Chapter Text
“You sure there’s absolutely no one in the entire universe that I could hypothetically set you up with?” Lance asks, for perhaps the fifth time in the past half-hour.
“Positive,” Keith grinds out through clenched teeth, driving his sword into the training robot with extra force. Remarkably, he’s still harming the robot and not Lance.
Meanwhile, Lance has the audacity to look thoughtful and longing in his own bubble. He leans forward on his elbows, letting out a contemplative noise.
Keith glares at him.
Lance shouldn’t even be at the training grounds right now. He’s just came here to laze around and loiter on the sidelines, which wouldn’t be as distracting if he wasn’t peppering him with asinine questions.
Fortunately for exactly no one, Lance’s trying to get Keith a boyfriend.
It all started a week ago. After one too many “Why don’t you pick up some chicks or something?” prodding questions from Lance finally pushed Keith to snap at Lance that he wasn’t into women.
Something he had never said out loud to anyone before. Not until then.
There must have been something in his face, or it was the sheer exasperation in his voice that made Lance’s face drop. Keith remembers how the silence stretched for a beat too long, and the way his lungs had filled with panic, chest tightening as he was certain he’d just made a terrible mistake.
But then realization slowly dawned upon Lance’s face, almost like he found the last puzzle piece and slotted it in place, revealing a full picture that made perfect sense. Then, he beamed at Keith and asked if there were any guys he liked, offering his ‘wingman’ expertise.
Keith had told him no. Repeatedly.
Despite Keith refusing his help, Lance hasn’t stopped asking since.
Could be worse, Keith supposes. At least he’s being supportive in his own completely infuriating way. Even if that support is slowly driving Keith to the brink of homicide.
“Reeeally?” Lance drawls, unaware or indifferent to Keith’s visibly rising temper. “You’re not interested in anybody? There has to be someone that must’ve caught your eye.”
Keith stabs through another training robot.
“Not,” stab , “anybody,” stab . The last one is hard enough to get his sword stuck.
“Dude,” Lance starts, unimpressed, “Have you ever crushed on anything in your life? Other than, like, someone’s hopes and dreams?”
Keith grits his teeth and yanks the blade free, just to brandish it at Lance. “If I had, the last thing I’d do is tell you. I wouldn’t want you sticking in your damn nose.”
Lance gasps, clutching his chest in mock offense, like Keith just stabbed him. “This nose?” He says dramatically, “Can smell romance from miles away. I’m a phenomenal wingman! Ask Hunk. I’m basically Cupid reincarnate!”
Keith almost laughs at that. Almost. “Oh, like how you set him up with that girl who ended up trying to kill him last week?”
“That’s on him. He went off-script,” Lance says with a casual shrug. “He’s still training under my guidance, but he’s not ready to freestyle yet. Again, entirely not my fault.”
“You’re the absolute worst. Have I ever told you that?”
“Every day,” Lance says, smiling obnoxiously fond.
It’s almost time for Coran to announce sleeping hours. Sooner or later, Lance will be whining that they should head over to the dining hall to make a late-night snack. And, he’s going to try and convince Keith to come with him and spend “quality bonding” time together.
It’s personally irritating. And it’s not helping with his Lance Situation .
The Lance Situation , also known as “the stupidest crush in the galaxy” (which is hardly even a thing, really) is a stupid, unfortunate crush that has started to haunt Keith in full force since they’ve been stuck in space.
Keith deeply loathes how it crept up on him, slowly and inevitably.
Because of course he had to develop a crush on Lance, who somehow grew tall and broad and unfairly hot during their time stuck in space, whose stupid disheveled charm easily wins the hearts of planets, and whose effortless charisma now made things uncomfortable to Keith specifically.
He still doesn’t understand when that changed. Back at the Garrison, they were rarely in the same room. Lance was apparently an annoying, jealous cadet that glared at Keith any chance he could. Keith barely remembers him. There was distance between them.
But now? Now Lance is everywhere.
