Work Text:
Lance was balancing three trays, a bag, and a cup of iced coffee as he made his way down the apartment complex’s hallway. It was dingy and narrow; he had to angle himself to get through certain doorways. The Garrison Villa was less of a villa and more of a cheap, military-esque hostel. Nearly every other light was flickering or completely out and the walls were chipped and cracked from either regular wear and tear or potential vandalism. Lance wasn’t complaining though. The rent was cheap.
The coffee on top of his trays almost teetered over at the next turn he made. He cursed himself, and then the architect that designed this building because couldn’t they have done without making this place a mess of a maze? Surely it would’ve been cost effective to have plain and straight hallways like every other complex. Lance sighed and straightened himself. What did he know? He was just a measly grad student.
His phone chose that exact moment to start ringing. Perfect . Of course someone would contact him when his hands were full and he had the risk of spilling coffee and food all over himself. Lance stopped by the fire escape door and slowly lowered himself to the ground. Hunk would kill him if he dropped the food. Hell, he would be pissed too if he dropped the food and missed the chance to eat Hunk’s cooking.
The coffee sloshed left and right the more he moved. The lid, which was flimsy as it was, was only half on as Lance had capped it in a hurry. He deeply regretted his choice of actions.
The goods were almost to the floor when the fire escape door burst open.
“What the—”
“ Keith?”
Lance nearly toppled backwards at the sound of the door opening. He only stopped himself with his hand—the hand that had previously been upholding the trays and coffee. They tipped forward.
It almost happened in slow motion. Keith’s eyes widened. The coffee slid first. Then the trays slanted and Lance tried to catch them by propping his foot out. He looked like a poor mimicry of spider-man and also failed to catch the trays because you know, he wasn’t spider-man. He wasn’t agile like that.
Keith dove forward like a pro-volleyball receiver, arms out and open. His fingers brushed against the coffee and…
The lid slid off.
Medium Vanilla Tiramisu Latte™ splattered everywhere. Everywhere over Lance, that was. The coffee splashed right against the front of Lance’s sweater. His nice, wool knit sweater that he had been saving specifically for this Thanksgiving dinner. The cup, now emptied and lifeless, bounced against his arm before hitting the floor and rolling into the unknown.
They stood there—squatted there?—frozen in place, Lance on the ground one hand and foot out. Keith was in between his legs, half in some plank position and half in Lance’s lap . The edge of the trays were secure between his hand and Lance’s thigh. They looked like they were playing a game of Twister and they were playing extremely poorly.
Lance’s phone was still ringing. He sighed and planted his ass fully on the ground to rummage his pocket and pick it up. “Hello?”
It was Hunk. “Lance! Finally, I thought you were never going to pick up.”
“What’s up?” He asked, still frazzled. “This better be life threatening.”
“Oh nah,” Hunk dismissed, “I just wanted to alert you that I was in the lobby and I spotted Keith going up the stairs. Our Keith! Thought you’d want to know.”
Lance looked at his phone and then looked in front of him, where the topic of the conversation was awkwardly prying himself out of Lance’s space without further making a mess or collapsing further on top of Lance. For someone who worked at a MMA studio, Keith was showing an extremely terrible display of agility and maneuvering.
“Hunk, I love you, but I’m going to hang up now.” Lance ended the call and pinched the bridge of his nose.
By now, Keith had finally, successfully placed the trays on the ground next to them and was crawling backwards. The air felt a little chilly without him in Lance’s circle—or maybe that was the cold drink all over his sweater. Keith’s eyes were shifting this way and that way like a cursor in a windows monitor. “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly tucking his hands in the pocket of his red hoodie.
Lance raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell takes the fire escape instead of the elevator? We live on the fifth floor.”
“...it’s good cardio,” Keith mumbled.
“ It’s good —” Lance groaned. “Of course it is. I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you , mullet.”
“Aren’t you going to get up?” Keith asked.
“No! Help me up. It’s the least you could do.”
Lance didn’t take the scowl off his face even when Keith extended his hand out to him. He took it slowly, carefully, making sure to ingrain every callus and groove of his palm to memory as if they’d never have the chance to hold hands ever again. If he was going to be drenched and embarrassed, he might as well make the most of it.
Lance took Keith’s hand and refused to budge.
Keith scoffed. “Come on, Lance. Get up. I said I was sorry.”
“Nope,” Lance said, popping the ‘p’. “You have to help me up.”
