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The library was quieter than usual, the kind of stillness that made every page turn feel like thunder. Dust motes floated lazily through the shafts of late afternoon sun slanting in through the tall windows, catching on the worn wood of the long table where Lance, Keith, Pidge, and Hunk had set up camp. Textbooks, notebooks, snack wrappers, and a couple of empty coffee cups littered the space between them, the chaos of productivity in full force.
Lance sat at the edge of the group, a little hunched over, elbows braced on the table, completely absorbed in the physics textbook in front of him. His pencil twitched in his hand, tapping the corner of the page in a steady, impatient rhythm as he worked through a particularly brutal problem set. His lips moved silently with the equations, brows drawn tight in concentration. His glasses had slipped just a little down his nose, but he didn’t seem to notice—too deep in thought.
The hoodie he wore was far too big for him. The sleeves were bunched around his wrists, and the hem hung halfway down his thighs when he stood. It was black, soft-looking, worn in at the seams, and unmistakably not his. It was Keith’s. Lance had “borrowed” it sometime that morning, throwing it on in a rush on his way out of the dorms. At least, that’s what he claimed. Keith hadn’t exactly objected.
Now, Keith was sitting across from him, pretending to review his notes on gravitational anomalies, but his page hadn’t been turned in almost fifteen minutes. His pen dangled loosely between his fingers, completely forgotten. Because Lance was right there, looking like he’d been sculpted out of a soft hoodie and golden sunlight, with his whole world narrowed down to the puzzle in front of him. And Keith couldn’t. Stop. Staring.
It wasn’t just the hoodie, although the sight of it draped around Lance made something warm and weird stir low in Keith’s chest. It was the way Lance furrowed his brow when something didn’t click right away, the little noise he made when it finally did. The way he pushed his glasses up with the side of his finger without taking his eyes off the page. The way his foot bounced under the table in this restless, focused energy Keith had started to find more endearing than annoying.
“You’re staring again,” Pidge said without looking up, typing away at a speed that should be physically impossible. She sipped her drink like she wasn’t casually calling him out.
Keith blinked and snapped his gaze down to his own notes. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Hunk added, flipping through a thermodynamics guide. “It’s okay, though. He looks cute when he’s trying to solve stuff. Like a very determined math gremlin.”
“I do not look like a gremlin,” Lance muttered, not even looking up, which only made the moment worse. Or better, depending on how Keith looked at it.
Keith tried to play it cool. He cleared his throat, forced his eyes back to his notes. But the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling slightly upward.
Because maybe Lance hadn’t noticed. But Keith had. And right now, in this quiet pocket of time and books and golden light, it felt like he could look forever.
Keith stared a little too long.
Lance was still deep in thought, muttering numbers under his breath and scribbling down equations. Keith’s pen had stopped moving entirely at this point, hovering uselessly over his notebook. He was painfully aware of every tiny movement Lance made, every shift in his seat, every soft sigh of frustration.
And then, without really thinking, Keith cleared his throat and asked, “Do you, uh… want some help?”
Lance looked up, blinking like he was surfacing from deep underwater. “Huh?”
“With the problem,” Keith said, a little quieter. “I think I’ve seen that one before. If you want.”
There was a beat. Lance stared at him, then glanced at the page in front of him and back at Keith. “Yeah. Yeah, actually, that’d be great. My brain’s melting.”
Keith felt a flash of something sharp and soft all at once in his chest. He nodded toward the empty space beside him. “Come over here. I can show you easier from this side.”
Lance pushed back from his seat with a groan and gathered his things—textbook, notebook, pencil case—moving them around the table to Keith’s side. Keith assumed he’d bring his chair with him, maybe drag it up beside him, sit close enough for their knees to knock under the table but nothing more.
Instead, Lance walked right up to him, set his stuff down, and—without hesitation—plopped himself down directly in Keith’s lap.
Keith froze.
Lance didn’t seem to notice the minor internal explosion happening inside Keith’s chest. He leaned back comfortably, adjusted himself like this was the most normal thing in the world, and pulled his notebook into his lap—well, technically Keith’s lap—and flipped to the right page. “Alright, here,” he said, pointing at the middle of the mess of equations. “This part’s killing me. It’s like my brain just rejects this formula.”
