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It hadn’t been a difficult mission—in fact, it was barely a mission at all. Okay, so it wasn't a mission. The team had actually been invited by the Arusians to a party. A celebration for what Voltron had done for them. The help they had received from the gang had truly shown them that they had allies they could count on—so why not throw them a party to show their thanks?
What the Arusians passed as a party was eerily similar to what the team was used to back on Earth. Lots of guests, music, hors d’oeuvres, and…beverages of the alcoholic sort.
By no means were any of the Paladins of legal drinking age (save for Shiro)—in America, anyway. But they were in space. Who was going to stop them, the space police? They were the space police!
Besides, the legal drinking age in Cuba was sixteen, and in Samoa, eighteen. This meant that the two Paladins of these descents—Lance and Hunk respectively—were technically allowed to drink, since they were eighteen. It’s not like they were American citizens now. Nope. Totally not. Then they’d have to wait until they were twenty-one and who wants to do that?
Keith, who grew up in Korea with the legal drinking age of nineteen, was not at all phased by the fact that he was a year underage, and consumed the drinks anyway, though sparingly.
Shiro, well above any legal age in the world, drank as well, but admittedly much more responsibly than the younger Paladins.
Unfortunately, despite being in space, Shiro did not allow Pidge to drink. She was only fourteen! The leader of the universe’s only hope was not about to let a fourteen-year-old drink.
…
Not until he had a few beers himself—or whatever yeast equivalent the Arusians used.
“One drink. No more than one.” Shiro had said sternly. He still wanted Pidge to have a good time, but luckily, Coran and Allura did not partake in the consumption of the alcoholic liquids, and Keith had only had a drink or two. The seven of them stayed together most of the night, happy to celebrate such an occasion with one another.
Hunk and Lance, on the other hand, bragged about how their home countries had the best types of rum, and how they had been preparing for a party like this their whole lives.
Poor souls had never been to a party with drinks, however. To be honest, they had only had a few drinks here and there with cousins at family gatherings. So, they figured that now was as good a time as ever to get their drunk on.
One drink in, and Lance kept rambling about how Havana Club was probably the best rum in the entire universe (and is he wrong, really? No. No he is not).
Two drinks in, and Hunk was commenting on how the aftertaste of his drinks tasted like green apples.
Three drinks in, and the boys had somehow ventured off alone to an isolated corner, leaving the rest of Voltron behind.
Four drinks and two shots in, they were on their backs, staring up at the sky. The two were sprawled out on the lawn of the huge castle where the party was being held. The sky was black with exhaustion, the evening creeping up on them quicker than they had anticipated. Stars littered the scenery above them, giving them just the right amount of light to see their surroundings.
Hunk had his arms behind him, his head resting on his hands and his knees up. Lance had copied his position but kept one leg down. The Yellow Paladin breathed deeply.
“Why do you think the, uh…the drunken age in Cuba is only sixteen?” Hunk asked, turning his head slightly to look over at Lance. His friend stifled a laugh and propped himself up on his elbows, staring at Hunk directly.
“O-okay, first of all, you mean drinking age, right? Not drunken age. That’s funny though. Classic.” He slurred, leaning back onto the grass.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Hunk corrected, attention back on the view above him.
They were silent for a moment, until Hunk remembered what he had asked Lance. He nudged his friend in the side, reminding him about his question.
“Oh, yeah.” Lance muttered, “I dunno. Maybe we’re just cool like that,” he said, grinning at Hunk from his position. “Why? How old is the drinking age in Samoa?”
“We went over this like, an hour ago, dude.” Hunk said. He didn’t sound annoyed, but he definitely seemed upset that Lance didn’t remember their conversation about legal drinking ages in their home countries. “Eighteen, remember? And in Korea its like, thirty-two.” He sputtered, letting out a giggle.
Lance apparently found this to be the single most hilarious thing in the world, because he let out a laugh, snorted, and continued laughing for a solid thirty seconds.
“Dude, Keith is like, our age.” Lance said sloppily. “How would—how would he be drinking then?”
Hunk rolled over onto his stomach and perched his chin in his hands, his elbows resting on the soft grass beneath them.
“Hm, okay, there’s something wrong with, um. With what one of us is saying.” Hunk pointed out. “So, like, Keith is eighteen.” He addressed to no one in particular. “And he said he’s only like, a year away from legal drinking age there. So…thirty-two? I don’t think so.”
Lance sat up as quickly as his body would let him, ignoring the dizziness that had suddenly swept over him.
“Yeah, but you said thirty-two. Not me. If he’s eighteen and one year away from legal drinking age, doesn’t that mean…Korea is nineteen?” Lance questioned, a serious look on his features.
Now it was Hunk’s turn to let out a laugh.
“Dude, did you just hear yourself? You seriously just asked if Korea was nineteen years old. You mean like, the drinking age, right? Cause I think Korea is like, a lot older than a young adult.”
Lance stood up now, pointing an accusing finger at Hunk.
“Korea? That place is so old. Older than Cuba, maybe.”
Hunk was confused.
“When did we start talking about how old countries were?”
Lance ignored him.
“You know how old Varadero Beach is?” He quizzed, hands on his hips. “I betcha you don’t.”
Hunk stood up as well, hands to his sides.
“Try me!” He exclaimed, stumbling backwards slightly.
“I just did!” Lance said, throwing his hands up.
The two stared at each other, not sure what to say. Then Lance pressed about how old Varadero Beach was, his cheeks a bright crimson.
“Uh, why—why would I know how old a beach is?” Hunk asked, face equally as red. Lance blinked at him, face expressionless.
“You, uh, you have a point there, man.” Lance whispered, sitting down on the grass. “I know, though.”
Hunk sat down as well, placing his hands in his lap.