“Whatever,” Keith said, but he still pulled Lance up and towards him. It was barely any effort to him. It wasn’t that Lance was extraordinarily light, he packed a good amount of lean muscle himself. Keith was just strong like that. He could lug about anything around with swift actions, making weights seem like feathers.
Lance didn’t stop himself from staggering into Keith. He crashed into him with a solid thump, his hands hitting Keith’s chest.
“Careful, Lance,” Keith said. There was a lilt of amusement in his voice.
“You be careful.” Lance picked up the trays. Keith grabbed one from him and they continued down the hall.
“I am sorry about your sweater, though. And the coffee.”
Lance frowned. It was his nice sweater. And it was a good coffee. Still, he said, “It’s cool. Don’t sweat it.”
“Are you sure, Lance? What about—”
Lance shot him a smile, a 24K karat gold type of smile that usually made the ladies swoon. Keith wasn’t a lady and Keith didn’t swoon, but it was still worth a try. “What did I say? I said we’re chilling.”
Lance was chilling. He was cold. The Garrison Villa seriously needed to invest in a better central heating unit.
“You’re shivering,” Keith noted.
“We’ll be at Pidge’s in literally…” They turned the corner. “Literally now. We’re here. I’m fine.”
Lance kicked at the door to alert them of his presence. He made sure to be gentle; who knew if the door would cave in with the force? There was a faint, “Coming, asshole!” before keys jingled and the doorknob turned.
Pidge assessed Lance’s ruined sweater and the two of them in the doorway and said absolutely nothing. They turned on their heel and headed straight to the living room.
“Food on the counter,” Pidge called out without turning around.
“Turn up your heat!” Keith hollered after her. He placed his tray on the counter and looked at Lance. “I’ll be right back. One second.” Then he was out the door again.
“What was that all about?” Pidge asked.
Lance placed his trays on the counter with precarious hands. He wasn’t risking anything spilling this time. He turned to face them.
“Keith, this absolute maniac, decided to run up five flights of stairs and also barrel into me and spill my coffee! On me! On my nice sweater!”
“It was a nice sweater,” Pidge lamented. There was zero empathy behind their expression as they sat criss-cross applesauce on the couch.
“It was!” Lance cried. “And I wore it specifically to see him!”
“I do remember that,” Pidge noted, “You wouldn’t shut up about what to wear to the party for at least a week.” They shuddered. “At least he saw it, right?”
Lance came over to the couch and flopped onto it. “Where’s Hunk? He’d be more empathetic.”
Pidge patted his back with stoic motions. “There, there. All will be well. You can change and still flirt disgustingly with Keith and make heart eyes at him and feed him Thanksgiving turkey.”
“No! I can’t! Not if I don’t look my best.” He turned over so that he was staring at the ceiling.
Pidge looked unamused. “Keith was literally wearing the same black shirt he wears every week. I doubt he will care what you’re wearing.”
“But Keith looks good wearing that stupid black shirt! He always looks good.”
The door knob turned and Lance shot up like a rocket. A tan hand pushed it in and Hunk followed through. He was balancing another four trays in his arms—Lance didn’t know how he did it. Lance rushed to help him.
“Did you see Keith?” Hunk asked.
Lance spun him around by the shoulders so that they were facing each other. “Hunk,” he said, “Did I see Keith?”
Hunk stared at him, and then at the huge stain on his sweater. “Oh…” he grimaced. “Buddy.”
Lance sighed. “I’m going to run back and change. I’ll definitely have something to wear.”
There were lots of options for what to wear to a small Thanksgiving get together. It wasn’t anything fancy. Lance could get away with wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans. ‘Get-away-with’ was an understatement. His friends would not give even half a shit if he showed up in a bathing suit or a shark onesie. Although, that would be grounds for drunk blackmail later in the party so Lance would never risk himself like that.
He supposed he could find something. It wasn’t a big deal. Lance reached for the door knob right as the door swung open at him.
Lance caught the edge of the wood this time instead of falling over like a blundering mess. “What the fuck!”
“Huh—Lance?” Keith spoke around the door.
Of course it was Keith. “Who else? I’m the only one you’ve set out to kill so far!”
“I’m not killing anyone,” Keith muttered as he stepped inside and removed his shoes. “And I’m…sorry.” He looked down. “Again.”
“It’s okay,” Lance said, ignoring the looks Hunk and Pidge were definitely giving each other. “You need to work on your timing.”
Keith chuckled. “Maybe. Oh, also. Here.”
