I’m Talking To A Memory (Calling -- Can You Hear Me?)
Voltron, Gen Relationships, Fluff and Humour, 5.5k Words
Summary: Sometimes, Team Voltron needs to look back on their happiest moments.
“This is an easier module, paladins,” Allura explained. “We had a rough mission, yesterday. I want today’s training to be soft. So: with the headbands, I want everyone to project a kind memory from their childhood. Something sweet, maybe even funny. Something to make everyone smile.”
Everyone closed their eyes, concentrating. After a few moments, Shiro breathed out a silent chuckle as a memory and played out.
A young Shiro was walking down the street, maybe fourteen. Holding his hand was a tiny child, no more than two, with a head of wild black hair, their other hand gripping tightly to the arm of a purple hippo.
Oh, wow. Keith was a cute kid.
As they walked, they passed the unmistakable golden arches of a McDonald’s, prompting the baby Keith to gasp.
“Taka! Donow! Donow! I want donow!” Teenage Shiro cooed at him.
“Aw, buddy, I’m sorry! All the McDonald’s burned down. There’s nothing inside that building except for ash,” he said pityingly.
Baby Keith pouted. “Aw,” he said dejectedly. “I want icream.” Teenage Shiro laughed, scooping the toddler up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“I’m just kidding, buddy,” he said. “Let’s go get you a chocolate sundae.” Baby Keith lifted his hands in the air, yelling happily and babbling a little. “Choccat! Choccat! Hippo, choccat!”
Shiro grinned, and walked the two of them over to fulfill his promise.
“That was adorable. Oh my god.” Hunk turned to Keith, who was desperately trying not to smile.
“Shut up, that was embarrassing,” he says, trying to scowl and failing miserably.
Shiro grinned. “He was the cutest wittle baby, wasn’t he? With his big cheeks and smile and the sweetest —” Keith reached over to slap his hand over Shiro’s mouth, ears reddening.
“Thanks for your input. You can shut up now.”
Everyone was giggling at this point, joy lighting up the room. Lance nudged Allura.
“Good idea,” he whispered.
“Thanks,” she whispered back.
Shiro let the teasing go on for a moment longer, then gently clasped his hands together.
“All right, everyone,” he said, “Let’s get back to it. Who’s next?”
Hunk raised his hand. “I think I have something, but it might take me a minute to bring it up.” Shiro nodded encouragingly.
Everyone shut their eyes again, quieting down, letting Hunk concentrate. After a few moments, a picture was projected in front of him, and the memory began to start.
Hunk is young in this memory. Maybe five? His nervousness is palpable, lips bitten, hands tangled nervously together. He is sitting criss-cross-applesauce on a carpet, surrounded by other young children. A middle-aged woman with wildly curly red hair is at the front of what looks to be a classroom.
“Welcome, everyone, to your first day of kindergarten!” she exclaims.
Ah. That explained it. First day of school jitters — for the very first time, too.
“Alright, so we’re going to go around the circle, introducing ourselves! Tell us your name and your favourite animal! I’ll go first. My name is Mrs. Mullard, and my favourite animal is the earthworm, because they’re so important to the Earth!”
And around the circle they go. There’s a spike of anxiety when it’s Little Hunk’s turn to go, but he takes a deep breath and manages to introduce himself shyly. “Hi. I’m Kealoha, and my favourite animal is the seagull, because they are silly and make me laugh.” Mrs. Mullard smiles kindly.
“Welcome to junior kindergarten, Kealoha! We’re so happy to have you!” Hunk smiles back, and the introductions move on to the boy next to him, who is so excited he is nearly vibrating.
“Hola! I’m Mijo, y my animal favorito is el tiburón because son rapidos y strong y so so old!! Son como dinosaurs!! Y they have grandes teeth, y did you know —” The boy is speaking in a mix of Spanish and English so quickly it’s nearly impossible to keep up, and Mrs. Mullard frowns once she processes what’s being said.
“Hold on a sec, there, kiddo,” she interrupts. “I don’t have a ‘Mijo’ in my class. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” The boy’s energy seems to sputter out and die. He shrinks in on himself.
