Chapter Text
Keith flipped slowly through his book, taking in none of the story. Words went through his brain without ever leaving a mark, and when he finally snapped to, he’d “read” two unrememberable chapters. He groaned. I can’t focus, he whined to himself. The doors slid open and the reason for his troubled thoughts waltzed right on in like he owned the place. Lance. Keith felt his chest constrict. Don’t look at him, Keith, he told himself. You can get over him. You can- wait, is it even possible to get over your soulmate? A small panic coursed through him.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, sunshine?” Lance asked nonchalantly, settling next to him on the couch. Keith shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
“Nothing, really, I just can’t focus.” Only half of a lie. Lance pursed his lips.
“What’s this? Mister perfect Keith is having an off day? Why, Hunk, I didn’t know that was possible for cyborgs!” It was a joke, but it stabbed him in the heart like a red hot knife. He sighed.
“What do you want, Lance?” he asked. Lance smirked, and eyed him carefully.
“Spar with me,” he suggested. Keith raised a bemused eyebrow. “You’re having an off day, I’m taking my opportunity. Or, what? Are you scared I’ll finally beat you?” he taunted. Don’t rise to it, Keith, he told himself. Keep your distance, Keith.
Instead, he dropped his book, not bothering to mark his page, and stood. “Fine. Let’s spar. But don’t get all bitter when you lose.”
--
It was the first day back at his second year of Garrison. Keith took a deep breath and let it out slowly; he could do this. Just two more years. Sitting in his desk, he noticed a fresh face across the room from him- no doubt a first year. While there were quite a few of them, his shining face stood out to Keith- and took his breath away. Keith felt a tug deep in his gut, and he gulped. Mama always said that happened with soulmates. I wonder. He stood and, as inconspicuously as possible, made his way across the room to greet the first years.. Well, one particular first year. He stood at the boy’s desk and held out his hand.
“Hey, I’m Keith. You a first year?” he asked. The boy looked up at him and shook his hand, a skeptical look on his face. As soon as he brushed their hands together, Keith felt a heat ride from his collar bone. My soulmark. Holy shit. It’s actually him. The boy dropped his hand and scratched absentmindedly at his head.
“I mean, yeah, I’m a first year. Don’t you remember me?” he asked, an offended tone to his voice. Keith almost felt rejected by the hostility in his voice. He grimaced.
“Umm.. no?” he confessed. “Sorry, I’m really bad with-”
“Oh, come on!” the boy exclaimed. “We were rivals back at the academy! Lance and Keith! Neck and neck! Come on, how do you forget your rival?” he cried. So his name is Lance. Keith gulped awkwardly, suddenly realizing that he was sucking at this whole socializing thing. He’d felt a tingle in his soulmark- hadn’t Lance felt it, too? Keith sighed and brought his defenses back up.
“Maybe if you’d been any competition at all I would have remembered you, cargo pilot.” With that, he turned and marched back to his seat, his mood officially soured.
The room was eerily silent, but he could hear Lance’s friend mumble to him; “Dude, you just got told.”
--
Keith stood in the center of the room, doing a quick breathing exercise to calm himself down a bit. Lance ambled in behind him, taking his time heading to the weapon rack. Keith opened his eyes and sneered at him.
“No weapons. Hand to hand first, or I’m not sparring with you.” Lance looked back at him, dumbfounded.
“What? Why? Afraid I’ll cream you with these practice swords?” Keith smirked.
“What, are you afraid I’ll cream you with my bare hands?” he challenged. Lance flushed.
“Dude. Word choice.” Keith thought over what he’d said and flushed a deep scarlet. This is so not the time to think like that, Keith. He scowled.
“Real mature, Lance. Real mature.” Lance shrugged, a playful grin toying at his lips.
“What can I say? I’m an expert at being mature.” Keith sneered at him again, trying to squash the butterflies in his gut.
“Whatever, let’s just get this over with,” he demanded. They shed their jackets and took their stances in the middle of the room.
--
“Welcome, first years, to your first class here at Garrison. Welcome back, second years. If you’ve not met me before, my name is Ms. Vanderwood,” she informed them, gesturing to her neatly written name on the chalkboard. “As the majority of you likely don’t know one another, we’re going to dedicate our first class period together to ice breakers!”
