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The planet was warm.
That was the first thing Keith noticed when they stepped off the transport platform and into the evening crowd.
Warm in a real way.
Not the filtered, mechanically regulated warmth of the Castle. This heat clung to skin and clothes and settled heavy in the lungs beneath drifting clouds of dust.
Dust— actual dust.
It coated the edges of vendor stalls and boots and the hems of long coats as thousands of people crowded through the sprawling market district below the city.
Above them, strings of lanterns stretched between sandstone buildings carved directly into canyon walls. Music echoed from somewhere farther down the street— loud, rhythmic, alive.
“Okay,” Hunk said immediately, “this place is awesome.”
Coran looked delighted. “The seasonal trade festivals here are famous throughout this sector! Cuisine, performances, games—”
A deafening roar interrupted him.
The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet. Another roar followed, accompanied by screaming crowds and metallic buzzers somewhere beyond the maze of buildings.
Pidge perked up instantly. “What was that?”
Another cheer thundered through the canyon.
Lance grinned. “That sounded dangerous. We should absolutely investigate.”
Keith had gone strangely quiet beside them. Shiro noticed first. Not tense exactly. Just… still. His eyes tracked toward the distant noise before flicking away again almost immediately.
Allura folded her hands behind her back. “As long as nobody starts an intergalactic incident.”
“No promises,” Lance said.
The deeper they wandered into the festival, the stranger it became.
There were food stalls selling roasted insects the size of Keith’s hand. Massive furred animals with glowing horns lumbered through fenced walkways. Crowds pressed shoulder-to-shoulder beneath colorful banners while music pounded through the streets.
Then the buildings opened suddenly into a massive arena basin carved directly into the canyon floor.
The team stopped short.
“Oh,” Hunk breathed.
The arena was enormous.
Floodlights illuminated swirling clouds of dirt while thousands of spectators packed the stands. At the center, some gigantic horned creature exploded from a gate with an unlucky rider strapped to its back.
The animal bucked violently. The rider lasted maybe three seconds before being launched into the dirt; the crowd lost its mind.
Lance lit up immediately. “No way.”
Pidge leaned over the railing. “Is this a rodeo?”
Another rider shot from the gates atop a different beast entirely— this one long-legged and reptilian, kicking hard enough to nearly flip itself sideways.
The audience screamed countdown numbers in another language. The buzzer sounded, the rider jumped free, and cheers erupted.
Coran clapped his hands excitedly. “Ah! Traditional riding competitions!”
Allura blinked slowly. “This appears deeply unsafe.”
“That’s the fun part,” Lance informed her.
Keith said nothing. Shiro glanced sideways at him again. Keith’s gaze was fixed on the arena floor with an expression Shiro couldn’t quite place.
Not discomfort. Not fear. Something quieter— distant; like he was looking at a memory instead of a performance.
A new rider entered the chute. Keith unconsciously shifted forward. Lance noticed immediately.
“Oho~” he said.
Keith looked away at once.
“What?”
“That,” Lance pointed accusingly, “was the face of a man who knows what’s happening.”
“I know what a rodeo is.”
“No, no. That was specific.”
Keith crossed his arms. “You’re imagining things.”
“Keith,” Hunk said carefully, “have you… seen this before?”
“Yes.”
“Well, obviously,” Pidge snorted.
Keith shrugged one shoulder. “Texas has rodeos.”
Lance barked out a laugh. “Please tell me tiny mullet Keith did not grow up around cowboys.”
Keith’s jaw tightened instantly.
“Don’t call me tiny mullet Keith.”
“Oh my god, he totally did.”
“Lance,” Shiro warned mildly.
But Lance was already grinning too hard.
“What, did your family own a farm or something?”
The question hit oddly. Keith’s expression shuttered almost immediately. Not angry, just closed. The team missed it— Shiro didn’t. Keith shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Something like that.”
The answer was too short. Too careful, but before anyone could press, another rider burst into the arena and the crowd erupted again. For a while, they just watched.
