The Best Klance Fanfictions

it was storming outside

It'd been longer than a year. They'd all met up recently - celebrating the day of Allura's sacrifice on Altea - and things had felt normal, for a little while. Better. Which was when Keith realized that Lance did better with them. Back home, he had his family and his farm, but it wasn't the same. They couldn't relate to Lance's experiences the way his team could. And it probably wasn't Keith's job, wasn't his problem to interfere with, but...

Well, he was a fool in love. Even after all this time.

That's why he could be found standing on the front porch of the McClain's house at two in the morning in nothing but thin, Galran travel-wear. He could admit, he wasn't really the best with calculating time differences and allotting travel time and stuff like that. He was pretty used to wormholing, after all. He'd really thought it'd be the middle of the afternoon when he got here.

It didn't take a genius to realize he couldn't knock, though. That'd be horribly rude, and he didn't want to wake up Lance's family. They were nice people.

Still, it was pretty fucking cold out when he wasn't wearing a jacket or anything. He hadn't thought to bring a bag, mostly because this decision hadn't been a thought out one. It'd been a bit more reminiscent of his earlier days of Voltron, the ones where an impulsive thought would grip him and he'd be halfway through completing it before he even began to consider it.

He wasn't a former paladin of Voltron for nothing, though. He'd fought for time and space and won, so finding which room was Lance's and climbing in through the window wasn't that big of a deal. At least, that's what he told himself as he marched around the house and found a decent looking tree. He definitely managed to scrape his chin on one of the branches as he pulled himself up, and he nearly fell out of it entirely as he scooted along one of the thin branches towards the room, but he managed to keep his balance. Which was probably a good thing, after all. His lion might've come barging through the house in order to make sure Keith didn't twist his ankle otherwise.

From there, it was a simple matter of tip-toeing along the roof and peering into the windows like a creep to figure out which one was Lance's. In the end, it was easy. His window was already open, a gentle breeze creeping into the room while Lance laid there buried under what looked to be about seven blankets.

Easy peasy. Keith would just climb in, lay down on the floor or something, and hope Lance didn't wake up and freak the fuck out when he realized there was an intruder in his room.

Keith's plan was thrown out the window as he tumbled in the window. His foot caught on the ledge and he gasped as he practically flung himself onto the bed, landing on top of Lance and blinking at the sudden pressure of a bayard against his temple.

"Don't shoot," he said meekly, trying to smile at Lance, who was blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"Keith?" he finally managed, incredulous. "What are you - is this a dream?"

"No, it's not a dream," Keith said, finally dislodging Lance's weapon from his face. "Why, dream about me often?"

Lance reached out and shoved him, and then he pulled him in for a hug, and then he shoved him again. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Keith shrugged. "I just... had a feeling?"

Lance was shaking his head, looking amused and happy and concerned - probably for Keith's health. "How long are you staying?"