Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“But is it… supposed to be green?” Lance was all doubt as he peered at the jar sitting on the stainless steel counter.

Hunk made a shooing motion at him as he put the jar back in the box and lifted it with ease, turning to take it back into the kitchen. “Of course it’s supposed to be green, it’s pesto.”

Lance leaned against the metallic slab and watched Hunk bustle around in the kitchen. “I know what pesto is, and that, my friend, is not pesto. It’s like-- like--”

“Toxic sludge from a cartoon,” Pidge suggested, barely looking up from her DS where she sat on the counter.

Lance snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Exactly! It looks poisonous, not edible.”

Pidge snorted, eyes still fixed on the screen. “When has anything that came out of this restaurant been edible?”

“Hey,” Hunk protested from the kitchen.

Lance hummed consideringly. “It kind of looks like a jar full of algae.”

“Poisonous algae?”

Hunk peeked around the doorframe to shoot them a glare. “You know, sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who actually works around here.”

“That’s because you are,” Pidge told him cheerfully, shifting a little and rubbing her gross dirty shoes all over the countertop.

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Okay, one: your betrayal cuts me deep, Holt. How could you. And two: do you have to sit up there?”

Still playing one-handed, Pidge lifted her fingers as she responded, deadpan. “A: I feel for you, really. And B: yes.”

“Gremlin,” Lance grumbled, snaking a hand out to tug a loose piece of her fluffy hair as he made his way out from behind the counter. She responded by planting a foot between his shoulderblades and shoving, hard, cackling as he stumbled.

Lance pointed his wet rag at her threateningly. “One of these days, Pidgeon, I’m gonna make you into a down comforter.”

Her attention was already back on her game. “Get new jokes, Lancelot, the bird thing’s all played out.”

Hunk snickered in the kitchen and Lance shot the open doorway a glare. Traitors, all of them. Huffing, he turned to clean the tables, checking his watch as he took the scant four steps between the counter and the three ancient, stained vinyl booths. It was just after ten thirty, barely a quarter of the way through his shift, and Lance sighed as he wiped down the already crumb-free table.

From the outside, Pizza Planet looked like it had gone out of business a decade ago. On the inside, it only looked marginally better, thanks to Lance and Hunk’s efforts over the last three years. They had both needed jobs when they moved into town for college, something with a lot of hours late at night and a boss who wasn’t too picky about their mostly empty resumes. Thankfully, Hunk had noticed the tiny “Help Wanted” sign in the window of the pizzeria as they walked out of the arcade bar next door, freshly rejected by the manager there, as they were still minors.

Overall, it had been a good job for them, really. Sure, the pizza was fucking shitty, despite Hunk’s best efforts and entirely thanks to Coran’s inability to order them decent supplies, the decor had several decades worth of age and pizza sauce ground in, and the jukebox only had the best hits of the 80s, but it was Lance’s shitty job and he liked it.

When Coran had hired them three years ago, the pizzeria was on the edge of failure. It had been struggling for what Coran asserted was “a short while” and Lance was positive was “forever,” and the recent opening of the arcade bar next door looked like it was the end of the tiny, kitschy restaurant. It was only due to the swift and frankly genius thinking of Coran’s angelic niece, Allura, that the business didn’t fail. She suggested they extend their hours, relying on the desperation of drunken bar-goers and college students alike to buy their questionable product during the wee hours of the morning when nothing else was open.

So Hunk and Lance had become the night employees, Hunk manning the kitchen and doing his best to keep everything at least food-adjacent, Lance taking orders over the counter and by phone, interpreting slurred orders so well he had it down to an art. They were here five nights of the week, eight to four, when Hunk would drive them back to their shared apartment and they’d crash until their afternoon classes.

It was a good system. It worked, and kept them both housed and clothed and fed (not on Planet pizza, thank Christ), and they were slowly making their way through college. Life was good, honestly; Lance was happy with it, happy with his shitty job and shitty apartment. College was-- another story, some days, but it was fine. He was halfway through a biology degree. He could do this.

He realized, suddenly, that he’d been scrubbing at the same faded Sharpie dick on the table for the last few minutes without making any difference, and straightened up, glancing around furtively. Pidge was watching him with a raised eyebrow, because of course she was; the gremlin had a sixth sense for people doing dumb things in her general vicinity. Or maybe just Lance.

“All right there, McClain?” she drawled, pulled a Pixie Stix out of her pocket and tearing it open with her teeth.

He chucked the rag at her face in response and she ducked it, Matrix-style, flipping him off as she went back to her game and he wandered over to the jukebox. Pidge’s head snapped up suspiciously as he pulled a handful of quarters out of his pocket, and he stared her dead in the eye with a slowly-widening grin as he slid them into the machine, one by one.

“No,” she whispered.

“You asked for this.”

She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “Please, Lance, I am begging you.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he pressed the same button on the machine nine times in a row.

Pidge dropped her head into her hands with a loud groan as the first strains of music filtered out of the scratchy old speakers and Lance launched into the song, bouncing his shoulders to the beat.

Coran chose that exact moment to come out of his tiny office. “Ah, what are we listening to tonight, chaps?”

“Auditory torture,” Pidge said, slumping over sideways as Lance leaned down and sang directly into her face.

Coran listened for a moment before nodding approvingly. “George Michael. An excellent choice, Lance.”

Lance shot him a wink and fingergunned as he continued belting “Faith” into Pidge’s ear.

“And shoes off the counter, Number Five,” Coran scolded her.

With a heavy sigh, Pidge dangled her legs off the edge of the counter, and Coran nodded in satisfaction.

“Well, it looks like everything is under control here,” Coran said, raising his voice as the music rose, bolstered by Lance’s enthusiastic accompaniment. “I’ll be off then. Oh, and don’t forget, Lance, the new delivery boy is starting tonight. He said he would be a bit late, but he should be here soon.”

And finally, to Pidge’s relief, Lance stumbled on George Michael’s sweet sweet lyrics. “Wait, waitwaitwait, he’s starting tonight?”

Coran nodded, distractedly flipping through a stack of papers he was holding. “Oh yes. Hunk is much too busy to have you gone for another night, and we’d hate to have another incident like last week.” He looked up to shoot Pidge a pointed look.

“Hey, it’s not my fault Hunk asked me to answer the phones!”

“Hm,” Coran said, in a tone that implied it was, in fact, entirely her fault. “Anyways… Yes, Lance, thank you for running delivery for the last week, but you’re back on regular duty now.”

“Sure,” Lance said, trying to suppress the surge of disappointment in his chest, because yeah, he loved his job, but delivery was fun in its own way, driving around the dark and silent city and blasting music and knocking on the doors of some truly interesting people. It had been an emergency thing, just a stopgap since their last delivery boy, Rollo, left with no notice and Coran hadn’t had the time to find a replacement for him yet.

In all honesty though, as fun as the change had been, Lance had kind of missed his usual job. He missed Hunk, talking to himself and the majority of the kitchen implements, missed the faded and stained vinyl and laminate pizzeria, even missed Pidge’s constant presence, so he let a grin creep across his face and pumped his fist in the air. “I’m back, baby!”

“When can you leave again?” Pidge grumbled from the counter, and Lance loudly and pointedly began singing once more.

“Good enthusiasm, Number Three!” Coran praised him, and Lance high-fived him as he passed. The door let in a cold blast of air as he pushed through it, bell tinkling, and as soon as it shut Pidge pulled her shoes back up onto the counter.

The first playthrough of “Faith” faded out, and the strains of an organ echoed through the tiny pizzeria again.

“How many times did you play this?” Pidge asked, resigned, and Lance shrugged as he danced his way back behind the counter.

Leaning around the doorway into the kitchen, he started, “Hunk, did you hear--” before cutting himself off with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. “Holy crap, what is that smell?”

Hunk was frowning at a jar full of green goo, a significant amount missing. “Pesto? I think. I was pretty sure, anyways.”

Pidge’s head slid around the doorway just below Lance’s, an expression of mixed admiration and horror on her face. “I knew it was toxic.”

“No, no,” Hunk said distractedly, peering at the label. “It’s got too many preservatives for that.”

“Riiight, so all we have to worry about is the cancer, then?” Lance snorted.

A guilty expression crossed Hunk’s face. “I would, but given what I’ve been serving for the last three years...”

“Well, as long as it’s nothing new,” Lance muttered.

Pidge shook her head below him. “This is why I never eat the food here.”

Lance looked down at her. “And yet we still let you stay.”

“I’m part of the charm.”

Hunk considered the jar for a long second before turning to them and holding it out. “I dare one of you to try this.”

“No way in hell,” Lance snorted, as Pidge gave Hunk a flat stare. “I value my life.”

Hunk look back down at the jar again. “Ten bucks?”

Lance brightened. “Will you pay in quarters?”

“For the love of god, Hunk,” Pidge pleaded, “spare me.”

A wicked grin spread across Lance’s face. “Wait, I have a better idea. Hand it over, dude.”

Obligingly, Hunk handed him the jar, and Lance snatched it lightning quick and whirled on Pidge, digging a handful of the slimy gloop out of the jar and reaching out for her.

“No,” she shrieked, jerking backwards just in time to avoid a faceful of pesto. “Hunk, help me!”

Hunk held his hands up. “I’m a neutral party.”

“You gave him the jar!”

“I did. I did do that.”

“Vengeance!” Lance howled, chasing Pidge into the front of the store. She ducked another swipe and knocked his hand away, sending the glob of pesto flying onto the wall.

They all stopped and considered it for a second.

“Think that’ll come off?” Lance asked.

“No, but honestly, what’s one more stain?” Hunk peered at it. “It kind of looks like Coran’s mustache.”

Lance frowned at it thoughtfully. It kind of did.

Another blast of cold air swept through the pizzeria as the door swung open with a tinkle of the bell, and the customer stepped up to the counter, sweeping a quizzical look over the three of them clustered around the newest addition to the pizzeria’s stain gallery. Lance plastered his wide, patent-perfect Customer Service Smile™ on his face and surreptitiously wiping the remains of the pesto onto his apron as he leaned casually against the counter. “Hey, how can we help you?” In the background, George Michael looped yet again.

The guy still stood there, glancing around the restaurant with an expression quickly sliding towards skeptical. “Um, hey. I’m supposed to be working here?”

“Ohhh,” Lance hummed, eyeing him more critically now. He looked like he was about the same age as Lance and Hunk, early twenties, with long, shaggy dark hair, black skinny jeans and a black V-neck shirt under a red and white leather jacket. The overall effect was stuck somewhere between 80s rocker reject and 2006 MySpace band boy. “Delivery boy, right?” Lance asked, eyes fixed on what he was becoming more and more sure was a mullet.

The new guy nodded, looking back at him with just as much scrutiny, eyebrows drawing together in a faint scowl. “Yeah. Glad I found you guys.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “What, you forgot where you got hired?”

He shrugged and glanced around again. “It doesn’t really look open from the outside.”

“It says we’re open in the window,” Lance pointed out, jerking his head at the buzzing neon sign.

“Yeah, I know.”

And that just rubbed Lance the wrong way, because honestly, who was this Billy Joel/Gerard Way hybrid to think he could come into Lance’s pizza place and judge them to the staticky strains of George Michael?

Lance scowled. “You know, I still don’t think we need a new delivery boy.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you,” Pidge snorted, hopping back onto the counter and retrieving her DS.

“Also, we do actually need a delivery boy,” Hunk pointed out. “Unless you want Pidge to keep answering phones.”

Lance considered that for a second. “Okay, fine, we need a new delivery boy.”

“Great,” the guy snapped, taking another couple steps forward, but Lance kept talking like he’d never spoken.

“But does it have to be him?” Lance gestured. “I mean, he looks like an extra from Twilight.”

“Lance,” Pidge and Hunk groaned, exasperated and perfectly in sync.

New Guy’s scowl deepened, and he gave Lance another brief, considering once-over before saying, “That coming from the main character in a Freaks and Geeks reboot?”

Lance’s jaw dropped, Pidge cackled, and even Hunk let out a muffled snort of laughter. Turning his outraged look on his friends for a second, Lance pointed a finger at the new guy. “Yeah? Well you’re-- You--” Pidge almost fell off the counter laughing as Lance spluttered. Hunk, thankfully, was close enough to catch her.

The guy raised an eyebrow, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

“Fuck off,” Lance finally said, and it sounded about as lame as he felt. The guy just rolled his eyes.

Hunk stepped forward, holding a hand out over the counter. “Hi, I’m Hunk. Our counter ornament here is Pidge. You’re Keith, right?”

Vampire Fanboy nodded, returning Hunk’s handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

Betrayal three times in one night was too much. Lance gave Hunk his most wounded look. “How do you know his name?”

“Because Coran told us? Three days ago?”

“What? No he didn’t.”

“He did, actually,” Pidge interjected. “When he told you he was starting tonight.” She waved at Keith. “Hey.”

Lance scowled at her. “Obviously not. Where was I?”

“Singing along to ABBA and dancing with the mop,” she tossed back.

Oh. Lance did vaguely remember Coran coming out of his office the other night in the middle of “Dancing Queen” . “Everyone knows you can’t tell people important information while ABBA is playing,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“Strangely,” Pidge drawled, “it’s never a problem for anyone else.”

Lance snagged his damp rag off the counter and flicked it at her. She didn’t even flinch.

Hunk sighed and turned back to Keith. “Sorry about them. I can show you around.”

Keith walked over as Hunk gestured him behind the counter. “Are they always like this?”

“You mean delightful?” Lance draped himself across Hunk’s shoulders.

“Usually,” Hunk answered Keith, amiably dragging Lance with him as he ducked back into the kitchen to show Keith the rack where they stacked the pies ready for delivery.

The phone rang as Hunk was showing Keith the storage areas, and Lance slipped out of the kitchen to answer it and take the order of the obviously faded customer.

By the time he’d finished walking the stoned student through the process of ordering a pizza, Keith emerged from the kitchen with a stack of boxes in his arms and a frown on his face as he read over the list in his hand. Lance leaned around the doorway to slap the new order onto Hunk’s assembly counter before leaning against the doorway and shooting Keith a smirk. “So, think you’ve got it?”

Keith shot him a flat look. “It’s pizza delivery, not rocket science.” Still, his frown didn’t waver. “It’s just-- I’m new to town. What does this mean?” He pointed at an address on the list, and Lance leaned in to peer at Hunk’s scribbles.

“Oh, the Castle. It’s a big apartment complex on the south side of campus-- like, huge. Literally, it takes up whole blocks. Hunk and I live there, actually, in B block, but--” the pointed to a letter on the list-- “you’re going to D.”

“You make it sound like a prison,” Keith said, taking the list back and carefully stabilizing the stack of boxes in his arms.

Lance considered it. “Well…”

“It is,” Pidge cut in, now flat on her back on the counter, frowning in concentration at her DS.

“It was designed by a prison architect,” Lance corrected, trying to flick her on the nose. She snapped at his fingers, missing by a hair as he jerked back. “It’s not an actual prison.”

She rolled her eyes. “Close enough.”

Keith glanced between them. “... Right. Guess I’m off.”

Hunk leaned out of the kitchen, looking apologetic, and a grin spread across Lance’s face as he realized what was about to happen. “One last thing, actually, and for the record, I am so sorry about this.” With a solemn expression, Hunk pressed a bundle of bright red fabric into Keith’s free hand.

Keith gave it a horrified look. “No,” he breathed.

“ Yes, ” Lance said, still beaming. Pidge snickered from the counter.

The uniform got a long stare from dark eyes before Keith looked back up at them. “No,” he repeated, firmly.

Hunk scratched the back of his head, shifting his favorite old yellow bandana where it was tied across his hair. “Coran insists on it,” he explained, still with that sympathetic tone in his voice. Lance leaned his chin in his hand and enjoyed the show. “Every delivery person so far has had to wear them.”

“‘Them?’” Keith echoed, setting the boxes on the counter for a second to unroll the cloth bundle. Out came a violently red shirt with bright blue letters spelling out PIZZA PLANET across the back and chest with a matching baseball hat. He groaned.

Hunk clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen, how about tonight you just wear the hat?”

“The hat is the problem,” Keith muttered, eyeing it distastefully.

Apparently, Hunk had run out of sympathy for the night, because he shrugged and headed back into the kitchen. “Just wear it for the actual deliveries, then.”

Keith muttered something under his breath and shoved the hat in the pocket of his motorcycle jacket, scooping the boxes back up and heading for the exit.

“Have fun storming the castle,” Lance called after him, receiving yet another blank look in response as Keith pushed through the door. It had barely closed behind him when he turned to Pidge. “What a douchebag.”

Pidge snorted, tapping madly at her DS. “You’ve only known him for like, two minutes.”

“It has been at least three. “Faith” looped again. But seriously, who doesn’t at least smile at a Princess Bride reference?”

“Have you considered that maybe he was just put off by your shitty attitude?” Pidge’s brows raised as she spoke, glancing at him.

Lance gaped at her. “I do not have a shitty attitude!”

“You do, actually.” Pidge cursed under her breath and hammered at the buttons again. “What’s stuck up your butt, huh?”

Lance crossed his arms and scowled at her. “There is nothing up my butt, thank you. My butt is free of foreign objects.”

“Disgusting.”

“You brought it up.”

“And I regret it deeply.” She sighed as, presumably, her character died again, snapping the screen shut and swinging herself up to face Lance. “Listen, there’s obviously something bothering you, so what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Lance muttered, leaning back against the stained yellow wall.

Pidge eyed him for a second. “Okay, you can tell me right now, or I’ll go unleash Hunk to drag it out of you.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “You wouldn’t.” She opened her mouth wide and drew in a deep breath, and he lunged forward to clamp a hand over her face. “Okay, okay, you would! Point made.” He let go with a disgusted noise as she licked his hand.

“Seriously--” her voice was a little muffled as she rubbed her sleeve across her face-- “what’s going on?”

“It’s seriously nothing,” Lance insisted, grabbing his rag again and wiping the smudges from her shoes off the counter.

She watched him polish the stainless steel for a long moment before snapping her fingers and pointing at him. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not.”

“You totally are,” she crowed, and he scowled fiercely at her as he went to clean the counter on the other side of the calzone warming case. She sobered up and hopped off the counter, finally, to follow, leaning up next to him. “Okay, I’m sorry. But what’s the deal? I thought you liked this job.”

“I do,” he said, but it came out more whiny than assertive, and he sighed. “I do,” he repeated, “but I liked delivery too. And I liked Rollo.” Pidge cast him a disbelieving look; Rollo had been difficult to work with on the best of nights, and those were few and far between. Lance gestured vaguely. “Okay, he was a dick, but you know what I mean. I just…” He frowned down at the shiny counter.

Pidge nodded next to him. “You just don’t like a stranger coming in and rearranging things.”

Lance glowered at a scratch in the metal beneath his fingers and said nothing.

“That’s life,” Pidge told him, bluntly.

Lance shot her another glare. “Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Seriously, Lance, you can’t keep things from changing forever. And it’s not this guy’s fault. Rollo chose to leave, and Coran had to hire someone to replace him. It wasn’t up to Keith, he just applied for the job.”

Silence fell for a second as Lance turned her words over. “You know, for someone who skips most of her classes, you sure have a lot of wisdom to offer.”

“It’s a burden, not a gift,” she returned, deadpan, as she leaned across the counter to grab a garlic knot out of the case. Her nose wrinkled as she chewed. “God, why does anyone eat here?”

“Desperation.” Lance pointed at the garlic knot. “You know you have to pay for that, right?”

Pidge snorted. “Yeah, sure.” She returned to her place on the counter, still chewing.

“And I still don’t like him. He looks like a roadie from the 70s rolled through Hot Topic.”

Pidge hummed distractedly. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Whatever.” Pidge didn’t respond, attention refocused on her game. “He’s a douchebag,” Lance mumbled, glaring out the windows at the group of drunken college kids stumbling out of the bar next door.

Hunk leaned out of the kitchen. “Hey, Lance, can you help me with this order? I think that pesto might be flammable. The oven’s all smoky.”

Lance groaned and followed him into the kitchen.

***

The hour-long cycle of George Michael had finally come to an end by the time Keith got back. Pidge had actually cheered when the last repetition faded out, replaced by the opening chords of a Journey power ballad.

She’d abandoned her DS in favor of tapping away at something on her tablet, squinting at the screen with a look of concentration. Lance had learned long ago it was better not to ask; she could unload technical jargon about programming at speeds approaching the sound barrier. He was restocking the utensils and napkins dispensers sitting on the end of the counter, humming along to the Earth, Wind & Fire song playing on the jukebox. It was only barely audible over the booming music pounding through the wall from the bar next door-- they always turned it way up after midnight.

Keith pushed through the door with an empty bag, looking slightly frazzled.

“How’d it go?” Lance asked through his grin. He already knew how it went. He’d gotten a call from a customer complaining about a late delivery ten minutes before.

“I got lost in the stupid Castle,” Keith grumbled.

Lance leaned back against the counter, still grinning. “Well hey, rookie, no one bats a thousand on the first go.” Keith shot him a glare and ran a hand through his shaggy hair with a sigh.

“If it makes you feel better, Lance once lit the oven on fire,” Pidge said.

Lance squawked in outrage as Keith huffed a laugh. “How’d he do that?”

Pidge shrugged. “Hunk was on his break and he got distracted trying to flirt with a stoned frat bro.”

“Pidge,” Lance shrieked, feeling the flush creep into his cheeks, and Keith laughed again, just a little.

She continued like he hadn’t said anything. “I mean, the flirting is classic Lance, but I still don’t understand the effort for a frat boy.”

“That’s it,” Lance declared, throwing his rag down. “Hunk!”

Hunk leaned around the kitchen doorway. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking my thirty.” Lance untied his apron as he spoke, glaring at Pidge. “The constant abuse is killing me.”

“Okay,” Hunk said cheerfully. “Hey, Keith. I’ll have the next round ready in ten.”

Keith nodded, hesitating in the middle of the pizzeria like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Lance brushed by him on the way to the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going next door.”

Hunk waved in acknowledgement as he vanished back into the kitchen and Lance pushed the door open, stepping outside.

It was cold out. It was barely October, but the chill in the air spoke of the coming winter, and Lance shivered, kind of wishing he had grabbed his jacket, even though it was only twenty feet to the door of the arcade bar.

The door tinkled behind him, and Lance glanced over his shoulder to see Keith following him, not quite able to hold back the snap of, “What do you want?”

Keith frowned at him and nodded at the bar. “Nothing. I’m just grabbing a drink.”

Lance screeched to a halt. “A drink? Seriously?”

“A soda ,” Keith clarified. “Chill.”

Lance gave him another long, suspicious glare. Keith sighed and pushed past him, headed for the bar doors, and now Lance was the one following. “Hey, I’m watching you!”

“You do that,” Keith said with a sarcastic lift of his eyebrows, and Lance would have launched in on him, but he vanished through the doors.

“Asshole,” Lance muttered before following him in.

The arcade bar was always disorienting when you first walked in, pop music blasting at near-lethal levels and pitch black except for the flashing neon lights of the retro arcade games lined up in short aisles along the walls. Even so, Keith had stopped just inside the door, and Lance almost collided with his back. “Look out, geez.”

Keith shot him a glare as he shoved by and headed for the bar on the back wall. Even back there, it was dark, more colorful neon and blacklights giving off just enough light to see by.

Lance squeezed in next to a group of giggling drunk college coeds, giving them a wink as he leaned against the bar. He was vaguely aware of Keith hovering behind him still as he reached over to catch Matt’s attention with a wave.

Matt grinned back and grabbed a can of RedBull before coming over, plopping it down on the counter in front of him, and Lance gave an appreciative hum as he cracked it open. “You’re a lifesaver, Matty.”

“Call me that again and I break your fingers,” Matt threatened. It would have been more intimidating if the kid didn’t look like a strong breeze would take him out, but Lance raised his hands in surrender, taking a gulp of RedBull. He wasn’t about to piss off his caffeine supplier.

And then Matt nodded at Lance’s annoying mulleted shadow and said, “Hey, Keith,” and Lance choked on his mouthful of sugary, caffeinated death.

“Wait, waitwaitwait, you know him?” Lance croaked, eyes watering.

Matt gave him a puzzled look. “Yeah? So, first night, huh?”

The last part was directed at Keith, who had squeezed into the spot next to Lance that the college girls had just vacated. He nodded, eyes searching through the darkness of the bar. “Yeah. It’s been fine.”

“Except for getting lost,” Lance muttered, and there was no way Keith actually heard him over the deafening Katy Perry song playing but he gave him a nasty look anyways.

“Want a Coke?” Matt asked before Keith could say something, and he nodded. Matt disappeared behind the bar for a few seconds before popping back up with a can in hand, setting it down in front of Keith with a wink. “On the house.”

Keith actually smiled at that. He looked almost human. “Thanks, Matt.”

“You got it. Hey, so you finally met my sister, huh?”

Keith’s forehead wrinkled as he took a sip of soda. “You said her name was Katie.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “It is.”

“It’s Pidge now,” Lance snickered, taking another sip of RedBull. He could already feel the caffeine buzzing through his veins, fighting off the first heavy threads of exhaustion. He’d been doing this job for three years, so he was used to the unusual sleeping schedule at this point, but he’d had a project to finish that morning and he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “It’s a long story,” Matt grumbled. “Fuck off, Lance.”

Lance grinned at him. “You’re just jealous that your sister likes hanging out with me better.”

Matt snorted. “Keep her. I’ll go grab Shiro for you,” he told Keith, walking over to the other bartender on the far end of the bar and tapping him on the shoulder.

Lance raised an eyebrow at him. “What, you know Shiro too?”

“He’s my brother,” Keith said, taking a long swig of Coke as he stared across the bar, attention pulled back to Lance with a start as he choked again.

“What? You’re the little brother Shiro always talks about?” Lance spluttered.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Holy shit.” Lance took a second to cough the last of the RedBull out of his lungs. “Small world.”

Keith shrugged. “I guess.” There was a pause as they both sipped at their drinks, Katy Perry’s wailing filling the silence between them. “Pidge doesn’t work at the pizza place, then?”

Lance wrinkled his nose at him. “Be honest, do you even remember the name of the restaurant?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Pizza Planet. It’s hard to forget since there’s a spaceship on the damn boxes.”

“Ooh, ‘damn,’” Lance mocked. “You’re so fucking cultured, dude.” He took another considering sip, ignoring the daggers Keith glared at him. “Matt started working here when the bar opened--”

“I know,” Keith interrupted. “Same time as Shiro.”

It was Lance’s turn to give him a sharp look. “Right. Well, like I was saying, Pizza Planet turned into a late night joint around the same time. Trying to pick up on the bar customers and all that. So Coran hired me and Hunk to work the late night shift.” He shrugged. “Pidge wanted to tag along with Matt, since they live together and whatever, but she was a minor so she had to leave at nine. Well, she’s still a minor,” he amended, “at least for another few months. Anyways, she started hanging out at the Planet until Matt got off work, doing homework and whatever, and she just never left. The rest is history.”

“But you’re friends, right?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Obviously, dude, sheesh. You think I let just anyone talk trash to me like that?”

Keith raised an eyebrow at him. “Befriend every repeat customer?”

Lance laughed at that, loud and honest. “Wait til you actually try the pizza, man. We don’t get a whole lot of repeat customers.” He enunciated his words with air quotes.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll need to see your IDs,” came a voice, and Lance looked up at Shiro. A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, a teasing gesture surprisingly similar to Keith’s earlier.

Lance narrowed his eyes at him. “Hey, what gives, Shiro? You never told me I was about to become coworkers with your little brother.”

“I didn’t know until yesterday,” Shiro said, turning a reproachful eye on Keith, who muttered something lost in the beat of the music. Shiro shook his head, a fond expression usually reserved for Matt on his face. “How’s the first night going?”

Keith shrugged eloquently, and Shiro raised an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

Lance checked his watch pointedly. “It’ll be worse if you’re late delivering the next round.” He tapped the face pointedly. “Hunk said ten.”

“Shit,” Keith hissed, pushing himself out of his comfortable lean on the bar. “Sorry, Shiro, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, I’ll swing by after my shift,” Shiro said, watching with another half smile as Keith nodded hastily and vanished into the crowd before turning to Lance. “You get promoted or something, mister hardass?”

Lance spread his hands innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just committed to satisfactory customer service.”

Shiro snorted. “Sure, Lance. Speaking of that, I have to get back to work. Matt’s getting swarmed.” He gazed over at his weedy boyfriend with another of those soft smiles.

Lance faked a gag. “Gack, dude. Can you guys go be young and in love somewhere I don’t have access to potentially lethal amount of booze?”

Shiro pointed a stern finger at him. “You don’t have access to shit without my say-so, young man.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Curb the sass. I’ll see you later.” With a wave and a smile, Shiro headed back down the bar, refilling empty glasses and taking orders.

Lance lingered for another minute, chugging down the last of his RedBull before wandering over to some of the arcade games. He was still trying to beat Hunk’s high score in Galaga.

Twenty minutes and several dollars worth of quarters lighter, Lance trudged back to the Planet. Pidge looked up from her perch on the counter at the tinkle of the bell, taking in Lance’s disgruntled expression. “Still trying to beat Hunk’s score?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, retrieving his apron from under the counter and tying it on.

“You’ll never do it.”

“I’m aware,” he gritted out. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

Pidge was tapping away at her DS again. “Someone called to order a pizza and I’m pretty sure there was an orgy going on in the background.”

A sharp laugh burst out of Lance. “Please tell me they got delivery.”

A familiar wicked grin spread across Pidge’s face. “Gotta break the rookie in, right?”

Lance leaned over to give her a high five. “Pidge, you’re officially back in my good books.”

“Let’s be real, Lancelot,” she said, leaning over to slap his hand, “I never left them.”

“Dream on, gremlin.” He popped his head into the kitchen to check on Hunk, who was dancing in place to Billy Ocean as he spread sauce across a few circles of dough. “Your brother says hi, by the way,” Lance added to Pidge, as the doorbell rang and a tipsy couple stumbled in.

Pidge wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

Lance snorted and grabbed a pad of paper to write the new order down.

