Chapter Text
“You’re eating yogurt, for Christ’s sake. Who just does that?”
“Okay. Is there something you would like to talk about?” Lotor lowered the spoon and regarded his company with worry written onto his features. “You’ve been following me around for several varga now, staring at me and just... muttering.”
“Well, yeah. I’m observing you.”
“Why?” Lotor placed his container of flavored colloidal sustenance – key lime, because of course he would like the grossest flavor – on the table and stared back, concerned and maybe slightly fearful. “Have I done something to anger you?”
"Mm." A noncommittal hum.
A potential explanation crossed Lotor's mind, and he brightened slightly at the familiarity of the possibility. “Perhaps is this simply an Earthling ritual in which you inflict discomfort and unease onto your allies as a demonstration of power? The Galra have something similar, called the ghob-baj ngup, meaning 'fight for power.'"
“Uh-huh.”
That didn’t sound convincing. Lotor tried again. “Or... maybe it’s an initiation to test my resolve and inner strength? Ancient Alteans had a ritual like that called the zii'suum vetras, or 'spirit challenge'. It's rather similar to the ghob, actually, but from what Allura has told me and what I have read, it doesn't usually go as far as bloodshed."
Lance narrowed his eyes into beady little slits of suspicion. “Yeah. Sure. Something like that.”
“Well, may I please be considered initiated?” Lotor pleaded, picking up his container of flavored colloidal sustenance once again. “You’re really starting to creep me out.”
Lance merely made a noise from the back of his throat, a low almost-growl, offering no other response.
Lotor uneasily scooted his stool away from the countertop and backed away, only turning his back to Lance once he passed the threshold to the kitchen.
When Lance also rose from his stool, Lotor began to briskly jog, throwing frightened glances back over his shoulder.
“Well,” Lance announced to the empty hallway, scuffing his shoe against the smooth, clean floor, “that got me absolutely nowhere.”
A snort echoed against the eerily quiet walls. “Wow, can’t believe it. Stalking someone will only freak them out. I never would have thought.”
“Oh, shut up, Keith,” Lance retorted. “You didn’t have any ideas, so at least I did better than you.”
“Yeah, better at getting kicked out of Allura’s lab, maybe.” Keith leaned back against the wall, equally smooth and pristine as the floor, and folded his arms. “As long as Lotor hides out in there, you can’t chase him around anymore, so your plan is busted. What now, Sherlock?”
“Good question.” Lance cupped his chin thoughtfully, face scrunching up as he wracked his brain for more brilliant ideas. “For starters, what makes Lotor more irresistible than me?”
“Well, for starters, he’s not a stalker. Seems pretty irresistible to me,” Keith remarked, letting his head fall back until it hit the wall with a gentle thud.
“Dude, for the last time, I wasn’t stalking, I was–" Lance cut himself off with a frustrated groan. “Oh, never mind.” With a deep sigh, he let his head thunk back against the wall, striking the wall with a much rougher thump, and stared up at the ceiling.
Keith’s features softened as he looked over at Lance. “Sorry,” he said, observing the side profile of Lance’s distressed face, squinting a little in the dim light. The castle power reserves automatically diverted light only to occupied areas, conserving power by turning lights on only as needed, and they'd been standing still for so long, only the teal highlights along the floor illuminated them now. “You just make it too easy.”
Lance huffed, nostrils flaring. He cracked his eyes open, glimpsing over at Keith from the corner of his eye. “So, what I'm hearing is you’re just mean.”
Keith cracked a smirk. “Something like that.”
He turned his eyes back toward the windows they leaned across from, the endless stretch of black space greeting him. “Maybe that's it. Maybe Allura is into Lotor because he’s secretly mean and you’re just too nice.”
“What, like... a masochist?” Lance crinkled his nose. “I dunno. She doesn't seem like the type.”
Keith shrugged. “Then maybe she likes him because they share the same interests. They’re both interested in Altean culture and alchemy and stuff. Or maybe she just likes a guy who she can relate to? They’re both from a different time. I’m gonna guess it’s pretty hard to find someone else who's been alive for that long. And they’re both royalty, too. Maybe he gets what kind of pressure she’s constantly under, since he's been a crown prince for, like, ten-thousand years.”
Lance’s eyes suddenly widened, pieces of the puzzle seemingly clicking together in his head.
“Or,” he cut in, eyes lit up, “maybe she just likes bad boys!”
Keith let his mouth hang open for another few seconds, still registering Lance’s ingenious suggestion. He closed it slowly once the statement processed, but his brain still continued to lag behind Lance’s leaps of logic. “Um, what?”
“That has to be it!” Lance pushed himself off of the wall and strode forward, long legs carrying him far as he began to pace. “Of course it is! Why didn’t I see it before?! All girls dig bad boys! It’s a scientific fact, like water is wet or the sky is blue!”
“But we’re in space,” Keith remarked flatly, gesturing a hand out to the window. Distant stars winked at them. “There is no sky.”
“You're focusing on the wrong thing here, buddy.” Lance whirled around and punched his fist into his palm. “Just think about it! Allura is the archetype of a good girl: a princess born and bred to uphold the rules of justice and morality. To her, a self-reliant, unconvential rebel like Lotor is like candy!”
He gestured to Keith’s general area of presence. “Or you!"
Keith’s face went blank. "Me???"
“Yeah! You're a walking bad boy stereotype. I mean, just look at you!” Lance gesticulated to him again, sweeping his hands from head to toe. “You’ve covered all the bases here: the casual lean-back, the broody crossed arms, the careless foot propped back against the wall… combined with the tragic backstory, the effortless good looks, and the streak of heroism, you’re a drop dead knockout to every alien babe this side of the Dalterion belt!”
Keith gaped, flustered pink creeping into his cheeks. “Th-that’s…”
“Absolutely correct and scientifically proven?” Lance nodded smugly. “Thanks, I know.”
Keith closed his mouth and scowled, pushing himself off of the wall, immediately changing his posture to break out of what Lance had just deemed attractive to women. “Dumb. I was gonna say dumb. Girls don’t like me.”
Lance put a hand to his chin. “Yeah, you're right, actually," he conceded.
Keith stopped short, blinking in disbelief. "Huh?"
"Girls don't like you, they're crazy about you. Your character had the most merch sales from the Voltron Show - after Shiro, of course." Lance put a hand on his chest and cocked a hip out, shooting Keith a smirk. "You're welcome, by the way."
"Yeah, thanks," Keith sarcastically drawled.
Lance leaned over and tapped the tip of Keith's nose. “Didn’t you ever notice when girls crushed on you back at the Garrison? You had a whole fan club!"
“Does it seem like I noticed?” Keith snapped, flinging his hands up.
“No, which gives you an extra, extra edge. You’re adorably oblivious! Girls love a dense idiot who doesn’t know how hot he is!”
Lance turned on his heel and resumed pacing back and forth. “Now, the real question here is how do I achieve that state? I mean, I already know that I’m hot...”
“Do you also know you’re a dense idiot?” Keith jeered.
Lance ignored him, too busy concentrating. “How can I…”
He suddenly halted at the farthest point of his pacing circle, stiffly turning around to face Keith with an odd, creepy sort of intense look on his face.
Keith squirmed nervously. “What?”
In the blink of an eye, Lance was right up in his space, hands gripping at Keith’s shoulders, close enough for their noses to touch. “Teach me how to be a bad boy, Keith!”
Keith recoiled as much as he could, blushing at their sudden closeness. He reached up and grabbed Lance’s wrists, prying the hands off of his shoulders and taking a step back, taking a greedy gulp of air once he was far away enough to breathe again. "No."
"C'monnn,” Lance whined. He advanced on Keith again, hands pressed together in a pleading steeple of prayer. "Help me, Keithi-wan Kenobi. You're my only hope!"