A bundle of clothes were shoved at Lance. The fabrics were soft and warm, as if they were picked fresh from the dryer. There was a shirt and a hoodie. Lance glanced at them and then back up at Keith. “Did you run back to get me clothes?”
It was so sweet. Too, too sweet. Sweet enough that Lance no longer mourned the loss of his outfit and was in fact cheering victoriously about the new opportunity presented in front of him. Keith stood in front of him, rosy cheeked and bashful, and nodded.
“You know Lance lives down the hall, right?” Pidge commented. “He could get his own clothes.”
Lance was going to strangle Pidge. “No I—nope. Heh.” Lance grit out a smile. “No I could not. For uh, mysterious reasons I cannot disclose.”
“That’s okay,” Keith said. He didn’t make any expression indicating he caught Lance’s bluff but he didn’t seem too naive either. As always, when it came to Lance, Keith just looked amused.
Lance took the clothes and nearly slipped on his way to the bathroom. Once he shut the door behind himself, he had to stop himself from screaming. He looked at himself in the mirror and—wow that was an ugly stain. Back to looking at Keith’s clothes. They were so generic and bland and Lance had definitely seen Keith wear them over fifty times in the three years that they lived in the same apartment complex together. There was nothing new about them. Lance couldn’t suppress the smile plastered across his face.
Keith had given him his clothes. His clothes! Yes, it was because he spilled coffee on Lance but still! A man could dream, okay? He could live in the delusion that Keith liked him as much as he liked, maybe even loved Keith. And Keith had been pretty close with him in the past year or so. Although they had a rocky start and a few run ins that ended not so pleasantly, Keith had warmed up to him.
So there was a possibility that it wasn’t in Lance’s head and he wasn’t reading too much into Keith’s actions.
Lance took off his sweater and slipped on the t-shirt and hoodie. It was so warm and cozy and loose in all the right places. And what the hell, it smelled like Keith too. Lance was going to faint.
“I’m throwing this in your laundry, Pidge!” He yelled. He didn’t bother for a response back.
Matt and Shiro were there by the time Lance came back to the living room. Shiro raised an eyebrow at his outfit of choice but made no comment, which was a very, very wise move, because Lance would’ve absolutely erupted on the spot if someone made a remark about him and Keith. Speaking of the devil.
“Is it alright? Is it comfortable?” Keith thumbed at the sleeve of the hoodie as if he were analyzing it. So precious.
Lance huffed but didn’t shove it off. “Yes. It’s great, ten out of ten.”
Keith came a little closer. He was close enough that Lance was convinced they might need to get a room, because if he came any closer, well, that definitely wasn’t going to be a Thanksgiving friendly activity.
“I really am sorry,” Keith whispered, “I know you said it’s okay. But I know how much your clothes mean to you. I’ll get you another one.”
He looked so serious with his brows furrowed in concentration. Lance wondered if this was what he looked like when he taught students at the MMA studio. There was so much care in his eyes, so much genuine intent. Lance wanted to bask in the attention forever.
Lance gave him a small smile. “Keith, it’s literally going to come off when I wash it. You don’t have to worry.”
This didn’t seem to satisfy Keith. “Fine,” he said, “But keep the hoodie then.”
Lance was going to get whiplash. “What?”
Keith leaned back and nodded. “Keep the hoodie. It suits you anyways.”
“Uh, um—”
Someone threw popcorn at his head. Pidge. That devil . “Not in my living room!”
Lance flipped her off and whirled around to throw the nearest pillow at them. They ducked down and the full force of the impact landed straight on Matt. He fell onto Shiro who fell onto the arm rest of the couch. He ignored the mess of their friends and sat on the opposite side of the couch. Keith followed suit, his shoulder pressing against him from how little space was left.
“Comfortable?” Lance asked. Keith nodded.
The group absorbed them into their conversation after that. They debated the combat skills of different species if they were thrown into gladiator rings to battle each other. It was such an absurd conversation that Lance couldn’t imagine having with anyone else but this assortment of people. His friends. It was hard to believe they had all met and connected because they lived on the same floor of the same apartment complex.
Lance had moved in with Hunk in his last year of undergrad. They met Pidge while they were attempting to hack the elevator because it was too slow for their liking. They had roped them into their shenanigans and soon enough, the ‘Garrison trio’ had formed. Then Pidge’s brother Matt had flown in from abroad and settled in with them. It turned out he was old college friends with Shiro, who lived with Keith. Then there was Allura, who also worked at the MMA studio and decided to move into the same building as them. She brought with her her girlfriend Romelle and her suspiciously young uncle Coran.