***

Pidge was nodding off at a table and Keith had delivered two more loads of pizzas, returning once suspiciously red and close-lipped, by the time two A.M. rolled around and the bars emptied. Lance and Hunk navigated the sudden influx of hungry, intoxicated customers with practiced ease. When Keith returned from his latest delivery run, the last crowd of tipsy students were filtering out. He stood back to let them pass, tugging his dumb hat off and shoving it into a pocket.

Lance grinned at him on his way to the jukebox. “All right there, Mullet?”

“What did you just call me?”

“The truth,” Lance told him, deadpan, feeding a couple quarters into the machine. Pidge cracked up where she was slumped over onto a table.

Hunk leaned out from the doorway, resettling his yellow bandana in his hair. “Hey, Keith, I’ve got another three orders in the oven.”

Keith settled himself in a lean against the counter after a second, watching Lance carefully press a couple buttons on the jukebox. A familiar synth intro filtered through the speakers, and Lance turned with a grin to meet Keith’s raised eyebrow. “What?”

“ ‘Final Countdown?’ Really?”

“It’s a classic,” Lance defended. “Plus, it’s tradition.”

“Tradition?”

Pidge propped herself up on her elbow. “Lance puts it on every night after the bar rush,” she explained through a yawn.

Lance ruffled her hair on the way by, avoiding her sleepy swat. “It’s the last stretch, Pidgey! We’re almost home now.”

Pidge snorted. “Yeah, until tomorrow night.”

“Until my midterm tomorrow afternoon,” Hunk groaned, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

Lance darted around the counter and hooked an arm around his shoulders. “You got this, buddy.”

Hunk groaned, rubbing his eye with the heel of a hand. “God, I hope so. Why did I ever want to do engineering?”

Lance tapped him on the temple. “Because of your big giant brain.”

“Ugh.”

The bell rang as Shiro came in, closely followed by Matt, who sauntered up to the counter and said, “Hi, yeah, can I order one new baby sister?”

Lance hummed in mock consideration, rubbing his chin. “Well, we don’t have any new ones in stock, but I’ve got a used one I could let you have over there.” He pointed at Pidge, who drowsily flipped them off.

Matt heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I guess she’ll have to do. Come here, sister dearest, I’m taking you home with me.”

Shiro shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m dating you.”

“Because you love me,” Matt responded, standing up on his tiptoes to give Shiro a loud, smacking kiss on the lips.

Pidge, Lance and Hunk all gagged in unison. “God, it’s like watching your parents kiss,” Lance said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Just imagine what it’s like for us,” Pidge muttered, nudging Keith with her elbow as she stood. He looked… almost surprised? Lance couldn’t quite place his expression.

Matt wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a half-hug. “Hey, Katie. Have a good night?”

She smothered another yawn. “I started writing a program that’ll hack into the university emergency alert system and send out suggestive emojis at random intervals.”

Matt ruffled her hair proudly. “That’s my girl.”

Shiro shook his head again, sighing, before he looked over at Keith. “You doing all right?”

Keith nodded. “Kinda tired.”

“You get used to it fast,” Hunk told him, rubbing at the new pesto stain on the wall with a damp rag and a frown.

Lance nodded. “We can’t fall asleep before three A.M. anymore.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, dark eyes darting between Lance and Hunk. “Great. Guess I’ll adjust.”

“You will or you won’t,” Lance said cheerfully, grabbing the mop. “Now shoo, you lot.” He waved his cleaning implement at them with enough gusto Hunk had to duck out of the way of the handle. “I gotta clean.”

Matt paled. “Oh, god, let’s get out of here before he breaks out the bleach.”

Shiro eyed the mop warily. “Good idea.”

“That was one time,” Lance protested. They looked entirely unconvinced.

With a chorus of goodbyes and waves, they shepherded a half-asleep Pidge into the night. Lance grabbed the bucket after they left, stepping into the tiny bathroom to fill it with water and a few capfuls of bleach.

Keith was still leaning against the counter when he came back into the front with his cleaning water, and Lance jiggled it at him hard enough some slopped out the sides. “Seriously, I gotta mop. Scoot.”

“Oh, uh…” Keith looked around.

Lance sighed. “Here, just park it in a booth til I’m done.”

Keith settled into one of the middle booths, watching as Lance dipped the mop and started pushing it across the cracked tile floor. “Why are you mopping now? Isn’t this place open for another--” he checked his phone-- “hour and a half?”

Lance shrugged, scrubbing the floor with broad, methodical strokes. “Sure, but pretty much nobody’s going to come in between now and then. We’ll get a few more delivery calls, finish cleaning, pray no assholes call in orders right before closing…”

Keith’s forehead creased. “People seriously do that?”

“More than you’d expect,” Lance grumbled, dunking the mop in the bucket again.

Keith shook his head. “Assholes,” he echoed. Lance shot him a grin and he swore a corner of Keith’s mouth twitched in response before Hunk called an order up from the kitchen and he stood, carefully avoiding Lance’s freshly mopped swathes of floor to grab the boxes.

“Jessie’s Girl” came up on the jukebox and Lance sang along as he mopped, nodding in farewell at Keith as he reappeared from the kitchen with the orders and pushed out the door.

***

The last hour always dragged. Keith made one more run to deliver a couple pies, then they all watched the old analog clock behind the counter and held their breath that they wouldn’t get any more calls as the minutes ticked by, Lance and Hunk cleaning the whole store top to bottom as Keith sat in a booth.

At three-forty-five, Lance and Hunk breathed a sigh of relief.

“This is the point where we can tell people we’re too close to closing to complete their order,” Hunk told Keith as he vanished back into the kitchen to finish putting everything away.

Keith hummed. “Nice.”

Lance snorted as he walked by to give the bathroom a quick clean. “Not really. Coran just got tired of paying us overtime.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, the phone rang. Lance shot Keith a pointed look as he dropped his rag on the counter and snagged the receiver. “Pizza Planet.” He listened to the wasted college kid on the other side stumble his way through an order with a Customer Service™ smile firmly in place. “I’m sorry, we actually don’t take orders this close to closing. Thanks for the call, though.” He didn’t even bother to listen to the response before hanging up-- chances were the kid wasn’t going to remember it tomorrow anyways.

At four on the dot, Lance hit the switch on the jukebox, Hunk flipped off the lights, and the three of them stepped out into the frigid early morning air.

Keith covered a yawn with the back of his hand. He’d almost nodded off a couple times over the last half hour. Hunk clapped him on the shoulder. “You good to drive, man?”

Keith nodded, swallowing another yawn. “Yeah, I don’t live far.”

“You did a good job for your first night,” Hunk told him, before giving Lance an expectant and very obvious nudge.

“You did okay,” Lance told him grudgingly. And really, he had. Lance had only gotten two calls from people complaining about wait times. Compared to Rollo, who would, on occasion, vanish for hours at a time, Keith was a dream.

Keith shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and nodded shortly. “Thanks.”

They all stood there for another second before Lance pointed at Hunk’s shitty beater van. “Well, this is us.”

“Right.” Keith took a couple steps towards an ancient black Toyota Camry. “See you guys tomorrow, I guess.”

Hunk gave him a friendly wave as Lance dragged him towards the car, hissing at him to hurry up. He turned the heater up full blast as soon as Hunk out the key in the ignition, biting off an unhappy whine as cold air poured out of the vents.

“He’s nice, isn’t he?” Hunk asked, giving his rearview mirrors a completely unnecessary check as he backed out of the parking spot, considering no one else was on the roads at four A.M. save for a handful of desperate Uber drivers.

Lance slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, if by nice you mean weird .”

“Listen,” Hunk began, cruising down the deserted streets, “you know I love you, but that’s kind of a pot and kettle situation, don’t you think?”

Lance gaped at him. “How dare you,” he protested. “I’m not weird, I’m quirky. It’s charming. People like me. Emo Bon Jovi is just plain weird.”

Lance could hear the eyeroll in Hunk’s voice. “You barely even talked to him, Lance.”

“And it was still enough,” he asserted, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Hunk sighed and shook his head. “Look, can you just give the guy a chance before you get all…”

“All what ?”

Hunk squinted out the windshield. “Lance-y?”

Lance considered that for a second. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

Heaving another sigh, Hunk said, “Just try. That’s all I ask. Don’t jump to conclusions about him, don’t judge him on how he looks, just give him a chance. Get to know him.”

Lance always hated Hunk lectures; they left him with the distinct impression of being in the wrong, even at times like these when he was definitely not . So he slouched down even farther and muttered, “Yes, Mom,” glaring out his window at the dark, silent city sliding by.

Hunk wanted him to give Keith a chance? Fine by him. Lance knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he and Keith would never be anything even approaching friends.

Chapter Text

Groaning, Keith rolled over and rubbed his eyes, feeling just as tired as he had last night when he’d fallen into bed, hands stained with a seemingly perpetual layer of grease. Though he’d yet to try the food, even a week into his new job--the endless string of comments about how bad it was more than convincing--the cardboard he delivered it in wasn't much better.

Reaching for his phone on the floor beside his bed, Keith checked the time and tumbled onto his back, closing his eyes. It was two. Again. Better than four, though. After the first day--the confusing, overwhelming, infuriating first day--that was when he’d woken up.

And then there was Monday and Tuesday, his days off. Days he’d almost entirely slept through. Keith was positive he hadn’t slept so much in his entire life. Lance had said that he was either going to adjust or he wasn’t and for once, Keith was glad the rest of his life was a flaming pile of shit because it meant he could adjust. This job was all he had. Literally. Until work started, he’d probably lounge on the couch, watch TV he didn’t want to watch, and contemplate what shenanigans he was going to have to endure.

Honestly, it wasn’t even like he was on the actual premises of the Planet all that often, but it was often enough to decide that it was really incredible anything got done. Pidge was always there and though Keith actually kind of liked her--why, he couldn’t quite say--she was an almost constant distraction.

Not that Lance and Hunk would avoid getting distracted anyway. Well, maybe Hunk could actually manage working, but Lance seemed to have the concentration of a cat, a single-minded and determined kind of concentration, but one that didn’t have span a particularly long life.

Stumbling out of bed, Keith wandered out of his room and into the kitchen, opening up the fridge and scanning the contents, desperate to distract himself from thoughts of Lance. That was a rabbit hole. An intensely long and warped one.

On one hand, he was attractive, his blue eyes the most…

Slamming the fridge closed, having grabbed nothing, Keith fled to the couch and flipped on the TV.   Not the goddamn eyes again, Keith thought to himself. All sorts of things are pretty and actually suck, Keith.  Like...snakes. Or... god, why could he never come up with examples when he needed them?

Either way, Lance definitely sucked. He’d rubbed Keith the wrong way from day one, mostly because he’d decided to be an unmitigated asshole for absolutely no reason whatsoever. For the first three shifts, that had been a source of interest for Keith, something he idly thought about when he was bored, because there had to be a reason why, but he was past that now. The strange blustering, the occasional muttered ‘asshole’ that Keith frequently caught, the remarks begging for a retaliation of some kind, the sheer giddiness he would sometimes display at Keith’s pain, none of it had stopped.

Sure, Keith didn’t make it easy for people to know him, it wasn’t in his nature to do so, but it usually meant people just ignored him. It was rare that someone reacted as strongly as Lance had been reacting.

He just didn’t make any goddamn sense and it was irritating. He was irritating.

And he’d gone down the rabbit hole.

Keith began repeating the words that were being said on the TV inside his own head, hoping that would be enough to pull his thoughts away from Lance--who was unbelievably and infuriatingly endearing whenever he danced around with the mop. Unfortunately, it was the weather, something he could figure out for himself just by looking outside, and he’d opened up the ‘Lance dancing with the mop’ door, so it didn’t even remotely work.

Asshole , Keith reminded himself.

Thankfully, Shiro saved him, as usual. Returning from class in a whirlwind of motion and noise, Shiro said, “Hey, look at that. You’re up.”

“Don’t know why,” Keith replied, letting his head fall back and gazing at the ceiling.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early in the...I suppose it’s not morning anymore.”

“Not too early, then.”

“Did you eat?”

“No,” Keith mumbled. “I got distracted.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure the TV didn’t turn itself on.”

When Keith didn’t reply, Shiro sighed and came over, crashing down on the couch beside him, mimicking Keith’s pose, except his eyes weren’t directed at the ceiling, they were directed at Keith. Softly, he said, “You didn’t have to get a job, Keith.”

“Had to do something.”

“Eating’s a good start.”

“I eat.”

Laughing exasperatedly, Shiro rose from the couch, not one to be idle, and started puttering around in the kitchen, likely making something for Keith to eat. And he’d make just the right amount, so that it was a little too much for one person and he could pretend he’d only made it for himself, that there was just a little leftover.

“Don’t you have another class?” Keith asked, not entirely sure. He hadn’t really bothered to learn his brother’s schedule and he hadn’t been living with him long enough to know it unconsciously.

“It was cancelled.”

Nodding, Keith watched Shiro work, suspecting that he had lots of reading to do and that this free hour could be better spent. It was a mystery how he did it; going to grad school, working, seeing Matt, and housing Keith, all of it without complaint. He probably didn’t have time for it, not like Keith had time.

Feeling sorry for himself was quickly becoming his new favorite pastime. It was pathetic, but he wasn’t sure how to break the cycle.

The episode of whatever he was watching ended and Shiro came over with a plate of quesadillas, setting them on the coffee table and grabbing one quarter for himself. Before he took a bite, he said, “Want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine.”

“You just dropped out of college.”

“Thanks for reminding me. I’d almost forgotten.”

This was the first proper conversation they’d had since the first day Keith had arrived here. They hadn’t talked a lot when Keith was in school, either, and so he’d forgotten how hard it was to shake Shiro. So it was a surprise when Shiro said, “I don’t care why you did, you know. I don’t even care that you did. If it wasn’t for you, it wasn’t for you. I’m not here to tell you how to live your life, because I trust you to do what’s right for you. Just promise you’ll let me help if you need help, alright? Because I want you to be happy and I know enough to know you’re not right now.”

“Thanks,” Keith whispered.

“Know why?”

“Oh god.”

Slipping an arm around Keith’s shoulders, Shiro pulled him into a very one-sided hug and said, “It’s because I love you, little brother.”

“Get off of me.”

Shiro obliged, chuckling lightly, and offered Keith the plate of quesadillas. “Eat, would you?”

Taking a slice, Keith ate a few small bites and then, before he knew it, more than his half of the share. Shiro didn’t seem to mind, having already pulled out his books and reading them with the concentration of a person who didn’t have enough hours in a day.

Not wishing to make that harder, Keith shut off the TV, sat for a few minutes, trying to come up with something to do, and then grabbed his phone to search for bookstores nearby. It was an easy way to waste hours before work. Because that was what he did now. Unlike Shiro, he had too many hours.

There was a used bookstore not too far away, so he told Shiro he was going out and left. Figuring he would walk--wasting yet more time--Keith left the apartment and struck out down the street, hands dug deep into his pockets.

When he arrived at the bookstore, he wandered in, happy to find it almost completely empty. It was a dark, slightly dreary place, but there were books and lots of them, so Keith spent most of his afternoon there, picking a book halfway through his trip and settling down in a corner to read, not particularly bothered that whoever was working would find him.

He left when he was hungry, finding a small cafe that served soups and sandwiches and getting some of each, eating at a table alone, idly wondering how the hell people made friends, so that they weren’t like him, a college drop out--who’d partially done it because he was so fucking lonely--with no prospects, no dreams, no friends, and a shitty job. God, the people he worked with weren’t even that bad . But Keith was too damn socially awkward to do a thing about it.

The private pity party lasted him all the way through his meal and then he went back to the apartment to shower--it was probably easier to make friends if you started out the night not smelling like last night’s grease.  

Once he was out of the shower, Shiro was gone, having left for work.  Only having an hour before he had to do that himself, Keith collapsed on the couch and stayed there until he left for work, staring at the ceiling longer than a normal person likely should.

***

The second he opened the door the the Planet, he wished he hadn’t.  Fuck making friends, fuck making money, fuck everything.

For one, Lance was definitely making fun of him.  Keith probably wouldn’t have found out, but Hunk was staring straight at him, slapping Lance on the arm and saying something, erasing any doubt. For another, whatever song was playing was more horrible than usual. Probably also a gift from Lance. He was the only one who seemed to care what song came from that jukebox.

Glancing around and trying to decide what surface he should bang his head against, Keith heard Lance laugh nervously and say, “Keith, heyyy. Sup, buddy?”

Already feeling drained, even though there were so many hours to go, Keith approached the counter and said, “Nothing. Buddy .”

There was an indignant squawk from Lance, as though Keith had just proved some point he’d been making, that was quickly silenced by Hunk. Smiling as best he could, Hunk said, “You okay, man? You’re looking a little rough.”

“Fine,” Keith replied.  “Anything for me to deliver?”

“Nope. Not quite yet.”

“Let me know,” Keith said, sinking into a booth, propping his legs up on the opposite seat, figuring his shoes weren’t going to make them any uglier. Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that he hadn’t actually made a promise to try doing anything besides his job. It just would’ve been nice.

Keith could hear low mumblings from the counter and it made him wonder where Pidge was. She was usually here by now. Cracking an eye, Keith considered asking, but he was being paid very little attention. Until, suddenly, he was being paid a whole lot of attention and Lance was heading straight for him.

Not bothering to move his legs, Keith crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. “Come to make fun of me again? Sorry, seat’s taken.”

Immediately, Lance’s face shuttered closed, pinching into a scowl. The change in expression was more profound and abrupt than Keith had expected, not realizing until now that before he’d decided to be an asshole, Lance had probably been about to say something nice. Or, at least, conciliatory. “Actually, I’m here to save my beautiful clean seats from your gross-ass feet.”

“Clean? Seriously?”

Lance waved a hand in the air. “Relatively. Whatever.”

Sighing, Keith said, “Did you want something?” Since that felt like a step in the right direction, one he’d taken and Lance hadn’t, Keith left his feet where they were.

The dirty look Lance was sending his shoes faltered. “I…” He sighed and ran a hand through his short brown hair. “Just...can I sit?” he asked abruptly.

Slowly, Keith slid his feet from the seat and adjusted his position to compensate. Lance slipped into the empty spot and leaned his elbows on the table, avoiding Keith’s gaze by fiddling with a loose string on his apron.

After a beat of silence, he blurted, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool of me.” He peeked up at Keith, judging the reception of his words.  

While that was the reasonable conclusion to the entire situation, Keith was still surprised. Lance and reasonable did not go together in his head. Keith let out a low breath. “Yeah. Not really. At least have the balls to do it to my face.”

Lance jerked his head back in surprise. “Geez, man, ever learn how to take an apology?”

“I…” Keith stopped and cursed himself. You have no friends , he reminded himself. Maybe this guy can’t be your friend, but you can at least make some goddamn effort .  An unhelpful but not entirely unexpected image of Lance dancing crossed his mind. “I’m not...never mind. Apology accepted, I guess.”

That could’ve come out worse. Progress.

Lance’s scowl only softened a fraction. “Wow, you sound really--”

“Keith,” Hunk interrupted from the counter, “deliveries are ready to go.”

Locking eyes with Lance, Keith felt the weight of the words they were leaving unsaid, but stood anyway. After all, he needed this job more than he needed friends.

Heading into the kitchen, he saw Hunk already hard at work on another pizza. Easily letting himself be interrupted, he gave Keith a list of addresses. Thanking him, Keith grabbed the done pizzas and left the Planet, not anxious to be back. If he knew how to get anywhere yet, he’d take the long way to everywhere. But he didn’t and he’d probably get tragically lost at least once, so it didn’t matter. He’d be gone long enough. Long enough, hopefully, to develop a coping mechanism for Lance, because tonight, he wasn’t in the mood.

***

When he returned, order was briefly restored, to his relief.  Only an hour into his shift and he was ready to call God and suggest he blow up the entire world, save humanity from themselves.

Lance was on the phone, Hunk was in the kitchen, and Pidge was on top of the counter, legs hanging off the side. Some dumb song was playing and Keith internally sighed, despondent.  He was about to be very familiar with all of these songs.

Leaning against the counter beside Pidge, crossing his arms over his chest, Keith said, “Where’ve you been?”

Without looking up from her phone, she said, “With Matt and Shiro. But then they kicked me out because I’m young and impressionable or something.”

The sound of Lance hanging up the phone interrupted their conversation and Keith felt something in him withdraw, preparing for the inevitability of Lance worming his way in, drawing Pidge’s attention away.

Sure enough, Lance bounded over, ruffled Pidge’s hair, and said, “That’s my Pidgeotto.”

Without a beat, she flipped him off.

Slowly, Keith was sidling away, exiting the conversation, when Pidge lifted her eyes from her phone and said, “Anything good yet?”

Keith shook his head. The one routine he’d managed to develop in his first week was telling Pidge all about the more horrifying customers. She would always laugh, probably more at his pain than anything else, but it was comforting, nonetheless, something that made him feel like he had a place here.

“Plenty of time,” she replied. Then she smirked and glanced at Lance, who brightened considerably and suspiciously ran off into the kitchen.  More suspiciously, Pidge had leapt down from the counter and taken him by the shoulders, marching him towards one of the booths.

When she released his shoulders, he turned to see Lance grinning from ear to ear, carrying a plate with both hands, as though it was a ceremonial object. Hunk was trailing behind him apprehensively, looking sympathetic.

Pretty sure he knew where this was going, Keith said, “Nope.”

“It’s tradition,” Pidge said, nudging him closer to the booth. “Best to just accept your fate.”

Meeting Hunk’s gaze, Keith said, “Is it?”

Tapping the tips of his index fingers together, Hunk replied, “I mean, not technically, but…”  His words were cut off by a glare from Lance and he sighed. “It’s tradition now, I guess. We’ve all eaten the food, to be fair.”

As Keith sat, he made sure to scowl at Lance, sure he was the instigator. He was taking a vindictive sort of pleasure out of it, that was for sure. Placing the plate in front of Keith was an entire process, slow and precise, with a vocal rendition of the Olympics theme song by--who else--Lance.  There wasn’t much on it, only a slice of pepperoni pizza and a garlic knot, but considering Keith didn’t want to eat a single bite, it was more than enough. He was hoping they didn’t intend for him to eat all of it.

“Five bucks he throws the food into your face, Lance,” Pidge said.

“Hey! Don’t go giving him ideas.”

“Five he kills all of us,” Hunk mumbled.

“Five he throws up,” Lance countered. “I think I did.”

“Nope, that was me,” Hunk replied.

“Oh yeah.  Well, I felt for you, buddy.”

The bickering continued, but Keith tuned it out, instead staring at the food in front of him. It didn’t look awful, not really. Sure, it was greasy. And a little too shiny, as though it was made of plastic. But it had to be edible. This place was still standing, after all. Determined to do none of the above, though keeping Pidge’s suggestion in mind just in case, Keith picked up the slice of pepperoni and took a determined bite.

It was vile . It was a combination of all the worst pizzas Keith had had in his life times ten. In fact, Keith was confident he could make a better pizza from scratch, without a recipe, and he had no fucking idea how to do something like that. Swallowing, mostly because Lance was staring at him expectantly, Keith flung the pizza back onto the plate and said, “I’m not touching the rest of that.”

“Gotta try the garlic knot,” Lance said.

“Like hell.”

“I bet I can make you.  Quick, Pidge, help me pin him down.”

“I’m not taking part in this,” Hunk said, fleeing to the kitchen.

Before they could do any such thing, though Keith wasn’t particularly worried, he picked up the garlic knot and threw it at Lance’s face. It bounced off his forehead and Pidge burst into laughter, quickly followed by Keith, pleased he hadn’t missed, while Lance spluttered indignantly.

“C’mon, man!” Lance rubbed at the oily spot on his forehead as he whined. “This shit is gonna make me break out.”

“Tragic,” Keith dead-panned before laughing again. Pidge hadn’t stopped, after all, and her laugh was infectious, unrestrained and loud.

“It is tragic! All this takes work, Mullet.”

“All what?”

Scowling, Lance was about to say something when the phone rang. “Duty calls,” he said, hurrying away. He reached his post in the space between rings and managed to point at Keith and say, “I don’t like you,” before he answered.

Though there was little behind it, Keith didn’t see any other explanation for why Lance treated him the way he did. Sometimes, people just brushed you the wrong way. And maybe Keith brushed Lance the wrong way. “Clearly,” he mumbled to himself.

Unfortunately, Pidge had caught it. Plopping down into the booth, she said, “Lance can be an idiot, sometimes.”

“Whatever.”

Rolling her eyes, Pidge resumed messing with her phone, but she didn’t leave. Maybe Keith was reading too much into it, but her place seemed to be the counter, and the fact that she was forgoing that to sit with him, made him feel better. Better than driving had; better than taking the corners fast, better than rolling down all the windows, better than the blur of streetlights and people.

Flicking her eyes up, Pidge said, “Stop looking at me weird.”

“I’m not looking at you weird.”

She shrugged and then smirked. “Nice throw, by the way.”

Letting the corners of his lips quirk up, Keith said, “Thanks.”

After that, they didn’t talk, and then Keith had more deliveries. As he drove, pizzas resting in the passenger seat, he felt a small measure of relief. From the very beginning, it had been obvious Hunk, Pidge, and Lance were a package deal, leaving Keith on the outskirts, able to witness, but not interact. Now, however, it felt like he had an in, a way to cement his place, and maybe , maybe that would be enough to change Lance’s mind. Not that Keith cared. It would just be simpler if they could get along.

***

Three delivery runs later, more than one scarring experience under his belt, Keith returned to the Planet, dreaming of one of the booths, a place he could kick up his feet, maybe close his eyes for a few minutes, only to find a number of them taken. Uninterested in interacting with a single drunk person, Keith abandoned that idea and retreated behind the counter, taking a chance, and elbowing Pidge in the knee. Glancing up from her DS--Keith briefly wondered where she actually kept all of those devices--her eyes brightened. Less than a minute later, she set down her DS, pushed her glasses up her nose, and said, “You’ve got something, don’t you?”

“Three somethings.”

When Keith didn’t immediately jump into a story, Pidge kicked him in the hip.

“That kind of hurt,” Keith grumbled, rubbing the spot she’d kicked and glaring at her. Unsurprisingly, she laughed and kicked him again, making sure to tell him to stop wasting her time.

Before he could start, however, Lance came out of the kitchen, probably interested in whatever had caused Keith to complain about being in pain. He pressed a hand to his chest with an exaggerated gasp. “What’s this, Pidgeon? Are you actually picking on someone your own size, for once?” He leaned over and ruffled her hair to enunciate the meaning of his words, shooting Keith a wicked grin as he did.

“Go away, Lance. Keith was about to talk and something tells me he won’t if you’re standing there.”

“What do you know?”

“Well, since he actually talks to me, sometimes--you know, in sentences, not just a couple one syllable words--I’d guess more than you.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “Rude,” he managed after a second.

Grateful that Pidge was willing to stand up to him, but unwilling to cause any sort of rift, even a brief and largely unimportant one, Keith simply started in on his stories, trying not to concern himself with Lance’s presence. Hopefully he’d have the foresight not to interrupt. Keith was already more than happy to keep quiet. He didn’t need incentive.

“So,” he began, “one address was for a motel and I got there, knocked on the door, and a man answered, pulling the door wide open. He was alone. And wearing heels, a bright pink thong, with a purse hanging from his arm.”

“Was he going somewhere?” Pidge asked.

Keith shrugged. “Don’t think so. Considering he invited me into the room. To share the pizza with him.”

As expected, Pidge started to laugh. Beside her, Lance looked amused, but unfazed, as though the exact situation had happened to him before. “What did you say to him? Exact words.”

Racking his brain, Keith replied, “I’m pretty sure I just told him I wasn’t interested in having sex with him and left.”

That only made Pidge laugh harder.

“Think of the tip you could’ve gotten,” Lance said.

“Probably more than you ever got in a night of deliveries,” Keith replied flatly, remembering what Coran had said to him when he’d been hired, that Lance was covering in the absence of a delivery boy.

“Baby,” Lance said with a sly grin, “you wouldn’t believe the tips I’ve had.”

“That’s...I’m uncomfortable,” Keith mumbled as Pidge groaned.

Kicking Lance this time, Pidge said, “Get thee gone. Come back when you can say something that doesn’t make the new guy uncomfortable.” Judging by the smiles on both of their faces, they were actually making fun of Keith. Sighing, Keith pushed himself away from the counter and headed towards one of the booths, just as desperate for a small nap as he’d been earlier. Screw the customers. They couldn’t be any worse than his co-workers.

“Lance,” Pidge shrieked. “Come back. He’s getting away and he’s got two stories left!”

“On it,” Lance shouted, running over and taking Keith’s hand in his.

The move surprised Keith. He’d been so sure that nobody was going to drag him away from his booth and his nap, but now there was a hand in his, and he was being herded back towards the counter with determination. The second he was back in range of Pidge’s foot, Lance dropped his hand and said, “Your hands are so sweaty, dude.”

“Not as sweaty as yours.” To be honest, Keith didn’t even know if Lance’s hand had been sweaty. He’d been too distracted. Because Lance had been holding his hand and Keith couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that. For anything. Was it weird to think it was nice? Probably. Especially when the someone holding your hand presumably hated your guts.

“My hand is not sweaty. That was all you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Shrugging dismissively, Keith told Pidge the remainder of his stories, one featuring a fight between a couple over the type of condoms the man had gotten at the convenience store, and the other featuring a girl and a guy lying on the floor just behind the door, giggling at each other, the woman paying for the pizza obviously plastered. He had gotten a huge tip at that house.

Appeased, Pidge released him and Keith went to a booth nearest to the counter and laid down. Briefly, he considered setting an alarm, but it was unlikely he would sleep through Lance shouting about some injustice and the clattering from the kitchen. It would be fine. He’d be up in time for the next set of deliveries. Closing his eyes, he immediately fell asleep, the sounds of Lance and Hunk bickering at each other, joy in their voices, leading him there.

***

A weight was on his shoulder, shaking lightly. Blinking slowly, Keith woke to see Lance’s face hanging above his, half irritated and half amused. “Hey, Mullet, employees falling asleep on the job isn’t really encouraged.”

