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Language:
English
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Published:
2019-07-26
Updated:
2021-05-24
Words:
92,361
Chapters:
7/?
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14
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85
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Deep Water

Summary:

Lance has always had a bond with the ocean. He's one of those kids who learned how to swim before he could walk, and his biggest dream is to follow in his hero, Takashi Shirogane's footsteps to be the next big name in surfing. But he has a long way to get there, with many challenges to overcome, from rival surfing teams, internal struggles, and these weird, persistent feelings for his self proclaimed rival he met at his first surfing competition.
Someday he swears he's going to go the distance, but as it always is when you're clawing your way to the top, there are those who seek to knock you down.
...
Keith never really belonged anywhere, but that changed when he became a part of the Shirogane household, and Shiro introduced him to surfing. He loved it immediately, he found that sense of purpose he's always been lacking but after the accident Keith loses his sense of direction. He's not willing to face the cost that that purpose gave him. That is, until this random Cuban kid shows up.
Keith won't admit it but he's scared of allowing himself to embrace his passions again. But sometimes, when helping someone come out of their shell, all you have to do is knock.

Notes:

Hell yeah that's right it's a motherfucking Klance Surfer Au let's GO!
Inspired by Deep Water by American Authors (which is a bop, highly recommend)
I'll post specific content warnings at the beginning of chapters as they're relevant rather than flooding the main tag section with one-time tags, tho some things are repetative so those go in the overall tags. Unless the one time tags are significant and may be particularly triggering, bc safety is important.
Chapter 1 Warning: *Intense and Graphic Depictions of Blood and Injury near the end*

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: As It Was Before (Prologue)

Chapter Text

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge have been standing at the taco truck for at least an hour now, but there’s no amount of crunchy shells or refried beans that can sate the ravenous butterflies clanging around in Lance’s stomach, acting like monkeys with cymbals. 

“You’ve got this in the bag, man.” Hunk reassures him as he licks some salsa off of his thumb, speaking around the food in his mouth, “You’ve been training for what, two weeks? Three?” 

“Three and a half.” Pidge corrects as they prop their foot on the bench next to Hunk where they sit next to Lance, leaning their head in their hand as they scroll through the newsfeed on their phone. The sun is setting on the boardwalk where the trio sit at a picnic bench, and the summertime crowds are really starting to pick up, it was frankly a miracle that they were able to grab this table before some tourist family snatched it up. The competition tomorrow isn’t a big one, nothing like a qualifying heat or a championship, but it’s still a part of the VLD Surfing Festival, and that always draws a crowd, surfers and enthusiasts alike. The evening air is crisp but warm, the remaining beams of golden light slightly ease the growing knots in Lance’s sun-kissed back and momentarily Lance wishes that he’d thought to wear an actual shirt instead of a tank top. He didn’t surf today so he could rest up for the competition tomorrow, he’d worn the tank to even out the beginnings of the tan line he’d started to get from the new surf suit his mom got him for the competition. It’s always important to put your best foot forward when going into a new crowd , she’d said, feeling like you belong helps with the nerves.

Lance lets out an indignant huff, waving a hand in the air with a dramatic flair as he grumbles, “It doesn’t matter how much I’ve been training if I screw up in the moment! It’s like Shiro always says, it’s one part training, one part talent, one part luck-”

“‘-and two parts patience, knowing the time to strike.’ Yeah we know.” Hunk finishes for him, shaking his head a bit as he wipes his face with a napkin, “You know I think that you should really try to meet the guy someday and get some quotes that aren’t from that SURFER article.”

Lance shoots Hunk a playful glare as Pidge pipes up, “You actually might be able to; It looks like he’s in town for the competition tomorrow.” 

Lance immediately gasps, both of his hands planting on the picnic table as he rockets to his feet, “No way! Is he gonna compete?!” 

Pidge only gives him a slightly bemused side eye before they continue scrolling down their Twitter feed, “I dunno, dude, check his Insta, he just tagged his location at the competition beach.” 

Lance immediately whips out his phone to confirm the allegations, sitting back down as Hunk lets out a low huff, “Man, I wish that I could come tomorrow but I’ve gotta watch my baby cousin. She won’t even let me bring her, either. Too many people around she says, who knows what could happen . But at least we can get some previctory dinner before you embark on your first big competition.” Hunk sniffles and wipes a faux tear from his eye as he warbles, “They grow up so fast.” 

Lance pushes on his shoulder from across the table playfully as he opens up Shiro’s Instagram profile. He has him on notifications so he’s shocked that he didn’t see the picture he posted of the seaside and Lance realizes that Pidge is right; he recognizes the boardwalk pier just beyond with the massive Krabby Joes sign barely peeking over a wooden archway. ‘So Shiro is in town.’ Lance thinks to himself.

Takashi Shirogane. It’s a name Lance has imprinted behind his eyelids, the surfing legend who broke record after record after record at the height of his surfing career when Lance was 13. His parents immigrated to the US from Japan but he was born and raised in Hermosa Beach California, where he watched the yearly surfing competitions and decided to set his name in the waves of history. That’s the first sentence from the short biography the SURFER pulled together for their exclusive. Lance has the whole article practically memorized he’s read it so many times, gleaning it for inspiration and counsel as he started to pursue his dream and follow in his hero’s footsteps. To be the next big surfing name, Lance thinks to himself dreamily, leaning his chin in his hand as he drops his phone to the table. Lance McClain, surfer extraordinaire. VLD Surfing Champion. Then World Champion. That would make my mima proud. 

Just have to start the actual winning part first.

“Ah, shit. Looks like the Galra are already here.” Lance turns to Pidge with a raised eyebrow as they hold out their phone, showing him a tweet from the surfing team of what looks like their view from a hotel overlooking the boardwalk. 

“Ugh.” Lance growls under his breath, crossing his arms over the table as he stares down his uneaten taco, suddenly losing any semblance of an appetite.

“Those guys are nothing but trouble. I don’t even get why the festival officials even let them keep competing, haven’t they gotten in trouble like… twelve times now?” Hunk’s tone matches Lance’s mood as he stacks his and Pidge’s empty paper plates and containers on top of one another before he raises an eyebrow at Lance’s untouched box, “You gonna eat that?”

Lance shrugs and taps on it with a long index finger, responding simply, “Call this victory dinner tomorrow.” Hunk grins at this as Lance huffs and continues with the previous thought, “But honestly, fuck the Galra, especially that guy Lotor. He drives me up the fucking wall with his snooty attitude and too good for you blah de blah, I hate watching him win because he’s all ‘ well of course I won, I’m Loooootor’ .”

Hunk furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side in thought, “Wasn’t there a whole scandal last year about how he scuffed up opponent’s boards to try and wreck their scores? Why is he still allowed to compete?”

Pidge shoves their phone in their cargo short pockets, resting their hands with laced fingers beneath their chin as they reply simply, “Because of Lotor’s daddy’s money. I think his dad owns something like half of the festival’s sponsors, or is at least on their Board of Trustees. Lotor could probably get away with just about anything unless he were caught red handed.”

Lance frowns at this and looks down at his styrofoam container with uneaten tacos within with an even less interested expression as his heart sinks in his chest. Hunk seems to catch on this relatively quickly, as he reaches out and pats his shoulder to pull Lance’s baby blue eyes to his, “Hey man, don’t worry about all that. You’re gonna do great tomorrow.” 

“Besides,” Pidge offers helpfully with a wry smirk thrown in Lance’s direction, “I doubt you’re a big enough of a deal to catch his attention just yet.” 

Lance puffs up with a fierce pout, “Hey!”

“I said yet!” Pidge cries in defense, raising their hands over their head with wide, playful eyes before they let them drop back down to their lap, “We’ll have him trying to sabotage your board in no time, sharpshooter, just you wait.” 

Lance smiles at the nickname, earned after a game of lasertag for Hunk’s birthday five or so years ago. Although Lance knows Pidge is being silly, it does make him feel marginally better in some respect. He’s a small fish about to dive into a huge pond, he knows this and that’s most of the reason why he’s so nervous he could probably wring his own intestines right now by breathing that’s how tense he is. He wants to be a bigger fish, though, join the circle of greats like Shiro, get to a point where Lotor’s threatened by him… 

But for the moment he’s okay with not being there just yet.

“It’s getting late.” Pidge says after a moment, flickering their hazel gaze over to the horizon. The sun has fully slipped beneath it, casting the sky in vibrant colors of gold, pink, and orange like angels are having a paintball gun fight up in heaven, and when Lance checks his phone he sees that it’s half past eight. 

“Yeah, you’ve gotta get home, dude!” Hunk stands upright quickly from the table, flashing Lance a bright smile that makes Lance’s chest feel all warm and tingly, “First waves are at 7:30 right? So you’ve gotta be there by 7 at least!” 

Pidge smirks and shakes their head with an off handed gesture, “Probably there more like 6:30, if your manager has any say in it.” They flash him a wink as Lance rises from the table, pulling on their backpack where they left it at their feet under the picnic table. 

Pidge and Hunk have been his two number one’s ever since Lance decided to get serious about surfing when they were about to be sophomores in high school, and when it came to training for the competition they both unanimously decided to be his team supporters and, as Pidge put it, ‘managers’ . Lance has lost count of the amount of times Pidge has driven him to the gym, timed his heats, rated his scores, sent him Youtube video after Youtube video of tricks for him to try. Hunk took it as his personal job to watch Lance’s nutrition, hence why Lance’s taco doesn’t have any nacho cheese on it like he likes, and grilled chicken instead of ground beef, as well as being his camera guy when videoing him surfing so he can watch them later and learn from his own mistakes by looking at a third party view. Lance likes to tease and gripe with them about it sometimes, calling them parent and dad respectively for riding his ass, but secretly he loves it. It takes his joy from surfing to a whole other level when he’s being so supported by his best friends.

Lance can’t help but let out a loud laugh, “Yeah, good luck trying to wake me up at 6 in the morning! I’m so charged up about tomorrow that I’m probably not gonna be able to sleep tonight until like… 2.”

Pidge cocks an eyebrow at him, “ Oh , challenge accepted .” 

“Oh crow, please don’t start off the big day tomorrow trying to kill each other.” Hunk pleads, the three end up laughing together as they leave the taco truck behind and head down the boardwalk. Pidge, being the one in the group who has their own car, takes Hunk home first before dropping Lance off at his house, promising to return at the crack of dawn to get his ass up for the competition tomorrow before driving off. 

Lance holds his to go box containing his untouched taco close to his chest as he heads inside, calling out into the shadowy foyer as he kicks off his sandals, “Hola volví!”  

