Archive of Our Own

Look, contrary to what others usually think, Lance knows his place. Like, really understand, totally accept, absolutely get that he has zero, zero chance to be the love of Keith’s life. He may act obnoxiously, but he’s not an idiot, and no matter how dumb he is, he’s not going to destroy their friendship (aka his treasure) over a stupid crush. 

And yeah, maybe Keith doesn’t want to have Lance, for better, for rich, in health, to love and cherish, at least Lance can be there to hold him, for worse, for poor, or in sickness. Just because he’s a good friend. An awesome bro. The best kind of dude. No big deal. 

Thus, it’s natural to stop his Chemistry homework and look over to Keith’s window when he accidentally hears a loud “No, Allura”. The raven hair boy is pacing back and forth in his room, phone in his hand and a stupidly attractive scowl on his face. He doesn’t say anything else, so Lance hesitates a few seconds before grabbing the Friendship Dove somewhere on the floor. 

“Just a casual ‘Everything OK? ’ is fine, you scrunch cabbage,” Lance mutters, reminding himself that this is not his business. Even when he is 1000% sure the person responsible for that frustration is Keith’s presumably secret girlfriend, Allura.

Emphasis on presumably and secret. 

Secret because Keith never admits anything, although they do know each other, and are rather quite close in Lance’s opinion. He hasn’t grabbed a microphone to announce to the whole school that they’re dating yet. Same to Allura. Actually it’s kinda the opposite? One time Lance playful asked Keith how he knew Allura so well, and got the reply “Can you do me a favor? Keep it a secret” instead. Lance knows when to take a hint, and he drops the subject, hard. For both Keith and Lance’s wrenching heart.

Presumably because no matter how far Keith is willing to go to cover this up, the whole Garrison High School has another idea. Who in their right minds would deny the sexual tension between the star of the football team and the captain of the cheerleader squad? Hence, despite the lack of confirmation, everyone insists that yes, this is The One - The Powerful Couple would surely be crowned as The Homecoming King and Queen. 

The worst part is that, Lance doesn’t know. Well yes, he knows his place, but he doesn’t know if someone has lived out his dream yet. And whether that one is Allura or not. Because even when they practically live next to each other, Keith and Lance aren’t a deal package. Not anymore. They used to be so close when Lance picked Keith as his rival back in kindergarten and during the next seven years. But Keith has shined brighter, and grown up faster, leaving Lance behind in their supposed shared timeline. Now he’s a part of celebrities in Garrison, and Lance is still, you know, Lance. They don’t even talk at school, just some friendly gestures here and there. How can Lance find the answers to all those questions if they barely hold conversations? 

Lance puts the board against the window, sitting there waiting for Keith. Just like he has been for the last three years. How ironic. 

After a few moments though, Keith caught sight of him. The boy pauses in the middle of track, eyes squinting to read the words. He lowers the phone, then pulls out his board from his neat desk, scribbling something.

nothing important

What a polite manner to tell Lance to stop sticking his nose into Keith’s life. Lance’s stupid crush begs to differ. 

Do you wanna talk?

Keith smiles at those words, just a small tuck at the corner of his lips, but Lance still counts that as a win. He shakes his mullet like a fluffy puppy, and how the hell could a mullet - that kind of outdated fashion which should be banned from the 1980s - be this good-looking is still a mystery. And a crime too.

just tired

Rip :(

Keith’s grin widens. He nods at the brunet, which can be interpreted as “Goodnight”. Or no more can now, since he already shuts his curtains. When Lance is still sitting here, like the dummy he is. 

Wow, way to cheer someone up, Lancey Boy. No wonder he can never get a lover, not when he’s this lame in front of his object of interest and too busy focusing on a certain someone to, well, really try to score a date.

But hey, on the bright side, it’s great to know that their private communicators still work. Sure, they don’t interact as much as they used to, yet the whole write-on-board thing remains. It’s just, their common topics are running out, and people have some secrets to keep. But that should be enough for Lance’s drought. 

He sighs. 

Listen, he knows he promises himself, and Hunk too, to not be delusional about, everything in general. Especially love. Especially Keith. But sometimes, at moments like this, when darkness ceases and the stars quiet down, Lance looks at the moon’s reflection on the opposite window and silently hopes that, maybe, just maybe, that mullet can see the sparkle in Lance’s eyes when he looks at him.

—

It’s 11 in the morning, 12 hours and 49 minutes have passed since the smile Keith granted Lance last night, Yet his mind is still writhing around, running wild at the possibilities. He just suddenly got this urge to go under Keith’s window and sing Can’t Take My Eyes Off You on top of his lungs. Maybe not that dramatic, but just a casual talk about life, dream, anything at all, maybe some sorts of questions like does Keith still consider him as a friend or is it still cool between them. 

“It’s dumb. It’s so dumb. Just like you.” Lance mumbles to his salad. It tastes… unlucky. Like the universe got depressed and decided to throw whatever kinds of ingredients it can find into this bowl, stabbed everything 23 times, then sprinkled some salt and called it a Caesar Salad. He’s certain that the bread has mold and there isn’t any pepper. Or Dijon mustard. Or olive oil. Honestly, Lance doesn’t even know why he chose it.

“Why are you shaming a bowl of salad?” Hunk asks, putting down his tray before sitting next to Lance. 

“Nothing.” 

“Is it something related to Keith again?”

“What, no!” Lance does not squeak, nor talk in a high-pitched voice. Seriously, Hunk, warn a guy before dropping a bomb like that in the middle of cafeteria. What if someone else hears this?! 

“Buddy,” Hunk looks at him, “I swear no one would overheard this, and I hate to break it to you, but—”

Lance secretly thanks all the Gods out there when suddenly loud whispers from everywhere cut down Hunk’s sentence. Don’t get him wrong, he really appreciates Hunk, his new and hopefully ever-lasting best friend, but there are some topics he’d rather kept to himself. So, like the coward he is, Lance pointedly ignores the larger boy and turns around to see what’s happening. Then he wishes he hadn’t.

Because oh.

Oh.

Of course.

Here is Keith, captain of the football team, the sports star of Garrison High School, the role model of many freshmen, the dream man of multiple boys and girls. Keith, who has won various games, makes enough of a name to be offered a scholarship, but still manages to get straight As and become one of the top students in school.    

Here is Keith, Lance’s neighbor, the love of Lance’s life, the only fish in his sea, the only sun in his universe. The one that Lance has neither right nor chance to ever thread their fingers and exchange wedding vows by the beach in the sunset.

And most importantly, he is standing up from the football table, because apparently Allura has asked him something, and now they’re heading out of the canteen. 

Well, Lance can taste the bitterness on the tip of his tongue, no need to confuse himself anymore, huh. This salad sucks, 1/10, would not recommend. Plus 1 since whoever made it has enough bravery to serve it.

Es lo que es. Keith is no doubt popular, basically anyone in this school is crazy for him. I mean, look at him! Who doesn’t want a piece of that pretty face, toned body and delicious ass? Not to mention his cold mask and hot temper, please, the barriers he sets up for himself are literally screaming “I’m the challenge, I’m the dragon, come and save this Prince”. And teenagers, especially hormonal teenagers, eat this up like a champ. Once a freshman girl sang Close To You dedicated to him and Lance had to squeeze his stomach real hard to not laugh out loud like a moron when the part “Your hair of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue” came. But alas, he still admired her and her courage, which he would never have.

The point is, Keith always has people around. If it’s not the football team, then it’s the classmates, the fans, whatever. And now, another addition is the beautiful, smart, funny, rich, well-mannered, literally perfect Allura, captain of the cheerleader squad. She’s also a senior - a year older than him - and the Homecoming Queen for two years in a row. Rumor has it that she’s already got accepted into Altean University - top of the nation. Everything about her is practically singing Here Comes The Princess. 

Lance gets it, really. That the football captain should be paired with the cheerleader captain. Of course it is! The prince always marries the princess, right? It's destiny, it’s not like Lance can rewrite the stars, especially when he has to do it alone. He must accept the fate, that he’s only a side-kick (if he’s lucky enough) or something in this fairy tale. 

And yes, it’s kinda a sadder and poorer mimic of every teenage romcom ever, she does wear high heels and short skirts. If Lance’s bisexual heart hasn’t been robbed by one mullet in particular, he surely kneels before her and asks her out. Well, it’s not like she will say yes or whatsoever, but still, she has always been out of his league. She’s never been close to him, so her predictable rejection is not enough to burn his soul like when he suddenly realized what was once touchable, is no longer available.

Like Keith.

Sometimes Lance wishes everything could just be like the song, the movie or whatever kind of media out there, that Allura is the evil girlfriend and Keith is his true love and they will come back to each other at the end of day. But please, if it’s anywhere near that satisfying, it would not be the reality. Because in fact, Allura is definitely The Lady Of The Year. Not only is she beautiful, smart, funny, rich (did Lance mention that before? Sounds familiar), she’s also very kind, supportive and gentle. To everyone. Lance repeats, Everyone. Freshmen, juniors, seniors. Punks, goths, jocks, nerds. Kids whose labels are geeks and losers. And of course, especially Keith. She takes care of Keith, soothes his sour mood, waits for him after practice, and sometimes when Lance passes the hallway, he sees Keith blushing all the way to his nape at Allura’s remarks. 

In conclusion, Allura is nothing but an actual angel God sent to reward Keith and this high school in general. All that sugar, spice and everything nice. Jesus, how many failed attempts did you have in order to create such a divine presence? 

In another conclusion, Lance is no competitor to Allura. What can he compete with her anyway? His dumb self with her grace? His loud and annoying manner with her noble-like yet pleasant aura?? His pathetic and awkward way to make Keith smile with the probably so thought-out and lyrical and poetic words comes from this Goddess???

Yeah, pretty sure he’s one of those failed attempts.

—

If anyone bothers to ask Lance, he’d like to loudly voice his objection to all of this, because UNFAIR!!! He doesn’t even actively try to love Keith or something! It was just one day, one ordinary day, the smile came out of nowhere and blinded his eyes, emptied his chest and started a choir with his soul. Lance swears he actually heard heaven’s singing that moment, and there were so many butterflies in his stomach that he was physically sick. Then his traitorous heart decided to fuck it, climbed out of his ribs and ran all the way to Keith, leaving nothing behind but the hollowness of realization. In Italic! Do you know how terrible it must be to be written in Italic ?! 

And now, Hunk, another traitor, who dared to use his puppy eyes - Lance’s weakness - to trick him into all of this mess, hasn’t shown up yet. He told Lance to wait here, on the bleachers, at the exact time of the football team’s practice, because he wanted to show Lance something. Something important. And he’s five minutes late, which means Lance is sitting here like some kind of idiot, watching Keith running around, the uniform clinging to his shoulders and chest like a second skin, mapping out the muscles and abs Lance never ever dreams about. The wind flutters around his raven locks, gently pushes the hair aside so Lance can have the perfect view of that stupidly charming concentration-face. Oh god, if Lance has survived all of the things above, then that rabona is clearly the end of him. This is it, this is how Lance McClain dies. His Mama will be so sad and disappointed, but Veronica is sure as hell coming down with him, cause she’s definitely laughing to death. Yes, and it’s all Hunk’s fault.

“Look who’s here.” 

A familiar voice. 

“Care to share what you are looking at?”

In a bad way. 

Lance snaps out of his thoughts and looks up. 

Jesus Christ.

Out of approximately 800 students in this school, God has to send the worst of his men to torture Lance and not so gently remind him that he and Keith will never ever getting together. Maybe it’s something more personal than that, is it about that time when he’s 7 and he drew God in a red dress just to make Keith laugh? If the answer’s yes, then wow, seems like someone really knows how to hold a grudge. Because other than that, he fails to see why, Why else, is Nyma standing in front of him. 

Lance rolls his mental eyes, since no matter how terrible Nyma is, she’s still a girl, and his Mama does raise a gentleman. So he straightens up and utters an unintelligent “Uh…” because the High School Survival Handbook did not provide any solutions for this. Or for Nyma in general.

“I’m waiting for someone?” He offers.

Well, at least it can’t get worse.

“And that someone would be?” Another voice chimes in.

Lance closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath and oh boy. He really needs to reflect on every single offensive thing he has done, both to God and The Universe. And maybe never, ever, challenge fate again. 

Since Murphy has proven, so does the fact, that it can really get worse.

Because Rolo - Nyma’s boyfriend - is jogging here, no, was jogging here when Lance was busy trying to not freak out, and now he’s standing next to her, an arm around her waist. Both of them stare at Lance.

The brunet calculates the correct answer. 

Lance does not want to drag Hunk into this, because no matter how traitorous he is, he is still the kind, sweet friend who listens to all of Lance’s rambling, the one who bakes and cooks for him to cheer him up, the one who steps in to comfort Lance when everything goes south and disasters comes to town. He deserves better than this catastrophe.

“No more excuses?” Nyma asks. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.”

“Uhh….?” 

“Your… someone.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t have that many friends around, huh? Not when you are… you.” A grimace follows.

Ouch, that stings. But he has heard nastier words from that pretty mouth, so. Nyma and Rolo have been around each other since elementary, and they made it official right after Lance asked Nyma out in grade 8. Which is, honestly, rude. Since then, Lance has secured his position as the main target of their bullies. Not that he minded, because Keith stood up for him every time and that was enough. 

They quieted down, but when Keith and Lance gradually drifted apart, the bully started again. At first it was just some mean looks here and there, then some awful phrases, and stupid pranks. No big deal, Lance can totally handle it. Even if the cost is his ego. Which is probably not important anyway, people still see him as the obnoxious, arrogant and self-centered kid. 

But it doesn’t mean he likes the encounters. Normally those two would be too occupied to pay him a glance, since they are in sports teams after all, Rolo in football and Nyma as a cheerleader. And no, Lance does not sours that such horrible beings could be so close to fame and glory and Keith. He just doesn’t. Also they do have a life outside of Lance, goes to parties or tortures some poor unfortunate souls whom they label as “losers”.

“Actually, that would be me.” 

They all turn around. There’s a fourth one behind Lance, a girl with glasses and spikey hair - definitely freshman, because Lance doesn’t know her. She blinks rapidly at them.

“The one he’s waiting for is me.” The girl says slowly, like she’s explaining quantum physics to a bunch of airheads. “Is there any problem?”

Rolo knits his brows, but Nyma looks somewhat uncomfortable. Which is strange. Nyma does not get uncomfortable around younger kids. If anything, she mostly fakes to care and when she collects enough awe and hope and trust, she will crush them like a wrecking ball. Been there, done that. 90% sure that Miley Cyrus wrote that song especially for her. 

