#fun fact: Aoife is supposed to represent their career / prof. expectations and Dawn is supposed to represent society

[ivorygotnobars]

Happy Thanksgiving! Hope you guys like 7k of engaged Klance fluff as a series appetizer <3

Chapter 1: Eye of the Storm

Some Time Before: Lance POV

Heavy rain drowned out the chime of the entry bell as Lance thundered into the intimate cafe front of the Patisserie. His sudden arrival sent a brief tremor through the warm ambiance, rattling glass displays into the heart of the cafe. Water dripped from his soaked suit, trailing behind him as he made a beeline toward a small group occupying an amber-lit lounge area.

A long industrial seating counter separated the main shop from the lounge, currently cluttered with piles of books and binders. They were scattered haphazardly, spilling onto nearby coffee tables and velvet gold-trimmed couches.

No one noticed his entrance, already having tuned out the storm into little more than background noise. All, except his gorgeous fiancé ; who sat perched at the counter, stylus hovering over a data pad. His head turned sharply, drawn in by the sudden commotion. Irritated, narrowed eyes blinked into bewilderment at the sight of Lance—every step sputtering like an engine in all his waterlogged glory—Almost unsure of the image he saw before him.

And what an image it must be, Lance thought, acutely aware of the crumpled wreck that was his suit. Like he had yanked it mid-cycle from the wash; hair limp, clinging to his forehead in a damp mess, all to the heroic intro music of leather shoes squelching in a tone-deaf rhythm.

The frantic energy and irritation that brimmed right beneath Lance’s soaked skin dissolved, exchanging his trembling from the cold for anticipation. The forced smile he’d held for what felt like ages eased—melting away the storm he’d carried with him, the frustration, the bone-deep exhaustion. Overjoyed, he’s actually managed to catch one Keith Kogane off guard.

He didn’t wait for Keith to brace himself before letting the full weight of his exhaustion drop unceremoniously over his fiancé ’s shoulders.

Keith jolted with a grunt.

Dampness transferred into his shirt and across his back. Though instinctively, he tilted forward, adjusting to steady the deadweight slumped against him. One hand gripped an arm dangling loosely over his shoulder, while the other braced firmly against the back of Lance’s thigh.

Lance enjoyed the subtle pull of Keith’s muscle at his chest and the firmness of his grip, slacking further into his forbearance. He littered lazy, gratified greetings wherever his lips could reach across Keith’s shoulder and the back of his neck—but mostly met his mob of hair that faintly smelled like burnt tires, carrying the distant memory of the Garrison’s training floor. 

He only slightly cringed when he pulled back, a few stray strands stuck in his mouth. Though couldn’t justify even moving his neck an inch away from the radiant warmth that felt like hovering frost-nibbled fingers over a fire pit.

Despite the scowl and furrowed brows etched in place—sharp as ever—Keith uncharacteristically, didn’t complain or shove him off. Instead, he slowly glanced over his shoulder doing little to hold back the gleam in his eyes that sparked in wonder.

And really, that’s all Lance needed to know how much he had been missed these past few months apart.

“Well, would you look at that,” Lance’s voice strained, holding back a breath he seemed to be still trying to catch. “Made it just in the nick of time.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed, a smirk twitching the corners of his mouth. “Is that what you say two and a half hours late to all your meetings?”

Keith’s fingertips trailed from his wrist, up to pluck at the faint itch at his lips before threading through Lance’s damp hair, playfully shaking it out, scattering droplets in every direction and across the counter.

Lance scrunched his nose. He could only imagine the tangled monstrosity Keith’s tousling left behind. Though any snide remark or concern for his hair slipped right off his tongue as Keith leaned sideways, grinning smugly, his amusement practically dancing in his eyes.

Something familiar brimmed at the edges of Lance’s awareness, teasing him with its inescapable radiance. I love this man, he thought, I just want to marry him already. Not that he’d say it now—not when Keith looked so unbearably pleased with himself at making a mess out of him.

His arms sneaked around Lance’s hips, still bearing the brunt of him, though the warmth that sunk into his hair was gone, replaced by the dowsing cold of his own suit pressing further into the small of his back. A shiver plunged down his spine, just as Keith peeled him away like a piece of sodden paper.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Keith admitted, his voice gentle with a hint of incredulity, as he eased Lance to the seat beside him.“It sounded like the meeting was going to run longer than expected.”

“Yeah, but I never said I wouldn’t make it,” He declared. His grin a little crooked. Now seated, he had to arch a bit awkwardly with arms still clung around Keith’s shoulders, “Better late than never, babe!”

Lance’s eyes wandered across the room, shifting slightly to ease his posture and to take in the busy hive of workers around them, nose-deep in varying tasks and conversations. With a raised brow, he added, “ Doesn’t seem like there’s much cake testing going on though.”