“I think I'd rather throw myself out the airlock.” Keith spun on his heel and marched down the hall.
Lance dropped to his knees, arms raised above his head. "C'mon, Keeeeeeith!"
Keith vanished around the corner at the end of the corridor, abandoning Lance in the hallway with sore knees and dust bunnies.
Lance dropped his hands back down to his sides and hung his head with a sigh. "What a meanie."
Then, he clenched his fist and looked up, eyes blazing with determination. “Truly a master at his craft."
“So, he’s doing it to you now, too, huh?” Lotor asked.
Keith growled in the back of his throat and slid down further in his seat, shoulders hunched up around his ears.
“Lance,” he snapped, referring to the pair of eyes boring into him from across the table. “If you don’t quit staring at me, I’m going to do something you’ll wind up regretting.”
Lance pauses. “Um... shouldn’t it be something you’ll wind up regretting...?”
Keith simply uncrossed his arms, drew his Luxite blade out of its sheath, and placed it on the table. "No."
Lance narrowed his eyes at the obvious threat. “Okay. Fine,” he snipped, finally taking his eyes off of Keith for the first time in the past several dobashes. “Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, really.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair with theatrical poise, features pulled into an impassive scowl that looked out of place on his normally smiling face.
Keith closed his eyes and repeated Shiro’s mantra in his head: patience yields focus, patience yields focus…
A rasp next to his ear startled him slightly. “Are all you earthlings this… intense?” Lotor whispered to him, nervously eyeing Lance.
Keith inched away from Lotor. “Not really,” he muttered back, rolling his eyes. “That's just Lance."
“Yep, that’s me,” Lance piped up from across the conference table. “Lance, Red Paladin of Voltron: intense… aloof… rebellious.” Lance narrowed his eyes and gazed off into the imaginary distance. “The baddest there ever was.”
“If crying during The Lion King at seventeen years old makes you ‘bad’, then I guess Hunk’s even badder than you are,” Pidge remarked, cheek squished on her fist. “Because you both cried like babies, and babies are not any of the things you just listed.”
“Hey! Don't you besmirch The Lion King like that,” Lance hissed, jabbing a finger down on the table to emphasize the point. “The way Simba begged for him to get up while nudging his body like he did earlier in the film when they were playing was poignant and devastating. If you didn’t cry at least once when you saw it, then you’re a heartless little gremlin!”
Hunk nodded. He looked misty-eyed just thinking about it. “That was really sad, Pidge.”
“See?” Lance said, smirking boastfully.
Pidge rolled her eyes. “Right. Guess I'm heartless, then.”
“Who is Mufasa?” Lotor whispered in his ear again, talking over Lance's comeback.
Keith shook his head and scooted his chair further away from the prince - or was it emperor now? “No idea," he lied.
Suddenly, the doors to the conference room slid open with a swish, and in strode their valiant leaders in arms, closely followed by Coran.
“Good evening, Paladins,” Allura greeted, as diplomatic as always. She took her spot at the head of the table as Shiro filed past to assume the chair on the other end, and Coran took his post at her left, seated to the right of Lance.
She scanned the table with a smile, then nodded over to the side where her liaisons were sitting. "And others," she lightly added, her eyes flickering right over Keith to linger on Lotor.
“Good evening, Princess.” The Galran prince smiled sweetly back at her.
Keith glanced at Lance to gauge his reaction to Allura glossing over his presence to single out Lotor and smile at him like that.
Lance wasn't even paying attention. Instead, he was staring at Keith out of the corner of his eye, face formed into an exaggerated-looking frown, sitting sank down in his chair with his arms crossed.
Trying to copy him, Keith belatedly realized.
He scowled and aimed for Lance's knee underneath the table.
Success – his foot struck. Lance’s eye twitched. He pressed his lips into a tighter frown, a crack forming in his poor attempt at a ‘bad boy face’ or whatever he was trying to do.
Keith could see the thought of retaliation cross his face, but before he could say or do anything, Shiro cleared his throat and launched into their latest mission debrief.
By the time it was all said and done, Keith was ready to take a quiznaking nap. Debriefs were always the worst part.
He turned his face into his shoulder and yawned, sitting up and stretching his arms up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Coran approach Pidge, putting a hand on her shoulder as they walked out together, trading technobabble - something about let's get cracking on those sensors!. Meanwhile, Hunk was asking Matt what he should make for dinner later as they both got up and headed for the door together; Matt jokingly suggested he try and tweak the food goo dispenser to recreate the taste of fudge brownies, and Hunk brightened with the idea of one better and declared he'd try to make actual brownies with the stuff they got from their last supply restock on Olkarion, which honestly sounded awesome. Keith hoped they'd be ready by the time he woke up.
Across the table, Lance stood up, pausing to arch his back, likely cramped from sitting hunched down in his chair the whole time. He pushed his chair back in and glanced over at Allura, currently talking to Lotor about something, and his impassive frown twitched.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Keith watching him, and he narrowed his eyes. “What’re you lookin’ at?” he asked, loudly fronting.
Keith rolled his eyes. “Nothing.”
Lance nodded. “’S what I thought.” He reached up and tugged the collar of his jacket up, then turned to swagger out of the room, hands in his pockets.
Keith rolled his eyes again, and stood up from the table.
“Hey, Keith, wait up for a sec.” There went his nap – Shiro’s voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks.
Keith turned and waited, watching him approach. “What’s up, Shiro?”
“Are you doing anything right now?”
“Depends on what you want from me." Keith folded his arms and looked up as Shiro stopped before him.
“Do you think you could help Pidge and Coran recalibrate the parameters on the gladiator bots’ failsafe protocols?” Shiro inquired.
Keith raised his eyebrows. "Failsafe protocols?" he echoed. "What happened?"
“Apparently, a lot of our systems sensors got scrambled when we went dark in the Patrulian Zone. Pidge compared it to a factory reset - as for the training deck, our difficulty settings were lost in the reboot, so as it stands now, it won't even recognize a surrender. It'll keep going 'til first blood, which is obviously way too hardcore for our... well... less seasoned fighters." Shiro clears his throat pointedly. "Normally I’d do it myself, but I’ve honestly had this killer migraine for the past few hours, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be up to par. You're the next logical person to tackle it."
Keith furrowed his brows and frowned in confusion. "Me? But what about Allura? She literally grew up fighting those things. Or what about Lance? He could take it out from afar with no problem - Hunk, too, probably. Heck, even Pidge could use her grappling hook thingy."
Shiro shook his head remorsefully. "I don't want to bother Allura while she's doing research. Hunk is going to be preoccupied with his brownie experiment with Matt, Pidge will be needed to run the tests with Coran, and Lance... well..." He bit his lip, face twisting up with doubt, then put a hand on Keith's shoulder. "Look, can you just do me this favor? You're the only one I can trust with this."
Keith looked down at the hand on his shoulder, then back up at Shiro's face. There was nothing but sincerity there. He genuinely didn't consider the others were capable of handling this.
"Okay..." he reluctantly relents, tone still hedged with suspicion. "Sure thing, Shiro."
Shiro smiled in relief. “Thanks, Keith." He patted Keith's shoulder. "I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
"You can make it up to me by visiting Coran about those migraines." Keith drew back and folded his arms, and frowned up at Shiro. "Maybe he could run a scan or something, find a treatment to help with them. It's not normal to be having them all the time."
"Oh, Keith. You worry too much." Shiro waved his metal hand dismissively. "I just need to sleep it off."
Keith arched a single disbelieving brow at him.
"Don't give me that look!" Shiro laughed. "Okay, look. I'll go see Coran if it's still bothering me when I wake up. Scout's honor, I swear." He even crossed his heart and held up a hand. "OK?"
“Scout’s honor doesn’t mean much when you were never a scout, but sure.” Keith offered a tiny smile. “Feel better, OK? Don’t push yourself so hard.”
