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Prompt n°1: You just saved someone from drowning
“I was completely fine!”
Lance glares at the young man before him, dark hair plastered to his face, cheeks burnt a deep crimson. Just his luck! He spent the whole summer flashing his brand-new lifeguard trunks, practicing his slow-motion run to the rescue under the sneer of his siblings, never doubting it would come in handy. All the while he had kept an eye on the prettiest swimmers, hoping one of them would do him the courtesy of almost drowning, including potential bride-carrying-out-of-the-pool and oh-but-it-was-absolutely-necessary-mouth-to-mouth. So far, no luck, and when finally it seemed a cute raven-haired boy would be in need of his services, he had to have the temper of a wet kitten!
“Man, you were drowning.”
“I wasn’t!”
The other all but hissed, like an actual cat. Lance snickered.
“Oh yes of course! You were just chilling at the very bottom of the pool because ain't it the hottest spot in town! You should invite me next time, I'll bring the wine.”
The young man crossed his arms over his chest, shivering slightly. Lance sighed, went back to his elevated chair near the pool, retrieved a towel and threw it at his damsel-not-in-distress's head, maybe a bit harder than necessary. He stood staring while the other (who, he couldn't help but notice with a smirk, was shorter than him), as he vigorously dried his hair before draping the towel over his shoulders.
“Dude, is that an honest to god mullet?”
If looks could kill...
“What were you even doing down there? Pondering about the meaning of life?”
“It's just... quiet. Though I realize you may have some struggle to grasp the concept of quiet.”
Lance instantly regretted the towel. Now that the cat wasn't wet anymore, it felt like playing with the mouse, judging by the ironic gleam in the boy's pretty grey eyes. Hum, grey, just grey.
“You know what, next time I'll just leave you to drown.”
“For the last time, I wasn't...”
“Whatever you say, kitten.”
***
Prompt n°2: You’re having a friendly conversation with your lover’s spouse
“Are you having fun?”
Keith jumped, splashing half of his orangeade on his shirt. The woman lifted her hands in an apologetic gesture.
“Sorry, my lord, I did not mean to startle you.”
They both looked at their feet for a while, the sounds of the subduing ball, the last waltz, the drunken laughs, the clamour of "goodbyes" and "what a wonderful party" pulsing around them. The lady chuckled awkwardly, tugging a pearly-white lock behind her ear, unusually pointed, like an elf. Lance had mentioned that.
“I am Lady Allura”, she said finally with a little courtesy. “I think you know Lance? I'm his wife.”
Lance had not mentioned that. Keith felt a wave of heat burning its way from his chest to the tip of his ears.
“His... wife?”
He did his best not to stutter. Lady Allura seemed to share part of his unease, for she chuckled again.
“We'll be celebrating our three years of marriage in April. I'm sure Lance will want you there.”
And I'm sure I'll kill him as soon as I get the chance.
Honestly, he thought bitterly, joke's on him. Tale as old as time. It was a few months ago, the ball was lulling itself to sleep. Keith was keeping his usual post by the open bay windows, half-in, half-out. Lance had knocked him on his way out, cheerfully tipsy, clinging to him as he tried to stand on wobbling legs, dragging Keith with him towards the balcony. He had been insufferable, knocking their knees together and holding onto him too hard, until Keith was left with no other possible choice than kissing him, if only to make him shut up.
The rest was history. Past history, Keith corrected himself.
“I am grateful for him”, confessed Lady Allura, “in truth. It's like people say, really...”
And for the first time that night, she looked straight into his eyes:
“I married my best friend.”
She smiled at him in the kindest way, and he suddenly felt that, somehow, she knew.
“My Lady!”
Elbowing her way through the crowd of dancers and revelers, a blonde maid walked towards them. She was carrying her lady's coat, folded over her arms. Keith couldn't help but notice that her Lord's coat was nowhere in sight.