“I dunno,” he says quietly. “Mamá doesn’t speak English muy bien. Tal vez.” The boy has begun to tear up, and he looks scared. Little Hunk reaches over, gently grabbing the boy’s hand.
“My dad doesn’t speak English so well either! It’s hard. Did you just move here?” The boy nods, some of his enthusiasm returning.
“Si! We got here el mes pasado!”
“There might have been a mix-up, then,” Mrs. Mullard says kindly. “That’s alright! We’ll keep going, and you can stay with us for now. We’ll figure out where you’re supposed to be after, okay Mijo?” Mijo grins. He’s still holding Little Hunk’s hand.
The introductions continue until they circle back to Mrs. Mullard. Her brows furrow, and she does a quick headcount.
“Huh. All of you are here, but I am supposed to have a Leandro in this class. Has anyone heard from him?”
No one says anything, but Mijo leans towards Little Hunk. “My mamá sometimes calls me Leandro, pero solo si I did something bad y she finds out,” he whispers. “I think que es una swear word.”
“Maybe a Spanish swear word,” Little Hunk whispers back, “because my big sister swears all the time and I’ve never heard her say that before.” Mijo nods.
“That makes sense! Oye, we are amigos now, si? Wanna play later?” Little Hunk grins, and as soon as Mrs. Mullard excused them they two are off like rockets to the Lego station. They build little spaceships, spending some time playing space explorers, when they hear someone start to laugh loudly. They looked over to see Mrs. Mullard on the phone, wiping tears from her eyes.
“It’s not a problem, Mrs. Esposita,” she says. “I’ll talk to him a little now, and let you talk to him again later.” She hangs up the phone, then turns to look directly at Mijo and Little Hunk. She smiles, her eyes still filled with laughter.
“Le — Mijo, dear, will you come here for a moment?” Mijo hesitates, looking over at Little Hunk.
“Can I bring my friend?” he asks.
Holding hands, the two boys walk over to Mrs. Mullard’s desk.
“Mijo,” she says warmly, “I just got off the phone with your mother. Did you know your real name is Leandro?”
Mijo — or Leandro, rather — furrows his brow.
“No,” he argued, “Mamá solo calls me Leandro quando I get in trouble, so esa una swear word.” Mrs. Mullard laughs loudly again. Little Hunk smiles. She has a very bright laugh.
“I promise it’s not a swear word, buddy. ‘Mijo’ is the Spanish word for ‘my son’. I bet your family calls you that because they love you so much. But at school, we should call you by your name! I promise Leandro isn’t a swear.”
“Plus,” Little Hunk adds, “I think Leandro is an awesome name!”
Little Hunk’s new friend thinks for a moment, then nods slowly.
“Aprobado, but if I don’t like it can everybody call me Mijo again?”
Mrs. Mullard patted him on the head. “Absolutely. But something tells me Leandro is going to suit you just fine.”
“Hey, Lance, tell us what you think of sharks,” Pidge teases the second the memory is over.
“Hey, sharks are still the coolest animal ever!” he defends playfully. “Baby me was right!”
“You didn’t even know your own name,” Keith teases, “what do you know about the best animal?”
Hunk grins. “In Lance’s defense, even now his mom calls him mijo more than anything. He’s the baby of the family, you know how it is.”
Everyone continues to rib on Lance for a bit, but no one could deny that the whole situation was beyond adorable. And it made a lot of sense seeing how quickly Lance and Hunk had clicked, even as children. So much of their relationship was explained when you realised they grew up together.
“I think I have a memory,” Allura says after a few moments. Hunk grins, shooting her a thumbs up.
“Go for it!” he encourages. She closes her eyes, smiles, and projects her thoughts.
A preteen Allura sits sullenly on the observation deck of the castle, dressed head to toe in light pink, a hood over her head.
The middle school emo phase, it seemed, was universal.
After a few minutes of solitary sulking, a redhead merrily makes his way into the room, plopping down next to the young princess. She scowls, turning away.
“Go away, Coran,” she says, “I don’t want to hear your reasons why cutting my hair is un-princess-like. Everyone else has already supplied plenty of them.”
