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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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The knock on the door is so quiet that it can only be heard if you’re straining to hear it.

Luckily, Keith is.

He rolls out of bed immediately — he’s fully dressed, he hadn’t bothered sleeping last night — and walks stiffly to the door. He pauses for a moment, when his gloved hands touch the cool metal of the doorbell, taking a deep, long breath, steeling himself.

Shiro stands behind the door, hands clasped sombrely in front of him.

“You ready for this?” he asks quietly.

Keith nods once. “Yes.”

Shiro softens at the trepidation in Keith’s voice, reaching out a hand to rest on Keith’s shoulder. He tries for an encouraging smile. It falls flat, but Keith appreciates the encouragement nonetheless.

“We’ve got this, kiddo,” Shiro says. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Keith. “We can do this. We know the risks. We’ve been training for weeks.”

“And where has that gotten us?” Keith murmurs. He feels bad for making Shiro’s face fall again, but it’s the truth. They’ve been training for weeks, yes, but it’s only yielded them failure. Now time is up, and they’ve got nothing to show for it but tattered hope.

“We have to try.”

Keith takes another deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opens them again, he’s determined, straightening his spine in a display of what he hopes is confidence.

“Okay. Lead the way.”

As silently as they can — they can’t wake up the rest of the team, because any one of them will try to stop them — they creep down the halls, freezing every time they so much as hear a creak. They stay crouched low to the ground, ducking in and out of shadows, breathing so silent and shallow Keith is half sure they’ve stopped entirely.

There’s no sense of relief, when they finally reach their destination — they may be free from their concerned teammates stopping them, but now they must face their bigger challenge. The biggest they’ve ever faced. An impossibility, if Keith’s being pessimistic.

They exchange a wary look, fists clenched at their sides, and step into the kitchen.

“Fire extinguisher ready?” Shiro asks.

Keith pats the contraption, strapped to his utility belt (the Altean version are much more effective and compact). “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Shiro snorts. “I’m not sure how much hope I have left. You grab the ingredients, I’ll grab the equipment.”

Keith pats Shiro’s back, then heads off to do as asked. He rifles through the cupboards for sugar and flour, grabs the milk and eggs from the fridge.

Baking. Their mortal enemy. The one thing, out of everything either of them has ever attempted, that has completely eluded them; has proven well beyond their skills and capabilities.

Well, not tonight. Tonight, they are going to bake cupcakes. Successfully. They’re going to show the team that they can be trusted in the kitchen without causing a fire, thank you very much, and not only that, but that they can make something delicious.

“D’you get the red food dye?” Shiro asks.

“Shit, I forgot.”

“How did you forget the red for red velvet cupcakes?”

“I’m stressed! These have to be perfect! Let me live!”

“Alright,” Shiro says, chuckling. “Go get it, goober.”

Grumbling, Keith does, slamming the little bottle on the counter next to the mixing bowl.

“Red velvet’s basically just chocolate, anyway. I dunno why we’re making it all stupid and fancy. We can’t even do the regular stuff right!”

“Hey, you’re the one who insisted on making cupcakes on Valentine’s Day,” Shiro says. He smirks. “Although I’m sure that has less to do with proving ourselves and more to do with a certain lanky rival of yours —”

“Moving on,” Keith says loudly. He’s sure his face is as red as the stupid dye. Shiro snickers, but he doesn’t make any more comments, carefully measuring out the dry ingredients and tipping them into the bowl. He goes painfully slowly, and as much as Keith wants to tell him to get a goddamn move on, he knows better. (That was the catastrophe of Attempt #4. Somehow neither of them had considered what would happen if they dumped several cups of carefully measured flour in the mixing bowl, and had been left with both a dust explosion that had taken them four hours to clean, and what was essentially cake soup since the measured flour did not make it into the batter and the ratios were all off. They will not be making that mistake again. Sometimes Keith still finds flour in weird places when he’s bothering a cooking Hunk, and has to wipe it off when the man is distracted.)

They manage to avoid repeating any of their previous catastrophes for the entire creation of the batter. No eggs end up exploded (attempt #7 — don’t microwave eggs because the recipe said room temperature and you forgot to take them out of the fridge in time), no skulls end up cracked (attempt #11 — if you spill butter on the floor, clean it, or else someone will trip and you’ll need an emergency healing pod), and no batter ends up coming to life (attempt #2 — avoid using weirdo space ingredients you don’t recognize). After thirty minutes of careful measuring and even more careful mixing, they’re left with a beautiful, bright red cake batter, not too thin, not too thick, and it tastes delicious.

“Leave some batter for the actual cupcakes, you brat,” Shiro admonishes, wrenching the spoon out of Keith’s hand. “Also, stop double dipping. That’s disgusting.”

“I actually have a theory about that,” Keith says around a mouthful of batter. “You know how Lance and Hunk and Allura use the same recipe when they make cookies, but each of them tastes just a little different?”

“Frankly, I’m afraid to say yes.”

“I think that might be their saliva —”

“Gross!”