Keith blinked. “You’re… sitting. On me.”
“Yeah,” Lance said casually. “Your chair’s more comfortable.”
Keith opened his mouth. Closed it. Somewhere across the table, Pidge made a choked noise and buried her face in her sleeve. Hunk silently handed her a napkin like this happened all the time.
Lance didn’t seem fazed at all. He shifted just a little, settling into Keith like he belonged there, his body warm, his weight solid and familiar. Keith could smell the faint scent of Lance’s shampoo, could feel the curve of his back against his chest. He wasn’t sure if time had stopped or if his heart had just completely given up.
“Keith?” Lance glanced over his shoulder, eyes bright behind his glasses. “You good?”
Keith, cheeks burning, voice slightly strained, managed, “Y-yeah. Totally. Let’s, uh—let’s look at that formula.”
Lance smiled, and Keith was pretty sure he was never going to recover.
Keith did his best to focus—on the problem, not the fact that Lance was still very much in his lap, completely unbothered, flipping through pages and occasionally leaning back against Keith like it wasn’t sending every neuron in his brain into a tailspin.
“Okay,” Keith said, shaking himself out of it, “so this part here—where you’re getting stuck—it’s because you’re skipping a step. You need to substitute this value before you simplify the equation. Otherwise, you end up with a different result.”
Lance tilted his head, squinting down at the notes. Keith reached around him a little, his hand brushing Lance’s as he pointed to a specific line in the notebook.
“See? If you plug in the initial velocity here and not here, it actually cancels out with this term, and you can isolate acceleration.”
Lance blinked. “Wait—seriously?” He leaned forward, retracing the steps Keith had just explained. His pencil scratched across the page as he followed the logic again, a little more carefully this time. “Oh my god… oh my god. Oh my god.”
Keith couldn’t help but grin at the way Lance’s whole face lit up.
“Dude!” Lance turned in his lap slightly, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “I get it. Like, I actually get it! This was driving me insane all day, I thought I was just stupid or something—”
“You’re not stupid,” Keith said quickly, and a little too firmly. Lance paused, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice.
Keith blinked. “You’re not,” he said again, softer. “You were just missing a piece. Everyone does sometimes.”
Lance looked at him for a moment, like he wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Then he laughed—bright and breathless and completely sincere—and turned back to the notebook.
“God, that makes so much sense now. You’re a lifesaver, Keith. Seriously. You might’ve just saved my GPA.”
Keith shrugged, trying to play it cool, even though his heart was still working overtime. “Just returning the favor. You helped me with orbital mechanics last week.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t sit in your lap while I did it,” Lance said, smirking over his shoulder.
Keith flushed a deep red.
“You can, though,” he said before his brain caught up with his mouth.
Lance froze. Slowly, a grin spread across his face. “Oh? Is that an invitation?”
Keith looked away, suddenly very interested in his own notebook. “I mean. If you want.”
Lance bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”
Keith muttered something unintelligible.
And across the table, Pidge and Hunk were definitely pretending not to listen—terribly.
Lance was still grinning as he jotted down the last of the notes, now confident and quick with the equations that had once looked like ancient runes. He leaned forward slightly, giving one final flourish with his pencil before glancing at the time on his phone.
“Oh, crap,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “I’ve got class in like—seven minutes. If I run, I can make it.”
He stood up suddenly, his weight lifting from Keith’s lap in one smooth motion, and Keith almost collapsed back into the chair like his bones had melted. The hoodie—the his hoodie—slipped a little off Lance’s shoulder as he grabbed his books and notes, but he didn’t bother fixing it.
Lance looked back over his shoulder with a casual smile that made Keith’s heart stutter. “Thanks again, Keith. Seriously. You’re the best.”
And just like that, he was gone, weaving through the rows of shelves and out the door, leaving behind the scent of citrus shampoo and a very stunned Keith.
For a solid five seconds, the only sound at the table was the quiet hum of the library and Keith trying to remember how to breathe.
