#imagine lance cooking up homemade meals for keith as thanks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tobiologist · 7 years

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swipe right (if you like me)

Keith/Lance // met on tinder!au // 8.1k+ // sfw // part 3/?

Summary: “I’m doin’ it. Lance giggles under his breath and drags the cat meme picture to the right side of his screen.

But this, friends, is why one shouldn’t tempt fate over Tinder.“

or: Lance finds the most unlikely match on Tinder and (might) gain a boyfriend in the process

Lance

In the twenty-one years Lance has been alive on this beautiful Earth, he hasn’t had a near death experience.

Sure, he got into trouble back in high school—usually dragging poor Hunk along for the ride, dooming them both to detention—but never anything that would’ve gotten him killed. Lance didn’t have a death wish, thank you very much.

But Lance is certain, wavering in the entryway to his apartment, he dies for a few seconds.

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The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and Keith… maybe Keith dies a little, too. He has yet to respond and stays motionless, blue-violet eyes wide and lips parted. Could corpses change their facial expression? Lance supposed it was possible. He isn’t an expert on the matter, but picturing Keith as a zombie, a character straight out of The Walking Dead, sends a nervous shiver down his spine.

“Uh,” is Keith’s first and totally diligent response.

Lance flounders. How am I supposed to work with that?

“Yep,” he squeaks.

Nailed it.

But Keith carries on. “Date...” He speaks slowly, as if getting a feeling for that one single syllable.

“Yeah, like the fruit.”

“I thought you killed fruit?”

That’s it. Lance is almost definitely having a near death experience right now. If it were anyone else, Lance would think Keith were messing with him. Except for the ever present fact this is Keith he’s dealing with. It’s the nerves talking— it has to be. They’re both nervous, and Keith is probably a little disgusted because ew, no, Lance is only a friend.

“I made! There’s some—pineapple on the pizza,” Lance eventually says and hates the slight break in his voice. What the fuck is he doing? Did he suddenly forget the entire English language?

Keith shakes his head, a few bangs working their way free of his hairband, and turns toward the kitchen. “You made pineapple pizza for a—“

Date, Keith, that’s the word you’re looking for.

“Listen, it’s Hunk’s recipe so your taste buds are about to be taken on an all-expense-paid trip to Heaven. Or, you know, paradise if you don’t believe in Heaven or whatever. Some people don’t. I knew this guy one time who—“

“Lance.”

“—didn’t, but I don’t really care, like you can believe whatever you want. I was raised in a Catholic family, but I’m not sure if I—“

“Slow. Down,” Keith intones. There’s a hard yank on Lance’s arm that nearly sends him toppling right into Keith’s chest. “You’re the one who sprung this on me. If anything, I should be freaking out.”

“Me? Freaking out?” Lance snorts but let's Keith drag him to the living room. He made sure to set the table earlier in preparation for any unanticipated snags in his plan. The red Fiestaware plates were gifts from Hunk’s parents that the two kept reserved for ‘special occasions.’ Lance even made sure to set out silverware, regardless of whether they needed to use it.

“Flowers,” Keith breathes, coming to a grinding halt a few feet away from the table. “Those are flowers.”

“Tulips.” Lance winces as Keith’s grip on his forearm tightens.

“You’re not…. Joking. This isn’t a joke.”

Okay, so, not exactly the reaction Lance had expected—or hoped for. Pidge swore up and down that Lance had a chance, but now, with Keith shuffling awkwardly around the table without taking a seat, Lance isn’t so sure. A small selfish part of him, the part most terrified by the prospect of rejection, wants to take back everything he’s said since Keith came through the door.

“Please, just—can you sit down? The pacing is making me anxious,” Lance pleads. “Also, would you mind letting go of my arm? If you squeeze any harder, you might actually break something.”

Keith jerks his hand away. Embarrassment colors his cheeks, and Keith stutters out something unintelligible before pulling out a chair and sitting. He sets his gloved hands on either side of his plate and leers at the vase of tulips situated in the center of the table.

“Right, I’m gonna go grab the—time for pizza!” Lance practically sprints to the kitchen, thankful for the space the bar puts between them.

Lance sidles up to the oven. The culinary masterpiece rests there, completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil its chef is currently suffering through. Lance has to hand it to Hunk, he knows how to cook. Half the pizza is covered in tiny pineapple and ham chunks, as well as sliced green peppers. Meanwhile, the other half—Lance’s half—has pieces of chicken and banana peppers because, “Pineapple doesn’t belong anywhere near my pizza.”

(Hunk, of course, attributed Lance’s bitterness toward pineapple pizza on his rocky relationship with all fruit.)

Shredded mozzarella cheese is sprinkled over the entirety of the pizza. The sauce is a mixture of marinara and buffalo sauce Hunk managed to hook Lance on before they even lived together. Thankfully, it went well with both sets of toppings so Lance didn’t have to make further adjustments to the recipe.

Thanks to Hunk’s help, it looked delicious. And somehow befitting of a ‘first date’ for Keith and Lance.

Lance slams both hands down on the counter on either side of the oven and leans over, using it for support. His heart beats a wild staccato inside his chest. Lance fixes his attention on the pizza and tries to imagine how happy Keith will be when he tries a bite.