“Maybe cause you’re Cuban?” He said sarcastically.
“Dude! How’d you—”
“You are literally my best friend, man. I have known this for a long time.” Hunk interrupted matter-of-factly.
Lance’s lips formed a small ‘o’.
“True,” he agreed, laying back down into the position he was in before.
“So how old is it?” Hunk questioned, also laying down.
“How old is what?” The Cuban boy asked, turning his head to face his friend.
“Uh, the beach. Varadero.” Hunk clarified.
Lance sat up again and started counting his fingers.
“It’s 2016, right?” The Blue Paladin asked, holding up nine fingers. Hunk nodded and he continued his counting. “If it’s 2016…then 1976.” Lance said proudly, hands on his sides.
Hunk cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, confused.
“Varadero Beach is 1976 years old?”
Lance’s lips formed a small ‘o’ yet again.
“No…wait, that’s uh…what’s 2016 minus 1976?”
It was now Hunk’s turn to count on his fingers.
“Forty-one.” He said, letting out a hiccup. “I think.”
“Then that. That’s how old Varadero is.” Lance concluded, falling backwards once more.
The two were silent for a while. It wasn’t awkward, though. They stared at the stars—wow, there were so many more in space than on Earth—and listened to the distant chatter from the party guests not too far away.
They hadn’t realised it, but they were drunk off their minds. For first timers, four drinks and two shots was probably much more than they should have had, but hey, space alcohol was different than Earth alcohol. At least, that’s what they figured.
Besides, it was nice to take a break. Not that they needed alcohol to do so, but it was fun to relax, have fun, and just be…teenagers. They hadn’t had the chance to do that as of late, so they definitely appreciated the time they had now.
Even if it was just the two of them.
Speaking of which…
“Lance?” Hunk called out, turning onto his side.
“Yeah, buddy?” Lance replied, copying the Samoan boy.
“This whole, uh, Voltron thing. It’s kinda messed up, don’tcha think?” Hunk asked, expression serious.
Lance thought about his question for a moment. Hunk was right, it was pretty messed up. Lance missed home dearly—and not just the U.S. He missed his relatives in Cuba, as well. He couldn’t even remember the last time he saw them, considering the two countries were not on good terms. Lance wasn’t even able to see them for holidays or vacations, and—
Why was he thinking about this? Hunk had asked about Voltron, not about his family in Cuba.
“Yeah.” The blue-clad pilot answered somberly.
Hunk noticed the sudden change in his friend’s behaviour and sat up.
“Lance?” He questioned softly.
“Lo siento,” Lance replied. “Um, sorry.” He corrected, not knowing why he had randomly switched to Spanish. He still laid on his back, but he had since draped an arm over his eyes.
Hunk, having not needed the translation, replied with a language-switch of his own.
“Leai se faafitauli.” He said, smiling. Lance raised an eyebrow. “It means no problem in Samoan.”
“Oh,” Lance huffed.
“Did I ask a bad question?” Hunk inquired, feeling guilty. His shoulders dropped and he hung his head. He was probably overreacting, but hey, he was drunk as fuck.
Well, probably not that drunk, but pretty drunk, nonetheless.
Lance shook his head, doing so for an extended few seconds. The cool grass felt nice scratching the back of his neck.
“Naw, was just thinkin’ about stuff.” Lance said softly.
Hunk crossed his legs and put his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his hands.
“I know watcha mean.” The Yellow Paladin said. “It’s been kinda hard not really talking to anyone about it, y’know?” He continued, looking over at Lance for a response.
Lance sat up to look Hunk in the eye. His expression turned serious, and he clamped both his hands on the bigger boy’s shoulders firmly.
“Hunk, man.” He said slowly, trying to pronounce his words as properly as he could without slurring or accidentally slipping into Spanish again. “I am always, like, always here to talk if you need me, okay?”
Hunk’s lips quivered and he launched himself forward, embracing the taller boy in a hug.
“La-a-a-ance!” He cried out, tears rolling down his cheeks. Oh man, if he wasn’t feeling it before, he sure as hell was, now. The two held each other for a while before Hunk pulled back, wiping away at his tears and letting out a sigh. “Same goes for me, mm’kay? Don’t hold anything in.” Hunk said.
“Aw, buddy!” Lance exclaimed. They then proceeded to do the exact same damn thing they did a literal five minutes ago, for fuck’s sake.
When they had both finally calmed down, they pulled away from each other, but kept their hands on the other’s shoulders. They looked into each other’s eyes, smiles never leaving their features.
“Oh, man, I am gonna bother the quiznak out of you.” Lance bragged, sitting up straight.
Hunk laughed, hiccupping again.
“Dude, you think you can out-confess me?”
Lance stood up, looking down at his friend who was still sitting on the grass.
“Was that a challenge?!” He said loudly, wobbling slightly. Hunk stood up, mere inches away from him, and pointed at him.
“Darn straight it is!” He exclaimed.
The two were quiet a second before they burst out laughing. They laughed and laughed, and Lance even fell down, but he hardly took notice. They wrapped their arms around their sides and giggled like high school girls, somehow finding the whole shebang funny as anything.
“Lance! Hunk! We’re heading back! Let’s go!”
Shiro had called them from the other side of the yard.
Lance, who had still been—quite literally—rolling on the floor laughing, looked up at Hunk. The mechanic knew what he wanted and extended an arm out, and Lance grabbed his hand. Hunk yanked him up as the Blue Paladin dusted himself off.
“Thanks, man. I needed a small break.” Lance said seriously, almost all signs of intoxication gone.
Hunk nodded, and wrapped an arm around the pilot’s shoulders.
“Thanks to you, too, bro.”
“Best buds?” Lance questioned as they made their way back to the others.
“Best buds.”
Indeed they were.