#you mean fixing my brain chemistry didn’t just automatically fix everything?! terrible

[glcnpowell]

pt 2 sorry

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 4 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 July twelfth dawns like any other day, Annabeth wrapped up in Percy’s sheets. She’s spent significantly more nights in his bed than she’s spent in her own apartment over the last two months, but who could blame her? This bed is literally to die for. Therapeutic mattress for the fucking win.

 Percy, to her greatest confusion and chagrin, is a morning person. Well, actually, what he is is someone who runs on very little sleep for three weeks at a time, before crashing headfirst into his bed for thirteen hours. It is a decidedly unhealthy way to live, but it means that Annabeth is used to waking up alone. The nights where she gets to wake up with Percy are the nicer ones, sure, but his presence is suffused in every corner of the room, his smell wafting from every piece of sweaty clothing tossed haphazardly about the floor, so much so that she never feels like she is truly waking up alone.

 Gross? A little. But the smell is oddly sexy, too, especially after he’s just come home from a run, all wet and glistening and flushed, panting hard--

 Ahem.

 The point is, when Annabeth rolls out of bed in one of Percy’s shirts (the one that says “Do You Even Lift, Bro?” with an image of a male dancer raising his partner, courtesy of one Jason Grace) and stumbles into the kitchen for one of Percy’s patented brunch specials, it’s a pretty normal morning. What catches her off guard is the spread: eggs and bacon, obviously, with fruit and granola and yogurt, but also an enormous tray of delicious, flaky croissants, perfectly crescent shaped, with little bowls of every condiment imaginable, multiple flavors of jams and preserves and Nutellas.

 “Bounjour, mademoiselle!” Percy says cheerfully from the oven, perfectly accented, bending over to take out a tray. “Ça va bien?”

 “Um… bonjour…” She pokes a croissant experimentally, and is equally delighted and dismayed to find that it is just as flaky as advertised.

 “Take a seat, these ones just need to cool for a bit and then we can get started.”

 Spring in his step, he opens the refrigerator, taking out the most beautiful cake Annabeth has ever seen in her entire life. Perfectly round, paper white, with little blue borders piped around the edge, but it’s got Annabeth feeling like she’s just been doused in cold water. “How the hell did you know it was my birthday?”

 Immediately, she knows it was the exact wrong thing to say. His eyes go wide as the saucers on the table, mouth open in shock. “It’s your birthday?”

 Goddammit. “Um.”

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 Because birthdays were inherently a dumb concept? Because her father had to be reminded of her birthday more often than not? Because her mother had stopped sending her birthday cards after she turned thirteen, calling them a waste of money and resources? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, dipping her finger into the strawberry jam. “I guess I just didn’t think it was a big deal. Ooh, does this have rosemary in it?”

 “Annabeeeeth,” he whines, plopping the cake onto the kitchen island. “I can’t believe you! I love birthdays.”

 “Well,” she flounders, attempting to duck his sudden attention, “what were you originally celebrating? I don’t usually think of cake as a brunch option.”

 He raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed with her attempts to change the topic, but he answers dutifully, “Originally, we were celebrating me being one month cig-free--”

 “Percy!” Annabeth gasps, clapping her hands delightedly, and a little exaggeratedly. “That’s great!”

 “But,” he continues, “now we’re definitely celebrating your birthday instead.”

 “Oh, come on!”

 “Nuh uh,” he chides, grabbing his phone and beginning to type something, “I am asking Nico to pick you up a birthday card as we speak.”

 Oh. “Nico’s coming?”

 “Well, this is his apartment. Part of the deal is that I make him breakfast. I think he’s bringing his boyfriend.”

 “Is… anyone else coming?”

 “Just a couple of people, my friends Frank, Grover, Rachel… I invited Hazel and Thalia, too, but I think Hazel told me she was busy, and you know Thalia. If it’s not at a crappy dive bar then the odds of her showing up are virtually none.” Percy pauses in his text, fixing her with an odd look. “You really don’t want anyone to know, do you?”

 How easily he reads her is a little disconcerting, and also a thought that she just can’t handle right now. “I just don’t like people making a big deal out of it. You know, it’s just another day. I’d much rather celebrate you quitting.”

 He holds her gaze for a beat, before smiling, finishing typing out whatever he was doing on his phone. “Yes, I am officially quitting. Cigarettes are terrible for you, and I do not have the money to keep up the habit. So, I swear,” he holds up a hand, “No cigarettes, no weed, no vaping. Not that I ever vaped before.”

 “Oh, never?” Annabeth teases.

 “Not ever.” He leans in, grinning that devastating grin that is seriously detrimental to her health. “You could not pay me enough.”

 “Good.” She goes to meet him, pressing her mouth to his, sweetly and chastely, but swiftly turning deeper, almost against their higher brain functions, like they only exist to be here in this moment, lips against lips, tongue and tongue. She’s always hated the taste of cigarettes, she prefers edibles to blunts, and anyone who vapes is automatically dropped from her list of potential partners… but she’s never minded the taste of ash on Percy’s tongue. It was just another part of him, another facet of the whole sexy package.

 Now, though, she has the full taste of him, unfettered and unfiltered, his morning coffee and his morning breath. It is disgusting, but again, oddly thrilling. This is Percy, stripped down and divested of all the trappings of blue lipstick and tight pants. She wonders what he thinks when he sees her like this, messy haired, face and ears empty of metal, last night’s mascara smudged all around her eyes. Given the way that he deliberately threads her hair through his fingers, winding the frizzy curls around him, pulling her close enough that the pristine cake is in danger from some serious smushing, she thinks he likes it just as much.

 Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which perspective, either Percy’s, Annabeth’s, Nico’s, or the cake’s, their little impromptu makeout session has cold water dumped on it before they can end up doing it on the kitchen island. The sound of someone unlocking the front door is almost comically loud, and they break apart, equally red and flushing.

 “Gross,” says Nico di Angelo. “No heterosexuality allowed in my kitchen.”

 “Take that back, you biphobic ass,” Percy says. “I have never been heterosexual in my life.”

 “I’m not biphobic, I just don’t want to see you getting it on on my marble countertops.”

 “Speak for yourself,” chimes in Will, setting down a grocery bag right on the spot which would have been ground zero. “Hi, Annabeth.”

 “Hey, Will.”

 “Nice of you to join us today,” he says, as though he doesn’t see her here all the time.

 She offers her assistance in cooking or setting up, knowing full well that she will be firmly rebuffed--domestics are not her strong suit, by any stretch of the imagination--and is sent away with an iced coffee that Will has so thoughtfully bought for her instead of the birthday card she was dreading.

 Soon after, the party is in full swing.

 Well, she uses the term party loosely. It is fairly intimate, even with Nico’s enormous apartment making everything smaller. They have assembled an odd amalgamation of people: “You already know Nico,” Percy says, indicating the goth prince next to, “and Will,” his boyfriend, the perpetually cheery med student, next to, “and this is Frank,” a large, physically imposing man with a shy smile, next to, “Rachel,” a red-headed girl who looked like she just walked out of a paint shower, all making space for, “and my buddy Grover,” the guy in crutches who had immediately dropped into the single, out-of-decor, but extremely comfortable-looking loveseat Nico had placed nearest to the bathroom. All told, they look like the brochure for a community college who really, really wants to publicize how diverse their student body is, but with a kind of natural chemistry and camaraderie that those kids on that brochure could only dream of. “Everyone, this is Annabeth.”

 They greet her, each giving a limp wave.

