#i can hypothetically find hookups on dating apps but i’m realizing that if that ever worked for me i would have already made a Real move

[callixton]

bro why can’t anyone ever just want to fuck around w me

[tobiologist]

swipe right (if you like me)

Keith/Lance // met on tinder!au // 7.8k+ // sfw // part 2/?

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

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

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

Keith

He could strangle Pidge for making him download this stupid app.

It makes absolutely no sense. People rattle off a sentence or two about themselves and hope to lure others in with similar interests, shitty jokes, or a pretty face. Potentially all of the above. Keith doesn’t have the lowest self-esteem in the world, but his ego certainly isn’t in the best shape. When it comes to any of the usual Tinder criteria, he feels like an outlier.

Keith has no desire to hook up with strangers.

>> READ THE REST ON AO3 <<

No, Keith enjoys the idea of sex more than the actual act itself. His hypothetical ‘cherry’ still has yet to be popped, in most senses of the word. He kissed a couple classmates back in high school, girls and guys alike, but nothing more. He’s never seen it as a big deal. Really, Keith could care less about whether he’s getting laid.

School is his top priority at the moment and has been since his sophomore year of high school. Once he can start designing aircrafts, working on spaceships with his own two hands, it won’t be an issue anymore. But until then, he has to stay focused—keep his eyes on the prize.

So, he doesn’t go out of his way to get into the dating scene. It’s downright exhausting, and Keith is just as happy to go through college with a couple friends and a sometimes-nosy-yet-fantastically-compassionate brother. A boyfriend would just cause unnecessary trouble.

Of course…

Things changed a bit when he took an interest in Lance. But it was just that, okay? An interest.

It was hard to ignore the loudest person in every lecture hall. Sure, he quieted down once class started but, before the professor walked in, he chatted with anyone in the general vicinity willing to listen. In the beginning, Lance’s enthusiasm annoyed the absolute shit out of Keith. The guy talked your ear off, whether you wanted him to or not.

But, as time went on, Keith realized most classmates enjoyed Lance’s crazy rants. They were off-the-wall, no doubt about it, but they were interesting. Keith learned they were more like conspiracy theories than rants, which… well. That may be the real root of the problem; Keith lives for conspiracy theories.

That’s what first captured his attention. Lance never engaged Keith directly, but he had no qualms with eavesdropping on Lance’s conversations with other classmates. And, once he took notice of Lance, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

The jerk was amazing. He spoke, moved, breathed as if he were born to tell ridiculous stories and persuade people. He’d be talking to someone and, surely enough, more students would hop into the discussion with their own input. Keith refused to partake—mostly because the thought of embarrassing himself in front of Lance and showing any sort of weakness sickened him—and sat quietly.

Listening.

Lance filled the silence with outrageous stories and theories, ‘fun facts’ and ‘words of wisdom.’ Keith wished, more than anything, he could’ve clamped his hands over his ears and forced himself to tune it out. It was no use, though. It was too late.

Keith liked listening to Lance.

His excitement and passion for what he loved, the timbre and inflection of his voice, every detail sucked Keith in. He’d rather be struck dead than acknowledge it out loud, but he might have developed the slightest bit of a crush on Lance.

Even when tests were passed back and Lance flashed him a look of pure hatred, Keith couldn’t bring himself to dislike the guy. Although Lance never confronted him face-to-face, he had heard about their ‘rivalry’ from Pidge countless times.  And—maybe he’s fucked up in the head—but the very idea of a competition between him and Lance stoked a fire deep in the pit of his gut.

It was absolutely thrilling.

Keith found himself working even harder in class. Of course, he also got distracted more often, what with his gaze drifting to a certain seat, usually a row over, whenever there was a lull in the professor’s lecture. He enjoyed hearing Lance speak, enjoyed listening to the way he regarded the universe as something special, something vast and begging to be explored—

Yeah, Keith had a pretty good feeling he had a crush.

But that didn’t give Pidge any reason to set up a Tinder profile for him. It’s a total trainwreck of a profile, in his opinion. The pictures are… okay, granted, the only picture he wishes she hadn’t included is the knife cat meme.

(Not that he’ll admit that to Pidge.)

So, the pictures—he doesn’t have a big issue with them. It’s the bio he really wants her to change.

He’s stared at those same two lines of text on multiple occasions and still can’t come up with anything else to include. How does someone even decide what to put in a Tinder bio? Most people are there for hookups anyway so what does it matter?

Keith hardly uses his own account. Pidge and—horrifyingly enough—Shiro do most of the swiping for him.

Tonight, however, Keith is bored.

He glances over at the small stack of textbooks propped against his leg. Fuck. In theory, he could work on an assignment instead of putting things off another day. But he wants to make the most of his free time before he confronts the metric fuckton of schoolwork headed his way.

Keith props his feet up on the table and sinks deeper into the couch. Shiro won’t be home tonight so he has the entire apartment to himself. It isn’t all that uncommon for Shiro to spend the night at Matt’s place or, occasionally, Allura’s. But this early on in the semester, when Keith hardly has any homework—he can’t pass the opportunity up.

