@incorrectplance I tried.
Insp: “ Don’t give me one-sided unrequited love, give me two-sided unwanted love. Both sides are deeply in love with the other and both sides are like ‘fuck, really?? them??? really?’ “
It is approximately three hours until the Coalition Assembly and Lance is having a crisis.
The crisis is of the most innocuous origins. He is in the kitchen of the Castle of Lions 2.0, languidly reclined on the counter with a milkshake in hand as his two best friends fanboy over matters that go completely over his head. Pidge says something that makes her and Hunk laugh. A pun, probably, off of an Altean word that sounds suspiciously like “time dilation.” Honestly, he has no idea.
He laughs anyway, and that’s when he realizes he is utterly screwed.
His brain is hung up somewhere between “I want to watch her laugh forever” and “Just how much would she kill me if I kissed her?”
Hunk and Pidge are calling for him together now. Lance shakes his head quickly—shit, he had been staring at her. “Sorry. Spacing out. Think I need a nap.”
He feels their eyes as he waves away their concerned questions and deposits his milkshake glass in the dishwasher (there’s a fancy Altean name for it, but, it’s still just a dishwasher). Hunk calls for him to holler in the event of a disaster, the kitchen door closes behind him, and as he walks to the bunks, Lance finally lets himself wonder when the fuck he fell for Pidge.
She has never even consciously existed in the realm of possibility for him. Not because she is unattractive. She is, objectively, amazing. She is one of few people he can do shit like firing a Robeast coffin into space with without judgment hanging over his head. Hell, she encourages and often even starts the hijinks. Her confidence is addictive, her bravery is contagious, and her brilliance. Her brilliance.
He stops dead in the paladin lounge to scoff. “She’s not out of my league. That’s—She’s not.”
Maybe she is. But so are most girls and that has never stopped him from trying. No, that’s not why he’s never considered her before. Pidge is just not his type. Pretty, yes. He thought she was cold when he first met her, but now, everything about her is warm. The brown eyes, the fluffy hair, the freckles, the loose shirts. So yeah, she’s pretty, but she’s not Lance’s kind of pretty. Lance likes girls with long legs (or fish tails) and curves and melodic voices.
There is an exception to every rule, but Lance has already had his. He still remembers being seven and telling Marco that he was going to marry his first crush, Marin, the girl with the muddy jorts and faded tee shirt. “Come on, Lance, you have better taste than that. What about Nancy?” Nancy with the cultivated curls and flavored lipstick that Lance tasted in his first kiss a few weeks later (and Marco clapped him on the back and offered him a fist bump).
With a groan, he flops backwards on the couch and throws an arm over his eyes. Above all, he and Pidge are bros, and you don’t develop a crush on your bros. Especially when that bro is Pidge, someone who has gotten annoyed by Lance’s crushes before, someone who would demolish him if she knew he was starting to think of her in a something-other-than-friends way, someone who has never shown romantic inclination and is probably allergic to feelings.
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