“—because since everything else is the same, the only thing that changes is the mouth that licks the spoon —”

“Keith, I am going to vomit if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

“—and I don’t think they’re, like, spitting in the batter or anything —”

“Ew! Nasty! Stop talking!”

“—but I do think that trace amounts make a difference! It’s the only explanation.”

“I hate you,” Shiro says. “Not joking.”

Keith places his hands under his chin and grins innocently, batting his eyelashes.

Shiro rolls his eyes. “You spend too much time with Lance.”

“I do not,” Keith says, flushing. “I spend — a regular amount of time with Lance. Same as you.”

Keith considers smacking the smug look off Shiro’s stupid face. He considers it very hard. Maybe he’ll wait until Shiro’s done pouring the batter into the tins and then pinch him.

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why you want to make Lance’s favourite cake on Valentine’s Day, and why you spent four space mall trips looking for a heart shaped cupcake tin.”

“It’s — they’re cute! The pan is cute and the cupcakes will be cute! And — I love Lance! I love all the team! Platonically! We are good pals! Pals for whom I would like to bake successfully so I can be unbanned from the stove!”

“Right. Okay. Sure.”

“Good! Glad you agree!”

“Yes, totally.” Shiro slides the now-full pan into the oven, triple-checking the timer and temperature (Keith doesn’t think he needs to explain why they know to do that now), then turns to Keith with a smirk.

“Sure, Nick Carroway. Real close friends you two are.”

Keith grinds his teeth, cutting Shiro a sharp glare. “I hope you burn yourself when the cupcakes are done.”

“I’ll be sure to get on that. Now, make the frosting. Did you want to make chocolate frosting, so it matches Lance’s eyes?”

Keith says nothing, because that is what he wanted to do, actually, and there’s no coming back from that one. He’s grouchy the whole time he makes the stupid chocolate frosting because Shiro spends the whole time laughing.

(Shiro does actually burn himself a little when he takes the cupcakes out, which brings Keith joy. Ha. Karma.)

———

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” Keith says, awed, an hour and a half later. The cupcakes are cooked to perfection, and iced to — well. There is icing on the cupcakes and it is not melted. Keith feels like he still gets a point for that one, even though some of the frosting genuinely looks like a pile of doodoo.

He throws some sprinkles on them. They now look like doodoo with pink sprinkles.

Oh, well.

“They look…rustic,” Shiro decides.

Keith laughs. “Is that what we’re going with?”

“Yep. If we look enthusiastic enough, everyone will feel too bad to make any sort of comment.”

“That works for me.”

“Excellent.” Shiro checks his watch, then claps his hands together. “Well! It’s a quarter to four, so that only took us a few hours. We still have time to go back to sleep. You ready to get out of here?”

“You go ahead,” Keith says hesitantly. He looks pointedly away, fixing his gaze on the doodoo cupcakes. “I, uh, have to do something.”

He’s expected teasing, for Shiro to make another stupid literature reference to mock him, or something along those lines. Instead Shiro pauses, turns around, and nudges Keith gently.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Keith does.

“You planning something?”

“I was,” Keith admits. “I had flowers and shit. I dunno. All that gooey stuff. I wrote him a letter.” He looks down again, kicking the ground. “But I don’t think I’m going to give them to him.”

“So much for platonic cupcakes, huh?” Shiro teases, but it’s much softer. He wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders and squeezes gently.

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know. You’re doing something vulnerable. That’s scary.”

“What if he hates it? I don’t — I just don’t think it’s worth the risk. I don’t have to tell him. I’m cool with wallowing for eternity.”

“That’s a good idea, actually.” Shiro drags him to the table, sitting him down and handing him a doodoo cupcake. “Not the wallowing. The question. What would happen if Lance didn’t return your feelings?”

“Some pep talk,” Keith grumbles, unwrapping the cupcake and shoving it in his mouth in one bite specifically to watch Shiro wince. “Hey, these are actually good.”

“Just humour me,” Shiro insists, trying to ignore Keith’s chewing. “Imagine you give Lance your letter, the flowers, the knife.”

“I didn’t say anything about a knife.”

Shiro levels him a look. “I know you, Keith. You made him a knife.” He pats Keith condescendingly on the hand. “That’s how you show affection, you feral desert child. With weaponry.”

“I’m taking back the knife I made you.”

“You can take it from my cold, dead corpse. Anyway. Talk me through it. Say you give Lance your gifts, and he doesn’t return your feelings. What would happen?”

As much as he loathes to admit it, Shiro’s thought exercises actually have helped him work through things before, so he takes a moment to actually think about his answer. What would happen if Lance read the note Keith wrote him, and he didn’t feel the same way?

“He’d be honest about it,” Keith admits. “Tell me the truth right away. And he would be gentle about it.”

Shiro hums. “And then what?”

“He’d…probably ask me what I need. Like, do I want space or whatever.”

“And once you’ve had your space?”

Keith lets the barest smile cross his lips. “He’d go on being as annoying as possible. Possibly even more frustrating.”

