Work Text:
Lance was man enough to admit to himself, and only to himself, that he might have made a mistake.
But grandparents could be so pushy! When was he going to start dating? They weren't getting any younger, and they just wanted to know he was happy before they died. Seriously? They sure weren't too old for emotional manipulation. Family in general was a huge pain in the butt, although very loving and accepting one, and Lance was just a moody teenager with always something to prove, so he accidentally told one innocent lie to keep his grandparents off his back.
He'd figured that no one would get hurt if he said he had a boyfriend – if anything, it would finally shut up those few members of his family who constantly teased him about not really being bi, just because they've only ever seen him chasing after girls. Well, excuse him for exhibiting fully-functional survival instincts around those narrow-minded desert people he went to high school with! He was keeping it on the DL, but once he moved out for college and finally reached civilization, Lance was going to get all the D he wanted.
The reason he was getting so painfully side-tracked was because he was currently panicking, a lot.
His grandparents were visiting next weekend, and Lance was distinctly lacking the aforementioned boyfriend he'd been bragging about for months. If he said they'd split up now, he'd not only break a couple of seventy-five-years-old hearts, but also lose face in front of his siblings, who'd been mocking him already, rightfully suspicious, and Lance just couldn't have that. He had to think, and fast, if he wanted to avoid the biggest disaster of his life so far, and Hunk usually did the thinking for him in highly emotional situations.
“Just ask someone to fake-date you, man. Despite what you may believe, not everyone in school is a bigoted asshole.”
“I know that!” protested Lance, not acknowledging what a brilliant idea it was for the sake of voicing his indignation. “I know you're not. Hey, can you do it?”
“No, man! Absolutely not! I'm pretty sure your grandma changed my diapers at some point. She knows me! She shares her secret recipes with me! I won't be able to look her in the eye, and she will see right through this. We're like brothers! Don't you know any other people?”
Lance squeaked, offended. “As if your circle of friends goes beyond me and Pidge! Thanks for being great help, Hunk, as usual! Good day, sir!”
He was being kind of unfair, but he was also on the verge of mental breakdown, and Hunk was used to Lance's dramatics by now, anyway. It was true he didn't really have that many friends – while he was friendly with plenty of people, especially the ladies, he could only call two people in his life friends. It was also true that his situation didn't require a person with whom Lance had formed a strong emotional bond. All he needed was a pretty boy willing to spend a weekend eating the best food of his life with the best people he's ever met.
Although Lance didn't exactly have the luxury of setting his standards too high, he still had to keep things in character, so good looks was an essential requirement. That wasn't going to be difficult, as he didn't have to look further than the house next door for that, because his neighbor Keith was, like, at least a seven, if he changed his haircut. It also would help if the guy wasn't one of the popular kids – it would just be a huge mess if any of that spread around school after summer – and he wouldn't have to look further than next door for that either, since Keith was a loner with bad reputation, and none of his siblings really had any contact with him.
The more Lance thought about it, the less sense it made not to simply go next door and ask Keith. Him being such an obviously bad choice only covered Lance in the sorry-grandma-but-it-just-didn't-work-out-between-us-in-the-end department. Fairly confident that Keith was hiding at home until the sun went down and he could finally broodingly roam the streets, Lance put on his shoes, made the most sensible thirty steps of his life, and rang the doorbell. Keith took his sweet time answering the door, probably unaccustomed to guest, but Lance was in a forgiving mood, basking in his own genius, and smiled brightly when the door finally opened.
“Hi, Keith, I have a favor to ask.”
Keith frowned and froze, which was to be expected – it wasn't like they spoke all that much, or rather at all, if Lance was totally honest. Lance thought it must have been a while since he's last seen Keith up close, because he was definitely a solid nine, even with the hair. He waited patiently, if tapping his foot, fidgeting nervously, and possibly even blushing a bit, could be read as a sign of patience, for Keith to invite him in, or at least to acknowledge Lance's presence. Eventually, Keith moved, crossing his arms and tilting his chin down, staring at Lance suspiciously.