"Can't promise that. But I'll try," Shiro joked back.
They both turned to leave. Shiro turned right once they entered the hallway, heading to the residency wing with a parting wave.
Keith stood there for a moment and watched Shiro retreat, brow furrowed with worry. It wasn't totally unlike Shiro to wave off his concerns, but something about the details he'd let slip... It really didn't seem normal be having so many splitting headaches. And that vague dismissal of the others, especially Lance. The designated marksman would've been the first person Keith went to. It just seemed logical for him to snipe the bots' weak points from afar, from up from a high, fortified perch, than to have a close-quarters fighter risk getting hurt or wiped out.
“Psst,” somebody whispered from behind him. “Keith! Over here!”
Keith blinked out of his thoughts and turned at the sound of his name.
He deadpanned at what he saw. Speak of the devil. “Lance,” he said, immediately exasperated. “What are you doing?”
Lance jerked his head, gesturing for him to come over to where he leaned against the wall, hands in his jacket pockets, the sole of one shoe pressed up against the wall.
“C’mere!” he hissed when Keith didn’t immediately obey.
With a roll of his eyes – what was it about Lance that just warranted constant eye rolling? – Keith reluctantly went over and stood in front of him.
“What is it now,” he asked flatly. “I don’t have time for shenanigans. I’ve got some bots to help recalibrate, and I want to get it over with as soon as possible.”
“Oh, nothing much, just...” Lance glanced over to the side. His eyes lit up. “Just act natural!"
"Huh?"
Lance leaned back up against the wall, folding his arms and reassuming his impassive mask. “Act natural!”
Keith looked back toward the meeting room and caught a glimpse of Allura as she breezed out of the conference room into the hall.
A kick to his ankle made him look right back at Lance. He glared. “Did you just kick me??"
“C'mon, man, you're blowing it,” Lance urged from the side of his mouth, his face already pulled into the same impassive mask he’d put on when Allura entered the room earlier. It looked even more fake up close; a rehearsed pout that looked aloof and cool and just everything Lance wasn’t.
For a split-second, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thought in the back of his mind, Keith found himself wishing for Lance’s playful grin.
"Say something!" Lance hissed under his breath. In his peripheral hearing, Allura's measured footsteps neared closer.
“OK. Umm... the... mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Keith said lamely, going with the first thing off the top of his head.
“Uh-huh,” Lance replied, lowering the register of his voice into something husky, probably intending to sound ‘cool’ and ‘attractive’.
Honestly. The things he did for this guy. “When I was seven, I saw the Mogollon Monster on a camping trip with my dad. It didn’t notice me at first, but when it did, it threw a rock at me and ran away.”
“Yeah.”
“Water is wet and the sky is blue. There is no sky in space.”
"Yah, totally." Lance’s eyes flickered over to the side, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. He inclined his chin in a cool nod of acknowledgment. "Hey," he huskily said.
"Hello, Keith, hello, Lance," Allura absently hummed as she breezed by.
When her back was turned, Lance turned his head to follow her with his eyes. He bit his lip, his smirk growing into a lopsided smile.
Blood simmering in his cheeks and ears, Keith clenched his jaw, hard enough for his molars to grind together. “You're a moron,” he snapped.
Lance’s eyes finally darted back to him. “Hey! That was rude."
Keith tried not to ball up his fists. He crossed his arms instead. “Whatever. Can I go now?”
Lance rolled his eyes and straightened up off the wall, planting his foot back on the ground. “Oh, fine. Jeez.” He turned and looked in the direction Allura had gone. A smile brightened his face, and he slid his hands into his jacket pockets. "Thanks. I really think that worked!"
How on earth did that 'work'? She didn't even acknowledge you first, and you're the one who spoke to her! Keith wanted to yell in his face.
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Keith turned and stomp, stomp, stomped down the hall toward the training deck. Suddenly, fighting the broken gladiator sounded fantastic.
“Keith, I’ve really gotta hand it to you, playing hard to get is a brilliant strategy. Don’t be mad if I steal it from you.”
“I’m not playing anything,” Keith grumbled, lowering his head to put more effort into walking faster. His legs weren’t any shorter than average - Lance’s were simply freakishly long. “It’s called ‘not being desperate’. You should try it sometime.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, Lance continued to babble, walking at his usual pace despite Keith’s efforts to speed ahead and leave him behind.
“I mean, it’s a pretty masterful display of control. Projecting an air of desirability while simultaneously prioritizing other matters creates a mystique that’s simply begging to be explored? It’s totally genius! Who knew you could be tactical?”
Keith groaned, slowing to a stop and letting his head hang.
“Lance,” he said as he turned to face the other boy, reaching up to grasp Lance’s shoulders. “I’ll tell you this one more time: I’m not playing hard to get."
Lance’s mouth curled up into a grin. “Oh, really?” he asked cockily. “Then how come you keep running away?"
"Because you're weird!"
Lance leaned in until the tips of their noses were only a few inches apart. "Are you sure it's not 'cause you want me to catch you?"
Keith jerked back like Lance had burned him. He hoped his burning cheeks weren’t too obvious.
Lance just smirked, and laughed.
"GRRR!" Keith stomp, stomp, stomped off, whole face burning red.
Lance was left to wade in a pool of triumph. “Who’s the tactical one now, Keith?” he called down the hall, cupping a hand around his mouth to amplify his voice.
His own words echoed back to him in the empty corridor, reverberating back to his ears: Keith, Keith...
Lance scowled and crossed his arms. “OK, don’t rub it in…”
“Maybe I need to grow my hair out more.”
“I don’t think it’d suit you.”
“Aw, come on. No mullet or anything, but long, flowing locks of coolness cascading around my shoulders? It’d look cool.”
“Wouldn't that take too long?”
“…maybe you make a good point. If anyone can make short hair look good, it’s me, right?”
“Yeah. Sure, Lance.”
“Can you teach me how to drive a hoverbike?”
“Why would I do that when you can barely fly a Lion?”
“Hey!”
“What do you think about leather jackets?”
“They look cool, I guess.”
“Yeah, same. So, unrelated question, what do you think Allura thinks about leather jackets? …Keith? Hey, come on, man, don’t just walk away from me!”
“You know, I think I might have cracked another part of the code.”
“Yeah?” Keith said, fully exasperated after an entire day of this. "What on Earth could it be?”
Lance snapped his fingers. “I need to scowl more. Don’t you think so?”
“Hey Lance?” Keith waited until Lance gave him his full attention. “No."
Lance pouted as Keith stormed off down the corridor. “Jeez. Somebody’s moody...”
He shook his head and cracked his knuckles. “I guess I’ll have to do this bad boy thing on my own, then!”
“Hey, um, Keith?”
"Yeah?"
Hunk twiddled his thumbs together and didn’t meet Keith’s eye, looking all the part of an apprehensive child. His eyes flickered away from his hands, nervously landing on the Luxite dagger that Keith held and had been cleaning.
Really? Everybody still thought he would stab them if provoked? C'mon, he deserves more credit than that.
But, albeit with a labored sigh, Keith wrapped the blade in the cloth and slipped it under his pillow, just for the sake of Hunk’s comfort, then crossed his arms. Hunk visibly relaxed. “What’s up, Hunk?”
“OK, first, you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“…say it.”
“I won’t get mad.”
“Say that you promise.”
“I promise I won’t get mad!"
“OK, OK! Don’t yell at me!” Hunk stared down at his hands for a moment, clearly trying to summon the courage, then sucked in a breath and quickly asked in one big rush, “WhatsupwithyouandLance?”
Keith froze. “…huh?”
“What’s up with you and Lance?” Hunk repeated, slower this time.
“What do you mean?”
Hunk bit his lip. “You’ve been acting weird around him lately. Running away from him, ignoring him, et cetera… Are you two fighting?”