The class groaned in unison and she tittered out an annoyingly high pitched laugh. Keith glanced to the empty seat at his side, and missed Shiro. Why did third years have to be in separate classes? Ms. Vanderwood moved to the side of the classroom and picked up a beach ball with ice cubes printed all over it. She held it in front of herself proudly, as though it were a trophy.
“Now, class,” she began again, “This is the ice breaker ball. You’ll all sit on your desks and toss the ball to one another, and when you catch it, the questions under both of your thumbs will be the ones you are to read aloud and then answer to the class.” Keith grimaced.
The ball made its way around the room uneventfully, people giving generic and predictable answers as always. Keith’s attention wasn’t piqued until it landed in Lance’s hands. Lance peered curiously at his thumbs.
“Ah, let’s see, question one. If you could have anyone from history over for dinner, be they alive or dead, who would you choose and why?” Lance furrowed his brows contemplatively. “Why would I want a dead person for dinner? They’d be all stinky and decayed,” he joked. Keith barely kept the smirk from his face. “Uh, okay, let’s go with Megan Fox. She was super hot.” A low laugh murmured through the room, and while Vanderwood looked displeased, she didn’t say anything to him about it. Lance turned the ball in his hands, peering under the other thumb. “Now, question two.. What is one thing that makes you unique from everybody else?” Lance gulped, and looked to his friend. “Is that thing too personal to share with the class, or am I that kind of person?” he asked quietly, bemused. His friend thought about this.
“If you’re not uncomfortable, then no, it’s not too personal, and yes, you’re definitely that kind of person,” he replied. Lance smiled crookedly.
“Thanks, Hunk.” He straightened himself and cleared his throat. “I, Lance, am completely unique, because I’m the only person I’ve ever met or heard of that doesn’t have a soulmark.”
Keith’s heart plummeted. But you’re my soulmate, he thought angrily, you have to have a soulmark. Unless.. Keith swallowed. Oh, god. I’ve only heard of this in tragic novels.
Lance is my soulmate.
But I’m not his.
--
Keith had Lance pinned to the floor within a minute. The rematch only took forty five seconds, and it only got more embarrassing for Lance from there. Eventually, Keith took pity on him and stood off of him, holding his hand out. “Come on, dude. I think we’re done.” Lance sighed and reached out to take it, giving him a skeptical look. And suddenly, they were back at Garrison, the same tingle coming from Keith’s collarbone all over again. He jerked, nearly dropping Lance entirely, but caught himself in time. Lance stumbled to his feet.
“What the hell was that about!?” he cried, regaining balance. Keith shook his head, knotting a hand in his hair and scratching his collarbone absentmindedly.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just- I twitched, and I’ve been off all day, and-” he grumbled and tugged at his hair, settling to tie it back before he yanked it out. Lance eyed him cautiously.
“Are you okay, Keith?” he worried. Keith’s breath hitched, caught off guard by the concern in Lance’s voice. Keith stared at the floor as he tied his hair up.
“I’m.. I’m okay, yeah, just weird. Been screwing up everything I do today,” he admitted quietly. Lance pouted.
“So you’ve been screwing up at everything you do and you still managed to beat me hand to hand in every single one of our fights?” Keith sighed and looked at Lance.
“Lance, that’s not what I-” he started, but Lance cut him off.
“No, I didn’t mean it in an offended way. I just mean.. You didn’t seem to be screwing up to me, dude. You fight really, really good. Way better than I do, even on an off day,” he insisted. Keith huffed.
“You’re a great fighter, Lance. Really, you are. I just... spend too much time in here, I guess,” he admitted. Lance hummed.
“Will you train me?” he asked. Keith’s heart skipped a beat. He looked Lance in the eyes and saw nothing but hope there.
“...You want me to be your teacher?” he clarified. Lance nodded. Every siren was screaming in Keith’s head. Keep your distance. Don’t get too close. But.. The way Lance held himself, with pride even though he’d lost, and the kindness and intrigue written all over his face. His eyes twinkled, and his crooked smile peeked out, showing his dimple, and-
“Okay, fine. Yeah. I’ll train you.” It’s just to keep him safe. Lance jumped for joy, letting out a whoop before engulfing Keith in his arms.
Keith hated hugs.
But Keith loved Lance.
And Lance is an impossible person to stay away from.