Work Text:
Lance Crown preferred silence. It was easier to think when the world stayed still, when gravity obeyed him and everything else fell into neat, predictable patterns. That was how magic should be. Controlled. Precise. So naturally, Dot Barrett was the worst possible variable.
“WHY are you staring into space like that?!” Dot shouted, flopping onto the grass beside him. “Are you plotting something cool again without me?!”
Lance didn’t look away from the sky. “I’m thinking.”
Dot squinted. “That’s dangerous.”
Lance sighed, but he didn’t move. Somehow, Dot’s presence - loud, messy, constantly vibrating with energy, had become… familiar. Annoying, yes. But also grounding, in an odd way. Like noise that proved the world was still turning.
They sat there after training, uniforms wrinkled, magic spent. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the Easton grounds.
Dot kicked at the dirt. “You were insane today, you know that? That spell, boom! Everyone froze like bugs.”
“You did well too,” Lance said quietly.
Dot froze. “You... wait. SAY THAT AGAIN.”
“I won’t.”
Dot’s ears burned. Praise from Lance was rarer than a calm day at Easton. He scratched his cheek, suddenly unsure where to look. “Well. Yeah. Obviously. I’m the main character.”
Lance allowed the smallest smile.
For a while, they just existed together. No arguing. No shouting. Just the sound of wind and distant voices.
Dot broke the silence, softer this time. “You know, you’re always carrying a lot. You don’t say it, but I can tell.”
Lance’s fingers curled slightly in the grass. “And you,” Lance replied, “act like nothing affects you. But you care more than anyone I know.”
Dot blinked, startled. “That’s... hey, don’t analyze me like that!”
Yet he didn’t laugh it off. Something unspoken settled between them, not heavy, not overwhelming. Just there. Like magic humming under the surface, waiting.
Lance finally turned his head. Their eyes met. For once, Dot didn’t feel the urge to shout or joke or prove himself. He just smiled, small and genuine.
“Hey, Lance,” he said. “Even if gravity gets heavy... I’ll explode whatever tries to crush you.”
Lance looked at him for a long moment. “That’s incredibly reckless.”
Dot grinned. “You love it.”
Lance didn’t deny it.
The days after that felt different. Not loudly different. Nothing Dot could point at and yell, “Ah! Character development!” But different in the way Lance no longer walked three steps ahead without noticing. Different in the way Dot stopped pretending he didn’t care if Lance was watching.
During training, Dot pushed harder than usual. Explosions cracked the air, sparks flying wildly.
“Dot,” Lance called out. “Your control is sloppy.”
“HEY! I’m being expressive!”
Still, Dot adjusted. He always did, especially when Lance was the one correcting him. Later, when Dot overdid it and collapsed flat on his back, staring at the sky, Lance stood over him.
“You’ll burn yourself out,” Lance said.
Dot grinned up at him. “You worried?”
“Concerned,” Lance corrected, offering a hand.
Dot took it.
Their magic brushed, gravity steadying, explosions quieting, and for a split second, Dot felt something strange. Not pain. Not power. But comfort. He sat up, suddenly aware of how close Lance was. Too close to tease. Too close to laugh off.
“You ever think,” Dot muttered, “that we’re kinda... weird together?”
Lance tilted his head. “Define ‘weird.’”
Dot gestured vaguely. “Like, opposites. You’re all calm and serious, and I’m... you know, me.”
“And yet,” Lance said, “you’re the one who moves when others freeze.”
Dot blinked. “That’s actually cool.”
Lance turned away slightly. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
But Dot caught the faint color rising in Lance’s ears.
That night, they studied together. Well, Lance studied. Dot stared at his book like it had personally offended him.
“This makes no sense,” Dot groaned. “Why is magic mathematics written like a villain monologue?”
Lance leaned over, pointing. “You skipped three steps...”
“Oh.”
“...And four pages.”
“Oh.”
Dot laughed, then quieted. “Hey, Lance?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. For not giving up on me.”
Lance paused. “I never planned to.”
Dot smiled, not big, not loud. Just real.
Outside, the academy lights glowed softly. Inside, something steady and warm settled between them, unspoken, unfinished, but growing. Not a confession. Not yet. Just gravity and sparks, slowly learning how to coexist.