Remember, you’re not going to fuck this up, Lance reminds himself. He remains in that position, though, for a minute or two, making sure to regain his composure before presenting his beautiful dinner to Keith.

Once his heart calms down enough to let him function like a normal human being, Lance scoops up the pizza and walks into the living room. Keith is still in a heated staring contest with the centerpiece. He could have easily seen Lance when he worked in the kitchen, but chances are he hadn’t budged an inch since claiming his spot. Which, really, is for the best.

“I present to you,” Lance announces, flourishing the pizza in an arc before setting it in the available space next to the vase. “A culinary tour de force, a culmination of genius, a work of art.” To his relief, he avoids any mishaps like, say, tipping over a vase of cold water and fresh flowers into Keith’s lap.

Keith manages to his divert his gaze from the brilliant red petals of the tulips. His eyes fall on the plate and widen. Lance can’t help but smirk. He’ll count it as his first little victory for the night, especially considering it may be his only victory.

Grinning, Lance pulls a pizza cutter from behind his back. He makes a grand show of slicing their meal into pieces. At one point, he lets his eyes wander to Keith and instantly regrets it. The asshole is smiling—and he’s definitely not looking at the pizza.

Play it cool, Lance, play it cool.

Once the pizza is cleanly cut into eight slices, Lance dishes out a piece to each of them. Unfortunately, he’s out of distractions. Now that dinner has been served, now that they’re both seated at the table, Lance can’t run. Oh, and he really wishes he could. There’s no doubt about that.

Time to face the music.

Keith

The reality of his situation has yet to sink in.

Maybe… maybe he’s finally losing his mind? Or maybe this is a dream? Keith is half-expecting Pidge to hop out from underneath the table, throw confetti at him, and then scream “wake up!” at the top of her lungs. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to him before.

But, the more time passes without Pidge or Shiro materializing out of thin air, the more Keith begins to think everything is real.

Keith Kogane has actually been tricked into going on a date with Lance McClain.

He keeps getting stuck on the whole ‘Lance wanting to date him’ aspect of the situation. Which, okay, makes little to no sense because Lance is Lance and Keith is Keith. But there’s a homemade pizza in front of him and a vase of flowers and—holy fuck, this is genuinely supposed to be a date.

And clearly not spur-of-the-moment either.

“The pizza—“ Keith’s words catch in his throat, and Lance beams expectantly, knees drumming a nervous beat against the underside of the table. “The pizza looks good.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Lance grins. His eyes flit to Keith’s plate. “You should take a bite. You know, before the chef does. To make sure he didn’t fuck up the recipe.”

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lance act quite this anxious. He’s seen pre-test Lance who can hardly sit in one place for five minutes at a time without looking like he’s about to collapse. He’s seen Lance during a suspenseful movie, gnawing on his lip, only to apply numerous layers of lip balm shortly after. He’s even seen bashful Lance once or twice, when a professor pulled Lance to the side to congratulate him on his class performance.

This Lance, however, is different.

You’re the one who planned this, Keith wants to say, but knows it would come out sounding nastier than intended. Shiro constantly nags him about tact and thinking before he speaks. The number one way to fuck up a first date? Embarrass the guy who made the arrangements.

He takes a small bite of his pizza and a pleased noise slips out, unbidden. It tastes… it tastes pretty damn good. The sweetness of the pineapple and spiciness of the buffalo sauce create a satisfying contrast that leaves Keith feeling warm inside. A hopeful glint flashes in Lance’s eyes as he watches Keith chew.

“Good?”

“Very,” Keith admits, after he swallows. “Hunk’s recipe?”

“Yeah, but I…” Lance scratches the back of his neck, averting his gaze. “I’m the one who made it.”

Obviously. Keith bites his tongue. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never tried to make it before so I was really worried it would turn out gross.”

Keith hates having to do this, but he needs to know. “Hey, uh. Lance?”

“Yeah?” Pizza slice inches from his mouth, Lance jolts. A banana pepper falls, and he groans. “It’s not even a fruit…”

“Is this—are we really? On a date right now?”

God, it sounds stupid when Keith puts it like that. And he feels even worse when Lance doesn’t answer right away. He gawks, blinking slowly, as if he’s the one who doesn’t understand what’s going on. Before offering a response, Lance turns his attention to the unused napkin next to his plate.

“Would it upset you if I said that it was?” Lance wonders, fingers smoothing along the edge of his plate.

“I don’t know.” Lies, Keith, lies. “I haven’t thought about it.” More lies.

“Oh, okay. I guess that’s fair.”

“Yeah…”

“Well,” Lance starts, huffing out a strained laugh that tugs at Keith’s chest in the worst of ways. “It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be. Two dudes can have dinner like this in a totally platonic manner. As, um. As just friends.”

This has to be what it feels like to kick a puppy. Keith has never—and would never, what the fuck kind of monster would?—done so before but right now, he sure as hell feels like he has. All nervous ticks have ceased, and Lance appears to pale, lips drawing into a thin line. Lance’s stammered reassurances are almost drowned out by weak excuses for laughter.

In the beginning, when Keith first met Lance, this act might have fooled him. But not anymore.

At this point, the sight is enough to make Keith queasy. Even more so, knowing there are many nights he’s lied awake, fantasizing about what it’d be like to date Lance. To do stupid shit like holding hands and cuddling on the couch while watching old sci-fi movies and going on drives together and everything cringingly terrible Keith has always detested about couples.

