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T-5 days before Altea High’s Spring Dance.
Lance—still hasn’t asked who he’s been saying he’d ask for months now. Yet. He’s working on it, okay?
To be fair, Allura still hasn’t asked the person she said she’d ask either, so he feels a little better about himself. In all honesty they might be doing a better job if they spent more of their time actually planning how they’ll ask, instead of sitting around and lamenting about how much they like Keith and Romelle, respectively.
“Just look at her,” Allura sighs dreamily, chin propped in her hand. They’re sitting together in seventh period English, waiting for Mr. Smythe to start class. “I mean, who paints their nails in class?”
Lance glances up from the last question he needs to answer on the book report he definitely didn’t forget to finish last night and follows Allura’s line of sight to see Romelle at her usual place near the back: legs propped up on her desk, earbuds in, fingers splayed across her knee as she paints her nails, the open bottle of pink polish sitting a bit too close to the edge for Lance’s comfort. One corner of his mouth turns up into a teasing smile as he glances over at Allura. “So you’re into rebel girls, huh?”
His quip is rewarded by a smack to the shoulder, and he presses a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter when Allura’s entire face darkens. “Oh, like your taste in guys is any different.”
Lance squawks. “Keith isn’t a rebel, thank you, he’s just—he just—” He flounders for a moment too long, turning away with a huff and hunching back over his worksheet to hide the flush of his cheeks from Allura’s smug, knowing smile. “Whatever.”
“You haven’t asked him yet, have you?”
“Unless you’ve asked Romelle, I don’t wanna hear anything about it.”
Allura scoffs beside him, but as Lance suspected, she says nothing else. At least he’s nice enough not to be smug about it.
“Speak of the devil,” Allura murmurs hardly a moment later, and Lance doesn’t get the chance to ask exactly what she means before he’s aware of another sudden presence on the other side of his desk.
“Hey, Lance.” Lance’s head snaps up to see Keith himself in all his beautiful perfect handsome glory, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder as he smiles down at Lance. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Uh,” Lance says.
Thankfully this is something that Allura is accustomed to and she quickly comes to his rescue, leaning forward to offer a small wave. “Hello, Keith. You’re welcome to sit with us.”
Keith directs his smile toward her, giving Lance a moment to regain his bearings. “Thanks, Allura.”
Lance turns to shoot a glare at Allura as Keith sets down his things and slides into the desk beside him, leaning down to pull his book out of his backpack. They have a brief, silent conversation punctuated by several wild gestures and rather ugly facial expressions while Keith isn’t looking.
Why would you do that? Lance mouths, all but slamming his open textbook shut.
Allura makes a face. This is the perfect opportunity! she mouths back.
“In class?” Lance whisper-shrieks.
He makes an affronted noise when Allura swats at his arm. “Not now, just—ask him after!”
“Only if you promise to ask Romelle too,” Lance hisses, grinning triumphantly when Allura throws her hands up in the air, cheeks darkening yet again.
“You know I don’t have anything planned yet.”
“Better plan something quick then.”
“Plan for what?”
Both Allura and Lance startle at the sound of Keith’s voice and turn again to see Keith peering curiously at them, setting his textbook down on his desk. “Nothing!” Allura blurts, and Lance tries his very best to keep a straight face at the sudden high pitch to her tone. “Absolutely nothing.”
She’s saved from any further explanation by the bell—literally, the sound of the bell to signal the end of passing period echoing outside in the hall. Keith shoots a questioning look at Lance, who just shrugs and turns his attention toward Mr. Smythe at the front of the room in a futile attempt to ignore the nervous fluttering in his stomach that always results from Keith’s eyes on him.
They’re maybe ten minutes into class when he is stabbed in the side with a pencil. Lance turns his head just a fraction, only enough to shoot Allura a steely glare. Which is pointless, because she’s staring straight ahead, just as polite and attentive as ever—that is, before she subtly holds out a small folded up piece of paper, arm hanging low underneath the desks. Lance stifles a sigh and chances a look at Mr. Smythe to make sure he isn’t looking before reaching out and taking it.
