Summary:
“Remember when I tried to do that chant?”
“Lance…” Hunk trailed off, mirth fading as he finally noticed Keith’s discomfort. Unfortunately, Hunk was far more sober than Lance, whose mouth seemed unable to stop.
“Keith was all ‘voltron?’ Like come on, dude! It’s not that hard! I say ‘vol,’ you say ‘tron!’ But he’s all ‘v-voltron?’ It’s a chant, dude! You say the ‘tron!’”
Lance finally registered the hand Hunk had placed on his arm, finally registered the fierce glare on Keith’s face, finally registered that he needed to stop talking, right now, five minutes ago preferably.
But it was too late.
Keith stormed past Lance, clipping his shoulder as he went in a mockery of yesterday’s actions in the battle. Lance turned and watched him walk away, stalking over to check on Shiro. After assuring himself that their leader was alright, Keith hefted Shiro’s bulk, throwing one arm over his shoulder, and carried the black paladin out, only stopping briefly to (presumably) let Pidge, the only sober paladin left, know that he was leaving.
Lance watched all this with a growing sense of dismay. He found he was rapidly sobering up, realizing too late just how cruel he’d sounded. As Keith stalked out without a single glance back, Lance realized that he’d gone too far.
“I messed up,” he told Hunk, who patted him comfortingly on the shoulder in response.
Lance told himself that he felt bad because he had hurt a teammate. Told himself that it wasn’t a good way to repay Keith’s almost sacrifice the day before. Clearly, he was feeling guilty over his uncouth behavior towards someone who deserved, at the very least, respect.
That was all.
Nothing else.
Lance told himself that he believed that. He didn’t.