Lance found it unfathomably insane that such a group of people could all exist in one place at one time. It was as if the universe brought them together. Or maybe it was the cheap rent.
The door opened again. “There they are,” Hunk announced, “Our latecomers!”
Romelle popped out from the doorway. She held a large, brown paper bag in her hands that held a strong, warm aroma. “Sorry!” She said, “We stopped at Voltron’s, though.”
Voltron’s was the diner down the street from their apartment. Where could Lance even start about it? It was the best thing to exist in the universe. Maybe even the savior of the universe. It held the best food that Lance had ever eaten, save his mother’s and Hunk’s cooking.
“Did you get a triple cheeseburger with large fries and a milkshake?” Matt asked.
“Order your own food, Matt,” Allura said as she went to the kitchen, her silvery ponytail swinging behind her. She paused in her steps as she saw Keith and Lance huddled on the couch and whipped her phone out. The notification was instant.
Allura: Progress?
Lance: I wish. He spilled coffee on me.
Allura winced.
Allura: I feel like that is…progress?
Lance: Thanks princess.
Lance put his phone away when Keith tapped him on the knee. “Hey, look at this.” Keith leaned closer to show him his phone. The tips of his hair tickled Lance’s neck. Lance resisted the urge to plaster kisses all over his head.
There were cats on the screen. Cats. Keith was showing him a cat video. Lance was going to melt.
“I’m going to tell Kosmo you’re betraying him.”
Keith scowled and crossed his arms. Lance didn’t miss the way his biceps bulged a bit when he did so. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I so would.”
Keith turned away from him. “I show you cute cat videos and this is the thanks I get. I see.” He immediately joined in on the conversation Shiro and Pidge were having about god-knows what. He didn’t even give Lance a chance to respond back. That bitch .
Lance was going to verbalize his dismay when Keith shifted again. He faced Shiro, who was sitting to the left of him, but in doing so he ended up burrowing further against Lance. The slope of his back was leaning against Lance’s frame. God, Keith was so warm.
Bury Lance where sat. Let him live here forever, surrounded by Keith’s smell and body.
The rest of the night went by in a similar fashion. They turned on some stupid movie and only got a quarter way through before something broke their attention and they erupted into mindless banter and conversation. The original plan had been to eat at the kitchen table but everyone was so comfortable where they were that they brought the food over to the couches. Lance got to enjoy the food he so bravely carried through the taunting Garrison hallways and he did not feed Keith Thanksgiving turkey, no matter how many faces Pidge made at him.
Everything went as usual. If Keith and Lance were closer together than normally, that must’ve been because they hadn’t seen each other in a while. Lance was always out at odd hours for his grad school classes and Keith left at the ass crack of dawn for work. It was hard for them to run into each other even if they shared some meals together and occasionally gave each other rides.
Lance snuck a glance at Keith. His face was a brilliant, blooming shade of red. He had had a few drinks and was sipping on spiked apple cider as he listened in on another debate about currency inflation in fictional realities. Lance wanted to brush his hair out of his face and brush a kiss on his cheek. He wanted to taste Keith’s warmth for himself. Not in any weird way. Well, yes, in weird ways but—
Lance just wanted Keith. So badly. In all ways possible.
He hadn’t even noticed it when he reached up and stroked a hand through Keith’s hair. Had Lance mentioned that he was a little tipsy? That might’ve been it. Maybe that, or the pure adoration on Keith’s face when he looked back at Lance.
“Hmmm?” He asked. Keith was a quiet drunk. It was the time of the night where he receded back into his shell and simply observed everything around him. Lance didn’t expect any words from the other boy.
He didn’t move his hand from Keith’s hair, not even as he had another gulp of his drink. “Nothing,” he murmured and pressed a chaste kiss to Keith’s hair. “Go back to whatever you were doing.”
“M’kay.” Keith snuggled into Lance’s shoulder.
Everything was so soft. Keith’s hoodie. Keith’s body against him. His friends around him. The food in his stomach. He could still feel the silkiness of Keith’s hair against his lips. He wanted to burrow his face in Keith’s hair forever.
He…
What?
Pause .
What.
Lance sat up straight. Keith let out a ‘mmrph’ at the movement but didn’t say anything other than that. He looked at Hunk. Hunk, because he was a mind reader and also Lance’s twin flame and brother and connected mentally to Lance in every way possible, stopped his conversation with Coran from across the room to look at Lance at the exact moment.