Lance wedges himself in his space. He leans over Keith’s shoulder during mission briefings, nudging him during downtime, throwing casual grins his way like they’re second nature.
Lance laughs too easily at Keith, teases him too often, and somehow manages to make even the most mundane moments feel charged.
He no longer looks at Keith like a rival, but like someone he actually considers a friend.
And, despite everything, Keith selfishly thinks it's not enough.
So anyway, a crush has developed. For now.
Keith will get over it. Eventually. Probably. He should be able to get over it quickly, considering that Lance is so dedicated to being on his worst behavior, all the time.
Speaking of which, here he goes again.
Lance hops up from his seat, smiling way too wide for Keith’s comfort. “I have an idea.”
“No.”
“So, you’re not interested in anyone currently, right?” Lance barrels on, because fuck Keith, apparently. “That’s okay! Because we’re gonna find a male species from one of these planets for you! But first, we have to figure out your type, and then we’ll go from there.”
Keith considers stabbing him.
“We’re not doing that,” Keith mutters.
“Oh, we definitely are,” Lance replies, absolutely thrilled and, apparently, suicidal. “Space is massive! There are galaxies upon galaxies of hotties of all species just waiting to be discovered. This is your true destiny, Keith!”
“Lance—!”
But it’s too late. He’s already in motion, humming to himself as he takes Keith’s sword and heads off to hang it up like he owns the place. Bold move, entering the arm's reach of a highly trained fighter in a mood. Even bolder to pat Keith on the shoulder like some benevolent matchmaker-god.
Lance was the prime example of a man with no survival instincts
“It’s happening! It’s happening. Don’t fight it, Keith,” Lance says, as though Keith isn’t going to fight this kicking and screaming all the way. “I’m gonna be the best wingman you never wanted. But first, let’s hurry and see if there’s anything edible in the kitchen.”
Keith really considers stabbing him in his sleep.
In spite of his fervent protests, it does start happening anyway.
The Castle ship had taken a beating in their last skirmish, so a pit stop on Arus was overdue.
Between the rattling exhaust vents, damaged Quintessence channels, and flickering holo-emitters, Allura had officially declared it “nearing disgrace.”
Which was her polite way of saying “on the brink of falling apart.”
Pidge volunteered herself instantly, already halfway up the ship’s underhull before anyone could object. She and Allura were going to work together to start recalibrating the core’s quantum matrix and patching the stabilization gyros.
While they did that, Shiro insisted the rest of the team do something “productive.” Specifically, reconnect with the Arusians and remind them that Team Voltron cared, even when they were temporarily grounded.
“Public diplomacy matters,” he said, tone even but firm, “So, whatever the Arusians have planned, we follow that accordingly.”
Naturally, Lance groaned like he’d been sentenced to death. “Shiro, buddy, pal, esteemed leader. Please, don’t make me do this. I am already so socially drained thinking about it. I need, like, six hours of quiet, alone time, preferably with snacks.”
Hunk gives him a comforting smile, clapping a broad hand on his shoulder. “You’re Lance McClain. You could roll out of bed and still have enough charisma for everyone.”
Lance whines dramatically. “If they try to hold a sacrificial ceremony, I’m running!”
While Shiro and Hunk began laughing with Lance, Keith was too distracted quietly watching Pidge and Allura converse closely together. Curiosity clouded his thoughts.
The celebration is already in full swing by the time Team Voltron arrives. Arusians dart around with lanterns, fruit trays, and giant mugs of fluorescent nectar. Someone plays a flute-like instrument that makes Hunk teary-eyed, and there is a conga line forming around the bonfire.
Keith isn’t particularly drawn to the festivities, but he hangs around the edge of the gathering. Eventually, he spots Pidge, back from the ship and gnawing on a stick of skewered fruit. He moves toward her.
“Hey,” he voices, “What did you and Allura end up fixing? The converter plates or array?”
Pidge perks up, smiling up at Keith. “Both, actually. We had to realign the converter plates manually, but the array was feeding back into the subflux grid, which was messing up the charge.”