Bolting up, practically banging their heads together, Keith said, “Did I miss any deliveries?”

“Nah. I took them. Hunk thought you looked comfortable. Besides,” Lance said, looking vaguely uncomfortable, which was how Keith knew he was going to say something sympathetic, “we’ve all done it before. And you’re still pretty new, so…”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

Lance nodded. “Now, get out of the booth. I gotta wipe it down.”

Nodding, Keith slid out and rubbed his eyes, stumbling over to the kitchen, where he found Hunk cleaning. Clearly, they were about to close for the night. He’d slept a lot longer than he’d meant to. How he’d managed it, he didn’t know. It seemed like all he did these days was sleep. “Hey, man,” he said to Hunk. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

Looking up from the counters he was wiping down, Hunk smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there. And it could’ve been a lot worse. I fell asleep once after one of my finals last year. Course, everyone was out, because it was finals, so we were kind of swamped, and Lance was trying to do everything all by himself and…” Hunk shuddered. “Took forever for us to catch up. We had to call Allura that night.”

“Allura?”

“Coran’s niece. She helps out sometimes. It’s been awhile since we’ve been that busy, though. Wait for finals week. I’m sure we’ll call her at least once.”

“And she just comes?”

Hunk nodded. “She’s cool.”

Outside the kitchen, “The Final Countdown” started to play. By now, Keith was used to the ritual and also on the verge of taking a bat to the jukebox just so he never had to hear the damn song again. Twice already, he’d tried to convince Lance to let the ritual slide for one night and each time, Lance had acted like Keith was asking him to murder the pope or something. Catching Keith’s expression, Hunk smiled sympathetically. “Lance’s kind of stubborn.”

“Kind of?”

“He’s worth it, though. He’s one of the best people I know.”

“If you say so.”

“He’ll come around.”

Laughing shortly, Keith rubbed his eyes again, trying to get rid of the perpetual scratchiness, and said, “Yeah. I’m sure he will.”

“He will,” Hunk said firmly. “I know he’s been acting like an asshole to you, but he’s actually a good person.”

“Uh huh.”

“He is human, Keith.”

“You sound like Shiro.”

Nodding sagely, Hunk said, “I give the lectures around here. Somebody’s gotta be the mom, especially with Lance and Pidge around. Add you to the equation and it’s good I’ve had lots of practice.”

Having no clue what to say to that, Keith nodded, tried to come up with words for a minute or two, and then slowly headed towards the delivery rack, piling the pies waiting there into his arms. Then, peering around the sides of the boxes to see where he was walking, Keith headed towards the front of the Planet.

“Hey, Keith?” Hunk called after him.

“Yeah?”

“Pidge and I like you. Lance will too. Just give it some time.”

“Whatever.”

Putting his hands on his hips, Hunk said, “Now is that any way to talk to your mom?”

Smiling, Keith said, “Whatever, Mom. ”

“Better.”

Laughing, Keith felt much lighter than he had when he’d walked in for work. Pidge and Hunk liked him and that meant a lot. It made him feel like this was a place he could belong, a place he could carve himself some space, a place that could be more than just somewhere he was or somewhere he had to be.

***

After the final deliveries of the night were completed and there were only a couple of minutes left until they closed, Keith headed into the dining area, where Lance was mopping the floors and dancing and singing along to something with a high-pitched but not entirely unpleasant chorus. Riding on the feeling of belonging that had no quite dissipated yet, Keith held out his hand, palm up, and said, “Give me a quarter?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, Lance said, “What for?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m listening to ‘Africa.’”

“And you’ll get to.”

“I’m in charge of the jukebox,” Lance said.  “I don’t need whatever crappy music taste you have messing up my groove.”

“Your groove ?”

“Yeah, my groove. Got a problem with that?”

Taking a deep breath, Keith forced himself not to fire back.  This was not why he was here.  Keeping his hand outstretched, he said, “Just this once. Promise.”

“... Fine,” Lance said, digging in his pocket and producing a quarter. Slamming it down into Keith’s open palm, he went back to mopping while Keith walked over to the jukebox.  As the final notes of “Africa” played, Keith searched through the songs, Hunk came out from the kitchen, finished for the night, and Lance was tossing the mop back into the yellow bucket and towing it to the back.

Keith did not know many of the songs, not by name, anyway.  Out of the few he did recognize, there was one he actually liked alright. He was confident Lance was going to make fun of him for his choice, but he didn’t even care. Slipping the quarter into the machine, he pressed the corresponding number and the racing beat started.

Returning from the kitchen, Lance said, “Figures.”

“Come on, man, it’s a classic,” Hunk said, bobbing his head to the beat. Meeting Keith’s eyes, both he and Hunk started singing along at the same time, Hunk because he seemed to enjoy to, and Keith because it clearly irritated Lance.

“Rising up, back on the street. Took my time, took my chances. Went the distance, now I’m back on my feet. Just a man and his will to survive.” As they continued, they got louder and more rambunctious and Keith felt his heart speed up, the blood pumping through his veins, and he grinned. His smile must’ve pushed through the last of Lance’s resistance, because he rolled his eyes and joined in.

They all stayed until the song was over and as they left the Planet, Lance locking up after them, Keith felt alive. Why it was such a big deal to him that he had gotten to play something on the jukebox, he didn’t know, but it was.

By now, Keith recognized Hunk’s van, and it was much closer to the front door than his own car. He said his goodbyes and started to walk away, when the low voices of Hunk and Lance arguing made him slow down. He was glad he did, because Hunk called him back.

“Wanna come with us to a haunted corn maze next week?” he asked, smile welcoming.

Keith paused, unsure what to say. It sounded kind of fun, but often, these were the kinds of plans he regretted making once they rolled around.

What decided it for him was the slightly disgruntled expression on Lance’s face.  “Sure,” he shrugged. “Sounds fun.” Then he headed for his car, smiling down at his feet.

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe you invited him,” Lance grumbled, dropping onto their shitty but much-loved couch.

Hunk paused in the doorway of his bedroom to shoot Lance a stern look. “Of course I invited him, Lance, he’s a nice guy. Plus--” he called as he vanished into the room-- “Shiro probably would have asked him anyways.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Well, sure, I expected this betrayal from Shiro. But from you? Never.”

“What’s the big deal?” Hunk asked, tugging a clean shirt down over his head as he walked back into the living room. “It actually looked like you guys were getting along tonight. Also, go change before you make the couch smell like pizza. Again. ”

Lance flapped a hand at him. “In a minute. And we’re not ‘getting along,’” he said, accentuating the words with air quotes, “we’ve simply reached a state of mutual understanding. An acquaintance homeostasis, if you will.”

Hunk rolled his eyes, settling onto the couch next to him. “I won’t, actually. There’s literally no reason for you to hold this much of a grudge, dude.”

Sitting bolt upright on the couch, Lance started counting off on his fingers. “His attitude, his hair, his dumb fingerless gloves, his music taste--”

“You love ‘Eye of the Tiger.’”

“When I put it on!”

“See, this is why I’m saying your whole weird vendetta thing is ridiculous.”

Lance squawked in outrage. “Because I have the good sense to play Survivor only in the most tasteful of situations?”

“No,” Hunk started with exaggerated patience, “because you’re insulting this guy based on his hair, which is maybe your newest low in terms of being judgemental. Besides, you can’t actually hate him that much. You let him put the song on.”

“Only because he was being so pushy,” Lance insisted, sinking back against the threadbare couch cushions. “It was a one-time thing. Never again.”

“Why is it so hard for you to admit that Keith is a cool guy?”

“Because he’s not,” Lance mumbled, crossing his arms and scowling at the Star Wars poster on the wall. Harrison Ford stared back, as impassive as ever.

Hunk sighed. “Whatever, man. I’m going to bed.” He leaned over to poke Lance in the ribs. “C’mon, get up before you make the couch smell like the Planet.”

With a sigh of his own, Lance reluctantly stood and followed Hunk down the hall, stepping into his own bedroom as he absently returned Hunk’s goodnight. Closing the door behind him, he started stripping off his work clothes.

The truth was, Keith was… different than Lance had expected. On first glance, Keith looked like just another broke-ass college kid who needed cash for beer, weed and better pizza, uninterested in really working hard or being part of the Planet team. In short, Lance had expected another Rollo. But Keith actually seemed invested in the job, working hard and without complaint. Pidge liked him, he knew, and she was usually pretty hard to win over. Strangest of all, Keith wasn’t even a college student-- Lance had gathered that from overhearing a terse reply to Pidge when she asked about his major. He tried to ply her for details later, but she shrugged him off, saying, “Ask him yourself if you’re so interested.”

And god dammit, Lance was interested, in spite of his most stubborn attempts to hold onto that first impression. Keith was weird, sure, but it wasn’t, like, a bad weird. It was more like a Pidge weird-- odd but endearing in its own way. Or like… a cat. God, why would he never come up with a decent metaphor?

The point being-- Keith was... fine, at least enough that Lance had actually felt a pang of sympathy when he saw him tonight passed out in one of the booths. Lord knows he’d been there a good few times, himself, especially during the first few weeks he and Hunk worked at the Planet. He was polite to Coran, and a hard worker, and he made Pidge laugh, all of which were necessities on Lance’s checklist for someone to achieve the status of “Good Human Being.”

Still, he was reserving his judgement. First impressions were important, and Keith had fired in with an attitude Lance wasn’t quick to forget. Plus, his life outside the Planet remained a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in fingerless gloves. Lance wasn’t going to just-- just becomes buddies with the guy just because he could drive a car and drop off pizzas without getting horribly lost.

No matter how adorable he was when he wrinkled his nose in his sleep.

Wait, no. Lance shook his head to dislodge that particular train of thought. Keith is not cute, he scolded himself. Keith is not our friend. It had become an unfortunately common mantra over the last week. He was getting pretty good at training himself out of it, but he slipped up sometimes when he was distracted or tired.

And man was he tired. It was kind of stressful to switch between working the front and deliveries, and there had been a lot of orders in the runs he’d taken while Keith was asleep, but… He thought of Keith’s surprised, grateful expression as he walked down the short hall to the bathroom for his nightly skincare routine. Yeah, it had been worth it.

***

“Hold still,” Matt instructed, and Lance stifled a laugh as Pidge immediately started squirming again under his hands.

“It tickles, Matt, hurry up.”

“I’m trying! Stop wrinkling your nose.”

Hunk rejoined them in line, a strip of red tickets in his hand. Squinting at Pidge’s half-painted face, he asked, “Are you supposed to be, like, a nutcracker or something?”

Pidge howled with laughter as Matt drooped. “She’s supposed to be a creepy doll.”

Lance clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “No one can fault you for trying, man.” Matt’s Halloween makeup skills were infamous. Lance was glad he had stuck with a relatively simple Lady Gaga lightning bolt across his eye.

“I like nutcracker,” Pidge said, baring a fierce grin at them. The red cheeks and extra teeth did not make it any more intimidating than usual.

“No one appreciates my art,” Matt announced with a dramatic sigh. With his own vampire makeup, he looked like a particularly morose extra from some shitty production of Dracula.

“Well, luckily for you,” Hunk said, pointing over the heads of the crowd around them before raising his arm, “here comes the only person who actually does.”

Lance looked around to see Shiro returning Hunk’s wave as he weaved towards them through the throngs of people. Keith trailed him, wearing his dumb red leather motorcycle jacket. At least it looked like he had a thick black hoodie on underneath-- it was cold as fuck. He was also glaring suspiciously at the excited crowd, and Lance huffed a laugh as he watched him jerk back to avoid a collision with a fast-moving witch, a disgruntled look on his face.

Things had been… okay between them this last week. To be honest, Lance had a paper due and a big exam, so he’d been pretty distracted. The night before his test, he’d actually brought his textbook so Pidge could quiz him whenever he wasn’t talking to someone on the phone or she wasn’t working on her own homework. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d only had a few brief exchanges with Keith over the last few days, mostly about work. To be fair, though, Keith had been busy too. They always had significantly more deliveries called in during test weeks.

But still… this was the haunted corn maze. This was their thing, their Halloween, since they always worked the night of, and Lance wasn’t thrilled to have the lead singer of a Journey tribute band tagging along with them. So when Shiro and Keith finally pushed through the last group of people and stepped into their little circle, Lance shoved his hands in his pockets and let just the beginnings of a scowl touch his face.

He must have been a little too obvious, though, because Pidge very deliberately stepped on his toes as she bounded forward to say hello.

Shiro carefully cupped Matt’s face, turning it towards the light. “Babe, you look great.”

Matt covered Shiro’s hands with his own. “I am so glad I can always count on you to have my back.” He stood up on his tiptoes to give him a kiss.

In practiced unison, Lance, Pidge and Hunk all gagged.

“Nice to know I’m not the only one who suffers this,” Keith muttered, quiet enough it was almost lost under the buzz of the crowd.

Lance snorted. “Welcome to the club, dude.”

A corner of Keith’s mouth twitched before it dropped into a frown. “What’s with the…” He gestured to his own cheek, tracing his eyes over Lance’s face.

“What, this? Lady Gaga.” Keith looked blank. “You know, ra ra ah-ah-ahh?” Lance did the dance as he said it, but Keith didn’t look any more enlightened. “Dude, have you been alive this century, or did you just crawl out of your coffin two weeks ago?”

Crossing his arms with a scowl, Keith snapped, “I’m not a vampire.”

Lance held his hands up. “Kidding! Geez, man, lighten up.” He bit off the joke about vampires and the sun that wanted to follow.

A tense silence settled between them, so Lance glanced around to see what everyone else was up to. Hunk had put Pidge on his shoulders so she could peer out towards the front of the line, a look of concentration on her painted face. Meanwhile, below decks, Shiro had bent over so Matt could reach his face with his make-up crayons. It looked like Shiro was also turning into a vampire, albeit not a very threatening one with the smile he was giving Matt.

“So,” Keith started at his side, and Lance looked back over at him. “How does this work?” He gestured vaguely around them as he spoke.

“Never been to a haunted corn maze before?” At Keith’s head shake, Lance hummed consideringly. “Well, we’ll be walking through a maze. Made of corn. And it’ll be haunted.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Wow, super helpful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, young grasshopper.”

Keith opened his mouth to reply, probably with an insult, but he was interrupted by the sound of a chainsaw revving somewhere in the distance, out in the fields of corn behind the fence.

Lance grinned at him. “That, John Stamos,” he said, putting out an arm to guide Keith after the group as they shuffled forward in line, “is what you have to look forward to.”

“There are people with chainsaws in there?”

“Well, the chain is removed, so they can’t hurt you, but…” Lance shrugged, tucking his hand back in the pocket of his jacket. “Yeah.”

Keith shook his head. “I can’t believe this place hasn’t been flagged as a-- a safety hazard, or something.”

That got a laugh out of Lance. “Oh, man, the employees are in way worse danger than we are. A couple years ago, some guy dressed in like, I’m not kidding here, a corn suit jumped out at Hunk and he punched him.” Lance threw his head back on another laugh at the memory. “It was incredible.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Hunk protested. Pidge had slipped back to the ground at some point. “He was coming at me.”

Lance slung an arm around his shoulder. “I know, buddy, I know. You just can’t help your lightning-fast kung fu reflexes.”

Hunk sighed as Pidge joined Lance on another cackle. “I’m never going to live that one down, am I?”

“Nope,” everyone except Keith chorused.

Hunk shrugged good-naturedly. “At least Pidge didn’t get it on video.”

“We can always recreate it,” she offered, grinning wickedly.

“Nope, I’m good! Oh, hey, is the line moving?” He slipped out from Lance’s arm to usher Pidge forward a few steps after Shiro and Matt. Lance followed with a snicker.

“Did Hunk seriously punch someone?” Keith asked, and Lance turned to find him standing at his side again.

“Yep.” He popped the p. “Not too hard, thankfully, but he did nail him pretty bad. His mask went flying off. It was hilarious.” He grinned fondly at the memory.

Keith huffed a laugh. “Kind of sorry I missed that.”

The chainsaw revved again, closer this time, and a few screams drifted to them through the corn. Lance turned his grin on Keith, raising his eyebrows. “You’re not going to get too scared now, are you, Lestat?”

Keith shot him a dark look.

“Interview with a Vampire.”

“Yeah, I know who Lestat is.”

Lance held his hands up. “Okay, geez.”

After a beat, Keith said, “I’m not gonna get scared.”

“You sure?”

Keith scoffed wordlessly.

Lance held out a hand, grinning. “You can always hold my hand if you need to, dude. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Keith shot him a pointed look. “In a fight between you and a chainsaw, I’m betting on the saw.”

“Okay, one, rude, and two, I already told you the chainsaws aren’t dangerous.”

“And yet,” Keith said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I would still bet on it.”

Lance gaped at him for a second. “Asshole.”

Keith’s face went blank again as he ducked his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. Lance blinked down at him for a second before shrugging and standing up on his tiptoes, peeking over the heads of the crowd.

“Hey, I think we’re finally getting close to the front.”

“Shiro has my ticket,” Keith remembered with a frown.

Lance shrugged. “That’s cool. They’ll let our whole group in together. The reason you have to wait so long is because they stagger everyone out,” he explained, nodding at the line around them. “Makes it more fun.”

Keith just nodded, wordless.

Lance considered him for another second before snapping his fingers. “Hey, you still need to get your face done!”

“Uh,” Keith said, giving him a look of flat horror, “no thanks.”

Lance ignored him to lean forward and nudge Pidge, who twisted around to look at him. “My sweet little Pidgeon, will you be a dear and get those face crayons from your brother?”

A grin spread across her face. “You gonna do Keith?”

Snorting, Lance said, “Unfortunate choice of words, Pidgelet, but yes.”

She shot him a cheeky salute. “On it.” Very carefully, she crept forward a few steps and leaned around Hunk, reaching towards Matt.

“I’m so glad we have a rogue in our party,” Lance remarked to Keith as he watched her gingerly slide the packet of makeup out of Matt’s jacket pocket. He didn’t notice, preoccupied with explaining something to Shiro that apparently needed to be told mostly through gestures.

This time, the look Keith gave him was clearly bewildered. “What?”

Lance just sighed as Pidge stepped back towards them and pressed her loot into Lance’s hands, practically beaming. “All yours, Michelangelo.”

“Let’s be real, Pidge,” Lance said, taking the face crayons from her with a wink, “we all know I’d be Donatello.”

She shook her head. “I cannot believe you just pulled a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles reference on me.”

“To be fair, you got it.”

Hunk glanced at them over his shoulder. “That is fair.”

Lance pointed at him, cocking his head at Pidge. “See?”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed him towards Keith a step. “Just get on with it, Lance.”

“Okay, okay, you little goblin. Geez,” Lance muttered, stepping up in front of Keith and popping open the little plastic pack of crayons.

Keith eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t like this.”

“C’mon, Spike, I’m not gonna bite.” Lance spread his hands innocently. “Promise.”

With another doubtful glare, Keith turned to look at Pidge and Hunk. “Stop him if he tries anything too embarrassing?”

They nodded, grinning, and Keith reluctantly turned back to Lance. “Okay,” he finally sighed, tilting his face up towards Lance and squeezing his eyes shut. “Do it.”

Biting back a smile, Lance selected the black crayon from the box and set his palm against Keith’s jaw to keep his head still. “Don’t flinch.”

He brought the crayon down on Keith’s cheek. He immediately flinched.

“I said stay still, geez. This’ll take, like, three seconds.”

“That long?” Keith grumbled. Lance rolled his eyes, tracing another line across Keith’s face.

It really did only take him a few seconds before Lance was stepping back to admire his handiwork, grinning again. Pidge laughed as she saw Keith’s face.

“What?” Keith demanded, blinking his eyes open. “What’d he do?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Hunk reassured him, although he was smiling too.

“Nothing bad?” Lance stuck his nose in the air. “It’s art, Hunk, please.”

With another sharp look, Keith dug his phone out of his pocket, fumbling with it for a second before he opened the front-facing camera and held it up. He groaned as he caught sight of the set of cat whiskers and the adorable black nose Lance had given him.

Lance nodded sagely as Pidge cackled in the background. “Perfect, right?”

Keith glared at him another second before sighing. “Well, it could be worse, I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance demanded.

Pidge finally regained herself enough to lean forward and flick him on the ear. “It means you’re a jerk.”

“Ow,” Lance said, scowling at her. “Both physically and emotionally.”

“But you’re our jerk,” she amended, rolling her eyes fondly.

Quick as a snake, Lance darted forward to drag her into a one-armed hug. “Aww, Pidgey’s finally showing some real human emotion,” he cooed, rubbing his bare cheek against the top of her head.

“Get off me, you octopus.”

Shiro and Matt looked around at the commotion. “Hey, nice cat whiskers,” Shiro told Keith.

He just groaned again.

***

It took a few more minutes, but they finally reached the front of the line and handed their tickets over. An employee dressed in a long black robe ushered them through the gate, and Lance bounced on his heels as they walked down the short path towards the mouth of the cornfield.

Hunk whimpered as they stepped up to the rows of corn. The sound of the crowd waiting to enter had already faded, lost in the rustling leaves and the distant roar of a chainsaw.

“It’s okay, Hunk,” Pidge said, patting his arm. “We’ve got you.”

Hunk straightened and took a deep breath, releasing it on a long sigh. “I believe you.”

Lance turned to look at the group. “Who’s going first?”

“Not me,” everyone called in unison, with one mulleted exception.

“You do it,” Pidge told him.

Lance gaped at her. “Me? Why?”

“For one thing,” Hunk started, “you asked. And you know I need middle, Lance, come on.”

“And we’re taking the back,” Shiro added, lacing his fingers with Matt’s as he spoke.

Lance crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at them. “Again, why?”

Shiro stared him down. “We’re not having a repeat of last year.”

“What happened last year?” Keith asked as Lance grumbled.

Pidge leaned around Hunk to answer him. “Lance poked Hunk in the back and he took off screaming. We looked for him for, like, an hour.”

Lance threw his hands in the air. “I said I was sorry! I just wanted to know if he had any more Twizzlers.”

He was met with unforgiving glares. “Lance, you’re in the front,” Pidge told him.

“Guys,” he whined.

A spark of mirth flashed in Pidge’s eyes, and Lance feared for his life. “Keith, will you go with him so he doesn’t lead us down every dead end out of spite?”

Keith blinked. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Oh,” she said, holding back a grin, “it’s a very good idea.”

Lance pointed at her. “You’re evil.”

She kicked him gently in the shin, ignoring his yelp at the muddy spot she left on his jeans. “Get moving, trailblazer.”

With a grumble, Lance led them into the maze.

It was dark and quiet down among the cornstalks, and the paths were narrow, so they went slowly at first. They took a few random turns, backtracking once when the path dead-ended around the first corner, but everything was quiet for the moment.

Breathing in the cold air, Lance smiled, a shiver of fear and excitement crawling down his spine. He loved this tradition. Beside him, Keith looked tense, head whipping from side to side with every gentle rustle of the leaves, so Lance nudged him.

“Relax,” he said. Behind them, Pidge was still speaking reassurances to Hunk, stroking his arm.

Keith shot him a look. “Kind of hard to do when we’re walking through the dark waiting for guys with chainsaws to jump out at us.” He jerked his head over his shoulder. “Hunk looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.”

Lance shrugged. “It’s just because we haven’t seen anyone yet. Trust me, once he gets scared a couple times, he’ll start having fun.”

“That’s kind of horrible.”

Lance sighed. “Seriously, man, listen, we’ve been doing this for three years. It’s fun. F-U-N. You know what that is?”

Keith glared at him. “I know what fun is, Lance. I just have a hard time seeing how this--” he gestured to the dark maze around them-- “qualifies.”

“That’s because you’re--”

A chainsaw roared in front of them and a figure dressed in black came charging around a corner. Lance and Hunk yelped in sync. The chainsaw-wielding person advanced on them, Scream mask glinting in the moonlight as they revved the motor.

“Book it!” Lance yelled, and he ducked down a side path, stumbling a little on the muddy, uneven ground. Keith had been a beat slow in reacting, but he was fast, catching up to Lance in just a few paces as everyone stumbled and slipped on the muddy ground behind them.

As soon as the sound of the chainsaw cut out, they slowed back to a walk, gasping and, in most cases, laughing. Keith stared back the way they came, eyebrows furrowed and a hand pressed to his chest. The intimidating set of his face was somewhat softened by the cat whiskers.

Lance nudged him again, still grinning. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith replied after a second, turning back to face him. “This is really fun for you?”

With another breathless laugh, Lance said, “You’ll see.”

“Yeah, sure.” Keith didn’t sound convinced.

“Sure you don’t want to hold my hand?”

“Very.”

“To be fair,” Pidge cut in, poking her face in between them, “Lance hated this the first time we came out here.”

“You hated it too!” Lance protested.

Hunk stepped in before they could get into a bickering match. “We all hated it. It was cold and terrifying and Pidge fell in the mud.”

It was hard to tell in the dark, but Keith sounded like he was speaking with an eyebrow raised. “Then why did you come back?”

Lance caught the flash of Pidge’s wide grin. “We got lost in the maze. Like, super lost. And I was still covered in mud.”

“And we were all just sort of standing there looking at each other, like, ‘why did we do this, this is insane, how do we get out of here,’” Hunk continued. “And then we just started laughing.”

“At what?” Keith asked.

Hunk shrugged. “How miserable we were? How scary it was? How hilarious Pidge looked covered, literally, head-to-toe in mud? I don’t know. Point is, we just let go and let ourselves be scared and cold and muddy and it was really, really fun.”

Lance nudged Keith. “You’ve seen horror movies, right? Why do people watch them if they’re scary?”

“Uh…”

“Because,” Lance said, rolling his eyes, “they’re fun. It’s fun to let go and let things happen. Relax. Be scared.”

“‘Relax’ and ‘be scared’ don’t belong in a sentence together.”

Lance was halfway to slinging his arm around his shoulder before he stopped, abruptly; Keith wasn’t his friend or whatever. Instead, he turned the move into a sweeping wave and tried for nonchalance, resolutely ignoring Pidge’s snicker. “Keith, buddy, by the end of the night, we’ll have your mind changed.”

Keith snorted, nose wrinkling a little under the face paint. “Sure you will.”

Lance groaned and faced forward again. “Fine, just be grumpy by yourself.”

Keith didn’t say anything, but Lance heard Hunk sigh behind them.

Well, whatever. He was trying to be civil to Keith, and that was all he had promised Hunk. Keith could decide for himself whether or not he wanted to act like a normal human being.

Another person dressed in long black robes and a mask came around the corner, revving their chainsaw as they caught sight of them. Lance skidded to a stop, screeching and shoving at Pidge behind him. “Go!”

They fled back the way they came, taking the first right and sprinting for a while. Now Lance and Keith were in back, stumbling after Hunk and Pidge as they took another turn, finally stopping when the roar faded into the distance and another chorus of screams rang out.

Lance leaned over to brace his hands on his knees, gasping and laughing and high-fiving Pidge when she turned around to grin at him. “See?” he said to Keith. “Fun!”

“You’re insane,” Keith returned, shaking his head, but Lance could see just a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He leaned up into his face, grinning. “Why, Keith, is that a smile? Are you laughing?”

Keith fought to control his face. “No.”

Lance punched the air. “Success!”

Whooping, Pidge charged at him, jumping on his back. Hunk laughed as Lance hooked his hands under her thighs with practiced ease, staggering to keep them balanced as he danced around in a circle, Pidge’s hands the air above her head. “We did it!” she crowed.

Another chainsaw roared a few rows over and everyone yelped and started running again. Lance dropped Pidge so she could catch back up with Hunk, sprinting in front of him. Lance was still laughing breathlessly, staggering a little as he followed. Keith kept glancing back at him.

Lance had just raised a hand to wave in acknowledgement at him, let him know he was okay, when Keith suddenly slipped and hit the ground with a startled cry.

“Shit!” Lance gasped, skidding to a halt and jogging back the few steps to him. “Hey, man, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith grumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position and brushing his hands off. “Stupid mud.”

“Here.” Lance offered him a hand. Keith took it after a heavy second. “Sure you’re okay?”

Keith gave him a sharp look. “It’s not the first time I’ve ever tripped in my life, Lance.”

“I know that,” Lance fired back. “I’m just--” He broke off, shaking his head, and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Keith deflated. “Right. Sorry. I’m fine, I swear.”

Lance looked at the empty maze around them and sighed. “Good, because we’re lost.”

***

It took them almost an hour to find their friends, and absolutely not because Lance picked the dead end at nearly every fork in the path.

Peering down the dark path to their left, Lance pointed at the other fork to their right. “That way.”

Keith crossed his arms. “No, it’s this way.” He gestured down the path Lance had just rejected.

Glaring, Lance snapped, “How do you know?”

Keith returned the scowl as he shoved past him. “I dunno, Lance, maybe I’m psychic. Or maybe I know because you’ve picked the wrong way every single time.”

“You mullet-wearing asshole,” Lance muttered, stalking after him. They’d been following another group for a while, but they had vanished ten minutes ago after a chainsaw-wielding Jason Voorhees jumped out behind them. Now it was just them, the endless rows of corn, and the distant sounds of screaming.

Keith scoffed. “How am I the asshole when you’re the one who got us lost?”

Lance gaped at the back of his mullet. “Me? How did I get us lost?”

“You took the wrong fork, right at the beginning. I told you I could hear Hunk.”

“And I’m telling you, that wasn’t Hunk.”

Keith came to a stop and waved at the empty maze around them. “Well, if you’re so well-informed, what do you suggest we do?”

“I…” Lance’s voice died as a thought occurred to him. A slow smile spread across his face and he broke into laughter. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Keith demanded.

“We’re idiots,” Lance wheezed, digging in his pocket and pulling out his phone. “I can just call them.”

Keith looked floored.

Wiping the tears out of his eyes, still snickering, Lance tapped out a message to their group.

>>Me: help we’re lost

He glanced up at Keith again, who looked thoroughly chagrined. “I can’t believe we’re so dumb.”

Keith just sighed, turning away to survey the nearby corn. “We’re still going to have to find them.”