For the first couple hours, he watches Westworld. When he catches himself drifting off, he disconnects his laptop from the television and reaches for his phone. It’s only 11 o’clock, which is way earlier than he ever goes to bed.

“What the hell do I do now?” Keith asks the empty apartment. Predictably, no one answers him.

Keith groans and tips his head back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling fan overhead. It turns at a leisurely pace, just fast enough to keep him from feeling uncomfortably warm. He tracks the movement of the blades and lets his mind wander.

He could always text Pidge and ask if—dammit. She’s over at another friend’s place tonight. Hunk? Keith is almost positive that’s the guy’s name. And his roommate… Keith swears he knows the roommate, too.

Suddenly, it hits him. He does know the roommate.

“Of course that’s who it is,” Keith mumbles. Because Hunk lives with the same guy Keith has been silently creeping on for the last year or so. Yes, of all the people Hunk could live with, it’s Lance. Fucking aerospace engineering Lance. Who just so happens to also be friends with Pidge.

Keith’s plan to text Pidge is shot down in an instant. Although it does give him an idea.

A totally fucked and uncharacteristic idea, but, again, Keith is bored.

Cautiously, Keith unlocks his phone. His eyes flit across the screen, from app to app, until he spots the one he’s looking for. An app, mind you, he’s only opened and used a handful of times since downloading it. Which Pidge had done two months ago.

There’s a small circle in the center of the screen with his bike picture. Red concentric circles start there and spread outwards, while a message displays underneath. “Finding people near you…” it says. Keith almost wishes it wouldn’t.

Eventually, a profile appears. The guy looks vaguely familiar. Shoulder-length blond hair frames his round face, green eyes glinting promisingly. His pictures show him standing in front of easels—his own art, most likely—or surrounded by friends.

Keith is about to swipe the picture to the right when he realizes he doesn’t remember which way to swipe for people he likes.

“Idiot.” He settles for clicking the little green heart at the bottom of the profile.

Tinder has the decency to remind him which direction to swipe, depending on whether he’s interested in the person or not, and Keith sighs a quiet sigh of relief. He was right about the directions after all. Fantastic.

He goes through about fifteen more profiles—most of which he swipes left on because, wow, there are a lot of fuckboys at their university—before he comes across another familiar face.

But this familiarity hits Keith like a punch to the gut.

“What?” he cries, voice echoing off the thin walls of their living room. “No, no, no.”

There’s no mistaking the flawless skin and golden brown hair, begging to be ruffled. The wicked smirk and dangerous glimmer in his eyes, drawing attention to himself in every picture Keith scrolls across. In one, he wears a baby blue t-shirt with the word “peachy” screened across the front. Keith is almost positive he has class with the guy standing to Lance’s left—maybe that’s Hunk?—while Pidge stands proudly on the other side with an arm around Lance’s waist. The party pictures are easy to spot, considering the large groups of people, as well as the wide array of nonsensical stuff Lance chooses to wear, like a bra made from two red solo cups and beer box over his head.

Just like the Lance that Keith has come to know from class, the Lance in each picture has a certain charm Keith can’t even begin to explain. Even with the plastic cup bra pulled tight over his white crop top.

Just swipe left, he silently urges himself. Nothing good would come out of swiping right. Of course, the chances of Lance finding him attractive enough to want to match with—or the chances of him recognizing Keith and trying to match as a joke—are awfully low.

Keith looks off to the side and then back at Lance’s last picture. He’s at a museum, standing alongside an SR-71 Blackbird, sleek and beautiful. He seems absolutely ecstatic to be there and, for some strange and horrifying reason, Keith is reminded of his father, the man who preferred spending his days rocketing through the sky then down on the ground.

His hands move of their own accord and—

The phone nearly falls out of his hands, and Keith is sure his neighbors must hate him for the noise that comes bursting out of his mouth. Fingers quivering, he stares at the screen, dumbstruck.

“It’s a match!”

No, it can’t be, he wants to tell the stupid app. That’s impossible You’re wrong. He can’t even imagine Lance wanting to swipe right on a social pariah like him. Keith Kogane, the hotheaded and cocksure student who’s always questioning his professors and authority figures. The boy who hates loud and crowded places, like parties or clubs, and finds it difficult to make new friends. He’s the antithesis of everything Lance stands for so why… what the hell could’ve possibly influenced Lance to swipe right?

Keith shakes his head and sets the phone on the table, just of reach.

He’ll watch more Westworld, that’s what he’ll do. After the recent plot twist, he has to watch more and see how events unfold. And avoid thinking of Lance or the fact they matched on Tinder.

Everything is perfectly fine.

But, after one episode, Keith can’t stay away. “Fucking idiot,” he growls at himself and snags his phone off the table. To his horror, he has a message waiting for him. Lance sent you a new message!