Keith is scribbling something in his notebook when Lance glances over at him, so he unfolds the paper as quietly as he can and scans over the note written in Allura’s neat, bubbly handwriting.
You take the Forbidden Staircase and I’ll take the Banned Bleachers?
Lance resists the urge to snort. The “Forbidden Staircase” and “Banned Bleachers” are in fact the underneath of a staircase in the right wing of the school and the set of bleachers on the east side of the soccer field where teachers frequently find students “smooching,” as Matt Holt likes to say which Pidge hates. After an announcement had been made about it, the two locations were collectively named by the majority of the student body as a joke, but they sort of stuck. Anyway.
He shoots a vaguely unimpressed look at Allura, who spares him a single, sidelong glance. Lance resists the urge to sigh again, glancing the other way again to see Keith now chewing on the cap of his pen, like he always seems to do when he’s lost in thought. He sucks in a quiet breath and flicks his gaze back toward Allura one more time and gives a tiny nod. Allura doesn’t nod back, but the way the corner of her mouth quirks up when she returns her attention to the front of the class is confirmation enough.
Lance’s heart rate has already picked up at the mere thought of what he’s doing as he quickly rips the corner off the top page of his notebook as quietly as possible.
He doesn’t have time to hype himself up, because if he did he already knows he’d chicken out, so the sooner he does this the better. Maybe it’s just him, but his pen seems to scratch very loudly across the paper as he scrawls a short message.
can i talk to you after class?
He checks to make sure that Mr. Smythe isn’t looking, swallows down the frantic butterflies in his stomach, and slides one leg out from underneath his desk to nudge Keith’s foot. Keith lifts his head from where it’s been propped against his hand and turns toward him, brow furrowed questioningly, although he doesn’t hesitate to take the note that Lance slips his way.
Lance clamps his hand down on his knee to stop its nervous bouncing and watches out the corner of his eye as Keith carefully unfolds the paper and scans it. His face is—scarily calm, and nonchalant, and everything that Lance is currently not, when he looks at Lance again and shrugs an affirmative, and then turns back toward the front as if he didn’t just put Lance’s brain on lockdown for the rest of the period.
By the time the bell rings, Lance doesn’t know how he hasn’t tired himself out exhausting all of his nervous energy (he definitely received a few annoyed glances during all of his fidgeting, but he valiantly ignored them all).
He glances over at Allura as he sweeps all his things into his backpack at once to see her looking right back at him as she does the same. She offers a small, encouraging smile, and Lance does his best to smile back before she hikes her backpack up onto her shoulder, takes a deep breath, and turns to walk to the back of the class toward Romelle.
Lance watches for a moment as Romelle looks up when Allura reaches her, smiling almost instantly when she sees who it is. She nods at whatever Allura says to her, and before long she’s standing and the two of them are walking out of the classroom together.
Allura glances over her shoulder to shoot Lance one more hopeful smile before they disappear into the sea of students getting out of class in the hallway.
He starts a little when someone clears his throat beside him. Lance snaps his head back around to find Keith already standing, backpack slung over his shoulder and staring expectantly down at him. “So, you wanted to talk?”
“I, uh—oh. Yeah,” Lance stammers, because suddenly his mouth doesn’t work. “Just. Maybe outside?”
Keith shrugs, and before Lance can make the conversation any more awkward with his nervous rambling, he shoves his arms through the straps of his backpack and practically beelines for the door, hoping that Keith will follow. Keith does follow, skipping a few steps just to keep up with Lance as they navigate through the hallways. The crowd of students thins quickly, which makes the quiet that much more noticeable and Lance’s heart rate skyrocket that much more dramatically.
Lance realizes halfway down the hallway that this is a terrible idea, because he’s about to take a boy who may or may not even want to go to the dance with him to the Forbidden Staircase of all places, the implications of which are. Well.
He abruptly skids to a stop and Keith makes a small noise of surprise when he promptly bumps into his back. “Uh—Lance?”
“Sorry,” Lance says a bit distractedly, glancing both ways down the hallway to make sure no one is close by.
He jumps a little when he feels Keith’s hand settle gently against his arm, and looks back to see Keith frowning up at him, brow creased in concern. “Are you okay? You’re acting really weird. Like, weirder than normal.”