“Well, yeah,” Lance said as his phone buzzed in his hand. “But it’ll be easier if we can coordinate.”

>>Hunk: i wondered when u were gonna text

>>we’re waiting at the center of the maze next to the haunted bus

>>Me: gotcha. we’ll get there asap xoxox

Keith raised an eyebrow at him as he locked his phone and tucked it away. Lance relayed Hunk’s words. “Great,” Keith said. “Now how are we gonna find the center of the maze?”

Lance raised a finger. “Watch and learn, my friend.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hollered, “Scarers! I need your help!”

Keith followed as he started walking again, still yelling. “Seriously?”

“They’re employees,” Lance explained in between calls. “They’ll help us out.”

It only took them a few minutes to find a helpful employee dressed as Jigsaw, who led them to the center of the maze. The crowds of people thickened as they got closer, until they were weaving through groups of people in costumes and covered in varying degrees of mud.

Speaking of, as they stepped into the center of the maze, with all its spooky decorations, there was enough light for Lance to get a good look at Keith. He had mud all over his knees and hands. At some point he must have reached up to touch his face, because he had a smear right across his forehead. Lance snickered.

Keith glared at him suspiciously as Jigsaw slipped off back into the crowds, revving their chainsaw to clear a path. “What?”

Lance gestured to his own face. “You’ve got a little mud.”

Keith sighed and swiped at it. “Did I get it?”

Squinting at him, Lance nodded. “Yep.”

Over the noise of the crowd and the near-constant chainsaws, someone shouted their names, and they turned to see Pidge waving at them frantically from her seat on Hunk’s shoulders. Lance grinned and waved back, turning to grab Keith’s hand and pull him through the crowd. “C’mon!”

Keith made a noise, and for a second Lance was sure he was going to take his hand back, but he followed him through the crowd after a moment’s hesitation. Lance dropped his hand as he approached their friends, pulling a face as he wiped the mud off on his jeans. “Hey, guys.”

“Lance!” Hunk rushed forward and swept him into a hug. “I thought you guys were dead in the maze somewhere.”

Lance patted him on the back. “Hunk, buddy, come on. You really think I can’t handle a bunch of high schoolers in masks?”

Pidge rolled her eyes as Hunk finally released him. “I told you they were fine.”

Shiro looked at Keith, and… was that a wink? Lance hadn’t quite caught it in the dim light. “Well, at least you were together.”

“Yeah, thanks to you all running off and leaving us behind.” Lance crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose at them, saying with a huff, “Some friends you all are.”

“See? Totally fine,” Pidge said to Hunk.

“What happened, anyways?” Shiro asked, casting a glance at Keith’s mud-splattered clothes.

“‘What happened?’” Lance echoed. “You abandoned us, that’s all. Poor Keith went down--” Lance threw his arm around Keith’s shoulders “--and you all left him to the wolves. Chainsaw-wielding wolves.”

Everyone’s eyes shifted to Keith, and Lance felt him tense under his arm. “Damn, dude,” Matt said, “you okay?”

“Yeah, I just slipped,” Keith mumbled, stiff as a board, and Lance let go as the action finally caught up with him.

Waving a hand in the air, Lance said, “Whatever, we survived. You guys ready to keep going?”

“Hell yeah. There’s a bag of kettle corn calling my name.” Pidge pushed at Matt’s shoulder to get him moving, dragging Hunk along with her, and they all wove through the crowds to reach the wide path out of the clearing.

Lance trailed a few steps behind Hunk and Pidge, who were debating the best forms of popcorn. Shiro dropped back to walk next to Keith, and they traded a few words in voices too low for Lance to make out before Shiro gently pushed Keith up next to him again. “You two, back in front. We’re not losing you again.”

“Hey, it wasn’t our fault,” Lance protested.

“You’re still the ones who got lost for an hour,” Shiro pointed out.

Lance raised a pointed eyebrow at him. “If you were so worried about us, why didn’t you text?”

Shiro’s face gave nothing away. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think about it, okay? We were alone in a dark maze being chased by people with chainsaws! What do you want from me?”

Shaking his head, Shiro sighed, “Just walk in the front, please.”

“Fine, fine,” Lance mumbled, glancing back to make sure Keith was following as he darted around the rest of their friends to the front of the group. “Ready?” he asked Keith as everyone fell back into their original formation.

Keith gave him a quick look and just the hint of what might have been a smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

Together, they led the way into the maze.

***

Lance leaned his chin on his hand and watched in horrified fascination as Pidge devoured her bag of kettle corn. “Where does it all go?” he wondered.

Mumbling around a mouthful of half-chewed popcorn, she replied, “I’m a growing girl, Lance. I need my sustenance.”

He held a hand over her head, measuring her height. “Pidge, I have some terrible news for you.”

“I’ll have worse news for you if you don’t shut the hell up.”

Keith snorted from his seat across the table. Shiro, Hunk and Matt had left them there, at one of the tables by the food booths at the exit of the maze, as they went to get everyone a cup of hot cider.

Pidge bared her teeth at him. Most of her facepaint had smeared off while they were in the maze, but what was left made her look a little bit like a clown from a horror movie. “Are you laughing at me, Keith?”

He raised his hands defensively. “No. I was just thinking about you fighting Lance.”

“I would win.”

“I know. That’s why I was laughing.”

“Hey!” Lance pouted at them, but Pidge just broke into raucous laughter, pulling a smile out of Keith. He still had a little mud on his forehead, but the cat whiskers had survived the night surprisingly well.

Lance leaned back in his seat with a crooked smile, watching the crowd around them trickling by, wandering between food booths or on their way out to the parking lot. A group of girls in their early teens walked by, all dressed as witches, and Lance watched them and thought of his little sister back home, smile turning wistful. She’d texted him a few days ago saying she was going as a witch for Halloween that year; she was going to look awesome, he was sure, but he always missed her around the holidays. When she was little he used to take her trick-or-treating in their neighborhood after his older siblings outgrew the tradition.

The rest of their friends noisy return broke into his thoughts, and he looked back just in time to catch Keith’s eyes flicking away from him.

“Here you go, dude,” Hunk said, handing him a styrofoam cup, and any every other thought left his head as he reached for the cider with a grateful noise. It was fucking cold out.

Matt handed Pidge a cup and snuck the bag of kettle corn off the table when she was distracted, frowning in dismay at how little was left. “Katie, you’re a monster.”

“I know,” she replied, unashamed, chugging down half her cider in one go.

Shiro ruffled her hair with a smile and leaned over to give Matt a kiss. “I hate to say it, but I need to get going.”

Lance booed him as Keith stood.

Shiro spread his hands. “Sorry. I have a test to proctor tomorrow morning.”

“What demon professor is giving tests the week of Halloween?” Lance asked in horror.

With a flat look, Shiro just grimly said, “Slav.”

Everyone-- except Keith-- groaned and nodded.

Hunk poked Lance in the shoulder. “We should get going too.”

Sighing, Lance unfolded himself from his chair. Next to him, Matt dragged Pidge to her feet too, holding what was left of the kettle corn over his head as she made a grab for it and serenely saying, “See you guys tomorrow night. Good luck tomorrow, babe,” he added, pulling Shiro in for another kiss. Pidge grabbed the bag of popcorn when he was distracted, faking a retch.

With one last wave, the Holt siblings headed for the front parking lot. Hunk and Lance joined Shiro and Keith as they headed for the overflow parking in the field next to the maze.

With a smile, Shiro clapped them both on the shoulder. “We’re parked this way. See you later, guys.”

“Bye, guys! See you tomorrow, Keith,” Hunk added, waving.

Keith quirked a little smile at him. “Yeah, you too.” After a second of hesitation he added, “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course,” Hunk replied warmly.

Lance pointed a stern finger at him. “You can only thank us if you had fun.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Fine, Lance. Yes, I had fun. Happy?”

Lance placed a solemn hand over his heart. “Keith, buddy, I’m overjoyed.”

Shiro laughed as they walked away into the dark. “Happy Halloween, guys.”

“Happy Halloween,” Lance and Hunk called back, high-fiving at their perfect, unintentional synchronicity.

As he and Hunk wandered through the rows of parked cars towards Hunk’s van, Lance breathed a cloud of steam into the air, saying, “Man, cold tonight, huh?”

Hunk glanced up at the clear night sky. “Well, it is almost November.” Lance hummed in agreement.

A few seconds of silence passed before he noticed Hunk furtively peeking over his shoulder. “What?” he asked, glancing back, but he couldn’t see anything except for rows of dark cars and the crowd of maze-goers in the distance.

Hunk nudged him. “Dude.”

“What?” Lance demanded again, instantly on-guard from the shit-eating grin Hunk was sending his way.

Hunk motioned for him to hang on as they reached the van and he unlocked it. Lance warily climbed into the passenger seat.

“Dude,” Hunk reiterated.

Lance threw his hands in the air. “Hunk, man, you’re gonna have to give me more to go on than that.”

“You and Keith!” Hunk elaborated, reaching over to slap Lance a few times on the shoulder. “You guys bonded.”

There were certain times when the things coming out of Hunk’s mouth just didn’t make sense. Lance gave him his blankest stare to indicate that this was one of those times. “Uhh, no we didn’t.”

“You did,” Hunk insisted, starting the van. “You called him ‘buddy,’ for one thing, and you had your arm around him.”

“I did not.”

Hunk cast him a look as he carefully backed out of the parking spot. “Yes, you did, dude. I noticed, okay? I take note of these things. I am a note-taker.”

“You noticed nothing,” Lance insisted, “because there was nothing to notice. I didn’t ‘bond’ with Keith, he just slipped and fell and I didn’t want to be a dick and leave him behind. That was it. End of story.” He spent a long second staring Hunk down as they waited in the line of cars to pull out of the parking lot.

Hunk raised his hands. “Okay, man, sure, cool. You didn’t bond with Keith. That’s cool.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “We are not friends. He’s like the human embodiment of a G note on the piano.”

“I get it,” Hunk said, a little too agreeably. “Whatever you say. You do not like Keith.”

“Okay, I didn’t say that.”

“A- ha!” Hunk pointed at him triumphantly. “I knew it! You do like Keith.”

Lance groaned, slamming his head back against his seat. “That is not what I said, Hunk. You’re deliberately misinterpreting my words.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not that you like Keith, it’s just that you don’t not like him.”

“Exactly!”

Hunk sighed. “Lance, man, come on.”

Lance threw an arm out wide. “What do you want from me, Hunk?”

“I want-- well, I want you to lean back for a second, I can’t see-- I want you to be honest, okay? With both of us.”

Lance looked around the empty van. “What do you mean, ‘both of us?’”

Hunk gestured between them as he completed his turn onto the highway back into town. “Us, man. Me and you. You just said you don’t dislike Keith, so how do you feel about him?”

Crossing his arms, Lance slid down a little in his seat. “... I don’t dislike him.”

“And…?”

For a long second, there was only the rumble of the van’s engine and the roar of the tires against the asphalt before Lance threw his hands in the air. “Fine! Okay! Keith isn’t the worst person in the world! He’s a nicer guy than I expected and I don’t actually mind his company even if he did intrude on our Halloween traditions! Is that what you want?”

“Is that the truth?” Hunk asked with a tilt of his head and a quick glance over at him.

Recrossing his arms, Lance slumped even lower in his seat. “Yes. Keith is okay.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Hunk, buddy, I love you, but I will get out of this car if you keep talking about this.”

“We’re going fifty down a country highway, Lance.”

“I’m aware.”

Chapter Text

“You’re up early,” Shiro said when Keith strolled out of his bedroom. ‘Up’ was relative. Sure, Keith was out of bed and walking around, but he was still in sweatpants, his eyes felt like sandpaper, and he was intending on going straight back to bed after grabbing a bagel and some coffee.

“Yeah,” Keith grumbled, padding into the kitchen and taking what he’d come for. Grasping the bagel with his teeth so he could carry his mug with two hands, Keith started for his bedroom.

The sound of a large book slamming closed split the air and Keith sighed. Slowly pivoting, he said, “No.”

“Why not? You’re awake.”

“Because I work. Today is not part of the deal.”

“There is no deal.”

“You’re right,” Keith said. “You just decided.”

Frowning, Shiro said, “No, I didn’t. We decided. You were there and you agreed and I’m positive I said you could completely ignore the suggestion.”

Sighing, Keith shuffled over to the table and fell into the chair across from Shiro. He set his mug down, took a proper bite of his bagel, and chewed as he stared at Shiro blandly, trying to remember the conversation Shiro was referencing. There were flashes of memory of such a conversation, but he must’ve been barely conscious, because there wasn’t much. Shiro had totally taken advantage.

Not that there was anything technically wrong with spending one meal with Shiro on his days off.  He didn’t have to talk, he didn’t have to listen, he just had to eat in the same space with Shiro. And if he had to do that with anyone, Shiro was best.

It was just that they didn’t see each other much even though they lived together, what with work and grad school. And they’d both felt it, so they’d decided to make time. Keith was just feeling contrary this morning. And tired. And uninterested in going to work. But hanging out with Shiro was something he always wanted to do, even in the mornings. Though he was used to his schedule by now and mornings weren’t nearly as bad, Keith was almost always in a foul mood for an hour or two.

For awhile, Shiro let Keith eat in silence and then he said, “You were quiet in the car last night.”

“Was I going to be loud?”

Shiro laughed, a short, surprised sound. “No, probably not.” When Keith didn’t offer a response to that, he said, “I know Lance goaded you into saying you had fun last night, but did you?”

“He didn’t goad me,” Keith mumbled.

“So you did, then.”

Keith shrugged. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. The previous night was still a whirlwind of color, insecurities, cider, and Lance. Who, incidentally, was the very reason Keith was trying to block out the whole night. That was a better solution than dwelling.

Because Lance was fucking confusing.  If he let himself, dwelling was the least he could do.  Obsessing was more likely.

And once the Lance door was open, there was more he could obsess on than Lance’s behavior last night.

“I only ask,” Shiro began, breaking through Keith’s thoughts, “because I thought it was great having you there.  It’d been a long time since I’d gotten to spend time with my little brother like that.”

“It was fine.”

Letting the words linger, making it clear he knew exactly what ‘fine’ meant in Keith speak, Shiro eventually said, voice soft, “They were all happy to have you there, Keith. I know that you probably felt like an outsider, but you don’t have to be. They don’t want you to be. Matt, in fact, assures me that Pidge talks about you quite often.”

“Cool.”

“So it is, then,” Shiro sighed wearily.

“What?”

“It’s about Lance.”

“Not everything’s about Lance,” Keith replied, unsure of the antecedent, but sure of his answer.

“Apparently something is, though.”

Groaning, Keith ate more of his bagel and then leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and dreaming of the bookstore, a place he’d spent more time in than he’d originally anticipated the first time he’d gone.

Having a conversation right now, especially one like this, felt like taking one needle at a time out of hundreds and slowly stabbing them into his own arm. After nights like last night, what Keith really needed was a solid twenty four hours completely alone and doing something chill, like watching Netflix or listening to music. Sadly, life didn’t allow for that and hadn’t for a long time.

“Did the two of you fight when you got lost?”

“No.”

“Keith…”

“It was just really uncomfortable, okay? The whole thing. I stepped into one of your traditions and pretended like I was supposed to be there, but I wasn’t. I didn’t understand half of the conversations, I slipped and fell and got Lance lost with me, which I’m sure was the last thing he wanted since he definitely didn’t come to hang out with me , and it...I’m exhausted. I was exhausted an hour in. Was it fun? Sure. Whatever. It was fun. There were moments where it felt like I was having a good time. Is that what you want to hear?”

Shiro nodded. “I just wanted to understand why you seemed upset and now I do.”

“Awesome,” Keith replied, finishing off his bagel, overestimating the size of his mouth slightly on the last bite, and left the table. “I’m gonna go do something. I’ll see you later.”

“So it has absolutely nothing to do with Lance?”

“No!”

“You sure? Because if he really is being an asshole to you and Hunk’s lectures aren’t working, I can intervene.”

“I don’t want you to intervene,” Keith said, keeping his back turned towards Shiro. There was no need to elucidate how embarrassing that would be. Shiro had to know.

Slipping into his room, Keith pulled on jeans and a hoodie, grabbed his phone and keys, and then left, not even bothering to say goodbye to Shiro. Riding on adrenaline--something that always rose when he did something impulsive--and sheer pettiness, Keith didn’t regret it until he had reached the bookstore. Sighing, he bypassed the door, deciding he was too worked up for the aroma of books and stale air. He needed the fresh air. So he stuck to the sidewalks, ending up at a small park with more trees than he’d seen the entire time he’d been living here.

Finding a bench, he sat down and watched people walk or run by, some talking to their companions, others on their phones, but almost all of them connected to another person in some way. It made him feel worse about ditching Shiro the way he had, since he was about the only person he talked to outside of work.

Although, he’d talked to other people last night, hadn’t he? Sure, it had been with his co-workers, but they hadn’t been at the Planet and they’d talked of things other than work and they’d maybe bonded. He certainly felt more in tune with Hunk and Pidge now. There was something reassuring about seeing their dynamic unchanged in a different environment. They hadn’t treated Keith any different, either.

There was a notable absence from that list, though.

And here he was, on a bench, in a park he didn’t know the name of, thinking about Lance, the one person he’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about until he absolutely had to, namely when he went to work tonight and saw his face. It would be hard to avoid thinking about him when he was right there .

At first, Lance had been irritating simply because the way he acted around Keith didn’t make much sense, not to Keith, anyway. But now, he was irritating because Keith could Not. Stop. Thinking. About. Him. And, of course, because it was his fucking life, all that thinking hadn’t bore any fruit whatsoever. Lance still made zero sense and the outing at the haunted corn maze had only made it worse.

There had been moments last night where it had almost seemed like Lance...liked him, thought of him as a friend, someone to take consideration of. Not leaving him behind when he’d fallen and offering him a hand to help him up being the most notable example. It was more than that, though. It was the effortless way Lance managed to make the group whole, make even Keith feel as though he were a part of them.

What he’d told Shiro had been the truth, just not the whole truth.  He had felt like an outsider last night. Except for when Lance had said just the right thing and he’d felt included, whether Lance had meant to do it or not.

That was the confusing part. Keith was almost positive Lance had not meant to. Then again, maybe he had. There had been the face painting. The gentle teasing when they’d first entered the maze. The explanations of both the maze and the memories Keith hadn’t been able to share when he’d been at school.

There was also the scowl, though, the one Lance had directed towards him the moment he’d arrived. That was burned into Keith’s brain, offering a strong counter to whatever evidence Keith could come up with in an attempt to convince himself Lance didn’t hate him.

Since everything needed a contradiction, that wasn’t the only image burned into his brain. This image was the true reason Keith regretted going to the goddamn haunted corn maze, why he’d thought about Lance obsessively all night, why he was still having difficulty thinking of anything else.

Enough time had passed that he couldn’t remember it exactly, but his brain had helpfully--or unhelpfully, if you asked him--inserted soft lighting and erased everything but the smell of kettle corn and the feel of the brisk air against the skin of his face. Lance was there, across from him, a lopsided smile lighting up his face, gradually transforming into something thoughtful, but no less bright, as time passed. And it was beautiful. Keith knew his heart had beat strangely when he’d seen it, that most of the world had disappeared, that, even now, just thinking about it, the world was disappearing, becoming something flat and gray compared to something that...radiant.

God, the things he would do to make Lance smile like that again. For him. Because of him. Just so he could see it again.

Asshole , Keith reminded himself lamely.

Did it have to sound so unconvincing, even just in his head?

Sighing, Keith reminded himself it could be worse. He didn’t exactly want anything from Lance and he sure as hell didn’t know anything about him or feel an inane desire to spend all of his time with him. Lance was just pretty. And occasionally entertaining. And he noticed. That was okay. That had to be okay, because if it wasn’t, he was going to lose his goddamn mind. It wasn’t like he could stop noticing. He’d already tried that and that had been so overwhelmingly unsuccessful, he’d been forced to admit not even his stubbornness could pull him through and that sometimes, you just had to admit defeat.

Because Lance demanded attention. From everyone. Keith was not the only one who had trouble ignoring him. It was the reason every time Keith walked into work, the Planet not yet busy, absolutely no work was being done. It was the reason, when Lance walked into a room, everyone turned to look at him, just to see if he would say or do anything.

Keith was not alone.

Having reached that conclusion, rather pleased with it, Keith dropped those thoughts as best he could and dug around for his headphones.

Finding them, he plugged them into his phone, found some acoustic Led Zeppelin, and leaned back into the bench, letting the music wash over him as he watched a dad trying to herd three little girls, who were dancing around him, through the park.

***

Today, when he walked into the Planet, Lance was dancing a very reluctant Pidge around the dining room floor, shouting out corrections and sounds of encouragement without stopping for a breath. Sighing, Keith leaned up against the side of one of the booths and watched, probably spending too much time lingering on the line of Lance’s neck whenever he threw back his head to laugh, which was…quite a lot.  

When they slowed, Pidge starting to aim her feet for Lance’s feet and shins with every step, Keith pushed himself off the booth and said, “Dancing?”

Hunk hurried out from behind the counter and said, “Is it my turn?”

Grinning, Lance said, “Yeah, buddy.”  

The two of them clasped hands and glided their way around the floor, much more smoothly than Lance and Pidge had. Hunk, in fact, was a pretty good dancer. Impressive, given his size.

Coming up beside Keith, still glaring at Lance, Pidge grumbled, “Hey.”

“What was that?”

“Lance letting his imagination run wild.”

“What?”

Groaning, Pidge hopped up onto one of the booth tables and said, “I was complaining about Matt and Shiro.”

“As one does.”

“Yeah. They were being extra mushy last night when you and Lance got lost and…well, it doesn’t matter much what they were saying. Anyway, Lance ran with it as Lance does and pretty quickly, he was basically planning their wedding, which led to an impromptu dance lesson, because, obviously , we’re all going to dance at Shiro and Matt’s wedding that is so obviously happening in the next couple months, because they’re so obviously secretly engaged.”

“Wow.”

“Uh huh,” Pidge said. “I got roped in before I knew what was happening.”

“You tuned him out, didn’t you?”

“He was talking about weddings, Keith. Yeah. I tuned him out.”

Smiling, Keith said, “Lance can’t even dance.” That wasn’t entirely true. He was keeping up with Hunk better than he probably could’ve, but he definitely wasn’t good enough to be offering dance lessons of any kind.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“What was that, Mullet?” Lance called.

“Oh god,” Keith said.

“Abort,” Pidge replied.

Swearing, Keith tugged Pidge from the table and pulled her in front of himself. Somehow, it felt like having another body between he and Lance was sound enough protection. Of course, the closer Lance and Hunk got, dancing their way over, the less safe Keith felt.

“Hey!” Pidge yelped from in front of him.

“Pidge can’t protect you,” Lance called, dropping Hunk’s hands, bowing to him, and then coming over. “Not if you really said what I thought you said.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“He said you couldn’t dance,” Pidge blurted. “I heard it.”

“I hate you,” Keith mumbled.

“Shouldn’t have betrayed me.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Not say something so stupid?”

“I didn’t think he’d be listening!”

“I’m always listening,” Lance said dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. Pulling up his sleeve, Lance glanced down at his bare wrist, and said, “Must be time for your dance lesson.”

“Like hell.”

Pidge started to snicker and abandoned Keith, heading over to Hunk and mumbling something to him. Desperately searching for something to focus on other than Lance, Keith watched them, watched them head back to the other side of the counter, cruelly leaving him to his fate.

Glancing back at Lance, who was scowling, Keith felt his blood light up. This he could do. A scowling Lance was easy. A scowling Lance made sense. Sort of. When it came to how Keith would react to him, anyway. Walking past Lance, making sure to bump him in the shoulder, Keith didn’t bother turning his head when he said, “You need a student to teach a lesson.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Lance said, following, his steps loud in the relatively quiet Planet. “You can’t call me a bad dancer and then walk away. That’s not how it works. If I’ve got something to prove, I’m gonna prove it.”

“Good luck with that.”

There was a moment of silence and then Lance called to his back, “I bet you’re worse at dancing than I am.”

His feet came to a stop. For the second it took Keith’s brain to catch up, he wondered why he wasn’t moving. When his brain did catch up, Keith internally groaned.

The one difference between him and everyone else—everyone else being Pidge and Hunk—was that Keith was incapable of not rising to Lance’s bait. There was something about it that grated against Keith in a way that most people just let go. Maybe it had something to do with how instantly Lance had been an asshole to him, maybe it had something to do with his personality, but whatever it was, there was nothing stopping him from pivoting slowly, glaring, crossing his arms over his chest, and saying, “There’s no way. You’re terrible. An elephant would be better.”

Lance flipped him off. “Hunk! Pidge!” he yelled. “We need judges!”

This was ridiculous. Somewhere, deep down, where his rational side was buried, having been consumed by his impulsive one, Keith knew that. But all of Lance’s attention was on him and Keith had a desperate desire to keep it there.  

Only when Hunk and Pidge had gathered, Lance had filled them in on what exactly they were judging, and then proceeded to hold out his hand for Keith, did it hit Keith exactly what he was doing. He was about to dance with Lance. Just to prove that he was, in fact, worse at dancing.  Surely, he could’ve thought about this afternoon, on the bench, and realized this was such a bad idea.

But he was in it now. He sure as hell wasn’t going to back out.

Taking Lance’s hand, he stepped forward awkwardly, keeping his eyes fixed on his feet. That was the safest place for them.

“Alright, first lesson, Mullet, it’s good to look your partner in the eyes.”

Glaring up at him, Keith said, “This isn’t a goddamn lesson, Lance.”

“Then you’d better buckle up and put your hand on my waist, ‘cause I’m about to beat your ass.” Then Lance started to move, keeping his back straight, eyes focused, and steps direct. Flicking his eyes back to his feet, uncomfortable with the sudden intensity, Keith stumbled after, making sure not to step on Lance’s feet. That seemed like the least he could do. He was pretty sure stepping on your partner’s feet would be an automatic loss.

Almost immediately, it was obvious Lance had infinitely more practice dancing badly than Keith. He also had the charisma to pull it off. Keith did not. Thinking hard, Keith made a sudden move, pulling Lance in the opposite direction and said, “Why do you get to lead?”

Jerking Keith back, Lance said, “Why do you suddenly have a problem with it?”

“Because I do.”

“Wow. Great reason.”

“Thanks.”

“That was sarcasm, idiot.”

“Really? I had no idea,” Keith said, making sure to lay on the sarcasm, just to point out that he knew what it was.

“I’m leading because I’m clearly the better dancer.”

“Maybe I’m better when I lead.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Says who?”

“Neither of you are even dancing anymore,” Hunk called out. “Makes it kind of hard to figure out who’s better when there’s no dancing.”

“Besides, Lance is better,” Pidge said.

“Ha!” Lance declared, right into Keith’s face.

Rolling his eyes, Keith pinched his waist, grinning when Lance flinched and let out a small yelp. After that, though, no one said a word for a beat, a beat that felt like hours to Keith, and he and Lance weren’t moving and the competition, however fleeting, was over, but they were still holding each other, as though they were about to start right back up again. Swallowing, Keith felt Lance’s hand wrapped around his, warm and soft, actually felt it, and stepped back hurriedly, wrenching his hands away. Something had been shouting at him to close the distance between them, just to see what Lance would do. Because he was deranged.  

Clenching his shoulders, making himself smaller, he headed to one of the booths and slumped into it. Lance, clearly not suffering from similarly aggressive internal thoughts, started talking loudly about his victory, while Pidge and Hunk congratulated him mildly. It was a blessing when the phone rang and Lance left to answer it. Hunk came over and patted Keith on the shoulder.  “Perk up, Keith. He really does suck. Promise. You definitely weren’t wrong about that.”

Laughing shortly, Keith said, “Yeah.” If only that was what he was really worked up about.

Pidge joined him at the table and said, “You’re an idiot.” The way she said it, it was just a statement of fact.

“Thanks.”

“We’re gonna hear about it all night, you know.”

“I know.”

She nodded and pulled out her phone, ending the conversation. Keith gazed at her for a moment, but before he consciously knew what he was doing, his eyes traveled over to Lance, the phone pressed between his face and his shoulder, nodding, his tongue poking out from his mouth as he concentrated on writing down the order.

Groaning, Keith let his head fall to the table. It was going to be a long night. A long life, if he didn’t figure out how to control his goddamn thoughts.

If only he hadn’t gone to the corn maze. If only Lance hadn’t smiled like that.

***

It was well into the night by the time Keith got a break from driving. They’d been surprisingly busy so far and Keith hadn’t had an opportunity to take even ten minutes to relax, check his phone, or grab something to drink. None of them had. Besides Pidge, who’d bussed only three tables when Coran had come out and gently scolded all of them for letting her, everyone was a little frazzled and stressed, trying to keep up.

Keith was about to take more pizzas when a ridiculously gorgeous woman walked in, took the pizzas from his hand, and said, “I’ve been told you need a break. I’ve got this. Oh, and make sure you take Lance with you. He needs one as well and I’ve managed to pry Coran away from his crossword puzzle until the two of you get back.” Tapping the bottom of the pizza pile, she murmured, “What else did I want to say? Ah, yes, make it twenty minutes, please, because you really should’ve taken two by now.”

Blinking, Keith said, “Uh…”

Smiling, she held the boxes with an arm and tucked a white lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m Allura,” she said. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Keith. I’ve heard many things. I’m sure we can talk properly later.”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbled, still trying to catch up.

“Could I borrow your hat? I really should wear one.”

Removing it from his head, Keith handed it over silently. She shot him another smile and then disappeared out the back door, still holding all the pizza boxes with one hand, which was hard to do. Keith was relatively confident she could’ve crushed him in an arm wrestling match.

As Hunk made pizzas, hands moving so fast, it was hard to track their movements, he glanced at Keith and said, “Yeah. I know.”

“Is she always like that?”

“Yep. I’m pretty sure if she actually worked here, none of us would have anything to do ever.”