Hunk got invested almost instantly, cheering every successful ride. Pidge became fascinated by the mechanics of the scoring system. Coran loudly rooted for every competitor equally. Allura alternated between fascination and horror.
And Keith…
Keith barely spoke, but every so often Shiro caught him staring.
Not at the riders themselves— at the details. The leather rigging, the gates, way the riders held themselves before the release, the dirt— especially the dirt.
There was an ache in Keith’s face every time the arena lights caught it wrong. Something like homesickness.
Lance eventually noticed too— though, being Lance, he interpreted it completely differently.
“You know,” he said casually, nudging Keith with an elbow, “for a guy pretending not to care, you sure look emotionally invested.”
“I’m watching.”
“You’re brooding.”
“You always say that.”
“…Fair.”
Keith rolled his eyes and looked back toward the arena.
A new event was beginning now. Different animals. Bigger. Meaner-looking. The announcer’s voice boomed overhead while riders prepared behind the chutes.
One of the creatures slammed hard enough against the gate to rattle the entire fence. Keith’s eyes sharpened immediately. Lance caught the expression, then grinned slowly.
“No way.”
Keith instantly looked annoyed. “What?”
“You know how to do this.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You totally do.”
“I really don’t.”
Lance pointed toward the arena. “You reacted like a nerd seeing their favorite movie.”
Keith scoffed, but he looked away again, and that was answer enough.
Hunk gasped dramatically. “Wait, Keith rode cows?!”
“They’re not cows.”
Silence.
Keith froze.
Lance’s mouth dropped open. “You just exposed yourself!”
Keith muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “shit.”
Pidge looked delighted. “Dude, seriously?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Keith,” Lance said, already laughing, “there is absolutely no universe where you casually knowing rodeo terminology is not a big deal.”
Keith rubbed a hand down his face. “Can we drop it?”
“Not until I know if you wore little cowboy boots.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You definitely wore little cowboy boots.”
Keith turned sharply. “I said drop it.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Not because he sounded angry, but because he sounded embarrassed. Like actually embarrassed. Lance blinked, surprised into momentary silence.
Keith exhaled hard through his nose and looked away toward the arena again. For a second the noise of the crowd swallowed everything. Then Lance, incapable of letting anything go, leaned against the railing with a crooked grin.
“Okay,” he said. “Prove it.”
Keith frowned. “Prove what.”
“That you actually know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t care if you believe me.”
“Because you can’t do it?”
Keith shot him a flat look.
Lance smirked wider. “C’mon. If you’re secretly Space Texas Rodeo Guy, then enter.”
Shiro immediately sighed. “Lance.”
“What? I’m curious.”
Keith barked out a humorless laugh. “You want me to ride one of those?”
“Scared?”
Keith’s eyes narrowed instantly. There it was, the exact wrong word. Lance realized it a second too late. Keith stepped closer.
“I’m not scared.”
“Then do it.”
The challenge hung there. Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose. Pidge looked thrilled. Hunk looked concerned.
Keith looked back toward the arena. Toward the dirt, the lights, the riders waiting behind the gates.
Something shifted in his expression then. Something softer. Older. Like part of him was suddenly very far away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“…Okay.”
Lance’s confidence vanished immediately.
“Wait, seriously?”
Keith was already walking toward the competitor entrance.
“Keith!”
——
The team sat in stunned silence as Keith disappeared behind the arena gates.
“Well,” Pidge said eventually, “either this is about to be incredibly cool or incredibly medically concerning.”
“I was joking,” Lance said weakly.
Shiro folded his arms. “You dared Keith.”
“I know that now!”
The announcer called the next competitor. The gates near the chutes opened. Keith stepped into the floodlights. The entire team collectively forgot how to breathe.
He’d borrowed gear from somewhere behind the pens; protective vest, worn gloves, rough dark chaps over his usual clothes.
But it wasn’t the outfit that stunned them.
It was Keith himself.
Because now he moved differently.
Gone was the guarded stiffness he carried most days. Gone was the constant tension wound beneath his shoulders.
