Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron.

Candlelight

He indulged, as he did every morning, in the comfort of ritual. Slowly, he let his consciousness slip back into his body. He was warm, he was alive. Wakefulness spread throughout him, trickling slowly into his limbs. He kept his eyes closed, in spite of the sunlight dancing by the bed. He could feel himself smiling.

Though he was infused with energy, he did not move, just lay there, reacquainting himself with his senses, and trying to connect now to the memory of the night before.

Candles? He sniffed again. Yes, there had been candles. He could still smell the charred scent of the wax, the matches. He could remember staring into their flickering light.

He frowned a bit at the thought, then relaxed again. There wasn't any danger nearby.

Not with the body curled behind him, one heavy arm over his waist. Smiling, he snuggled back, into his lover's warmth.

His mouth tasted slightly fuzzy, that peculiar after-effect he associated with wine. Wine? Had there been wine? And how much? Concentrating on last night only made it more elusive, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and let it come as it would. Yes, he could remember the wine, tingling pleasantly on his tongue. He could remember . . . it became blurry. But his head wasn't pounding, as it usually did from a wine hangover.

It occurred to him that the breathing behind him was wrong somehow. Too deep? Too slow? He couldn't tell, but he just knew it was wrong. The body felt different, too . . . taller than his lover, leaving him feeling dwarfed.

It was definitely time to open his eyes. Blinking, he did so.

"What the hell?" He sat bolt upright, amazed. This wasn't his room, wasn't Keith's room . . .

"Sven. Calm down." A deep voice spoke from behind him, one he knew well. Slowly, he turned.

Hunk lay behind him, propped up on one elbow. His eyes were clear, looking at Sven steadily, meeting his stunned gaze.

Sven's eyes were drawn down in spite of himself, to rove over the bare expanse of Hunk's chest, tanned and muscular. He realized he'd pulled the covers off Hunk when he sat up. He wondered suddenly about his own undress, if they'd . . . done anything . . .

But no. Though he was shirtless, Sven could feel now that he still wore his pants.

"We didn't."

Sven blinked at Hunk's words, and looked back up at him. He'd never seen the other's face quite so . . . unemotional, so cold. It was unsettling. He knew Hunk had seen the sudden unease in his face, and he was ashamed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But I can't remember very much about . . ." how I got here, he thought plaintively, and why?

Hunk seemed to relax a little at his words, and pushed himself upright. "I'm not surprised," he said, smiling sympathetically. "I know you don't have much tolerance, and you did finish most of a bottle . . . You're damn lucky I still had a vial of Medley's Hangover Inhibitor. You'll be ok for now, but you'll certainly feel like hell later." His tone softened a little. "But it's twice as bad waking up somewhere you don't remember with a five-star hangover than it is without . . . and I thought . . . you might want me to tell you what happened." He had been tracing invisible whorls in the blanket, but now he glanced up at Sven, almost timidly.

Sven's gray-blue eyes were wide in disbelief. "I . . . please. Tell me. I remember . . . most of yesterday . . ." He closed his eyes as the pain washed over him again, then opened them again, feeling lost.

"Here." Hunk reached out, and very carefully, very slowly, enfolded him in his strong arms, giving Sven every chance to pull away. But he didn't; he wanted the contact, the embrace that had no strings attached. He rested his head on Hunk's shoulder. "I know what happened between you and Keith," Hunk said softly. Sven smiled as he felt the rumble coming up through the broad chest, but it didn't last long. "You did tell me . . . and you were very upset. Where would you like me to start?"

Even gently blurred by wine, the memories of yesterday still hurt. Sven could feel tears prickling at his eyelids. "Last night," he whispered. "Just . . . last night."

***

Keith entered Sven's bedroom without knocking. Sven had his back to the open door, engrossed with the schematic he was studying, and never heard his quiet tread.

"What were you doing today?" Keith's voice was soft, but Sven still jumped. Turning, trying to slow his racing heart, he saw Keith straightening a photo on the bedside table, back to him.

"You startled me." Then he smiled, looking away. "Would you believe I was running interference for Lance, so you wouldn't yell at him?"

The sound of glass shattering startled him again. The picture Keith had been holding had been slammed face first onto the table, and the glass of the frame had broken into small slivers. Sven quickly took another look, saw that Keith's shoulders were tight, the muscles in his arms quivering. Inwardly, he groaned at how he had misread Keith's tone. This was Keith at his worst, at his most furious.

