Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keith squints at his phone screen, leaning against a pillar outside the Daniel K. Inouye International Airport in Honolulu. The sun was brighter, and it was warmer than he had anticipated. 

Keith had always had a love-hate relationship with hot weather.

Growing up in Texas, he'd grown used to the dry, scratchy heat that clung to everything; the kind that made your skin itch and your patience short. The sun often burned relentlessly, but it was home. And despite everything, he liked being outdoors. He liked the smell of sunbaked earth, the ever-present buzz of insects, and the warm weight of sunlight on his skin, even if it meant the occasional sunburn.

He had lived in Houston with his half-brother, Shirogane—Shiro, for as long as he could remember. Shiro worked for NASA as an astrophysicist alongside his college buddy Matt Holt and Matt's father, Samuel Holt. This meant Keith had always been acquainted with the Holt family, having been childhood best friends with Matt's younger sister, Katie, who, towards the end of high school, had started to go by Pidge. 

Over a year ago, the Holts had relocated to Honolulu, Hawaii. NASA had transferred Samuel and Matt to support operations at both Keana Point Space Force Station and the observatories on Mauna Kea. 

Then, seven months ago—two months into Keith’s second year at Texas Tech University—Shiro was offered the same opportunity. The offer came as a surprise, but Shiro was thrilled and accepted without hesitation. Keith wasn’t with Shiro year-round. He stayed on campus during the school year and spent summers with him, but the new plan was simple. Shiro would move to Hawaii, and Keith would finish out the semester in Texas. If he wanted to, he could transfer to the University of Hawaii at Mānoa and live with Shiro full-time.

But even dreams could be disorienting. The thought of leaving Texas, of starting over somewhere new, filled Keith with a quiet dread. He missed the familiarity of his life: his school, his routines, even the handful of friends he’d made. The unknown unsettled him. Change, in general, did. Still, no change could overshadow his wish to be with his brother. 

Now, in late May, Keith was finally here, bleary-eyed and travel-worn, a single bag slung over his shoulder. The flight had been long and exhausting. All he could hope was that the boxes he'd shipped two weeks earlier had already made it to Shiro’s house. To his new house. 

“Keith!”

Keith looks up from his phone, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Shiro!” he calls, stepping forward into a hug.

Shiro was all smiles—noticeably more tanned than Keith remembered—and wearing what might’ve been the loudest Hawaiian shirt Keith had ever seen. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Keith mutters, the tension he’d been carrying for weeks beginning to ease now that he had something, someone, familiar.

Shiro clapped him on the back. “Me too, buddy.”

They pull apart, and Shiro reaches over to grab Keith's bag from his brother's shoulder. 

“Come on, car’s this way.”

The drive from the airport was like stepping into a dream. Keith’s eyes stayed fixed on the mountains; they were tall, impossibly green, and almost unreal in their beauty. He winced as sweat trickled down his brow; the humidity wrapped around him like a second skin.

“There are definitely worse places to live,” he says, half to himself, still trying to believe this was real.

“You can thank NASA for that,” Shiro says with a grin.

Shiro glances over, catching the quiet awe in Keith’s expression.

“It’s a lot to take in at first,” he adds, “but you’ll like it here. I promise.”

Keith didn’t look over, still watching the landscape blur past the window.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Shiro’s smile softens, eyes briefly lingering on him before turning back to the road.

“Pidge is at Manoa too,” he offered. “Astronomy, math, and focusing in engineering. You’ll probably share a few classes. If you're sticking with astronomy, that is.”

That got Keith’s attention. He looks over at Shiro, eyebrow raised.

“Pidge? What year are they?”

Shiro chuckles. “Technically a sophomore, but they're on track to graduate the same time you are.”

Keith had truly missed Pidge after they moved. Sure, they had grown apart once Keith went to college, but they had still texted and called when able. Once Pidge moved here with their family, though, communication between them became tight, infrequent.

"They'll probably have us over for dinner soon," Shiro says then, referring to the Holts. "They live in the same neighborhood as us."

Keith smiles to himself at that. 

"Cool," he says. "Looking forward to it."

Keith was pleasantly surprised by the house. It wasn’t massive, but a three-bedroom place this close to the ocean? That was more than he’d expected. He had to hand it to NASA. They clearly took care of their own.

He wandered the property, taking in the warm breeze, the faint scent of salt in the air, and the quiet hum of a neighborhood slowly settling into the evening. There was nothing to complain about, but something still felt... off. Missing, maybe.

Shiro, as if sensing his unease, grins then.

"All your stuff made it on time," Shiro says. "And there is something in particular that came the other day."

Keith turns, eyes widening. "Is it-"

Shiro laughs, motioning him along. "Come on; I have it in the garage."

As Shiro opens the garage, Keith drops his bag and all but darts inside. The custom-painted red Kawasaki Ninja 650 gleamed under the garage lights and was certainly a sight for sore eyes.  Keith hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until that moment. He thought two weeks without his bike wouldn’t be a big deal, but seeing it now, he felt a little more put together. 

Keith kneels down, inspecting the paint, the tires, every inch, checking for any damage.

Shiro leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching with a smile.

"Don't worry, Red's fine," Shiro says. " I had some diagnostics run on her and got her registration. New Hawaiian plates and everything."

Keith's eyes widen before he looks back at Shiro. "Shiro, you didn't have to-"

Shiro shakes his head. "Nonsense. I knew this move was... hard for you, so I wanted to make it easier."

Keith's smile grows, and Shiro snorts.

"Come on," Shiro says. "You have other unpacking to do."

They spent the next couple of hours unloading boxes, but eventually, Shiro gave Keith space to settle in. Something about being here—being with Shiro again—started to ease the knot in Keith’s chest. The first few days flew by comfortably. Shiro had taken him around Honolulu, and they had even taken a trip to the North Shore, which Keith preferred to the solitude of.

A few days later, Keith had been hanging around the garage of their house, cleaning up his motorcycle while Shiro went to work. He stayed there until the afternoon when Shiro finally got home.

"You're going to have to put that to rest for the evening," Shiro says as he steps into the open garage door, arms crossed. "The Holts invited us for dinner tonight."

Keith sits up, wiping his brow. "Sure," he says.

After Keith cleaned up, he and Shiro walked a few blocks down to the Holts’ house. It was a little bigger than him and Shiro's—more polished, more open—but Keith found himself quietly relieved their place was smaller. Quieter. More personal.

The front door swung open just as they reached the porch, and Colleen Holt greeted them with her signature warmth. She practically swept Keith into a hug, barely resisting the urge to kiss his cheek.

"Keith! Oh, it's so wonderful to see you!" she says, her voice like sunshine; bright and comforting, easing some of the tension still coiled in his chest.

"How are you liking Oʻahu so far? You’ve been here almost a week now, right?"

Keith offers a small smile, still a little stiff from the unfamiliarity of everything.

"It’s nice," he says simply. "Different."

Colleen just beams, as if that was the best answer he could’ve given.

Samuel appears a second later, giving both Shiro and Keith firm pats on the shoulder, his grin wide.

"Good to see you, son! Shiro’s been talking our ears off about you moving down here. Couldn’t stop smiling when you said yes."

Shiro laughs. "Guilty as charged."

Before Keith could respond, movement on the staircase caught his attention.

Pidge came down casually, hands tucked into their hoodie, their expression lighting up the second they saw him. Their hair was shorter now, and the oversized glasses teetering on their nose were new, but unmistakably them.

They grinned.

"Keith, dude," Pidge says. "C'mere!" 

Keith smiles awkwardly at Colleen, Samuel, and Shiro, walking over to Pidge, who simply turns and goes up the stairs, expecting him to follow. He hears Pidge's parents and his brother chuckle at their departure, but Keith was already feeling far more relieved at Pidge's intervention.

Pidge leads Keith to their room, quickly shutting the door behind them both.

Pidge sighs deeply before turning to Keith, a grin on their face.

"Dude, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!"

Keith smiles then, chuckling. "Missed me?" he teases, and Pidge barks out a laugh.

“Oh, totally," Pidge says. "My new friends are great, don’t get me wrong, but they’re not really into the weird, cryptid-hunting, conspiracy-theory stuff we like. I can’t even remember the last time I watched a horror movie with someone who didn’t either get scared or roll their eyes at everything.”

Keith chuckles, glancing around Pidge’s room. It was exactly as it had been when they still lived in Texas; organized chaos, cluttered with half-finished projects, wires, monitors, and tech gadgets only Pidge could make sense of. The whole space radiated them.

“You meet them at school?” he asks. 

Pidge flops dramatically onto the bed, limbs splayed like a starfish.

“Yeah,” they reply. “I had chemical engineering with Hunk, and advanced astronomy with Lance. They were already friends, so I kind of just… slotted in. Easy peasy.”

They pause, then grin at him. 

“You’ll like them. Even if you are a hopeless recluse.”

Keith rolls his eyes, moving to sit in the desk chair and spinning lazily.

“I’m not that bad,” he mutters, crossing his arms.

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Says the guy who can’t get a boyfriend because he’s too emo.”

Keith flushes, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, you know I’m not looking.”

Pidge snorts, the corners of their mouth curling into a smug smile.

“Right, right. ‘No one’s ever my type.’ I’ve heard it all before.”

Keith huffs, spinning the chair in a slow circle, choosing not to dignify that with another response.

"Your friends," Keith began, "they sound cool. What do they study?"

Pidge hums, thoughtful.

"Hunk studies astrophysics and engineering. Lance is majoring in marine biology, minoring in astronomy."

Keith snorts. Of course. Leave it to Pidge to befriend two overachievers.

"Let me guess—they're cave-dwellers like you."

Pidge scoffs and moves to lean back on their elbows.

"Actually, no. Hunk's Samoan and Hawaiian—local guy. He surfs, like, a lot," they say. "Lance surfs too. He’s ridiculously good; won a bunch of comps, teaches classes, the whole deal. He lives here full-time too, but I think his family moved here when he was a kid."

They groan, flopping back again.

"They're both made for the sun. So of course, they drag me outside constantly."

Keith laughs. "Sunlight’s good for you, Pidge. You live on Oʻahu; it’d be criminal not to go outside."

Pidge shrugs, grinning.

"It’s not bad. Less bugs than Texas, anyway. And I do like the beach sometimes. But now that you’re here, mister ‘I love being outdoors,’ I’m hoping they start dragging you around instead. Especially Lance—he never sits still."

Keith chuckles, honestly intrigued. They sounded like good people, and if Pidge had gotten close to them in just a year, maybe… this wouldn’t be so hard after all. Back in Texas, his circle of friends had been small and not close. A change might be good.

"You still have your bike?" Pidge asks then, changing the subject. 

Keith nods. "Yeah, it got here just before I did. I’ve been working on it since I got here."

Pidge throws a fist in the air. "Yes! You have to give me a ride."

Keith sighs dramatically, reclining in the desk chair a little. "Last time, your mom nearly murdered me."

He remembered it too—taking Pidge on a ride through back roads in the countryside, far from traffic. Colleen had not been pleased. He was sure she’d aged him five years with one glare.

Pidge waves it off with a roll of their eyes.

"She won’t care now. She’s way more relaxed here than she ever was in Texas."

Before Keith could respond, there was a knock at the door. It opened a second later to reveal Matt, Pidge's brother and Shiro's college buddy, leaning in with a grin.

"Hey, Keith! Dinner’s ready, you two."

Dinner was warm and easy, and Keith felt genuinely happy to be hanging around Pidge again. Despite everything that had changed, their dynamic hadn’t shifted an inch. It was like no time had passed at all.

Later, once the sky darkened and the stars began to emerge, Pidge pulled him outside to show off their telescope. Keith was floored by how much he could see, even with the lights of Honolulu so close by.

“Light pollution isn’t too bad here,” Pidge says, adjusting the zoom with practiced ease. “Makes for amazing stargazing. There was a meteor shower a couple of months ago—Dad and I stayed up all night watching it.”

Keith stared through the eyepiece, awestruck by the clarity. He could pick out constellations and catch the faint glow of a distant planet. A calm washed over him, the kind he hadn’t realized he’d been craving. For the first time since moving, he felt grounded. And for the first time in a while, he was excited about his astronomy classes.

As the night wound down and he and Shiro were getting ready to leave, Pidge calls out.

“Hey! Hunk and I are hanging out tomorrow—wanna come? No pressure if you’re busy or still settling in.”

Keith pauses, thinking. He didn’t have any plans. No real excuse.

“Sure,” he says with a casual shrug. “Why not?”

Pidge grins. “Sweet! Still have the same number? I’ll text you the details.”

Keith blinks, then nods, and Pidge’s grin turns sly.

“Sick. Hunk’s gonna lose his mind.”

Keith chuckles, a reluctant smile creeping across his face.

“Good,” he said. “I’m excited to meet him.”

On the walk back to Shiro and Keith’s place, the quiet evening breeze brushing past them, Shiro glances over.

“Have fun?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You and Pidge seemed to bounce back to normal.”

Keith nods, a rare softness in his expression.

“Yeah. Honestly… kind of excited to meet their friends.”

Shiro lets out a surprised laugh.

“Keith Kogane, excited to meet people? Pidge must’ve really hyped them up.”

Shiro pauses, expression thoughtful, before he adds, “But they are good guys. I think you’ll like them.”

Keith arches a brow at his brother.

“You’ve met them?”

“Oh yeah, plenty of times,” Shiro says. “Pidge is always with them. Hunk’s a sweetheart—super smart, kind of like Pidge. Lance is great too, just… a little much at first. Eccentric. Hyper. But you’ll get used to him.”

Keith hums, mulling it over. The idea of having an outgoing friend was unfamiliar, but oddly appealing. Lance surfed. He was sociable. According to Pidge, he made friends like it was nothing.

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Maybe it was exactly what Keith needed.

The next day, Keith was back in the garage, sleeves rolled up and grease on his hands as he tuned the last few things on his bike. He fired up the engine, and the smooth purr that followed was music to his ears. No strange sounds, no resistance—everything felt solid.

Relief settled in his chest like a weight being lifted. After all the shipping, the wait, the nerves—Red was fine. Maybe later today, he could take her out for a proper test ride.

Satisfied for now, Keith wiped his hands on a rag and headed inside to shower off the sweat and engine grease. As he toweled off, his phone buzzed with a few new texts. Pidge.

Hunk's over

can we come by

we're gonna grab pizza first

Keith smiles at that, despite the nerves that he was starting to feel.

He could do this; he could meet someone new.

Sure. Gonna shower rq  Keith sends.

Pidge's text is immediate.

sick

leaving dominos rn  

be there in 15

Keith showered quickly and threw on something casual, towel-drying his hair as he padded toward the door in bare feet. The doorbell had just finished ringing when he swung it open.

Standing there was Pidge, dressed as usual in their trademark oversized T-shirt and cargo shorts, looking perfectly at ease. Beside them was someone Keith could only assume was Hunk.

The guy was huge—easily over six feet, broad-shouldered, with deep brown skin and a headband keeping his dark hair back. At first glance, he looked intimidating… until you noticed the huge, radiant smile on his face. He is also holding two large pizza boxes, and Keith wonders if his partiality towards this guy is from his inviting demeanor or the delicious aroma.

“Hey,” Pidge greets simply. “This is Hunk.”

Keith nearly snorts at their blunt introduction but turns to Hunk with a faint smile.

“Keith,” he says, short and to the point.

Hunk’s grin widens at Keith's introduction. “You’re exactly how Pidge described you. I feel like we’re already friends!”

"Likewise," Keith says, his tone almost awkward, but relieved. "Come in, guys."

Hunk gestures for Pidge to go first, who marches in like they own the place. Hunk follows more cautiously, still polite but taking everything in.

"I can't believe I got to meet the Keith Kogane first," Hunk says as Keith closes the door behind them. “Lance is gonna be so jealous.”

“Where should I put these?” Hunk asks, lifting the boxes.

“Any where’s fine,” Keith says, heading toward the kitchen. He grabs plates and cups while Pidge casually slams a two-liter bottle of soda onto the counter like they were dropping off a prize.

“Where’s Lance?” Keith asks, glancing over.

“Work,” Pidge replies, hopping onto one of the barstools. “He’s stuck on back-to-back shifts the next few days.”

Hunk chuckles, setting the pizzas on the island and opening the boxes.

“He asked for the hours. Coran gave him the hours. So, he really can’t complain... though he definitely will.” His tone was light, fond.

Keith places the plates on the counter and eyes the pizzas cautiously. Hunk notices.

“One’s pepperoni, the other’s plain cheese,” Hunk says quickly. “Didn’t want to get too wild until I knew your pizza boundaries.”

Keith smiles at the thoughtfulness.

“I’m usually good with most stuff… except Hawaiian,” he adds with a slight grimace. “Not a pineapple-on-pizza kind of guy.”

Hunk blinks, then bursts out laughing.

“Oh man, Pidge, you didn’t tell me he was funny!” Hunk says, grinning. “No worries, Keith. The only pineapple defender in the group is Lance, and he’s very loud about it.”

To Keith’s surprise, it was easy talking to Hunk. He had a calm, optimistic energy that filled the room without taking it over. He carried most of the conversation, which meant Keith didn’t have to worry about constantly thinking of what to say. The pressure was off.

They talked for hours—about school, classes, professors, astronomy, engineering, and everything in between. Every question Keith had about the university, Hunk or Pidge answered effortlessly, tossing out helpful tips and stories like they were already friends. 

At some point, Pidge pulled their Switch from their backpack and set it up in the living room. Within minutes, they were trash-talking each other over Mario Kart, controllers in hand and pizza boxes open nearby.

Keith couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease with a new person. 

Keith’s afternoon with them turned out to be far more enjoyable than he expected. Now the three of them were lazily sprawled around the living room of the house he shared with Shiro. Pidge was curled cross-legged in the recliner, half-glued to their phone. Keith lay across the couch, head propped on one armrest, while Hunk had taken over the floor, limbs spread dramatically.

"After you meet Lance," Hunk says, tilting his head to glance up at Keith, "you’ll have to meet Coran and Allura too."

Pidge looks up from their screen.

"Oh yeah," they add, turning to Keith. "Allura’s awesome. She’s also in astrophysics and engineering. Her dad works with mine, Shiro, and Matt."

"She helps run a surf shack her mom started," Hunk chimes in. "She and her dad own it now. Coran mostly manages it these days, but he used to be an engineer at Keana Point before he retired."

Keith hums, resting his cheek against his hand.

"The shack, is that the same place you said Lance works?"

Pidge nods, already back to scrolling.

"Yeah. He works there part-time. It’s a cool place if you’re into surfing and overpriced knick-knacks."

Keith smirks at Pidge's dry delivery, and Hunk laughs from the floor.

"Nah, it's actually really cool," Hunk says. "It’s near Waimea Bay, so the views and the waves are top-tier."

Pidge snorts. "Coran’s a trip. Funky mustache, at least fifty different personalities depending on the day, and weirdly good at fixing anything mechanical."

They pause, then add, "Allura’s great. She’s sweet—terrifying sometimes—but really sweet."

Hunk grins at that, folding his arms behind his head.

"And Lance used to be so in love with her."

Keith raises an eyebrow at that, and Pidge chuckles.

"Oh yeah. Big crush. Probably still has it, honestly. But it’s not mutual. She’s got a boyfriend now."

"Lotor," Hunk supplies. "He’s pretty cool. Rides a motorcycle too. You might like him."

Keith considered that. The idea of another rider was mildly interesting, but he'd always preferred to go solo. Still…

"Yeah," he says with a small shrug. "Maybe."

Chapter Text

By now, Hunk and Pidge had more or less adopted Keith. For the next three days, they dragged him out of bed every morning to go sightseeing. Lance couldn’t join—work kept him busy—but Keith still heard all about Lance’s whining to Hunk and Pidge over how “unfair” it was that everyone got to meet Keith except him.

The whole thing left Keith quietly flattered. He wasn’t used to being the person someone was excited to meet, especially not someone who came so highly praised by both an old friend and a new one.

That day, they toured the east side of the island. Keith sat in the back of Hunk’s massive yellow truck, amused by how cautiously he drove to avoid his own carsickness. How Hunk managed to surf with that kind of energy was beyond him. He figured he’d believe it when he saw it.

Afterward, they grabbed Chinese food and drove to a state park— Heʻeia State Park—where they ate in the truck bed, warm sun overhead and salt in the air. He found himself starting to like Hawaii, especially the parts far away from the cities.

That afternoon, Pidge was texting Lance, who had sneakily pulled out his phone at work since Coran had the day off. He’d tried to send a selfie before teaching a class of eight-year-olds, but the photo never went through. What followed was a stream of chaotic messages that went something like:

Having to work today must be Coran divinely punishing me for having my phone out >:(

It's so hot today, what're you doing? Burning?

Pasty ass

Don't hog Keith! I want him to like me too!!! :(

The more messages Pidge showed Keith, the more entertaining they became.

The next day is when things start to take a turn.

Shiro had left early that Saturday morning for the Big Island with Samuel and Matt for their assignment at the NASA station on Mauna Kea. Keith had felt uneasy about being home alone for a week, but he figured Hunk and Pidge would be around to keep him distracted.

He took his bike out for a solo ride, hoping to get a better feel for the island. Around midday, he ended up at Puu Ualakaa State Park, where he found a quiet overlook with a sweeping view of Honolulu and the distant shoreline. It was peaceful, just what Keith preferred.

That’s when his phone buzzed. A text from Pidge.

aye what doing

Keith snapped a quick photo of the view, his bike barely visible in the frame, and sent it back.

Pidge replied instantly, unsurprisingly, with a flood of texts.

super cool buddy!

Hunk gets off work in 1 hr and I want you to meet Lance

we're supposed to hang since he's off

Keith chuckles before he types. You got a ride?

i was hoping some Texan could give me one

He pauses, thinking. There was a spare helmet in the garage back home. I only have my bike

and

Keith rolls his eyes. Your mom will kill me

she won't know she went to walmart

if ur fast ull beat her back lol

Keith grumbles to himself, but was already turning toward the bike.

Give me 20.

The ride was scenic: perfect weather, blue skies, ocean peeking through the trees. Keith might’ve enjoyed it more if he hadn't been wearing his enclosed helmet, the lifted visor offering little assistance. He made a pit stop at the house, grabbing the spare helmet from the garage, then booked it to the Holts’ place.

As soon as he pulled up, Pidge came running out the front door, locking it behind them in one swift motion before jogging down the steps toward his bike.

“Go, go!” Pidge shouts, already moving to hop on the back of the bike.

“Excuse me,” Keith cuts in, holding out the spare helmet towards them. Pidge eyes it suspiciously before giving him a deep frown.

Keith lifts the visor on his helmet, revealing his raised eyebrow and disapproving stare. “You really think I’m letting you ride without a helmet?”

Pidge sighs heavily before accepting it. "This is going to throw off my cool vibe," Pidge says, pushing the helmet down over their head.

Keith rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. He helps Pidge scramble onto the back, which took a few tries and a surprising amount of awkward shuffling.

Once they were finally settled, Keith glanced over his shoulder. “Where does Hunk work again?”

“The Starbucks on Kalakaua. Right across from the zoo.”

Keith nods; he was pretty sure he knew the general direction. The past few days had been a crash course in getting familiar with Honolulu’s layout. His sunburns could vouch for that.

The ride was quiet, primarily on Keith’s end; he focused on the road, the turns, the feel of the island under his tires. Meanwhile, Pidge was full volume in the comms, alternating between excited whooping, questionable sound effects, and commentary.

Keith didn’t say much, but he smiled behind his helmet. He’d been here just over a week, and somehow... Hawaii was starting to grow on him.

Traffic through Waikiki was heavy, mostly with tourists—or at least that’s what Keith assumed. He was starting to think he’d picked the worst possible time to move to Oahu, but at least it gave him a chance to learn the island before university started.

Pidge directed him to drop them off right in front of the Starbucks, then ran inside while Keith circled around to find parking. As he parked, he mentally braced himself—meeting someone new. Again.

Ever since he arrived, Pidge and Hunk had done nothing but talk about Lance, even more so after Keith had started tagging along on their adventures. He could only hope he’d get along with Lance as easily as he had with Hunk these past few days.

Keith turns away from his bike and heads toward the Starbucks entrance... only to collide with something solid.

Correction: someone solid.

He registers what happened a second too late. The person he’d run into was now sprawled across the sidewalk, a longboard skidding down the pavement without him. Keith’s eyes widen in horror.

“Shit—sorry,” he says quickly, reaching down with a gloved hand to help the guy up.

That’s when Keith actually looked at him.

Golden tan skin, tousled brown hair, and the most beautiful eyes Keith had ever seen; blue and bright, like the ocean. The guy looked like he belonged in the sea. Or maybe he was the sea.

Unfortunately, that thought was shattered when the pretty guy bats Keith’s hand away and gets up on his own.

“Seriously, dude?!” the pretty boy snaps. “Do you not look where you're going? There are other people around, you know!”

Keith opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He watches the guy jog over to retrieve his board before it rolls into traffic.

“I-I didn’t see you,” Keith says, voice slightly muffled by his helmet.

The guy snorts as he stands back up straight, longboard tucked under his arm now.

“Wow. You didn’t see me? Shocking,” the pretty boy retorts, almost mocking. “Figures. Tourists never pay attention.”

That comment did it.

“I live here,” Keith snaps.

“Sure you do,” the guy mutters with a dismissive wave and an eyeroll, already turning towards the Starbucks.

Keith blinks. Oh no. No, no, no.

The guy was going into the Starbucks, too?

Keith scoffs aloud, though his helmet muffles the sound, his irritation coming out as he trails behind the insufferable, pretty boy. The nerve of this guy was insane; it didn't matter how he looked.

“Why is it only my job to look out for everyone?! What about you?”

That stopped him. The guy turns, raising an eyebrow. “What about me?”

Keith crosses his arms. "You didn't see me either. Maybe you were on your phone or something."

“Excuse me?” the guy gasps. “I never text and ride. I’ve lived here long enough to know you have to pay attention out here. These eyes—” he points two fingers at his eyes, then flicks them towards Keith, the motion ridiculous and goofy, “—are always sharp. Like an apex predator, baby.”

Keith growls under his breath. The worst part wasn’t the attitude. It was the fact that he was still so attractive while being so incredibly annoying .

The guy starts walking again, heading towards the door. Keith reluctantly follows, fuming. Maybe Lance was already inside. Perhaps this whole day could be salvaged.

Before either Keith or the strange pretty boy can reach the door, it opens and out comes Pidge and Hunk, much to Keith's relief. Both of them lit up when they saw him, though Pidge looked between Keith and the longboarder with a flicker of confusion—then recognition.

“Hey, Lance!” Hunk grins. “Did you meet Keith already?”

Keith’s stomach drops. This was Lance?

This infuriating, beautiful asshole was Lance?!

God help him.

The guy, now revealed to be Lance, spins around, eyes wide as he looks at Keith, then whips back to face Pidge and Hunk.

“KEITH?! Shiro’s Keith? Keith-from-Texas Keith?!” he squeaks in horror.

Pidge laughs and holds up the spare helmet they still clutched. “Yeah, he was my ride.”

Keith, jaw clenched, unlatches his helmet and pulls it off, shaking out his hair, finally able to get a proper look at this guy, eye-to-eye. Lance still had his back to him, and Keith couldn’t help but notice how intentional it felt.

“No, no, no—you guys said Keith was cool!” Lance protests, gesturing wildly behind him without turning around.

“That guy”—he jabs a thumb in Keith’s direction—“knocked me flat on my ass and then tried to say it was my fault. No way that’s the same person!”

Keith narrows his eyes at the back of Lance's head. “Maybe if someone didn’t ride a longboard full speed down the sidewalk without keeping an eye out, they wouldn’t end up on their ass.”

Lance finally turns, mouth open for a comeback, but then he pauses.

His gaze lands on Keith’s now-uncovered face, their eyes finally locking. For a second, Lance just stared. His expression shifted—slightly softer, almost confused—and Keith dared to hope he was calming down.

But the longer Lance looked at him, the more Keith became insecure, almost flustered.

Then, Lance’s face tightens again, and he glances away with a pout that was entirely too cute.

“Maybe you should invest in a better helmet. One that doesn’t block your vision! If you didn’t see me, I’m genuinely concerned for everyone who drives around you.”

Keith’s patience snapped. “Oh yeah? What do you know about helmets? I bet you couldn’t even turn my bike on!”

Lance steps forward like he is ready to launch into round two, but Hunk quickly inserts himself between them with a smile that is a little too tight.

“Okay! Hey. Hey. Let’s all relax, yeah? We’re hanging out today, not starting a turf war.”

Keith immediately felt embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to let Lance get under his skin so easily—but damn if he wasn’t good at it.

Pidge nudges Keith’s side. “Yeah! Let’s go to the shack. I want Keith to meet Allura and Coran.”

Keith shoots Pidge a grateful look. At least those two knew how to de-escalate.

“What?! No!” Lance groans dramatically. “Today’s my day off ! That’s not fair!”

“I think that’s a great idea, Pidge,” Hunk chirps, slinging an arm over Lance’s shoulders. “I’ll take Lance, if Keith doesn’t mind Pidge riding with him again?”

Keith nods quickly, desperate to leave. “Pidge is fine with me.”

Lance spins to face him. “Nuh-uh! Do you really trust this guy to keep Pidge safe in Honolulu traffic? What would your mom say, Pidge?”

Keith’s glare could have cracked glass. “I’ve ridden this bike through Houston traffic. Honolulu is nothing.”

Lance narrows his eyes, and Keith matches the look. This would be so much easier if Lance weren’t so pretty.

“Honestly,” Pidge chimes in, “riding with Keith is probably safer than with Hunk. Keith doesn’t barf on wide turns.”

Hunk looks like he wants to defend himself, but instead nods in understanding..

Lance groans, rubbing his face. “ Of course this is the day I didn’t want to drive.”

Hunk offered to lead the way to the surf shack, and Keith didn’t argue; it gave him a chance to relax and take in the scenery. Watching the surfers dotting the waves in Waikiki, he found himself wishing he knew how to surf. Maybe someday.

About twenty minutes into the drive, they reached a quiet stretch of road with barely any traffic. Pidge suddenly starts tapping on his shoulder, shouting over the comms.

“Pass them!”

Keith frowns under his helmet. “What? No. I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Come on! I do! It'll be fun!”

Pidge kept pestering him, clearly enjoying how flustered he was getting.

“If your mom finds out I passed in the wrong lane, she’ll kill me,” Keith snaps.

Pidge laughs. “You're telling me you don’t want to see Lance’s angry little face as we pass? That wouldn’t make it worth it?”

Keith hesitates. That did sound tempting.

With a sigh, he checks the road—clear. He pulls into the opposite lane, accelerates, and lines up alongside Hunk’s truck. He could hear Pidge yelling something at the driver's side window. When he glances over, Lance is practically hanging out of it, shouting furiously, though the wind drowns out whatever he is saying.

Keith smirks and guns it, smoothly cutting back into the lane ahead of them.

Pidge was ecstatic, buzzing with energy the rest of the ride and barely managing to give Keith directions. He didn’t mind. The view was more than enough to make up for it. Riding past mountains, trees, and glimpses of ocean on the horizon, it all felt unreal. He lost track of time.

Eventually, as they neared Waimea Bay, Pidge taps his arm again and points down a small side road. He followed it, the trees parting to reveal a small surf shack nestled by the water. The ocean stretched out behind it, endless and shimmering under the afternoon sun.

He parks the bike just as Hunk’s truck rolls in behind them. Pidge hops off the back, practically yanking off their helmet as they sprint towards Hunk's truck, yelling:

“Did you see us?! We smoked you!”

Keith gets off his bike, pulling off his helmet and glancing out toward the water. The sun was beating down on him now, the lack of wind making him realize just how hot it was. He ties his flannel around his waist, already sweating.

“The only reason you passed us is because Hunk refused to go over 35!” Lance snaps, stepping out of the truck, clearly still fuming. His irritation practically radiated off him, and Keith couldn’t help the satisfaction that bubbled up.

“Jealous?” Keith asks casually, walking over and tightening the flannel knot at his waist.

Lance crosses his arms, lips pursed. “You wish. If I were driving Miss Blue, you wouldn’t have had a chance.”

“Lance only speeds if he’s late for a surf lesson,” Hunk adds, grinning.

Lance flushes. “Hey! I drive fast all the time!”

Everyone laughs, and Lance puffs his cheeks out, visibly flustered.

Keith smirks. “Well, if you ever want to know what real speed feels like, I might take you. You’d just have to say please.”

Immediately, Keith regretted saying it. Until Hunk and Pidge burst out laughing and Lance just stared at him, mouth hanging open.

Worth it.

Hunk begins leading Keith towards the shack, going on about how excellent Keith is as an addition to the group. Keith tried not to let the praise go to his head, but Lance's apparent displeasure made that difficult.

The moment they stepped inside, Keith was hit with the scent of coconut and sunscreen. The interior was bright and breezy, filled with natural light and the gentle hum of a ceiling fan. Rows of surfboards were displayed along the walls—sleek, colorful, and huge . He blinks, surprised by just how massive they were.

He was still staring when a voice appeared at his shoulder.

“Interested?”

Keith jumps, glancing back to find Lance way too close, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

Keith frowns slightly. “Yeah, I guess.”

Lance gave an exaggerated sigh, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Well, if you ever want to know what it feels like, I might teach you.”

Keith rolls his eyes at the callback. “Let me guess—if I say please?”

“You’re catching on,” Lance says, tone smug.

Keith turns and wanders towards a rack of branded t-shirts and rash guards, ignoring him. He did need more clothes—half of what he brought from Texas was either too hot or not beach-appropriate.

Lance trails after him, undeterred. “What’s wrong, mullet? Afraid to learn from a pro?”

Keith scoffs. “A pro? Sure. If I see one, I’ll let them know I’m interested.”

Lance gasps like he’d just been personally insulted by the ocean itself.

“I wouldn’t act so cocky,” he says, jogging over to a wall and jabbing a finger at a framed photo. “You’re talking to a three-time winner of the Da Hui Backdoor Shootout.”

Keith looks at the photo; Lance grinning wide, medal around his neck, hair windblown and wild. He looked... cute, honestly. Keith did his best to stay neutral.

He shrugs. “Sorry. I tend to believe by seeing.”

Lance gasps again—pure theater this time—but before he could fire back, the door at the back of the shop creaks open, and everyone turns toward it.

Out stepped a pale man with bright red hair, a spectacular mustache, and a blindingly loud Hawaiian shirt that Keith, to his dismay, found himself jealous of. Maybe it was time to dress for the climate. Shiro’s “practical” wardrobe choices were slowly killing his vibe.

“Lance! Hunk! Pidge! I knew I heard some squawking out here!” the man booms, his accent cheerful and crisp.

He pauses as his eyes land on Keith.

“Oh ho! Now, this one is new! Is this the Keith you were telling me about, Lance?”

Keith blinks. What? Lance had only just met him. When had he had time to talk about him?

Why WOULD he?

Lance’s face was red as he turns sharply towards the man. “Y-Yes—but he is not nearly as cool as Pidge said, okay?!”

Hunk chuckles. “Oh, c’mon, Lance. Keith’s way cooler than Pidge made him sound.”

Keith glances over at Hunk, grateful for the save, and then looks back to the red-haired man, who is now grinning broadly and walking over with outstretched hands.

“I like him already,” he declares, grabbing Keith’s hand in a firm, enthusiastic shake. “I’m Coran—manager, part-time surf guru, and occasional fashion icon here at Voltron Surf.”

Keith smiles, warming up to him instantly. “Great to meet you. Hunk and Pidge told me about you when I first got here.”

Coran throws his head back in a boisterous laugh. “Do you hear this guy? Do you hear him?! I love him!”

Keith, now grinning despite himself, steels a glance at Lance, who looked very much like someone who had just bitten into a lemon.

Good. That made it even better.

The door Coran had emerged from earlier swung open again. This time, a stunning dark-skinned woman steps into view. Her brilliant white hair cascades down her back, offering a striking contrast against her skin. Keith’s eyes widen in surprise as he realizes who she is.

Hunk and Pidge had mentioned that Allura’s father worked with Shiro. Curious, Keith had asked his brother about Alfor and Allura. Shiro had described Alfor as a brilliant and successful man, and Allura, it seemed, was following in his footsteps.

Seeing her now, it made sense why Lance had been so... obsessed with her, as Hunk had mentioned. 

“What’s all this commotion out here?” Allura asks, her voice musical. When she spots Keith, her face lights up. “Oh! You look just like Shiro! He told my father all about you when he first moved to O'ahu. I’m Allura Altea!” She steps forward with a graceful smile and extends her hand to shake his.

Before Keith can respond, Lance interjects, his voice dripping with faux indignation. “Oh, come on! What’s with everyone liking Keith? He knocked me off my longboard in a CROWDED Waikiki!"