“Who are you?”
Lance's jaw dropped. “I've lived next door your entire life!” he screeched after good two minutes of complete shock. “We go to the same school! I'm Lance!”
Keith rubbed his ear theatrically, and Lance fumed. Who was that stupid mullet-head calling a loudmouth?! And who did he think he was, not recognizing Lance?! He was unforgettable, he changed lives wherever he went with his mere presence! That was simply unacceptable, and he wanted to scream. Taking a deep breath, and reminding himself he really needed Keith's help, Lance pushed down his righteous anger, and waved his hand dismissively, flashing his most winning smile.
“Never mind! I guess my brilliant existence can be a bit much for some, so I understand your denial. Now, back to business. I need you to be my boyfriend.”
Keith unceremoniously slammed the door in Lance's face, and Lance equally unceremoniously kicked it, after a brief period of adjustment, throwing his hands in the air. That was unbelievably rude. Lance came here in good faith, hoping for some good old-fashioned neighborly hospitality, and what did he get? Keith didn't even let him explain! Oh, how incredibly fragile a concept masculinity was!
“Hunk is a liar!” he shouted at the door. “You are all bigoted assholes!”
The door instantly flung open. “How am I bigoted?” hissed Keith, face flushed with anger. “I'm gay! You're bigoted, coming here looking for a boyfriend, when I've never seen a bigger skirt-chaser. Did you lose a bet or something?”
Lance's face lit up. “So you do know who I am! Also, bi.”
“Right,” said Keith simply, and closed the door again.
“I said bi, not bye!” Lance whined, resting his forehead against the frame. “Keith, come on... I'll pay you...”
That was a desperate move, seeing as Lance was perpetually broke, but money spoke to everyone, and he was hoping to at least get Keith's attention. The silence on the other side of the door was as unnerving as it was unpromising, and Lance was about to give up and go back home to sulk, when the door cracked open again, and Keith was looking at him with narrowed eyes. Lance tried to smile confidently in order to create an impression of being someone wealthy enough to buy services like that on daily basis, but it probably resembled a pathetic grimace more than anything.
“With what?” demanded Keith simply.
Lance hesitated. “The pleasure of my company?” he tried. He was hoping they would discuss such details much further into the future, as he didn't have anything tangible to offer at the moment. Keith tried closing the door again, but Lance blocked it with his foot. “Come on, man, this is getting old. Please. Just tell me what you want, I'm gonna make it happen. I really need your help. And I promise it's not evil. I just want to make my grandparents happy. Scout's honor. Just have dinner with us next weekend and pretend not to be disgusted by the general idea of me, that's it.”
“Somehow I doubt you were ever in the scouts,” muttered Keith after a long moment's silence. “Fine. Just. Fine. But I don't want to know anything. I don't need my IQ dropping.”
Keith's idea of helping Lance turned out to be giving him a long list of demands, a short list of his favorite things, and expecting it would be enough to fool Lance's family; Lance would laugh hysterically for a week if he didn't think his situation was beginning to look absolutely hopeless. Keith was uncooperative, stubborn, and overall difficult to deal with, and Lance could honestly admit he simply disliked the guy, which usually didn't discourage him in the slightest, but he couldn't really afford stepping up for a challenge at the moment, and the idea of eventually appearing like they tolerated each other, let alone actually liked each other, currently seemed absurd.
“None of them knows my favorite food or band, dude, and they're my family. No one cares about that. What's important is things like who would win a battle between a shark and a bear, okay, that's the kind of questions you'll be asked in my house. We have to focus on, I don't know, hiding the blatantly obvious awkwardness we feel around each other, we have to spend some time together, go on a couple of pretend-dates, or-”
“Why would a bear and a shark get into a fight?” Keith interrupted, genuinely confused. “Would there even be a fight? Clearly, either the bear is drowning in the depths of the ocean, or the shark is suffocating on the surface, so neither is in any condition to fight anything.”