“Let’s go, the break is over.” The cheerleader tucks at Rolo, tilting her head to the pitch. The footballer looks at Lance and the mysterious girl once more, then follows his girlfriend’s lead. 

Lance immediately whirls his head to zoom in his heroine.

“Uh…thank you?”

“No prob.” She doesn’t look at him, instead focuses on someone else and nods. 

Lance follows her eyes, and gets to… Hunk? Who is standing right in front of him and blocking everything else?

“Woah, warn a guy, would you? Since when can you stealth like a ninja?” 

“Since now.” Hunk swiftly decides. “So uh, since we're all here, Lance, I’d like you to meet Pidge, my mentee from the ARH program. Pidge, this is Lance, my best friend.”

“Yeah,” Pidge swings her bags from the back row into the seat next to Lance's, “I’ve had the honor already.”

“What?” Sorry Pidge, but what did Hunk just say?

“Uhm,” Hunk looks confused, “I’d like you to—”

“You got accepted into the Altean Robotics Program for Highschoolers and you DIDN’T TELL ME?”

Pidge seems disgusted at the volume, but that’s the last thing Lance cares about right now. Because hello, apparently someone just forgot to mention one of the most impressive steps to get into Altean University to their so-called best friend here. When Lance tells him about his crush!? Gosh, maybe Lance did compare Hunk to his disloyal heart, but it was just playful. But now? Not funny anymore.

—

It takes a pair of puppy eyes (again) and a promise of Hunk’s home-baked brownie to placate Lance’s broken trust. 

“I didn’t hide it on purpose or anything, I just still couldn’t believe it and I didn’t want to hype you up for nothing.” Hunk pouts. “I swear. You know how nervous I was when I registered for it.”

“I know.” Lance sighs. “Sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to be mad at you.” He rubs Hunk’s arm soothingly. “But it still hurts and a promise is a promise, no take back.”

“Sometimes I suspect that you only befriend me for my baking skills.”

“Excuse me.” Lance gasps. “How dare you doubt me and my pure heart like that?”

Hunk huffs a laugh and opens the door.

“Before you get mad at me again or anything, I just want you to know that Pidge is the one who wants to meet at the bleachers.” He climbs into the driver seat and turns to the smaller boy. “I would never ever do such thing to you.”

Lance stays silent at the words. He knows this is a subtle clue about Keith. The darkest, deepest secret of his. But he’s not ready yet.

Hunk waits for a while before speaking again.

“So, who are those two? You know, the ones that made you super uncomfortable earlier?”

“That’s Rolo and Nyma. We go to the same schools, from kindergarten till now.” Lance frowns. “Wait, was it that obvious?”

“Dude, anyone can see it even from the pitch.” Great, just great. Can Lance have a little dignity left please? “What’s their deal anyways?”

So Lance tells Hunk, all the way home. 

—

Later that evening, when he’s lying on the bed doing homework instead of sitting by the desk like a capable adult, Keith puts up his board. 

everything ok?

Wdym?

nothing, just wanna talk

Is this the fantasy? Is Lance beginning to hallucinate after reading 180 pages of The Great Gatsby in one day? He always knows that every cheap copy of a book in a thrift store must come with a price. It’s like trading your soul or something. Or in this case, your sanity. He should have bought a proper book.

Keith scribbles something again.

what are you doing?

The Great Gatsby.

Kinda boring for an athlete, but Lance has ever entered the Cool Zone either. 

Keith seems bewildered. After a few moments of silence, he puts the board aside and opens the window, then suddenly he climbs onto the sill. Lance sits up, eyes wide, because they are on the second floor and that’s dangerous. So he makes the way to his own window.

“What the hell are you doing!?”

“Talking to you.” Keith cocks his eyebrow. Someone hand Lance a racket so he can beat this bastard of a heart back into life. Can’t believe it passes out just because Keith cocks a fucking eyebrow. Enticingly, but still.

“Thanks, genius.” Lance rolls his eyes. “But do you really have to sit like a reckless dummy like that?”

“Well, a white board won’t be enough for a literature discussion.” 

Keith leans against the window’s frame. 

“So tell me, what do you think of The Great Gatsby?”

“That Nick is a little bit gay for Gatsby?” Lance blurts out. Then instantly shuts his mouth at the look of Keith’s face. The raven hair looks taken aback.

Oh my god, he fucks up. Red alarm here. Normally he fucks up too, but it’s just Disappointed but Not Surprised. Now? He’d better jump out of the window, into the black hole then disappear for another twelve years. Or it’s finally time to move to another country and never come back. Didn’t Veronica want to travel around the world? That surely will take a long time, he can beg her to let him tag along, he’s even willing to be her Cinderella for the whole trip—

Keith laughs. 

What?

Either he is crazy or this world is insane.

Because

Keith

Kogane

Just

Laughed

At 

His

Gay 

Comment.

What?

“This is the first time I’ve heard that.” His eyes crinkle, and for a second it feels like he’s zooming in Lance, like the world has vanished but the two of them. Like he’s taking Lance into his memory.

Maybe it’s really really bed time. But Lance’s life is nothing but bad decisions, and if this is the Universe’s apology for today, then who is Lance to refuse?

The brunet breaks into a huge smile, too. Yeah, he’s delusional, he’s pathetic, whatever, at least this picture will forever burn in his mind, and Keith is laughing like he did back when they were still best friends, so who’s the winner here?

—

After that day, Keith and Lance start talking more. Not at school, obviously, because they’re still worlds apart. But when the last sunlight dies down, the street lamps light up and there’s no one around to judge Lance, they open the windows. Keith’s voice is magic to his ears, every word he says is somehow a hundred times sexier and more appealing than they usually are. At first, it’s just about books. Lance likes romantic pieces like Neruda’s poetry or something dramatic like Shakespeare. Keith favors the action genre, science fiction or such, all Dan Brown and Rick Riordan. They fight over which book of Sherman Alexie is better, Lance insists it’s The Absolutely True Diary of A Half-Time Indian, Keith argues it should be Flight, but hey, at least they agree that there’s definitely something between Dr. Victor and The Creature. Also no matter what Keith says about Dr. Jekyll, Victor Frankenstein is still a classic.

And then the conversations broaden, like how Keith’s practices go, how Lance struggles with Iverson’s demands, and he swears on his life that man has something against him. How they used to want to be pilots, but now Lance wants to write the most epic stories, maybe teach literature too; and Keith’s eager to be a policeman, or detective, or investigator. Anything involves solving crime. 

“What do authors and murderers have in common?” Keith asks

“They both kill.” Lance clicks his tongue. “Seriously Keith, this is not even a pun.”

The other just glares at him.

“My turn.” He clears his throat. “What’s the similarity between a teacher, a policer and a cannibal?” 

“What?”

“If you break rules, they’ll bite your head off.”

The raven hair looks like he’s in physical pain, but he can’t hide his wobbly lips anyway. Finally, he grins. “Your joke sucks.”

“Fine, what does a starving cannibal want the most?”

“... A helping hand?”

“I’d say Five Guys.”

Keith groans, then follows it with a laughter, so Lance’s satisfied with himself and his stupid jokes. 

After a comfortable silence, breathing in each other, they both look up at the sky. It’s cloudy tonight, no stars in sight, but the moon is shining bright. As if she can sense the happiness blossoming in Lance’s chest. 

“Hey.” Keith lets out a huff.

“Hey.”

“So, prom is coming.”

Ah yes, the Homecoming prom. The most awaiting prom. The prom where they crown Kings and Queens. The celebrities’ prom. The prom that Keith is going with someone else. Probably Allura.

“Yeah?” Lance swallows.

“Anyone in mind?” Keith turns to look at him. Lance resists the urge to return the gesture and get lost in those charming violet eyes, because he doesn’t want to wreck his own heart and this precious moment too.

“I haven’t thought about it yet. Dunno if I'm coming or not.” He shrugs instead.

“Why?” Keith furrows his brows. 

“Just don’t feel like it.” Lance smiles. “What about you, huh, the famous football captain? I bet your locker’s full of invitations and love letters already.”

Every word he says is like a punch into his gut. But Lance started this, Lance’s gotta finish it. Maybe if he knocks himself out the right amount of times, he’ll finally get a grip. Namely, move on from this dumb rush of hormones and chemicals dancing around his body, which are generally known as love. 

Keith makes a face like Lance just shoves a handful of bugs down his throat. It shouldn’t be endearing, yet Lance’s inside is fluttering insanely. He wants to cup Keith’s face and coos and smooches his cheeks, which is a sign that Lance is clearly not beating himself hard enough. 

“What, are there courting gifts too? You gotta show me, dude!”

Hey, at least his acting skill has improved a lot. Perhaps he can try drama club then? Ten years later, when Lance McClain wins the Oscar, he’d deliver his special edition of Thank You to Keith Kogane, for bringing out the talent he never knew he possessed. 

Keith scowls at his words, then sighs. 

“So what? They are not...” He trails.

Lance’s gut is hurling. Suddenly all of his senses are ten thousand times sharper, he can practically hear his heart howling, his mind racing, he can see the tiny lashes under Keith’s eyes, how his teeth are gnawing at his lips. 

Keith’s nervous.

About what ?

No, wait, the correct question must be, about who ?

The silence of waiting is almost deafening.

Lance holds his breath.

“It’s late.” The raven hair checks his watch. “We still have classes tomorrow.”

“But it’s only…9?” 

Keith looks like he wants to bang his head against the wall. Lance’s concerned, really.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

And then suddenly Lance is sitting alone on his window sill, staring dumbly at the closed curtain across the fence, feeling about twenty-three emotions at once.

Wow, not only am I an idiot, he thinks to himself, now I’m also an emocean too.

If it’s not for the inappropriate situation, Lance really wants to crackle at his own joke. 

—

He tells Hunk. Of course he tells him, he always tells Hunk whenever he and Keith have the talks. Because he does not, under any circumstances, trust himself to behave around his ex best friend. He needs his Q, and who’s better at that job than Hunk?

So Lance tells Hunk everything, except the part when Keith almost slipped the name of The One. And his own disappointment. 

“What, he asked you about the prom? Wait, I don’t understand.” 

“Exactly.” Lance crosses his arms. “That’s literally my reaction. Why on Earth would he ask me about something like that? It’s not like I’m the one who gets into those cool parties or whatever.”

Quite the opposite. Lance hasn’t gone to parties, including birthday parties, since grade 9. First he was busy having a crisis at the religaytion, then he was pranked by Nyma and Rolo and their pawns enough to no longer trust any invitations, unless it’s from someone he knows personally. So yeah, Party-Free Zone, that’s Lance’s place.

“Hm, do you want to hear my opinion on this?” Hunk asks tentatively.

“Sure.” In fact, he doesn’t. Because his sixth sense is screaming like a pig when it sees the butcher. “Just shoot it out.”

“Maybe,” Hunk bites his bottom lip, “you can, you know, ask him? Since he’s already—”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. Hunk, we talked about this—”

“That’s why I’m suggesting that!”

“But we all know what the price is.” Lance hisses. “You know the reason I never step my foot into the bleachers, unless I’m forced to do so!”

Hunk stops, because he does.

Before The Great Gatsby, when Keith and Lance are practically strangers who once shared the same laugh, Lance still appreciates the scattered pieces of them. Like Friendship Dove. Like their private way to communicate, outside of school, outside of judgment, outside of everything. Like the small smile Keith gives him. Like the friendly gestures here and there and probably mean nothing but politeness to Keith. He just doesn’t want to damage this friendship anymore, okay? 

There are three things that couldn't be hidden: cough, poverty and love. The more you want to hide, the more obvious they are. But how can Lance not shove it back down his throat, shallow it all and pretend nothing ever happens? It’s bad enough that he can never ever speak his heart and quote Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 to his favorite footballer. If he loses all the remains of their fragile relationship, then it’s over. His heart would break into a million shatters, so intense and tremendous that it’s comparable to the Big Bang, and maybe instead of a stupid pump full of unnecessary feelings, Lance can have a tiny universe in his ribcage. 

An universe where he can happily settle down with someone who loves him back. 

“It’s stupid.” Lance groans, palming his eyes. “I’m so stupid.”

“About what?” 

Both Lance and Hulk startles, because this is absolutely a Private Conversation. Which means if there’s a third party, they’d have to erase them completely and sing Bohemian Rhapsody after that. Hunk does not approve this plan. He’ll probably cry if he sees others bleeding out.

But the intruder here is Pidge.

“Well, I know Lance and his history of questionable choices, so the statement’s understandable.” Pidge pushes her glasses up, ignoring the offended ‘Hey’ from the brunet. “But it doesn’t mean I’m less curious about Lance fucking up.”

Hulk looks at Lance. Since he introduced them to each other, they have gotten along pretty well. But she’s still somewhat an outsider. Even when she’s known several embarrassing stories of Lance that he was classified as a “safe object” in her list - which means she has gathered enough intel to get him under her thumb. 

He doesn’t really mind other blackmail materials, but his lamest, most unfathomable secret? About the famous sports star of Garrison? Let’s say it’s not the time yet.

“Guys…?” Pidge raises an eyebrow.

“What do you think about Homecoming prom?” Lance continues nonchalantly.

“Oh, that,” she rolls her eyes, “hormonal and senseless and kinda a waste of time?”

“We can get free food. That’s the most important part.”

“Well yeah, or maybe I can just beg Hunk to make something. Okay, chit chat later.” She pulls out a stack of notes from her bag. “It’s time, mentor.”

Lance huffs. He should do his homework too, but he doesn’t really feel like it, so maybe later. Even if he’s sure this future self will curse him a thousand times. 

“Okay, I’m heading to the cafeteria now. Do you guys want anything?”

“You are paying?” Pidge asks hopefully. “I want a bagel with black coffee.”

“Aren’t you too young for black coffee? And no, you’ll have to pay me back later.”

“Then I want nothing.” She pouts. Cutely. Hulk just silently looks at him with wide eyes. 

These leeches. No way in hell Lance’s gonna admit he’s weak for them. 

—

Lance should have known better. That is like, the understatement of the year. Of course when he’s trying to carry two bagels, two cups of coffee, a mocha latte with extra cream, a pack of cookies and his essay from the locker, for some magic final touch, he bumps into Nyma. 

Really, The Universe? 

Nyma? Are you fucking kidding him?

And to make everything more complicated, he’s dropped his papers. Right in front of her. Instead of picking up for him, like a normal, well-raised person does, or at least just standing still and letting him do it himself, she steps on them, with both of her shoes. Then slowly crumples them with her feet. Great. Just great. Lance’s speechless, because

1. He has been writing it for 4 days. FOUR DAYS. He’s poured his blood, sweat and tears into it. And now she’s destroying everything.
2. It is due today. In the sixth period. How can he write twelve A4 pages in less than two hours?!