Then—
“So,” Pidge said, voice entirely too innocent, “was the lap thing your idea or his? Because I’m trying to figure out how much of this I need to store in the embarrassing-memories vault.”
Keith let out a strangled noise. “It wasn’t—it just happened—he just—he sat down!”
“On you,” Pidge deadpanned. “Like a literal human being who chose your lap out of every other available surface.”
Keith groaned and dropped his forehead to the table.
“And you let him!” she continued, grinning like a gremlin. “Keith, buddy, pal, you’re down bad.”
“Okay, okay,” Hunk said, holding up his hands, trying valiantly to defend his flustered friend. “Let’s all take a deep breath and remember that love is beautiful and terrifying, and sometimes people just sit on each other.”
“That is not helping!” Keith’s voice was muffled against the table.
“I’m trying!” Hunk insisted.
Pidge smirked and leaned forward. “So… when’s the wedding?”
Keith groaned louder. “Please stop talking.”
Pidge just grinned wider. “Oh no, you don’t get peace now. Not after LapGate 2025.”
And Keith knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that he’d never live this down.
The rest of the day crawled by in that weird, sluggish way time always does after something completely derails your emotional equilibrium.
Keith had managed to make it through his last two classes, though he retained approximately none of the information. Every few minutes, his brain would replay the moment Lance plopped into his lap like it was no big deal, followed by the memory of that easy smile, the casual “you’re the best,” and then—gone. Just walked out of the library, leaving Keith dazed and Pidge fully loaded with ammo for the next decade.
By the time the final bell rang, Keith was more than ready to ditch his books and crash. His mind was foggy, heart still fluttery in that annoyingly persistent way. So instead of heading back immediately, he lingered near the front of campus, hanging around one of the benches under the big sycamore near the quad. The plan was simple: wait for Lance to finish class, walk back together like they did most days, maybe pretend nothing happened, or maybe—maybe—mention it. Casually. Like it hadn’t short-circuited his brain earlier.
But just as he spotted the familiar head of messy brown hair making its way out of the science building, Keith’s stomach sank a little. Lance wasn’t alone. He was walking beside Kinkade, laughing at something the other guy said. They were heading in the direction of the dorms, and Lance didn’t look like he was in any rush to part ways.
Keith stood up automatically, unsure of what he was going to do. He wasn’t mad—why would he be mad? They weren’t a thing. Not officially. Not even unofficially. Lance could walk with whoever he wanted. And yet—
Keith jogged a little, weaving through a couple of lingering students, eyes locked on the two of them. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say when he got there—just that he didn’t want to let the day end like that.
But before he could get too close, Lance turned his head—and spotted him.
Immediately, Lance’s whole face lit up.
He said something quick to Kinkade, who nodded, gave a small wave, and turned to head off toward another path. Lance, meanwhile, skipped—actually skipped—over to Keith.
Without warning, he threw both arms around Keith’s neck and hugged him tight.
Keith barely managed to catch him, arms instinctively wrapping around Lance’s waist. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks again, but this time it was mixed with something warmer, softer.
“Hey, you,” Lance said, voice muffled against Keith’s shoulder. “I thought you’d already gone back.”
Keith blinked. “I was waiting for you.”
Lance pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes bright behind his glasses. “Oh. That’s kinda cute.”
Keith tried—and failed—not to smile. “Yeah, well. You are wearing my hoodie.”
Lance grinned and tugged the collar of it up dramatically. “I do look good in it, huh?”
“You really do,” Keith muttered before he could stop himself.
Lance's grin turned into something softer, almost shy, and he bumped his forehead gently against Keith's.
“C’mon,” he said. “Walk me home, mullet.”
And Keith did.
They walked side by side down the winding path that led toward the dorms, the campus starting to quiet down as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The air had cooled just enough to make the hoodie around Lance’s frame look even more fitting, cozy and well-worn.
Lance, true to form, was in full yap-mode. He was animatedly recounting something that happened during his last class—something about a professor accidentally knocking over a model of the solar system and blaming “Mercury retrograde.” His hands moved almost as much as his mouth did, his words spilling out fast and unfiltered.