 Then Percy leaves to attend to his brunch spread, but not before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. She can feel all eyes on them, hot and burning.

 Silence.

 “So,” Annabeth says, as awkward as a freshman in an orientation mixer. “What’s up?”

 “Your hair is amazing,” says Rachel.

 Hers is crusted with paint, a deep red that turns pink against the orange in the light, a close cousin to Annabeth’s, which is in dire need of a touchup, curls thrown in disarray by Percy’s grasping fingers. “Thanks, I--”

 “So how do you two know each other?”

 Annabeth blinks. “Friend of Thalia’s,” she says. “You?”

 “Used to do ballet together,” Rachel says, brusque, efficient. “Frank, too.”

 Frank waves again.

 A beat passes.

 Annabeth looks to Grover, who watches, bemused. “You, too, I take it?”

 Another second. Then he laughs, weird, but hearty, a joyful bleat. “Oh, sure,” he says. “I’m a regular Baryshnikov.”

 She can almost feel the room relaxing, heaving a sigh after holding its breath.

 “Are you with NYCB, too?” she turns to Frank, shoving her hands in her pockets, fingers curling around the fabric there.

 Shaking his head, he swallows his orange juice. “I mostly do modern and hip hop, now, music videos and stuff.”

 Objectively, she knows that you don’t have to be skinny as a rake or bodybuilding champion to dance, but Frank is neither of these, a huge, sweet-faced guy with a healthy layer of fat around his face and torso--a strict counterpart to Percy, who could give the Belvedere Apollo a run for its money. “Have I seen you in anything?” Not that she really watches music videos, but she figures it’s the polite thing to ask.

 “Um, maybe,” he shrugs, embarrassed. “I’ve been lucky enough to work with some really big people.” Though he offers no further details.

 “Working on anything cool?” She asks, doing her best not to cajole.

 He nods. “Percy and I have a thing coming out probably in the next month or so, with--ah, well. Can’t say.”

 “Tease,” Rachel grumbles, tossing back her mimosa. “I’ve been trying to get the secret out of him for months.”

 Frank smiles, secretive and a little smug. “Sorry. You’ll find out along with everyone else.”

 “Do you work together a lot?” Annabeth asks. She had thought that Percy was strictly ballet--though, she supposes dancers do crossover work more often these days, if only for the money.

 “Not as much as we used to, sadly,” he replies. “We actually lived together in Paris for a few years while he was contracted with the opera before I decided to come back home. Vancouver,” he adds at her unspoken question.

 “Bit of a hike, from Vancouver to New York,” says Grover.

 Frank shrugs. “I was in town anyway, and I haven’t seen Percy in about a year.”

 Annabeth frowns, doing some mental math. If Frank hadn’t seen him in two years, then that meant… that Percy had been alone in Paris all that time. The man thrives off of friendship and social interaction; no wonder he was jonesing to come back to America.

 “Remind me again how long you two were together?” Rachel asks, red hair bouncing as she cocks her head. A jolt goes down Annabeth’s spine, appraising Frank in an entirely new light.

 “On and off for about two years,” says Frank, thoughtful. “But I just lived with him to save money. The rent in Paris sucks.”

 “And you were the best roommate I ever had,” Percy says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Clean, good cook, better kisser--”

 Frank shoves him away.

 “You’ve only ever had one other roommate, other than Nico or your mom,” Grover points out. “That one guy when you first moved overseas--Frodo? Fedora?”

 “Fyodor,” Percy corrects. “He was terrible. I didn’t know any Russian, he didn’t know any English, and our French wasn’t good enough to actually hash it out, so he just gave me a permanent cold shoulder.”

 “Kind of a low bar, don’t you think?”

 “And there was my roommate in Boston.”

 Sharply, she turns her head. “You lived in Boston?”

 “Yeah, for like a year. I told you I was with Boston Ballet for a little bit, didn’t I?”

 Pretty sure he didn’t. She almost opens her mouth to retort, to ask when and compare notes, to mention that she lived in Boston, too, before remembering who she is with, swallowing her words.

 “Fyodor hated you,” Frank hums, reentering the circle. He’d wandered away and returned with a croissant, dipped in chocolate.

 “Trust, me, the feeling was mutual.”

 “It must have been,” Frank says, “because I saw your new apartment after he kicked you out--that place made a shoebox look luxurious.”

 Something in Percy’s face almost falls when Frank says that. Annabeth is sure there is a story there.

 But Rachel laughs. “Annabeth, you have no idea. It was a      Chambre de bonne    ,” she says, exaggerating the accent, “which might sound super fancy and French and cool, but trust me, it wasn’t at all. It was this size.” She slaps the kitchen island, a little too hard, her third mimosa making her loose-limbed and loud. “When I visited for Thanksgiving that year      I     had to pay for the heating bill, because Percy basically refused.”

 “It was cozy,” Percy mutters, suddenly very preoccupied with the half a croissant on his plate.

 “It was not.” Rachel says. “It was sad and cold and small.”

 Nico looks interested, but not nearly as boisterous as Rachel or Frank, “Was that the place…”

 “Ye,” Percy cuts him off, “Yes it was.” He smiles, Stepford-strained. “But, then Frank came to town, and so did his grandmother’s money.” He slaps Frank on the back. “And I got a bathtub.”

 “I still can’t believe that a ballet dancer lived anywhere for two years without a place to soak,” Frank says, shuddering.

 “I can’t believe you waited until Frank got to Paris to get yourself a sugar daddy,” Grover quips. Percy throws a grape at him. Grover, to her immense surprise, manages to catch it in his mouth.

 Annabeth can’t really be impressed. This is the second time someone has brought up Percy and Frank having a history. Something hot and angry curls in her stomach. But Percy is laughing.

 Rachel laughs too. “Oh, he didn’t wait,” she says. “He had a bevy of sugar mommies for trips to Ibiza and Moscow and Beijing.”

 “It was Tokyo,” Percy says, “and they weren’t my Sugar Mamas.” He turns to Annabeth, sheepish, but not actually shameful. “They weren’t. Honestly.”

 “Uh huh.”

 “They were mostly Kym’s friends, and sometimes we’d go out when they were in town, and if we had fun, they’d invite me wherever they were going next. And if I didn’t have to work, I’d go with.”

 “I have heard rumors,” Will says, popping his head in, Nico attached to his hip, “of Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous of Europe. Is it true?”

 “Yes,” Grover and Rachel say at once.

 “Do you want to hear about that, Will?” Percy asks, “Or would you rather hear about the summer Nico came to stay with me and Frank before he started college, and slept with every single dancer in Europe except Frank?”

 Nico waves him off. “Only because you were already sleeping with him, cause he was your sugar daddy. Not like I needed the money.”

 “It wasn’t like that.” Frank says.

 “And now that we’ve aired all of my dirty laundry,” says Percy, “I need to borrow Annabeth for a second.” Gently, but with force, he tugs her arm, his other hand around her waist, directing her where to go like she’s one of his dance partners. Usually, she minds--a lot. She’s not about to let anyone, let alone a man, tell her where to go--but, you know, it’s Percy. Alone time with him is never a bad thing.

 He pulls her into the hallway, shoving his hand into his pocket. “What’s up?” she asks.

 “So.” Mouth open, he pauses for a moment, just… looking at her. His eyes are soft, warm like the first day of spring.

 “What?”

 “Uh, nothing,” he shakes himself a little, pulling his hand out. “Sorry, I just--I know you said you didn’t want anyone making a big deal out of your birthday…”

 Oh, no. She braces herself for the worst.