So before he can register what’s happening, he pushes Nyma. Hard. And drops all those food and beverages too. Coffee splatters everywhere. Cookies roll and roll in all different directions. The bagels are in the middle of the mess. Oh boy, the school janitor is not gonna like this.

Judging from the disbelieving look in her eyes, he knows it’s not gonna be pretty. But this time he doesn’t give a flying fuck. Lance crouches down, quickly, and as most tenderly as possible, gathers the remaining of his papers. His assignment. The one he puts so much effort into.

“What the fuck!?” Nyma sneers. “You absolute—”

“If I were you, I’d stop standing there making a scene.”

The brunet looks up. A striking figure is stepping down the hall. There are only a few students here at this time, and they all part to make the way for the newcomer. Her long silver hair is bouncing lightly with each step. The breeze gently curls her shorter locks to frame her flawless face, with eyes so blue that the sky weeps in envy. She’s wearing a collared white blouse with a light-colored floral skirt. Just a simple outfit, yet she still strikes an impression, as elegant and mythical as a nymph. 

Allura.

What is she doing here?

He’s not the only one caught in surprise.

Nyma purses her lips. “Allura.”

“Nyma.” Allura nods. “You’re going to be late for extra practice. Which is starting in 3 minutes.”

“What practice? What about you?”

“It’s called extra practice.” Allura looks straight into Nyma’s eyes. “For those who can’t catch up with the routine yet.”

Nyma doesn’t utter a single word more. She barely spares Lance a glance before stomping off to the direction of the pitch. Lance stares at her retreating back.

Wow. 

Just wow.

Kudo for Allura. That song Close To You should be dedicated to her like, right now.

“Here you are.” Allura carefully picks up the last paper on the ground and hands it to him. “Are you alright?”

“Thank you. Uh, peachy?” He’s kinda freaking out.

Lance has never ever been this self-conscious.

Did he just embarrass himself in front of the coolest person in Garrison High School?

Yes.

Is she also the girlfriend of his crush?

Well, technically it’s presumably secret girlfriend. But yes.

Did she just save his ass from the bully?

Erm, Lance’d like to state he can hold his ground pretty well, thank you very much. But yes again. 

Oh my gosh, Allura is too much. Too pure, too gold-hearted, how can Lance hold any kind of grudge against her? 

Why does the media always portray your crush’s object of interest as the Evil Mean Girls? Why aren’t there any step-to-step tutorials on how to react to this situation? 

“You’re Lance right? I’m sorry for the incident.”

“Huh.” Lance blinks. “You know me?” 

Either his ears are tricking him or his reputation precedes him. Just like in movies? The lover always sense it when there’s someone harboring affection for their partner? 

In that case, Lance’s screwed. There’s no going back. Once he gets home, he should instantly pack things up and jump onto some boat, go to the Bermuda Triangle and slowly accept the embrace of the deep sea. 

At least he can be a surprise snack for the creatures living there.

“Pidge mentions you a lot.” Allura offers a smile. “Thank you for helping her blend in. But you’d better begin to clean this. Otherwise, Mr. Watterson is not gonna be happy.”

—

Another proof that Lance could never ever live up to Allura is that, she actually talks Ms. Evans, who teaches his sixth period, into giving him an extension for the essay. AFTER she helps him clear up the mess. 

Lance is forever in debt to her, and yet he’s dreaming of her lover. Whom she referred to as ‘a friend’ with a wink, so yeah. 

And that’s when the realization hits him, like a fucking train. 

“Oh my god, Hunk, that’s it.” He slams the table. “Hunk, I AM the villain in this story.” 

“Uh buddy, no offense, but aren’t you a little overreacting?” 

“Overreacting? Overreacting?!” Lance paces back and forth. “Hunk, I have been nothing but an ass to her, fantasizing about her boyfriend, planning our wedding when she’s right there, and she still lends me a hand when I need it the most. How could it possibly go any wronger than this?”

“I don’t think wanting to restore the friendship with Keith is fantasizing. It’s not like you ever act on it or anything. You don’t even set your foot into the pitch! Besides, Pidge could have known.”

Yes, that would indeed be much more awful. Because apparently, Pidge is Matt’s younger sister, and Matt is Shiro’s best friend. Keith’s older brother’s best friend. Pidge knows Keith. Pidge even knows Shiro. Shiro, who will probably kick Lance’s ass if he asks Keith out. And the person who gifted Lance all this knowledge is Allura.

“Yes, Jesus, don’t remind me.” Lance moans. “Can’t believe I almost spilled everything to her. Seriously, what did I even think?”

Hunk just sympathetically pats his shoulders. 

How could he be this ignorant? There’s a reason why Pidge always hangs out at the bleachers, and that’s Keith. That’s probably how Allura knows Pidge too. They have to be pretty close, enough that Allura thanked him for looking after the small genius. Keith doesn’t even mention Pidge!

Suddenly, everything seems to click.

Allura’s ‘friend’. How Keith flushes at Allura’s attempts. How Allura knows almost everyone and everything in Keith’s life, including the details that Lance hasn’t caught on yet, even when he’s the neighbor here. How they never admit anything out loud. The promise “Keep it a secret”. All that awkwardness in Keith’s voice the night before. 

Keith is trying to ask Allura to the Homecoming prom.

That’s it, Lance thinks to himself, time to man the fuck up. No more stupid crush, no more troublesome feelings. He’s done with this game. Destiny may have a plan for him, but the result is in his hand, and he’s gonna be damned if it only has an open ending.  . 

Because both Keith and Allura deserve happiness.

“I’ve decided.” He announced. “From now on, I will be the best wingman ever alive.”

He cups Hunk’s face.

“Keith and Allura, I ship it.”

Hunk frowns. “Lance, are you sure, because I don’t think—”

Lance shhhhh loudly. The ship has sailed, and he’s determined. Even if the ocean it sails on is made of Lance’s tears.

—

Lance patiently waits for the next time Keith brings up the prom. What else can he do? Kick down Keith’s door, grab his shoulder and shake him like a mantra? Drop off the guideline to woo a goddess in front of his porch? Fake Keith’s handwriting and write Allura Victorian love letters? Cry his heart out while listening to All I Want? 

Wait, he’s not even validated for that song, since there’s nothing between Keith and him. Oh, the irony. This must be his penalty for falling for someone who’s not meant to be. 

Just, focus on the object here. Right, Keith and Allura, Allura and Keith. If he does this correctly, he may even be the best man in their wedding. But he highly doubts that, because hello, Shiro’s not dead yet.

Four days later, his opportunity shows up, after a heated debate between Gravity Falls and Phineas & Ferb.

“Actually, the other day,” Keith grimaces, like he’s regretting everything he’s about to say, “I want to ask you something.”

“Sure, go ahead.” It’s coming, it’s finally coming. This time, Lance’s sure to lace the knife with poison before stabbing it in his own heart in order to guarantee the infinite end. 

Keith takes a deep breath, like he’s gathering courage. Which is totally unnecessary in Lance’s opinion. He’s one of the bravest people the brunet knows, and the most charismatic, too. There’s no way anyone can say no to him.

“Howdoyouasksomeonetoprom” 

“Pardon? Can you repeat that?” Wow, he must really like Allura to be this anxious. Lance aggressively jams the poisonous weapon into the writhing traitor. Take that, bitch, he mutters to his own heart. This is for all the suffering I have to endure because of you.

“How do you ask someone to prom?” Keith looks everywhere but him, and Lance can see the lovely blush creeping up to his cheeks. 

Cute. The taller boy thinks. Sadly, out of league lmao.  

For never was a story of more woe, O bard Alexa, play me Creep by Radiohead. 

“So, what is that one like?” Lance smiles, sharpening his knife again. He needs a stronger drug.

“You don’t ask who that is?”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” They’re not me anyway.

“Alright.” Keith puts his chin on his hand, and looks up to the sky. There’s no moon tonight. Everything is pitch black, just like the plague which is clogging up Lance’s lungs. And the blood drained from his heart too.

Perfect for a murder.

“They’re bright, vibrant, dazzling, you know.” One must be blind to not see how eye-catching Allura is. 

“Gentle with a kind heart too.” Yes, because you deserve that, I mean it. 

“Romantic. They’re always dreamy.” A match for Keith then. Despite his whole cool-and-collected facade, Lance knows deep down he’s a sap, just like himself. 

“Sounds great.” Lance claps his hands. “So I assume that you’d like to do it the traditional way?”

“Uh,” Keith blinks, “not sure if I’m getting the right memo, but yes?”

“Okayyyy.” Lie. Nothing’s fine, his world is on fire. He wants to die. “Lemme get you the how to woo one’s heart tutorial, and we’ll be done.” Same to Lance’s crush, hopefully, especially after he drills a 4-inch wide blade into it. Gosh, why is this thing so stubborn? 

“Okay.” Keith smiles, a genuine one. Lance can pretend it’s reserved for him, but let’s be honest, who is he trying to humor? But he’s still a sucker for that mullet, so he can’t help but feel the spurt of happiness rushing in his blood.

And if behind closed windows, Lance spends hours sobbing into his pillow, then it’s his own business. 

—

Stage 1 On How To Woo One’s Heart: Attraction.

One may find attraction from the person who can relax and be at ease when they’re together.

“Well,” Lance waves the paper in front of Keith, “on a scale from 1 to 10, how would you describe your… relationship?”

“6? I don’t know, we’re friends, or at least I hope so.” Rude, ‘cause here is Lance, on his knee, begging for a 5.

“Uh huh.” Lance hums. “Since this is stage 1, we can set the bar a bit low. 8 then?”

“From 6 to 8?” Keith gags. “How is that supposed to set the bar a bit low ?”

“Look, do you want true love or not?”

“...Fine.”

A pause in silence.

“Then what should I do to raise their favor?”

“That depends on the other person, and yourself too. What do you have in mind?”

“...Handmade gifts?”

Lance closes his eyes briefly to calm the fuck down. He did promise to only love and worship Allura, but moments like this make him desperately want to be born in the Cretaceous Period instead, so some awesome space rocks can hit the Earth the same way as these bullets in disguise of words do to him, and he will immediately perish. 

Focus, focus, Lance, you can do it. At least Keith’s having fun. At least Lance is having fun with Keith. He should be glad he still can have this memory.

“Perfect. Exactly what I'd recommend. What can be more thoughtful and affectionate?”  

“Do you like it?” Keith is looking at him, eyes bright and shining, just like a puppy waiting for praise. It melts Lance’s ugly heart, like it always does, even back when he only adored him as a friend. 

And a present someone has put so much effort into, for him? 

“Of course!” Lance says with all of his sincerity. “I loveeee handmade gifts. In fact, if anyone ever gives me one, I would very much consider them to be a potential life-time partner, you know.”

Keith beams at him, with a lot of hope and joy. And whoever’s lucky enough to be granted those (namely Allura) had better be grateful and treat the mullet with as much respect and appreciation as Lance, if not more. 

Strategy 1 On How To Heal A Broken Dream: Emotion Balance.

—

“Soooo…,” Hunk drawls, “how are things with You-Know-Who?”

“What is this, Harry Potter?” Lance flops down like a dead fish. “Peachy, I hope. I’m helping him do the courting.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

The brunet bites his tongue, because he knows.

“I’m fine. I’m adjusting. I just need time.”

It’s true. He just needs time. How long? No one knows, even himself. It’s just, he can’t even trace back to the first sprout in the garden Keith has planted in his chest. The garden that is rooting on his flesh and bone. 

How can a dying man know the date of his decay? 

—

Lance first notices it when he yanks the locker door open to throw whatever books there into his bags because finals are coming. Finals. Are. Coming .  

It’s an innocent box wrapped in blue paper, with a small bow on top, sitting right in front of his eyes. He swears it wasn’t there this morning.

“Huh, this is…?”

There’s a small note sticking to it. Before Lance can read it, Hunk calls from afar.

“What are you doing? Let’s go! We’ll be late for Doctor Who.”

“Yep yep cominggg!”

He places the box next to the books, then hastily closes his locker. Later, then.

—

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate

Rightttttttttt.

It’s likely (ahem, clearly) a joke. That’s what middle school, Rolo and Nyma and stupid bullies taught him. Out of every jab they ever did to him, that was the worst. Some ego has shattered, some heart has broken, some tears have spilled, but hey, at least Lance has learnt his lessons. He’s built up an immunity now. 

Anyone can know his favorite color is blue, chocolate is a common choice, and the note is one of the most universal strings of words to confess undying love, not to mention that it is typed, not hand-written. Exactly the canonical example of prank. 

Lance knows the idea that anyone invests in him emotionally is ridiculous, yet he’s still curious enough to read the paper, and snorts - because rude, how dare they taint Shakespeare’s love poem like that.

Well, Lance would give a plus point for effort, because whoever the pranker is, they actually made the chocolate, not just bought it somewhere. How did the brunet notice that? Because he ate it. If anything, he’ll have a reason to skip Physics class tomorrow, no way in hell he’s passing up this opportunity. But nothing happened. And although the shape of his gift is typically heart-shaped, its edges are uneven and the taste of it is… mysterious. Maybe they burnt it a little bit. Passable, but still.

Wait, how did they get this into his locker?

Perhaps he should buy another lock then.

—

The second one arrives at Lance’s table. He goes to the vending machine for a coffee, because he’s not sober enough for Physics, but he desperately needs to finish this chapter if he wants to make it on the final’s day. Or he can beg Hunk to tutor him later. But recently, he and Pidge are speeding up for their projects, and they both get plenty on their plates, so he doesn’t really want to bother.

“You can do this.” Lance mutters to himself on the way back to his table. “It’s just Physics. Think of how angry Iverson will be when you nail it. Yep, that’s the spirit.”

That’s when he sees the gift. The wrapping paper is still blue, there’s still a note attached to it, but instead of a bow, there’s a warning sticker that says ‘Fragile. Please Handle With Care.’

So are my feelings, bitch. Lance rolls his eyes. Seriously, aren’t they a bit too old for this stuff?

He resists the urge to violently shake the box, because library, duh. Mrs. Potts will not hesitate to kick him out for making noises.

Thus, he just casually sits down, sips a gulp of coffee to ease his mind, and unboxes it. 

Huh, a bouquet of… dried flowers? 

Curiosity may kill the cat, but satisfaction will surely bring it back. So here Lance is, reading more than 1000 pages of floral symbolism with coloured pictures instead of his Physics chapter, just to find out what this fucker is trying to tell him. Bless the library for having this book.

Alyssum, immortal love. 

Uhhh what?

Purple heather, solitude, beauty, admiration. 

…I beg your pardon?

Sunflower, pure and lofty thoughts, adoration, longevity, loyalty. 