What do I do?? Lance mouthed at him.
Hunk just shot him a thumbs up and a cheeky grin. He definitely didn’t understand the depth and complexities of Lance’s predicament. Lance had kissed Keith. Kissed him . Not on the mouth, no way. But like, in general. He made movements with his mouth in Keith’s general vicinity. At Keith. On Keith. Lance was going to implode.
Keith was nearly asleep on Lance, no trace of the same panic or emotions reflected across his face. It was endearing the way he could knock out even when the party was in full swing because of his self imposed bedtime. It calmed him down a bit. At least Keith hadn’t startled to full consciousness at Lance’s kiss and pushed him off the couch and pronounced his hatred for him to the entire room. That would’ve been horrendous and soul crushing.
Lance scoffed. Keith would never do that. Despite Lance’s extremely old assumptions that he was stuck up and selfish, Keith was the most gentle and considerate guy he knew. And Lance knew lots of guys.
Even if Keith was weirded out, he wouldn’t have said anything. At least not in the moment. Getting let down would be a very private and honest conversation that wouldn’t involve any talks of hatred and disgust.
While this was reassuring, this also opened another branch of insecurities for Lance. Because that meant that the lack of Keith’s current rejection towards him meant that there was room to reject him later. He could picture it—them walking back to their respective apartments and Keith asking for his hoodie back and for Lance to please respect his personal boundaries. That they were only friends and Lance had to respect that.
And Lance would respect that. He loved friends! He loved being friends with Keith. He liked working out with him and the challenge that came along with it. He liked late night snack runs from Voltron’s with him. He liked studying at his apartment and playing with his dog, regardless of if Keith was or wasn’t home. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.
But Lance wasn’t the kind of guy who settled. He always wanted more, wanted to be more, wanted to do better. He was selfish like that. And normally it was okay to have that drive, but not here. Not with this friendship. If it came down to saving the friendship or saving his feelings Lance would always, always choose the friendship because he wanted Keith to at least be happy if the two of them couldn’t. And that would crush Lance. Absolutely rip his heart apart. Call him dramatic. He didn’t care. He didn’t know how to learn to pretend not to like Keith.
And yeah, Lance had said it was only a possibility that Keith liked him back, but that was a lie to save himself. With a few drinks in his body and the coziness of the night, Lance could admit that he really, really thought Keith liked him back. And he was really, really scared of being proved wrong.
But Keith was doing so much. Bringing him spare clothes and cuddling against him. And even before that—he’d teach Lance fighting moves and let him play his favorite songs in Keith’s beat-down car. He’d listen to Lance ramble, and Lance rambled a lot. Like a lot. That was a lot of words to intake and Keith listened to all of it. That was absolutely mindblowing to Lance. That someone could sit and tolerate him for that long.
So Lance thought Keith liked him. At least a little bit, if it wasn’t as much as he liked Keith back. There was no way Keith liked Lance as much as he liked him, but Lance would take what he could get.
Shiro clapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Okay, I think I’m going to head out for the night. Keith?”
Keith was dead asleep.
“I should’ve expected this,” Shiro huffed.
Lance put his hands up in surrender. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t make him do it.”
“Lance,” Shiro looked unamused. Tired. Maybe it was the joint pain. The creeping old age. “I’m absolutely positive that Keith would land up in this position no matter what you did or where you were. You could be in space and Keith would somehow find a way to snuggle against you.”
“What—I—”
“Actually,” Pidge interjected, “Let’s discuss the technicalities of that. If Lance is in space, is he wearing a spacesuit? That would be awfully uncomfortable to cuddle in. Or are they just rawdogging it?”
Hunk scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Please don’t talk about them and rawdogging in the same sentence.”
“That’s not even what I meant!”
The conversation propelled Shiro to the door at lightning speed. “Have a fantastic night everyone. Lance, please take care of Keith. I never want to hear or remember any part of this conversation again. Is that clear?”
Pidge grinned but Shiro was out the door before she could say anything.
Chatter from the kitchen gravitated back to the living room. It was Allura, Romelle, and Coran bundling up to leave. Why they needed to wear jackets to walk down the hallway, Lance didn’t know. He didn’t question it. Matt saluted everyone and retired to his room.
Lance checked the time. It was nearing three in the morning. He was so grateful he didn’t have class the next day. He did want to catch a few ‘z’s before the sun rose and he had to collect himself and return to being a functioning member of society.
