Chapter Text
“I hate him.”
Lance let out his eighth angered sigh since leaving set, entering his shambolic trailer that properly mirrored his current mental state. He had meant to clean up the place—really, he had—but with everything going on recently, he just didn’t have the time. Pidge and Hunk weren’t far behind him, climbing the few steps leading up before entering Lance’s private trailer.
“They gave the kissing scene to Keith?” Lance scoffed, “Out of all of us, the board choses an emo, vampiric conspiracy theorist who barely speaks to-to not just flirt with, but also make out with a hot girl?”
Pidge frowned and made a small, displeased grunt at her phone as Hunk plopped down on a blue beanbag off a ways from where Lance was pacing. Hunk, observant and kind-hearted as usual, took notice of Pidge’s expression.
“What’s wrong?” Hunk asked.
“Keith isn’t answering my texts,” she mumbled, removing one hand from her phone to readjust her glasses. Shaking her head, she looked up at Hunk, “It’s not like him.”
“Well no wonder,” Lance huffed, throwing his hands up in the air as he flung himself into a nearby office chair. “It’s probably because he’s already practicing with her for their scene!”
Pidge shot Lance a flat look before rolling her eyes. “Keith isn’t like you, Lance, he’s not gonna jump at the chance to kiss some girl he barely knows.” Lance would’ve been offended if it weren’t for the confusing undertone to her words, making him wonder if there was more to what she said than he understood.
Lance ultimately decided on sticking his tongue out, a juvenile enterprise, but one that still brought him childish satisfaction. Crossing his arms across his chest, he turned his head to the side to stare at the wall. His eyes instantly landed on the cork board nailed to the inside of the trailer, cluttered with mementos and family pictures. One particular photo from years ago, taken after a long summer day as the sun set, caught his attention. It was taken back in Varadero before they moved to the States, everyone had spend the day at the beach, swimming and making sandcastles.
Though by far, the most vivid part that stuck out in the fond memory were the smiles. Ever since the move, his main concentration had shifted onto his movie career, meaning time spent with his family dwindled down to make room for the building blocks of his acting future. He loved his family more than anything, but his acting allowed him to help out with the expenses—no matter how much mamá tried to refuse his help.
Feeling the sides of his lips begin to tilt downwards, he silently swore to dedicate more time to visiting his family.
His gaze glided over the other familiar moments of his history, captured in single, split-second moments of time. Other memories were kept through scribbled crayon drawings from his siblings or miscellaneous arts-and-crafts from his elementary school days. He felt a small, proud smile curl his lips up into a smile at seeing his older sister, Mia, holding up the first-place trophy for her robotics club. She had always been the astute one; a straight-A student and total nerd that never ceased to impress.
Lance almost chuckled as another memory resurfaced: his first week as a freshman had gone downhill fast, and he remembered the overwhelming stress when money had gotten tight. He was still most definitely underage, so he had searched high and low for alternatives—mowing Mr. Vega’s lawn, walking the neighbors’ dogs, babysitting, anything that would pay. It was only once abuelo got sick when Lance had really started panicking; it had gotten to the point where he was willing to take any shady job, as long as he got paid.
And Mia had noticed.
She had caught him attempting to sneak out the backdoor one night and convinced him to listen to what she had to say (it only took a simple threat of yelling to wake up mamá). After a curt, seemingly prepared speech, it turned out her many supervised clubs proved to serve another use: raising money. Not only that, but victors to certain competitions could even be awarded with prize money.
It was back then that Lance fell in love with the clubs. Sure, the money had been his original aim, but learning to meld wires together in robotics, or learning to control and pace his speech in debate, even memorizing words for the national spelling bees grew to radiate mirth. Anytime he felt down, he would just visit—
Oh.
“Lance!”
Lance yelped, practically falling out of his chair at the sound of Pidge’s irritated voice. Quickly shaking his head as if it would help detach the memories that clung to his mind like dizzying leeches, he twirled around in his seat until he faced her and Hunk.
“You okay there bud?” Hunk questioned, giving Lance a curious look.