Lance huffs a little, leaning back against the lockers behind him. “Gee, thanks. Yes, I’m okay.”
Keith doesn’t look very convinced, and Lance supposes it doesn’t really help when he mostly refuses to make eye contact. “I just, um. I wanted to talk to you about something,”
“I figured as much.” Keith is teasing, but there’s also a question in his tone. Which is understandable, because Lance has been about as vague as vague gets about all this. “What’s up?”
“Well.” Lance shuffles his feet and swallows, looking somewhere off to the side. “So, I’ve been wondering—I mean, I should’ve asked way sooner but I wasn’t sure how, and I wasn’t even sure if you were planning—or if you already. Uh.”
He exhales a shaky breath and shoves his hands into his pockets, looking down at his feet. “Sorry, I’m not the best at this. I just, I know you don’t really like to cause a fuss about anything and you’re not super into the crazy promposal type scene, and… you know what, now that I’m saying all this it sounds ridiculous and I wish I’d at least planned something but—”
His rambling is interrupted by Keith, suddenly a step closer and leaning into Lance’s space to plant a quick, firm kiss on his cheek. He pulls away just as quickly, one hand clutching the strap of his backpack and a faint blush spreading across his cheeks when Lance’s head snaps up. Lance blinks at him. Keith’s cheeks go pinker.
“Sorry,” he grimaces. “You were making me nervous.”
Lance can’t seem to stop staring or even bring himself to speak, his brain having gone completely blank. Keith, understandably, looks genuinely horrified by this reaction.
“Um. You were just about to ask me to the dance. Right…?”
“No,” Lance blurts. Keith’s face pales, and Lance immediately stutters onward in a panic. “I mean—yes! Yes, that’s what I—” He drops his face into his hands and groans. “Ugh, this is not how it was supposed to go.”
“Well, I guess I’m just gonna…” Keith takes a small, single step backward, still clearly mortified, and Lance immediately moves to stop him, reaching out to grab his wrist.
“Wait! Wait, please, I’m so sorry.” He takes a deep breath. “Yes, I was just about to ask you to the dance.”
Keith blinks, looking slightly less horrified than before. “Oh.”
“In what is now officially the worst and most appalling prom-not-promposal in the history of prom-not-promposals.”
He smiles in relief when that draws a small laugh from Keith, some of the color returning to his face. “I guess I didn’t really help things. Too impatient.”
Lance snorts. “You do have a reputation to uphold.”
“Rude,” Keith says, although he sounds anything but offended.
They’re both smiling now, and for a moment it’s hard for Lance to focus on anything but Keith, and the amused tilt of his mouth, and the thin strand of hair that curls against his cheek.
He looks down and realizes with a start that he’s still holding onto Keith’s wrist, so he lets go and clears his throat into his fist. “Alright. Well, since I totally butchered this whole thing, I think I at least owe it to you to ask properly.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Lance echoes, the last of his nervousness coming out in a small, breathy laugh. “So. Keith, will you go to the dance with me?”
Keith smiles, briefly ducking his head a little to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear before looking up again. “I’d like that.”
They both jump a little at the sound of the bell ringing for the start of eighth period, which means that they are—very late, because both of their classes are on the opposite end of the school, and neither of them have stopped at their lockers to swap out textbooks and Lance thinks he really should have better planned this out. Although…
Keith is watching him curiously, like he can see Lance’s brain working and is interested enough to find out what it’s thinking or where it’s going. Lance bites his lip to keep his mouth from curling up into too big of a smile. “Wanna skip and go get ice cream?”
“Of course I do,” Keith answers simply, as if it is perfectly normal to be asked to the spring dance and then skip eighth period to go get ice cream.
It only makes Lance smile even wider, and Keith smiles back as Lance offers his arm. “After you, my good sir.”
“Why thank you,” Keith hums, hooking his arm around Lance’s and starting forward, his quiet laughter echoing down the empty hallway as they make their way to the school’s entrance.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
Lance drives because he is a gentleman, thank you. Also, because Keith was dropped off at school by his brother and therefore has no vehicle.