Lance Crown didn’t like uncertainty, which was exactly why he stopped Dot Barrett in the middle of the corridor.
“Dot,” he said.
Dot turned. “What, oh. You look serious. Did I blow something up again?”
“No.” Lance took a breath. “This is about you.”
Dot stiffened. “That’s worse.”
Lance met his eyes, steady and unflinching. “You’re reckless. Loud. Constantly distracting.”
“HEY!”
“And,” Lance continued, cutting him off, “you’re honest. You don’t turn away when things get difficult. You stay.”
Dot’s mouth closed.
“I’ve noticed,” Lance said quietly. “More than I intended to.”
The hallway felt suddenly too small.
“Lance...” Dot muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes.” Just that. Simple. Certain.
Dot stared at him, face heating fast. “You know I don’t usually shut up, right? But, WOW. Okay. Uh.” He laughed once, nervous. “I like you too. A lot. I’ve liked you for a while, you know. I just figured someone like you would never...”
Lance stepped closer. “I do.”
Dot’s heartbeat was practically explosive magic on its own now. “So... what does that mean?”
“It means,” Lance said, “I want to stay by your side. Not as rivals. Not just teammates.”
Dot grinned, wide and real. “Man. Guess I really am important to the story.”
Lance sighed. “Don’t ruin this.”
Dot didn’t hug him. Didn’t grab him. He just stood there, smiling like he’d finally won something that mattered.
“Hey, Lance?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for choosing me.”
Lance didn’t look away. “There was never another choice.”
The problem with saying things out loud was that Dot’s brain didn’t know what to do after.
“So,” he said, standing there like an idiot. “Uh. We’re… a thing now?”
Lance considered this. “If by ‘a thing’ you mean we’ve acknowledged mutual feelings and intend to move forward deliberately, yes.”
Dot blinked. “You could’ve just said yes.”
“I did.”
Dot laughed, sharp and breathless. “Man. I’m really dating Lance Crown.”
“We are not dating yet,” Lance corrected. “We agreed on nothing beyond honesty.”
Dot pointed at him. “You’re doing that scary calm thing again.”
Lance sighed. “Would you like to go somewhere?”
Dot froze. “Like, together?”
“Yes.”
Dot’s ears turned red instantly. “WOW. OKAY. SURE. YEAH. Lead the way, Pretty Boy.”
They ended up on the academy roof. No reason. Just space. Wind. Distance from other people.
Dot leaned against the railing. “So... any rules? Expectations? Am I allowed to yell?”
“You will yell regardless.”
“True.”
Lance stood beside him, close enough that Dot could feel the shift in gravity, subtle, instinctive, like Lance was anchoring them both without thinking.
“I don’t need you to be quieter,” Lance said. “Or different.”
Dot looked at him. “You serious?”
“Yes. I like you as you are.”
Dot swallowed. “Careful. You keep saying stuff like that, I might explode.”
“I think I can manage that.”
Dot laughed, then stopped, expression softening. “You know, people usually tell me to calm down. To be less. You never do.”
Lance hesitated. “Because the world already tries to reduce you. I won’t.”
That hit harder than any spell.
Dot turned fully toward him. “Hey, Lance?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly. I’ll mess up. A lot.”
Lance met his gaze. “So will I.”
They stood there, close, not touching, not rushing, just deciding.
The wind was stronger up on the roof. Dot realized this only because his heart was doing something ridiculous and he needed an excuse for how warm his face felt.
“So,” he said, staring very hard at the horizon, “when people say ‘take it slow,’ what does that actually mean?”
Lance glanced at him. “It means we don’t rush because we’re afraid.”
Dot nodded. “Cool... cool.”
Silence stretched. Not awkward, just heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
Dot finally turned. “Hey, Lance?”
“Yes?”
Dot swallowed. “Can I…?” He gestured vaguely between them, then gave up. “Can I kiss you?”
Lance blinked once. Then he stepped closer.
“Yes.”
That was it. No dramatic buildup. No magic flaring. Just Dot leaning in, hesitant for half a second, long enough to make sure, before their lips met.