Allura doesn’t miss a beat, turning to Lance with an eye roll. “Lance, might I remind you that yesterday you were ecstatic to meet Keith?”

Lance’s face flushes, his annoyance evident. Keith can’t help but chuckle at Lance’s flustered reaction.

“That was before he knocked me off my board,” Lance mutters, crossing his arms and scowling.

“It was an accident," Keith protests, his frustration growing again. “I even apologized!”

Lance shoots him a pointed look. “Then you told me it was my fault!”

“Okay, boys!” Coran chimes in, stepping between them with a playful scold. “No fighting in the shack. Allura and I have a children’s surfing lesson this afternoon.” He turns to Keith with a grin. “We don’t need to be setting a bad example.”

Keith flushes, embarrassed by his inability to keep his cool around Lance. It was like the guy was born to rile him up.

The rest of the group falls into a comfortable conversation, leaving Keith to wander a bit more. He examines the surfboards lined up around the room again—each one decorated in intricate, vibrant patterns. He can’t help but wonder how much harder surfing is compared to riding his motorcycle. Sure, he had dabbled in skateboarding, but he was no expert. He was almost envious of Lance’s casual confidence on his longboard. If Lance could surf as smoothly as he cruised on the sidewalk, Keith would probably be too intimidated to try.

“Say, Keith,” a voice calls, pulling him from his thoughts. He turns to find Allura walking toward him, having slipped away from the conversation to approach him directly. “Do you have a job?”

Keith shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Allura grins, her eyes bright. “Are you looking for one?”

Keith nods, still a bit surprised by the question.

“Perfect!” Allura beams. “We’re looking for another shop associate. Right now, it’s just me, Coran, and Lance. Lance and I handle most of the surf training, but we still spend a lot of time in the shop. Coran’s taking a couple of days off next week, so it would be fantastic if you’d consider helping out.”

Keith’s eyes widen at the offer. While he’s sure the pay wouldn’t be anything to write home about, it’s still an opportunity he can’t pass up. He’s in a new city, and he needs the work.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” he responds quickly, almost before he can second-guess himself.

Allura’s face lights up with joy. She claps her hands together, causing everyone else to look over in her direction.

She turns to Lance, her eyes sparkling. “What’s your schedule look like this coming week, Lance?”

Lance smirks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Keith immediately regrets agreeing to the job so fast.

“Well, I’m off tomorrow, but I work Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday,” Lance says with an exaggerated flourish.

Allura grins wider, clearly pleased with the alignment. “Wonderful! Keith, you can start Monday with Lance. Training begins then!”

Keith hears Lance's stuttering, surprised protests, and Coran's shouts of approval before Coran pulls both Keith and Lance into a tight hug. They go tense at the forced contact, and Keith is unsure he'll be able to handle the job.

Allura had given him a few pieces of merchandise from the shop to wear: a couple of colorful t-shirts, a hoodie, a short-sleeved overshirt, and some shorts.

Keith was never one for shorts—even in the scorching Texas heat—but he figured he'd need them here eventually. The forecast for Monday predicted a high of 85°F with full sun, and the UV index was already at 8 by 8:30 a.m.

He was scheduled to work a few shifts with Lance this week, starting at 10 a.m. today. The question was: Would he survive the day? And would Allura be around to stop them from throttling each other?

Keith sighs, realizing he was overthinking it.

"You got a job?! That's awesome, Keith!" Shiro had said over the phone the night before. "And with Allura and Coran, too! That’ll be great for you!"

Keith sighed again, this time more heavily. "Yeah, it seemed great at first. But Lance is the one training me."

Shiro paused. "What's wrong with Lance? You were excited to meet him."

Keith chuckled, though the sound was more bitter than amused. "Yeah, well... I ran into him when we first met and knocked him off his longboard. We've been butting heads ever since. I think we have a rivalry now, or something."

Shiro laughed loud enough for Keith to hear the amusement in his voice. "Lance is incredibly competitive. Matt says that's why he’s so good at surfing. But don’t worry—you two will work it out. All those kids are great, and they’ll help you out. I’ll be home Saturday, okay?"

Keith decided to stick with his jeans for the day, pairing them with one of the white Voltron Surf t-shirts. At least he was trying to look the part, even if he still felt awkward in his new surroundings.

He made the 20-minute drive to Waimea Bay again, noting the blue 1974 Ford Bronco parked right out front. His stomach twisted with anxiety. Was he jumping into things too quickly?

He parks his bike, removes his helmet, and inhales the salty air, letting the morning breeze calm his nerves.

Stepping inside, Keith scans the shop. He spots Allura chatting with Lance, who was leaning against the counter, his tanned legs stretched out in light khaki shorts, wearing the same t-shirt Keith had on, but in a neon orange hue.

Keith feels his palms sweat beneath his fingerless gloves.

Allura turns at the sound of his footsteps and grins.

"Hi, Keith! I’m heading out for a bit, but I’ll be back by 4:30 to help close up. Lance will walk you through everything for today, okay?"

She gives Keith a wide grin on her way out. "Thanks so much for taking the job! We already love you!" Keith could’ve sworn she winked at Lance before stepping out, the doorbell jingling as she left.

Keith stands there, helmet in hand, feeling its weight all of a sudden. He turns awkwardly to Lance, who was leaning back with his arms crossed, squinting at him like he was some kind of puzzle.

“Allura’s got a boyfriend, by the way,” Lance says, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. “I hear he kills people.”

Keith couldn’t suppress a scoff. “Noted. That won’t be a problem.”

Lance hums thoughtfully, still sizing him up with a suspicious look. Keith almost found it amusing. He might have if he wasn’t so irritated by the guy.

"How are you not sweating?" Lance asks, motioning to Keith's pants.

Keith looks at his legs for a moment, then shrugs. "I’d rather not get road burn if I crash."

Lance raises an eyebrow. "That confident you'll crash?"

Keith chuckles, his irritation seeping through. "I’m just not cocky. Like some people ."

Lance catches the jab, his mouth opening to retort, but then he stops himself. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, his expression hardening into something unreadable.

“Enough with the stupid insults. I’m training you today,” Lance says, cutting through the tension with an edge to his voice. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can put your keys and stuff.”

Keith follows Lance in silence, half-listening as Lance talks about the back room where they stored most of their supplies, along with the offices of Allura and Coran.

"No one else worked here but me, so we don't have a breakroom, but there are some hooks for hoodies and surf gear,” Lance continues. He points to a small cubby. “This one’s for you—just throw your helmet and keys in there.”

Keith does so, slipping his helmet inside and following Lance as he continues the tour.

"Back here is where Allura has the merch set up. She designs it and makes some of it. It's super cool!" Lance adds, his voice taking on a more appreciative tone.

Keith glances around in awe. He hadn’t known Allura for long, but seeing her creativity in action impressed him.

Next, Lance shows him a large wall calendar, packed with dates for surfing lessons, events, and even employee (and friend) birthdays. Keith notices Lance’s birthday is in two months and, for some reason, feels compelled to take note of it.

“C’mon, mullet,” Lance says, pulling him out of his thoughts with the nickname, which Keith decides to ignore.

He follows Lance, his eyes scanning the shack, entertained by the quirky knick-knacks scattered around. The place had character. Lance walks behind the counter, and Keith follows him.

“You ever used a register before?” Lance asks, crossing his arms and smirking like he’s daring Keith to say something.

Keith nods but says nothing. Lance’s smirk widens.

“Whatever you think you know about registers, forget it. This one’s a whole different animal,” Lance says, gesturing to an ancient, rusted register behind the counter.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What does it do?”

Lance runs a hand through his hair, the bracelets on his wrist jingling as he sighs. Keith finds himself oddly fixated on the sound, mentally kicking himself for noticing something so trivial.

“It doesn’t do anything. Not well, anyway,” Lance says with a dry laugh. “Last week, I was putting cash in the drawer, and it closed on me, tearing a dollar in half.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Can it be fixed?”

Lance shakes his head, exhaling with a slight eye-roll. “Coran’s tried. It belonged to his great-grandfather, so there’s no chance of him getting rid of it. Even though two months ago, it nearly severed his finger while he was counting money.”

Keith’s eyes widen in surprise. “Doesn’t he know he doesn’t have to use it here?”

Lance chuckles. “Oh, Keith, you’ll learn soon enough—Coran can’t be convinced of anything. Ever.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the register. “Sounds like a job hazard.”

Lance shrugs, totally unfazed. “Coran says the register has character. I think it’s just a sadistic piece of junk.”

Keith sighs, then, eyes scanning the shop. "What else do I need to know? I've worked retail before, so I get that those basics probably apply."

Lance snorts. " Oh , you've worked retail before, huh? Good for you."

Keith throws Lance a glare at his mocking tone, rolling his eyes and saying nothing.

Lance continues, "Seriously, though, just the basics pretty much. Customers come in, they want to rent boards, buy gear, or sign up for lessons. You'll either be stocking on the floor, helping customers with those things, or doing stuff in the back. Easy peasy ."

Lance smirks at Keith devilishly then. "But don't worry, mullet, they won't make you do any surf training."

Keith didn't figure they would, but Lance's condescending smirk did nothing to keep Keith from getting annoyed.

"Didn't plan on it," Keith says, crossing his arms.

As annoying as Lance was, there was no denying that he was a good trainer. By the end of his shift, Keith found himself oddly comfortable in the role, even if the work was pretty straightforward. Lance had this effortless charm with the customers; too effortless. It was irritating how everyone who walked through the door seemed to know him. There was no getting away from the fact that Lance was a local celebrity, at least in the surf community.

The next day was pretty much the same. Except today, Lance had a surf class to teach, and Keith was left to manage the shop alone. It wasn’t the customers that bugged him; they were all friendly and pleasant, asking about boards or the best spots to catch waves, and Keith could handle that. No, it was the fact that, for the first time, he had to face Lance's absence and the awkward tension that came with it.

But then Lance walked through the door to the back and into the main foyer, and Keith instantly regretted every single thought he had. Because there Lance was, wearing nothing but his swim trunks and a necklace made of stones and seashells, looking like he just stepped out of a beach ad.

Keith froze, sunscreen bottle halfway to the shelf. He hadn’t been prepared for this. The weird rivalry they had, the insults, the constant bickering, it all seemed to fade for a second as his eyes inadvertently traced Lance’s bare chest. For a heartbeat, Keith forgot everything—his irritation, the tension, the rivalry—and just stared.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it), Lance didn’t notice. He was too busy casually wiping a dollop of sunscreen on his nose, the image so ridiculous that Keith almost couldn’t help but chuckle. It looked completely corny, but somehow, it worked. He hated him.

“Gonna go teach some kiddos how not to drown," Lance says with that cocky smirk, utterly oblivious to the internal chaos he just caused.

Keith snaps out of it quickly, brow furrowing. “I can see that,” he says, tone clearly irate.

Lance shoots him a glance, eyes narrowing slightly, but there is no sense of urgency in his departure. He didn’t even seem to care about Keith’s apparent annoyance. Instead, Lance smirks, dropping his final line with a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone, mullet!”

Keith huffs, watching Lance leave before shaking his head in frustration. As if on cue, his mind stubbornly fixated on the sight of Lance shirtless.

He tried to push the image away as he went back to organizing the sunscreen, but it lingered, taunting him. His hands moved mechanically, his mind still caught on the fact that Lance seemed so effortlessly... at peace. Keith hated him. 

Down by the water, Lance was a whole different person—smiling, laughing, teasing the kids with a patience that made Keith’s chest tighten in an uncomfortable, annoying way. He looked completely in his element, like he was born to do this. And for some inexplicable reason, that irked Keith even more. Lance made everything look easy, whether it was handling customers, teaching kids, or apparently turning heads without even trying.

It was infuriating how well Lance seemed to fit into this world. And it was also the reason Keith couldn’t stop the fluttering sensation in his chest that had no business being there.

Saturday afternoon, exactly a week since he had landed this job, Keith was restocking shelves with some things Allura had left in the back. The moment Lance walked in for his shift; Keith could practically feel the weight of his gaze on his back. It was like he was being watched, constantly, as if Lance had appointed himself his personal overseer. The lack of customers made it worse; the sun had hidden itself behind clouds all morning and afternoon, so the shop was tranquil, and Lance’s attention felt relentless.

Keith pauses his restocking, his brow furrowing as he glances over his shoulder. Sure enough, Lance was standing just behind him, casually sweeping the floor while watching him with what could only be described as mild interest.

"What’s your problem?" Keith snaps, already feeling the frustration building.

Lance hums nonchalantly, pouting in that annoying way he did. "I don’t have a problem."

Keith scoffs, pivoting to face him fully. "You keep staring at me. Watching me every time I move. It’s annoying."

Lance snorts, his smirk widening into something devious. "Just making sure you're working," he says, "Can't fault me for wanting to make sure you do it right."

Keith’s eyes narrow. This guy...

"I’ve worked retail before, Lance," Keith replies, already irritated.

Lance shrugs, unbothered. "Yeah, but you’ve never worked here. How am I supposed to know if you’re qualified? Allura didn’t even interview you."

Keith felt his blood start to boil, his patience slipping.

"What, like it’s that hard?" Keith shoots back, his voice sharp with sarcasm.

Lance's smirk falters, and his blue eyes darken as he pouts.

"Okay, fair point," he says with a reluctant sigh. "But I’m still entitled to keep an eye on you. Can’t have you slacking off and messing with my reputation."

Keith blinks momentarily, stunned. "Affecting your reputation?" he asks, his voice incredulous.

Lance glances back at him with a raised brow, clearly unfazed. "Yeah. I trained you. If you screw up, that’s on me. I can’t have you ruining my status as Voltron Surf’s number one employee, can I?"

Before Keith could even open his mouth to respond, a family walked into the store, and Keith had no choice but to bite back his words. He turns back to his work, suppressing a groan as Lance chirped away with the customers, practically glowing with satisfaction.

It was always these little moments that got under Keith's skin. It wasn’t just Lance’s constant needling—it was the way he made Keith feel off-balance. Keith was a competitive person, yes, and he had a history of short temper, but he thought he’d moved past it. Yet here he was, finding himself losing patience faster than he ever thought possible.

"Oi, mullet!" Lance’s voice breaks through Keith's thoughts. "Would you be a dear and grab more hoodies from the back?"

Keith’s jaw clenches, and he resists the urge to shout back. Of course, Lance had to find a way to regress him.

When Keith pulled into the driveway later that afternoon, he was relieved to see Shiro’s car parked there.

That's right; Shiro was back from the Big Island today. Had he really known Lance for a week now?

It had been a long day, and just the sight of his brother’s familiar car made him feel a little lighter. As he stepped inside, the warm aroma of dinner greeted him, and he found Shiro humming while cooking in the kitchen. When Shiro turned and caught sight of him, a grin stretched across his face.

“Keith! Good to see you,” Shiro says with a smile that was always a little too genuine to be anything but comforting. “Hope you’re not tired of beef and broccoli, because that’s what’s for dinner.”

Keith chuckles, setting his helmet down by the door. "That sounds perfect." He takes a deep breath, letting the comfort of being home settle in. "You’re back from Hawai’i, then?"

Shiro chuckles, moving away from the stove to pull some plates out of a cabinet. "Yeah, I am. I wish you could’ve come with me. You’d have loved the observatory on Mauna Kea. The view from up there is like nothing else."

Keith sets his bag down, hanging his flannel on the hook before sliding onto one of the barstools. "I’m sure I would’ve."

He pauses, watching Shiro stir the food for a moment, the sound of the sizzling beef filling the air. "How’s everything on your end? Smooth sailing?"

Shiro smiles as he plates the food. “Oh yeah. But enough about me. How was the new job? You settle in alright?”

Keith’s gaze lingers on the food before he sighs and leans back in his seat, a touch of frustration creeping into his voice. "It’s not bad. Surprisingly peaceful," he admits, "Except for Lance."

Shiro lets out a snort of laughter, clearly amused. “Still having issues with Lance?” he asks, handing Keith a plate of food before sitting down next to him. “I figured working together would at least help you two get along better.”

Keith sighs, poking his food more than he was eating it. “Nope. If anything, it’s worse. At best, it’s the same."

Shiro raises an eyebrow, taking a bite of his food. “Really? That’s… unfortunate. Lance is a dramatic guy, yeah, but he’s also a good friend and loyal. He’ll warm up to you eventually, trust me.”

Keith’s eyes flicker down to his plate, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “I don’t know about that,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m just not sure how much longer I can deal with him.”

Shiro pauses mid-bite, looking over at his brother. "Come on, Keith. Give it time. I know you two don’t see eye-to-eye, but he’s not a bad guy."

Keith’s fingers tighten around his fork, frustration creeping back in. “It’s not that simple. If Lance weren’t so annoying and—" He bites back the rest of his sentence, knowing how it would sound. “—and so pretty, it’d be a lot easier to get along with him.”

Shiro blinks, then slowly sets his fork down. “Pretty?” His eyes widen in exaggerated surprise, a twinge of amusement on his face. “So is that what this is?”

Keith groans, slouching down in his chair. “Don’t start, it’s not like that. I’m just saying the guy is like… built to drive me insane. It’s like he does it on purpose.”

Shiro chuckles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "I mean, sure, he’s dramatic, but I wouldn’t say it’s intentional. He’s got his quirks, but so do you. You’re both stubborn, and that’s probably where the friction comes from.”

Keith shoots his brother a glare, but it lacks its usual heat. “I know, I know,” he mutters, “I just wish he wasn’t so… there. And why does he have to be so easy to talk to with everyone else?”

Shiro gives him an understanding look. “Because that’s Lance. He’s good at making people feel comfortable. It’s his thing. But hey, you’re getting there. You just got to let your guard down a little.”

Keith stares down at his plate, picking at his food. “Maybe.”

Shiro smiles, the warmth in his tone never fading. “You’ll figure it out. I’m sure of it.”

Keith wasn’t as sure, but for the first time in a while, he didn’t mind hearing the reassurance. Maybe Shiro was right, and perhaps he was overthinking things.

Chapter Text

Keith usually woke up early, sometimes to get some peace, go for a ride, or get in a workout. It was his time to himself before the day got started.

On this particular day off, Keith had been in the middle of his workout when his music suddenly cut out, replaced by the ringtone he’d set for Pidge. His brow furrows in confusion as he pauses, rolling off the mat and grabbing his phone.

Keith brings it to his ear. "Hey," he greets.

"Hey, Keith," Pidge’s voice comes through. "Got any plans today?"

Keith thinks for a moment. He had offered to run errands for Shiro earlier, picking up a few things at the grocery store, but other than that, he was free. Since moving in and reconnecting with Pidge—and slowly starting to get used to being around their friends—he knew his alone time was becoming rarer. But that wasn’t something he minded.

"No," he replies. "What's up?"

There was a quiet snicker on the other end, followed by a whisper.

"Sorry, Bae Bae’s in my room," Pidge explains, referring to the Holt family's dog. "Lance wants to go surfing, and we’re all heading to the beach. Wanna join?"

Keith pauses. A day at the beach with Lance? That sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. But Pidge was his friend, and Hunk was cool, too. Maybe this could be an opportunity for him and Lance to stop bickering long enough to get along.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sure," he says, reluctantly.

Pidge’s voice lit up on the other end. "Sick. Lance is driving."

Keith’s stomach drops. Lance was driving? Oh, hell no.

"I’ll just take my bike," he says quickly, unwilling to spend a minute in that old Bronco with Lance at the wheel.

Pidge almost squawks in disbelief. "What? No way. It’ll be way easier if we all go together."

Keith groans. The last thing he wanted was to be crammed in a car with Lance for the whole trip. But, he reasoned, at least Hunk and Pidge would be there. And, honestly, it would save him gas money, which—let’s face it—was getting ridiculous around here.

"Fine," he mutters. "What time?"

Cut to Keith standing in front of his bedroom mirror, glaring at his reflection. Swim trunks, check. White t-shirt, check.

This was ridiculous.

The doorbell rings, and Keith sighs, slipping into his slides and grabbing his bag. He walks to the front door, keys in hand, and freezes when he opens it.

Pidge, Hunk, and Lance were all standing on his stoop. Pidge and Hunk looked normal, standing to the side, but Lance? Lance was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing that stupid pout he always wore. And, of course, he looked way too good in that cut-off sleeveless shirt. Keith rolls his eyes just at the sight alone.

"Hey, Keith," Hunk greets him with a cheerful wave.

Keith holds Lance's gaze for a moment, trying not to let his irritation show. Then he looks over to Hunk, his expression softening.

"Hey, guys."

Lance visibly bristles, and Keith can't help but feel some satisfaction at it.

"Did you bring sunscreen?" Lance asks, raising an eyebrow in a way that makes Keith's irritation spike further.

"Yeah, of course," Keith replies flatly.

Lance hums and dramatically looks him over, making Keith’s blood pressure rise.

"Mineral sunscreen?" Lance presses, as though Keith didn’t know how to protect his skin from the sun or keep the reefs in Hawaii safe. Keith was much more environmentally conscious than Lance even knew.

Keith rolls his eyes, snapping just a little. "Yes, Lance. Mineral sunscreen . Can we please just go?"

Pidge snorts, shaking their head. "Yeah, let’s hit the road, guys. I still want to stop at 7-Eleven for a Monster."

Keith couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, hoping that at least the beach would make up for spending the day with that guy.

Lance wasn’t a bad driver, exactly, but Keith could easily understand why Hunk looked like he was about to lose his lunch out the passenger window. Between Lance’s heavy foot on the gas and the tight corners he took a little too quickly, it was enough to make anyone feel queasy.

Still, as much as the ride was a test of his patience, the views from the backseat were stunning, the coastline stretching out like a painting. Keith found himself wishing even more that he'd just ridden his bike instead—he’d be feeling the breeze in his face, cutting through the air at his own pace, no risk of Lance’s driving messing up his equilibrium.

At the 7-Eleven, Keith squints at the rows of energy drinks, trying to make sense of the dizzying array of flavors. Pidge was practically bouncing with excitement, pointing out all the unique, Hawaii-specific varieties of popular brands. Keith wasn’t much of an energy drink guy; he’d tried them once or twice in the past, but they left him jittery and threw off his balance on his bike.

Still, he couldn’t deny that the flavors looked intriguing.

Lance saunters over then, his head tilted slightly as he joins Keith and Pidge in their drink exploration. Without a word, he reaches across Keith, snatching a lychee-flavored Monster from the shelf, and shoots Keith one of those ridiculously stunning looks that somehow made Keith feel both irritated and oddly…warm.

“Gonna make a decision today, Keith?” Lance teases his voice dripping with sarcasm and smug amusement.

Pidge leans over. "Keith doesn't drink energy drinks; I'm trying to put him on."

Lance scoffs at that, dramatics starting.

"Seriously? Never met a college student who didn’t drink them,” Lance says, his tone a mix of disbelief and mockery.

Keith, arms crossed, continues staring at the drinks, unfazed.

"Makes me shaky. That isn't good on a bike," he replies.

Instead of firing back with another snarky comment, Lance pauses, considering the point.

“Fair enough,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. He leans around Keith again, grabbing a zero-sugar version of one of the drinks. “You’d probably be fine with a zero-sugar one.”

Keith blinks, taken aback. “Why’s that?”

Lance meets his eyes with a casual glance. “Sugar is usually what makes me feel shaky when I drink them. Zero-sugar ones don’t mess with me.”

Keith was bewildered that Lance wasn't being difficult.

Pidge scoffs, rolling their eyes. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Lance smirks at Pidge, clearly proud of his solution, before turning to Keith. He raises an eyebrow, that signature grin creeping onto his face.

"You should try one. Unless you're scared?"

It was a stupid, dumb ploy to goad him, but damn, if it didn't annoy Keith to no end.

"Am not," Keith says, quickly snatching the drink that Lance was holding out to him, eyeing it with a challenging expression.

Hunk walks behind them, then, with some snacks in his hands.

"C'mon, guys," he says. "I want to hit the morning waves."

They got to Waimānalo Beach just before ten, the sun already high and unrelenting in the sky, turning the sand into a glowing expanse of gold. Keith didn’t mind the heat; he barely noticed it, too focused on taking in the newness of everything around him.

It was also the first time he’d seen Lance and Hunk’s surfboards, and he found himself lingering beside the Bronco with his arms folded, quietly observing as the two pulled their boards from the back of the vehicle.

He still wasn’t an expert—not even close—but after enduring a week of Lance’s animated, borderline aggressive crash courses, Keith could at least identify a few board types now. Hunk’s board was impossible to miss: a longboard in blazing orange and yellow, covered in a wild swirl of angular designs that suited him perfectly. Lance’s, naturally, was flashier: a white gun surfboard, sleek and narrow, adorned with intricate blue wave patterns curling down the nose and rails. It practically screamed Look at me —which, of course, made it perfect for Lance.

“Gonna take the shortboard out today?” Hunk asks as Lance slams the back hatch of the Bronco shut.

Lance adjusts his grip on his board and turns, already smirking. “That depends on how impressed Mullet wants to be today.”

He sent the word like a dart aimed squarely at Keith, who blinks once before letting out a laugh, a dry snort that catches even him by surprise.

“Didn’t realize you were surfing for my approval,” Keith shoots back, one brow raised, a smirk of his own tugging at his lips.

Lance bristles immediately, his smugness flickering just a little. “What? No! That’s not—” He scoffs, the tips of his ears turning pink even as his eyes narrow. “Regardless, you're gonna be totally intimidated, Keith. Just wait!”

With that, he turns sharply and starts down the sandy path toward the water, his chin tilted just a bit higher than necessary. Hunk followed Lance with a laugh, flashing an amused shrug to Pidge and Keith.

Keith watches them go, the corner of his mouth still curled in amusement. Lance’s attempt at swagger had barely masked his flustered scramble, and it was satisfying.

Pidge nudges Keith lightly with an elbow as they start after them, Keith returning their amused expression.

Keith wasn't sure what he was expecting with Waimānalo Beach, but it definitely wasn't this.

The entire scene looked like something off a postcard, and his eyes struggled to comprehend how picturesque the scene was. There were only a few other beachgoers, which Keith was grateful for.

“This is…” Keith’s voice trails off

Beside him, Pidge snickers, arms folded loosely. “Yeah. Ridiculously pretty, right?”

Keith can only nod, eyes scanning the expanse of Waimānalo Beach. The turquoise ocean shimmered beneath the morning sun, waves curling gently onto pale sand. The salty breeze carried the faint sound of laughter and the breaking of water across the reef.

As they approached the spot where their friends had already started setting up, Keith barely noticed that Lance had already peeled off his cut-off-sleeved shirt and was crouched by his board, waxing it in slow, practiced strokes, too busy still admiring the beach.

Lance stands then, tossing the wax into his bag, his eyes already scanning the waves like he was sizing them up. Next to him, Hunk was still methodically waxing his own board, the bright patterns catching the sunlight.

“Waves look a little shallow right now,” Hunk observes, not sounding particularly concerned.

Lance pouts slightly before exhaling through his nose. “That’s fine,” he says, hands resting on his hips, the picture of relaxed confidence. “Gives me time to warm up.” His gaze flicks sideways, landing on Keith with a slight smirk.

"Are you going to get in the water?"

Keith arches a brow, slow and unimpressed. “On a board? Absolutely not.”

Lance rolls his eyes, dramatically. “Not what I meant. Though… if you asked nicely, I could give you a lesson.”

“Not interested,” Keith says flatly, then adds after a beat, “But I am going to swim.”

Lance hums. "Just let me know if you change your mind about the surf lesson," he says. "I am an excellent teacher, you know."

Keith glances at Hunk, unamused, to which the other chuckles.

Hunk shrugs, grinning. “Hate to say it, but... he’s unfortunately telling the truth.”

Keith knew it was true, of course, having seen how he helped the kids and even adults during the surf lessons he had witnessed. It was almost infuriating.

Lance lets out a triumphant scoff and grabs his board from the sand, swaggering towards the shore. He sends a wink over his shoulder at the group, but it lingers a second too long on Keith. Mocking, Keith thinks.

“Try not to drool when you see me in action!” he calls back, darting through the sand.

Hunk stands with a chuckle, collecting his board and giving Keith and Pidge a small wave before he follows after Lance.

Keith watches them go, and though he’d never admit it aloud, there was something admirable about Lance’s enthusiasm. It was… infectious. Seeing someone love something that deeply, that unapologetically—it was refreshing. Cute .

Back at their towels, Pidge adjusted their oversized bucket hat, eyes half-lidded beneath the brim, as Keith laid his own towel down beside them.

“Wanna go look for shells like we used to?” they ask, looking up at him with a crooked grin.

Keith chuckles, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Sure," he says. "Just let me put on sunscreen."

He peels off his shirt, riffling through his bag to find the mineral sunscreen that Lance had been so concerned about him bringing. Pidge types away on their phone, chatting aimlessly about what kinds of shell types they might be able to find on this side of the island, and Keith felt himself growing excited.

In the distance, a shout echoes from the water. Keith turns his head, squinting toward the waves where Lance and Hunk had caught a decent swell.

Lance was riding it; graceful, balanced, confident. His movements were fluid and practiced, like the ocean answered to him, not the other way around. It was… frustratingly attractive. Keith’s stomach twists in the worst way, his heart tugging annoyingly in his chest, and he curses himself.

“He’s not bad,” Keith mutters to Pidge, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Pidge looks up from their phone, arching a brow. “No, he’s stupid good. But whatever you do, don’t let him know you think that. You’ll never hear the end of it.”

Keith lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. Yeah. Didn’t need Lance weaponizing that praise.

“Wanna go now?” he asks, nodding toward the shoreline.

They walked along the coast for a while, poking through driftwood and shells, letting the tide wash over their ankles. Keith found a few scattered pieces of coral, which Pidge greedily snapped photos of before Keith tossed them back into the sea. Eventually, the heat started to get to him, sun prickling across his shoulders like static.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, stepping further into the surf. The water was warm, welcoming, the kind of comfort Keith didn’t know he’d wanted until he was waist-deep in it. He dove beneath a small wave, letting the salt and silence wrap around him.

When he resurfaces, water streams down his face, eyelashes dripping as he slicks his hair back. He stood there for a second, eyes closed against the sun.

A shout nearby snaps his attention. Hunk was laughing, board bobbing in the shallows. Keith’s brow furrows—where was Lance?

Then, he sees him, surfboard floating a few feet ahead, Lance quickly swimming toward it, wet hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed, and avoiding any and all eye contact.

Did he just… wipe out?

Pidge cackles from the shore. “Dude," they say to Keith, "you just missed it—Lance actually ate it out there.”

Keith blinks, then laughs, glancing over at the very-red-faced boy trying way too hard to look unbothered.

“Did he lose his balance?”

“I think-” Pidge starts, eyes narrowing, “-he got distracted by something.”

Keith tilts his head, amused. That only made it more mysterious. And intriguing. 

Hunk emerges from the surf, still laughing as he joins Pidge and Keith on the shore. Lance trails behind, dragging his board and still refusing to meet Keith’s eyes.

“Tell me you two saw that,” Hunk says, grinning widely. “The great Lance McClain, face-planting on a baby wave.”

“I slipped,” Lance snaps, way too defensive. “It wasn’t a wipeout!”

“For you it was,” Hunk teases, and Lance groans, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Keith smirks, arms folded loosely across his chest as his gaze drifts over Lance. Even with that little wipeout—and the flustered expression that followed—he still somehow managed to look annoyingly good. Sunlight danced off droplets clinging to his tan skin, the sheen of seawater catching along the sharp lines of his shoulders and collarbones. Even the way his seashell and stone necklace hung around his neck was distracting.

Keith’s eyes linger a second too long before he catches himself, jaw tightening slightly as he forces the thought away.

Not going there.

Eventually, Lance and Hunk headed back out to surf for a bit longer, catching the last few decent waves before, as Lance put it, the swells died out. After that, the early afternoon drifted into a softer kind of energy; more laughing, swimming, and lying around.

With the surf calming down, the group scattered across the beach. Hunk and Pidge had gotten themselves completely absorbed in constructing an elaborate sandcastle, complete with turrets and a moat that Pidge was way too invested in engineering.

Keith stands from nearby, brushing sand from his palms. Without a word, he starts towards the shoreline with the intent of swimming again.

He’d barely made it ten steps before the sound of footsteps behind him made him sigh inwardly.

Of course.

Lance had peeled away from the group and was now trailing after him, a mischievous gleam already forming in his eyes.

Keith doesn't look back. “Don’t you have a castle to help defend?”

“Puh-lease ,” Lance says smoothly, falling into step beside him. "And miss the chance to be in the water? No way."

Keith scoffs as the water rushes over his ankles, the surf curling around his calves with each pull of the tide. “Maybe I wanted to swim alone,” he mutters, stepping further in, the coolness of the ocean easing the heat prickling across his skin.

Lance laughs behind him, a short, amused sound. "Relax, Mullet. It’s a public beach, not your personal brooding cove. We don’t have to swim together.”

Keith doesn't answer right away, keeps moving forward, wading deeper until the water reaches his waist. He turns back then, shooting Lance a flat look, the expression made sharper by the sunlight glinting off the water around him.

“Good.”

Then, without waiting for a reply, he ducks beneath the surface and disappears in one smooth motion, cutting through the water like a knife.

Out of Keith’s view (and earshot), Lance blinks in surprise, then narrows his eyes.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” he mutters to himself, jogging the rest of the way into the waves. “Alright, Keith. Let’s play.”

Keith surfaces several meters out, shaking water from his hair as he floats effortlessly, eyes closed, enjoying the brief silence. But it doesn’t last. The sound of splashing behind him signaled Lance’s arrival.

“So, what—" Lance calls, voice light but with that ever-familiar edge of challenge, "—are we doing a silent swim now? Broody mermaid vibes?"

Keith sighs through his nose, but doesn’t bother turning. “You’re the one who said we didn’t have to swim together.”

“Right. So clearly I’m just coincidentally swimming in your exact direction.”

Keith turns this time, indigo eyes narrowing as salty droplets drip off his dark eyelashes. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I'm winning,” Lance replies, voice high-pitched, mocking.

“Winning?” Keith echoes, incredulous. “We’re casually swimming. There’s nothing to win.”

Lance grins, water dripping from his hair as he floats beside him. “There’s always something to win.”

Keith arches a brow. “Fine. Race to the buoy and back?” Keith points into the horizon. The buoy was far, maybe a few dozen meters. An impressive challenge.

Lance blinks, surprised  that Keith had suggested anything, but pleased nonetheless. “Oh, you’re on.”

Before Keith could say anything else, Lance launches forward with a splash. Keith curses, lunging after him, arms slicing through the water as he narrows the distance between them.

The buoy bobbed lazily in the distance, but neither of them were feeling lazy now.

Lance had a decent head start, but Keith was relentless, strokes long and efficient, his breath coming in sharp exhales as he closed the gap. The water churned between them, splashing into their faces, stinging their eyes, neither of them willing to back down. Keith wonders how the sight might look to Hunk and Pidge on the shore.

Keith witnesses as Lance glances sideways mid-stroke and curses under his breath, noticing that Keith was right there.

“Trying to draft off me, huh?!” he shouts between breaths.

Keith smirks, water slicking his face. “Or just faster than you!”

They finally reach the buoy neck-and-neck, hands slapping against it almost simultaneously. Both of them grab the side, panting.

Lance looks over, flushed, chest heaving. “Tie?”

Keith looks over, just as flushed and out of breath. “Sure. If that helps you sleep at night.”

Lance splashes him.

Keith retaliates, and within seconds, it devolves into a full-blown splash war in the middle of the ocean, both of them screaming as they fight back and forth.

Eventually, the energy fizzles into silence, both of them floating there, the only sounds being the crash of distant waves on the shore and their breathing as they catch it.

Lance tilts his head back, eyes closed. “Okay. I’ll admit it," he says, almost panting, "You’re not completely hopeless in the water.”

Keith glances at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“I said almost. Don’t get cocky, Mullet.”

Too late.

Keith, in a moment of poor judgment, had let Lance annoy him enough to propose the challenge of swimming out to the buoy—and completely underestimated just how far the swim back to shore would be. Lance, never one to suffer in silence, filled the air with complaints whenever he wasn’t sputtering seawater, and Keith contemplated time and time again just forfeiting his life, all in a vain effort to drown Lance right here.

Eventually, they made it back to shore, Lance collapsing dramatically onto the sand like he’d just completed a triathlon. Keith wasn’t far behind, flopping down beside him with a wheeze. Pidge and Hunk barely noticed their absence, offering a few lazy greetings from where they lounged near the tide.

Damn Lance and his talent for getting under Keith’s skin. Keith doesn't think he had ever swum that far or that fast, and it was all to prove a point he’d forgotten halfway through.

