#i want fanart on my desk pronto

[honestsister]

There's something about Buddy Daddies having rei be shirtless and working out on screen but never really showing off Kazuki like that... idk feels like it means smth

[noblegambit]

Pocket Sized - Chapter 3

I wanna try and make Wednesday/Thursday weekly updates a thing, but if you know me... well, I guess we’ll see how much we can keep it up before it inevitably falls apart.

Also, if you haven’t seen it already, I gave Nalciel a sneak peak and she drew fanart for it!!! Check it out if you haven’t already!

Feedback appreciated, please enjoy!

Ao3, Chapter 1, 2, 3

Keith is watching Lance nibble on a piece of crust, grinning and savoring it like it’s the first time he has ever tasted pizza. He’s sitting cross-legged on his desk, back reclined a little against a small stack of books, and at first glance Lance could almost be mistaken as an action figure, except for the tiny sounds of pleasure that slip through his lips as he chews, and when he sometimes wiggles to readjust himself.

“Oh my god I thought I’d never eat pizza again,” he sings.

Keith takes a bite of his own slice and goes back to his homework. “It’s not that good.”

“You know those videos where someone cooks like, the world’s smallest burger?” Lance asks through another mouthful. “I could totally eat that burger. Cause I’m the world’s smallest human!”

“You’re really taking this shrinking thing well, aren’t you.”

“Hey man, I gotta adapt. I’m sure shrinking has its benefits. Like, what if you need someone to crawl through a really small space?”

“Would you even do something like that if I asked?”

“Got me there.”

Keith glances at Lance again. “You’re sure you don’t want to tell anyone else?”

Lance glares; the answer to that question should be quite obvious to someone like Keith. “I’m totally sure. There’s no way that this guy is becoming a lab experiment.”

Keith sits back in his chair and pulls his phone from his pocket. He pulls up the keypad and places the device flat on the desk next to Lance’s knee. “Call them.”

Lance lowers his crust. “No.”

“I’ll even set it to anonymous.”

Keith does so. Lance turns his face away like a stubborn child; if he can’t see it, it’s not there.

Lance wants to call his parents, he really does. He wants nothing more than to run into their arms and apologize profusely for running out on them. But he can’t exactly do that anymore. Not in his current state, anyway. He slowly turns back and looks at the phone, extends a hand as if to dial and then decides against it.

What was he supposed to tell them? Hey mom, hey dad, sorry I didn’t come home last night, I got shrunk to two inches tall and I’m living with ex-best friend Keith so don’t worry about me!

“Well you gotta tell your folks something at least,” Keith argues, as if reading Lance’s mind. “Do you really want to be put on the side of a milk carton?”

Lance lowers his head. “No….”

“I imagine you don’t.”

Lance examines his tiny hands, eyebrows turned upward in a nervous frown. “What am I going to do, Keith?”

Keith doesn’t have an answer for that.

Lance bends his fingers, makes the Vulcan gesture, curls his hands into fists and back again, all the time watching his tendons at work beneath his skin. No, he definitely can’t show himself to his parents like this. But Keith has a point; he can’t just vanish on them like this, that’s not fair. Lance wants more than anything to go home, but… he just can’t. He can’t make them suffer.

But he also can’t make them worry.

Lance gathers his resolve. “Don’t leave,” he murmurs.

Keith glances over. “What was that?”

“I’m going to call my parents,” Lance says. “But just… sit right there. I don’t wanna do it by myself.”

Keith seems to understand Lance’s hesitation to be alone. He was a social creature by habit, and when his older siblings started going away to college, getting married, and not doting on him constantly, Lance had to seek out other forms of attention and company. For a while that had been Keith, but after their… falling out, Lance had turned to soccer and relied heavily on Pidge and Hunk for their company.

Keith pulls out his phone again and sets it to anonymous. Lance leans over the screen and taps his fist against the keypad to dial. The big white numbers that glare up at him when he finishes, his home phone number (his father is old-fashioned) make Lance hesitate. One hand hovers over the green call button, and Lance instinctively turns to look up at Keith for support. His… landlord (“friend” still seems a bit too heavy of a word between them) just nods encouragingly.

Lance swallows and delicately presses the button, turning it on speakerphone for good measure. The phone dials. Lance can feel his heart crawling in his throat; he hasn’t planned this out; what is he going to say???

“Hello?” A voice answers. Chloe’s. “I’m sorry, but we are a little busy so if you can call back later…”

“It’s me,” Lance eeks out.

“Lance!?”

There’s the sound of scrambling on the other end, and Lance can imagine his parents shooting up from their chairs to crowd the phone.

“Lance? Lance, is that you!?”