A grin slowly grew across Lance’s features, rapidly lighting up his expression. His friends’ confusion was instant, and both Hunk and Pidge shared questioning looks before glancing back to Lance. Lance, no longer in a bad mood, allowed himself to stand.
“Pidge, get your computer. Hunk, find someone important on set who can let us use one of the rooms.”
“Someone important?” Hunk echoed, smiling even as he rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the specific instructions there man.”
“And what exactly are we doing?” Pidge asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow as she stared at him. In response, Lance confidently placed his hands on his hips and smirked down at her.
“We’re starting a club.”
—
Keith let out a frustrated sigh as the meeting room was finally empty, leaving himself alone with his manager. The other actors had left early enough, Pidge and Hunk giving him a thumbs up as they quietly rushed after a fuming Lance.
Lance.
Keith actually huffed at the memory of Lance storming out of the room just because he wasn't given the task of kissing Nyma. Keith, on the other hand, was absolutely appalled. Not that Nyma wasn’t attractive—he just played for the other team, and this definitely wasn’t his area of expertise, even if it was just for show. He knew the only reason he was given this role over literally any of the other actors in the first place was because he hadn’t come out yet.
Not that he didn’t want to.
“You’re doing this,” his manager, Zarkon, stated as if it was the easiest choice he’d ever made—as if it was his choice in the first place.
Though Keith still thought of his manager as Zarkon, everyone had begun calling him by the name Z after his outburst over all the snide comments and whispered jokes—being compared to the show’s main antagonist really did do him in after all.
“You didn’t even give me the chance to—“ Keith began, exasperated.
“Keith,” Z interrupted without hesitation, “You want this job, don’t you?”
Keith let out another livid huff, dropping his gaze down to the polished floor of the conference room. “More like I need it,” he murmured under his breath. He had been lucky to have Shiro around, more than willing to lend his help anytime Keith desired, but he also had to make it on his own. He refused to rely solely on Shiro.
“I’m sorry,” Z said in a voice that was anything but, “come again?”
Keith, raising his gaze to stare flatly at his manager, spoke again, this time in a more determined tone that belied his bubbling indignation. “I can’t live like this Z, let alone work like this!” Now it was Zarkon’s turn to be annoyed. He shook his head, closing his eyes in disdain as he stepped aside and around the raven-haired teen. He strode across the room in barely three steps, leaning down to pick up his glass; the melting ice clinked around in the Lilliputian sum of remaining vodka. Oh how Keith wished he had some for himself right now, he was just barely withholding himself from banging his head against the walls.
“We’ve gone over this Keith,” he said, taking one final swig. “You can’t be some queer—not in this show and not in real life—you’ll never survive in this industry if you are.” Each word was like a red-hot slap to the face, making Keith’s pulse race and his muscles tighten. Keith wanted to punch him so badly he could feel his mind preparing to attack, but his career would be over before he got in the first hit.
“You make me sound diseased,” Keith hissed back in response. “Since when did being gay become such a bad thing?”
Zarkon slammed his glass against the wooden surface of the conference table, his eyes burning into Keith’s. The gaze was so intense it made Keith’s adrenaline-drunk body tense.
“Since the fan base said so,” he replied in a low, matter-of-fact voice.
Keith paused, taking a moment to bite his bottom lip before speaking again. He already knew he was going to lose this argument, but he wasn’t going to give up without trying at least. “There’s plenty of gay ships in the fandom,” he retorted.
“Sure,” Z forced a laugh that sent chills down Keith’s already pencil-straight spine. “Maybe back when the show was first starting out.”
Now Zarkon was walking back towards him, his expression deadly serious, forcing all of Keith’s limbs scream at him to step back and run. Still, he didn’t dare move. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to lie like this anymore. He would rather die a slow, painfully tortuous death than pretend for another minute.
“But now,” Z continued, voice even more impossibly low, now completely towering over Keith, “everything’s different.”