It wasn’t until Hunk casually suggested food that Keith found the will to peel himself off the sand.

Lance ended up driving them to a food truck parked just outside Waimānalo Beach that specialized in açaí bowls. Keith squinted at the menu, arms crossed, while Hunk animatedly explained each bowl in detail—how much he liked them, what Keith might like—something Keith quietly appreciated.

Pidge ordered a plain one, no frills. Hunk went with extra peanut butter. Lance, naturally, picked something with toasted coconut, which somehow made perfect sense to Keith. So, in curiosity, he tried the cookie butter.

The four circled up around Lance’s Bronco, chatting idly with the sun still high and mighty above their heads, though it had passed its peak. Keith mostly ate in silence, half-listening, half-zoning out. That is, until Lance leaned over with a suspicious glint in his eye.

Keith braces himself, hoping Lance will just not say anything.

“Do you ever tie your hair up?”

Keith pauses mid-bite, brow arching. “Uh, no,” he says, “not unless I’m working out.” 

“You should,” Lance says, taking a bite of his own bowl. “Might suit you.”

Keith blinks at him, frowning. “Are you trying to give me a complex?”

“What? No,” Lance scoffs. “Just… thought it’d look cool. Chill out, man.”

Keith wasn’t sure what to do with that. His heart gives a stupid, traitorous flutter, and he immediately tells it to cut it out.

Get a grip, Kogane. You don’t even like him.

“If I’m ever in the mood for a style change, I’ll let you know,” Keith replies coolly.

Pidge snickers. Hunk grins into his spoon.

Lance pouts. “Hey, forgive me for trying to be a helpful guy.”

Keith smirks and takes another bite.

"Helpful with something I didn't ask for help with."

Lance goes to retort, but pauses, blue eyes narrowing comically as a pout overcomes his face once again. Pidge snorts.

"He has you there," they say, to which Lance rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lance grumbles, amusing Keith to no end.

Chapter Text

After the beach day to Waimānalo, Keith tagged along with the trio almost constantly, easily slipping into their group, and butting heads with Lance nearly every second. Time managed to fly by in these moments, and Keith found himself enjoying each hangout.

Still, that race with Lance had sparked a whirlwind of petty competition between the two of them. Everything became either a challenge or a prank. While it could be annoying, it was also kind of fun—and, by now, totally expected. Keith got suspicious when Lance wasn’t teasing, taunting, or trying to one-up him in some way.

That tension only escalated the more time they spent together, especially at the beach.

Take Lanikai Beach in Kailua, for example. They'd all had a day off and decided to spend it there. Keith had been trying to relax, soaking in the warmth of the sun on the soft white sand.

He should’ve known better than to let his guard down.

The sun suddenly vanished behind something, and when Keith squinted up, he found Lance standing over him—dripping seawater, grinning wickedly—before dumping an entire splash of ocean water over him and his towel.

Fortunately, Keith was faster, even on sand. He chased Lance down and tackled him into the dunes, refusing to let up until Lance finally surrendered between breathless laughs.

Another time, at Kalaeʻoʻio Beach Park, things had gone from peaceful to chaotic even faster.

Hunk had prepared a generous picnic lunch for everyone, and Keith spent most of the afternoon in the water, swimming farther out than the rest, reveling in the peace and quiet. The beach was almost completely deserted, just a few people off in the distance and the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Then Lance nearly surfed into his skull.

Lance, of course, had opinions. He claimed it was an accident—something about how he had been watching the waves and Keith had popped up in the “exact wrong spot at the exact wrong time.” Keith responded accordingly, of course: he refused to let it go.

They argued, voices rising fast, and just when it seemed like it might finally burn out, Lance kicked sand at Keith, because of course he did. That was enough for Pidge to step in, deliver a deadpan “You’re both idiots,” and walk off before either of them could come up with anything else to say.

And yet, despite the constant bickering, they kept finding themselves side by side.

Every time they hit a new beach, Lance tried to convince him to learn how to surf. Keith always refused, adamantly so, which only seemed to fuel Lance’s determination. Keith wasn’t entirely sure why Lance was so persistent about it, but… it did something to him. The way Lance asked, almost pleading, made Keith’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Or didn’t want to.

Eventually, though, the weather turned. The rain came in fits and starts, and beach days were temporarily off the table for a couple of days. 

One dreary afternoon, Keith had the day off, and both Lance and Hunk had gotten out of work early. Lance texted their group chat something vague and chaotic like "Emergency. Shopping. Now. Honolulu. Bring wallet. Or don't." which apparently meant “We're going to Ala Moana Center and you don’t have a choice.”

Pidge had decided it was time Keith “experienced capitalism properly,” and Keith, for reasons still unclear to him, had agreed.

Lance was already in rare form when Keith arrived, parading around the mall ridiculously in a way that made Keith’s chest tight. Hunk trailed behind, carrying at least two bags that weren’t his. Pidge was munching on something suspiciously neon-colored and didn’t look up from their phone.

Keith catches up to them near the escalators, hood pulled over his head in an attempt to block out the small drops of rain. Pidge is the first to notice him, glancing up from their phone with a small smile. At seeing him, Lance whistles, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

"Dressing for the occasion, aren't you, Mullet?"

“I didn’t realize there was a dress code to buy overpriced crap,” Keith shoots back. He could kill him. 

“Stylish crap,” Lance corrects quickly, moving to hold up a bright Hawaiian button-down covered in an array of palm trees, surfboards, and whatnot. Certainly something either Shiro or Coran would wear. "This just screams me, doesn't it?"

Keith's eyes indicate his fatigue with the situation. He should’ve stayed home today. "It certainly screams something."

“Oh yeah?” Lance raises an eyebrow. “Bet you wouldn’t last five minutes wearing this around the mall.”

Keith crosses his arms, tapping a riding boot. “You’re daring me to wear that?”

Lance grins, devilish. “Unless you’re too scared.”

Keith found himself standing in a dressing room that was somehow both too humid and too bright. The lighting was unforgiving, and the mirror wasn’t doing him any favors. He frowns at his reflection, the Hawaiian shirt clinging in all the wrong places and almost being too big for him. 

“Coming out today, Mullet?” 

Keith hates Lance. 

“This is stupid,” he mutters, tugging at the material. Maybe—maybe—it could work if he wore a T-shirt underneath and left it unbuttoned, like Lance did when he wore them. But unfortunately, this was a bet, and Lance probably wouldn’t tolerate anything less than ridiculous. 

“Let me in.” 

Keith looks at the door, brow furrowed. “What? No.”

“I wanna see,” Lance says then, the changing room door rattling as if he might actually break in.

Keith huffs, rolling his eyes. “You’ll see it when I come out.” 

A pause. Then: “Yeah, which you’re clearly not doing. Open up or I crawl under.”

Keith sighs—deeply, dramatically—and leans over to unlock the door.

Lance wastes no time, pushing it open and stepping inside with a dramatic pout like he was the one being inconvenienced. He gives Keith a quick once-over and breaks into a slow, satisfied grin.

“Yeah,” he says with a theatrical sigh, “this is perfect.”

Keith imagines strangling him. The changing room was abandoned and the only witnesses would be Hunk and Pidge who were standing outside the area. It could be easy, quick.  

Before he could fire back, Lance steps closer, fingers reaching for the collar of the shirt. Keith jerks back, flushing.

“Dude, what the hell are you—?”

“Oh, hush,” Lance says, brushing him off like it was no big deal. He undoes the top two buttons with ease, fingers warm and annoyingly confident. Then he steps back, hands on his hips like an artist surveying his work. “As much as it pains me to admit this, if you accessorized a little, this could actually look sick on you.”

Keith turns back to the mirror, trying not to scowl. Unfortunately, Lance wasn’t wrong. It didn’t look terrible.

Lance catches his gaze in the mirror and smirks. “You still look like a dork, though.”

And just like that, Keith ended up doing a complete loop around the Ala Moana Center in that God-awful tropical shirt. Hunk couldn’t stop giggling. Pidge took several blackmail photos. Lance walked beside him with a smug expression that made Keith consider moving back to Texas. 

Why did he continue to allow himself to be goaded into these things? 

"This isn't a win for you," Keith mutters to Lance, causing the other boy to snort.

"Oh, but it is."

It's then that Keith's eyes catch a clearance rack outside a shop, his gaze immediately drawn to a heavily cropped shirt. A smirk grows on his face as he approaches it. Perfect. 

"Hey, what're you doing now?" Lance asks, annoyed as Keith breaks away from the group. 

Keith snatches the crop top, looking at it with smug amusement before he turns to the others, holding it up.

"Why don't we level the playing field?"

Lance stumbles over every word that tries to come out, the tips of his ears and the high points of his face flushing pink.

"Keith, what-!? I am not wearing that!"

Hunk and Pidge send each other a look, eyebrows raised in genuine amusement that has Keith glowing with smugness.

"Oh," Keith starts, words dripping with mockery, "Are you too scared?"

Lance opens his mouth a few times to protest before his blue eyes narrow. "I'm not scared," Lance grumbles, stepping forward to snatch the crop top. "But I am NOT buying it!"

Pidge had bought it for him, if only to watch the chaos unfold. 

They return to the same changing room as before, Keith this time stationed just outside, arms crossed, impatience radiating off him like heat.

A long, awkward silence stretches between them. Keith sighs loudly.

“You done yet?”

From inside, Lance hums, a teasing, nonchalant sound that only deepens the crease in Keith’s brow.

“I look really good,” Lance finally says, voice smug. “Like… stupidly sexy~.”

Keith pushes off the wall with a groan, knocking sharply on the door. “Are you planning to come out at some point, or just spend the rest of the day making eyes at yourself?”

Another sigh from Lance, this one dramatic. Then the door swings open, and Keith’s breath catches.

The shirt is barely a shirt, cropped so high it leaves most of Lance’s torso exposed, which shouldn’t be a big deal. Keith’s seen him shirtless practically every day since they met. But somehow, this is different. Because the problem isn’t that Lance is half-naked—it’s that he looks ridiculously good.

Lance catches his reaction instantly and smirks. “You’re staring.”

Keith’s ears go red. “You look ridiculous.”

Lance snorts, walking by him to leave the changing room, waves of confidence rolling off of him like the tide. 

But the confidence didn’t last. No matter how cocky Lance usually was, the moment he started drawing attention, even just passing glances from strangers at the mall, he quickly went from flustered to outright annoyed. Much to Keith’s amusement.

They were now all gathered at the food court, trays of snacks in front of them and shopping bags strewn around the table.

Keith leans back in his seat, arms crossed, the top two buttons of the ridiculous Hawaiian shirt still undone. He wears a smug smirk aimed directly at an irate Lance, who sat across from him, arms folded tightly. 

Lance glares at him. "You're far too smug.”

Keith snorts. "I'm just surprised you didn't back out after you got admirers."

"Like I'd lose a bet to you," Lance retorts with an eyeroll. Lance relaxes slightly, then, a smug expression crossing his features. “Besides, I do look pretty good.” 

Keith leans forward to grab one of the mozzarella sticks that Hunk had bought for everyone to share, snorting to himself. Of course, Lance would regain that confidence just to piss him off. 

“I still think I look better,” he says, smugly.

Lance gasps, nearly choking on his drink as he sits up straight.

“What?! No way!” he exclaims. “I look way better! You look like someone’s drunk uncle.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “And you look like somebody’s trophy girlfriend.”

Lance stands halfway out of his seat, glaring. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Keith rises to match him, leaning over the table with mirrored intensity. “That’s because it is.”

“Oh, please,” Lance says, leaning in even further, their faces now inches apart. “You’re just mad I look hotter than you, even in this ridiculous outfit.”

Keith’s forehead bumps into Lance’s, his blood practically boiling. He was far too irritated to look into it. 

“You wish. I could pull that off better than you any day.”

Lance laughs—a dry, challenging sound—as he presses his head back against Keith’s. “Wanna bet? I’ll buy you one right now, buddy!”

“You’re on,” Keith growls.

Before it could escalate further, Pidge groans and tugs on Keith’s arm.

“No more bets,” they say flatly. “I am not getting kicked out of the mall because you two can’t stop flirting loud enough for everyone to hear.”

Wait—what?!

Keith and Lance’s heads snap towards Pidge, jaws hanging open in stunned horror

“W-WHAT?!” Lance practically squeals. “No no no no NO! We are not flirting!” 

Keith could barely hear him over the pounding in his chest. Flirting? That’s what this looked like?  

No, no, no. He wouldn’t ever flirt with Lance. It didn’t matter how pretty he was, they were barely friends, let alone… 

Pidge just shrugs, sipping their smoothie. “Okay .”

Lance squawks again, his neck nearly breaking from how quickly he turns toward Keith. “Keith, dude! Deny it! ”

Keith opens his mouth to do just that, but whatever comes out clearly doesn’t convince anyone. Hunk and Pidge burst into laughter and Lance groans in embarrassment.

Not long after, Hunk herded them all out of the mall before mall security had a reason to intervene. Keith and Lance had changed out of their shirts and back into what they wore originally, not speaking to one another. 

Keith goes to return to his bike then, thankful that the rain had cleared up and the setting sun was now visible in the sky. He turns, holding out the Hawaiian shirt to Lance. 

“Thanks for, uh, letting me borrow it?” 

Lance looks over, blinking at him before he snorts, taking it back. 

“Yeah,” he says with a small huff of a laugh. “Anytime, man.”

Keith lets a small smile cross his features before he points to the tropical shirt again. “You’re… not going to actually wear that, are you?” he asks. 

Lance laughs, eyes bright. “Nah. I’ve got a ton at home that have actual style. This one’s for Coran—he collects them.”

That surprises Keith. But… of course Lance would do something thoughtful like that. It was just so him. Something about it made Keith’s heart skip a beat.

“You looked better in it than he will, though,” Lance adds in a teasing tone, grinning.

Keith raises a brow, then smirks as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah? I could say the same about your crop top.”

Which was actually true, and deeply unfair. Lance looked obnoxiously good in a crop top, and Keith hated how hard that was to ignore.

Lance’s eyes widen slightly, just for a second, before he smirks again, the tips of his ears pink.

“So you finally admit it, huh? Well, duh,” he says, tossing the tropical shirt over his shoulder. “Hot people make dumb clothes look amazing. I look good in everything .”

He wasn’t wrong, Keith thought. And it was as infuriating as it was confusing.

Keith was still awake when Shiro got home from work, sprawled across the couch with the TV remote in hand. He gives a lazy wave as his brother steps into the living room.

Shiro pauses in the doorway, glancing at the screen.

“Ghost Adventures again?” he asks, voice laced with amusement.

Keith snorts. “They’re at Skinwalker Canyon this time,” he says, turning his head to give Shiro a grin. “Zak left Aaron alone in the cave with the Skinwalker.” 

Shiro shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. “You and Pidge with your shows,” he says, turning to walk down the hall. 

“Speaking of Pidge…” he calls back after a moment, “Matt got an interesting photo from them today.” 

Keith groans immediately, dragging both hands down his face without bothering to move from the couch.

Of course Matt got it. Pidge probably sent it to everyone. 

Shiro’s footsteps return, and he drops into the recliner with a grin that said he was enjoying this far too much.

“I take it, you know which one?”

Keith sighs, arms folded across his chest like he was trying to physically shield himself from the memory.

“Unfortunately.”

Shiro kicks up his feet. “It was really funny, you know,” he says. “You and Lance looked enthused.” 

Keith sends his brother a glare, to which Shiro holds his hands up in defense as he laughs. 

“It was a bet. A stupid bet,” Keith clarifies. 

Shiro laughs softly. “You didn’t look so bad. I liked the shirt. Lance on the other hand…” He trails off with a chuckle.

Keith’s mouth upturns at that, a small snort escaping despite himself. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That part was pretty funny.” 

Shiro hums thoughtfully. “You know, you and Lance seem to be getting along better these days.”

Keith raises a dark brow. “If you call challenging each other with everything and arguing in public spaces ‘getting along’, then sure.” 

Shiro leans back further in the chair. “You’ll get over it, I’m sure. At least you don’t seem to hate each other anymore.”

Keith gives a shrug, not sure what to say on the topic. Some days he felt like he did hate Lance. He found himself wanting to throttle him more than anything every time he opened his stupid mouth. 

But then his brain unhelpfully supplies an image of Lance laughing, saltwater in his hair, sun catching in his blue eyes.

And other days, he’s just… impossible to ignore.

Shiro’s soft smile turns into a grin at Keith’s silence. 

“Is Lance still too pretty for you to get along with?”

Keith’s face warms at that, and he sits up on the couch, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“What?! No, it’s not like-” He trails off with an annoyed groan, then slumps back against the cushions again. “Yes, he’s still too pretty.” 

Shiro grins, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before he talks. “Do you…?” 

Keith’s eyes go wide, then narrow immediately. “Shiro. No. It’s not like that.”

Shiro holds his hands up. “Okay, okay. Just asking. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call a guy pretty, is all.”

Keith huffs, folding in on himself slightly. “It’s just… complicated, okay?” 

Shiro’s voice softens, and he rises from the recliner. “No pressure. Don’t overthink it.”

Too late, Keith thinks.

Keith doesn’t look at his brother, expression still closed off even as Shiro pats his shoulder as he passes. 

“Want pizza for dinner?” Shiro asks, walking into the kitchen to grab his phone. 

Keith sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.” 

Shiro just smiles and walks into the kitchen, grabbing his phone to place the order.

Keith’s phone buzzes from the arm of the couch then, and he grabs it, reading the preview messages. 

It was Lance in the group chat with Hunk and Pidge. 

Pidgeon, send me the photo of Keith in the Hawaiian shirt

I need a new phone wallpaper ;) 

Keith groans and drops the phone face-down on his chest.

Of course he would say that. Why wouldn’t he? God, he’s such a pain in the ass.

Still… his heart did that stupid fluttering thing again, light, irritating and persistent.

And honestly?

At this point, Keith wasn’t sure he could keep pretending it was just because Lance was pretty.

Chapter Text

It was stupidly humid.

Keith stubbornly refused to wear shorts—too risky on his bike, he reasoned—but the heat was getting to him. In a moment of desperation, he recalled a piece of advice he never thought he’d seriously consider.

Lance’s voice echoed annoyingly in his head: “You should tie it up. Might suit you.”

Keith grimaces at the memory but finds himself standing in front of the mirror anyway, squinting at his reflection as he combs a hand through his hair.

“Should I wear my hair up?” he asks aloud.

Pidge was over, hanging out before Keith had to go to work that afternoon. They were sprawled across Keith’s bed with their laptop open in front of them. They glance up from whatever science rabbit hole they’d fallen into at his question, resting their chin in one hand and raising a brow.

“You’re actually taking Lance’s advice?” they ask, a smirk creeping into their voice.

Keith sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s hot out, Pidge.”

Pidge snorts and closes the laptop with a soft click, sitting up. “You mean Lance was right? Wow, mark your calendar.”

Keith shoots them a dry look.

“I think it’d look cool, honestly,” Pidge adds with a shrug. “Might even make you look a little less grumpy.”

Keith ignores that last comment, dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling a section into a loose tie at the back. A few shorter strands slipped free around the base of his neck and near his temples, but he figured that was fine. He was a guy; it didn’t need to look perfect.

He glances at the mirror again, tilting his head slightly.

“Well?” he asks.

Pidge studies him for a beat, then gives a small nod. “Not bad. You almost look like you live here.” 

Keith snorts, smiling in the mirror before turning to face Pidge. 

“I’m assuming that’s a compliment,” he says, tone dry as he walks over to start grabbing his things to leave. 

Pidge shrugs again, smiling at him as they also start grabbing their things. “Hey, you’ve adapted to the beach-goer life pretty well. I think Lance and Hunk are rubbing off on you. Maybe you should accessorize, embrace it.” 

Keith refuses to comment on that further, not wishing to hand over ragebait material to Pidge.

Pidge rides with him on his motorcycle to Voltron Surf in time for Keith’s shift. Lance and Hunk had been hanging out earlier in the day, and the plan was Pidge going home with Hunk to hang out once Lance and Keith clocked in for work. 

Inside, the shop buzzes with its usual laid-back energy. Lance was perched on the counter, mid-conversation with Hunk and Allura. Hunk turns and waves as soon as they walk in, his grin infectious.

Lance looks over too, his trademark cocky smile ready to go—until it wasn’t. His mouth opens, but no sound follows. His eyes widen as they lock onto Keith, and for a second, everything stills.

Keith gave a small wave, pretending not to notice the shift in Lance’s expression. He slips into the back room without a word, heart thudding a little too hard in his chest. Once alone, he takes a moment back there to compose himself. Why did that reaction hit so hard?

He takes a breath, trying to steady himself.

Get it together , he tells himself. It’s just Lance being... Lance. Right?

He needed to get a hold of whatever this was. 

Keith puts his things away before he goes back out the door, everyone at the counter getting quiet as he reemerges. 

He pauses, brow furrowing and forcing a cold expression to hopefully hide how loudly his heart was beating. 

“What?” 

Hunk smiles. “Oh nothing,” he says. “You put your hair up! You look good, man!”

Keith blinks. “Uh, thanks, I guess?” Something seemed off. 

Lance, still seated on the counter, doesn’t meet his eyes. He was hyper-focused on a pen in his hand, clicking it repeatedly, like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

Keith’s brow furrows. Something was definitely off. 

Allura had finished her shift when Keith and Lance showed up. Before she left, Allura had mentioned a storm was rolling in that afternoon; just thunder and wind, nothing dramatic. She made sure to show Keith where the circuit breaker was, and he took mental note of it. Coran was out of town for a few days visiting family, which meant the shop was now in the incredibly responsible hands of Keith and Lance.

So, basically: chaos pending. 

Keith just hoped he wouldn’t strangle the boy before the afternoon was over. 

A few hours passed, and the bright afternoon sky gradually gave way to distant, brooding clouds that swallowed the horizon. The ocean, visible through the wide windows of the shop, had taken on a darker, more ominous shade; beautiful, but eerie. The wind wasn’t wild yet, but Keith could see the waves beginning to churn with anticipation.

“Scared of storms?” Lance asks as he adjusts the surfboards on display, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Keith is pulled from his thoughts. He was leaning against the counter, arms and ankles crossed, gaze fixed on the shifting sky outside.

He doesn’t even blink. “No.”

Lance grins. “Figures. Let me guess—you like them.”

Keith shrugs. “They’re nice.”

“Niiiice,” Lance repeats, dragging the word out with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Of course you think they’re nice.” 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Lance busies himself with the surfboards, though he’s mostly just moving them around, neatly lined up as they already are. “Oh, y’know. Brooding guy. Motorcycle. Storms just seem like they’d be your thing. Fits the whole bad boy vibe.”

Keith scoffs and pushes off the counter. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Do you ever start talking?” Lance fires back. “I’ve had entire conversations with myself in your presence.”

“Yeah, and they’re usually not that interesting.”

Lance gasps, one hand flying to his chest in mock offense. “Wow. Okay. You wound me,” he says, “But, that means you at least listen to me!” 

Keith smirks faintly, shaking his head as he turns his attention to the tins of board wax on the shelf. They don’t need sorting, but he pretends they do. 

A small rumble of thunder rolls in from the distance, and Lance turns to lazily glance out the window. 

“If the power goes out, I’m blaming you.” 

Keith doesn’t look up. “That’s fine.”

Silence settles for a moment, broken only by the faint thunder outside. Without the usual noise, Keith was hyper-aware of every little thing. The way Lance tapped his fingers against the counter. The quiet hum when he thought no one was listening. The way he smelled faintly like coconut shampoo and ocean breeze.

It was annoying. All of it.

Work was the only time he ever got to be alone with Lance. Not that he was trying to be. Even so, being entirely alone was not a common occurrence; usually Coran or Allura were there for some amount of time, or Lance and his schedules didn’t match perfectly. Other days, they didn’t work together at all. 

Keith was quickly realizing why he had no desire to be alone with Lance, as he couldn’t stop thinking about what Pidge had said back at the Ala Moana Center. That dumb, throwaway comment about how they “acted like they were flirting.” Keith had brushed it off at the time (after being stunned silent), but it had been echoing in his head ever since.

Worse than that, though, was his talk with Shiro afterward. Shiro had looked at him. Like, really looked at him. The way older brothers do when they know you’re hiding something embarrassing and are just waiting for you to confess it on your own.

Keith didn’t want to like Lance. He couldn’t like Lance. It would be a disaster. Lance was too loud, too smug, and way too pretty —and that last one irritated Keith the most. No one that irritating had any right to look that good, especially not when they were in a stupid Hawaiian shirt half the time or laughing at one of their own dumb jokes. Or in a ridiculous crop top, Keith thinks. 

Liking Lance would mean dealing with feelings Keith had no idea what to do with. And besides… They weren’t even friends. Not really, at least. 

Almost as if to annoy him, there’s a particularly loud thunderclap that makes Lance squeal. He isn’t allotted a moment to treasure it though, because with an awfully suspicious crackle, the power shuts off. 

Awesome.

“You just had to mention the power going out, didn't you?” Keith says, tone irate. 

Lance gasps. “Oh, so you think this is my fault?!” he all but yells. “Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot I can control the weather!” 

Keith rolls his eyes, turning to face Lance in the dark. “You literally were going to blame me if the power went out!” 

A beat: then Lance huffs. “Well, yeah, because that’s funny.”

Keith scoffs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning on the flashlight. The sky had become pretty dark now, the wind blowing just a bit harder and rain beginning to beat against the windows, steadily increasing each moment. His bike was definitely going to be soaked. 

“I’m gonna check the circuit breaker,” he mutters, heading for the backroom door. “Probably just tripped.” 

Lance crosses his arms with a dramatic hmph as Keith disappears into the back. 

Keith pushes into the storage room, the smell of dust and cardboard hitting him immediately. He squints as he approaches the breaker box, swinging it open with a sigh.

“Do you have it on yet?”

Keith jumps, whipping around with a glare. “Dude,” he snaps, “Can you not sneak up on me like that?!”

Lance pouts. “You were taking too long! I’m impatient.” 

“I’ve been gone for thirty seconds. If that.”

“Exactly. Fifteen seconds too long.” Lance pauses, glancing back toward the main room. “Also, a surfboard fell over and I might’ve panicked a little.”

Keith raises an eyebrow but says nothing, smirking to himself as he turns back to scan the breakers. Predictably, none are tripped. Because of course this couldn’t be simple.

He frowns. 

Lance leans in over his shoulder, way too close for someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing and effectively annoying Keith further. “Well? Can you fix it?”

Keith huffs. “No, none of them are tripped.” 

Lance pulls away, groaning into the storage room. “Of course not,” he grumbles. 

Keith closes the box with a clunk and turns toward him, eyes narrowing as he takes in Lance’s jittery stance. Arms crossed, shoulders hunched, looking around quickly. Definitely not Lance behavior. Keith frowns. 

“You’re not afraid of storms, are you?” Keith asks, voice gentle. 

Lance whips around, arms wrapped around himself, eyebrows knitted together. “What? No!” He pauses, then groans and drags a hand down his face. “Not storms,” he clarifies, “I just… get a little freaked out in the dark sometimes. This place is creepy without lights! And you left me alone. With a haunted surfboard!”

Keith snorts. “The surfboard is haunted now?”

“I heard it fall on its own, Keith. That’s ghost behavior.”

Keith just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I know what I saw,” Lance huffs, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

Keith chuckles softly, the smile tugging at his lips before he can stop it. “You could’ve just said you were scared.”

Lance glares at him. “I wasn’t scared.”

“You are hiding behind me right now.”

“…That’s a coincidence.”

Keith sighs and rolls his eyes. “C’mon,” he says, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s go back to the front. At least there’s a little more light out there.”

Lance doesn’t respond right away; he just frowns at him with this scrunched-up expression that, frustratingly, makes Keith’s heart skip.

Stop it.

Keith clears his throat, trying to cover for his brain short-circuiting. “Unless you’d rather stay in here where it’s darker, smaller, and possibly more haunted.”

That does it. Lance huffs, spins on his heel with dramatic flair, and stomps out. “Fine.”

The main area wasn’t much brighter, but it felt less claustrophobic. They end up settling behind the store’s front counter, sitting on opposite sides with Keith’s phone flashlight propped between them like a tiny, makeshift campfire.

The silence that follows is awkward. Not tense exactly, just hesitant. Heavy in the way that makes Keith feel like he should say something. 

He glances at Lance out of the corner of his eye, watching the other boy pull at his bracelets. Nervous energy radiates off him in waves.

Keith shifts, trying to think of something to break the tension. 

Nothing comes to mind.

“I’ve actually surfed during a storm before.”

That gets Keith’s attention, bringing him aggressively out of his complicated thoughts. He looks up from the floor, eyebrows lifting as he watches Lance across from him. “Seriously?”

Lance nods, fingers messing with the beads and seashells on his bracelet. “Well, at the start of one,” he admits. “Hunk made me get out before it got bad. Said I was basically begging to get struck by lightning.”

Keith lets out a short laugh. Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Good for Hunk,” he says. “Someone’s got to keep you from getting yourself killed.”

Lance huffs at that, looking over at Keith with a small pout. “Hey, I can take care of myself! I’ve been surfing since I was a kid, I know when the weather is good for it and when it isn’t.” 

Keith rolls his eyes at that. Lance’s unwavering confidence was as annoying as it was impressive. 

“How, uh, long have you been surfing?” Keith asks then. 

Lance blinks at him before a small smile crosses his features. “Interested in me, huh?”

Keith scoffs, glaring with crossed arms. “Forget I even asked.” 

Lance’s eyebrows knit together then. “Wait, no-” he sighs. “I’ve surfed since I was four.” 

Keith taps his boot against the tile, expression softening. “That’s a long time, almost twenty years?” he says. “No wonder you’re so good.”

Lance snorts at the compliment. “Well, I’m dedicated,” he explains. “It's easy to get good at something you like, right?” Lance pauses then. “I’m really not that good. Not compared to some people on O’ahu, I mean.”

Keith raises a brow. “From all I’ve seen you’re great. Pidge even showed me some of your competitions.” 

Lance chuckles. “I’m not saying I’m bad, just… I have room for improvement, like most people.” 

Keith smiles at that. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting that. That means you’re good, honestly, if you know you have improvements to make.” 

Lance smirks at that, leaning his head back against the wall, seemingly growing more comfortable. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me, Mullet.” 

Keith smirks in return. “Don’t get used to it.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

A beat of silence settles between them. Outside, a flash of lightning splits the sky, followed closely by a low, rolling thunderclap that rattles the windows.

Lance speaks softly, almost absently, his fingers fiddling with his bracelet— a nervous tick that Keith was finding increasingly more endearing. “Surfing’s more fun here than it was back on the mainland.”

“Pidge mentioned you grew up on the mainland?” 

Lance nods, gaze fixed on his wrist. “Sort of. My dad is from Cuba, and my mom grew up in Florida. We lived near Miami until I was six,” Lance says. “My older brother Luis taught me to surf.” 

Keith watches him, surprised by how casually Lance is talking — how unguarded he sounds. It’s not the usual braggy, posturing Lance he’s used to. This version feels... quieter. More real.

Maybe this was progress?

“Does he still surf?” 

Lance laughs under his breath, the sound light and unexpectedly melodic—and Keith kind of hates how much he notices that. “Sometimes. Just for fun. I’m the competitive one in the family.” He smiles, almost to himself. “That doesn’t stop him from trying to rope my niece and nephew into it, though. Says they’ve gotta carry on the ‘Lance legacy.’” He makes air quotes and snorts.

Keith can’t help but smile too. Lance talked about his family with so much warmth. It was… nice. And annoying. Because it was definitely not helping Keith suppress this increasingly inconvenient possible crush. 

Shut up, Keith, he tells himself. He’s just being nice. Doesn’t mean anything. There’s NO crush. 

Trying to redirect both the conversation and his thoughts, Keith asks, “How old are they?”

“Silvio and Nadia are both ten. Twins.” Lance grins. “They’re absolute menaces.”

Keith tilts his head, resting it against the counter behind him, smirking. “More of a menace than you? I find that difficult to believe.”

Lance gasps, clutching his chest like Keith had wounded him. “One—rude. Two—where do you think we all got it from? It’s genetic. We come from a long, chaotic line.”

Keith chuckles. “Right, of course,” he says with mock awe, “Why would I assume it started with you?” 

Lance nudges Keith’s boot with the toe of his sneaker, the soft clink of anklets around Lance’s ankles breaking the quiet. Keith tries not to let it get to him and tries not to focus on the way it makes something flutter in his chest. Something that was getting increasingly worse. 

“That’s cool, though,” Keith says, redirecting his thoughts once again. “I’m sure they look up to you.”

Lance pauses, his blue eyes widening briefly before he lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I like to think they do,” he says, voice tinged with affection. “They annoy me enough that I’m pretty sure they do.”

Keith huffs a laugh. “Karma.”

Lance groans, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, tell me how you really feel.”

A short silence falls between them before Lance speaks again, a little softer this time. “You should meet them sometime—my family, I mean. Pidge told them all about you before you moved here, so they’re kinda dying to meet you.”

Keith blinks, caught off guard. Lance wanted him to meet his family? Did that mean… they weren’t rivals anymore?

“Oh, so you didn’t tell them I’m ‘way less cool than Pidge described’?” Keith asks, adding air quotes to mimic Lance’s exact words from their first meeting.

Had it really been over a month already? It still felt like his second week here—like he was still getting used to the rhythm of this place, and the people in it.

Lance rolls his eyes again, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I may have complained to them about you knocking me off my board,” he admits. “But I never said you weren’t cool.”

He pauses, just long enough to make Keith’s breath catch, before adding, “You are a little cool.”

The words land heavier than they should, and Keith’s heart stutters in his chest. No. Nope. Not happening. He was not falling for Lance. Not now, not when they’d only just stopped trying to strangle each other on sight.

“I think living here is killing my cool factor,” Keith says, mostly to distract himself. 

Lance lets out a laugh. “What? No way. I think it amplifies it.”

Keith raises a skeptical brow. “I’m literally wearing a ponytail. I’ve never gone out like this before.”

Lance shrugs, casual and confident. “You just look like you belong here more. More laidback,” he says, then adds, almost too casually, “Besides… it looks good on you.”

Keith frowns, the tips of his ears burning, and he silently thanks the low lighting for hiding the flush creeping onto his face.

“Why do you say that like it physically hurts you to admit?” he asks dryly.

Lance lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Because it does hurt. I can’t be your rival if I’m out here throwing you compliments. It goes against the code.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. “Thanks, I guess.”

Lance smirks, annoyingly pleased with himself, and Keith has to fight the urge to mirror it.

“You just need more beachy accessories, y’know. Lean into the local aesthetic.”

Keith frowns again. “I’m good.”

Lance groans, dragging the sound out dramatically. “Oh, come onnnn. It’d be fun. It’s not gonna ruin your whole ‘cool loner bad boy’ thing, promise.”

Keith stays quiet, arms crossed, his glare steady.

With a resigned sigh and a crooked smile, Lance slips a bracelet off his wrist and holds it out. “Here. Start small.”

Keith eyes it warily, then looks up, catching Lance’s gaze: blue and steady, a little too earnest.

“Take it,” Lance says. “It’d look good.”

Keith doesn’t move. “No thanks. Probably has cooties.”

Lance scoffs. “Keith,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to be nice. I don’t even hate you right now!”

Keith opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, Lance shakes the bracelet in front of him, the soft clink of shells and sea glass filling the space between them.

“Please?”

Keith stares at it for a beat longer before sighing and reaching out with one hand, unclasping his arms. The bracelet is surprisingly solid in his palm—cool sea glass beads in shades of blue and brown, strung together with a few small, delicate shells.

It’s… really nice.

“Are you just wanting me to try it on?” 

Lance’s eyebrows knit together. “What? No, I’m giving it to you.” 

Keith blinks, caught off guard. Giving it to him? So he really was just trying to be nice.

Quietly, Keith slides the bracelet over his wrist. It settles just above the edge of his fingerless glove, warm from where it had sat against Lance’s skin. He tries not to think too hard about that part.

“Thanks, Lance,” he says, voice softer than he means it to be.

Lance's grin spreads immediately. “You’re very welcome,” he says. “Though seriously, I think jewelry would suit you. Clearly, I was right about the hair, so you gotta trust my instincts.” 

Keith snorts, fingers toying with the bracelet carefully. It feels delicate, personal. If he ever broke this, he’d kill himself. 

“And if you want any, I have like, a million. Even anklets. But you never take your boots off unless we’re literally on the beach, so—yeah. Might not be your thing.” 

Keith glances up, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll think about it.”

Lance holds his gaze, his own smile softening, and something in Keith’s chest twists tight. Stop it. No.

He quickly looks back down at the bracelet, pretending to study the details instead of confronting whatever just passed between them.

