Archive of Our Own

“Guys.”

Shiro is the first to look up from his textbook, and he pauses with his finger over a spot on the page, marking his place.

Hunk is next, finishing the sentence he’s writing before laying his pencil down.

Pidge and Keith don’t budge.

“Guys,” Lance tries again. Keith looks up from his own textbook at the urgency in Lance’s voice, and Pidge’s fingers cease their rapid tapping at the laptop keyboard in front of her.

“What, Lance?” Keith asks, a spark of annoyance becoming evident in his words. Keith gets cranky when he’s trying to concentrate. Lance ignores it, like he usually does, and holds out his phone for the group to see. A colorful advertisement is displayed on the screen.

“Guys,” he says again, because it’s important. “The carnival’s in town.”

He doesn’t get quite the reaction he was hoping for.

“Lance, no,” Keith says, and that’s it. He goes back to his reading without further comment. Whatever. Lance expected as much from his stressed, grouchy ass.

“Lance, I have my history final in three days. Three days!” Pidge exclaims, and returns to her typing. Because even though she was able to hack her school’s database at age nine, committing a few important dates and historical events to memory is a struggle for her. Lance still doesn’t understand it.

He looks at Hunk as a last resort.

“Well, don’t look at me! You know I don’t do rides. I barely like the Ferris wheel.”

Lance groans loudly with no regard to the librarian a few shelves over. She shushes him harshly from behind wiry, stereotypical spectacles, and he has the decency to look sheepish at the scolding before burying his face in his hands.

“Guys,” he whines. He slams his English textbook closed for dramatic effect. “We’ve been meeting in this damn library for four days now. Four days.”

Keith looks up at him, unimpressed. “And?”

“And,” Lance begins, “I’m sick of it. We need a break. We need to do something fun for once.”

Keith looks back down at his book. “Not with finals coming up. Sorry man.”

Lance looks at Shiro then, pleading. If he can get Shiro to agree, then everyone else will follow suit.

Shiro regards him with a thoughtful gaze, taking off the reading glasses that are perched on his nose. Lance thinks he looks like an old man when he wears them, but doesn’t comment on it for once. He needs Shiro on his side.

He gets exactly what he’s hoping for.

“Lance has a point,” Shiro says after a second. “This isn’t my first rodeo with finals. Sitting and cramming can only do so much; we need to relax a little.”

When Keith looks up again, it’s to Lance’s smug expression, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Shiro’s a few years older and a few years more experienced in the world of college-level finals, so no one can really argue with him on this one.

Keith sighs. “Okay, Shiro’s right.”

 “What?” Lance lets out an offended noise. “It was my idea!”

Keith ignores him, but a small smile forms on his face, showing that he was hearing Lance’s outraged comments.

“So when? Tonight?”

Shiro swipes Lance’s phone from the table in front of them, and Lance’s spluttering continues. “Looks like tonight’s the last night that it’ll be open.”

Pidge straightens from the horribly hunched position that she’s been sitting in for the past hour, causing a cracking noise to come from her spine. She shrugs. “I’m in.”

“I guess I’ll watch everyone’s stuff while you guys are on the rides,” Hunk sighs.

“Maybe you can bring Shay,” Shiro points out, handing Lance’s phone back to him. Lance is pouting now, purely for dramatic effect, and swipes it back with a huff.

Hunk’s eyes light up instantly. “You’re right!” he says. He pulls his phone out and forgets about everyone else around him, the only thing on his mind being his almost-girlfriend.

Shiro reaches for his own phone. “I’ll text Allura and see if she wants to come. She’s been at her godfather Coran’s house and I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“It’s been two days, Shiro,” Pidge points out, but Shiro isn’t listening. He has his phone out and is tapping rapidly against the screen.

“So are you in?” Keith asks, and Lance scowls, even though he knows that Keith is just trying to get a rise out of him. He crosses his arms and hopes that if he glares hard enough, it’ll wipe that smug grin off of Keith’s face.

“Yeah, it’s not like it was my idea in the first place, not like-“

“Okay, great,” Keith smiles, effectively cutting him off.

Bastard.

-

It’s four o’clock when Lance purchases his neon orange wristband that’ll get him onto every ride an unlimited amount of times. He’s the first one out of his friends to show up, and decides to wait for their arrival in the shade of the ticket vendor’s stand. Stale popcorn that’s probably been lying on the pavement all week squishes under the soles of his Vans, and the sound of screeching roller coaster tracks is accompanied by the terrified screams of the passengers. He inhales, the overwhelming aroma of deep-fried everything standing out starkly in the atmosphere, maintaining a blatant contrast to the scent of dusty library books and pencil lead that he’s been enduring all week.

“What are you doing,” he hears a voice say, because he’s closed his eyes. He recognizes it as Keith, which explains why the sentence wasn’t phrased as a question, but rather as a statement to Lance’s lack of intelligence. That’s normal for Keith.

His eyes remain closed as he answers. “Ya smell that, Keith? That’s the smell of sweet, sweet freedom.”

He opens his eyes, a cool smile on his face, but something makes his expression go blank.

His eyes go wide. Is Keith wearing a tank top?

“What?” Keith asks, his dark eyebrows furrowing together. His hand goes up to wipe his face, like he’s afraid there’s something on it. Lance blinks.

“You’re not wearing that godawful Pokemon trainer jacket,” he states, referring to Keith’s usually red and yellow attire.

He lets his eyes skim over Keith’s arms. Holy shit, does Keith work out?

Keith shrugs. “It’s fucking hot outside.”

Pidge walks up then, accompanied by the rest of the group, like some sort of saint sent to rescue Lance from whatever shit he’s about to land himself in. He finds his opportunity for a subject change and breaks his gaze away from Keith’s toned biceps.

“So,” he begins, catching everyone’s attention. “Where to first? I’m thinking we start with that.” He points to the tallest ride in the park, one entitled The Tower of Terror, where the passengers are being gradually pulled toward the top. “Then we can work our way down from there.”

The ride’s passengers let out terrified screams as they hurtle back toward the ground. Pidge shakes her head.

“No, we can’t start with the biggest ride,” she insists. “You have to work up to it. That way, all the rides after it won’t be boring.”

Lance huffs. “No, if you start out small, then you won’t get to ride the big rides until the end, and by then you’re too tired to enjoy it!”

He looks around the group for confirmation. Hunk puts his hands up in a “surrender.”