Okay, this doesn’t make any sense at all. What does this even mean?

Lance briefly shuts his eyes, and decides that fuck it, he will deal with these later. Now, back to the Coriolis force, if he drops a body from a height at latitude λ in the northern hemisphere, with ω is the earth’s angular velocity—

—

Lance doesn’t realize that he took the box home with him.

So here he is, sitting dumbly at the dinner table, looking at the flowers inside.

He also forgets that Veronica is at home too.

Hence, when she howls from excitement and jumps at him, or rather at the box in front of him, he nearly falls out of chair.

“What is that?!”

“Shhhh, baby brother, that’s my line!” She points at the flowers. “What is that?!”

“Ugh, nothing.” Lance scrunches his nose. “Just some idiot playing some kind of pranks hoping that I’d fall for it.”

“Honey, love, my dearest, dumbest brother, I doubt that’s the answer.” 

She leans into him, their faces are only five centimeters apart, eyes to eyes, nose to nose. 

“Tell me, darling, who’s your secret admirer?”

“Wha—”

“Don’t what me. I’m not telling mom, you don’t have to lie to my face.”

“I haven’t spoken a word! And I’m not lying!”

“Rightttttt. Do you want an alphabetical order or a romantic one?”

Before he even has the chance to talk, she picks up the flowers.

“My choice, then. Alyssum, worth beyond beauty. Lavender heather, admiration. Sunflower, loyalty. Blue violet, I’ll always be there. Primrose, eternal love. And my favorite," she sighs wishfully, "toadflax, please notice my love for you. Odd combination, by the way, I don’t think he’s good with flowers. But it’s certainly more unique than just red roses.”

Lance’s jaw drops. What on Earth is she talking about?

He only registers that he blurts it out loud when Veronica rolls her eyes, twice. 

“Idiot, this is not a prank. Someone is confessing their immortal love to you. They’re practically screaming I can’t live without you here.” 

The more she talks, the redder his cheeks. 

Oh gosh. What kind of joke is this?

“Oh, a note!” His sister eagerly eyes a piece of paper lying under the sunflower. “Are you reading or not? Don’t worry, big sis can do it for you!”

“No!” He stammers. “I–I’ll do it.”

“Fine, killjoy. Then hurry up already.”

Feeling unsure, he carefully picks up the paper. It’s still typed, but this time, it’s a different rhyme.

His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,

And they shall live, and he in them still green.

“What does this even mean?” Veronica squints her eyes.

“Shakespeare’s Sonnet 63. About the ravages of time, but no matter what, he’s gonna guard the youth against it.”

“Nerd.” She snorts. “But suit ya!”

He doesn’t retort back. 

It’s… It’s odd. Either this… person is into Shakespeare as much as him or they really did research. 

If only… if only that one is the one he’s wishing for. That’s stupid, because Keith is already on the way to another one’s heart. And yet Lance’s here, hoping for things he never gets and degrades a person’s effort.

Jesus, how could he be this, this heartless and cold-blooded? How could he think like a moron?

Someone has put so much love and affection and effort into the flowers and instead of admiring them, he still thinks of his foolish, absolutely godforsaken unrequited infatuation.

He badly needs to ground himself.

The… unfortunate longing should be buried. Focus on how his suitor prepared the present, all dried flowers and a lovely note and…

His throat feels dry. The ravages of time, eternal love, guarding the youth… Huh?

So the chocolate before, was a flirting attempt too?

—

“You’re happy.” Keith observes. “Something good happened?”

“Yeah.” Lance knows he’s smiling, but it’s not like he can stop it, okay? He doesn’t want to talk about this right now. 

To Hunk, maybe. To Keith? Nuh-uh.

Thus, he settles for “Nothing.”

“Alright…” Keith looks suspicious, but then clears his throat. “We have three weeks until finals…”

Lance groans, accidentally, but the other still gives him The Displeased Look. So Lance decides to attack: “Mission report. How’s your progress?”

“Right. My… progress. I, uh, gave them presents?”

“If you haven’t till now, I’m sorry to declare that our operation has failed.” Lance pouts, ready to pierce any tiny bit of love spurting up from his supposedly deserted land. You know, the unwanted garden he has spent so much time cleaning. “How’s their reaction?”

Allura is so so considerate, Lance doubts Keith’s in pain. If anyone’s in pain, then it’s him.

“Confusing? But I saw them smiling so maybe it’s not that bad.” Keith’s brows furrow.

“Elaborate on that?” Pay attention Lancey Boy. You have an admirer now, stop longing for the unobtainable! How dare you betray your admirer like this?!

“They don't like the first gift, but the second is welcomed.” Keith shrugs. “Maybe I’m bad at cooking.”

“You cook for them?” Wow, the jealousy. He can feel it in his vein, but he grabs the broom and smacks it, repeatedly, because they! Have! Talked! About! This! 

“Is it a wrong choice?” Keith purses his (pink, glossy) lips.

“No, no, I just never thought you’d be that… boyfriendly.”

“You think so?” His eyes lit up and ugh, why hasn’t a star named after Keith yet? Humankind is being utterly ignorant here. Lance’s gravely offended. 

Wait, this is not the deal. He’s supposed to be Keith’s advisor, who will later grant himself a seperated love-life. Right, back onto the main topic here.

“Definitely, and trust me dude, the love of your life does too. Pinky promise.”

If they don’t, Lance may as well turn into a murder. Even though he’s pretty sure Allura will kill him with bare hands before he even has a chance to approach her.

“So, are you confident that you’re like, 8? We can move into stage 2!”

“Not entirely certain, but I already prepared another to secure the score. Go on.”

—

Stage 2 On How To Woo One’s Heart: Mutual Trust and Comfort.

After successful establishment of mutual attraction, two individuals should build a healthy and balanced connection, which requires truth, comfort and clear communication.  

“Clear communication, is, the, key.” Lance stresses. “No matter how big you fight or how stupid the reasons or thoughts are, just spill them.”

“Okay.” Keith takes note, like the studious student he is. “Underline clear communication.”

“Not just one underline, three underlines, and embolden that phrase.”

“But what if I want to compliment them? What if I say too much or it’s too cheesy?”

Does he know how much it hurts the brunet to see him this unsure?

“Dude, all of this operation is cheesy enough, you have nothing left to be embarrassed about.”  

“It’s… complicated.” The raven hair exhales. “I still want to leave a good impression.”

Lance understands that. Just like he still wants to be cool in Keith’s eyes. Like a calm and collected adult. Absolutely not the mess that’s undeniably enchanted with him. 

“Suit yourself. As long as you’re happy.” Lance says earnestly. 

Maybe that’s the same thought he shares with his admirer. Hopefully. 

They sit in the comfortable silence. It's almost summer, so the Cuban can feel the warmth and humidity seeping through the atmosphere. A breeze gently drifts by, caressing along his arm, like a slight scratch into his sensitive heart.

Young love, burning bright as the sun, passionate as the sea, tender as the summer breeze.  

“Shiro’s about to come back.” Keith suddenly announces.

Lance widens his eyes. It has been, what, four years since the last time he talked to Shiro. Not because Shiro’s unapproachable or anything, quite the contrary, but since Keith detached himself from Lance, he knew to save both from awkwardness. 

He still remembers when the three of them play football together in Keith’s backyard. Lance sucked at it (he still does), so mostly it was Shiro against Keith. He was always torn between these two, but Shiro had always been the first choice.

And now how the tables have turned.

“Will you join?”

“Uh, sorry?” Lance snaps back to reality.

“We’ll go celebrate when he’s back. Will you join us?” Keith asks, the seriousness heavy in his voice. “The others will, too.”

“Pidge, Matt, Hunk - since he’s Pidge’s friend, Allura. You’re a friend of Pidge, and… a friend of mine.” Keith stiffens. “Shiro also misses you.”

“Oh.” Lance doesn’t know how to handle this information. “I will. You have my promise.”

Allura will be there too. So Lance will be watching a live-feed of how she and Keith interact, like, all that lovey dovey couply. It’s okay! It’s totally fine! In fact, he’ll be happy doing that, because it's proof that he has done the right things, that they are having their happy ending. What kind of shipper doesn’t want to witness their ship get to the port?

So he will take a step back, because there’s no prince caught up in the storm in the middle of the sea waiting for the mermaid’s rescue. In truth, the ship is sailing smoothly, the prince and his soon-to-be-his-queen princess are lovingly stare at each other under the shimmering moonlight, ready to vow, and the mermaid should go the fuck back to where he comes from, living under the sea for the rest of his life and never bothering anyone ever again.

On the other hand, Keith has just admitted they’re friends. Oh my god. Lance’s about to pass out. He’s this close to hyperventilate, and no kidding, his heart is rolling wildy in the chest. Everything seems so… unrealistic. There are tons of dopamine, serotonin or oxytocin, something like that, released from his brain. The angels are singing, the devils are dancing, every cell inside him is celebrating.  

Even if there is a slight hesitation in Keith’s words.

But everything else is more than enough.

He wants to climb onto the highest tower in the city and scream into a speaker like a madman. He wants to dive into the sea and just breathe a lungful of water. He wants to drive to Hunk’s like a jet and tells him every detail. He wants to grab Keith’s dumbly attractive face and kiss him and confess his unyielding love for him.

Hold on, he has to escape from here. If he stays any longer, he can’t guarantee that he won’t do anything foolish. He’d better—

“Uhm. I have to go. Now. Like very urgent. Crucial. Now or never. Death or life matter.” Lance is babbling, but he can’t fathom to care. Then he turns around, ready to bolt.

“Wait.” There’s a grip on this arm. “Do you have anything to tell me?”

Yes yes yes yes I have so much to tell you, like how your outdated mullet is damn is so charming, how your eyes are so violet I’m blind to other shades of purple now, like how your lips are so inviting and I want to kiss you stupid, like I like you so much, so so so much, that I’m about to throw up—

“No, nothing. Sorry I really really really have to go—”

He sees something similar to disappointment on Keith’s face out of the corner of his eyes, but he was in a hurry, so maybe that’s just his stupid brain’s imagination.

Strategy 1 On How To Heal A Broken Dream: Emotion Balance - failed.

—

It takes him three hours frantically doing all kinds of tests to calm down. 

It’s almost 2 already, and his beauty sleep is screwed. So Lance puts down his pencil, and gets ready to bed. As a habit, he glances outside of the window, just to catch the sight of a whiteboard hanging there across the fence.

you coming to game?

Lance smiles. The final match of this year’s championship is two days from now. If they win this year, they’ll hold the cup two consecutive years. It’s the first time Garrison High School can achieve it, plus the examinations, so the atmosphere has been kinda tense. Even the cheerleaders must practice pretty hard. 

The brunet doesn’t understand how Keith can spend so much time on the field, yet still manage to squeeze revisions in between. Rumors praise him as a ‘genius’, it’s true, he may be hot-headed but he’s also super smart. It’s just that, Lance knows how hard he tries to fulfill both academics and extracurricular activities. It’s one of the admirable traits about him.

Of course the game is important to Keith. And even if he doesn’t ask Lance, he’s still coming under peer-pressure from his classmates. You know, the more the merrier, the bigger the audience the greater the encouragement, blah blah blah.

But it still warms his heart at the invitation.

Hence, he writes a yes with a big :) on his Friendship Dove and puts it against the window.

Lance looks at the dried flowers on his desk, silently apologizing to his secret admirer. Just one time, allow me to weaken my heart for him. Just one more time, I swear.

—

When he wakes up next morning, the whiteboard on Keith’s window has been rewritten with a bigger smile face.

—

The third gift he receives is a snow globe, right before the match. Absolutely home-made snow globe, because it’s made from a jar, and in the middle of it stands a violet flower Lance has yet to know the name. 

(It reminds him of Keith’s eyes, but he smacks himself back to his senses. That’s uncalled for. Pffff, not everything in his life revolves around that mullet.)

It’s carefully wrapped by soft cloths, put into a box with the same blue shade, the same warning sign, and placed into his bag. Presumably when he’s busy running to the restroom.

Strange, there’s no note this time. He’s a bit disappointed, because he really wants to know which poem will be cited this time. Those cheesy lines are the highlights of his day.

Could it be… his lack of response? Maybe they think he’s disinterested, or they have crossed a line, so they back up?

It’s the third present, he should do something to reciprocate it, right?

But he has never been… approached like this before, he’s kinda baffling here. He receives presents. Not just any present, it’s gifts that show interest. What is the appropriate response? What should he write? How should he phrase his thoughts without being needy? Should he use a common paper, or should he use a fancier one? What if they don’t know that he leaves a note for them in his locker? He can’t exactly advertise his locker, right? There are countless questions chasing cars around his mind. 

A loud cheer interrupts his strand of thoughts. Crap, the game’s about to start. Lance hurriedly closes his locker and runs the fastest he can to the bleachers. If he’s late, Pidge’ll probably kill him, then revive him to kill him again, this time more painfully.

—

THEY DID IT! THEY WON!

Pidge is jumping up and down shouting like a maniac, Hunk is yelling with her and Lance may or may not have shrieked, but hey, they have won! The cup is theirs!

“YES, tonight, no more finals, no more school, only bliss mixed with alcohol left. Garrison students, please welcome our winner–”

Lance swears the entire school is roaring. Maybe he should schedule an appointment to check on his hearing after this evening.

Everyone chants Garrison like their life’s dependent on it, and the football team is hurling into each other celebrating. The cheerleaders seem to shred tears, because Allura definitely just swipes her eyes.

And Keith. Sweating Keith, with his mullet pushed against the wind, his shoulders slackening, his violet eyes burning the sky. Happy Keith, with a cocky smirk, an aura of ignorant confidence, with his raging fire, thirsty for success. Keith is laughing out loud, and suddenly the space quiets down, only the sound of this laughter remains, young and carefree and victorious. He’s the star. He has scored two goals, securing their victory. 

He’s the hero of this game. Of this school.

But most importantly, he is Lance’s hero.

His vision is blurry. He can hear his heart thumping. There are too many people around, it’s too crowded, maybe that’s the reason why Lance can’t breathe. Pidge and Hunk are still weeping in joy, so he tries to find a way out on his own.

He wants to find Keith. He wants to congratulate him. He wants to grab his shoulders like his teammates and yells at each other until his throat is hoarse.

He’s probably high on adrenaline. 

But screw that. Once, just once, he wants to dive into happiness, do the most ridiculous, touch the unobtainable.

He wants to live this moment with Keith.

When he escapes the crazy crew, the football team has already retreated into the school gym to catch a breath and shower. Lance hesitates a bit, then follows them, but he stands outside, leaning on a tree waiting for the other. 