His gaze caught on their wedding planner–Dawn. Who stiffly stood beside the Garrison’s PR rep, Aoife, and a towering man he assumed was the pâtissier catering their wedding. His tallness exaggerated by the height of his toque and a curled mustache that looked straight out of a lineup of ancient cartoon villains…Truthfully, man made it work though.

The three loomed over a corner booth, pouring through large books and—blueprints?

He took in the clutter around them again and gestured. “What’s with the half-a-library covering this place, anyway?”

“Apparently, we can’t pick the flavor until figuring out the design and how it’s supposed to hold up. Something about density and temperature affecting flavor integrity.” His lips pursed in that uncertain way Lance had come to expect when he couldn’t decide if something was absurd or one of those ‘normal’ things people just accepted without question.

“Who cares! As long as it tastes good, it can look like a goddamn weblum! What are we supposed to hire an architect for the cake too?”

His fiancé chuckled, and the sound tickled Lance’s chin, settling something in place, like a keystone he hadn’t even known had been off-kilter in the first place. “Hope not, we’re already waiting on enough permits as is.”

Lance tilted his head back, yielding to that settled something, the arch in his brow softening. Taking in every detail like a man taking his first bite and realizing he’d been starved. For the first time in weeks—maybe longer, his thoughts slowed, and the familiar taut buzzing under his skin quieted. The world at large snapped into focus, with a wonder that tightened at his throat.

He couldn’t seem to pin it down—the millions of small, impossible-to-name things that made up this …. this …just this …He wanted to bottle it, frame it, keep it, yet the more he tried, the more it seemed to slip through his fingers like a moment turning into a memory.

“Lance?” Keith’s voice broke through his haze, steady and amused.

Lance opened his mouth to respond—only for a sharp tone to shatter his focus, his thoughts slipping from him drawing him instead to the back corner of the room.

“It’s. A. Mess.” Aoife spat each word, voice low and serrated, slicing straight through the ambient warmth of the room. “Not to mention mechanically impossible. We need something more stable. Respectful .”

Her icy stoicism clashed sharply with Dawn’s ferocity, that the air all but crackled between them.

Caught in the crossfire, the patasiere cleared his throat, in an attempt to moderate the escalating tensions. “The concept is certainly, certainly…ambitious.” He remarks in a careful tone. “However, this is merely a rough sketch of course. The logistics can be refined—the latticework may appear fragile, but I assure you with the right sugar—”

“I’d like to hear at least one—ONE design idea from you today, that doesn’t look like it’s meant to entomb something!” Dawn interjected loudly, her small stature, having no problem overpowering the presence of the man twice her size.“I’m telling you, the tower concept is perfect! They add height , grandeur , drama! A perfect way to serve the guests without compromising the presentation! It’s the utmost symbolic representation of the towering heights of love and-”

“This is exactly the problem.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dawn sneered, " I forgot this is a wedding , how inappropriate to have any mere reference of love and hap—!”

“Would you stop yelling !”

“Would you stop interru-”

“At least a dozen cultures in attendance believe tower structures are relics of oppression. Relics of war and violence . Which some of them have just lived through and it would be egregious and offensive to be welcomed to a celebration when the cake is a reminder of their devastating losses.” Aoife went on, sounding as though scolding a child. " And you want to start dismantling them in front of the guests to serve? That’s a dozen more outraged at the blatant omen of fractured unity.”

She lifts a book from the table. “Now this,” she shoves it open inches from Dawn’s face, nearly smacking her with its flying cover. “ It’s classic, elegant, and most importantly dignified .”

Dawn’s eyes flashed with boiled-over frustration, “Well, this wedding is on Earth .” She grabs the center fold of the book and begins to try to rip it from Aoife’s hands though it doesn’t budge. “My clients are both from Earth —we are not catering to every single superstition in the cosmos!”

Typically, Lance would throw in a suggestive comment about their rivaling energy, maybe teasing their own up-incoming marriage after all of this. But after a rather l o n g, grueling couple of months enduring intergalactic tensions over treaty terms—capped off by the draining flight he’d just taken halfway across the known universe—he wasn’t in the mood for it.

Though Lance couldn’t hold back his disbelief at the scene, as the two women started fighting over the book. Neither holding back their strength.

Considering their build difference and Aoife’s military background, he was impressed with Dawn’s resistance.

Somehow the assistants, don’t bat an eye at the altercation, tuning it out like the storm outside.

“There are plenty Earthian cultures with similar views!”

“EARTHIAN IS NOT A WORD!”

Aoife flinched back from the echoed scream in her face, however, gave no other indication of letting go of the book.

