Keith is ruining everything he touches, which is just typical, Lance shouldn’t even be surprised, but here he is and not any wiser than before. Fine then. Everyone else can have fun without him. He doesn’t care about enjoying his free time, no sir. Why would Lance care to relax, that’s ridiculous, it’s not like he puts himself in mortal danger every day by trying to save the galaxy’s ungrateful –

Shiro says it’s an attitude problem. Lance had considered telling him to kindly fuck off, but he values his health and also, Keith had given him grin number sixteen that conveyed ‘coward, I knew you’d chicken out’ without actual facial expression. So now Lance sits here, alone, with an implied attitude and nobody understanding why he won’t join the fun.

It’s their first free day in months, and of all things to do on a sunny day on their recent planet of residence, Pidge had decided to take all of them for a ride. Horseback riding, to be precise. Lance had immediately vetoed – they’re not even horses, anything equine has four legs and not six and doesn’t come elephant-sized with fur ranging from sky-blue to suspicious translucent – but nobody cared for his opinion.

Keith holds one of the animal’s reins while Pidge climbs on its back. Pidge is cooing soft words all while trailing upwards on the complicated framework of tasseled wool on the horse’s flank, but Lance knows that the whispers aren’t what keeps the animal calm. It’s Keith.

Watching him has become a habit, Lance won’t deny that. It’s too mesmerising to see how all the horses had crowded around him as soon as the natives had led the paladins onto the far-stretched meadow where the herd resided. Shiro had talked the natives into giving them five of the animals for the day after hearing that some of them were tame, and Hunk had been so excited that even Lance had stopped his protest. He did refuse to ride along, though. He’s just gonna sit here and wait for them. Alone.

A lot of people are afraid of horses, okay. That’s fine.

Or it would be, if Keith wasn’t totally ruining his plan right now. As soon as Pidge’s up on the horse, Keith takes another one by the reins and shouts something at Shiro. Pidge’s eyebrows fly up, Hunk tilts his head, and Lance can’t see what emotion goes over Shiro’s face but he turns his horse, and the three of them ride off. Without Keith.

Who now strides over to Lance, a baby-elephant sized horse in the colour of seaweed following by his side. Lance freezes. Oh god, no. This can’t be.

“Listen up,” Keith says. He’s stopped before Lance, one hand resting by the horse’s neck, fingertips barely just touching and he’s not even holding the reins, fuck, Lance is going to die. He’s afraid and fascinated and so in love that it hurts in his chest like a salvo of bullets. Keith then does something that keeps Lance from runnning away – he smiles.

“No idea why you’re scared, but I could see it from all the way over there and I’m not gonna let you ruin my free day with that sad face of yours. This is Sal’njeh, which is a nickname I made up because the actual names they give those poor things are ridiculous and should never be spoken out loud. Now make some space with your damn thighs, I wanna sit.”

Lance can’t move a single muscle. He lets himself be pushed aside by Keith who squeezes onto the same bench, the seaweed monster happily nosing into Lance’s hair and holy space he is going to die. He’s going to get eaten and his mother will cry and Keith will never know how cute he is when he smiles at animals like they’re the only good in this world –

“She likes you,” Keith says casually.

“I’m.” Lance closed his eyes sometime around when the horse’s nostrils flared with warm breath over his face. “She won’t. Kill – kill me?”

“Nah. Vegetarians, peaceful, love humans cause they think we’re foals that can’t walk and gotta sit on their backs. Look…” Keith nudges him gently, and Lance takes a deep breath before cracking an eye at him, taking in Keith’s smile. It’s almost shy, like he’s nervous about something. “It’s our free day. You don’t have to sit around all alone. We can just stay like this, if you’re not too afraid.”

Lance doesn’t know what to say for a moment. The horse seems to find his face boring now and has moved to nibbling at Keith’s pants. “If… if you keep its teeth away from me. And hold the reins. Then that’d be, uh, fine I guess. To sit here.”