Veronica sticks her head over the couch next to the entryway and looks at him with a raised eyebrow, “Whoa, hey. How was dinner?”

“Good, good.” Lance rounds the couch and plops down beside his sister, immediately kicking his feet up on the coffee table before the little cable tv sitting on its stand. It’s playing some raunchy romcom from what he can tell, but based on the scour of papers, binders, and his sister’s open laptop on the other side of her on the couch Lance can guess that it’s more background noise rather than genuine entertainment. “How’s studying for that nurse’s exam going?” Lance asks as he takes the remote to switch the channel. 

Veronica immediately snatches it from him with a glare, “Oh no you don’t! That’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now.” 

Lance pouts but relents, crossing his arms as he grumbles under his breath, “ Fine . But only ‘cause you’re suffering.” 

Veronica smirks but doesn’t otherwise reply, scribbling down some notes as she alternates looking at her laptop screen to a thumbed piece of paper in the binder on her lap. “So, you nervous about tomorrow?”

Lance lets out a low breath while also blowing a raspberry, waving her off with a confident grin, “Pfft, heck no, I’ve got it in the bag. Those judge’s won’t know what hit ‘em! Catch me out there hanging a ten!”

“Right.” Veronica replies with an amused tone, Lance shoots her a soft glare in response. “You better get to sleep, I heard Pidge’s waking you up before the sun.” 

“Oh, great .” Lance grumbles as he rises to his feet again, but not before Veronica manages to ruffle his hair. He shoots her a glare to which she responds with a shit eating grin, he sticks his tongue out at her as he moves to march up the stairs to his room. 

His dad’s out late working on a project and his mom picked up an extra shift, so tonight it’s just him, Veronica, Jacob and June. He can see the light on underneath their door and he decides not to knock to say goodnight at the last second; he’s not exactly keen on taking the gamble of whether or not the pre-teen twins are in a mood or not, they’re 12 and reaching that point of almost-teenagehood where they’re getting to be completely insufferable. Lance loves them, no doubt about it, he’ll throw the first punch if someone were to talk shit about them, but that doesn’t stop him from talking his own shit. But he’s the only one allowed to do so, because they’re his insufferable siblings. 

He ducks into his room, closing the door behind him before he lets out a heavy sigh, striding across the cluttered floor to collapse dramatically on his bed. His walls are covered in posters from the SURFER, usually of featured riders and artsy pictures of waves, as well as polaroids, photo-booth pictures, and random bits of memorabilia taped to the walls. Mostly pictures of him, Pidge, and Hunk, but also a bunch with him and his siblings, Veronica, Jacob, June, and Marco. Marco’s 23 now and has his own place up in Seattle working for Amazon, he’s a big management and money-stuff guy now with that BA in Business Administration. Lance misses him; he’s a ray of sunshine that likes to joke around as much as Lance does, but now he’s got all kinds of important Adulting stuff to do now. Not that Lance doesn’t adult now - he just graduated high school - but Marco’s like, a real adult. Does his own taxes, knows how to do them, too. All that noise. Still, Lance misses having him around. 

Lance rolls over onto his side and turns on the fairy lights around his bed post so he can have the soft ambiance rather than sit in the dark before he opens his phone and starts scrolling through his social media. Re-checking out Shiro’s Insta post and reading the comments before going on Twitter. Checking up on the official VLD pages and confirming that the first few heats are indeed at 7:30 in the morning, confirming his position and number on the beach for him and his two boards, one long and one short. 

They’re his first ever boards that he’s ever owned. The shortboard is from Christmas three years ago when Lance was 15 and he was getting serious about surfing, the longboard was for his birthday last year when he declared he was going to compete at the VLD festival next summer when he turned 18, this summer. He dreamed about this ever since he was 14, ever since he started really getting interested in the surfing scene, and now it’s happening. It’s really happening. 

Tomorrow’s gonna be my moment. Lance thinks to himself as he scrolls through Twitter, checking out the competition mostly but also unwinding so he can try and get some sleep. I get a chance to really put my name and face out there and show the world what I’m made of. I just gotta keep my head in the game and take some risks, make those judges remember me. Heck, who knows, maybe one day I can be as much of a legend as Shiro. 

Now wouldn’t that be something? 

Well, he’s not a World Champ like Lance wants to be, he’s never competed on that level… but he could. He’s actually been faced with a lot of pressure from all kinds of places to go to the next tier because the man’s good. Like, really good. That’s part of the reason why Lance reveres him so. He does his own thing, what he wants and on his own terms, and that’s something Lance can seriously respect. Especially since he seems like a really cool, friendly, more than decent guy. In an ideal world Lance would wanna be friends with him, he would be fun to hang out with. 

Maybe I could get a chance to meet him tomorrow. Lance thinks to himself as he finds his eyes starting to close, he frantically sets an alarm for 6am, 8 hours from now, and sets it aside, turning of his fairy lights. Pidge said he’s in town, he’s gotta be here for the heat tomorrow. It’s not a big heat, but its a part of the VLD Festival, they’ve got about a dozen competitions as a part of the celebration and this is the kickoff, each competition after is for the chance to get to the championship, the last heat at the end of the summer. It’s part of the reason why Lance signed up for this one, it’s just for fun and without the eliminating elements, but it’s still a serious competition, with serious judges who give you serious scores and rates. A lot of surfers in the competition surf in the kickoff even though it’s not a part of the actual, elimination games following after because it gives them a chance to improve their base score before they go into the rounds. If Lance remembers correctly, he thinks Shiro’s rate is sitting at a 9.77 right now; an almost perfect number 10. It hasn’t changed in a while, though. That means he hasn’t been surfing, at least not competitively. 

Lance turns over on his side and closes his eyes, his thoughts grow hazy as sleep begins to take him. I wonder what my first score is gonna be . Lance thinks idly to himself, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. Hunk says I can land an easy 8 or 9. Pidge says someplace between 6 and 8. For a first time competition, those would be stellar numbers. Lance hopes he can achieve them. No, he knows he can. 

Tomorrow’s gonna be the game changer, no matter what happens. This is just the beginning. 

Look out world, Lance’s thoughts rumble just before they silence with slumber, here comes Lance McClain. 

… 

Pidge is true to their word. Lance wakes up with their tiny hands grabbing his shoulders and roughly shaking him awake. “Dude, get up! You slept through your alarm!” 

Lance’s eyes immediately snap open as terror seizes his veins, he’s up and stumbling to his feet before he can really gather the ability to be a living human being before he thinks to check his phone and sees the time: 6:04. 

“Dios mío, Pidge, I thought it was like, 8 or something!” Lance huffs with a hand on his hip, taking calming breaths to settle the coursing adrenaline shocking through his veins. Pidge is wearing a t-shirt that says “I don’t trust atoms, they make up everything” and cargo shorts with flip flops, their stopwatch strapped to their wrist.

“Well, you did sleep through your alarm.” They point to his screen where it shows the snoozing icon from Lance’s alarm that he’d set for 6. 

“By 4 minutes .” Lance complains, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to whine any more as Pidge immediately claps their hands, “Alright, well you’re up now, so get ready! Surf suit on, grab a change of clothes, sunscreen-!”

“Okay, okay, parent .” Lance groans as he does as they command, waving them off with a huff, “My mom packed us lunches and snacks, they’re down in the fridge.”

“Perfect! As soon as you’re ready,  help me get your boards on the roof of my car, then we can head out.” Pidge says as they clap Lance on the back, turning on heel and marching out the door without a second to waste. 

Lance regrets the day he gave them a spare key to the house. 

He loves them with all of his heart, don’t get him wrong, but damnit he didn’t sign up for a heart attack at… 6:06 in the morning.

By 6:18 Lance has his surfing suit on underneath a pair of athletic shorts and the ‘team t-shirt’ that Pidge and Hunk got for him: essentially it’s just a light blue, run of the mill shirt that has MCCLAIN written on his shoulders and a caricature of his face on the front on a flag planted on the moon. He loves the thing to pieces, it’s honestly the greatest gift the pair ever gave him, even though it was meant to be a gag. Unfortunately he can’t wear it in the water since that’s not what it was made for, but luckily his surf suit is, it’s a dark navy with light blue highlights up his legs and arms. Makes him look professional. But he’s still getting used to it; he’s only ever surfed in board shorts his whole life until a month ago when his mom got him the suit for the competition and he started surfing in it to break it in. It’s just so… tight . Everywhere . Lance’s physique is a sharp swimmer’s body, thanks to his slim waist and long limbs, but he doesn’t think his physique is that good. Only the hottest of guys look excellent in a swim suit. Although, Lance thinks as he eyes his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he does look fairly decent. Decent enough to not look like a baby in a onesie. He thinks to himself with self deprecating amusement before he heads down the stairs.

Pidge has the lunches loaded up in the car as well as a cooler full of bottled water, two foldable chairs, an umbrella with a corkscrew bottom for stabbing into the sand, and an army of sunscreen, which at their behest Lance promises to apply when they get to the beach, even though the sun’s barely out yet. The sky is a dark scarlet and slowly morphing to a burning orange, like the sky is being set on fire; there’s no wind, barely a breeze, the temperature is comfortable, and there’s not a cloud in sight. A perfect day to surf. Let’s hope the waves agree.

Lance isn’t nervous yet. Getting ready for the day is an easy distractor as he helps Pidge strap his two boards to the hood of their secondhand 2008 Subaru Outback. It was once their brother Matt’s, but was passed down to them about a month ago so they could drive themselves to their summer internship at the local aquarium, and then later to college at Stanford. 

Lance is not looking forward to that, Pidge going off to study 6 hours away. But he’s happy that at least Hunk will be at UCLA, just a half hour away from where they live in Hermosa. 

He gets nervous sometimes, as he didn’t bother applying to college because surfing is his dream, why bother getting some rando degree in something he doesn’t even care about when what he wants to do is make bank off of sponsorships being the next Shiro? But everyone’s saying there’s no life without a degree now a days, he knows that that’s not true but it’s still hard not to get FOMO when almost everyone in his graduating class is heading off to some part of the country. 

It’s not going to be easy to be the next big surfer, and Lance knows it will likely take him a while to accomplish… if at all. And his dad does not like that. He was the oldest of 12 in Cuba, he knows intimately the hardships life can bring when one’s not financially secure and the last thing he wants is for Lance to experience it for himself when he has opportunities to keep that from happening. They’ve butt heads about it a lot , ever since he was 15. Lance gets why he’s at odds with his dream, he really does, he knows he’s just trying to look out for what’s best for him. But it still kind of sucks that it’s part of the reason why he’s never come to watch Lance surf. 