Lance pressed his forehead to Keith’s shoulder, rubbing at the aching pressure building behind his eyes.

“You can’t tell me this isn’t giving you a headache?” He knows how sensitive Keith’s hearing is— if he was feeling the pinch in his skull, Keith’s head had to be rattling by now! He didn’t look it, though, and just shrugged, bobbing Lance’s head with the gesture. “Think at this point I’m used to it.”

“Should we stop them?”

“Already tried,” Keith replied wearily. “It’s easier to just wait and let them tire themselves out.”

“ Two hours —and they’re not worn out yet?” On a side note, Lance quirked his brow up at his fiancée “And since when have you started trying to apply to sainthood? I’ve seen you get impatient with a toaster. ”

“Gives me time to work on my report.” He gestures to his data pad.

Lance gave it a distasteful look. One thing he certainly didn’t miss from working directly with the Garrison was the never-ending paperwork. So much as you thought of giving a command or not giving one, it needed to be locked-in to a paper trail, or else you get the ‘so-tell-me-about-your-train-of-thought-here’ meeting.

Straightening in his seat, Lance turned his attention back to the tug of war. “Well, I’m here for some damn cake.” He rolled his shoulders, getting himself ready to project at least some authority over this situation, “Cover your ears, babe.”

He let out a sharp, piercing whistle that echoed through the chaos.

It’s not the most diplomatic approach to get the room’s attention, but it got the job done.

Following the silence, a flash of lightning lit up the windows, accompanied by a rumbling growl of thunder from outside. A very satisfyingly, unexpected display of drama, leaving a few assistants gawking at him with just a tiny bit of awe.

Lance sat up proudly, and wrestled with his features at his own surprise at the timing and a swell of vainglory that was hard to cap.

“Now that I have your attention,” he said, leaning into the moment, “how about we keep it simple and have the cake be regular-cake-shaped: three-four tiers with extra slices in the back for distribution time?”

He glanced at Keith, who uncovered one ear to raise a hand in support.“I second that.”

After a pregnant pause, Lance lost the battle with his smirk as no objections were raised. Order restored —it was a rare win to get a speechless crowd these days!

Of course, It didn’t last.

Aoife released her grip on the book, having Dawn bungee back, stumbling back a meter, nearly falling on her ass. Never one to be caught off guard for too long, Aoife stepped forward with military precision and snapped into a rigid salute before him.“Pleasure for you to finally join us, Colonel. We weren’t expecting your return from Tzerlan for another month. We hope the negotiations ended favorably.”

Oh god, this again . He thought, grin growing tight as he forced a breath through his nose, “Lance is fine, " the words already a tired reflex on his tongue.

Besides, he could barely call himself a ‘Colonel’, and they all knew it. Just another infuriating reminder of the Garrison’s grip on their lives rather than an honorable or earned title. Even here, even now— in the midst of planning for his own wedding.

“And we’ve still got about a month or so left before we can wrap up this sect,” his voice steadied, working in a lighter and more casual tone. “We’re just on extended recess for the next like-40 hours- or so, thought I’d pop in, help with the cake…maybe take back that Wedding Binder, and get through some more finalizations on my side of things. Getting things back on track and all.” Lance winked at his fiancé, a knowing smile passing between both their lips.

It really wasn’t as simple as he made it seem. It took favors, careful maneuvering, and some major ass-kissing over the last two months to pull it off, and he had already maxed out the legal number of court absences he was allowed for the year so he didn’t have that to fall back on anymore.

Not that the Generals and reps of Peace and Sanctions hadn’t been lenient with certain dates and situations— cake tasting , however, certainly didn’t count as an exception or a medical emergency- which, on record, is absolute bullshit. Especially with this potential threat to intergalactic reverence!

He was kind of mad he didn’t think of that while drafting his proposal.

It was just, he was finally looking forward to something a little more lax and fun. Keith always swore he didn’t like any type of cake, an unheard-of phenomenon that Lance just had to challenge, with an arrangement of cakes from a world class baker. Seriously when would they get another chance like it! And he couldn’t miss such a revelation. A milestone!

And with just a couple hours to spare really, he wasn’t going to let some stupid design choice stop them now!

“So if we’re all finalized here, I say let’s get on to the next part.”

“HOLD— hold, hold. Hold-on a moment,” Dawn blinked, still recovering from her struggle with Aoife.

“How long did you say you’re staying for? Two days?” She blinked between him and Keith, eyeing them with a look that definitely wasn’t pleased that neither of them notified her of this.

Lance sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. To be fair. Lance barely knew if he was even going to make the meeting at all.“I didn’t know until last night. This isn’t exactly a long vacation.”