Nodding, Keith left the kitchen and found Lance, who was in the middle of taking an order, Coran waiting in the wings to take over, a pen between his teeth as he stared down at a piece of paper in his hand, mumbling to himself. When he noticed Keith, he said, “Ah, Keith. Do you happen to know any Dutch cities?”

“No.”

“Hm. How about another word for ‘hypnotizing?’”

“Um…”

“An excellent suggestion, I’m sure, but I’m afraid the answer is twelve letters long. How puzzling.”

“Well, it is a puzzle.”

Chuckling joyously, Coran said, “Too true, my boy. Too true.”

Thankfully, Lance finished taking the order and Keith nudged him with an elbow. “We’re supposed to go on a twenty.”

Nodding, Lance smiled at the next customer and then pulled away. For a second, Keith wondered if he was going to have to prompt Coran into motion, but he seemed to recover awareness of his surroundings at just the right moment and leapt up to the register, greeting the next customer with a huge smile. The woman standing there blinked, clearly surprised by the enthusiasm and Lance laughed lowly, heading towards the front door of the Planet. Keith followed. He was pretty sure they were going to the same place.

This time, Lance didn’t say a word about it. In fact, he fell into place beside Keith, uncharacteristically silent. Keith thought about asking what was wrong, but he didn’t know how. Not with most people, but definitely not with Lance. Almost any topic of conversation could be turned into a bickering match with him. When Lance opened the door, holding it for Keith, face distant, Keith had enough. “You alright?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just really tired. Like really tired. I was kind of wired after the maze last night. Took me a long time to fall asleep. And now we’re super busy. Why are we so busy?” he moaned, stepping up behind Keith as they entered the arcade bar. “Like, I would rather peel off one of my fingernails right now than serve pizza to people for another second.”

Laughing softly, Keith said, “You do know that’s really painful, right?”

“Yes!  That’s the point, dude. I want to be in bed that badly.”

“Fair.”

By then, they’d reached the bar and Matt was there, mixing up a couple of drinks. Shiro was at the other end, taking orders, and as they waited, they watched, Lance more interacting , exchanging expressive faces with both Shiro and Matt.

Finally, Matt snatched some time and said, “What can I get for you losers?”

“Coke’s good,” Keith said.

“What he said,” Lance added.

“Hey, babe, they want cokes,” Matt shouted down the bar, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Kind of busy, babe,” Shiro called back as he poured shots.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“Do you guys ever stop flirting?” Keith groaned.

“Nope,” Matt said. “Have you seen your brother? He’s fucking hot. If I’m not flirting with him, I should be. Always. That’s my philosophy, anyway.” Quickly, he poured two cokes and slid them over to Keith and Lance. “Now, we’re kind of swamped, so I’m gonna have to leave you two to entertain yourselves. Think you can do it?”

“Have you met me?” Lance asked. “If you looked up ‘entertaining’ in the dictionary, my picture would be there.”

“You can’t look up ‘entertaining’ in the dictionary,” Keith said, taking a sip of his coke. “You can look up ‘entertain,’ though.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Keith. God.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith took another sip of coke and swiveled on his stool, looking back at the spacious room and all of the arcade games, lined up along the walls. There was a person to every machine, some with friends or significant others hanging behind them, observing. The atmosphere was effusive and Keith felt a little out of place. At least the people watching was good.

“Hey, Mullet.”

Facing Lance, Keith said, “Yeah?”

“You weren’t commiserating with my desire to be in bed, which, to be honest, I found kind of strange.”

“Is that a question?”

“Yep.”

“I like working,” Keith said with a shrug. Was it the truth? Not really. But it was the closest thing to the truth that he could fit in three words and without having to explain anything to Lance. Laying out any of his insecurities, for example. That was not something he was going to do for Lance. Ever. That was a sure fire way to get teased endlessly until the day he died.

“It’s the Planet.”

Keith shrugged again.

“Dude, you are not telling me that you actually like working here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the people are great and that makes up for a lot, but it’s not a place a person likes working. There’s shitty pizza and irritating customers and grease stains.”

Feeling his irritating rise, Keith said, “I like it, okay?”

“Okay, weirdo,” Lance said, holding up his hands. Then he tacked on, “Why?”

And that was what he couldn’t explain. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, staring straight ahead and drinking more of his soda.  

“What kind of answer is that?”

“The only one you’re going to get.”

Frowning, Lance stared at Keith as though he were a puzzle to solve. Normally, Keith’s irritation would’ve grown, but now that Lance wasn’t talking, and they were staring at each other, Keith started to notice what he always started to notice when Lance’s mouth wasn’t moving. The light in the bar was dim and multi-colored, a range of cooler tones, and they glowed off Lance’s brown skin, creating an image that reminded Keith a lot of a kaleidoscope, the patterns shifting as he moved, just like they would if the kaleidoscope was twisted.

It was almost unfair, how attractive he was. What was Keith supposed to do against that?

“Do I have something on my face?” Lance asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring.”

“Oh. Uh...no. You’re good.”

They gazed at each other for a beat too long and then Keith flicked his eyes to his lap, hoping Lance hadn’t seen anything incriminating. He was an idiot, so probably not. Besides, what would his eyes have even been saying? You’re really attractive? There wasn’t technically anything wrong with that.

“So did you actually have a good time last night?” Lance asked. “Or did you just say that so I’d leave you alone? Pidge decided you only said it so I would leave you alone.”

“It was...weird.  But, yeah, I had fun.”

“Sweet. You’ll verify that? Cause Pidge won’t give me ten dollars if you don’t.”

Sighing, Keith nodded.

“What do you mean by weird?”

Looking at Lance, Keith decided to take a chance. Mostly because he was bathed in purple light currently and Keith’s brain lost much of its ability to function. “I don’t know. It’s just something you guys had been doing for together for awhile and it was something I hadn’t been doing and I kind of just...showed up. I guess.”

“‘Cause we wanted you there.”

“‘We?’”

“I mean…” Lance struggled with words for a moment, finishing his entire glass of coke before he tried again. “Yeah, man. Kind of. Whatever. It’s not like I had a problem with you being there. You know, it’s kind of hot in here. Lots of people. I think I might go get some fresh air.”

Biting down on his lip to prevent himself from smiling, Keith nodded. “I’ll be out once I’m finished.”

Giving him a thumbs up, Lance weaved his way through the crowd and out the door. Keith watched the entire way. When Shiro said, “So,” suggestively, indicating he had lot more to say, Keith practically jumped out of his seat.

“What?” Keith grumbled.

“It’s about Lance.”

“Oh my god.”

“I was just wrong about the why.”

“Shiro,” Keith said, “please stop talking. I don’t want to break a glass and use a shard as a murder weapon, but I will.”

“You like him.”

“I really don’t.”

Staring him down, Shiro said, “As Matt would say--well, I’m going to butcher this, but...you know those scenes in dramas where one member of the couple stands and walks out, usually after a fight, and the other person watches them leave forlornly? I just witnessed that.”

Finishing off his coke in two gulps, Keith stood, slammed the glass down on the bar and said, “I was just staring at his ass.”  Then he left.

***

Up until the bar closed and a little after, they were just as busy, and very grateful that Allura had come to help. The glimpse Keith had gotten of her before he’d gone on his break was a pretty accurate depiction of who she was as a person. She flitted around, helping out with everyone’s job, managing to stay out of the way when it was required, and she kept everyone sane with kind and often inspirational words. Hunk called them pep talks and he wasn’t wrong.

She stayed right up until close, when everyone was yawning and Lance was mopping the floors and singing along to the jukebox. Keith was collapsed in a booth with Shiro and Matt and Pidge, none of whom had left simply because they were too tired to move and it was more fun being miserable as a group.

Pausing in his mopping, Lance cocked his hip and glared at all of them. “Why am I always doing all the work?”

“You’re never doing the work,” Pidge mumbled, slumping further into Matt’s shoulder. “Plus, Hunk’s doing...something.”

“What are the rest of you doing?”

“Lance, none of us work here,” Shiro said. “Well, except Keith.”

“I just deliver pizzas.” When Lance didn’t resume mopping, he waved his hand and said, “Hurry up. I wanna go home.”

“We’re not waiting on me! We’re waiting on time. Gonna speed up time, Mullet?”

“Time’s a construct,” Pidge said.

“Great input, Pidgeotto.”

“Insightful,” Matt added.

Sighing, Lance shot them all another glare and carried on mopping. There were a few clangs from the kitchen and then Hunk wandered out and came up to the booth. “Any room for me?”

Keith scooted over, shoving Shiro up against the wall. Grateful, Hunk sank into the booth. His eyes fell on Allura, who was also pressed up against the wall on the other side and he said, “Thanks, Allura. That would’ve sucked without you.”

“Still did suck,” Keith said.

“Would’ve sucked more.”

Smiling, the tiredness showing in her eyes more than anywhere else, she said, “You’re welcome, Hunk. You’re all welcome. Everyone did an excellent job tonight. I’m very proud.”

“It’s too late for such positivity,” Pidge slurred. “Keith, say something. Balance us out.”

“What did I do to you?”

“Besides using me as a human shield?”

“I panicked,” Keith mumbled. Pidge opened her eyes, caught his, and smiled. As silence between them fell, she seemed to remember something, abruptly sitting up, disturbing that entire side of the booth. They all straightened, clearly thinking something was wrong.

Finding her phone, Pidge unlocked it and then slid it across the table towards Keith. “Give me your phone number.”

“She meant to add ‘please,’” Matt said.

“Did not.”

Unsure what else to do, Keith started a new contact and added his name and number. When he was done, he returned Pidge’s phone to her, only to find that there were two more phones in front of him, Hunk and Allura’s. Glancing at them, seeing only tired smiles, Keith slowly gave them his number as well. They mumbled thank you’s and then fell back into silence, eyes closed. Matt had started to snore lightly.

Thankfully, it was quickly four and they were all free to leave, Lance done mopping. They shut off the lights and poured out together, Lance locking up after them. Pidge and Matt and Shiro quickly split off from them, saying quick goodbyes.

Not long after, they arrived at Keith’s car. Heading towards it, he said, “See you guys tomorrow.”

Yawning, Hunk said, “Bye, Keith.”

Surprisingly, Lance lingered behind, looking slightly awkward but determined.

“What?” Keith asked.

“You’re seriously not going to give me your number?”

“Huh?”

“Everyone else got it!”

Eventually catching up, Keith held out his hand. Lance slapped the phone into Keith’s open palm and as Keith entered his number, he said, “Are you even going to use it?”

“That’s not the point, Mullet. It’s the principle of the thing.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith said, “Well, you can. If you want. I might even answer.” After taking a moment to appreciate the quiet surprise on Lance’s face, Keith said goodnight, then got into his car and drove home.

Chapter Text

Lance propped his arms on the steering wheel and leaned forward to peer up at the sky as he waited for the light to change. It was pouring, the kind of sudden rainstorm that thundered against the windshield of Hunk’s old beater van so hard he was sure the glass was about to shatter, the kind that filled gutters in ten minutes and turned the streets into rivers for hours. In short, it was Lance’s favorite kind of storm. There was nothing like the sound of rain on the roof and the smell of the freshly-washed air.

The light turned green. Humming along to the radio, Lance carefully accelerated through the intersection, which was well on its way to turning into a lake.

A couple blocks down, his eyes caught on a figure standing forlornly under a tree, and he almost slammed on the breaks in surprise. Even half-drowned, he would recognize that mullet anywhere.

He’d only seen Keith at work the last couple weeks, after the corn maze, and he’d still never texted him. Hunk kept saying they should have him over for one of their semi-regular movie nights with Pidge; Lance didn’t disagree, necessarily, but he kept putting it off whenever Hunk brought it up. He may have admitted to not actively disliking Keith, but he was going to be damned if he voluntarily let him into his home, into his life outside work; he’d do that on his own terms, when Keith had proved himself truly worthy of his valuable time.

But now he was right there in front of Lance, wearing just his dumb leather jacket with no raincoat or umbrella in sight, staring up at the dark skies in dismay as water dripped from the tips of his mullet, and Lance may not have been trying to seek out his company but he wasn’t heartless, so he flicked his turn signal on and pulled over, flipping off the car behind him that honked as they swerved to avoid his sudden stop.

He leaned across the seat to crank the window down-- curse Hunk’s ancient van-- and couldn’t stop the smile that flashed across his face at Keith’s dumbfounded expression. “Did someone order a pizza?”

“How…did you…” Keith fumbled, eyes wide.

“Hmm, yes,” Lance ran a finger over an imaginary clipboard. “Looks like we have one order for a Shirogane.”

“That’s not my name.”

Whatever response Lance had been expecting, that wasn’t it. “I thought you and Shiro were brothers.”

“Adopted. My last name is Kogane.”

And geez, how had Lance been working with this guy for over a month and not known that? Well, actually, he’d never learned Rollo’s last name. Also, he was pretty sure Rollo wasn’t his legal name. It sounded like a joke some stoned kid made once that stuck for way too long.

Lance blinked, pulling himself out of that particular tangent of thought. Keith was still staring at him, one eyebrow slowly rising to vanish under his soaked bangs. “Oh. Chill.” Fucking nailed it. “Well, hop in, dude, you look like a drowned rat.”

Keith hesitated for a second.

Rolling his eyes, Lance leaned across the seat again to pop the door open. “Get in, Keith. You’re going to die of pneumonia or something if you stay out here.”

Keith pulled the door open and hopped in after one last second of hesitation. “You know that’s a myth, right?”

Lance snorted. “Of course I do. I’m a bio student, remember? Get the window, would ya?” he added, flicking his blinker on and pulling back into traffic.

Keith rolled the window back up, wrinkling his nose at the drops that spattered through the gap, an expression Lance barely caught out of the corner of his eye. He had to fight the urge to risk a traffic accident just to turn and look; there was something about Keith’s facial expressions that were somehow more compelling than other people’s. Lance figured it was just the relative rarity of them; Keith hardly ever left the range of “sullen.”

Although, actually, that wasn’t quite true anymore. Over the last couple weeks, there’d been a change in Keith’s presence at the Planet. He scowled just as much but he smiled more, even laughed a few times, and now instead of hanging out in some dark corner like a vampire bat, he spent nearly all his free time sitting with Pidge or chatting with Hunk. On occasion, he’d even come lean up against the counter next to Lance, watching him clean or take orders with those dark eyes. If Lance thought about it-- and he hadn’t, because he did not spend his free time thinking about Keith of all people-- but if the stray thought had crossed his mind once or twice, hypothetically, at five in the morning when he was laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling and drifting off to sleep-- if he had ever thought about it, he would say that it was starting to feel like Keith belonged there. Like maybe, just maybe, Keith was starting to feel like he belonged there.

If that thought had ever crossed his mind, it might have been followed by a brief thought, washed in colorful neon lights, that Lance himself could possibly be the reason for that.

But nope, there was no way he would ever spend that much time picking apart someone else’s facial expressions. Definitely not someone he didn’t even like. So he cleared his throat and asked, “So, where you headed?”

Keith blew out a sigh and leaned back against the seat. “Well, I was going to the bookstore, but…” He held his arms out, dripping onto the floormats. “Sorry about the seat,” he added.

Lance waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, this baby’s been through worse.” He patted the wheel affectionately. “Pidge once lost most of a Slurpee through her nose in the backseat.”

“I would ask for details, but…”

“It wasn’t pretty,” Lance said sagely. “We’ll leave it at that. So should I drop you back at Shiro’s place? Your place, I mean?”

“Ah,” Keith said.

Lance glanced over at him. “‘Ah?’”

“Well, I left the apartment because Shiro was having Matt over…”

“Ah,” Lance echoed. “Yeah, so that’s a no-go.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

At the next light, Lance took the opportunity to cast another critical eye over Keith. He was soaked to the bone, and from the way his arms were crossed over his chest, he had to be freezing. There was no way he would be comfortable if Lance just dropped him off somewhere; besides, even though the rain was letting up a little, it showed no signs of stopping, and Keith had to get home at some point. “Why didn’t you drive, man?”

“It wasn’t raining when I left,” Keith said. “And I...walking’s nice.”

Lance shook his head sadly. “You really are an out-of-towner, huh? Well, luckily for you, I have a dryer at my place.”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh?’ The fuck does that mean, Mullet? You got somewhere better to be?”

“Maybe I do,” Keith retorted.

“Do you?”

Keith hesitated. “No.”

“So what’s the big deal, then?” Lance asked heatedly, the tires of the van sending up spray as he turned through a puddle. “It’s just my apartment.”

A voice somewhere in the back of his mind that sounded remarkably like Hunk reminded him that up until five minutes ago, he hadn’t actually wanted Keith in his apartment at all. Thankfully, this was a voice Lance had a lot of practice ignoring.

“There’s no deal,” Keith insisted, crossing his arms again. “I was just…”

Lance shot him a sideways look. “Just?”

“Surprised,” Keith mumbled, slumping a little, and he looked just miserable enough to take most of the wind out of Lance’s sails.

“Well,” he said after a beat, “we’re almost there, anyways, so.”

Keith nodded wordlessly, and silence fell between them, heavy and awkward. Lance fiddled with the radio dial until he found something he could sing along with quietly.

After a few lines, he noticed Keith giving him a weird look. “What?”

“Nothing. I just figured your musical taste would be broader than songs from the 80’s.”

“Okay, one,” Lance held up a finger as he spoke, “fuck you, Journey is timeless. And two, with hair like yours, I can’t believe you don’t like this.”

Keith flattened his damp locks protectively. “Would you lay off my hair?”

“Not while it’s still alive to insult my eyes.”

“Hair isn’t alive.”

“I know--” Lance forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. “You can put on whatever you like,” he grumbled, nodding to the radio.

Keith shot him a doubtful look. “Really?”

“I offered, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you don’t even let me touch the jukebox.”

“That’s different. The jukebox is sacred.”

“This station has all the same music.”

“Sacred, Keith. You can’t mess with that.”

“Whatever,” Keith mumbled, leaning forward to fiddle with the dial. As Lance glanced over at him, his eyes caught for a second on the way Keith’s wet hair curled against the nape of his neck.

He tore his attention back to the road as Keith sat back up, listening for his music choice. “Alt rock, really?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Keith asked, defensive.

“Nothing, dude, nothing, but you’re such a stereotype.”

“I am not.”

“You wear fingerless gloves.”

“They’re comfortable!”

Lance just shook his head sadly as he pulled into the parking garage under the apartment complex. “What will we do with you, Linkin Park?”

“Listen,” Keith started hotly, but Lance interrupted him.

“Keith, dude! I’m kidding. I really don’t care what music you listen to or what clothes you wear.”

Deflating, Keith mumbled, “Oh. Right. Obviously.”

“The mullet is still terrible, though,” Lance added, grinning, as he parked.

Keith shot him a sharp look, but after a second he cracked a smile too. “Shut up, Lance.”

“Never,” Lance declared, hopping out of the van. “Now come along, David Bowie. You look like someone fished you out of the river.”

***

“Welcome to our little slice of heaven,” Lance announced as he stepped through the front door into the living room.

Keith followed him in, dark eyes sweeping over the hoodies thrown over the back of the couch and the dirty dishes and textbooks strewn across the coffee table. “Wow. A five-star establishment, for sure.”

Lance stopped halfway down the hall, peering at him. “Was that a joke? Does Keith Kogane’s sense of humor actually have a pulse?”

Shooting him a look, Keith said, “It’s got to, to put up with you.”

Lance gasped and placed a hand over his chest before stepping into his room. He chucked his backpack at the foot of his bed and went back into the hall.

Keith was hovering awkwardly in the entrance, looking around again. He seemed to be staring at the Star Wars poster. Lance came up beside him. “It’s Hunk’s.”

Keith jumped. “What?”

“The poster,” Lance said, nodding at it. “It’s Hunk’s. He loves Star Wars.”

Keith shot him a glance before his eyes skated away again. “You don’t?”

Lance shrugged. “More of a Trekkie.” He considered Keith for a second. He was still pretty wet, a few drops pattering off his hair, and from the way he was standing, those soaked skinny jeans couldn’t be comfortable. “You’re drenched, dude. Let me grab you a towel and some dry shit.”

Keith’s face adopted a deer-in-the-headlights look, but he stammered, “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

“Sure,” Lance said with a shrug, ducking back into his room to grab some clothes. He stood in front of his closet, frowning. Keith was a little shorter than him, but they were nearly the same size, so most of his clothes should fit. He had to be freezing though, so he grabbed his thickest university sweatshirt and a pair of warm sweatpants before heading back into the hall to rummage through the closet for a spare towel.

“Aha!” he said triumphantly, pulling one out. “Here.” He held the bundle out to Keith, who approached slowly, and nodded down the hall. “Bathroom’s on the left.”

Delicately, Keith took the bundle, cold fingers brushing his. “Thanks,” he said again.

Lance couldn’t help but smile at his quiet gratitude. “No worries, man.”

As the bathroom door closed, Lance dropped onto the couch, frowning at the blank TV as his brain took the quiet moment to catch up. How had Keith ended up in his apartment? Like, logically, he knew how, but still. Holy fuck.

He scooped up the remote and clicked the TV on. His life may not make sense, but reality shows would always be there for him.

A couple minutes later, Keith padded into the living room, significantly dryer. There was a second where Lance glanced up at him and their eyes caught, whatever words Lance had been about to say dying on his tongue as he took in the sight of Keith in his baggy sweats and hoodie. They made him look-- younger, almost, relaxed in a way Lance wasn’t used to seeing in Keith.

Keith broke the silence, nodding at the screen. “What are you watching?”

“Oh, uh...” Lance glanced back at the TV as some girl threw a hairbrush across the room. “Some garbage, I dunno.”

With a quiet laugh, Keith sat down on the other end of the couch. “I kind of put my clothes in your dryer. Is that cool?”

“Yeah, man, you’re good.” Thick silence sat between them for another second before Lance pushed the remote over to him. “You can put something on if you want. I’m gonna make some cocoa, you want any? Or like, tea or coffee or something?”

“Um, cocoa would be great, actually, if you know...you really want to make me some.”

Lance snorted, and just like that, the weird tension eased. “I offered, didn’t I?” he tossed over his shoulder as he grabbed a few dirty dishes from the coffee table and walked into the tiny kitchen to deposit them in the sink.

He sang under his breath to the Journey song still stuck in his head as he pulled the milk out of the fridge and filled a couple mugs. As he waited for them to heat in the microwave, he slid his phone out of his pocket and texted Hunk, listening to Keith flipping through channels in the other room.

>>Me: yo keiths at the apartment

>>(also we need milk)

>>Hunk: ????? explain

>>(im going shopping tomorrow)

>>Me: (<3)

>>i found him drowning in the rainstorm like half an hour ago n he looked pathetic

>>**more pathetic than usual

>>Hunk: well i was going to say that was nice of you but. you ruined it.

>>Me: ;x

>>when you coming home?

>>Hunk: hour or two idk

>>Me: kay have fun studying!!

>>Hunk: ugh

>>Me: or…. studying ;)))

>>Hunk: UGH

Lance snorted as he finished stirring the cocoa powder into the mugs. Snagging his phone back up off the counter and sliding it into his pocket, he carefully gathered the mugs and carried them back into the living room. “Ta da,” he sang, setting one down on the coffee table in front of Keith before settling back into his spot.

“Thanks,” Keith said, reaching out to pick the mug up and cradle it in his hands.

“No problem, dude,” Lance said, blowing on his cocoa before taking a sip, smacking his lips and releasing a long, satisfied sigh.

Keith glanced at him, corner of his mouth twitching up as he brought his own mug to it.

“What?” Lance demanded, grinning back. “I make good cocoa.”

Keith hummed into his mug. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You do.”

The compliment threw Lance for a bizarre and unexpected loop. “Yeah I do,” he muttered into his own drink after a second. Keith shot him a look somewhere between amused and confused. Amfused, Lance’s brain supplied. He wrestled it back into silence.

“So, what are we watching?”

Keith shrugged. “There’s nothing on except this dumb sci-fi movie.”

Lance looked at him with a solemn expression, pressing a hand against his chest. “Keith, I think those are the most beautiful words you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re serious.”

Nodding, Lance settled further into the couch. “There is no greater joy in this world than dumb sci-fi movies.”

Keith huffed a laugh. “You’re easy to please.”

“Sure am, baby,” Lance said with a wink and a wide grin. Keith choked on his cocoa and Lance broke into laughter. “Kidding, man, I’m kidding.”

Keith mumbled something Lance couldn’t hear, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Lance snorted but let it go. “So what have I missed?”

Keith squinted at the screen. “I have no idea. Something stupid, probably.”

“Even better,” Lance declared.

Silence fell again, but it was much easier this time as they settled in to watch the movie. Occasionally, Lance would make a comment on the terrible plot or dialogue, but honestly, the movie was pretty incomprehensibly dumb. Eventually he settled for just laughing at the terrible special effects.

After about half an hour, though, his interest slipped over to Keith, who didn’t seem to be watching at all. Instead, he was slowly flipping through one of Lance’s textbooks sitting on the end table next to him.

Lance muted the TV as it went to commercials. “Interested in genetics?”

Keith looked over sheepishly, closing the textbook gently. “Sorry.”

Lance shook his head, resettling on the couch to face him a little more squarely. “You’re all good, dude. You like bio?”

Keith shrugged. “Not really. I’m more of a physics guy.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, most people would just say they don’t even like science, so yeah, I do.”

Keith sighed, eyes sliding away from Lance’s. “I… used to be an astrophysics major.”

“Used to be?” Lance echoed. “Did you drop out?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he kicked himself. Keith wouldn’t look at him anymore, just answering with a mechanical, “Yeah,” as he seemed to withdraw into himself.

Lance studied him for a second before shrugging. “Well, hey, college isn’t for everyone.”

All he got in reply was a one-shouldered shrug.

“I mean, jesus,” Lance tried, “you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about dropping out.”

Keith finally shot him a sideways look. “Yeah?”

Encouraged, Lance nodded. “Constantly, man. I had this class last term where I just felt totally lost the whole time.”

With a ghost of a smile, Keith said, “Well, at least you’re used to that.”

Lance pulled a look of shock on him, even though he couldn’t quite hide his smile. “I never. I invite you into my home, give you my clothes, make you cocoa, and this is how you repay me?”

Keith laughed at that, and now Lance really couldn’t help the wide grin spreading across his face. He’d seen Keith laugh before, of course, but making Keith laugh felt different somehow.

His phone buzzed against his hip, interrupting his thoughts. He unmuted the TV as he pulled it out, and Keith went back to flipping through his textbook. Lance glanced over at him as he unlocked his phone, offering the remote. “You can change it if you want.”

Keith shrugged, pulling the book into his lap. “I’m good.”

“Nerd,” Lance teased. Keith flipped him off.

Laughing, Lance opened the text.

>>Pidge: i hear u have a new bf

Lance choked.

Keith looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he wheezed, tapping out a reply to Pidge.

>>Me: wTF GREMLIN

>>one: i have no idea who yure talkig about

>>two: no i do not

>>three: HOW DO YOU KNOW HES IN MY HOUSE

>>Pidge: 1) yes u do 2) see above 3) hunk

>>Me: traitors youre all traitors

>>Pidge: u cant run from the truth

>>Me: THERE IS NO TRUTH

>>i found keith abandoned on th side of the road like a sad puppy

>>what was i supposed to do, leave him there???

>>Pidge: ok but u took him home w u

>>instead of say

>>his home

>>Me: yeah well your brother is over at his home rn

>>did you really want me to subject him to that

>>Pidge: o god

>>stop talking

Lance snickered as he sent her a barrage of eggplant emojis. Keith shot him another look, and Lance wiggled his phone at him. “Pidge,” he explained.

A smile curled at the edge of Keith’s mouth and he nodded.

>>Pidge: i h8 u

>>Me: payback

>>Pidge: i did nothing 2 u i merely spoke the truth

>>Me: fuk off gremlin

>>its not like that

>>Pidge: what is it like

>>Me: im not saying it

>>Pidge: cmon lance

>>Me: no

>>Pidge: lance

>>Me: pidgeon

>>Pidge: if u dont say it ill start sending keith pictures of u from high school

>>Me: FUK YOU THIS IS BLACKAMIL

>>Pidge: yes i know

>>now do it

>>Me: jESUS

>>FINE

>>KEITH IS HERE BECAUSE HES MY FRIEND

And the thing was, even though Pidge was twisting his arm about it, it really did feel like the truth. There was an undercurrent of familiarity, almost warmth, in just sitting here on the couch with Keith and chilling; he couldn’t quite pinpoint where it came from, or when it had started. Maybe that night he kicked his ass at the dance competition, or before that at the corn maze, or even farther back, that first week, when Keith threw a garlic knot at his face. The point was, Lance didn’t know when it started, but Keith was his friend. Lance just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

>>Pidge: [applause]

>>was that so hard

>>Me: why do people keep saying that to me

>>Pidge: bc ur a dramatic baby

>>Me: blocked

>>Pidge: ud never u need me for help w calculus

>>Me: i have hunk

>>Pidge: cold

>>Me: ….and i love you

>>Pidge: gross

>>but acceptable

>>Me: <3

He snorted as Pidge sent him a middle finger emoji before locking his phone and tossing it back onto the coffee table.

“So where’s Hunk?” Keith asked, running a hand through his drying hair.

“Studying with his friend Shay. She’s another mechanical engineering major,” Lance explained as he grabbed his mug and took a sip. The cocoa was stone cold.

Keith laughed a little at his grimace.

“Shut up,” Lance muttered, setting his mug down.

Keith propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and rested his chin in his hand. “Why are you majoring in bio?”

Raising an eyebrow, Lance said, “Nice segue.”

“Sorry if my attempt to be conversational wasn’t good enough for you.” After a brief stretch of silence, Keith continued. ”But, uh, question still stands.”

With a frown, Lance settled back against the cushions. “Honestly? I don’t know. Most bio majors go into a medical field or research, but…” He sighed. “I hate those ideas. Biology is just something I’m okay at. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be passing my classes,” he admitted, smiling ruefully. “Pidge is the only thing getting me through calculus. Without her, and Hunk always badgering me to do my homework, I’d probably fail out.”

Keith looked at him for a long second, brow furrowed, before saying, “Well, hey, lots of people drop out.” With a tiny, wry smile, he gestured to himself.