“So, we’ve talked about me,” Lance says, shifting slightly. “But what about you? How long have you been riding that insanely cool motorcycle?”

Keith is still recovering from Lance calling his bike ‘insanely cool’ before he finally answers.

“Since I was twelve,” he says. “My dad helped me get started.”

Lance goes quiet at that, and Keith glances up to read his expression. It’s thoughtful; soft around the edges, like he’s working out how to phrase something.

“Shiro mentioned your dad once,” Lance says quietly. “At Pidge’s, a while back.”

Keith nods. “Yeah. He was a great guy.”

Lance presses his lips together, hesitating for just a second. “Shiro, uh… also mentioned your mom. You guys have different moms, right?”

Another nod. “Shiro’s mom passed away a long time before our dad met mine. My mom…” Keith trails off for a second, uncertain.

Lance leans forward slightly where he sits on the floor. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Keith blinks, momentarily taken off guard by the softness in Lance’s voice. Then he smiles, small and genuine. “No, it’s okay. She left when I was a baby. I never really knew her, so… can’t miss what you didn’t have.”

Lance doesn’t respond immediately. And for once, Keith wishes he would. But when he glances up again, he sees Lance isn’t holding back; he’s just waiting, giving him space.

“My dad was amazing,” Keith continues. “And Shiro, too. I’ve been lucky. I’ve had a great family.”

Lance’s smile is quiet but warm, genuine in a way that makes something in Keith’s chest ache.

“You have,” Lance agrees. “Shiro’s great. Super cool.” Then, with a teasing grin: “And you’re… alright, I guess.”

Keith rolls his eyes but can’t help the quiet chuckle that escapes. Lance really was dishing out semi-compliments tonight. “Yeah, thanks,” he says, voice soft.

A comfortable silence settles between them for a beat before Lance pipes up again.

“So, do you work on your bike yourself?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies. “Most of the maintenance. My dad taught me the basics, and once you’ve got that down, it all kind of transfers.”

Lance hums appreciatively. “That’s actually really impressive.”

Keith shrugs, smiling. “I guess so. It just feels natural now.”

“What’s the fastest you’ve ever gone on it?” Lance asks, curiosity lighting up his face.

Keith doesn’t miss a beat. “One-ninety.”

Lance nearly falls over. “One-ninety?!" he practically screeches. “Dude—what were you running from, the apocalypse?!”

Keith laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “A cop,” he admits. “Don’t tell Shiro.”

Lance stares at him, stunned, before bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. Keith can’t help but join in, their laughter echoing off the walls. Lance eventually wipes a tear from his eye, still grinning like an idiot.

“Okay,” he says between breaths. “You might actually be as cool as Pidge made you out to be.”

Keith’s heart skips a beat.

Did Lance really just say that? 

Yeah. He might’ve just passed away.

“Quite the compliment, coming from you,” Keith says, voice softer than he intends.

Lance snorts, shooting him a smirk. “Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

Before Keith can respond, a strangled, groaning noise echoes through the shack, loud and sudden. Both of them jolt slightly—Lance more dramatically—just as the power flickers back on and the AC roars to life.

Lance clutches his chest. “I swear I thought that was it for us,” he breathes, sighing in relief as he stands and stretches.

Keith chuckles, glancing out the windows. It’s still cloudy, but the worst of the storm has passed. The heavy darkness in the clouds is fading now, the world outside cast in that post-storm gray-blue.

His eyes flick to the clock on the wall. “Our shift ended twenty minutes ago.”

Lance just shrugs, unconcerned. “It’s fine. We’re allowed some overtime if we almost die in a natural disaster,” he says, arms stretching lazily over his head. His tone is light again, more relaxed, more Lance. And weirdly, that puts Keith at ease.

They move efficiently, finishing up the closing routine as the sun tries to push through the clouds. By the time Lance locks the front door, a faint golden light peeks along the horizon.

Keith frowns at the sight of his soaked bike. The seat glistens with rainwater. That’ll be fun.

Lance appears beside him, an eyebrow raised and tote slung over one shoulder. “That thing’s gonna soak your ass,” he says simply.

Keith sighs, fingers reaching back to absently tug at his still unfamiliar ponytail. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

A beat of silence passes before Lance exhales through his nose. “It’ll fit in the back of my Bronco, probably.”

Keith’s head whips toward him, brow raised. Was Lance seriously offering him a ride? There was no way. He must’ve actually died in that storm.

“I’m really okay—” he starts.

“Zip!” Lance interrupts, flicking a hand in his direction. “Friends help each other out in a crisis. Don’t argue with me.”

And just like that, Lance turns and strolls over to his Bronco, unlocking it and popping the hatch like it’s no big deal.

Keith just stands there, momentarily stunned. Friends? He tries—and fails—to keep his ears from turning red.

Yeah. He’s definitely dead.

They somehow manage to wedge Red into the back of Blue, and Lance looks positively pleased with himself for managing it. 

Keith hates how much he doesn’t hate it.

Lance’s driving is significantly more bearable with Keith in the front seat, though Keith keeps his eyes fixed out the window, pretending not to notice the flutter of nerves under his skin. First, they had an actual conversation without arguing. Then Lance offered him and his bike a ride home like it was nothing.

Keith exhales slowly. That giddy, tingling feeling bubbling in his chest?

Absolutely not.

By the time they pull into Shiro and Keith’s driveway, some of the tension eases off his shoulders. Lance hops out first, helping unload the bike with surprising care. Keith checks Red over meticulously—once, twice, three times—before letting out a relieved breath. No scratches.

“I told you,” Lance says, sounding smug. “I drove responsibly. For your precious baby, no less. Not even a dent.”

Keith snorts. “And I appreciate that,” he replies, standing straight again and facing him.

A small silence settles between them, not uncomfortable—just changed. New. 

Keith clears his throat. “Thanks. For the ride.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lance says, flashing a small smile that makes Keith’s heart flip over in his chest. Painfully. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

There it is again. Friends.

Keith crosses his arms, lifting a brow. “So, we’re friends now? What happened to mortal enemies?”

Lance gasps, mock offended. “Hey, we had a whole bonding moment. Maybe I don’t hate you today.” He pauses, pouting just a little. “Unless you don’t want to be friends, samurai.”

Keith smirks. “No, I’m cool with it,” he says, then tilts his head. “But… samurai? Really?”

“It’s the nickname I’m testing out for when your mullet is tied back,” Lance explains, hand waving dramatically. “Just let it happen.”

“Fine,” Keith says, deadpan, but the smirk remains.

He turns to head up the drive, offering a small wave. “I’ll see you.”

“Not if I don’t see you first, samurai!” Lance calls out, already sliding back into his Bronco with a laugh.

Once inside the thankfully empty house, Keith barely makes it to his room before flopping face-first onto his bed with a groan. His mind refuses to shut up—replaying the storm, the conversation, the way Lance looked at him.

He grabs his phone, fingers already moving before he can second-guess himself. Taps Pidge’s name. Hits call.

They answer immediately. “Hey, Keith!” Pidge greets, chipper.

“You home?” he asks, blunt as ever.

Pidge laughs on the other end. “Straight to the point, huh? Yeah, I’m home now. Why?”

Keith’s already grabbing his things. “Coming over. Don’t move.”

Pidge is mercifully alone, as Samuel and Matt are still at work, and Colleen is out shopping, according to their earlier text.

Keith lies flat on Pidge’s mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The faint glow of star stickers spreads above him, pale constellations scattered across the plaster. Pidge spins slowly in their desk chair, legs crossed, watching him with the kind of exasperated patience only a longtime friend could manage.

They sigh. Loudly. “Okay, are you going to tell me what’s got you weird and silent, or are you just gonna keep lying there?” they ask. “I can’t be the therapist you begged for if you don’t give me any material, Kogane.”

Keith clenches his jaw, trying and failing to steady his heartbeat. This was ridiculous. He was not going to let this get to him. Absolutely not. Talking about it would make it go away. Right?  

“We lost power at the shack,” he says finally, voice low.

Pidge is quiet for half a second before they snort. “That must’ve been fun. Lance is scared of the dark.”

A reluctant smile tugs at Keith’s mouth. He hadn’t forgotten; Lance fumbling around, half-screaming at the AC when it came back to life. He tries not to let the memory soften him too much. Focus, Keith. 

“We talked,” Keith says. “Didn’t even fight. Mostly.”

Pidge’s eyebrows lift. “Okay, weird. But progress. I’ve always said you two would end up being good friends eventually. Hunk and I love you both, so you either become friends voluntarily, or we force you.”

Keith doesn’t respond. His chest is tight, his pulse uneven. Is this what a panic attack feels like? He isn’t sure he’s ever had one, so he has no way of knowing. 

“He gave me a ride home,” he mumbles.

Pidge hums thoughtfully. “Sounds like him. Did you manage to fit your bike into Blue?”

Keith nods, grateful for Pidge’s calm voice. But still, the spiral keeps spinning, faster and tighter. This wasn’t better. It wasn’t going away.

“Did you argue on the way home?” Pidge asks, tilting their head, trying to pinpoint the issue.

Keith shakes his head, eyes still locked on the stars above. Silence sits thick between them.

“That’s a win, right?” Pidge says gently, giving the chair another half-spin.

Keith shrugs slightly, as much as is possible. “He said we’re friends.” 

Pidge laughs at that. “Heck yeah! See? Everything is going well. Why are you so worried?”

Keith is quiet for several long seconds, thoughts haywire, going against everything he’s been telling himself this last month. Then, before he can stop himself, the words escape, rushed and breathless:

“I think I like him.”

The chair comes to a dead stop. Pidge turns slowly to face him, eyes wide with surprise. The room goes still—like even the air is holding its breath. Keith stares at the ceiling, heart pounding so loud he can barely hear anything else.

“Oh my God,” Pidge breathes. There’s another pause, and then, casually—too casually—“You know what? That makes sense.”

Keith sits up so fast the room tilts for a second. Propping himself up on his elbows, he gapes at them. “What?”

Pidge shrugs, a sheepish smile tugging at their lips. “Look, you two bicker like your lives depend on it—it’s basically flirting,” they say matter-of-factly. “And trust me, I’ve known Lance for over a year now and I've known you for most of our lives. I know he can be a lot , but if he really rubbed you the wrong way that much, you wouldn’t still be thinking about him. You’d just avoid him.”

Keith pauses, thinking it over for a second before groaning and flopping back onto the mattress with a thud.

“This is stupid.”

Pidge sighs, spinning gently in their chair again. “It’s not that bad, Keith,” they say, tone dipping into something almost soothing.

Keith lets out a frustrated sound, dragging his hands over his face. “It is that bad! We’ve done nothing but argue since we met! And Lance starts these ridiculous, petty fights for no reason, and yeah, maybe I shouldn’t let him get to me, but he does, and it’s infuriating, and he’s—he’s— he’s pretty! And-”

His jaw snaps shut too late. Far too late. 

Pidge pounces. “No, no, no—rewind that. Pretty?” They lean forward, grinning. “Keith. How long have you thought Lance is pretty?"

Keith drags his hands down his face again, eyes glaring daggers into the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He lets out a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t know.”

Pidge snorts. “You don’t know?! C’mon, you’ve gotta have some idea when you started looking at him like that.”

Keith stays silent, mind spinning, hands still twitching slightly from the nerves. He should have shut this down weeks ago—back when the first tiny sparks started. He should have buried it. Killed it. Done anything but this.

“Keith.”

Silence.

“Oh my God,” Pidge breathes. “You’ve always thought he was attractive, haven’t you?”

Still nothing.

Pidge lets out a long, slow whistle. “You are so hopeless, dude.”

Keith finally sits up with a grunt. “You can’t say that. You have to help me.” 

“Help you with what? You’ve figured out your issue, why is it a problem?” Pidge asks, a small laugh escaping them. 

Keith lets out a sharp breath, sitting up a little straighter, shoulders tense. “I told you. We don’t get along. And—and now Lance is calling us friends and I just—”

His words break off as his expression falters, the frustration giving way to something smaller. Sadder.

“I can’t mess that up, okay?” he says quietly. “I can’t.”

Pidge doesn’t say anything at first, their face softening. They rise from their desk chair and cross the room without a word, sinking down onto the mattress beside him. Their shoulder brushes his, just barely.

“Hey,” they say, voice calm, grounded. “You’re not going to mess anything up. Seriously. If Lance is calling you a friend—Lance, who called you his mortal enemy like a month ago—then clearly, you’ve already grown on him. He likes being around you. That’s not fake.”

Keith glances at them from the corner of his eye, and Pidge offers a small, knowing smile.

“Worst case, nothing happens and you remain friends, or,” Pidge pauses, “I could see Lance liking you too.” 

Keith huffs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t say that. He never would.” 

Pidge gives him a flat look, unamused. “Keith. I’m not joking. I mean it. ” Their tone softens again. “But even if he doesn’t, this friendship you’ve got going on with him? It’s real. And it’s not going anywhere just because you caught feelings. Lance doesn’t have to know about this if you don’t tell him.”

Keith’s jaw tightens, uncertainty still gnawing at his ribs. The fear of ruining something—anything—twisting in his gut.

But he breathes. Once. Then again.

And slowly, something unspools inside him.

Right, he tells himself. Lance doesn’t know. There’s no harm.

Not yet at least.

Pidge’s expression stays soft, their smile gentle. “But… I don’t think you should keep it a secret forever. Especially if the feelings get—y’know—stronger. ”

Keith exhales, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, I guess.”

Pidge’s smile tugs a little wider. They bump his shoulder lightly. “Seriously though… Lance is your type?”

Keith groans, flopping back onto the mattress. “Unfortunately.”

Pidge snorts and drops back beside him, eyes trailing the familiar glow-in-the-dark stars above. “That’s actually insane,” they say. “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.”

Keith huffs a dry laugh. “Yeah, you and me both.”

There’s a pause. Then Pidge glances over at him with a smaller, more thoughtful smile.

“Lance is great, though,” they say quietly. “He’s a solid choice.”

Keith sighs, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Lance was great. Infuriatingly, effortlessly wonderful. Too handsome for his own good. Talented. Loud. Funny. Smart. Kind in all the ways Keith wasn’t expecting.

It made him feel ridiculous.

It made him feel lovesick, he realized. Painfully so.

Chapter Text

Sure, Lance wasn’t calling them enemies anymore, but he also wasn’t exactly throwing around the word friends, either. Because of course he was choosing to deny that he had ever said it. 

Pidge had brought it up offhandedly one afternoon—one that Keith had specifically planned to spend alone, in peace, away from his rapidly spiraling feelings. Naturally, that meant Pidge, Hunk, and Lance showed up uninvited. After Keith had already gotten comfortable, domestic, as Hunk had teased. 

Shiro was at work. Keith was out of excuses. So naturally they all flopped around his living room like they owned the place. 

At the declaration from Pidge, Lance had pulled a dramatic expression, claiming that was never stated. 

“I mean, I guess we’re kinda friends,” Lance had said eventually, expression unamused, “but it’s not exactly something to write home about.” 

Keith, whose head was in the fridge at that point, stands up with a furrowed brow. “We literally had a bonding moment, you said-” 

“Nope! Don’t remember, didn’t happen!” Lance had yelled, cutting him off. 

Lance wasn’t making this crush of Keith’s very easy. 

Still, things had changed, evolved, even. The banter was still there, of course, but it had softened. Less arguing, more… sparring for fun. Keith could handle that. He liked that.

He might’ve even gotten a little too comfortable flirting with Lance; nothing too obvious, just enough to dance the line. He wasn’t about to risk whatever it was they had now. Not when it felt good.

It had been a week since Keith admitted to himself, out loud, that the crush was real. Solid. Permanent. And just as he was getting off work, Pidge had texted him a one-word invitation:

come.

Blunt. Vague. Very Pidge.

He lets himself in, something he was slowly getting used to. Colleen had waved at him from the couch, and he’d returned it with a small nod before heading up the stairs.

The scene waiting for him upstairs was…comforting.

Hunk was starfished on the floor like he’d melted there hours ago. Pidge was typing at their desk with the laser focus of someone who definitely wasn’t doing anything legal. And Lance—

Lance was lying on his stomach across Pidge’s bed, legs kicking lazily behind him, scrolling through his phone.

Keith closes the door behind him and is instantly greeted.

“Hey,” Pidge says without turning from the screen, a soft smile on their face.

Hunk beams at him from the floor. “Hey Keith! How was work?”

Keith crouches to untie his boots, the usual rhythm grounding him. 

“Fine,” he says. “Kind of boring, honestly.”

From the bed, Lance lets out a laugh. “That’s because yours truly wasn’t there to make the shift approximately a gazillion times more entertaining,” he quips, shooting Keith a lazy smirk over the edge of his phone.

Keith rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward anyway. “Delusional as always.” 

Yeah. This, whatever it was, was starting to feel far too comfortable.

An hour or two later, Keith sat on the floor, leaning back against the edge of the bed. Hunk hadn’t so much as twitched, Pidge remained glued to their chair, and Lance was restlessly tossing and turning on the mattress behind him.

Brainrotting activities, Keith concluded.

Pidge was going along with Samuel and Matt off-island to the observatory on Mauna Kea for a few days, hence the impromptu hangout. Keith also knew that Shiro was going for work too, which meant another empty house for Keith. 

“I was gonna go to the Waikīkī Aquarium tomorrow,” Lance whines from where he was now sprawled on his back. “I wanted my buddies there.”

Pidge snorts and tosses a glance over their shoulder, half sympathetic. “I’ll go with you when I get back, alright?” They turn back to their screen. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t gone with you a million times.”

“Not the point!” Lance replies, dramatically flopping his arm across his face. He peeks towards Hunk, who was still sitting on the floor. “Are you at least coming with me, buddy?”

Hunk sighs. “Can’t. I’m heading up to the North Shore to visit my grandma for a few days.”

Lance sits up, eyes wide. “What?! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Hunk hums, long and thoughtful. 

“I kinda forgot until just now.”

Lance lets out a strangled groan and flops back onto the bed like he’d been wounded. “Am I cursed to go to the aquarium alone? Again?! I went solo last time! They’re gonna think I’m some loser with no friends!”

Keith glances up from his phone then, having listened to the entire exchange. Pidge sends him a subtle, knowing side-eye, which he pointedly ignores.

He had the day off tomorrow since the shack was closed. Shiro would be off island anyway with everyone for work.  His bike was in perfect shape, and he had absolutely nothing planned, not even errands. No distractions. No excuses. And, as much as he hated to admit it... no other friends.

Which meant, realistically, he had nothing better to do.

That didn’t mean he was mentally prepared to hang out with Lance. Alone. Though, this could be good. Strengthen their friendship or something. Or, ruin it with Keith prematurely admitting his crush.

Still, before he could stop himself, he sighs.

“I could go with you.”

Lance bolts upright, narrowing his eyes at the back of Keith’s head, lips tugging into a dramatic pout. Keith doesn’t need to look; he can feel the weight of that stare like a spotlight.

“You,” Lance starts, tone entirely suspicious, “want to go to the Waikīkī Aquarium with me?”

Keith turns, meeting Lance’s gaze with a shrug. “Why not? I’m also off work, Shiro is also going to Mauna Kea for work… I don’t exactly have anything else to do.” 

Lance doesn’t answer right away. He just stares, like he’s trying to decode something. Keith meets his gaze steadily, even as his pulse starts to pick up.

Does he not want me to come?

Then Lance lets out a thoughtful hum, finally breaking the silence. "You do realize what you’re signing up for, right?" he asks, arching a brow. "Marine biology is my thing. I’m talking facts, trivia, full-on tour guide mode." His expression turns almost smug. "Think you can handle that?"

Keith blinks once, then shrugs, expression nonchalant despite him feeling like he was dying inside. 

"I haven’t been to the Waikīkī Aquarium yet. I could use the facts."

At that, Lance’s suspicious facade crumbles, replaced by a loud, dramatic gasp. 

"You haven’t? Are you kidding me?" he squawks.

From the floor, Hunk bursts out laughing.

 "Lance, Keith’s still new. We’re his only friends and we haven’t taken him; of course he wouldn’t go alone."

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, then pauses, shooting Hunk a mild frown. “That… kind of hurts, actually.” 

Hunk gives a sheepish smile. “Sorry, man.” 

Lance groans. "Still, it’s a crime. A crime, Keith."

Then Lance pauses before he smirks, the expression mischievous, and entirely too handsome for Keith’s poor heart. 

“It’s settled then, I’m taking you with me.” 

Keith frowns. “I literally invited myself.”

“Irrelevant.” 

With an exaggerated sigh and a theatrical stretch, Lance pushes himself up from the mattress, arms reaching high over his head before he saunters toward the door. Keith manages to keep his eyes from betraying him and staring blatantly at the pretty boy. 

"Welp, I’m off. Gotta get my beauty sleep before I spend the day playing tour guide to a certain mullet," he says, tone breezy, but pointed. "Try not to miss me too much. Safe travels, nerds."

"Bye, Lance," Hunk calls after him with a grin.

"Later, buddy," Pidge adds, waving lazily from their spot, eyes still fixed on their computer. 

Keith lingers for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh and rising to his feet.

"I should head out too."

From the floor, Hunk looks up with an easy smile and waves. "See you in a few days, man!"

Keith returns the smile, tossing one Pidge’s way as well.

They just grin back; way too knowingly for Keith’s liking. "Later, friend. Try not to die tomorrow.”

Keith rolls his eyes, snatching up his helmet. "Easier said than done," he mutters. "Bye, guys."

When Keith steps outside, he finds that Lance hasn’t actually left yet. Lance’s bag lands in the passenger seat of his blue Bronco just as the front door clicks shut behind Keith.

Lance turns at the sound, eyebrows raised, a smirk already forming.

"Leaving too?" he asks, clearly amused. "Knew you wouldn’t last long without the life of the party."

Keith rolls his eyes as he walks past, but the corners of his mouth betray him with the hint of a smirk. It was getting harder to keep up the act, this carefully constructed mask of indifference, especially when Lance was actually being funny. 

The worst part? He knew Lance wasn’t even trying. Every offhand comment, every ridiculous joke, chipped away at Keith’s resolve. 

“Keep dreaming, Lance.” 

Keith feels Lance’s gaze tracking him as he strides toward his bike. “Does 12:30 work for you?” Lance asks casually.

Keith pauses, glancing over his shoulder. Lance was leaning against his Bronco, arms crossed, wearing a smile that seemed almost out of place. Entirely too casual. 

Keith blinks, still struggling to wrap his head around these rare flashes of sincerity from Lance. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “I can be there then.” 

Lance simply snorts, pushing off the side of the vehicle. “Cool. I’ll meet you there, and don’t be late. There’s a lot of tour-guiding planned!” 

Keith’s lips twitch into a smile that he’s powerless to stop, heart hammering in his chest. “Looking forward to it.”

Lance seems almost caught off guard by the sincerity in Keith’s voice. He pauses, his expression softening, just for a moment, but long enough for Keith to notice. Then he chuckles and turns to hop into his Bronco.

“See ya, man!” Lance calls before he shuts the door. 

Keith barely registers the wave he gives before pulling on his helmet, his mind racing. 

He was actually looking forward to it. 

Keith had triple-checked that he wasn’t late and that he was in the right place. 

He’d arrived ten minutes early, found a decent spot to park his bike, and now leaned against it, scrolling through his phone. After Lance’s little speech, Keith figured the guy would show up on time.

He was wrong.

At exactly 12:30, Keith’s phone buzzed with a text he’d all but expected by now:

Almost there!

Despite himself, Keith smiled.

Eventually, he sighs, pocketing his phone, and crosses his arms. The sun was brutal today, and sweat was already clinging to his back. Maybe wearing black had been a mistake, even if he had forwent the usual jacket or flannel.

Fifteen minutes later, Lance finally darts up to the bike, chest heaving as he bends over, hands on his knees.

Keith raises a brow. “You’re late.”

Lance straightens, puffing out a breath, hands dropping to his hips. He was pouting (and clearly trying to catch his breath) but Keith barely registers it. His gaze had already taken in the rest of him.

Tanned legs in pale shorts. Ankles and wrists wrapped in that beachy jewelry he always wore. The familiar shell necklace resting on the collar of his faded Save the Locals turtle sweatshirt. It was all so Lance , and it made Keith’s stomach twist.

He looked good. Keith couldn’t believe he’d been denying this was a full-blown crush, regardless of how annoying Lance could be. 

“I know, I know, sue me,” Lance says, waving a hand. “I may or may not have gone for a sunrise swim, passed out when I got home, and forgot to set an alarm.”

He hesitates. “Sorry.”

Keith smirks. “Oh, no, it’s fine,” he replies, sarcasm threading through his voice. “I just figured, you know, someone mentioned being on time ... said something about tour-guiding he had planned?”

Lance lets out a scoff, but there's no bite behind it, just amusement. That alone has Keith’s heart clenching in his chest. 

“Oh, there is definitely still a tour in your future,” he says, his tone dripping with cocky confidence. As he strides past Keith, he shoots him a smirk.

“Come on, buddy. Hope you're ready to have your ears talked off.”

The aquarium easily exceeded Keith’s expectations. He’d foolishly assumed most of it would be indoors, so the open-air exhibits came as a welcome surprise; especially with Lance guiding him around, visibly energized by every display.

There were several reef exhibits scattered throughout the grounds, along with a touch pool featuring Hawaiian fish native to the local reefs. Getting to see them up close, and even touch them, was fascinating.

Keith had always liked animals, found them interesting in a general sense, but he’d never really thought about them much. Yet now, standing there with Lance animatedly explaining each detail, he started to understand why this place, and this kind of work, meant so much to him.

“Oh! C’mere,” Lance calls, motioning Keith over with an excited wave.

Keith follows quickly, his gaze tracking the direction of Lance’s pointing finger as it hovers over one of the tanks. He leans in, squinting slightly.

“Is that... a clam?” he asks, uncertain.

Lance chuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yep. A giant clam, actually.” He gestures toward one that looks like it’s been swallowed by algae. “That one right there? Easily over 400 pounds.”

Keith jerks his head toward Lance, eyes wide. “They get that heavy?”

Lance grins, clearly in his element. “Heavier,” he says. “Giant clams anchor themselves to coral reefs and just... stay put their whole lives. They filter feed on plankton and the proteins in the algae growing on them. No need to move; just sit and grow.”

Keith hadn’t expected to enjoy someone talking this much. He could listen to Lance go on like this for hours, and they hadn’t even scratched the surface of the aquarium yet.

Lance smiles to himself. “Y’know they’re endangered,” he says quietly. “Most of the stuff here is, honestly. But giant clams? You barely see them in their original habitats anymore. It’s kind of amazing they’re still hanging on here in Hawaii.”

Keith watches Lance’s profile, something warm blooming in his chest. “Conservation’s pretty cool,” he murmurs, meaning it more than he expected.

Lance finally turns to him with a grin that sends Keith’s heart flipping. Then, with a playful shove off the edge of the pool, he straightens up.

“C’mon, let’s head inside! We can come back out later to check out the monk seals.”

Keith was hot on Lance’s heels, barely able to contain his excitement as they stepped inside. Inside the aquarium didn’t disappoint either.

Lance led him straight to the living reef exhibit, where he eagerly—though in a hushed tone befitting the setting—began pointing out the different types of coral. His enthusiasm was palpable, eyes bright as he gestured animatedly.

“See those?” Lance nodded toward a cluster of finger-like structures. “That’s stony coral, also called hard coral. They’re what actually build the reef structures.”

Keith leaned in, studying the formations with quiet interest. He’d been to aquariums before, sure, but seeing local marine life like this felt different. More real. And getting to experience it with Lance? That made it even better.

Next, Lance points out another group of corals. “Those ones that look like weird little mushrooms? Soft corals. They don’t have a hard skeleton like the stony ones, so they’re a lot more flexible. Some of them have little rinds for protection,” he explains softly, “and a lot of sea creatures hang around them because they’re safe. Some even get nutrients from them.”

Keith smiles as he observes the vibrant corals, taking in the range of colors and strange, beautiful shapes.

Lance must have caught the look on his face, because he bumps Keith’s shoulder playfully. “Pretty awesome, right?”

Keith glances over, raising an eyebrow before his expression softens into a smile. “Yeah. Very awesome.”

Keith would’ve said it a hundred times over if it meant seeing Lance smile like that again; wide and bright and a little lopsided, like he didn’t even realize how beautiful he looked.

“There’s a ton more I wanna show you,” Lance said, his voice light with excitement. He nodded forward and started walking, and Keith followed without thinking, caught in the orbit of Lance’s joy.

Their next stop was the touch tanks. Keith immediately tugged off his gloves, eyes wide as he ran his fingers gently over sea urchins, sea cucumbers, and even a few clownfish. He looked over his shoulder once, grinning in rare, unguarded awe; and Lance was already watching him, that same smile still tugging at his lips. 

Keith tried not to think too hard about that. 

After that, they wandered through the octopus exhibit, the dark-lit shark tanks, and finally stopped in front of the stingrays. The creatures glided like ghosts along the sandy floor of the tank, wings trailing behind them in slow, graceful arcs.

Keith finds himself smiling again.

Lance chuckles next to him, raising a brow. “Like the stingrays?” he asks. 

Keith shoots him a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah. And manta rays. They’re cool.”

Lance nods, eyes flicking back to the tank. “I wish the Waikīkī Aquarium had mantas. But alas, just stingrays,” he says with a grin, rocking on his heels like he couldn’t quite keep still. “Last summer, I took an elective for my major and we got to swim with giant and reef mantas. They’re incredible up close.”

Keith looks at him then; really looks. The way Lance’s eyes sparkled with memory, the way his whole body lit up with something bright and full. He looked free. Alive. Happy.

Keith’s chest aches in the best, most dangerous way. He was falling harder, he could just tell.

“I pet the tiny ones once,” Keith said softly. “At some aquarium, years ago. They were soft.”

Lance laughs, and it was the kind of laugh that wrapped around Keith like sunlight; warm and unshakable. Keith feels his pulse quicken. God, he was so screwed.

“They are,” Lance agrees, still smiling. “Gentle too, usually. It’s the stingrays that are more independent.” 

Keith tries not to stare, but fails. “Still,” he says, voice quieter now, “getting to swim with them… that must’ve been incredible.”

Lance turns to him again, their eyes meeting, and holding for just a beat longer than before. Lance grins at him then. 

“Oh yeah. That was probably the most peaceful dive I’ve ever been on,” Lance says, eyes still soft with the memory. “Well, aside from the reef shark dive I did last winter. Those little guys were adorable. I’d love to go again sometime.”

They break eye contact then, Lance glancing back toward the tank with a small, private smile. Keith lingers, watching him, drawn in by the way the light danced off his features and how effortlessly calm he looked here.

“What’s your favorite sea creature?” Keith asks after a moment, his voice gentle.

That gets Lance’s attention. He looks back at Keith, a playful smirk forming on his lips. God, he was unfairly handsome when he did that.

“Dangerous question, Kogane,” Lance teases, his voice laced with mock warning. “I might talk your ear off.”

Keith chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “That’s why I came.”

Lance’s smirk falters for just a second, softening into something quieter. His narrow, ocean-blue eyes catch the low light from the stingray tank, and there's something unspoken flickering in them that makes Keith’s heart stutter.

“You actually want to know?” Lance asks, voice low, almost disbelieving.

Keith blinks, caught off guard by the sincerity there. Was it really so surprising?

Keith laughs softly then, offering a small smile. “Yeah, man. I wanna know.”

Lance stares at him for a beat, and then he exhales a breath of laughter, shoulders relaxing.

“Sea turtles,” he says. “They’ve always been my favorite. It’s a shame they don’t have any here anymore—I used to love watching them glide around. They looked so peaceful.”

Lance pauses, eyes drifting, smile lingering.

“I saw them all the time when we lived in Florida,” he continues, voice tinged with nostalgia. “They used to nest right on the beach by my abuela’s house. I’d wake up early just to look for tracks in the sand.”

Keith’s expression softens as he listens, heart tugging at the image of a younger Lance chasing turtles in the dawn light. It was… endearing. Painfully so.

“I still catch glimpses of them in the wild here sometimes,” Lance adds. “Which is incredible, of course. But I’d love to study them up close more. Dive with them.”

Keith finds himself smiling. “What kind of sea turtles are your favorite?”

Lance grins, eyes lighting up. “Okay, maybe it’s cliché since we’re in Hawaiʻi, but the Hawaiian honu. Green sea turtles are so cute, and they’re just fascinating.”

Keith watches him as he speaks, completely captivated; not just by the words, but by the way Lance lit up with them. So full of love and wonder. So incredibly genuine.

And, yeah. Keith was falling harder.

“Tell me about them,” Keith says suddenly, voice quiet but certain.

Lance blinks, brows raising in surprise. “Wait—seriously? You want to hear about sea turtles?”

Keith shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I like them too. I just... don’t know much.”

Lance studies him for a moment, something warm and amused flickering in his gaze. Then he chuckles, the sound light and genuine. “Alright then. Buckle up, samurai.”

He gestures toward a nearby bench, and they make their way over. Lance drops down first, sprawling comfortably and crossing his legs like this is the easiest thing in the world. Keith follows, sitting a respectful few feet away, arms folded loosely as he turns to listen.

“Okay,” Lance begins, excitement already bubbling in his voice, “Hawai‘i has five native species of sea turtles: hawksbill, green, leatherback, loggerhead, and olive ridley. All of them are protected by the Endangered Species Act and local conservation laws.”

Keith nods along, expression focused and thoughtful.

“Green sea turtles—the ones I mentioned earlier—are the most common here. They nest in about eighty countries worldwide, but Hawai‘i is one of their biggest nesting spots in the U.S. Hawksbills and greens usually stay closer to shore, while the other three prefer open water.”

Keith hums softly, arms still crossed. “Do the types differ much besides their looks?”

Lance shrugs a little. “Not too much. They all lay around the same number of eggs, bask, and can hold their breath for roughly the same amount of time. Most of the differences come down to diet and size. Stuff like that.”

Then he grins again, easy and fond. “I just like green sea turtles the best.”

Keith chuckles under his breath. “Why are honu green? Is it from their diet or something?”

Lance lights up. “Yes! Exactly,” he says, practically beaming. “Their diet’s mostly algae and seagrass. It makes their fat green. Isn’t that wild?”

“Very,” Keith replies, smirking. “You said there aren’t any here?” 

Lance sighs, shaking his head, and Keith’s brow furrows slightly.

“Are there any aquariums on O‘ahu that do have them?”

Another shake of the head, this time accompanied by a small laugh. “Not that I know of. But the Maui Ocean Center in Makawao has some. We went there once when we first moved to Hawai‘i. It was incredible. Like, stupid cool,” he says, eyes lighting up at the memory. “I haven’t been back since, though. I always forget island hopping is even an option.”

He glances over at Keith, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe sometime though, yeah?”

Keith’s expression softens, something warm settling in his chest. He tucks the idea away; filed under things he wouldn’t mind doing with Lance.

“Yeah,” Keith says, smiling faintly. “That’d be really sick.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, broken only by the soft hum of the tanks and the distant chatter of other visitors. But Keith, not ready for the moment, or the conversation, to end, glances over and speaks again, his tone light but curious.

“Why are sea turtles your favorite?”

Lance’s smile stalls, just for a second before he talks. “They make me want to be more environmentally conscious. For their sake. All wildlife suffers, but turtles… they’re kind of the poster boys for ocean conservation.”

His smile falters slightly as the thought settles, and Keith can see the shift in his expression, the frustration just under the surface.

“People are just… careless,” Lance murmurs, voice tinged with quiet disappointment. 

Keith hums, nodding. “They are,” Keith says. Then, after a moment he adds, “I try to be considerate of things like that. Help out how I can.” 

Lance turns to look at him again, brows lifting in quiet surprise. “Oh yeah?”

Keith nods, giving a small shrug. “Yeah. I recycled back on the mainland. I didn't take plastic bags when I could avoid it. I’ve got reusable straws, too.”

He pauses, then glances sideways—only to find Lance staring at him. It almost looks... surprised? Enthralled, maybe? Perhaps Keith was too hopeful on that one.

“You do?” Lance asks, his voice unusually soft.

Keith smiles, just a little unsure. “Yeah. I keep one on my key ring,” he says, reaching down and unclipping the tiny container to show him. “It’s kind of a habit now. Convenient.”

Lance keeps staring, and Keith feels warmth creep up the back of his neck. In the low light of the aquarium, it’s hard to be sure, but he could swear Lance is blushing.

Then Lance looks away, smiling to himself as he lets out a quiet, almost bashful chuckle. “I didn’t take you for someone who’s… well, that environmentally conscious,” he admits.

Keith snorts, raising an eyebrow, playful. “What, just because I’m quiet and broody?”