“The fuck he has,” Keith exclaims, voice cracking unpleasantly somewhere in the middle of his outburst. Tentatively, he unlocks the screen and presses the notification.

is your mom an alien? because dat ass is out of this world

Keith doesn’t care how cute this asshole’s smile is; he wants to punch him. But the comment is so fucking… cringey that Keith can’t help but let out a short laugh. And the messages don’t stop there. He only has to wait a few minutes for the next couple.

the aliens made me swipe right

hey baby wanna take a ride in my flying saucer?

Keith is definitely laughing now. He’s finding it hard to believe Lance thinks any of this garbage will work. How the fuck could someone as smooth as Lance score hookups with lines like this? Not that Keith has any idea whether Lance hooks up with people he meets on Tinder. It’s just a hunch, alright? A totally unbiased hunch that has nothing to deal with how obnoxiously adorable he finds Lance’s face and quirky fashion sense.  

He deliberates locking his phone, possibly turning it off for the rest of the night to avoid this nonsense Lance calls “flirting,” when the last message arrives.

well you seem cool as fuck

A rush of tingling warmth spreads through Keith’s body. He reads the message again, just to be sure he didn’t imagine it, but it’s real. The social butterfly he’s been dying to talk to for months just told Keith he thought he was cool. Him. Keith.

“Me? Cool?” Keith’s thumb hovers over the blank message bar.

He’s never had anyone say that to him before. ‘Freak’ is one he heard often back in elementary school. And, as he grew older and recognized his sexuality, there were a slew of other insults. Compliments were few and far between, unless they were teachers praising his grades and intellect. Which never lasted long. Once he snapped and turned on a classmate for insulting his family, the teachers went back to giving him a wide berth and avoiding him like the plague.

Keith catches his reflection in the television screen. He speaks again, enjoying the taste of the word in his mouth. “Cool.”

His entire body feels warm, pleasantly so, down to the tips of his toes and fingers.

As planned, Keith turns off his phone for the rest of the night. But he vows to at least say something to Lance the next day in class.

 Lance

-present day-

Phase 1 doesn’t go as well as planned.

The first time Lance asks Keith out, he’s met with obliviousness. Because of course life would be too easy if Keith understood the situation right off the bat. No, the universe has to spice things up a bit for Lance.

Lance heaves a sigh, back propped up against the wall. His laptop whirrs softly, a warm presence on the top of his thighs but not nearly as warm as Keith’s presence beside him. The bed is actually quite small. It used to be problematic whenever Lance had someone spend the night, but, ever since he and Keith started hanging out, there’s only been one guest in his room, other than the occasional Hunk.  

He’s been drowning in thoughts of their ‘rivalry’ for the better part of the day, and, for the life of him, Lance can’t remember how it even started. “I’m such an idiot,” he mutters, seemingly out of the blue.

“No comment,” Keith deadpans, blinking at the laptop screen.

“You’re not supposed to agree with me on that one, dude. But, uh. Yeah, I kind of feel like one right now.”

“Why?”

“Because this ‘rivalry’”—he motions between the two of them—“has been going on since, like, freshman year, and I’m finally starting to ask myself what happened to kick it off.”

“I mean, wasn’t it an issue over grades or something? Every time we got a test back in class, I noticed you glaring daggers at me.”

Lance wishes, more than anything, he could shoot that excuse down. But alas…

“No, nope. That’s not it. Way too petty. I never would start a legendary ‘rivalry’ over something dumb like that.”

“Pidge told me you said ‘I won’t rest until I outscore that stupid hotshot,’” Keith recalls drily. “I would assume I’m the ‘stupid hotshot.’”

Did I really call Keith stupid? He knows he never would’ve meant it seriously, regardless of his competitive nature. “I was just joking!”

“The way Pidge told the story, it didn’t seem that way. You used to shoot me dirty looks in class so I wouldn’t be too surprised.” Keith tries to put a few extra inches of space between them and—Lance panics.

“You’re not stupid at all!”

“You sure about that?” Keith’s voice drips with skepticism.

“Positive! Okay, just— just hear me out.” Lance maintains the space between them, worried he may spook poor Keith. “But you can’t laugh at me or anything.”

“You didn’t laugh when I told you about the alien thing so” —Keith shrugs and continues, albeit grudgingly—”I’m not a dickhead. Go ahead.”

“Alright, well, I was jealous.” There you go, Lance, just bite the bullet.

Keith’s nose scrunches up. “Jealous?”

“Yeah, I was jealous. Because you always got good grades and acted like it was no big deal. I slaved over my assignments, but I was lucky to get a B on anything I turned in. Pick a class, any class. You were always way ahead of me.”

Keith pales, like he’s just seen a ghost or run into the Demogorgon from Stranger Things.  

“Um. Oh,” Keith eventually stutters out.

Lance quickly snaps his mouth shut. He definitely said too much. Keith would want nothing to do with him after a selfish excuse like that, and Lance wouldn’t blame him.  “I’m sorry, I... It sounds pretty messed up, when I put it like that, huh?“

And then Lance remembers.