Five minutes, ten minutes. Lance counts the people getting out of the gym. Most of the football team have already gone to the pitch, joining the celebrations there. Keith’s still nowhere to be seen. 

His head gets clearer, everything still sways in front of his eyes and his ears kinda shut down, but he’s managing. Yet the desire, the wanting, the yearning stays the same. Thus he gets bolder. Lance takes a deep breath, and slowly makes his way into the gym.

It doesn’t seem like anyone here, but there’s lightning in the locker hall. He carefully walks there, because he’s not sober up yet. He can faintly hear some noise. So he peeks in, like a creep.

Keith is sitting on a bench, stretching his limbs. Allura is standing in front of him, gesturing something. They are having a talk, but Lance’s drunken brain can’t understand the exact meaning of each word. He just stands there, staring dumbly.

That’s when Allura leans down. On Keith. They’re so close. Lance can’t see Keith’s face. He just knows that the raven hair doesn’t avoid the movement. If anything, he seems to tilt his head upward.

Huh, Lance wishes he would react the same when Lance kisses him.

Oh.

Oh.

They’re about to kiss.

Lance stumbles backward and looks up to the ceiling. It helps when he no longer witnesses his heart being smashed. 

Right, kissing. Like in Allura and Keith. The kiss between the prince and princess. Keith and Allura’s kiss. Of course. Keith just achieved one of the highschoolers’ biggest goals. He’s the hero. And Allura is the beauty. The presumably secret girlfriend here. This is it. This is the kiss. The kiss that seals their fate. You know, the kiss in the last scene of every fairy tale, after they confess their love to each other, promising an everlasting happy ending. 

An ending that Lance doesn’t belong to.

Yeah, this is inappropriate. Lance should get out of here. He can’t be here. The logical part of his brain won’t be in control for long. He really really must get out. Thankfully they haven’t noticed him yet.

So Lance calmly walks out of the gym. Step by step, step by step. In and out, in and out. He’s a bit thrilled that he can keep his facade. Actually, he doesn’t feel anything at all, only numbness spreading through his blood. Cool. Collected. Out of anything he has imagined, this is the last scenario, but hey, kudo for himself.

It’s not until Lance has slipped into his hiding place - a private corner between the third and the fourth bookshelves in the library - that the tears break. Uncontrollably. There’s something stuck inside his throat, he can only choke on it. No words, no screams, no wails, just smallest, tiniest sobs and an overwhelming sense of dread.

He pulls his knees to the chest. Is this how heartbreak really feels like? Horrid, -10/10, would strongly not recommend.

He knows it’s bound to happen one day. Sooner or later. That Keith and Allura will get together. That his fool of a heart will be crushed under a thousand horses. That his tears will splat, like it’s raining cats and dogs. Hell, he even helps it happen faster.   

He has prepared, but no amount, no amount of rehearsal, no amount of plan can lessen the ache burning through his soul. Times when he’s laughed at, made fun of, when he’s asked out as a joke, when he silently cries to sleep at the thought no one would want to spend the rest of their life with him, they are nothing compared to this. 

Now we know why it’s called a crush.  

He doesn’t know what to think anymore. His brain just simply goes– blank. No thoughts, head empty. Like it’s fed up with Lance’s stupidity and decides to find a new owner. The only function left is breathing. But he isn’t good at it, because he either hyperventilates or cannot breathe at all, there’s no between.

How much time has passed? Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? Or two? Lance doesn’t know. He’s just exhausted. So tired. And frozen. The cold spreads from his heart, circulates in his veins, to the tips of his fingers and toes.  

He wants to sleep until the end of the Earth, and simply never wakes up again. 

“Here.” 

A voice startles him. 

“Swipe your face.”

Lance looks up to a white tissue. Instead of taking it, he just gapes stupidly at the newcomer. “Hunk?”

“No, I’m not.” The voice pauses a bit. “Do you want me to call him?”

“No, no thanks.” Lance takes what he’s been offered and clutches in his hand. “I’m… good. Sorry, I’m just a bit confused.”

He looks at the tissue again before swiping his face. The cold slightly jolts his brain awake, but he still spends few minutes or so to calm down.

“Thanks again, I appreciate it…” He trails, tilting his head upward. The other is overshadowing him, and his eyes are still blurring. If he can’t have a face yet, at least a name will do some.

“James. It’s James Griffin.” There is a smile in his voice. “Nice to meet you.”

Lance’s breath hitches.

James Griffin is another celebrity in Garrison High School. He’s cool, a footballer and top student too, not too much of an ass, seems pretty chill and gets along with almost everyone. Definitely member of the crew that Lance has no business interfering with. 

So to say Lance’s wary is an understatement. Cool kids and he have zero things in common, and one - who has never interacted with him before - appears right next to him, at his private shelter, offering a shoulder to cry on? Coincidence? Even if his brain is fried, Lance begs to differ. 

But whatever his intention is, at least he comes at the right time.

Because

Strategy 2 On How To Heal A Broken Dream: Distraction.

—

When he gets home, it’s already so late that his Mama is sitting right on the couch waiting for him. Because Veronica is the one sneaking out for fun, and Lance is the good boy who goes to bed on time. 

Mama’s words stop when she sees his face, red and swollen, like he’s been crying for hours. That’s probably the truth. Just an “Oh dear” before she wraps him in her arms, offers him love and warmth and comfort Lance’s desperately wishing for. 

Veronica watches tentatively from the stairs, before running to them and hugging Lance too. She doesn’t say anything, only gently combs his hand with her hands. 

“Can I get a day off tomorrow?” He rubs his face into his Mama’s shoulder. “Pretty please?”

“Sure, sweetie. Now let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

He nods.

Veronica heats up some left over for him while he changes into his pajamas. Against Keith’s window is the whiteboard again, words scribbling in hurry.

where were you?

Keith is the last person he wants to meet right now, so he pretends he didn’t see anything and closes the curtains.

On Keith.

For the first time in ten years.

—

Lance knows he’s selfish. Lance knows Keith does nothing to deserve it. But he hasn’t healed yet, and perhaps the footballer’s too busy with his new status of relationship with Allura to notice. So yeah, he’s avoiding Keith.

Hunk pulls him to the rooftop and asks. Naturally, he tells him almost everything, apart from James Griffin, because irrelevant. He’s sure that boy will leave him alone after he’s bored.

Hunk doesn’t say anything, but Lance can sense his worry from miles away. It’s nice to be dotted on and cared for. Lance has always loved the attention. Especially from those that matter to him.

Everything will be fine, because Lance, the master of strategy, has already mapped an extremely detailed blueprint for this limited version of rejection. It’s not that he can’t handle one, actually, with his abundant experience with, hm, unfortunate events related to refusals, he can be viewed as an expert in this field. What else can he elaborate, there’s a saying that the occupation chooses you, not the other way. 

Well, it doesn’t mean that rejections are less hurt, he’s just better at dealing with them. To demonstrate his point, for example, in order to temporarily forget about Keith, he has drawn  three main objects:

1. Study for finals. Turns out heartbreak is such a great motivation to study, because only then he can completely ignore the existence of some mullet. 
2. Find out how to keep in touch with his secret admirer. The snow globe will likely be the key, since he’s already eaten the chocolate and dried flowers are too fragile to be common messengers. 
3. Investigate James’s motive. 

Lance likes bullets and plans. Even when some people (“most people with common sense”, Hunk supplies) don’t agree with his definition of “plans”. But hey, any calculation regardless of the amount of time it consumes is enough to be a plan. A messy thought still counts as a plan if you’re brave and stupid enough to act on it. Also it makes his sloppy life look less chaotic and more organized. You know, the delusion of being productive and in control? Isn’t it the reason why office supplies are so appealing?

He ponders for a few hours, before simply setting on a letter addressing The One. The last two gifts were put into his schoolbag, probably because he changed his lock. So Lance switches it back, and leaves the snow globe there, with the message under it. Not anything fancy, just a cursive Thank You and a heart. It’s not even colored red, just a plain and simple heart - a friendly one. Just to be sure, he leaves a note on his library table, thanking them for the decoration for his locker. Hopefully they can catch the hint. 

About James, mhm, this is a more difficult challenge. Like a top-tier mission. Because he has no clue to begin with. He doesn’t even know much about the other, since most of his time and attention are preserved for one person only. 

So when Griffin invites him to hang out a few days later, he accepts. An undercover operation, his mind provides. Exactly what the detectives and agents do all the time.

There’s just one single soul knowing this, and that’s Hunk. Not the full-version of course, since Hunk hasn’t been told about how they met yet. He still gets the vibe nonetheless.

“James Griffin? As in our grade’s James Griffin?”

“The one and only!”

“Lance,” Hunk shakes his head, “I don’t think this is a good idea. Honestly, I’m certain this is a very bad idea. Do not go for it.”

“Oh, are you jealous? Don’t worry, I could never ever replace you!” Lance makes moon eyes at him with a cheeky grin.

The other levels him with a look. “I’m serious!”

“Ugh, fine. Why do you think that? He came second as the most liked boy in our school last semester. Isn't he supposed to like, super friendly and nice and what?“ Of course the first place is Keith. He was one of those who rooted for the football captain. In fact, he may or may not charm Hunk into voting for Keith too.

Wait, he’s supposed to forget about that mullet. Not the opposite.

“Yes, yet Pidge despises him. And don’t you think it’s weird that he suddenly approaches you?”

“Pidge hates most of the students, so she doesn’t count. Look—” Lance puts his hands on the hip. “Hunk, I think this is a great idea. It’s just a friendly hangout. And if they’re going to make fun of me, shouldn’t I at least deserve to know what all of that’s about? Self-defense?”

“What you need is self-preservation.” Hunk rolls his eyes. Lance gasps, because the cinnamon roll is rolling his eyes? Unbelievable.

“Seriously, Lance, I do not approve of this. What if they… they ask you out as a prank or something?”

“Then I’ll politely decline? Rude question, cause you’re talking to an expert here.”

His friend’s shoulders slacken. 

“So what? It’s not the first time I got asked out as a joke.”

“Yeah, you may have experience. It doesn’t mean they’ll not be harmful.” Hunk puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “I don’t want that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

At that precise moment, the brunet considers to buckle under Hunk’s sincerity. It’s– It’s so heart-warming to be loved and looked after like that. Hunk truly is a miracle in his life, the purest soul of this universe. He wants nothing but the best to happen to his goofy friend. 

Lance smiles softly. 

“Hey buddy, trust me this time? I promise that I’ll be careful, I just gotta figure this out, yeah?”

“Are you sure?” Hunk asks incredulously. 

“Yeah. Pinky promise.”

—

The… social engagement is in the lunch period. Instead of sitting in the cafeteria, they lounge on the rooftop. 

Today is a beautiful day. Sunny, not too hot, just a warmth breeze caressing his skin. Lance looks up to the blue sky, head bobbing to the distant melody from a classroom under. It’s the first time he hears this, the song is quite catchy. And the lyrics… hit a little too close to home.

“It’s Crush.” James abruptly says.

“Sorry?” Lance blinks.

“The song’s name is Crush, by Tessa Violet. You seem to enjoy it, but you don’t sing along, so I thought you may want to know the name.” He smiles. “Sorry if I offend you.”

“Uh, not really, but thanks?” Great, what kind of mixed signal is this? Even when he’s sitting with his supposed-distraction, something has to remind him of the You-Know-Who. And now he’s talking like Hunk too, how ironic.

Lance kicks his leg a bit, annoyed.

“Do you want to talk about something?”

“You have anything in mind?” James shrugs.

“... 21 questions?”

“Sure, why not?”

…

“Highway to Hell or Thunderstruck?”

“Neither, Black in Black.”

“Mhm, interesting choice.”

…

“You choose Despicable Me over Megamind!?” 

“You like Suicide Squad. Why can’t I fancy Despicable Me more?”

“Excuse me, Suicide Squad has Bohemian Rhapsody in the trailer AND Heathens for the soundtrack.”

“I don’t enjoy Queen that much.”

“Young man, you WHAT now?”

…

So that’s how his lunch period passes. Collect little details about one James Griffin for further inspection. Can’t let the guard down.

But Lance does enjoy the time. It’s nice to meet someone new. His nature always calls for connection and excitement. Getting to know a person provides both. Even if he thinks that person is pretentious with a terrible taste of… everything.

“Thanks. I had fun.” He beams at the other. No he did not.

“Me too. Next time?”

“Next time.” 

—

Pretty certain that the envelope was pushed through his locker’s slit. Lance picks it up, and frowns at his message, which is still perfectly beneath the snow globe. Didn’t the other read his library note?

Perhaps he needs another method.

But later, because he must get home right away, finish his homework and pretend to go to bed before Keith can come back. He’s still not in the mood for whatever kind of confrontation right now. 

His back up plan for How To Heal A Broken Dream is doing rather well here, and he doesn’t want to map a new tactic again just because Keith bursts in and gives him a tiny bit of affection. Gosh, that’s so needy and pathetic and exactly what he ought to avoid.

And does the mullet even know how hard and time-consuming it is to sketch a strategy? Probably not, after all, he’s not one who has to deal with bullies or pranks or rejections.

Geez, the audacity.

—

The envelope has a vintage wax seal stamp. Lance has read about it before, but this is the first time he actually sees one in person. And the beauty it holds! The stamp’s blue against the ivory color of the envelope, with a delicate bird inside the ring of the word Halcyon. Lance swears he does not swoon and moan over the elegance and subtlety of this secret admirer. If only they also pay that much attention to Lance’s note.

Well, nobody is perfect. It’s a flaw he’ll gladly embrace. 

The boy carefully opens it. There’s a letter, all printed words and faded images of red carnation in the corner.

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --

because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Huh? Weird, it’s not Shakespeare. This time it’s Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet XLV. His suitor surely pours a lot of work into their presents.

But–

Don’t go far off… 

To where? He’s not going anywhere, he’s still in this school. Are they implying that they’re moving to another place soon?

And I will be waiting for you…

That must mean they’re still here, right? 

Halcyon, an idyllic time in the past.

Red carnation, my heart aches for you.

It’s almost like they're begging him to stay.

He’s so confused. 

What is all of this about?

—

The lunch meetings between him and Griffin turn into a routine. Hunk reluctantly agrees to his plan, so he sulks and sits with Pidge, who is extremely suspicious. But Lance doesn’t mind much. What is she going to do? Tell Keith? Pffft.

Hunk wants updates on every single outing, because he’s that Mom Friend. Lance doesn’t lie about this, since this is serious business, and he still feels bad lying to his friend about how they met. Well, technically it’s not lying, it’s telling half the truth, but still. 