“You leave tomorrow, then?”

“Just after midnight….tonight.” He clarified just in case she thought to squeeze him in somewhere else. He still needed a couple hours for the commute back.

“Carlo!” Dawn’s voice rose as she called out over her shoulder. “See if Threading can fit Lance in right now for his suit fitting!”

Right now? Like… right now , right now?

Keith’s head snapped up, but before Lance could protest, Aoife chimed in, her voice low and measured.

“Just wait on a moment,” she started, “ Before you start dragging him out the door maybe consider his insights on the intercultural nuances.”

Lance looked to Aoife, gratitude outweighing his annoyance at her ‘Colonel’ comment from earlier.

“She’s right!” He cut in, just as another voice interrupted.

“Got Lora on the phone—would Paladin McClain be able to get to Italy within the hour?”

Dawn’s response was swift, cutting off any chance of protest. “Yes, he will!”

Lance’s stomach dropped. Italy. Now?

“We can run those details remotely,” She waved off Aoife with her hand passive aggressively inches from her nose, “ Right now the suit takes priority.”

“Dawn, I don’t think flight control is going to give me clearance for that kind of speed planet-side.” He tries, though the countering look that flashes in her eyes makes his arms drop to his sides in a half-hearted gesture of defeat.

“If you can get here from across the universe in just a few short hours, I’m sure it can take you minutes from here.”

Okay…admittedly that was a weak argument to begin with.

“We’re already behind on your suit, and it’s already hard enough to get you here with all your scheduling conflicts. I don’t want to waste you on a meeting like this. Go now, and we’ll have the cake drawn out by the end of this meeting!”

End of the meeting? Wha-So he came all this way and they weren’t even going to get any cake at all?

He had to admit, he liked Dawn, he liked that she fought for them, trying to balance what they wanted with what the Garrison demanded. But right now? He could hardly stand her.

“So,” Lance tried to hold back his disappointment and frustration, “We’ll need a second meeting for this? Isn’t that a bit excessive?” He shot a glance over at Keith, whose gaze flickered downward, shoulders dipping just enough for Lance to notice. Heart going heavy it—tipped something over in Lance.

All in all, in his mind, he knew he shouldn’t make a big deal about this…but all he could feel was the years’ worth spent juggling work and wedding planning, of the constant back and forth commute, Dawn and Aoife’s ear-grating bickering, and the weight of the endless wedding binder. When was the last time either of them even held a conversation that wasn’t about this stupid wedding that was more and more a publicity stunt for the Garrison than anything else at this point?

He was tired. He was irritated. And he just wanted one nice moment with his fiancé . Just one nice evening, eating cake together, and hopefully watching one perfect slice change Keith’s life. Was that really so hard to ask for?

“You know what? No.” His voice rose, firm and honed to an edge. “We’ve already settled on dates and a timeline. I know I’m holding us back on a few things, but you also can’t just keep adding more dates to the schedule because you two care more about arguing with each other than actually getting things done!” His resolve settled in with the fire behind his words. “I’m staying.” He exhaled sharply. “If that’s what it takes to keep you guys on track, and finish this to completion, then so be it. You think Keith here has endless time at his disposal too? We’re seeing this through— now .”

Keith placed a firm but gentle hand on Lance’s shoulder. His gaze met Lance’s wearing an expression he could probably draw from memory by now. Solidarity. “Lance has a point.” Keith certified.” We can’t keep adding more meetings every time something doesn’t go exactly as planned. Like you said, it’s already hard enough to coordinate our schedules and right now you have both of us here.”

Lance could melt. He could dissolve and be condensed, absolutely nothing left of him but a puddle of love and affection. However, Dawn didn’t give him a chance to even test the theory.

“There won’t be a second meeting.” Dawn settled. “The cake samples are already all freeze-preserved. There are enough slices for each of you to take with you. The flavor can be decided on in your own time.

“And as for the design…we’ll be sure to finish it by the end of today. But you’d be saving us a lot of time by getting your measurements and inputs out of the way with the tailor. And I’d like to get some more buffer room for you in case we need any last-minute alterations… Regarding any future delays…” She paused.

If Lance’s frustration was a wildfire then hers was a solar flare.

“It might be worth suggesting to the Garrison to send in someone a little more competent and a lot more efficient…for this sort of thing.”

Aoife who had already started to pale at Lance’s reproach, now appeared like how Lance imagined a polar bear might look after its job security was threatened.

“On my mother’s memory, once you reverse the preserving process, it will taste as if you’ve plucked it from my very hands!” The patissier chimed in rather unhelpfully.

“Great.” Lance remarked. Yet another moment stolen by duty, and responsibilities.

Just wonderful.