The plot. Hunk and Pidge’s brilliant plot to get Keith and Lance together. It may not be the perfect moment to ask, but it’s not the worst either. They’re talking about grades, right? And what does someone have to do to maintain their grades? Study.

Which—drum roll, please—gives Lance an opening. He could totally ask Keith out on a study date. Lance pictures how the whole conversation will go down in his head and barely quells his desire to preen like a proud peacock.

“Here, I have an idea. To make it up to you.” Lance carefully flips his laptop shut. To his credit, Keith makes eye contact instead of staring intensely at a random spot on the wall, like he had been doing. “How about we study together?”

“I don’t study well in groups.”

Holy mother of-

“I promise to behave myself,” Lance insists, fluttering his lashes. “I’ll stay on task the whole time.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about…”

“What are you worried about then? Is it the whole ‘memories getting trapped in your mullet’ thing? Because—“

“No, Lance.”

“Is it… because you hate me?”

Lance doesn’t know why he says it, but immediately regrets doing so when Keith’s expression twists into one of pure fear. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then what is it?”

“I… I’m worried I won’t be able to focus.”

Pieces of the puzzle slot clumsily together in Lance’s brain; they aren’t quite meshing together, though.  

“I told you, I’ll only ask relevant questions. No sidetracking, no gossip. I swear on my model aircraft collection that I’ll be the best study buddy you could ask for.”

Keith snort-laughs. “I know that.”

“Then why?”

“It’s just that…“

“Hm?”

“I, uh, you see…”

“Keith, dude, seriously—“

“It doesn’t matter if you sit quietly and read the fucking Dictionary to yourself, Lance, I’ll still be distracted by you!”

Lance is totally unprepared for the surge of emotions. The words turn over in his head, faster and faster, and Lance starts to gain a loose grasp on what Keith is saying. Is he… is he saying he would be too busy watching me?

There’s no way—absolutely no way. But it’s the most viable explanation. Either the slightest noise disturbs Keith or he’s concerned Lance’s very existence will serve as a distraction.

“Just to be sure I’m not going crazy here,” Lance starts, hesitantly, “are you implying that you’ll be too busy ogling the goods to focus on studying?”

And now Lance is getting shoved. Not enough to send him toppling off the bed but enough that it smarts a little where Keith jabbed him. Curious, he glances up and— Keith, the poor dude, bears an uncanny resemblance to a tomato. Lance can practically see the smoke pouring out of his ears.

“Shut up,” Keith growls. The laptop tips precariously to one side, and Keith steadies it. “Forget I said anything. Let’s just—get back to the movie? It’s been so long since I last watched it.”

Keith has a point. It’s been ages since Lance watched The Last Starfighter. He fell in love with the film the very first time he watched it, sitting in his family room with his younger siblings crowded around him. As a young boy, he’d spent hours searching through his father’s expansive sci-fi collection, watching more movies and televisions shows than he’d care to admit.

When rumors were being spread around the engineering department about the prodigal new student and pilot, Lance couldn’t help but be reminded of Alex Rogan. The kid never expected to be put behind the controls of an actual spaceship, but he was born with the skill necessary to do so. Rewatching the film, Lance can’t help but imagine Keith in a similar scenario.

He’d totally be the kind of guy capable of saving the world.

In reality, as Lance grew older, he developed a bit of a celebrity crush on the young Lance Guest. Bonus points went to the guy for having the same first name as Lance. And, okay, he wasn’t as cute as young Harrison Ford, but he was still pretty high on Lance’s list of ‘Sci-Fi Actors I Would Climb Like A Tree.

“Yeah… yeah, okay,” Lance concedes. He pulls the laptop over until it sits comfortably between them again, half resting in each of their laps. “You’re lucky I love this movie, or I’d ask your stubborn ass more questions.”

Keith merely sighs and flips the laptop back open, reaching out to press the spacebar. The movie resumes, and Lance is left with his thoughts, torn between gushing over space dogfights or devising new plans to ask the most oblivious person in the fucking world out on a date.

--

Lance

“I can’t believe that didn’t work,” Hunk grumbles, adjusting his protractor before sketching another line.

Lance sits in the floor of their living room, an open textbook in his lap. Like a cat, Pidge lies stretched out on the couch. She fits perfectly, whereas Lance and Hunk both have to tuck their legs or prop them on the armrest when in her place. Fingers flying across the keyboard, she pays little to no mind to Hunk and Lance’s discussion.

“Are you kidding? It’s Keith.”

Or not.

Lance groans. He’s recounted the whole story of his failed attempt twice now. Between homework problems, Hunk tries taking the situation apart, piece by piece, in search of Lance’s mistake. Pidge butts in with a comment every now and then.

“I know, but still,” Hunk huffs, “That idea seemed pretty foolproof to me. Kudos to you, by the way, dude.”

“Thanks,” Lance mumbles half-heartedly.

“You have to be straightforward with Keith. Otherwise, he thinks he’s imagining things. Or that you’re trying to trick him.”