"Lance doesn't need you to run interference for him!" Keith said coldly. He turned to look at Sven, and his face was white with his rage, eyes glittering.

Sven kept his own temper leashed. The way to bring Keith out of his anger was not by yelling at him, but by staying calm and letting him see how he was acting. "No," he said quietly. "I guess he doesn't at that. Lance can run his own interference." Sometimes trying to cajole Keith into a better mood with humor worked. Why is he so foul-tempered lately? Sven asked himself. I'm so sick of it.

Apparently, he'd said the wrong thing, as Keith's face abruptly flushed deep red. "And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" he asked, managing somehow to make the words sound very snide. His fists clenched at his sides, but he didn't make a move toward Sven.

Sven frowned. He had been referring to Lance's charming smile, his easygoing nature, and his ability to wheedle himself out of punishment most of the time. "What are you talking about?"

"You know very well what I'm talking about!" Keith's voice rose until he was almost shouting. "Don't lie to me!" His voice broke slightly. "Not any more!"

Sven shot to his feet, the last threads of his restraint gone. Scowling ferociously, he took a step toward Keith. He did not tower over his lover, but he was slightly taller and stronger. He knew he could very likely intimidate Keith, though he'd never hurt him. His voice very quiet, very cold, he said. "I have not lied to you, ever. How dare you say that I have?"

Then he caught the look in Keith's eye, self-satisfied, smug, and realized through his anger that Keith wanted to have a blazing row, wanted him to lose his temper. To lose his control. The very thought enraged him further. But he didn't let it show. Perversely, he decided not to let Keith have the satisfaction of the fight he so obviously wanted. In the same icy tones, he said, "Maybe we'd better wait and discuss this later, after you've had a chance to calm down." Keith gaped at him. With a brittle smile, Sven spun on his heel and swept out of his room, leaving Keith spluttering.

"You . . ." Whatever Keith might have said was lost, as Sven took the stairs three at a time down to the next level.

Sven hated being upset. Recently, for some reason, Keith was able to trouble him more and more. The best cure he knew was to get away from whatever- or whoever- was disturbing him, before he completely lost his temper. Unfortunately, that meant he spent rather a lot of time away from Keith.

It wasn't always like this, he thought sadly. He made his way out of the newly rebuilt castle, and walked quickly to the edge of the lake. He took off his shirt, and started to run through a kata, hoping to center himself again. But he felt only marginally better when he finished, so he repeated it, once, then again.

It was a couple hours before he thought he could face Keith again. I hope he's calmed down by now. He climbed up the long staircase to the level of their rooms. Sven checked his room, on the odd chance that Keith might be waiting for him. No one. Well, he thought, the next logical place would be his room . . . But he was strangely reluctant to leave. Cautiously, he swept up the shattered glass, then stood looking at the door. Finally, he shook off his hesitation, and strode down the hall.

Sven slowed as he approached Keith's door. It was slightly ajar, and he could hear Keith's voice drifting out. There's someone in there with him, he thought, and felt slightly ashamed at the relief that washed over him. Then he frowned. The tone Keith was using was soft, almost intimate, and suddenly, there was silence. Cursing himself silently for his distrust, Sven peeked in through the crack.

His heart stopped beating. It simply seized up, shriveled in pain. Keith had Lance pushed up against the wall, body to body, pelvis almost grinding. His hands held Lance's head in place while his lips savaged Lance's mouth. Lance's eyes were wide, as if surprised, but slowly, slowly, they drifted shut. His arms, which he'd had splayed out against the wall for balance, fell to his sides, but he didn't embrace Keith.

Sven turned away. Intellectually, he knew it for what it was- a ploy to make him jealous, nothing more.

But . . . that knowledge didn't keep his heart from aching at the sight of them. And . . . Keith couldn't have known when he'd come back. He'd often disappear for hours after an argument, trying to calm himself down. No, no matter how much it might seem like Keith only wanted to make him jealous, it looked more serious than that. He was having an affair, with Lance.

I can't deal with this, he thought, fighting back tears. I can't. Lance? Why? Moving carefully, feeling as if his insides were splintered like the glass, he walked away.

He'd reached the stairwell when he thought he heard Lance's voice, raised in emotion. Sven couldn't make out the words. He didn't even want to try.

Aimlessly, he wandered through the corridors of the castle, his mind consumed with Keith and Lance, that passionate kiss . . .

Sven and Lance had once been lovers, long before he'd met Keith. They'd parted amiably, and were still close friends. He'd told Lance how much he loved Keith. Lance knew, he thought distantly. He would never betray me . . . not like that, not try to steal Keith from me.