 Uncurling his fingers, he reveals his present for her.

 “It’s… a pin?”

 “Yeah,” he smiles. “Remember when I took my sister to the Met a few weeks ago? They were having that thing on Egyptian jewelry? Well, of course we had to stop in the gift shop, and I saw this and just--you know, thought of you.”

 It is a pin--one of those lapel pins that more often than not are added to a collection usually displayed on a backpack. This pin is a silhouette she recognizes instantly: the Parthenon, its columns and angles rendered in sterling silver, little grooves dug into the metal in an approximation of the fluting.

 “Wow,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

 “It was nothing.” His ears are pink. “Happy birthday.”

 And then he hugs her.

 After a moment, she hugs him back.

 It’s amazing how she can have had sex with someone so many times, but feel so awkward giving them a hug.

 “I didn’t, um, tell anyone else,” he says, pulling back. His hands linger on her shoulders, thumb tapping at the base of her neck. “But, I kept meaning to give this to you, so, you know, now was as good a time as any, yeah?”

 “I love it,” she says, honestly. Which surprises her. “Thank you.”

 She slips it into her own pocket, not even minding the sharp corners.

 When they return, Nico has already cut into the cake. “You were taking too long,” he snips.

 It really is delicious. Much, much later, Percy sends her home with a sweet, soft kiss, and one of the last remaining slices, rather than staying for dinner.

 Percy is the kind of boy who goes to his mother’s for dinner every week. She had been invited, but also threatened with the promise of another cake, and his ten year old sister, who would “love to make you a present.”

 It sounded nice, but Annabeth knew when she wasn’t really wanted, and so she demurred, citing a need for some solo downtime.

 She hasn’t heard from Thalia in, like, four days, which meant she had probably gotten a short-term gig. (“You’re lucky, she’s had Jason paying for her phone the whole time you’ve known her. Before that, she was almost impossible to get ahold of.”) Piper would take her out to dinner tomorrow, “just because.” But they would both know it wasn’t true.

 So, to refresh and relax after a long, harrowing day of socializing, Annabeth goes home.

 Or at least to her apartment.

 It doesn’t have a doorman, or the views, or the room, like Nico’s place. Nor does it have any of the people, the energy, the joy. Her furniture doesn’t fill it up. The most appetizing thing in her kitchen are the granola bars Percy had made the week before, or maybe the brownies he made four days ago. She sets her to-go bag of cake and croissants down next to them, a smorgasboard of Percy’s culinary prowess.

 Despite the long hours, her clothes still smell a little like last night’s bar, and her skin has a faint patina of dried sex sweat, and smudged makeup.

 She doesn’t want to start leaving things at Percy’s place--don’t want him to get the wrong idea--but she also occasionally needs to be able to touch up her eyeliner. She’s either going to have to find a bag that isn’t embarrassing to carry, or surreptitiously shove some eyeliner and lipstick next to the condoms in Percy’s nightstand next time they have a sleepover. Or raid Nico’s bathroom.

 Regardless, she needs a wash something bad.

 As she scrubs down, she does her best to focus on the lemon scent of her body wash, and not Percy’s perfect form, dripping with water. She tries to visualize her last trip to Sephora, not blowing him under the hot water.

 It doesn’t really work, so she gets herself clean and gets herself off and considers just spending the rest of the day naked, in case the mood strikes her again. But it's only 5PM, and she doesn’t have Percy to cook her some dinner tonight, so she sucks it up and puts on some pants.

 When she had visited Boston for work a couple of months back, Alex had insisted on taking her shopping, complaining that her sister and her friend Mallory didn’t understand Versace quite like Annabeth did, and that Blitz sucked all the fun out of fashion, anyway. Then, she had bullied Annabeth into buying a set of sweats, claiming it was because of the Grecian patterns, but probably because she thought Annabeth in that much purple would be funny.

 But eventually, she had wheedled, cajoled, and threatened Annabeth into buying a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. After deciding to forgo a bra, because that is just one more area she has always fallen short in, she shoves on a School of Architecture underneath them. The crimson clashes terribly with the lavender and seafoam, but she kind of likes it. Piper would call it “artfully nauseating,” or something.

 Besides, no one is going to see her but her delivery guy. And if someone did see her, someone like Thalia or Percy, well, the clashing colors would be the least of her worries.

 She is folded into her couch, wedged into the corner, very much      not     looking up Paris Ballet clips from the past few years, trying to spot Percy in the background, when there is a knock on her door.

 Not for the first time, she curses her lack of doorman--and then frowns. Who even knows where she lives?

 Piper and Leo? Magnus and Alex?

 Has she already ordered food and just forgotten?

 Is memory loss a side effect of a SK-II mask no one had warned her about?

 Tentatively, she creeps towards the door, opening it slowly. If this were a horror movie, the door would creak open, revealing the villain cast in the shadows of the hallway, holding his weapon of choice.

 She sighs.

 The man is only a few inches taller than her, and dressed impeccably in a t-shirt and jeans that probably cost half a year of her rent-- a big critique coming from her, since she wears a month of her own rent as sweats. His blond hair is impeccably combed, his tennis shoes impeccably white, and his smile the most charming thing you can find this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

 “Happy birthday, girly,” he says, giving her an awkward, one-armed hug, trying to avoid getting any of her facemask on his shirt.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “It's your birthday,” he reminds her, holding up the bag. “I told you I’d stop by last week.”

 Had he? Maybe, and she’d just been too drunk or hung over to really process it. But maybe he’d also meant to, and then failed to follow through. Luke has a bit of a nasty habit of treating his intentions as the same as his actions. His intentions are good, usually, but it means that he often ignored the actual actions. Like how his intention was to support his mother in the best nursing home in the northeast, but his action was to work with Saturn, a very shady hedge fund, to facilitate it. Or how his intention was to have someone at a stuffy party to talk to, but his action was dressing up Annabeth as his arm candy because none of Piper’s models would call him back anymore. He hasn’t asked her to do that since, like, February though, thankfully.

 “Sorry,” Annabeth says. “I just… you know I don’t like my birthday.”

 He also has a bit of a habit of ignoring her distaste in a really blatant way.

 He’s a little like Percy that way, actually.

 She’d only ever told Luke about her birthday back in those embarrassing freshman days, when she’d thought he looked as good on paper as any Harvard MBA student possibly could, with a devastating smile to match. She’d been so convinced that he would be the right boyfriend that might finally get her mother’s approval, and she figured that her future husband should know her birthday.

 “Come in,” she says, reaching for the bag, but he shakes his head and brushes past her, dumping his black back on the coffee table. Graciously, he doesn’t look at her as he starts to empty out its contents, giving her an opportunity to dart back to her bathroom and peel off her facemask. Luke would forgive designer sweats, but they aren't at the “just chilling in a facemask” level of a relationship.

 When she returns, there is a small assembly line arranged on her coffee table: a stack of paper plates, a carton of Haagen Daas, forks and spoons, and a Milk Bar cake, all wrapped in its box.

 “Is Milk Bar still the ‘it’ thing?” she asks. “With locations all over the country, I figured it would be passé by now.”

 “I know it’s your favorite,” Luke says. “I don’t always have to choose the most popular thing.”

 Milk Bar had been her favorite, that is true, right up until she’d started fucking Percy Jackson, and eating his food.

 “Thanks,” she says, cutting herself a slice, and scooping herself some ice cream.

 “That’s all you’re going to get?” he asks, cutting himself a sliver.