“Lance honey are you okay where are you come home right now…”

His parents talk over themselves, and Lance smiles to himself. “I’m fine,” he manages over the hubbub. “I’m just…”

“Lance, where are you!?” his mother demands, and Lance feels a stab in his chest at the hurt and relief in her voice. Keith was right; Lance should have called earlier.

“I’m okay,” Lance says. “I’m just… um…”

He glances to Keith for ideas, but the other boy just shrugs. God, if I could hit him in the face with a soccer ball.

Soccer.

The tryouts!

“I’m in the city!” Lance improvises.

“The city!?” his father shouts. “What the hell are you doing there?”

“The Voltron Lions tryouts,” Lance says, and he’s getting the hang of this. “I went to the tryouts. I just really wanted to do it and I hopped a bus…”

“Lance Alejandro Sanchez!” his father shouts, and Lance flinches at his full name, almost falling backwards from the volume.

“Just trust me,” Lance continues once his father takes a moment to breathe. “I’ll get on the team and prove that I can do this!”

Lance hopes his lie is convincing; there’s no way he could get on a pro soccer team when he’s smaller than the ball itself.

His father is still raging, but Lance isn’t sure how much more of this conversation he can carry out before the questions start getting too specific. He doesn’t have a hotel number or anything, and his lie would be revealed quicker than he needed it to. But with luck, there would be no need for the lie to be revealed at all.

“Anyway I just wanted you guys to know I’m okay and not to worry about me! I’ll be home soon! Bye!”

“Lance! At least give us the phone number of the ho-!”

Click.

It takes a couple slaps on the phone screen and a well-placed stomp of the foot before the touch screen registers the pressure and hangs up. Lance sits back on his knees, hands curled into fists in his lap and head hanging low.

Lance is exhausted after only a short conversation, but he feels a weight lifted off his chest. He hadn’t realized how much of a burden it was on his chest, to have that phone call hanging over his head. Now that it was over, Lance feels less stressed; but only a little.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Keith is saying as he takes his phone back.

“That was terrible,” Lance says instead. “But thanks for making me do it.”

Keith smiles. “I know your parents appreciate it, Lance Alejandro –”

Lance glares, and Keith smirks back.

They drift into silence. At some point, Keith gets up and starts getting ready for bed. Lance observes silently, trying and failing miserably to look away. But what Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Keith is reaching for the towel slung lazily over a chair when it occurs to Lance: “Um, Keith?”

“Hm?”

“Where am I supposed to shower? Also, where am I going to sleep?”

Keith blinks, like he hasn’t thought of that either. “I dunno.”

Lance crosses his arms. “I spent the night in a giant storm and I’m covered in dirt. I need a shower, pronto. And I don’t care where I sleep but I am not cuddling on your bed.”

Keith gets a stricken look. “I wasn’t going to suggest it!”

“I’d probably get suffocated under your mullet.”

Keith reaches for his hair instinctively, his expression defensive. “I said I wasn’t going to suggest it.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Keith thinks for a minute and then lowers his hand for Lance to step into. Lance obliges, and slips rather uncomfortably into the deep pockets of Keith’s pajama pants. The smell of fabric softener is masked by an overwhelming stench of Keith and Lance has to plug his nose to keep from suffocating. His vision is colored red from the light filtering through the maroon fabric.

He grips onto the pocket for support as Keith starts walking; he can feel every brush of his leg as he moves, and Lance is going to make sure he is never in a pants pocket again. Keith has apparently gone downstairs and into the kitchen, collecting something that sounds like a bowl? He says a few words to Shiro that are too muffled for Lance to hear, and then there’s a snap of a closing door, click of a lock.

Lance knows he’s never going to get over the sight of a giant hand reaching down towards him from above. No, Lance does not like it at all. Keith seems to give him some room though, and thankfully doesn’t grip Lance around the middle. Rather, he stops and waits for Lance to grab one of his fingers before lifting him out of the pocket and onto what Lance sees is the bathroom sink counter.

“You don’t even have lotion in here?”

Keith eyes him strangely as he prepares a small bowl and a kitchen rag. “Lotion?”

“Yes, lotion! It takes work to get my skin this smooth! I’m going to need at least a bottle.”

“One thing at a time, please,” Keith groans. “Anyway, this will have to do for now.” He turns the shower on and waits until the water is warm before sliding the bowl beneath the spray. “Can’t exactly have you falling down the drain.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Keith.”

Keith glares. “I can pour this out right now…”

Lance takes it back quickly.

Keith occupies himself with slicing a small corner off the bar of soap while Lance slides out of his pants and clambers into the makeshift bathtub. Lance lets out a sigh as the warm water engulfs him to the neck, and dunks his head into the water. He can feel the dirt and sweat flaking from his body, and he had never been happier to get clean. He comes up for air and smoothes his hair back so it’s out of his eyes. Lance accepts the soap offered to him and applies it delicately to his skin. “This is perfect,” he sighs happily.