Keith nods, eyes narrowing in interest. “That would explain the flickering in the lower corridors. How’d you do it?”
“I rerouted it through the auxiliary prism socket. We had to bypass the original relay. Allura thought it was overkill, but honestly? I think she secretly liked it.”
Keith gives a rare, subtle smile. “Nice work, Pidge.”
Pidge grins, pride radiating from her glasses. “Yeah, well, being a genius is kinda my thing.”
Keith opens his mouth to ask something about the modified readings she logged. But then, all of a sudden, he hears this agitating grating voice.
“Oh wow! I care so much about this conversation!” Lance’s voice slices through the air, all fake enthusiasm as he slides in between them, arm slung lazily over Keith’s shoulder.
Pidge’s smile drops. She squints at him. “Why are you here?”
Lance blinks at her innocently. “What? I can’t join a riveting engineering chat?”
“Not when you’re clearly eavesdropping like a nosy rat,” Pidge shoots back, “What do you want?"
Lance outright pouts. “I just couldn’t help admiring the deep, passionate love for the convertor-thingy and subflux-thingy you were explaining. Very proprioceptive!”
Keith narrows his eyes slightly. “You don’t even know what that word means.”
“Guys! I could totally learn some smarty-pant lingo,” Lance says with mock indignation. “Maybe I am realizing that I want to broaden my scientific quantum horizons.”
“Since when?” Pidge asks.
“Since now. I'm a new man. Enlightened. Scholarly. Hot and humble.”
“Who has ever said that?”
“Anyways, Keith needs to come with me real quick. Hope you’re cool with that, Pigeon. I’ll give him back after,” Lance said brightly, not even trying to answer her question. He reaches down, grabs Keith’s hand with effortless familiarity, and tugs it towards him.
Their hands fit too easily. Too naturally.
Under his gloves, his palms were clammy, unsure, but Lance couldn’t notice, even if he tried.
Keith barely registers leaving the firelight and Pidge entirely, as Lance guides him across the grassy area.
Still holding hands.
They don’t stop until they are off the main path, tucked behind a half-crumbled structure with vines crawling up its side.
Lance turns to face him, and Keith finally refocuses his gaze up from their hands to his eyes.
“You okay?” Lance asks, voice quieter now.
Keith swallows. “What?”
“You’ve been kinda.. I don’t know. Quiet. In general. You’re good, right?”
Keith’s pulse picks up.
“I’m fine,” he manages, eyes darting across Lance’s face. He looks good. Annoyingly good. His face is soft under the Arusian starlight, with his hair tousled just enough to be unfair. Keith can’t tear his eyes from staring.
Lance studies him for a beat too long, brows slightly pinched, like he didn’t quite buy it.
“You sure?” he asks, voice quieter now. “I mean, you’re normally closed off, but I saw you were more distant earlier today. Like you were chewing on something. Mentally.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You know, like brooding harder than normal. I call it brooding-er.”
“That’s definitely not a real thing.”
Lance tilted his head, a faint smirk forming. “It is when you do it.”
Keith scoffs under his breath, mouth twitching in a way that almost betrayed amusement. "You spend way too much time analyzing me.”
Lance grins, tipping his head to the side. "Yeah, well, who’s gonna keep tabs on your dramatic moods? Someone has to take on the role. And I swear, it’s not an easy job."
Keith rolls his eyes, but his chest pulls a little tighter.
Moments like these when Lance isn’t putting on a front and he slips into this weirdly thoughtful version of himself always throws Keith off. He can never predict when Lance will say something unexpectedly kind that makes Keith feel seen in ways he wasn’t used to.
And maybe that’s the problem. Why his feelings kept spiraling like this. Why he couldn’t just shake this stupid crush off.
Because underneath all the obnoxious bravado and showboating, Lance has a good heart. A sincere one. He cares enough to look out for other people.
Keith, for better or worse, admires that part of Lance.