There’s a local ice cream shop just a couple of minutes down the road where half the student body usually congregates before and after big games, after the big spring musical, basically any time there’s some kind of special event taking place at school. It’s not unusual for the line to go out the door and around the corner, but since it’s hardly two o’clock on a Monday afternoon, it’s relatively empty.
Except for an older couple near the front of the shop, a dad with two kids, a small group of probably-all-moms near the back, and—
Lance stumbles to a stop and Keith accidentally bumps into his shoulder, because they’re definitely holding hands and are very close together because of it. “Allura?” he says, at the same time that Allura turns from her place in line behind Romelle and says, “Lance?”
They blink slowly at one another. Lance points at Romelle. “She said yes?”
Allura’s face flushes. “Um—”
“I asked her,” Romelle interrupts, smiling brightly in their direction. “You said yes?”
“What? No, I asked Keith.” He blinks again, and then turns a little to look at Keith, who is now very pointedly staring down at his shoes. “Wait, you were gonna ask me?”
Keith clears his throat, glancing somewhere off to the side. “I mean. I’d been planning to. You just… beat me to it.”
Lance is silent for a moment as he processes, because all these weeks he’d been stressing over asking Keith to the dance, over how he should ask and whether or not Keith would say yes—when apparently, Keith had been doing the exact same. Keith looks up long enough to offer him a sheepish smile, and it’s enough to make laughter bubble up from Lance’s chest at the utter silliness of it all, his grip tightening on Keith’s hand as he tugs him forward to join the other two in line.
He only lets go to return Romelle’s high five and smile at Keith over Allura’s shoulder where she’s squished him into a hug, and then slips his hand right back into Keith’s while they all pick out what kind of ice cream they want and doesn’t say anything about the way Keith’s cheeks are flushed and pink for the rest of the afternoon.
(Lance also pays for Keith because he is a gentleman, thank you. Also, because he wants to, and because it’s especially worth it when Allura tells him later that he missed the way that Keith smiled at him.)
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
Lance is late.
He is very, very late, and he can’t believe that of all the days it had to be, it had to be today. At least he didn’t forget the flowers. Not that he ever would have let himself—it was the one thing he’s had control over all afternoon.
“Mamá,” Lance whined, dragging out the last syllable as he tries to squirm out of his mother’s grasp. “My hair looks fine, you’re gonna make me late!”
“Hush, niño, you have plenty of time,” she chided, foiling his attempts at escape with practiced ease and smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “I just want to help.”
“I know how to do my own hair,” Lance huffed, although he remained still as Gabriela moved on to fix his tie, straightening it out against his shirt. “I’m almost seventeen.”
“But you’re still the baby of the family,” Rachel called as she passed by the entrance of the living room.
“By seven minutes!” Lance shouted back. “It doesn’t count, you’re the baby too!”
Gabriela chuckled, bringing her hands up to cup Lance’s cheeks. “This is a big day for you, Leandro.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Lance grumbled, pulling a little at the sleeve of his shirt.
His cheeks flushed when his mother only lifted one eyebrow at him. “I can’t remember the last day I didn’t hear at least one thing about that boy.” She smiled, lowering her hands to his shoulders. “We all want this to go well for you.”
Lance looked down at his feet and swallowed, which only did so much to settle his restless nerves. “Yeah. I do, too.”
Eventually she’d let him go after another minute of fussing and a kiss on the cheek, and then Lance had hurried out the door and all but leaped into his car, because he is on a schedule, thank you, and he’s not one to be late to such a monumental thing as this.
He rubs absent-mindedly at his cheek where his mother had kissed him as he makes his way up the steps to Keith’s house, flowers cradled delicately in his other arm. It’s a small bouquet of purple carnations, something that Lance had spent hours trying to pick out, and even longer trying to find a shop that wasn’t ridiculously out of the way to get them from.
Purple carnations symbolize capriciousness, he’d read. Which, upon not Googling of course, he learned means “impulsive and unpredictable,” both of which are two of the exact words that practically anyone at school would describe Keith as, and… also, something that Lance has always liked about him.