Lance huffs a laugh. “No, it’s just…” He glances back, and his expression softens again; shy, but fond. “You keep surprising me.”

Keith holds his gaze, heart doing something entirely unreasonable in his chest. He manages to compose himself and snorts, raising a teasing brow. “I’m full of surprises.” 

Lance glances back, his expression shy momentarily.

“Yeah,” Lance says softly. “I’m figuring that out.” 

Keith tries not to read too deeply into the softness of Lance’s voice, but something about it sticks; it sounded almost like realization, and Keith didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

He clears his throat lightly, voice quieter when he speaks.

“Is that the only reason then? That you like them so much, I mean.”

Lance’s soft expression falters at that, almost as if he didn’t expect Keith to continue that topic. He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, scratching awkwardly, his gaze flicking away. 

“No,” Lance says. “But it’s silly. Kind of a long story.” 

Keith smirks, voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That does something. Lance glances at him again, and whatever tension had crept into his shoulders slowly eases. He chuckles, almost to himself, before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze dropping to the floor between his feet.

“They kind of remind me of myself.” 

Keith tilts his head, his smile fading into something softer, something more open. He doesn’t interrupt.

Lance takes a breath, fingers loosely laced between his knees, eyes fixed somewhere far off.

“They’re kind of… misunderstood. Overlooked,” he says. “People see something slow, quiet, not exciting enough. They take advantage of them, hurt them with ignorance and pollution, but they survive. They adapt. They’re extremely intelligent and carry whole ecosystems on their backs, and no one ever gives them credit.”

Keith watches him closely, his own heart tightening with every word.

“I used to feel like that,” Lance admits, voice softer now. “Like I had to do too much just to be seen. Like I was trying so hard all the time, and it was never enough to be more than background noise. Still do sometimes.”

He glances at Keith then, a little wary, like he hadn’t meant to say all of that out loud.

“Silly, right?”

Keith blinks, the weight of Lance’s words settling in.

He really thought that? About himself?

Absolutely not.

“You’re not background noise,” Keith says, his voice quiet but certain. “Not to anyone.”

Lance lets out a short, dry snort, barely more than a breath. “Come on, Keith. You barely know me.”

Keith leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. He still gives Lance space, but his eyes stay locked on him. Focused, steady.

“I know enough,” he says. “Enough to see that you’re reliable. That you care. Deeply. That you light up every room you walk into, whether you notice it or not.”

His words come slow, deliberate. Not rushed, not impulsive—like each one has been weighed, like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for weeks waiting to be said.

“You’re passionate. Talented. Smart. And yeah, confident; sometimes infuriatingly so,” Keith adds with a small smile. “But you back it up. You make things look easy.”

He exhales then, steadying himself.

“You’re pretty remarkable, Lance. I know I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

The words hang in the air, fragile and real. Lance turns to him slowly, eyes wide, caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer. There’s no sarcasm in his face now, no walls.

Just quiet, open surprise.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t have to. And still, Keith feels his own heart pounding so loud it might echo through the entire aquarium.

Was that stupid? Does he think I’m weird? 

Lance’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “You really think all that?” he asks, eyes searching Keith’s. “Even after just… what, a month and some change?”

Keith lets out a breath, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “Even after just that. And despite you being absolutely insufferable most of the time.”

Lance’s expression softens, and a quiet laugh escapes him, low and warm.

“Okay, fair,” he says, nudging Keith gently with his shoulder. “That’s probably at least half-deserved.”

Lance is quiet for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “But… thanks, man,” he says at last, voice low and genuine. “That means more than you know.”

Keith swallows, trying to keep himself steady. The sincerity in Lance’s tone hits him like a wave; warm and unrelenting. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start confessing things he definitely still needed to work through. Lance didn’t need to know about this crush if he didn’t have to. 

They hold each other’s gaze for a long, breathless moment, something heavy and unspoken hanging between them, until Lance finally leans back against the bench with a sigh.

“Well, come on, buddy,” Lance says as he pushes to his feet, a cocky grin returning to his features. “I’ve still got plenty more things to talk your ear off about.”

Keith blinks at the sudden shift in pace, but the warmth in Lance’s voice draws out a smile. He stands, brushing off his pants. “Lead the way, turtle boy.”

Lance shoots him a look as they fall into step. “Turtle boy? Seriously?”

Keith raises a brow. “What, and ‘mullet’ or ‘samurai’ are any better?”

“Hey!” Lance protests, mock offended. “At least mine have some creativity.”

The Hawaiian Monk Seal exhibit had been a surprise favorite. Keith found himself genuinely enjoying the way the seals glided through the water, occasionally stopping to nudge or play with one another. But more than that, he enjoyed watching Lance, whose eyes wide, animated, practically glowing as he talked about their conservation efforts and quirks.

Yeah. This crush was taking over faster than Keith had anticipated. But honestly? At this point, he was too far gone to stop it.

Afterward, they wandered into the gift shop. Lance excused himself to use the restroom, leaving Keith to meander through shelves of magnets, postcards, and sea creature plushies. He tried to focus on the merchandise, on literally anything other than how close Lance had been walking next to him all afternoon.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he moves to pull it out. 

Pidge: how’s the date?

details. now.

Keith lets out a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. He types back:

It isn’t a date.

Pidge: some might debate

you got him talking about sea turtles

you should’ve just proposed 

Keith’s brow furrows, glancing around his surroundings skeptically. Pidge was on Hawai’i. How did they possibly know about that?! 

Keith: We’re friends

Friends ask about special interests 

Then, after a moment of hesitation: 

Fr though, how did you know about that?

Pidge: i have various sources >:)

Keith sighs, dragging a hand down his face before replying:

I don’t care how you found out 

This still isn’t a date 

We’re bonding 

Pidge: trying to do-over the “bonding moment” then? 

Keith pauses. Then sends: 

It’s on sight when you get back to Oahu 

Pidge: if you could even catch me

Keith silences the chat with a swipe of his thumb, stuffing his phone back into his pocket before Pidge can unfold more chaos. He wanders deeper into the gift shop, trying to collect himself before Lance returns and somehow reads all his thoughts just by looking at him.

His steps slow when he reaches the jewelry display. Rows of necklaces and bracelets line the rotating stand, adorned with shells, glass beads, and charms carved from coral and lava stone. His fingers hover over a few of them before pausing on a lava rock bracelet, a tiny turtle carved in the center. He wasn't sure he'd be able to see sea turtle-related anything without thinking of Lance. 

He smiles, the expression soft, genuine.

Then jumps slightly when an arm suddenly drapes over his shoulders.

“Looking for more jewelry?” Lance’s voice is smug and teasing right beside his ear. “What, is the one I gave you not good enough?”

Keith steadies himself with a breath, clutching the turtle bracelet a little tighter before setting it back. “Just browsing,” he says, tone even.

Lance hums, glancing down at Keith’s wrist. The bracelet he’d given him a week ago still sat snug above Keith’s glove, the blue and brown sea glass beads shining in the lights of the giftshop.

“Wait—you still wear it?” Lance asks, blinking in surprise.

Keith furrows his brow, glancing over, meticulously ignoring how close Lance still is. “I mean, yeah. You gave it to me,” he says simply, carefully omitting the fact that he almost never takes it off.

Lance blinks again, then breaks into a grin, letting out a short snort. “That’s awesome,” he says. “It’s one of a kind, y’know. You should feel ridiculously special.”

Keith rolls his eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at his mouth.

“Since you like it enough to still wear it, I’ll make you another sometime. More customized,” Lance says with a wink. Then he peels away, circling around the jewelry display to browse a row of keychains on the other side, still grinning to himself.

That sends Keith for a loop. Lance had made this. He’s unable to stop the heat from rising to his cheeks.

Keith stares down at the bracelet on his wrist for just a second longer, his fingers brushing over it gently, before following.

Much to Keith’s surprise, Lance had still wanted to hang out after the aquarium. He took Keith to his favorite udon spot in Honolulu; something small, tucked away, and stupidly good. Afterward, they wandered back toward where Keith had parked his bike, chatting about anything and everything Keith could coax Lance into rambling about.

As they near Red, Lance lets out a quiet sigh. His hands are stuffed deep into the pockets of his shorts, and there’s that familiar lopsided grin on his face; the one Keith keeps falling for, a little more every time he sees it.

“I, uh,” Lance starts, rocking gently on his heels, “had a really great time today.”

Keith’s lips twitch into a smile. “I actually did too.”

Lance pouts. “Hey, don’t sound so shocked. I’m a delight to be around.”

Keith snorts. “You were significantly less insufferable today. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Lance says, mock offended.

A comfortable silence settles between them. Then Lance slows, no longer rocking.

“Thanks,” he says, quieter this time. “For coming.”

Keith blinks, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. It had been happening all day, these soft moments from Lance, and he couldn’t decide if he needed to get used to it or if it was a one-time thing.

“Of course,” Keith replies, voice low. “I wanted to.”

Lance scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking away like he’s unsure if he should keep going. “Hunk and Pidge come with me sometimes, when they can. But... I don’t know. I always feel like I’m bothering them.”

He hesitates, then meets Keith’s eyes.

“But you…you actually listened. You asked questions. That... means more than you probably think.”

Keith blinks, heart tightening at the sound of Lance’s voice; soft, unguarded. There’s something vulnerable in it, something warm. Like he’s genuinely happy to have shared a part of himself and been met with real interest.

“I mean, what are friends for, right?” Keith says with a small smile. After a beat, he adds, more sincerely, “But honestly… I had a lot of fun. It was genuinely interesting.”

Lance’s eyes light up, the blue in them seeming somehow brighter. Keith sees the relief there, the spark of excitement at being understood.

“Right? It’s super badass,” Lance says, laughing. There’s a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice, but it’s good-natured. Then, with a breath and a wide grin, he looks at Keith again.

“You’re a really great friend, Keith. You know that, right?”

Keith takes pause at that, heart skipping in his chest. It seemed Lance was finally unashamed of the word. And even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted at this point, he was content. Happy even. 

A small smile tugs at his lips and he glances away. “I try,” he says quietly, unsure what else there is to offer.

Lance laughs, warm and easy. “You don’t have to try.”

Before Keith can respond, Lance nudges him with a grin, then turns to head off toward where Blue was parked.

“Catch you later, man!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing a quick wave as he breaks into a jog, taking Keith’s heart right along with him.

Yeah. Keith was so, so screwed.

Chapter Text

“The Fresno Nightcrawlers?” Pidge asks, a brow raised over the top of their glasses. "Out of all the cryptids we just watched episodes on, they’re the ones you’re going to argue the validity of?"

“For one, I don’t appreciate the hostility I’m feeling from this room right now, particularly from you two,” Hunk says from his blanket pile on the floor. 

Keith watches from his position lounging sideways along the arm of the couch as Hunk flicks his gaze between Pidge, curled up on a recliner with a bowl of popcorn, and him. The designated conspiracy theorists. Keith listens on, an eyebrow raised at being directly called out by his friend. Like it was his fault that he sat in on this.

“Second, yes, I feel a deep, emotional connection to them. And I think they seem pretty convincing.” 

“You’re just saying that because they’re not terrifying in the slightest so you’d be far more comfortable with them being real,” Pidge says, tone bored.

“Not important,” Hunk says, snuggling further into the blankets. There was a perfectly good chair near him, but he wasn’t about to use it. 

"Hunk," Keith chimes in then, arms crossed, "you didn’t even know they existed until forty-five minutes ago and know nothing about them. They are not realistic.” 

“Oh, and Mothman is?” Lance cuts in, lazily flopped upside down on the far end of the couch that Keith shared, legs dangling over the back.

“Stay out of this, Lance.” 

“Honestly, I don’t even know why we let you guys watch this stuff with us,” Pidge groans, sinking deeper into the recliner.

They were all at Keith and Shiro’s house, a new, common occurrence. Shiro was working late, as usual, and Keith had originally hoped for a quiet night in. But then came a text from Pidge suggesting a cryptid documentary marathon, something Keith hadn’t realized he missed until they showed up at the door with three different box-sets and a USB stick labeled “Classified Evidence.”

Hunk and Lance, bored and nosy, had invited themselves over shortly after. And despite claiming to be uninterested in cryptids, were now fully entrenched in what had become a very serious, very frustrating cryptid debate.

"I, for one, am having a great time," Hunk declares proudly. "Sorry I have the vision, and the courage, to love a cryptid no one else believes in."

"There’s barely any footage of them, Hunk," Pidge groans. "They're also a very recent addition to cryptozoology!"

"Right, right," Lance says, yawning. "Because you two only accept the super obscure or some of the classics. Anything popular or recent? Instantly fake."

Keith can almost visibly see a vein pop out on Pidge’s forehead. 

"For the last time," they say, voice rising, "the Flatwoods Monster isn’t just a cryptid; it’s a case study in mass hysteria, Cold War paranoia, and possible alien contact. There were multiple eyewitnesses, physical symptoms reported, and it goes way beyond a creature sighting; it’s an experience. I mean, even if it wasn’t real, the cultural impact? The influence on sci-fi and alien lore? That alone makes it important." 

Pidge adjusts their glasses. “And don’t even get me started on Betty and Barney Hill’s encounter; we’ll be here all night.”

“Sureeee, defend the alien cases. Everything else is shot down,” Lance says with irritation. 

"That’s not it at all," Keith interjects then, cool and matter-of-fact. "If anything, the Nightcrawler also looks alien; it just doesn’t carry a strong case for credibility with the clearly manipulated footage. Things like Betty and Barney Hill’s experience had a lot of credibility, even for the sixties."

Lance, still upside down, flails a bit and points at Keith. “Again, you argued for Mothman. Literal man-moth. And you judged me for making a case for Nessie?”

Keith’s brow furrows. If he didn’t like the boy so much, he’d be far more irritated. “She’s practically Cryptids 101. Literal tourist trap material with one picture from the thirties to her name.”

Lance barks out a laugh. “Not true! You’re the one who told me that some believed kelpies lived in Loch Ness!”

Keith groans. “Legends aren’t credible either. It was one encounter, and Saint Columba said it was a water demon. Hardly credible.” 

Lance pouts. “You’re just jealous that Nessie and I would be best buds for life, for real! Mothman wouldn’t wanna be your friend; you’re too grumpy.” 

Keith eyes him for a moment before sitting up, casually leaning forward just far enough to grab Lance’s shin, and with a swift tug, tosses him off the couch.

Lance shrieks as he tumbles to the floor, landing beside Hunk with a dramatic oof. Keith watches the fall with a satisfied smirk, just as Pidge bursts out laughing.

Rubbing the spot where his head hit the floor, Lance props himself up and shoots Keith a look.

“Oh, so the cryptid debate’s gone physical now?” he says, feigning outrage, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. “And here I thought we were friends.”

Keith smirks, leaning back on the couch again. But before he could come up with some smartass retort, Lance grins and reaches out, grabbing Keith’s ankle and yanking hard.

With a startled yelp, Keith topples off the couch, landing flat on his stomach with an unceremonious umph. He lays there for a beat, stunned, before pushing himself up and turning to glare at a far-too-smug Lance, who was still sprawled on the floor.

“Just leveling the playing field,” Lance says with that cocky, handsome, infuriatingly addicting grin that Keith thought about at every opportunity. 

Keith’s eyes narrow slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Then, he lunges.

Lance screams, flailing and scrambling away. He manages to wrestle himself to his feet before sprinting toward the kitchen like his life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it kind of did.

“No no no! Get back!” Lance squeaks out, moving behind the kitchen island. “This isn’t fair!” 

Keith strolls in after him, calm and collected, the picture of smug vengeance. Cute was all Keith could think as he eyed the other boy. 

“What?” he says, tone nonchalant. “You said you wanted to level the playing field.” 

Lance slaps his hands dramatically onto the counter like he was clinging to the edge of a cliff. Definitely cute, Keith thinks again. “Yeah, well, I take it back! UN-level it!!”

Keith only smirks, stopping on the other side of the island, mirroring Lance’s stance. There was a pause. A standoff.

Then, Keith feints left. 

Lance shrieks and bolts right and out of the kitchen, Keith after him. 

Unfortunately for him, that was when Shiro walked in the entryway.

“SHIRO! My man!” Lance cries, nearly colliding with him. He grabs Shiro’s arm like a human life preserver, peeking around him at Keith. “Save me! He’s gone feral!”

Shiro simply blinks, clearly not surprised at this level of nonsense upon entry. Then he looks at Keith, who had come to a casual stop, hands in his pockets and expression entirely smug. He couldn’t help it; the situation had grown far more amusing. 

“He started it,” Keith says, shrugging like this wasn’t exactly what it looked like.

Lance gasps dramatically from the other side of Shiro. “Did NOT! You pushed me off the couch first!” 

Shiro raises an amused brow, and Keith rolls his eyes, but his smirk still remains. 

From the visible living room, Pidge chimes in helpfully: “Lance said Mothman wouldn’t be friends with him. Said Keith is too grumpy.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, Shiro lets out a low whistle and nods in understanding, a smirk of his own growing on his face. “Ah. Now it makes sense.”

Shiro gives Lance a sympathetic pat. “Sorry, buddy; as Keith’s brother, I have to defend him sometimes, and in this case I do have to say what Keith and Pidge have informed me of Mothman over the years, they would be friends.” Shiro pauses for a moment then. “That’s if Keith didn’t get kidnapped by him first.” 

Pidge and Hunk cackle from the living room at Lance’s dramatic, betrayed gasp, and Keith smirks smugly. 

Shiro glances at Keith again then, throwing him that knowing brotherly look that Keith knew too well as he moves to continue walking through the house. “No killing your friends in the house, though.” 

Keith huffs at that, crossing his arms over his chest, to which Lance sticks his tongue out at him, marching back towards the living room. Keith reluctantly follows. 

Shiro smiles and waves politely to Pidge and Hunk, not in the slightest surprised at their presence, or them camping out in the living room. 

“So, since you’re a traitor about the whole Mothman deal,” Lance starts, calling after Shiro, “What do you think is the most believable cryptid or conspiracy theory?” 

As he asks, he flops dramatically onto the couch, limbs sprawling as Keith moves to sit beside him. With a frown, Keith grabs Lance’s ankles, his anklets clinking softly, and dumps them unceremoniously onto the floor before sitting down. Lance doesn’t even flinch.

Shiro’s muffled reply is a long, thoughtful hum. A few moments later, he reappears, a smile on his face. “Honestly, the Night Marchers. Matt put me on the believing train for that when I moved here.” 

From his blanket cocoon on the floor, Hunk lets out a sharp gasp, clutching the fabric tighter around himself. “Huaka‘ipo? Nope. Nope! Absolutely not.”

Pidge gives a slow, satisfied nod. “Matt’s well-trained. I introduced him to that one the day we got here; it’s been his obsession ever since,” they say with a devilish grin.

Lance crosses his arms, clearly disgruntled. “Alright, alright,” he sighs. “That wins, hands down.”

Keith shoots him a sideways smile that Lance doesn’t notice. 

“Speaking of your brother,” Shiro says to Pidge after a moment of content silence, “he said that this is the last week of the fair. Are you guys going to go?” 

Lance sits up from the couch. “Dude, I’ve been working so much I almost forgot!” 

Hunk sits up too, the blankets he was cocooned in falling around him. Clearly more at ease now that the conversation has moved away from a scary topic. “Oh man, we’ve gotta take Keith.” 

Keith perks up in slight interest. He’d heard something about a fair, but hadn’t thought to go. He enjoyed them, at least back on the mainland, and one on O’ahu seemed interesting. 

And with the way Lance had turned to grin at him now? He definitely knew he had to go.

Now Keith found himself in the backseat of Shiro’s car, en route to the fair. Pidge sat beside him, scrolling through their phone, while Matt rode shotgun and chatted with Shiro up front. 

Keith’s phone buzzed nonstop in his lap; the group chat with Pidge, Lance, and Hunk was blowing up. Lance and Hunk had already arrived and were hanging out with Allura and her boyfriend, Lotor, whom Keith hadn’t met yet.

Lance: First corndog of the night secured! ;)

[Lance has sent an attachment] 

Keith smiles at the photo, Lance’s smile bright and handsome, a corndog in hand and Allura at his side with an enthusiastic smile. 

From beside him, Pidge lets out a snort. Keith glances over and sees they’d just opened the same photo.

“Lance and Hunk are gonna eat at least twenty of those,” Pidge says with a grin. “And Lance is one hundred percent going to throw up after riding the zero gravity ride.”

Keith chuckles quietly. Honestly, that tracked.

Pidge: nasty work 

Hunk: Come on, you’re just jealous you don’t have a tasty, fried treat yet 🙂

Lance: Yeah! 

You’re gonna be soooo jealous when Keith gets on board! 

Keith snorts at the faith Lance has at getting him involved with the corndog consumption. 

Keith: Not a chance

Lance: I fear you don’t have a choice my man

I’m gonna force feed you >:)

Pidge bursts out laughing and quickly slaps a hand over their nose and mouth to stifle it. Keith shoots them a sidelong frown.

“Don’t look at me,” they say, muffled. “You know he’s serious.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond as he turns back to his phone. 

Keith: If you can catch me 

Lance’s reply is almost immediate: 

Oh! 

A challenge?! 

Bet ;) 

“We’re here!” Shiro exclaims from the front seat, and Pidge and Keith both look up. “Well, the parking lot,” he adds with a chuckle. 

They find parking and get in line for their wristbands, Keith’s phone still buzzing nonstop. He glances down at Pidge at his side, them actively replying to the influx of messages. He leans down to look at the screen.

Lance: Where are you guys?! 

Hunk ABANDONED me 

I miss my friends :(

Pidge: waiting to get in 

Hunk: Lance I’m in the bathroom

I’ll literally be two seconds

Lance: Allura and Lotor abandoned me for the maze :((((

I’ve never felt so alone 

Pidge: give us like 10 

Lance: <3 <3 <3 

After Keith, Pidge, Shiro and Matt are able to get in, Keith turns to Shiro. 

“Pidge and I have to go save Lance. Guess he’s been abandoned,” Keith says, “Are you guys coming along?” 

Shiro gives Keith a fond smile before he shakes his head. “Thanks for the invite, but we’re meeting some work friends,” he says. “Just text me if you need anything, okay, buddy?” 

Keith smiles, nodding at him. Meanwhile Keith sees Pidge give Matt a fist bump before they’re already walking off, Keith hot on their heels. 

Keith decides to text the chat this time: 

Where are you guys at? 

Just got in

Hunk: Ring toss! 

Lance is playing 😄

“Ring toss,” Keith says to Pidge, who hums thoughtfully.

“‘Kay. I know where that is,” they reply, already weaving through the maze of fair games and colorful booths.

Keith follows, watching the blur of neon signs, spinning rides, and glowing string lights with quiet intrigue. The sunset paints the sky in soft streaks of orange and violet, casting everything in a warm, dreamlike haze. For once, he feels… genuinely excited for the night ahead.

They eventually spot the ring toss booth, and Keith immediately spots Lance; mid-throw, frustration written all over his face. Hunk stands nearby, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. He perks up the moment he sees them.

“Hey, you two!” Hunk greets brightly.

“Hey,” Pidge says with a smirk, nodding toward Lance. “How’s he doing?”

Lance doesn’t even look over. “Silence,” he says, intensely focused. “This requires complete concentration.”

They all fall quiet, watching as Lance narrows his eyes. His last ring flies through the air, and, miraculously, lands cleanly on a peg.

Lance erupts with a cheer, throwing his arms into the air in triumph. The grin on his face is wide and unfiltered, and Keith can’t help the smile tugging at his own lips.

“Aw yeah,” Lance crows, puffing out his chest. “And that’s why they used to call me The Tailor.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “The… Tailor?”

Lance smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah. Y’know. Because of how I thread the needle.”

The group goes silent.

“Is that also why you missed almost every other shot?” Hunk asks, eyebrow raised.

“Irrelevant,” Lance says with a dismissive wave.

Then he turns to Keith, and wow. That smile. Keith’s heart stutters like it just forgot how to beat.

“Keith, my man!” Lance exclaims, sauntering over. “Shorts? Keith Kogane in shorts? Truly, I am blessed tonight.”

Keith huffs, arms crossing defensively. “It was hot today.”

Lance snorts, tilting his head with an appraising look. “Honestly? It works. I think I could get used to this.”

He leans in just slightly, grin playful. “Maybe I’ll convince you to wear anklets next.”

And then he winks.

Keith is pretty sure he’s gone into cardiac arrest.

Pidge notices, because of course they do, and they snort.  

“Come on guys,” they say. “I want a root beer.” 

–

Pidge’s root beer was now secured. On their journey, Keith had discovered a shaved ice stand, enthusiastically drowning his in every red syrup available. Lance, naturally, got one too, and, almost as if to challenge him, covered his in every shade of blue.

The four of them wandered the fairgrounds, taking in the sights and giving Keith a proper tour (like he hadn’t been to a fair before), until Hunk eventually paused and pulled out his phone.

“Allura wants to know where we are,” he says, scrolling.

Lance lets out a dramatic scoff. “Boo-hoo! Maybe her and her Prince Charming shouldn’t have abandoned me,” he replies in a mock-offended tone. “Besides, I haven’t even finished showing Keith the entire fair yet.”

Hunk types something back, smiling as he pocketed his phone. “Told her we’d meet up later. Also told her you’re whining.”

Lance gasps, flinging an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Did you hear that? Whining. Me! Unbelievable slander.”

Keith freezes slightly at the sudden contact, his body going rigid from the unexpected warmth. Lance had an arm around him. 

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t—

Arm still draped over Keith’s shoulders, Lance adjusted his grip, spoon in one hand and cup in the other. With practiced ease, he scooped a bite of his aggressively blue concoction and held it up to Keith’s mouth.

“Blue raspberry?” Lance asks casually. 

Keith blinks at the spoon presented to him, brow furrowing. 

“No thanks.” 

Lance hums, shrugging and eating the bite himself. 

“Suit yourself, buddy.” 

Pidge shoots Keith a knowing, smug look at the scene. Keith tries to blow them up with his mind. 

“Okay, weirdos, let’s go find some rides,” Pidge finally says. “Keith’s gonna get bored out of his mind.”

Hunk visibly stiffens, turning to follow a leaving Pidge. “Can we not ride the slingshot this time? Or the zero gravity one? I’d like to keep my corndogs inside this time.” 

Lance finally slides his arm off Keith’s shoulders, flashing him a smile that was far too charming for something so casual. He takes another bite of his shaved ice and strolls after the other two with a pep in his step.

Keith could feel the heat blooming on his face; deep, unmistakable. If this crush was going to stick around and inevitably get more aggressive, he needed to learn to compose himself better. 

He exhales sharply, trying to steady himself, then takes a bite of his own shaved ice and falls into step behind them.

Hunk had stayed behind initally, but that didn’t stop Lance and Pidge from dragging Keith onto the Zero Gravity ride. Keith loved thrill rides, sure, but he wasn’t entirely sure this one would be a favorite, but the moment they were spinning, suspended sideways, laughter ripping from his throat against his will… yeah. It was extremely fun.

Lance throwing up after their second round, however, was decidedly not.

Once Lance had regained color in his face and the ability to walk in a straight line, they kept moving.

They passed the Super Sizzler next, a whirling blur of chaos and noise, and, somehow, convinced Hunk to climb aboard with them. Keith wasn’t sure what was louder: the ride’s music or Hunk’s nonstop screaming. He’d never heard someone yell so much without taking a breath. 

The next ride, the Seven Seas, had a rocking motion that finally did Hunk in. The guy practically rolled off the platform and collapsed on the nearest bench with a groan.

Keith gave him space, though kept glancing over just to be sure he was still breathing while Lance patted his back. When Hunk finally sat up and muttered something about solid ground, Keith scanned the area and spotted a row of brightly lit bumper cars.

He points. “We could try those,” he says, aiming for casual. He figured it was a safe choice; fast, loud, no spinning involved.

The others followed his gaze. Hunk immediately perks up. “The Scooters? Yes, awesome,” he says, already heading toward them with renewed purpose.

Lance lets out a whoop and chases after him, as if this were some kind of competition.

Keith trails behind, a little slower, watching them with something between amusement and disbelief. It was still a little strange, seeing them like this. All smiles, no stakes, just being. The ease with which they got along, how they let him get along with them now, too, still felt surreal sometimes.

He almost couldn’t remember his life without any of them. 

Once they were in the bumper cars, Keith barely had a chance to settle in before Lance was immediately crashing into him. Repeatedly. With enthusiasm.

“Are you serious?” Keith snaps, half-laughing, half-glaring as he swerves away. This thing wasn’t a motorcycle, but he could manage maneuvering out of the path of Lance’s playful fury. 

“Oh, are you scared?!” Lance shouts over the music, ramming him again.

Keith grits his teeth, spinning the wheel hard to dodge, jaw tight in concentration. He wasn’t even mad, but the constant assault was annoying in the most Lance kind of way. God, he was so smitten with this irritating boy. 

Just when he thought he was in the clear with enough space to breathe and plan retaliation, Hunk comes out of nowhere, slamming into Keith’s side with a triumphant yell.

Keith jolts in his seat, blinking.

Then, he smirks, devious, sinister. 

Hunk yelps, whipping his car around and driving away as fast as possible. “Abort! Abort!!!” 

Lance, who had been trying to ram Pidge, turns. Keith grins at Lance’s eyes widening before he’s speeding off too with a loud scream, Keith right behind him. 

Yeah. Keith decided this was the best fair experience he’d ever had. 

Keith decided to go to the bathroom. 

That had been his first mistake. Now, Pidge, Lance and Hunk were nowhere to be seen. 

He frowns, eyes scanning the crowd before he pulls out his phone. So much for them complaining about being abandoned. 

Keith: Where are you all at? 

He doesn’t get an immediate reply, so he decides to look around on his own for a bit, sure he’d find the others soon. He looks at the mini games, the rides in the distance. The sun was practically gone now, the lights of the fair emphasized by the purple, early night sky. It was still pleasantly warm, and Keith wasn’t hating wearing shorts. 

“Keith!!” 

Keith stops walking, turning his head to see… Allura? Oh, right. They’d been doing so much that he had forgotten she was here. 

His confused expression melts away, replaced by a smile as she walks up. 

“It’s lovely to see you! Have you been with the others?” she asks, her voice bright and melodic.

Keith nods. “Yeah, but they left me.”

Allura scoffs playfully. “That sounds about right.” 

After a pause, she grins, then turns and gestures behind her. “I found your brother!”

Keith follows her motion and spots Shiro and Matt chatting with a few unfamiliar faces. One of them, tall with long, pin-straight hair and a striking presence, had to be Lotor. Keith had heard plenty about him from Lance and Hunk over the past few months.

He definitely looked the part; sharp features, confident stance, a little too perfect. Definitely someone who matched Allura’s vibe. 

Shiro had once mentioned that Lotor’s father, Zarkon, was one of Alfor’s longtime research partners. “Lovely guy,” Shiro had said. “Brilliant wife, too.” Apparently, Lotor was following in their footsteps and currently working fulltime at the station. 

As Keith follows Allura over, Matt spots him and chuckles. “Keith, dude! What’d you do with my sibling?”

Keith shrugs. “Your sibling abandoned me.”

Matt snorts. “Yeah, that checks out. Pidge and Lance are probably knee-deep in rigged fair games by now.”

Shiro steps over and gives Keith a light shove on the shoulder, smiling warmly. Allura looks on with a sweet smile, it being the first time she’d seen the two of them interact. 

At a lull in the conversation, Allura turns with a beaming smile. “Keith, this is my boyfriend, Lotor,” she says fondly, placing a hand on the man Keith had guessed correctly.

“Lotor, this is Keith: Shiro’s brother.”

Lotor’s face lights up with recognition as he extends a hand. Prim and proper. No wonder Lance had said he was like a prince. “Allura’s told me a lot about you. It’s great to finally meet.”

Keith shook his hand with a small smile. “Likewise.”

“You ride a motorcycle, right? Shiro mentioned it before,” Lotor says, voice level and all politeness. 

Keith perks up, unable to hide the spark of enthusiasm. “Yeah. A Kawasaki Ninja. Hunk said you ride too?”

“Ah, so Hunk’s been gossiping,” Lotor chuckles. "Yes, I ride a Honda Rebel.”

Keith raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Nice model.”

“It’s treated me well,” Lotor says with a nod. 

Just then, Shiro puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder and turns towards one of the men Keith didn’t recognize.

“Oh! Keith, this is Adam. He works with us at the station.”

Keith smiles and takes in Adam’s appearance; short sandy hair, warm tan, and glasses. He looked kind, in a quiet sort of way.

“Good to meet you,” Keith says, glancing briefly at Shiro.

“Likewise!” Adam replies, adjusting his glasses. “Shiro talks about you all the time.”

Keith smirks at that. “I’m sure he does,” he says, giving Shiro a pointed look.

Shiro shoots him one back: Don’t even. Keith’s smug grin only widens.

His phone buzzes then, and he pulls it out. 

Pidge: sorry we ran off 

Lance and I are deep in gambling >:)

Of course they were. Just as Matt had suspected. 

“I’m gonna go hunt down Lance, Pidge, and Hunk. Catch you all later,” Keith says then, giving Shiro a “we’ll talk later” kind of look as he turns to go. Shiro matches it with a sheepish smile. 

“Seeya, Keith!” Matt calls, the others waving and giving their enthusiastic farewells. 

Keith didn’t find Pidge or Lance anywhere.

Instead, by complete accident, he was nearly run over by Hunk, who barreled past him with a level of urgency Keith had never seen from the usually laid-back Samoan.

The second Hunk recognized him, he skids to a stop and grabs Keith by the shoulders, wide-eyed and frantic.

“KEITH! Oh my God, you have to save me!”

Keith blinks, frozen. “…From what?” How could Hunk possibly be in any sort of danger? 

Hunk’s head jerks to the side. Instinctively, Keith follows his gaze, spotting a short, round man scanning the crowd with laser focus. The moment the man’s eyes landed on Hunk, he started beelining toward them.

Hunk doesn’t explain.

“Run,” he whispers.

That was all Keith needed.

They take off.

By pure dumb luck, they nearly collide with Pidge and Lance during their escape, Pidge clutching what looked like a video game console, while Lance proudly carried a giant plush cow the size of a small child.

“Hey, it’s Hunk and Keith!” Lance calls out brightly.

“No time!” Hunk shouts as he blows past, Keith hot on his heels. “We’re out!”

And, because their friendship thrived on impulse, Pidge and Lance didn’t even need to ask why. They just turn and sprint after them.

Somehow, with Hunk leading the charge, they made it to the ferris wheel. The line was mercifully short, and waiting at the front—of course—were Shiro, Matt, Allura, Lotor, and Adam.

Matt opens his mouth to say something at their speedy approach, but doesn't get the chance.

Pidge shoves the console into his arms without explanation, and Lance lobs the plush cow right on top of it.

The four of them practically dove into the open ferris wheel gondola, startling the poor ride attendant so badly he forgot to ask for tickets.

They collapse onto the seats, breathless and silent for a beat, just long enough for Keith to glance over and see Hunk go rigid.

Following his gaze, Keith spots Shiro chatting with the same man who’d been chasing them, now looking sheepish, as if trying to smooth something over.

“Oh God,” Hunk groans, sinking low in his seat and covering his face. “He’s going to kill me as soon as we get off the ride.”

Lance blinks from beside him. “What did you do to warrant a full-on foot chase?!”

Hunk sighs then, dropping his hands. “I may have told him his poi was too tangy?” 

The three others blink at him. 

It’s painfully silent aside from the screams on the nearby rides and the creaking of the Ferris Wheel. 

“We ran all the way across the fair,” Lance starts, “because you criticized someone’s poi?!” 

“And jumped in line,” Keith adds. 

“For a ride you actively dislike,” Pidge adds finally with a deadpan delivery. 

Hunk swallows. “Maybe I can just fall off.” 

Keith sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. How could he explain his thoughts without blowing up about it? “Look, I doubt that old guy chased us through the fair just because you criticized his poi.”

Keith’s phone in his pocket buzzes against the metal seat then, almost as if on cue, and he carefully pulls it out. Pidge leans over to take a look as well.

Shiro: Hunk left his wallet at the poi stand.

He was trying to return it. 

Not kill you. :) 

Keith and Pidge stare at the messages on Keith’s phone for a moment before Keith glares and turns the screen around to show Hunk. 

Hunk and Lance both look.

And blink. 

Hunk feels his shorts pockets with wide eyes. Then sighs, hanging his head. 

“Okay, I’m a doofus.”

“And you think I’m dramatic?!” Lance squawks. “I just left Kaltenecker unattended with Matt based on your hunch!”  

Pidge exhales, slumping in the seat, not even defensive about Lance’s clear worry. “Yeah, my Atari isn’t exactly safe with him either.” 

