Hunk could not believe the shit he was seeing with his own two eyes. Just — right in front of him. Blatantly.
Alright, hold on a second. Let him back it up.
See, Hunk has known Lance since they were literal infants. They go way back. And never, not once in their lives, has Lance been taller than Hunk. For a long time, actually, Lance wasn’t taller than anyone — he was a scrap of a child if you’ve ever seen one. A smurf, really. One of Santa’s elves.
He was a short ass kid, is the point Hunk is trying to make.
Even when he suddenly shot up like a particularly stubborn dandelion when he was sixteen, growing a foot and a half in three months, he still never managed to get taller than Hunk’s chin.
Something that amused Hunk to no end, but something he wouldn’t dare voice: Lance, as a former short king, took jokes about his height as sleights against his very honour and livelihood. You wanted to see Lance stand to his full height and insult people like a Victorian nobleman who’s family line had been questioned? Imply in any way, shape, or form that his height left something to be desired.
He’s very sensitive about it.
That’s why Hunk sits there, jaw dropped and eyes narrowed in indignation, as he watches Lance struggle to reach a cabinet door.
Well. ‘Struggle’.
You must understand. Lance not struggle with height related obstacles. If there is something that is too high for him to reach, he will grit his teeth and find a damn way. In fifth grade, Lance’s older brother Marco had accidentally put his skateboard away in the garage storage on the shelves by the ceiling, and instead of asking for help like a normal person, Lance scaled the side of the wall, latched himself to the rafters, and crawled upside-down to reach the skateboard. Ten feet in the goddamn air. Above a cement floor. He then proceeded to hang from the rafters by only his legs and wiggle his skateboard free, then he jumped from the goddamn fucking ceiling to the floor.
ALL HE HAD TO DO WAS ASK HIS MOTHER TO GET OUT THE THRICE DAMNED LADDER.
But no. Of course not. Under no circumstance, even the intense risk to his immediate safety, would Lance risk a comment on his height.
Lance would have no trouble climbing up on the counter and scaling his way up the cabinets to reach whatever he needs. Hunk’s seen him do it on several occasions. So have Shiro and Coran; it stresses them out to the point where it amuses even Hunk.
So why on Earth — or in space — is Lance acting like he’s helpless?
“Keith?” Lance calls, straining on his very tiptoes to reach a jar of spices. “Can you grab that jar for me? It’s a little out of my reach.”
No. No. No way. It can’t be.
Lance is forgoing his honour for a man?
No! Hunk cannot believe what he is hearing with his own ears! Seeing with his own eyes! Processing with his own brain!
Hunk once saw Lance judo flip a boy for offering to help him reach the books from the top shelf of his locker! In the hallway! Shamelessly! And the boy was cute, too, even to Hunk’s objective eyes!
But now Lance is feigning helplessness! For what? To simp?
For fuck’s sake — what happened to feminism?
Hunk is disgusted. Revolted. What is this slander, this unholy display of wanton sensuability. In the kitchen. Where people eat.
“Sure,” Keith says, and Hunk is so beyond words that he can’t even appreciate how immediately Keith abandoned what he was doing to go do whatever Lance asked of him.
(Well. Hunk appreciated it a little. But, you know. Hyperbole. Hunk’s fond of it.)
Instead of stepping to the side and letting Keith grab it like a normal person, Lance stays exactly where he is, hand still outstretched. In no way is Keith deterred by this, and simply lays a hand on Lance’s hip, leaning against him as he easily stretches up his free hand to grab the jar of spices.
“Here,” Keith says, one hand still very much on Lance’s hip.
“Thanks, man,” Lance responds, batting his eyelashes. He takes it with a smile, ducking his head and tucking his hair behind his ear.
Hunk is going to vomit for real. What is this absolutely sickening behaviour he’s seeing?
“Anytime,” Keith whispers, and he sounds so whipped that Hunk is genuinely embarrassed for him.
God. This is — this is horrible.
Look, the thing is — the thing is that Hunk does not need to be here. It’s not his turn to make dinner. It’s Keith and Lance’s turn. Usually, though, when these two knuckleheads do anything together, another member of the team watches them to record the Klance Shenanigans in the Embarrassment Folder that they all playfully shake their heads at later. Hunk was free, so he volunteered this time.