“I’m good, thanks for asking,” He mumbles, the corners of his mouth upturned slightly.
Lance smiles, seemingly satisfied with that response. “Fantastic! Perfect timing, then!”
Keith barely had enough time to fully process their entire conversation before Lance gestures with his chin. “So. What do you think of that guy?”
Keith follows his gaze, only to spot a short, roundish Arusian with comically large eyes and a daisy crown balanced atop his head. The Arusian waves at no one in particular, dancing and humming to himself as he passes by.
He deadpans. “Lance.”
“Hear me out,” Lance says quickly, already raising a finger in anticipation. “He seems like someone you could talk to without getting nervous. I could totally see him get deep with conversations.”
Keith stares at him in flat disbelief.
“Like, real open-heart-chakra vibes,” Lance adds, as if that helped to explain his thought process.
Keith doesn’t respond. He didn’t have to.
His expression says ‘Are you fucking serious?’ louder than any choice of words.
Lance presses on anyway; the idiot. “Before you say no, consider: if you two were the only living beings on Earth, would you let him hit? Or, would you hit on him?”
Keith turns and walks away. Dignity barely holding on.
“Keith!” Lance calls, jogging after him a step. “Come on, he’s a real nice guy! His people are very emotionally in tune! Just one conversation! One! Are you going to let another nice guy finish last before he can even try?”
Keith flips him off over his shoulder.
Once Lance gets it into his head to do something ridiculous, he commits to it like it’s a divine calling. And God forbid Keith ever gets in the way of Lance being an idiot.
Unfortunately, his self-appointed mission continues on Balmera.
The Balmeran surface visibly looks still cracked and raw in places, but the people have begun to rebuild and reform themselves. Progress was made, slowly, but surely.
The lions were settled at the edge of the main plateau. The crew moved like clockwork, hauling crates down ramps and across uneven terrain to a long line of Balmerans waiting patiently for food, medical kits, and supplies.
Shiro stood near the drop-off zone, arms crossed, face focused, coordinating with Allura over comms. Allura, in full princess mode, had already disappeared toward a gathering of Balmeran elders, probably preparing a rousing speech about intergalactic solidarity.
Pidge and Coran had taken the rear, struggling slightly with the last few boxes. Pidge grumbled something about “ancient engineering” while Coran cheerfully narrated every step like he was hosting his own personal talk show.
Hunk, naturally, had other plans in mind. He sits perched on a smooth boulder just a few steps from Shay, who rests across from him with folded legs and a gentle smile. The way he looks at her is painfully obvious; soft, goofy-looking, and completely lost in her gaze.
“Hunk’s about two seconds from passing out,” Keith mumbles around a mouthful of ration bread, eyeing Hunk and Shay from his seat on another nearby boulder.
Lance flops down beside him, tearing open his own food pack. “Classic rookie mistake.”
Keith chews thoughtfully, then asks, “Shouldn’t you go wingman him, or whatever?”
Lance squints at Hunk, who’s now nervously laughing as Shay touches his arm mid-story. It seems she’s completely oblivious to Hunk’s growing red face, unaware her touches caused complete mayhem in Hunk’s usually collected mind.
Keith can relate. Deeply.
“Nah,” Lance finally states, tearing off a bite of his wrap. “I think he’s got this.”
Keith raises a brow. “You seem to have a lot of confidence in him. Despite his track record.”
Lance gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, but Shay’s completely different. She appreciates the Hunkster even when he’s being awkward.”
Keith looks over again. Shay leans closer now, clearly fascinated by whatever Hunk explains to her. Hunk looks like he might pass out from sheer joy. But she doesn’t seem to notice.
The inside of his chest twisting in jealousy.
He shrugs. “Fair.”
They sit in silence for a beat, the sounds of passing crates and chatting Balmerans settling around them like background music. A soft breeze moves through the plateau, carrying the scent of minerals and cave-soil.
Then Lance, without warning, leans back on his hands and points discreetly with his chin. “Okay. Now, for the real question.”