“No!” Keith cries.

He and Lance both jump. Keith hadn’t meant for the outburst and can already feel his cheeks reddening.

“No?” Lance squeaks “’No’ what?”

“No to the… fuck.”

“Oh my God, Keith, I wasn’t offering that—“

“Why do I even—I’m trying to put together an answer over here! Just give me a second to… to organize my thoughts,” Keith begs. His cheeks are likely a vibrant shade of scarlet at the mention of sex with Lance, of all fucking things. “This is a lot to process at once.”

Color steadily returns to Lance’s features, and he sinks back into his chair, looking far more content with himself. He goes from ‘kicked puppy’ to something oddly reminiscent of a lazy cat lounging it in its favorite spot on the sofa.

“I gotcha, buddy,” Lance drawls, “I didn’t want to spring this on you but…”

“Yeah, actually, why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?”

“Well, I tried. A few times.”

“Wait. What?” Keith wants to sink into the floor. “How did—When?”

“The first time, we were at my place watching The Last Starfighter, and I tried to invite you over for a study date. Which you didn’t want because—“

“Yeah, I know,” Keith interjects quickly. The memory of him, admitting he couldn’t be in the same room as Lance and focus on schoolwork, remains fresh in his mind. Too fresh. “What about the other times?”

“Okay, well, the second time,” Lance hums, “we were at lunch, and I asked if you wanted to go to the arcade. You said Pidge wanted to go and that you didn’t want to leave her out. Which I totally understood because I know how serious Pidge is about the money she makes there.”

“Shit.” Keith wants to curl up in a ball and die. “Please don’t tell me you tried again?”

“Oh, but I did. The last time, we were walking down to the bus stop, and I wondered if there were any movies you wanted to catch in theaters—“

“I hate everything.“

“—and you said you would rather watch something back at my place, like we usually do. But Hunk was having Shay over for the weekend so I didn’t want things to be weird. I would rather us be alone in the apartment for an actual date.”

“I’m so sorry,” Keith blurts. “I had no idea.”

“That’s okay. I kinda figured as much.” Lance takes a huge bite of his pizza. As he munches, his face scrunches and his gaze finally falls on Keith. “That’s why I resorted to this. I talked to Hunk and Pidge, and they seemed to think it wasn’t the worst idea in the world.”

“It isn’t, I swear. I just—“ Keith swallows down the lump in his throat and wills himself to ask what’s really on his mind. “When you saw me on Tinder. Why… why did you swipe right?”

Lance

There are some questions that seriously are the worst to try and answer.

Some, as he’s learned from engineering, are better described using equations and diagrams, potentially an experiment. Some require an explanation spanning over several hours. Some can’t be properly expressed in words. And some offer an answer people won’t like.

The answer to Keith’s question feels like it qualifies as all of the above.

Lance catches himself before he drops his slice of pizza. Of all the fucking things Keith could’ve possibly asked, it had to be that.

“I, uh. This water went right through me, weird,” Lance blabs. By some stroke of luck, he manages to push his chair out and bolt to the other room without causing any major disasters. No spilled drinks or dropped food or, God forbid, a pulled tablecloth. “Be right back.”

The hallway to his room feels longer than usual. Lance throws open his door and rushes to the bathroom, attempting to shut himself in without causing too much of a racket. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lance chants and perches on the toilet. The lid is cool to the touch, even through his jeans.

There’s only one thing to do in this kind of situation: text Hunk.

Lance digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Hunk’s name sits near the top of his inbox, sandwiched between Pidge and his mom. Lance has him saved under “Hunkuna Matata” after they watched Lion King together and promptly decided Timon and Pumba were obviously modeled after them.

Lance: HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM

Hunkana Matata: PLEASE TELL ME THIS DOESN’T HAVE TO DO WITH THE DATE

BECAUSE

I S2G

Lance: heh well ya see

maybe?

Hunkana Matata: I’m afraid to ask but what happened?

Lance: he asked why I swiped right on him. he asked WHY hunk

Hunkana Matata: Okay?? So just tell him you saw him in class and thought he was cute

Lance: AKSJFKSJFKS

but that’s embarrassing af

Hunkana Matata: It’s that or you tell him the truth

Lance: okay but define The Truth…

Hunkana Matata: Well. You swiped right because you thought it would be crazy if the two of you matched but also thought Keith was pretty attractive

Lance: N O

especially not that first part uh

Hunkana Matata: You have to tell him something. Just go do it!! I’m sure he won’t care if he feels the same way about you

Lance shifts in place. The thought draws goosebumps on his skin. Keith, actually liking him back. Lance. It’s the most absurd concept in the world because the more Lance talks to Keith, the more he realizes Keith deserves better than a guy like him. A guy who spent the last couple years dating a girl who almost stole his car right from under his nose and moved on to having a handful of random strangers stay over after parties. Sure, he only legitimately slept with one of those strangers but still…

Suddenly, his phone buzzes, as if Hunk just read his mind.

Hunkana Matata: And no, none of that “Keith deserves better than me” crap

‘Hunk Can Read Minds Theory’ confirmed.