Lance blinked, appalled. “Keith, my man, I don't think you're paying me enough...”
Keith scowled, a mixture of confusion and anger that would look unappealing on most people, but made Lance want to rile Keith up until the end of time, because he liked the funny feeling in his stomach, suspiciously similar to satisfaction, that Keith's oddly entertaining reactions caused. On the other hand, he felt like he never should've bothered with him, because Keith didn't get Lance's jokes, or anyone else's for that matter, or appreciate anything that Lance held dear, like, well, everything that wasn't jogging or riding a cool bike, alone – while these limited hobbies did wonders for Keith's image and body, they weren't helpful to Lance in the least.
They were a work in progress, that was certain.
His friends were even less helpful, always being the annoyingly pragmatic voices of reason, constantly reminding Lance about new possible obstacles, just as he thought he'd dealt with the worst one. There was apparently a plethora of rules regarding fake relationships, and Pidge was seemingly an expert on it all of the sudden, treating it as some kind of sensitive intelligence mission. They had to get their stories straight, like how they got together, how long they've been dating, what they usually did together, how far they've gone with each other, etc. While Keith appeared to be unfazed by the lecture, Lance was mere seconds away from spontaneous self-combustion, because he was a horny teenager, so of course he'd end up imagining taking it very far with Keith.
“You should also get comfortable with physical contact,” advised Pidge, voice rather bored, yet still authoritative and matter-of-fact. “You can't flinch when your elbows brush during dinner, or your cover'll be blown into the next week.”
Keith made a noise of protest. “No way. Absolutely no touching, Lance. Whenever you want to hold my hand, remember I'll be holding a knife.”
“Don't worry, man,” whispered Hunk conspiratorially, patting Lance's shoulder. “It's only gonna be a butter knife.”
Not comforted in the slightest, and half-suspecting that Keith had meant a switchblade he was hiding somewhere in his bad-boy jacket, Lance slumped in his seat and let his head fall onto the table, allowing his pizza to get cold. He didn't have an appetite anyway, which was something that impending doom tended to do to him. Still, he couldn't help but whine softly as Hunk was reassuringly rubbing his back with his massive best-friend hand, and when he lifted his head slightly to offer silent thanks, his eyes met Keith's, and Lance froze. There was something unrecognizable in his usual scowl, something almost petulant that Lance couldn't pinpoint, but made him sit up straight and focus his attentions on the cold slice of pizza just to avoid the accusatory gaze.
“You guys should go out alone together,” continued Pidge, as if nothing else happened, or mattered. “Some place where you'll feel like people expect you to be a couple. Experiencing social pressure like that will help you prepare for the dinner with Lance's family.”
Lance sighed. “Were you born being forty years old?”
“Do you want my help or not? I'd say you should take it wherever you can get it, but it just might be my jaded personality of a bitter old fart.”
Lance crossed his arms and pouted at no one in particular, which was about his only way of protesting without trying, and ultimately failing, to win an argument with Pidge. He resigned himself to obediently listening to his betters, pretending like he didn't feel Keith's eyes on him, and regretting every single decision that has led him to this point. While Hunk ate Lance's cold pizza, Pidge was planning their date, reminding them they only had a week to learn to be around each other without fighting about something; Lance was honestly wounded by the accusation, because they so could be civil. They didn't even argue over irrelevant stuff that much, except maybe that one time they fought over who'd walk through the door first. Usually, their fights were warranted and possibly even important for posterity, like the one they had over the sounds laser guns made.
In all honesty, fighting with Keith was the only way Lance knew how to communicate with him. There was just something about that boy that made Lance competitive, like he had to prove himself, and it wasn't just Keith's frequent condescending looks and dismissive words – it was the general pull of Keith's presence that compelled Lance to do everything in his might to make Keith recognize him. He often tried to impress people, usually girls, but guys too, even if more discretely, but what Keith inadvertently pushed him to do was on a completely different level, and it was sort of upsetting, how helpless Lance was against the overwhelming urge to push back. They've only been hanging out for a few days, and Lance was already sporting a few bruises he could have easily avoided if he hadn't been trying to show off every moment they spent together.