Coran hums, saying nothing for a moment. He just sits with her.
“I’m not here to lecture you further, Princess,” he assures. “I am here, simply, to provide you with a photo of your mother when she was your age.” He taps on his holopad a few times. “Ah, here it is,” he says, turning to show her. Allura looks away.
“No. I don’t want to see a picture of Mother looking prim and perfect so I can see just how little I am acting like her, and how I should listen to everyone else and just keep my hair as is —"
“Allura,” Coran interrupts gently, “please look at the picture.” Huffing, she does — freezing in shock. If Coran hadn’t told her beforehand, Allura may not even recognize Queen Melenor at all. The woman — girl, rather — in the photo was scowling, seeming angry to be in the photograph. She wears pink makeup around her eyes, her face pierced in many places. What Allura could see of her clothes showed a similar outfit to what Allura herself is wearing. And lastly, perhaps even most importantly, is the young Queen’s hair — there is hardly any at all! One side is shaved bald, with juniberry tattoos decorating her skin, and one half is braided in tight cornrows. Calling her beautiful wouldn’t be the right word, although she most certainly was: Queen Melenor looked fierce. She looked angry, almost.
“My mother — she looked like that? At my age?” asks Allura quietly.
“She did!” Coran says cheerfully. “Your mother was much like you, Princess. Only she didn’t ask to cut her hair, or pierce her face — she simply did it. She went through a phase of self-discovery just like you are doing now, although many prim and proper nobles love to forget it. Was your father not so busy — and this is not an excuse, mind you — he would be reminding them of your mother’s cheeky rebellion at every turn. You have forgotten, my dear, that you outrank each of the officials who are currently attempting to tell you how to live your life.”
Allura’s eyes were wet. Trust Coran to be the one who could see the root of her issues, the centre of her problems.
“Why, Coran,” she says thickly, “are you telling me I should ignore all the adults in my life?”
Coran chuckles, and pats her on the hand. “I would do no such thing, child,” he says. “I simply wish for you to remember that while you are young, you are not a mindless drone. You have your right to autonomy — do not let those who seek to be the most powerful in a room convince you to forget that. Dress how you like. The only mark of a royal is their ability to rule — not their hair or their clothes.”
Allura sniffles, wiping her tears, then sags forward into the man’s arms.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Coran presses a kiss to her hair.
Coran is openly weeping. Allura smiles softly, going over to hug the man. “I wasn’t sure I got through to you,” he wails. “You were having such a rough time, then, so I wasn’t sure you were retaining anything. I was so worried.” Allura tightens her arms around him.
“Of course you got through to me. You were one of the only people I listened to, back then. That talk was one of the most important moments in my life.”
There’s not a dry eye in the room. Everyone is moved by the love between the two Alteans, the care they show for each other. They sit comfortably in silence, allowing their emotions to be felt to the fullest.
Coran pats Allura twice on the back, pulling away and drying his eyes. He smiles. “It was lovely to reminisce with you, dear,” he says. He turns to address the rest of the team. “Who is next?”
Pidge raised her hand. “I have a memory in mind, but it’s not nearly as heartwarming as yours so I kind of feel bad about it,” she admits.
Allura shakes her head. “Nonsense!” she proclaims. “This training session is meant to bring joy and ease to us all. There is no memory that is more or less valuable than the others. We are equals, here. Please, Pidge; show us what memory you hold dear.”
“Yeah!” Lance agrees. “I wanna see some of your memories with your family. From what you’ve told me, they sound great!”
Pidge grins. “Alright. I think you’ll like this one.”
And with that, her memory starts.
The first thing visible is a small white dog. Next is a young girl with poofy brown hair, petting the dog and absolutely sobbing.
“Bae-Bae is gonna die,” she wails. Her mother hugs her close, running her fingers through the young girl’s hair.
“No, Katie-kat. Bae-Bae is just going to the vet to get neutered. He’s gonna be fine, baby, I promise.”
Little Pidge sniffles, calming down. “What’s neuter?” she asks after a moment. Colleen Holt stiffens, trading a panicked look with her husband.