“You see, after going international, our audience has changed drastically. Meaning: we no longer have one particular audience to subject ourselves to. We have many different watchers’ tastes to adhere to, and because our largest watching groups are not primarily focused on homosexuality, it wouldn’t do us much good to incorporate it.”
Keith was so furious he could scream. “That’s—how—what kind of fucked up logic is that! Diversity will attract all kinds of viewers and increase popularity, why the hell—“
“Not in our experience. Not in this show.”
Keith felt the anger rising over all his worries and logic, making his tone rise right along with it. “I may be an actor Z, but I can’t keep up this façade both on and off set! Not to mention that it’s lying to my fans!”
“You even insinuating that you’re gay will ruin you, Keith.”
How Zarkon kept his voice so calm and contained Keith would never know. Mostly because he couldn’t help himself anymore. His instincts kicked in; his fist flashed in front of both their faces before smacking Z smack-dab in the face. He felt his knuckles make contact with bone and heard the sound of blood-curling crunching. He instantly drew back, his feet guiding him backwards as he watched his manager recoil in surprised pain.
Keith was out of the room before he could see how he reacted next.
—
Keith didn’t hesitate to stick around. He needed to find someplace to go that wasn’t his trailer. Or Shiro’s home—which washis home, too, he corrected himself—wasn’t a good idea either. He wasn’t going to make his adopted brother put up with his mistakes.
Keith could figure this out, he could find another manager before he managed to get his gay ass fired, right?
Sure.
Sure he could.
He sped down the empty halls that connected to the set of the main interior of the Altean ship, as well as the exit to the parking lot where all the trailers were situated. The area was surprisingly empty, but then again they had finished up much earlier than usual for the meeting. The meeting that had single-handedly ruined his career. Well, really, it had been the punch to Zarkon’s face, but it’s not like he’d actually admit that. He enjoyed smashing the man’s face in way more than he should have.
His eyes darted to the passing window, catching a glimpse of the sun late midday. It was probably somewhere around three or four o’clock, meaning he still had a chance to find Pidge wandering around and just ask to crash at her place for the night. She’d understand.
He turned a corner and halted, giving himself a moment to breathe. His hand slid into his dark jean pocket, realizing his flip-phone was still turned off. He took the small device out and turned it hesitantly in his sweaty palm. Sure he could instantly reach Pidge with it on, but when the thought spurred of the possibilities of important missed calls arose, he quickly shoved his phone into his back pocket and continued his trek as something caught his eye.
Keith came to a screeching halt near the directors chairs placed behind the camera. His dark eyes instantly latched onto the simple black words inked onto the white poster. It read:
We Hate Keith ClubThis Week’s Topic: Keith’s Stupid Mullet
Location: That One Room Filled With Chairs Near The Lunch Area
Next Week: Keith’s Dumb Eyes
“Oh for—” he groaned, momentarily forgetting the severity of the situation to tear down the poster—only to realize how many lined the walls. How had he not noticed this earlier? His eyes widened slightly at the sight; he backed up, nearly smacking into one of the high chairs, so he could take in the grand sight. There were so many posters plastered along the wall that you couldn’t even tell there was a wall anymore.
“How the—when did he have time for this?” he wondered aloud, his eyes trailing over the dimly lit, identical posters. Honestly, Keith wasn’t surprised at the task itself as much as the effort put into it.
Then the idea struck.
Pidge had to be there with Hunk and, no doubt, Lance.
She always joined whatever crazy stunts Lance involved himself in, and admittedly she watched for a good laugh, she was still Lance’s friend. Of course she’d be there for him. When he had first met her it was through Matt, who was friends with Shiro. At first, he was taken aback by how welcoming and unbelievably warm the two siblings were, but now it was comforting to know he had others to count on besides Shiro.
Keith immediately headed towards the decided location, a small grin tugging at the reminder behind the place’s prestige. It began months ago when they had just started filming for Voltron: Legendary Defender, Keith had been more than stressed. Being forced out of his comfort zone for green paper that kept him alive had run him down faster than the police chasing after a parked car. Every break he had he went to the lunch area nearby, getting himself a triple-shot espresso to keep himself moving. The all-nighters for second jobs as a barista or bookstore clerk didn’t help either, especially when customers started recognizing him as an actor once the show gained fame. His bosses didn’t appreciate the hold-up in lines either, and finding secondary jobs kept getting harder and harder to keep.