But his mom does. She was a little apprehensive at first too, but after seeing him do it, the obvious passion he put into it, how much he cared and loved the ocean, she realized that no amount of arguing was going to change his mind; Cubans are stubborn, always have been always will be, and the McClain’s are no exception. So she decided to support him in it. If you can’t fight them, join them. 

Not the best attitude, Lance thinks, but it’s better than the alternative. And it’s not like she’s not as passionate about surfing because of it. She’s so in tune to the surfing community now that she’s practically a soccer mom on the beach, she was the one bringing him water and making sure he was wearing sunscreen before Pidge and Hunk took up the roles. She’d tried her damnedest to get off work so she could go to Lance’s competition today, too, but her boss is a bit of a prick about taking off shifts on short notice. So says Lance, at least. And Veronica. And their dad. And any normal human being on the face of the planet. But whatever. Lance grumbles in his head. All the more reason why I’ve gotta hit it big. Lance sets his brow with fresh determination, so I can take care of the family, so that Mom doesn’t have to slave away at a diner with a boss that thinks asking for a vacation day is one step away from a two week’s notice.

Just as Pidge and Lance finish strapping the pair of boards to the roof of the car, suddenly the front door opens and Veronica comes outside. She’s wearing a big, tan sunhat and a crop top that reads “Bae Watch” and high waisted shorts, a pair of large sunglasses are tucked into the neck of the shirt as she strides out with a small satchel slung over her shoulder and a paperback textbook hugged to her chest that reads “Pharmacology for Nurses”

Lance blinks stupidly for a solid minute as Veronica stops on the sidewalk before he’s able to come to his senses enough to find words to speak, “Vero, what the hell are you doing up?”

Veronica scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Coming to support you, mongo .” 

Pidge doesn’t even pause, unphased they get into the driver’s seat, “Well then I hope you’re ready, ‘cause we’re about to head out.” 

Veronica merely shoots Lance a wicked grin as she marches around the car, “Shotgun.” 

“Hey!” Lance cries but Veronica is too fast, she’s already inside and shutting the door once Lance makes it around to the side of the car. Grumbling and bitter he shoots her a harsh glare before he gets into the back seat of the car, “Seriously? I have a big competition today and I can’t even get shotgun?” Veronica only smiles as Lance internally swears that his revenge is coming, and it will be swift and unmerciful

The drive to the beach is both painstakingly long and over in a snap, and it’s only when Lance locks eyes on the official VLD Festival banner that the reality of the moment hits him. He’s about to compete in a big league. Well, it’s not like, a big league, but it’s big enough that it draws a crowd. He’s surfing in the kickoff for the VLD Festival. It’s gonna be a rather big crowd too, Lance looks on as Pidge swears up and down with vulgar phrases that would earn a sailing chancleta from his mima if he even thought them as they try to find parking amid the seas of cars and trucks, strapped with hundreds of boards, long and short. Eventually they make it, however, and Lance becomes once again preoccupied in getting the boards off the roof as Pidge opens their email to investigate the check-in location. 

“There’s a table at the entrance to the beach, that’s where we’ll get our campout location and you’ll get your group number.” Pidge declares, closing their phone and looking over right as Lance tosses the ropes holding the boards into the open windows of the car. 

Lance lets out a breath as he flickers his gaze between Veronica and Pidge, swallowing down the growing nerves to focus on the task at hand. “Help a brother out with these boards?”

The trio manage to carry all the supplies in one trip, making the check in at the initial table breeze by relatively quickly. The guy at the table hands them a brochure of the day’s events and a map of the beach, pointing them to their section in around the middle. Each segment of the beach is divided into same sized sections for each of the surfers to set their stuff up at, but unlike Lance most surfers have at least two or three other surfers - their team - and caddies, accompanying them, and the number of bodies are rapidly stacking up. The beach is already packed, surfing teams coming in with coolers, caddies and friends following behind with their boards, there’s gotta be at least a hundred people here. So, the spot that Lance finds himself in for his own stuff feels rather large, and the massive tent getting set up to his right makes him realize, for the second time, exactly what he is. A little fish in a big pond. A huge ass pond. 

Oh fuck me. 

“Oh hell no, don’t you do it, Lance.” He snaps back into focus as Veronica rounds about and claps her hands on his cheeks, looking at him with the same, penetrating, ocean blue eyes that they both inherited, “Don’t worry about anyone else, amigo . Keep your head in the game.” 

“Yeah man,” Pidge offers as they set up his shortboard up on the provided stand in the middle of the segment, “Comparison is the death of happiness.” When Lance blinks at them in confusion their gaze flickers to the very tent that Lance was eyeing before giving him a meaningful look. 

Lance huffs and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright, message received. Yeesh.” He chews on his lip as he pulls out his phone from his shorts and checks the time, 7:10. “Alright. Focus.” He repeats mostly to himself, letting out a slow breath before he smirks, singing in a familiar tune,  “Gotta get my, get my head in the game.” 

Veronica immediately reaches out and smacks him, making Lance grin wildly.

Once they’ve set up their station, as in put up Lance’s pair of boards, unfolded the pair of chairs, set up the umbrella, and set down the little cooler and lunches, they gather around Pidge as they produce the thick brochure the front table gave them that shows the day’s schedule. 

“Okay team, so it starts out with the juniors heats before we get into the longboard competitions.” Pidge states, their eyebrows furrowed as they regard the brochure, flipping it front to back as the McClain siblings look on over their shoulder, “Men’s first, then women’s. Okay, first of all, fuck the binary. ” Pidge grumbles under their breath, obviously they didn’t intend for the other two to overhear them as they continue trailing a finger along the lines. Lance can’t help but snicker as he ruffles their hair. Pidge doesn’t even blink, they continue after the brief pause, “After that it’s shortboard, men then women again.” 

“Holy shit.” Veronica mutters with wide eyes, touching a manicured index finger to the bottom of the brochure, “There are 36 surfers here?” 

Lance looks up and down the beachside and wonders how it’s only 36. In this small area they are secluded in they’re like in a bubble compared to the madness around them. Big pond. Big pond.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Pidge replies with a shrug, pointing out a line in the brochure, “Each heat only has 3 surfers to reduce any clutter, and fifteen minutes per heat to catch the waves. So looks like juniors may only take half an hour, check out the groupings.” They look up after a moment to get Lance’s attention, pointing out the group segments on the back. There are only two juniors groups, six surfers, and another ten groups after, odd numbers look like men and even look like women, judging based off of the gendered nature of the names Lance can see. He’s in group 5, his name is in the middle with two names he doesn’t recognize, James Griffin and Keith Kogane. 

Before Lance can investigate the groups more, Pidge is rolling up the brochure as they look over to Lance, “Speaking of waves, we should go check them out. See what you’ve got to work with.” 

Lance lets out another slow, controlled breath as he tries not to feel daunted by the number of bodies on the beach. “Alright, yeah.” He says with a forced, playful smirk, “Let’s check out them waves.”

So Lance makes his way through the crowd, following the sound of the crashing waves. Almost immediately his nerves begin to settle as the wide open blues of the water come into view, his vision almost tunnels and his strides become longer. He stops when he reaches the roped fence, for keeping people back from the surf, and the tension in his shoulders immediately begins to relax. Down the beach on the end towards the road is the ambulance for emergencies, though fortunately most of the time they go unused unless a surfer fucked up their knee or something on a fall because those who ride in the Festival are experienced. The people who end up doing the most are the officials on jetskis in the water, who take surfers to the start and then back after their heat so they don’t get exhausted, Lance can see them banked just on the surf, ready to go with a turn of a key.

The waves look excellent for surfing. Based on what Lance can see, there are a lot of big tubing waves, big enough for a person to slip beneath and to glide across and immediately a grin starts to creep up Lance’s features; those are Lance’s favorite kind of waves. They’re more dangerous, though, they’re stronger and can force a surfer deeper under water and toss them around if they get crashed on, making it harder to make it back to the surface. But there’s nothing better than riding a silky stream straight through, Lance always feels like he’s one with the water and he was born to fit there, a tunnel made by the sea just for him. 

“Wow. These waves are looking great today.” Lance blinks at the unfamiliar voice to his right and when he looks over his heart stops on its tracks, his back straightens and his eyes widen as his throat tightens like he’s suddenly being strangled. 

There’s no way. Lance thinks to himself. I have to be dreaming right now. There is no way that Takashi Shirogane himself is standing next to me and talking about the waves for the competition today. There’s no way. 

But it is. Lance knows his face anywhere. He stands tall and proud with umber eyes trailing the crashing waves on the sands before them, his arms are crossed over his bare chest with his completely black surfing suit half undone and hanging around his waist. 

He’s taller than I thought he would be . He’s gotta be like… 6’2, 6’3 at least.  

Lance swallows on the sudden dryness in his throat when those slanted, almond shaped eyes turn and regard him with warmth and familiarity as his idol speaks again, “Don’t you think?”

Oh my God. He’s talking to me. Holy fuck. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is NOT A DRILL. Lance swallows again and stares at him for a lot longer than he’d care to admit before he suddenly realizes fuck I need to say something . Only then does he stammer, “Holy fu- Shiro? You’re Shiro. Like… the Shiro.” 

Shiro looks back at him with a raised eyebrow and a slightly bemused expression, “... Uh yeah. It’s nice to meet you… McClain?” He flickers his gaze to the side of Lance’s shirt, on the back where his last name is displayed before he holds out a hand to shake. 

Lance has never latched onto someone’s hand so fast in his life. He shakes it up and down vigorously, his mouth suddenly starts working again and it goes into overdrive, “It’s such an honor to meet you! I’ve heard all about you, you’re like, the greatest surfer ever! Wow, it’s so great to meet you - I’m Lance! Lance McClain. But you got that last part from my shirt huh? Hah, that makes sense. My friends got it for me as a gag gift ‘cause I don’t have a team shirt to wear or anything ‘cause I’m not on a team, it’s just little old me-” Lance cuts himself off once he realizes he’s rambling, shaking his head a bit as he releases a slightly confused Shiro’s hand. He clears his throat, speaking a lot slower as he tries to smile in a natural, charming manner, “So, are you surfing today?” 

Shiro nods, there’s a light, amicable twinkle in his eye as he regards the sky blue eyed other before him, “Yeah, getting back into the swing of things. I’ve been away for a while visiting family in the south-midwest.” He looks off beyond Lance and to the waters over his shoulder, his voice grows wistful and pensive, “I think we’re gonna have a good competition today.” He pauses and looks back at Lance before flashing him another charming, charismatic smile, “Gotta say, I’m pretty excited.” 