But absolving Lance left only one person to blame. And that hurt twice as much as thinking Lance would take advantage.

He was deep in the cellars of the castle when the anguish overwhelmed him. He staggered against the damp wall, breathing deeply, his eyes dry. It hurt too much even for the release of tears.

He's only doing this to hurt you, he told himself again and again, trying to think rationally. He wants you to react, he wants to have a fight . . .

But the words couldn't make their way through the blinding pain, the certainty that what he'd seen was real. He couldn't even muster the anger he knew he should be feeling.

On principle, Sven disagreed with drowning one's sorrows. He couldn't hold his alcohol nearly as well as others on the team, and that might have had something to do with it. It seemed that the stereotypical Swedish hard-headedness and tolerance for drink had skipped over him. He didn't like the sense of losing control.

But right now, none of that mattered. He knew that if he drank enough, he'd forget, for a little while, Keith's hands stroking Lance's cheeks, even as he held him steady to accept that kiss.

And he decided that that would be worth the loss of control.

***

Hunk noticed that Sven didn't appear for dinner, and wondered where he was. Keith picked at his food, occasionally glaring daggers at Lance. Lance himself affected not to notice, but Hunk knew that something had passed between his captain and the other pilot, and that it bothered Lance a great deal. Pidge took one look at them and left immediately, taking his plate to his room.

He sighed. He didn't know the details, didn't want to know, but he knew that there had been trouble between Keith and Sven for some time. He didn't want to imagine how Lance was involved, either, but knew he was.

Tensions ran high all through dinner, though nothing was said, and it tied Hunk's stomach into knots. He pushed away his half-empty plate and stood. The heavy silence continued as he made his way to the door, hands in his pockets.

He felt for Sven. Despite Lance's reputation for being hot headed, Hunk knew very well that Keith had a temper that was liable to flare at just about anything. While on the job, Keith was cool, calm, impeccably in control of the situation and the team, the model captain. Off duty, however, was another story. If Keith had decided to light into Sven . . . or do something even more hurtful . . .

Suddenly, he thought he knew just what had happened. Since Sven wasn't at supper, I'd say he caught Keith putting the moves on Lance, and disappeared, to try to get a hold of himself. He doesn't know that Lance rejected Keith. That's probably why Keith was giving Lance the evil eye. Oh, God, what a pretty little dance this is. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. Well, I suppose I'd better go see if I can find where he's meditating . . .

The elation he buried deep, deep inside. Hunk had known for a long time that he felt something more than just friendship for Sven. While Sven had been happy with Keith, he'd hidden it, not wanting to interfere. But the disagreements were becoming more commonplace. It was all too easy to hear Keith, because he argued at top volume, not caring who heard. It wasn't often that he could goad Sven into shouting back, but it happened from time to time. He wasn't happy any more.

And that hurt Hunk, too.

As night began to fall, he'd searched in all of the quietest places in the castle, thinking that Sven might flee there to calm himself. They were all empty. Puzzled, he stepped out onto a balcony, to catch a breath of fresh spring air, and determine where to go next. Glancing around at the castle grounds, he thought he saw a movement in what would become a garden. Peering down, he could just make out the figure of a man, and even as he watched, the man slumped beneath a tree. When the figure seemed to cradle his head in his hands, Hunk knew who it was. Immediately, he was dashing from the balcony, heading for the gate.

What he found rather shocked him.

Sven was seated beneath the tree, smiling blankly up at the first stars. In one hand, he held a goblet, half full of some dark liquid. Between his knees on the ground, was an open bottle of wine. Hunk shook his head in dismay. Only a couple of glasses had been poured out, he thought, quickly eyeing the level of liquid in the fading sunlight. But that doesn't mean that he isn't already drunk.

Sven had heard his heavy footsteps, and, still wearing that plastered on smile, turned to look up at him. "Hunk. Come join me."

Oh, yes, Hunk thought, he's gone, and plunked down on the grass next to him. "Hi, Sven, what'cha doing?" he asked, hoping to ease into the problem.

Sven blinked at him. "I should think it's obvious," he replied, solemnly. "I'm in the process of getting hopelessly inebriated. Would you like to join me?" He held up his wine goblet. It trembled slightly.

"Not right now, thanks."

Sven shrugged, and tossed back what was left in the glass. He smiled, and shivered. Hunk imagined what it felt like, the wine warming him inside where Keith had made him cold, and felt his heart break in response. That temporary warmth would disappear all too quickly, and he'd be even colder.

