Chapter Text
Pidge was living with Lance.
Oh my God, she was living with Lance! How did this happen? She knew how it happened, of course. She had come down to Lance’s place for the weekend. They hadn’t seen each other in a long time, what with them living so far apart, so Pidge wanted to take a weekend off to see him. What she didn’t anticipate was the outbreak of a new virus, COVID-19. It was supposed to be possibly fatal, and could be spread in many different ways. Lance’s county went on high alert; no one was allowed to travel in or out. Which meant Pidge couldn’t go home.
So she was stuck at Lance’s house until the travel advisory was over. And she hated it. It made hiding her feelings a thousand times harder.
Pidge had liked Lance for a long, long time - practically since the day they met. She adored how absurdly goofy he was. Everything he did made her heart smile, though she was careful not to let it show. They had been friends for years, and she’d managed to keep her feelings a secret all that time. Now it had been almost two weeks stuck in his house, and it was getting harder and harder for her. Being in such close proximity to him for this long only made her feelings grow stronger. She had almost slipped up so many times already. Now she was hiding in the bathroom, where he couldn’t see her quietly freak out. She ran her fingers through her wild hair. She didn’t know how much longer she could do this.
There was a knock on the door, and Pidge jumped. “Pidge,” she heard Lance’s concerned voice from the other side of the door, “You okay? You’ve been in there for nearly twenty minutes!”
Had it really been that long? “Y-yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. Thanks. I’m just very constipated.” She paused. Did she really just say that? Nice job, Pidge. “You don’t wanna know.” There was a moment of silence.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Don’t die in there.” She heard his footsteps move away from the door. She let out a deep sigh. After a few minutes, she flushed the toilet, which she hadn’t used, and washed her hands. Then she opened the door and walked out.
Lance was in the kitchen, bent over a steaming pan. He looked over at her and smiled. “Oh, you’re alive. Good. I made dinner.”
She inhaled deeply through her nose, smelling, tomato sauce, ricotta, and chicken. She let out a satisfied sigh. “I know that smell. Manicotti,” she said as she made her way to the dinner table. “You better have made it right. I will not eat half-assed Italian.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said proudly. “I did.” He got out two plates and laid a large stuffed noodle on each. Then he turned around, with a goofy grin on his face. Oh no, Pidge thought. That’s the face he makes when he’s about to do something stupid and ridiculous and totally adorable.
And she wasn’t wrong. “Ma chere Mademoiselle,” Lance began in a fake French accent, slowly walking towards the table. “It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight.” Pidge made a feeble attempt not to smile. “And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair, as the dining room proudly presents…” and he laid one of the plates down in front of the chair nearest to her. “Your dinner!” Pidge rolled her eyes in an attempt to seem like she wasn’t thoroughly enjoying this. “I’d ask you to be my guest,” Lance said in his normal voice, “but you’ve been my guest for the last two weeks.”
You’d better shut up before I try to kiss you, Pidge thought. “Hm. Well I’m still putting your service to the test,” she said with a smirk, sitting down. “Sorry you’re stuck with me for so long, by the way.”
“Nonsense,” Lance said, waving a hand as he took his own seat. “I’m more than happy to have you here.”
More than happy? What did that mean? Pidge started to sweat a little under her sweater. What did more than happy mean? She could understand if he was just plain happy to have her around. Friends were happy to hang out with friends. But what was more than happy? She decided she was reading too much into it, and tried her best not to give it any further thought. She took a bite of her manicotti. “Oh my God,” she said with her mouth full, closing her eyes and savouring the flavour. “This is amazing.”
Lance smirked. “Told you I made it right.”
“Hell yes you did,” she said. “I hope the man I marry cooks this good.” Dear Lord, get yourself together, Katie. Do not compare him to your future husband! Was that her imagination or did Lance just blush? She was thoroughly uncomfortable now.
There was a silence that may have only been a few seconds, but to Pidge felt like five minutes. Then Lance spoke again. “Speaking of said man, any suitors you want to tell me about?” He waggled his eyebrows as he said this, and Pidge froze. “I’ll take your silence and lack of movement as a yes,” he said.