Keith, still caught up on Lance’s words, raises a brow. “Kaltenecker?” he asks slowly, eyes fixed on the boy across from him. 

Lance pouts comically, and Keith's heart skips at how cute he looked. “Yes, Kaltenecker. My cow. He’s precious to me,” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Keith blinks at that, deciding not to ask him to elaborate on the choice of name for his stuffed cow. Instead, he turns to look out the Ferris Wheel window as their car steadily rises, the fairground lights shrinking beneath them like scattered stars. From this height, the ocean unfurls in a dark, shimmering sheet. It was breathtaking. 

“Guys,” he says. “Look.” 

Hunk hesitantly peeks out, his knuckles white on the edge of the seat. But then he exhales, eyes widening. “Okay,” he breathes, breaking into a grin. “This isn’t so bad.”

Lance, naturally, pulls out his phone to capture the moment, but groans when the screen fills with a grainy, dim blur. 

Pidge looks at Lance then. “Hey, trade seats with me. I wanna see that side.”

Keith’s head snaps toward them, instantly suspicious—but Pidge isn’t even looking at him. Their face is focused, almost disinterested, lacking the mischief that usually telegraphed chaos.

“What, now?” Lance raises an eyebrow. “We’re almost at the top.”

Pidge nods. “C’mon, it’ll be quick. It won’t even rock the car.”

Lance shrugs. “Alrighty.” They both crouch slightly as they trade spots with practiced ease, the gondola only wobbling the tiniest bit.

Now beside Keith, Lance settles in with a soft sigh, flashing him a casual grin.

Keith reciprocates with a small one of his own before looking out at the lights of the fair again. Pidge and Hunk chatter across from them, pointing at rides and neon signs, Hunk muttering anxious reminders not to shake the gondola.

Then Keith feels a tap on his shoulder.

He turns as Lance is leaning in, smiling, one arm sliding easily across the back of the seat to rest on Keith’s shoulders. His other hand lifts his phone, camera already open.

Despite his surprise, Keith leans into the frame better, smiling softly just as Lance snaps the picture. 

He watches as Lance grins at the photo afterwards, his arm lingering around Keith for just a moment longer before he pulls his arm away. 

“Can’t believe I got you to willingly take photos today,” Lance remarks, scrolling back through his many photos of the fair. Most were of himself, some of rides, some of Pidge during their time of abandoning Keith, and some of all of them at different rides. 

Keith snorts. “I felt generous.” 

Lance sticks out his tongue in reply, chuckling to himself before he flips to the camera again. 

“Hey guys, pose!”

As Lance snaps pictures of Hunk and Pidge on the other side of the gondola, Keith’s gaze falls back to the lights below as the Ferris Wheel begins its slow turn of descent. 

A warm breeze sneaks through the open-air gondola, rich with salt and cotton candy. He sighs, lowering his arms to rest one hand on the bench—

Only to brush Lance’s hand. 

He recoils instinctively, eyes flicking to Lance, who’s already looking at him, the same wide-eyed expression mirrored on his face.  Then he laughs, light and warm and way too beautiful.

“Sorry.”

“No,” Keith says quickly, throat dry. “You were there first.”

They both turn away, faces red, silence settling between them like fog. Nice going, idiot, Keith thinks, ears burning.

When the ride ends, they shuffle off and rejoin the others, the ground somehow feeling less stable than the sky. Shiro returns Hunk’s lost wallet with a knowing smile. Pidge and Lance eagerly retrieve the rest of their prizes from Matt’s arms. 

Keith stands off to the side, fingers that had brushed Lance’s still pulsing. Then, his phone buzzes. 

[Pidge has sent (3) attachments] 

He opens the messages, only to freeze.

Keith blinks at the photos, all of them consecutive moments: 

The first: him and Lance, hands brushing.

The second: the startled, deer-in-headlights look they gave each other.

The third: the two of them smiling sheepishly, almost shy. 

Keith looks up slowly. Nearby, Pidge stands with a hard-to-read expression, next to an oblivious Lance who’s talking animatedly to Matt. Pidge smirks as their eyes meet. 

Keith’s cheeks flush as he looks back at the photos, lips twitching into the barest smile.

Then, he saves them. 

Chapter Text

“Keith, I told you to drop it,” Shiro says with a dejected sigh. “Adam is a colleague, a friend at best.” 

Keith wasn’t convinced. 

Ever since the fair a few weeks back, he’d been trying to bring it up, but Shiro was a master at dodging uncomfortable conversations. So, Keith fell back on what he did best as a younger brother: being relentless.

He’d wear him down eventually.

“Shiro, I could sense it,” Keith says, tone insisting. “There was something.” He was trailing after him as he was gathering his things. 

Shiro snorts, throwing Keith an amused expression. "Oh? One little crush and now you’re an expert in relationships?”

Keith crosses his arms, frowning, clearly not amused.

Shiro pauses, watching him for a moment before running a hand over the back of his neck with a sigh.

“Look… Adam’s great. I won’t lie about that. But right now, we’re just work friends,” he says, stepping closer and resting a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder. “If that ever changed, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”

Keith eyes him for a moment, then finally sighs. “Alright.”

Shiro chuckles, eyes sparkling with that familiar older-brother mischief. “Don’t worry,” he adds, ruffling Keith’s hair and earning an immediate scowl, “the only other people I could tell are Matt and Lotor, and there is no way I’m giving them, especially Matt, that information.”

Keith huffs, batting his hand away to fix his hair. Shiro just grins and moves to grab his wallet and keys.

“Now, are you riding with me to the beach or not?” 

There was a surf competition happening at Ehukai Beach. It was local and low-stakes, but Lance and Hunk were competing, which made it a much bigger deal in Keith’s mind. He’d never seen Lance surf competitively, only during casual beach days or while the boy was giving lessons during work. If Lance was even half as good in competition, Keith was in trouble.

He smirks. “Not a chance.”

Shiro laughs, bumping him with his shoulder on the way to the door. “Right. Gotta impress Lance. I get it.”

Keith rolls his eyes, cheeks warming a fraction. “More like I’m itching to ride up to the North Shore, but sure. Let’s go with that.”

The sun was high by the time they hit the road, and Keith purposely would pass Shiro’s car, fall behind, and do it again, simply to piss him off. Judging by the honks and not-so-subtle bird flips, it worked.

Keith gets there first, pulling into a narrow spot and yanking off his helmet just in time to see Matt and Pidge climbing out of Matt’s car.

“Hey, loser,” Pidge calls out with a fond smirk, decked out in their usual layered, overly frumpy fit. 

Keith returns the smirk, setting his kickstand before climbing off Red. 

“Hey,” he says. “Heard from Hunk or Lance?” 

Matt and Shiro join them both then and Pidge nods. 

“Yeah, they’re already here,” they say. 

Matt smirks and ruffles Pidge’s hair in that classic, irritating older brother way.

“Lance is probably off trying to charm the local beach babes,” he says. “Annoying. I wish he’d leave a few for the rest of us.”

Keith’s stomach drops at that, the idea of Lance hitting on anyone else making him sick. Which was ridiculous, really. Lance wasn’t his. 

“Ha. Lance? Actually manage to pull someone? Please,” Pidge says, scoffing. Keith glances at them, seeing their strained expression. 

Were they… being sensitive for his sake? Everyone knew Lance was a flirt; a stupidly, annoyingly handsome flirt. Keith couldn’t even deny that. He didn’t need sensitivity.

Shiro places a steady hand on Keith’s shoulder, drawing his attention. 

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go find them, yeah?”

Keith catches the small, reassuring smile Shiro sends his way and exhales quietly.

Yeah. Shiro and Pidge were looking out for him. He appreciated it—really, he did—but it also made everything feel just a little more obvious.

Matt, oblivious as ever, throws a fist in the air.

“Aye, let’s go!”

It was hot today, the sun warm and inviting, the sky a bright blue that Keith didn’t necessarily mind anymore. From all the surfing crash courses he’d received from Lance and Hunk in the time he’d known them, he reasoned the waves looked good today too. Maybe a little but much, but perhaps that was a good thing. 

“Hey, there’s Allura!” Matt exclaims, waving an excited hand over his head to catch her attention. 

She was standing a little ways off, phone in hand, Coran at her side. Coran looked entirely in his element: oversized sunglasses, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt billowing slightly in the breeze, khaki shorts, and sandals. Perfectly Coran.

Allura spots them as they draw closer, returning Matt’s wave with equal enthusiasm.

“There you are! Hunk went looking for all of you,” Allura says, beaming. 

“Ah, Shiro! Matt! Pidge! Keith! Lovely to see you!” Coran adds, his voice as exuberant as ever. Keith found himself smiling just a little at Coran’s usual cheer.

“You too, Coran,” Shiro says, echoing Keith’s small smile. 

Keith glances around at the crowd along the beach then. For it being a local, lowkey kind of event, it was somewhat crowded. It seemed… cool. Different than what Keith was used to, but cool nonetheless. 

Moments later, Hunk appears, breathless and clearly having jogged the length of the beach.

“Hey! You all made it! I’ve been searching everywhere,” he says, already dressed and ready. This was the first time Keith had seen Hunk in a wetsuit. Did that mean Lance would also…? 

“Hey, Hunk,” Pidge greets with a knowing smirk. “Where’s Lance?”

Hunk pauses, thinking. “Oh, he was talking to Plax when I left him,” he says, jutting a thumb behind him casually.

They all turn in unison to follow Hunk’s gesture. Keith spots him immediately: those unmistakable broad shoulders, that bright, self-assured grin. Sure enough, Lance was in a wetsuit too, standing in the sand with one hand on his hip, chatting with a girl.

She seemed… pretty enough, Keith reasons. Long brown hair streaked with blue, braided along her back. Keith’s eyes narrow a fraction, seeing as Lance says something that makes this girl giggle. 

Pidge elbows Keith gently and tugs on the sleeve of his t-shirt, motioning for him to lean in.

“Plaxum’s in his degree program,” they whisper. “Pretty sure she likes him, but he’s never been interested.”

Relief blooms in Keith’s chest, but the knowledge that this girl openly liked Lance still hurts. He nods once before standing back straight, eyes still narrowed.

Hunk cups his hands around his mouth, body turned in Lance’s direction. “LANCE!” 

Lance looks over at the sound, eyes widening in recognition. He turns back to Plaxum, presumably to say goodbye, then jogs towards them, feet kicking up sand.

Keith watches him, heart skipping in his chest. 

“You guys!” Lance calls as he jogs over, a bright smile on his face that Keith thought could rival the sun. “Ready to watch Hunk and I kick ass?” Lance rests an elbow on Hunk’s shoulder, looking immensely proud of himself. 

Pidge shrugs. “Or wipe-out. I’m here for the ride.” 

Lance immediately pouts at that. “Okay, the lack of confidence for us is pretty devastating, but I’ll let it slide since you came outside today.” 

Pidge shoots him a grin. 

Lance’s gaze shifts to Keith, and Keith’s heart nearly stops at the smile that breaks out on his face. 

“Keith, my man! I’m glad you came,” Lance says, dropping his arm from Hunk’s shoulder and stepping over. “Couldn’t resist finally coming to witness my superior skills in action, huh? I get it.” 

Keith hates how attractive he found that smugness. He had become dependent on it. 

“Someone’s gotta be here to place bets on you capsizing. I wanted front-row seats,” Keith shoots back, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Lance’s answering grin was all teeth; cocky and shameless. Somehow, it still made Keith feel warmer than the sun had managed to do all day.

“Well, I was going to use this as a practice sesh,” Lance says, beginning a ridiculous, theatrical stretch, “But just for you, I’ll be sure not to slack off.” Then, to Keith’s horror (and sheer delight), Lance winks. “Gotta keep the fans drooling, right?”

Keith shakes his head, pretending to be exasperated, but his heart wasn’t in the act. Not when Lance was standing there, half-glowing in the sunlight, like this entire moment was effortless for him. Like making Keith feel this way was normal, easy even. 

Keith misses how normal heart rates felt. He hadn’t gotten a break since meeting Lance. 

Hunk turns, glancing at the competitors that were nearing the shoreline and clamps a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We should go, man,” Hunk says, giving the group a wave and a smile, turning to head towards where his board was. 

Lance straightens up from his dramatic stretch with a groan. “Okayyy,” he says, tone almost a whine as he turns to follow Hunk. 

Then he stops, turning to Keith again, hands on his hips. 

“Oh! That reminds me,” Lance says. “I brought you something.”

Keith blinks, caught off guard. Before he’s able to voice anything, however, Lance continues: 

“It’s in Blue,” Lance adds, already turning away to follow Hunk. “I’ll grab it after the comp, but don’t let me forget, okay?!”

Unable to properly form a thought, Keith watches Lance leave. Lance doesn’t look back at any of them, smiling at something Hunk was saying. Lance’s nonchalance towards being able to send Keith’s heart into a frenzy would be more annoying, if Keith wasn’t so focused on what he had said. 

He brought something. 

For him. 

Aside from Pidge and Allura hounding Keith to reapply his sunscreen every few minutes, the competition was fun to watch. Hunk had done really well, as well as many of the other competitors. But Lance? 

Keith’s heart had barely survived that.

Lance made it look effortless; dangerously effortless. His focus was sharp, brows furrowed in concentration, but his movements were fluid, seamless. Even without fully understanding the scoring (despite Allura’s diligent attempts to explain it in real-time), Keith could tell that what Lance was doing was more than just surfing. Like a dance, or a conversation between him and the ocean.

The waves didn’t seem to fight him; they followed his lead, obeyed his momentum. It was as if Lance had been born from the tide itself, an elemental force in human form. In another life, Keith was sure Lance would’ve been a waterbender. And Keith? He probably still would've fallen for him just the same.

Even with Lance’s excellent display, it was surprising for everyone (albeit exciting) when Lance came out the victor.

“Hey, looks like James is taking it hard,” Pidge mutters to Matt, pulling Keith out of his thoughts.

He follows their gaze to a guy standing off to the side, arms crossed, expression thunderous as he watches Lance celebrate with a group of friends Keith didn’t recognize. Likely his surf buddies.

“That’s James Griffin,” Pidge adds when they catch Keith’s curious glance. They lean closer, lowering their voice conspiratorially. “Lance’s surf rival or whatever. Massive tool.”

Matt chimes in without missing a beat, voice hushed. “We hate James.”

Keith’s eyes narrow as he looks back at the guy, who was now being led away by another guy. He hadn’t needed the warning. Something about the guy had rubbed him the wrong way the moment he laid eyes on him.

“Duly noted,” Keith mutters.

Lance returns to their group minutes later, practically vibrating with excitement. His hair was damp, his grin wide and bright enough to blind someone. He looked radiant, untouchably beautiful. Keith couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. 

“Did you guys watch me?! Please tell me you saw that,” Lance gushes, words tumbling out too fast to catch.

Coran, ever the proud uncle, immediately began showing him all the photos he'd taken on his camera. Lance coos at them, insisting they needed to go up on Instagram immediately.

Keith stands toward the back, arms crossed, feeling strangely out of place even though he and Lance were close enough that this shouldn’t feel awkward. 

His eyes snap forward though when Lance approaches, the boy’s grin borderline devious. 

“Drooling yet?” Lance asks, tone laced with sarcasm. 

Keith raises an unimpressed brow, masking his thudding heart. “Maybe not that extreme,” he replies coolly. “But… yeah. You looked cool.”

It wasn’t the most poetic thing he could’ve said, but Lance’s grin softens into something genuine that makes Keith’s stomach flutter.

“So you’re gonna let me give you lessons now, right?”

Of course Lance wasn’t letting that go.

“Don’t push it,” Keith replies with a collected smirk, thankful for the chance to slip into that normal, banter-driven conversation they usually shared. “You haven’t quite earned my trust on that yet.” 

Lance huffs, lips turning into a pout. “C’monnn,” he almost whines. “I wouldn’t push you off a board.” 

Then his mischievous and infuriatingly handsome expression returns. “Okay maybe once, but it's like throwing babies into pools to get them to swim, y’know?” 

Keith’s brows knit together. “Are you calling me a baby?” 

Lance snorts. “Maybe,” he says, “but not as an insult.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks,” he says dryly, though the warmth in his voice betrays him.

As everyone was preparing to leave, having just arrived to their vehicles, Shiro spoke up to the group. 

“So, to celebrate both Lance and Hunk doing great, and Lance’s win, sushi is on me tonight.”

Lance whips his head around, pulling himself out of his wetsuit in the sandy parking area. Keith was definitely not watching out of his peripherals. 

“Sushi?!” Lance gasps, eyes wide. “Shiro, I could kiss you.”

Shiro barks a laugh. “That won’t be necessary, Lance.” 

“Sushi is a great idea,” Allura adds with a smile. 

“Great!” Shiro says. “Let’s plan on 6? Matt and I tried that place on Liliʻuokalani in Waikiki last week. We could go there.” 

“Yes!” Hunk cheers, sliding his board into the back of Lance’s bronco. 

“As long as I can ride there,” Keith says, tone neutral, earning a knowing smirk from Shiro.

And maybe that wasn’t the best move, because suddenly Lance was tossing his wetsuit into Blue and turning toward him with an all-too-pleased grin.

“Can you give me a ride tonight?”

Keith blinks. 

Did Lance just... ask to ride with him?

“You... want a ride? From me?” He asks dumbly.

Lance snorts. “As long as you promise not to crash.”

Keith blinks once again. Then another time. 

You know what? Screw it. 

“Yeah,” Keith replies. “I can give you a ride.” 

Lance fist-pumps, smug satisfaction all over his face. Then he darts back to his Bronco, motioning for Keith to follow. Keith hesitates, then does as the others fall into steady conversation about the evening plans. 

Lance was rummaging around inside before he turns to Keith, eyes unusually shy.

“Hold out your hand.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “Are you gonna hand me a bug?” 

Lance scoffs. “No, idiot. Just do it.” 

Keith complies, and Lance quickly drops something into his palm, the object clinking.

Keith blinks at it, lifting his hand to inspect it. 

A bracelet. 

Keith feels all the air leave his lungs. Had Lance actually made him a bracelet? Sure, Lance had joked about it before, but Keith never thought he would. 

Keith runs his fingers over the red beads, the few occasional pieces of blackened and even red sea glass woven with a small shark tooth charm. It looked real. It probably was real. 

“I figured you deserved one more personalized,” Lance says with a smile as Keith inspects every detail. 

Without a word, Keith immediately slides it into his wrist over his fingerless glove, clicking gently as it collides with the last one Lance had given him. Yeah, he’d never be taking this off. 

At Keith’s silence, Lance rocks back and forth on his heels. “Do you like it?”

Keith looks up, a small breathless laugh escaping him. 

“I love it,” Keith says, and he means it. “It’s perfect.” 

Lance beams. “I thought so. Had to channel my inner Keith while picking the beads. Broody, but make it beach-core,” he says. “The tooth is real, by the way. From yours truly’s personal collection.”

Keith lets out a small laugh, toying with the shark tooth charm. Lance had given him a real shark tooth. From his own belongings. 

If Keith hadn’t been so far gone with Lance already, this would’ve sealed the deal, he’s sure. 

“Oh,” Lance says again, turning and diving back into his bronco again before turning back and handing Keith another thing. “Here!”

It wasn’t a bracelet, but it was beaded with the same red beads and pieces of sea glass that his bracelet was, woven with thicker string and ended with a small manta ray pendant. He holds it up, inspecting it. 

“It’s a charm,” Lance says. “For your bike. I’ve seen some bikers have them, so I thought it’d be cool since it kinda matches Red. I can’t remember what they’re called, but–”

“A guardian angel bell,” Keith says, cutting Lance off with a quiet voice. 

“Yeah, that’s it!” Lance exclaims. “Well, it’s no angel, or bell, but I still thought you might like it. Plus, it matches your bracelet!”

Yeah. Keith was dead.

Keith’s eyes were locked on it, heart pounding. “It’s perfect,” he says breathlessly, too transfixed to notice the soft smile Lance gives him at that. 

“I’m glad you like it, man,” Lance says. “Consider it payment for the ride later.”

Keith chuckles gently, nodding and clutching the beaded charm tighter in his hand. 

He took the time to tie it around one of the frame rails before leaving the beach, trailing behind the others who had already left to run errands before the evening plans.

Keith eventually catches up to Shiro’s car, as well as Lance’s Bronco ahead of Shiro. Shiro honks when Keith passes him (on the wrong side of the road, of course), and Keith only grins under his helmet in return.

Then came Lance. Keith accelerates just enough to pull alongside the Bronco (still on the wrong side of the road), giving a casual glance from under his helmet. Hunk waves wildly from the passenger seat, and Lance looks halfway between shouting at him and laughing. Keith takes that as encouragement.

He speeds up, the sound of his engine roaring over the music he was playing in his helmet. The curve ahead was approaching, and Keith decided—just this once—to show off. He leans deep into the turn, far enough to let his gloved hand skim the road. The asphalt kisses his fingertips, but not enough to tear much skin off the exposed pads. Then, he pulls upright, casting a glance back toward Blue. 

And yeah—Lance was definitely watching.

When Keith finally made it home and pulled off his helmet, his phone buzzed.

It was Pidge: 

you little daredevil >:) 

Lance def thought that was hot btw

he was silent the entire ride back 

Hunk had to ask if he was okay

Keith smirks to himself at that, glancing down at the makeshift guardian angel charm Lance had made him still dangling on his rail before heading inside.

Keith almost regretted agreeing to pick up Lance. 

First, Lance had texted him all afternoon with various questions: 

Can I wear shorts?!
Is it cold on your bike?
Will my bag fall off if I wear it 🤔
How fast do you usually drive? 😥

To which Keith had begrudgingly replied: 

No shorts
Not always, but a jacket’s smart
If it isn’t secure maybe
With a passenger I follow the speed limit

Next, Keith had a hard time finding Lance’s neighborhood. It wasn’t too terribly far from the university, but Keith rarely came this way. Lance had sent a selfie earlier in the day in front of his house in addition to the address, so Keith knew what to look for.

He stops on the road, flicking up the visor of his helmet and grabbing his phone. 

Here

Lance’s reply came immediately: 

On my way!!! ;) 

That really shouldn’t have made Keith’s heart beat so quickly. 

But, as expected, Lance had not been on his way, leaving Keith to wait on his idling bike for 5 minutes before he finally decided to kill the engine. 

Pidge had started texting Keith as soon as 6 o’clock hit. 

we’re gonna get a table slow pokes

Keith sighs, typing a reply. 

It’s Lance, not me

Pidge was already typing before he even got done. 

oh I know 

ur fault for picking him up

I’m gonna get gyoza and not leave any for u >:) 

Keith glares at his phone screen. That had been a particularly low blow. 

Don't you dare

Keith glances over as he hears something near Lance’s house, and sees Lance halfway hanging out the door, yelling something back inside in Spanish. 

Keith had hardly ever heard Lance speak Spanish. He was afraid he’d be convinced to beg him to do it more often if he heard much more. 

Then, Lance slams the door, turning and jogging towards Keith, who is very happy he didn’t take his helmet off, as his blush was obvious. 

“Don’t say anything!” Lance calls as he jogs up, stopping in the grass. “I know it’s six already, I know you’ve been waiting, like, fifteen minutes for me.” Lance sighs then, hands on his hips. “My mom and abuela were threatening to come outside and meet you. I had to distract them.” 

Keith raises a brow at that. “Okay, that’s justified,” Keith says, putting down the kickstand and moving to stand. “Everyone else is already there though.”

Lance groans. “I know! Blame me, it’s my fault,” he all but whines. 

Keith snorts, the sound muffled as he grabs the spare helmet he brought. 

“So? Is this outfit okay enough for your bike?” Lance asks, gesturing to his sneakers, baggy white-wash jeans, light blue sweatshirt, and small crossbody bag.

He looked good. Really good. But more than that, Keith felt a weird rush at knowing Lance had actually heeded his advice. 

Keith lets his eyes linger, because Lance was here, and letting him. “Yeah,” he says finally, offering the helmet. “Glad you listened.”

Lance takes it with a triumphant smirk that makes Keith’s chest ache. He inspects it before trying to pull it on.

“Will this thing suffocate me?” he asks, helmet halfway on and struggling with the straps.

Keith huffs, stepping closer and gently taking the straps from him, tugging it down and on properly. “Not if the visor’s up,” he says. “But sometimes bugs will hit you in the face.”

Lance went unusually quiet as Keith adjusted the fit, fingers deft and practiced.

“Right,” Lance murmurs. “I’ll keep it down, then.”

Their eyes meet through the open visors of their helmets, and Keith’s heart stutters. Focus. It didn’t matter how cute Lance looked in the borrowed helmet, his safety was what was most important. 

Once done, Keith turns to swing onto Red, and kicks up the stand. Glancing back at Lance’s awkwardly standing form, he waits silently for him to join him. 

“Oh! Right, okay,” Lance says, climbing on behind him.

Keith tries, and fails, not to notice how close Lance was now. But the hesitation in Lance’s posture makes him frown.

“Make sure you hold on enough,” Keith says over the comms. “Red doesn’t have a frame for you to grab.”

Lance gasps loudly. “Woah! These things have comms?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yes. Don’t yell.”

“This is so sick!!!” Lance all but shouts, despite Keith having just said not to. “Can we play music?!”

Keith pauses. Lance had listened and moved closer, arms now securely around his middle; more safe and relaxed. So he hands him his phone, Spotify already open. 

“Pick something before we go.”

Lance lights up at the opportunity. 

As Keith idled Red, Lance picked a song, humming to himself. A pop beat filled the comms as he passed the phone back.

“Who’s this?” Keith asks, reattaching it to its mount. 

“Fame is a Gun by Addison Rae,” Lance says proudly. “My song of the summer.”

Keith snorts but doesn’t comment. Honestly, it fit Lance too well.

With a soft rev, Keith rolls forward, kicking off. Lance squeals at the sudden motion, arms tightening instinctively around him.

“Warn me next time!” Lance yells, voice half-laughing.

Keith just smiles to himself.

He drove carefully through the busy Friday-night streets of Waikīkī, thankful that Lance didn’t live too terribly far. They were already criminally late.

Traffic crawled, red lights catching them at nearly every turn. Because of course they did. 

“The sunset’s pretty,” Lance says at one of the longer lights. Keith looks to his right, where orange light was spilling between two buildings.

“Usually is,” he says.

Lance scoffs, but the sound lacks any true annoyance. “Yeah, duh, but it’s especially pretty now. Being on a motorcycle makes everything cooler.”

Keith couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips as pride bloomed in his chest.

Not long after, they reached the sushi place. Keith parks a little ways down the street, removes his helmet, and shakes out his hair while Lance does the same. Keith worked on securing the helmets to Red’s handlebars as Lance pulled out his phone.

“Aw man,” Lance whines. “They already ordered edamame. They know that’s my favorite!”

Keith chuckles, turning to start walking at Lance’s side. “Should’ve been quicker.”

Lance rolls his eyes at Keith’s comment, replying to Hunk’s photo with a crying emoji before pocketing his phone.

And Keith watches as Lance’s face falls. 

“Seriously?” Lance murmurs, “Here? Now?” 

Keith follows his gaze and immediately spots James Griffin, along with the same guy Keith had seen pulling James away from the beach.

To their irritation, James and his friend were stationed right by the entrance of the sushi restaurant, making it nearly impossible to get inside without being seen.

Keith didn’t even know the guy, but he could already feel his nerves tightening on Lance’s behalf. He hadn’t yet asked how deep their history went beyond being surf rivals.

He casts a quick glance at Lance, forcing himself to set aside any assumptions.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice unusually gentle.

Lance’s furrowed brow eases slightly as he glances back, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Maybe they won’t even notice us.”

They both knew that was wishful thinking. Still, it seemed to give Lance just enough confidence to move toward the door. With clear reluctance, Keith follows.

They weren’t so lucky.

Just as Lance’s fingers touch the door handle, a voice rings out behind them.

“Well, look who it is! The winner of the day.”

Keith watches as Lance’s shoulders deflate, his hand dropping from the handle and turning around. 

“James,” Lance says, tone clearly irate. 

“Didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out tonight,” James continues, eyes flicking between them. “Thought you’d be busy milking the glory.”

Lance sighs, rolling his eyes. “Oh I am,” Lance says. “Or at least I was trying to before I was rudely interrupted.” 

Keith watches as James hums, nonchalantly casting a glance in his direction. Keith feels his eyes sharpen at the eye contact, annoyance bubbling in him. 

He never did well in confrontation, his hot-headed attitude usually leaving little room for patience. And if this escalated? Keith was unsure that he’d be able to keep his cool. 

“And who’s this?” James asks, tone half-curious, half-mocking. “Didn’t know you were into charity cases, Lance. Or is it perhaps the other way around?” 

The guy that James was with glances at his friend, a disapproving expression inching its way onto his face. 

“Dude, chill out,” the guy says softly. 

“As always, Ryan’s the sensible one,” Lance says with a dry chuckle, the sound lacking any humor. “Why don’t you try to surprise me? Be, I dunno, not an ass this time.” 

“Just saying hi and congrats,” James says smoothly. Then he turns to Lance with a smirk that’s all bite. “On the little practice comp win. Thought you were aiming for a sponsorship?”

Keith notices the slight twitch in Lance’s jaw.

“Little comp, huh?” Lance shoots back, voice light but edged. “Funny talk from someone who couldn’t even touch my scores.”

James’s smirk widens, smug and infuriating. “Didn’t need to. I’ve already got a sponsor. No reason to break a sweat at a small-time local event.”

Which Keith finds funny, having witnessed James’ annoyed glance at Lance back on the beach earlier. Clearly he cared enough to have a physical reaction. 

Lance’s stance shifts; tighter, shoulders stiff, like he’s holding back a comeback he really wants to let fly. His fingers twitch by his side, and Keith can feel the tension growing.

Before it boils over, Keith reaches out and grabs the sleeve of Lance’s sweatshirt, gently tugging him toward the restaurant door.

“Shiro’s probably wondering where we are,” Keith says, voice calm but firm.

It seems to ground Lance. He exhales slowly and gives a small nod, jaw loosening.

Then James calls after them, voice too loud and too smug.

“Have fun on your little date, McClain.”

Keith freezes. His hand drops from Lance’s sleeve. He turns, ignoring Lance’s quick attempt to stop him, and steps up to James, sharp-eyed and stone-faced. 

It wasn’t that Keith was mad at this seeming like a date, personally he had been thinking about what it would be like if it was. The issue was the casual jab thrown in Lance’s direction as he was leaving. 

“Do we have a problem?”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Do we have a problem?” he echoes, like the idea is laughable. “Man, you really are new.”

Keith doesn’t blink. “Doesn’t take long to recognize a bitch.” 

That wipes the smirk clean off James’s face. His posture stiffens, just slightly, like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh it off or take the bait.

Lance takes half a step forward, caught between the two. “Keith—seriously. He’s not worth it.”

“Didn’t realize McClain needed a bodyguard to speak for him,” James says with a scoff. 

Keith stays where he is, anger boiling inside him despite his calm exterior. He really should take a step back, practice that grounding patience Shiro had tried to instill in him his whole life. 

But Keith wasn’t known for thinking rationally, especially about Lance. 

“He doesn’t,” Keith says. “But you’re not talking, you’re baiting. There’s a difference.”

James tilts his head. His smile returns, but it’s thinner now. Less sure. “Look at you all tense. What, you gonna throw hands? Over Lance? Relax.”

Keith’s eyes narrow just a fraction. “If I have to, I will.”

Lance squawks and grabs Keith’s bicep firmly. “Keith, my man, come on. He’s not worth it.”

“Maybe not,” Keith replies, eyes still locked on James. “But I’ve crushed bugs that were more impressive.”

That lands. James’ eyes flare with something darker behind the smug mask, and Keith feels his pulse spike, almost welcoming the excuse to put him down.

Before things can escalate, the guy next to James—Ryan, if Keith remembers hearing Lance right—steps in, grabbing James by the arm.

“Dude, seriously. Cut it out,” Ryan says, calm and steady. Almost like how Lance was with him a second ago.

James breathes in hard, trying to play it off, but his jaw is clenched tight.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Have fun being his guard dog.” His gaze flicks to Lance then. “Let me know when you’re ready to actually have another heat.”

Lance doesn’t bite. He just tugs Keith toward the door, grip sure but silent, and Keith doesn’t resist.

James doesn’t call after them either. 

Once inside, the noise of the restaurant feels louder than it should. Keith forces his breathing to steady, just as Lance exhales a quiet, heavy sigh beside him. 

“Thanks,” Lance says after a moment. “But you didn’t have to do that.”

Keith glances at him. Lance doesn’t look annoyed, just faintly concerned. And was that a blush? No, surely not. 

Keith frowns. “No, but he’s an ass.”

Lance lets out a short laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. “No lie there, but honestly? He’s all bark. Got his sponsorship thanks to his daddy’s money,” Lance says, waving a dismissive hand. “Not even worth the oxygen it takes to argue.”

As they weave through the restaurant to find the others and their table, Lance flashes a smile at the waitress in passing, smooth and practiced, and Keith has to fight not to roll his eyes, on the other boy’s heels. 

Then Lance throws a smirk over his shoulder. “You’re kinda scary when you’re calm, you know that? All broody and kick-ass.”

Keith shrugs, matching Lance’s smirk. “It works.”

As they near the table, Hunk spots them, his face lighting up. “Hey! There you two are. Got kind of worried when you didn’t show after saying you were outside.” 

They take their seats, Lance letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“Ran into my die-hard fan at the door,” Lance says. “But don’t worry, Keith ‘Scary Dog’ Kogane scared him off.” 

The others, aside from Shiro and Matt, share surprised expressions. 

“Who? Griffin?” Hunk asks, to which Lance nods. 

“What, seriously?” Matt asks, now understanding. “Did anything happen?” 

Keith intentionally grabs the sushi menu from the table, looking through the rolls with mock-interest. He could feel Shiro’s stare on him, likely concerned about how exactly he managed to scare off Lance’s surf competition. He was waiting for the inevitable big brother talk. 

“He started being an ass, but I think Keith stressed him out,” Lance says, greedily reaching a hand to the edamame bowl as Keith glances up just in time to witness it. His favorite, Keith remembers. 

“Did he now?” comes Shiro’s firm but calm voice. 

Keith swallows and glances over. Shiro’s wearing that look; one brow raised, arms crossed, and his eyes narrowed with quiet suspicion.

“I didn’t hit him,” Keith says quickly, already defensive. He knows exactly where Shiro’s mind went, and to be fair, it used to be a safe assumption. But he’s better about that now. Mostly.

“True,” Lance adds, far too helpfully. “But you did tell him you’d throw hands if he pushed it.”

Keith shoots him a glare. “Not helping.”

Shiro’s brow furrows deeper as Keith looks back to his brother.

“But I didn’t hit him.”

Shiro sighs, clearly unconvinced. “Keith, you’ve made real progress with your temper.”

Keith scowls. “I wasn’t going to hit him either,” he mutters. “Then, anyway.”

Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’m proud you held back. But Keith, you can’t keep getting yourself into these situations. We don’t need repeats.”

Before Keith can argue again, Hunk cuts in, leaning forward with an edamame pod still hanging out of his mouth.

“Hold up, is this some Keith backstory I’m hearing? Because I need context.”

Keith and Shiro both go quiet, Keith shooting his brother a look, trying to telepathically tell him you’re an idiot for bringing that up.

Pidge, still scrolling on their phone, doesn’t even glance up. “Keith used to beat the crap out of people in school. Like, consistently. Elementary through high school.”

Silence falls over the table like a dropped fork.

Then—

“Dude, seriously?!” Lance leans in, eyes wide.

“Wait, actual fights?” Hunk adds, just as intrigued. “Did you ever get kicked out?”

Shiro sighs and takes a long drink of water before answering. “Yes. Multiple out-of-school suspensions. His grades always saved him, thankfully.”

Lance’s jaw drops. “And you let me poke at him for a solid month straight when we met?”

Hunk looks genuinely baffled, but still amused. “Dude, you’re so lucky he didn’t deck you.”

“Well I’m sorry I didn’t know Keith could fight!” Lance squawks at Hunk.

“I’m different now,” Keith says. Then, Keith crosses his arms, ears red as he sinks slightly in his seat. “Besides, I didn’t hit everyone.”

“Just those who deserved it,” Pidge says in agreement, glancing up for a moment. 

Matt chuckles. “I remember hearing about that one kid from Shiro when you were in high school. Didn’t you break his arm?” 

Keith tenses, shoulders going stiff just as Lance and Hunk both gasp—loudly.

“You broke a kid’s arm?!” Lance practically yells. “Dude—”

“Yes,” Keith cuts in sharply, shooting him a glare. “It happened. I was suspended for, like, a month. It’s in the past. I’m different now. Got it?”