It was brief. Careful. Slightly clumsy. Perfectly real.
Dot pulled back first, eyes wide. “Wow.”
Lance touched his own face like he was grounding himself. “I see.”
Dot burst out laughing. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?”
“I am processing,” Lance said stiffly. Then, after a pause, “May I...”
Dot’s laughter cut off instantly. “Please.”
This one was steadier. Still gentle. Still short, but Lance didn’t hesitate. When they finally stepped apart, Dot rested his forehead against Lance’s shoulder, grinning like he’d just won a championship.
“So,” he said, voice muffled, “definitely worth the wait.”
Lance’s hand hovered, then settled lightly on Dot’s back. “Agreed.”
They stayed like that for a moment longer than necessary. No explosions. No gravity shifts. Just two people who chose each other, and meant it.
Being roommates suddenly felt… different. Not dangerous. Not awkward in a bad way. Just noticeable.
That night, the dorm room was quiet except for the rustle of sheets and the faint hum of magic lamps. Dot sat on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
“So,” he said, way too casually. “Hypothetical question.”
Lance looked up from his book. “I dislike how that usually starts.”
“If two people,” Dot continued, “just confessed and kissed and stuff, but didn’t want to make it weird, what would they do?”
Lance closed the book. “They would behave normally.”
Dot snorted. “Impossible.”
Silence followed. Not uncomfortable, just thoughtful.
Dot shifted, then blurted, “My bed’s bigger.”
Lance paused.
“I mean!” Dot rushed on. “Not like, anything. Just... sleeping. We already fight monsters together. Sleeping is like... level zero danger.”
Lance considered this far longer than Dot expected.
“You’re restless at night,” Lance said. “You talk.”
Dot blinked. “I what? I do?”
“Yes. Mostly about food.”
“Fair.”
Lance stood, straightening his uniform. “If we’re sharing, there are conditions.”
Dot saluted. “I swear on my explosions.”
“No pushing. No unnecessary movement. And if either of us feels uncomfortable, we stop.”
Dot nodded, suddenly serious. “Deal.”
They lay down carefully, like this was some kind of fragile experiment. A noticeable gap remained between them. Minutes passed.
“This is weird,” Dot whispered.
“Yes.”
“But not bad.”
“No.”
Slowly, without looking, Lance shifted closer. Just enough that their shoulders brushed.
Dot froze, then relaxed. “Oh,” he said softly. “That’s… actually nice.”
Lance stared at the ceiling. “You’re warm.”
Dot grinned into the darkness. “Explosive metabolism.”
They didn’t touch beyond that. Didn’t talk much more. Eventually, Dot’s breathing evened out, sleep taking him without warning.
Lance stayed awake a little longer, listening, making sure Dot was comfortable. When he finally slept too, gravity settled naturally, holding, not pressing. Just sharing space. Just choosing closeness. Nothing more.
Yet.
Morning came quietly.
Dot noticed first because something was… wrong. He was warm. Comfortable. Too comfortable.
He blinked awake and realized two things at once:
1. He had slept through the night
2. Lance Crown was very definitely beside him
Not tangled. Not dramatic. Just close, Dot’s arm resting awkwardly near Lance’s side, Lance’s shoulder pressed lightly against his.
Dot froze.
Don’t move. Don’t explode. Don’t scream. Too late.
“Why do I feel amazing?” Dot whispered.
Lance stirred. “Good morning.”
Dot yelped and nearly rolled off the bed. “YOU’RE AWAKE.”
“Yes. You snore less when you’re calm.”
Dot buried his face in his hands. “I cannot believe this. I slept like a rock.”
“So did I,” Lance said, sitting up. He paused, as if realizing the same thing. “That’s unusual.”
They looked at each other.
“Worth it?” Dot asked.
“Definitely.”
Lance cleared his throat. “We should... discuss last night.”
They sat on Dot’s bed again. Upright. Serious.
“Roommate rules,” Dot said. “Version two.”
“Agreed,” Lance said.
Rule one: Ask first.
Rule two: No pretending nothing’s changed.
Rule three: Sleep is for rest... for now.
Lance nodded. “Accepted.”