Keith’s a little blunt and reckless, sure; but he’s also honest, and brave. It’s refreshing.
Lance risks a glance at his watch just as he reaches the door. It’s six thirty-three, which means he’s three minutes late, which is—maybe not nearly as bad as he’d thought, but still.
He spares only a moment to ready himself, smoothing out his shirt and pushing his fingers through his hair one more time before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.
The first thing that he hears is—well, Keith, somewhere beyond the hallway deeper into the house.
And then another voice, a bit louder, although not quite enough for Lance to be able to make out any words. He resists the urge to press his ear to the door and listen as the two voices seem to go back and forth, and then there are footsteps growing steadily louder as well as what he’s pretty sure is Keith’s voice—
The door swings open and Lance is very suddenly greeted by none other than his absolute worst nightmare: Altea High’s recently graduated star athlete in just about everything but soccer, Keith’s older brother, an absolute angel of a man of whomst Lance is very afraid.
Also known as: Shiro.
And—okay, so maybe “absolute worst nightmare” is a bit dramatic. Shiro’s incredible, and Lance has always looked up to him, even before he admitted to himself that his fixation on everything “annoying” about his younger brother was actually a big fat crush. Which is all the more reason to be terrified in this moment.
“Oh,” is what Lance manages to say, squishing the flowers a little against his chest.
Shiro smiles, bright and blinding. There’s a reason that half the girls at school were so obsessed with him (which is hilarious and, frankly, ironic).
“You must be Lance.”
“Yeah, that’s Lan—uh, me. Lance. I’m me. I mean—yes, I’m… Lance.” Lance cringes inwardly, so violently he thinks his internal organs might fold in on themselves. Shiro’s smile has grown, and while it’s anything but mocking, it’s certainly amused. “Hi,” he finishes awkwardly.
Shiro only has time to open his mouth again before there’s a fairly loud smattering of footsteps and a couple of bangs, and then Keith appears just behind Shiro, looking a bit frantic and out of breath, hair swept wildly across his forehead after his recent dash down the hallway, but also—
“Oh,” Lance repeats, quiet and a little breathless.
It’s such a startling contrast from what Lance usually sees: lots of black and grey and sometimes red with the occasional blue, mostly ripped jeans and T-shirts with cheap leather jackets (which, of course, somehow look completely authentic on him), black fingerless gloves and boots or sneakers—need he go on?
Now… okay, so the colors are the same. But he’s wearing a black button-down shirt with a red tie, his pants aren’t ripped, he’s got on what looks like a brand new pair of dress shoes, and he looks—
Different, Lance’s brain supplies hastily, before he can go too far overboard.
He snaps out of his sudden daze to find Keith staring back at him from over Shiro’s shoulder, eyes a bit wide and cheeks flushed pink. Their eyes meet, and for a brief moment it’s just them looking at each other, blinking. Lance offers a small smile, and Keith smiles back and then:
“Oh, flowers?” Shiro gasps, rather dramatically. “For me? Lance, you shouldn’t have.”
“Shiro,” Keith hisses, face reddening even more at the sound of Shiro’s muffled laughter as he muscles his way past for a spot in the doorway. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you to answer the door.”
Shiro very blatantly ignores him. “Are you a good driver?”
It takes Lance another second to realize that he’s being spoken to. In his defense, Keith has turned to stare up at him like he’s sprouted a second head—a clear sign of exasperation. “Oh, uh—I think so?”
“Hm,” Shiro hums thoughtfully, and huffs a surprised laugh when Keith elbows him in the side. “What?”
“We’re leaving now,” Keith announces, stepping out of the house and attempting to wave Shiro away. “Bye.”
"Wait, don’t you want to take a couple of pictures?”
“Shiro,” Keith says, sounding pained. As slightly mortified as Lance is, he can’t help but stifle a laugh. “Please.”
“At least come in for a few minutes. Lance, can I get you anything? Water, tea—”
“Oh, look at that!” Keith interrupts, looking down at his wrist where he is definitely not wearing a watch. “It’s time to go, we’re gonna be late, gotta go.” Lance only catches a glimpse of Shiro’s overly pleased smile and hears a last second “Bye, Lance!” before Keith promptly shoves him out of reach and all but slams the door behind him.