 “I have had so much cake today,” she says. Milk Bar really isn’t as good as Percy's, but it reminds her of birthdays in high school, waiting for her mother to visit, sneaking out when she inevitably didn’t, convincing the local bad boy to buy her some alcohol. She eats it, eagerly.

 Luke’s jaw drops. “You had a birthday cake? By choice? On your birthday?”

 She shakes her head, swallowing. “No, I was at a party with some friends. They didn’t even know it was my birthday,” Until she had stupidly revealed it. Whatever. She just has to make sure he’s been excised from her life by this time next year. And maybe freeze some of his baked goods beforehand.

 Luke doesn’t let her go through with her evening plans, which consisted basically of watching      Legally Blonde     for the gazillionth time while she slurped down some pierogies, but he capitulates to      Roman Holiday    , helping her put away the leftover cake and ice cream. “Thanks,” she says, when the movie was done. “I’m glad you came over. “

 No one ever comes over. Thalia is her best friend, but Thalia would have questions about how she could afford the place, Piper never understood why she’d moved out here at all, and Percy… Percy was irrelevant. There is no reason for him to come here.

 “I always like to see my best girl.” He smiles at her, charming and rogueish.

 “If all those models you keep trying to date know that your best girl is an architect who lives in Brooklyn who you actually feed, that’s probably why they don’t want to date you back.”

 Luke laughs, leaning over and knocking his shoulder against her own. “None of those girls could hold a candle to you.”

 “God, you must be a terrible boyfriend.”

 “Probably,” he agrees, sitting up and stretching, before reaching back to the bag he brought the cake in. “After all, you are the one I bring all the nice presents. But I think I’m a pretty good friend.”

 He takes out a box, burnt orange, a black ribbon wrapped around it, because Luke is nothing if not predictable.

 Annabeth sighs internally, quietly reminding herself that money is how Luke shows his love. And that she is wearing Versace sweats.

 “Herm  é  s,” she says, pulling off the ribbon. “This box looks too small for a Birkin.”

 “Do you want a Birkin?” he asks. “I can get you a Birkin.”

 “I probably don’t need a Birkin,” she admits. Though maybe it would be nice to have one in her closet, if her mom ever calls her up for lunch again. She could show up with a Birkin and an eyebrow ring. Sweet revenge.

 Luke waves a hand. “It doesn't matter if you need one, just if you want one.”

 Inside the box is a scarf, the silk soft and smooth between her fingers, a pleasing gradient of oranges and reds and pinks and corals. When she unfolds it, laying it out before her, she finds a sharp, geometric design, columns stacked together like skyscrapers. Luke obviously had her in mind when he picked it out.

 “Thanks,” she says. It’s pretty--perfect for an ambitious young architect with two degrees from Harvard who had moved to New York City with an offer from one of the best architecture firms in the world. And Annabeth has no idea where she could possibly want or need to wear it.

 “Hey,” Luke says, suddenly soft, “don’t cry.”

 Shocked, she reaches her hand up to her face. It’s wet.

 Luke is probably the only person she will let herself cry in front of. She’d spent three years doing that in college. He’d seen her through heartbreak and hangovers, guiding her through it all like an aloof big brother.

 “I’m okay,” she hiccups, wiping her nose.

 He hands her a napkin.

 Annabeth blows her nose, wet and gross. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m alright.”

 “You sure?” He sounds sincere, but she catches him glancing down at his wrist.

 “Do you have a date?”

 “I…” At least he has the decency to look sheepish. “Just some guys at work. You can come, if you want.”

 It could be fun. Hanging out with Luke can be fun. Get a little lit, take a business bro home, screw his brains out, send him on his way. But there’s an unspoken dress code to these things, and Annabeth just doesn’t wear Louboutins anymore. And the idea of fucking a business bro just… doesn’t hold any appeal right now.

 “No thanks,” she nods, using the clean edge of the napkin to wipe her eyes. “I am going to watch      The Search For Elle Woods    , and you're going to strike out with some models, and everyone is going to be happy.”

 “You really are so mean to me.” Luke complains, as she walks him to the door, before giving her another hug. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

 “I am.” She is different and new, but Luke is still her friend. She had survived. It would be okay.

 “Well, call me if you need something.” He kisses her cheek, sweetly, without any heat. Perfectly platonic. “I love you very much. Happy birthday.”

 “Thanks,” she says, “I’ll see you around.”

 “Always.” And he is gone.

 She folds the scarf, going to put it in the dresser in her room, shoving it among a handful of accessories, gathering dust. She realizes, with a start, that she’s left a week’s worth of clothes all over her room on the way to the shower, and, with a sigh of adulthood, and the knowledge that if she doesn’t follow the ADHD gods and pick them up now, they’ll be there for weeks, languishing on her floor and stinking up the place, she goes to at least move them into her hamper. She rifles through ripped jeans and band t-shirts and black socks as she goes, checking each for anything like discarded change or a bus pass she doesn’t want to wash.

 She shakes out the pants she’d worn out the night before, and therefore the entire day until she’d gotten home. There is a rather unfortunate stain on the knee that she can’t quite parse--ketchup? Chocolate?

 Then she reaches into the pockets, touching metal, and she suddenly remembers her other birthday present for the day.

 Pulling out the pin, she feels strange, hot in the face, funny in the belly, tossing the jeans haphazardly in with the dirty laundry. It's small and shiny, cheap metal for mass market production, and yet, she walks it over to the dresser, laying it down on the silk scarf like it's the diamond broach her aunt gave her for her sixteenth birthday.

 She really is beyond Hermès scarves now. But that pin? Well, you never really can get more Annabeth--the middle school know-it-all, teenage debutante, college perfectionist, New York yuppy, or barfly and punk princess--than one of the greatest architectural achievements in human history.

 She is still a little shocked by how much she loves it. How much it means to her that Percy saw that it was perfect for her.

 And like so many times when she is confronted with an emotion she doesn’t like, she slams the door closed, and goes and watches a favorite movie from high school.

 She does order dinner, eventually, setting out her meal in between texting Piper about brunch tomorrow. It's a whole thing, pretending that they’re not going out for her birthday, but eventually they agree on a time and a place, and she can eat her sausage and watch everyone practice the Bend and Snap in peace.  

 So she is very annoyed when her phone buzzes again.

 Maybe the reservation fell through. Or maybe she doesn’t want Annabeth to show up in ripped fishnets, even though that only happened once.

 Her stomach sinks when she checks her phone. It isn’t Piper.

Hello Dear, Happy Birthday. We miss you. Please call anytime. Love Dad, Mary, and the boys.  

 Below the text is a link, leading to a gift certificate for $200 to Sephora, which has Mary’s name written all over it. Aunt Natalie would have suggested Bergdorf Goodman.

 Her hand clenches, momentarily overcome with the urge to hurl her phone against the wall. But there is no one around, so there wouldn’t be any point to it.

 She stabs at a pierogi with a chopstick, and watches the girls dance on screen, humming along.

 She passes out on the couch after midnight.

 Her mother never called.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Night of Your Life

Night of Your Life Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Kidge Summary: After swapping funny stories, Keith comes up with an idea of a way to woo Pidge and ask her a very serious question. Though he will need a bit of help from some unexpected - or unwanted - sources. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more. AN: Last request I received a while back! This took a lot longer than I planned to but I’m really pleased with how this turned out! Hopefully everyone else enjoys it as well.

