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“You know what I hate? Avocados.”
Hunk gasped, as if horribly insulted, and clutched at his chest like a scandalized schoolteacher. “No! You take that back.”
“Never. I hate them. They’re so squishy and weird. And what are they? A fruit? A vegetable? I’ll tell you what they are, they’re disgusting,” Lance spat, waving a lazy fist in the air in emphasis.
“Actually, I’m kind of with Lance on this one,” Keith spoke up, glancing over at Hunk and shrugging. “They’re not that great.”
“Oh man, Lance, Keith. This is like the ultimate betrayal,” Hunk said seriously, glaring at them both. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”
There was a pause, and then all three of them burst out laughing at once, cackling and hooting.
They were all lying together on the floor of the Blue Lion’s hangar, the tops of their heads pressed together while their legs radiated out towards the walls of the room like the spokes of a wheel. A few bottles were left by Blue’s front paw surrounded by empty cups, one of the bottles tipped over and dripping a deep purple liquid across the floor. The label was illegible to anyone who couldn’t read Altean, but the alcohol content was still easy enough to detect by scent alone.
“Okay, it’s my turn,” Hunk said, still giggling slightly, his face flushed and a tingly feeling running through him. “I hate that boy band, Starkiss? You know that one that was really popular about a year ago?”
“Yes,” Lance said immediately, sticking his tongue out.
At the same time Keith said, “No.”
“Trust us,” Hunk quickly assured him before Lance could start teasing him about living under a rock again. “You are lucky you don’t. My sister and my mom became obsessed with this band and they kept playing their songs over and over. It drove me nuts.”
“At least all they did was listen to the music,” Lance grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. “My sister actually dragged me to a concert.”
“No,” Hunk whispered, horrified.
“Yes. It was awful. I got elbowed in the groin by a twelve-year-old covered in temporary tattoos and glowstick bracelets.”
Hunk made a whimpering noise, probably picturing what a Starkiss concert would have been like, and clutched at his own groin in sympathy.
But Keith just started snickering. “Man, that’s probably the closest a girl has ever come to touching your junk.”
“Hey!” Lance yelled, starting to get up, only for Hunk to reach over without looking and pull him back down by a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Lance, no fighting, remember?” He waited until Lance had settled back on the floor before he dared to let go. “We’re supposed to be team bonding, like Shiro said.”
“I’m pretty sure getting tipsy on alien wine and complaining about stuff isn’t what he had in mind,” Keith muttered, but the other two just ignored him.
“Yeah, well, you know what I hate? Keith. I hate Keith,” Lance snarled as he settled back down on the ground, wiggling around until he got comfortable just to make a show of how annoyed he was. Hunk winced as he was repeatedly jabbed by Lance’s pointy elbows, but otherwise didn’t comment, eager to keep the peace. Only once Lance was settled did he speak up.
“Hey, now.” Hunk said reproachfully. “That’s not team bonding. Besides, it’s not your turn. It’s Keith’s.”
“Yeah, Lance,” Keith smirked, tilting his head so that he could look over at Lance. “It’s my turn.”
“That’s stupid, we already know what you’re going to say. You hate everything.”
“Lance,” Hunk sighed tiredly, but Keith was already talking.
“That’s not true. I don’t hate everything,” he insisted, sounding mildly offended. “I actually like lots of stuff. Like flying, and Red, and that soup Hunk makes, and – ”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lance interrupted, moving his hand in a ‘blah blah blah’ motion. “Whatever, we get it. We’re supposed to be talking about stuff we hate, remember?”
“I hate your attitude,” Keith shot back immediately, bristling.
“Guys! Come on, can we not do this tonight?” Hunk whined, finally losing his patience. He reached out and took each of their hands in his own. Keith’s were clenched into fists, but Hunk forced them to relax so they could hold hands properly. “I just wanna hang out with you for once without fighting, is that too much to ask? Just once. We were getting along so well before!”
“Sorry, Hunk,” Keith said quietly, chastised.
“Yeah, sorry bud,” Lance agreed, giving Hunk’s hand a little squeeze. “Here, how about I pass my turn, and you can go next?”
“Nah, that’s okay, I really don’t mind,” Hunk shrugged, satisfied that they were both going to cut it out. “I just don’t want to fight anymore.”
“Well, okay.” Lance went quiet as he pondered over his next topic, his face scrunched up in concentration. “I…hate…” he drawled out, thinking. “Oh! I hate it when people spit on the sidewalk.”
“Eugh,” Keith responded, grimacing. “That’s nasty. People do that?”
“Yup. I see tourists do it all the time.” Lance shook his head in disgust.
“I think we can all agree we hate that,” Hunk said cheerfully, glad that his teammates were getting along again.
They went on for hours, even as the lights in the hangar went dim to mimic night time on the ship, each of them taking turns listing off something that they hated, or found gross, and the other two would either agree or disagree. Lance and Keith managed to keep it civil for the most part, trying their best not to upset Hunk again, though it took effort for both of them. Finally, their eyes feeling droopy and their breathing growing slower, Keith dared to raise his head to look around the room.
“Is Hunk asleep?” he whispered, glancing over at his teammate. Hunk’s stomach was rising and falling regularly with each deep breath, and his grip on Keith’s hand had grown loose. “He hasn’t said anything for a while.”
Lance looked over as well. “Looks like it. The alcohol probably put him out. We should probably move him somewhere else.”
“Yeah,” Keith agreed, but neither of them moved to get up. They laid there a while longer, staring up at the roof of the hangar.
“Lance?” Keith spoke, his voice no more than a breath in the silence.
“Yeah?” Lance answered, equally quiet. It felt wrong to speak any louder than a whisper, for some reason. Not just because they might wake Hunk.
“I don’t hate you. You know that, right?”
There was a long pause. Keith waited, his breath stilling in his chest, for Lance to say something, anything.
When Lance’s hand snaked out and grabbed his own, he jumped a little, not expecting the sudden touch. But he still was quick to grasp it all the same. Lance went further than Hunk had, though, lacing their fingers together and giving Keith’s hand a light squeeze. Keith could feel a blush spreading across his face that he was pretty sure he couldn’t blame on the alcohol anymore.
It only got worse when Lance suddenly rolled over so that he was lying along Keith’s side, resting on his elbow so that he was sort of hovering over Keith. The lights were all out now, so that all Keith could see was Lance’s outline, lit by the faintly glowing lines on Blue. He was so close, Keith could feel heat sinking into his skin all along his body where Lance was touching him.
“I don’t hate you either,” Lance said softly, tentatively.
They stared at each other, hesitating, caught on the edge of a moment they could both feel had been building up for a long time. Then, by some invisible signal, they moved as one. Lance bent down, Keith’s free hand came up to grasp the back of Lance’s neck, his eyes slipping shut even though it was already dark, and they kissed.
There, in the darkness, in the safety of Blue’s shadow, with Hunk lying their sleeping beside them, they came together and silently admitted to each other that, no, hate was really not the word for what they felt.