“Ah, Romelle, perfect. As always”, Lady Allura added with a subtle wink.
With another smile, she waved Keith goodbye, her other hand resting on the maid's waist.
“There you are! I've been looking for you. Hey, what happened to your shirt?”
Keith huffed. Speaking of the devil...
The devil had dark blue eyes and a bright smile.
“I'm going to kill you”, Keith whispered.
But he couldn't help smiling back.
***
Prompt n°3: You’re negotiating with your kidnappers to increase the amount of your ransom
“Hey! You two should kiss!”
The two black-clad men snapped towards her, glaring. And blushing a little, she noticed.
Pidge didn't make a habit of interrupting a squabble between kidnappers in her everyday life, but she was getting bored and they were easy targets. She knew amateurs when she saw them, and these two were babies. Judging from their voices they were older than her by a few years only, judging from everything else she gathered it was their very first mission: they forgot to tie her ankles, they almost tripped every possible alarm when they got her to the car, they didn't check for any tracking device on her (she had three), and... oh, yes! They mistook her for her brother.
All of it screamed "be nice, it's my first day", and Pidge was a lot of things, but nice wasn't one of them.
“Shut up, young man!” said the tall one, pointing a finger at her.
She bet her computer and her pirated version of Zelda with a Shrek skin that it was exactly how his mom did it.
“Look, just contact my parents, ask for the three millions, fly into the night, and then you'll carry on your little lover’s quarrel.”
“It's not a lover’s quarrel! Stop your insinuations, you, we... Honestly the nerves...”
“Three millions?” the smaller one chimed in. “We were going to settle for a million and a half.”
He looked at his associate, who was still fuming, with raised eyebrows. Pidge felt bad on her brother's behalf. It really didn't mean much to be a prominent scientist's son, nowadays.
“Are you kidding me? Do you even know who my father is?”
Maybe Pidge could Malfoy her way out of it, maybe she couldn't; either way, she was gonna have herself some fun.
“I'll have you and your girlfriend here know that I am Matt Holt, son and heir of a renowned genius. I am easily worth three millions!”
“I'm not his...”
“Our contract stipulated one and a half.”
Pidge shook her head sadly, and said in her best godfather impersonation:
“Mistake of a lifetime, filio mio.”
The small one shrugged, the tall one looked seconds from exploding. Only when his associate placed a hand on his shoulder, he seemed to calm down a little. They walked towards the corner of the abandoned barn to talk more privately, ignoring the "get a room instead" that she stage-whispered.
“Three millions, that's my last word, boys!” she hollered from her chair.
“We're not talking to you!” the tall shouted back.
Lowering his tone, he added:
“What have we gotten ourselves into, Mullet?”
“It was your idea to join the gang.”
“Well, if someone didn't drop out...”
They turned their heads at Pidge giggling, one hand (she had freed her wrists ages ago) making a peace sign, articulating silently:
“Be gay, do crime!”
***
Prompt n°4: You’re in a train and you don’t have a train ticket. Instead, you have a plane ticket for the same trip. The inspector is arriving.
“Welcome to all our passengers! This train's destination is Edinburgh. We will be stopping at...”
At this exact moment, a lightbulb exploded in Lance's mind.
“A fucking train!”
The three other passengers in the cubicle startled.
“Lance, what the hell?” complained Hunk, right across him, sneaking glances around the train compartment.
Oblivious to his best bud's social cues, Lance kept on screaming, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“A train! We're on a fucking train!”
Also in front of him, at Hunk's left, Pidge shook her head, her voice gloomy:
“That's it, that was his last straw.”
Across from her, brows furrowed in concern, Keith shrugged. Lance looked at them, one by one, explaining like they were five years old:
“Where are we going?”
“Edinburgh”, provided Hunk helpfully.
“Where are we?”
“In a train”, said Keith, rolling his eyes.
“And we have tickets for?”
“A fucking plane”, concluded Pidge, her eyes suddenly haunted behind her glasses.
