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There's something different about the day, James can tell as soon as he wakes up.
It's not anything he can pinpoint – no change in the internal air pressure in his quarters, the humidity is still right about where it's been for months now, the lighting from his emergency strips still glows faintly...
It's just... different. Like an anticipatory hum running through him... like maybe today's the day.
Of course, yesterday was supposed to be the day too, and the day before that, and last month... he's squandered a lot of days recently.
But it's not like anyone could blame him, having lofty goals means waiting until the time is right, even if it also means endless days of watching someone from the middle distance of friendship.
Or, at least he thinks it's friendship. He's pretty certain by now, probably.
Keith hasn't tried to punch him in at least a year, aside from a friendly pop on the shoulder or the occasional spar. Though truth be told, he greatly prefers to watch Keith beat up on someone else – it's hard to admire those legs when they're trying to kick the sense out of you.
But maybe today, like yesterday and all the days before it, could be the day.
He takes extra time to comb his hair, just in case. Keith once said that he 'wouldn't look like such a douchebag' if he kept it out of his face, which is almost a compliment, probably.
He'll take it either way, at least it means his face is being looked at in the first place.
The light sprinkling of stubble can stay though, now that it's grown out past the 'maybe it's dirt' stage. Kinkade told him it made him look rugged once, and James feels like a guy who's built like a brick house probably knows a thing or two about rugged – even if Rizavi bought him a new pack of razors the next day.
She doesn't get it, she's never tried to woo someone laughably cooler than her. He needs every advantage he can get... which is why he dabs on just the tiniest bit of the cologne that the Unilu at the market assured him would attract the interest of anyone who was even the slightest bit Galra. It doesn't really smell like much at all, but it's certainly oily enough that he's wary about putting on more than just a drop or two either way.
It's probably no more than snake oil anyway, but who knows... today's the day after all.
Of course, it doesn't feel much like the day when he finds himself wandering down to the mess hall, drawing stares from the various alien envoys that he nods at in passing. Even the Blade contingent seems to be paying him extra attention as he loads up his tray and walks by their table on the way to the other MFEs.
“Good morning, cadet,” one of them – Regris, he thinks – calls to him, tail wiggling in greeting. “I see you are feeling well today.”
“Aaah, yes? Thanks?” His steps slow to a halt, not wanting to be rude to their valuable allies and friends. “I hope you are as well.”
“I could be made better,” Regris leans onto the table, head cocked as he plants his chin on his upturned palm, “if you have interest.”
“Interest in what?”
“Oh, I think you kn- ow-”
“Quit that,” Vrek hisses, jabbing Regris in the ribs again with a long claw, “you know the kit will end you.”
“I was just being friendly,” Regris huffs back and slumps over the table with a grumble, “he can't keep all the cute ones for himself...”
“No but he can kill you in a heartbeat for trying to steal one.”
“Pffft, he can try.”
James edges backward as he looks between the two squabbling spies, not wanting to get caught in the middle of whatever super secret spat they've got going on today. The last time he got too close to one of their internal disagreements Kolivan had thrown a new recruit clear across the gym and into a heap next to his treadmill. He started jogging outside after that... and not at all because someone else also jogged outside with a massive space wolf. A space wolf that he definitely didn't go buy treats for in the hopes that he'll put in a good word with Keith... or a good bark or... whatever.
The point is, he knows better than to be anywhere near them when they start a slap fight, which is why he's already sliding into his seat next to Ina by the time the ruckus starts in earnest.
“What did Regris want?” Rizavi asks him, squinting over at table of spies as she chews through a bagel, “He's cute.”
James shrugs and begins picking at his own breakfast, “I think he was just being friendly.”
Veronica snorts into her container of milk and shoots him a look across the table, “From what I've heard, he is certainly the most... friendly of the group.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“He wants to fuck,” Kinkade chimes in, jerking a thumb over toward the table where the slap fight has intensified to include two other Blades, “and he's not a bad time either, I wouldn't turn him down out of hand if I were you.”
“...What?!” Rizavi nearly launches herself over the table in her haste to get closer to Kinkade, pressing up against his side with a grin, “Come on Ryan, I need the deets, tell me everything.”
“Not much to tell,” Kinkade shrugs, ignoring her clinging grip entirely as he continues to chew, “he's a good lay.”
“Who's a good lay?” Acxa asks as she plops her tray down, nose wrinkling when she turns toward James, “you smell like an Arusian flax hound in heat.”
“A... what?” James leans back away from her, hand coming up to cover his neck self-consciously. “It's just a new cologne.”
“Where did you get it?” she presses him, peeling his fingers off his neck to sniff at his hand, “Stars above... they didn't even dilute it.”
“Dilute... what?” He's getting nervous now as Acxa dabs her napkin in milk and grabs his ear, tugging him in to scrub viciously at his neck. “Ow, hey- ow!”
“You'll thank me later,” she growls, grip tightening as he squirms, apparently determined to take off the first layer of his skin along with the oil. “You're practically wearing an advertisement for brothel services.”
“What?!” He tries to pull back to no avail, thoroughly stuck in her iron grip. “Get it off!”
“Stop squirming and I will.” She makes another two passes with the napkin before tossing it onto the table and giving him another sniff. “It's... better.”
James can only groan and let his head plop down onto the table as his friends snicker around him.
So much for today being his day.
“Hmmm, wonder who the cologne was for, Jamey,” Veronica teases him with a raised eyebrow, a carbon copy of her younger brother. “Got a hot date later with a certain commander?”