“Paranoid, much?” Lance flips the page of his textbook, staring aimlessly at the pictured airfoil. “How would I trick him with a study date? Feed him the wrong answers? That’s fucked up, rivals or not.”

Hunk curses under his breath, and the distinct sound of an eraser, pressed hard against paper, fills the apartment. “You ruined my mechanism sketch, dude.”

Lance shoots him a classic ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look. But Hunk merely nods. “Spouting that garbage. You and Keith never really were rivals in the first place, but you’re definitely not now. You’re friends, at least. More than friends, if things go your way…”

“Anyway,” Pidge drawls, “I don’t know why he wouldn’t want to study together. He comes over to our place sometimes to work on stuff. Says it’s quieter than his place when Shiro invites Allura and Matt for dinner.”

So… Lance might not have told Hunk and Pidge the entire story. The last bit of their talk—when Keith revealed he wouldn’t be able to focus with Lance in the room—remains a closely guarded secret. It’s  definitely better that way. If anything, Pidge would tease poor Keith and, well, Keith would punch Lance in the dick for sharing something so personal.

Lance would deserve it, of course. No question there.

“Not a clue. Maybe he thinks he’s too good to study with his ri—“ Hunk tosses his eraser at Lance. The worn, white block smacks into his cheek, and Lance squeaks. “Hey!”

“Chances are, he’s too shy,” Hunk explains, fixing Lance with a frustrated grimace. “You should know by now that Keith isn’t an academic prude or anything. I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Oh, he has his reasons alright.

“Yeah, he can be pretty, uh, eccentric sometimes. He obviously likes spending time with you, though, so I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it,” Pidge adds, tone matter-of-fact.

Other than his own brother, Pidge is Keith’s closest friend. They bonded their junior year of high school over conspiracy theories and alien abduction, if Lance remembers correctly. Shiro and Matt were already close friends at the time so the two older brothers were encouraging them to get to know each other better. According to Pidge, she’d been a little reluctant at first. Keith was quiet and sometimes snapped at complete strangers. But, the more time they spent together, the closer they became.

Now that Lance knew Keith better, he could see why their personalities meshed so well. In the past, he’d wracked his brain for reasons why the two got along and always came up with zilch, nada. Not anymore.

As Keith’s closest companion, Pidge knows nearly as much as Shiro. Enough for her to judge whether Keith actually likes Lance or simply tolerates him for the sake of keeping up appearances. He obviously likes spending time with you, she says.

“So, what should I try next?” Lance prompts. It’s a welcome diversion from his homework. And, well, he really doesn’t know where to proceed from here when it comes to Keith. “Do I try asking him out again?”

“Maybe?”

“Or—or, you could always ask him how he feels about dating,” Hunk suggests. “Not you specifically but, like… dating in general? Maybe that’ll get him to share some valuable information. If he’s interested in dating anyone right now, if he has any crazy exes, if he’s already talking to someone.”

Ugh. The last suggestion leaves Lance feeling queasy. Keith wouldn’t have someone special like that in his life and not tell Lance… right?

“Eh, I guess.” Lance smooths his fingers over the lines of text on the page. “That could work. You really are a genius, buddy.”

Hunk grins, wide and genuine, and pats Lance soundly on the back. “There he is, Sir Lancelot.”

“Defender of the universe!” Lance doesn’t even shut his book before he stands, placing his hands on his hips. If only he had a cape. “The resident sharpshooter, the tailor himself!”

Pidge objects loudly from her place on the couch. “Hunk, no, why do you encourage him?”

The two go back and forth—making judgments on which nicknames should stay and which have to go—but Lance is only half-listening. The man of action has a new plan of action now.

The next step in Phase I will now commence.

--

Keith

This is weird.

Actually, ‘weird’ doesn’t feel quite right. It doesn’t encompass the full magnitude of ‘what the fuck is happening’ Keith experiences when he’s around Lance. Emotional vertigo, to be honest.

Let’s just say Keith hasn’t mentioned the real reason he matched with Lance on Tinder— to anyone. No, it wasn’t Pidge who made the decision. Keith’s very own finger swiped Lance’s profile to the right. Completely sober, completely in control of his actions, Keith had been the one to kick himself in the ass and shoot for a match.

And it’s only progressively gotten worse now that Lance pays attention to him.

“You certainly seem like you’re in a good mood,” Shiro calls out from the kitchen. Past experience tells Keith the remark is supposed to sound offhanded; it doesn’t.

Keith glances up from his textbook, brows raised. “Really?”

“Well, you seem to be smiling more often.” Shiro’s lips pull up into a soft smile of his own. “It’s nice, seeing you happy.”

“I don’t… feel any different.”

“I’m used to you bursting through the door, full of complaints. Usually about that boy in most of your courses. Oh, what’s his name…”

Shiro is so full of shit. Keith groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes falling shut. “Lance. His name is Lance.”

“Yes, that’s the one! But you two seem to be getting along a lot better now. Is that right?”

“You’ve been talking to Matt… haven’t you?”