“Oh.” Keith let out a sound that resembled a growl and a sigh, and slapped his forehead, letting his hand drag down his face. “No, we’re not fighting. He’s just being an idiot. Not like that’s new,” he added, throwing in an eye roll for good measure.
Hunk blinked. “Then, why are you…?” He wheeled his hand in an ‘and so on’ motion.
“You haven't heard?"
Hunk shakes his head. That's actually shocking. Lance tells Hunk everything. Or so they'd lead Keith to believe.
"He asked me to teach him how to be a ‘bad boy’ so he could make Allura fall in love with him,” Keith reluctantly explained.
Hunk's eyebrows climbed up to his headband. “Huh?”
“Yeah, I know,” Keith agreed. “I told him no, I’m not gonna do that because of how stupid it is, so now he’s following me around, trying to convince me to teach him my ways or whatever.”
“Your… ways??” Hunk still sounded puzzled.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.” Keith crossed his arms, defending himself against Hunk’s inquisitive gaze. “Through some weird, twisted logic, I think he thinks that, since I said no to that incredibly dumb request, I must be playing hard to get."
Hunk’s brows furrowed. "Wait. He thinks you're playing hard to get? With him?” he asked, utterly baffled. "Why?"
"I dunno. To show him 'how it's done', I guess? Or maybe he really is a moron after all," Keith said sardonically.
“But isn’t he supposed to be going after Allura?” Hunk continued. “Why is he getting fixated on you when he wants her?"
Keith opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
“I… dunno,” he mumbled, after a moment of thought.
“Yeah, me neither. That’s really weird.” Hunk tilted his head. “Anyway! Soooo, just out of curiosity… why did you say no? And why are you still saying no? Giving him what he wants might get him to leave you alone. You could even just make something up on the fly."
That... was actually solid advice. Trust Hunk to offer an incredibly helpful bit of emotional wisdom.
However, something about the phrasing - it was probably meant to be genuine, innocuous, but Keith was hit with a pang of sudden panic. Giving him what he wants might get him to leave you alone.
"Keith..? You okay, buddy?" Hunk waved a hand. "You've gone all 'spooked cat' on me."
Way to be obvious! Keith forced himself to relax. Slump a little bit, spine. Shoulders, get down from his ears. Nails, stop biting into his arm, please, that hurts.
"That's a great idea, Hunk." Keith forced his face to smile. "Maybe then Lance will finally lea- leave me alone." His voice cracked like he was entering puberty again. Prickling heat crept up his neck, pooling in his cheeks like boiling water.
Keith stood up from his bunk. "Well, good luck on your brownie quest, Hunk. Think I'm gonna try getting a nap or something."
A pit of horror opened up in Keith's gut as he watched the epiphany dawn over Hunk's face, a wide smile stretching his mouth out.
"Thanks, Keith." He winked. "And I hope it all works out with Lance."
Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak.
“Wrench.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Screwdriver.”
“Here you go.”
“Demagnetizing plutonium uncoupling device.”
“Uhh...?"
Pidge shot an irritated glance down at him. “The zappy pliers, Lance,” she amended, making her sarcasm abundantly clear.
Lance instantly spotted them. “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” he whined as he handed them up to her, placing them in her hand and watching them disappear into the ceiling tiles, along with her upper half. “I’m not a mechanical genius like you or Hunk, you know. I’m just a simple pilot.”
“Emphasis on simple,” she couldn’t help muttering.
Lance pouted. “Well, if you wanted to get your own tools....”
With a sigh, Pidge carefully bent down on top of the ladder, reappearing from the ceiling. “Sorry, Lance. You just make it too easy." She wiped her hands free of advanced technological spaceship part lubrication with a rag hanging from her pocket.
Lance crossed his arms. “Why does everybody say that? I don’t get how it’s 'easy' to make fun of me!”
With no warning, Pidge flung the rag down at him.
He jumped away from it with a girlish shriek. "EW! Pidge!"
“That’s how,” she snickered, climbing down and dismounting the ladder.
Now on the other side of the room, Lance folded his arms crossly and glared. “Do you treat Hunk this way whenever he gives up his very precious and valuable free time to help you out?” He angrily threw his arms up. “I could have been doing important research!”
“Hunk would re-invert the dorsal automatic resistance filaments in the nitrogen manipulator pistons in his free time anyway, so, that’s irrelevant.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “And I didn’t know glaring at Lotor and stalking Keith around classified as ‘important research’.” She picked her rag up off the ground and placed it on the table, then turned to depart from the engine room.
Lance sputtered defensively, and jogged to catch up with her quick, purposeful strides. He caught up with her easily, and at her side, he scowled at her sidelong. “Lotor deserves to be glared at. His vibes are weird and I don’t like him.”
“But Keith deserves to be stalked?” Pidge countered as they walked through the doors and traveled down the hall.
“I am not stalking Keith,” Lance protested, lifting a matter-of-fact finger for emphasis. “I'm observing him. Get it right."
"Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes again – people did that a lot around him, it seemed – so Lance rolled his back. Ha, take that.
“Look, just think of it like this,” he said, slowly and patiently as if he was speaking to a child. "When we first met the Olkari, didn’t you want to ask them just how they made plants shoot stuff and junk?”
Pidge pursed her lips in thought. “I guess,” she said, side-eyeing him warily.
“Well, that’s all I’m doing with Keith,” Lance said, trying to sound casual and totally nailing it. “He’s bad boy incarnate – handsome with a dash of cute, rebellious with a heart of gold, mysterious and enticing but elusive and hard to get, plus he knows how to ride a motorcycle! That’s just hot, no matter who you are. He's the perfect specimen to learn from!”
Pidge stopped mid-stride, and looked at him, eyes bugging out behind her glasses. "Are you serious?"
Lance punched his palm, eyes practically twinkling. “If I can learn from him, then I can outperform Lotor and get Allura back on my side! ...hey, what are you laughing at? I know I’m hilarious, but I didn’t even say anything funny!”
Pidge gasped for breath between sudden snorts of laughter. “Sorry. I’ve got, uh… W-Wiebian giggle syndrome.”
Lance raised his eyebrows. “I've never heard of that."
“Yeah, I'm not surprised," she bluffed, covering her flub with sarcasm.
Lance shook his head reproachfully. "Well, as long as it's not another case of the slipperies."
"Don't worry. It's nowhere near as bad as that." Pidge straightened up off of the wall she sagged against, wiping at tears of mirth. "Anyways, it sounds like you’ve really done an extensive amount of research on Keith’s, um…” She coughed. “…bad boy charm.”
“Thanks, I have." Lance puffed his chest out and smirked.
Rolling his eyes at his easily-stroked ego, Pidge continued down the hallway. “In my professional opinion, I think it’s time for you to do the next step in the scientific method.”
“You think so…?”
“Yeah! Form your hypothesis. How do you think your subject will respond to your accordingly adjusted behavior?”
Lance cupped his chin, furrowing his perfectly maintained eyebrows in thought. “Form my hypothesis...” he murmured. “But, I already know that she’s gonna be totally captivated by my new devil-may-care attitude.”
“Then prove it. Perform your experiment and record the results. I'm dying to know."
Nodding, Lance grinned, the gears in his brain already turning. He reached up and ruffled Pidge’s hair, dancing away as she squawked and indignantly swung at him. “Thanks for the help, Pidge!"
Pidge rolled her eyes, as she did quite frequently in Lance’s presence for some reason, and waved after him. “Yeah, Sure. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
“Well,” Lance announced to the empty hallway outside of Allura’s laboratory, “that got me absolutely nowhere.”
He looked down at the floor, and kicked at the ground, the toe of his shoe squeaking against the light scuff mark left by him the last time.
The empty hall offered no reply. No unimpressed snort; no disbelieving quip of ‘wow, can’t believe it.’
The cosmos outside twinkled as they passed, the stars winking in and out at him, and for some reason, it felt like an empty gesture.