He started to lift his hand to pinch at the bridge of his brows when the patissier caught it and clasped both of Lance’s hands in his own. Lance barely registered what he was trying to do until his mind finally made sense of the frantic handshake.

“I have to just say before you go, it is such a pleasure to meet you most of all Mr. McClain! Truly, truly, tru~ly a great great honor! I was just telling your fiancée how you saved my village during the—”

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Dawn cut in, her tone clipped. “But right now, we’d prefer to respect Mr. McClain’s time.”

Lance blinked, a half-formed retort already rising to his lips before he caught himself. “It’s alright, Dawn!” He said with a sheepish smile. Like a second skin, Lance slipped into his public figure persona, matching the man’s enthusiasm with a firm grip. “Think I can afford to get to know our star chef here!”

He laid thick the compliments and gratitude, which he found easy enough, given that he had been excited to try his cakes.

Before long, Lance got to hear how cool he looked taking down a destroyer drone that targeted a remote village during the Galra attack, way back when.

The man’s voice trembled recalling the helpless fear, gutting him as he yelled after Garrison fighter jets streaking just ahead towards the major nearby city. Too far to help his family and neighbors as they dodged enemy fire.

It wasn’t unlike the countless stories Lance had heard before, yet he couldn’t stop the prickling behind his own eyes, just as the patissier’s tears fell, raw and reflective. The intensity of the moment, however, might have been slightly abated by the man’s iron grip; which was starting to bite painfully into Lance’s skin.

Despite still being a bit damp from the rain, he pulled out his pocket square and offered it to him. Briefly, wondering if it sounded arrogant to joke about signing it for him after he was done—though at that point Dawn was already shoving him out the door.

Umbrella in hand, Keith trailed after, announcing that he’d walk Lance to his Lion to keep him from getting soaked again. And Lance tugs him out the door before anyone could point out the extras in the umbrella stand at his feet.

With the swiftness of a flicking switchblade, Keith popped open the umbrella, and Lance was at the ready, swiping it from his hand before he could hold it steady, like a true gentleman.

Keith’s expression flickered wide, before shifting into a type of tentative levity that didn’t quite hold the same familiar fire Lance was used to seeing when he did something unexpectedly chivalrous—it felt distant, muted.

Lance watched him for a beat longer, sensing the way Keith settled into his touch, but he didn’t lean into their interwoven hands. Just a bit worrying— usually clinging extra hard to the excess of Lance’s heat when his hands were that cold.

Lance tightened his grip just a fraction as they moved deeper into the storm and the early winter air.

Really, he should have been nagging Keith by now for not bringing a proper winter jacket, so they could have waddled their way back huddled beneath it. But he looked less open to any of Lance’s usual antics for tonight.

In general, Keith was more prickly when he was cold, and maybe Lance was a bit too tired, himself, to try to tease those quills with any real finesse.

Especially in that downcast gaze of his staring light-years away, with a dimness of dwindling embers. Despite his presence feeling like standing next to an open flame— steady and easing, doing a much better job shielding them, than Lance was on his side.

An ache drilled itself a pit into Lance’s chest.

He subtly tilted the umbrella more to Keith’s side—a small automatic gesture that somehow made him feel just a bit more pathetic. As if this was all he could do right now.

He’d been the one who pushed more heavily to make their wedding this big, grand thing, insisting they deserved nothing less. And though Keith had his own reasons for agreeing to it, here he was—flailing while Keith quietly held everything together, never once complaining. Not-a-once.

All Lance had done was complain…and miss half the meetings, stuck on the other side of the known universe…it’s why he had so badly wanted to plan something special-something just a little memorable. But now, even that felt like another hollowed-out promise.

That was getting a bit too common for his liking these days. Guilt drilled deeper further down to the pit of his stomach. It felt like it might hollow him out completely.

He gathered some of his thoughts as they halted at a signaled crosswalk, watching the blinking red light reflecting off the wet road, expelling a rather loud breath—Not entirely sure what was about to come out of his mouth.

When in doubt, start with the basics.

Keith was already watching him expectantly. Just the sight of him framed by the backdrop of cascading rain from the umbrella’s edge, made the words spill out a bit easier in their small, intimate bubble.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, giving Keith’s hand a gentle squeeze, hoping it carried some of the weight and sincerity he couldn’t quite express. “I keep dropping the ball on you, leaving you with all the heavy lifting.

“I know it’s unfair, I know it’s a lot…so thank you for being so great and keeping everything on track. I wanted to express that better, especially today, but instead, I’m stuck playing catch up and probably going to bore you with cultural theories instead for the next couple of hours.”

He managed a small smile before adding, “But I do promise I’ll make it up to you too somehow. Once this sect is over I’m going in one hundred and twenty percent! I swear it!”