Keith watches, just to catch the guilty expression on Shiro’s face and catalogue it for later. “Uh, well. We had lunch the other day, and he—he might’ve brought it up.”

“And what’s ‘it’?”

“Your friendship with Lance! He says the two of you started sitting next to each other in his aerospace structures class.” Shiro fiddles with a couple spoons as he pulls them from the dishwasher. “He also mentioned that… it almost seemed like flirting to hi—“

“No, no,” Keith quickly interjects. “Definitely not. Lance and I are friends now. So we talk? Nothing weird about that, right?”

Shiro turns to fully face Keith. He leans back against the kitchen counter. The scar along the bridge of his nose is far more noticeable when he’s like this, gaze fixed intently on Keith, forehead creasing just the slightest bit. Keith has grown over the years, but Shiro still has a few inches on him. Plus, he works out consistently and has the stocky, solid build to show for it. It doesn’t take long for him to switch from ‘sweet older brother’ mode to ‘intimidating father figure’ mode.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve discussed Lance in the past few weeks. You’ve started hanging out with Pidge and ‘her friends’ on the weekends. I know that Lance is one of those friends.” Shiro narrows his eyes. “I also know how fidgety you were the first time you came home, after hanging out with them. Fidgety but also… kind of… giddy?”

“Giddy?” Keith feels his cheeks start to pink. God, he hates when Shiro does this to him. “That’s the word you’re going with?”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate one,” Shiro laughs. “You could barely sit still and kept checking your phone. Especially with the way you were acting the night before… I was suspicious.”

Shit. Keith had really hoped Shiro hadn’t noticed his odd behavior the night he matched with Lance. The night. The cursed night.

“Like I said, we’re just friends,” Keith stresses again. He knows it won’t be the last time he has to tell Shiro. “He’s a huge pain in the ass, but he’s also a nice guy. That’s the only reason I’ve probably seemed happy. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever…” Shiro whispers the words under his breath, but Keith hears him. He turns and strides over to where his briefcase sits, propped against the table. “Anyway, I have to get to work. These homework assignments need graded, and I haven’t had a chance to hand them off to the TA yet.”

“Yeah, alright. Is it just going to be you tonight for dinner? Or are Allura and Matt coming?”

Shiro chuckles faintly, shaking his head. He fixes the lapels of his shirt and adjusts his tie. Keith is eternally grateful he doesn’t have Shiro as a professor. Not only has he seen the sort of homework he hands out, but he’s the kind of person who would love calling on his “genius little brother” for questions during class.

“Just me.” Shiro finishes inspecting his outfit in the mirror and makes for the door. “I’ll probably be busy, though, so I may bring back Chinese takeout. If that’s okay?”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t mind. You’re the one who likes to cook.”

Translation: Keith is not the world’s best chef.

Shiro flashes a fond smile in his direction before stepping out the door. A rush of cool air filters into the room, and Keith shivers. He’s not looking forward to going out in this weather. Plus, the bus will be packed with the usual crowd plus people who normally walk to campus.

Keith can only hope this isn’t foreshadowing for how the day will go

--

Lance

This will work—this has to work.

His second attempt? Yeah, as expected, that went to shit. The two of them had been sitting in the library, eating lunch, when Lance decided to bring it up.

“So,” he’d drawled, amidst chewing. “You wanna go to the arcade tomorrow?”

“Uh, sure. Is Pidge going?”

Lance almost choked on his sandwich. “I don’t… know? Why?”

“You better make sure you invite her. She’s been dying to go,” Keith says, motioning at Lance with a carrot before crunching into it. “I promised I wouldn’t go without her.”

Of course, Lance had thought about begging Pidge to lie and pretend she had plans. But there were too many loopholes, and Lance would feel bad about robbing Pidge of her opportunity to ‘destroy noobs’ and scrape up some decent cash in the process.

So, back to square one.

A couple days later, Lance settled on a different approach. And his third attempt? You guessed it—also a real bummer. He took yet another L.

“Hey, you wanna go to the movies this weekend?” Lance prompted. He and Keith were walking down to the bus stop, swaddled in thick layers of clothing. “Like, maybe Friday?”

Keith let out a noncommittal noise. It was barely audible past the scarf around his neck. “What movie?”

“I’m not sure… anything you’re interested in seeing?”

“Eh, not really.” Keith paused for a moment before continuing. Lance buried his gloved hands deeper in his pockets. “To be honest, I’d rather just watch something at your place.”

Normally, Lance would’ve danced and cheered because, hell yeah, watching a movie all alone with Keith. But not this particular weekend. Because Shay was staying over and the awkward atmosphere would kill any chance of Lance making a Move.

The initial three attempts in ‘Operation: Woo Keith’ were unsuccessful. Not much of a surprise there. But this idea? His latest idea? Fourth time’s the charm.

Lance scribbled the plan down yesterday, during a break between classes. The chairs in the engineering lounge were crazy comfortable and, curled up in his personal favorite of the bunch, Lance outlined his idea on a scrap piece of paper. Finished, he’d tucked it in his backpack to carry out the following day, when he would have class with Keith.