“Me too!” Lance proclaims excitedly, grinning a bit like a fool, “It’s my first competition today. So I get what you mean. Kinda. Like, the ‘getting into the swing of things’ sort of way.” A figure shifts to stand on the other side of Shiro and Lance locks eyes with a stranger with indigo irises and his throat tightens for the second time within ten minutes, but now for a whole other reason. 

First thing Lance notices is that he’s pale. Like, if he’s not wearing sunscreen at every second of the day he’s lucky he’s not gonna look like a lobster pale. His black hair is longer at the nape of his neck, curling on the edges and wild bangs hang in his eyes, tousled in the light, lazy breeze gracing the seaside. 

Lance dry swallows again as a wave of heat splashes his face, and it isn’t from the rising sun. He’s good looking, handsome…  pretty. Like, really pretty. He didn’t think that guys could be described as pretty but looking at this dude standing on the other side of his surfing hero Lance realizes that he was dead wrong. Because this guy is Pretty. Capital P.

Damn. Lance thinks to himself as his stomach does a flip. Once he overcomes the sudden onslaught of vaguely gay emotions he realizes he’s also wearing a surfing suit, it has red accents along the sides almost like racing stripes and the material covers everything except a stretch of pale skin beneath his jawline and the tops of his bare feet, covered in sand. He’s gotta be a novice surfer with skin like that . Lance purses his lips thoughtfully, No one spends hours in the sun and doesn’t have some sort of tan, and I mean no one. This white boy isn’t gonna last an hour in the sun, even in the morning light like this.

The stranger doesn’t meet Lance’s gaze for more than a second before he’s turning to Shiro, “They’re calling for juniors in a minute, judge’s are already at the table.” 

Shiro turns to the other with a bright smile, crinkling under his friendly eyes as he nods appreciatively, “Awesome, thanks.” Shiro gestures idly towards Lance as he continues speaking to Keith, “I just met someone else who’s competing for the first time, too. This is Lance.” He glances back over at Lance before jutting a thumb to his companion, “Lance, This is my foster brother, Keith.” 

Keith. So that’s your name. Maybe even the Keith Kogane that’s in my heat group. Who’s foster brothers with The Shiro.

What a plot twist.

Feelings out of his element, Lance does what he does best: act like a complete idiot. He snaps a pair of finger guns at the attractive stranger and flashes him a lopsided grin, “Nice, getting an inside look at the competition! You’re in group 5, right? We’ll be facing off pretty soon, then. Can’t wait to crush you into the sand.” Lance balks a little as the words slip out, he flickers his gaze to the side as fights the urge to backtrack. That sounded kind of aggressive. But it is a competition, right? Bleh, he’s just got me all out of sorts because he’s hot-

Keith cocks an eyebrow at Lance before smirking crookedly, Lance has to fight the urge to blush as the other growls in a husky manner, “Sure, dream on.”

Suddenly a loud voice, projected over a megaphone, echoes across the beach and silences every human on it, “Juniors heat in five minutes. Junior Group 1 surfers, make your way to the beach. Junior Group 2 on standby.” 

“We should clear off before we’re trampled.” Shiro rumbles, touching a hand to Keith’s shoulder as he guides him away, but not before flashing Lance a friendly smile and a parting wave, “Nice meeting you, Lance!” 

“Y-you too!” Lance calls after, waving back. A group of kids Lance recognizes from school cut into his line of sight as he watches his idol walking away, snapping him out of his daze. And now he wants to jump up into the air and hoot and holler. He just met Shiro. Shiro! Holy fuck! Pidge isn’t gonna believe this, oh my fuck- 

Lance rushes through the crowd of people, who are moving either out of the way or to the shoreline to watch the junior’s first heat, it takes him a second to find his area and once he does he practically Michael Jackson slides in front of Pidge where they sit in their chair beneath the umbrella with their legs crossed, scrolling on their phone, “Pidge-you’re-never-gonna-guess-who-I-just-met!” 

Pidge starts so hard that their glasses go a bit askew, they have to scrunch their nose and readjust in their seat to look at him with wide, startled eyes, “Jesus Christ, dude, what the hell?” 

“Shiro!” Lance cries, practically bouncing up and down where he kneels before them on his knees, “I just met Shiro! The Shiro!” 

Pidge blinks for a moment before cocking an eyebrow, “What? Really? Where?”

“On the shoreline!” Lance points back over his shoulder, he starts speaking dizzyingly fast as excitement courses through him, “He approached me and was all like, ‘These waves are so good today don’t you say’ and I lost my mind! Dude, holy shit, I can’t even believe, I’m not making this shit up! ” 

“Wow, get his number, too?” Veronica teases where she sits in the other chair, turning a leaf on the page of her medical textbook. 

Lance shoots her a glare and blows a raspberry before his thoughts trace back to the guy with him. His foster brother. The guy in his heat. 

Yeah, gay thoughts, you’re on standby. He thinks as he shakes his head a bit, I gotta focus, get my head in the game. Crush him first, ask for his number later. Lance shakes his head a bit, making vague, centering motions with his hands as he closes his eyes and thinks about the waves, the feel of the board beneath his feet, and the tautness of his legs when they twist in movement. Getcha head in the game. 

“There he is! Lance!” Lance perks up at the sound of his name, opening his eyes and looking up just in time to see a familiar face with shining sapphire eyes rush up to him. 

“Whoa, Allura! Hey!” Lance starts, rising to his feet and holding out his arms as she sweeps in for a tight hug. Her starlight white hair is half up, held back by a clawed clip with a seashell on it, and she’s wearing a light pink sundress that stops just about midthigh. In her arms she carries her camera bag, with the actual camera hanging around her neck, and a water bottle covered in playful stickers, which she sets in the sand once she breaks away from Lance’s arms. “What’re you doing here?” He asks with a stunned expression. 

“Supporting you, of course!” Allura replies with a brilliant smile before she turns and waves her hand behind her, “I found him, over here!”

Behind her come two more familiar figures; Coran, Allura’s godfather, a middle aged, ginger man with a poofy, curled, orange mustache the size of Lance’s hand, clad in a dad-like ensemble of a light blue polo and cargo shorts with a cooler at hand and another beach umbrella over his shoulder, and Romelle, Allura’s girlfriend. She has her blond hair up in two braids that fall on her collarbones, wearing a flowery swimsuit top and a draped, light green scarf with tassels on the end tied around her waist. As she approaches with a beaming grin that rivals that of the sun’s, Lance finds a genuine smile beginning to stretch upon his face, and warmth spreading across his features. 

In his sophomore year Lance had a huge crush on Allura, who was a senior at the time. They got to be close friends when she saw him surfing at the beach one day and asked for some pictures for the school yearbook, they still talked even after she went to college at UCLA, studying marine biology with a minor in photography because of course she did, no one can take a photo like Allura can. Lance would always joke that when he hit it big, he’d want to hire her to be his social media manager; she’d always laugh and call him an idiot for thinking she’d quit her job to be a social media anything. She became a part of his, Hunk’s, and Pidge’s friend group and whenever she was home for breaks they would hang out all together, kicking around town, doing teenager things, except last summer when she studied abroad in Brazil.

Things never went anywhere with the pair relationship-wise; Lance slowly realized that he valued his friendship with Allura far more than any potential romantic relationship they could have, so when she came home from college last summer and introduced Romelle to their friend group as her girlfriend, Lance couldn’t find even a shred of jealousy in him. They are just so… cute and happy together, how could he not support them? Honestly, as long as Allura is happy, Lance is happy. 

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think that she’s the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen anymore. Far from it. 

“How do you do, Lance?” Coran beams at the other with a twitch of his orange mustache, setting down the umbrella in the sand so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders in an amicable hug. Him and Allura are from London originally but they moved to the US after her dad died when she was 13, and Coran became her official guardian. Her mom passed when she was born, and honestly he’s sort of always felt like Lance’s own uncle in a way; he’s eccentric and fun loving, but also reliable when you need him.  

“I’m great!” Lance proclaims, pointing a fingergun at Coran with a smirk before he whirls towards Romelle and Allura, “Guys, you’re not gonna believe who I just met!”

Allura regards him with narrowed eyes and a pensive expression for a moment before she beams, “I can’t think of anyone you’d be this excited about except for your surfing hero. What was his name? Shibi?”

“Shiro.” Lance corrects as he hops on his feet, “He talked to me first, too! I didn’t even have to go up to him! How cool is that?!” 

Pidge snorts and pushes up their glasses as they look back down at their phone, “Keep it in your pants.” 

“That must’ve been so exciting!” Romelle says with a sympathetic smile, patting Lance’s shoulder warmly, “Is he competing?”

Lance nods, folding his arms with a confident stance, “Yes he is, he told me so!”

“Ah, a little help here?” The trio look over just in time to see Coran nearly tumbling with the umbrella at hand as he tried to stab it into the ground, unsuccessfully. But luckily Veronica swoops in just in time, dropping her textbook to rise and keep him steady before helping him stick it in the ground. “Phew. Thanks, Veronica.” Coran flashes her a thankful smile as he wipes some sweat from his brow. 

There’s a loud whine as the megaphone, which Lance can hear very clearly, as they’re rather close to the judge’s table where they stand, flares to life, “Men’s Longboard Group 1 to the water, Group 3 is on deck.” 

“Oh shit.” Lance says with a sudden inhale, looking over at the others with wide eyes before he waves them towards the seashore, where the grand collection of people have started to gather now that the main event has started underway, “Come on, let’s go check out the competition!”

“I’ll stay and set us up here. Don’t head out for your heat without a good luck high five!” Coran threatens with a pointed look over at Lance as Allura, Romelle, Pidge, and Veronica start making their way down to the spectator line. Lance gives him a firm salute with a crooked grin before he turns and follows after his friends. 

The first three surfers aren’t much to look at, if Lance is being perfectly honest, which is fortunate because they only have five minutes left in their heat by the time that he and his collection of supporters find a decent spot to look on, Pidge has found their way in front of Allura so they can see, as they’re only 5’1, Lance finds himself standing just over their right shoulder to watch. One of the surfers makes a pretty decent off the lip move but all in all they don’t really vary their cuts, mostly just carving, although another one of the trio likes to noseride. A short airhorn breaks the air to signal the end of the heat, Lance and the rest of the crowd cheers appropriately with enthusiastic claps as the surfers return to shore. 

Then goes out Group 3 for men’s longboards and Allura immediately sucks in breath sharply from Lance’s side. He looks over at her with a raised eyebrow and an unspoken question, she feels his gaze and meets it evenly before she lets out a huff, “I didn’t realize that Lotor would be here.”