When the pedestrian light turned, Lance nudged his fiancée forward, noticing a faltering hesitation in Keith’s step.

“Where’s this coming from?” He frowned, eyes narrowing, searching his face.

Okay…so maybe Lance’s rambling hadn’t quite hit its mark. He tries again, channeling his Keith-speak. “You…just look like you’ve been ejected out of the wrong end of a wormhole, and I know it’s because I haven’t been here to help you steer through…all this.”

Lance honestly couldn’t tell if that landed any better, but the subtle twitch in the corners of Keith’s frown felt like a small victory in the battle against words.

Keith shakes his head, his gaze holding a bit more focus than before. “We’re both managing what we can. Even if we’re not always working at it side by side, we’re still steering through accordingly.

There’s a stubborn intensity in his tone, a quiet insistence that Lance knew well. Trying to command away Lance’s concerns before they dig in too deep.

“And you don’t have to kill yourself either trying to keep promises I don’t need from you. I don’t need one-twenty percent. "

“Then what do you need?”

Keith’s frown deepened glaringly. Lance is almost convinced he’s going to say ‘nothing’ which Lance already has his answer to that. Bu—llshi—t.

He shrugged, surprisingly, with mostly a real answer on hand. “Just be here when you can and take care of yourself.” His tone wasn’t particularly warm, and neither was his gaze as it zeroed in on Lance’s soaked clothes with something close to contempt— like he was on the verge of ordering him to strip and hit the showers— and not in a sexy way. No, in the increasingly familiar, mother-hen way that crept its way into Keith’s demeanor sometime after the war.

Not that Lance would dare point it out. That was one hill he refused to die on—only partly out of self-preservation. Mostly because of how endearing his fretting was. Not even the cold, damp weight of his suit could smother the warmth it stirred in him.

Keith’s attention flickered back to his face pointedly, eyebrow arched prophetically. He nudged Lance for good measure, signaling that he had enough of any serious talks for today. “Besides if anyone looks like they’ve just came out the wrong end of a wormhole— it’s you.”

If he had a free hand Lance would have immediately ran it through his tousled hair, recalling how someone made a mess of it earlier. “Really, I think the whole ‘battle-worn hero making a grand return to his beloved’ look suits me, actually .”

“Hmm,” Keith mused, his gaze flickering over him, unimpressed. “Who won, you or the hurricane?”

Lance scoffed, leaning in with a roguish gleam. “I made it here, didn’t I?”

Keith’s eyes darted to his lips, a fleeting motion, but Lance, being the simple man he is, did not need a second invitation. He whirled in front of his fiancé closing the distance between them; capturing Keith’s mouth with his own.

Keith was usually all teeth. Toying and nipping wherever he could sink them. Now it’s not so relentless or unrestrained. It was slow—lingering, desperate.

Electricity battered down Lance’s spine; lighting a fire that burned through his torso and into his hands. He wrestled with the urge to pull him closer, trying not to press his clammy clothes against him in the cold. But Keith didn’t seem to care.

He tugged Lance flushed against him, holding tight, seemingly oblivious to the chill probably soaking through the shirt beneath the open folds of his lightweight jacket.

The world around them muted a bit like this. Reduced to the gentle sound of water running somewhere around them; warmth bleeding where gale and rain couldn’t claw its way between them.

Pulling back just enough to look into Keith’s eyes, Lance grinned, mischief overcoming him. “See? I won.” His voice dropped to a whisper, rich with reverent, already leaning in for another—then another. “For you, I’d cross the universe every day if you asked me to.”

Keith brushed his thumb along Lance’s jaw, a sound rolling out of him, like a purr of an engine rumbling past Lance’s parted lips. He licked over the warmth it left behind, savoring its distinct taste of resonance.

It was a far cry from where they began, a thought that swirled briefly before Keith angled to rest their foreheads together, disarming him of any further thoughts entirely.

“I’m glad you’re here—”

Lance’s ringtone cut savagely, and rather rudely interrupting him, like an obnoxious alarm clock capsizing them out of a dream. He reached for it, seriously considering just chucking it out of sight, when a flash caught in his periphery— not lightning.

Looks like some tabloid scored themselves a cover photo ; and from the irked sidelong glare on his face, Keith noticed too.

Though they weren’t necessarily concerned about paparazzi money shots—aside from the general annoyance. It usually meant an added surprise to their schedule from their friends at PR-A la Garison. No doubt perfectly overlapping his lunchtime—and Keith’s dinner—once he got back to the Tzerlans.

Awesome .

With a deep sigh, Lance begrudgingly pulled back, unable to find his earpiece in his pockets. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, freeing at least one hand to lazily smooth down the more errant strands of Keith’s bangs reluctant to sever the connection from the moment entirely.

