okay but the crew stops at a planet for a diplomatic mission, but as they step off of the ship, it immediately starts to pour.
The inhabitants of the planet come running out - the rains a sign of good luck and fortune in their culture - and greet them enthusiastically. Lance tries to remember he’s a paladin. Tries to remember he has a job to do. tries to remember he has a reputation to uphold. Tries to remember that one wrong move could ruin this whole meeting.
But he can’t hold it in.
He drops to his knees in the rain, quiet sobs wracking his body as his eyes squeeze shut. Everyone around him backs up, creating their own circle far away from him, thinking that he’s happy to see the rains again. That he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after so long.
But they’re wrong.
All he can think about is his family. Sitting out on the porch with his grandmother, listening to the soft pitter-pattering of the rain while she knits or sews. Playing out in the puddles with his littlest sisters teaching them how to jump to make the biggest splash. Talking with his dad, listening to him hope that the rain doesn’t wash away the new coat of paint he just put on the house. Cooking with his mom, sharing in her hope that his siblings get home safe and sound.
But he doesn’t have that anymore.
They’re on earth. He’s on some strange planet. They’re going to school. He’s learning as he goes. They’re eating real meals. He’s eating goo. They’re together, happy. He’s alone, pretending everything’s okay. They’re living their lives, probably thinking he’s dead. Half the time he’s wishing he was.
But he has a job.
There are people who count on him. a universe that counts on him. He can’t exactly just leave them behind because the rain brings unwanted memories. No. he has to suck it up and push through.
But a hand finds it’s way to his back.
Lance doesn’t dare look up, not trusting his eyes to not allow tears to spill over, nor his ability to put on a smile and make a joke about how much of a baby he’s being. He stays still, focusing on the hand rubbing circles on his back. It’s probably Hunk. He always knows when Lance needs him, no matter how neutral his face is, or how convincing his laughter rings out.
But it’s not him.
“Take as much time as you need,” says a voice he’s become all too familiar with. A voice he’s fought with time and time again. A voice he’s dreamed about for months on end. A voice he’s longed to wake up to. A voice he’s told himself he hates just to be able to deal with the fact that its owner hates him.
But maybe he doesn’t.
Keith stays, eventually kneeling next to Lance. His hand never leaves his back. Not when Lance stops crying, nor when Lance leans onto him, eyes drooping, face void of any emotion. He stays. And Lance will hold onto that for as long as he can.