"Do you . . . maybe want to talk about it?" Hunk offered hesitantly, glancing up at Sven through his bangs. "Whatever's bothering you, I mean."

"Whatever do you mean?" Sven asked with forced gaiety, pouring himself another glass. He studied Hunk over the rim as he sipped. "What makes you t-think anyt-thing's wrong?" His accent suddenly became more pronounced.

Hunk gave up pretending and looked him in the eye. "Sven. You never drink, and I find you out here with a bottle. Something is wrong. You can tell me."

Sven continued to observe him steadily. Hunk matched him stare for stare. Sven looked away first. "Not now," he replied, ill at ease. "In a little while."

"In a little while, I'm probably going to have to carry you back to the castle," Hunk offered jokingly, desperately wanting to make light of the situation.

But Sven nodded. "I'll tell you then," he said in all seriousness. "But there has to be candles."

This threw Hunk. "Candles?" he asked, confused.

"Yes. I have candles in my room. There has to be candles."

"All right."

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, to the moonrise and shadows, Hunk was startled and strangely saddened as Sven let slip his mask of iron control. The Sven that was revealed behind that mask was mercurial- morose, angry and amused in swift succession. He coaxed Hunk into conversing with him on just about every topic but the one Hunk wanted to discuss, and glared fiercely when silence descended upon them. He laughed easily at Hunk's attempts at humor, and his handsome smile was hard to resist.

The bottle was about three-quarters empty when abruptly, Sven pulled himself gracelessly to his feet. Hunk gaped up at him for a moment, then jumped up himself as Sven started to sway. Sven leaned heavily into Hunk's arm around his shoulders. "I tink I'm ready to tell yu now," he slurred, smiling up at his support. "Let us go get candles." Just as suddenly, he staggered out of Hunk's arm, tottering as he tried to pick up the bottle. He missed the neck three times before finally getting a hold of it. Grinning triumphantly, he turned to face the castle, overbalancing, overcorrecting, but managing to stay upright.

Shaking his head, Hunk slid his arm around Sven's waist to help him stay that way, and guided him back to the castle. He deftly slipped the wine bottle from Sven's fingers, as Sven flung one arm over Hunk's shoulders, still grinning. He was no lightweight, Hunk thought, trying to distract himself from the man he held, his nearness, his warmth.

Hunk's room was nearest the top of the stairs. He lowered Sven into one of the chairs, and said, "All right, tell me where the candles are." He set the bottle and the goblet on his small worktable as Sven gave him muddled directions.

When he returned with the candles a few minutes later, Sven was pouring another glass of wine. He offered it to Hunk, who glanced at it doubtfully. "Just one," Sven said, still holding out the goblet. Hunk took it gingerly, looking from it to Sven and back. He slowly drained it, and handed it back. He lit a number of the candles he'd found in Sven's desk, placing them safely about the room. When he had a sufficient number, Sven nodded, and said, "Now, turn down th' light . . ."

In the dancing darkness, the air of amusement Sven had worn fell away. He sat slumped in his chair, while Hunk dragged another to the worktable. Sven stared into the flames, and said nothing for many minutes.

"Sven?" Hunk asked softly. Everything seemed louder in the darkness.

Quietly, his voice almost too calm, Sven told Hunk just what he'd expected to hear. Another fight. Storming off to calm himself. Going to Keith's room.

He paused.

"What happened, Sven?" Hunk asked, though he was sure he already knew.

"He was wit' Lance," he said, his voice breaking. "He was wit' Lance, who knows how I feel about Keit' . . ." He looked up from the candle. "Do yu really want to know what they were doing?" he asked, smiling bitterly. Hunk nodded. "Stand up."

Bewildered, Hunk did so, watching as Sven pushed himself up and lurched toward him. The wall was right behind him, and his back thudded against it as Sven fell against him hard. Then Sven's long fingers were twining in his hair, Sven's long slim body close against his chest, Sven's breath, hot and pungent with wine, against his face. His reaction was immediate, no matter how he tried to ignore it. Then he had to acknowledge it, as Sven's lips descended over his own. He closed his eyes and let the other plunder his mouth, let himself respond as he tasted the alcohol on his tongue. Of their own accord, his large hands grasped Sven's shoulders, slid down his back, and pulled him even closer.

When he pulled back, breathless, Hunk opened his eyes again. Sven's eyes were almost black in the candlelight, staring at him.