Keith didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. He just walked beside him, listening, his hands tucked into his pockets, occasionally glancing over. There was something soothing about Lance like this—unguarded, talkative, alive with the little details most people didn’t bother sharing.
Keith smiled softly to himself, barely even aware of it.
As they rounded a corner, they passed a neatly trimmed bush blooming with soft, blush-pink roses. The late sunlight made the petals glow, catching Keith’s eye. Without really thinking about it, he paused for just half a second, plucked one of the blooms with surprising care, and stepped a little closer to Lance.
Lance didn’t notice at first—he was mid-sentence about how the planetary model “definitely had it out for him”—until Keith leaned in.
Gently, Keith reached up and tucked the rose behind Lance’s ear, the petals brushing against his skin. It sat there perfectly, nestled just beneath the edge of his tousled hair.
Lance blinked. His words caught in his throat. He stood still for a second, mouth slightly open, like his brain had just hit the brakes.
Then: “...What was that for?”
Keith shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even though his ears were turning red. “It just… looked right.”
Lance looked at him for a beat, then slowly reached up, fingertips brushing the flower like he wasn’t sure if it was real.
And then, with a nervous little laugh and a very noticeable red tint rising to his cheeks, he looked away. “God, you’re gonna give me a complex if you keep doing stuff like that.”
Keith tilted his head. “Like what?”
“You know. Being... charming. All subtle and soft and—ugh.” Lance groaned dramatically, but he was still grinning, his voice just a bit breathless. “How am I supposed to function like a normal person when you do things like that?”
“You don’t function like a normal person,” Keith deadpanned.
Lance snorted. “Yeah, well, you love that about me.”
Keith looked at him sideways, his expression unreadable for a second—then softened. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”
And Lance, still very much blushing, didn’t even try to hide the stupid smile that took over his face after that.
They were almost at the dorm now. The building stood just ahead, bathed in the warm amber light of early evening, windows glowing like lanterns. The walk had gone quiet for a few moments—not uncomfortably so, just the kind of silence that happens when hearts beat a little too loudly to leave room for words.
Lance still had the rose behind his ear.
Keith glanced at him again. The sight made something in his chest twist. Not in a bad way—just in that terrifying, electric kind of way that always came before something real.
Lance noticed the glance and gave him a soft little smile. “What?” he asked, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “You’re staring again.”
Keith looked away, then back, then away again. His hands were in his hoodie pockets, fists clenched around nothing. He swallowed.
“Hey,” Lance said, his voice quieter now, more curious than teasing. “You good?”
They’d stopped walking without realizing. Just a few steps from the dorm door. The air between them felt suddenly heavy, like the moment had curled inward, waiting.
Keith took a breath.
“I like you,” he said, almost too fast. Then—he paused, steadied himself, and said it again, slower this time. “I like you. Like, a lot. More than I’ve been willing to admit, even to myself.”
Lance blinked, his expression softening from playful curiosity into something wide-eyed and quiet.
Keith looked down for a second, then back up at Lance, voice steady now. “I didn’t plan to say anything. But… the hoodie, the lap thing, the rose—I guess I just realized I don’t want to keep pretending it’s nothing. Because it’s not. Not for me.”
Lance didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, stunned, the corners of his lips twitching like they were trying to choose between a laugh and a gasp.
Then, very gently, he reached up, touched the rose behind his ear, and smiled.
“You know,” Lance said, voice soft and almost shy, “you could’ve said all that before I sat on your lap and made a whole scene in the library.”
Keith huffed a quiet laugh, nerves breaking just a bit.
Lance stepped closer, close enough for their forearms to brush. “But I’m really glad you said it now.”
Keith’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah?”
Lance nodded. “Yeah. Because I like you, too. A lot. Like… a dangerous amount. It’s honestly kind of inconvenient.”
Keith grinned despite himself. “Guess we’re both inconvenienced, then.”
Lance laughed—soft and real—and nudged Keith’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go inside before I kiss you right here in public and give Pidge even more material to work with.”
Keith smirked. “What makes you think I’d mind?”
And if their hands brushed just a little too long as they walked into the building, neither of them did anything to stop it.
