Fusion. A Klance Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Keith was one human cross Galra who, in comparison to the Castle of Lions, was minuscule. There were so many different rooms and hiding places that meant, at any given time, it was next to impossible to find all of the paladins at once. They could be anywhere from the multiple training rooms or kitchens to the extensive libraries or dormitories. It was any child's dream location for a game of hide and seek with countless options for hiding places that could make the game last forever. Keith liked it because he could be alone. When he felt an oncoming meltdown, he could easily hide himself away in one of the desolate storage rooms so he could brood and not have to interact with anyone. It made it so much easier to hide the discomfort that constantly ate at him, waiting for its moment to drop a load of emotion on him to cause a meltdown.

One of the drawbacks of travelling in a cool spaceship with cool aliens was the food. It wasn't like Keith could go to one of the space malls and ask for a bag of Cheetos (as much as he wanted to). That left Keith and his fellow paladins with a delicacy Lance had coined 'space goo'. Exactly as the name implied, it was runny and sticky, just like goo. The consistency reminded Keith of porridge; something Keith detested even thinking about. It made his stomach flip and tempted the rise of bile in his throat, though that was a feeling Keith's words couldn't sufficiently describe.

Once Keith realised the goo was all he had as a means of energy up in space, he tried it. He sat down in the dining room in between Lance and Allura with a bowl of the stuff in front of him. If the many foster homes he had lived in had taught him anything, it was that he needed to hide when he felt the first signs of a meltdown coming. As Keith stared into the green goo (it looked like something that belonged in his nose), all he wanted to do was run but he didn't. Instead, he gripped his Altean cutlery and scooped it up. Lance was right beside Keith, eating the goo as if it really was a bag of Cheetos. If he could do it, so could Keith. Lance always made the point to make everything a competition so Keith tried, deciding he was going to 'beat' Lance at dinner.

Trembling hands lifting the goo towards his mouth, Keith thinned his eyes into a glare. Forget Zarkon and the Galra, his worst enemy was a bowl of goo. The spoon edged towards his mouth and, for a brief second, Keith thought he could do it. He closed his eyes and imagined he was running towards a Galra with his sword in his hand, the food the enemy. All he needed to do was eat it and then the intergalactic battle would be over and he would be victorious in his rivalry with Lance. His lips locked around the utensil but, as soon as the goo hit his tongue, he wanted it OUT.

It was too smooth; too soft. He couldn't chew it and it gathered on his teeth like the disgusting toffees some of his foster grandparents used to give him from the bottom of their handbags. They always tasted so warm and gross that Keith felt obliged to spit them out as soon as he could. Keith dropped his spoon and excused himself from the table. He had to get it out. He had to get it out. He had to get it out. As soon as Keith was safe in the bathroom, he spat it out. Without thinking much, Keith grabbed his toothbrush and scrubbed at his tongue, just so he could get every last bit of the goo out.

He hated the texture. He liked a crunch or something he could actually chew without getting it all in his teeth. He didn't like anything that stuck to his teeth.

After that day, Keith decided food goo wasn't for him which created an abundance of issues.

Firstly, the questions. Keith knew it was better to lie about how he felt. Back in the foster homes, if Keith had had a meltdown or even mentioned something making him uncomfortable, he'd have been kicked out. Either that or they'd hurt him. That just made everything a million times worse and Keith hated it. So, when Hunk asked why he never showed up to meals, Keith lied. He was quite good at lying. It was a skill he once didn't understand but had acquired over the years. Practice did, after all, make perfect.