Keith had been taking his fourth shot that day when he felt an assertive hand come down to rest on his shoulder. His entire body tensed at the unexpected and certainly unwelcome touch, his eyes darting to glare at the personal-bubble intruder with metaphorical knives.
”U-uh,” Lance’s confidence hesitated as he shifted in place under Keith’s gaze, “Keith, buddy, you sure it’s okay to be drinking so much coffee this early?” Keith hadn’t even bothered to insult him; he had been too tired.
“Buzz off.”
Lance seemed to regain his poise at that and smiled, seeming to take it as approval for whatever plan his bright blue eyes seemed to hide. He threw his arm over Keith so it was draped over both his shoulders and back, gently tugging him away from the coffee machine.
“Oh dude you’re in luck,” Lance began, nearly dragging Keith along to the room next door, “Hunk and I brought speakers today.”
“Your voice is already annoyingly loud Lance, you don’t need speaker.”
Lance had just taken his insult in stride, as usual, “Was that an actual joke? From you, Keith? Never thought I’d live to see the day. Hell—I never thought the day would ever come!”
When the duo entered the room for what was his first time, Keith had stopped in his tracks.
The small room was cramped with the show’s actors, all of them chatting happily with one another around the circumference of chairs. The chairs themselves were arranged to create a huge circle, a round table situated in the center with someone’s phone lying on top. Keith understood why bringing speakers had been considered such a big deal to Lance—two huge speakers at the table’s base were connected to the phone atop the table by an aux cord. They were near the height of the table, reaching around where Keith would guess was his own waist.
It was currently playing some quiet—if the music forcefully trailing out of the speakers could be called that—instrumental music. Mixed haphazardly with the voices of dozens of others people he wasn’t familiar with, Keith felt dreadfully out of his own element.
Clearly noticing his distress, Lance spoke up.
“No, no—wait, trust me. There won’t be any talking.”
At that Keith turned with a raised brow, giving a weird enough look to make Lance bubble up with laughter.
“Sorry,” he apologized between laughs. “We’re—it’s not—it’s musical chairs, I swear.” Still suspicious, Keith hesitated, but nodded. His eyes trailed the crowd, and needing a distraction from all the surrounding people, Keith spoke.
“Why’d you invite me?”
Lance tensed slightly, not expecting such candidness. He quickly shook it off, his intense blue eyes leaving Keith’s to scan the crowd just like he had moments ago. “Invited everyone else,” he shrugged. Then, becoming slightly quieter—as if Keith wasn’t having enough trouble listening with the chatter of those around him—Lance added, “Plus, you’re always going off on your own a lot, so, you know.”
No, he didn’t know. He would’ve asked too, if it weren’t for Lance’s startling “aha!” and yelling across the room.
“Hunk, Pidge! There you guys are—“ he turned back to meet Keith’s confused gaze, “c’mon.” Suddenly Keith felt the warm presence of fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging him along through the thicker sections of the crowd, towards the circle of chairs.
“Wh—“ Keith began, instantly cut off by Pidge’s voice.
“Finally, Lance! Do you know how frustrating it is to setup with only one other person?” she glared at him, and before he could reply, she went on. “No, no you don’t, because you were off doing—“ seeing Keith, she halted abruptly.
“Keith?” she questioned, her eyes drifting down quickly to glance at his wrist—where Lance’s hand still was. Chestnut eyes narrowing immediately, her gaze went back up to meet Keith’s eyes, giving him a questioning look. A look that only served to make Keith uncomfortable. He wanted to tear his hand away, but what was the point in doing it now? After the moment passed, she gave a small smile paired with a shrug. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, anyway. Took you long enough to join in on the fun.”
Lance finally joined in, an annoyingly smug grin plastered across his face. “Unsurprising, he’s always last for everything.”