"It was like that," Sven whispered. "And it hurt . . ." He seemed unaware that Hunk still held him, their bodies pressed tightly together. He rested his head on Hunk's broad shoulder, trembling.

Hunk was embarrassingly aware of Sven's body against his, but couldn't seem to move. They were so close, pelvis to pelvis. Sven had to know of his desire.

Slowly, he realized that Sven was increasing the pressure of his hips against his own, realized that Sven, too, had been excited by the kiss, by their nearness. His hands froze on the other's back as Sven straightened, lifting his head.

Grinding his hips against Hunk's, Sven leaned in to kiss him again, his tongue demanding an entrance that Hunk willingly gave. Sven deepened the kiss with a groan, his hands still buried in Hunk's hair, pulling him even closer.

They were both gasping when Sven pulled back this time. "Hunk . . ." Hunk opened his eyes, and stared down in wonder. Sven had bent to rest his cheek against Hunk's. His fingers released Hunk's hair, and ran lightly down his neck, down his arms. "Hunk . . . I . . . I want . . ." It was half a moan, half a sob.

And it shocked Hunk back to reality in an instant.

He removed his hands from Sven's buttocks, where they had planted themselves during the kiss, and merely embraced him. "I know," he murmured into Sven's hair. "Right now, you want to hurt Keith. Don't you?" He paused, wanting a response. Sven nodded, his breath catching. "You want to hurt him the way he hurt you. But if you do this now . . . it will only hurt you. Shh, yes, it will," he went on, as Sven shook his head in denial. "If I let you do this, you will regret it in the morning, and you will regret it for the rest of your life. I don't want that to happen. Shh, it's all right." Sven began to cry against his shoulder. Hunk stroked his back, rocking him slightly as he sobbed. "It's all right. You can find Keith in the morning and talk to him. Everything will work out for the best." Sven choked at that, and Hunk had to chuckle. "Yes, I know, it's really trite, but it's true."

Saying nothing more, but humming softly in the back of his throat, Hunk let Sven cry himself out. The smaller man sagged against him heavily, trying to swallow his sobs. When his shoulders stopped shaking, Hunk eased him away, looking down into his face, somehow changed by tears and candlelight, but still beautiful. Daringly, he brushed away a few teardrops from the other's cheek with a calloused thumb, and smiled. Sven managed a faint smile in response. "All right now?" Hunk asked, and Sven nodded. "Good." He glanced around at the warm light dancing against the walls. "I've got to blow out the candles," he said, maneuvering Sven's limp body toward the bed. "Just sit down for a minute, then I'll take you back to your room."

He'd only doused one candle when he heard the thump. Spinning back to the bed, he saw Sven had slithered off onto the floor. When Hunk bent to pick him up again, he looked up, eyes wide and bright. "I c'n make it b' myself," he said, a bit petulantly. "I don' need yu t' take me if yu don' wan' me here."

"Obviously. Sven, you can't even stand," Hunk grinned and heaved him onto the bed. Then he sobered, and couldn't stop himself from stroking Sven's cheek again. "And I do want you to stay," he whispered, almost too low to be heard. "I want you . . . but not like this." Sven's eyes widened even more, and Hunk cursed silently for letting that slip out. At least, he consoled himself, he probably won't remember that in the morning.

Trying to assume a business-like air, Hunk cleared his throat and continued, "If you want, you can stay here. Let me take off your shoes. And before I forget . . ." He fished a small vial from the recesses of his headboard. "You might want to drink this."

Still staring at Hunk in drunken disbelief, Sven obediently popped open the vial and downed it. Within seconds, his eyes started to close. "Now, before you fall asleep on me . . ." Hunk deftly removed Sven's shirt, swallowing very hard at the view this presented him. "All right. Now lay down, and save some room for me." Sven was asleep before Hunk finished pulling up the covers.

***

"So I climbed in behind you after I'd blown out all the candles, and went to sleep." Hunk looked up from the blanket. He hadn't told Sven everything, holding back how deeply he felt and how close he'd come to having his way with his drunken friend. And it had been a long, long time before he'd fallen asleep, with Sven snuggled up against him.

Sven frowned at Hunk. Though he had no reason to believe that Hunk would lie to him, he still had the nagging feeling that something had been left unsaid. "Is . . . is that everything?" he asked quietly.

Hunk smiled. "If you think there's anything else, maybe you'd better remember it on your own."