“Me and Shay are here for the games,” he states. He grabs her hand and she blushes, smiling shyly. Lance doesn’t have time for their adorableness, even if he is the founder of the “pull your shit together and ask her to be your girlfriend, Hunk” club.

“Shiro? Allura?” he asks. They both look at each other for a second, and then back at Lance.

“I’m going to have to agree with Pidge on this one,” Allura says finally, and Shiro nods, because he always goes with whatever Allura says. Lance sighs. There’s only one person left.

Keith shrugs. “I’m good with the Tower of Terror, looks fun.”

It’s not that Lance doesn’t like Keith. He just doesn’t know Keith very well. He’s more of Pidge’s friend, someone that Lance and Hunk met through her. And while Hunk seems to get along just fine with him, there are parts of Lance’s personality that just seem to clash naturally with Keith’s.

They bicker a lot, but it’s nothing serious. It’s actually pretty fun sometimes. And Lance loves having someone that’s just as competitive as he is. It makes things interesting.

His lips turn up into a smirk. “Are you sure you can handle it? Might be too scary for you.”

Keith returns his devilish grin. “I’ll be fine,” he remarks, “but what about you? You seem like the kind of person to start crying on the way up.”

“Oh my God,” Lance hears Pidge say. If he turned his head, he would see Pidge dragging Shiro and Allura away and grumbling about how she “can’t take this anymore,” Hunk and Shay trailing behind them. But Lance doesn’t see it, because his eyes are still locked with Keith’s.

“I bet I won’t scream nearly as much as you,” he says, the hint of a challenge gleaming in his eye. He sees the same look reflected back at him.

“You’re on.”

-

“You know, it isn’t too late to stop the ride,” Keith teases from the seat next to Lance. They’re being pulled up the Tower, the restraints having been lowered and locked over their torsos. Their feet dangle in the air as they inch closer and closer toward the sky.

“You saying that ‘cause you want me to stop it for you?” Lance asks, feeling his hands grip at the handle bars on his restraints. He’s only playing cool; between gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into white-knuckled fists on the handle bars, he’s hoping that Keith can’t tell how nervous he actually is. It’s the anticipation of the drop that’s killing him, but he’s attempting to cover it up with their light-hearted banter.

“Nope, I’m fine.” Keith kicks his feet carelessly in the air. “But I promise not to tell anyone if you shed a tear.”

The ride pauses when they reach the top.

“Ready?” Lance asks.

“Of course,” Keith responds.

And when their seats are released and they begin to plummet toward the ground, it’s impossible to tell which of them is screaming the loudest.

-

Lance’s body is still trembling with adrenaline when he and Keith walk away from the Tower of Terror.

“That was fucking awesome,” he laughs. Keith smiles.

“Yeah, it was pretty good, but what’s next?”

Lance scans the area, and then he sees it. His index finger immediately points toward a rollercoaster with bright crimson tracks that consists of twists and loops.

“That one. It’s calling my name.”

“But it’s all the way on the other side of the park,” Keith groans, but he begins to walk in the direction of the ride anyways. Lance walks alongside him.

“Stop whining. It isn’t even-“

“Lance! Keith!”

They both turn to see Allura, grinning brightly with her arms full of stuffed animals, her white hair bouncing around her. Shiro trails along behind her, a dreamy, wistful look on his face.

“What the hell,” Lance says, eyebrows raising at her collection. A stuffed lion falls from her hoard, and Keith reaches out and catches it before it can land on the sticky asphalt.

“Where’d you get all these?” Keith asks. He stuffs the lion back into her arms. Her face is almost hidden by fluff and fur, but they’re still able to see her responding grin.

“I won them over there.” She jerks her head to the side as an indication, making up for her pre-occupied hands.

Keith and Lance both look behind her to see a “strong man” game that is seriously lacking in prizes. A lanky kid with skinny arms is swinging a mallet over his head, attempting to strike a lever hard enough so that the lights will reach the top of a small tower and the bell will ring to signal a victory. He’s failing miserably, the lights barely trailing up a fourth of the tower before coming back down.

“She won so many times that they didn’t let her play anymore,” Shiro informs them, a soft look of wonder on his face as he stares at Allura. “If you win once, then you get a free turn, and she just kept on winning.”

“Well, the man running it shouldn’t have underestimated me,” Allura grumbles, her cheeks going pink with irritation. “He laughed when I took the bigger mallet and tried to give me one that he said would be ‘easier for me to handle.’”

“You guys should have seen the look on his face when she rang the bell on her first try,” Shiro says, grinning proudly.

Lance laughs, but he isn’t surprised. He once saw Allura knock a guy out in one punch at a party for groping her. And of course, Shiro is smitten.

“I wanna try it,” Keith says then, and Lance remembers Keith’s arms. He’s not sure if seeing Keith play the “strong man” game will be the greatest thing on this sweet earth, or the worst fucking trick life has played on him.

He doesn’t get a say in the matter anyways, because while he’s weighing the pros and cons, Keith nudges him.

“C’mon, Lance.”

Shiro and Allura walk away, saying something about putting Allura’s winnings in the trunk of Shiro’s car. Keith begins to head toward the game, and Lance follows.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Lance asks as they reach the game. “You’ll just embarrass yourself.”

Keith rolls his eyes as he shoves a dollar into the worker’s hand. “Just watch and learn.”

He picks up a mallet, but before he lifts it, he sets it down on the ground and lets it lean against his leg. His hands go up to his hair, gathering it up in the back, and he holds it there with one hand while he brings his other wrist to his mouth. His front teeth latch on to a small band that’s around his wrist, and he pulls it off like it’s something he’s done a million times before. Lance watches him do this in what feels like slow motion.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Keith pulls the black band from between his teeth and proceeds to twist it around his hair.

“Putting my hair up. It’s hot as hell out here.”

Lance blinks at him as he finishes, gives the elastic a final snap, and grabs for the mallet that’s still propped against his leg.

Oh God.

If he didn’t find Keith incredibly attractive before, he sure does now. His bangs are still falling in his face, like always, but the rest of his hair is pulled back into a short, messy pony tail.

Lance finds himself praying that he will get struck down by a bolt of lightning.

It doesn’t happen.

He feels his cheeks go pink as Keith raises the mallet over his head, grunting slightly, and then lets it fall toward its target with tensing shoulder blades.

The lights on the tower go up a little over half way.

Lance barks out an obnoxious laugh. “Watch and learn? That was sad, Keith. Even for you.”

Keith regards him with a glare. “Oh yeah? Doubt you can do any better.”

“Oh, wanna bet?”