They were on the couch in the lounge, exchanging hilarious moments of embarrassment from their school days, when the subject came up. Keith was resting with his back against the arm closest to him, and his whole body resting sideways on the couch, his legs bent at the knee, with Pidge resting between them and leaning back into him. They had a large, plush throw blanket tugged over them due to the internal air of the ship being cranked up to a higher temperature than usual. The galaxy they were traveling trough’s atmosphere was of a greater temperature than that of Earth or Altea, so the Castle had automatically bumped up the air conditioning to assure the comfort of its denizens; however, after several thousand years without frequent maintenance, the air pumping out was just a tad too cold. Coran was working to fix it for them but they had found ways to cope with the cold until then. Lance was settled down at the other end of the couch with Hunk next to him, both of them still nursing their mugs of pseudo-cocoa that Hunk had prepared for them all. Keith and Pidge had chugged theirs relatively quickly and left their mugs on the table until they were ready to get up from their comfy cocoon.

Lance had just finished regaling them all with his terrible prom night that ended with him being pretty drunk – the fool had actually partaken of the punch – and trying to hit on his 73 year old Chemistry teacher. “See, you’re just making me glad I ditched out on my prom,” Keith laughed lightly.

“Wish I ditched mine,” Pidge laughed, tilting her head back to look at him.

“And what, pray tell, made it bad enough to warrant ditching?” Hunk asked in amusement.

She turned back to face the others and shrugged a bit. “Okay, well, first thing was that I didn’t really have the greatest escort. I went with this kid named Max, who was really nice but also kinda awkward and was, like, fixated on talking about his various health concerns. That wouldn’t have bothered me really, if it felt like he was just saying it as a sort of warning as to what he could or couldn’t do for food before or something but… Any time I tried to change the subject he just brought it back to that. Like, I get it, dude, you’ve got some gnarly athlete’s foot. Don’t know how you do that when you’re on the chess team but whatever. And then, originally they were planning to hold it at this really nice hotel with this kinda cute red carpet slash grand gala theme, but the Student Council accidentally miscalculated how much it would be and didn’t have enough. So then instead they had to hold it at this little bed and breakfast in the next town over with minimal decoration. Oh, and then they also didn’t have enough money for a DJ, so then they had our History teachers Polka band performing live. And let me just say that it’s hard to do a slow-dance or even just… Non-Polka dance moves to Polka music,” She ticked off her fingers as she spoke, laughing and shaking her head a bit.

Lance let out a low whistle. “Man, Pidge, that sounds like a real blast,”

“It was kinda lame and I just felt like it was a waste. I mean, my parents spent good money on the ticket for me and bought me a nice dress and in the end I just really felt like I would have a better time if I’d stayed home. If I stayed home, I could have watched poorly-made monster movies with Matt or something,” She said, reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The doors opened suddenly and Coran poked his head in, a meek grin on his features. “Ah, Paladins, wonderful timing! Would it be alright if I borrowed Hunk and Pidge? I may need a little… Assistance with these repairs on the cooling system,” He asked.

Pidge chuckled and gently pulled herself up using Keith’s knees, giving one a little pat before pushing herself completely upright and taking the blanket with her. Keith held up both hands and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “You retain heat better than I do. See you later, cuddle bunny,” She said teasingly, sticking her tongue out at him before flouncing off. Or, rather, scuffling off awkwardly since she had turned herself into a multicolored fleece burrito.

Hunk laughed and shrugged lightly at Keith. “You know she’s got those sticky fingers, dude,”

Keith watched them walk off then leaned back against the couch, tilting his head to look to the ceiling as his mind started to race through different thoughts. He and Pidge had been dancing around each other for some time now – it had been a little over a year on his part – and while he wasn’t always the best at reading people, even he wasn’t completely blind. Lingering touches, the way that she would watch his every move, and how she was always the first to jump to his aid during battle spoke to him of something more than just a teammate looking out for him. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t just imaging or reading too much in to it. He wanted to ask her if he was right and, assuming they both felt the same, that she be his girlfriend. He didn’t want to just ask her all flat and outright, though; he wanted it to be something special.

Her story had given him a few ideas, but he was going to need some help.

“Hey, Lance,” He cautioned, dropping his head to look at the other, “how good are you at keeping a secret?”

The other side-eyed him wearily. “That depends… What kind of secret are we talking about here? Are you planning to prank someone? Get revenge for a prank done to you? What are the specifics of the situation that would require secrecy?” He asked, sticking his head up to look around frantically over the top of the couch before leaning a bit closer and lowering his voice. His lips twitched up in a conspiratorial grin. “Because, if you’re looking to pull a fast one on our favorite little Green Bean, I have a few ideas.”

He blinked twice before shaking his head. “No, it’s not a prank, but… It does… Kinda… Involve Pidge? Like, kinda indirectly… Well, no, she’ll be directly involved once I get everything planned and executed but… Well… Yeah?” He questioned, growing a bit meeker as he tried to figure out how to explain it without giving too much detail. Lance’s eyes were blazing with intrigue and he could see the pieces falling together in his head, his grin turning scheming in a very different way; a way that screamed mischief at Keith’s expense.

“Why, Keith, if I didn’t know any better… I might think you were planning something to woo our dear feathered friend,” Lance crooned, looking the part of the cat that swallowed the canary.

“Wha… Pidge doesn’t have feathers, Lance,” He deadpanned, knowing full well why Lance had said it but having no intention of humoring it.

The other smacked his forehead with his hand and groaned. “No, buddy, it’s supposed to be a joke… Like, cause, Pidge sounds like pigeon? And pigeons do have feathers? It’s… I’m trying to do word play here!” He said, dropping his hand to glare slightly at Keith. The other continued to stare at him blankly, either not understanding or choosing not to acknowledge his explanation as far as Lance knew. “You didn’t try to say that you aren’t trying to woo her, though.”

“Of course I didn’t deny that. It’s exactly what I want to do,”

Lance’s eyes practically bugged out at the omission. His expression reminded Keith of the one he’d worn when Pidge revealed that she was actually a girl to the rest of the team. Lance seemed to rebound quickly, though, as he started frantically blinking; well, that or his brain was completely short-circuiting. “Wait, hold up, give me a second,” He said quickly, shaking his head and holding one hand up. He watched as Lance took a few breaths to calm himself, glancing up at Keith with a furrowed brow a few times before resuming his breathing exercise. “So… Just to make sure I’m understanding this correctly… You want to do something to woo Pidge? And by woo, I mean… Romantically impress her to cause her to look at you in a romantic way. Make sense?” He asked, his tone slow and patient.

Keith swallowed down the urge to make some quick retort – he didn’t appreciate being talked down to – and instead nodded. “I want to ask her to be my girlfriend,”

The other boy took one last deep breath before reaching over and throwing an arm over Keith’s shoulder, pulling him close and clapping him on the chest. “Okay, buddy, pal, friendo, let’s get this figured out! Considering you’re you, I’m certain you’re completely useless at this kind of stuff, so I’ll come up with a few ideas and then you can tell me what you th-!”

“I already have an idea,” Keith cut off flatly. He could only take Lance’s well-meaning insults and condescension for so long. “I just need some help figuring out the specifics.”

This caught the other off guard. “You...What did you have in mind?” He quizzed.

“I just thought of it a second ago so it’s still really under-planned, but I was thinking a recreation of prom. Like, we could have something similar to prom but it would be more in line with what would be considered a good prom, to make up for the terrible one she actually attended,” He explained. He quirked an eyebrow when Lance leaned more heavily on him, gawking at Keith as if there was something wrong with him. “… I mean… Unless you think it’s a bad idea?”