“Yes, Dawn.” He chirped sweetly; irritation clawing up his throat, sharp and tangible, like a round seated in its chamber, ready to lash out.

“You forgot the Binder.”

Lance groaned, swearing under his breath. “Seriously?”

“I can grab it for you.” Keith offered, unsurprisingly able to hear the other end probably as crisply as Lance’s own ears.

More surprisingly, apparently so could Dawn.

“YOU’RE STILL NOT AT YOUR LION!”

Lance stuppered, rubbing at his lobe, which burned like it had been punched. “I-ah-I’m about to launch right now actually.” He winced. Definitely, not believable . “Just… parked a little far off. You know, city life and giant lions don’t mix well.”

He tries to end the call, but Dawn holds him to lecture about being respectful and to call after the tailor gets everything he needs from him.

Lance barely registered much else before noticing something like ash floating in the air. His gaze flickered upward, and his focus slipped entirely as he interrupted abruptly— something about signal interference with his lion before cutting the line.

“Holy shit, it’s snowing!” He blurted, all his frustrations forgotten as he dropped the umbrella. Thick clusters of flurries spiraled around them, erratic and alive. Keith looked up, just as a strike of lighting lit up behind the cloud.

Lance watched Keith’s lips part slightly, his eyes reflecting the pale glow of the lightning. Thrill struck him like a live wire as a distant memory surfaced—a planet far from here, where they’d last encountered snow together…Or at least, something with its resemblance. However, the coal-like lumps there had been underwhelming. Nothing like the delicate, crystalline patterns he had once seen on Earth.

Something he’d vowed to show Keith in person one day. What were the odds of the timing? And lightening! He sent a quick thank you out to the universe for handing him the perfect chance to stage a comeback.

Lance set the umbrella down. “Give me your hand,” He instructed and was only given a puzzled look once it was in his grasp. He turned it palm out and gently lifted it into the air to let the snow gather in his palm.

He spared only a fleeting thought for any more cameras lurking about; deciding to let them take as many pictures as they wanted. The damage was already done, and he’d like the memento anyway.

“What are you doing?”Keith asked, his tone caught between distrustful and exasperated, as Lance settled behind him grabbing his other arm.

“Obviously I’m too hot,” He jeered, lowly. Tilting his head to nuzzle his cheek against the side of his hair; his breath warm against Keith’s ear. “It’ll melt the second it gets near me.”

Lance could only see the tail end of the curl of his mouth as Keith gave a small snort. “That’s your excuse?”He leaned a bit further back and tilted his head to give him a knowing look.

“It’s not an excuse; it’s the laws of science,” Lance said matter-of-factly, “Now do you wanna see some real snow or no?”

There was a moment of pause, in which Keith just gazed at him. His expression shifting to something unreadable and searching. As though starting to shift through those dusted memories himself. Lance could see the recognition catching up as he turned back to the sky, another sharp flash of lighting brilliantly illuminating the storm clouds in the distance.

“I didn’t know that could happen,” Keith murmured, tone somewhere between wonder and suspicion.

Feeling a bit devilish, he bit back a laugh, “Wow—hey, do you think the clouds are plotting something?” He asked, tone grave.

Keith slid him a flat look, deadpan. “Dunno, should we go interrogate them?” A lopsided smile sneaks its way past his dry humor, and a faint exhault escapes him, curling into smoke.

Without another word, he settled, resting his head against Lance’s jaw. Letting himself be used as a personal snow catcher, rather content with taking the role if the wide grin spreading about him was anything to go by.

Lance guided Keith’s palms out invitingly; however, most of the snowflakes whirled past, rather shy or apprehensive about settling on the skin.

The quiet moment stretched, and not a single flake found itself yet in their grasp. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Keith lamented after a while. Breaking through the stillness with a half-hearted sigh.

“Yeah, but I don’t think Italy has snow— or fiancé ’s right now, so I’m not much in a hurry.” Lance grinned, tilting a bit of pressure against his partner’s temple. " Why? Trying to get rid of me, already?”

“Trying to save you from Dawn’s wrath actually, when she sees tomorrow’s papers.”

Lance sucked air through his teeth, as one really large cluster spiraled past, evating their reach. “I happen to have a lot of experience with firecracker personalities. Getting married to one actually.”

“Might be harder than you think. I don’t think you’re her type.”

“Ouch, babe. Way to kill a man’s confidence,” Lance said, faining injury with a wince. “Here I thought I was a universal taste.”

“A universal pain in the ass.” Keith huffed.