There was a long moment of silence. Sven studied the wall by the bed, digesting all that he'd heard. "I'm sorry," he offered finally.

"For what?"

"For . . . everything. For losing control, even though I knew I would. For . . ." He broke off.

"For letting me see you like that?" Hunk asked softly. "It's all right. It's all right," he repeated more firmly when Sven appeared ready to protest. "What are friends for? Now, I think you need to find Keith, and talk about what happened yesterday." His brown eyes were honest and open when Sven looked up. "Go on."

Slowly, Sven pushed himself off the bed, and pulled on his shirt. That nagging feeling stayed with him as he picked up his shoes and made his way to the door. "Thank you," he said, his hand on the latch. "I . . . I . . ."

"You're welcome, Sven. Now, get going." Somehow, Sven had the sense of a caress in the deep voice.

Biting his lip, Sven left. He immediately headed down the hall and knocked on Keith's door. Keith's appearance surprised him; his face was pinched and pale, and his dark eyes were sad.

"Can I come in?" he asked uncertainly.

Keith stepped back and let him enter. Inside, he slumped upon the bed as Keith closed the door and leaned against it.

"I'm sorry." Keith's voice was very quiet. "I know . . . I should have come out and said what was bothering me yesterday. But I was . . . angry, and hurt, and for no real reason, but I didn't know that then."

"Why?" Sven's voice sounded hoarse in his ears. He stared at the floor.

He heard Keith swallow. "I . . . I thought you were having an affair with Lance. You were always so open around him, laughing like . . . like you never laugh with me. I was jealous. I heard you talking and joking and laughing after practice yesterday . . . and I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I'm sorry."

Sven couldn't summon any anger at Keith. His tone was unusually contrite, as if he were really sorry this time. "Lance and I used to be lovers." He glanced up at Keith, saw him nodding. "But that was over a long time ago, before you and I ever met."

"I know. He told me that . . . after I kissed him. You saw that, didn't you." It was Keith's turn to study the floor. "He told me to stop being such an ass, because you loved me so much, and talk to you. But I couldn't find you. I was . . . afraid . . . that you . . ."

There was only silence. Keith looked up, tears standing in his eyes. "Can you forgive me?"

Sven drank in the sight of him, penitent, as he always was after a fight, and tried to form the words. But they stuck in his throat, and he could say nothing. And Keith knew, and the tears started flowing down his cheeks. He crumpled into himself, his back against the door.

"You can't. Does that mean it . . . it's over? How? How can it be over? I still love you!" His voice rose to a wail.

Sven found his feet, and embraced Keith. Together, they slid down to the floor, entwined. "I love you, too," he whispered, as the other wept against him. "But you don't trust me. And . . . I'm not sure I can trust you either." This brought a spate of harsh sobs. "Better that we know it now, and can maybe still be friends, than to hate each other later." Sven's voice broke, and he was suddenly aware that he was crying, too. But he tried to comfort Keith despite his tears, rubbing his back, stroking the long silky hair.

"I hate myself," Keith muttered after a long time. He unwound his hands from Sven's shirt and took an unsteady breath as he sat back. "I . . . I've never loved anyone like I do you, and I've driven you away."

Smiling sadly, Sven brushed Keith's flushed face. The movement triggered a memory, but he hid the flash from Keith, and drew his hand away. "Don't. I don't hate you."

"Will . . . will it always hurt like this?" Keith was not so wrapped up in his own pain that he couldn't see Sven's tears. He reached up to hesitantly cup a cheek, to return the gesture.

"It will stop eventually," was Sven's soft reply. Gently, he removed Keith's hand from his face, and stood. "Then we can move on."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Keith choked out as he opened the door.

"I'm sorry, too." The door quietly clicked shut behind him.

"I want you . . . but not like this." The words, sparked by the caress he'd given Keith, looped in Sven's mind as he stretched out on his bed. That was what Hunk hadn't told him, what he meant by remembering on his own. For an instant, he found enough emotion to be angry at Hunk for keeping this hidden, then sighed and released it. It wasn't Hunk's fault, if he thought that Keith and I would get back together . . .

But I have to let him know that I know . . . and that after I've recovered from this, I'd be willing, but he'll have to wait. Maybe this afternoon I can . . . Then he recalled that the Princess had made plans to take carts of food down into the ruins of the city nearby, and groaned. The Voltron Force would have to make an appearance.

Tomorrow, then, he decided, closing his eyes. I'll tell him tomorrow . . .

***

February 14, 2002/ © randi (K. Shepard), 2002.