“How did you come up with an idea like that when I didn’t? I mean, that’s actually… Really romantic,” He said in shock. He looked like his entire world view had been completely shaken. “I’m supposed to be the romantic, suave, lover boy on this ship! You’re the grubby, aggressive angst-Lord! You can’t pull revelations like this out of the blue on me! It’s absolutely unfair!” He sputtered frantically.

Keith carefully ducked out from under Lance’s arm and made a bee line towards the door. “Forget it. I’ll go ask someone else for help,” He grumbled.

“Wait, dude, come back! I’m just playing around!” He protested, grabbing Keith’s arm before he could walk out. When the other turned to stare at him with indigo eyes shining with a mix of frustration and nervousness, he released his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. “If I don’t give you a hard time it’s just not us, you know? Honestly, it’s a really good idea and I think it could go really well if we put in the time to figure it out. I have no doubt in my mind she’ll be completely swept off her feet.” He encouraged.

He stared at him for a moment longer before a small smile turned up on his lips. “You really think so?”

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s matters of the heart,” He said, patting his own chest in emphasis, “and it’s obvious that Pidge has been interested in you for a while now. She gets all mopey every time you head out with the Blade and always heads for the hanger the minute we know when you’ll be back. I think she’s been wanting to talk to you about it, but is either too shy or unsure of when would be the best time to bring it up. It’s not like you two have had a lot of chances to be alone recently, after all.”

The other male felt a faint blush creep to his cheeks at the idea of his feelings being reciprocated. He wasn’t really used to being wanted or cared for like he was with Pidge. He’d noticed some of what Lance had mentioned, but he was always afraid of reading too far into something that wasn’t there. After all, he and Pidge were best friends, so he had considered that being why she was upset to see him go. And she spent so much time working on this or that, the hanger may as well have been her bedroom. “I was always worried I was making assumptions,” He admitted.

Lance snorts and heads back over to the couch, grabbing his tablet off the table and starting it up. “Well, I can guarantee that you weren’t. Now, sit down and let’s get this figured out. I know you just thought this idea up, but were there any ideas you had right away?” He asked, pulling out the stylus and starting to scribble something down on the note-taker application.

He walked back around the couch and sat down, leaning back in to the cushions and humming in thought. “Well, she mentioned liking the theme her school picked out, so I figured that would still be good to use,” He mused.

“So a grand gala theme? That’ll be really intricate, but if you don’t mind me enlisting the other to help, I think we can pull it off,” Lance said, tapping his chin with the end of the stylus.

“As long as it doesn’t get back to Pidge, then they can help. It’d be a lot easier than just the two of us trying to do this ourselves,” He agreed.

The other hummed and started scribbling the information down. “Okay, so we’ve got the theme… For venue, we could probably use -!” Lance was cut off by the emergency alarms going off, sending the room into a flashing array of red. Both he and Keith only flinched and looked up, having grown accustom to the sound after all this time.

“Paladins, to the main deck immediately! We have a dire situation!” Allura called over the intercom. Lance groaned and got up, clicking his tablet off and returning it to the table.

“Okay, we’ve got at least the main idea figured out… We can talk about the rest later, okay?” He asked, flashing him a thumbs up as he darted towards the door backwards.

Keith nodded, fighting down the mild disappointment in his stomach. Hopefully the dire situation wouldn’t be too time-consuming. He wanted to get this all sorted out and start preparing as soon as possible.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

As it turned out, the universe – Zarkon – had other plans for them.

In the weeks to follow his first conversation with Lance, things had been steadily busy and hectic for them all. The Galra had bumped up their aggression with the planets they controlled and Team Voltron was working in overdrive to liberate the planets and save as many innocents as they could. Meanwhile, he’d been called back to the Blade by Kolivan. They received some information that had led them to a Galran spy working within the Coalition, selling out secrets of what their plans were to Galran commanders stationed on the worlds they were visiting. The work was rewarding – the idea of anything happening to Team Voltron because of the filthy weasel had left Keith ready to do more than rough the guy up – but that also left him little time to see the others.

He and Lance had exchanged some messages to finish figuring out some of the details, but they still hadn’t selected a date to put everything in motion.

He was just getting off the ship, the small drive of information clutched safely in her hand, when something wrapped around his shoulders and spun him around. He would have been concerned if he hadn’t seen the familiar tuft of cream-tinted fur at the other end. “Why can’t you ever just say hello like a normal person would, Nihaar?” He asked with a tired sigh.

The female in question laughed and she leaning into his personal space, poking him to the nose with one of pink-padded fingers. “Now where would be the fun in that?” She mused, orange eyes twinkling in mischief. Nihaar was one of the few members of the Blade that seemed to be around Keith’s age group, as well as one of the only females he’d encountered in his time. He knew that she was the part-Galra daughter of one of the senior Blade members; the other part of her lineage belong to a race called Chuewlt. From what he could tell from her explanation and her mixed appearance her mother’s people had been akin to giant, bi-pedal felines, but specifically bigger feral cats. Her lavender fur was off-set nicely by bronze colored spots on her, calling more to mind a leopard than a house cat.

He and she had been at odds initially – she had been jealous of how much time Kolivan spent giving Keith extra help in adjusting to the Blade customs – but soon enough hit it off due to both being outcasts. Despite being in Blade custody since she was a small kit, a lot of the other Blade members found her playful and outgoing behavior exhausting and troublesome. She admitted that she sometimes thought the others would be happy if she was killed in the crossfire of a mission, or taken out in the same attack that ended her mother’s life. Keith, still trying to gather his bearings and tending to deviate from the Blade rules of abandoning teammates, had resonated with that feeling immensely and started seeking her out more often. They sparred together and swapped stories about their respective cultures – Nihaar knew more about Galran customs and helped teach him that, while he shared some of the more entertaining Earthling customers he thought she’d like – and became friends.

She certainly helped to stave off the loneliness that sometimes hit him, so far away from the Castle of Lions.

“Was there something you needed?” He asked calmly as he turned and resumed walking towards the main conference room. Kolivan was most likely waiting for him to deliver the information they’d gathered, like he always did.

She hummed and fell in step beside him, lithe tail flicking back and forth with quick snapping motions. He’d learned to read her tail to know what she was playing at; those motions meant she was keeping something from him and was amused by it. “Not so much me… But more the big boss himself,” She sang.

He tried to keep the grimace from his face. “Kolivan already has another mission for me? I haven’t even been back for a full five minutes,” He asked incredulously.

Nihaar’s grinned widely at him, a knowing glint to her bright eyes. “Oh, I think you’ll be interested in this mission. It’s something a bit more… Relaxing,” She said before darting up ahead of him.

He frowned a bit at the vagueness he’d been given to work with but simply hurried his pace. Maybe he could manage to get enough time to message Lance again about trying to pick a date for his plan.

When he arrived in the main conference room, Kolivan and Nihaar were speaking in hushed tones, both turning to him once he entered; one beaming and smug, the other unreadable and passive. “Ah, Keith, how was your mission?” Kolivan asked, holding one hand out to him expectantly.

“It went as well as to be expected… I returned in one piece, which should speak volumes,” He said, keeping his tone as even as possible. Nihaar shifted and headed toward the other end of the room, starting to click at the computer. “I take it you have another assignment for me, Sir, but I was hoping to speak with you about having a brief reprieve.” He said, turning his attention back to their leader.