Lance: hunk…. dude……

Hunkana Matata: GET BACK OUT THERE

POOR KEITH IS PROBABLY HAVING HEART PALPITATIONS

Lance: FINE but if this goes south

remember that I told you so

Lance locks his phone and stuffs it back in his pocket. His eyes slide shut, vision going dark. He works to steady his breathing and thinks about Keith, cute as fuck and sitting alone at their dinner table, wondering why Lance was taking so long to take a piss. Dammit.

Summoning up his last bit of courage, Lance stands and makes his way down the hall, back to the table. As he approaches, he notices Keith also has his phone out. The second he spots Lance coming, though, he stows it away, leering at the table guiltily. Probably Pidge, his mind helpfully supplies.

Unless it’s Shiro, in which case… Lance’s fear increases tenfold. That man could do some damage if he really wanted. Lance would make for a nice human punching bag.

“So,” Lance drawls, reclaiming his seat. “I have an answer.”

“You found the answer in the bathroom?”

Forced laughter spills over Lance’s lips as he drops into his seat. The wooden surface is less comfortable than he remembers.

“No, no. It wasn’t. I just needed some… advice.”

Across the table, Keith fidgets, like a skittish animal seconds away from bolting to safety. He offers Lance the weary beginnings of a smile. His fingers hover over the pizza, as if he’s uncertain whether he should take another bite.

“You can tell me the truth, Lance,” Keith deadpans. The straightforwardness sends a chill down Lance’s spine. “There’s no need to sugarcoat things for me.”

“I don’t understand...”

“If you swiped right on a dare or because you thought it’d be funny, I get that. It isn’t the first time I’ve had someone do that.” There’s a resignation in his voice that feels heavy in the relative silence of the room. “Just be honest.”

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t. Okay?”

“But—”

“I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Lance…”

“You want the truth? Alright, here it is.” Lance’s mouth is running away from him, and, fuck, does he hate word vomit. “I kept seeing you in class and in pictures with Pidge and always thought you were kinda attractive. And then I was on Tinder, minding my own business, and there you were. Browsing the local dudes, just like I was. Which was a pleasant surprise because I always got this ‘bad boy who all the ladies want’ vibe from you.

“And… I don’t know what hit me, but I was a little tipsy, you seemed even cuter than I recalled, and I just…” Lance shrugs, nearing the end of his burst of confidence. “Thought why the hell not?”

Keith hadn’t said a single word during Lance’s explanation. As a matter of fact, Lance isn’t sure he’s still breathing. His eyes appear glazed over, mouth agape, and forehead creased. Confusion etched into every facet of his expression, Keith is practically a statue.

Which does absolutely nothing for Lance’s dwindling self-confidence.

Lance can feel his heart sinking. The butterflies in his stomach beat their wings in a desperate effort to stay alive, but Lance knows they won’t last much longer. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and licks his lips, cautiously eying Keith.

“So what about you, huh?” Lance prompts. He winces at the audible strain in his voice. “Why did you swipe right on someone like me?”

Keith’s mouth opens and closes, uselessly, for a few seconds before actual words come tumbling out. “Someone like you?”

“Yeah, you know. The dude who parties on the weekends and has, in the past, messed around with countless strangers? Usually at said parties?” Lance scoffs. “And the dude who works at a fast food place during the week because his scholarships aren’t enough to support his sorry ass.”

“There’s nothing wrong with working to pay off school,” Keith settles on. He speaks so quietly, almost shyly, which is uncharacteristic enough to set Lance’s nerves on edge. Well, even more on edge. “If I didn’t have my scholarships, I’d be doing the same.”

“Well, yeah. That’s because you’re a genius.”

“I’m definitely not a genius. Pidge, sure. But not me.”

“Will you at least admit you’re smart? Smarter than me?”

Keith bristles. “I thought you were always trying to prove you were the smarter of the two of us?”

Embarrassment floods Lance, and he leans forward, gesturing at Keith. “You’re avoiding the question!”

“You’re the one who—“

“Why me? Why would you pick a loser like me?” Lance pauses, worrying at his lip, before giving Keith a taste of his own medicine. “Just be honest.”

Keith

Keith is going to be sick.

He hoped this would never come up in conversation. For the past couple weeks, he busted his ass avoiding the topics of Tinder and dating. And yet here he is, confronted with the hideous beast itself, at the worst possible moment.

Why did he pick Lance?

Why pick the boy who captured and held his attention? Why pick the boy with the blinding smile and vibrant eyes? Why pick the boy who excelled at everything Keith struggled with, like the cliché ‘other half of his whole’? Why pick the boy who piqued Keith’s interest just by being himself? Just by existing in the same space as Keith?

“Why did I swipe right on you?” Keith repeats, making sure he didn’t mishear Lance.

“Yeah, you massive nerd. I don’t exactly seem like the kind of person you would go for.” Lance flourishes his hand, and Keith catches a glimpse of faintly trembling fingers. “And what would a proper first date be without this lovely discussion?”

“So you usually talk about this with your dates?”

Lance looks mildly terrified. “I don’t… I’ve only ever dated two people before.”

What?

“There was a girl in high school. Super pretty and popular. We dated for a couple months, but she ended up leaving me for a football player. Probably because he was hotter and more popular than me. Oh, and because a lot of the other people on the swim team didn’t like her. Whenever she would meet me after swim practice, they groaned—just loud enough so that she could hear it.” Lance chuckles as he reminisces. “She was something else.