“Uh, neutering is a special procedure boy dogs get so that they don’t grow up to be mean, and have an easier time behaving,” Sam explains.
Little Pidge sniffles again, but the only evidence of her sadness left are tear tracks — her face is overcome with a look of insistent curiosity. “So neutering makes you nice and good?” she confirms. Colleen makes a face, but seems to decide that this explanation is suitable for her child, rather than going in depth about the sexual hormones of canines. She has an appointment to get to, after all.
“Yes,” she says hesitantly. “That’s right. Okay, sweetie, Daddy and I are going to go take Bae-Bae to the vet now, okay? Be good for your brother. Don’t answer the door, and call us if you need anything. Especially call us if you see Matt do anything he’s not allowed to do.”
A teenager with a striking resemblance to the young girl — who can only be a young Matt — rolls his eyes. “It’s gonna be fine, Mom,” he complains. “I can watch her safely for a few hours.”
The Holts come back from their vet appointment to screaming.
“Why are you such a whiney baby?” screams their oldest. Instead of the tears they’re expecting, Little Pidge stands up, puts her hands on her hips, and yells back just as loudly.
“I’m gonna get Mommy and Daddy to take you to the vet! You need to be neutered!” she yells right back.
Sam chokes, and Colleen’s jaw drops. Matt splutters.
“You — you can’t —” he catches sight of his parents in the doorway, looking as shocked as he is. “Mom!” he yells, “tell her she can’t say that!” His face is redder than Colleen has ever seen it. Beside her, her husband collapses into laughter, fully bent over at the waist. Matt’s blush deepens. “Dad!”
She swallows her own giggles, clearly the only one mature enough to handle the situation. “Katie,” she says, voice shaking, “you can’t tell your brother he needs to be neu—neutered.” She does everything she can to look stern, but she’s about to lose it and it shows.
Little Pidge looks bewildered, and a little angry at being chastised when she’s so sure she’s in the right.
“But you said neutering makes boys less mean! And behave better! And so Matt needs to be neutered more than anyone!” Sam gasps for air, pounding his fist on the ground. Colleen looks at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and doing absolutely everything in her power to keep herself in check. As funny as this is, Matt looks ready to actually die from embarrassment.
“Katie, baby, neutering is something that is done only on dogs. Like taking them on walks, or using leases. It’s not something that’s appropriate to say about your brother.”
Little Pidge scowls, crossing her arms. “I think Matt should get a leash, too, since he’s always getting into trouble,” she grumbles.
That is Colleen’s last straw. She starts to laugh as hard as her husband. Matt is sputtering, and Little Pidge is smirking at him, looking absolutely satisfied.
Team Voltron is laughing just as hard as poor Sam Holt. Shiro especially — he keeps trying to control himself, seeing Matt’s indignant face in his mind, and losing it all over again. Pidge is smirking to herself, just as satisfied as she was all those years ago.
“You — you told your parents to neuter him —” Hunk wheezes. Pidge grins at him.
“It was very difficult to get me to stop doing that. Once, I said it in front of a girl he liked. I think his soul died a little.” Shiro loses it again, laughing so hard he’s soundless. Keith keeps getting set off by seeing his brother lose it so thoroughly. Lance and Allura are leaning against each other, desperately trying to catch their breath. Coran is wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
“God, Pidgey,” Lance says after everyone has calmed down a bit, “I bet you were the brattiest kid. You definitely pulled shit like that on your poor brother all the time.”
Pidge shrugs, unapologetic. “There’s nothing more fun than humiliating Matt. Except, maybe, humiliating you,” she teases, poking Lance in the ribs with her foot. Lance squeals, twisting away from her.
Hunk grabs Pidge by the back of her hoodie, dragging her back before her and Lance devolve into a wrestling match. There are still more memories to watch, after all.
“Alright, alright. Cool it. We still have more people to go through. Keith? You wanna give it a shot?” Hunk asks. Keith smiles at him.
“Yeah, I have something,” he replies. The memory starts before he even finishes speaking.