Keith was already on edge this morning, and Lance’s childish comments weren’t helping. “Bet I can beat you at—whatever the hell this is,” he growled back, lifting his free hand to motion at the chairs.
“Oh please, mullet,” Lance rolled his eyes, although his smirk widened in response. “You wouldn’t make it past the first round.”
He could see Pidge watching them out of the corner of his eye. He knew Lance pointedly trying to rile him up. He knew engaging would be a bad decision. Admittedly, that was probably why he was making the decision in the first place.
“Bring it.”
“Loser buys lunch.”
Keith’s responses were automatic now. There was no way he was going to back down, especially not with Lance challenging him. The boy always brought out his competitive side.
“Fine.”
At that Lance’s eyes lit up with excited, scattering blue fireworks. He finally let go of Keith—an accustomed warmth that made Keith’s wrist feel cold—and stepped back excitedly. Quickly clambering atop a chair, he stood up straight and yelled over the crowd.
“Hey! Everyone! Listen up!”
Everyone quieted, the conversations dying out slowly as each person turned to face Lance. Keith didn’t know if he could handle all those eyes on him—a camera and a few back-stage, sure—but these were tons of people all solely staring at Lance. It’s why Keith didn’t attend the cast invitation to walk the red-carpet or receive any award-giving ceremonies. Completely unbothered by the attention, and quite honestly basking in it, Lance went on.
“We’re starting now, so, if everyone could please stay gather ‘round the chairs. Cool. Thanks guys!”
Stepping down, he gave Keith one last challenging look before turning towards the center where Hunk was now waiting. Rolling his eyes, Keith turned away, immediately facing Pidge and her disapproving look.
“What?”
She scowled, shaking her head, “Do you even know how to play?”
He shrugged, “I’ve always been considered a fast learner.”
“If you lose, you’re gonna have to buy Hunk and me lunch too, you know,” Pidge told him.
Since when was that established?
“It was implied,” she answered his unasked question with a sudden cheerfulness.
“I’m beginning to think you just want free food,” Keith said, but smiled.
Pidge bashed her eyelashes innocently at him. “Of course not.”
The music suddenly shifted to a song more upbeat and loud, the crowd thickening as Pidge shot him a parting grin. “Good luck then,” she said, squeezing past two girls huddled together behind him, disappearing into the crowd.
Then, just like the music, everyone was shifting.
Some were just shuffling awkwardly along, but most—to Keith’s horror—were dancing. There were couples, salsaing or informally waltzing with one another in a counter-clockwise way around the circle of seats. Realizing a little too late he would have to join in eventually, attempting to hide himself by nudging himself between a group of friends dancing and laughing together. Needless to say, Keith joined the awkward shuffling type.
Soon after he found Pidge, giggling beside her older brother Matt, who was attempting—and quite honestly failing—the robot. Coran was close by, attempting to do the same as the three of them continued moving around the chairs. But before he could call out to any of them, the music stopped. The change was so sudden. The loss of sound plunged the room in a quiet that was so quick it eerily unnerved Keith.
Everyone seemed to flip a switch, turning a running in the same direction. Keith flinched instinctively, freezing up. A woman roughly pushed his shoulder, causing him to move to the side. His thoughts grew increasingly more panicked, wondering what had just happened. Right as his gaze flew over to the silenced sound-system, he noticed a girl taking a hurried seat. Then a man a few seats over followed her lead.
Oh, Keith realized. So that’s how you play.
Catching on in the nick of time, he nearly threw himself upon the nearest chair, just as another person wearing an oversized sweater began to sit down. He felt the need to apologize at their shocked expression, but they just shortly smiled before joining the remaining group of people who hadn’t grabbed a seat in time.
Well, he hadn’t lost yet.
Just had to beat Lance.
Speaking of…
His eyes quickly trailed the seated crowd until they landed upon the tan boy across the room—who was staring right back at him. Keith nearly jolted up straight in his seat. Lance wore a slightly shocked expression, which evaporated in a flash to be replaced with a condescending grin. Lance still thought he was going to win.