Their dorm room was quiet when they stepped inside, the kind of comforting quiet that comes after a long day—soft, golden light spilling through the curtains, the faint hum of the mini fridge in the corner, the air filled with the faint scent of laundry detergent and something distinctly Lance.
Keith closed the door behind them and leaned against it for a second, watching as Lance made his way to his side of the room. Without a word, Lance reached for the hem of the black hoodie and tugged it over his head, his hair ruffling in every direction as he pulled it off.
Keith couldn’t help but stare, only half because of how Lance’s shirt underneath rode up a bit in the process. The other half was just… his hoodie. In Lance’s hands. Warm from his skin.
Lance flopped down onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, the hoodie now bunched in his lap. He leaned back on one elbow, stretching like a cat, completely unaware—or very aware—of the way Keith was watching him.
Keith raised an eyebrow, arms crossed loosely. “So... am I ever getting that back?”
Lance blinked innocently, glancing down at the hoodie, then up at Keith. “Hmm? This?” he asked, holding it up and hugging it close to his chest like it was a plush toy. “I mean... technically it’s yours. But emotionally? Spiritually? I think it’s mine now.”
Keith walked across the room, stopping at the edge of Lance’s bed. “So that’s a no.”
Lance pouted dramatically, lower lip sticking out as he clutched the hoodie tighter. “Keith, how dare you. I’ve bonded with this hoodie. We’ve shared experiences. We’ve been through midterms together. We’ve—we’ve snuggled.”
“You sat on me for five minutes.”
“Five emotionally significant minutes.”
Keith rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the smile pulling at his lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love that about me,” Lance said, grinning cheekily.
Keith leaned down a little, bracing a hand on the mattress beside Lance, close enough that Lance could feel the heat of him. “Yeah,” Keith said, eyes locked on his. “I really do.”
Lance’s breath caught just slightly, but the grin returned in full force. He reached up, gently tugging at Keith’s shirt. “If I let you borrow your own hoodie back... do I get a kiss in return?”
Keith raised a brow. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I’m very convincing.”
And Keith didn’t argue.
Keith didn't move right away—just stood there, eyes on Lance like he was considering it, weighing all the outcomes. But his smirk was already forming, soft and crooked in that way Lance had started to recognize as dangerously fond.
“Alright,” Keith said finally, voice quiet but full of something warm. “Deal.”
Lance's eyes lit up, and he loosened his grip on the hoodie just a little, holding it out halfway, like a peace offering.
But instead of taking it, Keith leaned down, closer, until his nose nearly brushed Lance’s. “But I want interest,” he murmured.
Lance's breath hitched.
And then Keith kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed or messy, just slow and sure and real—the kind of kiss that made time blur a little around the edges. Lance let his eyes flutter shut, lips parting just slightly as his hand curled into Keith’s shirt. The hoodie slipped from his lap, forgotten.
When they pulled back, Lance looked dazed in the most delighted way.
“Well,” he said breathlessly, blinking up at Keith, “that was... fair compensation.”
Keith chuckled under his breath. “Only fair?”
“I might need a second opinion,” Lance said, tugging Keith a little closer by the front of his shirt.
Keith let himself be pulled, settling on the edge of the bed beside him, one knee touching Lance’s thigh. His hand reached out absently, brushing a few strands of hair behind Lance’s ear, fingers grazing the rose still tucked there, slightly wilted but beautiful all the same.
Lance softened under the touch, his earlier teasing melting into something gentler. He looked up at Keith with that quiet, open kind of gaze—the one that said I trust you without needing to say it.
“You can keep the hoodie,” Keith said quietly. “It looks better on you anyway.”
Lance smiled, slow and sincere. “I was gonna keep it even if you said no.”
Keith rolled his eyes again but didn’t bother pretending he minded. He reached for the hoodie, tossed it casually over Lance’s legs like a blanket, and leaned back on one arm. “So... what now?”
Lance stretched, then scooted closer until their sides were touching, warm and easy. “Now?” he said. “We do whatever we want. Because I’ve already won. I got the hoodie and the guy.”
Keith huffed a laugh and shook his head, cheeks pink. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love that about me.”