A young Keith, no more than six or seven years old, is scowling heavily in what is presumably his room. “Stupid Shiro,” he mutters. “Says he’s gonna take me to look for Mothman, but then says he has a ‘date night’.” The words are said mockingly, with more sass than one might expect from a second grader. Suddenly, Little Keith sits up, and a shockingly evil grin lights up his face. He runs out of his bedroom, to the kitchen, and carefully opens a drawer to reveal all sorts of utensils and cooking tools. He pushes things around until he finds what he’s looking for, letting at a soft “Aha!” when his hands close around the scissors. He closes the drawer, and walks carefully back out of the kitchen, keeping an eye on where he steps so he doesn’t trip and hurt himself. He walks into a room, quickly revealed to be the bathroom, and steps on a little stool in front of the sink. Even with the step, he has to get on his tiptoes and stretch out as far as he can go to open the cabinet behind the mirror. The cabinet is home to many medical supplies, on shelves too high for little hands to reach, and toothpaste and toothbrushes on the lowest shelf. Instead of reaching for the red Ninja Turtle toothbrush that is obviously his, Little Keith grabs the boring purple one. He hops off the stool, grinning. He carefully takes a hold of the scissors, and then cuts off all the bristles of the brush, then putting it back where he found it. He carefully makes his way back to the kitchen, returning the scissors, before rushing back to his room giggling all the way.
The memory shifts to much later in the day, when Little Keith is tucked into bed. He’s sleepy, clearly fighting his exhaustion, but refuses to pass out. A few moments later, his door opens, and a young Shiro pokes his head in. Little Keith quickly closes his eyes, fighting to keep his face relaxed and neutral. Young Shiro isn’t paying much attention, clearly still distracted from his date, and smiles softly before backing out of the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as Little Keith hears the door shut, he jumps out of bed, cracking the door back open so he can see. Young Shiro disappears into his own room for a moment, muffled noises making it evident he’s changing into pajamas, before he comes back out and turns the corner into the bathroom. He opens the mirror cabinet, reaching in — then he freezes, making a face. He pulls out his toothbrush and stares at it for a moment, bewildered.
Little Keith’s eyes widen, and he dissolves into giggles. Young Shiro’s eyes snap to the sound, making Little Keith laugh harder.
“You swore !” he gasps. Young Shiro’s eyes narrow playfully, and he sets down the ruined toothbrush and stalks towards the giggling child.
“Keith,” he says, jokingly menacing. “Did you destroy my toothbrush?”
Little Keith sticks out his tongue. “You ditched me to go kiss a boy! You deserved it!”
“I said I’d take you out tomorrow instead, you little booger!”
“I can’t believe you chopped up my toothbrush!”
Young Shiro pounces, tickling the boy, giving him a noogie next. Little Keith writhes around, laughing hysterically, attempting to buck Young Shiro off to no avail.
“Get off me, you big lug!”
“Say sorry for wrecking my toothbrush!”
“No! You’re a stinky butthead!”
“Oh, I’ll show you a butthead!”
The boys continue to wrestle playfully, until eventually Young Shiro pins Little Keith down, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Dork,” he says fondly, backing off.
Little Keith sits up, huffing, and wipes the kiss off.
“Ew! You got kissing cooties and you kissed me too! Now I’m gonna get cooties!” he complains. Young Shiro laughs, ruffling the boy’s hair and pulling him up.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he assures. “Now back to bed, you little brat. It’s late, and you have school tomorrow. And we have to go and look for Mothman, so it’s gonna be a long day.” Little Keith grins, giving his brother a quick hug, then rushes back into his bed. Young Shiro tucks him in, giving him another quick head smooch.
“Love you too, cootie-man.”
Shiro is the first to speak. “I still can’t believe you cut up my toothbrush then waited four hours for me to get home to watch me get mad about it,” he says, shaking his head.
Keith smirks at him. “I still think it’s funny.”
“I have to agree with Keith this time,” Lance pipes up. “Cutting the brush off the toothbrush is fucking hilarious. Now all you have — now all you have’s a fuckin’ stick —” he dissolves into giggles.
“My favourite part was the footie pajamas,” Allura comments. Keith’s ears go a little red, but he stands his ground.