“I’m afraid there is no argument to be made, Keith. This assignment is of dire importance and requires your skills in specific,” He said evenly, tucking the small drive into one of the many secret pockets of his coat. He then turned around and approached the computers as well, opening one of the small compartments where spare drives and part were kept and rummaging through a bit.

Keith clenched his fists at his side before taking a steeling breath. “No. Look, I’ve been pretty agreeable about these missions over the last couple of weeks, but I need a break. I have something very important I’m trying to find time to accomplish,” He said, trying to keep his anger under wraps. The situation reminded him too much of when he was at the Garrison – how his protests that Shiro wasn’t dead, that it couldn’t be a pilot error, Shiro was too talented and careful for that to be the case – and his feelings or opinions were always ignored for more “important” matters.

At the Garrison, it was their asinine simulator scores and graduation rates. For Kolivan and the Blade, it was collecting knowledge.

“This mission is more important, Keith,” Kolivan said with finality as he pulled out whatever he had been looking for. He then turned and walked back over to him, Nihaar a few paces behind him and still as giddy as ever. “Nihaar has already programmed the coordinates into a cruiser for the two of you. I expect you’ll both present yourselves as respectable Blade members.” He said, offering the small box to Keith.

He swiped it away with a small growl and popped it open, blinking a bit in surprise. Inside was a shimmering flower with two sets of translucent petals. His first thought was that it was a primrose that had swallowed a tulip; the petals that were reminiscent of a tulip were more inwards, closer to the small  gray bulb in the center. The petals that were similar to a primrose were more along the outside, and were longer and wider than the flower on Earth. He carefully pulled it from the bag and jumped a bit when twin sets of silk-like vines weaved along his fingers and took a firm hold. The outer petals of the flower suddenly shifted, turning a deep and rich red, while the inner flower turned to a bright and sunny yellow. “What in the world is this?” He breathed out quietly, reaching out to tentatively touch the corners of one of the larger petals.

“It is called a Huywaq flower, from the planet of Gupporw; it feeds and reads the emotions of other living creatures and translates them by changing the hue of its petals in accordance,” Kolivan explained evenly. He then cleared his throat and stood a bit straighter. “The vines take a hold of a living creature near by and stay attached to a comfortable but unburdening degree. It should make for a charming… Ah, what was the world Lance used for it?” He asked, pausing to steal a glance at Nihaar.

The younger Galran snorted and rolled her eyes. “A corsage,” She said.

“Ah, yes,” He said, nodding as he looked back at the baffled young man before him, “a corsage. It is customary that the pursuer bring a corsage for the object of their affection when attending one of these Prom ceremonies, yes?”

He blinked a bit then slowly tilted his head. “Wait… Is my mission…?” He trailed, hope and a bit of panic beginning to brew up inside of him. The outer petals of the flower changed to golden yellow color while the inner petals became a more teal-like pigment.

“Nihaar went through the messages between you and Lance while you were on the mission prior this last one,” Kolivan started calmly. The female in question leaned a bit closer to waggle her kitten mittens at Keith, as if to drive the point home. “Courtship is a very serious matter for Galra and I will admit I was a bit distressed to see your assignments have been taking you away from such matters. Nihaar and I got in touch with Lance and the other residents of the Castle of Lions to see if we could help coordinate this ceremony in any way. As such, you and Nihaar shall be leaving here immediately so that you can return to them to participate. I shall allow the two of you to take some time off and will send for you when your presence is necessary.”

He tried to open his mouths a few times to say something but nothing came out. His chest panged with a mix of gratitude and being overwhelmed. He forced himself to fight it back and carefully detached the flower from himself. Once it was settled back in the box, the petals returned to their translucent, glimmering state. “Thank you, both of you,” He said, quickly lifting his head to look between the two.

Kolivan offered him a small smile and dip of the head, while Nihaar looped one of her arms through his and began dragging him towards the exit. “You can thank us by successfully courting the Green Paladin! I’ll be really sore if I spent all this time helping to get this set up only to have you choke when sealing the deal!” She announced, her tone that of a mock-lecture as she dragged him along with her.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

When they arrived at the Castle of Lions, Keith was swept away by a frantic Lance and Hunk. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago! Allura and Nyma are almost done getting Pidge ready, and Matt and the others are almost done setting everything up out in the Grand Hall! We’ll only be able to stall this ‘diplomatic gala’ for so long before she catches wind that there’s something more going on!” Lance huffed at Nihaar, using air quotes where applicable.

Nihaar’s ears twitched downward and she glared, tail snapping side to side like a whip. “I sent word along that we were gonna be fashionably late! Don’t get your teet in a twist!” She growled back, one paw settling on her hip.

“Fashionably late only applies to being tardy by any time that is shorter than fifteen minutes!” He bickered back.

Before either of them could continue their argument Hunk cleared his throat. “Uh, guys, you arguing is just gonna delay things even longer, yeah? Nihaar, thanks for all your help and being Keith’s ride. Allura mentioned having an outfit for you, too. Coran should still be in the Grand Hall; he can help you find where she and the others are at,” He said, offering a smile at the Galra female.

“Thank you, Yellow Paladin! At least someone on your team knows how to express gratitude,” She said with a huff, sticking her tongue out at Lance before flouncing off.

Keith flashed a grateful glance up at Hunk, who responded with a small thumbs up.

Getting dressed was relatively easy, all things said. He wasn’t exactly sure when they’d had time to get tuxedos from Earth or find an intergalactic shop that sold Earth-themed attire, but he was impressed by the lengths they’d all gone to for him. Having never worn a tuxedo before, Hunk and Lance helped him with making sure everything was tucked in and snug, and Hunk showed him and Lance both how to tie their ties properly. Just as they finished, Matt poked his head in, dressed to the nines and hair slicked back. He sent one quick dirty look at the dark haired man before looking at Lance with a more neutral expression. “You three better get it in gear; Pidge is starting to get antsy. If she has to wait much longer I think she’ll just bail out on this all together,” He said evenly.

Lance snorted. “Tell her it’s for the greater good of diplomacy!” He retorted.

Matt sent him a bland look. “When has my sister ever been diplomatic about anything when irritated?”

Before anyone could answer, he was gone again. Keith looked at the other two curiously. “Was I imagining things or did he glare at me?”

“He totally did. I think he’s mad you wanna date his sister and didn’t ask his permission first,” Lance agreed, heading over and opening the door for them.

“I want to date Pidge, not Matt; she can make her own decisions,” He scoffed.

“Yeah, but she’s still his little sister. I mean, speaking as a big brother myself, if a guy wanted to woo one of my sisters… I’d appreciate him at least asking me what I thought would be a good approach,” The other said with a small shrug.

“Don’t take his sulking too seriously though; I mean, he still helped get everything set up,” Hunk pointed out quickly.

The three headed most of the way together, but Keith ended up heading towards the dressing room Pidge and the others were in alone. He looked down at the box with her corsage in his hands and took a deep breath as he lightly knocked on the door. He could hear fast footfalls and Allura’s voice, chiding, “Pidge, please, be patient! We just want to make sure you look perfect for this!” The doors slid open to reveal her in a pink gown with one bedazzled strap and her hair knotted up in an intricate bun, a scowl on her lips and looking ready to unleash a slew of Altean swears. Her disposition brightened immediately. “Ah, excellent timing! Pidge, your escort for the evening is here!” She beamed, stepping aside to reveal him.

