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It starts at breakfast, because of course it would start at an hour where Keith is barely coherent. The Universe still enjoys spiting him, apparently, despite the fact that he’s one-fifth of the giant robot that defends it. Keith is busy willing his first mug of kavxha - the Altean drink five times stronger than American coffee - to taste less like melted sludge when Hunk interrupts his thoughts, clapping his hands together. Everyone at the table (predictably, everyone except Lance) looks up.
“Uh, good morning guys. I made quekknai and they might be the biggest success I’ve had with this Altean cookbook, like, ever. They’re kinda like these chewy fluffy pancake things with a gooey center? But the outer crust is unexpectedly umami! So yeah - help yourself.” Hunk’s grin is sheepish when Pidge and Allura spring up to grab some.
Keith forgets what umami means, again, but gets up in the hopes that the quekknai might help the disgusting aftertaste of his kavxha absolve itself. By the time he’s gingerly plated three cakes, Coran has plunged into yet another story from his youth.
“We couldn’t resist taking the leftover quekknai and targeting Nolan with them from the banister. I mean, if you’ve got a rival at all then I must say these are the perfect food for thwarting them! No one expects the liquidated center to explode on them in a delayed reaction! Of course, we hit quite a bit of unsuspecting party guests that night besides Nolan. Shame he was so short - half-Arusian, you know...”
Keith snorts quietly. Too bad Lance is missing this - flinging food at ‘rivals’ is exactly the sort of ridiculous thing he would take seriously. Keith gets mildly annoyed at himself as soon as the thought crosses his mind. After all, it isn’t every day he gets to sip his kavxha in peace. Breakfast is for once wonderfully devoid of Lance’s stream of irritating comments, usually delivered from over Keith’s shoulder, about how he’s ‘hipster trash’ for drinking ‘black coffee’. “It’s kavxha!” Keith used to counter angrily, before he gave up altogether.
Speak of the devil, though. Lance appears in the doorway in his blue Lion slippers and wastes no time striding right over to the rest of the group. “Whoa whoa whoa, is that somethin’ other than goo? Guess I picked the wrong day to sleep in!”
Pidge washes down her most recent bite of food with space juice. “Hunk made quekknai, now that we got my Altean translation app working properly through his comm. They’re like pancakes but way, way tastier.” Hunk grins at Pidge, and Keith is reminded of a ray of literal sunshine.
“They’re incredible,” Shiro says. “Good job, Hunk. We sure appreciate having you around.”
“This syrup is exceptional,” Allura chimes in. “I have always loved this dish, but it’s difficult to ensure that the syrup comes out with just the right amount of sweetness. I am impressed, Hunk!”
“Thank -” Hunk begins to reply, but gets drowned out by Lance. “The perfect amount of sweetness, huh? Nah, that’s you, Princess.” Lance fires finger guns in Allura’s direction and winks.
“Lance,” Shiro threatens at the same time that Pidge groans, “Lance, that’s literally like the second thing you’ve said this morning.”
Lance studiously ignores them both, shit-eating grin already fixed in place. He swoops Allura’s finished plate out from under her in one smooth motion and declares, “Let me get you a refill, hot stuff. Anyone else want more?”
Coran puts in a request, and Keith shakes himself out of his moment of - disbelief, he supposes, that Lance is so obnoxious - to add, “Me too.” Hunk offers to give Lance a hand, but Lance shoos him back into his seat.
“Three plates of piping hot space pancakes, comin’ right up!” Lance bustles over to the counter of quekknai, and when he returns a few minutes later, he’s balancing two plates per arm. Keith is begrudgingly impressed.
“Coran, my man, go ahead and grab one,” Lance instructs. He stops at Allura next, carefully setting down a plate in front of her while keeping the rest aloft. “I had a brief stint as a waiter back on the home planet,” he explains. “That’s where I got these skills...and these guns.” He smirks, lingering next to the Princess and flexing a bit with his now-free arm. Shiro looks dangerously on the cusp of breaking the mug he’s holding, so Keith clears his throat loudly, if only to save everyone from an impending Dad Lecture™.