“Ugh, yeah, unfortunately.” Pidge grumbles as they shove their hands in the pockets, regarding the surfers as they glide out onto the water, “The Whole Galra posse is here with him, too.

Lance looks back out onto the water and immediately he spots him. He’s easy to see, he has this radiating energy that naturally draws the eye, and it stems from many places. Definitely from the strong jaw always held upright so he can look down his nose, the charming, half smile that could cut a cake it’s so sharp, even the way he stands demands attention, his tanned, flawless shoulders back so he stands like a Grecian hero and Lance automatically knows that, despite having never actually met the guy, he hates his guts. Nothing drives him up the wall more than someone who thinks they’re hot shit and knows it, and then proceeds to treat everyone around them like dirt to be trod upon. 

The background he knows about him is pretty minimal beyond the basic digging Pidge had done on him in the past, his dad is the head of Zarkon Industries which has its fingers in just about every pocket, the family’s in the top 5 richest billionaires, the whole shabang, blah de blah, rich asses, old money. His family has vacation homes in New York City, LA, and Miami, and that’s just in the US. So you can say that Lotor’s probably never been in a position of financial difficulty, and goddamn if it doesn’t show, based on his elitist… everything . Lance eyes his surfboard as he rides the waves and immediately recognizes the Haydenshapes finish on the tail fin, he tries to fight the green that threatens to fight its way into his gills. That board alone probably costs as much as my mom makes at the diner in a year, he thinks darkly to himself. 

Worst part about Lotor is that he isn’t stupid; he knows how to use his dad’s power and influence to generate his own, and damn does he use it. With an Instagram post, a tweet, a livestream, Lotor can take down an entire business if he so wanted to, and he’s done it before; Tatiana’s was the hotspot for surfers during the VLD Festival about two years ago but after a scathing review from Lotor, that Lance heard was only granted because the servers there were fed up with his shitty attitude, the place was shut down and profitless in two months. He doesn’t need his dad’s money or position to get him anything, he’s used that boost up to craft his own place in the upper arches of society so he can stand on his own on a throne of gold. It’s even worse that he’s model worthy Lance thinks begrudgingly as Group 3 starts its heat. 

Suddenly a thought occurs to him, he looks over at Allura with a raised eyebrow, “Wait a minute, how do you know Lotor?” 

“Who doesn’t know Lotor?” Veronica counters as she adjusts her glasses to squint at the horizon, watching the initiation; so too does Lance turn his attention to the water. Lotor’s platinum hair is long and almost silvery in the sun, which is now about halfway up hanging in the sky; his hair’s held back in a bun at the nape of his neck, making him easy to spot next to the two dark haired guys, one of whom just picked up a tubular wave. His hair color is kind of like Allura’s, except hers is authentically completely white, a genetic mutation she once told him that’s along the same strain where albinoism comes from. It suits her very well, especially with her skin like cocoa, it makes her stand out. As if her obvious beauty didn’t already do that for her Lance thinks idly as he regards her warmly. 

But that’s not what he was asking about. Everyone knows Lotor, yeah, sure, but the way Allura just spoke of him, the frown and pinch in her brow as she watches him sit on his board in the water, that doesn’t seem like a generalistic way to refer to someone you don’t know. But for the life of him Lance can’t figure out how the hell Allura could’ve possibly met Lotor, except maybe at a surfing heat… but they’ve always gone to those together, Lance would’ve remembered if she’d said she met the guy. 

There’s a collective noise of appreciation from the crowd and Lance finds his attention snapping back to the present, where it should be, damnit, I need to be watching the competition and seeing what scores they get so I know where the bar’s at. Lance forcibly bites his bottom lip to focus his attention back to the now before honing in on the surfers. 

Lotor paddles as a fresh wave forms and catches it with ease, it’s at least twice the size of him and as it begins to fully crest he leaps to his feet, standing steadily by the nose before executing a floater right as the wave crashes, ripping down the side with a perfect 360 before allowing himself to ride the tube the wave formed. Right before it crashes on him he does a tail kick up the side before whizzing into the foam with wide, perfect carves. 

This does sate the hatred he carries in his heart a bit; he can’t be that mad with someone who can ride a wave that good. He’s definitely a prick, but damn can he ride a wave Lance thinks to himself.

“Wait a minute, Lance, you’re up in the next heat!” Lance snaps to attention when Pidge turns to him, their eyes fly wide before they clap their hands in front of his face, “Go get your fucking board!”

“Okay! Okay!” Lance cries and turns away as they start pushing on his shoulders to get him to walk faster, quickly he rushes back to his station. Coran senses his urgency once he’s there and immediately hands him his longboard, giving him a good luck high five as he straps on the leash to his ankle before stripping out of his “team shirt,” Coran catches it as Lance throws it over his shoulder with a wave and a thank you, he hurries with his board under his arm with caution to keep the board safe, but with all due haste.

When he returns to his friend group the airhorn to end the second heat has long since sounded, and the summoning call of the megaphone brings him to the front. Without any preamble his friends all give him excited waving motions, whoops, and shouts as he ducks under the rope to head to the water. “Go get ‘em, champ!” Pidge screams with their hands clasped in a cone around their mouth to project their voice, which is completely unnecessary as he can still see the whites of their eyes as he makes his way to the water, it nearly deafens him. 

Now, standing away from the suffocating crowd and heading towards the jetskis on the edge of the water Lance can almost feel the amount of eyes tracking him and it’s daunting . He didn’t take into account that he would have literally a hundred times the audience he’s ever had watching him surf before and now he is taking it into account, and he really doesn’t like it. 

Lance’s feet sink into the wet sand as he makes his way into the water, sea foam laps at his ankles and he tries to focus on the sensation to drive away the nerves. Just me and the water. Gotta focus on getting past the crashing waves so the heat can start.  

“Good luck out there.” Lance nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the voice beside him, and he looks over to see the pretty guy who was with Shiro, Keith. His longboard is a deep red wood, on the underside is the primal stamp - that all Lion’s Pride boards have - of a, surprise surprise, lion’s face on the base, a bright scarlet like flame in the burning sun’s light.

His gaze skirts Lance’s and then just beyond him, a second voice, more brazen and abrupt than Keith’s general huskiness, answers him, “I don’t need luck. But you will.” Lance blinks and meets the second person in his heat’s penetrating gaze and he finds himself balking a bit at how intense he looks, his hair is side swept and salt licked, he’s wearing a surf suit with short sleeves and dark orange highlights on the undersides of his arms and a generic smooth wood board, Catch Surf brand. Guess that’s the other guy. Fuck what was his name? I think James? John? Lance snaps back into focus as one of the two officials on the jetski, a guy in a black life vest and matching polo with VLD on the back, waves for him to get on the sloped back with his vehicle. 

“Uh, yeah, right back atcha!” Lance cries back conversationally right as the jetskis start up and they make their way out into the water. The water’s warm, warmer than Lance was expecting and it fills him with pleasant joy because nothing is worse than ice cold seawater lapping his nipples when he’s trying to paddle. Ngh. Sucks just to even think about. 

It takes the jetski a minute to get past the swelling waves and Lance has to hang on for dear life to accommodate; he’s not used to the ride, he usually has to make his way out on his own, but such is the luxury of sanctioned competitions. When they get to the start Lance struggles to get his board right on the water, finagling himself onto it with awkward pushes from the back of the jetski and he ends up falling off anyway, plunging straight into the water. He surfaces with frustrated spurts like a pissy dolphin, with a bit of an upper body struggle he rolls onto his board. When he looks up he feels a tad better to see the other guy, James, struggling as much as he was, but that dies when he sees Keith gliding smoothly straight from jetski to board in one smooth movement. He can’t help but furrow his eyebrows a bit at that as he sits up on his board, hanging his feet in the water, didn’t Shiro say this was his first competition? How experienced is this guy anyway? 

As the jetskis zoom away the airhorn sounds to indicate the start of the heat now that the trio have made their way to the starting positions and Lance’s focus immediately locks in on the swelling waves beneath them, looking for the perfect opening to show his stuff. James, however, wastes no time; the first wave of relative height that comes their way James starts paddling into with all his strength, Keith and Lance hang back is per etiquette as he takes his shot. James immediately starts off with a layback snap, showering him in glittering water droplets and gaining momentum to do an aerial lift, but it’s sloppy and rushed, he teeters and slides down the waves sooner than he appeared to be ready for. But, he didn’t fall. Just waved his arms a bit. 

“Pfft, I totally would’ve laughed if he fell in the water.” Lance snorts with a smirk, flashing the stranger to his right the same look with a playful wink, “I’ll laugh even harder if you do.” 

Keith doesn’t answer him, he doesn’t even look in his direction, and Lance almost immediately gets pangs of annoyance. Wow, too cool to interact with me now, huh? He examines his profile for a moment. Probably just a naturally broody guy. Naturally broody, standoffish guy. With a mullet. It didn’t look like a mullet before… but at this angle… shorter hair in the front, longer in the back means mullet… even though his bangs are pretty long, Lance could tuck them behind his ears if given the opportunity-

Lance looks to the rise of a massive wave, sooner than the other waves that have come up until this point, and he acts on gut instinct without a second’s hesitation, snapping out of his gay thoughts. He turns and starts to paddle in the direction of the wave, as soon as his board catches on the power of the water he leaps to his feet, touching his fingertips to the front of the board to ensure his balance. Hunk’s words come to him as he steadies himself, don’t worry about doing big tricks, just do what comes naturally. When you go by how you feel, you always do the best stuff.

Alright then, Hunk. This is for you. Here’s how I’m feeling. Lance smirks to himself as he feels the movement of the current beneath the wave, pulling on his board as it begins to reach its crest behind him and carves sharply to the top before he plunges to the bottom with a kickflip, he refinds his grip back on the board in no time. He lets out a slow, controlled breath and a wild grin as the waves begins to tunnel behind him and he carves up and down to ride with it, as he reaches its end he sees an opening and he acts without thinking, he glides up into a rodeo flip before he crunches back for a closeout reentry. He slips out and overpasses the seafoam when the waves pass, over the roar of adrenaline in his ears he suddenly hears the applause from the collected crowd on the beach. He turns towards them as he slips down to a sitting position on his board, his heart suddenly clambers into his throat and suddenly he’s radiating nerves like an exposed wire. Shit. Oh man, that’s a lot of people. Did I do good? Do they think that was good? What if I hung on too long on that aerial, will they penalize me for it? Where even are the judges? 

