in pretending where he forgot what real things feel like. Sometimes a lie can feel more real than the truth; especially when reality is empty, painful, without even a thread of truth to hold onto anymore. So he loosened his grip on it.

———

"Come on in, Evan, it's warm," Heidi beckoned from the water, as he hovered at the edge.

It had been a year, and he hadn't been afraid of the waves since the first time. But standing at the edge after a whole year passed, at seven years old, the world felt a whole lot bigger and scarier. Second grade hadn't been easy. His mom would always say he's a big boy now; he'll grow out of it.

He hadn’t. And in the months since his dad left, life felt a whole lot emptier.

"I—I think I'll just watch you?" he says, unsure.

Evan knew he liked the water. He just didn’t like the beach all that much anymore. He kicked his feet through the sand, arms crossed over his chest.

She approached him, hands on his scrawny shoulders. Crouching down to look at his face.

"I know it might not be how you pictured it, but look.” She inhaled, plastering a too-wide smile on her face. “We're here! It took a few weeks for me to nab a day off but I got you here. And you've got me for the whole day."

His mom still looked tired—drained. Like the lights inside her eyes were turned off. Even as young as he was, Evan noticed the change in her when his dad left them. She was exhausted. He needed to carry some of the burden.

So he smiled back at her, running through the waves as she pulled him along. Does it count as pretending when you're doing it together?

———

Has everything he's ever done been one big lie?

Not literally, of course. But his baseline has always been... to act okay, through it all, no matter what. Absorb the shocks to expel later. The day can't count as a failure if he doesn't cry until he's home in his bed, falling asleep to trudge through the next one. And the next one.

He finds a pebble in the sand he's sifting through—holds it up to the light, marveling at its smoothness. It feels nice to roll it between his finger and thumb.

When he goes on walks by himself, he tells his mom he's going to hang out with Jared. He tells the Murphys he knew their son, on a personal level, when he'd barely spoken to him. Or he tells his therapist he wouldn't risk hurting himself, with a cast on his arm from letting go of a tree branch. Evan tells himself these things, too.

Smoothing himself over, like a pebble on a beach; grinding away the imperfections until there's nothing left. Sitting in the sand, with his knees tucked up to his chest, the tears flow freely enough his vision swims with it.

He's not sure what’s left of him. Has he smoothed it all away? Is he nothing more than a single grain of sand, falling through his fingers, blowing in the wind? Falling, falling, falling. Does the sand feel anything when it lands?

They hadn’t made it to the beach in years. He was 14 now, and things were only getting more difficult as high school was fast approaching. Kids got stronger, and meaner, more weirded out by Evan's sensitive nature. He wished he got harsher like they did.

Instead he just got tired—tired of sitting on the couch alone waiting around for his mom to get home from work. Only to rush through a meal once she got there, helping him with his homework half asleep, trying to cram all the love she can muster into the span of a few hours.

He took a bus to the beach, instead. Evan’s not typically an impulsive person, but he just needed something to happen. Anything. He took off his shoes and socks, shoving them in his bag before taking a step at the edge of the water. Toes curling in the squishy sand, the water came up to delicately kiss them like it did when he was much smaller.

He wasn’t cruel enough not to leave a note. She'd see it, and shake her head. Wonder the whole drive if he's okay, if he'd eaten anything yet. He knew the travel time was going to eat up all the time she had to spend with him. Knew she was going to be worried about why he did it, but he just—needed to hear the waves. Breathe the salty air. Sink his feet into something soft and solid and real.

"Evan?" Her voice was gentle. Barely audible above the ocean, a few paces behind him.

"Mom," he said, turning around and accepting her protective hug. Her lips pressed firmly against his hair.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I think maybe there's something wrong with me."

For a moment, all they could hear was the waves.

"What do you mean?" She pulled away from the hug so she could look at his face, cupping his cheeks. "What's wrong, Evan?"

"Everything." The word came out choked, like his body was trying to hold onto it.

She hugged him tighter.

———

They worked out a plan to get him help, on this beach. As he told her what school had been like, and about the worry weighing on his shoulders, it sunk in. She made sure he knew she loves him no matter what, and that he can always come to her whenever he feels like this.

But when he saw her trying to work through the financial part, he realized that he might see even less of her because of this. That doctors and medications are expensive. And she already worked so hard just to make sure he's okay.

Evan decided, then, that this plan had to succeed. Her sacrifices for him have to be worth it.

She dropped school for a year, so she had more time to check up on him without missing work. That was a good year for them, actually. They ate a whole meal together most days, and she wasn't half asleep giving him advice on his history paper. They had regular taco nights. And movie nights, where they watched a handful of films until they ended up passed out on the couch, Netflix still running. He was going to therapy, and he seemed to be getting better. Things were better.

Evan’s not sure where they lost that. He had it, once, not all that long ago.

How could he let it slip through his fingers? Why didn't he hold on to it tighter?

After that, he wanted so desperately to be okay for her, that he stopped being okay again. Maybe that's been his problem all along. Too busy working on polishing the outside to see the inside crumbling to pieces.

The wind whips at him brutally, the air becoming colder, and it's starting to get dark. His hands shake as he sifts through more sand, moving to get up.