Lance hands the worker a dollar and yanks the mallet from Keith’s grip. He raises it above his head, but the motion is too fast and forces him off balance. When the hammer comes down, it nearly brings Lance down with it, and his back arches painfully.

This is it. I’ve broken my fucking back, and Keith is here to watch.

The head of the mallet hits the ground, striking the edge of the lever and causing only two measly lights to flash on the bar.

Somewhere to the side, Keith is laughing his ass off. And Lance hates him.

He drops the hammer angrily and crosses his arms.

“This game is fucking rigged,” he scowls. He walks away from a still hysterical Keith, who is doubled over in his fit of laughter.

Lance keeps walking, even when he hears a half-hearted “Lance, wait!” sound from behind him.

When Keith catches up to him, he’s still chuckling and wiping a tear from his eye. A tear. Lance glares at him.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he says, because he’s always been a sore loser, but embarrassing himself and losing to Keith is the worst combination.

“It was pretty funny.” Keith is grinning. Lance refuses to look at him.

“Aw, c’mon,” Keith tries. “If I’d done that, you’d still be rolling on the ground laughing back there.”

Lance knows it’s true, but will never admit it. He continues to walk (and pout), letting Keith follow. He wants to make Keith feel bad for something, for laughing at him or putting his hair up or something. Just something.

But Keith isn’t that patient, and he doesn’t give in that easily.

“Okay, quit your shit Lance,” he snaps. “It’s not my fault you cracked your spine playing a carnival game.”

Lance shoots him a glare. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. There’s lots of other games here that I can totally kick your ass in.”

And just like that, Keith’s irritation fades away, replaced with amusement. Lance could kick him.

“Oh really? Like what?”

“First,” Lance says, ignoring the question. He comes to a stop in front of the entrance to the red rollercoaster and gazes up at a sign that reads The Daredevil. “We’re gonna ride this. And I’m not holding your hand.” He begins to walk through the gate to get in line.

Keith’s mouth comes slightly open in an offended look. “What? If I’m remembering it correctly, it was you who was scared shitless on the Tower of Terror.”

Lance smiles. “Nope, it was definitely you.”

Keith’s only response is an eye roll that Lance thinks is a bit overdramatic.

The line is surprisingly short, and within fifteen minutes, they make it to the front. They seat themselves in the front cart-“don’t be a wuss, Lance”-and strap themselves in.

When the worker walks along the side of the carts to make sure the safety bar is locked down correctly, Keith glances over at Lance.

“You scared?” he asks, noticing Lance’s white-knuckled grip on the safety bar. Lance immediately lets go.

“Nope, not one bit. You?”

Keith smiles. “Nah, this’ll be a breeze.”

Who even says that anymore? Lance pauses for a second, his eyes flitting toward Keith’s relaxed hand on the safety bar.

“You sure?” he asks. The ride begins slowly, one of those that starts with a gradual, uphill climb. Anticipation swells up in his gut, but he isn’t sure if it’s for the rollercoaster or for what he’s about to do.

“Yup, definitely,” Keith responds. It’s now or never.

“It’s okay, I know you’re scared,” Lance says, attempting to sound suave. “You don’t have to ask.”

Before Keith can say anything, Lance is grabbing his hand and interlocking their fingers together. They reach the top, and for a second, Lance is afraid he’s messed up.

But Keith doesn’t pull away or give Lance that confused look that Lance was expecting. Instead, a hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, something that Lance catches as they reach the track’s peak.

And as the coaster screeches against the tracks in rapid descent, he isn’t sure which is giving him more butterflies; the two loops they go around, or Keith’s overjoyed laughter ringing in his ears.

-

They’re strolling away from the roller coaster- they stopped holding hands at the end, and Lance can’t work up enough courage to initiate it again- when Lance spots the rest of his friends in line to the bumper cars.

“Keith,” he says, and points with one hand while grabbing Keith by the elbow with the other. “We have to.”

“What?”

“Bumper cars,” he explains, drawing the words out slowly for emphasis. Before Keith can say anything, Lance is taking advantage of his grip on Keith’s arm and is dragging him towards the line.

“Is this what you’re gonna ‘kick my ass’ in?” Keith asks as Lance pulls him along. They stop at the back of the line, where the rest of their friends are standing, and Lance releases Keith’s arm.

“Definitely.” Lance grins.

“Hey guys,” Pidge says, the first to notice their arrival. “Ready to get annihilated?”

“You wish,” Lance responds. “I’ve got the best bumper car skills out of all of us, I’m sure of it.”

Hunk is next to speak. “Um, Lance, I would just like to point out that you can’t even drive your own car properly. You almost took out the right side of Shiro’s yesterday-“

“What?” Shiro exclaims. Lance shoots Hunk a glare before cowering under Shiro’s gaze. He’s been betrayed.

“But I didn’t,” he points out, before he can get a scolding. “And besides, isn’t that the whole point of bumper cars?”

“You have to have some strategy to it,” Pidge interjects. “I guess Hunk and I are just going to have to show you guys how it’s done.”

“Strategy? You don’t need strategy to crash into things,” Keith cuts in. Lance nods in his direction.

“Exactly.”

“I mean, look at Lance,” Keith continues, and he’s grinning slyly. “That’s why his car looks like a piece of crap; I swear he hits at least one pole every time he pulls into a parking lot.”

“Okay man, not cool-“

“Oh, and let’s not forget about what happened in the McDonald’s drive thru,” Allura pitches in. Keith grins back at her.

“Oh yeah, how could I forget?” Keith says. “The look on that man’s face-“

“Okay, okay, we get it,” Lance interrupts, his face going red. “I’m a bad driver. Now can we get over it?”

They’ve reached the front of the line, and there are only a few cars left. Hunk and Pidge take their own separate cars, and Allura and Shay take a double-seated one, with Shay climbing into the passenger side and Allura sitting in the driver’s seat. There’s only one single-seater left, and Shiro claims it.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to share,” Keith remarks, walking over to the last car. It’s purple with a peeling sticker on the side that marks the car with a yellow “72.”

“I call driver!” Lance exclaims, but it’s too late. Keith is already sitting down and strapping himself in.

“No you don’t,” Keith retaliates, and Lance grumpily plops down into the passenger seat.

“Why do you get to drive?” he asks, buckling his safety belt. Keith looks over at him, eyebrows raised.

“Do you really want to go over the McDonald’s drive thru incident? Because we can, if you really want to-“

“No!” Lance exclaims. He feels his face go hot again. “I mean… No, just shut up.”