Lance scowled. “Shut up, Keith,” he snapped, just for the spirit of it, and stomp, stomp, stomped all the way to his quarters.
“Hello, Lance. What are you doing here?”
“What, I can’t simply swing by and visit my favorite hard-working princess in her lab without any ulterior motives?”
Allura quirked her brows at him, nonplussed. “Not really, no.”
“Oh.” Lance glanced off to the side, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “Well,” he said, pulling a chair out from across her, “that’s fair.”
Allura squinted at him as he turned the chair around and sat in it backwards, straddling it from behind - like a true rebel against society’s forward sitting conventions.
“Might I ask what you’re doing here, then?” she politely asked, electing to delay mentioning the fact that she’d banished him from here for being creepy to Lotor for no reason. And Coran dared say that she had a short patience…
Lance shrugged. “Dunno.” He raised his chin and squinted off in the distance, willing his eyes to smolder like glowing embers. “I just go wherever the wind takes me. Like a leaf in the wind. No roots to hold me down. You know how it is.” He glanced back at her to gauge her reaction to his brand new devil-may-care attitude.
“Right, of course." Allura was already looking back down at her book, finger trailing down the yellowed page.
Clearing his throat, he quickly changed topics. “So, uh. Princess.”
Allura didn’t spare him another glimpse, keeping her eyes down as she reached across the desk for something. “Yes?”
“About Lotor being Emperor.”
“Mhm?”
“Do you really think that he’ll really be able to…”
Lance trailed off as Allura tore the foil lid off a familiar container and dipped her spoon in. “Uh... is that... yogurt..?"
Allura paused, spoon raised halfway up to her awaiting mouth. "Oh, yes, it is!"
"I, uh, didn't know you liked that stuff." He awkwardly drummed a hand on the back of the chair. "I thought only Lotor ate it."
"Oh, no, certainly not. I enjoy it as well." She offered him a lovely smile and lifted the container up, turning the label toward him like an advertiser. “It's quite the convenient little snack, isn't it? Excellent for long study sessions. Packed with nutrients, too! Not to mention, I find the flavor quite delicious, and even a bit nostalgic." Her smile turned bittersweet. "In my youth on Altea, we had a juniberry variety of something very similar. And while it certainly cannot compare, this ‘key lime’ flavor Hunk devised is not half bad."
She smiled wider. "He has shaped up to be quite the culinary alchemist, hasn't he?"
Lance watched her take an enthusiastic bite. His eye twitched.
“Right. He sure has." He un-straddled the chair and got to his feet, neatly spinning it back around and pushing it back under the table. “Well, uh, I hate to be the bear of bad news, but I’ve gotta head out. I’ve gotta help, uh, Coran, with some... cleaning. Those healing pods don't de-gunk themselves, y'know."
"Oh." Allura's smile dimmed. “Alright then. I shall see you later. And give Coran my wishes - I haven't encountered him since this morning."
“Ya-huh. Will do, Princess." Lance walked stiff-leggedly over to the door.
Just as it swished open to allow him out, Allura’s call made him pause. “Oh - Lance?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
She smiled prettily at him. “If you happen to see Lotor, would you mind sending him my way? I’ve got a tome on what I believe is might be the White Lion, but it appears to be in Ancient Ataîrian. I'm hoping his expertise could help translate it into something more contemporary."
Lance reflexively winced, awaiting that heart-sinking feeling whenever the princess said Lotor’s name like that, all soft and affectionate with no official title attached. The feeling did not come, much to his confusion, and for a few beats, he lingered, wondering if it would hit him at all.
“Lance...?”
He blinked back to himself. “Oh. Yeah, right. You got it, princess.”
Lance ducked out of her lab, the doors closing behind him and leaving him in an empty vacuum, alone with his thoughts.
Back in the present, Lance slunk through the halls of the castle on his way back to the residency wing, hands comfortably stuffed in his jacket pockets as he mused over the strange absence of his usual heart-sinking, stomach-clenching jealousy.
Was it just delayed or something? Could jealousy even be delayed? And, not to mention, what the quiznak was up with him? He finally had the chance to talk to Allura, without any devilishly handsome, silver-tongued Emperors around to distract her, and he ran out. Why?
Maybe it was the yogurt, Lance considered. Or maybe it's some... neurological side effects from that nasty shock he got at the Omega Shield.
Deep in thought, he turned the corner, and at once, he glanced up and stopped on a dime, the soles of his sneakers squeaking.
Outside the entrance to the training deck stood Keith. Well, no. Outside the entrance to the training deck leaned Keith, all aloof and dark against the gray wall, like a shadow being cast. The pale pallor of his crossed arms looked stark against the black of his t-shirt, and there was one finger tapping some unknown rhythm on his bicep. His hair was pulled back into a sweaty, stubby ponytail, showing off parts of a neck that were usually hidden behind a high jacket collar, like collarbones and the smooth curve where it met his shoulder and-–
Suddenly, Lance found himself staring at Keith. Into his eyes.
Round eyes narrowing, Keith pushed himself off the wall, arms falling to his sides and foot planting back on the ground, and turned in his direction.
Lance’s breath caught at the sudden movement.
After a beat of pause, Keith tore his eyes away and all but ran into the training deck, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him with a hiss.
Lance frowned after him. Something behind his sternum dropped like a stone, sank through him until it settled in the pit of his gut, leaving him feeling heavy with... dejection.
Must be his delayed feelings from talking to Allura, probably. But why now?
Well... better late than never, right?
Suddenly irritated, Lance scowled to himself, balled his hands into fists inside his pockets, and stomp, stomp, stomped past the training deck doors, hoping that Keith got his butt whooped by those dumb bots he liked so much.
“So, let me get this straight.” A beat. “Or, rather, let me get this... bisexual, probably?”
“Pidge,” Keith growled. "Not the time."
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Pidge cleared her throat and removed her glasses. She held them up, breathed on each side of the lenses to fog them up with condensation from her breath, and rubbed them with the hem of her shirt. “So. Let’s review."
"If we must..." Keith grumbled.
"Our wannabe Casanova has somehow managed to convince himself that you’re some kind of bad boy god incarnate, and wants to learn the way of your wiles so he can pick up the princess, who likes tall, dark, mysterious bad boys with authority issues, a penchant for rebellion, and daddy issues, and other assorted baggage.” She held her glasses up to inspect them for smudges and turned toward him, peering at him through her specs. Her face looked comically tiny and distorted through the lenses, her head narrow and pinched like a bowling pin. “Is that right?”
“So far, yes,” Keith sighed, crossing his ankles where he had his feet kicked up on her workbench. “Well?”
Pidge slid her lenses on and looked over at Matt, who was seated on her bed. “What do you think?”
Matt scrunched up his nose in thought. “Sounds a little confused, to me.”
Pidge nodded. “I was thinking ‘delusional and completely idiotic’ myself, but yeah.”
“Well, sure, delusional? Absolutely,” Matt agreed. "But 'idiotic’? Little harsh there, Katie.”
“Well, he deserves it. He's being a complete ding-dong,” Pidge insisted.
Matt wobbled his hand back and forth in a lukewarm 'meh' of agreement. “I think he’s just got that sniper’s focus, is all – he’s used to thinking about stuff way off in the distance, not stuff right under his nose, no matter how obvious we think it might be.”
“First of all, focus? Lance? Have you met the guy?”
“OK, OK,” Keith cut in, his temper stoked. “Take it easy, Pidge. He’s not that bad.”
Pidge turned to look at him curiously. “You... don’t want me to make fun of Lance?” she asked incredulously. She grabbed his face with both hands and started turning his head this way and that, examining him frantically. “Keith, are you dying? I can help! We can get you a cure."
“Pidge, quit,” he snapped, trying to swat her hands away but to no avail.