“Okay.” That’s all Keith says. He takes the reins again and starts talking about horses on different planets and riding and somewhere along the way, Lance touches the seaweed horse’s fur. He only does it with his index finger, strokes it along the animal’s back, but Keith’s smile goes a bit wider at that. Lance allows himself to feel warm and kind of okay for a little while. They’re free, for now.

“I never thought I’d say this one day,” Pidge mentions to Hunk when he appears with another broken piece of communication technology to fix, “but I’m glad they’re finally getting along.”

Hunk blinks for a few moments, frozen into place. Pidge uses the time to rid him of the electronics and point across the room where Keith is in the process of wrestling Lance onto his back. He’s grinning and looks a bit mad in the process, and there’s more skin touching and sweat involved than Hunk personally prefers in training.

“How long have they been at it?” Hunk finally sits down, setting down a big box he’d been carrying among the electronics and digging into it. He produces two quite frankly enormous sandwiches, forcing Pidge to accept them with his feared even-a-genius-has-to-eat-so-take-it-or-I’ll-make-you look.

“Thanks. Two hours, I think. What’s on these?”

“Pickles and cream cheese. But – ”

“I love you, oh my god, this is my favourite.”

“Duh. You’re welcome, but anyways – how are they not tired yet? And look, you know I value your scientific opinion and all, but this,” Hunk gestures to the chaos of limbs that looks suspiciously like Lance trying to pull Keith’s leg while Keith attempts to sit on his thighs and hold him down, “isn’t teamwork. They’re beating each other up for fun.”

Pidge lifts a brow at him before finishing a huge bite and then speaking. “They don’t actually hurt each other, you know. It’s more like – ugh, how should I say this. I don’t feel drunk enough for this conversation.”

“You’ve never touched a drop of liquor,” Hunk says, sceptical.

“Whatever. What I mean is – ”

Their conversation is rudely interrupted when Keith bolts past them. His hair is a fluffy mess, he’s lost his black training shirt somewhere one hour ago and Hunk is surprised to see a hint of actual joy glittering in his eyes. “Cardio unit, potato face! Bet you can’t catch me before I hit the roof!”

Pidge gives Hunk a silent stare.

“Huh,” Hunk says, “that’s. Well.”

Then Lance swishes past them with a yowling battle cry, and Hunk barely manages to snatch him by the sleeve. “Hey, what about lunch break? At least have a few sandwiches, and don’t kill each other.”

Lance’s grin is bright enough to power a solar system. “Dude, thanks! I’m so gonna make him fight me for these.” He stuffs three of them into his pockets, loads another portion into his hands and sprints off, calling over his shoulder at Hunk. “And if anyone goes down, it’s fucking Keith! He doesn’t have the skills to take me – where the fuck are you?”

The electronic door glides shut behind Lance. Hunk stares at the smooth metal surface, lost in thought and his ham sandwich. Pidge has started typing rapidly on two laptops at once.

Hunk sighs, drawing a long breath, and drapes himself around Pidge’s back. “They’d do anything for each other, wouldn’t they.”

Pidge’s mouth is the tiniest curve. “If there’s anything I know, then it’s that those two would raise hell and the entire galaxy for each other. They just don’t know it yet.”

Lance has no idea how Keith’s parents died.

Keith doesn’t talk about it, the team doesn’t ask, and it’s one of the few unspoken taboos in the sarcastic quickfire that Keith and he ricochet between each other on the ground, in space, between training sessions and unmentioned touches of shoulders.

It’s a routine mission, and the last thing Lance hears before his lion is taken down and the pretty aggressive allies of Voltron’s arch enemy drag him into their base is a static-garbled wail of his own name. It becomes the only thing he clings to, that skewed echo of his five letters in Keith’s voice, as the aliens bore things into his skin and brain and try to reach his mind.