Lance turns towards Keith at the sound, finally yanking his gaze away from Allura. “What, impatient about having to wait in line for the gun show? Don’t worry, Keith, I have extra tickets - even for you.” Not once has his smirk faltered.
“What,” Keith bites out. Pidge and Hunk have put their conversation on hold to glance over, and Coran looks mildly shocked.
“You heard me. The Lance McClain Gun Show is the best and most awesome attraction - ha! - in the entire Universe! I’ve got deluxe box seats, heck, even front-row seats still available! Don’t be shy about headin’ down to feast your eyes.”
Lance delivers his entire spiel like an over-the-top radio announcer, hoisting the plates he’s holding further into the air for effect. For a moment, he simply preens into the collective silence. Then, he deposits Keith’s plate onto the table and sits down across from him, looking disgustingly pleased with himself.
Keith’s face feels hot. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do now - there’s just no precedent for dealing with someone like Lance McClain. He settles for reclaiming his mug and chugging the rest of his kavxha, which gives him a nice excuse to avoid eye contact with everyone, especially Lance. By the time the mudlike drink is gone, Lance, Pidge and Hunk are immersed in conversation again.
Hurriedly, Keith turns to Coran and makes up a question about healing pods.
---
They’re doing the maze exercise again, and of course - of fucking course - Keith gets paired with Lance.
It’s a lot more successful than their first attempt, at least. Keith is already halfway across the room. But Lance can’t seem to hold himself back from levity for long, not to mention he has the attention span of a squirrel.
“Alright, buddy. I’m gonna need you to head right, but only for a short time. Like, shorter than your crop top jacket.” The sound of Lance’s snickering crackles through Keith’s comm.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, was that not the right term? I’m talking about your emo red boléro, or whatever.”
Lance’s snickering intensifies, and Keith whips around to glare at him, even though he’s just a tiny speck up in the control room. Lance had better sense his irritation all the way from here.
“Okay, I moved right. What next?”
“Go like, one more step right first.” A pause. “Also can you tell me the actual name of your jacket now because I’m dying to know?”
Keith inhales through his nose. “It’s just a jacket I thrifted,” he grits out.
“Oh my God, you thrifted it? This just keeps getting better!”
“Fuck you,” Keith responds, quietly enough that Allura and Coran won’t notice.
Lance suffers through a few more bouts of laughter, and Keith assumes that Lance is finally ready to get back to work, but then -
“The least you could’ve done was go out and find a jacket that fits you properly, dude!”
“Right, because I had so much time on my hands to go thrift shopping one last time before we blasted off into space!” Anger has finally edged its way into Keith’s voice, and God, it’s not his fault Lance is to his emotional state as Godzilla is to cities.
“It’s just - it’s so short!”
“The only thing short right now is my patience, Lance!”
“Aw, are you mad, Keith? Don’t worry, your jacket is pretty cute on you, even if it is ridiculous. By the way, you can take three steps forward now.”
Keith opens his mouth. Closes his mouth. Opens it again. Considers abandoning all the progress he’s made and retracing his footsteps just so he can go up to the control room and personally throttle Lance. Meanwhile, his traitorous face is turning red. Fucking fantastic.
“...look, I know I’m suave and charming as heck, and I get how that totally disarms people, but you should prroooobably get a move on now, buddy!”
---
Keith’s life could’ve returned conveniently to its former banality if Lance hadn’t gone and made a damn pattern of things.
Allura’s granted the Paladins the rare opportunity for some downtime, citing Coran’s need to perform tune-ups on their training tech, so Keith’s sprawled himself out on the common room couch. Now that fighting the Gladiator isn’t an option, cracking open his book on Thelzakion bladesmithing (a gift from Coran) seems like the next best thing.
Keith’s totally immersed in the story of Bloidelia - the lady-in-waiting who used her own hand-forged knives to murder Thelzakion royals while they slept - when the doors whoosh open, accompanied by a loud voice that can only belong to one person.