“Dropping out and failing aren’t the same thing,” Lance pointed out, but he grudgingly returned Keith’s smile. Clearing his throat, he stood, grabbing his mug and gesturing to Keith’s. “You done?”

“Oh, yeah.” Keith handed it over.

Lance deposited the mugs in the sink and ran some water into them, taking a second to draw a long, deep breath and let it out slowly before he returned to the living room. “So this movie is truly awful. Wanna play some Smash Bros instead?”

The grin that spread across Keith’s face was almost evil, sending a rush of adrenaline through Lance’s system. “You’re on.”

***

Lance wasn’t bad at Smash, but Keith played dirty. He specialized in spam attacks, racking up damage until he could knock Lance’s character out. After a few rounds of losing, Lance quickly defaulted to his main character, Samus. He knew all the best combos for her moves, had the timing down perfectly, and he was still having enough trouble he resorted to trying to knock Keith’s controller out of his hands.

“Get off, Lance,” Keith growled, eyes locked on the screen, trying to elbow Lance away.

Lance just leaned even more of his weight against him, practically knocking him off the couch. “Never! No one is allowed to be this good with Pit of all characters.”

“Well, you banned me from Pikachu.”

“For good reason!”

“The lightning is a mechanic of the game!”

“What are you guys doing?” Hunk’s voice interrupted them, and Keith glanced over as he leaned against the back of the couch. Lance took the opportunity to smash him off the stage, sitting back up with a triumphant whoop.

“Hey!”

Lance held a hand out to high-five Hunk. “Thanks for the assist, big guy.”

Hunk slapped his palm. “You got it.”

“Seriously?” Keith demanded as Pit dropped back into the stage.

“Sorry, man,” Hunk said, standing back up and walking around the couch to sit down next to Lance.

It only took a few seconds before Pit sent Samus flying. Lance threw his hands up with a disgruntled noise as the announcer declared Pit the winner. Again. “You’re a monster.”

Keith laughed as Lance tossed his controller onto the coffee table with a grumpy sigh, setting his own down with a lot more care. “Shiro refuses to play this with me anymore.”

Hunk nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Lance was being nice by playing this with you. I don’t think anyone’s beaten him in MarioKart in eight years.”

Lance shot him a grin. “Well, yeah. You guys are so bad it’s not even fun anymore.”

“Yeah, right,” Hunk snorted. “Hi, Keith, by the way.”

A crooked smile pulled at the corner of Keith’s mouth as he raised his fingers in a little wave. “Hey.”

“How was studying?” Lance stressed the word, grinning as a pink flush spread over Hunk’s face.

“Shut up, Lance. It was good. I think I’ve got this midterm in the bag.”

Lance patted him on the shoulder. “I believe in you.”

“Thanks, dude.”

Keith stood, suddenly, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly. “Um, I should probably get home. I’ve gotta change before work.”

Glancing at his phone, Lance winced. “Ah, shit, I didn’t realize it was so late. Sorry, man.” He stood, tucking his phone in his pocket and looking around for the keys before catching sight of the look Keith was giving him. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the keys?” Lance said slowly. “So I can drive?”

“They’re on the kitchen counter,” Hunk offered.

Lance shot him a fingergun. “Thanks, buddy.”

“You got it.”

“No, I mean-- you don’t have to give me a ride,” Keith mumbled.

Lance snorted. “What are you going to do, walk again? It’s still raining.” He nodded towards the window. “Plus, we’re at least half an hour from Shiro’s place on foot now.”

“It’s really not--”

“It’s no big deal,” Hunk said placatingly, also rising from the couch. “Besides, we have to go to the store anyways.”

Lance frowned. “We do?” Hunk shot him a look. “I mean-- yeah, right, we do.”

Keith hesitated another second but relented finally. “Well, if you guys are going out anyways…”

Hunk and Lance both nodded fervently. “Yep,” Hunk said. “Definitely are.”

“We planned this,” Lance added.

Keith sighed one last time. “I’m gonna go grab my clothes.”

“Sure thing, man.” Lance watched him walk down the hall and disappear into the bathroom before Hunk got his attention with a slap to his arm. “Ouch! What the heck was that for?”

“Dude,” Hunk hissed, grinning.

Lance pointed a threatening finger at him. “Do not start with me now, Hunk. You already set Pidge on me.”

“Um, yeah.” Hunk’s eyes widened in an earnest expression as he spoke. “It’s a big deal! You’re willingly spending time with Keith.”

“It’s not like I planned this,” Lance whispered as loud as he dared.

“That’s even more--”

“Everything okay?” Keith asked from behind Lance, and he whirled, desperately trying for a neutral face.

“Yep! Yep, we are all good. Good to go. Hunk and I were just arguing about--” he cast his mind around desperately.

“Ice cream flavors,” Hunk supplied.

Lance nodded. “Yep, that was it.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at them. He’d changed back into his jeans and shoes, but he was still wearing Lance’s sweatshirt. He tugged at the neckline with an apologetic look. “Is it okay if I borrow this? My jacket’s pretty wet still.”

Lance flapped a hand at him. “No worries. Not like I’ll never see you again,” he added with a wink.

Keith’s eyes widened a fraction before he ducked his head. “Yeah. True,” he mumbled.

Hunk stood and walked to the door. “You guys ready then?”

With a sweep of his arm, Lance said, “Lead the way, buddy.”

Together, they trooped down to the parking lot. Lance unlocked it and they all piled in; Keith refused to take the passenger seat, so he was in the back by himself.

As Lance pulled out onto the street, Hunk glanced back at Keith. “So, got any plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Not really,” Keith said. Lance glanced up to meet his eyes for a second in the rearview mirror.

“You and Shiro gonna do something?” he asked.

“Maybe. I think Matt will still be here.”

Hunk nodded. “Yeah, he and Pidge usually only go home for Christmas.”

There was a soft rustle in the backseat, and when Keith spoke again, he sounded closer, like he’d leaned forward. “How about you guys?”

Hunk shrugged. “We’re going home. Lance always goes home for the holidays.”

“More like my mom makes me,” Lance grumbled, changing lanes to make a turn.

“You love it, dude, don’t lie.”

Lance grinned ruefully. “May be. Plus, Lacie would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t. My little sister,” he explained for Keith’s benefit.

Keith hummed in understanding.

“Definitely,” Hunk teased. “Anyways, yeah, we’ll drive down for a few days. Allura and Coran will fill in for us. It’s pretty slow Thanksgiving weekend anyways.”

“Won’t be the same without us, though,” Lance joked, glancing at Keith again in the rearview mirror. “You gonna miss us, Mullet?”

Keith shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess.”

Lance reached up to grab at the front of his hoodie, wincing dramatically. “Shot through the heart.”

Hunk eyed him nervously. “Hands on the wheel, Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Besides, we’re already there.” True to his word, Lance carefully edged into a curbside spot in front of Shiro’s apartment.

Keith unbuckled and scooted over to the door, hesitating with his fingers on the handle. “Thanks,” he said to Lance. “For...everything. I’ll get your sweatshirt back to you soon.”

Lance shook his head, flapping a hand. “Don’t worry about it, man, no rush. Besides, like I said, it’s not like I don’t know where to find you.” He jerked his head towards the apartment with a grin.

Keith returned the smile. “Right. Well, see you guys later.” With that, he hopped out of the van, slamming the door behind him and ducking into the main entrance of the apartment.

Lance waited until he unlocked the door, giving him one last wave as he glanced back before slipping inside.

As soon as he was out of sight, Hunk turned to him. “I just want to start by saying I am so proud of you for getting over your differences with Keith. Also, I told you so.”

Lance groaned. “I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?” he asked, resigned.

“Sorry, buddy, that’s gonna be a no.”

***

“I still can’t believe it,” Hunk said as they pulled into the parking lot of the Planet.

Lance rolled his eyes, popping another fruit snack into his mouth and chewing around a loud groan. He’d bought a new box when they stopped by the grocery store after dropping Keith off, and he’d already eaten three packets. “Hunk, man, c’mon. I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“It is though,” Hunk insisted, turning the van off and climbing out after Lance. “Like, you hung out with the guy.”

Lance threw his hands in the air. “Yes, I hung out with him! It’s not like Hell’s frozen over or anything.”

The bell dinged over the door as he pushed his way into the Planet, Hunk on his heels, nodding a greeting at the day employees as they looked up with relief and started untying their aprons.

A hand clamped around his elbow and he looked down to see Pidge, who had apparently been lying in wait in one of the booths. “I need details.”

“What the fuck is with the third degree?” Lance tried to scrape her off his arm, but she hung on like a barnacle. He gave up after a second. “Can a guy not just hang out with someone anymore?”

“No,” Pidge and Hunk said in unison.

“Not when it’s Keith,” Pidge added. “You’ve had it out for him ever since he walked through the door.”

Lance scowled as he tied his apron on, exchanging quick goodbyes with the other employees as they fled. No one wanted to spend more time in the Planet than strictly necessary. “So?”

“‘So?’” Pidge echoed, finally releasing him so she could hop up onto the counter. “So this is a big deal, Lance.”

“She’s right,” Hunk agreed as he headed back into the kitchen. “It’s a pretty big deal, dude.”

Lance shook his head. “You guys are crazy. This is nothing.”

With a dramatic flourish-- that he was pretty sure she learned from him-- Pidge pulled her phone out of her pocket and read, “Four-forty-two P.M.: ‘Keith is here because he’s my friend.’”

“I was being blackmailed.”

“Into telling the truth. Are you saying this isn’t the truth, Lance?”

He squirmed in frustration. “You’re a monster, Pidge.”

“I know. Now, answer the question.”

“Yes, okay?” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Keith is my friend. Now would you shut up about it?”

A quiet cheer came from the kitchen.

“I don’t need it from you too,” Lance yelled at Hunk.

Pidge held her phone up. “Wait, let me get that on video.”

“I’m going to wring your skinny neck.”

Coran leaned out from his office. “Ah ah, no homicide around the food! Puts the flavor off.”

“Off what?” Pidge muttered.

Frowning, Coran scolded her, “Shoes off the counter, number five.”

She complied with a grumble.

Lance poked her as he walked by on his way to the jukebox. She responded with a loud raspberry. He had to duck to avoid the shower of spit. “That’s just unsanitary.”

A deep sigh came from Coran’s office.

The door swung open to let in Keith, fiddling with his Planet hat with a scowl. Lance brightened. “Keith! Take this trash out on your way out, would ya?” He jerked a thumb at Pidge.

Keith tucked his hat into his pocket with a deadpan expression. “Isn’t that your job?”

Lance shook his head sadly as he slipped a few quarters into the jukebox. “Now you’ve all done it.”

Pidge paled. “Oh, god, Keith, stop him.”

Keith, the traitor, lunged for him, but Lance slammed his finger down on the machine before he could drag him away, cackling.

The opening “jitterbug” had Pidge sinking down to rest her forehead on the counter, groaning. “Please, Lance, anything but this.”

“Too late, Pidgeon,” he said gleefully.

Keith was frowning, a little crease forming between his brows. He still had a loose hold on Lance’s arm. “What is this?”

“‘Wake Me up Before You Go-go.’” Pidge said it like a terminal prognosis.

After a few more bars, Keith’s nose wrinkled. “It’s awful.”

“You’re damn right.” Lance winked at him, leaning a little farther into his space. Keith seemed to realize suddenly he still had a hold of him, letting go and stepping back hastily. Lance pointed a stern finger at him. “You’d better run, Kogane. I won’t forget that betrayal.”

“Apparently it was for good reason,” Keith pointed out, nodding at the jukebox.

Lance shrugged. “I get my revenge early.” He gave Keith a nudge with his shoulder and a smile as he headed back to the register.

“That’s not how it works,” Pidge said, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling dejectedly. “That just makes you into the instigator.”

Tossing his rag over his shoulder, Lance snorted. “We all know who the instigator is in this crew, gremlin, and it’s not me.”

“Yes, it is,” Pidge, Hunk and Keith all chorused. Pidge raised her hand to high-five Keith.

Lance gaped at him; Keith just shrugged. “I’m never making you cocoa again,” Lance declared.

That actually had a stricken expression crossing Keith’s face, Pidge hissing in sympathy.

Lance crossed his arms. “Yeah, that’s right. Consider your choices.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith offered instantly.

Pidge snorted. “I can’t believe you have to buy friendship.”

Leaning over to flick her ankle, Lance said, “If I don’t pay them to stay, the losers like you chase them off.”

She flipped him off. He snorted, but ruffled her hair affectionately on his way by to wipe down the tables.

Hunk leaned out of the kitchen. “Does that mean I’m a loser too? Keith, I’ll have a load ready for you in five,” he added. Keith nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Or he pays you,” Pidge pointed out.

“Oh, he does,” Hunk said seriously as he vanished back into the kitchen.

Lance threw his hands up. “Why do I bother with any of you? Keith, take me with you.”

“You-- What?”

It was Lance’s turn to grab Keith’s arm, turning a pleading expression on him. “Take me away from our horrible friends. Pleaaaaase.”

Keith looked befuddled. “But-- you have to work.”

Lance released him with a pout. “Party pooper.”

“Nice try, Lancelot,” Pidge called from the counter.

Lance flipped her off. “Go directly to Hell, Pidgeon. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

Pidge cackled. “You suck at Monopoly.”

Lance shook his head, sighing, and directed a weary look at Keith. “See? It’s relentless.”

Keith was biting back a smile. “Sucks.”

“You have no idea, dude.”

“Pizzas!” Hunk called in the kitchen.

Keith gestured towards the door with a wry twist of his mouth. “Guess that’s my cue.”

Lance patted him on the arm as he passed. “Go. Bring the people their food.”

“If you can call it that,” Keith muttered as he vanished into the kitchen.

Lance barked a laugh at the same instant the phone started ringing. Still grinning, he answered and walked the customer through an order.

By the time he hung up with them, Keith had loaded up and was halfway to the door. “Drive safe,” Lance called after him.

Keith rolled his eyes as he pushed out the door. “I always do.”

Lance had just enough time to get out a, “Likely story,” before the door swung shut behind him. Grinning, he turned to check the garlic knots and squeaked as he found Pidge standing right behind him.

She squinted at him, adjusting her glasses. “You know, I honestly didn’t believe Hunk when he texted me this afternoon. I thought this was some giant practical joke you guys were playing on me.”

“When have we ever done that?” Lance protested.

“Do you really want to get me started on that, Lance?”

Deflating, he mumbled, “No.”

“I didn’t think so. Seriously, though--” she patted him on the shoulder-- “I’m proud of you.”

Lance eyed her suspiciously. “Since when are you supportive? And why do you and Hunk keep saying the same things? Are you talking behind my back?”

“Since you actually gained enough emotional maturity to get over yourself and make a friend. And what we discuss is none of your business.”

“I can’t believe this. You’re in cahoots.”

Hunk stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Only because we love you.”

“Aww,” Lance said, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Disgusting,” Pidge mumbled, pulling herself back onto the counter.

Lance flipped her off. “Look, guys, I appreciate the concern or whatever, but today really wasn’t that big of a deal.”

They sent identical looks of disbelief his way.

“It wasn’t,” he insisted. “Keith is fine, okay? But we’re not even really friends. We’re, like, friendly acquaintances. That’s it.”

Pidge sighed. “Well, I guess we can’t expect that much emotional growth from you in one day.”

Patting him on the shoulder, Hunk said, “You still did good, buddy,” in a way that was somehow both sincere and condescending before vanishing back into the kitchen.

Lance threw his hands up. “What did I do?”

Pidge just shook her head as she opened her DS.

He leaned an elbow on the counter, propping his chin on his hand and pouting for a second before a thought occurred to him. Checking to make sure Coran was still in his office, Lance slid his phone out of his pocket.

>>Me: next time im definitely going with you

>>Keith: Who is this

>>Me: who do you think dude cmon

>>its lance

>>Keith: Who?

>>Me: CRUEL

>>next time pidge is going all tech jargon on you im not rescuing you

>>Keith: Oh, THAT Lance

>>Me: yeah uh huh sure

>>hey wait you better not be driving

>>Keith: Of course I’m not. I just dropped off the first order

>>Me: chill ok

>>good luck with the rest

>>Keith: Thanks, I guess

Lance snorted at his phone.

“What?” Pidge asked from the counter, taking a sip from a soda she’d stolen out of the fridge.

“Nothing. Just Keith.”

She choked.

Chapter Text

It was Wednesday night, five minutes to close--a much earlier close than usual given Thanksgiving--and everyone who populated the Planet was crammed into one booth together, having finished everything that needed to be done already. It had been a ridiculously slow night, many of the college students already home for the upcoming holiday.

They were just waiting on the clock.

For once, Keith wasn’t tired. It was early, his runs had been relatively painless, and the Planet was beginning to feel like a home away from home. Coming here didn’t immediately drain all of his energy anymore.

He was also pressed up against Lance in the booth. That was probably the biggest reason he felt like he’d downed three RedBulls in less than an hour. Recently, sharing any space with Lance had left him like this, slightly unhinged and ready to climb a mountain.

And, for some inexplicable reason, he’d been sharing a whole lot of space with Lance. Ever since that day Lance had saved him from the rain, he’d been… nice. And touchy. Very touchy. Normally, Keith would mind--being touched was not his favorite thing--but it was Lance and Keith wasn’t even pretending he didn’t sometimes think about him, them , while he was having trouble sleeping at night.

He’d tried for a couple of days, but the unfortunate thing about Lance being nice was that Keith genuinely liked spending time with him. Lately, in fact, he’d been constantly anticipating and hoping for moments when all of Lance’s attention was focused on him.

It was a problem. And very distracting.

Keith was also pretty sure Pidge had noticed. Which was unfortunate.

Lance nudged Keith’s shoulder, shaking him from his thoughts. “What?” Keith asked.

Eyeing him, Lance said, “Do I really need to recount the entire conversation?”

“That’d be great.”

Across the table, Pidge rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to know if you guys wanted Matt and I to bring anything over tomorrow. For Thanksgiving? Which we’re coming to?”

“Oh, right. Uh… I don’t think so?”

“You’re so useless.”

“Thanks.”

“So I don’t need to recount the entire conversation?” Lance asked.

“Please, god, no,” Pidge said.

“Where’d you go?” Lance said, nudging him again.

Reluctantly, Keith met his eyes and searched his brain for something he could say. There was no way in hell he was going to admit he was crushing on Lance, not to anyone.

Well, except Shiro. That ship had already sailed. He hadn’t really meant to say anything, but he’d panicked the second he’d gotten home from Lance’s, still wearing his sweatshirt, and unable to comprehend what had happened.

The sweatshirt smelled like Lance, even now. It was amazing, really, considering Keith had worn it to bed more than once.

“Dude,” Lance said.

“Oh, uh, nowhere.” Internally, Keith slapped himself. That was probably one of the worst responses that had been floating around in his brain. It wasn’t like Lance was just going to drop it. He wasn’t the drop it sort.

“Nowhere must be pretty freakin’ fascinating.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Can you two not start?” Hunk asked. “We’ve gotta get on the road, Lance, which means we don’t have time for an hour long bickering session.”

“We can still fit in three minutes,” Lance said cheerfully. He slung an arm around Keith’s shoulder, which was actually infinitely more comfortable than their previous position, arms fighting for the sliver of space between them. Keith tried not to lean into the touch. “Three minutes is better than zero. Right, Mullet?”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You like it,” Lance replied, winking.

Great. More winking. That was going to help Keith’s sanity. It was hard enough having a crush he didn’t want, but whenever Lance winked, Keith had trouble breathing. He didn’t know much about flirting, but he knew it felt like he was being flirted with.

It was so confusing. Lance hadn’t gotten less so, despite how much more Keith knew about him now.

Needing to distract himself immediately, Keith said, “Do you guys straight shot it?”

“The drive?” Hunk asked.

Keith nodded.

“Yeah, usually.” Nodding to Coran, Hunk said, “Is he still out?”

Lance leaned over, removing his arm from Keith’s shoulder, and peered into his face. “Yep. Think he had a wild night yesterday or something?”

“It’s Coran,” Pidge said. “I’m pretty sure his definition of wild night is getting drunk on champagne and doing those crossword puzzles.”

Shrugging, Lance said, “Well, he did something.”

Glancing up at the clock, Hunk cheered. “We’re free. Someone wake up Coran.”

“Nose goes,” Lance said hurriedly.

Everyone, much more used to Lance’s antics, was prepared, leaving Keith without a finger to his nose, hand only halfway there. Sighing, he slid out of the booth to let Lance leave and then crawled back in on his knees, putting a hand on Coran’s shoulder and shaking lightly. When that didn’t wake him, Keith rolled his eyes and clapped loudly inches away from his face.

Coran jumped awake, letting out a startled shout. It scared Keith and he flinched badly, putting a hand to his heart. Behind him, Lance burst into laughter.

Keith got out of the booth and glared at Lance.

“I’m sorry, man,” Lance laughed. “At least you didn’t get slapped. Sometimes that happens. Shit, didn’t he try and tackle you once, Hunk?”

“Yeah. Thank god I can’t be tackled.”

“God, I want so badly to prove you wrong.”

“I know, buddy,” Hunk said, patting Lance gently on the shoulder. “But that would be a bad idea.”

From the booth, Coran said, “It’s awfully empty in here.”

“That would be because we’re closed,” Pidge said.

“Ah. Well, good work, comrades. It looks positively sparkly in here.”

“Thank you,” Lance said, bowing.

For once, nobody complained. It had all been Lance. He’d broken out the bleach and gone to town.

They all filed out of the Planet and split off to head to their cars, Pidge hanging with Keith. He was dropping her off at home since the arcade bar wasn’t closing early tonight and Matt wasn’t around to give her a ride.

Keith was unlocking the car doors when Lance jogged up. Pidge glanced between the two of them, rolled her eyes, and got into the car, clearly thinking that Lance wasn’t here for her, which was… nope, Keith was not going to decode that.

“What’s up?” he asked, turning to face Lance. It was raining lightly and Keith squinted to keep the rain from getting into his eyes.

Halting a few feet from Keith, Lance said, “Not much, man. Just a quick goodbye back there and I wanted to tell you to have a happy Thanksgiving, since, you know, you haven’t been around for one before.” Stepping closer, he continued to talk, looking distinctly more uncomfortable. “My family’s super big on saying what we’re thankful for this time of year and I, uh… well, I think you’re the only one who doesn’t know I consider you a friend and that didn’t feel right. So this is me… telling you.”

“Are you saying you’re thankful for me?” Keith asked, smirking.

“I regret it already.”

Laughing, silently telling himself to stop laughing because it hadn’t been that funny, Keith crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the wet pavement, only glancing up when Lance shifted his weight to his left foot.

Smiling, Lance jerked his thumb behind his shoulder. “Well, I gotta go, but I’ll see ya later, Mullet.”

“Yeah, see you. Have a good Thanksgiving.”

Nodding, Lance jogged off and Keith got into his car, smiling out the windshield as he started his car. He’d managed to forget Pidge was sitting in the passenger seat and when she said, “Alright, spill,” he tensed, heart racing.

“Jesus,” he mumbled.

“That’s not spilling.”

“Spill what?”

“Why you’re smiling like such a dumbass. Okay, no, I know it’s because of Lance, but I want you to expand upon that.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith pulled out of the spot, checking his mirrors for cars. “He was being nice, alright? In case you haven’t noticed, that doesn’t happen all that often.”

Pidge stared at him for a long time and then nodded. “Whatever you say.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re being weirdly cryptic.”

“Strange,” Pidge said, propping her feet up on the dash.

Sighing, Keith decided to drop the topic, knowing he wouldn’t get any more out of her. Besides, he was pretty sure he already knew. It looked as though he wasn’t far off in his guess that Pidge knew how he felt about Lance. He’d never been skilled at hiding his emotions.

***

“Hey, Keith, can you find my phone? I need that recipe,” Shiro called from the kitchen. “I’m pretty sure it’s in my bedroom on my nightstand.”

Rising from the couch, Keith padded into Shiro’s bedroom and looked at it as little as possible. When he’d first arrived and Shiro had given him an unnecessary tour, Keith had taken it all in and it had been so absolutely and horrifyingly couple-y—Shiro had insisted Matt was hardly ever over for the night, but that didn’t mean Shiro wasn’t prepared for when he was—that Keith had refused to examine it ever again in his life.

The phone, as expected, was on the nightstand. Snatching it up, Keith went into the kitchen and slid it down the counter to Shiro, who caught it without trouble and immediately started to research whatever recipe he wanted. Sighing, Keith said, “You really don’t have to cook a turkey.”

“How many times do we need to argue about this?”

“You don’t know how to cook a turkey, we have nothing to carve it with, nothing to put it on, and you don’t even like turkey.”

“Yes, I heard the first dozen times.”

“Then why are you still cooking it?” Keith exclaimed.

“Because I want to give you a proper Thanksgiving. Besides,” Shiro said sheepishly, “Matt loves turkey.”

“God.”

“You say that, but I know that if Lance wanted you to make him turkey, you’d try your damnedest.”

“Why the hell would Lance want me to cook him a turkey?”

Shiro stared at him with raised eyebrows. Not knowing what else to say, Keith crossed his arms and said, “Would not.”

Sighing, Shiro clicked around on his phone and then a recording started to play, his own voice playing back to him. “Shiro, I think I have a crush on Lance and I still have his sweatshirt—and, god, it smells good, what the hell?—and I don’t know what the fuck to do. Do I quit my job? Do I find the nearest cliff and jump off it? What do I do ?”

Groaning, Keith said, “When are you going to stop using that as evidence?”

Smiling slyly, Shiro said, “Never.”

“I hate you.”

“Isn’t it great to be with family during the holidays?”

Sneering, Keith fled back to the living room and frowned at the TV, feeling distinctly put out. It was going to be a long day if that was what he was going to have to put up with. Finding his phone in between couch cushions, Keith flipped it between his hands and thought about texting Lance. The problem was, he had nothing interesting to say and he didn’t actually know if he was allowed to disturb him on a holiday like this, not when he was only seeing his family for a few days.

Tossing his phone down to the end of the couch, Keith slumped sideways, into the armrest. Texting Lance was an awful idea.

And, yet, here he was, still brainstorming something to say. As he come up with terrible idea after terrible idea, he began to understand why authority figures through his entire life had urged him to develop social skills. Those would’ve been great right about now.

Thankfully, Shiro saved him. “Keith, come help me. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You think I do?” Keith called back.

“There’s no harm in a second brain.”

It was going to be a really long day.

***

After the turkey debacle, there was the stuffing debacle, and the what-kind-of-potatoes-should-they-make debacle, and by the end, it was nearing four in the afternoon and Keith had decided he was never again, in his entire life, going to have a “proper” Thanksgiving. He was exhausted, his clothes were covered in crumbs, and he was about eighty percent sure he didn’t want to eat what they were making.

Pidge and Matt were due to arrive at five, so Keith decided to use that hour to relax. Shiro could obsess and micromanage without him.

His phone was where he left it and when he checked it, more out of habit than anything else, he saw that Lance had texted him. Face splitting into an unconscious grin, Keith opened his face to a picture of a turkey that had just come from the oven, a warm brown, some sort of spice rub decorating the skin. It looked delicious.

Wandering into the kitchen, Keith snapped a picture of the mashed potatoes, which Shiro was still frowning at, glancing between it and his phone. “Still doesn’t look like the picture?” Keith asked.

“There aren’t chunks in the photo. Do you think we didn’t cook them long enough?”

Keith shrugged.

Shiro nodded and put his hands on his hips, stretching his apron tight. “I can make this work,” he mumbled, turning to the fridge and digging around.

Leaving him to it, Keith sent the picture to Lance.

>>Lance: you made that didnt you

>>Me: And I already regret talking to you

>>Lance: have you ever tried pretending to be nice???

>>Me: No

>>Lance: tell pidge i love her cuz shes gonna die eating that

>>is there even butter in there

>>cuz you gotta have butter man

>>Me: Probably not

>>Shiro pulled the recipe from one of those health nut websites

>>Lance: theres your first mistake

>>Me: It’s not my mistake

>>Why the hell are you even texting me? Don’t you have something better to do?

>>Lance: nah not really

>>mostly just waiting on everyone to arrive

>>and I kinda already ate more potato balls than any person should

>>but theyre so goddamn good

>>Me: Potato balls?

>>Lance: cuban thing

>>youd like them. ill make them for you sometime

>>i think i could do it

>>Me: Okay

>>Lance: ok?

>>Me: That’d be cool

>>Lance: that was almost nice mullet

>>Me: Really? Didn’t notice

>>Lance: no need to get sarcastic

>>after all, youre the one whos perpetually grumpy

>>Me: Maybe you’re perpetually irritating and I’m just reacting

>>Lance: i get you all riled up, huh ;)))

>>Me: Yeah, I have no idea how to respond to that

>>Lance: no worries mullet. i have my guess

>>Me: Great

Throwing his phone down beside him, Keith resolutely ignored it. It buzzed a couple of times, but once it went completely silent it was less of a Herculean task to give it space. Whenever Lance flirted (flirted?) it completely threw Keith.

A crush was one thing. Sitting around and wondering if that crush was maybe returned was an entirely different beast. There was pining without hope and then there was whatever Keith found himself doing sometimes and it made him understand why people said hope was a dangerous thing. It was certainly a disquieting thing.

And that was on his list of things not to think about. Internally shaking his thoughts away, Keith let the images on the screen numb his brain.

Or, rather, he did for about five seconds before his phone started buzzing again. And this time, it didn’t stop. Groaning, Keith picked up his phone and saw a long series of texts from Lance. They were all emojis, the story, if there was one, completely incomprehensible.

>>Me: WHAT DO YOU WANT

>>Lance: i knew you were ignoring me

>>i so called it

>>ask anyone in my family theyll tell you

>>Me: I really need to ask this again…don’t you have something better to do?

>>Lance: maybe i like talking to you

>>no? yeah kinda sounded fake in my head too

>>Me: Guess that means you can stop then

>>Lance: shit keith cmon man

>>talk to me

>>Me: Why?