“Calm down, Katie. Nothing’s wrong with Keith.” Matt piped up, getting both of their attention.
Pidge reluctantly released his face. Keith rubbed his cheeks, shooting Matt a grateful nod. "Thank you."
Keith’s gratitude quickly turned sour as Matt smirked back. “If you ask me, it’s really sweet for Keith to want to stand up for his boyfriend.”
“What?! M, my- boyfriend!?!" Keith glared, though his face burned. "Lance!? Yeah, right. Not in a thousand varga."
Pidge squinted at him.
“What?” he snarled at her, cheeks blazing hotter under her scrutiny. "Stop staring at me."
Pidge pushed her glasses up and scrunched her eyes up tighter, her entire face pinched with suspicion.
Keith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to meet her eye lest she devise something critical.
Then, like she caught a glimpse of something, Pidge broke out in a grin. “Oh my god. For real? Like, actually?"
Keith scowled. “Shut up!” he yelled just as Matt started laughing. He wheeled on Matt and glared harder. "Shut up, Matt!"
“I mean, I had my suspicions, but I didn't seriously think..." She slapped a hand to her forehead and started laughing too.
“What do you mean, 'suspicions'!?!” Keith hollered. "About what?!?"
“About you and Lance, dummy! The way you two would get up in each other's faces all the time? Your dick measuring contests? Your fixation on 'the bonding moment' - how you kept bringing up that you cradled him in your arms? God, the tension was unbearable!" Pidge shouted back. Luckily, their dorm walls were soundproofed. "But now it's not just sexual anymore, is it? You actually like him!"
Keith turned red from the roots of his hair to his collarbones. "I do not!"
"When did you figure it out?" Pidge questioned like he hadn't even objected. "And why didn't you tell me sooner? Man, some friend you are, leaving me in the dark like this!"
Keith opened his mouth to yell or something, but nothing came out; an echo of his revolutionary conversation with Hunk the other day.
Pidge stared at him, watching his face carefully. "Oh, Keith," she slowly said. "No. Not just now."
Matt blew up. “Just now?!"
Keith shrunk in on himself, face scorching with humiliation.
"How did you not figure it out until just now?!?" Matt barreled on.
"It wasn't just now!" Keith protested.
Pidge and Matt both went quiet to listen to him.
Keith drew further in on himself, burning scarlet. "...it was yesterday."
"YESTERDAY?!" Matt screeched.
"Mm, mm, mm. Keith, Keith, Keith." Pidge shook her head ruefully.
Keith muffled a groan in his palms. "I knowww..."
She folded her arms and faced him. “So, here’s the real question: does Lance know?”
Keith snapped his head up. "God I hope not."
Pidge paused. “…well, why not?”
“Have you been paying any attention to what I’ve been saying? He’s trying to woo Princess Allura.”
"Is he, though?"
Keith squinted at her. "Um... yeah?" he answered in a very sarcastic 'doi, genius' way.
"Ehhhh, is he, though? He seems awfully fixated on you for someone trying to woo Allura," Matt stepped in to point out. Pidge nodded in agreement.
Keith worked his jaw as they proposed the same conclusion Hunk had reached the other day. Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak.
"Honestly, how does he not know? He's supposed to be our 'people' guy, right? Does he really lack that much self-awareness?" Pidge wondered.
“I dunno. Like Matt said, I guess, sniper's focus.” Knowing it was useless to argue with Pidge, Keith sighed. “Apparently, I’m not exactly hiding it, Pidge, so don’t blame me for him somehow not noticing,” he grumbled, sinking down in his seat and crossing his arms. Why did he even bother coming to talk to her again? Shiro would've probably been nicer. Once the brotherly teasing stopped. And after he gave the 'I'm proud of you for making valuable connections' talk. And then the 'refresher on the birds & the bees' talk. Actually, on second thought, Pidge and Matt were the better choice...
“You kind of are to blame, though,” Pidge said.
“Well, I can’t exactly be open about it, now can I?” Keith asked dryly.
“Well, you could," Matt said.
Keith looked at him like he was stupid. “I could, of course. But I can't.” He sighed and wiggled his way back up in the chair so he could hang his head over the back of it so he could miserably count the lines on Pidge’s ceiling. “Not while he's still going after Allura..."
While he wasn’t looking, Pidge and Matt shared a glance.
“Weeellll,” Pidge began after a moment, “if it makes you feel any better, Keith, I don’t think that’ll be a problem for too much longer.”
Keith picked his head up and frowned at her, concerned. “What does that mean? Should I be worried?”
Pidge brought her wrist up and checked her watch. “Because I told Lance to try his whole ‘bad boy’ thing and talk to Allura, and I don’t think it went well, because he came by the lab earlier and asked Hunk all sweet-like if they could have a ‘bro talk’ in his room. He looked fine on the outside, but I could tell, he was having some kind of internal crisis that was about to go haywire, so he must have finally made some connections.”
“Wait, what?” Matt whined. “You mean you only asked me to hang out as a backup?”
“Uh... no?" Pidge tried to fib, grinning sheepishly.
“What do you mean, he made connections?” Keith broke in. Both Holts turned to look at him in creepy synchronicity. “What connections?”
Matt grimaced sympathetically, then glanced back at his sister. "Man. This is gonna go on for a minute, isn't it?"
“Of course it is,” Pidge tutted. "It's Keith and Lance. Everything's gotta be like pulling teeth with them."
"What connections?" Keith asked again.
Meanwhile...
“…and you just walked out?”
“I didn't just walk out, I ran! Like, why did I do that? It was just us, alone, without anyone around to interrupt for the first time in, like, ever, but I ran away without even shooting my shot! We barely even had a proper conversation! Now I’ll never get another chance."
Lance flopped down onto the bed and groaned into the mattress. He picked his head up, reached for a pillow, and buried his face in it. "Uuuugh! Why am I so stupid?”
"Hey," Hunk gently warned. "You are not stupid. You panicked - don't be so hard on yourself."
Lance lowered the pillow from his face. "I bet it was when she started talking about yogurt,” he suddenly growled. Vitriol dripped off of his voice like sinister, goopy green poison. "That must be what threw me off my game. Ugh. Key lime - Lotor's favorite."
“Or, maybe, y'know, she’s clearly got a thing for somebody else and you know it?” Hunk lightly suggested.
Lance rolled off of the bed and stood. “No, I don't think so? I think it really was the yogurt.”
Hunk groaned, head lolling back on his shoulders. “Lance...”
“Let's review the facts. Allura’s obviously got a type, right?” Lance began in the analytical tone of a scholar, as he folded his hands into the small of his back and started to pace the room. “Tall, dark, mysterious bad boys with lots of emotional baggage.”
"Allegedly," Hunk monotoned.
"Right. Allegedly." Lance stopped and turned, and stuck a matter-of-fact finger up into the air to emphasize the point. “I propose that she’s only into Lotor because he’s the only one who suits her type in the proximity.”
“What about Keith?” Hunk countered, mostly joking. “He’s all of those things, too, right?”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, Hunk,” he said derisively, “Keith isn’t tall.”
Hunk’s face fell flat. “Right,” he deadpanned. “My mistake. Well, what about Shiro, if Keith is out of the equation? He’s all that and a bag of chips, if you ask me.”
“I figure that if she would’ve fallen for Shiro, she would’ve done so at first sight, like anyone else. He's literally the perfect dream guy,” Lance replied. “She’s had plenty of time. So why didn't she?"
Hunk blinked at him. "Um... because isn't Shiro gay?"
"Yes. I think Allura is intuitive enough to be able to sense something like that - having no chance of her feelings being reciprocated, I mean - and would adjust accordingly. Besides, she was much stiffer back before he went missing. She probably would've ruled it 'fraternizing' or something and repressed any feelings 'til they disappeared."
“But then shouldn’t that same thing apply to you?” Hunk asked.