“There you are, man! I was wondering what you were up to. Figures you’re holed up all alone in here like some kinda mysterious bad boy, ha ha. Hunk and Pidge are messing around with Altean tech by the cryopods and apparently I’m not good enough to keep up with those nerds,” - he flings his arms out dramatically - “so they kicked me out, but whatever, not like I even care what - OOOooh, whatcha readin’?”
“Knife stuff,” Keith mutters, not bothering to look up from his book.
“Hmm.” Lance leans halfway over the couch, craning his head to read the book’s title. “The Finer Points of Knifepoint: A Guide to Bladesmithing in the Thelzakion Tradition. Wow, Keith. Your knife play kink sure is showing.” He cackles wildly to himself, exuberant.
Keith doesn’t understand half the things that come out of Lance’s mouth, including...that, so he ignores the comment. His bangs keep falling into his line of sight, and he idly reaches his right hand up to brush them away. Out of his peripheral vision, he can see Lance hovering, chin resting on arms folded over the couch’s backrest. Somehow it’s just as distracting as if Lance were talking.
“Can you leave now?” Keith asks bluntly. He tries to ignore how his face is warming.
“Nope.” A Cheshire grin blooms on Lance’s face.
“Well, you’re distracting me.”
“With the radiance of my smile? The melodious timbre of my voice? The swell of my defined, gloriously tanned biceps - ”
“Lance. Shut. Up.”
“ - or all three simultaneously? Happens pretty often, I mean, I won’t hold it against you.”
Keith shoots Lance the most murderous glare he can manage, even as his insides experience an odd sort of turbulence that’s entirely different from the type he’s used to dealing with while flying. He’s not - he’s not flirting with you, he reminds himself. He’s just like this. Then that one time Lance declared himself the best-looking Paladin pops into his head, and it so does not help.
“Hey,” Lance says, breaking the silence he’s actually blessed Keith with for the past few minutes. “You wanna grab something from the kitchens? I heard Hunk invented a new goo flavor.”
“I’m not that hungry,” Keith says honestly, flipping a page. It’s mostly for posterity’s sake at this point, because he hasn’t retained anything he’s read since Lance decided to hang around. “You go.”
“Keeeeeiiiith. My stomach is growling, and it’s boring sitting still like this!” Lance catapults onto the couch to prove his point, then yelps when Keith aims a blind kick at him. The corners of Keith’s mouth automatically quirk up.
“All problems that could be easily solved by going yourself.” It’s practically Keith’s duty to point this out.
“Aw, c’mon, man! I need a buddy, a pal. I need to extrovert.” Lance shimmies his way up the couch’s backrest like the world’s most obnoxious noodle and balances himself somewhere near Keith’s head. He reaches down to poke Keith’s shoulder, and Keith swats at his hand halfheartedly.
“You’re doing a pretty good job of extroverting right here while I’m trying to read.”
“Pssssht, why sit here reading when you could be on an adventure? Think about it, Keith: me, you, kitchens, goo.” He sweeps one arm out like he’s taking a panoramic shot of the possibilities. “We’ll have a nice conversation, our stomachs will be full off Hunk’s gourmet nosh, and you can lose yourself in the ocean-like depths of my eyes. Hel-loooo, way better plan!”
Keith sits up, smirking at Lance. Well, in his direction at least - sustained eye contact is a little much to ask for at the moment. “Yeah, that’s not really that tempting. Sorry to disappoint.”
Lance looks affronted, as well as strangely flushed. “W-well, it should be!”
Keith quickly looks back at his book. It's already difficult to meet Lance’s eyes without his brain softening into a lump of space goo. How is he supposed to make it through an entire meal with him?
“Maybe you can get Allura or someone to go with you instead.” Keith kicks himself internally for his lack of courage.
A moment later, Lance extricates himself from his perch on the couch. “Yeah, okay,” he says, then slouches moodily from the room, hands in his pockets.
