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It was stupid.
It didn’t warrant any reaction, and certainly not this.
It was illogical and frustrating and they thought they had dealt with all this already damn it.
It was stupid. It didn’t involve or concern them and yet-
And yet Pidge was still trudging down the halls of the castle, something like anger rolling off them in waves.
“Ugh,” Hunk groaned. “Lance keeps wiggling his eyebrows suggestively any time I mention that Shay is gonna be staying on the castle ship for a few days.”
Pidge doesn’t bother looking up to where Hunk is sprawled on the couch in the lounge, they just hum in acknowledgement. Lance is just gonna make Lance jokes, it’s nothing new.
“And like,” Hunk continues, “sure, eventually Shay and I will probably do something,” - and here Pidge freezes, unsure what that sentence is supposed to mean - “but I don’t want to rush it or anything. It’s not like we get to spend all our time together the way he and Keith do. Like, buddy, I know you guys have reached the jumping-each-other’s-bones stage of your relationship, and like, good for you-”
“Huh?”
Hunk paused in his rambling. “What?”
Pidge’s eyes don’t stay locked on the computer on their lap, but they keep their flicking around to only that area, refusing to look up at Hunk. Hunk, who, if Pidge is correct (and their observational skills mean they probably are), is insinuating that two of their friends-
That they-
Which is fine!
It’s fine.
So why does Pidge suddenly feel off-balance, like a planet orbiting around a star only for that star to disappear, throwing off the planet’s trajectory and turning it into something unknown?
It’s only when Hunk asks if they’re okay that they realize they’ve been glaring holes through their laptop screen.
“Fine,” Pidge snaps, but even they don’t buy it. It’s clipped and they can feel how their own body language is screaming, that they seem like they’re fuming all of a sudden. They snap their laptop closed and walk out of the lounge.
Leaving their laptop next to where they had been sitting on their own couch.
Not wanting to acknowledge the outside world at all.
So now they were walking through the halls. Angry, but not quite. Hurt, but not quite.
“Why do I even care what my friends have or haven’t done, whether they’ve had sex or not?” Pidge thinks to themself. “It’s not my business, and obviously people have sex, otherwise none of us would even exist because humans don’t reproduce asexually.”
And oh, wasn’t that a word choice for their train of thought.
Suddenly, new waves of emotion are crashing down on them even as their steps continue exactly how they were, not changing pace.
An onslaught of guilt, because they shouldn’t care, and is it some kind of internalized homophobia? That it’s different when it’s having to acknowledge how their birth was technically made possible?
They can hear their own footsteps as their shoes hit the oddly smooth flooring of the castle ship’s halls.
They scratch that idea out, because sex and reproduction is a distant concept. Is it something to do with moralizing sex?
There’s a slight breeze against Pidge’s skin, though if it’s from the castle’s air system or their own walking, they don’t know.
But it’s not about morals, either. Pidge has known they’re asexual for a few years now, done all the research about the different experiences people have, known they themself are sex-averse and a-okay with that.
They don’t know where they’re headed, only that they’ve gotten far away from the lounge and that they don’t hear anyone else nearby.
It’s just. An unexpected reminder. That sex is real (which seems silly to think, but it’s something they honestly never think about anyways). That they’re different, young, left behind.
They turn a corner. And another. Pause.
That they don’t really know if anyone will understand.
The hallway split into two, both somewhat dark but not eerie. They turn right, letting the low lighting guide them. It’s enough to keep people from tripping, but not much more.
That they don’t want to bring this up to anyone on the team, only to watch their face as they try to comprehend what Pidge is explaining. They don’t need the reminder that it’s something they all experience, except for them.
They slow, seeing a small alcove in the wall.
They imagine trying to explain this mess of emotions to Lance, but it turns into a nightmare.
They tuck themselves into the alcove, knees pulled up against their chest.
The Lance they’re imagining doesn’t act like Lance; logically, Pidge knows Lance would try to understand, even if he was defensive at first. No, the Lance they imagine is confirming their fears: that they should mind their own business, that they’re too sensitive.
Tucked into that alcove, Pidge realizes they can feel their heart beating against their ribcage, and wonders when this went from something like anger (but not quite) to something like anxiety. Because they know they seemed angry when they left Hunk in the lounge, and they know Hunk verbally processes things (it’s part of why they work so well together), and they know Hunk will probably say something about it to Lance.
Tucked into that alcove, Pidge is afraid someone will connect some of the dots, but not all. Afraid that if they try to explain this mess of confusion in their head that it will just seem like they’re full of themselves.
Tucked into that alcove, they decide they won’t explain all of this to anyone.
The team knows Pidge is asexual. It’s been mentioned in passing and everyone is okay with it. But Pidge isn’t going to try to explain to anyone the weird feeling they get when people talk a little too seriously about sex. It doesn’t come up often anyways.
And so, tucked into that alcove, Pidge sits and processes. The anger and anxiety fade away, and eventually, the loneliness does too.
But as they pick themself up off the ground to start heading back to the lounge for dinner, they are left with the knowledge that this feeling will come up again.