It’s nothing much, just casually hanging out and discussing things. They both share a distaste against Iverson, but is there any student who truly likes him? Afraid not. James tells the brunet about his favorite restaurant and sports practice, Lance talks about his Mama’s delicious quesadillas and how he learnt to knit.

“You know how to knit?”

“Yeah, what?”

Griffin furrows his brows. “I’ve never seen anyone knit before.”

“Then there's advice for you. If you’re about to say something mean about it, then you’ll not be so glad when you find out.”

“Out…?”

“How to kill a man with knitting needles.” Lance smiles, sickenly sweetly.

Griffin shudders.

Since he runs away from the Nightly Convention with Keith, time with James has become some sort of a cheap and fake offset. Sure, their opinions don’t usually collide, the other isn’t interested much in literature and art, but that’s fine. Not everyone is. But to choose Maroon 5 over Fall Out Boy due to manliness? It’s not even the worst, because Griffin admits he dislikes I Want To Break Free because they cross-dressed in the MV. That moment, Lance has to bite his tongue to resist the urge to break his fucking nose. It’s tough, since the desire is practically shimmering in every fiber of his muscle. If that bastard so much wrinkles his nose at Warrior Cats, someone will have to clean the mess, probably Lance, but this time without the help of Allura.

Gosh, he doesn’t even bother to mention Les Miserable, or Crime and Punishment, or Lolita. Or literary in general. Honestly, he doesn’t understand how someone this–this illiterate and narrow-minded can be at the top of their school.

No wonder Pidge hates him. If there’s anything she cannot stand, that’s stupidity. 

At least he acts like a gentleman. Or he tries to. Never judge Lance out loud, always show the hospitality, blah blah blah, but the brunet can clearly see the disdain in his eyes whenever they talk about something that’s not football or cars or “manly” music.

James’s passable as an actor, if one is blinded by his good-looking and handsome appearance. Too bad for him, Lance has already mastered the skills of an investigator.

— 

Today the jock wants to meet at a different place.

“Isn’t this the way to the library?” Is Lance losing his mind or what? This–this uneducated person knows the way to the library?

“The finals start next week,” James cocks his head at the countdown, “don’t you want to review a bit?”

“Uhm,” Lance doesn’t have any reasons to refuse, “sure.”

Okay, so maybe this cocky alpha male does study for the exams. Good to know, otherwise Lance’ll probably go insane at his shallowness. 

They walk side by side. Some students passes by, staring at them incredulously, but they still say hi to Griffin. Some to Lance too. He doesn’t mind much but it’s quite strange to have attention on him like this.

If James notices that, he says nothing.

They choose a table in the corner of the library. Not Lance’s usual one, of course, he reserves that table for his friends and suitor only. But they get sunshine nevertheless, so it’s not too bad. 

The next time Lance looks up from his review notes, the other boy is reading a poetry book by Percy Bysshe Shelley.  

“Wow.” He blurts out. I didn’t know you could read. 

“What?” 

“Just didn’t think you’d be into poetry.”

“I think that’s… romantic?” The jock tries to look like he’s intrigued, but it’s not working.

“Really, which poem do you like the most?”

“Err…,” James squints, “The Philosophy of Love?”

Lance offers him his fakest smile and goes back to his flashcards. 

But Griffin has a different idea.

“What about you? Which poem do you like?”

“I don’t really like Percy’s poems. His are good, but not my cup of tea.” Lance scribbles down the formula for heat transfer coefficient. Why must Physics be so hard? Is this a horseman of the apocalypse that Jesus particularly sends after him?

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh. Now shut up, someone is trying to study here you useless pencil head. What kind of joke is this? He asks Lance to the library for revision and yet, there’s nothing but white papers in front of him. Not a single word. Not even a pen! 

What the hell?

“So what do you think about receiving love poems?”

“Pardon?” Lance’s breath hitches.

—

“He’s so dumb. I’m dying. Holding conversations with him is like talking to a black hole.” Lance moans. “I feel like my IQ has decreased by at least 30 points.”

“I told you not to go with him, he’s not a good influence. The fact that Pidge dislikes him is like a huge red flag.” Hunk flips his textbook. “If only you listened to me—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, then I would not acquire this intel!” Lance props himself up from the bed. “Hunk, I’m pretty sure Griffin knows my secret admirer.”

“What?!” 

“I’m not kidding! He practically said so himself!”

Hunk scrambles from his desk. “I need a full report, like, now!”

“So we were reviewing for the finals, no, I was, he was sitting there like a stock of rocks or something, with Percy Shelly’s poetry book and he asked me about receiving love poems.”

“Oh my god. Oh My God.” Hunk pauses. “Wait, this is super duper important. We cannot rush to conclusion. We have to eliminate other possibilities first. Logical thinking. Oh, uh, coincidence?”

“Coincidence so that he had to pretend to read a book? Hunk, I thought we both agreed he couldn’t read.”

“Based on what you tell, it’s indeed suspicious how he gets such high academic results. No wonder Pidge is after his ass.” Hunk frowns. “But I still can’t see the connection to your suitor.”

“What part of poetry did you miss? I even showed you the letters!” Lance yelps. “Why on Earth did he suddenly ask me about poetry? Do you know what happened next? When I said it would be romantic, he fucking smiled at me, and had the nerve to say, he said and I quoted, ‘I’m glad you like it.’ What the fuck? Do you know how fake his smile was??? He obviously was trying to lead me on! Think, Hunk, think!”

“I’m trying! Maybe he wants to—No that’s unrealistic, he doesn’t seem like the type who’s that educated.”

“Exactly. He can’t be my secret admirer, or anyone’s for that matter.” If he is Lance’s about to jump off a cliff. “But he must know something. That’s why he approached me!”

Hunk provides a new insight. “What if he wants your advice because he’s been receiving love poems?”

“But why would he approach me then?” Lance huffs. “Do I look like the nerdiest fool who cries at moonlight and faints before their crush? Do I look like a master in love and romance, an expert in this mind-blowing mine field?”

The larger boy purses his lips.

“Ok, ok, dude, you have a point. Still not clear why he goes to such length rather than just busts your beholder on the spot and makes fun of him.”

“Hm…. Maybe he’s not a bully? At least on the outside. But it doesn’t make any sense.” Lance taps his fingers against the wall. “I haven’t thought about it yet. Mister Q, any recommendations for your Bond?”

“Right, Bond.” Hunk sighs. “First, stop mingling with James Griffin. Second, I can only come up with two possible explanations for this. Either Griffin is extremely hostile towards your suitor and wants to completely ruin them, or he’s scared of that person.”

“Excellent deductions!” Lance claps his hands. “But I don’t know anyone who fits the category. Griffin always acts friendly, do you know how many people start greeting me since they see me with him?”

“And someone he’s afraid of? In this school?” Hunk puts his chin on his hand. “Who would that be? The only one I can think of is Allura.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think that’s her.” Lance rolls his eyes. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while.

“Do you want me to ask Pidge?” Hunk offers. “Perhaps she knows something.”

“What, no!” Lance shrieks. “She’ll taint my reputation forever! I refuse to let my future partner be involved in her diabolical schemes!” She won’t do that, but Pidge’s on Keith’s side, and right now those are the people he’s not very keen on socializing with. Besides, he wants to do it on his own. It’s stupid, but he wants to prove that he can carry himself, and live a no-Keith-and-his-accomplices life.

“Don’t be dramatic. She wouldn’t be that evil.” Hunk lightly smacks the brunet’s back. “If you don’t want to, I won’t.”

“Aweee, thanks buddy.” Lance fawns over his friend. “This is why I love you the most.”

He gets a chuckle in reply.

“Anyway, since we’re on the topic, how are you with the, uh,” the bigger boy grimaces, “Keith?”

The Cuban pouts. “Nothing. At least I’ve distracted myself enough to calm down. But we haven’t talked or anything.”

“He looks kind of sad, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Lance exhales shakily, “I know.”

Of course it sucks for Keith. He just starts seeing Lance as his friend, not just a classmate or teammate or whatever, but the people he hangs out with outside of school. Hell, he even invited him to Shiro’s welcome-back dinner. And yet, Lance bolted and abandoned him because of his insecurities and stupid crush and unwanted feelings. All Keith wanted was a friend, he didn’t sign up for this.

It hurts when he’s sad because of Keith. It even hurts more when he is the cause of Keith’s sadness. But what can he do? What was the right choice anyway? Either he distanced himself to save their friendship, or he acted upon his will and lost everything.

The price is too much, Lance wouldn’t survive it. Others surely think that he’s selfish, but if they know of his undesirable affection, they will understand, this is the less painful decision of the two.  

Still, he can’t avoid Keith forever, especially if he’s planning to keep the friendship. 

He sighs. “I will talk to him after finals.”

— 

Lance does talk to Keith after final.

But it’s not exactly what he has in mind.

According to his plan, after all the examinations, he’ll put his Friendship Dove against the window, sending a message Sorry, can we talk :(. The raven hair boy may or may not reply, but if he does, then Lance will apologize sincerely. No mention of the reasons. If he must, then it’s because he suffered from a heartbreak. It’s partially true. Just don’t tell that mullet who breaks his heart (aka him). 

Everything is plain and simple. Everyone approves.

Except the Universe, and Keith. 

Because apparently, right before he stumbles into his house after the first exam (thanks Jesus he’s done with Physics, because he has to review for one more day he’s going to have a hand-in-hand combat with Iverson, the school board, and God himself), Keith stops him.

“Can we talk?” He purses his lips.

“Like right now? I’m exhausted.” Lance blinks rapidly. He didn’t sleep last night, and now he thinks he’s a bit sensory overloaded. Or a lot. Since he kinda wants to black out right on the spot. 

“It won’t take long.”

“Fine. What is it?”

“I saw you and Griffin the other day.” Keith inhales. “You should stop going out with him.”

What? This is not in the script. Actually, none of these are in the script, but isn’t the first line supposed to, you know, how’s weather, how’s life. Not about another person who is irrelevant.

His head starts to hurt, so he just looks straight at the other.

Keith looks away briefly, then turns back to him. “I mean it. Drop him. He’s not good for you.”

So are you, my opium and excuse me, drop him? Who else should the brunet get information about his beholder then? Why do the the raven hair always have to come and mess things up when everything is on the right track? But it’s not like he can really ask Keith that.

“Uh thanks, I’ll… put that in mind.”

“Listen, I’m serious.” The grip on his arm tightens. “Whatever he’s engaged you in is not true.”

“Look, I understand.” Lance closes his eyes to focus on the words. “But I can’t like, do it right now. We still have something unfinished.” 

What in the Nine Circles of Hell is he talking about? Someone please come and shut him up. That’s unintended. That mullet is not supposed to know.

He has to go, his mind is clearly not sober enough to comprehend anything. Before he screws up things again. At least he knows how warm Keith’s hand is, Lance absently thinks.

He tries to pry that hand he’d wanted for so long, but the footballer seems to get angrier.

“This is not a game!” He raises his voice. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? Griffin doesn’t like you!”

“I’m serious too! I’ll drop him later, okay? Are we clear right now, cause I want to sleep!” Lance does not like others raising voice at him. He’s tired. He’s restless. He’s annoyed. Very much so. “What is that you don’t understand? It’s not your business anyway!”

There was once a time, Lance would trade anything to qualify enough to be concerned with Keith’s business, or vice versa. But that was like, three weeks ago. Before his hope was shattered, and now he’s vaguely thinking about spilling everything out. But he knows he’s not in the right state of mind, and Sober-Lance will not like the consequences of his action.

Hence, he tries harder to pull his arm back, but Keith stills his hold on Lance’s arm. 

“God, can’t you listen to others once? This is why it’s so hard to like you!”

The brunet’s heart drops. His eyes widen.

What did that mullet just say?

This is why it’s so hard to like you.

It's so hard to like you.

Right.

Lance can feel the prick of his tears, the rushing of blood to his ears. How his breath is ragged, how his shoulders stiffen, how his chest tightens. How he desperately wants to crawl into a coffin and vanishes permanently. How his heart is broken again, by the same hands.

It’s one thing to hear those words from the bullies, from the nasty voice in his head, but hear it from the person he holds the dearest to his heart and soul?

He knows he’s not the type anyone is fond of. He knows people don't find him attractive. He knows he’s flawed from his head to toes. He knows there’s unlikely that someone will love and cherish and treasure him. He knows he’s not the role model, or a perfect and ethereal being like Allura. But he never stops searching and dreaming and hoping, because love is wonderful and fascinating, and he wants to have a taste before it’s too late. 

Isn’t it terrible enough that he has insecurities and an inferior complex? That he experiences bitterness and tears for first love instead of sweetness and smiles? What’s so wrong with the desire to love and to be loved?

Is he that worthless? That disappointing? Is he not enough to—to at least deserve some respect from this person? 

There’s wetness on his face.

Keith seems to realize what he had just said too, because he’s so much paler than normal. He’s gaping, like he can’t comprehend what’s happening. Like a confused and pitiful drench puppy who accidently bite his owner. The footballer gradually releases his grip, and wobbles backward.

“I, I—” 

Keith has never appeared like this. A miserably stammering wreck, all of that once lovely arrogant confidence has gone.

Past-Lance would melt and forgive in a heartbeat. Because that’s what love does. Forgive and forget. 

But Present-Lance doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to, not anymore. That’s not love. That’s blindly serving yourself on a silver platter. What else hasn’t he given to Keith? Now he wants to destroy whatever left of Lance’s ego too? 

In sixteen years on Earth, he never ever feels such a strong urge to defend himself. Yes, he’s immature for working up so much at some discarding words. Narcissistic, horrible, selfish, blah blah blah. But sue him, he’s drained, and he’d like to have some dignity intact. So he straightens his back, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, raises his chin and uses the couple of inches he has on Keith to cast a glance at the other.

“Sorry I’m hard for you to like. You don’t have to. At least I know someone else would gladly do.”

He doesn’t bother to stay around for any other second.

—

He’s glad that Mama doesn’t ask him more questions after he shakes his head at her attempt for a counseling hour or two. 

“That’s because I trust you, alright?” She gently strokes his bouncing curly hair. “But if this happens again, we will have The Talk. And I don’t accept any objection.”

Lance murmurs a “Yes” and practically escapes to his room.

But Veronica proves to be an unbreakable force. 

“Okay, shoot it.” She kicks his door open. “Whose face do I have to punch?”

“No one.” Lance rolls onto his back. “Unless you’re suggesting my Physics teacher.”

“Something tells me it’s not your Physics teacher this time.” She leans into the door frame. “It’s an entirely different person.”

“Veronica,” the boy pushes his notebook to the side, “we agreed that violence wouldn’t solve problems.”

“Lance, you argued that. Right amount of violence will do the job. Trust me, that’s already my least painful torment.”