“Okay, now you’re just fishing.” Lance raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his lips. “But fine, I’ll bite ‘cause you’re cute. " He made a show of clearing his throat. “That’s exclusively all~ll your’s baby—happy?”

Keith’s lips twitched, “Hmm, doesn’t usually take so much effort to pry something like that out of you. What gives?”

“Excuse you! Are you implying I’m easy?”

“No…just really, really charming.”

“If you’re trying to distract me with sweet talk, just know—it’s working. You’ll never get rid of me now—”

Finally one landed right into their waiting grasp at the hollow of Keith’s hands. Lance guided them to take a closer look at the feathery cluster, that looked so light and airy, appearing like it was about to float away in the wind.

They leaned in, catching the light, showing a glimmer of fragile entanglement of glassey shapes around the outer edges of the melting mound. They watched marveling, and he could feel Keith go still, holding his breath, as if he was afraid even the slightest exhale would risk disturbing it, making it vanish all that quicker.

When it disappeared, Keith turned to him with a wide expectant grin—bright and open, like a kid wanting to be swept up again, ready for another spin. It was impossible not to be drawn into it, his own pretenses melting away like the snow dissolving against the heat of his skin. Until everything made sense again. Until everything felt easy and simple again. Just the two of them, in the cold snow.

Lance couldn’t resist obliging, reaching out with open hands for them to try again, the snow orchestrating its escape around them. Still, they managed to catch a few more delicate flakes that lingered for only a heartbeat— there and gone again.

“They look like the paper ones,” Keith said. Referencing the paper snowflakes they made with Lance’s cousins for their art project.

“Much nicer than the cotton balls, don’t you think?” A knowing smile tugged at his lips, his voice light with the double meaning that he trusted Keith to catch. " What did you think they looked like?”

“I don’t know—like white sand maybe.”

“I used to think it would look and taste like powdered sugar,” Lance admitted. “Imagine my disappointment when it was just cold and hard to catch, but…think it grew on me.” With that, he tilted his head back sticking out his tongue, breath curling into the cold air. Keith stared at him for a beat and followed suit. Not even a second later, he made a noise of surprise triumph. “Ah-y cau’gh one!”

Lance joined him, calling in his own muffled noises of victory, mentally noting how much more easier this was than trying to catch them with their hands. When his gaze drifted down, the sight of Keith grinning widely, with his tongue sticking out, was too much. Uncontrollable laughter took over, spilling in a cloud of breath as he tightened his arms around Keith, shaking both of them with the force of it.

Keith shifted in his hold, now facing him and pressing his cold nose into his neck; huddling there, the last of his resistance crumbling as he visibly quaked against the relentless cold.

Lance tried to warm him, his hands darting up and down his arms and back, his breath concentrating steam to his pink ears. He didn’t even mind when Keith pressed his fingers at his armpits, holding them down firmly to trap in whatever heat he could seal.

He knew he was probably making it worse, all things considered. And knew he’d have to be the one to pull them apart— because if it were left to his stubborn fiancé , he’d keep them there until historians unearthed their ice-encased bodies.

Still, Lance didn’t move right away. The moment feeling too short, and tomorrow too near.

“Sorry, we didn’t get to try the cakes together.”

“We’ll eat them together next time,” he replied easily. “It was more about coming to see you anyway.”

Keith hummed, “I know.”

Lance shifted slightly, starting to pull back, regretting it already as the air bit savagely in the spaces that used to be Keith. He didn’t linger after that, pulling them hurriedly against the wind toward the direction of his lion—barely remembering the umbrella at their feet.

He tried to preserve some heat in his fiancé ’s hands, blowing puffs of breath into one before focusing attention to the other as they walked. Occasionally, pressing a quick kiss to his iced tips—minutely aware of where they’d just crawled out from and not caring in the slightest.

In his own way, Keith seemed to distract him too. “Do you actually remember where you’re supposed to go after this?”

Lance blinked, almost wanting to be offended. He’s not that scatterbrained! “Uh—yeah, totally. To the tailor’s, obviously.”

“Address?”

“Okay, maybe not totally .” He remarked. He hands over his phone for Keith to record himself in his voice notes.

“What would I do without you?”

“Probably left holding over an entire country,” Keith teased, handing him back the device.

xxx

He’d dropped Keith off as close to the patisserie as he could without drawing Dawn’s attention, keeping humor present in their conversation until the moment came for goodbye

Which wasn’t really a goodbye. They’d see each other home soon enough and fall asleep in each other’s arms. A month would pass, and they’d do the same for many more nights.

He rubbed his thumb absentmindedly over the familiar rough texture of his engagement ring. Only to notice it glowing, the feel of it pulsing under his skin just barely distinguishable under the hum of Reds flight—but there it was. And Lance held it receptively.