Keith groans, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t.”
“Is that your type?” Lance asks regardless, nodding toward a massive Balmeran hauling a crate of ore by himself.
The guy looks massive, easily twice Keith’s height, with a back like a boulder and arms thicker than the Lion joysticks.
Keith grimaces. “Lance. He's a literal mountain.”
Lance hums thoughtfully, still watching the giant Balmeran haul supplies like he weighed nothing. “Okay, but think realistically about it. He’s grounded, stable, emotionally immovable. Literally!” He says easily, using his fingers to count all his points.
Keith shoots him a flat look.
“I’m just saying,” Lance goes on, undeterred, “if you ever wanted someone with solid core values, I mean, he might be the one!”
“Oh my god.” Keith pinches the bridge of his nose. “You rehearsed this, didn’t you?”
“I’m improvising actually, thank you very much,” Lance says, faux-offended, however his smile widens. “This is pure, unscripted brilliance from yours truly.”
Keith rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts. “What are you even trying to prove with this? What do you gain exactly from asking that dumb question?”
Lance leans back. “Nothing. Just exploring your type. Since you won’t tell me.”
“Well, you should take the hint,” Keith mutters, crossing his arms. “I don’t have a type.”
Lance gasps, all mock drama. “You’re telling me you’ve never imagined being cradled in the arms of a Balmeran linebacker?”
Keith stares at him.
“Okay, fair. That’s like my main thing with you,” Lance amends with a smirk.
Keith makes a strangled sound of disbelief, turning away before Lance could catch his face turning a tinge red. He busies himself by twisting the cap off his bottle of water.
“I already told you he’s not my type, idiot.” he repeats, choosing to ignore what was just said.
Lance wiggles his eyebrows at Keith. “You don’t like a man who can get rock hard?”
Keith chokes on his water mid-sip.
Lance watches him closely now, smug as hell, both brows arched in perfect, infuriating amusement. “You have yet to supply me an answer, Mullet.”
“Shut up,” Keith hisses, cheeks burning hot. Stupid Lance for giving him visuals that he could never share with any living being. Visuals of Lance in the tightest clothes and being—
Lance leans closer, his voice low and teasing, clearly enjoying himself. “You sure? Maybe he could even carry your emotional baggage for you.”
That did it.
Keith unscrews the cap from his water bottle and flung the contents directly into Lance’s face, splashing him instantly.
Lance squawks and coughs, jerking backward as the water drips from his face.
Keith stands up in one fluid motion, stuffing the rest of his ration into his mouth. “Finally. I got you to shut up.”
Lance was still blinking through wet, long lashes, sputtering. “R-Rude! That’s a valuable source of hydration!”
“Oh yeah? Then soak in it,” Keith retorts, before marching off toward the next cargo crate.
Fortunately, the dreaded wingman gig turns out to be less dramatic than he feared. Mostly, it’s just Lance pointing out random guys when they’re stationed on a planet and asking if Keith thinks they’re attractive
Which is still idiotic, but at least it’s not catastrophic.
Unfortunately, it’s become constant.
Lance will ask during training, while doing errands, and mid-conversation. Mid-chew, even. He is a relentless dumbass on a mission sent from hell.
Of course, none of this has made the crush go away. No, that would be too easy, seeing as Keith is physically incapable of catching a fucking break.
No amount of forced matchmaking could ever make Keith un-want the very same person trying to set him up with someone else. He’s embarrassed by this fact alone.
Still, there had to be a better place and time for Lance to spring up his wingman charade.
The Castle ship received an unknown signal in the dead of space. It crackled through the comms like static, distorted, ghostly, and barely legible. But Pidge had a knack for pulling order from chaos. Her fingers flew across the console, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses.
"Got it!" she said, triumphant. "It’s Galra frequency. Scrambled, but someone’s definitely calling for help. I think I can trace the origin."
A tense silence fell across the bridge before Shiro nodded once, firmly. "Set a course. If there are prisoners, we’ll free them. Let’s go, team."