Lance bites back another laugh as Keith lets out an enormous sigh of relief, turning around and pressing his back against the door. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“He’s nice,” Lance says honestly, smiling a little as Keith pushes a hand through his hair, ruffling it even more.
“He’s fine,” Keith grumbles.
Lance chuckles, and is once again reminded of the flowers still tucked against his chest when one of the petals tickles the underside of his chin. Which also reminds him of how incredibly nervous he is for this and tonight in general, heart fluttering in his chest as he shifts his hold on the end of the bouquet.
“Oh, um.” Keith looks up as Lance shuffles his feet, brow furrowing slightly. “Anyway, these—here.” He holds out the flowers. “They’re for you.”
Keith doesn’t move from where he’s still pressed back against the door, blinking down at the flowers held in front of him. “Oh,” he says softly, finally, and shifts forward to take the flowers into his own hands with a delicacy Lance hadn’t even known he was capable of. “Thank you.”
He seems to study the flowers for a moment, and Lance takes the opportunity to appreciate the sight of it: Keith, looking almost like an entirely different person except for the familiar wild sweep of his bangs across his forehead, the flowers held carefully against his chest bringing out the color of his eyes even as the sun has already started to set.
He’s saved from the embarrassment of getting caught staring when Keith clears his throat and looks up with a sheepish sort of smile. “Uh… I’ll just find something to put them in when I get back tonight. I don’t really wanna go back in there right now.”
Lance laughs then, full and genuine. “Understandable.” Keith’s shoulders sink a little in relief, and for another moment they’re both silent, a bit awkward but not in the worst way.
Keith is the first to speak again, after biting his lip and brushing a small piece of hair behind his ear. “Um. You look… nice.”
Lance blinks, feeling his cheeks warm the second his brain seems to process Keith’s words. “Oh. Thank you, I—you do too.”
He feels like he’s stuttered his way through every other sentence tonight, but from the way Keith’s mouth pulls up into a small smile, he doesn’t seem to mind. They’re yet again heading into what probably would have been another relatively awkward, albeit appreciative silence, but it doesn’t last long before it’s quickly interrupted.
“Wow,” says Shiro’s muffled voice through the door, and Keith and Lance both freeze. “That was really cute, guys.”
“Oh my god,” Keith chokes, practically bolting from his place on the front steps and spinning Lance around by the arm as he goes. Lance goes willingly, consoled only by the fact that he’s pretty sure Keith is just as red as he is.
“Bye!” Shiro calls from behind, having opened the door as they hurriedly retreat to Lance’s car. “Don’t have too much fun!”
“We will!” Keith retorts over his shoulder, one hand still attached to Lance’s arm, and Lance can’t hold back his smile.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
The dance is already in full swing by the time that Lance and Keith arrive.
Lance had been planning on it, actually. There’s no awkward waiting period, or mostly irrational feeling of being watched by everyone else on the mostly empty dance floor. Keith had confessed just a few days earlier that he hasn’t been to any of the dances since middle school (Lance already knew this) because they aren’t really his thing (Lance also already knew this).
Long story short, Lance is prepared to do whatever he can tonight to make sure that Keith feels comfortable.
It’s easy to find Allura and Romelle, already dancing in the middle of the fully decorated school gym with Hunk and Pidge. Well—Romelle is the only one who could really be said to be dancing. The rest of them are mostly just wiggling their arms and kicking their feet in typical high school dance fashion.
Still, there’s plenty of smiles and laughter after Allura steals Lance for an enormous hug, and Romelle takes Keith’s hands and immediately sweeps him into a dance. Granted, most of Lance’s smiles are directed at Keith, because his eyes are shining, his mouth is smiling, and his hair frames his face so nicely in the colored lights that it’s hard to keep his eyes off him.
(He’d tied his hair up in the car on the way. Also, he caught Lance staring.
“What?” Keith asked, tugging at a strand of hair that’s not quite long enough to make it into his ponytail.
“N-nothing,” Lance blurted, and subsequently avoided looking directly at Keith for the rest of the car ride.)