---
The next few days preoccupy Keith with the mission on Pollux. Unfortunately, he's not too preoccupied to notice the warmth that impossibly seeps its way through his armor when Lance claps a hand to his back before they start fighting. Nor is he too preoccupied to spend all night noticing Lance’s smile - why is the phenomena so stupidly magnetic? - from across the room at the ensuing victory celebration.
---
Something fiery and determined burns in Keith's chest at sparring practice, and it sure as hell isn’t a lack of cardiovascular fitness.
“Next round, you and me,” Keith declares, sliding in next to Lance on the training room bench. He’s just defeated Pidge - barely, as she’s increasingly a force to be reckoned with - and maybe it's the lingering adrenaline of the victory that prompts him to sit closer to the blue Paladin than he ever has.
Lance holds up a finger and takes a long drag from his water bottle. A towel hangs around his neck, and Keith finds himself momentarily caught up in the dampness of the skin there.
He snaps out of it when Lance lets out a refreshed-sounding aaah. “Yeah, alright. Get ready to have your ass kicked.”
Keith laughs and leans forward a little, his elbows resting on his knees. He unscrews the cap of his own water and takes a sip. “Like you've ever kicked my ass.”
“What?” Lance gapes at him, appalled. “That's such a lie! I - I finished before you in that corkscrew drill last week, so ha!”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” Wow, foraying into arrogance is fun. No wonder Lance does it so often.
Leaping to his feet indignantly, Lance casts both his towel and water bottle aside. “It was only a tie in ticks, not seconds! Hunk agrees with me!”
“Okay.” Keith’s busy trying not to laugh. Maybe this wasn't the best way to kick off a hand-to-hand combat session after all.
“What are you waiting for? Come on!” Lance barely waits for Keith to stand up before he stalks off to an unclaimed corner of the floor, staying clear of where Shiro and Allura are practicing.
“You scared?” Lance asks Keith the second he catches up. They're squaring off now, hands at the ready.
“You wish.” Keith reaches for Lance first, but Lance’s reflexes are quick, and he throws Keith’s arm off easily. Lance aims an upwards punch at Keith’s chest, but Keith blocks it, rotating quickly around him. They edge around one another for a while, feinting.
Lance is adrenalized. “So,” he says, panting, “bet you were jealous when Paxin asked me to dance the other night!”
Keith is more preoccupied with trying to knee Lance right now than with making small talk, but okay. “Who?”
“You know! The Polluxian Princess’ younger sibling!” Lance huffs, jabbing at Keith’s side. “Second in line for the throne? Blue-green skin? Was,” - he grunts and tries to trip Keith at the ankle, which causes them both to stumble towards the nearest wall - “pretty much all over me?”
Keith spies an opening in Lance’s stance and knees him without even stopping to think about it. “Well,” he replies hotly, ignoring Lance’s yelp of pain, “guess they're not blind, then.” He grabs Lance by the shoulders and tries his hardest to force him backwards.
“They were too all over me because,” - Lance grunts, pushing back against Keith - “upbeat songs are, like, the Polluxian equivalent of slow daaaaan. ” Lance abruptly slackens, which sends them hurtling towards the wall. Keith only narrowly avoids slamming into him, managing to shoot his arms out at the last second.
“Wait. What?” Lance asks. He’s effectively trapped between the wall and Keith, but makes no move to get away.
“I said,” Keith repeats impatiently, “guess Paxin’s not blind then. As in yes, you did look passably dashing in your stupid suit.” Shit, Lance’s face is right there. Keith really should start thinking before he acts.
“Anyway. I win,” he blurts, already embarrassed by his moment of candor. Lance does nothing in response except visibly swallow, his face progressing through several hues of magenta.
“Use your melodious voice to say something, idiot.” It comes out softer than Keith intends it to. Fuck.
“Um. Keith - I…” Lance’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat nervously. “I...um.” Lance plasters on a tiny smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Y-you sure did win, alright! But now I’ve gotta jet, back to, uh, Blue! Yep. She's, um, been expecting me for this...thing today involving her, you know, whatchamacallit thingy.” He starts wriggling around frantically, and Keith steps back, if only out of sheer confusion.