A beat of awkward silence passes.

Then Pidge, still not looking up from their phone, deadpans, “Different Keith wouldn’t have threatened to curb-stomp James Griffin five minutes ago.”

Lance snorts, trying (and failing) to stifle a laugh that only makes Keith’s ears grow more red. 

“Hey, reformed doesn’t mean passive,” Hunk says in defense of his friend, holding up his hands. “Keith was just doing the Lord’s work; humbling a massive jerk who deserved it.” 

Keith groans, slouching into his seat as the rest of the table starts laughing, and thankfully, the conversation shifts to arguing over what sushi to order before anyone can bring up broken bones again.

After sushi, Allura suggested they walk to Lahaina Shave Ice for dessert. It was only about fifteen minutes away, so the group set off down the sidewalk, laughter and conversation spilling out around them.

Keith trails a few steps behind, taking in the sights: the glow of streetlights on shop windows, the distant sound of waves, the buzz of passing scooters. Ahead of him, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance were deep in a heated debate about shave ice flavors.

“Dude, you are so wrong,” Lance remarks dramatically. “Blue Hawaii is the best flavor there. It just quenches your thirst after a sunset surf.” 

“Gonna have to disagree with you on that one, Lance,” Hunk retorts. “Pineapple and piña colada are far superior. And with the condensed milk on them?” Hunk dramatically sighs. “My mouth’s watering just from picturing it.” 

Keith smiles to himself, listening to them bicker. Pidge glances back at him, catching his expression, and gives a casual shrug like, you get used to it.

A moment later, Shiro slows his pace to fall in beside him, his gaze flicking to Keith’s profile with a soft, familiar warmth.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Shiro says quietly. “I didn’t mean to come down on you. I just… I know what you’re capable of. I want to see you succeed, not backslide.”

Keith glances over briefly, then away, a flicker of guilt tightening his jaw.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “I almost lost it.”

Shiro bumps his elbow lightly against Keith’s. “But you didn’t,” he says with a small smile. There was quiet pride in his voice. “You stayed calm when it counted. You’re smart, you’re focused. I’m proud of you—always.”

Keith looks at his brother then, his own smile small but genuine. “Thanks, Shiro.”

They walk in silence for a beat, the voices of the others ahead still easily heard. 

Then Shiro chuckles. “That said… I do get why you almost snapped. If someone was mouthing off to the guy I liked, I think I’d offer to curb-stomp them too.”

Keith’s brow furrows, cheeks glowing red as he shoves Shiro with his shoulder. 

Shiro only laughs at that. 

“Hey! You two in the back!” Lance shouts, turning to start walking backward with zero regard for foot traffic. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re not arguing with us!”

He gestures grandly. “I am obviously defending the superior flavor, Blue Hawaii. Pidge says lychee, Hunk’s got pineapple and piña colada, Matt’s over here repping gummy bear like a lunatic, and Allura’s going hard for watermelon… but I’m giving her a pass because she’s perfect.”

Keith blinks at the unexpected call-out, eyes settling on Lance ahead. “Do they have cherry?”

Lance groans like he’s just been personally betrayed. “Of course they have cherry, Keith. But that’s so boring!”

Keith frowns slightly. “I like cherry.”

Shiro chimes in, voice calm as ever. “Dr. Holt took me to Anuenue Shave Ice in Hilo the last time we all were at the observatory. Their grape flavor was actually really good, so if this place has grape, I’ll probably get that.”

Lance throws his hands up theatrically as he turns back around to walk normally. “Ugh! Leave it to the mainland brothers to pick the most basic flavors.”

The cherry flavor at Lahaina Shave Ice was really good. Even better with a certain bug named Lance in your ear, dramatically insisting you had no taste. It added an element of spite that was perfectly refreshing. 

Everyone was walking around while eating their dessert. The sun was nearly gone now, casting the sky in shades of deep gold and purple. Laughter echoed between bites as they made their way closer to the water.

Keith was mid-scoop, carefully balancing a bite that included a few pearls of boba, when a spoon suddenly appeared right in front of his face.

He blinks at it, then follows the hand holding it up to the familiar grin beside him.

“Try it,” Lance says, blue eyes bright with challenge.

Keith stares at the spoon, then to Lance. He wasn’t sure why Lance had this insistence on feeding him shave ice, remembering when Lance had tried to feed him some at the fair a few weeks prior.

“No way. It’ll mess up my cherry.”

“Or,” Lance counters, “it’ll enhance your cherry experience by, like, tenfold. Come on. Open up, buddy.”

Keith frowns, half in suspicion, half in panic. “I don’t want cooties.”

Lance lets out a dramatic gasp, loud enough to draw a few glances. “Rude!” he exclaims, immediately followed by a smirk. “What, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

And just like that, the tiny, irrationally competitive part of Keith’s brain flares to life. The part that could never back down from a challenge, even when his face felt like it might ignite.

Without another word, he leans in and takes the bite off Lance’s spoon.

It was… good. A burst of tropical something, mixed with a distinct blue raspberry flavor, layered with sweet cream and that condensed milk drizzle Hunk had been raving about. A refreshing switch-up from his usual.

Lance raises an eyebrow, clearly basking in the moment of victory. “Good, right?”

Keith swallows, trying not to give Lance the satisfaction of a full reaction.

“…It’s fine.”

Lance snorts. “Please. That was a face of revelation. Welcome to the world beyond cherry, Keith.” 

Lance immediately scoops another bite for himself, popping the spoon into his mouth without a second thought. Keith’s heart skips at the scene, wondering if Lance even considered the fact that he had just had that spoon in his mouth. 

He fights a blush, looking back at his own shave ice with shaky hands. 

The silence between them stretches. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but close. Just the sound of the others up ahead and the rhythmic crashing of waves nearby.

Keith’s mouth moves before his brain fully catches up to fill the silence that was probably only tense to Keith. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Lance hums, glancing at him with a raised brow and a casual grin. “Yessir?”

Keith takes another bite, hoping the cold distracts him from the Blue Hawaii flavor still lingering on his tongue, and the fact that his brain is now way too aware of what Lance might taste like.

He clears his throat. “What’s the deal with your rivalry with James?”

Lance doesn’t look annoyed, just pauses mid-motion, his spoon hovering in the air for a second before he answers.

“Oh. That.” He shrugs. “From my end? I guess I’m just… jealous.”

Keith turns slightly, giving him his full attention. 

Lance’s head continues facing forward as he talks. “It’s been my dream to get sponsored, but it just hasn’t happened yet.”

Keith frowns. “But… didn’t you say James only got it because of his family’s money?”

“Pretty much.” Lance nods, the corner of his mouth twitching in something close to a resigned smile. “His dad’s friends with someone high up in the company that sponsors him. He’s decent at surfing, don’t get me wrong, but mostly he’s just an arrogant ass who plays the influencer game better than anyone.”

There’s no heavy bitterness in Lance’s voice, just honesty. Maybe something quieter underneath as well. Disappointment, perhaps? 

Keith’s chest tightens at that. No wonder Lance got so easily worked up around James; the guy almost forced Lance to carry that same underdog fire Keith had seen back at the aquarium. That quiet, relentless drive to prove himself. 

Not that Lance would ever need to prove himself to Keith.

Lance snorts, brushing off the moment with a smile, but Keith catches the flicker of something behind it. Disappointment, hurt. He’s starting to learn how to read Lance, little by little.

“I still hate him though,” Lance mutters, sticking the spoon back into his mouth.

Keith glances over, his expression softening as he watches him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do too.”

Lance bumps his arm against Keith’s, just a gentle nudge as they walk. A silent thanks sat between them.

“Ryan’s cool though,” Lance says then, talking around the bite he had just taken. “He comes into the shack sometimes to buy wax.”

Keith hums, nodding. Cool, he thinks. I don’t have to hate Ryan too.  

As the conversation trails off again, Keith scoops another bite of his cherry shave ice, carefully nudging a few boba pearls into the spoon.

Then, without saying a word, he holds it out toward Lance, mimicking the same gesture Lance had made moments ago.

Lance’s eyes widen just a little, and Keith feels his chest tighten at the softness in that bright blue gaze.

“Dude,” Lance says, voice quieter now, “you don’t have to—”

Keith raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? You scared?”

Lance blinks, and then that familiar, smug grin replaces the surprise. “Okay, okay. I’ll play your game, Kogane.”

He leans in and takes the bite right off the spoon, holding eye contact for just a second too long (an image that Keith definitely does not tuck away for later) before straightening up. He chews slowly, considering.

Then, finally: “It’s… adequate.”

Keith scoffs. “You like it. Stop whining.”

“It’s not terrible,” Lance says, dramatically thoughtful. “Maybe I should start trusting your taste in things.”

He grins again, quick, mischievous, and sticks out his tongue. Keith catches the flash of vivid purple, his gaze flickering down before he can stop it.

His breath stutters.

The purple must’ve come from the mix of their flavors—cherry and Blue Hawaii—blending together to make that rich color. 

Keith quickly looks away, stabbing another spoonful into his cup as heat creeps up his neck.

“You’re stupid.” 

“Hey!” 

After meandering around Waikīkī awhile, everyone split up to go home. Lance had insisted Keith take a long way back to his house, wanting to be able to see more at night. 

“You agreed to take me, mullet!” Lance had squawked. “Passenger’s always right!”

So Keith did.

He took the quieter routes that were less crowded, with clearer views of the stars. He sped up a little on the highways where it was safe, the warm wind rushing past them. He even let Lance control the music, trying very hard not to overanalyze the lyrics of For Him by Troye Sivan when it started playing over the comms, Lance humming along like it was just another song.

Finally though, Keith drops Lance off at his house, killing the engine. 

Lance swings off the bike, tugging off the spare helmet with a grunt. Keith flips up the visor on his own helmet, watching as Lance runs a hand through his messy hair before handing the borrowed helmet back.

“Your bike is effortlessly cool, man,” Lance says with a laugh, the sound making Keith’s chest flutter. “I take back every insult I’ve ever made about it.”

Keith snorts, the sound slightly muffled by his helmet. “Obviously. You were just jealous.”

Lance rolls his eyes, the action playful. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, say it.”

“I told you so.”

Lance huffs, grinning. “Okay, don’t sound so smug, man.” He pauses, smile softening a little. “But seriously, thanks for taking me. That was really fun.”

Keith smiles beneath the helmet. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Lance perks up at those words, rocking back on his heels. “Anytime, huh?”

“Don’t push it.”

Lance raises both hands in surrender, a quiet laugh slipping out.

Then, after a beat, his expression shifts. He looks at Keith with something gentler, almost shy.

“I… really appreciated what you did. With James.” His voice lowered, more honest now. “I love my friends, but… I’ve never really had anyone stand up for me like that before.”

Keith blinks, his heart giving a sudden, unexpected jolt at the sincerity in Lance’s voice.

“It was no problem,” Keith says, tone serious and light. “That asshole deserved a little banter.” 

Lance beams at that, and Keith swears it’s brighter than the sun ever could hope to be. 

“That’s definitely true,” Lance says with a chuckle. “But still. Thanks, for all of that. I really owe you one.”

Before Keith can say anything else, Lance starts again. 

“And for the record? I’d never tell anyone if you beat James’ ass.” He grins, and sends Keith a wink. 

Keith was thankful for both the helmet, as well as the cover of night, because his face was aflame. 

Lance turns away, waving with a bright smile before he’s jogging to his house. Keith’s gaze follows him until he’s safely inside before he looks back down at his bike, trying to catch his breath before heading home. 

He had one message unread when he got there: 

Lance: Let me know when you’re home safe, buddy!!! 😄

This crush was starting to feel dangerously like something more. Something Keith wasn’t quite ready for. 

Chapter Text

Lance’s birthday was next week, and Keith was hard-pressed to figure out what to get him. 

At the moment, he was lying on the garage floor, halfway under Red while changing her oil. The air smelled like motor grease and summer heat.

"You could get him one of those animal tracker bracelets," Pidge suggests, scrolling through tabs on the open laptop balanced in their lap.

They were perched nearby on a squeaky swivel stool, legs tucked in a crisscross position like always when they got comfortable.

Keith pauses, sighing as he wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He sits up, grabbing a hair tie from near the bottle of oil and the various shop rags he had scattered around. His fingers were slick with oil, but he still manages to pull his hair back into a messy bun, awarded a moment of peace as the old oil drained into the pan he had laid below. 

"Do they make those for turtles?" he asks, brow furrowing as he fumbles with the tie.

Pidge hums thoughtfully, typing a few quick things. “Yeah, actually,” they say, glancing at him with a raised brow. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

Keith crosses his arms, his expression unreadable as he continues sitting on the dropcloth. 

Sure, Lance would probably love something like that, and Keith liked the idea of being the one to give it to him. But it didn’t feel like… enough.

"Yeah," he says after a moment, eyes flickering to the oil finally finishing draining. "I’ll get that too."

Pidge snorts, already adding it to the cart. “Too? What, are you planning on spoiling him?”

Keith’s brow furrows as he returns to the oil change, carefully pouring in the new oil. “Maybe.”

Pidge lets out a low whistle. “Not even officially the boyfriend, and you’re already spoiling him? You’re more whipped than I thought.”

Keith huffs. “Am I not allowed to want Lance to have a good birthday?”

“I’m not judging,” Pidge says with a shrug. “I think it’s sweet. And let’s be real, Lance lives to be spoiled, so it works out.”

Keith rolls his eyes and instead focuses on finishing the oil change, methodically tightening bolts and cleaning up the mess.

At the end of the driveway, a low mechanical noise cuts through the quiet, like a truck engine shutting off. Keith barely registers it; he knew it wasn’t Shiro since he was already home.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Pidge mutters (to themselves and Keith), glancing toward the open garage door. Then, louder: “Did Keith say you two could come over?!”

“Pshh, like I care what a mullet tells me I can or can’t do,” comes Lance’s unmistakable, teasing voice.

Keith turns his head just in time to see Lance and Hunk strolling up the driveway toward the garage.

Both wore boardshorts: Hunk in a graphic tee layered with a bright yellow tropical shirt, and Lance in that blue tank-top-turned-cutoff. Keith had a love-hate relationship with that shirt. Mostly hate because when Lance wore it, it meant Keith would spend the next three days thinking about it.

Keith forces his attention back to the task at hand, gripping the oil cap a little tighter.  

“We wanted to stop by, see if you two were busy,” comes Hunk’s voice. Then, a second later: “Hey, Keith!”

Keith doesn't look. “Hey.”

“I’m supervising the oil change,” Pidge chimes in, swiveling in their chair. “You guys headed to the beach?”

“Obviously,” Lance’s voice replies, full of its usual dramatic flair. “Thought we’d see if you two recluses wanted to come along.”

Keith tightens the oil cap with a click, then sits up and pushes to his feet. He sighs, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before glancing toward the driveway—and locking eyes with Lance.

Lance, who looked like he’d been staring.

The teasing grin Keith expected to find wasn’t there. Instead, Lance’s expression was… soft. And unless the heat was messing with Keith’s brain, there was a hint of pink on his cheeks.

That alone was enough to make Keith’s pulse pick up speed.

“That sounds cool,” Keith says finally, voice a little rough. He glances at Pidge, who just shrugs and gives a small nod, clearly fine with tagging along. 

“I’ll go get cleaned up then,” Keith adds. 

Lance blinks at him a moment longer before clearing his throat and redirecting his stare to his sandals. 

“Right, yeah, you should do that. Can’t get motor oil in the Hawaiian reefs!”

Keith feels a small smile inch across his face at that. Was Lance… bashful? What would he be bashful about? 

“I’ll head home, get changed, and grab my things,” Pidge says, moving off the swivel chair. 

After Keith finished cleaning up and Pidge grabbed their things, Hunk drove everyone to the beach, cautiously and very much under the speed limit. At Lance’s insistence (because Pidge had unfairly snagged shotgun and put him in a mood), they headed to Haleiwa. Keith had been there before, but it was hard to appreciate the views this time. Mostly because Lance, sitting in the back with him, was unapologetically manspreading, and his knee was firmly pressed against his own. To make matters worse, Lance, for the record, didn’t seem the least bit concerned about moving it.

Keith managed to keep himself distracted as the afternoon slipped by; swimming, lounging, and half-watching while Lance dominated the surf. The waves weren’t exactly cooperative, but that hadn’t stopped Lance from trying to catch every last one, grinning the whole time. After a couple of hours there, Keith finally wades out of the water after a short swim. He pushes a hand through his wet hair, gathering the longer strands and tying them back into a loose tie at the nape of his neck.

He barely has a second to breathe before Lance comes barreling up the beach, trailing saltwater and sand like a human storm, his board abandoned somewhere near the shoreline. His smile was huge, radiant, and wild. Keith doesn’t even have time to brace himself.

“Dude, come here!” Lance shouts, voice full of excitement.

Keith blinks, caught off guard. “Why—?” he starts to ask, but the question never has a chance to finish. Lance had already grabbed him by the wrist and was tugging him along the hot sand.

Glancing back, Keith spots Hunk and Pidge doing their own thing farther down the beach, but his attention quickly shifts back to the sensation of Lance’s hand wrapped around his wrist just above the bracelets he constantly wears now. Firm. Warm. Distracting.

Lance didn’t stop until they were well away from the other beachgoers, further from the tide, where the sand was loose and hot. Finally, he slows and drops into a crouch, and Keith instinctively mirrors him, still breathless from being dragged.

“Lance,” Keith mutters, brows drawn in confusion, “what are we even—”

“Shhh,” Lance cuts in, glancing over at him before turning back, his free hand lifting to point ahead. His other hand, the one still holding Keith’s wrist, doesn’t budge.

“Look.”

Keith squints in the direction Lance is pointing, the glare of the sun off the sand forcing him to slightly shield his eyes. Then he sees it, and his expression softens in an instant.

A few yards away, nestled quietly on the sand, was a sea turtle. Large and serene, its shell gleamed with a faint greenish hue under the sun. Its fins were splayed lazily in the loose dunes.

“Is that... a Honu?” Keith murmurs, leaning forward, voice hushed.

Lance was all grins. “Yes,” he whispers back, eyes glued to the turtle. “Looks like a female; the tail’s too short, and I can’t see any claws on the fins.” 

Keith’s gaze stays fixed on the turtle, mesmerized. There was something almost surreal about seeing it like this: not in a photo, or from a distance, but right here, calm and alive, just being. Two months on O‘ahu and this was his first time seeing one up close.

“Is she nesting?” he asked, casting a glance at Lance beside him.

Lance tilted his head slightly, lips pursing in thought as he studied the turtle. Keith’s heart gives a traitorous thump in his chest. He looked so focused, sun-kissed and seawater-drenched; his lashes clumped dark with moisture, a flush of red across his nose and cheekbones from the harsh UV, necklaces of shell and stone resting against his collarbones. Distractingly handsome.

“No,” Lance whispers in reply. “She’s just basking. All sea turtles do it to regulate their body temps after diving, but green sea turtles do it the most.” 

Keith wasn’t even looking at the turtle anymore. His gaze had shifted entirely to Lance, listening more to the sound of his voice than the words themselves, caught up in the moment. In him.

Keith finally tears his gaze from Lance to look back at the turtle. 

“We aren’t bothering her, are we?” 

Lance hums, shaking his head. “We’re far enough away,” he murmurs. “But, we would be endangering her if we got any closer.” 

Keith nods slowly, quiet again. The ocean sounds nearby, rhythmic and patient. Between them and the Honu, nothing moves; only the breeze tugging at their damp hair and the gentle rise and fall of the Honu’s breath in the sand.

With a soft smile, Lance turns to Keith. “I’ll be back; I’m gonna grab my phone,” he murmurs, moving to stand. 

It’s then that Lance seems to notice that he hadn’t let go of Keith’s wrist, blue eyes widening a fraction as he glances at where they’re joined and caught in a half-standing position, one knee still bent in the sand.

Keith blinks at him, mouth dry as Lance’s surprised expression morphs to a soft, shy smile. Keith couldn’t tell if the red on Lance’s face was still from the sun exposure or from something else entirely. 

“Sorry,” Lance murmurs, finally letting go. “Got caught in the moment.” 

He stands the rest of the way, brushing his hands on his damp board shorts as he turns back toward where they’d left their things. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, he was jogging down the beach, anklets jingling faintly with every step, leaving a trail of footprints behind him in the sand.

Keith watches him go with a soft smile before turning back to face the Honu, moving to sit more comfortably in the sand, elbows on his knees and his heart in his ears. 

Lance had snapped several photos of the Honu. Most of the shots were of Lance beaming with the turtle in the background, and some of Keith featured in as Lance dragged him into it despite his half-hearted protests. 

He didn’t stop talking about it the entire drive home.

Wedged in the back seat, Keith listened silently while Lance gushed from beside him, voice animated, hands flying as he relived the moment over and over. Hunk, ever patient, smiled as he drove, occasionally chiming in with a laugh or nod. In the passenger seat, Pidge was slumped sideways, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, but they occasionally glanced back, half-smirking at Lance’s endless commentary.

Keith, though, listened to every word.

His eyes barely left Lance, who was glowing in the golden wash of the sunset filtering through the car window. The warm, orange light lit up his face, catching in his sea-salted hair and softening the edges of his smile. Keith couldn’t look away.

As Lance rattled on, he kept flipping through the photos on his phone, leaning over to show Keith as if he hadn’t been standing right beside him for every single one. Keith humored him without complaint, a soft smile tugging at his lips, nodding as Lance enthusiastically pointed out the differences in each shot.

Keith caught Pidge’s gaze the few times they turned around, their expression amused and knowing. Each time they grinned, Keith quickly schooled the lovesick look off his face, pretending he hadn’t been caught. Thankfully, Lance was too wrapped up in his own excitement to notice.

But as Keith watched him—cheeks flushed from the sun, voice light with joy, eyes bright—an idea took root. Keith knew exactly what to get him.

Later that night, freshly showered and dressed in loose clothes, Keith sits curled up on the living room couch with Shiro’s laptop balanced on his knees. The soft glow of the screen illuminates his face as he scrolls through different tabs, checking details and comparing options, with a faint crease between his brows.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement. Shiro pads out of the hallway, clearly headed toward the kitchen, but pauses when he notices Keith.

“I thought you went to bed already,” Shiro says, voice low and surprised. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

Keith glances up, blinking at him before his gaze returns to the screen. “Yeah,” he replies. “Just … give me a sec.”

Shiro, ever the curious older brother, wanders over and peers down at the screen.

“What’re you up to?”

Keith doesn’t look up. “Getting Lance’s birthday present.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully, moving to sit beside him on the couch. “Right, Matt mentioned it’s next week,” he says. “I need to figure out what to get him too. What’d you end up going with?”

Keith tilts the screen so Shiro can see. Shiro leans in, reading for a moment before blinking in surprise.

“That’s… actually a really thoughtful gift, Keith,” Shiro says softly, a warm smile spreading across his face. “I don’t think anyone else would’ve thought of that.”

Keith smiles faintly to himself, though his eyes stay on the screen. He hadn’t been sure if it was too much—maybe too personal, too ambitious—but hearing Shiro say that eased something in his chest.

“Mind if I pitch in?” Shiro asks after a moment.

Keith looks over, brow raised. “You don’t have to do that.”

Shiro shrugs. “I’ve got no other ideas, and besides, you might be able to do more with a little extra.”

Keith considers it for a moment, then nods with a smile. “Yeah… that’d be great. Thanks.”

Shiro pats his shoulder as he stands. “Let me grab my wallet.”

Keith returns his gaze to the screen, a quiet contentment settling over him as he releases a sigh. The plan felt solid now. Not just a gift, but a gesture. Something that might just tell Lance what Keith still didn’t have the words to say.

The day before Lance’s birthday, Keith worked a short morning shift at Voltron Surf. About ten minutes before clocking out, his phone buzzes with a string of texts from Hunk:

Hey Keith! I’m making the cake for Lance’s party tomorrow and ran out of vanilla extract. Could you possibly bring me some? 🥺

I have $ but I’m willing to give Pidge as collateral

Keith smirks at the messages when the bell above the door chimes. Lance strolls in, casually late for the shift trade-off, dressed in his usual off-duty surfing look: board shorts, sneakers, and a slightly faded Voltron Surf tee. A whale-print tote bag hung off one shoulder, and a blue lollipop stuck out of the side of his mouth.

Keith doesn’t notice the way the lollipop made Lance’s lips look. Not at all.

Catching Keith’s glance, Lance smiles around the candy, then takes it out with a satisfying pop.

“Samurai, my man,” he drawls, pointing a finger gun in Keith’s direction with his free hand before slipping into the back.

Keith rolls his eyes, lips twitching at the corners despite himself. He didn’t regret wearing his hair up today, even if the nickname was still ridiculous. 

He thumbs a quick response to Hunk:

Yes, I’ll get vanilla extract

Don’t worry about Pidge. I don’t want them

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Keith gives the shop a final glance before heading to the back himself. He moves toward his cubby next to Lance’s, grabbing his keys and reaching for his helmet, only for Lance to gasp dramatically.

“Boo!” Lance squawks. “You’re abandoning me on my birthday eve? Low blow, man.”

Keith turns to him, snorting. “It’s nothing personal. At least not on my end.”

Lance narrows his eyes, squinting at him in mock suspicion before walking past, flicking the back of Keith’s bun as he does.

“Fine,” he sighs, reaching for the door. “Try not to savor your freedom from me too much, samurai.”

Keith bites back a smile as Lance disappears into the front. A second later, another buzz from his phone lights up the screen:

THANKS MAN!!! 😀

Keith chuckles, pockets his phone, and grabs his helmet before heading out, making sure to toss Lance a parting wave on his way.

Keith didn’t bake; he could barely tell a whisk from a spatula, but he figured any vanilla extract would do. He grabs a bottle from the nearest grocery store and rides over to Hunk’s, hoping he’d remembered the address right. He’d only been there once before, and that was with Lance, who had strolled in like he owned the place.

This time, however, when Keith knocks on the door, it flies open almost instantly, and he is immediately yanked inside.

“You are an angel on a motorcycle,” Hunk breathes, eyes shining with what might’ve been actual tears.

Keith lets out a startled laugh, holding out the bottle. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Nonsense!” Hunk says, snatching the vanilla like it was a precious relic. “You’ve saved Lance’s birthday.”

The place was quiet otherwise. Keith didn’t see anyone else around except for Pidge, perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, their laptop open and humming quietly. They glance up as Keith approaches, offering a smile.

Keith lingers for a second before easing into the stool beside them, slightly out of his element. After a moment, he turns to Hunk and asks, “What kind of cake are you making?”

“Tres leches,” Hunk answers brightly, already back at the counter and working with practiced rhythm. “It’s not exactly like his mom’s, but it’s his favorite. Oh, and I’ve got flan de coco already chilling in the fridge.”

“He always expects them,” Pidge adds with a chuckle, typing something on their laptop. “But he still lights up like a kid every time.”

Keith smiles fondly at that, imagining it, the way Lance’s whole face lights up when he is excited about something. Just the thought sends a flutter through his chest.

He settles in, quietly watching as Hunk moves through the kitchen, whisking, measuring, pouring with a kind of effortless grace. Keith had always known Hunk liked to cook, but watching him now—focused, determined to make it perfect—there was something really sweet about it.

By the time the cake was finally in the oven, Hunk dusts flour off his hands and leans against the counter, grinning.

“So,” he asks, eyes bright, “what did you two get Lance for his birthday?”

Pidge looks up from their screen, smiling. “Keith and I went in on a couple of those wildlife tracker bracelets. And I got him a few books on shark behavior since he mentioned that conservation class he’s taking in the fall, where he’ll be handling them.”

Keith’s heart swells at the thought. That was… actually really thoughtful. He could already imagine him grinning over the books, talking way too fast, gesturing with his hands like he always did when he was passionate about something.

Then Hunk and Pidge both turn to Keith expectantly. He blinks, then hesitates.

“Oh,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “It’s… kinda stupid.”

“Nuh-uh. None of that,” Hunk says immediately, moving to lean across the island toward them, arms braced on the counter. “You don’t get to drop that tone and not tell us what it is.”

Pidge nudges him with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, dude. You didn’t even tell me you were getting him anything else.”

Keith leans back against the barstool, arms loosely crossed, his gaze somewhere near the countertop. “It was kind of a last-second decision,” he mutters, almost like he was already regretting saying he got anything else.

Hunk grins, eyes lighting up. “Even more intriguing,” he says, walking around the island like a detective closing in on a mystery. “Come on, man, you have to show us now.”

Keith hesitates, lips pressing into a thin line. Though, after a moment, he sighs, pulling his phone from his pocket. He swipes through his apps with slow, almost reluctant motions, until he finds it.

Hunk was already hovering behind him and Pidge by the time he held it out.

Before Keith could properly hand the phone over, Pidge leans in, then snatches it right out of his hands.

“What?” they half-squawk, eyes going wide as they scroll. “Dude, that’s perfect for him.”

“Oh my God,” Hunk breathes, peeking over Pidge’s shoulder for a better look. “Wouldn’t that cost, like… a lot?”

Keith shifts, ears going a little pink. “Shiro pitched in,” he says casually, trying to play it off. “It’s from both of us.”

Pidge gives him a sideways glance, one eyebrow arched with a knowing smirk. Keith responds with a pointed glare, but it lacked real heat.

“Still, wow,” Hunk murmurs, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Are you getting a hotel or something?”

Keith blinks, caught off guard. The very idea of staying in a hotel with Lance was… yeah, far too dangerous. “What? No,” he says quickly, heat rising to his face. “It’s just a day thing. Besides, he doesn’t have to take me.”

But Hunk doesn’t seem convinced—the sly smile he shoots Keith was far too knowing for his comfort.

Keith looks away, biting the inside of his cheek, hoping they’d let it drop. Though, from the looks on their faces, that hope was probably in vain.

“It’s an awesome gift, buddy,” Pidge says with a smile, handing the phone back to him. “He’s gonna love it.” 

Hunk chuckles warmly. “He’s going to cry,” he says. “Or kiss you, but I doubt you’d mind if that happened.” 

Keith’s heart stops. 

Before he can even process a response, the kitchen timer goes off with a cheerful ding.

“Oh! Gotta check the tres leches,” Hunk says, cheerfully oblivious as he turns and makes his way to the oven. He crouches to peek inside, humming thoughtfully to himself.

Keith sits there, rooted to the spot, staring after him, feeling like he’d short-circuited.

Slowly, he turns to glance at Pidge, who, conveniently, was now deeply engrossed in their laptop screen, typing as if their life depended on it.

Hunk gently closes the oven and stands upright, wiping his hands on his apron. He was all relaxed smiles… until he caught Keith’s expression.

His brow furrows. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Keith blinks, frowning. “Why would I want Lance to kiss me?” he asks, voice slightly irate as if he already knows the answer. 

Hunk quirks an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Pidge. “Because… you like him?” Keith feels all the air leave his lungs. “Wait. Was I not supposed to know that?” He pauses, then winces. “I totally wasn’t, right?”

Keith slowly turns his head, eyes narrowing at Pidge. “Pidge.”

They don’t even bother trying to look innocent, knowing that they’re caught. “Look, I didn’t tell him anything; he guessed.”

Keith groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You could’ve denied it.”

Hunk, entirely casual, lets out a laugh. “Oh, there was no denying it, buddy; I used basic deductive logic and reasoning! Then, when I was informed of—” he pauses, eyeing Pidge for some reason unknown to Keith, “—another matter, it all made perfect sense.”

Keith drops his head into both hands, groaning again, mortified.

Was it really that obvious?

He hears Hunk’s voice again, softer now. “You really didn’t want me to know?”

Lifting his head slowly, Keith fixes Hunk with a flat glare, his face flushed red. “No, Hunk, I didn’t. In fact, I’m seriously starting to regret ever letting anyone know.”

“Hey,” Pidge cuts in, no longer typing. “Hunk would’ve figured it out sooner or later. He’s around you almost as much as I am, and he's Lance’s best friend,” they say, as if that were somehow meant to be comforting.

“It’s true,” Hunk chimes in with a grin. “Also, you’re not exactly… subtle. I mean, stepping up to James Griffin for Lance? That’s borderline romantic. And then there was the shave ice feeding, the motorcycle trick, the constant—” he makes an exaggerated gesture with his eyes, “—staring—”

“Okay,” Pidge cuts in quickly. “He gets it.”

Keith, already flushed, feels his face go from warm to boiling. “That’s all incredibly reassuring,” he mutters, posture stiff against the back of the barstool. 

Inside, though?

Full panic.

His stomach was twisting itself into an elaborate knot. His brain had helpfully pulled out a greatest hits reel of every single humiliating moment mentioned: the confrontation with Griffin, the way he had fed Lance shave ice so casually, the stunt he pulled on his bike that just so happened to impress Lance, and yes—the staring. God, the staring. He knew he was obvious about that part specifically. 

But how obvious was it to everyone else? Was it to Lance? 

Keith wants to sink through the floor. Or maybe drive his bike straight into the sea.

He sighs, letting his head fall back slightly as he stares at the ceiling like it could save him. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.

Hunk’s face softens at Keith’s growing horror. “Hey, seriously, I’d never tell him,” he says gently, his usual cheer dialed down into sincerity. “And even if I did, he wouldn’t believe it. You could probably kiss him and he’d still be like, ‘Wow, Keith’s so friendly today.’”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to feel it, one boot tapping anxiously against the kitchen floor.

Perfect. Not only was his crush obvious to the two biggest gossips in his orbit, but apparently Lance was so oblivious he wouldn’t notice if Keith spelled it out in the sand. Or, you know, with his mouth.

Keith’s thoughts continue to spiral. Did Allura know? Had Matt guessed from something Shiro slipped? Had someone told Coran?! He could practically hear the man now: “Ah, young love! I remember those days—”

No. Nope.

For the sake of his own sanity, he was going to pretend it was just Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro who knew. That was somewhat survivable. 

He exhales through his nose, arms folding tight across his chest like a shield.

“It’s fine,” he says finally to Hunk, his voice low but steady. “I don’t mind that you know." 

Then he turns toward him more, eyes narrowing. “But no teasing.”

Hunk raises both hands in mock surrender, pouting dramatically. “Aw, really? Not even a little teasing?”

“None.” 

Hunk sighs theatrically. “Okay, okay. That’s fair. I guess that’s what I get for prying.”

Pidge nudges Keith lightly with their elbow, their voice softer now. “All of that aside… Lance is going to love it.”

Hunk smiles too, warm and sincere. “Yeah, man. That’s gonna make his year.”

That gets through to Keith.

His shoulders relax a little, and the heat in his face slowly starts to fade. Hearing it from them—Lance’s closest friends—eases the knot in his chest. Maybe it was a good idea after all.

He lets out a quiet breath, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “I hope so.”

Maybe he’d even find the nerve to actually give it to him.

“Just a smidge to the left,” Coran instructs, squinting up at the banner with all the intensity of a man diffusing a bomb.

Keith, Shiro, and Matt were on decoration duty, currently wrangling a massive “Happy Birthday Lance!” string banner that refused to hang straight no matter how many adjustments they made. At Coran’s direction, they nudged it slightly to the left, then turned to look at him again.

Coran tilts his head, frowning with theatrical suspicion. “Hmm. Maybe back to the right just a tad.”

Keith lets out an audible groan. “Coran, we just had it there. Is Lance really going to notice if it’s not perfectly centered?”

Coran huffs, placing his hands firmly on his hips. “I’m sorry, Number Four, that I value aesthetic harmony! Perfection,” he declares, “takes time!” 

Keith can’t help but think that Lance spends far too much time around Coran. 

With another reluctant adjustment (barely more than a nudge), the banner shifts again. Coran claps his hands together with triumphant satisfaction. “Perfect, gentlemen! That’s the spot!”

Matt sighs under his breath as he holds it steady, while Keith and Shiro tape the ends securely to the wall. “Finally,” Keith hears Matt mutter.

Shiro, ever the optimist, dusts his hands off with a grin and glances around the room. “How’s the snack presentation coming along?”

Across the room, Hunk and Allura flash twin thumbs-ups, smiling brightly. From the back room, Lotor emerges carrying a stack of extra disposable plates, his usual stoic expression softened by the excited atmosphere.

Outside, the golden light of the setting sun spills through the windows, casting warm hues across the sand and sea. Keith let his gaze linger on the horizon for a moment. Lance had spent the day with his family, and was expected to arrive any minute now, fresh from his birthday dinner. According to Hunk and Allura, these sunset gatherings were becoming something of a tradition for everyone’s birthdays.

Keith just hoped they wouldn’t go all-out for his when the time came, but the memory of Allura circling the date on the calendar said otherwise.