Keith didn’t even try to argue this time. He just kissed him again.
Sometime later, the dorm room was dim, lit only by the amber wash of the setting sun sneaking in through the half-closed blinds. The hoodie was still somewhere tangled in the sheets, forgotten again. The air was warm and soft and a little heavy—quiet except for the faint hum of breath and hearts still settling.
Keith shifted, slipping out from between Lance’s legs with a final press of his lips to Lance’s jaw. His face was flushed, hair mussed, and his breathing just slightly uneven as he leaned back, chest rising and falling with something slow and careful.
He glanced down.
Lance was lying there beneath him, head tilted back on the pillow, lips pink and kiss-bruised, cheeks a deep, satisfied red. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed with warmth and the kind of affection that made Keith feel seen. His shirt had ridden up just a bit, and the rose—somehow—was still tucked behind his ear, a little crooked now.
Keith stared for a beat too long. Something low in his stomach twisted, lit up in a way he wasn’t entirely ready to examine. The sight of Lance like that—completely unraveled, smiling at him like that—made Keith's heart stutter and his brain short-circuit.
He shook his head with a small, crooked laugh and plopped down beside him, shoulders brushing.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Keith muttered, voice hoarse with leftover heat.
Lance turned his head toward him, grin lazy and smug. “You say that like it’d be a bad way to go.”
Keith groaned and covered his face with his hand. “You’re the worst.”
“And you—” Lance said, poking Keith in the side until he peeked at him through his fingers, “—are very into me.”
Keith just gave him a flat look, which didn’t help his case at all, considering his ears were completely red.
They lay there in a moment of comfortable silence, still tangled up in each other’s warmth, before Lance turned his head toward Keith again.
“So…” he said softly, “when do you wanna tell the others?”
Keith raised an eyebrow. “Tell them what? That we’ve been making out for the past thirty minutes? Pretty sure Pidge sensed that in the Force or something.”
Lance laughed, throwing an arm across his face dramatically. “She’s gonna roast us. I can hear her voice already.”
Keith groaned again. “She’s never gonna let me live this down.”
“She’s never gonna let me live it down,” Lance countered. “She’ll say I planned this from day one.”
“Did you?”
Lance smirked. “No comment.”
Keith rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “Tomorrow, maybe?”
Lance nodded. “Tomorrow sounds good. I don’t wanna hide it. Not from them. Not when this feels…”
He trailed off, uncertain.
Keith filled in the rest for him, voice quieter, steadier. “Real.”
Lance smiled, all soft edges now. “Yeah. Real.”
They didn’t say anything more after that—just let the moment stretch, quiet and safe, the air between them humming with the calm that only comes when two people know they’re exactly where they’re supposed to be.
As the evening wore on, the soft golden light of sunset faded into the cooler hues of night. They finally peeled themselves off the bed—reluctantly, lazily—and took turns in the shower, trading places with sleepy grins and light teasing as one would emerge warm and foggy while the other disappeared into the steam.
Keith came out last, a towel still draped around his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. Lance was already curled up in Keith’s bed, half-buried under the covers with one arm outstretched toward him like an unspoken invitation.
Keith didn’t hesitate. He dropped the towel, pulled on a t-shirt, and slipped into the bed beside him.
It was a bit of a squeeze—Keith’s bed wasn’t built for two—but neither of them minded. Lance immediately tucked himself in closer, burying his face against Keith’s shoulder like it was second nature. Keith wrapped an arm around him, and everything just… settled.
“Comfy?” Keith mumbled, already halfway to sleep.
“Mmhmm,” Lance hummed. “Kinda perfect.”
And that was that. No more words. Just slow, steady breathing and the soft tangle of limbs beneath warm blankets as they drifted off together, hearts beat-for-beat.
—
Morning came gently, sunlight trickling through the blinds. Keith was the first to stir, blinking against the light. Lance was still asleep, curled into his side, one leg slung over Keith’s like they’d been like this forever.
Keith didn’t move for a while. Just watched him. Breathed him in.
Eventually, Lance groaned into the pillow, squinting one eye open. “Are you staring at me again?”