Lance sprints from the room so fast, Keith has to blink rapidly to make sure actual Galra aren't chasing him. Within two ticks, he's gaping at an empty doorframe. Unbelievable.
It startles him when Shiro claps a hand to his shoulder from behind. “Better luck next time?” Shiro offers knowingly, yet pityingly.
“Uh. Yeah,” Keith finds himself saying, his entire face burning. Guess I’m fighting the Gladiator for a really long time tonight.
---
Keith waits and waits and waits for Lance to show his face at breakfast. Hey, he’s thinking about saying, sorry if I made things weird yesterday. We can just forget it. Space ranger partners?
Or, You can’t just flirt with people and then evacuate the premises the second they flirt back. What the hell, Lance?
Or maybe, Look, that probably wasn’t the best time to admit I think you’re attractive, but I meant it.
Fine, so he has no idea what to say. It ends up not mattering. By the time Lance saunters in, Keith’s kavxha has run cold, and there’s only a few minutes left until their morning training block. If Lance wants to sit as far away from him as possible and talk Coran’s ear off about his DIY seaweed exfoliator during that time, well - fine.
(It’s not really fine, but Keith figures he’ll get a chance to talk to him later.)
As soon as Allura powers down the drones, though, Lance hightails it out of the training deck. He doesn’t even bother to cool down first, and Keith’s stomach drops at the realization that Lance must be avoiding him. The next few days, much to Keith's chagrin, pass in exactly the same way. Lance is jumpy and distracted during training, and he keeps vanishing off to who-knows-where right after.
Keith’s not expecting for it to ache in his chest as much as it does.
He can’t even seem to get a proper night’s sleep anymore, because he keeps having all these stupid thoughts about stupid Lance. By the third night, he’s had enough. Wresting himself from his itchy, cloying covers (he’s decided they’re actually ridiculously stupid, just like Lance), he shuffles broodily into the hall and towards the kitchen. If he’s not going to be getting any sleep tonight anyway, he might as well take a page from Hunk’s book and drown himself in Altean chocolate.
The kitchen doors slide open, and - quiznak. Sitting at the table is none other than Lance himself, gripping a steaming mug of something in both hands and looking unfairly appealing in a sleeveless white pajama top. His robe’s been discarded on the back of his chair, and Keith feels his heart pound almost painfully in his chest.
Lance tenses when he spots Keith, but Keith marches right over before he can go running off again. “Can I sit here?” Keith asks, his tone verging on demanding. He’s aware of how ridiculous the question would ordinarily sound, except he doesn’t have any idea what’s going on between him and Lance anymore, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
“...Yeah.” At first, Lance seems to be staring adamantly at the table, but Keith soon realizes he’s looking at some kind of photograph. With piqued interest, he takes his seat.
“Do you mind if I…?” Keith gestures towards the photo. Lance nods, and Keith shifts a little closer to him in order to see it better. He sends an anxious glance back over his shoulder to see if Lance will scoot away, but he doesn’t.
The picture holds more people than Keith can count, all crammed around a radiant-looking girl in a huge, floofy dress. Keith picks out Lance immediately - he’s standing directly to the right of the girl, dressed in a snappy suit and tie. Even captured in 2-D, his smile manages to be brighter than any star Keith’s ever seen.
Keith hedges the obvious question. “Is this your family?”
“Yeah.” The weariness in Lance’s real-life expression is downright unsettling. Keith’s so used to seeing Lance grin, whether it’s at Hunk in earnest or in the smug afterglow of one of his inane pick-up lines, that he’s hardly bothered to consider how Lance can’t possibly be cheery all of the time. Then he feels terrible for not - supporting Lance more, or whatever it is someone with an actual family back on Earth might need.
“This is from last summer, at Lena’s quinceañera,” Lance says quietly. “That’s my sister. She’s only a year younger than me, and we’re...we were really close.” He stares, hard, at the mug in his hands, and Keith has the sudden urge to reach out - to do something to get rid of the despondency scrawled all across Lance’s face - but he doesn't.