Evan knows if he's not home when his mom gets off work she'll be worried—he didn't leave a note this time. He should call, maybe, let her know he's okay. Or well. Whatever he is. He's... alive. That should probably count for something, at this point.

He digs through his backpack for his phone, opening it to a handful of texts, and a missed call from her asking where he is. It's a lot later than he realized. She's probably been pacing the house trying to figure out where he might be.

Evan takes one last, long breath of the comforting salty air, and dials her contact. She picks up on the first ring.

"Evan?"

He exhales.

-

Keith was used to Lance's pranks and jokes. Some were received with a few good laughs. A much-needed break from the Herculean task of saving the universe. A lifting of spirits.

Most were met with rolled eyes and groans and a "really, Lance? Really?" But still as needed and valued along with the others if not more so. Less of a release of tension and more of a gentle reminder that they're young. Barely adults and still cringey in the way only youth can be.

Lance asking to marry him was no exception.

Except, the more Keith heard it the more he wished it was.

-

The first time he said it it was during training.

It was the exercise where they had to cover each other’s backs. All grouped up back to back in a semi-circle as little droids surrounded them from all sides. For the most part, they’ve all been through so much together that developing that sixth sense of where your teammates were became second nature. Some otherworldly instinct far beyond his capacity to explain the gut feeling of diving in-between your friend and laser before it even left the bot.

Even with the lion switch and Allura’s more prominent presence out in the field didn’t hold them back for long. War didn’t allow for such luxuries.

While that instinct was there for everyone on his team, strong and stable and solid as steel from the constant drills, it had nothing on the synchronization he had with Lance.

If he was grasping at straws to try to explain the strange connection he had with the rest of the team then it was completely hopeless trying to describe the link he had with Lance.

Maybe it was because of Lance being his right-hand man or some mystical magical Altean magic. Maybe the lions or how often they were in those mind meld things but somehow whenever they were on the battlefield they just slotted into place. Their bond, forged by circumstance and fine-tuned and beaten by understanding, friendship, and eventually love, made whatever they had come naturally as if they were an extension of the other.

It was because of that connection that he was able to tackle Lance out of the way of a laser, leaving him on the floor winded while Keith was crouched above him shield up and ready.

Because of that one instance that Lance looked up at Keith with something indescribable on his face. That he— almost subconsciously, breathed,

“Marry me.”

-

He obviously said no.

Well…. Not no. Just not a yes. They were still kids, and had an entire war yawning off into the distance in front of them. It wasn’t the time or the place.

Though, for a while, he worried if he just threw away his only chance at saying yes.

-

He didn’t have to worry.

There were so many countless times Lance asked him to marry him. He would need the entire coalition’s various appendages to count them all.

He asked during training, when they were eating, after a nap, before a mission, after a mission, whispered before bed, loud and dramatic relaxing with the team. Really, any time it suited him. Random and spontaneous. Every time it was a little different but there were still patterns.

Keith noticed he would get more proposals during mundane activities. He could just be hanging out with the team or eating leftover food goo from the fridge and there would eventually be a “Keith, marry me” coming a second later.

He noticed that Lance would be louder and more dramatic when they came during team bonding time. Loudly declaring his love and proposals when it best suited him or whenever Keith agreed with him, drawing out laughs and eye rolls alike-

His favorite proposals were then they were by themselves. When the night was quiet and Lance looked at him with an intensity in his eyes that Keith almost forgets they’re jokes. Whispered, declared, reverent, demanding, each time silencing the voice in Keith’s head telling him not yet not yet not yet.

He desperately asks back, when?

-

The last time he said it it’s like this.

He was kneeling on one knee and had a ring.

That’s all he’s got. He can’t remember much else besides that Lance was kneeling. And that there was a ring. Just those two bits sent him into information overload, the rest of the details filter in later.

“Keith,” he said, with a little laugh, tears already budding in his eyes. “Babe, please, look at me.”

He didn’t even realize he closed his eyes. He could still see him clear as day in the center of his mind. And there’s the rest of the details. Something in his mind doing its job, some vague order registering where they were and what it felt like because it was somehow important so he remembered everything that was happening.

The desert sun purpling around them, stars slowly winking into existence, right in front of his run down and falling apart shack. Lance in the center of it all with a teary grin and a diamond ring. His heart beating out of his check and up into his throat.

He squeezed his eyes tighter, refusing to let any tears escape. He relented when a gentle hand grasped him and two drops slipped out, the rest threatening to follow when he saw Lance’s eyes overflowing. He tried to glare. “This better not be a joke, McClain.”

Lance laughed again, eyes spilling again and mopping them up with a sleeve. “It was never a joke. Not with you. Ever since the first time I meant it, every single one.”

Keith could barely say his name, choking around the syllable, cracking in the middle, a mangled version of his favorite word. ”La—ance.”

He got up, hand cupping his cheek, thumb wiping away the tears. Keith’s breath hitched at the gentle pressure of Lance’s forehead against his, at the warm breath fanning over his lips, at the revered words whispered into the space between only for him. “You are it for me. You got that, Kogane? You are it and I knew that years ago. And ever since I asked you to marry me, so one last time, yeah?” His breath was shaky but his voice was steady like it always had been. “Keith, will you marry me?”