He's known Keith ever since he could remember, always in the peripheries of his vision, always effortlessly better at something, always inexplicably unattainable, and so drastically different than Lance – parents never home, just his brother Shiro and, later, his girlfriend Allura, never playing with other kids, never chasing after girls. Which could be explained by the whole gay thing that Lance's brain hadn't fully computed, for some strange reason, until this very moment. Keith liked boys. Did he ever date one? Kissed one? What was it like to grow up in their town liking only boys?Lance was rather new at this, considering, and out only to his undyingly supportive family and a couple of his closest friends, so he's never had a heart-to-heart with any of the very few queer kids he knew.
“What's it like to be gay?” he blurted out.
Keith's eyes widened in guarded surprise, and Lance instantly ducked his head in awkward apology. Hunk and Pidge chose that moment to excuse themselves, promising to call later, but Lance didn't even acknowledge that. He was already planning his escape and was raking his mind in search of another guy who'd pretend to be his boyfriend, because after this conversation, or more likely a fight, Keith would want nothing to do with him – weird rivalry and pointless arguments Lance constantly instigated were one thing, but asking such an intimate question in such a spectacularly insensitive manner was another.
“Probably a lot like being bi, I imagine?” Keith's uncharacteristically mild tone was surprising. “I mean, you already know what's it like to be attracted to guys around here. Not that great in the grand scheme of things. Kind of intimidating.”
“Yeah. But at least I have girls. And they're awesome.”
The corner of Keith's mouth turned upwards in amusement. “I bet they are. But I'm not sure they're much comfort when you really want to kiss a boy and you don't know if you can.”
Lance shook his head, slightly stunned. Keith's seemingly off-hand comment was startlingly on point. Lance liked telling himself he's won the lottery with being bisexual, that he had twice as many people to woo with his impeccable flirting skills, which simply doubled his chances. But reality was somewhat less rosy, and Keith was right – he could focus his efforts on girls, gladly even, because they were awesome, but it didn't exactly distract him from the fact he couldn't as easily act on a crush on a boy. What did it matter that he found girls attractive in general, when he liked a specific boy? It didn't work like that, and he was oddly comforted by the thought that Keith got that, that he didn't dismiss Lance's experiences with guys just because he also liked girls, like Lance half-expected him to.
“Why do you ask?”
Lance shrugged. “Just curious. I guess I was just wondering if you've ever kissed a guy.”
The way Keith blushed to the tips of his ears – though it was only an expression, considering Lance couldn't see his ears under that mop of disastrous hair – and averted his eyes, resting his cheek on his palm and feigning immense interest in the world outside the window they were sitting by, was telling enough, so Lance didn't press. He didn't know why he was so taken aback, but he kind of assumed Keith was the kind of guy other boys experimented with, because if someone was curious about kissing guys in general, they'd definitely be curious about kissing Keith; Lance would know. Maybe Keith was just reserved, or worse – a romantic.
“I've never kissed anyone either, and I'm pretty sure I tried to, or at least wanted to, do that with twice as many people, and not only because I'm counting girls, okay, but because I want to kiss people all the time, like all the time, which only makes me twice as pathetic, so I guess you win. Again.”
Keith blinked, confused. “This isn't a competition, you weirdo.”
“Sometimes I feel like everything is a competition when you're involved,” Lance admitted on impulse. “Dunno why. Maybe because you hate me. I want people to like me.”
“I don't hate you, Lance, what the hell? Do you think I'd give you even a second of my time if I hated you?”