“Right,” Shiro says, smiling. “You two are friends, kiddo. You’re also disgustingly down bad for each other — seriously, it’s kind of hard for the rest of us to watch — but you guys have a solid relationship. You’re going to be fine. This is Lance we’re talking about, remember? The guy who cried when we passed a supernova because it was a star dying? He’s not going to hurt you.”

Keith smiles a little, remembering. Lance had made everyone have a moment of silence for the star, and for the system it had potentially sustained for thousands of years. That had been the first moment where Keith had looked at Lance and just thought: oh. I love this boy.

“Okay,” Keith says quietly. “I’m — I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Shiro says. He smiles proudly. “I can’t wait to hear about it, kiddo. You’re going to do great.”

———

Knocking is the hardest part, right? It has to be. There’s no other reason why he’s been standing here for ten minutes, flowers clenched in his hand so tightly he’s probably ruined the stems, staring unblinkingly at the white door of Lance’s room.

Y’know, his room is two steps away. He could just give up. Giving up is always an option.

He screws up his eyes, forcing himself to untense a little. It’s fine. This is fine.

This is Lance.

Before he can talk himself out of it again, he knocks on the door. His signature knock — one single knock, because he’s his own target audience and that’s hilarious.

It takes him three milliseconds after he knocks to realise hey, dumbass, it’s four in the morning. Lance is not fucking awake. Obviously you’re not going to get an answer.

Only just as he’s about to step away, the door is inched open, revealing Lance sitting by the floor of his bed, leaning over so far he’s practically bent in half in an attempt to open the door without getting up.

“Hey, Keith,” he says, without looking away from his game. “I’m almost done this level, you wanna join? I could use your help because Pidge said the next level is hard as —”

Keith knows the exact second Lance finally looks over and takes Keith in completely, not because they make eye contact, but because Lance freezes, controller falling from his hand and cracking on the tile floor.

Lance doesn’t even glance down at it.

“…Keith?”

“Your face is shaped really well,” Keith blurts, and immediately wants to throw himself out the airlock. “Wait. No. That’s not what I —”

Lance laughs quietly, ducking his head. The tips of his ears are red.

“C’mere,” he says, patting the spot next to him. “Take a breather. Tell me what’s going on.”

Keith does, sitting down carefully so he doesn’t drop anything. He thinks back to Shiro’s pep talk.

This is Lance.

“These are for you,” Keith says, when he’s finally got ahold of himself. He hands Lance the flowers — and, yes, a dagger he made — then sets the cupcake on the floor between them. “For — Valentine’s Day.”

Nothing could prepare Keith for the grin that lights up Lance’s face. It’s the brightest thing he’s ever seen. It’s blinding.

“Really?”

“Yeah, Lance,” Keith says softly.

Lance covers his face with one hand, the other still holding his flowers. The knife rests in his lap. His cheeks are ruddy, and he’s very giggly.

“I love them,” he says. “Thank you.”

Keith clears his dry throat, but it doesn’t do much. “There’s a note. In the flowers. For you.”

Carefully, Lance nudges aside the buds to find the envelope, unfolding the note. Keith watches as his dark eyes flit over the page, and the smile on his face only grows.

For the first time tonight, Keith lets himself get excited. He lets himself believe that this is going to go well. He lets himself believe that Lance may very well like him just as much as he likes Lance.

People who don’t have crushes don’t react like that to romantic gifts, after all.

After a minute of reading — Keith’s note really isn’t all that long, because after four or five tries of trying to fit everything he was feeling into one letter, he gave up and just got to the point — Lance carefully sets down the note and the flowers, shifts so he’s facing Keith, and leans forward.

“Keith,” he says, very seriously. “I am going to kiss you know. Thoughts?”

Keith opens his mouth, then closes it again. Lance smiles wider.

“I’d be down with that, yeah.”

“Great,” Lance says, and there’s not even a second of pause before he’s leaning in and pressing their lips together.

At first it isn’t much of a kiss — both of them are smiling too hard to kiss properly — but after a bit both of them melt into each other, hands reaching out to touch, hesitant but determined.

“I’m so glad I spied on you and Shiro,” Lance mumbles. “Y’all should be suspicious more often. Especially if it means we get to kiss after.”

Keith huffs in amusement. Of course the various creaks he and Shiro heard when sneaking to the kitchen weren’t just the castle settling. Hunk may be the nosiest person on the team, but Lance is probably the sneakiest.

“Did you really watch the whole time?”

“No. I left when Shiro asked you about the fire extinguisher. I figured you were well-equipped at that point and I could leave without waking up to a fire.”

“Oh. So you didn’t hear me talking about you?”

Lance grins, resting one of his hands on the flowers. “No. This was — I didn’t see this coming.” His smile turns sly. “You should tell me all the mushy shit you said, though.”

Keith snorts, reaching over to grab Lance’s hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“Not on your life.”

———

“I can’t believe you and Shiro actually managed to make decent cupcakes, by the way. Holy shit.”

“The frosting kind of looks like doodoo.”

“Well, yeah, but still! I’m gonna go to the kitchen and eat the rest of them.”

“Wait, Lance, no—”

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