“Tell me about the others,” Keith says hastily. He’s having a hard time staying mad at Lance, considering how pitiful and forlorn he's being.
Lance sets his mug carefully on the table. “Well…” He exhales. “That’s my older brother, Lawrence. And my younger brother, Lucian.” He points to each of them in turn. “Lawrence goes to Berkeley - he’s a BioMed major. And Lucian just started middle school. He’s really good at football, or, well, ‘soccer’.” A tiny smile finally appears on Lance’s face, and Keith thinks it looks like daybreak.
“Huh?” Recent developments have proved to be somewhat distracting.
“Oh, I got you,” Lance beams. “What we call soccer in America, most of the rest of the world calls football. It’s the same sport though. And American football is its own thing.”
“Oooh.” Keith runs a hand through his hair, trying to disguise how inadequate and uncultured he feels. He misses the days when he could be around Lance without feeling so self-conscious, but he figures it’s at least partly due to their current proximity.
“Yep. Hmm, so who else is in this thing?” Lance quickly glances back at the picture. “Oh, duh! My mom and dad are right here.” He points. “My mom’s literally the world’s greatest cook, like, even better than Hunk. Plus she gives the best hugs. She used to Skype me every week back when I was going to the Garrison...my dad’s the family prankster, and that’s where I get my loudness from, I guess? I used to hate when he’d, like, tease me about how Lucian has the most skill with the ladies or whatever, but at this point I’d let him roast me in front of everyone at dinner if it meant getting to see him again. Oh, and this is my Tía Alvarita…”
As Lance gets on a roll, pointing out his cousins and nieces and uncles one by one, Keith marvels that a family could ever be so big, let alone so close. The way Lance talks about his relatives, the brightness in his eyes, those hands that never seem to run out of wild gestures - all of it captivates Keith, and he can’t seem to look away.
“It just kills me that I'm out here a million light years from home, and nobody even knows where I am or why I left,” Lance is saying. “I mean, I bet they're worried sick! What's Lucian gonna think when I don't bother to show up for his twelfth birthday, huh? And who is Lena supposed to do karaoke duets with now, Lawrence? He, he can't even sing!” Lance groans and slumps over the table, burying his head in his hands, and Keith somehow recognizes that it isn’t just dramaticism.
“Hey,” Keith says, resting a hand on Lance’s back before he can think too hard about it. Whoa - warm. “Lance.” When the blue paladin doesn’t respond, Keith slides his arm around his shoulders in determination. “You - you didn’t leave your family for some shitty reason, okay? You left to defend the Universe. To defend everyone’s families, including your own.” Keith takes a deep breath, daring himself to say everything on his mind.
“It’s - um. I think it’s important that you’re the Blue Paladin and not - someone else. I mean, I don’t know if you realize, but you’re an amazing pilot, okay? You have, like, the strongest bond with your Lion out of any of us, and I don’t get why you think I’m so much better than you.”
Lance sits up, shocked, and Keith keeps his arm around him because he’s stubborn. Also because you liiike him, his brain reminds him unhelpfully, to which he retorts, Shut up!
Where was he again? Right. “You’re brave and selfless and ridiculous - uh, in a good way, I mean. Also? You hold the team together without even realizing it. What I’m trying to say is, I can’t see anybody but you pulling this off, so you’re - you’re definitely meant to be here.”
Keith finally removes his arm from Lance, wiping his sweaty palms on his PJ bottoms. Of course that speech ended up revealing ten times more than a simple I like you. Is it too late to fling himself into space via the airlock?
“...Wow.” Lance’s voice is softer than usual. “Keith, I...I seriously don’t deserve anything you just said, but. Um. Thank you.”
“You got it.”
“You’re still the best pilot out of all of us,” Lance adds hurriedly. “I mean, I think so.”
A tiny huff of laughter escapes from Keith. “I’m really not.”