“Whaddaya mean?” Lance spun around, nothing but confusion written on his face. "I don't follow."
Take your pick, he wanted to say. Hunk shook his head. “Never mind. What about you, then? You were the first person she met after being in cryogenic sleep for 10,000 varga. She literally fell into your arms like some kind of fairytale. She had plenty of time to fall for you too, before we even knew Lotor existed, but she didn’t.”
“That’s because she didn’t take me seriously,” Lance said frankly. “Not until after Shiro disappeared.”
Hunk wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t help but wince. "Aw, Lance..."
Lance noticed his dismay and nodded. “I know. But when Shiro vanished, Keith had to move up in his place, and I had to move up in his. I finally became someone she could see."
“Lance, this is…”
“I know,” Lance said understandingly. “Sad but true.” To put it mildly. “But when all that stuff happened, I had to put her on the back burner for a while so I could keep Keith from losing his mind. I think she noticed that I kinda snubbed her a little in favor of keeping Keith sane, so when he left she subtly inserted herself into the hole he left behind when Keith left to work with the Blades.”
Now that was interesting. “Keith left a hole behind?” Hunk asked.
Lance bit his lip and didn’t answer.
“In… what, the team? In… you?”
“Er… yeah? No. I dunno.” Lance turned away, waving an arm dismissively. “That was mostly a metaphor, Hunk. Focus up.”
Mostly, he says. “Y-yeah, sure. So, anyways…?”
"Right. Where was I..." Lance continued his thoughtful pacing. He was right back to looking unfazed, calculated and thoughtful. “Oh, yeah. As I was saying, I believe Allura is only into Lotor because the best other alternative - that being moi - doesn't currently fit the archetype she’s after. So that means that I need to become what she’s looking for. Which is precisely why I’ve come up with this brilliant plan!”
“Right. The plan,” Hunk said flatly. He didn’t bother hiding his disdain. “Lance, I really don’t think that it’s a good plan."
“And why not?” Lance whined. “All of my plans are good!”
"You've had some good plans before - shoot, you've even had some great ones - but this? This ain't it, man."
"Why not? What makes you so against it?"
“You shouldn’t have to change who you are in order for someone to like you back,” Hunk said, gently but firmly. “You know that.”
Lance’s step faltered, and he slowed down to a stop, facing the doors to his quarters. “Y-Yeah, but..."
Now they were cooking. “Trying to turn yourself into some... bad boy rebel isn’t a healthy goal,” Hunk continued. “You like your dad and your family. You're fine with following rules. Well, most of the time. When you don't feel like causing chaos. And sure, you've got a couple carry-on bags, but it doesn't dominate your character. And none of those things are bad. You’re not like Prince Lotor or Keith, and that's an awesome, wonderful thing! I don’t think I could be BFFLs with Lotor like I am with you. And Keith is great, of course, but he’s no you, you know?”
"..." Lance's hands fell from their clasp at his back, dropped to hang limp at his sides.
Hunk looked down at his hands in his lap, watched his thumbs as he twiddled them together. “I know you think Allura is what you want,” he started, softly, a little sadly. "But if you think that you need to go to all these lengths just to get her to notice that you exist, then she’s not what you need."
More silence. Lance's hand clasped over his shoulder, then slid down his arm to grip at his arm, fingers curling into the fabric.
Then he finally turned. The mask of bravado had slipped. He just looked hurt: his mouth was carved into a deep frown, there was a deep wrinkle between his knitted brows, and the gray in his eyes really stood out, like rain puddles on sidewalks than tide pools.
Regret simmered in Hunk’s belly like poison. “Aw, Lance... I’m sorry."
Lance’s voice came small and hesitant, like a baby bird leaving the nest for the first time. “It’s okay.”
Hunk sat up and spread his arms for a hug.
Lance automatically took a step, but jerked as he quickly stopped short. He swayed between his feet for a moment, eyes shifting indecisively between Hunk and the floor.
Then, he broke out of his hesitation and shuffled over, socks sliding across the floor. He turned and took a careful perch on the edge of the mattress, then leaned into Hunk's side.
Hunk immediately wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him in closer. “I didn’t mean to upset you, buddy."
“I know you didn’t.” Lance wilted, shoulders sinking as he let out a deep sigh.
“I just care. I don't want to see you delude yourself."
“I know, big guy. And I appreciate it."
“I’ll always care, Lance. That’s what BFFLs are for, right?” Hunk smiled down at him.
“Right. BFFLs.” Lance drew away and smiled back, genuine, but sadder, more lopsided.
They sat in ambient quiet for a few dobashes, Lance’s leg anxiously bouncing providing the sole noise in the room.
“Hey,” Hunk eventually said.
“Yeah?”
“While we're on the subject,” Hunk said, “I hear Keith hates key lime yogurt.”
Lance blinked at him, seemingly surprised. Then, he sighed and shook his head. "I never thought I'd say this about Keith, but... finally. Someone with taste around here."
“Princess Allura, will you marry me?”
“Oh, Lotor, you bad boy! Of course I will!”
Lance opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by a kaleidoscope of bleary pastels, running into smears like watercolor paint.
He glanced around in bewilderment, and colors began to retreat back into the shapes they bled from. The golden-pink sun sat just over the horizon, the pale green sky, the streaks of wispy lavender across it; the rolling field of rolling pink juniberry hills they were in the middle of, the deep royal blue of the cape clasped at his throat with a silver pin, everything.
He looked back over as something in his periphery took figure.
Allura looked like a cloud in her wedding dress, all breezy organza and tulle. She held a large bouquet of juniberry blooms, the same kind as the one tucked behind her ear. There was a tiered crown resting on her head, and her scales were radiating soft light onto her face, glowing like a blush, putting pink spots in her eyes. She looked happy, despite how overly poofy she was.
Meanwhile, her beau was dressed in ceremonial Altean armor, spiffed up to perfection, from the brooch pinning the cape to his shoulder to the tips of his boots. His own long hair was twisted into a braid, woven with the same kind of flowers in Allura's bouquet, and he too had a crown, less impressive than hers but still obviously royal.
Lotor reached up to cradle Allura’s face in his hands, stroking the pad of his thumb over the curve of her cheek. She leaned into his palm fondly and smiled lovingly, bringing her own hand up to cover his.
The priestess raised her arms in a theatrical arc of motion, great sleeves of billowing white silk pooling around her elbows. “You may now kiss your bad boy prince!”
“Oh, how I’ve waited for this day to come!” Allura swooned, falling forward into Lotor’s arms. “Ever since I was a young girl, all I’ve wanted was to find a tall, dark, handsome, rebellious prince with a secret heart of gold. And now that I’ve married you, the man of my dreams, my life is now complete!”
“Oh, Allura,” Lotor replied, taking hold of her waist and twisting, dipping her down toward the ground. “I was born with two purposes in life: to put a stop to my father’s reign, and to love you. And now that both reasons for me living have been fulfilled, I can now die a happy man!”
“How about you kiss me instead, you handsome devil?” Allura challenged with a roguish grin.
“Yes, my queen!” Lotor bent down and kissed her like his life depended on it. Allura threw her arms around his neck and returned it with all she had, pouring every ounce of passion and love in her being back into him.
Lance opened his mouth to protest – shouldn’t they have asked for objections first?! – but, instead, he found himself clapping along with the rest of the faceless crowd. He was happy for them - they both deserved happiness, after all the pain they'd endured, and he was glad they could finally find it in each other now that the war was over.
Besides, he'd worked too hard on this wedding to ruin it with any formalities like objections and holding your peace and whatnot!
Lotor swung Allura back up onto her feet, and the two waved to the cheering crowd.
Allura beamed over at Lance, radiating pure joy and delight. She raised a hand and blew him a grateful kiss.
An errant beam of dying sunlight glinted off of her brand new ring and seared his eyes. Lance raised his hand up to shield his eyes from it, blinking madly.