“And then there was Nyma. I met her in college my freshman year, when I was still going through a bit of a, well. A ‘phase,’ as Hunk likes to call it. We dated for a few months, too, until she tried to… steal my car.”

“She—wait, she tried to steal your car?”

“Eh, it was no big deal. She was going through a rough patch, financially, and was worried they’d kick her out of school,” Lance explains. “But it’s honestly fine now. She even comes to some of our parties.”

Keith squints. “Which one is she?”

“Tall, blonde, looks like she could be a supermodel? She likes to wear her hair in pigtails and totally carries them off?”

The description sounds vaguely familiar to Keith. He swears he remembers seeing a girl like that, tucked in the middle of five people wedged on the couch. If Keith is thinking of the right person, she certainly is pretty. A spark of jealousy jolts through his body.

“Yeah, I think I saw her,” Keith says, “Never would’ve pegged her for a thief.”

“Listen, like I said, it’s a long story. She’s not a bad person. She and Rolo have been through some tough shit, and—“ Lance jolts to a stop. His jaw drops, eyes bugging out of his skull. He reminds Keith of a cartoon character. “You changed the subject again!”

“Uh, no I didn’t. You’re the one who brought up your exes.”

“Okay, but that’s after you asked me about my dating history!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Keith snorts.

Lance groans and slumps back in his seat. “This is crazy. We keep talking in circles.”

We do that a lot, Keith muses. And I’m fucked up because I kind of enjoy it.

“Lance, I…” Keith drops his head. He zeroes in on an abnormally large pineapple chunk nestled along the crust of his pizza slice. This has gone on for long enough; Lance gave him an answer, after all. “I swiped right on your profile because I—“

Dun, dun, dun, dada dada dun.

Of fucking course that’s Keith’s phone. ‘The Imperial March’ blares through the apartment like some kind of bad omen. Lance glances between Keith’s wide-eyed stare and his lap, where his phone continues to ring.

“Pidge,” Keith blurts and angrily digs around in his pocket. He clambers to his feet and darts out of the room, ducking into the hallway. Lance watches silently, a smug little grin tugging at his lips. There’s a hint of something there, too, that Keith tries to ignore, fringing on disappointment.

Keith presses the phone to his ear and snarls into the receiver. “This better be good, Pidge.”

“Depends on your definition of ‘good,’ I guess,” she sighs back. “I just wanted to check in on you since you hadn’t answered any of my texts. And since Lance already had his freak out, I figured it was about time for yours.”

“What?” Keith yelps, trying to process this new information. “Lance was freaking out?”

“Duh, have you met the guy? Lance isn’t the smooth operator he makes himself out to be. Hunk told me he managed to calm him down, though.”

Suddenly, Lance’s bathroom epiphany makes a lot of sense. “Did you know he was going to spring this—“ the word gets lodged in his throat “—date on me?”

“Listen, dude, I’m just an innocent bystander in all of this.” Pidge heaves an even bigger sigh. “If you want… Hunk and I are, like, a block away. At the library. We can drop in—“

“Please, oh my God.” Part of him doesn’t want a single person to interrupt this peculiar… whatever it is going on between him and Lance. But another part, a much larger part, can’t imagine being alone with Lance in such an intimate setting for any longer.

“Alright, fine, fine. We’ll be there in a couple minutes. But you owe me big time. Lance is totally gonna kill us for this.”

Before Keith can ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Pidge hangs up. The silence on the other end of the line feels overbearing, stifling. This somehow feels like the wrong decision. He should have told Pidge he’s fine and can handle this thing with Lance all on his own.

It would’ve been a lie but…

Keith slaps his cheeks, trying to force every ounce of fear out of his body. He can do this. Keith is an adult—sort of?—and, dammit, he can deal with one measly date. He’ll handle the ‘colossal crush’ issue later. Once it stops feeling like the apartment is going to eat him alive.

Stowing his phone away, Keith slinks back into the room. Lance sits in the same spot and, as Keith enters, he smiles. His cheeks are filled with what Keith can only imagine is pizza. He pushes back his chair and moves toward Keith’s seat, pulling it out for him. Tomato sauce covers the area around his mouth in little smears, shifting as the lower half of his face shapes into an apprehensive grin.

“Who was that?“

“Uh—”

And, just like that, the glass of water perched at the edge of the table tumbles over. Right into Keith’s lap.

“Oh my God,” Lance cries, jumping into action. His older sibling instincts kick in and, in seconds, he’s there with every napkin he can find. “I’m so, so sorry. Of course this would happen.”

Keith lifts his arms and gapes as Lance proceeds to dab at the mess on his lap. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. Ugh, why am I like this?”

“Lance—”

“Hold on, I’ll grab you some pants,” Lance wheezes. “And… oh yeah, you’ll probably need a shirt, too.”

Keith has yet to say a single word. He watches in dumbfounded silence as Lance runs to his room. “Good job. This is how you get all the ladies and gents,” Lance mutters as he comes bustling back, clutching a pair of grey sweats and red t-shirt against his chest.

“Uh, thanks,” Keith manages.