Lance considered. It was true that Keith didn't give the impression of being a particularly accommodating person. He was, simply put, a real asshole, and he clearly didn't mind solitude, so the fact he was more or less willingly spending time with Lance should have been a clue. Perhaps Lance knew all along that Keith didn't really hate him, deep down, but it was easier to pretend it was the case, as the remaining options were much worse. Strong emotions, even negative, were better than indifference, and Lance couldn't stand the thought of Keith not even caring enough to dislike him, now that they finally interacted. The worst case scenario was, ironically, Keith actually liking him – Lance did want people to like him, yes, but he was afraid of being liked by Keith for some reason that he would figure out later, because he's reached his limit of heavy thoughts for the day.
“I don't know, you do seem pretty lonely,” he teased with a smug smile.
“Fuck off,” muttered Keith, but his lips were twitching with the urge to smile.
Things between them improved considerably after they've established that no one hated anyone, which didn't mean they weren't bickering half the time, or weren't trying to one-up the other at every opportunity. Lance kind of liked it. He especially enjoyed their new competition they indulged in when Lance was working in the coffee shop, the summer job he had to take up in the last moment in order to pay Keith. Keith amused himself with being an asshole to him in front of his boss, which prevented Lance from reacting with anything but a professional smile and impeccable customer service, and Lance retaliated with signing Keith's cups with the most embarrassing pet names he could think of, and shouting them across the floor; Hunk was unhealthily invested in finding out who was going to crack first.
Pidge finally managed to force them out on a date two days before the big evening, because spending twelve hours a day together for almost two weeks still wasn't enough to get comfortable around each other, apparently. Lance was plenty comfortable, alright? He's reached the flirting-and-invading-personal-space level of comfort, which clearly didn't escape Keith's notice, judging by the increase of scowls and growls, but didn't mess up their dynamics. Keith seemed completely immune to Lance's charms and, contrary to popular belief, Lance was perfectly capable of keeping it in his pants, so the fact he was potentially developing a tiny crush on someone he's only considered an unfairly attractive rival so far wasn't going to get in the way of business.
It was just that Keith was surprisingly likable.
Because he was interested in so few things, he was contagiously passionate about what he loved, and since he was usually so serious and gloomy, his rare laughter sounded all the happier, drastically transforming his face into something bright and dazzling. He was hot-headed and easy to provoke, and when he was offended, his voice hitched adorably and he fumbled for words until someone – usually Lance – supplied him with a more or less appropriate expression. He could talk about physics for hours on end, he was crazy about his veteran brother, and about cats, and Lance's crush was possibly a bit more than tiny, but he could totally be professional about it, and he was going to prove it on their pretend-date by keeping it absolutely pretend.
“Is Allura here?” he asked when Keith let him inside.
Keith rolled his eyes. “Could you please stop your sad attempts at flirting with her? First of all, it's pathetic, and not that you'd have any chances otherwise, but she's engaged to Shiro.”
“You say engaged, I hear not married yet,” muttered Lance dismissively. “Why is it such a big deal anyway? You jealous?” he taunted with an obnoxious waggle of his eyebrows.
Keith smirked nastily, crossing his arms. “We are going on a date, aren't we?”
“I'll concede as soon as you hold my hand without breaking it.”
Lance grinned triumphantly when Keith didn't grace him with a reply – he took his victories wherever he could find them. With a long-suffering sigh, Keith grabbed his wallet and a set of keys from the table, looking at Lance expectantly, eyebrows raised; Lance stuck out his tongue. They at least seemed to agree that the whole exercise was pointless, and neither was particularly excited for the rendezvous. It wasn't as if they would go to an amusement park if they were really dating – they were both the type to do nerdy things on dates, like visiting planetariums and obscure game arcades, or foregoing the process altogether, and simply making out in the backseat. Lance was very unhappy with himself and his train of thought, so he repented by eyeing Keith with fake disgust, pointing at his jacket.
“How can you wear this? It's like three hundred degrees out there.”
Keith sighed again, even more annoyed. “Fine, happy now?”
Lance's throat went dry as he watched the slow and tantalizing shift of Keith's muscles under his tight black t-shirt when he took of his jacket. Lance was a weak, small man, and he deserved to be locked up somewhere with other perverts, because the flush creeping down his neck was dangerously bordering on extremely unprofessional. He panicked. He wrangled the jacket out of Keith's hands and covered his chest with it, almost toppling them over with the force he used to push the suddenly essential to his well-being article of clothing on its owner.