With that, they went inside their Lions and launched into stealth mode, sleek and silent.
Once the Galra base where the signal came from was located, Pidge hijacked and quickly accessed the map grid, directing them through a massive maintenance shaft that tunneled deep into the belly of the facility.
They landed without detection. So far, so good.
"Split up," Shiro ordered. "Find the prisoners and get out fast. Keep comms open."
Keith shadowed the Galra patrols, hiding in blind spots and moving only when the path was clear. He didn’t breathe too loud, didn’t blink unless necessary. Eventually, down a dim corridor, he found them. Prisoners, huddled behind bars, eyes wide, some crying.
He presses his comms. "I found them. Sending coordinates now."
"Yoooo!" Pidge whoops.
"Oh, thank God," Hunk sighs in deep relief, audibly very out of breath.
Shiro's voice echoes over next, calm but firm. "Keith, is your coast clear?"
Keith opens his mouth.
CLANG!
The sound comes too fast. A sentry robot lunges from the shadows. Keith barely twists his body in time, rolling as a laser beam sears the air where his head had just been.
"Shit!" He hisses, drawing his bayard as the alarms shriek across the base.
"INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT."
The prisoners scream behind him. Keith doesn’t have any time or patience to comfort them. "Get down! Cover yourselves!" He yells, readying himself for the onslaught attack.
Then the robots came. He cuts through them deftly, his blade flashing with deadly precision. They drop one by one, seizing as sparks flew out of their open, split wires.
The hallway blares with red lights. Sirens rebound against the walls.
One of the prisoners cries out, “There’s more coming!”
Keith turns sharply, parrying a blast from the right and swinging clean through the shoulder joint of the robot that fired it. “I told you to stay down!” He shouts, barely sparing the prisoners a glance, “Don’t worry about me!”
Another bot jumps from a side corridor. Keith ducks low, dragging his blade up into its chest and kicking the remains to the ground.
His chest heaves with sharp, deep-labored breaths.
He can handle this. He can handle this. He can totally handle this.
Until something massive slams into him from the side.
Keith hits the ground hard. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, ears ringing and vision spotting. Pain flares along the front of his ribs as a Galra soldier weighs on him with bone-cracking force.
“Gah—!” Keith chokes, struggling as the soldier pinned him down with sheer weight.
The Galra soldier looms over him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with pink scars jagged against purple fur. Yellow eyes burning down into Keith's, and sharp fangs poking through as he growls, saliva running down his neck.
"You're a bold little pest," He spats, his grip on Keith’s wrists tightening, “I can’t wait to crush you until your insides pop through your eyes.”
"Fuck you,” Keith snarls, glaring up at him with equal intensity.
The Galra soldier sneers, pressing more weight onto Keith’s chest. “Cocky little brat. Your fellow paladins will find your broken body in a pool of your own blood. Maybe I’ll mount your helmet on my wall. Alongside my other trophies from the dead I reaped.”
Keith grits his teeth. "You talk too much."
The soldier growls lowly, leaning in, breath hot and sour against Keith’s cheek. "Any last words, little Paladin?"
"Yeah. Back up."
Sharp sounds crack through the air. The soldier roars, stumbling as multiple shots hit him in the back, his body spasming.
His grip loosens. Keith rolls out from under him, pivoting his position. He rams the heel of his hand into the soldier’s chin, knocking his head back, and then strikes hard into the back of the Galra’s neck with precision and force.
The Galra goes limp, collapsing beside him with a heavy thud.
Keith looks up, breathless.
Lance stands just down the hall, rifle smoking. His stance looks perfect.
His heart flutters. Keith gives a breathy laugh.
"Easy shot."
Lance lowers his rifle, scoffing. "You know, a little gratitude here and there would help to better your image. You’re welcome, by the way!"
Keith brushes debris off from his shoulder. “I had it covered.”
"Oh! Really?" Lance gapes, feigning surprise initially, "Huh? I wouldn't have guessed from the way you were one second away from getting your ass handed to you!"