“Yeah, dude, no problem. I’m the klutz who had to go and spill water in your lap on our first fucking date, wow, Lance.” He slaps his hands to his cheeks and tugs down, looking utterly crestfallen. “I really am sorry. The glass was there but I didn’t see it and then I guess I just—”

A loud knock sounds from the direction of the doorway and both boys freeze. Lance flashes Keith a horrified glance before straightening up. “I’ll, uh. Get that? And you can go change?”

Keith jerks his head in a quick nod. His legs refuse to work, sneakers rooted to the ground, and he can only watch as Lance makes his way to the door. Pidge, the dirty little liar. She was almost definitely headed to Lance’s apartment when they were on the phone earlier; she planned to bail Keith out from the very beginning.

And yet… Keith feels like a ‘thank you’ is in order.

“Pidge?” Lance screeches, confirming Keith’s suspicions. The subsequent sound of her laughter is enough to force him into action. Keith quickly heads to the nearest private space— Lance’s bedroom because life is cruel— and sheds his damp clothes. As expected, Lance’s sweatpants scuff the ground rather than the top of his shoes. The shirt fits, for the most part, although it hangs a bit looser on his frame than Lance’s.

Keith checks his reflection in the mirror. It could look worse. And, on the bright side, wearing Lance’s clothes is a lot like being embraced by the boy himself. Every inch of Keith’s skin buzzes with contentment. Coconut and aftershave, a hint of suntan lotion, every scent combining into something distinctly Lance.

If this is the consequence of a spilled drink, Keith is tempted to leave an entire pitcher of water precariously close to the edge of the table next time.

...Next time.

Keith whines and rests his forehead on the spotless surface of Lance’s full-length mirror. Lips smushed against the surface, he grumbles, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Lance

“Well, this isn’t exactly how I expected things to go,” Lance murmurs.

He sinks deeper into the plastic seat and lifts his arms above his head, cradling the back of his skull in the wide splay of his palms. Lights dance across his body in quick splashes of purples, pinks, and oranges. They do nothing to brighten his mood, though, as he surveys the mostly empty bowling alley.

I went overboard, Lance decides with a huff. We had something good going, and I had to go and fuck it up with my stupid emotions.

“Aw, c’mon, dude,” Hunk says, slumping into the seat next to Lance. “Lighten up! Pidge and I are just trying to help you out.”

“Did you do it because of my—“

“Meltdown?”

“Okay, ‘meltdown’ is a little excessive. You’re blowing things way out of proportion, buddy. I was just… concerned. And didn’t know how to answer a difficult question. Which, by the way, I was totally unprepared for. Who knew Keith would ask about that? You? Me? Pidge?” Lance waggles his finger at Hunk. “No, no, and no. So, I mean, you would’ve reacted the same way I did.”

“Uh huh…” Hunk snorts and gestures at Keith. “Did you ask him the same thing?”

Keith stands at the ready, bowling ball in hand, staring down the pins at the end of the lane as if they’ve become his mortal nemesis. The tiny fringe of dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, as well as Lance’s somewhat oversized clothing, serve as unwelcome distractions; Lance physically forces his attention elsewhere.

“Yeah…”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Lance sighs. “He never got the chance to finish because some asshole called him.”

Keith guffaws loudly, offering the scoreboard a disgusted grimace. Pidge sidles up next to him and mutters something Lance can’t quite make out from where he’s sitting. Whatever it is, Keith growls her name and playfully shoves her toward the ball rack. Pink colors his cheeks, and a powerful swell of affection engulfs Lance. What a dork.

“You’ll get another chance,” Hunk assures him. “But I think this is probably for the best. From what Pidge told me, it’s best to take things slow, when it comes to Keith.”

Lance leans forward, mindlessly watching Pidge. God, he hates when Hunk is right. Which is pretty much all the time because it’s Hunk, for fuck’s sake.

“I know, I know.”

“He’ll open up to you eventually.” Hunk lightly elbows Lance in the side. “And think of it this way! He must like you or he would’ve walked right back out the door when you told him it was a date.”

“You’re not wrong, I guess,” Lance mumbles.

“Did he enjoy the pizza?”

“I think so.”

“And did he seem like he was having a fun time? You know, being there with just you?”

A brief image presents itself to Lance. Of Keith, as Lance sliced the pizza, observing his every move with the softest of smiles gracing his lips. Keith seemed to enjoy Lance’s company. Maybe it really was just too much for him to deal with all at once. Maybe…

Well, Lance will keep that hopeful observation to himself for now.

“He felt bad about all the times he didn’t pick up on me asking him out,” Lance answers instead. He turns to Hunk, met with the furrowed brow and slack jaw he expected. But before Hunk can push for more information, Pidge calls for Lance to take his turn.

Lance throws a quick wink Hunk’s way and steps up to grab his ball. The glimmering black surface takes on a more purple hue in this lighting. Lance slips his fingers into their respective holes and assumes his usual starting position. He nearly falters as he takes his approach.

The strength of Keith’s gaze is staggering. Lance feels like he’s caught in the pull of a tractor beam from one of his beloved science fiction series. A burst of excitement hits Lance, and he lowers his arm, using the fluttery, charged feeling to his advantage. His body coils and then releases, ball rolling and rolling down the lane, toward the pins. It connects with a solid and familiar myriad of hollow clunks.