“You were drooling a little.”
Lance groaned louder, dragging the covers over his head. “You’re dead to me.”
Keith smirked and rolled out of bed, grabbing his phone.
Once Lance was up (after considerable complaining and one failed attempt to pull Keith back into bed), they sat side by side on the edge of the mattress, still wrapped in the quiet of their little shared world.
Keith glanced at Lance’s phone, then back at his. “You ready?”
Lance looked over at him, smile a little sleepy, but sure. “Yeah. Let’s tell them.”
They drafted the message together:
Lance 👑:
yo! meet us at the cafeteria at lunch—important announcement ✨💋
Keith:
it’s not that dramatic. just be there.
Lance 👑:
it’s extremely dramatic. don’t let him fool you.
They hit send at the same time.
Now all that was left was to wait. And maybe prepare themselves for the inevitable chaos that was going to come with it.
The texts were out. Sent. Delivered. Seen.
And within five minutes, chaos was already brewing in the group chat.
Pidge 🤖:
oh god what did you two do
why does it sound like you're about to announce a joint custody arrangement
Hunk 🍞:
is someone dying or getting married or did keith finally agree to do karaoke?
because i need to emotionally prepare
Lance 👑:
👀 you'll see at lunch
wear something cute
Keith:
no one needs to wear anything cute
just come. it’s not a big deal
Pidge 🤖:
^ that’s how i KNOW it’s a big deal
i'm showing up with popcorn
By the time lunch rolled around, Keith was nervous. He wouldn’t admit it out loud—he barely admitted it to himself—but Lance could tell. The way Keith kept fiddling with his sleeves. The way he kept scanning the cafeteria like he was expecting someone to walk in with a tactical team.
Lance bumped their shoulders together as they sat at their usual table. “Hey,” he said, “you’re not gonna spontaneously combust.”
Keith shot him a look. “You don’t know that.”
Lance laughed, leaned in a little closer. “They’re our friends. Pidge already suspects everything, and Hunk will probably cry.”
“I know,” Keith muttered, but his shoulders relaxed just slightly.
Soon enough, the group started trickling in—Hunk first, beaming as always; then Pidge, with a large soda and exactly zero chill.
Pidge dropped into her seat and immediately squinted at them. “Okay, what is this? Why do you two look like you’ve committed a very hot crime?”
Lance grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “We have something to tell you.”
Hunk’s face lit up before they’d even said it. “You’re dating!! I knew it!! Oh my god I KNEW IT!!” He clapped his hands excitedly, nearly knocking over his drink.
Pidge just stared. Then slowly turned to Keith. “You made a boyfriend before I could hack the grading system? Wow. Color me betrayed.”
Keith covered his face with one hand. Lance couldn’t stop laughing.
“Yeah,” Keith said finally, muffled into his palm. “We’re... together. Since last night. Kind of.”
“Kind of?” Lance echoed, nudging him. “Rude. I wore your hoodie and everything.”
Hunk reached across the table and took both their hands in his giant ones, eyes comically glassy. “I’m so proud of you two. I always knew this would happen. Ever since that time Lance asked if Keith ‘always looks like that’ after sparring.”
Keith groaned. Lance looked smug.
Pidge, meanwhile, was already pulling out her phone. “This is going in the archive. I’m starting a new folder. Title: Disaster Bi and Human Catfall in Love.”
“I will steal your laptop,” Keith warned.
“You can try.” Pidge smirked.
And just like that, the tension broke, melting into laughter and teasing and warm congratulations. Lance leaned back in his chair, hand brushing against Keith’s under the table. Keith didn’t pull away.
They were seen. Accepted. Roasted, but adored.
And it felt good.
Right.
After everything, Lance glanced over at Keith, who—despite his annoyed scowl at Pidge—had the faintest, softest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Yeah. Totally worth it.
Lunch bled into laughter and banter and a few too many fries being stolen off plates. Pidge demanded the full story with the thoroughness of an investigative journalist. Hunk wanted dates, times, and a timeline of emotional revelations. Keith wanted to melt into the floor.
Lance, of course, was living for all of it.