But he was expecting to see some playful flirting and occasional flushed face, and of course endless banter.
Not whatever this is.
(Is Hunk truly, actually disgusted by this behaviour? No. Of course not. He wants nothing more than for his best friends to be happy, and he knows they are and will be together.
But come on.
Come on.
Have they no self-respect? It may be the fact that he’s ace, but personally if he ever pretended to be helpless so his crush could do something for him and then spend the next several minutes staring gooily into their eyes, he’d be just a little bit humiliated.
But that’s him.)
“Is this spice for the meat or the sauce?” Keith asks, finally breaking away from their Stare-Down Of Infatuation And Probably Also Lust.
“The sauce,” Lance replies. Keith nods, walking a couple steps away from Lance and to the stovetop.
He cuts a quick glance to Lance — who has returned to rummaging around the cabinets and is not looking — and grins a little bit to himself.
Hunk narrows his eyes.
Oh, he better not —
“Oh, jeez. Lance, could you help me open this jar? The lid’s on real tight.”
That whore!
Hunk cannot believe his eyes! Again!
This is ridiculous. Preposterous!
Besides the fact that Keith’s absolutely fucking stacked, he’s just as stubborn as Lance when it comes to asking for help. Like, last week, Keith was on dinner duty with Hunk. He was struggling for real to open an airtight Altean container, and instead of asking Hunk — who, obviously, is also very jacked, and has been in the past the only non-Altean able to open said containers — he activated his blade and cut the lid clean off.
Yeah.
Really.
So why was Hunk seeing him ask Lance to open a jar? It doesn’t — no! Why! Even if Keith was truly struggling, Lance has noodle arms! He’s bulked up a little since they came to space, sure, but still! Pidge calls Lance beanstalk for a reason!
“Sure,” Lance chirps, taking the jar and easily opening it with one twist, proving Hunk’s point that Keith is full of shit.
They’re both so full of shit.
“You’re the best,” Keith says, beaming at Lance, and —
Hunk’s done. Nope.
“I am making my leave,” Hunk announces loudly, startling Dumb and Dumber, who’ve no doubt forgotten Hunk was in the room.
“Oh, did you have something else to do?” Lance asks, expression wide-eyed and would-be innocent were it not for the slightest smirk on his face, and Hunk imagines his asshole best friend behind bars for his own piece of mind.
“I’ve just remembered that I have to invent brain bleach with Pidge,” he deadpans, and neither Asshole A or Asshole B look at all apologetic.
“Good luck with that,” Keith even says, and now Hunk’s imagining him behind bars, too.
“You are going to answer for your sins in the deepest pits of hell,” Hunk informs them.
“You’re an atheist,” Lance responds, without a second of hesitation.
“You make me wish I wasn’t so I could hold a god accountable for what I just witnessed,” Hunk shoots back, equally as quickly.
Keith laughs, marking him to loser of their little stand-off.
“Sorry, Hunk,” he says sheepishly. “I forgot you were there.”
“Obviously,” Hunk drawls.
Keith grins. “We promise to tone it down next time?”
Hunk rolls his eyes. “Will you.”
“I promise nothing,” Lance adds, reaching around to squeeze Keith’s ass, literally, without an ounce of shame.
Keith grins harder.
“I don’t understand you two. You’re not even dating.”
Keith shrugs. “We’ll get there.”
“Plus,” Lance says, “the only reason we haven’t made it official yet is because we’re really enjoying making the rest of you hate us. It’s pretty funny.”
“You’re literally incorrigible.”
“Mhm.”
“I regret becoming friends with you.”
“Unfortunate for you! The exchange period has expired! You’re stuck with me!”
“I know, you insufferable jackass,” Hunk says, but he sounds fond even to his own ears.
Lance grins. Keith shakes his head, but he’s smiling too.
“Love you, Hunk!” they say at the same time.
Hunk waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever,” Hunk says, heading for the door. “I kind of love you too, I guess. Don’t burn dinner because you’re too busy making goo-goo eyes at each other.”
“We won’t!”
They do.
No one is surprised.