Keith grins. “That’s what I thought.”

Lance grumbles something about Keith being a jerk and crosses his arms.

But they don’t stay crossed for long, because as soon as the cars are released, Keith is turning the wheel as sharply as possible with the accelerator pedal pressed to the floor of the car. Lance instinctively reaches out to steady himself, one hand on the side of the car and the other landing a grip on Keith’s upper arm.

Keith’s bare, muscular upper arm.

“Dude, what the hell?” he exclaims, and his voice cracks, as if it weren’t already embarrassing enough that he was holding onto Keith for dear life. Keith ignores him, slamming the car into the side of Shiro’s red one.

Then there’s another impact from behind, and Lance turns to see Shay and Allura laughing from their blue car.

“Listen, Lance,” Keith says with utmost concentration. “Are you gonna help me or not? ‘Cause I can’t be on the lookout for everyone.”

Lance curses as Keith turns the wheel again, clinging to Keith’s arm so that he isn’t flung around like a rag doll.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Lance agrees. “Just- Look out!”

It’s Hunk, racing towards them quicker than Lance thought these cars could go. Keith spins the steering wheel, but it’s not fast enough, and Hunk is slamming into them from the side.

“Shit,” Keith curses under his breath, and Lance thinks that it’s probably because Lance’s elbow landed right in his side. Or maybe-

There’s another impact from behind, and Lance turns his head to see a grinning Pidge in a lime green cart.

“We’re being double-teamed!” Keith shouts. The urgency in his tone reminds Lance of the movies where a pilot in a falling plane is calling “mayday” over the radio. He pushes Keith’s arm, attempting to take control of the steering wheel from where he’s sitting.

“Go left, go left, go left!” Lance yells, shoving at Keith’s arm harshly. Keith spins the wheel to the left, but Hunk’s car is faster than theirs. Of course they got the shitty car.

Hunk’s mustard yellow car cuts them off in their escape. Pidge is pushing them from the back, sandwiching them against Hunk. Hunk and Pidge are both pushing them, and soon they’re forced in the corner of the bumper cars floor.

“Okay, okay, enough!” Keith yells, but he’s laughing. Lance is laughing too, both of his hands wrapped around Keith’s arm to keep himself steady. Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling himself.

“Is that a surrender?” Pidge calls out, letting out a small giggle. She is truly ruthless.

“Yes!” Lance and Keith shout simultaneously. There’s one more bump from the front for good measure, coming from Hunk, before the two cars recede.

“One down, two to go!” Hunk shouts to Pidge. They retreat, leaving Keith and Lance so that they can pursue their next victims.

Keith turns the wheel to get their car away from the wall. “Well, that was…”

“Humiliating?” Lance asks. “Impressive? Terrifying?”

“Yeah,” Keith laughs genuinely. “All of those- Ah!“ his words are cut off as their car takes a hit from behind. Lance hears laughter, and without turning his head, he knows it’s Shay and Allura.

“Oh, it’s on!” Lance yells. He reaches for the steering wheel but is elbowed away by Keith.

“Dude, just let me drive, okay?” Keith says, and he chuckles, the sound like a ringing bell in Lance’s ears.

“Just go right!” he replies. They take another hit from behind, and Lance laughs again.

“Okay, okay!” Keith whips their car to the right, and the force almost causes him and Lance to butt heads. He starts laughing again, and Lance joins in.

Sometimes, competing against each other is fun. But Lance finds that other times, if they can combine their competitiveness and forget about the rest, they can make a pretty great team.

Not as good as Pidge and Hunk. But close.

-

Pidge and Hunk, while there isn’t a real way to keep score in bumper cars, are unanimously recognized in the group as the champions (shocker). Keith and Lance are next, and Shay, Allura, and Shiro really don’t care enough to be ranked.

But even with their shared victory, Lance still needs to find something to beat Keith at. They break away from the rest of the group, while the others head toward the tilt-a-whirl.

“So, what do you have planned?” Keith asks as they stroll down the asphalt. Lance narrowly avoids stepping on a gray glob of gum before looking around him.

It’s gotta be something based on skill, not luck like the rubber duck game. Something that Keith probably won’t be very good at, either, so the water gun game is out…

And then he sees it.

“That,” Lance says, pointing, “is what I’m going to kick your ass in.”

It’s a classic carnival game, one where the objective is to knock down a pyramid of three bottles with a ball. Keith’s mouth turns up in a grin.

“Okay, you’re on.”

They walk over to the booth, and Lance decides to go first. After handing the vendor some money, he’s given three balls.

His first throw doesn’t touch a single bottle. He glances over at Keith, who has his eyebrows raised.

“Shut up,” he says. “That was a warm up throw.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Keith raises his hands in a “surrender,” and Lance glares at him. He didn’t have to say anything; his unimpressed expression said it all.

Keith remains silent as Lance readies his next throw. It zips just to the right of the bottles.

“Was that a warm up, too?” Keith smiles slyly. Lance sends him another dirty look.

His third throw zooms right over the top of the whole thing, and he groans.

“Hold on, hold on,” he says. “I just needed to get used to it. Let me try again.”

Keith furrows his eyebrows, unimpressed, as Lance hands the worker another dollar. He’s given three more balls.

He throws the first one, and it’s about as successful as his three last attempts (which is pretty damn unsuccessful).

He ends up spending about seven dollars on the game before he gives up. Mostly because he still needs to have some money if he plans to buy any of the food there, which is expensive as shit. And also because he can’t take feeling Keith’s raised eyebrows behind him anymore.

“This is rigged,” he groans. “It’s fucking impossible.”

Keith is leaning back against a post that’s supporting the tent above their heads. His arms are crossed, his hair still gathered up messily, and he looks good. Lance hates him for it.

“It’s not impossible, you just suck at throwing.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Oh, and you’re any better? Let’s see it, then.”

He hands Keith one of the balls and crosses his arms. Yeah, let’s see you do it-

Keith spins the ball around in his fingers, regarding it thoughtfully. Then he rears back and slings it at the bottles, and Lance is almost positive that it breaks the sound barrier. It lands on target, right at the base of the two bottom bottles, and knocks the whole thing down.

“Congratulations!” the carnival worker exclaims, his plastic grin causing his dark mustache to shift. “Pick your prize!”

While Keith is selecting a large stuffed bear with red fur, Lance is standing speechless, his jaw dropped.

“What the fuck, Keith? How did you do that?”

Keith turns and tucks the stuffed animal under his arm. “I pitched on my high school’s baseball team. It really wasn’t much different.”