His nerves were beginning to creep in, a familiar twist settling in his stomach. What if the gift was too much? Too weird? Would he even have the courage to tell him?

As if sensing his unease, Shiro passes by and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Keith manages a grateful smile in return.

But before he can spiral any further, the crunch of tires on sand snaps him back to the present. Lance’s old Bronco was pulling into the driveway, headlights blinking as it rolled into the lot beside the shack.

Pidge steps up beside Keith, their shoulder brushing his as they give him a small, knowing smile. Coran’s voice rings out across the room in a theatrical wail of, “Places, everyone!”

No one moves.

This wasn’t a surprise party by any stretch of the imagination (given that Lance was very much aware), and Coran’s dramatic attempt at staging it like one went mostly ignored. Still, Keith couldn’t move even if he wanted to. His feet felt like they’d sunk into the floor.

Because there was Lance: walking through the door with a casual confidence that made Keith’s breath catch. 

He wore light blue jeans that hugged his frame a little too well, paired with crisp, new-looking blue Converse and a white boxy cropped t-shirt that peeked out beneath a short-sleeved, soft blue overshirt. It was simple, effortless. But on Lance, it was enough to short-circuit Keith’s brain completely.

And then—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Everyone choruses, voices overlapping in a warm, chaotic harmony.

Lance’s grin blooms across his face like the sun cresting over the ocean, and Keith feels something in his chest twist: tight, fluttering, and utterly helpless.

“Awww!” Lance laughs, clutching a hand to his heart in mock-swoon. “You guys are the sweetest.”

Hunk was the first to reach him, sweeping him up into a bear hug, already getting misty-eyed. Lance simply smiles, patting his back with gentle affection.

“I love you too, man,” Lance says, chuckling. “No need for the waterworks.”

From there, the hugs kept coming: Allura, radiant and graceful, Coran with his usual flair, Matt with a shy smile, and Pidge with a firm but brief squeeze. Shiro follows with a warm clasp on the shoulder, and even Lotor gives a stoic little wave, which Lance returns with a bright grin.

Then it was Keith’s turn.

Lance turns to him, and for a split second, his breath seems to hitch—eyes wide, lips parted, as if surprised by something he couldn’t quite name. Keith feels heat crawl up the back of his neck despite himself. 

God, he looked good. Too good. Unfairly good.

“Keith, buddy,” Lance says, flashing him a dazzling smile that could’ve melted glaciers. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Doesn’t really fit your whole broody loner aesthetic.” Lance smirks then, teasing and mischievous, adding, “Though I guess you’ve reformed into enjoying the sun a bit.” 

Keith blinks, snapping out of his daze just enough to roll his eyes, though there was no real bite behind it. He knew Lance was teasing. He always was.

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Happy birthday.”

Lance lights up at that. He beams, like hearing it from Keith meant something extra, and it makes Keith’s heart ache with a small ounce of hope. 

Then, as if sensing the moment, Coran suddenly claps a hand onto Lance’s shoulder, effectively shattering whatever strange little bubble they’d been in.

“Number Three! Dessert first, or presents first?” he asks, eyes twinkling with excitement.

Lance gasps, clearly delighted by the options. “Gifts! Heck yeah!”

As he turns and makes a beeline for the gift table, he tosses Keith a small glance over his shoulder. A flicker of a smile, soft and unguarded. It felt almost private, like a secret shared in plain sight.

And Keith just stands there, watching him go, feeling like Lance had taken something vital with him. Maybe his heart, maybe the air in his lungs. It was more likely to be both, however. 

Lance had pulled out all the stops with his usual flair, putting on a full performance for every single gift he unwrapped: gasps, cheers, laughter, and theatrical overreactions that had everyone smiling. But underneath the dramatics, it was obvious how genuinely thrilled he was. He practically radiated joy, glowing with the kind of happiness that came from knowing people really saw him and cared enough to pick out things just for him.

Coran had gone full “vacation dad” with his gift: an oversized Hawaiian shirt emblazoned with a blend of sharks, dolphins, sea turtles, and whales. Lance had laughed so hard he nearly fell over when he stood to give Coran a hug, and immediately stripped off his current overshirt to swap it out with pride.

Allura and Lotor had teamed up to give him a brand new shortboard, the exact kind Lance had been not-so-subtly obsessing over for weeks. He ran his fingers reverently along its glossy surface, already talking a mile a minute about learning faster tricks and catching tighter waves.

Hunk, who had also baked half the dessert table, handed over a gift card to Leonard’s Bakery, aka Lance’s favorite place to cheat on his diet. He’d clutched it to his chest dramatically before tackling Hunk in a hug that nearly knocked them both over.

Matt and Shiro had gone in together on a roof rack for the Bronco, perfect for hauling his boards around (since Lance had broken his last one and had been too lazy to replace it). Lance let out a full-body yell when he opened it, shaking the box and practically vibrating with excitement.

Then came Pidge’s gifts. The shark books, of course, which earned a delighted scream, and the whale shark and sea turtle tracker bracelets she and Keith had given him, which made Lance bounce in place like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Dude!” he shouted when he unboxed the turtle-tracker bracelet. His face lit up, all eyes on Keith now. “If I can name it, it’s gonna be Keith Jr.!”

Keith could only laugh, soft and breathless, trying to ignore the warmth rising in his face. Lance’s joy was infectious; so pure it made Keith’s chest ache in the best way.

He hadn’t worked up the courage to give Lance his real gift—not yet. Every time he thought about pulling him aside, the nerves tangled tighter in his stomach. Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro had all sent him pointed looks, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, not with how good everything already was.

And, blissfully unaware of Keith’s internal spiral (or that there were any more gifts), Lance had declared that the desserts had to be eaten immediately. The flan de coco smelled too good to resist, and his excitement for sweets rivaled his excitement for the gifts.

As night crept in and the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the sky bloomed into a deep violet-blue, casting its glow over the ocean. The soft crash of waves on the shore became the backdrop to the muffled music and voices drifting from inside the shack.

Once he knows the others aren't paying attention to him, Keith steps out onto the small deck, needing a moment to breathe. The cool, salty air meets his skin as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the wooden railing, grateful he’d worn his leather jacket tonight. The planks creak slightly beneath his boots, a familiar and comforting sound.

Out in the distance, the tide rolls in slowly and steadily, brushing gently against the sand down the beach. The breeze tousles his hair as he watches the shimmering dark water stretch into the horizon, the last traces of light catching on the surface like stars.

Inside, laughter echoed. Music played low and warm. But out here, it was quiet.

Keith let himself exhale, finally still, finally alone—if only for a moment.

Then, the door to the shack opens and closes slowly, and Keith glances back to see Lance, still in that oversized Hawaiian shirt and a plastic cup in hand. 

“Hey, mullet,” Lance says with a smile as he steps up to lean against the railing at Keith’s side. 

Keith blinks, not having expected him to follow. “Thought you’d retired that nickname,” he mutters, eyes narrowing faintly, but there’s no real bite in it.

Lance grins. “Please. I still keep it in my back pocket for special occasions.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

They stand in silence for a moment. The sky had shifted entirely now, the purple twilight bleeding into deep blue-black. The sea stretches out before them like ink, the gentle hush of waves and the muffled music inside being the only sound between them.

“Pretty night,” Lance says with a sigh, taking a sip of whatever was in his solo cup. “That why you snuck out?” 

Keith hesitates, then glances at him, indigo meeting blue. “Just needed a moment, I guess.” 

Lance smiles at that. “I get it, man. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset about something,” he says. He knocks his shoulder against Keith’s gently. “But no brooding on my birthday. That’s a rule.” 

The soft warmth behind the words surprises Keith more than the gesture. Lance had followed him out just to check on him?

“No,” Keith says, tearing his gaze from him to look down the beach again, “I’m good.” 

They let the quiet settle again. Not awkward, just comfortable. Keith can still hear faint laughter inside. Lance drains the contents of his soda cup before breaking the silence, leaning against the wooden railing more casually.

“Thanks for the bracelet, by the way,” Lance says, glancing down at his wrist and twisting it slightly to admire the turtle bead. “I’m assuming it and the one from Pidge was your idea?”

Keith shrugs. “Pidge helped pick them out. I just gave the go-ahead.” 

Lance smiles, warm and wide. “I’m psyched to check out my turtle baby and whale shark baby’s migration patterns. I already feel like a proud dad.”

Keith chuckles. “No problem. But, maybe… don’t name the turtle Keith Jr.?”

Lance frowns, clearly offended. “What? Why not?”

Keith smirks. “Sounds like we’re related, and that turtle is definitely not my baby. Doesn’t matter how cute.”

Lance laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But it’s hilarious! Besides, you paid the adoption fee; you’re already on the birth certificate.”

Keith rolls his eyes again, though he was secretly glad for the comfortable banter. The way things always slipped into ease around Lance.

The moment stretches, and that comfortable silence falls across them again as they look ahead, catching sight of the full moon tonight. 

Keith swallows then, and the tenseness of realizing that this was the perfect time to bring up his other gift hits him. So, instead of putting it off, he takes a deep breath. 

“I got you something else.” 

Lance’s head snaps to him then, blue eyes wide, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. 

“What? Dude, you didn’t have to get me anything else,” Lance says, voice soft. 

Keith only chuckles at that, shaking his head as he pulls his phone out. “Yeah, well, I wanted to,” he says, tone gentle but firm. 

Lance frowns playfully. “Keith, come on. The bracelet was enough. You being here was enough.”

Keith unlocks his phone with a shake of his head, holding out the phone with, surprisingly, still hands. “Just look at it already, dumbass.”

Lance pouts, adorably, but takes the phone anyway. Keith holds his breath, watching every micro-expression flicker across his face as he scrolls.

The confusion shifts to realization, then something softer—gentler—blooms in Lance’s expression. His lips part slightly. His breath catches.

Then, without warning, he drops the empty solo cup to the deck with a soft clatter and grips the phone in both hands.

“Keith,” he whispers, breathless. “Dude… you got me tickets to the Ocean Center? And a flight? Two tickets?”

His voice was quiet. Disbelieving. 

Keith nods, smiling as his stomach twists. “You’ve mentioned wanting to go. And you don’t really island-hop. Figured you’d appreciate flying instead of taking the ferry.”

Lance blinks, still staring down at the phone. Keith can’t tell if it was a good silence or a bad one.

“If you don’t want to go,” Keith starts, nerves bubbling up, “I can cancel it. It’s really not a big—”

He doesn’t get to finish.

Lance steps forward and wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a tight, genuine hug. Keith freezes.

Lance was hugging him. 

They’d never hugged before. Lance had slung arms around him, grabbed his wrist, sure. But this? This was different. This was intentional.

Lance’s voice is quiet against his ear. “I absolutely want to go, I just… thank you.” 

Keith swallows hard and, awkwardly, lifts his arms to return the embrace. 

“No problem, man,” he says softly. 

Lance releases a breathy chuckle at that, almost choking like he was crying. Was he crying? “I hope you’re prepared to get your ears talked off, samurai.” 

Keith stiffens at that. “You don’t… have to take me. You could bring Hunk, or Pidge, or—”

“Keith,” Lance cuts in as he pulls back, both hands settling on his shoulders, face close. His smile was watery but bright. “You really think I’d invite someone else? You’re the only one who remembered I even wanted to go. No one else is on my mind to bring.” 

Keith’s breath catches, and his heart gives a painful, fluttering twist. Lance wanted him to come. 

“…Yeah,” he says, smiling softly. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll come.”

Lance rolls his eyes in that familiar, fond way of his. 

“Yeah, you better,” Lance says before he pulls Keith into another hug, stronger this time. 

“You’re full of surprises, Keith,” Lance adds softly. “Never cease to amaze me.” 

Keith’s heart nearly stops.

But he smiles, hugging him back, letting the warmth settle in his chest like a lit candle.

Eventually, Lance pulls back, swiping his eyes with the heel of his hand and peering down at the phone again.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing his abandoned cup off the deck and nodding toward the door. “I’ve got to rub it in everyone’s faces who loves me most.”

Keith follows, still stunned, still trying to believe what just happened. That Lance wanted him to come. That Lance had cried over his gift. 

Even more still trying to understand what he just said: 

"Who loves me most." 

The words echo louder than they should, settling somewhere deep in Keith’s chest.

Keith didn’t really mind holding that title. 

Chapter Text

For the entire next week, Lance couldn't stop talking about the upcoming trip to Maui. Honestly, Keith had been a little apprehensive at first (hanging out with Lance? Nerves galore), but underneath the nerves, there was a growing sense of excitement too. He’d actually enjoyed the small aquarium in Waikiki, limited as it was, and the thought of visiting the larger Ocean Center, with its expanded exhibits and interactive displays, sounded genuinely fun, even for someone who didn’t know much about marine life.

Keith hardly got any sleep the night before the trip, as texts from Lance were constant and almost all night. 

It’s supposed to be 90 there tomorrow so wear shorts!! 🤗

Oh and sunscreen

I don’t want the lil mullet to get sunburnt ;) 

Even if it was cute, Keith had to mute his notifications. 

That morning, Shiro had offered to drive them to the airport, flashing a grin and giving a cheerful wave as they hopped out at the curb. Since it was just a day trip, Lance had packed light with his usual trusty tote bag, while Keith had gone even simpler, just his phone and wallet stuffed into the pockets of his shorts. 

The flight was short, barely thirty minutes in the air, but hanging out one-on-one with Lance like this was… almost stressful. 

Now, outside Kahului Airport, Lance rocks back on his heels, buzzing with energy, while Keith stands a few steps away, calmly calling for an Uber. 

"You’ve been to Maui before, right?" Lance asks, leaning in to sneak a glance at Keith’s phone screen.

Keith shakes his head, a soft hum in his throat. "No, just Oahu."

Lance smiles, and Keith catches it; quick, easy, and unguarded.

"I’m sure Shiro will take you to the Big Island sometime," Lance says. "I want to go to Mauna Kea. Pidge won’t stop bragging about it, and it’s annoying."

Keith snorts, slipping his phone back into his pocket and crossing his arms. "If Shiro ever takes me, I’ll make a case for you, too."

That earns him a bright, unfiltered grin, and Keith can’t help the slight smirk tugging at his lips as his heart stumbles in his chest.

"See? This is exactly why I brought you instead of Pidge or Hunk," Lance says, flashing him a smug, sideways smile. "You actually appreciate me."

Keith swallows. The truth of those words (not the whole truth, but close) echoed louder than he liked. He couldn’t take any chances of Lance discovering his feelings after finding out Hunk figured it out too. He covers it with a sigh and an exaggerated eye-roll.

"Don’t get used to it. I’m only being nice because it’s your birthday trip."

Lance gasps, mock-offended. "Right," he says, with a dramatic scoff, "because you’re physically incapable of being nice."

Keith smirks at that, shooting Lance a sideways glance as Lance closes his eyes with a loud, theatrical sigh. 

Then, Lance throws him a charming smile as he resumes rocking back and forth on his feet. “I’m so excited.” 

Keith snorts at that, unable to keep it to himself. “I can tell.” 

Their uber arrived not long after, Lance prattling on the entire ride about the mountains on Maui, how he wanted to come here for whale watching sometime during the Winter, how he was excited to see the Ocean Center’s Honus, etc. etc. 

Keith could barely keep the fond smile off his face. 

The place wasn’t as big as anything Keith had been to on the mainland, but it was bigger than the one he'd gone to on Oahu with Lance. 

“Keith!” Lance’s voice breaks through his thoughts as he suddenly darts toward the large, gleaming sign that stretches near the entrance building’s exterior, Maui Ocean Center in bold, royal blue letters.

Keith blinks, caught off guard for a moment, then smiles softly. Pulling out his phone, he swipes to the camera app, ready.

Lance strikes a pose with dramatic flair, lips pursed and eyes sparkling mischievously. Keith snaps several photos. Lance rotates through a handful of poses; some silly, others outright obnoxious, and a few where he slips into a calm, effortless handsomeness that makes Keith’s heart squeeze. Those were the moments he wanted to keep forever.

Reviewing the shots, Lance lets out a playful pout. 

“Not terrible, Kogane,” he says, scrutinizing the photos with mock seriousness. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to coach you. You’ve got a lot to learn about the art of Instagram-worthy photography, and I need Instagram-worthy photography today.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but a teasing smile tugs at his lips.

Their first stop, by Keith’s insistence, is a snack and coffee stand just past the entrance. Lance’s happiness is genuine as he browses through the bagged coffee, eyes bright and curious. He is clearly just happy to be here. 

While Lance is distracted, thoroughly absorbed in reading a label that boasts about volcanic soil and hand-roasted beans, Keith slips away to handle the essentials. He returns a few minutes later with two overpriced sandwiches and, for good measure, two brightly colored popsicles that were already sweating in the heat.

Lance is crouched slightly, watching a cluster of tiny brown birds flit around the outdoor seating area. His brow furrows as he turns to Keith.

“Dude. Nuh-uh,” he says, eyes narrowing suspiciously, clearly unhappy that Keith bought something for him. 

Keith rolls his eyes, nodding toward one of the picnic tables. “Yes-huh. Come on; the popsicles are gonna melt.”

Lance gasps, already trailing after him. “Okay, popsicles? I forgive you,” he says, brandishing his lava-flow flavored treat like a royal decree. He jabs a finger in Keith’s direction. “But anything from the gift shop I’m paying for!”

They settle at a sun-dappled table, peeling open sandwich wrappers and leaning into the easy rhythm of shared silence. Lance pauses just long enough to snap a photo of himself holding up his popsicle with a dramatic grin, earning a fond eye roll from Keith that Lance doesn’t notice. 

But before Keith can take his first bite, a small brown bird lands on the edge of the table, bold and unblinking. He freezes, sandwich halfway to his mouth, as another bird flutters down to perch on the armrest of his chair.

“Dude,” Lance whisper-yells, eyes wide. “They love you!”

Keith can only blink, lips twitching into a stunned smile as yet another bird joins the growing assembly at his feet. They chirp and hop with expectant energy, clearly waiting for him to share. Surrounded and unsure whether to laugh or surrender his sandwich, Keith sits and watches them, bemused and quietly enchanted.

That’s when Keith notices Lance’s phone, angled with precision, the camera pointed directly at him.

Keith squints, suspicion confirmed as he freezes mid-movement. “Don’t,” he warns, brows drawing together.

But Lance only grins, unrepentant. “Too late~” he sing-songs, tapping the shutter with theatrical flourish.

To be fair, the photos did end up making Keith laugh. The birds, clustered so intently around him like he was some sort of sandwich-wielding Snow White, were undeniably cute. Maybe not as cute as Lance, who was now cooing over the pictures, but awfully close.

Their first official stop are the tide pool exhibits, perched with a clear view of the sprawling outdoor displays and the sunlit coastline of Maalaea Bay. Salt hangs in the air, mingling with the sound of gently lapping water. Lance leans over the railing, animatedly pointing out small fish he recognizes—bright darting blurs in shallow water—rattling off names with the ease of someone who’s spent summers half-submerged.

Keith listens, genuinely intrigued, watching Lance just as much as the sea creatures.

Inside, the lighting shifts to cooler and dimmer blue and purple hues, and they move through winding displays that showcase Hawaii’s rich marine biodiversity. Lance stops in front of a series of signs explaining the endemic species unique to the islands, dragging Keith closer with a tug.

“Look,” Lance says, his voice tinged with excitement. “All these are found only in Hawaiian waters.”

Keith lingers at each display, drawn in by the blend of biology and culture; the reverence woven into each description, each native name. There’s a quiet hunger in the way he reads, as if trying to memorize every detail.

He’s sure Lance notices.

“They’ve got a whole section on indigenous Hawaiian history up ahead,” Lance says, glancing over Keith’s shoulder with a lopsided, knowing grin. “You’re gonna love it. Total geek-out potential.”

Keith brightens, the corners of his mouth tugging into a rare, unguarded smile as he follows close behind; curious and maybe just a little enchanted.

Lance next led Keith to the coral exhibits. He pointed out the island’s many coral forms: the branching antler corals, delicate and spidery, and the squat, velvety mushroom corals that looked like small underwater umbrellas, lingering on the ones he favored. He slows at a placard, reverent, to show Keith a row of bleached coral skeletons. The placard said they were roughly 125,000 years old; Lance’s eyes lit up as he talked about them, fingers hovering over the glass as if he could trace the fossils’ lives with his hands. Keith shared in that enthusiasm. 

Their path took them back outside again where Keith read a plaque on a shrine (ko’a) built overlooking Ma’alaea Bay that had been dedicated to Ku’ula, the god of fishing. His reading was partially interrupted by Lance, however, who tugged him to a sign on whale behavior and patterns that overlooked the bay. . 

“Maui’s like a whale city in the winter,” Lance explains. “Most humpback whales travel from Alaska to mate during the season. Since they were almost hunted to extinction in the 70s, Hawaii has them on its protected species list and does everything it can to protect them, especially during those months.” 

Keith listens, absorbed; Lance’s passion made each statistic and anecdote feel personal, indicating the care and love he held for them. That earnestness alone made the trip worth it.

Lance practically drags him to the next tank, where an old Soviet-era communication buoy sat at the bottom like a piece of lost history. Keith crouches to get the best angle and takes several photos, amused by the juxtaposition of Cold War relics and tropical aquariums. And next? 

The Honu tank. The entire reason that Keith even booked this for Lance. 

Lance nearly presses his face up against the glass in order to see them, and Keith just snorts. 

“They’ll swim up to the glass, you know,” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Lance huffs, pulling back a hair. “I know,” he almost whines. “But if I’m right next to the glass, then I’ll see them in more detail!” 

Sure enough, a turtle glides up and obligingly passes behind Lance’s shoulder; Lance snaps a selfie mid-grin, all sparkles and excitement. Keith finds himself smiling at the image, but the moment doesn’t last, as Lance is already angling Keith into frame for a photo together. Keith obliges with a casual smile, prompting Lance to announce triumphantly, “I’ve got a new phone wallpaper!!” Keith can only laugh as Lance enthusiastically blows a kiss in the turtles’ direction as they move on. 

They make their way back to the main collective area, where Lance insists Keith take his photo with the whale statue. Keith had subjected himself to being photographer for the day, which he definitely didn’t mind. 

“Would you two like me to take your picture?” a voice asks, and Keith turns around to see an older woman, all smiles. 

Keith blinks, offering a polite smile in return, preparing to turn her offer down. “Oh, that’s really okay, we–” 

“Yes, please!” comes Lance’s booming voice from the whale statue, who, when Keith glances over, was all grins. 

Keith smiles softly at the sight before turning to the woman again to hand her his phone. “Yes, thank you.” 

They take several, which the old woman encouraged. One, they stood on either side so that they could capture the Maui Ocean Center letters above the statue, another Lance had his arm playfully around Keith’s shoulders, and the most surprising? Lance (without warning, mind you) jumps up into Keith’s arms, wrapping his legs around Keith’s waist, and rests his cheek on the top of Keith’s head. 

Keith has no other choice but to hold him and smile as the old woman takes several images, all with small, adorable giggles. 

“These are so great!” Lance exclaims, going through them after the fact. “Thank you so much!” 

The old woman beams. “Of course! Anything to capture the memories,” she says sweetly. Then, as if curiosity got the best of her, “How long have you two been together?” 

Lance and Keith stiffen at that. Lance’s face flushes: Keith feels the odd combination of comfort and embarrassment that comes from being put on the spot. Not wanting to make things too awkward for the elderly woman, Keith offers an uneasy grin. “Only a couple of months,” he says.

Keith doesn’t miss it as Lance shoots him a sideways look, half reproachful, half amused, and Keith could tell the answer, clumsy though it was, eased him a little.

The woman smiles sweetly. “Oh, new love! That is precious,” she coos. “Well, I hope you two have a lovely day!” 

Then, as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone. 

Leaving Lance and Keith to stand in awkward silence. 

Keith swallows, heart beating in his ears. Had he really just pretended to date Lance just to make it less awkward for a stranger? 

Lance expels a dramatic sigh that dissolves the awkwardness. “Only a couple months, huh? You could’ve said something cuter,” he teases, striking a mock-offended pose with his hands on his hips. “Like, ‘We’re here for our two-year anniversary and I’m thinking of proposing.’”

Keith blinks at Lance, taking in the mock-offended stance, his hands on his hips, and eyes narrowed in a pout. He was adorable, and that made it more flustering. 

Keith pockets his phone with an eyeroll. “Next time I’ll say we’re on our Honeymoon,” he shoots back. “Happy?” 

Lance taps his chin, faux contemplative. “I suppose that’ll do, cariño.”

Keith feels the warmth of the nickname, heart skipping in his chest. He doesn’t know for sure what it means, but he can guess. 

Keep it together, Kogane. 

Keith plays it off with an eyeroll and turns to continue on to the areas they hadn’t visited yet, choking down a smile. 

“Call me that again and I’ll throw you in the nursery bay with the barracuda.” 

Lance gasps loudly, following close behind. “Rude, but not necessarily unwelcome!” 

Their next destination was the one Keith had been anticipating most: the history exhibit. 

From the moment they stepped inside, Keith was absorbed. The space radiated reverence, a quiet respect layered into each display of artifacts and stories unearthed from the island. His eyes, deep and focused, flitted from intricately drawn diagrams to scaled-down models of ancient settlements. Stone tools, ceremonial carvings, weathered fishing implements; each item felt like a thread to a long, intricate tapestry of history that Keith couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing.

Lance didn’t have to say a word to know Keith was in his element. His posture was different; not stiff and guarded as it usually seemed, but centered, like every bit of his attention had sharpened to a point. It was the kind of focus that made Lance slow down, too, watching Keith’s fascination bloom like light hitting water. Clearly, Keith hadn’t disclosed his passions in depth enough. 

Keith’s eyes lingered on a plaque about traditional torch fishing and ancient free divers, some of whom could plunge to depths of 200 feet without gear. His jaw practically dropped.

“No way,” he murmurs. “That’s insane.”

Keith feels Lance lean in beside him, reading over his shoulder with the same casualness of someone sharing a secret.

“Y’know,” he says, voice low and smooth, “fishermen used to befriend manō—sharks. They called them ‘fighting companions.’ Would even share their catch with them. And in return, the sharks left them alone when they dove.” Lance grins then, wide and charming. “Super cool, right?”

Keith’s heart gives a very unnecessary flutter.

“That’s... super awesome,” he says, a little too earnestly, a smile breaking over his face before he could stop it.

If he wasn’t imagining things, there was a flush of color rising in Lance’s cheeks; quick and fleeting, but unmistakable.

They meandered through more of the exhibit, discovering the spiritual significance of stone carvings, the volatile life cycle of the islands born from tectonic movement, and the meticulous work of ocean research stations. Every section deepened their appreciation not just for Hawaii’s past, but for the living legacy it carried.

Eventually, they entered the Open Ocean exhibit: a long, dim hallway beneath a curved ceiling of glass where marine life soared silently overhead. Silvery fish glittered like stars, and rays drifted by like ghosts. Keith tilted his head upward, trying to focus on the sleek shadows of sharks cutting through the water, but his gaze kept flickering sideways; drawn, stubbornly, to the look of quiet awe on Lance’s face.

Their final stop had Lance vibrating with excitement before they’d even entered.

“The Sphere,” he whispers dramatically as they step into the darkened theater. “Dude. This is going to be so sick.”

Keith chuckles, slipping on the pair of 3D glasses handed to him. “Try not to scream,” he teases under his breath as they take their seats. 

Lance scoffs in mock offense, already adjusting his glasses. “Excuse you. I am a stellar patron of the arts. I would never scream during a film.”

The projection surrounded them in a seamless dome of ocean and sky, immersing them in the migration and history of humpback whales. Keith hadn’t expected to feel so affected, but the way the whales moved, the haunting quality of their songs reverberating in his chest—it stirred something. It wasn’t just wonder. It was a connection. Weight. Gratitude.

Beside him, Lance sat utterly still. When Keith glances over, he sees quiet tears slipping down his cheeks, illuminated faintly by the glow of the screen. There was nothing dramatic about them, just raw, simple emotion.

Keith’s smile softens. He nudges him gently.

Lance doesn’t look over. Instead, without a word, he reaches over and takes Keith’s hand in his.

The motion was instinctive, gentle, as if it had always been allowed. Keith’s breath catches, but he doesn't hesitate. He laces their fingers together slowly, deliberately, grounding the moment between them.

Lance didn’t let go.

And Keith doesn’t want him to.

The gift shop turned out to be larger than Keith expected, a maze of colorful displays, racks of apparel, and shelves lined with glossy souvenirs. Within minutes, Lance had vanished into the fray, and Keith was far from surprised.

Keith wanders on his own, trailing his fingers across racks of hoodies, skimming past ocean-themed mugs and overpriced magnets. He pauses briefly at a shelf of chunky shell jewelry and lets out a soft snort—not exactly his style.

That’s when Lance finds him again, materializing beside him with a triumphant grin and something clutched in each hand.

Two anklets.

One had a red plumeria charm, the other blue.

Keith raises an eyebrow. 

Lance’s grin only widens at Keith’s silent question. “Oh, come on,” he drawls. “It’s to commemorate our bonding moment.”

Keith folds his arms, eyeing him with amused suspicion. “Oh, so… another bonding moment you’re going to pretend never happened?”

Lance gasps in mock outrage, clutching the anklets like wounded pride. “You know, your faith in me is shockingly low right now, Kogane. I should be deeply offended.”

Then, his expression shifts to something warmer and sincere. “But I’m not. Because I’m literally never going to forget today.”

Keith’s heart somersaults. He sighs to cover the way it speeds up. 

“Fine. Get them.”

Lance blinks, momentarily stunned by the lack of resistance. “Wait. You’re… deadass?”

Keith snorts, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Deadass. I’ll even wear it for the rest of the day.”

Whatever Lance had been expecting, it wasn’t that. His face lights up, radiant with boyish excitement, and Keith was suddenly, viscerally grateful he’d worn sunscreen, because Lance’s smile could nearly burn him. 

“Let’s go!” Lance shouts, already darting off toward the register, anklets in hand, clearly on a mission to buy more.

Keith just watches him go, a smile lingering and betraying the warmth in his chest. 

Lance didn’t stop at anklets. He came back with matching sweatshirts for them both (Keith tried not to think too hard about that part) and tossed in a handful of small souvenirs: keychains, magnets, a carved turtle for Pidge, and a tiny snow globe for Hunk. He insisted on picking something out for Shiro too, saying, “He has to be part of the trip somehow, even if he’s not here to suffer through my trivia.”

They left the counter with Lance's tote bag entirely too full. Lance shoves everything inside except the anklets, which he hands off with ceremony; red for Keith, blue for himself.

Keith crouches slightly, slipping the band over his ankle and tightening it just above his Vans. It felt a little odd since he’d never worn anything like it before, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. And when Lance grins and bumps their ankles together like a silent high five, Keith doesn’t regret it for a second.

The anklet tugs a little when he stands, but it feels… grounded. Like a small, strange token of something more. 

And judging by the smile Lance wore—impossibly bright and full of unspoken joy—Keith knew it wasn’t just about the souvenir.

It was about them.

After the Ocean Center, they called an Uber to Kihei Beach. It was something Lance had suggested on a whim, and Keith, riding the high of the day, didn’t fight too hard. Lance had been chattering nonstop since they got in the car, practically glowing as he relived each exhibit, each goofy photo, each shared joke.

Keith mostly listened.

And watched.

Watched the way Lance’s hands moved animatedly when he talked, the way his eyes sparkled when he got excited. The way the sun slanted through the window caught the curve of his smile.

By the time they stepped out onto the beach, the afternoon sun was still warm and golden, casting long shadows across the nearly empty shoreline. There were only a few others wandering around, their laughter distant, the waves soft and persistent.

They weren’t dressed for the beach, obviously. But that didn’t stop Lance.

“I need to get my anklet in the ocean ASAP,” he declares, already setting his tote down on the sand.

Keith watches as Lance kicks off his sneakers and tugs his shirt over his head, his necklaces and bracelets jingling faintly in the breeze. The sunlight hit his skin like it belonged there.

Keith arches his brow. “Dude, you’re not.”

Lance smirks over his shoulder, eyes playful. “Come on. Just in case, y’know?”

Keith rolls his eyes, but the moment barely had time to settle before Lance was grabbing his hand—his hand—and tugging him towards the water.

The contact sends a jolt up Keith’s spine. His fingers instinctively curl around Lance’s before he catches himself and pulls back on their joined hands, stopping Lance’s determined stride. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not getting soaked before a flight.”

Lance pouts, full lips pushed out as if attempting to guilt Keith. And damn if it wasn’t effective.

“Come on, Keith,” he says, voice light with laughter. “You’ve never been to Maui, and I haven’t been in years. This isn’t, like, an everyday thing.”

Keith stares at him for a moment, or, more accurately, at the way Lance’s hand still lingers in his. His skin was warm. His grip was sure.

Keith sighs, more out of self-defense than reluctance, and lets go only long enough to tug off his shoes and socks.

“Hell yeah!” Lance whoops, bouncing in place as Keith peels off his shirt. Lance was already skipping backward, feet barely touching the sand, hair windswept and eyes wild.

Keith glances at the tote to double-check his wallet and phone were tucked safely away, then he runs after him.

They didn’t stand a chance of staying dry.

But honestly? Keith didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when Lance’s laughter was echoing over the surf like music, not when his smile pulled like gravity, not when being close to him felt better than dry clothes ever could.

It was stupid, really: splashing each other like kids, racing through the shallow water, daring each other closer to the crashing waves. But stupid had never felt so good.

Keith was soaked within minutes. He freezes for a second when Lance sends a particularly aggressive splash his way, drenching him almost entirely. Lance stands there, eyes wide with mischief, chest heaving, grin unapologetic.

Keith stares at him, seafoam swirling around his knees.

And then he grins.

Lance’s smile falters for just a moment, clearly recognizing the look. The one Keith wore before every chase, every tackle. 

“Wait—no—Keith—!”

But it was too late. Lance turns to flee, but Keith is faster, closing the distance with determined strides.

“I relent! I RELENT!” Lance yells, breathless and laughing as Keith catches him, arms wrapping tight around his torso.

Keith lifts him effortlessly, Lance squirming and shrieking, and steps deeper into the surf, then falls backward, dragging them both into the waves.

The water closed over them in a rush of bubbles and sunlight, Lance’s laughter bubbling through it. It was chaos—joyful, ridiculous chaos—and for the next hour, it was nothing but play. Splashing, tackling, dunking each other beneath the waves. Losing and winning and not caring which.

Eventually, the adrenaline wears off.

They stand, dripping and breathless, with their flight back to Oahu only three hours away.

They tried to dry off in the sun, which helped a little, but not enough. Their Uber driver gave them a polite nod and a not-so-subtle side-eye as they slid into the backseat, muttering apologies under their breath.

“This was your fault, by the way,” Lance says as they arrive at a quiet outlet mall in search of dry clothes. 

Keith shoots him a glare. “My fault? You’re the one who dragged me into the ocean.”

“You suplexed me into a wave!”

“After you splashed me!”

“Sounds like projection, samurai.”

Keith doesn’t bother replying, ignoring the bait in favor of grabbing the first pair of dry shorts he could find. Lance does the same, though not without pointing out that at least they got an excuse to wear their matching hoodies, and weren’t those just so adorable.

They changed quickly in the public restroom, and caught an Uber to the airport just in time, with enough buffer to breathe. For once.

As they wandered the terminal, Keith walked a step behind Lance, eyeing overpriced food stands with a predatory gaze and a rumbling stomach. 

Despite this, his thoughts kept looping back.

The aquarium. The water. The way the light had caught in Lance’s hair. His laughter. His hand in Keith’s both on the beach and in the quiet, emotional sphere at the Ocean Center. 

It all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

Eventually, they boarded. The sun was sinking over the Pacific, the horizon streaked with molten gold and soft amber. Keith settled into his window seat, watching the world fall away in color and waves.

And then—

A weight on his shoulder.

Lance.

He’d leaned over without warning, head resting comfortably against Keith like it was the most natural thing in the world. Keith stiffens, a breath catching in his throat. He still wasn’t used to how easily Lance touched him these days. How effortlessly he seemed to slip beneath Keith’s defenses.

But… he doesn’t pull away.

His heart was pounding, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to.

“I had the best day ever,” Lance murmurs, voice soft and sleepy, lips brushing against the fabric of Keith’s hoodie. “Thank you.”

Keith turns his head just slightly, gaze flicking down at him. Lance’s eyes were closed now, breaths even and slow.

“Don’t mention it,” Keith whispers.

But Lance doesn’t answer, already fast asleep.

Keith looks back out the window, smile soft and subtle, a content warmth blooming in his chest. The sky outside was a masterpiece, the ocean below painted in amber light.

And for the first time in a long while, Keith wasn’t just watching something beautiful.

He felt it.