As he warily lowered his hand again, testing to see if the intense light had faded, he jumped. No longer was he standing on the edge of the dais in the middle of the juniberry fields.
Now, he was standing in the ballroom of the Castle of Lions. There were curious floating orbs suspended in the air, casting everything in a beautiful golden haze. There was a crowd surrounding him - he could pick out various aliens that they'd encountered, like stubby little Arusians, willowy Olkari, four-armed Unilu, even DeviantArt OC adjacent DavDabHau - but he couldn’t distinguish any specific faces.
The lights became smashed into sharp, astigmatic fractals, and Lance felt motion sick when he looked around.
Suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder. “Lance?”
Lance spun around to see Keith, handsomely backlit by the glow coming through the balcony doors, regarding him with a wrinkle of concern between his brows.
“Keith!” He coughed to cover up his fright and casually leaned back against the balcony railing behind him. “Hey, what’s up, man?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Keith replied, stepping up to his side. He folded his arms on the marble railing and leaned on them. “Hunk told me you were out here. What’s the matter, have too much of Coran’s nunvil?”
Lance shook his head. “Nah. Just wanted some fresh air. Felt cooped up." He craned his head back to look up at the sky of Altea'asir, now a swathe of brackish green studded with stars that glittered like the beads on Allura's wedding dress. Wait... when did he get outside? That weird feeling roiled in his belly again.
Shaking his head, he turned and bent to lean on his folded arms next to Keith, pressing their shoulders together. “What’s your excuse? Too cool to dance, tough guy?”
Keith smirked back at him. “You got me. Gotta maintain my bad boy reputation, y’know. Can’t have people knowing I vaguely know how to salsa."
“What, embarrassed of my teaching skills?” Lance teased. He leaned away and draped a hand across his forehead, pretending to faint. “Ay, and I thought those dance lessons meant something to you! Keith, how could you?”
“It’s not you, it’s me,” Keith assured, putting his hand on Lance’s back. “Please try to understand. If people see me getting led around on the dance floor by a guy half a foot shorter than me, then they might think they can cross me without getting stabbed."
Lance laughed. "We can't have that, can we?" he joked back. Then, something occurred to him. "Hmm."
Keith tilted his head at him. "What?"
"Oh nothing. Just... you are taller than me, aren't you?" Lance squinted at him. "When did that happen?"
Keith shrugged. "Somewhere along the way, I guess." He arched a critical brow at Lance. "What? Doing some reminiscing?"
"No, I just... genuinely don't remember when that happened."
"What, miss your edge over me?" Keith teased. "It was just two inches, Lance. I think it's time to let it go."
Lance frowned instead of answering the jab, scanning him up and down. His eyes landed on Keith's cheeks, where dark stripes of purple curved around his jaw and ran down into the collar of his ceremony garb.
On instinct, he reached out and traced one with his fingertips.
Keith’s breath stuttered as Lance’s fingertips traced down his neck, stopping at the collar of his dress shirt. His eyes were wide as he stared down into Lance's.
"Where did you get these?" Lance questioned.
"You..." Keith shut his eyes, took a bracing breath through his nose, and moved away from him, backing out of reach. “Are you sure you're okay? You're acting weird."
"I'm not acting weird. This is weird."
"What is?"
"All of it. The wedding, the party, you..." Lance put a hand on Keith's broad chest. "When did you change so much?"
"I told you, somewhere along the way." Keith reached up to tug at Lance's wrists. He gave them a squeeze. "You must have had more nunvil than you let on."
“No. I haven't touched nunvil since that time on Arus. Before the thing with Sendak." Lance gazed up into the cool gray tones of Keith’s eyes. In this light, they looked purple, shifting tones of dusky indigo. “I think I’m just dreaming."
"Dreaming?" Keith's face swam, from this older version of him with the stripes - Galra marks? - to the current version of him, the one Lance knew, still soft in the cheeks and frowny, and two inches shorter.
"I must be. Keith would never, ever let me touch him like this." Lance reached for his face again, pads of his fingers skating over the purple stripes.
Dream Keith - Future Keith? Ideal Keith?? - smiled sadly. "Do you want him to?" He covered Lance's hand with his own and tilted his face into his palm, eyes fluttering shut like he wanted to relish the feeling.
The question struck him. "N-no? I dunno. No."
Dreamy Keith (oops! try again) Dream Keith cracked his eyes back open, long black lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. "That couldn't be any less convincing."
Lance flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, whatever." He tried to tug his hand away. "Let me go, mullet."
Dream Keith tightened his grip. He pulled Lance's hand down and pressed his palm to his chest, then covered it with his own. No heartbeat pounded under his palm. "Why are you still kidding yourself?"
"Stop!" Lance barked at him, growing testy. He squirmed in Keith's grip. "Let go!"
"You and Keith are partners. Equals. You'll never be able to have that with Allura."
"We're not equals. Not anymore. When we lead the team, sure, but then he left," Lance spat. He finally tore his hand away and sharply turned his back on Dream Keith, tightly crossing his arms across his chest. "He left. Just like always."
"And why do you think that hurt you so bad?"
"I told you, I don't know!"
"Can't you just face it?" A hand roughly spun him around. Holding him still by the biceps, Keith moved in closer, eyes glowing violet, glittering with red and blue stars. "Really think about it, Lance. Why are you dreaming about him? What about Allura? Don't you love her?"
Suddenly, the fight in him deflated, leaving him hollow and empty. "I do. I do."
"Do you, though?"
Lance hung his head, just to be able to escape Keith's gaze. "I thought I did..."
Keith's grip on him relaxed. "But..?"
"But..." Lance swallowed and looked down at the lines on his palm. He flattened it to his own chest, over where his heart was beating against the back of his sternum, and closed his eyes in resignation. "Not like this." He forced himself to look up, and met Keith's eyes.
Dream Keith's face eased, his intensity dimming. He brought his hands up, one caressing Lance's face. The other, he gently brushed Lance's hand away from his chest and replaced it with his own.
His face softened with reverence and understanding, and the stars in his eyes twinkled when he looked into Lance's.
"Not like this?" he asked in a breath.
Lance looked up into the other's eyes, then skittishly glanced back down at their feet. With a shaky breath, he shuffled in closer, close enough to breathe the same air. "No," he whispered back. "I thought she was what I wanted. Ever since I first met her. But it's... she's never... she hasn't made me feel like he has."
He looked back up. Keith's eyes gleamed like the ether, marvelous and grandly intoxicating. "Hunk was right. She isn't what I need."
Keith smiled gently. "About time you realized, sharpshooter."
Lance smiled back. "Yeah. Sorry it took so long, samurai."
Keith's eyes crinkled at the nickname. The stripes on his cheeks had disappeared, and he'd blinked back to regular Keith, still soft in the cheeks and frowny, and still two inches shorter. "You know you don't ever have to be sorry with him."
The hands on Lance’s hips moved, sliding back to clasp together at the small of his back. Keith smiled up at him sweetly, a little shyly, shaggy bangs falling in his eyes. His lashes lowered, lids shuttering his eyes, and he moved in.
Lance gulped around his heart in his throat, and leaned in back. He slipped his eyes closed, and when warm air ghosted over his mouth, he stopped, hovering on the precipice. "What do I do after this? When I wake up..?"
Air puffed across his mouth. "You're a Red Paladin, aren't you? Let instinct guide you."
And then warm, dry, ghostly pressure fitted to his lips.
Lance shot up in bed with a gasp, heart hammering in his chest.
The only sound in the room was his heavy breathing, and the confused squeaking of four sleepy, confused and irritated space mice squirming in his lap as they were disturbed by his sudden movement.
Lance swallowed and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.
With the other hand, he brushed his fingertips across his burning face, then lightly touched his lips, still warm and tingling.
“Uh-oh.”