“Strike!” the scoreboard declares, and Lance releases a victorious hoot.

Before he turns to gloat, a thought strikes him. I want Keith to be proud of me.

And what the fuck is that? Lance shoves that nonsense deep into the recesses of his mind and swivels on his heel. To his delight, the three of his friends sit squished together. Lance bends at the knees, smirks devilishly, and fires a finger gun gesture their way.

He practically melts when Keith—stupid, stupid Keith—claps. A couple other groups in the alley stop what they’re doing and look toward their lane. It isn’t long before they laugh good-naturedly and return to playing. Meanwhile, Pidge and Hunk stare at Keith like he’s lost his fucking mind. Which Lance, heart stuttering in his chest, is also starting to suspect.

When neither Pidge nor Hunk joins in, Keith gradually stops, hands stilling. His entire body deflates, and Lance swears he deflates along with him. Only the cheery pop music playing from the speakers overhead can be heard. “Oh,” Keith breathes.

“Dude…” Lance starts, edging closer to Keith. “Did you, Keith ‘Mullet McGee’ Kogane… really just clap… for me?”

Keith narrows his eyes, mouth opening and then snapping shut. He clears his throat and turns his attention to the floor, glaring at the linoleum. And, suddenly, the intro to ‘Let’s Hear It for the Boy’ echoes throughout the room.

Lance isn’t sure what overtakes him, but the music resounds in his bones and, as he’s done many times before to Hunk and Pidge, he starts singing. His mom used to blast this music in the car when she took Lance and his siblings to school in the morning before heading to work. She’d roll down the window, just a hair, and sing along as if the lyrics were woven into her DNA. Lance always thought she had the most beautiful voice. “Your mother was given a very special gift,” his dad used to say.

Of course, nothing was quite as beautiful as the way she sung the enchanting boleros she had grown up with. His youngest sister and a couple of his cousins sung in their local choirs. A distant relative even made an appearance on Broadway, if Lance remembered correctly.

Lance has lived with music his entire life.

There’s a chance he’ll look back on this moment and regret it. But for now? Might as well let the Cheesy Romantic inside of him take over for a bit.

“My baby, he don’t talk sweet,” Lance croons, swaying his hips teasingly from side to side. “He ain’t got much to say but he loves me.”

Keith is redder than his Converse, and it’s incredible.

“Loves me, loves me. I know that he loves me anyway.” Lance is close enough now to feel the brush of Keith’s knees against his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses Pidge and Hunk. Pidge is doubled over, shaking with quiet snickers, and Hunk sways from side-to-side to the beat of the music.

“And maybe he don’t dress fine—“ Lance scoffs and mouths ‘it’s the mullet’ as he bends and snags Keith’s hand, dragging him to his feet”—but I don’t really mind. Because every time he pulls me near, I just want to cheer...”

Lance pulls Keith against him, wrapping an arm securely around the other boy’s waist. It’s a lot like serenading a plank, what with the way Keith remains stiff and unyielding in his embrace. But a really fucking cute plank.

“Let’s hear it for the boy! Let’s give the boy a hand,” Lance belts out. And, to his surprise, he isn’t the only one shouting along to the chorus. Pidge and Hunk try between bouts of laughter. Several of the strangers in neighboring lanes have joined in, none as loud or enthusiastically as Lance. “Let’s hear it for my baby! You know you gotta understand. Oh, maybe he’s no Romeo, but he’s my loving one-man show.”

There’s a break in the singing, and Keith seizes the opportunity to try and talk over the music. “What are you doing?”

“Being terrible,” Lance explains briefly, but the song continues. “My baby may not be rich, he’s watchin’ every dime. But he loves me, loves me, loves me.”

Keith buries his face in the crook of Lance’s neck. In an instant, Lance’s mind goes blank and every memorized lyric escapes him. “This is insane, Lance. Everyone’s watching,” Keith hisses.

“This is what the kids these days call ‘serenading.’” Lance foregoes the next few lines of the song. “The cool kids, at least.”

“Is this how you woo all of your dates?”

Lance hums, considering. “This is actually a first for me. I don’t think any of the times I’ve sung to family members count.”

“You never sang to any of your exes?”

“Negatory, my dude. Unless Hunk and Pidge count as exes, which I know they don’t.”

There’s a slight lull in their conversation before Keith responds haltingly. “I’m sorry about ruining our first date.”

First date. The two words circle around inside Lance’s skull, swirling and twirling to the rhythm of the music. Keith considers this trainwreck of a night to be their first date.

“You didn’t ruin it,” Lance urges. “If anything, I’m the one who ruined it by not telling you it was going to be a date in the first place.”

“No, I… I liked it. I really did, okay?”

The butterflies in Lance’s stomach return with a vengeance. “Okay.”

“Even though you spilled water in my lap…”

“Oh God, don’t remind me,” Lance whines.

“And you had to call Hunk to save you from a meltdown,” Keith teases, tone light and flirtatious, with just enough seriousness for it to still feel in-character.

“Meltdown, huh? I’m starting to wonder if you and Hunk are working together. Plotting my untimely demise, right? Is it because you had to wear my ugly ass sweatpants? Not that they look bad on you.”