Well isn’t that just the icing on the cake?

“You just got lucky,” Lance says, still trying to convince himself of it. He turns to walk away, but is pulled back by a hand on his wrist. Keith meets his gaze, looking at him softly, and Lance is reminded of how they held hands on the rollercoaster.

But before Lance can marvel at the small intimacy he feels with Keith’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, Keith drops his arm, and tears his eyes away from Lance’s face to stare at the ground instead. In one swift motion, he shoves his stuffed bear toward Lance.

“Here.”

Lance stares down at the animal, a sad little thing whose left eye was glued on about two inches higher than its right.

“Keith, I don’t need a pity prize-“

“It’s not a pity prize, Lance,” Keith states, cutting him off. “Just shut up and take it.”

Lance looks down at the bear again, then back up at Keith, who isn’t meeting his eye and instead seems to be finding the ground quite interesting.

Oh.

He grabs the bear by its overstuffed head and shoves it underneath his arm, much in the same way Keith did earlier. They begin to walk away, and Lance wonders what the fuck this means.

They walk a little longer, and Lance is contemplating grabbing Keith’s hand again, until Keith stops.

“We should ride this one,” Keith says, glancing up at a ride called The Tornado, one that spins its riders around in their seats in the air. It seems like a sort of slow ride, but maybe that’s what Lance needs after all of this adrenaline.

“Okay, sure.” And then, because he’s not too sure about the tenderness (and slight awkwardness) that has settled between them, “But then we’re finding something that I can kick your ass in.”

It’s like a dam of cool water is broken when Keith smiles at him. This is right. This is who they are.

“Yeah, okay,” Keith sighs, and his eyes are bright. “But we’ll be searching all night.”

-

They learn that they both suck at ring toss and balloon darts, coming away empty-handed and slightly poorer from each game.

“It’s fucking rigged,” Lance states. Keith agrees with a solemn nod.

Some kid throws up on the tilt-a-whirl, making it more nauseating than exciting, and while Lance is dying to reach for Keith’s hand again, he can’t bring himself to do it on a spinning vomit machine (how romantic). So, instead, he sits there, unsure if the silence between them is awkward or not.

It isn’t until they step off the ride that Lance’s eyes go wide.

“No fucking way.” He grabs Keith’s wrist and begins to drag him forward.

“Really Lance? A mirror maze?” Keith laughs, as if liking it is something to be ashamed of.

“Shut up, Keith. The House of Mirrors is great. And there’s a huge slide at the end of it.”

“How can I argue with that?” Keith wonders aloud. Lance ignores him and drags him inside wordlessly.

It’s only after Lance runs them into four dead ends that Keith stops him.

“Lance, I’ve seen four-year-olds get out of this thing faster than us,” he sighs. “How the fuck are we still in here?”

Lance ignores him. “I’m pretty sure that if we turn left here…”

“Don’t you mean right?”

Lance turns to narrow his eyes at Keith, and they watch each other for a second.

“No, Keith, I mean left.”

“I’m pretty sure that this is the same dead end we ran into last time, Lance. Look, I can still see the smudge on the glass from when your face hit it-“

“How about this,” Lance proposes, cutting Keith off before he recounts that shining moment in Lance’s life. It was embarrassing enough the first time. “You go your way, I go mine. Let’s see who gets out first.”

“Fine,” Keith responds, that same determined grin forming on his face, the one that only Lance seems to be able to evoke. “You’re on.”

They part ways, and in about thirty seconds, Lance runs face first (again) into one of the maze’s transparent glass walls.

“Shit,” he says, rubbing a spot on his forehead and cursing Keith for being right. He wonders briefly if he really died on the Tower of Terror, and now he’s been sent to spend the rest of eternity in carnival hell, because that’s what this has felt like.

Well, except for Keith’s ponytail. And the hand-holding. And when Keith won him a stuffed animal.

He turns around, picking up his pace, because he’ll be damned if Keith beats him out of this. The bastard has probably already made it out...

He jogs around a corner, but before he can stop himself, his forehead is colliding with something that isn’t glass.

“What the fuck, Lance?” Keith yells, falling forward with a palm pressed against his (probably) bruising forehead. Oh. He catches himself on the mirror behind Lance, bracing himself with a hand against the glass and forcing Lance back against it.

Their bodies are inches apart, but Lance is the only one who notices, as Keith still has his eyes clenched shut and is regretting (aloud) every poor choice he’s ever made.

“Why did I not see this coming, oh my God, we should have never gone separate ways-“

And then he pauses when he opens his eyes and notices their position. His hand falls away from his forehead. Lance has nowhere to go; Keith is in front of him, causing him to sink back against the glass and try not to notice their proximity.

He can see every bouncing light and image reflected in Keith’s pupils, like another mirror. They both stare at each other for probably a second, but Lance swears that time has stopped all together. He’s never really noticed Keith’s eyes before, and he’s trying to decipher if they are navy, or deep purple, or something in between…

Keith leans in, just a little bit, but stops himself. His eyes pose a question, giving Lance all the permission he needs.

He could do it. He could lean forward, close the gap between them, a gap so small that he can feel Keith’s short breaths on his lips…

Oh God, he can’t seriously be this attracted to a mouth breather-

Instead of leaning forward, gently brushing noses, slightly turning his head to press a soft kiss to Keith’s lips, Lance smiles. He scrunches up his face and laughs, because what the fuck is his life right now?

Keith’s face falls, like he’s disappointed, or embarrassed, or something in between. He backs away and watches as Lance’s laughter dies down.

“Did you give yourself a fucking concussion when you decided to head butt me?” Keith asks, a twinge of irritation laced with his words. He’s looking down at the ground, his cheeks red, like he’s embarrassed of something.

“Nope!” Lance exclaims, and a nervous giggle escapes his throat.

Pull yourself together.

Keith still won’t meet his eye, and he realizes that Keith probably thinks that he was laughing at him. He reaches out and takes Keith’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he says, and maybe he did give himself a concussion, because as he walks past, he pauses to press a small kiss to Keith’s cheek.

He begins to pull Keith down the corridor, but Keith is frozen in place.

“That way’s a dead end,” he states, his cheeks flushing pink. “We need to go this way.”

So Keith leads, but maybe it’s a good thing, because Lance is seeing stars. And maybe it is from their literal head-on collision; that would explain why he feels like stumbling, and why he doesn’t really understand what’s going on right now.

But he knows that’s not it.