Here, under arena lights and drifting dust, Keith looked—
Comfortable. Facing forward in an impossibly natural stance, like this place made sense to him in a way most things didn’t.
An older rider near the chute said something to him. Keith answered easily. He smiled; small… real. Shiro felt something twist painfully in his chest.
Because Keith almost never looked like that anymore.
Lance stared, horrified. “Why does he suddenly have swagger?”
Hunk nodded numbly. “He has cowboy posture.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
Keith climbed onto the chute railing in one smooth movement. No hesitation. No nerves. Just sharp, focused calm.
The creature beneath him was enormous— all muscle and fury, hide gleaming beneath the lights as it slammed itself violently against the gate. Keith settled into the saddle, adjusted his grip, then lowered his head slightly.
Suddenly, Shiro could see it.
Not this Keith— a younger one.
Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Dirt on his jeans. Bruises on his knuckles. Learning this somewhere under a burning Texas sky because there hadn’t been much else to hold onto.
Something about that realization hurt.
The buzzer sounded. The gate exploded open. Chaos erupted instantly.
The bronc-like creature launched into the arena with terrifying force, hind legs kicking skyward hard enough to jolt Keith nearly horizontal; Keith moved with it perfectly. Not fighting the motion— following it.
His free hand balanced cleanly while the other held steady, body rolling with every violent twist and snap like instinct.
The crowd went insane.
Lance’s jaw dropped farther with every second.
“What the hell.”
Keith looked unreal. Hair whipping wildly beneath the lights. Dust coating his boots. Sharp eyes fixed ahead while the animal beneath him bucked hard enough to shake the ground.
Eight seconds suddenly felt impossibly long, but Keith stayed centered through every brutal kick. Like he’d done this a hundred times before. Like part of him remembered exactly how.
The buzzer sounded again.
Keith dismounted cleanly, boots hitting dirt before he ducked away from the animal with practiced ease. The arena erupted. Cheers thundered through the canyon.
And Keith—
Keith laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it was genuine. Bright enough that the entire team froze at the sound.
Because none of them realized how long it had been since they’d heard him laugh like that.
Keith rubbed a hand over his mouth afterward like he hadn’t meant to, then he glanced around the arena slowly.
The lights.
The dirt.
The noise.
And for one aching second, homesickness crossed his face so openly it nearly hurt to look at.
Not for the castle, not for Earth, but for something much smaller; hot evenings, fences, worn leather gloves— a life he didn’t talk about because maybe it mattered too much.
Then the moment vanished. Keith jogged back toward the railing while the team stared at him like he’d grown another head.
Lance spoke first.
“What.”
Keith blinked innocently. “What?”
“What do you mean what?!”
Pidge pointed violently. “Since when can you do that?!”
Hunk looked genuinely betrayed. “Man, you hid cowboy skills from us?”
Allura was still staring at the arena floor. “That looked… incredibly dangerous.”
“It was awesome,” Coran corrected immediately.
Shiro just shook his head slowly, stunned.
Keith pulled off one glove with his teeth, breathing hard from adrenaline. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were bright; he looked younger somehow— lighter.
Questions immediately crashed into him from every direction.
“How long have you known how to ride?”
“Did you compete?”
“Did your family teach you?”
“Were there actual cows?”
“Did you own a hat?”
Keith looked increasingly overwhelmed by the barrage. Then, quietly— almost defensively— he muttered, “I told you I’m from Texas.”
The group fell silent.
Because suddenly the pieces fit together in ways they hadn’t before.
Keith’s stubbornness. His comfort with rough work. The way he carried himself. The old scars. The loneliness in his face when he watched the arena.
Not just some random Earth upbringing. A real one. A human one. One he almost never talked about.
Lance stared at him for another second before grinning helplessly.
“Okay,” he said. “That was objectively the coolest thing you’ve ever done.”
Keith snorted softly. His gaze drifted back toward the arena again— toward the riders preparing behind the chutes, toward the dust hanging gold beneath the lights. Then quietly, almost too quiet to hear beneath the roar of the crowd, he admitted something.
“…Feels kinda like home.”