In a bit of a rush, Lance scrambles to put his lunch together. He spent a decent amount of money on drinks for their last party and needs to pinch pennies for the next few days. Sliding the fridge door open, he reaches for the blueberries.

And, with his fantastic luck, drops the container.

The blueberries roll everywhere—under the fridge, behind the trashcan, managing to even reach the couch. Lance screeches and bends to pick a couple up.

“What are you—oh my God, the fruit killer strikes again!” Hunk freezes just next to the counter. A baggy orange shirt stops just above his knees, hair sticking up at weird angles on top of his head.

“I’m not the fruit killer!”

“Yeah, tell that to the pineapple you sacrificed last week. And the countless other victims in the past!”

Lance scrapes up as many blueberries as he can and dumps them in the trash. He needs to leave soon or he’ll be late for his usual shuttle. And if he’s late to catch the shuttle, he’ll be late to class.

Which means—yep, that’s right. He’ll have to wait to talk to Keith.

Now, that doesn’t completely spoil his brilliant plan. But it deviates from it enough to make Lance anxious. That’s what will throw things off. Because once uncertainty comes into play, Lance freaks out and has been known to sabotage himself.

“The fruit killer has to hurry the fuck up,” Lance says, jamming notebooks and a binder into his bag. He snags the lunch he somehow managed to throw together. “Or he may screw himself over.”

Hunk stops, a few blueberries cradled in his open palms. “This is your last chance to ask him or we’ll have to fix things and reschedule.”

“I know, I know. It’ll all work out, okay?”

Lance is out the door before Hunk can say anything more.

--

Keith

Tap, tap.

Keith glances down at his phone, pressing his thumb lightly over the home key. 8:58 AM.

Tap, tap.

Lance is hardly ever late to class. As a matter of fact, he usually beats Keith there.

Tap, tap, tap.

Keith squeezes the pen in his hand. He’s almost positive the guy he used to sit next to is glaring at him. Obviously he doesn’t appreciate Keith tapping his pen on the edge of his desk. Calm the fuck down.

This isn’t the kind of class you’d want to be late to either. The professor has a strict attendance policy and doesn’t take kindly to people walking in late. There have been a few students who walked in ten minutes late and were ‘politely’ asked to leave. Not that Keith thinks Lance will be that late.

Just as he’s about to text Lance and beg him to get his ass to class, the man of the hour comes crashing into his usual seat.

“Dude—“

“Yeah, I might’ve sacrificed some blueberries to get here on time.”

Keith blinks at Lance, watching as he quickly digs through his backpack. He tugs the desk over his lap and slaps down his notebook. “At least you spared the pineapple this time,” Keith points out.

“You and your love of pineapple.” Lance clicks his pen and turns to the next blank sheet. He pauses, eyes flitting to Keith. “Did you just make a joke?”

Bastard. He can feel the heat creeping across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. “Professor Coran is going to walk through that door any second now and bitch at you for talking and interrupting class.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll ignore the fact that super serious Keith Kogane, envy of all mullets, cracked a joke.” Lance throws Keith a wink. He can practically feel his insides turning to mush. “Also, I know I probably don’t have to ask at this point but, uh. You wanna come to our party tonight?”

“Oh, it’s tonight?”

“Yeah, but that’s not a problem, right?” There’s a hint of desperation in Lance’s tone that piques Keith’s curiosity.

“No, no. It’s not. I’m just used to them being on Saturday’s.”

“Yep,” Lance answers with a nod, “Just come over at eight. A little early so you don’t have to deal with the rush of people.”

Keith cocks his head to the side. There’s something strange about Lance’s demeanor. He almost sounds… nervous. Which makes no sense whatsoever. This certainly isn’t the first time he’s invited Keith. More like the fourth time—not that Keith’s keeping track or anything.

“Are you okay?” Keith is momentarily distracted by Lance’s fingers, fiddling with the cover of his notebook. “You seem more… jittery than usual.”

“Totally fine, dude,” Lance answers, “just trying to calm myself down after sprinting here from the bus stop.”

If not for Coran charging through the door like a man on a mission, thick pile of papers crammed under his arm, Keith would’ve interrogated Lance further. But he knew better than to open his mouth once their professor entered the picture. The man would definitely call Keith out. He may spare Lance, but Keith… yeah, maybe he deserved to be called out.

“Alright, class, how is everyone this fine morning?” A collective groan fills the room, and Coran scoffs. “Now, now, it’s lovely outside! This weather reminds me of the time I spent up North. I bet this is what it’s like to live on Europa, hm? “

Coran has a reputation for his bizarre anecdotes, random sound effects, and mild obsession with space and alien life. At the mention of Europa, Keith can already tell today is going to be an entertaining lecture.