It finally dawned on them.
The cubicle exploded in a concerto of teenage panic, arms flailing, eyes tearing, punctuated with "ohmygodohmygodohmygod" and the word "train" repeated over and over in various intonations.
“What are we gonna do?”
Pidge had never seemed so young.
“We should be at the airport like, three hours ago!”
Hunk was positively hyperventilating.
“Are you okay?” inquired Lance.
In the seat next to him, Keith was even paler than usual. He gave Lance a small nod, pupils blown up by pure panic. Without looking, without thinking, Lance briefly squeezed his hand. He waited for the others to start breathing evenly again, before confidently assuring them that it was all fine, they'd reach their destination anyway, that's the thrill of adventure baby!, and no one ever verifies tickets in trains anymore.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! I'm your inspector, I'll be verifying your tickets. Please make sure you are sitting at your assigned sits.”
The four friends looked at the inspector in awed terror. The man looked more like a fearless adventurer, tall and strong; he even had the compulsory scar across his face. Way too epic to be a train inspector. But he was a train inspector. And they, on the other hand, were screwed.
“What do we do what do we do what do we”, began chanting Hunk.
“Keep QUIET!” hissed Pidge, currently trying to disappear inside her seat.
Beside Lance, Keith was vibrating with the effort it took him to keep his "fight or flight" reflexes under control. Lance's hand almost reached for his again, but he caught himself right on time. His (friend’s? rival’s? whatever’s?) eyes were stabbing the inspector, who started making his way to their cubicle. Lance repressed a flash of... What, jealousy? Nope, not in this house.
A plan, you need a plan you dumbass... And why is he staring so much anyway, guy's way too old for him! Right, a plan. Think, Lance, Think.
The closer the inspector was, the more visibly tired he appeared. Dark circles underlined his half-closed eyes, he sighed every single word he said. Even the hair at the very top of his head had started to turn greyish. Lance's not-jealousy dulled enough for him to think: can't they let the poor man nap?
When he reached their cubicle, he was a walking dead. Dead, like the silence that fell over the four teenagers.
“Tickets, please.”
At this point, Lance had elaborated the phenomenal number of one (1) plan and it sucked.
He jumped on his feet, threw his apple juice bottle on the floor as hard as he could and yelled:
“SCATTER!”
And it actually worked.
The inspector was too dazed to react and they were frantic enough to slip through his fingers, fleeing the compartment and dispersing in the rest of the train.
The last Keith saw of Pidge, she was climbing like a monkey in an elevated bag compartment.
The last Keith saw of Hunk, he was barricading himself in an out of service bathroom.
The last Keith felt of Lance, his hand was slipping from his, and he just disappeared. Keith tried not to think too much about it, about the warmth still radiating in his hand, and failed. He looked around him for a hiding place of any kind, when a hand closed on the collar of his jacket.
“There you are!”
The inspector beamed at him.
“Shiro, let me go!”
With a this-is-routine-do-not-worry smile for the other passengers, Shiro towed his fistful of emo kid on a platform between two compartments.
“So you do remember me! It's Keith, right? The broody one?”
Of course Keith remembered him, Shiro was only the best animator his orphanage ever had. He muttered:
“Long time no see.”
“Likewise, kiddo. What have you been up to?”
They spent the rest of the journey to Edinburgh absorbed in friendly chatter, catching up. Keith told him about his adventures in high school, the friends he made (yes, friends, just friends, shut up!), his piloting classes. In turn, Shiro told him of his accident, of the odd jobs he had to do now. On a lighter note, he got married last year (his name's Adam, you'd like him), and ended up forcefully inviting Keith to eat dinner at his house the next week.
When he walked Keith down the train station to his friends (who simultaneously jumped on him in a hazardous hug, all divided between weeping in glee or screeching in panic), Shiro whispered:
“So... the lanky one? Really?”
Keith blushed furiously.
“Shut up...”