“No, put that back on!” he squeaked desperately. “It might get windy!”
Keith gaped. “What the hell.”
Embarrassed and out of breath, Lance didn't rest until he wrestled the jacked back on Keith's shoulders, because that guy simply wouldn't listen to reason, so it was a while before they finally left the house, but at least Lance's integrity was safe. He automatically went in the direction of the bus stop, but Keith roughly grabbed him by the elbow and led him to his own garage, handing him the helmet. Lance's lips parted in mute protest. Did Keith honestly think he would get on his bike? Because Lance wasn't getting on that death machine under no circumstances – he didn't trust any engine-powered contraptions he wasn't controlling himself, not to mention that he's seen that maniac ride it.
“You're joking.”
Keith smirked. “We're already late and this is faster. It's gonna be a good bonding experience.”
The only good thing about the experience was that Lance didn't wet himself. It definitely was fast, and windy too, and Lance was genuinely shocked he didn't crush all of Keith's ribs, he was holding on so tight. Next time, if there was even going to be any, they were taking Lance's car, who drove sensibly and responsibly – or would have, if all of his driving instructors stopped paying attention to insignificant details, like minor traffic accidents, and finally gave him his driving license. Either way, he wasn't getting back on that bike ever again, he decided, as he got off on shaky legs. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he slumped against Keith's side, light-headed.
“You should come with a warning label,” he wheezed. “You're a health hazard.”
Keith seemed amused. “Sounds like one of your bad pick-up lines.”
“Well, it's not. I'm very upset with you. I don't see a point in getting on a roller-coaster, you've already offered me the wildest ride of my life.”
“That wasn't the wildest ride I can offer.”
Lance forgot how to breathe. His chilled by the ride skin heated up instantly, ears started ringing with mortification, face felt hotter than ever before, and he couldn't get his throat to work enough to swallow, let alone respond. Keith really was a health hazard, and Lance couldn't believe he actually had it in him, definitely preferring the halfheartedly hostile and oblivious Keith who wasn't actively trying to kill him. Seeing his reaction, Keith immediately blushed as well, his brows scrunching and lips forming an angry scowl. He cleared his throat, fingers reflexively tightening on his helmet.
“What, it's fine when you say lame stuff like that, but when I do it, you freak out?” he demanded, voice cracking slightly. “It's a fake-date, I'm fake-flirting.”
Lance barely managed to reply without stammering. “Well, don't. It's weird.”
“Eat shit.”
They ate ice-cream instead. It wasn't a bad date, all things considered, even if Lance had to pay for all the tickets, the slave he was. Another thing the car would be useful for were all the prizes they've won, because amusement parks turned out to encourage competition, so they got slightly carried away. Keith was certainly more skilled with his hands, but Lance was a better shot, so they were going neck in neck, and their final contest was either getting on the roller-coaster, or entering the haunted house – the first one to make a sound lost. Both queues were daunting, but the one to the ride was marginally shorter, so they bought more ice-cream and braced themselves. At some point, loud shrieks interrupted their very important conversation about robots, and Lance instinctively looked up, just in time to see a wooden sandal falling down from the sky right in his direction.
When he came to, Pidge's unimpressed face was hovering over him, and his head was pounding like a drum. He sat up slowly and looked around. Keith looked nervous, sitting on the bench and nipping at his cuticles, hands shaking slightly as he frowned at Lance, expression pinched, as if he was blaming him for passing out. Finally, he averted his eyes and got up swiftly, his movements jerky, and unceremoniously walked away, which made it hard for Lance to focus on Pidge's questions about fingers and maths; Hunk was there too, eating cotton candy as sadly as was humanly possible. When Pidge deemed him fit to get up, Keith was back with a bottle of cold water, a stupidly simple gesture that made Lance's heart skip a beat, and he didn't trust his legs yet.