“No,” James grunts without bothering to pick his head up off the table, “and even if I did, I certainly wouldn't now.”
“The chances of James asking out the Commander are astronomically low,” Ina chimes in with a shrug, “his propensity for cowardice in interpersonal communication makes it unlikely to occur with or without synthetic pheromones.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, James, numbers don't lie.”
Acxa quirks an eyebrow at her before turning back to her food. “Humans have such a terrible sense of smell.”
James doesn't even bother to defend his species, too busy trying to become one with the table before anyone else decides to come over and sniff out his stupidity. He doesn't even look up when the doors to the mess hall burst open in typical fashion for the blue paladin.
“I'm just sayin'- I think it's an improvement!”
“Shut up, Lance,” Keith growls as he stalks toward the breakfast line.
“C'mon, it's not that bad... you could almost look like me now! Except much less handsome of course.”
“You're gonna be bald by tomorrow if you don't drop it and leave me alone-”
“Wow,” Kinkade grunts, setting his fork down with a clatter, “I didn't know he had like... ears.”
That at least piques James' curiosity enough to get him to roll his head, but Acxa's torso is too far in his way to catch much more than Lance's defensive hand waving. He rolls his head back, hoping that he'll at least keep Keith busy enough not to notice his predicament.
“Oooh, incoming,” Veronica snickers and kicks him under the table as the others hastily begin to clear the table.
“Hey guys,” Keith grunts from somewhere to James' right, “can I sit here today?”
“We were just packing up, sir,” Acxa informs him apologetically before clapping James on the back, “except Griffin here, he's feeling low and would surely enjoy your company.”
So much for her being helpful.
“Yeah, well...” Keith huffs and drops his tray on the other side of James' head. “I can relate today.”
He sounds so put out that James can't resist at least rolling his head to the side to assess the damage.
“Hi.” It's resigned, tentative almost. Utterly foreign coming from Keith. “You get one joke, okay? I know.”
James blinks at him in confusion, then he realizes.
Keith's hair is clipped to his nape, an almost perfect standard buzz up the back – with the exception of his one stubborn sprout. Even the front seems a little bit shorter, no longer curling around his ears, but just long enough that he's still trying to hide behind it.
“What happened?”
“Matt,” Keith sighs, scrubbing a hand through the stubble with a grimace, “we didn't think the gel fuel was going to combust like that... at least I escaped with my eyebrows.”
It's accompanied by a self-deprecating laugh and a hunch of his shoulders.
James lifts his head from the table, ignoring the rivet mark that's almost certainly pressed into his cheek. “Can I touch it?”
Keith shrugs, but tips his head obligingly.
It's a strange texture, almost like velvet when James runs his fingers down it one way, but prickly on the way back – not to mention the purple sheen to the short hairs when the light hits it just right. He lets his hand drift to the side, fingering the now loose bangs before brushing them back out of Keith's face with a soft smile.
“I think it looks good.”
“You do?” Keith blinks at him, like maybe James has hit his head, “Really? I- … yours looks good too like that, um... combed back.”
“Thanks,” James grins at him and cocks an eyebrow, “someone told me I look like a douchebag when it's in my face.”
“Yeah well... you kinda do,” Keith grumbles even as his cheeks light up a vibrant pink, then he stills and sniffs the air. “Hey, do you smell that?”
“Smell what?” James asks, attempting to surreptitiously pull the collar of his jacket up higher, “the bacon?”
“No... it's like...” Keith pauses, taking a deep breath before his eyes lock onto James' neck. “You. It's you-”
James lets out a gurgle and lowers his head to the table again, ignoring the way Keith shifts closer and leans down to sniff at him. “Please just kill me and spare us this conversation.”
“What conversation?” Keith asks, distracted as he shifts closer still.
“The one where I make a fool out of myself trying to impress you.”
“You don't have to impress me.” Keith pulls back and pokes at James' elbow, looking utterly bewildered when James risks a glance. “Why would you need to do that?”
“Yeah, right?” James huffs a grim laugh. “Astronomically dumb, I've been told.”
“Whoever told you that is dumb, and-” Keith trails off, shaking his head like he's trying to clear a fog, “-hold on...” he licks his thumb and pushes James' head to the side, smearing the digit all over where Acxa had already scrubbed him before turning him to the other side and repeating the process, “-there, much better.”
James can only look at him like one or both of them have lost their marbles. “Did you just lick me?”
Keith goes shifty in an instant.
“I cleaned you.”
James doesn't know much about Galra behavior, but he does know that he's seen Krolia licking the matted patches on the back of Kolivan's head before, and it didn't look much like friendly coworker business.
“Okay, well... whatever.” He clears his throat and picks his head off the table, eyeing the bare expanse of Keith's nape. “You know uh... if you need someone to um... clean the back of your head now that it's not all long and stuff,” he shrugs and displays his hands, palms up, “I could like help. Or whatever... I do my hair sometimes.”
“You do,” Keith agrees, eyeing James with a tiny fangy grin as he reaches out to settle his palm on top, “you know, Griffin... I think I'd like that.”
“Really?” James perks up in an instant, scooting closer as he offers Keith a shy smile, “Wow...”
“Yeah,” Keith laughs and curls their fingers together, “Wow.”
The he cuts a sly smile up at James, with all the fire and mischief he's come to expect.
“Just don't make me look like a douchebag.”