The younger wrinkles his nose and goes back to his flashcards. Heartbreak or not, he still has a test to kick ass tomorrow. 

He can hear the soft footsteps of his sister though. She makes her way to the bed and lays down next to him, staring at the ceiling. 

“It’s Keith, isn’t it?”

Lance’s vision swims. His throat constricts, but there’s no sound. Has he always been that obvious? Is that—that’s why Mama never forces his answers right?

“How could you know?” He croaks.

“Oh baby brother. I’m a girl, and a sister, a big sister. Of course I know! That’s what I do. It’s what I live for.”

He snorts at her dramatic reference. “Are you implying that I’m a poor unfortunate soul?”

“Duh, obviously.” She flips onto his stomach. “You’re exactly a young and drunk on love mermaid, guess who’s the powerful sea witch here?”

Lance lowers his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. The Prince is already hand in hand with his Princess. So maybe the mermaid should stay in the ocean. After all, there are plenty of fish in the sea, huh?”

“Yeah, but you clearly don’t want any other fish. Or a fish at all. You’re longing for the land.”

The younger sighs. Veronica knows him too well for his liking.

Can a guy keep to himself, even just a little bit?

“And just so you know, you’re not the only poor unfortunate soul here. Your supposed Prince has been fidgeting around our house for almost a week now. And staring at your window too. It’s not hard to put two with two together.”

The boy bites his lips. He tries to stop the panic shooting through his body at those words. Keith has been… looking at his window? For real? He’s been waiting to talk to him? Does he think and feel the same as Lance? That he still wants to redeem this friendship? After Lance ran away from everything?

There are three illusions that shouldn't be indulged in: someone’s calling, we have enough money and they love me back. The more you yield, the more painfully you suffer. 

He doesn’t know what to think anymore, but he’s sure as fuck doesn’t want to have his dreams broken again. So he drives his brain into another direction.

“So you’re lying about your sister-sixth-sense?”

“No, and stop avoiding the topic.” His sister rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t know the full version, but I can tell you’re both unhappy about it. Either move on or work with each other, okay? This is getting out of hand.”

“There’s nothing between us.”

“Uh huh, keep lying to yourself, but don’t do that to my face.” She points at his bookshelf. “What are those, then?”

“Dried flowers?” Lance scrunches up his eyes.

“No, I mean whose flowers are those?”

“Mine, unless you got hit on the head and forgot the time you jumped onto me and flexed your extensive floral knowle—Ouch! What’s that for?”

Veronica blows at her hand, as if it’s seriously injured, when Lance is the one that got smacked super hard on his head here. 

“For being disrespect, and stupid. Who gifted you those?”

“My secret beholder.” He sulks. What kind of sister is this!? This is an abuse of power! He’s gonna fire a complaint to his Mama later. 

“I want a name.”

“I don’t know.” The younger looks at the horror and disbelieve on his sister’s face. “What? I’m on my track to find them, okay? Then I’ll tell you. Geez, it was weeks ago, why are you so set on this?”

The girl stares at him like he’s an alien. Then she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, as if talking to Lance was causing her physical pain. 

“Have you ever thought about Keith?”

“What!?” Lance almost shouts, but he remembers that Keith may hear this conversation, so he hushes instead. “What the hell, Vero! I just told you he has a girlfriend! An amazing girlfriend too, if you ask!”

Veronica looks at him skeptically. “But—”

“No buts! This is the end of the story!” He hisses. “Vero, I know you want the best for me, but I really don’t want to talk about this anymore. Ever. So can we please, please stop here?” 

He can hear the edge in his voice, pleading and begging. She must hear it too, because she exhales tiredly. “Fine. No more suggestions.”

“Thank you.”

“But make up with Keith, okay? I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

Lance makes no promises. 

—

He doesn’t see Keith for the rest of the finals’ week. It’s better this way, because he’s busy studying and reviving and still has to cross his paths with Griffin. There are more than enough on his plate. 

It’s only when he receives the fifth courting gift that he suddenly realizes that he’s been neglecting the second object of his distraction plan: find a way to communicate with his secret admirer.

The package arrives at his house on Monday morning. The morning he intends to sleep through the alarm. It’s a Garrison’s tradition: students are given a morning off after the examinations. 

He’s still drowsy when the bell buzzes. But Mama and Vero already go out, so Lance has to drag his sore and aching body down the stairs and answer the door. Then he sees it, among the magazines and some crazy stuff Veronica orders online. It was sent to his house instead of given to him at school. Huh. Definitely noticeable.

Whatever inside is wrapped with kraft paper, a lovely brown shade instead of azure, secured by a thin rope, and put neatly outside, on the doormat. There’s a blue stamp with the red seal of the post office though. Lance’s name is written nicely on the left corner of the package, but he doesn’t recognize that handwriting. But it’s the first time written words appear on his gift.

Lance holds his breath. 

—

It is not a box like he’s imagined. It’s a book, a hardcover one. 

The Great Gatsby.  

It’s true that he hasn’t had the book yet (a ragged copy doesn’t count), but do normal people give this to an eligible candidate they wish to court?

The story is indeed interesting, but it’s not what you’d go for romantic symbolism. Gatsby’s love for Daisy is never ideal, and the obscure feelings Nick has towards Gatsby may be interpreted as beautiful, but no one can deny its sadness and sorrow. 

But in Lance’s opinion, Gatsby and Nick share one thing in common. It’s the longing for something they cannot have. Lance knows that hollowness too, but for his secret beholder to suffer from it…

There’s also a paper clipped into the first page. Its left edge is a bit rough, there’s a page number in the footer, and its color has faded into a dusted yellow, sticking out from the pearly white of the new book.

I loved you: yet the love, maybe,

Has not extinguished in my heart;

But hence may not it trouble thee;

I do not want to make you sad.

I loved you hopelessly and mutely,

Now with shyness, now with jealousy being vexed;

I loved you so sincerely, so fondly,

Likewise may someone love you next.

It’s I Loved You by Pushkin, ripped from a poetry book.

Is his suitor… bidding him farewell?

—

Lance barges through the buzzing crowd of people in the cafeteria. It looks… strange, in a good way. Cleaner, livelier, more vivid with bright colors everywhere. The windows, the walls, the house plants, even the ceiling too. But it isn’t the time.

“Hunk, I fucked up.” 

“Hello to you, too, Lance.” Hunk puts his tray aside. “Hakuna matata. I brought chocolate cookies.”

“That can wait. This is the red alarm here, the most distressing warning, the ultimate beacon.”

“Just wait, Imma give you—”

“Bahía de Cochinos.” Lance shuts his eyes.

Hunk almost drops his coffee. “What? Did you–?

“Bahía,” Lance tries to slow his heart rate, “de Cochinos.”

Hunk gasps, and he immediately abandons his food and beverage to grab the brunet’s shoulder. “Oh my god, what did you do?”

Lance clutches at his heart painfully and is about to faint into Hunk’s arms. “I forgot, I fucking forgot—”

He tells Hunk everything, about the mystery gift outside his door, the sad love poem and The Great Gatsby. About the possible meaning hidden behind. About Lance’s frenzy this morning.

“Jesus, what should I do next, Hunk? Gosh, I’m a terrible human being, imagine how they must feel about my silent treatment—”

“This is not the time to blame yourself!” Hunk shakes him. “Lance, you have to find them as soon as possible, this is now or never.”

He lowers his voice, but it booms Lance’s mind nonetheless.

“You have to confront Griffin about the gifts.”

Lance gasps. Exactly. That’s the man. That’s the plan. He has to find James. That jock must know something and this time Lance’s gonna make him spill— 

“Am I interrupting something?”.

They both jerk at the ringing voice. Pidge’s holding her own tray, head tilting to the side, narrowing her eyes at them curiously.

Right, Pidge. Pidge probably knows something useful. She hates Griffin, and one of her most beloved hobbies is collecting blackmail materials. She appears when he needs it the most. Practically a NPC here. 

Or a trap.

Because Pidge is a cat. Cats are inquisitive about, everything. She’s absolutely asking him the reason. And she’s intelligent, so freaking smart that his cover won’t work the way he wants. She will smell something fishy. Everything is already a mess, he doesn’t want to make it more chaotic. 

(She’s also Keith’s big brother’s best friend’s little sister. Veronica’s words may or may not writhe in his mind)

He can handle this. At least until now.

So he loudly exclaims a “No, everything is fine” and bolts out of the canteen. He can faintly hear Hunk nervously sputtering vague explanations to Pidge

He needs a plan. No, a list of questions that guarantee he can get the answer he wants. How do you pressure a jock onto giving in? What dark, deep secret can he hold against James? From all the information he has inquired from the other, there’s nothing that ensures success. 

Wait, there’s one thing. About James’s questionable academic results. He hasn’t grabbed any concrete evidence yet, but he can play mind games. 

He’s already running out of time.

—

To his dismay, he can’t find Griffin anywhere. He asked some students he knows, but no one could give him any idea. Just the previous period, Lance swears he saw Griffin at school. He was kinda in a hurry, with a grimace on his face or something, but the Cuban was too busy panicking over the fifth present to care. 

The hall is already decorated to prepare for the Homecoming prom. Given any other time, he would slow his track to appreciate the beautiful bouquets and colorful banners hanging on the halls. But he’s getting desperate, because James Griffin is missing, and so is Lance’s phone. He vaguely remembers the last time he saw it, probably before his first period, when he opened his locker to get the textbook. But nothing is certain, since his mind has been fogged by the sudden farewell, so he just sprint through the brilliantly decorated doors to his locker. 

The boy fumbles to unlock his locker, only to have a shocking realization that the locker is in fact, not locked. What the hell? Lance can be careless or head on the cloud, but his muscle memory has assured him that he never, ever forgets to lock his locker. Not since that one time when he did, and someone drenched all of his notebooks and left a dead sparrow inside back in grade 9. And not just any sparrow. It’s the small bird that Lance had charmed with breadcrumbs. He had taken care of it for months, because its left wing was injured... Then when he thought the bird could fly to its longing sky again, someone ruptured its wings and dragged it into the dirt.

Someone, namely Rolo. 

Lance’s heart is leaping to his throat. Because he places the snow globe in there. Oh my god, his courting gift, his memorabilia of a falling relationship he’s trying to save. It’s the reminder of someone, whose face and name are yet unknown, but the passion of their heart and tenderness of their soul have crawled their way into Lance’s broken own. 

That’s probably his only chance to get a happy ending. They’re the one that turns this cruel Universe into a world where he can be loved. 

History is repeating itself. 

He shakily opens the door. His phone is right there, which is a relief, but—

The snow globe is gone. 

Instead, there is a note with familiar handwriting. 

4th floor. 5 pm.

Lance swallows his scream. There’s no time for that.

The hall clock shows that it’s already 4:58.

—

Fourth floor has another name: The Haunted Hall. It has been abandoned for years, but the school board refuses to offer an explanation. Rumor says that it’s the place concealing the most scandalous events ever happened in the school. Like students committing suicide. Fist fights that led to expulsion and death. Sexual harassment or abuse of power. Underage teenagers having the frick frack.  

The floor looks like a scene in horror movies. There’s no class on the floor, so Lance doesn’t expect much. But this is worse than he ever thinks of. The light bulbs must be covered in dust, since the lightning is terrible. Lance can barely make out the graffiti on the walls. There’s moss in every corner of the place. Dirt and mud too. Some cracks here and there on the floor, and he’s pretty sure the ceiling has some holes as well. Tables and chairs, all broken or at least worn out, scatter along the hall. And the smell, gosh, it smells like wet old shoes, rubbish and vomit.  

A thunder strikes. The brunet can hear the raindrops hitting the roof. As if there are thousand fists punching the poor ceiling. And the water dripping to the floor too.

It’s raining cats and dogs.

Great, now this is even more frightening. 

Lance carefully sets his foot into the dimly-lit hallway. For a while, he’s accompanied by only his footsteps and the raging rain outside. But it’s okay, Lance is comfortable around water.

Slowly, he makes his way to the end of the hall. The lightning there is much better, because he can clearly see some standing silhouettes on the wall. One female and a few male.

Nyma, Rolo and their gang.

They must also have noticed him, since they drop their talking.

Nyma is turning her back at Lance, so she simply looks over her shoulder. Rolo straightens his back, staring right at his face. Others do too, intense gazes fall onto the lean body in front of them.

Lance steps a few more steps towards them, and stops when he’s about five feet from Nyma. 

“Well, well, well, someone has grown some gut overnight, huh?” A chorus of laughter follows it.

The Cuban gawks his lips. “Give me back my thing.”

“What thing?” The footballer whistles mockingly. 

The other remains silent. 

“You mean this garbage?” Nyma chimes in, pulling Lance’s snow globe from her bag.

Lance refocuses his attention on the cheerleader. “Give me that, please.”

“How polite!” The cheerlearder purrs. “So unlike our last encounter.”

“Yeah, because I was properly brought up, you’re dragged.”  

Both Rolo and Nyma scowl at his words. Those jocks around tense their shoulders too. Lance can feel their heated glares lingering on his form.

“The fuck you just said?” Rolo angrily strikes forward.

The brunet ignores the threatening fury in his voice, yet continues staring at the girl.

“If you guys don’t hurry up, you’ll be drenching.” He cocks his head to the forming puddle on their left. It’s definitely raining more heavily. As if to demonstrate his prophecy, another thunder rings through the sky.

Nyma stops her raging boyfriend, then fully turns around to look at Lance.

“Fine. Kneel and apologize, then we’re done.”

Kneel and apologize? To his bullies from grade 9? They’re lucky he’s not bashing their faces yet. From the moment he saw the note, Lance wished nothing but to punch Rolo square in his jaw, then jab his guts and kick his balls. Nyma, though, he doesn’t hit girls, but he can make an exception. And now they want to further humiliate him? Those fuckers sure have some confidence here.

But the snow globe… The affectionate hand-made gift he’s treasured. Wait a second, how do they know this thing is important to him?

“Are you doing that or not?”

“Fine, fine.” Lance bristles. “Before that, can you satisfy my curiosity a bit? Why did you take the snow globe instead of my phone?”

“The fact that you ask this has proved that we chose right.” Nyma smiles. “Now, kneel.”

The Cuban gradually lowers himself. At least there’s only Rolo’s gang around to witness this, he bitterly thinks. “I apologize.”

“For what?” Nyma still has the audacity to smirk.

“For…” He closes his eyes. “For the other time. I’m sorry I pushed you.”

There’s a clicking sound, and Lance flinches. Rolo’s holding a camera, a victorious grin splatters on his face. 

He just took a picture of Lance on his knee. This bastard. The brunet tries his best to contain himself.