“This is insane,” Keith mutters to himself.

“No more insane than taking a bath in a cereal bowl, but I’ll give you one,” Lance says. “You’re the one who has to act like it’s completely normal.”

“This is totally not normal.”

“Taking a shower isn’t normal? No wonder you smell weird. When was the last time you washed those pants?”

“Oh my god –”

“Keith? Who are you talking to?”

Keith chokes as Shiro’s voice comes sliding under the door. Lance freezes, and exchanges a quick look with Keith.

“N-no one,” Keith manages. “Just… talking to myself.”

“Okaaay…” Shiro says, somewhat disbelievingly, but what else could he believe? As far as he knew, he and Keith were the only people living in the house. Keith and Lance wait until Shiro’s shadow moves away before letting out respective breaths.

“My turn,” Keith says, and reaches behind his back to tug his t-shirt off.

Lance swallows and pretends to be occupied with bathing, the heat of the bath making his cheeks warm. Although, Lance isn’t sure why he’d be so self-conscious around shirtless Keith. He himself still had yet to procure a shirt his size and had been shirtless all day; apparently all of Keith’s dolls (“Action figures,” Keith insisted) had irremovable shirts. Lance knew he had a good-looking body, and wasn’t self-conscious about it. Keith wasn’t distracted by Lance state of half-undress, so why should Lance be about Keith?

I guess all that kendo pays off… Lance guiltily thinks, before snapping himself out of it. People aren’t allowed to ogle their ex-best-friend-turned-landlord.

Thankfully, the boys’ showers are quick, and they are both clean and refreshed, back in Keith’s room with Shiro none the wiser. Their next problem comes in the form of Lance’s sleeping arrangements. Keith makes do by cutting to top off of a tissue box, then stuffing it with a small dishrag wrapped in tissue. Lance watches Keith work with a small grin, dangling his legs off the edge of the desk and reclining on the palm of his hands.

Once Keith supplies a pillow and blanket made of folded handkerchief, Lance shouts in glee and throws himself onto his new bed. “Oh my gooood this is ah-mazing!” he croons, and lays flat on his stomach, arms and legs stretched as far as they can go. Lance is a tall kid (tall by magically-shrunken-people standards) and pleased to find that the tissue box bed is a perfect fit.

Lance picks his head up enough so he can thank Keith. The other boy looks slightly pleased with himself, until he remembers that he’s supposed to be annoyed at this arrangement. It makes for an interesting picture, and Lance lets out a snort.

“What?” Keith grunts.

“Your face.”

Keith rolls his eyes and sits on his bed, pulling his laptop into his lap. Lance arranges himself comfortably in his new bed, watching Keith closely. He’s engrossed in whatever he has on his screen, and isn’t paying Lance any attention. Lance can feel the exhaustion from the day’s events creeping into his bones, and he starts to drift off.

“Hey, Keith…”

“What now?”

“This is our first sleepover…”

Keith drops his eyes a little. “Yeah.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve even been in your room. We were always playing at my house.”

Keith shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You’re the only person besides Shiro who’s been in here.”

“I feel special,” Lance smiles into his pillow.

Keith grunts in acknowledgement and continues what he is doing.

Lance is two seconds from falling asleep. “Keith.”

“Go to sleep, Lance.”

“Thanks.”

It catches Keith off guard, and Lance manages to hear a small “You’re welcome,” before he’s drifting off.

Lance must have fallen asleep for a bit, because when he wakes up, Keith is asleep, slouched down against his pillows with his laptop still resting on his lap, the screen dark. The light in the room is still on, and Lance can’t see a clock from his bed, but he can see Keith’s face.

It looks better when he’s asleep. More relaxed, not so much of the tension that sometimes is present between his eyebrows. Lance adjusts himself a little and continues to just watch Keith sleep. "He has long eyelashes," Lance sleepily observes. Lance remembers a time when Keith was a short, kind of pudgy kid, and now he had grown into sharp features and a strong jaw, and was no longer the kid that got beat up protecting Lance from bullies in elementary school.

After their fall out, Lance had grown to accept that he and Keith would eventually go their separate ways, probably never talk to each other until they were both married at their ten-year high school reunion. Never in his wildest imaginations – and Lance had quite a wild imagination – had he seen himself sleeping in a tissue-box bed in Keith’s room. Funny, how life turns out that way.

Lance closes his eyes again, and sleeps soundly through the rest of the night, torn between wanting to become normal again or stay just as he is, so he can hold onto this connection with Keith, if only for a little while longer.