“Alright, Keithy, up you go.” Lance pushed Keith upright. Keith sat straight for approximately one second before he slouched over to the other side of the couch. His face was planted in the pillows. “Keith,” he whispered and poked at his sides. “Keeeeeeeith. Keith, are you ticklish?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Keith grumbled. He didn’t bother to move.
Lance slowly crept a hand close and closer to Keith. He waited one second, and then another. Eventually, Keith pried an eye open. “What are you doing?”
“You look really stupid right now.” Lance snorted. He patted Keith’s leg twice. “Get up. We have to get going.”
“Can’t I sleep here?”
“You literally live down the hall.”
Lance stood up and Keith practically fell to the ground with the movement. He hadn’t realized part of Keith’s body had still been leaning against him. Whoops. He nudged Keith with his foot. “Get up.”
“Mmmrph,” Keith groaned from the ground. He seemed satisfied knocking out on the wooden tiled floor for the night.
Lance was not having it. “None of that,” he said, and scooped an arm each under Keith’s elbows and dragged him up. He was heavy, a bit more than Lance anticipated. Then again, he was all muscles and height. Lance prided himself for not staggering under the weight. He privately hoped Keith was enamored by the show of strength.
Lance looked at Keith. He was completely knocked out.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, “Can’t believe I like you.”
Keith snored in response, upright and propped against Lance. He had half the mind to move over and let him fall to the ground. Instead, he adjusted his grip so that he had an arm slung around Keith’s shoulder. It would’ve been more convenient to fire-man carry him, but Lance did not trust his post-thanksgiving party coordination and balance enough to try that.
“So nice,” Keith mumbled as they took slow, sluggish steps to the door. He had woken up again when Lance started walking and dragged his feet along. His eyes were still lidded and his head hung towards the ground. “Always so nice.”
“Yeah?” Lance asked. “I’ll be nicer if you put on your shoes. I’m not opposed to letting you walk barefoot to your apartment.”
What a big, fat lie. He would’ve totally put his shoes on him. Even tie cute little bows with the laces Keith always left unravelled.
Keith detangled himself from Lance’s hold and lowered himself to the ground. Lance was worried he’d go to sleep again, but he had enough mindfulness to follow through with Lance’s orders. Watching Keith put on his shoes was a slow ordeal. His eyebrows were furrowed with such concentration.
“Relax samurai, it’s not going to bite you.”
Keith paused his actions to wordlessly scowl at Lance.
His face was placated when he rose. “Thank you,” he said.
Lance raised a brow. “For what? Waking you up? We both know you’d rather have stayed asleep.”
Keith didn’t clarify his words. He moved on, swinging the door open and holding it there for Lance to walk through. He had a little, pleased smile on his face, like he had accomplished something grand.
“What a gentleman,” Lance commented. Keith’s smile grew.
“So nice…,” he repeated as they walked down the hall. The lights, which were already dim to begin with, were even more faint—mostly likely the Garrison’s feeble attempt to reduce electricity bills. Still, Keith looked as admirable as ever.
They stopped in front of his door. “Go to sleep, Keith,” Lance said in lieu of a goodbye. “On a bed. Not on the floor. Do not sleep on the floor.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” Keith did a salute. Then he surged forward for a hug.
Keith smelled like the sweets they had for dessert and his cologne. He was comfortably warm, a stark contrast to the stale air of the hallway that had Lance reaching forward to meet him halfway. They tilted towards each other like playing cards leaning to make a tower. Keith’s hands were in his hair. His nose was against his neck. Lance had to stifle down his bubbling affection.
“Kay, goodnight,” Keith said and then with a quieter voice, “Love you.”
He was out of Lance’s hold and into his apartment within a second. Lance didn’t have a moment to say anything before the door was shut and he was alone in the dingy corridor with nothing but Keith’s words ringing in his head.
“I am in morbid, excruciating agony,” Lance said, face down on Hunk’s bed. “Hunk, put me down. Pull the plug.”
“You’re lucky I’m muted,” Hunk muttered. He was at his desk, laptop propped open with a meeting running on low volume. Someone with a picture-less icon was presenting a chart of data. There was a graph showing a steady decline. Lance was sure it represented his failing mental strengths and capacities.