“What? I- no,” Pidge stuttered, panicking. “It's just you… you've never asked anything like that." She shifted in her seat. "Why, um, why do you wanna know?"
"I'm just curious. And if there is, maybe I can help you."
"No, there’s not- no. There’s no one.”
“Pidge, I know you,” he said. “I know when you’re lying. So, tell me. Who is it?”
Crap. She knew Lance knew her too well to believe any lie she told him, and she knew he'd keep pressing until she told him.
"Well," she said, "there is this guy. We've known each other for a long time. Six years, I think."
She looked at Lance, who was listening intently. "Really? And how long have you liked him?"
Pidge was again startled. Why was he taking such a sudden interest in this? "Well… almost six years, actually." She paused. "He's… I mean, he's amazing. He always cheers me up when I'm in a bad mood. He makes me laugh. He's always been there for me when I needed someone. He even curls up with me on the couch sometimes." Which made her heart pound every time. "And he is such a dork. He understands all my jokes and subtle references when no one else does."
"Is he cute?" Lance interjected.
"Adorable," she replied, smiling now. "Totally gorgeous. He has the most amazing smile." She took another bite. "And he cooks."
"Wow," he said. "This guy sounds pretty great."
Are you kidding me? How oblivious are you? I just described you in great detail, how are you not picking up on this? "Yeah, he is."
"Have you said anything to him?"
"What? No. No, I can't do that."
"Why not?" he inquired, taking a bite of his manicotti. "Tell him how you feel. If he's half the guy you say he is, you need to catch him before it's too late."
"Because," Pidge said, hesitating. "I really like this guy. What if he doesn't like me back?"
"What if he does?"
"But what if he doesn't? Then I'll know I don't have a chance, and he'll feel bad for not liking me back, even though that's completely irrational, and he might say he likes me even though he doesn't just to spare my feelings. I don't want to go out with him if he doesn't want to go out with me."
"So you'd rather spend the rest of your life just wondering if he likes you, never making a move and letting yourself be miserable?"
"Well… no, but I still can't tell him."
"Why?"
"Because I'm scared of what he'll say."
"You can't hide it from him forever. One way or another it will come out. I mean, what’s the worst that could really happen from you telling him?"
“He takes pity on me and says he likes me even though he doesn’t just because he knows I want him to, then we’re both stuck in a one-sided relationship. Or, he hates me for spending our entire friendship crushing on him, I lose him as a friend and he never talks to me again.”
“I- okay, that seems very unlikely.”
"I know," she said with a sigh. "I just can't do it."
"Look at it this way," said Lance. "Say you do tell him. If he doesn't like you, then that sucks, but at least you know now. You don't have to waste any more time obsessing over him. And if he does, then you'll both be happy together. Either way, you're no longer making yourself suffer."
Pidge thought about this. Lance was right. He was saying all this without knowing he was the guy she was crushing on, of course. Nevertheless, the advice was still valid. She wasn’t going to get anywhere by hoping for him to notice her. She knew she had to tell him, but she just didn’t know if she could. She’d tried before, and couldn’t ever get the words out. She hoped she’d be able to do it now; she couldn’t spend however much longer this quarantine would last around Lance without telling him, and keep her sanity.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “You’re right. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell him. I’ve tried, but nothing comes out.”
“It’s hard,” Lance said. While Pidge was thinking, he had eaten halfway through his dinner. “But you can do it. It’s just like jumping into a cold pool. Deep breath, then take the plunge.”
“What are you now,” Pidge laughed, “some kind of love expert?”
“Maybe. I mean, uh… no. But I have friends who are.”
She chuckled. There was that dorkiness she adored. She would tell him tomorrow, she decided. No matter how scared she got, she would tell him how she felt. She finished her dinner and put her plate and fork in the sink. “‘Night, Lance.”
“Goodnight, Pidgeon,” Lance said. Pidge cursed him silently for using her nickname, then slumped off to bed.