Keith grinned back, the music starting alongside him as if on cue. This song was new—faster and definitely belonging to a different artist. The beat was entirely unfamiliar, the dipping and curves of the music nearly as startling as the people standing beside him. Seeming to follow to rhythm, Keith stood as well.
Everyone began dancing again, and Keith immediately went looking for anyone he knew. Even Lance would be acceptable at this point, albeit he doubted he’d find the arrogant actor in this heap of people. He couldn’t understand how so many were enjoying himself, smiling gleefully and joking to the person beside them. He could understand the rush of panicked adrenaline when the music stopped, sure, but the dancing apart…
Hunk appeared, his huge, huggable body a blessing to Keith in this sea of shoving, distracted bodies. Keith maneuvered around a dancing trio just in time to gracefully slam into Hunk’s back. With an ‘ouf’, Hunk had turned around, looking shortly surprised then delighted to see him.
“Keith!” he said easily over the blaring music. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you here!” His face immediately scrunched up, looking rueful as he shook his head and spoke again. “I didn’t mean to offend, it’s just, I know you’re not—“
“A fan of people,” Keith finished, his voice barely perceivable to his own self. Raising his voice, he went on, “Yeah, no, I’m not.”
Hunk continued smiling along with the music. “Still,” he said swaying his body side-to-side, “I’m glad. I hope you at least try to enjoy yourself man!”
Keith didn’t respond; not only did he not want to respond, but he hadn’t been allowed the option chance either. It was soon after that the music stopped again that Keith was immediately racing to a chair; he had gotten to a seat easier this time. Thankfully, no one was about to sit down like before. The rounds continued on, the crowd dwindling until there were only five others left and two seats. His head was nearly spinning at all the dizzying movements and touchy people, but he couldn’t allow himself to lose.
Keith took in another quick scan of the room, his eyes landing on his remaining competitors. As expected, Lance was in the remaining twenty. Tragic. And, equally as expected, he was talking—probably flirting—to two girls sitting beside him. Keith just rolled his eyes, his gaze fluttering across at the others. Pidge made it thanks to her small stature; although she complained a lot to Keith about her height, he was sometimes envious of her ability to disappear and slink her way through tough crowds whenever she wanted. He didn’t have that luxury.
It went on like this for a while, repeated patterns with Keith hiding between groups of people and racing to chairs nearby. It got harder as the game went on, leaving less and less people for him to sneak behind. Soon enough though, there were only three others left, and two chairs. Coran had managed to win, along with another actress Keith had never met before, and Lance. The surrounding crowd of people that lost were mostly wandering around the bar area now, talking and getting drinks, while others were off talking at the sidelines. No one was really watching besides Hunk and Pidge. Keith almost scoffed, he knew they were just impatiently waiting to see who was buying lunch.
And if Keith had any say in it, it was going to be Lance.
Keith was nearing the seat of one of the two back-to-back chairs when the song stopped. The music ended more abruptly than before, causing the four remaining competitors to rush for a seat in a panicked fashion. Coran had been right behind him—a second too late. He sat down right before the older man, sending him a sympathetic shrug before grinning. He was definitely going to win, and if his hopes were correct…
Yeah, of course not.
He turned around to see Lance, sitting with what Keith knew was an arrogant grin on his face. He couldn't really see since they were back to back, but he didn’t need to. Groaning under his breath, Keith stood up as the music started up again. This time the music wasn’t indie like the last, but lyrical and…
Entirely in Spanish.
Keith saw movement from his peripheral vision, and turning, he saw Hunk leave Pidge’s side. Hunk quickly moved forward between the two of them to pull away a chair, before returning to Pidge. Once again, there was movement off to his other side. This time when he turned, however, he hadn’t expected the contact he received. A familiar, slim hand had clasped around Keith’s wrist. Nearly flinching away, Keith whipped around, his gaze shooting to see who had just grabbed him. His eyes widened.
“Lanc—?”
