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Lance wasn’t much. Lance knew that, Keith knew that, hell, even Zarkon knew that.
He couldn’t really fight – not at first, at least –, he wasn’t very knowledgeable, his piloting skills were good, but not great. He was well rounded, sure, but he didn’t reach above average in anything.
He was physically fit, yet he managed to get winded going up the castle stairs sometimes.
He was tall, yes, but he was also lanky, lean, built less like a tank and more like a beanpole. He could cook, yes, his eyes were pretty – double yes – and he had a smile that couldn’t help but make people think ‘aw, he’s cute’ and ‘oh shit, what’d he do?’ at the same time.
He was a blend, that boy. A half ‘n half ice cream cone that Keith couldn’t help but want to go down o –
Fuck, fuck! Wrong thought process! Extremely wrong thought process!
“Good god,” Keith groaned, leaning forward into his hands and rubbing at his temples in hopes of clearing his mind. He was just analyzing Lance, just going over his strengths and weaknesses; he was doing nothing more and nothing less, really.
Okay, not really.
Keith glanced up, taking in Lance’s figure.
He was curled up in a chair with a tablet-like thing and a stylist (both curtesy of the last planet they’d saved. Apparently the tablet connected to the user’s mind and the pen guided their hand to create a near perfect replica of an image).
Keith knew how to spot a crush when he saw one, especially if that crush was his own.
He knew he’d been watching Lance more and more lately, paying more attention to him than usual.
He knew his heart would beat faster they passed and his face would get redder when they touched and his voice would get higher when they spoke.
Keith knew that he liked Lance, had a crush on Lance, was infatuated with Lance.
He was everything between friends and lovers with Lance, but Lance was everything between enemies and peers with Keith.
But Lance hated Keith; Keith was sure of that.
The first time they met, the first time Keith remembered them meeting, all Lance really did was jeer at him, insult him, talk about how he was better than Keith.
And, sure, as time had passed they’d both warmed up to each other – some – Keith – more than others – but that didn’t mean that Lance actually liked Keith.
He probably just tolerated him. He needed to, for the sake of the universe and Pidge’s sanity.
Keith sighed, throwing himself back against the couch.
Goddamn, he was in deep.
“Wassup?” Lance said, breaking the silence, “You’re unusually EmoTM today.”
“Just thinking,” Keith huffed.
“About MCR?” Keith grabbed a pillow and blindly chucked it in Lance’s direction. It smacked the wall next to his head. “And that’s why I’m the one with the gun.”
“Stop talking,” Keith groaned, curling up into a Paladin-sized ball and tucking his head into his arms, “You’re annoying.”
“One,” Lance chuckled out, “not gonna happen, never really happens. Two, thanks.”
“Not a compliment.”
“You know you love me.” ‘I do.’ “Anyways, I’m thinking of passing this around.”
Keith peered up out of his arms to see Lance wiggling the tablet for a few seconds before returning to drawing. He really did talk with his hands, this guy.
“I’ve gotten pretty much my entire family and home town done on this,” Lance continued. “It’s turning into more of a documentary than a memory box, actually.”
He gave a short laugh, hand still working non-stop against the tablet as he spoke. “You’re next, I guess. You’ll be the closest when I finish this, after all.”
“What makes you think I’ll be here when you are?” Keith asked.
“Because you like my presence,” Lance peaked up and grinned, waggling his eyebrows like a madman, “You’re attracted to it.”
Keith blushed; it wasn’t exactly a lie.
“So, what’re you gonna draw?” Lance asked after a few more seconds.
“I don’t know…,” Keith mumbled, glancing up. This was his chance. “Maybe stuff I love.”
“Like?”
Keith sucked in a breath, looking up at staring Lance. The said boy raised his head, locking eyes with Keith. Heat rose to his cheeks. Now or never. “You?”
(Keith never again saw Lance freak out as much as he did then)