“Look, I wouldn’t be constantly trying to one-up you if you weren’t. Besides, my taste in rivals is spot-on.” Lance’s gaze is resolute, and Keith briefly wonders if he should bring up Lance’s avoidance issues, but then it seems like Lance is going to say something else.
Except he doesn’t. Lance is fresh-out-of-combat sweating and jiggling his knee, and every time Keith thinks he’s finally going to spit out whatever’s on his mind, he takes another nervous sip from his mug. Keith gets up and hunts down his Altean chocolate, because patience has never been his strong suit. He nibbles away at it while Lance finishes his drink, the two of them comparing the different ways Blue and Red communicate with them, plus a million other things that shouldn’t really matter.
Something warm blooms in Keith’s chest while they talk, and he tries his hardest to push away the unanswered questions that linger in the air.
---
“Keith, it’s me! Can I come in?”
Keith’s eyes widen at the sound of Lance’s voice, and he practically bolts upright. “Uh, yeah. Hang on,” he calls, snapping his book shut and rolling off his bed. He quickly cards his fingers through his hair, exhaling just barely as he presses the button that opens his door.
“Hey.” Lance is wearing the blue baseball tee that does wonders for his shoulders, and Keith’s mouth runs dry.
“Hi.”
“I was hoping we could talk, if that’s cool?” Lance looks nervous, and Keith thinks, good, because that’s exactly how he feels. He shrugs as nonchalantly as possible, then situates himself on the edge of his bed, a silent invitation for Lance to follow suit.
The first words out of Lance’s mouth are, “I realized I’m not suave or charming!”
“What -”
“I try so hard, you know? I’ve been trying my whole life. Well, the pubescent part of my life, I mean. And I really thought I was - charming, irresistible, good at flirting, good at courting people. All of that.” Lance looks down, and his voice is softer when he picks back up. “It’s just...for as much flirting as I’ve done in my life, it’s never really been - returned before. And you, on Wednesday - when you complimented me and everything - well, turns out I have literally no idea how to handle that.” He laughs, and it’s shaky and breathy.
“So you ran away.” Keith’s doing his best to stay patient, to understand.
“Yeah. You, uh, came on pretty strong and I kinda freaked.”
“Sorry,” Keith says automatically, already dying of embarrassment, but Lance quickly reaches for his hand. “No, it’s - it’s not your fault, it’s mine! I’m used to being the flirter, not the flirtee, is all. I mean, you looked and sounded really hot back there, not that you would know, so. And I - I really like you, Keith.” He brushes his thumb over Keith’s knuckles, the smallest, most distracting gesture. “I shouldn’t have run away and avoided you like that, and I’m sorry. It was selfish, and all it did was make me more homesick, anyway. I guess it just - scares me sometimes that someone like you might see something in me, too.”
“What do you mean, ‘someone like me’?” Keith shifts closer to Lance, searching his eyes for clues.
“I mean - you’re Keith! You don’t put up any fronts, you’re brave, you’re the best at everything you do - and you’re a good person. Me, I’m just Lance.”
“Listen up, ‘Just Lance’,” Keith says, half-exasperated. He cups his hand just under Lance’s jaw. “I really like you, too. And you’re seriously underestimating yourself.”
With that, he presses a kiss to Lance’s mouth, and it isn’t long before Lance is kissing him back, clutching at his waist with his free hand. They fall into a rhythm, one that’s soft and sweet and dizzying, and when Keith threads his hand through Lance’s hair, Lance returns the favor with a soft kiss to Keith’s jaw. It’s like Keith is dousing himself in quintessence - in its hazy, prickling burn - and he never wants it to stop.
“Okay, wow, yeah. That was - that was good,” Lance pants when they finally break apart, breathless and flushed. “I mean, not just good. I mean great, obviously.” His tongue darts out to lick at his lips subconsciously, and Keith can’t wait to see more of this flustered state of his. All in due time, he realizes happily.
“We like each other.” It’s incredible that Keith can say it out loud, can hear the trueness of it.
“Heck yeah, we do,” Lance confirms, before he leans in and tackles Keith with another kiss.