Keith rolls his shoulders and pushes up to stand, but the sharp pain from his cracked rib instantly hits him like a shockwave. His breath hitches, legs faltering beneath him.
"Whoa—! Hey, easy there." Lance rushes in, arms steadying him.
Keith thickly swallows, caught off guard not by the pain, but by how close Lance was now. His voice resonates low and full of concern, aimed solely on Keith’s wellbeing.
His heart stutters traitorously.
Together, they help the prisoners out. Lance fishes out a small explosive from his pouch, casually attaching it to the prison lock. “Stand back!” he calls out. It beeps a couple times before finally blowing the doors open with a satisfying crack.
"Single file," Keith yells in a strained voice, gesturing as the prisoners stumble out. "Move fast and stay together! If you see anything, shout!”
Lance keeps a firm grip on Keith’s shoulder, steadying him as they lead the front of the group, flanking the line of refugees.
Once they made it out of the base’s inner corridors, and now halfway to the lion bay, Lance radioed in Shiro. “We’ve got the prisoners. Heading back now.”
“Copy that,” Shiro’s voice crackled back. “All teams, draw back to the Lions. Repeat, draw back. Mission complete.”
The primitive instincts in Keith’s chest still hadn’t eased down, even with the confirmation that the mission was over. His ribs ached, his breathing was uneven, and the adrenaline still trembled under his skin.
Keith exhaled sharply, coaching himself to focus. Almost there. Calm down. Breathe.
Then, because the universe hated him, Lance decided this was the perfect opportunity to glance back at him, sideways.
“Soooo, was that your type?”
Keith turns his head. "What?"
Lance points a thumb back to the hallway they’d just come from. “That Galra soldier. Real big guy. Rough around the edges. Definitely had some scars. Is that your thing?”
Keith scowls. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What? I'm just trying to understand your preferences, man!"
Keith didn’t have the energy to storm off, not with the way his ribs protested every movement. Instead, he leans heavier into Lance’s side, letting him take more of his weight as they move forward.
Lance, ever the biggest idiot, did not take the hint.
“I’m just saying! Maybe you like guys who can throw you around a little. He had a presence! You know, the type of guy who can put you in your place."
Keith groans, pressing a hand to his temple like that might somehow block out Lance’s voice. His ears burn, and he couldn’t tell if it’s from utter frustration or something worse.
Lance hums in thought, "He's still unconscious if you wanna grab his number.”
Keith shifts his body just enough to find the right angle and elbow Lance in the ribs. Not hard enough to actually double Lance over, but enough to make his point.
Coran suggested a trip to the Space Mall.
“Morale maintenance,” he called it.
Keith had been ready to decline, but Lance had already looped an arm around his shoulders and said, “Ah, Ah. You’re coming with me, Mullet. We have some investigating to do.”
Which is how he found himself sitting in a food court in the Space Mall, listening to Lance prattle on and just letting this wingman stunt happen.
Lance sits close enough for their shoulders to bump every time he shifts. Keith actively tells himself it’s not on purpose. However, it doesn’t help to cease his heart booming in his ears and his skin thrumming from the subtle touches.
He doesn’t realize Lance has been saying his name until about the third or fourth time.
“Keith!”
“What?!” Keith snaps, white-knuckling his fork. He glances down at his plate to find that he’s accidentally cracked the plate and tray through the middle.
“Jesus, finally. I am trying to ask you what you think of him,” Lance gives a discreet nod in the direction of a guy standing in line to get food. “Your type?”
Keith follows the gesture. The light-blue Unilu is about medium height, with an athletic build and antennas poking out from his black hair, lazily pulled out of his face in a ponytail. His gaze seemed stern, brows furrowed and lips frowning.
For some reason, Keith instantly dislikes him.
“Not even close,” he says, stabbing his food again for good measure.
Lance looks genuinely affronted. “What? Seriously? I thought he was kinda cute.”