His eyes fell to Pidge and immediately he felt like his tongue had suddenly lodged itself effectively into his throat. The dress they’d picked for her was certainly something to behold; a strapless little number with a skirt that went to about her mid thigh. It was a bright jade hue – not quite as bright as the green of her armor but a shade just as eye-catching – with a silver lace floral pattern all along the top half. The lace also seemed to have beads sewn into it, adding an extra little pop as they gleamed slightly in the light. Her hair was tied back in a short braid that rested between her shoulder blades and the only trace of make-up on her was the light shimmer of a pink gloss to her lips.

He was grateful; foundation would have covered up the dotting of freckles along the bridge of her nose, reminiscent to him of a starry sky.

“Keith, you’re here, too?” She asked, surprised, but judging from the smile on her lips as she rose up from the small stool she’d been settled at still thrilled to see him. He forced himself to swallow and nodded meekly as she crossed the room to him. “Huh, I guess it makes sense… They sent you as the Blade representative, I take it?”

He shook his head and carefully tugged the box open. “Sorry, but this isn’t actually a diplomatic thing,” He said, setting the emptied box down on a nearby table. He held the flower in one hand, being careful to keep the vines from wrapping around him instinctively, and took her left hand in his own. He set the flower just above her wrist, watching her intrigue and surprise with a smile of his own, as the flower wrapped around her wrist much like it had to him earlier. Once settled, the petals shimmered and changed; the outer petals becoming the same yellow from before while the inner petals became a rich blue-violet hue. “Ever wanted to attend a space prom?”

She blinked a bit as she looked from him to the flower then beamed happily. The petals changed again – inner petals becoming a more distinctly violet hue while the outer petals became a fetching purple tint – and she nodded. “Sounds like an experience well worth my time,” She hummed, taking his offered arm and letting him lead her down the hall to where the festivities were being held.

As it turned out, things had come together better than he could have imagined.

When they had agreed that they were going with the red carpet/grand gala theme Pidge’s original prom had been aiming for, Lance took it and ran for miles. The grand hall of the castle was always held a mystical feelings to it since the first day they had walked through the doors, but there was something about all the lights being a bit dimmed that made it that much more other-worldly. There were strings of what seemed to be some kind of moss hanging in small loops all along the ceiling, but they seemed to be some kind of bio-luminescent organism with the faint white glow they created. The ceiling of the grand hall had either been opened up some how or was having a projection of the night sky above them, both of the planet’s moons full and adding even more to the shimmering, silver and gold gleam of the dance floor. There was a long table off to the side filled with snacks and beverages – provided by Hunk, almost spiked by Lance, guarded by Shiro – while the DJ booth was settled against the opposite wall, with Beezer happily manning the station and pumping out energetic, dance-worthy beats. The rebels were all dressed and tidied up just the same as Team Voltron and seemed to be having fun themselves, a few of them already out on the dance floor.

He stole a glance at Pidge and grinned at the unadulterated wonder on her face. The outer petals had become a richer, emerald green while the interior petals remained unchanged. “Hopefully you know how to do more than just square-dancing, farm boy,” She said with a teasing laugh.

He laughed back as they made their way down the stairs and towards the dance floor. “I guess you’re going to have to find out, won’t you?”

“And I intend to,” She mused, turning around to face him as they took the floor.

They danced to quite a few songs, mostly with upbeat tempos, and he managed to keep pace with her the whole time. Keith himself only knew the bare bones in regards to dancing while it seemed that Pidge knew a few more complicated ones. He didn’t step on her feet – thankfully – and he picked up the steps himself relatively quick. She grinned up at him, a natural flush on her cheeks from excitement, and she rested her hands on his shoulders. “You’re pretty good at keeping up,” She mused softly, a slower song starting up and the lights of the castle dimming a bit.

“Well, I’ve always been a bit of a quick study,” He said with a small shrug, settling both hands on her hips. It took all his self control to not let his poker face slip to reveal how much that little contact had his heart racing. “So, all in all, how would you rate this experience?”

“Oh, this has been a total blast! I didn’t realize how much I’d been wanting to have a night to just unwind and have some fun,” She giggled happily.

“Then I guess I can chalk tonight off as a roaring success. Hopefully this makes up a little for your past prom experience,” He mused lightly.

She perked up and raised an eyebrow, a sly grin turning up on her lips. “Oh? I had a hunch you had a hand in this little shindig,”

He darted his eyes to the side sheepishly, feeling heat creep up along his cheeks and neck. “Yeah, well… I wanted to make sure you had a better memory tethered to the idea of prom… And, uh, maybe something else in mind, too,” He grew quiet at the last statement, peering over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t twirling right into another pair of dancers. Not that it would be hard to avoid if they were – given their steady but slow pace – but he figured it would probably kill the mood he was trying for. “Look, I’m just gonna be blunt with you, okay?”

“Blunt is kinda your M.O., but continue,” She teased lightly.

“Thanks,” He chuckled as he pulled her a little closer, “but as I was saying, there was more to my plan than just… Well, showing you a nice time was absolutely the goal. You work so hard as both a Paladin and on your personal projects and you deserve to have an evening to just have a nice time. Aside from having a nice night, though, I had kinda wanted ask you if… Maybe, you’d be interested in… Like, going on a date? Or, rather, a couple of dates? And attaching the title of boyfriend-girlfriend to that...” He trailed off, growing more uncomfortable and uneasy as he spoke. Her eyes were trained on him alone, so sharp and bright, and it made his resolve waver.

He noticed in his peripheral vision that the petals of the flower had changed yet again; the outer petals a light pink while the interior ones were a light purple tint.

“Keith Kogane, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” She asked, her tone playful and the light curve of her lips matching. But her eyes were vibrant and warm with another emotion that had his heart skipping beats like a needle on an old record.

“In a way, yes,” He said, trying to coax the same playfulness to his own voice. The effect was lost between his voice cracking at the end as if he was going through puberty all over again.

She hummed and her gaze softened a bit. “It won’t be easy, you know. Between your responsibilities to the Blade and my responsibilities as a Paladin… We’d have to do the long distance thing a lot. And there’s always risks that come with each of our respective duties,” She pointed out, still smiling but a bit more seroius.

Her concerns were absolutely valid and he knew she had a point. “I’d be faithful, and I know you would, too. I’m willing to put in the effort for a shot at something more between us because I believe that you’re worth it. If you think it’d be worth it, then I’d be willing to give it everything I have,” He said, growing more serious himself. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered if Lance had noticed him make his move and told Beezer to keep the music slow, as it shifted to another slower ballad.

She nodded her head a bit, seeming to ponder over his words. Her gaze never faltered from his and slowly she leaned a bit closer, her arms tightening around his neck. “If you hadn’t asked right now, I totally would have cornered you and asked myself, just so you know,” She mused lightly.

“Oh really?” He chuckled lightly, feeling the tension release from him.

“I had a plan, too. I was thinking that a picnic on one of the moons of Arus would be good,” She mused lightly.

“We could always do that still. Kolivan gave me some time off for this prom so I’ll be around for a bit,” He pointed out. While a part of him said that he shouldn’t misuse the time off Kolivan allotted him, another part of him told him to take advantage of the fact his superior had little knowledge of what exactly a prom entailed.

Her grin became a bit more mischievous. “Oh really? Well then, I guess your tail is gonna be all mine until Kolivan whines about needing you back. Hope you’re ready to party with your girlfriend, Kogane,” She purred softly with a grin.

He grinned back and hummed happily, shifting one hand up to offer to her. She took it and let her head settle on his shoulder, releasing a contented sigh. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I like the sound of that,” He mused happily, basking in the moment.