Lance inevitably gets sucked into a dance-off with Romelle, since they are evidently the only two people in the student body who can really dance.
Before long, a small audience has gathered around them, laughing and cheering as Lance and Romelle take turns coming up with equally ridiculous dance moves that they still somehow manage to pull off. By the end of it they’re both declared the winners, and Lance would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy some of the attention from the upperclassmen, clapping his back and offering high fives as they all disperse.
He would also be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a couple million beats when he catches Keith looking his way from the edge of the crowd with Hunk and Pidge, although his gaze quickly flicks away before Lance can fully meet his eye.
That’s when he notices it, though—the way Keith isn’t really listening to whatever conversation they’re having, keeps glancing around the gym and tugging at his shirt sleeves—all telltale signs of Keith starting to feel a bit trapped.
“Hey.” Keith looks up as Lance rejoins them, tilting his head a little in question. “Need a break?”
“No,” Keith replies, much too quickly to be believable. “I’m okay.”
Lance decides not to press, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do anything about it. “Okay,” he shrugs, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Well, personally, I could use a little breather. Wanna sneak out with me for a second?”
Keith’s expression remains neutral, but he nods, and Lance smiles at him before turning and heading in the direction of the side doors leading out into the parking lot. He holds the door for Keith and slips out behind him, sighing a little as he steps out into the cool evening air.
It’s dark now, the sun having fully set not long after the dance had started. The stars are out, although most of them are blocked out by the fluorescent lights glaring overhead, and the headlights of passing cars on the street beyond. Lance picks his way over the sidewalk to sit on the curb, and Keith seems to hover uncertainly for a moment before joining him.
Even with the faint sounds of pop music pounding against the walls and cars coming and going through the nearby traffic light, it’s surprisingly calm. Lance leans back on his hands and kicks his feet out, watching Keith fold his arms over his knees out the corner of his eye. He lets a while pass in quiet before he speaks again.
“Better?”
Keith stiffens slightly and turns to face him like he wants to protest, then falters when Lance meets his gaze, lifting one eyebrow. “I didn’t wanna make you come outside,” he grumbles, dropping his chin to his hands still resting on his knees.
“You’re not making me do anything,” Lance assures him, sliding one leg over and nudging Keith’s foot. “I just want you to have a good time.” He pauses, quiet as Keith chews on his lip as if he’s considering. Lance nudges his foot again, gently. “We don’t have to stay for the whole thing. Do you want to leave early? I don’t mind, we could just get something to eat and—”
“No,” Keith says in a rush, lifting his head again. “It’s just—you were right, I needed a break.” Lance blinks at him and he swallows, sliding his hands from his knees down to his ankles. “Plus… well, I was—I mean, I’d been kind of hoping we’d get to—”
“Attention, students of Altea High!” He’s interrupted by the sound of someone using the microphone inside, easily heard from the other side of the doors. “Now is the moment you’ve been waiting for… the moment where things either get real awkward or real romantic.” Lance huffs a small laugh at that, not noticing the way Keith’s face has flushed and he’s taken to studying his feet again. “As requested by popular vote, here’s your slow dance: ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley.”
It’s not until the song actually starts that the reality of his current situation finally hits. His foot, which he’s been wiggling back and forth from where it rests on the pavement, immediately stills.
And it’s not like Lance hasn’t been thinking about this part of the dance since before he even asked Keith to go with him, but he hadn’t exactly prepared for it. How does one prepare for dancing with their crush at their high school dance, anyway?
Keith coughs beside him, startling Lance out of his thoughts. Elvis is halfway through the first verse, music still playing softly behind them, and when Lance peers over at Keith to see him tucking another piece of hair behind his ear and keeping his eyes on his knees, he decides he’d better make the most of the remaining two minutes and thirty seconds of the song.
He’s aware of Keith watching him as he moves to stand, brushing his hands off on his pants with a sigh before stepping in front of Keith and extending one hand. “May I have this dance?”
Keith’s lips twitch. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Lance smiles when Keith reaches out to take his hand, and pulls him to his feet in one smooth motion, stomach fluttering a little at the close proximity.