Keith glares at his plate. He now dislikes the guy purely because Lance thinks he’s cute.
Seconds later, Keith stills.
... Does Lance think some guys are cute?
Keith didn’t know that; or at least, he didn’t know it for sure. He’d always been half convinced that was his mind digging too deep into things.
But hearing it so offhand, so casual felt world shattering. It plants itself in Keith’s brain like a weed. Keith will try not to think about it, but more than likely he’ll think about it a lot, all the time, for the next few weeks.
“You have bad taste,” Keith states evenly, partially because it’s true, but also, he says it just to hear the offended noise Lance makes in response.
“I need a second opinion,” Lance declares, then turns to Pidge, who’s been eating quietly this entire time, and is therefore clearly trying not to have any part of this conversation.
“Pidge,” he says, careless even as fixes him with that specific withering stare she reserves for when someone’s interrupted her meal. “Do you think that guy’s cute?”
She does not drop her fork.
“Just answer the question! Please,” Lance adds, all puppy-dog eyes. “For science.”
She sighs heavily, glaring at Keith in a way that says, ‘This is your fault too’ , then turns toward the man in question.
After half a second, she wrinkles her nose, mouth twisting, “Absolutely not.”
Lance throws up his hands. “What! You can't be serious!”
Sitting across from Pidge, Hunk turns in his seat and leans his head forward to get a better look at the target of discussion.
Upon seeing him, Hunk immediately presses a hand to his mouth like he’s hiding a laugh.
“Oh? What do you think?” Pidge asks, suddenly intrigued now in what he struggles to voice.
Everyone watches Hunk desperately trying to smother his laughter. Alas, after a couple poor attempts, he calms himself. Looking away, he clears his throat.
“He kinda reminds me of Keith,” Hunk says.
Pidge does a double take, before smirking back at Hunk, “He does!”
While Keith busies himself trying to figure out whether or not to be insulted, Lance bursts out laughing, but it’s a bit too high-pitched.
“What? No way!” He exclaims, between his hard chuckles, “Keith is—! They’re totally different. You guys are being ridiculous!”
“If you say so,” Pidge intones, fixing herself with one of her usual shit-eating grins. For some reason that effectively shuts Lance up for the rest of dinner.
He doesn’t speak again until they’re on their way out of the food court, after they’ve finished eating and put away their plates and trays in their designated area.
Before they can leave and head back to their Lions, Lance catches the edge of Keith’s jacket sleeve, stopping him in the doorway.
“One more try?” he asks, a little sheepish.
Of course, it’s this again. Keith should say no and put an end to this tomfoolery, but Lance’s quietness for the latter half of dinner was vaguely troubling.
Silence from Lance means thinking, and thinking means overthinking, and that’s never a good road for Lance to go down.
So, Keith will indulge him. For now.
“One more,” Keith agrees with a sigh.
Lance lights up and Keith’s heart stutters foolishly in response.
“Okay, okay,” Lance whispers excitedly, pointing across the dining hall about as inconspicuous as someone can, you know, point across a room. “What about him?”
For a moment, Keith just stares at Lance’s hand. The bend of his fingers and the few faded freckles dotting the back of his palm. His hands have gotten big, just like the rest of him. They’re slightly calloused but they look softer than Keith’s, probably because he doesn’t train as much.
Terrible. Keith scowls at Lance’s hand and absolutely does not imagine holding it.
Keith follows his finger, and—
Sal.
It’s Sal.
Keith stops. Just stares.
Lance practically cackles at his disgust, doubling over with laughter.
Keith is never indulging him again. He just shoves Lance, hard. Then, he turns and walks away. “Fuck off, Lance.”
Lance scurries after him, still wheezing with amusement. Once he’s caught his breath, Lance bats his eyelashes in an exaggeration of innocence that doesn’t match the sharp line of his smirk. “What? Don’t you like a man who talks too much and can drive you a little insane?”
Ha. If only.
“Not that one,” Keith snaps, and he walks out, with a laughing Lance trailing after.