“Anyway,” Coran singsongs, claiming his usual place at the front of the room. “Today we’re going to discuss the dihedral effect and how we model…”

Keith sighs and writes the date in the top left-hand corner of the page. For the rest of the lecture, he blocks out his surroundings and focuses on the strings of complicated words coming out of Professor Coran’s mouth. This isn’t the sort of class he can afford to ignore.

He makes it through a solid hour and fifteen minutes without dwelling on Lance or his peculiar behavior or the party later that night—

Ugh.

Seriously, Keith puts it all out of his mind until he’s free to go home. That’s when he’ll sit and worry over everything. Which, once he slinks through the door and throws himself down onto the couch a couple hours later, is exactly what he does.

—

Lance

Lance pouts his lips, watching his reflection mimic the gesture.

“You got this,” he tells himself. He checks his shirt for wrinkles, running his hands over the front of his navy blue flannel. It used to belong to his dad, and Lance has always loved the way it hangs on his frame. He wears the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, exposing the long lines of his forearms, and the shirt offers a nice glimpse of his collarbone. A sturdy belt holds his khakis in place, tan fabric hugging his hips and waist in all the right places. He usually reserves these pants for class presentations and interviews, but a date with Keith seems like a worthy occasion.

“Keith used to be your rival, and, sure, he has a mullet. But he’s the coolest, and you’re not going to fuck this up.” Lance jabs his finger into his reflection’s forehead. “I repeat, you will not fuck this up.”

Yes, the mantra is new. He’s never met anyone he legitimately needed a pep talk to approach. Not that needing positive words of encouragement to talk to Keith is a bad thing! It’s more like an ‘I really need to impress this person and convince them I’m worth the effort’ sort of thing.

“I won’t fuck this up.” Lance straightens his spine, standing tall with his hands poised on his hips. “I won’t fuck this up. I won’t, I just won’t. I, Lance McClain, will not fu—”

There’s a hesitant knock at the door, just loud enough that Lance hears it from down the hall. And, oh God, Lance shrieks like a teenage boy who just discovered a spider hidden in the bottom of his boot. He mumbles reassurances under his breath and hastily smooths his hands down the front of his body for probably the millionth time that evening. There’s a slim chance his ministrations only serve to wrinkle his shirt further, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck because Keith Kogane is waiting at his door.

“C- I’m coming!” Lance calls out. He almost trips over a stray sock but catches hold of the doorframe before he can actually fall. “Gimme a second!”

Keith doesn’t answer, but Lance easily conjures up what he must look like. Standing there, likely dressed in his usual dark jeans and cotton red shirt, the worn sort that looks soft to the touch. He’s almost definitely wearing his leather jacket, a pair of scuffed combat boots or, maybe, his red Converse sneakers. Quite honestly, Lance has a soft spot for those stupid shoes.

Lance comes to a screeching halt in front of the door, nervously tugging at the hem of his flannel for several tense seconds, before cracking the door open. His eyes flutter shut, and he repeats the mantra once more. I won’t fuck this up.

But nothing could’ve prepared him for what awaits him on the other side.

Hair— that’s the first thing Lance notices. Dark strands are swept back into a low ponytail, strays framing Keith’s face, the shortest hairs curling at the nape of his neck. The style draws more attention to features Lance had never allowed himself to contemplate before. A barely visible mole near the tip of his left eyebrow, the grey-purple hue of his irises, a tiny pimple hidden alongside the bridge of his nose. Every detail, every minor flaw, leaves Lance riveted. And steals the words right out of his mouth.

“Hey,” Keith, the cute bastard, has the nerve to say. As if nothing about his appearance is weird or hazardous to Lance’s health. Lance seizes the opportunity to give Keith a onceover and, yeah, of course he’s wearing the Converses. Shit.

“Uh, oh, hi,” Lance responds, oh so eloquently.

“Hey,” Keith repeats, the barest hint of a smile taking shape on his lips. “Can I… come in?”

“Uh, yeah, duh, of course.”

Keith takes one step into the apartment and falters. “You’re still doing it.”

Oh crap. “Doing what?”

“Acting all weird and jittery. What the hell is your deal?”

Lance is going to burst. If he holds the truth in any longer, he might literally explode and spray his guts all over their nice, clean walls. I won’t fuck this up, I won’t fuck this up, I-

“There’s no party tonight!” Lance gasps, like the confession is punched out of him.

Keith stops mid-stride and turns on Lance. He stares blankly, uncomprehending, silent questions hanging between them. The motion is quick, sharp. A few extra flyways join the other stray bangs hanging around Keith’s face, tickling his cheeks. Lance distantly wonders if they actually tickle.

“...What?”

“Surprise!” Lance holds his arms out to the side. He’s genuinely shocked his heart hasn’t climbed up his throat yet. Plastering on his best confident grin, he gestures at the entirety of the apartment. “It’s just the two of us tonight!”

Keith’s lashes flutter wildly, and he spins, surveying the empty living room and kitchen. “Uh, did you— just the two of us? You and… me?”

I won’t fuck this up.

“Keithy, boy, what would you do if I told you this was a date?”