He places his other hand on Keith’s waist, and after a moment of nervous hesitation Keith places his own on Lance’s shoulder.
“Lance?”
“Hm?”
“I’ve, um—I’ve never actually danced with anyone before.”
“That’s okay.” Lance moves away from the curb, bringing Keith with him. “I can teach you. It’s basically just fancy walking, anyway.”
Keith chuckles, nose scrunching a little as he tries to follow Lance’s first step. “Oh, good. I’ve always wanted to fancy walk.”
Lance snorts, Keith’s chuckles turn into giggles, and before long it’s more like they’re dancing to the sound of their own laughter as Lance guides them in a slow, lazy circle, swaying back and forth across the line separating two different parking spots. The song fades further into the background, and it’s just them.
And suddenly it’s hard for Lance not to stare, because Keith’s hair is still tied back and he can see so much more of his face now than he usually can, and his eyes all crinkled, and he has a dimple at the right corner of his mouth, and all at once it becomes pretty much impossible for Lance to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, just like Keith did hardly a week ago.
Keith’s eyes fly open and his laughter falters as Lance pulls back, and his grip tightens noticeably on Lance’s shoulder as if in surprise. Lance’s heart is beating wildly against his ribcage.
“Sorry,” he begins sheepishly, averting his gaze after a moment of thick silence. They’ve stopped moving, and the last verse of the song can just barely be made out from inside the school. “I thought that would be a better idea this time instead of giving myself the chance to ramble and make you nervous. ‘Cuz I kind of tend to do that when I’m nervous, and then once I get started I can’t really stop because my filter sort of deactivates and then—see, and now I’m rambling again—”
Again, his rambling is effectively cut off by Keith leaning closer and into Lance’s space. Only this time, he shifts forward and plants a light kiss right on Lance’s mouth.
Lance freezes, eyes widening as Keith breaks away, cheeks flushed but gaze steady as he watches Lance for his reaction. A reaction that is severely delayed, because Lance’s brain is having an extremely difficult time processing what just happened.
“I did it again,” Keith mumbles, almost more to himself than anyone else. He starts to pull away slightly, hand slipping from Lance’s shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No!” Lance blurts, and Keith immediately stills. “It’s okay, don’t apologize, I…” He lets out a small huff, hoping to let some nervous energy out with it. “Just—can we try that again?”
Keith’s eyes look so bright under the parking lot lights, and even brighter as he nods, already placing his hand back on Lance’s shoulder and stepping closer. Lance gently slides his fingers through the hair at the back of Keith’s neck, hardly believing what he’s about to do, and his stomach leaps in anticipation when Keith’s eyes flick down to his mouth. He leans forward the slightest bit, and before he has the chance to overthink it all and change his mind, Keith leans forward to meet him in the middle.
Everything about it is soft, and shy, a little bit hesitant but undeniably eager, not much more than a brush of their lips, and when they break apart Keith lets out a quiet sort of sigh that makes Lance’s chest feel warm.
Their eyes flutter open just as the song is coming to a close, gazes fixed on each other even as the school’s regularly scheduled pop music begins to play once again.
Lance blinks, one hand still settled against the back of Keith’s neck. “Wanna go get milkshakes?”
Laughter bubbles up and out of Keith’s chest, light and genuine, although he doesn’t seem to question the very abrupt change of subject. “You know I’m lactose intolerant.”
“And yet it’s never stopped you,” Lance replies, already taking Keith’s hand in his own and tugging him out into the parking lot toward his car, Keith giggling and laughing all the way.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
When Lance brings Keith home later that night, he gets a sweet kiss goodnight—in the car, because doing that on the front porch would be blackmail suicide with Shiro around. They walk up the steps together, and when Shiro opens the door, Keith barely hesitates before turning and quickly pulling Lance into a hug, careful not to crush the flowers that he promised to take inside.
“Thanks for tonight,” he mumbles quietly, just for them to hear. “I had a really good time.” He pulls away then, face a bit pink but smiling, and then ducks past Shiro into the house, leaving Lance smiling after him.
And Shiro doesn’t even say anything about it.