Lance groaned instead of responding because the past few days had turned him into a creature and he had every right to express himself that way. He rolled off the bed and crawled through the room and out the door just to be sure that his pitiful state wasn’t seen by the camera on Hunk’s laptop. He couldn’t have his colleagues have this image of Lance instead of the regular, stylish, and charismatic version.
So…Keith told him he loved him.
Either that, or Lance was hearing things, and he was leaning towards the latter considering he and Keith hadn’t talked since Thanksgiving night. He had half the mind to visit an ear doctor—an otorhinolaryngologist (yes he looked it up)—but Hunk and Pidge had convinced him out of it. Hunk with sympathy and Pidge with the rationale that his cheap health insurance definitely wouldn’t cover it.
The other, other option was that Lance completely made up the situation. He somehow stumbled across a handle of vodka and accidentally poured himself enough alcohol that not only did he have no recollection of doing so, but he was also meshing daydreams and realities together.
But Lance was convinced it happened. Every time the memory played in his head, the scene went the same way. A sleepy trudge down the hall. A warm hug. Two words.
And that was it. All Lance woke up with from that night’s events were Keith’s clothes and a throbbing headache. And the headache wasn’t even hangover induced; he was positive it was from overthinking Keith’s words and actions.
Not that it mattered anymore. A week had passed and there was no follow up or clarification for Lance to grab onto. It was a fluke. A slip of the tongue. Just some friendly affection Keith normally wouldn’t have let loose.
That didn’t mean it didn’t matter to him. No amount of logic could stop Lance from desperately wanting more. It was stupid of him, but that’s what he was: stupid. Stupid, stupid Lance, with his stupid, stupid crush.
Lance was long out of a crawl and meandering uselessly in the living room when the doorbell rang. He glanced towards Hunks' door. His roommate was still in his meeting, so it couldn’t have been a visitor for him. It must’ve been a package delivery.
I hope it’s Keith , Lance thought as he reached for the doorknob.
He opened the door. It was Keith.
He was out of breath, panting and also…wet? Not in a sweaty way. He was physically drenched, head to toe, on a bright and sunny day with not a cloud in the sky.
“Kei—”
“The pipes!” Keith exclaimed, as if that meant anything to Lance. What was it with this guy and his mysterious and vague words?
“Uh what?” Lance stepped to the side to let Keith in. He took a moment to regain his breath before he came inside, tactfully staying on the doormat so as to not drip water everywhere.
“The pipes at work,” Keith said, “They burst the night after Thanksgiving. Some dipshit left some water running—I don’t where, there was water everywhere—”
“Okay, okay,” Lance said. He placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
“Ye—yeah,” Keith faltered and then regained ferocity. “So the pipes burst, and we don’t have the money for a plumber. Well we do have the money for a plumber, but the guy inspecting our damage said it was a five hour job. Five hours! Can you fucking believe that, Lance? That comes out to around a thousand dollars!”
Lance was going to get whiplash following this conversation. He had never seen Keith talk this much at once, ever. Not even when they used to fight. “I can’t believe that,” he responded, “What happened then?”
“So Shiro knows a guy who knows a guy, which—” Keith scoffed. “Should’ve known it was a scam. He charged us the price of two pizzas to fix the problem. And it worked for a bit. And then—” Keith paused to catch his breath. “Do you remember Mrs. Hong?”
“I remember Mrs. Hong.” Mrs. Hong was the elderly lady who took zumba classes at the MMA studio. Lance occasionally ran into her when he was visiting.
“Well, we reopened the studio, and she’s minding her own business, and then the pipes burst! Again! In her face!”
Keith looked genuinely wounded. Lance felt wounded on his behalf. He was about to ask Keith to sit down since this seemed like a long, sit down conversation, but Keith started up again.
“Of course we apologized ten times, Shiro more than me,” Keith said, “And she didn’t seem to actually care, so that was fine. But you know what wasn’t fine?”
“What?” Lance asked, despite already knowing the answer.
“The pipes!” Keith clutched his hair. “So things were flooded again and we had to close the studio and Shiro said he knew a guy who knew a different guy, which obviously I had to shut down that train of thought immediately. So instead I like, wikiHow -ed how to repair pipes and went to Home Depot enough times that I’m pretty sure the workers recognize me by name and face but,” Keith sighed, “I finally fixed the pipes. I’m pretty sure.”
“Okay, good,” Lance said, “And then what?”
Keith blinked. “And then I came here.”
Lance was flabbergasted. He was sure it showed on his face. “Wh—huh, why?”