“So when did you know?” Pidge asked, chin resting in her hands as she stared down Keith like he was a witness on the stand.
Keith poked at his food with a deeply put-upon sigh. “I don’t know. A while ago.”
“Define ‘a while ago.’”
“Maybe when he started stealing my hoodies,” Keith muttered.
“That was, like, three months ago,” Hunk said.
Lance beamed. “Told you I was planning this.”
Keith looked at him. “Wait. You were planning this?”
“I had a mildly manipulative hoodie strategy. Don’t worry about it.”
Pidge fist-bumped him.
Eventually, the bell rang, and everyone groaned as they peeled themselves away from the table. Pidge left them with a dramatic, “Don’t make out in the quad unless I’m there to document it!” and Hunk gave each of them a hug so heartfelt Keith looked vaguely overwhelmed.
When it was just the two of them again, walking toward their next class, Lance glanced at Keith out of the corner of his eye. “So,” he said casually, “now that we’re out to the group, does this mean I get to hold your hand in public?”
Keith blinked, face already tinging pink. “You already sit on my lap in libraries. I think we’re past that threshold.”
Lance wiggled his fingers. “Just say yes.”
Keith hesitated… then reached over and laced their fingers together, their joined hands swinging slightly as they walked.
Lance was quiet for a second.
Then: “God, you’re so whipped.”
“Shut up,” Keith muttered, but his hand squeezed Lance’s a little tighter.
And Lance? Lance couldn’t stop smiling the whole way to class.
The walk to class was easy—too easy, honestly. Like the kind of easy that comes after the emotional equivalent of climbing a mountain barefoot and suddenly realizing you're at the summit, warm wind in your hair, with someone you really like holding your hand.
Lance kept sneaking glances at Keith, lips tugged in a smug little smile like he was the one who got away with something. Keith caught him once, raised a brow. “You good?”
“Just taking in the view,” Lance replied shamelessly.
Keith rolled his eyes, but his ears turned pink again, which only made Lance grin harder.
They reached their lecture hall, and for the first time, Keith didn’t immediately pull away when other students passed by. He didn’t flinch when someone from the debate team did a double-take at their linked hands. He just walked in, still holding Lance’s hand, calm and quiet and steady.
And if Lance looked just a little smug when they sat down—hands finally separating only because they needed to pull out notebooks—well, no one could really blame him.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of half-distracted lectures and exchanged glances from across classrooms. There was a silent kind of giddiness between them now, like an inside joke that ran deep beneath every smile and side-eye.
By the time classes were over, they were both exhausted but buzzing, ready to collapse and never look at a whiteboard again.
Back in the dorm, the door clicked shut behind them and Keith immediately dropped his bag to the floor with a thud. Lance followed suit, flopping face-first into Keith’s bed like it was his birthright.
Keith watched him for a second, amused. “You know that’s my bed, right?”
“Not anymore,” Lance mumbled into the pillow.
Keith sighed, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it across the room. “You’re insufferable.”
Lance peeked up, eyes twinkling. “And yet… here you are. Deeply in love with me.”
Keith froze mid-step.
Lance blinked, surprised he’d said it out loud—then winced, suddenly sheepish. “Okay, that was—maybe a little bold—”
“I am,” Keith said simply, cutting him off.
Lance stared.
Keith looked at him, all calm honesty, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t admitting something that made Lance’s entire heart feel like it was going to punch out of his chest.
“I’m in love with you,” Keith said again, softer now. “I didn’t think I’d say it today. But… I am.”
Lance sat up slowly, wide-eyed. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Keith ran a hand through his hair, voice a little rough. “It’s… a lot.”
Lance scooted to the edge of the bed, close enough that Keith could feel the warmth radiating off him. He reached out, gently tugging Keith’s shirt.
“Come here.”
Keith didn’t hesitate.
And when Lance kissed him this time, it was slower. Deeper. Less about heat and more about every quiet thing that lived between them.
When they pulled apart, Lance rested his forehead against Keith’s and whispered, “Me too, y’know.”
Keith closed his eyes, smiling softly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Lance nudged him with his nose. “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Good,” Keith whispered. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”