Chapter Text
Lance had never particularly enjoyed sharing.
As a kid in a large family, he did learn to share early on,but there were some things that he would die to keep, like face products
But when he left home to enroll in the Garrison, one more thing was added to the short list.
Keith. Stupid mullet.
He'd told himself at first that it was only one of his little crushes he'd get every now and again, but he knew this was extremely different. Instead of a simple attraction, this was a sticky, burning feeling in his chest. He supposed it was love.
One day, after working up the courage to walk over to HIS lunch corner (he always sat by himself), Lance attempted to introduce himself and, in a sudden rush of bravery, invite Keith to his table, only to earn a blank stare. Embarrassed beyond comprehension, Lance announced to Hunk that they were NOT going to sneak into the town that night, but retire early.
__LATER, Hunk's POV__
While Lance was in the bathroom experimenting with different cleansing masks, the best friend gave advice on the "issue" as Lance spilled everything.
"Y'know, sounds like you just caught him of guard a little. Maybe you should try aga-"
Before Hunk could finish, Lance let out an ungodly screech from the bathroom.
"ARE YOU INSANE?! He already thinks I'm a weirdo, how can I even THINK of attempting that again?!" Lance paced across the room, visibly agitated.
"That's even worse than the time Pidge thought that cooking cookies for ten minutes at four hundred degrees was the same as cooking them at four THOUSAND for one! And that blew up the student's kitchen and nearly got him EXPELLED!"
As Lance paced around the room, Hunk was trying to remember the last time he had seen Lance like this, and then it dawned on him.
Hunk had NEVER seen Lance this upset over anything. Not even his beauty products.
The future yellow paladin also realized that something was very, very wrong. When Lance was upset about something, he would rant for a few minutes and be done. No more. But as Lance's his speech became louder and less intelligible, he started to wave his hands around violently, knocking things loose from nightstands.
"LANCE! Stop, st-" Hunk went down on the floor as one of the frames hit him against the head. Lance, noticing the sudden silence, spun around to see a thin trickle of blood coming out of his best friend's ear. Horrified, he walked over to examine the cut, but stole a glance at the photo inside the frame.
It depicted a grinning, seven year old Hunk proudly wearing a blue ribbon. There were two women in the picture with Hunk, one hugging him with her face hidden over his shoulder, and the other smiling with Hunk as they had an animated conversation. It was a battered and worn photo with the caption "Hunk won first place in the annual cooking competition, and his Mamas couldn't be prouder of him!"
Lance paled and staggered to the doorway, leaning against it and screaming bloody murder into the corridor.