>>Lance: i’m bored

>>Me: It’s far from my job to entertain you

>>Lance: but you could

>>Me: Pidge and Matt are about to come over. Can’t

>>Lance: not till five liar

>>Me: You’re talking to Pidge, aren’t you

>>Lance: no?

>>Me: Bye

Huffing out a laugh, imagining Lance’s face, Keith dragged his eyes away from his phone and up, directly into Shiro, who was standing in front of the TV, holding out a spoon. A clump of mashed potatoes sat on the end and Shiro said, “I think I’ve fixed it, but you have to tell me what you think.”

“Yeah, no.”

“How’s Lance?”

Grimacing, seeing that for exactly what it was, a threat, Keith snatched the spoon from Shiro’s hand and put it into his mouth. Swallowing, he said, “Well, besides the fact that half of it is glued to my teeth, it’s good.”

“Hmm.”

“There’s probably a point where you stop messing with it.”

“Yeah,” Shiro sighed. “Want to set the table for me?”

Keith nodded. As he collected plates and napkins and silverware, he wondered how people did this every year. It was so much work for so little time. Why not just get takeout and lounge on couches? The whole point was family, right? Then, surely, all you needed was the people.

A part of Keith also couldn’t help feeling they weren’t quite a family today, anyway. Lance and Hunk were undeniably an important part of their group. Silently, wistfully, he wished they were here as he set the table for four.

***

Thirty minutes later, Matt and Pidge arrived. They were waiting on the turkey, which had another hour--that was Shiro’s best guess, anyway--so they split off, Matt in the kitchen with Shiro, busy trying to reassure and tease him about the food at the same time, and Pidge with Keith. She wanted to see his bedroom, so that was where they hung out, Keith lying on the edge of the bed and Pidge sitting cross legged in the middle of it.

“It’s kind of depressing in here,” Pidge said.

“It’s a room. How can a room be depressing?”

“There’s nothing on the walls. Your sheets are gray. And I’m...hang on.”

“What?” Keith asked, not even lifting his head to see.

“Is that Lance’s sweatshirt ?”

Aiming for nonchalance, Keith said, “Yeah. He gave it to me after I got drenched that one time. I keep forgetting I have it.”

“Sure, Keith.”

Not gracing that with a response of any kind, Keith was busy floundering for a question, any question, that would distract Pidge from her fascination with Lance’s sweatshirt. Before he could come up with anything, though, Lance texted him again.

And this time it was a selfie of him and a slightly younger girl, mid-teens, her eyes just as blue as his. His sister, then. Almost definitely.

That was all the attention he paid her, though, because Lance was glowing. This, undeniably, was the happiest Keith had ever seen him, and that was saying something. His smile was wide and effortless and it looked as though he were on the edge of bursting into laughter, eyes trailing over to his sister. Letting out a breath, Keith tapped on the picture so it took up the full screen and allowed himself a few seconds of indulgence. Allowed was probably the wrong word. He couldn’t have stopped himself, even if he’d tried.

“Whatcha looking at?” Pidge asked, sounding far too knowledgeable.

“Nothing.”

“Might it be a picture of Lance and Lacie? ‘Cause I got one of those, too.”

“Go away.”

Scrambling across the short distance separating them, Pidge snatched his phone from his hand. Surprisingly, she didn’t look at it, clearly confident in her assumption. Instead, she stared him dead in the eye and said, “You like Lance.”

“Sure. Lance is fine.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “You like Lance.”

Heart beating hard, Keith shrugged. That was the best he could do under her intense gaze. Besides, he didn’t really want to lie to her. A shrug was a nice compromise.

“The two of you are tragic,” she sighed, tapping away on her phone, most likely sending a response to Lance. For a brief and frantic second, Keith wondered whether she was telling Lance how he felt, but then he remembered that he trusted Pidge. She was the first person he’d befriended at the Planet and that had been for a reason.

His phone vibrated with another text.

>>Lance: nothing? seriously???

>>Me: Pidge said something. That’s gotta be enough for you

>>Lance: nah she didnt

>>she c l a i m s shes tired of my face

>>(fake news no one could be tired of this)

>>but you...you should definitely not be tired of my face already

>>or my sisters cuz shes super adorable and i know youve never seen it

>>Me: Couldn’t you have said all that in less texts?

>>Lance: nope

>>Me: What did Pidge say to you then?

>>Lance: its a secret mullet

>>Me: And I suppose I’m not privy?

>>Lance: nope

>>privy?

>>Me: being included in the sharing of private or secret information

>>Lance: thank you merriam-webster

>>i was more asking why tf youre using a word like privy but whatever

>>Me: Because it’s a word???

>>Lance: this is exhausting

>>just tell me you like my face and we can be done

>>Me: Like hell

>>That’s like me asking you to tell me my mullet is attractive or something

>>Lance: fuck you very much my face is not at all comparable to a mullet

>>Me: Says you

At this point, Keith was unable to keep himself from laughing, low and soft. This was easy. This was nice. Teasing Lance was a lot like arguing with him. It made Keith feel awake and engaged, but it didn’t hurt like arguing sometimes could.

This was also why Keith was so goddamn fucked. There was a difference between finding someone attractive and actually enjoying their personality. Ever since the day of the rainstorm, Keith had realized he quite liked both.

Pidge made a little noise, pulling Keith from his bubble. When he glanced up, he saw her smiling knowingly and he scowled, immediately ceasing his laughter.

“You’re kind of adorable,” Pidge said. “Wish I’d known earlier.”

“I resent that.”

Pidge cackled, returning her attention to her phone. Keith did the same, because, of course, Lance wasn’t finished with him.

>>Lance: i can’t believe this

>>THIS

>>in my own home

>>on a holiday no less

>>what did i ever do to you, keith?? huh???

>>nothing.

>>(don’t listen to pidge on that)

>>and i’m repaid with this INHUMANITY

>>this CRUELTY

>>wounded, keith. you’ve cut me to the quick

>>(hey webster what’s quick?)

>>Me: Uh…

>>Yeah, I have nothing to say to this

>>Other than cut to the quick is more a phrase than anything else

>>And that I like the color of your sister’s eyes

>>Lance: WE HAVE THE SAME COLOR EYES

>>Me: Do you? Huh. Who knew?

>>Lance: ANYONE WHO’S EVER LOOKED AT ME KEITH

>>Me: Guess I like yours too, then

Immediately, Keith cringed, tossing his phone to the end of his bed. There was no taking that back now, but he wanted to. God, did he want to. Fuck impulse. Fuck light teasing. Fuck selfies. Fuck…

“What did you do now?” Pidge asked.

“Nothing.”

“That sure looked like nothing.”

“Shut up,” Keith grumbled.

When it buzzed, he groaned and put his head in his hands. There weren’t a whole lot of ways to interpret what he’d said, which meant the best solution was to pretend his phone didn’t exist for as long as possible.

“He’s not going to go away, you know.”

“He might if I ignore him long enough.”

“Great solution, Keith.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

Rolling her eyes, Pidge said, “God, you’re just as dramatic as he is sometimes.” Crawling to the end of the bed, she picked up Keith’s phone and read through whatever texts Lance had sent. “I don’t know what you said,” she continued, “but these seem like pretty harmless responses.”

“How is that possible? I told him I liked the color of his eyes!”

For a beat, Pidge just stared at him. Then in a flat voice, she said, “Well, that’s gay.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

Rolling her eyes, Pidge said, “That being said, he just thanked you for realizing the obvious and that you owe him an apology for taking so long to reach it. So it could be…” Pidge trailed off, her gaze turning thoughtful. Frowning slightly, she shook her head and flung Keith’s phone into his lap.

“What was that face?”

“My thinking face.”

“Nice and vague.”

“Uh huh.”

Sighing, Keith picked up his phone, read Lance’s texts, which were exactly as Pidge had described them and was in the middle of typing a response, something that would hopefully end the conversation before he said anything else stupid, when Shiro called them to dinner. Matt laughed uproariously in the background, presumably about Shiro’s use of the word dinner to describe what they were about to eat. Through the walls, Keith could hear his brother return the laughter and for a moment, just a moment, Keith understood why they were so unbearable. What they had was good. Enviably good.

Abandoning his phone--Lance would be just fine without him; he had an entire family after all--Keith stood, pulling Pidge with him, and dragged her out to the kitchen, where every available inch of counter was piled with food. Some of it didn’t look appetizing, but it all smelled amazing , and that was good enough for Keith.

***

Leaning back in his chair, Matt groaned and patted his stomach. “You know what, babe, that was kind of incredible. Going in with the lowest possible expectations really works wonders.”

“For once, my brother isn’t wrong,” Pidge said, slurring slightly. There was an empty wineglass resting in her hand. Four times now, she’d absentmindedly brought it to her lips and proceeded to frown when she realized it was empty. It was hilarious. As Keith watched her do it again, he knew he would have to tell Lance about it. He’d love to know.

“I think that might be the wine talking,” Shiro said, smile kind, but slightly bemused.

“Yeah, who gave you so much wine?” Matt asked, on the verge of laughter.

“I did,” Pidge said. “In fact…”

“Nope, no more for you.” Shiro snatched the glass from her hand. “I’m already trying not to feel like a horrible person for letting you drink so much.”

“I’m alright with you feeling like a horrible person.”

At that, Keith burst into laughter, unable to contain it any longer. Lifting his hand, he held it out to her and waited patiently as she lined her hand up and slapped his, grinning triumphantly.

“You know,” she said, “I love you guys.”

“Oh boy,” Matt said.

“Shut up. I’m not saying that ‘cause--okay, maybe I am--but this has been a pretty awesome Thanksgiving. Like...I don’t know, you guys made this good.” Then she turned to Keith and slapped him hard on the arm, more than once. “You, too. I thought maybe I needed to clarify that.”

Looking down at the table, Keith felt his chest contract. He didn’t even know what to say. However drunk, it was clear that Pidge meant every word.

In all honesty, Keith had absolutely no idea what to do with that information.

He was...touched.

Then, in just a few sentences, Pidge managed to break Keith out of his incapacitation. “You’re a lot...looser here,” she said. “I’m not saying be like this around Lance, but maybe be like this around Lance. Well, I guess you try. But, more , Keith. More.”

Smiling, Shiro said, “Lance?”

“Yep. Keith totally likes him. Told him he liked the color of his eyes just a couple of hours ago.”

“Cool,” Keith mumbled. “I’m going to bed now.”

Shiro sighed. “You don’t have to…”

“You’re right,” Keith said, standing and beginning to clear the dishes. “I should clean up first. You did most of the cooking, after all. I’ll just do this and then disappear.”

Matt and Shiro exchanged a glance and then Matt yawned, extending his arms to the ceiling. Getting out of his chair, he helped Pidge from hers and then threw an arm around her shoulder. “I think it’s time we get going, Katie. Get you some water.”

“There’s water all sorts of places, Matt.”

“Yeah, but there’s nothing quite like the water at home.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Giving up, Matt said, “Let’s let Keith be miserable. Crushing hard is a lot of work.”

“Not sure that was helpful,” Shiro murmured.

Making sure the dishes he gathered clattered together, Keith took them to sink and dumped them in, turning on the tap, waiting for the water to get hot.

When his back had been turned, Pidge had managed to free herself from Matt’s grip. Nuding up against Keith, she said, “Guess I’m going. Sorry. It didn’t occur to me Shiro might not know.”

“Oh, he knows.”

“You’re not subtle,” Pidge said, nodding sagely.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Keith said, giving her a small smile. “I’ll see you.”

She nodded and let Matt lead her out of the apartment. There were murmured goodbyes at the door and Keith listened, wondering why he always isolated himself like this. He didn’t have to be standing over here, washing dishes like a dumbass, and yet…

The front door closed and Shiro came up behind him. “I’ll do those,” he said.

Dropping the dish he was working on, Keith stepped away from the sink and leaned against the counter beside it, watching Shiro take over. “I do, you know,” he whispered. “Like him like that.” Then he closed his eyes. It felt a lot more real now that he’d said it out loud. Too real.

“I know. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Keith shrugged.

“Remember when you dropped out of college?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, hoping Shiro was going somewhere with that train of thought, because just remembering when he dropped out of college helped absolutely nothing.

“Do you? What it felt like?”

“Shiro…”

“Do you?”

“Not really,” Keith said, because it was true. “It sucked, I know that.”

“I’m sure it did. The point is, Keith, time keeps marching forward. And whatever happens, that will always be true. You’re going to be fine.”

“I am fine.”

Laughing, Shiro flicked some water into his face. “Go to bed. I’ve got this.”

Smiling, Keith said, “Thanks.” Then he did as he was told, retreating to his room, and getting ready for bed. Once he was comfortable, under his comforter, he checked his phone out of habit and saw that there were more texts from Lance. Most were just pictures of food, but Keith smiled anyway.

Because no matter what he was feeling, seeing Lance’s name on his phone was a good thing. One of the best things.

Quickly, he tapped out a text.

>>Me: Pidge got drunk at dinner

Lance’s reply was almost instantaneous.

>>Lance: tell me everything immediately

So Keith did.

Chapter Text

Hunk was waiting, an anxious wrinkle between his brows, when Lance finally heaved himself out of the car. “Listen, man, seriously, I can cover for you. We can call Allura or something.”

“‘Llura’s busy,” Lance reminded him, hunching his shoulders against the wind with a shiver. “And I’m fine, Hunk, really. Three more days and I can crash.”

“Dude, you don’t even look like you’re gonna make it three hours.”

“Watch me,” Lance said, sniffing loudly.

Hunk held the Planet door open for him. “I kinda feel like I have to.”

“You worry too much. I’m fine.”

“Hey, losers,” Pidge greeted from the counter, glancing up from her laptop. She had some truly impressive shadows under her eyes.

“You look like shit,” Lance told her, barely even aware of the daytime employees shoving past them towards the door, shooting them dirty looks the whole way. Honestly, they were only five minutes late; they were just too sensitive.

“Dude,” Pidge said, raising an eyebrow at him, “if I look like shit, you look like an actual zombie. The fuck are you doing here?”

“Working. What’s it look like?” Lance fumbled with the strings on his apron for a long moment.

When he looked back up, Pidge’s vague amusement had faded into a frown. “Seriously, Lance, maybe you should just go home. We can call Allura--”

“Allura’s busy tonight, remember?” Lance interrupted, a little too sharp but too tired to honestly care. “She’s got that thing she says isn’t a date but definitely is.”

Pidge watched him for a second before shrugging. “Whatever. Go home anyways.”

“No.”

“Hey, being stubborn is my thing.”

Lance just grunted in response, leaning forward to prop his head in his hand.

“Trust me,” Hunk told her, “I’ve been trying to get him to rest for the last two days.”

Lance held up three fingers. “Three more days. I can make it.”

“Finals week is a shitty time to get sick.”

“Thank you, Pidge, I’m painfully aware.”

“Hey, asshole, I’m trying to sympathize here.”

Lance sighed. “I know, I know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really though, Lance, go home.”

“Nooo,” he groaned. “I refuse to give in to a stupid virus. It’s the lowest of all life forms and it’s not even alive.”

“Jesus, you’re already delirious?”

Flipping Pidge the bird, Lance dropped his head down to the counter. “Wake me up if there’s a customer.”

On cue, the bell over the door chimed. Lance groaned again and lifted his head, but it was just Keith, shoving his phone into his pocket as he walked in. “Hey, guys, sorry I’m late. Shiro forgot his--” He stopped in his tracks as he saw Lance and Pidge. “Uh, what’s up with you guys?”

“Finals,” Pidge explained, shoving her glasses up into her hair to rub at her tired eyes. “And Lance has the plague.”

Lance pouted. “I do not. At worst, I have a cold.”

“At best, you also have a cold,” Pidge returned, deadpan.

“Ugh.” Lance lowered his head back to the counter. “Don’t remind me.”

“Go home,” Pidge said, in unison with Hunk in the kitchen.

“I refuse.”

“Isn’t working when you’re sick a health issue?” Keith pointed out. He was hovering in the middle of the store, like he wasn’t sure whether to take his usual place leaning up against the counter or keep a safe radius between himself and Lance.

Lance shrugged, pressing his cheek against the cool metal counter. It felt nice. “Everyone does it anyways.”

“Ew,” Pidge commented as Keith frowned.

“What? It’s true.”

“Doesn’t mean I like thinking about it.”

“I know,” Lance said, turning to lay his upper body over the counter, staring up at the ceiling. “Why does anyone ever eat anything from food service? It’s disgusting.”

Pidge made a show of checking the watch she wasn’t wearing. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s officially been ten minutes and Lance has already reached delirium!”

“I am not.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Keith said, finally coming up to lean against the counter, peering into Lance’s eyes. “Get some sleep, or something.”

Lance groaned, scrubbing at him face. “I can’t. I have a final tomorrow afternoon that I need to study for.”

Raising an eyebrow, Keith asked, “Have you not started yet?”

Lance dropped his hands to shoot him a glare. “Of course I have.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Because I haven’t studied enough. There’s, like, so much material for this class and I don’t remember any of it, and my classmates are all geniuses, I swear, so I’m gonna get totally screwed by the curve if I don’t--”

“You’re gonna get screwed if you don’t take care of yourself and are too sick to actually take the final,” Pidge pointed out.

“See, that’s why I can’t be sick.”

“That logic is so flawed I don’t even know where to start.”

Keith was still frowning. “I don’t understand. Are you doing bad in this class?”

“‘Bad,’” Lance echoed. “That’s such an arbitrary concept. I could be doing better.”

“So, you are.”

“He’s not,” Pidge interjected. “He’s just like this.”

“A perfectionist?” Keith asked.

She made a so-so gesture. “Not exactly.”

“I don’t have to be perfect,” Lance said. “I just have to be good enough.”

Hunk leaned out of the kitchen. “Buddy, I know I’m sounding like a broken record here, but you’re fine.”

Lance flapped a hand at him. “That’s nice, big guy, but we both know that’s not true.”

Hunk opened his mouth, probably to argue, but a beeping in the kitchen pulled him away. “It is true,” he called over his shoulder. Pidge just shook her head.

Lance shot Keith a crooked grin. “I win this round.”

Keith just blinked down at him, still frowning.

“Lighten up, buttercup, geez.”

“Do you fail classes a lot?”

Lance shrugged, returning his gaze to the ceiling tiles. They were pretty gross, actually. He should clean them sometime. He should also google how to clean ceiling tiles. “Twice.”

“That’s it?”

Pidge snorted. “See, this is what we’ve tried to tell him.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Lance snapped, pushing himself upright.

Pidge shot him a glare from shadowed eyes. “Touchy, geez.”

Lance sighed again, short and sharp. “Sorry.”

“I know, dude, but you should seriously just go home. Study, sleep, whatever.”

“I can’t,” he mumbled, sinking back down to the counter to rest his head on his crossed arms.

“Why not?” Keith asked, looking down at him with a wrinkle between his brows.

Lance just shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes.

Thankfully, the phone rang before he could say anything else. By the time Lance was finished with that customer, Keith was loading up his first run of the night, and then there was a sudden rush as a group of frat boys wandered by, and by the time things slowed back down everyone had fallen back into the usual rhythm of the night shift, and Lance settled in to quietly nurse his aching head.

***

By the time midnight rolled around, Lance was sure his brain was melting out his ears.

“You look like you’re dying,” Hunk remarked, watching him from the kitchen doorway.

“Tell my mom I love her,” Lance groaned.

“What about Lacie?”

“She’s a tiny devil who steals my breakfast cereal and deserves nothing.”

Hunk laughed. “So you’re looking forward to break, then?”

“... Maybe.”

“Mmhm. Listen, buddy, Keith should be back any minute. I can take my thirty and drive you home.”

Lance took a deep breath and pushed himself upright. “Nope, no, I’m good. I am,” he insisted at Hunk’s doubtful look. “What, our shift is--” he glanced at the clock-- “half over, geez, how is it only-- I mean, no, it’s already half over. I can make it.”

“Yeah, that just fills me with confidence,” Hunk muttered.

Over in one of the booths, Pidge let out a loud snore as she rolled over. She’d given up on her own studying half an hour before, opting for napping until Matt was done with his shift.

Hunk sighed as he watched her sleep. “You two, I swear. At least Pidge is done after her project is due tomorrow.”

Lance held his hand up. “You and me are the last holdouts, buddy.”

“I’m not high-fiving for that.”

Lance tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. Hunk’s resistance only lasted another couple seconds before he sighed and gave in, slapping his hand. “Thanks, man.”

“You know I’d never leave you hanging.”

Blowing him a kiss, Lance said, “It’s one of the many things I love about you, bro.”

Hunk pressed a hand over his heart as he headed back into the kitchen. “Bro.”

Grinning, Lance let his eyes drift shut again. Another four hours. He could do this.

He dozed for a few minutes, lulled by the sounds of Hunk clattering in the kitchen, Pidge’s regular snoring, and the Eurythmics playing from the jukebox, until the door jingled open. He cracked his eyes open to see Keith walking in. “Hey, stranger.”

Returning his smile, Keith said, “Hey.” He came up to lean against the counter. “How’re you feeling?”

Lance shrugged. “Shitty, but I’ve felt worse. I’ll live. How’s the delivery game going?”

“Some dude answered the door and there was definitely porn playing in the background.” Keith glanced over at the sleeping gremlin. “Too bad Pidge is asleep.”

“She’d love that,” Lance agreed, letting his eyes drift shut again as a slow smile spread across his face.

“You sure you don’t wanna go home?”

Cracking an eye open, Lance met Keith’s dark, steady gaze. “Hundred percent.”

Silently, Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Eighty-two,” Lance relented. “I’m fine. You guys need to stop worrying.”

“I mean,” Keith crossed his arms, breaking eye contact in favor of resettling himself against the counter, “isn’t that what friends are for?”

With a snort, Lance said, “You guys are overdoing it. You’re friend-ing too hard, Keith.”

“No, I think it’s about right.”

“Yeah? Well… your face is about right.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t make sense.”

“You’re the one not making sense, Lance.”

“Slander.”

Keith sighed. “Sure I can’t convince you to just go home?”

“Yep.” Lance popped the p.

“Then will you at least take your thirty and lay down, or something?”

That… actually wasn’t a bad idea. Lance considered it for a second, eyeing Keith up and down, before sighing, “Fine. But only to get you guys to stop pestering me.”

“Yes,” Keith said, dry as sand. “I’m sure that’s the only reason.”

Lance squinted at him as he untied his apron. “I’m not sure I like your insinuation.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You probably don’t.”

Tossing his apron under the counter, Lance pointed at him. “You’re on thin ice, mister.”

“I’m terrified.”

Lance ignored his flat tone. “Hunk!” he called over his shoulder. “I’m taking my thirty. And a nap. Keith will cover for me,” he added, grinning, as Keith’s face turned to absolute panic. He hated answering phones.

“Coran said Keith isn’t allowed on the phones anymore,” Hunk reminded him, sticking his head out of the kitchen. “I’ve got it, though. Have a good nap.”

He disappeared again as Lance pouted and Keith grinned, triumphant. “You win this round, Kogane.”

“I usually win.”

“Yeah? Well… fuck you.”

“Classy.”

Lance flipped him off as he grabbed his hoodie and headed to the booth where Pidge was still asleep and snoring loudly. “Like a goddamn chainsaw,” he grumbled, wadding his jacket up into a pillow as he flopped down on the bench opposite her. His eyes were already starting to droop as he fumbled with his phone, setting an alarm; he knew neither Hunk nor Keith would wake him up when his break was over.

Tucking his phone under his jacket, he curled up on his side, letting the sounds of the Planet carry him off into sleep.

***

The nap was a great idea right until he had to wake up. His brain was not on board for that. Instead, Lance shot up in a bleary panic, trying to remember where he was and what he was doing until Pidge crawled across the booth, shoved him out of the way to grab his phone, and turned the alarm off for him. She didn’t say a word, only gave him a dark glare as she grabbed his jacket and went back to her bench, curling up underneath it like a blanket.

“Sorry,” Lance managed, finally. Ugh. His congestion had gotten worse; he sounded like he was talking through a tin cup, the noise of the Planet muffled and far-off, like he was underwater.

Still, duty called. He heaved himself up as the phone rang, coughing. “I got it.” Hunk called an acknowledgment from the kitchen his tired brain didn’t quite catch as his fingers closed around the receiver.

Thankfully, Lance was pretty good at running through his job on autopilot, and time faded into a hazy blur of answering phones and taking orders. He actually might have fallen asleep standing up at one point, he still wasn’t sure. Either way, he was out of it enough that it took him a few blinks to realize the new customer standing in front of his counter was, in fact, Keith, frowning at him, a wrinkle between his brows.

“Keith! Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” Lance said-- or at least, tried. He wasn’t sure how well it all came out. Feigning nonchalance, he leaned against the counter, swaying as the floor titled underneath him.

“You look like hell,” was Keith’s response, reaching for him. Lance sighed as his cool fingers pressed against his forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Lance, seriously, I think you need to go home.”

Lance leaned forward into his hand, only-half listening. “Mm hmm.”

“Matt and Shiro should be off in half an hour,” a new voice chimed in, and Lance cracked his eyes open to see Pidge standing next to Keith, peering up at him with huge amber eyes.

He waved at her. “Hi, Pidgey!”

That, at least, brought a crooked smile to her worried face. “Hey, Lance.”

Wait. Worried? “No, wait,” he said, pushing himself upright, unfortunately away from Keith’s hand. “Waitwaitwait, you guys aren’t supposed to be worried about me. I’m fine.” His expansive gesture narrowly missed the warming case.

Keith and Pidge levelled equally unimpressed looks at him. “Right,” Pidge said.

Lance pointed at her, squinting against the glare of the lights. “You’re darn right, I’m right.”

“‘Darn?’” Keith echoed.

Lance realized he was sagging forwards again and drew himself back upright, fumbling for his rag. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Turning, he ran straight into Hunk’s crossed arms.

Hunk, thankfully, had the grace of an impala and the reflexes of a panther, and he caught Lance by the shoulders before he could topple over. Lance ended up grabbing his elbows for stability, blinking up at him. “Hunk, my man, tell them I’m okay.”

Hunk patted him gently. “Sorry, buddy, I’m on their side on this one.”

“Nooo,” Lance whined, leaning forward to rest his head against Hunk’s shoulder. Hoo, he was pretty dizzy.

Rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder blades Hunk said, “I know, man, I know, but you gotta go home. Drink some tea. Get some sleep.”

With one final sigh, Lance relented. “Fine.”

Hunk smiled as he pulled away. “Good choice.”

Lance just nodded, frowning and pressing the heel of a palm into his eye. “I need the keys. You’ll be able to get a ride, right?”

“Uh, wait, you’re driving?” Hunk’s face dropped. “That’s-- I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Lance threw his hands in the air. “Well then, how am I supposed to get home?”

“I’ll drive you,” Keith offered. Lance turned to see him standing right across the counter from them, dark eyes flicking over him.

Lance frowned. “But you’re working too.”

Keith just shrugged. “I haven’t taken my thirty yet.”

“But that’s your break.”

“I’m aware.”

“But you should be doing--” Lance gestured vaguely-- “break things.”

“I’ll get right on that. Come on. It’s okay if I go now, right?” Keith directed the last question at Hunk, pausing as he moved towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah, totally. Thanks, man.”

“Sure.”

Grumbling, Lance fumbled with his apron strings. “‘Thanks, man.’ Like I’m a sack of potatoes.”

“To be fair, I’ve always said you’re a sack of potatoes.”

Lance turned to scowl at Pidge. “Will people stop sneaking up on me?”

“We’re not, you’re just particularly oblivious tonight. Here.” Pidge pushed at him, turning him until she could reach the knot in his apron strings and pull it apart.

Lance sighed as he pulled it over his head, wobbling a little. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She searched his face with her bright eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

Nodding, he dragged his hands over his face. Ugh, his skin felt clammy and gross. Stupid fever. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Sleep sounds pretty good,” he admitted.

Pidge quirked a little smile at him. “I feel you there.”

“Yeah, you should get some, too,” he said, glancing at the dark bags under her eyes. “Have you slept at all this week?”

She wiggled a hand. “Eh.”

He huffed a laugh. “We’re disasters.”

“I’ll say.”

Keith walked up, holding Lance’s coat out for him. “Ready?”

Pulling the jacket on and sinking into the warm, familiar fabric, Lance nodded. “Yeah. Bye, Pidgey,” he said, ruffling her hair on his way by.

He must have looked terrible, because she actually allowed it. “Feel better, dork.”

He blew her a kiss as he followed Keith out the door.

The frigid night air made him shiver, hunching down further into his jacket. It was just a couple more weeks until Christmas, and it felt like it, wind blowing cold against his face and hands and the back of his neck. Even though the walk to Keith’s car was relatively short, Lance’s teeth were chattering by the time he pulled the passenger door open and climbed in.

Keith started the engine and turned the heater up full blast. He must have just come back from delivering a load, because it only took a few seconds for warm air to pour out of the vents, and Lance held his shaking fingers up to them with a grateful hum.

“Seatbelt.”

“Thanks, mom,” Lance said, but he buckled himself up before pressing his hands back to the heaters.

Keith just snorted at that as he backed out of his parking spot. It occurred to Lance after a second that this was the first time he’d ever been in Keith’s car; he snuck a glance around, probably not too subtly. It was a pretty standard sedan, a little worn with age. There were some scuff marks on the dashboard like people rested their feet there a lot, the cupholders were crammed full of wrinkled old receipts, and there was a collection of random junk on the floor of the backseat-- a couple grocery bags, a frisbee, an umbrella, a water bottle. A book rested on the console between the front seat. Lance picked it up to peer at the title.

“That’s right, you like reading,” he remembered.

Keith glanced over at him. “Uh, yeah. How did you know that?”

“You were going to the bookstore that day in the rain,” Lance answered absently, turning the book over to skim through the summary on the back. The spine was so broken the whole thing was practically falling apart, and the corners were boxed. “Plus you were reading my textbook for fun. You must like this one. It looks old.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Keith answered after a second.