He was quickly cut off by his own shocked gasp as his body was pulled forward—just barely stopping himself before smacking into Lance. Before getting the chance to express his angered confusion, his other wrist was grabbed by Lance, who proceeded to slip his hands down and intwine their fingers.
“Wha—?” he choked out, his eyes darting from their interlaced fingers up to Lance’s playful blue eyes.
“You haven’t been dancing the entire time,” Lance finally explained, rolling his eyes as a small grin shone across his face. “You know, the whole point of musical chairs is to enjoy yourself with the music.”
Keith scoffed, raising their tangled hands between them, “And this helps how exactly?”
Lance’s grin widened. “You ever salsa before?”
Keith had to admit, the song did sound like the right kind to salsa to, but it didn’t matter regardless. He paused, his eyes narrowing for a second before answering, “I don’t dance.”
“Oh come on,” Lance rolled his eyes once again, sounding exasperated, “everyone can dance.”
“Even if I wanted to, I don’t know how.”
“Then let me show you.” Before Keith could attest, Lance went on. “Okay, first, feet together.”
Keith opened his mouth to attest, but seeing Lance’s amused expression, he sighed and glanced down awkwardly at his feet. Shuffling a bit, he positioned them together. Apparently he was doing it right, since Lance huffed a quiet ‘alright’ before raising his voice.
“Now step forward with your left foot.”
Keith frowned, his eyes still planted on his feet. “Uh… unless you want me to step on your foot, I don’t think—“ Lance chuckled, interrupting Keith’s thoughts.
“Trust me.”
He paused. Hesitating, Keith took a moment before ignoring his inner protests and stepped forward. Lance smoothly stepped back with his right, his timing perfectly in tune with the music.
“Oh,” Keith let out quietly.
“Okay, good. Now step back.”
Keith let his eyes flicker up to give Lance a questioning look. “A bit redundant, isn’t it?” he asked him, but obeyed nonetheless, his left foot returning beside his right. “Why would you step forward just to return to the same spot you started?”
Lance shrugged. “Isn’t that how life is too?” he asked. “Now you step back with your right.” This time Keith did so without question, and Lance stepped forward. “See! Easy.”
“That’s it?”
Even though Keith still looked at the floor, he could see movement above him. He guessed Lance was nodding.
“That’s it. Speed’s the only thing missing now.”
Lance gave a few more small additions after that, mostly so they could step up, sidestep, and switch positions in big motions to increase the distance they traveled. They continued repeating the repetitious pattern, with Keith trying to keep his moves graceful and calm and Lance smoothly keeping up. It would have bothered him—Lance having such an easy time while he was struggling—but he was too distracted. He knew Katie’s and Hunk’s eyes were on them, as well as any onlookers. It made him uncomfortable, like they were watching him doing something private.
His hands tightened involuntarily as he frowned down at the ground, trying to fasten his pace. They had managed to actually start moving around the chair now, maintaining their decent speed. It was now Lance decided to speak up, nearly startling Keith into stepping on Lance’s foot.
“Not bad, but—“ Lance released a hand from Keith’s. He wondered silently what Lance was doing, before belatedly realizing what was happening. Keith froze, stopping their dance. Lance’s warm hand moved under Keith’s chin, gently pushing it upwards until he was looking directly at Lance, whose face was scrunched up in concentration. “There. Much better,” he smiled.
Keith couldn’t help himself. “How am I supposed to dance without knowing where I’m going?”
“It’s why you have a partner—“ Lance stepped back, tugging Keith closer, “—to guide you.”
Albeit he didn’t trust himself to dance without watching himself, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Lance’s. Groaning, Keith nodded reluctantly. “Fine, but when I step on you don’t blame me, I did warn you.”
At first, Keith was painfully hesitant. He paused before every movement, even flinching back a few times when he thought he might mess up, but Lance said nothing. He was either too occupied with their occasional conversation or just genuinely didn’t notice. Surprisingly enough though, they did pick up speed and continued their dance around the chair.
“This song has gone on for at least a few minutes, hasn’t it?” Keith wondered aloud, interrupting a horrible pun Lance had just made.