A tall wave nearly sends Lance capsizing on his board, pulling him back to the present moment. He sets his brow and lays on his board, paddling back out further to refind the starting position, but luckily it’s not hard to find as Keith is still there and James has rejoined him. 

As soon as Lance starts to get close another wave rises and Keith snaps like a racehorse at the shot of a gun. He paddles and rides out to the crest with it and Lance watches with intense interest, he can’t see some of his moves when he’s below the crest but he’s blown away when he suddenly rises in the air with the superman. Holding his board in his arms like the Lion King he falls back upon its gleaming surface with the grace of an angel, less than ten seconds later he’s back up in the air further down the wave in a 360 turn. It’s almost like he has wings.  

Lance has gotta admit… he’s impressed. 

When Keith returns to the fold James has set off for his second wave, but after that performance Lance can’t help but eye Keith with a newfound respect. Now I kinda wanna get to know him. Purely for competition-scanning reasons, of course. “... So how long have you been surfing, again?”

“A year.” 

Lance blinks at him stupidly for a solid minute before he scoffs, “No, seriously.”

Keith meets his cerulean gaze evenly, tilting his head with a raised eyebrow in confusion, like his words genuinely puzzled him, “... Yeah? Seriously?” 

The respect that Lance felt for that momentary minute swells into something else, something that tastes bitter and leaves a dark blanket over his chest. “You learned how to surf in a year? And can do that ?” He gestures vaguely to the area Keith once was doing those expert level aerials, Keith merely shrugs like this is nothing new, like it was nothing. 

It took Lance two years just to quit falling down after a bad ride. He set aside a whole six months to work on nailing the rodeo flip and that’s the only aerial he can comfortably do without worrying he’s gonna miss the wave on his descent back down. But this guy… can do the fucking superman and a 360… after a single year? Has he been surfing for twelve hours a day every day?

Keith runs his hands through his hair and pushes his bangs out of his eyes as he searches for the next wave and something like licorice rests on Lance’s tongue as he shoots daggers at him. I take it back, fuck this guy. I don’t care how pretty he is with his hair all wet and slicked back like that, acting all aloof and broody about being so fucking good at surfing when it took me months to learn to carve, what a piece of- 

Keith takes off for his next wave as James returns, he’s panting slightly as he shakes his head like a dog but Lance couldn’t care less about him anymore. Lance has to fight from giving Keith a stink-eye as he executes another series of perfect aerial tricks. It’s almost like he’s trying to show off, doing all those aerials so that I have to see them, too. Rubbing in how fucking naturally good he is. 

Oh, it’s so on. 

Keith barely finishes his wave before Lance starts ravenously searching for his next one, as soon as he spots one that he vaguely likes he starts to paddle like it’s his life on the line. Once his wave starts to crest he leaps to his feet with tension pulsing beneath his fingertips on the board, his mind working a mile a minute to think of what tricks he could do to really showcase what he’s got. As soon as he’s stable he gets to work, carving the waves like Thanksgiving turkey and executing another rodeo as soon as he’s physically able to, but the landing is rougher this time, he has to do a bottom turn in order to compensate for the excess momentum. His wave ends and he has to climb the foam before he’s able to drop back down and head back to the start, dampening Lance’s spirits as he wanted to try for a switchstance or a floater. Idly he wonders if Keith saw the rodeo flip, what he thought of it, but as soon as those thoughts surface Lance stamps them into his board with a fist like it personally wronged him. I don’t care what he thinks , Lance thinks angrily to himself, I’m just trying to impress the judges. Not him. Hang what he thinks. 

Keith doesn’t look at him once he makes it back to the start, the trio watch the waves in search for their next one but Lance’s mind isn’t focused, he keeps finding himself tracking back to his last wave and reevaluating his decisions - Keith is the first one off, internally Lance kicks himself for how fast his attention zeroes in on him as he goes. This time he analyzes each movement, watching what his muscles do not because they’re nice to look at this is solely for competitive purposes , but honestly all it does for Lance is get him more and more frustrated with how effortless Keith makes it look. 

I’ve said it once and I know I’ll be saying it again: fuck this guy. 

So it continues. Lance catches his waves, performs risky stunts, each one more sloppy than the last and it only stokes Lance’s internal ire, why can’t he just focus ? But he does them, and half of the surfing rating is about creativity, variety, and blah, stuff like that, so it’s fine, right? As Lance finishes his final wave after trying to do an aerial 360 but ending up having to do a cutback instead the airhorn sounds and Lance’s pulse flutters when he hears the cheering from the crowd. His building frustration and heat under his collar evaporates as he slides to his board’s surface when the jetski comes to pick him up, the crowd grows closer and grows more real as Lance realizes he was on a stage. Performing for them. And he’s currently being judged based on that performance and then getting assigned his first ever rank. 

Ranks are based on an average of the waves ridden. Each judge rates each wave by a number between 1 and 10 - with two decimal points for accuracy - and then they add and average all of their individual numbers together to a consensus on the overall number for each individual wave a surfer does. These numbers are based on the creativity, combination, variety, and difficulty of moves. And, of course, the quality of their execution. The judges then lop off the largest two and the smallest two numbers, average the remaining, and then give them to the surfer as their final score. The system works so that it’s in a surfer’s best interest to catch as many waves as possible to get a good, specific average. Lance caught eight waves, leaving him with four in between numbers to make his rank.

Lance is gonna get his rank. It’s leaving him shaking in anticipation.

The jetski the officials ride to pull contestants onto after heats starts to pick up the new surfers once Lance has disembarked, when he gets back to land with sand clinging to his feet his friends welcome him with excited cheers like they’re at a football stadium. Pidge claps him on the back as they welcome him back underneath the rope and together they head back to their section for Lance to rest, reapply sunscreen, and get some water. And a snack Lance hopes wistfully.

“That was wonderful, Lance, great job!” Romelle congratulates with a bright smile, which Lance returns with a tired grin. His arms feel like rubber and his lungs feel like they’re about to up and quit on him, once he’s set his longboard up on the rack he collapses in one of the two seats. 

Pidge claps their hands slowly, giving him a winning thumb’s up before they gesture over their shoulder, “Ditto. Now I’n gonna go camp by the judge’s table to get your rate!” Lance perks a bit at this as they turn on heel and head over, Coran calls after them that he’ll go with and they soon disappear into the mingling crowd. 

“What happened out there?” Lance jumps a bit in surprise when Allura faces him with a serious expression, her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped an octave, “Was it the nerves?”

Lance blinks at her stupidly for a solid beat before he cocks an eyebrow, apprehension swelling like a wave in the back of his throat that he hides with a lackadaisical smirk, “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, I noticed, too.” Veronica hops on, her hands on her hips as her gaze, shrouded in the shadow of her sunhat, lock on his, “You were kinda… all over the place. Slipping and jumbling your moves.”

Lance swallows on the lump in his throat as he crosses his arms indignantly, “What? That’s ridic-, no, nothing happened! And since when have you known anything about surf stuff, Vero?”

“Since my idiot of a brother decided to get invested in it, mongo .” Veronica answers, following it up with a raspberry.

The questions set Lance’s mind at the opposite of ease. He looked… off? What does that mean? Is that a good thing? Something tells him that it isn’t a good thing. But Veronica and Allura aren’t exactly surf experts, so I’m sure I’ll be fine. Lance assures himself, taking a steeling breath as he watches the space where Pidge and Coran had disappeared to. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Those moves were crazy, I was doing stuff I haven’t even been practicing for, if that’s not ‘daring and creative’ then what is? That’ll definitely get me some points-

“My, do my eyes deceive me? Allura! How wonderful to see you!” The collected party turns at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and Lance pauses where he sits reclined in the chair, pushing his wet and wild hair to slick back. 

Lotor stands proudly before them, his shoulders back and his arms hanging at his sides and something about Lance’s position sitting close to the sand makes him look impossibly tall, larger than life; uncomfortable with this Lance stands up but he can’t shake that feeling even now as he’s mostly eye level with him. A stray strand of blond hangs in his eyes, a penetrating, deep blue that’s almost black and cuts into the person he regards like an exceptionally sharp knife. Behind him are four girls that Lance has never met before, but he recognizes three of them from his Twitter page; they’re a part of his team. He recognizes the pair of girlfriends immediately, Ella and Zethra; Ella has light brown hair tied in a high pony tail and pale blue eyes, she’s a little shorter than Lance, her eyes come to his nose. And then there’s Zethra, who could be 6’3 or 6’4 easily with rippling muscles beneath a tank top with ripped off sleeves, sporting an undercut with the hair on top of her head dyed a dark purple, and of course a deep set scowl on her face that matches the dark earth of her hard gaze. She could probably break Lance in half if she wanted to, he can’t imagine how she’s able to glide on a surfboard with very much ease considering how large her frame is. 

The other girl he recognizes as a part of the team has a short pixie cut, black as night and dark green eyes like the forest. She’s quieter than the others, and appear in their team posts less often than the others but if he remembers her performance at the VLD last year correctly then he’s positive that her skills are nothing to scoff at. What was her name… Oh right, Alexa. Lance remembers that because he made a joke out of it for about a month, ‘Alexa, google elitism’. The final girl is tall and spindly, kind of like how Lance is in frame, with medium length, dirty blond hair and soft brown eyes. Like Zethra she is not in a surf suit, rather she’s in leggings and a long sleeved, lilac blouse with see-through, loose arms. Lotor’s groupies, squad, whatever I guess. Lance thinks idly to himself as he scans each of them individually. 

Allura immediately flushes, her arms cross as she lifts her head up high to regard the taller man with a gaze like cut sapphires, “Yes, hello. Can I help you?”

Lotor smiles graciously, his gaze dropping a little in what can best be described as a lowkey nod of greeting before he continues with voice like honey, “I’m surprised to see you here. I did not think that you were savvy in the surfing world.” 

“I’m here to support my friend, Lance.” Allura states curtly as she turns to regard the blue eyed surfer in question, when he meets her gaze he can see the warning light illuminated in her pupils. A thousand questions run through Lance’s head all at once. Wait a minute, Allura knows Lotor? Like, enough that he recognizes her and approaches her on a crowded beach with his four friends? How the hell…?

Lotor’s gaze slides to Lance and he has to fight not to balk at the intensity of it. It’s not purposefully so, Lance thinks, it looks like a natural thing, suiting to his guise, but that doesn’t make it any less daunting. Lotor examines Lance with a brief sweep before he raises a polite eyebrow, “I see. You were with the juniors, I presume?” 

Lance immediately bristles, narrowing his eyes at Lotor as he spits back a little harsher than he means to, “No, I just went. Group 5.” 