“Keith cradled you in his arms,” offered Hunk, unprompted.
Both Lance and Keith flipped him off.
On the evening of the family dinner, all seemed to be in perfect order, until it was completely ruined beyond repair. His grandparents were ecstatic to meet his boyfriend, and the rest of his family seemed curious about the big reveal too. All Lance had to do was call or text, but he sneaked out and walked over to Keith's house, just to make sure everything was alright. His knees almost gave out under him when Shiro opened the door, and he saw his pretend-date all dressed up, Allura fussing over him, straightening his collar, and futilely trying to fix his hair. Keith blushed when he looked at Lance, and he couldn't help but mirror it, causing Allura to squeal and turn her attention to Lance, subjecting him to a similar motherly treatment.
“I'm so happy for you boys,” she said, smoothing out his shirt. “Meeting the parents is such a big deal... Keith is so nervous!”
Lance giggled awkwardly, always a mess around her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he's been crushing on you for almost a year, so I'm just really glad it finally worked out.”
Lance didn't think he'd heard that right, but when he finished stupidly blinking at Allura, whose smile was slowly faltering, and followed her gaze that was helplessly flickering to Shiro, Keith's brother was hiding his face in his prosthetic hand and shaking his head. Allura stepped away from Lance. and covered her mouth with her hands, letting out a small gasp of shocked realization, and glanced pleadingly at Keith, who looked absolutely crushed. He abruptly stormed past all of them without a word, and Lance followed on numb legs, his heart hammering in his chest.
It couldn't not be awkward after that.
Everyone was surprised, but perfectly polite and accepting, not that either Lance or Keith cared. His grandparents and siblings were asking lots of questions, and they both answered them automatically, as Pidge drilled all the fake information into them like a pro. They've known each other forever, but they only started spending time together after the science fair last year, and one thing led to another – a classic boy meets boy story, except for the fact that Lance wanted to fight Keith for beating his science project yet again. They've been dating for a few months, but kept it a secret at school. Everyone was delighted, so Lance had to make sure to congratulate Pidge on lie-inventing skills, but he was absolutely miserable.
How could Keith lie to him like that? How could he let Lance agonize over having an unrequited crush on him every day they spend together? Surely, Lance was the opposite of subtle, so it had to be fairly obvious that he was pining after Keith like a lonely raccoon, right? There was no way Keith could possibly be that dense and not notice, was there? Why keep it a secret then? Was he so undesirable that Keith didn't want to like him? Lance risked a glance at him, and he didn't look any happier than Lance. He was determinedly staring into his plate, lifting his head only when someone spoke to him, and offering small smiles that never reached his eyes. Lance really needed to talk to him as soon as possible, but his mother, who didn't ask them about anything yet, cornered him immediately after dinner; she only had one question.
“Are you boys having a fight?”
Lance chuckled bitterly. “We're always arguing about something, mom.”
“Yes, I recall you picking fights with him when you were around four. You cried a lot afterwards. Ever since I can remember the only people you talked more about than Keith were Pidge and Hunk. Keith did this, Keith did that, and you were as impressed with him as you were frustrated with yourself... I'm glad you finally got him to notice you...”
“Mom, you're embarrassing me,” he whined, cheeks flaring up.
“Yes, right. What I mean is... Lance, is everything alright between you two? Was meeting us a bit too much for Keith this early on?”
Lance swallowed, shrugging. “I don't know, maybe. He didn't say. We still have some... communication issues.”
His mom stroked his cheek, smiling fondly. “But you like him?”
“So much,” said Lance without missing a beat, surprising himself with how much he meant it.
His mother seemed satisfied with his answer, and she let him go, pointing him in the direction of the living room. His siblings have apparently lost interest once the novelty of seeing Keith in a new light wore off, and he went back to being just the neighborhood kid who fell for Lance's pathetic pick-up lines, but Lance's father and grandparents seemed to be even more in love with him than Lance was, and just because cliche was his family's favorite word, they were currently torturing him with baby pictures. Either Keith was that good at pretending, or he genuinely found Lance's childhood photos cute, and both options seemed equally viable to Lance, because he was an adorable kid, and Keith was a big fat liar.