Not at all, Lance silently appraises. Seeing Keith in his ratty old sweatpants, the pair worn by his high school swim team, causes Lance’s heart to do flip flops in his chest. He easily pictures his fingers sliding under the waistband, over the subtle curve of Keith’s hips until the thick fabric slides down, pooling around his ankles.

“No, I like the sweatpants actually,” Keith replies frankly.

“You can keep them.” The words feel like they’re punched out of Lance. He can hardly trust himself to speak right now, but his traitorous mouth doesn’t seem to get the memo. “I don’t need them.”

“Oh.”

“Unless that’s... Too weird?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I probably have, like, ten pairs of sweatpants, dude, of course not.” Lance softens his voice. “I want you to have them.”

“Oh, um. Cool. Thanks.” There are a few more seconds of tense silence. “Can we just… I know you’ll probably hate me for this, but can we take things slow?”

Lance instinctively clenches his fingers in the fabric of Keith’s shirt— his shirt. “Of course I don’t mind, you dork. And, contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate you.”

“So…”

“Yeah, I can slow my roll. We’ll work up to… boyfriends.” Boyfriends, holy fuck, were he and Keith actually going to be boyfriends? “As long as that’s something you still want?”

Keith’s nose softly brushes the column of Lance’s neck. “I do.”

A tiny noise, something akin to a laugh, trickles from between Keith’s lips, and then he goes silent. The warmth of his breath tickles Lance’s skin, spurring him to keep singing along. Lance lowers his voice to a whisper in hopes that only Keith can hear him.

“Let’s hear it for my man, let’s hear it for my man,” Lance rasps, adjusting his grip on Keith to pull him completely flush against his body. “Let’s hear it for the boy… Let’s hear it my baby…”

They stay like that, Lance singing and Keith allowing Lance to guide them in lazy circles, until the song comes to an end. For the rest of the evening, the air around the two of them loses its tension. A casual arm around the shoulder or waist, an exchange of banter much like during class—each interaction happens naturally. Lance carefully toes the line between platonic and ‘something more’ for the remainder of the evening. But not once does he seem to make Keith uncomfortable.

And, boy, if that isn’t a step in the right direction.

At around 10 o’clock, Hunk finally pulls himself away from the ball rack and calls it quits for the night. Their group huddles together and, yet again, Keith and Lance fall into step beside each other, fingers brushing with every swing of their arms.

“Oh, shit,” Keith groans, right before they reach the exit. “I think I left my phone in the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys outside.”

Lance moves as if to follow, and Keith scoffs. “You don’t have to come, Lance. It’ll only be a couple seconds.”

The strangest sensation washes over Lance. An urge to trail behind Keith and protect him. From what, though? The secret bowling alley boogey man? Chill out, dude, he silently chides himself. There’s nothing to worry about.

And, although there likely isn’t, Lance hovers in the doorway for a few extra seconds, fixated on the back of Keith’s head as he takes off.

Keith

Of all the things for him to misplace, his phone? Really? Wasn’t that some sort of physical impossibility for a guy his age?

Keith checks the plastic seats in their lane first, just to be safe, but there are no cell phones to be seen. Retracing his steps, Keith goes back to his original plan: a trip to the bathroom.

The door falls open easily under his weight. Keith immediately seeks out the familiar black case, eyes scanning over the sink countertops, urinals, stalls, and—oh.

Poised in the center of the bathroom is the kind of man suited to the cover of Men’s Vogue. Long strands of silvery white hair, possibly platinum blond, hang around his face in a dazzling curtain. His facial features are well-sculpted, from his cheekbones, to the bridge of his nose, down to the jut of his chin. He regards Keith critically through deep set amber eyes.

“I’m sorry, but would this happen to be yours?” The stranger retrieves Keith’s phone from his pocket. “It was resting on top of the soap dispenser.”

There’s a hint of an accent to his voice, but Keith can’t seem to place where from. His speech patterns are also a bit more formal than Keith is used to. Combined with the man’s striking appearance, Keith has to take a minute to gather himself. “I, uh. Yeah, that’s mine.”

“Ah yes, I figured as much.” Stretching his hand out toward Keith, the strange man smiles and cocks his head to the side. “You are clearly a man on a mission. I am pleased that I could be of service, Mister…?”

“Mister? Who—oh my God.” Keith feels like the world’s biggest idiot. “Kogane. You can just call me ‘Keith,’ though.”

“Keith Kogane… What a lovely name.”

Voice like honey, saccharine and heavy with the promise of decadence, the man utters Keith’s name reverently. His gaze sweeps over Keith, swaddled in Lance’s clothes, before coming to rest on his flustered expression. “I am quite sorry. It seems that you are in a rush. If we had more time, I would certainly offer you my number.”

Holy shit, is this guy hitting on me? Keith chuckles nervously. “That’s alright. But thanks for holding onto my phone. I really appreciate it.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” the stranger practically purrs. “I am Lotor, by the way. I did not want to depart without exchanging names.”

“Right, Lotor. It’s been nice, but I have to catch up with my friends before they strand me here.”

“If that were the case, I would be all too happy to offer you a ride?”

Fuck.

“No, no, it’s okay. Thanks for the offer.”

Keith tucks his phone in its rightful place and darts for the exit. As he leaves, he can almost swear he hears a sinister sounding laugh from behind him. But Keith isn’t concerned.

Male model or not, Lotor is far from a threat.

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