Lotor merely blinks like Lance’s defensive stance is as interesting as a chemistry textbook. “Of course, my apologies.” He replies charismatically but with an offhanded expression as his gaze returns to Allura, “I’m having a little get together at the Hilton down by the boardwalk this evening to celebrate the kickoff of the VLD Festival. You are more than welcome to join.” His gaze slides to Lance beside her before he looks to Romelle, who empathetic as ever sensed the tension radiating from Allura’s shoulders and immediately slid herself close to her side with a shrouded gaze on the blond before her. Lotor gives her a once over only briefly, it’s so fast that Lance’s could’ve blinked and missed it before he smiles with sugar laced in his tone, “You may even bring your little friends, if you want.”

“It’s quite alright, but thank you.” Allura replies sternly, like she’s a teacher having to tell a student to shut up for the tenth time despite the politeness of her words. Lance finds his gaze flickering between Allura’s and Lotor’s as they stare off, and internally he finds himself channeling Gordon Ramsey: ‘what the fuck is going on?’

“Aww, I’m sorry to hear that you’re still allergic to fun.” Ella suddenly pipes up from behind Lotor, with a sunshine-like smile and dual dimples fully brandished she rests her chin on Lotor’s shoulder and regards Allura with a playful gaze that has a hint of harsh scrutiny within them. Zethra by far is the most physically intimidating one here, but Lotor’s gaze like diamond swords and Ella’s smile like sweet red wine laced with poison has Lance regarding them with the most apprehension. 

The girl behind him, the one without the surf suit, raises her hands and makes sharp gestures while making eye contact with the other girl next to her, Alexa; Lance realizes after a second that she’s communicating via ASL. Alexa watches her hands with crossed her arms over her long sleeved surf suit with purple highlights, after a moment she states with a matter of fact tone, “‘If she don’t want to go then she doesn’t want to go. Let’s get out of here.’” 

Looking at this gang, Lance is finding it difficult to determine how he’s feeling towards them. He’s seen so much about them on social media... well, except for the one girl he’d never seen before… but now, meeting them, they’re much more… real, standing in front of him. A reality that makes it hard to sort them into a black and white category. 

“Good riddance.” The big one, Zethra, says with her arms like steel beams over her chest, “No one likes lightweights at parties anyway.” 

Okay, Lance thinks with his gaze flickering across each person, I can at least decide whether or not I like them, that’s a good start. Ella is far too tricky looking to be good, she looks like she could figure out three hundred different ways to take someone down without breaking a sweat or a rule. Lance is definitely not a fan of Zethra, she doesn’t seem friendly at all, that was easy . Lotor is just… sneaky. It’s hard to associate this suave guy in front of Lance with all the shitty shit he’s has heard about him, and the fact that that’s the case makes him all the more cautious. He doesn’t know enough about the other two to draw any conclusions yet. Yet. 

Lance narrows his eyes as Lotor doesn’t even blink away from his staredown with Allura, he merely waves a hand behind him to shut his posse up before he speaks again, “Do as you wish. The invitation stands should you wish to seize it.” With that Lotor reaches down and takes Allura’s hand, and shocking all in the vicinity he presses a kiss to her knuckles before he lets it drop. Backtracking with smooth strides he gives her another charming smile before he and his quartet of groupies leave the group’s section and disappear into the crowd of surfers gaggled in the area. 

Lance smacks his lips after the awkward beats of silence, looking over at Allura with an owlish gaze, “... So…”

Veronica cuts in where she stands on his other side, her hat abandoned on the chair behind her, her glasses on her head, and her sunglasses folded and hanging from her crop top hem, “-What the fuck was that?”

Lance quickly tacks on after this with wide eyes, his thoughts starting back up now that Veronica has sparked his eternally running brain, “Yeah, how the heck do you know Lotor like… that?”

Allura lets out a tired sigh, her gaze flickers only momentarily at Lance and Veronica before she faces Romelle beside her. Romelle hasn’t spoken, nor has her expression changed, but she doesn’t look betrayed or upset, merely confused. Allura answers Veronica and Lance’s question while looking at and speaking to her, “Um… we dated for a while back in freshman year.”

Lance gasps, a hand hovering over his mouth as he looks on with shock and a bit of betrayal. “Really? You dated him?! ” When Allura glances over at him with a tired gaze Lance quickly backtracks with a sheepish smile, “He’s just… doesn’t seem like your type…?” 

“He’s not.” Allura confirms with a firm set in her brow and a dark light in her sapphire gaze, “But I didn’t realize it until too late; he’s a downright git. I broke up with him before spring break that year.”

Veronica purses her lips, her arms slightly crossed as she cautiously examines Romelle’s even expression, “And it doesn’t look like he’s over you.”

Romelle breaks into a warming smile, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend’s waist as she presses a loving kiss to her cheek, “Of course he isn’t. I mean, have you seen you? What a catch.” She teases Allura with a gentle boop on the nose, and despite the persisting discomfort in Allura’s eyes her shoulders relax and her expression softens. Lance has a second of heart palpitations at the sight. That’s just too goddamn sweet. What the heck. Get you a partner who looks at you the way that Romelle looks at Allura , Lance thinks to himself with a fond smile.

“So that means no party at douche-central, right?” Lance smirks with a coy raise in an eyebrow, rewarding him a playful glare and ruffle of hair from Veronica. 

“Definitely not.” Allura replies with a shake of her head, letting out another soft breath to compose herself before she turns to the group, her hand winding and lacing into Romelle’s, “I apologize for putting you all in that ah… uncomfortable situation.”

“Don’t apologize.” Veronica says with a crooked grin, moving to sit back in her claimed chair underneath the umbrella and picking up her textbook where she laid it spine up in the sand, “I thrive off the drama. Besides, I think it was worth it to see that girl with him. The one with the short hair.” Veronica makes a cupping gesture by her jawline before she lets out a dreamy sigh, “I love me a beautiful, bilingual girl.” 

Lance immediately snorts derisively as he rests his hands on his waist, “Who, Alexa? Damnit, you useless lesbian.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side as he taps his lips thoughtfully, “... So wait, does knowing ASL technically count as a second language? It wouldn’t, right? I mean, it’s still English, just spoken with your hands …”

Romelle suddenly perks up from Allura’s side, pointing past Lance’s shoulder with a bounce on her heels, “Look, here comes Pidge and Coran!” 

Lance whirls around with a sudden rush of adrenaline, any and all thoughts he had die. Immediately his gaze hones in on his small friend and he bounds over the cooler to their side and that’s when he sees the piece of paper in their hand, about the size of an index card. “Heck yeah, Pidge! So, come on, give it to me, what’s the verdict?” He holds out a hand and snatches the card from them and it’s only then that he sees their expression; they’re frowning slightly, looking downcast and… disappointed. 

Lance’s heart practically stops in his throat as he slowly sinks his gaze to the card, Pidge’s voice is consoling and gentle, “Well… For your first competition… it’s not the worst score you could’ve gotten.”

Lance doesn’t really hear them. All he can see is the number on the bottom right hand corner. 6.00 even.  

6.00 out of 10. Just barely past the tier of an average ride. 

Lance’s shoulders drop with his heart down to his knees, but before he can begin to wallow in self pity Pidge grabs both of his shoulders and forces his gaze back down to them, their hazel eyes gleam gold in the growing-to-be afternoon sun as they regard him seriously, “Hey, Lance, don’t let this bog you down, okay? This was your first ride in a real competition ever , be gentle with yourself, you did great. And this is a “good ride” number, in a qualifying competition you’d still be likely to move on to the next heat!”

Over his shoulder he feels his friends gazes on the card in his hand, wordlessly he hands it off to the closest person, who happens to be Veronica. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore. 6.00 even. After a moment for the information to sink into the collective Veronica nods and rests a hand over Pidge’s on his shoulder, “ Sí, hermanito, and don’t forget that you’ve still got the shortboard heat later. This isn’t the make all-break all.” 

Lance lets out a slow breath through his nose, his eyebrows furrowing right as they hear the sound of the airhorn signaling the end of another heat, followed by the megaphone announcer, “Men’s Shortboard Group 9 to the water.” 

Romelle taps on his shoulder beside him, when Lance turns to meet her bright, pale green gaze she taps the VLD brochure in her hand, “Group 9, isn’t that the one with the surfer you like? Shiro?”

Pidge starts at this, they meet Romelle’s gaze and some unspoken agreement comes between them as they grasp Lance’s wrists, “Yeah, come on, let’s go watch his heat. You know you wanna watch your idol in liveaction, right?”

Although the stone of failure rests heavy on Lance’s chest, the engulfing support from his friends around him does mitigate that feeling enough to bring a smile to his face. And while he won’t admit it, the prospect of seeing Shiro surfing, in real time, excites him far more than is probably normal. 

“Heck yeah, let’s go!” Lance proclaims, slapping on a happy go lucky attitude that’s only mostly faked as he wraps his arms around Romelle and Allura’s shoulders and drags them towards the spectator line on the shore. Pidge is right, Lance thinks to himself as they weave through the crowd of people moving to the sands with them, though I better not say it to their face. Don’t need to boost their massive ego. But it’s true, it’s my first competitive heat. Now I can be one of those zero to hero kind of surfer stories, those are crazy popular, right? And 6.00 isn’t a terrible number, it is in that “Great Ride” zone in the official rules… 

But it’s on the bottom end of that spectrum. Literally, it’s only 0.10 away from being in the “Average Ride” section. And Lance doesn’t want to be 0.10 away from average, he needs to be higher up, hitting 7.50’s at the very least… 

They get to the shoreline and Lance immediately spots Shiro, he and the two other surfers in his group have just made it to their starting position right as the airhorn goes off to signal the start. One of the two takes the first wave, Lance watches their form and finds himself critiquing, could’ve landed that a little smoother… with a little more of a carve you could’ve gotten more air on that 360… 

However as soon as Shiro moves Lance’s attention immediately locks on him, excitement etched into his veins. Shiro paddles into the wave and he can immediately tell this one’s gonna be a tubular, a big one too, and it makes him all the more excited to see what Shiro can do with it. 

He starts off simple, a few carves and double backs to get his momentum building before he starts to climb, skidding on the crest of the unbroken wave before the crashing section catches up to him. He teases the crowd with the beginnings of a snap before he suddenly executes a flawless roundhouse cutback, it makes Lance literally sigh because it’s so fucking beautiful to see. Shiro is obviously in his element, this is what he was born to do and it’s completely apparent to him, and to everyone on the beach watching him. Shiro comes down from the wave again and as it begins to cave over him he rides with it, it’s like the ocean is pushing him through, carrying him like Poseidon riding a hippocampi board through the waves. With the end of the wave Shiro does a double back before he sharply rises, leaping into the air with a sushi roll, which is a combo of the rodeo and the superman and Lance cheers louder than anyone else in the crowd at the sight because goddamn. 