“Because I needed to properly tell you that I love you but things kept getting in the way,” Keith said, “Also, can I borrow a towel?”
Lance stared at him.
“Do you not remember?” Keith asked. “Shit, I should’ve done this differently. I didn’t plan it out. Lance, uh…”
“Keith,” Lance started, voice dangerously calm. “Are you sure you’re saying what I think you’re saying?”
“That I love you? Yeah.”
“Like, not in a bros way. Not in a you love Shiro way.”
Keith wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What? No, definitely not.”
“Okay, okay.” Lance nodded his head. The contents of the conversation were finally catching up to him. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, his hands, and his feet. That definitely wasn’t normal and might need to be checked out. He hoped his insurance covered a cardiologist.
“Okay, whew. I uh, need to sit down. Gimme a second.” Lance put a hand over his heart.
Keith, ever so kind, asked, “Are you okay?”
“I might have arrhythmia,” Lance said with a grave tone. He then realized that Keith most definitely would take his words seriously after his whirlwind hurricane (literally) of a week and softened his expression. “No I don’t. I—you caught me off guard. Jesus Christ, Keith.”
Keith had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”
Lance melted. This sweet boy. Everything about him was perfect. Even as he covered Lance’s welcome mat with pipe water since he definitely didn’t shower before coming over.
“Don’t be sorry.” Lance must’ve sounded pathetic wearing his heart on his sleeve but he didn’t care. “I love you too.”
Keith beamed. A smile split wide across his face—a very rare sight—and it trembled with the visible resistance not to burst into giddy giggles. Lance understood the plight. He felt the same exact way, trying to control himself from bursting at the seams with excitement and adrenaline.
Keith loved him. He loved him! Lance was not (NOT!) a pining loser. He did not (NOT!) need to go to an otorhinolaryngologist that his insurance didn’t cover. Call Lance the happiest guy in the world. His crush just went to war with water pipes for a week with only the thought of confessing to him immediately afterwards. Lance was going to swoon.
“I’d uh, hug you right now, but I’m really wet and I don’t think you’d like that.”
“Pfft, do you think I care?” Lance scoffed. He pulled Keith in for a hug. A cold, wet hug. A very short, cold, wet hug, because it turns out Lance did care about getting the front of his shirt damp. He was cold, okay?
Keith smiled despite the cut off contact. He looked endeared, as if Lance had done something loveable and cute and instead of looking icked out after hugging the guy he just confessed to.
“I love you,” Lance said again. It was so odd to hear the words out loud. “But please shower. You can ask me out once you’re fresh and dry.” He pointed Keith to his bathroom. The man nearly teleported there.
“Love you!” Keith called out before shutting the bathroom door behind him. It was reminiscent of a nearly identical scene from a week ago, except this time Lance’s mind wasn’t fogged up with confusion. This time, it was clear. Keith loved him.
“Lance, it’s not funny! I seriously forgot to bring clothes into the bathroom. And a towel. Can you please get me something?”
Lance was too busy laughing outside the bathroom, doubled over and clutching clean clothes to his chest. “You, I—”
“Lance McClain, I will not ask you out if you don’t give me clothes because I won’t be able to leave the bathroom.”
That shut him up quickly. “Fine, fine.” A pale hand jutted out the door almost immediately and retracted once Lance handed him the clothes. There was some aggressive shuffling before Keith flung the door open nearly ten seconds later. His hair was askew and his shirt was all twisted and riding up. Huh. He must’ve really been in a rush.
“What took you so long?” Lance rolled his eyes.
Keith’s lips quipped upwards. “You’re so funny, Lance. Will you go out with me?”
Lance wanted to crack another joke but all that came out of his mouth was a heartfelt and serious, “Yes.”
Keith took two steps forward and cupped Lance’s face in his hands. Lance did the same thing. If Hunk came out of his room right now he’d walk in on the strangest sight ever. Well not strangest—they were friends with Pidge, who did far more strange things, but that was besides the point, Lance was rambling now—
“Are we going to kiss now?” Lance asked. Their noses were nearly touching.
Keith raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Are we?”
Lance bridged the one inch gap between them and pressed his lips to Keith. It was a short kiss, a simple peck. Nothing too dramatic, nothing too movie-like, but it still held impact all the same, if not even more. It was as impactful as a punch. It held the exhilaration and passion of a fight, which hardly surprised Lance. Everything with Keith was like this.
“I’m going to boyfriend the hell out of you,” Lance said.
Keith smiled. “I love you too.”