“Seriously? I’m telling you gold and all you’ve been thinking about is when you’re gonna lose?” he unclasped a hand once again, this time bringing it up to his chest in mock offense. “Thou doth wound me so.”
Keith rolled his eyes as they passed each other and swapped positions—not that it really mattered, Keith noticed, since they shared the same movements. “Whatever Romeo, don’t start crying when you’re the one buying lunch.” They were nearing the front of the chair, with Keith’s back facing it, when two things happened.
Lance’s hand came back to lie on Keith’s back, just under his shoulder blade, pulling Keith forward towards him. Simultaneously, he used his other hand that was still intwined with Keith’s and continued to pull him forward. Shock numbed his nerves, and he stumbled forward. At the last second before their bodies pressed up against each other, Lance stepped to the side, and suddenly, Keith was spinning.
He didn’t even notice the music stop.
Keith turned one, twice, three times before finally catching himself, his chest heaving and his back turned to both Lance and the chair. Taking in quick, shallow breaths, he flipped around to glare at Lance, who stood smirking a few feet away.
“You ass—“
His entire body froze, as if it too realized how close Keith was to death in the current situation. Well, really, more like Keith’s wallet.
“Lance. Don’t.”
“Speaking of asses,” Lance began, referring to Keith’s other kind comment, “mine is quite tired. I think I’m gonna take a se—“
Keith was not going to lose this competition, so he had to play dirty. His mind whirred with any possible means of distraction, most of which he was not willing to do with a room filled with people. He didn’t have time to run through every possible scenario, so he had to act now. Easily allowing his instinct to take over his body, he stepped up and reached out to Lance.
Lance, a bit taken back by Keith’s suddenness, halted in his movements, just as Keith hoped he would. His hands mimicked the unfamiliar movements he saw mere moments earlier, his hand wrapping around Lance’s wrist and tugging him forward. He brought his hand down and re-intwined their fingers. Lifting his hand up, he brought Lance into a quick spin, he moved around Lance and released his grip once he accomplished his goal. They had switched positions again, but this time Keith could actually take pride in what he had just done.
Keith smirked, crossing his arms as Lance twirled around, his eyes blown wide. “Wh—“ he tried, before shutting his mouth closed. Once Keith saw the realization hit Lance, he let himself sit down.
“Wai—Keith!” Lance screeched, drawing everyone’s attention towards them. Beside him, Keith could hear Pidge and Hunk laughing. In any other situation Keith would’ve been uncomfortable with all the room’s attention centered on just the two of them, but he was too amused by Lance’s shock to pay any mind. Thankfully for him, everyone seemed to become disinterested pretty quickly.
As their laughter died down, Pidge immediately honed in on her goal. Grinning, she stalked up to Lance with Hunk trailing close behind. “So,” she began, an excited, devious glint in her eyes, “who’s ready to eat?”
Keith’s small smile faded as he finally snapped himself out of the memory. That had been nearly a year ago, during the first season’s production. Now, stopping in front of the room he had first entered so long ago, he was frowning. He had been exceptionally happy for a while after that day, genuinely enjoying the time he got to spend with Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and the rest of the crew. But that unusual giddy feeling he felt with his new friends was soon replaced with the familiar sinking in the pit of his stomach. So much had changed since then, and not much for the better.
A few weeks after, Lance’s behavior changed around Keith, adapting an attitude much like the one of Lance’s character on the show, Blue. Their bickering became more intense and long-lasting, so much that sometimes they would have to stop filming until they both calmed down. Keith had thought they could have at least gotten along for the sake of the show, but as time went on, the idea strayed further and further from his grasp. It got especially difficult when their characters, Red and Blue, began growing closer.
Keith still hadn't moved.
He stayed put in front of the door leading into the room he knew Pidge, Hunk, and Lance were in now. He absentmindedly noticed another one of the club’s posters was plastered across the closed door, and he could easily make out Lance’s voice from inside. Sighing, he walked forward, opening the door and stepping inside the room.