Maybe someday I’ll be able to ride like that. 

Shiro comes down from his victorious wave, turning to the shoreline with his right fist pumped in the air, Lance can barely hear his rallying cry that the crowd immediately responds with in kind, Lance joins in as enthusiastically as the rest. 

As Shiro lays down on his board and starts paddling back towards the start with long armed strokes, Lance starts when he sees the sudden shadow in the water to his right. Quickly he mentally waves it off, just the shadow of a cloud, or a part of a swell… 

Except their isn’t a cloud in sight. 

By the time the dorsal fin comes into view it’s already too late, immediate fear strikes through Lance’s veins and his voice joins a chorus of at least 4 to 5 others on the beach as they scream in unison, “SHARK!” 

Shiro looks up as he goes over the beginnings of a wave and with a sudden thrash there’s a splurge of seafoam, right as the wave starts to crest, blocking the coast’s line of sight. As soon as the wave has run its course Lance claps a hand over his mouth when he sees the horrible splashing of seafoam beside an empty surfboard. 

The VLD officials in the water are on the scene immediately, the crowd breaks out in cries of shock and horror, calling for an ambulance as one of the pair on the jetski produces a long pole, made for this grim purpose, and strikes into the water. The other on the jetski turns around back, and with the sudden pole jab into the water the seafoam and thrashing ceases, the dark form practically vanishing from sight. A desperate hand with a dark haired head thrusts from the water which the official quickly grabs, Lance lets out a small sigh of relief as they yank Shiro onto the jetski; the other two jetskis already have the other two surfers safely out of the water, and all three are now heading back to the shore. 

The ambulance is fired to life and driven just in front of where Lance stands with his group of petrified friends, whirling and looking at one another, wondering what the fuck are they supposed to do. It feels wrong to just look on and do nothing, but if they were to rush forward what would they do? Lance knows the answer is ‘get in the way of the VLD officials’. The rest of the crowd draws the same consensus, as everyone turns to look at one another with wide, shocked eyes but no one goes under the rope. 

Except for one person in a full body surf suit with red accents and wild, drying black hair; Keith leaps over them without a second’s hesitation. One of the officials standing at the ropes on the far side, who was waving their hands and seemingly was making sure the spectators stayed back, turns to him and immediately barks, “Hey!” 

Keith doesn’t even pause as the jetski comes to shore, shouting frantically, “Shiro!” He sprints to the back of the ambulance, just out of Lance’s line of sight as the jetski gets to land, and he finally gets his first good look at Shiro. 

The back of the jetski is slick in blood, and that’s all Lance needs to see to grab onto Pidge’s hand to his left and Veronica’s arm to his right. The officials swarm around him, he can’t see his face but he can hear his cries of pain, where he’s carried Lance can see blood dripping into the sand at an alarming rate, left like rose petals to bake in the afternoon California sun. Then, through the gaps between the VLD officials, Lance can see the cause. His hand clenches tighter on Veronica’s arm and his hand grasping Pidge’s snaps to cover his mouth instead when he sees the stump where his right arm used to be. Gone. Nothing left. 

“Oh my God.” Allura whispers next to him, tears beginning to well in her eyes as the ambulance doors fling open, there’s loud, incoherent shouting for a moment before Lance can hear “I’m his brother, you’re letting me in.” over the din of the crowd’s growing fear. Within a second the doors slam shut and the ambulance peels off, leaving the crowd staring, horrified, at the droplets of baking blood that remain in the sand. 

It’s a blur afterward. Of course VLD immediately announced the cancellation of the event, promises for refunds and all, but Lance could not care less. How could he after seeing… that? 

Shark attacks are a one in a million thing. He heard that a person is more likely to win the lottery than get attacked by a shark, but he just… watched it happen. In real time. Right before his eyes. 

Lance has never seen a shark while in the water before. He’s seen dolphins, which, fun fact, surfing with dolphins is fucking awesome… but never a shark. That dorsal fin was the first wild shark he’d ever truly laid eyes upon in the flesh. And now he’s sitting on the hood of Pidge’s car as he’s on the phone with his mom, who called about ten minutes after the attack to check on him after hearing about the attack, frantically speaking in rapid fire Spanglish, “I-heard-there-was-a-shark-attack-are-you-alright-you-better-be-alright-or-I-swear-on-your-grandfather’s-grave-that-you’ll-never-even-breathe-on-the-ocean-again-” 

It took him a few minutes to calm her down enough to hang up, promising to be home as soon as the horrific traffic of the mass outflow of people settles enough for them to escape. Lance’s goodbyes with Allura, Coran, and Romelle are small and curt, but the last thing that they do before they part ways is share one large group hug, each person clinging to the collective so tightly that air is a scarce resource. Lance ultimately feels a little better, but there’s still a huge stone in his stomach that’s covering his entire body in lukewarm discomfort, like a half melted ice cube in a glass of water dumped on him.

Hunk calls him as he, Pidge, and Veronica are driving back to the McClain house, expressing the same terror as his mom. Lance is the one who breaks the news to him, and the pain of the moment stretches to the both of them, like an arrow pierced through their call connection.

“Dude… I’m so sorry.” Hunk mutters in a soft voice, Lance finds he’s struggling a bit to breathe, “That must’ve been so horrible.” 

“Yeah, it… kinda was.” Lance mutters in a soft voice. After a moment he clears his throat, seeking to bring some minute solace to his friend he rumbles in a half hearted, joking tone, “Makes you glad you missed it, huh?”

Hunk lets out a dry laugh, mostly for Lance’s benefit, before the line goes quiet. “Tomorrow I’ll bring you some of my world famous brownies.” Hunk promises, but Lance doesn’t answer. Even though he loves Hunk’s brownies. 

“He’s gonna be okay, Lance.” Hunk murmurs softly in a gentle giant tone. 

“... I know.” Lance replies with a soft sigh, “If anyone can pull through losing their arm like that, it’s Shiro.” 

“Exactly.” There’s silence for a while before Hunk tells him he has to go, his sister is crying; they say their goodbyes before the line goes dead. 

Pidge drops them off back at home, their eyes are locked on the windshield with their hands on the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip. Lance, noticing this, reaches up and clasps their shoulder, rubbing his thumb across the surface of their shirt as he murmurs, “I’m sorry about dragging you out today.” 

Pidge mutely shakes their head, after a moment of silence they clear their throat and turn to meet Lance’s gaze in the rearview mirror, “Don’t be sorry. It isn’t your fault, not in the slightest… I’ll be okay.” They say finally after a moment, taking a settling breath as they jut their chin towards the doors, “Now go on, get out of here. I bet your mom’s worried sick.” 

“Alright.” Lance pats them on the shoulder one last time with a meaningful squeeze and look that they share before he gets out of the car. Him and Veronica get his boards off of the roof and set them down outside the shed in the back yard before returning for the rest of their stuff, finally waving goodbye when Pidge drives off. Veronica wraps an arm around his shoulder as they turn to head inside, touching her forehead to his temple in a half kiss as they walk towards the door together and that’s all the assurance that they needed from each other. Best they could say with words beyond words.

His mom gives him and Veronica a fierce hug as soon as they walk inside. Kisses their heads. Sits them down for lunch. Lance isn’t there mentally. He’s not anywhere, frankly. He’s just aware of his heartbeat in his ears and his pulse in his fingertips. 

The day goes by. June and Jacob are less insufferable than usual, joining Lance and Veronica to watch some mindless TV together and mock the celebrity personalities they find on the cable networks, it’s a welcome distraction. Lance checks his phone for updates from local news about what Shiro’s condition is, because of course they caught wind of what happened, Local Surfing Champion in Critical Condition after Vicious Shark Attack During the VLD Opening. At 3:24 he reads an update that Shiro’s condition is stable, though he lost a lot of blood. And his… arm. “It’s unlikely that the surfing legend will be able to compete after such devasting injuries. It’s going to be a somber evening on Hermosa Beach tonight.” 

Lance closes his phone and doesn’t look at it again.

Night falls and the McClains have family dinner. Lance’s dad doesn’t mention the surfing competition, but he does tell him he’s sorry to hear about what happened to Shiro. Lance thanks him and asks to be excused to go to bed early, but his mom asks him to take out the trash out back first. So he does. 

In the dark shadows of the night, the stars above are clear and twinkle like reflections from a crystal. Lance finds himself staring at them for a long time, marveling in the cosmic nothingness and everythingness that stretches beyond him before he remembers his duty and dumps the trash into the backyard bin. That’s when he sees his boards, still leaning on the side of the shed where he and Veronica haphazardly dumped them earlier. Usually he’s meticulous about storing them, immediately they get a wax and polish before they go on the wall to keep them pristine, but not today. Everything changed today. 

Lance touches the glossy surface of his longboard, his gaze growing distant as the day’s events rewash over him, lazy like the laps of seafoam on his toes. 6.00 even. Shiro. 

Lance has never really considered himself a religious person. His mom and dad are, as is the case with almost all Hispanic families, but he’s always kind of felt disconnected from the church, and consequently his relationship with God, but tonight… He looks at the board, completely dried out now after baking in the Cali sun, and wonders if this was some sort of divine sign. His first competition he gets the 6.00 even and his hero, Shiro… Shiro won’t ever be able to surf again. 

He knows it’s not really his fault, no, that’s stupid. But something like survivor’s guilt rests heavy on his Adam’s apple as he slowly lets his hand drop from where it rested on his board. 

Maybe this is a sign that dad was right, Lance thinks to himself with a cold chill in his blood. Who was I kidding, thinking I could make it in the big leagues. Getting a 6.00 even. I’d cracked under pressure is what happened, I saw the crowds, I saw the competition, and I cracked like concrete that sat too long in the sun. Then Shiro lost his arm. After we bonded over our excitement to be at the competition, to participate in the heats.

Maybe this is a sign that being a world champion surfer isn’t actually what I’m supposed to do. 

But if not that… then what? What am I supposed to do?

Who am I? 

Lance stares at his pair of boards for a long, long time. Slowly he picks them up, one under each arm, and takes them inside the shed. He doesn’t wax them. He doesn’t polish them. He sets them on their stand and then moves that stand to the back of the shed and out of the way. Almost out of sight except for the tops that peek over a stack of plywood. Then he walks outside, taking one last look at the interior of the shed before he closes the doors and heads back inside the house.