The world isn’t fuzzy; it’s sharp, it’s clear, like every color reflected in Keith’s eyes. And when they make it out of the House of Mirrors, Lance knows that the butterflies he has in his stomach aren’t from going down the slide.

When they both walk away, and their hands find each other again, they slip together discreetly, like it’s a secret they are both trying to keep from the other.

-

“I’m fucking starving,” Lance groans as they pass yet another funnel cake vendor. You can get strawberries on your funnel cake. Strawberries.

“You’ve only said that, like, twelve times,” Keith responds, unimpressed. And before Lance can protest: “I’ve been counting.”

If Lance’s right hand wasn’t otherwise preoccupied, he would have crossed his arms. Instead, he shoots Keith a dirty look. “Well then, why don’t we do something about it?”

Keith sighs. “Because every time I try to get in line somewhere, you want to go to a different place.”

“That’s ‘cause everywhere you pick, the lines are so long.”

“The lines are going to be long everywhere Lance, we just need to-“

“Hey, guys!”

They both turn to their left to face an area where a number of picnic tables are crowded together. Hunk, Shay, and Pidge are seated at one on the edge of the small area, and a huge funnel cake covered in chocolate syrup is placed in the middle of the table. Hunk is waving them over.

Lance’s mouth begins to water as they approach, and he’s not sure if he’s ever wanted anything more than the deep-fried heart attack that’s sitting on the table.

“I swear, this thing’s given me type four diabetes,” Pidge groans, licking a drop of chocolate syrup from her index finger. She grabs for another piece of the funnel cake and eyes it hungrily before shoving it into her mouth.

“Where did you get that?” Lance asks urgently, like they’re in an interrogation. This is important.

Pidge just raises her eyebrows at him. Then she looks down at something, and for a second Lance thinks that she’s judging his outfit choice. But then she looks back up at him, a smug grin on her face, and he remembers.

He’s still holding Keith’s hand.

Damn it.

“Are you sure you need any more sugar?” Pidge asks, and then cackles, because she’s the devil. Lance is sure that she is the actual devil.

He doesn’t know whether he should let go of Keith’s hand or not. He looks over at Keith, who is turning red and staring off into the distance, pretending not to be there.

Hunk snickers into his napkin, acting as if he’s wiping chocolate off of his face, and Shay is donning a small smile. Lance huffs.

“Shut up, Pidge,” he demands. And when Hunk starts laughing, too: “Shut up, Hunk!”

He drops Keith’s hand because he’s sure that if he blushes any more, his entire face will catch fire. Keith doesn’t seem too upset about it. Well, at least, Lance thinks so. He can’t really bring himself to look over at Keith to judge his reaction.

Pidge and Hunk start laughing again, set off by each other, and Lance rolls his eyes. Even Shay starts to giggle along with them.

“We’re leaving!” Lance announces, turning on his heel.

Keith follows him, and as he stomps away, Lance grabs his hand.

“Why are we friends with them?” Lance wonders aloud. Keith laughs.

“Like you’re one to talk!” he says, a smile on his face that pulls at Lance’s heart strings. He should always smile like that.

“What do you mean?” Lance leads them toward one of the funnel cake vendors. The line here is long, but not nearly as ridiculous as the others. They take a place at the back.

“I mean,” Keith begins, “that you did the same thing to Shiro and Allura when they started dating. Teasing them just to try and get a reaction out of them.”

Lance blinks for a second, comprehending what Keith just said.

Dating.

Does Keith think they’re dating now? Or that they’re together?

Is this a date?

You’re holding his hand, you ignoramus. He won you a stuffed animal, Lance hears a voice in his head say. It sounds suspiciously like Pidge.

“What?” Keith asks, because Lance is still staring at him like he said he left the body in the back of his car and needs help burying it.

Lance just shakes his head. Keith doesn’t get it.

“Nothing, nothing. Just… what are you getting on your funnel cake?”

His heart is thumping against the inside of his chest, sending tremors through his whole body. He hopes that Keith can’t feel it through their connected hands.

Keith shrugs. “You get what you want, I’ll just have some of yours.”

So now they’re sharing? Oh God, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle that.

“Okay, we can split the difference,” Lance offers, reaching into his back pocket with his free hand. But Keith shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll pay.”

In his head, Lance is swooning.

“You don’t have to-” Lance begins, but he’s cut off with a stern look.

“Lance, shut up. I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

So Lance leaves it alone.

Can Keith even tell what is happening?

They get to the front of the line, and Lance orders a medium-sized cake with strawberries on top. The cashier, who also happens to be the person doing the frying (no wonder the lines are so long), walks away to check on the fryer while Keith pulls his wallet out.

“Dude, why is your palm so sweaty?” Keith asks, wiping his own hand on his shorts. Lance can tell that Keith is just joking, but he cuts him a sharp glare anyways.

“It’s hot out here,” he explains, but he knows that the real reason lies with Keith, in his actions and words and the way he makes Lance feel. But he isn’t about to confess that.

“Well it’s gross,” Keith replies, and there is a teasing flair in his voice combined with a sly smile that catches Lance off guard. Keith hands a crisp five-dollar bill and a few ones to the vendor, who takes it without gratitude.

“Well, at least I’m not a mouth breather,” Lance fires back self-consciously while wiping his own palm on his shirt.

“What the hell are you talking about?” There’s a hint of a smile on Keith’s face, and Lance wants to kiss it off of him.

Now is not the time.

“The House of Mirrors,” he replies. The vendor brings them their funnel cake and ignores their muttered “thank yous.” They begin to walk toward a picnic table that doesn’t seem to have too many people around it.

“What about it?”

Their hands quickly find each other again as they sit, side by side. Keith’s cheeks are turning red, and he could say it’s from the heat, but Lance is pretty sure that’s not it.

Lance tears off a piece of the funnel cake and pinches it between his thumb and index finger, letting some of the strawberry sauce drip back down onto the plate. “You were breathing through your mouth. I could feel it.”

Keith splutters. “I was nervous!” he exclaims, but then instantly looks like he regrets the statement. He blushes impossibly deeper, and it’s so satisfying because when does Keith- cool, calm, collected, Keith- ever get so worked up about something?

Lance shoves the piece of funnel cake in his mouth and has the decency not to moan at the flavor. He has more important things to do right now.

When he swallows the pastry, he flashes Keith a smooth smile. He’s in control now. This is better. Keith is blushing and won’t catch his eye, and Lance is having the time of his life.