Lance hummed. “I’ll have to read it sometime.” He tucked the book back into its spot safely, leaning back against the seat with a tired sigh. Christmas songs trickled through the radio, a little staticky, and Lance dreamily wished he could just stay in this little bubble forever, warm and sleepy and far, far away from work or finals.

But he couldn’t, of course. This wasn’t even his car. He blinked his eyes open and looked over at Keith, watching the streetlights play over his face as he drove. After a few seconds, Keith glanced over at him, just a flash of dark eyes. “What?”

Lance shrugged. “Nothing. Thanks for taking me home, I guess.”

Huffing a laugh, Keith made a careful turn. “Yeah, well, you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Lance admitted, looking back out the windshield. It was probably creepy to just stare at Keith the whole ride, but it was oddly mesmerizing. The yellow streetlights made him look both younger and older, far away and right there next to him. It was a weird, tenuous, almost nostalgic feeling; Lance hated to let it go, even though it brought a strange ache to his throat.

Or maybe that was just the virus. He sniffed loudly.

“What did you mean, earlier,” Keith started after a second, “when you were talking about your classes and how you haven’t studied enough? Pidge and Hunk seemed to think…” He trailed off.

Lance sighed, watching the world flash by them in streetlight-sepia as he considered his words. “I just… I don’t know. I really hate school, I guess. Or--” he spun a hand in the air, frustrated-- “not school. Like, I love learning. I love my major. It’s all cool stuff. I just hate tests and grades and all that stuff, because honestly, man,” he forced a laugh, “it makes me feel pretty shitty about myself. It’s just like, I know I’m kind of an idiot, I’ve made my peace with that, but it doesn’t feel good to have your nose shoved in it, you know?”

“You’re not an idiot,” Keith said after a second.

Huffing another humorless laugh, Lance turned away to look out the window again. “Thanks, man. That’s not true, but thanks.”

“It is true.”

Lance just shrugged a shoulder. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had this conversation with Hunk and Pidge a thousand times already.

Keith mumbled something under his breath Lance didn’t quite catch, but he was too tired to pursue it. Instead, he just watched Keith drive for another second before leaning his temple against the cold glass. It was silent all the way back to his apartment, but even with the tense conversation, it didn’t feel awkward. It wasn’t the first time Lance had been caught by surprise by just how easy it was to be around Keith, but he was still trying to wrap his head around it. Two months ago, he barely knew the guy; now, Keith felt like such a natural presence in his life, practically as essential as Pidge or Hunk or Allura or Coran.

The thought brought a slow smile to his face as Keith pulled up in front of the Castle.

“You gonna be okay getting up there?”

“I’ve got a cold, dude, I’m not gonna fall down the stairs.” Despite his sharp words, Lance couldn’t stop smiling. “Thanks again for the ride, Keith.”

Eyebrows raising, Keith quirked his own smile back. “Yeah, no problem. You sure you’re not dying?”

“I’m leaving now.”

Keith’s laughter followed him out of the car. Lance shivered at the cold air bit at him again, releasing a long, cloudy breath into the dark sky before he leaned back down to peer through the open door. “Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t hate your mullet.”

With that, Lance slammed the door and headed towards the stairs, grinning to himself.

***

Lance hummed along absently with the jukebox as he scribbled down a quick inventory of the Planet’s napkin and plastic utensil supply, stacked carefully under the counter by one of the day employees. Usually, he left inventory for the end of the week, but he and Hunk were leaving the next day for the holidays and he wanted to get it done before they went. It was tedious, but Lance didn’t mind it so much tonight; finals were over, his stupid cold was finally gone, and the holidays were here.

“Who is this?” Keith asked from his seat on the counter.

Lance wrote down the last number and tucked the clipboard back under the counter. “The Pretenders.”

“I didn’t even know we had Christmas music on the jukebox.”

Leaning against the counter next to him, Lance shot him a lazy grin. “Holiday music, Keith, let’s be non-denominational here.” He ducked out of the way of Keith’s gentle kick. “‘2000 Miles’ is a classic, dude.”

“You say that about every song on that damn thing.”

“And it’s always true.”

Keith rolled his eyes, even though he was smiling, and shoved Lance away with a foot on his side. “You’re ridiculous.”

With a waggle of his eyebrows, Lance replied, “It’s part of my charm.”

Whatever Keith’s response was going to be was lost as Pidge shoved her way through the door, slamming her bag down on the counter. “Guess who passed her classes.”

Hunk leaned through the kitchen doorway to whoop in unison with him. Pidge returned Lance’s high five with a grin.

“That’s great, Pidge,” Keith said.

She nodded, blowing out a sigh that ruffled her peanut-butter bangs. “Yeah, it honestly is. That final project was killer.”

“But you did it,” Hunk pointed out, coming around the counter to scoop her up into a hug.

Her “I did” was a little strangled as she patted him on the back. Thankfully, he released her before Lance had to step in and save her from death by hug.

“Is that why you’re so late tonight? Checking your grades?” Lance asked, glancing at the clock. It was already half-past ten; Pidge usually showed up at eight, like the rest of them, when Matt started his shift.

Pidge rolled her eyes, hopping up on the counter. “No, Matt lost his keys again. Shiro had to pick him up while I tore the house apart looking for them.”

“Classic.”

“That’s my idiot brother.” Pidge’s fond smile softened her words. “Anyways, have you guys checked yours yet?”

Lance groaned sinking down to rest his forehead on his arms.

“I did,” Hunk volunteered. “Passed all mine, but I expected that. Lance hasn’t braved it yet.”

“I expected no less,” Pidge said gravely before her sharp little knee was nudging Lance in the ribs. “Come on, Lance. Better just get it over with.”

He looked up to see Pidge holding her tablet out to him. “Is this really necessary?”

Pidge ignored his pout. “If you don’t do it now, you’ll just stress about it all break until you check the night before classes start again and see you did fine, so just get it over with, man.”

“Cruel,” Lance grumbled, but he took the tablet from her anyways. This had become kind of a ritual for them over the last couple years.

Keith peered over his shoulder as he navigated to the university’s site. “How do you have WiFi here?”

“We steal it from the bar next door,” Lance explained as he typed in his password.

Pidge leaned forward so she could see the screen better. “Matt gave me the login info when he started working there.”

Taking a deep breath, Lance tapped on the transcripts link and immediately slammed his hands over his eyes. “I can’t look.”

Tiny, inhumanly strong fingers pulled at his wrists. “Come on, you diva.”

Lance peeked at the screen with a single eye, a grin spreading across his face as he saw the string of Bs. “I did it!”

“Like we all knew you would,” Pidge deadpanned, but she leaned over to give him an affectionate punch in the shoulder, not even complaining as he dragged her into a half-hug.

“I didn’t, Pidgey, that’s the important part.”

“I’m not even going to grace that with a response.”

“Congrats, buddy,” Hunk said, giving him his own rib-crushing hug. Lance squeezed him back as best he could.

Keith’s dark eyes gleamed as he gave Lance a smile and a quiet, “Good job,” and Lance grinned back at him.

“Thanks, guys, thank you. Now can we all get back to work?”

“That is what I hired you for,” Coran’s voice came from his office.

With a sheepish look, Hunk headed back to the kitchen. “I’ll have a load ready for you in three, Keith.”

Pidge wisely hopped off the counter and settled in one of the booths, tapping away at her tablet. Lance had no idea what she was doing, since classes were over. Planning world domination, probably. Hacking the Pentagon. Something.

Keith shifted a little, like he was going to follow her, but stilled as Lance leaned against the counter next to him. “So, Mullet,” Lance asked conversationally, “got any plans for the holidays?”

“Not really. Just hanging out with Shiro.”

“Ahh, those familial obligations. Reason for the season.”

Keith huffed a laugh. “I guess. You guys are leaving tomorrow, right?”

“Yep. First thing, if I can get him moving.” He nodded towards the kitchen.

“Is Hunk not a morning person?”

Lance wiggled a hand. “Eh, he’s okay. Mostly I just need him to kick my ass into action.”

That got a laugh, a real one, and Lance grinned back at him.

“Seriously, though, think you guys can survive without us for nine days?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine,” Keith said, still smiling.

Lance bumped his hip against Keith’s knee. “Just pretty sure?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Becoming more sure every moment, actually.”

“Cold, Mullet.” A second of comfortable silence passed before Lance added, “Actually, I’m kind of jealous of you guys. You get to grill Allura on her new love interest.” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

“Ugh, stop that. You look like a villain from some silent movie.”

Lance threw his head back on a laugh before wiggling his fingers even more aggressively at him. “Careful, Keith, I’m here to steal all your sacks of money.”

“Phrasing,” Pidge called from across the room, and Lance flipped her off as Keith spluttered.

“At least I’ll get to wring it out of her at New Year’s,” Lance reflected as he settled back against the counter. “Oh, hey, right, has anyone told you about New Year’s yet?” At the shake of Keith’s head, Lance grinned, nudging him. “Well then let me officially extend you, Keith Kogane, an invitation to our annual New Year’s bash.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “‘Bash?’”

“Well, not really so much of a bash,” Lance relented. “A gathering? A small party. Basically, it’s just us from the Planet, Matt and Shiro, and whoever anyone wants to bring. Personally, I’m hoping that list includes Allura’s new significant other,” he added.

“Yeah, because you’re a creep.”

Lance flipped Pidge off again. “Fuck off, gremlin. Go hack the Matrix or something.”

“Your taste in movies is almost as outdated as your music.”

Lance slapped a hand down on the counter. “That’s it! I’m giving your Christmas present to Keith instead.”

Pidge mimed zipping her lips.

“That’s right,” Lance muttered, crossing his arms as he stuck his nose in the air.

Keith shook his head with a smile. “Yeah, sounds fun. I’ll be there.”

“Awesome.” As Lance shot a grin at him, their eyes caught for a second before Keith cleared his throat and looked away.

“I should probably go check on the pizzas.”

Lance watched him slide off the counter before retrieving his rag. “Good call.”

Singing along quietly with “Last Christmas,” Lance made a round of the Planet, wiping down all the surfaces and ruffling Pidge’s hair on his way by. He got back up to the register just in time to answer a call, waving as Keith carried an armful of pizza boxes out the door.

He hung up the phone, humming again as he leaned into the kitchen to slap the new order on Hunk’s counter. Turning to go back to the register, he ran straight into Pidge.

She ignored his yelp, crossing her arms as he fought to keep his balance. “So.”

“Uh, so…?” Lance echoed, running through a list of all the things he could have possibly done in the last five minutes to incur Pidge’s wrath. He didn’t think ruffling her hair counted.

“What’s going on with you and Keith?”

“Me and Keith?” Lance repeated again, bewildered.

“Yes, Lance, you and Keith. You know, our coworker and friend? Black hair, grumpy face, actually sort of a lovable dope? I thought you’d remember the mullet, at least.”

“All right, calm down, geez. What do you mean, me and Keith?” He pointed at her as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, is this about us being friends again? I told you, Pidge, I like Keith fine. I even told him that. What more do you want from me?”

Pidge rolled her eyes, hopping up onto the counter. “Oh, yeah, sure, you’re ‘friends.’” She traced air quotes around the word.

“I’m missing something here,” Lance said after a beat. “Yeah, we’re friends. What else would we be?”

The smug smile slowly melted off Pidge’s face. “Wait. You’re not-- Are you not flirting with him?”

Lance gaped at her for a long second. “I’m what-- You think-- I am not flirting with Keith!”

“You totally are, though!”

“I’m not, Pidge, I would know if I am!”

“What’s going on?” Hunk asked, leaning out the kitchen.

“Pidge thinks I’m flirting with Keith,” Lance explained, throwing a hand out like he was accusing her of murder.

Hunk’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, are you not?”

“Of course not,” Lance hissed, barely holding himself back from screeching it. “Why on God’s green Earth would I be flirting with Keith? Why?”

Hunk and Pidge exchanged looks. “Because you like him?” Hunk suggested.

“I don’t, though!” Lance pressed his hands against his eyes and took a deep breath. “Guys, listen,” he said, as calmly as he could, “I get that you’re happy Keith and I are getting along, but I’m not flirting with him and I do not like him. Not like that.”

“Okay,” Hunk said after a second. “I’m pretty sure he’s flirting with you, though.”

Lance snorted, dropping his hands from his face. “No way. I don’t think flirting is in Keith’s nature. Besides, there’s no way he likes me.”

“Why not?” Pidge asked.

Lance waved a hand in the air as he turned, retrieving his rag and moving to wipe the tables down again. They were still perfectly clean, but he needed to do something with his hands. “Because he’s him and I’m me, Pidge. It just-- There’s no way, okay?”

Pidge muttered something that sounded a lot like “how can you be so sure,” but Lance ignored her, scrubbing hard at a sticky spot on one of the tables.

Hunk and Pidge meant well, he knew that, but they were nuts. Keith would never like someone like Lance, he was sure. Hell, it was a small miracle they were even such good friends; it’s not exactly like sparks flew when they first met. Lance look a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh as he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. He and Keith were just friends, and as far as Lance was concerned, that was all they would ever be.

***

Lance eyed the clock as he dropped onto the bench opposite Keith. Ten minutes left before they could go. Pidge, Matt and Shiro had already came and went over an hour ago, giving him and Hunk warm hugs and holiday wishes before they left. After all, they still had work the next day.

Speaking of, he crooked a smile at Keith, who was stifling a yawn. “Ready to go home?”

Keith nodded, rubbing his eye. “Mm, yeah. I think you guys are still more used to this than I am.”

“You’ll get there,” Lance reassured him, straightening his spine and letting out a pleased noise at the series of cracks it gave. Keith glanced away, focused on something out the window Lance couldn’t see. His gaze slid back to Keith, black hair tousled from being stuffed under the dumb Planet cap all night, traces of shadows under his dark eyes. Lance kicked him gently under the table. “Hey, Mullet, you gonna text me while I’m gone?”

Keith looked over at him. “If you want.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Would I ask otherwise?” When Keith just shrugged, Lance flicked a stray straw wrapper at him. “Seriously, though. I’m gonna miss all of you.”

“It’s only for nine days.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Lance settled back in the booth, looking over at the kitchen, where Hunk was just finishing cleaning up.

“Okay,” Keith said after a second.

“Hm?”

“I’ll text you,” Keith said, a little louder, fidgeting with the wrapper.

Lance grinned at him. “Good. I’d get bored without you.”

As Keith smiled back, Pidge’s words flashed through his mind, but Lance shoved them away. It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered the possibility before, but he was certain-- everything between him and Keith was just friendship. Totally platonic. There was nothing more to it than that.

Hunk’s arrival at their table pulled him out of his reverie. “You guys ready to go?”

Lance slapped the table as he stood. “Born ready, Hunky Monkey. You ready to crash for a few hours and then hit the road? It’s gonna be Mariah Carey all the way there.”

Hunk sighed. “I guess I didn’t expect anything different.”

Lance patted him on his way by to grab his coat. “Love you too, buddy.”

Hunk held the door as Lance followed Keith out, shrugging into his jacket. He took a moment, as Hunk locked up, to lean back and look at the stars; they were bright that night, enough he didn’t even mind the cold.

Beside him, Hunk grunted as he wrestled the keys back into his pocket, and as Lance looked down to see if he was okay he caught sight of Keith with his own head tilted back, gazing at the stars. There was a strangely wistful expression on his face.

Lance didn’t have time to really reflect on it, though, because Hunk finally got the store key put away and his car keys out and said, “Okay, we’re all locked up.” As he spoke, Keith looked back down. “Keith, buddy, have a good Christmas. We’ll miss you.” With that, Hunk stepped forward and swept Keith up into a hug; Lance snickered at the dumbfounded look on his face as his hands cautiously came up to pat Hunk on the back.

After a second, Hunk let him go, and Keith tucked his hands into his pockets, ducking his head a little. “Thanks, Hunk. I’ll miss you guys too.”

Lance wiped a fake tear from his eye. “I’m touched, Mullet.”

“Shut up, Lance.”

“You shut up,” Lance sniped as he stepped forward and held his arms out. Keith just eyed him warily, so Lance shook his arms impatiently. “Come on, Keith, I’m not gonna bite. Give me a hug.”

“Fine,” Keith muttered after a second, stepping forward. He was a little hesitant as his arms circled Lance, but Lance gave him a quick squeeze before pulling away and it wasn’t too awkward, so a win all around, really.

Lance grinned at him as he stepped back, following Hunk towards the van. “See ya, Mullet. Merry Christmas.”

Keith’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “What happened to non-denominational?”

Lance narrowed his eyes, pointing at him. “Curb the sass, dude, Santa is watching.” He grinned as Keith huffed a laugh. “Seriously, man, have a good week. I’ll see you when we get back.”

Smiling for real this time, Keith shoved his hands in his pockets again, taking his own steps backwards towards his car. “You too. Have a good trip.”

With one final wave, Lance jogged over to the van. Hunk already had it started; Lance could see him fiddling with the heating dials through the windshield. He paused with his fingers on the handle, taking a deep breath of cold air and looking up at the glittering stars again.

“Come on, Lance,” Hunk said, voice muffled by the glass. “We gotta get up early.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Lance pulled the door open and hopped in. “Let’s go, buddy.”

Chapter Text

>>Lance: hey tell me something i dont know about you

>>Me: It’s one in the morning

>>Lance: its not like youre not up

>>Me: Yeah, I’m pretty sure the argument it’s one in the morning still works

>>Lance: cmon mullet just tell me a secret

>>its not that hard

>>here ill tell you one

>>i had a childhood crush on bobby flay

>>Me: Who’s Bobby Flay?

>>Lance: oh my GOD

>>WHO ARE YOU

>>WHAT HAS YOUR LIFE BEEN

>>Me: Uhhh

>>Lance: all you have to do is watch the food network for like five minutes

>>Me: Well, that explains that

>>Lance: WHAT DO YOU WATCH WHEN THERE’S NOTHING ON???

>>Me: I turn the tv off? And read?

>>Lance: huh

>>revolutionary

>>ANYWAY secret mullet

>>gimme

>>Me: Why are you up?

>>Lance: stop deflecting

>>cuz im all wired. played a vicious game of pictionary

>>Me: Did you win?

>>Lance: did i win

>>OF COURSE I DID

>>im a true artiste keith ill have you know

>>Me: Uh huh

>>Lance: ill prove it to you

>>hang on just lemme figure out this dumb drawing feature they put in

Biting down on his lip, Keith set down on his phone and stared at the ceiling as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of his room. He’d had a quiet day, spent mostly alone, walking in the crisp air, breathing in what could only inexplicably be defined as Christmas. There had been crowds of people out, arms laden with bags, sipping on coffees smelling vaguely of peppermint. It was the kind of thing Keith liked to be around but not participate in.

What that really meant was that Keith’s day had been comfortable, quiet, and extremely uneventful. Lance texting him, undeniably, was the most thrilling part of his day. That much was hard to deny. Sure, he was in bed, halfway between wakefulness and sleep, but his stomach was jittery and every time his phone buzzed, his heart raced just a little faster.

Since Lance had left, they hadn’t talked much. Keith never texted first. Part of that was his inability to come up with something interesting to say and the other part was a concern he would come off as clingy or something.

There had been a few conversations about the Planet, how everyone was holding up without him and Hunk, but that had been it.

Until now. At one in the morning. Somehow, it felt important.

When his phone buzzed again, he looked down to see a drawing of a sunset over the ocean. It was abysmal, as only a drawing done with a finger on a phone could be, and Keith laughed to himself as he ran through a variety of responses.

>>Me: What exactly is that supposed to be?

>>Lance: why of all people did i text you

>>Me: I honestly have no idea

>>Lance: you may think youve distracted me

>>BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG

Sighing, Keith set his phone on his stomach and tried to think of something. There were two problems, however. One, he was convinced he didn’t have any secrets. And two, that wasn’t quite true, because he had one, but he was, under no circumstances, ever going to tell Lance.

Probably.

There was a part of him, the part that had him telling Lance his eyes were pretty or flirting with him unconsciously and often, that wanted to admit the truth, that wanted to lay out each and every way he adored Lance. Sometimes, he felt like he was minutes away from losing his mind and other times he felt he would legitimately lose his mind once Lance knew.

Because he did keep toeing the line. And that, often, was done consciously. Sometimes, the opportunity presented itself and he would flirt because he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Sometimes, he would flirt because he wanted to see just how far he could go before Lance called him out on it. And sometimes, he would flirt because he was convinced Lance felt the same way.

Late at night, just like this, he would play with the idea of telling Lance, go through each scenario, some ending badly, some ending fantastically, and he wonder if it was worth the risk.

So far, it had not been.

It wasn’t tonight, either. There was something about the distance that made it impossible, which was strange to Keith. Normally, this was the kind of situation he would want to be as far removed from as possible. After all, when a bomb was loosed, it was better to be miles away once it hit.

>>Lance: jesus man it can be anything

>>Me: I had an mcr phase?

>>Lance: youre still in one

>>try again

>>Me: I never met my mom. I don’t think. Definitely don’t remember meeting her

>>Lance: well shit

>>why not?

>>Me: She left

>>Lance: is she still alive then?

>>i kinda figured both your parents were dead

>>sorry

>>Me: I don’t know

>>My dad is, though

>>Dead, I mean

>>Lance: that fucking sucks

>>Me: I guess

>>Lance: well buddy i gotta admit i did not see the conversation going here

>>cuz you know we started at “i had a crush on bobby flay” level secrets

>>Me: Yeah, sorry

>>Social cues are not my strong suit

>>Lance: its all good

>>just you know… warn a man

>>Me: I’ll remember that

>>Lance: good good

>>Me: Hey, Lance?

>>Lance: sup

>>Me: Why did you text me?

>>Lance: kind of figured you might be up

>>and i wanted to

>>you havent been texting me like you promised :(((

>>Me: Oh well I figured you’d be busy

>>Lance: dude.

>>Me: I guess I’ll text you then

>>Lance: there ya go

>>i should sleep. busy day tomorrow

>>you doing anything?

>>Me: not really

>>Lance: dude its xmas eve

>>promise me youll do something festive

>>Me: Spiked eggnog good enough for you?

>>Lance: YES

>>Me: Okay then

>>Lance: night Keith

>>Me: Night, Lance

Only five seconds later, Keith regretted not dragging that conversation out, knowing it had been possible, Lance more than happy to travel down tangents. Keith wasn’t sure he missed Lance, exactly. It hadn’t been all that long since they’d seen each other. But there was a voice in the back of his head, almost constant, that reminded him how much better anything and everything would be if Lance was here with him. Not quantifiably better, just intrinsically.

Groaning, Keith closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

Liking Lance was unbearable. And it was only going to get worse.

***

Three spiked eggnogs later, Keith mumbled, “Liking Lance is unbearable.”

He and Shiro were sitting on the couch together, a small fake tree set up in the corner of their apartment. All of the lights were off except the ones dotting their tree and that made it even easier, besides the tipsiness, to admit that to Shiro.

Laughing softly, Shiro said, “We’re talking about that, are we?  I thought that was a forbidden topic, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well someone put too much rum in these.”

“Someone didn’t have to drink three of them.”

Keith shrugged, finishing off what he had left of his third. “He sent me four selfies today. He’s gorgeous and I’m miserable. Three’s not enough.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I should get you drunk more often. You’re actually talking.”

“Ha ha,” Keith said, trailing his eyes to the tree. For most of the night, they’d been incapable of leaving it. There was something about twinkling little lights in darkness. Like stars, but closer. Tangible.

“You could tell him how you feel, you know.”

Snorting, Keith considered doing just that, laughing louder and longer once he did. “There’s no way in hell I’m doing that. That would be stupid. What’s the one quote from ‘A Very Potter Musical’? ‘Don’t tell a girl you like her. It makes you look like an idiot.’ That applies here. Except, you know, Lance is very definitively not a girl. Which is good. Because I don’t like girls.”

There was a long stretch of silence from Shiro’s side of the couch. Then, he said, “You weren’t planning on having more, were you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Smiling, Keith allowed himself to melt into the cushions, feeling lethargic and warm, well on his way to sleepy. And despite his frustrations with Lance, he was happy. The alcohol certainly helped, but he hadn’t spent this much time with Shiro, alone, in a long time. It was nice. They felt like brothers. For Keith, they hadn’t felt like that since he’d left for college. Maybe there were positive outcomes to his dropping out of college. There were no guarantees what he would’ve done if he’d graduated, after all, if he hadn’t been forced to live with Shiro out of necessity.

Now he was back to Lance. Already. Another positive from dropping out of college. Most of his thoughts ended in Lance.

It couldn’t be healthy.

“Should we have gotten a real tree?” Shiro asked.

“Where the hell were you going to fit a real one?”

“I don’t know. We could’ve figured it out.”

“It’s fine,” Keith said. “Everything’s fine. You’ve done more for me than I deserve. Stop worrying about, well, whatever the hell you worry about. Giving me traditional family experiences or something. You’re the only family I’ve got, so whatever you do is gonna be good enough for me.”

“I kind of like the fake one,” Shiro whispered after a beat. “It’s small enough to be qualified as cute and it doesn’t make a mess.”

“And it’s got a dumb ass star on top.”

“Don’t like the sparkles?”

“It’s like a quarter of the size of the tree.”

“That seems like an exaggeration.”

“Says you,” Keith said. “Maybe I measured it. How do you know?”

“Because I know you and you wouldn’t go to the effort.”

“Would if it proved you wrong.”

“Well, sure. You would now.”

The both of them laughed and when it trailed off, neither of them talked, enjoying the tree the way it was meant to be enjoyed, in a sort of reverent silence.

It was a strange Christmas Eve. Keith supposed most people were with large groups of family, partying and exchanging presents and eating copious amounts of food. It had sounded like that was what Lance was going to do. God, Keith wanted to talk to him. Any of his friends, really. Then, however strange, this Christmas would be complete.

“Want your present now or tomorrow?” Shiro asked.

“You didn’t have to…”

“I did.”

Rising from the couch, Keith made his way to his room, running his hand along the wall when he found it just in case. At the end of his bed, he had a pile of presents, things he had bought unsure if he was supposed to or not. He hadn’t really had friends to buy presents for in years. Digging through them, he found what he’d got for Shiro and ambled back, flicking on a light on the way. The tree was nice, but if they were doing gifts, it would be nice to see them.

Shiro was in front of the tree, grabbing something from underneath it. They both settled back on the couch, facing each other, and handed over their presents. It wasn’t an organized event of any kind. They both opened theirs at the same time. Shiro laughed, grinning, and Keith stared at his, wondering when the last time was someone had given him this kind of present.

“How many lessons is this?” Shiro asked.

“Three.”

“I can’t believe you bought me three cooking lessons. Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No. It just seemed like you genuinely liked it and I thought you’d want to learn properly. Was I wrong?”

Softening, Shiro shook his head. “It’s perfect, actually.”

“Good.”

“Do you like yours?”

Glancing up, Keith saw that Shiro was actually anxious. His smile was nervous and Keith didn’t know how to explain to him, not when words were a difficult thing to grasp, that it didn’t matter what he had gotten Keith. It could’ve been a box of chocolates or an actual pile of coal, he still would’ve been thrilled. Shiro had bought him something. He’d gone out, mind on Keith, and purchased a gift.

Not to mention, this gift, while practical and not something he ever would’ve purchased for himself, was also perfect.

When he still hadn’t said anything, Shiro said, “You just like to go out on walks a lot and it rains all the time here and I know you don’t have a rain jacket because, well, I don’t know why you don’t, maybe you just really like hoodies, but I thought it was more likely you’d use it than an umbrella. I know it’s…”

“I love it,” Keith whispered.

“Oh. Thank god.”

Taking a deep breath, Keith said, “Thanks, Shiro.”

“Of course. And thank you. Love you, little brother.” Reaching across the distance between them, Shiro ruffled his hair, laughing when Keith tried to slap him away.

Staring down at his rain jacket, running his hands over the smooth fabric, Keith said, “I love you, too, you know.”

“Yep, I definitely need to get you drunk more often.”

Glaring at him, Keith said, “Turn the lights back off.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“What was that, sir?”

“Matt is rubbing off on you.”

“That is what happens when you start dating someone,” Shiro said. “Well, when you spend a lot of time with someone, anyway.”

For the next hour, while they slipped through topics lazily, Keith considered that, wondering if Lance was rubbing off on him and whether he minded. Not that they were dating. Or spent all that much time together. Outside of work, anyway.

God, why was he like this? Surely he could have a thought that didn’t ultimately circle back to Lance.

Not long later, Shiro moved to turn off the Christmas tree, a sign that he was ready to go to bed. Keith, of course, though still definitely tipsy, was going to follow his lead for a lack of anything better to do out in the living room without another person present. Before he did, though, kneeling on the ground, hand hovering over the plug to the lights, Shiro said, “What are you going to do about Lance?”

“Do?”

“Well, if it’s unbearable, it’s probably a good idea to do something about it.”

“You clearly underestimate my capacity for suffering.”

Rolling his eyes, Shiro unplugged the lights. “Well, I tried,” he sighed. “Think about it though, okay? Whatever worst you’re imagining is almost definitely exaggerated. Plus, it’s a good life skill. Talking about emotions, tough topics, you know, that sort of thing.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dad.”

“If you don’t say anything, nothing will happen. And I promise you, if you talk, something will happen.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Good lord, how much drunker do you need to be?”

“It’d be good if I knew I wasn’t going to remember having the conversation in the morning,” Keith said, rising from the couch and heading for his room. Before he shut the door, he told Shiro good night and wished him a Merry Christmas.

The second he was in bed, he found his phone and opened up his chat with Lance. He could probably blame it on the alcohol, but in all likelihood, he would’ve done exactly this anyway.

There was nothing from Lance and Keith wondered if he was still with family.

Riding on impulse, Keith shot him a text.

>>Me: Hope you’re having a good Christmas. Mine isn’t quite right without you guys

To his surprise, Lance texted back almost immediately.

>>Lance: who is this

>>Me: What?

>>It’s me

>>Lance: there were a lot of nice words in there mullet

>>Me: Oh

>>Well, I’m kind of drunk

>>Maybe

>>Lance: OH MY GOD

>>ive been blessed by a drunk Keith

>>quick tell me all your deepest and darkest secrets

>>tell me what keeps you up at night