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A musk of sweat, wood, and air compiled itself in Lance's room as he took off his shirt to lay down on his unkempt mattress. Springs letting out a whine beneath him as he fell onto his back, he rolled his eyes are stared at his semi-shut curtains, with sun rays dipping between the vacant space between.
It had been a relatively normal day for Lance, wrapping up exhausted as he'd usually be from other's antics, and an overexertion of his physical body strength. He had just arrived back from training, volleyball training to be exact, the sport that most considers low effort having him in complete shambles by the time he had arrived home. Had his family been present instead of midway through their week long trip, he'd be even more tired — betting that chances are, they'd plead for him to go get some milk because his mother is making more unnecessary snacks for another party, again.
He thought about his teammates, the match, and what had happened as a dull silence had his room in a chokehold. His teammates Pidge, Hunk, Allura, and Keith made up for pretty solid teammates — especially Keith, he thought, letting out a dull groan as he turned himself to the right-hand side of his bed frame.
They were all pretty good people to hang out with, and even more to play with. Pidge was always in charge of the strategy if Shiro, Lance's teams un-debated captain, wasn't present. Aside from strategical skills, she also remained very analytical, managing to calculate just the right strength for each shot she put out on the field as either a left or right pin. Hunk was their team's ever-so reliable middle-back, always clutching when the time came. He made up for an exceptional save earlier that day, shaving a valuable point off the enemy team's scoreboard.
Who was left was Allura and Keith. Allura and Lance were pretty close, he'd consider, always managing to click whenever team-strategy came at an all time need. Problem with her is that after practice they never got to hang out together, Allura always busy with other academic studies that her parents would thrust upon her, with no care for her schedule whatsoever. It didn't disturb Lance as much as it should've, he thought, because thankfully Keith was on the team.
Keith might've been his favorite member on the team, although he'd never admit that out loud. Keith always acted as if he had a stick up his ass, constantly questioning the good natures of any person that came by him.
"Are you sure he's as chill as he seems about this?" Keith would ask Lance, a common question that came up after matches.
"I just don't trust him, is all." Keith's stony voice pierced through the large crowd of people at a party, straight into Lance's ear as he hunched over (just slightly).
Those were just two examples of the many instances he displayed stand-offish behavior, a stingy look that pierced through diamonds always paired with the edgy sentences he'd spit out of his mouth off-handedly.
Despite all these noticeable flaws, Lance guessed he still had a soft spot for him. He made up for his lack of social competence with a set of skills he'd never seen on the pitch before. He was versatile in every way, going from playing as the setter to the left back, to the middle, to taking the important roles of middle back and right or left side pin had either Hunk or Pidge failed to make the events.
Lance rolled over again, another groan slipping from his tongue as he rolled his eyes. Keith's gotta get out my head, Lance thought, a distasteful look forming as his face as he glanced around his less than tidy room.
He picked himself up from his bed sheets, the heat of the summer already permeating uncomfortably off of the sheets. He didn't wanna lay in sweaty clothes under sweaty sheets for more than a minute longer.
As he left his room, door slightly ajar, he traveled through his hallway. His hallway had the leads to his other sibling's rooms, the many of them sealed shut with various pictures hung up on them — his siblings just loved to over-decorate their spaces. Seeing through all the junk that lay stagnant on the ground, his eyes traveled to his window — the silhouette of someone appearing through the grime that sit along it.
"They look familiar…" He hushed aloud, his pace increasing toward the doorway just to see who it was. He had no shame slamming the door open with a gust of wind that followed to find just who was prowling on his family's property. But, instead of it being an amazon worker who was present to drop off a package, or a creepy burglar here to break into their property, it was Keith. Keith, the same guy who was on Lance's volleyball team. Keith, the same dude that remained pretty averse to social interaction from as long as Lance could remember. Keith — the guy that had a box of chocolates in his hand, a note attached to the top of it with the words To Lance written on it.
"Keith, what're you doing here?" Lance spoke, his left brow raising suspiciously as he crawled outside from his family's doorframe. "Surely you must be at the wrong house delivering something like that." He pointed his index finger toward the box Keith gripped on to, Keith's face remaining unchanged as Lance stepped forward, and approached closer.
"I'm afraid not." Keith said, pulling up his left arm and glancing at a half-broken watch that was strapped to his wrist. Squinting his eyes, seemingly to check the time, he said aloud "It's good I caught you now, before ever."
Lance was going to continue on with unnecessary banter until he actually thought about what Keith had said. Speaking over himself, his tone painted a confused and startled image rather than that of a person who was ready to shoo someone away needlessly. " — and what do you mean by that?"
"It's 4pm, which means practice wrapped up not too shortly of half an hour ago now." Keith said, Lance nodding. "So what?" Lance spoke. "I'll have you know this isn't a short distance to walk. My bet is that you used that fancy motorcycle of yours to get over here. I'll have you know, motorcycles run a bit faster than people do."
"Guess you caught me red-handed." Keith shrugged, his eyes turning away from Lance as Keith blinked. Lance hadn't noticed until now just how long his lashes were for some reason. They really complimented the black hole-like pupils he had. In spite of the sunlight brightening his face, they remained bottomless pits.
"Who's the gift for?" Lance diverted the conversation from small talk to what really mattered. "You don't just drop off a box at someone's house for no reason."
Keith held his arms forward, the package glowing in the sunlight. "It's for you. If I was you, I'd open it up a bit later from now."
Lance quipped his head to the side, a scowl forming on the side of his face that hid itself away from Keith. "No shot." He spat, turning back as quick as a snapping turtle.
"It's probably for my older sister or something, I bet." Lance rolled his eyes. Keith's ever so stern look flattened, not too appeased by the things Lance was spouting.
"Seriously." He spoke. "Just take it."
Lance put his right arm forward and snatched the box from Keith's hand. Mouth agape, mid-sentence, Keith cut himself off, proceeding to walk away strangely nonchalant for the interaction they had just had.
Before he could make it completely off of Lance's property, he spun backward, observing the gift with an aroused suspicion. Peering at it with one eye far wider than the other, he tore the thing open — nervousness cracking at him.
"I told you to open it a bit later on." Keith authoritatively spoke, loud voice bombarding through the uncanny silence that Lance's street had. It wasn't this silent usually.
"I didn't take you for the romantic type, Keith." Lance's voice pierced, his posture fixed upright and his tone substantially more flirtatious than cautious and confused like before. "Right, I can make it" He body shifted from his waist toward Keith. "Could've just asked, and just saved yourself some good pocket money."
Keith smiled, he knew he secured his date. He didn't smile often.