“Ah ah, what a sight for sore eyes.” Rolo tuts. “A dog is finally back to where it belongs.”

“Don’t insult dogs.” A huskier tone speaks up. “At least some people like them.”

“You can still try though.” Another guy chimes in, then turns to Lance. “Hey, why don’t you bark for us?”

Lance bites his lips so hard, he can taste the iron in his blood. He fixed his gaze to the floor instead of answering them.

“Well, loser then.” That moron sighs disappointingly. “Too bad, I’ve always wanted a dog, but my parents are allergic.”

Their snickers are getting on Lance’s nerves more and more. His ears are ringing, and the sounds of raindrops heavily drumming into his tympanum.

“Can I have my thing back now?” He bites out loud.

It’s like time stops. No one says anything, just strained breath echoing the empty hallway. Lance dares to look up at Nyma.

“Sure.” She shrugs. “Here.”

And then she smashes it into the floor. Right in front of Lance’s face. Everything happens so fast that he can’t even have a chance to protest. Not even a “No”. His first instinct is not to close his eyes and prevent any pieces of glass from his eyeball, but to scramble to grasp at the debrids. The violet flower he has yet to know the name.

Something is lumping at his throat. Maybe it’s anger, maybe it’s frustration, maybe it’s helplessness. Or all of them. Ocean of feelings is rising up inside him, clogging his lungs, squeezing his heart. He has lost numerous things in those hands. His sparrow. His notebooks. His ego. His chance to have a nice and normal student life. A part of his youth. 

And now, his snow globe is… Gone.

Nyma makes a disgusted sound and steps backward, wrinkling her shoes.

“At least my baby is still safe and sound this time.”

That girl just once again shatter his dream, and her first reaction is—

Lance suddenly has the urge to laugh. So he does.

“Your baby? Maybe you should ask it beforehand, let’s see whether or not it would want to hang on such an abomination like you.”

Someone’s gasping. He can hear it. His Mama has raised him to be better than this, to be a gentleman, but right now he seems unable to stop his mouth.

Lance slowly stands up, doesn’t even glance at his bloody hand.

“So tell me, did it hurt,” he steps a step forward, “when you clawed your way to the Earth from hell?”

Sharp intakes of air are everywhere. The stormy fury on Nyma’s face promises the brunet nothing but pain and persecution, but he’s suffered them enough. Even if the raging fire in his chest is soon to be extinguished, he still wants to let it burn a little longer.  

So he lurches forward. Regardless of his bleeding fist. 

He shoves Nyma onto the floor, hard. She screams, and Rolo grips his arm to jerk him back from her. Someone throws a punch to his stomach, but he doesn’t care. He blindly kicks at that jock’s shin, then elbow at the fucker holding him too. He falls on the floor, but before he can stand up, a hand grabs his collar and drags him upward.

Someone is pulling his hair to roughly tilt his head, but Lance’s sense is tingling like crazy, so he tries his best to duck. When he gets out of the hold and looks up, Rolo is standing in front of him, already throwing the next fist. 

This is it. Lance shuts his eyes. Rip my handsome face. But worth it. If he has this time again, he won’t hesitate to do the same.

But the blow he’s waiting for never comes. Instead, it’s a pained grunt. 

Lance blinks rapidly.

There’s someone else, who isn’t in Rolo’s gang here. He is kicking at Rolo’s stomach, harsh. 

Then he turns around, and Lance feels like someone has clutched his throat. 

It’s Keith.

“Watch out!” The mullet shouts. 

Lance instinctively hunches down, narrowly avoiding a strike. Before he can register, Keith pulls him back, then lunges forward at the attacker. 

The Cuban picks up a long wooden piece lying nearby, and swings at a scrunching Rolo, who then flops down pitifully. He continues to bash the camera fullforce, until he’s certain that no part of it is undamaged, and turns to look at Nyma.

Nyma is crawling backward, evidently tensing under his gaze. 

“Wait, wait, you cannot hurt me, I’ll tell the school board—” The brunet twirls the wood in his hand, coldly looking at her. “Please, please, forgive me! I swear, I swear I will never bother you again—”

She’s crying pitifully. Pathetic and miserable. His hand tightens around the weapon. She has reduced to a sorry mess, yet he can’t feel even a tang of happiness. 

He’s not a monster.

He’s not like them.

“Your hand is bleeding.”

Keith appears right next to Lance, his eyes lock onto the injured hand. Behind him, Rolo’s gang is scattering around, groaning painfully. 

Woah. That’s like, one versus three. Keith here is clearly a fighter, huh.

“Let’s go, we need to bandage your hand.” The raven hair tugs at his arm. “Their injuries are not that bad. They’re just being babies.”

“Wait, I still need to retrieve something.”

“What?” Keith’s face twists into annoyance. 

Lance picks up the crushed flower lying amidst the broken glass. “This.” 

Keith looks surprised, but he says nothing. He pulls Lance along with him, yet something is telling the brunet that the other is shy.

—

The sky is filled with layers and layers of stormy clouds. It’s still raining outside. At least it’s not as bad as the Cuban thought.

Keith looks at the heavy raindrop, then takes off his jersey and gives it to the other. The taller boy just stares back at him like a deer in the headlight.

“What?”

“Wear it, or wrap it around your hand.”

“Oh.” Lance says unintelligently. He clumsily drapes it over his shoulders and struggles to cover his bloody hand. “Okay, what’s now?”

Keith fingers wrap around his wrist, and Lance shudders at the sudden action, the surprised warmth seeping through the cloth.

“Run!” The footballer shouts, and he dashes into the rain, dragging the other along. It takes the other boy a second to understand the command, and he rushes forward as well. 

When they’re halfway to the parking lot, Lance drops his flower. He stops abruptly, and out of habit, he stretches his right hand out to pick it up. 

“What are you doing!? Keep running!” Keith yells.

“Wait, I can’t find my flower!” Lance shouts back. “I’ll be in a minute, just go first!”

Keith yanks him upward. “What the fuck? You’re going to be soaked! Forget that stupid flower!”

“It’s not stupid!” He snatches his wrist back. “It’s beautiful and mythical!"

"You can find ton of them in every florist shop! Stop being a child!"

"They're not the same! What do you even know about romance anyway!?”

“Are you kidding me right now!? First you went to Rolo and Nyma with bare hand for a snow globe and now you’re risking your health for a fucking flower?” The raven hair’s getting more and more frustrated. “What if I didn’t come there in time to save your ass!?”

“I didn’t ask you to come!” Lance screams. “Why did you come anyway!? It’s none of your business! You already have Allura, I saw you guys kissing after the game! I helped you get your true love, so why can’t you leave me alone to find mine?!”

“Because I care for you, dumbass!” Keith roars. “I like you, that’s why!”

“Wha—What—” 

“Because I’m in love with you! For the entire time. I always think you’re funny, so vibrant, so bright, okay? You made me flustered and awkward and I didn’t want to be a freak in front of you! I joined the football team partly because I wanted you to see me as someone cool and princely, like those romantic Disney stories you rambled about. But then you never came to any of my matches anyway. I always reasoned maybe you’re not interested in sports. And I didn’t know how to start conversations with you again because you were so—so faraway, so distant. You never glanced at me twice, even when I waved you at school, and you stopped going over to my house. Like you’d lost interest in me. I tried to ask you to prom, but you didn’t seem to care, so I hoped that maybe, maybe if I did what you considered romantic, you would look at me like I look at you. You obviously liked the gifts, and Allura told me it was time to invite you to the match. There is nothing between Allura and me, other than that she has always tried to help me with my crush on you, okay? She’s a lesbian and I’m gay as hell. That day, Allura wasn’t kissing me, she was giving me advice on how to ask you out after the celebration. But you—you didn’t show up. You began to avoid me, I simply thought that you declined my proposal, but at least you kept the snow globe, so I still had a chance, right? Then you started hanging out with that James Griffin, and completely ignored me! Even if Griffin is just an impostor, he must have seen my gifts for you and pretended it was him all along. He doesn't even like you, he just want to ruin my life. I tried to tell you, but you’re so set on him, and in the end I just screwed everything up." Keith pauses and pants shakily. "It turned out you weren’t indifferent to football, you were just not interested in me. When I like you so much. So much.” His voice croaks, as if—as if he’s on the verge of tears. “All this time. How could you not know?”

“You–you are my secret admirer? And you asked me to prom?” Lance’s mouth goes dry.

“Yes.” The mullet closes his eyes, his upper body slumps heavily. Like he’s defeated. “The flower in the snow globe is viscaria. Will you dance with me? flower. Look, I understand if you don’t reciprocate my feelings, but can we at least still be fri—”

Lance leaps forward, and smashes their lips together. Violet eyes widen in surprise, the sturdy body goes rigid, obviously astonished. But after a moment, Keith enthusiastically kisses him back.

The sound of rainfall suddenly fades into the background. He can only hear his heart cheering loudly, and how the other one is beating like crazy. How their breaths hitch at the same time. As though there are only the two of them left in this universe. It's just a passing moment, a second in day, yet to him, it lasts a life-long. The kiss tastes like rain, like clumsiness, desperate and hopeless crushes, passionately as the summer night. 

So this is love. So this is the heavenly sweetness of being young and carefree and reckless. Summery and full of youth, like pomegranate. Like the warm embrace of the Caribbean sea. If then, he doesn't mind being drown. In fact, he'd willingly immerse into the pearly waves. 

When they part, Keith’s face is already a crimson red. He gapes at him breathlessly.

Lance can feel his own embarrassment crawling up to his cheeks and spreading down to his neck, but he stubbornly holds the gaze with the mullet.

“I’m sorry I was too dumb to realize it’s you. I’m sorry I haven’t found a way to message you. I’m sorry I didn’t know your asking.”

“I’m stupid too.” Keith bites his lips, then reaches out to hold the Cuban’s hand. “I’m sorry for being a coward. And for hurting you the other day too. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I forgive you.” Lance lightly squeezes the footballer’s hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep your gift. I let them break it.”

“It’s okay. If you like it, I’ll make another for you.”

“Really?” The brunet leans in, excitement shining brightly in the blue orbs. 

“Really.” The raven says firmly, his own violet eyes soften.

“So, uhm.” Keith scrunches down for a bit, then stands up. “Will you dance with me?” He holds the crumpled viscaria to Lance. “Sorry, I’ll get you another later.”

Raindrops fall onto the pitiful flower, as if they’re trying to corrupt it, the poor blossom even loses some petals. But to a certain boy, it’s the liveliest and most exquisite flower in the world.

“Yes.” Lance beams. “Yes, it’s my pleasure.”

They smile at each other, through the heavy rain.

“Let’s go, dumbass. We’re soaking.” Keith is the first to turn his head, pulling the other towards the parking lot.

“I’m not interested in James Griffin, you know. I was trying to get the name of my secret admirer through him.”

“That’s—” Keith’s shoulders tense, then he grumbles. “Now you already know. You don’t have to hang out with him anymore.”

“Maybe.” Lance easily complies, fluttering his wet eyelashes when the other scoffs. “He’s fun to talk to. Are you jealous or what?”

The mullet pauses briefly, then walks faster. 

...

"Crap, I forgot to ask why did they know about your snow globe!"

"It's Griffin."

"That bastard!!! I'll make him pay the price."

"It's okay, I already take care of that."

"Wait—how did you know?!"

"He told me."

"He voluntarily confessed to you?"

"...No."

"Wha—Keith, did you beat hi—"

"Ugh, shut up."

...

"How did you know Allura anyway?"

"She's Shiro's mentor's daughter. Why do you have so many questions?"

"So that's why she helped me that one time—hang on, the first time I met Pidge, she warded off Nyma and Rolo. It was you, right?"

"...Fine, it was me, happy? You were so uncomfortable, everyone could see it from the pitch. Now hurry up, will you?" 

Lance grins cheekily. 

Maybe he finally gets his happy ending, after all.

—

“Wow.” Pidge says. “I’m speechless.” 

“Yeah, same here.” Hunk sighs. “What kind of dumbasses standing in the middle of the rain confessing to each other? What if they catch a cold?”

“Our dumbasses, it seems.” Veronica claps her hand. “Anyway, money money money ~”

Pidge and Hunk groans in union. 

“Can’t believe Lance is the one who initiated their first kiss.” The smaller mumbles. “Keith, oh Keith, how you have failed me.”

“Can’t believe Keith is the one who confessed first.” The larger mutters. “Lance, why did you betray my precious trust for you?”

"Clear communication my ass." The average moans. "If they have clear communication this would have been finished like, 15000 words ago."

“How can you know exactly the order anyway?” Pidge narrows her eyes at Lance’s sister. “Did you sign a contract with them or something?”

Veronica just flashes a sickenly sweet smile at them. “Kiddo, darling. I’m a big sis. Being correct is like, my second nature.”

Pidge just rolls her eyes, when Hunk slumps onto the steering wheel.

“Now back to serious business here.” Allura clears her throat. 

“Well, mission completed! They have their happy ending.” The oldest girl turns to the goddess sitting next to her. “And my dazzling lady, would you like one too? How about we go to a really nice cafe next time instead of this lump of a car?”

Hunk huffs, offended.

“We still have the aftermath.” Allura levels the Big Sis a look. “Pidge, are you sure you have enough evidence against James Griffin regarding his abnormal academic results?”

“Yes, I have a copy here if you wish to go through it.” The small genius pulls out a binder. 

“Is this the dumb jock who tried to steal Keith’s credit and seduce my brother?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” 

“How did he even know?” Veronica asks curiously. “How foolish must Keith have been anyway?”

“Extremely if you ask.” Pidge snorts. “He dedicated The Philosophy of Love to Lance and instead of putting it in with the snow globe like a reasonable, intelligent human being, he stuck it on the outside. He said it had worked twice, it would do a thrice. Griffin must have noticed something and stole the note or whatever.”

“So the note detached, jock accidentally or intentionally had it,” the older gestures her arms widely, “and bam, we got this mess.”

“Bam, we got this mess.” The younger nods accordingly.

“Interesting.” 

Allura coughs again. “Miss McClain, about Nyma, Rolo and their gang….”

“Please, just Vero is fine. And don’t worry, Princess, everything is in order.” Veronica waves a paper. “Here, you can take a look and improvise.”

“Uh,” two minutes into reading and Hunk already sweats, “isn’t it too cruel?”

“I think it’s neat.” Pidge turns to him. “What, they deserve it.”

“A bit problematic, but other than that, it's very well-mapped and thought-out.” Allura agrees.

“Thank you, my ladies.” Veronica beams. “And Hunk, my sweet child, my brother and his best friend may not be monsters, but I am a witch. Being evil is in my nature!” 

Hunk silently shudders. God helps anyone who crosses these three.