“So, I make you nervous?” he asks nonchalantly, his words still audible but approaching a whisper. It takes a second for Keith to look back at him, and Lance wonders what he’s thinking as they make eye contact.

He takes a second to marvel at the colors he finds in Keith’s eyes. He watches Keith’s pupils dilate slightly, and he realizes that they’re closer now than they were before, and Keith is tracing small circles on Lance’s thumb with his own, and he’s not breathing through his mouth, not this time-

“Lance,” he whispers, so softly that he could just be mouthing the word. But Lance hears it just fine. He feels his heart swell, like he’s about to jump into a freefall, and he thinks he sees a shooting star flash in Keith’s pupils.

Keith leans in even closer, and oh God, is this happening? Fucking hell, is this really-

Keith turns his head at the last second to say something in Lance’s ear. He’s so close, and Lance is frozen now, tensed up like he wants to run away. Honestly, he’s not sure if he does or not.

Keith’s mouth is close enough to his ear for Lance to feel his breathing, and when he opens it to say something, Lance almost shivers.

“Lance,” he repeats, and Lance’s stomach does a back flip. Keith’s head turns and he presses his lips to Lance’s cheekbone for the briefest second, right by his ear. Lance feels his whole face turn to flames.

Keith turns his head back to say something else, and God damn it, Lance can’t take this anymore. He feels a wave of yearning, an overwhelming urge to pull that elastic out of Keith’s hair, weave his fingers through it, and push their mouths together. He could do it. He really could. But Keith still has something to say-

He pulls in a deep breath as Keith opens his mouth. He waits. And then, in a tone that’s barely above a whisper, he hears-

“You have a powdered sugar mustache.”

What?

And with that, Lance pulls away, offended, and pushes Keith back with two hands on his sternum. Keith is laughing hysterically as he steadies himself, trying to keep from falling backwards off of the bench. Lance feels his face turn even hotter as he wipes the back of his forearm across his mouth.

“Fuck. Off,” Lance snarls. Keith only laughs harder.

Keith is a dick, Lance decides. A huge. Fucking. Dick.

He crosses his arms and waits for Keith to be done. Keith’s laughter gradually ceases, but he keeps smiling. Lance doesn’t want to look at him.

But Keith is looking at him.

“Hey, you missed a spot.”

And before Lance can back away, Keith reaches out, a napkin in hand, and wipes tenderly at a place on Lance’s cheek. It’s soft, almost like an apology. He’s still smiling, his eyes kind, as he brings his hand back down. Lance can only stare.

“Uh, thanks,” he says. He sounds stunned, but that’s also how he feels, because who is this person sitting next to him? This isn’t Keith. Keith isn’t soft, or attractive, or adorable when he laughs. That’s never been Keith.

But then he pushes his dark hair away from his face, and with the hand that isn’t holding Lance’s, he takes a piece of funnel cake and puts it in his mouth. He perks up considerably at the flavor, and smiles.

“This is pretty fucking good,” he says, like he can’t believe that Lance was right.

Lance smiles back. “Told you.”

There’s no cutting tone, though, or harsh words. Keith just eats another piece of the funnel cake and shakes his bangs out of his face. The sun is setting now, and the orange hues reflected in the sky are settling around them like a haze.

Lance isn’t sure when this all happened, when Keith’s smile became sweet like sugar and his eyes became soft and open, but he really can’t say that he’s upset about it, either.

-

“Okay, so can we agree that we aren’t going on anymore spinning rides?” Keith asks as he tosses a paper plate covered in crumbs and strawberry sauce into a trash can.

Lance grins. “Why, because you thought you could eat more than me and took more than you could handle?”

Keith sighs. “No, Lance.” He takes Lance’s hand again. Lance feels his heart leap at the easiness of the gesture. “It’s because I watched you inhale about half of that funnel cake in ten seconds, and I really don’t want to see it make a reappearance on my shoes.”

Lance shrugs. “If you say so, buddy.”

“And also,” Keith begins, scowling, “I wasn’t trying to challenge you to an eating contest. I have no idea why-“

“Uh, because you totally kept staring at me while I was eating!” Lance exclaims. They walk aimlessly, feet crunching against the asphalt. “What was I supposed to think?”

“I was just looking at you!” Keith states, and then looks away. Lance furrows his eyebrows.

“You were totally looking at me funny.”

“I wasn’t looking at you like anything! That’s just my face!”

“So your face is constantly in ‘challenge the alpha male’ mode.”

“Lance, that’s the- wait. What makes you the alpha male?”

“Bro,” Lance begins, but he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say.

“Bro,” Keith says, mockingly. “Don’t call me ‘bro’ when we’re holding hands.”

Lance blushes. “Shut up.”

How can Keith just say that? They aren’t supposed to talk about it.

They walk a little longer, avoiding each other’s eyes. Lance still has the stuffed animal tucked under his arm. The stuffed animal that Keith won him. At a carnival game.

He doesn’t know if he can get over it. He looks around, avoiding hollering carnival workers and food spills on the concrete. But most of all, avoiding Keith’s gaze, because he doesn’t even know where to begin with this kid.

“Hey, there’s the Ferris wheel,” Keith comments, glancing up at the blinking lights and colorful carts that hang from the wheel’s frame. Lance looks up, too.

“Ya wanna get on it?” he asks, and when Keith looks over at him and nods, Lance can see every orange light reflected and shining in his eyes. They get in line.

“This used to be my favorite thing when I was little,” Keith comments off handedly. He’s staring up at the metal wheel with a sort of nostalgic gaze, like it means more to him than he’s letting off.

“Oh, yeah?”

This is new. They’ve never talked about their childhoods or their favorite things. It’s always been challenges and contests, teasing and bickering. But Lance feels, in this moment, a longing. A longing to get to know the deeper parts of Keith, a wish to discover his desires and dreams and see that wistful gaze over and over again. Lance has never thought about it before, never wondered what was going on in that head of his behind dark hair and even darker eyes, and all the teasing and challenging insults.

But Lance knows now that Keith’s eyes aren’t dark; they’re bright, brighter than a mirror’s reflection and brighter than blinking orange bulbs on a Ferris wheel. And sometimes the challenges that Keith issues aren’t spoken. Sometimes, Lance has to look for them behind those dark bangs.

They reach the front of the line and climb into a red cart with chipping paint. Instead of sitting in the seat across from Keith, Lance places himself right next to him, because he can. He sets his stuffed animal in the empty seat as their cart moves up a space.

“I bet you’re that guy who shakes the cart, aren’t you?” Keith asks with a smile.