He was so confused.
He joined them on the sofa, deliberately keeping his distance from Keith, and his grandpa ruffle his hair, grinning at his conspiratorial winks. His grandma's face was flushed as she described every photo in great detail, recalling every moment with astonishing clarity. Lance was surprised to discover that Keith has made guest appearance on several of the pictures, mostly looking displeased with Lance's antics, but there was one photo of them sitting together on Keith's porch, crying and holding hands, knees scraped bloody, cheeks covered in mud; Lance couldn't remember it at all. He swallowed thickly and looked at Keith, who averted his gaze as soon as their eyes met, possibly for the first time since they've known each other. Lance hated it.
“Can we talk?”
“I don't want to be rude,” tried Keith hopelessly, motioning at Lance's family.
Lance's grandma laughed heartily. “Oh dear boy, go! We've kept you long enough! We just wanted to meet you, and now that we have, you should spend some time alone together.”
“Not too alone, though,” added his dad in mock-warning. “Keep the doors open.”
Lance rolled his eyes, and held out his hand for Keith to take. He realized too late that one of Keith's rules was no touching, and him refusing to accept Lance's hand was going to look really suspicious, but as he raked his mind in search of an excuse, Keith's slightly damp fingers slid through his, and he let Lance lead him upstairs, still unnervingly silent, but not letting go of his hand. Lance did leave the door open, wanting Keith to know he wasn't trying to trap him. In all honesty, Keith looked like he was going to be sick, and Lance has never seen him so anxious, so he couldn't help but wonder if Keith really was that oblivious. There was only one way to find out.
“Okay, I'm not very good at this, so I'm just gonna be straight with you,” he blurted out, blushing furiously. “Pun not intended. Look, Keith, do you want to kiss me? Cause I want to kiss you. And not just because I want to kiss people all the time, because recently I've been thinking of kissing only one person, which is you, in case you have difficulties following my train of thought, and you're on my mind all the time, and I've been tripping over myself to impress you like an idiot, and I didn't even know why, but I think I do now, because we had all those bonding moments, and you are the smartest, weirdest, most surprising, and least funny person I know, and I realize we've been fake-dating for only two weeks, but I have it on good authority that you've had a crush on me for a while now, and according to my mom, I've been trying to get your attention since I was four, so I thought maybe you wanted to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you. There. I said it.”
Keith's face was a completely new shade of red. “I'd do about anything right now to make you stop saying those things...”
“Normally, I'd be all up for it, cause I'm really easy,” admitted Lance. “But I also really like you, man, so I can totally shut up without you forcing yourself, okay? But if you wanna...”
“You're honestly gonna make me say it, you asshole?”
Lance wasn't going to let hope blooming in his chest to cloud his judgment. “Consent is important, Keith, my buddy, especially between people with out track record. So you can't be all broodingly cool and aloof right now. You have to be crystal clear about whether or not you want us to lock lips. You need to use your words for once. Take one for Team Klance. That's our names combined, in case you're confused. Hunk and I came up with it.”
Because Keith was Keith, endearingly allergic to aforementioned word-using, he let out a frustrated groan, and simply grabbed Lance by the shoulders, pressing their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Lance might have let out an embarrassing moan, but he was a teenage boy who thought about kissing people – and recently one person – all the time, and he was currently having his first kiss with that person, so he was allowed to be absolutely, shamelessly happy and turned on, even if the kiss lacked any skill or finesse, now that Lance thought about it. He considered making a snarky comment about it as soon as they parted for breath, but Keith looked so good flushed and breathless, dazedly touching his own lips in something akin to awe, somehow still managing to frown, and Lance probably didn't look any less wrecked, considering his head didn't stop swimming yet.
“We are a good team,” he decided.
Keith rolled his eyes and kissed him again.