Two days later, he’s in Shiro’s grip on the floor of the castle, Pidge screaming and Hunk crying and Keith, eyes blown into liquid darkness with angry tears smeared on his cheeks. There’s a cracking burst of noise every other moment – oh, that’s Allura, firing at the aliens who’d tried to hold a paladin and didn’t think about the consequences.

Lance stares at the ceiling of the castle. Someone (softtinyhandsPidge?) touches his wounds, rubs wetness against them, a sting of antiseptic in his nose. Keith is there. Keith, Lance tries to say, ends up spitting blood.

“No. No, no,” Keith shakes his head, cradles Lance’s face with nails digging into his jaw like a painful thread to reality, and Lance is awake, can’t die, won’t.
“Not you too. Promise, you fucking – you have to, I’ll make you – please. Tell me they didn’t break you. Not you too. Not you. You’re not them, you hear me, you’re not breaking.”

That’s how Lance learns how Keith’s parents went.

It’s the same day that he swears his first oath.

He swears, with Pidge’s fingers patching him up, Hunk stuffing a blanket under his head, Shiro gripping him like he could vanish, and with Keith’s trembling forehead by his shoulder, that he’s not going to become another broken bond.

Voltron’s Bond.

It’s Pidge who initiates the whole thing without even wanting to.

They’re all exhausted. The team building exercises did nothing for them, they still can’t assemble Voltron again, dinner tastes like slimy slippery goo and it’s so quiet except for the sound of their spoons against the bowls that Pidge can’t bear with it anymore. “I’m done for today. Night. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Everyone looks up, but nobody does anything to keep Pidge from leaving the table. They just watch, young eyes dark and tired, as a thin frame disappears through the door, outworn and hunched over like all of them.

Hunk is the next to stand up, five minutes after. “Pidge’s right. I’m done, too. See you guys tomorrow.” Then he stomps off. The silence around the table thickens, and it’s no surprise to Allura that the rest of the food stays untouched until one after another, the boys get up and nod at her.

It’s Keith next, quiet and with gritted teeth, fists curled by his side. It’s Lance, not even cracking a joke at her, worrying his lip between his teeth. And after he’s stacked the rest of the bowls and mumbled a quiet “thank you for the training today”, Shiro follows after them, having stayed for over an hour since Pidge vanished.

The night has fallen over the planet when Coran steps to stand by Allura’s side. She’d been watching the virtual model of the galaxy, counting planets that needed saving, but turns her head to him. “I don’t know how to get them to bond. They’re so young. They’re scared, and I can’t make their fate easier.”

Coran tilts his head and, for some reason, smiles. “You should see this.”

And she really should. Coran leads her to Pidge’s room, at the very end of the corridor, the door carelessly open. Allura prepares for a lecture about safety in one’s quarters and underestimating the enemies’s stealthiness, but Coran simply points into the room… and Allura can’t help but smile, too.

In a pile of blankets and pillows, the five paladins of Voltron are asleep.

Pidge lies in the middle, legs stretched out long, glasses somewhere on the floor because Hunk’s big hand cradles that fragile jaw and pulls both close against another. They had been drawn here, one by the other – Keith next, legs tucked to his own chest and curled up so tightly that he’s a tiny fraction of his usual temper and red-hot wildness. His nose touches Pidge’s back, and the strong arm around his waist that belongs to Shiro seems to be what holds him together. And there’s Lance, wedged somewhere by Shiro’s hip, head on his stomach and Shiro’s fingers calm in his hair.

Allura turns and closes the door again. She says good night to Coran, walking to her room in silence. She thinks about the paladin’s slow breaths. She thinks about Pidge’s fingers gripping Hunk’s shirt, Shiro’s fingertips reaching against Pidge’s back just below where Keith looked vulnerable. She thinks about Lance, looking in place, belonging, safe.

“Bonding, huh,” Allura whispers to the stars outside the castle. “I see.”