Lance grins. “Usually, but only a little to freak Hunk out.” And then, repeating something he’s said all day, more out of habit than anything: “Why, ya scared?”

“Oh my God,” Keith laughs, rolling his eyes. “No, I’m not scared.”

“Then what is it?”

Keith’s smile doesn’t leave his face. “Just don’t ruin it, alright?”

Ruin what?

They’re halfway to the top now, with the wheel having to stall every minute to let more passengers on. Lance looks over, and Keith is staring up at the starry sky with wide eyes.

“I love the sky,” Keith says, as if he’s explaining himself. It’s quiet, and Lance doesn’t know if Keith has shared this fact with a hundred people or just him. He finds himself hoping for the latter, that Keith might want to tell Lance things about himself that no one else knows. Either way, the statement seems small and private.

“Oh, yeah?” Lance asks, genuinely curious.

“Yeah,” Keith responds without looking down. “Always have. It’s beautiful.”

Lance feels his heart jump. He feels like something is tugging him toward Keith, something bigger than himself, something that he can’t resist any longer.

He wants to know why Keith likes the Ferris wheel. He wants to discover the real color of Keith’s eyes, if they’re navy or purple or a color that’s never been named. He wants to reach out and push Keith’s bangs out of his face, and trace his fingers along Keith’s jaw line, and breathe him in like he’s the only source of oxygen left in the universe.

Lance reaches out with his free hand, the one that isn’t latched onto Keith’s like he’ll float away if he lets go. His index finger goes to the side of Keith’s jaw, turning Keith’s head toward him so that their gazes meet. They’re close now, but have no other option; the cart is small and their seat is smaller. Lance feels his breathing hitch and his heart pounds in his stomach.

He releases Keith’s hand, and suddenly he’s leaning close, and Keith is doing the same...

And then he stops. His nose is less than an inch away from brushing Keith’s, and he feels that same magnetic-like sensation, feels an electric current urging him forward. But he doesn’t let it pull him forward anymore. He slowly brings a hand up to cup Keith’s jaw, watching Keith’s eyelids flutter closed as he leans into Lance’s touch.

“You scared?” Keith mutters, and Lance almost laughs, because this time, the phrase is so, so different.

He can feel Keith’s breath on his lips. “A little,” he confesses for the first time.

“Well don’t be.”

And then Keith kisses him.

It’s gentle, like they’re both unsure about what they’re doing. Lance wants this, he knows he wants this. He’s wanted this since he held Keith’s hand on that damn roller coaster, and since Keith won him that stuffed bear, and since he ran into him in the House of Mirrors, and since they shared the funnel cake…

But does Keith really want this as much as Lance does?

But then Keith gently pushes forward, taking away some of the gentleness of the kiss, and Lance knows. All of his uncertainty washes away.

Keith’s lips are chapped, and his bangs get in Lance’s face, and he’s gripping Lance’s bicep a little too tightly.

And it’s perfect.

It’s soft and slow and Lance is drawing it out, letting it linger, pulling away gently and then leaning back in for another kiss, and another…

Keith draws back, but their foreheads remain pressed together as his eyes flutter open. He’s breathing heavily, and Lance knows that Keith’s heart must be beating just as hard as his own. Their noses brush lightly against each other.

“Lance?”

It’s a question that Lance doesn’t have an answer for. All he knows is that he doesn’t really believe that what just happened was real.

Keith. Keith just kissed me. And I kissed him back.

Oh my God.

“Dude,” Lance whispers in slight astonishment. “You just fucking kissed me!”

He instantly regrets the statement. The moment is broken, and the cart sways as Keith pushes him away.

“Shut up, asshole,” Keith says, crossing his arms. “Don’t act like you didn’t want it.”

“Well, yeah!” Lance exclaims, trying to fix what he’s done. He grabs for Keith’s hand. “Dude, Keith-“

“Fucking hell, Lance,” Keith groans, but there’s a trace of humor hiding behind the words. He doesn’t let Lance take his hand, though. “Don’t call me ‘dude’ when you just had my tongue in your mouth.”

The bluntness of the statement causes Lance to blush, and he’s speechless now. Keith is turned with his back to him, looking towards the ground, and Lance isn’t sure if his cheeks are pink or just reflecting the orange glow from the lights.

“Keith,” he tries, softly. Keith’s head moves slightly, but he rethinks it and maintains eye contact with the ground below.

Lance reaches for Keith’s hand again, and this time, Keith lets him take it. But he doesn’t turn.

“Keith, we are almost at the top,” Lance tries again. He’s got Keith’s fingers interlocked with his own, and he’s rubbing his thumb across Keith’s.

“And?”

Keith is trying not to look over at him, but Lance can tell that he can’t help himself. There’s that current again, that force of gravity, that magnetic sensation.

“And,” he begins. He wants to climb on top of Keith and force him to look at him, force him to tell Lance that he isn’t really upset. But he doesn’t. Instead, he nudges Keith’s foot with his own. “Everyone knows that it’s romantic as hell to kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel, so if you’d-“

Keith turns suddenly, too quickly for Lance to register. Lance’s words get cut off as Keith presses their lips together. And then he’s pulling away before Lance can react. Lance fights the urge to let out a displeased whine, not wanting to give Keith that satisfaction.

“What the hell?” he cries, trying not to sound too upset. Keith smiles, still close enough for Lance to feel his breathing.

“Shhh,” he says, leaning forward to let the syllable hit Lance’s lips. “Don’t ruin it.”

Their cart creaks to the top, and with one hand in Keith’s hair and the other curled around the fabric of Keith’s shirt, Lance realizes that he isn’t scared anymore.

With Keith here, like this, with him, kissing him and tracing goosebumps up and down his arm, it’s like he’s reached the top of the tracks and is seconds away from freefall.

But he isn’t scared. Not this time.

He pulls back, a grin on his face. Keith is smiling, too.

“Too bad they don’t have a Tunnel of Love,” he says in a ridiculously suggestive tone. He wiggles his eyebrows and winks, and Keith cracks up. Lance’s heart leaps and he feels his expression go soft as he watches Keith giggle- actually giggle- into his palm.

I did that.

Keith is still smiling when he replies, “I’d push you into the water.”

“Shhh,” Lance shushes him. He leans in for another kiss. “Don’t ruin it.”

But really, with the lights dancing off of Keith’s hair and his long eyelashes fluttering as Lance kisses him, nothing can ruin it.

Because Keith is holding him, and he isn’t scared. Not anymore.