Hello! This story is Keith-centric and is written in the present tense, something I've been trying and like very much. Remember, constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

7/4/19- Happy Fourth of July! This story has been edited again, and hopefully, it's a bit better! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed :)

He hears it as he walks. The echo of voices coming from the lounge. They vary in sound, though most are loud and higher pitched. Curious, he walks towards it because every leader should know what his teammates do late at night.

Right?

Right.

As he approaches the room, he starts to hear vowels and consonants, which then form into words.

"-and it just makes me so angry, you know?" Lance.

"Hm, well, I suppose all of us were disappointed that we weren't elected leader." Pidge.

"Eh, I dunno, I was okay with it, I guess. What about you?" Hunk.

By process of elimination, and the fact Coran never actively sought out the team for late-night talks, the other person had to be-

"Well, it does not matter now. The Black Lion has chosen, and we must abide by its decision."

-Allura.

Ignoring the fact that if the team wanted him to be a part of the discussion they would have asked, he moves in closer, and settles near the door.

Lance makes a noise that has a likeness to a growl and a groan. "I know," he mutters, and Keith thinks the tone resembles a child being scolded by their mom, "but it doesn't make it any less easy to understand… or agree with."

Silence holds the room for a moment.

"Yeah, I know how you feel." Pidge breaks the silence. "But maybe not as strong as you."

Allura slowly but surely nods.

"Yes, I do understand, Lance, but we all will have to deal with it, for the sake of the team."

From his vantage point from the door, Keith sees the expressions on the Princess's face. They flit from sadness, disappointment, a facade that tries to embody a strong figurehead, and then the whole cycle repeats.

For the first time in a while, Hunk speaks up. "Just vent it out."

At the looks he's given, he wilts. "Um, well, whenever I was a little and was angry, my mom told me to vent it out. And, um, it worked. Really well. So, yeah," he awkwardly finishes.

Lance brightens up. "Thanks, man. Nothing makes me feel better than making fun of Keith!"

"Lance," Pidge reprimands.

"Hey, you've done it too! Remember when you were stuck in that junkyard with a bunch of those furry things, and you made that model of him-."

Pidge slaps a hand over his mouth. "I told you that in private with explicit instructions not to tell anyone-." By now, everyone is laughing.

Keith tries to ignore the way his body folds in on himself, hurt by the fact no one even tries to defend him.

"Okay." Lance takes a deep breath. "For one, I think his mullet is ridiculous."

Pidge snorts. "As if your hair is any better."

At this, Lance fakes a hurt expression. "Pidge, my hair is the embodiment of perfection itself. In fact, I've had many a lady swoon over it-"

"Okay, okay, we get it."

"Fine." He pouts. "Hm, what else, what else… oh yeah! He thinks he's so perfect. Always being the best at everything, and acting like it's nothing!"

"Well," Hunk offers, "he does train a lot… like every day. For several hours. At a time. No breaks."

"Exactly my point! Always training, like he has to prove something. Like he has to shove it in our face that he's so much better at everything."

Allura laughs. "Lance, it sounds like you are jealous."

"Never," he gasps.

Pidge decides to intervene before he can rant some more. "Well, I guess I'll contribute something, too. He can be really aloof, and sometimes it comes off really rude, and he doesn't get any jokes, or analogies, or anything! It can be pretty frustrating," she confesses.

Hunk's eyes sparked in recognition. "Oh yeah, remember that party? 'I say Vol-, you say -tron, Vol-"

"-tron!" Lance yells back, shaking in laughter. "He was so confused. He was like, "Voltron? But it makes no sense!"

Everyone dissolves into fits of giggles.

Keith decides he's had enough. He quickly leaves his hiding spot, and a small whoosh of air is the only thing that signals his leave.

Back in the lounge, someone's head lifts up upon seeing the door move ever so slightly.

Keith swiftly walks away. He doesn't know where his feet are taking him, only that he has to get away, away from that, away from everything.

He finds himself at Shiro's door. He hesitates, then pushes it open, almost scared of what's inside.

The room is precisely the way Shiro left it: tidy bookshelves, a clean desk, and a freshly made bed. The organized fashion of the space reminds Keith of the Garrison, and how Shiro's old living quarters were impeccably tidy as well.

Suddenly overcome by a rush of painful memories, Keith rushes in and snatches a pillow. He sits on the floor, back against the bed.

As he buries his head in the pillow, he realizes it smells like Shiro.

He begins to sob.

A/N

Not gonna lie, I teared up a bit writing that last part. PM if you think a second chapter would nice (if you didn't catch it, I snuck in a little sentence that would work well for a continuation) and if so, who you'd like to be the one to talk to him. Reviews are always appreciated!