“I was seven. I was allowed footie pajamas,” he defends.
“Footie pajamas are loads of fun!” Coran agrees. “Why, when Queen Melenor and I were children, we wore them constantly! Once, we even had a sliding race around the castle, it was so much fun.”
“Why don’t you show us, Coran?” Hunk asks excitedly.
“Oh, excellent idea, Number Two!” says Coran. He fiddles with his headset, assuring it’s set up properly, and then projects the memory.
A young girl —who looks shockingly like Princess Allura, except for her deep brown eyes — is wearing a fuzzy pink onesie, jumping up and down in excitement. “Coran, Coran, are you ready?” she calls. Coran — also a child, although nearly unrecognisable without his signature moustache — is dressed similarly, his onesie a bright red that clashes brilliantly with his hair.
“Yes! You don’t see any grown-ups?” he asks. Melenor shakes her head vigorously.
“I overheard Mother earlier this morning — the Council has a long meeting, and they won’t be finished until much later. The hall should be empty for the next few varga!”
Young Coran grins at her, and the two join hands, bounding over to where a crooked line has been drawn at the start of a long hallway.
“Okay, remember the rules,” Young Coran starts, “we count down together, then we run until we hit the line and slide, and whoever gets the farthest wins! Loser has to jump in the pool with their clothes on.” Melenor grins.
“I remember!” she exclaims. “Let’s go!” The two children back up a little, giving themselves space, and then they begin a countdown: “3… 2… 1! Go!” They yell together, and shoot off. When their feet cross the line, they throw themselves onto their bellies, whooping and hollering as they slide down the hallway with impossible speed. Only, the hallway isn’t as long as they thought, and their eyes widen at the same time as they realise they are about to come to a very abrupt stop. With a loud crashing noise, the two Alteans slam into the wall at full speed.
“Ugh,” agrees Young Coran. The two roughly get to their feet, shaking out their limbs.
“So,” Melenor says after a moment, “who lost?” Young Coran taps his chin, pausing thoughtfully.
“Well,” he starts, “I think we hit the wall at the same time, which means we both lose.”
Melenor tilts her head. “So…” she grins. “We both go swim in our clothes?” Young Coran grins right back.
“I think so!” And the two of them race off again, off to get in more of the kind of trouble only unsupervised children are capable of making.
“‘Unsupervised’ has to be my favourite genre of child,” Pidge comments. Lance snorts.
“Yeah, they always have the best ideas,” he says with a grin. “Especially you, Coran. I bet you and Queen Melenor were little terrors.”
Coran grins, moustache twitching. “That we were, my boy! Why, I think Melenor may have spent more time on the time-out chair than her throne. She often took the fall for our little misadventures. Selfless, she was.”
Allura smiles softly. “That’s how I remember her, too,” she agrees. She shakes her head, then turns to Lance.
“It’s your turn, Lance,” she says. “What is that human saying? About the last to go?”
“‘Last, but not least’,” Shiro supplies. Allura claps her hands together.
“Yes! That’s it. You’ve had some time to think — do you have a memory picked out?”
Lance nods. “Yeah, I’ve got one. Everyone ready?”
The first thing visible is a closeup of a red curtain. As a tween Lance — maybe 12? — opens the curtain, a large crowd of people is revealed, although Tween Lance’s careful mask of indifference doesn’t shift. He closes his eyes, sighing.
“Dunno what I’m looking for,” he mutters, closing the curtain and walking backstage. A woman waits for him, smiling sadly when she sees him.
“I’m sorry they couldn’t make it,” she offers. “It sucks. I know how hard you worked. It’s unlike them to miss any of your recitals, though — they’ve been cheering at the front row for you for as long as I can remember. How come no one’s watching you this time? Especially for your first solo?”
Tween Lance shrugs, looking at the ground.
“I told them the recital got cancelled because the avenue was flooded,” Tween Lance confesses. The woman looks shocked.
“What? Why?” she demands. Lance toes the ground, although it can’t be easy to do with pointe shoes.
“Veronica is graduating today,” he mutters. “I didn’t know our things would be on the same day until Carrie told us the recital date last month. I know they’d feel guilty about missing one of our things, especially Mamá. If they think there’s no recital to miss, then there’s no guilt. I just pretended to be sick.” He shoots the woman a small grin. “No one loses, this way.” The woman sighs, pulling Tween Lance into a tight hug.
“That was very selfless of you, but I’m sorry anyway,” she says. “We’ve worked on this solo for weeks, and you’re genuinely the best student I’ve ever had. I was so excited for you to show your family.”
“And our intercession is over! Please, everyone, take your seats!” comes a voice over a speaker. The woman lets go of Tween Lance, patting him on the cheek, and turns him around, pushing him towards the stage.
“Your family may not have been able to make it, but I’ll be watching,” she whispers, “and I know you’ll be great. Break a leg!”
Tween Lance grins at her, then prances over to take his position as the curtains open. He stands in first position, looking into the crowd as he waits for the music to begin, and — is that Hunk?
In the first row, waving enthusiastically, is a Tween Hunk. Tween Lance’s jaw drops, before a huge smile lights up his whole face. The music starts, and Tween Lance feels joy erupt in his chest: someone has come for him! He didn’t tell anyone about the recital, but Hunk knew anyway, and he came to watch.
Tween Lance dances beautifully, with more emotion than he’s ever managed to do before. His elation is spread to the audience, who are enraptured by his skill, but none of them matter except Tween Hunk, who is there.
The last note of the song plays, and Tween Lance holds his final position. He bows, and the audience bursts into thunderous applause, but Tween Hunk is louder than them all.
“That’s my best friend!” he screams. “He’s so cool!” The curtains close, but Tween Lance can still hear the whoops and hollers of his number one supporter. He rushes off the stage, grinning and waving at his teacher, who smiles knowingly. He rushes down the stairs, turning a corner, and there he is! Tween Hunk is waiting for him in the hall. He crushes Tween Lance in a hug, squeezing so hard he’s lifted from the ground.
“That was the best you’ve ever danced!” he exclaims. “I can’t believe I almost missed it!” Tween Hunk sets Tween Lance back on the ground, but still holds him close.
“How did you know, anyway?” Tween Lance asks. Tween Hunk gives him a look.
“I know when you’re faking sick, dude,” he says. “I figured something was up, so I messaged your dance teacher to see if you were maybe at the studio to cheer yourself up. Imagine my surprise when I find out your recital is not only not cancelled, but it’s today, and if I don’t leave immediately I’m gonna miss your dance!” Tween Lance looks sheepishly at the floor.
“I didn’t want everyone to feel bad about missing it to see Veronica,” he explains. Tween Hunk rolls his eyes, chuffing Tween Lance on the shoulder.
“I’m your best friend, dude,” he says. “You’re supposed to tell me everything, especially your self-sacrificing plans. Besides — I love you the most, dude. I wouldn’t miss your performances for the world.”
“I guess you’ve always been like this, huh?” Pidge asks Lance. “Heaven forbid you put your needs first.”
Hunk huffs out an agreeing laugh.
“You’ve no idea,” he says.
Lance shrugs. “I still stand by what I did. No one in my family is guilty about it, and now I know to tell Hunk when I do things! Win-win.”
Keith clears his throat, elbowing Lance in the side. “You, uh, can tell us now, too,” he says shyly. “We don’t want to miss out on you either.”
Lance smiles at him. “Thanks, man,” he says softly. “I appreciate it.”
A comfortable silence washes over the room, everyone reflecting on what they’ve seen. As much as Allura had called this a ‘soft’ training session when they began, they each feel like they’ve learnt more about each other in the past couple of hours than they have throughout their whole time in space. There’s something about sharing joy — it brings people closer than any tragedy could hope to do.
“Alright,” Shiro says after a while. “It’s late. It’s been a long day. I think we should all turn in, get some sleep before we face tomorrow.”
There are murmurs of agreement, and everyone exchanges goodbyes and well wishes before splitting off to their own rooms.
They have memories to dream of, after all.
donow mijo toothbrush neuter
jbbartram-illu
stormborns
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
janainaart
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
